His Mark was burning. Barty could scarcely believe it - his Lord was back, there was no other explanation for it. Skimming briefly through his journal provided further affirmation, and the moment he was sure of it, he tossed the journal aside, not bothering to scribble a response to anything. Why waste time communicating in the journals when, judging by the sounds coming from that general direction, the Dark Lord was in the living room? At first he’d assumed that the sounds indicated just another petty fight, another waste of time, but now... He left his room, almost shaking with excitement.
As luck would have it, he was one of the last to enter the room. Fitting, almost, considering he had been one of the most recent to join the hunt. That.. that probably wasn’t going to work out well for him, was it? But Barty would face any curse, undergo Cruciatus for as long as he had to, face death if he had to. None of the pain would matter. The Dark Lord was back.
...in the form of Bellatrix? Which, again, didn’t matter, so long as he’d returned - but it was disconcerting.
Not even glancing at Aubrey, Evan, and Alecto, he came to a stop nearby Nott, Rowle and Wilkes (who the Dark Lord was currently praising? Wilkes had done more than Barty had, clearly, even if he was petty and extremely annoying. He made a concentrated effort not to be jealous, knowing that he wasn’t deserving of such praise). Barty didn’t speak, not at all wanting to interrupt the Dark Lord; it was better to not speak until spoken to. Instead, he bowed deeply and solemnly, trying to keep himself from staring outright.