Chapter Text
The basement of Barty Crouch Jr.’s house was a well-known hub to anyone who was worth talking about, according to Barty Crouch Jr. himself. The house was large and luxurious but not as off-putting as the Black residence, the heir of which was one of his best friends. In comparison, the Crouch house was more modern, clean, and perfectly-styled, as if straight out of a merfolk magazine. Marble countertops, wooden floors, and not a single thing out of place for any government official who came by to meet with Barty Crouch Sr. The junior didn’t mind the house--he was an only child and had never had to ask for anything twice. Still, the basement belonged to the boys.
Although plenty of people attended parties in this basement, the core group were the only ones in attendance today. Leaning against the door way was, of course, Barty Crouch Jr. himself. Wearing trousers and a loose button-down shirt, he sipped nonchalantly on a butterbeer. Playing alone at the pool table was Antonin Dolohov, of whom was deeply recognizable by the scars running from his fingertips all the way up to his forehead. He was large and wide, a fearsome giant of a wizard. He seemed to be trying his darnedest to hit the balls without shooting them into the wall on accident. Strewn across the ferociously ugly vomit-green couch was Evan Rosier, a pretty boy from the poorest household in the room. He had golden locks and a lazy kind of handsomeness, like it was accidental (which made it all the more annoying), and in his lap was lying a little baggy with herb inside of it, which he seemed to be patiently holding until the speaker shut the hell up.
The speaker was Regulus Black, who was pacing anxiously with long legs and furrowed brows. He was handsome in a careful way, much the opposite of Rosier. He had perfectly combed hair and a cautiously-prepared wardrobe. He was tall and lanky, but as a quidditch player, he’d acquired a bit of muscle, enough to be highly-praised by the even the coldest of Slytherin broads. Not that it mattered anymore because--
“I’ve been betrothed ,” Regulus announced, saying the word as though it was a synonym to “tortured” or “mutilated.”
“And…?” Barty Crouch Jr. arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. His head nodded involuntarily, along with a click in his mouth and a quick grimace.
“Yeah, we all knew this would happen, right?” Rosier blew his hair out of his eyes. “Who is it?”
“Daisy Hookem,” Regulus sighed.
“She’s hot, mate, what’s the problem?” Rosier snorted, giving him a look.
“So was my betrothed, before she ran off with a mudblood,” Dolohov reminded him darkly, making the blond boy scratch the back of his neck apologetically.
“Touche.”
“I don’t have a problem with...her. I guess I just never saw myself getting married,” Regulus admitted, stopping long enough to steal a gulp of butterbeer from Barty Crouch Jr. “I haven’t even kissed a girl before. What qualifies me to marry one?”
“Having the purest blood in London, nay, Europe ,” Rosier replied, snickering. Regulus couldn’t help but smile too, shaking his head. This only encouraged the blond boy, who shot up in his seat, waggling his tongue at Regulus. “ Genes so pure you can lick them .”
“I’ve got something you can lick,” Regulus joked, sending a wink his way.
Rosier darted up, juggling the bag of herb and his wand before storing them both away in his pockets, in only a matter of a few seconds. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I didn’t know I was in a fairy cove,” Dolohov tsked, making the other boys giggle. The Russian boy ran a hand over his shaven head, glancing pointedly at Rosier’s baggy. “Rosier, are you going to get this boy some beard or are we just gonna let him have a heart attack?”
Never reluctant to start dealing out the muggle beard, Rosier began rolling the joints with the herb from the baggy.
“Let’s just let him get it all out. We all know he’s going to explode if he doesn’t,” Barty Crouch Jr. suggested, earning a room full of head-nods, making a few clicking sounds and a grunt. It’s been said that whatever your parents don’t give you as a child is something that you crave as you get older. From the outside, Regulus may have been trained to be seen and not heard, but within the walls of the basement, Regulus felt comfortable enough around his friends to finally have a voice. It was almost damaging to his image because if he didn’t talk about it with his friends now, his perfect facade would begin to slip. Believe it or not, it actually made all his friends a little prideful. Seeing a side of him no one else could was amazing but having known him for years and having to struggle to get him to open up to them was why it felt so good when he relied on them and needed them.
“I don’t know what I imagined but...not a wife. To be honest, I assumed all purebloods not related to me were either too young or already with someone, you know? I figured the options were dry. Never mind that, I guess I always just pictured myself living alone, maybe having a roommate and a cat or something. Hanging out with friends,” Regulus signed, his pacing starting up again. “I know it sounds selfish but I don’t like how long it takes to get to know someone. You’re telling me someone I don’t know, someone I might not even like, will now have access to my time and my thoughts and my energy? Or I have to get to a point where they can because that’s what it means to be married, right? My parents hardly seem happy.”
“Mine too,” Barty Crouch Jr. nodded, eyebrows moving involuntarily.
“Mine didn’t stay together, and my mum was still unhappy,” Dolohov shrugged.
“Mine seem happy but they’re also blitzed out of their minds most of the time,” Rosier laughed, lighting the first joint and taking in a deep breath.
“Didn’t your dad beat you as a kid?” Barty Crouch Jr. pointed out.
“Yeah, I said they’re happy. Not me,” Rosier gave him a dark look. “Thanks for the reminder.”
“Yeah, you’re welcome.”
“Pass it to Regulus,” Dolohov nodded at the younger boy. Rosier passed it to the other boy, watching him with careful eyes. Barty Crouch Jr. believed that Rosier and Regulus were two sides of the same coin. Regulus grew up in perfect wealth and Rosier grew up in poverty, with half-blooded, never-sober idiots for parents. They reacted in perfect harmony, both choosing to hide behind a smiling facade. Rosier was less keen to revealing his issues, especially about his home life, but similar to Regulus, if he was going to talk about it, it would be in this basement with his friends.
Regulus took it, taking in smoke like a pro. If his mother knew he was smoking something called “muggle beard,” he knew she might disown him right there. While he may have done everything in his power to be the best son, he quickly realized that he would never compare to Sirius. While his mother despised the life he’d chosen, there was something about Sirius that made her fight and argue and scream trying to keep him in her life the way she wanted to. She gave him chance after chance to serve her properly as her son. Regulus would not receive the same amount of chances. The beard felt good though, and he began to relax.
“Ultimately, they can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do, right?” Rosier asked, relaxing into the couch as Regulus passed it to Dolohov.
Barty Crouch Jr. and Regulus both locked eyes, before bursting into a fit of laughter.
“His family is higher status than mine, and I know that if my mother said today I was betrothed, the papers might as well be already signed,” Barty Crouch Jr. explained. Rosier seemed to be contemplating this carefully.
“I’m hungry,” Rosier replied. Dolohov passed the joint to Barty Crouch Jr.
“Me too. Let’s grab snacks. Any requests?” Dolohov asked.
“Dealer’s choice,” Barty Crouch Jr. replied, earning a nod from Regulus.
Dolohov grabbed Rosier by the arm, dragging him with him and earning an undignified yelp from the blond boy. He grabbed his arm back, glaring at him before racing up the stairs, ever a competition between the two of them. Typically, Rosier, Dolohov, and Barty Crouch Jr. had antics similar to a wizard comedy trio, getting on the nerves of each other and play-fighting to no ends, to which Regulus usually was the audience to, if he wasn't socializing with other people. Regulus got along well with everyone, and he’d never really experienced brotherly fighting.
Regulus flopped onto the floor, staring up at the ceiling fan. Barty Crouch Jr. laid next to him, handing him the joint. Regulus glanced over at his best friend. “I know I’m being dramatic. I just...I love my friends. It doesn’t feel like I have room in my life for someone else. It felt like my life was going exactly how I wanted it to, and now this.”
“We don’t know her yet,” Barty Crouch Jr. said, barely loud enough to speak. “She could be the best thing that happened to you.”
“ My friends are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“If she’s not entirely awful, I think you should just be grateful,” Barty Crouch Jr. replied harshly, his shoulders shrugging a couple times, up and down. “Look, it’s going to happen. I know you didn’t want it to, but it’s happening. If she completely sucks, we’ll figure something out. We’ll drive her away or something. But if she’s cool and you run her off, your mom is just going to find someone else.”
“...you’re right,” Regulus conceded. He glanced at Barty Crouch Jr. “You seem very nonplussed by this. Usually, you can’t stop talking about girls.”
“I’m having trouble with my dad again,” Barty Crouch Jr. admitted, running his hand through his hair and taking the joint, inhaling deeply. “Always disappointed, always calling me retarded. It's not stress. He thinks I'm mentally challenged because of something I can't even control. The tics just happen, you know? I was upset when he would ignore me, and now I regret even complaining in the first place.”
“What about your mum?”
“She’s trying. She talks to him, but he doesn’t listen,” Barty Crouch Jr. shrugged. “I’m just done. I want to move far away from them. I want to take some money and just leave sometimes.”
“Yeah, I agree,” Regulus replied. “Geez, I’ve been complaining about girls, while you’ve been sitting on that.”
“I know your home life isn’t amazing either,” Barty Crouch Jr. shot him a look, before blinking very hard. “We’re Slytherins. We’ll do our time at Hogwarts and get the fuck out.”
“If you leave and go far away, I’m going with you,” Regulus replied firmly. “Together or nothing, okay?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Oooooiiiiiiii!” Rosier cried, racing down the stairs with Dolohov just behind. They carry arms full of snacks, an entire feast. Most were muggle snacks, so Regulus wasn’t even sure how they got them. “Wotsits for our little Bartemius.” He threw a few straight at his face.
Barty Crouch Jr. let the bags hit his face, grinning from ear to ear, passing the joint to Dolohov. “Yum.”
“You are fucking blazed,” Rosier snickered, carefully handing Regulus his snacks. “Hobnobs, and you wouldn’t believe I had to search for those jammie dodgers. Curse your bloody sweet tooth.”
Dolohov kept his bag of Walkers crisps. Regulus eyed the bag in Rosier’s hands. “What do you have?”
“Somehow, this little shit retrieved Twinkies while I was smoking,” Dolohov pointed at Rosier incredulously.
“Aren’t Twinkies American?” Barty Crouch Jr. asked, crunching happily on his little orange puffs.
“Extremely!” Rosier grinned, joint now shoved between his lips by a spiteful Dolohov. “And I’m not sharing!”
“Not even one?” Regulus asked. Rosier turned to face him, only to be hit with the biggest, greyest puppy dog eyes he’d ever seen.
“American food has about 900 kilograms of sugar in every fucking item,” Barty Crouch Jr. pointed out. “And Regulus is 60 kilograms of raw sugar addiction.”
“63 kilograms,” Regulus insisted, sending him a dark look. “At least .”
“Not helping your case.”
“Alright, cripes, one twinkie for the addict,” Rosier rolled his eyes. He took off the packaging before his evil eyes locked with Regulus’s. “If you can take it with your mouth.”
Without even questioning the absurd rules of the game, Regulus shot up and with him so did Rosier’s hand holding the twinkie. Regulus jumped at it like a baby bird, with an open mouth and hungry eyes. After a minute, he gave up, using his hands to try to wrestle it from the other boy. Instead, Rosier put the twinkie in his mouth. Now within reach, Regulus grabbed at it with his mouth…
Barty Crouch Jr. began laughing his entire body, laughing so hard that tears were streaking down his face and Dolohov snickered but looked on distastefully. Regulus had basically kissed Rosier full on the mouth. Immediately, Rosier had snapped his teeth down on half the twinkie, and Regulus took his half happily, not seeming to realize what had happened. Rosier smirked, chewing the rest of his twinkie. “If I’d known the things you would do for a Twinkie, I would have put it down my pants.”
With that, Regulus’s whole face turned aflame. “I--I, er, what?”
They all bust out laughing, even Regulus, despite his embarrassment.
“You all are a bunch of queers,” Dolohov shook his head. “Barty Crouch Jr. Play me at pool?”
“I’m so fucking high...but you know what, fuck it. Let’s go,” the boy shot up, bringing his bags of wotsits with him.
Regulus flopped back onto the ground, his snacks open next to him. He placed a cookie in his mouth. Rosier joined him, still smirking. “You want another Twinkie? I’m down to play that game again.”
“No, I’m alright!” Regulus huffed, making the blond boy giggle.
“You’re so defensive,” Rosier closed his eyes, humming something under his breath. Regulus didn’t know it then, even as he looked at his friend’s features. He didn’t know why he liked to look at Rosier, why his wavy blond hair and bright green eyes fascinated him so. His strong jaw and muscular build. The curve of his lips. He didn’t know...He didn’t know why he felt no qualms basically kissing Rosier when he’d never kissed anyone in his life. He didn’t really want to think about it, so he closed his eyes too, listening to the humming and the sounds of his friends playing pool.
Things were amazing like this. Why did things ever have to change?