Archive of Our Own

They're just about to start their first written OWL, in Transfiguration. Evan is sitting by his desk and desperately trying to not tap his foot on the floor.

“For fuck’s sake, Evan,” Dorcas hisses at him from the next seat. “Stop tapping your bloody foot!”

Her nails are uneven and sharp from biting.

“I’m trying,” he says, turning his head towards her and when he turns back, there's a dark robe in front of him.

“Hi.”

It's Barty Crouch.

Evan looks up, not quite catching his eyes, but he thinks it's close enough to give the impression that he is. There’s dark ink on Crouch’s cheek.

“Hi.”

Crouch smirks at him. Evan sees Dorcas raising an eyebrow in the corner of his eye. He gives her a look.

“What do you–”

“I was wondering–”

They both go quiet. Crouch scratches the back of his neck and laughs.

“You go,” he says and gestures with his other hand. The right one is still on the back of his neck.

“What you're doing with that hand?” Evan asks even though he wanted to say something completely different.

Dorcas stiffens her laugh with a hand. Her shoulders are shaking. Evan's going to kill her.

“Massage. It's good for stress. Want me to do you?”

Evan chokes on air.

“What?”

Crouch smirks again. It's unfairly attractive.

“I was just kidding,” he says and his smirk turns into a soft smile. Evan feels like someone hit him in the head with a pan. “I was wondering if I could borrow a quill?”

Evan looks at Crouch’s desk, around three metres away from them. It’s messy, even though they’re only allowed to bring quills and ink with them. There are four quills lying there. There are only two on Evan’s desk.

He shrugs.

“Knock yourself out.”

Crouch takes the one Evan likes better. Of course.

“Not that one,” he says before he can stop himself. “Take the other one.”

Crouch shakes his head.

“Not that one, huh? Alright.”

He takes the other one and walks away.

Only when they start writing, does Evan realise it was an attempt at flirting.

“My friends are coming over today,” Pandora says from the staircase.

Evan is cooking dinner. The potatoes start to boil. He turns the heat down. It’s hot as fuck outside, but the kitchen is a safe heaven.

“Cool.”

She jumps from the last three steps. She manages not to kill herself this time. Evan still remembers her black eye from the one time she lost her battle with the stairs.

“Manage Dad?” she asks and sits on the kitchen counter. She has a green skirt, pink top and some sort of strange, orangey-green robe on. Put together, it looks like unicorn's urine. “He’s in the living room and I want me and my friends to sit there.”

“Take them to your room. Or outside.”

Pandora puts her feet up and places the heels at the edge of the counter. Evan eyes them disdainfully.

“My room doesn’t have enough places to sit,” she says, like her room isn’t twice the size of Evan’s room and doesn’t have a fucking couch in it. “And Reg can’t go outside in the sun, it’s not good for his skin.”

Evan laughs.

“Merlin, what a pretentious fuck. Did he really say that?”

Pandora has the nerve to look annoyed, her stinky feet still on his bloody counter.

“Don’t call him that.”

“I will when he stops being whatever it is that he is. Seriously, Pan. How are you friends with a guy who’s afraid of the sun ?”

“Well, at least I have friends,” Pandora says, but there’s no bite in her words. Evan knows that she wants to laugh – her mouth is twitching.

“I have friends too. Not my fault Cas went off to Merlin knows where with her mum for the summer.”

Not that Evan blames her. OWLs were hell.

“Whatever. You're still a loser. But you'll manage Dad, right?”

Evan dreads the thought but nods anyway.

“Sure. Wouldn’t want your boyfriend to get tragically wounded by the fucking sun, right?”

Pandora hits him on the arm and something in the living room crushes to the ground.

“I’m psychic,” Pandora says with a grin before the cursing starts.

“Oh fucking fuck… Fuck… Hi? You alright, mate?”

It’s Barty Crouch.

Evan sighs and turns to the potatoes.

“You think it’s safe to leave that on with Crouch in the house?”

Pandora’s already hopping down from the kitchen counter.

“What do you think he’s going to do with it?” she asks and gives him an incredulous look. “Pour a pot of boiling water on his face?”

“Wouldn't be surprised if he did.”

“Dick!”

Pandora’s laughter echoes as she runs across the hall and Evan prepares himself for a headache of the century.

“You sure you don’t want any help?”

Evan sighs.

“Yes. I’m sure. Stop asking, it's getting annoying.”

“Just trying to help. I’d thought you'd appreciate my valiant efforts.”

Evan rolls his eyes.

“Yes, you're my knight in shining armour. Now move out of the way.”

“Only if you make me.” Evan stares at him in silence. Pandora giggles. “Alright, sorry. Moving now.”

He steps back, allowing Evan to crouch next to his father’s sleeping form on the coach.  

He slaps his father in the face.

“Wakey wakey. Mother’s ghost has come to haunt you again.”

Next to him, Crouch chokes on the coffee Pandora made him a moment before.

“What–”

“Don't choke on your drink, Crouch. I’m not up for cleaning corpses at the moment.” Evan’s father raises his head from its previous spot on the couch. “On the topic of corpses…”

“Celia?” his father asks with a raspy voice and squints.

“That was only a joke. Take another guess.”

“Pandora?”

“I’m actually insulted,” Pandora says.

“Third time's the charm.

Evan pats his father on the cheek when he sees he's about to nod off again.

“Druella?”

Evan rolls his eyes.

“No, I’m not your older, wine addicted hag of a sis–” Gagging, coughing, a moment of terror and there he is, covered with puke. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck!”

Crouch has the nerve to laugh.

“Karma, huh?”

Evan gives him a nasty look and takes off his puke-stained shirt.

“Shut up.”

He pats his father’s cheek again, but he's out cold now. Puking all over Evan must have exhausted him.

“Just saying.”

Pandora laughs and takes Evan’s coffee from the table.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

She gives him a clueless look she’s mastered over the years.

“What?”

Evan shakes his head and pulls on his father’s heavy arm. He manoeuvres his father’s body until it’s splayed on his back and shoulders in a fireman's carry.

“This is strangely arousing,” Crouch says when Evan gets up fully and makes his way across the living room. “You have really good arms, Evan.”

“Not. Another. Word.”

“Oi, Evan! There you are, mate!”

There's someone wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Going by the smell alone, someone very drunk.

“Get off.”

Crouch does the exact opposite, slumping against Evan, putting his chin on Evan’s shoulder.

“What you’re making?”

“Tea. Will you puke on me too?” Crouch shakes his head and slides his arm around Evan’s waist. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing with all that cuddling?”

“Do you like tea?”

Evan rolls his eyes and tries to shrug. Turns out it's difficult to do that with a 65 kilograms of drunk, annoying bloke leaning his whole weight on you.

“It's alright. That’s not for me, though.”

“It's not?”

The water finally boils and Evan pours it carefully into the mug. He doesn't want to move too quickly in case the breathing disaster on his back decides to do something unpredictable. Hopefully not puke.

“It's not. It's for you.”

“Oh.” Crouch falls silent for a long moment and Evan is starting to worry he fell asleep. Just when he's about to nudge Crouch not so delicately on the ribs, he speaks up again. “Is it because I’m hammered?”

Evan laughs.

“Well, at least you're self aware.”

“Yes. And you're very thoughtful.” Evan freezes with his hands on the hot mug. He wants to flee, but Crouch has successfully trapped him. “But everyone thinks you're mean. I don't understand why. You gave me your quill.”

That was over a month ago.

“It's only a quill. Don't make a big deal out of it.”

Crouch hums loudly, his chest vibrating with it. He's so close, Evan can feel his breath on the side of his cheek.

“I’ve written all my OWLs with it. Twelve.”

Evan takes a sip of the tea.

“Twelve? That's a lot.”

That's unreal.

“It's alright.”

Unreal.

“Did you pass all of them?”

“Yeah. Lucky quill. Your quill. Your quills must bring luck. Or you.”

Evan, who has his own quill, has also written all his exams with it and barely managed to pass three OWLs, doesn't quite agree.

“I think you're just smart. Would you like some of that tea now?”

Crouch sighs. Audibly, theatrically. Like a character in a novel.

“You're so nice to me. It's so nice.”

Evan takes another sip of the tea.

“You know, that's the first time someone's accused me of that.”

“Yeah, well, they're dumb. And I’m smart. You said so yourself.”

“I did. Tea?”

“I feel like I probably need it.”

“You definitely do.”

Crouch does the sigh thing again. Then he leans even more on Evan and takes his hand off of Evan’s waist. Just as Evan thinks he'll finally be able to breathe normally, the fucker puts his hand around Evan’s palm holding the mug.

He wonders if trying to run away would be worth the potential burns from the tea.

“Help me not spill it?”

Evan sighs. Not as theatrically or loudly as Crouch. He's not a character in a novel.

“Alright.”

He grips the mug tighter and helps Crouch drink it. It should be awkward, seeing as Crouch’s bony chin is still digging into Evan’s shoulder, but nothing is truly awkward when one of the participants is so drunk off vodka he can't stand properly.

Finally, Crouch drinks some of the tea and as Evan sets the mug back on the table, the hand disappears from his palm and reappears on his waist.

“I wanna go to sleep now.”

“Okay. Good luck with getting to bed. Maybe you'll manage not to kill yourself on the way.”

“Carry me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Is this Barty or am I hallucinating again?”

Pandora’s lying on the couch, her hair falling down to the floor and Black curled up next to her.

“It's me!” Crouch says loudly next to his ear. Evan tries not to flinch.

At least he stopped squirming and almost making Evan drop him.

“Do you need a bucket?” he asks, ignoring the disaster on his back. “Or water?”

Pandora shakes her head and points to the water bottle on the floor.

“We're good. Why is Barty on your back?”

“He's being nice! He's helping me.”

Merlin, why does he have to be so loud?

“Keep it down,” he says and looks around the room. “Cleaning tomorrow then?”

Pandora mumbles her agreement and brings her knees to her chest, snuggling up closer to Black.

“I’m cold.”

There's a blanket lying on an armchair across the room.

“Don't fall off,” he tells Crouch as he walks to take it. “This is the last time you lot are partying with me in the house. I’m not playing babysitter ever again.”

Crouch ignores his words, of course.

“You’re so warm, Evan. Very good for cuddles.”

Crouch hugs him tighter and Evan takes the blanket.

“Thanks. Try not to crush me though. I'll be colder as a corpse.”

“Alright.”

“Merlin, my fucking head.”

Evan takes a sip of his tea and gestures to the table.

“Water’s there. And chicken soup.”

Crouch drinks the water like he hasn't seen a drop of liquid in at least a week.

“How did I get to bed? I don't remember shit after we started the third bottle.”

Evan hides his grin behind the steaming mug.

“I had to give you a piggyback ride. You told me I’m nice about a hundred times and asked me to play with your hair until you fell asleep.”

Crouch’s face goes red. Evan laughs into his tea.

“Fuck, I remember that now. Sorry.”

“It's fine.”

Crouch eats the chicken soup like it'll cure him of all ills and then just sits there, head in his hands.

“Having war flashbacks?”

“Fuck off.”

Evan makes him tea and goes upstairs to fetch him some clothes since Crouch is an idiot and didn't bring anything with him.

Crouch’s under the shower when Pandora comes into the kitchen.

“Living room clean,” she says nonsensically, bags under her eyes and face paler than usual. “Thanks.”

Evan laughs and pours her some water.

“Welcome.”

Crouch comes back from the shower in Evan’s clothes and with wet hair and Evan’s throat goes dry. He swallows heavily and hides behind the cup of tea he's been nursing for quite some time now.

In the corner of his eye, he sees Pandora biting her lip. Her eyes are laughing. He pretends not to notice.

“I have to go,” Crouch says. “I sort of ran away yesterday. Mum’s probably worried sick, as always. Make sure Reg doesn't drown in a pile of his own vomit?”

Pandora makes a vague noise of agreement and they go to the living room to Floo Crouch home.

Evan doesn't follow them. Crouch’s not his friend after all.

The night is hot and quiet when their father apparates home at four in the morning. Evan’s smoking by the window.

“Are you a fucking idiot? You're going to lose a limb if you keep apparating like this. Or worse.”

“I’m not drunk.”

Evan sighs. Pandora’s still sleeping upstairs.

Father crawls to the couch. The blood on his leg looks black in the moonlight.

“What the fuck happened?”

“I got into a fight.”

Evan puts the cigarette down on the windowsill and goes to the bathroom. By the time he's back, their father is already lying on the couch.

“Sit.”

He works in silence, cleaning the blood and examining the wound. It’s deep and jagged. Evan cleans it and sews the skin back together. Father doesn't make a sound.

“Done. Do us both a favour and don't go out for the next week or two. I’m not sewing this shit up again.”

He washes his hands in the bathroom, but some of the blood under his nails doesn't come off.

As the sun rises, he comes back to the living room and lights up another cigarette. The smoke blocks out the stench of alcohol.

“You should add in some dandruff.”

“You think so?”

“Definitely. It'll make the potion smoother.”

Pandora adds the dandruff. The potion turns from a watery mess into a smooth, violet liquid.

“You're a genius, Dad!”

Evan wants to puke.

“Shame he won't make use of it.”

They both turn towards him. Their hair, nose and eyes are the same. He leans against the doorway and folds his arms on his chest.

“He is making use of it just now,” Pandora says in a defensive tone and turns back to the potion. “What's next?”

She doesn't see the blood on their father’s trousers.

“You should cut him some slack.”

Evan hums.

“Should I?”

Pandora gives him a look.

“Yes. You're being an asshole.”

Evan shrugs and goes back to eating. There's fresh blood under his fingernails.

They arrive early at the station.

“Hi,” Crouch says as soon as they reach him, a smirk on his face.

“Barty!”

Pandora hugs Crouch tightly and he smiles like it's Christmas and she's Santa Klaus. Evan can't stand looking at him so he turns his head and looks for Dorcas in the crowd.

“Hi, Evan,” Crouch says not long after that, his hand on Evan’s shoulder. “It's good seeing you again, mate. Forgot to wash the clothes, though. I'll give them back soon, if that's cool with you?”

Evan doesn't know what ‘soon’ means in Crouch’s head and usually he'd ask for clarification, but his mind is swimming and he can't stop thinking about that fucking hand on his shoulder and…

And he should probably get a grip.

He notices Dorcas’s dark hair in the crowd.

“Alright,” he says and shrugs Crouch’s hand off. “See you around.”

“Give me that fucking glass.”

“Hello to you too, Evan.”

Evan gives Crouch a look and takes the drink from his hand. As soon as he takes a sip, he spits it back out.

“This is fucking disgusting. Who did this?”

“Pandora.”

“Pandora? You could've told me that before I took it. She doesn't know how to mix for shit.”

Crouch shrugs.

“She doesn't think so. And it's her birthday.”

Evan raises the glass.

“Happy birthday, Pandora,” he says and downs it, spit and all. “Merlin, this is truly shit.”

He turns to look at Crouch who's watching him silently. His eyes are sharp. There's ink on his nose. It was on his cheek the other time.

“You alright, mate?”

“No. Why do you have ink on your face all the time?”

Crouch frowns.

“You're not alright because I have ink on my face all the time?”

Evan snorts. His face feels hot.

“No.”

“Why are you not alright then?”

He shrugs.

“Just because. I’m always miserable on my birthday.”

“It's your birthday?”

“Of course. Me and Pan are twins. It's our birthday party. I’d think you'd know, considering the fact that you're here.”

Crouch shakes his head, frown deepening.

“No, I know that you're twins. I just didn't think that you'd have the same birthday. Which, in retrospect, might be a bit stupid… Stop laughing!”

Evan can't stop. His chest is warm, his head is dizzy and he can't stop laughing.

“You're such an idiot.”

Crouch hits him on the arm. Then he rubs his hand there, trying to soothe the non existent pain.

“I’m smart! You said so yourself.”

He's still touching him. Why? He's not Pandora. He's not Crouch’s friend. He's not smart or fucking funny or whatever it is that makes Pandora so cool. No one forgets it's her birthday.

He shakes his head.

“You're a smart idiot.”

Barty steps closer. Evan can smell his cologne. It's nice.

He forces himself to focus on the conversation.

“I’m pretty sure that that's an oxymoron.”

Evan raises his eyebrows.

“Alright, nerd. Whatever the fuck oxymoron is.”

Pandora probably knows.

Fucking Merlin.

“It's a fairly common word…”

“'It's a fairly common word’, go fuck yourself.”

Crouch honest to God pouts. He looks like a three year old.

“You're so mean.”

His hand is on Evan’s waist now. He should've noticed the change.

“But you said I’m nice.”

“Clearly I was young and stupid back then.”

Evan laughs and forgets about Pandora for a moment.

“Happy birthday.”

Evan looks up from his book. It's about Ancient Rome.

“My birthday was three days ago.”

Crouch shrugs and places a cake on the table. He sits down in front of Evan.

“I know. But I didn't have time to make the cake before today. What you're reading?”

Evan gives him the book and looks at the cake more closely. It's clearly underbaked in some places. He looks at Crouch.

“Did you underbake it on purpose?”

Crouch bites his lip and looks down on the cake.

“It's underbaked? I thought it was fine. I’m sorry…”

“No,” Evan says quickly and cuts the cake with a knife Crouch has kindly provided. “I was just making things up. You know, fucking with you.”

Crouch’s shoulders drop with relief. He chuckles. His ankle touches Evan's under the table.

“Right,” he says and stares as Evan eats the cake. “Well, how is it then?”

It is underbaked. And generally awful, for that matter. Evan wouldn't feed it to a dog, but it's alright for himself.

“Great. Thanks, Barty. I appreciate it.”

Barty lifts the book up, trying to hide his red face behind it, but Evan sees his blush anyway.

“Cool.”

Evan grins.

“Cool.”

He proceeds to ask a million questions about Ancient Rome but when Evan’s eating, he keeps glancing up to see his reaction and blushes again and again when Evan compliments the food. 

Evan does him a favour and pretends not to notice. The cake’s left him in a good mood.

Evan gets the letter on Thursday, five days after their birthday. It’s written in a messy crawl and it says:

“Evan,

Happy birthday. Take cake of your sister.”

Evan burns it.

“This is bullshit,” he tells the fire. Predictably enough, the fire doesn't say anything back.

Pandora looks up from her letter. Barty's been reading it over her shoulder for a while now. He thinks Evan's too engrossed by the book he's reading to notice. He's an idiot.

“Dad’s going to Aunt Druella’s for Christmas.”

Evan puts down the book. Barty looks away from the letter.

“You're kidding.”

Pandora shows him the letter.

“I wish I was. They're inviting the whole family, apparently.”

“Andromeda?”

“The not disinherited part of the family.”

“Why's Father invited then?”

Pandora rolls her eyes.

“He's not disinherited. They just pretend he doesn't exist. He's heir until grandfather dies, remember?”

“Sometimes I forget that old fucker’s still alive.”

She laughs.

“He's invited too, by the way. They hope he'll make Aunt Druella heir instead and one of her daughters will inherit after her.”

Evan can stand for many things but losing his inheritance to his hag of an aunt is not one of them.

“They can't think Grandfather will pass me over?”

Pandora shrugs and looks down at the letter.

“They’re saying that you’re a dumb, talentless Squib who has inherited our father’s alcohol addiction and our mother’s fragile health and mind. Apparently they said that to Father’s face and he said that he agreed, except for the alcohol thing. That’s what Cissy wrote me anyway.”

Barty’s eyes go wide. Pandora blinks slowly, unfazed. Evan picks the book back up.

“Lovely. He's invited only to dinner or for the whole thing?”

“The whole thing. They're going to the manor in France.”

He grimaces.

“I hate France.”

“I know. We’re staying here then?”

“Looks like it.”

She hums and takes out a parchment from Barty’s bag. He's too busy looking at them both thoughtfully to do anything about it.

Evan's scared of what's going on in that genius brain of his, but doesn't say anything either. Barty may take that as encouragement.

He cornerns him in the toilet, of all places. Barty's truly a dumbass for a guy who passed twelve OWLs.

“You should come to my house for Christmas.”

Evan sighs.

“Couldn't you have said it some other time?”

“I was afraid to say it to your face.”

“Should've closed your eyes then.”

“Don't laugh at me, I’m being emotionally vulnerable.”

Evan rolls his eyes.

“Well, excuse me for laughing at your emotional confession that you've decided to bestow on me while I was taking a shit.”

Barty laughs too.

“Well, there's nothing better than talking shit with your mate, right?”

This is the weirdest flirting method Evan has yet to encounter.

The most worrying thing about it, is that it's working.

“You get it.”

Barty sighs too. It's dramatic as fuck. Why is he so dramatic?

“What do you think then? You wanna come?”

“Why didn't you ask me with Pandora present? It would've been easier to answer.”

“Because you would just go along with whatever she says. Wouldn’t you?”

Evan shrugs.

“Maybe.”

“Yeah, well, I want to know what you think. And what you want. Not what Pandora wants.”

Strangely touching.

“Alright.” Evan thinks about it. Then he thinks about it more. Then he shrugs again, even though Barty can't see it. “Alright, I'll come. If your parents are alright with it. I don't want to impose.”

“Oh Merlin, Mum will love you.”

“You're cheating!”

“I’m not. I would never cheat, Pandora, you know this,” Barty says, holding his cards close to his chest. There's an extra one that Pandora can't see.

Evan hums.

“Liar.”

He goes back to reading. Pandora sighs, gets up and lies down with her head in Evan’s lap.

“I’m done playing this game. I wish we were in London already. Why is this train ride so long?”

“It’s as long as it usually is, I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You're so boring, Evan. I’m not sharing a compartment with you ever again.”

“Thank goodness.” He looks at Barty. “What are your parents like?”

“My mum is great. Fun and smart. My dad is a bore, though. He works all the time and only talks about politics, and history, and other boring shit that no one cares about…”

Evan looks down on his book. It's “Goblin Wars and Their Effects On Modern Politics”. He shows Pandora the title and she starts giggling like mad.

“What are you laughing about?” Barty says with a frown but Pandora waves him off.

“Nothing important.”

Evan only then notices that Barty has his jumper on. He was supposed to give it back four months ago.

“It's so good to finally meet you, dear. Barty has told me so much about you.”

Over Mrs Crouch’s shoulder, Evan sees Pandora giggling to herself.

“What did he say?” she asks and Evan gives her a look.

Mrs Crouch’s warm and she doesn't wear that awful perfume some of his aunts wear. Evan's almost reluctant to end the hug.

“Only good things. Unusual, that. Say what you want about him, but my boy surely likes to complain…”

She lets him go and winks at him when Barty pouts.

“That's not true.”

She pets his hair like one would do to a dog.

“We both know it is, sweetheart. Don't worry, it is a mother’s duty to love her children, even when they only complain…”

“Hey!”

“...and complain…”

Barty rolls his eyes. His mother laughs and Evan does too.

“Come on, I never complain.”

“...and complain. But well, it looks like you're breaking him out of his bad habits.”

She ruffles Evan’s hair and smiles at him. Her smile is just like Barty’s.

“Dad, this is Evan.”

Mr Crouch is thin, tall and as soon as Evan sees him, he wants to punch him in the face. He just has that air around him.

“Welcome to my home,” he says and takes Evan’s hand. His grip is tight and painful. “We're pleased to have you.”

He doesn't smile or show even a hint of happiness of seeing his son for the first time after four months.

Evan doesn't smile either and nods in greeting.

“I’m pleased to be here, sir.”

It's not a lie, but during that moment, it seems damn close to one.

“Unfortunately, we only have one guest room,” Mrs Crouch says, her hand on Barty’s shoulder. She's a tactile person, like him. “I hope you boys won't have a problem with sharing?”

Pandora starts laughing behind her hand, as usual. Evan ignores her.

“Of course not,” he says immediately, before Barty can open his stupid mouth and start complaining. “It's not a problem at all, ma’am.”

Barty looks at him then, his eyes sharp and blue. He's smirking.

“Yeah, Mum, it's cool.”

“Wonderful,” she says and pats Evan on the shoulder once, then twice. “Now let’s eat dinner, shall we?”

“I can sleep on the floor.”

“‘I can sleep on the floor’,” Evan repeats mockingly and takes off his shirt. “Don't be a dumbass. It’s your room, I’m sleeping on the floor. I’m going to shower now. Is your shower working normally or is it as fucked up as Cas’s?”

Barty doesn't grace him with an answer and when Evan looks at him, he's staring.

Evan shakes his head.

“You know, for someone who seems unable to keep his mouth shut, you're plenty quiet now.”

Barty swallows heavily and blushes, but doesn't look away. He's staring at Evan’s shoulders now.

He still doesn't say anything. It’s getting worrying.

“Alright, I’m going now. Maybe you'll manage to untie your tongue by then.”

Barty’s answer comes when he's already locked in the bathroom, words muffled but still understandable.

“You can untie it for me if you'd like.”

Fucker.

Evan’s already halfway asleep when Barty speaks up.

“You know, this bed is big enough for two.”

His voice is too loud in the darkness. He didn’t even attempt to quiet it down. Shameless.

“Couldn’t you have started this conversation when I wasn’t almost asleep? It took me a long time to get to this state, you know?”

His voice is a whisper, barely hearable.

He wishes he could talk like Barty.

“Well, maybe you would fall asleep quicker in a bed.”

Evan sighs and turns on his back.

“Maybe I would. Doesn’t change the fact that I’m on the floor, does it?”

“I suppose. You could sleep in a bed, though.”

Evan hums.

“Is that a suggestion?”

“Do you want it to be one?”

He can almost hear the smirk on Barty’s face.

“I don’t know, are you asking for my comfort or because you want me there?”

“Maybe it’s both.”

“Maybe it is.”

Silence fills the room, thick and heavy. Some would tense in it, but Evan finds it comforting. Like a blanket. He makes himself comfortable on the thin mattress.

A minute passes. Two, five, ten. Evan stopped counting after the first one, in all truth. Maybe an hour passed in that uncounted time.

His shoulders are relaxed, eyes closed. Heart calm and steady.

“You’re different from Pandora,” Barty says finally. His voice is as loud as the first time.

He tries not to think about his words. Yeah, he bloody knows he's different from Pandora. He's heard about it enough.

“Yeah, I reckon there are some differences between us. Aside from the obvious.”

Barty laughs. It’s so, so loud. Evan doesn’t mind.

“I just mean…” Barty trails off. “Pandora’s loud. Me too, that’s why we get on so well. But you’re just so quiet. Doesn’t it annoy you, that we’re so loud all the time?”

He sounds almost insecure.

Evan smiles.

“It doesn’t annoy me,” he says. “I like that you’re loud.”

It takes more than it should, saying it out loud.

“But you’re so quiet all the time. I thought you liked silence.”

“I do like it. But I like you more. Now go to sleep, Barty.”

And there’s silence again.

He wakes when the sun’s rising – December nights longer than usual – and goes down to the kitchen, itching for a cup of tea. When he comes down, Mrs Crouch is already there.

“Barty’s just left for work,” she tells him, looking up from the Daily Prophet. “Sit, I'll make you some tea.”

Evan does, after protesting some, and puts honey in his tea after Mrs Crouch sets it down for him.

“When does Mr Crouch usually finish work? I've heard the Ministry can be quite busy.”

Barty says that his father is a workaholic and never spends time with him, but Evan is curious about Mrs Crouch’s perspective. Is she angry at her husband for this? Supporting? Something in between?

“It is, but my husband is also overly fond of his job,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee. “As I’m sure Barty’s already told you.”

Evan nods and smiles.

“You've caught me. Sorry for snooping, I’m just curious. Barty doesn't talk about his father much.”

She smiles back. He's forgiven, then.

“Neither do you, from what I've heard.”

He shrugs.

“I’m sure Pandora keeps him well informed.”

She probably tells him about the Potions, and the laughter, and all the moments Evan’s not a part of.

“From what Barty tells me, she’s not the most objective when it comes to your father.”

Evan takes a sip of his tea.

“Do you gossip about us a lot?”

“Of course. It's one of our favourite bonding activities. Who doesn't like a bit of gossip?”

She smirks with that sharp look in her eye that Barty sometimes has. Evan looks away.

“It's not like it matters. Pandora’s not objective when it comes to our father, but neither am I. It's always like that with family members.”

She puts the Daily Prophet on the windowsill and turns to him.

“The gossip’s more fun this way, in my opinion. I like trying to separate the biases from facts when someone's talking. Keeps me more engaged in the conversation.”

“I suppose.”

She hums and gets up.

“Help me with breakfast, dear. Barty and Pandora like to sleep in and I've been told you're a great cook.”

He finishes his tea and gets to work.

“...my friend, Cas. Dorcas Meadowes. She's hopelessly in love with a Gryffindor Chaser, Marlene McKinnon. She's from the McKinnons, you know which ones?”

Mrs Crouch nods fervently, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Of course, I've done business with them many times. Seers, right?”

“Yes. So, Cas is in love with her, though Merlin knows why. I swear, this girl has a bigger temper than Barty and that's a fu– bloody accomplishment…”

“Hi?”

They both turn their heads to Barty, who’s standing barefoot in the doorway. His hair is messy and he still looks half asleep.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Hello. Put socks on, you're going to get a cold.”

Barty waves him off.

“You're such a mother hen, Evan. Why are you even up?”

He sits down on the chair next to Evan and bends his knees, turning in his chair until he's able to put his feet under Evan’s thigh.

“Not all of us like to sleep until noon,” Evan says, even though it's barely nine. Then wrinkles his nose. “I’m not touching your stinky feet.”

Barty gasps and looks at his mother with a pout.

“Mum, Evan is insulting my feet.”

Evan rolls his eyes and wraps his palms around Barty’s ankles. They're cold.

“You're so dramatic.”

“Mum, Evan is insulting my personality.”

Mrs Crouch raises an eyebrow.

“Sweetheart, if you think this is an insult you need to tell your mother about, I have raised you wrong.”

He looks at Evan then.

“Evan, my mother doesn't love me.”

“That seems like a you problem,” Pandora says from the doorway and yawns. “Are those pancakes I smell?”

“I hate that stuck up prick,” Evan says after they’ve eaten dinner and Barty’s still talking with his father.

Pandora nods.

“Me too. I considered poisoning him, but Barty told me not to.”

Shame.

“Mrs Crouch’s nice, though.”

And funny, and smart. Barty's lucky to have her.

“She is. And she likes you. That's good, you know, for the boyfriend thing.”

“What boyfriend thing?”

Pandora punches him on the shoulder.

“Don’t try to fool me. You know what boyfriend thing. The boyfriend thing.”

“How are things with Evans going?”

She rolls her eyes.

“Good, we’re dating. Don’t try to deflect.”

Evan frowns.

“Evans is dating Macdonald, everyone knows this.”

“Yeah, that’s because we’re all dating each other. Now, tell me more about you and Barty. When did you get together?”

“We didn’t. When did you start fucking both Macdonald and Evans? I thought you had no game.”

“It’s called love making, not fucking. But I suppose it started at our birthday party…”

“My family comes from France, originally, and that’s where they met. You know, the rest of my father’s family wasn’t really happy with him, but he didn’t care and married her anyway…”

“I can't believe you two are gossiping without me again.”

“Good morning, Barty.”

Evan drinks a sip of his coffee. The weather is extra cold today. The windowsills are covered in snow and ice.

“Morning, Mum,” Barty says and makes his way across the kitchen. “Morning, Evan.”

He wraps his arms around Evan from behind, hands touching his shoulders, then collarbones, then chest. It feels right, it feels normal but then Evan actually thinks and freezes in place.

What is going on?

“We were only gossiping without you because you were asleep,” he says after a long minute, words strange in his mouth because Barty is plastered all over him and being all touchy feely like it's natural. Like he and Evan are dating and not just dancing around their feelings and flirting obnoxiously. “Morning.”

Barty finally lets him go, but before he has a chance to take a deep, calming breath, Barty fucks it up again with a nonchalant, “I was cold without you in bed.”

Your mother is sitting right here, Evan wants to tell him but his body is not working. Barty sits down and puts his feet in Evan’s lap.

If you actually asked me to, I’d have slept in your bed and kept you warm, he wants to say next, but doesn’t. His mum is right here and Evan is not cruel. Taunting someone with their lack of courage is cruel.

Pandora would have said it. She doesn’t always understand the line between honesty and cruelty. Evan likes it about her. It's something that mostly everyone doesn't like.

Mum would have said that it's spite making him like this flaw of hers. Evan knows better.

It's jealousy.

“Take your feet off,” Evan says, mostly for show. He knows Barty will ignore him. “You should invest in socks, by the way. You're going to catch a cold sooner or later walking barefoot.”

Barty and his mum share a smirk, the one Barty always has on, that always makes Evan think that he knows about some joke that no one else in the world gets.

Maybe someone does after all.

He thinks about–

“It's sweet that you care about my health so much.”

Evan gives him a look.

“I’m being serious.”

“Yeah, me too. Like an Avada to the heart.”

Evan rolls his eyes.

“Avada to anywhere else will also kill you so I don't know why that's a saying.”

Barty shrugs.

“There's probably a reason we don't know about.”

Evan hums.

“Any plans for today?” Mrs Crouch asks.

He shrugs. He'll probably read a book and get annoyed by Pandora.

“I'll take them shopping,” Barty says, taking a sip of Evan’s coffee and smiling at him. “You're gonna love it.”

I hate this , he thinks as they walk through the alleys. Everything is loud, bright and the various smells mixing together in the air makes him want to vomit.

“Are you alright?” 

Barty puts his hand on Evan’s shoulder. It's warm and heavy and Evan wishes Barty could press his body to the floor until the noise and the smell goes away so that the steady pressure would be all he could feel.

Evan opens his mouth to answer, but the words don't want to come. He nods instead.

“You sure?”

“Fine,” Evan says through the lump in his throat.

Barty’s touch on his shoulder turns more tentative, careful and Evan wants to protest, because it's too light, too strange and his skin crawls. He wants to scratch it off.

Instead he shifts closer to Barty, hoping the pressure will come back.

A woman walks next to him, her perfume strong and overwhelming. Vomit raises in his throat.

“You don't seem alright, Evan.”

“I’m fine.”

He steps away from Barty, breaths quick and shallow. His heart is beating in his ears, mixing with the sounds of chatter and laughter, and music, and shuffling and when Evan sees his father in the crowd, it's through tears.

“Dad?”

And then he gets punched in the face.

“You piece of fucking trash! I’m gonna kill you!”

Watching Barty fight is a lot like watching a cat fight. He's quick, vicious and absolutely fucking feral.

“I don't even know who you are.”

That seems to piss Barty off even further. Good job, Dad.

“What are you attacking Evan for, huh?” Barty asks, hands on their father’s throat. His hands are stained with blood, just like Father’s. “What are you doing it for, you fucking imbecile.”

He fists his hand in Father's hair and bangs his head against the ground once, twice. It’s unnecessary and cruel. Evan likes it.

“Answer me!”

He’s fairly sure he shouldn't find this as attractive as he does.

“He took my daughter away from me, that's why!”

The shouting would probably sound better if Father hadn't been choked for a whole minute and didn't get a punch in the stomach right after.

“What are you talking about?” Evan says, holding his hand to his still bleeding nose. “What are you even doing here? You’re supposed to be in France.”

Father scoffs.

“France! France he says! You know damn well I’m not in France, son!”

He does?

“I do?”

“Don't play fool, you fucking rat!”

Barty's hands tighten on his father’s hair and suddenly, his voice is quiet and calm. It's terrifying. It’s comforting.

“If I were you, I’d watch my mouth while talking about your son. Or it'll be the last time you use it.”

He lets him go and stands next to Evan, ignoring the people gathered around them. He puts his bloodied hand on the side of Evan’s neck. His eyes are sharp and filled with emotion.

“Come on, let's get out of here. I’m done shopping.”

Evan swallows heavily. His nose is throbbing and his throat feels tight.

“What about Pandora?”

“She'll come home by herself. She knows the way.”

So Evan goes.

“Oh dear. What happened to you both?”

Barty takes off his jacket, way too fast for how his knuckles are looking and hisses in pain for his efforts.

“I got into a fight with Evan’s dad.”

Mrs Crouch raises an eyebrow and waves her wand, making bandages appear on the table. Evan’s still in his jacket. He doesn't want to stain it with his bloody hands.

“I’ll help with that, love. If it’s you that got into a fight with Evan’s dad, why is he the one with a broken nose?”

Evan mutters his thanks and allows Mrs Crouch to help him.

“That's why I got into the fight to begin with.”

Mrs Crouch’s hands freeze momentarily on Evan’s shoulder and her eyes focus in on his broken nose with a twirl of emotion that Evan saw in Barty’s ones just a couple minutes ago.

“I understand,” she says in that cold tone and suddenly, Evan’s nose starts hurting like a bitch. “Sorry, love, it was just a quick Episkey. Your nose should be alright now.”

She pats his cheek and he wonders when did she start calling him love instead of dear.

“You're so Mum’s favourite, it's not even fair.”

Evan rolls his eyes and wraps the bandage one last time.

“I’m not. Give me the other one now.”

“You are. She healed you completely and left me for the dead. I could die from this, Evan, and she doesn't even care! She'd rather spend her time patting your cheek and calling you love instead of taking care of her first born! Not that I’m surprised, I'd rather that too, but still.”

Evan doesn't blush. He doesn't. He's just red from how warm the living room is. That's all.

“You think you'll bleed out because of busted knuckles?”

Barty shrugs.

“I could.”

He cleans Barty’s knuckles and ignores the hiss of pain it emits.

“You couldn't. Stop being dramatic. Besides, she probably hoped that'd teach you to not pick any more fights in the future.”

“He hit you. Of course I had to hit him back.”

Evan starts wrapping the bandage around his palm, as always avoiding Barty’s eyes.

“What, you didn't like the new look? The blood and the break are a bit too disgusting for you?”

“Are you kidding me? You looked great with the blood everywhere. I think I got a new kink just by looking at you.”

Evan doesn't choke on his own spit, but he's close. Barty smirks.

“You're fucking disgusting,” he finally says, putting a plaster on top of the bandage. “There you go.”

“You like it. Thanks, love.”

Evan stills.

“Your mum calls me that.”

Barty makes a face.

“You're right. Something else then. Darling? Sweetheart? No, that's what Mum calls me. Honey?” He smirks. “Cupcake?”

“Fuck off,” he says and rolls his eyes. “Darling’s fine.”

Barty smiles softly. His fingers touch Evan’s.

“Alright then.”

“Merlin, what happened?”

Pandora comes into the living room, hands full of bags. Only then Evan notices that his jumper is still dirty from all the blood.

“Dad hit me and then Barty beat him up. He's taking a shower upstairs, in case you were wondering.”

Pandora hugs him, although it's awkward and uncomfortable because she's standing and he's sitting on the couch with a book in his lap.

“That's horrible.”

Her eyes are averting his. She's hiding something.

“Yeah. What did you buy?"

She gives him a run down, talks about clothes for an hour during which Barty manages to come down from the shower and hug her too. When she finally stops talking, Evan catches her eyes.

“I'll ask you tomorrow.”

Barty looks between them, silent for once. Pandora’s shoulders sag with relief.

“Alright,” she says and asks him about the book he's reading.

“It’s Christmas tomorrow.”

Evan’s laying on the floor. His nose stopped hurting a while ago. He hums his agreement.

“Dad will finally have to stop working for a day.”

Evan turns around on his mattress until he’s laying on his front and presses his face into the pillow.

“I don’t know how he’ll survive it. A day not in the office. What a waste of time.”

Evan wants to go downstairs and punch Mr Crouch in the face, like Barty did to his own father. Maybe that would have made the restlessness that settled in his bones go away.

He turns around again.

“Sometimes I’m just so…” Barty trails off.

“You’re so what?”

“Angry. Aren’t you angry at your dad?”

Evan doesn’t know what he is. He never does, until he speaks about it aloud.

He never speaks about it aloud. Maybe that’s why he’s so fucking restless.

“I thought we’re talking about your dad.”

“We were. Now we’re talking about yours.”

He sighs.

“I don't know. He was never really a father. Just a drunk, angry man I had to take care of because he's family. He never really did the parental thing with me. Never taught me to fish or some other shit like that.” He itches for a cigarette. “I want to smoke.”

“Knock yourself out. Open the window if you're gonna do it, though.”

It's fucking cold. No other words for it. It's freezing cold and Evan almost gives up on the smoking, but the itching in his bones is more annoying than the cold.

“Oh fuck, it's cold,” Barty says, wriggling around in the bed. “Aren't you freezing in that shirt?”

“I thought mother hening was my job.”

Evan used his wand to light up the cigarette and takes a big drag.

“It's not mother hening if you're about to freeze to death.”

“I’ll come cuddle with you when I get too cold,” he says and although he meant it as a joke, his voice sounds sincere. Maybe he does want to cuddle in bed with Barty.

It's really fucking cold.

“Alright. Just brush your teeth before.”

“What, it'd remind of you of Black too much?”

He doesn't notice Barty’s lack of answer until the cigarette is finished and he's inhaling some nasty tasting shit.

“Did you fall asleep?”

“How did you know about Regulus?”

Evan laughs.

“Everybody knows. It's written all over your face when you look at him. Or at least it used to be.”

He should shut up. He's being cruel.

Maybe he is angry at his father.

“Don’t laugh at me.”

He sounds upset in a way Evan’s not heard him yet.

Sensitive topic? he wants to say. It'd be even more cruelty that Barty doesn't deserve.

I’m sorry, he wants to say, but he doesn't think Barty’d appreciate it. He'd probably feel even more shit.

Instead he puts down the cigarette, closes the window and goes to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth and washes his hand, until the smell of soap replaces the smoke. In the dark, he makes his way to Barty’s closet and feels his way around until his hand finds a shirt that doesn't seem too fancy. He changes quickly and makes his way to the bed.

Barty’s still silent.

“Scoot over.”

He puts the pillow he's taken from his mattress below on the bed and lies down. Barty’s bed is narrow, clearly meant for one person, but when Evan lies on his side, they're not touching too much.

“You don't mind sharing the duvet, right?” he asks while he puts it all around himself. It's warm and the bed is much more comfortable than the mattress on the floor.

He hums contently. Barty’s still quiet. He's probably asleep by now, but how he's managed to fall asleep with Evan rummaging all around is anyone’s guess.

But then Barty shifts, tugs on the duvet and kicks Evan in the shin.

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding apologetic at all.

“Fuck off.”

“You fuck off.”

Evan kicks him in the shin. Barty kicks him back.

“What was that for? It's going to bruise now.”

“You kicked me in the shin.”

“You did it first,” he whispers, punching Barty on the shoulder lightly.

“Accidently.”

“Accidently, my ass.”

Barty punches him back and then hisses from pain. Evan laughs.

“Careful, boxer. You're gonna reopen your wounds.”

“You'll rebandage it for me anyway.”

Evan takes a breath and lets the tension in his shoulders disappear.

“Yes. Yes, I will.”

“Mr Crouch’s still sleeping?”

“He's sorting through papers. Here, love, your tea. A spoon of honey?”

She says it lightly, like it's nothing that her husband’s working on Christmas.

“How do you do it?” he asks before he can stop himself, then looks down on his tea. “I’m sorry, I know it's none of my business.”

“It's quite alright. I know why you're wondering. When I married Barty I knew I was going to share him. My Barty, he likes to dedicate himself to things. Ideas. He saw the holes in the system and now he can't rest until he fixes them all.”

Evan scoffs.

“There's no fixing them all. The Ministry is a mess. It was before the war with Grinderwald and it only got worse since.”

“I know that, you know. Barty probably knows it too. Merlin knows he's smart enough to know. But he's not going to stop.”

She looks resigned to it. Evan wants to punch Mr Crouch again. If Barty feels like this all the time, it's a wonder Crouch Senior is still alive.

“Why are you still with him? It seems miserable to live with someone who only cares about work.”

She smiles.

“Because I love him. I love how dedicated he is to his work because he's not doing it for money or power. He does it because he cares. Because he wants a better world for our son. He cares, so deeply.”

“Barty thinks he doesn't care about him at all.”

“I know. But how am I supposed to look my husband in the eyes and tell him to abandon the work he's been doing all his life? Something he's dedicated years for?”

Evan's heart breaks just thinking about it. He thinks about looking Pandora in the face and telling her to leave Potions behind. That she has to give it up. That he'll leave her if she won't.

He wouldn't. Would he?

“He would split his focus if he wanted to,” he says but knows it's not true.

“He wouldn't. He can't. People like them can't. Barty's just like his father. He'll find a cause and give his life up for it. Maybe you'll stick around long enough to see it.”

Evan drinks his tea.

“Is that my shirt?”

Evan puts the knife down and turns around. Mrs Crouch stirs the sauce in the pan.

“What happened to hello?”

Barty rolls his eyes and leans on the doorway. He's wearing Evan’s hoodie. Although with how long he's had it, it’s basically his.

“Sorry, Mum. Hello.”

“Good morning, Barty,” Mrs Crouch says and turns her head to look at Evan, her eyes sharp. “It is your shirt. I bought it for your birthday two years ago.”

She smirks at Evan and goes back to stirring.

“Huh. So that's what you were doing yesterday with all that rummaging around.”

“What did you think I was doing?”

“No idea. But I couldn't ask, I was too busy being offended.”

Evan shakes his head.

“You're ridiculous.”

“Mhm. Did your shin really bruise?”

He goes to the table and takes Evan’s coffee mug. Evan should have finished it.

“Yeah, it's fu– bloody purple.”

“It's cute that you're trying not to swear in front of my mum. You want me to kiss it better?”

Evan rolls his eyes and turns back around to the cutting board. He picks up the knife and starts cutting the meat.

Suddenly, he feels an arm wrapping around his waist. He nearly jumps out of his own skin.

“Do you want me to stab you? Couldn't you give me a warning or something?”

“You could stab me. Seeing you with a knife does something to me that I shouldn't explain in current company.”

Evan sighs and wills himself not to blush.

“Mrs Crouch, I think something is wrong your son. He told me he liked blood yesterday and now he's also into knifes.”

Barty laughs and puts his chin on Evan’s shoulders. His hair is wet.

“Don't worry, love, it runs in the family.”

Barty freezes and gives him a mortified look.

“What does that… No, don't tell me. I don't want to know. Merlin fuck. What the hell, Mum?”

Mrs Crouch and Evan share a smile while Barty keeps ranting on. Evan’s warm.

Evan’s buttoning his shirt when he notices Pandora in the mirror.

“Nice dress,” he says and looks away. 

Barty's in the toilet. She sits on his bed.

“Thanks,” she says, fiddling with her hands. “Dad wrote me that he'll forgoe the family Christmas since we're not going and that he'll spend it with us at home, but I wrote that you don't want to spend Christmas with him and I decided to go with you.”

It takes everything to not drop his hands and start crying. There's a lump in his throat. He feels–

He continues on with buttoning his shirt.

“Say something, Evan.”

He wants to. He itches to say something unnecessary and cruel.

He fixes his collar. The shirt looks alright.

“Evan. Please.”

What do you want me to–

“Merry Christmas,” he says and walks out.

“Come in.”

“Hello, I’m sorry for interrupting. Mrs Crouch told me about your projects and I was wondering if I could have a look at what you're working on now.”

Mr Crouch looks up from his papers with a raised eyebrow. His eyes scan over Evan’s face.

“Of course, have a seat.”

He starts rambling on, eyes lit in that particular way Evan learnt to asociaste with Barty, and Evan listens.

“What did you do to him?” Barty whispers to Evan’s ear while Mr Crouch keeps talking.

As he leans in, he puts his hand on Evan’s thigh. Mrs Crouch smirks at them.

“I asked about what he does,” Evan says just as quietly and then nods fervently to something Mr Crouch has said. “He hasn't stopped since.”

Finally, they finish discussing the new decree and instead of starting another tangent, as Evan expects, Mr Crouch asks him about his job plans instead.

“I don't know. My OWLs are crap, but I’ll think of something.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

In all of the history books Evan read, they’ve never explained how to tell someone you're talking to that you're an idiot. Useless things.

He shrugs.

“I’m stupid, that's why. Not all of us are Barty or Pandora.”

Silence falls over the table. Evan eats some pudding.

“You're not stupid,” Pandora says, brows furrowed. She sounds angry and Evan doesn't understand why. He's just telling the truth. She turns to Mr Crouch. “He's not stupid at all. He knows everything there is to know about history and duels better than our teacher. And he's an Auror.”

Evan rolls his eyes.

“You don't even have classes with me.”

“Reg does. He told me you're amazing.”

“Black said that?”

“Yes! That's how you know it's true.”

He eats some pudding. He doesn't want to answer.

“And on all the OWLs you passed, you got an O. And you're good at other stuff, like Apparition. You've passed that exam way quicker than me.”

“Let it go, Pan.”

“No. You always do this!”

“Do what?”

“Act like the whole world is against you. Ever since Mum, it's like you think we all mean you harm! Or that we don't care. But I care about you! I only want to help you.”

Evan clenches his jaw so hard it starts hurting.

“I don't know what that has to do with my OWLs.”

Pandora scoffs.

“Like you give a shit about your OWLs.”

“I do give a shit about them.”

“Maybe I would have known that if you said anything about it. But no, you'd rather sulk in silence and make the rest of us figure out what you mean. And then you're angry if we don't!”

“Maybe I would have told you if you asked instead of assuming that I hate my own father and would rather spend Christmas with strangers rather than him!”

Silence. Evan sighs and puts his fork down.

“Excuse me.”

He gets up and leaves.

“I didn't know that you stayed home.”

Father sighs.

“I know. Give me one?”

Evan shakes one out and lights it up when it's in his father’s mouth.

“I thought you'll be drunk.”

Father shrugs.

“I went to rehab in September. Muggle shit. I thought I'll wind up dead in the middle of it. But it helped.”

Evan takes a drag of his smoke.

“You drank since?”

“No.”

He's telling the truth. Evan sighs.

“We can't keep going on like this.”

“No. That's why I went.”

“And what, this just erases everything?”

“It doesn't. Evan, I’ll never forget what you've done for us. I know that I wasnt much of a father for you all this years. And I know that Pandora wasn't really… present, at least not these first few years. And I know that you never got to grieve.”

“I didn't.” Evan wants to stay quiet, but he remembers Pandora’s words. Maybe there's time for speaking also. “Mum was mine. You and Pandora, you always had each other. But I had her. And then she died and you started drinking, and Pandora started talking to imaginary friends and making Potions for hours, not eating, not sleeping, not nothing. I thought you were going to die with her. And then all I'd have left is the Blacks and they would kill me for that fucking inheritance.”

He looks through the open window. It's dark already and fucking cold, the snow settles on the windowsill. He runs his hand through it.

“You were such a happy kid.”

Evan puts his cigarette down.

“I grew up.”

“I know. I’m proud of you.”

He looks his father in the eyes and feels a smile tugging at his lips. He should feel sad. He should feel angry. He should–

He feels warm.

“I talked to Dad.”

“How was it?”

“Better than I thought. He's sober now.”

They share a look.

“I’m sorry,” Pandora says.

“I’m sorry too.”

She nods.

“You should go to Barty, he's been worried ever since you left.”

“I'll probably make out with him. You alright with that?”

She smiles.

“Sure. You're happier when you're with him. And he's happier too.”

Evan should leave. He should go away before it gets even more emotional.

He hugs her instead.

“Merry Christmas, Pan.”

There's time for talking, but not all words must be said aloud in order to be heard.

“You reek.”

“I know. I'll take a shower and come to bed.”

Barty nods and Evan goes to the bathroom. He scrubs himself clean with Barty’s body wash, his hands, neck, chest and sprays it with hot water until his skin turns red from the heat. He washes his hair and feels the water droplets going down his spine as he brushes his teeth. In the end, when he comes out of the bathroom, he doesn’t smell like cigarettes at all. He smells like Barty.

He turns the light off and crawls into bed. The sound of his breathing is covered with the heavy thudding sound of rain hitting the roof.

“It’s a shame it’s raining. The snow will melt.”

Barty hums and as Evan slips under the duvet, he gets closer to him, his cold feet touching Evan’s calves.

“Good. I like the rain better anyway.”

“No one likes the rain better.”

Barty wraps his hand around Evan’s chest, resting it lightly on his hip, bringing him even closer.

“I do. I especially like it during the summer. It’s warm.”

“It’s messy.”

Barty shrugs.

“I like messy.”

Evan smiles.

“Warm and messy, then? That’s your preference?”

It’s dark, but he knows Barty’s smirking.

“Yes, definitely. That, and blonde hair.”

“Hm. I knew you have a crush on Pandora.”

The grip on his hip tightens.

“Don’t say that while you’re lying in my bed and smelling like that.”

“Smelling like what?”

“Like you’re mine.”

Evan’s throat goes dry. He swallows heavily and when his throat is moving up, he feels a wet, warm slide of tongue on his neck. His breath hitches.

“What are you doing?”

“Your neck tastes like a whole pack of smokes.”

That doesn’t answer the question, Evan wants to say, but he thinks he knows the answer anyway.

“You often eat whole packs of smokes?”

“Only every other week. We’ll have to remedy that taste, you know?”

“Hm. Any ideas how?”

Barty hums, like he’s actually considering it. The rain’s still hitting the roof viciously, the sound loud and obnoxious. Evan likes it.

“I think licking it out will work. Or I’ll just get used to the taste. Doesn’t make much of a difference, does it?”

“I suppose not. Not like I have anyone else who licks my neck on the regular.”

Barty licks him again. It’s strangely pleasant.

“Good.”

He moves his fingers on Evan’s hip until they’re under his shirt, gently scratching the soft skin on his side.

“You’re a cat. You fight like crazy, you fucking lick me and now you’re scratching me. What’s next, you’re gonna start purring?”

The scratches turn more aggressive.

“Cats only purr when you pet them.”

Evan laughs breathily and puts his hand in Barty’s hair. He runs his hand through it, blunt nails on skin and Barty makes a noise, burying his face in Evan’s neck.

“You know, I’ve told Pandora I’ll make out with you.”

Barty sighs. His breath tingles Evan’s skin.

“This is so much better than making out.”

A bloody cat.

“Is it?”

He can feel Barty lifting his head slowly, his fingers still in motion on Evan’s hip. It’s so nice, he wants to melt.

“I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”

And then he kisses him.