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Chapter Text

The sun had barely risen over Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, casting a soft, golden light through the enchanted windows of the Great Hall. The sound of chatter and laughter filled the air as students gathered for breakfast. At the Slytherin table, Evan Rosier sat upright, his posture impeccably straight, shirt buttoned all the way to the top. The crisp white fabric contrasted sharply with the deep green of his tie, knotted perfectly, as if he had spent the morning rehearsing how to present himself.

Across the Table, Barty Crouch Jr. lounged with an effortless grace. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a hint of his collarbone, and his tie was draped nonchalantly over his shoulders like a forgotten accessory. A mischievous grin danced across his face as he exchanged jibes with his friends, the sunlight glinting off his unruly dark hair.

Evan stole a glance at Barty, irritation bubbling in his chest. Why did he have to look so infuriatingly relaxed? It was as if Barty existed in a world where rules were merely suggestions, and consequences were reserved for the unfortunate. Evan, on the other hand, thrived on order. Each button fastened, each tie secured; he was a model of what a Slytherin should be—ambitious, disciplined, and above all, composed.

“Rosier! Are you even going to eat, or are you just planning to stare at Crouch all day?” a fellow Slytherin, a boy named Flint, snickered, his fork hovering over a mound of bacon.

“Shut it, Flint,” Evan snapped, his emerald green eyes narrowing. He returned his gaze to his plate, but Barty’s laughter echoed in his ears, a melody that tugged at something deep within him, something he refused to acknowledge.

“Come on, Evan. You know you want to make a scene,” came a teasing voice from beside him. It was Rosmerta, a sly grin on her face as she nudged his arm playfully.

Evan huffed, adjusting his tie just to keep his hands busy. “It’s not about making a scene. It’s about maintaining decorum,” he replied, though even he could hear the strain in his voice. The truth was, his heart raced every time Barty’s carefree laughter floated through the hall. It was maddening.

Across the table, Barty had caught sight of Evan. A smirk spread across his face, and he leaned back, arms crossed behind his head, showcasing his effortless charm. “Hey, Rosier! Is that a new tie? You look like a bloody accountant,” he called out, eliciting laughter from his friends.

Evan’s jaw clenched, and his cheeks flushed. “At least I look presentable,” he shot back, his voice sharper than he intended. The barbs exchanged between them were all too familiar, a constant back-and-forth that had begun in their first year and had never truly ceased.

Barty chuckled, his expression unfazed. “Presentable? You mean like a statue? You could be in the museum with that getup.”

“You wouldn’t know presentable if it slapped you in the face, Crouch,” Evan retorted, but inside, he felt a flutter of something unrecognizable, a mix of annoyance and an undeniable spark of intrigue. Why did Barty have to be so… irritatingly attractive?

The banter continued throughout breakfast, punctuated by laughter and exasperation. Evan felt the tension in his chest build with every passing moment, a confusing blend of irritation and fascination. There was something about Barty—his careless confidence, the way he seemed to embody freedom and defiance, that made Evan’s heart race in a way he couldn’t comprehend.

As the bell rang, signaling the end of breakfast, Evan stood up, smoothing his shirt with a practiced hand. “I’ll see you in Potions, if you can manage to keep your shirt on,” he said with a pointed glare before turning on his heel, determined to maintain his composure.

Barty’s laughter trailed behind him, echoing in the stone corridors of the castle. “Oh, I’ll be there, Rosier! And I promise, no shirts will be buttoned today!”

Evan rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips as he walked away. The day ahead promised to be a battle of wits and wills, but deep down, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something far more complicated than a mere rivalry.

The dimly lit Potions classroom was a sanctuary for those who thrived in the shadows of academia. Shelves lined with dusty jars filled with mysterious ingredients reached toward the ceiling, the scent of herbs and concoctions hanging in the air like a cloak of secrecy. Evan took his seat at the Slytherin side of the long wooden table, his neatly organized supplies in front of him, each item perfectly aligned.

As students filtered in, the tension in the air crackled. Evan felt a familiar sense of purpose wash over him; Potions was one of the few subjects where his meticulous nature shone. He pulled out his parchment, ready to take notes when he heard the unmistakable sound of Barty's footsteps approaching.

“Nice to see you’ve set up your little lab again, Rosier,” Barty teased, sliding into the seat beside Evan without an invitation. He leaned back, arms crossed, an insufferable grin plastered across his face. “Are you trying to impress the professor, or are you just afraid of chaos?”

Evan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “A little bit of order never hurt anyone, Crouch,” he replied coolly, refusing to let Barty’s presence distract him. “Besides, someone has to keep things from descending into madness.”

“Oh, please. A little chaos is good for the soul.” Barty leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s like that time we almost blew up the cauldron in our second year. Remember?”

Evan felt his heart skip. How could he forget? The way Barty had grinned after the explosion, his eyes sparkling with mischief, had been a moment he hadn’t quite processed at the time. “That was different. We almost got detention for it,” he shot back, his voice firm but his stomach twisting in an unwelcome way.

The professor entered, cutting off any further banter. Professor Slughorn swept into the room, his long black robes trailing behind him like a shadow. The students immediately fell silent, the atmosphere thickening with anticipation. He started the lesson, demonstrating how to brew a Wound Healing Potion, his voice low and commanding.

Evan focused intently, taking careful notes, his quill scratching against the parchment. But despite his best efforts, Barty’s presence loomed over him, a constant distraction. Evan could feel Barty’s eyes on him, and every now and then, he caught Barty’s faint smirk as if he were enjoying the show.

“Don’t get too comfortable, Rosier. You might want to pay attention. The potion can explode if not brewed properly,” Barty whispered, a teasing edge to his tone.

Evan shot him a glare, but inside, he felt the heat rise in his cheeks. “I don’t need your warnings,” he muttered, but he could sense the thrill of challenge in Barty’s words. Maybe it was the way Barty seemed to thrive on risk, or perhaps it was the unshakeable confidence that he exuded. Whatever it was, it stirred something within Evan that he couldn’t quite understand.

As the lesson progressed, Barty continued to engage in playful banter, throwing in jabs about Evan’s seriousness and meticulously perfecting the potion to the point of absurdity. Evan countered with clever retorts, their exchanges a familiar dance that stirred a strange exhilaration within him.

“Your potion is going to turn into a potion for curing boredom if you don’t loosen up a bit,” Barty said, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Maybe if you focused less on making jokes and more on your work, you wouldn’t end up with a cauldron full of mush,” Evan shot back, though a smile crept onto his lips despite himself.

But Barty didn’t relent. “Oh, come on, Evan. You’re too serious! Live a little. I’ll let you have some of my potion when I get it right.”

Evan scoffed but couldn’t suppress the laugh bubbling in his throat. “You’d better not poison me, Crouch.”

The potion simmered on their shared table, steam rising and mixing in the air. Suddenly, Evan glanced sideways at Barty, catching him grinning like he’d just concocted a grand scheme. In that fleeting moment, their eyes locked, and Evan felt an electric charge run between them, a spark igniting the tension that had been building all morning. Barty’s laughter faded, replaced by something deeper, something that made Evan’s heart race.

“Alright, let’s see whose potion is better,” Barty said, breaking the moment, leaning back slightly but not breaking eye contact. “Loser has to—”

“Loser has to what?” Evan interrupted, raising an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself.

Barty paused, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Loser has to… I don’t know, wear the other’s tie for a day. How does that sound?”

Evan bit back a laugh. “You think you can make me wear that ridiculous thing?” he challenged, his heart pounding.

“Only if I win,” Barty shot back, leaning closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “And I’m feeling lucky today.”

“Is that right?” Evan replied, their faces inches apart, the playful challenge hanging between them like a thread waiting to snap.

The sound of a cauldron bubbling snapped Evan back to reality. He looked down at their potions, realizing Barty had already poured in an ingredient. “Wait! You can’t just—”

But it was too late. The potion fizzled and sputtered, and in an instant, a plume of bright green smoke erupted from their cauldron, filling the air with a sharp tang. The classroom erupted into chaos, students coughing and scrambling back, while Professor Slughorn’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and authoritative.

“What is going on here?” he demanded, glaring down at the two of them.

Evan felt his heart race as Barty burst into laughter beside him, and despite the chaos, he couldn’t help but join in. It was absurd, and yet somehow perfect—their chaotic little world, brought to life in a single moment.

“Looks like we’re in trouble,” Barty whispered, still chuckling, and Evan’s stomach fluttered.

“Yes, and it’s all your fault,” he shot back, half-serious, half-amused.

Later that evening, the dungeon corridors were quiet, save for the occasional echo of footsteps or the flicker of torchlight against the cold stone walls. Evan Rosier walked alone, his thoughts heavy, though he kept his expression calm and composed. The day’s events clung to him—Barty’s laughter still echoing in his ears, the green smoke from their potion curling like tendrils in his mind.

Trouble seemed to follow Barty Crouch Jr. wherever he went, and somehow, Evan always found himself tangled in the aftermath. He told himself it was annoyance, frustration—but deep down, he knew better. There was something intoxicating about Barty’s chaos, something that pulled him closer despite every instinct to stay away.

Evan rounded a corner near the old astronomy tower when he saw him.

Barty was perched on a windowsill halfway down the corridor, bathed in moonlight, his silhouette outlined against the cold night sky. His shirt was still half-unbuttoned, though he’d abandoned his tie entirely, leaving it draped lazily around his neck like a ribbon after a gift had been opened. His dark hair was a mess of waves, windswept as if he’d been outside, and he sat with one knee pulled up, a cigarette dangling carelessly between his fingers.

Evan froze for a moment, watching from the shadows. Barty hadn’t noticed him yet, and in this rare, unguarded moment, Evan saw something different—a flicker of restlessness in the way Barty exhaled smoke into the night, as if he were trying to escape some invisible weight pressing down on him.

This wasn’t the loud, reckless Barty who lived for pranks and challenges. This was someone else, someone raw and untethered, who sat alone under the stars with no audience, no façade.

Something about the sight sent a pang through Evan’s chest—equal parts confusion and understanding, like stumbling across a familiar song played in a new key.

“Thought smoking was against the rules,” Evan said quietly, stepping into the moonlight.

Barty glanced over his shoulder, startled for only a second before his usual grin slid effortlessly into place. “Rosier,” he said with mock surprise, flicking ash from his cigarette. “What’s this? Caught sneaking around after hours? I thought you were allergic to rule-breaking.”

Evan folded his arms, leaning casually against the stone wall. “Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

Barty chuckled, blowing out another plume of smoke. “And here I thought you came to see me.”

Evan arched an eyebrow. “You flatter yourself.”

“Maybe.” Barty’s grin was lazy and sharp at the edges. “But here you are, anyway.”

Evan looked away, pretending to study the stars through the open window, though his pulse thrummed in his ears. He wanted to say something—anything—to cut through the strange tension between them. Instead, he asked, “What are you doing up here?”

Barty shrugged, taking another slow drag from his cigarette. “Couldn’t sleep.” He exhaled, the smoke curling in the cold night air. “I like it better up here—no noise, no people. Just… space.”

Evan nodded, unsure of how to respond. The Barty he knew was always surrounded by noise—whether it was the chatter of friends or the fallout of whatever trouble he stirred up. This quiet version of him felt foreign, yet strangely familiar, like a secret whispered between them in the dark.

“You’re not what you seem, are you?” Evan said softly, surprising even himself with the words.

Barty turned toward him fully, his grin fading, replaced by something far more vulnerable. “Neither are you, Rosier,” he murmured, his voice low and serious in a way that sent a shiver down Evan’s spine.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the night stretching between them like a fragile thread. The distance felt charged, every breath shared in silence—a strange, unspoken understanding passing between them.

“Why do you act like this?” Evan found himself asking, though the question was more for himself than for Barty.

Barty leaned back on his hands, tilting his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “Like what?”

“Like… none of it matters,” Evan said, gesturing vaguely. “The rules, the future, anything.”

Barty’s smile was small this time, but there was no humor in it—only something sad and knowing. “Because it doesn’t,” he said softly. “Not really.”

Evan’s heart twisted at the honesty in his voice. He knew that feeling all too well—the heavy weight of expectation, the constant pressure to be perfect. But while Evan had buried himself in order, Barty seemed to have chosen the opposite, unraveling himself thread by thread, daring the world to stop him.

“You’re a coward,” Evan said quietly, though there was no venom in the words.

Barty’s eyes flickered, but instead of anger, there was something close to curiosity in his gaze. “And you’re a liar,” he replied just as softly.

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning neither of them was ready to confront. They stood there, suspended in a moment neither of them could quite define, as if caught between two worlds—rivals, allies, something more.

Evan’s throat tightened, and he looked away first, fixing his gaze back on the stars. “You should get back to your dorm before a prefect catches you,” he muttered, though his heart wasn’t in it.

Barty laughed under his breath, a low, warm sound that curled around Evan like smoke. “Aren’t you a prefect?”

“I might make an exception,” Evan murmured, almost to himself.

Barty tilted his head, watching him with a glint of amusement. “How generous of you.” He flicked the cigarette stub out the window and stood, brushing imaginary dust from his trousers. “You always were full of surprises, Rosier.”

Evan didn’t reply, but when Barty moved to pass him, something reckless seized him—a fleeting impulse, gone almost as soon as it arrived. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the loose tie still draped over Barty’s shoulders.

Barty stopped, glancing down at the touch with a raised eyebrow. “What, fancy wearing it after all?” he teased, his voice low, but his eyes held something softer—something closer to real.

Evan dropped his hand, his pulse thrumming in his ears. “In your dreams, Crouch.”

Barty grinned, that familiar spark of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Maybe,” he murmured, stepping closer, close enough that Evan could smell the faint scent of smoke on him, warm and intoxicating. “But then, you always seem to be there too.”

Evan’s breath caught, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them—two boys on the edge of something neither could name, standing beneath the stars with nothing but the night between them.

Then, with a wink, Barty turned and disappeared down the corridor, his laughter echoing softly behind him.

Evan stood there for a long time after he was gone, the ghost of his touch lingering on his fingertips, the night colder without him. And as he stared out at the dark horizon, he realized with a strange certainty that this—whatever this was—was far from over.

The next time Evan saw Barty was the following evening, in the same secluded corridor near the astronomy tower. He wasn’t even looking for him—or so he told himself—but some part of him had known Barty would be there. The cool night air swept through the stone hallway, the smell of smoke lingering in the cracks of the ancient walls.

Sure enough, Barty was waiting, seated once again on the windowsill, shirt still open at the collar, but this time it was worse. **Much worse.**

The sleeves of his white shirt had been rolled up past his elbows, revealing the bare skin of his forearms—and the ink etched across it.

Evan froze mid-step, his breath catching in his throat. On Barty’s left arm, a sleek serpent curled along the inside of his wrist, its body spiraling upward in delicate, sinuous lines. A moth with intricately inked wings sprawled across his other forearm, its black eyes staring lifelessly. The tattoos were beautiful in a way that felt reckless—permanent proof of Barty’s defiance, etched directly into his skin like a refusal to be anything other than himself.

“What the hell is that?” Evan hissed, stepping closer, his voice sharp and cutting as he pointed to the marks.

Barty gave him a lazy grin, as if Evan had complimented his new shoes. “What does it look like, Rosier? It’s art.”

“It looks like a mistake,” Evan snapped, his voice cold with frustration—and something else he didn’t want to name. “Do you have any idea how idiotic it is to get tattoos? What were you thinking?”

Barty arched an eyebrow, clearly unbothered by Evan’s disapproval. “I was thinking it’s my skin,” he replied, smirking. “Relax, Rosier. You’re acting like I just defaced the Mona Lisa.”

“Worse. You’ve defaced yourself,” Evan shot back, narrowing his eyes. He reached out without thinking, his fingers brushing over the serpent’s smooth ink. His touch was light, just a graze—but it was enough to feel the heat of Barty’s skin beneath it, warm and alive beneath the dark lines.

Barty didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned into the touch, his grin deepening. “Careful. If you touch it too much, people might think you like it.”

Evan’s fingers jerked back, the heat rushing to his face. “I don’t,” he muttered, though his pulse betrayed him, thrumming far too fast. “And you’re an idiot for getting them.”

Barty exhaled a soft laugh, tapping the end of a cigarette against the stone windowsill. “You always did love rules, didn’t you? Let me guess—your family would *die* if they saw this.”

“They’d do worse than die. They’d *disown* me,” Evan said flatly, though the words tasted bitter on his tongue. It wasn’t just about rules—it was about control. Order. Expectations. Barty’s tattoos were a reminder of everything Evan wasn’t allowed to be, everything he tried to suppress.

“And yet here you are,” Barty murmured, looking at Evan with something close to amusement. “Obsessing over my tattoos like it’s your personal problem.”

Evan clenched his fists. “I’m not *obsessing*—I’m reprimanding you for being an idiot.”

Barty tilted his head, a sly smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “You know, you’re cute when you pretend to be angry.”

“I am angry,” Evan bit out, though it was getting harder to convince himself that was true. Barty’s gaze felt too sharp, too knowing, as if he could see right through every layer of Evan’s carefully constructed control.

Before Evan could stop himself, he reached out again—this time with purpose—grabbing Barty’s wrist, holding it just firmly enough to stop the smirk from spreading further across his face. “These,” Evan said, his voice low, as if speaking the words too loudly might shatter something between them, “will follow you forever.”

Barty’s grin didn’t falter, but something flickered in his expression—something softer, almost imperceptible. “Good,” he whispered. “That’s kind of the point, Rosier.”

Evan’s grip tightened slightly. “You act like none of this matters, like you’re untouchable. But you’re not, Crouch. One day, this—” he glanced down at the ink curling over Barty’s skin, “—is going to catch up with you.”

Barty’s smile faded just a little, and for a moment, his usual mask slipped. “Maybe,” he admitted quietly. “But at least I’ll know I lived the way I wanted to.”

Evan stared at him, his breath shallow, every nerve in his body on edge. They were standing so close now—closer than they had any right to be. The night pressed in around them, heavy with unsaid things.

“You’re impossible,” Evan muttered, letting go of Barty’s wrist, though his hand lingered for a second longer than it should have.

“And you love it,” Barty whispered, the words sliding between them like silk.

Evan opened his mouth to argue—but found himself speechless, the words slipping through his fingers like sand. Because the truth was, *Barty wasn’t entirely wrong.* There was something addicting about him, like gravity pulling Evan closer, no matter how hard he tried to resist.

“Go back to your dorm,” Evan said finally, his voice quieter than before, the fight drained from it. “Before I change my mind about turning you in.”

Barty leaned in, his lips curling into a wicked grin that sent a shiver down Evan’s spine. “You won’t,” he murmured, and there was a dangerous sort of certainty in his voice. “You never do.”

And with that, Barty slipped past him, his laughter trailing behind him like smoke, leaving Evan standing alone under the stars, his heart pounding in his chest.

Evan stared after him, cursing under his breath.

Because Barty was right. He never did.

Chapter Text

For the next few days, Barty lingered at the edges of Evan’s world like smoke—always drifting close enough to pull attention but never enough to be pinned down. Every time Evan thought he had a grip on himself, Barty was there, catching his eye across the Great Hall or brushing past him in the library with that maddening, knowing grin.

And those tattoos. They haunted Evan’s thoughts more than they had any right to. He could still feel the ghost of Barty’s skin beneath his fingertips, warm and alive beneath the ink. It was reckless. Stupid. Yet he found himself seeking glimpses—Barty’s rolled-up sleeves, the serpent’s head peeking from beneath his cuff, daring Evan to look again.

Evan’s frustration boiled over during their shared prefect patrol one night. The arrangement had been a last-minute change—some Ravenclaw prefect had fallen ill, and Evan had been assigned to cover the shift with none other than Barty Crouch Jr. It felt like the universe was playing some cruel joke.

“You could at least try to look like you care,” Evan muttered as they strolled through the dim hallways, the glow of their wands casting faint halos on the stone walls.

Barty shrugged, hands stuffed lazily into his pockets, his tie missing entirely. “I am caring ,” he said with a smirk. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Evan shot him a sideways glare. “Barely.”

Barty grinned, unfazed by the criticism. “Come on, Rosier. You know you’re thrilled to spend the night with me.”

“Thrilled isn’t exactly the word I’d use,” Evan said dryly, picking up his pace. But Barty followed easily, his steps light and unbothered.

They walked in silence for a while, their footsteps echoing softly in the empty halls. It should have been awkward—two boys who had spent most of their Hogwarts careers bickering, now stuck patrolling together. But it wasn’t. The quiet between them felt... familiar, like a well-worn path they kept circling back to.

Then, as they rounded a corner, Evan caught it—a glimpse of ink beneath Barty’s sleeve as the other boy rolled his arm to adjust his wand. The serpent curled upward, its black coils catching the faint light.

It was the final straw.

“For Merlin’s sake,” Evan snapped, grabbing Barty’s arm before he could think better of it. He yanked the sleeve up further, exposing the full tattoo—dark, elegant lines weaving around his forearm. “Do you have any idea how stupid this is?”

Barty raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying Evan’s outburst. “I think we’ve established that already, haven’t we?”

Evan’s grip tightened on Barty’s wrist, the ink beneath his fingers feeling like a challenge—one that Barty wore on his skin with no regrets. “Do you think you’re invincible? That there won’t be consequences for this? For any of it?”

Barty’s smile softened, and something flickered in his expression—something tired and distant, like a shadow crossing the moon. “The only consequence,” he said quietly, “is living a life that isn’t mine.”

The words hit harder than Evan expected, knocking the wind from his sails. He stared at Barty, suddenly unsure of what he’d hoped to achieve.

“Don’t you ever get tired?” Barty continued, his voice low and serious now, the teasing edge gone. “Of doing everything right ? Of being exactly who they want you to be?”

Evan’s throat tightened. He wanted to argue, to tell Barty that he didn’t understand—that it wasn’t that simple. But the truth hung heavy between them. Yes, he was tired. Tired of pretending, of following the rules, of holding himself together when every part of him wanted to unravel.

For a moment, he let his hand linger on Barty’s wrist, feeling the steady pulse beneath his skin. The tattoo coiled beneath his fingers, a reminder of the freedom Barty wore so easily—and the cage Evan had built around himself.

“Not all of us can live without consequences,” Evan whispered, more to himself than to Barty.

Barty leaned closer, his voice soft but sharp as a knife. “No. But maybe some of us should try.”

The distance between them shrank, and Evan could feel Barty’s breath warm against his skin. His pulse quickened, every nerve on edge as if standing at the edge of a precipice, waiting to fall.

“Crouch,” Evan warned, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness.

Barty’s lips curled into a slow, infuriating grin. “Rosier,” he murmured, as if the name were a secret only they shared.

It would have been so easy to lean in—to close the distance between them, to let go of the tight grip he kept on himself. And for one reckless, dizzying moment, Evan wanted to.

But instead, he dropped Barty’s arm and took a step back, forcing himself to breathe. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, running a hand through his neatly combed hair in frustration.

Barty chuckled, the sound low and pleased. “And you love it.”

Evan shot him a withering glare, though it lacked any real heat. “You’re insufferable.”

“Careful, Rosier,” Barty said with a wink. “You’re starting to sound like you enjoy our little patrols.”

Evan groaned, turning on his heel and stalking down the corridor, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself.

Barty followed, his laughter trailing behind him like a song Evan couldn’t quite stop listening to. And as they continued their patrol, side by side in the quiet night, Evan realized with a sinking heart that he was in far deeper than he’d ever intended.

Because Barty wasn’t just trouble—he was the kind of trouble Evan didn’t want to stay away from.

They moved through the darkened hallways with only the soft hum of magic and their footsteps to fill the silence. Evan kept his wand out, the dim light at its tip illuminating just enough of the path ahead. He told himself to focus, to keep things professional. This was just a patrol—one of many. You’ve done this a hundred times. Act like it.

But having Barty so close, practically radiating mischief, was fraying the edges of Evan’s composure. He could still feel the ghost of their earlier touch, still see that knowing grin in the back of his mind. And worse—Barty knew exactly how far under Evan’s skin he was burrowing.

"Rosier," Barty drawled after a long stretch of quiet, voice low and teasing, "you've been awfully quiet. Thinking about my tattoos again?"

Evan clenched his jaw. "No."

"Sure about that?" Barty smirked, sauntering a little closer. "You were very... hands-on earlier. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you liked touching me."

Evan came to an abrupt halt, spinning on his heel to face him. "Do you ever shut up?"

Barty tilted his head, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Nope." He stepped closer, just enough to make the air between them feel tight, crackling with something unspoken. "Unless, of course, you’ve got a better way to shut me up."

The insinuation hung in the air between them, heavy and unmistakable. For a moment, Evan’s breath hitched, his mind scrambling to respond—but nothing came.

This isn’t happening. It can’t be happening. He’s just trying to get under your skin. That’s all it is. It has to be.

But Merlin help him, the heat in Barty’s gaze felt far too real.

"You're disgusting," Evan muttered, the words brittle and sharp. He turned away abruptly, hoping the darkness would hide the flush creeping up his neck.

"Am I?" Barty's voice was soft behind him, not mocking, but curious—like he was testing something fragile. "Or are you just scared?"

Evan froze.

Scared.

The word sank into him like a hook, dragging something ugly to the surface—something he’d spent years trying to bury. He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t anything . Whatever this was, whatever strange game Barty thought he was playing, it didn’t matter.

It couldn’t matter.

Evan gripped his wand tighter, the cool wood grounding him as he forced the knot in his throat to loosen. "You’re pathetic, Crouch," he said, his voice tight with tension. "Looking for attention in all the wrong places."

Barty let out a soft laugh, the sound brushing over Evan’s skin like smoke. "Maybe," he murmured, close enough that Evan could feel the warmth radiating from him. "But I think you notice me a little too much for someone who’s so above it all."

Evan whirled back to face him, his heart thundering against his ribs. "You're out of your mind."

"Am I?" Barty’s grin was lazy, dangerous. He leaned in just enough to make Evan’s pulse spike, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I think you like this—being this close, not knowing what you want. It drives you mad, doesn't it?"

It did. And that was the worst part.

Evan’s chest tightened as a rush of thoughts clawed at him, fast and frantic—things he didn’t want to think, didn’t want to feel. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t normal. He was supposed to be better than this. Better than him.

But then, why did every nerve in his body burn with the need to stay close?

"Get out of my face," Evan bit out, his voice low and strained, as if forcing the words past a wall inside him. He took a step back, fists clenched at his sides. "This isn’t funny, Crouch."

Barty stayed exactly where he was, his gaze flickering over Evan’s face like he was reading every crack in his armor. "You’re right," Barty said softly, with that same infuriating glint in his eye. "It isn’t funny. It’s fun."

The air between them felt too thin, too sharp, like a string pulled tight and ready to snap. Every instinct in Evan screamed at him to get away, to break the moment before it broke him.

"You're sick," Evan muttered, more to himself than to Barty.

Barty didn’t flinch. "If I’m sick, Rosier," he whispered, leaning just a little closer, "what does that make you?"

Evan’s breath stuttered in his chest, panic clawing at his throat.

I’m not like him. I’m not.

He took another step back, desperate to put space between them, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing ever felt like enough when Barty was involved—like the boy was a fire that burned too close, and no amount of distance could keep the heat from searing him.

"You should leave," Evan whispered, hating how weak his voice sounded, how small he felt beneath the weight of Barty's gaze.

Barty tilted his head, his smile softening—not cruel, not mocking, just... there. Like he knew exactly how Evan felt and was daring him to admit it.

"Alright, Rosier," Barty said quietly, stepping back at last. "For now."

The loss of his presence was like a snapped string, leaving Evan standing alone with nothing but the rush of his own pulse in his ears.

He watched as Barty strolled away down the corridor, whistling softly to himself, like the encounter hadn’t rattled him in the slightest.

And as Evan stood there, fists still clenched, his heart pounding in his chest, he knew one thing for certain:

Whatever this was—whatever tangled, messy thing lay between them—it wasn’t over. Not even close.

And that terrified him more than anything.

Evan spent the following day in a haze, trying—and failing—to focus on anything other than the knot twisting in his chest. Barty’s words lingered like smoke in the back of his mind, slipping into every quiet moment.

"What does that make you?"

Evan knew exactly what Barty had meant. Knew it too well. And the thought of it—the possibility of it—made his skin crawl. He was not like Barty. He couldn’t be.

He shoved the thought down hard, locking it behind the same mental barriers he had perfected over the years. There were expectations—Rosier expectations—and if he faltered even for a second, everything would unravel. There was no room for mistakes. No room for... this .

He clenched his jaw, forcing his mind back to his Charms essay. He’d spent the last hour sitting at the far end of the library, quill in hand, parchment untouched. Words swam in front of him, meaningless. It was infuriating.

A shadow flickered across the table, and Evan stiffened. He knew even before looking up that it was Barty.

Sure enough, there he was, leaning against a nearby bookshelf like he belonged there, his shirt untucked and his tie draped lazily over his shoulders—exactly how Evan had imagined him more times than he’d care to admit.

Barty grinned, like he could read the frustration etched across Evan’s face. “You look tense, Rosier.”

Evan glared at him, refusing to take the bait. “What do you want?”

Barty slid into the seat across from him, as if invited. “What makes you think I want something?”

“Because you always want something,” Evan muttered, gripping his quill tighter than necessary.

Barty rested his chin in his hand, his grin widening. “Maybe I just enjoy your company.”

Evan’s heart did that awful, traitorous flutter again, and he hated how easily Barty affected him—like a storm cloud rolling in without warning. He wanted to tell him to leave, to walk away and never come back, but the words got tangled on his tongue.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Evan said quietly, though there was no real force behind the words.

“And yet,” Barty drawled, “here I am.”

He tilted his head, watching Evan with a lazy curiosity, like he was trying to peel back every layer of control Evan had built around himself. It made Evan feel exposed, like standing at the edge of a cliff with nothing to hold onto.

Barty leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Why do you keep fighting it, Rosier?”

Evan’s pulse quickened, and he hated how obvious it must have been. “Fighting what ?” he asked, though they both knew the answer.

Barty gave him a slow, deliberate smile, one that felt more like a challenge than anything else. “This.”

Evan’s throat tightened. He glanced around the library, half expecting someone to overhear—someone to see through the cracks in his carefully maintained facade. But no one was watching. It was just them, tucked away in a quiet corner, where the rest of the world didn’t exist.

“There is no this ,” Evan whispered harshly, more to himself than to Barty. “Whatever you think this is, it isn’t real.”

Barty hummed, unconvinced. “Feels pretty real to me.”

Evan dragged a hand through his hair, feeling like he was suffocating under the weight of it all—the expectation, the fear, the want . He had spent years keeping it buried, hidden under layers of perfection and control, but Barty—careless, reckless Barty—was tearing through those walls like they were paper.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Evan muttered, his voice tight.

Barty leaned closer, his grin softening into something quieter, something that made Evan’s heart stutter. “You say that like you don’t want to play too.”

Evan swallowed hard, his fingers digging into the edge of the table. He knew he should walk away. He knew he should end this before it got worse—before it became something he couldn’t take back.

But Barty’s gaze held him in place, dark and steady and full of promises that Evan wasn’t ready to understand.

And Merlin help him, some part of him didn’t want to walk away.

“You’re out of your mind,” Evan whispered, more to himself than to Barty.

Barty’s grin returned, sharp and satisfied. “You keep saying that, Rosier.”

Evan clenched his jaw, struggling to hold onto what little composure he had left. “This isn’t—”

But before he could finish the thought, Barty reached across the table, brushing his fingers lightly over Evan’s hand. It was barely a touch, but it sent a shock through Evan’s system, leaving him breathless.

“You can lie to yourself all you want,” Barty murmured, his voice low and smooth, “but I see you, Rosier. And you’re not as perfect as you pretend to be.”

The words hit like a blow, cutting through every defense Evan had. He pulled his hand back quickly, as if burned, his heart hammering in his chest.

“I—” He couldn’t find the words. Couldn’t breathe.

Barty’s eyes softened, just a little. “It’s okay to want things, you know.”

Evan stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “I need to go,” he muttered, his voice uneven.

Barty didn’t try to stop him. He just leaned back in his chair, watching with that same infuriating grin, like he knew exactly how deep Evan had fallen—and was waiting patiently for him to stop pretending otherwise.

Evan turned on his heel and walked away, his heart racing, his mind spinning.

But even as he fled, he knew the truth.

He could run from Barty all he wanted.

But eventually, the running would stop.

And when it did, Barty would still be there, waiting for him with that maddening grin—and Evan didn’t know if he’d have the strength to walk away a second time.
Evan Rosier was not a coward. He told himself this every time he spotted Barty Crouch Jr. in the halls, every time he took a sharp turn down a corridor or ducked into a classroom just to avoid those sharp blue eyes and that damned grin. It wasn’t cowardice—it was self-preservation. Whatever strange, dangerous game Barty was playing, Evan wasn’t interested. He couldn’t be.

But despite his best efforts, Barty was everywhere . In the Great Hall, sprawled across a bench with his legs stretched lazily into the aisle, like he hadn’t a care in the world. In classes, sitting just close enough for Evan to notice the scuff on his shoes or the ink stains on his fingers. In the library, where he would always choose a seat too close to Evan’s table, flipping through a book as if his mere presence wasn’t infuriating.

It was suffocating.

For the next few days, Evan perfected the art of avoidance. He left meals early, timed his route to class to avoid crossing paths, and stayed holed up in the farthest corners of the library. Every encounter, every near-brush with Barty was another knot tightening in his chest. If he could just keep his distance, keep everything locked down, then it would all go away.

But it didn’t go away. And the longer he spent avoiding Barty, the more obvious it became that he was running—not just from Barty, but from himself.

The real problem wasn’t Barty’s teasing grin, or the way his eyes lingered just a second too long. The problem was how much Evan noticed —how easily his gaze drifted to Barty’s hands, his lips, the curve of his smirk. How something inside him reacted every time Barty spoke to him, as if a flame had been lit deep in his chest.

And that was dangerous.

It wasn’t just the world that expected certain things from him— he expected certain things from himself. He was supposed to be perfect. Straight-laced. Everything in its place. Rosiers didn’t bend. They didn’t falter. And they certainly didn’t entertain... this .

So Evan buried it. He doubled down on his routines, kept his shirts buttoned up to the very top, tied his tie a little tighter, and refused to let anyone see the cracks forming beneath the surface. He would outlast this. He had to.

---

It was a Thursday evening when Evan’s fragile control finally began to slip. He had stayed late in the library again, hidden in the deepest corner with a stack of textbooks that he wasn’t reading. The glow of the enchanted lamps flickered above him, casting warm light across the parchment scattered on his table.

He was halfway through pretending to read an essay on advanced Transfiguration when a familiar voice broke the quiet.

“You’re avoiding me, Rosier.”

Evan froze, his quill scratching across the parchment mid-word. He looked up slowly, already knowing who it was.

Barty stood in the aisle, one hand in his pocket, the other resting lightly on the back of a chair. His tie was gone, again—of course—and his shirt was half unbuttoned, the inked coils on his forearm peeking out beneath rolled sleeves.

Evan forced himself to sit straighter, ignoring the sudden tightness in his throat. “I’m not avoiding you.”

Barty raised a brow, his grin lazy and knowing. “Right. You’ve just developed a sudden passion for obscure study corners and early breakfasts.”

Evan shot him a withering glare. “Some of us actually care about our grades.”

Barty didn’t move. Just stood there, looking at Evan with that maddeningly patient expression, as if waiting for him to drop the act. And the worst part? He was right. Evan was avoiding him—and they both knew it.

“You can’t keep this up forever, you know,” Barty said quietly, leaning against the edge of the table.

Evan’s pulse kicked up, but he kept his expression cool. “Keep what up?”

Barty tilted his head, a slow smile curving his lips. “Pretending you don’t care.”

Evan’s grip on his quill tightened until his knuckles turned white. “I don’t care.”

Barty hummed, clearly unconvinced. He leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Then why are you running, Rosier?”

The words were like a key turning in a lock, releasing all the tension Evan had tried so hard to suppress.

“I’m not running,” Evan snapped, shoving his chair back with more force than necessary.

Barty’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “No?”

“No.” Evan stood, his hands clenched at his sides. His heart was pounding, fast and uneven, and he hated how transparent it felt—how exposed he was under Barty’s gaze. “This—whatever this is—it’s not real. You’re just trying to get a reaction out of me.”

Barty’s grin softened, and for a moment, he looked almost... sincere. “Maybe.” He took a step closer, his gaze steady. “But I think you care more than you want to admit.”

Evan swallowed hard, every muscle in his body wound tight. “I don’t.”

“Liar.”

The word hung in the air between them, soft and deliberate, like a spell cast in the quiet of the library.

Evan’s heart hammered in his chest, the space between them suddenly too small, too warm. He could feel Barty’s presence like gravity, pulling at every thread of control he had left.

“Why are you doing this?” Evan whispered, his voice strained.

Barty’s gaze softened, and for the first time, the teasing edge in his smile faded. “Because you’re interesting, Rosier. And because... you’re not as different from me as you think.”

Evan’s throat tightened. He wanted to argue, to tell Barty he was wrong—that they were nothing alike. But the words wouldn’t come.

Because deep down, some part of him knew that Barty was right.

And that terrified him more than anything.

Chapter Text

Evan’s pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out the rational part of his brain that begged him to walk away. Barty stood too close, and the soft, knowing look in his eyes unraveled something fragile inside Evan. His carefully crafted armor—years of control, of denial—was starting to crack, and Barty was slipping through every fracture like water finding its way through stone.

Don’t let him win. Don’t let him see you.

Evan took a sharp step back, shoving a chair out of the way with his heel. “Whatever it is you think you see in me,” he said, voice low and tense, “you’re wrong.”

Barty didn't budge, just watching him with infuriating calm, like a cat that knew its prey would come crawling back eventually. “I don’t think I am,” he said, and his quiet certainty was worse than any taunt.

Evan forced a scoff, masking the way his hands were trembling. “You think you know me?” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Maybe not,” Barty admitted, and that easy, careless grin tugged at the corner of his mouth again. “But I know what it looks like when someone’s afraid of what they want.”

The words hit Evan squarely in the chest, far too close to the truth he had buried so deep he could barely admit it to himself. The truth that had haunted him for years, festering under the surface, twisting itself into shame and anger.

He stepped back again, further this time, desperate to put space between them. “I’m not—” He stopped himself before the word afraid could slip out, hating how close it had come.

Barty smiled, soft and satisfied. “You are.”

Evan clenched his fists so tightly his nails bit into his palms. He wanted to argue, to tell Barty to shut up, to stop looking at him like that —but every word stuck in his throat, tangled in a knot of fear and frustration.

Barty tilted his head slightly, studying him with a kind of casual curiosity that made Evan feel exposed. “What are you so scared of, Rosier?” he asked, voice low and maddeningly gentle. “That you might want something you’re not supposed to?”

The question shattered something inside Evan. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.

“I’m not like you,” he whispered, though it sounded weak, even to his own ears.

Barty’s gaze softened, something almost like sympathy flickering behind his grin. “No,” he said quietly, “but you could be.”

Evan’s breath hitched, panic clawing at his throat. He couldn’t— wouldn’t —let this happen. Barty was reckless and unhinged, a boy who wore chaos like a second skin. And Evan… Evan was supposed to be better. Perfect. Controlled. Normal.

He grabbed his bag from the table and turned without another word, shoving past Barty as he stormed out of the library. His heart raced, every nerve in his body screaming at him to get as far away as possible, to shut the door on this thing—this feeling—before it could swallow him whole.

He told himself he wouldn’t look back.

But even as he walked away, he could still feel Barty’s gaze on his back, warm and steady, like the weight of something inevitable.

---

Avoiding Barty after that encounter became a full-time job. Evan threw himself into his schoolwork, skipped meals, and spent as little time in the common areas as possible. He arrived early to classes and left the moment they ended, always watching the door out of the corner of his eye in case Barty strolled in with that maddening grin of his.

It wasn’t sustainable, but Evan didn’t care. He just needed to outlast it—outlast him .

But Barty, being who he was, didn’t make it easy.

Evan started catching fleeting glimpses of him at every turn: leaning against the wall outside Potions, hands shoved into his pockets and an infuriating smirk on his face; brushing past him in the hallways, close enough for their shoulders to graze; sitting at the edge of the Slytherin table, eyes sharp and watchful as Evan tried—and failed—not to notice.

It was unbearable. And worse than the encounters themselves was the way they made Evan feel .

Every brush of Barty’s shoulder sent a jolt through him that he couldn’t control. Every glance, every smirk, stoked a fire inside him that he didn’t know how to put out.

Evan hated it. He hated the way his heart betrayed him, hated the way his thoughts circled back to Barty no matter how hard he tried to bury them.

He hated that, despite everything, some part of him liked the attention.

---

It all came to a head on a cold, rainy evening a few days later. Evan was hurrying through the empty hallways, his cloak pulled tight around his shoulders, when he heard familiar footsteps behind him.

He didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“Rosier,” Barty called, his voice light and teasing, as if they were old friends. “Running away again?”

Evan clenched his jaw and quickened his pace, but Barty only laughed, catching up with infuriating ease.

“Come on,” Barty said, falling into step beside him. “How long are you going to keep this up?”

Evan stopped abruptly, whirling on him with all the frustration and fear that had been building inside him for days. “What do you want from me, Crouch?” he snapped, his voice sharp and brittle.

Barty didn’t flinch. He just stood there, calm and steady, as if Evan’s outburst was exactly what he’d been waiting for.

“I want you to stop pretending,” Barty said softly, his gaze steady and unrelenting. “I want you to stop running.”

Evan’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat like a hammer against a wall that was already cracking. He opened his mouth to argue, to deny it all again—but the words refused to come.

Because Barty was right.

He had been running. From Barty. From himself.

And he didn’t know how much longer he could keep it up.

For a long moment, they just stood there, the hallway silent except for the distant patter of rain against the windows.

And in that moment, something shifted—something that Evan wasn’t ready to name, but couldn’t ignore.

Barty took a small step closer, his voice low and careful. “You don’t have to run, Evan.”

The sound of his name—soft and unguarded—made Evan’s chest tighten painfully.

He didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

Because for the first time, he didn’t know if he wanted to run—or if he wanted to stay exactly where he was.

Evan didn’t think. The moment Barty said his name—soft and too-close—something inside him snapped. His brain screamed danger in a way that no logic could overcome, and before he could stop himself, his legs moved.

He bolted.

He turned sharply, robes whipping behind him as he raced down the corridor, his heart pounding in his throat. He heard Barty’s surprised laugh behind him, light and amused, but Evan didn’t dare look back. He ran faster, feet echoing off the stone floors as panic clawed at his chest.

I need to get out. I need to get away.

Every brush with Barty felt like teetering on the edge of a cliff. If he stayed a moment longer, if he let himself listen to the siren call of Barty’s voice, he’d fall—and there would be no going back.

He flew down the stairs two at a time, slipping once but catching himself before he hit the ground. The dungeons loomed ahead—dark, familiar, safe. His sanctuary. His escape.

Evan didn’t stop running until he reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Gasping for breath, he barked out the password, and the stone wall slid open just in time for him to scramble inside. The moment the entrance sealed shut behind him, the tension in his chest loosened—just slightly.

The common room was empty, the fire in the hearth burned low, and the green-tinted lamps cast a dim glow across the stone walls. Evan didn’t waste a second. He hurried through the space, up the narrow staircase to the boys’ dormitory, and all but threw himself onto his bed.

---

He yanked the emerald-green curtains closed around him with trembling hands, shutting out the world beyond. For good measure, he pulled the blankets over his head, cocooning himself in layers of heavy fabric.

His breathing was shallow and uneven, his heart still racing like he’d been chased by a pack of dementors.

This is ridiculous, he thought, but the thought did little to calm him. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing his pulse to slow, willing the ache in his chest to go away.

He hated how weak this made him feel—hated that Barty had gotten under his skin so easily, worming his way into places Evan didn’t want anyone to see.

For years, Evan had been the perfect Rosier: composed, untouchable, everything in place. And now, all it took was one smirk from Barty bloody Crouch to make it all fall apart.

Evan groaned, pressing his palms over his face beneath the blanket. I am not doing this. I am not—

But no matter how hard he tried to force the thoughts away, they looped back to Barty—the way he said Evan’s name, soft and deliberate. The way his gaze lingered, like he saw him, really saw him, and didn’t mind what he found.

And that was the worst part.

Because deep down, some small, traitorous part of Evan liked it.

He clenched his jaw, anger and shame swirling inside him like a storm. No. He wouldn’t allow it.

This wasn’t him. He could bury it—just like he buried everything else that didn’t fit neatly into the mold he had crafted for himself. He just needed to stay away from Barty. If he could do that—if he could outlast the storm—everything would go back to normal.

Normal. Perfect. Safe.

He curled tighter under the covers, clutching the blanket like it could shield him from the mess unfolding inside his head. His breathing finally started to even out, the suffocating panic giving way to exhaustion.

I just need to sleep. I’ll feel better in the morning.

But as he lay there, wrapped in the familiar weight of his bedding, the image of Barty’s lazy smile refused to leave him. The sound of his voice echoed softly in the back of Evan’s mind, relentless and inescapable.

“You don’t have to run, Evan.”

Evan squeezed his eyes shut tighter, willing the voice to disappear. But it stayed.

And somehow, that scared him more than anything else.
Evan was on the verge of drifting off, tangled in a restless half-sleep beneath his blankets, when the door to the dormitory creaked open.

His stomach twisted. Please not him. Anyone but him.

He lay perfectly still, trying to convince himself it was one of the other boys stumbling in from the common room. But then the heavy, uneven footsteps got closer, accompanied by the faint scent of alcohol and something distinctly Barty .

Evan’s heart sank into his stomach.

The curtains to his bed were yanked open with far more force than necessary, and there he was—Barty Crouch Jr., swaying on his feet, shirt half-untucked, and grinning like he'd just uncovered the world’s greatest secret.

“Well, well,” Barty slurred, voice low and smug. “Look what I found.”

Evan groaned softly, dragging the covers tighter over his head. “Go away, Crouch.”

“Rosier,” Barty sang, ignoring the very clear invitation to leave. “Hiding from me again? Under your blankets , no less?” He gave an exaggerated pout. “I’m hurt , truly.”

Evan’s pulse thumped erratically in his ears, both from irritation and that ever-present fear of what being near Barty did to him. “You’re drunk.”

“Very,” Barty confirmed with a grin, and before Evan could react, Barty shoved aside the rest of the curtains and climbed into the bed.

Evan scrambled back, nearly falling off the other side. “What the hell are you doing?”

Barty flopped down on his side with a sigh, like they did this every night. “It’s cozy in here.”

“You—” Evan spluttered, trying to push him off the bed, but Barty was all loose limbs and drunken weight, impossible to move.

“Stop squirming,” Barty mumbled, eyes half-lidded as he settled in, his head propped lazily on his hand. His dark hair fell messily across his face, and his tie—still draped uselessly around his neck—dangled just out of reach.

Evan’s heart pounded painfully in his chest. Barty’s proximity was overwhelming—the heat of him, the scent of firewhisky, the ease with which he occupied space that wasn’t his to take.

“You can’t just—” Evan started, voice strained, but Barty cut him off with a lazy, drunken grin.

“Relax, Rosier,” he murmured, his gaze heavy-lidded and teasing. “What are you so afraid of? It’s just me.”

That’s the problem.

Evan stared at him, wide-eyed, frozen between the urge to shove him out and the temptation to stay perfectly still and pretend this wasn’t happening. His brain was screaming at him to push Barty away, but his body—traitorous as ever—refused to move.

Barty tilted his head slightly, squinting at Evan like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “You know,” he said, voice softer now, “you’re even prettier up close.”

Evan’s breath caught painfully in his throat. “Barty—”

“Shhh,” Barty whispered, reaching out as if to brush a lock of hair from Evan’s face. Evan jerked back so hard he nearly banged his head on the bedpost.

“Don’t.” His voice was sharper than he intended, cutting through the drunken haze between them.

Barty blinked, momentarily thrown off, but then that infuriating grin crept back. “You’re such a tight-ass, Rosier.” He said it without malice—just lazy amusement, as if Evan’s tension was a curious little obstacle he planned to dismantle piece by piece.

Evan pressed his palms into the mattress, trying to steady himself. “You need to leave.”

Barty’s grin softened into something that was almost fond. “You’re so wound up.” He gave a small, sloppy chuckle. “You need to let go. Just a little.”

“I’m not like you,” Evan whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Barty blinked slowly, still drunk, but his gaze sharpened just enough to catch the crack beneath Evan’s defenses. “That’s what you keep telling yourself,” he murmured, leaning closer until Evan could feel his breath, warm and whiskey-sweet. “But I think you want to be.”

Evan’s chest tightened painfully. “You’re drunk.”

“And you’re scared,” Barty whispered, with the same maddening certainty as always.

Evan hated how easily Barty saw through him—how effortlessly he slipped past the walls Evan had spent years building. He wanted to shove him away, to scream at him to leave, but his body refused to cooperate.

“Go to bed, Crouch,” Evan said, forcing his voice to stay steady.

Barty smiled—a lazy, knowing smile that made something twist inside Evan’s chest. “Already am,” he whispered, flopping down onto the pillow beside him, utterly content.

Evan groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “You are unbelievable .”

Barty gave a soft, drunken hum, his eyes fluttering shut. “You’ll miss me when I’m gone, Rosier.”

Evan rolled his eyes, but his chest ached in a way he didn’t quite understand. “Go to sleep.”

Barty’s breathing slowed, and within minutes, he was out cold, sprawled across Evan’s bed like he belonged there.

Evan lay stiffly beside him, clutching the blanket like a lifeline, trying desperately not to think about how natural it felt to have Barty there—how easy it would be to just let go .

He shut his eyes tight, willing himself to sleep.

But the weight of Barty’s presence pressed against him, warm and solid, and no matter how hard Evan tried, he couldn’t run from the truth gnawing at the edges of his mind.

He didn’t want Barty to leave.

And that terrified him more than anything.

Chapter Text

Evan woke to the unpleasant sensation of being squished under someone else’s weight. For one disorienting moment, he thought it had all been a dream—Barty sneaking into his bed, the lazy flirtations, the taunting grin.

Then the warm body draped half across him shifted, and Evan’s stomach sank.

It was definitely real.

Barty was still asleep, his face buried in Evan’s pillow, limbs sprawled in every direction like he’d tried to occupy the entire bed. His hair was a wild, tangled mess, dark strands falling into his eyes and over his slack mouth. He looked irritatingly peaceful, like he belonged there—like he’d always belonged there.

Evan carefully slid out from under him, cursing softly when Barty gave a contented little sigh and nuzzled deeper into the pillow. He was too hungover—or maybe just too stupid—to care that he’d spent the night in someone else’s bed.

Evan sat on the edge of the mattress, running a hand down his face. Merlin help me, he thought, trying to ignore the strange warmth lingering in his chest. Barty was still dead to the world, but Evan knew it wouldn’t last. Any second now—

Barty stirred suddenly, groaning low in his throat as if the very act of waking up was a personal affront. He cracked one bleary eye open, took in his surroundings with slow confusion, and then—

“Oh no,” Barty muttered, lurching upright. His face turned a worrying shade of green.

Evan’s eyes widened. “Crouch—”

Barty clapped a hand over his mouth and staggered to his feet, swaying precariously.

“ Bathroom. ” That was the only warning Barty managed before bolting from the room, one hand still pressed to his mouth.

Evan sat frozen for half a second, and then—against every instinct screaming at him to let Barty deal with his own mess—he jumped to his feet and followed.

---

He found Barty slumped over the sink in the dormitory’s tiny bathroom, pale and shaking as he wretched into the porcelain basin. His hair, long and unruly, hung in his face, getting in the way as he clung to the edge of the sink like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Evan stared for a moment, biting back the urge to walk away and pretend this wasn’t his problem. But something— stupid guilt, probably —kept him rooted in place.

With a frustrated sigh, Evan grabbed the hair tie from his wrist—something he usually used to pull his own hair back when studying—and stepped closer.

“Hold still,” Evan muttered.

Barty groaned pitifully, too miserable to argue.

Evan gathered Barty’s hair in both hands, fingers working with unexpected care as he twisted the dark strands into a quick, messy knot. He tugged the hair tie around it, securing it at the nape of Barty’s neck.

“There,” Evan said briskly, stepping back. “Now you won’t choke on it.”

Barty gave a pathetic laugh between coughs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re so thoughtful, Rosier.”

Evan rolled his eyes. “You’re disgusting.”

Barty leaned heavily against the sink, looking half-dead but still managing a crooked grin. “And yet you’re here. Helping me. Funny how that works.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Evan crossed his arms, annoyed at how easily Barty’s presence rattled him even in this pitiful state.

Barty closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the cool edge of the sink. “You could’ve let me drown in my own hair, you know.”

“Believe me, the thought crossed my mind,” Evan muttered.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

And maybe that was the problem.

Barty cracked one eye open, his grin lazy and far too pleased for someone who had just vomited. “You like me, Rosier. Admit it.”

Evan’s stomach twisted painfully, every instinct telling him to shut this down before it spiraled out of control. “You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Barty hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head as if he were considering it. “Maybe.” He smiled again—so soft and certain it made Evan’s chest ache. “But you’re not drunk. And you’re still here.”

Evan clenched his jaw, trying not to think too hard about what that meant. He turned away sharply, muttering, “Clean yourself up, Crouch.”

As he left the bathroom, Barty’s soft chuckle followed him—low and amused, like he’d already won some game Evan hadn’t even realized they were playing.

And the worst part?

Evan knew, deep down, that Barty wasn’t wrong.
Evan stalked back to the dormitory, heart pounding, and sat rigidly on the edge of his bed. He clasped his hands in his lap to keep them from shaking. This has to stop. Whatever dangerous thing had started to form between him and Barty, it was slipping further out of his control.

Barty Crouch was chaos, pure and unfiltered—a storm that Evan couldn’t afford to get caught in. He prided himself on order, on precision, on being above the reckless impulses that seemed to rule the lives of others. But somehow, Barty made it all unravel.

And worse, Evan found himself standing at the edge of that chaos… ready to leap.

---

A few minutes later, Evan heard the bathroom door creak open, followed by the familiar shuffle of Barty’s unsteady footsteps. He tried to keep his gaze firmly fixed on the window, but when Barty appeared in the doorway—barefoot, pale, and leaning on the frame for support—Evan’s traitorous eyes flicked over to him.

Barty looked worse than usual, his sharp cheekbones even more pronounced, but the lazy, knowing smile still lingered on his lips. His hair, now tied back in the messy knot Evan had made, gave him an annoyingly boyish look.

“You’re still here.” Barty’s voice was rough from both drinking and retching, but somehow he managed to sound smug.

“I live here,” Evan said flatly.

Barty shuffled closer, his bare feet making soft sounds against the cold stone floor. “Could’ve gone to breakfast. Or anywhere else, really.”

Evan tensed, his jaw tightening. “You’re reading too much into it.”

Barty grinned like Evan had just confirmed something for him. “I don’t think so.” He sat—no, collapsed —onto the bed beside Evan, close enough that their knees brushed.

Evan flinched at the contact, trying to scoot away, but the bed was small, and Barty didn’t seem inclined to move.

“You really are no fun,” Barty murmured, resting his head back against one of the bedposts. “All that tension. I can practically feel it radiating off you.”

Evan forced a slow, steady breath through his nose. “What do you want, Crouch?”

Barty gave a low chuckle, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and mischief. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Merlin, you’re insufferable. ”

“You’ve mentioned.” Barty tilted his head, his grin softening into something less taunting and more genuine. “And yet, here you are.”

Evan didn’t have an answer for that. He hated how easily Barty could twist him in circles, hated how his words felt like little hooks, sinking into places Evan didn’t want touched.

Barty’s gaze flicked to the knot Evan had made in his hair, and he gave a small, amused hum. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Rosier.”

“Had what in me?” Evan snapped, the tension making his words sharper than intended.

Barty leaned in slightly, just enough to make Evan’s heart stutter. “A soft spot,” he whispered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Evan’s throat closed, panic surging through him. “Don’t—”

“Relax.” Barty’s voice was low, not teasing this time. “I’m not going to bite.”

The worst part was that Evan believed him.

And that terrified him even more.

---

They sat in tense silence for a moment—Evan clutching his knees to keep from unraveling completely, Barty slumped beside him like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Why are you doing this?” Evan whispered, the question slipping out before he could stop it.

Barty glanced at him, a flicker of something complicated passing through his expression. “Because you make it so fun.”

Evan glared at him, but Barty’s smile stayed, infuriating and disarming all at once.

“And maybe,” Barty added softly, “because you’re not half as cold as you think you are.”

Evan felt the floor shift beneath him, the ground he’d stood on for years crumbling away. He clenched his fists, desperate to hold on to whatever composure he had left.

“You need sleep,” Evan muttered, standing abruptly and putting as much space between them as the small room would allow.

Barty tilted his head back, that lazy grin still lingering on his lips. “You care.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Barty gave a soft laugh. “You know, I think that’s why you hate me so much. You care. And it terrifies you.”

Evan’s chest ached with something sharp and unwelcome. He turned away before Barty could see just how much truth there was in those words.

“I’m done with this conversation,” Evan muttered, dragging a hand through his hair and already planning how he could avoid Barty for the rest of the day. Maybe the week.

Barty chuckled, low and fond. “You’ll miss me, Rosier.”

Evan didn’t answer. Because deep down, he knew that Barty was right.
Evan kept his back to Barty, pretending to busy himself with straightening his robes even though they were already perfect. His pulse drummed at his temples, every word Barty had said gnawing at his nerves.

He could still feel Barty’s presence behind him—close, overwhelming, impossible to ignore. Even hungover and slumped on the bed, Barty’s chaotic energy was like static in the air. It made Evan’s skin itch, pulling at every tightly-wound string inside him, daring one to snap.

"I’ll miss you?” Evan scoffed under his breath, forcing his hands to stop fidgeting. “You have delusions, Crouch."

But the words rang hollow, even to his own ears.

Barty hummed in amusement, his voice still rough from sleep and whiskey. “Keep telling yourself that, Rosier.”

Evan turned sharply, giving Barty the coldest look he could muster, but Barty only grinned wider, infuriatingly at ease despite the miserable state he was in. His long hair—still tied up in Evan’s haphazard knot—hung lazily at the nape of his neck, and somehow even that felt like an affront to Evan’s sanity.

“You’re not charming,” Evan said stiffly, folding his arms across his chest as if it could act as some kind of shield.

Barty raised a brow, his grin deepening. “Not even a little?”

“No.” Evan clenched his jaw, heat rising to his face. This is just a game to him. And somehow, knowing that made it worse.

Barty leaned back on his elbows, tilting his head like he was studying Evan—a curious little puzzle he was intent on solving. “You’re wound so tight,” he said, almost thoughtfully. “Aren’t you tired of it? The whole perfect Rosier act?”

Evan’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. Yes. But he would never admit it. Not to himself. And certainly not to Barty Crouch.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

Barty’s gaze softened, and that— that —was the worst part of all. Because in that brief moment, he looked like he did know. Like he saw every messy, broken piece that Evan worked so hard to keep hidden.

Evan swallowed hard, panic clawing at his throat. “Get out, Crouch.”

Barty’s grin faltered for a split second, something unreadable flickering in his expression. But then he gave a lazy shrug and pushed himself to his feet with all the grace of someone used to being in trouble.

“Alright, Rosier.” He dragged a hand through his hair, loosening the knot Evan had tied. “I’ll leave. For now.”

Evan’s fists clenched at his sides. “Good.”

But as Barty made his way to the door, he threw one last glance over his shoulder, a glimmer of mischief still dancing in his tired eyes.

“You’ll come looking for me, eventually,” he said with a knowing smirk. “I’ll be waiting.”

Evan’s breath hitched, but he forced himself to stay silent, glaring daggers at Barty’s retreating figure until the door swung shut behind him with a soft click .

---

The moment Barty was gone, the room felt oppressively quiet, like all the noise had been sucked out, leaving only the weight of Evan’s own thoughts. He pressed his hands to his face, breathing hard, trying to will away the storm brewing inside him.

He’s wrong. He had to be.

Evan wasn’t going to come looking for him. He wasn’t going to miss him.

He just needed to breathe. To get through the day. To lock whatever this was—the confusion, the tension, the sharp ache that Barty’s grin left behind—somewhere deep inside, where it couldn’t touch him.

But as Evan stood there, the silence pressing in on all sides, he realized something terrible.

The knot Barty had started to unravel inside him wasn’t going to tighten back up again. Not this time.

And no matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from following the thread.

Chapter Text

Evan managed to keep himself together through most of the day, though it felt like walking a tightrope. Every glance down the corridor, every scrape of a chair in the common room made him think of him . He hated that Barty had wormed his way into his head so effortlessly—and worse, that he seemed perfectly happy to stay there, like an uninvited guest who refused to leave.

He avoided him for as long as possible, retreating to the library between classes and even skipping lunch. But by mid-afternoon, fate—or more accurately, Barty’s magnetism—caught up to him.

---

It started with another one of Barty’s ridiculous schemes. Evan was halfway through the Transfiguration corridor when he spotted him, crouching behind a suit of armor with that unmistakable grin.

“Crouch,” Evan hissed, glancing up and down the hall. “What the hell are you doing?”

Barty’s eyes glimmered with mischief, the picture of someone who’d just been caught at the best part of his plan. “Just having a bit of fun.”

Evan’s stomach dropped. “No.” He took a step back, already regretting every decision that had led him here. “Whatever it is, I want no part—”

But before Evan could finish, there was a deafening clang as Barty tugged at the enchanted suit of armor. The thing toppled forward, crashing loudly against the stone floor and sending a reverberating echo down the hallway.

“Run!” Barty shouted, not even bothering to look pleased with himself—he was already sprinting.

Evan’s heart jumped into his throat. Merlin’s beard...

And just like that, Evan’s sense of reason was shoved aside by sheer survival instinct. He bolted after Barty, the sound of their hurried footsteps ricocheting off the stone walls.

---

They ducked down side passages and cut through classrooms, laughing breathlessly despite the danger. Somewhere in the chaos, Evan felt that same inexplicable thrill rising—like being caught up in a storm he couldn’t resist.

But, of course, it couldn’t last.

Just as they skidded around the corner near the Charms corridor, they collided— hard —with Professor Slughorn, who squeaked in alarm and dropped a stack of parchment.

Both boys froze, panting heavily.

“Well, well,” Slughorn said, adjusting his tiny spectacles. “Mr. Rosier and Mr. Crouch. Why am I not surprised to find you two together?”

Barty, ever the audacious one, gave a wide, unapologetic grin. “Pure coincidence, Professor. We were just—”

“Enough,” Slughorn interrupted with an exasperated sigh. “You’ll explain yourselves during detention. Tonight. Both of you.”

Evan groaned inwardly, dragging a hand through his hair. Fantastic. Just what he needed—more time trapped with Barty Crouch.

Slughorn shook his head, clearly unimpressed with their antics. “8 o’clock sharp. And Merlin help you both if you’re late.”

Barty gave a mock salute. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Professor.”

Evan shot him a glare, but Barty just grinned wider, clearly reveling in the trouble they’d landed in.

---

Later that evening, they found themselves seated in the dimly lit detention room, under the withering gaze of Argus Filch. The old caretaker thrust filthy rags into their hands and pointed to a row of trophies. “Polish these. By hand. No magic.”

Evan suppressed a groan, snatching the rag without protest. He settled into the task with rigid focus, determined to get through it without engaging with Barty.

But of course, Barty wasn’t one to suffer in silence.

“This is fun , isn’t it?” Barty whispered, his voice light with amusement.

Evan scowled, scrubbing the nearest trophy with more force than necessary. “You have a strange definition of fun, Crouch.”

Barty leaned closer, close enough that Evan could feel the warmth of his breath on his neck. “Admit it, Rosier. You like it. All the sneaking around. The thrill of almost getting caught...”

Evan’s grip tightened around the rag. “You’re delusional.”

Barty chuckled softly. “Maybe.” Then, after a pause, he added, “But you ran with me, didn’t you?”

Evan’s chest tightened, frustration curling through him. “Because you left me no choice.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

They fell into silence, save for the sound of their rags dragging across the tarnished surfaces. But it wasn’t a peaceful silence—it crackled with tension, like a storm waiting to break.

After a while, Barty nudged Evan with his elbow. “You’re getting better at this, you know.”

Evan frowned. “Better at what?”

“At not pretending so hard,” Barty said, his voice oddly soft. “You’re loosening up. Bit by bit.”

Evan’s heart stuttered, and he turned sharply toward Barty, intending to shut him down once and for all. But Barty was already looking at him— really looking—like he saw everything Evan was trying so desperately to hide.

For one terrifying moment, Evan thought Barty might say something dangerous, something real.

But instead, Barty just grinned that same maddening grin, the one that always made Evan feel like he was teetering on the edge of something far too steep.

“See?” Barty whispered. “Told you detention would be fun.”
Evan clenched his jaw, trying to focus on the trophy in front of him, but Barty's presence—his warmth, his nearness—was impossible to ignore. The rag slipped from his hand, and the trophy wobbled dangerously on its pedestal before he caught it with a sharp curse.

Barty snorted, clearly amused. “Careful, Rosier. You’re starting to lose that perfect composure of yours.”

Evan shot him a withering glare, heat prickling at the back of his neck. “Just shut up and polish.”

Barty chuckled softly, his grin never wavering. “You’re awfully bossy, you know that?”

“Someone has to be,” Evan muttered, scrubbing the tarnished brass with renewed vigor. He could feel Barty watching him, could sense that glint of mischief still lingering in his gaze. It was maddening.

A tense silence settled between them, broken only by the rhythmic swipes of their rags and the occasional muttered curse from Evan. But the quiet didn’t last—nothing ever stayed quiet for long around Barty Crouch.

“So,” Barty began, his voice low and conspiratorial, “what do you reckon Filch would do if we swapped a couple of these trophies around?”

Evan froze, disbelief washing over him. “Are you serious ?”

Barty grinned, tilting his head. “Why not? It’d drive the old git mad trying to figure out which ones are missing.”

“We are already in detention, Crouch,” Evan hissed through gritted teeth. “Do you have a death wish?”

Barty shrugged, utterly unfazed. “Life’s more interesting when you take risks.”

Evan stared at him, wondering—not for the first time—how someone like Barty Crouch could exist without imploding under the sheer weight of his recklessness. And worse, why he was starting to feel that same dangerous thrill just sitting next to him.

“Come on,” Barty whispered, leaning closer again, his shoulder brushing against Evan’s. “Tell me you’re not even a little tempted.”

Evan bit down on the inside of his cheek, refusing to answer. But the truth gnawed at him like a splinter lodged too deep to pull out.

Barty knew.

He always knew.

“Fine,” Evan muttered under his breath, hating himself even as the words slipped out. “But if we get caught, you’re taking the blame.”

Barty’s grin was instant and bright, like sunshine breaking through storm clouds. “Deal.”

Before Evan could second-guess himself, they were working in tandem—quietly swapping nameplates on some of the oldest trophies, rearranging others in ways that would make Filch lose sleep for weeks. They moved with the silent efficiency of boys who had spent far too much time navigating around rules, both written and unwritten.

Evan knew it was a stupid idea. A reckless idea. But somehow, with Barty beside him, it felt less like chaos and more like freedom—a small rebellion against the crushing weight of expectation.

When they were done, Barty stood back, admiring their handiwork with a satisfied smirk. “Perfect.”

Evan rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the tiny spark of pride that flickered in his chest. “You’re insufferable.”

Barty grinned, his eyes glimmering with triumph. “And yet, here you are.”

Evan opened his mouth to retort, but the door creaked open, and Filch’s shadow loomed ominously in the doorway. Both boys froze.

Filch narrowed his beady eyes at them, his nose twitching like he could smell trouble. “What are you two up to?”

“Polishing,” Evan said quickly, holding up his rag as if it were some kind of shield.

Barty, the absolute madman, gave Filch a cheerful smile. “Just doing our part to keep the school shining, sir.”

Filch’s scowl deepened, but after a long, suspicious look, he grunted. “Don’t think I won’t be checking every one of those trophies, you little rats. Mark my words.”

He shuffled off, muttering darkly under his breath. As soon as the door clicked shut, Barty burst into quiet laughter, clutching his sides.

Evan glared at him, though the corner of his mouth twitched traitorously. “You’re going to get us expelled.”

Barty’s grin softened, and for a moment—just a moment—there was something almost tender in his expression. “Nah. You’ll keep me in line, Rosier.”

Evan’s breath caught in his throat.

He wanted to argue. To tell Barty that he wasn’t here to save him, that this strange, dangerous thing between them wasn’t his responsibility.

But the words wouldn’t come.

And deep down, Evan knew—whether he liked it or not—that Barty was right.

Because no matter how hard he tried, he was never going to be able to walk away.

Not from this.

Not from him.

And Merlin help him… he didn’t even want to.
The following week passed in a haze for Evan—one that he carefully masked behind sharp glares and biting remarks. But beneath the surface, everything was fraying. The pressure of expectations, the weight of keeping up appearances, and the relentless feeling of being trapped were suffocating him.

It came to a head on an otherwise quiet evening in one of the lesser-used corridors, where Evan had hoped to find some peace.

Instead, he found himself cornered by His father, on one of his Ministry trips.

His father’s voice—sharp, cutting—echoed off the stone walls.

"Do you think being a Rosier means you can afford to be weak?"

Evan stood rigid, his hands clenched at his sides. He kept his expression neutral, but inside, his heart pounded wildly, every word burrowing deeper under his skin.

"You're embarrassing yourself," the man sneered. "Your *name*. Our *family*. Do you want to make us the laughingstock of pure-blood society?"

Evan blinked hard, fighting the burn in his eyes. He couldn't let him see. Couldn’t *show* that those words hurt—because that would only confirm what his father already believed: that Evan was weak.

"I'm sorry," Evan whispered, voice hoarse.

"Sorry won't fix anything, boy," his father snapped, his tone like ice. "Get yourself together, or I’ll make sure you regret it."

And then, as quickly as he had appeared, the man swept off down the corridor, leaving Evan standing there in the suffocating aftermath of his words.

---

Evan leaned heavily against the wall, chest tight as he exhaled shakily. He hadn’t cried in front of him—he’d managed that, at least—but now the tears came in angry, silent streaks down his cheeks. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, furious with himself for being so affected.

He needed a moment alone. Just a minute to pull himself back together.

But, of course, fate—or Barty—had other plans.

The door to a nearby classroom swung open, and Barty strolled in, mid-sentence about some ridiculous prank he was planning. "Hey, Rosier—”

Then he saw him.

Evan stiffened, hastily wiping his face with his sleeve. “Don’t.”

Barty’s grin faltered. “Evan?” he said, softer this time, all traces of amusement gone.

Evan looked away, jaw tight, blinking rapidly to force the tears back. “I said don’t.”

Barty’s steps were slow, cautious. Evan could hear the scuff of his shoes on the stone as he approached, but he refused to look at him. He couldn’t. Not like this.

"Who was that?" Barty asked, voice uncharacteristically serious.

"Doesn't matter," Evan muttered.

Barty crouched slightly, trying to meet Evan’s eyes. "It does." His usual cocky edge was gone, replaced by something unfamiliar—concern.

Evan shook his head sharply. "Just go away, Crouch. I don’t need you here."

But Barty didn’t move. If anything, he stayed closer, his presence steady and unwavering. “Yeah, well," he said quietly, "I’m not leaving.”

Evan let out a bitter laugh, wiping at his face with trembling fingers. “You don’t get it. You think everything’s some kind of game.”

Barty’s brow furrowed, his expression strangely gentle. “I’m not playing, Evan.”

Those words—simple, but sincere—hit Evan harder than they should have. He felt the crack widen, the wall he’d built around himself starting to crumble.

“Why do you even care?” Evan whispered, his voice tight with frustration, anger, and something dangerously close to vulnerability.

For once, Barty didn’t have a glib answer. He just shrugged, hands in his pockets, and said, “Because it’s you.”

The words settled between them, heavy and real, like a truth too big to ignore.

Evan swallowed hard, his throat burning. He hated how much that simple answer affected him—hated that part of him wanted to believe it.

But believing meant opening up, and opening up meant being hurt again.

“Just leave me alone, Barty,” Evan whispered, squeezing his eyes shut as if that could block out the weight of everything pressing down on him.

For a moment, he thought Barty might argue, might push the way he always did.

But instead, Barty exhaled softly, like he knew there was nothing he could say to fix this. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice quiet but steady. “I’ll go.”

He hesitated for just a second longer, as if debating whether to say more. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, the sound of his footsteps fading down the corridor.

Evan slumped against the wall, dragging his hands through his hair.

And as the silence settled around him again, he wasn’t sure if he felt relieved—or more alone than ever.

Chapter Text

Evan stayed slumped against the wall for what felt like hours, though it was probably only a few minutes. His mind was racing, thoughts spiraling in circles: about his father, about Barty, about how easily everything seemed to be slipping through his fingers. He felt like he was drowning, and the worst part was he couldn’t tell if he wanted to fight his way to the surface—or let himself sink.

The corridor was still and cold, the kind of silence that made his own breath sound too loud in his ears. But Barty’s words— Because it’s you —kept looping in his mind, no matter how hard he tried to shove them aside. He hated that Barty cared . It made everything so much more complicated.

He should’ve been glad that Barty left. But instead, the empty space where Barty had stood felt far too large, like something important had been taken away.

---

Evan wasn’t surprised when he saw Barty again the next morning. Avoiding him was impossible. Barty Crouch was everywhere, like the pull of a tide Evan couldn’t escape.

It happened between Potions and Charms—Evan was gathering his books from his desk when Barty slid into step beside him, casual as if nothing had happened the night before.

“Rosier,” Barty greeted cheerfully, like it was just another day, just another prank waiting to happen.

Evan bit back a sigh. “What do you want, Crouch?”

Barty shrugged, the very picture of nonchalance. “Nothing. Thought I’d see if you were still mad at me.”

Evan glanced over, his eyes narrowing. “You think this is funny?”

Barty’s grin was lopsided but strangely soft. “No. Just checking in.”

There it was again—that subtle shift in Barty’s tone, a quiet undercurrent that Evan couldn’t ignore. He hated how effortlessly Barty could slide between teasing and genuine concern, like both were just parts of the same game.

“You checked in,” Evan muttered, turning down the corridor. “You can go now.”

Barty followed, unbothered by the dismissal. “You didn’t really want me to leave last night,” he said casually.

Evan’s steps faltered, a flicker of anger and something else—something raw—surging through him. “Don’t act like you know me.”

Barty stopped walking too, leaning against the stone wall with his hands in his pockets. “I think I do.”

Evan turned sharply, glaring at him. “You don’t.”

Barty’s smile didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something serious in his eyes. “Then tell me.”

Evan opened his mouth, ready to snap, to shut Barty down the way he always did. But the words caught in his throat, tangled with everything he didn’t know how to say.

Instead, he muttered, “I don’t need you.”

Barty tilted his head, his gaze steady and far too knowing. “I think you do.”

Evan clenched his fists at his sides, heart pounding as the walls around him—the ones he spent so long building—started to tremble again under the weight of those words. He hated how much Barty saw through him, how easily he slipped past the barriers no one else could breach.

“Why are you doing this?” Evan whispered, voice brittle.

Barty stepped closer, his expression uncharacteristically sincere. “Because someone should.”

Evan looked away, his throat tightening painfully. It was too much. Too close. He wasn’t ready for this—for someone like Barty to see the parts of him he tried so hard to keep hidden.

“I told you,” Evan said quietly, staring down at his shoes. “Just leave me alone.”

Barty lingered for a moment, studying him like he was trying to decide whether to push or pull back. Finally, he sighed, though there was no frustration in it—just quiet acceptance.

“Alright,” Barty said, his voice low. “But I’m not going far, Rosier.”

And then, with one last glance—an unspoken promise lingering in his eyes—Barty turned and walked away.

Evan stayed where he was, frozen between the urge to call him back and the overwhelming need to keep him at a distance.

Because as much as he hated Barty Crouch, the way he got under his skin, the way he made things messy and complicated...

He hated the idea of him being gone even more.
Evan spent the rest of the day trying—and failing—not to think about Barty. The weight of that lingering conversation pressed on his mind like a dull ache. He hated how easily Barty could slip past his defenses, how the boy seemed to know exactly when to push and when to stop, balancing perfectly between charm and chaos. It was maddening.
He needed to get Barty out of his head.

That night, the Slytherin common room was unusually quiet. Most students had retired early, leaving the fire to crackle softly in the dim space. Evan sat alone on one of the leather armchairs by the hearth, a book open on his lap. But the words on the page blurred together, and he wasn’t really reading. He was just existing, lost in the strange heaviness that had followed him all day.
Then the door to the common room creaked open, and Evan didn’t even need to look to know who it was.
Barty.
Of course.
The other boy strolled in with that same easy grace, hands shoved into his pockets, scanning the room until his gaze landed on Evan. There was a beat of hesitation—just a flicker—but then Barty crossed the room and dropped himself unceremoniously onto the sofa across from him.
Evan exhaled sharply through his nose. “What are you doing here, Crouch?”
Barty grinned like he was thoroughly entertained by the question. “Sitting.”
Evan rolled his eyes. “Why?”
“Because,” Barty replied smoothly, “you look like someone who shouldn’t be alone right now.”
Evan felt his stomach twist, a mix of irritation and something uncomfortably close to relief. “I don’t need a babysitter,” he muttered, flicking his eyes back to his book.
Barty leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I know.” His voice was softer this time—softer than Evan had ever heard it. “That’s not why I’m here.”
The fire crackled between them, filling the silence with warmth. Evan tried to focus on his book, but the words refused to make sense. Barty’s presence was impossible to ignore, like a magnet drawing every thought in Evan’s head toward him.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, neither of them willing to break it. And yet, the air between them felt charged—like a thread pulled too tight, on the verge of snapping.
Eventually, Barty spoke again, his tone quieter now, more careful. “I wasn’t trying to make things worse, you know. I just... I don’t like seeing you like that.”
Evan swallowed hard, the lump in his throat returning with a vengeance. “You don’t get it.”
“Then explain it to me,” Barty said, leaning closer, his expression open and frustratingly sincere. “I’ll listen.”
Evan shook his head, the weight of it all pressing down on him like a stone. “It’s not that simple.”
Barty didn’t move, didn’t push further. He just stayed there, steady and patient in a way that Evan never would have expected from someone like him. “I can handle complicated,” Barty murmured, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Evan clenched his jaw, torn between the urge to shut him out and the overwhelming need for someone—anyone—to understand.
He closed his book with a snap, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just... things are bad, alright? At home. My father, he... He expects too much. And no matter what I do, it’s never enough.”
Barty’s expression softened, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something quieter—something real. “That’s a lot to carry.”
Evan scoffed bitterly, though there was no real anger behind it. “Tell me about it.”
For once, Barty didn’t respond with a joke or a smirk. He just sat there, his presence solid and strangely reassuring. “You don’t have to carry it alone, you know.”
Evan glanced at him, skepticism written all over his face. “What, you’re offering to help?”
Barty’s grin returned, but this time it was softer, less cocky. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just keep showing up until you stop telling me to go away.”
Evan huffed a quiet laugh despite himself, the smallest crack forming in the wall he’d built between them. “You’re insufferable.”
“I know,” Barty said with a wink.
And just like that, the tension between them eased—not entirely, but enough. The knot in Evan’s chest loosened, if only slightly, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t feel quite so alone.
The warmth of the fire flickered between them, casting soft shadows on the stone walls. The silence stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—it was the kind of silence that held everything and nothing at once. For a moment, it felt like the world outside the common room didn’t exist.

Then Barty did something entirely unexpected—something that made Evan’s heart stutter.

Without thinking, without warning, Barty leaned forward and wrapped his arms around him. It wasn’t a half-hearted gesture or a sarcastic attempt at affection. It was firm, grounding, and startlingly sincere.

Evan froze. His breath caught in his throat, every muscle in his body locking up as if this simple act of kindness was more dangerous than anything else Barty had ever thrown his way. He wasn’t used to this—this softness, this closeness.

“What are you doing?” Evan mumbled, his voice thick with surprise, though he didn’t immediately pull away.

Barty’s chin rested lightly on Evan’s shoulder, and for once, his voice wasn’t teasing. It was soft and low, as though he knew exactly how fragile this moment was. “I don’t know,” he admitted, almost in a whisper. “It just felt like you needed it.”

Evan clenched his jaw, his eyes burning again despite his best efforts. He hated this—the vulnerability, the way his walls cracked under the weight of something as simple as a hug. But at the same time, there was a part of him that wanted to give in, just for a moment, just to feel like he wasn’t drowning alone.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Because he did need it.

He let himself lean into Barty—just barely, just enough for the other boy to notice but not enough to feel like he was admitting anything. The fabric of Barty’s sweater was warm against his cheek, and Evan hated how good it felt, how easy it was to let himself relax for the first time in ages.

“You’re ridiculous,” Evan muttered, though his voice lacked any real bite.

Barty huffed a quiet laugh, his breath warm against Evan’s neck. “Takes one to know one.”

Evan couldn’t help the faint, unwilling smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Barty’s arms stayed where they were, steady and reassuring, like he wasn’t in any hurry to let go. And, oddly enough, Evan wasn’t either.

For a moment—just one stolen moment—Evan let himself exist without all the pressure, without the fear and the expectations. It was stupid, maybe even dangerous, to let someone like Barty Crouch see this side of him. But in that fleeting instant, Evan didn’t care.

The fire crackled quietly behind them, and the world outside could wait.

But then the weight of the moment settled over Evan like a cold shadow. Reality came rushing back, and the tightness in his chest returned with a vengeance.

He shifted awkwardly in Barty’s hold, his voice sharp and defensive. “Alright. That’s enough.”

Barty released him without protest, though his eyes held a flicker of something unreadable—concern, maybe. Or disappointment.

Evan ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the lingering warmth of the hug, trying to rebuild the walls he’d let slip. “Don’t—” His voice wavered slightly, and he hated himself for it. “Don’t make a big deal out of this.”

Barty leaned back against the sofa, as if the moment hadn’t just knocked the wind out of both of them. But there was no teasing grin this time, no sarcastic remark. Instead, he simply nodded, his voice soft and surprisingly serious. “I won’t.”

Evan stared at him, half-expecting some kind of joke or smug comment. But Barty just sat there, quiet and steady, as if to say: I get it. You don’t have to explain.

And somehow, that was worse than anything he could have said aloud.

Evan shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Barty’s lips twitched into a faint smile—small, but genuine. “Yeah. But you like me anyway.”

Evan groaned, though there was no real frustration behind it. “Unfortunately.”

They lapsed into silence again, but this time, it was easier. The tension that had been sitting between them all evening seemed to lift, leaving behind something quieter, something almost... comfortable.

And, for the first time in a long time, Evan allowed himself to breathe.
The next morning, the sun filtered through the tall windows of the common room, casting a warm glow on everything it touched. Evan was already seated at a table, books spread out before him as he tried to focus on his studies. But his mind kept wandering, and he found himself glancing up whenever the door creaked open.

Barty stumbled in, looking disheveled and half-awake, his tie hanging loosely around his neck, barely clinging on. Evan couldn’t help but smirk at the sight—it was a typical Barty look, but today, it seemed to amplify his charm.

“Good morning, Crouch,” Evan called, suppressing a chuckle.

“Morning,” Barty replied, yawning as he dropped into the chair across from Evan. He absently tugged at his tie, trying to adjust it without much success. “What time is it?”

“Late enough that you should’ve been up an hour ago,” Evan said, shaking his head. “Seriously, how do you manage to make yourself look like you just rolled out of bed?”

Barty grinned, a sheepish glint in his eye. “It’s part of my charm.” He gave the tie another tug, but it just slipped further askew.

Evan raised an eyebrow. “You know, if you spent a little time on it, you might actually look presentable for once.”

Barty shrugged, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his expression. “What’s the point? It’s just a tie.”

“Just a tie?” Evan echoed, surprised. “Barty, it’s practically a requirement for most formal occasions. You can’t just let it hang there like an afterthought.”

Barty leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, his playful demeanor shifting. “Okay, fine, but you have to promise not to laugh at me.”

“Why would I laugh?” Evan asked, genuinely confused.

“Because... I’ve never actually learned how to tie one properly,” Barty admitted, a blush creeping into his cheeks. He looked down, embarrassed. “I just kind of wing it every time.”

Evan blinked, momentarily stunned. “You’re serious?”

“Completely,” Barty said, looking up with a sheepish grin. “I guess I never thought I’d need to know. My dad’s usually around to do it for me.”

“Right,” Evan said slowly, taking it in. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy. “Well, let me help you out.”

“What, you want to tie it for me?” Barty asked, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “How scandalous.”

“Shut up,” Evan shot back, rolling his eyes but feeling warmth bloom in his chest. He moved around the table, standing behind Barty. “Just hold still. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Barty chuckled but complied, sitting up straight as Evan reached for the tie. As Evan worked, he felt the familiar tension creeping back in, but it was different this time—lighter, almost intimate. He concentrated on the knot, the soft fabric sliding through his fingers, and for a moment, it was just them in the quiet room.

“There,” Evan said, adjusting the knot and letting the tie hang neatly against Barty’s crisp shirt. “How does that feel?”

Barty turned slightly to look up at him, a glimmer of surprise in his eyes. “Not bad. I feel... kind of important.”

“Good,” Evan said, stepping back to admire his work. He couldn’t help but smile, and it felt like something had shifted, like they were on the cusp of something new. “You look good. Maybe I should start charging you for lessons.”

“Not a chance,” Barty replied, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. “I think I’d prefer you doing it for free. Plus, it gives me an excuse to spend more time with you.”

Evan rolled his eyes again, but the warmth in his chest was undeniable. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re just finding that out?” Barty shot back, his grin widening.

Evan leaned against the table, crossing his arms, trying to hide his own smile. “Yeah, well, I thought you’d be a bit more... I don’t know, competent?”

“Competent is overrated,” Barty replied, playfully waving a hand as he adjusted the tie once more, admiring it in the nearby mirror. “You can be good at a lot of things but still be terrible at the simple ones.”

“True,” Evan said, and for the first time in ages, he felt something shifting within himself, a lightness that pushed against the heaviness of the previous day. “But it’s not too late to learn.”

“True,” Barty echoed, his expression softening. “Thanks for this, Rosier. Seriously.”

Evan shrugged, feeling a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with embarrassment. “Anytime. Just don’t make a habit of walking around like that, okay?”

“Deal,” Barty said, his eyes sparkling with gratitude.

As they settled back into their seats, the world around them buzzed with the familiar sounds of the castle coming to life. But for Evan, it felt like they were wrapped in their own little bubble, a new beginning waiting just beyond the horizon.

Chapter Text

The week rolled on, and as the leaves outside began to turn to vibrant shades of orange and gold, an unexpected rumor started to swirl around Hogwarts. It began with a casual conversation overheard in the Hufflepuff common room and quickly spiraled out of control, like a single spark igniting a bonfire.

“Did you hear? Evan Rosier has a girlfriend!” a first-year excitedly exclaimed, her voice rising above the chatter.

“I heard she’s from Hufflepuff. Quite pretty, apparently,” someone else chimed in, eyes wide with intrigue.

Soon, the news spread like wildfire through the corridors and classrooms, each whisper adding another detail, embellishing the story until it was a tangled web of half-truths and conjectures.

Evan, blissfully unaware of the brewing gossip, was in the library, poring over a tome about advanced potion-making. He had a weekend project he wanted to tackle, but his mind was far more occupied with thoughts of Barty and the tie-tying lesson from the other day. A smile crept onto his face as he recalled how genuinely pleased Barty had looked.

But that smile faded when he overheard a group of third-years at the next table, giggling as they discussed him.

“Honestly, I didn’t think he was the type,” one girl said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But he’s been seen with her all week. Can you imagine?”

Evan shifted in his seat, trying to focus on his book again, but the gossip stuck to him like a persistent shadow.

---

Later that afternoon, while Evan was attempting to absorb the intricacies of potion ratios, Barty found him in the library. He sauntered over, a frown etched on his features that immediately caught Evan’s attention.

“Rosier,” Barty said, voice low and a bit tense. “Can we talk?”

“Sure,” Evan replied, marking his place in the book and looking up. “What’s up?”

Barty hesitated for a moment, clearly gathering his thoughts. “I wanted to ask about this... rumor going around.”

Evan’s heart sank. “What rumor?” He tried to sound casual, but the pit in his stomach told him he knew exactly what Barty was referring to.

“That you have a girlfriend,” Barty said, crossing his arms and leaning against the table.

Evan’s cheeks flushed, and he couldn’t help the embarrassed laugh that escaped his lips. “Oh, that? It’s ridiculous. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Right,” Barty said, his tone skeptical. “But it sounds like a lot of people think you do.”

“Honestly, I have no idea where it came from. I was just studying, and the next thing I know, people are claiming I’m dating someone from Hufflepuff. It’s absurd.”

Barty’s frown deepened. “So, there’s no truth to it?”

“No, none at all,” Evan assured him, shaking his head. “Why? Are you worried you’re going to lose your chance with her?”

Barty’s brows furrowed, and he looked genuinely taken aback. “What? No! I don’t even know who she is! I just—”

“Just what?” Evan pressed, unable to mask the teasing lilt in his voice. “You seem awfully concerned for a guy who doesn’t care.”

Barty rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of exasperation in his expression. “I’m concerned for you! I thought maybe you liked her or something.”

Evan shrugged, feeling an odd mix of annoyance and amusement. “I don’t. I promise. If I had a girlfriend, I’d tell you. Besides, it’s not like I’ve ever been one to chase after girls.”

“Right,” Barty said, his voice softening. “But what if you did? You wouldn’t want to be stuck in some rumor mill, would you?”

“Is that what this is about?” Evan asked, narrowing his eyes playfully. “You’re worried about my reputation? You’re the one who always seems to revel in chaos.”

“Only when it involves me,” Barty retorted, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “But seriously, Evan. I just wanted to check in. You’re my friend, and I care about what people say about you.”

Evan felt a warmth bloom in his chest at Barty’s words, even if he was still slightly bemused. “Thanks, I guess. But I wouldn’t worry about it too much. This will blow over soon enough. Besides, it’s not like they’ll have anything else to talk about once the Quidditch season starts.”

Barty raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “What if it doesn’t? What if people start expecting to see you with someone?”

Evan shrugged again, feeling a mix of lightheartedness and a hint of irritation. “Then they can wait for the reveal. Besides, if I were to date someone, it wouldn’t be anyone they’ve conjured up in their imaginations.”

“Good point,” Barty admitted, though there was a thoughtful look in his eyes. “But still, you should probably make it clear. You know, just to shut them up.”

“Like I’m going to stand in the middle of the Great Hall and announce it,” Evan said, shaking his head.

“Hey, whatever works for you,” Barty replied with a nonchalant shrug, though he was grinning now. “Just make sure you keep me in the loop if something changes. I want to know who’s stealing my best friend’s heart.”

Evan laughed at the notion, shaking his head. “Not that I’m aware of, Crouch. Just focusing on studies, Quidditch, and... well, you.”

“Me?” Barty asked, his expression shifting to a mock seriousness that made Evan want to laugh. “Oh, is that what you’re telling people? That I’m your secret girlfriend?”

Evan chuckled, rolling his eyes again. “Please. As if I’d ever spread that around. You’d never hear the end of it.”

“Good thing I’m not concerned about my reputation,” Barty quipped, and with a playful nudge, he stood up, preparing to leave. “Just keep me updated, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Evan said, but he couldn’t help the way his heart fluttered at the thought of Barty caring so much.

As Barty walked away, Evan watched him go, a mixture of confusion and warmth blooming in his chest. He felt that familiar tension, one that always lingered between them, but today it was tinged with something else—a question he couldn’t quite articulate.

Unbeknownst to Evan, Barty was fighting his own battle, caught in the web of feelings he had yet to untangle, even as the rumors swirled like autumn leaves around them.

Evan spent the next few days in a haze, a tight coil of anxiety and confusion gnawing at him like a hungry creature. Every time he turned a corner in Hogwarts, his heart would leap, expecting to see Barty lounging against a wall, that infuriating grin plastered across his face.

But Barty was conspicuously absent, and with each passing hour, Evan felt the absence like a phantom limb—hollow and aching.

The weather turned colder, the leaves outside the castle changing from vibrant greens to muted browns and reds. Autumn had settled in, bringing with it the kind of chill that seeped into bones. The world outside looked as if it were on fire, yet Evan felt utterly cold inside, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions that threatened to spin out of control.

“Evan?”

He blinked, pulled from his thoughts as his best friend, Regulus, slipped into the seat across from him in the Great Hall. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she took in his distracted expression. “You okay? You’ve been awfully quiet lately.”

“Just studying,” Evan mumbled, pushing his plate of untouched food away.

Regulus raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Studying? Or avoiding someone?”

Evan shot her a sharp look, but he knew she wasn’t wrong. “I’m not avoiding anyone,” he lied, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

“Right.” Regulus leaned forward, her voice low and conspiratorial. “Is this about Barty? I saw him wandering around the common room last night, looking for you.”

Evan’s heart raced at the mere mention of Barty’s name. “He was? What did he want?”

Regulus shrugged, her gaze piercing. “Not sure. But he looked a little lost. You two have been... weird lately.”

Evan forced a laugh, trying to play it off. “Weird? I hardly think so. He’s just—he’s being himself.”

“Which is what exactly? A charming, reckless disaster? You know he’s trouble, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Evan replied, his voice strained.

She studied him for a moment, a mix of concern and amusement on her face. “You’re not falling for him, are you?”

“Of course not!” Evan snapped, too loudly. He lowered his voice, glancing around to make sure no one had overheard. “It’s just—he’s irritating.”

“Irritating?” Regulus echoed, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Or irresistible?”

Evan felt the heat rush to his cheeks. “Neither,” he muttered, turning his gaze back to the table.

“Right.” Regulus’s voice was teasing. “Whatever you say. Just remember, I’m here if you need to talk about anything.”

“Thanks,” Evan mumbled, trying to ignore the way his heart felt heavy.

As the week dragged on, the weight of Barty’s absence felt heavier, like a weight pressing down on his chest. Every time he thought he heard Barty’s laughter echoing through the corridors, he felt an ache in his chest—an insatiable longing that he couldn’t quite name.

But he still wouldn’t seek him out. He couldn’t.

One evening, as he sat in the common room pouring over his homework, the door swung open with a sudden flourish, and Barty strode in—grinning, vibrant, and somehow still impossibly magnetic, even in the dim light.

Evan’s heart raced, a mix of dread and something else swirling within him as Barty scanned the room until his gaze landed on Evan.

“Rosier!” Barty called, loud enough that several heads turned in their direction. “There you are!”

Evan felt a rush of heat flood his cheeks as he tried to bury himself deeper into his books, pretending he hadn’t just been staring at the wall in a daze. But Barty was already striding toward him, an eager bounce in his step.

“What have you been hiding from me?” Barty asked, plopping down beside Evan and sending his scattered papers flying.

Evan scowled, hastily gathering his things. “I wasn’t hiding, Crouch.”

Barty leaned in, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Right, just hiding in plain sight.”

“Can you not be so obnoxious for five minutes?” Evan snapped, but the edge in his voice didn’t have the intended effect. Instead, it only seemed to make Barty grin wider.

“Aw, but that’s what I live for!” Barty’s tone was teasing, but there was a genuine warmth in his expression that made Evan’s heart skip.

“What do you want?” Evan asked, his voice low, trying to keep the irritation in check.

“Nothing much,” Barty said casually, leaning back against the couch as if it were the most comfortable seat in the world. “Just checking in on you. Heard you’ve been a bit of a hermit.”

Evan swallowed hard, refusing to look at him. “I’ve been busy.”

“Busy avoiding me, you mean.”

Evan opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out.

Barty’s grin faltered for a moment, replaced by a look of something almost vulnerable. “You don’t have to run away, you know.”

Evan felt the heat in his cheeks return full force, burning through the haze of annoyance. “I’m not running away. I just… I’m not in the mood to deal with your nonsense.”

Barty’s smile returned, but it was softer now, tinged with something more sincere. “You know I’m just here to have a bit of fun, right?”

“Fun?” Evan echoed, a bitter edge creeping into his tone. “You mean your idea of fun, which generally involves dragging everyone into your chaotic mess?”

“Exactly!” Barty laughed, and the sound sent a jolt through Evan’s chest. “See? You get it!”

Evan’s heart thudded hard against his ribcage, and he could feel the walls he’d built around himself beginning to crack. “I’m not like you, Barty. I don’t want to be like you.”

Barty’s expression turned serious, and he leaned forward, gaze piercing. “But you want to be free, don’t you? Just a little? To do what you want, without caring about the rules or what everyone expects of you?”

Evan’s breath caught in his throat, and he forced himself to look away. Because if he looked into Barty’s eyes for too long, he might just shatter.

“Let’s just say,” Evan said, voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t think I could ever be like you.”

Barty leaned back, studying him with that infuriating mix of understanding and mischief that sent Evan’s heart racing. “You might surprise yourself.”

“I won’t,” Evan insisted, the lie slipping easily from his lips.

Barty’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the room faded away, leaving just the two of them—lost in the unspoken challenge that lay between them.

Evan felt the urge to flee rising in his chest, but something else held him there, rooted to the spot. Maybe just this once, he thought, maybe just one more thread to pull at.

But before he could say anything, Barty leaned in closer, his voice low and earnest. “You don’t have to be perfect, Evan. You can be messy and imperfect and still be you.”

And just like that, Evan felt the last of his resolve shatter. Barty Crouch was chaos and warmth, laughter and recklessness, and Evan could no longer pretend it didn’t matter.

“I—” Evan started, but the words were stuck in his throat, tangled like a frayed knot.

“Just think about it,” Barty said, flashing that maddening grin again. “I’ll be waiting when you’re ready.”

Evan nodded, feeling lost in the moment, torn between the freedom Barty promised and the safety he clung to.

And as Barty slipped away into the chaos of the common room, Evan realized he had already taken the first step into the mess that was Barty Crouch.

Chapter Text

Evan had barely slept. The night had stretched long and restless, every breath reminding him of the moment Barty leaned in too close, his words burrowing under Evan’s skin like splinters.

“You don’t have to be perfect.”

Those words looped in his mind, unwelcome and unrelenting, until the early morning light spilled through the windows of the dormitory.

Evan sat up with a sharp inhale, the bedclothes tangled around his legs like chains. He needed air. Space. Anything to put distance between himself and the weight of Barty’s voice in his head.

---

By the time he made it to the courtyard, the autumn air had turned sharp, biting at his skin. The grounds were quiet, most students still tucked away in their beds. A few leaves skittered across the cobblestones, pushed along by a chill breeze.

Evan leaned against the cold stone of the wall, wrapping his arms around himself as if that could hold him together. He closed his eyes, breathing in the crisp scent of leaves and damp earth.

This was supposed to help. It always had before—these moments of solitude, when the world slowed just enough for him to rebuild the walls around himself. But now? Now, all he could think about was the way Barty had smiled at him, like he knew exactly what Evan was trying to hide.

The worst part? Evan wasn’t sure Barty was wrong.

---

He stayed out there longer than intended, but eventually, hunger and the chill in his bones drove him back inside. As he climbed the staircase to the common room, he told himself it was just another day. He would see Barty, exchange a few sharp words, and that would be the end of it.

But when he reached the door, he found Barty already waiting.

The other boy was sprawled lazily across the couch, one arm thrown over the back, his long hair still a bit wild from sleep. His tie, as usual, hung loosely around his neck, and his shirt was half-untucked, giving him the same infuriating air of careless ease he always carried.

The moment their eyes met, Barty’s grin spread across his face, slow and dangerous.

“Morning, Rosier.”

Evan froze on the threshold, heart hammering painfully in his chest. He forced himself to step forward, moving with the kind of rigid precision that he clung to whenever the ground beneath him felt shaky. “Crouch.”

Barty tilted his head, watching Evan with the same lazy amusement as always. “Sleep well?”

“No,” Evan replied stiffly, brushing past him toward the fireplace. The warmth from the flames was a welcome distraction—something to focus on besides the weight of Barty’s gaze.

“Hmm.” Barty shifted, the couch creaking as he leaned back, utterly unbothered. “Thinking about me?”

Evan whipped his head around, glaring at him. “Do you ever not say the first idiotic thing that comes to mind?”

“Nope,” Barty replied cheerfully. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Evan turned back to the fire, clenching his jaw so tightly it hurt. He refused to engage any further, refused to give Barty the satisfaction of knowing just how deeply he had gotten under his skin.

But, of course, Barty wasn’t done.

He stood up, his footsteps soft against the rug, and within moments, he was beside Evan, close enough that Evan could feel the warmth of him even through the layers of his uniform.

“Relax,” Barty murmured, voice low and smooth, as if he were offering a secret. “You act like being around me is going to kill you.”

“It might,” Evan muttered under his breath, but even he could hear the weakness in his own words.

Barty laughed, a soft, amused sound that sent an uninvited thrill down Evan’s spine. “You’re ridiculous.”

Evan bristled, glaring at him out of the corner of his eye. “ I’m ridiculous?”

“Yes.” Barty leaned closer, his grin widening. “You spend half your time pretending you hate me and the other half running away. It’s exhausting, really.”

Evan’s throat felt tight, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. “Maybe if you weren’t so—so—”

“So what?” Barty prompted, his voice a low tease.

Evan clenched his fists at his sides, trying desperately to hold on to the last frayed thread of his composure. “So you. ”

Barty laughed again, and this time, there was something softer in it—something almost fond.

Evan hated how it made his chest ache.

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Barty said, his grin softening into something quieter, something real.

Evan’s heart pounded painfully in his chest, and he could feel himself unraveling—thread by thread, pulled loose by Barty’s presence, by his laughter, by the unbearable closeness of him.

“I can’t do this,” Evan whispered, the admission slipping out before he could stop it.

Barty’s grin faded, replaced by a look of quiet curiosity. “Do what?”

“ This. ” Evan gestured vaguely between them, his hand trembling. “Whatever this is.”

Barty tilted his head, his gaze steady and unreadable. “You don’t have to figure it out right now, you know.”

Evan closed his eyes, his breath coming shallow and fast. “I’m not like you.”

“I know.” Barty’s voice was quiet, almost gentle. “And that’s okay.”

Evan opened his eyes, meeting Barty’s gaze for the briefest of moments before looking away again. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, filling the silence between them with warmth and flickering light.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

And then, without another word, Barty reached out and brushed his fingers against Evan’s wrist—a light, fleeting touch, barely there, but enough to send sparks through Evan’s skin.

It was the smallest of gestures, but it was enough to make Evan’s breath hitch, enough to make him feel like he was standing on the edge of something vast and terrifying.

And, for the first time, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to pull back.

The world outside seemed to fade as Evan stood frozen by the fire, the heat from the flames doing nothing to ease the tension coiling tightly in his chest. His entire body was on high alert, every nerve attuned to the fact that Barty was still standing too close.

And then, as if the universe had conspired to test his every limit, Barty’s hand reached out again, this time not for Evan’s wrist but for the thin strip of fabric that hung from his collar—the tie that was always knotted perfectly, a symbol of his restraint and control.

“What are you—” Evan started, his voice a strangled protest, but the words faltered as Barty’s fingers gently caught the end of the tie, lifting it just enough that it tugged at the knot around his throat.

Barty’s touch was impossibly light, playful, but it carried an undercurrent of something else—something that made Evan’s pulse race. His heart hammered in his chest, a drumbeat of warning that mingled with a disorienting rush of heat.

“Relax, Rosier,” Barty said, his voice soft, almost teasing, but not quite as sharp as usual. His fingers twirled the end of the tie lazily, pulling at it with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times. “I’m not going to strangle you with it.”

Evan’s breath hitched, his throat suddenly feeling even tighter beneath the perfectly knotted fabric. “Don’t,” he muttered, though the word came out weak, shaky.

But Barty didn’t listen—or maybe he did, but in the way he always did things, on his own terms. His fingers moved slowly up the length of the tie, loosening it with a deliberate slowness that made Evan’s skin prickle.

“You always tie this thing so tight,” Barty mused, almost to himself. “It’s like you’re choking yourself just to stay in control.”

Evan’s hands twitched at his sides, itching to push Barty away, to snatch back the tie and the control that he so desperately clung to. But he couldn’t seem to move. His limbs felt heavy, his mind spinning, torn between a dozen conflicting impulses.

“You know,” Barty continued, his voice low and coaxing as he slowly unraveled the knot, “not everything has to be so buttoned-up, Rosier. Sometimes it’s alright to let things fall apart a little.”

Evan’s breath stuttered, and he swallowed hard, willing himself to pull away, to regain some sense of sanity. But as Barty’s fingers worked the knot loose, as the tie hung slack and lifeless around his collar, Evan felt something inside him fray—a thread of tension snapping under the weight of something he couldn’t quite name.

“Stop,” Evan whispered, though it was barely audible, a ghost of a plea more than a command.

Barty’s eyes flickered up to meet Evan’s, and for a moment, the usual mischief was gone, replaced by something softer, something that made Evan’s chest tighten painfully.

“I’m not trying to mess with you,” Barty said quietly, his fingers still toying with the loose tie, but the teasing edge had disappeared from his voice. “Not this time.”

Evan’s throat felt dry, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure Barty could hear it. He wanted to say something—anything to break the strange, fragile tension that hung between them—but no words came.

Instead, Barty stepped closer, close enough that Evan could feel the warmth radiating from him, close enough that Evan’s senses were flooded with the scent of him—whiskey, firewood, and something uniquely Barty.

Evan’s stomach flipped, his mind a mess of confusion and something dangerously close to want.

Barty’s fingers slid from the tie to the collar of Evan’s shirt, brushing against the skin of his throat—just a whisper of a touch, but it sent a shiver through Evan that he couldn’t hide.

“You’re always so tense,” Barty murmured, his voice a low hum. “Always trying so hard to be perfect.”

“I don’t—” Evan started, his voice cracking.

“You don’t have to be,” Barty said softly, his fingers lingering for a moment longer before they finally slipped away, leaving the tie hanging loosely around Evan’s neck, untied and undone.

The absence of Barty’s touch left Evan feeling cold, vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with the loosened fabric or the open collar of his shirt. His skin still tingled where Barty’s fingers had grazed him, and his mind reeled, trying desperately to make sense of what had just happened.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The crackle of the fire was the only sound in the room, but the air between them buzzed with unspoken tension, a tension that had been there for far longer than Evan cared to admit.

Barty’s eyes flickered down to the tie hanging loosely around Evan’s neck, a soft smile playing at the corner of his lips. “There,” he said quietly, stepping back with a satisfied nod. “That’s better.”

Evan stared at him, his chest heaving as he struggled to find his voice. “Why do you—”

But before he could finish the thought, Barty was already turning away, that same infuriatingly casual air returning to him as he sauntered toward the door.

“See you around, Rosier,” he called over his shoulder, his grin back in full force. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you tie your own tie next time.”

And then he was gone, leaving Evan standing by the fire, his hands trembling, his tie undone, and his heart in absolute chaos.
The bottle had been too easy to find. Evan didn’t care how absurd it was for a seventh-year to sneak whiskey into the Slytherin common room, but after the dinner he’d endured with his father earlier that evening, the burn in his throat was a welcome relief.

He'd barely sat through the meal, stiff-backed and silent while his father droned on about Expectations his tone clipped and disapproving. Evan had grown used to the constant reminders: Maintain the family name. Be precise. Don’t embarrass us. But tonight, something in him frayed. Every command, every sneer about his future career in the Ministry or his lack of “enthusiasm” twisted the knife deeper.

He’d clenched his fists beneath the table, forcing down every urge to speak out, until it was over and he could escape back to the safety of the dungeons. By the time he stumbled into the Slytherin common room, the world was pleasantly hazy—his collar loosened, and the whiskey bottle heavy in his hand.

The firelight flickered against the cold stone walls, and through the alcohol-induced haze, Evan saw a familiar figure draped over the couch.

Barty.

Of course.

He lounged there, legs lazily spread, his tie still undone and draped loosely over his shoulders, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. The glow of the fire caught in his long, unruly hair, making him look irritatingly at ease, as usual.

Evan swayed slightly, clutching the whiskey bottle to his chest like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Barty’s gaze flicked up, surprise flashing briefly across his face. “Well, well. Rosier. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Evan staggered over to the fireplace, sitting down heavily on the armchair opposite the couch. “What,” he slurred, “don’t think I can enjoy a drink every now and then?”

Barty snorted, clearly amused. “It’s not exactly your thing, is it?” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, studying Evan with an expression that was part curiosity, part amusement. “Rough night?”

Evan laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and humorless. “You could say that.” He took another swig from the bottle, wincing as the alcohol burned down his throat. “My father. Always such a joy. ”

Barty tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly, but he said nothing.

For a moment, the two sat in silence, the crackling fire the only sound between them. Then, out of nowhere, Evan let out a short, dry laugh.

“Y’know,” he began, voice rough from the alcohol, “you’re really fucking annoying.”

Barty blinked, then grinned. “Is that right?”

Evan nodded slowly, the room tilting slightly with the movement. “You get under my skin.” He tapped his chest, as if to emphasize the point. “Every damn day. Always have.”

Barty’s grin widened, and he leaned back on the couch, clearly enjoying this too much. “Aw, Rosier. You sound almost fond of me.”

Evan’s heart pounded, though whether from the alcohol or the weight of his own words, he wasn’t sure. “Maybe I am.”

That seemed to catch Barty off-guard. His grin faltered, just for a second, replaced by something softer, something that made Evan feel like he was teetering dangerously close to an edge.

“And that,” Evan continued, his voice dropping to a mutter, “is exactly the problem.”

Barty’s playful expression shifted, surprise flickering across his features. “What do you mean?”

Evan let out a frustrated huff, raking a hand through his hair. The words were slipping out faster than he could stop them, spilling from the parts of him he’d tried so hard to bury.

“You make it hard,” Evan admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “You make it hard to be who I’m supposed to be.”

For once, Barty didn’t say anything. He just stared at Evan, his expression unreadable.

Evan took another swig from the bottle, barely tasting it anymore. “I shouldn’t... I can’t think about you the way I do.”

The room felt too warm, too close, and the firelight cast strange shadows on Barty’s face. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze locked on Evan’s, like he was waiting for him to say more.

“Every time you’re around, I feel like I’m falling apart,” Evan whispered, the words so quiet he wasn’t sure if Barty even heard them.

But Barty heard.

His usual smirk was gone, replaced by something else—something more dangerous. He shifted forward, closing the space between them, his knee brushing against Evan’s.

“You ever think,” Barty murmured, his voice low and soft, “that maybe that’s not a bad thing?”

Evan’s breath hitched, the room spinning as Barty’s words settled over him like a challenge, like an invitation.

And for the first time, Evan didn’t know if he wanted to pull away.

Instead, he stayed exactly where he was—teetering on the edge, with Barty’s gaze holding him in place, and the world spinning just a little too fast around them both.

Barty’s gaze stayed locked on Evan, a mixture of mischief and something deeper flickering in his eyes—something Evan didn’t know how to name. The weight of it felt suffocating, yet strangely grounding, like Barty was the only thing tethering him to the room that spun so mercilessly around him.

Evan’s throat was tight. He hated this—the rawness, the feeling of being seen, the way Barty peeled back every layer he’d spent years building with just a glance. And, worst of all, he hated how much he didn’t hate it.

He clenched the bottle tighter in his hand, knuckles white. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, though the words felt weak even as they left his mouth.

Barty gave a low, knowing chuckle, leaning in close enough that Evan could see the flecks of amber in his eyes. “I think you know that’s not true.”

Evan’s pulse raced, the heat of the fire mixing with the warmth of Barty’s presence. It was too much—too close, too intimate. He felt like he was drowning, and yet, some reckless part of him didn’t want to come up for air.

He swallowed thickly, trying to steady himself. “I don’t—”

Barty reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of Evan’s loosened collar. The touch was light, almost casual, but it sent a jolt of electricity straight through Evan’s body.

“Relax,” Barty murmured, and it was more a suggestion than a command. His fingers played with the undone tie still draped around Evan’s neck, twisting it slowly, lazily, as if he had all the time in the world.

Evan wanted to pull away—needed to—but his limbs felt heavy, weighed down by something he couldn’t quite name. The alcohol blurred the edges of everything, and Barty’s presence filled every empty space, leaving no room for resistance.

“You’re always so wound up,” Barty said softly, his voice dipping into something almost tender. “It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Trying to hold everything together all the time?”

Evan’s breath stuttered, the truth of the words hitting far too close.

“I don’t need—” He started, but Barty cut him off, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yes, you do.”

The certainty in Barty’s voice made Evan’s chest ache, like Barty had reached inside and plucked a truth Evan hadn’t been ready to admit.

Something inside Evan cracked, the edges of himself beginning to unravel under the weight of Barty’s gaze. And in that moment—sitting there, drunk and undone, with Barty’s fingers still playing absently with his tie—he couldn’t fight it anymore.

Evan closed his eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. “This is a mistake.”

Barty’s hand stilled, his touch lingering against Evan’s collarbone. “Maybe.” His voice was quiet, thoughtful. “But sometimes mistakes are the best things, Rosier.”

Evan’s heart pounded painfully in his chest. He felt like he was standing on the edge of something vast, something dangerous. And for once, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to step back or let himself fall.

Before he could make a decision—before the moment could tip one way or the other—Barty leaned closer, his breath warm against Evan’s cheek.

“Come on,” Barty whispered, so close now that Evan could feel every word against his skin. “Let it fall apart. Just for a little while.”

Evan opened his eyes, his heart hammering against his ribcage, and for a brief, reckless moment, he let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—falling apart wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
Evan’s breath caught in his throat as the moment stretched taut between them, a delicate thread threatening to snap. Barty’s face hovered dangerously close—too close. The crackle of the fire filled the silence, the only thing grounding Evan as his mind spun out of control.

He could smell the remnants of whiskey on Barty’s breath, mingled with the faintest trace of smoke, like they both carried the night on their skin. It made him dizzy, made his chest feel too tight, and for once, he couldn’t summon the rigid, perfect control he usually wore like armor.

Evan’s fingers twitched at his sides, the urge to push Barty away battling fiercely with the impulse to pull him closer. He hated how much he wanted to give in—how easy it would be to close the distance and finally stop pretending that this wasn’t exactly what he’d been thinking about for weeks.

But he couldn’t.

He shouldn’t.

Barty’s gaze softened, his fingers still idly toying with the fabric of Evan’s tie, as if unwinding it piece by piece was a way to unravel Evan, too.

"You don’t have to run this time, Rosier,” Barty murmured, his voice low and coaxing. “I won’t tell anyone if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Evan clenched his jaw so tightly it hurt. “I’m not worried.” It was a lie—one Barty saw through instantly.

Barty’s smile was slow and infuriating, but there was no malice in it, just quiet amusement, like Evan was an unsolvable riddle that intrigued him more every time he failed to crack it.

“You’re such a terrible liar,” Barty whispered, leaning even closer. The end of Evan’s tie slipped through his fingers, forgotten now as his hand hovered at the edge of Evan’s collar. “Why do you even try?”

The tension between them was unbearable—an invisible thread pulled so tight it felt like the slightest movement would shatter them both.

And then Barty tilted his head, his wild hair brushing against Evan’s cheek as if the touch were deliberate, intentional.

Something inside Evan snapped.

“Goddamn you,” Evan hissed, his voice thick with frustration, confusion, and the unbearable weight of everything he’d buried for so long.

Before Barty could react, Evan shoved him—harder than intended, but the force was as much about creating space as it was about keeping himself from doing something stupid.

Barty stumbled back a step, catching himself on the armrest of the couch, but his grin didn’t falter. If anything, it grew, sharp and triumphant, like he’d just won a game only he knew they were playing.

“There he is,” Barty said, his voice rich with amusement, like Evan’s anger was a gift he’d been waiting to unwrap.

Evan’s hands shook, and he pressed them against his thighs, willing himself to stay grounded. “You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re still here,” Barty shot back, the words hanging between them like a dare.

Evan hated how true that was—hated how, despite everything, he hadn’t walked away, hadn’t stormed off like he always did.

He should’ve left. He knew that. But instead, he stood rooted to the spot, every nerve in his body alive with the electric hum of Barty’s presence.

“What do you want from me?” Evan asked, the words coming out raw and jagged, more vulnerable than he intended.

Barty’s grin softened, losing some of its usual sharpness. “Nothing you don’t already want to give,” he said quietly, his voice steady in a way that made Evan’s chest ache.

Evan swallowed hard, his throat tight. He wanted to protest, to argue, to deny the truth in those words—but he couldn’t.

Because Barty was right.

And that scared evan.
The silence that followed felt heavier than any argument, pressing down on Evan like the weight of all the things he wasn’t ready to admit. Barty just stood there, watching him with that maddeningly patient look, as if he had all the time in the world for Evan to fall apart and didn’t mind waiting.

Evan hated it. He hated how his defenses felt paper-thin under Barty’s gaze, hated how Barty’s presence stirred up feelings he couldn’t sort out—anger, attraction, shame, and something sharp-edged and desperate that he couldn’t name.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Evan muttered, his voice rough.

Barty cocked his head, amusement still flickering in his expression, but there was a gentleness in his eyes that Evan didn’t know what to do with. “Like what?”

“Like you know me,” Evan snapped, sharper than he intended. “You don’t.”

Barty shrugged, unbothered. “I know enough.”

The simple response made something twist painfully in Evan’s chest. He turned abruptly toward the fireplace, staring into the flames as if the heat could burn away whatever was bubbling up inside him.

“I’m not—” He stopped himself, jaw clenching so hard it ached.

Not what? Not interested? Not like Barty? Not ready? The words tangled together in his mind, too messy and complicated to say out loud.

Barty stepped closer again, his presence like gravity, impossible to ignore. “Not what?” he asked softly, and there was no teasing in his voice now—just quiet curiosity.

Evan closed his eyes, gripping the mantel so hard his knuckles turned white. He could feel Barty just behind him, close enough that the heat from his body blended with the warmth from the fire, making Evan’s skin prickle.

“Don’t,” Evan whispered, though he wasn’t even sure what he was asking Barty not to do—step closer, press further, or just… see him.

But Barty didn’t move away. Instead, he reached out slowly, his hand brushing against the edge of Evan’s sleeve, a barely-there touch that somehow felt more intimate than anything else that had happened between them.

“Rosier,” Barty murmured, the way he said Evan’s name almost unbearably gentle. “You don’t have to do anything. I just—” He hesitated, like the words felt too big. “I just want to know where you are. That’s all.”

Evan’s throat felt tight, his mind a mess of emotions he didn’t know how to handle. The warmth of Barty’s hand—barely touching him—felt like a lifeline and a threat all at once.

“I don’t know,” Evan admitted, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His voice was low and broken, as if admitting it shattered something inside him. “I don’t know where I am.”

For a long moment, Barty didn’t say anything. Then, slowly, his hand moved from Evan’s sleeve to his wrist, his fingers curling lightly around it—not pulling, not demanding, just there.

“That’s okay,” Barty said quietly, and the softness in his voice was almost enough to undo Evan completely.

Evan let out a shaky breath, feeling like he was standing at the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath his feet. And somehow, Barty was the only thing keeping him from falling—though he wasn’t sure if Barty was holding him up or just keeping him company on the way down.

The fire crackled in the silence, filling the space between them with warmth and light. And for once, Evan didn’t pull away.

Chapter Text

The firelight danced over the common room walls, but the warmth it gave did little to steady Evan’s nerves. He sat slouched on the couch, the room tilting slightly from the whiskey still swimming in his system. His blazer was draped carelessly over the armrest, his shirt untucked—a rare and unsettling unraveling of his usual perfect exterior.

He shouldn’t have drunk so much. But after the owl from his father arrived earlier that evening, every sip of firewhiskey had felt like a balm to the gnawing ache inside him. The letter had been filled with the same cold instructions: Do better, act properly, don’t disappoint the family. The weight of expectations that had never once loosened its grip.

And now here he was—unmoored, reckless, and hating himself for the pathetic knot of emotions tightening inside him.

The sound of the portrait hole creaking open jolted him, but Evan didn’t bother looking up. He knew who it would be. Barty Crouch Jr. always found him when he didn’t want to be found.

“Rosier,” Barty’s voice drawled, low and familiar, laced with the kind of curiosity that meant trouble. Evan heard the soft shuffle of Barty stepping inside, the door swinging shut behind him. “Well, well. Aren’t you a mess?”

Evan tilted his head back against the couch, exhaling sharply. “Piss off, Crouch.”

Barty only laughed, that warm, reckless sound that made Evan’s skin prickle with irritation—or something dangerously close to it. “Nah. Not when you’re like this. This is rare. A treat.”

Evan scowled, dragging a hand down his face. “What do you want?”

Barty crossed the room, as if the question were irrelevant. He moved with that same lazy confidence, the unbuttoned shirt, the tie draped over his shoulders, hair wild and half-tied like he’d barely tried. He was everything Evan hated about people who didn’t seem to care—and everything Evan secretly wished he could be.

“You’ve been drinking,” Barty observed, leaning on the armrest beside Evan. “I thought you didn’t do things like that.”

Evan shot him a glare. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

Barty raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Is that right?” He reached out, plucking lazily at the loose knot of Evan’s tie as if it were some kind of game. “You look less... uptight like this. Kind of suits you.”

Evan batted his hand away, but his reflexes were slower than usual. Barty only grinned, undeterred.

“Careful, Crouch,” Evan warned, though his voice lacked the usual bite. “I’m not in the mood.”

“You’re never in the mood,” Barty quipped, sitting down on the couch beside him, far too close. “Yet here we are.”

Evan groaned, letting his head fall back against the cushion. “Why do you always do this? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

Barty tilted his head, considering him for a moment. “Because you’d hate that even more.”

Evan opened his mouth to retort, but the words wouldn’t come. Maybe because Barty was right, and the truth of that was unbearable.

Silence stretched between them, the fire crackling softly in the background. Barty was still watching him, and Evan could feel the weight of his gaze, heavy and searching, like he was peeling away every carefully constructed layer.

The knot of emotions Evan had tried to drown in whiskey was starting to rise to the surface—anger, frustration, guilt, and something hotter, something dangerous that he didn’t want to name.

“You drive me mad,” Evan muttered, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

Barty’s grin widened, slow and deliberate. “Good.”

“No, not good, ” Evan snapped, though the heat in his voice was less convincing with every breath. “You don’t—” His voice cracked, and he hated himself for it. “You don’t understand what it’s like.”

Barty’s smile faltered, just slightly. He leaned in closer, elbows on his knees, his voice quieter now. “Try me.”

Evan shook his head, the knot in his chest twisting tighter. “It’s not that simple.”

“Maybe it is,” Barty murmured. “Or maybe you just make everything harder for yourself because you’re afraid.”

Evan’s heart pounded painfully, the ache of it unbearable. “Afraid of what?” he whispered.

Barty’s gaze locked onto his, steady and unwavering. “Afraid of what happens if you stop pretending.”

The words hit harder than they should have, cutting through Evan’s carefully maintained walls like a blade. He stared at Barty, breath caught somewhere between a scoff and a gasp.

And then, before he could think better of it, he blurted out the truth.

“I don’t hate you.”

The confession hung between them, raw and heavy, like a crack in the facade that was Evan Rosier

Barty blinked, surprise flickering across his face for the briefest moment before it melted into something softer, something unreadable. The usual cocky grin faded, leaving a strange stillness in its place, as if Evan’s words had stolen all the air from the room.

Evan wanted to take it back, to shove the words back down where they belonged, buried under the layers of denial and restraint. But it was too late. The truth was out now, wild and exposed, and there was no way to reel it back in.

“You don’t hate me, huh?” Barty said quietly, his voice devoid of the teasing lilt Evan had expected. There was no smugness, no gloating—just genuine curiosity, as if this version of Evan was something entirely new to him.

Evan groaned, slumping further into the couch. “Forget I said anything.”

“Not a chance.” Barty leaned in, his shoulder brushing against Evan’s in a way that felt deliberate, intimate. “You’ve been drinking, Rosier, so I’ll give you a pass. But I’m not going to forget that.”

Evan squeezed his eyes shut, as if blocking out the sight of Barty could make the moment disappear. His head swam with the lingering effects of alcohol and the unbearable weight of honesty. The fire, the whiskey, and Barty’s warmth pressed in on him from all sides, suffocating and comforting all at once.

“Why?” Barty asked, and there was something strangely gentle in his voice—none of the usual sharp edges. “Why do you pretend to hate me?”

Evan exhaled sharply, his breath shuddering out of him. “Because it’s easier.”

Barty tilted his head, studying Evan with the kind of focus that made Evan want to squirm. “Easier than what?”

Evan swallowed hard, his throat tight. “Easier than...” He faltered, the words catching in his chest. He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t admit the thing that had gnawed at him for months, the thing that had been lurking under every glare, every fight, every stolen glance.

“Easier than liking me?” Barty supplied softly, his voice no longer teasing.

Evan opened his eyes, heart pounding in his chest. There it was—the truth, spoken aloud, hanging between them like a spark waiting to ignite.

Barty’s gaze held his, unwavering. “Is that it?”

Evan didn’t trust himself to speak, so he gave the smallest nod, hating how vulnerable it made him feel.

For a moment, Barty said nothing. He just stared at Evan, something complicated flickering behind his blue-gray eyes. And then, slowly, Barty leaned closer, until their faces were only inches apart.

“You know,” Barty whispered, his breath warm against Evan’s skin, “you’re not as good at hiding as you think.”

Evan’s heart thundered in his chest, every nerve on high alert. He could feel the heat radiating off Barty, the faint scent of whiskey and smoke on his clothes. It was intoxicating, overwhelming—and terrifying.

“Barty...” Evan’s voice was barely a whisper, shaky and unsure.

Barty’s gaze flicked down to Evan’s lips, then back up to his eyes, as if weighing his next move. For a breathless moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of them, the air between them charged with something dangerous and electric.

Then Barty leaned back, just a fraction, enough to let the tension simmer without snapping.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” Barty murmured, a sly smile creeping back onto his face. “Not when you’re drunk, Rosier. I’m not that much of a bastard.”

Evan let out a shaky breath, relief and disappointment warring in his chest.

“Go to bed,” Barty said softly, his tone surprisingly gentle. “Before you say something else you can’t take back.”

Evan swallowed hard, nodding once. He stood on unsteady legs, the room swaying slightly beneath him, and made his way toward the dormitory stairs.

But just as he reached the bottom step, Barty called after him.

“Hey, Rosier.”

Evan turned, heart still pounding.

Barty grinned, a lazy, knowing grin that made Evan’s stomach twist in the worst—and best—way.

“I don’t hate you either.”

Evan blinked, stunned into silence.

And with that, Barty sprawled back onto the couch, as if he hadn’t just turned Evan’s world upside down with a few simple words.

Evan stood there for a moment longer, frozen, before finally dragging himself upstairs. His mind buzzed with whiskey and unspoken confessions, but one thought stood out above the rest, sharp and undeniable:

He was in trouble.

Big trouble.

Evan spent the entire next day doing what he did best—avoiding. He kept his head down in classes, slunk away from shared spaces, and skipped meals altogether, all in the hope that Barty wouldn’t track him down. But it was futile.

It was always futile.

Barty was like smoke—slippery, unpredictable, impossible to hold back for long. And no matter how fast or far Evan tried to run, part of him knew he was only delaying the inevitable.

By the time evening fell, Evan was fraying at the edges. His nerves were shot, his thoughts a tangled mess. He sat stiffly in the common room, pretending to study, though the words on the page in front of him blurred together uselessly. All he could think about was the night before—the warmth of Barty’s breath, the way his gaze had lingered, and the reckless, terrifying pull that had almost dragged Evan under.

He knew Barty wouldn’t let it go. That wasn’t his style. And sure enough, just as Evan began to think he might survive the day without incident, he felt a familiar presence slide into view.

"Rosier," Barty drawled, his voice lazy but edged with intent. He stood just a few feet away, arms folded, eyes sharp and amused as they locked onto Evan like a hunter sizing up prey. "You’ve been avoiding me."

Evan’s heart stuttered painfully in his chest, but he kept his face carefully neutral. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he muttered, turning a page in his textbook even though he hadn’t read a word.

Barty snorted softly. “You’re not even trying to lie convincingly.”

Evan’s pulse spiked, panic clawing at the edges of his composure. He knew that look in Barty’s eyes—a look that said I’m going to push until you break . And Evan wasn’t sure he had the strength to stop it.

Before he could come up with an excuse to escape, Barty moved closer. Too close.

Evan stiffened as Barty leaned over the back of his chair, invading his space with deliberate ease. He could smell him—smoke, leather, and something warm and infuriatingly familiar.

"Tell me," Barty murmured, his voice low, intimate. "What are you so afraid of, Rosier?"

Evan’s throat tightened painfully. He opened his mouth to reply—something sharp, deflective—but the words caught in his throat.

Barty tilted his head, his long hair brushing against Evan’s cheek. “You can run all you like," he whispered, "but you and I both know how this ends."

Evan’s heart pounded violently, his breath coming shallow and fast. "You don’t know anything."

Barty’s smile widened, sharp as a blade. "Don’t I?"

And then—without warning, without preamble—Barty reached out, grabbed the front of Evan’s neatly buttoned shirt, and yanked him to his feet.

Evan gasped, and before he could think, before he could stop it, Barty’s mouth was on his—hot, fierce, and impossibly right .

The world tilted on its axis, and for a moment, everything else faded. There was only the press of Barty’s lips, the taste of fire and recklessness, and the dizzying thrill of surrender.

Evan kissed back without thinking, without restraint—his hands fisting in Barty’s shirt, his carefully constructed walls crumbling to dust. It was messy, desperate, all teeth and heat, like years of tension spilling out in a single breathless moment.

Barty made a low sound, half a groan, half a laugh, as if he’d known all along that this was where they’d end up. His hands slid to Evan’s waist, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss with a hunger that set every nerve in Evan’s body alight.

Evan’s mind screamed at him to stop, to pull away, to think . But his body betrayed him, leaning into the kiss like it had been waiting for this—like it had always been waiting for this.

And that was what broke him.

With a strangled sound, Evan wrenched himself free, stumbling back as if Barty’s touch had burned him. His heart thundered wildly in his chest, every inch of him alive with the echo of what had just happened.

Barty blinked, caught off guard for the first time in what felt like forever. "Evan—"

But Evan didn’t wait to hear what he had to say.

He turned on his heel and bolted, his footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor as he fled up the stairs, panic clawing at his throat.

He didn’t stop until he was back in his dormitory, slamming the door behind him and collapsing onto his bed, breathless and shaking.

He buried his face in his hands, his pulse racing like he’d just run a marathon. His lips still tingled from the kiss, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d crossed some invisible line—one he could never uncross.

What the hell have I done?

Evan groaned, rolling onto his side and yanking the covers over his head like a child hiding from monsters. Except the monster this time was himself—and the confusing, undeniable truth of what he’d just felt.

And worse—he knew, without a doubt, that Barty wouldn’t let this be the end of it.

Not even close.

Evan lay under the covers, heart still hammering in his chest, as if he could somehow outlast the panic by suffocating beneath layers of fabric. He tried to will away the lingering heat on his lips, the weight of Barty’s hands on his waist, the terrifying thrill that had made the kiss feel inevitable .

But none of it worked. The kiss looped endlessly in his mind, vivid and sharp, like a reel of memories he couldn’t shut off.

You kissed him back.

The thought crashed over him like cold water, and he squeezed his eyes shut against it. I kissed him back.

What was wrong with him? He was Rosier . Rosiers didn’t unravel. Rosiers didn’t let themselves fall into... whatever this was.

But the memory of Barty’s grin—cocky, but with just the barest hint of surprise—kept haunting him. And the worst part? The ache in his chest wasn’t regret. It was something far worse.

He’d wanted more.

---

Hours later, long after the rest of the dorm had fallen silent, Evan was still wide awake, staring at the ceiling. His tie lay discarded on the nightstand, the knot loose and useless—a perfect metaphor for his mind, unspooled and chaotic.

He wanted to forget everything. Barty’s laugh, his reckless confidence, the way he looked at Evan like he knew .

---

Evan thought he'd gotten away clean. He didn’t see Barty at breakfast—didn’t even see him in class. Maybe, just maybe, Barty was going to let this slide.

But as he turned the corner to the common room late that evening, a sinking feeling gripped him. Because there, lounging on the same couch from the night before, was Barty.

Waiting.

Evan froze, his stomach twisting painfully.

Barty’s grin spread slow and smug, like a cat that had cornered its prey. "Rosier," he said smoothly, patting the cushion beside him. "Come sit."

“No.” Evan’s voice came out too sharp, too quick. He hated how small it sounded.

Barty’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Still running, are we?”

Evan scowled. "I’m not running."

Barty stood, and in a few strides, he was right in front of Evan, cutting off any chance of escape. His presence was overwhelming—warm, solid, and way too close.

"You kissed me," Barty said, his voice low, but there was no malice in it—only amusement and something dangerous beneath it. "Or do you not remember?"

Evan’s mouth went dry. "That—" He stumbled over his words, trying to find some excuse, some way to claw back control. "That was a mistake."

Barty raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t feel like one.”

The casual confidence in his voice made Evan’s stomach flip. His pulse thrummed violently in his ears, and all the carefully constructed walls in his mind wavered under Barty’s gaze.

“Stop,” Evan whispered, but the word lacked any conviction.

Barty leaned in closer, his grin softening just enough to make Evan’s breath hitch. “Why, Rosier?” he murmured. “Afraid you liked it too much?”

Evan’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. Every instinct told him to run, to lash out, to shut this down before it spiraled any further. But his body betrayed him, frozen under the weight of Barty’s gaze.

"You’re an idiot," Evan muttered, his voice weak and desperate.

Barty’s smile widened, slow and victorious. "Yeah," he whispered, tilting his head just slightly, "but so are you."

The closeness between them was suffocating—electric and unbearable, the kind of tension that could snap at any second.

And then Barty did the most infuriating thing of all. He reached out, lazily curling a lock of Evan’s hair around his finger, as if he had every right to touch him.

Evan’s breath hitched. “You need to—”

But he didn’t finish. He couldn’t.

Because Barty’s hand didn’t pull away. His fingers lingered, brushing against Evan’s skin, and in that moment, Evan knew two things with terrible clarity:

One—he couldn’t keep running from this.

And two—if he stayed here any longer, he was going to do something reckless all over again.

With a strangled sound, Evan shoved Barty’s hand away and stumbled backward, his heart slamming painfully in his chest. “You—” He shook his head, panic rising fast. "You don’t get to do this."

Barty gave him a slow, infuriating smirk, like he’d already won the game Evan hadn’t even wanted to play. “Sure I do.”

Evan's stomach churned with equal parts fury and something dangerously close to longing. "Stay away from me," he bit out, the words sharp and shaky.

Barty shrugged, far too relaxed for someone who had just set Evan’s world on fire. “Whatever you say, Rosier.”

Evan turned on his heel and fled before the knot in his chest could tighten any further.

And this time, when he ran, Barty didn’t try to stop him.

---

Back in the safety of his dormitory, Evan collapsed onto his bed, heart pounding wildly against his ribs.

What the hell is wrong with me?

His lips still tingled from the memory of the kiss, and his mind spun in circles, trying desperately to untangle the knot of emotions that Barty had so effortlessly tied inside him.

He yanked the covers over his head, burying himself in darkness, as if that could somehow erase the mess he’d made.

But even in the safety of his bed, Evan knew one thing for certain.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Evan wasn’t sure how he found himself in the dim, narrow stairwell just off the Astronomy Tower. The winding steps echoed underfoot as he climbed, each step heavier than the last, as if the weight of his indecision threatened to pull him back down.

He shouldn’t be here. He knew that. But something had pulled him—something reckless and stupid and undeniable, and it was too late to stop now.

He reached the top of the stairs and froze.

Barty was there, sitting lazily on the narrow stone ledge, one knee bent, his wand spinning idly between his fingers. He looked up as Evan approached, his expression flickering between surprise and amusement.

“Well, well,” Barty drawled, sliding off the ledge and standing in one fluid motion. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

Evan’s heart hammered in his chest, the words he’d rehearsed on the way up suddenly evaporating from his mind.

“You ran,” Barty said, his tone light, but there was a challenge in his eyes. “You’re good at that.”

Evan swallowed hard, feeling the familiar heat of shame rise to his face. “I know,” he muttered, his voice rough. “I—I shouldn’t have.”

Barty tilted his head, waiting, that insufferable grin of his lingering at the edges of his mouth. He didn’t push. He didn’t have to.

Evan exhaled sharply, the tension building in his chest until it felt like it might crush him. "I’m sorry."

The words hung between them, too heavy and too light at the same time.

Barty arched an eyebrow, his grin softening. “For what?”

“For... everything,” Evan admitted, feeling like he was unraveling right there on the cold stone steps. “For running. For—” He stopped, closing his eyes briefly, gathering what little courage he had left. “For kissing you. And then for running again. ”

Barty didn’t say anything at first. He just stood there, watching Evan with an intensity that made the air feel heavy.

And then, with maddening calm, Barty smiled. “So what are you going to do about it now, Rosier?”

Evan’s breath hitched. His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out the sound of the world around them.

He knew what Barty wanted—knew it from the way Barty’s gaze held him steady, daring him to make the next move. And for once in his life, Evan wasn’t going to run.

His hands trembled slightly as he stepped closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off Barty’s body. Close enough that the scent of whiskey and firewood wrapped around him like a second skin.

“I’m not running this time,” Evan whispered, more to himself than to Barty.

And before he could think too hard, before the weight of doubt could press him back into fear, Evan closed the distance between them.

He kissed Barty.

It was tentative at first—uncertain and shy, the way someone touches something fragile, terrified of breaking it. But then Barty’s hand curled around the back of Evan’s neck, pulling him closer, and the kiss deepened, gaining heat and urgency.

Evan melted into it, the world narrowing down to the slide of Barty’s lips against his, the way Barty kissed like he had nothing to lose. Like he wanted to pull every breath out of Evan, steal every ounce of restraint.

And for the first time, Evan let him.

He let himself want —let himself feel —without hesitation, without shame.

Barty’s hands were everywhere, trailing down his arms, curling into the fabric of Evan’s shirt, tugging him closer until there was no space left between them.

Evan’s heart was pounding, his hands gripping Barty’s collar like it was the only thing keeping him steady.

Barty pulled back just slightly, his lips brushing against Evan’s as he grinned. “See? Was that so hard?”

Evan laughed—actually laughed —a soft, breathless sound that he didn’t recognize coming from himself. It was equal parts relief and disbelief.

“No,” Evan whispered, his forehead pressing against Barty’s. “Not hard at all.”

For once, the knot in his chest was gone, the constant tension unspooled into something soft and unexpected.

Barty grinned, his thumb brushing over the sharp line of Evan’s jaw. “Told you you’d get the hang of it.”

Evan shook his head, smiling despite himself. He kissed Barty again—slow and deliberate this time, savoring the way it felt to choose this, to stay.

And this time, he didn’t run.

Chapter Text

Barty's grin widened against Evan's mouth as if he’d just won a game neither of them had agreed to play. His hands drifted down from Evan’s neck, brushing along his collarbones, until they found the familiar knot at Evan’s throat.

Evan froze for a second, his breath catching as Barty tugged gently at the tie. It was still perfectly knotted, of course—Evan never left it any other way.

But Barty, in his usual maddening fashion, teased the silk fabric loose with excruciating slowness, undoing it like he was peeling away a secret layer of armor.

"Again with the tie," Evan murmured, half-exasperated, half-breathless. He fought the instinct to step back, to re-button and re-tie himself back into the order and control he lived by. But Barty’s hands were warm against his chest, and the touch was grounding in a way that scared him just as much as it soothed him.

"Yeah," Barty whispered, the fabric sliding between his fingers. "I hate this thing. You’re always so buttoned-up, Rosier. It’s exhausting."

Evan swallowed hard, his pulse thrumming wildly under the brush of Barty’s knuckles. "It’s not—" He started to argue, but his voice faltered as Barty gave the tie one last pull, letting it fall loose between them, the silk slipping from Evan’s collar with a soft sigh.

Barty didn’t step back, didn’t give Evan a moment to think or catch his breath. Instead, he tilted his head, the barest hint of a smirk lingering on his lips. "There. Doesn’t that feel better?"

Evan’s throat felt too tight to answer. His hands hovered uselessly at his sides, torn between wanting to shove Barty away and tug him closer. His mind was a storm, and Barty stood in the center of it, utterly unbothered, dragging him deeper into the chaos.

"You think this’ll fix me?" Evan muttered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His voice was sharper than he intended, but there was no bite left in it. Just exhaustion.

Barty’s smile softened, just a fraction, the teasing glimmer in his eyes replaced with something quieter. "No. I don’t think you’re broken."

The simplicity of it hit Evan harder than he wanted to admit.

Barty’s hands found Evan’s collar again, not to mess with him this time, but to smooth the fabric, the touch lingering just long enough to make Evan’s chest ache. "You don’t need this," Barty whispered, almost gently. "Not with me."

Evan’s heart twisted painfully at the words. He wanted to argue, to tell Barty he was wrong, that the tie was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. But with every second that passed, Barty’s presence made it harder to remember why he had ever believed that in the first place.

Barty leaned in, his breath warm against Evan’s cheek, and it was too much. Evan surged forward, catching Barty’s lips in a kiss that was fierce and messy, filled with every unspoken thought he couldn’t untangle.

This time, he didn’t care that it was clumsy, that it lacked the careful precision he lived by. It wasn’t neat. It wasn’t controlled. It was real . And Evan stayed, pressing into the kiss like it was the only thing keeping him afloat.

Barty made a soft sound of surprise before smiling against Evan’s mouth, as if he’d been waiting for this all along. His hands slid under the loosened collar of Evan’s shirt, fingertips brushing the bare skin beneath. Evan shivered, and Barty chuckled softly, low and warm in his throat.

"See?" Barty murmured, his lips still brushing against Evan’s. "Told you it feels good to fall apart a little."

Evan let out a shaky breath, his hands clutching the front of Barty’s shirt like a lifeline. And for the first time in as long as he could remember, he didn’t feel like he was drowning. He felt free.

The stairwell was quiet except for their breathing, the faint rustle of clothes, and the occasional scrape of a shoe against stone. Outside, the world continued turning, but in that small space, with Barty’s lips on his and his tie discarded on the floor, Evan let the rest of it fade away.
The Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chatter—clinking cutlery, students laughing over pumpkin juice, owls swooping in with letters and the occasional dropped package. But at the Slytherin table, something unusual was happening.

Evan sat cross-legged, back to the bench, his dark hair spilling over his shoulders in messy waves. He was half-listening to the group seated around him—Regulus Black, quiet as usual, Sirius, sprawled across from him with that careless grin, and James Potter, who was halfway through recounting some ridiculous Quidditch practice mishap.

But the most unusual thing wasn’t the company.

It was Barty.

Barty Crouch Jr. sat behind Evan, his long fingers deftly weaving sections of Evan’s hair into a loose, intricate braid. The intimacy of the gesture went unnoticed by most, hidden in plain sight beneath the banter and noise of the hall. But for those paying attention—particularly James and Sirius—it was impossible to miss.

Remus Lupin, seated between James and Sirius, raised an eyebrow at the sight but said nothing, watching with a soft, knowing smile as Barty leaned close, humming under his breath while working the strands with surprising skill.

Sirius, however, wasn’t nearly as subtle. He grinned like a Cheshire cat, nudging James with his elbow. "Oi, Potter. You seeing this?"

James smirked, balancing a spoon on his nose as if to make a point about how seriously he was taking breakfast. "Oh, I see it." He let the spoon clatter onto the table. "Rosier’s gone soft. Who would’ve thought?"

Evan shot James a glare over his shoulder, cheeks flushing pink. "Mind your own business, Potter."

"Can’t," Sirius said, still grinning wickedly. "This is too good. Rosier, letting someone touch his hair? And Crouch, of all people?" He whistled low. "Didn’t think you had it in you."

Barty chuckled behind Evan, the sound low and smug. "Maybe he’s got better taste than you think, Black." He gave a playful tug to the half-finished braid, making Evan shift uncomfortably.

"Could you not pull so hard?" Evan muttered, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity even as the warmth of Barty’s fingers at the nape of his neck sent unwelcome shivers down his spine.

"Relax, Rosier." Barty’s voice was full of lazy amusement, as always. "If I wanted to hurt you, you’d know it."

Remus snorted softly into his tea, and even Regulus’s lips twitched as if suppressing a rare smile.

"You’re letting him do that?" Sirius asked, looking between them with the air of someone watching a very interesting experiment unfold. "Didn’t think you were into all that ‘letting go’ stuff, Rosier."

"Maybe he’s finally learning," Barty said, fingers working quickly as he tied off the end of the braid with an elastic band from Merlin knows where. "Little by little."

Evan huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I hate all of you."

"Clearly," James said, grinning like he’d just won a bet. "That’s why you’re sitting here instead of skulking with your fellow Slytherins."

"Shut up, Potter," Evan grumbled, though his words lacked bite.

Regulus, seated quietly beside him, leaned closer, his dark eyes flickering with subtle amusement. "They’re idiots," he said, his voice low and calm, as if offering Evan an unspoken alliance in the midst of all the teasing.

"Thank you, Regulus," Evan muttered, grateful for at least one sane voice at the table.

Sirius, not one to let things lie, reached across the table and gave Regulus’s hair a ruffle, which earned him a sharp swat from his younger brother. "See, Reg, you could learn a thing or two from Crouch. Maybe you wouldn’t be such a tight—"

"Finish that sentence, and I’ll hex you under the table," Regulus warned, voice icy.

Sirius just laughed, clearly delighted to have gotten under his brother’s skin.

Meanwhile, Barty shifted closer to Evan, letting the braid fall against Evan’s back with a little pat of approval. "There you go. Now you look perfect."

Evan shot him a look, but there was no malice behind it. "I looked fine before."

Barty smirked, leaning in just a little too close, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. "Maybe. But now you look mine ."

Evan’s breath hitched—just slightly—and he was grateful that the others were too busy arguing to notice. He shot Barty a warning glare, but the effect was ruined by the pink dusting his cheeks.

"You’re insufferable," he muttered under his breath.

"And you like it," Barty replied with a wink, the smugness practically radiating off him.

Before Evan could respond, James clapped his hands together, drawing everyone's attention. "Right! So, anyone up for sneaking out to the Quidditch pitch later? Bet I can beat all of you, even with my eyes closed."

"You're on," Sirius said immediately, never one to pass up a challenge.

Remus sighed into his tea. "Do any of you ever consider not getting detention?"

"Where’s the fun in that?" James grinned.

As the group fell back into their usual banter, Evan tried to focus on anything other than the feeling of Barty’s hands still lingering in the phantom memory on his skin—and the smug, satisfied look on Barty’s face that said he knew exactly what he was doing .
As the conversation buzzed around the table, the chaotic energy was only interrupted when Regulus tilted his head slightly, dark eyes shifting toward the Gryffindor table. It was subtle—so subtle that most wouldn’t catch it. But Evan noticed. He followed Regulus’s gaze and, unsurprisingly, found it fixed on James Potter, who was currently engaged in some over-the-top retelling of a Quidditch play, arms flailing dramatically.

“Seriously?” Evan muttered under his breath, nudging Regulus’s elbow.

Regulus gave the tiniest shrug, his expression schooled into perfect indifference. “What?”

“You’re not exactly subtle.” Evan raised an eyebrow, lips quirking in faint amusement.

Regulus rolled his eyes, though his gaze flickered once more toward James, a softness sneaking through the usual coldness. “He’s an idiot.”

“Yeah, and yet…” Evan let the sentence hang in the air, smirking as Regulus’s pale cheeks tinged the faintest pink.

Before Regulus could retort, Barty leaned in, his shoulder brushing against Evan’s, always too familiar. "Oh, this is good," Barty whispered in Evan’s ear, his voice full of mischief. "Little Regulus Black, falling for a Gryffindor golden boy."

"Shut up," Regulus hissed, but there was no real bite to his words—just the irritation of someone who knew he'd been caught.

Meanwhile, across the hall, James seemed to sense Regulus’s gaze like a sixth sense. He turned his head mid-sentence, locking eyes with him through the crowd. A slow, playful grin spread across James’s face, the kind that made it clear he was well aware of the attention he was receiving.

Regulus immediately looked away, jaw tight.

Evan couldn’t resist. "Why don't you just talk to him instead of staring from across the room like some tragic Victorian ghost?"

"I don't stare," Regulus muttered, eyes glued firmly to his plate now as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Barty chuckled, ever delighted by the misery of others. “You know, Rosier’s right for once. If you want him, Black, make a move.”

"Leave it alone," Regulus warned, though his voice lacked conviction.

But Barty, of course, never knew when to quit. “What’s the worst that could happen? Potter’s already halfway obsessed with you."

"Obsessed?" Evan echoed with mock surprise, glancing between Regulus and James, whose grin had only grown wider. "Interesting."

“Do you lot ever shut up?” Regulus muttered, scowling at them both. But there was no hiding the slight flush coloring his face, or the way he toyed absently with the sleeve of his jumper—nervous, just slightly.

At that moment, James chose to make his move. He stood from the Gryffindor table and—despite the protests of his friends—made a beeline for the Slytherin table, zeroing in on Regulus with the same reckless confidence he applied to everything.

“Well, well, look who we have here,” James said, coming to a stop just behind Regulus, hands on his hips and grinning like the cat that caught the canary.

Regulus exhaled sharply, barely looking up. "Go away, Potter."

“Can’t do that, love.” James grinned, rocking on the balls of his feet. “See, I happen to know you’ve been staring at me all morning, and I just had to come over to check if you were okay.”

“I wasn’t staring," Regulus muttered, clearly lying.

James leaned down, elbows on the table as he brought himself right into Regulus’s space, eyes bright with amusement. “You were. But don’t worry, I’m flattered.”

"You’re insufferable," Regulus said, though the insult lacked any real venom.

James’s grin widened. "Yeah, yeah, you say that now." He straightened, ruffling Regulus’s already-tousled hair. "You coming to the pitch later? Need someone to glare at me while I win."

Regulus batted James’s hand away, scowling. "We’ll see."

"That’s as good as a yes," James declared with a wink, and with one last ruffle to Regulus’s hair, he turned and strolled back to the Gryffindor table, utterly pleased with himself.

The moment James was gone, Barty dissolved into laughter, clutching his sides. Even Evan allowed himself a smirk, enjoying the rare sight of Regulus Black being outmaneuvered.

"That was painful," Evan teased, nudging Regulus. "You’re hopeless."

Regulus huffed, straightening his jumper with as much dignity as he could muster. "At least I’m not wearing my heart on my sleeve."

Evan’s smirk faltered, but before he could respond, Barty—always one step ahead—reached over and gave Evan’s half-finished braid a little tug. "No, Rosier just wears it in his hair now."

Evan flushed, swatting Barty’s hand away, but the damage was done.

The teasing and laughter rolled on, but beneath it all, Evan felt a strange sense of peace—a quiet acceptance that maybe, just maybe, things didn’t have to be so complicated.

Barty leaned closer again, his fingers casually undoing the braid he’d just finished, as if to say, You’ll get used to it, Rosier.

And the strangest part? Maybe he already was.

Chapter Text

Evan stayed still for a moment longer than necessary, feeling the phantom weight of Barty’s fingers sliding through his hair. Something about the ease of it—the simple, unspoken familiarity—made him dizzy, like stepping too close to the edge of a cliff. Barty was always like this: reckless, maddening, yet somehow grounding in a way Evan couldn't understand.

He cleared his throat, shaking off the warmth that lingered from Barty’s proximity. Across the table, Sirius was still grinning like a madman, and James was casting playful glances toward Regulus, who sat with an air of forced indifference—his pale fingers curled tightly around his goblet as if to hold himself together.

Remus watched the whole scene unfold with that steady, knowing gaze of his, a faint smile tugging at his lips like he’d seen it all before. If he noticed anything strange between Evan and Barty, he didn’t say a word.

"Right, so what’s the plan, then?" James asked, drumming his fingers on the table. "We hitting the pitch after breakfast? Maybe some two-on-two? Me and Pads versus—" His eyes glimmered mischievously. "Black and Rosier."

Regulus narrowed his eyes. "We have the same last name, idiot."

"Not to me, love," James shot back with a grin, leaning casually on his elbow, as if the nickname wasn’t sending Regulus’s carefully composed mask cracking at the edges.

Sirius choked on his pumpkin juice, doubling over with laughter. “Merlin’s beard, you’re a menace, Potter.”

Regulus flushed, a quick, fleeting thing, but Evan saw it—just as he saw the way James beamed at the sight, clearly pleased with himself.

Evan shot his friend a sidelong glance. "I can’t believe you let him call you that," he muttered to Regulus, just loud enough for him to hear.

"Shut up," Regulus hissed under his breath, though there was no real anger behind it.

Meanwhile, Barty shifted closer again, his arm brushing against Evan’s, and Evan fought the urge to lean into the touch. He could feel Barty’s grin even without looking—lazy and triumphant, as if he had just won a game only he knew they were playing.

Barty plucked a piece of toast off Evan’s plate, chewing lazily as if he belonged there, as if Evan’s personal space was just a suggestion. "I’ll referee the match," Barty announced with a smirk. "Someone’s gotta keep things fair with Potter around."

"Fair?" James snorted. "You’re the last person who should be refereeing anything, Crouch."

Barty gave an exaggerated shrug. "Life’s not fair, Potter. You’ll just have to deal with it."

James rolled his eyes, but there was no real malice in it. Sirius, meanwhile, was already half out of his seat, clearly eager to get to the pitch. "Come on, Reg, before James throws himself at you again."

Regulus shot Sirius a murderous look, but he stood up anyway, smoothing down his jumper with a frown that couldn’t quite mask the flicker of anticipation in his eyes. James shot him a wink as they left, and Evan caught the smallest ghost of a smile on Regulus’s lips before he turned away.

When the others had filed out of the hall, leaving only scraps of toast and empty cups behind, Evan turned back toward Barty.

"You’re enjoying this too much," Evan muttered under his breath, though his lips twitched despite himself.

Barty’s grin widened. "Of course I am. You look good when you’re flustered."

Evan huffed in exasperation, but he didn’t pull away when Barty leaned in, his fingers brushing against the collar of Evan’s shirt again. The quiet hum of the hall swirled around them, but for a moment, it felt like they were the only ones in the room.

Barty tugged gently at the open collar, his voice low and teasing. "See? Told you. No need for the armor."

Evan swallowed hard, his pulse thrumming wildly beneath his skin. He knew he should step back—re-tie his tie, smooth out his hair, and shove Barty back into the neat little box where he kept everything that scared him.

But instead, he stayed.

"Yeah," Evan whispered, more to himself than to Barty. "Maybe not."

Barty’s smile softened—just a little—and for once, it felt like neither of them needed to say anything more.
Evan let the moment linger—just a beat longer than usual—before Barty, with his infuriating smirk still in place, gave the loose collar one last pat. “C’mon, Rosier,” he murmured, close enough that Evan could feel the warmth of his breath. “We’ve got a show to watch.”

They slipped out of the Great Hall together, their shoulders brushing in a way that felt both accidental and deliberate. Evan kept his expression neutral, ignoring the way his skin prickled where Barty’s arm occasionally bumped his. No one could know. Especially not James or Sirius. He wasn’t even sure if Regulus knew, and Regulus knew everything .

The two of them followed the winding corridors toward the Quidditch pitch, where James, Sirius, and the others were bound to cause trouble.

When they reached the stands, the pitch was already buzzing with excitement. James hovered midair on his broom, grinning like a lunatic while tossing the Quaffle from hand to hand. Sirius lounged lazily on his own broom beside him, wind whipping through his dark curls. Below them, Regulus stood on the grass, arms crossed, trying—and failing—to look unimpressed.

“You coming up, Black?” James called, his voice carrying across the field. "Or are you too busy brooding?"

Regulus rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You wish, Potter.”

Sirius let out a bark of laughter, leaning into James’s space with that easy, playful intimacy that made them feel untouchable. "He’s thinking about it. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger."

Regulus scowled but mounted his broom without another word, shooting into the sky with a smoothness that only years of practice could produce. James whooped in delight, following him closely.

Evan settled into the stands, arms folded over his chest, watching the group with narrowed eyes. He could feel Barty beside him, closer than necessary, radiating warmth and mischief.

“You ever think,” Barty began, his voice low and conspiratorial, “that maybe James is good for him?”

Evan snorted. “Regulus? Not a chance. He hates Potter.”

“Uh-huh,” Barty drawled, clearly enjoying himself. “And that’s why Regulus flies ten times faster when Potter’s watching.”

As if on cue, Regulus streaked across the pitch in pursuit of the Quaffle, the wind rippling through his dark hair. James was right on his tail, laughing like a madman as he tried to catch him. It was ridiculous, really—two people who shouldn’t fit, somehow locked in this strange, magnetic orbit.

“Idiots,” Evan muttered under his breath, though he couldn’t help the small, reluctant smile that crept onto his face.

"Pot, meet kettle," Barty said with a sly grin, nudging Evan’s side.

Evan shot him a half-hearted glare. "This is nothing like that."

Barty gave him a look that was far too knowing. "Sure, Rosier. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

The game below them unfolded in bursts of laughter and friendly competition—Sirius shouting insults, James showing off with every chance he got, and Regulus pretending not to care while keeping pace with every one of James’s reckless stunts.

Evan watched as James threw a lopsided grin over his shoulder, and, despite himself, Regulus smiled back. It was a small, fleeting thing, but it was real.

Barty leaned closer, his voice just above a whisper. “It’s always the quiet ones, huh?”

Evan exhaled sharply through his nose. “Shut up.”

Barty only laughed, settling comfortably beside him as if the chaos of the pitch below was exactly where he belonged.

Evan shifted slightly, letting their legs press together beneath the bench—just a little, just enough to feel grounded. Maybe it was okay, he thought, to let the world slip out of focus for a while.

With Barty beside him and the game unfolding in front of them, Evan found, for once, that he didn’t mind.

Not at all.

James whipped the Quaffle directly at Regulus, who snatched it out of the air with practiced ease, shooting a glare that said, Is that all you’ve got?

James only grinned, looping around Regulus with a cocky, almost lazy spin on his broom. "Come on, Black. You can’t keep pretending you don’t like this."

"You’re insufferable," Regulus called after him, though his sharp tone couldn’t hide the spark of enjoyment in his dark eyes.

From the stands, Evan muttered to Barty, “They’re going to kill each other.”

Barty smirked. “Yeah, or snog.”

Evan shot him a scandalized look, but Barty only shrugged. "What? The tension’s practically unbearable."

Below, James twisted in midair, almost falling off his broom as he avoided a Bludger. Sirius cheered obnoxiously from the other end of the pitch. Regulus took advantage of the distraction and darted forward, the Quaffle tucked securely under one arm as he streaked toward the goal.

James swore, immediately giving chase. The two of them zipped across the field in tandem, like two stars locked in orbit. Every time James got too close, Regulus would veer sharply, forcing James to pull back with an exasperated laugh.

"You think James is ever going to grow a brain and ask him out?" Evan mused, unable to hide the faint curiosity in his voice.

Barty gave him a sidelong glance, smirking. "What, you think Regulus is going to do it first?"

Evan snorted. "Not a chance. He’d rather fall off his broom."

Just as the words left his mouth, something happened—whether intentional or not was hard to tell. Regulus faked right, but James anticipated it, cutting him off mid-air. For a heartbeat, they hovered too close, broomsticks nearly tangling.

And then James, ever the reckless Gryffindor, leaned in with a grin that was equal parts cocky and soft. "You’re going to have to try harder than that, Black."

Regulus blinked, clearly thrown off by the proximity. His mouth opened like he wanted to retort, but whatever sharp response he had planned evaporated.

For one electric moment, it looked like James might just kiss him, right there in front of everyone.

"Oh, Merlin, he’s going to do it," Barty whispered gleefully, leaning forward in his seat.

But at the last second, Regulus pulled back, cheeks tinged pink. He shoved the Quaffle into James’s chest and muttered something too low to hear. James only laughed—bright and easy—and let Regulus fly ahead of him, the look on his face somewhere between victory and surrender.

"That was painful to watch," Evan muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

"You love it," Barty said, leaning close enough that their shoulders pressed together again. "Admit it, Rosier. You live for this kind of drama."

Evan groaned, but there was no real irritation in it. The truth was, he did find some strange, morbid enjoyment in watching his friends fumble their way through their tangled feelings—probably because it made his own life feel just a little less messy by comparison.

Below, the game continued, but the energy had shifted. Regulus flew with renewed focus, and James stayed just a little too close behind him, like a shadow that refused to leave.

Evan sighed. “They’re hopeless.”

“Completely,” Barty agreed, but there was warmth in his voice, like he didn’t mind one bit.

As the match wore on, the skies over the Quidditch pitch started to darken, autumn clouds creeping over the horizon. The wind picked up, making the players’ robes flutter as they zoomed across the field. Evan shivered slightly, but he didn’t pull away from Barty’s warmth beside him. It wasn’t much, just the subtle press of shoulders, but it was enough.

James and Regulus were locked in their strange, competitive dance—one that looked more like courtship than rivalry. Each time James scored, Regulus would tighten his grip on the broom as if willing himself not to care, only for James to laugh, bright and teasing, dragging Regulus back into the game.

Evan found his gaze drifting. Not to the players, but to Barty.

He hated how easy it was to be around him, how effortless the teasing felt. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this—wasn’t supposed to feel good. And yet, with Barty’s leg pressed against his, the game below started to feel less important, like it was happening in some distant, dreamlike world.

Barty, as if sensing the shift, leaned a little closer, his voice dropping into that familiar, conspiratorial murmur. "What’s going on in that over-complicated head of yours, Rosier?"

Evan huffed softly, trying for a smirk. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Barty grinned, and it was that lazy, infuriating grin that always made Evan’s pulse quicken. "I always know, mate."

Evan rolled his eyes. “You don’t know everything.”

“Don’t I?” Barty’s hand brushed against Evan’s again—just a graze of knuckles, fleeting and deliberate.

Evan felt like he was falling again, that same dizzying sensation from earlier returning full force. He could hear the whoops and shouts from the pitch as Regulus and James darted across the sky, Sirius shouting obscenities from above. But in that moment, it all faded into the background.

“You should probably stop doing that,” Evan muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

Barty only smiled. “What? This?” His fingers lingered on Evan’s for a beat longer, a barely-there pressure that spoke volumes.

Evan’s breath hitched. It was dangerous, this thing between them—whatever it was. But for once, Evan didn’t feel like running. He didn’t feel like retreating into the safety of distance or sarcasm.

Barty seemed to sense it too. His grin softened, the sharp edges smoothing out into something quieter, more genuine. "Relax, Rosier," he whispered. "We’re allowed to have moments, you know."

Evan swallowed hard, his chest tight with unspoken emotions. "Yeah. Just... not too many."

Barty chuckled under his breath, but there was no malice in it—just a quiet understanding. "Not too many," he agreed softly, as if making a promise.

They sat like that for a while, the game carrying on below them, the wind swirling around them in playful gusts. Evan closed his eyes for a second, letting himself breathe. Just for now. Just for this moment.

And for once, it felt like enough.
The air grew heavier, thick with the scent of damp grass and the chill of autumn, but Evan hardly noticed. All he could feel was the warmth that lingered between him and Barty—a shared heat that felt more dangerous than any curse. It was strange, this delicate thing between them. It wasn’t loud like James and Regulus or wild like Sirius’s laughter. It was subtle, quiet. But it was real.

On the pitch, the game seemed to spiral into barely controlled chaos. James weaved through the air with reckless grace, laughing too loudly as Regulus gave chase, sharp and determined, a hunter in flight. Sirius threw a Bludger at both of them indiscriminately, and Remus, from where he hovered on the sidelines, simply shook his head, amused but unsurprised.

“They’re never going to admit it,” Barty murmured, nudging Evan’s side.

Evan arched an eyebrow, still watching the scene unfold. “Admit what?”

Barty shot him a knowing glance. “That they’re into each other. Potter and Regulus. You think they’ll just keep circling like that forever?”

Evan considered it for a moment, watching the way James kept looking over his shoulder, making sure Regulus was always on his tail. The way Regulus flew faster, harder, whenever James got too close. There was something almost poetic about it—two people with entirely too much pride and entirely too many feelings, chasing each other without ever really touching.

“Yeah,” Evan muttered, lips curling into a dry smirk. “Probably.”

Barty laughed quietly, his breath warm against Evan’s ear. “Idiots, the lot of them.”

Evan didn’t disagree.

Down on the field, Regulus finally managed to steal the Quaffle from James with a neat, precise dive. James swore under his breath, clearly impressed despite himself. Regulus shot him a triumphant glare, the kind that only made James grin wider, as if he thrived on the challenge.

“They could at least *try* to be subtle,” Evan muttered.

“You’re one to talk,” Barty said, his voice laced with amusement.

Evan shot him a warning look. “I don’t know what you’re implying, Crouch.”

Barty smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Of course not.” He leaned closer, so close that Evan could feel the brush of Barty’s hair against his temple. "You, Rosier, are the very picture of restraint."

Evan’s heart stumbled in his chest, but he refused to let it show. “Shut up.”

Barty chuckled again, soft and self-assured. “Make me.”

The words hung between them, daring and electric, and for a brief, reckless moment, Evan almost considered it—almost considered closing the space between them and silencing Barty with a kiss, just to see what would happen.

But before he could make any foolish decisions, a loud *crack* echoed across the pitch, followed by a string of shouted curses.

Evan’s gaze snapped back to the game in time to see Sirius spiraling out of control on his broom, clearly having taken a hit from the Bludger he’d been ignoring. James bolted after him, yelling something incoherent, while Regulus hesitated only for a fraction of a second before diving straight into the chaos.

“Merlin’s bloody *beard*,” Evan groaned, already pushing to his feet. “They’re going to get themselves killed.”

Barty remained seated, far too relaxed for the situation at hand. “I told you,” he said, grinning up at Evan. “Drama. Can’t get enough of it.”

Evan shot him a withering glare, but it lacked any real heat. He started down the stairs toward the field, muttering under his breath about reckless Gryffindors and stubborn Blacks.

Barty followed at a leisurely pace, hands tucked casually into his pockets, as if the unfolding chaos was just another form of entertainment. "You coming to save the day, Rosier? Or just to watch?"

Evan threw him a look over his shoulder. "Someone has to keep them from cracking their skulls open."

Barty only laughed. "Right. And it definitely has nothing to do with you enjoying this mess just as much as the rest of us."

Evan rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Because maybe, just maybe, Barty wasn’t entirely wrong.
It happened in the blink of an eye. One second, Regulus was soaring effortlessly toward the goalpost, the Quaffle tucked under his arm, and the next—*crack!*—his broom collided with a rogue Bludger. The impact threw him sideways, and with a sickening twist, Regulus lost control.

He spiraled downward, hitting the pitch hard and fast, the dull thud of his landing echoing in the sudden stillness.

Evan winced. "Ouch."

Beside him, Barty tilted his head with an unsettlingly amused expression, as if watching a particularly good plot twist. "That looked painful."

"Of course it did, you psychopath," Evan muttered, eyes fixed on the scene below. "He just broke something. Idiot."

Sure enough, Regulus was sprawled awkwardly on the grass, clutching his arm to his chest, his face twisted with barely contained pain. But before Evan could even consider moving down to help, someone else was already sprinting across the field.

James Potter.

He didn’t hesitate, not for a second. One moment, he was hovering mid-air, and the next, he was on the ground beside Regulus, all reckless energy and concern.

"Reg! Bloody hell—are you okay?" James’s voice cracked slightly as he knelt, hands hovering uselessly before settling on Regulus’s shoulder.

Regulus grimaced, clearly biting back a groan. "Do I *look* okay, Potter?"

James ignored the sarcasm entirely. "Let me see. Which arm? Left? Right?" He fumbled for Regulus’s wrist, carefully trying to assess the damage. His usual bravado had melted away, leaving nothing but pure, unfiltered worry in its place.

Regulus scowled, though the sharp edge of it was dulled by the pain. "It’s fine. I can—"

"Shut up, Black." James’s tone was soft, almost scolding. "You’re not fine. Just—just let me help, okay?"

Evan could practically feel Barty vibrating with excitement beside him. "Oh my *God*," Barty whispered gleefully, nudging Evan’s side. "Are you seeing this?"

Evan didn’t answer. He was too busy watching James gently, carefully support Regulus’s injured arm, the way his fingers brushed against Regulus’s wrist with such tender precision that it almost made Evan feel embarrassed to witness it.

"James Potter, notorious idiot, *touching* Regulus Black like he’s made of glass," Evan muttered under his breath. "This is unreal."

Barty was grinning from ear to ear. "This is the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life."

On the pitch, Regulus was glaring fiercely, but there was no mistaking the flush creeping up his neck. "You don’t have to make such a scene, Potter."

James gave him a look—equal parts fond and exasperated. "Too late for that, love."

Regulus froze, wide-eyed, like the word had stunned him more than the fall.

From the stands, Evan groaned. "Oh no. He called him *love*."

Barty looked like Christmas had come early. "He *so* called him love. They’re done for. This is it. The beginning of the end."

Evan folded his arms, trying (and failing) to suppress a grin. "How long do you think it’ll take before they kiss?"

"Minutes, at most," Barty declared confidently.

Below them, Sirius—having finally caught up to the situation—arrived with his usual lack of subtlety. "Merlin’s saggy socks, what happened?"

"Your brother decided to wrestle the pitch and lost," James replied distractedly, still holding Regulus like he was the most fragile thing in the world.

Sirius’s eyebrows shot up. "*You’re* helping him? Since when do you—"

"Not now, Sirius," James snapped, his gaze still locked on Regulus. "Priorities."

Regulus, despite the pain, managed to mutter, "Told you they’d make a scene."

James gave him a crooked grin, the kind that could melt ice. "You love it."

Regulus groaned, and not just from the pain.

Up in the stands, Evan nudged Barty with his elbow. "I think we owe them ten Galleons. This is basically a confession."

Barty snickered. "Worth every Knut."

The game was long forgotten, the other players now hovering awkwardly on their brooms, unsure whether to keep playing or give James and Regulus the privacy they clearly didn’t care about.

"Do you think they know how obvious they are?" Evan asked, his gaze still fixed on the two boys tangled awkwardly on the pitch.

"Absolutely not," Barty replied, sounding far too pleased.

James was now in full caretaker mode, brushing Regulus’s hair out of his face with a tenderness that made even Sirius wrinkle his nose in discomfort.

"Let’s get you to the Hospital Wing," James murmured, carefully helping Regulus to his feet.

Regulus, flushed and still scowling, muttered, "You’re insufferable."

"And yet," James said with a grin, "you let me help anyway."

Barty gave an exaggerated sigh of contentment. "They’re disgusting."

Evan fought the urge to laugh. "Absolutely."

As James wrapped an arm around Regulus to support him, the younger Black leaned into the touch just a little—barely noticeable, but enough. Enough to say what neither of them was brave enough to admit aloud.

Evan shook his head, unable to suppress the fond smile tugging at his lips. "Hopeless."

"Completely hopeless," Barty agreed. Then, after a beat, he leaned closer and added, "You know, we’re not so different from them."

Evan shot him a look. "Don’t even start."

Barty just grinned, mischievous and triumphant, like he’d already won some invisible game. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Rosier."

Evan rolled his eyes, but this time, he didn’t pull away when their shoulders brushed again.

Below, James and Regulus disappeared toward the castle, bickering quietly all the way—two stars locked in a chaotic, inevitable orbit.

Evan exhaled, watching them go, and for once, he let himself enjoy the show.

Chapter Text

The Hospital Wing was quiet, save for the soft rustle of sheets and the occasional clink of Madam Pomfrey’s potions. Regulus sat stiffly on the bed, his arm swathed in bandages, eyes narrowed with a mix of discomfort and simmering irritation.

At his side—because of course he was—James Potter sat perched on a stool, elbows resting on his knees, staring at Regulus like he’d personally been assigned to guard him. His wild hair stuck out in all directions, windblown and unruly from the pitch. He hadn’t even bothered to change out of his Quidditch robes.

"You really didn’t have to come with me," Regulus muttered, eyes averted.

"Yeah, I know," James replied easily, as if the thought had never even crossed his mind.

Madam Pomfrey bustled back into the room, holding a goblet filled with a foul-smelling potion. "Drink this, Mr. Black. It’ll mend the bone overnight."

Regulus took the goblet reluctantly, his expression sour. The sharp, medicinal scent wafted into his nose.

"All in one go," James whispered conspiratorially, leaning in closer. "Just like a shot."

Regulus shot him a scathing look. "I don’t need advice from you."

James grinned. "You keep saying that, but here we are."

With a glare sharp enough to cut glass, Regulus tipped the potion back in one swift movement, grimacing as he swallowed. Madam Pomfrey gave a satisfied hum and patted his shoulder. "That’s the spirit. Now, rest. I won’t have you two loitering in here for hours."

As soon as she left, Regulus let out a low groan, leaning back against the pillows. His injured arm throbbed less now, but the presence of James Potter beside him was another kind of ache altogether.

"You don’t have to hover," Regulus muttered, shifting to put space between them. "I’m not dying, Potter."

"Good to know," James said with a grin, undeterred. "But I think you’d secretly miss me if I left."

Regulus rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t stick. "You’re delusional."

"Maybe," James admitted. Then, with a glance toward the closed doors of the Hospital Wing, he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a softer, more genuine tone. "But you really scared me, Reg."

That took Regulus off guard. His gaze flickered to James, startled by the uncharacteristic seriousness in his expression. The easy, playful grin was gone, leaving behind something quieter—something that felt uncomfortably real.

"I’m fine," Regulus said, though his voice wavered just enough for James to notice.

"Yeah, well…" James’s hand twitched as if he wanted to reach out but thought better of it. "Still. You’ve got to stop giving me heart attacks like that."

Regulus huffed, looking away again, but the flush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

James, ever the Gryffindor, didn’t miss it. "You’re blushing," he said, entirely too pleased with himself.

"I am not," Regulus shot back, though his ears were now undeniably pink.

James leaned closer, his grin returning with full force. "Admit it, Black. You like that I stayed."

"Don’t you have anywhere else to be?" Regulus muttered, scowling, but the bite in his voice lacked its usual venom.

"Nope." James propped his chin in his hand, looking far too comfortable for someone sitting in the sterile gloom of the Hospital Wing. "Right here’s exactly where I want to be."

Regulus groaned quietly and sank deeper into the pillows, as if the bed might somehow swallow him whole and save him from James’s relentless charm.

James stayed, though, and for some reason, Regulus didn’t tell him to leave. Maybe he didn’t want him to. Maybe, in the quiet of the Hospital Wing, with no one around to see, it was easier to let his guard slip—just a little.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward, though; it felt strangely peaceful, like the eye of a storm that always seemed to rage between them.

James tapped his fingers lightly on the edge of the bed, glancing over at Regulus with a softness in his gaze that wasn’t quite teasing anymore. "So... what now?"

Regulus sighed, though there was a flicker of something—not quite annoyance, not quite amusement—curling at the corner of his mouth. "You’ll shut up, and I’ll sleep."

"Deal." James grinned, leaning back in his chair. "But only if you promise not to fall off your broom again."

Regulus rolled his eyes, but this time, the smallest hint of a smile ghosted across his lips. "I make no promises."

And for the first time in what felt like forever, James didn’t press. He just stayed, sitting quietly beside Regulus, as if that was enough. And he fell into a deep sleep.

Evan and Barty walked into the Hospital Wing, the faint scent of antiseptic filling the air as they stepped inside. The soft murmur of voices drifted from one of the curtained-off beds, and Evan raised an eyebrow at the sight that greeted them.

James was sprawled in a chair, fast asleep, his head lolling against the side of the bed where Regulus lay, his arm protectively draped over the Slytherin’s waist. The sight was strangely endearing, a snapshot of intimacy that made Evan’s chest feel tight. He glanced at Barty, who wore a look that was both wistful and resigned.

“Are you okay?” Evan asked, keeping his voice low, as if afraid to disturb the moment.

Barty shrugged, though his expression was anything but casual. “I didn’t think I’d see them like this,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on the two sleeping boys. “They look... peaceful.”

“Yeah,” Evan agreed, feeling an unexpected warmth at the sight. “I didn’t know James cared so much.”

Barty turned to Evan, his eyes searching. “I have to tell you something. About Regulus and me.”

Evan tilted his head, curiosity piqued. “What about it?”

“We dated a couple of years ago,” Barty confessed, his tone surprisingly serious. “It was... nice. But we broke up, consensually. It was one of those things, you know? We just wanted different things.”

Evan blinked, surprised. He had never known that Barty and Regulus had been more than friends. “You’re still okay with it, though?” he asked cautiously.

Barty nodded, a small smile touching his lips. “Yeah, we’re good. I just want him to be happy, even if it’s with James.”

Evan felt a swell of admiration for Barty, but a twinge of jealousy prickled at him. “It’s... good to know,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

“Want to sit?” Barty suggested, nodding toward the empty space on the bed beside Regulus. “It might be nice to keep an eye on them.”

Evan hesitated for a moment but then shrugged and climbed onto the bed, sitting beside Regulus. Barty followed suit, and they pulled the divider between the beds closer, creating a small barrier that felt almost like a cocoon.

As they settled in, Evan turned to Barty, and the air around them shifted. There was a charged tension, something unspoken but palpable, and before he could second-guess himself, Evan leaned in, capturing Barty’s lips in a soft, tentative kiss.

It was warm, sweet, and filled with a promise that lingered in the space between them. Barty responded, fingers threading through Evan’s hair, pulling him closer as if they were the only two people in the world.

But just as quickly as it began, it ended. They pulled apart, breathless, the reality of their surroundings crashing back in. Evan’s heart raced, and he looked over at Regulus and James, still blissfully unaware, lost in their own world.

Just then, a low voice drifted from the other side of the divider, and both Evan and Barty froze.

“Reg, are you awake?” James murmured, shifting slightly in his seat.

Regulus stirred, his eyes fluttering open. “James?” he mumbled, blinking at the dim light. “What time is it?”

James chuckled softly. “Does it matter? You gave us all a scare. I was worried you’d broken your neck.”

“I’m fine,” Regulus replied, his voice a blend of sleep and annoyance. “Just a broken arm, remember?”

“Yeah, well, you scared me,” James admitted, a hint of vulnerability seeping into his tone. “I didn’t think I’d be able to handle it if—”

“If what?” Regulus interrupted, though his tone was gentler now.

James hesitated, and Evan felt a strange sense of intimacy wash over him as he listened. “If you didn’t wake up, Reg. I—” He paused, and when he continued, his voice was quieter, almost shy. “I care about you, you know?”

Regulus turned to James, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. “You do?”

“Yeah,” James said, his voice steadier now. “More than I thought I would. I just... I can’t help it. You’re always on my mind.”

Evan exchanged a glance with Barty, both of them holding their breath, caught in the gravity of the moment.

Regulus looked away, his gaze thoughtful. “I thought you didn’t like me like that,” he said slowly.

“Honestly?” James chuckled lightly, the sound full of nervous energy. “I thought I didn’t either. But it turns out, I was just being an idiot. I didn’t realize how much you mean to me until you got hurt.”

Regulus’s cheeks flushed, a faint pink hue against his pale skin. “James, I—”

James cut him off again, his voice firm but gentle. “No, just let me say this. I don’t want you to doubt that I care about you. I want to be here for you, all of you. I want you to know that.”

Evan’s heart swelled at the confession, the air between him and Barty thick with unspoken words. He glanced at Barty, who wore a look of contemplative surprise.

Regulus swallowed, eyes glimmering with something fragile, hopeful. “I want that too,” he admitted softly. “I really do.”

A beat of silence followed, and Evan could almost feel the weight of their shared feelings settle in the room.

As the two continued to talk, unaware of their audience, Evan leaned back, letting the warmth of the moment wash over him. Beside him, Barty seemed lost in thought, perhaps contemplating his own past with Regulus or the possibilities that lay ahead for all of them.

It felt like something had shifted in the air—a new understanding, a newfound connection among them all. And for the first time, Evan felt a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.
Evan and Barty remained on the bed, caught in the tender moment that had unfolded just moments before. The atmosphere in the Hospital Wing felt charged, alive with the echoes of unspoken feelings and newfound connections. The quiet hum of the room enveloped them, and they stole glances at the still-sleeping Regulus and James, both oblivious to the world around them.

James’s voice broke the silence once more. “We should probably let Madam Pomfrey know we’re fine,” he suggested, a hint of mischief creeping into his tone.

Regulus sighed, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “And risk having her fuss over me like a mother hen? I think not. I’d rather take my chances with broken bones.”

Evan exchanged a look with Barty, and both struggled to suppress a smile. The banter between them felt so normal, so right, and Evan couldn’t help but feel a swell of affection for the two boys as they navigated their own tangled emotions.

“Come on, Reg,” James coaxed, standing and stretching. “You’ve spent enough time here. Let’s get out before she decides to chain you to the bed.”

Regulus hesitated, glancing back at his arm in its bandage, then at James, who wore that infuriatingly charming smile. “You think she’ll really let us leave?”

“Honestly? Who cares? I’m feeling restless, and I’m not about to sit here any longer,” James declared, the excitement bubbling in his voice. “Besides, I owe you a proper celebration for not letting that Bludger take you out.”

Regulus rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile creeping back onto his face. “Fine. But if Madam Pomfrey catches us—”

“Let me worry about that,” James interrupted, taking Regulus’s good arm and gently coaxing him up. “You’ll be fine. Trust me.”

With a reluctant nod, Regulus swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Evan and Barty held their breath, half-expecting Madam Pomfrey to swoop in at any moment. But the coast remained clear, the room still and silent apart from the quiet rustle of fabric and the soft thud of feet against the floor.

As James helped Regulus to his feet, Evan leaned closer to Barty, the tension from their earlier kiss still lingering in the air between them. “They’re really doing it,” Evan whispered, incredulous.

“Looks like it,” Barty replied, his voice equally low. “I can’t believe they’re just going to walk out like that.”

Regulus took a tentative step, clearly favoring his injured arm, but he straightened his back, determination etched on his features. “Let’s go before she wakes up,” he urged James, glancing around as if expecting Madam Pomfrey to appear at any moment.

James grinned, his enthusiasm infectious. “That’s the spirit! Besides, there’s a whole school waiting to celebrate your return. You can’t keep the fans waiting.”

As they made their way toward the exit, Evan felt a strange sense of warmth at the sight. Regulus might be in pain, but he was stepping into the world again, stepping into a new chapter with James by his side. Evan couldn’t help but feel a little envious; he wanted that kind of carefree boldness, that sense of adventure.

“Let’s just hope Pomfrey doesn’t find out until they’re gone,” Barty murmured, nudging Evan’s side lightly.

Evan chuckled softly, but his laughter faded as he watched the two boys share a quiet moment just before they reached the door. James leaned in closer, whispering something that made Regulus laugh, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

And then they were gone, slipping through the doorway and into the corridor beyond.

As the door swung shut, Evan turned back to Barty, heart racing. “Well, that was... something,” he said, trying to gauge Barty’s expression.

Barty smiled, a slow, genuine grin that made Evan’s heart skip a beat. “Yeah, it really was. They’ll figure things out. They just needed a little push.”

Evan nodded, feeling a sense of camaraderie with Barty growing stronger. “I think they’ll be good for each other.”

“Just like us,” Barty said, his voice low and teasing as he shifted closer once again. The warmth radiating from him was intoxicating, and Evan couldn’t help but lean in, drawn to Barty’s playful charm.

“Us?” Evan asked, the word slipping out before he could think.

Barty smirked, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Why not? We’ve got a good thing going, don’t you think?”

Evan hesitated, uncertainty creeping in. “What are you saying, Barty?”

“Just that we could be something, if you wanted,” Barty replied, his gaze unwavering. “I mean, we just shared a pretty great kiss, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to do that again.”

Evan swallowed hard, the air thick with anticipation. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do,” Barty said, leaning in slightly, the distance between them growing smaller. “You’re not like the rest, Evan. You make me want to take chances.”

Evan felt a rush of warmth at the words, a feeling that bloomed inside him. “I want that too,” he admitted, the truth spilling out before he could second-guess himself. “I want to take chances with you.”
Barty’s grin widened, lighting up his features as if Evan had just bestowed him the greatest gift. “Then let’s stop talking and start doing,” he suggested, leaning in closer, his breath warm against Evan’s skin.

Before Evan could respond, Barty closed the space between them, capturing Evan’s lips again in a kiss that felt electric. It was different this time—more sure, more confident. Evan melted into it, feeling every moment seep into his bones, igniting something deep within him.

The kiss deepened, and Evan's heart raced as Barty's hands found their way to his waist, pulling him closer. The warmth of the moment enveloped them both, wrapping around them like a cozy blanket. It was as if the world outside had faded away, leaving only the two of them in the comforting embrace of each other.

Finally, they broke apart, breathless, foreheads resting against one another. Evan could feel the warmth radiating from Barty, his pulse thrumming in time with his own. There was a newfound understanding between them, a bond that had shifted from friendship to something more.

“Wow,” Evan breathed, still caught in the aftermath of their kiss.

“Yeah,” Barty replied, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes sparkling with mischief and sincerity. “Not what I expected to happen today, but I’m definitely not complaining.”

Evan chuckled, a little breathless from both the kiss and the rush of emotions swirling inside him. “Neither am I. This… feels right.”

Barty’s expression softened, and for a moment, they just stood there, taking in the reality of what had just unfolded. “You know,” he said, “I’ve always thought you were a bit of a dark horse, hiding beneath the surface. But this? This is exactly who I thought you could be.”

Evan felt a warm flush creep up his neck at the compliment, his heart swelling with affection for Barty. “And you? You’re everything I didn’t know I was looking for. You make me want to be more than I thought I could be.”

“Then let’s be more, together,” Barty proposed, his eyes serious but playful, as if daring Evan to take the leap with him.

Evan’s heart soared at the invitation. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

Just as they were about to share another kiss, the Hospital Wing doors swung open with a loud creak, and the sound sent a jolt through both of them. They turned to see Madam Pomfrey entering, her expression shifting from focused to surprised as she spotted the two boys sitting on the bed, clearly not following the rules she had set.

“What are you two doing?” she exclaimed, hands on her hips, eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. “You know you’re not supposed to be here. You both look perfectly healthy. Out! Now!”

Evan and Barty exchanged panicked glances, trying to suppress their laughter at the sheer absurdity of being caught in such a vulnerable moment. Barty scrambled to his feet, grabbing Evan’s hand and tugging him along as they made a break for the door.

“Sorry, Madam Pomfrey!” Barty shouted over his shoulder, barely containing his laughter.

“Get back here!” she shouted, but her tone was more exasperated than truly angry.

They rushed into the hallway, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls as they burst out of the Hospital Wing. As soon as they were outside, they both doubled over in laughter, the tension of the moment melting away.

“That was too close,” Evan gasped, still chuckling as he leaned against the wall for support.

Barty grinned, his cheeks flushed with excitement. “Worth it, though, right?”

“Absolutely,” Evan agreed, feeling a warmth spread through him as he recalled their kiss. “So, what now?”

“Now,” Barty said, a glint of mischief in his eyes, “we find somewhere quieter. Somewhere we can actually talk without being interrupted.”

Evan’s heart raced again, the thrill of the adventure ahead igniting a fire within him. “Lead the way,” he said, stepping closer to Barty.

As they walked down the corridor, hands brushing together, Evan felt a sense of possibility unfurl before them. Whatever lay ahead, he was ready to embrace it—alongside Barty. Together, they would navigate this new chapter, filled with laughter, uncertainty, and the uncharted territory of their blossoming relationship.

As they rounded a corner, the sounds of the castle faded behind them, leaving just the two of them in the quiet echo of a new beginning.
Regulus and James strolled through the corridors of Hogwarts, the afternoon light spilling through the tall windows, illuminating the stone walls. Regulus's mood had shifted since their escape from the Hospital Wing. There was a lightness in his step, and despite the throbbing pain in his arm, he felt oddly buoyant.

“I still can’t believe you just walked out of there,” James said, shaking his head with a mixture of admiration and disbelief. “Madam Pomfrey is going to have a field day when she finds out.”

Regulus shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “She’ll survive. Besides, I’m not the one who fell asleep in her presence.”

James chuckled, nudging Regulus playfully with his elbow. “Okay, fair point. But still, you should be more careful. I don’t want to see you getting hurt again.”

As they rounded a corner, the sound of laughter drifted down the hallway, catching their attention. Regulus paused, tilting his head, curiosity piqued. “What’s that?”

James shrugged, leading the way toward the sound. “Let’s check it out.”

They approached a nearby alcove, and as they drew closer, the laughter transformed into something deeper—a hushed whisper, followed by a soft moan that sent Regulus's heart racing for reasons he couldn’t quite place.

Peering around the corner, Regulus's eyes widened in shock. There, pressed against the cool stone wall, were Sirius and Remus, tangled in a passionate embrace. Their lips moved together with fervor, and Regulus felt a rush of embarrassment mixed with a strange thrill at witnessing such an intimate moment between his brother and his best friend.

James’s eyes widened too, and he tried to stifle a laugh, but it came out as a choked snort. “Wow,” he murmured, unable to look away. “I did not see that coming.”

Regulus’s cheeks flushed as he attempted to pull James away, but curiosity anchored him to the spot. “Shouldn’t we—uh—give them some privacy?” he stammered, though part of him was fascinated by the scene unfolding before him.

James shook his head, grinning from ear to ear. “No way! This is too good. Just wait—let’s see how long it takes for them to notice us.”

Regulus rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile creeping onto his face. He never would have imagined Sirius and Remus in this way. They always seemed so different in public, constantly bantering and teasing each other.

As if on cue, Sirius pulled back slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You know, Moony, I’ve been thinking—”

Before he could finish, Remus pressed his lips against Sirius’s again, silencing him with a kiss that deepened instantly. Regulus felt his heart race, not out of jealousy but rather a warm sense of acceptance. This was his brother, unapologetically in love, and Remus looked genuinely happy.

“Okay, that’s enough,” James finally decided, laughter bubbling out of him as he stepped out from the shadows, unable to resist any longer. “As much as I love this little moment, it’s getting a bit too steamy for the corridor.”

Sirius and Remus jumped apart, their faces turning a deep shade of crimson. Sirius looked scandalized, while Remus appeared both flustered and amused. “James! Regulus!” Sirius exclaimed, throwing a hand over his face in embarrassment. “What the hell?!”

Regulus couldn't contain himself any longer; he burst into laughter. “We were just passing by! Didn’t mean to interrupt... well, actually, we kind of did, but it was worth it.”

“Worth it?” Sirius retorted, still red-faced but unable to hide a grin. “You two could’ve knocked or something! We didn’t exactly plan for an audience.”

“Clearly,” James teased, leaning against the wall with a cheeky smirk. “But can you blame us? You both looked like you were about to set the place on fire.”

Remus chuckled softly, adjusting his glasses as he tried to regain his composure. “I suppose we should have picked a better location then, huh?”

“Definitely,” Regulus said, still smiling. “But honestly, I’m happy for you guys. Didn’t see this coming at all, but I think it suits you both.”

Sirius grinned, the embarrassment fading as he leaned back against the wall, arm casually slung around Remus's shoulders. “Thanks, Reg. It’s been a long time coming, I think. Just needed the right moment... and the right person.”

James nodded, a more serious note in his voice. “I’m glad you both finally found it. You deserve this.”

Remus glanced at Sirius, a soft smile crossing his lips as they shared a silent moment, both realizing how far they had come. “Well, now that you two have stumbled upon our little secret, you’re not allowed to tell anyone,” Remus warned playfully.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” James said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Our lips are sealed. But maybe a celebratory Butterbeer later?”

“Count me in,” Regulus agreed, feeling a rush of warmth at the prospect of spending more time together, away from the chaos of their Hogwarts lives.

“Alright then,” Sirius said, his confidence returning. “Let’s get out of this hallway before Madam Pomfrey decides to come looking for us again.”

With laughter ringing in the air, the four of them turned, heading down the corridor together, leaving behind the hushed intimacy of the alcove. They stepped into the warmth of camaraderie, the shared experiences of friendship blossoming anew as they embraced the adventures that awaited them.

Chapter Text

The afternoon sun slanted lazily through the stained-glass windows of Hogwarts, casting patterns of gold and green along the stone floors. In a tucked-away corner of an abandoned corridor, Evan Rosier and Barty Crouch Jr. were tangled together in a mess of limbs and stolen kisses.

Evan’s tie hung loose around his neck, swinging with every playful tug Barty gave it, while his shirt was half-unbuttoned, exposing a sliver of pale collarbone. His usually pristine appearance was thoroughly disheveled, much to Barty’s amusement.

“Hold still,” Barty murmured against Evan’s lips, the mischievous grin never leaving his face. "You’re making this difficult.”

“Good,” Evan purred, running his fingers through Barty’s hair. “Wouldn't want you to get bored.”

Barty chuckled lowly, pulling Evan closer by the lapels of his half-open shirt. They crashed back together, breathless and reckless, the thrill of mischief buzzing between them like electric current. This wasn’t just snogging—it was two forces of chaos feeding off each other, delighting in bending the world to their whim.

Just as Barty pushed Evan against the cold stone wall, the sound of raised voices drifted down the hall. Barty paused, lips still brushing against Evan’s, his eyes gleaming with intrigue.

“Someone’s having a row,” Barty whispered, tilting his head.

Evan grinned lazily, but his curiosity was piqued too. “Let’s go see,” he suggested, buttoning exactly none of his shirt back up as they moved, still tangled and giggling, down the corridor.

They turned the corner just in time to see Remus Lupin and Sirius Black squared off against each other in the middle of an argument that felt dangerous in its intensity.

Sirius’s jaw was clenched tight, and his hair fell in wild, black waves over his face. Remus looked exhausted—his face pale, hands trembling slightly, though whether from anger or sadness, it was hard to tell.

“I told you, Sirius, it’s not that easy for me!” Remus’s voice cracked, thick with frustration and something more painful underneath. “You think I want to keep secrets from you?”

“Oh, don’t give me that!” Sirius shot back, his voice loud enough to echo off the corridor walls. His gray eyes flashed with something dangerous, something sharp. “You always have an excuse, Remus! Always hiding, always shutting me out!”

“I’m doing the best I can,” Remus said quietly, but there was a wobble in his voice now. “You don't know what it's like to be—”

“To be what?” Sirius sneered, his anger boiling over. “A freak?”

The word hit the air like a slap. For a moment, the corridor was dead silent, as if the whole castle had drawn in a collective breath.

Remus went very, very still. His face, which had been twisted with frustration, suddenly blanked. He stared at Sirius, eyes wide and filled with something raw—something beyond anger.

“You…” Remus whispered, his voice so soft it was almost a breath. “You were the only one who hadn’t called me that.”

Evan and Barty exchanged a glance, their usual smirks faltering slightly at the weight of the moment they had just stumbled into.

Sirius’s face shifted—regret flickered there for a brief second, as if he hadn’t realized what he was saying until it was too late. But pride, anger, and confusion battled in his eyes, keeping him from taking it back.

“Remus, I—”

“No.” Remus’s voice was steady now, though the betrayal in it was unmistakable. He shook his head slowly, as if in disbelief that the person he trusted most could have hurt him like this.

“You really think I’m a freak,” Remus said, more to himself than to Sirius. There was no fury in his voice—just a hollow sadness that cut deeper than any shout could.

Sirius opened his mouth to say something, but whatever words he had planned never made it out. Instead, Remus gave him one last look—one filled with heartbreak—and then turned on his heel, walking away without another word.

The tension hung thick in the air, choking and oppressive. Sirius stood frozen in place, guilt gnawing at him, though his anger refused to let him chase after Remus.

From their place in the shadows, Barty nudged Evan with an elbow, the smirk creeping back onto his face. “Ouch,” Barty whispered gleefully. “That’s going to sting for a while.”

Evan, usually the more composed of the two, found himself frowning slightly, but it vanished quickly as he shot Barty a conspiratorial grin. “Bit of a mess, isn’t it?” he muttered, looping his tie lazily around his neck.

“Think we should do something?” Barty asked, though it was clear from the glint in his eye that whatever he had in mind wouldn’t be helpful in the slightest.

Evan shrugged, smoothing his messy hair with a hand and tugging Barty closer again. “Nah,” he said softly, his lips brushing against Barty’s jaw. “They’ll sort themselves out. Or they won’t. Either way, it’s not our problem.”

Barty grinned wickedly, his earlier interest in the argument already fading. “Good,” he murmured, fingers curling in Evan’s loose shirt. “Because I was kind of hoping we could go back to causing trouble.”

Evan chuckled, leaning in close. “Lead the way, Crouch.”

And just like that, the two of them slipped back into the shadows, leaving Sirius behind with his regrets—and the shattered silence of a friendship that might never be the same.
The moment Remus disappeared around the corner, the weight of Sirius’s words sank in like stones in his chest. His anger evaporated in an instant, leaving nothing but a raw ache and the sick churn of regret. He had never wanted to hurt Remus—never that. But now, that awful word echoed in his head, and he knew there was no taking it back.

“Bloody idiot,” Sirius whispered to himself, dragging a hand through his messy hair. His heart hammered painfully against his ribs, as if urging him to run after Remus before it was too late.

He took off down the corridor, boots thudding against the stone floor, turning blindly around corners without any real sense of where Remus might have gone. The walls seemed to press in closer with every step, the shadows deeper, the silence more suffocating.

“Remus!” Sirius called, his voice cracking slightly. "Moony, come on! I didn’t mean it—!"

But the hallways swallowed his voice whole, offering no answer. Panic clawed at his throat now—if he didn’t find Remus, if he didn’t fix this right now... No. He had to find him. He would find him.

He skidded around another corner, panting, and nearly collided with two familiar figures lingering at the end of the corridor. James Potter and Regulus Black were standing much too close to each other, heads tilted toward one another in what was clearly an attempt at keeping quiet.

Sirius’s stomach churned at the sight. James had his hands stuffed awkwardly in his pockets, his face flushed, while Regulus wore that irritatingly calm expression Sirius knew far too well. His brother’s black curls framed his pale face, and Sirius could see that flicker of defiance in Regulus’s dark eyes—like he’d been caught but didn’t care.

It was the wrong time, the wrong place, and exactly the wrong thing for Sirius to stumble upon.

“What the hell is this?” Sirius snapped, striding toward them with the force of a thunderstorm.

James immediately straightened, guilt written all over his face, but Regulus didn’t flinch. If anything, his expression sharpened, cool and guarded.

“Sirius—” James started, lifting his hands in a placating gesture, “this isn’t—”

“This isn’t what?” Sirius snarled, his gray eyes flashing dangerously as he gestured between the two of them. “You’re sneaking around with him?” He spat the word like it burned on his tongue.

James winced, clearly struggling for the right thing to say, but Regulus crossed his arms over his chest, unbothered by the growing storm in Sirius’s voice.

“And what if we are?” Regulus said coolly, lifting one brow in that infuriating way that made Sirius’s blood boil. “What’s it to you?”

Sirius rounded on his brother, fury rising with every heartbeat. “What the hell are you even doing here, Reg? You’ve got no business hanging around with him!” His voice was shaking now, half with anger, half with the leftover panic from Remus. "You should be in your Slytherin dungeon or off licking Mother's boots."

Regulus’s lips curled in a dangerous little smirk. “Funny,” he said lightly, “I could say the same thing about you and Lupin.”

The words hit Sirius harder than he wanted to admit, and it made his anger flare even hotter. “Shut your mouth, Regulus.”

“Or what?” Regulus stepped closer, his face unreadable but eyes gleaming. “Going to curse me? Go ahead, Sirius—be a real disappointment this time.”

“Oi, enough!” James cut in, stepping between the brothers with his hands held up. “Let’s not make this worse.”

But Sirius wasn’t having it. He turned on James with a look of betrayal so sharp it made James falter.

“And you—" Sirius jabbed a finger toward him. “How long has this been going on? Behind my back, huh? What, you think it’s a good idea to mess around with him?”

“Sirius, it’s not—”

“Not what?!” Sirius’s voice cracked under the weight of too many emotions—anger, betrayal, guilt, everything threatening to spill over. “Not serious? Not important? I thought you were my best mate, James! And now I find you sneaking around with—”

“Cut it out, Padfoot!” James snapped, louder now, his temper finally fraying. “You don’t get to decide who I care about! Not him, not anyone!”

Sirius’s breath hitched, and for a second, he looked genuinely lost, standing there with his fists clenched and his heart in pieces.

“This isn’t about Regulus, is it?” James said more gently, his hazel eyes searching Sirius’s face. “This is about Remus.”

Sirius’s jaw tightened. He couldn’t answer—didn’t know how. His heart was screaming at him to get out of there, to run, to fix what he’d broken. But standing in front of James and Regulus, tangled in jealousy and regret, he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“I didn’t mean to…” Sirius whispered, his voice cracking at the edges. “I didn’t mean to say it.”

James’s expression softened. “Then go find him, mate. You can still make it right.”

Sirius hesitated for only a second longer before he shoved past them, ignoring the burning in his eyes and the way his throat tightened. He didn’t look back.

Regulus watched his brother storm away, his expression unreadable, and then glanced at James with a raised brow. “Well,” he murmured, “that was dramatic.”

James let out a weary sigh, running a hand through his messy hair. “You’re telling me.”

Regulus gave a small, sardonic smile. “Think he’ll actually find Lupin?”

James shrugged, though the worry was clear on his face. “If he doesn’t,” he muttered, “we’re all screwed.”

And with that, James and Regulus exchanged a glance—one filled with a strange sort of understanding—and slipped away into the shadows once more, leaving Sirius to chase whatever pieces were left of his heart.
Sirius sprinted through the castle, ignoring the burning in his lungs and the ache in his legs. He had to find Remus. The halls stretched out endlessly before him, every step dragging the weight of regret behind him. His heart pounded louder than his footsteps.

Finally, he spotted a figure slouched against the wall of a secluded corridor near the entrance to the Astronomy Tower. The dim moonlight filtered through the windows, casting silvery light across familiar messy brown curls. Remus Lupin sat with his arms wrapped around his knees, staring blankly at the floor, lost in thought.

Sirius slowed his approach, his boots tapping softly against the stone.

“Remus...” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

Remus didn’t look up at first. He just sat there, jaw tight, hands clenching and unclenching over the fabric of his trousers. But Sirius could see the tension radiating off him like a storm waiting to break.

Sirius took a shaky breath. “I... I didn’t mean it. What I said back there—it was stupid, and I—”

“Stupid?” Remus finally cut him off, his voice quiet but sharp, like the edge of a blade. His amber eyes flicked upward, glinting dangerously in the low light. “Calling me a freak was just... stupid?”

Sirius opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Remus pushed himself to his feet slowly, with the kind of deliberate control that was more terrifying than an outburst. He wasn’t shaking with rage—he was calm, too calm. That was when Sirius knew he had really messed up.

“You were the only one,” Remus whispered, his voice trembling just enough to twist the knife. “The only one who hadn’t called me that.”

The weight of those words crashed over Sirius like a tidal wave, stealing the breath from his lungs. He tried to move closer, but Remus held up a hand, stopping him in place.

“You don’t get to do that, Sirius,” Remus said, his voice low and steady now, laced with a fierce kind of anger. “You don’t get to call me that—like I’m just... just some thing to you.”

“No—Moony, you’re not—”

“Stop.” Remus’s voice cracked, but he pressed on, taking a step closer this time, closing the gap between them. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that word? From kids who saw the scars. From teachers who thought I didn’t belong. From people who thought I was dangerous just for existing?” His amber eyes burned into Sirius’s, furious and wounded. “But not you. You were never supposed to look at me like that.”

Sirius swallowed hard, guilt twisting inside him like a knot. “I wasn’t thinking—”

“No, you weren’t,” Remus shot back, his voice louder now, bitter. “You weren’t thinking because you never do, Sirius. You just... say things, and you don’t care what they break.”

Sirius staggered, the truth of Remus’s words landing like blows.

“I would’ve given you everything,” Remus said, his voice softer now but no less devastating. “I trusted you. I thought, maybe, you’d see me—really see me. Not just the good parts. All of it. And you did. And then you threw it in my face the first time things got messy.”

Sirius shook his head, desperate. “No, Remus, I—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Remus’s voice was firm, final. “Not this time.”

Sirius’s chest felt like it was caving in. “I can fix this,” he whispered, his voice raw. “Please, Moony—just let me fix this.”

Remus gave him a long, hard look—one that said more than words ever could.

“No, Sirius,” he said quietly. “You can’t.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and cold. For a moment, all Sirius could hear was the distant hum of the night, the sound of everything he’d ruined slipping away.

And then Remus turned, without another word, and walked away—leaving Sirius standing alone in the empty corridor, clutching the shards of what they once had.
—
Sirius stormed down the corridors, heart pounding and his mind a whirlwind of anger, guilt, and confusion. He had no idea where he was going. All he knew was that he needed to hit something, to do something. Remus’s words echoed in his head, each one landing like a fresh blow, twisting his insides into knots he couldn’t untangle.

Without thinking, he pushed open the door to an empty classroom, needing a moment of solitude to cool down. But instead, he found Evan Rosier and Barty Crouch Jr., leaning casually against a desk, deep in conversation. Evan’s tie was undone, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and Barty had that trademark smirk plastered across his face as they spoke in low voices, clearly up to no good.

“Well, look who it is,” Evan drawled lazily, his eyes sparkling with mischief the second he saw Sirius. "Black, looking like you've just crawled out of a hole. Rough day?"

Barty chuckled darkly, leaning back on the desk. "Let me guess—got into another fight with your precious little wolf?" His tone was mocking, and the smirk on his face made Sirius’s blood boil.

Sirius clenched his fists, teeth grinding together. He wasn’t in the mood for their games, not today. “Shut it, Rosier,” he growled, stepping further into the room. “And you, Crouch. I’m not here to play.”

But Evan just snorted, completely unfazed. “Touchy, aren’t we? Must’ve been quite the argument. What, did Remus finally realize he could do better than you?”

Barty chuckled at that, but Sirius’s patience snapped like a taut string pulled too tight.

Before Evan could react, Sirius lunged forward, swinging his fist in a brutal uppercut that connected squarely with Evan’s jaw. The crack of the hit echoed through the classroom as Evan stumbled back, knocking over a chair as he hit the floor.

"Expelliarmus!" Barty’s voice rang out sharply, and Sirius’s wand flew from his pocket, but the Gryffindor barely cared. He was already diving toward Evan, fists ready for more. He was done holding back.

“Get off him!” Barty shouted, his voice unusually serious now. He flicked his wand again, sending Sirius staggering back with a strong jolt of magic.

Sirius stumbled but regained his footing almost immediately, his chest heaving with raw, unfiltered rage. “You think this is a joke?” he roared, eyes blazing as he looked from Barty to Evan, who was slowly getting to his feet, rubbing his jaw. “You—both of you—you have no idea what I’m going through! None of you understand a damn thing!”

Evan wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, his usual smugness replaced with a look of pure fury. “You bloody lunatic!” he spat, straightening his tie with shaking hands. “What the hell is your problem, Black?”

Barty, for once, didn’t have a snarky comment ready. He stood a little straighter, his wand still pointed at Sirius, his eyes narrowed with a mixture of caution and anger. “Calm down, Black,” he said slowly, his voice measured. “This isn’t about us. You’re losing it.”

Sirius’s hands shook, his breathing heavy as the adrenaline surged through him. “I am losing it,” he snarled, not backing down. “Because I’ve had enough. Enough of all of you—your lies, your schemes, your little games.”

Evan scoffed, stepping closer now, despite the bruise already forming on his jaw. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Black. You’re just pissed because you screwed up with Remus and now you’re looking for someone else to take it out on.”

Sirius’s nostrils flared, the words hitting too close to home. “Shut. Up.”

“No, he’s right,” Barty added coldly, his gaze piercing. “You’re mad at yourself, not us. So don’t come in here acting like you’ve got the moral high ground when we all know you’re just as screwed up as the rest of us.”

Something in Sirius snapped again, but this time, it wasn’t the need to fight. It was exhaustion, deep and crushing. He lowered his fists, though his face was still twisted with anger. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Maybe not,” Barty said, lowering his wand slightly but keeping it at the ready, “but I know when someone’s on the edge. You’re not thinking straight. Go find Remus, apologize or whatever, but don’t bring this mess to us.”

Evan nodded, still massaging his jaw but now watching Sirius with more caution than mockery. “He’s right. This—” he gestured to his bruised face, “—isn’t going to fix what you broke, Black.”

Sirius stood there, panting, every muscle in his body tensed. The fight was draining out of him, but the frustration, the guilt, the self-hatred—all of it still churned inside, wild and untamed. He stared at the two Slytherins, part of him still itching for another round, another outlet for his anger.

But they were right.

Without another word, Sirius turned on his heel and stormed out of the classroom, leaving Evan and Barty behind. He had to find Remus.
Sirius's heart raced as he navigated through the familiar corridors, every step echoing with a mix of hope and dread. The library was just up ahead; it was where he and Remus often found solace in the chaos of their lives. But as he reached the door, he hesitated for just a moment, anxiety coiling tightly in his stomach.

Pushing the heavy door open, he stepped inside, the familiar scent of parchment and ink hitting him like a wave. The library was dimly lit, illuminated only by the soft glow of floating candles, and the usual quiet atmosphere was punctuated by hushed whispers.

But his heart dropped when he spotted Remus at a secluded table in the back corner, his back to Sirius. His heart pounded harder, but it wasn't just the sight of Remus that stopped him in his tracks. It was the girl leaning into him, their bodies pressed together as they shared a heated kiss, the kind of intimacy that felt like a knife twisting in Sirius's chest.

“Remus,” Sirius breathed, disbelief and anger coursing through him like fire. Remus, his Remus, was lost in the moment, oblivious to the world around him, his hands tangled in the girl’s hair. Sirius's fists clenched at his sides, heart racing with a mixture of betrayal and heartbreak.

The girl pulled back slightly, a teasing smile on her lips, but Remus shook his head, an expression of conflict washing over his features. “I can’t do this,” he said, his voice low and strained. “I shouldn’t be here.”

But before Sirius could process what was happening, before he could call out to him, Remus pushed himself away from the table. His gaze flickered toward the library entrance, and for a brief moment, their eyes met. Sirius's heart sank as he saw the recognition, the flash of guilt and confusion in Remus's gaze before he turned away, leaving the girl behind without another word.

“Remus!” Sirius shouted, desperation clawing at his throat. But the words were barely out before Remus rushed past him, not looking back, his expression unreadable.

Sirius was left standing there, feeling the weight of the moment crash down on him. The girl glanced between them, her smile fading as she realized what had just transpired. “Is everything okay?” she asked, but Sirius barely heard her. His heart was thundering in his ears, drowning out her words.

“Yeah, fantastic,” Sirius muttered bitterly, his voice shaking with barely contained rage and hurt. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the library, not caring about the stares from other students as he left.

The corridors felt endless as he chased after Remus, his mind racing with confusion and anger. Why had Remus chosen this moment to pull away? Why was he with someone else? The thought gnawed at him, a bitter taste in his mouth.

He rounded a corner, nearly colliding with a group of students who scattered out of his way, eyes wide with surprise. Sirius didn’t care. He was a whirlwind of emotions, fueled by a mixture of jealousy and despair. He had to find Remus. He had to explain, to apologize—there was so much left unsaid.

But the further he went, the more he realized he had no idea where Remus had gone. His thoughts were clouded with frustration, images of Remus and that girl flashing through his mind, taunting him as he hurried through the maze of hallways.

Finally, he spotted a familiar figure near the Gryffindor common room, shoulders hunched in defeat. It was James, looking unusually serious. Sirius's heart sank again. “James!” he called out, rushing over. “Have you seen Remus?”

James glanced up, concern etched across his face. “Yeah, he just came through here, looking upset. I think he went to the dorms.”

Sirius felt a rush of urgency and fear at the thought of Remus alone, likely spiraling into confusion and hurt. “I need to talk to him,” he said, his voice low and frantic. “I messed up. I need to fix this.”

James nodded, sensing the weight of Sirius’s distress. “Go on, mate. I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

Without waiting for another moment, Sirius sprinted up the stairs, his heart pounding louder with every step. He could feel the weight of everything pressing down on him, guilt for the fight, anger at the misunderstanding, and a deep fear that he might lose Remus for good.

He reached the dormitory door, breathless and desperate. He knocked loudly, his heart racing. “Remus! Please, open up!”

Silence.

“Remus, I know you’re in there! I just want to talk! Please!”

Still nothing. Panic rose in Sirius’s chest. He slammed his fist against the door again, frustration boiling over. “Let me in! I’m sorry!”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open. Remus stood there, disheveled and guarded, eyes shadowed with pain and confusion. The sight of him sent a rush of relief through Sirius, but it was quickly overshadowed by the hurt he saw in Remus's expression.

“Remus, please,” Sirius said, voice cracking with emotion. “I messed up. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I—I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Then why did you?” Remus replied, his voice steady but filled with hurt. “You didn’t even listen to me. You just assumed I was betraying you.”

Sirius’s heart twisted. “I was angry! I saw you with her, and I thought—”

“Thought what? That I would just move on because you’re mad at me?” Remus shot back, his eyes flashing. “You think this is easy for me? You think I wanted to be caught in the middle of all this?”

Sirius felt his throat tighten, guilt flooding through him. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, desperate to reach Remus. “I thought you were—” He hesitated, the words caught in his throat. “I thought you were choosing someone else.”

Remus took a step back, shaking his head. “I don’t want to choose anyone else, Sirius. I just—don’t know how to deal with this. With us.”

Sirius felt his heart shatter, the weight of their situation crashing down around him. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, vulnerability pouring out in his voice.

“Then stop pushing me away!” Remus shouted, his voice breaking slightly. “I can’t handle this if you keep making it harder. You need to trust me!”

Sirius felt the walls close in, the weight of his mistakes threatening to crush him. He took a tentative step forward, searching Remus's eyes for understanding. “I’m sorry, Moony. I will. I promise. Just please, don’t shut me out.”

Remus stood there for a long moment, their eyes locked, the air thick with unresolved tension. Finally, Remus let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know if I can right now.”

Sirius felt a cold weight settle in his chest, but he nodded slowly, accepting Remus’s words. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Just know that I’m here, whenever you’re ready.”

With that, Remus turned away, leaving Sirius standing at the door, feeling more lost than ever. He closed his eyes, letting the silence wash over him, and in that moment, he realized just how much he had to fight for the one person he couldn’t imagine living without.
The Gryffindor common room was quiet as night settled over Hogwarts, the crackling of the fire the only sound breaking the stillness. James walked in from a late-night study session in the library, feeling a sense of calm after an evening of reading. But as he stepped further inside, a frown crossed his face.

“Hey, Sirius?” he called, glancing around. When there was no response, he began to look around, wondering where his friend had wandered off to. He had a sinking feeling that Sirius might still be brooding over the argument with Remus.

His heart sank further when he spotted a familiar figure slumped against the door to the boys' dormitory, his dark hair tousled and his expression peaceful in sleep. James stepped closer, concern etched on his features. Sirius had fallen asleep outside Remus's door, and it was clear that he had been waiting for a while.

Kneeling beside Sirius, James gently shook his shoulder. “Sirius, wake up,” he whispered, not wanting to startle him. “You can’t just sleep out here.”

Sirius stirred, blinking awake, a moment of confusion flashing across his face before it transformed into embarrassment. He quickly straightened up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and trying to shake off the remnants of his dreams. “James? What time is it?” he mumbled, a yawn escaping his lips.

“Late. You’ve been here for hours,” James replied, concern deepening in his gaze. “What were you doing? Waiting for Remus?”

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. “Yeah, I was. I just… I wanted to talk to him, but he wouldn’t let me in. I thought maybe if I waited…” His voice trailed off, frustration creeping back in.

James shook his head, understanding all too well the weight of the situation. “You know he just needs time, right? He’s hurt, and you’ve got to give him space to figure things out.”

“I know, but it doesn’t feel right,” Sirius admitted, his voice low and vulnerable. “I can’t stand the thought of losing him, James. I messed everything up. What if he decides he doesn’t want to come back?”

“He’s not going anywhere,” James reassured him, placing a comforting hand on Sirius’s shoulder. “You two just need to figure things out. You know how stubborn Remus is. He’ll come around. He always does.”

Just then, the door creaked open slightly, and both boys turned to see Remus peeking out, his expression wary but curious. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice soft yet guarded.

Sirius’s heart raced at the sight of Remus, the vulnerability in his eyes a bittersweet reminder of their earlier fight. “Remus,” he breathed, standing up quickly, the energy of the moment rekindling his hope. “I—”

But before he could finish, Remus interrupted, his gaze flicking between Sirius and James. “Did you wait out here all night?” His voice was a mixture of concern and confusion.

“Just about,” Sirius replied, guilt creeping back in as he avoided Remus's gaze. “I was worried about you.”

Remus’s expression softened slightly, though uncertainty lingered. “You should have gone back to the common room.”

“I didn’t want to. I needed to talk to you.” Sirius took a step forward, feeling the weight of his own emotions pressing down on him. “I’m sorry for how I acted earlier. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. I let my insecurities get the better of me.”

Remus regarded him for a moment, searching his eyes for sincerity. “I know you’re sorry, but it’s not just about that. It’s about trust and understanding.”

“I trust you, Remus,” Sirius insisted, the words tumbling out before he could think. “I was scared. Scared that I was losing you.”

Remus’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features. “You’re not losing me,” he said softly, his tone easing the tension in the air. “But you need to trust me when I say I’m figuring things out.”

James cleared his throat, sensing the emotional weight of the moment. “Well, it’s late. Maybe you two should talk this through, and I’ll just…uh, go.” He gave them a gentle smile and backed away toward the stairs leading to the common room.

“Wait, James,” Sirius said quickly, not wanting to dismiss his friend. “Thanks for being here, mate.”

“Always,” James replied with a nod, shooting Remus a reassuring look before he disappeared up the stairs.

The silence between Sirius and Remus felt heavy, but it was different now—charged with the potential for understanding. Sirius took another step closer, his heart racing with a mix of hope and fear. “Can we talk now?” he asked, his voice low.

Remus hesitated, then nodded, stepping fully into the corridor. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

As they sat down on the floor together, leaning against the wall, the shadows of their earlier argument lingered, but there was a flicker of light between them, a chance to rebuild what had been broken. And for the first time that night, Sirius felt a glimmer of hope that they could find their way back to each other.
Sirius and Remus settled into a comfortable silence, their shoulders brushing against each other as they sat on the cool stone floor of the hallway. The weight of the night hung in the air, but the tension was beginning to ease.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said,” Sirius began, his voice quiet but steady. “About how I reacted. I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on you. It wasn’t fair.”

Remus looked down, fiddling with the hem of his sweater. “It’s not just about that, though. It’s about how we communicate. I need you to trust me, Sirius. Trust that I’m not going to leave you behind.”

“I know, and I’m trying,” Sirius replied, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “But it’s hard! You know how things have been lately. With everything going on, it feels like we’re constantly on edge. I don’t want to be the reason you get hurt or feel like you have to hide things from me.”

Remus finally met his gaze, the hurt in his eyes evident. “And I don’t want you to feel like you have to put up walls. You’re allowed to be scared, but shutting me out isn’t going to help either of us.”

Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I don’t want to shut you out, I just… I just didn’t know how to handle it. Seeing you with someone else…” He trailed off, the memory of Remus with the girl in the library stinging like a fresh wound. “It made me feel like I was losing you before I even knew what was happening.”

“I wasn’t trying to replace you, Sirius,” Remus said softly, his tone earnest. “I was confused. I needed someone to help me sort through my feelings, and I made a mistake.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. You were the one person I could always count on to be there.”

Sirius’s heart raced as he processed Remus’s words, a wave of guilt washing over him. “I should have trusted you. I know that now. I let my jealousy cloud my judgment.”

“And I shouldn’t have jumped into something with someone else before sorting out what I felt,” Remus admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I should have come to you first.”

Sirius reached out, placing a hand over Remus’s. “Let’s promise to be honest with each other. No more hiding or running away. If we’re going to figure this out, we have to face it together.”

Remus nodded slowly, relief washing over his features. “Together,” he repeated, a faint smile breaking through the tension. “I can do that.”

As they sat there, fingers entwined, the weight of their shared history loomed over them, but it felt lighter somehow. The atmosphere was filled with an unspoken promise, a chance to rebuild what had been fractured.

Just then, the door to the boys’ dormitory creaked open again, and James reappeared, a curious look on his face. “Everything okay?” he asked, eyes darting between them.

Sirius shot him a quick glance, then nodded. “Yeah, we’re good.”

James smiled, relief evident in his expression. “Great! I was worried you two might still be at each other’s throats.”

“Not anymore,” Remus replied, a hint of warmth in his voice. “We’re working through things.”

“Good to hear,” James said, taking a seat on the floor next to them. “I’m glad you guys are talking. You’re better together than apart.”

Sirius exchanged a look with Remus, a shared understanding passing between them. “Yeah, we realized that,” he said, a hint of a smile creeping onto his lips.

As the three of them sat together in the dim hallway, sharing stories and laughter, Sirius felt the heaviness of the past few days begin to lift. Maybe they could navigate the chaos together after all. With Remus by his side and friends who understood, the darkness didn’t seem so daunting anymore.

“Hey, let’s make a pact,” James suddenly suggested, grinning widely. “No more sneaking around, no more misunderstandings. If something’s bothering us, we talk about it. Deal?”

“Deal,” Remus and Sirius echoed, their voices harmonizing in agreement.

They spent the next few hours sharing secrets, laughter, and camaraderie, the bonds of friendship and love weaving tighter around them. In that moment, they knew they could face whatever challenges lay ahead, together.

Chapter Text

As the door creaked open, Severus Snape stepped into the dimly lit room, expecting to find a quiet corner to study. Instead, his eyes fell upon Evan Rosier, sitting comfortably on Barty Crouch Jr.’s lap, their lips locked in a passionate kiss. The sight sent a jolt of shock through him, followed swiftly by a surge of indignation.

“Are you serious?” Snape spat, his voice laced with disdain. “This is what you’re reduced to? Kissing in a classroom like a pair of lovesick puppies?”

Evan pulled away from Barty, his cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and anger. “What’s it to you, Snivellus?” he shot back, crossing his arms defensively.

Barty, still holding Evan’s waist, glared at Snape, his irritation evident. “Back off, Snape. It’s none of your business what we do.”

“Oh, but it is now, isn’t it?” Snape smirked, the glint in his eyes sharp. “I could easily tell the whole school about this little… rendezvous. Imagine the rumors spreading like wildfire. The great Barty Crouch Jr. caught in a compromising position with Evan Rosier. How scandalous!”

Evan’s expression shifted from irritation to panic. “You wouldn’t dare,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

“Try me,” Snape replied, leaning against the doorframe with an air of authority. “You two look like a pair of fools. And it wouldn’t hurt my reputation to expose your little secret.”

“Shut up, Snape!” Barty growled, rising to his feet and shifting Evan aside. “You think you can just waltz in here and threaten us? What do you think this is, some kind of game?”

“It is a game,” Snape sneered. “And you’re losing. It’s amusing to see you both like this, but I won’t be the one left holding the bag when everyone finds out.”

Evan’s frustration bubbled over. “You’re the one who’s going to end up looking like an idiot if you go through with this. This isn’t about you, Snape!”

“I could care less about you or your petty drama,” Snape retorted, his voice growing colder. “But I can’t stand the idea of you both pretending to be something you’re not. It’s pathetic.”

Barty took a step closer to Snape, his fists clenched. “You’re pushing it, Snape. We don’t need your approval, and we certainly don’t need your threats. Just walk away.”

Evan, sensing the escalating tension, stepped between them. “Barty, it’s not worth it,” he said, his voice shaky. “Let’s just ignore him.”

“Ignore him?” Barty scoffed. “He just barged in here and—”

“Barty, please,” Evan pleaded, his expression softening. “Let’s not make this worse. Snape’s not worth it.”

Snape’s lips curled into a smirk, relishing the chaos he’d created. “Look at you, Rosier. So quick to back down. I guess you really are just a coward at heart.”

“Shut up!” Barty shouted, frustration boiling over. He shoved Evan gently back onto his lap, clearly agitated. “You don’t know anything about us.”

“I know enough,” Snape replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “And I know that this little affair of yours won’t last. Just wait until the pressure hits. You’ll turn on each other faster than you can say ‘expulsion.’”

Evan’s heart raced as he glanced between Snape and Barty. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said defiantly. “We’re not going anywhere. And you won’t do anything, because you’re too scared to stand up for yourself.”

Snape took a step back, momentarily taken aback by Evan’s boldness. “Scared? Hardly. I have no reason to fear you or Barty. You’re both a joke.”

Barty stepped forward, fists still clenched. “Leave us alone, Snape. You don’t know what we’re capable of. You’re just a pathetic little boy trying to play with the big kids.”

“Big kids?” Snape laughed mockingly. “You think you’re mature enough for this? You’re just children pretending to be adults, and it’s only a matter of time before you both realize how foolish this all is.”

With that, he turned on his heel, striding out of the classroom and leaving Barty and Evan in tense silence.

Evan exhaled deeply, leaning back against Barty’s chest. “He’s right about one thing,” he admitted quietly. “This could ruin us if anyone finds out.”

Barty’s grip tightened around him, a mixture of protectiveness and frustration. “Let them find out,” he said defiantly. “I don’t care what Snape thinks or what anyone else thinks. This is us, and if we want to be together, we will be.”

“Barty, it’s not that simple,” Evan replied, worry lacing his tone. “We can’t just ignore the consequences.”

“Then we’ll face them together,” Barty vowed, determination in his voice. “I won’t let him or anyone else come between us.”

Evan looked up at him, the fire in Barty’s eyes igniting something within him. “Okay,” he said softly. “Together.”

As they shared a moment of understanding, the weight of Snape’s threat lingered in the air, but in that shared silence, they found a semblance of strength in each other.
The following week, whispers began to circulate through Hogwarts like wildfire. It started small—a knowing glance in the Great Hall, hushed conversations behind the library shelves—but it didn’t take long for the truth to unravel. Barty and Evan’s secret was exposed.

It all came to a head in Potions class, where Professor Slughorn’s jovial atmosphere couldn’t shield them from the tension. As the class settled down, a loud bang drew everyone’s attention to the door. Snivelus Snape stood in the entrance, his expression a mixture of surprise and amusement.

“Look who it is!” he announced, smirking as he pointed a finger at Barty and Evan. “The lovebirds!”

Gasps rippled through the classroom as heads turned, eyes wide with disbelief. Barty shot Snivelus a glare that could curdle milk, while Evan’s face flushed crimson.

“What do you want, Snape?” Barty snapped, his voice low and dangerous.

“I just thought everyone should know that Barty and Evan are practically glued at the lips when they think no one is looking,” Snivelus said, stepping further into the room. “You know, for someone who loves to play the big man on campus, you sure are bad at hiding your secrets.”

“Shut it, Snivelus,” Evan muttered, his heart racing. He could feel the eyes of his classmates boring into him, their laughter barely concealed.

“Why should I?” Snivelus challenged. “This is too good to miss. You’re both a joke.”

As laughter erupted from a few of the Slytherins, Evan’s stomach churned. He glanced at Barty, who was seething, his fists clenched on the table.

“Enough!” Barty barked, slamming his palm against the desk. The noise cut through the laughter, silencing the room momentarily. “You think this is funny? You’re pathetic, Snivelus. You don’t know anything about us!”

Snivelus shrugged, an insufferable grin plastered on his face. “I know enough to make this school year a whole lot more interesting. Your little romance is all anyone’s talking about. Just wait until the Gryffindors catch wind of it; they’ll love to throw it in your face.”

“Just get out,” Evan pleaded, his voice strained. “We don’t need you here.”

But Snivelus only leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms smugly. “Why would I leave? I’m enjoying the show.”

The classroom buzzed with anticipation, the tension thickening as everyone awaited the fallout. Barty leaned closer to Evan, his expression fierce. “Ignore him,” he whispered, though his heart was pounding. “He’s just trying to provoke us.”

Evan nodded, but inside he felt the weight of embarrassment and fear settling like a stone in his stomach. “We can’t let them get to us,” he muttered. “Let’s just focus on class.”

But it was too late. The news spread like wildfire, and soon the entire school knew about Barty and Evan. In the corridors, whispers followed them, laughter echoed behind their backs, and pitying glances came from those who were supposed to be their friends.

One evening in the common room, Evan slumped into a chair, his face buried in his hands. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he groaned. “I can’t face anyone.”

Barty sat beside him, wrapping an arm around Evan’s shoulders. “We’ll get through this,” he assured, though he could feel the tension between them. “We’ve dealt with worse. Just ignore them.”

Evan looked up, his eyes filled with frustration. “It’s not that easy, Barty. They’re treating us like a circus act. I never wanted this. I wanted it to be our secret, something special.”

“I know,” Barty said softly, but his voice was tinged with anger. “But we can’t let them win. We’re not going to hide who we are just because they can’t handle it.”

“I just wish Snape hadn’t seen us,” Evan sighed. “If he hadn’t barged in, none of this would have happened.”

Barty scoffed. “Screw Snape. He doesn’t get to dictate how we live our lives. We’re not going to let him or anyone else ruin this for us.”

Just then, a group of students walked past, whispering loudly enough for Barty and Evan to hear. “Did you see them? They’re a total embarrassment.”

“Can you believe they thought they could keep it secret?” another voice chimed in, laughter punctuating their words.

Evan flinched, and Barty’s grip on him tightened. “Ignore them,” he repeated, but his voice was laced with fury.

“I’m trying!” Evan snapped back, his voice rising. “But it’s hard when all I can hear is their laughter. I just wanted to be normal for once.”

“Normal?” Barty echoed, his frustration boiling over. “Since when did being normal mean hiding who you are? If anything, we should be proud of this. They’re the ones who should be ashamed for judging us.”

As they argued, the tension escalated, drawing the attention of their peers. James, who had been nearby, finally stepped in, sensing the rising conflict. “Hey, come on, guys. Let’s not make this worse. We’re all friends here, right?”

“Friends?” Barty retorted, glaring at James. “Is that what you call it? Because it sure doesn’t feel like it.”

“Barty, this isn’t helping,” Evan pleaded, looking at his boyfriend with desperation. “Let’s just—”

But before he could finish, a familiar voice cut through the chaos. “Well, isn’t this just precious?”

Everyone turned to see Snivelus leaning casually against the wall, a mocking grin plastered on his face. “Did I miss the part where you two realized how pathetic you really are?”

Evan felt his cheeks burn with humiliation. “Go away, Snivelus,” he said, trying to keep his composure. “This isn’t funny.”

Snivelus chuckled. “Oh, but it is. You both are the talk of the school. I bet even Dumbledore has heard the rumors by now. And what will your parents think?”

With that, the last shred of Evan’s patience snapped. “Shut up!” he shouted, surprising everyone in the room. “You don’t know anything about us or our lives! You’re just trying to get a rise out of us because you’re miserable!”

Snivelus’s smirk faltered for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. “Look at you, getting all worked up. It’s adorable, really. But it won’t change anything. Everyone will always see you as a joke.”

Evan felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. “Maybe they’ll see us as a joke,” he said, his voice steady despite the tremor in his heart. “But at least we’re living our truth. Something you wouldn’t understand.”

Barty stood beside Evan, nodding in agreement. “We’re not backing down just because you think it’s fun to bully us. You’re pathetic for thinking this is a game.”

Snivelus opened his mouth to retort, but James stepped forward, his expression serious. “Enough, Snivelus. This isn’t the time or place. Leave them alone.”

With a huff, Snivelus turned on his heel, striding away, but the damage was done. The laughter and whispers continued, leaving Evan feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Evan muttered again, slumping back in his chair. “This is what we get for being ourselves.”

Barty squeezed his hand, determination shining in his eyes. “We’ll get through this. Together. And one day, they’ll realize how wrong they were about us.”

Evan took a deep breath, trying to find solace in Barty’s words. “I hope you’re right.”

As the night wore on, they held onto each other, drawing strength from their bond despite the uncertainty that lay ahead. They might be outed, but they would face the world together, come what may.

Chapter Text

The days that followed were a whirlwind for Barty and Evan, with every glance, every whisper, every hushed conversation seeming to remind them of their exposure. The rumors had reached even the younger students, and Barty could see the judgment in their eyes as they passed him and Evan in the halls. The hardest part was the silence from some of their so-called friends—those who had been close to them only days before but now avoided them like they were a disease.

Evan had grown quieter, shutting down in a way that Barty had never seen before. The fire that normally burned so brightly in him had been dimmed, and Barty hated watching him retreat into himself.

They were sitting together in an abandoned classroom one evening, hiding from the stares and the snide remarks. Barty was pacing, his frustration at a boiling point. “I can’t stand this, Evan. They’re all acting like we’ve done something terrible.”

Evan didn’t respond, staring blankly at the floor. Barty sighed, crossing the room to sit beside him. He took Evan’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Hey,” he said softly. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, Evan lifted his gaze, and Barty could see the pain in his eyes. “It’s like… like they’re punishing us for something we can’t change,” Evan murmured. “I feel like I don’t belong here anymore.”

“Then we’ll show them that we do,” Barty replied fiercely. “We’ll show them that they don’t get to define us. This is Hogwarts, not a place for petty hate.”

Evan managed a weak smile. “You make it sound so easy. But every time I walk into a room, it’s like they’re all waiting to tear us down.”

“They can try,” Barty said, his jaw clenched. “But we’re not going to let them win.”

Just then, the door creaked open, and to their surprise, Remus entered, glancing around nervously before meeting their eyes. “Hey,” he greeted, his voice tentative. “Mind if I sit?”

Barty narrowed his eyes. “What do you want, Lupin?”

Remus held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m not here to stir up trouble. I just… I thought you might need someone to talk to.”

Evan blinked in surprise. “Really? I thought everyone hated us.”

“Not everyone,” Remus said gently. “Some of us get it. And we’re here for you.”

Evan felt a surge of relief, and for the first time in days, he felt like he could breathe. “Thank you, Remus. I didn’t expect that.”

Remus shrugged. “We all have our secrets. And I know what it’s like to be judged for something you can’t change. I’m sorry it’s been so hard for you.”

The three of them sat in silence for a moment, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on them. But Remus’s presence was reassuring, a reminder that they weren’t completely alone.

As they talked, the door opened again, and James and Sirius walked in. Sirius looked between them with a raised eyebrow. “Having a party without us?”

Evan tensed, but James gave him a reassuring smile. “We heard what happened,” James said. “And for what it’s worth, we don’t care who you’re with. Barty, you and Evan are our friends. Nothing changes that.”

Sirius nodded, a rare moment of sincerity in his expression. “Yeah. Regulus was a git for what he did. He’s always had a knack for sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Barty was stunned. “I… I didn’t think anyone would stand up for us.”

“We’re not all bad, you know,” James said with a grin. “You’re stuck with us whether you like it or not.”

Slowly, Barty felt the tension in his shoulders ease, and he exchanged a look with Evan, who looked equally relieved. For the first time since everything had happened, they didn’t feel alone.

As the group settled into a more relaxed conversation, Barty realized that maybe things weren’t as bleak as they had seemed. There would always be people who didn’t understand, who wanted to tear them down. But there would also be friends willing to stand by them, to support them no matter what.

The road ahead might still be challenging, but Barty knew that with Evan by his side and a few loyal friends, they would find their way through the storm, together.
As the small group sat together, voices hushed and a sense of camaraderie in the room, the door creaked open once more. Snape stepped in, his expression unreadable, though it was clear he hadn’t expected to see so many people.

Sirius was the first to notice him, letting out a low groan. “Look who decided to slither in,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “You’re lost, Snivellus. Maybe if you spent more time washing your hair, Lily would’ve given you the time of day.” He smirked, delighted at his jab.

Snape’s jaw tightened, his gaze darting toward Lily, who had just entered the room with Pandora. The two were close, heads bent as they whispered to each other, but they looked up when they heard Sirius’s comment.

Lily shot Sirius a scathing look, unimpressed. “Stop it, Sirius. What’s your problem?” she snapped, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. “Just because you feel like attacking everyone around you doesn’t mean you get to pick on him too.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, but before he could respond, he caught Lily’s glare head-on. “Don’t get all righteous on me, Lily. You should know that your friend here”—he motioned toward Snape—“was the one who told everyone about Barty and Evan. Isn’t that right, Snivellus?”

Snape’s face went pale, and he straightened his posture. “I just told the truth,” he said defensively, though he looked a bit more cornered than confident.

Lily’s expression shifted, a sudden hurt flashing in her eyes. “Severus, tell me you didn’t. After everything… you knew what they’d go through. Why would you do something like that?”

Snape’s expression hardened. “They’re flaunting it. They should have kept it to themselves. You know how people are, Lily. It’s their own fault for being so… obvious.”

Lily shook her head, looking deeply disappointed. “If that’s what you think, maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought.” She looked at Pandora, who gave her a supportive nod. Gathering herself, Lily took a breath. “Because, for your information, Pandora and I are together. So whatever you have to say about Barty and Evan, you can direct at us too.”

The room fell silent as Lily’s words sank in. It wasn’t just the shock of her announcement but the fierce determination in her eyes that held everyone’s attention.

Snape’s eyes narrowed, and a sneer formed on his face. “So it’s true,” he spat. “You’ve let her drag you down with her foolish—”

“Don’t you dare,” Pandora interrupted, her voice icy and controlled. She stepped forward, her normally gentle face set in a hardened glare. “If anyone’s being foolish, Severus, it’s you. People like you are the reason Barty and Evan are going through hell. And now you want to shame us too?”

Snape’s sneer faltered, his bravado suddenly less certain as he realized the intensity of the room against him. His gaze darted to Lily, perhaps hoping for some sign of forgiveness or understanding, but her expression was resolute.

Sirius looked at Snape with an air of finality, his usual smirk replaced by an unexpected edge. “You want to lecture them on pride, on being themselves? That’s what real strength looks like, Snape. You’ll never understand.”

With a final, furious look, Snape turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, leaving a heavy silence in his wake. For a moment, no one spoke, the tension still lingering in the air. But slowly, Lily turned back to her friends, her expression softening as she took Pandora’s hand in hers.

“Thank you,” Evan said softly, his voice barely a whisper, but the gratitude in his eyes was unmistakable.

Lily smiled gently at him, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “We’re all in this together,” she said firmly. “And we won’t let anyone try to tear us down.”

As they huddled together, a quiet understanding passed between them: whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them united, defiant in their right to be themselves.
As the door swung shut behind Snape, the air in the room felt lighter, though everyone was still processing the moment. Lily and Pandora stood side by side, their hands linked with quiet resolve, exchanging a small, supportive smile.

James, who had been silent through most of the exchange, finally stepped forward, his usual playful grin tempered with respect. “So,” he started, his tone soft but genuine. “You two… you’ve been together this whole time?” His eyes sparkled with curiosity, but there was no judgment, only the kind of warmth Lily had always appreciated in him.

Lily chuckled, a bit nervously. “Not the whole time. Just… we wanted to make sure it was something real before saying anything.” She looked down, blushing slightly, but there was pride in her smile as she glanced at Pandora, who squeezed her hand.

Pandora smiled, her usual calm radiance shining even brighter as she looked around at the group. “We were planning to tell you all, but…” She trailed off, casting a meaningful look toward the door Snape had stormed through. “It just didn’t seem like the right moment until now.”

Barty was the next to speak, his usual brashness softened as he looked at them both with admiration. “Well, if that’s how it is, then I guess it’s about time everyone knew.” He smirked, his mischievous streak returning. “Besides, I was getting tired of hiding everything myself.”

Evan rolled his eyes at Barty’s tone, but he nodded, clearly moved. “Honestly,” he said quietly, meeting Lily and Pandora’s gazes, “thank you. For standing up for us, and for sharing this. It… helps.”

Sirius leaned back, crossing his arms, but there was a gleam of pride in his eyes. “Gryffindors, all of you,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile. “Even the ones who aren’t.”

Pandora gave a small laugh at that, shaking her head. “I think bravery doesn’t have to be limited to one house, don’t you?”

The group shared a smile at that, and it was as if the weight of secrecy had lifted for all of them. Lily looked around, taking in the acceptance on everyone’s faces, and her eyes landed on Remus, who had stayed quiet but attentive.

“Remus,” she said softly, “you’ve been quiet. Are we… are we okay?”

Remus gave a gentle, warm smile. “Of course, we are,” he replied without hesitation. “You and Pandora… it’s good. I’m happy for you both.” There was an understanding in his voice, a kind of kinship that Lily felt deeply, and she returned his smile with a look of gratitude.

With a newfound sense of ease, the group began talking over each other, each sharing a few words of support or congratulations. James was already rambling about how he’d had his suspicions (which Lily immediately corrected with an eye roll and laugh), while Barty was making playful but pointed comments about how they all could’ve stood up to Snape sooner.

As the laughter and conversation filled the room, a sense of unity settled over them. The revelation had come out of nowhere, but it had brought them all closer. They had each other’s backs, and for the first time, they felt they could face whatever came their way, together.