Chapter Text
It was barely 2 p.m. when Barty got up from his chair, right after finishing eating his lunch, in complete loneliness, and headed to the back door of their mansion, pretty close to the sea, but not close enough to be able to see it from there.
In an attempt of being stealthy, he was betrayed by his raccoon keychain hitting the chains attached to his belt.
The door right before the exit led to the second study room, an unused room that maids still bothered to clean. One of them was in the room at that exact moment, and shot Barty a look.
“Where are you heading to, Mr Crouch?” She said turning around and straightening her apron.
“I hate you, shitty animal.” He whispered, closing his eyes, knowing he’d been caught in the act. He wasn't going to do anything in particular. But he had gotten used to the feeling of having to not be seen. It still didn't feel nice “getting caught”.
“Just out for a walk. It's getting hella hot in here, thought I could get some fresh air.”
“Oh, alright then, I'll let Mr Crouch know.”
“Uhh, I wouldn't disturb my father right now. You know, I heard they're handling some important business right now.” That wasn't a lie at least. All he'd been told was that they were going to have a 2 weeks long trip to Italy, where the Crouch family set its roots, to take care of some matters. He didn't question it, at least he could get out of London and its very bipolar weather during July.
The maid stiffened up. Bartemius Crouch Sr. was really moody at those times. “Yes, of course. I wouldn't want to interrupt his work.”
Well, he didn't expect that to work.
“Great, I'm going then. Bye-bye!” And just like that he hurried out the door and speed-walked on the street, with the purpose of getting as far away as possible.
“Sorry for getting angry at you, little guy.” He said looking at the raccoon on the side of his belt. He had found it in fourth year, on the floor of the library, and had kept it since then. Not because he wanted something to remember his school with, now that he had just gotten out of it, but mainly because the moment he saw it, he knew his parents would have hated it.
With time, he grew attached to it, and he would have rather lost an arm than his dumb keychain. And his parents did hate it.
Well, lately he’s been hating it too sometimes, as it reminded him of home, of his school. This was the first time he spent the summer outside of England. And it had been great, he went to see the sea for the first time in bloody seventeen years, and could actually get away with breaking the rules.
Usually his dad did his best to keep him locked up at home over the summer, and with Barty sneaking off, obviously came punishments. But in Italy, his parents really seemed busy (if his dad was really stressed for whatever reason, he would still yell at him, but would usually get interrupted by an urgent call while promising Barty to finish the conversation later) so, on the very first day, Barty decided to go to the sea.
He looked at the water, looked at the families hanging out on the beach, looked at the fishermen, and thought the sea was the most overrated place he’d ever known.
What was there to even do at the sea? The only fun activities Barty knew were skating, shagging and pissing off his parents. And it looked like you couldn't do any at the sea.
Since then he had spent 5 days walking around it, cig in his mouth, praying he remembered the way back when the sun started to set.
The beaches were little, full of rocks and way lower than the streets.
The little city was like that all over, the streets were going up and down. Barty would go as down as he managed, near the beach, and then just wander between colorful houses that looked way too close to each other to Barty.
This time, tho, he was tired of going down, so he started going up.
It looked like he could see the mountains far away from where they had their family house. Perhaps the mountains were better than the sea.
His plan was to follow the street that went the opposite direction of the sea, and see what the nature had to offer to him.
Well, that wasn't really a plan, and anyway it turned out to be a shitty one.
After an hour, the streets kept going up. After 2 hours, his legs were screaming in agony. After 3 hours, Barty realised he had had the worst idea of his life.
By then the air had become more chilly, the buildings on the sides of the street could have been counted on his single hand, and the little statues of the Holy Mary found on literally anything would have been enough to resent even Barty from his sins. He wasn't even exactly on the mountains, probably just at the start of one, so it wasn't even that pretty.
By 5.30 p.m., he was officially folded in 2, his back was bent over, his knees were dead on the ground.
He knew the path he had been following wasn't supposed to be for human individuals, but every minute he tried to convince himself that he was going to find something like a town or a church. But no, nothing.
But if it had taken so long to get up there, then it would have taken just as much to get down, back to the mansion.
He knew his parents wouldn't have come looking for him if he didn't come back for dinner, but he also knew his father had wanted an excuse to lock him up at home again. And Barty wasn't going to give him a reason to do so.
The moment he had decided to go back down and declare the day wasted, a small light blue car stopped next to him.
“Hey kid! Are you alright?” A man, about 30 years old, said after pulling down the car window.
Barty knew he must have looked horrible at that moment, but tried to play it cool.
“Yeah, I'm fine. I was just going around”. He got up and tried to control his breath as much as he could.
“You sure? You don't look well. Ah, were you also going to the festival?”
“What festival?” So in the end, there was something to see.
“You know, the town festival. Everyone is going. Do you want me to drive you there?”
He should've declined, he wasn't stupid enough to get into strangers' cars, but a strange feeling in his chest made him hold his tongue.
Maybe it was the fact that every time someone spoke to him in Italian with that completely calm and harmless tone, something in his heart flickered.
He’s heard Italian his whole life, he knew it fluently. His father yelled at him in Italian at least twice a day since the day Barty was able to talk. Maybe that was it. The fact that the only Italian he knew was the aggressive and possessive one spoken by his father. His mother was the one to teach him English, and over the years she slowly disappeared from his life, always standing behind her husband.
Something about this man offering him help when he didn't ask for it, made Barty want to enjoy this trip as best as he could.
And he didn't look like he had bad intentions anyway.
“Thanks, that would be great, sir.” He said.
“Come on, then. Jump on. And please just call me Arthur.” Barty sat in the back seat and the man started driving his car.
Arthur was a really talkative man. But most of all, he was a really warm and funny man. He talked about his reckless kids, how he had troubles scolding them, unlike his wife, his numerous collections, while keeping on naming this famous festival.
Barty didn't ask any questions, he answered when he found appropriate, pretty lost for words in front of the simple and cheerful way Arthur talked about his family.
It looked like Arthur would have cared if one of his sons didn't come home for dinner.
Barty told himself he didn't care. He didn't need a loving dad. With a loving dad he would have probably felt guilty about sneaking out so often.
~...~
A religious festival.
Barty was currently attending the procession of the religious festival of the small town Arthur drove him to.
When Barty got out of the car, he heard church bells for a couple of seconds and then music started to play.
They got closer to where the music came from, and, on the street, there was a crowd of people and at least eight men were carrying a giant statue of the Holy Mary on their shoulders.
Out of all situations, he had to find himself in a freaking procession, didn't he? Which he didn't even know what that was until Arthur explained it, probably because Barty looked quite confused at the situation.
Apparently, small towns liked to keep traditions alive and organised a couple of weekends every year to honor the saint of the city.
Barty's parents had never been very religious, as far as he knows, but he never had a great relationship with religion since that one time his parents forced him to confess his sins to a priest after he had gotten in trouble.
That same day, he and his parents were banned from the church, because Barty, between his confession, might have accidentally let the punishments his parents had for him slide.
He was twelve.
Now he was seventeen, standing in front of a church, listening to the priest thanking the community for making these types of events possible.
Thankfully, that didn't last long.
“Ok Barty, you look hungry. Do you see that queue over there?”
Arthur hurried to explain to Barty that, if he wanted to eat, he first had to get in line to tell a man what he wanted, he would then receive a piece of paper with his order on and then had to wait at a table for a waiter to come get his order, and serve him his food.
A rather too complicated system if you asked him.
“Everything is homemade, you'll love-” Arthur's rant got interrupted by a little red head running full speed into his stomach, followed by an even smaller one, that Arthur lifted up to place a kiss on his cheeks, and then put back down.
Right, his sons. Arthur had a wife and five kids, and Barty wouldn't have dared to intrude in his family.
So when his kids started to speak on top of one another to tell their dad about what happened the few hours they had been apart that day, Barty got in line to order food.
~...~
Barty had to admit the event was quite nice. And well organised.
Right outside of a church, there was a man sitting at a table, a line of people forming in front of him. Above him, on the church wall, there was the menu, a pretty large variety of pasta, meat and traditional food Barty didn't recognize.
Thankfully the prices were affordable, otherwise he would have had to take the free food some priests had bought from the supermarket. He didn't have a lot of money, but he wanted something to do except feeling quite out of place. It seemed like everyone knew each other, like Barty didn’t belong there.
Still, it was better than home.
He began scanning the menu, and landed on the hamburger with chips, the cheapest option. Even though his father was a famous lawyer, it wasn't easy for Barty to get his hands on money. If he got lucky he would find some in drawers, or in clothes pockets in the dirty laundry.
“Am I the only one that thinks this year's fries taste more chemical than usual?”
It was almost his turn to order, when his eyes noticed a girl with dark skin and long braids tied up in a low bun, talking to a blonde guy, just right next to Barty. They must have been about his age.
“They’re probably the only food they buy from the supermarket. I don't know, Cas. I always get pasta al ragú.” The guy answered. He was at least a few inches taller than Barty, even though he was leaning against a column. His facial features were soft, but his eyes looked sharp, and they were really blue. Not even a glimpse of gray or green in them.
Barty liked the way his words came out of his mouth.
Pasta al ragù.
It must have been really great, if it was the thing he always ordered.
Barty didn't realise he was staring until the guy noticed and looked at him, without bothering to turn his head.
Barty almost didn't look away, he almost forgot to feel embarrassed, but was brought back to reality by the man sitting at the table asking him:
“Can I take your order?”
“Uh, yeah. Sorry, uhm.”
Fuck, what did he want to order, again?
“Uh, I'll take… pasta al ragù?”
~...~
After ordering, Barty headed to an area full of wooden tables, and sat down in a corner. The place was overflowing with people, and by the time a waiter got his order, a line of people formed beside the table area, waiting for free seats.
Also, the waiter.
Barty almost choked on his own saliva.
Suddenly he heard a weak voice behind him.
“Excuse me, can I take your order?”
He immediately recognised blonde hair and the bluest eyes he’s ever stared into.
Except… even if he was sitting, he almost didn't have to look up to meet those eyes.
Actually, those eyes belonged to a… maybe 7 years old?
In that moment, Barty realised that a good amount of plates were being served by kids.
“Eh, yeah, of course.” Barty said while handing the kid the piece of paper. Well at least there seemed to be enough of them. They didn't look stressed. Also Barty wasn't really in the right position to judge, since most of his meals were served by maids.
Minutes later, when the kid returned with his plate of pasta, Barty realised that guy was right. Pasta al ragù was good.
He started imagining blue eyes once again. He started imagining going up to that guy, saying something along the lines of “Dude, that pasta is so good!” He could almost picture those sharp eyes softening as he said something like: “I know right? Do you wanna hang out sometimes? Just the two of us, you can even come to my hous-”
Woah, what is happening?
Why is he being so ridiculous? Does he want to be this guy's friend so bad?
That was it. Too many thoughts. He needed a cig.
He got up from his seat and searched for a corner hidden enough. There was a line of booths where food was being cooked on the spot, Barty went behind them and was satisfied at the sight of the back of a building, where he hopefully wouldn't have been seen from.
Apparently though, the universe seemed to hate him, as the moment he took a step further towards the building, he was, once again, met with blue eyes staring back at him.
“Ah sorry, I thought… Nevermind.” Barty said, starting to turn around.
“It's fine, you can stay.” The blonde guy said quickly while straightening up from his leaning position on the wall, like if he didn't say it fast enough, he wouldn't have been able to catch him.
Barty then decided to ignore the fact that he immediately stopped, almost as if he hoped he would have heard those words.
He simply turned around and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
“Thank you. You want one?” He said, pointing the pack to the guy.
“Ah, no thanks.” He answered. Then leaned back on the wall.
Barty just mirrored him, so that they were standing next to eachother, and at least they weren't looking eachother in the eyes. Those eyes.
He pulled out a cig for himself and a lighter. He put the cig between his lips and tried to light it. Once. Twice. Three times. Ok, now the universe surely hated him.
“Here.” The guy handed him a black lighter with red flames on it.
“Thanks.” Barty found himself embarrassed at the thought of having said thank you to the same guy in less than two minutes.
“You have a lighter but you don't smoke?” He said, then hoping he didn't come out as rude right after.
“I tried, once. My sister could immediately tell, and said I smelled terrible. Apparently smoking doesn't suit me. The lighter was a gift.”
“You have a sister?”
“Uh, yeah. Twin, actually.”
“Right. I just thought you had a brother-
I mean the blonde kid, and you have the same eyes-
Oh god, sorry that sounded weird.”
Why on earth was Barty struggling so much to conjure a coherent sentence? You have the same eyes? Who the hell says that to a guy they never met?
Thankfully, the guy didn't seem to mind too much.
“Dont worry. You mean Felix? Yeah he's my younger brother. Did he serve you food earlier?” Felix. Not very Italian. Now he wanted to know the guy’s name. Quite a lot.
“Yes, he did. Uhh, what's your name?”
“Oh, right. Evan. I'm Evan. And you?”
“Barty. Nice to meet you.”
There was a moment of silence, and then Evan spoke again.
“Does it, uhh, does it stand for anything?” He asked, quite unsure. Barty ignored the fact that he had clearly felt relieved at the sight of Evan not letting the conversation end like that.
Barty took a drag on his cig before answering.
“Bartemius.” He wasn't very proud of his name, but well, it didn't seem like a big of a deal when Evan asked him.
There was a pause.
Then Barty spoke again, through a light chuckle. “Not what you expected?” He could see a bit of surprise on Evan's face.
“No no, it's cool.” Cool. His name was cool. “I just thought it would have been something like Bartolomeo, or I don't know.”
At that, Barty started laughing. “Sorry. Bartolomeo? That sounds so old.”
“Ok, I'm sorry if I assumed it was something Italian!” The sarcasm was clear in his voice, and now Evan was trying to hold back a smile.
Ok, maybe the universe didn't hate him that much.
“Sorry, sorry. My family is half English. I grew up there.” Barty said trying to hold the laugh in.
“But Evan and Felix don't sound very Italian either.”
“Oh, I guess you're right. I'm half french. My last name is Rosier.”
“Woah, that sounds really french.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Evan shot him a look.
“Nothing, nothing.” Barty said, half laughing in the meantime.
Suddenly they heard footsteps, and Barty quickly hid his cig behind his leg. The burnt part was horribly long. He had barely smoked.
Felix appeared, and Evan wasn't surprised. Probably Felix knew where his big brother always went to hide. And it was his duty at some point of the night to come and bring him back to the outside world.
“Evan! Mom says it's your turn to be the waiter.” Felix said. Then his eyes spotted Barty.
“Hello, sir.”
“Ah, hi Felix. Just Barty is fine.” Barty said with a smile.
“I'll be right back, Felix.” Evan said.
Felix giggled and then ran off. It looked like he knew something was up. Barty wasn't sure what, though.
“Sorry, I gotta relieve Felix.” Evan said and got off the wall.
“It's fine, don't worry. I should probably go home anyway.” It was almost 8 o’ clock. He really needed to go home.
Evan looked at his phone. “This early?”
Something inside his heart sank.
“Yeah, I live pretty far away.” He said.
“Oh, of course. Wait, how did you even find this place? It doesn't look like you know anyone.”
“Uhh, I was just curious? I live more near the sea. Got bored of it. So I walked for a bit and then a man, Arthur, drove me here.”
He left out the reason why he was so far away from home on purpose. He liked talking to someone that didn't know his background.
Evan’s eyes widened. “You walked all the way from the sea to this town? What's wrong with you?”
“You know, you could be offering me help, instead of judging how I spend my free time.” Barty said sarcastically. He knew he would have had to walk.
“Im not judging. But you surely have a lot of free time.”
“Very funny.”
“Ok, listen… If you just wait an hour or so, until I finish serving all the old people at the tables… I could offer you a ride.” Evan said, avoiding eye contact.
He actually didn't expect it. Or maybe deep down, he wanted Evan’s help. Did he accidentally manipulate Evan into offering him a ride? He probably should have said no, but Evan looked oddly embarrassed. He was kinda curious to know why.
“Thank you, Evan. I'll wait.” He thanked him a third time.
“Ok. Cool.”
They got out their hiding spot, but Barty wasn't entirely sure where he was supposed to wait for Evan, until he spoke.
“So… You're English but you're not going to tip the waiter?” Evan said looking at Felix, who was near the food stands, surrounded by kids his age, and people a bit older.
“You know that's mainly an American thing, right?” Barty said. Evan just shrugged with a smirk on his lips.
He realised that they probably weren't getting paid.
He awkwardly gave Felix 2 euros. He wasn't very good with children, but the kid thanked him profusely, and was practically jumping with pure joy in his eyes.
It hadn't been a bad idea after all.
Also, he could feel Evan’s eyes on his neck the whole time. And kinda hoped he had made both brothers happy.
~...~
By giving him a ride Barty expected Evan to make his mum or another adult drive him somewhere near his house.
But when he followed Evan down a steep street and in front of his house, he saw a motorbike and two helmets resting on top of it.
“It may not be the newest brand, but it goes fast, trust me. And it's also safe.” Evan said.
The motorbike did look like one of those old models. It was quite contained, like whoever rode it wasn't very pretentious. The seat was made of black leather and the mechanism on the side of the motorbike was well exposed. It didn't look fancy, it looked lived, and like it had its own flashy but casual personality.
Was this why Evan looked embarrassed?
Barty loved it.
“Evan, you don't have to.” He meant it. He knew it was already getting dark, but they had just met that day. It looked like Barty was intruding in someone's life for the second time that day.
“Would you rather get eaten by wolves?”
Barty couldn't tell if he was being serious or not, but was convinced anyway.
“I'll drive you to the town near the sea, until we can see the lights. Then you should be able to find the way home.”
Home. He didn't want to go home.
Not like he could refuse his help, he got on anyway. And by 20 minutes, 20 minutes of wind beneath his hair, of staring between Evan's back and in front of him, he arrived safe at home, without getting eaten by a wolf.