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Evan Rosier did not run in corridors.
It wasn’t because he couldn’t — he was fast enough when pressed, his long legs carrying him across the castle with quiet efficiency. It was simply that running was… undignified. Evan had a reputation to maintain.
Slipping into an elegant stride, robes perfectly arranged and satchel angled just so, he looked every bit the composed, calculating sixth-year Slytherin he was known to be.
The problem was that Hogwarts did not always return the courtesy.
He was halfway to the library, mentally preparing for the inevitable balancing act of working alongside Severus, Regulus, Lily, Pandora, and whatever state of half-conscious existence Remus was in today, when rapid footsteps echoed from around the corner.
A blur turned the bend — and Evan barely had time to register dark hair streaked with an unnatural strip of green before something solid slammed into his chest.
The air punched out of him as he staggered back — then, abruptly, he was on the cold flagstones, robes tangled and sleeves smeared with a faint trace of dust. His satchel spilled slightly, but Evan ignored it.
“Oh, brilliant,” he muttered under his breath, bracing to shove whoever this was off him.
The person on top of him wasn’t moving immediately. Hazel eyes blinked down at him, sharp and bright in the dim corridor light. The black hair was close enough for Evan to see the dye work; the green streak almost glinted — definitely magical, definitely intentional.
A faint scent of something herbal and sharp, like fresh-cut stems and ink, mingled with the metallic tang of sweat from running.
They stayed like that for a second too long — Barty Crouch Jr., Evan realized, though they had never actually spoken — before Evan planted both palms against his chest and pushed.
Barty rolled off with the easy grace of someone who knew how to land on his feet no matter the chaos. Evan got up slower, dusting himself off with brisk precision. His robe was marked with a faint smear of dirt near the hem, and the sight alone made his jaw tighten.
“I would say ‘watch where you’re going,’” Evan said coolly, “but I have the distinct feeling you were already watching, and decided to keep going anyway.”
Barty’s grin was quick and wolfish. “You’d be right.”
Before Evan could demand to know why, the boy was already sprinting away, boots striking the stone like a drumbeat. He didn’t look back.
Evan stared after him for a second, then shook his head. Not his problem. Not today.
He adjusted his satchel and continued towards the library, ignoring the echo of distant laughter up ahead. The corridor stretched before him, quiet except for the faint creak of stone underfoot.
As he rounded another corner, he caught sight of James Potter and Sirius Black on tiptoe, fussing with something above the doorway to the Transfiguration corridor.
It took two seconds to identify the sprig of green and white they were pinning into place.
“Mistletoe?” Evan asked, pausing just out of range.
Sirius turned, all teeth. “Seasonal romance, Rosier.”
“It’s October.”
James gave him a cheerful shrug. “We’re ahead of schedule.”
Evan’s mouth twitched — not into a smile, just a twitch. Enough to make them pause. “Merlin help us all,” he muttered.
He rolled his eyes and continued on his way, ignoring the slight snicker from Sirius behind him. He didn’t need to entertain their chaos today.
The library was quiet when he slipped in, the warm scent of parchment and dust settling around him like a familiar cloak.
Madam Pince sat at her desk like an ever-watchful gargoyle, quill scratching on paper in sharp, precise motions. Soft light from the tall windows pooled over stacks of books, casting long shadows that twisted across the polished floor.
Evan knew where to find his friends — in the back, past the neglected fiction shelves no one touched, where they could exist without the constant hushes and glares of other students.
Sure enough, Severus was there, leaning comfortably against a bookshelf, legs stretched out. Remus’s head rested in his lap, eyes closed, the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips. Severus’s hand moved slowly through Remus’s hair, almost hypnotically, a gesture of quiet care.
Regulus sat beside them, head leaning against Severus’s shoulder, both absorbed in a single book, occasionally glancing up to share a note or comment. Evan allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible smile — the sort that might have been seen only by someone paying very close attention.
Across from them, Lily sat with Pandora, hunched over parchment and quills, murmuring occasionally as their notes spread across the floor in what appeared chaotic but was, in truth, a carefully maintained system only they understood.
Evan lowered himself beside Pandora without a word, taking her book and comparing notes. He noted small differences in her shorthand, faint errors in his own script, already planning corrections in his mind.
For a while, only the scratching of quills and turning of pages filled the space. A rhythm broken only by occasional sighs of concentration. Evan leaned back slightly, letting the comfort of routine seep in. This was his territory, his peace.
Then — whoosh.
Something blurred past Evan’s head. His quill froze mid-stroke. Slowly, he turned.
A white chess knight, miniature but perfectly carved, soared through the air atop a tiny broomstick. Its tiny lance gleamed in the window light as it swerved between stacks with astonishing precision.
Another flash — a black knight, bat in hand, chased it fiercely. The crack of wood against wood rang out, startling even him.
“Oh, for—” Lily began, but didn’t get further.
Within seconds, the library was filled with the whirring and swooshing of enough chess pieces to form full Quidditch teams in miniature. White against black, attacking, defending, weaving around the shelves, colliding midair with precision that was almost eerie.
A booming voice suddenly filled the room. “And that’s a goal for Black!”
Every head turned. Atop the science fiction shelves sat the black and white queens, perched like royalty, each clutching a miniature microphone.
The white queen narrated breathlessly, while the black queen heckled, cackling between plays. Their tiny enthusiasm made the chess match absurdly exhilarating.
Evan leaned back, silently noting the clever charms keeping the pieces aloft and intact. He observed every swing of the knights, the precise arcs, the near-misses. A quiet thrill ran through him as the room buzzed with movement and sound.
He tore his eyes away, just in time to notice a small white pawn flip and tumble midair, clashing against a black rook. Pieces skidded across the polished floor, some wobbling dangerously before righting themselves, others colliding with tiny cracks. Evan couldn’t help a faint smirk — even miniature chess could be art in chaos.
Severus murmured something under his breath — probably a curse at the flying pieces. Remus, still resting in his lap, murmured in amusement, voice muffled.
Regulus flicked an eyebrow, staying calm as he cataloged each piece’s trajectory. “Predictable,” he commented quietly, jotting notes. “Black knights always overcommit.”
Lily rolled her eyes, fingers brushing Pandora’s as they pulled notes closer. “Do you think they know the library is supposed to be silent?”
“I think they thrive on chaos,” Pandora replied, eyes following the flying chess pieces.
Evan cataloged everything: the squeak of broomsticks, the swish of air, tiny dents from hard landings. He noted Severus’s still fingers, Remus’s tilted head of trust, Regulus’s composed shoulders, Pandora and Lily’s rhythm.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, Barty’s face hovered again: the green streak in his hair, sharp hazel eyes, fleeting grin. Dangerous. Infuriatingly magnetic.
It didn’t take long for Madam Pince to appear, robes flaring like a stormcloud. Subtle enchantments gathered rogue chess pieces. “ENOUGH!” she shouted.
The chaos ceased. Pieces plummeted with soft thumps. Commentators fell silent. Students blinked, stunned.
Evan allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible sigh.
Evan’s gaze, however, had already wandered to the window.
A mop of black hair streaked with green slipped through the narrow opening with effortless grace, the figure leaving the room without even touching the floor.
High up as they were, Evan didn’t know how they survived the landing. The instinct to check — to follow, to ensure nothing had gone wrong — flickered briefly in his mind.
But he didn’t care to find out.
He simply watched.
“Mister Potter, Mister Black,” Madam Pince’s voice cut through the quiet like a sharpened blade, cold and unwavering. “I will see you in detention Saturday morning.”
James sputtered, panic flaring in his expression. “But—!”
“No Hogsmeade for either of you,” she snapped again, her wand flicking in precise arcs to collect the rogue chess pieces. They floated obediently into neat piles as if obeying some unspoken rule.
Evan said nothing.
His mind cataloged the scene — James’s flustered gestures, Sirius’s faux indignation, the taut line of their shoulders, and the faint tension in the air. But he was perfectly aware that they had nothing to do with it.
Because he knew.
He knew exactly who had orchestrated the chaos.
The way the green streak caught the light. The sharpness in those hazel eyes. The brief, wolfish grin before disappearing into the night. Barty. Only Barty could have moved like that — impossible, untouchable, and utterly… magnetic.
A small part of him wanted to reach out. To call after him, to ask a single question. But another, stronger part told him no. This was not his problem. Not his fight.
Not today.
He exhaled softly, letting the tension in his shoulders ease fractionally. The quiet satisfaction of knowing, of understanding what others could not, settled over him.
Madam Pince’s glare swept the library, sharp enough to slice through stone. “And let this be a lesson,” she added, voice low and dangerous, “for any of you who think the rules can be bent or broken. I will not tolerate such behavior again.”
James and Sirius exchanged small, matching pouts, clearly furious that their excuses had fallen on deaf ears. They muttered under their breath, stepping lightly to avoid Madam Pince’s attention as she collected the last of the enchanted chess pieces.
Evan observed all of it without comment, a neutral presence amid the minor chaos. His eyes, however, kept flicking back to the window.
He imagined the figure moving swiftly down the corridor, shadows stretching and bending around them. He noted the faint sound of their steps — or lack thereof — the fluidity of their movement.
Barty didn’t run like ordinary students. He moved with intent, with a rhythm that made the chaos around him seem almost irrelevant.
Evan’s chest tightened slightly, a feeling he hadn’t expected. Not irritation, not fear, but… curiosity. And something else, faint and unwelcome: fascination.
A hand brushed a stray lock of hair from his eyes. He barely noticed the motion. His thoughts were occupied with the impossible grace of the figure, the audacity of their actions, and the quiet thrill of knowing that no one else in the room, not even the Marauders, understood the truth.
He allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible smile.
The chess pieces were safely gathered now, floating gently to the shelves. The noise of the room had diminished, leaving only the soft scratch of quills and the occasional rustle of paper.
Evan shifted slightly, letting the moment pass, though his mind remained half on the empty window frame.
Because he knew Barty hadn’t gone far. He never did.
And that knowledge, unspoken and private, settled over him like a small, dangerous warmth — one he refused to act on, but one that lingered all the same.
Not his business.
Not today.
He could wait.
And he would.
The study session in the library had left a lingering hum of quiet energy. Notes were compared, formulas debated, subtle banter traded. Bookshelves smelled faintly of dust and ink.
Evan felt a peculiar calm as they moved away from the library. The corridors stretched ahead, bathed in soft lamp light. Shadows slanted across the polished stone floor.
Severus walked ahead, the familiar stiffness barely softened. One hand stayed in his robe pocket; the other brushed lightly against Remus’s arm, subtle but deliberate.
Remus matched Severus step for step. His glances were teasing, affectionate, casual. Sirius trailed slightly behind, shoulders loose, hands tucked into his sleeves, eyes scanning for mischief.
Evan walked silently beside them, a quiet observer. He didn’t comment. He simply took it in, recording the rhythm, the nuances, the faltering sharpness of Severus’s tongue around the others.
A soft pang rose in his chest. Watching the subtle interplay of touches and smiles, Evan felt a quiet ache of longing — for a connection like that, for a glance that unpicked walls without a word.
The corridor seemed unusually quiet, almost conspiratorial. The faint scent of damp moss rose from below, mingling with the lingering parchment and ink from the library.
They reached the staircase to the Slytherin dorms. Regulus paused, eyes flicking toward James, who bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, mischief practically radiating off him.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” Regulus muttered. His tone was quiet but firm. Then, a pointed glance at James. “And don’t think I won’t lecture you for that stunt in the library.”
James grinned, unabashed, and followed Regulus down the hall. His shoulders slumped in mock defeat, but the teasing spark remained.
Pandora sidled past, walking briskly toward the greenhouses, Lily beside her. They chatted softly about plants and magical experiments. Evan caught fragments: a plant needing sunlight, an experiment with responsive blooms, Lily’s eyes lighting up at every detail.
Finally, Evan entered the dorm with Severus, Remus, and Sirius. The door clicked softly behind them.
The room smelled faintly of wax polish and old parchment, mixed with Severus’s sharp, grounding scent and a hint of herbs.
Severus seated himself on the edge of his bed, posture rigid, legs crossed neatly at the ankles. Remus leaned back against the headboard, eyes following Severus with quiet amusement. Sirius sprawled across the floor, a casual spectator of the subtle exchange between Severus and Remus.
Evan found a quiet spot on the opposite side of the room. His gaze lingered on Severus: the way his sharp features softened when no one watched, the twitch of a smile at Remus’s gentle teasing, the faint blush at Sirius’s ridiculous commentary.
It fascinated him. Severus, usually sharp-tongued and precise, rendered almost helpless by warmth and attention.
Sirius laughed lightly at a comment from Severus. Remus followed with a soft chuckle. Evan noticed the faint blush creeping across Severus’s cheeks, the subtle stiffening of his hands.
The rhythm of the room — rustle of robes, scratch of quills, quiet creak of floorboards — became comforting. Sleep tugged gently at Evan’s eyelids.
Inevitably, his thoughts drifted to Barty.
Even half-asleep, Barty’s face intruded. The green streak in his hair, the hazel eyes flashing with chaos, that daring grin — all pressed against his consciousness like a spark against dry tinder.
The collision in the corridor flashed vividly. The weight, the shock, the closeness. Barty’s audacity, his wild energy, contrasted sharply with Severus’s precise control. The thrill tugged at something Evan rarely allowed himself to feel.
Severus’s soft expressions, Remus’s grounding presence, Sirius’s teasing energy — all of it blended seamlessly in the dorm room, forming a quiet sanctuary. And yet, Barty’s memory lingered, impossible to ignore.
A warmth spread across Evan’s chest. Not envy. Not irritation. Something quieter, insistent. Possibility.
The dorm, the friends, the castle sounds — all blurred with the vivid flash of Barty’s grin and that first collision. Evan felt his chest unclench in ways it rarely did.
Hope rose, fragile and quiet, that one day he might experience a gaze that could pierce his carefully constructed exterior.
A dreamlike rhythm overtook him, Hogwarts’ hum, the warmth of Severus, Remus, and Sirius, and Barty’s chaotic pull interweaving.
Finally, Evan drifted fully into sleep, suspended between the calm certainty of friendship and the thrilling unknown of encounters yet to come.
Severus’s voice stirred him before the sunlight hit his eyes.
“Evan… dinner.”
His lids fluttered open. The first thing he noticed was the weight of a blanket draped over his shoulders. He knew immediately who had placed it there. Severus.
A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Thanks,” he muttered softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face.
Remus and Sirius were perched on Severus’s bed. Both rubbed sleep from their eyes. Remus’s hair stuck out in every direction, a chaotic halo. Sirius’s grin was far too smug for someone who’d barely slept.
Regulus was back, adjusting his robes with meticulous precision. But James? Evan noticed the absence instantly. Likely still in his dorm. Probably plotting some minor chaos.
A quick wash at the basin revived him fully. Cold water splashed his neck. He brushed his hair into place. The walk to the Great Hall seemed longer than usual.
The corridors of Slytherin were unusually noisy. Students whispered as he passed. Their eyes flicked toward Sirius and James. Something about the two of them put everyone on edge.
“Did you hear what they did?” a Hufflepuff murmured.
Evan barely registered it. His mind traced paths to the Hall. He ignored the whispers. But he caught enough to know the library chaos hadn’t gone unnoticed.
The Great Hall doors swung open. Evan froze.
No tables.
His breath caught. Eyes widened at the emptiness. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the sky. But the wooden benches — gone. Students clustered in small groups, craning necks toward the Slytherins.
Sirius stopped beside him. His expression mirrored Evan’s disbelief.
“What… what is happening?”
Evan shot him a sharp glance. “I don’t know.” His lips pressed tight. He scanned the room, taking in the strange arrangements, the murmuring students.
Then he saw it. A streak of green.
Barty.
Everything clicked. The whispers. The missing tables. The sly smirks. Barty had orchestrated this. Barely trying, and yet perfect.
Their eyes met. The Hall shrank until it seemed only they existed. Barty’s smirk widened. Hazel eyes gleamed with mischief. Evan’s chest tightened — irritation and curiosity tangled together.
Before he could respond, Pandora jabbed him lightly in the stomach.
“Earth to Evan. Snap out of it.”
He blinked. Lily, Mary, Marlene, Dorcas, James, and Peter joined the group. A comment teetered on his lips. But McGonagall’s sharp voice cut through the murmurs.
“Make that weekend detention into a week-long one, Mister Potter, Mister Black.”
No discussion. No negotiation. Just finality. Her robes swept past, leaving near silence behind. James and Sirius sputtered, hands thrown in disbelief.
Evan glanced back. Barty’s smirk remained. Then, impossibly, the boy winked at him.
Before he could process it, Barty strode to the floor, settling among his friends. Confidence radiated from every movement.
Pandora tugged at Evan’s sleeve. He followed, sitting close enough to hear Barty’s laughter. Low, teasing, magnetic.
Even rational thought whispered, don’t get distracted. But he shifted slightly closer anyway.
Sirius and James flopped down nearby, pouts mirrored. McGonagall clearly ignored their protests. Sirius muttered about unfairness. James threw his hands up, grinning through his mock outrage.
Evan’s gaze stayed on Barty. The boy’s laugh echoed faintly. Posture relaxed, yet commanding. Untouchable.
The contrast with Severus was striking. One precise, measured, controlled. The other wild, audacious, impossible to predict.
Pandora nudged him again. “Focus, Ev.”
He gave a faint smile, but his eyes flickered back. He noticed tiny details. Shoulders shifting when Barty laughed. Nostrils flaring when he found someone to tease. The tilt of his head that made every glance deliberate.
James whispered something to Sirius. They giggled quietly, glancing toward Barty with muted admiration. Evan’s heart thumped.
The tension was unfamiliar. It pulled at him toward someone he barely knew. Someone chaotic. Someone daring. Someone who challenged him effortlessly.
He could hear the faint rustle of robes. Soft whispers about the unusual punishment. Enchantments working to restore the Hall’s tables. And through it all — Barty’s laugh. Teasing. Irrepressible. Alive.
Evan let his mind wander. What would it be like to face Barty deliberately? To meet those hazel eyes. To tease. To argue. To spar silently, testing limits, testing boundaries.
A thrill ran through him. Simultaneously terrifying and intoxicating.
And yet, beneath it, the warmth of his friends remained. Severus’s quiet intensity. Remus’s soft humor. Sirius’s mischievous energy. Pandora’s gentle insistence.
Barty layered atop all of it, like a spark in the quiet. The pull was magnetic, dangerous, impossible to ignore.
Evan leaned back slightly, absorbing everything. The chaos, the warmth, the mischief. And through it all — Barty, bright, bold, chaotic. Thrillingly alive.
The Great Hall looked strange without the long, familiar house tables. The enchanted ceiling still mirrored the winter sky, pale blue streaked with gold, but the floor was bare.
Students sat on thick rugs and cushions, clustered into small groups, murmuring to one another. Plates of food floated gracefully through the air, clinking softly as they landed in front of each cluster.
Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, steaming bread rolls—each dish hovered and refilled itself at the touch of a student, making the chaotic scene feel almost magical in its own right.
Marlene, Dorcas, Mary, Sirius, Peter, and James had formed their own tight, noisy circle, leaning in over plates of food and talking in hurried, overlapping whispers. “Did you see them?” Marlene asked, eyes wide, elbowing Dorcas lightly.
“See who?” Dorcas replied, stealing a piece of bread with a sly smile.
“Amelia Bones and Emma Vanity!” James said dramatically, leaning back with a grin.
Mary gasped. “No way!”
“Yes,” Sirius confirmed, smirking as he tucked a fork between his fingers. “Seventh-floor hallway. The Mistletoe we set up appeared. Wouldn’t let them move apart. Complete chaos.”
“They kissed,” James added, eyes gleaming, as if narrating a particularly scandalous play. “Properly kissed as in hot make out session with tongue, right there in the corridor.”
Dorcas groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Seventh-year Hufflepuff and sixth-year Slytherin. The scandal!”
“Scandal?” Sirius scoffed. “It’s brilliant. Bones finally gets a bit of fun. Good for her.”
Mary whispered something back, and the conversation devolved into laughter and gentle teasing again.
Evan sat at the edge of their group, picking idly at the food on his plate while listening. He didn’t join in, though he caught every detail, every gasp and laugh, every sly glance. His eyes drifted over the room, flicking between the Marauders, the gossiping circle, and the rest of the hall.
Not far from him, another cluster was far more subdued. Severus, Remus, Regulus, and Lily had gathered together, books open, quills moving swiftly across parchment.
The faint scratch of pens and soft rustle of paper underpinned their discussion about the transfiguration essay due in their next class. “That essay is a nightmare,” Lily muttered, frowning.
“Conjured objects and their permanence,” Remus said thoughtfully, leaning over his notes.
“They can’t be permanent,” Severus said flatly, sharp eyes glancing up briefly. “At least, not usually.”
Regulus tilted his head, ink-stained fingers tightening around his quill. “Minnie will expect more detail than that.”
“Of course she will,” Severus said, sighing and scribbling another line, his handwriting precise and deliberate.
Pandora sat next to Lily, ignoring the essay entirely. She plucked a slice of apple from her plate and fed it to Lily, who chuckled but didn’t look up from her writing. Pandora’s quiet smile made it clear she had won some small victory.
By now, most of the food had been eaten. Students leaned back, stretching out on cushions and rugs, their conversation drifting into lazy tones. Severus began gathering plates with a flick of his wand. They floated neatly toward a stack at the edge of the hall.
“I’ll help,” Evan said, standing and waving a plate into the air. He moved through the hall, guiding them neatly into the pile, unaware that someone else was doing the same.
Barty was standing nearby, wand in hand, plate hovering, eyes focused on the task at hand. Their movements collided suddenly, and the plates wobbled.
“Sorry,” Evan said quickly, stepping back.
“My fault,” Barty replied, voice casual, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.
They shifted apart, exchanging a brief, awkward glance. Evan turned to walk away, but an invisible tug on his sleeve stopped him.
Before he could process it, he stumbled forward into Barty’s chest. Confused, he looked up. Barty wasn’t staring at him—he was looking above.
Evan followed the line of his gaze and froze.
A mistletoe hovered above them.
His jaw tightened. He spun his head toward the Marauders, catching James and Sirius trying, unsuccessfully, to hide smirks behind their hands. “Really?” he snapped.
Sirius shrugged innocently. James grinned, unabashed.
When he looked back, Barty’s gaze was fixed on him, the same teasing smirk in place. Mischief glimmered in his eyes, impossible to ignore.
Evan rolled his eyes and let out a low sigh. Without thinking, he grabbed Barty’s collar and pulled him down, pressing his lips to the boy’s in a sharp, deliberate kiss.
The hall froze. Heads turned.
Barty’s expression shifted, surprise flickering across his face, before he reacted instinctively. His hands slid to Evan’s waist, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss with a confidence that made Evan’s pulse spike.
A few gasps echoed around the hall. Marlene slapped her hand over her mouth. Regulus stared, frozen mid-chew. Severus’s eyes widened, and Lily tilted her head, clearly caught between shock and curiosity.
Evan’s hand tightened in Barty’s collar, holding him in place until the need to breathe finally forced a pause. When they parted slightly, Barty leaned forward, lips still close, eyes dark with amusement and something sharper.
The silence shattered with a single, commanding voice,
“What is this behaviour?”
Professor McGonagall sat on the floor among the floating plates, her stern gaze slicing through the hall. Her robes brushed against the carpet as she leaned forward, eyes fixed on the two of them.
Barty smirked, unbothered, and Evan’s face flushed deep red. The murmurs rose again, whispers bouncing off the walls.
The Great Hall had returned to life, but all attention swirled around one point—Evan and Barty, caught together beneath the mistletoe.
Sirius whistled, sharp and loud enough to echo across the dorm, and swaggered over, looping an arm casually around Barty’s shoulder.
Evan’s eyes narrowed instantly, a dagger-like glare piercing through the warmth of the room. His face burned, not from the cold, but from embarrassment, irritation, and an odd, fluttering tension he couldn’t name.
“Congrats, Crouch,” Sirius said, voice teasing, “on getting Evie’s first kiss.”
Evan’s face went instantly crimson, a burning heat spreading from his ears down to his collar. His mind scrambled, trying to process everything that had just happened.
He opened his mouth, stammering out a sharp, “I-it’s not—!” but the words barely left his lips before Sirius began dragging Barty toward James, leaving Evan standing there, red as a Gryffindor banner and fuming.
His foot stomped on the floor in frustration, lips pressed into a tight line, and he looked toward Severus, teary-eyed and flustered, hoping for some kind of rescue.
It was subtle, but Severus caught it immediately. No words were exchanged, but the message was crystal clear, Sev, I need help.
Severus’s dark gaze caught his instantly, and without a single word, he understood everything.
The quiet patience in Severus’s expression made Evan’s chest tighten.
There was no rush, no need for words—Severus already knew, already understood the storm of embarrassment and frustration swirling inside him.
Severus stepped closer, his long fingers brushing gently along Evan’s arm in a grounding touch.
“Come with me,” he murmured softly.
The command was calm, quiet, but firm enough that Evan didn’t argue. He allowed himself to be guided, letting Severus lead him down the corridor, away from the lingering laughter, the whispers, the echo of Sirius’s teasing.
A glance over his shoulder showed Sirius still smirking, Barty’s smug grin still plastered across his face.
James, James of course, was cackling in the background, a hand covering his mouth as he tried to hide his amusement.
Evan couldn’t help a sharp exhale of frustration. But Severus’s touch, steady and warm, kept him anchored, a tether to reality amidst the embarrassment.
The castle at night breathed differently. The torches along the corridors burned low, painting the stones with soft amber that shifted with each flicker.
Their footsteps echoed faintly, softened by the long hush of sleeping portraits. Somewhere down a hall, a ghost drifted, its low murmur carried like water through pipes.
Evan kept his arms folded tight, almost hugging himself as he walked at Severus’s side. His mouth worked before his thoughts fully lined up—his nerves spilled like ink blotting a page.
“Did you see the way he looked at me?” Evan burst, voice bouncing against the stone. “That—that stupid smirk. Like he knew something, or—or like he was waiting for me to fall apart. Merlin, he doesn’t even blink properly, he just—stares, like he owns the room.”
Severus hummed low, half amusement, half patience. “Crouch owns nothing. He only pretends.”
“But he—Merlin, Sev—he stands like he hasn’t got a single care. Hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, that ridiculous tilt to his head—like the world is a joke only he’s in on. And those eyes—” Evan groaned, tipping his head back against the wall as they turned a corner. “Sharp. Too sharp. He looks right through you.”
Severus let him talk, let the words unspool. When Evan’s steps faltered, Sev shifted closer, a soft brush of fingers against his sleeve to guide him forward. “You’re wound too tightly,” he murmured, voice like velvet against stone.
Evan shot him a glare that lacked heat. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have him watching you like—like you’re something he’s already decided to pick apart.”
Severus allowed a rare little smile. “You exaggerate.”
Evan raked a hand through his hair, grumbling. “Do not. The way he smiled tonight—Merlin, Sev—it was—ugh. Unbashful. Shameless. Like he could just—” He trailed off, cheeks flushing hot even in the cool corridor.
Severus tilted his head, dark eyes narrowing in quiet mischief. “Like he could what?”
Evan groaned again and shoved his face into his hands. “Don’t make me say it. You already know. You’re evil.”
A soft laugh escaped Severus, low and rare, vibrating through Evan’s arm where he leaned against him. Gently, he reached to untangle Evan’s hand from his hair, smoothing it down with deliberate strokes. “You’ll tire yourself out if you keep circling like this.”
Evan didn’t fight the touch. He let Sev card his fingers through his hair, the irritation in his ranting slowly giving way to softer breaths. His words, though still restless, came gentler now.
“I don’t even know why I care. I shouldn’t care. I mean—look at you and Remus. You’ve got… this whole thing. Quiet and steady and—real…. Sirius does not count, he’s loud. And I’m over here tripping over a bloody smirk like some first-year. It’s pathetic.”
Severus’s thumb brushed against his temple. “Not pathetic. Human.”
Evan blinked at that. His throat felt thick.
They passed another torch, light sliding across Severus’s profile—serious, steady, soft in a way he rarely let the world see. Evan leaned more into his side, words tumbling slower now.
“He pulls at me, Sev. Like—I don’t want to look, but I do. I don’t want to listen, but I do. Like he’s already in my head.” His voice softened further, like a confession slipping loose. “I hate it. And I want it.”
Severus murmured something too quiet to catch, just a soothing vibration against Evan’s crown. His hand never stopped its slow path through Evan’s hair.
By the time they reached the next stairwell, Evan’s voice had turned slurred with fatigue, his complaints trailing into fragments. “Smirk—eyes—stupid posture—” He half-laughed, half-sighed, nuzzling closer like a cat seeking warmth.
The castle seemed to cradle them in that moment, the air thick with torchlight and the smell of stone. Evan’s eyelids dipped heavy, and his mind began to drift—half tethered to Severus’s steady presence, half wandering into something dreamlike.
Barty’s smirk flickered through the haze, teasing at the edges of his thoughts. A voice—sharp, smug, calling him “Rosier,” then softer, almost fond: “Ev. Rosie.” The sound tangled with the way Severus’s hand smoothed over his hair, the way he murmured in reassurance.
Safe. Irritated. Fascinated. Warm.
Once inside their dorm, Severus moved with practiced efficiency.
With a flick of his wand, their clothes shifted—robes transforming into comfortable, soft garments that smelled faintly of lavender and wax polish, a subtle combination that was both grounding and familiar.
Severus perched at the edge of his bed, inviting Evan silently with a tilt of his head. Evan sank down beside him, curling slightly against Severus’s side, letting the warmth of him seep into his tense muscles.
And then, it all came spilling out.
“He’s… Barty,” Evan started, voice tight with a mixture of exasperation and fascination. “green streak in his hair, That ridiculous grin like he knows something I don’t! The way he… he’s just… mischievous and unashamed!”
Severus’s hand, still brushing lightly through Evan’s hair, kept him anchored, allowing Evan to rant without interruption.
The small, careful strokes along Evan’s scalp acted like a metronome, keeping time with the rapid rhythm of Evan’s heartbeat.
“He makes me think about him without even trying!” Evan’s words were a rush, tumbling out faster than thought.
“And the kiss! That kiss in the Hall! That wasn’t my first kiss! I—” He paused, exhaling sharply, frustration breaking through into almost physical tension. “I already had my first kiss! And now everyone’s going to think it was him, that stupid, idiot Barty! He’s reckless! Audacious! Impossible! Annoying! And somehow… I can’t stop thinking about him.”
Severus didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His hand continued its slow, deliberate motion through Evan’s hair, curling around the soft strands and grounding him in the quiet of the room.
Every brush, every shift of fingers, seemed to tell Evan that it was okay, that he could let go of the embarrassment and just exist in this space.
Evan’s rant softened but didn’t end. “He’s… he’s infuriating. Makes me think things I… I shouldn’t. Makes me feel things I… I don’t… I don’t know how to name.” His chest heaved, partly from the rant, partly from the sudden exhaustion of all the pent-up tension.
Severus tilted his head slightly, voice low, calm, but carrying that unmistakable gravity. “Feelings… are rarely neat, Rosie. They’re messy. They don’t wait for the perfect moment. And sometimes, we can’t control them.” His words weren’t patronizing—they were steady, solid, a bridge over the chaos of Evan’s thoughts.
“I—” Evan tried to continue, but the words were swallowed in a heavy sigh.
He leaned closer against Severus’s side, letting himself be enveloped by the quiet warmth. “I can’t believe I… just… in front of everyone…” His voice trailed, almost whispering, lost in the dim light of the dorm.
Severus’s fingers curved slightly, stroking small circles along Evan’s scalp.
The motion was slow, deliberate, meant to soothe. “It doesn’t matter,” Severus murmured. “It’s already happened, just move forward with confidence,”
Evan let the words sink, pressing closer, letting his cheek rest against Severus’s chest.
The quiet rhythm of Severus’s breathing, the steady warmth of his body, the soft pressure of fingers in his hair—it was grounding in a way nothing else could be.
“But he’s…” Evan muttered, almost inaudible now. “He’s… so bold. So unashamed. I… I can’t stop thinking about him.”
Severus only continued to stroke his hair, murmuring softly, almost like a lullaby. “Then think,” he said. “Think all you want, Rosie. I’ve got you.”
Evan let out a slow exhale, words trailing off, the tension in his body melting slightly as his eyes grew heavy.
The warmth, the comfort, the quiet steadiness of Severus’s presence wrapped around him like a soft blanket.
He murmured, half-asleep, “I… I don’t want to stop… thinking… about him…”
“And you don’t have to,” Severus replied softly. “Not tonight. Just sleep. Let your mind drift. I’m here.”
Evan’s eyelids fluttered, head tilting slightly into Severus’s side.
The rants, the embarrassment, the chaos of the Hall—all of it blurred into soft haze, replaced by the comforting rhythm of Severus’s hand through his hair.
“I… I don’t know what I even…” Evan murmured, voice growing lighter as the pull of sleep took hold. “Why… why does he make me feel like this…?”
Severus’s voice was low, a steady whisper. “Because he’s reckless. Because he’s bold. Because he challenges you without trying. But that’s not yours to solve right now. That’s for later.”
Evan exhaled, letting himself sink fully into the bed. The room around them—the soft shadows, the faint scent of lavender and parchment, the distant hum of the castle—blurred into comforting monotony.
Severus leaned slightly, murmuring against Evan’s temple, fingers continuing their slow, careful rhythm. “Sleep, Rosie,” he whispered again. “You’re safe here. You’re safe with me.”
Evan’s last coherent thought was a jumble of conflicting emotions—Barty’s grin, the heat in his chest, the embarrassment, the thrill, and the calm, grounding presence of Severus. And then his mind gave in completely.
The last thing he felt was the steady, grounding rhythm of Severus’s hand, stroking his hair, a quiet, protective warmth wrapping around him.
His body relaxed entirely, the chaotic, electric energy of the day dissipating into the soft, comforting lull of sleep.
Outside, the castle’s corridors carried on, alive with their usual rhythm, but inside the dorm, time slowed.
Evan drifted entirely, cradled by warmth, comfort, and the subtle, steady intimacy of Severus’s presence—a shelter from chaos, from embarrassment, from everything else.
And somewhere, in the fading edges of consciousness, the spark of Barty’s mischievous grin lingered, teasing the corners of his dreams, but it was muted by the quiet, constant reassurance of the person he trusted most.
The castle was hushed, bathed in that velvet kind of quiet that only came long after curfew. Even the portraits seemed to be asleep.
Sirius and Remus slipped through the shadows with practiced ease, the thrill of sneaking about making Sirius’s grin widen while Remus rolled his eyes but followed close behind.
They padded into the Slytherin dorm that Severus shared with Regulus and Evan, the air cooler here, darker. Sirius pushed the door open a crack, motioning for silence, and the sight waiting inside made both of them pause.
Severus was half-dozing, his head tilted slightly, his long hair falling across his face in loose strands.
Evan lay curled against him, his breathing steady, his small frame tucked into his side like he had always belonged there. One of Severus’s arms rested around him protectively, though his hand hung limply, fingers twitching faintly in sleep.
At the creak of the floor under their steps, Severus stirred. His eyes opened slowly, heavy-lidded, but alert the moment he registered who was in the doorway.
His gaze softened, though he didn’t move at first, careful not to wake Evan.
“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” he whispered, voice low and rough from sleep.
Sirius smirked, crossing the room without hesitation, while Remus followed, quieter, gentler.
They both leaned down at once, greeting him the way they always did when the world wasn’t watching—first Remus, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against his lips. Severus sighed into it, something unguarded slipping free for just a moment.
Then Sirius claimed him, teeth tugging playfully at his lower lip until Severus let out a soft, involuntary whimper. Sirius pulled back with a satisfied grin, like he’d won a prize.
“Merlin,” Severus muttered, giving Sirius a look that was half annoyance, half fondness. “Do you ever do anything quietly?”
“Not if I can help it,” Sirius said smugly.
Remus chuckled and sat at the edge of the bed, brushing a strand of hair back from Severus’s cheek. “How’s he doing?” he asked softly, his eyes flicking toward Evan.
Severus’s shoulders stiffened for a fraction of a second, his gaze dropping to the sleeping girl. “Better,” he said at last. “Not the best though…” He turned his head sharply, sending Sirius the quickest, most pointed glare. “…thanks to a certain someone.”
Sirius’s smirk faltered for just a second, guilt pricking at the edges, but he didn’t argue. He simply lowered his gaze to Evan, his jaw tightening before he forced a lighter expression back onto his face.
Severus didn’t linger on it. Instead, he asked quietly, “Where’s Regulus?”
Remus sighed, answering, “Didn’t come back. He’s with James, up in Gryffindor Tower.”
Severus gave a faint, humorless hum, as though that explained everything. Slowly, carefully, he slipped out from under Ev’s small weight, moving like a shadow so he wouldn’t wake him.
He laid him back against the pillow and adjusted the blanket around his shoulders before standing. His bare feet made no sound as he crossed the room toward his own bed.
While he moved, Sirius and Remus began peeling out of their robes, exchanging whispered grumbles as they changed into softer clothes. By the time they padded over, Severus was already sitting stiffly on his mattress, waiting.
They didn’t need to coax him. When they slid into bed beside him, Severus allowed himself to melt into their warmth.
He curled into Sirius’s chest almost instinctively, breathing in the familiar scent of smoke and something wild, while Remus slipped in behind, his arm wrapping around Severus’s waist with easy tenderness.
Sandwiched between them, Severus finally exhaled, the tension in his body easing little by little.
“I missed this,” Sirius murmured against his hair, his voice low enough that it felt like a secret. “Bloody detention ruins everything.” He tilted his head back dramatically, though his arm tightened around Severus. “You and Moons get to lounge around together while I suffer.”
Remus rolled his eyes but smiled faintly, his chin resting against Severus’s shoulder. “If you didn’t mouth off in class, Padfoot, you wouldn’t be scrubbing cauldrons at midnight.”
“Not my fault Minnie has it out for me,” Sirius replied airily. “She just can’t handle how handsome I am.”
Severus snorted softly into Sirius’s shirt, a sound that earned him a triumphant grin.
They kept talking like that, voices hushed, trading small stories about their day.
Sirius was animated, dramatic, filling the silence with his mischief, while Remus balanced him out with quieter comments, gentle observations.
Severus didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to—his soft hums, occasional dry remarks, and the way he curled closer were enough.
Eventually the conversation dwindled, fatigue wrapping around them all. The room was warm, their breaths falling into rhythm. Sirius pressed a lazy kiss into Severus’s hair, and Remus’s hold tightened slightly, protective even in drowsiness.
For the first time all day, Severus let himself drift, surrounded by the two people who could pull him out of his guarded shell and make the world feel less heavy.
The dorm was still hushed when Evan shook them awake. He was already dressed neatly, his blonde hair brushed back into something presentable, though his expression gave away how rushed it had been.
“It’s nearly breakfast,” he said simply, his voice calm but clipped, betraying the tension curling inside.
Severus stirred immediately, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a faint sound of annoyance but no protest. He blinked once, hair falling into his face, then pushed himself upright. “Thank you, Rosie,” he murmured in that low, deliberate tone of his.
Remus followed soon after, rubbing the heel of his palm against his eyes as he yawned. “Mm. Already?” he muttered, but when he saw Evan’s fully dressed state, he gave a tired, lopsided smile.
Behind them, Sirius sprawled across the mattress like a starfish, sheets tangled around his bare legs. He let out an obnoxiously loud snore, then mumbled something incomprehensible into his pillow.
Evan sank back down onto his mattress to wait, smoothing down the folds of his robe, but his mind was elsewhere. His gaze unfocused on the far wall, his thoughts looping endlessly. Last night. The kiss. The laughter, the chaos. His cheeks burned all over again just thinking about it.
The bathroom door opened, steam curling into the cooler dorm air. Severus emerged first, sharp and composed even with damp hair, Remus following behind him with his shirt half-buttoned, rolling his sleeves.
“Up.” Severus’s voice cut through the lingering quiet as he stood at the foot of Sirius’s bed. He nudged his knee into the mattress once, sharp enough to jostle him. “We’re going to breakfast.”
Sirius groaned dramatically, rolling to his side but not opening his eyes. “Go without me. Five minutes and I’ll be there.”
Severus arched a brow, unimpressed. He knew better than anyone how Sirius’s “five minutes” stretched into twenty. Still, he didn’t argue. With a glance at Evan, then Remus, he led the two out, leaving Sirius sprawled in bed.
Evan cast one last glance back as the door shut behind them. Sirius had already sat up, tousled hair a wild halo around his head, smirking faintly to himself—but making no move to rise.
The corridors hummed with early morning chatter, younger students rushing to make it on time while older ones dawdled.
Evan stuck close to Severus, shoulders nearly brushing, with Remus on his other side like an unspoken shield. He could feel the whispers already, their weight crawling along his spine.
“Did you hear about—”
“In the Great Hall, no less—”
“Crazy Crouch and Boy Rosier—”
“Rosier pulled him right into it—crazy, completely mad—”
“Imagine kissing Crouch of all people—”
Evan’s jaw tightened, head ducking slightly as though he could fold himself smaller, disappear between Severus’s steady stride and Remus’s calm presence.
When they entered the Great Hall, the long tables had returned to their usual arrangement, glittering with morning fare.
Yet the noise sharpened, not softened. The hum of conversation peaked the moment they stepped inside, the gossip carried on loud enough for anyone to hear.
Severus didn’t flinch. He led them straight toward the Gryffindor table. Evan sat opposite him, putting the wood between them, though he lingered closer than usual. Severus dropped down beside Remus, the two fitting together easily like gravity.
Lily arrived soon after, bright hair catching the morning light, sliding in beside Remus. Pandora followed, her usual dreamy calm softening the tension as she sat next to Lily.
Evan was just beginning to focus on his plate when a group of Hufflepuffs passed behind him, deliberately loud.
“Rosier just pulled him in,” one girl snickered. “Right there, middle of the Hall. Can you believe it?”
“Poor Crouch,” another said mockingly, though her tone carried amusement rather than pity.
“Didn’t even look surprised. Bet he liked it”
“Reckless! I heard Crouch is mad enough to hex Dumbledore—”
Evan froze. Heat crept up his neck, the shame pressing like a hand to his chest. He felt Lily’s eyes on him, pity pooling there, mirrored in Remus’s soft, worried glance.
Pandora, without a word, reached across the table and slid her hand into his. Her fingers were cool, grounding, a small comfort against the storm inside him.
Evan exhaled slowly, grounding himself with the pressure of her palm against his. He focused on pouring tea, on the steady rhythm of breathing.
Then a burst of raucous laughter erupted at the doors. The Great Hall turned its collective head.
Sirius. Loud, boisterous, the center of gravity wherever he walked. At his side was James, one arm draped lazily around Regulus’s waist, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Barty trailed just behind them, grin wide, eyes alight with some unspoken joke, every step unselfconscious.
Their noise carried easily, bouncing off the vaulted ceiling. James said something that made Sirius double over with laughter, clapping Barty on the shoulder as though they were old conspirators. Regulus walked stiffly, scowling at nothing, but his presence was overshadowed by their brightness.
Evan’s stomach twisted violently.
When they reached the Gryffindor table, Sirius dropped down with a flourish, sliding into the bench beside Evan as if he belonged there. He gestured grandly toward the boy at his other side.
“This,” he announced with that cocky grin, “is Barty.”
No further introduction. No embellishment. But the name alone was enough. That was all he said aloud. The rest was unspoken, unneeded. Evan didn’t need Sirius’s words to know who he was. Everyone knew.
Unhinged, crazy Crouch. The boy who had conversations with portraits as though they were his closest friends. The one who changed personalities like underwear. The one whispered to have cursed a classmate so severely they transferred schools. The boy even Peeves—the poltergeist who feared nothing—avoided. The same Barty Crouch, Evan Rosier had kissed last night, right in the middle of the Hall for everyone to see.
And Barty’s eyes—Merlin, those eyes—were fixed on him now. Staring. Piercing. As though he were peeling back every thought Evan tried desperately to hide.
Pandora’s fingers slipped from Evan’s hand, withdrawing silently the moment she noticed the way Barty was looking at him. Evan’s heart hammered, his eyes darting anywhere but the boy beside him.
It didn’t matter. Barty sat close enough that their thighs brushed. Closer than necessary. There was space—plenty of it—but he had chosen proximity.
Evan’s face burned hot. He turned toward Sirius instead, fixing him with a glare that promised retribution. When Sirius only smirked, Evan’s gaze flickered helplessly to Severus. A pout tugged unbidden at his lips, small, vulnerable, instinctive.
And Severus, bless him, didn’t hesitate. His voice cut through the table, clipped and sharp as a dagger.
“Stop it, Sirius.”
The reprimand was sharp, clipped, cutting across the noise like a blade. Sirius rolled his eyes, but Severus’s expression was enough to still him.
Barty didn’t waste a moment after Sirius’s introduction. He turned those sharp eyes on Evan, a grin pulling at his mouth as if nothing at all had happened the night before.
“So, Rose,” he began smoothly, voice carrying over the clatter of cutlery, “what’s got you hiding behind Snape’s robes this morning?”
The words were casual, teasing, as though they hadn’t kissed in the middle of the Great Hall with half the school gawking. Evan’s throat tightened, his ears burning. He kept his gaze fixed on his plate, shoving a piece of toast into his mouth like it might shield him.
“I’m not hiding,” he muttered, the words low, awkward, but enough to make Sirius snicker.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Barty said easily, leaning just a little closer, his elbow brushing the edge of Evan’s sleeve. “You look ready to vanish if I blink too fast.”
Evan finally lifted his eyes, glaring, though it lacked bite with the way his face flushed. “Don’t you have someone else to bother?”
Barty smirked, utterly unbothered, and stole a piece of fruit from the bowl in front of him, biting into it like Evan hadn’t spoken at all.
Across the table, Severus’s sharp voice cut through the charged silence. “Sirius Orion Black.”
Sirius, who had been leaning toward Evan with mischief sparking in his eyes, looked up innocently. “Yes, darling?”
Severus’s glare could have frozen the lake. “If you don’t stop whatever you are doing right now, you will not be sharing a bed with me until your detentions are finished. All of them. Which—by my estimate—will take at least a whole semester.”
The effect was immediate. Sirius’s grin faltered, his jaw dropping in theatrical horror. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
Remus muffled a laugh into his cup. Barty only raised his brows in amusement, while Evan used the moment to duck his head, grateful that attention had shifted away.
Breakfast wound down in its usual chaos, chatter filling the Hall. Evan managed to escape with his dignity only slightly bruised, though the heat in his cheeks lingered long after the whispers around him had died down.
The day itself unfolded like any other. Classes, notes, the endless rhythm of Hogwarts life. Yet there was something different—someone different. Every time Evan glanced up, he caught sight of him.
Barty.
In the corridor between classes.
Leaning lazily against a column when Evan left the library after lunch.
Sitting at the far end of the courtyard, tossing an apple up and down while staring right at him.
It got to the point where Evan rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was imagining it. Hallucinating. Surely Barty couldn’t be everywhere at once. And yet—he was. Always there. Always watching.
By the time evening fell, Evan tried to lose himself in the library. He settled on the floor in a quiet corner, his back against the wall, a heavy book balanced across his knees. The hush of the place, the scratch of quills and rustle of parchment, finally soothed the storm of his thoughts.
Until a shadow fell beside him.
Without a word, Barty crouched, then sat, dropping onto the floor so close their sleeves brushed. He didn’t speak, didn’t grin, didn’t make some cutting remark. He simply leaned over, eyes skimming the page Evan was reading, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Hours passed like that. Evan lost track of time, his shoulders stiff from the closeness, his breath catching every time Barty shifted. But he didn’t move away. He couldn’t.
Then it happened.
A weight against his shoulder.
Evan froze, heart stumbling. He glanced down, only to find Barty’s head resting lightly there, his hair brushing against Evan’s robes. His eyes were shut. His breathing steady. Asleep.
But it wasn’t the Barty everyone else knew—the loud, chaotic, unhinged boy who made Peeves back off and had whole houses whispering his name. This was someone else entirely. His expression softened, the cocky smirk gone. His mouth was slack, peaceful.
Something twisted in Evan’s chest. Carefully, slowly, he set his book aside. His hand hovered, then lowered, a single finger tracing along the line of Barty’s cheek.
So warm. So human.
For the first time in hours, Evan forgot about the whispers. Forgot about the stares. He simply looked.
And kept looking. Until his eyes grew heavy, his body slumping against the wall. Sleep pulled him under before he realized it.
It was Madam Pince who woke Barty. Her voice was clipped, her expression stern as she loomed over them. “Curfew approaches. Out.”
Barty blinked awake, his head lifting from Evan’s shoulder. He nodded once, quick and obedient, then looked down. Evan was still fast asleep, lips parted, hair falling messily across his forehead.
For a moment, Barty hesitated. Then, without a word, he slid an arm under Evan’s knees, another behind his back, and lifted him with surprising ease. Evan stirred faintly but didn’t wake, his head lolling against Barty’s chest.
The corridors were empty and silent as Barty made his way down, carrying him. At the blank wall that led into the Slytherin common room, he muttered the password, stepping through as the stone shifted open.
Every eye turned. Conversations halted.
Boy Rosier. Asleep. In Crazy Crouch’s arms.
Barty ignored the stares. Until his eyes landed on a younger boy hovering near the fire, eyes wide as galleons.
“You,” Barty said, his voice low but sharp enough to cut. “Where’s his room?”
The boy stammered, pointing quickly toward the dorm corridor.
Barty followed the direction, boots striking against the stone floor, until he found the right door. He knocked gently with his heel, careful not to jostle Evan.
Regulus opened it. His dark eyes flickered from Barty to Evan without a word before stepping aside.
Inside, Severus was already sitting up on his bed, watching sharply.
Barty laid Evan down carefully, Regulus guiding him to his bed. Straightening, Barty turned toward Severus, meeting his gaze head-on.
“I didn’t do anything to him,” he said quickly, the words spilling out in a rush he didn’t quite recognize as his own. “We just sat in the library. Studied. Fell asleep. Pince woke me, and I didn’t want to wake him. So—I carried him here.”
The room was silent. Barty’s chest felt tight, his explanation hanging there like smoke. He didn’t explain himself. Not to anyone. Certainly not to his parents.
But here he was, waiting—for what, he wasn’t sure.
Severus studied him for a long moment, suspicion sharp in his eyes. Then, finally, he gave the faintest of nods.
Barty felt something release in his chest. He nodded back, a curt acknowledgment, before turning toward the door.
The walk back to Ravenclaw Tower was quiet, but his mind was anything but. Because no matter how hard he tried, one image stuck, refusing to let go—
The sight of Evan Rosier asleep against his shoulder, breathing soft and steady, safe.
And it followed him all the way to the door.
Morning crept in soft and golden, slanting through the high windows of the dormitory.
Evan stirred beneath his blanket, blinking awake to the kind of rest he hadn’t had in months. His limbs felt light, his chest strangely unburdened.
For a fleeting second, he let himself bask in the warmth of it—until memory caught up with him in a crashing wave.
The library. The steady weight of Barty’s head on his shoulder. The way his chest had tightened, aching with something he didn’t want to name.
He sat up too quickly, the room spinning. Regulus’s bed was neatly made, Severus’s potion notes neatly stacked on the table—both gone already. Alone, Evan scrubbed a hand over his face, heat crawling up his neck.
No, no, no. That hadn’t happened, not really. He must’ve dreamed it. A trick of exhaustion. And yet, the last thing he remembered clearly was the way his eyes had drifted shut in the library, the faint smell of parchment and dust—and then nothing.
He didn’t go to breakfast. Couldn’t.
Instead, he shoved himself through classes, ignoring the way whispers followed him in the corridors.
He told himself it was about the kiss in the Great Hall—the mistletoe, the reckless, humiliating way he had pulled Barty in front of everyone. Of course that’s what they were talking about. Of course.
By dinnertime, hunger overpowered his nerves. He slipped onto the bench beside Regulus at the Gryffindor table, too drained to care about house lines.
The second his plate filled, he started eating like a starved man.
“I swear,” he muttered through a mouthful of roast potato, “today was never-ending. Binns droned on for two bloody hours about goblin uprisings. Then Slughorn gave us another essay in Potions, which would’ve been fine if someone didn’t keep distracting me—” He paused, stabbing a sausage. “Honestly, why does Barty always have to sit right where I can see him? It’s like he’s haunting me. His stupid smirk. His stupid hair. And don’t get me started on how fine he looked today, leaning over his cauldron like he bloody owned the place—”
He kept talking, cheeks pink but words tumbling out faster, like a dam had broken. “And then he just—ugh, he has this way of looking at you like he knows something you don’t, it’s insufferable, really. And then I catch myself thinking about him when I should be focusing—Merlin, it’s exhausting—”
He shoveled in more food between complaints, barely stopping to breathe. He was so lost in the rant that he didn’t notice the weight of the silence around him until his plate was nearly clean.
When Evan finally lifted his head, he froze.
Sirius was across from him, chin propped on his hand, grin positively wicked. On either side sat Remus and—Merlin help him—Barty himself.
And it wasn’t just them. Lily. James. Pandora. Regulus. All of them staring. Listening. Watching him unravel.
Evan went crimson from ear to ear.
“Sev,” he whispered like a prayer, but his brother from another mother wasn’t there. He was well and truly doomed.
Without a word, Evan dropped his fork, shoved himself up from the bench, and made a desperate bid for the doors. He didn’t get far. He smacked straight into a tall, dark shape.
“Rosie?” Severus caught him by the shoulders, frowning. “What happened?”
Before Evan could stammer out an excuse, Sirius barked a laugh that echoed through the Hall.
“Oh, Sev, you should’ve heard him!” Sirius wheezed, pounding the table. “Our little Evie was giving us quite the speech about how hot Barty looked in class today—”
The table erupted with muffled snickers. James was biting his fist, Regulus’s mouth twitched, Lily and Pandora were pretending to look anywhere else but their eyes were shining. Remus hid a smile behind his hand.
Barty, though… Barty just looked at him. Unreadable. Still. Like Evan was the only person in the room.
Evan wanted the floor to swallow him whole.
Severus’s jaw tightened. He wrapped an arm around Evan’s shoulders and pulled him back to sit. “Enough,” he said sharply, rubbing Evan’s arm in comfort. His dark eyes flicked to Sirius. “One more word and you’re not allowed to touch me or Remus.”
That shut Sirius up—mostly.
Evan thought he might actually die.
Severus sighed, long-suffering, and guided him firmly back onto the bench. His hand rested steady on Evan’s shoulder, rubbing small circles in comfort. “Ignore them,” he muttered, his voice low enough for Evan alone.
The table conversation shifted, thanks to Severus’s sharp redirect, but it didn’t last long.
Inevitably, someone mentioned the library. And suddenly all eyes were on Evan again.
Sirius leaned forward, still grinning like the devil. “Honestly, Evie, you’re lucky Barty’s as strong as he is. Carried you all the way down to the dungeons last night without so much as a weight-lightening charm. Half the school would’ve left you drooling on the library floor.”
Evan froze. His eyes snapped to Severus. “Wait—wasn’t it you who brought me back?”
Silence. A thick, heavy kind.
And then Regulus spoke, his voice flat. “No. It was Barty. I opened the door.”
The world tilted. Evan turned toward him, his mouth parting, but before he could form a single word, Barty stood abruptly. The scrape of the bench echoed like a spell across the hall.
He didn’t say a thing as he rounded the table, stopping behind Evan. His hand wrapped around Evan’s arm, firm but not rough, pulling him to his feet.
The Great Hall went hush as Barty dragged him out, the other students craning to watch, whispers sparking like wildfire.
He didn’t stop until they were deep in the castle, shoving into an empty classroom. The door slammed shut, the quiet ringing in Evan’s ears. Barty let go of him and turned, eyes dark, burning, as if Evan was the only thing in the room.
“Do you like me?” he asked, voice low, raw.
Evan blinked, caught off-guard. “What—”
“Because I like you.” Barty’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his voice rough with an emotion Evan had never heard from him before. “I like you so much it feels like I’m about to lose my fucking mind. Like I’m going to cry if I don’t know—right now—if you feel the same.”
The silence that followed was deafening.The classroom was quiet. Moonlight cut through the dusty windows. Dust motes drifted lazily. Evan’s heart hammered. He could barely breathe.
And then Barty broke.
He sank to the floor, shoulders shaking. Tears ran down his cheeks. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t frustrated. He was raw. Vulnerable. Evan froze. What do I do? Why is he crying? Did I—oh no, maybe I hurt him!
“Barty… hey,” Evan whispered. “It’s okay.”
Barty hiccupped. “I—I can’t… I just… you—you don’t like me! I said it and… I can’t…And now you will never—never let me be near you!” His voice cracked.
Evan’s chest tightened. He took a step closer. “Shhh… come on, sit with me.” He guided Barty down, sat beside him, wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
Barty leaned in, face buried in Evan’s shoulder. He shivered. Evan rubbed circles on his back. Soft words, gentle reassurances. Slowly, the sobs quieted. Hiccups replaced them.
Evan lifted a hand, cupped Barty’s wet hair. “Tell me. Do you really like me?”
Barty exhales, tears glinting in the candlelight, and begins,
“I… I’ve liked you since third year. Remember when you helped me pull off my first prank?” He pauses, a tiny, almost embarrassed smile breaking through. “You didn’t even know it was a prank. But… you stayed with me for hours, helping me with potions, practicing spells, even past curfew… in that abandoned classroom… I was just been trying to get your attention ever since then. And when you… kissed me… I felt like I was on cloud nine.””
Evan laughed softly, cheeks burning. “You’re dramatic.”
“I know,” Barty admitted. He glances down, voice softening: “And then I finally got to be friends with Sirius… I was so happy, because that meant I could be closer to you without it being weird. I practiced what to say to you in front of the mirror every day, I tried to dress better… I even started fixing my hair instead of letting it be a bird’s nest.”
Evan listens, cheeks warming, a little overwhelmed. He takes a deep breath. “Barty… I… I like you too. Maybe not as much as you like me, but… I do.” His words are soft but sincere. “Will… will you give me a chance?”
Barty’s face lit up. “Of course!” He pulled Evan into a tight hug. Evan hugged back. Their faces stayed close.
“Can I… kiss you?” Barty whispered.
Evan didn’t answer. He leaned forward. Their lips met. The world shrank.
Barty lifted Evan into his lap. Their kiss deepened. When they pulled back, foreheads nearly touched. Eyes locked.
Evan rested his head on Barty’s chest. Barty’s chin rested atop Evan’s head. Arms wrapped around him.
They talked. Whispered. Shared secrets. Laughed softly. Hours passed unnoticed.
Suddenly, Peeves’ cackling laughter and a student’s startled scream pierce the quiet. Evan tries to sit up in panic, but Barty gently pushes him back down. “Relax,” he says with a mischievous grin. “Peeves won’t mess with us. I’ve… handled him.”
Evan tilts his head, curious. “Handled him?”
Barty chuckles, tugging Evan closer, “Yeah. Put a charmed cat collar on him once. Every time he got within a five meter radius from me, it sang… um… love songs about the professors. After that he keeps his distance from me.”
Evan bursts out laughing quietly, burying his face back into Barty’s chest. They continue talking, whispering, and laughing until the first golden rays of morning creep through the windows, utterly oblivious to the passage of time.