Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

it almost worked ⋆˙⟡ rosekiller playlist

September 1, 1972

“You’ll make me proud, boy, won’t you?”

Boy. Never ‘Barty’. Never ‘son’. Barely even ‘Bartemius’. It’s always boy. 

Barty hates it. It makes him feel small. Sometimes he thinks his father does it on purpose, calling him that. It isn’t that his father is a bad person, not really. As far as fathers go, his does the bare minimum. No, he isn’t the best— but then again, he is usually occupied with his Ministry business, perhaps too occupied for his son— but he isn’t horrible, either. He knows how much worse dads can be, and Bartemius Crouch Sr. certainly isn’t nearly close to that. Sure, he was a bit harsh sometimes— said mean words, maybe the occasional hit— but didn’t all parents? 

He flinches when he notices the flick of his father’s hand, knowing what’s to come. Sure enough, a sharp crack verberates through his back, straightening out his posture. One of the many wandless magics Barty has come to hate. 

“No slouching. I’ve taught you better than that.” 

Barty can’t exactly complain either, because if it wasn’t discipline it was the silent treatment— which he had grown accustomed to by now, since his father was always at the ministry. Whether it was as punishment or just habit by now, he doesn’t know.

He has his mother, too. She’s a very nice woman, Barty thinks. Full of life, very different from his father. Different from himself. She does take care of him, actually cares about him. At least, until recently when she fell sick. Still a great mum, he would think, even though he did have to take care of her once in a while— though that was mostly left to Winky, their house elf. 

Again, Barty didn’t really have much to complain about. 

So no, he didn’t know where his hatred stemmed from. Whether it was bitter feelings from neglect, or him just being naturally fucked up— he was leaning more towards the latter— he couldn’t even describe the feeling of loathing he felt. 

Maybe it was fear.

Fear of his father.

Barty knew what he could do. Knew he was a powerful wizard, one of the ministry’s most important figures. 

Maybe it was the need to impress him.

The need to do something he knew he was incapable of doing. 

But no, it couldn’t be that because that’d be stupid. Maybe he’s just like any other privileged eleven year old.

Oh, well. Either way, Barty hates his father. Absolutely loathes. And he hated that he’d do anything to make that man proud.

“Bartemius.” He feels a firm hand on his shoulder, and his head immediately snaps up. “I said you’ll make me proud, won’t you?”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes, swallowing the already-forming lump in his throat. He hates that feeling. When somebody touches him. When his father puts a hand on his shoulder. To anyone else it might look like affection, but Barty thinks it’s anything but.

“Yes, father,” he lets his gaze fall back to the Hogwarts Express. Let me go, he wills silently, please, let me go. 

His father’s hand tightens on his shoulder, and he has to suppress a shudder. “I’m sorry your mother couldn’t come,” he continues flatly, “be sure to send her owls. She’ll want to know how your doing.” 

Send her owls. He almost scoffs. By all means, Bartemius, you can send your mother owls, just make sure you don’t bother me. Too busy being important to write to my only son.

When Barty doesn’t respond, he continues, “I don’t want to see any slacking off from you this year, boy. I expect you to have top marks, and I don’t want to hear any excuses. You are my son, and I expect only the best, you hear?” 

Barty’s surprised his father can’t feel his shaking. Or maybe he can and just doesn’t care. He’s about to respond when the train whistle sounds, and he’s never been quicker to pick up his trunk. Without another word, he steps away from his father and boards the Hogwarts Express.

His father doesn’t stop him.

The train is loud. Busy, as expected. It doesn’t surprise Barty; his father hadn’t let him go until the last minute in fear of letting him out of his sight, which makes Barty scoff internally. He hardly paid attention to him at home—he wasn’t even there at home—why did it matter now?

You’ll make me proud, boy, won’t you?

Merlin. 

He takes an empty compartment at the end of the train, though he’s surprised he can find an empty compartment to begin with. He wasn’t going to find anyone. Be friends with anyone. If someone wants to come to him, they will.

It’s a quiet few minutes, the only sound being the shuffling of students outside the compartment—first years, prefects, whatnot. 

Throughout the muffled complaints of many first years trying to find a compartment, he hears a sharp voice.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake. I told you, he clearly doesn’t want us there, Pandora.” … “No. He’s busy with Potter, can’t you tell? And yes, Panda, he is that bad. It’s fine. We’ll find our own— here.” 

The voice stops, and then they’re right in front of Barty’s compartment. The door slides open with a sharp crack, and a boy steps in. The first thing Barty notices about this boy is he is short, so he can easily make out the two other kids that are practically towering over him, but he doesn’t focus on that right now.

He has startlingly pale skin that contrasts his short, dark curls— but what unsettles him more was the sharpness of his eyes. His eyes are wide and round; almost innocent in a way, a stark contrast to the deep shade of gray they are. However gorgeous they are, though, they’re more sharp and calculating than anything at all. No eleven year-old’s eyes should look like that, he thought. 

“Oh.” The same voice—more clear this time—startles him out of his thoughts, albeit a bit less sharp this time.

The gray-eyed boy frowns. “Um, sorry. Didn’t see you in here,” he glances from Barty then to the two kids behind them, though Barty is hardly paying attention to the two right now. “No other empty ones. I thought we got lucky.”

The elicits an amused snort from Barty. For someone who has such a sharp gaze and voice, this kid really can’t hold eye contact. He sits up from his slouched position, which he’d fallen into immediately after feeling his dad’s magic being released. “No, you’re alright. You can sit here, I s’pose. It’s not as though I’m waiting on anybody.”

He notices the boy's face scrunch in what seemed to be… distaste, at his snort and slouched posture. “No, it’s fine. We’ll find someplace else. Come on, Evan. Pandora.” He turns back to the two kids. 

For the first time, Barty’s looking at them. Really looking at them. His gaze falls to the boy first. Evan, he supposes? He doesn’t think he’d be named Pandora, after all. It’s much more fitting for the girl next to him.

Evan looks like how one would describe a fae. That’s the best description Barty can come up with. That’s how unearthly this boy is, and the girl next to him isn’t much different. In a good way or an unsettling way, Barty can’t decide. He’s deathly pale— paler than the kid with the gray eyes— with this platinum blond hair that looked charmed, and he has these startling blue eyes, one of which, Barty realizes, has a rupture. His right pupil blends into his iris in an almost teardrop shape. That is unsettling. 

The girl next to Evan, he guesses Pandora, looks identical to Evan. She has the same pale skin, though it looks a bit less sickly, and her blonde hair is a long braid down her back, pulled to the front over her shoulder. Her eye doesn’t have a rupture, Barty notices, but she does have what appears to be a huge stitch going from the right corner of her lip to her ear. Her expression is much brighter than Evan’s. She’s very pretty. He can’t help but wonder what Evan would look like if he smiled. 

Barty finds himself wanting the three of them to stay. 

“Twins, you two are?” Anything to keep them from leaving.

The three kids glance back at Barty. Evan and the gray-eyed kid look at him warily, while Pandora just looks pleased.

“Mhm. I’m Pandora. Rosier,” her French accent is noticeable as she pushes past the other kid—wow, Barty really needs to learn his name—stepping into the compartment. There’s something different, odd, about the way she moves. It’s almost as if she’s not really walking, but instead flowing. “Evan is my twin brother. And that’s our cousin— well, second cousin—Regulus.”

Regulus. Huh.

Regulus.

Barty blinks. “Black?”

Regulus raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

He lets out a hum. Yeah, he was really interested now. Barty wondered what such a kid would be doing with the other two. They didn’t really—well, match his whole vibe, per se. “Huh. Explains the whole posh-ness.”

“I see.” He doesn't miss the way Regulus’s gaze hardens. It would’ve been much more intimidating if Regulus had actually grown into his features— but still intimidating, nonetheless. “And you?”

Barty grins, hiding his discomfort under Regulus’ gaze. “Barty Crouch,” he says, sitting up dramatically, “Junior.”

Regulus scrunches his nose, eyeing Barty as if he had snapped his wand. He’s pretty sure that’s the third time Regulus has done it this encounter. He must really be pissing the poor kid off. 

“Come on, sit. Really,” he offers, taking his legs off the seat across from him, gesturing to it with his foot. “S’not like you’ve got anywhere else to be.”

Regulus opens his mouth to protest, but before he can Pandora takes the seat across from Barty, where he was just resting his feet. 

“Panda. My mother told me not to associate with—well, him,” Regulus protests, “don’t you remember?”

Pandora only hums in response, eyeing Barty with a smile. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t.”

“You—oh, bloody hell, Pandora. The same reason we can’t associate with the Potter kid! Because they’re—“

“Blood traitors, Panda.” Regulus is cut off by Evan; it’s the first time Barty hears him speak. Evan has a nice voice, he thinks, or would if he wasn’t currently using it to insult Barty’s entire family name. He has a heavy French accent as well, which Barty realizes Regulus does, too, only it’s not as noticeable as Evan’s. “Crouch Senior works for the ministry, he’s huge on accepting muggle-borns into Hogwarts.” 

Barty frowns. Do they really think he’s like his father? “Well, if it helps, I’m nothing like my father. Like. At all.” He leans forward, playing off his discomfort with a grin.

Regulus sniffs, eyeing Barty up and down. “Clearly.” He sits down next to Barty anyways— which must be some progress—leaving Evan to sit next to Pandora.

The compartment is silent for a few moments, save for the sound of Pandora’s content humming. Barty’s foot is tapping restlessly against the ground, and Evan is eyeing it with a tense look. 

“What house do you think you’re going to be in?” Pandora startles the three of them out of their silence. Her voice is sweet, and it’s oddly alluring.

It takes Barty a moment to realize she’s speaking to him. Of course she’s speaking to him. He’s the only one she doesn’t know. “Oh. Uh, I’m not too sure. Ravenclaw, most likely. My dad was in Ravenclaw, which I’m not too fond of. Slytherin wouldn’t be too bad, though, if it wouldn’t give him a bloody aneurysm.”

“Are you always that concerned of what he thinks?” Regulus asks, raising an eyebrow at him. Neither his words nor tone are exactly rude, but it still feels like a stab to the gut to Barty.

“What? No,” he can’t help the defensiveness creeping into his voice. “I don’t care what he thinks.”

Regulus studies him for a moment, a flicker of something in his eyes—something close to familiarity—Barty isn’t too sure why, he’s never seen the kid before, but that moment is quickly gone, replaced by a sudden harshness in his expression, much sharper than the one from before.

“Well, I don’t know much about the houses, growing up as we did,” Pandora interjects, “but from what Regulus told Evan and I, I’m hoping to be in Ravenclaw.”

Growing up as we did. He wonders what that means, but he knows better than to pry, especially with Evan glaring at him like that. That eye is really creeping him out. He clears his throat. “Cool. Um, what about you? Evan?”

Evan blinks, the sharpness of his expression faltering. “Oh,” he leans back in his seat. “I dunno. Ravenclaw, I guess, if that’s where Panda’s going.”

Barty hums in acknowledgment, turning to face Regulus. “And you? Or are you too posh to continue speaking to a blood-traitor?” 

Regulus glares at him in response— wow, that must really run in the family— but he doesn’t say anything.

Pandora speaks up again. So far, she’s the only one Barty actually somewhat likes. “His parents are hoping he’s a Slytherin, all the Blacks have been in Slytherin, but after what happened with Sirius last year—“

“Panda.” Regulus' voice is sharp. “I’m serious. Stop.”

Barty is still slightly confused, but he can’t help but crack a smile. “I thought his name was—“ his mouth clamps shut as Regulus turns back to him. He can feel the tension radiating off Regulus. He must really be in a bad mood. 

“Whatever. I’m going to find Cissy.” 

Barty furrows his brows. “Wait—”

But Regulus is already gone. 

Pandora lets out a sigh. “Don’t mind him. He’s just upset because he thinks Sirius pays more attention to his friends more than him.”

“Sirius is his brother, right?” Barty asks.

“Mhm,” she hums. “As I was saying, he’s afraid because last year Sirius got sorted into Gryffindor, which is a huge deal for the Blacks. There’s never been a single Black who’s been sorted into Gryffindor. They’re afraid Sirius will turn out like Andromeda, his cousin, who ran off and married a muggle-born.”

Barty scrunches his nose. “Merlin. I can see why he’d be upset.” 

She shrugs, but she doesn’t seem entirely convinced as she turns her gaze to the window. “Yeah, I s’pose.”

There’s a moment of silence before Barty turns his gaze to Evan, who, he realizes, is still glaring at him, albeit a bit less sharply.

Before he can stop himself, he asks: “What happened to your eye?”

Out of all the things Barty has ever asked in his life, this has by far got to be the stupidest one yet.

Pandora’s head immediately snaps up, and she casts a worried glance at Evan. 

Evan flinches back, before his expression hardens once more. Merlin, what was it with these kids?

“I’m going to find Regulus,” he says, standing up abruptly, but he doesn’t get very far with Pandora grabbing his wrist. 

“Come on, Ev, stay. He didn’t mean anything by it. You don’t have to answer him.”

Evan stands there, his jaw clenched, before finally relenting and sitting back down after a few seconds. 

Barty is silent for a few moments before he finally speaks sheepishly. “M’sorry. I didn’t mean— sorry.” 

“S’alright, I guess.” Evan’s response is immediate, which surprises Barty; he didn’t expect Evan to answer him at all. 

The rest of the train ride is mostly silent—save for Barty trying to make conversation, though to no avail. It’s a while before the sound of the compartment door sliding open startles them out of their silence. Regulus steps into the compartment, still with the same pissed expression he was wearing when he left, however this time he’s wearing his robes.

“We’re almost there. Cissy says we have to put on our robes.” He’s still not making eye contact. 

“Oh. Ok,” Barty replies, looking at Regulus for a second longer before he reaches for his case to get his robes.

Regulus stands there silently for a moment longer, before speaking. “M’sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.” His voice is low and he talks fast, like he has to force the words out.

“Oh,” Barty blinks, sitting upright again, robes in hand, “s’alright.”

Regulus nods, the movement jerky, and he’s still glancing in and out of the compartment, like he’s expecting something. Barty glances at Evan, then at Pandora, before looking back at Regulus and rolling his eyes. “You can sit down, y’know.”

Regulus glares at him, but sits back down next to him anyway. “I know that.”

“Really.”

“Yes.”

“Because I could’ve sworn you were just—“

“Crouch.”

“Black.”

“I am not entertaining this any further.”

“Suit yourself. I was having loads of fun.”

“Yeah, clearly,” Regulus snorts, but his glare has softened just the smallest amount. “Put your robes on. All three of you.”

Chapter Text

it almost worked ⋆˙⟡ rosekiller playlist

September 1. 1972

Regulus

Regulus hates his brother. Hates James Potter. 

It’s only been a year since Sirius met the kid and he’s already worshipping the ground Potter walks on. It’s quite pathetic, if you ask Regulus, but Sirius doesn’t bother to ask Regulus much these days. 

He doesn’t know what happened over Summer. Or over Sirius’ first year of Hogwarts. All he knows is that it has everything to do with James Potter. Always James bloody Potter.

He couldn’t stand James when it was just Sirius blabbering on about him, and he certainly can’t stand him now that he’s met him in person. The second he, Pandora, and Evan set foot on that train, Sirius dragged them through, in search of his best friend. Regulus remembers being greeted by two boys, both with timid smiles, and then another with the brightest smile he has ever seen.

 He knew from that second he hated James Potter. 

Even at eleven, Regulus can’t stand those people. Those people who think they have full control over the world. Those people who think they’ve done no wrong, who smile and everyone falls at their feet. He’s seen it countless times. He’s seen it at every family dinner—when Bella would make a jab and everyone would laugh, when Lucius Malfoy, Cissa’s boyfriend, would make a polite, backhanded comment and everyone would swoon, and even when Sirius would do something idiotic and their whole family would laugh—everyone but their mother, with a tight smile on her face.

Though Regulus thinks it’s unfair to compare James to Lucius or Bellatrix. While they’re all sharp and jagged edges, James smiles brightly, softer. Even at a first glance, he can see that James expects things not because he thinks he’s better—even though he most certainly does—but because he’s learned to expect, because he’s always gotten everything. And that was what was most infuriating about him. 

He finds he can justify his hatred with what his mother and father had told him. 

Blood traitors, the Potters, Walburga had hissed back at Grimmauld, getting both boys ready. You wouldn’t want to associate with such, would you, Regulus?

Regulus has always envied Sirius in this matter. While he always clinged on to every word his mother would say, Sirius would brush it off like it didn’t matter to him, no matter how much it did. He’d always wanted to be like his big brother, but even as toddlers one thing was clear—Sirius was a leader, Regulus a follower.

So while Sirius would do his own thing, whether that was trying to rebel, or voice his own opinions, or just be plain stupid, all Regulus knew was to listen. Listen and follow everything Walburga and Orion said. And, honestly? He was happy with that. It means he has justification for what he thinks, what he does. His opinions, his thoughts.

So he does hate James. He really does, and with good reason, too.

He is not a fan of Barty Crouch Junior, either. 

Barty is too much of how a pureblood should not behave. Slouched posture, slurred speech, lazy grin, someone who acts like the world owes him everything, and maybe it does. 

Too much like Sirius.

He doesn’t understand how Sirius and Barty could look so different yet be so similar to each other. Barty has these dull, dirty blonde—almost brown— waves that don’t match the infuriatingly bright hazel of his eyes nor the tan of his skin. His features are sharp, and Regulus has come to notice the crease in his left brow and the small, hardly noticeable dimple on his right cheek every time he grins. Despite it all, Barty is—objectively—good looking.

Regulus’ brother, however, doesn’t look too different from himself. Sirius’ features are sharper—much sharper than Regulus’ softer ones, and he actually lets his curls grow out to his shoulders; Regulus is surprised their parents haven’t done anything more than give him a nasty look for it. Nonetheless, the two brothers still share the same gray eyes—which Regulus had never liked about himself, as it suited Sirius much better—and the pale skin that contrasted their dark curls.

Either way, Barty was too much like Sirius, and Regulus had no intention of befriending the kid. Not when Sirius had chosen so unlike him. Had chosen James Potter. 

How pathetic would it be if Regulus had befriended someone so alike to Sirius? It’s as though Regulus is trying to find someone to fill the gap, which he isn’t doing, by the way. At all. He couldn’t even fathom why Barty would want to be friends with someone like him, anyways. He’d certainly thrive with people more like Sirius or James. 

Sitting here at the Sorting Ceremony, he can only hope Barty won’t be a Slytherin, because Regulus knows he will be. It’ll just make it all the more difficult to actually steer clear of the Crouch kid, who, by the way, is currently sitting next to him and talking his ear off about Merlin knows what. He only hopes he doesn’t have to put up with this the next seven years of his life. 

Regulus is saved when he hears his name called by Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor.

“Black, Regulus.”

With a relieved sigh, Regulus brushes off Barty, as well as Pandora and Evan, and makes his way to the stool, where the Sorting Hat sits. 

When he sits, his gaze falls immediately to where Sirius is sitting at the Gryffindor table. Sirius, who’s watching with wide and—hopeful?—eyes, looks away as soon as he makes eye contact with Regulus. James is right next to him, though his expression is more amused than anything as he stares the younger boy down, but it doesn’t do much to hide the same excitement that Sirius is holding.

 Regulus shifts under his gaze, and instead looks at the Slytherin table, where his cousin Narcissa’s sitting. She was his only cousin left at Hogwarts after her sisters Andromeda graduated a year prior and Bellatrix three. He’s quite fond of Narcissa—he doesn’t see much of Bellatrix nor Andromeda these days, since Bellatrix is now engaged to one of the Lestranges, and Andromeda ran off to marry a muggle-born, cutting off all contact with the family and getting her name blown of the tapestry.

As soon as his eyes fall on her, the corners of her mouth twitch up into a small smile, and he can’t help but give a nervous smile back.

He knows he’s going to be a Slytherin, he does. So he doesn’t know why his heart’s pounding like so, or why he suddenly feels sick. 

It’s not like he has time to dwell on it, though, because after only a few seconds of the Sorting Hat talking his ear off about ‘family lineage’ and whatnot—

“SLYTHERIN!”

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, but it stops once again when he finally looks up to find his brother’s gaze trained on the table in front of him, James staring up at Regulus with almost wide-eyes. Did they seriously expect Regulus to be a Gryffindor? Sirius, of all people, should know better. Even then, he still can’t shake the feeling of guilt that lingers. 

He makes his way down to the Slytherin table, where he’s greeted with claps on the back and congratulations from many he doesn’t even know but assumes to be the children of other pure-blood families that the Blacks were acquainted with. He gives a small smile at best, but for the most part ignores them as he goes to sit down next to Narcissa, trying his hardest to ignore the sharp smile of Lucius next to her.

His cousin gives him a small smile as he sits, shifting to give him more room. Not many got the privilege of Narcissa Black’s smiles. Not since Andromeda. “Hey, you. Good job.”

He can’t help the smile that forms on his face, one he doesn’t show often. “Thanks, Cissa.”

There’s three more names called after Regulus that he doesn’t pay attention to until he hears the one he can’t help but snap his head up at.

“Crouch, Bartemius.”

Regulus stifles a snort at his name. Obviously he had known his full name was Bartemius—hard not to when his father is an important figure in the ministry—but hearing it said aloud was quite amusing. 

He watches Barty make his way up to the stool, noticing how Evan is watching intently from where he and Pandora are left. Regulus knows Evan and he knows Pandora. They’re only his second cousins—first cousins to Narcissa—but they’re still probably the closest family he has right now other than Cissa herself. He had always thought the two were off-putting, but spending more time around the two, he’d grown fond of them. Understood them, in a way. When Sirius left for his first year, he spent most of his time around Evan and Pandora, and he’s grown to really love them, which Regulus wasn’t familiar with yet about anyone other than Sirius and Cissa. 

For whatever reason, Sirius was the opposite. He was quite fond of the two when they were younger, especially close with Evan, who he and Andromeda spent a lot of time with. After Andromeda had run away, though, Sirius had switched. He spent less and less time around Evan, and made small jabs around him at times. Evan wasn’t the best at showing he cared—something that Regulus had grown accustomed to growing up, though he never understood how or why—but he did know Evan liked Sirius. So did Pandora, too. 

Sirius likes to use the excuse that they’re ‘weird’ and ‘clinically insane’—Regulus never understood the latter, and Sirius never explained—but he never understood why that mattered so much. They are weird, no doubts about that, but that was never necessarily a bad thing to Regulus. 

Evan

Ravenclaw. Evan isn’t surprised, honestly. It’s not hard to tell that Barty’s smarter than he lets on, despite how annoying he may be. Evan’s always been observant, something that has grown in him since he was around five. It’s become easier to read people, especially since at this age no one is really good at pretending, even if they try. Which, to be fair, most of the time they don’t even. 

One thing he realizes, is that Barty tries a lot harder than others. Not nearly enough, but Evan notices. He noticed on the train, and he’s noticing now as Barty walks over to the Ravenclaw table. 

He’s scared. Anyone who pays even the slightest bit of attention can tell that Barty is far from confident, which he fails miserably at trying to portray. Luckily for him, most people are ignorant—see what they want to see. 

The only thing Evan can’t understand is why Barty would ever be interested in him, or even Regulus and Pandora for that matter. He’s the type of person who would stray towards louder people, try to fit in. Evan can’t help but think that Barty would thrive more around people like Sirius, if you could even call it thriving.  

He notices the way Barty lets out a breath of relief as soon as the hat announces Ravenclaw, how quickly he composes himself as he walks over to the Ravenclaw table. It’s honestly impressive. 

He looks to Pandora, who shoots him a knowing look. His lips tug up into a small smile—he couldn’t help it around her. She’d always be the one who got him—it’s one of Evan’s favorite things about being a twin. No matter what happened, she would always be his. She’s so different from him, too, and he finds that she’s the only one who truly gets him. They have two completely different outcomes, but always the same upbringing. 

He doesn’t like knowing that he and Pandora could end up in the same house as Barty. He knows that wherever Pandora goes, Evan is most definitely following, because how would he not? It’s how it’s always been, him following Pandora everywhere, knowingly and unknowingly. And he knows that Pandora would never end up in Slytherin, if the rest of his family is any indication. She’s much too different from the rest of them, who did end up in Slytherin, he can’t ever imagine she’d be one. 

Being in the same house as the Crouch kid would only be inconvenient, if anything. It’s hardly been a full day and Barty already seems adamant on being a part of their life. It’s not that Evan has a problem with him, necessarily—Pandora already seems quite fond of him, but then again, she’s fond of everybody. It’s more so that Evan isn’t exactly used to him, or even just people, anymore. 

He remembers how it was when he was younger. He was outgoing and extroverted—much more extroverted. Pandora had always taken a liking to Regulus when they were younger, but Evan spent most of his time with his other family, Sirius and Andromeda, when he wasn’t with his twin. They got along well, really well, and it always them five. Or three, depending on how you looked at it. 

And then his parents went mental. 

He doesn’t remember exactly when—or even what—happened, though he figures it definitely played a part in what happened to his eye. It’s like a gap in his memory, those few years. The most he can gather from it is the whole time, not once did he see Sirius, Andromeda, or Regulus—and that it wasn’t the five of them together ever again after it was over. 

When it was finally over—when him and Pandora were taken in by his aunt Druella, Andromeda’s mom, at ten years old, Andy was already gone. Later on he’d learned that she ran away with a muggle-born, Ted Tonks, and was blasted off the Black family’s tapestry. So, Andromeda was gone, and Sirius became a downright prick. 

It wasn’t like Sirius automatically starting rebelling and disobeying his parents, no, he just avoided Evan at any chance he got. Not that he cared much at that point, he was way too out of at that time; it took him months to have a fully conscious thought. He just knows most of his time was spent with Pandora and Regulus now, especially since Sirius practically hated him and had also started Hogwarts just a few months after everything had happened. He did like Sirius though, so by the time he was finally okay—as okay as he could be—he felt the longing for his second cousin sinking in. He still had Regulus, which he was content with. Regulus understood him more than Sirius did, though sometimes he would catch him looking at him with what seemed like pity, like he knew more about what happened than Evan did himself. 

Evan hates that feeling, whens someone knows something he should but he doesn’t. It’s the whole reason why he’s so observant. He doesn’t want to feel so clueless again. And he doesn’t want to feel the same longing that he felt for Sirius for anyone else. He trusts that he won’t have to with Regulus and Pandora, but he doesn’t want to take his chances with anyone else, either.

So he doesn’t necessarily dislike Barty. He just doesn’t want him to be a part of his life, especially not with how much he reminds Evan of Sirius. He’s perfectly content with observing, as he always has. He’ll be okay watching. Noticing. Observing how he fidgets when he sits down and how his face brightens when one of the older students started a conversation with him. He’s okay with remembering each detail, too. Remembering how his eyebrows furrowed when he asked Evan about his eye, or how is Italian accent is even stronger when he was apologizing. 

Evan is okay with that. He just doesn’t want Barty in his life. So really, he’d prefer if him and Pandora weren’t in Ravenclaw, because that’d just be inconvenient. Because he can maintain a distance, but he can also get attached. Evan’s been great at avoiding the latter for this long, he can do it for much longer, too.

Right now, he’s watching. But not Barty, not anymore.

He’s watching the rest of the ceremony, each first year up until it’s his turn. 

“Rosier, Evan.” 

Pandora gives his hand a quick squeeze, which he subtly returns before walking up and taking his seat on the Sorting Hat. He only has a short time to think about what he could be sorted into—maybe Gryffindor, though he doesn’t feel it’s very fitting for him—but all he knows is that Pandora wouldn’t be a Slytherin, so he won’t be either-

“SLYTHERIN!”

Oh.

How exciting. 

The Sorting Hat hardly touches his head before it comes to it’s decision, and Evan forced himself to stand up and make his way to the Slytherin table. He sits next to Regulus and Narcissa, who he’s been seeing more of the latter lately since her mom had taken in him and Pandora. He doesn’t say anything, and not that he has to, since Regulus automatically makes room for him and shifts closer to him the second he sits down. It was comfortable and familiar for the both of them, and Evan relaxes slightly as he watches Pandora make her way up to the stool, being called right after him. 

He watches intently, his expression carefully neutral but still a clear indication of his nervousness as he waits for Pandora to be sorted in Slytherin. Because she will be. They were never separated no matter what, and that sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. So obviously something has gonen wrong when he hears—

“RAVENCLAW!”

—because that’s not right. Pandora’s supposed to be with him. Pandora’s much more suitable for Ravenclaw, he knows that. But it’s not right. At all. Because he’s supposed to be with Pandora. No, the hat had made a mistake, Evan is sure of it. Pandora must know it, too, because she immediately casts a nervous glance at Evan before taking a seat at the Ravenclaw table—next to Barty, by the way, who looks at her with wide and eager eyes. Oh, Evan is so screwed. 

His reaction must be showing outwardly, too, because he feels Regulus shift closer to him subtly, and Narcissa casts a worried glance at him, but neither say anything. Neither does he, he’s too focused on watching the way Barty and Pandora immediately spring into conversation with each other. 

The ceremony doesn’t last long after that, and soon the tables are being filled with varieties of food from the house elves. Evan doesn’t eat much. It’s not that he doesn’t have an appetite, it’s just that none of the food is particularly appealing to him. He’s always been a picky eater, atleast that won’t change anytime soon. Regulus is the same. He picks at his food, occasionally taking a few bites, but more often than not he meets Evan’s eyes and makes a face, getting him to crack a small smile. 

After dinner, the Slytherin head boy—Lucius Malfoy, who Evan is quite familiar with since he’s Narcissa’s boyfriend, and they’re more likely than not getting married after Hogwarts—leads them to the Slytherin common room in the dungeons. Lucius takes them to the boys dormitories while Narcissa, who Evan finds out is head girl for Slytherin, leads the girls to the opposite dorms. 

Their trunks are already on their assigned beds in their dorm rooms. Evan and Regulus share a dorm—much to his satisfaction—with two other boys aswell, Amycus Carrow and Ilias Mulciber. They don’t pay much attention to Regulus and Evan, instead engaging in their own hushed conversation with each other.

They end up on Evan’s bed, curtains drawn and sitting criss-cross facing each other. It’s a while before either of them speak. 

“So,” it’s Regulus who speaks first.

“So.” 

“Uh… are you, like, okay?”

Evan snorts. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“I mean, with Panda and everything.”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, m’fine. Can’t do anything about it anyways, can I?”

“No,” Regulus sighs, “I guess not. It’s not really that bad, though, right? I mean, it’s not like we’re forbidden from ever seeing her again or anything. We might still have classes with her. And in between.”

“But it won’t be the same,” Evan insists, dropping his act almost immediately, “she’ll be alone there.”

That gets a laugh out of Regulus. “Pandora, alone? The girl’s more talkative than anyone I’ve known, and you’ve seen Sirius. She’ll be fine, Ev.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Evan huffs, before leaning back against the headboard. He didn’t hate it; he doesn’t exactly know why he’s so opposed to the nickname—it just isn’t his thing. “But I guess you’re right. Maybe she’ll be okay.”

“She will be. Besides,” he adds, “she has Crouch, too. They seemed to be getting along at dinner, were they not?”

Evan shoots a glare at Regulus. “You’re not funny.” 

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

“I just—I don’t know,” Evan sighs, “like, where did he even come from?”

“Well, Italy, I assume. Based on his accent.”

“Okay, now you’re just—Regulus!” He huffs, irritated, much to Regulus’ obvious amusement. “I’m not joking.”

“No, I know,” Regulus laughs, crawling over to lean against the headboard next to Evan. “I don’t know, either. Should’ve left that compartment when I had the chance.”

“You did leave.”

“You should’ve come with.”

“Panda made me stay.”

“She would’ve followed if you left.”

“She most definitely wouldn’t have.”

“I guess not,” Regulus hums. “It would’ve been better if you’d come with me to Narcissa, though.”

“And watch her and Lucius all over each other? Hate to say it, but I think I’d take Barty over that anyday.”

Regulus frowns. “I—yeah, okay.” 

Evan knows when he’s hit a nerve. Only problem? He doesn’t know how or what he’s said. He never does, and Regulus never wants to explain. So Evan never pushes, just goes silent as well.

It’s another few minutes before Regulus is good to speak again. “I do think she’ll be okay, though.”

“What?”

“Pandora. She’ll be fine. If anything, she’s better off than we are.” 

“Huh. Yeah, you’re right, I guess,” he admits, still a bit hesitant.

Regulus sighs, throwing his legs over the edge of Evan’s bed and opening the curtains. Carrow and Mulciber’s beds have their curtains open as well, but neither are in the dorm. “I’m going to unpack and go to bed.”

“Oh, okay,” Evan sits up. “I’ll just unpack tomorrow.”

“‘Kay,” Regulus turns back to look at him, “night, Evan.”

“G’night,” he draws his curtains back, laying back in his bed. He doesn’t bother changing out of his clothes, he was too tired for that. He’d just change into a fresh set in the morning.

He pulls the sheets over himself, but doesn’t fall asleep just yet. He’s always had trouble adjusting, it took him months to fully get used to his aunts house. He listens to the sounds of Regulus unpacking, but eventually that’s gone too, and Regulus is asleep in his own bed. The last Evan remembers before falling asleep is the sound of the dorm room silently opening and hearing hushed whispers, but he’s far too gone by that point to pay much mind to it. 

Eventually, though, he does fall into a deep sleep, and all that’s left is quiet whispers and the rustling of his sheets as he adjusts. He doesn’t think he’ll like Hogwarts all that much, but he thinks that about nearly everything. Atleast he has Regulus, and still technically Pandora, so he does think he’ll be okay. He just has to observe, like he’s always done.

He’s been okay watching up until now, and he’s perfectly okay with staying like that.