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Evan Rosier was mad at Barty.
Like, super, big-time, royally mad. It wasn’t that Barty didn’t deserve it- he totally did. He had fucked up. The thought lived like a parasite in his already sick existence. He’d been a shit lover to his beautiful rose, and he was ashamed. After all, no one else got the privilege of knowing the Slytherin password just to sneak into Evan Rosier’s dorm and crawl up under his covers to nuzzle his neck in the middle of the night. No one else got to touch Evan Rosier’s hair (no one else really got to touch Evan at all- he hated being touched, mostly). And really, it was Barty whose blood Evan had in a small vial he kept locked around his neck at all times to replace the burning silver cross he had destroyed three years ago.
If one really considered the situation, the real victim of this whole ordeal was Bartemius Crouch Jr. (of course, the better sequel himself). The fight wasn’t over something that Barty viewed as a huge deal anyway- simply just a lack of communication. Yet it had hurt Evan, and that was where his deep guilt came from every time he thought about it. The tight furrow of Evan’s thick eyebrows, the way his lips twitched downward. Those were the things that hurt, stabbing into Barty’s being like a thousand thorns tied around his heart. When he had seen the look on Evan’s face, he had wanted to smash his skull into the brick walls around them, splatter his being at Evan’s feet, and prove just how far Barty was willing to go to protect Evan. Barty would destroy himself if it meant Evan went unhurt.
Evan Rosier was a very conflicted being. It was not unclear to those who knew him. Barty had been able to tell from the very first moment their eyes had locked all those years ago, when they had been young boys who had known nothing but the words of their fathers and the pressure of last names greater than they could bear. Even then, Barty had felt a sickening pull in his chest at the sight of such an angelic being, cradling a dead frog in his hands on the train.
Evan’s soul, torn between his dark, turbulent desires and the path towards religious purity his father had firmly set him on, was constantly at war with itself. Evan would have sacrificed himself before the altar if he had not come to Hogwarts and met people who made him realize that what he thought he could trust was not normal. That his twisted views on sensuality, love, and faith were contorted beyond simple repair.
Still, Barty, who had fallen madly and obsessively in love with the boy who kept dead bugs in a jar by his bed, had severely misunderstood the leverage all those years of Sunday school Evan had succumbed to would have on their relationship.
Perhaps Barty should have known better. He reflected on this the night Evan blew up at him. He understood then, for maybe the first time, how deeply the church had bedded itself into his Rose’s being. There had been the first time they’d kissed, a life-altering moment poisoned by self-loathing and internalized violence. Thirteen and high off some weed Evan had gotten from a fellow Slytherin, Barty had gone dumb and leaned in to gently kiss Evan’s lips. They had been soft, plush things. Like two flower buds curled up, not yet blooming. Like roses. Evan did not have a habit of biting his lips as Barty did, and though Evan had not kissed back, he had not pulled away either. After a moment, a heat (different from the kind Barty wanted) had forced Evan back with a cry. He had become frantic, crying out and raking his nails across his chest. It had scared Barty, and Evan was rarely capable of such a thing. Had he not, after all, a few weeks prior, left a dead raven as a gift on Barty’s pillow? (Barty had kept the corpse till it began to reek, and his fellow Ravenclaw dormmates complained and begged him to get rid of it). Evan was twisted and fascinated by things most young boys ought not to be, but that never startled Barty. Barty loved it. If Evan could love the monstrous, that meant he was capable of loving Barty.
When Evan had managed to rip the top buttons off his white collared shirt, he had pulled them apart to reveal his chest, with a flat silver cross lying against it. The skin around the pendant was scarred and red, like it had been burned over and over. Barty could smell the burning of raw flesh, could hear the sizzle of his love’s chest.
The cross had been given to Evan by his father when he was ten- a cursed thing. Spelled to burn him whenever he committed an act of sin. The catch? It was not sin, as according to the Holy word of God, but sin instead, according to the things Evan’s father detested in his heart. Barty had stayed up for weeks after that, figuring out how to break the bind between his Rosie and the dreadful object. He had spent even longer after that convincing Evan to actually let him take it. In the end, it had been Barty’s soft hands on his cheek and the burning desire in Evan’s stomach that allowed Barty to remove it. After that, it had been a steady decline towards unhealthy obsession with each other on both ends.
After three years, the two were so engraved into the other that there was no way they could ever, in good conscience, be with other people. After all, who would want to be with a Barty who had the name “Evan Rosier” carved as many times into his body as he did? Barty was the only one who understood Evan’s fascination with the dead; bones, the swelling of blood on clean skin. Who else was going to go for hours with Evan foraging for creepy crawlies the way Barty happily did? They simply worked together, in a twisted and gnarled way, and anyone who tried to pull them apart had no idea what they were asking for.
However, the breaking of the cross necklace was not the only obstacle they would have to overcome. The bond between Evan and religion ran deeper than a simple relic. The all-loving God that Barty had been told religious people believed in was not the same God Evan had been conditioned to worship. The damage was done, and it would be a long road to being able to undo it.
Evan, on his part, knew deep down that he was doing nothing inherently wrong. He loved Barty deeply, with his whole soul. The church had nothing on the latter boy- if Evan had to choose, it would be Bartemius Crouch Junior at any point. Yet he could not help the deep-seated self-hatred he felt whenever Barty’s hands wandered too high up his shirt, whenever Barty moaned against his neck or tugged lazily at his trousers. Ev had been taught to entirely ignore pleasure- it was for reproduction only, a sin in all other forms. And sleeping with another boy? Evan may as well have been named Dante with how fast that would have gotten him to the final ring of hell.
Sex, though in reality a normal part of life, had always seemed to Evan a big, terrible monster trying to feed on and ruin him. Barty knew a bit of the extent of Evan’s fear of sexual vulnerability. He had, he later realized, been a fool to believe that Evan was getting over it. How could he ever think such a thing? Evan was so destroyed by prayer and repentance that a few years with Barty attached to his hand weren’t enough to simply erase years and years of guilt and brainwashing.
They were sixteen now, and things had been tense between them for months. Not in a bad way- in a really good way. Or so Barty had thought. He wanted to sleep with Evan so badly. Not in a perverted or obsessive kind of way (well, yes, but no). He wanted the before, the during, and the after. All of it. The teasing, the touching, the lead-up. The moaning, the pushing, the moment it happened. The kissing, the cleaning, the loving, the after. All of it was beautiful to Barty, and it was beautiful because he had always known it would happen with Evan Rosier. In recent weeks, Barty had thought Evan had felt the same way. The kissing had been more- not in a literal sense, it was just there, the drum of pleasure more intense than they had felt before. Their hands had wandered further, gripped harder. The beautiful intimacy that was stretching out before them in a vast field of pleasure was the only place Barty’s mind could take him for days.
When the moment had finally come (in the kitchens of Hogwarts, who would have thought?), chocolate cake batter left forgotten in the bowl on the counter, house elves all away cleaning dorms, Barty had asked Evan- begged him even- to please let Barty take him to a bed. Anywhere, anyone’s- it didn’t matter. Barty needed Evan, and he needed him now. Evan had flipped.
Barty had known the moment his lover’s body tensed up, the moment his mouth ceased to respond to his kisses, the moment his eyes went wide, that Evan was panicking. He knew the signs well enough. He had stopped his advances immediately, but the damage was done.
“Well, that’s all you want then?” Evan had hissed at a poor, confused Barty. “To sleep with me? That’s all you’ve really been after these past few weeks. Can’t go more than five minutes without sucking on my neck, without grabbing at my thighs. Can’t even make a cake with me without sticking your tongue down my throat!” He had snarled, shoving Barty off. Barty had hit the counter opposite the one they had been on, rubbing his lower back with a hiss.
“Ev, what are you talking about?” Barty had retorted, annoyance crawling up his throat. It wasn’t that Evan didn’t want to sleep with him, but he didn’t understand why he was being screamed at when only moments ago Evan had been cooing about how much he loved Barty. Yes, it was true that Barty had been more physical in recent dates. He had been under the impression that’s what Evan wanted. He had been seeking Barty out in moments of desire; he had leaned into Barty’s every touch with an insane amount of pressure and intensity. Their relationship was often built on deep conversation- Barty was incredibly smart and needed to filter out his thoughts and keep himself stimulated; Evan was good at listening and developing Barty’s ideas further. But they had always been physical beings, even though Barty knew that afterwards Evan would need some time not being touched to allow himself to recover mentally from the guilt he was feeling.
Apparently, they had not been on the same page.
Evan had rushed to grab his bag, searching the flour-covered and eggshell-littered mess of a counter for his wand. His eyes had been misty and burning with angry tears, a sight that frightened Barty more than he realized was possible. There was rage and hatred in Evan’s piercing blue eyes, and Barty couldn’t tell which one of them it was directed at. He tried to talk to Evan, but Evan wouldn’t listen. Really, he couldn’t hear. He was mumbling under his breath, only raising his voice to spit an insult at Barty.
“We can’t sleep together, Barty, don’t you get it? You’ll never want to sleep with me anyway,” Evan shouted as he made way to leave. Barty was frustrated and confused, all these feelings mixing wildly in his gut.
“‘Course I want to sleep with you, Rosie! And if this is some of that weird church shit again, just talk to me. Stop yelling!” Barty had yelled back, reaching out and digging his nails into Evan’s arm, hoping to anchor him in place, hoping to wake him up. Evan had yanked his arm away, red streaks down his wrist from Barty’s nails. Barty had immediately moved forward to apologize, eyes softened, but Evan had stormed out without another word.
Barty knew Evan was truly upset because Evan was going out of his way to ignore him. When the Slytherin common room password changed, Evan did not tell him, and so Barty was forced to walk all the way back up to Ravenclaw tower in the middle of the night. Their friends were no help.
“Just talk to him, Bat. I’m sure he’s more upset with himself and his own pain than he is with you,” Were Pandora’s words. (As true as they were, he already knew all that, and so this was not useful advice).
“I dunno man, maybe he just needs space? You know that shit cuts him deep- try writing a letter, maybe?” Had been Dorcas. She refused to tell him the new Slytherin password, saying that if Evan was withholding it for a reason, she was going to respect that.
“I am not fixing your relationship, Crouch. You upset him, you sort it out,” Was Regulus, who also refused to share the new Slytherin password. As close as Regulus and Barty were, Regulus was actually distantly related to Evan and had known the blonde since they had been very young- his loyalty to Evan was unwavering in the face of any adversity.
So in the end, their friends had been utterly unhelpful, and Evan himself was entirely unreachable. Barty had resigned to keep his distance for a bit, regardless of how badly it hurt. Evan could have stabbed him over and over in the stomch and Barty would have been in absolute heaven compared to this. He had finished Evan’s cake and decorated it with chocolate frosting and sliced strawberries. This, he knew, was Evan’s favorite, and though it looked like a bit of a mess when Barty was done, he left it in Evan’s usual spot at the Slytherin table at breakfast the morning after their fight. Evan had taken it, according to Regulus, but still dodged Barty in the halls and still would not seek Barty out.
Four days. That was how long Barty let Evan avoid him before he physically couldn’t take it anymore. Anyone who didn’t know how attached they were to each other would have thought that they had been greatly divided for four YEARS instead of just four days, with how much Barty was complaining and how little Evan refused to speak to anyone. Both of them were in agony without the other. They were dependent, attached down to the roots. Barty had no one to touch, no one to bite on, no one to flood with all the unanswered love and passion in his heart. No one else cared to listen to Evan’s soft ramblings about bugs or autopsies or the properties of human blood.
Barty couldn’t take it anymore. He left Transfiguration early under the guise of attending the bathroom, making his way instead to Evan’s class, which was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Upon class dismissing, Barty had waited against the wall casually as the Slytherin sixth years flooded out of the room. Evan cried out when Barty had grabbed his arm and dragged him to a nearby broom closet. The sound made Barty feel a bit ill- Evan hated being startled- but this was a necessary impediment.
Evan scowled nastily at Barty, who shut the door behind them and stood in front of it. The closet wasn’t big, but Evan stood with his back against the wall, as far from Barty as possible. He looked wary, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He had his nails digging into his own arm deeply, a habit of his. Barty cast a soft “Lumos,” so they could see each other.
“I want to talk to you, rose,” Barty said softly. They were the same height, and because of this, they always looked right into each other’s eyes. “You’re ignoring me, and you know I don’t do that shit,” Evan frowned, his expression less angry than it had been moments before.
“Do you understand why I’m upset with you?” He asked finally. Barty swallowed, nodding slightly. He knew to an extent. He had picked some stuff up from what Evan had said, and from what he, of course, knew about the other boy.
“Yes, a bit. You’re mad that I’ve been thinking too much with my dick, I guess. Which is fair,” Barty mumbled, albeit a bit uncomfortably. “But Ev, I thought you wanted to sleep with me.” He truly sounded confused, and Evan’s shoulders dropped slightly.
“I don’t want us to … only ever touch. It’s fun, but it’s exhausting. I get that we are teenagers and horny and…” Evan trailed off, his nose wrinkled slightly. “...but I can’t always keep up with you in that sense. It’s just…” He let his arms drop to his sides, looking away from the wide-eyed look of attention on Barty’s face.
“Every time you touch me a certain way, I feel the words of my youth pastor right before I feel the pleasure you give me. It isn’t fun. I want to fix it, but…I can’t just ignore it,” Evan spoke slowly, his words hesitant, his eyes fluttering wildly. Barty was surprised by him, but not in a bad way. They were both terrible communicators, choosing always to either internalize or outright explode with their constant rage rather than talk to another human about it. This was the most Evan had outright explained his feelings about their dynamic to Barty in all the time they’d known each other. Despite his churning anxiety, Barty felt a surge of pride for the boy in front of him. What a beautiful thing his Rosie was.
Barty waited a moment to make sure Evan was really done before he responded. “Of course. I love you, Evan. I would go my whole life without touching you at all if that’s what you decided. Just don’t ignore me. I need you to see me…” He murmured, his fingers twitching at his side, aching to smooth Evan’s white and wild curls away from his churning eyes.
After a moment, Evan took a step closer, the fronts of their clothes brushing against each other. Their faces were inches apart. “I ate most of the cake,” He admitted softly. “You did…a good job finishing it,” He offered. His forgiveness came in the form of his approval. Barty could have run a thousand laps around the school. Barty lived for Evan’s hesitant praise. Any sign that Barty had done something right for the other boy, he fell to his knees and lapped it up like it was water in a desert.
“Good- I tried,” He grinned, eyes flashing brighter. He wanted to pull Evan closer, but Evan was a delicate thing. Not in the way glass was, no, but in the way that a feral animal was. Move too fast, and he saw you as a threat. Evan was a wild beast, jaw clenched and teeth dripping with foam, eyes that saw straight to bone. It would save people a lot of time, energy, and injury if they realized that about Evan Rosier sooner.
Evan didn’t say anything for another moment before he finally let his hand brush Barty’s. Barty took this as an invitation and laced their hands together tightly, their nails digging into each other’s skin and leaving little crescent-shaped impressions. Barty felt much better; his territory was being reclaimed. He knew Evan felt the same burning.
“I have to get to class,” Evan murmured. This did not concern Barty. School was a temporary obstacle to forever with Evan. His Rosie, always his. It was undeniable, the proof found in the way they carved with blades their passion into each other.
Evan reached up with his other hand and slid his fingers into Barty’s hair on the side of his head, near his ear. His nails softly scraped over his scalp, and Barty leaned into it with a sickly expression on his face. He was like a dog, desperate and pathetic for Evan’s attention, for Evan’s touch. The latter boy smiled a bit, leaning in and whispering in Barty’s ear.
“The new password is Sugar Bomb, for the Slytherin common room,” Evan whispered, a sly grin sliding across his face. Barty’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips, eyes narrowing slightly.
Drinking up these signs of clear forgiveness from his lover, Barty nodded eagerly. “Yeah, alright,” He let Evan push past him to open the broom closet door, the light of the quickly clearing corridor leaking into the closet. He looked back at Barty, eyes assessing. Barty straightened up slightly.
“Bring me something,” Evan prompted. “Anything,” and with that, he was gone.
That was how, only a few hours later, Barty ended up scouring the edge of the Forbidden Forest with Regulus, Pandora, and Dorcas. Regulus wouldn’t stop complaining, grey eyes carrowed and black curls being pushed back from his forehead by the wind. Pandora’s thick fishtail braid was also whipping with the aggression of the wind, but she was humming cheerfully and did not seem to mind the search. Dorcas hadn’t said much, only rolling her eyes periodically at Regulus’s backhanded insults directed at Barty. They were looking for bones, bones of any kind.
Evan loved bones. He put them in his hair; he turned them into jewelry. He would spend hours trying to figure out what they had belonged to, which living creature had owned them before he did. It was a pleasure of his, one he was not guilty of. Docras was the best at finding them, unafraid of getting her fingernails dirty lifting rocks or stirring up soil. Pandora tended to get distracted- she was better to recruit when they wanted to find living bugs and creatures for Evan to take care of and observe.
“Keep looking, we need a good amount!” Barty ordered, gesturing for them to spread out. The wind was wicked, but he ignored it, snickering when Regulus tumbled slightly over his own robes. Barty carefully cradled a small handful of dirt-caked bones in his palm, gripping them so none fell. He was determined to find a good amount, a good peace offering. He looked into the darkness of the trees. The sunlight barely reached the floor there, and something that did not sound like the wind let out a harrowing whine. “Maybe we should go a bit further in?” Barty called out to the others.
Dorcas wrinkled her nose, standing up from examining something on the ground. Regulus let out a disgusted scoff. Pandora shrugged. All three of them gathered at Barty’s sides, facing the looming wood. Regulus shook his head after a moment. “Absolutely not. Do you know how much trouble we would be in? Feel free to indulge in your boyfriend’s creepy obsessions in the Forbidden Forest on your own time,” He hissed, grabbing Barty’s wrist of the hand that held the cluster of bones. He dropped his own small findings in Barty’s open palm before brushing his hands hastily on his robes.
Barty narrowed his eyes for a moment, genuinely considering it, before he shook his head. “Alright, beauties. Cough it all up, let's see what we’ve got,” He sighed finally, crouching on the grass to gently place the bones in the green. He scratched his head, trying to figure out how many bones he should acquire before considering it enough.
Pandora has a few to place, and as usual, Dorcas has the most. This time her loot includes a small bird skull, almost in perfect condition. Barty whistled. “Nicely done, ladies…and gentle…man!” He clapped, gesturing to Regulus, who simply shook his head. “This is good…this is…” Barty began to gather the bones carefully. “This is good. This’ll be good,”
࣪ ִֶָ†.
That night, Barty snuck carefully and quietly through the castle from Ravenclaw tower all the way down to the dungeons. He stood in front of an ostensibly plain brick wall and murmured the password, tapping his free hand impatiently against the side of his thigh. Once it opened enough for him to slip through, he did so. It was late, and thankfully, the common room was empty. Regulus, if he had done as he was told, would have gone to stay with Dorcas for the night.
Barty rapped softly on the blackwood door that said “Evan Rosier” on the silver plaque under Regulus’s name. Barty felt the ridiculous urge to lean forward and run his tongue over the grooves that made up his rose’s name. After a moment, he cracked open the door and slipped inside. Evan was there, sitting on his bed that was all clad out in silver and green. His black throw blanket was wrapped tightly around his shoulders, and he stared at the door expectantly with a book left open and forgotten in front of him. Barty slowly closed the door behind him, their eyes not leaving each other.
A wicked grin slowly slid across Barty’s face at the sight of his rose. Evan smirked despite himself, and soon the two were embracing each other tightly. Evan dragged his nose against Barty’s pale jaw, Barty humming in soft pleasure as he leaned his head to the side to kiss a mole that Evan had on his cheek. Their hands gripped each other’s hips, and after a moment, Evan simply hugged him. Barty immediately leaned into it. His arms wrapped around Evan’s neck and pulled him in close. He knew now that Evan had fully forgiven him- that the past few days of agonizing silence had not been forever.
Barty remembered his gift after a moment, pulling back. “Hey Rosie,” He grinned, wild and crazy. “I brought you something, just like you asked!” He was desperate. He would do anything Evan asked of him.
Barty held up a small satin drawstring bag, wiggling his eyebrows. Evan laughed, shaking his head and taking the bag carefully. He opened it and shook the contents into his other hand. When he realized what it was, he gasped loudly. Pulling away from Barty’s hold, he ran over to his bed and croached down to retrieve a little brown box from under it.
“Barty, I love them! Thank you!” Evan grinned, gently putting the bones into the box, which held dozens of others. When Evan discovered the bird skull, his eyes went wide. Barty relished in this, feeling entirely too proud of himself, and sat on the bed next to Evan. Evan examined the skull before he looked up at Barty, eyes flashing with something unhinged.
“It’s a sparrow…and a baby one at that!” Evan said gleefully. “Oh, poor thing, really,” Though he didn’t sound too torn up about it. He brought the unwashed skull to his lips and pressed a kiss right to the spot where the beak met the rest of the head. Barty leaned over and kissed Evan’s shoulder, hungry, inhaling his scent.
“I’m glad you like it!” Barty hummed, lying on his side and propping himself on his elbow. He watched as Evan closed the box, leaving the skull out. He placed the small chest back in its hiding place and put the skull on his nightstand, right below the floating shelf covered in small jars that each held a bug corpse. Evan was obsessed with the weird. It was why he and Pandora got along so well.
Evan tugged Barty towards himself so they both lay against the pillows, Barty wrapping his arms around the former’s torso. He was simply glad to have his lover back. It was like a terrible fire in his rib cage had been put out by the raging ocean in Evan’s eyes. Things were back to the way they should be; the world was no longer lopsided.
Evan scratched his nails slowly over Barty’s scalp through his hair for a long time without saying anything. After a moment, he looked down at Barty. “I’m sorry I freaked out on you,” he managed to say.
Barty shrugged. “I’m…” he struggled more with apologies than Evan did. Evan was used to begging a God he felt did not want him for forgiveness- Barty was used to ignoring the thoughts of others in favor of his own interests. “..I’m sorry that I pushed you. I didn’t mean to, but I suppose I came off that way. Anywho, it’s alright,” Barty mumbled into Evan’s chest.
If Barty had seen the look on Evan’s face, he would have known that Evan longed to say more. Barty, being as devoted to Evan as he was, would have, of course, urged him to. But there was a moment of silence, and then another, Barty’s face hiding from the rest of the world within the safety of Evan’s body, the same body he would much rather devour like a ravenous beast than sleep with anyway. It didn’t matter if they had sex or not- Evan belonged to Barty, just the same way Barty belonged to Evan. It was Evan’s name he had carved obsessively into his legs, and it was his blood that Evan wore around his neck in that very moment. Everything came back to those two things- the visible symbols of the connection they shared that was undeniably resilient.
“Now tell me about the baby sparrow,” Barty cut the silence like a knife to meat.