Chapter Text
There was once a time when Evan Rosier and Barty Crouch Jr. were inseparable. Best friends, they were. Still are. Only things are different now. Evan has the memory of an elephant. He reminisces, more so frequently now, about the times they’ve spent together within Hogwarts’ walls. The walls that have seen him and his dearest friend grow from the childish eleven-year-old into the… well, still childish and boisterous fifteen-year-old boys they were.
Evan remembers first year, when he had first met Barty. It was thrilling to meet such a person. He had just been sorted into Slytherin, feeling a wave of relief crash over him as he headed toward the long, long Slytherin table adorned with green goblets, platters, and table covers. Sat around the table on benches were the students, some new, some older. Some second years sneered at him as if they were not in his position just last year.
But he raised his chin high, willing himself to ignore them. If they weren’t grateful for the new addition to their house, then so be it. He didn’t need them. And then he sat down on the uncomfortably large bench next to a boy. He had just been sorted into Slytherin too; he could tell from his still black tie and robes, yet to turn green. He hadn’t caught the boy’s name from where he had stood amongst the sea of first years, but he was eager to learn it.
Before coming to Hogwarts, his father had told him he was smart, capable, and independent. That he should focus on studies rather than friends. Friends wouldn’t get him into the Ministry one day. Grades would. And while his mother agreed for the most part, willing her son a good life, she took him aside that same day.
“One friend, promise me?” He still remembers her soft voice. “One friend is all you need. Try for me, for my sake, for my peace of mind.”
So when he saw the boy, he poked him gently in the side. The boy had his head down on the mahogany table in a slump. He must not have been happy about the sorting.
“Sulking won’t change anything,” he heard himself say. He knew it was rude the moment it came out.
The boy’s head shot up. Dark brown hair, sharp features, and dark green eyes met him along with a scowl.
“I am not sulking,” the boy huffed before taking a generous gulp of his pumpkin juice and then pulling a face. “Eughk,” the brown-haired boy gagged slightly.
Evan couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him. The boy looked utterly disgusted.
“Not fond of it, are you?” Evan asked once his laughter, along with the sound of heaving, subsided.
“Not at all!” the boy bellowed. “Disgusting,” he uttered.
Evan smiled. “I’m Evan. Evan Rosier.” He held out a pale white hand.
The other boy looked Evan up and down, absorbing his appearance, critical like a hawk. White as a ghost, rather blond hair and blue eyes. That was all to Evan at the time, other than the fact that he was a significant amount shorter than the other kid, and skinnier too.
“Barty Crouch… Jr.,” Barty greeted. “You like the pumpkin juice?”
“Never tried it,” Evan shrugged truthfully. “Is it really that rancid?”
“Quite. Try it.”
“What?!” Evan laughed. “No! You just told me it was horrible. You looked as if you’d eaten a sock!”
“Oi, you owe me for poking me then laughing at my misery!”
returned Barty. It was clear he wasn’t going to let it go.
So Evan drank the pumpkin juice from his own goblet, pulling a series of faces—faces that made Barty laugh so loud that the sorting ceremony was disturbed because of them. But neither of them were apologetic toward Professor McGonagall’s stern looks. But from that day forward, Barty and Evan were close friends. Really close, actually. They shared every break and dinner, every class and homework session together. Every morning and every night, every weekend and weekday—inseparable.
Evan would never forget that day, not now as a fourth year, nor in the years moving forward. The seat he had chosen that evening altered his life, in the worst and best of ways.
But their first year together flew by quicker than Evan could pick up the simplest of spells.
He remembers the conversations he had in second year with Barty and Regulus. Regulus was his second dormmate. He was rather reserved but quick to join a conversation that challenged intelligence and magical capability. Sometimes he would offer pieces of advice for both Barty and Evan—mostly the latter.
By second year, he had made a second friend, one more than his mother told him he needed to survive, so why couldn’t he get the spell right?
“Here,” Regulus strode across the room one evening while Evan was trying hard to master Vera Verto. Regulus did an example for him. “You have the pronunciation correct. But your wand movement is… messy at best,” Regulus tried to sound polite while insulting him, but after showing Evan the correct movements and leading him to success, Evan couldn’t care less.
“Thanks,” he had said, feeling the weight drop off his shoulders rather suddenly. “Not a bad goblet, eh?” He nudged Barty, who had stood bored watching Evan’s failed attempts. Barty looked very grateful for Regulus’ help. He would have been stuck for hours if he hadn’t.
“Beautiful,” Barty sighed and sat down on his bed, followed by Evan.
That’s how the three of them became friends. Still more a duo than a trio, but from there, Regulus was one of them.
Regulus Black. He was from the most noble and ancient house of Black. That night they had learned about the Black family’s beliefs on Gryffindors, blood status, and their high standards: how his older brother Sirius, in third-year Gryffindor, did not fit those expectations. From there, Evan and Barty had a mutual agreement to hate Gryffindors for Regulus.
Pranks were pulled, scathing words were said, and Barty Crouch gained a reputation—a bad one. One that took away their precious time together and replaced it with detentions, cleaning trophies, or scrubbing bathroom floors for Filch with no magic.
That same reputation was the reason why, in third year, Barty crawled into Evan’s bed late one evening before Christmas break and complained to Evan about his wretched father, Barty Crouch Sr., the Minister of Magic.
Evan had welcomed him in with open arms; it was the first time Barty had done this. Evan soon knew the reason why. Not even his own father had sent him Howlers for his behavior. Maybe he hadn’t heard yet about the jinxes and hexes, or maybe he just didn’t care. But Barty’s father did, and that was enough for Evan to care too.
Barty was never one to show anything other than delight. He enjoyed all lessons, didn’t mind homework, always had a grin plastered on his face. He wasn’t one to cry, whisper, or plead with people who weren’t there. He was a loud, cocky, intelligent boy who Evan admired very much. But that night he did cry, and that night Evan promised he would write to him every day of the Christmas if he’d let him. And he reassured him that no matter what scum his father thought he was, he was a piece of treasure to Evan and anyone would be lucky to have Barty in their life. That he would never complain, never leave, and appreciate everything Barty offered. Even then, holding him, he wondered what it was about Barty that made him feel… different from everyone else.
But that was before.
Before the girls,
Before the tension,
Before Evan avoided Barty in a way that hurt him to do so.
This is now.