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Sirius Black has, once again, been kicked out of Gryffindor. Unlike before, McGonagall did not stand by idly; nearly frantic in a way that meant something irrevocably broke. Barty supposes it had, considering he’s never seen Orion or Walburga step foot on Hogwart’s soil. Yet they were here—in Dumbledore’s office—and Barty is their hidden audience.
He’s never seen McGonagall so frantic—her tone almost apologetic, pleading—as Walburga shoves into her space with all the grace of a woman who raised two sons two different ways.
Sirius, the world is yours to own, so own it.
Regulus, should Sirius die, you’d take his place—do not disappoint me.
Her husband, Orion, stands like a sentinel at her back, wand lazily pointed at Slughorn from when he tried for reason.
The situation was as amusing as it was ironic—every adult in this room helped create this monster.
But Sirius had tried this time; handling things himself.
Now, he was condemned once more by the same sunny friends who left him to rot the first time.
Sirius didn’t seem surprised that his parents arrived, despite their estrangement and how Sirius hadn’t set foot back in Grimmauld in nearly a year; but his mouth pinched, eyes dimming with what could’ve been gratitude. Now he took the offer they gave him the first time, and Barty knows it broke a fundamental piece inside him.
Running back to mommy and daddy. Back to the roots that made you what you are. Barty realizes this may sound uncharitable—because Sirius could be worse. He sometimes was, but compared to other dark houses’ heirs, Sirius could’ve become golden if James Potter’s understanding of him went beyond thinking he tamed a wild animal. That is uncharitable as it should be.
“If we are finished,” Orion drawls, cool eyes flicking to his son. There is almost a question in his severe face.
Sirius subtly nods.
Orion lifts his chin just as Walburga faces them both, nostrils flared, and she resembles what Bellatrix Black might become. Her upper lip curls, then flattens, eyes narrowing. Married people always seemed to know each other well, but the Blacks wore their synchrony like a birthright. A muscle twitches in Orion’s jaw, and Walburga inhales sharply. She slowly turns to Sirius, eyes feverish, but doesn’t speak.
“You understand what this means,” Orion intones. They’re both facing Sirius now; ignoring the panicked whispered conversation McGonagall is having with Dumbledore. Slughorn merely appears resigned.
Sirius inclines his head.
Walburga laughs once, sharp. “Who else will pick you up once more, little one? Who but us? Rotten, you called us. When you were cut from my womb, I knew—knew what you’d become. So hard to be good once you see the world for what it is, isn’t it, Sirius?”
Sirius grits his teeth, shame—shame—flushing his features. He looks away from her cutting eyes. No response comes. Walburga straightens, exchanging a cool look with Orion, and draws closer. When she kneels before Sirius and takes his hand, Barty must smother his shock; especially when she kisses Sirius’ knuckles.
“You will come home.” Walburga smooths a hand over his hair. “You know we’d give you everything.”
“Except freedom—”
“You will be in a cage, regardless, my love,” Walburga purrs. “You will only own the key to one.”
Sirius’ eyes glimmer. The slight movement of his eyes tells Barty that Sirius has noticed him; likely has the entire time. His nose was too good, like that mongrel’s face he wears occasionally. Sirius straightens in his seat and Walburga grins, victorious.
“Bring the hat,” Orion commands.
-
Beyond the four of them, there’s much shock when the Sorting Hat laughs Slytherin as if he’s wanted to say it since he first sat on Sirius’ head.
-
Regulus finds Barty in an empty corridor. He doesn’t smile—just plucks the cigarette from Barty’s mouth and crushes it in his hand.
“It’s done.” It isn’t a question.
“It’s done.”
Regulus nods once. He turns on his heel and walks away.
Barty lights another cigarette.
-
The Slytherin common room is suffocating. Shadows from the fire dance merrily along the walls, warming that dreadful green glow of the lake into something bearable. Barty doesn’t have the slightest clue how he got roped into this, but he imagines he’s just invested in what might happen next. His father was a nosy shit, but this thought doesn’t comfort him. Regulus sits stiffly beside him, eyes locked on the door with such intensity that his fellow housemates have begun to shift nervously.
Barty watches it, too. He briefly wonders if Sirius decided to fuck this all to hell and drop out—then the door opens.
Sirius Black strides in like he owns the place—the same way he walked these halls. His head is high, shoulders back, and that cool, derisive mask.
Barty briefly wonders if that’s where Regulus learned it from because neither Black parent made arrogance look quite so…nasty. He catches the brief flicker to the door, how Sirius’ fingers brush the edge of his trunk—nervous, Black?
Sirius doesn’t acknowledge any of them beyond a dismissive look at Greengrass. His voice is dry, “Hi roomie. I’ll be your dormmate—but you already know who I am, so no need for introductions. I know you very well.”
Barty’s heart skips a beat.
Greengrass appears torn between spitting curses and passing out from nerves.
Sirius leaves the common room without a glance back, Slytherins parting for him like the Black Sea. Older students nod, perhaps in respect, fear—maybe both. The younger ones skitter away. This must be quite the spectacle for most of them, considering they’ve likely experienced that violent mania Sirius kept hidden.
Regulus doesn’t follow, hands slowly curling into fists.
Barty nudges him.
“You were worth the investment, Crouch,” Regulus mutters, turning back to the book he abandoned an hour prior.
“Sure fucking am.” Barty laughs.
-
The Fat Lady’s portrait is always such a bitch to sneak past, but Barty’s been doing this since third year. A whispered spell, a stolen password, and once, boldly, Sirius just allowed him inside with searching eyes—Is Regulus okay?
Barty could feel the explosion building toward detonation because of how cagey the Gryffindors had become. He wanted to watch it happen. The argument reaches a fever pitch before Barty even reaches the staircase. Voices carry from the tower. He recognizes Potter’s mean snarl and Lupin’s furious clipped tone.
“You did what?” Lupin’s tone has that tight, disappointed edge it always seems to carry towards Sirius these days. Barty follows it, slinking through shadows. There’s no other students in sight, like they’re waiting for it all to blow over or blow up.
“It’s not how it seems—” Barty had only ever heard Sirius Black quite so desperate, pleading, once. It was the first time his friends turned on him. His chest does something complicated. He ignores it. Barty presses himself into an alcove with a perfect vantage point of the ajar door.
Their dorm is a disaster from what Barty can see. Potter’s back is to the door, shoulders heaving. His glasses lie broken on the floor as if he chucked them. A lens is covered in spidery cracks. He doesn’t move when Lupin begins shoving Sirius’ things to the floor and haphazardly kicking them into his trunk.
Sirius stands there, eyes glossy, face flushed in helpless frustration. He looks wrecked. His hands are shaking and he’s trying to explain, but no one is listening.
“I vouched for you—” Potter’s voice breaks. “Again?! Again, Sirius?”
“Just listen, please?” Sirius tries again. “I haven’t—”
“Get out!” Potter spins around, and Barty gets a full visual of his devastated fury, tears spilling from his eyes. “Take your shit and go. I can’t… I can’t believe you would do this again! I took…I took you into my fucking house! Get out!”
Sirius rears back as though slapped. His jaw jumps erratically, then tightens, a bitter tear spilling down his cheek. “James—”
“You’ve been watching Parkinson a lot,” Pettigrew speaks, and Barty had forgotten he even existed. “We’re right to be concerned. Another person on your—”
“Oh fuck you, Peter!” Sirius snarls, the desperation from before vanishing. “I came to you with this! I talked to you and you didn’t fucking listen—”
“You should go.” Lupin shoves the trunk into Sirius’ chest. His hands are trembling. “Don’t come back.”
Potter has Sirius out of the door in seconds. He doesn’t even look at him when he slams it in his face.
Barty watches Sirius stand there, trunk in his arms, eyes on the door like he could will it open. His shoulders begin to shake. A small, desperate sob leaves his lips. “I really tried. I-I really tried. Why—”
Sirius’ face crumples.
Barty doesn’t know how long he watches Sirius remain rooted to that spot.
-
Barty doesn’t think he’s ever seen Potter quite so shocked when Sirius doesn’t head towards the Gryffindor table for dinner. Everyone knew that Walburga and Orion Black came to Hogwarts and that Sirius was sealed away with them in Dumbledore’s office for hours. Whispers tend to spread easier when the news was this shocking.
Barty pops a grape into his mouth, chin propped up by his hand. His eyes lazily move from Gryffindor to Slytherin. A tension in his shoulders softens when Regulus rises from his seat. The Great Hall appears to hold its collective breath.
Sirius doesn’t look up from his empty plate, but Barty knows he’s watching his brother. Regulus sends a cool, dismissive glance to Bulstrode, who scampers upon his arrival. He takes his place gracefully, fingers twitching on the table. It’s the only tell that he’s affected. Sirius slides an arm through his, linking their elbows together, and begins to fill his plate. The sharp line of his jaw softens just a bit.
Barty can feel the sigh leave Regulus’ body despite nothing changing about his expression. He whistles low. “That’s decisive.”
Pandora snorts into her soup across from him.
“Want a grape?” Barty offers.
“Green, please.” Pandora snickers.
Barty makes it happen.
Potter sits, stone-faced, staring at the way Slytherins visibly try to start conversations with Sirius like he’s watching a funeral. His food goes cold before him. Barty watches him watch Sirius and feels satisfaction bloom in his chest. He eats another grape, then decides he wants cobbler for dinner.
-
Oh, fucking well.
-
“What, Crouch?” Sirius mutters. He looks like shit—hair tangled around his shoulders. The Forbidden Forest stretches out before them.
Barty plops on the railing beside Sirius and nudges him. “Want a smoke?”
Sirius doesn’t respond.
Barty offers him a cigarette, anyway. He did hate to see how miserable Sirius is, despite the use.
“What have you heard?” Sirius accepts it, leaning forward when Barty strikes a light with his index finger.
“Heard you got Parkinson expelled.” Barty shrugs.
“Is that all?”
“Guess he found out about Lupin’s special brand of dog—”
“I didn’t tell him.” Sirius’ head snaps to him, eyes frenzied. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t—”
“I know that.” Barty snorts. “You’re not dumb enough to get caught a second time.”
Sirius’ eyes narrow despite his evident exhaustion. He turns away. “I don’t understand how you believe me, but they—”
His breath hitches.
Because I’m the one who told him, Barty thinks, but doesn’t say. He hooks an arm around Sirius’ shoulders. “Could be worse. You could be ugly.”
“Oh fuck you, Crouch.” Sirius laughs. He laughs until he cries.
-
Evan watches Barty closely, the thin displeasure of his mouth hidden behind a plastic red cup, but his blue eyes spark. Barty ignores him, lazily leaning against the railing, tracking his target as he saunters through the crowd.
It almost seemed anticlimactic how Slytherins embraced Sirius despite the fact that he’d spent his first five years turning most of them into rodents or crushing their larynxes with his fist. But fear always made people a bit strange.
“Barty-”
“Plausible deniability.” Barty chirps, straightening. He gives Evan a wink. “You can just, ah, enjoy the show.”
Evan’s face tightens. “Regulus-”
“Knows.” Barty grins, likely a mess of teeth based on how Evan shrinks under it. He couldn’t help it. They’ve been planning this for a while, obsessively since the day Potter tossed Sirius out of his orbit the first time. They had been so close; so goddamn close, and Regulus never seemed more miserable. A telling thing, because Regulus Black always seemed miserable despite the empty expression he often wore.
He only ever smiled for Pandora.
He’d smirk for Barty.
But Sirius?
Regulus glowed like a plant that had never tasted the sun. He shared many things about Sirius with Barty; secret things that would never leave from behind Barty’s teeth to tell a soul. Regulus trusted him like that. Things like how Sirius often snuck into Regulus’ bedroom to listen to his rants about potions. How Sirius hexed Lucius Malfoy’s cock full of roaches when he made an offhand comment two rooms over—good ears, too, that one. Things like how Sirius thought himself a rotten thing but assured Regulus he’d never be, how he cursed the word spare in the Black family; if uttered, the affected person would be rendered a muggle because of the tight lock Sirius’ standing held in their house and over their magic. It would only return if Sirius found their apology to Regulus sincere enough.
Barty heard that Julius Black still could not use his magic and, recently, became ostracized. Tragic.
Now Sirius was in Slytherin. With Regulus.
Barty had never seen his friend’s spine straighter. He would know, has always watched them both. Two sides of the same silver coin.
“I never took you for such a girl, Crouch.” Evan sips his drink, eyes also following Sirius.
“I’m ensuring my investments are profitable.” Barty sniffs. “Kinda pissed I can’t see all the ways he’s turned your little snake party on its head.”
“Don’t you?”
Careful, Barty thinks, sending him a wink. “You’re an investment, too. I’d hate to cut my losses. Wouldn’t you also like me to help you get whatever you want?”
Evan swallows hard, eyes widening a fraction. He glances at the gathering below, eyes moving from Sirius laughing with Greengrass to where Regulus stands in the corner, surrounded Slytherins. Evan must notice how Regulus’ gaze doesn’t stray from Sirius because he releases this breath of a laugh. He downs his drink. “You’re both insane.”
“Probably,” Barty agrees, pushing upright when Sirius notices him, an impish smile curling along his lips. His stomach twists pleasantly. Pure attraction, he tells himself. Sirius is objectively beautiful. He’d be a fool not to notice, and Barty Crouch was no fool.
Investments, he thinks, chewing the inside of his cheek when Sirius politely dismisses Greengrass and lifts his cup to wiggle it demandingly at Barty.
Barty almost laughs.
Whatever the princess wants.
-
According to his source, himself, Gryffindor is feeling Sirius’ loss. Barty feels incredibly good about this. They never deserved him anyway.
-
They end up in detention together.
Filch had caught them in the same corridor—separately, doing different things, but the damn squib hadn’t cared in the slightest, even though Barty had permission to be out past curfew. He didn’t fight it much, though. Sirius merely had Avery by the throat, which was a touch more reason for detention than Barty running errands for Pandora.
What could he have done, Barty had thought, dismissive, studying Sirius’ unapologetic face even as Slughorn chastised him.
Now they’re in a dusty classroom to polish old cauldrons until they gleam. Sirius took one glance at the mess, found a desk, and sat at it. He was out within minutes, dark hair spilling across his face like ink. A curious thing, because Barty knew Sirius didn’t sleep anywhere that wasn’t his own bedroom. Except for that incident in the closet right before the kitchen.
Sirius’ head had been on his shoulder, eyes bruised from lack of sleep and that constant churn of helpless rage that kept driving him after he got ostracized. Barty remembers watching him, strangely nervous, and listening to every footstep that passed by.
Barty watches him now. He doesn’t polish shit; just sits at the desk across from Sirius, arms folded under his head, and counts each breath until his eyes grow heavy.
Sirius pokes him awake before dawn, trophies gleaming behind him, expression drowsy and infuriatingly beautiful. He rubs his eyes. “I’m hungry.”
Barty wipes drool from his mouth. He doesn’t say so? He says, “Like what?”
“Pasta.” Sirius sniffs, scratching his stomach. “Make it happen, Crouch.”
Barty yawns and his jaw pops. He slumps in his seat, then pushes upright. “Alright.”
“Thought I was the dog?” Sirius grins.
“Woof.”
-
Barty helps Sirius bake a cake for Regulus’ birthday. The icing runs and it’s too sweet, but Regulus almost smiles with all his teeth.
-
Barty finds Regulus in the library two days before the Parkinson incident is set in motion. Books are stacked high on the table, parchment and journals spread alongside them, but Regulus isn’t studying. His back faces the corner. A book lies open in front of him, but his gaze is fixed on Barty.
“Got somethin’ on my face?” Barty plops into a seat across from him.
Regulus merely stares. The twitch in his eyebrow reveals his impatience.
“What—”
“Are you here to confess?” Regulus’ expression doesn’t change, but there’s a spark of mirth in his cool eyes.
Barty snorts. “Confess what?”
“Why you really did this?” Regulus turns a page. “It wasn’t just for me.”
Barty’s palms sweat. How curious. His index finger taps his knee under the table. “I did it because you ask—”
“Afraid I’ll spill you open?” Regulus nearly resembles Sirius at this moment, lips curling upward. “I am quite good at that.”
Merlin, Barty fucking knows that! It was blasphemous that most considered Regulus the lesser of two evils when they could both be so awful. He leans back in his seat—doesn’t look away, doesn’t flinch. His eyebrow lifts. “Don’t insult my intelligence like you don’t already fuckin’ know.”
“Defensive,” Regulus scoffs. It sounds like a tease. His eyes drag slowly over Barty’s face, narrowing in calculation. He turns back to his book and turns another page. “You are predictable. I should’ve known.”
Barty wonders if he’s ever felt so insulted. He sneers.
“I notice many things, Crouch.” Regulus turns another page. “Do what you must. I want him back.”
“I could hurt him like Potter—”
“You’re a monster.” Regulus snaps his book closed. “But you know I am much worse. You know Sirius is beyond that. He hides it well. Those tendencies. My brother wants to be good, but he’s too selfish for what he wants. I suppose most venomous animals don’t realize their capabilities until the first bite.”
“He’ll hate us when he finds out.”
“Perhaps,” Regulus agrees. “But he’ll hate us more knowing we were right.”
Wasn’t that the fucking truth?
-
Sirius was not easily manipulated, so Barty had to manipulate everyone around him.
-
He almost feels bad for Parkinson. Almost.
-
“Closet’s that way, Crouch.” Evan smirks, jerking his thumb. “Seven whole minutes.”
Barty wonders if this is perhaps a punishment for spilling firewhiskey all over Evan’s prized train collection. He catches Sirius’ eye, who sits directly across from him, a bottle between them and pointed squarely at Barty. Sirius raises an eyebrow, slow and deliberate, like he’s considering whether to be offended or amused by Barty’s lack of reaction. Good thing Sirius’ hearing wasn’t good enough to hear the rapid beat of his heart.
Barty stands first, and Pandora, bless her, cackles.
McKinnon does as well, perched in Meadowes’ lap. The first crack in that unified Gryffindor armor, and the only person who sought Sirius out for answers. Barty shouldn’t be surprised. If McKinnon wasn’t so smitten with Meadowes, he imagines he’d have to set the venue on fire when Sirius and McKinnon eventually got married. Fuck a lavender marriage.
The door closes behind them, muffling the noise of the party to a distant thrum. It’s dark—too dark to see, but Barty feels Sirius’ presence like a second heartbeat. That intense heat he always seemed to give off. He doesn’t like the silence, but feels eyes on him.
“You stopped calling me Artemis,” Barty observes.
“So I did,” Sirius sounds closer than he expected.
“Why?”
“You said you hated it.” Sirius’ hand finds Barty’s collar in the dark. Fingers curl tightly and pull. Warm breath fans against his lips. “Did you hate it?”
“No.” Barty tugs Sirius closer. “You’re not drunk this time.”
“I wasn’t drunk last time.”
Oh.
“Oh,” Barty parrots.
“Oh.” Sirius kisses him.
-
Regulus meets Barty’s gaze from where Sirius is laughing against him at some joke Evan made—a small, private smile whispering across his face.
Barty winks.