Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

September 1st, 1976

For most of the summer, Barty Crouch Jr. began each morning by muttering "fuck my life" at the pale ceiling above his bed.

It was, as far as he could tell, the healthiest habit he had. The rest of the days unfolded with military precision—
not because he liked routines, but because routines were easier than thinking. Breakfast. Skateboarding until the soles of his trainers threaten to peel off. A chapter or two from whichever book he'd stolen from the sitting room shelves. Half-hearted attempts at teaching himself guitar. Cleaning whatever part of the house his mother hadn't already cleaned twice over. Dinner. Smoking. Bed.

Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.

Summer stretched on like chewing gum stuck beneath a desk—stubborn, tasteless, impossible to ignore.

His mother was the only thing that made the house bearable. Their conversations were rarely long, often consisting of nothing more than asking about dinner or reminding each other of some forgotten household chore, yet Barty had never needed lengthy conversations to understand that she loved him.

It was evident in the way she remembered exactly how he liked his tea, in the gentle squeeze of his shoulder whenever she passed him in the hallway, and in the careful effort she made to pretend everything was normal whenever her husband was home.

Beatrice Crouch was the only reason the house still resembled one, and Barty loved her with an intensity that bordered on desperation.

She deserves a better husband.
He deserves a better father.
Though "father" feels generous.

Barty Crouch Sr. was a man whose name appears in newspapers more often than he appears at home. A man who measures success in promotions, titles, and polished shoes. A man who could recite Ministry legislation from memory but probably couldn't remember what his son's birthday was.

There was an odd cruelty in sharing a name with someone who hardly acknowledged your existence. Every time Barty introduced himself, every time a professor called his surname in class, every time he saw Crouch printed neatly across official documents, he was reminded that the one thing connecting him to his father was also the one thing he could never escape.

Whenever Barty frequently caught himself hating the reflection in the bathroom mirror, it was easy enough to blame the surname attached to it. It was inherited after all, just like everything else.

By the final week of August, even skateboarding has begun to lose its charm. His mother has started asking whether he's excited to return to Hogwarts, and every time she did, the answer came without hesitation.

"Yeah."

It was perhaps the easiest question anyone had ever asked him.

Hogwarts had never been about the castle or the classes, though he enjoyed enough of both. It was the people waiting inside it.

Regulus, who somehow managed to be both insufferably reserved and impossibly loyal.

Pandora, who possessed the remarkable ability to ask questions that no sane person would think to ask, and somehow always expected an answer.

Dorcas, whose solution to nearly every inconvenience involved varying degrees of violence.

Avery, whose sharp tongue had started more arguments than Barty cared to count, but who had never once failed to stand beside him when it mattered.

And Evan.

Barty found himself smiling before he had the chance to stop it.

Evan had a knack for appearing at his shoulder whenever something interesting—or catastrophically stupid—was about to happen. Barty had long since stopped questioning it. If he was going to get into trouble, he preferred having Evan there to share the blame.

Beatrice noticed the smile before he did.

"Thinking about your friends already?" she asked with quiet amusement as she set a fresh pot of tea on the table.

Barty shrugged, hoping it looked casual.

"Just tired of being here."

"Have you finished packing already?"

Barty let out a quiet scoff. "Yeah, Mum. Obviously."

She raised an eyebrow.

His trunk still sat open at the foot of his bed, half-filled with books, a handful of crumpled robes, and enough loose parchment to suggest that someone had attempted to pack before giving up halfway through.

"I'll take that as a no."

"I work better under pressure."

"You call it pressure. I call it waiting until eleven o'clock the night before."

"I've never missed the train."

"No," she admitted, "but you've come remarkably close."

Barty grinned into his teacup; she wasn't wrong.

Packing had always seemed like a problem for Tomorrow's Barty, and Tomorrow's Barty had an unfortunate habit of becoming Today's Barty far sooner than expected.

Sure enough, an hour before they were due to leave for King's Cross next morning, Barty was sitting cross-legged on his bedroom floor, surrounded by a spectacular mess. His trunk lay open before him, looking no fuller than it had the previous evening.

"How's the packing coming along?" Beatrice asked, though one glance into the room answered the question for her.

"I'm ahead of schedule," Barty answered.

Mrs. Crouch shook her head with an affectionate smile and disappeared downstairs, leaving him to wrestle with the stubborn trunk clasp.

♱ ── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ── ♱ ⠀

By the time they arrived onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarter, families were already pouring through the entrance, pushing heavily laden trolleys while children darted excitedly between them. Owls hooted indignantly from their cages, trunks rattled over the stone floor, and somewhere nearby a boy was insisting he had definitely packed his toad.

The platform grew busier with every passing minute, until the shrill whistle of the Hogwarts Express cut cleanly through the chatter.

"Looks like that's my cue."

Beatrice smiled, though there was the familiar sadness behind it.

"It always comes too quickly."

Barty bent down to hug her, lingering just long enough for her to kiss the side of his head as she always did.

"Write to me."

"I will."

"And behave yourself."

He pulled away with a grin, not responding to that one.

She gave his arm a gentle squeeze before stepping back. "Have a wonderful year, darling."

"You too, Mum."

He had only managed a few steps towards the train when a familiar voice called across the platform.

"Barty!"

He turned to find Pandora Lestrange weaving effortlessly through the crowd, one hand balancing her trunk while the other waved enthusiastically above her head. Her hair was windswept from the journey, and she looked as though she'd already had three interesting conversations before nine o'clock.

"There you are," she said brightly. "I've spent the last five minutes wondering whether platform pigeons know they're standing on magical ground."

Barty blinked. "...And?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"Right..."

She fell into step beside him as though the conversation had made perfect sense.

"Morning, Mrs. Crouch," Pandora said with a cheerful wave.

"Good morning, Pandora." Mrs. Crouch smiled fondly. "Looking after him this year?"

Pandora tilted her head thoughtfully. "I can certainly try."

"I'm standing right here," Barty protested.

His mother laughed, shaking her head. "I'll leave you both to it."

Barty offered one last wave before turning back towards the train.

Together, he and Pandora crossed the platform, weaving between families saying their final goodbyes and first-years struggling with trunks nearly bigger than themselves.

"Think anyone's on yet?" Pandora asked.

"Avery probably claimed an entire compartment and is refusing to let anyone else in."

"That does sound like her."

"And if she hasn't, Regulus has."

"Fair."

They climbed aboard with the familiar groan of the carriage steps beneath their feet. Students bustled through the narrow corridors, craning their necks into compartments in search of familiar faces.

After peering into several already crowded compartments, Pandora slid open the door to one near the middle of the carriage.

"There they are."

Barty looked into the compartment and met Evan's eyes almost immediately, whose face lit up at the sight of them. He was on his feet before either of them had a chance to step inside, helping Pandora with her trunk.

Barty noticed how much he had grown taller over the summer. The haircut was new, too. It was shorter than he'd ever seen it, though it still refused to stay neat. It suited him.

Barty decided not to mention that.

"Finally decided to do something about the bird's nest?" he asked instead.

Evan instinctively ran a hand through his hair. "You don't like it?"

"I didn't say that."

A grin tugged at the corner of Evan's mouth. "I'll take that as a yes."

Before Barty could come up with a suitably insulting response, Pandora clapped her hands together.

"Sit down, everyone," she said brightly. "I've got something for you."

There was an immediate rustle as Barty and Evan settled into their seats again.

Pandora reached into her handbag and carefully pulled out a small cloth gift bag, its ribbon tied into an unnecessarily elaborate bow.

"I made these over the summer."

One by one, she handed each of them a small ring, each set with a different stone: ruby for Barty, opal for Evan, sapphire for Avery, alexandrite for Regulus, diamond for Dorcas, and turquoise for herself.

"Again?" Avery laughed. "Panda, you spoil us."

"It's my love language," Pandora replied matter-of-factly.

Barty looked down at the ruby set into his own ring, turning it beneath the light. "Mine's red."

"Groundbreaking observation," Avery said.

"I try."

"How did you know everyone's ring size?" Evan asked with a frown on his face.

"And remembered everyone's birthstones," Regulus added.

Pandora smiled. "I guessed."

"You scare me sometimes," replied Evan.

Dorcas leaned back in her seat, holding her hand up to the window. "Not bad."

"Not bad?" Avery repeated. "She handmade us jewellery."

"And?"

"You could at least pretend to be sentimental."

"I'm wearing it, aren't I?"

"That's practically a love confession coming from Dorcas," Barty said.

Dorcas looked at him. "Keep talking."

Barty held up both hands in surrender.

Evan turned the opal ring over once before slipping it onto his finger.

"So," he said, glancing around the compartment, "how were your summers?"

Dorcas answered first. "Fine. I was mostly at my grandparents' place in the countryside. It got a bit dull toward the end, though."

Barty went next. "I think I'm going insane."

"I thought that was established years ago?" Avery said at once.

Barty smiled sweetly before extending a single finger in her direction.

"Charming," she said.

"I know right."

Regulus cut in, "I stayed home with my parents all holiday. What about you, Pan?"

"I was at my grandma's in Germany," Pandora said, then added with a small smile, "Her sister came over from China, so it was actually quite fun."

"That sounds like the most interesting summer any of us had," Regulus replied.

"What about me and Ave? Ghosts?" Evan said, leaning back with exaggerated despair.

"It's not like you two would know what a good summer looks like."

"Says you!" Avery and Evan retorted at the same time.

"You'll live."

"Mum dragged me to three different pure-blood gatherings," Evan complained.

"My condolences," Barty said.

"Any entertaining scandals?" Dorcas asked.

"One old wizard passed out face-first in the pudding."

"That's it?"

"Someone transfigured his moustache into a ferret afterwards."

"Please tell me it was you," said Avery, grinning.

Evan looked scandalized. "Ave, I would never."

A beat.

"...I only did the whiskers."

Tap tap.

A knock interrupted the laughter. Barty glanced towards the compartment door before sliding it open. A nervous-looking third-year stood outside, clutching two cream-coloured envelopes.

"Er—Avery Greengrass? Regulus Black?"

Avery raised her hand while Regulus answered with a yes. The boy hesitated before handing an envelope to each of them.

"I was told to give you these."

Before anyone could ask who had sent them, he offered a stiff nod and hurried off down the corridor. Barty watched him disappear before looking back at Avery, who had already torn hers open.

"What is it?" he asked.

Regulus unfolded his letter.

"'All prefects are to report to the prefects' carriage before departure,'" he read. "'Attendance is mandatory.'"

"They couldn't even give us ten minutes," sighed Avery with visible disappointment.

Regulus closed his book and slipped it into his satchel. "We'll be back."

"Don't sound so excited," Barty said.

Regulus looked at him, expression as unreadable as ever. "I'm trying not to set unrealistic expectations."

Barty huffed a laugh as he shifted his legs to let the two of them squeeze past. Their prefect badges hadn't surprised him in the slightest when the letters arrived over the summer. Between the two of them, Barty couldn't think of anyone more suited to the job.

If Regulus and Avery weren't the same person in different forms, they were doing an excellent impression of it. Avery simply had a better sense of humour.

Beside him, Evan pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, tapping it lightly against his palm.

"Fancy one?"

"Thought you'd never ask," replied Barty.

Evan smiled and pushed himself to his feet, holding out his hand out of habit. Barty took it anyway, letting Evan haul him up with an exaggerated grunt. Leaving Dorcas and Pandora behind, the two slipped into the corridor and made their way towards the end of the carriage.

Through the windows, King's Cross had long since disappeared, replaced by rows of terraced houses that gradually gave way to open fields.

Barty slid open one of the corridor windows. A rush of cool September air swept into the carriage, carrying with it the rhythmic clatter of the train over the tracks. Evan lit the first cigarette before offering the lighter to Barty. The latter caught it, shielding the flame from the wind with his hand. The first drag settled pleasantly in his lungs.

Evan watched the smoke disappear out of the window. "You sleeping any better?"

Barty gave a dry laugh. "Take a wild guess."

Evan hummed, his eyes still fixed on the scenery. "What happened to your hand?"

Barty raised an eyebrow, looking down at his hand and flexing it. The bruising had faded over the past week, though not enough to escape notice. "Nothing worth mentioning. I just lost my temper."

"With him?"

A pause.

"...Mostly with myself."

Evan didn't reply immediately, though he spared Barty a brief glance that the latter pretended not to notice.

"Did it help?"

Barty took another drag before answering. "For about five seconds."

"And after that?"

"Had to explain to Mum why I couldn't hold a teacup properly."

Evan let out a quiet breath through his nose, somewhere between amusement and resignation. "Just don't make a habit of it."

"Bit late for that."

Evan's brows knitted together as he turned to him. "I'm serious, Barty."

Barty held his gaze for a moment before exhaling.

"...Yeah." A corner of his mouth twitched. "You've become unbearably responsible over the summer, Rosie."

Evan looked at him in open disbelief. "Stop calling me that! It sounds like an eighty-year-old witch."

"Exactly why I like it."

"Fuck you, Junior."

Barty clicked his tongue. "Touché."

Evan rolled his eyes, though the irritation had already begun to fade. He rested an elbow against the window frame, watching the countryside pass for a moment before speaking again.

"You hear about Mulciber?"

Barty frowned. "No. What now?"

"His owl flew into a greenhouse over the summer." A pause. "Set the place on fire."

Barty turned to him. "You're joking."

"Wish I was."

"How does an owl set a greenhouse on fire?"

"No idea. Apparently it was carrying something from the potions shed. Dropped it through the glass. One spark later..." He made a small gesture with his hand. "Gone."

Barty was quiet for a moment, cigarette poised halfway to his lips. "...Think it'd work twice?"

Evan sighed without missing a beat. "There it is."

"I'm asking a hypothetical."

"You're planning a hypothetical."

Evan shot him a sideways look. "You're thinking too small."

Barty blinked, offended. "I'm a Ravenclaw."

"Which explains why you've only thought about setting one thing on fire," said Evan smugly. "If you're going to commit arson, at least be ambitious. And this is a Slytherin's way."

Barty grinned. "Rosie, I knew there was a reason I kept you around."

♱ ── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ── ♱ ⠀

By the time the Sorting had finished, the Great Hall had settled into its familiar hum of conversation.

Barty sat between Pandora and Avery at the Ravenclaw table, idly turning the ruby ring around his finger. A small pile of Sickles sat in front of him—his winnings from their annual Sorting bet. For the first time in five years, he'd guessed more Houses correctly than either of them.

Pandora watched the newly Sorted first-years file nervously towards their tables. "Do you think they know their lives are about to change forever?"

Barty shrugged. "Probably."

Avery followed her gaze. "I don't think they know where the toilets are yet."

Barty looked at her, frowning. "What is actually wrong with you?"

Avery didn't even blink. "I'm a prefect."

"I can tell."

"Do you know how many first-years ask where the nearest toilet is in September?"

Barty paused. "...Concerningly many?"

"Thirty-two last year."

"Skill issue."

"They're eleven." Avery said.

Pandora looked between them. "Maybe they're just trying to make friends."

"By asking where the toilets are?"

"It's an icebreaker."

Avery considered it for a second. "I don't think it works, Panda."

Before they could spiral further into the toilet talk again, Dumbledore's voice rolled across the Great Hall, warm and resonant, cutting clean through the noise.

"Welcome, students, to the beginning of another year at Hogwarts..."

And just like that, fifth year began.

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