Chapter 1
Barty Crouch Jr. was too clever for his own good.
The Sorting Hat had barely touched his head before declaring "Ravenclaw!"—his father had nodded approvingly, as if intelligence were just another requirement checked off in the grand design of Barty’s life.
But cleverness wasn’t wisdom.
And wisdom, Barty was realizing far too late, would have warned him about Evan Rosier.
They weren’t supposed to be anything. A Ravenclaw and a Slytherin? A rule-follower and a hurricane? Yet here Evan was, sprawled across Barty’s bed like he owned it, one leg dangling off the edge as he twirled his wand between deft fingers.
"You’re thinking about him again," Evan said, not even looking up.
Barty stiffened. Him. Regulus. Sweet, sharp Regulus Black, with his quiet intensity and his too-soft smiles—the boy who had been almost something before duty and family had torn them apart.
"I’m not," Barty lied.
Evan smirked. "Liar." He sat up, suddenly too close, his knee pressing into Barty’s thigh. "But it’s fine. I don’t mind being second choice."
The words should have stung. Instead, they settled warm in Barty’s chest.
"You’re not," Barty muttered.
Evan’s grin was all teeth. "Prove it."
The Dark Mark was ugly.
Barty told Evan so the first time he saw it properly—the twisted serpent, the skull, the way it stood out against Evan’s pale skin like a brand.
Evan just laughed. "It’s a promise."
"Of what?"
"That I won’t die forgotten."
Barty traced the edges with hesitant fingers, feeling the dark magic hum beneath his touch. Evan shivered.
"You could have one too," Evan murmured.
Barty pulled his hand back. "My father would kill me."
"Your father’s already killing you," Evan said, voice sharp. "One expectation at a time."
Barty looked away. Evan caught his chin, forcing their eyes to meet.
"You’re not a child, Barty. You don’t need his permission to exist."
And Merlin, Barty wanted to believe him.
The fight with his father was inevitable.
"Twelve N.E.W.T.s, Bartemius! Do you think this is a game?"
"No, Father. But I do think it’s a prison sentence."
The slap echoed.
Barty didn’t cry. He just stood there, tasting blood, and thought of Evan’s smirk, of Regulus’s sad eyes, of the way it felt to be wanted instead of measured.
That night, Evan pressed him into the sheets of the Slytherin dorm, biting promises into his skin, whispering "Mine" like it was the only truth left in the world.
And when Evan’s fingers curled around his wrist, when he murmured "Let’s make sure they remember us," Barty didn’t pull away.