Chapter 2
Days had blurred into each other. Barty felt numb, his body sluggish as he moved through the house, mechanically going through the motions. Every time he found himself alone, the thought came rushing back: run. Just leave, like he had before. He didn’t owe anyone anything—least of all James.
Every look the Potters gave him, as if they wanted to help, made him feel even more trapped. They fixed his nose and the injuries he had all over his body. Barty couldn't even feel the pain anymore, he couldn't feel anything. He didn’t need help. He didn’t deserve it. The only thing he could do, it seemed, was keep running, further and further from everyone, from everything. Could he even outrun himself?
The door was right there. His hand hovered over the knob, the cool metal against his skin sending a shiver down his spine. It was the feeling he always chased when everything became too much. Freedom. The idea of running without looking back. Just going somewhere where the world couldn’t reach him, where his past couldn’t haunt him.
“Barty,” a voice cut through the air, and he froze.
He didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to hear that soft pleading. But he couldn’t stop himself from turning around.
“Please,” James said, his face a mixture of concern and something else—something softer, something that made Barty want to tear his eyes away. “You don’t have to do this alone. Let us help you.”
Barty’s chest tightened. He could feel the anger rising up, bubbling hot and raw in his throat. "I don’t need help," he spat, his voice trembling with the weight of everything he couldn’t say. “I don’t need anyone, especially not you. I’m fine on my own.”
He turned back toward the door, pulling the handle, but before he could even push it open, James was there, gripping his arm firmly but gently. “Barty, you don’t have to run. You don’t have to carry this all by yourself anymore.”
He laughed dryly, shaking his head as he attempted to pull his arm free. "Look around James, you have parents that love you and I clearly do not belong here. Just let go of me!"
James tightened his grip on Barty’s arm, not letting go. The more Barty tried to pull away, the firmer James held him, his voice growing more insistent. “You don’t get it, Barty. I don’t care what you think about my family. I care about you.”
“Don’t make me laugh,” Barty snarled, spinning around to face him, fury flaring in his eyes. “You don’t care about me, you don't even know me. You just don’t want me to leave because it makes you feel better, right? You think you’re some damn hero for swooping in and fixing everyone’s problems? Well, I’m not your fucking project!”
His face remained composed, his eyes locked onto Barty’s, but something darker had begun to slip into the depths of his gaze—a flicker of anger, yes, but more than that. "I’m not trying to fix you," James said quietly, the words deliberate, as if he were choosing them carefully. “But I’m not going to let you walk away, Barty. Not like this. Not again. You’re not just running from me. You’re running from yourself!”
Barty’s breath came in ragged gasps as the weight of those words struck deep. His fists clenched, and his chest tightened with something raw, something that both terrified and disgusted him. “What do you want from me?!” he shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. “Do you want me to beg? To need you? Do you want me to get on my fucking knees for you?"
"No—!" James protested, a sharp breath catching in his throat.
Before James could say anything more, Barty jerked his arm free, the impulse to break free of this moment overwhelming. In a flash, his fist flew, connecting with James’ shoulder in a sickening thud. The force of the punch sent James stumbling back a step, but he didn’t fall.
Barty’s heart pounded in his ears, the adrenaline coursing through him like fire. He stepped back, breathing heavily, and for a moment, the room hung in a stunned silence. Then, James spoke, his voice low but unwavering.
“Is this really what you want, Barty?” he asked, his eyes intense, as though he could see right through to the core of Barty’s pain. “Do you really want to keep running from everything? From everyone? You want to go back to that life? Back to the misery?”
Barty’s breath hitched, his body trembling, and for a split second, he felt like he was suffocating—trapped in this moment, in this house, in his own mind. He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. His eyes were wild, unfocused, struggling to keep a grip on the chaos inside him.
“I don’t want anything from you,” Barty managed to choke out, his voice a broken whisper. “I don’t want anything.”
James stepped forward, his jaw clenched. “And if you think I’m just going to watch you destroy yourself, then you don’t know me at all. You think you’ll be fine out there, alone? You won’t be. You don’t have to be alone, Barty.”
Barty recoiled from the truth in James’ words, even as they cracked his defenses open. "Stop trying to fucking fix me!" he hissed, desperate for something to hold onto. “I’m not some broken thing to be fixed.”
James didn’t flinch. He took another step closer, his voice softening, the anger in his eyes settling into something gentler, more determined. "I’m not trying to fix you," he said, each word settling like a weight in the space between them. “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t break.”
Barty’s chest tightened. The words cut through the noise in his head, and for the first time in what felt like years, he felt something other than numbness. He felt exposed. Small. And, for a brief moment, there was a flicker of hope—something so fragile it terrified him.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Barty whispered, his voice barely audible, almost lost in the quiet of the room. His shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the world had just descended on him in that single admission. “I don’t know how to make it stop.”
James stepped forward, closing the distance between them. This time, Barty didn’t pull away. He let James take his arm gently, guiding him back toward the warmth of the house. It felt… strange, but not wrong. "You don’t have to know right now," James murmured, his voice low but steady. "You don’t have to figure it all out by yourself. Just… stop running. Let me help, just for now."
Barty’s voice cracked as he whispered, hoarse and vulnerable, “I just… I just want it to stop."
James didn’t say anything right away. He just kept holding onto Barty’s arm, his touch firm but not forceful, offering a quiet strength. And for the first time, Barty didn’t feel the need to fight it.
“Hey,” James said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “It’s going to be okay.” He tightened his grip, pulling Barty closer, the warmth of his embrace surrounding them both, offering a quiet refuge from the storm that raged inside.
Barty stiffened at first, not sure what to do with the sudden closeness, with the kindness that felt almost too much to bear. But James didn’t let go. He didn’t demand anything from him. He just held him, steady and unwavering.
Barty’s breath hitched, but this time, he didn’t pull away. He leaned into James, his body trembling as he let himself collapse against the older boy’s shoulder. He stayed there, unmoving, for what felt like hours, though it was probably only minutes. It was the first time in so long that he wasn’t alone in his head.
Finally, after a long silence, Barty pulled back, though his heart still hammered in his chest. He met James’ gaze, his brown eyes soft and serious. "Christmas break is almost over for you," Barty said, his voice low. "Are you going back to Hogwarts University?"
James nodded, a slight hum escaping his lips. “I was thinking… you could come with me. I have a private dorm that you could share with me. No one else would be there.”
Barty smirked, raising a brow at that idea.
"Not like that-!"
"Sure, Potter."
James seemed to hesitate for a second, his expression flickering as if weighing something. But Barty didn’t care about that. He wasn’t interested in what James was thinking or what might be going on behind those hazel eyes. All he knew was that the offer sounded like a temporary distraction. A break from everything. Maybe that was all it would be.
"You’re just gonna brush everything off?" James asked, though there was a teasing edge to his voice, almost like he was trying to make sense of Barty’s sudden shift.
Barty didn’t even react towards the question. He just shrugged, dropping his gaze to the floor for a moment before meeting James’ eyes again. “What’s to brush off?”
James opened his mouth like he wanted to say something else, but Barty cut him off with a lazy glance. "I'm getting a place there, yes or no?"
"Yes, but-"
"Then I really don't care about the rest." Barty smiled sweetly.
James stared at him for a moment, as if processing the sudden indifference, before his shoulders relaxed and he let out a soft sigh. He ran a hand through his hair, the weight of the conversation not quite settling into his chest. “Right, okay.” He gave Barty a small nod, as if acknowledging something unspoken. "We'll leave Monday then."