Down On His Knees

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.

Down on his knees, head bowed; Barty prayed. Hoping for a salvation that would never come. 

God… Are you listening? I-

A sharp knock on the door made Barty’s head whip up from where he was kneeling. Opening the sanctuary doors wide open, Bartemius Crouch Sr. walked in. He was dressed in his priest robes, not a single wrinkle or cuff out of place. Unlike Barty’s clothes– his black button up and trousers wrinkled and dusty from kneeling. Barty’s posture straightened unconsciously at the sight of his father, who’s own posture was straighter than a ruler. 

‘Never take on a bad posture while praying. God will not listen.’ His father once said. 

God never seemed to listen no matter what he did, so Barty had decided his posture was the least of his problems. “Father.” He acknowledged, standing up so that his father wouldn’t tower over him. Bartemius Crouch Sr looked down coldly at his son, his brown eyes mirroring Barty's.  

“It’s time for the doors to open, Bartemius. Come now.” 

Barty nodded silently, following his father as he straightened out his clothes. This was the part he hated most. The socialization. Having to act like a loving and perfect son towards the man he hated the most. What was the point of it all anyway? No one who came through the church’s door was ever truly honest about anything. They were all liars, all sinners. Crouch Sr. opened the doors to the church, and almost immediately, people started to filter in like bugs. 

Barty smiled at Mr. and Mrs. Carrow, wishing them a good service. On the outside the couple seemed like a loving couple, and a good parent to their two children. But Barty knew that Mr. Carrow was a drunk who hit his wife and kids. The absence of their kids at church on Sundays spoke volumes.

Then came in the Black family. Barty smiled at Walburga and Orion Black politely, watching as they stalked off to make dry conversation with his father. They had two children, both looking equally as miserable as the other; Sirius and Regulus Black. The older boy was staring at Barty with a scowl– as he usually did. Sirius and Barty went to school together(to be fair, everyone went to school together), and the two boys never did get along. As for the younger, well– Barty was one of the only ones who knew, but– the younger was also a boy, despite how he was dressed.

Regulus was dressed in a dark blue sundress: One that had ruffles that fell just above his knees, and bishop sleeves that were hidden behind his back where he usually kept his hands. Black tights were worn underneath the dress, and white lace socks peeking out of the boy’s dress shoes. His raven colored hair fell neatly at his shoulders– It had been trimmed and cut so that his small act of rebellion now looked intentional. Looking like a doll, the perfect daughter. All this to say, Regulus was a son. Something only he and Sirius knew of. A small town was no place for someone like Regulus. This town was no place for any of them really, if not obvious from the way not only Sirius and Regulus were covered head to toe, as well as Barty and many other children here. 

As Barty said, everyone here was a liar. A sinner. Putting up an act to seem as if they’re superior, as if they’re happy and functioning families. Pretending that kids aren’t beaten behind closed doors, pretending that kids were not being kicked out for being themselves, that teachers were teachings kids things that they were way too young to know after hours, pretending that he himself wasn’t forced onto his knees to pray over and over, hoping that one day something would be different. 

Nothing was ever different. So they all resigned themselves to the charade. Knowing that behind all the smiles and pleasantries, they were all going to hell. 

Greetings were almost over by the time that Sirius and Regulus had bid him goodbye, following their parents to the pews. But, just as Crouch Sr. ordered Barty to close the doors so he could start service, one more family came in–

The Rosiers. 

They were an infamous bunch around town. Their family had moved to the town when Barty was still in elementary school, so needless to say, they were seen as outsiders. And in a small town, rumors are bound to spread. The parents had seemed normal enough, they went to church on Sundays, were kind and kept to themselves, never got into any trouble with neighbors. But whispers had made their way around town that the Rosier family had moved because Evan and Pandora had gotten kicked out of school. That they were… troubled kids. This coupled with the fact that they had moved into the old Riddle house– the old man only having died two years back– was a recipe for disaster. 

The daughter, Pandora, was a girl of two souls. Some called her hysterical, some called her troubled. She could go from being that of an angel– quiet and serene, graceful and kind– to something that sends chills down anyone’s back. A nightmare. It had been said that she’s been seen, dancing in the moonlight, singing to the moon as blood ran down her arms. Her blonde hair danced in the wind as the moon illuminated her dark skin. A witch. They would whisper. But no one could ever really tell. Because come day, she was an angel once more. All smiles and politeness, but eyes still seeming to know more than she would ever let on. 

And the son, Evan. The boy was like an urban legend. The heretic. They called him. It had been clear from a young age that he was not a believer. He questioned God and the church from the moment he could speak. Barty had witnessed it, during Sunday school as a child, the way that Evan would so effortlessly question the foundations of scripture and God’s existence. “If there’s a God, why does He allow people to hurt us? Let bad things happen to good people?” Evan had asked. Of course, the leader had been prepared for such a question and replied, “God gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers.” To which, Evan cocked his head to the side and looked at the leader with unsettling eyes, “But we’re not soldiers. We’re kids. And if He loves us, why would He hurt us? If everything is a part of His plan.” Barty never forgot those words. Something about them stuck with him throughout his years. 

Evan was not one to let his thoughts be quieted either. His parents– the devout catholics they were– sent their son to everything they could: Sunday school, confessions, bible studies. Nothing worked. The blonde boy never gave in, his belief that there was no God remaining steadfast. And he made it known. Evan had been known to leave posters and graffiti on the church bulletin, as well as throughout the town, as if saying You tried to shut me up, so I’ll be even louder. 

Barty had found himself noticing the twins more than anyone else in the town– especially Evan. They were so different from anything he had ever seen before, even though he’s known them his whole life. 

The family walked in just in time, right before the doors closed. Barty greeted them in lieu of his father, who had gone to get ready for mass. They said some polite hellos, then made their way inside. As the family passed, Evan caught Barty’s eye, the boy’s stoic expression shifting just the slightest as he made eye contact with Barty. But it had been so quick, so subtle that Barty could have just imagined it. 

Mass had gone as normal. A short worship, the sermon, communion, and prayer. The same as any other Sunday. But the one thing that was different, was that Barty couldn’t keep his eyes off of Evan. It was so rare that he came to church, so of course Barty stared. It helped that Evan was easy on the eyes– not that Barty was noticing that. Sitting up front as he usually does, as per his father’s orders; Barty had to crane his neck a bit to see Evan, who was sitting in the front as well, but to his left. The Rosiers always sat up front, as if sitting closer would get them closer to God– to acceptance. That only seemed to be the case for the parents though. The twins sat next to each other, the perfect mirror picture of each other, looking completely and utterly bored. Pandora seemed like she was in some far off land, thinking of being anywhere but there. Which was disconcerting when Barty finds out that most days, she can recite his father’s sermons word for word. And Evan… He well- He looked like he would rather burn in hell than be sitting in that church. His stoicness had taken on a tinge of annoyance, his eyebrows slightly more set than before, and his eyes almost glaring at his father. Barty wasn’t sure why, but he knew that he’d be thinking about that look long after this service. 

Finally done droning on, his father prayed and ended service. Everyone was raising their heads and getting up to leave, but once more, Barty’s eyes found themselves searching for Evan. His eyes were open and his head had stayed raised through the whole prayer. He doesn’t look like he moved an inch until it was time to leave. 

“Bartemius.” His father came up to him, “Do not go home, you’ll be going to confession today. One of the other priests told me you haven’t gone in weeks.” The words themselves seemed relatively harmless, but Barty knew. Even though confessions were supposed to be anonymous, they never truly were. Confessions were his father’s sole way of keeping complete tabs on Barty, because he knew his son wouldn’t lie. He made sure to instill the fear of what would happen if Barty wasn’t truthful in his confessions. Barty felt sick to his stomach. He had been trying to skeeve off going for as long as he could, and it was finally catching up to him. Barty doesn’t even think he can remember all the shit he’s done this week. 

But, in the end, a cold, “Yes father.” was all that left his lips. What use was it to protest? God already knew all his sins anyways. Whatever his father does is just punishment for being a sinner. It’s all God's plan. 

Needing something to settle his stomach before confession, Barty had made his way to the water dispenser at the front of the church. He was zoned out as he got the small water cup and filled it–trying to think of what he’d done that didn’t sound too bad, something that’d get him off on an easier punishment with his father– that he didn’t hear footsteps behind him. Barty turned around, only to be startled by the blonde boy standing behind him. Evan. Realizing that he had dropped water on both Evan and himself, Barty frantically tried to apologize.

“Oh shit– wait, pretend you didn’t hear that– I’m so sorry, are you alright? Fuck– dammit– I’m cursing way too much in church. Um-” Barty just shut his mouth, figuring that’s the better option. At least he had something to confess about now, his lack of control of his mouth while still in church. Evan just stood there, looking down at his shirt, then back at Barty. It was a simple shirt, just a green t-shirt– way too casual for Sunday mass–  nothing that couldn’t handle some water spill by any means, but Barty was still anxious of what Evan would say. 

“I’m alright. Don’t worry about it, it’s just water.” He hummed, still looking up at Barty with a blank face. Barty couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like when he smiled. It would be devastating, he thought.

“Oh. That’s good then. But uh- I can get you another shirt if you want? I always keep extras in the back just in case I need them-”

“We just met and you’re trying to get me to take off my clothes? In church at that. Aren’t you supposed to be a priest’s son?” 

Barty paled at that. “I’m not! I- I was just offering because I got your shirt dirty, I’m not trying to-”

“I know.” Evan said with a ghost of a smirk on his face. God– Barty was right, he did look good when he smiled. But then his words registered–

“You know? Damnit Evan, you gave me half a heart attack. You can’t say stuff like that in church.” 

“You just cursed four times, if you count the ‘damnits’. I don’t think you’re one to be lecturing me on what to say in church, Barty.” 

And… Barty couldn’t say anything to that. Homosexuality and cursing in church weren’t the same level of sins, but neither were good. Wait- Evan knew his name?  “Okay okay, you’re right. But do you want the shirt or no?” No shit he knows your name, everyone knows each other, he thought after a moment.

Evan shrugged, “Won’t ever turn down a shirt from a hot dude.” Bart felt himself get hot at that, but he ignored it. Evan seemed to be set on getting a reaction out of Barty at the moment, so Barty wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. 

“Follow me then.” Barty said over his shoulder as he walked off, not waiting to see if Evan would follow. He was pretty sure he would, but extremely embarrassing if he didn’t. So, unable to help himself, he looked behind him. Thankfully, Evan was trailing silently behind him. Maybe it wasn’t Barty’s fault for not hearing him then. 

“You’re real quiet, y’know that?” Barty commented as he opened the back office door, allowing Evan inside. Evan hummed, not giving any other response besides that. It felt like talking to a wall. Barty didn’t try to make conversation after that, simply choosing to focus on finding the grey t-shirt he stashed here after that one time he spilled communion on himself… That was not a good day for him. He was able to find it, hidden in the corner of a file cabinet after a couple minutes, and handed it to Evan. 

“There you go. It might be a bit big, but that seems to be your style, so I don’t think it’s an issue.” 

Evan nodded, taking the shirt and putting it to the side. He started pulling his shirt over his head, which made Barty’s eyes go wide at the first glimpse of tanned skin. Barty stifled a sound that threatened to rip from his throat and turned around. Of course he’d take his shirt off, why the fuck hadn’t he thought of that? 

“You know we’re both guys, right? There’s no need to turn around, Barty.” Evan was looking at Barty with a raised eyebrow, amusement unhidden on his face. Barty turned back around, trying to look anywhere but Evan, and failing completely. Evan just watched as Barty stared at him. Evan was lean, but he still had some muscle on him, from doing God knows what. Barty then vaguely remembered Evan was on their track team. That’s where it came from, then. And going by the hair on his stomach that trailed even further down– something Barty was not thinking about– Evan was a fake blonde. Which in retrospect, Barty thinks should be obvious since neither of Evan’s parents were blonde. But it looked so natural on him and Pandora that Barty never thought twice. 

“Like what you see?” Evan eventually asked, once he realized Barty wasn’t going to stop looking anytime soon. It was cold in the office, the heating of the church not reaching back there. Yet Barty still felt like he was sweating. 

Barty blinked a couple times, before going pink in realization of what happened. But Barty has more pride than your average person, so he can’t just let himself seem embarrassed. “I do,” He hummed, “You’re hot, Rosie.” Barty isn’t even sure where the nickname came from, but Barty was running with it. God– he was flirting. With a man. In church. 

Evan chuckled and Barty thought it was the best thing he’d ever heard, “I know. But thanks for that.” He pulled Barty’s shirt over his head. It actually fit him pretty well, being just the right amount of oversized without it being obnoxious. “No problem.” Barty said as he looked up at the clock. His stomach sank as he realized. Oh shit. 

“I’m gonna be late!” Barty shut the drawer, not even waiting to see if Evan was going to follow him. His father always made a habit of making Barty go first for whatever damned reason, and though nothing really happened if he didn’t, it was much better to appease his father than not. Barty was out of breath from running by the time that he reached the reconciliation room, having had to bolt halfway across the church. But it was just his luck that for all his work, he was behind three other people. 

“That eager for confession, huh?” Evan remarked from behind Barty, causing him to turn around. He hadn’t realized that Evan followed him. Barty sighed, shrugging his shoulders, “My father wanted me to go first.” Evan hummed again, walking up behind Barty on line, which made Barty raise an eyebrow. “You’re going to confess?” 

“Am I not allowed to? As far as I know, everyone was allowed to confess their sins no matter who they were.” 

Barty ran his hand through his hair, giving Evan a questioning look. Evan wasn’t someone who cared about church, let alone wanted to confess. He seemed like he couldn’t give a shit about it. “You are allowed to,” Barty eventually said, “But I didn’t think you’d want to.”  

“Ah, because I don’t believe in all the bullshit they’re telling you?” Evan studied Barty’s face, gauging his reaction. Barty kept his face schooled, trying not to let anything he was thinking give. He nodded, “Yeah, exactly.” It’s not bullshit, he wanted to add. But he didn’t think Evan would care. Why would what Barty believed matter to someone who believed the complete opposite? And maybe… No. He wouldn’t let himself think that.

“Well, it’s just because I wanted to, that’s all. You were in such a hurry, I felt like I was missing out on not going.” He laughed a bit, and if Barty running to confession could get that sound out of him, he would run like an idiot as much as Evan wanted– Fucking hell. What was he thinking? A pit settled in his stomach as he tried to filter his thoughts. He can’t think those things about Evan, about a boy. Barty wasn’t an idiot- He knew he liked boys since he first hit his teen years; His late nights in bed were spent with one hand down his pants thinking about a hot senior he had had a crush on. But that didn’t mean he would ever give into those… thoughts. He knew that his attraction was a sin, and that his father would never allow him to even entertain the thought of a boyfriend. So he wasn’t going to start letting himself think about the possibility now. 

“Okay then, do what you want.” He shrugged, moving up the line as another person went in and out of confession. The two boys were quiet as they stood in line, Evan was picking his nails, and Barty was anxiously staring ahead, still trying to get his story straight. He wasn’t going to lie in confession, because then what would even be the point? But he was definitely going to leave out the parts that would really get him in trouble. Barty always ended up confessing alone in the church late at night anyways, so no need to get himself in any more trouble than needed. 

It was now Barty’s turn, and before he went inside he glanced back at Evan, who was now staring intently at Barty with an indescribable look in his eyes. He jerked his head in the direction of the room, “Go confess your little heart out Barty. I’ll be here when you’re done.” Barty nodded jerkily, and went inside, aptly trying to ignore how the way Evan said his name made him want to drop to his knees just to hear it again.