Chapter 4
Barty
I didn’t understand why my father hated me. Not until I was at least twelve, maybe even thirteen. And even then I didn’t really get it. It seems to me like the first thing I ever did to disappoint Barty Crouch Senior was simply existing. My birth was the day I let him down. How? I still don’t understand that one.
I was five when he hit me for the first time. I’d broken a vase of my mother’s, not anything important. My mum told me not to worry about it. But my father? When he saw the shards he shouted at me. Called me an idiot, something something blah blah blah. I remember the stinging pain of his hand across my face like it was yesterday. And it only got worse from there.
At some point, the burning started. The anger and pain that festered in sleepless nights, in bruises and cuts caused by the one who was supposed to protect me. It became an insatiable itch beneath my skin, rage that longed to come out in bursts of insanity. I think I’ve always been a little bit crazy. This was different, though, this was wild and untamable and freeing. In time I learned to control it. Mostly.
I was six when Evan Rosier came into my life, like a fucking ball of sunshine in impenetrable darkness. Our mothers were friends, back then. Before the war grew and everyone had to pick a side.
It was a dinner party, when I first saw him. Adults milling around, so big and tall and terrifying to my young self. I hid in the corner, hoping to avoid any and all men who reminded me of my father – of which there were plenty in the Sacred Twenty-Eight. And then Evan came up to me, dragging a small, pale boy with wide grey eyes behind him.
“Hi,” he said, grinning a gap-toothed smile. “I’m Evan. This is Reggie.”
“Regulus,” the little boy corrected in a voice with the slightest French lilt to it.
“Mmm… nah. I like Reggie.”
Evan seemed to glow, radiating a kind of warmth I’d rarely felt. As I grew up, I’d come to realise just how extraordinary it was that Evan kept his glow, despite his own family issues. But right then, all I could focus on was how bright he was. He even seemed to shine some light on Regulus, who was dark and cold to anyone he didn’t know. At some point during that night, Sirius came and stole Reg away from us. But that was okay. Because Evan and I had already entwined ourselves so tightly that there was no letting go. We were stuck with each other from day one. And it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
When my father cut himself off from any and all he deemed potential Voldemort supporters, my friendship with Evan and Regulus mostly didn't change. My mother allowed me to see them, helping me lie to my father about where I went. It took me a while to realise why she stayed, that she had always clung to the idea that he loved us. I never had the heart to explain to her that he didn’t.
Evan, Regulus, and I raised each other. Long days spent out where we couldn’t be found, away from responsibilities, away from too much pain and too much suffering. We helped each other through the worst of it, were there for all the best of it. And then Hogwarts came along, and it was a whole new world free from our families. Evan and I would stay for every holiday, while Regulus would be dragged home each time. But it was still a million times better than our childhood.
***
1976, December 18th - Barty
“Shit,” I mutter, reading over the letter again. “Shit, shit, shit.” I run a hand down my face, feeling my heart rate pick up with anxiety. Evan glances at me, worry creasing his brow.
“What is it?” He asks.
“She’s sick,” I choke out. This can’t be happening. This cannot be happening. I won’t allow it. Maybe with enough sheer willpower, with enough time spent thinking about it, I can make it so that this isn’t real. I can wake up again this morning and redo today and not get this stupid fucking letter.
“Who is?”
“My mum,” I reply, and my voice is so quiet I’m not sure he heard me. I pass the paper to him, squeezing my eyes shut, leg bouncing up and down as I try to slow my heart, even out my breathing. I hear Evan make a strangled sound, and I open my eyes to find him with his hands covering his face. Sometimes I forget how much of a mother figure she’s always been to Evan and Reg, how she always filled the gap of neglect left behind by their own. After a moment he pulls his hands away, meeting my gaze with the type of sympathy that makes me want to scream.
“I’m so sorry Barty.”
“I’m going back for Christmas,” I say shortly, ignoring his pity. “I need to see her.” Evan nods, reaching out and pulling me into a hug. I melt into him, burying my face in his shoulder. A moment later, the dormitory door opens, and Regulus’s voice breaks the quiet.
“What’s going on?”
I pull away from Evan, staring off into space, still concentrating on keeping a lid of the panic threatening to spill out of me.
“Eloise is sick,” Evan says softly, and there’s a short moment of silence. Then footsteps retreating and a door slamming closed. I let out a humourless laugh.
“That’s Reg,” I whisper, shaking my head. “We’ll see where that fucking apathy gets him.”
“Hey, we all cope differently.” His voice sounds a little shaky. I stand up, running a hand through my hair as I pace back and forth. This will be the first time I go home for Christmas. I’ve always felt a little guilty about leaving my mother alone each year, but it never overcame my own hatred of seeing my father. Now, there’s no question. I have to see her myself. Have to make sure it’s not… that she isn’t going to… I squeeze my eyes shut, stopping in the middle of the room. That won’t happen.
***
Regulus
As I step out into the cold air of the night, a tiny snowflake lands on my nose. I stare up at the sky, at the few stars I can pick out amongst the clouds. Every breath burns a little due to the freezing temperature, and I focus on that sensation, fixate on it until it drowns out everything else I’m feeling.
“Regulus!”
I look down from the sky to see James leaning against a column. Always waiting. In the past two months, he hasn’t missed a single night. The reason for which I’m still uncertain of. His company is frustrating and a nuisance and loud, and there’s absolutely no point in suffering it when I could easily get rid of him. But I suffer it anyway. I don’t want to get into why.
“Hello Potter,” I reply, striding over to the edge and leaning on the railing, not looking at him. This game is familiar by now, the way I ignore him until he eventually wears me down and gets me talking. Talking about anything or nothing, it doesn’t matter really. I think he’s starting to believe we’re friends. It’s dangerous, and I should end it. I should.
“How long is it going to take me to get onto first-name basis with you?” He huffs. I don’t respond, searching the darkness above us for any stars I can find. Snow still falls lightly around us, tiny flakes dancing through the air and melting when they reach ground. “Holy shit, aren’t you cold?” He suddenly says, and I glance back at him, meeting his wide eyes that have apparently just realised my lack of a warm layer.
“No.” I blink at him, and he doesn’t look convinced, striding forward, pulling off his jumper. I narrow my eyes at him as he holds it out to me. “No,” I repeat with new meaning.
“Yes.” His voice is firm, meeting my glare with his own. I roll my eyes and turn away, staring out over the Forbidden Forest. “Regulus,” James says, a command more than anything. As much as I hate being told what to do by an irritating Gryffindor, I know he won’t give up. He’s annoying like that. With a long sigh, I snatch the jumper from him.
“I hate you,” I mutter, pulling it over my head. It’s about a thousand sizes too big for me, but the warmth is immediate and my body welcomes it eagerly. Traitor.
“No you don’t,” James says cheerfully. I don’t return his smile, and he raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong? Besides you ‘hating me’.” He adds air quotes around the words.
“Why should I tell you?”
He rolls his eyes then, a flash of genuine exasperation in his eyes. “Regulus. Come on. How long are you going to pretend to shut me out for? It’s been months. Can’t you just accept that I want to be your friend? That I want to know you?”
And there it is. That horrible, amazing, terrible, wonderful word that I’ve refused to apply to us thus far. Fuck, it had to go and get complicated, didn’t it? Had to go and become difficult when it’s been so easy to just pretend it doesn’t exist outside of this tower. This… thing, between us. Friendship. That label that makes it impossible to lie to myself about this, impossible to tell myself that all it is is James chasing after me, forcing himself into my life, at no fault of mine.
“I’m not your friend, James,” I say softly, and realise my mistake too late. A grin breaks out across his face and that is so not the effect I intended that statement to have. I open my mouth but nothing comes out as I struggle to figure out a way to fix it. He points at me.
“You called me James.”
“No, you misheard,” I snap, but I can feel a slight smile tugging at my lips despite myself. His excitement over such a small thing is amusing, and a bit infectious. He just grins wider and spins around, arms spread wide as he shouts,
“REGULUS BLACK IS MY FRIEND!”
My eyes widen and I lunge at him, slapping a hand over his mouth. “Shut up, you absolute idiot,” I hiss. He raises an eyebrow at me.
“Who’s gonna hear?” He asks, voice muffled by my palm. I glare at him, removing my hand and folding my arms. He moves to sit down against the far wall, beckoning for me to join him. I sigh and slide to the ground beside him, tugging at a curl of hair by my ear.
“So,” he starts. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“When you arrived you looked like you were planning on jumping off the Tower.”
I laugh dryly at that, the sound humourless. I close my eyes, subconsciously drawing my knees up to my chest. “Barty’s mother is sick,” I reply softly. He doesn’t say anything, waiting for me to elaborate. “She’s… important to me. She was more of a mother than mine ever was when I was younger. You know, before Sirius left, and Walburga actually started to remember I exist.” I give a one-shouldered shrug. “There’s nothing I can do about it. She’s a muggle. They die easily.”
James is quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he says eventually.
“It’s not your fault.”
“I’m sorry anyway. Is Barty… is he okay…?”
I scoff. “Doubtful. But he has Evan. I kind of just… left him there and came straight here when I found out.”
“Off topic, but what exactly is the relationship between those two? I never can figure it out.” James is trying to lighten the mood, I can tell. And I’m grateful for the subject change. There’s nothing James can do to help me on this particular matter.
I snort in response to his question. “I know about as much as you, honestly. I think they’re in a kind of perpetual friends-with-benefits situation? Half the time I don’t even think they know how they feel about each other.” I trace patterns on the stone with one finger, absently staring into space as I talk.
“Tell me more about your friends,” James says, attentive eyes on me. “Barty and Evan and Snape –”
“I’m not friends with Snape.” I turn to him, blinking in surprise.
“What? I thought you were. I thought you were all like a group of… of…”
“Future Death Eaters?” I fill in, with an amused smile. He blushes.
“Kind of.”
I scoff. “People are quick to group us together. Anyway, Evan’s father wants him to join Voldemort, like my parents, as you know. But Barty? Well, with a Ministry father and muggle mother, I’ll be surprised if he gets persuaded over to that side. However, I do think he’d follow us anywhere.” I smile sadly. “I suppose it all depends on what I do, really. Evan will join them. And before you get all self-righteous about it, James, just try and see the world from his point of view for once.”
James closes his mouth, swallowing the words he’d been about to say. He pauses for a moment. “I don’t know enough about him,” he says eventually.
“Well, he hasn’t got much of a choice. That’s all you need to know.”
“But you won’t do it, will you? Become a Death Eater?” I meet James’s gaze, not responding. “Regulus? Promise me you won’t.”
And maybe it’s because I know I’ll have to end this eventually, maybe it’s because I know I’ll never get to keep James Potter in my life anyway. Maybe it’s because if this is the first lie I tell him, the first false oath, it’ll make future ones easier. Whatever the reason, I find myself nodding, even though I can assure him no such thing.
“I promise.”
No words have ever tasted so bitter.
***
1976, October 20th - Barty
It feels strange packing to leave Hogwarts at Christmas. Like something has gone horribly wrong in the world. Well, really, it has.
Evan walks into the dormitory to find me sitting in the middle of a mess of clothing and random possessions, fiddling with the rings on my left hand and generally getting nothing done. He sighs and sits down beside me, wordlessly beginning to fold clothing and neatly pack it into my trunk.
“What if she’s fine, Ev?” I say eventually. “What if she’s completely fine and this is a waste of time?”
“No, Barty,” Evan replies firmly. “You don’t get to be selfish about this. You leave her alone at Christmas every year, even if she weren’t sick it’s high time you spent it with her.”
I glance down at my hands again, spinning a silver band around my pointer finger. “I know.” Another sigh, and then Evan is kneeling in front of me, tilting my face up to make me meet his eyes.
“Hey,” he says quietly. “You can do this. I promise.”
I reach up to gently hold his wrist, leaning into his palm and letting my eyes flutter closed. He kisses me, soft and quick, before returning to packing, this time with me helping him.
The train is full of chattering students, all excited about the break and the holiday. Regulus and I weave through the crowds of kids, finding an empty compartment and closing the door to muffle the noise. We both let out a long breath, collapsing onto the benches opposite each other.
“Well,” Regulus says. “At least I won’t be alone this time.”
I grin at him. “You’re going to regret those words, Black. Silent solitude is a luxury of the past. Prepare to be thoroughly pissed off by the end of this train ride.” He rolls his eyes, but I can see a smile tugging at his lips. “So,” I begin. “First topic of conversation: who are you meeting at the Astronomy Tower?”
He visibly tenses, body going rigid and smile falling from his face. There’s a long pause before he speaks. “How do you know I’m meeting anyone?”
I shrug, leaning back and folding my arms. “You come back later than you used to, and you always look weirdly happy. It’s unnerving, to say the least. So I jumped to conclusions. I can’t figure out who it would be, though.”
“It’s none of your business,” Regulus says shortly, looking out the window. The train whistles loudly as it starts rolling forward on the tracks, leaving the Hogsmeade station behind.
“I’m making it my business. C’mon, Reg, I won’t tell. I’ll keep it super super secret.” I smirk when he glares at me. Regulus doesn’t answer. “If you don’t tell me, I’m gonna start guessing.” Silence. “Hm, okay. Well, you’re gay as fuck, so that rules out any girls.”
“Hold on, you think it’s someone I’m dating?” Regulus cuts in, aghast.
“Well, I’d presumed so. Fucking, at least.”
“No!” He makes a face somewhere between confusion and disgust. “Ugh. No. Please, get that image out of my mind.”
I cock my head. “Not a secret lover? Boring. Well, I don’t care as much then.”
“Thank Merlin for that.”
We’re quiet for a while, Regulus looking out the window, me amusing myself by turning streaks of his hair different colours. Temporarily, of course. Then, eventually, when the silence gets too much for me, I speak again.
“You like them though, don’t you?”
Regulus seems to snap back to reality, glancing at me. “What?”
“The person you meet at the Tower. You like them.”
“No,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Though that would be… something, if I did.” He pauses. “I don’t actually know how to tell if I like someone in that way,” he says softly. Clearly, he regrets the statement as he immediately looks away, seemingly very interested in the window again. I raise an eyebrow.
“Remember when you had that crush on Jasper Shafiq in first year? It’s kind of like that. But more… intense. You want to be around them all the time, and you care so much about what they think of you that you find yourself wondering ‘would they judge me for this’, even if they aren’t there.” Regulus doesn’t say anything, still staring out at the landscape as it zips past. But I notice his jaw tense, the way he shifts in his seat. “Whatever, Reg. But I’m here if you want to talk about it.” I twist to lie down on the padded bench, propping my head up on my arm and closing my eyes, trying to think about anything other than where I’m headed.
Our house elf, Candey, is waiting at Kings Cross to collect me. Regulus breaks away from me almost immediately, whispering a soft ‘good luck’ before vanishing into the crowd.
“Young master Crouch!” Candey exclaims, bowing low. I purse my lips in distaste.
“Just call me Barty,” I tell her for what must be the billionth time.
“Mistress be waiting at the house for young master Barty,” she says, holding out a small hand to me. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I take it, and the world contorts around us as we Apparate.
The house looms up above me, not particularly massive by wizard standards, but still somehow managing to be daunting to me all the same. I shiver as I follow Candey inside, gripping the handle of my trunk tightly to ground myself. I close the door behind us, breathing in the smell of freshly baked bread wafting from the kitchen. It helps stifle the sense of foreboding, the scent so present in my happier memories. I make my way down the hallway and into the kitchen, where my mother is sitting at the bench, reading a muggle newspaper.
“Mum,” I say softly, and she looks up, a smile spreading across her face. A face that looks hollow and far too pale, heavy bags under her eyes.
“Barty,” she gasps, standing and enveloping me in a hug. I’m slightly shorter than her, but somehow, she still feels tiny. Much too thin to be healthy.
“Mistress should be resting,” Candey scolds. The little elf has always been comfortable with my mother, showing her less reverent formality than my father and I. Perhaps it’s because they spend so much time together, alone in this house.
“I’m fine,” my mum replies with an affectionate eye roll. “I’m not dying.”
I let out a soft breath at that. “How bad is it?” I ask. She meets my gaze, and there’s a hint of pain in her expression.
“It’s… well… it’s a muggle disease…” she gives me a sad smile, taking my hands and leading me to sit down at the table across from her. She takes a deep breath. “Have you ever heard of cancer, love?”
***
1976, December 23rd - Evan
It feels strange being at Hogwarts without Barty. I can’t stop myself from wondering every other minute how he’s doing, what he’s doing, if he’s okay. I just have to hope Eloise pulls through. If Barty lost her… I don’t want to think about it.
“Alright,” I sigh, tipping over my king piece so it falls to the chess board. “You win. I give up.” Dorcas grins at me, and holds out a hand. Grumbling, I hand over the promised galleon. “You officially suck,” I mutter. She raises an eyebrow, rolling the coin along her knuckles.
“No, darling, I officially win. Wanna play again?”
I shake my head, leaning back in my seat. “Nah. I’m already out three galleons now. I’d rather keep my gold, thank you.”
She shrugs. “Suit yourself.” With a wave of her wand, the chess set begins packing itself up. She studies me, chewing on her lower lip in thought. “You’re missing him, aren’t you?”
“Who?”
“Barty.”
I close my eyes, tilting my head up towards the ceiling with a hum. “I mean, yeah. He’s my best friend.”
She scoffs. “Oh, sure. You two are completely platonic.”
“Hey,” I say, sitting up and opening my eyes to glare at her. “You know that’s all it is.”
“Okay,” she begins, leaning forward, elbows on the table, and fixing me with an intense stare. “The physical stuff? The making out? That’s a whole other thing, and I’m willing to halfway accept that it’s only about you two being horny or whatever. But Ev… friends don’t look at each other the way you two do. Friends don’t get that soft smile whenever the other one talks, friends aren’t as obsessed with each other as you are. And sure, maybe some friends can make out sometimes, for physical reasons, and still be nothing more. But those little moments you share? The times when you’ll kiss him just for the sake of it, just because he made you laugh, or because he did something stupid? Those are different.”
Her words feel like being dunked in ice water and then thrown in a fire. They circle around and around in my mind, getting louder each time until I eventually realise that she’s waiting for a response. I shake my head in an attempt to clear it, focusing on her.
“That’s…” I clear my throat, trying to get my voice to not sound so tight, so strained. “I appreciate the thought, Dorcas, but that’s not us.” I give her what I hope is an easy smile, then stand up. “I think I’m gonna go take a shower.”
Ice cold water slides down my skin as I stand with my hands pressed to the shower wall, staring at the floor, breathing slowly. My heart hasn’t stopped racing since I got up here and practically sprinted for the shower. Friends don’t look at each other the way you two do… friends don’t get that soft smile whenever the other one talks… friends don’t, friends don’t, friends don’t.
Dorcas’s words shouldn’t have this effect on me. But of course they do. Because I’m in love with Barty Crouch Junior.
No.
Dorcas’s words shouldn’t have this effect on me. In fact, they don’t. She’s obviously wrong. I’m just overreacting, just more sensitive than usual because I’m not used to not having Barty around. Because I’m in love with him.
No!
I sink to the floor, icy water still pelting my skin as I draw my knees up to my chest. I’m shaking, but not from the cold. I can barely feel it. I try to imagine the wall in my mind, building it up brick by brick, trapping those treacherous, dangerous, painfully true thoughts behind it. Like I’ve done for a year now. But the voices keep slipping through the cracks, keep echoing around my mind, like bells ringing too loud, reminding me of something I’ve forgotten. Something I’ve forced myself to forget, over and over until something happens to bring the wall down and I have to go through the process of forgetting again. Lying to myself until the lies become true.
No. I am not in love with Barty Crouch Junior. I am not. I. Am. Not.
The thoughts retreat, finally trapped behind the wall, and I can breathe a little easier. My head clears. I laugh aloud at the absurdity of it all. Me? In love with Barty? Ridiculous. I just need to sleep it off, that’s all. Why is the shower so cold? I stand up, turning off the water and stepping out.
I pull on a pair of pyjama bottoms and fall onto my bed with a sigh. What had I even been thinking about? The memory of the panic I’d been in earlier was foggy, the reason behind it just out of reach. As if it were trapped behind a wall. I shake my head, letting my eyes drift closed, sleep taking over my mind.
In my dreams, I can see beyond the wall. In a state of subconsciousness, I’m cursed with full self awareness, with the knowledge of what I do to myself, over and over.
In my dreamworld, I walk through an opening in the wall, stepping into a large expanse of open space. Darkness crowds in around me, and the air feels dense. A soft voice in the distance is saying something I can’t make out. I follow it, my legs moving of their own accord. As I run, the words become louder, clearer, until suddenly I’m standing face to face with a mirror. But the reflection in the glass is… off. It’s me, but not. I can’t put my finger on the difference, just a certain sense of… wrongness. But I can’t tell if it’s the reflection that’s wrong, or me.
“You’re in love with him,” the reflection says. I swallow hard.
“I know.”
“Why do you force yourself to not know, then?”
“Because I can’t love him.”
“Can’t, or won’t?” The reflection raises an eyebrow at me, and I glare at it.
“Can’t. It’s not… allowed.” My voice gets weak at the end of the sentence, and I glance away.
“And who made that rule?”
“Me.”
Silence. I look up to find the reflection watching me, expression soft and understanding. “You can’t run from it forever, Evan. One day you’re going to have to stop building that wall, stop forcing yourself to forget. You can’t make a lie true just by repeating it over and over.”
I feel my legs give out and I sink to my knees, staring down at my hands, feeling exhausted and broken. Suddenly, the mirror is gone, and the reflection is kneeling beside me, wrapping its arms around me.
“I have to,” I whisper.
“You can’t,” it repeats. I grit my teeth, turning my head to meet its gaze. The eyes that are mine, and yet… more.
“Watch me,” I hiss, and the reflection vanishes.
I wake up slowly, blinking at the brightness. Did I forget to turn the lights out before I went to sleep? I sit up, running a hand through my hair.
My dream is already fading from memory.