Chapter 6
1977, January 5th - Pandora
Bruises are purple, and blue, and yellow, and green. They’re a rainbow of colours, beauty in a terrible form. But I’ve always thought Barty is more beautiful when he isn’t broken.
I can see how it hurts for him to move. He hides it well, but I can see it. The pain in his eyes, the exhaustion simple movements cause him. I’m fairly certain we can all see it, but nobody brings it up. It’s one of those things I’m not supposed to talk about, I think.
I like to see conversation as a dance. A dance of multiple people, moving around and with each other in precise, flowing ways. If somebody missteps, or gets the timing wrong, then it all gets ruined. It’s a dance I’ve learned to master over the years, until somebody tries to bring in a new sequence. Then I have to learn that too. And it takes a while.
In Transfiguration, I think Professor McGonagall notices that something is wrong with Barty. Her eyes keep flicking to him, flashing with concern. She’s never shown concern for him before, but I’ve always thought she’s the type of teacher who cares about all her students, no matter how much they piss her off. I’m good at reading people. Apparently, it’s unsettling, so I’m not supposed to talk about it. That’s what my mother says, anyway.
Xenophilius is the only one who doesn’t tell me not to talk about things. Well, technically my friends never have either, but I can sense when something I do makes them uncomfortable. They just don’t want to voice it. But with Xen, his face never does that thing that says I’ve done something wrong. He just listens. And he finds me interesting in a way other people can’t.
I don’t think I love Xen, though. Which is why I broke up with him this morning. I need to be away from him for a while, and maybe later I’ll fall in love with him. I will one day. I know that. I just don’t know when. The future is messy sometimes, and despite all the thinking I do about it, I can’t always work out specifics.
“Thank Merlin,” Barty groans when I tell him. I smile to myself, because Barty doesn’t mean to be offensive. He just doesn’t filter himself. I can understand that. “He’s not good enough for you, Dora.”
“Will anyone ever be good enough for me?” I ask, amused. We’re walking towards the library, where Evan and Regulus are undoubtedly already waiting.
“Nope,” Barty replies, popping the ‘p’ with a grin. Barty’s colour today is green. Not a dark green, like Regulus’s sometimes is, but a vibrant one, like the streak in his hair used to be at the start of the year, before it began to fade into a more blonde colour over the past few months. The longer I look at his colour, the more bright it seems. But its glow is forced, like he’s trying to project as much light as possible and it’s too much. I hate it.
“Your colour is wrong,” I find myself saying. Barty blinks at me.
“What is it today?”
“Wrong,” I reply firmly.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just… stop forcing the brightness.” I walk on ahead, and I know that Barty doesn’t understand what I’m saying. I explained the colours to them all, once, and they do their best to play along when I talk about them. But they don’t see the colours. They can’t see them. Even Xen doesn’t see them, and I think it might just be a me thing. Some days, the colours go dull. The whole world feels wrong on those days. Those are the days that I don’t want to leave my dormitory.
Regulus and Evan look up from where they’re sitting at our usual table. Barty slides into the seat beside Evan, masking his wince with a smile.
“Guess what,” he sing-songs. “Pandora broke up with what's-his-face.” Regulus glances at me, and narrows his eyes.
“Is that what you want?”
“Reggie, I only ever do what I want,” I reply, sitting down beside him. It’s true, and he knows it. His expression softens and he smiles.
“Well alright then. Just making sure these two didn’t pressure you into it just because they don’t like him.” Reg glares pointedly at the pair. Barty holds up his hands with a look of mock outrage.
“Hey, not true! We love the guy, right Evan?”
“Oh yes,” Evan says with a pointed nod. “We love everything about him.”
***
Regulus
Watching Barty in pain is difficult. It fills me with a type of cold rage that I don’t know how to use, how to channel. Exhaustion doesn’t help. I barely slept last night, returning from the Tower only a few hours before dawn. Every time I closed my eyes, I’d see that horrible cut across Barty’s stomach. Or hear his laboured breathing as we helped him walk to the castle from the station. Suffice to say, it wasn’t one of my more restful sleeps.
The library is quiet at this time of day, afternoon sun slinking lower and lower towards the horizon. Most students are in their common rooms or out in the golden-tinted snow. So any people who are here among the stacks are mostly silently reading or studying. It’s peaceful, warm light filtering through the windows, the slight rustle of pages and hushed voices a pleasant white noise. I’m in danger of nodding off over my Astronomy homework when the door suddenly slams open, accompanied by loud, unmistakable voices. The Marauders have arrived.
I sigh, letting my head fall onto my book with a groan. Serenity shattered in the blink of an eye. I start packing up my things, hoping to move to a more hidden table to avoid confronting my brother and his friends. Unfortunately, I have no such luck as the group in question rounds a corner, coming face to face with me. Great. They’re blocking the exit through the shelves. Please, Sirius, please don’t make this more than it has to be.
“Regulus,” my brother says, coming to a halt. The others fall silent. My expression sets itself into my familiar blank mask. Giving nothing away. Letting nothing in. Untouchable, unreadable.
“Sirius.” I start forward, hoping to simply push past them and in a corner somewhere, protected by books. Sirius seems to hesitate, mouth opening as if to say something. But to my shock, he just steps aside, letting me pass. Once out of sight, I let out a long breath I hadn’t realised I was holding. I run a hand through my hair, closing my eyes for a moment. It feels like every time I see Sirius it gets harder. It hurts more. Because I miss him, I miss him more than I’ll ever admit out loud. Sometimes, I forget how far we’ve drifted. In moments of thoughtlessness, I’ll read a line from a book and make a mental note to tell him about it later. Or if I’m at home, I’ll get as far as opening the door to his room before I realise he won’t be in there. It’s a strange thing, to lose someone without really losing them. To grieve for someone who isn’t dead. To miss someone you see nearly every day.
With some effort, I force myself to push myself off the bookshelf I was leaning on. I remind myself to breathe. It’s getting ridiculous, how I have to physically recover from every minor interaction with my brother. I slump down at a nearby table and put my head in my hands. Breathe. In, out. Let the feelings drown. Push them so far beneath the surface they suffocate. It’s just Sirius.
He’s nothing to you. My mother’s voice echoes in my head. Do you hear me, Regulus? He’s dead. He has no place in this family. Do you understand?
Yes, maman.
Say it.
He is nothing to me.
I’m startled out of the memory by somebody tapping on the table in front of me. I glance up and have to blink several times to be sure I’m not hallucinating. James slides into the seat across from me, examining me with those stupid fucking eyes.
“What are you doing?” I ask sharply once I’ve remembered how to speak.
“Sitting.”
“It’s daytime. We’re in the library.”
“I’m aware of both those facts.” His lips curl into a half smile. “I’m not as stupid as you’d like to believe.”
“You have to leave.”
“Why?”
“People could see us. Your friends could see us.” My mind is finally catching up, and realising all of the really bad things that could come of this. James Potter does not speak to Regulus Black. It’s not normal, and we’re both well known enough that anyone seeing us would start a flurry of rumours.
James rolls his eyes. “They won’t. You’ve hidden yourself away pretty well back here. Besides, they think I’m off chasing the affections of one Lily Evans.”
“Is that what you told them?” I ask with no small amount of distaste. He snorts.
“No, I just said I’m going to go talk to a friend. They jumped to conclusions, the first of which being that ‘friend’ was code for something else – because Merlin forbid I have other friends besides them – and the second being that it was Lily because… well, y’know.”
“You’ve been hopelessly in love with her since you were eleven and you make sure the entire school knows it?” He purses his lips, a complicated expression flitting across his face, but eventually just nods. “Besides, we aren’t friends, James. Not outside the Tower.”
“I didn’t realise friendships had location conditions,” James shoots back, raising an eyebrow. I sigh, rubbing the spot on my temple where headaches generally form, and where one most certainly will if this conversation continues much longer.
“What do you want, James?”
“You ask that question a lot,” he muses, leaning back in his seat with the hint of a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “It’s always ‘oh, what do you want?’ or ‘spit it out’ or ‘get to the point’. You’re a very rude person, Regulus.”
“And yet you go out of your way to talk to me,” I snark. That hint of a smile grows into a full one at that, and he leans forward on the table.
“What I want is to talk to you,” he says with a shrug. “Is that so horrible? I don’t see you outside of that Tower. We stop being friends as soon as we leave it, like you said. And I hate that.”
“Yeah, well, it’s the way it has to be,” I reply, folding my arms. “Or have you forgotten that you’re betraying your best friend by even speaking to me?” It’s harsh. Probably too harsh. But the ache in my head is growing and I just want James to leave me alone, to stop breaking the rules I’ve carefully cultivated to allow… this. This doesn’t work without the rules. I can’t justify it without the rules. In the safety of an empty rooftop, surrounded by stars, we can exist. But anywhere else? Anywhere else it becomes real.
James looks like he’s been hit, and I feel a tug of guilt at his expression. But I don’t apologise. It’s true, after all. And James probably needs to be reminded of it anyway.
“I thought we were on the same page about this,” I say after a moment, softer this time.
“We are. We were.” James huffs, looking away, his hands twitching as if wanting something to fidget with. Without thinking, I pull off one of my rings and slide it over to him. It’s a simple silver band, with the shape of the Leo constellation engraved on it, dots connected by lines representing the stars, the Regulus star larger than the others. Narcissa made it for me when we were young. I’m not sure what possesses me to give James this ring. Maybe it’s all the thoughts of the Astronomy Tower swirling around my mind. Maybe it's because I understand what he means, because I also find myself missing James's company now and again, and in my more shameful moments I wish I had part of him with me. Part of our secret.
He looks down at it, puzzled, and my words lodge in my throat as I realise I now have to explain myself.
“I… uh… they’re good to fidget with,” I mutter, instinctively spinning another ring around my index finger. His eyes follow the movement and widen ever so slightly.
“I didn’t notice that you wear rings.”
I blink at him. “James… we’ve seen each other nearly every night for the past three months.”
He huffs a laugh. “Yeah, but I was never focused on your hands. Plus, it’s dark whenever I see you.” He takes the ring, sliding it onto his fourth finger. Now it’s my eyes that widen. That ring usually goes on my thumb.
“Hold on,” I say. “Hold up your hand.”
Confused, he does so, palm facing me. I press mine against it and let out a surprised laugh at the difference. His hand dwarfs mine, broad fingers against slender ones. He chuckles too, meeting my gaze for a moment. Silence falls heavy around us, and I clear my throat, pulling my hand back. I always forget how easy it is to fall into conversation with James, to get distracted. I was annoyed with him a minute ago. He looks down at the ring, shaking his head with a light scoff.
“See, this is what makes it hard,” he practically whispers. “You say we aren’t friends outside the Tower. You make all these points about how we shouldn’t even be friends in the first place. And I can deal with it. And then you go and do something like this. You give me a ring because you notice me fidgeting, or you let me hug you for the first time when you’re sad. And it all gets so difficult to pretend I don’t know you. Because I do know you, Regulus. I'm lucky enough to know you.” His voice gets so soft near the end that I can barely hear him, before he pushes his chair back, standing up and disappearing among the bookshelves with a glance back over his shoulder.
I feel frozen in my seat, his words repeating over and over in my mind. As they sink in, a strange sort of panic begins to spread through my body. A panic induced by the sudden realisation that I’m in far too deep. That I might not be able to let James go if this friendship thing goes south. That James Potter has me caught in a trap that I’m not sure I even want to escape.
***
Barty
Everything hurts. Well, okay, not everything. But a large portion of me hurts, and it’s becoming increasingly annoying. I’m doing my best to hide it, but I don’t think it’s working very well. Even McGonagall looked worried this morning.
“Evan,” I whine, lying on my back on his bed. “Remind me why we can’t go get a pain relief potion from Madame Pomfrey?”
“We can,” Evan replies as he unpacks my trunk for me, something he insisted upon doing. “In fact, I think we should. But you’re the one who said you don’t want her asking questions about where you got the bruises from.
I groan. “Ugh, why did I say that? Past me is such an idiot.”
“We could still go…?”
“No, past me may be an idiot, but he had a point.” I sit up, watching as Evan folds clothes and shoves them in drawers. “Y’know you don’t have to do that. I’m not paralysed.”
“Barty, I want to do it. Besides, there’s no point in you being in more pain just so…” he trails off as he pulls out two small packages, raising his eyebrows. “What are these?”
My eyes light up, remembering my spontaneous purchases from that day. Before all the child abuse went down, or whatever.
“Oh, I forgot about those!” I reach out and he hands them to me, still looking intrigued. “You’re gonna love these.” I unwrap the two devices, buzzing with excitement. Evan blinks at them, and I roll my eyes. “They’re for tattoos and piercings and stuff! The muggle way, so we don’t accidentally fuck ourselves up with magic.” Evan’s expression turns from confused to elated as he jumps onto the bed with me, picking up the tattoo pen and inspecting it.
“Brilliant,” he breathes. “Give me one right now!”
I laugh, ignoring the ache in my side as I do. “I need practice first. Otherwise I’ll probably do it wrong and then you’ll be stuck with it forever.” I gesture to the piercing gun. “That one looks simple enough, though. Just need something to transfigure into earrings…” Evan pulls out a couple of knuts from his pocket, and I take them eagerly. I pull out my wand and murmur a spell, and two simple silver hoops appear in my palm.
It takes a few minutes to figure out how to work the gun, but once we do, we manage the rest quickly. It hurts more than I expected, and I swear at Evan repeatedly as he does mine.
“Evan it hurtsss,” I complain as I reach up to touch the tiny hoop.
“Shocking that stabbing a piece of metal through your ear is painful,” he replies with an eye roll. He, of course, barely even winced when I did his. “I can’t believe you’re being a crybaby over this whereas if you get beaten within an inch of your life, you try to play it off like it’s nothing.” I snort, finding the humour in the statement as Evan intends. Because humour is much better than hurt. “Personally,” Evan continues, waving the piercing gun at me as he cleans it, “I think you just complain for the sake of complaining.”
“Who, me? Never.” I grin, stretching out on the bed with a sigh, watching Evan’s eyes track my movements with darkening eyes. The gun is set aside as he moves slowly over to the bed, clambering on and maneuvering himself to hover above me, lips dancing across my jaw. I sigh, eyes fluttering closed as his mouth moves up to mine.
“Evan…” I whisper as his hand slides under my shirt.
“I know I said I didn’t want to before,” he murmurs against my skin. “But that was because it would’ve been for the wrong reasons.”
“Ev…” I prop myself up on my elbows, bringing my lips to his again. It’s another long moment before I break away. “We don’t have time,” I breathe. “Regulus will be back from the library soon.”
“We can be quick.”
I arch a brow at him. “You say that as if you’re an expert in this.”
He grins. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’ve done it many times and I’ve just been holding out on you. Maybe I have another secret fling you don’t know about.”
I reach up to grip his chin, pulling him down for another kiss to shut him up. “Don’t say that,” I mumble. “Don’t tease. Anyway, another time, Ev. Promise.” I’d be lying if I said there wasn't a small part of me that’s a bit relieved at having a little more time. The part of me that’s nervous, despite how much I want this. Evan smiles and nods, and I take the opportunity to catch him off guard, grabbing the front of his shirt and pushing to roll him onto his back. I end up on top of him, struggling to pin his arms down in a spontaneous wrestling match. He laughs, fighting back, kicking and wriggling in my grip. Just as he’s managed to flip us again, Regulus opens the door. He glances at us and groans, walking towards the bathroom.
“Please don’t tell me I’ve walked in on some kind of foreplay.”
***
1977, January 8th - Barty
Convincing Evan to let me return books to the library by myself took a solid twenty minutes this morning. I get the feeling his odd protectiveness won’t fade until these bruises do.
Madame Pince gives me her usual glare as I pass the books to her, and I just grin and wink before striding out of the library. Over the past couple days, I’ve figured out how to step in a way that doesn’t hurt as much, figured out how to feign strength when really every move I make is careful.
I’m about halfway back to the common room when I feel it. A sense of wrongness, a warning blaring in my mind. My fingers find my wand a second too late. I gasp for air as I’m slammed against the wall, a large hand with fat fingers wrapped around my throat, shoving me into the stone. My eyes focus on the leering face of Mulciber, much too close for comfort. I grin despite the panic quickly rising in my stomach, and manage to speak, my voice slightly choked.
“Hey mate. Look, not that I’m not into breathplay, but we haven’t even set a safeword yet.”
Mulciber just glares at me. I look past him to see Snape walking towards us, face set in its usual unattractive sneer.
“Hold your tongue, Crouch,” he snaps. I huff a laugh.
“Sorry Sevvy. You lot are just so easy to rile up. May I inquire as to why I’m currently being molested by your friend here?” Every word sounds a bit strained, especially as Mulciber tightens his grip around my neck. I see Avery hovering behind Snape, half hidden by shadows. I grin at Snape. The panic won’t make it onto my expression. I’m good at hiding it. “Is this about the eyeliner thing? Merlin, Sev, that was months ago.”
Snape glowers at me, lips turning down even more. “What it’s about is you being a disgrace to your name,” he hisses. “And therefore a disgrace to all of us. How much more muggle shit will you bring into this school before you realise that someone of your status shouldn’t be dealing in such filth?”
“Aw, Sev, do you mean the tattoo stuff? Because if you’re jealous, all you have to do is ask. Maybe I can give you one on your dick… oh wait, the canvas would be too small.” It’s a cheap shot, and not a particularly good insult, but it does the trick. Watching Snape’s pale face turn red is one of the many reasons I love being alive.
“You’re a waste of space,” he spits. “You have so much power, despite being a half blood. You could do so much and instead you run around dirtying your father’s name.”
“‘Do so much’?” I raise an eyebrow. It’s getting harder to breathe now, Mulciber’s fingers bound to leave marks. And not the fun kind. “What are you implying, Severus? That I join Voldemort and use my ‘status’ to help him?” I watch as his expression flickers, and something twists in my stomach. “Oh, no, please tell me I’m wrong. Don’t tell me you’re on his fucking side?”
“And you aren’t?” He retaliates. “Running around with Regulus Black, of all people?”
“I’m on nobody’s side,” I choke out. “And you shouldn’t be either. You’re seventeen. And how can you join him, anyway?” My lips curl upward slightly. “What would Lily say?”
Suddenly, there’s a sharp pain in my side as Mulciber rams his fist into my torso. I gasp, eyes pricking with tears. It shouldn’t hurt that much, except… the bruises. Mulciber too seems surprised by my intense reaction, and Snape narrows his eyes, striding up and lifting the edge of my shirt, despite my attempts to push him away. He lets out a cruel laugh.
“Well, well, well. Seems like father dearest beat us to punishing you, huh? Tell me, do you cry when he hits you? Do you find yourself wondering why he doesn’t love you?”
There’s something dark in Snape’s eyes, and I briefly wonder if he understands what he’s saying more than he’s letting on. His words strike deep, the childish voice in me echoing the question that’s haunted me since I was young, the question that still circles my mind every time he lays a hand on me. Why doesn’t he love me? Snape leans in close, and I can feel his breath. It makes me want to recoil, but I’m already pushed completely against the wall.
“It’s because he knows you’re weak,” he hisses in my face. He steps back, and pulls out his wand. I close my eyes, gritting my teeth in preparation for whatever curse is coming my way. But it’s not Snape’s nasal voice that rings out next.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” That’s a voice I’d know anywhere. A voice everyone in the whole damn school would know anywhere.
What the fuck is James Potter doing coming to my rescue?
***
James
I have never liked Severus Snape. Not since the first day I met him on the Hogwarts Express and he was glued to Lily’s side, like a parasite. Maybe my hatred was unfounded then, rooted in the jealousy of a smitten eleven year old. But as we grew, I developed more valid reasons for finding him repulsive. His attitude, the way he treats Lily, like he’s entitled to her, how he looks down on everyone as if he’s better than them all. How he bullies people to feel better about himself. And now, here he is harassing Regulus’s best friend.
I don’t know all that much about Barty Crouch Junior. I know he’s obnoxious, and can also be cruel. Not a good person. But from the way Regulus talks about him, I also know there’s more. Layers of kindness beneath the cocky exterior. Layers of sadness and pain. Right now, all I really feel is the need to protect him from an obvious attack. Especially after hearing about what his father did to him over the holidays.
“Expelliarmus!” I shout, pointing my wand at Snape before he can fire at me first. I catch his wand as it flies out of his hand, rounding on Avery next and hitting him with a binding curse that has him on the ground as magical ropes wrap tight around his body. Mulciber’s singular brain cell seems to be buffering as he tries to decide between helping his friends or keeping Barty pinned to the wall. When I point my wand at him, he lets go of Barty’s neck and raises his hands in surrender, edging towards his friends. I jerk my head for him to go, and to my disgust, he runs right past Avery and Snape and just saves himself. Barty falls to the floor, coughing and rubbing his bruised throat. I feel sick at the sight, remembering Regulus describing the dark bruises already covering his side. He doesn't deserve this much pain.
Snape has managed to get Avery free and they’re both stumbling to get away, Snape sending me a dirty look over his shoulder as they run after Mulciber. I lean down, extending a hand to Barty. He looks at it, then up at me, something flickering in his eyes. He gets to his feet without taking my hand, straightening his shirt. As he does, I catch a glimpse of horrifically marred skin, the edge of a thick, silvery scar. It reminds me of the many that criss-cross Remus’s body, and the ones on the backs of Sirius’s thighs. Magically inflicted, it will never fade. Then the fabric falls back into place, and my eyes flicker back up to his. He just watches me, that indecipherable look dancing in his gaze.
“Thanks,” he says shortly.
“Uh… yeah. Of course. Um… are you okay?”
He snorts. “Don’t go pretending you actually care, Potter.” But there’s something uncertain in his voice as he glances down, just for a fraction of a second, at the hand I previously offered him. He clears his throat, pushing past me. I know the way he moves, carefully and purposefully, concealing the pain it causes him behind strong strides and a straight back. I’ve seen it in Sirius, when he used to come back from home. I’ve seen it in Remus the days following a full moon. As he walks away, he calls back over his shoulder.
“Maybe hide Reg’s ring, Potter. Sirius will recognise it.”
And that makes me freeze in place. Because Regulus assured me, many times, that he hasn’t told any of his friends about our friendship, despite me saying that he could if he wanted to. Which means Barty has only just found out now. I look down at the ring on my fourth finger, remembering the strange look in Barty’s face as he saw my hand held out to him.
Shit. Regulus is going to kill me.
“Oh, and by the way,” Barty adds, pausing in the hallway. “I’ll be having a talk with you about that. Soon. Gotta chat to Reg first though. Ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing.”