Crouch in Azkaban
“There was a Rosier– Evan Rosier!”
“Evan Rosier is dead.”
Fuck.
Why, why, why had he reacted like that?! He’d promised Evan not to get caught– he’d died for Barty’s freedom and it was all for nothing. Evan’s death was his fault. All his fault.
No.
Shut up. No, no it wasn’t. “You haven’t done anything wrong.” Barty muttered, picking at one of the countless loose threads on his Azkaban prisoner uniform. “If he were here, he’d tell you that, you know. He’d tell you not to blame yourself.”
Right?
And.. And maybe Evan wasn’t dead? He couldn’t be. Of course he couldn’t be! They had a pact, make it through the war together and be the most powerful wizards in the world– right under the Dark Lord, of course. Barty would show his father, and Evan would show his sister. They were meant to have everything. So how had this happened, Barty stuck in Azkaban and Evan… Somewhere. Somewhere, just not dead.
He was itching at his Dark Mark again. He’d scratched it so relentlessly over the last few… Hours? Days? Weeks, even? One of those. Anyway, his forearm was rubbed raw and his skin littered with angry red scabs. He looked like a pitiful wretch, no doubt. In fact, at first he’d yearned for a mirror, longing to see himself again to regain that semblance of identity that they were trying to take away with so much persistence, but now he feared that he might turn himself to stone if he gazed upon his reflection.
Evan would probably laugh at him. He always had, watching Barty fuss over his mess of bed hair. Evan had always called him a narcissist, to which Barty had quipped back with some witty response or defense as to why he was absolutely and most definitely not. But maybe he was. Maybe. Probably. He yearned for the spotlight, for greatness. He wanted everything all to himself. Even Evan. He’d wanted his best friend to belong to him and him only. An even sicker, more twisted part of him than the usual array was.. Kind of glad Evan was momentarily disposed, at least he couldn’t be jealous of Evan talking to someone better than Barty. It would be even better if Evan could never speak to anyone other than him again.
…
What the Hell?
Azkaban was not-so-slowly turning Barty’s brains to mush, that was clear as day. Not that he could see day. If he could just get out for a moment, feel the sun on his face, the breeze on his skin…
Evan would call him pathetic for that.
But Evan wasn’t here to judge right now.
Which made it… Alright.
You can do anything, as long as no one finds out.
Barty couldn’t help the flicker of a smile that played on his lips at that, Evan’s words replaying in his mind. His shattered, tattered remains of a mind…
How had all this even happened?
Well…