The Beginning Of The Long-Awaited End
“Bartemius Crouch Junior! What on Merlin’s beard was going through your head when you cast that spell?”
Evan crooned in his ear with an impressively accurate impression of Professor McGonagall as the two sat on Barty’s bed in the Slytherin dorms. Barty tried to focus on his additional homework– a punishment from the Transfiguration professor for turning her into a chicken in the middle of class– so he wouldn’t get another lecture from McGonagall, but his mischievous companion wasn’t having it.
“Wanna hear a better one?” Evan plucked the quill right out of Barty’s unsuspecting grasp, grinning like a fool as he held it above where Barty could reach while sat down.
“Hey! If I don’t get this done the old hag’ll have me hung on the Whomping Willow!” He reached for the quill, groaning as Evan continued to tease.
“Scared of a little kitty, Crouch?” Evan batted his lashes innocently, his voice laced with mocking. Barty snarled, tackling his best friend, Evan play-fighting back, the quill tossed to the side and forgotten amidst the chaos.
Their play fights were always full of biting and hair-pulling, like toddlers fighting over the newest toy, and occasionally developed into real fights after which they’d sulk identically to the simile previously used. Nowadays, however, with his extensive and merciless Death-Eater training, Barty overpowered Evan within a couple of minutes.
“That’s not very fair,” purred Evan breathlessly as Barty held him down, straddling his hips. Evan’s sandy hair was a mess against the black and emerald-green embroidered pillow, both boys’ faces flushed with the physical challenge of trying to win over one another.
Evan’s hands slipped down to Barty’s hips. “I have no chance against you anymore– like a mouse trying to beat a cat…” He trailed off, slender fingers slipping into Barty’s belt loops.
For a few moments tense with anticipation neither spoke, until Barty scoffed, batting Evan’s hands away rather harshly and getting off. “Fucking faggot.” He muttered, hearing the shuffle of sheets behind him as Evan slipped off the bed also, leaning against one of the wooden posts, a slightly disappointed expression on his face.
We’ve had this conversation before.
But–
I don’t like guys.
Me neither.
Yes you do, Rosier.
Then so do you, Crouch.
“Last year at Hogwarts, Barty.” Evan said in an uncharacteristically soft voice, one that Barty both longed for and detested, walking over to where Barty sat on a threadbare armchair and hesitantly placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder, half-expecting Barty to shove him off like he usually did when he was trying to defend himself from Evan’s… Affection, let’s say.
But he didn’t this time.
This time, he covered Evan’s smaller hand with his own, feeling an unfamiliar pit in his stomach as he allowed himself to do so.
“Last year.” Barty echoed monotonously, looking up at his best friend with the lightest hint of a smile that felt as fake on him as the clothes his father made him wear to family gatherings. “Let’s make it a good one.”