What You Can't Remember Can't Hurt You
Ugh. His head throbbed like he’d just been hit by a train. Then tossed in a fire. Then stuck on a pike. In short he felt like he’d just been crucio’ed for ten hours.
The price you pay for contentment.
That handy mini-obliviate had done its job perfectly well. Too well, maybe, because he was sure he’d studied the night before, yet remembered nothing of it. McGonagall wouldn’t be pleased.
He glanced at the clock, which rather irritatingly told him it was nearly noon. He swore those pointy little hands were judging them, perched high upon the wall. Or he was just mad. Both equally likely.
With immense reluctance, he dragged himself out of bed (though only after struggling with the tangled bedsheets for an embarrassing length of five minutes) and tossed on some clothes. He didn’t need prophetic powers to know if he didn’t get his arse downstairs in approximately three minutes Pandora would drag him down– she wasn’t even a Slytherin, he shouldn’t let himself get–
“Barty! Come on, everyone’s downstairs, you sleepyhead!” she barged into the room as if she, 1) wasn’t a Ravenclaw 2) wasn’t a girl, and 3) owned the castle, her hands on her hips.
“I must’ve slept for ages ‘cause it looks like Dumbledore died and left Hogwarts to you, Madame Rosier.” He muttered, embracing his role of the morning grump and rolling his eyes as Pandora tugged him downstairs like a chihuahua pulling on the leg of her owner’s trousers to be taken out for a walk.
“Look who’s up!” she announced in a sing-song voice to the rest of the group, who all seemed to be in rather busy spirits, preparing for tests and such at the table. Wait, tests? What tests? They had tests–?
“Any particular reason you slept until eleven like a jobless drunk nursing a hangover?” Regulus questioned sharply with the usual dose of criticism in his voice that everyone had gotten familiar with by now, not even looking up from his parchment– which appeared to span the whole length of the table, and more.
“Any particular reason you didn’t go back to the dorms last night?” Barty bit back, immediately seeing the irritation in Regulus’s general demeanour. They were a dangerous combination in the mornings, both being far from the most cheerful students in the castle before the hour of twelve. Pandora had once tried to mediate them, but had given up on that around third year, now taking a seat beside Dorcas, who was observing with mild interest as her quill magically wrote onto the parchment before her without even needing to be touched.
“I’m sure you could answer that question.” Regulus told him venomously, but before Barty could express his confusion at the response, which made no sense to him whatsoever, Evan stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the wooden floor and making quite the interruptive racket, before he wordlessly left the room, making sure to shove against a perfectly disoriented Barty as he did.
“What on Merlin’s beard is going on?…” he muttered, sitting down at the table, his feud with Regulus now dissolved as the other returned promptly to his studies.
Evan’s behaviour wasn’t much of a surprise– see, Barty knew that Evan knew what Barty did to himself with that spell, what he made himself forget, and he was well aware that Evan didn’t like it. He was always cold and snappy at Barty after he did it– which was less than ideal, as Evan’s sulking could last anywhere from hours to days, and they had a Potions project together tomorrow.
Fuck.
Why was it that every time he erased a memory, it seemed to involve Evan?!
“Did you two fall out…?” Pandora hazarded to ask, breaking the tense silence at the table.
Barty didn’t respond. Even if they had, he wouldn’t know, anyway. Better to make the others think him and Evan had another stupid argument or something than tell them that… Well. They didn’t know he obliviated himself– no one did, apart from Evan. How he knew? Barty had no idea, his dumb ass had probably erased that memory too, but he most definitely knew. He never told anyone though, at least as far as Barty was aware. Thank Merlin for that.
Regulus glanced up, his eyes momentarily meeting Barty’s across the table, the contact lasting just a second too long to be insignificant.
“Come on, Pan. Leave them to be.. Them. Marlene’s going to want to meet us in the library– you know she’s going to fail the tests unless we help her.”
Dorcas took Pandora’s hand, the two of them leaving the room meaning Barty and Regulus were alone now. Fuck Dorcas, she always had to make things hard for him.
I’m sure you could answer that question… what was that meant to mean? Regulus Black seemed to be physically unable to answer a question like a normal person, he had to riddle everything with… Well, riddles.
“You look like you’re thinking.” He observed, setting his parchment and quill to the side to cross his arms, looking ever-so-judgmentally at Barty. “I’m nervous.”
Barty didn’t have the heart in him to make up a smart retort then, and Regulus could clearly see that. He sighed, starting to pack up his things. “Go on then.”
He hesitated, then said, “No, nothing.. Just worried about exams, that’s all.”
Regulus barked a laugh, and it was justified. Barty never worried about tests– he had photographic memory, just spend a while looking at it and he’s got the answers memorised: the only reason he passed his OWLs.
“What? I’m allowed to be stressed now and again!” Barty said in an embarrassingly whiny tone, his voice seeming to go up an octave out of nervousness. Not only could Regulus see through his act flawlessly, it was a pretty terrible act. Like a preschool nativity show.
“Barty.” Regulus said in a tone that made the other cringe as if he was a child being scolded by his father again. “We both know the truth. Well, you don’t know a lot. You’ve got a pretty bad memory, haven’t you?”
Barty’s blood ran cold.
Regulus stood up, glancing at Barty coldly.
“Forgetting your problems isn’t going to fix them, Barty. And it most certainly won’t fix his.”
With that, he stalked out of the room. Great. How Regulus managed to know everything about everyone, Barty had as much idea as he did to what he’d forgotten. But damn did it make his life harder. And now he was alone, a couple of other Slytherins carrying their own conversations, not paying him any attention. It was like the opening line of a bad joke, the type his father told at house parties, or the ones Evan would tell Filch before chucking a permanent stink bomb at him. Barty Crouch Jr walks into a room. Everyone leaves. Cue laughing track.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He was screwed, wasn’t he? He was pretty sure Regulus and Evan wouldn’t tell– if they did, the whole school would know how much of a coward he is, how much of his grand demeanour is actually just a narcissistic lie built on literal toothpicks that could be torn down with a light breeze. Seven years of work all destined to go down the drain, along with his hopes, dreams and all that other shazam people say when they’re being dramatic.
Wait.
How did Regulus find out…?
Evan.