The dim light of early morning filtered through the thick green curtains that shielded the Slytherin dorms from the outside world. It was still too early for most students to be awake, the air still crisp from the chill of the night. From his bed, Evan Rosier could hear the faint rustling of the trees outside the castle and the occasional murmur of voices from the common room below, but everything felt distant, muted, like he was suspended in some kind of strange limbo. The room was still, silent, and calm—nothing like the chaos of the day ahead.
He blinked sleepily and stared at the ceiling for a few moments before turning his gaze across the room to the bed opposite his.
Barty. lay sprawled across the covers, his messy dirty-blonde hair tangled around the pillow, his face peaceful in sleep. It was a rare sight—Barty’s usual manic energy replaced by an almost serene stillness. To anyone else, it would have seemed like a minor thing, just a guy sleeping. But to Evan, it felt like an intrusion—a moment he wasn’t supposed to witness, a side of Barty he didn’t often see, and something he was far too familiar with.
Evan exhaled softly, shifting in his bed. The room was empty of anything but the two of them, as it usually was. But lately, Evan couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that there was more to the silence than just the usual quiet of morning. Something had changed. He wasn’t sure when, or how, but it had. And it felt like a secret that hovered between them, thin but tangible, just waiting to be uncovered.
"Five more minutes…" Barty groaned, his voice muffled by the pillow as he reached up with one hand to swipe it over his face. A lazy, half-hearted gesture. Evan raised an eyebrow. The guy could sleep through a thunderstorm but somehow still manage to get through the day as though nothing ever happened.
"Get up, Barty," Evan said, sitting up slowly. His legs dangled off the side of the bed, his feet brushing the cold stone floor. "We’ll be late for breakfast at this rate."
Barty mumbled something incoherent and pulled the covers up over his head. Evan shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. As exasperating as Barty was, this part—the way he managed to turn even a simple morning into something that Evan found vaguely charming—was the one thing Evan couldn’t deny.
With a flick of his wand, Evan conjured a burst of light that illuminated the room just enough to get Barty’s attention. It wasn’t enough to wake him up entirely, but it was enough to let him know that Evan wasn’t going to let him off the hook this time.
Barty groaned dramatically, lifting his head slightly from the pillow to squint at him through tired eyes. "Five more minutes," he repeated stubbornly.
Evan snorted. "If you don't get up, I'll cast Leviosa and drag you to the Great Hall without your robes."
Barty’s lips twitched, almost as if he were fighting a smile. "I’d like to see you try," he mumbled, rolling over and shoving the covers off himself. "You’d probably faint trying to lift me."
Evan chuckled. "Don't flatter yourself. It’s the thought of facing the wrath of McGonagall if I actually do that that's stopping me."
Barty sat up, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. His hair stuck up in every direction, and his expression was still half-asleep, but his grin was unmistakable. "You know you love me, Rosier. You can't do anything without me."
Evan rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "I’ve gotten along fine without you for years. Don’t flatter yourself."
Barty's grin only widened. "Right, right. Keep telling yourself that. I’m sure it’ll help when you end up all alone at the table, eating your sad little breakfast without me."
Evan shot him a mock-glare, pushing himself to his feet. "Whatever you say, Crouch."
Barty pulled a shirt from the closet and threw it on the bed, while Evan was at the mirror, carefully combing his hair. There was a sense of calm in their routine. It wasn't rushed; they were simply used to each other’s pace. After a few moments of getting their clothes ready, they headed toward the bathroom.
In the bathroom, the soft sound of running water filled the space as Evan stood at the sink, brushing his teeth. Barty followed suit, the two of them moving in sync, brushing away the remnants of sleep from their minds. The mirrored surface reflected their small smiles as they passed the toothpaste back and forth, each taking turns to freshen up.
Once finished, they moved back to the bedroom. Barty went for his shirt and pants. Evan was already almost dressed, but there was one last detail left: helping Barty with his tie. Barty held it out, the long piece of fabric dangling awkwardly, unsure of how to loop it properly.
Evan moved in closer with a smile, his fingers deftly working the tie into a perfect knot. As he pulled the green tie tight and adjusted it, Barty laughed softly, appreciating how natural the moment felt.
The tie was just one of many small ways they took care of each other.
The usual banter flowed easily between them, like it always did. But beneath it, something was different. Evan wasn’t sure when it had happened, but lately, it felt like something had shifted. Their words had a weight to them, even the jokes. Evan caught himself looking at Barty for longer than he should, wondering how his messy hair could look so good and why Barty’s grin—cocky, self-assured—had the ability to make his heart stutter for just a second.
He shook his head, forcing the thoughts aside. This was Barty. His friend. His best friend. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Barty was looking over at Evan. "You ready, Rosier? What are you overthinking again?"
Evan's eyes narrowed as he grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. "I'm not overthinking," he said, though his voice didn’t sound quite as convincing as he wanted it to.
Barty chuckled softly and walked toward the door, his usual confidence back in full force. "Sure you’re not."
As they made their way out of the dormitory and down the corridor, Evan couldn’t help but feel the tension build. It wasn’t just in the way Barty had said that last line. It was in the air between them, thick and humming with unspoken words. A tension that seemed to grow every time they were near each other.
They reached the Great Hall, and as the doors creaked open, they were met with the usual hustle and bustle of breakfast. The long tables were filled with students, the smell of food wafting through the air, and the chatter of conversation drowned out any remaining quiet. It was a welcome distraction, but Evan couldn’t shake the feeling that something was waiting for him in this room. Waiting for both of them.
They made their way to the Slytherin table, slipping into their usual seats. Dorcas was already there, buttering a piece of toast with a smirk on her face. "You two are like a married couple," she teased, her brown eyes gleaming mischievously.
Evan froze, suddenly aware of how much time he and Barty had been spending together, how their interactions had started to feel… different, especially this year, they grew older and things started to fell weird. He cleared his throat, forcing a casual grin. "Really funny," he said with exaggerated carelessness.
Barty leaned back in his seat, eyes twinkling with amusement. "What can I say? We’re practically inseparable," he replied with a teasing smile. "I’m practically a fixture in Rosier’s life at this point."
Evan rolled his eyes, trying not to let the heat in his cheeks show. "Right. Just don’t expect me to start calling you my ‘better half.’"
Dorcas raised an eyebrow. "whatever you say, Rosier. I’m just saying, you two are practically glued together since first year.
As the teasing continued, Evan felt his heart race a little faster. It was just Dorcas being Dorcas, and she’d never been one to let a little thing like subtlety get in the way. But the words—attached at the hip—hung in the air longer than they should have. And for a brief moment, Evan could feel the eyes of everyone at the table flick to him and Barty.
His stomach twisted, and he couldn’t quite figure out why.
Barty was busy stuffing his face with food, as though he hadn’t just heard a thing. But Evan couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this—more to him and Barty—that neither of them were ready to face.
For now, though, breakfast seemed like a safe enough distraction.
•
The day passed slowly for Evan Rosier, a strange undercurrent of discomfort following him through every class and corridor. All of it felt distant, like he was watching from far away.
It had started in the morning, just after breakfast, when Barty had brushed against him in the hall on their way to class, his arm pressing against Evan's in the crowded corridor. Evan had felt it—a spark, a warmth that spread through him like wildfire, igniting something he couldn’t even begin to understand. He’d tried to ignore it. Tried to brush it off as just another one of those things that happened when you spent too much time with someone. But it didn’t go away.
They’d gone to Potions, where the heavy smell of cauldrons and bubbling concoctions filled the air. As always, Barty had been his usual chaotic self, managing to cause a mild explosion from a failed brew, earning a sharp rebuke from Professor Slughorn. It was one of those moments Evan usually found endearing—the way Barty could turn any disaster into a joke. But today, Evan couldn’t focus on anything but the way Barty’s fingers curled around his wand, the way his sleeve rolled up just enough to reveal his toned forearm. Evan had to force himself to look away, heart pounding in his chest for reasons he couldn’t explain.
It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed Barty’s hands or the way his lips moved when he spoke. It wasn’t even the first time he’d felt that electric pull, that undeniable tension between them. But today, something felt different. More intense. And it made him uncomfortable in a way that was hard to put into words.
It wasn’t like Evan had never thought about attraction before. His parents, his house, even his friends had all made it clear what was expected of him—what he should want, who he should want. The fact that Evan had never found anyone attractive, mentally or physically, had always been a source of confusion, but he chalked it up to the fact that he was just too focused on other things. Too focused on his studies, his future, on being the perfect boy.
His parents had taught him to bury everything that didn’t align with that vision. Anything that might make him question his identity, his place in the world, was pushed away.
But this? The way his heart beat just a little faster when Barty smiled at him, the way his stomach twisted when Barty's hand brushed against his, was different. It didn’t make sense. Evan had never thought of anyone in that way, never wanted anyone close enough to make his skin feel tight, to make his pulse race.
He couldn’t reconcile it. His mind screamed at him to stop. To shut it down. This wasn’t normal. He was a Rosier. He didn’t—couldn’t—be attracted to an other boy. The thought made his chest tighten in panic. He’d been conditioned by his family, by society, to repress anything that didn’t fit the traditional mold. To be cold, calculating, above all things. To avoid weakness, to never let emotion cloud his judgment.
But it wasn’t weakness, was it? It was something else. Something he couldn’t understand. And no matter how much he wanted to ignore it, the truth kept clawing its way to the surface.
Later that afternoon, as they sat in the library preparing for their Defense Against the Dark Arts exam, Evan’s discomfort only grew. The library was quiet, save for the soft rustle of parchment and the occasional sigh of a student turning a page. Evan tried to focus on his notes, but every few seconds, his eyes would dart to Barty across the table. He watched as Barty scribbled notes with his usual intensity, the faint lines of exhaustion beneath his eyes giving him a worn, almost ethereal look. Barty’s dark green eyes flicked over to Evan, and for a brief moment, their gazes locked. The briefest flash of something unspoken passed between them, and Evan’s breath hitched in his throat.
Barty’s lips curled into a subtle smirk, one that was almost too knowing. It made Evan’s stomach flip. It was as if Barty knew exactly what was going on in his head.
Evan quickly looked away, focusing hard on the book in front of him, willing himself to stop thinking. Stop feeling. His pale fingers gripped the edge of his parchment so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He wasn’t supposed to want Barty like this. This was ridiculous. It was wrong.
Across the table, Barty sighed and leaned back in his chair, stretching lazily. The movement made Evan’s breath catch, his mind going blank for a second as he involuntarily admired the way Barty’s shirt tugged across his chest, the way his muscles shifted under the fabric, and Evan couldn’t help but follow the movement with his gaze.
What is wrong with me? Evan thought, his heart pounding as the feeling of attraction washed over him once again. The thought made him sick to his stomach. He couldn’t be attracted to Barty. He just couldn’t.
“Rosier?” Barty’s voice was low. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. You alright?”
Evan swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He forced a smile, though it felt weak on his lips. “Yeah, just… tired,” he muttered, his voice sounding far too strained.
Barty studied him for a long moment, his green eyes narrowing in that way Evan knew all too well—like Barty was sizing him up, trying to figure him out. Evan shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, but he couldn’t escape it. He couldn’t escape the pull. The heat that seemed to radiate from Barty in every glance, every word.
This was getting dangerous.
Evan closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head, trying to clear the thoughts swirling in his mind. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He wasn’t supposed to want this. But the more he denied it, the more real it became.
And for the first time in his life, Evan wasn’t sure who he was anymore.
•
It was a typical Thursday afternoon in the Slytherin common room, the stone walls humming with the low murmur of conversation and the occasional crackle of the fire in the hearth. The late autumn chill had set in, making the cold of the slytherin common room more inviting. Barty, as usual, was lounging on one of the couches, lazily flipping through a textbook that he wasn’t even pretending to read. He was half-focused on the pages, but most of his attention was on the two people sitting nearby—Evan and Regulus.
Evan was sitting at the table in front of him, his blonde head bent over an essay for Dark Arts class, furiously scribbling with a quill. His pale cheeks were flushed with the effort, his blue eyes bright with concentration. It was the way his fingers tightened around his quill, the way his lips subtly parted as he focused, that made Barty’s stomach do something strange.
He had noticed these little things about Evan before—his fingers, delicate and pale, his quiet yet intense focus, the way he would chew on the edge of his lip when lost in thought. But today, for some reason, they felt different. His attraction had always been there, buried beneath the layers of their friendship, but it was starting to burn through, more intense with each passing day.
Barty shifted uncomfortably on the couch, trying to refocus his attention on the textbook in his lap. The words blurred together, but he wasn’t reading anymore. He was watching Evan.
His friend’s hands, slender and graceful, moved across the page. Every time Evan lifted his quill, his sleeve would roll back slightly, revealing the smooth skin of his forearms, the faint muscles in his arms flexing under the motion. Barty’s mind drifted—unwelcome, dangerous thoughts pressing in. He quickly averted his gaze, pretending to pay attention to the fire crackling across the room.
He cursed himself.
It had been happening more and more lately—the way his thoughts would get stuck on Evan, the way his heart would race whenever their hands brushed or when their eyes met for too long. He had never felt anything like it before, not for anyone, and it terrified him.
The worst part? He didn’t want to feel it. He couldn’t want it. This was wrong. The idea of wanting someone like Evan, someone so… so beautiful in a way that made Barty’s chest tighten, made him feel sick.
He clenched his jaw, fingers tightening on the textbook in his lap.
What the hell was wrong with him?
The flickering firelight cast a warm glow across Evan’s face, softening his sharp features. Barty watched as Evan’s blonde lashes fluttered—almost white against his pale skin—and his lips, pink and full, twisted into a slight frown of concentration. There was something about the way his brows furrowed as he worked, that little line between them deepening in thought, that made Barty’s chest tighten. The sight of Evan, in that quiet intensity, was almost too much.
Barty stood abruptly, the harsh scrape of his chair against the stone floor echoing through the otherwise silent room. The sudden movement made Evan look up, startled, his blue eyes widening slightly as they met Barty’s.
“Everything okay?” Evan asked, voice cautious, the quill in his hand pausing in mid-air.
Barty felt a flush rise in his chest and neck, but he forced a grin, trying to cover the awkward tension with a joke. “Yeah, fine. Just—forgot to grab something from our room.” His voice was a little too loud, too crazy.
He turned quickly, all but fleeing the room, feeling the weight of Evan’s gaze on his back.
Barty didn’t go to their room. Instead, he took a long, meandering walk through the castle, the cold air biting at his face as he moved. He wasn’t sure what he was running from—Evan’s eyes, his own thoughts, the constant tension between them. He only knew that the closer he got to Evan, the harder it became to breathe.
By the time he returned to the common room, it was late, and the others had already gone to bed. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the room. Evan was still sitting at the table, now packing his things away with deliberate slowness. Barty hesitated by the door, watching him.
Evan didn’t notice him at first, too focused on gathering his things. But when he finally stood and looked up, their eyes met, and Barty saw the confusion there—Evan had noticed the distance, the tension between them. Barty felt his stomach churn.
“Barty,” Evan said softly, voice almost hesitant. “fucking hell, where did you go?”
Barty didn’t have an answer. “Needed some air,” he muttered, his tone sharper than he intended. He saw the flicker of disappointment in Evan’s eyes, and it twisted something inside him.
Evan didn’t respond immediately. He just watched Barty, his blue eyes unwavering. It was like Evan could see through him, could see the thoughts that Barty had been trying so hard to bury.
Barty couldn’t stand it. He felt like he was suffocating, drowning in this confusion. “I don’t know what the hell this is, alright? I feel like the older we get the weirder our friendship grows, i know you fucking feel it to Ev, I've seen the way you look at me.” he snapped, the words coming out before he could stop them. “you’re making me… weak, You’re making me fucking weak. And I hate that shit."
Evan blinked, taken aback by the outburst. His lips parted, like he was about to say something, but Barty didn’t wait for him. He turned away, fists clenched at his sides.
“I don’t want this right now,” Barty muttered, his voice breaking as he moved toward the door. “I don’t want you making me feel this way.”
He was gone before Evan could respond, slamming the door behind him with a force that rattled the walls. The silence that followed was deafening.
Barty didn’t go far—he just needed to be away. Away from Evan, away from everything. But the guilt was already beginning to eat at him, like acid burning through his skin. He hadn’t meant to snap at Evan like that. He didn’t even know why he had. It just came out. His thoughts were all over the place—confused, angry, ashamed.
It wasn’t long before he found himself back in the common room, pacing in front of the fire. The warmth of it did little to soothe him. His mind kept spiraling, replaying everything he’d said to Evan, everything he felt—things that made him want to crawl out of his own skin.
His thoughts were interrupted by the soft creak of the door. Barty tensed, turning around to see Evan standing in the doorway, his blue eyes soft but cautious.
“Barty,” Evan said quietly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… make you feel...that.”
Barty’s breath caught in his throat. “No, you don’t—don’t apologize, it's not you're fucking fault.” Barty said quickly, his voice rough. He took a step forward, then stopped, unsure of what to do. “I just—everything’s… fucked up. I don’t know how to deal with this.”
Evan stepped closer, his gaze never wavering. “It’s okay,” he said gently, a small, understanding smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Barty’s breath caught again, and for a moment, everything in him felt impossibly still. The anger, the confusion, the guilt—it all seemed to melt away as Evan stepped closer, a quiet, reassuring presence.
“Goodnight, Evan,” Barty whispered, his voice breaking as the weight of it all finally hit him.
Evan didn’t say anything more. He just let Barty pass by him and leave.
•
The days after Barty's outburst were a blur of awkward silences and forced normalcy. The tension between him and Evan was palpable, hanging thick in the air like smoke after a fire. Neither of them spoke of it—neither of them wanted to—but it was there. The weight of their unspoken words pressed heavily between them, suffocating their usual banter.
The worst part? Neither of them knew how to fix it.
It was a Saturday morning when Dorcas finally decided to intervene.
Evan, who had been unusually quiet that morning, was sitting with Regulus in the corner of the common room, his mind distant as he absentmindedly stirred his tea. He could feel the weight of Barty’s presence in the room, but he wasn’t sure what to do with it. Every time their eyes met, he felt a strange mix of longing and discomfort. He couldn’t even look at Barty without his heart rate picking up, his breath hitching.
"Something on your mind, Rosier?" Dorcas’s voice broke through his thoughts, sharp and teasing as always. She leaned against the back of his chair, arms folded across her chest.
Evan tried to mask his discomfort with a forced grin. "Just tired. Didn’t sleep well," he said, keeping his tone light.
Dorcas raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "You know, you’ve been looking tired a lot lately." She lowered her voice, leaning in closer. “You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with Barty, haven’t you?”
Evan stiffened. “What are you talking about?” He kept his voice even, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck.
Dorcas grinned mischievously. “I mean, I’ve never seen you two so... chummy.” Her eyes darted toward Barty, who was sitting on the other side of the room, absently flipping through a Potions textbook. "You were attached at the hip these days and now you seem distant. Did something happen?”
Evan's stomach twisted into a knot, but he refused to show any sign of discomfort. He shook his head quickly, forcing a chuckle. “Nothing happened, Dorcas. It’s just—just the usual.”
But the words sounded hollow, even to him. Evan could feel Dorcas watching him closely, like a hawk waiting for a moment of weakness. He cursed himself for not being able to control his reactions, for the way his chest tightened at her words, as though she had somehow cracked open a door he wasn’t ready to face.
"Right," Dorcas said, her voice dripping with suspicion. "So you're not mad at him, then?"
The question hit him like a punch to the gut, and he froze. His blue eyes flicked toward Barty, who was still obliviously absorbed in his book, his messy hair falling over his forehead as he read.
"Mad at Barty? No. Why would I be mad?" Evan forced the words out, but his voice was tight, almost defensive. He tried to laugh it off, but it sounded strained.
Regulus, who had been watching the exchange with his usual detached curiosity, finally spoke up, his tone casual. “You two have been acting weird lately,” he said, his pale green eyes flicking briefly from Evan to Barty and then back to the fire. “Can’t say I blame you. Barty’s a mess.”
Evan’s heart skipped a beat at Regulus’s comment, but he quickly tried to cover it up with a shrug. "Yeah, well, Barty’s always a mess." His words were sharp, forced, and he immediately regretted them. Regulus’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though he was sensing the underlying tension that Evan was trying so hard to mask.
Dorcas was still watching him, her gaze too knowing. “It’s just... you two are always together. I mean, I get it. Barty’s great company. But this year have been different...” She trailed off, letting the silence hang, her smile widening. “I’m just saying, I wouldn’t be surprised if you two were... more than just friends.”
Evan’s stomach flipped. It was too much.
He jumped up from his seat abruptly, feeling the heat rise to his face. “I’m not mad at him, Dorcas, okay? And we’re just friends,” he said, voice a little sharper than he meant. His pulse raced, and he could feel his cheeks flush. “I’m just not in the mood to talk right now.”
Before either of them could respond, he stormed out of the common room, the door slamming behind him.
Later that night, as Evan lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, the pressure of his thoughts grew unbearable. His mind kept replaying Dorcas’s words, each one sinking deeper into his skin like needles. More than just friends.
He had to keep denying it. He had to push the thoughts of Barty out of his mind—push out the way his body felt warm in his presence, the way his heart raced when their hands brushed, the way his stomach twisted into knots when Barty smiled that crooked, mischievous smile.
The worst part? He didn’t understand why it felt so wrong. Why his heart should feel so confused when all he had known was friendship with Barty.
A soft knock at his door interrupted his thoughts, and Evan’s heart skipped. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, but his gut twisted at the thought that it might be Barty coming to their room.
He forced himself to sit up, his heart still racing as he called, “yes ?”
The door creaked open, and there he was—Barty, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. His face was drawn, the bags under his eyes more pronounced, but his expression was unreadable.
“Evan,” he said quietly, stepping into the room. He paused at the foot of the bed, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his robe. “Are you mad at me for what i said?”
Evan felt a pang of guilt hit him like a ton of bricks. He couldn’t look at Barty, his throat tight with emotion. “No,” he said quickly, almost too quickly. “I’m just... tired. It’s nothing.”
Barty stood there for a moment, watching him, his green eyes sharp despite the fatigue. “You sure? You’ve been avoiding me. I know i have said some weird shit earlier but..i didn't.. i didn't actually meant it, you know i can be a lot sometimes.”
Evan’s heart hammered in his chest. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he forced a smile, one that felt painfully fake. “I’m just tired, Barty. Honestly. I’m not mad at you.”
Barty didn’t look convinced, but he gave a small nod. “Alright. Just... don’t shut me out, okay?” he said, his voice soft, almost vulnerable.
“I’ll be fine,” Evan replied, his voice strained. He hated lying to Barty, especially now, but it was the only thing he could do to avoid confronting the mess inside his own head. He forced himself to look at Barty and gave a faint, tight smile. “I’m just... tired. That’s all.”
Barty lingered for a moment longer before turning to his bed.
Evan collapsed back into his pillows, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on him. He’s not mad at you. You’re not mad at him. But it didn’t feel like that. Not anymore.
The line between friendship and something more had blurred, and Evan had no idea how to fix it.
•
The Potions classroom was suffused with the smell of cauldron steam and ancient ingredients, a mixture of sulfur, herbs, and something faintly metallic. It was late afternoon, and the final lesson of the day seemed to stretch on endlessly. Evan was sitting at his usual table, hands tucked under his chin as he stared down at the potion they were supposed to be brewing—a Draught of Living Death. He wasn’t really looking at it, though. His mind kept drifting.
It was hard not to when Barty was sitting across from him, so close, too close.
Today, they were paired up, much to Evan's horror. He couldn’t focus on the bubbling cauldron, nor could he focus on the carefully calculated instructions. Every time he tried, his thoughts kept drifting to Barty, whose hands were moving deftly as he added ingredients with precise flicks of his wrist.
Barty was beautiful in a way that Evan had never fully understood until now. His messy dirty blonde hair fell into his eyes in a way that made Evan want to brush it back. His lips were slightly parted as he concentrated on the task at hand, his brow furrowed in a way that made Evan’s chest tighten. The sharp cut of his jaw, the subtle way his eyes shifted from the potion to Evan’s face—everything about him felt magnetic, as if Barty’s presence was pulling him in.
Evan’s heart raced every time their eyes met, and his breath hitched in his throat when Barty’s arm brushed against his. That brief contact, that tiny spark, was enough to send a jolt through his entire body. Evan swallowed hard, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.
"Careful with that," Barty said, his voice low and smooth as he gently adjusted Evan’s hand, guiding him on how much powdered dragon liver to add to the cauldron.
The touch sent a shock through Evan, and his pulse quickened. The warmth of Barty’s fingers lingered on his wrist for a second too long. A small, involuntary shiver ran down Evan’s spine. He tried to ignore it, tried to focus on the potion, but Barty’s proximity was making everything impossible.
“You’re—” Evan cleared his throat, his voice unsteady. “You’re not supposed to add too much. The instructions said precisely—"
Barty smiled, not looking at him, but Evan could feel it in the air. He could feel the curve of Barty’s lips, the way his breath seemed to hitch when their fingers brushed. He could feel it, even if Barty wasn’t saying a word. “I know,” Barty said softly. “Just making sure you’re paying attention.”
Evan's face flushed. He was barely able to focus. His stomach fluttered, and his chest felt tight, like the air had suddenly thickened between them. Why was Barty doing this after what he said? Why was everything so much more... intense? His usual sense of control, the ability to stay detached, was slipping, and it terrified him.
He’d never felt this way about anyone. No one had ever made him feel like this—not physically, not emotionally.
As Barty leaned in to check the brew, his shoulder brushed against Evan’s. The contact was brief, but it felt like an eternity. Evan’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, everything went still. The only thing he could focus on was the warmth of Barty’s body so close to his, the faint scent of his cologne, the way his fingers brushed against Evan’s once again.
Then, in an instant, everything seemed to sharpen. Evan’s eyes flicked to Barty’s face—his eyes were darker now, the green of them reflecting the light from the cauldron. For a split second, everything else in the room faded into nothing. It was just him and Barty, two bodies too close, two hearts beating faster.
And then Barty’s hand brushed against Evan’s cheek.
The touch was so light, so gentle, that Evan couldn’t tell if it had been intentional or not. But it felt like a spark had gone off between them, a sudden rush of heat that left him breathless. His heart slammed against his ribs. He felt the blood rush to his cheeks, the warmth crawling up his neck.
He couldn’t control it anymore.
“Barty,” Evan whispered, his voice thick. He didn’t know what he wanted to say. Didn’t know how to fix it. Didn’t know how to keep the flood of feelings back.
Barty’s eyes widened for just a fraction of a second, then he quickly pulled back, his hand snapping away from Evan’s cheek. The movement was almost too fast, like he couldn’t get away from him fast enough, his face flushed, but his jaw was clenched, and there was something cold in his eyes.
“Sorry,” Barty muttered, his voice a little strained. “Didn’t mean to—”
He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he took a step back, putting a few feet of distance between them.
Evan felt the coldness in the air as Barty retreated, but he didn’t understand it. What had just happened? Why was everything suddenly so wrong?
The rest of the class passed in a blur. Evan could hardly concentrate. The potion was bubbling away, the instructions still floating before his eyes, but all he could think about was the way Barty’s hand had touched his cheek, the look in his eyes, the sudden chill that had taken over the room when Barty had pulled away.
That night, Evan couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, his mind too alive with thoughts of Barty, of the way his heart had raced, of the way he’d wanted to pull Barty back and see if it felt as electric as it had in that moment.
His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps in the room.
Evan sat up immediately, his heart skipping in his chest.
“It’s me,” came Barty’s voice, hoarse and tired. There was something else in it, though. Something raw.
Barty stood in the doorway, his messy hair falling into his eyes, his hands shoved into the pockets of his robes.
“I... I need to talk to you, i can't act like nothing is happening." Barty said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. His green eyes flicked over Evan, then quickly away, as if he was afraid to look too long.
Evan’s throat went dry. “What is it?”
Barty hesitated before stepping inside. “ You damn know what is it. What the hell’s going on between us ? i tried yesterday to talk about it but it was to.... fuck... hard.” He broke off, running a hand through his hair, his face contorted with frustration. “I can’t keep pretending like I don’t feel something. This... this fucking thing. I don’t know what it is, but it’s... it’s driving me crazy.”
Evan felt a mixture of relief and fear flood through him. He wanted to reach out, to say something, to fix this. But the words wouldn’t come.
Barty took a deep breath, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have let it get this far. I’m... I’m trying to make sense of it, but I don’t know how and i need to figure this out.”
Evan’s heart pounded, and he stood there frozen, unsure of what to say, unsure of what he wanted.
The silence between them grew thick, suffocating.
Then Barty turned abruptly, his face a mask of frustration. “I can't....” he said, his voice tight. “I... I can’t be around you right now. Not until I figure this out.”
Evan watched helplessly as Barty left, the door closing softly behind him. The weight of his words hung in the air, and for the first time Evan slept alone in their dorm.
•
The days following Barty’s abrupt departure from their room were tense, filled with an unspoken heaviness that clung to every interaction. They hadn’t spoken much since that night, and every time their eyes met, there was something unsaid hanging between them, like a thick fog neither of them knew how to clear.
Evan couldn’t stop thinking about the way Barty had left—how his face had been a mixture of frustration and something darker, something more raw. The brief glimpse of vulnerability he’d shown had stayed with Evan, gnawing at him, even as Barty’s sudden coldness pushed him further away.
But Evan couldn’t ignore it any longer. He couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine when every time he saw Barty, his chest tightened with both longing and confusion. He needed answers. He needed to know where they stood—whether it was just him, or if Barty was feeling the same way.
After dinner, when the corridors were mostly empty and students scattered to their common rooms or the library, Evan made his decision. He found Barty standing by the wall near the Slytherin common room, staring out of the window as if trying to avoid the rest of the world. His shoulders were hunched, and his expression was unreadable, like he was lost in his own thoughts.
Evan approached slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. He’d rehearsed this moment in his head over and over, but now that it was happening, words seemed so impossible.
“i won't allow this” he started, his voice quieter than he intended. “We need to figure this out, together.”
Barty turned slowly, his eyes flicking to Evan for just a moment before looking away. His face was hard, closed off, but Evan could see the tension in the set of his jaw, the way his fists clenched at his sides.
“we already talked yesterday.” Barty said, his voice sharp. He sounded like he was trying to keep his distance—emotionally and physically—but Evan wasn’t going to back down now.
“No,” Evan said, shaking his head, stepping closer, a desperate urgency in his voice.
His hands were shaking at his sides, but he couldn’t stop himself. “What’s going on between us?”
Barty’s gaze flicked up to meet his, but there was nothing warm in it anymore—only coldness. “ i fucking don't know, okay?” Barty replied, his tone tight. “You’re reading too much into it, Evan.”
“No, I’m not,” Evan snapped, his frustration bubbling over. “You can’t just... pretend like nothing happened! You touched me, Barty. You acted like—” He cut himself off, his breath catching. ' like you wanted me' he wanted to say. His heart was beating so hard in his chest it felt like it might explode. “and then you just say you need space ?"
Barty’s face darkened, and he stepped back, putting more distance between them. “You’re overthinking everything,” he muttered. “It’s nothing. We're just to close. it's unhealthy, we need space.”
“I can’t forget it!” Evan shouted, his voice rising before he could stop it. “You act like you want something, like you feel something, and then you pull away and now we need space ? You—” He swallowed hard, trying to rein in his emotions. “You make me feel crazy, Barty."
Barty’s face twisted with frustration, and he finally snapped, his voice rising with anger. “Nothing could ever happen between us, Evan!” The words hung in the air like a curse. He took a step closer, his green eyes flashing. “You think I want this? You think I want to be stuck in this mess, feeling like this?” He ran a hand through his hair, the frustration radiating off him in waves. “I can’t be... like that. Not here, Not with everything.”
Evan’s heart sank. He had suspected, but hearing Barty say it out loud—so harshly, so coldly—felt like a blow to the chest.
Barty’s voice wavered slightly as he continued. “It’s just not... possible, Not for me.” He took another step back, his gaze flicking to the floor, avoiding Evan’s eyes. “I can’t be what you want, Evan."
Evan was silent, the sting of Barty’s words sinking deep into his chest. He wanted to scream, to make Barty see that this wasn’t some fleeting mistake. But the look on Barty’s face—the way he couldn’t even look him in the eye—made the anger fade, replaced by something deeper. Something hurt.
“You think I want this?” Evan repeated, his voice louder now, more broken. “You think I want to feel like this? To feel stupid for even thinking you might feel the same way?” He shook his head, his throat tightening. “I never asked for any of this, Barty. But I do feel something."
Barty’s eyes snapped back to him at that. His lips parted, but no words came out. The silence stretched between them like a taut wire, but it wasn’t enough to close the distance.
“You don’t get it,” Barty whispered, his voice quieter now, as if he were speaking to himself. “I can’t... I can’t feel this way. Not for you.”
Evan stepped forward, his breath ragged. “than why does it make you so fucking angry, huh?”
For a moment, there was no answer. Then Barty's shoulders slumped, as if the weight of his own words had broken him. His anger seemed to dissipate, replaced by something darker, something painful.
“Because I miss you like hell !” Barty finally admitted, he was screaming." I miss so much what we had before I can hardly stand it. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do with that. And now you’re making me feel like... like it matters. Like maybe I don’t have to hide anymore. That's suck Evan!"
Evan’s breath caught in his throat, and he took a tentative step forward, his voice small but full of hope. “if you miss me, why do you keep pushing me away?”
Suddenly the air between them was charged, electric, as Barty’s eyes darkened with something dangerous, something hungry.
He stood just inches from Evan, too close, the tension thick enough to cut through. Evan’s breath caught in his throat as Barty’s hand came to rest against his chest, fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt, sending a shock of heat through him.
"You have no idea what you’re doing to me." Barty murmured, his voice low and dripping with intent.
Evan met his gaze, lips parting slightly, heart hammering. "Show me," he said, his voice a challenge, daring Barty to make the first move.
Barty stopped thinking. His hand gripped Evan’s jaw, tilting his face up just enough to claim his lips in a bruising kiss. The force of it took Evan by surprise—hot, aggressive, unrelenting. Barty’s mouth was all demand, parting his lips with a possessive edge that sent a thrill down Evan’s spine. His body responded before his mind could catch up, leaning into the kiss, his hands finding Barty’s shoulders, fingers digging in the flesh.
Barty’s other hand slid down Evan’s side, pulling him closer, pressing their bodies together so that Evan could feel the heat of him, the rigid line of Barty’s chest against his. He shuddered, his own pulse thumping in his ears as the kiss deepened, the taste of him filling Evan’s senses.
When Barty’s tongue swept into his mouth, Evan let out a low sound—part moan, part gasp— eventually they pulled apart, barty eyes burning with a mixture of desire and something darker. Evan could feel the heat radiating off him, the weight of his presence closing in. His heart pounded, each beat syncing with the thrum of anticipation that hung between them.
Evan's breath caught as Barty’s hand reached up, fingers grazing the side of his face, a touch that was gentle at first, but the smoldering heat in Barty’s gaze betrayed the tenderness. "You’ve been asking for this, haven’t you?" Barty's voice was low, dangerous, like a promise wrapped in threat.
Evan swallowed, his pulse racing as his own hands found Barty’s chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "I’ve been waiting for it," he breathed, his voice a husky challenge.
That was all Barty needed. In one swift motion, he crushed their mouths back together in an another kiss that was anything but gentle. It was raw, demanding, no softness. His lips pressed hard against Evan’s, parting them, as his tongue swept inside with possessive urgency. Evan’s head spun as he responded instantly, his hands dragging Barty closer, their bodies colliding with a force that left no space between them.
The kiss was primal, a battle of wills—teeth clashing, tongues tangling, both of them giving and taking, pushing, pulling. Every touch burned, every movement igniting a flare of desire that threatened to consume them both. Evan’s fingers dug into Barty’s shoulders, the muscles under his hands tense and coiled with tension, as if Barty was barely holding back. Every touch burned, every movement igniting a flare of desire that threatened to consume them both.
Barty’s hands moved feverishly on his waist pulling Evan closer, as if he couldn’t get enough, couldn’t control the rush of heat flooding through him. The air around them crackled, thick with the weight of unspoken things neither of them had ever dared to acknowledge.
He tasted the sharpness of Barty’s hunger—felt it in the way Barty’s hands slid down his back, a possessive force that sent shivers through him.
A low growl rumbled from Barty’s chest, the sound vibrating against Evan’s lips. "You drive me fucking insane, you know that?" His voice was dark, rough, like he was barely keeping his control.
Evan’s laugh was soft but wicked." You don't need me to be insane."
The tension between them was electric, crackling in the charged air of the dimly lit room. Barty’s breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, his eyes locked on Evan’s with a hunger that wasn’t merely physical. It was a need, raw and undeniable, a fire that had been simmering between them.
But suddenly, something in Barty shifted, like he realised what he was doing.
His jaw tightened, his gaze flickering away from Evan’s as though trying to escape the weight of his own desire. He took a step back, his posture stiffening, the intensity between them seemed to waver, like a spark flickering out.
"Yeah, hum...i... I should go," Barty muttered, his voice strained, almost frantic. His eyes darted toward the door, the words barely audible, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as Evan.
Evan blinked, confusion knitting his brow. He took a step backwards, his heart racing. "What’s going on?"
Barty ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his chest rising and falling with the rapidity of his breath. "I— I can't." he stammered, his words hurried, as if they were escaping him against his will. "I shouldn’t done that, i should... i should go. It’s... it’s better this way."
Evan’s mind raced, but the knot in his stomach grew tighter. This wasn’t what he had expected, not after everything. He opened his mouth to argue, but the words died on his lips. Something in Barty’s eyes—something distant, almost fearful—stopped him.
"Barty," Evan said softly, reaching out, but Barty stepped back, shaking his head. The crackling tension between them had been replaced by a strange, suffocating silence.
"I need a moment to process what just happened... i’m sorry," Barty said, his voice barely above a whisper, before turning quickly toward the door.
Evan stood there, his chest aching, watching him go.
•
The days after their argument were quiet, in the way silence can be suffocating. Every time Evan passed Barty in the corridors, or saw him across the Great Hall, he felt the invisible wall between them growing taller, harder to climb. Barty was distant—more than distant, he was avoiding Evan now. The coldness in his gaze, the way he would immediately turn his back if their paths crossed, made Evan’s stomach twist with a painful mix of frustration and longing.
But there was something else, something that gnawed at Evan every time their eyes met—or didn’t meet. The tension had become palpable. Everyone else could feel it, too.
Dorcas had taken to making pointed remarks. Regulus, on the other hand, had become more observant, watching Evan and Barty with a knowing gaze. He hadn’t said anything yet, but Evan could sense that Regulus knew, or at least suspected, what was going on. And that terrified him.
One evening, after dinner, Evan found himself walking alone in the dimly lit hallways of the Slytherin dungeon, his thoughts a swirling mess of confusion and uncertainty. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep pretending like he wasn’t burning for Barty, or like he didn’t hate the distance that was growing between them. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice Regulus standing by the stairs until he was nearly right on top of him.
"Trying to escape your own thoughts again?" Regulus said, his voice as cool and sharp as ever, but with a hint of something else—curiosity, maybe.
Evan jumped slightly, caught off guard. "I didn’t mean to startle you," Regulus added, his lips curling into a small, knowing smile. "But it looks like you’re in deep."
Evan hesitated, unsure if he wanted to admit just how deep he was. He didn’t even know how to begin to explain what was happening between him and Barty, not when he couldn’t fully understand it himself.
Regulus seemed to sense the turmoil beneath Evan’s calm facade. "You know," Regulus continued, lowering his voice a little, "you’re not the only one in this house who’s confused."
Evan’s eyes snapped up, surprised by the sudden shift in the conversation. Regulus was leaning against the wall now, one hand casually tucked into his robes, his dark eyes calculating but soft. “What do you mean?” Evan asked, his voice betraying the tension in his chest.
Regulus met his gaze for a long moment, his expression guarded, before he sighed. "I know what it’s like to... feel something you’re not supposed to. To want someone who isn’t supposed to be the one you want."
Evan felt his heart skip a beat. What was he talking about?
Regulus rolled his eyes as if reading Evan’s thoughts. "It’s not like I’m trying to make you feel better about it. But I get it, Evan. The tension. The confusion. It’s like you're fighting against yourself all the time, wondering why you can’t just make it stop."
Evan stared at him, unsure whether to be more surprised or confused by Regulus’s sudden openness. "Wait, what are you... talking about?" he asked, voice soft, hesitant.
"Stupid Potter." He said the name like it was a curse "I’ve been in this position before, wondering if I could ignore it. But I can’t. And I don’t think you can, either."
Evan blinked, utterly taken aback. "You... you fancy Potter?" he asked, struggling to wrap his mind around the idea. The notion of Regulus, so cold and collected, being in the same tangled mess of confusion that Evan found himself in was unexpected, to say the least.
Regulus shot him a sharp look, and for a moment, Evan thought he might snap back with some biting remark. “ it took me a while to figure it out. Evan, It doesn’t have to be this big, terrifying thing. You’re not the only one who’s ever had stupid feelings for someone you’re not supposed to.”
Evan just stared at him, still processing what he was hearing. "But you’re... and he is..." Evan said, trying to grasp the enormity of what Regulus was saying.
"Yeah," Regulus replied, his smirk returning. "Let's.not talk about me" He paused for a moment, then added, "I think it’s okay to feel what you feel. No matter what your family wants from you."
Evan felt a strange sense of relief wash over him, mixed with confusion. He hadn’t expected this conversation. He hadn’t expected Regulus to be so... open. So vulnerable.
After a long silence, Evan finally shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “I never thought I’d be talking to you about this.”
Regulus raised an eyebrow. “it helps, just know you’re not alone in your... confusion.”
Evan snorted softly. “I think I’m more confused than ever, actually.”
Regulus’s eyes flicked to something behind Evan, then he straightened up. "Maybe you should talk to Barty about this," he said cryptically. He didn’t wait for Evan to respond before turning to leave, leaving Evan standing there, stunned by the conversation.
As Regulus disappeared into the shadows of the dungeon, Evan was left alone with his thoughts. He was still grappling with the enormity of what Regulus had said, trying to understand the weight of it. The conversation about James Potter felt like it had opened a door Evan wasn’t sure he wanted to walk through.
The idea of talking to him now, when their tension was so thick in the air, seemed impossible. But Evan had to admit to himself that he was so tired of the silence, of the avoidance. He needed to understand—needed to know what Barty really felt.
Evan stood still, frustration rising inside him, but also a deep ache—one he couldn’t ignore anymore.
Barty was slipping away from him, and Evan didn’t know if he could hold on much longer.
•
The castle was quiet, save for the distant murmurs of students still lingering in the hallways. Evan found himself walking aimlessly, his thoughts a constant, gnawing buzz in his head. The past few days had been a blur of unease and silence, the space between him and Barty stretching further with every step. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to speak to him again—not after their argument, not after all the things they both left unsaid.
But tonight, the tension felt unbearable. The weight of it had seeped into every corner of his being. Every time he saw Barty, every time he thought of him, his chest clenched with frustration and longing. Something had to give. He couldn’t keep pretending, couldn’t keep hiding from what was so painfully obvious between them.
It was in the early hours of the night when he found himself in a secluded part of the castle, away from the prying eyes of the other Slytherins. The moonlight filtered through the narrow windows, casting long shadows along the stone floors. Evan wasn’t sure what drew him here—perhaps it was the silence of the place, the feeling that he could be alone with his thoughts without the weight of his family’s expectations, without the pressure of being a Slytherin.
But then he saw him.
Barty was standing near the far wall, his posture stiff, his face unreadable. He didn’t notice Evan at first, and for a long moment, Evan just watched him. The intensity of the silence between them felt suffocating, and Evan realized, with a start, that he couldn’t take it any longer. He couldn’t keep pretending that nothing was happening, that he wasn’t drowning in this unspoken tension.
“Barty,” Evan said, his voice low, but steady.
Barty’s shoulders tensed at the sound of his name. Slowly, he turned to face Evan, his expression guarded. His eyes flickered, almost as if he was searching for something in Evan’s face—answers, maybe, or some sign that things could be different. But Evan wasn’t sure what to give him. What could he say? Everything felt so heavy, so fragile, like they were both standing on the edge of something they couldn’t take back.
Evan continued, his voice quieter now. “We don’t have to keep doing this, you know.”
Barty’s lips tightened, his gaze flicking to the floor for a moment before meeting Evan’s eyes again. There was something raw in his expression now—something he hadn’t allowed himself to show before. “I don’t know how to do this, Evan,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve spent so long pretending that… that I didn’t feel. I’ve tried to ignore it, it's been years, i tought it was gonna pass, I thought I could ignore you. I tought it was normal to feel this way for a really close friend. But then i started to want....to want you...”
Evan felt his heart skip a beat at the admission, but he didn’t interrupt. Barty wasn’t finished.
“I can’t ignore it anymore, certainly not after... after we... ” Barty continued, his words spilling out in a rush. “I don’t know what this is, or what it means. But I know that I’m…” He trailed off, taking a deep breath, his hands clenching at his sides. “I can't be just friends. Friends shouldn't want to kiss each other, to touch each other... but i fucking want this with you.”
The words hit Evan like a physical blow. He stood there, frozen for a moment, his mind struggling to process the weight of what Barty had just said. The air between them seemed to hum with the force of his confession, and Evan’s own breath caught in his throat.
It was everything he had feared and hoped for in equal measure. He’d spent so much time questioning whether Barty felt the same, whether this was something that could ever happen. But hearing it now, spoken aloud, was both a relief and a terrifying reality.
“I…” Evan began, unsure of how to respond. His mouth felt dry, his heart racing. “I’ve… I’ve been struggling with this too. I didn’t want to admit it either, but—” His voice faltered as he took a step closer. “But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel the same way.”
Barty’s eyes softened, his expression unreadable for a moment, and then the tension between them seemed to dissolve as Barty took a hesitant step forward, closing the gap. There was vulnerability in his movements, a kind of fragility that Evan had never seen in him before.
Evan’s heart pounded in his chest as he took another step forward, unable to stop himself. He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly, and touched Barty’s arm. The contact was electric, a jolt of warmth that seemed to burn through the cold air between them.
“I’m tired of pretending,” Evan said, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand lingering on Barty’s arm. “tired to keep pretending I don’t want you.”
The words hung in the air, and for a long moment, neither of them moved. It was as if they were both waiting, trying to understand what this meant, what they were allowing themselves to feel.
Then, without warning, Barty’s hand slid up to Evan’s cheek, cupping his face gently. His thumb brushed over Evan’s skin, and in that moment, everything else seemed to fall away. The weight of family expectations, the fear of what could go wrong—it all disappeared in the softness of Barty’s touch.
And then Barty kissed him.
And this was everything.
It wasn’t forceful or rushed like their first kiss but it was intense, full of everything they hadn’t said, everything they had been afraid to admit. Evan kissed him back, his arms wrapping around Barty’s neck, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, slow and consuming, as if they were both trying to savor the moment, to make up for all the time they had lost in silence.
When they pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads pressed together Evan’s heart was still racing, but now it felt different. There was something between them now that hadn’t been there before—an understanding, a shared vulnerability that had stripped away the walls they had spent so long building.
Barty’s hand still rested on Evan’s face, his thumb brushing over his cheek again, and Evan couldn’t help but smile. It was small, but it felt like the first real smile he’d had in days.
“I don’t know what this means for us,” Barty murmured, his voice soft and unsure. “But I’m not running anymore."
Evan smile, his hand sliding to Barty’s waist. “Neither am I.”
And in that moment, they both knew that this was just the beginning. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together. They didn’t have all the answers yet, but they didn’t need them. All they needed was to be honest with each other, to face their fears, and to finally accept what they had been too scared to admit.
Together.
•
The Slytherin dormitory was dimly lit by a flickering candle, casting long shadows over the stone walls. Barty sat on his bed, legs kicked up casually, tossing a ball between his hands. His wide grin showed he was in one of his chaotic moods. Across from him, Evan Rosier lay sprawled on his own bed, arms behind his head, looking as relaxed as always, relieved that everything go back to where it was.
"You ever think about just doing something stupid tomorrow?" Barty asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes, tossing the ball up and catching it again. "Like, I don’t know, charm the prefect’s badge to stick to someone else's robes?"
Evan rolled his eyes, not bothering to look at his friend. "No, because I’m not twelve, Barty. I’ve moved on to more refined schemes. Like, you know, planting sneezing powder in the Gryffindor common room."
Barty’s grin widened, the thought clearly amusing him. "Oh, so you’re all grown up now, huh?"
Barty laughed, then tossed the ball over his shoulder, letting it roll onto the floor.
"Hey, speaking of Gryffindor," Evan began, his voice lowering slightly as if sharing a secret. "Did you know about Regulus?"
Barty raised an eyebrow, his attention piqued. "What now? Did he kill his brother or something?"
Evan snorted, shaking his head. "No. We talked about... huh... you and me, yeah ? And he’s... well, he’s got a crush."
Barty froze, eyes widening in mock horror. "Regulus? Who can’t even speak to someone normally?"
"Yep," Evan replied, sounding as if he was trying to suppress his laughter. "On none other than wonderful, Mr perfect, Potter."
Barty blinked, not quite sure if he’d heard correctly. "Potter? But he hate him ?"
"I thought he was too." Evan confirmed, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "I bet he spends his days staring at him from across the Great Hall like it’s some kind of tragic romance."
Barty gaped. "I’m sorry, but Reg? Crushing on Potter? What happened to his whole 'i hate my brother, his friends and all Gryffindor'? Did someone slip him a potion?" He threw his hands in the air dramatically. "He must be cursed."
Evan chuckled. "Maybe."
Barty laughed harder, rolling onto his back on the bed, clutching his stomach. "Regulus 'no one is better than me' Black, falling for Potter? That’s the plot of a bad romance novel, not something that should happen in real life."
"Don’t tell him that," Evan warned, glancing toward the door as if expecting Regulus to barge in at any moment. "He’d kill you."
Barty stopped laughing, suddenly serious, though the corners of his mouth twitched. "You’re right. Imagine the poor guy walking in and hearing us talk about his romantic tragedies." He put on a mock-polite voice. "Oh, hello, Reg, didn’t realize we were discussing your unfortunate crush on the Gryffindor golden boy."
Evan shuddered, lowering his voice. "Please, don’t tempt fate. He’d probably make us both disappear if he knew i told you" He looked at Barty, his expression serious for a brief moment. genuinely perplexed.
Barty lay back down on his bed with a sigh, the absurdity of it all still sinking in. "This is honestly the funniest thing I've ever heard. Who knew the stoic Black had a soft spot?"
Evan rolled his eyes. "Don’t tell him I said that, alright? I value my life too much."
"I’ll keep it a secret," Barty promised, though his grin showed otherwise.
Evan smirked but didn’t seem convinced. "Yeah, sure. Silent as a tomb until the next joke pops into your head."
Barty threw a pillow at him with a laugh. "You know me too well, Evan."
Barty move to Evan bed and sat close to him.
The moment was quiet, the kind that made Barty feel like he could breathe again. They had been talking for hour—soft, low words about everything and nothing—but all he could focus on was Evan, his hands gently brushing over his pale skin, the way the moonlight caught in his light blonde hair. There was something otherworldly about Evan, something that made Barty feel like he wasn’t just looking at a person, but a work of art. His eyes, those impossibly blue eyes, were as deep and endless as the sky at dusk. They were too beautiful to be real, and yet, here they were, staring right at him, as if Evan saw him the way no one ever had.
Barty couldn't help but feel a sudden, inexplicable rush of affection. Every moment with Evan felt like something fragile, something that might slip away if he wasn’t careful. He swallowed, his voice almost a whisper as he reached up to gently brush a strand of Evan’s hair from his forehead. "You’re so… ethereal," Barty said, his voice thick with awe. "Like you don’t belong in this world. You’re too perfect, Evan."
Evan smiled," Are you making a move, Crouch ?" the curve of his lips pulling Barty in. His smile always made his heart race, the quiet confidence in it making him feel both grounded and lost all at once.
Barty leaned in, a slow, deliberate movement. "Maybe i'm making a move." He couldn’t help himself. He wanted to kiss him, wanted to feel those perfect lips again.
When their mouths finally met, it was soft.
His heart was beating loudly in his chest as he deepened the kiss, his hands finding their way to Evan’s neck, his fingers tangling in the fine strands of his hair.
It wasn’t just a kiss. It was the way Evan felt beneath his touch, the way he tasted—like sweetness and warmth. The kind of warmth that made Barty’s chest feel full.
Evan had never felt this way before either. It was as if, with every touch, every kiss, Barty was unraveling a part of him that he hadn’t even known existed.
He stared at Barty now, those green eyes, impossibly bright against the darkening sky. The depth in them always took his breath away, like there was so much more than what was on the surface. And those lips—perfectly shaped—were always teasing him, always drawing him in.
Evan’s heart raced as Barty’s fingers grazed his cheek, his thumb sweeping over his skin in a motion so gentle it made him shiver, his finger going down on his neck. There was a pull, a magnetic force between them that was undeniable, and Evan couldn’t help but smile.
"You’re handsome, you know that?" Evan murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He reached up, touching Barty’s face, tracing the strong line of his jaw "Just perfect."
Barty’s lips quirked upward at that, a hint of a smile playing on his face before he closed the gap between them, again, capturing Evan’s lips in a kiss that felt like everything. Evan let out a soft sigh against his mouth, losing himself in the warmth of Barty’s touch. It was deeper than just physical attraction. There was a connection here that went beyond the surface, beyond what anyone else could understand.
The way Barty tasted, the way his lips felt against his—it was intoxicating. His mind was filled with nothing but the feeling of Barty’s hands on him, the press of their bodies together, the way Barty made him feel like he was the only person in the world that mattered.
And in that moment, Evan knew: he never wanted this to end. He wanted more of this—more of Barty, more of them.
•
The days that followed the night in the castle's quiet corridor felt like a soft release—a breath held for far too long, finally exhaled. For the first time in what felt like forever, were no longer avoiding the unspoken. It was as if the weight of everything they’d been holding back had disappeared, leaving only the clarity of what was real between them.
But that didn’t mean everything was easy. Far from it. Even though they no longer had to tiptoe around their feelings, there was still so much to face. The pressures of their families, the unspoken expectations of their peers, and the deep, personal fear of living a life that might be drastically different from what they’d always known. But somehow, things felt lighter, even if only by a fraction.
It was late one afternoon when Regulus and Dorcas found them. Evan was walking with Barty along the edge of the courtyard, the two of them speaking in quiet voices as they passed the stone pillars. Barty’s arm brushed lightly against Evan’s, a gesture that felt natural now, yet still so new, like a secret being whispered in the space between them.
“Good afternoon, you two,” came the unexpected voice from behind them.
Evan turned, and there was Regulus, standing with his usual calm demeanor, but with a subtle shift in his posture—something almost like a quiet approval in his gaze. Dorcas was with him, leaning casually against the stone wall, an amused smile playing on her lips.
Evan’s stomach flipped uncomfortably. Regulus hadn’t said anything to him since that night in the dungeon. Nor had Dorcas, who had teased Evan relentlessly about his hesitance to acknowledge the obvious. He wasn’t sure what either of them would say now, not with the changes between him and Barty so clear.
Regulus didn’t speak much—he rarely did—but his eyes lingered on the two of them for a moment, something like contentment flickering in the depths of his gaze before he turned away, his silence speaking volumes. He nodded once, almost imperceptibly, before pushing past them. But there was something there. Evan could feel it.
“Does that mean you're happy for us, Regulus?” Barty asked with a small, half-amused smile. It was a gentle question, not demanding an answer, but one that seemed to have been hanging in the air since that night.
Regulus paused, glanced over his shoulder, and for a brief moment, his lips twitched upward. “ Happy for you, not Evan, poor boy.” he replied before disappearing into the shadows.
Barty’s eyes lingered on the spot where Regulus had just been. “That was not nice.” he said, half to himself.
“i'm happy.” Dorcas said, her eyes softening. “I already knew you two were going to end up together. It was kind of obvious.”
Evan blinked in surprise. “You did?”
Dorcas smirked. “Of course. It’s not hard to see when two people are practically in love with each other and too stubborn to admit it.” She shrugged nonchalantly, but there was warmth in her expression. “It’s been clear for a while now. But I think it’s about time you two figured it out.”
Barty looked at her, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Glad we didn’t disappoint.”
“Not in the least,” Dorcas replied, her smile widening. “But I’m still glad you two stopped being so bloody stupid ”
There was something deeply reassuring in it—something that made them feel less alone in all of this. Dorcas had always been able to read them like an open book, but somehow, the way she was so easy about it made the whole situation feel more natural.
As they continued walking together, Evan couldn’t help but glance at Barty. It was the first time he truly understood the depth of their bond. The ease of being near Barty now, the way their arms brushed together with no hesitation, felt like a quiet victory. The knot that had been tied tightly in his chest for so long was slowly loosening.
But even with the support of Dorcas, and even with the silent approval from Regulus, Evan still felt the weight of what lay ahead. There were so many things to untangle. His family’s expectations. His future. And Barty, too—he was still wrestling with his own demons, with his identity, and with how he was supposed to fit into this world that expected so much of him.
And Barty knew it, too. There was a shift in him now, a subtle but undeniable change. He wasn’t hiding anymore, not the way he used to. No longer wrapped tightly in the expectations of his family, no longer concealing his feelings as if they were something shameful. It was slow, but Evan could see the difference. Barty was beginning to let go of the suffocating weight that had held him back for so long.
There was a quiet moment one evening when they were alone in the common room. The fire crackled softly, casting long shadows across the stone walls, and Barty was sitting on the couch, his eyes distant as he stared into the flames.
“What are you thinking about?” Evan asked quietly, walking over and sitting beside him.
Barty didn’t answer right away. He stared at the fire for a long time before he finally spoke.
“I’ve been thinking about how....” he said, his voice low and almost uncertain. “Like I’ve been trying to be someone I’m not for so long, you know ?”
Evan watched him, his heart aching a little. He had always known that Barty’s life was filled with horrible things he could never escape. The pressure to follow in his father’s footsteps, to be the perfect heir—Evan had seen it in the way Barty carried himself, the weight he placed on his own shoulders.
“I’ve been running from it,” Barty continued, his eyes not meeting Evan’s. “But I’m tired. Tired of pretending I’m someone else just because my fucking father want me to be.”
Evan placed a hand on Barty’s shoulder, giving him a small, reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to pretend anymore, Barty. You don’t have to hide who you are. Not from me.”
Barty finally met his eyes, and there was something there—something raw and vulnerable that Evan hadn’t seen before. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, Evan. But I’m not going to hide anymore. Not from you.”
The weight that had been pressing on both of them, on their identities and on their relationship, seemed to lessen just a little more with that simple acknowledgment. Evan could see it in Barty’s eyes now—the acceptance, the willingness to step into something he had been so afraid of.
They had both come so far.
Barty was always been about denying who he was, about burying his feelings beneath layers of pretense and father obligation. But now, he was learning to let go, to be honest with himself. He was stepping into the light, embracing the parts of himself he had tried to hide for so long. And Evan? He had been one of self-doubt and confusion, of questioning his own identity, of grappling with feelings he didn’t know how to categorize. But here he was, finally accepting those feelings, accepting the fact that he didn’t need to fit into anyone’s mold—not even his own.
“I’m glad you’re here with me,” Evan said softly, his voice full of quiet gratitude.
Barty smiled, the weight in his shoulders easing just a bit more. “Me too, Evan. Me too.”
And for the first time, it didn’t feel like they were fighting against anything. They were simply… together.
“What do you want, Barty?” Evan asked, his voice soft but firm. “What do you really want?”
Barty met his gaze then, and for a moment, there was a depth in his eyes that Evan had never seen before. It was fear, but it was also hope. “I want you,” Barty said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want this. I want us. But I’m scared, Evan. I’m scared of what it will cost.”
Evan felt his heart swell at Barty’s words, and the weight of the fear in his voice only made him more certain of the choice they had to make. “I’m scared too,” Evan admitted. “I’m scared of what my family will think. I’m scared of what will happen when we step outside of this castle and into the real world. But I know what I feel. And I know I don’t want to lose you.”
Barty’s eyes softened, and he reached out, taking Evan’s hand in his. The touch was simple, but it was enough. “I don’t want to lose you either. I think we’ve both spent so much time hiding who we are. But I don’t want to hide anymore.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them was thick with everything they had yet to say, everything they hadn’t fully understood until now. The past year had been one of confusion, pain, and fear, but now, in the quiet of the Slytherin common room, they finally understood.
Evan squeezed Barty’s hand. “So we’ll face it together, right? Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”
Barty looked at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah. Together.”
•