Chapter 1
Evan shouldn’t watch it.
He knows he shouldn't, alright, he’s pretty sure that’s the number one rule if you have an ex. Though he supposes this is special circumstances, it is the Met Gala and if Barty Crouch jr. somehow appears on his screen that isn’t his fault no matter how long he might spend looking.
The image appears on his 98” inch television screen so large it’s almost as if he’s standing in front of him and he’s so breathtaking, he’s scared he’ll never breathe again. Like he might die with this as the last thing he’ll ever see.
He’s not sure he’ll mind too much, so close he could touch him one more time. Not that he would. It’s just a thought. That’s going to stay in his head. Lest Dora actually kills him this time.
There isn’t a girl on his arm, which shouldn’t be too surprising in fairness, he hasn’t had one next to him for over a year. Which would have been scandalous five years ago, but he’s too well known now, too talented, too renowned for that to even be in the conversation.
Dorcas had gone with him last time, he remembered because the theme had been, World of the Future and they had dressed in a futuristic silver ensemble that made them look like alien soldiers. It had also begun the engagement rumours. He’d been jealous back then, even still when they show a photo in comparison, the familiar feeling returning.
The second thing he notices which makes him a little embarrassed it took him so long to realise is the large green cobra draped around his neck. Evan isn’t sure he could think of anything worse, but Barty has it draped around him with the same impervious energy he gives to everything. As if it doesn’t bother him, he wonders just how true that is, he also wonders if he argued over wearing it with the designers. Not because he was scared but because he loves animals, wonders if he’s disgusted that this animal is being used as an accessory, wonders whether his team wanted him to wear a dead one. Often finds the shock people get when finding out he is a vegan is silly, then remembers how little people get to see the real Barty. He doubts he even saw the real him, armour fully down, secrets bared, but he got more than anyone else. Lucky him.
Now though he thinks who he really talks to about that stuff, Evan isn’t sure, Barty isn’t the best with true conversation or connection. Maybe he imagines everything the other would do, everywhere he goes and everything he says like a silent voice. Or pathetically this only happens to him.
He looks again at the dark hair ruffled around his face, grown out and fanned around him, only missing a crown to stop him looking regal. Like a bored, reckless prince. He was seriously losing it, letting his imaginations and fantasies run away from him.
The tattoos don’t help, he’d only had a few last time they spoke. Significant ones, his left hand uncontrollably touching the matching one on his wrist, a spider, a stupid small thing they had gotten drunk at seventeen. Barty hasn’t covered it up, he's not sure how to think about that. Now though he's not completely covered he has about roughly a dozen more, they look good, detailed, great penmanship. The rose vine is still on his neck, at one point he wanted him to get rid of it, now he wants to lick it. Details. Irrelevant. Not something he’ll be too proud to say aloud.
The met gala theme: Danger of Nature, is not making him feel particularly worried about climate change, as its purpose. Instead with his smoky black liner, long silver chains, bulky rings and his ears adorned all he can think is still Barty Crouch jr is the most dangerous thing he’s ever seen.
The suit is nice though as well, not that anything isn’t on him. It’s black, not plain, with an almost translucent sheer black top, emphasising the muscles on show. And the smirk he gives straight down the camera lens taunts him, like he knows he’s watching just for him, eyes locked to the screen, it makes his sharp cheekbones look cutting. He thinks whenever he retires he could have a successful career as a model, and he even hates himself for thinking about it. The future, a day when Barty Crouch jr. stops racing, stops winning. A time he’s scared might be fast approaching, he’s not sure what Barty will do then, maybe he’ll come back to him. He doubts it. Hadn’t he made that clear? Now all he can do is watch and wait and be there if it all crashes down or if he comes out unscathed again lucky as always.
The YouTube stream he’s watching live, talks about the designer and make of the outfit, he zones it all out. Every time the cameras stop and his beautiful smile drops, Evan thinks he looks sad or at least a little uncomfortable. He forgets sometimes because of how good Barty is at playing this character, how much he hates it.
A young woman walks up to him, dressed so tightly in vines and nothing else, it barely covers anything on show. Evan thinks it funny how he doesn’t really even give her a proper look, something he hopes she is put out by. Ignoring what he knows that Barty doesn’t even really care that way, who observes attractive people like art and finds sex nothing more than a release. Something he hates with strangers, the germs he once told him, but enjoys with people he knows no matter who they are. A thing he had never kept secret, a thing the media had tried to vilify and then name, not understanding that you couldn’t give him a box or a label.
The FIA didn’t like it, just how they hadn’t liked his tattoos, his rough background, his earrings, who he dated, the darkness of his skin colour, the causes he fought for and that he continued to speak his mind. Barty had told him that on multiple occasions people had told him the sport wasn’t for people like him, that they had tried to stop him, call him names. He’d laughed when he said it as if it were a grand joke and when Evan had asked how he brushed it all off his smile was rueful. They don’t care, he told him once you win for them. And Barty for all his faults was a born winner.
“Hi, there.” The blonde woman on screen blushed, some minor singer/actress/model. “It’s so amazing to meet you.”
“It’s lovely to see you too.” Barty spoke mildly. “And it’s lovely to be here.”
“Yes, of course.” She nodded vigorously. “Last time you were here was with Dorcas Meadowes, one part of our favourite power couple. The next Posh and Becks we all thought!”
“That’s very kind as a comparison, but no I do remember, roughly five years ago now if the maths is right. God makes me feel old.”
“And are you too still as close.”
“As friends, yes. I’m very lucky to have her in my life.”
The girl squealed, squealed. Evan rolled his eyes. He wants to walk up to her, scream in her face that it was all fake. But he’s a calm and rational person now.
“If that’s the case, is there anybody special in your life?”
“Oh. Sadly no.” Barty says calmly. Evan wonders sometimes when he gets asked this question if he ever is telling the truth, worse wonders why he wants him so badly to say him or even more painful if he does have someone, truly special, someone who isn’t him anymore but is similarly kept like a secret.
“For any viewers who are joining us I am just going to be giving an introduction for anyone who does not know who this man is. Which I very much would hope not, but even still.” She rambles annoyingly.
“Beside me is seven time world formula one champion Barty Crouch dressed in Channel accompanied by…” she points to the snake who is sitting very happily and docile around him.
“Rosie.” Barty says a real smile now on his face. Evan blushes even in the dark of his own house alone. Of course the snake could have already been named Rosie and not after him…but either way.
“That is such a cute name, where did they get her from.”
“Oh she’s actually a Royal Python or Ball Python as they are otherwise called and she’s my pet.”
“Your pet?” The blonde bimbo asked as if it wasn’t obvious, his annoyance helping stop himself from rapidly hyperventilating. Who names their pet snake you take to the Met Gala with the known nickname of a man you don’t even acknowledge anymore, watching this video had nothing on that.
“Yes, one of my friends, Regulus, bet that I couldn’t take care of another living thing. I think he expected me to get a fish.” He shrugged before adjusting her slightly, though the damn snake stayed calm and relaxed around him.
The stupid interviewer laughed nervously now, Evan hoped the snake around his neck jumped up and bit her face off.
“Would that be Regulus Black?” She asked as if it wasn’t obvious. How many Regulus’s were there, he hoped not many it was an awful name.
“Yeah.” Barty agreed lazily, leaning back slightly, a bored look on his face.
A sharper look got on the young girl's face, great now he’s about to be hounded by her and all the questions she no doubt had about Regulus that she wouldn’t ever get answers to. The man was tight lipped enough about his own secrets, until he’d got that stupid boyfriend and gone completely off the rails. By off the rails Evan meant retired, got engaged and moved to a farm of all places, enough evidence he should be sent to a psych ward in his own opinion. No matter how handsome James Potter was, they lived beside sheep!
“What are your opinions on the controversial engagement between Regulus Black and his male friend James Potter.”
“Well I think it’s shocking.” Barty said seriously, pausing for just a moment. “I never thought Potter would grow a pair of balls and ask the question, scared I was going to have to do it for him. And as for controversial, I think the worst part is they want to get married on a farm, granted it’s a nice farm. But it’s a farm? Worse as well, what would you call a male maid of honour?”
“Uhh. I’m not-”
“Yeah well whatever the internet comes up with, I have the honour of being that so now I have to run around and fight about cake types and colour of napkins. Honestly I think that’s the worst thing that’s come out of the engagement.”
God Regulus was going to kill Barty, Evan wanted to laugh. Of course he, instead of arguing against the no doubt homophobic comments the controversy was going to bring, instead brought it back round to coloured napkins, the pathetic love between Regulus and Potter and his tiring role in the wedding. Damn he missed him. Obnoxious as he was.
“Well that was certainly…enlightening.” The woman said the expression on her face was the same one people usually got after speaking to Barty for too long. Because he's a genius and cool and handsome and well spoken, but he’s also impulsive and crazy and prone to dramatic long rambling monologues and death stares. He’d always found it funny just how much people could get tripped up by him, even more so when the people didn’t realise they were being played. In a different life he would have been a brilliant con artist…
“Yes, that's what I always like the women I meet to say once I’m finished...speaking obviously.” Barty said leaning down seductively, a charming smile being directed at the stupid, washed up, unprofessional interviewer. Undeserving of a look so captivating.
It had obviously worked because she had giggled and hit him bashfully on the shoulder.
He hated her, he was going to find out who she was and use bots to terrorize her instagram and scroll through hate comments on twitter. No, he wouldn’t, that was an entirely unbalanced train of thought and he would be embarrassed to have to tell his therapist what he had done at their next meeting.
Evan had to turn this off, at this point it was becoming masochistic and a little sad on his part.
“Watch out any US fans, because Barty will still be in the country competing at the Miami Grand Prix in two days time. What a quick turnover!”
“Yeah it’s going to be a crazy weekend, I hope I’m still on my game, so I can provide the best results possible for the team. I don’t like doing anything major beforehand, but this was an outstanding commitment and I don’t like to go back on my word.”
“How honourable of you! This is a new race and circuit so how excited are you for this?”
“Yeah.” Barty pushed a hand through his hair. “It’s going to be intense. It’s been a tough start to the season, I know that. Particularly with how the car has been and what is expected from me.”
“How have you felt when seeing Victor Krum ahead on the points? Is the dream of an eighth championship feeling more and more out of reach?”
“No I mean, there’s still so many races. Krum is a very good driver but I mean it’s well known that I intend to get that eighth championship. Last year I mean it was so close, it really went down to the wire, so I’m hoping for my own sake I can bring it back.”
“Well I certainly believe in you! And if you drive half as good as you look tonight, we’ll be seeing you on that podium in Miami!”
“Hah.” Barty smiled. “I hope so.”
“Do you have anything you’d like to say to your fans, or critics or simply anyone who's going to be watching this?”
“Don’t count me out just yet!”
Evan got an awful feeling of dejavú, not even listening as both the presenter and Barty said goodbye to one another.
He winked one more time at the camera for good measure before sauntering off, the snake still around his neck getting a few strange looks, while Barty continued walking the carpet as if it were no more than a scarf.
Evan stared at the television for a few more moments, realising how late it was due to the time difference and how it was almost the morning. He lay back still on his sofa, not even bothering to try to make it to his bed.
Images of Barty and snakes and cars and nicknames and engagement rings and smiling through the screen. He didn’t sleep for a long time after that.
—————
What many people don’t know and usually get wrong when they answer this question, because for some reason it usually gets asked. Morbid curiosity he supposes.
Evan and Barty did not meet for the first time at eleven years old.
No Evan saw Barty for the first time at six years old, at a karting competition in England. His father Julian Rosier, World Champion in his own right, had taken him to get a proper footing abroad. There was no expectation to win because this was more of a showcase at his age and he would be driving against people up to four years older.
And yet the short dark haired boy, with olive skin and big brown eyes that had a rather shabby car and only his mother at the track stole the show. At the showcase the boy all smiles had gone around so fast that he was surprised he wasn’t dizzy and when he turned, Evan was sure he was going to crash into the tires he pulled at just the right moment. Every time.
In the race the same could be true, while he had not won, still on the podium with third though, he was in front of Evan every time. Faster. Better. He should have been jealous, but the way he drove, at one with his car, all Evan felt was awe.
When he got out, a woman who had a similar complexion, now next to a large dark man who grabbed his shoulders and shook him lightly. Evan didn’t think he was his father but he certainly looked invested and proud of him.
The boy, whose name Crouch he saw on the leaderboard, hadn’t spoken to anyone, and Evan had watched him sit and look at the rest of them, who were all connected by being family friends or simply just from being a friend of friend. He stayed there. Alone.
Evan never got the courage to go up and talk to him.