you start a conversation, you can't even finish it
“Fucking politicians,” Barty said to absolutely no one. Maybe he was finally going crazy. Merlin knows his father was doing everything he could to drive Barty to the very brink of insanity.
That summer, to not-so-eager (Barty and his mother) and eager (the walls maybe?) ears, Bartemius Crouch Sr. announced his decade-long plan to become Minister of Magic. Who in their right mind would give his father anything more than a bad drinking habit was lost on Barty, but either way, the announcement made his life a living hell. Or, more so than usual.
Everything had become a matter of appearance from that point on. Barty was dragged to stuffy parties and forced to interact with the slimy kids of Ministry officials the rest of break, like a dog on a fucking leash. He watched as his dad sucked up to pompous old wizards and threw leering looks at their much-younger wives. The worst part, though, was watching his dad parade around Barty’s mom, the beautiful witch forced to stand at the side of a husband who paid her no attention normally.
And the piece de resistance (note: never use that phrase around Regulus unless you want to be made fun of for your accent) – his dad had hired a photographer from Witch Weekly to photograph him dropping off Barty at Platform 9 ¾ for his fourth year. It was for some inane article on ‘rising politicians’. In defiance, Barty had left the house wearing a sweatshirt Regulus had painted for him last Christmas, featuring an old magician flipping off the viewer, but Crouch Sr. had caught him and transfigured it into a suit jacket.
In a compartment as far away from his father as he could get, Barty whipped out his wand to transfigure the jacket back. They hadn’t learned fabric-transfiguring spells yet, but Barty had watched his father use it enough times – usually because Barty tried to do exactly what he had done together for some dinner party or another – that he could replicate it easily.
There was a knock on the door and a head poked in. Evan.
“This seat taken?” he asked, nodding at the empty bench across from Barty.
“Nope, go ahead.”
Evan shoved his bag under the bench, taking a careful seat. He fidgeted awkwardly, playing with the silver chain he always wore around his wrist.
“How was your summer?” Barty prodded, almost painfully breaking the silence.
For all intents and purposes, Barty and Evan were friends. They have been rooming together with Regulus since first year, but, in the three years since, they had never really clicked . They had the same friends, and they got along in a group, even teaming up to annoy Regulus or Dorcas whenever they got in one of their moods. But whenever the two of them were alone, it was weirdly, well, formal . Barty wasn’t quite sure why. He saw Evan getting on perfectly well with Dorcas and Regulus and Pandora, and he even had plenty of friends outside their little group. On numerous occasions Dorcas had referred to Evan as ‘the funniest person she knew’ – a sentiment that he’d heard echoed throughout the castle. But for some reason, Barty never seemed to crack that side of Evan. Evan always seemed fairly guarded around him; perfectly nice and conversational but never crossing the line into intimate. And in return, Barty acted much the same.
Perhaps that’s just how it was, though. Barty knew that he couldn't be as close to everyone as he was to Dorcas, Regulus, and Pandora. Him and Evan just weren’t meant to be close, he supposed. They were too different, maybe. Evan probably liked classical music and Shakespeare, or something. And maybe it was for the better. Something about Evan put Barty on edge anyway. His eyes seemed too intelligent.
“Barty?” Evan said, and Barty realized it wasn’t the first time he had said it.
“Sorry, what?”
“I asked how your summer was,” Evan replied, shifting in his seat. Barty saw his eyes flick towards the door. He suspected Evan was as eager as he was for one of their other friends to find them.
“Great! Well, fine. Good. I mean, yeah, fine.” Get it together, Crouch. Five minutes in, and Evan was already putting him on edge.
“That’s great. I mean, that’s good. That’s fine,” Evan replied with a smirk, and Barty realized he was teasing him. Maybe Barty was the one who needed to loosen up.
Barty allowed himself to grin. “How was yours? Your summer, I mean?”
Evan looked at him blankly. “Barty, you already asked me that.”
Fuck . “Of course, I was just kidding–” he trailed off, seeing a head of long silver braids through the window.
Pandora opened the door, smiling at Barty. He got up and embraced her in a tight hug.
“I missed you, Barty!” she squealed, and Barty placed a kiss on the top of her head. Barty didn’t really do physical affection, but Pandora was different. She was comfort personified. And her hugs were legendary.
He pulled back and Pandora took a seat next to Evan, shoving his shoulder lightly.
“You weren’t supposed to run off, Ev. Father wanted us to stay and chat with the Malfoys.”
Her twin rolled his eyes. “I hate the Malfoys.”
Barty had to smile at this. He, too, hated the Malfoys. They were inbreeding epitomized. Their son, Lucius, was a seventh year and Head Boy, and he abused his power to no end, terrorizing any Slytherin who didn’t worship his gang of greaseballs. Worst of all, he was disloyal, just like all the Malfoys. His allegiances jumped regularly to protect himself.
“I do too,” Pandora started, “but you left me to interact with them alone. Lucius Malfoy talked down to me about OWLs for five minutes.”
“I’m sorry, Pan,” Evan said, looking genuinely remorseful, “I just needed to get out of there.”
Barty envied their relationship. He’d been stuck with no siblings, only the house elves as companions throughout his childhood. He knew Pandora and Evan didn’t have it easy, but at least they’d had each other. Regulus had that too, even though he and Sirius were currently not on speaking terms, according to Pandora’s last letter.
And speak of the devil, Regulus, trailing Dorcas, opened the door to the compartment, rounding out their little group.
Regulus was quieter than usual, Barty noticed. He’d shrunk into himself a little, making him smaller than he already was. Dorcas placed a hand on his shoulder, guiding him to the spot next to Barty.
“How are you, Reg?” Pandora asked softly.
“Fine,” he replied, his hands hidden beneath the sleeves of his sweater. Regulus’s cheeks had sunk in slightly, and his eyes were bloodshot. It looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. Barty suspected that was the case.
Dorcas turned to them with a look in her eye that said ‘leave it alone’. Regulus wasn’t one to open up like this. He usually confided in one of them at a time, if at all. That was just his way.
“How was your summer, Dorcas?” Barty asked, attempting to change the subject.
She snorted. “Quidditch, quidditch, my mom’s idiot new boyfriend, and more quidditch.” She turned her gaze on Barty and Evan. “You guys better have practiced over the summer.”
“Why didn’t you ask Regulus if he practiced?” Barty protested.
Dorcas rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t need to practice and you know it. Did you even pick up your broom?”
“I met plenty of people with brooms shoved up their arseholes. Does that count?”
Evan snickered. “I practiced, Cas, don’t worry.”
Barty felt a rush of annoyance. Did Evan always have to one-up him? In quidditch, in their friendship with Regulus, in fucking History of Magic. He seemed to just glide through life, stiff and mildly condescending. Barty always felt that Evan thought he was too good to be friends with Barty.
“I was just kidding,” Barty said, “I practiced too.”
“Good,” Dorcas replied, “because we need to beat Gryffindor’s ass this year.”
___________________
As usual, Barty zoned out during the Sorting. Instead, he found himself thinking back to his own first year. It felt like just yesterday that he was in the line to get sorted, and now they were almost halfway through Hogwarts.
He had met Regulus for the first time that night. They’d been in the same boat on the way over, and Barty remembered hoping he would get the same house as Regulus. He knew his father had been a Ravenclaw, and the Sorting Hat had thought the same, but Barty kept wishing Slytherin like Regulus on the stool. The Hat had taken the hint, he supposed, and put him in Slytherin.
Evan had joined them in their dorm, but for most of that first year, it was just Regulus and Barty who would spend meals together, play Wizard chess in the night. Evan spent all his time with his twin sister, who was in Ravenclaw, and they barely saw him. It was April of first year when Regulus brought Pandora to the dorm, after being lab partners in Potions. And like that they were a group of four. When they met Dorcas at the beginning of second year, when they tried out for Quidditch, she immediately filled that last spot in their little group.
He looked around at his friends, who were all spaced out as the Sorting came to a close. Dorcas huddled over a parchment, drawing something that looked like Quidditch plays. Regulus absentmindedly tracing a masterpiece on his hand with his finger. Pandora, at the Ravenclaw table, reading a Witch Weekly horoscope under the table with one of her Ravenclaw friends. Evan, staring down at the table thinking Merlin-knows-what.
Barty snapped to attention as Dumbledore waved his wand and the tables filled with food. On cue, Pandora squeezed in next to Barty, stealing a roasted potato off Evan’s plate. She turned towards Regulus, whispering in his ear. Huddled together, they dissolved into furtive whispers. What was that about? Probably Sirius, but what was so secret?
As dinner wrapped up, Dorcas went to say her hellos to a few of her other friends, and Pandora and Regulus left quickly, still whispering, leaving Barty and Evan alone.
“Well that was–” Evan started.
“Odd,” Barty finished. They shared a smile of understanding.
“Shall we go get set up in the dorm?” Barty asked.
Evan looked relieved. “Yes, let’s go.”
Their dorm was empty when they arrived, Regulus apparently still off somewhere with Pandora. Barty wanted him to be okay, and he knew that Pandora was great with advice, but he still wasn’t quite sure why the rest of them couldn’t help. He had known Regulus the longest. What was it that he couldn’t help with?
“Mind if I take this bed near the window?” Evan asked, pointing to the furthest of the three beds from the door.
“Sure, I don’t care.”
Evan brought his trunk over to it while Barty stacked his school books on the floor. As he unpacked, he felt a breeze behind him.
“Are you smoking ?” Barty asked incredulously, turning to see Evan blowing smoke outside the open window.
Evan smiled guiltily. “It’s terrible for you, I know. Some idiots at one of my parents’ parties offered me one, and I can’t seem to break the habit.”
“But I thought you were– Mr. Perfect” Barty sputtered, apparently now unable to control his own mouth.
Evan raised an eyebrow, an expression that made him look much older than he truly was.
“Where’d you get that idea?”
“I’ve known you for three years. You never break curfew and you’re always on time for class.”
“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” Evan said simply, returning to smoking out the window.
Barty shook his head in disbelief. No, maybe he didn’t.