radio, someone still loves you

If Evan Rosier had put Barty on edge before, it was nothing compared to what was happening now. 

Granted, the original reason Evan had put Barty on edge, the fact that he was so intense , that problem had actually alleviated a bit. No, Barty’s new issue was getting to the bottom of Evan's sudden openness to spending time alone with Barty. 

For the past three years, when Regulus wasn’t in the dorm, they largely kept to themselves. Barty would tinker with a charm he’d been practicing. Evan would read sometimes, though usually Barty watched him scribble Salazar-knows-what in one of his many leather bound journals. Ideas for a new spell, he guessed, or maybe a list of places he’d rather be instead of alone in the dorm with Barty.

Yet for the past week, Barty had spent almost every evening smoking in the dorm with Evan. It was just for the fags, obviously, for Barty at least. Barty relished the sensation of the dark smoke entering his lungs. It hurt, and he loved it.

Though he supposed the company wasn’t entirely detestable. When he was sitting next to Evan, he couldn’t see whatever superior expression was gracing his face. He didn’t try to make conversation, because he knew not to ruin a good moment. If Regulus, Dorcas, and Pandora were going to disappear every night, there were worse ways to spend the time.

The morning after they got caught, Barty woke to complete darkness in the room. He checked the time. Bloody 6am. Barty usually preferred to wake after the fucking roosters. But now that he was awake, there was nowhere to go but to breakfast. Merlin knows he couldn’t fall asleep once he’d been woken. He’d learned that from years of waking to the sound of his parents fighting, forced to hear their arguments until the early hours of down.

Gingerly, he placed his feet down on the floorboards, trying not to knock anything over as he felt his way towards the bathroom. Regulus would murder him if Barty woke him before 8. 

“Wosgoingon?” Barty heard Evan mutter from his side of the room. Fuck, Barty must have stepped on a creaky floorboard or something.

“Don’t worry about it, Rosier. Go back to sleep,” he whispered in his direction – or what he thought was his direction, considering he couldn’t bloody see anything.

“Okay,” Evan said, giggling sleepily. 

From the faint lights coming through the window from the Quidditch pitch, Barty could make out Evan’s sleeping face, his dark skin illuminated by the moonlight, black curls smushed against his pillow. He’d never seen him asleep before. Evan was usually awake long before Barty. He looked…rather peaceful. Not that Evan usually looked particularly agitated, but he seemed less intense, more like any other teenage boy. 

Barty supposed he sometimes forgot that Evan was just another teenage boy. His composure made him seem so much older than Barty felt. It didn’t help that just being around Evan made Barty feel utterly stupid. He seemed effortlessly intelligent. The kind of son his father would’ve dreamed to have.

Not that he cared. Barty didn’t want to make his scumbag of a father proud anyway. He reveled in disappointing him each time.

He splashed water on his face, trying to forget the fact that he was awake before the fucking birds. 

As he approached the Slytherin table, he was surprised to see Dorcas already there, eating a slice of multigrain toast.

“Did the elves put something in the butter or are you awake before 11?” Dorcas asked, genuinely flabbergasted.

“Think I smoked too much or something last night,” Barty replied groggily, spooning potatoes onto his plate. “Woke up at 6am.”

Dorcas smirked. “Yeah, I heard all about your little run-in with Pandora.”

“Gonna yell at me for smoking too?”

“I’m no hypocrite. Quite honestly, I was more surprised when I heard it was you and Evan smoking. Rather thought Evan would rope in Reggie first.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Barty asked indignantly. “What, I’m not cool enough to smoke?”

“Calm down, Barty. I just imagine Evan likes his quiet while he smokes. Or, all the time really. You’re chronically afraid of silence.”

He wasn’t that bad, was he? Barty could be all academic and mysterious like Evan if he wanted to. He just wasn’t bloody boring, that’s all.

“I have no problem with silence,” Barty declared, proceeding to eat the rest of his breakfast in (albeit forced) silence.

Dorcas rolled her eyes. “Godric, you two are the pettiest people I’ve ever met.”

Barty knit his brows in confusion. “Who two?”

“You and your smoking buddy, dumbass.”

“Evan’s not petty,” Barty answered. Evan thought he was right all the time, yes, but he voiced his disapproval with silent judgment. Barty couldn’t imagine him resorting to childish mind games or caring about the little things. He didn’t think he’d ever even seen Evan in an actual argument.

“Which Evan Rosier do you know? That boy will sass you until you just about want to scream at him.” She said it fondly, though. 

Indeed, which Evan Rosier did Barty know? He knew Evan’s sarcasm, but he’d never heard him taunt or tease anyone. At least, not the way Barty did. He certainly never engaged when Barty threw his snarks across the dinner table, in the mood for an argument. The most he’d seen Evan do was toss a dry remark or two at Regulus when he was prone to dramatics. He never bantered with Barty the way Reggie and Dorcas did, and even with Pandora, Evan never seemed to argue with her. He merely rolled his eyes, groaned when he was truly annoyed. 

Dorcas was looking at him suspiciously now. Fuck, how did he admit he hadn’t gotten to see the Evan she seemed to like so much? 

“You’re right, haha. Not sure what  I was thinking,” Barty got out, taking an awkward bite of his toast. 

“O-okay,” Dorcas said, still eyeing Barty. 

Barty had a knack for annoying people. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so proud of it, but he knew it was true. So why hadn’t he gotten to Evan? How is it that Evan seemed so neutral when it came to Barty, but clearly so animated around the rest of their friends? Barty had always chalked it up to Evan and his oddly intense eyes and swottish tendencies. But, if Evan seemed to be having such a grand old time when Barty wasn’t around…was he the problem? Had he done something to mortally offend Evan, to turn him off of being Barty’s friend – close friend, that is – forever? Or perhaps Evan thought him so inferior, in that assessing way of his, that he thought Barty wasn’t even worth any showing of emotion.

Whatever. It’s not like it mattered. They had made it this far without Barty seeing Evan’s alleged pettiness, and he was in no rush to. For all Barty cared, they could keep smoking fags and not talking for the rest of their Hogwarts careers. It was Rosier’s bloody decision anyway. 

Barty and Dorcas sat at the table, drinking their tea, with occasional remarks – Dorcas was partially right about his aversion to silence – as the rest of the Hogwarts students filtered into the Great Hall.

But really, was Evan so bloody complicated that Barty couldn’t crack him after two years of being in the same friendship group? Not that he had really tried, granted, but Barty had cracked the Regulus Black after less than a few months of being friends. He knew how to get to people, for good or for bad. Was Evan really that different? He was a typical quiet, bookish type. Not as awkward, perhaps, and more stoic, but still, not a tough one to crack. 

Whatever the issue was, Barty paid it no mind. It didn’t matter, anyway. 

About an hour or so later, after at least 3 refills of tea and juice for both Dorcas and Barty, their friends finally ambled through the hall, dropping themselves down onto the bench.

“Every year. Every year I come back to Hogwarts and have to remember how to wake up early all over again,” Pandora said, yawning.

“Speak for yourself,” Regulus grumbled. “My father wakes me up at 5:30 during the summers. Coming here is like sleeping in.”

“Why?” Pandora asked curiously. “That’s terrible.”

“Actually, it’s one of the tamer things he does,” Regulus started. Barty is often surprised by how much more open Regulus has begun since their first year. He used to avoid any mention of his parents. But he’s become more vulnerable, bolder over the past three years. Barty would never tell him, mostly because he’d get his bits hexed off, but he’s proud of him.

And, perhaps, Barty has something to learn from him. He’s not exactly honest about his home life with his friends, save Regulus.

“He makes me sit in his study with him, compiling long lists of wizards with ‘untainted blood’. Merlin knows what he’ll do with them,” Regulus said, as Barty tuned in again. At that, Dorcas shuddered. 

“Reggie, no offense, but your family gives me nightmares.”.

Regulus chuckled wryly. “Join the club.”

Barty wanted to broach the topic of Sirius, but he still hasn’t figured out how. He wanted to shake Regulus by the shoulders, telling him this is his chance to leave, to escape that house. Maybe his brother was a complete idiot, who left without a second thought to his brother. But there had to be some way he could escape, somewhere he could go. He knows, inside, that Regulus can’t, that he’d shake off Barty, tell him that he’s the heir now, that it’s his duty. But Barty can tell, can see the weight that’s fallen on his shoulders since the summer. He’s flailing.

Though Barty hated Sirius for what he did to Reggie, for just getting up and leaving , without even saying goodbye, he understood him. Barty, too, had spent nights wishing he could leave his house, leave the prying eyes and the unachievable expectations set on him by his father. He couldn’t though, only for his mother. To leave her alone in that house is a fate worse than death. Barty’s father had never touched him, miraculously. His abuse was of the psychological sort. His mother, though, received the short end of the stick, in an attempt to protect Barty. And he felt endlessly guilty about it. That’s why, as much as he wishes, he could never leave. 

And that’s why Barty doesn’t broach the subject, doesn’t ruin a good moment. Because he understands needing to stay. He understands familial duty, and needing to fulfill their expectations even when you hate them. So instead, he sits and nibbles at a biscuit.

He looked up, to find Evan studying him curiously. It catches him off guard. He’s never been studied by Evan before, or at least not while he was aware. He raised a hand to brush his chin, thinking maybe he had crumbs there or something. Unsure, he stared back, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“You’re quiet today,” Evan noted.

“Am I not allowed to be quiet?” Barty challenged.

Evan seemed to consider it for a moment. “You’re allowed. You just usually aren’t.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Barty snapped, turning back towards the others’ conversation.

“I never said I had a problem with it,” Evan replied, continuing to butter his toast like nothing had happened.

What the fuck?

_________________________

Later that night, Barty dug under his bed, searching for a certain something. The dorm was empty. Regulus was on another of his odd late night expeditions, and Evan was in the shower. 

“I know it’s– found it!” Barty muttered to himself, his hands landing on a large box. He pulled out a large wooden record player, opening the lid. 

“What is that?” 

Barty jumped. “Merlin’s beard, Evan. Announce yourself before you scare the shit out of someone.”

“That was me announcing myself,” Evan said, running some sort of product through his curls. 

Barty rolled his eyes, still tinkering with the player’s buttons.

“It’s a record player. A muggle invention.”

“What does it do?” Evan asked skeptically, stepping closer to inspect the machine.

“It plays music. Off of these,” he held up the first disc he could find. The Beatles’ Abbey Road .

“Where’d you get it?” 

Barty placed the record onto the player, holding the needle above the outermost ring. 

“Some stuffy Ministry official gave it to my dad. The guy works in Muggle Artifacts, I reckon. Found it in our bin out back.”

“Is it any good?”

Barty smiled. “You tell me,” he said, letting the needle drop onto the record. Suddenly, the opening bars of Come Together blared. Barty couldn’t help it – he began to nod his head to the music. He didn’t have a lot of albums – only two, in fact, which he was embarrassed to admit he’d found in muggle bins in London, but he knew them back and forth. He’d never particularly cared about muggle music before, or music in general. But that summer, the most frustrating, lonely summer of his life, he found comfort in Lennon’s voice, who he thought was bloody cool. He wore his hair longer, like Barty’s, and Barty even rather liked those odd spectacles he wore. 

“This is,” Evan began cautiously. “Cool.”

“You like it?” Barty asked, surprised. He expected Evan to turn his nose up at something as frivolous as Muggle music  

“Yeah, I do.”

The song faded out, and Something began to play.

Evan came to sit next to Barty, with a smile on his face he’d never seen before.

“I really like this one,” Evan said, listening intently. “Who are they again?”

Barty wanted to laugh. The scene was so absurd. Evan, sprawled on the floor, listening to the bloody Beatles off of a muggle record player. 

“The Beatles.”

“As in the bug?” Evan asked, confusedly.

Barty laughed out loud this time. “As in John, Paul, Ringo, and George.”

“The fuck is a Ringo?”

“ Who is a Ringo? He’s their drummer.”

“Drummer. That’s those pots muggles bang on with those sticks, right?” Evan mimed hitting something.

“Yeah, it’s an instrument.”

“Why do you know this?” Evan asked, seemingly suspicious. “You’re a pureblood too.”

Barty bit his lip, unsure what to say. He wasn’t sure what Evan would think of his summer habits.

“I read.” Barty replied. “Muggle magazines, music mostly. And sometimes, when my dad is off at some Ministry event, I sneak into muggle London. Walk around the galleries, watch the interviews on those picture boxes.”

Evan looked at him curiously. “I didn’t think you were the type.”

“What type?”

“I don’t know,” Evan deliberated. “The into music and art type.”

“Guess you don’t know me as well as you thought either,” Barty said, a little triumphant. Ha, you’re not the only mysterious one, Evan .

Evan tilted his head, maybe considering Barty’s words, maybe listening to the curious beat of Maxwell’s Silver Hammer . 

“Here’s something that will really blow your mind, Rosier,” Barty spoke after a moment, wanting to push the limits. “I like to read books too.”

“I didn’t think you knew how,” Evan drawled, leaning back against the bedpost.

Barty barked out a laugh at that. Evan really was funny. “And I didn’t think you’d be listening to the Beatles, but here we are. I guess life is full of surprises.”

Evan rolled his eyes. “Here’s a surprise for you. Fancy a smoke?”

“Do you even need to ask?”

And that’s how Regulus found them, listening to the A, then the B-Side of Abbey Road , taking turns breathing out smoke. If he was surprised by this display, he didn’t show it.