communication breakdown
Barty was good at pretending. In fact, he’d perfected the art of pretending not to care. So much so that he’d built a reputation on that very fact – Barty Crouch Jr, the one who didn’t really care much about anything. Perhaps it wasn’t the most flattering reputation, but, the way Barty grew up, it was survival.
Among his biggest charades was Barty’s lack of care when it came to classes. Barty made a pointed effort to disrupt classes when he could, working on anything except the task on hand. He answered professors’ questions incorrectly enough to make his few correct answers seem like lucky guesses, and he was never caught dead in the Hogwarts library.
He preferred to study in an alcove a few hallways down from the Slytherin common room.
There it was, that was Barty’s ‘big secret’. He fucking studied.
Barty learned at a young age that if people expect nothing, you can’t disappoint them. The more attention you attract, the more people expect you to be great. Barty had to be smart, but he needed to be smart about being smart.
If he was too clever, people would notice, and everyone would smile and remark how much Barty was like his father, the brilliant politician. His professors would have some idiotic hope of Barty following his father’s legacy, and Barty would never be able to achieve it. Which would just lead to more disappointment on top of the constant stream he received from his father.
It was much easier to act as if Barty had no potential whatsoever. Which is precisely why Barty did well – fuck that, he bloody excelled – but made sure that nobody knew about it.
There were certain conditions to Barty receiving his inheritance from his father when he turned eighteen. Just like his father, he’d have to take all twelve OWLs, receiving Outstanding marks on at least half of them. He was expected to keep up stellar marks throughout his time at Hogwarts. As much as Barty would’ve liked to laugh in his father’s face and say “fuck you”, his inheritance was the only way he’d be able to get out of his house and never see his father again. And Merlin knows he would do whatever he bloody needed to do to make that happen.
Then there were Barty’s own conditions. Get near perfect marks, but ensure you’re never too close to the top of the class – it’ll attract attention. Don’t answer questions in class, only throwing the professor a bone or two every once in a while. Dumb yourself down when necessary so that no one suspects. And don’t ever let them see how hard you work. Because once they do, they expect you to be more. And, unfortunately, Barty wasn’t more. He ended up disappointing people most of the time, the same way he’d been disappointing his father since the day he was born. There was no point in getting people’s hopes up when he knew he’d just let them down.
Quite frankly, it often felt like Barty was living a double life. He’d go missing for long periods, which he’d brush off with a smirk and a joke, careful to hide the ink stains from his fingers. He’d never been great at the ink-disappearing spell.
It was the worst around exam season, when Barty would practically break out in hives from stress, his father’s voice echoing in his head at night, sternly telling Barty to not disappoint him yet again. And then he’d have to show up to breakfast as if nothing was wrong, as if he was just the Barty who never touched his textbooks.
He wasn’t sure how exactly he’d gone so three years living a lie.
Fourth year’s fall exam season was no different.
Currently, he was hidden in his usual alcove, slumped over his heavy History of Magic textbook. Barty loathed History of Magic. He could handle – hell, he even liked – his other subjects, anything where he could use a wand, really. But History of Magic was pure memorization, a jumble of names and dates that Barty quite honestly gave zero fucks about. There was nothing more depressing than being remembered through short biographies in an old dusty textbook. Barty liked to hope he’d be remembered as more than that.
“When was the first Goblin Rebellions?” Barty muttered to himself, tapping his quill against the revision packet they’d been given before exams. The thing was bloody massive. He wasn’t sure why they were required to know so much for what wasn't even their final exam. It was a midterm exam, for Godric’s sake.
“1612,” Barty heard a voice answer behind him. Evan.
“What the fuck, Rosier?” Barty swore. How had Evan found him here? It was in the most secluded part of the castle, the area where no one went for fear of undiscovered giants or dragons.
“I thought you didn’t know how to read?” Evan quipped, eyes darting down towards the large stacks of books next to Barty.
“Funny.” Barty looked back down at his textbook, hoping if he stared hard enough, Evan would turn into some sort of apparition and disappear.
Evan came to sit across from Barty on the alcove, sprawling his concerningly long legs across the stone.
“Sure, take a seat,” Barty grumbled.
“You’re in a good mood,” Evan remarked, leafing through Barty’s copy of The Standard Book of Spells.
Barty made no attempt to answer, simultaneously panicked and irritated by Evan’s presence in his sacred space.
“I didn’t know you–” Evan started, then stopped.
“You didn’t know I what,” Barty demanded, unable to hold himself back. “Studied?”
Let the record show that Barty’s fatal flaw was his pride. Despite his reasons for hiding it, when Evan waltzed in, Evan with his self-assured intelligence and stupidly good mind for spells, questioning Barty’s studying, it made him want to prove he was good, that he wasn’t some idiot like Evan probably thought. He wasn’t sure why Evan’s opinion mattered. Barty had never felt the need to prove himself before. But it did. He didn’t want Evan to walk around thinking Barty was some sort of imbecile anymore.
“That’s not what I–” Evan cut himself off. “Actually, you know what, yes, that is what I fucking meant. It’s kind of ironic, considering you make fun of the rest of us for going to the library on the daily."
“What I do in my free time is none of your business,” Barty said icily. He hated how Evan managed to make him feel stupid, with nothing except a few well timed barbs.
“So this is where you disappear to,” Evan chuckled dryly. “And here I was thinking you were off shagging birds or something.”
Barty was starting to miss the Evan who never opened his mouth around him. This new Evan was a little too similar to Barty for his own comfort.
“Is there a reason you’re here?” Barty asked stiffly.
“Trying to get rid of me so you can study more?” He said study as if it was some sort of inside joke, an innuendo shared between them. Like it was such a shock that Barty was studying that it must be a joke.
Technically, this was a good thing. It meant Barty’s forced air of nonchalance had been effective. Unfortunately, Barty wasn’t thinking about the effectiveness of his charade at the moment.
“Is it such a fucking surprise that I might be studying? Us commoners who aren’t natural geniuses like you can’t study, because Merlin forbid anyone is as smart as the great Evan Rosier?” Barty hissed, still unsure what exactly he was so angry about. It probably wasn’t even Evan, it was likely his father’s voice in his head whenever he answered a question incorrectly. But Evan was there, and it was much easier to be angry at someone right in front of you.
Evan blinked at him, shrinking back a little. “No? The fuck is wrong with you?”
“You’re what’s fucking wrong with me, Rosier.” Barty snapped, slamming his textbook shut.
“Mate, relax. What’s going on with you?”
“Stay away from me, Rosier,” Barty said, jumping down from the alcove and grabbing his books. “If you won’t leave, I will.”
Barty made it a few meters before he heard Evan’s footsteps behind him. The tall fucker caught up to him quickly.
“Barty. Stop.”
Barty whirled around. “What is it you want from me?”
“What the hell did I do?” Evan asked. “Why are you so defensive about this?”
“I’m not defensive,” Barty bit.
Evan arched a brow at him. It would feel so good to punch him right now.
“I don’t bring up your shit father to you all the time, do I, Evan? Because I know when to leave things the fuck alone.” Barty stalked off again.
“So that’s what this is about?” Evan called out. “Your father?”
Barty stopped. “Why would you think that?”
“You close up every time I bring him up. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. Though apparently I am one, according to you.”
“That was hyperbolic.”“Wow, another big word. Good for you.” Evan drawled.
“Have you always been an arsehole?”
“Yeah. You’re just lucky enough to finally see it.”
Barty rolled his eyes, preparing to walk away again.
“This is exactly what I mean. One mention of your father and you split.”
Barty turned towards Evan. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t make me sound like a complete coward.”
“If it walks like a duck and talks–”
“I’m not a fucking coward,” Barty growled.
“Okay,” Evan said simply. “Then why are you acting like this?”
“Why do you care so much?”
“I haven’t seen you open a textbook in three years, and now you’re surrounded by a mountain of them. Call it human curiosity.”
“What’s the big deal? I studied a little for History of Magic, it’s not a crime,” Barty replied, attempting to evade Evan’s question.
“We both know that’s a lie,” Evan said, looking into Barty’s eyes, a challenge.
“So what if it is?” Barty threw back.
“So nothing, Barty. I’m your friend.”
“Since when?” Barty snarked. “Since I found you crying in the Astronomy tower?” he taunted. He wanted to be cruel, he wanted to hurt Evan. It was the only way he could think of to not hurt himself.
Evan put a hand on his shoulder, holding him back from running away.
“Don’t do that. I wrote the fucking book on evading the question. Your fake cruelty doesn’t work on me.”
Barty felt like he’d been stabbed. Evan had called out all his tactics and stabbed him in the heart with them. It was like he was exposed. It was too much.
He tried to shrug off Evan’s hand, but he was stronger than Barty thought.
“Don’t you have your own daddy issues to deal with?”
“So this is about your daddy issues?” Evan pressed.
“Do you get off on this or something? Let me fucking go.”
“Fine,” Evan snapped. “Go.”
Barty ran, like the coward he probably was, back towards Slytherin tower, his books forgotten in the alcove. He ran all the way to his bed, where he laid, unmoving. He didn’t cry, really. Barty rather thought there was something broken in him, something that made it fairly impossible for him to cry. It was as if he was numb most of the time. There were scars, but the pain never came like it should’ve.
He wasn’t sure how long he laid there, staring into nothingness as the sun set. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep, or simply laid so still that he was barely conscious. He didn’t think about much, didn’t feel anything. This happened often to Barty, episodes of complete nothing, a complete lack of existence.
He supposed he ‘woke up’, in one sense or another, when the door swung open, letting in the first bit of light Barty had seen in hours. He sat up, seeing Evan’s figure in the door.
“This whole time,” Evan breathed, holding some sort of folder in his hand.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Barty demanded.
Evan lit the lights with his hand, causing Barty to blink from the sudden brightness.
“Top ten in our year, all three years. Almost perfect marks in all your exams,” Evan continued, staring down at the folder.
“How do you even–” Barty sputtered. “What the hell did you do?”
Evan looked up at Barty, an indecipherable look in his eyes.
“I went to Slughorn’s office. Made a replica of your file.”
“You’re fucking crazy. You’re insane.”
“Touché. You’ve been lying to us for years.”
“How have I lied?” Barty asked.
“Are you serious?” Evan practically yelled. “You’ve basically been a fucking prodigy for three years and you let us think you were a moron the whole time!”
Barty wasn’t going to lie, it felt good when Evan called him a prodigy.
“Why do you care?” Barty bellowed back. “So what if I lied? It’s not like it matters!”
“Of course it bloody matters. There’s a whole part of your life none of us know anything about.”
“We don’t need to know everything about each other,” Barty said, rising to grab the file from Evan’s hands.
“Can I just ask why?” Evan whispered. “Why hide this?”
“I’m not like you, Evan. I don’t have some bright future filled with making people proud or finding some counter curse that saves the world. The sooner people realize that, the better.”
Evan stared at him. “So you let us all think you were stupid so, what, you wouldn’t disappoint anyone?”
Barty simply continued to look through the files.
“You’re a fucking coward, Barty.”
“I didn’t realize I’d asked your opinion.”
“You talk a big game to me about not needing to make my father proud. About playing Quidditch for myself and not for him. And then you turn around and pretend to be a slacker so we, your friends, don’t think too much of you?”
Well, when he put it like that, the plan didn’t sound quite so effective.
“What’s the outcome of this inane plan, anyways? What, nobody knows you’re bloody smart, you kill yourself getting good grades, and no one ever gives you credit for it?”
“I’m not a bloody Gryffindor. I don’t need to be showered with laurels for doing something well.”
“You’re right. You’re a Slytherin, which means I know you want more than this. You can pretend you don’t have potential all you want, but there’s no way you’re satisfied with just this.”
Evan was, frustratingly, right. It was maddening, constantly wanting to explore magic, to test the limits, but unable to do so. He wanted to share the spells he’d created, duel with his friends, try making an Animagus potion or something. It was no fun doing that on your own.
“And what if I’m not?”
Evan sighed. “Then do something about it, Barty. It might not feel like it, but you have free will.”
“Have you ever thought of quitting?” Barty asked, looking up at Evan from his spot on the bed. “Quitting Quidditch altogether, so you don’t have to hear your father’s voice in your head anymore?”
“No, I haven’t,” Evan said resolutely.
“Why?”
“Because I love it,” Evan spoke. “And I won’t let him take that from me.”
Barty smiled, shaking his head.
“What?” Evan demanded.
“Sometimes you’re too bloody wise for your own good. Gets quite annoying, actually.”
“You know that whether you get perfect marks or completely bomb your Transfiguration exams, we won’t leave you, right?”
“I know. No matter how hard I try to make you.”
Evan laughed. “Yeah, you do a remarkable job of testing my patience.”
“Can I ask something else?” Evan said after a moment.
“You’ve already stolen my personal information today, so why not?”
“Your marks,” Evan began. “They’re for your father, aren’t they?”
“Yeah,” Barty conceded. “Let’s just say you’re not the only one with a father who expects the impossible.”
“We could,” Evan paused. “study together, you know? You don’t have to do it all alone in that horrible little alcove.”
“I happen to like that alcove.”
“It doesn’t have to be in the library, if you’re worried about being seen. We can do an abandoned classroom or something. I won’t even tell the others.”
“Why?” Barty asked cautiously. “Why do you want to study with me?”
“Partly curiosity,” Evan admitted. “Party because I like a challenge. You’re fucking brilliant, Barty, according to this,” he held up the file. “It makes you better, you know. Great minds working together and all that.”
“It’s ‘great minds think alike’. And great minds is a little presumptuous, no?”
“Is it?” Evan tested.
Barty had trained himself to never get too comfortable. Never to take compliments to heart, in case they were lies. Never to enjoy the praise too much, since it would never last. Everything good is temporary.
“No, I suppose it isn’t.”
Evan crossed the dorm to his bed, picking up his Transfiguration textbook from his trunk.
“So, have you figured out how to change the type of metal on the goblet? I can’t seem to crack it.”
“I have, actually.”
Evan picked up the goblet on Barty’s bedside table, placing it on the bed between them.
“Can you show me?”
Barty picked up his wand and got to work.