Chapter 5
It’s been at most eight hours since Regulus left, yet it seems like the entirety of Hogwarts feels his pressure. Their dorm hasn’t been the same since the horcruxes gave the room an air of almost inhospitable anger, and on top of that one of Evan’s best friends is missing. He hasn’t been having a great day, to be fully honest.
Professor McGonagall’s lips tick downwards sharply when she notes Regulus’s lack of attendance at their transfiguration class early in the morning, conspicuously absent from their table. Evan and Barty offer no explanation. In their defense, she doesn’t ask for one.
Yaxley and Rowle are the first to corner him and Barty in the common room after lunch. Rowle is a distant cousin, several times removed through Evan’s mother—but all the pureblood children at Hogwarts are related, and shared blood doesn’t matter between Slytherins if you don’t share the same last name. And sometimes not even then, Evan muses as Rowle cracks his knuckles intimidatingly, thinking of Regulus’s parents.
“Where’s Black?” Yaxley growls. “We know he was here at breakfast. Then he left. He’s not in your dorm either, so don’t lie about that.”
“You ransacked our dorm?” Barty asks, voice laced with incredulity. “You really are a bunch of blithering—”
“Shut it, Crouch.” Rowle snarls. “Hoping we wouldn’t find the muggle magazines you had stashed under your pillow? Disgusting.” His mouth twitches with distaste at the word ‘muggle’, like it’s inherently appalling to him. It probably is.
Barty grins broadly. “Actually, I was referring to the wards you tripped by breaking in, but I’m glad you had a chance to enjoy the pleasures of the newest issue of Lovely Ladies of London. Like it, did you?”
Yaxley looks incensed. “You warded your dorm?”
“With idiots like you for housemates, why wouldn’t we?” Barty says with a snort. “Enjoy the rash. Let’s see. You probably went through our dorms half an hour ago, give or take. That means the spell has settled in by now and… well, you’ll see.” He shoots them another bright grin. Evan tries not to focus on the way his piercing gleams in his lip.
Rowle’s eye twitches ferociously. “You bloody—”
“Rowle!” Yaxley snaps, though he looks equally furious. “Where’s Black?”
“He got called away,” Evan says coolly, fed up with watching Barty bait them. It usually ends up with Barty’s face getting pummeled in, and Evan does not need to deal with Barty having a bruised lip on top of that godforsaken piercing. “Urgent family business.” He emphasizes this last part, relishing in the way Yaxley and Rowle’s eyes grow wide.
“He’s on a mission for the Dark Lord?” Yaxley’s voice drops to a whisper.
Evan tilts his head. “No idea what you’re talking about. I’d watch who you go around telling that to, however. Dumbledore’s spies are everywhere.”
Rowle’s pupils are blown a little too wide to be normal. Evan can’t tell if the beads of sweat on his forehead are from the rash steadily creeping its way down his chest or from fear. Perhaps a combination of the two.
“Come on, Barty.” Evan grabs Barty’s forearm, tugging him away from the two other boys. Barty snickers quietly as they draw away from them.
“They were practically begging for it,” Barty whines, annoyed at being taken away from the action. Barty, Evan thinks, is very easy to please.
Evan rolls his eyes. “You antagonizing them isn’t going to make it any better when they inevitably get word that Voldemort hasn’t asked Reggie to do shit.” His tone is too scornful for someone who’s supposedly pledged himself to the Dark Lord. His mark seems to itch, as if it can sense Evan’s treason.
Barty heaves an exaggerated sigh, turning the corner and pushing open the door to their dorm gently. He collapses on his bed with a huff. “You’re no fun.”
“I’m keeping you alive,” Evan retorts, dropping himself on Barty’s bed without a second thought.
They’ve always been like this, closer than most people usually are with their friends. Especially for two blokes. Not that it’s an issue, really: most pure bloods are prejudiced pieces of horse dung, but none of Evan’s friends are. Really, there’s no way they could be, with Marlene and Dorcas making their relationship very public during seventh year and Regulus’s brother pining endlessly away at Lupin well into their fifth.
“Maybe I don’t want to be alive.” Barty raises a challenging eyebrow. He’s talked about getting a piercing there once he’s out of school: his dad went ballistic over the lip piercing, which is motivation in and of itself for Barty.
Evan swats at him haphazardly. “No dying until we figure out how to get this mark off my arm.”
Barty wrinkles his nose. “That could take forever.”
“Exactly,” Evan says smugly. Barty pouts.
Forever does not remotely compare to how long Evan Rosier has been in love with Barty Crouch Jr.
Evan rolls onto his stomach, propping himself up onto his elbows. “Do you think Regulus will be safe?” He asks, trying to calm the worry currently running rampant in his mind.
“If he’s not, he’d tell us.” Barty says. They both know it’s not true. They pretend it is anyway. “I’m more worried about Dumbledore. It’s only a matter of time before he asks us himself—”
Evan lurches off the bed, cutting Barty off mid-sentence. He’s just had a terrible realization. “Dumbledore is a legilimens.” He lets out a violent string of cursing, diving under his trunk to pull out a roll of parchment and a quill.
“... Yes, and?” Barty wrinkles his nose. “The entirety of Slytherin house has known that since practically ever.”
Evan levels Barty with a stare. “So is Voldemort.”
Barty pales. “Fuck.”
Evan slams himself down on the floor by his own bed with a bit more force than is necessary. He dips his quill in the ink and starts to write, almost frantically so. How could Regulus— how could Evan be so stupid? He wouldn’t be surprised if this is the oversight that gets them both caught. He gets a few sentences before he messes up and, swearing silently under his breath, crosses them out to start over again.
The plan for Evan and Barty after graduation is simple. They have to keep up pretenses, for Regulus’s sake, and the only way to keep the attention off the suddenly missing Black heir is for the son of a renowned ministry official to pledge his allegiance to Voldemort.
Evan was vehemently opposed when he found out, but Barty wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Clearly, they cannot pledge their allegiance to a wizard who has the ability to sustain eye contact and know every thought they’ve ever had while knowing exactly where Regulus Black is and why he left.
They’d be tortured and killed, of course, but not before Voldemort hunts down and slaughters each and every one of their friends.
“I’m writing to my uncle,” Evan says as he scrawls out a few sentences. Once he’s got the gist down, he goes back and edits. It’s his strategy for writing essays, why shouldn’t it work for last-ditch attempts to prevent non-consensual occlumency?
He chucks the roll of parchment at Barty, who catches it and reads it quickly. His lips turn down at the corners when he sees the signature at the bottom. “You’re… way too good at that,” he says, handing the letter back to Evan. “But it’s written well. I’m sure your uncle will believe it.” He doesn’t comment on the contents of the letter themselves. Evan knows he hates it, but Barty hates everything to do with Evan’s family. He doesn’t take it personally.
Evan has to suppress a smile at the compliment. This isn’t a time for his schoolgirl crush. “My father never signed the Hogsmeade papers in third year. I had to get creative.”
“You’ve been forging his signature for the past four years?” Barty’s eyebrows tick upwards, but he looks impressed.
Evan shrugs. “Essentially, yes.” He stares down at the parchment in his lap. He’ll have to rewrite it on a different piece, since this one is messy and smudged from the fervor with which Evan wrote it, but it’s exactly the kind of letter his father would send.
Evan is too weak to withstand the pressure Dumbledore presents in the mind arts. I need something to protect his mind from any prying he may do. He and one of his housemates have been tasked by the Dark Lord to spy on Dumbledore—you understand how important this is. I trust you won’t let us down.
Rowland Rosier
Evan accios another piece of parchment and copies it down word for word, careful to slant his T’s slightly in the way his father does. Thankfully, their handwriting is already fairly similar, and by the time Evan is done it’s nearly indistinguishable from one of his father’s authentic letters.
Evan’s uncle isn’t related to his father. Declan Burke is his mother’s brother, and currently the owner of Borgin and Burke’s at Knockturn Alley. If anyone will have the artifacts they need, it’s him.
“Is he trustworthy? How do you know your uncle won’t just ask Rowland about it in person?” Barty watches as Evan folds the paper once, twice, and stuffs it in an envelope.
Evan purses his lips. “He doesn’t have the mark, and my father never comes to any of our family gatherings. He wouldn’t know if it was true or not unless he were to seek out my father personally about the letter—but he wouldn’t do that, because he doesn’t need to corroborate it in the first place. He’s not personally involved with the Dark Lord, so he wouldn’t care.”
Barty seems satisfied by the rationale. “Aww, Ev, that’s why I love you. So quick witted,” he says with a teasing smile, batting his eyelashes from where he’s still lounging on the bed.
Evan wrinkles his nose. “Don’t call me that.” He doesn’t comment on the ‘I love you’ part. He gave up hoping on Barty long ago.
Barty sighs melodramatically. “Alas, my love is unrequited. Oh, my dear Evvy-wevvy—”
“Absolutely not,” Evan splutters, feeling color rise in his cheeks. “Of all the possible nicknames derived from my name, ‘Evvy-wevvy’ will not be one of them.”
Barty boos him, standing off the bed and stretching with a feline grin towards Evan. “To the owlery, then?” He asks, opening the door and waiting by it like a butler.
Evan grimaces at the gesture, too fond for Barty’s usual good graces. He must be planning something. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, you know,” he says as he lifts himself off the ground.
“Of course I do,” Barty says with a haughty sniff. “How else am I supposed to stay in my prime physique?”
Evan hurls himself towards the door, but it’s too late: Barty darts out, closing it behind him. Evan scrabbles with the handle, swearing violently. “You fucking cunt—” he says, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice as he finally opens the door.
Barty is already at the end of the corridor. “Race you up,” he calls back tauntingly, before disappearing.
There are worse things to be than just friends with Barty Crouch Jr., Evan thinks as he sprints to catch up with the other boy.
– - – - –
Lily sits in her make-shift potions lab that had previously been her room within her and Mary’s two bedroom flat.
When sleeping in the same room as all the potion fumes threatened to give her daily migraines, Mary had offered to let Lily sleep in her room. Since then, they had been sharing a bed and Lily was a little scared of the comfort she had been drawing from Mary’s closeness. It also made the nights alone so much colder, days that had been occurring more often than not in the past few months.
She holds several beetle wings over the potion she is working on, a blood-replenishing potion, and slowly starts dropping them in one by one, with exactly two seconds in between. She startles suddenly, nearly dropping them all in, when she hears the door to the flat open. It’s quickly followed by a shout of “shepards pie!” forcing a small smile on Lily’s face as she remembers the humiliating incident involving a cute sixth year, Lily’s favorite food, and truly horrible friends that would never let her forget it.
“In here!” Lily yells back, wanting nothing more than to run to her best friend but knowing the potion in front of her could one day be the difference between life and death and she just had to get through this step.
She drops the last five beetle wings into the cauldron with shaking hands before hastily casting a stasis spell over the potion and bolting up from her chair. She flings open the door before coming to an abrupt halt, face to face with Mary.
Lily’s heart is pounding but she forces herself to stay calm. “Hey,” the almost whisper escapes her lips.
“Hey,” Mary says back with a smile, and then Lily is embracing her and if she holds on a bit longer than socially acceptable then Mary doesn’t say anything.
When Lily finally breaks the hug she scans Mary, searching for any sign of injury. “Are you ok? Are you hurt anywhere?”
“I’m fine Lil, no injuries, just a bit sleep deprived.”
And come to think of it, the bags under her eyes are darker than normal and there’s an uncharacteristic slump to Mary’s shoulders.
“Well come on then. You can tell me how it went after a good few hours of sleep in bed.” Lily gently grabs Mary’s hand and begins tugging her towards their room but stops when Mary shoots her a guilty look. “You can’t tell me, can you?”
Mary just looks more distraught. “I’m so sorry Lil I want to tell you, really. But you know Dumbledore. It’s all compartmentalizing and secrets. You can never fully trust anyone.”
“You don’t trust me?” Lily hates how small her voice sounds but can’t help it.
“No!” Mary’s response is quick and strong, easing some of the churning mess of feelings inside Lily. “I just need Dumbledore to trust me and that means playing by his rules.”
“Ok” is all Lily says and she resumes leading Mary to their room.
After changing into comfier clothing, they both climb into the bed and Lily relishes in the comfort that being near Mary brings. She lets out a little sigh and hears Mary turn her head to look at her.
“What is it?”
“Oh nothing. I’m just glad you’re back and safe.”
“Me too,” Lily hears the smile in Mary’s voice. “I’m glad to be home.”
And for the first time since Mary left, Lily is able to immediately fall into a deep sleep, no tossing or turning and too big beds to keep her awake.
Lily wakes less than three hours later, drawn from sleep by the sound of Dumbledore’s voice and a blue light illuminating Mary’s upright form.
She catches most of the patronus message. “… headquarters immediately. This is a very urgent mission. Tell nobody of your departure.” The phoenix's ghostly form fades seconds later, waking Lily up fully. She grabs Mary’s hand.
“Please don’t go. Stay here. Just for a few more hours.” Lily knows her voice is pleasing but she can’t bring herself to care. She doesn’t want another three weeks of being alone. Not just that. She doesn’t want another three weeks of being without Mary.
Mary leans forward and presses her lips to Lilys forehead.
“I’m sorry. I’ll be back before you miss me.”
And before Lily can blink, Mary is gone, slipping out of the room with months of practice, and leaving nothing but a rapidly cooling side of the bed where she once lay.
And into the dark emptiness of their room, Lily whispers, “I miss you already.”