Romance at its worst

Barty~

Barty stared at the letter. No, glared at it. Hogwarts was the only escape he got from his absolute bitch of a father, and during the school year he was usually left alone. Him and his mother exchanged letters, but she never posted them from the house lest Barty Crouch Sr find out about their secret correspondence. And besides, the words scrawled across the front of the pristine white envelope were written in what was unmistakably his father’s handwriting. He’d sent Barty a letter.

This was not a good sign. His father wouldn’t have reached out unless he wanted something. Or unless he wanted to lecture Barty. Neither option was promising. Barty half considered burning the stupid bit of paper, but he knew better than that.

His anger growing steadily, he tore the envelope open and pulled out the letter enclosed inside. More of his father’s distinct, neat, no-nonsense calligraphy. Barty’s own writing was more akin to a hurried scribble, not from lack of knowledge or practice of calligraphy but from pure spite. He refused to write in his father’s likeness.

The horribly neat words disclosed just as he’d feared; his father was scolding him. He’d caught wind of some of Barty’s… more controversial exploits. He wasn’t happy. Barty was surprised he hadn’t just sent a howler, but his father never was one to make a scene. A pity really, Barty loved a scene. The more public and dramatic the better.

As his keen eyes flicked over the letter again he began to feel more and more in the mood for something public and dramatic. But mostly he was just in the mood for anger. He was positively enraged.

With a frustrated grunt he tore the paper in two, then in four, then eight. He scrunched all the ripped pieces into a crumpled ball and hurled it across the room. The ball fell apart and drifted lazily to the floor. Barty ran over and stomped on all the tiny scraps of parchment with all his might. This did little to satisfy his anger.

He could feel a tantrum coming on. Balling his fists and clenching his teeth, he did what he always did. What he was supposed to do.

“Evan!” he shouted from the dorm, and the boy came running up the stairs and burst into the room.

“Your dad?” he questioned hastily.

“Stupid fucking letter,” grumbled Barty, stabbing a finger in the direction of the torn paper.

“Wand.” ordered Evan, holding out his hand. Barty obliged, Evan was the only person he’d listen to at times like this. Evan was the only one who could deal with him. “Come on.” he instructed.

Again, Barty obliged. They were headed to the Room of Requirement, the perfect spot for a meltdown. Pandora had discovered it in second year, and Barty and Evan had been going ever since.

With every step towards the Room, Barty could feel his fury mounting. He only had so much self control, and he was losing it second by second. Were they going to make it in time? He hoped so, for everyone’s sake. Thank god the hallways were empty, he was sure he would’ve attacked anyone he saw on sight. Not that Evan would let him, but Barty didn’t want to give him more trouble than he had too.

He tried his very best to remain calm. Calm enough to make his way quickly and quietly to the Room of Requirement anyway. His hands were balled so tightly into fists that he wondered if they’d stiffen up that way. His nails pressed into his palms, digging little red crescent moon marks into the skin.

“Evan…” he warned through his gritted teeth.

“Almost there,” comforted the other boy. His voice was steady and reliable. Barty pushed through. And he was right, they were almost there, because a few moments later they turned a corner and the door to the room appeared before them. Barty barged inside, Evan following closely, and immediately let loose.

As always, the room had supplied him with a number of different objects to break and destroy. Barty grabbed a great big vase and hurled it into the wall. It shattered all over the place. He quickly moved onto the next object; a large framed painting. He began snapping the frame away from the protective glass, which he then jumped on. Then he ripped the picture to shreds. Then there was a small side table. He tore off the frail legs and swung the remaining structure repeatedly into the wall. It soon lay in a heap of splinters on the floor, joining the shards of glass, the torn up painting, the massacred frame and the shattered vase. Barty carried on destroying and destroying, meanwhile Evan calmly stood back from the chaos.

“Nobody tells me what to do!” he seethed as he forced his knee through a canvas painting.

“You tell ‘em Bats,” encouraged Evan mildly.

“I wish he would just–” Barty kicked the canvas away, “Fucking die already! Merlin, I'll kill him. One of these days I’m going to kill that stupid, stuck-up little cunt!”

He screamed in frustration. Evan easily dodged a stool that had been thrown in his direction. Barty retrieved it and began to beat it into the floor. One of the legs was just beginning to give when he realised he was sobbing with rage. This was always the worst part of every tantrum. The uncontrollable tears that washed his anger into grief. He sniffed, throwing the chair away as hard as he could.

“What was the letter about?” asked Evan, who had clearly sensed Barty’s anger dissipating.

“Too many detentions, talking back, sleeping around, drugs and alcohol, ruining the family image; you name it,” he scorned. He gave a half-hearted little kick to a large shard of glass on the floor. It skidded across the room before knocking into another piece of glass. “I’ll send him one of those hexing letters. That’ll teach him.”

“Absolutely fucking not.” quipped Evan, “Do you want to get yourself pulled out of school? Or put under supervision? Or worse?” Barty frowned menacingly at his shoes, “Give the letter to me and Regulus and we’ll write back on your account.”

“Fine,” breathed Barty. Evan gave a curt nod of approval.

“Now you need to calm down,” he instructed.

“Fine,” hissed Barty again, but most of his anger was gone. With a flick of his wand Evan swept all the debris of Barty’s rampage into one corner of the room, freeing up the floor. Barty lay down on his back in the meditation position that Evan had taught him.

“Close your eyes,” ordered Evan. Barty did as he was told. “Now trace the spiral in your head in time with your breathing, just like last time.”

Barty breathed in. As his chest rose, he imagined the outermost circle of a spiral, the first line curving upwards. As his chest fell, he imagined the circle continuing downwards. He breathed in again, imagining the curve continuing upwards into a slightly smaller circle inside the first one, and he breathed slowly in and out until he reached the centre of the spiral.

It was a technique Evan had taught him. Not only did the breathing exercise force him to focus and control his heart rate, but the shape itself that he imagined was apparently of spiritual importance. It was meant to release energy, or something. Barty never truly understood Evan’s antics, but he wasn’t one to complain.

A familiar smell wafted through the air, and Barty opened his eyes to find Evan burning sage. He circled the room, green burning bundle in hand, trailing the smoke around Barty. The sage was for clearing bad energy, Barty at least knew that. He lay there a while longer, inhaling the aromatic smoke. He wasn’t surprised that Evan just happened to have the herb on his person.

“Come on,” urged Evan, heading towards the exit, “You need tea and Amethyst.”

“I need a cigarette,” groaned Barty.

***

In the end he’d gotten all three. As promised, Evan and Reg had taken care of the reply, writing formally and elegantly (the way purebloods were supposed to). Evan had made sure to fill the envelope with bad omens. The letter itself consisted of exactly 44 lines (a very unlucky number according to Evan), and there were also hidden bits of broken glass (part of the wreckage from Barty’s tantrum) transfigured into the paper. Apparently broken glass was also unlucky, and the anger behind the destruction of the glass was sure to add to the misfortune. To top it all off, Evan had burnt hydrangea all around the envelope, practically bathing it in the smoke, a gesture that was meant to bring failure and isolation. Barty could only guess where he’d gotten the flowers from, or why he had them in the first place if they were such bad luck. He didn’t question it, glad that Evan was carrying out revenge in his own special way.

Barty had asked why he didn’t add more bad luck charms to the letter, but Evan had simply told him that bad luck always came in threes (he’d said it as if this information was obvious and common knowledge - it definitely wasn’t).

A few days passed and they were sitting in class. It was time for the results of their mocks, a point of anxiety for most of the students, with Barty being a notable exception. He had never much cared for academic success, or academics in general. He normally managed top scores anyway, much to Regulus’ utter frustration. Today was no different, and when Slughorn levitated everyone’s papers over to their desks Barty’s one had achieved a practically perfect score.

He glanced at the writing, where Slughorn had scrawled a begrudging ‘excellent’ (he wasn’t exactly a huge fan of Barty), and then looked over at the rest of his friends.

Regulus and Evan were pouring over their papers, going through each and every question and swapping answers. Pandora was in the midst of reading a long, confused note on the front of her test (probably pertaining to the fact that instead of describing the pros and cons and steps to making ‘draught of the living dead’, she had instead invented her own, completely different potion). Meanwhile Dorcas was in the midst of reviewing questions with a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff girl. Barty left them to it, and turned his attention back to Evan. It didn’t take long for the other boy to notice. Barty had long suspected all of his spiritual, ritualistic habits had given him some kind of sixth sense.

“Stop staring at me,” Evan snapped.

“But you’re so pretty,” teased Barty, smiling as he tilted his head.

“Fuck off.” came the answer, just as quick and mean as before. Perhaps a little too quick, actually. Barty wondered if Evan was getting flustered, and grinned even wider.

Regulus leaned over to inspect Barty’s test, a frown etching itself into his face as his eyes glided over the scoring.

“We should have waited to send the letter to you father,” he remarked, “We could have added in your mark to soften him up a bit.”

At this point Evan also looked over at the score.

“Shame,” he agreed.

Regulus began to flick through the pages of Barty’s test, barely hiding his scowl.

“Did you even bother with the written work?” he asked pettily.

“Not really,” shrugged Barty, “But my practical was so good–

“That you got full marks anyway,” finished Regulus bitterly, dropping the paper back on Barty’s desk, “How did you even manage that?” he pressed, “Weren’t you absent when we were practising ‘draught of the living dead’?”

“Yeah,” smirked Barty. Regulus’ frown deepened.

“Reg, what does this say?” asked Pandora, who was having trouble deciphering Slughorn’s swirly handwriting. Regulus got up to sit next to her and patiently read through the note. “Here,” she pointed out, underlining a few words with her ink-stained fingers.

“While you possess incredible ingenuity,” he read fluently, “You failed to brew the requested potion. Please see me after class.”

He shot her a sympathetic look, but Pandora didn’t seem too bothered.

“Incredible ingenuity,” she repeated in delight, “And to think potions is my worst subject, too.”

“Pans, you failed the exam,” he tried to explain, but she wasn’t listening.

“Let’s see yours, then,” suggested Barty to Evan, and without waiting for an answer he snatched Evan’s test off his desk. Evan didn’t put up a fight, he knew by now that resistance was futile. “Ooh,” trilled Barty, “Very impressive. Let’s see, very comprehensive list of pros and cons, but you forgot a step in the instructions, oh dear.” He pouted at Evan, who was busy looking unimpressed. “You know, if you’re in need of help–

“You’ve never once studied for this class, or any other class for that matter,” cut in Regulus, and Barty stuck his tongue out at him.

“He could still use my help,” insisted Barty, “I’m a certified genius.” He waved his test at Evan, showing off his mark.

“Certified prat, maybe,” said Regulus under his breath. Barty smacked him over the head with his test.

“Don’t be mean, Bat,” scolded Pandora. Barty looked at her incredulously.

“He started it,” he replied after a few seconds of disbelief (she was clearly playing favourites). He hit Reg over the head again, before turning back to Evan. “What d’you say Evs?”

“In your dreams,” hissed Evan.

“Oh Rosier, you’re always in my dreams,” he lulled, lying back over the desks to look up at Evan through his lashes. Evan simply pushed him off the table and Barty landed with a thud and a yelp on the floor.

“Crouch, Rosier!” chastised Slughorn (who wasn’t exactly a fan of Evan either, after he’d helped Barty take revenge on the ‘Slug Club’), “What in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing?”

“Flirting.” piped up Barty from the floor. Evan kicked him in the side and Barty yelped again. He couldn’t see the professor’s face, but he could guess that he was not very impressed.

“Go and stand outside!” he ordered, and Barty dragged himself to his feet.

“Gladly,” he smirked as Evan angrily followed behind him. Several members of the class laughed, which did little to help Evan’s mood. Barty made a big show of holding the door open for him, but Evan was having none of it. He pushed Barty into the hallway and slammed the door behind them both - not before a Gryffindor girl let out a loud wolf whistle though.

“Someone’s touchy,” teased Barty.

“Go fuck yourself,” said Evan calmly.

“Only if you watch.”

Evan looked disgusted. “Just shut up,” he groaned, leaning against the wall.

“You know what would shut me–

“Just shut the fuck up, Crouch.”

Barty’s mouth snapped shut. He sat against the wall next to Evan.

“How did you get such high marks anyway?” asked Evan after a bout of silence. Barty had never much cared for academic success, but he would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t currently enjoying it.

“I’m just a prodigy,” he proclaimed.

“You’re an idiot,” corrected Evan.

“Idiot prodigy,” Barty winked.

Evan~

“You and Barty were flirting a lot in potions today,” commented Pandora easily.

“We weren’t actually flirting,” scorned Evan, who was still pissed about the little explanation Barty had shouted to Slughorn.

“Yes you were,” insisted Dora. She was stubborn that way. Evan only frowned, he knew better than to argue with her.

“He was just being charming,” sighed Evan, refusing to meet her eye. Pandora let out a tinkling laugh.

“You’re the only one who’d ever find him charming,” she snorted. Evan felt his face heat up, and hoped she couldn’t tell. “His head’s full of wrackspurts, you know.” she added.

“Wrackspurts?” asked Evan, grateful for the distraction from her previous comment. Pandora nodded knowingly as she wrapped a cloth around his wet hair. Every two weeks or so the cousins had a hair-care date. They shamwashed, deep-conditioned, dried, and moisturised their locks together. It had been a tradition for some time now.

“They’re these little invisible mites that fly around your head and clog up your brain,” she explained, “Xeno told me about them.”

“Not him again,” groaned Evan.

“Xenophilius is a nice boy,” she replied as she wrapped a different cloth around her own hair.

“He’s so obviously obsessed with you, Pans,” said Evan, “And he’s way older than you. It’s creepy.”

“I think it’s a good thing to show your emotions,” she replied, “It means you’re honest.” Evan could tell this was a jab at him; he was always masking how he truly felt.

“Whatever,” he replied childishly, “He’s still older, and that’s weird.”

“He’s only one year ahead of us, same as James Potter.” she reasoned.

Evan wondered what on earth James Potter had to do with this. He thought little of it, Pandora often made seemingly unrelated connections.

“He’s more than one year older though.”

Xenophilius Lovegood was one of the oldest students at Hogwarts, on account of the fact that he’d skipped a few years to go travelling with his father, only to return and be forced to redo them. He didn’t seem to mind, but Evan would’ve hated to be so behind. Lovegood puzzled him, and he wasn’t a fan of puzzles. Pandora was being obtuse about the topic on purpose though, so he gave it a rest.

“If they’re invisible, how can you see them?” he asked, deciding to entertain her.

“Special glasses,” she replied, as if it were obvious.

“And you’ve been looking at Barty with these glasses?”

“Mhmm,” she hummed, sitting cross legged next to him, “And his head’s full of them.”

“...And that’s a bad thing?”

She nodded confidently.

“How do we get rid of them?” asked Evan curiously.

“No clue,” she admitted, “I’ll have to ask Xeno.”

Fucking nonce, thought Evan sourly. The age gap wasn’t so bad, but Pandora was practically a baby. While she was incredibly intelligent and her magic was a force to be reckoned with, she was much too trusting for Evan’s tastes. Not to mention stubbornly naïve. He couldn’t help but fear that Lovegood was taking advantage of these traits.

“I’ve seen him in the future,” she added eerily. Evan stared at her. She had a tendency to experience… visions. There was seer blood on her mother’s side. Evan could still remember one chilling prophecy from their childhood, where she’d woken up in the middle of the night during a sleepover to recite a nightmare about a drowning star, pulled by hundreds of pale, slimy hands into the bottomless depths of cold, green water. The imagery was so haunting it had stayed with him all this time, though he wasn’t sure if Pandora even remembered.

“You’re fucking kidding me.” he finally grunted. Pandora seemed unbothered by his reaction, and also by the vision itself.

“He’s in the future,” she said simply.

“Will you let me and Barty beat him up?” he asked desperately.

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“No.” she sighed dreamily. Evan grit his teeth. Xenophilius meant trouble, he was sure of it. “You and Barty are in the future, too,” she added. Evan tensed.

“What do you mean?” he demanded.

“I’ve seen you two there.”

“Ok.” he replied eventually, unsure what to make of this.