Spring Of My Heart
Evan
There were days in which Evan really hated Malfoy Manor: one of the headquarters of Voldemort’s Death Eaters, they used it as a base for their meetings pretty often. He’d witnessed torture and murder there, sometimes being the responsible for them, as long with the Dark Lord’s threats, empty promises, plans of destruction.
There were days in which he could barely stand having to spend time among those walls, as the only thing he wished for was to leave, bringing Barty and Reg with him and just… run away. Find a place in which they wouldn’t find them. However, he knew well that wasn’t possible: the Dark Mark on his arm was the constant reminder of the choice he’d made.
However, there were days when he didn’t hate that house so much. Sometimes, when everybody else had already left, he liked to linger there a bit longer, surrounded by quietness, wander around the wide corridors with Narcissa as she told him stories about her marriage, her life before and after Voldemort’s advent, while glancing at the paintings hanging on the forest green tapestry, enlightened by the dim candle light. Days when Regulus would delight them with his talent at playing the piano. Days when Barty would try too; he wasn’t as good as Reg, though he was learning and improving slowly but surely.
Other days, Evan would just remain quiet, sitting on an armchair in the living room, and listen to Lucius, Narcissa and Bellatrix’s conversations, growing more and more disgusted with the purposes rising from their lips: sometimes, Narcissa would throw a glance at him, making it evident she didn’t agree to most of the things her husband and her sister said. But well, she’d still chosen the Dark Lord. And she didn’t really regret it, just like Barty. At least not as much as he did. As Regulus did.
Other times, he’d just spend some more time with Barty, hidden by the shadows of empty rooms, ravines in the corridors, sure nobody could find them. They’d kiss and make sure the other felt their warmth, the spark of hope that everything would go just alright still flickering inside them.
That day was one of them.
Evan was sitting on his usual armchair in the living room, empty except for him and Regulus. Lucius had left for some commitment, so it was just the two of them, Narcissa and Barty.
They were both lost among the pages of a book: Evan, one about art and the greatest painters of all time; Regulus, one about Greek mythology.
Evan glanced at him, casually lying on the couch, legs crossed at the height of his ankles. Occasionally, he reached for a pomegranate seed from the glass plate placed on the short table in the centre of the room. Evan’s eyes trailed down on him, examining him carefully: he’d finally gained a bit more weight, though the change was really slight. He and Barty still couldn’t help but worry about him; they both knew he wasn’t recovering, at least not as they wished for. Regulus only pretended to be better, but it was all just a facet. Deep inside, he was still suffering. Something still weighed on his heart. And it would crash him. It was only a matter of time.
“Is everything alright, Evan?” Regulus asked, flipping the page of his novel. He’d noticed him staring. “Yeah. I was just… wondering how your book was” a plausible excuse.
“Oh, it’s really interesting. You could ask Narcissa to lend it to you if you want”.
Evan nodded, even though Regulus wasn’t looking at him.
“I will”.
Silence fell again, Evan averted his eyes from him, afraid he would understand something. He couldn’t seem to focus back on his text. His mind was still wandering through every future possibility. He would lose him. He would lose him without being able to do anything to help him out of his darkness; because Regulus wanted to remain wrapped in that tormenting obscurity, evidently so sure he deserved it, that it was there where he belonged. He was on the brink between life and death: it was up to him to decide which side to choose.
Evan swallowed, Regulus picked up another pomegranate seed from the plate. He studied it against the light, observed every shade of burgundy and red.
“Did you know that if you ate only one of the seeds coming from the pomegranates that Persephone cultivates in her garden, at Hade’s palace, you’d be bound to the Underworld forever, forbidden from ever leaving it”.
“It sounds awful” Evan commented.
Regulus nodded. “Greek gods can be really sly. Deceitful. Tempting. Their stories, that often intertwine with the ones of mortals, are so intricate they just can’t not be deeply fascinating”.
Said this, he put the seed in his mouth. Witnessing that scene, something sprung in Evan’s mind: with his pale skin like pure moonlight, hair framing his features in dark waves, turned-up nose, thin rose lips Regulus reminded him of a statue he’d once seen in a museum with Barty. A statue portraying Narcissus: a young man who’d died because too deeply in love with himself, condemned by Nemesis, the goddess of revenge. And, right then, he couldn’t not reflect on the suggestive contrast between the two figures.
Regulus met his eyes again: tired eyes, devoid of every hope. Evan missed the spark he’d seen lightening them up so often during their years at Hogwarts. He missed seeing him happy. He missed the Regulus he once used to know.
“Please Evan, don’t look at me like that”.
“I’m not looking at you in any way”.
“Yes, you are. As if you pity me. How many times do I need to tell you that I’m fine for you to believe me?” he snorted.
Evan sucked in a sharp breath, putting the book down.
“When I’ll get a smile from you”.
Regulus seemed a little taken aback by his words. He lowered his gaze on the novel. None of them added anything else later. Evan couldn’t concentrate on his own book anymore, though he still pretended to be reading. Occasionally, he peered at his friend, though received no reactions. Regulus knew he was right. Evan hadn’t seen him smiling in… he’d lost count of the days.
Days, weeks, months, he had no idea.
He wondered how long Regulus would be able to hold on. How soon he would…
“Reg” his mouth opened before he could stop himself.
“Yeah?”.
“I love you”.
“Evan, please-”.
“I’m not trying to start any kind of conversation” Evan interrupted him. “I love you, Regulus. I just wanted to let you know”.
“I already do know”.
“Yeah, but sometimes we don’t hear such words enough”.
Regulus remained silent for a few seconds before murmuring back: “I love you too, Evan”.
Then, a light knock on the door. Evan turned to see Narcissa standing before the entrance, hair cascading over her shoulders. She smoothened the fabric of her green dress and cleared her throat. “Am I interrupting something important?”.
Regulus shook his head. “No, come in, Cissa”.
“I’m actually here to tell Evan that Barty’s waiting for you in the music room” she then turned to Regulus as Evan nodded and stood up: “I could make some tea for the two of us in the meantime. I made biscuits this morning”.
Regulus’ jaw twitched, hand resting on the cover of his book.
Evan knew he didn’t like to eat in front of others. He often felt uncomfortable even in his and Barty’s presence. Regulus stretched his lips in a tight smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes, which darted on Evan before he turned back to his cousin: “It’d be lovely”.
Shadows fell upon Narcissa’s eyes. She sat beside Regulus, Evan walked out of the room. He caught the glimpse of her hand resting on her cousin’s knee. She muttered something he didn’t manage to hear, Regulus lowered his gaze. Evan didn’t linger before the room a second further, leaving them their time to confront themselves.
⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅
‘The Lifting Storm’ by Ivan Aivazovsky.
That painting had always been his favourite. Evan still recalled going out on dates with Barty to their favourite art gallery, back during their school years, and often stopping to admire that specific canvas. They’d made it theirs, as it’d witnessed the whole growth of their relationship, from their first date at the age of fourteen to their last before leaving Hogwarts.
The one hanging on the corridor’s wall was a copy. A really well made one, though.
Evan studied every grey shade of the rippled waves, the ship sailing upon them, headed towards the mysterious horizon before it, facing the oncoming storm, the clouds getting progressively darker. He had no idea why, but he’d always perceived it as a sign of hope amongst darkness. A personal interpretation, nothing more. Barty believed it depicted a journey towards finding yourself. That’s what he loved the most about art: the fact it communicated a different feeling to whoever looked at it.
And, for some twist of fate, that painting was the last one of the long series decorating the manor’s longer corridor, which ended with the music room, right on the left of Aivazovsky’s artwork. The same room Barty used to spend more time in at the manor.
Evan threw one last glance at the painting before knocking on the ajar door.
“Come in Evan” Barty invited him.
He opened the door and found his boyfriend sitting by the piano in the centre of the room. He looked a little out of place in his ripped up black jeans, green dyed locks falling over his eyes, black nail polish and silver rings, and jacket with pins of rock bands, an interesting contrast with the room’s cream and golden walls, crystal chandelier and the marble statues picturing greek gods, resting on pedestals in niches carved in the walls.
Although, at the same time, he seemed to fit perfectly in that whole, standing out in the elegant monotony of the chamber.
His features were certainly handsomer than the ones of every god portrayed in there.
A smile curved up Barty’s lips as he turned the pages of the score, searching for a song. “Would you mind stopping staring?”.
“How could I when I have the best boyfriend in the whole world?”.
He let out a small laugh. God, Evan wished he could get drunk on that sound, record it in his mind and play over and over again whenever he felt sad. “Stop it” Barty said.
“Look at you. You’re even prettier than Apollo!” Evan gestured towards the statue behind him.
“You don’t want to make the gods angry at us, do you?”.
“They couldn’t deny what I said”.
“If I were Apollo I would be so mad at you” Barty commented, an amused spark in his eyes. Evan knew he loved to receive compliments, he just didn’t like to admit that.
“Let him be” he said, walking up to him. Barty turned to face him, and Evan lowered his face to his.
“The gods will curse us” Barty murmured against his lips.
“Fuck them”. He kissed him. A dare towards fate: ‘Nobody will be able to separate us. Not even the gods above’.
Kissing him was definitely Evan’s favourite activity in the whole world. Everything else seemed to disappear when he was with him.
It was just them.
His boy and him.
They savoured every bit of that kiss, slow and sweet. They both knew how valuable the time spent together was, how deeply they needed to treasure it. “I love you” Evan said, slightly drawing his head back.
“You’ve really turned pretty sentimental, uh?” Barty joked, running his fingers through his hair.
“It’s just that…” Evan licked his lips and suddenly Barty wanted to kiss him again. He closed the distance between them, though Evan pulled back. “Hey, let me finish first. Well… we don’t know how much time we have left here. How much time left together-”.
“Stop. Don’t say that” Barty interrupted him, gently resting a finger on his lips.
“Death arrives suddenly, Barty. We can’t predict it. It could snatch you away from me at any moment, or me from you. It doesn’t matter how badly I wish to protect the both of us, sometimes I feel as if none of my efforts will ever be enough. And… I don’t want to live in a world you’re not into. I would never be able to fall in love again, to keep on living. I’d just… exist. Survive. Perhaps not even that. Death is probably the thing I’m most afraid of”.
Barty flicked a green lock out of his eyes, pressed his lips together and let out a sigh. “You know, sometimes, when I need to get rid of someone on the Dark Lord’s orders, I do think about it twice. I think about the life of the person I’m about to take, and realise it’s no way worthier than mine. But yours is. To me, you’re worth it all. Every mistake, every despicable action. I’d do anything to preserve your life, Evan. What frightens me the most is thinking I won’t be able to do that forever. I’m afraid too. But if you die, I die, love. Remember that. And if something bad really happens, we’ll find each other in the afterlife. Where you go, I go. I swear it. But let’s try not to think about Death too much now. I told Narcissa to call you here for a purpose” he smiled.
Evan stepped back and glanced down at the musical score in front of him.
“You know that Regulus has been giving piano lessons for quite a while now” he said, and he nodded, avoiding pointing out how fewer they’d gotten over the worst months of his eating disorder: they weren’t there to talk about Regulus, the atmosphere already felt heavy enough. “Well, not to show off, but I’m genuinely making progress. And well I… I started working on something while I was bored, nothing special, so don’t expect anything too exciting”.
“Really? That’s amazing! What is it about?”.
Barty simply shrugged. “Oh, it doesn’t really have a specific theme. The meaning is open to be interpreted by whoever listens. It’s for you. You’re the first one I’m playing it to”.
Nobody had ever dedicated anything to him before Barty. He told him about paintings, books, songs that reminded him of him; he’d even written Evan a few poems once.
And now, a song. Just for him.
At that moment, Evan recalled what Regulus had once told him: ‘If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die’.
And he smiled: he was finally somebody’s muse. Somebody’s source of inspiration.
Barty sat in front of the piano, straightening his back, then he popped his knuckles and brought his fingers down on the tiles.
And, suddenly, the world disappeared. Evan closed his eyes, letting himself be carried by those notes: sweet, delicate, yet powerful, they sunk deep into his soul.
Yeah, perhaps Barty wasn’t as good as Regulus at playing the piano, though his music was exquisite and moving nonetheless.
And he’d made it for him.
Something that would overcome time and be forever engraved in the depths of history. Something precious, worth remembering, just like their story.
He’d sat at his desk, pulled out an empty score and filled it with notes while he thought of him. He’d written a title on top of the page in the elegant yet simple handwriting of his Evan loved so much, which he couldn’t read from the distance he was standing from the instrument.
Though he didn’t even try to lean forward and read it, too afraid it would break that enchantment.
The final note lingered in the air, then slowly faded, like an echo rumbling in the distance.
“What’s its title?” Evan asked.
“‘Spring of my heart’. It’s the only way I can think of to describe what love feels like for me. A new season where everything comes to life, if you get what I mean. So, what do you think of it-”. Evan barely gave him the chance to finish that sentence. A second later, their lips met again. Barty smiled. “I’ll take that as a positive answer”.
“You should come play here more often, Barty” a familiar voice made them both flinch: they turned to see Narcissa leaning against the doorframe, arms folded before her chest. Her eyes were shining, lips curled up in a smile.
“Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt this lovely moment, but I really wanted to compliment myself with you”.
“Thank you Narcissa” Barty replied, still taken aback. She knew. She knew about them.
“Oh, don’t worry, nobody will know anything if you don’t want me too. Your little secret is totally safe with me” she quickly added. “I… I used to be in love with a girl myself, before meeting Lucius. Oh, how an angel she was. I still think of her, every now and then. But I know for sure she moved on from whatever was between us far before me. Lucius doesn’t know about that, I’ve never felt like telling him. It’s not that he would be judgmental, but still… it’s a secret that has only ever been for myself only. And you and Regulus now”.
And, for a moment, Evan wondered what the two of them had talked about downstairs, in front of the tea and biscuits she’d prepared.
“Thank you for your trust, Narcissa” Evan said.
There were still so many things they didn’t know about her. And yet, she seemed to trust them. Evan could see why she was Reg’s favourite cousin after Andromeda.
“I can go if you want your privacy-”.
“No, stay. I was just about to invite Evan to play a song with me” Barty said.
“I’m not good at playing the piano Barty”.
“Oh, you’ve played this one with me and Reg a hundredth of times before, I’m sure you still remember it. Come here” he shifted to the left and patted the empty space beside him. Evan sat next to him as he changed musical sheets, and stretched his fingers on the keys.
Yes, he recognised the melody as soon as Barty played the first note.
He joined him, as Narcissa watched them. And once again they got lost in the art of music.