bad idea, right?

Barty Crouch wasn’t known for his memory. He forgot birthdays unless he wrote them down. He could never remember which root was used for which potion. He didn’t remember much of his childhood, but that one he thinks he purposefully blocked out. One thing Barty did remember, though, was smells. He knew the way the Slytherin Common Room smelled around Christmas time, spiced apple and peppermint and burning fire. He recalled the scent of the rose shampoo his mother used when he was a kid, back when she would still try and protect him from his father, squeezing him as he cried. He knew the smell of his own blood, no matter how hard he tried to forget it. And he remembered the smell of their compartment on the Hogwarts Express, hot chocolate and cigarettes and Pandora’s jasmine perfume. Out of all the smells, that was one of his favorites.

Which is why, when Barty entered their usual compartment on the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of his sixth year, he stood and inhaled, a contented sigh escaping from his mouth as he flopped down next to Dorcas. He grabbed the cigarette from her lips, slowly exhaling the smoke.

“Order is restored,” Barty breathed, burrowing into Dorcas’s side.

“Good to see you too, Barty,” said Dorcas, flicking his forehead.

Barty’s head snapped up. “Fuck, that actually hurt. Remind me not to cross your nails again.”

“Barty’s complaining already. Shocker,” a voice drawled from behind him. Insufferably posh and incredibly cocky. Barty had missed it.

“I live to entertain, Reggie dearest.”

Dorcas’s eyes followed Reggie as he took a seat next to Pandora. “Merlin, Reggie, take the window seat. How could you possibly have gotten even paler over the summer?”

“I think it’s nice,” Pandora supplied, “It makes him look like an elf.”

“See,” Regulus pointed, “at least, Pandora’s nice to me. That’s why she’s my favorite.”

“Pandora just called you an elf.”

“Elves–”

“Two minutes and you idiots are already arguing,” came a voice from the door.

Barty turned to see Evan Rosier leaned against the compartment door, tie loose and eyebrow cocked. He’d gotten taller, Barty noticed. That bloody idiot. He already towered above the rest of them, and he’d gone and gotten even taller? He’d broadened out, too, it seemed, finally growing into his long limbs. His eyes were the same, though. One thing that would never change was Evan’s eyes. Dark brown and piercing, speckled with gold and amber. Evan had the kind of eyes that you could see his soul through. When he was drunk, Barty sometimes felt like he needed to protect Evan from all the people who might look into his eyes and find him. Evan could take care of himself though. Barty knew that.

Evan stepped into the compartment, black hair falling over dark skin, sprawling next to Barty, and stretching his legs out across the floor.

“Did you get taller?” Dorcas asked incredulously.

“He did,” Barty grumbled. “Bloody beanstalk.”

Evan chuckled. “I missed you too, morons.”

“How was your summer, Evan?” Pandora asked.

“The usual. The age-old tale of facing Father Dearest’s wrath, wreaking havoc, and sneaking out whenever I can.”

“That one sounds oddly familiar,” Barty quipped.

“It’s a classic, every pureblood’s bedtime story, ” Regulus spoke from his corner of the compartment, nose still buried in a book. Something about Herbology.

“For Merlin’s sake, Regulus, if you’re going to read the minute you get into the compartment, at least choose something more interesting than Herbology.”

“It’s not my fault you can’t appreciate the subtle beauty of Devil’s Snare, Barty.”

“Only you could, Regulus,” remarked Pandora, in that odd, complimentary way she did.

Evan knocked his shoe against Barty’s, grabbing his attention.

“Helena Haborwitch asked about you, by the way. While I was getting on the train, said she needed to talk to you.” Evan didn’t meet Barty’s eyes, instead tapping his foot impatiently against the compartment floor.

Well, fuck.

“You’re shagging Habor-bitch again?” Dorcas asked, leaning forward to inspect Barty’s expression.

Again was the operative word in that sentence. Again implied that Barty had stopped. Which, considering that they had fooled around in the Crouch’s hallway closet during all of his parent’s balls this summer, was decidedly untrue. Barty knew she was a bitch - nicknames don’t come out of nowhere - but Helena was low-strings and drama-free, exactly what Barty needed to get through the summer. They’d started shagging at the end of last year and hadn’t stopped since. Granted, she was starting to get on his nerves. She was fun and all, at first, until her ramblings after sex got longer and longer, inevitably leading to her sharing millions of opinions about practically everything. Hogwarts’ couples, the professors, the girls in her dormitory. Which was all fine and good until she began gossiping about Barty’s friends, which is where he drew the line. Safe to say, he hadn’t been going out of his way to keep in touch since the last time they saw each other. Which is presumably what she wants to ‘talk’ about.

But rather than explain all that, and to avoid the disapproving look of, well, all his friends when he informs them that he never stopped shagging Helena, Barty replied casually:

“Not anymore.”

Evan tilted his head curiously to look at Barty. “Got bored of her, did you?”

“Merlin, give me some more credit than that, would you, Evan? Got a little too chatty for my liking.”

“Because God forbid a woman actually expresses her opinion,” Dorcas shot at Barty.

“Because God forbid the girl I’m shagging starts talking shit about my best friends,” Barty tossed back.

“She didn’t?” Pandora cut in, shocked.

“I’m afraid she did,” Barty nodded gravely. “Being the martyr I am, though, I decided to sacrifice great sex for my friendship with you idiots.”

Regulus peered at Barty from over his book. “Feel free to leave us for her. Actually, please do. I could use some peace and quiet around here.”

“I couldn’t, Evan would miss me too much.”

“Oh yes,” Evan drawled, “what would I ever do without your lewd references and constant disruptions while I’m trying to study.”

“For that, I’m going to stop coming to the library with you.”

“Thank Merlin,” Dorcas cut in, “maybe now we’ll actually get work done.”

Barty crossed his arms and scowled. “I guess I’ll go see Helena then. At least she appreciates my brilliant mind and sharp wit.”

“I don't think that's what she appreciates,” Evan called out, “but good on you for thinking big.”

Barty slammed the compartment door, flipping him off as he left.

___________________

In the past ten minutes, Helena Haborwitch had gone from slightly annoying to absolutely insane.

It had begun when Barty found her in her compartment, beckoning for her to meet him outside. They’d gotten settled in an empty compartment, Barty putting a good 3 feet of space between them.

“Barty, I’ve had fun these past few months,” she started, “but honestly, I think you’ve become too attached.”

Of everything Barty could have possibly expected her to say, that was not it.

“Helena–”

“Barty, let me finish. I understand that you’ve fallen in love with me. Believe me, I understand. It’s happened countless times before.”
Barty could only sit there, open-mouthed as he racked his brain for when his life had gone so wrong. At what point had he gone from being untouchable, Slytherin’s heartbreaker, to whatever this fuck this was?

“Helena, I don’t–”

“I don’t love you, Barty. It was just sex for me. I’m sorry but–”

“For fuck’s sake, Helena, I’m not in love with you!” Barty burst, unable to keep it in any longer. “Frankly, I’m flabbergasted as to where you even got the idea. We’ve been casually shagging for, what, three months? We fuck, you blab on about something for 15 minutes, then we’re done. Merlin, I don’t give a fuck about what Andrea is wearing to Diagon Alley or what Kenny said about Angela. And I certainly don’t give a fuck about you. In love with you? I can barely stand you while we shag!”

In hindsight, perhaps Barty was too harsh. To be fair, what the hell was he supposed to do when some girl accused him of being in love with her? Yet, walking back to his compartment with a handprint across his cheek, he wondered if, perhaps, he could’ve reacted better.

Barty entered the compartment to his four friends looking up in unison, wearing identical expressions of poorly-hidden amusement.

“Appreciated your brilliant mind, did she?” Evan started.

“Don’t,” Barty ground out, “Don’t ever let me near Helena Haborwitch again.”

“Looks like Slytherin’s little heartbreaker is losing his balls,” teased Dorcas.

“Fuck you, Meadowes. How am I supposed to deal with a tiny Ravenclaw screaming at me about being in love with her?”

Pandora choked on her pumpkin juice. “She thought you were what?”

“Perhaps you’re losing your touch, Barty,” Regulus mused.

“As if. Helena or not, my approach has never failed.”

Evan sniggered.

“What?” Barty demanded.

“If you consider flirting with enough people until one sticks as your approach, then sure, that works.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a master in the art of subtle flirting.”

Dorcas scoffed. “Subtle and Barty shouldn’t even be in the same sentence.”

Barty ignored her. “And you’re such an expert of flirting? When was the last time you went on a date? Third-year?”

He knew it wasn’t true. Anyone with eyes could see Evan was attractive, all dark hair and dark eyes, his brown skin and stark features chiseled like marble. He oozed a quiet sort of charisma, in contrast to Barty’s (he’d admit, rather obvious) flirting style.

Regulus once again spoke from behind his book. “Careful, Barty. Evan could give you a run for your money.”

Dorcas nodded somberly. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

Evan grinned, tossing an (albeit smooth) wink at Dorcas. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, Meadowes.”

Barty was, frankly, bored. Sixth year was one long stretch of nothingness before NEWTS next year. He needed some entertainment. And, honestly, his ego was a little wounded by Helena’s assumption. Had he lost his touch?

“Care to wager, Rosier?”

Evan cocked a brow. Barty knew he had him. However focused and self-assured Evan seemed, he could never turn down a dare.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Two months. Let’s see who’s really the charmer.”

“What, how many people you guys can snog in two months?” Dorcas asked.

“No, snogging is too straightforward. You need to get them to ask you on a date. Whoever gets the most by Halloween wins.”

Evan leaned forward. “Wins what?”

Barty leaned forward, too, hands itching to push the fallen curl off of Evan’s face.

“Let’s not act like you need an incentive to play. You and I both know that winning is enough.”

Evan cracked a small smile. Barty had him there. If there’s one thing the boys had in common, it was their stubbornness. Neither of them would back down.

“Deal.” Evan stuck out his hand, slender fingers and veins.

Barty clasped it.

Let the games begin.