bad idea, right?

Evan Rosier never backed down from a challenge.

Anyone who had met Evan knew him as fairly quiet, quite reasonable, and generally sane. 

And he was. Except when it came to games, dares, practically any sort of competition. It was at moments like this that Evan really saw the Slytherin in him. The ambition, that innate desire to be victorious. If his father could see him now, right? (Not right, Evan would rather die than get his father’s approval.)

So when Bartemius Crouch Jr. challenged Evan to a competition on the first day of the new term, it was obvious what he was going to say. Fuck yes. Because just mentioning the word wager in front of Evan? It was like a cat to catnip.

The inconvenient part of Evan’s immediate yes ’s was the aftermath. It usually hit around two hours after he agreed to a dare when the many issues (and with his friends, there were always issues) with the dare became readily apparent. So, as Evan sat in the Great Hall a few hours later, scooping mashed potatoes onto his plate, he had the realization that he had just agreed to a flirting competition with Barty Crouch . The man lived and breathed casual touches and cheeky banter. Evan was so fucked.

It wasn’t that Evan couldn’t flirt. It wasn’t rocket science, after all. He knew that you had to lightly brush their arm, or shoulder, or hand when talking. You were supposed to make eye contact, and Evan had somehow gotten to the point where he could get away with a wink. You were supposed to laugh at what they said, and playfully insult them, and sprinkle compliments in between. Evan knew everything he was supposed to do. He just thought it was, frankly, boring as fuck. Flirting wasn’t intelligent conversation. Merlin, it wasn’t even interesting conversation. Flirting was like one really long, really boring game of Wizard Chess, where the whole time you desperately want to just pick up the queen and smash the pawn with her, but instead you have to sit through 20 different moves just to get there.

Suffice to say, Evan was no Barty Crouch.

Barty, Evan had noticed, actually enjoyed flirting. Not just for the attention, though he liked that as well, but for the thrill of the chase. Barty had never been satisfied by stillness. He was like a hurricane (or at least Evan assumed - they lived in Scotland, after all). Constantly moving, never settling down for more than a few moments. Frankly, Evan had been shocked to find out he’d been seeing Helena Haborwitch for as long as he did.

Helena Haborwitch. Merlin, Evan hated her. He had no actual reason to, per se. It was just something about her, to be honest. She walked around with this cockiness and holier-than-thou attitude that Evan couldn’t help but detest. He was pretty sure the feeling was mutual. When Barty would bring her around to the Slytherin Common Room, she would purse her lips, looking Evan up and down in whatever position he was in with distaste. Good, Evan though, let her hate me. I hate her, too. He might’ve felt bad about hating one of Barty’s (conquests? girlfriends?) as much as he did, but she dished it right back at him. He had a sneaking suspicion the ‘friend’ she had spoken badly about to Barty had a name that rhymed with Mevan Posier.

“Evan, what the fuck?”

Shit. Evan had spaced out, the serving spoon of the mashed potatoes still in his hand. 

“Sorry, Pandora, here.”

Pandora grabbed the spoon from his hand, shooting him a confused look. 

Barty slid onto the bench next to Pandora, shooting a cocky smile at Evan.

“You better hurry up, Rosier. I’ve already got a date for the first Hogsmeade weekend.”

“Already?” Dorcas asked, pouring gravy on her mashed potatoes. “Honestly, Barty, it’s been an hour.”

Barty wiggled his brows. “I’m just walking sex, baby.”

“He was embarrassing himself in front of Jasmine Waters,” Regulus supplied, scooting in next to Evan.

“I was not! She was drawn in by my raw animal magnetism,” Barty replied indignantly.

“Either way, that’s Barty, one, and you,” Barty pointed his finger at Evan, “zero.”

“Oh, so she asked you on a date, then?”

“Not yet .”

Regulus snorted. “More like not ever.”

“At least I’ve talked to a girl,” Barty shot back. “The closest Evan’s gotten to a date is eating dinner with Dorcas and Pandora.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a lovely dinner date,” interjected Pandora.

“By that logic, I’ve just come back from a date with Regulus on the Quidditch pitch.”

“Don’t ever,” Regulus shuddered, dramatic as usual, “imply that again.”

“Why,” Barty challenged, “too worried Jamesie will hear?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Regulus replied loftily.

“Oh, come off it, Regulus,” Dorcas said, “let’s not pretend like we don’t all know you have a massive boner for Mr. Gryffindor.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“James Potter or not,” Barty spoke, “Evan has still not spoken to a girl outside of Dorcas and Pandora. And no, dinner dates with a lesbian and your literal cousin don’t count.”

“Third cousin,” Pandora supplied.

“What ever .” Barty rolled his eyes. “Say what you want, but I’ll have Jasmine Waters in the palm of my hand within the week.” 

Evan had to give it to him. If there’s one thing Barty could do, it was bullshit confidence until it was real. And that’s exactly what he would do to win this bet. Well, fuck.

So maybe Evan was no Barty Crouch. But he wasn’t an idiot either.

Which is why the next day, after a mind-numbingly boring first Charms lesson, Evan stalked up to Jordan Whitetail, who he had gone out with a few times in fourth year. She was pretty, he supposed, in the way that any other girl was pretty. She had those big brown eyes that other guys seemed to like. And, Evan thought, she was interesting enough that he wouldn’t rather stab himself in the eye with his wand than go on a date with her - which is more than he could say for some of the other girls in his Charms class.

“Alright, Jordan?” Evan greeted, falling into step beside her as they exited the classroom.

“Evan.” She smiled at him.

“Ancient Runes still kicking your ass?” he joked, knocking his shoulder into hers. Nice one, Evan. Bringing up her shit grades in Ancient Runes will get you a date for sure. 

To his surprise, she merely laughed. “That it is. Merlin, it’s the first day and I’m already confused.”

Hm. So he was capable of friendly conversation, at least. Better than her running in the other direction, he supposed. Time to step it up a notch.

“I’d offer you my notes, but then I’d have to kill you,” he quipped, throwing her a wink. If there was one thing Evan could hold over Barty, it was his ability to wink. Barty usually just looked like a dying cat, though Evan would never tell him as such. It was a hundred times funnier to watch him squeeze one out every now and then.

Unless Evan had gone completely mental, he detected a soft blush rising over Jordan’s cheeks. 

“Could I get away with a study session before next week’s test?” she asked, smiling.

Evan pretended to think about it. “Study sessions only require a light maiming, so I suppose I could.” 

“I’m honored.”

“Sunday, then? I’ll meet you in the library around 11. I’ll be the one with a book of runes and a freshly sharpened sword.”

Jordan beamed. “Sure, Evan. It’s a date.”

A date. Maybe this would be easier than he thought.

_________________

On Sunday afternoon, Evan had just settled down in the library next to Jordan when Barty and the rest of Evan’s gang of idiots came waltzing into the library. 

“So this rune means both life and soil, and you know which one based on how it’s oriented.” 

Evan pointed at Jordan’s notes, which, he had to admit, were neat and color-coded and honestly quite good.

“Oh, I see. So vertical means life and horizontal is soil.” She moved to orient the paper the other way, her hand brushing Evan’s. 

“Exactly! You can remember it because when it’s vertical, the line looks like a tree trunk, and when it’s horizontal, it looks like the ground.”

“That actually makes sense,” replied Jordan, turning to look at Evan. “If only all the people who called you a swot could see you now.” She pushed his shoulder playfully.

Evan gasped in mock indignation. “Who said that?”

Jordan laughed. “Let’s see. Regulus, Professor Flitwick, me, Professor McG–”

“You kids having fun?” came a voice from behind Evan. He turned around to find Barty leaning over his chair. 

“We’re studying, Barty,” replied Evan. 

“Studying, huh?” Barty grinned cheekily. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

Evan sighed. “Can you not find someone else to bother?”

“Tell me, Jordan,” Barty leaned on the table. “What do you think about my mate Evan here?”

Jordan looked between Evan and Barty, visibly confused. “Evan’s…a nice guy?” she replied, looking unsure of her own words.

“A nice guy, huh? Thought you’d have more to say about the guy you’re on a date with,” Barty drawled, popping his lips on the word date.

“Oh, this isn’t– I mean, we’re just—” Jordan started, turning red.

Barty folded his hands under his chin, all innocence. “So this isn’t a date, Jordan?”

“I mean–”

“Well, it’s settled, then,” Barty stood. “This is not a date.”

Barty clapped Evan on the shoulder. “Better luck next time, Rosier.”

Evan ground his teeth. “Barty, I swear to fucking Merlin–”

“Oops, gotta go! Nice talking to you, Jordan. And don’t worry, you didn’t break dear Evie’s heart. He’s a big boy.” Barty pinched Evan’s cheeks as he swatted it away.

“Bartemius Crouc–” Evan started, his voice raising as he got up from his chair.

“Quiet!” shushed Madam Pince.

Evan grabbed Barty by the collar, shooting an apologetic look at Jordan. “Sorry, gotta deal with this one. I guess we need to start keeping him on a leash,” he hissed.

“Kinky,” Barty jeered.

“Oh, shut up.”

Grabbing his bags and dragging Barty out of the library, with amused looks from the rest of his friends, Evan pushed Barty out into the hall.

“What the fuck was that, Barty?”

“I just wanted to make sure we weren’t lying about having dates.”

“So your solution was to ruin my date by asking Jordan if we were on one?”

“Hey,” Barty poked Evan in the chest, “you heard the girl. It wasn’t a date.”

“Barty, I am five seconds away from punching you.”

“Go ahead,” Barty shot back. 

Evan took a frustrated breath. “You sabotaging my dates is not part of the bet. It’s how many dates you can get, period. No interference.”

“Then how do I know you’re not ly–”

“I won’t fucking lie, Barty.” Evan stared him hard in the eye. “Now get out of my love life before you scare all of them away.”

“Love life? Didn’t realize you and Jordan had already said those three magical words.”

“Do you want me to punch you?”

Barty lifted his head, locking eyes with Evan defiantly. “Fine. Go back to your date. I’ll give you the pass this one time, but in the future, studying is not a date.”

“You don’t need to say the word studying like it’s a disease. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

“Why would I do that,” Barty sniffed, “when I have my in-house swot right next to me?”

“At least my study dates bring me chocolates. What have you done for me?”

“Blessed you with my presence, Rosier. Don’t forget it.”

Flipping him off, Evan stomped back into the library to continue his ‘not-date’ with Jordan Whitetail. But honestly, would it have killed her to say it was a date?