eleven
On the first night of summer, Barty invited Evan to his house for dinner.
To say Evan was shocked would be an understatement, he hadn’t stepped foot in the house since he was eight.
In total, he'd only been inside of the Crouch’s house twice. One time when Mrs. Crouch was there, though she didn’t leave the bedroom at all, and another time when nobody was there. Besides the creepy guy at the door who always scowled at Barty, he was there both times.
He said yes to going. Of course he did, that was the polite thing to do. He wasn’t raised to be an animal.
So, five hours later, they all sat at an oddly long wooden table in silence. He and Barty were next to each other, with Mr. Crouch at the head of the table and his wife next to him.
Barty’s father was scary . He was tall and built and had a thick Italian accent, which was remarkably confusing. Barty sounded nothing like him. Evan didn’t even know they were Italian.
Ever since they sat down, Mr. Crouch was tearing Evan to pieces with his eyes. More than once, including the few minutes before they even spoke to each other, Evan caught the man genuinely scowling at him.
Occasionally, Barty would give his father a half-hearted dirty look and bump his knee against Evan’s. He was clearly trying to distract him, maybe even comfort him, but it wasn’t really working. Evan was severely regretting saying yes, maybe he should have just let himself look like a shithead.
For a while, the only sound in the room was their silverware against the pristine white plates. Evan wondered how they managed to not have scrapes from silverware on them. Maybe they bought new plates for every meal? Do they make scratch resistant ceramics specifically for rich people?
Regardless, Evan was practically white knuckling his fork to keep it slipping from his clammy hands. He kept looking around the room to occupy himself, trying to make sure that he looked slightly underwhelmed by it all. He didn’t want to seem like a complete outsider.
“Thank you for inviting me tonight, Mr. Crouch,” Evan spoke up after yet another side-eye, looking him in the eyes with his best polite smile.
“Needed to meet the boy that has my son so enraptured all summer,” The older man grunted, flicking his eyes over at his son. Evan didn’t really know what that was supposed to mean.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you. The food is delicious,” He shifted his gaze to look at Barty’s mother, who gave him a soft smile and nod in response. He knew she didn’t make the food, a chef was the one who brought it out, but it was the thought that counts. Right?
The silence returned for a while, their plates being taken by a maid before anyone else said anything.
“So, Evan Rosier,” The full name, really?
He continued, “Bartolomeo told me that you were considering going to Hogwarts. Did your parents graduate from there?” Ha. Bartolomeo. “I can’t say I remember anyone with that last name. French, is it?”
“No, sir. They didn’t. I’ve been talking about it with my parents for my sister and I to attend,” They hadn’t talked about Hogwarts much lately, actually. His Mum lost her job. School was expensive.
Evan didn’t know a lick of French, but he’d been harrassed by enough French teachers at school to know where his last name came from. “And yes, Rosier is French.”
“Oh, shame. They have an excellent legacy program,” What the hell was a legacy program? “Anything specific that’s keeping you from the school, Evan?”
Evan wanted to go home now. First, the constant use of his name was making him quite uncomfortable. Second, salaries and finances were something you did not talk about with other people – he knew that much. He looked over at Barty, panicked. Barty shifted nervously in his seat, biting onto his lip.
“Well, I, uh–”
“I’m not sure if that’s our business, Padre,” Barty announced, shifting his legs to his thigh completely leant against Evans.
“Don’t take that tone with your father, Bartolomeo,” Were the first words his mother said all evening. Evan had to work to restrain a confused look from forming on his face, Barty didn’t ‘take a tone’.
“I’m sure the boy can answer a question on his own,” Barty Sr. countered, his gaze becoming somehow more menacing than before.
“Padr–” Evan punched Barty’s thigh to get him to shut up.
“The school is quite expensive, sir,” He tilted his chin upwards in a sense of false confidence.
“Ah,” Ah? “What is it that your parents do?”
Well, so much for not looking somewhat of an outsider.
“I don’t really know what my dad does,” Evan was being honest. He genuinely had no idea what he did, but it was something big enough to keep him travelling somewhat consistently. He’d realised that a lot of kids had no clue what their father’s did, either. “My mother was,” Mr. Crouch’s eyebrow rose. He hurried to cover for himself, “Is a teacher.”
“Ah.” Does he say anything else than that?
They migrated back to silence after that, the table only being dismissed when Barty’s father stood up and beckoned his son to follow. Evan wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to be doing, and when he looked at Mrs. Crouch, she sort of just looked at him blankly before leaving the room herself.
Evan could hear Barty talking to his father through the walls. He swore he heard something about Barty ‘ needing to keep better company ’.
When Barty came back, his face flushed and voice thick, he announced they needed to leave that instant.
—
That night, Barty mindlessly played with a cat’s cradle string while Evan mulled over everything. The two of them hadn’t really discussed Hogwarts past the point that his parents knew about it. It seemed to be a silent hope between the two of them, that they’d both be there.
He didn’t tell Barty that his mom lost her job, or that the school was far more expensive than they could ever afford for him and Pandora, or the fact that neither of them were chosen for a scholarship.
“My dad’s a twat,” Barty flicked the string at Evan’s forehead, “Don’t mind him.”
“I didn’t know you were Italian,” Evan rubbed at where the string had landed with his palm, scooting to the edge of the couch to look over at Barty more clearly. They’d started to hang out downstairs more, since Gracie couldn’t make it up the stairs (not that she was allowed on the bed in the first place) anymore.
“My father is over the top about it. His great-great grandparents lived there when they were younger before moving here. Actually, his parents don’t even speak Italian – he took an abnormal amount of classes until he mastered the accent and everything. I think that he believes it makes him look better than everyone else,” Barty rolled his eyes, “Of course I get named Bartholomeo and have to go along with the whole Padre thing.”
That was weird. Really weird. Evan made a face. “Oh. Bartholomeo is a decent name.”
“When he yells at me he can’t keep up with the accent. Makes it really difficult to take him seriously,” Barty laughed at the thought of it. “Anyway.”
They spilled into a set of other conversations before Evan took a shaky breath, deciding they should just talk about it already. “I applied for Hogwarts, I did. I got in, too. But–”
“When I told you about it the first time, you said we’d figure it out. We’ll figure it out, yeah?”
“I guess so. Sorry.” He tried to swallow the lump in his throat.
Barty groaned, hauling himself off the floor to sit next to Evan. “There’s always next year, you know. Nothing to say sorry about.”
“I know. Just let myself get excited, I think.” The worst part was that Evan did let himself get excited. In fact, he’d let himself believe he was admitted from the second he sent in the scholarship application. God, he’d even started picturing how he would decorate his part of the dorm in his head.
Needless to say, the day the rejection letter came in was not a good day for him.
Barty laid down, squeezing his head between the back of the couch and Evan’s thigh. He stared straight up, somehow entertained by the popcorn ceiling. His freckles were showing up already, a small splatter across the bridge of his nose. They were hard to notice now, but by the end of the summer they’d be darker.
“I can write you letters this year, I think. We aren’t allowed phones or anything. Stupid, if you ask me.”
Neither of them owned a phone in the first place.
“I’d like that,” There was a one hundred percent chance the letters would make Evan more upset about not being there, but he still wanted to talk to his best friend nonetheless. It would be nice to not have to wait until summer. Socially, at least. Mentally? Not so much.
—
Remainder of the summer was terribly uneventful, maybe even boring. Gracie never wanted to come to the creek with them anymore, but sometimes she’d accompany them to the field. Evan tried not to think about it too much. If he thought about it, then it was real.
When Regulus and Sirius came to visit, everyone got drawn into a football ‘tournament’ and they practically played the entire week. Dorcas was absolutely insane at it, especially for barely having played before. She decided she was going to play at Hogwarts, because apparently everyone and their mother was going to be at that stupid school besides Evan.
Sirius talked more about Hogwarts’ football team to Evan, probably noticing that he was sulking like a kicked puppy. He explained that there was a scholarship for players that were really good.
So, Evan decided he would get really good. He played on a team back home, and wouldn’t consider himself anything special, but it would be dumb to not try. Wouldn't it?
—
During their annual backyard camping trip, they watched Now You See Me . Evan was pretty sure it was his new favourite movie, topping all the Star Wars movies (for now, at least). All of the characters were so cool.
As soon as the movie ended, they both scrambled to try and throw playing cards like they did in the movie.
It was hot outside, making the tent disgustingly stuffy and sweaty, so the cards were a bit damp and didn’t fly well at all. Eventually one did hit their makeshift target, a book, and their heads whipped to look at each other. Immediately, their faces both broke out in grins and loud whoops filled the backyard.
“By next summer, I’ll be just like Jack Wilder,” Barty gave a breathy laugh, tossing the cards aside as he flopped onto his back with a thud.
“You’ll still be here next summer, right?” Evan had never really been worried about Barty not coming back before, but things were changing.
“Yep. Every summer.”
“Swear it?”
“Swear it.” Their hands sat on the floor, pointer fingers linked, until they fell asleep.
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
Evan hated school. He didn’t have very many friends, and he and Pandora were separated into different classes more often than not, which made everything worse.
He hated reading Barty’s letters even more, though. After the third one, he decided he’d do anything to go along with Barty to Hogwarts next year.
The football season started, so he poured himself into it. He was going to be good enough to get the scholarship, his coach even told him he'd be a 'decent contender'. His Mum finally found a new job, too, so they’d be able to pay for Pandora. Evan hoped this round of excitement wouldn't end like the last had.