Awful Things

The cigarette smoulders in the dimly lit room, long abandoned by the smoker, yet it continues its slow burn. The ashtray has tumbled from the bed, leaving ash to scatter on the crumpled sheets. On the bedside table rests a half-empty bottle of Smirnoff vodka, untouched for the past five minutes. The cap is nowhere to be found, but it won't be needed in another five minutes when the bottle empties. The room remains dark, with even the sun avoiding it. The blinds remain shut, much like the eyes of the one lying in the dark, cold room, all alone.

Barty Crouch Jr. grapples with the weight of his choices. The aftermath of the Wizarding War has left him shattered, fragments of his former self scattered irreparably. In the six months that have passed, he's done nothing at all. The passage of time, once measured meticulously, now blurs into an indistinct mass, and he can hardly distinguish one day from the next. Possibly because for those six months, he's been asleep, high, passed out, or drunk - there hasn't been a sober moment, since he lost his reason for sobriety. He knows it's partly his fault. He knows, fighting on Voldemort's side was the wrong choice, but when you are offered victory, wealth, health and a happy life, can you really refuse? He believes Voldemort killed Evan out of spite, perhaps for their naivety in believing everything he promised. Happiness is a distant dream for a homosexual couple in these times, especially in the unforgiving wizarding world. Voldemort knew that, and deep down, Barty knew it too, he just didn't want to.

Evan was a brilliant student, ranking at the top of their class for all seven years at Hogwarts. Barty clings to memories as his lifeline - the memories of Evan, his love. He possesses millions of memories of Evan, but each one has turned bittersweet over time. Even those of snowball fights and slow dances, beach days and camping trips - all tinged with a melancholy shadow. Everything, from their time before the war has taken on a dark and bittersweet hue, because the decisions they made, have branded their lives indelibly. When the war began, they braced themselves for countless dreadful things, but Barty would've never guessed that it would be worse than his own death. At least in death, he wouldn't have to live without Evan.

He sat up and reached for the vodka on the bedside table, a stark reminder of how his tastes have changed. Once despising its bitter bite, he now surrenders to it relentlessly, seeking solace in the numbing embrace of the alcohol. The bottle in his trembling hand is his lifeline - staying sober is unbearable. He lights another cigarette, the acrid smoke filling the room. Evan's room technically. He chose to stay here after the war because he knew he was safe, and somehow he believed that traces of his lover lingered in these walls. He's aware, that many Death Eaters have been executed, but he remains untouched because of his father's influence.

His father, whom he hasn't spoken to in about five years. In his sixth year at Hogwarts, he simply didn't come home for breaks, and in the summer, he went to Evan's house instead. His dad stopped writing letters to him after that. Most days, he was ready to punch his father in the face, and just keep punching him, until he didn't breathe anymore, but at the time, he couldn't admit this to himself. He just knew he didn't feel sad about ending the relationship with his father.

There are many people Barty resents for the role they played in ruining his life. First and foremost among them is his father, a man he despises so profoundly that it's evident in every aspect of his life - his father's actions, his influence, and even his absence.

Barty Crouch Sr. was extremely hot-headed. Not a family dinner went by without him screaming, breaking plates, or even slapping someone. Strangely, when he was intoxicated, he could be pleasant. He only ever hugged his son once, after a bottle of Firewhiskey.

Barty also harbours a deep and burning hatred toward Lord Voldemort, for luring him and Evan into his service, convincing them to fight on his side. Voldemort was relentless in his methods of "persuasion" and he possessed the charisma to sway even the kindest wizard to join the Death Eaters.

Initially, Barty looked up to Lord Voldemort, failing to see the mere man behind the facade and instead, thinking of him almost as if he were a godly being. The Dark Lord wielded immense power, capable of tearing through skin and shattering bones with a mere gaze, and swiftly ending the lives of those he deemed enemies with a flick of his wand. Proficient in legilimency, he could relentlessly torment even the sturdiest of minds, spreading his malevolence like a plague through the recesses of their memories.

After dedicating three years of his life to Voldemort's cause, Barty reached a breaking point. He saw what only a few could see, the vulnerable man, hiding behind the mask of Lord Voldemort. He was the same as everyone. Barty recognized that Voldemort was not the divine entity he once believed in, but merely a malevolent figure driven by the sadistic pursuit of power and dominance. Filled with disillusionment, he decided to break free, to quit the life he'd been ensnared in. Yet, escaping the clutches of the Dark Lord was a daunting challenge. Voldemort swiftly caught wind of his intentions, and immediately, without a second thought, murdered Evan. Right in front of Barty to see. It was a single, merciless act that shattered Barty Crouch Jr. beyond repair. He felt like a hollow shell, attempting to endure a life without half of his heart, body and soul - torn asunder by the Dark Lord's cruelty.

He also nurses a fierce, unrelenting hatred for himself. After all, he was the one who succumbed more easily to persuasion. Evan has always been the voice of reason, restraining him from actions he shouldn't have taken, even during their Hogwarts years.

Ah, those precious Hogwarts years, how he yearns to conjure them back or just a fleeting moment. The carefree days spent romping through the sprawling, ancient castle hand in hand with his beloved, unimpeded by anyone. He longs for the time when they were oblivious to the harsh realities of the world, shielded from the cruel spectre of war. As Barty sat there, in Evan's room, the faint scent of his lover's cologne still lingered in the air, carrying him back to their very first meeting in the Slytherin dorms when they were only eleven years old...

Barty was sitting on his bed, trying to absorb everything he could because the ancient castle fascinated him. Finally, he felt safe in a room that belonged to him, a stark contrast to the eleven years of his life spent in a home overshadowed by his father's presence. At Hogwarts, he didn't have to lock the door while sleeping, fearing his drunken father's intrusion. He knew this castle was one of the safest places in the whole wide world.

As he started unpacking his suitcase, he carefully took out the teddy bear, his mother had given him. It was a cherished companion, he clung to during even the darkest of times, especially when his father would do unspeakable things. In those moments, he sought solace in the bear's embrace - a sense of safety his mother couldn't provide because Barty Crouch Sr. wouldn't allow it.

'What's his name?' the question came abruptly, bringing Barty back to the present moment, realising he'd been hugging the teddy a bit too strongly, not realising he'd had company. 'Sorry, didn't mean to startle you... I'm Evan Evan Rosier, I'll be your roommate!" the blond boy took a step forward, and held out his hand, for Barty to shake.

Evan's freckles were scattered like stardust across his smooth, porcelain face. As he stepped closer, his polished shoes made a hushed, rhythmic sound on the wooden floor, the only audible presence in the room. His strawberry-blond hair, as soft as down feathers, brushed lightly against his ears, carrying a subtle hint of citrus-scented shampoo. Barty's fingers itched with an inexplicable urge to reach out and touch it, but he restrained himself. Ruffling Evan's hair would be decidedly strange, so he shook his hand instead...

His fingers were soft, and his touch felt like pure, unpolished, childish magic. It made Barty feel like he just met someone, he'd be thinking about for the entirety of his life.

'My name is Barty Crouch Jr. Nice to meet you!' he cleared his throat, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness, and introduced himself to his roommate. Evan smiled warmly, his hazel eyes shined with recognition, and his handshake carried a comforting warmth that eased Barty's apprehension.

'Your father works at the Ministry, doesn't he?' Evan asked, his tone inquisitive but gentle as if probing for common ground. Barty felt like he'd been punched in the gut. 'Yeah, whatever...' he replied, pulling his hand away, and continuing to make his bed. In the process, he accidentally dropped the teddy, but as he crouched down to pick it up, he noticed that he was late; Evan was already holding it.

'Sorry. Didn't mean to touch a sensitive subject.' Evan apologized, his voice laced with empathy. Barty glanced up at him, surprised by the genuine concern in his roommate's eyes. 'So what's his name?' Evan asked again, pointing at the bear, smiling sheepishly, making Barty feel like he's been punched in the gut again, but in a... good way?

'He doesn't have one.' Barty admitted quietly, his brown eyes fixed on the teddy bear. His mind raced, searching for a suitable name. He wanted it to be something special, something that would mark the beginning of this new chapter in his life. Evan's voice broke through his thoughts like a ray of sunlight through storm clouds.

'He could be Baloo, like in the Jungle Book!' Evan's playful suggestion filled the room, and for a moment, it felt as if a weight had been lifted off Barty's shoulders. 'Baloo,' he repeated softly, testing the name on his lips. It felt right, like a promise of friendship and adventure.

The teddy bear lay next to Barty, who was now consumed by misery. Evan had promised things like friendship and love forever, but he couldn't give them to him, not anymore, after his untimely death. The Dark Lord's wrath knew no limits, and even though Evan wasn't the one who wanted to stop fighting on his side, he was still murdered, just to hurt Barty more. Voldemort could've killed the traitor himself, but he knew how to make Barty miserable for a lifetime, and that was by killing Evan Rosier.

Another cherished memory of his lover that Barty often found himself revisiting was how much Evan loved Christmas. With the holiday slowly creeping up on him, he couldn't help but wish to be back in their first year at Hogwarts, reliving their first Christmas together. He remembered the warmth of the castle, the crackling sound of fire in the fireplace, and the scent of evergreen from the decorated Christmas tree. Each year, Evan's laughter filled the air like a melodic tune, and Barty could practically taste the butterbeer they had shared, its sweet, frothy richness still lingering on his tongue.

'Barty wake up! We've got presents!' Evan's joyous yells jolted Barty from his sleep. He hadn't realized it was already Christmas day. He sat up in his bed, and when he opened his eyes he was greeted by an impeccable sight: boxes and wrapped-up gifts were laid out across the room. Half of them had already been opened by Evan, who was sitting on his bed, happily munching on a chocolate frog.

'Why didn't you open the rest of them?' Barty asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and disbelief. He was accustomed to never receiving many gifts for Christmas. His father had always insisted, that giving gifts was for the less fortunate and that their wealth came from having each other. But Christmas in his childhood had been far from joyful. He often overheard his parents' heated arguments about Christmas gifts, which inevitably culminated in his mother's tears and his father's furious outbursts, making Barty hate this time of the year.

'They're yours silly...' Evan looked up, with genuine concern in his eyes. He was used to getting many gifts, his parents were generous people, who loved their son more than anything. 'Would you like me to help with opening them?' he asked, a hint of nervousness hiding behind the joy in his voice, as he put down the half-eaten chocolate frog wrapper. 'But if you'd rather do it separately, that's okay too.'

Barty felt a lump forming in his throat. No one had ever considered his feelings about Christmas before. The kindness in Evan's gesture overwhelmed him, and he found himself at a loss for words. Finally, he managed a smile and nodded. 'Together sounds good.'

Now the approaching of the holiday season only deepened the void in Barty's heart. The anticipation of Christmas, once a time of joy and togetherness with Evan, now served as a painful reminder of the love he had lost. He closed his eyes, and drifted off to alcohol-fueled sleep, vividly dreaming of the times spent with the lover he yearned to bring back each time he crossed his mind.