Dragons breathe
Evan is encapsulated with the smoke that is spinning from the joint like dragons breathe. To be honest he’s more in awe of the tattooed hand that’s holding the joint. The hand that has ‘Rose’ carelessly inked across its knuckles- Barty’s hand.
His brain is fuzzy as if the smoke is clouding every thought other than the ones of Barty.
He watches as Barty’s hand tenses slightly, crumpling the roach, causing Evan to look up. Through the cloudy air he makes eye contact with Barty, he expects a manic grin to be plastered across his face but instead his lips aren’t quirked up and his eyes look dedicated, not on the zoot but on Evan. He intensely stares with such force that Evan begins to feel heat flood his stomach.
Fuck.
He and Barty have many hobbies and habits but smoking in dorms is one of their main vices, and its always carried with this atmosphere that Evan can’t quite explain It feels like war, like the pain of losing and the flurry of winning all at once.
It makes Evan want to rip his fucking hair out and at the same time he wants to gently brushes Barty’s.
He leans forwards gentle pulling the zoot from between Barty’s warm fingers, careful not to touch him. Evan can’t touch him. Not right now, if anything he need to be 200 miles away from the boy sat opposite him.
He takes a long drag and lets the smoke burn his throat and fill his lungs.
“We should have opened a window,” Evan hears himself saying, Regulus with kill them later for hotboxing the dorm room.
Barty doesn’t reply or even give an indication he was listening, instead his eyes are trained on Evan’s lips and the gentle smoke that curls from between them.
Evan is going to go insane at this point, Salazar.
Barty finally acknowledges him with a simple grunt sound, as he turns to stand. He kicks his legs over the side of the bed and slowly steps closer to Evan and the bed he is sat on.
Evan is 90% sure he’s going to die, right now in this moment he is definitely going to perish.
Evan leans back slightly, so he is just propped up on his straightened arms and his knees are bent as his legs dangle off the edge of the bed.
Barty is close enough that Evan has to look up slightly to see his face. As he stands above him, between Evan’s legs, he starts to run a hand through Evan’s hair and gently tightens his fingers around his ear-length braids. His natural reaction is to pull his legs together but his knees just bump into the sides of Barty’s thighs.
Barty tilts his head as if he is examining Evan’s face and then he looks down at where he is digging his knees into him.
And all Evan can do is swallow to try get rid of the way his mouth has gone dry.
What is wrong with him, Evan thinks.
The heat in his stomach is burning and starting to become an issue.
Although it isn’t exactly an issue he is annoyed about, it means he was somewhat normal. It means on some level he is attracted to people; he isn’t completely alone.
If he could want Barty, and believe him he wants Barty, he could want other people. He needed to want other people, and even if a small part of him was absolutely terrified that the only person he could want is Barty or if another tiny part of him is terrified to find out, he could still push those feelings down.
Deep down.
He can’t stop looking at Barty’s face, he can’t stop following where his eyes roam across Evan’s body.
Barty finally looks back down on Evan’s eyes and all he says is, “I getting in the shower, I haven’t had one since before the party and the Pandora fiasco.”
A shower! That’s all the bastard has to say, a bloody shower.
Evan is pretty sure he is losing it as all he does is nod and before he can even say anything Barty pulls away moving swiftly towards the bathroom.
As soon as the door clicks shut, Evan falls back onto the bed and lets his head hang over the mattress. He grabs a pillow and puts it to his face, then lets out a scream into it.
It feels like a slight over reaction but in his defence, he has spent enough time around the Black household to inherit some of their dramatics.
He is so utterly fucked, but he lets the feelings pass over him through cursed lineage.
He realises he shouldn’t let himself be any deeper embedded into the puzzle that is Barty Crouch Jr. Although… he has already worked out the edges of the puzzle and the picture is almost complete, who is he too not to slot the last few pieces in to place and create the full image.
And well after all Evan Rosier hasn’t failed at anything before, why would he now.
He lets his head sink further into the mattress.
Evan squints at the ceiling, watching as the vaulting pattern fades in and out each time he widens and closes his eyes.
It’s a double vaulted ceiling, his mother taught him that. She loved architecture, studied all about it at Beauxbatons back when she was young. And he had learnt about it when she home schooled him and Pandora before Hogwarts.
He would do that he thinks- architecture he means. If there wasn’t the threat of war in his peripheral, he’d probably be good at it too. He liked Arithmancy at OWL level, and that was numbers and sum based and so is architecture, or at least that’s what his mother said.
If he thought about it, maybe this was just her dream that he had inherited.
But if he squinted hard enough he could imagine it: a large flat in London, a black cat in his lap, a mug of tea in his hand, a job he has to show up for every Monday, a bookshelf full of old well-loved books (except for a equally loved but new novel written by a very famous author, R.A.B), in this imaginary life he has plans to go get drinks after work on Friday, he has his sister birthday party to plan nagging at him from the calendar, he has plants to water, he has his favourite leftover pasta in the fridge that Dorcas made for him last time he went round hers, he has to empty the dryer and put the jumper he borrowed from Barty back in the wardrobe, and in that life he thinks his heart might be a bit fuller than the one he has in this universe.
Barty had been in the shower for what felt like a century and it is taking him even longer to get dressed. Which is really making Evan think if his friend actually is as thick in the head as he pretended to be, considering he is only putting his school uniform back on.
When he finally stepped back into the dorm, his hair is damp and sticking up in places, presumably from where he has partially dried it with a towel.
“Do we have runes?” Barty drones as he runs a hand through hair.
“Yep,” Evan replies popping his ‘P’.
“Fucking fantastic.”
“It’s not for 30 mins.”
Barty comes and sit on the end of Evan’s bed, with his head in his hands gently rubbing his temples he says, “she didn’t set homework, right?”
“No, Bee, your fine but she probably will set some today.”
Evan pulls his head up, placing his hand under his neck. As Barty glances over at him he says, “Evan?”
“Bee?”
Barty throat bobs and he seems to hesitate then Evan watches as his gaze shifts from eyepoint to the bedside table, “…you going to smoke the rest of that?”
Evan just throws his head back and laughs, “that’s what you were going to ask, smoke the rest of it or we can twos it later, I don’t care.”
“Later than,” Barty says looking up at Evan from where his head is resting in his hands.
“Later.”
The runes classroom is dimly lit and tapestry line the walls blocking the light from the windows. Streaks of sunrays line the parchment Evan is writing on and the sound of quills scratching on paper are scattered around the classroom.
This test is ridiculous, he’ll have to ask Pandora to do a reading later to see if the wheel of fortune card will come up. Salazar knows he needs some luck to pass this abomination of a quiz.
He feels a subtle kick into the side of his leg, causing him to look up and then, like an idiot, swivel his head from left to right. As he turns, he sees Barty looking at his paper instead of his own, he whispers, “this is shit.”
Barty’s papers is facing upwards and he uses his elbow to nudge it so Evan can see it at a better angle. All the questions are filled in with wordy answers and there is still 25 minutes until the end of the lesson. Not one person has finished the test, the sound of silence and scribbling is the only noise. Not one person has completed the test, except Barty.
Evan pulls his eyes away from Barty’s work to look him in the eyes, but all Barty does is scrunch his eyebrows. He is blatantly telling Evan to copy off him.
Evan simply tilts his head trying to make certain that Barty is sure he can copy.
He doesn’t know why he has bothered because Barty just swiftly nods and edges the test closer towards Evan again. In fact, his eyebrows are furrowed and the look in his eyes makes it seem as if Barty’s confused why Evan had even made sure.
That the thing with Barty he is so definite, or at least when it comes to Evan everything is yes or no. With anyone else Barty is delicate, as if it were like they could push too hard he would flip. They seem to believe Barty is balancing on a gentle rope between calm and angry, Evan knows he’s not.
He has seen Barty laugh, a lot, he seen him cry, on occasion, he has seen him yell, often, he has seen Barty be multifaceted. Yet everyone sees him as these 2 sides with absolutely no in between, so much so he thinks Barty might believe it himself.
Pandora had once had a dream, sometime in 1st year when he first became friend with Barty, she saw the shore breaking upon a rock, the unmoving object and an unstoppable force. The stone calmed the shore by breaking the vigorous wave and let the water roll over it.
In truth he understands it, partially because he knows best to listen to his sisters’ dreams but also because, he knows him and Barty need each other. Barty is like a wave, it crashes down again and again and anyone stood on the sand sees no difference to each wave, they just look to the other beachgoers and comment how the shore is getting bigger and more aggressive.
Evan feels like he’s the rock on which the sea crashes upon, he is constantly there. He will be with Barty for as long as he can, being the rock on which Barty break his emotions upon and letting him calm down. They all will be; Reggie, Panda and Dorcas. That the funny thing about friends, you trust them whether it’s to give to the right answers on a test or to predict who your best friend should be through mystical drams about the sea. You unconditionally trust them.
The friends he has are the only people Evan would live or die for. There the only ones who he would let live in his imaginary flat in London or imagine letting drink tea from his mugs or imagine reading his old, loved books with or imagine eating leftover pasta with after a night of pub crawling. There the only people who make his heart a little bit fuller.
As soon as there out of the classroom, Evan opens his mouth to thank Barty for the answers but Barty slams his hand over Evan’s jaw.
“Fucking hell!” Barty bellows into the corridor as he stretches his long arms out then turns to look at Evan, “don’t say thank you.”
He takes his hand off Evan’s mouth but places a finger to his own lips and makes a ‘shhh’ sound, a command.
“Maybe I wasn’t going to say thank you, prat,” Evan says crossing his arms, not that he is pissed off at Barty putting his hand over his mouth, he didn’t mind at all actually.
“Well then Rosy, my bad” Barty says dramatically, “what where you going to say?”
“I was going to say that lessons are done if you want to find Cas or Panda and Reg to go smoke with, we still have a or two gram left.”
“I was going to say the exact same thing,” Barty says, “it’s true what they say, great minds do think alike.”
Barty goes to put his arm around Evan’s shoulder but he pushes him away, “Get off me, I’m not Regulus.”
Barty always has his arm over Regulus’ shoulder, he has ever since they became friends in 2nd year, there friendship group joke that why Reg never grew past 5’8.
“Your so on edge today, Rosy, maybe some hippy dippy Xeno Lovegreen smoke will untense you,” Barty jokes nudging his shoulder into Evan’s.
“Lovegreen” is a very untalented and uncreative nickname Barty and Cas call Xeno (when Pandora isn’t around that is). Frankly, he is surprised Dorcas has resorted low enough to silly nicknames but considering her and Barty’s status as a 2 of the biggest gossips and Cas’ hatred for the bloke he shouldn’t be shocked.
“Your so right, friend, that’s all I need a cheeky puff puff pass should sort me right out,” Evan mocks Xeno in a horrific Irish accent. Even hearing it in his head makes him want to curl into a ball of cringe. But Barty lets out a cackle of laughter, it’s so loud it makes the small girl walking in front of them jump, which of course causes Evan to laugh as well.
Barty’ laugh seems to give him purpose. It fills him with the sort of empathy and humanity that make you feel like the whole world is kind when you know it to be cruel.
“Fucking fuck I can’t tell you how fucking glad I am to be out of that class-fucking-room.,” Barty cries. Sometime, Barty swears like a toddler who has just learnt a new word.
“You’re a real poet, Crouch,” Evan says with a chuckle.
“What can I say,” Barty says as he again stretches his arms, beckoning dramatically like Saint John the Baptist, “I am young Robert Frost.”
Evan stares at Barty and he can feel a ridiculous grin on his face. He sarcastically says, “I mean it, Bee, all that blasphemy could make poetry.”
“Can’t you see, Rosy, I’m a muse not a poet.”
He’s wrong, no one in their right mind would ever write poetry about Barty Crouch Jr. Nobody’s that mad. Barty’s not the kind of person you write poetry about, nor love songs and you definitely don’t write sonnets.
Barty can’t be captured by the Shakespeares and Monets of the world, he’s far too manic for oil paintings and far too deranged to be seen as beautiful by even the poets.
Barty’s is an enigmatic force, an intangible essence that transcends boundaries of the tangible universe.
And it just so happens Evan isn’t a poet or painter but he would write an Epic and sculpt a marble statue for Barty. Evan is entirely mad and its all Bartys doing.
Evan puts his arm over Barty’s shoulder and grabs his jaw. He turns Barty’s face towards him and watches as his grin widens, he swears he watches Barty’s eyes dip. Evan can’t help but run his tongue over the bottom of his top lip. The attention Barty had unknowingly drawn to his mouth made Evan feel heat pour up his face and he is certain he is blushing.
“You’re definitely something, Bee, I’ll tell you that for sure,” Evan sappily grins as he pulls away from Barty and starts to walk down the now empty corridor.
But before he can get even a few steps away, he feels a tight grasp around his wrist. He turns to see Barty dramatically holding his hand to his chest, as if clutching his heart.
He cries dramatically, “oh I’m not just something, Rosy, I’m yours!”
Evan’s heart stutters but he can see the teasing gleam in Barty’s eyes. He pushes Barty’s head away with his free hand, “your such an idiot, Crouch.”
Barty’s laughter fills him with a bellow magic.