No.
Barty hadn’t spoken to him for the last few days. It was so obviously a conscious decision that it was more frustrating than painful. He thought it would be tearing him apart, the not speaking but he was just annoyed. He knew this whole thing was plain stupid!
Stupid!
Stupid. And it was all his fault.
And then last night happened…
Well, he hadn’t been there, but from what he heard it was chaos. A flurry of emotions and unspoken words, well Dorcas had described it far more colloquially. There were several threats and hurt feelings, from what Evan could tell.
In these situations, it is probably best to follow the smartest solution, and the smartest person he knew other than Barty, was Regulus but Regulus had bathed in self-deprecation since birth so his solution would be to never say anything, cease all contact and stare at the stars hoping for answers.
If he couldn’t follow the smartest idea, he could follow Dorcas’ example. Which would be to follow Barty around the quidditch pitch, shamelessly flirting and then when off the broom act as if he is the worst person ever created. But Evan didn’t play quidditch and he wasn’t sure he would be able to hate Barty. Pretend or real.
That meant there was only one other solution, Pandoras, which would probably be to use a love spell. Not amortentia or anything they were taught at school. No, it would be a homemade spell, taught to Pandora by their grandmother who had learnt it from her maternal grandmother before. The spell would be to write Barty’s name on a small slip of parchment, soak it in rosemary oil in a little glass jar and seal it with wax. But while this spell was always successful, it only worked for the women in the family. So, he would have to ask Pandora and even if there is no shame between them, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Evan wakes in the early morning, he can hear the birds chirping outside, and he hasn’t dared open his eyes yet. He can’t quite bear to look over to Barty’s bed and not see him in it. He hadn’t returned to the dorms last night and well it didn’t exactly take a genius to work out what he was doing.
Wait.
Why can he hear birds? They are in the dungeons with only dirty water and merpeople surrounding them.
His eyes shot open.
The room is yellow. He blinks, no, it’s covered in sunflowers. Not even actual sunflowers, but shoddy paintings of them.
They line every surface like wallpaper, there on the ceiling, doors, walls, and windows and there are even smaller framed paintings resting on the dresser and bookshelves.
All he can do is stare in shock.
Either Regulus has transformed into Van Gogh overnight or they have been royally pranked.
He is ninety-nine percent sure it’s the latter, even if this does seem tame for the “marauders”. In recent years they have gotten harsher, cruel even. From the first year to the third, they escaped the brute force of any childish pranks simply for being in a dorm with Regulus. But now, well it was obvious how much special treatment they were getting.
“Salazar,” he hears Reg mumble. He looks at him and sees him rubbing his eyes as he sits up, getting a better look at the monstrosity before them.
“I know,” Evan says making eye contact with a very sleep-deprived Regulus. Thinking of Reg’s sleep patterns, Evan has noticed him sneaking out in the night and then in the morning acting as if nothing is afoot. Evan is yet to say anything, he probably won’t because while Regulus has been more tired, he has been happier. While it might not be obvious to everyone Evan can tell, and Reg deserves some joy. Merlin knows he hasn’t had much of it before this.
“Why can I hear owls?” Regulus says observing the windows. Evan quietens and listens, he can hear a subtle pecking and tweeting outside. Evan throws back his duvet and places his feet over the side of his bed, ducking down.
“What the fuck,” he mouths at Reg as if the birds are spies, Regulus clearly realises the stupidest in Evan’s whisper as he rolls his eyes and starts to approach the glass.
The stupid paintings are blocking the view of what would normally be the dark, obis of water, but today there’s light streaking through the yellow of the sunflowers.
Reg picks up his dressing gown and tightens it around his waist, like a mother, as he peers through the tainted glass, “I’ll have to peel away the paint.”
“Well as much as I liked the new deco,” Evan says sarcastically, “I won’t exactly be heartbroken to see it go.”
He sees the corners of Reg’s lips turn upwards. He starts to chip at the paint with his blunt, well-manicured nails but it’s not budging.
“Try do it with a wand,” Evan suggests.
“Don’t be stupid, I’m not going to break my wand over a prank,” Regulus says while not even looking at Evan, he walks over the Barty’s bedside table and picks up a small card.
“What’s that?” Evan says, suddenly feeling defensive over Reg touching Barty’s possessions.
“It’s his library card, he hasn’t used it once,” Regulus says as he tries to peel the paint away with the small card.
“Oh, fair enough.”
Evan stares intensely at the sunflowers, but they are not moving.
“It must be charmed not to move,” Regulus says, “my genius of a brother’s idea no doubt, he did something like this at home… but with less artistic themes.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes,” Regulus says shortly as he drops the card but stays staring at the window, “far more prolific, pornographic even.”
“Surprised you know what porn is, Reg,” Evan smirks.
Regulus places his hands on his hip and gives him a blunt look.
“Why are you and Reggie talking about porn…” Barty says, “Without me.”
Evan turns to the door, and Barty stands there with his uniform askew and a grin on his face.
Evan smiles back because it’s the first time Barty has addressed him in days and also because he can’t help but to.
“Barty, don’t let that door shut,” Regulus demands, but it’s too late as the door shuts with a click, “Merlin, I am going to hurt you.”
“Yes please,” Barty jokes, or at least Evan thinks he’s joking, “why can’t I let the door shut, it will open again, Reggie,” Barty mocks and tries to turn the door knob, “well you’re not going to believe this but…”
“Ahhhh,” Regulus shouted, dramatically holding his hands out as he marched toward Barty, “Murder!”
Barty holds up his hands in mock surrender.
“I’m sure it will open, Reg, you know Barty can’t do anything right, can he?” Evan jabs, it’s a low blow but he is so annoyed he doesn’t particularly care.
Evan reaches for the handle but it really won’t budge, it won’t even begin to turn.
He looks at Reg and the look on his face is almost comical. The whole situation feels like a shit book troupe.
“Why is the room covered in sunflowers?” Barty asks simply, as he looks around. Evan forgot it was his first time taking in the new surroundings.
“We hired a decorator, and turns out there Vincent Van fucking Gogh,” Regulus says deadpan, but his fists practically shake as he seethes with anger, “what do you think happened! We were pranked!”
“They must have thought we were Gaugin,” Barty says with a smirk, clearly trying to defuse Reg’s temper.
“I have barely slept, I haven’t had the chance to eat or shower,” Regulus points his finger at Barty like it’s a weapon with the power to curse, “so do not make jokes right now.”
“You made a joke!” Barty says exasperated, pointing right back at him.
“Mine was ironic and fucking funny! Now. I’m going into the bathroom and praying it permanently locks the door behind me!” he says then storms off, swooshing his dressing gown like a cloak in his wake.
Barty doesn’t say anything and Evan isn’t really in the mood for a conversation with him at this moment in time so he stays quite too.
Evan walks back over to his bed and sits cross-legged, pretending Barty isn’t staring at him.
Evan doesn’t know why he is so upset, it’s not like Barty owes him anything and he has seen him come back to the dorm the morning after about a thousand times before.
But this… this hurts his foolish heart…
He watches Barty itch his bicep – a nervous tic. He has always done it ever since Evan first met him. He has always acted like a caged animal when anxious, as if he can’t do anything but stare and shake.
That’s what he’s doing currently – staring with big, black eyes and twitching his fingers in a frantic motion while the rest of his body stays firmly planted. He looks so much like he did when Evan first met him, except now he is tall and built, back then he was nothing but a thin frame of energy and anarchy.
And of course, he had a black eye when Evan first met him. Evan can’t remember if he asked or not nor can he remember Barty’s response if he did. All he remembers is that purple bruise that circled one of his eyes. He can also recount that first night… and the horrific scars that lashed against his back, they were pink but not faded as if they were less angry and more miserable.
Barty had simply said his dad had done it as if it were normal.
As if it was expected. Perhaps it was because Evan knew the faint scars on Regulus’ calves inflicted by the rules of family Black. His grandmother used to say it was the price they paid for their beauty and wealth; she was a Black herself before she married his grandfather so he supposed she would know. But Reg had the common understanding to change in the bathroom or to simply not turn around and show the lines on his legs.
A part of Evan thought that 11-year-old Barty didn’t know it was something he ought to hide. Barty hadn’t spent much time around other children, not that Barty ever spoke much of his childhood unless it involved his father. But Evan assumed it was a bitter and cruel one by the way Barty interacted with the other first years. He would just speak as if he had no manner or even the foggiest of ideas on social cues. He would act as if he had been raised in the jungle, taken by wolves as a babe and returned as leader of the pack by the time Hogwarts came around.
But Barty had learnt how to act properly (even if he hardly used the skill), he taught himself how to be accepted and worshipped just like he taught himself everything else. Evan is still convinced Barty read every book ever written when he was a child, alone and isolated, so now he knew everything and simply pulled strings of knowledge from his memory when he needed to recall information.
So, Evan knew what Barty’s father did to him and so did Reg. Barty made no attempt to hide it, not even to teachers, so Dorcas knew soon enough as did Pandora. They knew. But they didn’t understand, of course, they didn’t. To be beat savagely like a stranger being attacked on the street by one’s father was unthinkable.
Yet Barty had survived it, Evan had no idea if it still happened, but he did know his best friend had clawed his way through life with the weight of death propelling him backwards and made it. Evan often worried he was still clawing forwards.
That is why Evan would defend anything Barty did, not because of his stupid crush or the love he felt for him. But because he was his best friend, first and foremost. So, whether Barty got a cushy job in the ministry or tore apart the world caked in blood or gore Evan would stay by him, until the end. It doesn’t matter that Barty is the type to make a fist and not a plan or that he treads the line between brilliance and insanity like he’s trying to disrespect it.
“If we get stuck in here too long, I have some pills we could take?” a voice says cutting him out of his thoughts.
“No!” Regulus says firmly pocking his head out of the bathroom door, which had obviously not been permanently locked behind him, “I’m not dealing with you two being off your faces without a way to viably leave.”
“Ease-dropper,” Barty calls back as he makes his way over to the door where Reg’s had is pocked out, “Let me in.”
“No,” Regulus says.
“Let me in,” Barty repeats and tries to shove his shoulder through the small gap.
“Stay out here with Evan,” Regulus says and, although Evan can’t see Barty’s face, he knows from Regulus’ glare that they are arguing through eye contact.
“Regulus,” Barty hisses firmly, he is trying to be quiet so Evan can’t hear but he can.
“Stop being a prick,” Regulus hisses back, equally quietly.
“I’m not being a prick,” Barty says, “It’s awkward.”
“That’s why I’m in here,” Reg says, “I’m giving you time to talk.”
With how private their conversation is, Evan is starting to worry Barty told Reg everything. The mere thought of it brings an embarrassed heat to his face, he can’t even begin to consider Regulus knowing. It has nothing to do with how close they are, it’s simply a humiliating prospect. Barty tells all his scandalous tales of girls to them, so Evan wouldn’t be surprised if he told Reg everything too. Merlin.
The thought of Regulus knowing he liked boys was hideous, and he couldn’t work out why. Perhaps because of Reg’s family and the rumours that swelled that Sirius had been disowned due to his persuasions. Reg was prestigious, his best friend but even Evan couldn’t deny he was stuck-up. He didn’t believe Regulus would ever judge him, after all, Reg had had his rendezvous with boys before, but Evan still couldn’t get the burning shame off his face.
“I can’t talk,” Barty says bluntly.
“It’s Evan I have never seen you fall out, you could talk to him about anything and he would still listen, so go talk,” Regulus whispers.
“Reggie,” Barty practically whines, “I’m not kidding, this isn’t an argument, it is worse.”
Evan’s first thought is at relief that Barty clearly hadn’t told Reg, but the second is a sick, disgusting feeling, one that makes Evan want to curl into a ball and sob. Barty had said ‘worse’. Worse than an argument. Evan nearly kissing Barty was, in his mind, worse than them falling out.
“Is it?” The words practically shoot out of him.
Evan is confrontational to a degree. To the degree that as rose is with its thrones, his hostility is a defence he has grown into him as a way to protect himself. He will shout back and argue but he is never the first to throw a fist, he always fights back and never instigates. He knows the trouble he could get in for punching first, and his self-preservation won’t let him fight without a loophole to get out of the aftermath. But this… Evan doesn’t care what the consequences are, he is just hurt.
The shock on Barty’s face as he looks at Evan, and the way Reg slams to door shut at the speed of light, tell Evan they thought he couldn’t hear them.
“I…I didn’t…” Barty stutters, Evan has never heard him stutter before, “Ev, I didn’t mean it like that.”
Barty is shaking his head slightly and fear is lacing his eyes. Evan wants nothing more than space, but he quite literally can’t leave.
“I want to leave,” Evan states.
“The door is locked,” Barty says, still looking into Evan’s soul.
“You’re practically as genius, you have 12 OWLs, all of which are Os,” Evan says, “You’re smarter than any ‘marauder’, you open 1000-year-old runes like it’s a first year’s task and you’re magic is so powerful that when you get properly angry glass rattles, so open the door, because I know you can.”
Barty stares taken aback.
It a good minute before Barty answers, “No.”
“No?”
“I want to talk,” Barty states. Never in their 6 years of friendship has Barty declined something he knows Evan is genuinely asking him. He is always obedient to Evan, to Regulus, to Pandora, to Dorcas and yet now when Evan is on the verge of being physically sick, he says ‘no’.
“Talk,” Evan lets out a cruel laugh, “You want to talk. After days, you want to ‘talk’!”
Barty nods.
“What do you want to talk about, Barty?” Evan says manically, he feels like Barty as he swigs his arms out and grins sadistically, “The fact we” he gestures a hand enthusiastically between them, “almost kissed, or that you just said that us almost kissing is worse than an argument?”
“Both,” Barty says shortly, he is frozen to his spot.
“Both?” The laughter that tumbles out of Evan is deluded with outrage.
“Yes,” Barty says, his voice is tight as if he is trying to be firm and not give in to opening the door.
The rage Evan feels is palpable. If he is trying to do this diplomatically, the sensible way, then Evan might as well do it the manic way, the Barty way. He dashes towards Barty and traps his against the door, with his forearm to Barty’s neck, “Fuck. Off.”
“I am really sorry,” Barty says, Evan realises he isn’t trying to free himself from Evan’s grasp.
“I don’t care. Open the door. Now,” Evan demands. He knows it’s a short time before Barty fights back. You can’t start shit with Barty and not expect him to fight back, it’s like offering a lion your arm as lunch and expecting it not to bite.
“No, we need to talk,” Barty struggles against Evan’s arm but he still isn’t trying to get free.
“Since when do you talk about anything or importance, it’s never the rational method you go for,” Evan hisses.
“I don’t want to hit you,” Barty says weakly, and Evan can see the sadness swarming in his eyes.
“I fucking want you too,” Evan snarls.
And as quick as a flare, Barty punches him, square in the jaw. A real fucking uppercut to his mouth. Evan hardly has time to register what has happened before his limbs seem to move, and his fist collides with Barty’s nose.
Evan can’t see blood at first but after a second he sees red dripping down Barty’s lips and onto his chin.
And Barty’s on him. It’s a flurry of fists and dominance as Evan reels backwards, punching and kicking. He is pretty sure he pulls Barty’s hair at one point and that Barty pocked him in the eye as well.
Evan feels the back of his knees hit a mattress and he falls backwards, pulling Barty with him. Barty has his knees digging into either side of Evan’s hips and his hands are pushed against his chest. The fall had given them a moment to pause and realise what they were doing.
They have fought before, playfully though, not like this at all. In this, Evan isn’t pulling his punches and the fury that runs through him is red and hot. Evan can’t work out if Barty is only hitting him because Evan told him too of if he is actually angry. The hits feel vicious, but then again that might just be because Barty is vicious. People are genuinely scared of Barty, most 7th years even step out of the way when he is walking through the corridor. Evan understands to an extent why they are because if he imagines being a random student, not a part of their group, all of Barty’s actions are terrifying.
For a few months in 3rd year, Barty was moved to Drumstrang by his father and when he came back, after being moved back to Hogwarts again by his father for starting a small fire in the chapel, he was violent and brutal. Some Gryffindor older, Matthew Hazer, had teased him for his shaven head and Barty didn’t need any more ammunition. He had beaten Hazer to a pulp, he even dislocated his jaw and then held his broken mouth over the thick, stone windowsill. Barty told him that if he didn’t apologise then he would kick the back of Hazer’s head, effectively splitting his jaw, potentially dislodging his head from his neck. Hazer had all but pissed himself and with a tear-stained face sobbed his mumbled apologies, his mouth still around the harsh stone ledge. Hazer was a half-blood and so people took it as a blood-related incident which led to Barty being suspended for a couple of weeks.
Or at least that’s what the school had circulated, in truth Hazer had called Barty a Poofter for going to an all-boys school, it wasn’t about blood or a haircut. Hazer had clearly meant it lightly but Barty was wound up and nearly killed the bloke. It had students ducking out of corridors to avoid him, especially since the school didn’t dare expel him, not with his father practically paying for the school to keep him there. Evan thought that might be why Barty acted up so much, because the more trouble he got in the more his father ‘donated’ to keep him in Hogwarts incidentally meaning his father was losing more and more money with every bad thing Barty did.
“Do you remember Matthew Hazer,” Evan says as he stares at Barty, blood is dripping from Barty nose onto Evan’s cheek and they are both breathing heavily?
“What?’ Barty darkly says, looking down into his eyes. Evan realises where Barty’s eyes had previously been lurking, their hips were pressed together. Barty was still straddling him and Evan had hardly noticed but now he did he couldn’t stop his thoughts from flying and his blood from rushing.
He needs to distract himself because if Barty thought the idea of nearly kissing him was awful then things would soon become horrific.
“Matthew Hazer?” Evan mumbles, strangely the image that filters through his mind isn’t that of the bludgeoned face of Hazer, instead, it’s Barty grinning with bloody robes and even more bloodied hands, “You beat him to a pulp in third year.”
Barty stares at the space just above Evan’s face for a good minute before a flicker of recognition lights up his eyes and he says, “He was a wanker.”
Evan can’t help the smirk that spreads across his lips. Evan watches Barty’s gaze linger on his mouth, and then he mirrors Evan’s expression.
“We shouldn’t be smiling at that,” Evan says as his smile only grows, “Merlin we must be awful people.”
“I don’t mind,” Barty says.
“You don’t mind what?”
“Being awful.”
“You’re not awful,” Evan had meant it to sound strong but it escapes him as a whisper, a secret said with the intimacy of lovers.
One minute, Barty is staring at Evan with a look in his eyes akin to anger and then suddenly their lips are meeting. Barty makes a guttural grunt sound, and all Evan can feel is Barty.
He tilts his chin upwards so that suddenly he can be closer to Barty, who is kissing his with a surge of urgency as if he has to do this right now before he misses his chance. It’s not surprising that Barty kisses like he is running out of time, he is always perpetually late, seeming to be in a constant state of behind.
Barty’s hands are everywhere, the very hands Evan had daydreamed about a dozen times before, they are tugging at Evan’s shirt eagerly, pulling it up to his collarbone. His teeth graze Evan’s naval. He isn’t kissing as Evan expected him to, instead, he bites gently at the skin as he looks up at Evan with pure danger glistening in his eyes. Evan can’t help the noise that escapes him at the sight, it rings from his throat as a deep groan. His hips jerk up, desperate for any kind of friction he can find, but Barty uses his free hand to pin them down, “No.”
“Yes,” Evan says indignantly and rolls his hips forward again.
Barty’s response is to dig his blunt nails into the bare skin just above Evan’s waistband. His nails are clipped to a quick but there’s a slight sting of pain, not that Evan minds. In fact, he welcomes the feeling as he moves his waist more into the burn of Barty’s grip.
He feels Barty deeply exhale a harsh breath Evan pushes their bodies closer together. Hot breath heats his stomach as Barty lowers himself again and resumes half-kissing, half-biting at his skin. This time it is harsher as if he is trying to hurt Evan, but as Evan looks down, he sees the same look he had seen in Barty’s eyes the day he had beaten Hazer. Not the look when he was smashing his head in, but the look he had given Evan, a look of acceptance, of praise, of guidance. He’s looking for proof he is doing the right thing, so… Evan lifts his stomach slightly to give Barty more room to break skin.