Monsters by Nightfall

The castle was quiet at night. Almost eerily so. The long shadows were both familiar and foreign to Evan. He hadn’t walked these halls in many years. He had barely finished school when the world had pronounced him dead.

He had also never really walked the corridors alone without any of his friends. They had always stuck together.
“We stick together, We fight together, we die together!”
Barty had said once.
How wrong he had been. How much Evan would have loved it to be true though.
But first, they had fought against each other, then split into two fronts, and finally parted ways.

Regulus had been the first to go. At only seventeen…

Even with the hours slowly creeping towards morning, there was only the quiet snoring of portraits and the early hustle and bustle of house elves to be heard in the corridors.
They hadn’t had much difficulty getting Evan inside the wards, a security issue, Severus had murmured, better discussed with Dumbledore one of these days.

Evan had worn a wandless rather convincing glamour, looking older and plainer. He had even transfigured a muggle Stethoscope, playing the role of a specialist healer called in for Draco, which wasn’t even a real lie.

It reminded Evan of the Halloween night in 81 when Barty and he had dressed up as Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. Their last Halloween together. And the first one, just the two of them. Barty had tried to convince him to go as Dracula, finding the irony hilarious.

Now, in Hogwarts castle, Severus and him gladly stayed out of anyone’s way, on their path towards the medical wing.
They had almost reached the south wing, only had to climb up the steps, when there was suddenly movement ahead.

Evan signaled to Severus that they had company, trying to put a face to the fragrances, that now swept his senses. His face drew up in confusion when two different but familiar scents invaded his nose. It was a weird mixture that he couldn’t exactly pinpoint since they seemed to be coming from the same person, although they were so vastly different.
Something about them made his heart clench in his chest. Something was off. His body knew that scent but his brain was refusing to give away the name.

However, Evan’s mind got preoccupied with bundling magic anyway, when Alastair Moody stepped into the light before them.

“Well, well, well, Professor Snape, what brings you out here at this hour? Up to anything I should know about?”

Except, this wasn’t Alastair Moody, as far as Evan was concerned. What would Moody even do there? Was Hogwarts really desperate enough to employ deranged retired Aurors? Apparently so. Though, they didn’t even get the right paranoid freak.

Of course whoever this was looked just like Moody.
There was even that same crazed look, the same shaggy hair, and the beige-colored leathery coat.
One of his eyes was looking funnier than it had been when he’d attacked Evan all those years ago. It seemed to be artificial and flicked back and forth between Severus and Evan constantly.

But still, it didn’t convince enough of his senses to sell the fact that this was in fact the guy who had almost killed him not too long ago.
The scent was one factor, a big one for sure, but the magical signature surrounding the guy was way too dark to pass as a retired Auror too. This was nothing Evan had ever seen.

The paranoia was there, the mistrust was real, but there was something else within that couldn’t be Alastair Moody. Something despicably evil. Something hateful. As if Severus had taken something from him. Something revengeful.

This was someone who had lost everything, not a guy who won the war. An animal clawing at its own life. Whether to hold onto it or rip it to shreds, nobody was sure.

Evan knew something though: He was someone like him.

And then he felt so familiar too…

“And who are you?”
Evan’s eyes snapped back into focus, meeting fake Moody’s mistrustful gaze, staring into the undamaged eye. Why was the person staring back so familiar?

“A specialist healer for Mr. Malfoy. His parents requested I bring him in.”
Severus snarled, challenging his colleague, who exposed his yellowed teeth as a grim retort. Something flashed over not-Moody’s face at the mention of Malfoy, which was, however, too fast for Evan to catch. The vampire was too occupied staring at him anyway. Why couldn’t he figure the man out?

“I don’t suppose your little specialist can talk himself, can he now?”
Fake Moody’s artificial eye was so focused on him, that Evan could have sworn, the man was looking through instead of at him.

“Why aren’t you carrying a wand with you? Don’t you need that for the healing?”

Well, it seemed that eye was looking right through him.

“How I heal my patients shouldn’t concern you, Professor. The important thing is that I do, is it not?“

Moody blew out a breath through his nostrils.
“Alright then. And your name is?”

What was it that came across as so familiar to Evan?
“Doctor Lecter.”

And suddenly there was this spark in the non-artificial eye, that made Evan's already minimal breath stop completely. The spark Evan had searched for in the night sky ever since he'd read the dreaded obituary in the newspaper.

The truth of who was standing before him hit him like a trainwreck. He hadn't felt much in the last few years. The last decade. But now he could feel himself getting nauseous. This couldn't be. Barty Crouch Jr. was dead. If not, who had died in that cell in Azkaban all those years ago? Nobody (other than perhaps Sirius Black) could flee that Place, especially not unnoticed. How was he here?

The spark made Evan hear his phantom Sobs in the distance. The sobs that had ripped him from sleep, or what resembled it the most nowadays, oh so often. They had started long before any obituary in the newspaper. Even before they had all sat together discussing war and bloodshed.

Sobs of despair about a person oh so near but oh so unattainable.
The spark, that had only seemed to sparkle for someone else.

Of course, the smell had been familiar. It was the smell Evan had woken up to ever since they'd all been fifteen. Back when the scent, however, sadly hadn't come from his own bed.

Barty was the person he could have saved but didn't, making him regret that decision every second of his life. A life without the love of his life. A life that had, against all odds, brought Evan face to face with a mirror image of that person once again.

Only, even without the disguise, this wasn't HIS Barty's face. Despite it being the same flesh and bones underneath all the potions and charms surrounding his disguise. This was the closest thing to Barty. It was almost him.

Only, HIS Barty Crouch Jr. Had been dead long before this Barty's obituary.

Barty Crouch Jr. had died inside, the day Regulus Arcturus Black had vanished, never to be found again.
They had all lost a part of themselves that day. And again after Pandora's passing. Barty, however, had lost himself entirely.

The shreds of him that had lived on, twisted in hate and anguish had covered most of the boy that Evan once loved, still loved, had always loved, and would probably love until the day they both died.

And died again.

Still, however, that spark was there. A spark of hope, of happiness. A spark of HIS Barty. Most importantly, unable for Evan nor Barty to ignore.
Like he always had, Barty had seen right through him, able to figure Evan out yet again.

"Well then, I won't hold you back anymore Dr. Lecter. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."
Barty spoke, his voice carrying hints of sorrow and regret that made Evan's heart draw together in pain (maybe also because he hadn't been breathing for quite some time, and with the upcoming sun Evan became a little more human.)

Severus drew up an eyebrow in surprise, when Barty in his Moody disguise stepped to the side, letting Evan and Severus pass.

Barty however didn't even bat an eye at Snape, staring at Evan still, unable to rip his eyes away.

Evan didn't notice himself moving on towards Moody, only realizing his arm brushing against the other in the narrow corridor, when Severus and him were already way past him, in front of the door towards the hospital wing.

Only then, he heard the softly whispered, Goodbye, meant for his ears alone.

When Severus had shown Evan to the white-haired boy form and left the room to hold off Madame Pomfrey, who had awoken during the ruckus one corridor over, Evan allowed himself to breathe out the desperation, hurt, disbelief and, might he say it, hope that felt like they were gnawing at him, still.

He had a job to do and the sun was already on the brink of rising. Of course, the sun didn’t affect him as harshly as it did normal vampires, but he also didn’t want to be seen. And that nasty sunburn he tended to get wasn’t fun either.

So business now. And maybe if he was fast he could… was it even a good idea to meet up with Barty? Was it worth the pain to reconnect with his lover? They were at such different places in life. On two different sides too, Evan presumed. Whoever cosplayed as Alastair Moody couldn’t have good intentions in mind. Remarkable how Severus hadn’t figured it out yet. So unlike him. Back in school he always used to put his long nose in things it didn’t belong in.
He digressed again. Merlin, he needed a drink.

Severus had shown him a variety of blood containers that were stored in a wooden chest next to Draco’s bed; so, seeing this as his payment of sorts, Evan flipped the heavy lid of the box open and was about to begin sipping on one of the blood bags inside.
Bad idea.

What was this? This was no real blood. This was utter shite!
It reeked of animal carcasses and had no sweetness at all. The hint of magic, that made most wizard's blood so delicious was almost nonexistent. Not even a magical animal then? How was anyone going to regain strength on this?
The Malfoy Boy needed real blood!
And time was running out with every second wasted. Evan could already feel his powers slipping with the world outside the castle getting lighter and brighter.

There was no time to overthink this.

Biting his own wrist with his sharpened teeth, Evan made sure that blood was flowing before pressing it into Draco’s mouth as a blood transfusion of sorts. Evan was baffled that the boy had even survived that long on something so unnatural a diet for a vampire. Animal blood had almost none of the benefits that human blood had. It made you more sluggish and powerless even than when muggles survived on junk food alone, which none of the taste benefits. It dulled your senses and especially the blood of non-magical animals made your magic weak.

Vampires were their most powerful on a pure wizarding blood’s diet. It was hard for Evan to imagine surviving on anything other than human blood. Wasn’t that essential for a vampire?

After only a few seconds the younger boy began to stir, his fangs growing to sink his teeth into Evan’s wrist. Drinking another vampire's blood wasn’t the real deal either, there were all those mixtures in there, since it was never a pure concoction, given that nobody could survive on just one human for a year, which was the lifecycle of blood in a vampire’s system.
But still, it seemed to strengthen the young boy immediately.

After another few seconds, the little royal moved his arms to the wrist on his mouth, automatically trying to keep the source of his bliss from slipping away.

Nevertheless, Evan had to cut his good times short, when he felt the toll it took on his energy after only half a minute.
Draco only seemed to wake from his slumber, when Evan removed his wrist from the younger man’s grip rather forcefully.

“That’s enough boy.“
The Malfoy heir looked at him confused at first, frightened then, and moved back a little fearfully.
“I need my strength to heal up your arm.“
Evan elaborated while reaching for the other’s arm. The skin had definitely gained some colour and the added fluid made the runes look like deep nasty gashes that had only recently been rinsed.

“Don’t worry kid, I’m here to help.”
Evan tried to reassure Draco, who was looking more and more lost. The blood seemed to have done the trick of waking him but the little guy still didn’t have much energy to spare.
“Who are you?”
His voice was coarse and quiet like he hadn’t talked in years.

“My name is Evan Rosier. I owed your potions Professor a favor.”
At least Draco had stopped pulling away, but Evan could see that his eyes were still full of questions.

“Severus! Where is he?”
“He’s okay, just buying us some time. And we don’t have much, so let’s not waste it okay? I’m going to need your help with this.”
Evan waited for a small nod before moving on.
“Try to focus on your arm now. Do you know what your magic feels like normally? Do you know what to look out for?”

Draco looked at his arm trying to focus. His eyes kept shifting, however, unable to lock onto just one thing due to fatigue.
“I don’t really know.“
He sounded so small and helpless, reminding Evan again how young the vampire in front of him was. Not only was turned not too long ago, this was a child, barely a teenager. Just like Evan back then.
“It’s usually just there. Like an additional limp. But I…I can’t feel it. It’s like it’s been cut off.”
There was a sort of panic in his cloudy eyes.

“Don’t panic, it will be alright. Tell me, if you think about your magic, what does it look like to you? Is it a sweeping sensation? A wave of energy? A burning?”
Draco’s head jerked at the last one.
“It’s like fire! Like a flame. Easy to control in the right conditions but hard to contain when one variable brakes off.”

Evan nodded, trying to encourage Draco further.
“Very good. Close your eyes then and think about that flame. Imagine a fire that might not seem strong but can become an inferno when adding the right fuel. So gradually let it grow.”

Draco’s eyes screwed together. Evan could feel his arm contracting in the older royal's grip.
“Let the warmth fill your entire body, let it flow through your every vein and artery. And when it’s palpable, when you can feel it, try to direct it towards your arm. Try to clean anything that isn’t meant to be there. Burn it out.”
Evan put his hand on top of Draco’s arm again, feeling for the other’s magic. And surely enough, there it was, pushing back against the runes, trying to close them up by sheer force.

"Take a deep breath. Fuel the fire, let the embers warm you, and fill every fiber of your body. Good, now try to lead it towards your arm."
Evan could feel the younger boy's magic increase with every deep breath Draco took.

It surprised Evan how strong the young royal was. If Evan was honest with himself, Draco was far stronger and more focused than Evan at his age, probably stronger even than Evan now. Either the Malfoy bloodline was just that strong, or maybe it had to do with his vampire bloodline.

Whatever Vampire you originally descended from, did a lot to one’s magic. Going as far as granting you powers unattainable for other vampires and wizards alike. Powers even normal vampires were able to access if they got old enough.

Half wizards, royals, only had the advantage of being able to tap into those powers earlier, or at all, since most vampires were killed before they could mature enough to unlock them. Hence the name. A gift connected to one’s blood.

One of the reasons why the Elders tended to want vampires, especially royals dead: The risk of them becoming stronger even than the elders over time, was too great. That’s why every royal was of significance. That’s why Evan was here. This was no simple help to an old enemy. This was a recruitment call. And Draco, the recruit in question, had to survive to win this war.

Evan could feel the others' magic where his hands still held onto Draco's arm, animating Evan to start the spell. The magical signature was still very much suppressed but it was now or never, this was as ready as either of them got.
"This might hurt a bit."
The older mumbled before sinking his nails into Draco's wounds.

Draco cried out in pain, covering his mouth to muffle the sound. He looked on in pain while a string of spells bubbled out of Evan's mouth, in a language Draco couldn't understand at first.

Evan could see, however, that focusing on the words seemed to lead Draco to identify the French language even with the ancient wizarding dialect Evan was using. Not only strong but clever too? This one was a keeper.

It had always been easier for Evan to recite spells in his mother tongue.
It reminded him of his family. Reminded him of spending summers in their house in the French countryside, of love confessions in the dark of the night, of swims in the nearby lake with Regulus reciting one of his poems for all of them to hear while lazily floating around the water and of bedtime stories his father used to tell him and Pandora when they were little.

It gave him enough strength to defy the slowly rising sun and focus his magic even more. It made him sink his nails deeper into Draco's flesh, which was rapidly growing colder and colder.
Evan couldn't fail this. Not after failing everything else in life. He had to do this. He had to be the help that he hadn't gotten when he needed it.

This was gonna work!

--

The courtyard was drenched in the first sunbeams when Barty Crouch Jr. stepped out of the castle, into the light.
He had failed tonight.

The one request the dark Lord had given him, the chance to prove his loyalty, that Barty would stand by his side, and he had failed to go through with it. The paper with Harry Potter’s name on it was still scrunched up in his pocket, where it had been for a while now, and where it would stay until that bloody goblet of fire would finally be put on display. That part of the plan was still on track.

Only, Barty wasn’t going to be able to even put it there if his disguise wasn’t gonna last long enough. Not with Evan being back, alive and kicking. How and Whatever for, Barty had no clue. But they had both recognized each other, that was sure. And Barty had no idea where they stood now.

On whose side was Evan on? How could he be on Barty’s side if he had conspired with the enemy? Severus bloody Snape. And what was Snivellus up to, sneaking the dead onto school grounds?
Did he know that it was Evan under that disguise? He must have. For a past spy, that guy had gotten bloody nervous, his greasy hair oiled by sweat.

Barty’s hand suddenly started to morph and shake. Shit, he needed some of that disgusting juice!
Merlin, the Polyjuice potion was vile.
Barty couldn’t wait to be done with this bloody mission. It already bothered him enough to see little mini-me’s of his former classmates hustling around. But then of course there had to be the two bloody fuckers that haunted him the most. Luna bloody Lovegood, the spitting image of her mother Pandora, and Draco goddamn Malfoy, who looked like a bleached image of Regulus Black.

And now, out of fucking nowhere Evan was haunting these halls too?
But he had been real. It had been him, Barty was sure of it. What had he been doing on Hogwarts ground?

There were a bunch of conflicting emotions floating around, and Barty wasn’t quite sure what to call them. He also wasn’t sure when the last time was that he had even felt positive emotions. Being locked in Azkaban and then in your Dad’s basement usually did that to you.

Merlin, why was this world so fucked?