#barty gate

“Why!?” He finally manages, standing and holding his hands out helplessly. Sirius, for his part, smiles at James proudly.

“That is a different word than ‘no’, Prongs. Nice job!”

“Why, what?” You clarify. 

James scoffs at what he deems a ridiculous question. “Why him?” 

Him, being Barty who James gestures at with a flippant hand. Him, being Barty who, surprisingly to everyone, has been quite well behaved whilst the two of you broke the news of your relationship to your brother. 

“Great question,” Barty starts, though you’re quick to cut him off lest he say anything to rock the already precarious boat.

“Because I really, really like him and he’s really, really good to me.” You explain, and Barty turns his easy-going smile in your direction.

“Great answer.” 

Remus who up until this point has been shifting his attention between each person speaking, nods agreeably at Barty with an expression of approval on his face. 

“He can’t be good, bug.” James scoffs dismissively. “He’s a Slytherin.”

Barty huffs in response. “Shows what you know…”

“See!?” James shrieks indignantly. 

“You’re antagonising him, Prongs.” Remus hums like a disapproving father. “He’s tolerating your slander rather well.”

“Thank you.” Barty grins, smiling over at you as if saying are you seeing this? I like this bloke! 

“For a Slytherin.” Sirius mutters quietly enough to feign ignorance, loudly enough for everyone to hear. 

“Sirius.” You and Remus chide in unison. 

“Does mum know about this?” James huffs then, crossing his arms and staring down at you with the kind of disappointment that a parent bestows upon a child who misses their curfew. 

“Yes, mum knows about this.” You huff right back, mirroring his stance. 

James’ face falls in disbelief. “Mum knew before me!?” 

“She took it a hell of a lot better than you, too…” You mutter bitterly, earning you an eyeroll from your brother. 

“Well…well does dad know?”

You look at him like he’s stupid. “Who do you think told mum?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!”

“Alright, so now you know.” You state simply as you nod at Barty, encouraging him to stand from the Gryffindor sofa. 

James let out a disbelieving sound, moving as though he was going to follow you. “And where do you think you’re going?”

You shoot a wary glance to Remus before responding. “Erm…away?”

“We’re not done here!”

What little patience you had for your brother was quickly vanishing, replaced by an exhausted displeasure only a sister could manage. “Yes we are; I came here to tell you, and I told you. Now you know.”

“Well I don’t approve!”

Barty finally lets out a laugh, startling the Gryfindors. “I’d be a little concerned if you liked the idea of blokes snogging the lights out of your sister, Potter.”

With this, you pinch the space between your brows tiresomely. “Barty…” 

“Okay…” Remus grunts as he grabs James by his jumper who looks about ready to lunge. “Thanks for stopping by, trouble. I’ll take it from here.”

“Thank you, Rem!” You shout gratefully as you usher Barty in the direction of the portrait hole. “You’re my favourite!”

“Oi!” James and Sirius chorus after you, more huffing and arguing taking place as the portrait of The Fat Lady closes behind you.

© ellecdc; do not copy, translate, or repost my work anywhere under any circumstances.

James:

There were also small loops of dried grass braided around the handles of Barty’s rucksack, polished pebbles falling out of the tosser’s pockets, pressed flowers in his books, dried bundles of herbs and bouquets of wildflowers hanging along the posters of his bed frame, and Evan’s dorm room now featured something called an essential oil diffuser. 

And it was one morning after waking up to the scent of lemon and eucalyptus that Evan felt he finally had to ask. 

“Oh, Barty.” You cooed as you made your way over to their spot at the Slytherin table, coming up behind Barty and pressing a kiss to his lips when he craned his head back in a silent request for one. “What’s with all the wrackspurts, my love?”

Your eyebrows were furrowed in concern, Evan’s eyebrows furrowed in bemusement, and Barty’s eyebrows furrowed in what appeared to be disbelief.

”What wrackspurts? I shouldn’t have any wrackspurts.” 

”You’re covered in them.” You insisted; eyes darting around Barty’s head as you ‘shooed’ invisible beings away from him. “Did you not set up the diffuser properly?”

Barty scoffed as if you just said something utterly ridiculous. “Of course I set up the diffuser properly. Lemon and eucalyptus; just like you said!” 

You let out a disappointed sigh as you brushed your fingers through Barty’s hair; equal parts affectionate and discontent. 

“Lemon and mint, Barty.” 

Barty’s shoulders sagged as he pouted at you, which brought a loving smile to your face before you pressed another, apologetic kiss to his lips. 

“It’s okay, my love; I’ll make sure you have the right one’s set up for tomorrow.”

”Thank you, treasure.” Barty beamed, pulling you down for one more kiss before he let you go, watching as you all but floated away. 

Evan couldn’t take it anymore. 

“What the fuck?”

Barty’s soft smile melted away as you disappeared around the corner before he moved his attention towards his friend. “What?”

Fair enough, Evan supposed; he didn’t really know where to start, either. 

“What the fuck is a wrackspurt?” Evan decided, hardly pausing for a moment before he was continuing. “Or a nargle? And what’s with the braided grass? And the oils? And where do you keep getting all these rocks!?”

Evan was almost desperate for air by the time he stopped; Barty merely cocking one unimpressed eyebrow at him.

”Listen,” Barty started, pointing at Evan with his spoon, “she’s fit as fuck, so I don’t ask any questions.” 

And with that, Barty returned his attention to the yoghurt in front of him and left Evan staring at the top of his head.

After a few moments, Evan gave his head an imperceptible shake — perhaps shooing away a few wrackspurts of his own — and figured Barty probably had a point.

Unfortunately, it was often made your business. And further, it was sometimes made your business when you were trying to close the business.

“Son of a bloody-” You hissed in surprise; shoving your hand into your work bag as your fingers quickly circled the pepper spray you kept in an easily accessible pocket, already on high alert on your closing shifts as you locked up alone. 

There was a man leaning against the bricks of the building beside the back door of the clinic, looking like he was trying to smile at you though the blood in his teeth and the obvious pain he was in had you grimacing in response. 

“You guys are like…quiet, right?”

“I beg your pardon?” You asked warily.

“Like-” The man continued, pausing to hiss as he tried to straighten up. “You don’t ask questions?”

Your eyes flit down to where the man’s hand is fisting a black shirt underneath his jacket, holding the fabric tight against his side.

“I don’t ask questions that don’t pertain to your health, sir.”

“Give me an example.” He carried on, seemingly ignoring the fact that he looked like he might pass out at any given moment.

“An example, being, I will ask you if you’ve been shot or stabbed and expect an honest answer in response, but why you were shot or stabbed or who did the shooting or stabbing is really not of my concern.” You explained sternly. 

“Brilliant.” The bloke let out with a breath. “Fancy stitching me up, doc?” 

And that night, unbeknownst to you, you had accidentally created a peculiar relationship with a notorious mafia group.

You reprimanded him for how close the stab wound was to his ribs, explaining that if it had been mere centimetres higher it could have punctured the lung and he would have had to go to A&E.

“I’ll make sure to tell the fucker to aim lower next time.” The man who told you to call him Junior grunted as you injected a local anaesthetic to the area. 

You hummed thoughtfully as you continued your work. “Any lower and you could have punctured your kidney or spleen.”

“So this was the perfect place to get stabbed, then?”

You bobbed your head side to side as if to say sort of. “I think it would’ve been better not to get stabbed at all.” 

“Well, beggars can’t be choosers, doc.” 

“I s’pose not.” 

“I’ll get a tattoo of an X right there, tell them that X marks the spot.” He explained breezily, and you couldn’t help but laugh at that.

Between the exhaustion seeping into your bones, still feeling rather off-kilter at having found a bloke bleeding against your building, and the fact that you were supposed to have gone home 85 minutes ago, you couldn’t stop yourself from falling into a fit of unrelenting giggles.

“What?” Junior asked around a chuckle of his own. “Oi, come now. This is so unprofessional.” 

“I’m sorry.” You laughed.

“You should be. I’m bleeding out here.” He laughed along. 

“It’s practically a scratch.” You lied as you readied your suturing supplied; eyes crinkled in the corners in delight as the two of you fell into a comfortable silence.

You were so absorbed in tying off the last of his stitches that you nearly ripped them all out when the sound of the back door being broken into startled you. 

“S’okay, it’s just my friends.” Junior murmured as if he was simply waking up from a nap. “We’ll pay to have the door fixed.”

”What the fuc-”

”Fuck sakes, Junior.” A blond, tattooed bloke sighed as he rubbed a hand down his face, a familiar head of black curls appearing behind him.

”Regulus?” You asked as he stepped further into the room, looking very different with a loaded gun in his hand than he did at your book club last week. 

“Oh…hello.” Regulus offered awkwardly as both Junior and blond bloke looked at him bemusedly. “What? You both told me to find a hobby, so I joined a book club.” 

“We told you to socialise,” the Blond man offered nonplussed as Junior snorted a laugh, “attending a book club is not socialising.” 

“Yes it is.” You and Regulus chorused indignantly before the two of you found it very difficult to make eye contact with anyone in the room. 

“Swots.” Junior chuckled as he tried - and failed - to sit up. 

“Have you lost your bloody mind?” You hissed; officially throwing professionalism to the wayside. “If you rip those stitches out after keeping me late at work I'll have your bollocks.”

“What kind of book club did you find this swotty, profane doctor?” The other man asked Regulus, earning him a snort from Regulus. 

“And what are you two going to do about my back door?” You spat instead, thinking you might have noticed a look of surprise crossing the face of your book club buddy. 

“Oh we know a guy for that; I’ll give him a call.” The guy whose name you still hadn’t caught said before leaving the room to make said phone call. 

“Reg, guess what.” Junior actually giggled like an excitable nursery school student. “You and Evan are never gonna believe it.”

“What?” Regulus drawled boredly. 

“I found the sweet spot,” he bragged, pulling his shirt back up to expose his freshly bandaged wound, “this is the best place to get stabbed!”

“Would you stop calling it that?” 

“Oi,” ‘Evan’ called as he poked his head back in, nodding his head when you finally looked over at the lack of response from either of his friends; he was talking to you. “What else do you need done?”

Your head reared back in surprise. “I- what?”

“‘Round here.” He explained as he gestured vaguely at the clinic.

“New security system? Light fixtures? Updated computer systems?” Regulus continued.

“Art work? Private security details? A handsome boyfriend?” Junior carried on with a flirty smile.

“What? No, no. None of that. We-”

“You sure? Because an alarm didn’t even go off when we smashed through your back door.” Evan explained as if you might not have realised that yourself.

“And this computer system is shite, Doc.” Regulus added as he started hacking into your files.

“Hey! Get off of that!”

“I’m just saying.” He explained, backing away from the computer with his hands up in surrender. 

“Would- just…just fix the door.” You finally managed, feeling somehow breathless from the whole ordeal.

“You’re the boss.” Evan offered with a salute before he disappeared again. 

“Can I trust you to stay there, please?” You finally asked, turning back to your actual patient as you gave him what you hoped to be a no-nonsense look. 

“I’m not sure I can live without you, doc.” He replied solemnly; green eyes flashing with mischief. 

“Yeah well, I’ll be quick.” You teased. “I’m going to get my prescription pad. I’ll need your name, by the way - the whole thing.”

“Barty Crouch the Second.” He offered quickly. “Or Barty Crouch Junior. But you can call me whatever you want, doc.”

“For Christ’s sake.” You sighed under your breath, sharing a look with Regulus before heading across the hall to grab your prescription pad from your office. 

“Guess this means I can’t go to book club anymore.” You heard Regulus sigh in faux disappointment.

“Nice try.” Evan said as he returned to the exam room, causing Regulus to groan.

“You didn’t tell us you made a cute new friend.”

“Sod off, Junior.” Regulus grumbled. “It’s too bad, I rather liked her too.”

“She’s mine now.” Barty interrupted quickly, and you could hear the paper he’d been sitting on rip as he - no doubt - sat up quickly. “Got my blood all over her and everything.” 

“I told you not to move!” You hollered, laughing to yourself when you heard a surprised yelp in response.

There was no telling then just how much trouble you’d inadvertently signed up for.

“Are you gonna stay?” Regulus asks as he jumps up to perch the counter whilst his food heats up. 

“Can’t imagine going home after this, you know?” Barty admits, shifting on his feet with two glasses of ice water in his hands. 

Regulus hums in agreement. “Can’t find it in me to blame my brother for leaving much anymore.”

“Oh yeah,” Barty drawls sardonically, “I would’ve been quick to abandon you there too.” 

“Oi-”

“I know, I know.” Barty sighs before rattling off Regulus’ continuous arguement. “He was a kid too.”

“Good boy.” Regulus snickers, earning him a swat up the back of the head. 

“Reg? Are you- oh.” James starts and stops as he steps into the kitchen, narrowing his eyes as he sidles up beside Regulus and gives Barty a once over. “You’re everywhere.”

Regulus can’t help but laugh at the familiar accusation as Barty narrows his eyes at James in return, almost hating how playful their back and forth has gotten since the beginning of his stay at Potter Manor. 

“I was invited, toerag.” 

“Oh, I’m aware.” James scoffs. “I protested vehemently.” 

“And yet.” Barty smiles sardonically. 

“What are you even doing in here anyway?” James huffs, and Barty sees his opportunity to bring this enemies-to-ambivalent-acquaintances arc that they’ve been coasting on straight back to enemies again as Merlin intended. 

“Getting your sister a glass of water; she’s parched from all the shagging we’ve been doing.”

“You son of a-”

“Alright, alright. For Salazar’s sake, Barty.” Regulus grumbles as he grabs James by the shirt allowing Barty to slip out of the kitchen; he snickers to himself the whole way back to your bedroom.

“Bee?”

“Hey, Tres.” Barty coos as he walks around to your side of the bed, perching on the edge to hand you one of the glasses of water and placing the second on the nightstand. “How’s this, hm? Cold enough for you?”

You let out a shuddering breath and nod gratefully. “Yes, thank you. M’sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry, sweetness. Must’ve been quite the nightmare.” He murmurs softly, running his thumb along your damp hairline. “Think you’re gonna be able to fall back asleep?”

“You’re staying, right?” You blurt suddenly; glass nearly slipping out of your clammy hand as you urgently clutch Barty’s wrist with the other. “You’re going to stay? You’re staying?”

“I’m right here, tres.” Barty assures you, distressed yet very touched that even your unconscious mind seems to be worried about his whereabouts. He can't find it in him to mind; you make up the majority of his dreams, too. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“But-”

“Nope.” He cut you off, standing in order to pull out your chair and forcing you to stand lest he actually dump you out of it. “Done, capiche, finite. Get lost.” 

“Barty…” 

“C’mere, poppet.” Evan offered then, putting aside his book and holding his hand out for you in invitation, and the welcoming prospect of joining him in his lounge chair won against any residual dismay from being yelled at. 

You accepted his hand which saw you curled up in his lap in the very next second as he inspected your - now shredded - nail beds; your body felt horribly warm when he tsked at you. 

“Look what you’ve done, pet; you’re bleeding.” He cooed, and the distress in his tone almost counterbalanced his disappointment in you. 

Almost.

“M’sorry.” You murmured, earning you another tsk in response as he gently thumbed over the raw skin surrounding your nails, an indent between his brows you thought might be growing permanent between dealing with you and dealing with Barty. 

“You should be, mauling my poor girl.” He turned his eyes to you, then, causing your traitorous eyes to sting and your bottom lip to jut out in a pout that he quickly pressed his lips to. 

“You were told to stop looking if it was stressing you out, sweets.” He reminded you gently; lips still hovering over yours should you need him to kiss away another pout. 

“I know.” You whispered. 

You weren’t even aware what you were doing until Evan’s hands tightened around your own near painfully.

“Stop it.” He hissed. “Stop picking.” 

“M’sorry.” You offered again; he must’ve heard the breathy tone laced through your words because his grip loosened minutely before he pressed another deep, lingering kiss to your lips, only pulling away once you let out the breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding.  

“I know you are, poppet. But you need to stop.” 

You were saved from having to respond by Barty returning, pulling one of the footstools over to sit in front of you with a tray of…things.

“What’re you doing?” Evan asked him on your behalf. 

“Give ‘em here.” Barty ordered in lieu of responding. Evan didn’t seem to mind, however, handing over your hands he had imprisoned within his own.

You quickly wiped your cheek against your clothed shoulder, prompting Evan to wipe at the few tears managing to escape from your lashes as you sat up; hands occupied as you watched Barty dip a paintbrush into a bowl of white paint. 

No, not white paint: definitely not white paint you deduced as the cool, viscous liquid touched your hands. 

“What is this?”

“A remedy.” Barty replied, looking up from his current task only when you threatened to pull your hands away at his unanswered question. “It’s glue, treasure. If you’re so hell bent on picking, don’t let it be at your sodding nails.” 

You looked back down when Barty pulled away, some of the white material already fading to a translucent shade of your skin. 

You held a pointer finger up to Evan, getting about an inch away from his nose before he was circling your wrist with his hand to keep you from making a mess of him. 

“Fuckin’ Hell, bee; d’you really think this was a good idea?” 

“You got a better one?” Barty asked as he theatrically whipped out an embellished hand fan you didn’t even know he owned let alone where he was hiding it in the house without breaking his serious facade. 

“Once it’s all dry, you can peel it away; better than your skin, yeah?” Barty asked, smiling at you softly.

“Yeah.” You agreed on an exhale, the ball of anxiety loosening slightly in your chest as you held your hands aloft. 

“Then maybe we’ll book another appointment to talk to your doctor about your meds, hm?” Evan offered then; thumb pulling at your lip the second it slipped between your teeth at the thought of going back to the doctors. 

“D’you want me to come with you, tres?” 

You looked over at Barty as if considering it before he rolled his eyes good naturedly. “I swear to God I’ll behave - won’t even threaten anybody.” 

“Okay…thank you, Bee.” 

His smile turned beaming before he was bringing his face to yours, pressing a kiss to your lips and smiling into it as he heard you peel the first layer of glue from your hands.

Your ears were ringing and the tips of them were nearly singeing a hole in the bedsheets, but you were cognisant enough to realise that Barty was waiting for an answer from you. 

“Hm?” He prompted again, surging forward so the last few inches of his cock buried deep inside of you. “What do you think? I reckon Lupin’s quite hung; think he’d feel good fucking you like this?” 

A guttural sob escaped your lips as you shoved your face further into the mattress. 

“What about Reg’s pretty fingers, hm?” He continued; your input apparently optional. “All those years of piano, I’m sure he’s downright talented.” 

He punctuated his statement by circling your clit with his own rather talented fingers. 

“He’d love it too. I can’t blame him either; it’s such a pretty pussy, isn’t it?” 

You could only manage to moan. 

He tsks as you, making you run ever hotter. 

“What about Lupin’s hands? Huh pretty girl?” His question was followed by him circling his hand around your neck, lifting you up by the throat and forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror that he had stationed at the end of his bed. 

You looked about as wrecked as you felt.

“Those fucking hands. Merlin, watching him twirl his wand in one hand and balance a heavy tome in the other shouldn’t be so hot” Barty’s eyes were on his knuckles, flexing as he squeezed your throat within his grip. “Lupin’s got nice hands, doesn’t he treasure?” 

“Yes.” You manage, hissing as his grip became stronger when your eyes slip closed. 

“Yes he does, fuck- fuck he’d look so good with you on his cock, princess. Look at you. Hey, look at you.”

You wrenched your eyes open, watching Barty adjust his grip from your neck to your shoulder, yet you still felt like you were short on air due to his quickening pace. He was very clearly just as much, if not more, worked up over the mental picture he was painting. 

“So fucking pretty.” He grunts, pulling you flush against his front and bracing his arm across your torso so you could watch him spread your folds apart. “And this would be all Reg’s, huh? Giving that pretty clit all the attention she deserves.” 

With this, he lands a slap to your pussy, causing you to scream as you try to lurch out of his hold, though he doesn’t let you go. 

“Awe I’m sorry, treasure. Was that too rough? Reg wouldn’t do that to you, would he?” 

“No.” You whimpered, scrabbling at his forearm that was currently holding you up, desperate to gain purchase on something - anything - as you teetered the edge of ecstasy.

“No.” Barty cooed in agreement, pressing a conciliatory kiss to your damp shoulder. “No, he would be reverent, wouldn’t he? He’d have those pretty pink lips of his latched on your tits, or your clit, or your own lips. That’d be nice, yeah? Would you like that?” 

“Yes, yes- gods, yes Barty, yes.” 

Barty hummed in appreciation. “I’d like that too. Salazar, I’d like that too.” 

“Fuck Barty, fuck fuck fuck.” 

“That’s right, baby.” He let out breathlessly, releasing his hold on you and allowing you to fall forward into the mattress. You did your best to prop your chin up in an attempt to keep your eyes on the view in the mirror. “Look how worked up you are over those boys, hm? Gonna come for them?” 

“Barty!”

“Why don’t you try one of their names, huh tres?” He hissed, sounding just as close to climax as you were. “Scream Lupin’s name as you cum all over my cock.”