#barty x reader

You were glowing—so much so that people were starting to notice. Barty's blood satiated you in a way you'd never experienced before. You had more energy, looked healthier, and felt more confident—everything was amplified up to one hundred after feeding off your boyfriend. The only problem? The effects were wearing off rapidly.

"Shit, B!" You scolded as Barty strolled into the mostly empty common room. "Pull up your collar, for the love of Salazar."

Two small puncture wounds were peeking out over his uniform shirt, and the bruising called attention to his neck.

"And why, Sugar, would I do that?" He pecked your cheek and flopped onto the sofa you were reading on, his head landing in your lap. "Gotta show everyone my girl can't keep her hands off me." You should be more upset. No one at Hogwarts knew of your...condition. But you couldn't find it in yourself to be mad at him when he was looking up at you with big, lovesick eyes.

You sighed. "I just don't need anyone noticing that they aren't hickeys." Your voice was soft, only for Barty's ears.

"Next time you'll have to bite lower then," he shrugged, pulling the book from your hands and tossing it onto the floor. He closed his eyes, completely oblivious to your gobsmacked expression.

"You know I can't 'bite lower,' you knob. And there isn't going to be a next time."

Barty snickered, relaxing into you. His eyes closed lazily as you ran your fingers through his hair. Humming softly, a puzzled expression crossed his face.

"Hey, Sugar?" He sat up to face you. "How come you've been so...perky lately? Not that I'm complaining, it's just..." he trailed off, unsure of how to put his thoughts into words that wouldn't offend.

You sighed, bending down to retrieve your discarded book and setting it in your lap. Looking around for any eavesdroppers, your voice is a whisper. "It's different, I know." You choose your words carefully. "After I...fed from you, I erm...feel different." Barty simply blinked, waiting for you to continue. "Human blood is the intended diet for my kind, B. It made me stronger. I just...I feel better than I ever have with animal blood. We aren't meant to deny ourselves in the way I do. That's why I've seemed so perky. Because I fed properly for the first time."

Your eyes couldn't leave your lap. You were ashamed to admit that Barty's blood had such an effect on you. It was unnatural. Even though you weren't technically human, you still felt like one. Humans weren't meant to feast on each other. It was an abomination. You were an abomination. The thoughts bounced loudly in your head, clouding your eyes with thick tears. When you dared to look up at your boyfriend, you expected to see horror in his eyes. Instead, horror crept into yours, as you were met with the widest, shit-eating grin you'd ever seen.

His reaction didn't make sense. Barty took in the sight before him- your tear-filled, confused eyes made him throw his head back and cackle. "What?" You questioned, hastily wiping at your reddening cheeks. "You're being mean, Barty." He lightly grabbed your wrist as you tried to get up from the sofa. He pulled you into him, shushing at your protests.

"I'm not being mean, Sugar. I'm flattered."

"Why on earth would that flatter you? It's disgusting."

"None of that, my love. You just told me that I made you feel better than you've ever felt in your life. Me. I did that. And I can keep doing it."

You rolled your eyes. Of course, that's all he heard. "No, Barty. You can't keep doing it."

"Who says?"

"I do! I promised Dumbledore that this type of thing would never happen while I'm attending school here. It puts me in a really bad spot if anyone ever found out-"

"No one will know." He interrupted, righting his collar to hide the evidence of your feed. "I will never tell a soul, Sugar. Honest."

You knew he wouldn't. If there was anything Barty Crouch Jr. loved more than chaos, it was a secret.

"Barty," you tried your best to give him a serious look, "that can't happen again. It's already wearing off, and it's hardly been a week. Your wounds haven't even healed yet."

Barty rolled his eyes. "Oh, my wounds!" he yelled, falling back dramatically, calling unwanted attention to your little corner of the common room. "She's wounded me! With her love!" You clamped a hand over his mouth, and he playfully bit your palm, earning a squeal from your lips. "When will you learn, Sugar?" He caged you against the cushions, ignoring the stares in your direction. "I would do anything for you. I'd bleed myself dry if it pleased you. These 'wounds,'" he mocked, "are a badge of honor. They're proof I provide for my best girl."

Your stomach was full of butterflies, and you felt lightheaded at his words. He was so close that you could hear his pulse thrumming beneath his warm skin, inviting your canines to lengthen. "Use me," he whispered against the shell of your ear. "I'm yours to use as you please."

"Let's go to my room, then."

You glance with some irritation at the nearly blank parchment on the table, your meager notes consisting only of dates and names fished here and there throughout the ghost's monotonous and endless speech - nothing that would guarantee you a good score in the upcoming N.E.W.T.s.

You hate with all your might that your impeccable grade record in all other classes is constantly tarnished by this one hellish subject, year after year.

How was it possible that after so much time listening to the same long and exhausting lectures about the damned rebellion, you still hadn't learned anything substantial about it?

It was clear that this was all Professor Binns' fault and his innate ability to put anyone to sleep in ten minutes of class - five if the day was particularly hot.

"And with that, I conclude today's class." The old ghost's dull, drawling voice rings out and for the first time since class began you feel excited by something he says, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "For the next class I expect from each of you a detailed essay on how Urg the Unclean went from a simple goblin to a renowned leader of the XVIII Rebellion, even having his own image on a Chocolate Frog Card."

The smile dies as quickly as it appears and you slam your forehead against the tabletop with an exasperated groan between your teeth, hearing Pandora chuckle beside you, though she’s certainly as bored with the task as you are.

You turn your face away from the cold surface of the table, cheek pressed against the wood and a defeated look on eyes as you glide disinterestedly across the classroom — which looks as ready to kill themselves as you do. Your expression, however, sharpens immediately when you notice him.

Unlike the other students, who are either openly drooling over their desks as they take the best nap of the school year, or rolling their eyes so hard they might as well end up in the back of their heads in exasperation over this class, he remains irritatingly unfazed.

At first you wouldn’t think he was paying attention in class, not with the nonchalant way he rests his face on his hand, elbow propped on the table. His gaze isn't even on the boring Professor Binns, who's still talking (detailing the damned assignment about Urg the Unclean). His face is tilted over his palm, a sly, soft smile on his lips. And he's looking at you.

You keep the side of your face flat on the table as squint at him suspiciously.

You couldn't say when you first became aware of his stares. And even after you noticed it, for a long time you wondered if you were just imagining it. Of course it could only be your imagination. Why, after all, would he be staring at you at every opportunity he got? There was no apparent reason for it in your mind.

But time passed and what was apparently just imagination changed into an irrefutable certainty. You couldn't pretend not to notice his stares, especially since he never tried to be subtle about it; whether it was over the steamy cauldrons in Potions Class, or from the Ravenclaw table during meals, or the piercing gaze he gave you as he skilfully glided through the air on his broom during a Quidditch match, or even from a strategically positioned spot on the table in front of you as you tried to concentrate and study in the library...

Whatever it was, he was always looking.

And it was already disturbing you. Because, no matter how hard you tried, you simply couldn't understand why.

Of course, your mind always ran to the worst possibility of all. Some cruel little game orchestrated with his friends.

Although he was a Ravenclaw, you knew that most of his friendships was centered around Slytherin. Somewhat questionable friendships, such as; Evan Rosier, Regulus Black, Bellatrix, Rabastan Lestrange, Lucious Malfoy, Severus Snape, Wilkes...

Regulus Black and Evan Rosier seemed to be the most 'normal' of the dysfunctional group nicknamed by the other students as the Slytherin Gang; Regulus with his usual superior and disinterested attitude and Evan with the restless and endless energy of a Cornish Pixie. The others, however, were much more openly unpleasant and frightening.

It was not uncommon for you to have to give detentions to Rabastan Lestrange and Bellatrix Black on your nights of patrol as a Head Girl. You would constantly find them doing something they definitely shouldn't, like sneaking out of the dungeons after bedtime to make out indecently in the castle corridors in plain sight, or even cornering some poor younger student to torture with their cruel psychological games - and sometimes physically.

In any case, Barty Crouch's constant association with this group made you automatically label him as one of them, making you wary and suspicious, especially after noticing his stares at you.

Maybe Bellatrix and Rabastan were using him as a channel for revenge on you after all those detentions?

Although, knowing the sadistic and selfish streak of the duo, you doubted they would plan to inflict any torture methods on you through anyone other than themselves.

But anything was possible and the longer he stared, the more paranoid you became.

He smiled a little wider and his stupid crystal blue gaze slowly blinked at you, almost as if he could read your mind.

You blushed, widening your eyes slightly. Could he be a legilimens?

You knew he had the intelligence for it. He was intelligent enough that you were absolutely certain that, even though he didn't seem to hear a single word Professor Binns was saying, he already knew every annoying detail of this subject by heart.

Merlin, he had managed to perform and do ridiculously well in TWELVE O.W.L.s during the fifth year! Which is almost impossible to do, unless you're a damned time traveler, or someone with a level of intelligence and academic commitment that is destined for creatures of superhuman level.

You had your suspicions, and envy, thinking that perhaps he had access to a Time-Turner. But, since Time-Turners were only granted through a direct request from the Head of House to the Ministry, who fully trusted that the student would not use it recklessly, you ruled that possibility out almost immediately. No one in their right mind would trust that Barty Crouch Jr. would not use a Time-Turner to open rifts in space-time and permanently alter events of the past and future for purely selfish reasons, least of all the very sensible and intelligent Head of Ravenclaw House.

Which, of course, didn't help with the question of how he did it.

You yourself had fought tooth and nail, basically living like a living dead person throughout the school year to fit as many classes as possible into your free time during the day, and still managed to complete ten out of twelve O.W.L.s. Of course, at the time, you felt incredibly proud of this, since the standard was for a student, even the smartest, to only complete around seven or eight. Your pride, however, deflated considerably when you discovered that Barty Crouch, a guy with a questionable sense of humor and a worrying level of disinterest in seemingly anything that didn't have a pair of nice legs and a skirt, had surpassed you.

Indignation and envy aside, you felt like you were being pushed to the limit with these constant stares.

Pandora thought he was in love with you. An opinion that, respectfully, you laughed in her face when you heard. There was no way in hell that something like that would happen. Not only was Barty stupidly attractive and therefore completely out of your league - but the mere idea of ​​someone being romantically interested in you made you feel...well, weird would almost be a descriptive enough word.

You didn’t want romance. You never really understood the appeal of it, not at such a young age. Love distracts, it makes people lose sight of the goal, it makes them silly and vulnerable. And you didn’t have time to be silly and vulnerable, not with the weight of so many responsibilities on your shoulders, with dreams and grand ambitions waiting for you in the future. And surely no guy who had trouble keeping himself from cumming as soon as he got in your pants would understand that well enough. You were used to keeping yourself apart, it was almost a defense mechanism at this point. While other girls your age were collecting love, you were collecting good grades in the classes. And that was okay.

Don’t get me wrong, you weren’t necessarily a pessimist (but you certainly weren’t someone who believed in anything; your mother always told you that there was more wisdom in proving it for yourself than in believing in mere whispered words here and there). You just didn’t really understand how this whole love thing could be remotely interesting at your age.

And anyone with half a functioning brain cell knows that Crouch is chaos incarnate: loud, mischievous, and impossible to ignore. He's determined to break every rule ever made by man, but somehow still manages to be absurdly endearing while doing it. It just makes you want to run — to hide. He's definitely the kind of trouble you try to avoid as much as possible in your life.

And that's why the possibility of him being in love with you was definitely not encouraged. In fact, you vehemently refused to even acknowledge it. Simply because it wasn't possible — by any means. Neither would he be interested in you in that way, and much less could you afford to accept any soft feelings from him, on the off chance that they were real. So you cling to the only coherent explanation for all this supposed interest of his: cruel intentions.

Yes, that had to be it.

And it's with that thought in mind that you hurriedly gather your things as soon as Professor Binns finally finishes his almost endless speech and dismisses the class.

You don't look to the side as leave the classroom with brisk steps, but feel his gaze following you anyway.

ii.

Regulus Black was very handsome.

Like, unfairly handsome.

You stare at the Slytherin with a fair amount of jealousy oozing from your pores, a pout on your lips and a furrowed brow. The guy, for his part, doesn’t even seem to be aware of your spiteful gaze upon him, taking elegant, measured bites of the chocolate pudding on his plate, nodding discreetly every now and then to agree with whatever his chatterbox neighbor is saying.

He clearly doesn’t want to engage in any conversation with the boy, but he’s too courteous and polite to make any rude comments about it. Because of course, he’s Regulus Black.

With his aristocratic nose elongated in an undeniably masculine way, but maintaining a delicate curve and a pert tip in a disturbingly cute way - the soft dusting of freckles over the bridge only intensifying the cuteness. His thick, dark eyebrows, drawn in a perfectly symmetrical arch. His pale, smooth skin like the most flawless marble sculpture. His beautiful, onyx curls, framing the sides of his face like he was some ethereal creature from a fairy tale. His eyes, deep-set and beautifully flickering between green and blue, surrounded by the most ridiculously thick curtain of dark lashes you’d ever seen on anyone. And that was just Regulus Black’s face. It was taking absolutely everything in you not to start a detailed analysis of his damn tall, ripped Seeker body.

Now, you hadn’t planned on spending the night cataloging how many unfair ways Regulus Black managed to be more pretty than any other boy you’d ever seen in your life — by Merlin, he was prettier than most GIRLS you’d ever seen, too. You definitely didn't plan on feeling completely humiliated by his appearance that night, as if you looked like you'd been beaten by a Whomping Willow and never recovered from it.

None of that was in the plan, but at some point during Professor Slughorn's endless ramblings and the pretentious comments from the students of this small and select club of supposedly exceptional young people, you found your mind wandering to unwanted places. Unfortunately, Regulus Black was the one sitting right in your line of sight, on the other side of the table - and the poor guy was the victim of your mental fixation to escape boredom.

At first, you saw Slughorn's invitation as an invaluable honor. After all, you had been included in the extremely selective list of the most promising students at Hogwarts. Your body practically vibrated with excitement in the days leading up to the meeting. You picked out a cute dress for the occasion, fixed your hair and even applied a light layer of makeup. Your expectations were admittedly high and you planned to leave the meeting with some good friends and a lot of extra knowledge in your pocket.

But the meeting was nothing like you imagined.

Yes, the students present were all exceptionally talented in one way or another, and the food was quite good too. But the whole thing proved to be nothing more than a parade of superiority and arrogance, so dull and unsatisfying that it drained your energy within the first few minutes.

Slughorn was genuinely proud of having assembled such a group of model young minds, but the students were only concerned with proving who was better than the other. There was no stimulating conversation and extra knowledge as you had imagined - it was just an irritating and inconvenient contest of who had the best and most absurd lived experiences (most of them made up, you were sure) and who, in fact, stood out with it. 

You wanted to leave within the first fifteen minutes of this verbal ordeal, but forced yourself to stay for the sake of Professor Slughorn, who was genuinely elated by the whole thing.

Black and you were the only ones who hadn't shared any stories with the others, resigning yourselves to discreet and scattered comments here and there, just enough to let them know you were present.

To escape the absolute boredom, you let your mind wander. And that's how you ended up hyper-fixated on Regulus Black and his immaculate beauty. The Slytherin proved to be a very effective source of distraction, although his flawless face showed no emotion, remaining as expressionless as a doll - it was clear that the guy also wanted to get rid of this meeting urgently.

Your attention is only broken when a dramatic noise sounds at the entrance of the room, announcing someone's arrival.

Your eyes widen when you see none other than Barty Crouch Junior stumble into the room, spectacularly late. He smiles broadly at the alarmed looks at his indiscreet entrance, walking calmly with his hands in his pants pocket.

There must have been some mistake, you think in bewilderment as you watch him walk over to the table as if he belonged there.

Maybe he was just here to deliver a message?

Your hunch is proven wrong when he seems to notice your presence with a surprised look, his arrogant smile softening immediately to give way to a more natural, more sincere one. Even with a few options open, you sigh in no surprise when you hear him sit down in the empty chair next to yours, sliding in with the kind of ease that makes it seem like he belongs there, as if he was destined from the start to end up sitting next to you tonight.

You refuse to look at him, turning your face downwards as you busy yourself with sinking the spoon into your own half-eaten chocolate pudding. His audacity to sit next to you only makes you more frustrated - it's not like you're sending out the least bit receptive vibes to his company.

"It's very good to have you with us, Crouch. Even if you arrived later than agreed. It's a shame, I'm afraid you missed some very interesting experiences from your colleagues."

You want to roll your eyes at what Slughorn says from the head of the table, hardly classifying any of those made-up nonsense as remotely interesting, but his presence beside you makes you too tense to do so.

"I'm sorry about that, Professor, I had to finish some important work before I came. I promise I'll be here on time next time."

There's not much sincere regret in Ravenclaw's voice, in fact you swear you can hear something mischievous in his words, which almost makes you want to lift your head to look at his expression.

But, determined as you are to ignore anything Barty would no doubt say to start a conversation, you tilt your head down a little more so that your hair partially hides your face, still showing great interest in the pudding. Crouch, breathing beside you, makes a small sound of confusion at the obvious walls you’ve been putting up, before the sound turns into something akin to amusement.

“You know, ignoring me isn’t going to make me leave,” he says cheerfully — far too cheerfully for someone who’s supposedly (and rightly so) being ignored on purpose.

His recognition of your intentions means you can’t keep up your charade any longer. So, with a heavy sigh, you peer through your hair, already knowing what to expect.

There, right next to you, casually sitting like he was the male protagonist of some clichéd, cheesy romance novel, Batry Crouch smiles.

You feel your eye twitch.

Unlike Regulus, with his ebony curls elegantly arranged around his face, Barty always had that look of someone who tossed and turned all night in bed and didn't even bother to use a comb when he woke up. Locks of light brown hair stuck out in every direction, a mess of strands as chaotic as absolutely everything about him. A few lighter strands stood out among the brown mess, oscillating in a rich shade of gold and honey. And oh Merlin, did the look suit him.

"You look so beautiful tonight. I like that dress on you." He comments, seemingly oblivious to what his words spoken out of absolute nothingness could do to you. Or perhaps very purposefully aware of them. "By the way, you always look beautiful so..."

He's waving his hand in the air as if to emphasize the point that those supposed good looks were normal for you. And of course you get really nervous. It's true, no matter how much you try to deny it to yourself. No matter how much you deny the reasons for being nervous either. You're just not used to compliments, from anyone. Yet you appreciate them very much. Not that you're ever going to admit it, especially to someone as unruly as Crouch.

But you're worried that ravenclaw will notice how nervous you really are anyway, Merlin knows that would only boost his ego and further intensify his apparent commitment to poking you in the most annoying ways. It's a colossal effort to try to calm yourself down while simultaneously trying to stop the blush that was forming on your face. But by heavens, it's really challenging to do so when he's staring at you so openly and intently - oh my, he really doesn't have any respect for the boundaries of proper social behavior, did he?

Your eyes sparkle, cheeks turning pinker as you stare at him with a mixture of shyness and a violent session of anger daggers from beneath your lashes. You’re visibly flustered the longer he stares at you (and unlike you, he’s very comfortable with it), your hands fidgeting with each other on the table in a nervous gesture, having long since given up on poking at the poor chocolate pudding.

Barty blinks briefly at your nervous gesture before returning his eyes to yours. “You know you look so cute when you’re all blushing like that,” he teases playfully. “You look like a little strawberry or something.”

You let out a low, uncomfortable meow in your throat, feeling like you could burst into a ball of flames at any moment. What kind of dysfunctional compliment is that? He’s so horrible at it!

“But then again, I’ve never seen you blush that much,” Barty continues as if the observation wasn’t completely humiliating and unnecessary, his head tilted closer to your flaming face with genuine interest. Your gut churns and protests, seemingly trying to eat itself. What’s with that damn look on his face anyway? “Wait…do I make you shy, princess?”

You hate him. You hate him so much, You swear to Merlin, Barty is the worst. He can’t let a girl blush without drawing undue attention to it?! Sure, it’s a little like baking in your dress from how hard your body is blushing, and yeah, maybe you’ve never reacted like that to anyone else — but that’s no big deal!

Except Barty’s looking at you like it is. Like he wants to cut you open, dissect your insides and see for himself just how deep your supposed secrets are, and it’s doing things to you.

Your face won’t stop burning. “What a stupid ideia, of course you don’t — of course I don’t…” Your sudden, complete inability to form a coherent sentence only makes you more frustrated. “Just shut up, Crouch.”

But he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t. This is Barty.

“If you’re going to lie about this, at least be convincing,” he smiles wider, a sickly sweet humming sound in his throat, as if the whole situation pleases him beyond words.

You frown, hissing through your teeth as you ball your hands into fists, saying the first thing that comes to mind. “Stop smiling, idiot. This isn’t funny.”

The teasing glint in his blue eyes softens to something gentler at your discomfort.

“I’m not smiling to make fun of you little lion, believe me.”

Barty hums, lifting his hand from the table to reach out towards what appears to be, to your complete horror and shock, your face. Any naughty joke dies in your throat, your eyes widening in response, a blush creeping across your skin. A sharp gasp escapes your parted lips and you blink owlishly at those fingers so close to reaching your cheeks.

The boy freezes along with you, surprised by your reaction, his fingers frozen in midair as if he had been struck by a Glacius. You barely notice, though. All you can hear is the anxious beating of your own heart, the electricity that seems to crackle from the fingertips that threaten to brush against your skin.

He’s not…he shouldn’t be touching you. And he’s not, in fact. But then why does that make you feel suddenly dazed and pliable like long-whipped cream? It’s almost a disappointment that he hasn’t extinguished those last few inches and touched your flaming cheeks. You almost regret not knowing what his fingers would feel like on your skin.

What?

The thought comes so quickly, so naturally, that it almost makes you jump.

“Huh...” He breathes and you blink pathetically, coming back to the present with a startled expression and hands strangely damp with cold, nervous sweat. His eyes grow curiously darker, and he realizes, you know he does, you know the exact moment he understands something that not even you are willing to acknowledge, and holy shit, no. Just—no. No.

And when you turn your face away to escape that undesirably intense eye contact (and the equally undesirably feelings that come with it), you realize that damn Regulus Black has finally gotten tired of pretending to pay attention to what the boy next to him is saying. Because now his attention is completely focused on you and Barty and the strange exchange that just happened.

He’s wearing what you’d initially think is a completely neutral expression, but a closer look reveals the slight lift of his eyebrow as he slowly, appraisingly slides his eyes between you and Barty, as if silently contemplating something. For some stupid reason, as he stares at you like that, you feel a lot like a child caught by mom doing something their shouldn’t. He seems to find whatever he’s looking for when he allows a small, almost imperceptible smirk to lift the left corner of his lip, his sharp gaze shining with far more mischief than you’d expect from someone as emotionally distant as him.

You silently wish the ground would open up and swallow you right there, taking you to the deepest abyss - or any fucking place where you can just forget this whole thing ever happened. Your face is so heated with humiliation that you can literally feel your cheeks tingling with red, which only makes Regulus’s smirk grow a little wider.

Your resentment towards Barty Crouch Jr and his colossal guilt in this unspeakable situation grows along with that stupid grin.

“I’m leaving,” you announce abruptly, much louder than necessary, glad that Slughorn is now too engrossed in a conversation with a Hufflepuff in the far corner of the room to notice your cowardly and untimely exit. Before you do, however, you narrow your gaze at Barty while practically hissing through your teeth. “And, by Merlin, you better forget this whole thing ever happened or I swear I’ll spell you and make you vomit slugs all weekend, Crouch. I’m just going to — damn, just...bye.”

And then you’re off, without even allowing the ravenclaw to answer you — he’s already said too much, anyway.

Your stubborn gryffindor streak is trying too hard to sugarcoat the situation and convince you that this was a brave and completely strategic exit, to avoid more trouble. But the truth is, it's just you running, shamelessly running away with your tail between your legs while you can still feel Barty Crouch's gaze burning into the back of your neck and Regulus Black's annoyingly knowing smirk etched into your mind the entire way.

iii.

You never neglected your duties as Head Girl, ever.

So it was extremely unusual that you, on your patrol night, would be hiding in a dark, secluded alcove with a gray cat curled up on your lap while you cried everything you hadn’t cried in longer than you could remember.

You supposed it was bound to happen sooner or later, given the circumstances. But it was really inconvenient that it was on the night of your patrol.

A few days ago you received an owl from your parents with the news that your aunt, probably the person you loved most in the world, had passed away. Despite your intense feelings for her and the absolute shock of reading the letter, you didn’t shed a single tear. Not that night and not in the nights that followed. You grieved, of course; silently and internally. But for a moment you truly believed that this was it - this was all the grief you would ever feel.

Maybe you felt things differently than other people. Maybe you didn’t need to wallow in grief and tears like most people tended to do during their mourning.

And then, as you were patrolling the halls earlier that night, you spotted a cat approaching. At first, there was nothing special about it; cats were everywhere in the castle. Except this cat, furry and gray and with the smug air of someone who was countless miles above you in the social hierarchy, was almost identical to the cat your beloved aunt had kept. The same cat you spent the summers teasing, fluffing its soft, well-groomed fur while the animal gave you its best utter scornful glare — your aunt’s laughter ringing in the background, amused and affectionate.

And that was it.

Before you even realized what was happening, you felt the first tears roll down your cheeks, chest shaking with a shaky sob that fought to escape your lips. Like a burst dam, you felt something break inside you, intense and abrupt. There was no way to control the torrent of emotions that threatened to suffocate you, all you could do was run to find a place where no one could witness your collapse.

The cat, surprisingly, followed your hurried steps all the way, settling between your ankles as soon as you found a safe alcove, wrapping its long tail around your legs as you slid down the wall until you fell to the floor. You cried and sobbed and it purred the whole time; its soft, furry little body rubbing against your skin in a strangely comforting way. It made you feel a little better with its presence, the way it went out of its way to keep you company - as it knew it would do you good at that moment.

Small sobs escape your lips and the weight on your chest threatens to suffocate you for a moment and you choke, covering your mouth.

It's clear that this is undoubtedly a dramatic and unfortunate consequence of trying to internalize your feelings as you always do. But the worst thing is knowing that, when this sudden storm of emotions passes, you'll do it again. Because that's what you always do with your feelings. Run and hide.

The only consolation is knowing that no one other than the poor cat who had the misfortune of crossing your path (or would it be the opposite?) is witnessing this embarrassing moment. You're alone.

At least you think you're alone — until you're not anymore.

The flames in the braziers arranged on the stone walls cast shadows on the floor as someone approaches. And you don't need to look up to know who it is. There's no need to, because you feel the weight of his gaze, the same impossible-to-ignore gaze as always. You know it's Crouch without a doubt and you don't want to be seen like this. Not by anyone, but certainly not by him.

This seems to be enough of a motivator for the cry to die in your throat and suddenly your focus is solely on getting away of here. Get away from him. You need air, space, something.

You stand on shaky legs so fast you feel dizzy, your balance already precarious from the headache from crying so much, and the impact makes you stumble. For a split second, you think you might fall — your ankle twists awkwardly, the world tilts — and then a strong hand grabs your wrist, another braces on your back, steadying you before you can hit the ground. The cat running away during the confusion.

You don’t process what happens immediately, the abrupt turn and your own reeling mind making it hard to form a coherent judgment. Your mind is still stuck on running away and I can’t breathe, and it takes a second to realize that Barty is holding you upright, his hands firm but careful on your body, his expression wavering between amusement and concern.

“Hey hey little lion, what’s the rush?” He teases as always, but his voice loses its careless tone as he seems to get a better look at your face. And you can only imagine the shitty visual you’re giving off. The flames on the walls highlighting the wet trail of tears on your flushed cheeks, your eyes puffy and red from crying, teeth sinking into a quivering bottom lip, hair messy around your face. You look like hell, and you know it.

It doesn’t help that Barty is still examining your face, his eyes narrowing beneath heavy brows that furrow together.

You pull away from him, a little too quickly, a little too abruptly.

“I’m fine.” You spit before he can elaborate on whatever it is that’s on his mind.

Crouch doesn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?Because honestly, princess, It's not what it seems.” He tilts his head to get a better look at you. "Did someone hurt you? Tell me who made you feel like this, please, I swear I-"

"I said I'm fine." You cut off the endless stream of words, looking down as you adjust your shirt against your body, shifting the weight to your other foot, ignoring the new wave of tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. In the same way that you purposefully ignore how his readiness to solve whatever it is that made you feel so bad makes you feel...things. "Go bother someone else, Crouch."

Barty exhales, something heavy in the sound. You look up at the sound, almost uncomfortable with the change. For the first time, his blue eyes aren't filled with that same joy or mischief its always had. Just something inquisitive, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don't have the strength to deal with right now.

"Why...why do you do this?" he asks, softer now, but no less intense. Your brows furrow in confusion at the question, eyes still bright with unshed tears. He sighs, giving you a look that is nothing short of wistful. “Why do you try so hard to pretend that you don’t need anyone to care? You always act like you carry the whole world on your own and you’re doing just fine.”

Your fingers curl into your palms. Your lips tighten. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to acknowledge how close his words are to the truth. Your throat tightens.

“Why do you care?”

Barty lets out a sigh, tilting his head slightly, his eyes scanning your face as if you’re something he’s trying very hard to decipher. Then he laughs, low and humorless.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” His voice is lower now, something dangerously close to vulnerability. Your fists clench to the point of pain at your sides. “I care because it’s you.”

You blink at him, unable to understand, unable to accept whatever it is he’s trying to tell you. In fact, something inside you whispers that you do. But it feels like too much, like more than you can handle, more than you can comprehend. You feel impossible, a being made of knots and thorns, too tight in your own skin.

“Please,” you sigh then, tired and tearful, the next wave of tears finally spilling over your waterline to run down your wet cheeks, “let’s not do this now…I just, please—”

“Shhh,” he silences your incoherent protest as he pulls you closer with a firm but still gentle tug on your wrist. Your head sinks into the hard planes of his chest as you follow the pull with the naturalness of a wooden doll, your eyes wide and still leaking water — because, Merlin, he’s hugging you.

Your nose is buried in the white dress shirt of his uniform, and the first thing you notice is how strangely good he feels. Warm and comfortable against the chilly wind that blows in through the hallway’s openings, smelling like the wood that fuels the flames of the many fireplaces around the castle’s many and the fresh mint of the tea you drink before bed. And you don’t know what to do with it, what you’re supposed to be doing here. Your body is stiff and trembling as he gently wraps his arms around you, as if you’re something priceless, leaning in so he can bury his nose in the roots of your hair.

“Relax.”

And as if that small, whispered ‘relax’ was all you needed to pull yourself out of your own mind, you slowly feel every muscle beneath your flesh give way and do exactly what he asked; your body relaxing against his, doe eyes blinking against the softness of his shirt, lips parted as you let his presence comfort you.

He feels safe, trustworthy. And it’s so rare that you feel this way that even though you know it would be over in an instant, you don’t want to, and it doesn’t matter, and…your fingers ache to touch him back. It feels like a lifetime before you allow yourself to and you’re returning it. You wrap your arms around his waist to hug his back, gripping the fabric under your hands so tightly it hurts, but you can’t bring yourself to let go, face sinking into his chest to sob some more. Please, don’t make him let go.

“It’s okay, we’ll have time to talk later,” he murmurs into your hair, “I’m not going anywhere.”

And he doesn’t. He lets you cry and sob into his shirt, completely ruining it in the process. But Barty doesn’t care, not even when you sniffle and move to pull away after realizing how messy you’ve been. He just mumbles, 'It's okay, princess, I just want to help you feel better' - something that makes you blush and cry a little more. Because, good heavens, no one has ever said something like that to you.

At one point, you realize that you're both sitting on the floor, his back against the wall and you're half-sitting on the floor, between his legs, face still against his chest - feeling his deep, even breathing calm you down.

By the time tears stop falling, you're exhausted. You've been exhausted for so long, but this kind of exhaustion is different. Better. You realize that you're lighter now than you've felt in a long time, thanks to Barty Crouch Junior. And you...don't know how you feel about that.

And you're too exhausted to think about it.

But you do know one thing.

You don't hate this comfortable contact with him. You don't hate his fingers gently combing through your hair, untangling knots you didn't even know were there. You don't hate his whispers close to your ear, reciting the name of every constellation visible in the dark sky.

You certainly don't hate this moment of peace, a white flag you've raised to wave lazily between the two of you.

When you pull away some time later, struggling to smooth out your wrinkled skirt and shirt, you mumble a thank you to him with heated cheeks and shy eyes. And when he smiles back with his hands in his pockets and head tilted to the side, telling you not to mind, that it was nothing - and you freeze, feeling...

Disappointed?

It was nothing, really. This could never be anything other than 'nothing'. But for some reason, hearing that from him hits you in a completely unexpected and senseless way.

He notices the change in the shine in your eyes, rushing to rephrase what he said with a series of 'wait, that came out wrong' and 'please, I didn't mean it like that'. But you calm him down, assuring him that everything was fine and that it really was nothing, he’s more than right about it.

Before he can argue with that, you’re walking, smiling over your shoulder as you bid him a hasty goodnight before rushing off to your dorm.

Barty was right. This was nothing.

Pandora was sprawled on Regulus’s bed, flipping idly through a magazine, her long hair hanging over the edge as she hummed softly to herself. Regulus sat by the window, seemingly uninterested in the conversation, gazing out into the dark grounds below. Meanwhile, Evan sat cross-legged on the floor, his wand in hand as he absentmindedly practiced non-verbal spells on the edge of a quill, making it levitate an inch off the ground before it wobbled and fell.

And you- you were seated on the floor, leaning back against Evan’s bed where Barty lounged behind you, your knees drawn up as you flipped through a book. You were engrossed in whatever you were reading, your brow furrowed slightly in concentration. Every now and then, you’d let out a soft sigh of frustration, your lips pursing as you tried to make sense of the passage in front of you.

Barty wasn’t paying attention to his own book. He hadn’t been for a while. Instead, his eyes lingered on you, taking in the way the firelight danced across your features, the way you absentmindedly chewed on your lower lip when you were deep in thought. He liked watching you like this, when you were unaware of the intensity of his gaze.

Evan, clearly annoyed by the quiet tension in the room, flicked his wand and muttered something under his breath. Your book snapped shut on its own, making you jump slightly.

“Evan!” You gasped, glaring at him.

“What?” Evan drawled, smirking. “You’ve been staring at that thing for ages. Thought I’d do you a favor.”

“You’re such a git,” You muttered, reopening the book.

Pandora giggled from her spot on the bed. “Oh, leave her alone, Evan. You’re just grumpy because you lost to Regulus in Gobstones earlier.”

Regulus didn’t react, still gazing out the window as though he hadn’t heard a word.

Barty leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees as he watched you with quiet amusement. You sighed again, leaning your head back against his legs, frustrated with how the numbers and letters on the page kept dancing between each other. Without thinking, his hand moved on its own, brushing through your hair in a slow, deliberate motion.

You didn’t pull away. You never did.

His fingers trailed down, grazing the nape of your neck, where they lingered just a second too long. He felt you shiver slightly under his touch, a small reaction you probably didn’t even notice yourself, but it made something twist deep in his chest.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low, almost soothing. “You’re too tense.”

You smiled, tilting your head slightly to look up at him, completely oblivious to the way his eyes darkened, to the way his fingers curled slightly as if resisting the urge to hold you there, to press against the pulse point beneath his touch. He imagined wrapping his hand around your throat- not to hurt you, never that- but to feel the proof of your life beneath his fingers. To remind you that you were his, even if you didn’t realize it yet.

“You’re always like this,” Evan muttered, clearly irritated. “Touching each other.”

Pandora propped herself up on her elbows, grinning. “I think it’s sweet,” she said, her tone dreamy. “They’re comfortable with each other. You wouldn’t understand, Evan.”

Barty didn’t respond, his hand still resting lightly on your neck. He liked the way it felt, the way you trusted him so blindly. It unraveled something in him, made the ever-present hunger beneath his skin burn hotter.

You laughed softly, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air. “We are just friends,” you said lightly, not noticing the way Barty’s fingers twitched slightly at your words. “Right, Barty?”

His grip tightened ever so slightly- just for a moment, just enough for him to feel your pulse quicken beneath his touch- before he forced himself to relax. He didn’t like hearing you say it, didn’t like the way it sounded coming from your lips. Just friends. But it was enough for him, for now.

He played along, as he always did.

“Sure,” He chuckled, his voice steady, though there was a hint of something darker beneath it. “Just friends.”

Evan scoffed, clearly unimpressed, while Pandora gave a soft, knowing hum, her gaze flicking between the two of you with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Friends don’t touch each other like that,” Evan muttered under his breath, flicking his wand again to make the quill hover once more.

Pandora ignored him, turning her attention back to her magazine, and Regulus remained silent, as always, seemingly uninterested in the whole exchange.

“We do.” Barty challenged listlessly- only for a small smirk to over take Evans face.

Evan’s smirk widened, the mischievous glint in his eyes sharpening as he caught sight of Barty’s fingers resting lightly on your neck. The tension radiating from Barty was palpable, his normally chaotic demeanor stretched thin, but Evan didn’t seem to care.

“Well, if you’re just friends,” Evan said, dragging out the words in a tone that bordered on taunting, “then she won’t mind if I-”

He took a step forward, reaching toward your shoulder, but he didn’t get far.

Barty’s hand moved faster than anyone expected, tightening on your neck- not enough to hurt, but enough for you to notice. His other hand shot out, palm flat against Evan’s chest, stopping him mid-step with a force that was anything but playful. His eyes locked on Evan’s, cold and unyielding.

“Don’t. Touch.” Barty practically growled, his voice dangerously low. There was no trace of humor left, only a thinly veiled threat simmering beneath the surface. His entire posture was tense, like a guard dog poised to attack at the first sign of danger.

Pandora sat up fully, wide-eyed but clearly entertained than alarmed. “Oh dear,” She mused softly, a smile playing on her lips. “You’ve done it now, Evan.”

You, oblivious to the darker undercurrents in Barty’s reaction, reached up to touch his wrist lightly, as if to reassure him. “It’s fine, Barty. He’s just being annoying.”

But Barty didn’t relax. His gaze didn’t waver from Evan, who raised his hands in mock surrender, though the smirk never left his face.

“Merlin, calm down,” Evan muttered, backing up a step. “It was just a joke.”

Barty didn’t move, didn’t speak. He watched Evan retreat like a hawk, as though daring him to try again. Only when Evan dropped back onto the floor, still smirking but clearly deciding not to push further, did Barty loosen his grip on your neck. His fingers lingered for a moment longer before falling away entirely, though the tension in his shoulders remained.

Pandora giggled softly. “You’re so protective, Barty. It’s sweet, really.”

You gave Barty a puzzled look, still unaware of the possessive storm swirling behind his eyes. “You didn’t have to react like that,” you said lightly. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Barty didn’t answer immediately, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to remain calm. It was a big deal- to him. The idea of anyone else laying a hand on you, even in jest, made something dark and primal rise to the surface. But he couldn’t say that to you- you'd think he'd gone mad. Or worse- you'd worry about him.

“He shouldn’t touch you,” he muttered instead, his voice quiet but firm, as though that explained everything. “You don't know where he's hands have been.”

Evan scoffed from his spot on the floor, leaning back on his elbows. “You’re ridiculous,” He bemoaned, clearly amused by Barty’s reaction. “It’s not like she’s-”

“Careful, Rosier.” Regulus said suddenly, his voice calm and detached as he continued to gaze out the window. He slowly turned to look ag you guys, smirking as his eyes locked with Barty’s. “That's Barty’s girl. Everyone knows that.”

Evan fell silent, his smirk fading slightly as he glancegavs a dramatic groan and leaned back against the couch, smirking at you as Barty chuckled.

“Exactly right, Reg.” Barty smirked and flattened his palm against your neck, but again, you gave no reaction. 

Evan gave another dramatic groan, leaning back further against the couch. He shot you a playful glare, though his smirk betrayed any real annoyance. “Unbelievable. You just let him do that?” He gestured toward Barty’s hand, still resting possessively on your neck. “Merlin, you’re both hopeless.”

Pandora grinned from her spot on the bed, clearly enjoying the scene. “Hopelessly sweet,” she teased, propping herself up on her elbows. “Honestly, it’s like watching a couple who refuse to admit they’re together.”

You let out a soft laugh, rolling your eyes as you stretched your legs out, nudging Evan’s ankle with your foot. “Oh, stop it. You’re all making it a bigger deal than it is.”

Barty didn’t say anything, but his smirk grew, fingers flexing ever so slightly against the curve of your neck. You didn’t even notice, too busy teasing Evan by nudging his foot again in a childish game of footsie.

“You’re asking for it now,” Evan warned, leaning forward slightly, clearly ready to retaliate. He grinned wickedly, flicking his wand toward your leg to tickle your ankle with a harmless jinx.

You squealed, jerking your leg away as you laughed. “Evan, you prat!”

The sound of your laughter filled the room, light and carefree, and Barty’s gaze softened, though the possessiveness never fully left his expression. He liked seeing you like this- happy, playful, surrounded by people you trusted.

But still… his hand remained on your neck, a silent claim no one else seemed to question anymore.

Regulus returned his attention to the window, his smirk fading into the same detached calm he always carried. Pandora giggled quietly to herself, watching Evan and you bicker as if it were her favorite form of entertainment.

Meanwhile, Barty leaned back against the bed once more, his fingers trailing down your neck in a slow, deliberate motion before falling away entirely. He didn’t need to say anything. He didn’t need to react further.

Everyone here knew it. You were his. Even if you didn’t realize it yet. 

He could wait. He always had.

~~~

It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon, and most of the house is either outside enjoying the crisp autumn air or scattered around the common room. You’ve just come back from Hogsmeade, a small bag in hand filled with little trinkets and things you’d picked up during your trip. Among them is a new perfume you’d been curious about, a light floral scent with hints of vanilla and something warmer, richer.  

You dab a little on your wrists and neck, the scent quickly enveloping you in its delicate sweetness. You smile, pleased with your purchase, and- after thanking a fellow sixth year who held the door for you- stand behind the couch, tossing Evan a sweet he had begged you to grab for him.

Barty, seated across the room with Pandora and Regulus, had barely been paying attention to the conversation- until now. The moment the scent reaches him, something shifts. His gaze sharpens, zeroing in on you as if drawn by an invisible thread. He gets up, crossing the room with a casualness that doesn’t quite hide the intent behind his movements.

“You smell different,” He murmurs as he comes to stand behind you, his voice low, almost reverent. Before you can respond, he leans down slightly, his hands settling lightly on your shoulders as he inhales the scent lingering around your neck. “What is that?”

You laugh softly, turning your head slightly to glance at him over your shoulder. “It’s just a new perfume I bought today. Do you like it?”

“Like it?” He repeats, his hands sliding down your arms, his grip warm and grounding. “It’s you.” His voice is softer now, almost dazed, as if the scent alone has enchanted him. He leans closer again, this time pressing his face against your hair, taking in more of the scent. “You smell… amazing.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but the blush rising to your cheeks betrays your flustered reaction. “Alright, alright, you’re acting like I invented the stuff.”

Barty chuckles, wrapping his arms loosely around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Can’t help it,” he says, his voice lower, more intimate. “You smell too good.” His hands tighten slightly, his fingers brushing lightly against yours as he murmurs, “You should wear this more often.”

The whole scene feels strangely domestic- like something a lovesick boyfriend would do. But to you, it’s just Barty being overly affectionate, as always.

But Evan? Evan isn’t having it.

He throws up his hands dramatically, gesturing wildly at the two of you. “Oh, come on! You two have to be taking the piss at this point!” He points an accusatory finger between you and Barty. “You two must to be shagging!”

Pandora giggles from her spot by the fire, clearly delighted by the chaos. Regulus, as always, remains stoic, but there’s a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“We’re not,” You say quickly, laughing as you try to wriggle out of Barty’s grip. But he doesn’t let go, holding you firmly in place, his smirk growing as he glances at Evan.

“Jealous, Rosier?” Barty drawls, his tone lazy but his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I can’t help it if I appreciate good company.”

“Good company?” Evan repeats incredulously. “You’re practically glued to her! Friends don’t do that! Friends don’t-” He gestures wildly again, flustered. “-sniff each other!”

Pandora bursts out laughing, nearly doubling over as she watches Evan struggle to find the right words. “Oh, Evan, leave them alone..”

Barty doesn’t move, still holding you loosely in his arms, his fingers idly tracing patterns against your wrist. You’re flustered but laughing, brushing it off as nothing more than playful teasing.

But to Barty, this is something else entirely. The scent, your warmth, the way you relax so easily in his hold- it’s driving him mad in the best way possible. He knows Evan’s teasing is harmless, but part of him bristles at the idea of anyone thinking they could have what he already considers his.

“We’re just friends,” You say again, more for Evan’s benefit than anything else. “Barty’s always like this.”

Evan stares at you, utterly exasperated. “Always like this? You’re telling me he always holds you like you’re the love of his life and sniffs you like you’re bloody Amortentia?”

Your cheeks flushed a passionate rosey shade. “I- well- the sniffing is new!”

Pandora chokes on another laugh, clutching her stomach as Regulus finally speaks, his voice calm but dry. “You might as well give up, Evan. They’ve been saying the same thing for years.”

Barty doesn’t respond to any of them. He doesn’t care what Evan thinks, or even what Pandora finds amusing. All that matters is you- your scent, your warmth, the way you let him hold you without question.

He presses his lips briefly to your hair, a gesture so soft and quick that it goes unnoticed by everyone but you. “You smell perfect,” he murmurs again, just for you.

And though you laugh it off, brushing away the warmth spreading across your cheeks, something about the way he holds you lingers in your mind far longer than it should. 

To you, it’s just Barty being affectionate.

To Barty? It’s you unknowingly giving him another reason to be completely, utterly obsessed.

~~~

Your head girl dorm was warm and inviting, filled with the blue haze from the lake just a few yards below. Pandora, Evan, and Regulus were already there, lounging comfortably- Pandora on your bed, Regulus perched in one of the armchairs, and Evan sprawled on the floor, fiddling with his wand as he always did.  

Their conversation had been light and easy until the door swung open, revealing you storming in, frustration written all over your face. Barty followed closely behind, his expression unreadable, calm in a way that only made your irritation grow.

Pandora’s brows raised as she exchanged a glance with Evan, who straightened slightly, clearly intrigued by the tension crackling between you and Barty. Regulus didn’t react outwardly, but his gaze flicked toward the two of you, quietly observing.

“I can’t believe you did that!” you snapped, spinning on your heel to face Barty as you threw your bag onto the bed. In all the years they’d known you, none of them- not Pandora, Evan, or even Regulus- had ever heard you truly raise your voice at him. Sure, you’d been upset with Barty before; you’d sighed, pouted, and even shot him the occasional glare. But shouting? Walking away from him? That was unheard of.  

“You had no right,” you continued, your voice sharp, crackling with a frustration that felt foreign even to you.

The door clicked softly shut behind him as Barty stepped inside. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his posture maddeningly relaxed, yet there was a tension about him, an unspoken electricity in the way his eyes locked onto yours. His calm wasn’t comforting- it was unnerving, especially when paired with the fiery crackle of your anger. 

It was impossible to tell what unsettled the others more: the rare sight of your hostility or the uncharacteristic stillness in Barty’s demeanor. For once, the boy who thrived on chaos and disruption seemed like the eye of the storm- calm, deliberate, and entirely unbothered. 

Pandora exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Evan, who raised his brows in silent surprise. Even Regulus, who rarely looked interested in anything, shifted slightly in his chair, his gaze sharpening as he observed the brewing tension between you and Barty.

Barty didn’t respond immediately. He stood there, leaning casually against the closed door, as if he were giving you a moment to let your words hang in the air. His eyes, however, remained fixed on you, dark and unwavering, his calm exterior betraying the intensity simmering just beneath the surface.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Barty muttered evenly, his voice low and composed. “I told him what he needed to hear.”

“What he needed to hear?” You repeated incredulously, your voice rising, practically echoing off the stone walls of your dorm. “He asked me on a date, Barty. Me. Not you.” 

Pandora leaned forward slightly, clearly invested in the unfolding argument, while Evan smirked, obviously enjoying the drama. Regulus remained quiet, his gaze steady, but his lips twitched ever so slightly in amusement.

The tension crackled in the room like a live wire, yet Barty remained infuriatingly calm, his hands still tucked into his pockets, his head tilted ever so slightly as he watched you pace back and forth. Your frustration was evident, radiating from you in waves, and yet he didn’t seem the least bit concerned. If anything, he looked amused.

“You didn’t have to do that, Barty,” you huffed, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “You always do this- stepping in, making decisions like I can’t handle myself.”

Barty leaned back against the closed door, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he spoke, his voice low and even. “You say that like I did something wrong.”

“Because you did!” You spun on your heel to glare at him, your cheeks flushed from a mix of anger and embarrassment. “He was just asking me on a date. That’s all. I could’ve handled it.”

“He didn’t deserve to ask you anything,” Barty replied smoothly, his tone infuriatingly casual as his dark eyes stayed locked on yours. “I did him a favor, really. Saved him from wasting both our time.”

You groaned, your fists clenching at your sides as you stopped in front of him, your head tilted back to meet his gaze. “It’s not your job to decide that.”

Barty finally moved, leaning forward slightly, the space between you shrinking as his smirk softened into something more dangerous. “It is when it involves you,” he said simply, his voice softer now, almost tender. “You’re my best friend.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, your resolve wavered. You hated how easily he could disarm you, how the sharp edge of your anger dulled the moment his tone softened, the way he tilted his head like he was waiting for you to see things his way.

Pandora, perched on your bed with her legs crossed, was watching the scene unfold with wide, curious eyes. Evan, sprawled on the floor, had long since given up pretending to be interested in his wandwork, his smirk growing wider with every passing second. Even Regulus, who rarely seemed to care about anything, was watching now, his sharp gaze flicking between you and Barty with quiet interest.

You took a step back, shaking your head as if to clear it. “I’m not a child, Barty. I can make my own decisions.”

His expression didn’t change, but his hand moved, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture so soft, so intimate, that it made your breath hitch. “I know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t look out for you.”

You hated how easily he got under your skin, how his touch unraveled you no matter how much you tried to hold yourself together. “You don’t always have to protect me, Barty,” you muttered, though your voice lacked the bite it had earlier. “I can handle myself.”

“I know you can,” he said again, his hand lingering at the side of your face, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheekbone. “But I’m still going to.”

You huffed, crossing your arms as you tried to look anywhere but at him, though his gaze was like a tether pulling you back. His hand didn’t move from where it lingered near your face, warm and steady, and you hated how your resolve was crumbling under the weight of it.

“You’re pouting,” Barty said, his tone calm but laced with amusement, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“I am not,” you shot back quickly, though the heat rushing to your cheeks betrayed you.

“You are,” he said simply, leaning in just a fraction closer. His smirk softened into something almost affectionate as he added, “It’s cute, though. You can keep doing it.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, and you stumbled over your words, caught completely off guard by the casual compliment. “I- I’m not pouting,” You insisted, though your voice wavered, and the corners of your lips twitched as if you were fighting the urge to smile.

Barty chuckled, his thumb brushing ever so lightly against your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. “Sure, you’re not,” he teased, his voice dropping lower, softer. “But I don’t mind if you do.”

Pandora let out a small squeal of delight from her perch on your bed, clearly enjoying the interaction far too much. “Oh, this is precious,” she giggled, kicking her legs in the air. “You’re so hopelessly sweet, the both of you.”

Evan groaned dramatically from his spot on the floor, throwing his head back against the carpet. “Merlin, you’re both insufferable. Just snog and put us all out of our misery.”

Your eyes widened, and you whipped around to glare at him. “We are not-” but your voice trailed off when Barty’s hand slid to your shoulder, grounding you.

“Calm down, Evan,” Barty drawled, his smirk growing wider as he glanced over at the other boy. “You’re just jealous she likes me better.”

Evan scoffed, rolling his eyes. “As if. I just want to live in peace without the two of you staring at each other like a pair of lovesick Puffskeins.”

You felt your cheeks flush even hotter, but before you could protest again, Barty gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, drawing your attention back to him. His expression had softened now, his eyes searching yours.

“You can keep pretending to be mad at me if you want,” he murmured, his voice quiet enough that only you could hear. “But I know you’re not.”

You let out a loud, dramatic huff, throwing your hands in the air as you turned away from him. Without another word, you stomped over to your bed and flopped onto it with a groan of pure frustration, your legs dangling over the edge. The sound was almost comically displeased, and you kicked your feet against the mattress in a childish show of annoyance.

Behind you, Pandora stifled a giggle, and even Regulus quirked an amused brow, though he said nothing. Evan, on the other hand, looked entirely too pleased with the chaos unfolding before him.

Barty, unbothered by your theatrics, followed you over with that maddeningly calm expression still plastered on his face. He knelt at the foot of the bed without a word, slipping your shoes off one by one with deliberate care. You made a point to keep your arms crossed and your lips pressed into a pout, but the edges of your resolve wavered ever so slightly as his fingers brushed your ankles.

When he was done, he rested one elbow on the bedframe and leaned in close, his other hand resting against the mattress near your hip. His gaze was heavy, and it pinned you in place despite your best efforts to avoid looking at him.

Finally, you peeked up at him through your lashes, still pouting as you muttered, “You’re terrible at this friend thing, Barty.”

He let out a low sound- half groan, half sigh- as his head tilted slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours with a mix of exasperation and amusement. “I know,” he said softly, his voice carrying that same infuriating calm that made your chest tighten. “I’m bloody awful at it.”

You huffed again, though it came out weaker this time, and you buried your face in your hands for a moment before peeking out at him once more. “You’re not even trying to be better.”

“I’m not,” he agreed shamelessly, leaning in closer, his face only inches from yours now. His smirk softened, and for a moment, his expression bordered on something more vulnerable. “But I’m not sure I want to be better.”

That caught you off guard, and for a second, you forgot to be annoyed as you stared at him, your heart skipping a beat. You weren’t sure what he meant, not entirely, but the way his gaze lingered on yours made your chest feel uncomfortably warm.

“Hopeless,” Evan muttered from across the room, breaking the moment as he rolled onto his side with a dramatic groan. “The both of you.”

Pandora just grinned, resting her chin in her hands as she watched the scene unfold with unabashed delight. “Don’t mind him,” she said, her voice sing-song. “I think it’s sweet.”

You let out another huff, though this time it was more embarrassed than angry, and you shoved at Barty’s chest lightly. “I can't stand you,” you muttered, your cheeks flushing as you turned your face away.

Barty chuckled softly at your reaction, his smirk growing as he caught your chin with his fingers, gently tilting your face back toward him. “You say that,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with something that made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t want to admit, “but you don’t really mean it.”

You swatted at his hand half-heartedly, but he didn’t let go, his thumb brushing along your jaw in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “I do mean it,” you insisted, though your voice wavered, and you hated how easily he could unravel you.

Pandora giggled from her spot on the bed, clearly delighted by the dynamic. “Oh, come on,” she teased, propping herself up on her elbows. “Just admit he’s your favorite, and we can all move on.”

Evan groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. “If she says it, I’m leaving. I can’t bear to hear her feed his ego.”

Barty’s smirk turned almost predatory, and he leaned in just a fraction closer, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “Go on,” he urged, his voice soft and teasing. “Tell them I’m your favorite.”

You glared at him, though it was half-hearted at best. “You’re impossible,” you muttered again, but there was no real heat behind your words.

Barty’s grin widened, and he finally let go of your chin, leaning back slightly as he rested his forearms on the edge of the bed. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said smugly, clearly pleased with himself.

Pandora clapped her hands together, her grin as wide as his. “I knew it!” she exclaimed. “You’re both hopelessly sweet. It’s adorable, really.”

Regulus, who had been silent the entire time, finally spoke, his voice calm and dry. “Can we move on now? Or are we just going to sit here while they flirt all night?”

Your face flushed even hotter, and you buried it in your hands, groaning. “We’re not flirting!” You insisted, though even you didn’t believe it.

Barty laughed, the sound warm and rich as he reached out to ruffle your hair. “Sure we’re not,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “Whatever you say.”

You swatted at his hand again, but this time, you couldn’t help the small, reluctant smile that tugged at your lips. No matter how frustrating he could be, he always had a way of making you forget why you were mad in the first place.

~~~

The common room was alive with celebration, the emerald and silver banners draped across the walls shimmering in the floating candlelight. Music pulsed softly in the background, mingling with the chatter and laughter of students sprawled across couches and cushions. The Ravenclaw-Slytherin match had been brutal, but the RavenClaw team had emerged victorious, and Barty- of course- had made himself the star of the night.

You were perched on the arm of a chair across the room, a cup of butterbeer in your hand, but your attention was focused on Barty, who was lounging on one of the larger couches near the hearth. A girl- a sixth-year Ravenclaw whose name you didn’t remember- was leaning far too close to him, her laugh too loud, her hand brushing his arm as she spoke.

Your stomach twisted, and you took a sip of your drink, trying to ignore the uncomfortable knot of jealousy that had taken root. But the sight of her leaning closer, her hand lingering on Barty’s shoulder, made your blood simmer.

Pandora was the first to notice your pout. She had been sitting cross-legged on the floor near the couch, her chin resting on her hand as she observed the lively room. Her sharp eyes caught the way your gaze kept darting toward Barty and the Ravenclaw girl, and the faint downturn of your lips sent her curiosity spiraling.

“Did you just… pout?” Pandora asked, her tone laced with amusement. She sat up straighter, nudging Regulus with her elbow to get his attention. “Reg, are you seeing this?”

Regulus, ever the picture of detached elegance, arched a brow and looked up from the book he was pretending to read. He followed Pandora’s gaze, his eyes landing on your furrowed brows and the way your fingers gripped your cup a bit too tightly. A smirk slowly curled at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, this is new,” he drawled, closing his book with deliberate care. “She looks… upset. Over a person, no less. That can’t be right.”

Pandora giggled, shifting closer to you with an eager grin. “What’s the matter, love?” she teased, her voice sing-song. “You’ve got that look like someone just stole your favorite quill. What did she do?”

Your head whipped toward them, cheeks flushing under their amused scrutiny. “I don’t like her,” you blurted out, the words leaving your lips before you could stop them.

Pandora’s jaw dropped, and she gasped dramatically, clutching at her chest like you’d just delivered the most scandalous confession of the century. “You don’t like her?” she repeated, her grin widening. “You? The girl who likes everyone?”

Regulus leaned back in his chair, resting his chin in his hand as he observed you with quiet amusement. “I didn’t think it was possible,” he said lightly, his smirk deepening. “The golden girl of our odd bunch doesn’t like someone. Are you feeling alright?”

You groaned, turning away from them in a futile attempt to hide the heat spreading across your cheeks. “It’s not a big deal,” You muttered, your fingers tightening around your cup. “She’s just… annoying.”

Pandora’s laughter bubbled out again, and she leaned forward, practically vibrating with excitement. “Annoying? How so? You’ve never called anyone annoying before.”

You bit your lip, casting a quick glance at Barty and the Ravenclaw girl. She was still leaning far too close, her laugh grating in your ears as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “She’s loud,” you mumbled, your voice tinged with irritation. “And she keeps laughing at everything he says like he’s Merlin reincarnated.”

“Oh, she’s loud, at a party” Pandora turned to look at Regulus in exaggerated aspiration, her tone dripping with mock seriousness. “How dare she.”

“And laughing?” Regulus added with a feigned gasp. “What an outrage.”

“She’s touching him.” You snapped, your voice a little louder than you intended. Both Pandora and Regulus froze for a moment, staring at you in stunned silence before breaking into twin peals of laughter.

“Touching him?” Pandora echoed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Oh, darling, Barty would be thrilled to hear you now.”

“Tragic,” Regulus murmured, shaking his head with mock pity. “Jealousy really doesn’t suit you.”

“I am not jealous,” you said sharply, your voice a touch too defensive. The way they both exchanged knowing looks made your stomach twist even more.

“Oh, sure,” Pandora said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “You’re not jealous. You just don’t like the girl because she’s breathing the same air as Barty.”

Regulus leaned forward, propping his elbow on his knee as he smirked knowingly. “Breathe a little louder, and she might vanish,” he teased, his tone smooth and laced with amusement. “You’re practically glaring a hole into the back of her head.”

You whipped your head toward him, cheeks burning hotter than the fireplace behind you. “I’m not glaring,” you snapped, though the defensive edge in your tone betrayed you.

Pandora was practically bouncing now, her grin threatening to split her face in two. “Oh, this is delicious,” she cooed. “You’re jealous. Admit it. Come on, it’s alright to say it.”

“I’m not jealous,” you insisted, though your voice cracked slightly on the last word. You took another sip of your butterbeer in a vain attempt to calm yourself, but the sight of the Ravenclaw girl leaning closer to Barty made your grip tighten on the glass.

Pandora leaned toward Regulus, cupping her hand around her mouth as if whispering a grand secret. “Do you think she realizes she’s been holding that butterbeer like she wants to hex it?”

Regulus tilted his head thoughtfully, his lips twitching. “I doubt it,” he murmured back, loud enough for you to hear. “She’s too busy deciding whether to hex the butterbeer or the girl.”

You let out a frustrated groan, setting your cup down with a louder-than-intended thud. “You’re both impossible.”

“And you’re completely transparent,” Regulus shot back smoothly. His silver eyes gleamed as he leaned closer, his voice dropping into a teasing lilt. “If you’re so bothered, go do something about it. Merlin knows Barty would fall over himself if you so much as batted your eyelashes.”

Pandora nodded fervently, her curls bouncing as she clapped her hands together. “Oh, yes! Just go over there and ruin her night. It’s what she deserves, really.”

You shook your head, determined to ignore them, but the Ravenclaw girl’s hand brushing Barty’s arm again made something snap inside you. Before you could stop yourself, you stood abruptly, drawing the attention of Pandora and Regulus.

“Finally,” Regulus muttered under his breath, a smug grin curling his lips.

“Go get him, love!” Pandora called after you, her voice sing-song and filled with glee.

Your stride across the common room was purposeful, your heart pounding as you ignored the heat of Regulus and Pandora's amused stares boring into your back. You weren’t even thinking; your legs seemed to be moving on their own, fueled by a mix of irritation and something deeper, something you weren’t ready to name.

Barty noticed you before you even reached him. His sharp eyes flicked up, his smirk softening into something unreadable as he leaned back against the couch, one arm slung lazily over the backrest. The Ravenclaw girl, oblivious to the shift in his expression, was still chattering on about something inconsequential, her fingers grazing his arm again.

You didn’t stop to acknowledge her. Without so much as a glance in her direction, you stepped into Barty’s space and, in one fluid motion, sat yourself down on his lap. 

The Ravenclaw girl froze mid-sentence, her mouth hanging open as her wide eyes darted between you and Barty. Pandora let out a loud, delighted gasp from across the room, and Regulus snorted, barely able to hide his amusement. Even Evan, who had been engrossed in a conversation with another group, glanced over with raised brows.

Barty, on the other hand, didn’t seem the least bit fazed. If anything, his smirk widened, and his hands came up instinctively, one settling on your waist while the other rested casually on your thigh, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

You didn’t say a word as you settled into Barty’s lap, your arms crossing loosely over your chest as you stared up at him. Your expression wasn’t sassy or confrontational- it was soft, expectant, and patient, the kind of look only you could manage, one that could coax a response out of anyone without so much as a word. 

Barty’s smirk twitched, his sharp eyes softening as they met yours. The quiet patience in your gaze was like a silent challenge, and it drew him in immediately. The Ravenclaw girl’s voice faltered into awkward silence as his attention shifted entirely to you. 

“Something I can help you with, love?” he asked lightly, his tone teasing but his hands steady as they rested on your waist. His fingers flexed slightly, grounding you both in the moment.

Still, you didn’t speak. You only tilted your head a fraction, looking up at him with those wide, trusting eyes that had always been his undoing. Your lips pressed into the faintest pout, and though it was subtle, Barty recognized it instantly. He couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound warm and rich as it rumbled in his chest.

Pandora, from her spot across the room, clutched at her heart dramatically. “Merlin, she’s too sweet! Look at her!” she whispered loudly, nudging Regulus, who arched a brow but remained otherwise composed.

Regulus’s silver eyes flicked to you and Barty, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “She’s not saying anything because she doesn’t have to,” he muttered, his voice dry but amused. “That look alone does all the work.”

Meanwhile, Barty was focused entirely on you, his smirk softening into something more tender as he leaned closer, his hand sliding up your back in a lazy, possessive motion. “Alright, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a quieter, more intimate tone. “What is it? You’ve got my attention.”

You tilted your head slightly, your pout deepening just enough to tug at his chest. “You were busy,” you said softly, your voice carrying no hint of accusation, only quiet disappointment. 

Barty’s expression flickered, the teasing edge of his smirk replaced with something almost apologetic. He shifted slightly, pulling you closer until your knees bumped against his. “I wasn’t too busy for you,” he said, his tone softer now, his eyes searching yours. “You know that.”

Pandora let out a delighted squeal, practically bouncing in her seat. “Oh, I love this,” she crowed. “She’s not even mad- just quietly disappointed. It’s perfect.”

Evan groaned from his place by the fireplace, throwing his hands up. “It’s maddening, is what it is. She doesn’t even have to try, and he’s practically falling over himself.”

You were trying to be nice. You really were.

But she was still right there.

You tilted your head slightly, your pout giving way to a small, mischievous smile. Slowly, you leaned closer to Barty, your fingers lightly brushing against his shoulder as you looked up at him, your voice soft and teasing. “You know,” you began, your tone low enough that only he could hear, “I might have something for you.”

Barty’s smirk widened as he leaned in, his hand sliding up your back to rest between your shoulder blades. His eyes searched yours, flickering with intrigue. “Oh? And what might that be?”

You let him lean in closer, his face just inches from yours now, the scent of your perfume enveloping him. He closed his eyes for the briefest moment, inhaling deeply as if trying to commit it to memory. When he opened them again, his gaze was darker, more focused, his lips quirking in an almost predatory grin.

“A reward,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear as you tilted your head slightly, letting him catch another wave of your perfume. His grip on your waist tightened instinctively, and you felt the faintest tremor run through him.

“For the win?” he asked, his voice dropping to match yours, the words laced with anticipation. His free hand slid down to rest lightly on your thigh, his fingers flexing against the fabric of your skirt.

“For the win,” you confirmed, your smile growing as you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by something softer, something more vulnerable.

“And where,” he asked, his tone still teasing but with an edge of genuine curiosity, “might I find this reward?”

You leaned in again, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “In your dorm room.”

The words hung between you like a challenge, and for a moment, the entire world seemed to hold its breath. Barty’s eyes widened just slightly, the faintest flush creeping up his neck before his smirk returned, sharper than ever.

Pandora let out a gasp from across the room, clutching at Regulus’s arm as she whispered, “Did she just say what I think she said?”

Regulus didn’t answer immediately, his silver eyes fixed on the two of you with quiet amusement. “She did,” he murmured, his lips twitching in the faintest hint of a smirk. “And I think she means it.”

Evan groaned dramatically, covering his face with his hands. “Merlin, this is unbearable. Just go already and put the rest of us out of our misery.”

You ignored them all, your attention locked on Barty as his smirk softened into something almost affectionate. “Well then,” he murmured, his voice low and warm as he tightened his grip on your waist. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

You slid off his lap with a graceful motion, your fingers trailing down his arm as you stood. Barty followed without hesitation, his movements fluid and deliberate as he kept his hand on the small of your back, guiding you toward the staircase.

Behind you, Pandora’s laughter rang out, bright and full of delight. “Oh, this is brilliant,” she exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat. “I’ve never seen anything so perfectly dramatic in my life.”

Regulus chuckled softly, shaking his head as he returned to his book. “Let them have their moment,” he said simply, his tone tinged with amusement. “It’s been a long time coming.”

As the two of you disappeared up the staircase, the sound of your friends’ laughter faded into the background, leaving only the steady rhythm of your footsteps and the quiet hum of anticipation crackling between you and Barty. 

You glanced over your shoulder, your smile softening as you caught his gaze. “You really weren’t too busy for me?” you asked, your voice quieter now, more vulnerable.

“Never,” Barty replied without hesitation, his voice steady and sincere. “Not for you.” 

And in that moment, as the door to your dorm room swung shut behind you, you realized that you didn’t need to say anything else. Because she was still down there on that couch.

~~~

The night of your graduation had felt surreal, every moment tinged with a bittersweet haze. The castle, your friends, the life you had known for so many years- it was all slipping away into the past. But there was Barty, steady and constant, as if anchoring you to the present. His presence, sharp and magnetic, was the only thing keeping the melancholy at bay.

After the celebrations, the laughter, and the endless teasing from Pandora and Evan, Barty had pulled you aside. His hand, warm and firm, clasped yours as he whispered in your ear, “Come with me.”

The suggestion, laced with something that felt more like a command than a request, sent a thrill down your spine. 

The night air was crisp as Barty guided you along the dimly lit path, his grip firm but gentle. You had no idea where he was taking you, but his silence spoke volumes. There was a nervous energy to him, the kind of tension he couldn’t quite hide. It wasn’t often that Barty Crouch Jr. seemed unsure of himself, but tonight, there was a vulnerability in his every step.

When you arrived, you couldn’t help but blink in surprise. The small estate before you was a far cry from the grand manors both of you had grown up in. The house was simple, modest, with ivy creeping up the stone walls and a soft glow emanating from the windows. It looked warm, inviting, but entirely unlike the opulence you had expected.

“Barty…” you began, but he shook his head, pulling you toward the door.

“Just… let me show you,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. There was an edge of uncertainty to it, as though he wasn’t sure how you’d react.

He pushed open the door, revealing a small living room. The space was cozy, with a low ceiling and a worn but comfortable-looking sofa. A fireplace crackled softly in the corner, casting flickering shadows across the room. The furniture was simple, not at all like the ornate pieces that filled your childhood home, but it felt… lived-in. Real.

Barty glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, watching your reaction carefully. “It’s not much,” he admitted, his voice tinged with hesitation. “But I wanted it to feel like… like a home.”

You didn’t say anything at first, letting him guide you through the space. The kitchen was small, the kind of place where two people might bump elbows while cooking. The floors creaked softly under your feet, and the scent of wood smoke lingered in the air.

“It’s cozy,” you said finally, your voice soft. And you meant it. There was something about the simplicity of it all that felt refreshing, grounding. It wasn’t about grand gestures or flaunted wealth- it was real.

Barty seemed to relax slightly at your words, his shoulders dropping as he led you down a narrow hallway. “It’s nothing like what we’re used to,” he said, glancing at you again. “But I didn’t want this to be about… them.” He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I bought this place with my own money. Not my father’s.”

That caught you off guard, and you turned to look at him fully. His expression was unreadable, but his hands fidgeted slightly at his sides- a rare sign of nerves. “Barty…” you started, but he cut you off.

“I wanted to give you something that was ours,” he said, his voice firmer now. “Something that wasn’t tied to the Crouch name or anything else. Just… us.”

Before you could respond, he opened the final door at the end of the hall, revealing a bedroom that stood in stark contrast to the rest of the house. The room was larger than you expected, with high ceilings and a grand four-poster bed draped in rich white and cream fabrics. The walls were lined with shelves, some filled with books, others empty, waiting to be filled. A plush rug covered the wooden floor, and the faint scent of fresh paint lingered in the air.

“This is the only room that’s finished,” Barty admitted, his voice softer now. “I spent most of my time on it because… well, I wanted you to have a space that felt special. Somewhere you could feel like you belonged.”

You stepped inside, running your fingers over the edge of the bedframe. The room was beautiful, but it was the thought behind it that left you speechless. Barty had always been brash, confident to the point of arrogance, but this… this was different. This was him laying his heart bare.

“Why?” you asked finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why do all of this for me?”

He stepped closer, his hands finding yours as he looked down at you. “Because you’re everything to me,” he said simply, his voice steady and sincere. “And I wanted you to have a place where you could feel that. Where you could see how much you mean to me.”

Your chest tightened at his words, a warmth spreading through you that you couldn’t quite describe. You glanced around the room again, taking in the details- the care he had put into every corner, every choice. It was all for you.

“It’s perfect,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. “Barty… it’s perfect.”

Barty stood there, watching your expression with a vulnerability he rarely allowed anyone to see. His hands, normally so assured, fidgeted slightly at his sides before he clenched them into fists, as if trying to ground himself. The sight of you standing in the room he’d poured his heart into was almost too much to bear. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his chest, a steady, insistent rhythm that only grew louder as the silence stretched between you.

You turned back to him, your eyes soft, full of emotions you hadn’t yet put into words. “Barty,” you murmured, stepping closer. “Why are you so nervous? This is… it’s beautiful.”

He let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair in a rare display of uncertainty. “It’s not just the house,” he said, his voice low. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sank in. Barty had always been intense, magnetic, impossible to ignore, but this… this was different. There was a raw honesty in his gaze, a kind of vulnerability you weren’t used to seeing from him.

He took a step closer, his hands finding yours as he held them between you, his grip firm yet careful. “I’ve been trying to say this for years,” he admitted, his voice trembling slightly despite his best efforts to stay calm. “But every time, I stopped myself. I thought- maybe you’d laugh, or maybe you wouldn’t take me seriously.”

“Barty,” you began softly, but he shook his head, his grip tightening ever so slightly as if afraid you’d slip away.

“No, let me finish,” he said, his voice firmer now, though still tinged with that same vulnerability. “From the moment I met you, you’ve been it for me. The only person who’s ever made me feel like there’s something worth fighting for, something worth… building a life for.”

Your chest tightened at his words, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you stared up at him, your heart pounding in your ears. He stepped closer still, his hands releasing yours only to cup your face, his thumbs brushing softly over your cheeks.

“This house,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s not just for me. It’s for us. Because I want you to have a place that’s ours. A place where you can feel safe, loved, cherished. A place where you know, without a doubt, that you mean everything to me.”

Tears spilled over now, and you couldn’t stop them, even if you wanted to. His words, his actions, the sheer intensity of his gaze- it was all too much, too overwhelming in the best possible way.

“Barty,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I-”

“Marry me,” he said suddenly, the words escaping him in a rush before he could stop them. He froze for a moment, his eyes widening slightly as if realizing what he’d just said. But then he doubled down, his grip on your face firm but gentle as he continued, his voice steady despite the emotion threatening to break through. “I don’t want to wait anymore. I don’t want to waste another second pretending I can be without you.”

Your breath hitched, your heart racing as you searched his eyes, desperate to find some hint of hesitation, some sign that this wasn’t real. But there was nothing- only pure, unyielding devotion staring back at you.

“Marry me,” he repeated, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Be mine. Always.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. The air between you crackled with unspoken emotion, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the space you shared. And then, finally, you nodded, a watery laugh escaping you as you threw your arms around him.

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice breaking as tears streamed down your face. “Yes, Barty. Always.”

His arms wrapped around you instantly, pulling you close as he buried his face in your hair. You could feel the tension leaving his body, replaced by a warmth that seemed to envelop you both, grounding you in a moment you knew you’d remember forever.

Barty's arms tightened around you, pulling you so close you could feel every beat of his racing heart. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply as though committing every part of you to memory. For a moment, the world around you seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you standing in the center of a life he'd carefully crafted for this exact moment.

When he pulled back, his hands didn’t leave you. They slid down, trailing over your arms and settling firmly on your waist. His touch lingered, warm and deliberate, and his thumbs brushed over the fabric of your dress in slow, deliberate circles. His gaze locked onto yours, intense and unwavering, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Say it again,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, like he was trying to ground himself in your words.

You blinked, still caught in the whirlwind of his confession, your lips trembling as you whispered, “Yes, Barty. Always.”

A quiet, almost desperate sound escaped him- a mixture of relief and something deeper, something darker. His hands moved again, sliding up your sides and coming to rest just below your ribs. His touch was firm but not forceful, grounding you as his head dipped closer to yours.

The first kiss was tentative, almost shy, his lips brushing against yours with a softness that belied the intensity simmering beneath the surface. It was slow, unhurried, as though he was savoring every second. But then he sighed against your mouth, a deep, shaky sound that seemed to break the fragile barrier between you.

Barty’s hands tightened on your waist as the kiss deepened, becoming more consuming, more insistent. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak, and his fingers gripped you like he was afraid to let go. He muttered something against your lips- soft, almost inaudible- but you caught the words anyway.

“Mine.”

The word sent a spark through you, igniting something you hadn’t realized was waiting just below the surface. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips firmly as he pulled you closer, eliminating any remaining space between you. His lips left yours, trailing a heated path along your jaw and down your neck, and he whispered again, his voice rough and breathless.

“My girl.”

You gasped, your hands finding their way to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as he continued his assault on your senses. His lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped you.

“Say it,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding. His hands roamed over your sides, one sliding up to cup the back of your neck while the other pressed firmly against the small of your back, keeping you anchored to him. “Say you’re mine.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as his lips returned to yours, claiming them with a renewed intensity. The hand on your neck tilted your head back slightly, giving him better access as he kissed you with a fervor that bordered on desperate. Every touch, every kiss, was a silent declaration, a promise etched into your skin.

“Barty,” you breathed against his lips, your voice trembling but certain. “I’m yours.”

A growl rumbled in his chest, and his hands tightened their hold on you, pulling you even closer. “My fiancée,” he muttered, the words almost a growl as they left his lips. “You’re my fiancée now.”

You could barely think, barely breathe as his words washed over you, each one sinking into your skin and branding itself into your very being. His kisses turned more fervent, more insistent, and his hands roamed your body with a possessiveness that left no doubt in your mind: you were his, completely and utterly.

The atmosphere in the bedroom shifted, the air thick with tension as Barty backed you toward the bed. You stumbled slightly, caught off guard by the suddenness of his movements, but his hands were there to steady you- firm, commanding, and undeniably possessive. Before you could say a word, he pressed his body to yours, his touch leaving a trail of heat wherever his hands grazed. 

“Barty-” but the words barely left your lips before he lowered his head, capturing your mouth with a kiss that stole the air from your lungs. It was rougher this time, more insistent, as if he was claiming you with every movement. His hands slid down your sides, warm and steady, guiding you as he nudged you back onto the bed.

You let out a soft gasp as your back hit the mattress, but there was no time to process it before Barty climbed on top of you, settling himself firmly between your thighs. The weight of him against you was grounding, his presence overwhelming in the best way. His hand splayed across your side, his thumb brushing the curve of your hip in slow, deliberate circles that sent shivers coursing through your body.

He kissed you again, harder this time, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that left you breathless. His free hand slid up your body, his fingers trailing along the line of your ribs before settling just beneath your jaw. He tilted your head slightly, deepening the kiss as his thumb brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck.

Your heart was racing now, thundering in your chest as his hand pressed more firmly against your throat. It wasn’t enough to hurt- never that- but just enough to make you hyper-aware of every beat of your pulse, every shallow breath that passed your lips. The sensation sent a dizzying rush through your veins, leaving you lightheaded and craving more.

“Look at me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough. When you hesitated, your gaze flickering away, he pressed his nose to your cheek, letting out a sound that was nothing short of devastated. It was a quiet, broken noise, like it physically hurt him that you weren’t looking at him.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice softer now, tinged with something vulnerable. “Don’t look away.”

Your breath hitched as his thumb brushed over your pulse point, his touch firm but careful. The weight of his gaze was almost too much, too intense, but you forced yourself to meet his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, the dark orbs filled with an unspoken need that made your chest ache.

“There you are,” he said softly, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss. His hand tightened slightly on your neck, just enough to make your head swim, and you felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a smirk. “That’s my girl.”

Your cheeks flushed, the words sinking into your skin like a brand. His hand on your side slid lower, his fingers grazing the edge of your skirt as he pressed his body more firmly against yours. The heat of him was intoxicating, his presence all-consuming, and you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped you as his lips found your neck.

“Barty,” you gasped, your voice trembling as he nipped at the sensitive skin just below your ear. His teeth grazed your pulse point, and you felt his smirk against your skin as his tongue soothed the sting.

“I can feel your heart racing,” he murmured, his voice low and full of satisfaction. His hand on your neck flexed slightly, the pressure just enough to send a wave of dizziness through you. “It’s like it’s beating just for me.”

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, desperate for something to ground yourself as his kisses trailed down your throat. Every touch, every movement, was deliberate, calculated to drive you to the brink. And yet, despite the overwhelming intensity of it all, there was a tenderness to him- a care that shone through even in his most possessive moments.

He pulled back just enough to look at you again, his gaze heavy with unspoken emotion. His hand slid up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he searched your face. “Tell me who you belong to,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Say it clearly.”

You swallowed hard, your lips parting as you tried to steady your breath. “B-Barty,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure. “You.”

A low growl rumbled in his chest, and his grip on you tightened, his lips crashing against yours once more. This kiss was different- hungrier, more desperate, like he was trying to pour every ounce of his devotion into it. Merlin, it almost hurt. His hands roamed your body, one sliding down to grip your thigh as he pressed himself closer.

Barty’s voice dropped to a hushed whisper as his fingers pressed into your thigh, his grip firm and unyielding. “No one else,” he murmured, his tone low and reverent, like a vow. “No one else will ever leave a mark on you. Only me. Only my hands.”

Your breath hitched as his words settled over you, each syllable searing into your skin. His eyes burned with something primal, his usual mischievous smirk replaced by a solemn intensity that made your pulse race. He wasn’t teasing anymore- this was raw, unfiltered, and entirely Barty.

His hand slid higher, pushing the hem of your skirt up with deliberate slowness. The cool air brushed against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his touch. His thumb pressed lightly into your thigh, and you couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped your lips. The sound made his smirk return, sharp and predatory.

“You feel that?” He murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as his hand traced a path upward. “That’s me. Just me. No one else gets to touch you like this.”

Your grip on his shoulders tightened,  your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as he shifted closer, his body pressing against yours. His other hand cradled your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone as his gaze locked onto yours. There was no escaping it, no looking away from the sheer possessiveness in his expression.

“You're so cute.” He chuckled, but his voice was firmer now, the words carrying a weight that left no room for argument. “So bloody trusting.”

“Not scared,” you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute. The admission felt like both a surrender and a victory, and the way his eyes darkened made your chest tighten. “It's you.”

Barty let out a soft, almost triumphant laugh, his hand tightening on your thigh just enough to make you gasp. “Good girl,” he murmured, this time, it was his teeth that trailed down your neck. Before giving you a rather punishing bite. Your skin burned, tinted, but he still didn't let up. 

You gasped when he only bit down harder. Your legs flinching against him, only one able to raise as the other was kept down by his harsh grip. You were sure the spot was bruised.

It drove him mad.

You never voice protest against his abuse.

He cooed at you, like a dog for good behavior, before he finally let up. He kissed your soft skin as a feeble apology. His kisses turned rougher, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. You felt the faint sting of his touch, a possessive claim that made your heart race. “No one else,” he muttered against your skin, his voice almost a growl. “No one else will ever get this close to you. Not while I’m breathing.”

The intensity of his words, his touch, his presence- it was overwhelming, consuming, and yet you didn’t want it to stop. Barty had always been a force of nature, wild and untamed, but in this moment, he was entirely focused on you.

“Barty,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper as his hand slipped higher, his touch igniting every nerve in your body. “Please…”

He paused for a moment, his lips hovering over yours as he searched your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek, his touch softer now, almost hesitant. “Please what?” he asked, his voice low and filled with unspoken promise. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

You swallowed hard, your cheeks flushed as you met his gaze. The weight of his attention, the sheer intensity in his eyes, made it impossible to think straight. “I want…” Your words faltered, and he tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he waited.

“Say it,” he urged, his voice like a caress. His hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he leaned closer. “I need to hear you say it.”

You took a shaky breath, your fingers curling into his shirt as you whispered, “I want you.”

Barty’s smirk softened, his expression melting into something almost tender. “That’s all I needed to hear,” he murmured, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that left you breathless.

You could hardly register what happened next. How his hand slid down your throat, slow and careful. The soft sound of his buckle latch clicking against the floor. 

When he broke the kiss you were too far gone to say another word to him. A small trail of saliva connecting you two- leaving Barty awestruck at the proof of your mindless obedience. 

Barty was an open book, a bold soul unafraid to color outside the lines. He moved through life with a carefree swagger, unfazed by the whispers and judgments that trailed behind him like shadows. To him, rules were merely suggestions meant to be tested, and upsetting the teachers was often his unspoken goal. If his antics stirred irritation in his father, well, that was just a cherry on top of his rebellious sundae.

However, amid this façade of bravado, there was one secret he carefully guarded—you. 

You were the lone Gryffindor he could tolerate, his beacon of warmth in a sea of red and gold. In crowded hallways filled with laughing friends and bustling students, you were the only touch of scarlet he actively searched for, the only girl whose presence stirred something deeper within him. The fact that you bore the prestigious surname of Potter only complicated matters further. You had a brother protective enough to fight off any adversary for your sake, not to mention his loyal friends who would stand beside him in a heartbeat.

Barty was no coward; in fact, he was anything but. If he could, he would stride confidently through the ancient corridors of Hogwarts, your hand intertwined with his, reveling in the sense of empowerment your companionship bestowed upon him. 

But you were different; despite your Gryffindor blood, you preferred the quiet embrace of your shared feelings. The secret love that bloomed behind closed doors was a treasure you cherished, a delicate flower that thrived only in private glances and fleeting smiles. The thought of it being laid bare to the world terrified you. Everyone would know the notorious James Potter's little sister had fallen for a Slytherin, and the weight of that revelation was heavier than you could bear.

James thrived on attention; it was his lifeblood. Like a vibrant flower basking in sunlight, he reveled in the spotlight, relishing the applause and the thrill of his pranks. His outrageous flirting with Lily was like a dance, captivating all eyes in the room.

But you were not like James. You were more of an enigma—different, undefined. The thought of being under the same spotlight he basked in felt suffocating to you. You feared that with even a fraction of that attention, you would wither away, losing the essence of who you were.

It was a daily struggle for Barty to harbor this secret. Every step he took echoed with the knowledge that you were his, even if the world remained oblivious. It drove him to a simmering fury whenever he spotted others flirting with you, a rage that welled up within him but remained locked away, unexpressed and contained. His heart grappled with the bitter frustration of loving you in silence, knowing that the truth, if revealed, could unravel both your worlds.

It was a moment born of tension and unspoken words, set against the backdrop of an abandoned classroom where dust motes danced lazily in the shafts of light streaming through the cracked windows. Barty had you pinned against the cool, peeling wall, his hands gripping your hips with a possessive urgency that stole your breath away. His lips found yours, weaving a tapestry of heat and affection that left you exhilarated yet slightly bewildered.

You had merely been strolling down the corridor, laughter trailing behind you like a forgotten melody, when Barty swooped in out of nowhere, whisking you away from your friends, locking you into this intimate bubble of desire. Time felt irrelevant as his mouth devoured yours, each kiss igniting a wildfire of emotions that sent sparks racing down your spine. But as exhilaration surged through you, reality began to encroach; Potions class loomed just around the corner, and if you were late again, detention would inevitably follow—a fate you had no desire to share with James.

“Barty! Merlin, what’s gotten into you?” you managed to exclaim, breaking away for just a moment to catch your breath. The intensity in his dark eyes remained unyielding as he didn’t respond but instead trailed soft, fervent kisses down to your neck, teasing the delicate skin along your collarbone. A part of you reveled in the sensation, heart racing with exhilaration, but another part knew you had to prioritize your responsibilities.

Again, you found your voice. “Barty, I mean it! What are you doing this for?” Your question hung in the air, heavy with curiosity. Finally, he paused, lifting his head to meet your gaze, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“What? I can’t simply enjoy a moment with my girl?” he teased, his voice laced with mischief. You huffed, crossing your arms defiantly, which made his smirk falter, if only for a second. 

“Look, Precious,” he said, his tone shifting to something softer, more sincere. “I know this is out of the blue, but I can’t help but touch you after watching how that prat Gildory had his hands all over you.”

Confusion knitted your brow as you let your arms fall to your sides, a silent invitation that Barty seized without hesitation. He wrapped his arms around your waist, the embrace markedly gentler this time, resting his chin atop your shoulder. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, grounding you in this chaotic moment. “Gildory was being a nuisance, but he backed off once I told him to stop. He doesn’t get to have me like this, love; that’s your privilege,” you murmured into his ear, your breath warm against his skin, igniting a flutter of emotions in his chest.

Barty’s face lights up with a genuine smile, a rarity that replaces the confident smirk he usually wears. His voice drops to a soft whisper, filled with a mix of longing and sincerity. “I know,” he murmurs. “But it’s not the same.”

With a slight frown creasing on your forehead, you inquire, “What’s not the same?” 

He tilts his head, pressing a tender kiss against your neck, lingering there momentarily before pulling back. His gesture is both affectionate and pained as he gestures towards the closed door, a barrier that keeps the bustling crowds outside—from your fellow classmates rushing to their next classes—hidden from sight. “Being able to touch you out there,” he confesses, vulnerability tracing his words. “I think if I were able to touch you in public, I’d never let you go.”

You feel warmth spreading through your chest as you bite your lip, grappling with the tumult of emotions swirling within. You lean down to kiss the top of his tousled hair, feeling the softness beneath your lips. “I know this is a hard secret for you to keep,” you reply softly, “but it means so much to me that you’re trying. I know it isn’t fair, and I understand, but I’m not ready for everyone to know about us just yet.” 

He exhales a heavy sigh, but an understanding glint sparkles in his eyes as he nods. When he gently pulls away, you instinctively tighten your arms around his waist, determined to keep him close. “Let’s just stay like this for a few minutes, please?” you whisper, your eyes pleading, and he’s powerless to resist you.

Yet, he can’t resist a playful tease. “Ugh, you clingy little thing. I mean, I know I’m awesome, but surely I can’t be this awesome. Honestly, there has to be something seriously wrong with you to want to—”

You interrupt him with a soft kiss, feeling the warmth of his smile against your lips. “Stop spouting your nonsense and let me have this moment, won’t you?” you request, pulling back just enough for him to see the sincerity in your eyes. As he opens his mouth to retort, you silence him again with another kiss.

This time, he abandons his playful banter and pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you with an iron grip. Your head is wedged snugly between his sturdy arm and the comforting expanse of his chest, and although it’s a bit squished, you wouldn’t trade this moment for anything. “What about Potions class?” he whispers into your hair, a hint of concern lacing his tone.