but one time he got distracted and ran away with barty’s hundred years old family heirloom on his finger

— NAME, GIVE ME THE DAMN NAME!

Regulus, Holding up a knife: What is this?

Barty: a people opener?

Regulus, livid: ITS A KNIFE! A KNIFE! That’s what your psycho boyfriend called it too. You two deserve each other

Prefect’s bathroom. Door locked. Steam clinging to the mirrors. Barty pacing.

Evan sat on the marble ledge by the sinks, sleeves rolled, expression unreadable as ever.

“You told Slughorn I cheated,” Barty said, voice pitched somewhere between a laugh and a snarl. “In front of the entire bloody class.”

“I told him the truth,” Evan said. “You copied half your potion from Mulciber.”

“You could’ve told me, privately.”

“You don’t listen privately,” Evan replied, inspecting his nails. “You just flirt, deflect, and make some dumb joke until someone else fixes it.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry I’m not a fucking corpse in cufflinks like you.”

Evan’s gaze snapped to his, sharp and sudden. “Don’t mistake control for absence, Barty. Just because I don’t perform everything I feel doesn’t mean I’m empty.”

“You sure?” Barty stepped closer, grinning like a threat. “Because all I ever get is blank stares and the occasional life-ruining insult.”

“Life-ruining?” Evan tilted his head. “That’s generous. You bounce back quickly. Like a rat. Or a venereal curse.”

Barty barked a laugh, short and wild. “There it is. Knew you had something nasty tucked under that polished little tongue.”

Evan stood, slow and deliberate. “If you’re waiting for an apology, you’re going to be here a while.”

“I’m not,” Barty said. “I’m waiting for you to admit you do this on purpose.”

“Do what?”

“Push me. Ruin me. Make me want you so badly I stop thinking straight.”

Evan blinked, unbothered. “If that’s all it takes, maybe you were never thinking straight to begin with.”

And Barty snapped.

He grabbed Evan’s robes, shoved him against the mirror hard enough to rattle it, and kissed him like a threat—furious, desperate, almost clumsy with how badly he needed it.

Evan didn’t flinch.

He kissed back with slow, devastating precision, hands slipping under Barty’s shirt like he was dissecting him. Every move deliberate. Controlled. Infuriating.

Barty growled against his mouth. “Stop being so fucking calm.”

“Stop being so predictable,” Evan murmured back, lips brushing his.

Barty pulled away, panting, eyes wild. “You drive me insane.”

this happens after he was ushered to the hospital wing after someone reported possible abuse, and had to spend the next month reassuring everyone that was not the case. “oh shut the fuck up and mind your own business,” he’d snap, every time one of the friends not so subtly tried to talk about his bruised wrists or marks on his neck.