#rosekiller microfics

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His whole life, Barty had been told he was loud, obnoxious, annoying, too much. He always laughed it off, you know, pretended it didn’t affect him. But it did, of course it did. Why did he have to be too much for everyone? If he could change it, he would, but it was just natural.

Sometimes he tried to just sit still and be quiet by himself, but it didn’t last long. He couldn’t sit still for long, he got twitchy. He couldn’t stay quiet for long, he got restless. He hated it.

Today, he and Evan were just sitting in the Slytherin common room, lounging on a couch. Barty was rambling on about who knows what, his hands moving with his words as if it made the story more real. He glanced over at Evan and he saw the other was just zoned out, not really paying attention. The grin sort of faded from his face and he shut up, staring at his hands and twisting his rings around. 

Evan looked up. “What’s wrong? You stopped talking.”

“I was being annoying, wasn’t I? Talking too much.” He muttered. “Sorry.”

Evan rolled his eyes, reaching up and flicking Barty on the forehead. “You weren’t being annoying. I like the background noise, it’s grounding. I might not be fully listening but it’s nice to have something going on while i’m in my own world.”

Barty seemed surprised, he blinked and stared at Evan for a moment, feeling his cheeks heat up a bit. “Really? I’m not, like, too much or whatever?”

“Nah,” Evan said, shaking his head. “You can keep talking, I don’t care.” He stretched out his legs to cross over Barty’s, raising an eyebrow. “You good?”

“Mr Rosier! Mr Rosier!!”

“Evan I love you!”

“Mr Rosier look to your left,”

Drowning out their incessant screaming, Evan uncrossed his arms and placed them on his waist instead. It was delicately cinched in, courtesy of Dorcas’ corset. She seemed hellbent in making sure he was never seen “in a bland-ass tuxedo” and with her fashion sense he had quickly become an icon. 

“Mr Rosier, what's your opinion on Mrs Malfoy's new charity?”

“Are you gay?”

“Marry me Evan!”

He tried not to scowl, he really did.

“Mr Rosier, what do you think about Barty Crouch Junior's new relationship?”

Well now. There was a question that was interesting enough to grace with an answer. Leaning towards the microphones brandished at him, he flashed a small smirk. He heard someone wolf-whistle.

“Crouch's new relationship?”

The reporter looked as if he were about to pass away.

“Um, yeah. He was seen hugging Regulus yesterday.”

“Hugging?” He raised an eyebrow, “How scandalous,”

And then he reached up to brush the invisible lint of his shirt, tilting his head ever so slightly. His collar slipped.

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“Holy fuck, are you trying to burn down the place?” Evan coughed, his eyes watering from the smoke that was currently spilling out of the oven.

“I was just trying to be sweet and make breakfast for my beautiful-“ Barty couldn’t even finish his sentence as he was interrupted by coughs. 

The smoke detectors were going off, wild, high pitched beeping sounding throughout the house. Evan opened all the windows, trying to fan out the smoke. 

“Bee, I love you, you know that. But you cannot cook for shit.” 

“It’s the thought that counts?” Barty tried, fanning at the smoke detectors with a towel, shooting Evan an apologetic grin over his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. But maybe next time think about not burning our house down? Especially not while we are both still inside it?”

Barty wouldn’t be caught dead in a suit. But Regulus threatened to kill him if he didn’t look presentable at his wedding so he was actually caught alive in a suit much to his humiliation. He’d do anything for Reg, and he was using that to his advantage, the manipulative bitch. James Potter had agreed to a small gathering of everyone they knew which meant just under 500 people but hey, who was Barty to judge? If Barty ever got married he would have the most overly extravagant wedding just because he could. But he wasn’t about to get married anytime soon.

“Merlin Bee you’re in a suit! That’s a day for the history books!”

Oh. Oh wow. Maybe Barty would get married. Evan had his locs tied back with a silver ribbon and little silver rings were studded through his hair. And his suit sharpened his shoulders and his waist, and Barty’s gaze.

“Look at you Rosie all dressed up,”

“You absolutely slut, Crouch!”

She leaned forwards and punched him so hard Evan could almost feel it too.

Barty gave a dramatic gasp and clutched his hand to his chest, before letting out a laugh infused “why thank you,”

The girl looked ready to breathe smoke.

“I hope you die!” She spat, before storming off, yanking her bag so that she didn’t straight up murder him.

“Kinky,” he muttered.

Evan snorted. It was easier to laugh at his numerous exes and ignore the gradual hollowing of his hopes. The way his eyes burned when another person was making out with him against a wall, another person sitting on his lap. They never lasted more than a week, and always ended in tears, but they slowly drove Evan insane.

“You’re sick in the head, Bartemius,”

“You’re wasting your talent, Mr. Crouch,”

“You’re cruel, Junior,”

“You’re fucking twisted, Crouch,”

He knows. He knows he’s strange and creepy and psychotic. He knows he’s a bad student and a worse son. Even if people didn’t tell him, he would know, because he’s good at reading between the worry lines and the side glances and the pursed lips. There were days when they’d cut right to his heart and he’d cry into his hands. But it didn’t matter, not anymore.

Him and Regulus were sick in the head together, cigarette smoking suicidals who wanted to kill their dads, and would have fun doing so.

Him and Pandora could use their talent elsewhere, like making the Gryffindors grow horns and controlling the moving staircases.

Him and Dorcas were cruel to students and judgy and bitchy and made people cry. They ganged up and yanked people off their high horses.

Barty would’ve sold a kidney for tickets, or maybe killed someone, but luckily being the son of a politician meant having connections. And so by some stroke of luck, a friend of a friend of his father’s had taken him and Regulus to the Rosier’s concert. He couldn’t really believe it.

Even though it was two hours later, and they were finally playing the last song, he couldn’t truly believe that Evan fucking Rosier was less than a few metres away from where they were standing.

And then he turned, his hair fuzzy from the static and eyeliner melting down his face, and pointed at Barty. He was so close he could see the green gems in his rings, the glint of his silver snake bites. Evan grinned, and Barty knew there were a hundred people behind him, but it felt personal. It felt like Evan had saved that look just for him. And then. And then.

Barty didn’t have a lot of people he wanted to kill.

Top of the list was probably his dad, and then Regulus’ parents, and then Evan’s parents and then-

Okay. Maybe he did have a lot of people he wanted to kill. But definitely top of that list somewhere was Florean Fortescue.

He had the audacity to get along with Evan like that. The whole point of being paired up for potions was so that you could complain about it afterwards, not actually make friends with them. He shot Emmeline Vance the dirtiest look he could manage, and she looked equally as disgusted to be working with him. See? It wasn’t that hard to hate a Hufflepuff. So why was Evan laughing like that at fucking Florean? It was his genuine golden smile, head dipped forwards and eyes squinting shut.

“10 points to both of you! Well done boys your potion is looking fantastic,” Slughorn did his stupid doting smile, and clasped his hands together. Grinding his teeth, Barty stabbed his mortar harder into the bezoar. Emmeline looked like she was going to take off his head with her scalpel.

He ignored her and gave a cold glare to the back of Fortescue's head.