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The seventh-year corridor was quiet—too quiet for Hogwarts, too quiet for Evan to think straight. He wasn’t looking for Barty. He wasn’t. He just happened to take the long way back from the library, just happened to stop near the Slytherin common room. Just happened to see a thin trail of smoke curling in the torchlight like sin made visible.
Barty was there, naturally, like a fucking parasite clinging to the stone wall, arms crossed, lips parted. He was shirtless—well, not really, but whatever he was wearing barely counted. A scrap of black fabric clung to his chest and stopped just above his navel, his belt hanging loose, jeans riding low on his hips like he wanted Evan to look. The glint of his rings caught the flickering light—five of them, all different, none of them subtle.
Evan stopped walking. “You stalking me now?”
Barty smirked. “You’re predictable, Rosier.”
“I’ve got a boyfriend.”
“And I’ve got no shame.”
“You’ve got no dignity, either.”
“I had dignity, until you fucked it out of me behind the Transfiguration classroom last year.”
“Jesus Christ,” Evan muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re such a goddamn mess.”
Barty stepped forward, slow and lazy, hips swinging like he knew Evan was watching. “You like messes.”
“I used to.”
“You still do,” Barty said, practically purring. “You like the way I taste, the way I bite, the way I scream when you’re inside me.”
Evan flinched. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Why?” Barty asked, wide-eyed and sweet like poison. “Scared you’ll get hard just remembering how I begged you to ruin me last time?”
Evan shoved him. Hard. “I said shut it.”
But Barty didn’t move far. He just let the push roll off him, still smirking, eyes burning. “Touchy. Problems in paradise? Is blondie not fucking you right? Or are you just too busy pretending you’re not a cheating piece of shit?”
“I’m not gonna cheat on my boyfriend with you tonight,” Evan snapped, biting off the words like they tasted rotten.
Barty tilted his head. “That’s fine. Which night, then?”
Evan wanted to punch him. Or kiss him. Or fuck him until he forgot how to speak. He hated this. He hated him. This little snake wrapped around his ribcage, his venom always just under Evan’s skin.
“You’re toxic.”
“I’m yours.”
“You’re not mine,” Evan growled, walking away.
Barty followed. Of course he did. Like a damn shadow with better cheekbones. “I am,” he said, low and smug. “You made me this way.”
Evan stopped in his tracks. “Don’t fucking play victim.”
“Oh, I’m not. I love being your little disaster.”
Evan spun, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, dragging him into the alcove just behind the tapestry like they were seventeen again and sneaking around like idiots.
“You know what your fucking problem is?” he hissed, voice low and dangerous. “You walk around this place with your tight little tops and that mouth that never knows when to shut up, and you act so fucking surprised when people wanna bend you over the nearest table.”
Barty’s breath hitched, but his grin didn’t falter. “I don’t act surprised.”
“You’re a fucking slut, Barty.”
“Yours.”
“No,” Evan said, even as he shoved him against the wall, lips just shy of his throat. “Not anymore.”
“You say that every time,” Barty whispered, arching against him. “And every time, you still end up between my legs.”
“I hate you,” Evan snarled.
“You love my waist.”
“I hate your waist.”
“You talk about it constantly.”
“It’s fucking obscene,” Evan snapped, hand dragging down the tight slope of Barty’s side. “Like you were made to drive me insane. You’ve got this goddamn whore waist and that stupid pretty little mouth, and you walk around this castle like a walking invitation.”
“I am an invitation,” Barty gasped, when Evan bit his neck. “You’ve just got exclusive access.”
Evan’s hand gripped his hip, dragging their bodies flush. “You know how many people have seen you in this fucking top?”
“None of them fucked me like you do.”
Evan kissed him—filthy, brutal, teeth and tongue, like he was trying to choke the smugness out of Barty’s throat. Barty moaned, arms locked around his neck, grinding against him like a goddamn curse.
“You wear this shirt to tempt me.”
“Obviously.”
“You wear those rings so I remember how they feel wrapped around my cock.”
“Yes, sir.”
Evan growled. “You’re such a fucking whore.”
“Your whore.”
“You’re not mine,” Evan lied.
They stumbled back into the Slytherin common room at half past midnight, lips swollen, hair wrecked, breathless and panting like they’d run a war.
Evan pushed Barty down on the couch, climbing over him, caging him in. “Tell me to stop.”
Barty just laughed. “I’d rather choke on your dick.”
“You’re such a fucking slut, Barty.”
“And you’re still in love with me.”
Evan kissed him again to shut him up. He tasted like smoke and sin and every bad decision Evan had ever made.
He was never going to get out of this.
He didn’t even want to.
----
The Slytherin common room was empty except for them—stone cold, dimly lit, but it didn’t matter. Evan had Barty pinned to the couch like a fucking vice, one hand wrapped tight in that black-green hair, the other dragging slow and punishing down Barty’s ribs. Rings and all.
“Fucking look at you,” Evan growled, breath hot against his cheek. “You wanted this.”
Barty gasped out a laugh, eyes wild and bright with wicked delight. “Obviously, Rosie. Been waiting weeks for you to snap.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“What?” he panted, smirking even as Evan yanked his shirt up roughly. “Rosie? You love it. Makes you feel soft when you’re splitting me open.”
Evan shoved him flat onto the cushions, straddling his hips. “Shut the fuck up, B.”
Barty licked his lips, defiant. “Make me.”
So Evan did. He kissed him like he was trying to bruise his lungs, one hand wrapped around Barty’s throat, not squeezing—just resting. A reminder. A threat. Barty melted into it, grinding up against him like he didn’t care about anything but this heat, this spiral, this chaos they couldn’t get out of.
The kisses turned frantic. Hot, open-mouthed, filthy. Barty bit at Evan’s lip until he tasted blood, nails clawing at Evan’s back through his shirt, dragging him closer like he could drag him inside out.
“God, you’re such a fucking problem,” Evan hissed, mouth trailing down Barty’s neck. “You and that pretty fucking waist—what the hell do you think you’re doing, walking around like this?”
“Being your problem,” Barty moaned, arching up. “You like it. You wanna ruin me, don’t you?”
“I already have,” Evan growled, grinding down against him. “But I’ll keep doing it until you forget how to walk.”
Barty giggled—fucking giggled—and dragged Evan’s mouth back to his, kissing him so deep it felt like drowning in fire.
And then—
The portrait door creaked open.
A voice—sharp, stunned, cold with betrayal.
“Evan?!”
They froze. Evan’s stomach dropped like stone.
Fuck. Fuck.
He turned, slow, like a guilty goddamn ghost.
His boyfriend—Caleb, wide-eyed and pale as parchment, stared at the scene: Evan half on top of Barty, shirt half-off, face flushed, lips swollen. Barty's crop top pushed up under his armpits, belt undone, legs spread like a full-color magazine ad for "I’ve Been A Bad Boy."
“Caleb—”
“You piece of shit,” Caleb snapped, furious. “You said you were going to bed. You said you were working on your essay.”
“I—I wasn’t—It wasn’t supposed to—”
Caleb’s voice cracked. “You’re fucking him? That smug little cockroach?”
Barty grinned lazily. “Hi, baby. You jealous?”
“Shut up,” Evan barked, shoving Barty back. “Shut the fuck up, B—”
“Oh,” Caleb scoffed. “You’re calling him B now? Cute.”
Evan stood quickly, heart racing, guilt sinking in like rot. “Caleb, wait—this isn’t—”
“Don’t fucking follow me,” Caleb snapped, backing away. “You’ve ruined this.”
Evan’s throat caught. His voice cracked.
“Barty—”
And Caleb’s face crumbled. One second. One awful second.
Then he laughed—sharp, cruel, cold—and flipped Evan off. “Go fuck yourself, Evan.”
He slammed the portrait shut.
Silence.
Then—
Barty let out a slow, satisfied exhale and sat up. Shirt still rumpled, hair a mess. “Rosie, Rosie,” he sang mockingly. “You said my name.”
Evan turned, eyes flashing. “Shut the fuck up.”
“You said my name, not his. That poor bastard must feel like the second choice he’s always been.”
“Don’t push me.”
“Push you?” Barty stood, sauntered forward, pressing up against him like he didn’t just help destroy Evan’s relationship. “You’re already over the fucking edge.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t,” Barty purred. “You hate how much you need me. You hate how I taste, how I talk, how I fit around your cock better than anyone else ever could.”
Evan shoved him hard against the wall, breath ragged. “You think this means you win?”
“I always win, Rose.” Barty grinned, bruised and beautiful and fucked up. “You never left me. You just got distracted. But you always, always come back.”
Evan’s voice dropped to a snarl. “You are a manipulative, selfish, toxic little slut.”
“And you’re mine.”
“Fuck you.”
“Already did.”
Evan kissed him again—angry, desperate, like he wanted to kill him with his mouth.
He couldn’t stop.
He never fucking could.
-----
They didn’t hear it at first.
The soft creak of the door swinging open. The quick hush of footsteps. The heavy pause.
They were too wrapped up in each other—Evan, still panting on Barty’s lap, one hand tangled in black hair, the other gripping a thigh that trembled beneath his touch. Barty’s lips were red and swollen, neck marked up like a battlefield, his crop top barely clinging to his shoulders. Evan had pushed it up again, greedy and violent, biting, licking, swearing filth against that perfect slutty waist like it was a ritual.
Evan groaned into Barty’s neck. “Fuck, I can’t believe I ever stopped doing this.”
“You didn’t,” Barty breathed, cocky and breathless. “You just paused.”
And then—
“Oh for fuck’s sake, not again!” came Regulus Black’s unimpressed voice.
They froze.
Barty broke into a grin immediately, not even embarrassed. “Hi, Reggie.”
But it wasn’t just Regulus.
A second voice rang out—high and sharp and alarmed.
“EVAN?!”
Pandora.
Evan’s head whipped up in a panic, heart pounding—not from guilt, but something worse. That scream. His sister’s scream.
His hand tightened around Barty’s wrist, eyes wide as he looked toward the door.
Pandora stood there, hands over her mouth, mascara smudged like she’d been crying or running—or both. But not bleeding. Not hexed. Not hurt.
Evan exhaled in relief. “Jesus, Pan, you scared the shit out of me. Thought you were cursed or something.”
“You are cursed,” Regulus muttered.
Pandora stepped forward slowly, gaze bouncing between the two of them. “We… we saw Caleb. He ran past me in the corridor like a storm, shoved me against the wall like it was my fault, and said something about you being a cheating piece of—”
Evan stood up so fast Barty nearly toppled off the couch. “He what?! He touched you?”
Pandora nodded, hands on her hips now. “He was mad. I get it. But don’t you fucking shove me.”
“I’m going to hex that little bastard,” Evan snarled, starting toward the door, fists already curling like he was ready to throw someone through a wall.
But Pandora just shrugged. “Dorcas beat you to it.”
Evan blinked. “What?”
Pandora turned and pointed casually across the common room to where Dorcas Meadowes stood, leaning against the wall with one booted foot propped, her wand still smoking. Her skirt was short, her boots were tall, and her scowl was everything.
Dorcas smirked. “Told him if he touches Pandora again, I’ll remove his spine. Verbally. Then magically. Whichever one works first.”
Evan looked at his sister again, eyes softening, and pulled her into a hug. He kissed the top of her head, arms tight around her. “You alright?”
“I’m fine,” Pandora muttered into his shoulder. “Just… grossed out. Also—hi, Barty.”
Barty winked from the couch, legs still spread like a menace. “Hey, Panny.”
Pandora rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. “Still dressed like a street rat?”
“Still prettier than everyone else in the room,” he purred.
Dorcas groaned. “Put on a shirt, Barty, Jesus Christ.”
Regulus, already over it, just grabbed Pandora’s arm. “Come on, this is depressing.”
Pandora gave Evan one more squeeze before letting go. “Please don’t kill Caleb,” she said sweetly. “He’s not worth an Azkaban record.”
“Debatable,” Evan muttered, but nodded.
“Bye, Rosie,” Dorcas said with a teasing lilt, giving Evan a wink before heading out—maybe toward Marlene. She didn’t say. She never had to.
Then it was just them again.
Silence like ash settling after the explosion.
Barty stood.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just crossed the space between them slowly, watching Evan’s expression like a game he already knew how to win.
He stopped just close enough to touch.
So he did.
One ringed hand lifted, fingers brushing Evan’s jaw. Gentle. Possessive. Like he owned the storm he’d just caused and didn’t regret a goddamn second.
“You’re such a mess,” Barty whispered.
Evan didn’t move. Just looked at him with that dazed, heated, ruined expression.
“I know,” Evan rasped.
Barty smiled. “That’s why I like you.”
His thumb stroked over Evan’s cheek, soft like a mockery. “Your boyfriend’s gone. Your sister’s pissed. And you’re still standing here with me.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Evan breathed. “Just—shut up.”
But he didn’t pull away.
He never did.
And Barty leaned in, all confidence and cocky sin, until their mouths were almost touching.
“You want me to stay, Rosie?”
Evan’s jaw clenched.
“…Yeah.”
“Say it.”
“Stay.”
And Barty did.
-----
Evan slammed Barty against the stone wall, teeth on throat, hands in hair, breath ragged and hot like smoke off wildfire. Barty gasped, the laugh bubbling out of him twisted and obscene.
“Fuck—yes,” he grinned, head tipping back, crop top pushed up again, hickeys and bite marks a constellation across his pale chest. “Get a little violence in you, Rosie.”
“You like that?” Evan growled, mouth against the side of Barty’s neck. “You sick fuck.”
“I’m hard, aren’t I?”
Evan bit down. Hard.
Barty’s nails clawed into Evan’s shoulders with a cry that was part gasp, part moan, and fully depraved.
Blood welled beneath Evan’s teeth. Salty, metallic, sharp.
Barty hissed out a laugh. “Fucking Christ, yes. More.”
“You’re disgusting,” Evan spat, dragging his bloody mouth across Barty’s skin, leaving a red smear. “You’re such a—fucking—whore.”
“You’re the one marking me up like a goddamn dog,” Barty rasped, hands dipping lower now, mouth on Evan’s jaw, then his collarbone. “Maybe I should bark for you, yeah? Get on my knees like your perfect little—”
“Enough.”
The voice that interrupted them wasn’t magical. It wasn’t authority. But it was tired. It was furious.
It was Slughorn.
Standing there, wide-eyed and red-faced, horror-struck by the sight of two of his most talented Slytherins grinding, bleeding, and panting against each other in a secluded hallway corner.
“OUTSIDE. NOW.” he barked. “If Dumbledore hears of this again—”
They both burst out laughing.
“Slughie, relax,” Barty drawled, licking his lip. “We’ll go.”
Evan wiped the blood off his mouth with the back of his hand and gave the professor a dead-eyed grin. “Just needed to clear my head.”
They didn’t even apologize.
Didn’t pretend to.
They just fixed their collars and walked out, hand in hand like demons on a stroll.
And they went looking for Caleb.
Didn’t take long. He was sulking in the third-floor bathroom, feet up on the toilet in the last stall, hiding like the fucking coward he was.
Barty kicked the door open and snarled, “Everyone out. Now.”
The other students didn’t argue. You don’t argue when Barty Crouch Jr. is smiling like that—like he's been waiting to be allowed off leash.
Evan slammed the main door shut behind them.
And there they stood:
Evan Rosier, blond hair disheveled, blood drying on his mouth and his fingers. Hickeys littering his throat. Eyes wild—completely fucking gone. His wand was in his hand, and it wasn’t for show.
Barty Crouch Jr., grinning like Lucifer himself, green-black hair tousled, crop top hanging crooked off one shoulder. Blood dripping down his neck. Rings glinting. A look in his eyes like he could rip out a rib and still fuck you with it.
Caleb paled in the stall.
Evan didn’t speak for a second. Just breathed. Then stepped forward, wand raised but not yet casting.
“Touch my sister again,” Evan said slowly, voice low and terrifying, “and I’ll make sure you never feel anything again. You got me, pretty boy?”
Caleb tried to scoff. It came out more like a squeak.
“You shoved her,” Evan snarled. “You laid hands on her. And then you had the fucking nerve to act like you’re the one who’s hurt?”
“Your own fault you got dumped,” Barty added, stepping up beside Evan with a cruel little smile. “Should’ve kept your mouth shut instead of trying to play the victim. You’re boring, Caleb. Your dick’s boring. Your crying’s boring. Your taste in cologne is fucking boring.”
“You were never competition,” Evan hissed, stepping closer again. “You were a placeholder. A fucking filler episode.”
“I—I didn’t mean to push her that hard,” Caleb stammered.
“You didn’t mean to?” Evan laughed, and it was humorless. Violent. Cold. “You didn’t mean to shove my baby sister against a wall and call her a slut in front of half the corridor?”
He stepped even closer. Caleb tried to scoot back in the stall but hit porcelain.
“Apologize to her next time you see her,” Evan snapped. “And if I ever see you within ten feet of her again, I’ll make you beg for crucio.”
“Aw, Rosie,” Barty murmured mockingly, leaning into Evan’s shoulder like a drunk devil. “You’re so sweet when you’re pissed.”
“Shut up, B,” Evan growled, not looking at him.
But he didn’t push him off.
He never did.
----
The bathroom was silent for one long, heavy beat.
Then Evan turned his head—slow, deliberate—and crushed his mouth onto Barty’s.
It was violent and hot, teeth and blood and obsession. Barty moaned into it, his hands slipping under Evan’s shirt, nails dragging across the pale skin of his back.
They kissed like they hated each other.
Like they wanted to eat each other alive.
Evan pulled away with a bite to Barty’s lower lip, then dragged a breath through his teeth.
“You’re fucked,” he muttered.
Barty grinned through the sting. “So are you.”
And then—those damn eyes. Soft and glassy. Puppy-dog pathetic. The kind of look that shouldn’t belong to someone with blood on their neck and madness in their smile.
“Rosie,” Barty said, half-whine, curling a finger into the front of Evan’s shirt. “Can we torture him?”
Evan blinked.
Barty gave a small shrug. “I’m bored.”
Evan stared at him for a second. Then, slowly, a smile broke across his face. Not warm. Not sane. Something much more deliciously wrong.
“Yeah,” Evan said. “Yeah, fuck it.”
He flicked his wand lazily toward the bathroom door. “Muffliato.” The silence rolled over them like a velvet curtain.
Caleb’s eyes widened in the stall. “Wait—wait, Evan, please, don’t—”
“Shut up,” Evan said flatly.
“Let’s see if you beg as pretty as you lie,” Barty added, drawing his wand too.
And then—
“Crucio.”
Caleb screamed.
He curled up like paper in fire, writhing on the cracked tiles of the bathroom stall, choking on sobs and pain and sheer terror.
Evan didn’t look away.
Didn’t blink.
His wand didn’t even twitch.
“Next time you touch my sister,” he said calmly over the screams, “you’ll get worse.”
“Beg,” Barty ordered, his voice dark and high and cruel. “Beg him to stop, pretty boy.”
Caleb sobbed something unintelligible, and Barty turned to Evan with a grin like he’d just unwrapped the best present on Christmas morning.
“You’re so fucking hot when you’re unhinged,” he whispered, licking the corner of Evan’s bloody mouth. “Look at you. My perfect little psychopath.”
Evan grabbed his collar and kissed him again—fast, open-mouthed, biting. They barely held their wands steady.
Behind them, Caleb kept screaming.
Barty broke the kiss with a laugh, dragging his teeth along Evan’s jaw.
“You wanna stop?” he asked, voice all smoke and innocence.
Evan shook his head, eyes burning. “No. I wanna watch him crawl.”
They both laughed.
And didn’t stop the curse.
Not until Caleb’s voice cracked and he fell silent, twitching, barely conscious.
Then Evan let go. Barty hummed and gave Caleb one last mocking pat on the head with the tip of his wand.
“See you around, sunshine.”
They stepped over him like he was nothing.
Just a ruined little thing in their path.
And they walked out of the bathroom like gods of wrath in love with their own destruction.
----
They stormed back into the common room like they owned the damn place.
Evan’s blonde hair was a mess, dried blood caked on his lip and smeared across his collar. Barty’s crop top had ridden up, revealing hickeys down his ribs and bruises blooming like violets across his throat. His belt hung half-undone, and his wand was still loosely clutched in his hand like a cigarette.
Slughorn looked up from a dusty book near the fireplace, caught sight of them, and blinked hard—like he was trying to clear a hallucination.
Barty shot him a grin, teeth bloody. “Don’t worry, professor,” he purred. “We’re just lovers, not fighters.”
Evan cackled beside him, voice hoarse. “Well. Both.”
Slughorn opened his mouth. Closed it. Gave up.
They stumbled toward the dormitory, laughing like maniacs, holding each other up and kissing halfway up the stairs, slamming into walls and nearly tripping over their own feet. Evan yanked Barty’s crop top higher and left another red bite on his hip, only pulling away when they crashed into the dorm door.
He pushed it open with a thud—and froze.
“Ahem.”
Two heads turned toward the sound.
Regulus sat cross-legged on his bed, cards fanned out neatly in his lap. Pandora Lovegood was beside him, sprawled on her stomach, long hair braided with tiny twinkling crystals. She looked up, unimpressed, chewing the end of a liquorice wand.
They were playing Memory.
“What the actual fuck,” Evan said.
“You’re interrupting,” Regulus muttered, not looking up.
Pandora waved lazily. “You both look like murder.”
“We did torture Caleb,” Barty said, flopping onto Evan’s bed like a ragdoll, still grinning like a psychopath.
Pandora blinked. “Oh.” She nodded thoughtfully. “That explains why he shouted at me like it was my fault.”
Evan stormed over and kissed the top of her head, fists still clenched. “If he talks to you like that again, I’ll break every bone in his fucking body.”
“You already almost did,” she said sweetly. “Dorcas did the rest.”
Barty followed, pressing a kiss to her forehead too. “Our pretty little princess. Untouchable.”
“Gross,” Regulus muttered.
“You’re gross,” Evan shot back.
They collapsed onto Evan’s bed, tangled and feral, laughing against each other’s skin. Barty climbed into Evan’s lap sideways, his head resting on Evan’s shoulder, while Evan’s hand slipped around his waist, fingers tracing circles under the hem of the crop top.
“You’re literally watching us,” Regulus snapped.
“You’re playing a literal children’s game,” Barty said, biting Evan’s earlobe just to make him jolt.
“Memory,” Pandora corrected helpfully. “I’m winning.”
Evan grinned. “Of course you are.”
“You two are insufferable,” Regulus muttered, not even looking up.
“You’re hot when you’re angry, Reg,” Barty purred. “Come join us. We need a third.”
“Not even if hell froze over,” Regulus said without missing a beat.
Evan kissed Barty sloppily and moaned just to be obnoxious.
Pandora didn’t blink.
“I think you need a potion for that,” she said, gesturing at Evan’s bloody lip. “And maybe therapy.”
“Therapy’s for cowards,” Barty said, licking the blood off Evan’s mouth. “We have trauma, not weakness.”
“You’re both brain-damaged,” Regulus said.
“And yet you love us,” Evan sing-songed, dragging Barty closer and resting his chin on his shoulder to watch the game.
Barty toyed with Evan’s necklace, then snuck his hand up Evan’s shirt and bit at his neck again. Evan hissed, smacked his thigh, and laughed.
“I swear to Merlin,” Regulus said, slapping down a card. “If you start shagging next to me, I will Avada your balls.”
Pandora giggled. “He means it.”
“Fair,” Barty whispered, nuzzling against Evan’s curls. “But maybe we should wait until they’re asleep.”
“Then you’ll have to be quiet,” Pandora warned.
Evan smirked, dragging Barty tighter into his lap. “He never is.”
“We both know you’re louder,” Barty grinned.
Regulus groaned into his pillow.
“You’re the reason I hate people.”
“Love you too, Reg,” Evan said, blowing him a kiss.
Barty added one for good measure, winking. “Night, memory nerds.”
They stayed up for hours—cuddled into each other, bruised and laughing, watching Regulus and Pandora play game after game. Evan kept pressing kisses to Pandora’s knuckles when she passed him the cards. Barty snuck sweets into her braid and told her she was too good for this hellhole. Pandora just rolled her eyes and let them.
And Regulus?
Regulus just dealt the cards and muttered insults under his breath—but didn’t kick them out.
He never did.
----
Evan had Barty pressed against his mattress again, fingers tangled in his dyed hair, lips swollen from too much kissing, too much biting, too much everything. Barty straddled his hips, grinding down slow, mouthing at his jaw with a filthy laugh.
“You’re fucking insatiable,” Evan breathed.
“You’re obsessed, Rosie,” Barty murmured, licking into his mouth. “Don’t act like you’re not.”
“You like it when I—”
“Oh my fucking Merlin,” Pandora groaned from Regulus’ bed. “I’m going to have to bleach my ears. And eyes.”
Regulus just made a wounded noise and buried his face in a pillow. “I’m already traumatised. Pandora, do something. Before they start humping in front of me again.”
Pandora sighed. Dramatically. Then stood up like it was the burden of her life to intervene.
She marched to Evan’s bed like a soldier going to war—and then let herself fall right between them with a dramatic thump.
Evan instinctively caught her, one arm wrapping around her waist so she didn’t smack her head, while the other shoved Barty back. “Oi, watch the princess.”
Pandora grinned, draped half on her twin, her legs thrown over Barty like she owned the place. “Better?”
Barty blinked. “Not really—”
“If you say one word of innuendo, Crouch,” she said sweetly, “I will hex your cock off and feed it to the Giant Squid.”
Barty raised both hands. “Noted, Princess Rosier.”
Regulus let out a snort from across the room, clearly relieved, and went back to his own bed. He looked over and Pandora winked at him. He rolled his eyes and shoved a pillow over his face.
“You’re actually evil,” Evan muttered, but kissed the top of Pandora’s head anyway.
“I learned from the best.” She snuggled between them like she belonged there—which she did.
Barty flicked her braid. “You’re warm. You get to stay.”
“I’m always warm. I’m loveable.”
Evan kissed her temple. “Obviously.”
Barty trailed a finger up her arm, just teasing. “So... Princess. Got any secrets tonight?”
She blinked slowly. “Might have a crush.”
Evan raised an eyebrow. “Who?”
“Lily Evans,” Pandora said like it was obvious.
Barty sat up slightly. “Oh, I love that. Perfect. That means I can finally flirt with James Potter, guilt-free—”
“Absolutely not,” Evan snapped, sitting up too fast. “You’re mine.”
Barty smirked. “Jealousy looks hot on you.”
Evan shoved him back onto the mattress. “Don’t test me.”
Across the room, Regulus made a choked sound.
All three turned.
“What?” Evan asked, narrowing his eyes.
Regulus didn’t answer. Just threw a pillow at them.
Pandora giggled and whispered, “He likes James Potter too.”
Evan blinked. “Well, no one is touching him. Not Reg, not Barty, not even you, Pan.”
Pandora rolled her eyes. “I don’t want James Potter. I want Lily.”
Barty gasped, clutched his chest dramatically. “And here I thought I was your only love.”
“You’re my pain in the ass,” she muttered fondly, reaching to ruffle his hair.
“Which you love dearly,” he said, leaning into her hand.
Evan smiled, a rare soft look flickering across his usually sharp features. He wrapped both arms around Pandora and buried his face in her hair. “Twenty minutes older, but still my baby sister.”
“I’m older,” she said sleepily, cuddling closer. “Which means I’m in charge.”
“Try me,” Evan whispered.
Barty laughed under his breath and wrapped his arm around both Rosiers like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You two are my favourites. Don’t tell Reg.”
“I heard that,” Regulus called, deadpan.
Pandora was already half-asleep between them, her breathing slow, one leg kicked over Barty’s, her hand curled in Evan’s shirt.
Evan pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Anyone touches her, they die.”
Barty kissed her temple next. “Agreed.”
“Anyone flirts with you,” Evan added, turning to Barty with narrowed eyes, “and I will burn the fucking castle down.”
Barty just smirked. “As long as you do it while wearing nothing but blood and vengeance, baby.”
Evan rolled his eyes and flicked Barty’s nose. “You’re an idiot.”
“And you love it.”
“Unfortunately.”
They lay there in a tangle of limbs and promises, chaos and softness mixed into one. Blood dried on their skin, bruises fading into the sheets, and the only light left in the dorm was the soft flicker of wandlight on the walls.
Somehow, this was their peace.
Broken, beautiful, and bound together.