The dim light of the flickering fireplace cast long, wavering shadows across the dark, ornate room. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood and old magic. Barty Crouch Jr. sat in a large armchair, staring into the flames as they danced in the hearth, lost in thought. His usually sharp features were softened by the firelight, revealing a rare moment of vulnerability.
Evan Rosier entered quietly, his footsteps almost inaudible on the plush carpet. He paused in the doorway, watching Barty in silence, his heart tightening at the sight. Evan had known Barty for years—ever since their days at Hogwarts—but it was only after joining the ranks of the Death Eaters that they had truly come to understand one another. The darkness that had brought them together now threatened to pull them apart, and Evan felt the weight of that truth in his chest.
"Barty," Evan finally said, his voice a low murmur. He stepped further into the room, letting the door close softly behind him.
Barty looked up, his expression shifting back to its usual guarded mask. "Evan," he replied, his tone cool, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something warmer. "I didn’t hear you come in."
Evan smiled faintly as he crossed the room, moving to stand by the fire, the heat warming his hands. "You were deep in thought. I didn’t want to disturb you."
Barty’s eyes narrowed slightly as he regarded Evan. "You always know when something’s on my mind. What is it this time?"
Evan hesitated, his gaze drifting to the flames before returning to Barty’s face. "I’ve been thinking about what’s coming. The war, the choices we’ve made… everything." His voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of tension in it, a hint of the fear he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge.
Barty’s expression hardened, his jaw clenching. "We’ve made our choices, Evan. There’s no going back now."
"I know," Evan said softly, his eyes searching Barty’s. "But that doesn’t mean we can’t think about the future. About what happens after the war."
Barty scoffed, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "If there is an after. Do you really believe we’ll survive this?"
Evan took a step closer, his hand brushing against Barty’s on the armrest. "We have to believe that. Because if we don’t, then what’s the point of any of this?"
For a long moment, Barty said nothing, his gaze locked with Evan’s. Then, slowly, his expression softened, and he let out a quiet sigh. "You’re always the optimist," he muttered, his fingers curling around Evan’s.
"Not always," Evan whispered, his voice barely audible. "But when it comes to you… I have to be."
Barty’s eyes softened further, and he squeezed Evan’s hand in return. "You’re a fool," he said, but there was no malice in his words, only a deep, unspoken affection.
Evan smiled, a real smile this time, as he moved to sit on the arm of Barty’s chair. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against Barty’s, their breaths mingling in the warm air. "Maybe I am," he murmured, "but I’d rather be a fool with you than face this world alone."
Barty’s breath hitched, and for a moment, the walls he had built around himself seemed to crumble. He reached up, his fingers tangling in Evan’s hair, pulling him closer. "I can’t lose you," he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips.
"You won’t," Evan promised, his voice firm and certain. "Not now. Not ever."
And in that quiet room, filled with shadows and whispers, they found solace in each other’s arms, knowing that no matter what the future held, they would face it together.
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