REGULUS BLACK AND THE ART OF LOVING A MADMAN ( WOMAN??)
PAIRING Regulus Black x Crouch!Fem! Reader
SYNOPSIS When you pick a fight with Mulciber (again), get hit with a particularly nasty hex (again), and land yourself in the hospital wing (again), Regulus has to work his usual charm on a professor to clean up your mess. Just another day in his fucking life.
CONTENT WARNING not proofread! ,crouch family slander, reader gets hurt, regulus getting pulled into things, fluff!!
WORD COUNT 1.8k
library.
Regulus Black regretted a lot of decisions in his life.
Most of them involved his family, some of them involved his choice of friends, and at least one of them involved that time Barty had convinced him to try a new spell that had made him vomit slugs for an hour. But on the top among his many regrets, the one that occupied his mind on a near-daily basis and might be the reason why his hair is greying at the ripe age of 16, was the fact that he had somehow, against all logic and reason, fallen in love with you out of all people.
And, unfortunately, the most insane person he had ever met.
“Stop them!” a first year yelled across the courtyard.
Regulus sighed deeply, already rubbing his temples. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake-”
He turned just in time to see you- his oh so lovely, brilliant and slightly deranged girlfriend- launching herself at Mulciber like a particularly homicidal harpy.
“Oh, brilliant,” Regulus muttered.
The duel had looked absolutely pathetic, if he was being honest. Spells were flying. Mulciber’s wand was raised, his face exasperated with anger and annoyance, while you looked totally unbothered, happy even, to be challenged. “You really want to do this, Crouch?”
“You looked at me funny,” you mused, as if that was a reasonable explanation. You showed no sign of actually doing any harm that day,he thinks, much to his surprise.
Merlin's buttocks, I'm getting too used to this mental buffoonery.
As if you could hear his thoughts (well, his steps weren't exactly quiet on the cobble stones), you added, "Care to repeat what you said about me and Barty as well, Mulci?"
Regulus let out a long-suffering sigh. Of course it about Barty. Barty Jr. could get away with murder in front of you, and you would still defend his honor as if he were some kind of noble martyr instead of an absolute menace.
For once, though, he wasn’t involved. He was sitting off to the side, watching the fight unfold with mild interest, completely unaware that his little sister was about to get herself hexed into oblivion on his behalf.
“I didn’t say anything that wasn't the truth, Black,” Mulciber was saying lazily to him. “And you know,” he drawled, twirling his wand between his fingers, “I always wondered how someone as uptight as Barty Sr. managed to spawn not one, but two utter disappointments.”
Regulus felt his girlfriend tense. Beside you, Barty went very still.
Mulciber smirked. “I mean, your brother’s already well on his way to becoming a Ministry disgrace. But you-” He let out a low whistle. “I don’t know if you’re worse because you’re reckless or because you don’t even realize it.”
Regulus sighed. Oh, for Merlin’s sake.
Barty scoffed, looking deeply unbothered. “Well, you would be an expert on family disappointments, Mulciber. How is your Squib cousin, by the way?”
Mulciber’s smirk faltered. His wand snapped up. That was it.
"Sectumsempra!"
You barely dodged it, eyes narrowing. “Alright, you little freak, where the hell did you learn-”
Regulus was already moving, pushing through the gathering crowd of Slytherins who had circled around, waiting for blood. “Protego!” Regulus flicked his wand just in time to deflect the bombarda that was just blasted- your spell, because of course you weren't backing down. No, you were going straight for the kill. “Reggie!” you whined. “I had him!”
“No, you didn’t,” Regulus said flatly.
“Mulciber, you have the nerve to continue this child's play,” Barty Jr. called from the sidelines. He didn’t sound particularly concerned. Mulciber smirked. “the little rat has nothing against me.”
He caught his girlfriend’s eye—“Don’t kill him. you just winked. And then, with a graceful, almost lazy movement, you flicked you wand. “Expelliarmus.”
Mulciber barely dodged. He fired back, sneering—“Stupefy!” You stepped casually aside, as if dodging wasn’t even an effort. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, love.”
Mulciber growled and raised his wand. “Depulso!” You twirled your wand midair defending yourself, as if the interaction was boring you immensely. The force of the impact barely even ruffled your hair.
Barty let out a mocking yawn. “Come on, Mulciber. You hex like a first year.” Mulciber’s face twisted with anger. “At least I have some dignity,” he spat. “Unlike your sister, who has none. It’s pathetic, really. A Crouch playing attack dog for a Black?”
Regulus’s jaw clenched. He looked at his girlfriend, and you were smiling, Not in a nice way. Oh, he was so done for.
You tilted your head, mockingly thoughtful. “You know what’s really pathetic, Mulciber?”Mulciber scowled. “What?”
You only flicked your wand. “Silencio.”
His mouth disappeared, where once his lips were, was now a blank canvas of skin. Mulciber’s eyes widened. He tried to speak- but only muffled words came out.
Barty burst out laughing. “Oh, that’s just cruel, tiger” Mulciber’s face twisted with rage. He furiously swiped his wand to counter the curse- but you didn’t let him. With one smooth, effortless motion, you fired another spell.
“Locomotor Mortis.”*
Mulciber stumbled. His legs went jelly-like, his knees buckling beneath him. Regulus exhaled. “Chéri, are you playing with your food?”
“Obviously.”
Mulciber seethed silently. He furiously gestured with his wand and you deflected the curse midair with zero effort. At this point, he was shaking with fury. His pride- his absolute refusal to lose to a damn Crouch-took over. His eyes flashed and he pointed his wand. A muffled “Confringo!” could be heard as red streaks came blasting towards you.
Regulus’s stomach dropped. The spell hit you square in the shoulder, sending you flying backwards with a sickening crack. “Bloody hell-” Regulus lunged forward, catching you just before you hit the ground.
Your robes were singed, your arm at an unnatural angle that would make a troll wince, and, of course, you were still trying to get back up. “ I swear to my ancestors souls, let me at him, Regulus, before-”
Regulus tightened his grip, pushing you down gently. “You are not dueling with a broken arm.”
You huffed. “I could still win.”
“You could also die,” Regulus snapped. He turned to Mulciber, eyes cold. “Are you quite finished?”
Mulciber raised his hands frantically, gesturing to you and back to barty as if to say 'Hey, she started it!'
Regulus didn’t argue. You had, in fact, started it. But that didn’t make this situation any less infuriating.
“Barty,” he called. “A little help?”
Said boy finally got up from his seat, leisurely strolling over like this wasn’t a life-or-death situation. He peered down at his sister with a critical eye, then shrugged. “You’ll live.”
You groaned. “That’s your concern?”
“You look fine to me,” he said cheerfully. “Besides, I think you got one good hit in. Regulus was going to lose his mind. “You are both insane,” he muttered.
“Thanks,” they said at the same time.
Regulus was already tired. He hadn’t even had breakfast yet. This was supposed to be a normal day. But no, his girlfriend had to pick a fight before 8 AM. Merlin’s beard, this family was going to be the death of him.
Regulus was not built for this kind of stress. He ran a calloused hand through his pale hand, cursing the gods for giving him a reckless bomb of a girlfriend when he once, pathetically, called upon them in his third year.
Meanwhile, Barty- who had been doubled over, laughing at Mulciber from the bed opposite the room, finally spoke, grinning.
“That was brilliant,” he told his sister. “Merlin, I love you. This is why you’re my favorite sibling.”
“You don’t have any other siblings,” Regulus pointed out dryly.
“Exactly!” Barty beamed.
On Godrick's balls, was he tired.
He sat next to your bed, watching as Madam Pomfrey fussed over your arm. The hex had done more than break the bone- it had burned through your sleeve (from your brand new robes, if you might add), leaving angry red scorch marks trailing down your shoulder.
You were delighted by this, and he was flabbergasted.
“I bet it’ll scar,” you said excitedly. “That’s wicked, am I right?”
Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. It’s not wicked. It’s downright idiotic.”
Madam Pomfrey sighed, already immune to Slytherin nonsense. “You’ll be fine by morning, dear. But you’re staying here for now.”
That was fine. That was great, actually. What wasn’t great was the fact that Slughorn was already marching into the room, looking both concerned and exasperated.
Regulus immediately straightened, preparing himself for an hour (more like 10 minutes with the way that mustache of a man rambles) of scolding.
“Miss Crouch,” Slughorn sighed. “Another duel?”
“She started it,” Regulus said quickly, ever the dutiful boyfriend.
His girlfriend shot him a betrayed look. “Regulus!”
Slughorn shook his head. “Detention, I’m afraid.”
Regulus tilted his head, sliding into his usual charming demeanor. “Professor, surely you can’t punish someone who’s already suffered so much.”
Slughorn frowned. “She hexed Mulciber.”
Regulus offered a smile, smooth as silk, looking past the man to the occupied bed with said subject. “And he hexed her back. Quite viciously, I might add. The poor girl nearly lost consciousness in my arms. It was tragic, really.”
His girlfriend scoffed. “I was fine.”
Regulus nudged you sharply under the blanket. “You were barely breathing,” he said dramatically.
Slughorn looked hesitant. Regulus pushed harder.
“I carried her here myself,” he continued, voice just the right amount of pained. “Do you really think she deserves detention after such an ordeal?”
Slughorn sighed, rubbing his temples. “…Very well. But no more dueling.”
Regulus smiled, victorious. “Of course, Professor.” Slughorn gave them one last weary look before leaving.
The second he was gone, you gaped at him “You are actually insane,” you said scandalized and eyes wide.
Regulus smirked. “You’re welcome. Perhaps we can star our mornings not risking our lives and you know, go to the great hall like normal witches, hm?"
You only beamed up to him, leaning back against the pillows. “You love me.”
PAIRING Barty Crouch Jr. x quiet!fem!Ravenclaw!Reader
SYNOPSIS Barty Crouch Jr. hated silence. You thrived in it. Being paired together for a Potions project in the library should have been simple—but Barty refuses to let the quiet win.
CONTENT WARNING obsessive! barty, possessive! james, angst, fluff, the boys not asking yn abt her feelings LMFAO lmk if i missed something!
WORD COUNT 5k words
library.
Barty Crouch Jr. prided himself on many things—his sharp mind, his quick reflexes, his ability to get under people’s skin ( much to Regulus’ and Evans dismay) when he wanted to. But patience? That had never been one of them.
And yet, patience was exactly what was required when he found himself sitting across from you in the library, parchment spread between you, potions textbook propped open, the air between them thick with silence.
It wasn’t just any silence. It was a suffocating, calculated quiet, the kind that settled around the you like a second skin. You liked it. Humming in contentment as you flipped through the book to gather enough information for your assignment.
It drove him mental.
You had been partnered up in Slughorn’s class earlier that day, much to Barty’s irritation. You were everything he wasn’t—controlled, meticulous, the sort of person who took diligent notes and never spoke unless you had something of actual substance to say. The worst part? You were no outcast. Despite your quiet nature, you was well-liked, hovering at the edges of the Marauders’ usual chaos, laughing softly at Pandora Lovegood’s dreamy theories, and using your smart mouth (Gideon insists) to get the Prewett brothers out of trouble from Mcgonnagall. You were… respected.
Barty was tolerated, at best.
Now, in the dim glow of the library’s enchanted lanterns, you sat across from him, quill in hand, completely ignoring him. Well, unintentionally, he had been fussing in his place since you both arrived an hour ago, trying to get you to do merlin knows with him.
Barty exhaled sharply through his nose, slumping back in his chair. “You could at least pretend to be interested in conversation,” he muttered.
You didn’t look up. “I don’t find unnecessary conversations stimulating.”
He scoffed. “How very Ravenclaw of you.”
You merely hummed in acknowledgment but said nothing more, flipping to another page in his (you lended yours to Peter after he accidentally got soaked by the bucket of water from the black lake intended for Snape) textbook.
Barty’s fingers drummed against the table. He could handle a lot of things—detentions, duels, even his father’s unrelenting scrutiny, but this? This was insufferable.
So, naturally, he decided to make it his mission to ruin the silence.
It started small.
A flick of his wand, and your inkwell slid ever-so-slightly across the table. You caught it before it could spill, shot him a glance, and continued writing.
Next, he nudged your parchment just out of reach. You didn’t even blink, simply shifted your chair forward and carried on.
Fine. If you was going to be stubborn, he’d up the stakes.
With another subtle movement of his wand, your beloved muggle book „The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie“ the one you had tucked beside your Potions text, began to quiver. Slowly at first, then more violently, the pages ruffling as though caught in a windstorm.
you sighed, set your quill down rather roughly, and calmly muttered, “Finite Incantatem.”
The book stilled.
Barty whistled. “Impressive.”
You finally looked up at him, expression unreadable. “It‘s a First Year spell. Are you always this restless?”
He grinned. “Are you always this boring?”
There was no offense in your gaze, only quiet scrutiny. “No. But I also don’t feel the need to fill the silence just because it makes you uncomfortable.”
Barty opened his mouth, then shut it again.
No one had ever called him out so plainly before. Most people either avoided him, tolerated him, or challenged him outright. But you… you understood him in a way that unsettled him.
And worse, he had no idea what to do with that.
The pranks escalated.
By the end of the week, Barty had:
• Transfigured your quill into a small snake (you turned it back with no regard of his presence, only trelwaney who shrieked in horror).
• Enchanted your book to read aloud in a dramatic voice (you merely bookmarked your page and waited for him to get bored).
• Jinxed your notes to rearrange themselves whenever you tried to read them (you rewrote them without complaint).
Each time, you met his antics with infuriating patience. No anger. No exasperation. Just quiet indifference, as if you knew exactly why he was doing it.
It wasn’t until he charmed your beloved novel to hover just out of reach that you finally snapped.
With a soft Expelliarmus, the book yanked itself free from his spell and slammed down onto the table between you. you met his gaze, eyes burning with guarded anger.
“Why?” you asked, voice level but firm.
Barty leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. “Why what?”
You exhaled, slow and measured. Merlin, was he testing your already low patience “Why go to such lengths just to get a reaction?”
Barty opened his mouth to fire back something witty, but the words caught. He couldn’t answer.
Because the truth was something he didn’t want to admit. Because silence had never been kind to him. Because silence meant expectation, the weight of his father’s disapproval, the loneliness of never being enough. Because he didn’t know how to exist in a world that didn’t constantly react to him.
You watched as something shifted in his expression—something raw, something unguarded. And for the first time since they’d been paired together, she didn’t seem like she was trying to solve him.
You just saw him.
The silence stretched between you once more. But this time, it didn’t feel suffocating. This time, it felt like something else entirely. Something dangerous. Something inevitable.
The library had become a battlefield.
Barty didn’t lose. Not at duels, not at arguments, and certainly not at mind games. But after a week of relentless pestering, pranks, and jinxed books, but all he was met with was radio silence.
And Barty hated being ignored.
Tonight was no different.
You were back in your usual spot in the potions section near the back, candlelight flickering over parchment, and you were sure you could hear people snogging in the aisle next to you. Barty wasn’t writing. He was watching, and it pissed you off.
“Fascinating,” he drawled, chin resting on his palm.
You sighed, not even bothered to look up. “What is?”
“You,” he said simply.
At last, you glanced at him, one brow slightly raised. Not surprised, not flattered, only curious and slightly amused. As if he was some interesting tale from Trelawney‘s weekly horoscopes
Barty leaned forward, smirking. “You’re too patient for someone who spends time with the Marauders. They’re reckless. Loud. Gits.”
Your lips twitched in almost a smile. “And yet, I don’t find them insufferable.”
“Lucky them,” he muttered.
You tilted your head, studying him. “You don’t actually hate them, do you?”
Barty scoffed, leaning back. “Tell them that, and I’ll hex you.”
You hummed, unconvinced. “You could have joined them, you know. You’re clever enough. Quick-witted. You keep up with them in class.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What makes you think I wanted to associate myself with obnoxious Griffins? I have a reputation to uphold ”
You only raised your eyebrow at that. “Oh yes, because being a maniacal, havoc wrecking wizard is soooooo important”
He roared into laughter, clutching his stomach like you have given him the funniest joke in Salazars sake. Tears were dripping out the corner of his eyes with his ropes falling messily over his shoulder.
After his sudden burst of emotions, there was silence, well, as much as you could say from Barty‘s loud wheezing trying to calm himself down and a group of second year Hufflepuffs discussing the use of Mandrakes, the space between you two was peaceful
Then, you shrugged, rolling your shoulders back to ease the growing pain (or the growing tension that is about to engulf you two) “or maybe, its because you’re lonely.”
Barty went still instantly.
For a moment, the pleasant quietness became oppressive, thick with something neither of you wanted to name.
Then,he laughed again. Though, now, it was short, sharp, utterly devoid of humor. “You think you know me?”
“I think,” you started, carefully trying to puck out the right words, “that you spend too much time trying to get people to notice you, y‘know?.”
His smirk returned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And yet, you’re the one paying attention.”
This time, you didn’t look away.
Checkmate.
Barty wasn’t sure when it started.
When you became the first person he looked for in a room. When silence with you stopped feeling suffocating and started feeling… different.
It was a slow, creeping thing, like poison slipping into his bloodstream.
You weren’t like the Marauders. You didn’t fill space with noise or demand attention. You simply were, an observer, someone who noticed things most people didn’t.
And Barty hated being noticed.
The Slytherin common room was quiet this late at night, with most students crammed at the Hufflepuff quidditch After-party after they had won against Ravenclaw earlier that day. Except for Barty and Regulus.
The younger Black sat in one of the loveseats by the fireplace, posture perfect as always with his messenger bag on his side while across from him, Barty sprawled lazily on the couch, legs stretched out, looking more reckless (or crazy according to Evan) than usual.
Regulus had been watching him for the past ten minutes. The tension in his shoulders, the way he ran a hand through his Black-Green hair in agitation or the way his knee bounched when he thought no one was looking.
Finally, as if this thought gave him immense pain, he sighed. „You’re obsessed.“
Barty stilled. „What?“
„With her.“ Regulus arched an eyebrow knowingly
Junior scoffed, throwing his head back against the couch dramatically, flailing his arms „Oh, not you too!
Regulus ignored him. “It’s pathetic.” Barty turned his head, smirking. “Funny. Sirius said the same thing about you once.”
Regulus’ fingers twitched. “Sirius is an idiot.”
“And yet, here you are, acting just like him—concerned about my well-being, giving me the I know best speech.” Barty sighed, stretching his arms behind his head. “It’s sweet, really.”
Regulus rolled his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t care what you do.” Barty grinned. “Liar.”
Regulus exhaled sharply. “What is this, Barty?”
Barty hummed, considering. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Reggie”
Regulus frowned. “You’re distracting me by talking about my idiotic brother. So spill, what are you afraid of? ”
Barty’s smirk faltered. For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Just stared into the flickering fire, expression unreadable. Then, with a slow breath out “Everything.”
Regulus didn’t press. Didn’t have to. He understood better than anyone what Barty really meant. The weight of expectations. The suffocating presence of a father who saw only duty.
Regulus studied him for a moment. “You don’t get attached to people. Especially not to someone like L/N. " Barty’s smirk returned, but it was weaker this time. “Maybe she’s just different.”
Regulus leaned back, unimpressed. “Or maybe you just don’t like that you can’t control her.” Barty exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair. “And yet, I keep coming back.”
Regulus tilted his head. “That’s called liking someone, Barty.”
Barty scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Please. I don’t like people.”
“Then why does James Potter look like he wants to murder you?”
His expression darkened. “Because he knows.” the curly haired boy hummed thoughtfully. “Knows what?”
But as he walked away, Barty didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just sat there, watching the fire, thinking about you.
It was , like Regulus said, James who noticed first.
Barty had expected it, really. The four eyed boy was too perceptive for his own good, especially when it came to people who operated in the gray spaces between morality.
One evening in the Gryffindor common room, James leaned against the couch where you were reading, arms crossed. “So,” he mused, “are you finally going to tell us why Crouch won’t leave you alone?”
You barely glanced up. “Because we’re Potions partners.”
Sirius, sprawled across an armchair, snorted. “Right. And I’m Minister for Magic.”
Remus, ever the voice of reason, tilted his head. “You do spend an awful lot of time with him.”
Peter nodded, mouth stuffed with fizzing whizzbees. “It’s weird.”
you sighed, closing your book without marking your spot first, which you internally curse. “He’s… frustrating.”
Sirius smirked. “But?”
You hesitated. Just for a moment. “But he’s not as easy to hate as people think.” That was all they needed to hear.
Sirius groaned dramatically. “Merlin help us, she’s sympathizing with the enemy.”
Remus grinned. “This is going to be fun.”
James Potter knew you better than anyone.
He had known you since you two were small—before Hogwarts, before the Marauders, before any of this. You had been his first real friend, little pigtails following him around, who always listened when he rambled about Quidditch, often times playing the referee and giving yellow cards to his imaginary opponents and someone who was there when he needed you.
And now? Now you were spending too much bloody time with Barty bloody Crouch Junior.
James didn’t like it. Not one bit.
At first, he thought nothing of it. A Potions partnership was just that—a school assignment. But then he started noticing things.
The way you lingered in the library after hours.
The way Barty watched you fondly when he thought no one was looking.
The way you didn’t seem nearly as irritated with him as you should have been.
And that was unacceptable.
James wasn’t stupid. He knew who Barty Crouch Jr. was. The arrogant, sharp-tongued Slytherin who played by his own rules, who didn’t care about anyone but himself and his best friend‘s brother. And yet, somehow, he had wormed his way into your schedule, your attention—things James had always had without question.
He didn’t realize just how much it bothered him until he saw you two together.
It was a late evening in the library, and James had come to find you. Instead, he found your little pest stuck to your side.
Barty was leaning back in his chair, smirking, while you sat across from him, rolling your eyes but not actually telling him to leave you alone. There was something different in the air between them—an ease James didn’t like.
Not one bit.
“Oi.”
You looked up, blinking in surprise. “James?”
Barty groaned. “Oh, fantastic.”
James ignored him, focusing on her. “We were supposed to go over Transfiguration notes, remember? Minnie was bugging me to take lessons with you”
You frowned. “That’s not until—”
“Now,” James said firmly. Barty snorted. “Territorial, aren’t we, Potter?”
James’ jaw clenched. “Just making sure my best friend isn’t wasting her time.” He just grinned, all teeth. “Oh, trust me, she’s not.”
You sighed, rubbing your temples to ease the incoming headache. Is it from Barty‘s constant yapping, the oh so frustrating instructions of the Felix Felicis, or James bickering? Who knows. “James, we’re just working on Potions.”
“Right,” James muttered. “Because that explains why he won’t stop staring at you.”
Barty raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You jealous, Potter?” James hated how his stomach twisted at that. “Of you?” He scoffed. “Hardly.”
“Good,” Barty said smoothly, “because she’s free to spend time with whoever she wants.” The Gryffindor bristled. “And you’re free to bugger off.”
“James.” your voice was sharp now, cutting through the tension. you stood, gathering your books. “I’ll meet you in your common room later, okay?”
James hesitated, then exhaled sharply. “Fine.” But his glare at Barty said this isn’t over.
As he left, Barty chuckled under his breath. “Protective, isn’t he?”
“You love making things worse, don’t you?” you simply glared at him. Barty grinned. “Admit it. You’d be bored otherwise.”
You only shook your head at that, exasperated. But this time, you didn’t argue.
And Barty? He liked that just a little too much.
James Potter wasn’t the jealous type. At least, that’s what he told himself. But this—this infuriating, undeniable thing happening between his best friend and Barty bloody Crouch Jr.—was driving him mad.
It wasn’t just about Barty. It was about you.
You were his best friend. The one person who had always been there before Sirius, before Remus, before Peter. You had an unspoken understanding, a rhythm that no one else could touch.
And yet, somehow, you were slipping out of reach.
Because of that foul git.
Because wherever you were, Barty was not far behind.
Pandora Lovegood was an odd one. Everyone knew it.
She spoke in riddles, saw connections where others didn’t, and had a habit of appearing exactly where she was needed.
So James should have known better than to groan when she plopped down next to him on the bench in the transfiguration courtyard, humming thoughtfully.
“You’re sulking,” she observed. “I don’t sulk,” James muttered.
She smiled, entirely unconvinced. “It’s about her and him, isn’t it?” He scowled, borderline pouted. “There is no her and him.”
Pandora tilted her head. “Not yet.” at that, James sat up straighter. “Yet?”
Pandora just hummed again, her dreamy expression betraying nothing. “I think you’re afraid.”
“Of what? Crouch?” He snorted. “Please.”
“No,” Pandora mused. “Not him. You’re afraid because for the first time, she’s paying attention to someone else.” James didn’t respond. Because that would mean admitting she was right. The Rosier smiled knowingly. “You can’t stop it, you know.”
“Stop what?”
She simply shrugged, standing as if that answered everything. “The inevitable.”
James groaned. “Merlin, you’re worse than Moony.”
But as she walked away, her words lingered. And James hated that more than anything.
James found Barty alone that evening, leaning against the cobble stone wall just outside the Charms Classroom. He didn’t hesitate.
“Stay away from her.”
Barty turned, raising an eyebrow. “Potter,” he drawled, lips curling into a smirk. “This is getting predictable.” James stepped closer, jaw tight. “I’m serious.”
“Sirius is the loud one,” Barty quipped. “You’re the one with the tragic hero complex.” James hated that he had a point. “Whatever game you’re playing,” he said sharply, “she’s not a part of it.”
Barty’s smirk faltered. Just for a second. “Who says it’s a game?”
James scoffed. “Oh, please. You don’t care about her. You just like getting a rise out of people. And I won’t let you use her to do it.” Barty’s expression darkened.
“Use her?” he repeated, voice low, dangerous. “Funny, coming from you.”
James stiffened. “What the hell does that mean?”
Barty leaned in slightly, voice smooth as silk. “It means you don’t like that she’s spending time with me—not because you think I’ll hurt her, but because you can’t stand the idea of not being the most important person in her life.” James clenched his fists. Barty’s smirk was sharp, knowing. “Hits a nerve, doesn’t it?” James took a slow breath. He would not hex him.Not yet, at least.
“She’s my best friend,” James said coldly. “And I trust her. But I don’t trust you.” Barty’s gaze flickered—just for a moment. Then, with an infuriating grin, he stepped back.
“Well then, Potter.” His voice was almost mocking. “Let’s see who she trusts more.” And with that, he turned and walked away.
James stayed there for a long time, breathing heavily, hands clenched at his sides. Because for the first time, he wasn’t entirely sure who would win.
You were avoided him.
Not subtly. Not carefully. Just completely ignoring his existence
It started the week following the small… confrontation in library. Barty walked into Potions, expecting you to be at their usual table at the back, books already open,quill tapping absently against parchment, asking about his usual trouble with filch and a soft smile gracing your lips. Instead, your lips never opened and gaze never left your paper.
No glance in his direction. No acknowledgment at all.
Barty stared. His fingers curled into fists beneath the desk.
Fine.
But then it kept happening. In the corridors, you veered away when you saw him approaching. In the library, you sat with James, Sirius, even Remus—anyone but him. When he did catch youe eye across the Great Hall, you looked away so quickly it felt like a slap.
It wasn’t anger. It was erasure, like he wasn’t even there.
Barty Crouch Jr. had never been ignored in his life. People watched him. They feared him. They respected him, hated him, wanted to be him. But you—you were acting as though he was nothing.
And he couldn’t stand it.
At first, he played it off. Shrugged, smirked, pretended not to care. But then a week passed. Then another. And with every second of silence, something inside him frayed. He found himself watching you too closely. Waiting for you to look at him. Wanting your attention, even if it was anger, frustration, anything but this emptiness.
And when James Potter threw an arm around your shoulders at the Slytherin party, whispering something that made you laugh—
Something in Barty snapped.
You didn’t know how it had come to this.
One moment, you had been talking with Evan about absolute nonsense, nursing a cup of firewhiskey mixed with something you didn’t want to know, trying to focus on anything other than the tension between James and Barty, the way they seemed to be circling each other like wolves.
And now…
Now you were backed against the cold stone wall of an abandoned corridor, heart pounding as Barty loomed in front of you, eyes blazing with something wild, something dangerous.
“You’re avoiding me.” His voice was low, accusing.
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m not.”
“Liar.”
You flinched. Not because you were afraid of him, Merlin, no—Barty is lunatic at best—but because there was something desperate in his voice, something fraying at the edges.
“I just needed space,” you said carefully. Barty let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Space? From me?”
His fingers twitched at his sides, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you thought he might actually grab you, hold you there like he could force you to listen. “You belong with me.”
The words sent a chill down you spine. Not because of their meaning—but because of how much he believed them. “Barty,” you whispered, voice betrying you slightly, much to your annoyance “you don’t own me.”
His jaw clenched. “I never said I did.”
“But you act like it,” you shot back. “Like I’m something for you to win. Like James and I can’t be close, like I don’t have a choice in who I spend time with.”
Barty exhaled sharply, stepping closer, invading her space. “You do have a choice.” His voice was low now, almost a plea. “So why do you keep running from this?”
This. Whatever this was.
You felt your breath hitch, your pulse racing as he stared at you, expression laced with something desperate.
“This isn’t normal,” you whispered. Barty tilted his head, studying you. “Since when have I ever been normal?”
Your heart ached at that. Because he wasn’t. He was sharp edges and chaos, wildfire wrapped in silk. And you were intrigued.
“Tell me to leave,” Barty murmured, voice softer now, more dangerous. “Tell me you don’t want me, and I will.”
You opened your mouth, words mingling in your head, yet none of them escaped your lips.
Barty’s smirk returned, but it wasn’t triumphant. It was something else—something satisfied yet frustrated, as if he hated how much he needed you to not push him away.
The next day, you felt off-balance. Everything was the same, yet nothing was.
The Great Hall was as loud as ever, filled with students laughing, chattering, passing notes between bites of dinner. James sat beside you, talking animatedly with Sirius about the shenanigans they pulled at last night‘s party. Remus was reading. Pandora was off in her own world, stirring her tea with the wrong end of her spoon.
It was normal.
But you weren’t . Because he was there. Across the room, at the Slytherin table. And he wasn’t acting normal at all.
Barty Crouch Jr. was watching you. His elbow was propped on the table, chin resting against his knuckles, eyes fixed on you with that sharp, playful intensity. Like he was waiting for something. Like he could still feel last night as much as you could—the heat of his breath, the weight of his words, the way he had opened your eyes.
Your stomach twisted but not in the usual dread
You quickly looked down at her plate, poking at the food with the fork, suddenly very aware of every movement, every breath.
It was fine.
You could pretend it hadn’t happened. You could move on, act normal, be the person she had always been. You could-
“You okay?”
James’ voice cut through your thoughts.
You startled, nearly knocking over your pumpkin juice. James frowned, eyes narrowing slightly behind his glasses.
“You’re jumpy,” he observed. “Weird day?”
Yes. Extremely weird.
“No,” you said quickly. “Just tired.”
James didn’t look convinced.
Barty was still watching. You could feel it. Your pulse quickened. You needed to get out of here.
With a forced smile, you pushed back from the table. “I just remembered-I have to grab something from the library before class.” James raised an eyebrow. “Now?”
“Yeah,” you said quickly. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”
You turned before he could question you further, walking briskly out of the Great Hall, heart pounding.
You should have known he would find you.
It had been inevitable. Barty Crouch Jr. wasn’t the kind of person who let things go. He didn’t believe in backing down, in walking away—especially not from you.
And so, a day after the Slytherin party, after you had spent the night pretending you weren’t looking over your shoulder for him, he found you.
The Astronomy Tower was, to your luck, empty. The moment you stepped onto the stone balcony, the cold air biting at your skin, you felt him before you saw him in your peripheral vision.
He was leaning against the railing, staring out over the darkened grounds, sleeves rolled up, hands tense against the stone. He looked different in the moonlight. Less sharp, less manic, less like the Barty Crouch Jr. the world expected him to be.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
“I hate my father.”
His voice was quiet. Hollow. You stiffened, startled by his sudden honesty, by the rawness in his tone.
Still, you didn’t leave. Didn’t move.
Barty exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he murmured. “To be expected to be perfect. To be a reflection of someone else, someone you loathe.”
Your chest ached at the exhaustion in his voice.
You stayed silent, waiting.
Barty let out a sharp laugh, but there was no humor in it. “He thinks he can mold me into whatever he wants. A loyal son. A future politician. A Crouch through and through.” He scoffed. “But I’m not. I never was.”
He turned to look at her then, and for the first time, there was no smirk, no amusement—just something raw and vulnerable, something she had never seen before.
“I think,” he said slowly, voice quieter now, “that’s why I wanted you so much.”
Your breath caught unexpectedly.
Barty’s eyes flickered over your face, unreadable. “You don’t try to make me be something.” His lips twisted. “Even when you hate me, at least it’s real.”
Something heavy settled between you, thick and undeniable.
“And”, he started, face twisting into something uncomfortable, trying to find the right words. For a moment, he said nothing. Just looked at you—like he was fighting a battle you couldn’t see.
Then-
“I hate him too.”
The words were sharp, bitter, cutting through the silence like a blade. Your breath hitched. “Barty—”
“No.” He turned to face you fully, eyes burning. “I hate the way he hovers around you like he owns you. I hate the way he looks at me like I’m something filthy. I hate that no matter what I do, he’s always there.”
Your chest ached at the frustration in his voice, the way his fists clenched like he was barely keeping himself together.
“He’s my best friend,” you said softly. Barty let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “No. He’s waiting.”
You frowned at that. “Waiting for what?”
“For you to wake up,” Barty muttered. “For you to realize that he’s the safer choice. The one who won’t make your life complicated. The one who fits neatly into your perfect little world.”
You stared at him, stunned. “You think this is about James?”
Barty scoffed. “It’s always about him.”
Frustration flared in your chest. “Barty, I chose to stay away.”
He stilled.
“I chose to keep my distance,” you continued, voice surprisingly steady despite the inner hurricane you felt. “Not because of James. Not because of anyone else. But because you—”a sharp exhale left your mouth. “You scare me.”
Something flickered in his expression. “I’d never hurt you.”
“I know,” you whispered. “That’s not what I meant.”
Because this, the fire between them, the way he looked at you like he was drowning and you were the only air left—
It was too much. Barty was too much. And you weren’t sure if you were strong enough to handle it.
For a long moment, neither of you moved.
Then, slowly, Barty stepped closer. Not enough to touch, but enough that you could feel his warmth, enough that your breath caught in your throat.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he murmured.
Your pulse raced. “Then stop—” “Stop what?” His voice was rough now, almost desperate. “Wanting you? Needing you?”
“Barty—”
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to stop.”
And maybe that was the real problem. Because Barty Crouch Jr. had never been good at letting things go.
And neither had you.
So when he reached for you, fingers brushing against your wrist like he wasn’t sure you’d let him, you didn’t pull away.
And when he kissed you, desperate and reckless and full of something sharp and aching,
message: confessing to the annoying(ly handsome) suna rintarou!
In the bustling hallways you found yourself nervously fidgeting with the hem of your uniform. Today was the day, the day you had mustered up the courage to confess your feelings to Suna, the enigmatic and oh so frustrating volleyball player.
As you approached him, your heart raced a mile a minute. Suna noticed your presence and raised an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders, ready to face the challenge head-on.
"Hey, Suna," you began, trying to make your voice sound as nonchalant as possible. "Listen up, because I'm only going to say this once."
Suna's lips curled into a small smile as he crossed his arms, clearly amused by your sudden assertiveness. He nodded, encouraging you to continue.
"I...I've been watching you, you know," you stammered, your cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. "And, well, I've come to realize that I really like you."
There was a momentary pause, the air thick with anticipation. Suna's eyes softened, his smile growing wider. He took a step closer, closing the gap between the two of you.
You raised your eyebrow, surprised by his response. "You have?"
Suna nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Yeah, I've been hoping you'd drop the tough act and let me in. I like you too."
A mix of relief and happiness flooded your being. For a brief moment, a shy smile tugged at the corners of your lips which you quickly concealed. The burden of unspoken feelings was lifted, and a newfound warmth blossomed within you.
"Well, don't get too cocky," you muttered, trying to maintain your demeanor despite the blush creeping up your cheeks.
Suna chuckled, reaching out to gently intertwine his fingers with yours. "I wouldn't dream of it," he said, his voice tender. "But I'm glad you finally let your guard down."
And just like that, the confession turned into a moment of shared understanding and a promise of a new chapter in your relationship. As you walked side by side, the weight of unspoken emotions dissolved, replaced by the comfort of knowing that your feelings were reciprocated.
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