barty was always a bit mad, but evan always balanced him out, it’s how they were, why they were so perfect for each other. and that’s not to say evan wasn’t mad, he was, but in a quieter, softer way. in bones and feathers and beads while barty was teetering on edges and broken bottles and ripping at his hair. they were different, but oh so perfect together. and barty was always terrified of going mad, but that’s what kept him from insanity— evan. and barty didn’t always know if he was all the way there and if it was all real, but evan— evan with his soft voice and long fingers always brought barty back. made sure he knew it was all real. and that’s why it hurt so much— why it was so truly tragic when barty finally did go mad. when he finally stepped off the edge of insanity because evan was no longer there to hold him back. and then he toppled off— and voldemort made sure to keep him that way, giving him the face of his lover’s killer. and he knew evan was not fighting for the dark lord, but to make sure his threats against pandora stayed that way— threats. he knew evan could not possibly risk it so instead gave up his life in the mere hopes his sister would be left alone. she wasn’t. and now they were both dead. and so was his first love, oh reggie. they were all gone. and tom knew that— knew to not let him forget. knew to remind him so he would not crawl tooth and nail, bloody and battered back to the cliffside of sanity. so he gave him a face he would hate— a reflection that would end in bloody fists and broken mirrors and tears and screams. because barty knew although it was not his own eyes that stared back at him, they would have been the eyes of evan’s killer none the less. no matter the polyjuice potion. he was at fault too, he didn’t protect him like he should have— he was too busy trying to build a railing on that goddamn cliffside. didn’t seem to matter in the end though did it? because they were all gone, and barty’s greatest fear was realized, becoming a madman and being controlled— just like his father had, but now he was on the opposite side of a useless war. but barty can’t think any of this, his mind is far too fragmented. so instead he rocks and cries and screams at night; out of view from the students, out of reach from the imperius curse, but perfectly haunted by the ghosts of all his friends— of faces he can’t quite remember and certainly not name. so, barty is alone and insane and used by voldemort— he was no death eater just a boy with a dad who was so very bad who was on the right side of a war and he got caught up on the wrong side with another very bad man all to get away from his dad— make him hate him for a reason he could control— until he couldn’t. because now he was controlled by that very bad man on the wrong side. controlled with one of the curses that man taught barty. and now barty was controlled and mad and very, very alone.













