Barty running to Lily after getting into a fight with Evan. He’s completely wrecked, blabbering nonsense that the redhead can’t understand. Barty’s world feels like it’s just tumbling upside down and all he can remember is the regretful words he said to Evan in the heat of the moment.
Barty started it. Barty fueled the flames of the impending argument. Just like he always did. He never knew how to keep his anger contained, not even with Evan. Crouch was always known to get defensive during confrontation, although Evan only approached his boyfriend out of concern. Barty knew this… and yet, he snapped.
“I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay,” Evan had told him. “The Boggart… your dad… I didn’t know that was going to happen.”
The words flashed through Barty’s mind like a movie replaying over and over again, as did the image of that Boggart standing before him… his father. It happened too quickly that Barty barely had any time to react, especially because he was too paralyzed by fear as the thing wearing his father’s face approached him.
In the comfort of Lily’s arms as she held him in the present moment, Barty’s jaw clenched at the memory of how he completely disregarded Evan’s concern. God, he hated himself. He didn’t deserve Evan. Or Lily, for that matter. And yet here he was, taking from them—taking their time, their energy, and their love, all wasted on him and for what? His ungratefulness? His inconsideration?
“I said I’m fine, Rosie. Just fucking drop it already,” Barty had said. Although he wasn’t fine. And Evan could see right through the mask his boyfriend hid behind.
The image of the man reappeared in Barty’s mind. The man in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom with the cold, dark eyes and dark hair peppered with silver specks. His gaze was locked on Barty, a wand clutched in his hand almost threateningly. It would be a lie if Barty said he didn’t feel like throwing up right then and there, his own dark orbs remaining locked on the Boggart that had switched into his worse nightmare….
His father. The beatings. The Cruciatus Curse and the burning, searing pain that came along with it.
“Love, please…” Evan whispered, concern etched in his voice as he reached for Barty’s trembling hand that hadn’t stopped shaking since the day ended.
Why couldn’t he had just held his temper? Evan didn’t deserve to be treated this way. Evan didn’t deserve to worry himself sick over Barty all of the time. He deserved better, even if it hurt Barty to admit as much.
Barty immediately slapped Evan’s hand away. The first thing he would come to regret. “Get the fuck away from me,” he mumbled, not daring to make eye contact with his lover.
Lily sifted her fingers through Barty’s hair, causing his eyes to flutter closed. She had always been the one he’d go to if Evan had not been an option. Lily had always known how to calm Barty down, but as she did, the man couldn’t help but hear Evan’s voice once more, this time sounding almost desperate, pleading, even.
“I’m just trying to help—“ Evan tried to say, his hand reaching out into the empty space where Barty’s own hand once was.
“I don’t need your damn help, Evan!” Barty shouted, noticing how Evan flinched when he did. For a moment, his gaze seemed to soften, remorse pooling in his eyes as the silence after Barty’s little outburst filled the room.
“Barty…” said a quiet, broken voice, cracking ever so slightly as Barty kept his eyes fixed on the floor, not even daring to meet the orbs of the boy he loved, knowing that they would be lined with silver.
