Chapter Text
Evan’s seat at the Slytherin table was empty, and it made Barty want to crawl out of his skin. Not everyone was back from break for breakfast on Tuesday morning, but sitting there without him was agony. Severus, sighing, mooning, and gazing at Lily didn’t help.
There was so much he needed to tell Evan. After snogging him utterly senseless. Well, more than just snogging.
Narcissa set her cup down and reached over to cover his hand with hers. The gold setting of her ring made him miss Evan all the more.
“You’re making everyone tense,” she whispered.
“Sorry,” Barty said, but didn’t mean it. Her engagement ring mocked him.
She clicked her tongue in a matronly way. “It’s just a Portkey delay.”
“I know.”
“He’ll be here before you know it.”
“I know.”
She was trying, and it was sweet, but she’d never understand. No one stood between her and Lucius. Quite the opposite. Their families, friends, everyone, supported their union. They weren’t going against the grain by being together. Evan and Barty were only together because they refused to be apart, which made every forced separation feel dire.
It didn’t help that he’d spent most of the holiday weekend watching his parents reconnect while ignoring him.
His mother’s recovery hadn’t softened his father. Not really. When he’d left to take himself back to Kings Cross Station last night, they’d been out on the back deck sharing a bottle of wine. His mum had hugged him, a full-on, proper embrace, the first time in years he hadn’t needed to lean over her hospital bed to hug her like a doll.
His father’s farewell had been a perfunctory handshake, but then… a sigh. Bartemius gazed down at his son, half a bottle of wine in him, and his wife healthy beside him, and he gave up on his son.
No mention of betrothals or foreign universities. Not a word as to Barty’s future. Because his father gave up. Right then and there, his face softened, and all the resolve in him left. Barty Crouch, Jr wasn’t his problem anymore.
He was done with fatherhood. Quit. Turned in his notice and packed up. Barty was no longer his concern. And rather than feel abandoned, Barty felt… free.
His father had clapped him on the shoulder with finality.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he said. “You’ve still got your grandfather’s Invisibility Cloak, right?” Barty had nodded. “Good,” his father said. “I can’t keep you from doing daft things, but at least try to not get caught.”
They weren’t proper parting words, but the sentiment was there. No hearty ‘Go west, young man’ or ‘Make me proud’ or any of that business. Just “try to not get caught.”
Absently, Barty pondered those words while he sipped his tea.
It was the perfect temperature, which meant Evan’s cup also was. He flicked a warming spell at Evan’s tea cup. He scanned the doorways, hoping for a head of blonde curls, but saw nothing.
Severus gasped shortly.
“What?” Barty said, annoyed.
“She’s crying,” he said, sounding half-strangled. “Lily is.”
Across the hall, Lily wasn’t doing anything interesting, just sitting and eating porridge. Potter’s seat was empty next to her.
“She is not,” Barty said. “You just can’t see through that disgusting mop you call hair.”
Narcissa hummed contritely. “I heard they broke up.”
“Who did?” Barty asked.
Severus filled in, “Lily and Potter. Reggie said Potter dumped her.”
Barty couldn’t find it in himself to care. Gryffindors were fickle with the hearts of others.
“Where is Reggie, anyway?” Barty asked.
Narcissa shrugged.
“Did you make Lupin cross?” Severus asked.
“Huh?” Barty grunted, his teacup halfway to his lips.
“He keeps looking at you like he’s going to come over here,” Severus said.
Narcissa rolled her eyes. “Thank you for the full report on the Gryffindor table.”
Barty snuck a glance at Lupin, and sure enough, they caught each other’s gaze immediately. Lupin’s attention flicked to Evan’s empty seat, then darted away. He was almost demure about it. He looked downright flustered.
Narcissa added, “Are you going to over-analyze the Hufflepuffs next, Severus?”
She turned away and got caught up in conversation with the other girls about wedding planning. Barty sighed and hoped he didn’t sound as lovesick as Severus next to him.
“I’m gonna ask her out,” Severus said.
“Your funeral.”
Severus was daft enough to ask her in front of people and be surprised when she shot him down like a bloody pigeon in flight. He’d probably say something stupid in front of all of the Gryffindors and get his arse kicked.
A plate of croissants drifted past them, and Barty took one and put it on Evan’s plate. Evan wouldn’t eat it. He’d scoff at the inferiority of British pastries, and that was half the point. He added some grapes, then a sausage, and after a few minutes, he’d assembled Evan’s breakfast, but Evan hadn’t come to collect it.
“Morning, lads,” Regulus said, taking his seat like he was mounting a horse.
Barty cocked his head and looked at him. He was rumpled and pink-cheeked, and his hair was mussed. His top two shirt buttons were undone.
“Did you skip the train and ride a broom all the way here?” Barty asked.
“Something like that,” Regulus said. He gestured to Evan’s seat while heaping food onto his own plate. “Evan get caught up in that Portkey bottleneck?”
Barty nodded.
Across the room, Potter shuffled in and flopped into his chair. Lily immediately stood, her chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. She took her bowl of porridge and left.
Severus startled and pushed away from the table.
“Don’t,” Barty said, and clapped a hand on his thigh. Regulus shot them both a quizzical look, so Barty said, “He’s got it in his head he’s gonna ask her out.”
Instead of laughing, Regulus chewed on a bite of bacon for a while, then said, unusually thoughtful, “I think you’ve got a shot, Sev.”
Incredulous, Severus’ dark eyes scanned his friends’ faces for any hint of sarcasm. And then he was gone, on his way out the same door she’d just disappeared through.
Mentally, Barty wished him well and dreaded the inevitable moody fallout. Evan would have told Severus what to say. He’d have helped him. He was romantic like that.
Barty sighed, made Evan’s tea, and waited.
--
James smelled like sex.
Remus wrinkled his nose and rubbed it on his shirt cuff. James smelled like cum and arse and sweat, and not a trace of Lily. He caught a faint whiff of the underground dankness that normally clung to Slytherin robes. Odd.
On his other side, Sirius smelled like a human, which was disappointing. It meant he probably hadn’t used his Animagus form at all during the holiday weekend. He smelled like woodsmoke, probably from the Potter’s cottage, and faintly of leather polish.
James placed a single blueberry on his spoon, held it like a tiny catapult, and launched it over two tables of students. It reached its zenith just below the chandelier, then dropped to hit Regulus in the back of the head.
Regulus touched his hair, but otherwise didn’t notice.
Sirius tensed, and Remus smelled the fresh sweat on his palms. Nothing changed in his demeanour, though.
“How was the, ah…” Sirius said, digging marmalade out of a jar with his spoon. “Hunting?” He seemed pleased with his word choice. “Bag anything good?”
Remus nodded and finished chewing a bite of eggs. “Yeah,” he said, then swallowed, eager to talk about canine habits. “Couple of rabbits. Good ones for this time of year.”
Shamefully, Sirius tended to be the better hunter of the two of them. Maybe because prey didn’t catch the wicked human gleam in his dark eyes. They saw a black dog, a pet, not a predator.
“Your dad go with you?” Sirius asked, not looking at Remus.
He scented the air between them for anything that smelled like jealousy, whatever jealousy might smell like, because it would be nice if Sirius were jealous that he’d hunted with someone else. But his scent didn’t change.
“Nah,” Remus said. “I think he’s too old to hunt any more.”
James shot another blueberry across the Great Hall, straight into the cowlick on the back of Regulus’ head. This time, Regulus turned and glared at James. Undeterred, James picked up another blueberry.
Sirius smelled like sweat again.
Across the table, Peter sucked his teeth, then said, “Prongs, honestly.”
James chuckled and replied, “What? Seekers appreciate good aim.”
He shot another blueberry at Regulus and pinged him in the back of the neck. In a split-second, Regulus flung a wandless Incendio around his head like a low halo. The berry burst into flames and plopped to the floor.
It only stoked James’ villany. He loaded another blueberry.
“Jim,” Sirius said sternly. “Come on.”
James rolled his eyes and sent another blueberry into orbit.
Regulus plucked it from the air with uncanny speed, mere inches from his hair. He didn’t turn around as he rose from his seat. His back was ramrod straight.
“Shit,” Sirius hissed.
Regulus’ shoes clicked the Great Hall into silence. He marched to the Gryffindor table, berry held in his fingertips like a particularly vile insect. He dropped it into James’ tea. It bobbed to the top, then sank.
A predatory smile bloomed across James’ face, and he leaned forward to speak, but Sirius cut him off.
“Morning,” Sirius said. He cleared his throat. “How’s the mater and pater?”
Regulus’ lip twitched. “Like you care.” He glared down at Sirius. “Dad gave me something for you.”
“Some kind of Dark Magic booby-trapped-”
Regulus spat in his face. A gob of saliva ran down Sirius’ lips. Remus watched it linger on the soft pout of his bottom lip, then looked away when Sirius’ eyes fluttered open.
Regulus said, “And Mum says ‘hello’.”
“Oh, does she?”
“No,” Regulus scoffed.
He made to reach into his pocket, and like lightning, James drew his wand, stood, and jabbed it into Regulus’ chest. Remus held his breath before everyone’s terror sweat broke out. His next lungfuls of air reeked of anger and fear. And sex.
“Best watch yourself, Baby Black.” James ran the tip of his wand down the lapel of Regulus’ robe.
Regulus batted his wand away. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
James smiled as if he’d just won by forfeit. He withdrew his wand with a flourish and retook his seat.
“Anything you say,” he said politely.
Regulus turned pink, looked at each of them in turn, lost his nerve, and scuttled away. It wasn’t a dignified retreat. Mentally, Remus tucked his own tail in sympathy.
Gradually, they all turned their attention back to their plates. Peter and James finished eating first, then left to go outside for a smoke. They’d show up for Arithmancy completely stoned. Peter would let James cheat off of him.
Sirius took the last sausage from a dish, then looked sheepishly at Remus, who could smell the sausage, and couldn’t keep from licking his lips. It still smelled crisp from the pan.
Sirius would bite into it, and Remus would watch his canines sink into the meat. He’d get salty grease on his lips while Remus imagined what his mouth tasted like. He’d imagine flicking a wolf’s tongue between the lips of Sirius’ muzzle, something he’d never dared to do, but had always wanted to.
Remus let out a slow, measured breath. That would never happen.
With a doting smile, Sirius cut it in half and put a piece on Remus’ plate. The gesture made him search for Rosier and Crouch. Crouch was still in his seat, glowering like he ought to have a storm cloud above his head. Rosier’s empty seat was probably the cause.
Abruptly, Crouch stood. All of his attention turned towards a narrow corridor to the main gates. Several hallways led there, but the one Crouch was headed towards was the one most students avoided. It was dark, and the statues were eerie.
From their seats, diagonal from the entryway, Remus and Sirius had the best view into that tunnel. Under the din of the Great Hall, the sound of the creaking front gates echoed through, faintly enough that only Remus could probably hear it.
--
Evan’s shoes squished as he took the stairs up to the main gates. His Portkey had been so overdue when he finally used it that it dropped him in the south marshes instead of the castle atrium.
The French Ministry blamed the Portkey issues on the British Ministry, and the Brits blamed the French right back. His mum and Tom had left a day early, just to avoid the delays.
Tom was a decent man, Evan supposed. Their grand-mere loved him. He seemed to treat Evan’s mum well.
The cousins had been wary of him at first, the way most French children were suspicious of British wizards. Beauxbatons made a point of teaching the consequences of using Dark Magic in England before teaching Dark Magic itself. The kids hadn’t warmed up to Tom until he’d cured one of their grand-mere’s apple trees of a devastating blight.
“It is Dark,” he’d said, wand held aloft, magic flowing like sentient soot over the fragile tree, “because it takes life, without giving back.”
The children listened with rapt attention, Evan included. They gasped when the inky cloud around the tree pulsed twice, then the blotchy leaves all fell to the ground. The pockmarks in the trunk healed, one by one.
Evan slipped his fingers between the buttons of his shirt to stroke the gold chain across his collarbones. How could his family’s chainmail be Dark Magic if all it did was protect the wearer? Was the darkness in the forging, not in the wearing?
“But I would argue,” said Tom, “that not all life is beneficial.” He flicked his wand, and small, green sprouts pushed from the tips of branches. “Some is invasive, and better off dispatched early.”
Something about his words reminded Evan of his father, and the bus that hadn’t given a whit about magic armour.
Evan’s mum and Tom had left shortly after that, and Evan had spent the daylight hours of his holiday duelling his cousins with a blindfold on. His evening hours were dedicated to wanking to werewolf drawings in increasingly creative ways.
His favourite wank scenario, the one he’d admit to, at least, involved getting fucked by Lupin while Barty fucked Lupin. Whether or not Barty would want that, Evan didn’t honestly know, but he had several schematics tucked away in his head. The other scenario, the one he’d rather keep to himself, was a bit too perverse to dwell on.
It would be best to start with something tame. First things first, he had to find Barty.
He wasn’t sure if the bell had rung for the start of classes, or if the students were still in the Great Hall. He pulled the heavy, creaky door open, then slipped inside the front vestibule. There were several ways to get to the Great Hall, but the statuary tunnel was his favourite. Because half of them were nude.
Most students avoided it, because it was pitch black dark halfway through, but Evan knew his way by feel, and the darkness didn’t last long.
The roar of an excited body of Hogwarts students reached his ears before the morning light through the high Great Hall windows met his eyes. The statues on either side of him were Greek gods, or Roman gods, or Olympians, or some other unnamed dead heroes. Most were missing a hand, or fingers, or nose.
One statue was missing entirely, leaving its light blue alcove empty, like a godless shrine.
Without warning, Barty darted in and shoved Evan bodily into the alcove.
Evan let out a startled, “Oompf!” when his back hit the wall, and Barty smothered the rest of his protestation with his lips. His hands were cupping Evan’s face before he gathered his wits enough to kiss Barty back.
Barty’s eyes glittered in the shadowed hall. “I missed you so fucking much,” he said, and held him tight.
“I missed you, too,” Evan said, but the words weren’t enough. He missed his mum, and he missed his family, and he missed proper croissants here at school.
He needed Barty. He hadn’t known it before now, as his throat grew tight, and tears threatened to spill, how much he needed him. It felt like a part of his soul had been returned to him.
He grabbed Barty’s face in both hands and stared into his dark eyes. “I’m not leaving here without you again. I love you too much.”
Barty stepped even closer, pressing himself against Evan, thigh to thigh, hip to hip, chest to chest. His breath hitched, and he muffled a sob against Evan’s shoulder.
“I’m not going anywhere without you again,” Barty whispered. “Ever.”
Grinning, Evan kissed him first, then broke away to say, “Not even the loo?”
Barty shut him up with a kiss. “Not if I can help it.” And kissed him again, and said against his lips, “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I can tell.” There was a growing bulge pressing against Evan’s hip, and he wiggled against it. This was exactly the kind of welcome he’d hoped for. “Do we have time to go down to the dorm and-”
The bell tolled. The obnoxious, clanging, cock-blocking bell.
Barty rested his forehead against Evan’s, and they both sighed. In unison, dozens upon dozens of students stood. No one would bother them here, on the edge of the light. They stood together, arms still around each other, and watched the younger students scurry off into the far corridors.
Feeling ornery, Evan snuck a hand between them and rubbed Barty’s length through his trousers. He expected Barty to shoo him away, but instead, he leaned into the touch.
“It would be a shame if that Portkey delay made me late for class,” Evan whispered.
Barty melted into him with a relieved sigh. He kissed Evan’s lips, then his chin, then his lips again. “And I don’t care if I get marked tardy.”
Evan hummed a gentle warning. “Your father would care.”
“I don’t think he would anymore,” Barty replied.
His body pinned Evan against the alcove wall. Out in the Great Hall, only the older students lingered, a few at each table.
Barty rubbed his chin against Evan’s neck, stubble against his skin. The roughness made his breath catch.
“You’ll get us in trouble,” Evan said. “We’ll get detention.”
“Or better,” Barty said, lifting his face. “Expelled.”
He slid his hands between them and unbuckled Evan’s belt.
“Wait,” Evan said, a hand on Barty’s wrist. “I think we’re being watched.”
Evan nodded towards the Gryffindor table, where Sirius and Lupin were both quite obviously watching them.
“Hm,” Barty said. He slid Evan’s zipper down. “So we are. Good thing they can’t hear us.”
“A human wouldn’t be able to.” Evan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “But a werewolf could.”
--
Remus could smell the arousal wafting from Sirius’ skin. It seeped out of his collar, the mixed scent of flushed skin, fresh sweat, and just the faintest undercurrent of canine musk.
Sirius licked his lips, eyes firmly on the spectacle in the tunnel alcove. Remus watched his tongue and wondered what it would feel like to lick the inside of his mouth. He mostly thought about it when they shifted together -- about greeting him like a real wolf would, nose to hind and hind to nose, then nose to nose, their tongues slipping between each other’s teeth.
The corridor quieted down, and the bell rang again.
He and Sirius hadn’t paid much attention to the first bell, nor to the students who dutifully left their plates and took up their books. Everyone was gone except the two of them.
And the two of them.
Rosier and Crouch. They looked like a pornographic sculpture clad in Slytherin robes.
Crouch glanced over his shoulder and caught Remus and Sirius staring. Remus didn’t flinch, but Sirius quickly looked away. He cleared his throat.
In the alcove, they were whispering to each other, and Remus could only imagine what they were saying. Probably that they missed each other. They obviously did. Maybe that they loved each other, because they obviously did that, too.
Sirius looked at his plate for a few long moments, then, his gaze slid back to the alcove. He hadn’t noticed Remus watching them too.
He could almost make out their words across the empty hall. Sirius probably couldn’t, but Remus’ hearing was excellent.
“A hu… wou… ble…” came Rosier’s broken voice.
Remus’ ears pricked up, as much as human ears could.
Evan said, “But a werewolf could.”
Remus startled, eyes going wide. Next to him, Sirius didn’t seem to notice, his attention completely on Crouch and Rosier’s bodies.
They exchanged wicked grins, then Crouch whispered, “Did you hear that, Lupin?” He turned and looked straight at Remus.
Remus froze like a deer. He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. And Crouch watched, waiting for an answer. Remus nodded.
Crouch’s smirk was victorious. Predatory, and for a split-second, Remus was reminded that this boy’s father could have him hunted down like a rabid mutt.
Crouch kissed Rosier’s cheek and whispered in his ear, “Do you still want him, my love?”
Rosier peeked over Crouch’s shoulder. Whatever they were doing beneath their robes, it made Rosier’s eyes drift shut.
Remus gulped and braced himself for rejection.
Rosier licked his lips. “Even more.”
“Hm,” Crouch hummed, his lips against Rosier’s forehead.
He pulled his hand from Rosier’s fly, spit in it, and shoved it back in his pants. Rosier let out a shocked yelp that tapered off into an ecstatic moan.
Sirius’ breath sucked in abruptly. The scent of his arousal flooded Remus’ nose. He was so hard that his cock was trapped down one trouser leg. He’d have to fully unzip and drop his trousers to release it. Shifting his weight did nothing to relieve the pressure.
“Did you think about him the last time you came?” Crouch asked.
Rosier’s first reply was a choked moan that undulated with the movement of Crouch’s shoulder. “Yes,” he eventually whispered.
Crouch pinned him against the wall and ground into him. He threaded his fingers through Rosier’s curls, spread his hand, then pulled.
Neck arched, Rosier let out a sound so feral that it rose the hair at the back of Remus’ neck. It rebounded off the stone walls.
Sirius’ whole body reacted, tensing in his chair like a dog on point. His neck was scarlet. Sweat shone on his upper lip. He smelled like he was going to come in his pants.
Crouch chuckled.
“Did you pretend we both fucked you?” Crouch said, voice playful.
Rosier whimpered, “Yes.”
The thrill that raced down Remus’ spine was new and exciting. There was nothing human about it. It was like scenting prey, or the sharp glare of a full moon. Wholly instinct.
They weren’t tame. Compared to Sirius next to him, Rosier and Crouch were bestial, going at it like animals, where anyone could see them.
Maybe it was why they didn’t seem to care about his lycanthropy. They weren’t terribly civilised, themselves.
Crouch tightened his grip and held Rosier’s head high. “Who came in you first?”
He looked at Remus as he asked it. Dead in the eye.
“Remus,” Rosier whispered. The barest movement of his mouth. He said it as though he’d said it like this before. Like it was familiar on his lips moments before he came. Like he’d already screamed it and liked the taste of it.
“Moony!”
A hand clamped down on Remus’ shoulder, and he nearly snapped around and bit it. “Fuck!” he shouted, and chased away thoughts of digging his teeth into flesh.
Sirius flinched like he’d been shot and spun around in his chair. “Christ! What the fuck, Pete?!” He shoved Peter’s other hand away.
Peter and James exchanged a glance, albeit a bloodshot one. They both smelled like pot.
“What?” James said. “Not like we were being sneaky. What’s got your knickers in a twist?”
Sirius gulped. “Nothing,” he said, and rose, shoving them away. “Just stop being a wanker.”
“Moony,” Peter said, clumsy-tongued and dry-mouthed, “you feeling all right?”
Remus looked back at the alcove. It was empty.
“I’m fine,” he said, and followed them out.
“To Divination,” Peter announced, pointing a finger aloft, “I foresee!”
James smacked him in the back of the head. “Idiot.”
They were all late for Arithmancy.
--
Barty’s dick was hard all morning. Not continuously, but off and on, which was almost worse.
Every time he thought of Evan, which was mostly what he thought about, he couldn’t stop himself from remembering how he’d said Lupin’s name.
They were waiting outside Worthington’s class when Evan elbowed him.
Barty gave him an inquisitive look.
Evan nodded towards the closed door. The Seventh Years would be finishing their lecture right about now.
“Should we ask him?” Evan whispered.
Barty bit the inside of his lip for a moment. “Yeah, I suppose so. He’s had all morning to send a note.”
“He didn’t even make eye contact with me in the restroom earlier,” Evan said with a pout. “I was right next to him at the urinals.”
“You weren’t exactly looking at his eyes, either.”
Evan huffed. “Still.”
Watching Evan fantasies about werewolf cock all day hadn’t helped the situation in Barty’s trousers. Evan managed to come in his pants in that alcove, but Barty hadn’t had time to finish.
“How should we ask him?”
“I don’t know.” Evan leaned against the wall and sighed. “In English?”
“Brilliant.”
Regulus came up behind Barty.
“Hey,” he said, with a jerk of his chin, then turned his attention to Evan. “I was gonna ask you at breakfast, but did your mum introduce you to Tom?”
Evan nodded. “Yeah, he seems all right. Taught us some new spells.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet he did.” Regulus’ lips went tight, then curled in a barely-there smile. “My aunt said he-”
The door opened, iron hinges squeaking, and the Seventh Year girls came out, excited and chattering. The boys always lagged behind.
Then, the most unexpected thing happened. An event that made them all stop breathing. One worthy of note in A History of Hogwarts.
Lily Evans waved to Severus. Just a little wave. A coy kind of wave. But a wave. And a smile.
En masse, the Slytherin boys all turned to Severus for an explanation. He didn’t address them until Lily was several paces down the hall, as though he was preserving the lady’s virtue.
“What in the absolute fuck-shite was that?” Regulus asked. He nudged Severus. “Huh? Snape?”
Unruffled, Severus mustered up all the courage in his lanky frame and said, “We’re seeing a film this weekend.”
If Regulus hadn’t been there rolling his eyes, Evan probably would have congratulated Severus. But Regulus’ disgust was obvious.
“I’d say you can do better than a Mudblood,” Regulus said, glancing over his shoulder. Potter was well within earshot. “But I’m not honestly sure you can. So, good on ya.”
He clapped Severus on the shoulder, making him flinch, then shoved his way into the room against the tide of Gryffindors.
Barty didn’t have time to reprimand him before Regulus ran smack into Potter. The word ‘Mudblood’ still hung in the air, and the tension was instant. They faced each other like opposing forces, as though there were battle lines drawn between them. Sirius and Lupin were at Potter’s sides. Evan and Barty flanked Regulus. Pettigrew and Severus each cowered in their own fashions.
Potter smirked down at Regulus.
“You got a problem, Baby Black?”
Barty slid his wand down into his hand and waited for him to hoist Regulus into the air, or shove him across a desk, or whatever juvenile shit Potter felt like today.
Regulus had his weight on his back foot, arms loose, fists tight. Everything about his stance was an invitation to fuck around and find out.
Regulus glared up at him. “Not a care in the world.”
Potter ate animosity like candy, and grinned like his mouth was full of sweets.
Evan flicked a nervous glance at Barty. This wasn’t their normal horsing around. Someone was going to get hurt.
It was Sirius who intervened.
“Jim,” he said gently. “Come on.”
Potter didn’t move.
“Yeah,” Lupin added. “Let’s go.”
“Fine,” Potter said.
Sirius led him out like a horse liable to kick. When Barty turned to remark to Evan about it, Lupin was still there.
All the other Sixth Years had taken their seats, and Lupin was the only Seventh Year left. He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the stone floor and didn’t look up.
Evan looked at Barty and mouthed, ‘Ask him.’
‘You ask him,’ Barty mouthed back.
Lupin swallowed thickly, then dug a small envelope from his trouser pocket. He stared at it for a bit, then licked along the edge of the flap and pressed it shut. The way he looked at it made Barty wonder if he thought it would catch fire.
“Here,” Lupin said, holding the spit-sealed envelope out.
Evan reached for it, but Lupin jerked it away.
“What?” Evan said, hand in the air between them.
Lupin looked up then. Sober as a priest, straight at Evan. He licked his lips. “Are you sure you want to touch it?”
Evan nodded and reached for the paper, but Lupin held it just out of reach.
He let Evan touch the corner of the envelope. One of the creases without his saliva on it.
With a surreptitious glance around the room, Evan leaned forward. “I was right, then?”
All Lupin did was nod once, and Barty watched something in his boyfriend change. A vicious eagerness shot through him, and he saw, for the first time, a part of Evan he couldn’t yet name. Whether having Lupin was a mere fantasy or something deeper, he couldn’t tell. Had he known there was a piece of Evan he didn’t already hold, he’d have gone looking for it. But maybe this piece wasn’t his to find.
Evan plucked the envelope from Lupin’s hand and said, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?”
“Maybe.” Lupin replied.
“What’s this?” Barty asked, eying the envelope.
Lupin shrugged. “An invitation?”
On the surface, Lupin looked calm, but this close, he was obviously nervous. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, alternating between putting them in his trouser pockets and folding his arms across his chest.
Professor Worthington trundled into the room, and Lupin took it as his cue to leave. Barty herded Evan into an empty row of seats, and they huddled together over the note. Worthington dove straight into a lecture that could put a rock to sleep.
“Open it,” Barty whispered.
Evan stroked the sealed edge as if it were gold gilt. “It might have a prank hex in it.”
Barty laid out his quill, ink, and parchment and set to transcribing Worthington’s droning monologue. It was far too dull to commit to memory.
“He’s not going to hex us. He’s not Potter.”
“Yeah,” Evan whispered. “I suppose not.”
“Slide it through your chains, then open it,” Barty said.
“What?”
“Just tuck it under your chains. That’ll kill any spell he might have put in it, right? Like when they hexed my quill last year.”
“Oh!” Evan’s eyes widened. “Yeah.”
He unbuttoned a cuff, folded the letter in half, and tucked it under his gold bracelet. After running it back and forth a few times, he took it out.
“Good?” Barty asked.
Evan nodded. He slid his thumbnail along the sealed edge, not unlike caressing a lover. The intimacy of it was impossible to look away from.
“Go on,” Barty said.
With his breath held, Evan finally opened it. Nothing interesting happened. No green cursefire erupted from the paper. Evan didn’t suddenly turn into a raving wolfman. Worthington didn’t even notice.
“What’s it say?” Barty asked. Evan’s postal foreplay had stoked his curiosity. “Does it just say ‘I’m a bloody werewolf’ or is it more than that?”
The writing inside was surprisingly pretty. A big, loopy script, not the tight, neat writing Barty had expected. It was difficult to read from the side.
Evan said, “It’s… instructions?”
Barty wet his lips. “For what?”
Evan’s eyes scanned the writing, then unfolded the bottom of the paper. A drawing of a willow tree took up one corner.
“A secret tunnel,” Evan whispered. “To a house.”
“And?”
“He wants us to meet him there. Tonight.”
--