Chapter Text
Barty hated patrols. He was required to do them as a part of being a teacher at Hogwarts, and boy wasn’t that a thought, but they just made him think of some bastard with a stick up his ass parading around like he’s king of the world.
Hey, maybe that's why Reg liked to do them so much.
Barty winced, and smacked his head. He shouldn’t think of Reg, filthy traitor that he was.
Although, his brain couldn’t help but remind him, you don’t actually know that. He could have just been killed and never found. Not all the bloodthirsty beasts were on our side.
Don’t be a moron, he told himself, you saw how shaky he was getting in those last few months.
Barty reached for his flask, a habit he had picked up on when he was stressed. It wasn’t alcohol but he could almost pretend he was fourteen and convincing Reg and Evan to help him take a bottle of pure voka from Slughorn’s cabinet in his office. Barty had not expected how strong it would be when he kicked back a large swig. He’d been on the floor choking while Reg smirked and Evan had tears streaming from his eyes.
Evan
Barty missed Evan something fierce. He hated the body he was stuck in, despised it in a way he couldn’t have intercepted when his lord requested this of him. Every second it sickened him, drove him even crazier as his skin constantly itched and crawled. He was wearing the skin of his boyfriend's, one of his best friend’s, murderer. He couldn’t even taunt the real man, he was crazy but he wasn’t dumb. The real Alastor Moody was the best Auror of his age.
That's the only reason he got Evan. Barty could at least take some satisfaction in that thought. Evan had been their group’s brawn (along with Dorcas, that filthy blood traitor), and the best dueler among them. Barty and Pan had been the brains, as the two Ravenclaws, and Reg was their jack of all trades.
Merlin’s balls on fire, he missed them. Years in Azkaban and forced under his monster of a father’s control, all he had was time to think. He hated his friends, Reg for more than likely abandoning the cause, Pan for not fighting alongside them using her brilliance in potions to outclass that half-breed Snape who clawed his way into the Dark Lord’s good graces, Dorcas for committing the ultimate betrayal, switching sides and fighting against all of them, Evan for being a cocky moron who took on Mad-eye Moody without so much as a half-blood for backup. By Lady Magic he missed his friends.
Forcing his thoughts away from his childhood, which ended too soon and felt like both forever ago and just yesterday, he slammed his staff against the cold stone floor. That felt like something Moody would do when he was frustrated or too absorbed in his thoughts right?
Fuck, this whole role was so complicated. He was pretending to be one of Albus Dumbledore’s oldest buds right under his nose. Barty wasn’t honestly sure he could succeed, but the Dark Lord was counting on him so he had no choice. Besides, he always worked best under pressure.
Barty spotted the Durmstrang champion and a girl with blonde curly hair getting closer to the school. He had been wondering about the boy. He hated Igor Karkaroff, but he found himself having some level of sympathy for young Mr. Di Angelo. The kid’s fear when faced with Karkaroff and his headmaster’s threatening his a little closer to home than Barty was comfortable with, and the urge to whip out his wand and curse Karkaroff senseless, damn it all, was overpowering.
Making care to not make a sound, couldn’t diminish the old cout’s reputation (‘Cept for making him look like an old sot), he crept closer to the pair. “Out for a late night rendezvous in the Forbidden Forest?” He grunted in the signature Alastor Moody fashion. “Hope someone taught you the protection spell, you’re a bit young for any unpleasant surprises.” Barty said, grinning just a bit more like himself.
The poor Durmstrang boy looked horrified. He was bright red, eyes wide, with a look that was both shock, and disgust, tinged with a bit of fear.
Interesting, Barty mused. He looked like Reg and him had, back in the day when they had both gotten drunk, kissed, and finally accepted they were gay only to realize what that meant in both their families.
He turned towards the girl and nearly vomited in shock and horror. This was Pandora’s daughter, no doubt about it. The girl was the spitting image of her mother. He had no idea what the girl’s name was, Pan had broken off contact long before she had apparently gotten pregnant, but he had a feeling it was something whimsical and elegant, a perfect combination of her and Xenophilius’ styles. Barty forced himself to school his features, the girl was starting to look at him curiously.
“We aren’t-we didn’t-I would never-eww.” The Durmstrang champion settled on. He still looked green in the face.
Barty waited for Pan to turn to him with a sharp look and a witty comment, but she never did, just continued to look at him appraisingly. Barty almost physically shook himself. This girl was not Pandora Rosier, the strong young woman who had given him the most frightening shovel talk of his life, and he couldn’t pretend she was. His cover was too important to do that. The Dark Lord was counting on him.
“I should hope not. Reporters will have a field day with that one, bloody cockroaches they are.” He said gruffly. “Well come on then girl, into the castle.”
“You’re not going to take points away?” Pandora’s daughter asked.
And Barty, soft as he was where he should have long since been hardened, soft after a night of reminiscing, said, “Never thought the point system was good enough for punishment. Now off to bed, and be glad I don’t turn you into a lizard.” He motioned inside the castle with his staff and the girl scurried to move inside.
She paused, though, at the door, “It was nice to meet you Nico di Angelo. I hope the Wakaspurts clear up. And goodnight Professor Moody.”, before slipping inside and disappearing.
Barty vaguely remembered Pandora’s boyfriend trying to convince her of some weird invisible thing of the same name and decided he didn’t want to know. “You too, off to your ship before I decide something more drastic.”
“Of course Sir.” The boy said diplomatically and began to turn towards the Black Lake.
“Oh and di Angelo?” Barty started. The boy turned, waiting. “Do tell your headmaster I’m looking forward to a little chat.” Sue him, Barty would do just about anything to see Karkaroff squirm a little and Moody had just as much reason to question him as Barty wanted to torment the man.
Di Angelo’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly and he nodded before turning back around and starting the trek back to his ship. As Barty watched him go, he couldn’t help but notice how the boy’s pale skin stood out among the inky black of the night and tried not to think of another boy he used to know.
He tried not to think about that boy’s best friend and how sometimes the whole group would sneak out for some fun, but more often sometimes Reg would take Pandora out for a late night picnic and stargazing when she had a bad day. It got to the point that half their year had thought they were dating and Reg got an owl from his mother asking if “he had a preference in the Rosier girl when she negotiated his marriage contract”.
Barty almost smiled before he realized what he was doing. Both of them were traitors. He had to remember that. Even if the good memories had been the only thing to sustain him all those years, they were just that. Memories of a time long ago.