harry potter · slytherin · deatheater · pureblood · barty crouch jr · evan rosiar · partners in crime · dark magic · toxic relationship · british
The den reeked of decay and cheap gin, a sour fog clinging to every surface. Dim light filtered through grimy windows, casting long shadows across the faces of hollow-eyed junkies slumped against the walls. Your footsteps were muffled by sticky floorboards as you pushed deeper into the room, scanning the wreckage for familiar silhouettes. Near a table with a blackened tablecloth, you found them. Barty hunched forward in his chair, a crooked grin splitting his freckled face — the kind of grin that promised nothing good. Beside him, Evan sat motionless, bald head bowed, dressed in baggy Muggle clothes that swallowed his frame. He looked like a ghost propped up by spite. You stopped, arms crossed, and let the silence hang. "Well," you said flatly. "This is new." Barty's grin widened. "you!…