It was never supposed to hurt like this.

You knew what he was before you ever let yourself want him, sharp edges, dangerous friends, a smile that never quite reached his eyes. Barty Crouch Jr. carried storms behind his ribs, and still, you stepped closer. He never promised you anything, but he looked at you like you were something he couldn’t afford to lose.

At first, it was small. Sitting near you in the Great Hall when his friends weren’t watching. Whispered conversations in the library aisles. His voice low, almost careful, when he said your name. You learned the shape of his silence, the way he hid behind humor and darkness, the way his eyes softened only when they found you.

And you let yourself believe. You let yourself fall.

But Barty was always halfway gone.

Some days he would hold your gaze like you were the only thing grounding him. Other days, he would walk past you like you were a stranger, laughter spilling from his lips as he disappeared with Evan and Regulus into shadows you weren’t meant to follow.

You swallowed your pride. Again and again. Because every time he came back, your heart hoped.

It burns the most when you see his face, when you realize he’s already made his choice. Not you. Never you. Something darker. Something louder. Something that doesn’t ask him to feel.

You confront him one night, in the corridor outside the Slytherin common room. Your voice shakes, but you don’t stop. “You’re playing with me,” you whisper. “And I think you know it.”

His jaw tightens. His eyes flicker with something like regret. “I told you not to get close,” he says.