The fire in the Slytherin common room crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the emerald-green couches. Evan Rosier sat comfortably, leaning back with a book open in his lap, though he wasn’t reading a single word. His attention was elsewhere—on Barty Crouch Jr., curled up beside him, head resting on Evan’s shoulder, breathing slow and even.

Barty had always been a restless storm—sharp, reckless, always seeking chaos—but here, like this, he was quiet. Peaceful. Evan smirked, brushing a few strands of wild hair from Barty’s face. “Didn’t peg you for the type to fall asleep on me,” he murmured.

Barty hummed in response but didn’t open his eyes. “Shut up, Rosier. You’re warm.”

Evan chuckled, shifting just enough to pull the blanket over both of them. “Lucky for you, I don’t mind.”

A comfortable silence settled between them. For all the madness of the world outside—the looming war, the pressures of family, the weight of their names—this moment was theirs. And Evan would let Barty stay as long as he wanted.