Years ago, Evan Rosier was pronounced dead in Barty Crouch Jr.'s mind.

He's dead, he's really gone.' Was all Barty heard for months, echoing inside his head as reminder his best friend had died. His partner. The boy he had loved.

There was never a funeral, never any closure for his family. Not that most of them cared, really.

Evan's death had caused Barty to spiral, spiral further and further and further–

Until pure insanity reached him. Evan was his anchor, the thing stopping him from killing a man back at Hogwarts during fights. Vice versa, of course.

Now? He was ruthless. Even when his own father had turned him in to Azkaban, claiming he was not his son anymore during the trial.

He'd sob for his mother, sob and pray to the Dark Lord he'd be free. He'd be free, kill his father, and then perhaps mourn Evan a bit more.

Six years after Evan Rosier's assumed death, the death that had gone quietly with no trace of him ever being known to live; only existing in the minds of those who knew him prior.

It was another night in the cold Azkaban cells. Barty was sat on the poor excuse for a 'bed' – a ragged blanket all prisoners got, and hell, it was lucky they even got something to sleep on other than the bug-infested stone.

And then came footsteps, steps he assumed weren't for him.

'Probably some lucky bastard's wife or something,' He thought to himself, staring at the rusted cell bars. Only rarely he was visited, typically his father just out of 'public image' or some other family member he didnt care for.

And then, it seemed to freeze. The type of frozen feeling of being kissed by a Dementor, of the nostalgic coldness of the Potions classroom in winter.

Him.

Evan.

How? What? He's dead. Barty had seen it, had heard his body hit the floor.

Yet, here he was. Blonde hair dark in the moonlight, figure seeming slimmer than usual. But he was here. His Evan.

Behind him was one of the few human guards at Azkaban, an auror that was the usual guy to monitor visits.

"Barty," Evan spoke, voice almost a whisper. It was obvious he was frowning, given the tone of his voice. He got closer to the bars, hands wrapping around two of them.

His dark eyes peered inside at Barty; the same eyes Barty assumed were lifeless.

He's here. He's alive.

And by merlin, it was like a mix of an intensifier and healing ointment for his mental state.