You discover Barty’s secret by accident.

You’re walking back from the library late one night when you hear soft rustling near the greenhouses. At first you think it’s a Kneazle. Then you see a raccoon, silver eyes, dark “mask” around them, tiny paws clutching a stolen apple from the kitchens. You laugh before you can stop yourself. The raccoon freezes.

Then, before your eyes, it shifts.

Bones stretch. Fur melts into skin. And suddenly Barty Crouch Jr. is standing there, hair a mess, looking furious and mortified. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

You stare at him, then burst out laughing. “You’re a raccoon.”

His glare deepens. “It’s an advanced animagus form.”

“It has a mask,” you say, delighted. “Just like you.”

He looks like he wants to hex you, but instead, he sighs. “You’re not going to tell anyone?” You shake your head. “Never.”

From then on, you’re the only one who knows. He starts sneaking into your dorm windows as a raccoon. Stealing shiny things and leaving them on your desk. Curling up beside you when he’s too tired to be human.

You scratch behind his ears when he’s in that form, something he pretends to hate but always comes back for.