#this was supposed to be abt barty and his mum btw

[multishipperofgaydeadwizards]

barty has always known he was different. he stood out like a sore thumb wherever he went. people whisper about him behind his back and he has long given up on counting the amount of times he's heared people ask his mother if she's really sure he's her kid

but, no matter what people say, his mother loves him anyway. his mother with her gentle hands, kind voice and soft looks. his mother, perhaps the only person he thinks will ever love him

maybe that's why he likes sybill. she has the kind voice (even if she uses hers to spout nonesense), gentle touch (even if hers is shorter, more fleeting. almost like touching barty is a crime) and soft looks (even is hers is sometimes filled with an unimaginable amount of grieve. barty doesn't understand where it's from, but he wants to make it dissappear)

to him, sybill is like the sun with her untamed blonde curls that do whatever the hell they please, and her eyes that burn with a passion he's never seen before. he could watch her forever as she look in her crystal ball and tells him all about the future. he often hopes to be paired with her for divination—often to the dismay of regulus, who really doesn't want to work with either of the never shutting up rosier twins

barty seeks sybill out. he goes to places he knows she frequents in the hope of catching just the tiniest glimpse of her. he starts to actually eat breakfast so he can watch his fellow ravenclaw chat with the one year older aurora sinistra—he remembers her name solely because she hangs out with sybill. he starts to tag along with evan when he visits his other friends—even if he can't stand mulciber or wilkes—solely because there is a chance aurora might bring sybill along

he never confesses to her and makes sure to keep his distance. whenever he tries to get closer or make his feelings more obvious, sybill gets that look on her face. it's almost like it's wrong of him to do these things. so he watches and observes. he lives through the people who get to make sybill smile. he lives through her first boyfriend, imagining it was him kissing her and not that stuck-up griffindor that knows nothing about barty's dear billie. he imagines that his girlfriends—usually blondes with the same curly hair or the same brown eyes—are sybill

he finds her one night, sobbing her eyes put whike grasping a letter. she never tells him what's written down, the only thing she does tell him as he holds her tight and pats her back is that "nothing matters" and that "nothing changes". he holds her all through the night, even as sybill falls asleep. she kisses him that night for the first time

the second time she kisses him is behind the quidditch stands. it's not the same short back as back then in the griffindor common room, it's more feverish. she bites his lip and draws blood. her eyes are wide and her hand covers her mouth, a bit of barty's blood on his lips. if he didn't have a match in a few minutes he was sure he would've continued on with this

(he keeps biting the wound open for weeks to come. he doesn't want it to heal, for sybill's mark on him to fade)

the third time is after a prank by the marauders—it's silly name, but regulus makes sure every one of them calls them that. barty doesn't know why, but he does so anyway. sybill pulled him into a small passage way. her big brown eyes filled with worry as she looked over barty, searching for any mark or injury. she asks him in her soft, gentle voice if he's alright. he tells her that his cheek hurts, sybill kisses it. he tells her that his lips hurt too. sybill scoffs but kisses him anyway

(he carries the mark left by her lipstick for as long as it lasts, refusing to wash it off. regulus gives him a look—one that screams that he knows—but barty pretends not to notice)

the last time she kisses him is in a run-down flat in the heart of london. they're sitting on a bright red couch, sybill places on top of barty as she bites on his lips until their open and all they both taste is blood. the flat is cramped and smells like shit, but barty doesn't even think about complaining. being here is wrong and it feels so good. what would the dark lord say if he knew that barty was helping a muggleborn witch hide out just for the chance of getting her to call his name sweetly once again

she doesn't do that anymore. every time she shows up on his doorstep, her eyes are clouded by pain. she makes tea—it's bitter and gross, but to barty, it's the best tea he's ever tasted. they don't talk. just sit there in silence and drink their tea. yet, it always ends the same, on that old ugly colored couch with sybill's hands in his hair and their mouths tasting like his blood

barty is already halfway out the door by the time sybill puts a shirt—his shirt that he gave to her merlin knows when—on. she doesn't join him to the door. she just watches. but, this time, as barty turns to give her goodbye, she tells him she loves him. her eyes filled with guilt and pain. barty knows that this is the last time he'll see her

the flat burns down barley a day later. barty doesn't know if she made it out alive, but he prays that she didn't

(dying on her own terms would be much nicer than dying on the terms of the dark lord)