Genetics • Sirius Black

Chapter Eighty One: A Gentleman.

Once, a muggle actress spoke of gentlemen; she called them patient wolves. And even with half of her reality unlit, she told more truth than most scholars did.

"Get yourself cleaned up." Barty Crouch Jr. stood outside the girl's bathroom with Freya Grey. His attention skipped past her like she was nothing more than a fly. There were times when Freya did not know which Barty he was. Charming, playful, a boy who did theater. Or someone who made her feel wrong for breathing differently.

At first, she thought he would wait outside, but with most people in their dorms, no one was there to care if Headboy Barty Crouch Jr. slipped into the girl's bathroom.

Freya rinsed off her face, careful not to smudge the makeup around her collarbones. Fortunately, she had buttoned up her shirt during their silent walk down the stairs. Her hair was curled at the roots and frizzy, and her shirt was wrinkled. A whore. Perhaps she had gotten too comfortable with the Marauders. She could picture Narcissa scolding her for it.

Through the mirror, she could feel his attention on her, and she did her best to ignore it. Until, finally, his refined voice came out. "What were you thinking?"

"Believe it or not, I did not think I would be trapped in a charmed broom closet." Sharply, her voice came out, her coal eyes flickering with fire, then fizzling out with Barty's chilled expression.

"What if someone else had found you. Do you know what Rosier would..." Frustration worked its way into his words, and then he composed himself. Exhaling through his nose, he never let his temper get the better of him. Emotions had no place in progress. "You are already in a precarious position."

"The world does not hang on Evan's fingertip. You even said Regulus's family has more standing than him, and Finnick has more money. Your father's up for judge—"

"You study every word I say, don't you? Beauty and brains." A smile played on his features, his compliment like honey in her ears. His hands rested on her shoulders, his body only a few inches from her back. She held her breath, unsure if she was flustered or fearful. "The world's a complicated place. As of now, Rosier's at the top of the food chain." He turned her around to face him, taking her chin. There was something so naturally alluring about Barty. Everything about him was seductive, from his cologne to his pressed shirts. Yet, his eyes were another thing to behold. It was no wonder so many people adored him. "He does not see you the way I do."

Her breath was not her own. "How do you see me?"

"As a diamond." His fingers on her face felt like a gold scepter clutching a ruby.

On a pedestal he made for her, Freya knew to some degree she was indebted to him for all he was doing for her. "Thank you for your help, Barty."

"You're too good to be wasted." Lips were pressed against her cheek, and she closed her eyes. Softly, they were dragged toward her mouth but lifted just before they touched hers. "Let's keep the mischief under control."

It was frivolous what she had done. Thoughtless. A misstep, and Freya needed to be as precise as a ballerina on glass.

She nodded at that, and they descended to the dungeons.

Unspoken was it that his hooks were so deep into her that he could not imagine much of a fight when he dragged her lower. In for a penny, in for a pound.

***

Morning rolled over Hogwarts sinfully bright. Two students walked down the hall. One with red hair trailing down her back, the other with chestnut locks pulled into a ponytail. One desperately trying to get away from the other, the other desperately trying to keep up with her brisk pace.