It is quicker and easier than falling asleep.
Harry throws himself on the pristine floor with a sigh, his bones melting with exhaustion, and shuts his eyes to give himself a moment to take it in.
He is dead.
It is less cluttered than he would've expected, if he'd actually mulled over it. Pretty quiet too, if you ignored the pathetic whimpering of, well, a part of Voldemort's soul.
Harry pities it, more than anything. He wouldn't mind putting an end to it's misery but he doesn't know if you can kill an already dead thing.
He takes a deep breath, the air so fresh that he feels dizzy with all the oxygen flooding his brain.
Someone clears his throat.
Harry's eyes flutter open, not in a rush, he's dead after all. What are they going to do, kill him?
He jumps in the air as soon as his gaze falls upon the man. "Where am I?" he demands, his whole body tense and ready to bolt.
"Potter," Barty Crouch Jr snaps, with a pastel pink milkshake in his hand that clashes horribly with his bright yellow trunks, dotted with little hearts that goes off into rainbows. "You have not grown smarter since I last saw you."
"Don't bully the boy," someone else says behind him in a bored tone and Harry spins around to find an eerily familiar stranger, blonde and pale, sitting on a chair that looked to be ancient.
Harry bets he is a Malfoy.
"Evan Rosier," the man introduces himself. Harry feels his mouth fall open in shock before he shuts it with a click. He rakes a hand through his hair, his chest heaving for air.
He nods curtly in acknowledgement, his jaw clenched but Rosier doesn't seem bothered by his hostility. He fixes the sleeves of his sharp suit before he settles comfortably in his chair, his body more muscular than any wizard's he's seen, but it looks disproportionate with his rather small head and pointy features.
He takes out an ornate cigarette case, and takes a fag out. Their eyes meet as he lights it up with a Muggle lighter. His mouth twitches, a joke he's not a part of, and he stretches out the case in an offer. Harry shakes his head, dumbfounded. He shifts his weight and his eyes sweep around for an escape route.
Harry thinks he's maybe on some kind of fucked up drug when Barty Crouch takes him on his offer, and leans in to light his own with Rosier's already lit one.
Evan Rosier inhales a long breath from his cigarette, pocketing the case and stares at Harry with narrowed eyes. "You look your father, but with-"
Harry cuts him off. "You look like Draco Malfoy."
Barty Crouch shrieks in delight, spilling his drink on his bare chest. He leans in to Harry and whispers conspiratorially, "I've been trying to get him to confess since I came here."
Rosier doesn't seem ruffled, giving Harry a long suffering look. "That's nasty, considering Narcissa is my cousin."
"That would explain why the boy is the way he is," Barty says flatly but turns to wink at Harry.
Harry nods because he doesn't know what else to do.
A whimper from Voldemort cuts their fairly one sided conversation.
"What's that?" Barty Crouch asks curiously, peering at it with critical eyes. Rosier follows their line of sight and promptly balks, taking another long drag with trembling fingers. He tosses his head back and closes his eyes, as if it will disappear if he doesn't acknowledge it.
Harry scratches the back of his head. "Ugh," he starts, a flare of annoyance whirling in his chest and Crouch turns to him sharply, impatiently. He looks so young, his freckled nose crinkled as he stares up at Harry, looking way too innocent considering who he is.
"That's the Dark Lord," someone pops in, his accent extraordinarily posh, a bit haughty and so fucking familiar that Harry half expects to see Sirius.
He appraises the man –the boy, really. He looks stuffed in the high collared shirt he's put on and Harry can't imagine Sirius ever wearing something like that but it suits him. There are faint scars around his jaw and over his nose but overall, he looks completely healthy.
They all look healthy and young, Harry realises with a jolt.
Regulus Black nods at him, a small, almost shy smile curving his lips. He looks much more approachable than the guy from the photo Slughorn showed him.
Harry lets himself return the smile.
Barty Crouch frowns, regarding the creature with contempt. "I don't get it," he declares in the end.
"Which part do you not get?" Regulus Black drawls, leaning onto a column that comes out of nowhere, his already handsome features becoming more pronounced with his apparent smugness. "That's what happens when you make a Horcrux."
Crouch rolls his eyes, sending an exasperated look at Harry like they are old friends. He lays back down, his interest dissolving like it came. "Spare me the lecture, Reg."
"That's why it's so frowned upon," Regulus ignores him, cheeks colouring with satisfaction, like he's savouring seeing Voldemort like this. "You ruin your afterlife for a chance to stay in a world that is far less pleasant than here."
Evan Rosier makes a high pitched sound in the back of his throat. Harry finds it quite odd coming from that man but the other two seem unruffled. "I can't believe he felt for that."
The other two nod seriously.
"I'm so glad I died," Barty Crouch yawns, slipping his sunglasses from the top of his head to his eyes. "I fucking love this place."
Harry clears his throat, and hesitantly asks, "So what do you guys do around here?"
He immediately winces as it leaves his mouth but Barty Crouch jumps into an explanation before he can blush.
"Nothing new really," he says, slurping the last of his milkshake. "We work nine to five, because we're Death Eaters," he says matter-of-factly, "I'm on weekend shift too, until I make amends with everyone who got upset by Cedric Diggory's death."
He doesn't look too bothered, Harry notes.
"Right," he mumbles, just to say something and Regulus laughs beside him, a light and friendly sound, the only one who seemed to be aware of his unease.
"I work as a cashier in Muggle neighbourhood," Evan Rosier adds, "everything is so tasteless."
"He gets paid minimum wage," Regulus addresses Harry, flashing a white toothed smile and Harry struggles to match this boy with the one he thought he knew. He fails to return the smile and Regulus' smile dims, averting his gaze back to the floor. He bits down on his lips, a grimace on his face like he wants to take back the last five minutes.
"He asks Daddy for money," Crouch jeers, his tongue peeking out in that tick of his before he shakes with a full body shiver.
Rosier shrugs. "It's not that bad. Lots of time to think."
"He's been doing that for the last twenty years but still not one original thought to show for it," Crouch says crisply but it comes off as more playful than biting with the smile on his face.
"What about you?" he asks Regulus, trying to steer the conversation from them and wanting to clear that expression on his face.
Regulus' face wrinkles in displeasure, and he shifts restlessly. "My shift is from nine to one, because I defected before I died."
Evan Rosier smirks, "Ask him where he's working Harry."
Harry arches one eyebrow and waits. Regulus puffs his cheeks and mutters something incorrigible.
"Repeat that please," Barty presses.
Regulus shoots a warning glare at them but he smoothens his face when he turns to Harry. "I stay with your father and Sirius."
Harry is deeply confused and voices it, "How is that a punishment?"
"Nothing is a punishment," Evan Rosier says in a high pitched voice, clearly an imitation of a woman, "everything is a chance for us to learn and grow."
"They mock me all the time and I have to sit on a plastic chair when Sirius gets the sofa," Regulus complains, his face flushing and he blinks furiously as if he's keeping the tears at bay.
Harry lets out a hysterical laugh. It's weird to see someone so uncomfortable with something he'd been yearning for years.
"The worst part is that they actually have to agree to be a part of this reformation project."
Harry can see why that bothers him and gives him an encouraging smile. "But it's not for too long, is it?"
"I suppose," Regulus mutters, kicking the floor with the tip of his boots. "It's just…" he cuts himself off, clawing at his collar until a button pops open, revealing angrier looking scars, "it always gets worse after family dinners."
"Family dinners," Harry repeats faintly.
Crouch and Rosier nod vehemently, suddenly interested with the conversation.
"They're the worst," Crouch announces firmly, "Father is furious I transfigured him into a bone more so than that I killed him. And my mum is furious at my father for keeping me under Imperius." He stops to take a big breath, his neck contorting to the side in a jerky motion like he wants to chase away a thought. His lips turn downwards in a sneer, "And I'm furious at myself for not prolonging his death."
Harry freezes down to his bones at his apathetic tone. He reprimands himself for letting his guard down around fucking Death Eaters.
His eyes meet Regulus' and his skin prickles at the sight of his knowing gaze.
"Father is furious we can't dine in Grimmauld Place," he offers mildly, and Harry lets out a relieved exhale to hear a relatively reasonable cause for fury. Of course, it goes downhill from there. "Sirius still gets mad at all of us for everything and Mother is furious with all of us for abandoning her."
"And you?" Harry prompts in a small voice. It is by far the most bizarre day of his life.
Existence.
Regulus' hard expression melts into something mischievous and he grins at Harry. "I'm delighted that Sirius can't run away, no matter how much Mother reprimands him and that drives Sirius up the wall," he says gleefully.
"I thought you didn't like spending time with him," Harry reminds him, sarcasm creeping into his tone.
Regulus shrugs, a sheepish smile crossing his face for a second, "I don't particularly enjoy it, true, but at least I see him, don't I?"
For some reason, that makes Harry ache with longing.
When their eyes meet, Harry feels a strange kinship form between them, because Regulus Black understands him.
"My father is furious at me for dying," Rosier tells to no one in particular, bewildered. Harry thinks fifteen years is too long to hold on to a single argument. It's obvious Rosier's still taken aback –hurt- by this and there is a tangible anger brewing under it. "He blames me because apparently we became a pro-Mudblood family –"
He groans and slaps his head to his forehead. Barty cackles, "M word is an extra shift."
"We get a cookie when we say muggleborn instead of the M word," Regulus interjects, walking past Harry to sit gingerly next to Crouch, who makes space for him without a word. "But only if you do it unconsciously, somehow they always know when you do it to get a cookie. Sirius –or your father- don't get cookies though, since they weren't used to saying Mudblood in the-" he stops and sighs dejectedly. Barty pats him on the knee.
"Barty never gets extra shifts, he's always more careful than us," Regulus says, with a crooked smile at Crouch and Crouch beams, then regards Regulus with a shrewd expression.
"I've always thought you do it on purpose," he mumbles, looking up at him under his lashes innocently.
Regulus stills, his head snapping back to him. "Don't be absurd," he snarls, but the effect is lost when he blushes crimson. Harry suppresses a laugh when lays back, entwining his fingers on his stomach primly, digging his elbow into Crouch's ribs in warning.
Rosier continues with a scowl, not having paid attention to their conversation, eyes fixed on a distant point. "I was killed by Alastor Moody and he was the most successful Auror at the time," he grumbles and takes out a box from an inside pocket, he turns it around a few times and a knot ties itself tight in Harry's stomach.
"Don't worry, I tormented him to avenge you," Crouch assures his friend.
Rosier shakes the box pointedly, and presses on, ignoring Crouch's attempt at placating him. "I've even got a piece of his nose."
It's like a punch in the stomach, his dismissiveness and coldness, and Harry wishes fiercely he could put a few nasty spells on him.
Rosier apologises quickly. "Sorry, I always forget," he shakes his head like he can't believe himself. Harry is slightly mollified for the tiniest stretch of time before the illusion shatters again. "Do you want to see it?"
"No," Harry snaps, and takes a step back to compose himself. Evan Rosier is clearly confused but not offended by his reaction. Regulus and Crouch look like they are both on the verge of a laugh.
"Why do you keep it?" Harry demands with a stern tone, hands on his hips. They're almost seeing eye to eye, despite Rosier sitting down on his ridiculous chair. He eyes Harry like he's the stupid one.
"To give it back to him, of course," he drags out the syllables.
Harry stares at the bloke for a few moments before decides to give up his usual ethical codes, and he asks, "Why?"
"He did me a favour, you see, by killing me. Or I would've turned out to be like him," he gestures Crouch who simply giggles.
"Well," he ignores their banter, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "he's already dead, so maybe put more effort into finding him."
Rosier's brows shot up and he shares a look with Crouch. When he turns back to Harry, his face is serious. "I'll do that. Thank you."
Harry scowls harder.
"I see not even dying can put a stop to your slacking, Potter."
Harry freezes. He reluctantly turns back with small steps, his heart dropping.
It might be true that Harry's feelings towards his former Professor has changed, but apparently Snape still hates him, going by the expression on his face.
"Hullo, Snape," Crouch greets him, his wave more mocking than it has any the right to be. But Snape only gives him a distracted wave back, his narrowed eyes focused on Regulus, Harry momentarily forgotten.
Regulus, on the other hand, is utterly dismissive and uninterested.
He literally examines his fingernails.
Harry bites down on his lips to not laugh, watching Regulus cross his legs when he's done with his nails, taking the empty milkshake bottle from the floor and shaking it before putting it back down. Crouch puts his head on Regulus' shoulder with a big shit eating grin, his gaze hopping between the two.
Snape's dislike of Blacks is clearly not limited to his godfather and it's hilariously mutual.
Snape wrenches his glare away from Regulus and pins it on Harry, whose grin falters. He chews inside his cheek to hide his grin but he fails, and gives up quickly.
"Potter," Snape barks out, folding his arms across his chest, "You're not supposed to dawdle around here."
That effectively erases his smile and he frowns at his professor. "Excuse me?"
"Excuse you –" Snape blurts, cutting himself off, gritting his teeth. He narrows his eyes until they become mere slits. "Are you daft, boy?"
"Watch it!" comes from Evan Rosier, much to his shock.
Snape regards Rosier like he's only now seeing him, which is probably exactly what's happening. He doesn't deign with an answer.
"Potter," he hisses, the muscle next to his mouth twitching dangerously and Harry has to remind himself he can't take points off Gryffindor here. "You need to get back. That's the whole point. The Dark Lord is still alive."
As if on a cue, the creature reappears next to Snape's feet and Snape recoils, a genuine shock taking over his face.
"The fuck?" he mutters -the word sounding foreign to Harry on his tongue- forgetting his audience as he scrutinises it.
"That's why it is so frowned –" Regulus starts, evoking an unhinged laugh from Harry. He's such a brat, Harry thinks fondly, the thought startling him.
"Shut it," Crouch orders, his hand firmly on Regulus' mouth. Then he diverts his attention to Snape, "What do you mean he needs to leave? How can he leave in the first place?"
"He's not dead in the first place," Snape grits out, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"He failed again?" Crouch exclaims, elbowing Regulus to get a reaction out of him but Regulus shies away, throwing a helpless and horrified look at Harry.
"Exactly how many times did he try to kill you Potter?" Crouch asks shrilly but doesn't seem to be waiting for an answer. "I literally sent Potter into his arms to be murdered, like a present with a bow on top, no offense Potter –"
"None taken."
"- honestly how did we get sucked into that incompetence?" he pauses his tirade, turning to Regulus with desperate eyes, "Reg, are we stupid?"
Regulus' lips twitch, "Well, I did defect before-"
"Oh, fucking hell," Crouch drowns out his voice. "I'm having a crisis here, show some respect."
"Enough," Snape bellows, and they all fall silent. "Potter, take the second left, then first right. You've wasted enough time as it is."
"Oh," Evan Rosier sighs, "so he really has to go?"
"You'll see him in a few decades, Rosier," Crouch assures his friend, even though he's still frowning at Voldemort's failure to kill him. Harry feels somewhat grateful that he assumes that Voldemort will fail again.
"Take care, Harry," Regulus says in a quiet voice, a sad but warm smile on his face.
Harry's face stretches into a smile as well, easily, and Snape snorts beside him. "I can not believe - you already got attached. Potter, leave, now!"
Harry nods, his stomach twisting –what the fuck is wrong with him, why is he sad to leave them- and with a quick goodbye and one last look at them, he turns to walk away.
"Don't worry too much about getting killed," Evan Rosier calls behind him, "It's so much better here."
Harry bows his head down. He's smiling.
I'm thinking about turning these into a series of one shots. Any scenes you want to see between particular characters?
Please review if you've come this far!