It was a cold night in late January. Geneva sat quietly at a back table in the Hogwarts Library, her eagle feather quill scratching away at her parchment as she frantically scribbled down notes. She had only an hour left before the library would close and Madam Pince would banish her from its depths. Although she had told herself many times before that she wouldn't fall behind on her coursework, she found she always did. It seemed Barty or Scabior consistently pulled her into their schemes or runs to Hogsmeade through the secret passageways, and thus she was forced to finish her work at the last possible minute.

She furiously ended her sentence with a full stop, having decided she would refuse to take part in their outrageous plans from that moment on. She sat up, stretching her back and surveying her remote corner of the library. Geneva saw a familiar figure sauntering her way, and, with a huff, she turned her attention back to the book in front of her.

The chair scratched along the floor as Barty pulled it out and gracefully sat in it.

"Gee-"

"No," Geneva interrupted.

"But I haven't even said anything!"

"I know you're going to say something along the lines of, 'Gee, we were fancying a run to Broomsticks, thought you'd like to come along,' or 'Gee, we just thought of the best prank to play on Peeves,' and my answer is a firm and resounding 'No,'" she hissed harshly.

Barty shrugged, "And if neither of those were it?"

Geneva, though her curiosity was tugging at her like an incessant child, refused to look up because she knew that looking Barty in the eyes would be the end-all to her resolve.

And so, she didn't respond.

Barty leaned forward on his elbows, trying to make eye contact with the stubborn girl before him. Still, she refused.

He sighed. "I really didn't want to have to do this," he said softly.

Before Geneva could even finish asking "What?", Barty had pulled the book from in front of her, closed it, and sent it to the top of the highest shelf behind him.

After he finished admiring his handiwork, he turned to face his best friend with a smirk on his mouth.

"Why did you do that?" she asked in a strangled voice.

"So you'd listen to me, now," Barty began, leaning forward again and placing his warm hand over hers, forcing her to lower her quill. "I need your infinite wealth of knowledge and expertise."

Geneva rolled her eyes, "I already said no. Haven't you bothered me enough the past week?"

"Yes, I have, but this is actually something you'll enjoy, I think," he said softly, looking earnestly into her eyes.

She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned back in her chair. "You have one minute to explain yourself, sir."

"Alright, the other day I found this room by complete accident. I don't know what it's called, or if it even has a name, but there's something very peculiar about it, and I was thinking that you would certainly know something of it should I take you there. Plus, I think it might provide you with a quiet place to finish your work, given your current situation," he whispered in one breath.

"Where is it?"

"That's the surprise, you see," Barty said, leaning back in his chair and matching Geneva's gaze evenly, quietly challenging her to follow him.

After a brief stare-down, Geneva groaned, "Fine."

As Geneva stood and unceremoniously dumped her things into her satchel, she muttered to herself, "This is the last time."

Skeptically, Geneva watched as Barty paced back and forth several times in front of a certain length of the corridor. Her arms were folded over her chest, and she nervously glanced at her watch, knowing full well that they were going to miss curfew.

"Barty, how much longer-"

And with that, a door seemed to carve itself from the stone wall, and Barty finally gripped the knob, pulling it open.

He bowed dramatically, "After you, m'lady."

Awestruck, Geneva found herself in a cozy room that was very similar to the parlour in her home. A fire crackled and a large Turkish rug covered the hearth. She turned to look at Barty.

"How did you say you found this place?"

"I didn't," he smirked, casually leaning against a mahogany column. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah, of course," she breathed.

"Good," he smiled. "I hope I got everything right."

She nodded before snatching a pillow from the sofa and sitting on the floor. She continued to survey the room from where she sat, her brow furrowed.

"I think this is the Room of Requirement," she concluded finally.

"Yeah?" Barty asked as he sat beside her.

"Mmhmm."

A comfortable silence settled over them. Geneva once again pulled out her essay, setting to work on it once she determined that her companion would not be a nuisance. Barty stared into the fire, mulling over all the thoughts that had been buzzing through his mind since he and Geneva had returned home for winter holiday.

Unlike the many years before, Barty was often elsewhere, and when he returned to his room, he would find a small stack on notes on his desk, asking where he was, if he was still alive, if he was upset with her, if she would see him in the foreseeable future...

It hadn't been his intention to worry her, but he knew he couldn't tell her where he was going, who he was with, or what he was doing. She would hate him for what he was becoming. As accepting and loving as Geneva was, he knew she would try to save him, and she would put up a valiant effort once she came to terms with who he was, but he just couldn't let that happen. Deep down, he cared for her much the same as she did for him.

Yes, very, very deep down, Barty Crouch, Jr. could admit to himself that he did indeed love Geneva West, but he knew he couldn't utter those words to her. It would complicate everything. It was better that they carried on as they did, Geneva completely unaware of all the trouble he was tangling himself up in. It was none of her concern anyway, he had concluded. What business was it of hers?

But then he thought of all the times she had been there, ready to meet him on that hilltop, whenever he needed to escape his house, escape the presence of his father. He thought of how she always knew the right thing to say to comfort him when he yelled and broke more than a few things in her room in his blind anger towards his father's apparent dislike of him. And then he thought of the kiss they had shared before the beginning of term...

Once he started thinking about that as he lie in his bed late at night or so very near her in front of her fireplace, he knew Geneva was not simply his best friend. She kept him grounded to this earth, kept him from being so wholly consumed by his reverence of the Dark Lord and all his power.

He had kissed her again, this time on Christmas Eve after he had unwrapped a small box, carefully wrapped in a golden paper. Inside was a silver pocketwatch, to which she had softly explained she thought he might like once since he hadn't received one on his birthday. He pulled her too him, kissing her deeply, hoping to convey his thanks without stumbling over stupid words.

Barty was brought back to the present when he felt a gentle hand on his arm.

"Thanks, Barty," Geneva murmured softly. She had long since finished her work and had returned everything to her bag which now sat a short distance from her.

Barty smiled softly, shrugging nonchalantly, before returning his gaze to the fire. She scooted closer to him. There was a pang in Barty's chest and the growing warmth from her leg pressing against his. In an attempt to clear his mind from an increasing amount of rather ridiculous thoughts, he cleared his throat.

He could feel her looking up at him. Slowly, he turned to return her steady gaze. If he was reading her parted lips and hungry eyes correctly, she had been thinking the very same thoughts as he. He reached a hand out to cup her cheek.

"Barty," she breathed just before he closed the distance between them, capturing her lips in an urgent kiss.

His fingers wove through her hair. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her hands splayed across his shoulders. He gently leaned her back until she lie below him completely on the floor.

As the heat of the moment escalated, Barty decided to take a risk and slid a hand up her white blouse. Geneva did nothing in protest and his hand was free to explore as he continued to kiss her deeply.

He had desperately hoped that they would continue down the path they were on, but it seemed other powers had other plans. A sharp pain pulled Barty from the momentary and fleeting bliss he had felt in Geneva's arms as he sat back, gripping his forearm.

Gevena sat up suddenly, concern contorting her features. "Barty, what's wrong?"

He shook his head, gritting his teeth.

She moved forward as if to touch him, but he held out a hand to stop her. Geneva set her jaw, before forcefully moving between his parted legs and pulling his left arm towards her, despite his hardest efforts to prevent her from doing so.

She quickly worked to undo the buttons and pushed his sleeve up, regardless of Barty's protests and awkward squirming.

The sight that greeted Geneva made her jaw drop. There it was, the infamous Dark Mark marring the pale skin of his left forearm.

Geneva dropped his arm as she sat back on her heels. "Barty?" she asked in a shaky voice.

The pain had dulled to a numb throbbing as he hung his head in shame before his best friend. He wiped his moist brow with the back of his other sleeve as he looked down at the Dark Mark. This was not how he had hoped to reveal this to her, if he were to reveal it at all.

"How long have you had that?" she asked, her voice strained.

He shook his head.

"How long?" she repeated, her voice growing stronger.

"Since the beginning of August," he whispered.

"And when were you going to tell me?" she harshly demanded.

He shook his head and bit his lip, his eyes starting to burn. A single, pathetic teardrop fell down his cheek before he quickly wiped it away.

Geneva had noticed and hesitantly wrapped her arms around him, pulling Barty towards her. Barty buried his face against her chest and enveloped her waist.

"Why?" she whispered against the top of his head. "Do your parents know?"

He shook his head, and she asked nothing further.

Once Barty had collected himself, they disentangled and separated. Geneva stood and pulled her satchel over her shoulder.

After she had crossed the room and reached the door, Barty spoke up, discomforted by her retreating back.

"Do you hate me?" he asked.

Geneva didn't answer, instead wrenching open the door and hurrying to her own common room.

Barty remained in his position on the floor, his dark eyes fixed on the spot he had last seen Geneva's retreating figure, until the fire had finally died.

Hope you enjoyed the second installment. Part three will be up as soon as I post the next chapter in Wee Birdies Sing. It seems I forgot my usual disclaimer last time, so I would like to acknowledge that all you recognize from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling. That which you don't recognize is mine. Do me the extreme honor of reviewing! Yours.