It Wasn't Supposed To Happen
A/N: This fic was written for Cheeky Slytherin Lass' HPFC Camp Potter 2017 challenge. More specifically, it is written for Week One: First Aid.
Prompts used:
Mandatory:
1. Too late 2. "This wasn't supposed to happen." 3. Stain
Optional:
5. Speechless
Word count: 1432 words
The story is divided by POVs, the second giving more detail. Er, I hope that makes sense. Thank you for reading!
August 1979
Barty
"This wasn't supposed to happen."
"It's just a Muggle, Black," Barty said as he kicked the lifeless body. His leg ached when he did so, but he held in the grunt of pain.
Adrenaline was still coursing through his veins, and his only regret was that there were no other Muggles about. At least the Muggle had put up a bit of a fight, lashing out at him and Regulus with a blade. A few drops of their own blood was mixed in with the Muggle's, already forming a deep red stain around it.
"Look, the Dark Lord doesn't have to know that this thing almost got the better of us. We got him in the end," Barty said, giving the body another good kick.
Regulus didn't reply. Looking up, he saw the boy watching him, his mouth parted slightly. The boy's grey eyes were wide—and, if Barty wasn't seeing things, almost sad, as though he couldn't seem to believe what they had done.
Barty rolled his eyes. "If you want to make it in this business, you've got to grow a backbone. C'mon, let's get out of here."
Regulus continued to stare at him. "Too late," he murmured and shook his head.
Looking around them, Barty couldn't see anyone else in the dark alley. Nevertheless, he gripped his wand, ready to strike if necessary.
"What do you see?" he whispered.
His companion didn't immediately answer. Instead, Regulus stepped forward, laying a hand lightly on his shoulder. When Barty looked at him, Regulus shook his head again.
"It's nothing," he said. "C'mon, you're right, we should go."
It was Barty's turn to shake his head. The boy was certainly acting weirder and weirder of late, and Barty hoped for his sake that he would snap out of it. Closing his eyes and deciding not to think about it too much, he followed his companion and disappeared in a wisp of black smoke.
Regulus
The Muggle launched at them, blue eyes wide as he tried to desperately fight his way. Regulus dodged the attack, a small bubble of laughter escaping his thin lips. He didn't find the situation funny—not at all—but rather, he felt sorry for the Muggle man. The man had no hope against magic, yet somehow, he seemed to think he would survive.
"C'mon, try to get your way out of this one," Barty taunted, flicking his wand.
A red light shot forward, and the Muggle groaned in pain. He was panting, each curse he was struck with slowly wearing him down. Nevertheless, the Muggle still brandished his knife. He licked his lips, dark eyes darting back and forth between them.
Regulus' stomach swirled, knowing that it wouldn't be long before those eyes would be blank.
"I think I'm having way too much fun with this," Barty crowed.
Glancing at him, Regulus saw his eyes alight with glee. His dark hair fell into his face as he leapt about, taunting his victim. His wand swished back and forth, as though he didn't even need to think about wand movements or incantations. Regulus had always been amazed at how natural his companion was with magic, especially when he suspected the boy was not a Pureblood as he so claimed. He continued to watch him, eyes now drawn to the Dark Mark on his forearm, watching as it seemed to glow as Barty's muscles flexed.
Had Barty's muscles always been that big?
"Watch yourself, Black! Flipendo!"
Regulus gritted his teeth, a sharp pain burning across his forearm. Looking at it, he saw small beads of blood welling along a deep cut. He gripped onto it, hoping that applying some pressure to it would ease the blood flow, but small droplets were now falling to the ground. Hissing as it stung, he cast a quick spell to stop any more blood loss and looked back up.
Barty had the Muggle cornered against the brick wall, wand drawn and eyes glinting. The Muggle was glaring at him, fists balled up, the knife by his side.
"That wasn't very smart, was it?" Barty asked, stepping closer and twirling his wand in his hand. "I'm going to make you pay for that one."
Although he felt for the Muggle—even if he had just tried to slice his arm off—Regulus couldn't help but find his heart lifting. Barty seemed angrier than usual, ready to rip apart the Muggle for hurting him. Barty was defending him, him. No one had done that before, not even his older brother when they had been children.
Regulus blinked and his heart plummeted. No, it couldn't be happening, could it? He wasn't developing another… no, he wasn't.
"What, cat got your tongue?" Barty said. Turning to Regulus, he grinned. "All fight and no brains."
Regulus tried to smile, yet his mind was racing. No, he was just tired from the mission.
"Yeah, well you're not too bright either," the Muggle man said.
Before Barty could turn back, the Muggle grabbed his knife and launched at him. Barty gave a cry of pain as the man dragged the knife down his leg. He tried to push off the man, his wand having flown out of his hand when the Muggle tackled him.
It was enough to force Regulus' mind into gear and send his heart pumping. The Muggle was only defending himself, but enough was enough; he would not let him hurt his companion.
Aiming his wand at the man, he yelled, "Stupefy!"
The Muggle flew off Barty, landing with a sickening crack against the brick wall of the building behind him. He head rolled to the side, eyes open. Regulus gulped, turning away as to ignore the blood beginning to well up.
Instead, he focused on Barty. "Are you alright?" he asked, his throat suddenly feeling dry.
Relief flooded through him as Barty nodded, pulling himself up. His trouser legs were soaked with blood, yet he managed to limp over to the now lifeless Muggle and give the body a kick.
He was ok; his friend was ok. He took a step forward, wanting to hug him, to check his injuries, but stopped in his tracks and turned away. No, it wasn't normal. He had seen Barty get injured before; in fact, he had seen a lot of his fellow Death Eaters injured and even killed. Barty wasn't even different. He had to fight whatever it was making him act so weird.
Looking up at Barty, however, his heart still pumping, he knew it was useless.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," he said, staring at Barty.
Barty was focused on the man. "It's just a Muggle, Black."
Regulus closed his eyes for a moment, trying to slow his heart. When he opened his eyes, it was to see his companion kick the Muggle again. He tried to bring up another feeling, perhaps pity for the Muggle, but only concern and—concern and other things continued to cloud his mind.
Barty must have taken his silence for disagreement, for he said, "Look, the Dark Lord doesn't have to know that this thing almost got the better of us. We got him in the end."
His mouth was completely dry now and he was unable to respond. Barty finally looked his way and immediately rolled his eyes. "If you want to make it in this business, you've got to grow a backbone. C'mon, let's get out of here," he said.
Brown eyes, Regulus noticed. Barty had dark brown eyes. How had he not noticed this before? Rather, how long had he been denying he already knew their exact shade.
He shook his head, trying desperately to clear it. It was too late to make the feelings go away, however, and he knew it.
Barty looked around, as though expecting to be attacked. "What do you see?" he whispered, his eyes flashing dangerously.
Regulus blinked, realising he must have spoken aloud. There was no one but him and Barty—and a body— in the alley, he knew. Still, his heart was beating faster by the minute, this time urging him to comfort his friend who appeared ready to attack. There was nothing for them to fear.
Nothing except the emotions Regulus couldn't shake.
Sighing, he stepped forward and placed a light hand on Barty's shoulder, fighting the urge to do more.
"It's nothing," he said, withdrawing his hand when it became too much. "You're right, we should go."
Then, before he could become overwhelmed by the need to say or do anything that would surely make Barty lose his temper—yet this time, at him—he Disapparated.