"First you jump off the cliff and you build your wings on the way down."
-Ray Bradbury
"I'm scared," Barty admits, fingers tugging nervously at the sleeves of his robes.
He doesn't want to be afraid. He wants to be sure and confident like Regulus. He wants the poise and control that his best mate seems to radiate with such ease.
But he shivers. He twitches and jumps at every little sound, his nerves overpowering.
Regulus rolls his eyes. "Trust me," he says, and Barty wishes that he could hear a trace of doubt in the other boy's voice. Of course, there's none.
Barty laughs, trying to sound as casual as Regulus, but the sound comes out choked and a little too shrill. "Do I have a choice?"
"I'm sure you do."
Barty doubts it. It doesn't feel like it. Wherever Regulus goes, he will follow, placing his trust blindly in the Slytherin. "Yeah. Maybe," he mumbles, shaking his head.
.
Barty is still scared. Even as he looks at the black skull and serpent forever burned into his skin, his heart races almost painfully within.
He is still as lost as ever.
"What do we do now?"
Regulus tucks a cigarette between his lips and lights it, taking a deep breath and blowing a cloud of white-grey towards Barty. "Whatever we're asked."
Barty nods nervously, running his fingers over his arm, careful not to touch the Dark Mark. "Right. Of course."
He doesn't know if he can.
.
Barty is no longer afraid. He feels more comfortable in his new skin, moving with ease as he takes his place among the Death Eaters.
Regulus catches his eye and gives him a crooked grin. Barty smiles back, feeling stronger somehow.
.
Regulus is afraid. Barty can see it in his eyes when he barges into the flat, looking nervously over his shoulder as though someone or something is following him.
"What's wrong?"
But Regulus doesn't answer. Lips pressed into a hard line, he pushes past Barty. "I need a drink."
Barty doesn't like this. He's never seen Regulus look so ruffled.
"Regulus?"
Still no reply. He watches as his friend ignores the glasses, taking a deep swig of liquor directly from the bottle.
Barty wishes he could lend Regulus his strength, just as Regulus has for him.
"You gonna tell me what's wrong?" Barty tries again.
Without looking at him, Regulus sighs. "Me. I've been wrong all along," he says quietly, trembling fingers reaching in his pocket for his blessed nicotine salvation.
Barty doesn't ask. Regulus doesn't elaborate.
.
When he hears the news of Regulus' abandonment, Barty wants to scream.
Regulus is his friend.
Was, a little voice corrects. Regulus was his friend.
Barty shakes his head, scrubbing his palms over his face.
Regulus is gone. His best mate. The boy Barty had followed like a lost puppy.
And the worst part is that Barty can't even stop to mourn him. He has found his place at last, and he must play his part, lest he become that timid, trembling little coward of an outcast again.
