When he met him he couldn't stop noticing the
Eyelash on his face
Eyelash on his face
Eyelash on his face
And how he didn't wipe it away
And, to be truthful, that was what drew him to him
So for once he was glad something was imperfect
When he thought about it
That way
"What the fuck happened here?"
"I don't know," Reggie answered honestly.
Havocked bottles littered the floor, Regulus in the middle of the mess. Everything was wrecked; the armoire, for example, the honey colored one with the mirror – the mirror had been smashed in – was knocked over. A whirlwind had gone through here and that whirlwind was him.
"You shouldn't have tried to change yourself, Reggie," Barty said.
"Why shouldn't I? I feel so crazy and I hate it so much. I…" his voice started to break a little bit, but he continued. "I'm psychotic. I could be locked up, I'm sure. I would qualify. This – it's not normal."
"Such a fixation on the negative. Having you scrub the floors all hard is a plus, but this place is a mess. Unusual."
"Don't you fucking see? That's it! Scrubbing the floors! I can't help that! I have to do that! It won't leave me alone, it won't leave, it won't leave, and I hear – I think – I don't even know what it is, but –"
An immense sigh filled the room, cutting Regulus off.
"See, I don't care. I don't mean that I don't care, but I mean I don't care that you're like that. I think it's fine. My dad worked with someone like you once, he turned out fine. I mean, he was working with my dad, right? Not too shabby. You're gonna be fine, it's just OCD."
"OCD," Regulus said cautiously, "means what, exactly?"
"Obsessive-compulsive disorder. If you want help go find some. Now, please, go clean this up. I'll be back soon to confiscate your liquor – you know, for health purposes. I'm due for a night on the town. Plus, I think we all know I'm not supposed to be here and, increasing my level of rebelliousness, I am supposed to be somewhere else. I'll see you. Clean now that I've woken you up. I'll check in again tomorrow."
As he drank another bottle he knew
She would find out, inevitably, and hurt him
But he'd numb this hurt instead because it hurt more
"I'm not surprised. You know, sometimes I think about this, and you're an alcoholic, I've come to realize."
"I'm not an alcoholic, I can stop anytime I'd like to."
"Well stop now because pulling you up from the floor in a hungover state surrounded by a helluva lot of bottles in getting really annoying, you motherfucker," Barty said as he helped Reg up.
"You're not even supposed to be here. Stop turning up."
"And what? Have your bitch of a mother find out and have her way with you? No way in hell. Wait, there's more. Last night I talked to Voldy –"
"Bloody hell, why do you call him that? If he ever finds out, you're in for it."
"He's not going to."
"I've obsessed over this," Reg said with a frown, "and he will."
They drank together in silence and waited for the night to slip into day, as they were both so used to it doing
It was quiet, but it was a comfortable quiet; each boy could hear each other breathe perfectly clearly, but it was consoling. They both held a bottle to their lips and tried not to focus on their own inquietude but failed quite drastically. Unsuddenly (they'd both been expecting this at some point – they knew the silence had to end and they knew Barty would be the one to break it) the hush was lifted from the house,
"I'm drunk."
"And? Me, too. I feel sick."
"Yeah, I almost wish your mom didn't go to Sirius' hearing."
"Don't bring that up, you fuckwit."
"Now Reggie's second best? Who would believe it? Poor, poor baby, not her most loyal son like she always said he was…"
"Don't patronize me. I'm already about to throw up."
"Poor Reggie, can't handle his alcohol. That's awfully strange for an alcoholic. You're an absolute weak bitch, but I like it."
"I'm feeling off."
And with that – again unsuddenly because they were both expecting it – Barty leaned over and kissed a beautiful but so patronizable – and yes, that's not a word but he needs and entirely new word – guy. Barty could collect a whole new vocabulary and he still couldn't find the right words. His scraggly, long dark hair and green eyes – fuck.
Regulus said in a whisper voice, quickly and unsurely, "I think I love you."
(Yes, he was panicking and going over every little thing, but still he said what he thought. It was quite brave, really.)
"You give… me a boner," Barty responded, mimicking his tone. He thought that'd be much more fun to say rather than something poetic.
Then Regulus did something he'd been waiting all night to do – he threw up. And maybe Barty did regret saying that just a little bit.
And so he fled and so he died
All Regulus could think was I told you, I told you, I told you.
"Well, Voldy has something in store for you."
What a terrible way to die.
But Barty didn't die – instead, cries of "Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!" could be heard in all of London to Greenwich.
Bartemus writhed on the floor, most definitely not in a good way. Anxiety coursed through Regulus worse than it had likely ever been. He could do nothing, however, and that was indisputable. He was forced to stand and watch. The name was a bad idea, he knew he'd told him – disrespectful. So Regulus remained, hungover, trying not to cry, and helpless.
When he was able to stand up again he noticed
That accompanied by tears there was an
Eyelash on his face
Eyelash on his face
Eyelash on his face
Written for the thirteenth round of the QLFCP for Pride of Portree.
My prompt was Barty Crouch Jr./Regulus Black.