A / N : Another oneshot. I really don't know where the ideas for these things come from . . . Anyway. I was re-reading "Therapy" recently, while lazily browsing the HP Lexicon (I'm easily entertained, I know). And then I realized that Barty and Regulus would likely have been at Hogwarts at the same time. I also realized that I'd never actually written anything about Regulus, or thought about him much at all in fact. His character just popped into my head though, and I found myself wondering about him – about his relationship with his family, and why he would be insecure enough to join the Death Eaters in the first place at such a young age, especially given that he clearly didn't have much of a sadistic side. (You could argue that he basically defied Voldemort for a house-elf. Given how prejediced even Sirius was against Kreacher, I had to wonder why Regulus was so fond of him. The answer I came up with was that he was shy, socially awkward and lonely because . . . well, you'll see. ) Barty is here because it's therapy, and I just couldn't resist an in-joke. Also he worked surprisingly well with Regulus.

I don't have any plans to make this more than a oneshot at the moment, though I suppose I won't rule it out as a very, very vague possibility. I've become oddly fond of Regulus.

Alright, enjoy! Reviews, by the way, are fantastic. Title is from the song by Lifehouse.

Hanging By A Moment

Fourteen year old Regulus Black shifted uncomfortably in his seat, tugging nervously at the cuffs of his school shirt, until they were lined up as evenly as they could be without the aid of a ruler. There was an itch in the back of his throat, and he wanted to cough, or clear it . . . but he didn't want to break the silence. If he did, the only other other occupant of the room might start to talk, and he didn't want that.

It was humiliating enough, after all, that his mother had sent him here.

Finding himself trapped in the waiting room with Barty Crouch Jr was a cruelty he scarcely deserved, unless someone really didn't like him. (He cast a nervous glance at the ceiling. The Blacks had never been a particularly religious family. Sirius had once jokingly informed his mother that it was blasphemous to worship blood status. Her wrath had been distinctly unholy.)

Still, Crouch didn't seem to be paying him much attention, which was a relief. He had instead pulled a candle from the bracket on the wall, and was currently tearing the leaves off a potted plant and sticking them into the flame, watching them turn black and curl up with a slight smirk. Regulus wondered dimly what the plant was. Herbology was his best subject at school – he ought to know, really. But it was almost impossible to think about Herbology in this situation.

"It's – it's not what you think," he said nervously, breaking the silence. "Why I'm here, I mean."

Crouch blinked, tearing his gaze away from the flames. "It speaks," he said balefully.

Regulus reddened. And then something struck him, something he had somehow missed while dwelling on his own embarrassment. "Wait a minute," he said thoughtlessly. "Why are you here?"

Crouch tilted his head to the side, giving him the same look he'd previously given the plant. Regulus felt a prickling layer of sweat break out across his forehead.

"I – I didn't mean – I mean -"

Crouch groaned. "I hate stammering. Shut up."

Regulus stared. He was a Black, after all. He wasn't accustomed to people telling him to shut up. Granted, Sirius told him to shut up ten times a day, but that didn't count. His mother said that Sirius had no proper wizarding feeling, and Regulus agreed with her.

"It's a secret," Crouch said, to his surprise. Apparently he had decided to continue the conversation anyway. "I'll only tell you my secret if you tell me yours."

Regulus swallowed. "Wh – what?"

Crouch smiled. It was the sort of smile a shark might wear when let loose in a swimming pool. "Don't you trust me?" he asked blithely.

"I -" - Regulus bit his tongue to stop himself stammering again - "don't know," he finished quickly.

The smile widened. "Then try me, and you will know."

It sounded so simple. But . . . . .

Crouch began to drum his fingers against the table, losing patience.

"Tell me why you're here first," Regulus said desperately.

Crouch grinned. "You really want to know?"

Regulus pulled a loose thread out of his jumper and nodded.

"Okay." Barty twisted the stalk of the mutilated pot plant between his fingers like a wand, and mimed blasting the leg off Regulus' chair, laughing when he jumped. "My parents think I tried to kill myself."

"What?"

Crouch frowned. "Are you deaf? I said, my parents think I tried to kill myself." He paused. "Again."

Regulus stared. "D – did you?" he asked uncertainly.

"No! What are you, stupid?"

"Right," Regulus said weakly. If there was a word for how he felt around Crouch, "stupid" was probably it. "I just - why would they think that?"

"Because," Crouch said in a bored tone, "it looked that way."

Regulus frowned.

Crouch sighed. "It was a game," he explained in the same dull tone, "that got a bit . . . out of hand." As if that explained everything.

Regulus couldn't quite think what to say. In the end he decided he didn't want to know what sort of game produced that as a possible outcome.

"So," - Crouch grinned again - "Why are you here?"

Regulus felt his face flame. "I had an argument with my mother," he muttered, avoiding Crouch's eye.

"Why?"

Couldn't the ground just swallow him up now? Wouldn't that be more merciful? But Crouch had told him the truth, or something horrible enough to be the truth. And Regulus had a funny feeling he would know if he lied. There was no way out now. So he took a deep breath, and told the truth.

"I told her I think I like boys."

"And?" Crouch didn't seem to find this particularly earth-shattering news.

Regulus stared at his shoes. "She threatened to castrate me and blast me off the family tree. And then she sent me here, to be healed."

Barty laughed. "We don't have a family tree in our house," he mused. "My father thinks they're outmoded and promote prejudice." He delivered the last part of the sentence in a cold, mocking tone. Then he grinned. "Your mother sounds like a hag."

"She is not!"

"If you say so."

"She isn't," Regulus insisted. "She's just . . set in her ways, that's all."

Barty made a very bad attempt to hide a smirk. "I'm curious," he said. He made the word sound strangely ominous. "If you knew she'd react like that, why did you bother telling her?"

Regulus rubbed his neck uncomfortably. "Because," he said quietly. "I was hoping she wouldn't."

Barty tilted the candle, trailing molten wax across the magazines on the table top. He watched it mar the features of a smiling witch on the front page of Witch Weekly, and smirked. "That's stupid."

Regulus shrugged. "Maybe it's not. Maybe she's right. She's right about everything else. Maybe it is wrong."

Barty narrowed his eyes. "Do you have a thesaurus?"

"What? No. Why?"

"Because," Barty said dangerously, "I need more words for 'stupid'."

Regulus blinked. "I'm not stupid. I'm not as smart as you, maybe, but I'm not stupid." (Crouch was only thirteen, but he was probably the smartest student in their House, if not in the entire school. He would have been popular, if he didn't give even people in Slytherin the creeps.)

Barty stubbed out the candle on the table-top, scarring the varnish. "You're about as stupid as my house-elf," he said dismissively. "Or my mother."

Regulus scowled. "That's easy for you to say," he retorted. "You don't have my parents, pinning all their hopes for redemption of the family on my shoulders. You don't have my brother, who has girls falling at his feet and thinks I'm a waste of space. You're not gay."

Barty watched him with an interested expression, but didn't comment. The silence spiralled uncomfortably.

"You're – you're not, are you?" Regulus asked nervously, something strange flaring in the pit of his stomach. "You're not gay?"

Barty laughed. "No," he said slowly, as though giving the question serious consideration. "I don't think so. I definitely like girls." His grin widened a little, very slowly. There was something transfixing about it, and it took Regulus a moment to realize he was still talking. "Though I've never really thought about it. Is it fun?"

"Is what fun?"

Barty rolled his eyes. "Being gay."

"No," Regulus said shortly. "It's horrible."

"You must be glad then," Barty yawned, running a hand through his hair.

"Glad?"

Crouch tapped his fingers on the desk. "That they're going to . . . cure you," he scoffed.

Regulus froze. The feeling in his stomach as he watched Crouch was almost unbearable now, and knowing that he couldn't do anything about it – and wasn't even sure he wanted to do anything about it – was twice as agonizing. But he just didn't feel like this about girls. He never had. And the idea of never feeling like this about anyone ever again . . . he had to admit, in some small, secret part of his mind it terrified him. He buried his head in his hands, appalled. He had promised. He had promised his mother he would try . . . and here he was, giving up at the first hurdle.

"Do you want them to cure you?" Barty asked bluntly. When Regulus said nothing, he continued. "My parents think there's something with me, you know." He put his hands in his pockets, staring moodily at the floor. "They think I'm mad, or bad, or something. And they want me to cure myself." He laughed. It was a cruel sound. "I don't want to be cured."

"I don't think I want to be cured either," Regulus whispered, his voice cracking as his worst secret spilled from his lips.

Crouch laughed. "Then don't be."

"How can I not be?" Regulus asked forlornly. "I'm here, aren't I? I don't have a choice."

Barty gave a contemptuous snort. "That's easy," he said "Just shut up." He smiled. "It's therapy, not the Wizengamot. They can't make you talk. That's all they do, by the way – talk at you. And even if they could make you talk – you do know there's nothing they can say to stop you being gay,don't you? That's not actually possible."

Regulus stared at him. "It isn't?" He couldn't decide if this was thrilling or horrifying news.

Barty gave another contemptuous snort. "There's this thing in your head, you know. A brain. You might want to get over the novelty and actually begin using it at some point." At Regulus' blank look, he sighed. "They can't heal you if there isn't anything wrong with you in the first place." He tilted his head to the side again, considering. "Although you could get them to fix that stupid stammering habit you have. That's really annoying."

Regulus felt a laugh bubble up in his throat unexpectedly. "Right," he said weakly.

He jumped as the healer entered the room, reading from a list. "Bartemius Crouch Jr?" the man said sharply.

Barty stood up. "That's me. Have fun," he added, tossing the candle at Regulus. He looked the healer up and down as the man hustled him out of the room.

"I hope we're going to get along," Regulus heard him say cheerfully as the door swung shut behind them. "Not like my last healer. I really didn't like him."