Challenge: Camp Potter, History Appreciation.
Prompt: Write about Regulus Black.
Pairing: Regulus/Barty Junior.
You stand solemnly by the lake, arms wrapped around yourself as the cool wind blows hauntingly, whispering in your ear and streaking through your dark hair.
Barty is hovering excitedly around you, "It will be glorious, Regulus, can you imagine it? The Dark Lord is interested in us, we'll become Death Eaters and it's all thanks to your cousin! Imagine a world where Wizards prevail over Mudbloods, well be heroes, Regulus. We'll have saved this world from an invasion of scum, you and me."
His face takes on an almost primal quality, completely and utterly absorbed by his lust for glory, his voice is almost a snarl.
"We'll cleanse the world, we'll show blood traitors like your bastard of a brother the right way. Think about it, a golden world where the Dark Lord reigns, where purebloods have taken their rightful place supreme beings over Muggle's and the like, it will be a glorious world where the weeds are all eradicated; and you and I will be at the centre of it all."
You stay silent as he paints his beautiful watercolour image, it is attractive, almost as attractive as Barty himself. The power hungry gleam never leaves his eyes as he stands in front of you, possessively placing his hands on your shoulders. His face is so close to yours, you fear he will see the doubt in your eyes. Sirius had run away from home last summer, leaving you defenseless against the black poison that drip drip drips through your veins. Part of you resents him for it. You never wanted this- of course you believe that Muggle's are filth not worthy to breathe the same air as you, but killing them?
A mental picture forms in your mind, Muggles are lined up in a row, unclothed, scared and uncivilized, barely even human. You stand in front of them, Barty on your right and Voldemort on your left. They look at you expectantly and you raise your wand. One by one they fall, like dominoes. Down, down, down. You look down and your hands are covered in red blood, but it's slowly being overtaken by the black poison so you feel no guilt for what you just did.
You shudder, knowing that that senario is entirely possible. The poison is just that irresistible.
But the other part of you is stronger, it seeps like toxic waste into you, turning your veins black and corrupting your brain, turning it black, burning out anything that shouldn't be there, because you are Regulus Black, the Black Prince, the Heir, the pride and joy and this is your destiny.
(Or is it?)
"We will be great, Regulus. Don't be afraid of greatness. Embrace it. Take the power that is rightfully yours." He grins maniacally, his lips almost touching yours. His breath stains your face, blowing away the doubt that coats your ghostly face.
(But even he can't get rid of it. Not for good.)
"We will be great," you repeat dutifully, convincing enough for him to smirk and step closer, snaking his arms around your waist, trailing them up and down your body. His hand moves to rest on your left forearm, his tongue flicking out in pleasure as he leans down to kiss the bare skin where soon the black poison will soon show, coiling and twisting into the shape of a snake, forever committing you to a cause Sirius fought so hard to keep you from.
What you really mean is, I'll follow you. Because it's true. You are the lost sheep and he is the dark shepherd, herding you furthur and furthur away from the light, into the darkness where you belong.
(But where you don't want to be.)
His voice brushes your lips, enticing you, his tongue runs over your skin gently. He kisses his way down your neck, shoulder and your arm as he talks. The poison in your veins roars it's pleasure at his touch.
"Together, Regulus, always together. You and me, we will be so powerful, so brilliant, we wont just be anybodies, Regulus. We'll be Princes' of the new world, you and me."
Together.
The promise is enough for your doubts to vanish, at least for time being. You share his excitement for your upcoming initiation.
When you receive the mark the pain is unbearable, and yet you know if you scream you will fail. You lock eyes with Barty, his are blurred by power, his face alight like he is running on a high. His excitement is infectious, and you find yourself mirroring his self satisfied smirk as the poison brands itself permanently onto your skin. You can never escape now. You belong to the blackness. You belong to Barty.
You are made to torture an innocent Muggle man, Barty does with no problems, his heart is as black as the toxic waste running through your veins.
(but it hasn't reached your heart, not yet)
His laugh is deranged, you love him so much, he leads and you follow, you are the sheep and he is the shepherd, saving you always from the wolves. So once he is done, you step up to take your turn, and you embrace the rush that it gives you. You start to see why Barty loves power so much; it gives you a feeling of control, something you've never really had. You had your brother pulling you one way and your parents pushing you another, but finally, you can just go forwards.
Time goes past, like a wildfire the poison spreads, shrouding your doubts in a dense smoke so they are forever hidden from you. Sometimes you see Sirius giving you sad looks across the Great Hall and you almost feel guilty but then Barty notices and he leans over so close his lips touch your ear,
"He ran away, Regulus," his seductive voice fills your mind, strengthening the smokescreen, putting a wall made of bitterness and resentment, between you and Sirius, "He left you, you don't owe him anything, Reg. That bloodtraitor-" he spits the word vehemently, "-abandoned you. You've got me, now, you don't need him anymore."
You tear your gaze away from Sirius and look into Barty's wildfire eyes and nod. Barty will never abandon you, for you are BartyandReg and you are always. Sirius left you, but Barty never will.
(So he says.)
The poison thickens, Barty's eyes become less and less clear, and his smile more sinister as his ambition slowly eats him alive. You become more and more suffocated, you don't know who you are anymore, you don't know who Barty is, and all you can think of is how disappointed Sirius would be if he could see you know. Screams haunt your nightmares, you feel your sanity erode away, burnt in the raging crescendo of the poison. Thousands of fragments of your innocence remain, but they are scattered few and far between, out of reach. The shards break into even smaller pieces with action you commit under the name of patriotism and the Dark Lord.
You are sent on your first mission during the summer of your sixth year, just you and Barty. He cannot keep the excitement out of his voice, he doesn't try to mask his eagerness, the rush he gets from killing. You've killed before, Muggles, and Muggle Borns, even a few Half Bloods; they deserved it. But this time it's Purebloods. You've been upgraded, but you're not sure if you wanted to be.
(The poison hisses and spits, it tries to consume you, but your doubts are too strong.)
"Barty- they're just children, maybe we should just leave. We've done what we were told to do." Your voice is hoarse, the parents are dead. You tied them up and helped Barty Crucio them until they were screaming for death, you tortured the children while Barty made sure they watched. Barty played with them like a cat plays with a mouse. You feel ill, and oddly satisfied at the same time.
The poison roars loudly, lust runs through your veins at the sight of his haughty smirk, at the sight of Barty standing tall with power racing though his veins making him delirious; but your brain knows its wrong. You can't be attracted to a man who kills innocents.
(And yet you are)
You regret saying it immediately. Barty whirls around viscously, his eyes full of a rare clarity; the children whimper from where they are tied up.
"Blood traitors," Barty hisses. "Muggle loving filth. Don't you see how wrong they are? Don't they understand that the Dark Lord will prevail? Are you having doubts, Regulus?"
Hastily you back up, you can't let Barty think you have doubts, he'll never accept it and you can't loose him. No matter how much he might disgust you, you still love him. You need him. He is your shepherd, the one who leads you away from danger. The one who paints you beautiful watercolours and keeps your messed up heart together.
"That's not what I meant, Barty." You manipulate your voice into your cool Black sneer, and give Barty your most haughty look as if to say, how dare you accuse me of questioning Him?
It appears to work. He stays silent, you continue to speak in the same level, authoritative tone that you perfected over the years, with one eyebrow slightly raised. He does not question you.
"I only meant it would be a shame to waste such pure blood. They are only young, given the right education they would make fine additions to the cause. We purebloods are dying out, it would be more beneficial in the long term to spare the children, educate them properly, and then find suitable partners for them as to keep the purebloods alive."
You feel utterly ill by the end of your speech, you hope Barty doesn't notice. You believe that Purebloods are supreme, you just don't believe in innocent deaths.
Barty appears thoughtful about your proposal. He leaves the children alive, mostly unscarred. Your orders, after all, said nothing about them. When you propose the idea to the Dark Lord, he agrees and they are young enough to be raised in the proper way as to better serve society in the future. You breathe a sigh of relief.
You find yourself by the lake again, mirroring the day you chose to join the Death Eaters. The day Barty painted a glorious image of patriotism and you, like the vulnerable, naive and blinded child you were, believed him. But now, the rain pours down blurring the paint, making it all run so you can't even tell what it's supposed to be anymore. All you can see is flashes of fire, of Barty and his manic laughter, the terrible, terrified screaming of Muggles and Muggleborns as you stand in front of them, watching them writhe as the smoke rises up and up to form the deadly snake that is etched into your arm. Reminding you who you belong to. Your eyes open in the rain, it washes away the smokescreen, shattering the shards of the mirror that only ever showed you what Barty wanted you to see.
If only Sirius could see you now, if only he could see you following your own feelings and not the wishes of others, if only he could see you take the knife, squeeze your eyes shut, and run it lightly down your arm, slicing through the poison, slicing through the mark that brands you as His.
Drip. Drip. Drip. The blood dribbles down your arm. The cut is not deep, but it represents your first real act of defiance.
You thought that joining the Death Eaters, that following Barty meant you had control over your life. You were so wrong. If anything, you have even less control than you did before each and every action you do has to be carefully calculated, one slip up and people would start to see that the smokescreen Barty so painstakingly erected was starting to come undone. Your vision is becoming less and less blurry as time goes by, until now, where it has completely vanished.
You wonder about Barty sometimes. Does he really care about you? You shudder as you watched the blood pool on the ground. There isn't a lot of it, but the blood is so vibrant against the paleness of your skin, so red against the black of the poison. Red is the colour of a Gryffindor, of anger and love and passion. Black is the colour of death, of evil and darkness. White is the colour of an angel, of innocence and purity. It seems fitting that the red covers the black that covers the white.
"Would you still love me if I hadn't joined?" You whisper to the wind, you almost want to know the answer, but then deep down you already know it. The wind whistles in response, blowing harder, like it's mocking you. Would you be standing here now if you didn't have
"Would you love me if I wasn't a Black?"
All those times, all those whispered Iloveyou's and togetherforever, all those touches and all the times he's screamed your name...were they all lies? All means to an end?
"Would you still love me if I didn't have money and power and connections?"
There is no response. You turn around, feeling the thousands of pieces of your heart shatter into millions, then billions Of fragments as you walk back to the Castle, back to him, back to black.
There comes a time when all things have to come to an end, charades will be found out, books will reach their final chapters, dreams fade away as reality takes over. Some people get a feeling just before everything starts to crash and collapse around them, like an hourglass has been broken, some seem to feel the calm before the storm and have time to prepare. For some, they choose to ignore the feeling, they hold on to the watercolour image for as long as they can before the smudges take over. For others, they follow the feeling, they acknowledge the smudges but bide their time before trying to fix them.
They say you'll always go back to Black, they mean the poison. But they're wrong. All your life, even more so since Sirius left, you've played the part of the dutiful Black, the Prince, and eventually the Heir. The poison took over, mindlessly you followed Barty deeper and deeper. It was okay when you were in Hogwarts, but now you're in the real world.
"Dear Barty," you write. You can't tell him this, he'll never understand, so you choose to come to an end.
"But Regulus!" He'd say, "we're great, we're powerful, the Dark Lord is going to win! How can you betray him like this? How can you betray me?" His voice would wash over you, the smokescreen would build back up and you'd loose your feelings to oblivion again. That can't happen.
"Dear Barty,
You left me in the dark, Barty, you fell deeper and deeper into the cracks and I couldn't pull you out. Pureblooods are supreme, we always will be, but innocents should not die in our name. We were poisoned, Barty. The marks we bare on our left forearms corrupted us. I watched you rise the ranks, I saw the lust for power in your eyes and I watched your ambition eat you alive. I couldn't save you from yourself. Voldemort has to be stopped, I'm sorry, Barty. I don't believe in his cause. I never really have.
I'll see you in hell,
Love,
Regulus."
Tears drip drip drip down your face. You can't ignore the feeling any longer. You have to act. It is your final stand, you prepare to end your own life. Drinking the poison, your throat burning, you screaming as the hands of death claim you for their own, dragging you down, down, down.
All things have to come to an end, and this is yours. The fragments of your life have come together, the string has been snapped. The rain has finally stopped falling.
Your story started one rainy day by a lake, and so, you think, it is fitting that it should end by one.