Written for the Duelling Club Challenge, Voldemort!wins AU.

Word count: 498

the day the world ended

The day the Dark Lord wins the war is a day like any other. Regulus wakes up, gets dressed and eats breakfast under his mother's proud gaze. When he's ready, he Apparates away to his apprenticeship. It's Halloween, and his Mark doesn't bother him at all, concealed under a glamor spell.

It's Halloween, and his Mark doesn't bother him at all, until it does.

It burns so fiercely and suddenly that Regulus rips out half the page of the book he's been reading. In the silence, that noise is as loud as a scream. Regulus leaves without bothering to repair it—whatever the Dark Lord wants with his followers now, he will not tolerate waiting.

Regulus grits his teeth, pushes through the pain, and Apparates away.

He would have stumbled, arriving, had it not been for the warm hands that steadied him.

"Hey there," Barty says. His grin is a touch less manic than usual, but his eyes burn fever-bright. Still, Regulus feels his lips pull into an answering smile.

"Hey," he echoes, swallowing thickly. These days, it feels like Barty's presence is the one thing that makes being a Death Eater worth anything—not that Regulus would ever voice this out loud. He does value his life more than that. "Any idea why we're here?" he asks, forcing his voice to remain steady.

Impossibly, Barty's grin widens, his hands tightening on Regulus' shoulders. For an instant, Regulus thinks the other man is going to kiss him, and his heart nearly beats his way out of his chest. From the way Barty's eyes linger on his lips, he's certainly thought about it.

"You haven't heard?" Barty replies instead, taking a small step back. "I won't spoil the surprise then." He smirks.

"Barty…"

"You'll like it, you'll see. Now come on, our Lord is waiting inside, we don't want to be late."

Malfoy Manor is a marvel of architecture, but led by Barty, Regulus doesn't have the time to do more than glimpse the marble halls. He's not really sure where they end up, but the room is big, and the Dark Lord presides over it with practiced ease.

He's triumphant, and Regulus' blood freezes in his veins. He only manages the customary bowing through habit.

You'll love this, Barty had said, and oh, now that Regulus sees, now that he understands what this has to be, he wants to scream that he doesn't, that he hates it.

"The war is over," the Dark Lord announces, and Regulus forces himself to cheer as he dies inside.

"We won!" Barty shouts joyfully. It hurts to smile back.

"Yeah, we won," Regulus echoes. Try as he might, he can't seem to infuse the same enthusiasm in his voice. Thankfully, no one notices.

He thinks about Kreacher, who died for a locket Regulus burned months ago—Kreacher, who gave his life so Regulus could lie—and he has to swallow back bile.

"We won," he repeats, but it still tastes like ashes.