Word Count: 645
Warnings: Drug abuse, mild profanity

Written For:
- September Event, prompt: (dialogue) "Back to school already? Where did summer go?"
- Ship Name Competition, Week Four: Barty/Regulus

Junkie Pride

I know I wanted all this in the beginning, I really tried. I know I caught you at a not so happy time of your life.

Regulus braced himself as he waited outside the door of Barty's apartment. This was it. The make or break; the do or die. What he would find behind the door would ultimately decide whether or not he would continue his difficult relationship with Barty.

He had arrived unexpectedly. Barty thought that Regulus was spending Sunday evening at home with his parents having a family meal, but Regulus had skipped out on that. This was more important.

Taking a deep breath, he slid his key into the lock and pushed open the door, bursting into the small living room.

The first thing he became aware of was how dark it was. Even though it was only six p.m and still light outside, Barty had chosen to close the thick curtains, blocking out any trace of sunlight. Regulus could see dust in the small streams of light which filtered from the crack in the door to the kitchen.

A narrow crack of light fell on a figure on the sofa; a skinny male figure in a grubby wife-beater, with his dark blond, straw-like hair sticking up awkwardly, as though he'd been raking his fingers through it roughly. He had what looked like his school tie fastened tightly around his upper left arm, and in his right hand he clutched a syringe, the needle pointed to a point on his inner arm, and his finger poised on the plunger.

Regulus whipped his wand from his sleeve and flicked it wordlessly in Barty's direction. The paraphernalia jerked out of his hand automatically and soared into the air. "Incendio," he hissed, and the syringe burst into flames, the ashes trickling silently onto the grubby carpet.

Barty remained silent, staring wide-eyed at Regulus. He looked emotionless, his pale skin almost translucent in the dim, murky light. Regulus stared at him for what seemed like hours, waiting for him to say something, anything—deny it, apologise—he didn't care. He just needed to hear him speak.

"I'm sorry," Barty finally whispered, his voice hoarse.

"You're sorry?" Regulus almost shrieked, his words cutting through the tense air like a knife. "I thought we were through all of this? I thought you were done! You were supposed to be clean! You took three months out of your sixth year to be rehabilitated, and now you're doing it again? We're going back for our seventh year in two weeks!"

Barty slowly unfastened the makeshift tourniquet from his arm, eyeing the silver and green tie guiltily. He struggled to make eye contact with Regulus, choosing instead to lean forward on his knees, burying his face in his hands. "Back to school already? Where did summer go?" he whispered, his voice so quiet that Regulus barely heard him.

"You've spent it here in this shit-hole, shooting up," he hissed. "I'm done. Do you hear me? Done. I don't need this...I'm sick of waiting for you..."

"No," Barty suddenly sounded strangled, jerking his face up to look at Regulus. He suddenly was full of emotion, his chestnut eyes watering heavily and his bottom lip shuddering. "Please. Regulus, I'm sorry. It was just a relapse...I don't need it. It was just a one off, I swear."

"It's always just a one-off," Regulus replied. He felt a lump rising in his throat and the backs of his eyeballs prickled uncomfortably. He wouldn't cry in front of Barty - if he showed weakness, Barty would easily manipulate him, and he would be giving him another chance before he knew it. "No. I'm done." He turned on his heel and headed towards the door.

Just before he reached the exit, he shot Barty one final glare. "Get clean. Maybe we'll try again."