For Emma. I really hope you enjoy this.
For QL, round 4, Beater 1. Prompts: ground and disaster.
For Camp Potter, first aid, week two: fragile, slamming doors, "we can never starve our loneliness. We can only hope that, by the company of others, it doesn't devour us"
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Trembling hands are a sign of weakness, Barty reminds himself. Despite his best efforts, he can't keep his hands from trembling. He clenches them tightly to prevent it.
"Have you heard a thing I've said?" his father demands.
Barty looks up to meet a pair of brown eyes so much like his own yet so much different. His father is towering above him, his eyes alight with anger. And Barty knows he's in more trouble for not paying attention.
He feels his father's hand in his hair and a sharp tug. He rises quickly, knowing from previous experience that it hurts worse if he resists. He stays quiet as his father rants about his inability to behave like a proper boy. By the time they reach his bedroom, Barty's scalp is aching.
"You will stay in there until you learn how to behave properly!"
He barely catches himself from falling to the ground. The door shuts behind him. The sound of slamming doors echoes throughout the house, as does his father's voice.
Barty sits on his bed and tries to drown out the fact that he can never do anything right in his father's eyes.
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"A downright shame," his father says, shaking his head in disappointment. It's an act that is far too known to Barty. It's an act that Barty has come to realize means he's in trouble.
Barty clenches his trembling hands tightly.
"Three detentions. Three!" his father laughs humorlessly. "Where do you think that's going to get you in life? Because it's surely not the Ministry." When Barty doesn't answer, he continues. "Hmm?"
Barty looks down, focusing on controlling his breathing. He feels a sharp tug of his hair, forcing his eyes up. His father's eyes are dark and dangerous.
"Answer me when I'm speaking to you, boy. I didn't raise you to be disrespectful."
It's difficult, but Barty ignores the throbbing in his scalp. "You didn't raise me at all."
The words are out of Barty's mouth before he's realized he's spoken. He watches, worried, as his father's eyes flash in fury. Even though it hurts, Barty can't regret speaking the truth.
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It takes a while before his mother comes in the room. There's sadness in her dark eyes and sorrow in her stance. "Did he hurt you?" she asks softly.
Barty laughs humorlessly. "Father hates me."
She crosses the room in three quick strides and kneels before him. Gripping his jaw, she forces him to look at her. As much as he wants to look away, he doesn't. "He doesn't hate you," she tries to assure him.
Barty just laughs again. "Is that why he beats me when I'm not perfect?"
"He doesn't know how –"
"Don't, Mother," he cuts across her. "Don't defend what he does." He gently pushes her arm away from him.
Purposefully, he looks away from her. He doesn't want her to defend him. He doesn't want her to make this seem normal. Because he knows it's not.
He hears the shuffle of feet and the closing of a door. And only then does he breathe in relief.
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"You're going to get a detention if you get caught out of bed," a voice says from behind him.
Barty turns around. In the doorway of the Astronomy Tower stands Regulus Black. He's all sharp lines and dark eyes and an ever-present smirk.
"Piss off, Black," he says, turning back around.
Instead, Barty hears the shuffle of feet as Regulus crosses the room. "What would your dear old father have to say about this?" he teases.
Barty narrows his eyes at the intruder. "I said piss off."
"I know what you said," Regulus replies. "And I am electing to ignore it. It's not my fault that you have taken up my favorite spot." He pulls a box out of his coat pocket. He offers it to Barty. "Do you want one?"
Barty looks at the box, noticing they are Muggle cigarettes. And he declines the offer.
"Oh, I forgot," Regulus says, lighting up. "You're daddy's perfect little son." Regulus notices the way that Barty clenches his hands and he raises an eyebrow. "What? Have I upset daddy's little –"
Barty roughly pushes Regulus against the wall. Regulus' cigarette falls to the floor, but neither move to extinguish it. "Don't finish that statement," he warns, his eyes flashing. "I am nothing like my father."
Regulus laughs, deep and genuine. "I think you are."
Letting Regulus go, Barty drops his hands to his sides. He moves to leave when he hears Regulus speak again. "If you really don't want to become like your father, I know something that you can do."
Barty deliberates for a few moments before shaking his head. And then he disappears through the doorway.
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Barty enters the Astronomy Tower nearly a week later. He isn't surprised to see Regulus Black sitting with his legs dangling over the side, a cigarette in between his lips.
"I knew you would be back," Regulus says.
Barty raises his eyebrow. "How did you know it was me?"
Regulus shrugs, flicking ashes over the edge. "Call it a lucky guess. But I knew you come to find me. You want to know what I had in mind when I said I could help you get out from under your father's shadow."
He takes a seat next to Regulus. "And what exactly do you have in mind?" he asks.
Regulus is quiet for a while, puffing on his cigarette. It's only when he finally finishes it and throws it over that he speaks again. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors."
Barty has. He's heard the rumors of someone gathering an army. His father has spoken about it several times when he thought Barty couldn't hear. But despite this, Barty shakes his head. "I haven't heard," he says.
"There's no need to lie, Barty," Regulus assures him. "All I'm saying is that maybe it's a cause worth fighting for."
Barty stands quickly. "No," he replies. "You're insane if you think I'm going to join." Before his companion can say anything else, he is out the door and making his way back to the Slytherin Common Room.
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He sits at the dining room table quietly. As much as he would've preferred to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays, his mother insisted that he come home. And he finds that he can never quite deny his mother her wishes.
The dinner is rather quiet affair, for which Barty is thankful. It's afterwards, while the House Elf brings out the desert that his father finally looks at Barty.
"I've been hearing some troubling news," his father starts. There's a tone in his voice that causes Barty to shiver. "I've been informed that you have been associating with the youngest Black."
Barty squeezes his eyes closed. Of course his father would find out about his encounters with Regulus, even though they stopped weeks ago, right after he told Barty to join the rising enemy. He knows that he can't tell his father that. And he knows that his father won't believe him when he says he hasn't. So instead, he stays silent.
"That boy is nothing but trouble. Think about your future at the Ministry. You're ruining it by even associating with him," his father lectures.
Barty is trembling with fury. He stands up, slamming his hands down on the table. "You can't tell me who I do and don't associate with, Father," he spits. It's going to get him in trouble, but Barty is beyond caring. He goes to turn away when he feels a tight grip on his wrist.
He knows it's going to bruise later.
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"Tell me more," Barty demands. He takes a seat next to Regulus.
Regulus doesn't look too surprised when he does so. "Interested now, are you?" he asks, raising his eyebrow. "I wonder what caused this sudden change of heart." Amusement laces his tone.
Barty glares. "That's none of your business," he says defensively. "Now, are you going to tell me more or not?"
He smirks at Barty. "It doesn't matter what I tell you right now. You're going to join anyways," he states matter-of-factly. "So why waste the breath?"
Raising his eyebrow, Barty asks, "How do you know that?"
"Call it intuition," Regulus replies off-handedly. He rises. "I'll be in touch with you about taking the Mark."
He disappears before Barty can say another thing. He looks out upon the school's ground. Deep in his gut, he feels that this is going to lead to disaster. Though, he can't quite find it in himself to care.
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"Where do you think you're going?"
Barty freezes, his hand on the door handle. He slowly turns around to face his father. "Out," he responses, cheekily.
His father's dark eyes gleam. "No you're not," he says firmly.
He raises his eyebrow at his father. "And how are you planning on stopping me?" he questions. Slipping his hand in his pocket casually, Barty wraps his hand around his wand. "I'm seventeen, legally an adult."
"You still live under my roof, boy. And I said you aren't going out."
Pulling out his wand, Barty smiles. Before his father can say another word, he Disapparates. He can't deny how good it felt to disobey his father.
He resurfaces at the address that Regulus had provided him with right before the end of school year. It's a lovely Manor, but his memory fails him when he tries to recall whose Manor it is.
By the time that he is inside, his nerves finally catch up. He meets Regulus in the parlor. They say nothing as Regulus leads him further in the Manor. They come to a stop just outside a pair of double doors. Regulus turns to him.
"Whatever you do," he whispers, "don't scream."
Barty tilts his head and licks his lips. Eventually, he nods. And Regulus pushes one of the doors open. He follows obediently behind his companion. There are several faces among the crowd that he recognizes – Lestranges, Blacks, Malfoys.
He barely listens as Regulus offers himself to the service of this new master. When Barty goes to stand in the room, he is met by a tall, handsome man with dark hair and murderous eyes. And Barty cannot help when his hands start to tremble. He clenches his hands to prevent it.
Within the next moments, Barty feels wave after wave of pain invade his veins. He bites his lips to prevent himself from crying out, and finds himself dropping to one knee to prevent himself from collapsing. He has to be strong through this. It's nothing more than a test.
He tastes blood before the spell finally ends. He pants and feels the ache in every muscle.
The man towers over him, reminding him so much of his father. "Excellent choice, Regulus."
Barty feels the tip of a wand against his forearm. What he isn't expecting is the pain that follows. He barely manages to contain his cry.
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His hands tremble as he holds his wand. "I don't know."
Regulus is standing behind him, his lips against the shell of ear. "It's really easy," Regulus whispers. "The trick is that you really have to mean it. Find that one thing you hate the most and focus on it."
Barty closes his eyes and does as Regulus instructs. He thinks of his father and lets that hatred fill his heart. He casts Crucio and a scream fills the air. Adrenaline rushes through his veins at the sound. For once, it's not him that is hurting.
It feels kind of powerful in ways that Barty never though he could feel. He presses his lips against Regulus' in excitement. When he pulls away, his eyes widen. "I'm…I shouldn't…I," he stammers.
Regulus cuts him off with another kiss.
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It's easy how they fall into routine.
Regulus particularly likes to seek Barty out after a mission. Likes to crawl in Barty's bed and dig his fingers into Barty's skin.
Barty doesn't mind. He enjoys the fact that Regulus seeks him out. It makes him feel wanted, needed, desired. It's an intoxicating feeling.
Until one day, Regulus doesn't come to him.
That night, he destroys his room out of anger, frustration, irritation. With a wave of his wand, all of his belongings fly from their places. They hit the walls and fall to the floor, unceremoniously.
He sits against his door, his head in his hands. Regulus was using him all along, he reminds him. But it doesn't make him feel any better.
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He loses track of how many times he casts Crucio. He lets his anger for Regulus, for his father, for everything fuel his spells, just like Regulus once taught. He wants to forget. But no matter how many times he casts the spell, the memory always rises.
He feels his wand being lowered. He looks up to meet the eyes of Bellatrix. "They know nothing," she informs him.
"Why don't we kill them?" he asks. Their fragile lives can so easily be taken away. He yearns to take their lives.
"They don't even know who they are, much less us," she sneers. "Worthless."
He still doesn't understand why they don't murder the Auror and his wife, but he follows Bellatrix and Rodolphus out the door anyway.
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"You're under arrest for the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom."
Barty freezes where he is. He thinks about his options quickly. His hands are too far away from his wand; he would be dead before he even touched it, or at the very least, stunned. He is completely surrounded so there is no escape.
Knowing when he's been beaten, Barty raises his hand in a surrendering motion. He can't help but laugh as they bind him. And he stares his father in the eyes.
"Aren't you proud of me know, father?"
"You are no son of mine."
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He sits in his cell quietly. All he ever wanted was his father's approval.
That need lead him here. To a cell that is frigid with guards that take every memory of his mother and the good memories of Regulus. All he's left with are the mistakes he's made and punishments he's endured.
And it's the reason he is trembling.