There's a Monster at the End of this Book
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
WARNINGS: Violence, coarse language, minor mentions of verbal and physical abuse. Implied abuse of a minor. References to torture. Depiction of an obsessive/unhealthy relationship.
When it all started falling apart Regulus could admit that it was his fault. Too much channeling his parents, perhaps, but he didn't know how to tell Barty what he was really feeling. He never knew how to say what he really meant, what he really needed to say.
The first and last time it happened it was just—an explosion, a sudden violent outpouring of fear and rage—just a single backhanded blow across the back of his pretty face, the Black family ring cutting a bloody furrow into his cheek.
And Barty, who was a full head shorter than him and slim, delicately built—all wayward bones and dusty freckles— had shoved him, slammed him up against the wall, his wand pressed close against his throat and his teeth bared in a parody of a grin.
"Hit me again Reg—one more fucking time—I dare you!"
"I'm sorry. Salazar, Barty, I—I didn't mean to—I was angry but I didn't want—"
Barty hadn't cared one whit for his apologies or his explanations, and truthfully Regulus didn't blame him at all, not then, not even now.
"One more fucking time, Reg—hit me like that again and I'll fucking kill you in ways you can't even imagine."
Regulus couldn't remember being scared of Barty before that moment, and he'd seen the tosser torture his way through whole families of muggles, light shops on fire, and kill on a sycophantic whim, so eager to please the Dark Lord that he rivalled even Bellatrix with her cat-like tendency of bringing her victims into the Dark Lord's lair and lying them at his feet for assessment.
After that he'd groveled, well, insofar as Black pride would allow him to grovel, and he'd devoted himself to Barty as best as he could, anticipating his needs, trying to make him comfortable. The guilt had wrenched at him.
He'd always sworn after what growing up with his own parents had been like that he'd never raise a hand to either his partner or his children in anger. He'd just counted himself lucky that children weren't ever likely to be an issue and that Barty wouldn't allow him a second slip—wouldn't allow Regulus to hurt him again.
And life had carried on like that for a while, until Reg had figured out about the horcruxes. And by all the gods of magic did he wish he'd left well enough alone. But he'd been tasked by the Dark Lord to provide an elf suitable for a delicate task and Kreacher had come to him wrecked and shaking his mind bent under the influence of poison babbling madly about the wrongness he'd felt.
And Regulus hadn't been able to let it alone.
Barty had told him to let it alone, but he couldn't, it consumed him, the puzzle. And once he'd learnt the truth—
There would never have been any luck convincing Barty to leave his precious master's side. Any hint of the snappish, insecure sixteen year old he'd been when they'd joined the Death Eaters was well and truly gone, buried under layers of devotion and—Regulus suspected—compulsion.
He'd broken off the relationship, the sex, their friendship, all of it. Cold turkey and with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, and shut himself away in Grimmauld Place learning all he could about horcruxes and how to destroy them.
Barty started sending him letters—howlers at first, screaming and crying—starting out with one every few days and then escalating until Regulus was sitting down, stoic and well-braced by tea and resolve, to a novel practically every morning at breakfast and crying into his pillows, or the musty tomes in the Black Library by the time he was more than a few lines into the one the owl brought before he retired at night.
'—Please, Reg, love I know you don't really mean it. You can't have meant it. Not when we were supposed to be together forever. Just stop being stubborn and come back to me, it can be like it was, I'm not angry with you for leaving. I love you more than anything else. Merlin and Morgana, Reg, I don't know how much longer I can do this, I swear. I go through the days now thinking about how I might die if I can't have you back—'
It tore at Regulus, but he stood firm, holding the knowledge that his mission would save Barty in the end close to his heart and remaining firm in his resolve. After a while the frantic letters just stopped and that was almost worse, knowing Barty had finally, finally given up on him.
Only, Regulus was realizing now, watching Barty pace in front of the fire, out in the middle of nowhere with only the trees of the Black Forest as their witness, he'd never given up at all.
"—I followed you, I watched you, all this time. Keeping an eye on you. Keeping you safe, even though you persisted in breaking my heart, making eyes at other men. Letting those dripping high-society nits drape all over you like creeping vines."
"Barty—please, I—"
"Barty, please," he whinged, his pretty face twisting into a snarl, "You're always begging, Reg, tell me, did you beg that Warrington bitch to let you get a leg over? Or was it that fop, DeWitt, did you beg for his cock like the little slut you've become without me there to warm you?"
"I never—"
"Shut up!" he hissed, fisting a hand in the dark curls he'd once been so fond of, and wrapping the other tight around the pale column of his throat, "Shut your lying mouth you filthy whore! How dare you speak to me as if you care—as if my feelings meant anything to you! You're just like the rest of them—"
"I wanted to save you—from him," choked Regulus, his fingers scrabbling weakly for purchase, grey eyes darting up to lock with blue.
Searching the flames reflected there for any hint of the man he'd always loved, and finding nothing but a burned out shell.
"Save me? I never needed saving, Reg, it was always you that needed saving. You were weak. You're still weak, but I can make you strong, I've learned so much from the Dark Lord, with his guidance I can mold you—make you the man you were meant to be. Make you mine forever."
"Barty—you can't don't you see," Regulus gasped, fighting not to gag as Barty's grip slowly tightened, his rancid breath hot and ragged over his face, "He's—h-he's using you—"
"No! No!"
Regulus' head spun as he hit the ground, hard. As Barty tossed him away with a manic strength that belied his small frame, sending him flying into a tree like a bit of rubbish.
"It's you! You're the one who's trying to use me. Trick me!" he snarled, his tongue darted out to taste the corner of his mouth, a new habit that left his full lower lip, sore and wetly red, "You've always thought you were above me, better than me. You never wanted me for more than a quick fuck. Was never meant to go on as long as it did, but you got scared, so you crept around behind my back, didn't you? Just admit it! You've been spreading your legs for everyone but me for months now, you should be able to just come out and fucking—say it!"
"You're the only one," coughed Regulus, "I swear, you were my only—please, Barty, you have to believe me I've loved you since that day in second year when you slopped ink all down my front. It's always been you for me, it'll only ever be you! Please, just think about what you're doing!"
"No, no, no, no, no! You're a liar!"
"Barty—"
There were ragged tracks streaking his face, glistening and flashing in the firelight.
"You never loved me—I gave you everything and you never even wanted me!"
"I did—I do! I want you! I love you!"
There was a small scar where the ring had cut deep, not yet fully healed, just a snowdrop of white on the crest of one jutting cheekbone.
"You'd say anything now— to stop me."
It was like someone had dropped a ball of icy lead into his stomach and Regulus fought the urge to be sick, his wandering attention drawn away from the little features of Barty's face which had seemed so important to his fraying control just a second.
"Barty—Barty, what are you going to do?"
Barty raised his wand, expression set.
"I'm going to do exactly what you did to me, Reg, I'm going to burn the heart out of you."
There was a streak of light, then the heat and the agonizing pain. Dimly Regulus was aware of Barty's mouth slotting over his, muffling his screams. Blood filled his mouth, had he bitten himself or Barty? He couldn't tell.
He might have been begging. He might have soiled himself. He couldn't bring himself to care.
"If I can't have you, no one will."
And that was a true enough statement, Regulus thought, his chest filling up with acid as his blood boiled in his veins.
"You're mine, forever."
And then there was nothing.
AN: Please review and let me know what you think! This story actually came about based on a conversation I had with a friend, I have to admit I was a little disturbed by how easily he was able to brush off some of his partner's behaviour. Hopefully that uneasiness comes through in the writing.
Thanks for reading!
-Donna