Word Count: 621

They sit together atop the Astronomy Tower, staring up at the twinkling stars overhead. These are the moments Barty lives for. Up here, hidden away from the rest of the world, nothing can harm him; his father can never find him.

Beside him, Regulus takes a drag from his cigarette before exhaling. Barty's nose wrinkles at the tobacco-scented smoke. It's strangely comforting, but he'll never admit it. He enjoys teasing his friend about his bad habit.

"What's bothering you?" Regulus asks, because he knows Barty too well, so of course he can see it. "Is it your father again?"

Of course it is. It's always his father.

He doesn't know where his father found the photograph, but cold fear grips him. When he had begun his friendship with Regulus Black, he had known it would have to remain a secret. His father had explicitly forbidden Barty from becoming friends with that sort.

"I should keep my eye on you," his father growls. "You know how dangerous that family is!"

Barty swallows dryly. He wants to tell his father that he's wrong. Just look at Sirius Black. He's a bloody Gryffindor. Surely the whole family can't be so evil.

But Barty isn't brave enough to defy his father so openly. All he can do is hang his head. "Yes, Father," he says because he is a good boy, because he has to be perfect, because his father is a terrifying man.

He hears the sound of something tearing, and his head whips up. His father is unflinching as he shreds the photograph. There's a cruel satisfaction in his eyes.

Barty doesn't think; he just acts. With a cry, he lunges forward, like he can make a difference at all. His father's knuckles crack against his mouth. Barty jerks back, trembling. His father has never hit him. He's only ever yelled.

Without a word, his father turns and walks away, locking Barty in the room.

Barty doesn't want to tell Regulus about it, but it's just so easy. It's always easy with Regulus. He isn't the monster his father makes him out to be. No one else has ever been so good to Barty, so kind, so gentle.

"I hate him," Regulus says, crushing his cigarette. "I would love a few moments alone with the smug bastard. Show him how dark a Black can be."

That should scare him. Doesn't it prove his father right? But Barty takes comfort in the words. Regulus would go to war for him. Who else has that sort of friendship with someone? Barty doesn't think he'll ever find anyone as loyal as Regulus.

"I'll never be what you want me to be," he whispers.

He would never dare say it with his father in the room. He has to play his part and pretend. Merlin knows he is so bloody tired of not being able to be himself, of having to be what his father expects him to be.

He wants to be himself. Truth be told, he would kill for it.

It's so natural with Regulus. No more lies, no more pretending. These are the only moments where he feels like he truly belongs.

"You're going to be okay," Regulus says, and he rests a gentle, reassuring hand on Barty's shoulder.

He doesn't always feel like it. Some days, he's losing his mind, and he doesn't know what to do anymore. But then there are these moments with Regulus. Here, leaning against the railing and looking down at the ground below, so high above everything and everyone, he is invincible. There is only him, only Regulus, only this moment.

And, really, from up here he can see that nothing else really matters.