For the 100 Word Prompt Challenge (3/100, ask)
You're trembling, slick with rain and blood. Regulus doesn't ask when you return home. He simply summons a set of dry clothes and frets over you until you're sitting by the fireplace.
You wish that he would ask. You wish that he wouldn't look at you with those grey eyes so full of regret and pity.
This is his fault. Neither of you say it, but the silent truth hangs in the air between you, tense and dangerous.
He doesn't ask. He doesn't speak.
If he hadn't begged you to join him, you wouldn't be here. If he hadn't held your hand when the Dark Mark was placed upon your skin, you would be on your way to becoming Minister for Magic, not caught up in this dangerous web, slowly losing your humanity more and more every day.
"Barty," he whispers.
You turn away. He will not ask. He will not apologize. He will only look at the monster he has created with disgust.
"No way out," you say bitterly.
His hand brushes your cheek, and you flinch away. He doesn't still love you, you're sure of that. How could he ever love someone so broken, so damned.
"Barty," he says again, more urgently. "Barty, look at me."
But you can't.
You're certain that he'd never meant for it to be this way. He hadn't counted on you to fall in love with bloodlust and brutality. Who could have ever guessed that the sweet little Hufflepuff boy would have such a mean streak in him.
And if he does love you, he's a bloody fool.
"I'm going to bed," you say, voice tight as you rise to your feet.
Regulus doesn't follow you, and, as you're halfway down the hall, you're almost certain that you can hear crying in the living room.