Written For

100 Word Prompt Challenge (addict)

Gringotts Prompt Bank-

A-Z AU: addict!AU

You don't bother looking ashamed when Barty finds you, traces of powder clinging to your nose, a line of thin white powder on the table. You offer him a lazy grin. "Hello."

"What the hell is this?" he asks, shaking his head, gesturing at you.

"H," you laugh, your head leaning forward, eyes heavy. "H is for heroin. H is for…"

"I got it," Barty says sharply. "But why the hell are you- How long?"

You drift off a bit before jerking awake. "How… What?"

"How long has this been going on?"

You shrug. "I dunno, man. Two, three years? What's it matter? It's good. I feel good, babe."

"I'm calling-"

"No one. You're calling no one. Sit down. Have a line."

"Regulus!"

"It'll make you feel…" You drift again, falling slack. Your eyes open again. "Make you feel good, okay?"

"Look at you. You can barely even lift your head."

"Try it, babe. Try it."

…

You wake up in bed, dazed. You're almost certain that you had passed out by your window.

With a groan, you climb to your feet, dressing quickly. As tempting as staying in bed all day sounds, you have work to do.

…

Tom counts the bills with raised brows.

"It's all there," you mutter, but he silences you with a glare.

The last bill falls into place, and he fixes you with a smile. "You never disappoint me, Regulus," he praises, beckoning you forward with a crook of his finger. "This is the last of the supply until next week. I want it gone. Understood?"

You salute. "Got it, boss."

…

"Care to tell me about last night?" Barty asks.

Your heart sinks as the pieces fall into place. You remember flickers of him, but it's all so hazy. He had found you. He had carried you to bed.

"What's there to talk about? I'm sure you've already figured it out."

Barty sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He moves closer then hesitates before placing a hand on your shoulder. "If you need help, I can get you into a rehab facility. There's no shame in it."

You laugh. "Oh, love, it's a bit deeper than that, I'm afraid."

"What do you mean?"

"It would be easier if I was just an addict."

"You're dealing?"

"Pushing. There's a difference."

"Not much of one!"

With a sigh, you shake your head. "Maybe not. But if you just tried it, maybe you'd understand."

"You're saying I need to do drugs?"

"You're so uptight. Maybe it could help you relax," you suggest as gently as you can manage.

"Uptight? You think I'm uptight?" he demands.

"Well… Yes," you answer bluntly. "One time? You'll understand, and I'll take care of you. Promise."

With a roll of his eyes, Barty turns, walking out. You shrug. "More for me."

…

"It's the same stuff?" Alice asks. "Same as last time? The good stuff."

"You think I'd push shit?"

She shakes her head, shivering. "Fuck. I'd take shit right now," she mumbles, handing you her money.

You count it quickly before giving her the little baggy.

She dips a finger in the powder before pressing it to her tongue. A smile curls at her lips.

"Don't waste it. That's all for a week."

She considers this before digging into her pocket. "Better make it double, then."

…

You carefully separate your money from Tom's, double counting, then triple for good measure. Calculating it, you shift some of your bills into his stack before removing a baggy from the collection.

…

"Reg! Reg!"

Your head jerks sharply. "Wha?"

"I want to try it."

You aren't sure if your hearing has gone funny or if maybe the drugs are just fucking with your head. For several seconds, you just stare blankly at Barty, your mouth open slightly.

He snaps his fingers right in front of your face. "Did you hear me?"

"I… I think so?" you slur, smiling.

"I want to try it. Just once, okay? I don't want to be… to be…"

"To be like me," you finish. "Got it."

"I didn't mean-"

But you're hardly paying attention. You divide up a line of powder for him and roll the bill so that he can inhale it.

"I thought you were supposed to inject it."

"Miss a vein and send that shit straight into your muscles?" you ask, shaking your head. "Stupid risk."

Your head swims, but you guide him along carefully. "Inhale," you say, and he obeys.

…

Barty is sprawled across your lip, a lazy smile on his lips. "I feel fuzzy," he laughs. "Like I'm wrapped in a fuzzy blanket from God."

You smile, eyes closing.

…

"I need my fix," Peter tells you, his body twitching.

"All out, man."

"Don't lie to me! I know you have it! You always have it!" he screams, reaching for you.

You shove him away, lip curled in disgust.

…

Barty lays on the couch with heavy eyes. You kiss him. "Hope you saved some for me," you laugh, trying to ignore the ache in your bones.

…

"What do you mean you're out?"

Tom shrugs. "Exactly that. My supplier hasn't delivered yet."

You groan, wrapping your arms around yourself, trying in vain to stop the shivering that consumes you.

"You should have known better than to sample the product, Tom scolds, clucking his tongue. "Shame, shame."

…

"I'm dying, Reg," Barty groans.

"Just withdrawals," you mutter, gripping the arm of the sofa until your knuckles go white. "It'll pass. Breathe."

"Reg! Reg! Help me!"

…

"And what do we have here?" Kingsley laughs. "Tom's little errand boy at my doorstep."

"I need help."

"You need more help than I can give you."

"Please. I need something," you groan. "Anything!"

Kingsley holds out his hand expectantly. "You know my help isn't free, Black."

With a groan, you shove the bills in his hand.

…

"Doesn't feel the same," Barty whines.

"Pills never do," you agree, and you're just grateful the shivering has stopped. "It'll get you through the night."

…

"Barty?" a voice on the answering machine calls. "Barty, this is your father. Where are you? Your mother is worried. Call us back."

Barty lays on the couch, his head on your shoulder. "I should call."

You nod.

"I can't feel my face."

You laugh.

…

You throw the baggy down on the table with a triumphant grin. "Everything is going to be okay," you say.

Barty tears it open greedily, preparing a line.

"Easy," you caution.

But he doesn't seem to hear you. He snorts the line and falls back, fingers tapping impatiently as he waits for the high to set in.

…

The drugs run out, as they always do. You're aching and miserable, so sure that you won't make it.

You know you will. You always do. But the time between your fixes is too much.

…

You notice the track marks on his arm. "Barty?"

You shake him.

"Barty!"

"Piss off, Reg," he slurs.

"Barty!"

But he's dead to the world.

…

"I need help," you say.

The bearded old man offers you a compassionate smile. "Hogsmeade Rehabilitation Facility can provide you with all the help you need," he says, offering you the paperwork.

You scan over it quickly. "I can't afford this," you say, your body twitching violently. "It's too… It's too much."

…

You swallow the pills. It doesn't ease the pain. Not completely. But it quiets it to an annoying hum rather than a roar.

You have to get out. You have to get Barty out.

…

"I don't want to live like this anymore," you say.

But Barty doesn't seem to hear you. He sits, oblivious, glazed eyes on the black screen of the telly.

"We need to get clean."

You notice that there are more marks on his arm. He's in too deep, and it is entirely your fault.

…

"Where you going?" Barty asks, clinging to the pillow for dear life, shivering in spite of the heat.

"Tom's."

"I feel sick, Reg," he groans, shifting this way and that, as though he can get it out if he keeps moving. "I need my medicine."

…

"I want out."

Tom raises his brows at you. "You know I can't just let you leave."

You close your eyes. "I know."

"You know too much. Gotta save my own ass here, Regulus. I'm sure you'll understand."

You nod. You're just a junkie. A junkie who destroys everything you touch.

You even destroyed your boyfriend.

You convulse with a scream. You've read the signs, and you're sure your body is close to going into shock. You aren't afraid now. It will be a joy to be put out of your misery.

You hear a click of a gun being prepared.

At least you won't hurt anymore.