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The most insulting thing is that he has to find out from Evan Rosier.
They’re at a raid, of course, and normally, Barty wouldn’t think much of the fact that he hasn’t heard from Regulus in a few days. Regulus said he had some top-secret mission and wouldn’t be back for a bit, so there’s no cause for concern. The Dark Lord often hand-selects Death Eaters for missions that no one else knows about, and Regulus has been gaining favour – he’s even broken into the inner circle, where he can stand by Barty’s side.
“Did you hear about your boyfriend?” Evan asks, walking up casually as Barty tortures some Muggle that he’s fairly certain he was just meant to kill – but what’s the harm in a little fun? – and Barty knows it’s Evan because he knows Evan’s mask by now, and has known his voice for the past seven years, ever since Evan had started at Hogwarts and wormed his way into their social circle.
Barty pauses his Cruciatus. The Muggle he’s using it on starts to gasp for breath. “What about him? Crucio,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, his wand still trained on the Muggle.
“He’s dead,” Evan says, and his voice sounds strangely empty. “Your boyfriend, I mean. Not the Muggle.”
Barty very nearly turns his wand on Evan. Very nearly. He catches himself at the last possible second. “You’re an awful fucking liar.”
“I’m serious,” Evan says. “I got a letter from his brother this morning – confirmed it with his mother before I came here. There’s a death date on the family tree.”
There’s a death date on the family tree. That horrible fucking tapestry in Regulus’s house. “But it’s trained to – his magical signature,” Barty says.
“Exactly,” Evan says. “Like I said: he’s dead.”
“He said he had a – mission,” Barty says.
“It’s not one his cousin knows about,” Evan says. “Because she was at his house, when I went, and she was raving. She thinks – his brother thinks – he turned.”
And that’s about all Barty can take. He kills the Muggle with a barely-noticed Killing Curse because it’s either that or physically snap Evan’s neck, and he knows what can happen if he kills Evan, with who Evan’s father is. He storms off to torture some more Muggles. Evan is lying. That’s the only possible option. Why would Sirius Black write Evan, anyway? Everyone knew that Regulus was Barty’s, that as much as Evan Rosier wanted Regulus to be his, he wasn’t. He belongs to Barty, and no one else. If he were dead, Barty would be the first to know.
And Regulus would never turn. Never. He loves the Dark Lord. He loves keeping the bloodline pure. He loves going on raids. He loves being a Death Eater. He loves Barty.
He’s had a chance to verify Evan’s information (how desperately had he wanted it to not be true) with multiple people before he gets a note from Evan via owl. It’s scarcely one line, written in Evan’s immaculate script.
Funeral – Sunday 11 am, Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Islington. I’m sure no one in his family deigned to inform you.
He knows Evan is only informing him because he thinks Barty will go in and make a scene. Evan thrives off of chaos. Barty will show him – he’ll go and sit quietly in the back and mourn the only person who he’s ever genuinely loved (besides his mother, but she doesn’t count – she’s his mother).
Evan sits next to him. He looks like he belongs here, all slicked hair and solemn expression and designer robes. Barty isn’t sure when the last time is that he’s showered, nor the last time his robes have been laundered, and from the look on some others’ faces, they can tell.
“Father insisted on bringing Felix and it’s all I can do not to curse him,” Evan whispers.
Barty snorts at that. From what he knows of Dorian Rosier, it is so very like him to bring a ten-year-old to an eighteen-year-old’s funeral. The man is one of the oldest and most powerful Death Eaters – he likely considers it practise for Evan’s funeral, with how reckless Evan is known to be. Felix, for his part, seems to be perfectly measured and controlled – something Evan could do to learn how to be.
“I loved him, too, you know,” Evan says. “Every bit as much as you did.”
“I doubt that,” Barty says, because it’s true.
“Probably more,” Evan says, ignoring him. “You always did take him for granted, and sometimes I think you got off on bossing him around. I would have never done that, you know. Someone like that – someone like him – doesn’t go into this for the reasons I did. Or for the reasons you did.”
Barty tightens his fist around his wand. “You didn’t know him like I did,” he says. After all, Regulus had never been Evan’s. He’d been his and his alone. Barty knew that Regulus had shared his passion. It was easy enough to say that Regulus hadn’t joined for the same reasons as Evan – besides to Evan, only Avery and Mulciber, that Barty knew, anyway, could truly claim to be second-generation Death Eaters. But Regulus had agreed with Barty.
“I knew him well enough to know that he went into this because he couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing his family – and because he wanted some small sense of power, when it had been made clear to him his entire life that he had absolutely none. You didn’t help with that. I mean, fuck, Barty, you weren’t even faithful to him.”
So what if he’d shagged Evan Rosier one night while Regulus had been on Prefect patrol? It had been a shag; it hadn’t meant anything. Regulus had known, surely, that being Barty’s didn’t mean that Barty couldn’t use Evan for stress relief while Regulus had been out patrolling. Barty had been studying for O.W.L.s – the first time, at least. That doesn’t change the fact that Barty loves him, still, even after his death, or that Regulus had been his and that Evan couldn’t possibly understand.
“Leave me alone before I hex you, Rosier.”
“Fine,” Evan says. He stands up, picture of well-bred Pureblood grace and arrogance, and walks over to where Narcissa Malfoy is sobbing into a handkerchief. Barty sees red when Evan sits down next to her and leans in to pat her gently on the back and tell her what he assumes are stories about Regulus’s bravery and dedication to the Cause and to his family.
They never find Regulus’s body, and Barty tries not to think about what that means, because Regulus isn’t a traitor. He’s as dedicated to the Cause as Barty. No matter what idiotic ideas Evan Rosier might have about it. Evan hadn’t known Regulus like Barty did. Regulus had never been Evan’s, not like he was Barty’s.