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The first time it happens, Regulus is just subconsciously rolling over in his cot bed to get more comfortable, only to find himself fully awake, glaring at nothing in particular when he becomes aware by the darkness that it's still night.
He rubs his eyes with a grunt, the air inside his enclosed space behind curtains is musty and hot and the tiredness in his body draws out a yawn as he proceeds to stare at the emerald green canopy above him. Not that it looks like anything but an eerie abyss before him with the lack of lighting in his cot.
The last thing he wants to do is get up, he'd much rather roll right back into a deep slumber and, hell, never wake up again, but his throat has unsuspectingly gone bone dry and he almost jumps out of bed to challenge the suffocating feeling which has crept up on him so quickly.
So, after picking up his wand and whispering a quiet Lumos to light the way, he walks barefoot across the startling cool stone flooring to the bathroom to refresh himself with equally cold water.
It's a mundane task, getting up for a glass of water in the middle of the night after one wakes up with a parched throat, but Regulus is near paralysed in shock when he stumbles into the bathroom to the side of the dormitory to see one of his roommates, Barty, sat on the ledge of the clawfoot bathtub with a lit cigarette between his lips.
“Fuck,” sounds Barty as he seemingly spurs into action, about to snuff out the cigarette by pressing it against the drain in the bathtub.
“You're good,” Regulus mutters, making it the first thing he does after standing in the doorway in shellshock. Barty blinks up at him, arm reaching halfway towards the drain, the awkwardness of the situation spurs Regulus too into action and he drifts over to the sink, stepping around Barty’s outstretched legs.
“You hate when I smoke,” Barty responds, eyes narrowed as he watches Regulus turn on the tap, but he does draw the cigarette back to his lips and takes another drag, Regulus can see him do it in the reflection of the mirror. “You hate when anyone smokes.”
“It's fine, really. Besides, I'm the one who's intruding,” Regulus adds as he turns around and leans his back against the sink, a heavy mug in his hand.
Barty scoffs when their eyes meet. “Hardly, you're just, what, getting a drink?”
“Do you want to smoke or not?” retorts Regulus, suddenly growing frustrated, his grip tightening around the handle of the mug.
It makes sense that Barty should be weary as frankly, he's right; Regulus does hate it when people smoke and has always—in all the time they have known each other—made that clear, but Regulus simply cannot explain the sudden change of heart. Perhaps it's due to the fact that he's just woken up and it's still the middle of the night, or maybe, as it's nearly the end of the year, he's giving his friend some slack. Either way, Barty does not bother to continue fighting Regulus on the matter. For which Regulus is relieved.
Several moments pass in which Regulus drains the mug bit by bit, staring at the water sloshing against the inside between each mouthful that runs down his throat. Barty takes more drags from his cigarette, still gazing precariously up at his roommate.
“Why do you hate it so much when someone smokes?” asks Barty after a while.
If Regulus had known anything about his presence was a welcome for conversation, he might have left Barty alone in the bathroom sooner, but it's too late now. Besides, there are the worst people to talk to.
“It reminds me of my uncle,” he states, careful not to lift his gaze to meet Barty’s, choosing the comfort of staring into the mug as if it were a bottomless sea instead.
“Which one?” asks Barty, a smile in his tone though Regulus doesn't find it funny.
“Cygnus, father of my cousins, you know them. He smokes a lot. All the time, actually. I don't think I've seen him without him smoking tobacco in one way or another.”
Barty seems to ponder this information for a moment, his eyes finally breaking from Regulus and Regulus suddenly feels like he can breathe again. “Surely many people in your family smoke,” Barty states.
“Of course,” Regulus shrugs before downing the remainder of the water in his mug. “But, Cygnus is not a nice person, no one in my family is, even Sirius can be cruel and he is the exception in my family for most things, but smoking—I associate it with Cygnus in particular. Every sadistic thing he has done before my eyes have been with, well, a cigar between his fingers. It's kind of pathetic, I know.”
“It's not pathetic, it sounds daunting,” Barty says quietly. It is something Regulus likes about Barty. Someone else might have given Regulus an I'm sorry and shown him sympathy. Instead, Barty shows an understanding. He makes Regulus feel more like an actual human being despite all the terrors associated with his family and home. “I think I'd hate the idea of smoking too,” Barty adds, smiling at that fact.
Even Regulus finds it an amusing thought because Barty probably wouldn't give up smoking if his life depended on it—which it no doubt will in the future—so the idea that if he only knew Cygnus the way Regulus did, and felt the same way Regulus did, he wouldn't be sat smoking in the bathroom in the middle of the night (most likely intentionally doing it at a time when Regulus would be asleep) to begin with.
Whether it's because of the conversation topic or because Barty is just tired with the cigarette, he puts it out, pressing it against the metal drain where the light is killed immediately due to the remaining droplets after whoever showered last. Evan, another roommate, maybe.
Barty turns on the tap over the bath and washes away the ashes, then flicks the cigarette stump into the bin (at least he has some decency, despite smoking in a shared bathroom in the first place).
“You always smoke in here?” asks Regulus, turning around to place down his mug and watching Barty once again in the mirror. A surprise, to both of them perhaps, is that Regulus doesn't even sound accusatory in his words; just genuine curiosity.
“Uh, yes,” Barty admits, anxiously searching Regulus’ face in the mirror. “During the night when you're asleep so it doesn't bother you.”
“Because you're scared of me or because you're trying to be respectful?” teases Regulus, smirking wildly as Barty rolls his eyes.
“You're not as scary as you think, Black,” Barty says as if they were age-old rivals, about to draw their wands at each other and duel, and not school friends since before they were teenagers. Then after a moment, “Maybe a bit of both.”
“Well, thank you, anyway.”
Regulus never thought Barty would be so considerate. From the number of times Regulus has complained or turned away from Barty when he's brought out a cigarette from a box in his robes, Regulus almost began to think Barty was doing it just to get on his nerves.
“It does make me wonder though,” Regulus begins, peering into the bin that Barty had tossed his cigarette stump into to see about a dozen stumps in there, “How I've never noticed. The smell as well, you get rid of it?”
“With a simple spell, yes,” Barty says, a look of amusement still in his expression. “And I doubt you ever thought I would try and smoke right under your nose like this.”
“You smoke in front of me all the time so, yeah I did doubt it, and are you calling me stupid for not thinking you might try and do it under my nose?”
“Correction: I try to smoke in front of you all the time, but you always make it difficult for me, so I guess I take this opportunity to smoke without your irksome self getting in my way. And no, you just seemed addled to see me, when you opened the door, so I figured it never occurred to you,” Barty explains, nodding towards the open doorway between the bathroom and dormitory.
Regulus must admit he had been rather caught off guard. “I was half asleep, and my apologies for not thinking you were conniving” —he exaggerates— “enough to smoke in here.”
“I thought you were clever, Regulus,” Barty says endearingly. “Slughorn always says so.”
“Well, he's right,” Regulus retorts. “I just expected better of my dear friend.”
“Remember, I do this only slightly because I respect you, and that respect is hanging on by a thread,” Barty scolds him, eyebrows raised in a playful manner, standing up only to become taller than Regulus by a few centimetres. “Don't forget it,” he adds good-naturedly, then he backs his way out of the bathroom with little else to say, and heads back to his space in the dorm.
Regulus follows a few moments later, wiping his mouth of excess water with his hand, and tracing his steps back to his cot before climbing in. He falls asleep not long after.
The second time it happened, more or less a month had passed and after returning from the holidays in early January, Regulus had forgotten about his strange encounter in the bathroom with his witty roommate. It doesn't take long for him to recall the exact memory though, blinking only a few times at Barty who looks as if he's been caught in the act of a major crime, a cigarette held between slightly parted, pink lips.
It has been a long, generally painful day for Regulus so he says nothing as he goes about his business to get a drink of water, feet pattering against the floor as he steps around Barty who is once again sitting on the edge of the bathtub.
“You know you don't have to do it at night here anymore, I don't mind smoking if you're the one doing it,” Regulus says once he's set with his frankly relieving mug.
“I know,” Barty reassures him before exhaling a breath of smoke. “When I couldn't sleep it was a comforting way to pass the time; that won't change.”
Regulus could think of many things that would be a better way of spending one's time, but he doesn't mention any of them and gives an understanding nod. “If it helps, I suppose.”
“Are you saying that because you're scared of me?” asks Barty, beginning to echo Regulus’ words from the last time they were in this situation. “Or are you trying to be respectful?”
“Very amusing,” Regulus states sarcastically, clicking his tongue. “But I can assure you, I am not scared of you. Never have been.”
“Trying to be respectful then?”
“Maybe I am just respectful.”
Barty laughs. “Respectful? Are you joking?” A carefree grin crawls across his face, “I saw you hex that Hufflepuff this morning. What were they, 4th year?”
Regulus grunts, taking a long sip of water before holding the mug in two hands against his stomach, the grey material of his button-up pyjama shirt. “He was the one who ran into me like a complete blunder. It's like the younger years don't even have their eyes open sometimes, I swear–,” Regulus cut his rant short as he looked up to see Barty looking at him with raised eyebrows and a smug expression. “Fuck off.”
“What's got you so restless, Regulus, tell me.” Despite the teasing look on his face, his words are carried by genuine concern. “Come on, sit,” he then instructs, when Regulus stays motionless, patting the space beside him on the rim of the clawfoot bathtub.
Begrudgingly, Regulus does so. “I'll ruin the mood if I tell you honestly what's going on.”
“You ruined the mood the moment you stepped in here,” Barty speaks with a tone that sounds serious but Regulus knows better. “So get on with it, since it's too late.”
“Don't know if I want to tell you now,” Regulus snaps back with the same energy, sticking up his chin like a pretentious fuck.
It makes Barty laugh, a buoyant, sunny laugh that Regulus has never paid much attention to until now. For some reason, it's like something about being in the small space with Barty that heightens Regulus’ senses.
“Go on, tell me,” Barty urges after they fall back into silence due to Regulus’ hesitance. “It can't get worse if you do. Unless it can?”
Regulus swallows thickly, thicker than he intended to, and to counter it he takes another sip of his water, feeling the cool liquid flow inside him in the way it does when you're thirsty and dehydrated like Regulus often finds himself. The water in his system is such a contrast to the smoke Barty exhales into the air, it’s intoxicating. He can tell Barty is waiting for him to say something, and as Barty assumed, it really can't get worse if Regulus did tell him. So he comes out with it, unable to help himself.
“Mum wants me to get the dark mark,” he mumbles in a rather unfashionable way. It's not often he calls Walburga mum. It's always mother.
Barty doesn't care about that, though, his jaw does drop at Regulus’ words. “Well, don't,” Barty instructs, unhelpfully.
If the situation weren't so dire and damn miserable, Regulus may have laughed. “The worst part is, I actually kind of want it.”
“Oh,” Barty breathes, almost like deep down, he'd already known that to be true. Regulus doesn't know if that's really the case, but Barty’s reply made him feel defensive either way.
“Because–because, it's for a purpose, right?” Regulus mutters. “Everyone wants a purpose.”
“There are other purposes to choose from, surely.”
Regulus shrugs, showing a bit more of his misery than he wants to. “I think I might be destined for this purpose, though. In any case, it makes sense, given who I am. My family and my heritage. I don't hate muggles or muggle-borns but I don't care much for them either, and who's to say we're not better than them.” He hadn't meant to say the last part, unsure how Barty would react, but it tumbles out his mouth before he can restrain himself.
“That's one thing I don't get,” Barty begins, which isn't what Regulus had been expecting. “The Dark Lord himself is a half-blood, so what, he hates himself?”
“Some people do, I suppose. Maybe, he doesn't want anyone else to grow up how he did, with a muggle father and a witch mother. It didn't end well for him, did it?”
“I still don't think you should get the mark, Reg,” Barty says with a deal of finality. “That's it if you do, you know? You can't just go back on it once you make that choice.”
Regulus’ jaw clenches. “I don't think I have much of a choice, though even if I did, I think, I would get it still. I am going to do it. I need–I need something. Will you hate me for it? If I get the mark, will you hate me?”
It takes Barty a long moment to form a response. For one, Barty doesn't think he's capable of it, hating his best friend, but he'll be damned if he wanted Regulus to get the mark. It would be a commitment to a life of killing and ruin and they both know it, everyone knows it, and who's to say Regulus will survive any of it? Eventually, Barty manages to say, “I could never hate you. I'd go to the edge of the world for you, Death Eater or not.”
Regulus feels a twinge in his stomach, and he has to blink rapidly to keep tears out of his eyes. “I’d do the same for you, go to the edge of the world, and I could never hate you either.”
“Good,” Barty says, nonchalantly, making Regulus give him a precarious look. He means what he said, but Barty’s sudden passiveness surrounding the treacherous topic of conversation is off-putting. “Because if you get the mark you know I will too.”
“Don't—don’t say that, Barty. You're not becoming a Death Eater, not on my watch.”
“So it's all right for you to do it, but not for me? That doesn't seem fair,” Barty retorts with a taut expression when he glares at Regulus. “Enough with the self-destructive bullshit, yeah? We're in this together.”
Regulus shakes his head adamantly, refusing to accept what Barty is insinuating. “We can’t all be fucked up.”
“Says who? I can be anything I want to be, yeah? Well, I choose this, just like you are.”
He wants to say no to Barty, but what kind of hypocrite would that make him? Instead, Regulus goes quiet, the tension in the room becoming harsh and unkind.
“You said you would never hate me,” Barty continues, not standing down, inhaling from his cigarette before releasing the air back into Regulus' face, like a threat made by a child, retaliation for Regulus’ stubbornness, though Barty isn’t in a position to talk about stubbornness. “So don’t act like I’m a criminal just for following your footsteps.”
Drawing his brows together and waving a hand in front of himself to get rid of the smoke, Regulus processes. Then he sighs in anguish as if saying what he wants to say is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. “I don't want to drag you down with me. Maybe it is unfair, but it’s… I don’t want you to do it just because of me, because it’s my fault then, isn’t it? If you’re unhappy. If you die.”
“You’re thinking about this all wrong–” argues Barty, but Regulus is quick to cut him off.
“Who’s to say?”
“I am, for Merlin’s sake, Reg. I am, and you’re thinking about this the wrong way because it’s my fucking choice. You’re not letting me do this, I am doing this because I want to, because I care about you, because I can’t sit around doing whatever dull job I could end up with, whilst you fight this war for someone you don’t even fully understand the motives of. Let’s at least do something stupid together.”
Regulus blinks back what he hopes isn’t tears and instead expresses his surprise at the passion in Barty’s tone and in the word he comes out with. He doesn’t realise how long he is quiet, simply staring into Barty’s amber eyes, but Barty speaks again, seemingly not convinced that he’s said enough to reassure Regulus, and he’s probably right, Regulus doesn’t know what to think.
“You have to accept it, Regulus, accept it for what it is. If you’re going to become a Death Eater, then I am too. If you’re going to sink, we’re going to sink together.”
“Drowning, is that what you think we will be doing?”
“It’s what we are doing, right? Fighting an impossible fight.”
“I don’t think it’s impossible,” Regulus breathes without much thought. “We could win, the Dark Lord could come to power, he could change things, make them right.”
“The Death Eaters coming to power isn’t the impossible part, surviving long enough to see it happen is what feels impossible. And what comes after he changes things, makes them right. How many lives is he going to take to put himself on the throne, Reg?”
Suddenly, Regulus is struck with a flare of anger. “I knew you didn’t really want it, you don’t believe in the cause.”
Barty practically bares his teeth, emitting a low sneer. “The cause," Barty spits the word out, “The cause is pointless. I’d do this to see what comes of it, I’d do it because it’s the preferable path to follow. I’d do it to do it with you, don’t make me change my mind because you think you’re so superior, more significant than anyone else, just because you want to watch the world burn.”
“I don’t…” but Regulus can’t finish his defence, can’t even begin to say it with enough strength in his voice to make it sound remotely like the truth. Watch the world burn? maybe a part of him does want that, maybe he isn’t supposed to deny it any longer. “You want to watch the world burn with me?” he asks, unsure what he actually means to say. Is this him accepting?
“Yes,” Barty says, a smile slowly returning to his slim and structured face, dimples showing. “We’re going around in circles a little here don’t you think?”
Merlin alone knows how much longer they stay in the bathroom, mostly in silence, sometimes speaking, though it is rarely about the war, or the Dark Lord as they seem to make an unspoken agreement that it only needs to be brought up when necessary, for the meantime, they at least have come to an agreement. Neither of them checked the time when they left their place of shared solitude from the rest of the world to return to their beds, but by the time the sun rose again, they had been fast asleep, and now, just like last time, their meeting becomes little more than a distant memory, though it remains more prominent in Regulus’ mind, marking the night everything shifted. Even though Regulus didn’t have the mark yet, it was clear now what he would do.
The third time Regulus wakes up in the middle of the night, only a week has passed and he lies in bed for a while putting off the trudge to the bathroom. He and Barty have been fine since the last time, returning to their usual banter soon enough despite the tension of their… argument? Regulus didn’t really know what to call it, and his hesitancy to go through it again was what put him off going into the bathroom, even though his throat was efficiently begging for water.
There’s always a chance Barty isn’t in the bathroom and is actually sound asleep in his bed. After all, Regulus doesn’t know the time, and it wasn’t like Barty stayed in the bathroom all night.
Eventually, though, the suspense of whether Barty’s in the bathroom or not, and what might happen if he is there, overcomes all of Regulus’ doubts, and he decidedly gets up, his feet going lightly on the floor until he reaches the door, not as caught off guard to see Barty as he had been in the past.
Barty doesn't act surprised to see him either and it seems a mutual understanding passes between them when they glance at each other.
“You could lock the door you know,” Regulus points out, closing it behind him and shuffling to the sink.
“And miss the chance of you joining me? I think not,” Barty says sarcastically.
Regulus plays into it, “You really like me, huh?”
“Why, of course.”
Although the energy in the room is light-hearted at that point, more so than it has been the other times, Regulus struggles to think of more to say, because even though it’s good that there hasn’t been any reigniting of any tension, it seems an inconvenience now that they haven’t talked more about what they said at all, and being here in the same room together, it’s hard not to think about it.
Luckily, Regulus doesn’t have to grow anxious over it for too long—or at least over what he should say—because it’s Barty who brings it up first.
“I’m sorry about everything I said last time,” he states with no difficulty.
“Sorry?” Regulus echoes, sounding more like a broken record.
Barty nods like it’s obvious. “Yeah, ‘m sorry. I know that… I understand why you want to do it, even with all the risks, and I shouldn’t have expected you to just accept that I wanted to get involved as well. It’s hard to see your friends make decisions that could end badly—really badly. Which is also why I found it hard to just let you do it, so I should have got that last time, that’s what I’m trying to say.”
“Oh.” To be honest, an apology from Barty is the last thing Regulus had expected, so he’s stumped, really, facing difficulty swallowing the water he’d just drank from the dripping mug, the same, designated one from every other time. “Well, I shouldn’t have been so quick to refuse you. It was selfish, I know now, and we’re our own responsibilities, right? I’ll do what I want, and you do what you want. I can’t be–shouldn’t have gotten angry just because we wanted the same delusional thing.”
Barty bites his lower lip, grinning. “You finally agree that it’s delusional?”
“Delusional, misguided, whatever, you want to be in this together? Fine, we will be.”
“Oh, Reg, my dear, I am so glad you say that,” Barty chuckles, elbowing Regulus in the rib a bit harder than necessary.
Regulus rolls his eyes, whacking Barty over the head in return, spilling some droplets of water on both of them. “Don’t be a dickhead about it.”
“I’ll stop being a dickhead when you say I was right.”
Regulus glares at him now and utters a thorough, "No."
“Yes, go on. You were right," Barty says, demonstrating. “I want to hear you say it,” he adds.
“You… You are a dickhead.”
"Reg, don’t let me down now. You owe me.”
“I owe you nothing.”
Barty doesn’t need any more incentives after that. He flicks what was left of his cigarette into the bottom of the bathtub and bounces up, pulling Reg into a headlock, allowing what little remaining water was in the mug to spill onto the bathroom mat. "Ow," Regulus yelps, beginning to try and kick and claw at Barty who absolutely doesn’t let up.
“Fine fine,” Regulus surrenders, “You were fucking right.” Then, “You’re so mean to me, you know that?” he questions, shoving Barty once he’s free of his hold, but they’re both laughing and Regulus can’t stay mad. He could never stay mad. “You have to say something nice to me now,” he argues, only slightly joking.
“Something nice? What could I possibly say–.”
Regulus shoves him again, shaking his head in disbelief.
Eventually, they settle down, both taking a seat on the side of the tub, returning to the quiet personalities they’re generally known for across the school. Only then does Regulus truly see the future that’s laid out for him. He decides it’ll be better with Barty there, and they’re in less danger if they go through with it together, Regulus really believes so. After Sirius left him, the only ones who had Regulus’ back was his friends, especially Barty, and if it’s been that way for years, it won’t change now. It’s still them, just in a different setting, with the new risks that come with being a Death Eater in Tom Riddle’s close circle.
Whilst thinking all this, Regulus is seriously lost in his own thoughts, only coming back to the surface when Barty nudges his leg with his knee.
“We’ll be alright, you know,” Barty says, a reassuring tone taking over his usually more carefree self. “Well, maybe not all right, but at least mostly right. Like, I’m acting all pessimistic, saying we’re going to die, but maybe it’ll all work out for us and we’ll see the end after all.”
Regulus nods in acknowledgement. He can see it, the possibility of himself, Barty and Evan, being happy together after the war is fought. “To being mostly right,” he murmurs softly, holding out his hand as if he were greeting Barty for the first time.
“To being mostly alright,” Barty repeats, a lot of weight in his words as he shakes Regulus’ hand.