How does it feel to know he would kill you if I asked it of him?
“Accio!”
Regulus stumbled after it as the horcrux was summoned out of his grasp. Before he could draw his wand, the cloaked man cast a wordless spell that really wasn’t anything in particular. It was a rush of energy composed of an assortment of tangled emotions concentrated by grief and anger.
The outburst took his breath away, forced him down, and pushed a wave of pain through his head that left him dizzy and bleeding from every orifice.
When Regulus managed to stand, he withdrew his wand only to drop it in surrender as the man approached. “Stop—I’m not going to fight you. Barty.”
To his relief Barty didn’t assault him again. The two were quiet for a moment as Regulus reached to gently remove his mask to confirm what his heart already knew.
With white spreading across his vision and fatigue overtaking him, Regulus had no choice but to sink down to sit on the ground. Barty followed closely.
“I need you to know… I don’t love you any less.” Regulus murmured. It was strange… surprising to find himself feeling everything but anger as he felt his life fading with the slowing of his heart and oozing of his blood from his eyes, nose, and ears. “It has always resonated with me… to die young.”
When he closed his eyes he couldn’t be sure if he could feel Barty embrace him or if he must be imagining it in his last moments. In place of the anger Regulus should have felt was deep sadness, but at least it was no surprise to him that Barty would choose Voldemort over him if it came down to it. He’d known that for a while now.
Perhaps then in a way Barty had given Regulus what he really wanted. He couldn’t stand to endure a life absent of unconditional love. This was a merciful gift, no matter how heart breaking. He wanted to die.
More blood tinged tears slipped down Regulus’ face as he leaned into his lover. “Help me home. Please. Will you?”
“… I don’t know.” Barty replied honestly.
Regulus’ heart sunk further. “I see.” he said calmly. It made sense—Voldemort was likely to choose post mortem punishment. If Barty was instructed to burn him instead of allow him his rightful place in his family cemetery, it was symbolic of stripping him of any bodily autonomy. Plus the action of burning his corpse would provide a poetic punishment for Barty having ever loved someone who would betray him.
Maybe it was for the best that Mother never knew what he looked like dead. It would break her.
When he opened his eyes again he was looking at the stars. His fingers were intertwined with Barty’s. Regulus kept his sight on the sky, fearful of what he might see on Barty’s face. Indifference. Hatred. He wasn’t sure what would be worse.
But Barty squeezed his hand, and Regulus shifted his gaze to him. Barty’s sadness was profound.
“Why?” Barty asked hoarsely. “Why did you… make me…”
Regulus’ chest tightened with emotion, but he didn’t have the energy to weep from the sound of Barty’s voice cracking.
“Kiss me if you want to taste death.” Regulus whispered.
“Why did you leave?!”
“It doesn’t matter. Not now.”
“How could you do this to me? You never loved me!”
“I will never stop loving you. It is my hope you will choose to advocate for my burial, but I understand that is unlikely. Is this what you really want? For me to be as alone in death as I have been in life? I should be with my family.” Regulus pleaded. But it was useless. He knew Barty’s true love was Voldemort. He should simply count himself deeply fortunate Voldemort hadn’t told Barty to torture him.
“Why would I WANT this?!”
Regulus was vaguely aware Barty was crying. It was becoming much more difficult to focus on anything around him. He was nonetheless glad Barty was here—that he wasn’t dying alone.
“Thank you for staying,” Regulus whispered. Maybe he was loved after all. The thought caused him to start laughing until his laughter collapsed into painful sobbing.
Then Barty was doing all he could to try to calm him down so that panic and despair would not be his final state. He released his hand to instead lift him into his arms, pressing kisses all over his face until capturing his lips. His broken heart pounded harder when he felt Regulus slipping a hand into his hair and opening his mouth to him as though nothing had ever changed between them. As though he wouldn’t be gone by the time Barty broke his kiss. As though he wouldn’t be separated from his family. As though fate could have been kinder to either of them. As though they had all the time in the world to make out and make love and plan their lives together and choose each other ever time every step along the way. As though nothing could come between them, especially not death.
For a long while Barty sat there holding his corpse, staring at the serenity that had almost found balance with his melancholia. He was pretty—so, so pretty. “Good night, Regulus.”
—
It was too hard to look at Walburga at the funeral held in the parlor of Grimmald Place. It wasn’t as though she had any idea what had happened… To her knowledge and anyone else’s, Regulus had not defected, so the common assumption was he had crossed paths with an auror.
“Barty,” Orion Black pulled Barty aside, speaking softly, “Kreacher told me you handled cleaning Regulus up and all that? I wanted to thank you. You meant so much to him. You did very well; he looks good.”
“He does. I agree.”
“Walburga will never be the same again… neither of us really… but I can tell you there is comfort in our knowing he had such a good friend who loved him. He was incredibly fortunate in that regard.”
“He is a special person.” Barty had no desire to ever refer to him in past tense.
Of course death would look good on him, he thought as he returned to Regulus’ side. He lingered there until he had the chance for pressing a soft kiss to his perfect lips again to go unnoticed.
Later he would be the last to leave the cemetery so in privacy he could transfigure black roses from the birds he killed throughout the evening. Again he spent the night with Regulus, heart exhausted but sleep impossible.