Strength
Barty
He was fucked.
He was completely fucked.
He’d messed up everything. Again.
Evan was mad at him. Barty was too. He hated himself for what he’d done. His heart had ached as he’d murdered Fraser, one among the very few people he could consider as more than an ally other than Regulus and his boyfriend. However, he’d had to follow his master’s orders. He’d had to preserve his position. His life. The Dark Lord would have never let him live had he not killed that man, considering him just as much as a traitor. Though, hours after, Barty still felt so guilty; Fraser’s wide, lifeless eyes seemed to be tattooed in the back of his mind.
“Evan, please…” he murmured for what felt like the hundredth time as they stepped inside their apartment, Regulus right behind them. He hadn’t uttered a single word on the way home, and he didn’t seem intending to do so. Evan shut the door behind him, paced across the room, started walking up the stairs. He knew Barty would follow him. He believed that was exactly what he wanted: to bring him somewhere far from any other’s ears. They arrived at Evan’s room, and Barty followed him in, closing the door.
“Evan…”.
“You killed him” he said. His voice was calm, yet tense. He was giving him his back, though Barty could still see his fists clenching. “You killed him” Evan repeated.
“I had no other choice” he tried to explain, though Evan cut his explanation off again.
“He was a friend. Someone who trusted you. You ignored his pleading, just because he told you to!”.
“I’m sorry…”.
“You probably thought that ‘He deserved it, that fucking traitor’, right Bartemius?” he spat the last word as if it had been an insult.
“Don’t do it”.
“What?”.
“Call me that”.
“Bartemius is your name, or isn’t it?”.
“You know how much I hate it”.
“Tell him that then, I’m sure he’ll listen to his favourite puppet”.
Those words sliced like knives straight into his heart.
“You’ll never find the courage to, will you?”.
“I did what was to be done” Barty tried to justify himself.
“‘I did what was to be done’, are you even listening to yourself? You’re speaking just like him”.
“I had no other choice, Evan”. Barty’s voice started to falter. No. He wouldn’t cry.
“Does this mean you’d murder a friend too? This whole story about being a Death Eater, purifying the magic world and stuff is blinding you, Bartemius”.
“Stop it”. He couldn’t bear hearing that name once more. The name of the person he’d hated the most throughout his life. His father’s name.
Barty’s mind took him back in time to when his father’s thunderous voice reproached him, calling him a worthless, stupid boy, a shame to that family, a real disgrace…
Soon, he was ten again, head kept low, trying to push away the tears because had his father seen them, he would have been in so much trouble: he would have hit him, accusing him of having ruined his life…
Barty blinked, pushing the memories away.
‘My son is a disgrace. This family’s ruin. A fucking freak’.
And then, a tear rolled down his face before he could stop it, followed by another. He hated when it happened, when the memories overflew in his mind, making him feel like a defenceless kid again.
Evan instantly stopped talking.
“I’m sorry” Barty hated how wobbly his voice sounded. “I’m sorry, please. Don’t… don’t leave me”. There, he’d said it.
“Leave you? No” Evan shook his head. “Don’t even say that”. He stepped forward, wrapped his arms around him. Barty leaned in in that comfort. He knew he could be weak in front of Evan, though he still hated those moments, when he felt so powerless.
“I had to kill him, otherwise he would have hurt me too. Hurt Regulus. Or you. You can’t compare anyone to the two of you, you know I’d give up my life for you without hesitance. But this time, I had to. Do you think I enjoy murdering people? Do you think I like the sound of their screams when I torture them? Of course I do not. But that’s what being a Death Eater implies, we both knew that when we joined You-Know-Who’s rows. I would have happily avoided murdering him. But there was nothing I could do, not with the Dark Lord looking at me, waiting for me to follow his orders, not with everyone there ready to murder me had I deserted from the command just to shine before his eyes”.
His boyfriend slowly grazed his back. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’m sorry I called you that. I didn’t mean to hurt you. But you can’t deny the truth, Barty: you care about his opinion too deeply, seek for his approval too ardently”.
“He appreciates me. He’s giving me the chance of proving him wrong”.
That was enough to silence him. Evan knew. He knew how much that mattered to him. The main reason Barty had wanted to join the Death Eaters: being the one who finally established the rules. Proving his strength. He dreamed of being able to face him, someday, and say: ‘Look at me, Father. Look where I’m standing now. Tables turned. I’m no longer the weak, worthless child you believed me to be. I’m the Dark Lord’s right hand. The chief of a new world. And you’re nobody’.
“You don’t need to prove anyone wrong” Evan said, inching back to look at him. He wiped a tear away from the corner of Barty’s eye, then placed a soft kiss on his lips. “Fuck the ones who don’t appreciate you. I do. I joined his cause for you, remember that”. He’d left his sister, his friends, his dreams for the future, for him. “I’ll never leave you. Everybody makes mistakes, though… just be careful, okay? Not to make the wrong choices. Be aware of what you’re fighting for, of what you want to achieve”.
“I will. I am”.
“Let’s go make something for lunch now, shall we?”.
Barty smiled. That was his way of making up for an argument: planning some activity together, spending time with him.
Barty knew it hurt him to know he still cared that deeply about his father. He knew the wound was still open. Not fresh, though still open. And rubbing salt in it would do nothing but make things worse.
Barty couldn’t help but feel bad.
He had never gotten over him. That man was still a part of his life, the past that still haunted his present.
He had to let go.
Though he didn’t have the strength to.