Work Text:
Regulus Black’s POV
I absentmindedly swirl my class of fire whiskey, staring into the spiral abyss of amber. The liquid sloshes slightly over the rim and I let out a soft curse, drying my hand on my trousers. I've been a regular at this dark, dreary pub since the last fight with Tom—the last moment my heart was intact.
Tom's words still echo in my mind like a ghost haunting an empty home.
"What do you know of souls, Regulus? Ours aren't intertwined like you so desperately hope for. You honestly thought you'd be the one to stand by my side at the end?" Tom's face twist into a cold, vicious grin. His eyes twinkle with delight at his cruelty. "Even if I had a soul mate, it would be another means to an end. Another soul to crack into pieces so I can we could soar into eternity."
His tone becomes mocking. He takes slow steps toward me, backing me against the wall. "The noble house of Black, yet you're mediocre at best. You fail to make even a simple decision when I've given you no other options. Pathetic. I would have had better luck fucking Sirius." He scoffs. His hot breath seeps into my skin. "Maybe I still will."
His vile smirk still remains, even as everything else in the memory grows dark.
The words still pierce through me like bullet holes, wounds Tom put half-hearted apologies over. As though a band-aid could stop my heart from bleeding out. We used to have mad love. Now there was nothing left but bad blood between us. It festers in my veins, poisoning everything in its path. The destruction of our relationship raged like a forest fire until nothing remained untouched—nothing left unscorched.
"All I wanted was to love him, Amos," I hiccup, slamming the glass on the bar top. On days like today, when I am at my lowest, I feel utterly pathetic sitting at this bar. These days were becoming more and more common. I'm desperate to drown any remaining emotion I have left for Tom.
Tom Riddle doesn't deserve my love—or my despair.
"Oi! Reggie! If you break another glass I'm goin' to charge ya," the bartender growls. Despite his threat, Amos quickly snatches up the glass to refill it. "The only thing that can cure a broken heart is time, ya know?"
I sigh, leaning my head back, and tip the glass to Amos. "And fire whiskey from a damn fine bartender."
Cheers to numbing this pain. One glass at a time.
Amos rolls his eyes and shuffles back, continuing whatever he'd been in the middle of. He keeps himself busy, though the crowd at the pub is thin. Besides myself, there's one other wizard huddled in a booth with his head down. He's already passed out, though it's only four in the afternoon.
I stare down at my arm, tears clouding my vision as they begin to form. The Dark Mark branded into my forearm taunts me. I took it for Tom, an act of pure devotion—to prove myself to him. Yet, Tom saw it as a subordinate action. Inferior. Taking the mark didn't make me his equal. He expected it from me. I was to fall in line as a follower, not a partner.
I pick at the black, inky lines of the mark, line a scab on a wound that will never heal. Even the fire whiskey can't keep my breakdown at bay much longer. The water drops sting threateningly at the corners of my eyes.
A sudden crack in the air startles me from my gloomy spiral. Kreacher stands beside me, wringing his hands together. His gaze is rife with judgement, but a hint of concern lingers behind it.
"Kreature was sent to fetch Master Regulus."
I sniff and roll my eyes, almost taking myself off the stool as my vision shifts. I reach out to the bar top, steadying myself before looking at the house-elf again. "I'd prefer it if Kreature let me be."
"While Kreature would leave Master here to drown in his own vices, as he wishes, the Dark Lord requests the presence of Master Regulus." Kreature's voice is a mixture of trepidation and annoyance. He speaks about the Dark Lord as though the words sit like poison in his mouth.
"The Dark Lord?" A lump lodges in my throat. My mind buzzes violently, like a jostled beehive.
Kreature nods once sharply, then grabs my wrist. We disapparate, tumbling through liminal space until we land in the entryway of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. On impact, I lose my balance and stumble backward.
"Kreature, you could have fucking splinched me," I slur, dusting myself off and trying to straighten my robes. I realize I have no idea how long I've been wearing this set.
Kreature shuffles down the hall, grumbling words I can't quite make out. I'm certain his quiet mumblings are a slight against me. I let out a huff of exasperation. I have a soft spot for the old house-elf, even if he is often cranky and ill-mannered.
A sheet of dread falls over me as I make my way up the staircase towards the office. The pull of my Dark Mark grows stronger, writhing beneath my skin. My blood heats further with every step as I get closer to being face to face with the monster again—a beautiful fucking monster.
I've practiced at length what I would say if given this very opportunity, but my memory fails me. I struggle to think of a single argument, and long to resort to just screaming at him like some feral creature. I don't need words to rip his heart out the same way he did to mine. A slight grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. It would feel divine to have Tom's skin under my nails again, though in a much different way this time. I could tear him apart, making his outsides match my inside. Shred through his flesh the way Tom had so throughly done with my emotions.
"Reggie."
From behind the office door, Tom's voice shatters my vision. It's both cold and warm, a cadence which hypnotizes me into doing whatever bidding he requests. He knows how to hit me where I'm weakest.
I try to catch my breath and steady myself before swinging open the door. I should have taken a calming drought, but it's too late now.
Tom sits on top of my desk, facing the door. His dark hair hangs over his eyebrows. He feigns his tousled appearance to give an air of disinterest, but I know he styles each seemingly out-of-place piece. His robes lie thrown behind him, exposing his vest and trousers, showing off the tightness of his chest and thighs. His form, though slender, is strikingly well defined. Nature sculpted him into the perfect predator. His allure draws you in, just so he can tear you apart.
My heart pounds in my chest. It is exceptionally cruel Tom still looks so good. He's living, breathing proof you don't need an intact soul to maintain your striking outward looks while you're rotten inside. I remind myself this man is a fragment of what he once was. He's splintered off pieces of himself, eager to make an endless amount of Horcruxes until the man is gone and only dark remains. I wish, for once, Tom's outside matched what's within. Perhaps then I wouldn't fall all over myself every time I'm in his vicinity.
"Tom." I attempt to keep my voice even, force my face to remain stone. I know the puffiness around my eyes, from wallowing in the bar for the last several hours, will give me away.
"You wound me, Reggie," Tom croons, a tinge of mock sadness lace his words. His palms drag down his thighs, making a vein pulse in my temple with anticipation. I silently beg my body to not fall for the trap he's setting.
"All I asked for was help with one small task. That's all. Have the house-elf deliver a teensy little package to the cave," Tom pouts, jutting his lip out. He glances down before returning his gaze to mine with narrowed eyes. "But you couldn't even do that, could you?"
I clear my throat and adjust my shirt collar. Bile rises from my rolling stomach and I struggle to form a response. Before I can speak, Tom shakes a finger at me, chastising me with a gesture reserved for children or disobedient animals.
"You chose that vile little creature. Hah, Kreature. Get it?" Tom laughs cooly, in his trademark sinister way. His dark eyes never leave mine as he gets off the desk and takes slow, calculated steps to where I stand frozen—a snake coiling around its prey.
"You chose him. Over me." The false pain in Tom's words hangs between us. He twists his face into a ruthless pout, embellishing it by dragging his nail along my cheek.
Breathe. I need to remember to breathe.
The air shifts around us as Tom steps away, releasing the hold I didn't realize he had over me until it breaks. Anger floods through me, trying to smother the flames of desire Tom so easily lit.
"I thought I could trust you," I screech. "But you ruined that, didn't you? You told me you needed to borrow Kreature, not send him to die."
"Ah yes, blame me Regulus, because you were too blinded by love to ask for specifics. I couldn't very well leave that locket for anyone to stumble upon," he chuckles darkly. "Would you rather I had gambled with your life instead? Are you really going to let this little complication get between us?"
Tom turns towards me again. He raises one eyebrow before painting on a sickening smile. A darkness twinkles in his eyes, one that never fails to turn me into a sopping mess. It's a look that somehow holds my heart together and breaks it into a thousand pieces simultaneously.
"Tom," I shudder, my body roils with an explosive mix of emotions. "Did you think we'd be fine? I still have scars on my back from your knife."
The pitch of my voice wavers, but I force each word out from behind the growing lump in my throat. "So don't think it's in the past. These kinds of wounds they last and they last."
Tom's laughter booms in the small room and he sits atop the desk again. He rubs a single finger across the swell of his lips. He draws it into his mouth, sucking it gently before pulling it out with a pop. "Oh Regulus, what about all the good times? I seem to remember a certain something you were particularly fond of."
His words sting, slicing open every old wound inside of me at once. I hate myself for still craving Tom's touch. Memories of the curves of our bodies pressed against one another consume me. Tom's cruel fingers raking over every inch of my skin were hurt and comfort combined.
"Your love drove me mad, Tom. It's no fucking secret. I worshipped at your feet, no matter how hard you kicked me. But you went too far. Some cuts are too deep," I spit, shaking with anger and heart wrenching grief. "I don't think we can just solve our problems now."
"Come here," Tom purrs, stroking one of his thighs in invitation. The vile manipulation plays each of my heartstrings like a wretched symphony.
My eyes close in an action of defiance, but also to hold back tears. I shake my head and resolutely open my eyes again. Tom's face becomes stern. His voice deepens.
"As your Dark Lord, I wasn't asking."
A burning sensation shoots up my arm. The Dark Mark marred upon me comes alive, twisting and tearing beneath my skin.
I hand my head, defeated, as my body gravitates towards Tom. I'm trapped like a small moon in his orbit. It wasn't supposed to be like this, continuously bleeding myself dry for this man—for only scraps in return.
I rest on Tom's lap, straddling him. Instead of warmth beneath me, there's only cold. A cold that seeps deep into my bones, like sitting on a stone wall in the middle of winter.
Tom moans into my neck, running the tip of his tongue up and then over the sensitive shell of my ear. Every hair on the back of my neck stands at attention. I take small sips of air through parted lips.
I shouldn't kiss him. I shouldn't want to kiss him. Tom's pull is undeniable, forever my inevitable demise. My body aches for him in ways I can't begin to fathom.
"Please, Tom," I whimper, not sure if I'm asking him to stop or continue.
Tom snaps my face to his with both hands. My mouth parts further for him without instruction, like a dance it's done a hundred times. I lose myself in him and the feel of his tongue as it crashes into mine. The way he nibbles at my bottom lip leaves me heady. Tom is a high I'll chase forever.
"Forgive me, Reggie," Tom whispers into my mouth, not willing to leave it empty of him for long. "Forgive me and we can do this forever."
"Forever," I moan into him. "Nothing lasts forever, Tom."
The words cause him to pull back and lock eyes with me. Those dark eyes, I both love and despise, fleam with determination. "Oh, but we can. You just have to trust me," he hisses, each word sickeningly smooth. "Let me make you a Horcrux, my love."
I leap off him, as though he's bitten me and pumped me full of venom. "Are you fucking mad?"
"Everything comes at a cost, Reggie," Tom sneers. "How far are you willing to go so we can be together? You could have a piece of my soul in you. Forever."
"And shatter my own." I close my eyes, fighting against the urge to sob.
"But I would fill in the cracks, living as pieces of one whole." Tom smiles again and I feel him try to poke his way into my mind. Even now, he's looking for a weakness to exploit.
"Living as an abomination. Living in a constant state of incompleteness," I retort, my voice steadily increasing in pitch. "If you live like that, you live with ghosts."
Tom arches an eyebrow, then frowns. I know he's about to turn my words against me. It's what he does best. "Always so unwilling to accept my love," he sighs.
"Not if continuing to destroy myself completely at your hands is what you call love. If you love like that, your blood run cold." My body shakes, making each word rattle against my chattering teeth.
"Fine!" he shouts. His face relaxes and his voice gets eerily calm. "I don't need you, Regulus. I've never needed you. But, I can see the way you need me in those pathetic eyes of yours. I wouldn never hinge my mortality on only you."
He jumps off the desk and storms to the door. My heart clenches, locked in a vise grip inside my ribcage. I know this will be the last time I see him.
"Tom," I call, speaking to him one last time. "Did you think it all through? All these things will catch up to you. Time can heal, but this won't. So if you come back my way, just don't."
I swear there's a flash of sadness in his eyes, the face of the man I used to know, before the shadow returns to stare back at me.
"I'll make sure you never know peace, Regulus. Not even after you're dead." He disapparates before he's even out of the door.
The crack rings in my ears long after he's gone. I let out a long breath, as though I hadn't taken in a single gulp of air in Tom's presence. Relief and anguish crash into me, a fatal head-on collision.
I know what I must do now. I have to destroy that locket, destroy that piece of him he's so carelessly placed outside his body. Both of us, in different ways, cursed to never be whole. At least I can try to use my brokenness to bring light back into this world, even when the dark seems all-consuming.
"Kreature," I shout. He snaps into the room before I finish calling his name. "Do you remember where he took you?"