A/N: For the Sherlock Competition (Part 1, Prompt 18: write about someone whose home life isn't that great).

"I will find her somewhere safe. A house, a home, a resting place."- The Darling Buds, "Cities Alive"

I.

When Sirius leaves, you think everything will be okay. Without your brother, you can be the perfect family. You are the good son, and that will be enough for your parents.

But you are wrong.

II.

Your mother talks about Bellatrix. "Saw her Mark," she says proudly. "Always knew that girl was going places."

And her eyes fall on you. There is no warmth there, only cold accusation and a blatant challenge.

Her niece has done right by the family. Will her son do the same?

You push your plate aside and quietly ask to be excused.

III.

Your father talks about Sirius. "Even he had better marks in his classes," he says grudgingly, giving you a glare.

"Are you asking me to be more like the traitor?" you ask innocently.

Quick as a flash, his palm connects with your cheek. "Don't be smart with me, boy," he growls. "I want you to be better than him!"

You rub the side of your face, stepping back, tears stinging your eyes.

"Look at you, Regulus. At least Sirius had some fight in him."

And you don't care anymore. You turn and run.

IV.

You don't know why you've chosen a Muggle playground. Maybe because it's empty, and you want to be alone. Maybe because your parents would hate your choice, and you've disappointed them so much that one more thing wouldn't hurt.

You sit on the swing, feet dragging across the dirt.

"Of all the gin joints," comes a shy voice, and you look up, suppressing a groan at the sight of the Crouch boy.

"Piss off, Crouch," you snap.

Instead, he takes the swing next to you. "What are you doing here?"

"Running."

"From what?"

You glare, forcing every ounce of anger and hatred into it, hoping it will silence him.

"The great Regulus Black, running," he says.

There's no taunting in his words, no mockery. If anything, he sounds amazed.

You look away, fixing your annoyed expression in the general direction of home. "What are you doing here, anyway? Wouldn't Daddy dear be upset that his boy is breaking curfew?"

Barty laughs. "Daddy dear doesn't really notice when I'm not around."

You chance a glance at him. "Lucky you."

V.

There's hell to pay when you return home.

"Just like your brother, aren't you?" your mother hisses.

"No. I came back."

Something in her eyes tells you that maybe that isn't a good thing.

VI.

"Running again?" Barty asks, finding you on the swingset the following week.

"Stalking me, are you?" you growl, kicking dirt at him.

Once again, Barty is oblivious to your hostility, and he leans against the metal post, arms folded over his chest. "What are you running from?"

"Why do you care?"

"Because you're Regulus Black. You're supposed to be a god. But you're just as broken as I am, aren't you?" he whispers.

You drop you gaze to the ground, like the dirt beneath your feet is the most interesting thing in the world. "Home," you answer at last.

VII.

Barty thinks that you're broken, but that's not quite true. You're still intact, but the pressure is building, and you can feel the cracks form.

You push yourself harder, studying even during your summer break to be better than Sirius. You talk to Bellatrix, listening to her velvet promises about her master.

"Think of how proud your mummy and daddy would be of their ickle baby boy," she says in a sickeningly sweet voice, touching her fingers to the place where your Mark would be.

You bend under pressure, slowly losing yourself, slowly eroding and becoming the son they want you to be.

But you can see it in their eyes that it's not enough.

VIII.

You're surprised when Barty holds your hand. It's been too long since anyone has touched you so gently. You almost pull away, but you decide it feels nice.

IX.

"Why do you keep finding me?" you ask.

Barty shrugs. "Just lucky, I guess."

You almost laugh at that. As disappointing as you seem to be, he must have awful luck.

"And I want to," he adds, his lips finding yours.

And you know you should pull away, that kissing him is wrong. He's the enemy. His father has put away members of your family. Kissing him is a betrayal.

You laugh into his mouth.

One more disappointment for your family.

X.

"So, what are you running from?" you ask as you swing together, fingers entwined.

"Home," Barty admits. "Cold neglect becomes rather tiring after a few years."

"Oh."

Your thumb moves over his knuckles, and you can't help but to smile. Neither of you have a home, not really. But there, outside and surrounded by things you should hate, when Barty holds your hand, you feel like you've found home at last.