family
For the anniversary of the worst day of his life, Regulus considers this to be a pretty good way to spend it, his lips pressed firmly on Barty’s. Usually, the boy spent the day curled up underneath his sheets, reminiscing on the fleeting memories of his older brother. Now, however, his usual longing and grief had no place in his mind, replaced by the thought of his boyfriend's hands on his back, and lips pressed on his. This simple bliss was soon interrupted, however, when Barty’s fingers brushed along Regulus’s clothed forearms. Regulus, too entranced by his task of kissing down the side of Barty’s neck, didn’t notice him freeze until he had already pulled away.
Stunned, Regulus looked up, “W- Barty what's wrong?”
Barty, whose face had transformed from a bright grin to a pout, replied, “I thought you stopped”
Regulus’s confused expression quickly morphed into a grimace, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me” Barty whispered.
“I’m not-”
“Regulus” Barty interrupted, “Please baby just talk to me.”
With those words, Regulus’s carefully crafted mask slipped, tears filling his eyes. Without much warning, he slumped into his boyfriend, quiet sobs slipping from his mouth, slowly drenching his lover’s shoulder.
-
The first person Regulus ever told about his “dark” days was Pandora. It was one of the rare times at school when Regulus’s dorm room was empty, filled only by the soft drone of the fan that blew on him, ruffling his curls slightly, and Regulus’s breath, muffled slightly by the pile of blankets he had buried himself in, a sad attempt to hide from the dark thoughts that were plaguing his mind. Barty and Evan were out, doing whatever the fourteen-year-olds deemed appropriate on a Friday night, all while Regulus lay alone. Just as his mind began to drift into that floaty, faraway place it loved so much, Pandora Rosier came stumbling in.
“Regulus love, thank god. Have you seen my brother? I need him to-”
Pandora trailed off, eyes locked on what Regulus could only assume was a pathetic sight. Without a word, she crouched down near his bed and slowly began running her nimble fingers through his greasy, tangled curls.
“Oh love what’s wrong?’
Pandora whispered, her airlike voice a companion to Regulus’s labored breaths.
Regulus felt useless. His voice seemed ot be trapped somewhere out of reach, and any time he attempted to open his mouth to speak, traitorous tears threatened to escape his grey eyes.
Pandora’s gaze softened, her own blue eyes watering as she stared down at her best friend. Slowly, she moved, lying down behind him and wrapping her slender arms around him in a gentle embrace. For a moment, they lay there, breathing in tandem before Regulus began to shake with small sobs, held together only by Pandora's arms.
For hours after that, Pandora held Regulus while he whispered all his tightly held secrets. He told her about his mother, her sharp words and harsh hands, and his father, whose calloused fingers had snapped Regulus’s wrist in two the previous summer. He told her about his exhaustion, the tired feeling that seemed to seep into his bones and confine him to his bed, stewing in self-hatred. And after the sobs had ceased and his breathing had evened out, Regulus told her about the voice that whispered to him late at night, begging him to hurt.
After that night, Regulus and Pandora shared a sort of understanding, a closeness that no one else in their group could truly understand.
The rest of Regulus’s friends found out about his “situation” months later, when he was discovered by Barty after a long weekend, lying in the same position and clothes he had been in when his roommates saw him last, dried tears on his cheeks.
Regulus heard them, later, when they thought he was asleep.
“Do you think he’s moved?” Barty whispered.
Evan grimaced, replying, “Doesn’t look like it, he looks dead to be honest.”
“Fucking hell Evan” Hissed Dorcas, hitting his arm lightly.
Their bickering was cut short by Pandora’s quiet voice, “He gets like this sometimes. Sad.”
“Sad?” Barty interrupted, “Fucking sad? We all get sad, this is different, this is fucking miserable. Ev’s right, he looks dead!”
Pandora’s face hardens, her arm placed lightly on Barty’s arm, “I don’t know what to tell you, love, sometimes he just gets stuck. That's how he describes it.”
“Ok, so what? We pull him out of bed? Open the blinds? He’ll be fine, right Dora?”
“Love, it's not- He’s not- It’s different for him. He gets… scary.”
It's Dorcas who responds this time, “Scary? What, like he speaks in tongues? God knows he already looks like a ghost-”
“No it’s not-” Pandora sighed heavily, “He talks like nothing matters. He hurts himself sometimes-”
“Hurts himself- W- What, like cuts himself? How did we not-” Barty is interrupted again by Pandora, whose voice is now shaking,
“Yes. I suppose he's very secretive. I only ever found out by practically forcing it out of him.”
Pandora laughs, it's harsh and strained, but enough to send Barty into a rampage.
“You’re fucking laughing? Reg is in the other room, half-dead and apparently cutting himself- Jesus fuck he’s cutting himself- and you’re laughing?”
Barty is standing now, stalking toward Pandora with a growing anger,
“And you- you didn’t even tell us! You knew and you didn’t even say a fucking word! Why didn’t you stop him? Why didn’t you-”
Pandora is sobbing now, fat tears streaming down her face in rivulets, cutting across her intricate makeup. Barty is close to tears, too, though his anger is much more visible. Just as he starts up his yelling again, he is cut off by a haggard voice from behind.
“Barty!” Regulus exclaims, his voice cracking from days of misuse, “Don’t yell at her don’t- It’s not her fault.”
“Regulus I didn’t–”
But Regulus is already retreating, back to his bed, his darkness, his thoughts.
-
Now, as he held Regulus’s trembling form in his arms, Barty feels the same helplessness he felt then. Confused why his boy, his Reg, would hurt himself like he did.
When Regulus’s cries finally cease, Barty tips his head up, wiping away the last tears on his cheeks. Regulus, seeking the comfortable bliss of Barty’s lips, leaned forward, connecting their lips in a soft, passionate kiss. Normally, Barty would stop this obvious attempt at deflection from Regulus, but, in the moment, he knew this is what he needed. Just as Barty’s hand begins to snake up the freckled skin of Regulus’s back, the door to his bedroom is slammed open.
Standing there, eyes narrowing, lip curling, is Walburga.
Regulus jumps back, his narrow fingers leaving Barty’s skin like it burned him, but it’s too late. The damage has been done.
Regulus thinks time freezes, he hears, in the back of his mind, his mother’s cruel screech and the addition of his father’s low, firm tone. He hears Barty shout something, feels his mother grab his sleeve, but everything feels, faraway. Like he’s standing outside his body, watching his own life fall apart.
Suddenly, like being drenched in cold water, Regulus is brought back to reality by a stinging sensation on his cheek. A slap, he deducts, if not by the way his mothers hand is raised, then by the way Barty lurches forward, stopped by Regulus’s father. Who is beginning to haul him out of the room. Terrified for his boyfriend’s fate, Regulus finds the will to speak,
“Barty, run!”
Barty, the defiant bastard he is, breaks out of Orion’s hold and runs back behind Regulus. Unfortunately for him, the window behind him is open, and Regulus, with a sudden burst of strength, all but forces him out. All the while gasping out begs of, “Leave baby please just go.”
Finally seeming to come to his senses, and terrified by Orion’s cold stare and brute strength, Barty runs. Across the yard, down the street, and finally, out of Regulus’s sight.
Regulus turns, watching his mother’s face twist into a terrifying sneer. Despite her previous shrieks, her voice is now quiet, calculating, as she utters,
“Regulus, would you like to explain to me the scene I just walked into?”
Regulus closes his eyes, craning his head away from his mother as if she will somehow disappear if he wishes hard enough. This only seems to anger her more, though, as her voice rises,
“Orion please tell me I am not mistaken in that I just saw my son all over another boy.”
“No my dear.” Regulus’s father’s frighteningly even tone replied
“And is it not to my understanding that behavior such as this has always been known to have no place in this household? In this family?”
As she says this, Walburga inches toward Regulus, backing him into his bookshelf. Without warning, she grasps onto his lapel, throwing him back into the stacks of books. His head bounces off a corner with a crack as he drops to the floor.
Regulus floats after this. He feels his body being lifted off the floor, thrown once again into his bedside table. He sees his father loom over him, hears the dull thumps as he is struck across the face, over and over. He knows they are speaking, his parents. But the only thing he can hear in this state is a shrill ringing.
Finally, after what feels like both seconds and an eternity all in one, Regulus finds himself alone, shaking on his bedroom floor. All at once, the pain hits him. It is radiating, all-encompassing. He feels blood drip from his temple, and more from his nose, and wonders, grimly, how the fuck he is still alive.
He thinks back to his brother, the night he left. Is this what Sirius felt all those years ago? Is this the pain he endured? For me?
-
Regulus doesn’t know how long he lies on the floor of his bedroom, staining the dark wood with his blood. His only indicator of time is the dripping of the blood on the hardwood, which has now slowed to a small drop every few seconds. Slowly, his door creaks open, his eyes following. In the doorway, stands his family’s servant, and Regulus’s caretaker, Mr. Kreacher.
“Oh my dear boy.” Kreacher’s tired voice croons. “My dear, dear boy, all will be well soon.”
“Kreacher,” Regulus chokes, and is cut off by a fit of coughing.
“Regulus my boy let me help you.”
As he says this, Kreacher lifts Regulus’s (concerningly) light body off the blood-slick floors and onto the plush softness of his bed.
Regulus thinks he hears rustling, the opening and closing of drawers, but in the comfort of his sheets, he begins to drift into a blissful state of nothingness. Soon, however, he is pulled out of his dreamlike state by Kreacher, who has grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position, aggravating the fiery inferno of his ribs.
With haste, Mr. Kreacher is pressing a small piece of paper into Regulus’s right hand and a backpack around his shoulders. In his own hand, he carries a suitcase full of what Regulus can only assume is his wardrobe. Looking around his room, he can see certain things missing: pictures and notebooks taken from his desk, his camera from underneath his bed, his favorite books plucked from his shelf, and his clothes from his dresser, now folded intricately in his suitcase. Slowly, it begins to sink in. Mr. Kreacher is telling him to run.
As this thought manifests in his mind, Regulus becomes increasingly aware of the small slip of paper in his hand. Unfolding it carefully, he finds an address written in intricate script, Kreacher’s no doubt. With further inspection, he realizes this is no random address, but his brother’s.
With teary eyes, Regulus glances up at Kreacher, whose usually stoic face holds its own brand of anguish.
“You really think I should?” Regulus croaks, tears evident in his voice.
“You need to be with family, Regulus, real family.”
At this, Regulus’s knees buckle, his trembling body held up by Kreacher’s skinny form. Regulus knows now, he must go.
Eventually, Kreacher’s bony fingers brush away the tears adorning Regulus’s bloody face, and he is lifted off the floor once again. This time, he is herded gently toward the open window Barty had clambored out of mere hours ago. With the help of Kreacher, Regulus lifts his bags over the windowsill, now standing in the garden he and his mother had planted together. It’s fitting, he thinks, as he stands on ruined flowers, that the garden crafted through the love of mother and son was now trampled beyond belief, a grim reminder of what was. As Regulus trudged through the mud and rainwater of the yard, he never once turned back to look at the old Black Manor. He had something new to look forward to. His brother.