Exit Wounds

Something was missing. Regulus knew that as soon as he opened his eyes.

Regulus was laying on the ground in the parlor, and his parents were staring at him scrutinizingly.

Regulus pushed himself up and stood. He didn’t know why he was on the floor or why his parents weren’t scolding him for behavior unbecoming of a Black.

“Mother, Father,” Regulus said.

Regulus tried to remember what had happened. Someone was yelling. They were fighting. Who was fighting? His parents and-

A splitting headache lanced through Regulus’s head, and he winced.

“Return to your room, Regulus,” his mother ordered, and Regulus didn’t question it, too focused on the splitting headache.

He climbed the stairs. Something was missing. It was like a puzzle piece had fallen out of the universe. Actually, it was like several puzzle pieces fell out of the universe and he couldn’t even tell what the picture was supposed to be. Any time he tried to figure out what was missing, his headache got worse until white spots danced across his vision from the pain.

Regulus stumbled on the top stair when he reached the fourth floor. He grabbed the wall and closed his eyes tightly, trying to get the headache to ebb. When the headache started to release its hold on him, he slowly opened his eyes and straightened.

All he wanted to do was go to bed. He started to approach the doorway to his room when he paused.

He looked across the hall and saw an open door. He tried to remember what the room was, but he couldn’t manage to grab onto the memory.

Driven by curiosity (the room was across from his but he couldn’t remember what the room was), Regulus approached the open door and stood in the doorway.

It was a bedroom, but it wasn’t a guest room. The bed was unmade, the red duvet thrown messily. The floor was covered in clothes and other random stuff, crumpled pieces of paper and abandoned quills. The walls were covered in posters of scantily-clad women and posters for Muggle bands.

Regulus didn’t recognize the room, but he felt like he should. The room was obviously lived in and might’ve only been recently vacated, but whose room could it be? The only people who lived here were him and his parents.

Regulus looked at the room in confusion. It didn’t make sense. That feeling that something was missing got stronger.

Regulus spotted a photograph on the wall. It was the only photograph he could see in the room. He slowly crossed the messy floor, stepping over T-shirts (Muggle T-shirts) and robes, and he came to the wall where the photograph was.

It was a photograph of four boys. Regulus recognized three of them: James Potter, the annoying Gryffindor prankster; Remus Lupin, the smart one and the voice of reason to their pranks; and Peter Pettigrew, who Regulus was pretty sure just followed the others around. But there was a fourth boy Regulus didn’t recognize. He was grinning and had one arm thrown around Potter’s shoulders and the other thrown around Lupin’s shoulders. He wore Gryffindor robes, rumpled and disheveled in that handsome kind of way that only Gryffindors could pull off. He had long black hair that reached past his chin, and it was messy, again in that handsome kind of way that only Gryffindors could pull off. He had silver eyes.

He looked… like Regulus. Handsomer, more disheveled and carefree. But he still looked like Regulus with the same black hair and silver eyes and sharp, almost regal features that all Blacks had.

Who was he? And why couldn’t Regulus remember?

Regulus’s headache returned ten fold, so sudden and painful, he stumbled back and immediately covered his face with his hands. It felt like someone was splitting his head open with an axe. Any thoughts of the mysterious boy or Regulus’s shoddy memory disappeared under the agony.

After a few minutes, the headache started to ebb, and Regulus gulped down air, like the pain had stolen the air from his lungs.

Regulus stumbled to his feet and left the room, closing the door behind him. The sense that something was missing still irked him, but if he was going to get a headache every time he tried to think about it, he didn’t want to think about it.

Regulus walked into his own room and collapsed onto the bed.

What happened that night? Regulus was pretty sure he hadn’t been having debilitating headaches an hour ago. So what had happened?

Regulus sighed. He tried to stop thinking about the confusion, the empty spaces in his head, the missing puzzle pieces, but he couldn’t. He was so frustrated he did something very unlike him and grabbed his pillow and covered his face, screaming into the pillow.

Why couldn’t he remember?

Regulus pulled the pillow away from his face. Screaming hadn’t helped the confusion, but at least it released some of pent up frustration.

Regulus started to put the pillow back, but he stopped when he noticed a small black book sitting where it would be hidden under his pillow. He picked it up and held the book in his hands.

His diary, Regulus remembered. He didn’t know how he had forgotten (he didn’t know how he had forgotten a lot of things).

Regulus opened the book and started reading through the entries. Maybe this could help him figure out what was missing.

Entry 1- Barty’s being insufferable today. He’s teasing me about how I keep talking about James Potter. He said I probably have a crush on Potter with as much as I talk about him. Imagine, me having a crush on the most annoying Gryffindor.

Entry 20- Evan snuck in some fire whiskey, and Barty, Evan, and I got totally smashed. I don’t really remember what we did last night, but I hope we didn’t do anything too embarrassing, and I definitely hope we didn’t do anything my parents could find out about.

Entry 25- I saw Sirius today. He was talking with Potter, and when he saw me, he glared. I’m so angry at him, but also, I wish we could just talk like we used to.

Regulus frowned. Sirius? The name was familiar, achingly familiar, but the memory was just out of reach. Any time Regulus tried to grasp the memory, even managing to brush his fingers against the memory, the elusive memory darted even farther out of reach. The memory was like a dream, so vivid until he woke up and then it evaporated in seconds.

His headache pounded.

Entry 30- Sirius and the other ‘Marauders,’ as they call themselves, pulled a prank today. They spelled the Slytherins’ robes to flash red and gold. Now, my robes are Gryffindor colors, and I can’t for the life of me figure out how to change them back. Immature Gryffindors.

Entry 31- Slytherin won the Quidditch game! Sirius hit me with a Bludger and knocked me off my broom, but I still managed to catch the Snitch. And Sirius actually looked like he felt guilty for hitting me with a Bludger. Maybe he still cares.

Entry 34- I’m going home for the summer. Another summer of shouting matches. I can’t wait for September 1st.

Entry 35- Sirius and I are home for the summer, and my parents and Sirius are already fighting.

Entry 40- Sirius has barely spoken to me since we’ve been home. I’m trying to act like it doesn’t hurt, but it does, just like it hurt when Sirius replaced me with James. Sirius might be a Gryffindor, and he might be a blood traitor. My parents might hate him and say he’s a disgrace to the Black name. But he’s still my brother.

Regulus stopped.

He’s still my brother.

Strangely enough, as soon as the puzzle piece slotted into place, his headache ebbed. Most of the puzzle pieces were still missing, and suddenly, he figured out what they all had in common. He figured out what was missing.

He had a brother. Sirius was his brother.

But why didn’t he remember?

Regulus concentrated as hard as he could. Something had happened tonight. Someone was yelling. They were fighting. Who was fighting? His parents and-and Sirius (Sirius and I are home for the summer, and my parents and Sirius are already fighting).

He remembered a scream. He remembered silver eyes meeting his. He remembered a slamming door.

“Everyone in this family is better off forgetting that blood traitor, but you may benefit from a more… literal approach to that.”

His mother pointing a wand at his terrified eyes.

“Obliviate.”

His parents Obliviated him. His parents made him forget Sirius. His brother.

An anger Regulus had never felt, had never allowed himself to feel, roared to life like Fiend Fire. It consumed him, leeched into every available space, and with the memories of Sirius missing, there was a lot of empty space.

Regulus had always done whatever his parents told him. When they said jump, he asked how high. He pretended to hate Muggleborns and so-called blood traitors when in reality, he didn’t care. He got sorted into Slytherin (he had to beg the hat to put him in Slytherin) for his family. He associated with people he hated (Mulciber, Avery, Pucey, Carrow) because his parents expected him to only associate with people they approved of. His parents wanted him to become a Death Eater, and he knew the minute they told him to take the Mark, he would do it. Because Regulus Black always did what he was told.

“You’re a puppet, Regulus!”

He didn’t know where the memory came from, but it struck hard and fast.

He was a puppet. When was the last time Regulus did anything without thinking if his parents would approve? When was the last time Regulus thought himself as Regulus and not as Regulus Arcturus Black? Regulus didn’t remember.

And now his parents had erased his memories of his brother, the brother that Regulus loved (but he’s still my brother). All his life, Regulus’s parents had dictated and controlled his life, and now, they were even controlling his memories.

Well, Regulus was tired of it. Regulus was tired of being a puppet, of being a pawn, for his parents to control like he had no mind or feelings of his own.

Regulus clenched his fists. He was done being a puppet. He was done letting his parents control his life. He was done being a coward.

He was done being Regulus Arcturus Black. He was just going to be Regulus.

And Regulus was pissed off.