Watching
Regulus was not built for this world. He had always been small, frail, ill more often than not. Sirius had often told him that it was because he was secretly an angel, meant for heaven instead of this earthly realm. His father said it made him look like a woman.
He rarely left the house these days, watching from his bedroom window as day turned into night, and then day again, only leaving for church and school, making an appearance when it benefitted the family reputation. Sirius used to sneak him out in the night, take him to the pub where his friends would laugh boisterously, clinking mugs of beer together, and Regulus would sneak off with Barty and Evan, the two friends he had acquired during those escapades. Sirius didn’t take him anywhere anymore. He wasn’t there to take him.
Sirius ran away a couple of months back. Mother had found out that he was sneaking Regulus out, and Father had figured out that he was a pansy. That was not a great combination apparently, and that was the last time Regulus saw his brother.
It was fine. It had to be. Regulus had to continue on with life. Keep his grades up, look presentable, make the family proud. Color his cheeks before school each morning, just to put a little life in them, but not too much or, as his father was so quick to point out, he’ll look like a fag. Comb down his curls so as to not look like a slob, but don’t alter them enough to make him seem too feminine. Keep his clothes neat, thick layers all year round to keep him from getting sick again, or looking too thin. Keep to himself, unless the company he’s keeping is respectable enough.
It was a cold December morning when the routine was broken.
It was nothing. Not much of anything at all. Normal, by any standard. The same white, pressed, collared shirt, with a thick black coat, warm scarf and hat, leather messenger bag swung over his shoulder as he walked briskly, having opted not to be driven that day. He was craving the fresh air, craving to be in an open space where he wouldn’t feel crushed by the world around him. He felt like that often nowadays. Turns out that the fresh air wasn’t helping today. He felt a different kind of trapped, like there was a pair of eyes locked on him, watching, waiting. Waiting for what, he couldn’t be sure. Still, he sped up his pace, walking just a tad bit faster in the direction of the school building.
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“What’s going on with you today,” Barty said, dropping his lunch tray down on the table, before slumping down in the seat next to him, throwing his arm around Regulus.
“Crouch,” Regulus said coldly. “I thought that I made it very clear that you are not to speak to me.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Barty said, waving him off. “Come on, Reg. I can tell something’s up with you.”
“Barty,” Regulus seethed. “Not here.”
Barty sighed. “Fine. Our usual spot?”
Regulus looked at him pointedly. “We have no ‘usual’,” Which Barty knew just as well meant ‘obviously’. Barty grinned at him, grabbed his tray and moved. Regulus breathed out a small sigh of relief.
Their usual was the band room, just after school ended. Barty was there first, laying on a total of three blue plastic chairs. Regulus walked over, only to find Barty snoring, his head limping just slightly off the side. Regulus rolled his eyes as he walked over to the grand piano and slammed down on a random collection of keys. The sound was cacophonous enough to make Regulus flinch, and to cause Barty to startle awake, falling with a thump onto the floor.
“Ow… Shit, Reg, you couldn’t have woken me up in a normal way?” Barty said, pulling himself up from the floor. Regulus felt his lips twitch upwards.
Regulus shrugged. “Could’ve. But that wouldn’t have been nearly as fun for me.”
Barty let out a snorting laugh. “You’re an ass.”
“You love me.”
Barty grinned. “You know I do. Glad you cut that ‘don’t speak to me in public’ bullshit.”
Regulus sighed, flipping around on his seat to face the piano, resting his fingers lightly on the keys. “You know that I don’t have a choice, Barty.”
“Yeah, I know,” Barty said, and Regulus could hear the eye roll as he ran his fingers up and down the length of the piano. “Doesn’t mean I don’t hate it.”
Regulus was silent, gently pressing down onto the keys, playing a sad, quiet song. He let his hands move on their own, let them choose the melody.
“I know you hate it too, Reg,” Barty said. The keys made a dissonant sound, something jarring, and gross, and wrong.
“I don’t want to talk about this,” Regulus said quietly.
“Regulus, you’re not happy!” Barty said, standing. “We both know it! It’s not like you even try to hide it with all that ‘I can’t, it wouldn’t be proper’ sad boy bullshit!” His voice was a mockery of Regulus’s own. The emotions welled up inside his chest, like blood rising to the surface of split skin. Despair, and fear, and anger, coursing through his veins until they were opened, bleeding out on the floor.
“I said I didn’t want to talk about this, Barty,” Regulus said, louder this time.
“But you need to!” Barty was striding over with heavy footsteps. “Reg, you can’t stay there! You can’t let them keep doing this to you-” He placed a weighted hand on Regulus’s shoulder, and Regulus broke away, pulling himself up and away from the seat, breathing heavily as tears threatened to force their way up out of Regulus’s eyes. Barty’s hand remained outstretched towards him, Regulus letting out broken breaths in the otherwise silent room.
“Okay,” Barty said quietly after a minute. “Fine. We don’t have to talk about it.”
Regulus shakily breathed out in relief, staring at the carpeted floor. “Thank you,” he whispered painfully.
“Yeah,” Barty muttered, sounding disappointed, almost cold. “‘Course, Reg.”
Barty sighed and plopped himself down into a chair. “So. What’s up with you?”
And that was what Regulus loved about Barty. He cared enough to stay, but not enough to be persistent. He was kind, if a bit reckless and idiotic. Distracting. Everything Regulus looked for in a friend. His only friend, if he was being honest. Though he almost never was. Honesty always hurt more than it helped.
“Normal, I suppose,” Regulus said, sitting down on the edge of the piano seat. “I have been feeling a bit off today.”
“Really?” Barty asked, laying down with his head hanging off the seat. “What way?”
Regulus sighed and ran his hands along the keys again, feeling the cold ivory under his fingertips. “I don’t know. I’ve just kind of felt like something was… watching me. It’s weird, it’s probably just a me thing.”
Barty smirked. “Reg, people are watching you. I mean, the girls are.”
Regulus looked over to him with furrowed brows. “What do you mean?”
Barty grinned. “Come on, Reg. You know what they think of you. You got to.”
Regulus raised an eyebrow. “Are you high?” Barty laughed and Regulus looked at him pointedly. “I’m serious, Barty. Are you high? There’s not a single person in this school who’s into me.”
Barty snorted, and Regulus swatted at him, causing him to fall off the chair with a grumbled “Ow, shit.”
Barty sat up, crossing his legs on the floor between rows of chairs. “Are you kidding? Chicks love you. Think you’re all pretty, and secretly sweet and sensitive.”
“And cruel, and standoffish, and purposefully rude,” Regulus said with a roll of his eyes, counting them off on his fingers. “Every girl’s dream.”
“They think you’re mysterious and shit,” Barty said with a snort.
“They clearly don’t know me very well.”
Barty looked at him. “Nobody does. ‘Cept for me, that is.”
Regulus chewed on his lip and turned back to the piano. “I don’t really care. I don’t like any of these girls anyways.”
Barty shrugged. “Me neither.”
Regulus isn’t sure why the confession came tumbling out, a secret he had only shared once, with someone who was long-gone, but it did, tasting bitter and metallic, like blood on his lips.
“I don’t like girls,” he whispered. Barty looked at him knowingly.
“Me neither.”
And that sounded sweet, like relief, like camaraderie. Regulus let out a breathless laugh, something happy and light, and then that turned into a coughing fit.
Regulus recovered fairly quickly, with a light smile on his face, and slightly damp eyes.
Not alone.
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Regulus was cheery, almost bubbly, for quite a while. He and Barty played a few songs, talked some more, but eventually Regulus had to go home. Well, plunging straight into the frigid depths of Hell tends to suck out any joy one can feel. Cold, empty, hollow walls full of cold, empty, hollow people. That was Regulus’s life. He was so dreadfully upset about having to return that he almost considered that Barty was right. Almost.
It was colder within his own home than it was outside in the crisp winter air. It was silent except for the padded footsteps of his sock covered feet.
“Good afternoon, Master Regulus,” Kreacher, the old chef that had served the family for many years, said. He was a small, bitter old man with a voice like gravel. Still, he had always been kind to Regulus, though he wasn’t kind to much else. “Did you have a good day?”
“Yes,” Regulus replied lightly. “Thank you, Kreacher.”
“Of course, sir,” Kreacher said, bowing his head. “Would you like something to eat, or a cup of tea before your parents return?”
“No thank you,” Regulus said, shrugging off his coat and hanging it upon the coat rack. “Where are Maman et Papa?” The French slipped in just as naturally as it always had, more familiar to him than the English.
“Master Orion is meeting with a client.” Understandable. Regulus’s father was often out quite late meeting with clients, or whatever he did when he was out of the house. Maybe running the family business, maybe other things. Regulus didn’t think he wanted to know. “Mistress Walburga did not say.”
Regulus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Very well. I suppose they won’t be joining us for dinner tonight?”
“No, sir.”
That was what Regulus expected. His parents were rarely home for dinner, and it was often more unpleasant when they were.
“I’ll be in my room. Could you bring my dinner up tonight?” Regulus asked, walking towards the grand staircase and running his fingers across the smooth wooden railing.
“Of course, sir.”
Regulus looked back with a slight smile. “Thank you, Kreacher.
“Of course, sir.”
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Regulus read to escape. Sat at his desk, a book in hand and a blanket on his lap, sometimes gazing forward out the window, that was when he was at peace. He ate at his desk when Kreacher arrived with a plate of linguine and clams and a glass of sparkling apple cider, never taking his eyes off the pages. He read until his eyes hurt from the low light, and he had to put it down to turn on a lamp. He was still reading, instrumental music playing quietly from his phone, when Kreacher came in holding a tray with a steaming mug, two canisters of sugar and milk, and a small plate covered in capsules.
“Your tea and medication, Master Regulus,” Kreacher said, placing the tray on the desk next to Regulus, brushing off loose papers.
“Thank you, Kreacher,” Regulus said, putting down his book momentarily to smile at him. Kreacher nodded and walked away swiftly, closing the door behind him. Regulus sighed and took the small plate of medication into his hand. Ten little capsules and tablets. Regulus never really knew what the medication he was taking was for. Kreacher would just arrive with another pill, and he would take it. He put the plate back onto the tray, only taking one that he recognized as a sleeping pill.
Regulus sipped at his tea. Chamomile, one of his favorites. He ignored the small canisters of sugar and milk and sipped at the tea, inhaling deeply. Calm. Heavy and sticky, dripping with honey, his senses going soft and sweet and sleepy. He rested his head in his hand, but found himself too tired to lift his book again. Weak, and soft, and gooey.
His eyes only rested for a moment. When they opened again, the room was dark, but not dark enough to hide the ominous presence of a man standing over him, with pale skin, and dark, overgrown hair, and silver eyes that mirrored his own.
Regulus fell from his chair with a sudden gasp.