A promise of that tiny amount of something
“We have twenty minutes.” Regulus is all bustling robes and flying hands from the moment he is left alone with Evan in their eerily stilted dorm. Barty, Wilkes and the dodgy Selwyn kid went for breakfast a minute ago and left their two other roommates alone with a comment about them joining when they’re done packing their bags for the rest of the day. The silence they left behind in the process is a charged one though - a festering one, bearing doom and the promise of decay.
Both Evan and Regulus had planned for this, had collected their things slower than usual, had stalled in the bathroom and kept to themselves. Neither of them mentioned the necessity of a conversation to the other - one glance had been enough at the last meeting with their fathers and other ministry officials. One glance carried it all - the conflict, the responsibility, their utter lostness. They had been the spares all their life, had planned their future with that knowledge all their life - had been friends all their life. And now that changed; nearly over night. They’re both heirs now, to influential, rich, pureblood families - neither of them trained to carry the responsibility that title holds - and the question of friendship - a precarious path now: An heir with loyal friends is a child’s fantasy. It doesn't really exist. Not in the realms of Slytherin at least. But in their upbringing that fact didn't carry any relevance before - they had been spares, raised as a second and third option without any real evidence of that fact changing soon. Strange waters indeed.
Evan has spent the entire time from the last meeting in his family house’s study until now contemplating the possible outcome of this conversation with Regulus - They could transform their friendship into an alliance - They could also duel and establish a new hierarchy between them and the entirety of Slytherin house. After all, Regulus is the heir to the most traditional and oldest bloodline of pure wizards in England now. Anything could happen - anything that is completely in the hands of Regulus and Regulus alone.
Dark grey eyes find Evan in his spiralling and force him to freeze momentarily. The two former friends size each other up, both with their wand in hand and enough room for a duel between them. The air is charged, Regulus’ midnight-scented magic meeting Evan’s in the spacious room, but neither of them leaps at it. Like an immovable dance - inanimate objects facing each other silently on a stage.
“Why did you take the place as heir, Evan?” The informal approach lacing the dark haired boy’s question hits Evan like a blow unexpected of relief in its sudden simplicity. His shoulders loosen up just the tiniest bit and with a shudder of an exhale he drops his wandhand to his shaking thigh. To drop his entire alerted stance would be a naive exaggeration of his trust, but Evan cant help but react to his friend’s open declaration of familiarity. It may be too soon to assume - to overthrow his caution completely - but the opening has now been established, their friendship not pushed off the table just yet and hope - real, possible, alive - pulsates in Evan’s chest once more. It doesnt take him much effort to face the cold eyes of his oldest friend now, the one dealt to him by chance and upbringing and social circles - the one he eventually learned to choose for himself - the one he trusted with almost everything so far.
“I couldn't let Pandora take it - It had to be me, Regulus. She has dreams for the future and neither of them lies in taking on the family legacy.”
The shorter boy doesn't avert his attentive eyes, at his confession, continues to stare down the blonde witch his usual inquiring nature, but Evan doesn't move a step. He knows this technique, knows how Regulus likes to wait out his opponents, how he prefers to strip them for information by just letting the tension in the room overpower them. He knows - knows all too well, that Regulus doesn't trust him yet - that there is too much at stake for the both of them but especially for the younger Black. He is patient now, empowered by the absence of curses thrown and the shorter boy‘s reluctance.
„I sacrificed my dreams for hers. I took the responsibility because someone had to. I had to - I have no interest in the legacy awaiting me, the pressure, the politics, the hierarchy, the role I have to play now - I am afraid. I am so afraid Regulus. I don’t know where this entire thing will lead me - to what kind of choices it will drive me - I - I just wanted to write books. I wanted to write stories and poems and live somewhere in the middle of nowhere - but I cant plan my future like that anymore - I cant rent a flat somewhere, disappear, open a shop with Pandora - I can’t disappear anymore and it’s scares me, because I think I‘ll never get used to the inquiring gazes of people who plan my downfall with every thought they have - I never wanted to get noticed - But Now I am. Now they look at me and they try to figure me out and I am so afraid that they will see through me. I got so used of going unnoticed that I never learned how to lie properly - I don't want to die, Regulus.“
His breath comes in shudders and heaves. Evan knows he is shaking - knows that he might have been too honest - that he might have just triggered the one response he never wanted to see from his best friend. But where Evan is a shaking mess, he finds Regulus to be the exact opposite. Eerily still - almost statuesque he is staring at him, his eyes glazed over with a haunted expression and beads of sweat forming on the exposed parts of his forehead.
Several moments pass between them and Evan nearly feels pressured to elaborate further, already breathing so hard that he feels tears swelling up in his eyes, but Regulus beats him to another attempt at a coherent monologue about his feelings on the matter - surprising him once more, „You’re not alone - I will - You need to tell me more secrets, Evan - Something that I can use against you, something with the power to destroy you, if ever mentioned. I need to know, if you want me to be honest with you - If you want me to stay your friend. Because I can‘t have friends like this, Evan. You know that. But I‘d - Tell me more.“ It’s a helpless plea, a fracture of sincerity - but it is enough. In fact, it is everything Evan needs. Everything and more than he hopped for originally - much more than he ever expected from his stoic friend.
The tears that finally come, run in lines over his face, but Evan can find no shame in them. They are the one true aspect of freedom he just got granted. They are the embodiment of a future - of possibilities - of revolution. Because friendship in a time like this - can be considered nothing short to a revolutionary act - an idea made reality.
And he understands - understands the offer in the other boy‘s words, in his tone, in his posture - he understands his deceleration, his choice and he intends to finalise it for him, intends to work for their shared future, their shared battles, their shared misery.
Evan drops his wand to the ground in a surrendering manner, a decidedly violent motion - opening his hands slowly with their palms facing Regulus‘ hopeful expression.
„Ill tell you everything. All there is - But I need you to tell me - I need you to promise something, Reg.“ Evan pauses, putting as much sincerity into his tone as he can muster and meets the dark eyes of his friend, „I need you to promise me, that you will interrupt me as soon as I say something, that would - something that you don't approve of - something that would cause you to act in a way that would hurt my sister or me - can you - please, can you promise me this? I wont demand an unbreakable, Merlin, I dont even want you to keep all this a secret - just please-“
Regulus‘ jerked nod cuts him off at once, effectively freezes the chain of his thoughts and leaves a tense silence between them. The shorter boy quietly staring him down and Evan fighting against the dryness blocking his throat.
A promise is nothing - not a profound base, neither a secure way to ensure immunity - he is putting his life on the line. He is putting his sister‘s life on the line by extension. But even though a promise is nothing - it may just be enough of said nothing to achieve just the tiniest amount of something - and against all chances and odds in this world - Evan is willing to risk everything he has on a shot of just that - just that little bit of chance at the tiniest amount of something.
His throat remains dry. The time is running out, and if Evan doesn't make the jump now - he will never know if this one act of bravery would have changed anything about the outcome that has yet to come. It’s a leap. It’s a free fall in pure darkness. There is no moon to illuminate the way ahead. There is only uncertainty- and faith. Evan‘s faith in Regulus. In their friendship. Nothing more.
But what scares him more than that, is the infinite amount of promised nothingness ahead - as creature of light. As person of science and art and a true believer in something more - Evan makes that jump.
“I changed my room this summer. I moved out. I sleep in a dark room now, because I’m afraid that if I taste just enough of the light that lies outside that room, Ill get addicted to it and ruin everything I’ve worked for so far. I’m afraid to die. But I am more afraid that my sister has to marry for political alliances instead out of love. I believe in love. Just like I believe in science and magic - because I’ve been using them both for the better part of my academic education. You asked me last year, how I managed to get better at arhytmacy and ancient runes - do you remember? Well, I read muggle books on mathematics. Because they aren’t as far off from the magical theories as everyone in our house likes to believe. Quite the opposite actually. And herbology? The is an equivalent in the muggle world as well - a quite extensively reasearched one, might I add - you really have to interrupt me like you promised, because Ill get into more detail now-“
A short, silent nod is everything he gets as a response, another suggestion to jump - another poison laced invitation, with nothing but demise as its counterpart of the second option.
„- Well, anyways, I read muggle literature. I actually prefer it to the books published in our world - I find them more fascinating, entirely more inspiring if I’m honest - but the actual point comes, when I tell you about my own writing. Because I write. A lot. So much in fact, that I wanted to do just that professionally, in the muggle world. I love muggles. I dont view them as inferior. I actually consider them superior to us-“
The intentional pause is met with just another curt nod from the other boy. Swallowing the doubt in his throat and drowning out the screaming of eternal agony inside his head, Evan continues his monologue stoically, refusing the alternative waiting ahead, „I consider them superior in their suffering - because just like we invent spells and potions - they do just the same thing with the addition of mental work. Because suffering is not only physical. And they understand that. They have mindhealers of their own - just that they don't have any magic. They cure mental struggles and illnesses with the power of words - And I - I admire that. As well as poetry. I know, I already said that. But its true. I joined a poetry club. It’s inside a muggle pub. I go there whenever I can - When I sit in the meetings with my father and his colleagues and all these other people - I like to imagine that i am with these muggles and write poetry with them. It’s the one place in the world I feel the most at home. I feel like I belong there, even though my poetry doesn't rhyme and all that - but I fee like I do belong there, that is - I don't want the Dark Lord to rise - I don't want to see the muggle world forced into submission - I don’t t want to end up being one of the wizards forced to execute muggles on his orders. I refuse to, actually. But I am so afraid. I am so deeply scared. I don't know where all this will lead us, but I am sure of the fact that it will put us back half Accenture ago - all the progress we made as a community - all these changes in legislation - I am afraid that they‘ll disappear. That everything will disappear over night and that we will end up as the overpowering, ruling force of pure maniacs with nothing but malice as premise. I am afraid of the hate - I am afraid. And i don't know how to navigate myself and my beliefs - I don‘t even know how to act now. I am still grieving the loss of the relationship I had with my sister - because she hates me now. But I will never be able to tell her the truth in fear of endangering her. But there is so much to consider now, that I never paid attention to - never had tro pay attention to. There has always been Pierre. He did all of that. He navigated his entire future - he knew how to act. I don’t. I know nothing. Nothing of substance. Everything is blurry now and i am blind. I have nowhere to turn to - No one to trust. i will die, Regulus - If not for the fact that I don’t believe in bloodpurety or its supremacy, then for the fact that I will never hold any interest in women romantically - in no one actually - no one but-“
„Stop.“ Regulus‘ command comes like a blow to the stomach for Evan - like a knife slid over the sensitive flesh of his throat, its sharp edge burring itself into the clam skin waiting there in trust. And it hurts. It hurts so achingly, so immensely painful. It leaves him with his mouth forming an R on his lips and his eyes filling with a swell of unstoppable tears. They run in rivers now, burn a trail into the skin of his cheeks and make his breathing stop with the unending downpour of saltwater invading his mouth. A horrible cascade about to go into full rapture, as the shorter boy takes a staggering step forward - one after the other, unsure and anxious - his posture so distraught, his hands a shaking, blurred flutter as they come to a tentative rest on Evan‘s shoulders. In the tangle of their shallow breaths and Evan‘s collapse - Regulus stars crying too.
The grip on his shoulders intensifies as sobs start to break from the other boy‘s lips - and while Evan collapses into himself, the shorter boy collapses against him. They end up in a tangle on the floor. Broken and bruised - hurting so deeply that they cant breathe.
A mumble sounds from Regulus‘ shaking frame - the fracture of a sound - inaudible between the heaves of air pushed out of his lungs.
Evan is paralysed in it all. Unmoving and mute - too frightened to ask, too exposed to run - captured and about to be taken apart. Dark grey eyes find his though, fixate on him with the entire suffering of the world swirling in them like a hurricane of inescapable doom. Yet again an impossible silver lining in the distance that seems to shrink between them.
Regulus‘ voice is hoarse, fractured like the laid bare part of his soul inside his eyes, „I - Me too. I agree with you. I - I am so scared. I had no idea - I - Sirius - he - he just - they - they tore him apart - Just like that - and i didn't know - I - What was i supposed to do? I just - He almost died - I had to - I had to get him out. I shoved him though that fireplace - and for the longest time I thought he died. I thought he died, Evan. But I saw him on the train today - and he is alive - and I am alive - it where do we go from here? Where do we go? It’s madness and corruption and I - I am like you and I - Where do we go?“
It shatters. That shard of everything - just there and then. Between them. Their hearts, their souls - joined in resistance - in fear. And the only consolation is the grip they have on each other - the grip that intensifies with their shuddered breathing and every moment of their outrunning time.
It shatters and it rebuilds. In the same waves of lostness ebbs the soothing sound of unity - the calming drought of reestablished and exceeded trust - a precarious bridge in the blinding fog. And despite the seething pain, Evan finds himself hopeful again. Because now he is not alone anymore, now he has Regulus by his side - as more than an ally- as a friend. Despite all odds. Despite history. Despite their fear. They have each other now. Always and forever - how short or long that will last. They have chosen to trust, have chosen to reach for each other instead of turning away from the years of established friendship between them. And if they can make the euphemistic approach on a fantastical idea a reality, they also hold the possibility of something more between them. Maybe just that little bit of something more to find their way.
It’s the eventuality of their roommates returning from breakfast and the unstoppable progression of time, that moves the two boy from the floor. And in the two minutes of them regaining control over themselves and packing up their things, a calm silence settles between them. A silence that carries the unspoken as well as terrifying secrets spilled. It’s an acknowledgement, an agreement - Unnecessary to voice. Established in shattering sobs and panic laced glances.
They chose each other. They will support each other, will keep each other secrets until their respective dying day - may it come later rather than sooner. And they will e there for each other. Two sides of the same coin. Fake currency running the dominated market.
At the door they pause simultaneously, meeting each others‘ glances. But it is Regulus, who eventually speaks first, „They will come at us. All of them. And we will need their support. If we play this game - If we intend to come out of this alive - we will have to make alliances. But we can’t trust a single one of them. We are on our own, Evan - You and me. No one else, until we are sure that we can trust them - really trust them. The hope is futile. It’s madness, to be exact, but if - if we should find ourselves in the confidence of trusting someone else with this - we have to be careful, is all I say, okay?“ There is no time for Evan to respond - no need to object either way - the shorter boy already pushes down the door handle and they make their way to the great hall.
They walk in silence, pass staircases and portraits and settle down between their housemates, dorm mates, fellow students - not their friends anymore - in quiet alliance. They pass each other platters of food, eat as fast as they can, ignore the conversation around them. They meet each other‘s eyes. It’s there every time Evan looks up. That bond. That brotherhood. Unfamiliar but soothing. Unmistakable. And however drowning the pressure, however numbing the pain - Regulus sits right opposed to him, holding his gaze. Holding his trust. Holding the promise of that tiny amount of something. And for the first time since what feels like forever, Evan feels his lungs fill to their complete extent.
Not a single training session of his father, that made his muscles ache and drove him to his physical limit of exhaustion - that made him grow at least five centimetres in height and ten in width - has challenged his airway in the same manner - not the shallow line that comes with fear, it the secure one that follows deep rooted trust.
It is only interrupted as the dining hall begins to empty out - as several benches get pushed back and their occupants start to leave for their lessons. A tiny disruption. An unintentional one. Easily missed between the moving crowd and busy chatter. The gaze is steeled intention - A midnight hazel of haunting quality - so intensely directed that it leaves Evan breathless in between its abruptness. From the distance of four tables and the whole student body moving in between its rows of benches - Remus‘ eyes still hold a eerie glare, broken only by its on aversion to the other boy’s lap.
People move around Evan, get up for their classes, lever their cutlery behind, pick up their bags and continue their conversations - turn he cant bring his eyes - let alone his oily to move - stays in his seat stilted again. Unmoving like one of the levitated candles blazing against the darkening morning sky above.
Eventually even Remus leaves, giving way for Evan‘s eyes to find Regulus looking at him intently - one of the last Slytherins still occupying their table. And there is nothing else for Evan to do, than to get up with the other boy as well, to pick up his bag and leave his almost untouched breakfast behind, as something small collides with the side of his face. Unseen by the others around him the paperplane glides to the ground - settles softly on the stony floor of the great hall, right next to his feet. It’s unsuspected and brief. So out of place on the grey tiles. In an impulse he picks its up, stuffs it carefully into the pocket of his tightly fitting school robes and follows his friend out of the dining hall and down the corridor leading towards the dungeons.
He avoids Regulus‘ inquiring looks, sends a hopefully soothing blink back at the other boy and settles down next to him in the potions room. The lesson begins and the tension forming in Evan‘s throat only ebbs away when he finds the perfect opportunity between the lecture and their brewing task, to slip off to the bathrooms.
The door barely falls into the lock, before he already fumbles with the note in his pocket. With frantic fingers he unfolds it, blinking hard to make out its contents and sinks against the bathroom wall with a shuddered exhale of relief when he finishes to decipher the messy scribble on the crumbled up piece of parchment.
In the confidence of his solitary a muffled sob escapes him, as he presses the note to his aching chest and allows him a moment of muted hope.
All this time. All these hours that appeared to be piling up into an insurmountable mountain of terror and promised demise - this moment. This comparably short moment of vulnerability hasn’t turned out to be another one of his futile attempts. He has kept the poem. He didn‘t discard it, as Evan believed him to do. He kept it, like he kept looking. And however dangerous, however strange and unusually impossible - Evan relishes the relief. Nothing. I can never be something else. But maybe - maybe it could turn into just that tiny bit of something he has seen happening before - against all odds. Against the promise of impossibility.
And Evan laughs through his silent tears, as he stuffs the parchment piece inside his robe again and makes his way back to the lesson. He smiles the entire way back, the entire time throught the lesson. He meets Regulus‘ unsure gaze with all the positivity he feels swelling inside his chest and he doesn’t give a toss at the exploding cauldron in the back of the room. Instead he focuses in the text inside his book and hands the dark haired boy to his left a peeled root of ginger.
I got your poem, Rosier. Pick it up after curfew in the astronomy tower, or I‘ll burn it to ash. - R.
One sibling‘s sacrifice for the other sibling’s freedom.
Unnoticed, obscured - beneath my unmoving resilience, my stoically averted eyes - no approach, no justification - unmovable rockhard fabric where you‘d never expect human matter to crumble under its decision.
Not designed for your eyes to see anyway.
- liberty was made for the dreamers, the naive creationists - the unmutables the ones impossible to lock away.
- Designed for the ones who ought to be protected. -
„You scream you hate me - punish me with your silence afterwards“
- you run and you leave me behind - you were never not supposed to.
I carved out that door. I bashed in these windows. I drenched the floor in acid. I shut off the lights. All you had to do was leave - use what lay before you. You were never not supposed to.
And you may curse me from afar - for taking their name, accepting their legacy, consuming their pressure - their violence.
And you might never care to understand - my why.
And you might tell everyone you meet, how I left you, how you had to fight your way out to survive.
And I’ll watch - how that light on the island ashore burns on, how the sun breaks through the thickest storm clouds and illuminates the fields in its centre - at day - and at night, when the moonlight joins the stars above and settles over the land far away from here - caresses its villages, its beaches, the fields and mountains - and whatever I imagine to lay there.
And I’ll know.
Even if the world never will.
Even if you let my name burn in bright bonfires of rage and hatred.
I never intended to use it for me anyway.
# 77 (the poem my friend will never write - let me do it for you - however inaccurate it may be) E.R.