Chapter 2
Regulus has the eternity of The Rocky Horror Picture Show memorised. He got sick once when he was little and Sirius made him watch all of it. He recognises the dialogue now. Which is strange because ever since Sirius’ leave, the Black Manor has been near silent. His mother would never tolerate such a show. He opens his eyes.
“Crucio!”
Regulus slammed his eyes shut. A fearful whimper passes through his lips. If it were any other circumstances, he would be ashamed of the noise. His body is pulsing in pain and fresh greeny purple bruises cover his arms.
“Hi, dear.” A womans’ voice coos gently. Regulus jolts upright. Emphemia Potter sits in the chair near his feet. Her eyes are shrouded with sleep deprivation. Then, it all comes back.
His family toasts to Voldemort like every year. Regulus raises his glass halfheartedly. He doesn’t support Voldemort, he is just trying to survive. Sometimes, lines blur.
After the dinner is over, Regulus is called into the grand sitting room. His cousin Narcissa takes his hand. ‘Sorry’ she mouths. Regulus furrows his brows but doesn’t let go. His mother clinks the side of her glass with her spoon. The room falls quiet. Walburga clears her throat. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the Dark Lord’s growing strength as Regulus Arcturus Black- my son- receives the Dark Mark.
Everyone in the room turns to Regulus. The boy in questions’ throat constricts. He can not breathe. Regulus rips his hand out of Narcissa’ grip. Narcissa doesn’t put up much of a fight. “No!” He booms. Regulus knew this day was coming. His whole life has been a matter of being the perfect second heir to the Noble House Of Black and another future Death Eater. Now that everything is finally happening, he can’t do it.
Rodolphus LeStrange risks. “I told you, Walburga. He’s too young.” Walburga’s smile is sickly sweet and obviously fake. Regulus can practically see how he will pay for this defiance. He doesn’t like it one bit. The boy backs up, intending to escape to his room. He bumps into his other cousin’ chest. “Come on Little Black, Take the Mark. My life has been truly fulfilling since I commenced my service to the Dark Lord.” Bellatrix holds out her wrist.
Bella’s tattoo- her Mark- is a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. The snake seems to move on her skin. Regulus refrains from gagging at the thought of mirroring that on his own flesh. He knows what the Mark means. He can’t take it.
“No.” He repeats. His voice sounds less petulant this time. It is firm and emotionless. Just like his father taught him. Orion is sitting in the chair which his wife is perched on. The man has pursed lips and a stormy expression. Walburga turns a bit more serious. “Regulus Black, you will take the Dark Mark and honour our family by marrying Ms. Lovegood and producing more heirs with her.” Regulus couldn’t recognize his mother. This is the woman Sirius ran from. He understands her evil now. He sees it plain as day. Regulus had been viewing his parents through rose tinted glasses. Not anymore.
“No…” Regulus whispers
“Sirius!” Her mother yells. The name is like a slap across the face. Something must show on Regulus’ face because a new voice chimes in. A voice that didn’t ever dare to speak before. Regulus forgot he was even invited. “He’s a faggot like his brother!” Snape sneers. Regulus’ heart drops. Loud ringing rings in his ears. He can see everyone in the room mouths’ moving rapidly but none of the words penetrate his shocked haze.
Regulus is snapped out of his panicked thoughts by the loud drop of a heavy book. “Regulus,” Orion sits up, “is this true?” The boys’ first thought is to deny the claim. However, he cannot fathom marrying Pandora like his parents want. The sweet girl is his best friend. Despite what people say, they are purely platonic. Regulus opens his mouth to stall but Severus steps closer to him. “Watch.” He spits. “I’ll show you!” Snape raises his wand. “Legilimen!”
“NO!” Regulus cried. Agony ripped through him as his memories were broadcasted to Severus.
As if being watched, Regulus experienced the memories of his fourth year again. He had finally worked up the courage to glance at a Ravenclaw boy. He let his eyes linger on the boys’ tongue stud. Impure thoughts about the piercing rattled the fragments of his mind. A gasp he doesn’t remember from that day, meets his ears. “How dare you! Toujours Pur! Crucio!” Walburga screams. A green light flashes from her wand. Regulus falls to the ground. Pain beyond words fires through his body. The easiest way to describe the sensations is that Regulus’ blood is boiling and his skin is shrinking.
Choked sobs and screams wrack Regulus’ frame. Just as the pain subsides in a dull roar, his father speaks. “Crucio!” His deeper voice recasts the curse. Pain reignites in Regulus. The same crippling burn causes him to almost bite through his own tongue. Regulus’ tries to beg. He attempts to plead with his parents. They don’t listen.
His parents take turns. Just like how they did when Sirius refused the Mark. At that moment, Regulus is not himself. He is his older brother. As he cries on the floor, none of the onlookers move to help him. They watch. Perhaps this is how Sirius felt. Regulus remembers not being able to do anything as his parents tortured his brother. The Imperius Curse glued him in place. He thinks maybe he deserves this. Maybe this is payback for not helping Sirius that night.
So he grits his teeth and bears the pain.
He doesn’t fight, beg, plead, barter, or anything.
Silent tears stream down his face. Soon, he doesn’t even have energy to sob.
Walburga and Orion go on cursing Regulus for two hours. The clock in the corner of the room says it’s almost midnight. Operating on autopilot, Regulus goes through the motions he recalls doing for Sirius when he was Crucio’d.
The next thing Regulus’ knows, he’s on his way to the Potters. Then, it all goes black.
It’s not black now. The offending sunlight pours in from the two, big windows on each side of the room facing outwards. Euphemia Potter has a blanket at her feet and a glass of water in her left hand. She hands the glass over to Regulus. He accepts the drink, wafting it lightly to smell for any tampering. He knows he’s the enemy in this house. A snake in a lion's den. Regulus hopes he makes it out mentally unscathed. He doesn’t think it’ll matter if the Potters try to physically scar him. There is hardly any flesh unmarred on his body.
Regulus tentatively sips the cold water. He drains half the cup before placing it on one of the red coasters on the ottoman. “I am deeply sorry for coming here like I did last night.” Regulus apologises formally. A man scoffs behind him. Regulus immediately turns towards the noise. His vocal chords seize and a lump forms in his throat, blocking his words. Fleamont Potter approaches his wife and hands her a coffee mug. The casual look of adoration Euphemia sends her husband as she accepts the cup knocks Regulus completely off kilter.
Walburga and Orion would never look at each other like that. Such blatant affection is foreign in the Black Family House. Regulus’ skin crawls. He imagines the insurmountable rage he will endure when he returns to his family’s manor. Both for refusing the Mark, what Snape showed his family, and running off to the Potters of all places. The Potters. Regulus begins to squirm, his eyes darting towards the front door. His muscles protest the movement. So does his massive headache.
Euphemia pushes a steel tray with pills and a shot glass of water towards him. Regulus doesn’t think twice before downing both of the objects on the tray. Regulus would have healed himself of the aches with magic but he is so drained mentally, he couldn’t levitate a rock if he wanted to. The mere thought of anyone touching him right now makes bile rise in his throat. He just hopes what Euphemia gave him was painkillers.
”You have nothing to be sorry for, darling. Did something happen at home?” Euphemia asks calmly. Her tone is light in a condescending way. She knows what happened. It’s as if the woman is rubbing salt in the wound. A sarcastic response is on the tip of Regulus’ tongue. He swallows it down like always. After all, he is still a Pureblood. Born in ballroom shoes with a silver spoon in his mouth and champagne flute in hand. He might be disowned but you can’t take the upper classism out of him. “I’m afraid I am disowned now.” Regulus whispers hoarsely. He isn’t sure why his voice comes out so weak. He winces at the phantom voices of his parents lecturing him about confidence.
Mrs. Potter does not seem disturbed by the slipup though. The Potter’s aren’t within the inner circle of Pureblood Families for a reason. Maybe this is it. Euphemia purses her lips and looks to her husband. The couple appears to be having a conversation with just their eyes. Fleamont subtly nods once. “Why do you think that, dear?” Euphemia kindly presses. Regulus thinks about how everyone turned their backs on him last night when all was said and done. His hands fist the cushions he’s on. “My parents Sirius’d me. He was disowned.” Regulus’ explained
“‘Sirius’d’?” Fleamont repeats.
Regulus stares dead eyed at Fleamont. The man’s eyes widen and he puts his hands up in surrender. Steam is practically coming out of Euphemia’s ears. Her expression is as neutral as ever. The woman is obviously holding her emotions at bay. She clears her throat politely. “Did you come here last night because of Sirius?” Regulus doesn’t know what to say to that. He sticks to the truth. “Yes.” He says bluntly. “However, I would appreciate it if you would not alert him of my presence.” He stares at the couple with vacant, steely eyes.
Euphemia and Fleamont exchange matching looks. They seem to be communicating through only their eyes again. Regulus shifts. He tries to stand but his legs give out under him. Causing Regulus to collapse back down on the couch. Euphemia’s face drops. “What are you-”
“Home. Where I belong.” Regulus spits. “I thought you were disowned?” Fleamont retorts, a little more sceptical than his wife. Regulus slumps. He sighs, realising Fleamont is right. He doesn’t have a home to return to. He’s been Sirius’d. If Sirius had returned home after getting kicked out then their parents’ would have done worse than kill him.
New fear rushes through Regulus’ veins. He can’t be like his brother. He can’t. His hands start shaking. Regulus’ leg bounces anxiously. His breath speeds up so much they might take off and his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest. A dainty hand reaches out and places it on Regulus’ trembling one. Regulus jolts back, away from the outstretched hands. “-gulus, Regulus! Regulus, son, breathe!” Fleamont yells. Fresh air rushes in Regulus’ lungs. The sounds of his own blood overrides the sounds around him. One thing he does catch is, “-call Dumbledore.”
This snaps Regulus out of his panic. “No!” He exclaims. Dumbledore is definitely not allowed to know about what Regulus just escaped from. What can a singular, elderly wizard do against the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black? The outcome would certainly not help him in any way. It would just paint a brighter target on his back. He’s listened to his family and other Purebloods talk about Sirius after he left. Slurs and colourful language are thrown around like candy at the mention of the eldest Black brother. Regulus almost casted Silencio on himself to avoid defending his brother.
Fleamont stills where he’s walking. “We told him we’d notify him when you were conscious.” He informs. Chills pebble Regulus’ skin. He was hoping this whole weekend might go unnoticed. The couple has already blown that plan to bits. With Dumbledore being clued in on what happened there is no chance of him forgetting.
Euphemia studies Regulus for a long minute. She turns to her husband. “I don’t think Regulus is emotionally stable enough for company right now.” She says in a honeysuckle tone. Regulus briefly contemplates taking offence to that statement. It’s a running joke that all the Blacks go insane eventually. He always thought that was bullshit. He is about to voice as much when he notes the mischievous twinkle in Euphemia’s eyes. Something in the womans’ saccharine smile put Regulus at ease. Much like the smiles Regulus watches James shoot Lily Evans in the Great Hall.
Regulus fully slouches into the couch as Fleamont caves into his wife. “Fine. One day. Then you have to talk to Dumbledore with no pushback.” Fleamont sounds exactly like Orion right now. It’s a bit unnerving. However, his tough bravado is shattered by the smug smirk that spreads across the older mans’ face. “I’ll get Gully to start on breakfast. Poor lad has been halfway to a panic attack since we refused his aid this morning.” Fleamont exits the room, presumably to find the Potter House Elf.