cracked shells

Regulus wakes up with the sun peeking through the window. For a moment he sits there and tries to imagine it without opening his eyes. It isn’t hard--the sun shines through there every day like clockwork. He can feel it stinging the back of his retinas, even through his closed eyelids. 

His hair scratches at the back of his neck. If he weren’t so sleepy maybe he’d make a move to brush it out of the way. 

He turns his face away from the light at some point, some part of his mind hoping to fall asleep again. He shifts his shoulders with his head following after them and grabs onto the end of his pillow to wrap his arms around it. It’s just when he’s about to fade back into his dreams when his eyes suddenly crack open. 

He blinks a few times, trying to adjust to the fullness of the light as the events of the night before all come rushing back to him. Soon enough his eyes are fully open, and his back is flat against the bed as he stares up at the ceiling with wide eyes. 

It seems impossible, like he dreamed it somehow, but something’s clawing at the back of his mind and he can’t shake the feeling that maybe it wasn’t a dream. He’s hyper-aware of the feeling of his hands against the rough blanket on top of him, at the dryness itching at his skin and the scab on his thumb that he’d picked off the day before. His fingers curl into a fist and he feels his fingernails dig into the skin on his palms, though he can make out one of them a lot better than the other.

Maybe he’s like Paul in Dune. Born different, born special. He can’t be the Kwisatz Haderach , of course, since he doesn’t live on Caladan or Arrakis and he wasn’t born to any of the Great Houses, nor can he use the Voice, but what if something special is written in his blood like it is in Paul’s? What if he’s the type of person that people write books about?

Regulus turns his gaze towards Harry, watching as he peacefully sleeps. His face is smooshed against the pillow and his mouth is slightly open, emitting a light snoring sound each time he exhales. Regulus slowly rolls out of bed, carefully padding over to the edge of Harry’s bed and staring down at him as he sleeps. He slowly raises a hand, placing it on the older boy’s shoulder and shaking slightly. “Harry,” he whispers, glancing around the room. “I need to show you something.”

Harry mumbles something that Regulus can’t understand, and a second later his eyes are cracking open. “Hey, Reg. ‘Nother bad dream?”

Regulus quickly shakes his head. “I have to show you something.” 

Harry shifts so that his face isn’t so pressed up against the pillow, rubbing his eyes and moving so that he’s propping himself up on his elbow. “Everything okay?” Regulus can still hear the sleepiness in his voice, as if he’s going to collapse right back onto the mattress at any moment.

His mind is suddenly flooded with guilt. He could’ve waited a few more minutes, couldn’t he? Harry went to bed late the night before, and he could’ve used the extra hour of sleep if it wasn’t for Regulus waking him up. “I’m sorry.” He bites his lower lip, sinking backward towards his own bed.

Harry instantly sits up straighter, his eyes flickering across Regulus’ face. “What happened? What’s wrong?” He looks down at Regulus’ clenched fists as if he’s about to reach out and smooth his fingers out.

Regulus shakes his head quickly. “Nothing’s wrong, I just--,” he starts, then cuts himself off. He glances down at his hands, watching as his knuckles turn whiter as he squeezes his fingers together harder and harder.

Then Harry’s hands are there, just as Regulus imagined they’d be, gently lifting his fingernails away from the crescents they’d been digging into his palm. 

“What was it you were going to show me?”

Regulus’ eyes flicker up to Harry’s face, then back down to their hands. Harry’s are almost twice as large as his. He’s running a finger above Regulus’ burn and he can barely feel it. He bites his tongue.

“Regulus?”

“I--”

It sounds a lot sillier now. 

“You can tell me, it’s okay.”

Regulus looks up again to find Harry’s face right there, smiling gently at him. His face is blurry. It takes Regulus a second to realize he’s crying. He tries to blink the tears away, but it only serves to push them down his face.

“I made fire.” He spits the words out quickly, and it’s as if a vine slowly begins loosening from around his ribs with each word that falls from his lips. He sniffles, wiping his nose with the back of his hand as discreetly as he can. “I went to the bathroom and thought I could do magic like the fairy in the story did, and I know it’s stupid and magic isn’t real but I tried over and over again and it happened and I snapped and I opened my eyes and…” he swallows, “fire. In my hand.” He glances up at Harry’s face, a slight expression of disbelief written across his features. Regulus’ chest tightens. “I didn’t dream it, I swear. I promise I’m not lying, I promise.”

Harry’s voice is soft when he speaks again. “Regulus…”

“I’m not lying!” Regulus half-shouts. Harry leans slightly away from him, and his face falls. He can feel the tears start to run down his face again, and he covers his face with his hands. “I’m sorry.” 

“I believe you.” Harry carefully removes Regulus’ hands from his face, and the younger boy makes no move to resist.

“You do?” Regulus stares at him with wide eyes.

Harry pauses for a second, then: “Can you show me?”

Regulus freezes. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. Sure, he’d been excited to show Harry yesterday, but what if it doesn’t work now? It took him dozens of tries the night before to get it right--what if he can’t get it to happen again? What if he can’t get it ever again? He doesn’t want to look like a liar in front of him. Maybe he’ll take away Dune. Maybe he’ll never talk to Regulus again. He bites his lip again. It hurts. He carefully raises his hand, staring at the same fingertips he’d seen fire dance across the night before. 

He can’t do this. He can’t do this.

His hand snaps into a fist. He covers that hand with his other one. “Can I show you later?” He quietly asks.

Harry nods, that same gentle smile still on his face, but it doesn’t stretch all the way to his eyes like it normally does. Regulus can see something else there though. Worry. “Do you want to get something to eat?” He yawns, running a hand through his dark hair and moving to stand.

Regulus hums, watching as Harry slips across the room and into the bathroom.

“I’ll be right out, then we can go after you change, okay?”

The door closes after Regulus nods, and then he’s the only person awake left in the room. He looks down at his hands, eyes flickering between the unblemished and the scarred one. He raises the former, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to imagine the night before, trying to channel his thoughts the same way he did them.

He snaps.

His eyes open, and his stomach drops. Nothing. He shuts his eyes again and snaps, then again and again and again but nothing happens. 

Nothing happens.

He barely registers his breathing starting to pick up, and he’s forced to wipe at his eyes again to get rid of the tears scratching down his cheeks. Could it really have just been a dream? Was it just his mind playing tricks on him, running him around in circles just so he could let himself down, let Harry down?

Harry.

Regulus lied. He can’t bring the fire back, so it must’ve never happened. He woke Harry up early for nothing and now he has nothing to show for it. Regulus glances behind him at the closed bathroom door, distantly hearing the sound of running water at the tap.

He tries snapping one more time. His hands are left cold and empty, and he has no one to blame for it but himself. He runs his fingers through his knotted hair, pulling at the roots and squeezing back more tears. How could he have really thought it was real? Not only does he not remember who he is at five years old, he can’t even tell his dreams from reality. 

He should just leave before Harry can say anything, before Regulus lets him down even more, yet he can’t bring himself to move until the door opens again. Harry wordlessly motions for Regulus to change out of his pajamas, smiling over at him with a fresh set of clothes over his body. Regulus slides the bin out from under his bed and picks up the first set of items he sees: a pair of slightly torn pants and a shirt a few sizes too big for him. It takes everything in him to keep the tears from falling down his face as he rushes to the bathroom. Harry probably saw his red face, though, and the state of his hair. Regulus squeezes his eyes shut again at the thought, biting his tongue.

The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is his bloodshot face in the mirror, barely peeking over the top of the counter, the redness around his eyes making his gray irises look more green than anything else. He stares at himself for a second, then turns on the faucet to scrub his face clean. The water is ice cold, but he doesn’t flinch away from it. If anything he holds it against his face longer than he probably should.

It’s only when he realizes that he’s taking too much time does Regulus hurry to change and meet Harry outside. When he opens the door, the other boy’s head turns towards him with that same smile it always has, as if nothing happened. Regulus vaguely feels as though he’s about to vomit all over the floor. 

Harry takes the jacket folded over the end of his bed and hooks it around his shoulder, resting a hand on top of Regulus’ head as soon as he makes his way close enough to him.

“I need to get a hole in the jacket fixed soon, but I promise I’ll be back within the hour.”

Regulus feels the tears once again pressing against the backs of his eyes and nose. He sniffles, trying to get rid of it. “You’re leaving?”

Harry smiles sympathetically. “Not for long. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Regulus can’t help but think it’s because of him. He doesn’t realize his hands are back into fists until the pain radiating from his palms properly registers in his mind. When he doesn’t say anything in response, Harry nudges him on the shoulder.

“How about when I get back, we go out for ice cream again?”

“Ice cream?” Regulus glances up at him, blinking. He considers it for a moment. “Can I get chocolate this time?”

Harry grins. “Only for you.”

The pit in Regulus’ stomach loosens as a smile stretches across his face, and he walks down the stairs with his hand sliding easily against the railing. It’s almost fallen off the wall, but Regulus makes a point to grab onto it whenever he can. “Are you leaving now?”

Harry hums from somewhere behind him. “I’ll be just across the city. It’ll be boring--nothing you’d enjoy.”

Regulus doesn’t open his mouth to say it’d be ten times more enjoyable than sticking around here. He glances around the bar as soon as they get downstairs, already dreading the next few hours. It’s not that it’s necessarily bad here, it’s just that it’s so much better when he’s with Harry instead.

The other boy walks by and ruffles Regulus’ hair with a smile. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Regulus nods, a small smile on his face as he watches Harry adjust the jacket on his shoulder as he makes his way towards the exit. The door opens with an off-key ding from the bell hanging above it, and then he’s gone. 

He doesn’t stick around for much longer after that, instantly making his way away from the loud noises on the main serving floor and slipping into the kitchen. It’s not empty--it never is--but the people who are there know Regulus enough not to kick him out but not enough to bother talking to him. He silently slips past them and makes his way to the small table in the corner, stopping by the fridge first with the mission of finding some banana pudding.

He opens the door to the fridge and spots it tucked in the back, but it’s only when he snaps one of the portions off from the rest that he realizes it isn’t labeled banana at all, but rather chocolate. He stares at it for a moment, then glances back at the rest in the fridge. Surely enough, there’s two separate sets: one labeled banana and the other labeled chocolate. He shuts the door, content with his newfound discovery. 

Regulus nicks a spoon off of one of the counters and climbs the chair, unable to stop the small smile that creeps onto his face as he opens his pudding. He dips his spoon inside and takes a bite. His eyes instantly widen, and he stares down at the pudding like it’s promised to restore all of his memories right there on the spot. He hadn’t thought it could get any better than the banana, but this?

He finishes off the container within the minute. He quickly tosses it in the bin and returns to the fridge, glancing around once to make sure no one has an issue with it before quickly reopening the door and taking another portion of pudding. He eats that one slower, partially because he knows he shouldn’t eat a third one right now and also because he’s already gotten a reasonable serving with the first.

It’s while he’s eating it that he looks around the room properly for the first time that day. There are four other people back there, and while two of them are just mixing and passing along drinks, the other two are making food. Regulus doesn’t know exactly how they’re doing it, but he does know it smells good. Whether it’s as good as his chocolate pudding, he’s doubtful, but good nonetheless.

After he throws away that empty cup, he briefly considers grabbing a third one but ultimately decides against it. He wouldn’t want to drain the entire supply right away. Not to mention the fact that they aren’t even his to eat. He bites his cheek, looking at the trash with a guilty feeling spreading across his chest. He returns to his place at the table and refuses to look back at the bin, instead staring at the movements of the kitchen workers. He watches as they talk between each other, deducing that the two of them are in a relationship while another pair have obviously been friends for a while. He stares at those two the longest, watching as they laugh while they’re mixing the drinks and grinning at each other in some sort of secret joke between handing drinks out to customers. It’s hard to see them at times since they’re in a section half-connected to the kitchen (as they need to actually serve whoever comes into the bar) but whenever they step out of view Regulus finds himself craning his neck just to keep his eyes on them.

He wonders if he had someone like that. Sure, he has Harry as a friend now and it’s beyond wonderful, but he couldn’t imagine what it was like before. Would he have been lonely or did he have a person that fit into him like the other piece of a mold? Was it a friendship like those two boys there have--one where you know what the other is thinking based on a smile alone? Regulus doesn’t think so. If he had one, he can’t possibly imagine how he’d ended up here. If he had a friend like that, he thinks, then they’d have chased after him. He tucks his knees closer to his chest, watching silently as one of them rolls their eyes at a joke the other made. Regulus doesn’t know either of their names, but in that moment he wishes he were one of them. He’d do anything to be standing there right now, with a purpose in his hands and a person next to him who understands him effortlessly. 

His chest tightens, but he doesn’t dare let himself cry. Not over this. He just has to wait until Harry comes back.

The door flings open. Sam walks in, Charlotte trailing behind him with one of her friends. Regulus watches the two girls for a moment, but then Charlotte’s friend says a quick goodbye to her with a kiss on the cheek and suddenly it’s just the two of them. Sam snakes his arm around Charlotte’s waist and the two of them make their way over to where Regulus is, although they seem too tied up in their conversation to notice he’s there.

He tries to not stare at them as they approach him. It’s only when Sam’s a few feet away that he seems to notice Regulus is sitting beside him, and his face smooths over into an easy grin. 

“Regulus!” Sam pulls one of the other chairs out from the table and sits down. 

Charlotte quickly follows with the chair next to him, and she smiles softly at Regulus in greeting.

“What’re doing here?” Sam asks, his eyes bouncing across the room.

Regulus shrugs slightly, answering quietly. “Harry left and I was hungry.”

Sam’s eyes finally land on Regulus. “What’d you eat?”

“Pudding,” he responds, refusing to glance at the trash.

He nods in approval. “Banana again?”

Regulus pauses for longer than he normally would, opening his mouth and then closing it again. His eyes flicker to Charlotte, at her completely unblemished cheek. Everytime he looks at her it’s as if a ghost of Sam’s handprint is still there. “Chocolate.” He says it so quietly he’s surprised Sam can hear it.

“Oh, I’m glad you found it. Charlotte saw it the other day at the market and insisted we’d get some.” He grins over at her. “Although I think she probably just wanted to eat some of it for herself.”

Charlotte’s cheeks tint pink. “I got them for Regulus.” She looks at him. “Did you like it?”

Regulus nods immediately, a smile gracing his face. “They’re wonderful.”

“Better than the banana ones, right?” Charlotte offers playfully.

Regulus smiles, nodding again.

“I’ve always liked chocolate.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Of course you’d say that.”

She glares at him as if it isn’t the first time he’s said that. “Sam.”

“What?” He throws his hand up. “I’m just saying maybe it’d do you well to lay off it.”

Regulus watches as she bites her tongue and sinks into her seat. She stares at the table for a second, and for a second Regulus thinks she’s going to let it go before something in her face shifts and she’s suddenly sitting up straighter. “What do you mean by that?”

Sam laughs as if she’s making some sort of joke.

Regulus’ eyes flicker between the two of them, and he has the vague urge to scooch his chair away from the table. 

Charlotte does not look amused. “No, seriously, what?”

“Oh come off it, Lottie, I just--”

“Stop calling me that!” She explodes, standing up out of her chair and slamming her hands on the table. The kitchen freezes. Regulus watches as the employees all stare at them, frowning at her and whispering to each other with frowns painted on their faces. The only woman working there looks at her as if she’s doing something wrong, and she shakes her head and goes back to scraping at the grill.

Sam raises a brow. “Charlotte. Don’t you think you should calm down?” There’s something tighter in his expression now, and Regulus hates it. He can feel it in his chest, in the way his eyes can’t sit still between the two of them. 

“Oh fuck off, Samuel. I can’t put up with you anymore.”

Regulus faintly hears the murmurs from the rest of the staff, the whispers of disapproval and disappointment. It sinks into his skin and he becomes even more uncomfortable than he already is. He wants to run, yet he can’t take his eyes off of Charlotte’s face. 

She makes a move to turn around and storm out, but Sam reaches out and grabs her arm, twisting it so that she’s forced back into her seat.

“Stop,” whispers Regulus. Neither of them hear him.

Charlotte’s eyes are locked on his face, her eyes an unflinching blaze. “Sam.” 

“Get over yourself, Charlotte.” Sam scoffs, and Regulus stares at where his fingers tighten around her arm.

“Please stop.” Nobody hears him. He can’t tell if he’s saying the words out loud or if they’re trapped inside his head.

“Samuel--”

His hand flies out and slaps her across the face, dragging her head to the side and leaving the two of them painted perfectly still for a split second, just long enough for the horror of the scene to fully sink into Regulus’ brain. He’s screaming now, he has to be. They can’t hear them though. Nobody can hear him.

Then Charlotte turns her head back around, and it’s as if his handprint never left. Suddenly, she shouts and her fist is flying forward, knocking Sam’s head straight against the wall with a punch to his nose. 

Regulus can’t breathe. He needs to get out, he needs to not be here, he needs to get far far away from the two of them, from this.

Sam groans and presses a tender hand to his nose, his eyes widening in rage when they come back with blood. “You fucking bitch,” Sam screams, surging forward to grab her by the shoulders. She screams, high and loud and Regulus can’t bear to hear it or look at them or sit here or--

“STOP!” Regulus’ hands slam against the table in front of him, his eyes squeezing shut. There’s a moment there where everything goes still, where the only sounds he can hear are the roar of his heartbeat pounding in his head and his heavy breathing. 

Then Charlotte screams again, and his eyes open instinctively. It takes him a second to realize she’s staring at him and not Sam, and it takes him another second to realize the table is on fire. He rips his hands away, but the fire doesn’t stop.

“No,” Regulus begs, staring at the quickly growing flames on the table with wide eyes. He can see his handprints seared into the cheap tabletop, black against the slowly darkening brown wood. He’s out of the chair the next moment, but when he tries to turn to look at her he stumbles and tries to catch himself on the armrest. He feels the flames lick at his back before he sees them, and he hears himself scream somewhere outside of his body. 

His hands are on fire. His hands are on fire and he can’t make them stop. 

“You fucking monster,” Charlotte screams, her back pressed up against the wall as if she’s trying to melt into it and disappear. She’s staring at him the way she was staring at Sam, but it’s worse somehow. Instead of anger, the only thing he can see written across her face is fear.

“Wait, wait, I didn’t--” he tries to back away from her, but his back hits the opposite wall and suddenly the countertop is burning. This isn’t normal; fire doesn’t work like this and it can’t work like this but somehow the customers are screaming and running from the building and suddenly the fire is spreading. Regulus watches in silent horror as it leaks from his hands like weeds, sinking into the floor and running along the walls. 

He coughs, and suddenly his hands are flying to his face, trying to fan away the smoke that’s threatening to choke him. He turns, half expecting to find the kitchen empty when he trips over something on the ground. 

He immediately comes face to face with a set of lifeless eyes staring at him, the skin blackened and beginning to peel off of the face of the person--of the body lying there. He screams, and it cracks from the sheer rawness in his throat. He crawls backward across the floor as quickly as his arms can move him, and he doesn’t stop moving until he’s hitting his head against the fridge and sending a wave of black dots across his vision. 

He can’t think, can’t breathe with those eyes fastened on him, judging him even in death.

“I’m sorry.” He cries, hitting his head back against the fridge. He can’t bring himself to close his eyes or look away. He recognizes them now. He’d been watching him laugh with his friend not… ten minutes before? Was it twenty? “I’m sorry, I didn’t-- I’m sorry.”

He turns his head and almost chokes on his lungs. Charlotte’s staring at him too. They’re all staring at him. Each and every one of their eyes are boring into his face, into his hands, and he doesn’t know if he’s imagining being slowly ripped apart by them. 

Something falls in the other room. It’s enough to get Regulus to flinch, to get him to slowly stand up onto his feet and stare into the other room. It’s unrecognizable. There’s a board blocking the door--one that must’ve fallen from the ceiling--and Regulus doesn’t dare look down at the figures stretched across the floor before it. Another one falls and he screams, ducking his head and trying to squeeze his ears shut with his hands. They aren’t burning anymore, but they’re the only thing that’s not.

He blindly stumbles to the kitchen door, almost tripping off of his feet again but managing to barely catch himself on the wall. He walks out of the room and nothing changes. There are new eyes on him now, pinning him to where he stands. Burn with us, they scream. Regulus has half a mind to lay down and let them take him, but something stronger in his brain refuses it. He doesn’t know how he gets to the door, but one moment he’s by the kitchen and the other he’s attempting to pry the fallen wooden board away from the exit.

“Come on, please move, please.” It moves the slightest bit away from the door, then falls onto it again. He pulls again, letting himself scream with the effort of it and the train on his arms. It quickly dissolves into a string of coughs, but by then the board is crashing to the ground and he can’t bring himself to care. 

He tries to push the doors open but quickly remembers they’re the ones you have to pull open. His hands are shaking. He coughs again, forcing himself to stare at what’s blocking it on the floor. The eyes scratch down his back, cutting him open in a million different places but it doesn’t matter because he’s on his knees the next second, grabbing what used to be someone’s ankles and dragging them away from the door. He doesn’t know where he finds the strength. He doesn’t care. It’s better not to think, to let the eyes overwhelm him instead. He’ll do anything to get away from them. He moves another, then shifts an arm out of the way.

Finally, the door cracks open enough to let him through. He falls to the hard pavement, his lungs dissolving into another coughing fit. Someone grabs him by the shoulders, pulling him to his feet and away from the burning building. It’s then that he’s properly able to look upon it, to understand what he did. 

It shouldn’t have happened that fast. They should’ve had enough time to run, to get away from it, from him. It suddenly makes sense why he was left behind, why he was left with a burn of all things on his hand. It was a warning. Not to himself, but to others. Charlotte knew it; she said it just before she became another set of eyes. Monster.

There are voices around him, sets of hands running over his limbs as if checking for burns and injuries. He stares blankly at the building, at the fire slowly seeping into the upper floors. Sirens distantly ring across the city, coming for them. 

There are another two people beside him, but Regulus can’t make them out properly through the masses of bodies all moving around them.

It’s then when he hears it.

“ Regulus! ”

Every muscle in his body freezes. Harry. But his voice didn’t come from the crowd behind Regulus, or from down the street. It came from up there.

“No.” The word barely escapes from his mouth, but it wouldn’t matter either way.

The sirens are louder now.

“Regulus! ”

He’s not imagining it. The woman near him is wondering the same thing, staring up at the window with an expression of horror plastered across her face. “That poor boy,” she whispers, placing a hand on her chest. Regulus almost vomits. 

A girl stumbles out of the front door and two men catch her before she hits the ground. There are ugly burns stretched across her neck and arms, not to mention her face. Half of the hair on her head is completely gone, and she’s screaming so loud and so raw that Regulus almost doesn’t hear it when one of the floors above the bar explodes. 

He ducks his head into himself, the thoughts in his mind drowned out by the screams of alarm from the people around him. They’re not real screams. These people will go back to their families, to their homes and their kitchens and their beds and this’ll all be a story buried at the back of their minds. They’ll forget the sounds of their own screams.

Regulus can still hear Charlotte’s playing like a broken record at the back of his brain, scratching deeper and deeper into his mind as it bleeds and bleeds and bleeds.

He’s killed Harry. Some part of him wants to believe he imagined it, but he can’t escape what he knows to be the truth, not when he knows he did. All of Harry’s books are burnt to a crisp now. It takes Regulus a second to realize that it doesn’t matter to Harry anymore because he’s dead. Calling him another set of eyes feels wrong, even though that’s exactly what he is now. Staring at him even through the cracked walls of the bar. 

He can hear the whispering of the people picking up around him, their gazes slowly flickering towards him.

He never got to read To Kill A Mockingbird. He never got to get chocolate ice cream with Harry that day. He never got to finish Dune or show Harry his stupid trick with the fire. He can’t even begin to imagine why Harry was up there in the first place. It’s not like he’ll ever know. 

The slip with his name is gone, too. Regulus A. Black is only alive in his memory now. He doesn’t even have the handwriting anymore. He can’t judge whoever abandoned him there anymore. He’d do the same thing if he could.

He’s been untouched by the flames. It takes him a few seconds to fully process it, but the thought washes over him like a bucket of cold water. His clothes are fully intact, his hair has only changed by the soot covering it. There are two different types of eyes turned on him now. The lack of burns covering his limbs places him directly in the spotlight of it all, like a standalone light in a room full of hundreds of hungry moths. 

He does the only thing he can think of to do at that moment. 

He runs.