Regulus stares at the pathway, doubt growing in his stomach. He swallows sharply as the pain on his side grows heavier, splotches appearing in his vision. He doesn’t want to do this. This place holds his future, the rest of his life. Who knows who he’ll become here. But he knows what he’ll be if he walks away from it now. Dead.
Regulus walks down the path, staggering through the woods. The gash on his side leaves a trail of maroon patches on the ground, sinking deep into the earth. He grits his teeth as he tries to catch his breath. There’s a sound of rustling leaves from behind him as he nears a large oak tree. Regulus’s fingers tremble as he grasps a stick from the ground, a feeble attempt at defense. He keeps his right hand firmly on his side, hissing every time his finger press too hard.
There’s more rustling from the woods. Regulus presses his back against the oak tree, anticipating the creature. It chased him here from London, gave him the gash below his hip. It’ll end him, right here, limbs going cold under the quivering oak tree above him. He holds the stick in front of him, knowing how little it will do. His breath comes in sharp intakes.
In and out
In and
In—-
The creature jumps from the brush, growling like an insane beast. Regulus holds his breath as it nears him, its yellow eyes filled with mirth. Fuck, it’s really happening. He’s going to die without seeing Sirius again. It will all have been for nothing.
The beast snarls, crazed, and Regulus feels himself slip. His head feels too light for his body and he can’t make sense of where he is. It’s torture, being held here in anticipation, waiting for his death.
kill me now, he wants to plead. I deserve this.
In and out
In and out
Regulus forces his breath out of his lungs. He’ll die breathing.
In and out.
In and
In——
He’s grazed with the sharp talon of a claw on his cheek, slicing down his neck. Blood pools in his vision, making it hard to think, hard to feel. He knows the cut is deep. Feels it like a canyon in his skin, paralyzing his body. He thinks the creature will go in for another strike and braces himself the best he can, but the blow never hits.
Instead, a figure, tall and strong, appears from the other side of the tree. Regulus watches dazedly as the boy fights the creature, a shiny sword in his hand. Regulus feels lucid; head spinning from loss of blood. He grips the tree bark hard, trying to regain control, but failing immensely. His blood creates dark shadows in the ground, staining it like wine on a tablecloth. His vision spins as he watches the creature die, dispersing into bits of air. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing seems to make any sense. The boy, who merely suffered a knee scrap from the beast, approaches Regulus. He drops his sword on the ground and it disappears into air, just like the beast he just killed. Regulus can’t do anything when the boy gets near him. A tan hand traces his face, and Regulus wants to cry. It’s so soft. It’s the gentlest touch he’s ever known. His mouth won’t move, words won’t form past the blood coursing down his body. So he can’t argue when the boy holds him, carries him through the woods, along the path. Somewhere along the way he passes out, mind fading to a faraway land of his imagination. Somewhere in his mind, a boy holds him and whispers sweet nothings in his ears. He feels at peace here, in this dreamworld. He feels at home.