II. Adagio cantabile
His eyes, his love, so fair
My eyes, a willing prisoner there
Those eyes, my boundless, starlit sky
I cannot but lie under the darkest night
- Regulus Black (1850-1888)
September 1984 (Reincarnation 4)
Regulus loved his job, just not his co-workers.
“Reggie-roo, my man!” Benji waltzed into the archive room like a boss. Regulus rolled his eyes as he finished packing a box of nineteenth-century literature in a box for the deep freeze.
“It's Regulu-”
"Radical! Anyway, guess what?" Benji leaned on a shelf that looked older than dirt, making it wobble like a disco dancer or like a bad acid trip. "The loony bin, right? Yeah so like, they wanna ditch all their old crazy files and stuff with us, and they need someone to wade through that mess."
"The asylum? Are you going then?" He said only half listening as he taped the box shut.
"Nah, brah, got a hot date," Benji said, snatching the box from his hands. "So, figured you could, you know, lend a helping hand."
"Hold up," Regulus protested, "you didn't even ask if I'm busy?"
Benji raised an eyebrow. "Busy doin' what? Exactly. See ya later, alligator! Be there at 4 tomorrow, or else!" And with that, he peaced out, leaving Regulus with a grody feeling and a room full of dusty books.
—
When Regulus arrived at the old building he was greeted with a smile from a girl with dark hair and dark eyes.
“Hello, I’m Emmaline. You’re from the Archive right?” She said, shaking his hand. He nodded and she spun around on her heel.
“Sweet, let me take you to the records room.”
Lancaster Moor Hospital had stone walls that had started to lose their colour and an eeriness that Regulus could not shake. People still inhabited the place and Emmaline would wave to nurses and patients as they walked.
“Why do you want us to archive records when you're still a functioning hospital?” Regulus asked, following her into a room with tall shelves and pages strewn over the floor.
“We are planning on shutting down in a few years, these old records are from the nineteenth century, I hardly doubt we’ll need any of them but I’d still like to keep history alive.”
She gestured to the room they were in and headed for the door. “Everything you need is in here, organise it or just pack it all into your car, I don't care much. No one will bother you, if you need help just ask a nurse.”
She speeds out of the room, most likely still on duty and in a rush to get back to her patients. Regulus sets down his bag and gets to organise files into specific boxes. There are so many patient files that need to be sorted through as well as loose papers that have all been discarded in a file holder. Regulus sets his mind on that first. He sifts through the parchments. Some have been covered in charcoal and show detailed scenes of the inside of the hospital. Most likely from when it was still an asylum. He stumbles upon a few parchments with poems. None of them are well written. The penmanship is scrawly and messy. There’s one that stands out to Regulus among the few that are there. The cursive handwriting is difficult to read but the words are profound.
My love, I have been taken
You took me, you held me
Our love has been forsaken
In this dark damp city
Do you remember?
Our city is love, you are sun
Our love started an ember
Embers burn, we are one
My love, I have been taken
Regulus feels like he’s read it before. But he couldn't have. They’ve been here since the late 19th century collecting dust and brewing in the smell of old books. He reads it. Then rereads it.
He stashes it in his pocket for safekeeping, continuing on with his job.
On the train platform on his way home after delivering all the files back to the asylum, he passes by the man with round tea shade glasses. It's enough to knock his book out of his hands and onto the pavement. The man seems in a hurry but bends down to pick it up for him. He hands Regulus his book and apologises before walking away. When he’s gone, Regulus feels cold as he tugs his jacket closer around him. It's only once he’s on the train and halfway home that he feels the parchment in his pocket. It’s only one poem. What harm would it do to keep it?
—
James is in a rush to meet up with Sirius. He’d supposed to have left a while ago but his thoughts kept him occupied. He’s on the train platform finally running to catch the train that was stopping. A short man with dark hair is reading as he walks towards the train. A stark difference to James whose energy is boundless. James doesn't even notice him there. Not until their bodies crash into each other and the book falls. James apologises countless times. Shit, he messed up in front of a really attractive guy. Shit. The train hoots and James hurriedly hands the fallen book to the man before boarding the train.
The train ride feels endless with the amount of energy he composes. When he sees Sirius he apologises extensively for his lateness. They drive in Sirius’ car to a manor in Lancaster. For the past year and a bit they've been trying to find a house that with the combined money they got from their families, they can buy and renovate. When they pull up to the manor, James looks at the plants that have occupied the house since the last owners left.
The ivy creeps up the walls and through the window. Wildflowers show their colours at the front door, winding around the handle and up the stairs. It's somewhat beautiful. Sirius picks the lock and shoves the heavy door open with his shoulder. When they enter, a thick cloud of dust is upheaved with the wind. Sirius covers his mouth with his sleeve and James follows. The place is eerily silent. Not a sound echoes throughout besides the steps they take. They roam around the first floor. Everything seems like it has been trapped within a stasis. It looks the same as what James presumes it did back when it was still in use. The dining table is lined with old plates and dead flowers in a vase in the centre. The place looks magical. Like home.
Upstairs at the end of the corridor is a painting. Two hands, intertwined. A smaller, more fragile one and a larger one. The brushstrokes are delicate. James just wants to reach over and touch it. He can imagine it, up on the wall in this same hallway and the place lit up with laughter.
“This one,” James says, breaking the silence, “This is the house.”
“Yeah?”
“Definitely.”
—
June 2024 (Reincarnation 5)
en.wikipedia/org//wiki/Regulus_Arcturus_Black
Regulus Arcturus Black (June 25, 1850 - August 23, 1888) was a British poet born on Pendle Hill. He is regarded as one of the most interesting poets of his time. Black was born in Lancashire, England, into a prominent family with strong ties to upper-class communities. Of his 250 poems, six were lost at the Lancaster Lunatic Asylum. There he was treated for hallucinations. He spent four months there before escaping with fellow patient Remus John Lupin in September of 1867.
Regulus had an older brother, Sirius Orion Black, who was killed by a witch hunter in the March of 1867. On account of his parents, Black was very affected by the death of his brother and later suffered from dementia praecox and manic depressive insanity (now called Schizoaffective Disorder). It is very unlikely that Black ever actually suffered from the disorder as many diagnoses of the time were unjustified.
After escaping Lancashire Lunatic Asylum in 1867, Black and Lupin were discovered in 1878 in Kent and assessed before continuing as they had been.
Black's first poems had been written at the asylum and were lost. However, poems written from 1867 and onwards often describe a lover and themes of death. While nothing was known about Black’s love life, his poems referred to ‘his eyes, his love’ suggesting that he was in love with another man.
On August 23, 1888, after days of sickness, Regulus Black died at the age of 38. Lupin read an excerpt from Wuthering Heights, Black’s favourite novel, at the funeral a week later.
—
Peter was so sick of it.
Every single day without fail, James would get up at 6 am go for a run, grab a coffee and at 8 am sharp walk into the gallery as soon as it opened. Peter once suggested that he just get a job there since he’s there the majority of the time. James just said that it’d ruin the art. But Peter can’t deal with it. Surely James needed an intervention. He needed to take a fucking break from the gallery.
Petey pie to Marmalade
Petey pie: Marlene
Marmalade: wow dude the full name, what did I do?
Petey pie: James needs an intervention
Marmalade: the gallery?
Petey pie: yes
Marmalade: I honestly don’t get what’s so interesting about the gallery, let’s do it.
—
Regulus liked the gallery. At least that was the lie he told his friends. Actually no, that's also a lie. Galleries are all nice, he likes them. But this one is... What sucks is that he made this a job. That’s why he despises coming here every day. Some part of it though, feels like home. Every time those doors open the families and couples start walking in. As well as that really attractive guy with glasses who comes every day without fail. But today was a bad day. Regulus never has bad days. At least not when it comes to being at the gallery. Today when the doors open it feels like only half his heart is in his body. The children come in, the couples come in. The glasses guy never gets there. Regulus’ first thought is what happened, is he okay? But then he remembers that there is no obligation to come to the gallery, he can miss a day if he wants to. Regulus feels wrong for the rest of the day. Something is off. His heart beats faster. His eyes dart around the place. He is not doing well. When he gets home that day he curls up on the couch and waits for Barty to get home. When the door unlocks, Regulus doesn’t need to say anything and Barty is by his side. They watch movies and eat ice cream. Barty doesn’t ask. He doesn’t need to. When Regulus is looking out his window before falling asleep that night. He wishes on his star that the guy with glasses will be there tomorrow.
—
They kept him from the gallery. Those fucking nitwits. James knows they only mean well. His skin prickled with a desperate itch to be there. So, the next day, when his confinement lifted, James practically sprinted. Perhaps adrenaline had skewed his perception of time because he arrived a mere seven minutes before the gallery opened. When the doors open he beelines for the painting. It’s James’ favourite. The artist was unknown and the painting was found in the wreck of a burnt house. The scene depicted a meadow surrounded by oak trees. Beneath one, two boys sat. One bore an uncanny resemblance to James himself, the other was engrossed in a blue book. The latter of which had what looked to be the softest hair. James wanted to reach out and touch it. All James did, every day, was sit at the bench facing the painting and look. People often stood in front of him to have a fleeting look but James didn't mind. They got to have it for a minute, James got it for a day. When the place started to empty and the traffic slowed down, James took a look at his phone. 5:47 pm. Soon he’d be told to leave but he didn't want to go just yet. When he looked up his view of the painting was obstructed. A head of black hair faced him. James wanted to reach out and touch it to see if it was as soft as it looked. Shit. Fuck. James choked on his thoughts, effectively hiding it behind a cough. The person in front of him turned around to face him. Those eyes. Shit. James was a goner. This man, this beauty in front of him was going to be the death of him. “Oh I'm sorry, was I in your way?” Jesus Christ. His voice. He got up from the bench and took a few steps toward the man. “No you're alright I was just about to start heading home anyways.” They stood in front of each other, a few paces from the painting. “Uh, I’m Regulus, I- uh I work here,” He put his hand out to shake. It's been a while since James was greeted with a handshake.
“Regulus. Like the poet who escaped an asylum?”
“Exactly like the poet.”
James took his hand and replied, “I’m James.”
It's like everything clicked. And Regulus cracked a soft smile.
“Would you want to grab dinner with me?” Regulus asked softly.
“Right now?”
“If you want.”
James grabbed Regulus’ hand again and they walked out of the gallery together.
James’ heart beat fast. His smile grew wider. He was home.
I knew I’d find you again, my love