in all chaos, there is calculation
there's blood on the floor and blood on the walls and blood on his teeth, but regulus doesn't care. He doesn't care that he is ten minutes away from passing out on the wooden floor. He doesn't care that he is surrounded, quite literally, by death.
It's suffocating, all of it. The sharp sting on iron in the air, the echoing silence. harsh breaths that sound mechanical, like his body is forcing him to stay alive.
They're gone. They're gone and they're not coming back. They can't come back. Regulus has seen to it. It was brutal. Absolutely gruelling, but he did what had to be done. But he's just a child. He is nineteen and he has murder on his hands. He is nineteen and he stands between the bodies of his mother and his father. He is nineteen and he can taste their ghosts on his tongue. He is nineteen and he is free of the torture, of the harsh words, of the maniacal pureblood fanatics that ruled over his house.
He is nineteen and free - but at the same time he is sixteen and trembling with fear, suitcase in hand, as his parents point a wand to his face, eyes cold and stony. At the same time he is fourteen, waiting, waiting for his brother to come back home and take him away like he promised he would. At the same time he is twelve and Sitting between broken shards of a vase, bleeding from his knees as he stares at the tortured, twitching body of his brother.
At the same time, he is ten and he is knocking on the walls, hoping someone would hear him.
It doesn't take long, and as the realisation of what he has done hits him, regulus releases the knife from his grasp as it clatters on the floor. It's a lovely sight. Broken bodies, and their broken wands. It's a deadly sight. A broken boy and a single knife.
They never stood a chance.
They are dead.
And in a way, a part of regulus is too. Because even in death, they could never leave him alone.
And that is the last thought that passes his mind as he drops to his knees, swaying dangerously before falling face first on the bleeding floor - he is so so so tired - his wand rolling away, tucking itself in a dark corner, under the fluttering Slytherin flag and a large tapestry that reads Toujours Pur.
Well, so much for that.
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It is unfathomable, that he could ever be free in this house. Free to touch whatever he wanted. He keeps waiting for a curse to hit his back. Or a yell that would make him promptly drop whatever he was holding. Or the bang of a door -
"Regulus!"
the plate crashes on the floor, breaking into a million tiny peices, and just three at the same time.
They can't be back. It's impossible. He saw to it. He locked his room and left it to rot with his past - corroding, decaying, dead.
"Regulus!"
The voice is softer this time. And it's still frantic. But it's definitely not his parents. It's not angry enough to be. It's curious, and confused and in a way concerned.
Regulus turns around, eyes locking with one quite similar to his own. He punches out a breath.
"Sirius."
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Both brothers stand still, a table seperating the space between them. Their emotions are battling against each other. Neither of them knows how to feel anything about this current situation. One's eyes look concerned and confused. The others' filled with fear.
Regulus had sent a patronus as soon as he came to. It had taken him several tries, but it's quite hard to find a happy memory in Grimmauld Place. It had taken him several tries, before a flickering cat appeared before him, pawing the carpet and glowing faintly, blue and bright, and regulus had uttered three words before swishing his wand to send the cat away.
A moment later, he wished that he had let it stay.
He never expected Sirius to come back home. If he could call it home. After regulus had turned seventeen, Sirius had helped him escape the house. Neither of them had any hope that their plan would work.
The first time, regulus was fourteen and Sirius was barely breathing, before he tumbled and vanished into the floo, vanished from regulus' life forever. Regulus had to stay back.
The second time, regulus was fifteen, and Sirius had seen the bruise on his arms, and he had pleaded regulus to come home with him. Far away from the people he called mother and father. Regulus was scared. Regulus had been hurt.
Regulus had to stay back.
The third time, regulus was sixteen and their plan was underway. Naive and scared, regulus couldnt take one step out of the house before he was pulled back in, pale hands clawing on his skin and throwing him against the wall.
Regulus had to stay back.
The fourth time, regulus had turned seventeen. His birthday was a drab affair. His house was full and his smile was forced. He knew at least three girls who had been considered to be his betrothed. He had no plans of settling down. Not here anyways.
Regulus had to stay back.
Regulus ran.
He ran until he reached outside the wards and in a moment, he was swished away to a place quite unfamiliar to his mind.
Little did he know he would be calling this home.
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He had to come back home.
That was what the letter had told him. Didn't matter what he thought home was. His mother's words were clear and curt. He had to come back home. He knew his father was sick. And he knew it was a matter of a few weeks before the Black heir would be announced again. Walaburga needed her son to be there. And as much as regulus hated item despised it really, he felt it in his gut, an obligation, a promise.
He would at least get to see his father die.
Sirius wanted to go along with him. Regulus said no. Harsh words and a fight later, Regulus stood in front of his house again, shivering. Alone.
He has no memory of what happened. He remembers a hand, harsh and too familiar. He remembers a wand. He remembers the sound of a door locking, and he remembers seeing his father sitting on his bed. It was a surreal sight.
He remembers yelling, he remembers being in the floor, twitching. He remembers a floaty feeling, and he remembers a knife. Blood. Screams. Bodies dropping in the floor.
He remembers blood on the floor, and blood in his walls and blood in his teeth.
But thats all he remembers. And that's all he says. He can see sirius' eyes widen and he can see his fingers twitch, an unstoppable need to comfort his little brother.
And regulus has blood on his hands too. He's still Sirius' little brother.
"Oh, Reggie. I told you. I told you."
his voice was broken, like he was approaching a wounded animal. Regulus didn't blame him.
Regulus can't speak, he tries, but he can't speak anymore. But he leads Sirius to his room, unlocking it with his wand hand ready to cast ... well, anything. his brother mirrors his movement, and somehow that fills regulus with a warm happy feeling.
The door creaks open and Sirius draws in a sharp breath.
regulus looks at his line of sight. Ah yes. That little problem.
" we need to get rid of the bodies."
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Both of them have spoken less than ten words to each other in the span of an hour and they are currently standing by regulus' door, sirius' gaze a mix of horrified and impressed as he stares at the bodies and regulus looking towards where he dropped the knife, still bloody
"Well this stinks," Sirius raises an eyebrow at his brother. " And I mean it literally. I'm so proud of you, do you know that."
And oh, he didn't. Not fully. He's not sure he's even heard that statement ever. Not from his brother anyway. Pandora says it when he touches the threstals. Barty says it jokingly when he needs to act like a little shit. James says it to him, literally, all the time. Evan said it to him once, when he made the team and Dorcas has let every single one of them know she loves and admired them so much.
Never his brother. He's always shown it, but hearing it... especially considering what he had done ?
"Reggie? You with me?" Sirius' voice flows in his brain, and yeah he hasn't responded yet.
Regulus snorts, shaking his head out of his stupor, " This is why you're proud of me? You're mental. "
And possibly for the first time ever, regulus has seen a full blown genuine smile bloom in Grimmauld place. It's a flower, so bright and so out of place in this house, that the air vibrates, shakes, and shatters and somehow it feels like home.
Just for a moment. Till they remember the bodies.
"Burn them?"
"Burn them."