The Closet
“Mr. Black? Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I asked if you were ok, Mr. Black.”
“I’m fine, thank you sir.”
Dumbledoor studies him from across the table. “I understand you still live with your parents, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But your brother does not?”
Regulus grits his teeth. “No, sir. He lives with the Potters now.”
“Quite right. And do you know if your parents are in contact with a man who calls himself ‘Lord Voldemort’?”
“I don’t believe so, sir. No.”
“Are you sure, Mr. Black? We’ve gotten multiple reports of death eater meetings being held at your current place of residence.”
How does he know that? Was there a mole? “Not to my knowledge, sir. I doubt my parents would get involved with anything that dangerous.”
“I see. And would you?”
“Would I, sir?”
“Would you get involved with something that dangerous?”
Regulus meets his eyes. “No, sir.”
“Is there anything you want to tell me, Mr. Black?”
“No, sir.”
“Return to your classes, Mr. Black. We will talk again.”
Regulus makes sure the door didn’t slam on his way out.
----
Regulus doesn’t mind the Chamber. Really. It’s dark and cold and smells like rotting mildew- but somehow Regulus fits in there. It's as if his bones have settled among those of the rats that line the corridors. Some part of him is just as at home there with the snakes and the grey marble as he is back at Grimmauld Place. There is something inside him just as dark as Salazar's statue’s gaping mouth.
After his first little miss-adventure, he’d done his research. As much as he could, anyway. He’d gotten that book back from Lupin and had about a thirty-minute conversation with the mini basilisk before Potter showed up. He learned that the basilisk’s sense of smell is one of their strongest. He learned that no one, absolutely no one, has control over them- contrary to what Professor Kettleburn said. He learned normal curses wouldn’t work. The basilisk's scales were too thick. The only way to kill a basilisk, the book-snake said, was the cry of a rooster. This was unhelpful, as Regulus didn’t want to actually kill the thing. So he adapted. He had a plan this time around. Unfortunately- it relied on trust. Something Regulus isn't known for. He’s been to the chamber a few times since the first, gaining confidence with each visit. Something has yet to go horribly wrong, but it's only a matter of time.
Regulus’s footfalls echo off the walls as he walks briskly down the hall towards the main chamber. He notices the shirt he’d left last time is flung over one of the snake statues, torn nearly in half. He’s started leaving clothing after his second visit. He figures that the Basilisk best get used to Regulus’s scent if it won’t be able to see him. Most of the clothes have been scattered and destroyed.
He steps into the main chamber, tilting his head to regard the looming statue coolly. Salazar Slytherin’s eyes seem to follow him wherever he moves. After a while, Regulus found it's best to meet the statue's gaze immediately; get it out of the way.
Regulus grabs a pebble off the ground and shoves it in his pocket. He takes out a pair of trousers from his satchel and lays them in the middle of the chamber. Then he crosses to the statue and begins to climb the slippery marble folds of its beard. He makes his way to the very top of Salazar’s bald head, lowering himself down into a crouch. He bends forward, and with practiced aim, chucks the pebble up Salazar's mouth as hard as he can. He leans back and waits.
There is always a moment, right before the Basilisk appears and he casts the blinding curse, of pure anticipation. Regulus tries to calm his nerves by reading his wand, shutting his eyes and focusing on listening for the snake's scales against the tunnel below him. Usually he can keep all his attention on waiting for the sound of the snake, the moment to strike. Today, though, he can feel his thoughts slipping. Slipping to dark curls and a sparkling grin. He wonders what James has thought that day when Sirius showed up on his doorstep. Did he ever even think about Regulus? Did Sirius? Did James hate Regulus as much as Regulus hated him? Because Regulus does hate him. Truly hate him. He can still remember the day that Sirius came home from school, boasting about his new best mate James. Can still see the look in Sirius’s eyes. That was the day that Regulus knew, really knew, that he would never get Sirius back. He’d been lost; to the school, to his new friends, to those stupid Potters. And then, the next year, on Regulus’s first day, Sirius had dragged him into his train compartment. Introduced him to everyone. And when James reached out to shake his hand, he’d smiled, eyes glittering, and Regulus had to leave. Because at 11 years old he didn’t know much, but he knew that his Maman wouldn’t approve of whatever feelings were bubbling in his stomach. So he’d risen to his feet and stalked out of the compartment, leaving Sirius and his friends inside. He was pretty sure James still had his hand extended when he let the doors slam.
He isn’t sure what has tipped him off to the Basilisk’s imminent strike. It could’ve been the small gust of air he’d felt when the snake lunged. It could’ve been simple intuition. Either way, he instinctively throws himself to the side, keeping his eyes shut. He hears the snap of a jaw right where he is crouching. He scrambles for even footing on the statue, eyes still closed. He can’t risk opening them, not for anything. He lunges forward again, away from the snake.
Shit.
He’d miscalculated.
Regulus’s stomach plummets as he tumbles through the air. He’s overshot in his blind state, accidentally throwing himself off the statue's head. He lands hard on his ankle. He feels the bone snap. This is bad. The pain shoots through him, and he grits his teeth with a small whimper. He immediately pulls himself forward, dragging his body across the ground. He can’t stay in one spot for too long. Not when the snake can see and he can’t. He feels the panic in the back of his throat. He’s so vulnerable . Too vulnerable. He rolls again and hears the snake’s scales against the marble, closing in. He pulls himself onto his knees and tries not to cry out in pain, ankle throbbing. He angles his face directly down and opens his eyes a sliver, making sure to only stare directly at the ground below him. In his peripheral vision, Regulus can see the body of the basilisk, moving at a rapid rate towards him. He points his wand at where he assumes the head is, and sends out a silent prayer.
“Conjunctivitis!” his voice cracks, but the roar of the basilisk somewhere above him tells him he’s hit his mark. He rolls away one more time for good measure, landing on his back. He hesitantly opens his eyes, slowly at first, then all the way once he confirms the basilisk’s eyes have swollen shut. The creature is letting out raw sounds of desperation, thrashing its head every which way. Regulus pulls himself backward till his back rests against the statue’s cheek. He stretches his leg out in front of him, wincing at the movement. He takes a deep breath.
Ok. So. This. This is maybe worse than Regulus had originally thought. So much for things not going horribly wrong.
His ankle is definitely broken. He can try a healing charm, but the one concerning broken bones is dangerous. Still- he doesn’t really have any other options. Before that though, he has to get himself out of reach of the ever-more furious basilisk. Stuffing his wand in his pocket, he drags himself up, clinging to the statue. He does his best to put all his weight on his good leg, but can’t help the small sob that escapes his throat. He grabs a ledge above him- the statue's hair- and begins to laboriously pull himself up. His arms tremble with the effort, his heart racing. He seriously hopes the basilisk isn’t coming at him that very moment. He knows he wouldn’t be able to dodge. And then he’s throwing himself onto the ledge and collapsing in an undignified heap, gasping. He pulls himself up until he’s sitting. He glances back at the basilisk. It’s wildly tossing its head around, furious in its blindness. Its hisses are desperate and painful.
Can’t see. Can’t see. Can’t see.Again, again.
Regulus regards it coolly. Stop complaining. You’re fine. The parseltongue is starting to come easier now- it seems the skill improves with regular use.
To its credit, the basilisk calms slightly, turning to face Regulus slowly. I smell pain. I'll make more.
If you kill me, who will give you your sight back? You need me. Regulus is a bit tired of repeating himself every time he visits, but he’s run out of ideas- and the Basilisk is right about one thing. He is in quite a bit of pain.
The Basilisk seems to consider this. Let me see.
No. You’ll try to eat me.
Yes.
Regulus rolls his eyes. He focuses his energy back on his leg, lifting his trousers around his ankle slightly. It’s swollen and purple- not good.
“Shit,” he mutters, in English. He digs his wand out of his pocket and points it at his ankle. He refuses to let his hand tremble. It’s difficult, dangerous to do it on yourself. He knows the spell well- Salazar knows he’d had to use it before. Too many times. Mostly on Sirius, but since he’d left… Regulus has had to adapt.
Fear. The basilisk flicks its tongue out, tasting the air.
I’m not afraid. Regulus isn’t sure who he’s trying to convince. He steadies his hand and takes a deep breath. “Brackium Emendo.”
The pain shoots through him once again, doubling him over and sending him gasping. Once the initial wave has passed, he tentatively rolls his ankle. He bites his lip to stop the cry of pain. The spell hasn’t failed exactly… but it hasn't worked either. His ankle is better, but not healed. He doesn't know if he’s going to be able to walk on it. He doesn’t have a choice. Attempting the spell again is too risky.
More pain. Good. The basilisk slithers slightly closer.
You make yourself really easy to get on with, Regulus grumbles, scooting till his legs are dangling off the edge of the ledge. There’s about two feet of space between his feet and the ground. He’ll have to jump. He lowers himself as much as possible and then drops, landing hard on both feet. He swears and slams his eyes shut against the pain, grabbing the cool rock for support.
Eat. The basilisk is getting closer. Regulus knows, logically, that it won’t attack. Not while it’s blind. But he also knows that he’s in a weakened state and that the basilisk is very hungry. Tentatively, he takes his first step.
It hurts. Bad.
He doesn’t stop.
Regulus crosses the chamber slowly, avoiding the blind monster as much as possible. Once he reaches the entrance to the tunnel, he pauses. He could cast the counter curse and give the serpent its sight back. There were flaws in that plan. He knows the serpent would immediately attack when it no longer had a reason to keep Regulus alive. Normally he would just make a break for it- sprint until he could shut the snake door behind him and lock it. That wasn’t an option now. He could go wait at the snake door and give the basilisk its sight back then, but the snake would be too close for a guaranteed exit. He could leave the snake blind- but he knew if he did that he would never succeed. All trust- all potential trust- would be lost.
Give me sight, the basilisk hisses, sensing his indecision. Regulus grits his teeth.
He calmly points his wand at the beast, steadying himself. There’s really no other option. “Oculus.”
The snake blinks once, twice, and then immediately lunges for Regulus. He throws himself to the side, stumbling. He limps towards the door, reaching back when he can and firing stunning spells at the basilisk blindly. They all bounce off its shiny scales. He keeps his eyes on the door in front of him. The basilisk lunges again, this time from the side. Regulus dodges left, only for the beast’s tail to send him flying the other direction. Pain explodes across his side. Regulus knows instantly he’s broken some ribs. He gets to his feet, turning his head as far away from the basilisk as possible, sending more curses its way. They seem to be the only thing slowing it down. He moves again towards the door, making progress. He dodges again, his shoes slipping in the clear streams that run down the outsides of the corridors.
With the basilisk right behind him, Regulus throws himself through the door, instantly hissing it close and locking it with a spell. He hears the angry thumps of the basilisk on the other side. He gasps and slides down the wall, no longer able to support himself. Regulus takes a shaky breath, dropping his head into his hand. Ow. He tentatively probes his face. He must’ve bruised his cheekbone when he fell from the statue.
He takes careful stock of his injuries. A hurt ankle, to what degree he isn’t certain, but definitely not something he should be walking on. Some broken ribs, which are currently throbbing painfully. Top it all off with a bruise growing on his cheek. Lovely.
He looks towards the tunnel that leads up to the girls' bathroom. It’s enough of a struggle with two working legs. He doesn’t know how he’s going to do it with one.
He limps over to the entrance. It’s steep- so steep he regularly needs to awkwardly crawl his way up the tight shaft. He pushes himself into the tunnel and begins to drag himself up it. It’s hell. His side is screaming in agony, his leg not much better. It’s normally an awkward ordeal but this… this is just embarrassing.
When Regulus was little, his mother had made him and Sirius run up and down all the stairs in their house until they couldn’t stand. Sometimes even that wasn’t enough to stop her. She would stand at the bottom, stopwatch in her hand, the magical ticking somehow amplified throughout the house till it rang in Regulus’s ears like a bell.
“Physical strength is just as important as mental,” Walburga’s sharp nails tapping impatiently on the banister. “Regulus. Faster.”
Regulus had always been slightly weaker than Sirius. And tripping up the stairs behind his brother, he could feel it. Tears began to gather in his eyes as he stumbled again, landing hard on his knees. Sirius paused- only briefly, and grabbed for Regulus’s arm, pulling him up.
“You need to keep going, Reggie,” Sirius’s voice was a rushed whisper. “Keep going. I promise it’ll hurt worse to stop.”
Regulus let out a choked sob and dragged himself further up the stairs, every muscle in his body screaming. He found it hard to believe that stopping would be worse than this; watching Sirius vomit over the side of the railing above him. His mother growled, low in her throat and slashed out with her wand, opening a gash in Sirius’s arm. “Pull yourself together. Keep going.” His cry of pain was lost to the sound of the stopwatch.
Here, in the steep tunnel up to the school, Regulus can almost swear he can hear the ticking. It rings through his head with every throb of his ribs, till it’s all he can hear. He pushes himself up the shaft, gritting his teeth.
When Sirius had received two gashes, one on his arm and one on his side, Regulus stopped. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t make his legs keep moving. He collapsed on to the stairs, gasping. He watched Sirius, as if in slow motion, turn and somehow get to him, grabbing at him with harsh pleas.
“Please, Reggie- I need you to keep going, you have to keep going-” His hands were fisted in Regulus’s shirt, pulling, pulling.
Regulus watched as Walburga rose up the steps, wand ready. He watched as she raised it- not at him, but at Sirius above him. He closed his eyes against the sound of the Cruiatus curse, Sirius’s screams. He knew what that meant- not for Sirius, but for himself. For later. He was so tired. He just wanted to sleep.
Regulus can almost see the top of the shaft now, the light peeking through the darkness. Or maybe that was just his imagination. He can’t tell. He wonders if the ticking of the stopwatch was in his head as well.
After Sirius had been forced to clean up his vomit and been sent to his room, Walburga asked to see Regulus in the kitchen. Regulus knew what was coming. He walked in with his head up, staring his mother in the eyes. Even at 10, he knew how to be angry.
“Arm.” Walburga didn’t even look at him, turning to the counter. Regulus slowly rolled up his sleeve, all the way to the top of his shoulder. Walburga turned, the knife in her hand. Regulus didn’t flinch. He knew the Crucio that was coming after would be worse.
That’s definitely the top of the tunnel above him. He pulls himself further up, blocking out the ticking stopwatch with thoughts of James Potter. It's his fault for getting Regulus into this mess in the first place. It's thoughts of Potter that have distracted him into missing the basilisk’s entrance. If he hadn’t been so… distracting, Regulus would’ve blinded the Basilisk immediately and avoided all this unnecessary injury. It's all so inconvenient.
His fingers grasp the floor of the girls' bathroom. He pulls himself up, arm muscles burning. He throws himself onto the wet bathroom floor, and before he lets himself pass out or faint or… something, he pulls himself to his feet and stumbles to the door. It isn’t opening. Why isn’t it opening? He shoves himself harder against the door. Please, he thinks. Maman, please.
And then the door pops open and Regulus falls forward, landing on the cold tile of the hallway.
Ouch.
Everything hurts.
Someone is saying his name, but it sounds a bit more like a gasp. There are shoes in front of his face. He looks up, lifting his head slowly; then promptly lets it fall back against the floor.
Of fucking course.
He simply does not have the energy for this.
His head is swimming, and he can’t do this. That doesn’t matter. He could be three steps from dead and still wouldn’t allow himself to look anything less than perfect in front of Potter. He pushes himself onto his feet, immediately swaying. James is saying something, a hand reaching out to steady Regulus, and no. Absolutely not. That just wouldn’t do. He stumbles backward, leaning against the corridor wall for support. There's a broom closet a little way up. If only his head would stop spinning… maybe… he grabs the handle and throws himself inside, pulling the door shut after him. He collapses against the back wall. He has only a few seconds to pull himself together before James appears. He runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath, shuddering.
---
James isn’t expecting someone to fall at his feet on his way to charms. Usually when people fall at his feet, it’s much more… romantic. Usually, the person isn’t bruised and half unconscious. Usually, that person isn’t Regulus Black. Today seems to be an exception.
Yet here he is, crumpled at James’s feet, seemingly half-dead. James has no idea what to do. Then he’s on his feet, eyes wide, and James instinctively reaches for his arm. But Regulus is pulling back, hissing as if he’s been burned. He turns and stumbles down the hall to a broom closet, where he flings open the door and collapses inside.
For a moment, James just stares at the door. He should really walk away, leave him there. After everything with Sirius, and now with Remus… he owes it to them to turn around. But he’s been there, behind the statue in the hallway. He’s seen the look on Regulus’s face in the astronomy tower. And now- he’s seen the blood on his cheek. The limp in his walk. He can’t leave him there. Can he? Something inside James protests at the very thought, angry and persistent against his ribcage. He sighs. For all his protesting- James can’t walk away. He just wouldn't be able to. He crosses over and opens the door.
Regulus is sitting slumped against the back wall, shirt lifted to reveal ugly bruises all over his side. He’s gently prodding them, biting his lip. When James opens the door, he glares up at him.
“Leave.” His voice sounds awfully more composed than he looks. James takes a step in. Regulus’s scowl hardens.
“Somehow that’s how you’ve started every one of our little interactions.”
“Wonder why. You’d think you’d get the hint.”
James ignores him. “You don’t own this broom closet.” So, maybe not the best way to approach it, but hey, James is thinking on his feet.
“What did you say?”
“I mean- I’m pretty sure that all broom closets in the school are open to student use. All students. And I’m a student, last time I checked, so-”
Regulus scoffs and starts to rise, bracing himself against the wall. James takes a step back in genuine fear. But Regulus’s leg is giving out under him, and he curses, sliding back down. James resists the urge to move towards him.
“What the hell happened to you?” James asks, shutting the door behind him. He doesn’t need anyone seeing this.
Regulus ignores him, pulling out his wand. He points it directly at James, eyes cold.
James quickly raises his hands in surrender. “Yes. Ok. I won’t ask questions. Will you at least let me help? You need someone else to cast those healing charms, and I have a feeling you don’t want me going to Madam Pomfrey.”
“I’ll get someone else to do it.”
“Oh yeah? You’re gonna drag yourself all the way down the hall in that state? You can’t even stand up.” James is not winning himself any points in the make-Regulus-let-me-help-him department.
“Get out.” Regulus touches another bruise on his side and winces, nearly imperceptibly.
“Regulus.” James’s voice softens. “Let me help. We don’t have to talk about it.”
Regulus seems to be considering. James sighs.
“What if I just go get Madam Pomfrey anyway?”
Regulus’s head snaps up at the threat. His eyes narrow. “I wouldn’t, if I were you."
James sighs. “Fine. Will you let me help you?”
He knows he’s probably making a mistake. This is Sirius’s detested little brother. James has been given explicit instructions to “spit at the little fucker every time you see him in the hall”. He hasn’t followed through. But here he is- obviously in need of help- and James can’t leave that broom closet.
He won’t.
Regulus is watching him coolly. He looks so composed, so different from the shaking boy that collapsed out of the girls' bathroom a minute ago. James isn’t sure how he does it.
“Fine,” Regulus relents. James tries not to smile. “My ribs are broken, and my ankle’s half-broken. I’ll deal with my face later.” Regulus sits up a bit straighter.
James blinks. “Half broken? What does that mean?”
Regulus rolls his eyes. “I already fixed it. Or tried to. It must not have fully healed though because…” he trails off, leaning down to lift his pant leg. Regulus’s ankle is swollen and bruised with ugly shades of purple and yellow. It looks awful.
James sighs. “Reg…”
“Black.” Regulus corrects.
“Regulus. That’s bad. I’m surprised you made it down the hall like that.” James takes a step closer, pulling out his wand and crouching down. “This is going to hurt.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean it’ll hurt worse the second time. I’ve studied this in charms, and when you repeat the process, the pain doubles, so-”
Regulus holds his gaze. “Potter. I know.” James tries not to think about that too hard.
“Brackium Emendo.” James flicks his wand.
Regulus takes a shuddering breath in front of him, the only indication of his pain. He’s slightly bent over, his nails digging into his forearms. James swallows nervously.
One time, back in second year, James had fallen from his broom and broken his wrist. He’d begged Madam Pomfrey to use the spell instead of Skele Gro, having felt the painful effects of the potion before. When she’d tried the spell on him, he was pretty sure he’d screamed loud enough for the whole school to hear. Yet here Regulus is, being frighteningly quiet. James wants him to make a sound, anything.
“Regulus?”
“Do my ribs.” His voice is strangled, but his eyes are determined. He uncurls himself enough to lift his shirt, exposing the bruises spattered across his side.
James just shakes his head, knowing it’s pointless to argue. He mutters the spell again, watching as Regulus bends double, swearing almost silently.
“I’m sorry,” James tries helplessly. Something clenches inside of him at the sight.
“Ugh. This is all your bloody fault.” Regulus spits, curling over a bit farther.
“My fault? How is this my fault?”
James tries, genuinely confused. Regulus shuts his eyes tighter, breaths quickening.
“Hey-” Instinctually, James reaches out, putting a hand on Regulus’ back. “Just breathe.”
Traitor, a voice in the back of his mind hisses. What would Sirius say?
But Regulus is already rising, shoving off James’ hand. He stands unsteadily, grabbing the wall for support and making his way to the door.
He pauses, hovering in the doorway. He sways even as he levels James with a glare. “Not a word, Potter.”
“Or what? You’ll curse me like you cursed Remus?”
Regulus doesn’t meet his eyes. “If I have to. I should’ve, after- after-”
“That time I found you in the hallway.”
Regulus nods. James sighs. “I didn’t say anything then. I won’t say anything now.”
Regulus’s brow furrows. “You didn’t? Why the fuck not?”
James shrugs, silent.
Before Regulus leaves, he looks James over. He nods, just once. When he speaks, his voice is scratchy. Quiet. “Thank you.”
And for the first time as James watches Regulus's retreating back, his mind is quiet. Singular. He doesn’t think death eater. He doesn’t think bloodsupremacist. He doesn’t think traitor.
He thinks
Hm.