Memories
Regulus
He didn’t recognise himself anymore. What it had been of the boy he used to be during his years at Hogwarts, Regulus had no idea. Perhaps he’d died, destined to never come back. Perhaps he was still alive, hidden in the deepest part of his soul. He really hoped he was. Standing before the bathroom’s sink, eyes pointed in the ones of the young man in the mirror in front of him, pain writhed his heart: the person returning his gaze was nothing but a stranger to him.
Regulus was starting to get convinced he wasn’t that man, he couldn’t be. Because he was everything he’d always despised. Cold hearted, standoffish, a fighter for the most wrong cause, determined to do everything in his power to shine before his master’s eyes, to be noticed, praised for his actions and hard work, wishing he would give him a good place by his side, if only he’d done enough. Someone just like his family. Just like her.
Regulus lowered his eyes on the water running from the tap, bent down, and splashed some on his face. It was cold, but he didn’t care: it was just what he needed. He let it drip down his features, run over his hands, his wrists, keeping his eyes closed and desperately hoping that, once he opened them, that man, that monster, would disappear, replaced by a younger, happier, version of himself.
Hoping that that had been nothing but a nightmare and, as soon as he opened his eyes, Regulus would find himself lying on his bed at Hogwarts, Evan and Barty sleeping in theirs, with no worries but grades, exams, and which present to buy for James on the occasion of their anniversary. He sucked in a sharp breath, closed the tap, and…
There it was, the small bathroom of the apartment Evan, Barty and him shared, with the same greyish walls, cracked sink and mould stain on the left corner of the roof. And there he was, still standing before the sink, hands resting on its cold edge. Same haggard face, same pale skin, sickly appearance, dark bags encircling his grey eyes. Eyes that had once been full of light, now dead. Dark locks of hair fell over his forehead. He probably needed a haircut. And more food. Examining his bare chest, Regulus understood why Barty kept on insisting he ate more: his ribs were visible under his skin. He was disappearing. He should have felt concerned, should have decided to take measures to fix that, and somehow improve his appearance.
No such sort of thoughts had ever crossed his mind during the last months. Months of hell, torture, doubting, and loads of self-hatred.
Perhaps that last point on the list was the one that had caused him to stop eating, closing his stomach and making his appetite almost vanish. Who knew.
Regulus’ mind took him back to the conversation he and Evan had had that noon, during lunch.
“You’re not eating enough, Reg” Evan had said, putting down his fork.
Regulus had stared at the almost untouched roasted beef on his plate; he hadn’t eaten anything but a few pieces of meat and the tasteless boiled carrots Barty had made. He’d always been a terrible cook. “I’m not that hungry, I woke up late this morning, so I had breakfast pretty recently”. he’d lied. He hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast, either.
Evan had left him alone after that, though Regulus knew he hadn’t really believed him. He would probably ask him that same question at dinner.
He knew he needed to eat more: energies were slowly leaving his body, he felt constantly tired and his insomnia surely didn’t benefit him. However, he couldn’t manage to do that. He simply wasn’t hungry, that was all.
So many emotions and fears whirled inside him he was sure he’d throw up had he eaten too much. Nonetheless, Regulus was starting to feel sick. He was well aware he looked like the phantom of himself, that his friends were scared, unable to understand what was happening to him, but he just couldn’t seem to care. Was he going to get worse, maybe even perish from his bad conditions? That would probably be the best punishment for what he’d done.
He licked his cracked lips, locking eyes with his reflection once again. Suddenly, he was eleven again, refusing to eat as a self punishment, after his mother had instilled in him the belief of not being enough. Regulus felt like that again: useless, worthless, convinced he didn’t deserve to be loved by anyone, wondering why his friends had remained by his side.
James had been the one to pull him out of that awful situation, back then. He’d sat by his side on one of the Quidditch camp’s stands and offered him an apple, saying he wouldn’t leave until he’d eaten it. Regulus had asked him why he was doing it, why did he even care about him when they hadn’t known each other for more than a few months. “Because you’re important to me. You can’t let yourself die, it’ll kill me too. And you don’t want to kill me, do you?”.
He’d shaken his head. “Don’t be stupid. You don’t understand. Stop saying absurdities Potter. I’m basically a stranger to you. You don’t even know me.”.
“I want to, though. And I won’t be able to if you die. Eat this” he’d handed him the apple. “Please Regulus. I don’t want to lose you”.
That had been the exact moment in which he’d fallen for James Fleamont Potter, though he’d realised he truly loved him only two years later. James had restored his faith in himself, helped him fight his demons, encouraged him to stand up to his mother, which he’d actually done, once. Regulus used to be so happy and in love. Among his boyfriend, his brother and the friends that had become like a family, he’d finally started to feel as if he’d found a home.
Then, during their last year at Hogwarts, everything had changed. Barty had started showing a certain interest in Dark Arts, his curiosity had influenced him and Evan too. One night, he’d told them there was something he had to confess. He’d shown them the Dark Mark on his arm, told them about his choice of joining the Death Eaters. Sirius had left to move in with James, whom Regulus saw pretty rarely, since he and his friends had finished their studies. It was just the three of them, and Pandora. She’d tried to persuade Regulus into changing his mind and not make that mistake, but he had preferred not to listen to her. Still feeling betrayed after Sirius’ runaway, left alone in that hell of the Blacks’ Manor, surrounded by people who supported the Dark Lord’s ideals and projects, he’d soon found himself involved in that intricate world, with no ways out. He used to like it, at first, finally believing he’d found his purpose. But oh, how he regretted it now. How he wished he had never listened to Barty. He was still one of Voldemort’s best fans, though they’d never stopped being friends. Regulus could never turn his back on him. He loved him and Evan too much to do so.
However, joining the Death Eaters had cost him an utterly bitter price…
His gaze flickered on the Dark Mark, destined to sign his skin forever. What had he done?
What the hell had he done?
He sighed, his eyes fell on the tattoo on his left wrist. Three simple letters, written in the calligraphy of the only person he’d ever loved to the point of getting his initials forever embedded in his skin :
J.F.P.
He’d betrayed him. He’d hurt the light that had brought him out of his darkness. After showing him the Dark Mark, James had remained silent for some minutes, contemplating the lines marking his skin. Then, he’d started to ask him why he’d done that, he’d raised his tone, they’d started to argue, James had pushed him away in a surge of anger, he’d yelled he didn’t love him anymore and simply walked away, leaving him there, heartbroken.
Now, without him, the shadows had come back. And Regulus feared he wouldn’t be able to dissipate them that time. As if that wasn’t already enough, at night, as sleep refused to give him the peace he yearned for, his mind kept on bringing him back to that scene. Their conversation. James’ words.
‘Who are you? What have you done to my Regulus?’ James yells. Regulus resists the impulse of covering his ears like he used to do when he and his mother argued.
‘I am your Regulus!’ he shouts, voice brittle.
‘No. You’re not the boy I fell for, no’.
‘It’s still me, James! This is who I am!’ he’s growing desperate, he doesn’t know what to do. James will leave him like everybody else, he’s sure of it.
‘Is that so? Then I’m extremely disappointed in myself. How could I’ve fallen for such… such a monster?’. James’ words hurt as much as a stab right in the heart. He turns his back on him, starts walking away. Regulus needs to stop him, he can’t give up on him so easily.
‘James please, don’t leave me! I’m sorry, but I had to!’.
‘I can’t believe it. The person I thought to be my soulmate. A Death Eater’ he mumbles.
‘James, please!’. Regulus inches forward, grabs his wrist.
‘Get away from me!’. James pushes him away, slipping out of his grip. He searches for the familiarity of his loving eyes: the only feeling he can read in them is anger. Deep delusion.
Regulus takes a step back, lowering his gaze, unable to hold James’.
‘Does that mean you don’t love me anymore?’ he dares to whisper.
‘How could I ever love you after this? So it happened, in the end: you became just like your mother’.
Regulus blinked a couple of times, pushing that memory in the back of his mind. His grip around the sink’s edge had tightened to the point his knuckles had become white. He couldn’t go on like that any longer. He needed to do something to try and fix things. But what?
“Regulus!” Evan’s voice called from the kitchen, snatching him from his thoughts.
“Yes?” he asked, trying to mask the light trembling in his voice.
“Dinner’s almost ready. Could you come help me lay the table?”.
Shit. “Sure” he said. “Just give me a few minutes”.
Regulus ran his fingers through his hair and reached for the shirt he’d placed beside the sink. It used to be one of his favourites during his last years at Hogwarts, as it was comfortable and suited him perfectly. Now, it looked too big on his frame. He threw one last glance at his reflection in the mirror, a look of hatred mixed with a hint of pity, and left the bathroom. He went up the stairway, headed to his room to grab a hoodie to put on. It was late in autumn, the temperatures were starting to drop, a cool wind blew across the tree branches out of the window. The door opened with a creak and Regulus walked in. That room looked like a portrait of his soul: messy, shrouded in darkness, basically empty except for a few pieces of furniture. A slim ray of light filtered from the shutters, easing the murkiness. His bed was still unmade, the covers were tossed aside, a half full cup of coffee, now cold, laid on the bedside table.
His desk was covered by a messy blanket of parchment and paper sheets, a few newspaper pages he’d torn out of ‘The Daily Prophet’, picturing other fellow Death Eaters that had been captured or killed, or narrating the latest events linked to the Dark Lord and his allies and the conflict that threatened to crash like a storm upon the Magical World.
Surprisingly, he found no pieces of clothing lying around, so he headed straight to his chest drawer. Perhaps a baggy sweater would mask how meagre he’d become, so that Evan and Barty wouldn’t start any controversy on that situation, already complicated enough. Regulus really didn’t feel like giving them any explanation. Not eating had become some sort of coping mechanism after what had happened. He couldn’t say he genuinely felt better in any way, though that choice, half inducted by his physical sickness, half by his stubbornness in following his wish to punish himself for his mindless actions, simply felt right. It hurt to admit that, but it was the truth.
Regulus opened the first drawer, browsing through the old jumpers and hoodies, until his eyes landed on one in particular. His heart skipped a beat.
That fucking beige sweater. He’d put it on so many times, over the years, after James had forgotten it in his dorm room one night, during his fourth year. He’d never asked him to give it back. Looking at it, Regulus realised how many memories it held. His fingers stretched towards it, he stopped himself before he could touch the fabric. No. He knew he couldn’t pick it up without being overwhelmed with memories. The last thing he needed was to reminisce on all of those good times in that state: he didn’t want those happy moments to turn into sad memories because of his gloominess. Regulus wondered whether James had ever searched for that particular sweater, not found it and remembered about him, asked himself if he still had it or had gotten rid of it. Did James still think of him, every now and then? His questions were most likely to remain unanswered. He was still the first thought that sparked in Regulus’ mind when he woke up, the last one when he went to sleep: the memory of his bright smile and hazel eyes still lingered behind his closed lids before he drifted into darkness. No matter how things would turn, James would always occupy a special part in his heart: the only pure one he’d managed to preserve among that hell, the same one that threatened to be blown out by that same cruelty at any moment, like a candle in the wind.
His heart ached. He hated that feeling.
He hated James Fleamont Potter with a burning passion, because he’d left him when he needed him the most.
Although, at the same time, he couldn’t help but love him still. How could he not? He’d pulled out the best of him, making him believe he was actually worth something.
Regulus’ lips coiled up in an almost imperceptible smile, which faded almost instantly.
He used to think he was worth something. But now…
God, his life was really a mess.
He’d become a nobody, even before his own eyes.
“Regulus!” Evan called again, his voice came muffled by the ajar door. “Why the hell is it taking you so long?”.
“Just a minute, Evan!” Regulus replied. He reached for the grey jumper behind James’ sweater and proceeded to unfold it. He caught the glimpse of something falling at his feet as he put it on. A sheet of paper, yellowed by time. Taking a better look at it, he noticed that that wasn’t just any sheet of paper. Actually, it wasn’t paper at all. It was a photograph.
He crouched down to pick it up and…
Tears started pricking at the back of his eyes. It was a picture of him and James, dated back to 1975. He still remembered Peter buying a camera and wanting to take pictures of every one of his friends. ‘For the memories, you know’ he’d say every time somebody asked him the reason behind that sudden wish to capture every moment.
James had an arm wrapped around Regulus’ shoulders, flashing his best mischievous smile at the camera, while he looked at him with loving eyes, a smile on his lips. What had it been of the boy in the photo? God, he was sure if he could have exchanged a few words with his past self he would have been so disappointed to know he’d fallen back into despair.
Though it wasn’t just the picture itself that made Regulus want to cry, at least not as much as the short phrase written underneath it, in James’ neat handwriting:
To my one and only love, Regulus. Yours, James x
He could barely hold his tears this time. A knot had tightened around his stomach, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to eat anything. Good. It wasn’t as if he wanted to anyway.
Regulus stared at the picture for another minute or so, then, he placed it under James’ sweater, where he knew it would be safe. The contact with the soft wool was the straw that broke the camel’s back. A tear rolled down his cheek as he closed the drawer.
He decided he wasn’t going to head downstairs for dinner.
He laid down on his bed, pulling the covers over his body, sobs muffled by the pillow.
Crying felt draining, though freeing at the same time. However, Regulus couldn’t help but feel utterly pathetic.
He pulled the pillow to his chest, hugging it as he’d hugged James over multiple nights, after waking up from nightmares. He used to whisper everything would be alright.
But now, there was nobody to tell him he’d be okay. It was fine. He knew nothing would change.
Someone knocked on the door a few minutes after. Regulus held his breath, pulling the covers further over himself.
“Regulus?”. It was Barty. “Are you okay?”.
“Yes” he muttered. Yet another one of his lies. Barty remained silent for a moment, as if studying him, or his room’s conditions, Regulus couldn’t quite tell.
“Are you going to join me and Evan for dinner?” he asked, carefully, as if fearing he’d give him a negative answer. Which actually came. “I don’t feel very well. You guys eat. I’ll just take some time to rest”.
“Food will help you feel better, Reg, I promise. Come eat with us” there was a subtle pleading hidden behind those words. It broke his heart.
“I really don’t feel like it, Barty. I’m going to be fine, I just need some rest”.
‘I’m begging you Barty, don’t make it harder than it already is’.
“I promise I’ll have a good breakfast tomorrow morning. But I genuinely feel unwell”.
Hopefully, they’d have a meeting with a few other Death Eaters the following morning, just as they’d told him that afternoon. Regulus really hoped so, so that he could fake having eaten something without arousing any suspicions.
“Fine” Barty gave in with a sigh. “But please Regulus, start eating more. You’re…” he bit his tongue, as if trying to find a less direct way to express what he wanted, though failing “...disappearing”.
‘Can’t you see this is exactly what I want?’.
“I will. Thank you for checking on me”.
“I always will”.
His friends knew there was something wrong, they just needed to finish putting the pieces together. Regulus had to deceive them into thinking he was starting to get his strength back. He didn’t want to lie to them, but there was no alternative.
“Have a good night then, Regulus”.
“You too Barty”.
The door closed behind him, shutting light out of the room, except for the pale moonlight rays filtering from the window. They weren’t strong enough to actually enlighten the environment. There he stayed, wrapped in darkness and his bed’s thick covers, letting silent tears fall copiously down his cheeks.
He felt so bad.
Hurting his best friends was the last thing he wanted. He wished they simply understood he didn’t want to be helped that time, that there was nothing they could do. He’d already made his decision. His stomach growled, he ignored it.
He felt weak, sick, and so, so tired.
Just some more time.
It was a matter of days, perhaps weeks.
And everything would finally be over.
It didn’t take long for sleep to come and welcome him in its sweet embrace, tears still resting on the corners of his eyes. One last image lingered before them before he gave in to a dense and dreamless sleep: the picture of two boys in love, happy in their youth and blissful ignorance of the future. Of how their souls were destined to be torn apart.