Old Books
Regulus
Regulus had never actually paid that much interest to Barty’s fixation with Dark Arts. Whenever he entered his or Evan’s room, or the kitchen, or the living room and found him focused on yet another manual he barely even glanced at it.
Yes, that kind of magic was definitely fascinating in its own twisted and treacherous way, though he’d never felt a particular attraction towards it. After all, it was just magic, the same as the one he’d lived alongside his whole life: his family had never made a neat distinction between the usage of good or bad magic as long as they reached their purposes. Therefore, Regulus had grown up in constant contact with both types, often wrinkling his nose at his mother’s speeches about the arousing Dark Lord and his proposals until his last couple of years at Hogwarts, and admiring Dumbledore’s teachings, the parental figure he’d never had, up until switching sides, a grudging though necessary change.
His curiosity had never been aroused by any of Barty’s books.
Until that evening.
Barty and Evan had been out for most of the day, savouring that little free time they had, those moments spent together, knowing well they could be the last, so Regulus hadn’t touched any food that day.
He’d understood that slowly fading wouldn’t work, not if he didn’t want to die knowing he was sinking the knife straight in his friends’ hearts once again, not knowing he was disappointing the only people who’d remained by his side. No, he needed to find another way.
Anyway, he still couldn’t seem to get back into eating. A persistent hunger had settled in his chest, destined to never be put at ease, a wound destined to never close; he kept on ignoring it, only nourishing himself with that little needed for his sustenance. And he felt good.
That never ending punishment he was inflicting to his body still felt right.
It had consequences, he knew that: he’d reduced himself to a bit more than skin and bones, he felt tired, weak, sickly. Pounding headaches bothered him every now and then, especially after spending too much time in front of a book, he often longed for sleep, he felt drained.
He didn’t care. He was totally convinced that was right, that he ought to keep up with starvation.
However, he did need to eat something to stay alive and have at least a little strength to get through the day.
Regulus was in bed, laying on his chest, skimming through the pages of the novel he’d recently bought, the paper felt smooth under his fingertips. A storm threatened to rage upon the city in the distance, a light breeze entered from the ajar window. Perhaps he should close it, or he could get a fever, which wouldn’t benefit his already terrible state. He placed a bookmark on the first chapter, then closed the book, throwing a quick glance at the clock on his bedside table: it was a quarter past ten, and Barty and Evan were still outside. At that moment, a gust of wind blew from the window, and Regulus finally decided to get up to close it. He was so fucking tired, though worries kept him awake: what if something had happened to his friends, what if an Auror had captured them or something? No, that couldn’t be possible: they went on dates like that at least once a week, they knew how to defend themselves, which areas of the city they ought to avoid. However, Regulus couldn’t help the anxious feeling inside him.
Maybe he should go downstairs to have a cup of coffee, just to be sure he wouldn’t fall asleep in case something happened. Moreover, he hadn’t eaten anything at all, not even drunk a mug of tea, far as he’d been from his friends’ attentive eyes, and he was starting to consider the idea of having something, just not to feel devoid of any energy the following day.
So, with an uncomfortable feeling tightening around his chest, Regulus reached for the jumper he’d mindlessly tossed over the creased bed sheets, put it on, and decided to leave his room after having spent most of the afternoon there. He made his way through the corridor wrapped in a dim light, walking past the few pictures they’d hung up there: the three of them at the beach, Barty and Evan kissing, them with James, Sirius and the others, them with Pandora and Dorcas, Regulus and Pandora… so many memories brought back by simple framed pictures. He slowed down, his eyes lingered on James for a second longer than every other before proceeding with a light sigh. The familiar knot around his chest tightened further, he almost felt like suffocating. Regulus felt so tired. His head was pounding again as he reached the bottom of the staircase. He rubbed his temples: yes, he indeed needed to eat something, or he would risk fainting, which had happened more than thrice over the month already.
It was weird, to be completely embraced by silence, not a single noise but an occasional gust of wind against the windows’ glass. A comforting yet a little fastidious silence. He wanted to fill it, and at the same time he wanted to let it settle inside of him, he wished to become part of it too; therefore, he quietly shifted behind the kitchen island, determined to make himself some black coffee, just like Evan liked it. Regulus opened the cupboard and picked out a small cup, then inserted a capsule in the coffee machine. A minute later, the steamy dark liquid was filling the cup, its pungent scent already enhancing his sleepy senses. He breathed it in, then took the first sip. It burned down his throat, a reassuring warmth spread through his chest, and, even if only for a single moment, Regulus felt better. Well, more or less: the headache was still there. He finished the coffee in no time, drinking it like that, with no sugar or sweeteners at all, then placed the cup in the sink. Then, the challenging part came: dealing with food. He wasn’t really in the mood to cook anything, he was already tired enough. So, he decided to opt for something simple, such as fruit. Nutritious, easy to finish in a short period of time, hopefully short enough for him not to feel too guilty.
He opened the fridge, hoping to find something. His jaw tightened as he spotted nothing but a few bananas and blueberries. Blueberries were fine, but he’d never been particularly fond of bananas. Well, he guessed he had to adapt, as it was either that or Barty’s gummy sweets of all flavours. Regulus closed the fridge, peeled the banana, cut it into slices and displayed them on a small plate along with the blueberries. Okay. He just needed to eat now. He looked down on the fruit, fork in hand, staring at those thin yellow slices. He could do it. It was just some fruit. He had to do it, or he would faint. Or die, in case things got worse. Regulus was still close enough to his goal, perhaps he could go on for a couple of days more, maybe three, and just end things, silently, after enduring a bit more suffering…
“You don’t fucking understand. You said you were sorry for having hurt everyone you loved. Don’t hurt us too. The empty space created by your absence would be unbearable. Give yourself another chance Reg, I’m begging you”.
Fuck.
He couldn’t. He couldn’t die like that, no.
Regulus picked up the fork he’d briefly put down, eyes fixed on the plate. His fingers were trembling slightly as he stabbed a banana slice.
‘You can do it. Hold on, just for a little longer’.
Eating every single fucking piece of fruit on that plate felt like pure torture. He chewed slowly, swallowed, then repeated. After finishing, he felt so bad, even nauseous, to the point of fearing he’d throw up. Regulus rested his hands on the counter, clenched his pale fingers around its cold marble edge, head low, hair falling over his eyes. He felt so bad. So, so bad. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that. Maybe he should have let himself die…
“Give yourself another chance Reg, I’m begging you”.
Barty’s breaking voice resonated in his ears once again, reminding him why he’d chosen to go on. He played that conversation in his mind almost every day, before every meal.
Regulus shook his head: he’d done the right thing. For Barty. For Evan. The last thing he wanted was being a burden to them, a persistent worry in their lives.
‘Just a little longer’.
He sighed, lifting his chin back up, and placed the plate alongside the coffee cup. He decided to leave them there. Just so that his friends could see he’d actually eaten something. That he’d made some progress. That he’d tried that day too. Though, he knew no mental improvement would match a physical one. He was in complete shambles, pieces so tiny he feared they couldn’t be put back together anymore, not without the possibility of them shattering again.
He was just about to leave the room, when his eye fell on something lying on the kitchen table: a book. It wasn’t his. Actually, he couldn’t recall having ever seen it before. Curious, he decided to take a better look at it: ‘Secrets of the Darkest Art’. That definitely belonged to Barty. Regulus passed his hand over the black leather cover, a light electricity shot through the tips of his fingers. He withdrew them, eyes darkening. That book was full of magic itself. He should probably leave it there, ignoring it until Barty came back and asked him directly about it, though curiosity had the best of him. He pulled the chair back, drawn by those edgy letters inviting him to open the book, to start reading, to find out more. He touched the cover once again, feeling absolutely nothing. He carefully opened it, flipped the first pages. Every hint of tiredness suddenly disappeared as he read through those paragraphs, devoured by a morbid inquisitiveness. Minutes went by, turned into half an hour, an hour, and hour and a half. Regulus’ eyes started to burn from the effort of reading in the dim light, he felt as if he was already consuming all the energies he’d gained through the little food he’d eaten, though he didn’t stop. He sometimes asked his friends to lend him a book of theirs when he ran out of novels to read, therefore he’d browsed through some of Barty’s tomes about Dark Arts too. However, that book was different: it depicted the evilest kind of magic in such a bloody, horrific way. It almost made Regulus’ blood freeze in his veins. A book like that wouldn’t have simply been banished at Hogwarts: any student found with a copy would have probably been expelled, the volume burnt. He recalled seeing some similar stuff resting on one of Dumbledore’s shelves, inside his office, though he was probably wrong…
The spells those ancient pages talked about, the magic they described, every curse, illustration picturing its effects, instructions on how to cast it, caused a subtle fear to grow in his chest at the thought someone out there actually knew how to perform them.
Each paragraph was beautifully written, in the language of the old wizarding world, perfectly suitable to a text aimed to feature a kind of magic that had long been forgotten. Regulus’ eyes flew across each page as he grew eager to find out more, to uncover more of those obscure secrets he’d been kept unaware of for so long.
Awfully terrific. That was the best way in which he could describe such a book.
The clock’s hands had just struck midnight when he got to half of the book. His eyes widened as soon as he read the title of the chapter: Horcruxes.
Horcruxes… where had he heard that word before?
Of course, he already knew what they were: an object in which a fragment of a wizard or witch’s soul could be transferred, in order to be treasured and kept safe, for the person to become immortal.
Apart from that simple definition, no other magical books usually decided to go into much detail of such an appalling topic.
Well, that chapter actually seemed to be pretty much detailed, enriched with every kind of possible information. It genuinely astonished him to see a whole guide of how to create one, the right process to follow described with such an accuracy it made him believe the author, Owle Bullock, himself had tried his hand at making one of those infernal devices.
A slight disgust settled in his chest as he finished reading.
‘Who would ever do such a thing?’ he couldn’t help but think. And then, a memory sparked in his mind, the one of a talk he’d recently overheard…
‘I don’t want to lose you. You understand me, better than anyone else’.
Regulus stops in the middle of the corridor, glancing sideways as the same voice echoes again: Bellatrix. She’s right inside the room on his right, the one with the black ajar door.
‘That’s not going to happen’.
His blood runs cold as soon as the person she’s been talking with responds: he knows exactly who that penetrating voice belongs to. The Dark Lord.
Regulus gazes at the corridor before him, voices coming from the room at its end. Barty and Evan are waiting for him, he ought to join them and leave the manor before their lord finishes talking, however…
He shifts closer to the door, rests a hand on its surface, making sure not to make any sound; it’s impossible for them to notice his presence from the point he’s standing on. He leans over to listen clearly. What a shame he can’t spy on them…
Regulus is playing with fire, and he knows that, he can’t risk making any mistakes, or he’d be in serious trouble, and messing with Lord Voldemort is the last thing he currently wishes for.
‘If you die, we’ll lose everything we’re fighting to build. Every suffering, every sacrifice will go to waste’.
‘What’s the reason behind your concern, Bellatrix? Don’t tell me it’s Dumbledore and his Order, you know they can’t do anything against me. Against us’.
She remains silent for a moment, then he continues: ‘You know you don’t have to worry, not if my plan succeeds. I’m on the right path, definitely’.
‘And if it goes wrong?’.
‘Are you doubting my magical abilities?’.
‘Of course not, I would never!’.
‘But a bit more trust in me, Bellatrix. No mage will be able to get rid of me that easily. My soul is safe, therefore I am’.
‘And if somebody finds them and tries to destroy them?’.
‘Nobody’s aware of their location. They’re guarded by spells and enchantments, reaching them wouldn’t be so simple. Trust me, Bella, I know what I’m doing’.
Bella.
Regulus didn’t know they were so close to each other to the point of using nicknames.
‘I’m almost finished trying out my protection charms’.
Protection charms. My soul is safe, therefore I am. Well hidden, impossible to find.
What is he talking about?
Bellatrix doesn’t add anything, she’s probably nodding, hidden to her cousin’s view. ‘Rodolphus is waiting for me’.
Regulus barely listens to the end of the conversation: after catching a few other words, he hurries down the rest of the corridor, his heartbeat racing in his chest. They can’t find out he heard everything.
But what the hell did those words mean?
There it was, the answer to that final question he’d asked himself days before.
What needed protection, unreachable, guardian of the Dark Lord’s soul…
Horcruxes.