Home Is Where The Heart Is

Regulus

If there was one place Regulus truly hated, that was the Blacks’ Manor.

He’d never gotten over the memories that place held, both good and bad. So, so bad…

He had never wanted to come there in the first place.

However, that morning, he’d received a call from his father: apparently, a letter had been delivered to the mansion, addressed to him. Evidently, the sender had no clue he didn’t live there anymore. His father had invited him over to pick it up and perhaps exchange a few words. Orion Black had always been a better person than his mother, though Regulus still couldn’t say he didn’t hate him. He’d made his mistakes too, and his son knew he wouldn’t be able to make up for them any time soon. Regulus didn’t want to head back to that horrible place, though curiosity won and soon enough he found himself standing before the porch’s steps at the end of the narrow path surrounded by a gloomy garden, with bushes full of thorns accompanying the visitor along the way. He sighed, shoved his left hand into the pocket of his coat and rang the bell. Only once. If nobody answered him, he would simply leave, and probably never come back, as he was already regretting his decision. Although he did receive an answer. A few seconds later he heard steps coming his way. He swallowed the lump in his throat, wishing for his heart to stop beating so fucking loudly.

Then, the door opened, and his father appeared in front of him. He was wearing a white shirt and a grey gilet, elegant as always, hair perfectly comped, neat dark moustache above his thin lips, the same as his. Although his eyes… they somehow reminded Regulus of Sirius’. 

“Regulus” he greeted him, a hand still resting on the doorknob. “Long time no see, son”.

“Yeah” it had been six months since his last visit, though that time he’d been with Evan and Barty. Now, he was alone. Facing the past on his own.

“You look… different”. He’d gotten worse since the last time his father had seen him, he knew that.

“People change” he just answered. “Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse”.

His father’s eyes darkened for a second, then he stepped aside, leaving him room to enter.

“Come in” he welcomed him. Regulus was barely a step in when the house’s familiar scent filled his nostrils: incense, flower petals, frassine wood, and his mother’s expensive perfume.

He shut his eyes, then opened them again, determined not to let that place get to him. The last thing he needed were memories having the best of him, especially in front of the man who was responsible for at least half of them. Then, a question popped up in his mind. He swallowed again, mouth dry. “Is she…”.

“She’s out. She won’t come back until lunchtime. You could stay over, if you’d like, share news with us, tell us about the latest happenings”.

Regulus shook his head. 

‘Just because I haven’t run away with Sirius it doesn’t mean I still consider you my family. I probably never have. My family is waiting for me at home, far away from here’.

That’s what he would’ve liked to say. But, of course, the words that left his lips instead were completely different: “I can’t. The Dark Lord requested my service”. Which wasn’t exactly a lie, since he’d asked to see him that day: he simply hadn’t specified when.

“Oh, I see. It’ll be for another time, then”.

“Yeah, sure” another lie.

“Allow me to offer you a cup of tea in the meanwhile”.

Ugh. He couldn’t refuse that, he had no excuses. So, he nodded and went straight to the point. “Where is it? The letter”.

“In your old room. I put it on your desk”.

Regulus’ heart sunk in his chest. His old room. The one he once used to share with Sirius during their childhood and later became entirely his. 

“Thank you… Father”. He struggled to call him that: a word that described something he’d never been.

“I’ll make you some tea while you go upstairs, then”.

Regulus sucked in a breath as he glanced towards the flight of stairs still so familiar to him: the third step creaked when you walked on it, there was a sign on the wall at the height of the eleventh that Sirius had made with a permanent marker while trying to draw on the wall, instantly stopped by their mother, there was an ink stain on the old burgundy carpet that had never gone away, made by Regulus while writing his poetry. It hurt. Everything hurt. Knowing how close Sirius and him once used to be. And knowing he’d left him alone in spite of it.

It was time to confront the past for one last time.

Then, it would be over.

Regulus wouldn’t have to step in that fucking house ever again. 

Not if his plan ended up well.

⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅

It felt painful. Too painful.

As he glanced around the empty room, a cool breeze filtering from the ajar tarnished window, Regulus wished to be anywhere but there. He turned his head around, eyes darting from the bed covered in dark green sheets to the old walnut desk and bookshelf on the wall above it. So many memories.

He sighed. The quicker he got done with what he had to do, the better.

There it was, the envelope, lying in the centre of the desk. He walked up to it, a step after another. He recognised the handwriting as soon as he laid eyes on it. His fingers trembled as he picked the letter up and opened the envelope, glad to ascertain it was still sealed, that nobody had peeked inside and read those lines before him.

He unfolded the paper sheet, thick with writing. As his eyes travelled down each word, his heart started growing heavier, then lighter as the words struck a chord in his heart.

Dear Regulus,

it’s me. Probably the last person you currently want to hear from. I’d despise myself too, had I been in your place. But please, give this letter a chance. Give me a chance to explain. If I won’t convince you, then crumble this piece of paper up and throw it away, rip it, burn it, and forget I even existed. If it will then… please, come back.. Come back to me. Because I can’t hold on any longer. Without you by my side, every day goes on the same, with nothing to light it up. Not even the warm laughter of my friends, not even Remus’ wise advice, nor Sirius’ jokes, or the lovely conversations I have with Peter in front of the chessboard can’ avert me from the painful truth: I failed you. I failed the only person I ever wanted to defend, to give up my own life for if needed. The only one who ever truly understood me. The better half of my soul.

And I hate myself for it, every fucking day.

I’m sorry I let you down when you needed me the most, I’m sorry I told you all of those awful things, I’m sorry I messed up all the beautiful things we created, I’m so fucking sorry. Words can’t express how much I am. So, allow me to make up for my mistakes. Allow me to step back into your life, to fix everything.

I need you, Regulus. I can’t live like this anymore, nor I can die with the regret of never having tried to reach out to you. You still mean the world to me, Reggie. You’re still everything, just like I told you back during one of our dates at the Astronomy tower, one night, when I’d sworn I’d never leave you, ever. I broke that promise, and I swear on my life that will never happen again.

Because you’re not mine Reg, not anymore. But I’m still yours. I’ll always be. My really first and only love.

When I want to give up, you’re what keeps me strong, encouraging me to hold on in the hope I’ll see you again someday. Because no place can feel like home without you.

I miss you.

I miss you so fucking much it physically hurts.

Come back. Let me love you like you deserve to be loved.

Forever yours,

James x

Something fell on the paper sheet, smudging the ink of the ‘x’ besides James’ name. A tear. Regulus wiped away a second one before it could roll down his cheek. He clutched the letter in his hand, then brought it to his chest.

James still loved him.

He still loved him, in spite of everything he’d done.

He wanted him to come back, just as Pandora had told him that night in Diagon Alley.

James had said he wanted to fix his mistakes, but… no. None of what had happened was his fault. He’d told Regulus some horrible things, that was true, though he’d been right. He’d deserved them. 

And shit, now he had no idea what to do.

He still loved James too, he’d never doubted his feelings for him, not even for a moment, not even after he’d addressed all those painful words to him.

And now James was giving him the chance to go back to his old life, to forget about the past, forgive him and forgive himself, the chance to give a sense back to his existence, to change things before deciding to give up once and for all. To go back to being Pandora, Dorcas and Remus’ best friend. James’ lover. Sirius’ little brother.

He remembered him calling him ‘Reggie’, a sweet nickname from when they were children that had stuck to Regulus his whole life. After his betrayal, he’d turned into ‘Regulus’, the boy that reminded Sirius so much of everything he’d fought not to become. 

‘You’re just like your mother, Regulus’ his edgy tone still echoed in Regulus’ mind.

His mother. Not their.

He’d be finally able to go back to being ‘Reggie’.

However…

Of course he would never be able to go back to what his life once used to be. He was a Death Eater now. Voldemort’s soldier. And betraying him meant betraying himself. Betraying Barty and Evan, and all of the others. It meant death. Not for him, but for them all. The Dark Lord had already warned him once on what would have happened had he chosen the wrong side of the match. And he couldn’t involve them in his games.

Moreover… Regulus wasn’t even sure he deserved them, at least not anymore.

He didn’t deserve James’ love, no matter how much he’d tried to reassure him. That didn’t change the fact he simply had to keep him safe. Keep them all safe.

And there was one single way in which he could do that. A difficult path to walk.

A dead end.

His only chance.

His only hope.

So, grudgingly, Regulus rummaged inside the desk’s drawers, in search of some paper sheets. He found a couple of them, a little crumbled up though they would do.

Then, he sat by the desk, pulled out his old inkwell, which surprisingly still contained a bit of black dense liquid and picked up a pen.

James deserved an answer.

It didn’t matter how deeply it could break him.

How deeply it could break both of them.

⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅

“Young Black, I have a favour to ask you” the Dark Lord said, sitting in the chair opposite Regulus’. They were alone in that room inside an abandoned building, gusts of wind entering from the broken windows, sending shivers down his spine. He wondered why the Dark Lord had chosen that particular place. He intertwined his fingers on the wooden table that separated them, his pale features lit up by the cold light of the lamp hanging above them.

“Whatever you wish for, my lord. I’m at your service”.

That scene he was putting up to make Voldemort believe he was still on his side kept becoming more and more difficult to hold up, though Regulus knew he couldn’t falter, not then, not in such a delicate moment. Not in that place, where it was just the two of them. And a few other Death Eaters by the door, that was. You-Know-Who’s bodyguards. Of course he would bring some: it was clear he didn’t fully trust him.

The wizard seemed to study him for a few seconds, as if trying to peel off his perfect mask and find out what really laid behind it. Regulus didn’t like that piercing gaze of his on him. He straightened his back and shifted on the chair, uncomfortable.

“You know, I’m conducting some… experiments. For the success of my plan and the sake of you all”.

Regulus nodded. “That’s great. Is there anything I can help you with?”.

‘Be helpful, approve of all of his ideas, act just like his soldier, his obedient servant’ he had to constantly remind himself.

The Dark Lord gazed down upon him, almost suspiciously. “Actually, there is. I remember Bellatrix telling me something about her house-elf and later mentioning how your family used to have one too”.

“Yeah. Kreacher. He still works for us” Regulus confirmed.

“I think he could be really useful to my purposes” Voldemort said, pointing his blue eyes straight into his.

Regulus’ jaw twitched, shoulders growing tense. He didn’t like where that conversation was going. What did he mean with that? Why did he need Kreacher?

“What exactly do you need him for?” he asked, inquisitory.

“That, Young Black, is none of your business. At least not still”.

“How can I lend him to you if I have no idea of what might happen to him?”.

“You should put a little more trust in me, son. I said it’s for a good purpose. Don’t doubt my intentions”.

Regulus lowered his gaze so that he wouldn’t see the rage taking over him. “I won’t, my lord. I never have”.

“Then, just follow my orders. Pretty simple, isn’t it?”.

“Promise me one thing”.

“Depends on your request”.

God, how he hated him. He clenched his fist under the table. “Promise me you won’t hurt him. Promise me you’ll give him back to me alive and well”.

“Don’t worry Young Black, he’s in good hands”.

“Promise me”.

“I promise”. Then his lips curled up in a smile. 

No. Not a smile.

Some sort of crooked grin.

“I swear to God if you do anything to him…” the threat rolled off his tongue before he could stop himself. He was about to snap, and, somehow, he suspected that’s exactly what Voldemort wanted.

“He’s in good hands, Regulus” he repeated, smile slowly fading. “Perhaps you don’t trust your master anymore…”.

“I do. Of course I do. It’s just that… he means a lot to me. He’s seen me growing up. He’s part of my family”.

“A house-elf considered as ‘part of the family’... you’re a really curious wizard, Regulus Arcturus Black”.

Regulus held his gaze, chin kept high. “I’ll take that as a compliment”.

‘Oh, you’ve seen nothing yet, Voldemort. Just you wait and see’.