first steps
In the end, Regulus had to force Sirius to talk to his friends. If not to tell them about the attempt, then at least about his thoughts. As much as he cared for his brother he did not trust Sirius to tell them on his own. They were brothers after all. Which was how he found himself in Sirius’ dorm, on Sirius’ bed, under a muffilatio, watching for the reactions of his friends to determine if Sirius was indeed telling them.
Sirius was playing with the wand in his hands. A nervous habit he’d had since childhood. His eyes were glued to the floor, but Regulus could see how intently his friends were looking at him. Regulus could also tell the moment Sirius managed to say the words. If not for the tears in James’ eyes or the fear in Peter’s, then at the least by the way Remus’ heart seemed to shatter into a thousand pieces. It had felt a little like that for Regulus too. He’d always admired Sirius, and to know someone you looked up to so much could be capable of such thoughts nearly left Regulus hopeless.
Satisfied with Sirius, Regulus turned his eyes to the book in his lap. He would not intrude more than he already had. The conversation was not going to be short and it was most definitely not going to be easy.
Regulus was just about halfway through his book, when someone sat on the food of Sirius’ bed. Remus spoke before Regulus could lift his gaze. “Muggle literature, huh?”
“It’s my one act of defiance from my parents. They'll never know if I only do it at school.”
“We all have to start somewhere. I can give you some recommendations if you want?”
“Can I trust one of Sirius’ friends to give good recommendations in literature?”
Remus let out a small laugh. “I can understand your hesitation. However, I promise that being his friend has not impeded my ability to enjoy good books. What do you like to read?”
“Fantasy. And escapism. Something with a happy ending. Life may be horrid, but literature doesn’t have to be.”
“Come find me in the library some time, I can find you some good books.”
“You sure?”
“I cannot talk about books with any of these idiots, they think quidditch magazines count as reading. I’d be happy to find someone to discuss books with.”
-
After Sirius’ conversation with his friends and Regulus’ conversation with Remus, Sirius was less everywhere. Despite that, Regulus didn’t find himself alone any more than he had at any time after his attempt. After classes, he would find himself in the library, where Remus would also be either reading or doing schoolwork. Although Regulus had gone to Remus for book recommendations, he found himself staying to study in the company of Remus. Which was how he found out that help could be a good thing.
It had started with a particularly difficult charms assignment. He was having trouble finding accurate information, despite having searched for hours, and the words were starting to jump around on the page. Forgetting he had company, Regulus let out a groan and slammed his head on the book in front of him. Remus’ small chuckle served as a stark reminder that he was not alone.
“Having trouble?” Remus asked, with a smile. The smile was kind, understanding. Not the mocking and pitying Regulus was used to. Maybe that was why Regulus found himself telling Remus what he was struggling with.
“I fucking remember that essay. A foot on the possible side effects, when the source material was less than four inches. That professor’s a fucking sadist. He barely even read the papers. If you actually want to learn, I’d suggest Griffith’s book. It helped me a ton last year. Otherwise that essay would have killed me.”
“Oh, thanks.” Regulus doesn’t know quite what else to say. He stands up and walks to get the book Remus was talking about and sits back down.
“Give,” Remus says, taking the book out of Regulus’ hands, “The information is really fucking well buried, but it’s there I promise.” Remus hands the book back, open to a page that had absolutely nothing to do with the essay. Except for a lengthy caption on an indecipherable picture. The font was incredibly small, and Regulus would never have found it without Remus.
Regulus had asked for help, and he had gotten it. Easily, quickly, and completely without ridicule. What a wonder.
On the quidditch field, James would join him, playing a game of seekers, despite being a chaser. Unsurprisingly, Regulus would almost always win. There were occasional times, when James would somehow manage to beat Regulus, but that only made Regulus want to win more.
Where they were more evenly matched were the races. They’d outline a track and go for the fastest time. Regulus loved racing. The wind on his face, the rush of adrenaline, the feeling of pure freedom.
Sometimes, Sirius would join them for their races, though Regulus was thankful it was not always. Somehow the races got more – daring when Sirius was around. They were longer, went further, got closer to things that they could crash into. They never did, they were all proficient enough on their brooms, thankfully. Sirius always did bring more laughter with him to the race. That Regulus was not against.
Peter showed Regulus the best small nooks around the castle and the grounds. Hiding places, somewhere to read in peace. He was also surprisingly proficient at wizarding chess. A worthy opponent was something Regulus did not find often. Peter was sometimes the most baffling player Regulus had ever played against, but they were evenly matched most of the time. Peter forced Regulus to think himself out of difficult situations, thinking at least ten moves ahead, and four different ways.
-
Weeks, months, went by, busy as ever with Sirius and his friends taking over Regulus’ life, until they had touched all aspects of it. With their help, challenging Regulus and helping him find his way, and Madame Pomfrey’s weekly talks, Regulus suddenly found himself thinking of suicide less and less. More than that, he found himself enjoying life, and the challenges it set in front of him.
He sat, as usual, in front of Madame Pomfrey, with a cup of tea in his hands, finding nothing to talk about. The difference being, he had talked, but he couldn’t think of anything bad to say. He still felt shit at times, but he was working on it. He had been working on it, and it has been working. He felt okay. Though he didn’t have much of a point of comparison, seeing as he remembered very little from the time near his attempt.
Madame Pomfrey gave him a little smile and conjured a letter. “Do you remember this?”
Regulus shook his head. It looked just like any other letter, how was he supposed to recognise it?
“It’s a note to yourself I asked you to write after your attempt. I know memories tend to get muddled after a while, and progress seems slow and impossible to achieve, but you’ve come so far.” Regulus felt uncomfortable at the idea of Madame Pomfrey having read a letter meant for only his eyes. Merlin knows what he could have written in there. “Don’t worry I didn’t read this, it can only be opened by you. But unlike you, I have all my memories of when you were at your worst. That is why I can tell you that you are better. No matter how hard it can seem, you have made progress.”
“Why bring it up?”
Instead of answering directly, Madame Pomfrey opts for a question, too. “Would you like to read it? I think you’re ready for it.” Regulus holds out his hand, and Madame Pomfrey places the letter in it. Giving Regulus a smile, she starts walking out the door. “My door is always open if you need me. Otherwise, I’ll see you next week.” Regulus is too busy breaking the seal of the letter to answer.
Dear Regulus,
I feel incredibly stupid writing this, but Madame Pomfrey insisted. She thinks I’ll be able to reflect on this letter in the future. I think it’ll be useless. I’ll be dead anyway. Just one more thing left of me to clean up.
So why am I still writing this? I don’t know. (Regulus knew now, it was hope. Some small part in him believed he would survive, even at his lowest.)
I honestly don’t think I’m worth much. Or anything at all. I keep fucking up everything I try. Even my own fucking suicide.
My parents keep reminding me I was never meant to be heir, with constant comments of ‘the other one never made this mistake’ or ‘even the other one could do this’. They would never mention Sirius by name, only invoking his spirit to mock me. That is, if they’re not hurting me, like they used to hurt him.
School keeps reminding me I’m not fucking smart enough to be a Black. How could every member of the family breeze through every class, getting perfect grades, and I’m struggling just to pass. I’m fucking stupid. Stupid and worthless. Sirius says to just ask for help, but that is not what a Black does. A Black perseveres. Asking for help is the sign of stupidity. I’m so fucking stupid.
Mother and Father never fail to point out all the ways in which I am incompetent. I am too heavy, I talk too little, I talk too oddly, I don’t talk about appropriate things. What the fuck even are appropriate things? Sirius would probably know. Why the fuck does he have to be so fucking perfect. He was so fucking good at socialising in the pureblood circles, but he still had the bravery to leave. Something I’ll never accomplish. Because I’m a fucking coward.
I’m a coward and weak and stupid and I couldn’t even succeed at my own fucking suicide. What kind of fuck up fucks up his own suicide. Me, that’s who.
I’d wish you the best, but I already know you’re either dead or miserable,
Regulus A. Black.
Regulus lays the letter down on his lap, still holding onto it. He can’t focus on the room around him. He brings his free hand to rub his eyes, only to find that he’s crying. He’s crying, because he doesn’t even recognise the person who wrote the letter in his hand. He’s crying because the person that wrote the letter was miserable and alone. He’s crying because all he wants to do is comfort the person that wrote the letter, and he can’t because it’s him. It was him. He’s crying because it isn’t him anymore.
When he can finally focus his eyes, he sees that Madame Pomfrey left him parchment and a quill. The parchment already reads Dear Regulus. He finishes the letter and seals it. He seals the old one too. He doesn’t want to forget. He wants to keep getting better.
He wants to live.