stomach acid
Regulus Black was thirteen years old when his brother ran away.
Then he was fifteen years old and his Mother was yelling at him and he was seriously considering doing the same thing.
Bellatrix had been pestering him the whole day, getting him to practice his Unforgivables on literal animals, who had done nothing wrong, (and nothing seemed to happen when Regulus used the spell, simply because he could do nothing to mean it). And when he couldn’t do what she wanted, she killed the rabbit, the muggle way, as well, and told his Mother. She had slit the poor rabbit’s throat, and Regulus had almost thrown up. He did when the Cruciatas curse was placed on him, his vomit a mix of stomach acid, small bits of food that he’d been forced to eat simply by having to eat with his family, and with those two came blood.
Worried Walburga would use Legimency on him, Regulus forced his mind to go blank. She yelled and she yelled, but Regulus could barely hear her over his screams. How could someone stand there and hurt their child?
And when she finished, she released him from the curse and ordered Kreacher to clean his vomit. “Regulus Arcturus Black, I do not want to hear a word from you until you’ve done what I’ve asked of you. Go to your room, Regulus.”
Regulus nods, “Yes Mother,” and walks straight to his room. He looks at the mirror on his wall and wipes his mouth, getting the blood and vomit off of his lip. His hands are numb and shaking, and tears are brimming in his eyes. He holds them shut, attempting to keep the tears from rolling out, and one does, but that’s it. He puts on his rings, I have to get out of here before it’s too late, and puts all of his money in a pouch in his pocket. He made a note, should Kreacher walk in.
Dear Kreacher,
I am running away. I am deeply sorry for leaving you here, I wish I could take you with me, I wish I could, but due to the circumstances, I am unable to. I will miss you deeply, Kreacher.
Sincerely,
R.A.B.
An hour later, Kreacher comes in to check on him. “Master Regulus, are you well?” He asked, and Regulus got off of his bed to get down to Kreacher’s level.
“I’ve been better,” He says, a sad chuckle in his voice. “Hey, Kreacher, can you bring me my wand, please?”
Kreacher nods, “Yes, Master Regulus, Kreacher will do that,”
“Thank you, Kreacher,” Regulus says. Regulus waits for Kreacher, who comes back and hands Regulus his wand.
“Here you go, Master Regulus,” Kreacher says. “Kreacher assumes Kreacher will be seeing Master Regulus in the morning unless Master Regulus needs Kreacher’s assistance before then?”
“I’ll see you in the morning, okay Kreacher? Thank you for bringing me my wand.” Regulus says, passing Kreacher the note. “Kreacher, I need you to read this and never speak a word of it again, and I need you to destroy the note after you’ve read it, can you do that for me?” Regulus asks in a hushed voice.
Kreacher nods. “Yes, Master Regulus. Kreacher will see you in the morning.”
When Regulus was eleven, Walburga and Orion removed Sirius’ fireplace. Regulus still had his, and his Floo Powder was still there.
His wounds weren’t healing, though.
Blood was still dripping from his gashes— Regulus was getting light-headed, and when he checked the mirror, he was pale. Considering the possibility that if he does nothing he’ll pass out and bleed out then and there, Regulus grabs the things he wanted to take, goes over to the fireplace and grabs a hand of Floo Powder.
“Potter Manor,”
Darkness and a soft thud of carpet replaced the green flames instantly.
˚₊𓆩꒰–☆–꒱𓆪₊˚
Regulus woke up to see Euphemia in his room, putting out some things she’d bought for him, she bought him some bits and bobs— and she must’ve paid attention to his rings because on his nightstand were maybe, (and Regulus made a mental note to thank her for this), fourteen-fifteen rings, all silver and all his size.
The room was so much warmer than his room at Grimmauld Place. So much more colourful.
“Hello?” Regulus mumbled, his voice croaky with unuse.
Euphemia had a smile in her voice when she spoke. “Ah, you’re awake! Hello, Regulus,”
Regulus wasn’t used to that.
“How long did I sleep for?” Regulus asked, clearing his throat. Merlin, what did I do to my throat?
“Hmm.. maybe a week? Would you like some water, darling, your voice is awfully croaky, and I’d feel bad not getting you something to drink,” Euphemia said warmly, now facing him.
A week? Merlin, he was out for long.
“Yes please,” he got out, his voice feeling less disused, but his throat still felt bone-dry.
“Alright, I’ll bring you that. How are you feeling, darling?” Euphemia asks. “I’m not surprised you passed out, you lost quite a bit of blood,”
“I’ve been better,” Regulus says, trying to sit up. It hurts, but he manages.
Euphemia chuckles. “Yes, I’ll get you your water, shall I? Just sit and relax, darling.” Euphemia smiles. She goes to get him water.
Regulus looks around a bit more— and he sees a trunk on the floor. He wonders what could be in the trunk. On the side table, he sees his wand and all of the things he brought with him. He has a window, which Euphemia has left open, and a slight breeze coming in. Regulus didn’t have an openable window at Grimmauld Place, it was just a glass pane.
Euphemia walks back in with a glass full of water. “Do you mind if I check how your injuries are doing once you’ve drank your water, darling?” Regulus grabs the glass.
“Thank you for the water, and I don’t mind,” Regulus says, taking a long sip, and it’s refreshing. He sets the glass down. “You can check my injuries now if you’d like,” Regulus pushes himself up more on his arms.
Regulus spent the rest of the day in bed, and Euphemia must’ve been right when she said he’d lost a lot of blood— he’d tried to stand up and just fell back on the bed. Iron deficiency. He asked Euphemia if he could stay in bed for the rest of the day and maybe try to move more tomorrow, and she had told him that it was totally fine and that he needed the rest anyway.
That was different than what he expected.
Turns out most of Regulus’ cuts were going to scar, which was what he expected. He also hadn’t eaten in a week, which wasn’t far from normal for him— albeit he did eat at Hogwarts, just less frequently than he did at Grimmauld Place. Regulus was actually hungry though, and he knew if he didn’t eat tomorrow (what day of the week is it again?) then he would get even worse, and he didn’t want to get worse.
˚₊𓆩꒰–☆–꒱𓆪₊˚
He woke up to a gentle rapping on the door of the room he slept in. “Come in,” He mumbles, trying to sit up and then rub his eyes. The door opened to Euphemia.
“Hi, good morning, darling, I just wanted to let you know that I’m about to start breakfast— so it should be ready in about ten minutes if you’d like to join us?” Euphemia doesn’t even step into the room, she keeps the door open and stands in the doorway.
“Yeah, sure,” Regulus says, “Um, do I have to change? I would like to change,”
Euphemia smiles. “Of course, I would never force you to, but since you want to, I can get you some of your brother's clothes?”
Regulus nods. “Yes please, that would be lovely,”
Euphemia pauses, “I’ll just get you a shirt and some jeans,” she says, before closing the door again and leaving to get him clothes.
Regulus tries to stand up again, and this time he can get up. He walks around, finding a mirror to look in and…
Merlin’s saggy balls, what the actual fuck happened?
Regulus genuinely looks like he’s been hit by eight trains then chewed up and spit out by a bear. What the fuck. Merlin, his poor hair!
Euphemia raps on the door again. “Come in,” Regulus says, turning away from the mirror to face the door. Euphemia opens it and puts some clothes on his bed.
“I told Sirius that I’m giving you those clothes for today, and he said if you wanted him to brush your hair or anything he’d do it,” Euphemia says. “I’ll go make breakfast now, see you in ten!”
Regulus nods, and Euphemia shuts the door to let him change.
It’s simple. A pair of black jeans and a graphic t-shirt with a muggle band named Queen on it. And of course, a pair of boxers and some white socks. All of it fits him decently, but he’s still a bit worried about his hair, so he opens the door and finds Sirius leaving his room.
Sirius takes one look at him and gasps. “Reggie, your hair!” Regulus could laugh. “We need to get that fixed right now, come here,” Sirius says, taking Regulus into his room.
“Merlin, this is going to hurt,” Sirius says, grabbing a hairbrush and brushing through Regulus’ hair for over a minute, every brush getting stuck on a knot that Sirius eventually gets out. “Okay,” Sirius says, looking at Regulus’ hair and turning him around to brush it back and let it fall to the sides. “That looks so much better, but you are taking a shower after breakfast.”
Regulus nods slowly. “Okay,”
Sirius suddenly looks uncomfortable. It must’ve hit him then, huh?
“Um, breakfast,” he says, and they both walk out of the room in silence.
Sirius doesn’t talk to Regulus until after dinner. Regulus is in his room, reading a book that he’d asked Euphemia if he could borrow from the library, to which Euphemia said, “Of course, darling, the library is for everyone, you don’t even have to ask,”
˚₊𓆩꒰–☆–꒱𓆪₊˚
Sirius was never one for manners. He and his friends have so few boundaries with each other that he’s so used to just opening doors without knocking. This is what he does with Regulus as well.
Regulus looks up, grabbing a bookmark to mark his page, and setting his book to the side. “Hello,” He says, looking at a very uncomfortable Sirius. “Did you need something, frère?”
Sirius closes the door. “I wanted to talk with you about everything,” Sirius says. “You leaving, me leaving, all that,”
“Okay,” Regulus says. “I’m listening,”
“I’m really sorry for leaving you at Grimmauld Place all by yourself, every day I live I regret it, I really do,” Sirius says. “I hope you understand why I had to leave, and I understand why you did, even if I don’t know why. Euphemia got sent a very angry letter the other day threatening her if she didn’t bring you back, and she sent Walburga a very strongly worded letter telling her that nothing she could do would mean that you would go back there. So I know it was bad,”
“Do you want to know why I left, frère?” Regulus asks. “I left because Bellatrix was making me torture animals and slitting the throats of the ones I couldn’t torture. She told Mother that I was unwilling to use Unforgivables, and Mother used the Cruciatus curse on me. Along with the other things, I almost bled out in my room just so that I could get Kreacher to get my wand and say goodbye to him. I would’ve died if there wasn’t Floo Powder in my fireplace. I passed out as soon as I hit the carpet. That’s why I didn’t get out of bed yesterday, I couldn’t walk without falling over. I have Iron deficiency right now, every muscle and part of my body aches.”
Sirius just looks sad. “I’m so sorry Reggie,” He says, his voice low. “You— she’s a bitch, Mother, I’m sorry she did that,”
“She’s Mother, and Mother is… she’s so bad because she went through what we did, and she didn’t have an escape route,” Regulus says. “That’s what I’ve discovered over the years, is that Mother is no different than us, except she didn’t have a support group,”
˚₊𓆩꒰–☆–꒱𓆪₊˚
On Tuesday, Regulus realizes he is in desperate need of clothes. So, he asked Euphemia if they could go clothes shopping for him, and she said yes. Sirius insisted they went to Muggle London, so they did.
“Sirius, for the last time, I don’t want a goddamn band t-shirt,” Regulus says. “Or anything leather.” He adds, looking at every pair of jeans the store has in his size. He had an employee measure him for his size. He pulls out a pair of black jeans, they’re relatively baggy, and they have lots of pockets. The label says ‘Cargo Pants’. He holds them to his legs, throwing them over his arm.
“Regulus, darling, what shoe size are you?” Euphemia asks. “I was thinking you could try these,” She holds up a pair of high tops, the box they’re sat on saying ‘Converse’. They’re green.
“I’m a seven,” he says. “What size are they?” He asks.
“These are a seven and a half, they’d give you some wiggle room if you want to try these on after you’ve gotten some clothes?” Euphemia suggests.
“Sure,” Regulus says.
“Hey, Reggie!” Sirius yells from the other side of the store. “What sorta shirts do you want?” Regulus makes his way over to Sirius, making a mental note to pick up more jeans later.
“Single colour button-ups and baggy shirts. Also black compression tops.” Regulus says, and Sirius looks at him in disdain.
“Compression shirts? Also, are you literally gonna wear all black?” Sirius asks. “Because I won’t let you. That’s just fucking depressing,” Sirius says. “You need some colour.”
“I will actually dye all of your clothes black,” Regulus says. “I’m not getting only black, Sirius,” Regulus adds, looking at some of the shirts, grabbing one black button-up and one black compression shirt, both small, and going to the jumpers.
They have a lot of jumpers. Regulus’ eye catches on a green jumper and a grey jumper. He grabs one of each, deciding that he can focus on quantity when he knows stuff fits.
“Sirius, I’m going to try these on,” Regulus says.
He takes the things into the changing rooms with him.
They all fit pretty well, but sadly he can see the lines of the bandages through the compression shirt— but he still likes it. He gets a few of everything he tried on, and some boxers and socks. He also ended up buying the pair of green Converse.
It’s nice living at the Potters’. With Sirius.