She hopes I'm Cursed Forever to Sleep on a Twin-Sized Mattress
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
A deep ache has settled in his chest somewhere along the day. Whether it started in the morning after being startled awake by the loud bang of a door closing, and the following screams to “Come back, you ungrateful vermin, who do you think you are? Turning your back on your mother like that!” or sometime later, he could not remember. The numbness that overtook him seconds after comprehending what was happening felt like being thrust into ice cold water after he realized who the screams belonged to, and thus, who they were directed at. The coldness did not leave him for what felt like hours, but must have only been minutes. Precious minutes that he wasted on something as trivial as fear, when he could have been forming an idea; a plan; a way to get out of the situation his brother so rudely shoved him in without any warning or any regard for the consequences his disobedience would have.
Drip.
I’m cold, he realized, as if that mattered at the moment. Regulus had much more pressing issues, and yet the uncomfortableness that came with laying on the cold, wet floor of the library was starting to seem like the only important one. I’m so bloody cold. He could not remember where he was when he awoke again, and the first seconds of blissful ignorance were almost euphoric. Not remembering how he came to be where he was was agonizingly comforting, almost cruelly so, for he knew it would not last. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there was screaming to get up, get up, get up! For a few seconds he did not worry about anything. About his brother; or their mother and father; or about the, steadily more present, tremors that wracked his body. The only thing on his mind was the bloody cold floor, and how much he wanted to be 17 solely so he could apparate into his own bedroom and collapse on the comfortably worn mattress. Maybe he could cuddle the pillow he exchanged with Sirius for one of his own before he was abandoned years ago. “Whenever you’re missing me, you can just hug my pillow and it’ll be like you’re hugging me! You get mine, and I’ll take yours to Hogwarts so we never get lonely.”
Drip.
The longer he lay on the cold tiles, the more pain his muddled mind registered. Before awareness came pain. The phantom ache he started feeling previously in the day was suddenly feeling horribly, shockingly real, and Regulus could not understand why he was in pain. It hurts. He tried letting somebody know, but could not hear any sound leave his mouth. He was not sure whether he actually couldn't get the words out, or whether it was his hearing that was impaired from something he knew happened, but just could not remember what it was.
Drip.
Something’s dripping. My hearing is fine. When did it become so hard to talk then? The ache he was becoming aware of now was focused mostly on his throat. The flames burning it every time he took a breath or tried to utter a sound were steadily becoming more uncomfortable than the cold, thus, putting them at the top of his (admittedly very unorganized) priority list. Focusing on parts of his body gave him some minor relief, as he was not forced to feel all of it at once, I don’t think I could go through that again. Briefly he was grateful for losing consciousness, at least he got a break before it all started again. What it was, he still was not sure. What he was sure of though, was the urge to get up and leave but when he tried to move his hand to brace himself, the pain shooting up his palm that connected with the cold tiles was enough to temporarily give up the idea of moving. Soon. Soon I’ll go, just a minute he thought. A minute will get you killed, you bloody idiot. get up and leave while they’re gone! his mind screamed back.
Drip.
What is that fucking dripping he thought with annoyance, which in the grand scheme of things was the last thought he should be having at the moment. Entertaining his own tired and questioning mind, Regulus opened his eyes. The immediate assault on his mind was agonizing, light venturing in through the big windows in the library was almost as pain inducing as moving. With opening his eyes came awareness that Regulus was sure he was not prepared for, and every wound on his body was suddenly overshadowed by the horrible tremors he forgot about in his confusion. Each shiver seemed to send lightning bolts of pain through every nerve ending in his body.
Drip.
Oh. He realized with a start what the dripping sounds were. I’m bleeding. And he really was. As it turned out, the wetness his body was laying in came from him. Why is my blood so cold? Unfortunately, his weathered mind did not have an answer. Crimson liquid steadily dripping from his clothes onto the beautifully tiled floors was making a mess that Kretcher will have to clean up. Regulus felt bad for making such a mess now. Adding “scrub the library floors clean from Regulus’ blood” to the poor house-elf's’ list of endless chores was the beginning of the end of the eerie peacefulness his mind was locked in, and the dripping sounds were now accompanied by half-choked sobs.
Regulus was now steadily becoming more and more aware of what was happening and how he got there. The end of the fight in the morning that woke him up, how his own brother left him alone now. For good. There is not a single scenario Regulus can think of that includes them both living at Grimmauld place now- not after his brother left and did not come back, even when Regulus pleaded and begged and cowered for Sirius to realize that Regulus would not survive their mothers anger while she cast endless curses at his writhing, screaming, broken body. He can’t read your mind. You should have told him yesterday. Maybe he would have taken you with him and mother wouldn't have done this.
Punishments were never unusual in the Ancient and Noble House fo Black. You step a toe out of line and the punishments would come before dinner. Every day, like clockwork. The punishments were reserved for dinner time as they were a family matter, and were dealt with while the family was present. When mother came back screaming through the door that morning, long after Sirius was out of her sight, Regulus knew she would not wait until dinner time. He did not have the time, he could not wait. He could not afford to wait, and now with Sirius gone, she would turn to Regulus for the punishment she could not inflict on his brother. For every second he stayed rooted in his spot, the punishment that awaited was that much closer.
He felt almost angry at the prospect. Why did he have to endure something he did not deserve? Why couldn't his brother, for once in his life, just lay low and not draw attention to himself? Why did Regulus have to pay for his brothers’ mistakes? It was unfair, but as Regulus has come to realize very early in his short life, that was just how things were, life was supposed to be unfair. Fairness is something only weak people expect. Existing was not meant to be fair, If you cannot accept that, then simply stop existing. This was a simple concept Regulus had grasped when he was too young, it had become something of a safety line. A way out. When punishments became too harsh, yet nothing at all like today, he felt comforted by the thought that he could simply stop existing without consequences.
He was a spare after all. A simple precaution his parents put in place in case their first-born, their legacy, their heir, became unfit to fill the role. Regulus seemed to always be second to everything in his life. He was nothing in the grand scheme of things. Simply there to exist as an insurance in case Sirius rebelled against their parents’ ideologies and views, or was not obedient enough, or left; ran away.
My brother left me here alone. But he was not alone, he had Kretcher. Did Kretcher help you? Do you see him anywhere trying to help you now? No. No he did not see the elf, but maybe his sight had become a bit worse over the course of the morning and he just did not notice him, and the world around him seemed to be agreeing with that thought. The room flying around him like a snitch taunting a seeker. You’ll never catch me, I’m too fast for you. All you have to do is reach for me and yet you’re too weak to do even that.
Regulus’ thoughts no longer felt like a tangled rope, slowly but surely, he was unraveling the tangled mess his brain became. Taking in every small detail he could: the light from the windows- the sun was almost setting, how long had he spent on the floor now? He did not know the answer. The sunlight was blinding, a throbbing headache made itself known after Regulus moved his head to take in the rest of the room. Nothing was out of the ordinary, except the puddle of blood steadily forming underneath him. Regulus tried to wrack his brain for the memories of what exactly caused so much blood, but thinking only made the headache worse.
First things first, what hurts? Everything, his mind unhelpfully supplied, which did nothing to calm the now steadily flowing tears. Briefly, he wondered how his mother did not hear his sobs, as now they seemed to be uncontrollably and steadily getting louder, ripping his throat up in the process, and leaving behind only fire and sand. Did she leave to not have to deal with his unnecessary crying? Maybe. He never could last long without tears even during normal punishments, and what occurred today was nowhere near the normal amount of pain after getting out of line. Did Sirius even have to deal with this much pain? He wondered, and immediately felt horrible about all the times Sirius took the punishments for him.
“Reggie didn’t break the vase, I did!” “Why would you do that, Sirius? Answer me.” “Because it was ugly and doing nothing for the decor of this dreadful place.” Regulus does not know what punishment Sirius received for that, but it had clearly worked, for Sirius never said anything about the decor of Grimmauld place again. They had been 6 and 7 at the time, which now appeared to be so long ago. His anger towards his brother dissipated in a flash and left behind only the bitter feeling of loneliness. Why didn't you take me with you? I would have come with you. It was too late now though.
Trying to stand up was decidedly too difficult, so Regulus succumbed to crawling on his forearms, for his legs did not appear to have gotten the message of “we're getting out whether you want to work with me or not”. He gingerly turned around from his side onto his stomach and instantly the burning the nerves in his entire being were screaming at him to stop, and getting air into his lungs became impossible. Regulus stayed laying on his front, his robe soaking up all the blood and getting heavier on his body. Reluctantly, he tried shrugging off the offending item but the second his left arm was free, the cold penetrated his thin dress shirt making him shudder harder, and that only deepened the ache which was permanently etched into his bones now.
Breathing through the pain did not help, and so he resigned to his fate and did not try to shrug the clothing off any further. The front of his trousers now seemed to have a competition with his robes of who can soak up more blood and weigh Regulus down more. This was fine. Everything was fine. At least Kretcher would have less work.
He turned his head around once again, pain shooting up and down his muscles like they were all cramping all over again, trying to find a way out. The mahogany door to the library was closed and Regulus did not have the strength to figure out whether or not it was bolted shut. If it wasn’t then there was no way he could crawl all the way to the entrance and down the steps of Grimmauld place, and if it was then he found no point in wasting his energy. He looked around once again and suddenly a relief washed over him so strong that the sobs he did not notice subdued, started right back up again. His forehead touched the cool marble floor and, for once that day, the cold was welcome.
A fireplace. Thank Merlin. Regulus could not understand how he forgot about the floo network, though he could also not understand many things at that moment, so he did not pay that any mind, and setting one forearm in front of the other, slowly made his way towards the fireplace. Trying to ignore the pain shooting up and down his arms was more difficult than he would have imagined, and his left forearm felt cold and impossibly numb, but he could not give up. Not right now, not when the mantra of get up, get up, get up was just starting to quiet down a bit, subsequently lessening the headache.
It was so close. So very close. The mere meters he had to crawl felt like an eternity of pain and fire and so much confusion and all of a sudden he was there by the fireplace, and yet he felt like he was missing something. What was he missing? Something important, that’s for sure, but he just could not remember what it was. He tried putting that thought aside and continued crawling into the fireplace. As his legs still refused to be of any use, holding onto anything he could proved to be vital. He blindly touched everything around him, looking for anything of use to prop himself up on. His fingers hooked on a small rim of something and when Regulus put pressure on his palm to pull himself up, the thing tipped over onto his back.
Impossible pain ripped through him like tiny fireworks shooting off of every nerve and singeing the ends like a stubborn thread that just would not stop unraveling. He stayed like that for a while. Breathing was becoming difficult and tears were once again flowing alarmingly fast. At this rate, he'd die of dehydration faster than blood loss. Blood loss, he thought, you’ll die here. If you do not get up. You’ll die and never hear him say that he loves you ever again. Do you really want that? Do you want to die in your own house, on your own floor, by your own mothers hand?
No, he thought miserably, I don’t. Not until I tell him it’s not his fault. He’ll blame himself. Him and his annoying guilt complex.
He had to get up. He was so close now.
Lifting his head up off of the floor he looked at the mess behind him and when he realized exactly what tipped over, he couldn’t help but let out an incredulous laugh through the tears. So that’s what I forgot. There, behind him was a tipped cauldron that not even 10 minutes before was filled with floo powder, which was strewn all over Regulus and the floor around him. After reaching for a handful of the powder with his shaking hand, he resumed the task of pulling himself up to the fireplace.
Muscles still protesting, after a few failed attempts at holding himself up, when he finally let go of the frame of the fireplace he understood where he needed to go. He knew where his brother would be, and he knew that he needed to go to him before the blood loss made him tip over and lose consciousness. Before his mother came back from wherever she went and, Merlin forbid, caught Regulus trying to flee. He could not even imagine the punishment he’d receive if that ever happened. How much worse could she really get? How much worse would anywhere else be, other than here?
He thought about that for a minute or two. Where would it be worse for Regulus Black? Certainly not anywhere his confused mind could come up with other than Azkaban, and that really was a bad place. Was there really nowhere that could be categorized between Azkaban and Grimmauld Place? Was living here really that bad? Was he even ready to leave? Yes. If Sirius asked you yesterday to come with him, you would've. Would you not?
Yes, I would. Without looking around at the truly dreadful decor, Regulus dropped the floo powder onto the ground. As clearly as his vocal cords could manage, he said “Potter Manor”.
And Regulus Black was gone in a flash of green.