Regulus distantly watched as she drifted hurriedly around the room, grabbing items and steadily placing them in her suitcase. She never breaks a sweat. Of course she doesn’t. Never once has she lost composure, nor will ever she appear anywhere near disgruntled. Oftentimes it’s overwhelming. The need to be perfect all time, that is. Even in front of the closest of family. He doubts he truly knows a single thing about her. A mother, yet a stranger. It burns into his scalp every night as he lies awake. She doesn’t know me. He’d be dead if she did, or disowned at the very least. Regulus can’t breathe around her, tension in his shoulders far too stiff. It’s as if he’s walking on a fraying wire, ready for it to snap beneath him at any moment. So his airways close up without his consent, for if he exhales too loud, he’d fall into an abyss.
He tries to ignore the persisting want for another life, or to just leave altogether. And he does ignore that nagging feeling, hardly but he manages. He does it for his mother, as nobody craves her approval as he does. Nothing quite hurts like a mothers love he supposed, or lack thereof. I’m nothing if not a pawn in this game of status. A backup for a brother loved by none of his family but me.
He’s grateful for Sirius. He’d shown him that there was in fact, a way out if he needed it. Which he so desperately does. Though again, he must ignore those thoughts. Distract yourself, is what his mind rings over and over again, begging him not to give in. He’s met the Potter’s before. They’re very genuine and honest people. The parents, who give the world and ask for nothing in return. James. His replacement. He used to be jealous and petty about the whole thing. Now he only admires the man. It’s to the point where he’s thankful to James for being willing to take in someone and shower them with the relief and love they require. To accept someone into his family without hesitation. Regulus thinks that Sirius might even be happy there, despite the past that haunts him. That household is a reflection of everything the Black family’s isn’t. Warm, peaceful, comfortable. Everything he’s ever really wanted. He shakes his head, ridding himself of such ideas. His mother catches the movement and turns, regarding him with a straight face, though Regulus sees the honest distain in her eyes.
“You look well put together. Dresses suit you. You should wear them more often.” Walburga comments offhandedly before facing the other way once again.
They make me feel like a girl, his head rings mockingly. “Yes, I suppose they do.”
“Why do you wear such masculine clothing? Although we withhold the finest silk button-ups and sleek trousers, they do nothing but hide your body.”
That’s the point, mother. “They’re more comfortable, in my opinion.” he says distractedly. He regrets it instantly, because he’s simply not allowed an opinion. His mind screams and scratches at him to argue against her. I’m a boy, can’t you see that? Are you able to?
“Comfort hardly matters in this world. You’re going to ruin my reputation, you know that, yes?” she sneers. “You mustn’t continue on with these acts or I fear you’ll only follow in your brother’s footsteps. You’ll wear nothing except dresses from now on, do you understand?” It’s not a question. Not really. To regulus, he’d rather label it as a demand but to an outsider, it’d be a threat. With the way she talks, he knows that others would perceive him as a strung up puppet, moving only with her manipulation.
His throat seers with the need to defend his brother, the only person who understands and respects him. She can’t even say Sirius’ name, which always manages to make an angry bile rise in his throat. Instead, he responds with the only thing he’s able to. “Yes mother.”
You make me want to die, I think. I might even be drowning already.