Master or Moron?
Regulus woke early the next morning. Despite what Pandora had told him he began reading the romance books. He had managed to put his cool head back on. Regulus had lost it the previous day despite what he had told himself and he was determined not to make the same mistake twice. If he was just prepared, he told himself, everything was going to be alright.
The day seemed to go by very slowly indeed. He tried not to stare at Potter during breakfast. This proved a very difficult task. It was hard not to stare when he licked the crumbs of his lips after finishing his toast. Regulus felt furious with himself and with Potter. The fact that Potter had done nothing wrong really and therefor did not deserve Regulus anger made him even more furious. He tried hard and in vain to replace his feelings for Potter with jealousy and rage. Anything was better than this he thought self pityingly.
He was anxious about seeing Panda again. Everything had gone well but he still half expected her to change her mind and tell him it wasn’t ok. Though he could not exactly see what was wrong with being… whatever. He did not much fancy being it himself. Their mother had raised them as to not feel and be cold, cruel, and calculating. Regulus had achieved that way of thinking relatively well he thought. His mother had done this with the intent of them feeling as they did about… everything. But instead, Regulus only saw the facts leaving his feelings behind and then he could not muster much hate. What was the point? He told himself that even though he fancied James he wasn’t like Sirius. Though he could not see why it was wrong there must be a reason surely seeing how his parents thought of the matter.
After breakfast he went to his classes his mind whirring. His chest still hurt, and the pain seemed only to get worse. He went back to his dormitory the first chance he got and looked at the damage.
Most of Regulus wounds got infected and he scratched at them in his sleep. It looked horrible he thought. The wound stretched from his navel to his shoulder over his collarbone. The entire wound stood out slightly and the skin around it was red and hard, filled with disgusting goo. Some places had a greenish yellow sort of goo whilst other spots were covered in dried blood or there was a small stream of blood coming from it. When Regulus noticed this, he looked down on his school shirt. Indeed, it was soaked through with blood. “Bloody hell” he murmured.
He looked through his trunk hoping he had had the foresight to bring bandages. Regulus gasped in pain as he bent over to pick up his bloody school shirt. What Sirius did with his legs he had no idea. He sighed wondering what to do. Maybe the room of requirement could help him? Was this a desperate enough case to go to Madame Pomfrey? No, he decided he could not see her. He had only gone to Madame Pomfrey twice to help with his injuries.
The first time had been in his first year when he had accidently spilled his potion right over his already injured, infected legs. It was doxycide and the pain was almost unbearable. Madame Pomfrey had asked about his already existing injuries. He had said he simply tripped. She did not ask any more questions though he was not sure to this day whether she believed him. If the matter weren’t so serious, he could have laughed at his younger self’s horrible lying skills. That excuse had been very lame indeed.
The second time was also in his first year but after the holidays. Barty had accidently (he was not sure if it was, seeing as they had argued the day before) exploded a vase near him so that shards of glass had flown everywhere. Several shards stuck to his legs and remembering the nurse as not asking to many questions he had rushed to the hospital wing. She had indeed not asked were from he had gotten the wounds, but she frowned the entire time.
After that he had not dared go to her again fearing she might catch on if she hadn’t already. He had been too soft he told himself. He reminded himself to not be a baby. He could handle one infected wound. It was not like there was doxycide or shards of glass in it. He would manage. Regulus walked slowly to the bathroom gritting his teeth against the pain that came with moving. He grabbed his thin white towel and wrapped it around his still bleeding chest. He winced as it made direct contact with his skin. Regulus kept a few hair ties in the mirror cabinet over the sink for when he wanted his hair out of the way. He tied the towel tight around him with the hair tie ignoring the pain.
He put on another white school shirt and his grey jumper over just in case. Regulus hid his bloody shirt feeling weak, nauseas, hot and a bit dizzy. He felt to exhausted to try and fix it at that moment and resolved to do it once he felt better. The infection only ever really affected him when it was a big wound as the one on his chest. He felt hot almost feverish and nauseas like he was about to puke.
Regulus walked out of their dormitory like nothing had happened pulling himself together and using his remaining strengths to not wince as he moved. He was on his way to class when a mousy haired Hufflepuff first year girl ran up to him looking very scared. “What?” he drawled with perfect indifference when the girl didn’t speak but merely wringing her hands anxiously. “I was supposed to give you this” she mumbled in a small voice holding out a rolled-up scroll of parchment. He took it and she scurried of immediately. The effect he had on people could be both pleasing and disturbing.
How people scurried to the sides of the corridors to make way for him was great. The feeling of being in control and even better still being important was a savage sort of pleasure . He sometimes enjoyed harassing a student or other for the feeling of control and power that came with it. Regulus rarely felt in control, he often felt like the pawn on the chessboard. Insignificant and a puppet controlled by the puppeteer. He liked to be in charge and feel like the one pulling the strings instead of the one being pulled.
But sometimes he felt like a fraud. Like the little boy who used to cry when seeing a dead boy trapped in the body of a vicious prince. He knew though that he was little different from his family except for the secrets he would take to the grave. There was a dark sort of comfort in knowing that in the end he was exactly like everyone else in his family. He wondered occasionally if the thrill of power he sometimes felt was what Bellatrix had felt when tormenting him and Sirius. If that was how his mother felt when she raised her wand.
He stopped his pondering and opened the rolled-up parchment.
“Mr. Black. I have been informed that you wish to speak with me. You are to come to my office at 4 pm this evening. The password is sugar quills.
Signed: professor Albus Dumbledore”
Regulus felt his stomach twist. Now that he was going to speak with the headmaster, he felt sick with nerves. But that could be the infection, he was not sure. This is the only way he reminded himself. The only way to save Sirius even if it was at the expense of his own happiness, it was a price, he was willing to pay.
Though they were no longer close but quite the opposite in fact he was determined to save him if only for the brother he used to be. It hurt to remember the days when Sirius would sneak into his room to keep him safe. The days when they told each other everything and were as thick as thieves.
He went to his last class, the study of ancient runes but find himself thinking of what to tell Dumbledore instead of listening to the teacher. It hurt to sit straight feeling the wound stretch but it hurt to slump as well, so he sat as straight as usual wanting to seem as normal.
He went to the dining hall with Barty and Evan for an early dinner, but he felt to nauseas to eat. Barty and Evan exchanged a glance but knew better than to comment.
Regulus walked to the gargoyle outside the headmaster’s office. His heart was pounding, and he steeled himself. You must do this for Sirius he reminded himself. You owe him that much at least. “Sugar quills” he told the gargoyle and felt silly even as it swung open revealing a spiral staircase. He knocked hard on the door with the griffin doorknob.
“Enter” a calm voice called from inside. He took a deep breath and entered. Dumbledore’s office was quite extraordinary Regulus thought. Paintings of previous headmasters lined the walls and Regulus recognized his relative Phineas Nigellus. He had magical instruments and books everywhere.
Dumbledore himself sat behind his desk. “Good afternoon, Mr. Black” Dumbledore greeted looking at him over his halfmoon spectacles, his eyes twinkling. “Headmaster” Regulus nodded standing awkwardly. “Sit” Dumbledore instructed pointing at the chair in front of his desk. He did. Regulus considered were to start and felt like Dumbledore was x raying him with his blue eyes staring him down. It was not a pleasant feeling and made him feel even more uncomfortable still.
“I need to speak to you about Sirius, my brother” he said before he lost his nerve. Dumbledore did not look surprised but nodded calmly. Regulus took this to mean that he could continue so he did. “I fear for his safety. You see our parents have, eh quite strict disciplining methods” he paused swallowing. It felt like a betrayal saying it out loud, but he reminded himself that this was necessary.
Don’t feel he told himself. Dumbledore had the tips of his fingers pressed together and was still looking at him. “She used lacero on him for hours and if I had not got there…” he swallowed fighting the lump in his throat.
The vision of Sirius dead body had already plagued his nightmares. If he had not gotten to him, he felt sure his mother would have gone on until he blead to death.
Dumbledore seemed intrigued now, not worried but rather, curious. “Do you know what caused your mother to take such drastic measures?” he asked looking at the phoenix purged on his desk. Regulus felt a stab of burning hot anger but kept his face neutral. Dumbledore did not seem to care for Sirius safety at all. He seemed to have another motive.
Was he just another manipulator wishing to toy with them like pawns? He wondered what to answer. Regulus did not feel comfortable sharing the words their mother had shouted at him. Almost everyone seemed to think… poorly was a nice way to put it of people like Sirius. And you a voice piped up, but he ignored it. He needed to win Sirius sympathy and not knowing Dumbledore’s take on the matter he wished to play it safe.
“I am not exactly sure but she usually do not need a strong reason for disciplining us” he answered his voice carefully neutral. It hurt to say “us” making him show weakness but it was the truth. The truth was a horrible and beautiful thing just because it was true.
“She did this over a family matter?” Dumbledore asked with concealed disappointment. Anyone else might have mistaken his voice for neutral but Regulus having spent his life observing to understand he no knew Dumbledore’s real motives. He had little natural talent for understanding social constructs but after years of hard work he was now very observant.
Dumbledore wanted to use Sirius believing him to hear something then tell the Potters who would tell him. Sirius was just a scapegoat, a pawn, a bait. He did not care in the least if Sirius got hurt.
Fury was burning embers in him now, setting his heart on fire. He would very much like to throttle the calm old man in front of him. “Yes” he said and it was a miracle how calm he sounded. He did not have much hope left seeing as Dumbledore actually seemed to want him to stay with no regard to his safety.
“Can you get him out?” he asked desperately. He needed Sirius to be safe no matter how it hurt him. Rather he left him than died suffering at the hands of their parents. Dumbledore gave what was evidently supposed to be a sad smile. “Unfortunately, the rules of domestic violence are quite vague and there is only so little I can do unless I am given solid proof” he spoke calmly.
Regulus anger was at a bursting point, and it was very difficult indeed to rein it in. “Sirius is too proud” he said finally. “Well then, there is nothing that can be done” Dumbledore declared as though that settled the matter. He was not even trying to help! Regulus was at bursting point his fingertips buzzing with energy. He managed quench his anger enough to not do accidental magic, but his calm expression was slipping.
“You seem upset” Dumbledore stated cocking his head slightly to observe him better. Of course, I am he wanted to shout. Of course, I am angry since you are making zero effort to save my brothers life only wanting to use him. Yes, I am freaking angry! But it was not a question, so he did not answer. “You can come back if or when your brother is willing” he stated simply. Before Regulus could stop himself, his jaw was clenching. Before his rational mind caught up, he had dragged away a piece of his shirt revealing a bit of his unbandaged wound.
“You need proof!? Well here you go. I got this one just for not leaving him to bleed to death on the bloody floor. I have done everything I can to keep him safe but he refuses to go to Madame Pomfrey and he can barely stand. Just help him!” he growled.
He did not recall standing up but he was pacing his fists clenched so hard that his fingernails were cutting into his palm. Dumbledore looked surprised for a moment but was soon his infuriating calm self again. “There is nothing I can do Mr. Black” Dumbledore stated and started looking at the notes on his desks.
Regulus just stared at him. He felt like he was being boiled alive in his own fury. Dumbledore looked up “you may go Mr. Black” he dismissed looking down again. Regulus was shaking with fury. He had rarely felt so angry. He stormed out feeling his head thud with rage.
He thundered to the room of requirement his heart beating fast. He thought “I need a place to paint” three times and entered. Dumbledore was just as eager to posses and control as their parents Regulus thought viciously. He felt quite unlike himself. He had been angry before of course but he more often resolved to sadness than rage.
He started painting not even sketching just painting straight on. The painting was of a devil holding a bloody heart. He just wanted to use him he thought over and over.
Once his painting was finished however his anger had ebbed leaving only sorrow and anxiety in its place. I couldn’t save him he thought and felt his eyes burn. He looked up at the ceiling determined not to cry, only weaklings cried his mother had told him.
He is going to die he thought, and panic seized him. He sat down in one of the dark blue armchairs in the corner. He wrapped his arms around his knees as if to hold himself together. He started rocking back and forth willing his heart to slow down. It hurt, a lot to have his legs against his chest but Regulus didn’t stop.
He felt that if he uncurled from his balled-up position he would break. Clean in half blood spreading onto the floor just like… He could not even think his brothers name. It felt as though he had let him down, screwed up his only chance at freedom.
He felt a bit guilty to. Regulus had known it was best for his brother to leave and be safe. But a childish, selfish part of him didn’t want to be left their alone. He wanted them to make up and for them to be the brothers they used to be. Regulus felt childish admitting it even to himself.
Regulus rocked back and forth for hours having several mental turns, were his heart beat fast and he couldn’t breath before he finally fell asleep.
He dreamt of the time that he was seven years old, and Bellatrix had found him inside her closet, hiding. He had been unable to breath during a banquet and feeling panicked he had hidden in the first small, quiet, calm place he could find which happened to be Bellatrix closet.
Sirius had been very ill that day and had therefor been excused from the banquet. Bellatrix had gone to her room and Regulus assumed she must have heard him since she opened the door the next moment. She had screamed in rage and slapped him across the face.
“What are you doing in my room!?” she had yelled but before he could answer she had put a hand around his neck and being slim and several years younger than Bella, she had lifted him by the neck. She had squeezed hard, and he had been unable to breath. She had then locked him in a small, dark cupboard and no one had found him until the following evening.