regulus has been drowning his entire life.
—
it was never anything definable. never something he could explain, even if he wanted to, which he decidedly did not. maybe if he had more time...
the feeling of drowning.
it starts as a whisper, quiet in childhood. blurred edges of his vision and too many voices to concentrate. stiffly, he does exactly as he's told. but it's not him, it doesn't feel like him, like anyone at all. his body, his voice, his behaviour.
he says all the right things, watches his older brother slowly crush under the weight of it all. and he prioritises himself.
as does sirius. one day.
regulus does nothing and everything at the exact same time.
there is a dull undertone to it all, the weight of certainty in his stomach, that it is better this way. to be alive in this world would pull him under too quickly, too easily. so he retreats into himself. and like a duck on a pond, he calmly sits above the water.
(ignoring the hasty paddling of his feet beneath him, so ingrained, so normal, he forgets this isn't what a person is supposed to be)
in hogwarts, it's much of the same. but there's a shift, ever so subtle, almost unnoticeable. the world around him is still so loud, his brother is so loud, god, the dances he must perform just to have a conversation, elaborate social rules each catered to the person he's interacting with. it knocks the effectiveness of his steady routine, his façade, into smithereens. it's not the same, it isn't working. but still, he doesn't change it.
he doesn't know how.
—
the weight of it all, the blurry life he's living, full of rules he isn't sure he ever believed in.
it comes to a halt, with one singular question sirius asks him in the heat of one of their (perfectly predictable, routinely even) arguments.
"you're pathetic, truly, sirius. run from your problems, that's the fucking way to do it" he spits.
"and what do you do?"
"i actually deal with-"
"no! you don't! are you even a person? or just some fucking lame ghost, haunting me? i can't save a corpse"
"i never needed you to save me"
"i wanted to save you!" sirius mutters, and animatedly walks away in a sulk, as regulus would put it.
(in reality, the gryfindor swiftly exits with his head bowed. but regulus has never really been real, seen the world in the way everyone else seems so able to, has he?)
are you even a person?
and it's this day, deep into his 4th year at hogwarts, that he realises.
it's too much. and his head is barely above water.
corpse.
regulus checks that night, if he really is dead. he feels dead, sirius is right. a corpse walking.
he enters a common room bathroom in the middle of the night. it's away from the dormitories, and nobody will bother him, he’s almost certain.
he's right, they don't.
he puts a fist into the mirror.
nobody comes.
he picks up a shard, hand already covered in blood.
nobody comes.
he delicately places it to his neck.
nobody comes.
and traces over his collarbones, perfectly visible, the signs of a pureblood, with a reasonable diet.
too much indulgence is unbecoming, regulus, a black must rarely feel satiated. soon, you'll learn purity requires effort. your body must reflect this.
walburga's words, but not quite in her voice, and he thinks,
fuck. this.
—
regulus wakes up the next morning for the first time, alive. he can breathe. and the sting of the gaping wounds on his biceps, the pain in his hand and the delicate lines of red tracing the ribs visible through his skin, they have gifted him this.
he does it again, hastily, before going into the great hall. just some small nicks, on the backs of his legs. he's repaired the mirror, but nobody notices the tiny piece missing from the bottom.
and he feels. sat in front of his morning apple, he feels the hunger. and for the first time, regulus also becomes aware of the sensation of gnawing disgust.
he's so hungry. and that's disgusting, isn't it? it's supposed to be. he isn't supposed to be thinking like this.
but he can't help himself.
he discards the apple and goes for two of the pastries.
—
the pastries don’t sit quite right. neither do the next few, and so regulus acts again, in a new way. like a person with autonomy, with ability to choose what they do to themselves. a person in control.
—
regulus can't help but wonder, 6 months after the first time he knelt to the floor, and purged himself of all that filth that morning in that same bathroom. if perhaps drowning unaware was the much better alternative.
you start kicking and screaming, clawing for a life you have never known, but you're still drowning.
you're still in the middle of nowhere, and you're drowning and what good was it to fight when the entire thing was futile in the first place? the weight of living is dragging him down faster than anything ever has before. his world is still hazy and somehow the pain of all the wounds still littering his skin is now part of it all. the burn of his throat. the hunger. the disgust. the fear.
he fears he's lost control.
he avoids food wherever he can. pretends he's pure and though he always knew it was a mask, there was an emptiness underneath. now there is something much, much worse.
what defines a person?
he's sat in a prefect bathroom, this year. trailing his fingers over his wand (shard of glass long forgotten in favour of quicker, easier methods) he thinks over his summer, over orion's loud temper, over walburga's quiet appreciation of the bones jutting out of his skin. he thinks over the mask he spent those weeks in. familiar, but wrong now in a way he could never put his finger on.
is it our thoughts, our experiences, our actions, or the emotions we feel, that make us who we are? a horrible marred mess of all of those things?
—
sometimes he revels in the chaos of it all.
it’s all his, all his choices. but he feels the doubt, too.
“you look dead” sirius states bluntly, one day. it’s sixth year now, their last. they’re in the grounds, and his friends aren’t far behind him.
regulus just wanted some fresh air, maybe a bit of a walk, too.
he can’t seem to sit still, these days.
all that chaos, bubbling out of him. all that feeling…
“i know” he hums in reply, shifting his feet.
“what’s going on with you?!” sirius bursts out. and regulus almost laughs. he was never good at concealing his emotions, not like regulus.
“let’s not pretend, sirius”
and that seems to settle him.
“you have a problem”
“i’d call it self control, but we can agree to disagree” he huffs. he doesn’t have the energy to argue these days.
“remus said you might say that”
“of course” he laughs “you’ve been telling your boyfriend about me. how fucking gryfindor”
“you… want to die? reg?”
he falters.
“no”
“then stop… stop whatever it is your doing. just stop. if you have control, stop”
“what is it that you think i’m doing?” he almost laughs again, but keeps it locked in his throat. sirius could never understand.
“dying”
he waves his hand in a dismissive gesture.
“i don’t care what you think is happening, sirius. but i’m completely fine”
“you told me not to pretend. i won’t. you know other people eat in the great hall too? who disappears long enough for it to be obvious its deliberate and then returns every so often to eat like there will never be food again? you’re anything but controlled”
“don’t you fucking dare” regulus feels the shame hot in his stomach. he almost goes for his wand, not even certain what for.
to hurt his brother, or himself?
but sirius continues.
“control? you think that’s control? you think your own brother can’t tell you have a fucking problem?”
“i am not going to die”
“then. stop. stop whatever this is”
“i can’tjust-”
“stop?”
the two brothers share a look, and regulus swiftly walks the other way. head bowed ever so slightly.
choices.
when did this stop being a choice? was it ever, really? has anything about him, about his life? has it ever been a choice?
—
cold and frail, gratifyingly so, with his body marred all over, regulus eventually finds himself confronted with sirius’ warning.
regulus is drowning for the last time, and as the water finally pulls him under, he feels the last bubble of air leave his lungs. if it were possible to hear under all that liquid, it might’ve sounded like laughter.