Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Regulus inhaled a shaky breath when Sirius’ breath evens out, looking up at the other three marauders from where they’re pressed together on Potter’s bed. They’re staring back with solemn eyes.
“How many of … of those do you need to get good at that? What you just did?” Pettigrew asks. Regulus smooths back Sirius’ hair, glancing down at him when he feels the smallest of smiles press against his collarbone, stark and pale in the light.
“A lot. Too many to count.” Regulus whispers, voice cracking. He shuts his eyes and slips out from beneath Sirius, listening to his sound of annoyance. Regulus leans down, kissing him on the forehead. “I’ll be back.” His voice sounds faulty to his own ears, far away as though cotton has been shoved in his ears.
“Where are you going?” Lupin hisses, getting to his feet.
Regulus clenches his eyes shut, feeling tears start to form. “I need air.” Lupin catches his arm as he’s walking and he spins, fist striking out quickly, slamming his knuckles into Lupin’s face. “I said I needed a second. I wasn’t asking, Lupin.”
“What the hell?” Potter whisper-shouts, coming to Lupin’s aid. His eyes burn into Regulus’s. “Who the hell—”
“When you live in the house I do, be sorted into Slytherin and have the family I do, you learn a few things.” Regulus murmurs, turning and launching himself into the bathroom, the one that’s just next to the exit. As he closes the door, his knees crumples, fingers hastening to lock the door just as the doorknob jiggles.
No personal boundaries: I can see why Sirius is their friends, Regulus laughs breathlessly to himself, sounding half out of his mind, manic to even himself. Regulus lays on the floor for a long while, just breathing in and out as quietly as he can, trying to regain his normal breathing pattern and not the sharp, jerky one he has now.
He steels himself when he feels the bile start rising up his throat, trying to push it back down. It gradually takes over and he’s forced to scramble across the floor on his hands and knees, hacking up into the toilet, practically folded in half. His ribs burns from where he’s pushed himself so violently into the seat. His knuckles are white, clenched so tight he’s starting to lose circulation in his fingers.
He loosens his grip, pulling back. There’s jangling behind him, more insistent, rather than the half-hearted one he had earned last time. The last time it stemmed from hurt pride, but this one sounds … worried?
Regulus lifts his head, glancing back over his shoulder. The words the person behind the door is speaking sound muffled, barricaded behind a barrier Regulus can’t break through.
He lowers his head again when more bile scratches the inners of his throat, letting it all out. It’s starting to clog the air and Regulus’s nose, but he can’t move to pick up his wand and banish it away. He breathes out deeply and sits back when he feels like nothing’s going to come up again.
His eyes stinging with tears, he wipes away the fluids on his face, breath catching in his throat. He pulls himself to his feet, knees shaky as he walks to the sink, splashing cold water on his face, drying it off with a towel.
Regulus tied his hair into a low ponytail with the ribbon wrapped around his wrist. In the recent two days since he had somehow travelled two years back in time, he’d kept up with keeping a hair tie on him. It wasn’t as ideal as using the hairbands some girls had leant him in the past forty-eight hours, but ribbons felt nice between his fingertips and silky smooth hair, and they didn’t tug so harshly at his hair when he went to let it down.
When he finally opened the door, vomit banished and a subtle spell to fix the scent of the bathroom and his breath, he looked relatively composed. Not as though he’d been heaving his lungs up for the past seven minutes.
“Are you alright?” Potter asks immediately when the door opens just a crack. Regulus nods, not daring to say anything. He makes his way back into the room, slipping between Lupin and Pettigrew, avoiding Potter’s inquiring eyes, just wanting to get away. He scrambles into the bed Sirius is lying in, perfectly content.
Sirius’s eyes crinkle, the beginning signs that he’s beginning to awaken. He shivers when the blanket is pulled backwards, eyes squinting open, hiss falling out between his teeth. “Reggie? Are you okay? What did mother—”
“We’re at Hogwarts, Riri.” Regulus hastens to say, glancing back at the rest of the marauders, who most likely had watched over Sirius while he was having his breakdown in the bathroom. Sirius sucks in a shallow breath.
“Oh, right.” Sirius mumbles sleepily, crawling closer, so he’s practically glued to Regulus’ side. “Sing for me?”
“Oh, which song?” Regulus questions, pushing his fingers through Sirius’ hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way Sirius loves. Sirius rumbles appreciatively beneath him—despite being a dog animagus, he acts like such a cat sometimes.
“That one you sang to me when I was eight and had tonsillitis. Remember?”—
—Sirius sniffled, Regulus could hear it from out in the corridor, from where he was standing, huddled outside of Sirius’s room. Regulus tapped lightly on the door.
“Riri?” Regulus murmurs, tapping on the wood once more. “Are you okay?”
“No.” Sirius croaked out; broken sob lodged in his throat. It sound like icicles were thumping down his throat, injuring the inside, until Sirius was unable to speak. “It burns.” The door unlocks and Regulus creeps inside, shutting it quickly lest mother sees him go inside.
“It’s going to be okay.” Regulus says firmly, no sign of doubt in his voice. “You’re strong, Riri, you can do it.” Regulus cheered quietly. Sirius grumbled something beneath his breath, too quiet to hear but he was smiling all the same, a soft sort of tilt of his lips that lit up his eyes with a thousand glittering rays of silver. Whereas Regulus’s own burned and pierced like liquid sapphires.
Right then was no different, especially with the way Regulus stared at Sirius with utter happiness. Sirius moved to make room for Regulus.
“Sing me a song?” Sirius voice was low and throaty, sounding sore.
Regulus nodded, crawling beside Sirius. When he started singing, Sirius shut his eyes, closing the gateways to his soul—
“I remember.” Regulus says, voice catching. Sirius doesn’t seem to notice, laying his head on Regulus’s chest, playing loosely with Regulus’ fingers. Regulus breathes in deeply, getting ready. He’s always had a singing voice, so has Sirius which was something they definitely had gotten from their father.
Regulus wasn’t scared of singing in front of the marauders, he was scared of the emotions that would rush over him when singing the song to Sirius.
There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold
And she's buying a stairway to heaven
When she gets there, she knows, if the stores are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for
Ooh, ooh, and she's buying a stairway to heaven
There's a sign on the wall, but she wants to be sure
'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings
In a tree by the brook, there's a songbird who sings
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven
Ooh, it makes me wonder
Ooh, it makes me wonder
There's a feeling I get when I look to the west
And my spirit is crying for leaving
In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees
And the voices of those who stand looking
Ooh, it makes me wonder
Ooh, it really makes me wonder
And it's whispered that soon, if we all call the tune
Then the piper will lead us to reason
And a new day will dawn for those who stand long
And the forests will echo with laughter
If there's a bustle in your hedgerow, don't be alarmed now
It's just a spring clean for the May queen
Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run
There's still time to change the road you're on
And it makes me wonder
Your head is humming, and it won't go, in case you don't know
The piper's calling you to join him
Dear lady, can you hear the wind blow
And did you know your stairway lies on the whispering wind?
And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
How everything still turns to gold
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll
And she's buying a stairway to heaven.
Regulus stops, fading into a soft hum, closing his eyes against the emotions flapping at his insides. He can feel them on the brink of his chest, pushing and shoving at his heart, desperate to get out of their cage.
Sirius is asleep on his chest, out cold. The marauders are chatting to themselves quietly, too quietly for Regulus’s ears, so when he closes his eyes, he doesn’t mean to fall asleep. Yet the voices in the background fade to a smooth murmur and he can’t resist the temptation of sleep that tugs at his brain, urging him into a soft dream.
-CUT-
“Master Regulus shouldn’t be out so late.” Kreacher murmurs, approaching him from where he’s seated on a small bench, just outside, where their giant pitch is located, the one Sirius is always on, flying back and forwards, beaters bat in his hand. Regulus far preferred the tiny golden snitch that would batter back and forward, flying in and out of his vision.
Regulus had good vision. It was what made him such a good seeker.
“I need air.” Regulus murmurs, eyes flittering back over the keeper rings. His father used to be a keeper when he attended Hogwarts, always in the air, always on his broom. Quidditch was one of the only things he had firmly allowed them to do, rebuking against Walburga at all odds.
When Orion was there, he actually made a difference. Sometimes, Regulus hoped.
But he always hated himself afterwards. Because hope lead to disappointment, heart crushing, mind numbing, toe curling disappointment.
Kreacher hesitated, glancing back at the Black manor with trepidation written all of his wrinkly face. Regulus didn’t know what he was doing until Kreacher started climbing onto the bench, plopping himself next to Regulus with a faint huff of fond exasperation.
“Master Regulus will get a cold and Kreacher will have to nurse Master Regulus better. Mistress shall be mad at Kreacher for not helping Master Regulus before he got sick.” Kreacher speaks into the air after a moment of calm tranquillity. Regulus stifles a sigh.
“I know, Kreacher, but I needed …” Regulus pauses, collecting his thoughts, trying to find the words he could say to the elf, so he’d understand. These days, Kreacher just didn’t, which worried him that he’d get concerned and start trading in his secrets to Walburga.
“Needed what, Master Regulus?” Kreacher questions. “Kreacher wants to know?” His small, skinny legs tilt in the wind, flickering back and forth in a slow rhythm.
“It was suffocating me, Kreacher and not in a good way.” Regulus suffers a sigh when Kreacher’s face wrinkled in confusion, even more so. Finally, Kreacher nods, once and firm, as if taking Regulus at his words.
“Then Master Regulus shall come inside and Kreacher shall make Master Regulus a glass of hot cocoa. Oh yes, that is what Kreacher shall do.” Kreacher hopped off the bench, tugging at Regulus’s hands, until with a slight chuckle, Regulus follows in Kreacher’s tiny footsteps, following him back into the house.
He glances over his shoulder once more at the pitch before walking back into his cage, locking himself up tighter than he had when he left.
-CUT-
The dream begins to twist into a nightmare. Whilst James Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin sleep, Regulus whimpers, sweat clouding his brow as he tilts his head to the side in distress.
They don’t hear it, in dreamland, not hearing the suffering of Regulus Black in the bed nearest to them.
Regulus suffers alone.
-CUT-
“I don’t see why we have to be here, auntie. I’ve already had my recruitment.” Bellatrix murmurs silkily to Walburga. Walburga sniffs, her words when she next speaks shows her distaste of Bellatrix getting the dark mark before Regulus did despite Regulus not being eighteen and Bellatrix being five years his elder.
“You shall watch your cousin accept his responsibilities, girl.” Walburga hisses lowly, face blank as one of the elder Lestrange’s glide pass, nodding at him. Bellatrix flushed an ugly shade of red, shooting a nauseous Regulus a sharp glare, filled to the brim with promises of retribution and revenge.
Regulus gulps, waiting for something to happen.
“At last.” A voice murmurs from behind Regulus. The male freezes, ice pumping through his veins as he locks up, feeling the barest hints of touch to his neck and waist, a positive squeeze that punches the breath out of Regulus’s lungs, dark and painful. “Regulus.”
“My Lord.” Walburga greets, the same tone coming from Bellatrix, her voice lowering in pitch, until it is almost a solid purr of lust. Regulus shivers automatically at the savage smile painting Bellatrix’s face, jerking at the hand that wanders upwards, fingers tangling in his hair.
Regulus doesn’t make a sound. Not even when Voldemort yanks his head back by his hair, low voice laced with amusement. “You smell terrified.” Voldemort breathes in deeply, placing his nose to the fragile skin of his throat, just over his jugular vein. The vulnerability makes Regulus’s mouth dry, eyes sliding shut of his own accord.
“My Lord, my son---”
“Did I say you could speak, Walburga?” Voldemort’s head snaps up, red glare so acidic that Walburga recedes without comment. “You should know better.”
“I’m sorry, my Lord, it shall not happen again.”
“I should hope so. I should think you like your tongue where it is.” Walburga pales, tick appearing in her temple, showing the tightening of her jaw, as if she was curling her tongue in her mouth to remind herself it was there.
Voldemort returns his face to Regulus’s neck, inhaling deeply for a long moment. Then, without warning, he bites down, drawing pinpricks of blood. Regulus whimpers in pain, tears filling his eyes as a silent scream bubbles in his throat.
When he pulls backwards, he looks towards Walburga again. “Bring him back in four months. He is not ready for my mark, but I have laid claim. If anyone is to touch this boy before he accepts my mark, than they shall die by my hands, is that clear?”
Walburga nods quickly. “Of course, my Lord.”
Voldemort leaves without another word, not glancing back even when Regulus brings a hand up to his neck, looking down at his crimson painted fingertips, feeling bile rise in his throat at the liquid that had come from inside him. Regulus feels dirty, tainted.
He wishes to go home and bath for the next three days straight. He wants to scrub his skin raw until its red and blistering at the edges. He wants to soap himself down from head to toe until he feels just a little like his own person again.
The meeting ends quite quickly afterwards and when they arrive back at Grimmauld Place, Walburga corners him in one of the dining rooms, spelling a glass bowl at his head. Regulus ducks abruptly, but the pieces splinter and rebound, burying themselves in his pale back. Regulus screams and stumbles, crumpling to his knees.
A kick to his ribs has him gasping. It’s different from all the times before. Normally, Walburga never used her hands—she hadn’t since Sirius had left, which had been the only time she’d ever used her bare hands. That only happened if she was well and truly livid at them and as far as Regulus knew, she’d never used her bare hands on Sirius before.
“Stop it—stop it—stop it—stop it—” Regulus pleads as kicks are deposited into his ribs, his arms, his legs, his face. He wishes the pain would stop, that Walburga would stop hurting him. He wished for the sweet relief of death for the—
“Reggie, wake up! Reggie! Regulus!”
-CUT-
Regulus jerks awake with a scream, the sound echoing off the walls. Arms are clamped around his middle, someone’s hands pressed against his legs to stop him thrashing and hurting himself and others. Regulus stills after fighting for a moment, thinking he was back in Grimmauld Place and that Walburga had come into his room with Bellatrix in tow, when they felt like having some fun.
He only stills when he hears Sirius’s smooth voice calmly speaking in his ear, Sirius’s hair tickling his face. It’s slightly damp, so Sirius must’ve woken just minutes after the nightmare had started, going to the shower and cleaning himself after two days of being out of commission. He must’ve dried it muggle style with a towel on the way in, scrubbing hard.
Regulus looks into Sirius’s silver eyes and a dam inside him breaks.
Then, he sobs.
And sobs.
And sobs.
Until he can sob no longer.