ghost
If Slytherin is grey and Regulus is purple, Rosier is blue. Blue for trust, blue for confidence, blue for loyalty, blue for security. Regulus can look at him and go blue. It's not so much the meaning as the colour itself, which is interchangeable and mixable and primary. It's a colour that, quite often, is somebody's favourite at some point in their life. It's a colour that bleeds into everything; the sky, the ocean, small, simple things, things that just mean Evan when he looks at him. It's a colour of nature.
Another colour of nature (quite a big one, in fact) is green. Green is Barty. And no, Regulus doesn't mean the colour of envy and jealousy. Regulus means the calm, cooling green of oak leaves and ivy and definitely not of the Slytherin Common Room. The green that mixes so freely with blue and makes purple when added to red. The green of loyalty and luck and safety and prosperity. The green that reflects in Barty's eyes in the sun.
And that means - if Regulus is purple and Rosier is blue and Barty is green - that Pandora must have a colour, too. When Regulus thinks of Pandora, he thinks of orange. He thinks of optimism and freedom and enthusiasm. He thinks of originality and emotion and warmth. That's Pandora; a fire, a flame, a candle in wind and rain. Pandora is orange (although she should never, ever wear it).
Blue, green, purple and orange. Regulus wonders how they all for together.
Dear mother,
If you have read father's letter, you will already know that I am a Slytherin. There is not much for me to tell you about life at Hogwarts, I'm afraid. I have struck up an acquaintance with Evan Rosier, Pandora Lestrange, and Barty Crouch.
Blue, green, purple and orange. One neglected, one expected, one disconnected and one rejected.
The two boys in my dorm and a Ravenclaw.
As it is unlikely that you have received a letter from Sirius, I shall tell you this; there are two that he adores, Potter and Pettigrew, and one he despises - Snape, who is in my House in the year above - and an overall names Remus Lupin. His focus point is growing on him. He has yet to cling too much but I am afraid he will do so soon. He believes it is love, or so I assume. It is not, at least I do not think it is. It is madness and obsession.
Blue, green, purple and orange. Just like they are colours, Sirius is a flower; two flowers, in fact. Regulus is unaware of a flower that fits Sirius as well as grey fits Slytherin, but three of the traits that ebb and flow and stem into his obsession are vanity, boastfulness and childishness. Hydrangeas and buttercups. An odd combination, perhaps. A dangerous one, definitely.
Other than that, I am at loss for what to say. I am good at astronomy and charms, I am very good at options and I am not so good in transfiguration. At first Professor McGonagall seemed to think I would be just like Sirius (in fact she still does) and refused to even make eye contact with me. Now, however, she refuses to come to my desk (even when I need help). Luckily I am sat next to Crouch
Thank Morgana for Barty and his proficiency for the subject.
who is rather good and does not mind coaching me.
Yours, R.A.B.
P.S. is there any way to get back at Crouch without it reflecting negatively on his son? He is not fit to parent.
That fact is abundantly clear. The more time Regulus spends with Barty, the more he detests the implications coming to light. The other boy is certainly touch starved and has likely never had any positive feedback, especially not from an adult, and Regulus feels sick every time he locks down in the middle of speaking or shifts on his feet before asking if he can sit with them or makes hurried excuses.
He had certainly been neglected, most likely been psychologically abused, possibly physically too. The chance of having a narcissistic, gaslighting parent who rejects and isolates him is incredibly high. It is not fine now, but it will be one day, even if Regulus has to send them to the grave himself.
Barty presses his form against the potato, squishing it flat, and states blankly at it. The bags under his eyes (the ones that are worse than his own, a feat that should be impossible) seem to have darkened about another five shade overnight. Rosier takes the form out of his hand and swaps it with a glass of water, which Barty silently dips his finger in, gaze distant.
Regulus exchanges a look with Pandora.
They will deal with it.
He sees little of Sirius, which is worrying blessing. How can be keep an eye on him of he cannot see him? How can he make sure the others are alright if he cannot assess him? How can he keep track of the obsession if he cannot analyse him? He will not, he cannot, fail this. There are quite literally lives at stake.
Sometimes he sees him in the corridors. Sirius will sneer at him, the darkness in his eyes screaming keep him fix him save him, even though he does not need to be saved. He will look at Lupin (always at Lupin), who will offer half a smile to both of them. Potter is bright, like the sun, and beams like it too, almost blinding in a way that should be annoying. It is like Pandora's laugh; you cannot help but reciprocate in some way. Pettigrew is a smirk and a cackle, his gaze bold and daring as he states at him.
The only other time he sees his brother is at mealtimes. He catches his eyes across the Hall or observes him, unnoticed, or is observed himself, which he does notice because Sirius' stars is really rather heavy.
Dear ma belle,
I did indeed read Orion's letter, and I must say, congratulations. I am pleased with your placement. There is not much on my side - the house is very empty and very quiet. I am glad you are making friends; I must say I was rather worried, seeing as you are not naturally inclined to be sociable.
Regulus feels offended. Not because it isn't true - it is - but because of how bluntly put it is.
I remember Hogwarts well, so I can imagine your lifestyle. Mine is remarkably similar. If you have any questions you would like to enquire, I shall tell you when you return home.
He reads between the lines. His father is watching closely, checking the letters. His mother is unable to communicate freely and will get in contact with him when he can. The blood in his veins starts to simmer with rage.
Be careful, Mon amour.
I shall see what I can do.
Yours, W.F.B.
That's it. That's the letter. That's all his mother can say. With a lip curl and a quill bite, Regulus turns back to his parchment. However, his mind is not in homework. Much like his plan for Sirius, he starts to plan for his father, too.
Nobody hurts his family and gets away with it.