Chapter 3
It’s surprisingly easy to slip past his friends underneath his invisibility cloak which he keeps on him at all times and leave the common room, his fingers are gripping the map, eyes focused on the name in the empty corridor.
And even though it’s nothing more than a few letters, they look lonely and abandoned, the letters seem to spell out something different than his name, they form around until they spell alone, and then delusion until finally they settle on abandoned and it doesn’t matter how hard he blinks and tries to focus, his name won’t reappear.
Maybe that should have been the first sign for him to simply turn around, but if anything, it makes him go faster, forcing his feet to quicken the pace and ignoring how he stumbles when he tries to, he doesn’t run, of course, he does not because that would imply that he felt urgency.
He does not, the only thing he’s feeling is rage because Regulus fucking lit a bathroom on fire and he’s Sirius’ brother and he’s supposed to return to Sirius one day and not push everything away. See, nothing but rage.
But then James remembers the broken sobs that he heard before and he can’t pretend that there’s enough rage in his body to strengthen his voice enough to raise it, there simply isn’t.
He finally stops in front of the last door that separates them and stares at the door knob for second, debating if he should turn it at all if he should do it with force or gently.
He should do it for Sirius, Sirius needs him, and he needs to know what’s going on with his brother but he’s aware that that isn’t what gives him the final impulse to open the door, if it would’ve been, he would’ve done it with force and demand answers.
James Potter opens the door because he doesn’t understand Regulus Black.
He doesn’t understand how he can sob about being slapped on one day and then set a bathroom on fire the next, he doesn’t understand how he’s a Death Eater, but whenever he looks in his eyes, he feels like he’s looking at something pure and good, he doesn’t want to understand.
But he wants answers anyways.
So, he carefully opens the door, still hidden underneath the cloak. The hinge creaks, he wants to run but that isn’t how he was raised, no, he pushes it farther open, preparing for an angry Black to be staring at him without being able to really.
His eyes want to close and not look at the way his eyebrows must be furrowed and maybe his eyes are lit up, reflecting the flames of the bathroom.
“Sirius, stop lying to yourself”, James forces his eyes open at that, unable to hide the surprise from his face because Sirius is with Remus.
Regulus is standing to him with his back turned, his shoulders are tense and visible through his robe, he’s completely alone.
No one is with him, watching the way his hands are nervously fiddling with his robe and his breaths are short and uncontrolled.
Well, that’s not true, he thinks, he’s here now to see it.
“You are and if you’re lying to yourself”, Regulus continues as if he wasn’t alone at all, “You’re lying to everyone else as well, you’re lying to your friends and most importantly you’re lying to James, your brother .”
Regulus almost spits the word out, as if it has done him harm and he’s spitting out the blood it leaves him in that is the rage James is supposed to feel right now. But he does not. He’s more mesmerized than angry in the end.
There’s a pause then, he stops talking but he can see his body flinching at nothing. James does not know what is happening.
“Oh, well, I was your brother not so long ago, but we can see how fast you moved on from that, can’t we,” James is sure that his voice is supposed to sound unaffected and strong, but it’s drenched in too much pain and his breaths are making the words come out shaky.
James is fascinated with his movements as he takes unsure steps toward nothing, his posture slightly messed up and slouched, but he can still feel the Black pride that they both got punched and beaten into their bodies vibrating through his bones and keeping his head high even though he can see his muscles twitching, begging for a break.
It reminds him of Sirius in a way that he feels like he’s seen every move before and that he has never seen anyone move the way Regulus does with so little power left to give, but still fighting the hands trying to take it away off.
“I didn’t ruin”, Regulus speaks again, and his voice sounds defeated, “I didn’t leave.”
James can feel his pain despite never having an actual conversation with him, he can’t shut the pain out and look at the situation objectively decide what to do with a clear mind, all he can do is feel his soul tear up at the rushed whispers he forces out.
“I didn’t replace you”, it hurts like they were meant for him, in a way they are, because he was and is the replacement, isn’t he?
Maybe he should be mad about Regulus thinking that that’s all he is, or he should wonder whether that’s actually true, but instead all he wants to do is help him out of whatever nightmare he’s trapped in.
He coughs trying to find his voice, someone has to help the trapped boy, right?
He can feel the silk of the cloak closing him in, hiding him, but he doubts that Regulus would be looking anyway. What if he does, he wonders and realizes that he really shouldn’t use his voice, Regulus doesn’t deserve to know that someone saw him, he deserves to believe that he was alone.
Because James doesn’t know if he’s crazy or drunk or dying, but he knows Sirius and he’s aware that he would like to be alone, how different can his little brother be?
His gaze shifts from the brother to the torch lit up next to him and the glass holder it’s placed in. He carefully moves over to it, sticking his hand out of his cloak to whisper a spell and relinquish the fire.
It’s a stupid thing of him, really, but it just doesn’t feel good if he casts a spell from underneath the cloak, it feels too easy that way. The fire is out, and he casts another spell causing the holder to fall to the ground and he immediately slips his hand underneath the cloak again, hiding behind it once more.
Before the glass shatters and he can see Regulus wince, blink, and break.
--- Regulus ---
Stupid.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
That’s all he’ll ever be, won’t it?
That’s all he is.
Fucking stupid.
He probably couldn’t even breathe correctly if they didn’t force him to with harsh hands.
Why would Sirius care?
Why would he talk to him again?
Why would he stop pretending Regulus is nothing more than a memory?
Why would he remember that he taught him the spell?
His mind is fucked. Even he knows that by now, because God, did the power he thought he had felt real. He almost wants to believe that it is. But of course, the empty corridor is enough to prove that it’s just him and power is something he can only wish for.
Sirius has power, he has power of him and whether he wants it or not over their family and over his friends and even the teachers around here.
His mother has power. More than Sirius even, because in a way she owns him, has a claim over him that he’ll never get out of and while Sirius thinks he has managed to get out, all he really accomplished was made sure that the spare would be used.
But him, he does not have power. He thought he stole some when he set fire, but the only thing that got power is his Dark Mark that is finally stinging again. As if it’s mocking him by reminding him that his body doesn’t want to rot while his mind is turning black and green.
He stares onto the empty walls while his eyes sting with painful familiarity and he can feel his throat raw, but still begging to be allowed to scream and sob and wail until he is nothing, if not a river of tears.
Until he can do nothing but disintegrate under the slightest touch.
He could have killed people today, he knows he did not, he knows what he changed, but he knows it was the last second. Someone could have died today, and it is no one’s fault but his.
Well, maybe it’s the fault of the Dark Mark, but it’s his mark on his arm attached to his body and his mind. He was about to kill people today.
“I’m dangerous”, he whispers and hides the wince that hits his body at the fragile words. He shouldn’t need to hide, but the dark mark is burning to strongly to make him feel as if he has privacy and it’s truly a part of him that is his.
Because it is a part of him, just a part that isn’t his own. It feels like an eye that’s watching and judging his every move.
He does not scream. He does not sob. He does not speak. He only falls apart with silent tears and the posture of a Black holding him up.
As it turns out, the painting would not show two brothers and no one would argue over who was the one pulling the strings, if the scene was painted it would show a person littered with guilt and haunted by relatives that were too alive to be mourned.
Little dreams .
That’s what his mother used to call it and that’s the only thing people see it as. It’s the only thing he’ll tell people if they catch him talking into a void again.
There isn’t time or space to sit down and cry properly, pretend that his cold arms are another’s and his warm tears are someone who feels with him. So, instead he stops crying, remembering the way his brother had taught him to and wipes away any tears left on his cheek.
He turns around and something causes him to freeze.
The corridor is empty, but feels full at the same time, as if someone had let the sun warm the place before the door. Of course, that is a stupid thought to have, he’s alone.
There’s no sun for someone who has sworn to fight for the Dark, for someone who has welcomed the Dark under his skin and in his blood. There’s no light for someone who’s body is turning rotten.
He knows this and so he walks out of the corridor and into his dorm room, already ready to forget how his mind has betrayed him once more and proven to him again and again that he only feels real when nothing is real at all.
--- James ---
James Potter is in his bed.
There are a few things he’s sure about: his friends are asleep, he should be sleeping as well, it’s the next day by now, his teeth are brushed and Sirius’ little brother with a Dark Mark is in his thoughts and not leaving.
He left after Regulus brushed past him and descended down some stairs, leaving his skin burning from his piercing gaze that had somehow hit him directly.
It’s only turning him the least bit mad, really. It’s not affecting him at all, not at all until it does like it is now, because Regulus is all he can think about and all he can picture and all he can smell even though he only caught the slightest scent when he slipped out the door.
Oh, there’s another thing he’s sure about: he should not have Regulus in his brain at all.
But what is he supposed to do? How could he not let his every move capture him when he does it so carelessly?
He doesn’t dare close his eyes; he stays on his back staring onto the ceiling and tries to understand the last few hours.
His mother taught him that whenever someone feels overwhelmed, they should make lists and figure out what he can change about it until it’s manageable, so this will be just what he’ll do. It’s what he always does, it’s what he taught Sirius and Remus and Peter and what he’ll hope to teach his kids someday. When they don’t how to deal with something or want to help a friend like he wanted to.
He pulls out his wand and searches for an old parchment and his quill casting multiple spells to keep the illusion of sleep intact for anyone who looks for it and starts writing.
- Regulus set fire to a bathroom, injuring multiple students
- Regulus is a Death Eater and is a ‘bully’ (?)
- Sirius has given up hope for his brother
- James doesn’t know how to help him
- Regulus was alone after the Prank, talking to the air
- Sirius was the air
- He snapped out of it through a loud sound and looked at him
- Regulus saw him through the invisibitly cloak
The list doesn’t help. It does nothing and his thoughts are running faster than before, trying to understand what is happening, but not letting him see what they are thinking.
He sets the paper on fire, too scared of someone finding it, and gets lost in the small flames eating away at the words and ink, he imagines how his face must be painted in orange and red and can’t help but think that the warmth the fire spreads onto his skin is the same that Regulus felt a few hours earlier.
A week ago, fire always reminded him of Sirius and his escape, how the fireplace had burned while his mother patched him up and James had sat next to them, holding his hand, trying anything to be comforting. But now all he can think of is his brother, the one who still lives in that horrible house, the one that must have heard Sirius’ screams, the one that must have felt the door close, and his brother leave.
And he used to feel red rage when he thought of the heart that was able to listen to someone suffer so much until they had to run to save their life, but now the rage is nothing but a small sliver and instead he hears the broken sobs he’s heard twice now that must have overshadowed screams and doors.
Instead of thinking of a coward hiding behind a rotten mother, all he sees is another person that needed saving from the Noble House of Black.
Regulus needed saving, didn’t he?
It is too much to bear, too many thoughts burying him and he does not know what to do, well, there’s one thing.
He pulls out his cloak and slips out of his bed, unsure feet creeping towards the door. His breathing is all messed up and he hopes that it will stir no one before he walks out the door and down the stairs.
The common room is empty, it seems so much more peaceful that way, like now the room is recharging its energy and calms down in the silence. There are a few books scattered and left unattended, but even they seem relaxed somehow. One of the windows is opened and a gentle summer brise is flowing through the room.
Maybe someday he’ll be able to sneak down here with a girlfriend this year and they’ll be alone all giggly and in love.
But someday is not today, he walks over toward the portrait and walks down the corridor with one destination in mind.
He needs to go outside, needs to breathe fresh air, and see the stars and moon in the sky, wants to feel grass around his legs and wants to forget about anything that happened. He almost runs down the halls, excited for the freedom it will bring him.
The well-known freedom he’s known for years. The freedom he can only have as Prongs.
He’s never talked to anyone about this, but the power that he feels as Prongs is something he has chased since he knew what chasing was. It’s peaceful, but energetic, he feels at ease and like he has never stopped before. It’s perfect.
As Prongs he doesn’t have to be anything, he just needs to run and jump, that’s all, nothing else, nothing human stopping him from doing whatever the hell he wants, and what if he’s tired and exhausted the next morning, it doesn’t matter as long as he feels carelessness for just a few seconds.
He’s been sneaking away for a while now, whenever the stress gets too much and he needs something to feel human again, even if that is not being human at all.
In one corridor there’s a secret passageway that leads directly to the forest, it’s one of the hidden ones that the other marauders deemed boring and unusable before they discovered Moony’s secret, after that it was one of their most priced ones, but he’s sure that it means even more to him.
He glides down the slippery stairs until he finds the door and gently lets it fall open and immediately, he can feel the warm air wrapping around him and he has to fight the urge to transform right then and there, but instead he looks around once and slips out of the cloak and hides it in the carved wood plank that they placed there years ago.
He finally transforms and feels his blood rush through his body faster, his thoughts moving to the shadows and instead pure happiness taking over and carrying him deep into the woods. He can still the sound of his hooves on the ground and quiet calls of other animals like they’re greeting him, and it feels like they are calling him home.
Because if his parents are his first home, this will be his second.
--- Regulus---
He always has a headache the morning after his “dreams”. Of course, he has never admitted it to anyone because that would be weak, and he is not weak nor a coward.
Sometimes he’ll tell people that he got sick and can’t attend his classes today, but not today, today he’ll witness a fucking storm and he’s not sure if he’ll be a bystander or the centre.
Regulus somehow made it back to his dorm and wakes up tangled in his bedsheet to the sound of Evan speaking loudly:
“Regulus Black! Wake up, sweetest of all hearts!”
“Reg, come on, wake up, my shining sun!”, he stirs slightly, not ready to be shaken awake by him like he used to last year, he knows this procedure too well, “Oh great, you’re awake.”
He walks into their bathroom, Regulus guesses by the way his voice quietens: “So, I don’t want to alarm you, but apparently Dumbledore is suspecting you, don’t know how, but that bird from Hufflepuff told me last night.”
He wishes that he could be scared and feel panic in his chest, because they figured it out, but it’s all hollow, because there’s no outcome out of this situation that is supposed to scare him, so he isn’t scared.
Either he gets expelled, and Voldemort will acknowledge him for doing that, his parents will be pleased, and he’ll just finally turn completely bad, or he stays here and finishes school.
With the huge amount of money his parents can and have donated, he would bet on the second.
“Evan, shut up”, Barty mumbles from his bunk and Regulus glances over just soon enough to see him shoving his pillow over his head, obviously done with this conversation.
“Why would I be alarmed?”, Regulus ignores Barty.
“That’s the spirit!”, Evan returns to the room and grins at him before looking over at the pile of blankets and limbs on the other bed, “Barty, you think the girl was into me yesterday?”
“Do not care, did not look”, is all they get and Regulus chuckles.
“Come on, Reg wasn’t there, you’re my only hope here”, at that his gaze shifts over to him and he tries to remain calm and look normal.
“Why weren’t you there yesterday anyway? The entirety of Slytherin was celebrating that prank”, he raises his eyebrows, “ Your prank.”
“Our prank”, he corrects before getting up as well and heading for the bathroom.
“That’s not a fucking answer, you wanker”, Evan nearly shouts after him and even Barty grunts still hidden beneath the pillow.
“Didn’t feel like it”, he eventually replies, keeping his voice unaffected, “besides I don’t need to be celebrated to feel glorious about the prank.”
It’s a lie, but they don’t need to know that.
“It was bloody amazing, wasn’t it?”, Evan sighs and Regulus closes the door to the bathroom.
He hears quiet talking on the other side of the door, but ignores it and showers, brushes his teeth, and gets ready for this day that he will be a new beginning or another way closer to the end.
It feels wrong to be so pessimistic with his best friends next to him, currently celebrating the thing that is occupying his mind. So, he does not and opens the door again with a new smile plastered on.
“Breakfast?”, he asks, and four eyes settle on him.
Barty sniggers: “I’m not even dressed, so unless you want me to give the entire school a special show, you’ll just have to wait a bit.”
“Or we’ll just go without you?”, he says, and he feels weirdly okay, maybe it’s just his headache keeping him from thinking too hard, but there’s something about today.
“You wouldn’t dare”, but he gets up a bit quicker than usual, it’s almost like they finally trust him completely after the prank.
“You seem awfully cheerful today”, Evan says and he only shrugs in reply.
Regulus sits back on his bed, grabbing his school books while listening to the muffled sounds from the bathroom.
“Not to ruin your mood”, Evan eventually starts, it sounds a bit rehearsed, “but what are you going to do about the prank, I mean, people get expelled for this kind of stuff.”
“Let that be mine to worry about, yeah?”, is all he says, because he does not want to explain and lie about how he would be happy about either outcome just to help with his nerves.
Evan coughs and looks at him with a serious look, Regulus already dreads what’s coming next: “I don’t-, I mean-, obviously, you know, I-, just-, we’ve got your back, you know, but- I don’t- how much-, I mean, what are you, you know, going to tell him?”
Evan never stutters, he’s confident and he especially never stumbles over words in front of him, but it’s obvious why he does now, because even if he’s part of the bad ones, you never want to be seen as loyal or a coward. You never want people to know that you weren’t all in for your people.
Regulus understands and even if he wouldn’t, he doesn’t think that he would really care, so he just sighs: “I won’t rat you or Barty out, don’t worry.”
Maybe someone else would be mad, maybe someone else would take this as a test of friendship and loyalty, but he just can’t care, nothing ‘bad’ is going to happen to him, but for Evan that might look a tad different, because he is not part of the Noble House of Black.
Evan looks relieved, but quickly masks it again: “Yeah, you know, probably for the best.”
Regulus grabs his last book and tries not to feel the tiny disappointment that still managed to get through the walls of not caring that tells him once more that he would be alone if he got expelled right now, because no one would leave with him and it makes sense, it is the correct thing, he suggested it and everything, but it still means he’s alone, doesn’t it?
Barty finally comes back into their room and he’s somehow out of breath like he hurried up in fear that they would leave without and Regulus grins, because they are still friends, aren’t they.
“Well, someone hurried up”, he laughs and Evan chuckles too.
“Can’t let the Regulus fucking Black go to the Great Hall alone, now, can’t we?”
Oh.
Soon they are walking towards the Hall and people clap on his back or smile at him a bit stronger than they usually would, he can’t help, but feel like he has now proved that he’s a Death Eater and that the Blacks are still bad.
It also feels like he has finally made the choice for his future, but he would never tell that to anyone, because he was supposed to have made that decision when he got the Dark Mark that is still burning uncomfortably in his skin.
°°°
The atmosphere in the Great Hall was tense when they entered and too many eyes found him when they entered for it to a coincidence, but he kept his head high and searched for comfort in the two bodies beside him.
“Looks like you’re famous, Reg”, Barty whispered as they sat down at their table.
“He was famous before, Barty”, Evan responds, not as quiet and God, is Regulus thankful for his reply, because he does not want to talk right now.
“No, his family was famous”, he pauses, proving his love for the dramatics once more, “Now he is.”
After a moment he continues: “And not just here, someone leaked it to a newspaper, and they are printing anything that isn’t obviously connected to the war or where they can leave parts out to make it seem like it doesn’t.”
They all know what he means with that, because if a reporter just leaves out which bathroom was burned, it would seem like a prank gone wrong and that’s what people will buy and read, it makes his skin boil, because his Dark Mark did this and somehow has the control over this situation.
His voice is a bit too hoarse when he finally speaks: “Did they say who did it?”
He’s too aware of the eyes still watching his every move to even try to eat anything, instead he stares at Barty waiting for the answer.
“No. I mean, I haven’t read the article, but I don’t believe that they can even do that”, he shrugs and starts loading his plate.
“How do you even know about the article, you were with us the entire morning?”, Evan says while also grabbing his usual toast with butter and cinnamon and orange juice.
“Are you suspicious?”, Barty teases, but he only gets a pointed glare, “Fine, while you were chatting up the girl, I was actually talking with useful words and not just a thousand variants of “Hey, what’s up”.”
“Ha-ha.”
Regulus chuckles, because this is something that he knows, careless banter in the morning. It’s enough familiarity to help finally also get some oatmeal and apple slices.
He finally looks around the room and his eyes fall onto Dumbledor sitting at his table, glancing around the room with his brows furrowed and biting his lips as if he’s counting the students in his head, Regulus keeps watching and notices a satisfied expression take over before he slowly gets up with a glass in his hand.
He clinks his glass one time and it’s silent within a second, everyone looking to the front.
“Good morning, students”, he pauses, and Regulus swears that he glances over at him for a second, “I had hoped to bring you happier news for the first time this year, but as many of you probably already know, has something happened yesterday.”
There’s another pause before he continues: “In the afternoon a fire was set in one of the bathrooms by most likely a student. Of course, these actions are not accepted, and I will remind you all of the school rules and what happens if you do not follow them.”, this time he’s sure that Dumbledore is looking directly at him, but he has gotten too many very similar pointed, sharp looks from his mother, so he does not avert his gaze, but stares back until Dumbledore continues speaking:
“Luckily, no one got seriously injured and those who got hurt were sent to St. Mungo or Madame Pomfrey and will make a hopefully fast recovery.” He waits again as if trying to make sure everyone’s attention is still on him, it’s stupid, he thinks. Who wouldn’t listen to him? Even he is and he knows that no one got killed.
“Your parents were all notified, but because someone told the press about this, all communications will be shut down until tomorrow. I advise you all to write letters to them today, so you can send them first thing in the morning.”
Regulus looks at Evan and he knows that he’s trying to suppress a scoff as well.
“Please ask your house teacher any questions that are left unanswered and I wish you all a great rest of this year”, he closes and sits down, whispering something to McGonagall and the chatter returns.
Evan meets his eyes once more and this time he audibly scoffs: “That were like half of the actual important information!”
“Yeah, well, what do you expect it’s fucking Dumbledore”, Barty only says, “Everyone knows he’s senile.”
But that’s not true, even Barty knows that, but it’s easier to say than admit that he’s keeping his students in the dark even though, the knowledge he’s holding back could be important for their lives. Because the students should know what kind of fire it was and where the attack was and maybe even how to protect themselves from said fire and he shouldn’t be angry, because he can control if another fire is set, but he still is.
He just accepts Barty’s words instead of voicing any of that though.
“Well, at least he didn’t call you out in front of anyone”, Barty says after a moment of silence, Evan replies for him and they fall back into banter while Regulus glances over to the Gryffindor table.
Sirius is sitting next to Remus whose name he only remembers because it’s the one that Sirius spoke of as if it was magic and they are talking only to each other as if trading secrets, he lets his gaze shift over to the other person next to Sirius: James.
He isn’t talking with them, but instead seems to be listening to the shorter boy from the other side of the table, something is telling him that he isn’t listening at all, because he’s looking at him.
Neither of them look away, hey are staring at each other through the heads of other not important student and it makes his left arm sting again.
There’s something familiarly warm about him, that he feels even through the meters between them, but he doesn’t let his mind wander to figure out what it is, too terrified that it might just be Sirius sitting next to him.
Glass shatters and he snaps his head away, knowing that James did the same thing. The Hall is turning quiet again, everyone’s head turning toward the sound.
But nothing is there, until out of the vent that normally hundreds of them use and the silhouette of a single owl flies into the Hall with one white letter attached to its legs.
A few gasps fill the silence, and Regulus finally notices why when he looks at the silhouette of the owl and the dark beads dropping from its feathers onto the ground.
Blood.
Then the owl flies into the light and finally Regulus Black gasps as well, because he knows those feathers, he knows those claws, hell, he can almost feel the scratches they left on his fingers and arms.
It’s his mother’s awful owl: Irma
The thing about Irma is that Mother never sends her. She’s far too precious and far too good to be used to deliver simple letters to Hogwarts. Sirius and he were never allowed to even touch her and the one time they tried to; Irma had taught them the lesson instead of their mother. But now she was here which means that his mother sent a letter that needed to arrive and that she knew of the communication ‘pause’.
Let it be for Sirius.
He stops that thought immediately because he did good, he did something that’s good to her and he should want a letter from her mother delivered by Irma. He should because Irma should be an honour for him.
She is.
Irma is flying over the Slytherin table now, blood dripping onto the food and heads of the students, Regulus isn’t breathing properly as he watches her descend in front of him and instead of dropping the letter like a normal owl, she lands on the table.
And it was an understatement to say that she’s merely dripping some blood, she’s drenched in it, ever feather is coloured in red, some already dried while others is still light red and looks as if it happened mere seconds ago.
Regulus stares at the owl and she’s staring back at him before in a sudden movement Irma scratches his hand, he looks down and already sees blood running down his fingers, but it doesn’t hurt. It felt more like a reminder, a reminder that there’s still a letter at her feet.
Shaky hands find her legs and carefully free the letter while more blood fills her feather almost as if that was her plan all along. He pulls his hands back and Irma is looking at him somehow with an oddly human cold look before Irma’s head shoots forward and her beak picks one hole in both his cheeks.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch or wince even though his hand is covered in red, his cheeks are stinging and he’s sure that blood is running down there too by now.
He feels frozen because he knows kisses on bloody cheeks and bleeding hands with cold stares. The owl looks at him one more time and Regulus swears he sees her nod, before she’s in the air again, his grey eyes follow the dropping blood and dark feathers, but she doesn’t fly towards the vent again, she moves towards the Gryffindor table.
Towards Sirius.
She flies fast, nobody has time to react before claws are digging deep into his skin and her beak leaves the same wounds on his face as she did on his.
Sirius doesn’t move either, his eyes are wide, but not with fear or shock with realization.
After leaving his brother bloody as well, Irma finally swings high into the sky and disappears through another exit that he had never seen there before.
For a horrible second, he meets eyes with Sirius and sees his cheeks stained in blood, hands covered in red scratches and eyes wide, and Regulus knows then, knows that they both made the same realization. Knows that for a moment, they are connected again, funny how that only happens when their drenched in their own blood.
But Remus touches Sirius’ arm then, he finally averts his gaze and James is pulling some serviettes from the table and his eyes are also wide, but simply filled with terror.
Barty must be saying something right now because he hears his gentle voice he almost never uses, but he doesn’t listen, he doesn’t need or want to be coddled right now and suddenly he feels the need to prove once more that him and Sirius aren’t the same.
He slowly gets up, not meeting anyone’s eyes before looking at Dumbledore who has risen as well and his mouth is already opened, ready to demand silence once more, but Regulus shakes his head only slightly that if you weren’t looking at him with your full attention, you’d miss it.
He tilts his head slightly, watching the way his mouth shuts close, before turning around and walking away towards the door.
Regulus doesn’t start running until the door shuts behind him and he doesn’t feel a thousand eyes on him, then he takes off towards his little corridor, trying to think of anything other than the cold eyes with their pointed glares and the familiar bloody kisses on cheek that only one person can do.
His mother.
He can feel his legs carrying him away, but he’s frozen, still sitting at the table with Irma opposite of him and his mother’s eyes looking at him, his mother’s mouth on his cheek, his mother’s fingers in his skin.
Regulus Black knows that it was his mother, he knows that Sirius knows as well, but instead of blind fury and red rage he got a letter that is now covered in his blood and kisses on cheeks that weren’t cold enough to freeze out the pain. He’d bet that Sirius isn’t feeling anything right now.