Le Sang
“Nobody loves you when you’re down and out
Nobody loves you when you’re on cloud nine
Everybody’s hustlin’ for a buck and a dime
I’ll scratch your back and you knife mine
I’ve been across the water now so many times
I’ve seen the one-eyed witchdoctor leading the blind
But you still ask me, do I love you?
What you say? What you say?
Every time I put my finger on it, it slips away”
…
Regulus put his hand on the small of her back, as she continued to find a way to push him closer and closer to the wall. At this point he was practically sitting up, and he felt her on top of him, somehow in power against him and with her hands in his hair. Elena had been doing that a lot lately, he didn’t know why.
He heard a comical groan from across the room, which nearly made him laugh. “Can you both stop snogging your girlfriends? It’s obnoxious,” Clement complained, “someone have a drink with me.”
“No,” Regulus pulled away from Elena briefly to smirk, and she took that as a queue to go for his neck. He allowed her, moving slightly so she could, and he looked up and away from her as she did so. “Elena,” He whispered, a few moments later, “can I have a drink with him?”
Elena pulled away, raising an eyebrow, “Aren’t we in the middle of something?”
“Yes, but,” Regulus chose his words carefully, “we’ve been at it for… a while.”
“Who’s fault is that?” Elena asked, and Regulus went a little pink, as he looked over to Tarquin’s bed. Which was closed-curtain and silence-charmed.
Regulus cleared his throat, “Sorry, I just… I need a break.” Elena sighed, and got off of him, plopping down next to him and looking away from him. That made Regulus feel guilty, so he joined her, lying beside her but not looking at her anyway. It took him a little while to gain the courage to talk, “Um…” He felt like his throat was closing, “Am I bad at things?”
“Things?”
“Like,” Regulus searched for his words, “sexual… stuff.”
“Yeah,” Elena shrugged, carelessly, “you’re not great.”
Regulus felt a little bit of a pang, and nodded, “Sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Elena ran a hand through her hair, “it’s whatever.”
“Why do you like me, then?” Regulus asked, with genuine curiosity. He looked over at her, but she was staring up towards the ceiling.
“I don’t like you, Regulus,” Elena shook her head, “I like snogging you.”
Regulus wanted to ask about why she didn’t like him, but held his tongue, “But I’m bad at it.”
“Oh my God, you’re such a child,” Elena covered her face momentarily, “Regulus.” She then turned to look at him, “you’re stupid.”
“I’m–” Regulus bit his lip, “Sorry.”
“Why do you think I snog you, Regulus?” Elena asked, and he didn’t have an answer, “I’m a seventh-year.”
Regulus thought for a little while, before sighing in defeat, “Honestly, I’ve been trying to figure it out myself.” Elena looked pissed at him, then, and he was quick with his words, “I mean I just… I always… you’re just very beautiful and–”
“Regulus,” Elena seemed to get very serious, “if you’re going to survive anywhere, you need to drop the self-conscious bullshit and grow a pair.” She narrowed her eyes, “You are attractive, Regulus. You’re good-looking. Did you really not know every girl is obsessed with you?”
“No, I knew that,” Regulus was really trying to seem even a little bit knowledgeable, “I’m aware of it.”
“Good,” Elena put her hand on his shoulder, “I’m snogging you because you’re hot. You need to know that. Guys like you can get whatever they want when they look the way you do.”
Regulus shook his head, “Elena, really, I’m not–”
“Not what?”
“I’m,” Regulus felt dumbfounded, “I feel I’m average.”
“Well I can’t be with someone who thinks they’re average,” Elena replied.
Regulus blinked, “What?”
“I’m gonna find someone else to shag,” Elena said, as she began to get out of his bed, “I can’t deal with this.”
“Deal with what? With me?” Regulus asked, prying, somehow desperate.
“You’re just,” Elena sighed with frustration, “embarrassing, Regulus.”
And Regulus didn’t have any words left, and he silently watched her pack her things, get on her shoes, and walk out his door. Without a goodbye.
He knocked his head against the wall when he heard crackling laughter, splitting through the room. “Shut up,” Regulus moaned, shoving his head into his pillow and wishing he could just disappear.
“Did you just get dumped?” Clement asked, through his fits of laughter.
“We weren’t even dating,” Regulus answered defensively, slightly muffled.
“Well,” Clement snickered, “sounded that way.”
“Piss off,” Regulus sighed, drawing his tapestry and curling up into his bed.
“Aww, are you gonna cry?” Clement teased, “Gonna write a song about her?”
Regulus raised an eyebrow to himself, before peeking out of his curtain, “When have I ever written a song?”
“Never,” Clement shrugged, “just figured it’s in the nature for this moment.” Regulus rolled his eyes, and returned his head to his pillow. Somehow, he found himself missing something else. Well, he’d never admit it, but at that moment he really longed for his brother’s record player. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed it. And at that moment, it was just what he needed. To put on one of his records, and lay back, and be melancholy to a tune.
He began to think about a song he particularly loved, called “Candy Says.” Sirius hated The Velvet Underground, but Regulus… Well, he loved them. Regulus then began to remember the summers prior, when he and Sirius would travel into the muggle cities, and buy records – well, they’d usually steal them, but regardless – they’d come home, and sit in Sirius’ room, and listen to them all night long.
Regulus always felt outlandish when it came to his muggle music taste. Sirius always shamed him for it, since Sirius didn’t really like what Regulus liked. Regulus found it interesting how their likes and dislikes grew and changed as they got older. The other uncomfortable matter of it was that Regulus didn’t have a player of his own, so every time he wanted to listen to music, he’d have to do it in Sirius’ room. And, while Sirius claimed to hate Regulus’ taste, he always let him. Or, he did most of the time.
Regulus found himself humming the tune slightly. He didn’t know what the song was about, but he liked the way the singer sang it. He loved the sadness of it. And yet he didn’t know if it was sad. It just was.
“You excited for the game tomorrow, Regulus?” Clement’s voice cut into his thoughts.
“Thrilled,” Regulus answered sarcastically. Clement laughed.
Tomorrow would be pretty much the biggest game for the Slytherin team. It was the last game before the final match of the Hogwarts quidditch cup, and Slytherin would be playing Gryffindor. Regulus didn’t really care for it, he was trying to think of it just as another match so he wouldn’t get too into his head. Tarquin had been rather excited, though.
“You going to sleep?” Clement spoke again, which was beginning to annoy Regulus.
“Yes,” Regulus rolled his eyes.
“Goodnight,” Clement laughed, and he heard Clement’s footsteps as he left. Regulus figured sleeping wasn’t a bad idea, he didn’t feel like having supper anyway. He had eaten a big lunch.
Anyway.
He put his head into his pillow, and sighed into it, feeling rather comfortable as he noticed his thoughts becoming slower as well as his breath.
Regulus was really rather close when he heard giggling, and opened his eyes slightly. He tried to listen in, and knew Tarquin and Maura were speaking in whispers, probably for Regulus’ sake.
He heard the sound of their lips, and Maura’s laugh as she walked out the door. Tarquin seemed to stand there for a little while, before walking back to his bed.
“You up, Regulus?” He heard Tarquin ask, and Regulus couldn’t find it in himself to answer. He felt a lot of things. And he was afraid if he opened his mouth, they’d all come tumbling out. “Ah,” Tarquin seemed to say to himself, “sweet dreams, then.”
“I’m awake,” Regulus mumbled.
“Knew it,” Tarquin laughed, “you ignoring me?” He asked playfully, and Regulus didn’t answer once again. “Regulus?” He spoke a bit louder, “Come out. Let’s have a smoke.”
“No,” Regulus said into his pillow, and he seemed to hear Tarquin shifting around.
“Git,” Tarquin laughed, “c’mon. Get over here.”
“I said no,” Regulus spoke a bit louder, “leave me alone.”
Tarquin was silent for a little while. “Something wrong?” He asked, “Where’s Elena?”
“Hilarious,” Regulus shook his head, almost in disbelief.
“What was that?”
“I said you’re hilarious,” He raised his voice.
“Why?” Tarquin asked, “Did something happen?”
Regulus ran a hand through his hair, “Tarquin, I mean it. Fuck off.”
“Can’t you just talked to me?” Tarquin’s voice sweetened, “I’m your best mate.”
Regulus sat in silence. He felt so much again. So much. He swallowed, hoping the words would tumble down his throat, and away from view. Or reach. “What did you say?” He asked quietly.
“I said I’m your best mate,” Tarquin repeated, almost cheerfully. Regulus knew why he was giddy. Feel. Feel. Feel.
“You,” Regulus swallowed again, don’t, “you, fucking…”
“Hmm?”
And that was it.
“Why did you fuck her in here?” Regulus roared, getting out of his bed and standing up madly. He stared at Tarquin across the room, his face red with anger, and all the words inside of him. Tarquin stared back with disbelief. “I was right there! I was-” He caught his throat, frantically looking about the room and trying very hardly to control himself, “Fuck you.”
“What is your problem?” Tarquin stood up too, “What fucking happened, Regulus?”
“You!” Regulus yelled, “You! You fucked Maura! And Elena,” He shook his head, embarrassed now, “got… jealous.”
“Jealous?” Tarquin stared at him, “Regulus.”
“No,” Regulus shook his head, “no, fuck you.” Tarquin looked back at him with sad eyes, and he shook his head more, “Go back to your fucking invalid of a sister, won’t you.”
And before Regulus could stop it, Tarquin had charged him, pushing him back and forcing him up against the wall. He had his hands on the collar of Regulus’ robes, and was nearly holding him up by it. Regulus breathed heavily, watching Tarquin’s eyes as they pierced through him. “Don’t,” Tarquin spoke carefully, “... I trusted you. Don’t talk about my sister that way, all right?” He held him there, still, and Regulus wasn’t sure why, “I don’t know what you’re mad about. But don’t take it out on me.”
And then Regulus spit on him.
Right on his chin. He didn’t know why, or what in his mind made him think to do it, but he did it. And Regulus watched Tarquin fall apart. He watched the protection, and the ease, fall right from him.
Tarquin pulled back, and punched Regulus right in his nose. Regulus groaned, trying to recoil, but still being held tightly by Tarquin’s grip. He struggled, and leaned up, kneeing Tarquin in his stomach. Tarquin dove away, briefly, giving Regulus enough time to get away from him. Once Tarquin turned around, he grabbed Regulus again, punching him once more, but this time directly in his lower stomach. Regulus didn’t count this a strong counter, but it still hurt him regardless.
They didn’t speak, they didn’t have the time. But they went on like that for a long while. They kicked, and shoved, and punched, and pulled. Regulus nearly got away from him about three times, but each, Tarquin pulled him right back, and continued to fight him. Once Regulus had grown tired enough, and by then they had been going at it for ages, Tarquin pulled him across the room and shoved him right back into the wall. Regulus’ nose was once again busted, bleeding out of both nostrils. His collarbone was blued, and his ribs felt nearly cracked, maybe from when Tarquin had shoved him into the bedpost. Tarquin was scratched, trickles of blood coming from his hairline and besides that not much visible damage to him. Mostly because Regulus had aimed for the lower half of him. Despite the blood pooling at his lips, Regulus stared right back at Tarquin, and nonetheless flinched as Tarquin wound back and punched him again. He held Regulus there with one hand around his neck, gripping tightly, Regulus’ pale skin reddening under the grip. With each punch he landed, the harder he squeezed, and Regulus found himself suddenly struggling to breathe. In that moment, it all became much more real. Much more terrifying. He found use in his hands, immediately grabbing onto Tarquin’s hand and trying to pull it from his own throat. He couldn’t speak, and he tried to gasp for air, as Tarquin punched him again. Blood. Blood. Blood.
And then, suddenly, Tarquin stopped. His hand froze midair, his eyes staring right into Regulus’. Regulus felt himself fading now, but his hands didn’t stop, as he relentlessly tried to pry Tarquin’s fingers off him. His eyes scattered, trying to look around the room for something to help him. He found nothing. He didn't know why. He didn’t know Tarquin was capable of… this.
And then he felt lips.
Tarquin kissed him. His hand remained raised, but his eyes were closed. And he was so close. And Regulus couldn’t freeze. He didn’t have it in him. He kissed him back, with all the withering strength he had, and he began to sigh into the kiss as Tarquin slowly let go of him. He didn’t have time to breathe. His hands fell to his sides as he stood there, and Tarquin kissed him, Tarquin’s hands coming to hold the sides of Regulus’ face. Regulus didn’t need to hold him. The kiss was enough. And it was very slow, very low, and he didn’t know how to do it, suddenly. He didn’t know how to hold it, or how to kiss Tarquin, or how to… how to do anything.
Tarquin pulled away. He remained close, his eyes-wide, somehow shocked by his own actions. Regulus felt blood trickle into his mouth, and he coughed, spitting it against the ground without really processing how gross it was. He felt so hurt. He felt so, so fucking hurt, and everything was aching. He leaned back up against the wall, and he couldn’t look at Tarquin. He couldn’t look at him at all. And he knew his eyes were on him, he knew he was looking, but Regulus couldn’t look back.
“I’m…” Tarquin whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Regulus stood there. He was bleeding all over, but he didn’t feel bloody. He felt full of shame. Shame thick as blood, running from his nose, pouring from his ribs, ripping through his skin. “For what,” Regulus sighed, and it didn’t feel like a question.
Tarquin shook his head, “For hurting you.” Regulus still couldn’t feel it within himself to look at him, but he forced himself to. And Tarquin looked so pathetic. With his big, sad eyes, and his frown. Regulus felt so angry at him at once. “I know we can’t,” Tarquin’s eyes welled, “I know we can’t be–”
“No,” Regulus muttered, “no. Shut up.”
“Regulus,” Tarquin tried again.
“We’re not,” Regulus choked slightly, “we’re not having this conversation.”
Tarquin stared at him, “Do you really think there’s no hope for people like us?”
“People like us?” Regulus echoed, “I’m not like you.”
Tarquin shook his head, “Yes, you are.”
“No,” Regulus denied, “I’m not.” He looked back at Tarquin, “Don’t-” But he couldn’t continue, because Tarquin kissed him again. And Regulus’ eyebrows softened, and he breathed for once. But the kiss was short. Regulus pushed Tarquin away by his chest, and quickly wiped his hand on his own face. “Stop doing that,” Regulus shook his head, his fingers covering his eyes.
“Kissing you?” Tarquin asked, “Do you not want me to kiss you?”
“No,” Regulus kept his face covered, “I don’t want you to kiss me.”
“But,” Tarquin whispered again, “you deserve to be kissed, Reg–”
“Shut up,” Regulus looked up at him, “my God, please.” He tried to steady his voice, as tears somehow began to fall from Tarquin’s face. Regulus wanted to punch them off of him. He wanted to make Tarquin bleed. “I’m not a fucking faggot, Tarquin.”
Tarquin stared at him again, “I like you, Regulus.”
“Stop.”
“And I want to,” Tarquin’s voice cracked, “we could make this work, and–”
“I don’t want any part of you, Tarquin,” Regulus shook his head, wishing he could walk away, but Tarquin was in front of him, “not like that.”
“That’s the only way we can have each other,” Tarquin put his hands on Regulus’ cheeks again, and Regulus just wanted him off off off, “you know it. I’m not… I’m not crazy, Regulus.”
Regulus let Tarquin hold his face, and he watched him cry. Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. That’s all he could think. That’s all he could feel. “Let go of me, Tarquin,” Regulus muttered.
“Don’t,” Tarquin tried, “don’t do this. Please.”
“I’m bleeding,” Regulus said.
And Tarquin let go.
He ran his hand through his hair, and walked away from Regulus. He didn’t say anything else, and he walked to the door, walking out of it and closing it behind him.
Regulus felt his throat close. And his face clenched. And his eyes gasped. And tears began to bleed, right from his face, and he cried so badly. He cried. He cried, and he fucking cried, and he sank slowly to his knees, falling against the wall and sobbing openly. He covered his face, breaking and shuttering and fumbling and falling apart alone. His shoulders shook, and his hands cried, and he couldn’t breathe barely, as he clutched himself and let his head fall against the wall. He looked up at the ceiling, his throat burning as he did so. He still felt Tarquin’s hand, holding him. Nearly killing him, it felt like. And he wished Tarquin was still there, doing that again. Only this time, he wished that Tarquin wouldn’t have kissed him, and instead punched him again. And held on. And took the life from Regulus. And held his neck, as Regulus fell lifeless.
As Regulus cried on the floor, that is how he felt. And all he wished was that it could be real.
…
When Regulus woke up the next morning, Tarquin was already gone. And he had made that very clear. His tapestry was opened, almost in a way that would absolutely let Regulus know that he did in fact leave for quidditch without him. Regulus, nonetheless, got himself out of bed and went into the bathroom.
He stared at his reflection, which was altered and somewhat purpley. Just in the way that his eyes were slightly red, and underneath them were darkened circles, along with the dried blood that he hadn’t washed off of his face. He worked on that for a little, scrubbing his skin with his fingers and some soap. Eventually it was off, for the most part.
In the bathroom he got into his quidditch robes. And once he was finished, he looked into the mirror, and carefully applied thick hair gel into his curls. By the end of it, his hair was entirely matted against his head, and flicked upwards slightly in the back where his hair had grown somewhat longer.
After that, he left the bathroom, checked all of his things, and went out the door and down the stairs. He tried not to think, he felt very numb in the head, as he walked through the common room and to the portrait. To his surprise, nobody really spoke to him. He felt a bit ached by that. He felt insecure, worried, suddenly, that maybe everyone knew. Maybe Elena told everyone, maybe no one would ever speak to him again.
He rushed into the hall then, feeling that maybe all the walls around him would cave in. Even the portraits had a suspicious look on their face, as he rushed past, skipping stopping by the Great Hall, and trying to get out of the castle as soon as possible. He just wanted to be on the pitch. He just wanted a way to… forget.
Regulus kept his head down as he walked, and he really did feel like everyone was looking at him. He felt so worried. And so… embarrassed. He didn’t want to be looked at any longer. He wished they would just stop looking. Stop caring. Stop.
“Regulus, are you all right?”
Regulus nearly walked past her, but caught himself, looking up and making eye contact with Emmeline Vance. Her hair was up, which made her a bit easier to distinguish. Regulus stared at her for a second, processing, and then saying, “Hi– yes– I’m… I’m all right. Sorry.”
Emmeline laughed uneasily, “It’s all right.” She looked at him with uncertainty, “Are you sure? You don’t look well.”
“No, really,” Regulus cleared his throat, “I’m just nervous for the game.”
“Oh, right,” Emmeline nodded, “well, good luck.”
Regulus nodded, too, “Will you be coming?”
“Of course,” Emmeline smiled a little, “I have to show my spirit somehow.”
“Right,” Regulus felt a smile coming on, but not strong enough, “okay, then.”
Emmeline picked up the awkwardness that really Regulus created, and cleared her throat, too, “Okay. I’ll see you. Good luck, today.” She then briefly glanced at him, before walking away. He didn’t turn around to watch, he just kept walking, trying to pretend that the conversation really didn’t happen.
Did Elena tell her?
Is Emmeline upset at me?
Why?
Regulus felt worse and worse as he eventually found his way out of the castle, and began his journey to the quidditch field. It was gloomy, actually. The sky was a light gray, with large puffy clouds up in the air. Maybe it’d rain. Regulus wasn’t really sure. There was a cold, eerie breeze about. Regulus found the urge to clutch himself as he neared the tent.
Once he arrived, he didn’t even look at his team members. He wanted so badly to see if they were looking at him, to see how they were reacting to him being there. Oh, God.
Did Tarquin tell them?
Regulus felt his throat well up as he got his broom, and was unsure of what to do with himself. He didn’t want to speak to anyone, or interact with anyone, or even look at anyone. He didn’t want to play.
And Tarquin. God, Tarquin. He couldn’t look his way, either. Regulus saw him, he knew he was there, and he seemed to be doing the same Regulus was doing. Not speaking to anyone, oddly standing about. Somehow, that comforted Regulus slightly. He didn’t know why.
Regulus sat down on the bench, feeling colder and colder as he waited for the fucking game to just start already. He just wanted to be out there. He wanted to get it over with.
He stared at his shoes with melancholy, fizzling out of the moment while he wondered what the grass would feel like against his bare feet. He wondered maybe if there were any games that were played that way, where they–
“Gel?”
Regulus looked over to Tarquin, who had just taken a seat next to him. Regulus felt a little red, and looked away, “Yes.”
“Hmm,” Tarquin answered, searching for words in the same way Regulus was.
“Why,” Regulus tried to say, but felt uneasy, “why are you…”
“I don’t know,” Tarquin admitted, “I want to talk to you.”
“Keep your voice down,” Regulus muttered, staring at his shoes again.
Tarquin sighed, “Nobody’s listening, Regulus.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do,” Tarquin snapped, “you’re just paranoid.”
“I’m realistic,” Regulus shot back, “so, stop it.”
He wasn’t looking at him, but he could almost see the look on Tarquin’s face. “And I’m pathetic.” Regulus happened to look over to watch Tarquin get up, and go over to speak to another teammate. He felt a pang in his chest. Mostly because he couldn’t believe Tarquin said that.
Who was he? Was Regulus just that stupid? He’d never expected to see Tarquin raise a fist, or insult, or… well. He just felt like he didn’t know him at all. Maybe he didn’t.
Regulus sat on the bench, alone, with lonely eyes and a pained expression. For the first time, Tarquin did not walk over and ask him what was wrong. He didn’t even look his way, he didn’t even notice. And that hurt Regulus more than anything.
Well, not anything. Not the possibility. Not the thoughts lingering in his head, reminding him that at any point Tarquin could just… No. Stop it.
He hadn’t been present when he looked up and noticed all of his teammates exiting. Scrambling to his feet, Regulus took his broom and followed out last, glancing back nervously at the tent. He wished he could just stay. Get injured and never have to face the rest of the school again.
Will Elena be there?
Stop it.
Regulus moved slowly, or what felt like it. Everything was slow. The way the crowd came into view, the roar of cheering, clapping like thunder. His feet felt like molasses against his shoes, walking into place, unable to recognize faces around him or realize what he was doing, or where he was even going. Somehow he ended up where he was supposed to be.
He realized suddenly that Sirius was there. He didn’t look at him. He saw his outline, recognized him somehow by the look of his shoulders. But Regulus didn’t make eye contact with his brother, he didn’t want to acknowledge him. Regulus suddenly felt very dizzy, and very misplaced.
But he heard the whistle. And quickly, almost sloppily, he mounted his broom, rising into the air and watching as his teammates flew up past him. For once, he wished he wasn’t the seeker. He wanted to be anything else. He didn’t want to be alone, chasing his own goal, after one thing after all. He wanted to be with the rest of them. Playing the easier part. Doing the easier thing. Playing the game.
Regulus noticed Marlene joking around with Sirius about something. Pathetic, he thought, mucking about during a game. He didn’t even notice himself staring at Sirius, until Sirius looked back at him. Regulus looked away as quickly as he could, and felt a crushing pit in his stomach when he realized that Sirius did in fact just notice him looking. Fuck.
And oh, God. Elena. Elena was somewhere in the crowd. And she was probably talking about him. And how he was bad at sex. And how he couldn’t touch her right, or maybe that he wasn’t witty enough, or handsome enough, or confident enough for–
“REGULUS!”
Regulus snapped out of it just in time. Just in time to look in the direction of the voice, which had been the voice of his brother, and see the quaffle bare inches away from his face. Somehow, Regulus ducked, missing the quaffle as it zoomed past him, and went in another direction for the time being. Shocked, Regulus looked at Sirius, who’s wide blue eyes stared at him with concern. Regulus didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t believe it. It had been Sirius. Sirius warned him and–
“Pay fucking attention, Reg!” Sirius yelled at him from far away, and Regulus looked around again, noticing that the quaffle was yet again coming in his direction. He didn’t have time to think as he swooped away, going upwards to hopefully escape.
He pointed his broom upwards, and shot further up into the air. He kept going. He felt himself becoming sicker and sicker with nerves as he got higher into the air, realizing that he was probably very far from the ground. And yet, for some reason, he almost felt comfort. He was escaping. Getting away. Not only from whatever that quaffle had been playing at, but the people below him.
He was far up. Farther than he had ever been. He could see Tarquin, still – he was able to place him, even though he looked ridiculously small from Regulus’ standing. Regulus looked up, though, feeling a sharp worry when he looked downwards. He didn’t know how long he should stay this far up. He didn’t know why that was his natural inclination. He didn’t know why he chose to run away, again.
Regulus looked up, instead. And noticed in fact that the clouds were darkening, growing in weight, or maybe just significantly closer than they had been before. Regardless, they were scary, and frighteningly uneasy.
He felt his broom shake beneath him slightly, with the wind. He had forgotten about that somehow. Usually during quidditch it’s rather forgettable, because when riding the broom, it’s so fast that usually wind didn’t distract or get in the way. But now, floating up in nowhere, Regulus did really feel his broom quaking below him, struggling against the harsh air. He gripped the top of it, trying to steady it.
Regulus braced himself, but looked down. He wondered if it was okay to come down, to return to everything. Did somebody hex the game again? Who? Why?
Why me?
And Sirius. Sirius had warned him. Had acknowledged him. He did.
Suddenly, above him, the crashing thunder sounded more than ever from that high. Regulus felt frightened, scared, looking down and seeing that some of the players were coming closer in vision. He didn’t know why. He looked away, feeling uneasy again, and noticed a trickle of rain falling from the clouds, as well as another slash of thunder.
He felt panicked, worried, and frozen for some reason.
Can I come down?
And then, all at once, a large gust of wind brushed Regulus, and his broom shook violently. At once, Regulus fell off of his broom, quickly grabbing onto the end with one hand. He screamed, gripping it tightly, begging his gloves to hold him still. He added his other hand, shaking with such fear as he knew how high he was, as he knew that he would fall fast, and hard, and…
Regulus looked at his arm, gripping onto the end of his weighty broom with all of his might. He was trying so hard to hold on, to stay.
But how would he get back on? How could he do that? He thought hard for a moment, thinking about the actual possibility. He wasn’t strong enough. He’d seen players do it before.
Is anyone coming?
Regulus stared with determination at his hands, feeling the wind brush him again and shake his legs, as the slippery rain fought against his fingertips. Thunder sounded again, and Regulus sobbed dryly, before taking the shakiest breath he could muster.
I can do this.
He breathed unevenly, and he began.
I can let go.
One hand, off.
Let go.
His broom sank, going almost straight in the air as it fell under his weight.
Nobody’s coming.
It happened fast. Regulus’ other and last hand let go, and he fell back, falling into the air. Water pattered onto him, as he began to fall through the rain with rapid speed, feeling his limbs flail as he closed his eyes, and accepted it.
He felt gone before even hitting the ground. And he closed his eyes, his last vision being of his broom flying by him, and towards the ground.
…