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@true-black-heir
7 July 1979 || Thoughts || Diagon Alley || Regulus & Narcissa
I disagree.
And here I was thinking that you went to school to learn.
I doubt Dumbledore could have taught me anything. He cares more about mudbloods and forbidding us things than education. Good thing I was born brilliant.
Iām not trying to be rebellious, Iāve just established at this point that nothing you do is in my best interests.
You completeā Why do you insist on being so insufferable?
I'll agree to disagree, sweetheart.
I'm just insisting on being civil. And I'm quite enjoying this civil conversation.
7 July 1979 || Thoughts || Diagon Alley || Regulus & Open.
Hogwarts was good for one thing.
Quidditch.
It is? I suppose Iāll have to deliberately do the opposite then.
Donāt be a wanker, the Ministry has gotten to me. Iāve been nice to people! Insult me, for Merlinās sake!
Always a rebel? How cute.
Nope, sorry. My lips are sealed. But I will enjoy your misery.
And God said āLove Your Enemy,ā and I obeyed him and loved myself.
Ų®ŁŁŁ Ų¬ŲØŲ±Ų§Ł ā Khalil Gibran (via magnacarterholygrail)
I meant I have more confidence that I can- whatever.
Mundanely interesting? No, if it wasnāt boring before, then it certainly is now. Alecto fuckinā Carrow is the only person I get to argue with now, this is awful. You need to insult me.
At least try to fake modesty, Jones, that's what I do.
I'm really really sorry, but I can't. We agreed to stay civil, remember?
Flashback: August 10, 1975 | I Still Remember | Sirius & Regulus
The soothing melodies of rain across the windows blinded by heavy curtains. Faint light from the candles in their corridor, nearest heaven, and naked feet that padded across the floor.Ā A pillow of soft feathers under one arm, a blanket that got tugged behind him; a perfect image of a child frightened by the unforgiving night.
Stopped by the closed door of Regulus.
The lights on this side of their corridor didnāt flicker. Shone as softly as at his door. Outwardly, nothing reflected that Sirius had left reds and golds for greens and silvers. The soul hiding behind the wooden frame as similar to his as it ever would. Fate had not cracked them in different ways, yet.
Long fingers caressed the side of Regulusā note, pompous words from a proud child printed on the parchment demanding the respect of whoever stood in front of this door.
A tug of the corners of Siriusā mouth, though he found no humour in the request that should never have to be made of privacy and respect. He leaned against the door, one shell of an ear pressed against the frame, searching for the (lack) of noises to tell wether Regulus would be asleep or not.
A sign of understanding the younger one wouldnāt know about, as Sirius without a knock or pother kind of notice twisted the doorknob, granting himself entrance to the only places where one could be private and themselves in this house of mysteries.
"Regulus", Sirius whispered, a tone not born out of mind that it was late and Regulus might very well be asleep and should not be brusquely woken more than tones couldnāt get carried high between these walls werenāt it by shouts of anger or high-pitched sobs.
The cold reflections of silver by the shining lights outside stung Siriusā soul more than irritated it irritated grey eyes. Colours of such impact that it drifted brothers afar, made play non.existent, confidence slowly to be replaced by politeness or snarks.
Colours that, if you didnāt carry them, made your life a living hell.
Sirius closed the door softly behind him, everything ever so carefully not to give scent to Those Down Below, after he had dragged in the last of his blanket. The pillow was hugged to his chest, the duvet pooled around his legs. The perfect image of a child frightened and couldnāt stand be on their own any more.
The bikini-clad girls in his own room had only glared at him. The pictures of his mates had taunted the pull on his heart, iced it over just enough to make him afraid and scared and even more lonely.
He missed. Sirius missed. It felt like something was missing from his, and he didnāt know what. He missed Regulus. He missed James.
But he longed for Regulus.
For everything to be as it used to be. When they had played and he had won and they had laughed. Before he hadnāt looked over at Regulus when his name was followed by Slytherin at the Sorting.
Yet Regulus was the one with enough grace to still talk to him properly, when no one else would, any more, here.
So the older went to the younger for the comfort that was not be found but perhaps by the light of the other.
"Itās thundering", Sirius offered, and he had never enjoyed the booming of the sky, as he shuffled closer the youngerās bed.
A bit lost, a child of sixteen.
Regulus woke to darkness, his heart pounding crazily in his chest. The shutters banged steadily against the window. The wind moaned as rain pelted down, icy, miserable. The 15 year old Slytherin lay still, burrowed in bed, unnerved by his dream, the images of inchoate swirling things. He was woken up from the nightmare probably by the thunder. It was again one of those dreams were mother and Bellatrix chased him around the Hogwart's dungeons, trying to tie him up with a rope. In the end the rope always turned into a huge snake, which swallowed Regulus whole. He couldn't even phantom why he had dreamed such things. Maybe he was stressed out lately? There was no peace when Sirius was at home. Regulus noticed that things no longer where fine, their world had started to spin, dreams became nightmares, smiles became hysterical laughter. Light became lighter, dark darker, things got tainted. And Regulus was too slow to process such changes.
Suddenly, the doors opened (without Regulus' permission, to his annoyance) and Sirius entered his room, pillow pressed to his chest. Regulus drew a sharp breath and sat up. He listened carefully for any sounds from downstairs, but he only heard the storm raging outside. Mother and father were asleep and unaware of Sirius new mischief. Another lightning cracked and Regulus turned his head to the window, he loved storms and thunder. If only he would let out his emotions like that. He turned his attention back to his older brother. It wasn't a mischief, how could Regulus forget that his brother didn't like storms? Sometimes Regulus laid awake at night, quietly repeating the word 'brother' over and over until it lost all of it's meaning. He had to stop caring for Sirius, stop thinking about him as a brother, his mother made it plainly obvious that Sirius was not a part of their family. And yet all attempts to excise the word 'brother' from his vocabulary, both in thought and speech, failed. Because there he was, his brother, standing in his room, looking for comfort. Maybe it was all Regulus fault, when they were alone, when no one could hear or see, Regulus was Sirius' brother. He took care of him like he would take care of a stray cat and when others saw, he threw rocks at it...him...If he stopped talking to Sirius, maybe he would just go away and Regulus would never have any trouble with mother?
"It is thundering. Way to state the obvious, Sirius." He whispered quietly in a sarcastic manner. "Where's your Gryffindor bravery?" He wanted his words to sting, but a smile ruined that. "Close the door." Regulus scooted over, making more room for Sirius on the bed. And here again, he was feeding the stray cat.
ā¦
Youāre selfish, Regulus. What was I supposed to do!? Youāre sodding perfect, little king, you donāt understand -
Donāt you dare blame your kills on me. You made that choice on your own. You made that bloody idiotic choice on your own!
I - You know, I wish I was dead too, you know? Life would be ever so much easier, wouldnāt it? Ha ha. Fucking fantastic, itād be. I shouldāve stayed shouldnāt I?
I wouldāve killed myself. I kinda regret that. Not staying. But you never listen to me, do you. You wouldnāt believe me when I say that I regret it, not being able to help you, making you thisā¦ bloody shell of a person, do you?
Whatever, Regulus. Now youāre just gonna babble on about weakness andĀ how everythingās my fault and try and insult me and I agree. I agree. It is all my fault.
And itās a fucking mistake Iāll have to live with for the rest of my life. But you never listen. You shouldāve run too. Why didnāt you do something?
His throat felt dry, eyes were burning and fists here clenched so hard, Regulus thought he may have broken some bones. There was no way they were doing this. No way they were talking about this. There was nothing to talk about. There was no way to change the way things were now. And Regulus couldn't do that, even if he wanted. "Aren't we all chess pieces in this world?" His voice sounded a bit tired, but other than that Regulus showed no emotions. "And yet from the pawn you made me a king. Fuck you, Sirius. Fuck you. Yes, I made that choice all on my own. And you know what?" Regulus let out a harsh laugh, that didn't sound very sane. He wasn't a shell of a person. "It feels bloody good."Ā No, no, no. It doesn't.
"Listen to you? What good do you have to say? You never tried to help me, you always had James, trailing after him like a love sick puppy. When I was sorted into Slytherin, you didn't even look at me. I failed you, didn't I? Just like you failed our, no, my family. It is your fault. You had everything and it was never enough for you. If you expected me to follow then you never knew me at all. Serpents never run. And you know what they called me, after the ceremony?" A huge grin a appeared on Regulus' face, though inside he felt sick of himself and all the lies he had to say to survive. "A soldier for the light. The light can only be made with wielding of the dark." Again, Regulus placed the mask of cold calmness on his face. "I did something. Something you never could."
July 7th, 1979; Countryside, Regulus and Narcissa, "Race You"
Narcissa Malfoy was not a patient lady. She was waiting on the front porch of the Malfoy Manor awaiting the arival of her younger cousin, Regulus. The young blonde tapped her foot quickly while sitting on one of the various chairs that were placed on the porch. A barn owl swept by delivering the dayās mail, but she paid no attention to it. For any minute now he was supposed to come, and then they would have a whole days worth of adventure. Narcissa smiled at the sheer thought of having Regulus for herself the whole day. She loved him dearly, even though she doesnāt quite approve of someone as young as him being involved in such a thing as a war. Yet as stubborn as Blacks are, who more than Narcissa herself would know, that once his mind is set than most likely nothing that she would say would make a difference.Ā
Glancing at her watch for the tenth time for the past minute, Narcissa was becoming more and more aggitated. āHeās ten minutes late that brat,ā she mummbled outloud, āI told him to be here at ten.ā Looking onto the distance, the heiress kept a lookout for a figure but no one was in sight. She started to think of what she was going to say to Mr. Black when he arrived, most likely whine. Whine about how the food was going cold, even though the basket was enchanted to keep all the food at the right temperture. Whine about how they were losing precious time, even though they had plenty. It didnāt really matter to Narcissa, and she didnāt really even care or was mad, but the fact that he was late for her, now that was upsetting.Ā
The broom Lucius gave her for their first aniversary was sitting beside her. Her husband had given it to her when they had barely known each other, even after a year of marriage. Very quickly had he realized the mistake, and made up with a diamond neclace, but the broom stayed. Thinking back this could be the first time sheās ridden a broom since her Hogwartās days. Hopefully she wasnāt that rusty, Regulus like to suddenly shout, āRace you,ā and then bolt into the distance. Narcissa, especially in her childhood, didnāt like to be left behind and would bolt after him, resulting in most of her childhood injuries.Ā
"Where is that boy?" the blonde sighed.Ā
Barty had left a few moments ago with his new mask. Regulus' head was pounding. He picked up a pack of of cigarettes from the glass coffee table and took one out. Putting it into his mouth, Regulus lit it as he walked towards the balcony. Not the best way to treat his headache with,Ā but better than a bottle of wine or Firewhiskey. He felt sick, he felt ill and old. And stupid. Stupid for getting himself into this mess and not figuring a way out. Eighteen and stuck. Still just eighteen. And sometimes to him it felt like he was frozen in time. He was going to be old and wrinkled, a sack of broken bones, and he'll still be eighteen. Or maybe sixteen, not a day older than when he started digging his own grave. On the days when he felt rather melancholic, he told himself that he was a star whose light only comes to the world after many years. Seventy-seven years to be precise. And maybe, maybe, after those long seventy-seven years he'll finally come alive.
The young Black finished smoking his cigarette and cursed. His head was clouded with thoughts and headaches and thanks to that he lost the track of time. Narcissa was waiting for him. The delicate flower that decided to bloom in the middle of a snake pit. And thank Merlin she didn't have thorns, or Regulus would be very sorry for being late. He quickly changed and looked at the mirror, deciding if he looked presentable enough for Cissy. He tended to avoid looking into mirrors; oftentimes, he was unsure whether he liked what he saw. Not because he had low self-esteem or thought he was ugly. Regulus knew he was good looking. And arrogance was a mask he never took off. In the mirror he saw just another Black. He had been often told that he was the spitting image of his father in his younger years, but looking at himself, he wasnāt so sure. While looking at his reflection he saw Orion, Walburga, Sirius and other Blacks. He had his fatherās eyes, his motherās cheekbones, Siriusā hair, Narcissasā skin tone, Bellatrixās smirk. Regulus probably had something of Andromedaās, but he couldn't remember how she looked. He was them. Just another Black.
He grabbed his broom, which he hadn't used since his last match. Regulus forced a charming smile and apparated to the gates of the Malfoy mansion. There was no need to make Cissy worry over his moodiness. The first thing Regulus heard after he apparated was his cousins sigh. "You know," Regulus started walking to his cousin "Some say that talking to yourself is a sign of insanity." His words were fallowed by a dazzling smile. "Or maybe it's a sign that you have a terrible cousin?" With a flick of his wand, Regulus made a bouquet of daffodils appear and offered them to Cissy. " My apologies for playing with your sanity."
7th July 1979 | Leaky Cauldron | Dung's Talking Bollocks | Dung & Open
Whaā, you take me for some sort ofĀ criminal?
No.. Definitely a no. You have to have some sort of brains for that.
7th July 1979 | Leaky Cauldron | Dung's Talking Bollocks | Dung & Open
Well, if it isnāt the Minister of Broodinā town?
I never thought we were on the verge of hugging and coming up with cute nicknames for each other.Ā
How many kidneys did you steal to survive through this day?
7th July 1979 | Leaky Cauldron | Dung's Talking Bollocks | Dung & Open
Iāve always said thaā Muggles can drink āoz under the tableā itās bloody true! They take away oll the funny businessā tastes, colors, whaā have ya. Ever try straighā whiskeāh? Now thaās a drink for a bad day.Ā
You're thinking too much about this, if it burns, drink it.
I never would have guessed dearest.
Subtle is my middle name Regulus, everyone knows that. Just like yours is obviously dramatic, but thatās fine. But are you empty because you choose to be, or empty because life has forced you to be so. No pressure to answer of course, just general chitter chatter.
You shouldnāt be offended at my surprise, whether I am or not. We live a meaningless existence do we not? So is it truly a surprise to question whether we ourselves are meaningful in the eyes of others smart enough to realise the reality of our dead-end existence?
*pause*
Iām not actually surprised though, you know that. We wouldnāt be here post-childhood ifā¦.
*looks away*
ā¦you know.
Everyone has a choice Regulus, just sometimes itās harder to realise that than it perhaps should be.
Dramatic. Life is a stage, so a little bit of drama is good for everybody. Keeps things interesting, I keep things interesting.
Wise beyond your years, Lecto.
I donāt care that Iām poor - Iāve enough money to pay for my flat, my beer, and treats for my nephews every so often. Thatās more than enough for me. Itās when Iām around my family that I start to get annoyed, because apparently the fact that I canāt afford fancy new dress robes every season, or, I donāt know, a solid gold cauldron means that thereās something horribly wrong with me as a person. And thatās just silly, because I am a fantastic person.
And you should talk to him because heās your brother. Iām sorry, but youāre right - blood is thicker than water. You two grew up together - youāve got that bond, and no matter how much you huff and puff about it, thatās always going to be there. These are dangerous times; you never know when suddenly itās going to be too late to fix things.
And thatās not all true - Iām as proud a Gryffindor as it gets, and somehow old Rookwood and I are still as thick as thieves. Youāll find that the further you get away from school, the less these stupid divisions between the houses matter. Youāre only young yet, but youāll figure it out in the end.
Of course, you're fantastic. That sounds like Inferiority complex, but you're fantastic. It's okay.
I highly suggest you stop talking. Now. Because for one thing you are right, these are dangerous times.
You. Me. My apartment. Now. It's not a date. Don't get any ideas. Idiot. - R.A.B
Barty did not know for how long the letter had laid in his room, but when he returned home in the evening it was the first thing he noticed.Ā
With a small sigh, he threw his bag into the corner of the room, and picked up the letter. Of course it was from Regulus. Who else would write him at all? Nothing in the short letter made him raise a brow. He was used to these messages coming in every once in a while, and would sometimes send them out as well, so he grabbed his bag and ran right back downstairs leaving the letter on his bed.
"Hey, Mum", he called out into the hall, "Iām going over to Regās"
Without waiting for an answer, the boy walked out of the house, and made his way to his friendās flat. Shaking out the dizziness in his head, he walked up the stairs and knocked on the door.
The knock on the door sounded from somewhere far away. Apparently, Barty had a life. Regulus had waited for him for almost two hours and the young Death Eater even managed to doze off while lying on his expensive black dragon scale couch. No matter what the Wizarding world said: dragon scale was not very comfortable. It was surprising that Regulus could actually fall asleep, he did not live in peaceful times where sleep came easily. Or maybe it did, just not to people who brought terror everywhere they went.
Yawing, Regulus got up from the couch and stretched. An annoyed looked formed on his face. Falling asleep wasnāt a good decision his body made for him. This will be fucked up conversation and not the funny kind. Regulus ruffled his hair, thought that did not help him clear is foggy mind. Repressing another yawn, he took his sweet time to walk to the door, where is idiot friend was waiting. Regulus yanked the door open and stared at the freshly baked Death Eater, his eyes and face completely blank. Then, his lips twisted into a sneer. āYouāre late.ā Merlin, Barty was just a boy and in a few moments his face would be hidden under a mask ofā¦ well, death. Oh and Regulus was starting to feel bitter. Wasnāt he even younger when he received his mark? Regulus turned around and started walking back to the living room, expecting Barty to follow. Next to the sofa stood a low glass coffee table, on it was a black square box. In it, of course, was Bartyās mask, his prize and his future. And Regulus was given the honour of delivering it. This was the moment that would change their relationship, not that Barty would ever know about that. The Black turned to face Barty, regarding him like a cat would observe a mouse and gestured to the black box. āCongratulations, you fucker.ā His face changed into a bemused look. āYou finally have your license to kill.ā
Love?Ā LoveĀ is an exploding cigar we willingly smoke. Thatās as far as Iāve got with it.
*pauses and glares back at him*
Then why continue? If boredom is all that fills your veins and thoughts, then why do you continue? You state youāre unaware of what love is, yet you must continue on for some reason. Do you expect one day youāre gonna wake up and this distorted reality weāre forced to swallow is gonna dramatically change? Or under the belief that somethingā¦someoneĀ is gonna take away that boredom?
Am I not meaningless to you dear? Do I mean something within that self that contains your ego? Wow.
Youāre not a sex-toyā¦youāreā¦
Hidden far away is the best place to keep them, canāt get hurt if you show no feeling right?
Fair point. Your life.
Huh, then I may be not a very willing person.
*Laughs*Ā Are you asking why I'm still alive? Very subtle, Ecto. I expect nothing. Let me be dramatic: I'm already full of emptiness. Usually people live to die, but being a Black has given a bit different objective in this life.
If you keep acting so surprised, I'll be offended. Out of words? *offers her a huge grin*
My life? Funny.
