The Story of Regulus Black - Years 5-7

LXIV. Ultimatum

18 December arrived and everyone went home.

Only a handful of students were staying who weren't a part of the Quidditch team. Remus Lupin was staying (Peter Pettigrew has opted to spend the time with his family, despite the want to stay with his friends for the holiday), Lily Evans was staying, Barty was staying, and just a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. All in all the castle was quite empty, leaving room for the students to do as they pleased so long as it didn't break any major rules.

Only two Slytherins were staying at the castle other than them, both of whom were mostly keeping to themselves or else spending time with the other members of the Quidditch team. This left Regulus and Barty with quite a lot more freedom than they normally held, even outside of just their empty dorm.

The first thing that Regulus and Barty decided to do with their newfound freedom was to kiss in the common room. It wasn't a long kiss, just a quick peck as they sat together on the couch and stared at the flames that danced behind the grate. Barty was sitting with his back against the arm of the chair, legs sprawled out in front of him and Regulus sitting on top of them. His arms were loosely around Barty's waist, his head was on his chest, and they were content in the little world that they had found themselves temporarily a part of.

Barty was running his fingers through Regulus's hair. Regulus was running his hand up and down the bumps of Barty's spine. Barty's heart was thumping beneath Regulus's ear, the smell of vanilla and coffee were filling Barty's nostrils, and they were happy. For a few moments, they were happy there on the couch in the Slytherin common room.

Regulus liked it because he wasn't thinking. He wasn't feeling bad things. He wasn't afraid of what his parents would do when they finally got him within their reach once again (they weren't the happiest about Regulus's stay for the holidays. He was surprised he hadn't received a Howler out of it). He was just feeling Barty's arms and Barty's spine and Barty's heart and Barty's breaths and Barty's warmth and Barty. He was feeling Barty, and that was good enough.

But it wasn't always good enough. They wiggled their way back into his mind, the thoughts did. And the dread crept back, and the thought of his parents and what they would do to him filled his head, and a ghostly pain filled his entire body as though it was trying to remind him of what they could do, of what they had more than proved that they were capable of doing to their own son.

He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to bring it up to Barty. He didn't want to admit all of the horrible things that his parents had done, even though he was fairly positive that Barty already knew. He didn't want to feel weak.

Barty's arms were suddenly suffocating, his heartbeat deafening, his touch excruciating. Regulus sat up quickly, heart racing and lungs shrinking to an impossible size. He was thinking about Hogsmeade, his parents, Francesco, Benji, Phoebe, Sirius, the mark on his arm, the people that he had killed, Christian, the dreams that lived on a loop in his mind. He was going to die. Regulus was so positive that he was going to die in that moment. From what, he wasn't sure. But he was going to die. He felt like he already was.

He didn't even know what had brought it on. Why was he thinking about this? What had made him think of this? Was he truly that fucked up? He couldn't even go an entire day without thinking about all of the things that made him he was now - that had ruined him beyond recognition, turned him into someone who he would never consider to be lovable; someone who he hated?

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all. Why was he like this? Why not someone else? What had he done to make the universe hate him so much?

Regulus swallowed and tried not to choke on the rock that felt as though it had lodged itself in his throat. His breathing was so heavy, his chest was so tight, his lungs were so small, and his head was pounding so painfully that he felt like he was going to explode. He wanted to feel something, anything, other than whatever it was that filled him to the brim and threatened to leak out of his very pores. It felt bad, it felt dark, it felt like everything that would consume him at night the split second before he fell asleep.