The Art of Dying - R. Black

thirty one

Song for the second part of the chapter: Eleanor Rigby - The Beatles

- - - - -

Late March, 1979

My life without Regulus Black is simply too boring. We haven't actually spoken to each other in three weeks, and as much as I hate him, I miss him. There's no one to joke around with in Potions, no one to pass notes with in History of Magic, and no one to kiss in the corridor during patrols.

My new patrol partner, Davey Gudgeon, wasn't bad, he was just boring. We barely spoke about anything other than class work. He's nice, but he isn't Regulus.

Losing Regulus meant that, by extension, I lost Evan.

I must admit that I had grown to like Evan's stupid comments and crude jokes. Him and Emmeline continued to be whatever it is that they are, so Evan was friendly to me, but it wasn't the same.

I wrote to Marlene a week after I found out. I apologized profusely. I was stupid for beliving Regulus Black over my own sister. She responded promptly. Marlene said she forgave me, and she asked how I was taking it. I lied and said that I was fine.

There's just over two weeks until Easter holiday, and I am dying to get away from this castle. Away from him.

Lily and James are getting married, so the time away will be happy. It will be good for me.

I keep telling myself not to get sad over him.

He's a Death Eater.

If he hasn't already killed someone, he will.

He's against people like me.

He's a bad person.

Except that he isn't. Even when I was so angry with him that I wanted to walk up to him in the corridor and slam my fist into his face, I never thought for a second that he was a bad person.

I don't believe that anyone is either good or bad. I believe we all make choices, some good, some bad, but we can't be defined solely by that.

I hate him for what he did, but I miss him. It's pathetic, really.

A part of me wonders if there truly is more to the story. If I should have stayed and heard Regulus out. If I should have acted more rationally.

I go out of my way to ignore that part of me.

I try to ignore every part of me that wants to go back to him. Wants to kiss him in secret. Love him in secret.

He's a Death Eater.

I find myself having to repeat this a lot.

My friends have been amazing, though. Even though none of them knew what happened, or who it happened with, they all knew that something was wrong. Jack had gotten very protective, practically ready to pull out his wand whenever we passed Regulus in the corridor.

I've discovered how much free time I actually have when I'm not sneaking around and keeping secrets.

I spend a lot of time training for quidditch. There's going to be scouts at the match in May. I've already been approached a few times, but not by any teams that I actually want to play for. If I keep training, keep getting better, maybe I can score myself a tryout with the Holyhead Harpies.

I just keep going, keep pressing through.

It will pass. Everything must pass.

- - - - -

Regulus Black

The interior of Grimmauld Place is scarier than the exterior. Dark-painted walls, high ceilings, gothic looking furniture. The family portraits that line the corridors are always watching your every move, reporting back to mother.

I feel trapped in this house.

I knock on the door of the drawing room, only entering after my mother beckons me to come inside.

She was seated behind her desk, black hair pulled back into a tight knot on the back of her head. Papers were spread out on her desk, and she held a copy of the Daily Prophet in her frail hands.

"Hello mother," I said, keeping my voice flat. I made sure to stand up straight, maintaining the perfect posture that was constantly expected of me.

My mother stared at me, her eyes examining every flaw.

"Hello Regulus," She said. "How is your schooling?"

"I'm top of my class, mother."

She pressed her lips into a thin line, giving a look of approval. "Good," She replied. "And how is quidditch?"

My mother hates quidditch. She thinks the whole thing is outrageous, a waste of time and magic.

"My team is going to the final," I answered.

She nodded, "Good, I would expect nothing less from you, Regulus."

The way that my own mother says my name sends chills down my spine. She says it as if she views me as nothing more than an acquaintance. There is nothing motherly about it at all.

"And I assume that you're surrounding yourself with good people?"

By good people, she means Purebloods.

"Yes, mother," I replied.

"Good boy."

The room falls silent, and I look at the Daily Prophet in her hand.

Plastered on the front cover is a picture of James Potter and that one redhead he's engaged to, Lydia-, no, Lily. Lily Evans.

My mother followed my gaze to the newspaper and held it up.

"Isn't it a shame that they're putting mudbloods on the front page? It's embarrassing for the Prophet." She stated, rather than asked.

I nodded along.

"Well, go get settled. Dinner is at eight."

I nodded again, "Yes, mother."

With that, I leave the room, wanting to get as far away from my mother as possible.

As I walked up the stairs to the top floor of Grimmauld Place, I stopped outside of Sirius's door. It was closed, as it has been for nearly four years.

I reach for the doorknob, just wanting to take a quick look.

"Mon fils, comment ça va?"

I pulled my hand away, looking up at my father, who is standing on the stairs.

"Father," I said, feeling incredibly relieved that it was him and not my mother.

He smiled at me, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

"I'm doing well," I answered. "Et vous?"

He waved me away, "I've had better days."

"Father-"

He interrupted me, "I take it you saw your mother?"

I nodded.

My father stepped closer to me, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Fais attention, mon fils."

I gave him a look of understanding. He's always hated this house as much as I do. Now that he's sick, I think my father has given up on obeying everything that my mother says. What most people don't know is that Walburga is really the head of the Black family.

My father disappeared downstairs, leaving me alone, outside of Sirius's door.

I decided against it and made my way to the top floor.

When I was little, I hated that my room was so far away. So far from Sirius, so lonely. Now, I'm glad that my room is so far away. Just far enough away to not hear the screaming and the yelling.

I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at my bedroom door.

I'm already trapped.