The Journal of Regulus Arcturus Black

Chapter 9. The Inquisitorial Squad

I'm getting nightmares. I don't think I've ever had a nightmare since I was a child and it was easy to fall back to sleep after that. Mother wasn't very heartfelt when I woke up because I was too scared to close my eyes again and see the images that brought me awake. Ultimately, waking her up too. She would haul me back into my room and tell me to sleep with no other gentle words and then, she'd be gone.

Now, I find that my mind is plagued with the images of muggleborn families pleading for their lives. The scene of Nagini pulling back slowly only to snatch and rip her teeth into her next victim. I can't handle being awake because with every blink, I keep seeing those faces. Those victims that I was equally torturing no matter if I raised my wand or not. I was there, I could have prevented their hurt, but I just watched. Silently.

I can't fall asleep and instead take my broom to fly during the nights. I feel trapped under the weight of my actions and inactions. I can feel the cold of the curses curl around my stomach and force me to vomit out whatever it is I usually try to stomach in the mornings. The library is sickening to study in. The quiet the place is, the more likely I am to hear the screams of everyone I've ever hurt. Like a nagging at the back of my head that I can never truly get rid of.

It's too much to ask for peace really.

I know I should probably count my blessings, but I know that in a war there is no winning side. Not really. That everyone must face loss at some point and there are people, who will eventually face death too. I was listening to some people talking in heated whispers by a stray café in Diagon Alley. It's hard to find people willing to talk out and show their political stance in this war, but whoever it was that was talking said something so striking to me.

"I just want to be sure that I am standing on the right side of history."

It never occurred to me that I was not just on the losing battle field, but I was also on the justifiably, wrong side too. That there would one day be books about this fight I'm in and children, an entire generation, will only remember me as a Death Eater. Nothing else. I will be known for fighting on the wrong side of history.

R.A.B.

***

There was a lot to get back to when everyone returned for Christmas. The Slytherins were more inclined to join Draco's little 'rebellion' against their Death Eater parents. Which was morally good, Draco supposed. But it also meant that as Lord Black, he had a lot more to do in terms of work. He opened up a few different houses that he knew his dead relatives owned and started to get the house-elves to work on cleaning it up.

Draco had given anyone permission to escape to his many homes as long as they pledged their loyalty to him under an Unbreakable Vow. The first week back into the Spring term was filled with many people coming to Draco and asking for some help. Mostly it was the Eighth and Seventh Years. There were the occasional students from his own year that also needed protection, but everyone was slowly getting sorted out.

"New hair," Potter said, looking up at Draco's dark and curled locks. Potter squinted his eyes, looking at Draco closely, "you remind me of someone with that hair, I just can't think... for the life of me—"

"I don't care," Draco said, pulling out his Transfiguration essay and continuing the paragraph he was writing.

Potter scoffed, "of course you don't..."

"Do you need anything?" Draco asked, not looking up from his essay whilst he remained crouched on the ground and a continuous warming charm rolled over his body. Just because it was the spring term, didn't mean the winter weather had let up.