February fourth had arrived, Regulus woke that chilly morning on a large soft couch. He had disappeared to the hidden room once more after that morning in the Great Hall. It seemed every time he attempted to join his friends he just as quickly pushed himself out. Like the tide of the Black Lake, he was still and reflective, never exactly the person you see.
In other words, he had a way of being there but not being complete. He was memory and projection only, when stripped to his finest points. He felt bitter, but swallowed it along with his porridge; his face in a permanent downturn thinking of them sitting across the table, watching him. He was unsettled at the hostility he felt toward them, for not trying to say something to him. What was there to say when it truly was not their fault? They could no longer connect as Regulus was unwilling to swallow his shame.
Knowing the dormitories would be empty, Regulus decided he’d make a stop to collect his things before returning to the secret place he’d discovered.
The room was just as he’d left it that morning. There on his deep green sheets lay a small brown parcel and a note. He recognized the writing, TO R.A.B. He fit the parcel gently into his rucksack and made his way to the seventh floor.
Once he was safely tucked away in the hidden room, he checked his watch. There were hours and hours left before he would have to make his appearance. Deciding to make himself comfortable, Regulus tucked himself into the cushy couch and slid open the letter.
Regulus,
Snooping around my room, lovely . Took you ages. Did you enjoy the masterpiece? Didn’t know if you even listened to music these days, hope you found some way.
Circumstances the way they are, we can’t write. You understand. Try looking in the mirror, might bring back fond memories of yours truly.
Sirius
Sirius was through with him it seemed, if that letter was all he could muster. Regulus felt his throat swell at the thought, his only tether being snipped away. He would not cry. He would open the parcel and be done with it, perhaps he could be rid of it if he could ever return the place to that mysterious room full of unwanted objects he had encountered that first night. Ripping off the paper, Regulus saw a pale blue eye widen, he jolted, thinking his brother had sent him some cruel parting gift until he glanced again and saw only the ceiling. A mirror?
He was more delicate now, looking at the simple mirror, turning it over to inspect it. Etched on the back like graffiti were the initials JFP . “ James ,” he whispered, as his fingers traced the new initials etched beside them, RAB . Was this some trinket of James’ he was being re-gifted? What a slap in the face. A clever final touch from Sirius Black.
“Why this Sirius?”
“Why am I looking at your socks, you scrawny git?” the mirror responded in a familiar voice.
“Enchanted to heckle me in his own voice, bloody brill,” muttered Regulus.
“Too right I’m bloody brilliant! But you assume incorrectly! Turn me around you prat!” called Sirius. Regulus did as instructed, his brother’s shining face staring back at him. He wagged his brows.
“You’re– real, then?” asked Regulus.
“Wicked right?” Sirius’ face split into a wide grin. His hair had grown out a little now, it was just past his jaw making its way to his shoulders. Regulus had never seen his brother’s hair so long. Their mother preferred a neat, presentable look. It made all the sense in the world that his brother would want to defy her. “Made it for when Potter and I were in separate detentions and the like,” Sirius smirked as if remembering the detentions fondly, “So– you seemed in dire straits brother. Voldemort got your tongue?”
