Regulus felt hollow as he made his way toward the Quidditch pitch in a kind of trance. It denied his nature to not have deep emotions, even now he felt the emptiness consume him completely. He was stuck on a horrible thought he’d had walking away from Narcissa that afternoon. Is this what it's going to be like from now on?
Regulus had fought against the scandal of his existence his entire life. He had been given all the comforts that his privilege and wealth could provide, that was supposed to be enough. Regulus had always known his place in life was precarious and conditional. His very existence was a privilege. His brother had been unable to hide it, but Regulus had let the numbness consume him until he had given too much. Violated and wronged too many.
Regulus was beginning to realize the longer he tread water, the harder it was to stay afloat. There were so many times he had felt as if he couldn’t even recognize himself. Regulus had become a character, wholly puppeted by the impressions and expectations of others. He didn’t want to live with the shame of what he was anymore, numbing himself was no longer enough. He needed to feel something, or nothing at all.
Twilight was beginning to settle over the grounds, practice would have just finished. The team would be in the locker room and any excited onlookers would have dispersed.
Later, he thought he should have written a letter. He’d decided though, at the time he wouldn’t have had the words to explain if he tried. It would have slowed him down. Regulus was sure he knew too much. He had seen something Slughorn had tried to keep hidden, the grotesque manipulation of the truth had begun to settle in on him on the walk to the broom shed. Regulus hadn’t remembered why the word sounded so familiar until his conversation with his cousin. Her fear stricken face had brought the memory bubbling to the surface. How could he have ever forgotten?
Horcruxes. Frightening, powerful pieces of magic. He had been wandering the halls at night, a young boy. The light in the study was out but he could hear frantic whispers. Regulus had heard the word. Horcrux . His mother’s high cold voice trembled in reverent fear. The Dark Lord had accomplished something no other wizard had the nerve to do. Where others had failed, he became master of death. Regulus hadn’t dared to ask them for fear of being punished. He’d buried the memory, but the change in his mother had stuck with him forever.
Regulus suspected the Dark Lord hadn’t simply been boasting about the Horcrux, whatever it really was. Even if Regulus had gone with Sirius, or defected, the Dark Lord could not be killed. Victory would be hard fought, but it had always belonged to the Death Eaters. To Voldemort.
Regulus could do nothing to prevent the inevitable. His traitorous mind would always give him away. I am a rot, he thought, a rot that infects the roots in the whole tree. I will never be good, because I can’t change what I am. Regulus resigned himself to this final task. From the broom shed he retrieved the Wind Weaver and Regulus started for the pitch.
A gloved hand seized his wrist and began to pull him the opposite direction before Regulus had fully left the locker room. Regulus wrenched himself away and found Bagman standing before him in uniform, Regulus’ heart started to pound.
“What are you doing–” Regulus started but Bagman covered his mouth. Again Regulus made to move away.
“I need to talk with you Regulus, you need to be clear with me now. I know you think I have little intellect but I am perceptive.”
Regulus felt chills roll down his spine but managed to keep his expression flat. His eyes darted around for any way to escape, he decided to start walking to the pitch. Bagman followed, practically on top of him.
“Why won’t you leave me alone, you were so eager to throw that Farrow girl aside.” Regulus scowled. Ludo’s eyes widened with shock, he moved toward Regulus again as he began to pick up his pace, desperately trying to keep his distance.
