Paint It... Potter?

Black.

It could have been days, or months. Or years or minutes. Regulus didn't know. All he knew was the dry aching burn in is throat and the trobbing of his chest as it was being pumped. Up. And down. And up. And down. And the pressure or lips on his. Giving him the breath he needed. He never really woke up. He still felt the floating feeling, or rather one of falling. It was so easily calm.

Regulus hated whoever fucking woke him up. The air was cold, and there was light. So much light. Too much. He instantly pressed his hands to his eyes. There was a frozen rush that ran over him. Quite honestly it pissed him off. He was having a nice time floating around in the nothingness of his own thoughts. Normally they were racing but in that moment it was blank, black.

He groaned refusing to set up in the bed. There were screaming voices now, all around him his eyes were still closed, hoping he could remain in the dsrkness. The voices got got louder. He seemed to realize the pounding in his head, which was coupled with a dull ache in his ribs.

"Merlin, shut up." He said as the noise grew mote intense. Eyes pressed closed refusing toblet the light in.

"It would do you well to hold your tounge boy." It was the voice of his father. No, was the first thought he had.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No, it couldn't. It had to be a nightmare. That's it. He had finally begun to dream and being fucked up as it was it only wished to hurt him further. Tormenting him with the voice of his father.

"One week and he's showing completely disgraceful,  disrespectful- "

"One week with us. And he's known more love than a lifetime." Oh, that one was good. That one was Mrs potter.

He opened his eyes for the first time. The two woman were nearly nose to nose.  Fleamont had a had on her shoulder. Slughorn and Slughorn were both present. The former seeming more interested in the new hospital of the pureblood society that he was receiving from Orion. McGonagall, however was chatting frantically with Madam Pomfrey.

"Oh, Mr. Black." The witch said pushing through the two older women, she seemed not to notice their bickering. She pushed a potion to his lips. "Drink this." She instructed hovering over him.

"Who are you to order my son to do anything."Regulus winced, although it wasn't from pain. Her shrill voice cut through the air pressing hard into the drums of his eats.

"I am a trained professional healer," Pomfrey told her, standing up looking offended. "I would think that I can decide what is best fo-"

"I decided what is best for my son." Walburga cut her off. He still hadn't looked at his mother. He was focusing intently on a brink in the wall.

"Oh, and when your sons, showed up on my doorstep. Beaten and bloody. That's what was best?" Walburga looked around the room glaring daggers at whoever dared meet her eye.

"That is no fault of mine, he ran out of my house like some muggle ruffian." He had almost forgotten the way his mother had spoken. Or at least he had wished he had, the voice played through his head on the daily, perfect, proper, elegant, lifeless.

"Oh and I suppose that mark on his arm isn't your doing either." Fleamont was no longer holding her back. She had

"Or the one on his cheek for that matter." Euphemia gave Walburga a glare in return that had matched hers.

"Why don't we all leave the wing and leave Regulus to a healer." Fleamont offered. It was the first time he had spoken. Regulus looked to him, he gave Regulus a small warm smile in return. "What do you say we all get out of your hair, yeah?"