Mischief Managed Y2 Part 2: The Truth of the Tournament

Chapter Seventy-Three: Hold On

Summary: Regulus pulls on unlikely influences to solve his problem, while Sirius receives unlikely help to get out of his.

Song: Unsteady by X Ambassadors

Hold, hold on, hold onto me

'Cause I'm a little unsteady

A little unsteady

/

(Brother), come here

Approach, approach

And (Brother), I'm alone

'Cause this house don't feel like home

If you love me, don't let go

.................................................

As soon as Ryan disappeared with the other thieves, Reg started brainstorming. Christine seemed to think they would cooperate without being tied down or silincio'd. That left them with options. Regulus wished he knew more besides useless first-year spells and the nastier ones picked up over the years from his family. He wasn't confident about using those curses. It's not like he had gotten any time or place to practise magic outside of school. And while he knew a handful of more complex spells like agaumanti- how he got into the younger student competitions- he couldn't risk shouting something only for nothing to happen.

He was painfully aware that he only had one shot at this. While Reg had started adapting to the pressure on him now, with Sirius proving such a disappointment to the family, being the sole deciding factor on whether the thieves got away with their crime left him faltering. He curled his fingers around his hidden wand, willing himself to devise something.

There was no doubt in his mind that if Sirius ever found himself in a similar position, he would leap into action, probably without thinking matters through. But Regulus couldn't even make himself venture forward. He tried to imagine himself as his brother, brave and bold, pulling out his wand and somehow saving the day without any semblance of a decent plan. Instead, his mind filled with quicksand, dragging him down and making him more immobilised by the moment. Whenever he thought about attempting something, he concluded the others would return with the orb at that exact moment. Regulus could not afford to wind up in trouble.

He tried to convince himself that his motivation was strictly for a noble reason, simply because he didn't want to drag his friends into more trouble. But he knew the truth, that even if he was the only one at risk, the same choking fear that kept him from ever speaking back to his mum or even daring to imagine going against her wishes would return. He was a coward, plain and simple. Regulus ducked his head, feeling dangerously close to crying. Blacks did not cry. No, Blacks made things happen. Blacks were the ones to be feared, not to fear. And despite all odds, Regulus was indeed a Black. That was precisely the problem...

The more he allowed himself to reflect, the more he discovered he feared his mum's wrath more than whatever the blasted teenagers could throw at him. He wasn't sure if it was wise or idiotic of him to spend the precious time slipping through his fingers thinking about his mum. But that's where his actual problem lay. It wasn't that he stressed over pain; he had come head-to-toe with that fear enough times that it had become little more than an annoying shadow he chose to ignore. Blacks could not be afraid, so while the shadow stayed attached to him, he could pretend it wasn't there if he didn't look at it. Foolishly, his terror surfaced at imagining the same coldness in his mum's eyes directed at him that he'd seen aimed at her oldest son.

Would his mum want him to save Hogwarts, or would she see his childish notions of being a hero as a waste of his talent? Until now, Regulus hadn't considered the question, perhaps convinced he wouldn't have to face it. But this was his reality, not some game of pretending any more. What would his life look like if he succeeded in stopping the theft so obviously that it would undoubtedly reach his parents' ears? It was one thing to place pranks and investigate, but now...now...Even if the Dark Lord wasn't involved, a weakened Hogwarts was undoubtedly beneficial. It didn't feel good; he felt stretched impossibly far in both directions. Being torn apart seemed a better outcome than choosing wrong.