The Day the Music Died | Jegulus, Wolfstar

The Day the Music Died

I'm sitting here, I miss the power,
I'd like to go out, taking a shower.
But there's a heavy cloud inside my head,
I feel so tired, put myself into bed,
While nothing ever happens and I wonder.

It had been days — if not months — since Regulus had left the safe flat, not troubling on sending James any sort of letter, any kind of signal that he was alive; instead, he had to find out in a less subtle way, almost a dishonest mocking of the time he'd spent tricking James.

"REGULUS ARCTURUS BLACK — HEIR OF THE BLACK FAMILY, SIGHTED ALONG EVAN ROSIER, ALLEGED DEATH EATER."

The hazy photograph of the pair, adorned with large, dark letters, was prominently featured on the front cover of the previous week's Daily Prophet; everyone had seen, everyone spoke about it behind James' back. Despite the aforementioned, James fought to preserve his innocence, with the notion of reuniting with Regulus and pleading for his pardon still lingering in his thoughts.

Good mates. That's what James and Regulus had been called. Sirius knew the truth, along with some other close friends of his; they sneaked apologetic glances sporadically, watching him with reproachful pity in their eyes — because they'd expected it, James was solely fighting the inevitable, but he couldn't be blamed for it. Though, even the inculpation would be better than be stared at like a dying puppy... anything would be.

Sirius sulked. Each person had a different way of coping, but Sirius was handling it worse than anyone, almost refusing to accept that his little brother had finally taken the dreaded path everyone had expected him to. He sprung up each time someone mentioned his name, negating every possibility of his involvement in the dark side; James just sighed, and left the room, afraid to speak, unable to believe.

"Don't look for him," Dumbledore had appealed, subtly but surely addressing both James and Sirius with that calm, hoarse voice of him. James had compelled to his order with no complaint, as he always did — but Regulus' presence was always beside him, he constantly looked for the blue of his eyes and the tone of his voice; but he was never there.

Regulus had officially turned into an enemy when his name had appeared in a filtered list of Voldemort's followers, unmistakeable, the was no room for doubt, no room for disagreements. No one had directly approached neither James nor Sirius, but their faces and underhanded glances expressed it all: I told you. It was easy for them to make assumptions of him founded exclusively on his last name, but they hadn't known him, not like James did.

And then, one cold, stochastic Thursday, the heart-stopping news reached the newspaper.

***

James unhurriedly shifted from the couch, gently stripping the rolled paper that rested beside the claws of the snowy owl that had silently showed up on the edge of his window. As soon as he did so, the bird raised the little leather pouch attached to its claw, demanding for the corresponding five knuts.

"Hang on," James mumbled, his voice groggy from being quiet for too long. He cautiously searched the pockets of his jacket till his hand collided with the cold metal of a single coin; he promptly extracted it, and held it up to his eyes. It was a silver sickle, worth a lot more than a bunch of knuts, but he shrugged slackly, showing the seemingly clueless bird the coin.

"This'll have to do," he faintly articulated, introducing the coin into the pouch, careful not to get bitten. The owl hooted blissfully in response, playfully gnawing on James' finger before turning around and taking flight; the boy followed the creature with his eyes until the fog concealed its figure.

He shut the window closed, taking one last deep breath of the icy cold breeze before returning to his spot on the couch, still warm. He extended his legs over the rug, bringing his frozen feet closer to the stove and sighed, snapping the thread that held the newspaper together, and unwinding it over his lap.

His eyes flickered between the news, some meaningless, some extremely depressing; he checked the list of muggles and half-bloods killed by Death Eaters, as he always did, dreading daily to find the names of his friends there. Each day it got longer, more innocent people judged by their blood, kids murdered by their names; the number of families being wiped out by Voldemort and his followers were the only thing keeping James strong, decided to fight for their freedom.

He adjusted his round glasses, snuffling faintly as he finished reading the last word of the endless list, and the knot in his stomach vanishing, knowing there wasn't any familiar name that day. He hated living in fear, in constant danger of losing the people he loved; Mary, Sirius, Marlene, Remus... Lily. He shut his eyes closed and let out the breath he was holding, attempting to clear his thoughts, for a single phrase to resonate; The Order needed him.

James nodded to himself, opening his eyes and swiftly turning the newspaper around. His brain processed the images faster than the letters; a picture of Regulus was printed at the corner of the page, his eyes as deep and empty as the day he'd left James. He swallowed grimly, his glassy eyes eventually hovering to the large letters that accompanied the image; he held his breath as the meaning of the words came to significance inside his head.

"REGULUS ARCTURUS BLACK, DECLARED DECEASED."

His heart had stopped beating, his hands shuddering in utter misery — but he kept reading, his eyes nearly unable to focus as tears filled them.

"It has been thoroughly confirmed this past evening at six thirty-one, that the young boy's Trace has ceased yielding signals to the Ministry, therefore corroborating his passing. After performing an extensive investigation of the numerous, and equally possible, causes of his death, the Minister of Magic has declared — endorsed with copious evidence — that the undeniable root of his alleged murder has been the dreaded Lord Voldemort, along with his increasing amount of followers. The origin of the heartless execution has not been yet ascertained, but Cornelius has stated a narrow interpretation of what could've been the significance; "The young Black was entirely too immature to be associated with such an obscure organization, the Dark Lord might have rested an immoderate magnitude of trust on his shoulders, which could have resulted in a desperate attempt of running away — I have reasons to believe that his cowardly was the cause of his murder." The Ministry of Magic refused to give any further detail of the situation until undefined notice, and advised to stay home as long as it isn't crucial to go out. The body of Regulus Black has not yet been found, but the investigation carries on."

The Daily Prophet fell from his grasp, the inked paper smeared with James's gloomy tears. He dropped to the floor, unable to breath between the desperate sobs that escaped his mouth. "No...no...no," he mumbled, taking anguished snuffles as he shut his eyes, rubbing them with his raspy hands.

His glasses dropped to the floor, the glass producing a faint snapping as it shattered; but James couldn't move, sweltered by the heartless sobs that seemed to wrench his lungs and clasp his heart, that had seemed to burst the moment he'd read the title of the news.

His cheeks were stained of his bittersweet tears, his hands blemished with blood.

James should have saved him.

I'm steppin' around in the desert of joy,
Maybe anyhow I'll get another toy,
And everything will happen and you wonder.

***

—Hang on with me for one more chapter!