May Death Do Us Part | RB ✔︎

TWENTY ONE ☆ BLACK

It's been two weeks.

Two fucking weeks since I'd last seen Mona. Two fucking weeks since I got word of my girlfriend being the cause of my brother's death. Two fucking weeks since I watched Novaline die.

Two weeks since I've spoken a word.

I've been sitting in Malfoy Manor, awaiting a court date that has yet to be announced. Everyone tied to Voldemort is being tried.

Me. The Malfoy's-Draco, Cora, Narcissa, Lucius-all of them. Theo. Enzo. Blaise. His sons-Mattheo, Tom.

Mona would've been tried if she didn't jump into a fucking chasm.

I finally understand the heartbreak that Mattheo was talking about. The kind that hurts even when you're not thinking about it. The kind of heartbreak that crushes your ribs and punctures your lungs until it's physically to breathe without being in never ending agony. The kind that wraps a rope around your heart and tugs until it's dangling from a rib bone, strangled.

There's been no word on the recovery of Mona's body, though Voldemort's has been found and sent to the Ministry for examination.

But it makes me wonder what happened to her. How she, the most powerful woman I've ever met, was killed.

Cora seems to fabricate from thin air, appearing beside me in an instant. For the first time since I've known her, she looks nervous.

Her cheeks are slightly flushed, eyes flittering everywhere except for my face. She fidgets with her fingers, her bright red nails igniting beneath the light.

"You have a visitor, Regulus." She says softly, her voice gentle after these long days after the war. Her blonde hair looks darker, her eyes set deeper, her cheeks sunken. "And he's got something to tell you."

I furrow my eyebrows, trying to ignore the irritation flooding through my veins. I stand from the chair, hit in the face with the scent of her yet again.

Everything in here is so painfully Mona.

The color of the walls, the satin material of the bedsheets, the smell of her.

I force myself out of my mind and trail behind Cora, allowing her to lead me to our guest. My legs somehow carry me down the stairs despite feeling as though they're going to fracture and splinter apart beneath me. The weight of the lives I've taken rests upon my shoulders and I can't help but feel weakened and broken.

I look up as we reach the bottom steps, my eyes flicking up to the man in an all black suit standing in the open doorway, his hands clasped in front of him.

"Black." Tom greets, dipping his head respectfully.

"Riddle." I quip back, suspicion seeping into my blood. "To what do I owe the displeasure?"

He fights a smirk at my question, stepping into the manor. His eyes skim over Coraline before he sits down patiently, legs spread as he leans his elbows on his upper thighs and hangs his head between his shoulders. His hair-for once not gelled into place-falls into a group of messy waves.

I huff in annoyance, sitting down across from him. I kick one leg up over the other, leaning back until my spine presses to the leather of the sofa.

I can't help but assess the man in front of me. For a teenager, he handles himself and his duties as well as one possibly could. He handles his brother's fights, sorts out most of his problems, and still has the time to kick back and enjoy the end of his night.

I chew at the tip of my tongue, recalling my lawyer's words. 'Stay away from all of those being tried. You may know that they're innocent, but the judge and the jury don't. Keeping in contact will limit their choices. We need to keep up appearances.'