The Exchange Student - Cedric Diggory⁴

➣ 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝟏𝟑 "𝙍𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙪𝙨 𝘼𝙧𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙪𝙨 𝘽𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠"

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"No, Master!" "Kreacher will do it for the Master!" "Please, let Kreacher do it!" "No, Master!"

The last things he could remember were water and pain. And slowly they came back. The visions he felt like he saw a lifetime ago. The visions of his failures, because that's what his life was composed of... and what he was. A failure.

His biggest failure was as a brother. Because he hadn't been able to keep Sirius by his side, and, in the end, it only took Sirius but a week to replace him. He had been angry back then, but how could he be mad for being replaced by James Potter? It was but the logical action for anyone.

And oh, well, Regulus had been perhaps too naïve to think that, even for a moment, James Potter would be his, because it felt like it. Back then, a lifetime ago.

But as he remembered the water of the cave, he realized he had been Icarus, too entranced and desperate for warmth. And perhaps that's how his life was supposed to go about. Because back then, in his sixth year, when he extended his arm for The Dark Lord to brand with his ugly mark, Regulus knew his wax wings were done for, and the only thing waiting for him was the fall; the coldness, the guilt, and the regret that stuck to him like a second skin.

"No, Master!" "Kreacher should have done it!" "Let Kreacher take the Master back!" "No, Master!"

Everything in him hurt, from the tip of his hair, all the way down to the tips of his toes. His eyes were pressed closed, but he couldn't say if it was a conscious action or rather his body's response to the pain.

His body tried to writhe, but the lack of energy was barely enough to produce hard tremors from his chest and outward. There was a burning sensation coming from his coccyx, all the way up to his head. For minutes it burned badly, making it feel like his entire spine was melting, but after that, the heat started to subdue and spread through his body.

In his comatose state, he could feel a dampness in his forehead, the small pressure of something soft — almost as soft as the sound of a loving voice that accompanied him sometimes. A cloth, that's what it probably was. The cloth was sometimes on his forehead, other times it was moved down to his neck and chest.

For a while, his face burned. But it was very located, like... like the burning left after Mother's long nails pierced his skin. His chest burned just like that too, and sometimes his legs. What was that for? It didn't really matter, after a liquid of sorts was dropped on them and a few muttered words, the burning subdued and was gone.

After what felt like an eternity of darkness and nothing but physical sensations, his weary brain had enough strength to move his fingers, and as they gripped, they grabbed a cloth of sorts, maybe a blanket? It was very soft to the touch, and warm, and through the fog of lassitude of his brain, he was able to catch the smell of baby lotion.

But that smell...

It's been so long since the last time he smelt it, probably five years. Back when things were not so complicated. Times when he didn't have to give up his life to follow a cause he didn't believe in. The smell from the only family he's ever known that felt like a real family, not an assembly of people with a social motive. It should've never surprised him the way Sirius was so desperate to be welcomed there.

But that... they were so far away... maybe that was his mind's way of comforting him: reminding him of the little times when he was happy.

A small pulse on his solar plexus prompted a pained whine out of his mouth. He pressed his eyes harder. His two hands were gripping the blanket underneath him, as he arched his back. There was a rustle of movement around him before the sound of a closing door prompted his tired eyes to open.