CONTROL | harry potter

FOUR

a month and a half later

Regulus Black hated the holidays. He hated them because they reminded him of how not normal his family was. It reminded him of how lonely he was without a brother or caring parents.

It wasn't like he didn't get presents; of course he got presents. It was just that no one ever handed them to him. He got two every year; one from his mother, and one from his father. They were usually big presents, something to make up for his lack of siblings. But most of the time, he sat alone in the lounge, neatly tearing his wrapping paper from the gift boxes that sat beneath the Christmas tree. The large pine tree, brought into the house with the help of a wand, was usually devoid of ornaments or lights, with maybe the lone star or fairy that topped the evergreen tree, something Regulus had reluctantly placed on there.

Now, with only a few months until December, his fingers tightly gripping the Hogwarts letter of crisp, white parchment, and ink as black as the night, the leaves on the tips of the trees beginning to change color, and the dank air of autumn and winter in Britain beginning to set in, joy was not the raven-haired boy's companion.

The Black house was always cold. No matter the temperature outside, regardless of how brightly the sun was shining (which was not often where he lived), no matter how angrily the fire burned, there was always a haunting chill at 12 Grimmauld Place, and Regulus knew why.

Any building could be a house, but in order to be a home, a warm family had to inhibit it. Any group of mother, father, and children could be a family, but in order for it to be a warm family, it would have to know the words "I love you." And the Black family did not know those words. "I love you" was a regular saying in their household. It was also a regular lie in their household.

Regulus Black was older now. He was no longer a child who required the sympathy and affection of others, no longer a dependent, docile boy that was bent on drawing attention and love from the adults that did not care about him; the adults that were too self-absorbed and incapable of feeling to give him a good childhood - Orion and Walburga Black.

Regulus Black no longer needed anyone.

---

The Jude House, on the other hand, was like Sunshine Headquarters. The windows were always open, and even then, during the middle of August, a calming breeze would float in, unraveling the chaos of the crowded house. Cheap, plastic photo frames held pictures in which a boy and girl waved and laughed, and one where they stood with their arms crossed and their mouths weighed down by heavy frowns. Always around them stood two couples; one younger and the other older, always with their arms around each other, their eyes crinkling up in smiles that radiated love and contentment.

Julian Jude's room was a storm of clothes and parchment. Whether it was a poster, a book, or a jagged-edged piece that he had cut himself, lines of inked letters covering it, there was always parchment in his room. Writing, for him, was like drawing for other people. He unleashed his worries and triumphs into words that others wouldn't look twice at. A piece of art could catch your eye immediately, but in writing, the beauty was embedded into letters and punctuation. It had to be found.

"Jules!" His sister's voice drifted through the hall. He could hear the padding of her feet as she ran up to his door and skidded to a stop, breathing heavily. "Have you seen my hair potion?"

"I don't use your hair potion, Lu." Julian sighed with an ostentatious roll of his eyes. "Of course I don't know where it is."

"Well thanks for your help!" Luella exclaimed sarcastically. "And when are you going to get your supplies? We leave for Hogwarts in a week!"