ARSONIST'S LULLABY ━━ r. black¹

𝖎. the wolf is baying

彡 chapter one
( the wolf is baying )

REGULUS BLACK IS far from the perfect son his doting parents have made him out to be, desperately placing their family future on his shoulders as they struggled to hold together their fraying family bonds. Regulus was a tidal wave of destruction that washed over all those in his path, tearing even those he loved dear to pieces.

Regulus is far from the class topping, quidditch playing, prefect, his parents brag about. Regulus Black is fraying at the seams, the conflicting darkness and light within attempting to spill from the cracks in his porcelain skin, a patchwork of pearl bone and ash stained lungs barely holding him upright.

Tears silently brimmed in his gunmetal eyes, teeth ripping at the flesh of his bottom lip, before he raised his eyes to meet those of his reflection in the mirror. The pain in his forearm, the mark branded forever into his skin, it burns.

"Regulus!"

The bitter voice of Walburga Black was unpleasant in sound, just as she was unpleasant in demeanor, a waif-like woman with a pinched face, and cruel eyes. Regulus lazily flicked his wand, levitating his trunk upward, face blank as he descended down the stairs of the Black family home, where his mother was standing. "Your father will not be coming with us," Walburga scoffed, shooting a look at Kreacher, who was attempting to shine Regulus' shoes.

"Not surprised," Regulus scoffed under his breath, not loud enough for Walburga to hear. Orion had not left his bottle his entire summer. He hadn't left his bottle in a year, not since the heir to their family had up and left. Regulus absolutely loathed Sirius for his betrayal, leaving him alone with the baying wolves, creatures lusting for his blood.

Regulus sighed, tossing the floo powder into the fireplace, watching as the flames burned an emerald hue. "Ready?" he asked, offering a fake smile to his mother, who nodded, taking his arm. The trunk had been shoved into her purse, a handy extending charm solving the problem that would pose them once they appeared at their location, the building next to King's Cross station, where a portly man greeted them with a smile, pointed teeth glinting.

"Mrs. Black. Mr. Black," the man greeted. Walburga simply looked disgusted, a bloodhound in the sense where she could sniff out their purity in an instant.

"Half blooded filth," she muttered as the two exited the building, walking into King's Cross, where a perpetual sneer seemed to stick to her face.

Regulus was a boy named after the brightest star in the Leo constellation, yet he was after all, just a boy. A mere mortal of skin and bone, with a soul that slowly rots and decays inside him, a mere mortal who is terribly afraid of the woman who should love him unconditionally.

Regulus was no king, but rather a lowly servant to his mother, and more importantly, the Dark Lord.

Walburga looked absolutely disgusted when a muggle man brushed against her shoulder, her heels clicking loudly on the floor as she strode across the station. She was a tall woman, holding a few inches above her husband, and the same height as her younger son. Her appearance, according to Regulus, resembled that of a ballerina, slender and graceful, a contrast to the venomous words that tumbled from her blood stained lips, disguised as honeyed fallacy.

"Promise you will write son?" she asked, as he handed off his trunk. He nodded halfheartedly. "My only son," she sniffed. "Sixth year."

The words stung. Was she really going to act like Sirius didn't exist?

"Goodbye, mother," he nodded stiffly, before turning his back to her and disappearing onto the train, where he was immediately tackled in a hug.