Chapter Text
The grass was cold against his cheek. Sweat had pooled in the small dip between his eye and the bridge of his nose, trickled down from his forehead. Through bruised ribs and heaving lungs, he stared up at the sky, watched it swim and undulate unnaturally. The effort to close his eyes was too much, though, as was even the thought of moving his hands, so he kept his eyes on the stars and tried to name them. Not accurately, not according to the millions of star maps across the world, filled with the same sequence and lines. He drew shapes in the shifting clouds haphazardly, entirely on a whim. He couldn’t make out where a real constellation and his own ended, if the stars he looked at were real or if he was seeing double. He drew them anyway; a raccoon, a deer, a large dog. That’s what he named them. What they really looked like, was a bunch of imaginary stick figures, hardly resembling a closed object at all. He’d forget them in an hour, but there was something to that -- the fact this was his. No one else in the world could see it. No one else knew how to.
The spell had been relatively easy to figure out. He’d known the pieces, just had to figure out how to fit them together. All it had taken was a suit of armor, of which the school had in such abundance, a flowering spell, and oppugno . A spell he was certain his professors would gawk at his knowledge of, question why in the world he, Regulus Arcturus Black, would need such a thing. To force a living creature to attack with abandon was, he assumed, an affront on free will. Flowers and weeds, thick vines twisting around metal, however, did not naturally have free will -- there was nothing to contradict. It was alive, only in the sense that it could be a recipient to the jinx, and a couple enhanced growing spells here and there made it work perfectly.
Mostly.
If anyone asked, he wouldn't be able to explain it. Not that he couldn’t hazard a guess - exhaustion, frustration, the burning in his chest and the crescent shaped scars in his palms, the indent in his tongue where his teeth dug into -- but that he was certain the words would clog up in his throat. They’d pile up until his airways were blocked, and he would stand there, like always, doing nothing. An entity of inaction. Taking what was given, agreeing with what was assumed. The sweat slipped down his cheek. The path of least resistance.
He had wanted, just once, to land a hit. Feel something against the skin of his knuckles. Feel it hit back until he was seeing stars and connecting them into Canis Major, gripping the grass so he wouldn’t fall off the surface of the Earth. It would be fine, he’d thought, it was just once, and no one would have to know.
Dragging himself to sit up, Regulus stared at the battered metal armor, the dandelions poking out of every gap, and felt something like hate grow in him. Grow, because it was always there, that thing too close to hate for him to talk about, but too far for him to ignore. The thing he wanted was in his grasp, had played out night after night, doing exactly what he’d designed it for, but it wasn’t enough. His ribs were constantly bruised, his knuckles and lip split, his nose had been dislocated more times than he could count, and it should’ve been satisfying to know he could fight, but it wasn’t. It was becoming less of a challenge.
The downfall of his flowery armor was that, as a thing with no free will, the spell had nothing to go off of but Regulus. And it was fine, until he recognized every move, saw his reflection not only in the metal but in its punches. Until he looked at it and thought it was actually quite ugly, a hollow thing dancing on strings.
The first few times, Regulus had cast disillusionment charms upon disillusionment charms, scoured over prefect schedules, and hid at every stray noise on his way back. It was unnecessary, though. As much as Regulus would take his role seriously once he became prefect, it seemed that not everybody felt the same. In fact, he was quite certain he’d witnessed Lupin napping on a bench when he was meant to be doing rounds. It had become increasingly clear Regulus didn’t need to be careful of anyone but wandering teachers, and even then, they were few and far between.
This was what he thought, what he repeated in his mind. The security was horrendous, that was all. So horrendous, no one ever noticed him limping up the stairs, dripping blood from his nose and knuckles. It wasn’t that they weren’t looking, he assured himself. It was just that they weren’t there.
Morning came with a splitting headache, dry mouth, and a heavy weight pressing down on his chest. It was not as uncommon a scene as he might’ve wished. Despite the throbbing in his brain, he wrenched his eyes open, and groaned from his throat at the bright, glaring light. He blinked dark spots from his vision. His surroundings faded in, slowly, dragging him up from the dredges of a dreamless sleep.
Barty Crouch Jr. was sprawled right on top of Regulus, as he was wont to do whenever there was something he didn’t want to do. Regulus suspected his reasoning was that if two out of three were down, democratic process would follow and the consensus reached would let them all sleep in, comfortable in their bedsheets, all too warm with how they were pressed together. Their dorm, much to his chagrin, was not a government system. If it was, Evan Rosier would be dictator, grabbing Barty by the ankles and yanking him halfway across the room to slam against the carpet. The following spat was common enough he managed to tune it out, rolling out of bed unceremoniously, and stumbling to get dressed. There was nothing Regulus wanted less than to get up, but he knew from experience that, if he were to give in to the pull of sleep, he’d end up missing the entire day under Barty’s body weight. As much as he appreciated his friends, there was such a thing as too much of them.
Regulus glanced around, taking in his bearings, and continued to remind himself of why he couldn’t just sleep in. The entire room was green, still fairly blurry as he awoke, decorated in a manner that his parents would surely turn their nose up to. Barty’s section was filled with chemical supplies, potions and ingredients lying about, a few books with torn pages stuck under whatever detritus he’d left around. There were an embarrassing number of scantily clad women on posters -- not even because Barty was attracted to them, no, he was quite queer. He had admitted to only getting them because he knew it would bother Regulus. -- and a few darts stuck in their faces. Evan’s section was hardly any better. While it was cleaner, it was just as annoying. He had too many clothes, and a stockpile of potions in his chest that neither Barty nor Regulus had ever bothered asking about. There were books hidden around it, books on the Dark Arts that the school would have an aneurysm if they knew about, but so tame Regulus had read worse as a nine year old wandering the forefront of his family’s library. The worst was the muggle psychology book that he most definitely did not use for its intended purpose.
Regulus’ area was neat, put together, spotless, save for the school books and newspaper clippings. The clippings reminded him of why he had to try so hard, what he’d get if he succeeded. It was something far better than imagined constellations and flimsy plants in rusty armor. It would take away the burning in his chest and hands.
Regulus got changed as quickly as he could with his ribs aching and his hands protesting every movement, valiantly resisting the urge not to bang his head on the nearest hard surface. His fingers took all too long to cooperate with cinching his belt. Regulus was, however, grateful he at least got that far before Barty was draping himself over Regulus’ shoulders, leaning his full weight against Regulus’ bare back. To anyone else, it may have seemed quite forward, even flirtatious -- perhaps it was that as well, he could never tell with Barty -- but Regulus knew better. Felt it, too, in the way Barty’s hands wandered to poke and prod at every bruise he could see, digging his nails into the small scrapes and cuts on any protruding bones. Barty was always touchy, but he was even more so when pain was involved. “These ones are new,” Barty said, voice full of faux concern. It was only a matter of seconds before Evan was sidling over too, accompanied by the feeling of two sets of eyes raking over him.
“That lip looks painful. Will you get Madame Pomfrey to look at it?” Evan asked, and it was embarrassingly clear what he was truly interested in. If the injuries were something Regulus wished to hide, and why, every detail of it.
“I’ll live, it’s just a few bruises,” Regulus scoffed, pulling out his button up and frowning at the wrinkles. He’d been so frustrated the other night, seething with a million emotions he couldn’t be bothered to name, he’d entirely forgotten to iron his shirt. Embarrassing, but nothing disastrous. It felt disastrous, though. It seemed almost as important as keeping the worst of his injuries hidden.
Regulus thought that he might have to rethink his priorities in the near future.
Barty leaned over from where he’d been interested in a particularly deep bruise just beneath his collarbone, poking obnoxiously at the cut in his lip instead. As if Regulus weren’t already painfully aware of its presence. “You didn’t have this last night,” he said, and a muscle twitched in Regulus’ jaw. Barty laughed, snickering like a hyena, “What, did you think we’d really not notice? Come on, that doesn’t just appear.”
“You don’t have the backbone to fight someone, either. And we watch all your Quidditch matches,” Evan said. Regulus shot a glare at him while buttoning his shirt, shrugging Barty’s arms off him so he could gather up the rest of his uniform.
The robes were a thick enough material to not wrinkle easily, so at the very least, he could have peace of mind about that. “What is this, an interrogation? You’re making me late,” he snapped, and it didn’t have the intended effect. It hardly ever did, not for those two. While others steered clear of him, Barty and Evan had latched on from the very beginning, even before Regulus was sorted. They had yet to unlatch. He fixed his tie with bruised fingers, scrunching his nose up and clenching his jaw against the aching it brought, and then turned to do Barty’s tie. It was hanging limply around his neck, as it was every morning. He hadn’t even attempted to tie it. Regulus thought Barty should’ve been embarrassed of that, but wasn’t sure he had the capability for that emotion.
“Just curiosity, don’t get so prickly,” Evan said, at the same time Barty said, “Yes, it is.” They glared at each other for a moment before the wrestling from before started up again, and Regulus sidestepped them to grab his shoes and abscond.
The mess hall was already crowded when he got there, hundreds of students clamoring about at the tables, reaching over each other and bumping shoulders as they passed. A group of Ravenclaws split around him as he entered, not even pausing their conversation as he shoved them away. He didn’t mind Ravenclaw as much as the other houses, but they did get awfully enraptured in their ideas, until nothing else could bring them out. They at least were better than Gryffindor, he thought, as he threw a glance to their table. He didn’t run his gaze over any of the faces, didn’t want to look at them. Just the sight of red and gold made him nauseous. It felt like a retreat to sit at his table without a word.
There weren’t many seats left, so he had to sidle in between Mulciber and Snape, shifting to make certain he wouldn’t bump elbows with either one. While it certainly would be less dramatic to sit with some of the other Slytherins, as he knew there were at least two other open seats, it simply wouldn’t look as good. Mulciber was a pure-blood, from a well known family with much prestige, and Snape was generally considered a genius despite his blood status. As a Black, appearances were important to uphold, and it wouldn’t reflect on him well to avoid budding wizards like them. Even if he did truly find them insufferable. They hardly noticed him beyond a glance as he filled up a goblet of some sort of sweet protein drink. Mulciber was talking to some other upper classman about a ‘prank’ he had played earlier that week, going into extensive, unnecessary detail. If he had ever held a proper conversation with Mary Macdonald, he might have felt sorry for her earning Mulciber’s cruel attention. Asit was, all he did was cast a glance at the Ravenclaw table. He couldn’t even identify her among her peers. Snape nodded his head to whatever Mulciber was saying, but Regulus had long learned to tune them both out. All they talked about together were the stupid pranks they played and gossip. They spent their time insulting anything that moved.
Taking a sip of his drink and willing himself to actually finish it for once, he considered the fact he might be about the same. Seeing as at least half of that gossip had originated from Regulus. He didn’t spread it himself, he just knew that Barty and Evan would, and it was simply coincidental that he only told them about the people he specifically didn’t like. A name, Dorcas Meadowes, filtered in through his auditory filter, bringing the slightest hint of a smile to his face. That was one of his doing -- indirectly, of course. Meadowes had done something to slight Barty, he couldn’t even remember what, and had earned a rumor or two about her apparently tumultuous relationship. In truth, Regulus had no idea how her relationship was going before, only that now, there was a good deal of distrust and tension within it. It was a little satisfying.
“What are you grinning about, Black?” Came Mulciber’s grating voice. Regulus wouldn’t consider himself to be grinning, there was hardly even a twitch of his lips, and it was quite unnerving that Mulciber was spying enough attention to him to notice it. At the very least, he didn’t mention the split lip -- unlike Barty and Evan, they had no emotional attachment. Mulciber didn’t care if Regulus got hurt, and Regulus wouldn’t mind if Mulciber were mauled by a hippogriff. He’d take a picture, actually. That sounded quite amusing.
Regulus swallowed the protein shake, bracing himself for yet another mind-numbing conversation with Mulciber. “Nothing. Meadowes deserves it, is all,” he said, and hoped that would be enough. As influential as Mulciber’s family was, he truly was a bore to talk with. Snape was the one with brains, so he was at least a bit less tedious, but just as frustrating. He was always stealing glances at the Gryffindor table.
“You talk to her?” Snape asked. Regulus wondered if there was surgery to fix his nasally voice, and then decided it would be rude to ask Snape that. He didn’t fancy being poisoned by Snape, so he would keep his mouth shut, this time. He would ask Evan later on.
Regulus shook his head. “My friends have a class together. Annoying girl, I hear.” He had heard a lot about it -- Barty wouldn’t shut up about her for a whole day. Snape and Mulciber nodded, like puppets on a string. Regulus had successfully navigated talking to the two most annoying Slytherins, and he felt quite accomplished for it. No one would be reporting back to his mother that he was socially incompetent this year.
“Very. You know, yesterday, she…” Mulciber started, and Regulus returned to tuning him out. Mulciber wasn’t truly talking to him now, anyway, his eyes were on Snape and whichever of his lackeys were on the other side of the table, passing Regulus over with no more interest.
Regulus had only finished half his protein drink before he couldn’t stand the company anymore, and got up with a general goodbye, sweeping away from the table and to the doors. By the sheer act of getting up and looking to the doors, his eyes landed on a particular group of Gryffindors pushing into them. Ice ran up his veins, locking him in place. Nobody saw; nobody was looking. Anyone who was looking up, was looking at them -- Sirius, and the faceless, worthless nobodies who followed him. James Potter, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, disgusting, stupid, not worth as much as Barty’s burnt potion flasks. They were loud, boisterous, and bright, all wearing their uniform slightly off, all walking like they were the most important things in the room. And they were close, so close to Sirius, hanging off of each other and laughing in his ear, and he was doing the same to them.
Sirius, who had never been that close to Regulus. Never even tried.
The protein shake sat heavy in his stomach. Regulus forced himself to pass them, unable to take his eyes off Sirius, off of his former brother. The hall was cold and empty where he exited.
Sirius hadn’t looked at him once.