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Regulus’s Choice


Regulus Black sat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, listening to the sound of all of the students leaving to board the Hogwarts Express for the holiday. He leaned his chin against his forearm and stared at his porridge and moved the spoon about through the thick of the food, turning it over and trying not to feel very sorry for himself.

Maryrose was going home for the holiday.

Regulus’s Yule Ball was possibly the only one that had gone exactly as it ought to have done. He’d gotten dressed nice in his dress robes, sent to him from home by his mum in a box with a big red bow upon it, carried by Adolf and two other owls. He’d done his bowtie just right and neatened his hair - which wasn’t quite as long as Sirius’s had been before Rosier had cut it, but it was getting close. He was excited about that. Regulus had pinched his cheeks a bit, trying to make himself look less pale and he’d paced about in the toilet, glancing in the mirrors and trying to decide which smile to use to greet her with upstairs. He’d stood and stared into his own eyes and practiced saying things like I had a wonderful time this evening and May I have a dance? and Thank you for asking me to the ball with you, Maryrose Jenkins, and You’re the most beautiful girl in this entire school no matter what colour your hair is so please, please, please for the love of Merlin, pleaaaaase kiss me.

That last one might not be a wise one to say out loud, he’d decided.

But perhaps the others.

And he had. He’d had all the right words at all the right moments. She’d laughed at his jokes and she’d smiled when he told her happy things and frowned at bad things and they’d snuck off from the Great Hall somewhat early on and sat in an empty classroom on the third floor and they’d talked - talked and talked and talked - and Regulus had told her about Kreacher and how good an elf he was. Maryrose, it turned out, had an elf too, and she loved her elf just as Regulus loved Kreacher and it made Regulus excited to hear that somebody else in the world loved House Elves like he did.

Regulus was fairly certain that he was falling for her, with great chunks of his heart at a time.

He sighed.

Finally giving his porridge up as a bad job, Regulus drew himself away from the Slytherin table and started back down to the dungeons. He was walking down the corridors when suddenly - the prefect toilet door opened up and he was pulled inside by rough hands that jerked his arms behind his back and held him fast at attention, his shoulders pulled back so tight that he felt as though they might just pop right out of their sockets.

He found himself facing Geoffrey Mulciber, held fast by Walden McNair and Antonin Dolohov. Mulciber studied him a moment, then nodded in the direction of the toilet itself and McNair and Dolohov shoved Regulus head first into it and pushed the flush, soaking his head and face with water that smelled and went up his nose and into his mouth as he yelled and fought to get away. But they were stronger than he was and they had their fun for a few minutes, chortling and sniggering for several moments before finally pulling him back up and out of it, sputtering and choking on water.

Mulciber stared at him as Regulus caught his breath and shook his head to get the long strands of hair out of his eyes. “Enjoy that?” Mulciber asked.

Regulus was still coughing.

“Consider this a warning.”

“A warning against what?” Regulus asked sharply as McNair and Dolohov released his arms and he stumbled forward, nearly depositing himself back into the toilet from the unexpected release. He turned and sank onto the floor instead, staring up at Mulciber with wide, surprised eyes, his hair dripping toilet bowl water down his nose and over his cheeks.

“The Dark Lord won’t be so gentle if you walk away from him.” Mulciber nodded for McNair and Dolohov to follow him to the door. “You’re a Black, certain things are expected of you, and currently… you’re none of those things. You’re going to end up dead like your father, you keep up actin’ like you’ve been…Don’t be like your brother, Regulus. You’re so much better than that.” And he ducked out into the corridor.

Regulus sat there on the floor for sometime until he’d regained his composure and then he took a bath and washed the toilet bowl water out of his hair. He was shaking as he sopped off after and he looked at his face in the mirror, his hair still damp - just towel dried a bit - and it hung in funny strands about his head. He drew himself up proudly, puffing his chest out. They were right. He was a Black and all that meant is he was a sort of prince in the wizarding world and princes could do whatever they wanted.

He finished getting dried and dressed and went back to the Slytherin common room. Mulciber, McNair, and Dolohov were sitting by the fire and their eyes followed Regulus as he crossed the room, climbed the stairs, and went into the empty third year dormitory, closing it behind himself and leaning against the door. He closed his eyes, glad that everyone else in the third year had gone home so for a couple glorious weeks this room could be a safe place. Lonely - but safe.

He wished suddenly that things had been different. That he’d asked the sorting hat to put him with Sirius. He pictured being with Sirius, being brothers again. He’d have friends - Sirius’s friends would be his friends, he knew they would. Sirius would make sure of it. He’d get to pull pranks with them and laugh with them and he’d spend holiday with Sirius and they’d have fun and laugh together. Sirius would’ve protected him against bullies like Mulciber. Sirius would’ve been proud of Regulus for how much of a gentleman he’d been with Maryrose at the Yule Ball, would’ve cheered him on and given him tips and helped him get ready… Sirius would’ve been his best mate, if only he’d just picked Sirius over the Dark Lord.

But he’d made his choice. It was the wrong one, but he’d made it, and now he didn’t know what to do.

He started by waving his wand to lock the door and crawling into the bed and pulling the covers up over his head. He felt even safer here, covered up, in the dark.

If he turned back now, the Dark Lord would come for him and he was afraid of what the Dark Lord would do. Would he torture Regulus ‘til he went mad, like the Pettigrew girl? Regulus shivered at the thought. Or keep him in a cage like he’d done to the girl’s mum? Or maybe he’d be quick about it. Maybe he’d kill him with a wand to the head like he’d done to Orion Black.

Before seeing his father killed, kneeling in his very own kitchen, Regulus had never been much afraid of death. But since that day, he’d been terrified. All summer long, Regulus had refused to set foot in the kitchen. He’d stop at the stair and call for Kreacher to go in and do whatever it was that needed doing. Touching his toes to the floor that his father died upon seemed impossible to do, as though it might swallow him up or else Orion himself might come rising up out of the tiles to drag his own son away to the afterlife. Regulus had suffered uncountable nightmares about it.

Death now terrified him to no end.

The uncertainness of it was what scared him, the abyss, the feeling that maybe death was like falling through unending darkness - down, down, down into depths of unknown space for all eternity. There could be no end because there was nothing there. Just nothing at all. He’d had nightmares like that, too, where he tripped and he just kept going… and going… and going…

The Dark Lord can never die, the words echoed in Regulus’s head, high and cold and in their speaker’s voice. Voldemort had said that to him once, hadn’t he?

But we all die, thought Regulus. Everyone of us. Even the Dark Lord has to die.

Unless he found some way to not die.

Regulus lay in the dark contemplating this.

But how? How does one keep oneself from dying? Death isn’t something you can scare away, it isn’t something that bows and listens and obeys to harsh speech. Death doesn’t cut deals. Death claims victims of every bloodtype, every nationality, every sort, every breed.

Regulus wondered…

He hugged one of the pillows to his chest and fell asleep.




On board the Hogwarts Express, Sirius had spent the last of the money James had given him on sweets from the trolley for him and Remus and Peter and, hopped up on sugar, he’d gone on a rush of merrymaking down the hallway, waving his wand about, causing pranks all along the corridor. He stuck doors shut just for the laugh of imagining people trying to get out of their compartments and being stuck inside. He charmed textbooks to fly about and transfigured a bag of marbles into mice and set them loose on the compartment full of girls that included Annalee McKinnon and snickered from outside when he heard her shrieking, thinking serves you right, you hurt our rat and his cousins come after you, you little wench. He set the old trolley witch to changing colours so that she seemed to glow yellow, then orange, then green, then red, then purple then blue then yellow again and everyone laughed.

“Sirius,” Remus hissed when Sirius returned to their own compartment snickering, “What’ve you done?”

“Relax, Moonpie,” Sirius had answered, “Nothing.”

“Something. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Nothing.”

There was the screams of Annalee as she ran past the compartment crying for somebody to get the mice out of her hair.

Peter stared out the compartment window at her going by with mice crawling up in her hair with wide eyes.

“Sirius.”

“Maybe something. But nothing that wasn’t deserved.”

And there went Harry Warbeck with a net, chasing after a book flapping through the air, its covers acting as wings…

Remus’s eyebrows went up.

Sirius said, “Good exercise. Harry was putting on a few stone around the middle.”

And then there was the trolley witch, fluorescent pink and fading into red and purple as she went by… pushing her cart, blissfully unaware of her colorful state.

“All in good fun, really,” Sirius said.

“Oi, I have to go fix it now, you ninny!”

“Why?”

“Because, I’m a prefect! I ought to give you detention for it!”

Sirius’s eyes sparkled.

“Ugh.” Remus rubbed his forehead and stood up, “What in hell am I to do with you, Padfoot?”

Sirius grinned, “Could spank me, you could.”

“No,” Remus replied, “You’d enjoy that far too much…” and he ducked out of the compartment to go do his prefect duties at setting things right.

Sirius looked over at Peter. “Did you see the mice in Annalee’s hair?”

Peter nodded, “Yeah.. wow.”

“Just for you Wormy,” Sirius said.

Peter couldn’t help but beam.

All of Sirius’s mischief was set right within the hour and Remus returned to report that Annalee was traumatized and Sirius and Peter snickered. “It’s not funny, poor girl --” but really Remus thought it was funny, and deserved, too, after what she’d done to Peter.

When they arrived at King’s Cross station, the boys gathered their things up and went out to the Platform. Dora Potter was there, waiting for them to arrive. Sirius ran across the platform to her. “Mrs. P!” he called, excitedly. She smiled when she saw him, but as he skid to a halt before her, he realized she looked really tired and sort of worn out… “Is everything alright?” he asked, his jovial attitude melting instantly into concern.

Dora nodded and sighed, “Yes, but I think James will be mighty glad to see you lot.”