epiphany ♕ | 𝗷𝗮𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝗽𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿

32

WHEN ALL YOU FEEL IS PAIN, you have to lay low. No matter the untimely cost or the pretentious upbringing, things just have to be left for your mental health so it can be the joyous haven it once was. Regulus Black thought back to the times of hearing his brother's screams across Grimmauld place. Mother, his mother, would curse at Sirius till he couldn't take it anymore. Those screams echoed in his ears until there was nothing. No screams, theatrics, and crying. The silence was all he heard when Sirius left the house. In some ways, he must've felt comfortable in Potter's household, with no one to hurt him.

If love was a promise, Regulus would go back in time and caress his brother to sleep. He would tell him how much he needed him, his older brother. Sometimes he even went into Sirius's room and lay back against the wall, crying. Sitting by himself, talking to the moon about how he hoped his brother was alright. At night he always sat by himself, talking to the moon in hopes he would be seeing his brother somewhere in the world.

"I talk to the moon in hopes of speaking to you, brother," he whispered. "But I don't think I'm ready to face you..."

His voice quivered at the thought. To be able to embrace his brother seemed like a lie, where he would turn into dust at his touch. Maybe he'll become like the wind, flowing around with the leaves. Regulus trembled as he thought of his life in another reality. One would say you're insane, but he knew things that others didn't. He'd seen things others hadn't. Insanity just came with the Noble House of Black bloodline. Bellatrix Lestrange went insane. She's part of the Black bloodline, born and raised. Sometimes he feared others would look at him more differently than they already did, only if they knew.

"Regulus!" screamed his mother from the parlor below. His feet shuffled against the wooden floor, creaking ever so slightly.

"Yes, mother?" his voice boomed across the house: reaching his mother. His mother cursed under her breath. Regulus stepped into the parlor, nerves building up.

"When do you plan on getting the mark?" she quired, clocking a spoonful of sugar into her tea. Regulus gulped at the mentioning. He had forgotten of his plans to become a death eater.

"I plan on it getting it when I turn sixteen." he evenly said. His mother bobbed her head slowly. He fidgeted with his hands. They were hidden away, behind his back, so his mother couldn't see.

"Brilliant," she murmured. "Exactly what this family needed, my dear son, taking the mark. You will gain the trust of the dark lord and make us proud. Regulus, you'll bring this family great admiration from those who don't already worship the ground we walk on."

He clenched his jaw. His mother was self-centered, ego bulging from how high it was. Regulus wanted to run away from her. She was a nightmare, just like Sirius said.

"Anything to uphold our reputation, mother." he forced a smile. She drank her tea, gazing at the tense boy in front of her. "I will make our family proud."

"That you will," she assured. Regulus stood still, her gaze never faltering from him. She cleared her throat. "You're dismissed."

Her hand swept in a wave, signifying for him to leave. Regulus nodded and exited the parlor. Walburga had her eyes narrowed, saying nothing more.

Memories faded as he woke up, drenched in his sweat. Eyes frantically scanned the area where he woke, wary of his surroundings. Regulus was afraid of these memories. They were horrid, filled with his mother's stares. Her screams and remarks always crept into his mind.

"Stop..." he murmured. "Stop!"

He ran a hand through his wet hair, desperation in every stroke. Regulus couldn't bear his mother. She had made him this perfect son, one where he couldn't speak, his thoughts inaudible.