The Story of Regulus Black - Years 5-7

XLIV. Squid

CW: recreational drug use & unhealthy consumption of alcohol

The days of Spring blurred together and passed in a series of repeated routines for Regulus Black; studying, eating, smoking, hiding, and failing to grieve the very thing that he was longing to grieve. He would simply lay, and stare forward, and curl up beneath the covers, and he would spend either days or hours (it truly depended) right there. Curled up and lacking the ability to feel anything other than the overwhelming numbness that made him feel as though he was drowning and had the sudden inability to come up for air.

Barty was there. Every single time, Barty was there to coax Regulus out of bed and into the bathroom so that he could at least keep up his personal hygiene. He would continue to read his notes and books aloud so that Regulus could keep up at least a bit of a study regiment, which Regulus did appreciate quite a lot.

Regulus appreciated Barty; he appreciated him more than he could put into words.

But, that appreciation didn't exactly do anything to help the feelings that tore through him any and every time he was around Barty. They would be standing, and Regulus would have to fight the urge to tangle their fingers together. They would be sitting, and he would have to resist the urge to wrap an arm around his waist and lean his head on his shoulder. They would be laying down, reading or studying or doing nothing at all, and he would combat the urge to wrap his arms around Barty and pull him close and leave gentle kisses on his face to show how much he liked him. The more time Regulus spent with Barty, the more Regulus realized just how long he had had these feelings, and the worse they got; they were just developing, and developing, and developing until Regulus felt as though they were weighing so heavily on him that he was going to go right through the floor.

Barty was dealing with the same exact problems. Every time he looked at Regulus, his entire body would dissolve into nothing but butterflies and warmth that Barty had only ever known to come from Regulus. During all hours - both day and night - Barty's head was a mess of thoughts of Regulus. Regulus, Regulus, Regulus. It seemed that the only thing his mind knew was Regulus, and he never necessarily complained; it was nice. It was torturous, but Barty had become used to unpleasant things in his life. And, as far as he was concerned, Regulus was one of the more pleasant things that he could be thinking about.

When Regulus wasn't laying in bed with the feeling of having no purpose at all, he was studying. He was studying, studying, studying until he physically could not study any longer. His eyes ached, and his head hurt, and his brain felt like it was so full of information that it would overflow. But, even then, he kept going; he kept studying until he felt like he was going to pass out.

Life was getting harder as the year wore on, he learned.

Exams were coming closer, so he had to study. Quidditch was winding down, but that didn't mean that practices were happening any less frequently (for a while there, Regulus had debated quitting the team again. But, he had decided that Quidditch did more good than harm, especially in the category of distractions, so he decided against it and kept playing with as much motivation as he had been since the beginning). Regulus was still Prefect, even though he had managed to weasel his way out of quite a few patrols (as it turned out, Phoebe's means of distraction involved Prefect duty and studying). Teachers were running the fifth years ramped with homework and reading alike, piling up and drowning the students in work.

All in all, Regulus's life was - in every sense of the word - a mess.

On a Saturday in mid-May, Regulus was having one of what both boys had subconsciously begun to call one of Regulus's bad days.

Barty had successfully dragged Regulus out of bed and taken him to the Great Hall for lunch, and he had done his best to keep him out of the dorm room; he didn't exactly want Regulus to go back to laying down bed where he would do nothing but stare and wallow in whatever horrible thoughts were swirling through his mind.