'where we are now' remus lupin & regulus black

My body is a cage

"Just because you've forgotten, doesn't mean you're forgiven."
_____________________

REGULUS BLACK

Maxwell picks the vial up off of my desk. "Shit. We're nearly out." he sighs as he peers into the mercury coloured liquid.

Looking at him from my seat on the couch, "So get more," I mutter, taking a swig of firewhiskey from my crystal glass. The ice cubes clink against the sides.

It's just past midnight, and Maxwell and I are up to our regular Sunday plans. The room is dense with gloomy familiarity and our general unease. For we do this task often—and although it saves us in the long run—it's still entirely as daunting as the first time.

He stumbles over to me, already piss drunk. Already ready for what comes next. I take two large gulps, finishing the glass. "Doesn't work like that mate, you and I both know that." Maxwell huffs as he drops onto the couch and slouches down.

"I know."

We sit in anticipatory silence for a few moments before I reach for the alcohol on the coffee table. I fill my glass to the brim. Maxwell takes the bottle and finishes it off.

When I finish my glass I regard him for a second, he's studying the silver liquid again. He runs a hand through his brown curls and his brilliant green eyes flick to my own.

"Ready?" He huffs.

"Let's just get this the fuck over with, Max." I breathe out. It's not as confident as I had hoped.

He nods once, understanding. "Cast the charm and give me your arm."

I mutter the Muffliato charm and unbutton the cuff of my sleeve before rolling it up past my elbow. The dark fabric stark against my pale skin.

Using the tip of my finger I trace the mark that's starting to re-infect my forearm. The ink is dull, looks like an old tattoo starting to bleed through makeup. I go over the lines of the the darkest part, the snake that protrudes from a skulls mouth. My arm has taken a slight green undertone and there's swirls of silver from the last time we did the ritual.

I stop studying the mark in disgust. How could something meant to symbolize such high honour make a soul feel so sickened?

Maxwell misinterprets my silence for uncertainty. "You don't have to do this again,"

"There's no other way to hide it,"

"You wouldn't have to worry about that so much if you dropped the Ravenclaw. Think about it,"

I simply shake my head. "That is not something that can ever be done on my own volition."

Maxwell begins digging through his pocket. "Then I won't speak on it anymore, friend. Just know, there is no universe where the muggles Romeo and Juliet live happily ever after, or so I've heard." As he finishes his sentence he pulls his hand out with something in his grip. His pocket blade. I extend my arm and he grasps my wrist.

Using his teeth he pulls the cork off the vial and dips the tip of the knife into the Celare Frigus potion.

Without warning (as we've decided that way is better) he begins tracing the lines of the dark mark with the knife. Carving new lines into the pre-existing ones. My eyes screw shut and despite myself, I scream. I really thought I'd know how to control my screams of agony at this point.