Diptych

Chapter 15

Since his attention had been so completely diverted by what happened to Lupin, Regulus could scarcely recall a single conversation he'd had that day. There had been his conversations with Madam Pomfrey and Professor Slughorn in the morning, and he remembered those well enough, given that they were relevant to his mind's current fixation. He'd surely reassured Montague that he was completely fine and that Madam Pomfrey had agreed so, had apologised to the girls for ditching them so abruptly in the common room... And that was all he could recall with any certainty. None of the mindless chattering he'd forced himself to partake in had sunk in, and nor could he really remember anybody else mentioning the attack without his prompting. Lupin wasn't a muggleborn, which sent all of Snape's working theories into disarray, and rendered many of the Slytherin students uninterested. If the attacker was merely targeting muggleborn students, there were still plenty for them to choose from, and yet they'd instead decided to go for a half-blood. Regulus didn't know if that made it easier or more difficult to bear. If there was a clear motive, some obvious intention behind the attacks, he would be able to completely remove himself and the diary from his suspicions, could tell himself that the lingering worry about Tom was unwarranted. But thinking that somebody would be so cruel, would seek to cause terror among the muggleborn students like that... Well, that was hardly a reassuring thought.

With December only a week away, there seemed to be less idle chatter about the attack than there had been the last two, which Regulus should have been grateful for but couldn't be when it was all he could think to discuss. Meanwhile, his peers were too busy discussing their plans, whether they'd be going home for the holidays or not, and what sort of presents they were hoping to get. Regulus already knew that he would be staying at the castle over Christmas, had been told so by his mother at the beginning of term. The same wasn't true for most of his housemates. Selwyn and Shafiq had both indicated their intention to return home for the holidays, and Flynn's family were going to the coast to be with distant relatives. That left only Regulus and Montague in the dorm, and with just as few girls across the way. Willa was going to stay, along with the muggleborn girl in her dorm, but Regulus didn't know of any other girls who intended to stay on the school grounds. And though he was still uneasy about it, the thought struck him that it would be much easier to write to Tom without so many people about the place. He wouldn't have to tuck the diary away with his school things and keep a close eye on whoever else happened to be in the room. The common room would probably become a safe place to scribble away to him, as would the library, without Potter's eyes on him.

Of course, he didn't exactly know that Potter would be going home for Christmas and out of his way, it was just an assumption. The previous year, he'd gone home with Sirius in tow. His brother had returned to school bouncier than ever, and Regulus had had to listen through the grapevine (and to Sirius' actual voice, which he seemed incapable of lowering when he was in such a mood), of all the wonderful things they'd had to eat, the games they had played, the presents he and Potter had so carefully chosen for one another. Regulus' own Christmas had been the same as it ever was, save for the empty space at the dinner table and the fact that his own present for Sirius remained underneath his bed, unopened. Regulus had never had the heart to give it to him or to throw it out, so there it remained.

The day was such a long one that Regulus hardly believed he had only woken to the news of Lupin's petrification that very morning. All day, he'd been looking out for his brother as he moved about the castle, and all day he'd been met with nothing. Perhaps Sirius and his friends had spent the entire day, once allowed, in the hospital wing beside Lupin's bed. Perhaps they were moping in their dorm, or else attempting to hunt down the culprit and hold them accountable. For all of his watching and waiting, he finally got a glimpse of them after dinner. It wasn't his intention to stare over at where they usually sat, but he supposed he must have been doing it because Selwyn looked in the direction of his eye-line and then rolled his own eyes.

"He was heading out onto the grounds a minute ago," Selwyn told him, and of course Regulus argued that he hadn't been looking for Sirius, pretended not to know what he was talking about at all in the beginning. When he conceded that maybe he had been looking in that direction, he said it was only in blissful awe of how quiet the table could be without his brother, Potter, and Pettigrew present. But if that had been enough to convince anybody around them, they soon would have had doubts when Regulus left his dessert and all but sprinted from the Great Hall. By that time it was already dark outside, but he could just about make out the three figures over by the lake. Sirius was pacing back and forth, a habit of his for as long as Regulus could remember, while Potter paced beside him, turning clumsily when he did and obviously very intentionally keeping pace with him. Pettigrew stood nearby, wringing his hands and speaking to the two of them. Regulus wasn't standing close enough to hear anything they were saying, but he could guess it well enough. Sirius would be trying to fix everything, playing the hero alongside Potter as his friend threw in encouraging comments and arrogant statements about how they would come to the rescue, make the attacker pay. Regulus wondered what the punishment would be for such an attack on three students, couldn't help but tense at the thought of those three doling out their 'justice'. While he could easily predict what Sirius and Potter would be saying, Pettigrew's role in the group had always been more of a mystery to Regulus. He hadn't stolen Sirius away like Potter had, filled his head with enough nonsense that he'd leave his entire life behind, and yet he still didn't seem to hold much respect for his pureblood roots.

Regulus didn't go over. They were obviously looking for solutions, and he had none. Even if he did have some idea as to the cure, or some certainty as to the attacker's identity, Sirius would never hear it from him. If he resented his brother for being sorted into the wrong house, then all the years that passed after that, and in the care of the Potters, meant that Sirius loathed him completely. Instead of standing there and dwelling on it (as Slughorn had warned him against in a roundabout sort of way), he trudged carefully through the frosty grass to the owlery, safe in the knowledge that Sirius and his friends weren't looking out for poor victims to follow that night. He couldn't be glad that they were so distracted, given the subject of their distraction, and yet he also couldn't help the small leap in his chest when it occurred to him that he could pass by them unnoticed.

Why did you tell me to take the sleeping draught?

Because you told me you were tired — I wanted to help.

Something bad happened after I took it.

What happened?

One of Sirius' friends got petrified.

What has that got to do with you taking the sleeping draught?

The last time I used it was the same time as the last attack.

And you don't think that's a coincidence?

I don't know — maybe I'm just being paranoid.

Has anybody said anything to make you feel so?

No.

Well then, it's probably nothing but an overactive imagination.

I felt like Dumbledore was staring at me during lunch, as though even when I wasn't looking in his direction I could feel his eyes burning into my skull.

Do you trust Dumbledore?

I don't think I trust anybody anymore.

Well, I'm pleased to be an exception to that.

Would you detest me if I told you that I've even been doubting my trust in you?

No — though given all you've told me, and are still telling me, I find it hard to believe that you don't trust me.

It feels safe talking to you, because you're not really here.

I feel the same way.

You never tell me anything about your life.

There isn't much to tell, I'm afraid.

I have so many questions about you.

Such as?

I don't know — my mind is too cluttered to settle on one, and I don't want to offend you.

Then let's leave it for another night, shall we?

Alright.

Sleep well, Regulus — Though I don't recommend you turn to the sleeping draught again, just in case.