Diptych

Chapter 21

With every day that passed after his conversation with the Dark Lord, it felt more remote, a far more distant memory than it really was. Regulus knew that he had a tendency to exaggerate things in his mind, to turn trivial matters into disasters. Overdue homework would become letters home to his mother, which would become expulsion and having his wand snapped, which would be him disowned and cast aside from everything he knew. It was difficult at the best of times to remind himself that such dramatic consequences had never yet manifested, but it also meant that if he didn't voice his concerns, it was difficult to discern genuinely high stakes from those imagined ones. Perhaps Tom being the Dark Lord wasn't such a big deal as he was making it out to be, perhaps that much would be obvious if he spoke to Lucius or Bellatrix about it, or even wrote in the diary about it.

Though if he spoke to Bellatrix about it, she would want the diary. He didn't know yet if she knew about it at all, but he had seen the way she looked at the Dark Lord, the way she basked in his praise moreso than any of his other associates. The diary wouldn't be safe if she had knowledge of it. If Bella managed to lay her fingers upon it, it was unlikely that Regulus would ever see it again. As for Lucius, he was still more afraid of the man's judgement than he was eager to express his concerns. That was how he came to be once more in the library with the diary sitting in front of him. No matter how many times he considered talking to somebody about it, the one person he actually felt like he could talk to was the very person he'd been avoiding. The diary was at that moment stacked between his Potions textbook and the latest novel that the girls in Slytherin were passing around. Willa had slipped it into his satchel over breakfast, telling him that he looked like he could use a distraction. While he felt that was probably true, the only purpose for the book he'd found so far was keeping the diary out of his sight.

Three tables away from his, his brother and James Potter were making an unreasonable amount of noise. There were crumpled pieces of parchment strewn across the table, and the two boys took it in turns to point eagerly at creatures drawn in their books, fanged and wrinkled and hairy, and declare loudly through barely-stifled laughs that they bore a resemblance to the other. Regulus huffed, turned fully away from the two of them and strongly considered venturing out into the snow to risk hypothermia in the owlery. Surely that would be preferable to listening to the pair of them.

Not yet ready to write anything in the diary, Regulus thought back on what he'd told his friends the previous night. Did Sirius even remember that day by the lake? Or had he banished the memory, along with any other happy one of his childhood? Perhaps it made it easier for him, pretending that he had been incapable of smiling until James Potter tumbled into his life at eleven, bringing goodness and light. But Regulus remembered. He remembered how they would laugh, how Sirius would run and jump with Bellatrix, copying her antics and falling about in hysterics when their mothers would scold. When they'd been little, Sirius had wanted to be just like Bellatrix, and Regulus had wanted to be just like him, though both brothers would deny those facts now. Sirius had decided Bella was far too reprehensible a witch to admire, and Regulus still felt... Well, he wouldn't think about the way Sirius made him feel, wouldn't once again find himself complaining to Tom about a brother who didn't think about him.

After what felt like an age, he actually opened the diary. Regulus didn't write anything yet, just stared at the blank page with tensed fingers wrapped around a quill that he was careful not to let touch the parchment, lest the ink seep through and summon Tom. He wanted to speak to him, and yet he was still afraid of what the other might say.

"I thought you were going to tell me about that." Came a voice from behind him, and he almost jumped out of his skin. Regulus spun around to find James Potter standing there, hands shoved in his pockets and stupid face tilted to the side. He'd been so caught up in his indecision that he hadn't noticed the guffawing come to an end, and when he looked around the library, he saw no sign of Sirius. Obviously. There was no way Potter would acknowledge his existence with Sirius there, unless it was to laugh at some remark his brother had made at his expense.