Diptych

Chapter 32

The morning rolled around, and Regulus immediately felt that it was different from the last. The previous morning, he had been itching to move long before the sun made an appearance, eager to get down to the village and be out of it just as quickly, to be on their way before anybody had the chance to spot them. He'd foolishly believed it could be done. After being spotted, he found himself in far less of a rush. He would have been perfectly content to pull the blankets up over his head and stay there all day, or at least until the sun made its late appearance. There was no mistaking it for home, with the constant quiet murmuring from the pub downstairs and the strange smell that clung to the bedsheets, but while the others still thought he was sleeping, were still possibly sleeping themselves, he could be still and quiet for the first time in days.

It almost surprised him when there came no tapping at the window from the beak of a familiar owl. No matter what Bellatrix had done, what terrible fate awaited him when he eventually returned home, he had expected with some dread that she would write to him to tell him of it, bask in the knowledge that he'd have his thoughts consumed by whatever it was she'd cook up for him. If not her, then he expected a letter from his mother, or Lucius or Narcissa. Somebody from the family, desperate to tell him off after hearing he'd reunited with Sirius and been seen in the company of a half-blood. Regulus was so convinced of it in fact, that he had spent over half an hour telling himself that when his letter inevitably arrived, he'd finally throw himself from the bed and reunite with Sirius and Potter to consider their next moves. When it never came, he was forced to otherwise motivate himself.

On the other side of the room, Edwin was snoring. His body was nothing more than a lump beneath his blankets, chest rising and falling slowly. Regulus didn't want to wake him because Edwin had stayed up far later than he had. While the landlord of the pub had two rooms to spare, there weren't enough beds for all of them to sleep at once, and he had strictly forbidden them from transfiguring any more without an additional fee, which they were all unwilling to pay. The previous night, with tensions still high and the brothers eager to be apart, it hadn't seemed much of a problem. One person would need to keep watch at all times regardless, so Sirius and Potter took one room while the Slytherins had the other. At some point in the night, Willa had relieved Edwin of the watch he'd volunteered to take with Potter, and so he was presently sleeping off the burden.

It really was the first time since leaving school that he'd been able to hear himself think. Usually, people said that like it was a good thing. Narcissa when her sisters or cousins finally 'gave it a rest', for example. But with the thoughts swirling around his inactive mind, Regulus rather wished that he wasn't able to hear himself think. His treacherous thoughts told him that it would be a good idea to write in the diary, that he was going to cave and do it eventually, and so he might as well just get it over with. He could give Tom a piece of his mind, or else demand some answers. But...

No. If Edwin wasn't going to wake up to hold him accountable by virtue of his conscious presence, then Regulus was going to find somebody who would.

When he found Willa down in the pub, she was scribbling away on a piece of parchment, tongue sticking out in concentration. Darkness circled beneath her eyes, and the crease between her brows seemed permanently etched there, but she showed no other outward clue of their journey. To any onlooker, she was just another teenage girl, twirling her hair anxiously as she wrote to a friend.

"I'm writing a letter to Carmen," she explained when she eventually noticed his presence.

'Are you sure that's a good idea?', Regulus wanted to ask. He didn't think he had much right to though, considering all of his poor choices as of late, the poor choices he was still almost making. She saw it on his face, even if he didn't say it.