Crimson Rivers

Chapter 4

Regulus is already tired of this, and it's only day two. He's been in the Hallow for three days altogether, and he just wants to go home, at this point. Instead, for the second time, he's walking into the training room with James and strict instructions to never stray too far from him.

Yeah, Regulus is the unluckiest sod in the world.

James, meanwhile, beams at another tribute and waves happily at her. The young girl perks up a little and waves back. Rather cheerfully, James says, "That's Vanity Clyde. She has three siblings, all younger, and a mild obsession with bugs."

"Right," Regulus mutters, struggling not to grimace. Oh, he wishes James didn't know that. He wishes James wouldn't get so invested in people; it's going to break his fucking heart when they die. "I'm going to get daggers."

"I'll come with you."

"Of course you will."

"Sirius literally told me to," James reminds him.

Regulus rolls his eyes as they move through the room. There are a lot of gazes on them at the moment, watching their every move. "You just do everything Sirius says, do you?"

"Well, don't you?" James challenges.

"No," Regulus snaps, as if he's not doing exactly that. He can't help it. Sirius has been through this before, and if there is anyone in this world who Regulus trusts wholeheartedly, no matter what, it's Sirius. When it comes down to life and death-and this certainly is-Sirius is who he looks to.

It's ironic, really, because with everything else... Well, in day-to-day life back home, Regulus didn't look to Sirius for anything, and Sirius didn't really give him anything to look at. When he returned a Victor, he'd come home lost, as if he did lose, as if parts of him died in that arena. Whatever those parts were, they were the parts that Regulus had claim to, and then they were gone. Never seen again.

James was the only one who had Sirius after that. It was James that Sirius needed, not Regulus. Sirius couldn't even look at him sometimes. It was equally hard for Regulus to look at Sirius, knowing that everything that happened to him was his fault. All those parts of him that died when he won, Regulus is the one who killed them, and he didn't even choose to. Sirius made that choice for him when he volunteered.

Sirius never said it. He has never said it, and Regulus thinks he will die before he ever admits it, but Regulus is sure that Sirius regrets taking his place.

But it's Regulus' turn now, and all of those issues can't exist here, as Sirius said. It's about surviving, and of course Regulus instinctively looks to Sirius for that. If not for Sirius, Regulus wouldn't have survived to make it here at all.

"So, how do you know which ones you'll like?" James whispers directly in his ear when they stop in front of an entire display of various daggers.

Regulus jerks away, the proximity of him and the warmth of his breath over Regulus' neck making his skin prickle. He huffs. "Can I just-have a little space? Sirius didn't say you need to stand on top of me, James. Fucking hell."

"Well, he didn't say I couldn't," James replies, grinning when Regulus cuts him a sharp look, but he's dutifully stepping away, giving him the space he's asked for. "But really, how do you know which ones you'll like? There are...a lot."

There are, in fact, a lot of different daggers. There are traditional daggers, made of different metals; small, yet deadly push-daggers; karambits, with the curved, claw-like blade; stilettos with the thin, needle-like blade; and there's even a selection of balisongs, or butterfly knives, as they're known. Regulus feels like a child stepping into a sweet shop, except it's just him and a variety of pointy weapons. He would like one of each, please.