The Marauders: Year Five #Wattys2017

The Shoulder of The Star

The Shoulder of The Star

It always started exactly the same...

Regulus was walking in the dark. Down a corridor he thought, but perhaps somewhere else, somewhere he wasn't familiar with. The wall was immediately to his left as he walked, his elbow scraping against it, keeping away from unknowable danger on the other side. He felt like he was gliding along through the dark, his gait much smoother than he was usually capable of - being a clumsy sort of walker. But he took a pause, reaching the end of the tunnel, and he knelt down to peer over the edge... And he found there water, as black as night, reflecting his own face in the surface. Regulus knelt and peered into the water...

This was where the dream differentiated from night to night. Some nights when he peered into the water, it simply was a reflection that he saw and he just got up and walked away, on through dark corridors until he woke up and it was no big deal. A bit creepy, but no big deal. Barely even a nightmare by then.

But other nights...

Tonight...

There, in the water, just below the surface, loomed a face, distorted by the water, but still recognizable to him... she'd always be recognizable to him... "Oi, Maryrose, what're you doing in there?" he'd say and he'd reach for her hand, which was floating near to the surface, as though she were pointing at him in gest, her hair wild hair, bright white under the water, swarming about her face. But she'd been under too long now and he needed to pull her out before something terrible happened, so he grabbed hold of her wrist and it as then that he would realize he was too late. Her skin was cold and clammy and her wrist and body swollen from being under there too long and his fingers would sink in too far and he'd try to let go, as his stomach twisted and he panicked. And the moment he tried to let go, her eyes would flash open - pale white and blank, unseeing. She was dead, but not dead. Undead. Infirius. And her hand would close 'round his wrist and she would grin wickedly and pull him forward and he would fall head-first, she would suddenly be gone as his body broke through the surface -- all of it would be gone, the wall, path he'd been on, the water, Maryrose, the other hulking shapes he now thought were faces he recognized, too -- and he would be falling through darkness. And the dark would change from water to skies - stars and planets and moons would be going past, glowing bright in the darkness, and he would grab and scratch at the void, but there was nothing there to stop him falling, and he'd be crying out for help that never, ever came... no matter how many times he dreamed of it... even calling Kreacher did nothing at all... there was no one there to hear him... And he fell and he fell and he fell, fell, fell, fell, fell... Down forever, down for all of eternity, down... and down so far that down had to have reached infinity and yet it was still down he went...

Until he landed in his bed and he sat up quickly, gasping, choking, scrambling for air, always shocked by the presence of his mattress, the presence of the walls and the room and the things - the nightstand, the carpet, the desks. He grabbed his pillow and started sobbing into it, his body a mushy pile of gooey nerves.

So it was that Christmas started with Regulus a mess already and the day only got worse from there. When he snuck out to the stables, he got there to find Newt Scamander had cleared away his books and was gone, and when he went back to the castle, intent on going back to bed before Mulciber and the others got up, he was caught by Filch who dragged him off to his office and assigned him detention for the first week back from holiday.

By the time he'd got back to the common room, Mulciber and them were up already and sitting about the common room with smug looks on their faces, trading in the sweets and treats their parents had given them for Christmas and Remus tried to sneak by, but McNair noticed him and demanded, "Where've you been boy?"