Regulus dropped into the seat next to Sirius, trying not to make a sound. He licked his lips and immediately wished he hadn’t; they were cracked and raw from the cold outside, and his empty stomach didn’t help either. All he could think about were buttered rolls and pumpkin juice, and pudding, and the hot chocolate milk they’d had last night …
No.
He forced himself to stop; he shouldn’t think of any of that, because it made his throat ache and his stomach rumble, and they weren’t here to eat.
That thought alone made him sick.
But Mother and Father were silent, and nothing happened for a long, long time. A silence in which Regulus couldn’t help but notice how awful they looked. Both were still in their nightclothes, and their hair was dishevelled and their eyes bloodshot. Father was clutching the table as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. Mother’s hair was falling out of its pins. They both looked like ghosts.
Or were they ill?
Was all this because of the wine Sirius had mentioned?
He closed his eyes briefly, taking this time to focus on staying perfectly still, hoping if he didn’t move, nothing bad would happen, and this all would be over soon. He hoped it would be over soon, at least this awful quiet. Why wouldn’t they just start shouting already?
But shout, they didn’t. When Father finally broke the silence, all he said was, ‘You sneaked out.’
‘Prove it.’
Regulus’ eyes snapped open at his brother’s reply, and he shrank into his chair, bracing himself for the worst.
But Father only let out a long, tired sigh, pulling out a chair and sitting down.
‘I have no time nor patience for your games. We know you left. Kreacher woke us to tell us the two of you had left the house, through the front door, with no protection. Have you any idea how dangerous that is?’
Dangerous.
He looked away again. Yes, he knew how dangerous it had been. He knew what Muggles did to young wizards. He knew they had got lucky; they’d only narrowly escaped the Muggle in the park.
And he’d been so scared …
Everything in him was heavy with guilt, and it only worsened at the sight of Father’s weary face.
‘We didn’t mean to,’ he said quickly, hoping it would make things better, but it only earnt him an elbow to the rib from Sirius. ‘We’re sorry.’
‘No, we’re not,’ Sirius shot back. ‘It’s just down the street. Nothing happened.’
‘You reckless, arrogant –’ Mother’s hand shot across the table and Regulus flinched back so hard his chair squeaked. Sirius didn’t flinch at all, but she still missed him. Her hands were shaking just as hard as his own.
‘It was an accident!’ Regulus blurted out before she could try again. ‘We didn’t mean to! Sirius just wanted to go to the park, and I didn’t want him to go alone!’
Mother’s eyes snapped to him. They were awful when they were like that, wide and full of fury. For a moment, he thought she’d go for him. But she didn’t. She didn’t even yell.
‘If either of you ever pull a such a stunt again –’
‘Walburga …’ Father sighed.
She glared at him, but said no more.
Father looked at them again. ‘What your mother means to say is that the world out there is dangerous. Anything could’ve happened, and if it had, we would’ve lost you.’
‘Why?’ Sirius asked, crossing his arms. ‘What’s so dangerous?’
‘We’re in the middle of Muggle London! You could’ve been captured. Killed.’
‘We almost were captured,’ he admitted, feeling worse than ever. ‘And … and … Well, there was a Muggle, and it was saying all these things …’
Sirius laughed. ‘It was a child. Our age. Hardly a threat. I handled it, though.’
‘Barely!’
‘I did better than you!’
Father’s fist slammed the table, silencing them both. ‘Enough! You never should have been anywhere near such a thing!’ He took a deep breath. ‘But what matters now is that you are safe, and that you stay safe. You will not be leaving this house again. Understood?’
Regulus nodded so fast his head hurt. ‘Yes, Father,’ he whispered.
Sirius just mumbled something.
Father leant back, rubbing his temples, and sighed, ‘It’s too early for these kinds of conversations’, even though it had to be almost lunchtime by now. Regulus tried not to think of what Kreacher would make them. It wasn’t important. He had to keep his focus on Father.
‘Now, listen carefully,’ Father said, shifting in his seat, glancing back at Mother. ‘Don’t feed the dragon; it will come back for more. And what happens when you have nothing left to give? It will burn down your house.’
‘What dragon?’ asked Sirius, looking over at Regulus as if to say, ‘are you the dragon?’, and for once, Regulus was glad Sirius asked. He really hoped he wasn’t the dragon. He had only been playing last night, it hadn’t been real.
‘I do not mean a literal dragon,’ Father explained. ‘It’s a figure of speech. What I mean is to be careful around … around certain witches and wizards.’
‘What witches and wizards?’ asked Sirius.
Father sat there for a few moments, saying nothing, but looking like he was turning something over in his mind. Then he finally spoke up, ‘It all started when a few Muggle-loving imbeciles decided it was a great idea to spread their ridiculous nonsense –’
‘What nonsense?’ Sirius cut in.
He sighed. ‘These wizards started saying that Muggles are the same as us, that we are equal –’
Mother – who had taken to pacing up and down the dining room – interrupted, in a low growl, ‘Yes, that filth might try to get rid of us, and dismantle everything we hold dear, but mark my words: they’ll pay for it! Oh, yes, they shall, if any of the stories are true …’
‘Walburga, dear, I was talking to the boys.’
‘Oh, give it a rest, don’t pretend you don’t agree! We all know it’s high time someone actually did something about this! Talk is no good for anything!’
‘Walburga!’ Father barked, and she sat down at once (but she still looked really, really angry, and Regulus was glad Father was with them. He felt a little safer with him there).
Father turned back to them. ‘So, this group of … Muggle-sympathisers gained some popularity back in the day. Keep in mind this was long before you were born, and even I am too young to know the specifics. All I know is that by now, there are a lot of people who believe them, who think it’s true, what they said.’
‘FOOLS!’ Mother suddenly bellowed, making Regulus jump so hard he nearly fell off his chair. ‘They are all FOOLS to underestimate us, to think these riots are the worst we have in store for them! But they’ll regret underestimating us soon, oh yes, just watch!’
Regulus didn’t know what ‘riots’ were, but Mother sounded so scary when she said it, so he didn’t really want to know what they were either. She just raged on and on and there seemed to be no stopping her.
‘Dearest –’ Father tried, but she didn’t listen.
‘You know as well as I do that these riots of the last few weeks have been a necessary show of strength! We shall not back down!’ she yelled.
‘Of course not, my dear –’
‘And you know that it’s not going to be enough! Those filthy gnome-brained Muggle-mingling –’
‘Walburga! There are children present!’
‘But they will NEVER back down unless we show them what we are truly capable of!’
‘And I am trying to explain the situation and you aren’t helping!’
Mother quieted at last, her face still red with anger. It made him feel really small, and he didn’t know what to do. It was strange to see them fight like this. Not that they were always on the same page, but they never got into these kinds of arguments. At least, not in front of them.
He looked to his brother for guidance, but Sirius just shrugged. Regulus wanted to sink into the floor. Why did Sirius never care about these things? Why did he never care, when Regulus knew he was clever enough for it? Sirius was the cleverest boy he knew. He had to understand it all. But himself … all he knew was that the grown-ups were scared. Father was scared. And that was terrifying. He didn’t need to understand much more than that to know it was serious.
He lay his hands neatly on the table and sat upright, eyes fixed ahead; he wouldn’t let Sirius distract him.
Father cleared his throat. ‘Back to the matter at hand. Once these … sympathisers achieved their goal – putting Muggles and their ilk in a less negative light – they decided that wasn’t enough. They wanted more. They made more propaganda –’ (Regulus didn’t know what that was, either, but he wasn’t stupid enough to ask with Mother there) ‘– and sent us to contaminate our precious blood with that scum. And that is where I draw the line; that is where anyone ought to draw the line. It is also where the (figurative!) dragon comes in; those kinds of wizards and witches are the dragons. And hungry ones, at that. You don’t feed them. You don’t compromise. If you do, they will come with more demands. They will stop at nothing to weaken us. They will stop at nothing to destroy us. And that is their ultimate goal: to destroy the wizarding world.’
‘But –’
‘Silence!’ Mother yelled, and Regulus flinched again. He was always the flinchy one when it got to moments like these. That was why he tried his very best to avoid these moments, unlike Sirius, who seemed to thrive under them and sought them out. Like now. He was grinning from ear to ear as he watched her flash her fist high in the air.
‘You mustn’t be swayed by misguided notions of tolerance and compromise!’ she screamed, and Regulus thought she might choke, her face was so red and swollen. Several of her pins had already fallen out and now lay scattered across the table and floor. ‘YOU MUSTN’T FALL FOR THEIR LIES!’
‘Walburga, that’s enough,’ Father said sternly. ‘It’s been a long day and we’re not getting anywhere with this.’
‘But they must understand! If they don’t, we’ll lose them, with Dippet gone …!’ Mother went on.
Father sighed and turned to them. ‘Boys, please, go. Go to your rooms.’
Regulus sprang to his feet at once, but the sudden movement sent a wave of dizziness over him and he had to steady himself for a moment.
Sirius remained seated. ‘But I –’ he began again, only to be cut off by Father.
‘Do not make me repeat myself,’ he said severely. ‘I think you’ve caused enough trouble for today.’
Mother let loose with string of swear words she’d never let them say, and Regulus left the (still-spinning) room. He knew Sirius wasn’t following him but he still left as quickly as he could. And he didn’t look back. He didn’t want to see Mother’s face again. Especially not when he heard her shrieking start again.
He went up the many stairs that led to his bedroom and once there, he threw himself onto the bed. He realised at once how utterly exhausted he was, and allowed himself to close his eyes. They hurt and felt gritty, like there was sand in them, and he fervently hoped he wasn’t going to cry.
He did.
His tears had only just dried when Father came to his room, softly knocking on his door before entering.
Regulus sat up slowly, to keep the world from spinning again.
‘Father,’ he murmured, ‘I’m sorry, I really am, I shouldn’t have –’
Father raised a hand, silencing him. And for a few seconds that was all there was: silence. Then he heard Mother downstairs, yelling, the sound of objects shattering echoing all the way to his room through the open door. He shrank back on instinct, and Father’s face softened. He closed the door, shutting out the noise.
‘I’m not here to scold you any further,’ he said kindly. ‘I expect you’ve already learnt your lesson.’
Regulus tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry. It hurt.
‘Are you still angry with me?’ he asked.
‘Angry?’ Father repeated with a hint of surprise. ‘No. I am not angry. I am sad. Disappointed. You let me down. I trusted you and your brother and you betrayed that trust.’
He looked away. Guilt and shame washed over him once more as the words echoed strangely in his ears.
He’d let him down.
‘I really am sorry …’ he whispered.
‘Apologies won’t heal these wounds.’
He tried to swallow again, but there was nothing there. ‘I know.’
‘Look at me, son.’
He did, glancing up at Father, who now sat on the edge of the bed, his dark robes pooling around him. He’d changed, Regulus realised, and that wasn’t the only thing that was different. His hair was neatly combed back and tucked beneath his hat, and his eyes had lost their bloodshot look, and he seemed more capable of supporting himself. He no longer looked as tired, as dishevelled, as he had downstairs, and that was quite the relief.
‘Son, I know today has been overwhelming, but your mother and I …’ He paused, sighing heavily. ‘We want only what’s best for you. For both of you.’
‘I know,’ Regulus said again, and another silence followed, in which he had no idea what was expected of him, so he could only sit, hoping he held himself correctly. He couldn’t even decide if he was to look directly at Father or just past him, or at the floor or his hands, or anywhere else. He grew more and more uncomfortable by the second and could feel his father’s piercing gaze dig deeper and deeper and deeper …
‘Do you understand what I was telling you earlier?’ Father asked, making Regulus look up again.
He had. He understood some of it, at least, and not all of it had been new, either. He knew the world was a bad and dangerous place. He knew that they had to stay inside because that was where they were safe. Family kept them safe from the mean, evil Muggles lurking outside. Muggles that wanted to hurt him and take him away and eat him up. He knew and understood all of that.
But then Father had said those things about the dragons that weren’t dragons at all and that even some witches and wizards weren’t to be trusted, that they were mean and liked Muggles …
‘I think you don’t want us to talk to the wrong people,’ he said carefully, studying Father’s face, looking for clues if he was right.
Father nodded. ‘Yes. You are young, impressionable … They will spin you tales of kindness and equality, but in truth, they only seek to weaken you, to turn you against your family so they can take what’s yours. Do you understand?’
He nodded. ‘They’re the dragons,’ he said.
Father smiled. ‘Yes, they’re the dragons,’ he agreed, and Regulus could almost see them crawling through the snow outside, breathing fire, waiting for the next meal …
But the dragons were people, and dragons in his mind took the shape of witches and wizards, waiting in the shadows, waiting to lure him to them, with their mean eyes and ugly faces …
‘The world has grown to hate us, son,’ Father continued, ‘and people are greedy. They want everything we have: our name, our knowledge, our bloodlines. And if they can’t have that, well, then we can’t either. So to them, we must be diluted. We must lose ourselves and become something lesser. And if we don’t agree – and we won’t – then we must disappear. They want to tear us all down, and they will use any means necessary to do so.’
‘Why do they do this?’ he asked in a small voice. ‘Why do they hate us so much?’
‘Because we’re better. And they know it.’
Regulus nodded slowly, and he could already feel the tears coming again. He’d been so stupid, going out with Sirius. They’d been so lucky they were still alive. And he was so scared of it all going wrong …
Father put a hand on his shoulder, somehow both soft and firm at the same time. ‘I don’t say this to frighten you.’
‘But if they hate us that much … what if they get to us?’ he whimpered, his mind still showing him the bloodiest, most horrifying images it could think of. ‘What if they hurt us?’
Father pulled him close, letting him bury his face in the soft fabric of his robes as he tried not to think about the scary Muggles in his head.
‘They won’t hurt you,’ Father said. ‘I’ll make sure of that. But you need to promise me one thing.’
Father pulled away slightly and Regulus looked at him expectantly.
‘Never leave this house again.’
‘Yes, Father,’ he said quickly, relieved it was an easy promise; he didn’t even want to leave the house any more. The world outside was awful and strange and dangerous and it made Father sad and Mother furious. He didn’t want to make them sad or furious ever again.
Father smiled kindly down at him and wrapped him in a final embrace before getting up from the bed. He smoothed his robes and made way for the door, but paused for a moment. ‘Keep out of trouble, Regulus. I do not want to have to have this conversation again.’
He nodded, searching for the right thing to say, but Father was already turning away.
‘Stay in your room. I’ll speak with your brother.’
And just like that, he was all alone again, left with nothing but his thoughts. And his thoughts were horrible, because Father was right. They could have died. Could have been captured and killed by that Muggle. So many horrible things could have happened all because they had sneaked out of the house when they had had absolutely no reason to. So repeat awful people were out there. Out there to hurt them. To trick them. To hand them over to those hungry Muggles …
Why had he agreed to go with Sirius?! Why had he helped him with the chair and followed him outside?! Why, when he knew full well what dangers lay out there? Why, why, why – ?!
He pressed his hands over his ears, but that only made his thoughts louder, thoughts about the Muggles. What if the Muggle child from the park was a spy? What if it had seen where they were going? What if it had already told the other Muggles where they lived? What if the Muggles were already outside the door, in the snow, waiting? Waiting for him to come out again so they could take him away and eat him. Destroy him. And Sirius. And Mother, and Father …
He slid off the bed and went over to the window. His hands trembled as he cleared the frost off the glass, and he pressed his face against it so he could look at the snowy street below. The cold window felt good against his hot forehead, and he had to force himself to keep his eyes open, to not fall asleep right here. But he was so tired. So very tired.
He had to keep focus. He had to see if the Muggles were here. He peered outside, fighting the urge to lick the window, and saw nothing. The street was empty.
But that didn’t mean they weren’t out there, waiting, watching …
He stepped back fast and yanked at the curtains, tugging them shut as quickly as he could – what if they saw him? Then they knew where he lived! – and dived back into bed, wrapping the blankets all around himself, his knees drawn up to his chest.
He tried to calm his racing heart. Tried to convince himself the Muggles weren’t out there, hadn’t seen him, weren’t coming to get him. He tried to convince himself Father could stop them if they did come. Father could stop anything.
He held his breath and sat still. He listened.
All he could hear was the beating of his own heart. He could feel it, too. Not just in his chest but also in his head, just behind his eyes. And it hurt. It hurt so much. His throat hurt, too. He tried to work up some saliva to swallow but his mouth was too dry, and the attempt only made his throat hurt worse.
He let out his breath; he couldn’t hear Father anyway. Or Mother. Or Sirius. He couldn’t hear anyone.
He closed his eyes. It did little to relieve the pain in them, but did allow him to think. When had this started? What had happened? But all his thoughts took him back to this morning, and how he’d failed as a brother and a son. He imagined that was what Father and Mother were talking about with Sirius now, as well. He imagined there was a lot of yelling and throwing things, and Sirius would laugh and say they were being dumb.
He imagined them saying his name, blaming him, saying he should’ve stopped Sirius. And they were right, of course. He knew they were. He should have stopped him.
It was all his fault. All of it. His fault.
He pulled the blanket tighter until it covered his face, pressing his fists against his chest in an attempt to get his heart to just slow down already, because he was safe. Father had said so. He was safe inside the house. He was safe. And he would make sure he’d stay safe, too. And that wasn’t so hard. All he had to do was stay in the house and be good. And he wanted to be good. Desperately. He wanted them all to be good. All of them, together, the way it was supposed to be. He wanted to make Father proud, to make Mother stop shouting. He wanted everything to go back to how things used to be.
But mostly, more than anything, he wanted water.
He fell asleep wishing for that, though he hadn’t meant to. He’d meant to wait for Father to come back and let him out, for dinner to be served, and for everyone to be happy again. But that didn’t happen. He slept. He dreamt. He stood in the bright, white street below, and the Muggle child from before was there, too. But something was different this time. Its its smile was crooked and evil, and where its eyes should have been were only black holes. When Regulus looked closer, he could see fire moving inside of it, and the fire melted the snow. But when the Muggle opened its mouth, the fire that came out wasn’t fire at all. It was water. Lots of water. A never-ending stream of it, covering him, drowning him, filling his nose and mouth, pouring over him until he couldn’t breathe.
He woke up with a jolt, his robes stuck to him with sweat, his heart hammering painfully against his chest.
He shoved the blanket off and tried to sit up but everything spun. The whole room tilted sideways. He grabbed the mattress with both hands and waited for the world to stop turning.
Where was he?! Had the Muggle taken him? Was he going to be its dinner? Was this the end?!
No.
Slowly, the room stopped spinning. And slowly, he sat up. And slowly, he recognised the room as his own, just dark. Really, really dark. Nighttime dark.
Had he really been asleep that long? He almost couldn’t believe it, because he was far too tired. Even more tired than before, even though he’d apparently slept for hours. Was he ill, then? He felt ill. His mouth felt funny and dry, and his tongue was too big for it now. His head hurt, too. And his throat. It was raspy and painful. And he couldn’t think properly. All his thoughts felt off and took more effort than they should.
He felt tears prickle at his eyes again and he pushed his face into his pillow. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t wait. He couldn’t be good. He wanted his mother, his father, even Kreacher, and he wanted to be held, and to be told it was all going to be all right, that he was safe. And he wanted water. Loads of water. But he didn’t want to drown. Not like in his dream.
He knew what Mother would say. She’d tell him to get over it, that it was just a nightmare. And he knew it was just a nightmare. He knew they could be scary, but, just as a Boggart wasn’t actually the spider it showed, neither were nightmares real.
But this one was, wasn’t it? The Muggle child wasn’t just a bad dream. It wasn’t even a boggart. It was real, the Muggles, they were there, and they were out to get him.
It was too much, and he couldn’t take it any more. He had to do something about it. He had to get Father; Father would know what to do. Father would have all the answers.
He sat up, determined to get to him, but the world thought differently. The room spun and shook and black spots flickered in his vision. His head hurt worse than ever and he thought, for a second, that he was going to be sick. That feeling quickly went away, but the pain in his head remained. If anything, it seemed to get worse.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and looked around. The door. He just needed to get to the door. That wasn’t so hard. Just get to the door and then he’d get to the stairs and then he’d get downstairs and get Father. He could do that.
He stood. The floor was cold and his knees trembled. His legs were wobbly as he walked. He almost fell but he caught himself on the wardrobe.
He took another step. Then another. The door seemed to move further away with every step he took. It was as if it didn’t want him to reach it.
He blinked hard, his vision blurring, and stumbled again. His shoulder hit the wall, but he pushed on. He didn’t stop until he stood in front of the door, his sticky hand resting on the handle.
He pushed down.
Nothing.
He tried again, harder, the handle rattling beneath his palm until it hurt.
Still nothing.
He pulled, twisted, kicked weakly at the wood, his legs disobeying him more and more with every try until he couldn’t stand any more. He let go and sank to the floor, tears burning in his eyes as he realised what was going on:
The door was locked, and he was forever trapped inside.