Chapter Text
Chapter one
Without stepping foot inside Hogwarts Castle, one would be naïve to its roaring fires, creaking floorboards and delectable kitchen smells, due to the fact that from the outside the towering turrets and inky tiles had all the ingredients for a cold dank and terribly haunted dwelling. Although, the latter would have held considerable weight in this instance, because Hogwarts Castle was, terribly, terribly haunted. However one’s experience with the castle’s haunted attributes could be determined by the particular entity you encountered.
For example, had you met St Nicholas on the stairs, he would have tipped his head (literally), wished you a good day and bid you farewell, yet an unwanted brush with Peeves might have you tumbling headfirst down a moving staircase, your satchel in flight, your books and papers fluttering into the abyss below. First Years were warned to stay away from a certain girl’s bathroom, yet encouraged to seek out the ghost of a long dead professor if ever they found themselves stumped on a particular event in History of Magic, which so many often were.
Despite the ample hauntings, the castle was never described as cold, unwelcoming or frightening. The students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry thrived within its walls, and for many years after their departure spoke fondly of the establishment, relishing and revelling in the opportunity to one day send their own children through the grand doors. That is, most students thrived, many students thrived, well, the majority of students thrived, but Regulus Black was not privy to those deep seated emotions.
He sat on a rock, on the shores of the Black Lake glaring up at the castle as tiny little happy First Years clambered out of the boats and lifted their too-short legs up the hundreds of steps leading up to the Great Hall. He envied their brightness, their innocent happy glows as they chatted excitedly about the castle their parents had told them so much about.
Regulus watched from under his brow, running his tongue over his teeth, his hands bolted together around his knees. In his head the events of the summer played out, flashes and unbidden thoughts plagued him. Haunted. Like the damn castle. His father’s voice. His father’s hands yanking his head back by his hair, held tight against a cold wall, his lip fat, his mind fuzzy from the effects of the cruciatus curse. The feel of every single stair as it connected with his joints.
Regulus tongued his swollen gum, prodding at the tooth. Still rooted. He thought, thankfully.
Whilst Regulus loathed the rigmarole of school, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat relieved to be out of the clutches of Grimmauld Place, particularly now that he was the lone punching bag for his father’s rages ever since his blood traitor of a brother had abandoned him. Fed him to the wolves and darted for the hills. He was unaware of his brother’s whereabouts this summer, but he could hazard a good guess as to where he’d slunk off to.
Cheers from the Great Hall broke his musings and he glanced up, the stained glass windows were ablaze with light. The feast had begun. It was then Regulus attributed a sudden thunderous rumbling to his stomach. When had he last eaten? Three days ago? Five? As much as he would have loved to dart up those blasted steps and join his house in what was always a magnificent feast, his stubbornness was insurmountable. It won any and all arguments, for Regulus was nothing if not stubborn.
Allowing this obstinate mood to control him, he remained perched on the rock, the cool September air biting about his ankles, tugging his hair and whispering persuasively into his cloak. The black waves lapped at the pebbled shore behind him and thick clouds began to settle around the highest towers of the castle.
When the lights in the Great Hall had dimmed and Regulus was certain he would not encounter any being, living or dead, he ascended the stairs from the boat house. A whirling whistle of wind made him pull his cloak tighter around him, and tuck a curl behind his ear; something he would never allow another living soul to see, or a dead one come to think of it. Regulus fished out his tie from his pocket and delicately looped it around his neck, deftly tying it without missing a single stair.
Bated breath forced him to pause and turn, his eyes drawn across the lake which, with the sky so overcast, appeared like a dark velvet carpet shielding the landscape. That’s when the very first drops of hesitant rain hit him, starting slowly as if unsure, forcing him to resume his climb.
When he reached the courtyard, the rain had become a soft patter, nothing to write home about, he could even go as far as to declare it refreshing, but that sounded far too positive for the gloomy and melancholy mood he had assigned to himself for this evening. Like a cat, Regulus slipped into the Great Hall and down the secret passageway to the kitchens, one Kreacher had informed him of before he began his first year of Hogwarts.
The passageway was dimly lit but free of cobwebs and damp, house elves were exceptionally clean creatures after all and took pride in their work, one would think they enjoyed it. Anyone who couldn’t see that it was actually a thinly veiled sentiment to cover up the truth about the matter was intellectually challenged, house elves were clearly slaves in Regulus’ mind. That’s why he dared to make it as bearable for Kreacher as he could, for he knew, if only at a partial glimpse, what life could be like without autonomy.
His own path had been chosen for him, sealed in blood after Sirius had abandoned him. There was no escaping it now, the curse and damnation of the Black Family. Destined to take over. His father would make sure of it, even if he had to drag Regulus there kicking and screaming, using an Unforgivable or two to seal the deal.
Eventually the passage opened up and kitchens unfolded in front of him, stacks and stacks of dirty plates piled up beside the sinks where three house elves made short work of them. Regulus was greeted by a house elf he had come to know as Gribbs.
“A plate for Master Regulus. Kreacher informed me of your hunger this evening.”
Regulus took the plate gratefully. “You have my sincerest thanks Gribbs. You are correctly informed, I am famished this evening.”
Gribbs smiled, wringing his tiny hands. “Will Master Regulus be sitting or travelling on?”
Regulus swallowed a bite of a beef sandwich. “I’ll be on my way, you have much to do, and I don’t wish to take anymore of your time. I am very thankful for this.”
Gribbs bowed low and smiled. “Anytime Master Regulus.” The house elf backed away and returned to his tasks, humming softly as he disappeared into the bustle of the kitchen.
The young Slytherin took the passageway to the dungeons which was thankfully, rather short, eating as he wandered, something his father would most certainly have punished him for at home. He took an obnoxiously large bite of a pork pie, already feeling more like himself. Starvation had always been a typical Black family punishment, yet this summer Orion had taken it to the extreme after Sirius left. Of this rage, Regulus took the brunt. He had to shrink his clothes due to the weight he had lost, not to mention how far along his healing skills had come this summer. His charms homework would surely benefit from such constant practice.
By the time he had reached the common room he had shovelled down the plate of food in a very un-Black manner and was reaping the consequences in the form of crippling stomach pain. He hadn’t eaten that well in weeks. Still, he managed to uphold reputation and sauntered along the corridor to the boy’s dormitories where upon entering, he was accosted by Barty and Evan, flinging him into an unwanted hug.
Barty drew back quickly, “Merlin’s beard you’re like a fucking skeleton Black!”
Regulus snatched his wrist out of Barty’s grip and frowned. “Yes, well you try living with my father all summer after my moronic brother estranged himself.”
Barty gawped and Evan scoffed. “What? Where’s the silly bastard gone?”
Regulus rolled his eyes. “Where do you think?” There was a collective groan. “So yes.” Regulus’ dead eyes narrowed as he rubbed his wrists. “I bore the brunt of my darling daddy’s rage. I’m the heir now after all.”
“So Potter has truly gone and brainwashed your brother!” Barty cackled. “Merlin, I bet your father was livid.”
“And the rest.” Regulus added crudely. Saying nothing more, he removed his cloak and hung it on the hooks beside his bed, toeing off his shoes.
“Oh Barty how was your summer?” Barty mocked, resting his chin on Regulus’ shoulder as he hugged him from behind.
“Quite frankly Crouch, I don’t give a mandrake’s arse how lovely your summer was. Now piss off and leave me be.”
Evan smirked, and ducked to avoid the curse Regulus had thrown in his direction. “Woah, someone’s testy!”
“Go fuck yourselves. Or each other, and save us all the pity of watching you pine after one another for another damned year.” Regulus snidely remarked waltzing over to his bed and rifling through his things to find a pair of pyjamas, after locating them, he began to change and barely noticed the intake of breath behind him.
“Regulus.” Barty whispered. “What the fuck happened to you?”
Regulus hardened, having forgotten the state of his torso and back, and yanked his shirt down. “I just told you. I spent a summer with my father, or were you two fuckwits not listening?” He threw himself into bed, hoisting the covers over himself. “Now piss off so I can get some sleep.”
“Noted.” Evan mumbled.
The dorm fell silent. The other boys rustled around a while before settling in their own bunks, candles extinguished with a snap of their fingers, and within minutes heavy slumbered breathing filled the silence. Regulus remained frozen, curled in on his side, forcibly rubbing tears from his cheeks, the covers pulled up over his head.