one wrong move

♦ about ♦

age: 18 relationship status: single education: cambridge academy ‘79 / hogwarts ‘82 occupation: full-time student

♦ recap ♦

Between his brother running away from home, and the start of his first year at Hogwarts, Regulus has been dealing with change more than perhaps he has even realized. His life has begun to move at warp speed, and so far he is doing everything within his power to keep up. To swim with the current.

He has managed to make friends along the way, and while he has sorely missed having Sirius around, especially at home, he still is able to enjoy the comfort of a familiar cousin in Narcissa. Sometimes family really is all you can rely on, even when family is the problem.

Regulus hopes that the end of the school year might bring with it fresh change. A vacation to someplace far away. A break from all of the whisperings that he knows one day are going to catch up with him. He isn’t stupid, merely willfully ignorant. The call will come, and he will answer.

♦ dating history ♦

Anyone else might have rushed over, crowded in to check he was okay. Violet did no such thing. She thought about how she might feel afterwards and that was space. Room to breathe as she came back to herself and readjusted to her surroundings. She knew it was meant to be exhausting. “I thought you promised keep your distance,” was what she said wryly, keeping her voice low. Even though she said it, it was clear she was concerned. The last thing this stranger needed was to take terribly unwell when they were stuck in a church, unable to leave due to the frantic weather outside. 

Still keeping well away, Violet pushed the bottle of water towards him. It was the only thing she could think to do. “You should have something to drink, when you can.”

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He felt the dryness of his throat, the heaviness of his body, and the weight of eyes upon him. Without a word, Regulus reached over and grabbed the bottle of water. His hands clutched at it as though it was the blood of Christ itself. The only thing in the world that could soothe his soul, or give him eternal life. “Thank you,” Regulus managed after the first deep gulp. And he meant it. He meant it more than he could have possibly said, because here, in this Church, it was so easy to see his own soul reflected back on him.

“It happens a lot. Well, not often, but enough.” She didn’t seem like the kind of person who was interested in a backstory. Regulus was certain he didn’t have the energy for it, either.

Violet might not have noticed anything was wrong, if it wasn’t for the ragged breathing that penetrated through the haze of cigarette smoke she had created between them, and then, once she had waved a hand through it, the way his mouth moved rapidly, even though his eyes were completely unfocused. She wondered, briefly, if he was praying under his breath - appropriate, given where they were - but dismissed this. It seemed he had entirely left the room. It hit her then, memory flying back to when she lived in Canada still as a young child and a classmate who’d had epilepsy. This is how they’d looked then too, when they were having an epileptic fit. Stress was a trigger for most people, wasn’t it? 

“Oh fuck,” she hissed, more to herself, since the stranger certainly didn’t appear to be able to hear. If only she could remember what she was meant to do, but it had been so long ago and she’d been so small. She extinguished her cigarette. The only thing she could recall was that there was no stopping it; it just had to be ridden out. She pushed her sketchbook aside, and dug into her bag, heart thrumming hard again, pulling out, thankfully, a bottle of water ready. Then, she waited. 

.

These moments always seemed to stress across time. As though Regulus himself had managed to bend space to his will, and go outside of it, if only to extend the odd moments when he was quite inside of himself, but not quite remembering either. Because he never did remember. Even now, as he slowly blinked back into existence, Regulus couldn’t have known about his unfocused staring, any twitches of limbs. The movements of lips. That was him, but not him. A trauma he couldn’t be rid of, but never recalled experiencing.

At home, these episodes were at least less stressful. Done in the privacy of his own room or living space. With people who understood what was happening and knew how to handle him afterwards. Among strangers? That’s when things grew precarious. And that was the first thing that Regulus recognized as his eyes shifted from the hazy gaze into something horribly sharp.

“N-no.” He breathed out, leaning his head back to blink back the tears that formed in his eyes. The ones that came no matter how hard he might try otherwise. Delicate. He was so fucking delicate it killed him. “No.”

Violet puffed quietly on her cigarette, relying on the nicotine to calm the anxiety that ran through her veins, to still her pounding heart. It did just that, until she felt much calmer— as calm as she was going to feel whilst trapped in here anyway. It was easier then, now her hands were steadier, to reach into her rucksack, half smoked cigarette clasped between her lips, and pull out her sketchbook. She was grateful, and relieved, to find it still there from the last time she had taken it out with her. That was the second key to helping her stay calm. When she was drawing, she was lost into another, emptier place. A place where no one was or could be, but her. 

.

His breathing grew more ragged and shallow, despite his best efforts to cover up the impending doom looming over him. All at once, he could feel his mind travel elsewhere. Distancing itself from his body. Even Regulus’ view of his thorny companion was beginning to obscure, turning more into a runny watercolor than anything real or tangible. He might have reached out to try and touch her if he didn’t understand how horrible of an idea that was.

All at once, everything went dark. The buzzing noises around them went silent, his nose could no longer register the cigarette smoke near him, and even his hands, having been digging into his thigh, were now grabbing hold to what felt like nothing. He was nothing. Sweat poured out of his body. His lips smacked together. The inevitable had arrived, and once more, someone was bearing witness to it.

Violet slid down the wall, eyes still closed, breath still coming faster than usual, giving away her unhappy state. She had always hated to feel trapped. Walls had always bothered her. How could they not, when she grew up largely outdoors, only going into the confines of a house when it was time for bed. Even now, she spent as little time as possible in her minuscule flat. So, naturally, being stuck in a large, echoing church, voices seeming to sound loudly all around her, made it a little harder to regulate her breathing as panic set in. 

But she would not have a panic attack in front of this stranger. She would not have pitying eyes turned upon her. Since the incident with Aoife, Violet’s walls had come back up, even more impenetrable than before. All she could do now was be as defensive as possible. “Good,” she half snarled, “since I don’t want to talk to you. Don’t forget you promised that in five minutes when you start getting bored.” She pulled a packet of cigarettes out of her pocket. Of course, it would be silly to smoke and give away their hiding spot with the smell of a cigarette and the smoke, but a shield charm would help with that. Violet performed one, and lit her cigarette. 

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Regulus looked up to the ceiling. Not hoping to find God there, just some particular kind of salvation that would save him from this moment. Already he had to deal with the consequences of Daphne Davenport seeing him at his lowest, bearing witness to something outside of his control, and offering him kindness. He didn’t want, nor need that from her. And now, now he could feel the control of his body starting to slip away. The journal he kept so meticulously not even on his person, leaving him feeling additionally exposed despite being tucked away from all but one set of eyes.

He shook his head in response, not wanting to speak, lest it come out as more of a harsh, clenched whisper. The kind that happened when someone was fighting something outside of what they could actually hold authority over. Please, not now. Please. 

It was Violet’s worst nightmare, being trapped in a church with so many strangers like this. The walls pressed in against her, claustrophobic, offering no chance of an escape. From every side came the jab of elbows, the echo of words, the ‘you alrights’ and ‘do you want something to eats’. No, she wasn’t alright. No, she didn’t want something to eat. What she wanted was to get out of here and back to her tiny room, which for the first time since she’d moved in, didn’t seem so claustrophobic to her as it always did. On the verge of a panic attack, she seriously debated what was worse; snow lightening, or this place. 

And then, she spotted it, right in the corner, the confessional. A place that offered solace on any given day of the week, and might offer some to her now. It took time and patience. A slow edging nearer, lest anyone spot her being too deliberate and realise a hiding spot was right there in plain sight. But eventually Violet made it, ducking behind into relative peace. 

Well— sort of. “Don’t move a muscle,” she hissed, eyes closing as she tried to steady her breath. “Do you know how long it took me to get behind here without the world and its uncle noticing? You go out there now, and everyone sees you. Don’t blow this spot.” One person was better than hundreds, after all.

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Regulus wanted to argue. He wanted to firmly shake his head and go about his business. But in an instant, it seemed there was no choice to be had, because he didn’t want to be spotted either, now did he? Not when he had already captured a glimpse of familiar faces that might be able to read his face a bit more closely than he would’ve liked. No. The stranger was right. He’d sit here, and the feeling would pass over him. All of the stress and panic would decrease, and there wouldn’t be any danger at all.

His fingers dug into his thigh, shifting to give the girl space. Plenty of it, too. Regulus had no desire to start unnecessary conversation, or force his company on anyone. But, at the very least, she seemed even less pleased with the situation than him.

“Okay. Okay.” Regulus’ voice was low. The way he often spoke when around his parents, attempting to keep any unnecessary information out of the way. “I’ll just—” He scooted over another few inches, swallowing hard. “I won’t say a word.”

Regulus had been tucked in behind the confessional, away from prying eyes and annoying conversation. He had little desire to parade himself around, especially in a place like this. Especially with lightning and thunder and snow piling around outside, giving him the distinct feeling like he was in a horror film. The ones he had never been allowed to watch as a child. Though ironically enough, they were the things he could relate to the most. Those foreboding musical moments. The unnatural stillness. The thumping in his heart that he tried so often to avoid at every turn, lest it turn into something else, and yet, he was overdue, wasn’t he?

Things had been going too smoothly for Regulus, and already he was prepared for the worst as footsteps neared, and his quiet place of solace (though how could any be found in this ‘Church’), disturbed. He couldn’t blame the intruder. Not really. Not when a very large portion of himself begged for company, the kind that reminded him that he was not yet dead.

“Sorry, I can just—I’ll just go. I’ve probably taken up this spot long enough.”

“Oh, Regulus,” she dismissed. She was pleased though, and let him know it from the coy shift of her gaze. “I don’t want the world, I just want a good husband.” One day, Narcissa would no longer recognize the girl who had spoken those words in the shop today, imagining the future. Today she believed it with all her heart though. Just as she believed Lucius Malfoy was that man. 

Then, having given the young heirs a chance to admire his wares, the shop keep emerged, eager to show them the back room. Where the real prizes were. 

“You’ll find something in here for you,” she was sure, as they pushed through the formerly locked and spelled doors. A warehouse of things that glittered of magicked metals, embedded jewels, and rarity stretched before them. 

.

He turned to his cousin. No. Not just his cousin. His best friend. “You do realize you’re my favorite person, don’t you? Even when you’ve forgotten me once you go off and get married and start spending all of your time planning more luncheons and teas than ever before.” Because Narcissa would get that life. She would take whatever she wanted, through hard work and quiet finessing. Regulus didn’t believe in luck. He simply believed that some people were just predisposed to understanding what it took to manifest their perfect future.

“Then it looks like it’s time for me to start trying things on for size.” Whether Regulus ended up with a sword at his side, ready to be wielded at a moment’s notice, or another similar object poised to strike, he knew that there was no one he would have rather shared this moment with than Narcissa. Blood still mattered here.

“I wouldn’t get him any of it today,” she insisted, rounding one of the displayed and devouring the sight inside with hungry eyes. “I’d be the talk of the columns, and not in a good way. But if we’d been together for a while…” Her voice took on a dreamy quality. She was here and she was not, lost in her fantasies. 

In her mind she imagined a whole scene. His birthday maybe. An anniversary. Narcissa could see the ribbon she’d use (silver) and the paper that magic would make beautiful work of wrapping. She’d watch his hands — By Merope, those hands which had held her under the twinkling chandelier lights at the Christmas Ball — rip that paper (thick and blue, cobalt nearly) at its seams and reveal something as splendid, as beautiful, as lethal as she saw him. 

“That.” Narcissa pointed on the far wall to a curious contraption. It was somewhat like the Muggle bayonet, though having no need to things such a guns it would be better suited fitted to a wand’s end. It was both sleek and threatening. A power easily concealed, but not to be questioned once unsheathed. 

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Regulus walked over to the proposed gift, his fingers staying far away from the sharp edges, though curiosity threatened to overtake him as it often did. He would always been an adventurer at heart. Determined to experience life, even from the confines of his own room, or his own mind. Even now he was learning more about his cousin that he ever might’ve before. Her diligence and awareness, but also the depth in which she considered all things.

“You’ll be fierce together.” He was sure to speak it as a truth, without any room for greys. “You with your bow, and him with that. Should I be afraid that you’re trying to take over the world, or will you still remember me once you’ve conquered everything?”

The statement warmed Daphne in ways she couldn’t explain, and she revealed that truth plainly—with a pinkish tint of her cheeks and a comforted smile. And then, she couldn’t help but emit a tiny giggle, mostly in reaction to her own perceived silliness. “If we don’t leave here with two bushels, I can’t imagine it will be a successful orchard trip.” 

.

“Then we’d best get started.” Only, when Regulus said the words aloud, he already knew this was about more than just apples. That they had already begun something from which he never really intended on recovering from. Whether it was simply a deep friendship, or something more, only time could steer them.

“Hmm,” Daphne hummed, mulling over the statement. “You know, I suppose I’ve always found it’s far easier to let yourself bleed to a stranger. Because they’re just that, and you’ve the choice to keep them that way forever.” And that’s precisely what Daphne simultaneously craved and feared the most. The desire to pour into a person who only saw half truths; the terror of Nomad one day vanishing. It was a dangerous game they played, as if holding hands above an open flame. She wondered how long they could manage until they found themselves burnt. 

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“You’re not a stranger.” At least, she wasn’t anymore. There was no use in denying that singular fact. They weren’t strangers, even though their faces were foreign to one another, and their eyes had never really gazed upon a true reflection. That didn’t change the meaning of knowing a person. Facts and truths, and embarrassments that a stranger surely could never understand. Connection and understanding cast aside the term stranger long ago. “Which means now is an excellent time to maybe pick an apple or two.”

As the carriage lost altitude and settled into the car park of the armory, Narcissa thought deeply about her answer. It couldn’t be anything too familiar. This was still delicate. Courting could really be so like hunting, the quiet lead up, the soft steps forward so that you didn’t startle your mark away. She wouldn’t have told Regulus this, if it weren’t for the specifics of their outing today. She was fitting him with a weapon for one hunt, why not another?

“You aren’t struck by Cupid’s arrow for nothing. Sending a Valentine is like sending a weapon of love. It has to be sharp,” Narcissa drew a finger through the air. The carriage door opened and because it was only Regulus looking she hopped out. “And it has to get right to the heart.” What material object did that though? “Something short and witty for the card, and sprayed in my perfume of course.” Duh. 

She pushed through the doors and entered the shop with familiarity. Things she could not even begin to guess the name or purpose of hung on the walls all around them. “If I were Bellatrix, I could just buy him something in here.” She giggled. 

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Regulus moved to keep up. A familiar feeling for him. Something he was doing constantly, even without recognition. Because he was unbearably behind in life and all of its experiences. Quiet and meek, with an entire family name on his back, and empty spaces that should be full on the family tree. Maybe that was a part of why he desired Narcissa’s council and company so much. She had become more than just his best friend and cousin, but his guiding light.

“Which of these things would you get Lucius?” He eyed up the armory, feeling uncomfortable with everything involved. Even the swords, which he really did want to wield, already looked like they’d be too heavy and unyielding in his hands.

“You just have high standards,” she told him, even if she did think it was a little weird. “It’s the Black way.”

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Always quick to turn things back around, Regulus pursued his previous line of questioning as soon as he could manage. “So, what would you get him? I mean, if you were to send something to mark the occasion.” Suddenly, he realized, he should very much pay attention to whatever she said. Wasn’t there the smallest of possibilities that this might be of use to him in the future?

It was easy for her to get caught on one subject in particular, because it was her favorite. “Oh don’t be silly, Regulus. You have to have liked someone.” Narcissa’s eyes rolled, but fondly. 

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He thought on it, really thought on it, and until the mysterious figure at the Masquerade appeared, he wasn’t sure he had. “No, I don’t think I really have. Is that weird?” Suddenly, what had started on a very normal conversation about hunting muggles, shifted into the concerns of a young man trying to figure out if he was abnormal or not. That should’ve answered the question itself.

“When you say it like that it sounds so childish,” she fretted. 

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“You know about all of this better than I do. I mean, I haven’t even liked anyone, let alone given someone a Valentine’s Day gift or card, or whatever.” He was jolted in his seat, but kept himself upright with a hasty hand against the interior of the carriage. In truth, he was jealous of Narcissa’s ability to always understand what she wanted. Something he could never quite obtain, no matter how hard he tried.

Narcissa didn’t hold the same fondness, but it wasn’t something she liked to dwell on. “Next time, then.” There was always a next time. The carriage shook under them, hooves hitting the ground, and then with a gust of wind they were off to the sky. This was nothing new to Narcissa, so she didn’t bother looking at the spectacular view out the carriage window. 

“Should I send Lucius Malfoy a Valentine?” It had been weighing on her mind, and no better time to ask than the present when they had minutes to go still before their destination was approached. 

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The question shouldn’t have caught him off guard, but like with most things in life, Regulus was almost always surprised. Or shocked. Or some form of unknowing. That was just how he liked it. “I guess it depends on what sort of Valentine it’d be. A nice card?” Regulus wanted his cousin to be happy, but he didn’t want her to do anything too grand. To look too desperate or foolish and end up with her heartbroken.

His thoughts drifted to his own love life. To Raleigh. The person he knew but didn’t know. Should he get her something? 

“You’ll have lessons for it?” she made him promise as she stepped out of the orchard’s cover and into the car park (short for carpet or carriage park, of course). At once, a carriage led by two monstrous winged Clydesdales emerged. Their chauffer, a half-elf, was quick to open the door and bid them entry. 

“We’re going to the armory. The same one from the other week.” His nod was quick, too. He was very good, kind, and efficient. As far as chauffeurs went, he was the best they’d ever had. “I despise him,” Narcissa whispered. “He’s such an embarrassment.” Narcissa had found fault with every house-elf and half-elf who’d tended to the Blacks since her favorite had died a… natural, painless death. Or so Narcissa had been told. 

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“Yes, I’ll take lessons.” It’d be an easy enough excuse to get out of doing anything else, though lately he had merely been sent off on errands, mostly. Hopefully soon it would be ones out of the country. Adventures he could regale others. Stories he could pass along, proving his own importance.

Regulus didn’t care for any servants or house elves, unless it was Kreacher. His best friend in most regards. His true confidante above all others. “We could’ve just had Kreacher bring us.”