He Looked for a Friend
"Eh, Reg. Mi mam always said that when yeh cut open a wizard, yeh can tell what 'e is just by lookin' at 'is blood. D'you reckon that's true, eh?" Scabior said, foot restless bouncing on the gravel. It made his whole leg course with energy, which, given that he was leaning on it, made his whole body move up and down, back and forth.
Regulus looked at him as if he was struggling to focus his vision, and sighed. "My mother always taught me not to get close enough to find out."
Scabior laughed, a little at first, but it burst out of him in fits and starts, like a car struggling to start.
"I reckon yer mam's right," he eventually agreed, and Regulus smiled. "I reckon yer mam and mi mam would 'ave got on, yeh know." He leaned into Regulus, touching him on the shoulder as if to prove his point, and bounced right back to where he had been. "I reckon they'd 'ave liked each other. They 'ad the same, what is it? Morals. Yeah. They thought the same." Scabior tapped his head as he nodded. "It's important, that, in friends."
"It's not always important. If everyone thought the same all the time, we'd never have arguments and things would just be boring. You need excitement, you know." Regulus turned to look at Scabior, his eyebrows drawn close together.
Scabior shifted his weight from one leg to the other and back again for a few moments. "Yeah, but, if everyone thought th' same, yeh'd still 'ave yer brother, woun't yeh? And yeh wish yeh did, don't yeh?"
Regulus looked out over the park, where the families had gathered with prams and picnics, enjoying the rare British sunshine. He scoffed.
"No."
Scabior bumped his shoulder against Regulus's with a smile. "Yeah, yeh do. It's okay, yeh know. Yeh can trust me. We're mates, an't we? Mates can tell each other stuff, yeh know."
When Regulus spoke, his words were quiet, as if he was worried that the volume alone would betray emotion he didn't want Scabior to find. "We're friends, yeah. But that doesn't mean I'll answer your question any differently. I never wanted my brother back. Not even for a second. He was a blood traitor and he'll get what's coming to him."
Scabior stood, suddenly, and Regulus didn't even flinch. He just stared ahead. Scabior jumped forward, to the edge of the path, staring up to the sun with his arms wide open. He turned back to Regulus, grinned, and ran back to his spot on the bench.
"Eh, yeh know mi mam? She used to like this park. She'd take us 'ere, me an' mi brother, an' she'd sit there," Scabior pointed at a spot somewhere in the distance, under a tree, "with 'er bottle o' wine 'idden in 'er 'andbag, an' me an' mi brother 'ould run off on the park. She'd tell us we could do what we wanted, so long as we din't get in trouble. We always got in trouble, o' course, 'cause them other mams were too precious about their little uns. Mi mam used to act all shocked and tell us off in front o' the other mams, but when they'd gone, she'd give us change to buy ice cream." Every image he created, Scabior acted out. He held his back all straight with his arms out like a gorilla when he talked of the other mothers, and held out his hand when he spoke of the spare change. The whole story was told with a wide grin, as if it was his happiest memory.
"I didn't know you had a brother," Regulus commented.
"Oh, well," Scabior said, shifting in his seat. "I did. Once." He looked away, frowning, but his expression soon turned back to one of glee. "What were yer mam like? When yeh were a little un?"
"My mother taught me how to be a man. She taught me how to sit a dinner table and hold conversation, how to listen to what people don't say. She taught me to learn and watch and wait for an opportunity," Regulus answered.
"Sounds borin'," Scabior replied. He began to fish around in his pocket, and pulled out a beaten packet half-full of cigarettes and a cheap lighter. "Eh, you want one o' these?"
"Where did you get those?" Regulus asked.
"What's it to you where I got 'em? Someone gave 'em me, alright? D'yeh want one or not?"
Regulus reached for the packet with a nod. "Alright, never mind. I didn't ask."
Each boy took one and lit them in turn, trying to hide the coughs of their inexperienced lungs, pretending they knew what they were doing, like they'd done it a million times before. Scabior fared better.
"What happened to your brother?" Regulus asked.
"Why'd d'you always ask about 'im?"
"I'm just curious. You never say what happened."
Scabior shrugged. "Well, 'e died, alright?"
"What did he die of?"
Scabior sighed and looked away from Regulus before looking right back again. "They killed 'im."
He stood, racing forward again, standing at the edge of the path, and took a long drag of his cigarette before turning back to Regulus.
"What does yer name mean?" he asked, and moved to sit back down.
"I'm a Black; what do you think it means? It's the name of some star."
"Which one? Do yeh know?"
"Yes, I know which one," Regulus replied, sardonic, as if the question had been stupid.
"Will yeh show me? Tonight? I wish I were named after a star or somethin'."
"Well, what were you named after?" Regulus asked, choking out the words amidst smoke.
"Dunno," Scabior said with a shrug.
Regulus laughed.
They fell into a silence, Regulus sitting almost still while Scabior shifted, craning his neck to look this way and that, staring at his dancing toes, fiddling with his hands, swapping his cigarette from hand to hand.
"What happened to your mother?" Regulus asked.
"Dunno," Scabior replied.
"What do you mean, you don't know?"
"Well, she were there one day, and then she were gone. And it were just me an' mi dad left, but mi dad weren't a decent sort o' bloke. Well, yeh don't wanna know about 'im."
"I might."
"Yeh don't. 'E were, well, 'e were a muggle. And 'e got 'imself caught up in all sorts. I don't even know what. Mi mam said it were on account of 'is blood. 'E couldn't 'elp it, she said. 'E were born to fail. But 'e went and got 'imself locked up for years, and the muggles tried to give me an 'ome with all these other kids, but it weren't for me."
"Well, where do you live?"
"At Hogwarts."
"Where do you live the rest of the time?"
"Wherever I can. I were stayin' at this really fine house, once. It 'ad an old grand staircase, like a proper posh 'ouse, and it were three whole storeys high." Scabior held his hand up into the air as if to show the height. "And it 'ad this nice wallpaper. Only, I weren't s'posed to be there so they made me leave."
"What are you going to do when you leave Hogwarts?" Regulus asked.
"Well, that's why I'm tryna get in with Lord Voldemort. See, if I do well, 'e'll look after me, won't 'e? 'E'll give me somewhere to live, if 'e likes me. And I do believe what 'e believes. I've seen it with mi own eyes, an't I? Muggles aren't very good at lookin' after things, so they need someone to do it for 'em, and I reckon 'e's the man. Don't you?"
"Of course I do, or I wouldn't have joined him," Regulus said.
"'Ave yeh got the Mark? I want one o' those, one day. D'yeh reckon 'e'll give me one?"
"You said it yourself, Scabior. If you do well, he'll reward you."
Scabior smiled and nodded.
"Yeah, that's whar I thought. I think I can do it. Yeah."
Regulus tapped out his cigarette on the arm of the bench and dropped it. Scabior took one last drag and threw it on the floor, stamping it out with his foot.
They fell into a silence, until another voice broke their reverie.
"You there. Come with me."
Scabior looked up, saw blue eyes shining straight at him beneath straight blonde locks. Scabior panicked and turned, towards Regulus, but saw the seat next to him empty. He stared at the spot, confused, for a few moments, before turning back to the newcomer. Slowly, he stood, shoulders slumped and defensive.
"Waiting makes my Lord impatient, and impatience makes him unhappy. When he's unhappy, things don't end well. Or have you forgotten what befell your friend, Regulus?" The man paused, and Scabior turned away at the words, squeezing his eyes shut tight. "I asked you to come with me. Hurry up."
Scabior sighed, opened his eyes, and followed the man.
AN: So I tried to make Scabior's accent true to what we know from the books, and also from my own experience of being a British person with an accent that isn't Received Pronunciation. However, if you have any problems understanding anything here, please let me know! I'd love to fix things for future readers. It's really difficult to write an accent because I know how things sound, but that doesn't mean my readers do!
Written for:
Writing Bingo at Diagon Alley II: Scabior
200 Characters in 200 Days: Scabior
Chocolate Frog Cards Challenge: Firenze—Write about someone who doesn't fit in.
If You Dare Challenge: 605. Chosen Truth
Challenge Your Versatility: Character—Scabior
Fairy Tale Challenge: The Angel – Use Your Own Prompt Here. I wrote about two characters, one who's dead and helping the other along their journey. Optional Prompts: Seven Years – Lukas Graham. The idea that your childhood shapes who you grow up to be.
Potions Club: Porcupine Quills—Write about someone metaphorically struggling to stay afloat in troubled waters.
Words: 1,500 exactly!