Dedicated to Screaming Faeries, because all Barty/Reg in the world belongs to Sophie :)
Written for TGS Gobstones Championship for the prompt: Write about a Slytherin character. Submission from Mahoutokoro, House Mizu. W.C. 511.
The Panic Attack
Regulus was sitting in the boat, musing on what was in store for him once he got off, when it suddenly hit him. He mentally kicked himself—he had been so busy being excited, he didn't even think think things through!
His mother's warning echoed in his head. You better be Slytherin, not like your stupid elder brother who shamed the name of our family!
His brother's voice tried to break through his mother's tirade, Reg, don't listen to Mother and Father. Come to Gryffindor—it is more fun than the snake pit will ever be!
His mother was then screaming, Slytherin!
Sirius' voice rose above hers: GRYFFINDOR!
His mother shouted over him—SLYTHERIN!
Gryffindor!
Slytherin!
Gryffindor!
Slytherin! Gryffindor! Slytherin! Gryffindor!
Slytherin!Gryffindor!Slytherin!
GryffindorSlytherinGryffindorSlytherinGryffin—
Regulus pressed his hands to his ears, rocking back and forth, just wanting the voices in his head to stop! His breathing grew shallow, he was panting, and then suddenly it felt as if the air was sucked out of his lungs and he couldn't breathe and the voices were screaming in his head—
SLYTHERINGRYFFINDORSLYTHERINGR—
Regulus suddenly felt a hand running up and down in his back. Someone was speaking in his ear, too. He concentrated on the voice. The person was counting and saying something about breathing.
But Regulus couldn't breathe. Couldn't, couldn't, couldn't, COULDN'T—
The person took his hand and placed it on their chest. "Breathe with me? One, two, three, four, in. One, two, three, four, out. One ..."
Regulus ignored the voices of his mother and his brother that were pounding inside his head and willed himself to follow the soothing voice in his ear.
A breath ... Two ... Ten ...
Air, sweet, blissful air filled his lungs. Slowly, his breaths returned to a normal pace.
Regulus turned to look at his helper. Straw blond hair, brown eyes, pale face. Regulus knew the boy—he was Bartemius Crouch's son. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice small.
"You're welcome," he replied. "I'm Bartemius. Call be Barty."
"I'm Regulus," the dark-haired boy replied, shaking Barty's hand. "What was that?"
"That," Barty said, his eyes drifting to Regulus', "was a panic attack, my friend. What got you so worked up?"
Regulus ducked his head. "Sorting," he whispered. Barty didn't reply, so Regulus thought he was maybe thinking about it, too.
…
As Regulus was standing in the line of first-years, he was willing himself not to panic. Barty's hand in his own was helping a lot, too. He risked a glance at his brother who beamed at him, and Regulus couldn't push down the want of not disappointing Sirius.
When the time of his sorting came, Regulus actually didn't get a choice. The Hat was hardly over his head when it shouted, SLYTHERIN!
His eyes darted to where his brother sat, and he wanted to cry at the betrayed look Sirius gave him. Without looking up, he shuffled over to the table under silver and green hangings.
But when a couple of minute later his new friend joined him at the Slytherin table, Regulus' smile could have lit up the entire castle.