Disclaimer: Regulus is only mine in my dreams, in reality he is J.K Rowling's, how mean is she? The song lyrics, noted in italics, are a lullaby my mum use to sing to me when I couldn't sleep, I was surprised to learn that they actually belong to The Beatles, so no, I'm not one of them either.
Author's note: This is my response to a challenge set by cupid-painted-blind in which I had to include the objects, a broken window, three cigarettes and blue mittens. And of course, I chose Regulus because I adore him with every fiber of my existence, for those who don't know, he is God.
Close your eyes.
Close your eyes and I'll kiss you
Tomorrow I'll miss you
Regulus pressed his ear against the thick glass in the Hogwarts Express; it was stationary and was yet to pull out of the crowded station. An impressive array of affectionate mothers plastered kisses over their children's faces, handed them bags of treats for their journeys, ruffled their hair, straightened their clothes, wiped their faces, cried into handkerchiefs.
His own mother had sent them on the Knight Bus, complaining of a sore back and positive that the station would be full of 'filthy muggles'.
She had sat at the dining table, her face shaped into creases and lines born by the anger and fury she held at almost every minute of the day. She inhaled deeply from a wet limp cigarette; the ash from it littered the table around her like fallen stars.
Regulus wanted her to say more, to be more.
But she always just sat there, drawing the nicotine into her aging lungs, lighting little fires within her chest.
He sat before her, eating his toast, listening to Sirius stomp loudly down the stairs, filling himself with anger, ready to fight.
He counted the little furry ends of cigarette butts that his mother lined up along the table. His eyes tracing the black line of ash and the beginning of the end, the yellowing filter.
One.
She reaches out a hand to him, her fingernails too long. She clasps it over his own; he can feel the weight of it through his blue woolen mittens.
"You will not disappoint me." She asserts, her eyes flickering dangerously to his own, hers are black, and his are silver, although the difference is far greater than that.
He nods, encouraging her wandering mind. Bellatrix says that she is losing her mind, caught up in a house filled with reminders of his father, filled with the voice of past regrets and hidden memories.
Two.
She withdraws her wilted hand, raking it through her long dark hair that is now streaked with grey.
She was once beautiful, his mother. She would sit by his bedside in fine silks, the white lace trimming her highly-held chin. She would sing to him, her hand tracing make-believe patterns on his back.
Her teeth are yellowing now, decaying at the same rate as the rest of the house.
Sirius swings dramatically into the kitchen, breaking his concentration, making his mother scowl in indignation at the muggle clothes her eldest son wore.
As their screaming begins, Regulus counts the last cigarette butt.
Three.
Sirius sits on the opposite side of the bus to him.
Their mother is dying at that dining room table, caught within her rituals, bringing an unlit cigarette repetitively to her dry and cracking lips.
Regulus pressed his ear against the thick glass in the Hogwarts Express; wanting the window to break, wanting it to offer him some new reason to escape.
Remember I'll always be true
And then while I'm away
I'll write home everyday
And I'll send all my loving to you.