Note: AU written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments). This will likely have a second chapter to explore snippets of Hogwarts years to further explore the changes.
-Prompt of the Day (7/15): Blind AU
-Eastern Summer Funfair, Hall of Mirrors - Regulus Black (10. Disability AU)
-Writing Club, Sophie's Shelf, Vault 29 - Write a kid fic
-Writing Club, Lo's Lowdown, Character Based Prompts - Joly: Disability AU
-Writing Club, Emy's Emporium, Italy - (trait) Resilient
-Writing Club, Ami's Audio Admirations, An Unexpected Cliffhanger - Write about someone being in an accident.
-Insane House Challenge - 465. (item) Cushion
-365 Prompts - 243. (relationship) Siblings
-Summer Seasonal Challenges, Days of the Year, Son and Daughter Day -Write a kidfic
-Summer Seasonal Challenges, Elemental, Fire Element, Fire Prompts - (word) Glow
-Summer Seasonal Challenges, Shay's Musical Challenge, Hamilton - Write about someone who won't give up
-Summer Seasonal Challenges, Gryffindor Themed Prompts - (character) Sirius Black, (object) The Sorting Hat
the world i close my eyes to see
The cushion was scratchy beneath his fingertips, made from a criss-cross fabric that seemed to pull at his skin - but just a little, not enough to stick. Regulus knew there was a softer chair, his favourite chair, just down the hallway in the library. Seven steps to the doorway - thirty-one steps to the library - ten more to the overstuffed armchair his father liked to sit in while chipping away at the silence with a steady rustle of pages.
Regulus vaguely remembered a window in that corner, wide enough to cover the chair in sunbeams, but he couldn't remember the colour of the wood framing it or the colour of his father's chair. If he had to guess, it was probably green. He remembered a lot of green - the colour of Slytherin. Silver, too, and black and brown. The house had always been dark, but it was darker now, except for that corner, and the one in the drawing room where he could catch the glow of sunset if he timed it right.
The chair in the library was the softest, but he'd heard his mother's footsteps walking that way, and judging by the sharp tones, she'd found his brother in state of disarray despite the party they would have to attend that evening. A gala, their mother had said, and considering how important she made it seem, she did not actually sound very happy about going. Regulus liked the way her voice sounded when it was happy: lower but gentler as she smoothed his hair or praised the way he knew how to stay in his proper spot instead of bounding around the room like some deranged erumpent. That was what she had said after the party last week when Sirius had run into a side table at the Rosiers'. Your brother can't see, and even he doesn't run into tables, she had snapped at Sirius. A vase had been broken and repaired again within minutes, but he could tell by the way she said it that it was not just about the vase.
When she shouted, he liked to try to hear the soft roar of the gas lamps, a high-pitched whine - something like rushing water, but airier. The sound wasn't very pleasant, but he liked it better than his mother's distress.
Against the wall was a cabinet taller than he was, even now, though it had seemed a particular giant when he was little. It was only five paces from his chair, and its glass was always strangely cool against his pressing palm. Seven years ago, he'd pressed a palm through, the ever-cool barrier becoming like air for the childish fumble of his fingers. He had been only three, then, and too small to reach the handles, but magic had humoured his curiosity, had let him crawl into the small space like some tiny cavern of treasures. There had been a cauldron inside, encrusted with the loveliest jewels. The jewels had been vivid and bright against the otherwise dull contents, and though Regulus had always preferred the muted scheme of their home, he remembered clearly the overwhelming curiosity tingling inside of him. A fire crab shell, Sirius had told him one time. Not a cauldron you were suppose to use.
The cauldron had fit on his head like a hat when he'd curled himself against the cabinet's wooden back. (Like some grand crown, though he'd thought them all to be hats, at the time.) Clutter had poked into his sides, but more than bothered, he'd been curiouser still.
Regulus had not known what the ashes were when he'd found the rounded container, pried off the lid with clumsy fingers and peered within to the grey ash - the same shade as his mother's eyes.
He would never forget the explosion of light when he breathed into the container - a little sniff from the dust - nor the searing pain that smouldered under his eyelids and burned along the delicate bridge of his nose.
When he parents had found him, he had a leg bloodied from kicking through the glass, his face wet with terrified tears, but Regulus didn't remember that part so well. Sirius had told him later, but while gashes could be healed with salves and the wave of a Healer's wand, the damage to his eyes had not been so easy to fix.
Though he could remember little from the days, weeks, months that followed, he remembered the sound of his brother's feet pattering back and forth from the cabinets, punctuated with a series of thuds nearby. Regulus did not reach into the cabinets after that, but he thought they must have been items from the shelves, based on the way their mother had bellowed about touching things in the cabinet.
They were five and seven, the first time Sirius snuck the wands out of the cabinet. He had asked his brother what kind they were, asked after their colour and felt the grooves along the wood, but Sirius had said he wasn't sure, just that they must have belonged to their ancestors sometime back.
Even now, Regulus liked to repeat the incantations Sirius had found in the tome of Fundamentals, stashed within a cabinet beneath one of the bookshelves. Sirius always left the wands on the bottom shelf of this cabinet, nestled in the same place every time, surrounded by vials and parchment and mysterious boxes that felt interesting beneath his fingertips, but Sirius assured him that the ashes were gone. Whether they had been moved or removed was never specified, but Regulus found a small comfort in holding the wand in his hands.
May not be able to go to Hogwarts- He and Sirius had overheard their parents talking the night before, and when he'd felt Sirius jerk forward, Regulus grabbed his arm to hold him in place, letting go only when he felt the muscles in that arm relax. The Healers were useless, they had said, calling it an 'unfortunate thing' and supposing it might be better to keep him home with a tutor than risk him falling off the side of a castle walkway.
In truth, Regulus had not yet decided if he was more afraid to stay home from the magical school, cut off from the other children and the activities, or if he was more afraid to go, where their constant presence may invade every nook and cranny - but what hurt more was that his parents didn't think he could do it.
When Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor - 'the worst House imaginable,' from the sound of it - Regulus had thought the decision was made. His mother and father spoke more openly of their grievances then, of the school spiraling down the toilet and a Sorting Hat that had clearly lost its touch if it thought a Black belonged anywhere other than Slytherin.
Overrun with mudbloods and traitors, catering to the destruction of tradition, scarcely worth the ancient stones that formed it.
Regulus would undoubtledly be sorted correctly, they had settled in the end, as if he was not curled up on the sofa just across the room. Perhaps they could manage if the cousins kept an eye on him.
Presuming he didn't fall off the side of a castle walkway, of course, Regulus mentally added with a sigh as he resumed listening to the quidditch game playing on the wireless.
The first winter holiday home, tension was tangible in the air. Sirius was even more of a pariah than Regulus was, now, at least as far as the whispers went, but even if Sirius kept wanting to tell him about the Potters' boy who was in Gryffindor with him. (Not Aunt Dorea's boy, but a different Potter, a relative to her husband.) Though it had only been a few months, those few months had felt more unbearable than usual, without anyone painting a picture of the goings-on around him. Just Kreacher and the wireless and the keys of their grand piano.
The following summer, Regulus turned eleven, and with his birthday came the Hogwarts letter he had half-feared would not come at all. Sirius had bought him a quick-quotes quill as a birthday gift and whispered conspiratorially that he and his friends had found a spell that could read books to you. (Or rather, someone named Lupin had come across it.) Apparently their attempts at casting it resulted in a screaming book, but when they managed some volume control, he would show Regulus how to do it. (Why their parents had never mentioned it was baffling, but perhaps it was not the sort of thing they thought to investigate.)
The harrowing sound of screeching was terrible, but Regulus wondered if it might still be better than no stories at all, beyond what flicked onto the wireless throughout the day.
King's Cross was overwhelming, a clash of squeals and laughs and high-rising voices; little bursts of anxiety jolted through him with every bumping body jolsting against him, heightened by the rattling wheels of every piece of luggage. Sirius had a grip on the sleeve of his robes, dragging him along in a manner that would normally be irritating but was far preferable to the alternative of getting lost in clamouring crowds.
Regulus could hear in his parents' voices that they still weren't entirely convinced that a home tutor wasn't a less shameful alternative, but in the end, Regulus supposed that it would have only been admitting there was a problem in the first place. Perhaps no one will notice. (No, people would notice. But he was a Black, too, and with steely determination, he repeated silently to himself that was going to prove that.)
Their cousin Narcissa - a seventh year - had insisted Regulus sit in her compartment with her, but Regulus could tangibly feel the heat of her scowl when Sirius told her to 'sod off' and dragged Regulus down the hall towards his own compartment before Regulus had the chance to object.
He would not have minded sitting with Narcissa; she was always kind to him, if careful, but he didn't mind careful when it felt like the world around was constantly jostling him. Sirius's compartment was a bit loud, bursting forth as the doors were flung open, but Sirius maneuvered him over the fallen luggage to sit next to someone who was quiet enough that Regulus didn't initially realise he was there. (Remus Lupin, he said. It was the boy who had found the read-aloud spell in a book.)
Regulus wished there was a wireless available within the first hour of the train ride, but he settled for listening to his brother's friends; louder than he prefered, for the most part, but the boy next to him was calm, at least, and talked with him a little, saying that he and Sirius seemed really different - but not in a bad way. Regulus could tell from his tone that it hadn't been in a bad way, so he dared to smile a little and asked him what kind of books he liked to read until at last the Hogwarts Express arrived, forcing Regulus into a crowd of unfamiliar first years.
Perhaps someone had warned the man with a booming voice and unnaturally large hands, because he kept near Regulus in a way that was humiliating until he splashed a foot down into what must have been the Black Lake, and he realised they were getting onto a boat. He kept his face tight, but he heard no comments from the other students in his boat, so he hoped it meant they hadn't noticed, even if his foot was a little drippy.
With each step towards the Great Hall, he focused his attention on subtly feeling the movement of his peers around him, heart thumping as he prepared for any step to drop out from under him or rise too fast, but he could heart a little change in the way they moved each time the terrain changed a little, and as they were organised into alphabetical alignment, he drummed up as much steel as he could manage, mind thrumming with a mantra: I can do this. I will do this. I must do this.
As the Sorting Hat was nestled on his head like a fire crab crown, it wavered in its choice, but in the end, a loud bellow echoed:
"SLYTHERIN!"
Beyond doubt, he would prove that he could do this too.