Warning: some violence mentioned, character death.

You've got the words to change a nation
But you're biting your tongue
You've spent a life time stuck in silence
Afraid you'll say something wrong
If no one ever hears it how we gonna learn your song?

You've got a heart as loud as lions
So why let your voice be tamed?
Maybe we're a little different
There's no need to be ashamed
You've got the light to fight the shadows
So stop hiding it away

(Emeli Sande-Read all about it)

|:o:|

It's been there, permanently stuck between his vocal cords for as long as Regulus could remember, haunting him, choking him, somehow suffocated by its own power; a huge, endless scream.

Regulus wants to scream, but even more than that, he wants to have screamed. He's always awaited and feared the day when he'll be able to talk in the past and say, 'I had a suppressed scream in my throat,' instead of the usual, 'I have a suppressed scream in my throat,' that he's now embedded in his soul with dark, strong thorns.

It seems like that day'll never come, he thinks as his vision blurred and his lungs burned, the scream still there, scratching his throat, fighting to surface.

Do not think, do not remember. It'll only hurt more.

.

|:o:|

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Regulus wanted to cry in sadness and protest as the light erupted from the wand and the blood spilled from the now headless body of one of the many House-elves. He felt something tickling his throat, he felt his heart racing, but he promptly ignored them both, not knowing the devouring hole he'd let to grow inside himself by doing so.

On the ground, the grotesque head's glassy eyes seemed to pierce his soul, judging him, condemning him. Against his better judgment, Regulus' lips parted slightly as he took a deep breath in ready to speak, but another pair of eyes, his mother's dark and harsh, stopped him, and the air suddenly abandoned his lungs making them collapse like a punctured balloon.

It's too late for the House-elf anyway, the child thought hoping this lie would stop the headless body from haunting his nightmares. He really couldn't afford such a creature disturbing his sleep for never would his mother let him cry because of a bad dream, so he could only lie in his room, sweaty and panting, blinking several times to make the evil images leave his retinas.

.

Regulus wanted to scream whenever his brother argued with their parents in the living room, making grandiose declarations about freedom of expression and equality. He wanted to scream whenever their parents–Sirius actually insisted they were only Regulus'–punished and cursed their firstborn to shut him down.

It never worked.

Sirius usually ended up shouting even louder, glaring questioningly at Regulus who squirmed under his gaze and honestly tried his best, but it seemed like the screams around him suffocated his own weak, pathetic attempts to make his voice heard.

I'm nor a Lion, neither as loud as one. I'm a silent Snake, he comforted himself, avoiding both Sirius' disappointed look and his mother's sharp gaze.

There was no denying she had him, and he felt so numb, his limbs so heavy. All because of her eyes; they had been always very distressing to watch into. They were the same ones that had once sworn love and safety, but they could get so cold and distant, as if staring at something invisible.

(They searched for something to focus her anger and disappointment on, Regulus knows. And he still cringes.)

.

Regulus wanted to scream and stop that folly, that torture that Lucius was enjoying so much as the familiar red light continuously erupted from Malfoy's wand, and an unstoppable evil laugh were on his and the other Death Eaters' lips. Regulus' felt his own lips twitching against his will and nodded as Lucius turn his head to face him and check his reactions.

Something bitter and scratching–and unfortunately so familiar–made itself known and grew in Regulus' throat once again. Do not think of it, he told himself, eager to make it go away. Do not remember any of this, another voice murmured, it'll pass right away. And his body tried its best to disobey–or obey?–his own commands and ignore that lump, but the bitter taste in his mouth kept reminding him of his failure, that he'd been biting his tongue.

Once again, that little moment of awareness had escaped, and Regulus had done nothing to catch it, to lift the veil that hid the truth. Now, another wave would overwhelm him, control him.

Does it ever end? he asked the universe, the only one that could perhaps be shaken by his scream since his Lucius and his masked fellows were obviously deaf as the Mug–Mudblood's cries and pleads didn't seem to reach them.

(Regulus is still waiting for that answer that'll never come.)

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|:o:|

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Regulus wants to scream, for real this time, but once again nobody could hear him. What'd be the point then? He tries to open his mouth but whatever sound he's going to emit is immediately muffled by a cold, white hand put on his lips and another on his head, pushing him down again, underwater. This wave is so much different from the other he felt back then. This is cold and salty; that was neither cold nor hot but extremely painful and strong nevertheless.

Both consume oxygen quickly, though.

The desire to be curled up in his bed, his forehead on his knees, Sirius' hand rubbing his back, comes strongly to him. It was so easier back then, before Sirius discovered freedom, before he himself discovered it.

Do not think, do not remember.

These lines had swiftly become the soundtrack of his life, filling his ears. Shutting anything and anyone else down. Now that he doesn't need to survive anymore, he's struggling to get free of them. He wants to die thinking of something else. This is not him, this has never been him after all.

He can't breathe, he feels dizzy, and his eyes burn but still look around as someone whispers, You're still here. Make your light shine for as long as you can; just a bit longer. You've got the light–you are the light–to fight the darkness. You wanted to scream, but stars can only shine. Then shine, Regulus! You don't need words to protest. And if you'll end up drowning in the darkness, then let your light be seen until the end. It'll be worth it.

Then there are those cold hands again and his consciousness has been slipping away from him, but now there's a hope, and the knot in hist throat finally dissolve. His head is thumping from the lack of air, but it's significantly eased the pain to finally, finally know the cage has been opened; to know it's not the scream–that was both his prisoner and kept him prisoner–the cause of his death; to know his light can make the difference; to simply know his light he wasn't aware of before; just to know the reason why the stars are there.

(His scream, his light, his spirit are still plain to see in his open, clear eyes.)

Written for the Je suis Charlie challenge on The Golden Snitch forum.

School: Beauxbatons

House: Melusine

Prompts: Read All About It – Emeli Sande (song), freedom (word), expression (word), child (word), House-elf (creature), Lucius Malfoy (character)