Oct 14, 2005

I've had this idea brewing in my mind for a long time, but never put it to 'paper' until now. I'd considered using Draco Malfoy, but that would be a bit overdone.

Now that I think of it, I may consider doing a whole fic for just Regulus, but not anytime soon. So, happy reading. Reviews highly appreciated.

:Edit Mar 29, 2006

I'd forgotten all about this story when I was suddenly reminded of it by a kind reviewer, and so I reread it and altered it a bit. Thank you to JediWeasley:

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For Every Star

(…There is a black hole)

Regulus Black sat in the cold dark astronomy tower, the highest room in the castle. Maybe here he could finally escape from who he was, maybe here he would finally be able to look over his life and judge from above.

He wondered why everyone hated him, wondered why he was always the outcast, the shadow on the wall, seeing all but never a part of anything, drifting across the grounds; he wondered why there was never any mention of him except the occasional "I could've sworn I was being watched."

No one knew him, on the surface as well as deep inside. No one had ever bothered to try. But even then, they hated him. They had hated him before he had joined the Death Eaters, before they even met him. That's just the way it was. No one would give him a chance. That's just the way it had always been.

It was as if they could just take one look at him and know what he thought. It was as if they could just take one glance at him and know what he felt, who he was. Were they wrong? He didn't know. Maybe they were right. Maybe he wasn't worth the effort.

It wasn't his fault he was who he was or what he was. It wasn't his fault his only haven was within the ranks of the inner circle of the Dark Lord, that he felt no remorse when he made someone cry.

It wasn't his fault…was it?

He had been brought up to hate, brought up with anger and a dark passion hammered into his heart, etched in his brain, engraved in his soul. The first thing he remembered seeing as an infant was his father dressed in flowing black robes, fully hooded, menace written about his features. The first thing he had heard was Death. It was all he had ever known. All he'd ever know. How could he know any better?

His father used to whisper words of hatred to him, sometimes just dark nothings, phrases that didn't make sense but still managed to entwine his soul in darkness. Hate, anger, retribution. When his father's words actually formed coherent sentences, they would instruct him to detest anyone not like them, teaching him how to despise, to cause pain and anguish. "You were always my favourite," Father would say, "You were always the one I loved."

And yet, even his father hated him, Regulus knew. At times he wondered if his father preferred Sirius to him, and that was saying something.

Everybody loved Sirius. Took one look at him and fell in love. There were girls who devoted themselves to his every whim, lived for the day he would spare them a glance. It was as if Sirius had taken all the goodness and beauty that was to be shared among the brothers, leaving Regulus a hollow shell, filled only with loathing and darkness.

It wasn't fair, it couldn't be. They even looked the same, the same shining black hair, piercing dark eyes, the same strong jaw, the same lean frame…but always Sirius was beautiful, and Regulus was not. People looked into Sirius' eyes and saw something wonderful, but when they looked into those of his brother, all they ever saw was depravity, the shallow end of the gene pool, the unspoken evilness of humankind.

Ever since they were babies, playing in the playground, mothers would shield their children from Regulus while cooing at the older brother, and ice cream salesmen would offer Sirius a free cone while Regulus pretended he didn't care if he didn't get one too. Why? Why not him?

Sirius had all the love, all the kindness, all the beauty, just because he was first-born. He'd left none for Regulus to claim, nothing for him to cling to.

Nothing but the darkness.

Regulus sighed, wondering where his brother was now. Even through the blackness of his heart, Regulus loved Sirius. That was the only corner of his heart that was still pure, still human—the part of his heart that loved his brother. He guarded Sirius from sadness, shielded him from pain. Maybe that was it. Maybe, from protecting Sirius, Regulus had absorbed all the evil that would have otherwise ensnared the older brother.

But even Sirius hated him. He'd always hated him, always pushed him aside, always refused his aid. So many times Regulus would stand with love in his eyes, hope in his features, pleading with his brother to look, just look at him in the eye, just once…only to have Sirius turn away. It was always his one great shame, having a brother in Slytherin, just as it was the Blacks' great shame to have a son in Gryffindor.

Balance. That's all it was. Retribution. If one son was blessed with beauty, the other was marked with darkness. It was always that way. For every star there had to be a black hole, a desert for every ocean, a nightmare to every dream.

That was why he had become a Death Eater. Not only because he was made for it, but because the only place he had ever felt human was within their ranks. It was the only place he could sink into himself and not feel out of place. His fellow Death Eaters were the only ones who didn't judge him. They were the only ones who accepted him wordlessly as one of them and didn't hate him for who he was. They hated him for other reasons, and he himself despised each and every one of them, but then again they hated everything; they were Death Eaters, it was their duty.

It was where he truly belonged.

Regulus gazed up into the heavens, scanning the sky for his namesake, the brightest star in the constellation Leo, the lion. King. That's what his name meant. That's what his parents had intended, for him to be a king, looked up upon, feared and respected by all. Where they had failed with Sirius, they'd said, they would succeed with Regulus.

How ironic. Regulus was no king, and it was beginning to become clear that he never would be.

He'd always be hated, always be forgotten. When he died, there would be no one to sweep his grave, no one to visit every third Sunday of every month, no one to cry or to place flowers on his tomb. They'd give him a ceremony, they'd grant him that much, but there'd be no tears shed, and no one would read him an eulogy.

Treasured Son and Beloved Brother. That's what they'd write on his tombstone, and Regulus could just picture the carver scoffing at the insincerity. He'd be forgotten, or if he was lucky, remembered with disgust. That was the life he had always led. He'd learned to live with it.

But that didn't mean he wasn't bitter.

(end)