Graveyard of Memories
(a regulus story)
It all haunts him.
Carefully, as quietly as he can, he makes his way into the room. The door creaks slightly, and he glances at it.
Do Not Enter
Without the Express Permission of
Regulus Arcturus Black
With one quivering hand and all the strength he can muster, he swipes at it. Instead of taking down the sign, several scratch marks find their way onto the exquisite Black-crested design of the door.
(How much longer would it haunt him?)
The green and silver emblem of Slytherin is everywhere – about the bed, walls, windows, everything.
(He longs to tear them down, but no longer has the energy.)
He notices the newspaper clippings of Voldemort, all stuck together to make a ragged collage. He sees the picture of him and his teammates with the Quidditch cup.
(How long ago was that?)
(A mere week or so.)
Yet he feels as if that was another century, another person.
He stares at the banner dangling over the bed (Toujours Pur) and charges blindly toward it, determined to seize it, and rip it, rip it to shreds…
Yet he is weak - not a Gryffindor but a Slytherin.
(He wasn't strong enough, unlike his brother.)
He falls onto the bed, and lies there for a while, not able to get up, get up and face his future.
(He no longer has a future.)
The way forward is clear.
Merry Christmas, Bonnie! :)
and thank you Rabbi and Sharkie for beta-ing
Reviews are greatly appreciated -nudges at lavender button-