Being back at home after so many weeks of staying at Hogwarts was rather... odd. He barely slept the first night—he missed the gentle snoring that filled his dormitory back at school, he missed the alarms in the morning waking him up and he missed the bustling about of students.
The second night back was no better than the first. If anything, it was worse, for he had the added stress of Bellatrix's wedding. Not that there was a lot he was involved in when it came to that, but he still had to sort out what to wear and as it was his first wedding he was absolutely clueless.
He was the first one up on Christmas Day and spent all morning turning his wardrobe inside out, stalling out all twenty formal and dress robes he had in his bedroom. He couldn't show up to a wedding and not look the part. The only problem was figuring out how he looked the part, and what that even meant at all. He only had one thing to go from: Bellatrix had specified everyone was to wear dark colours in her invitation. Of course, Black was the darkest he could go, but a touch of colour could be fun as well, so he also had some dark green ones and even a few of a deep blue colour, ones with red accents and those that reminded him of Hufflepuff with their black-and-yellow colour schemes.
And yet, he couldn't decide. Something that would've been second nature to him, something that was supposed to be as a second nature to him, felt strange and foreign. Hogwarts had ruined him, with that uniform they had to wear during school hours. Plain work robes day in, day out. And he'd even grown lazy on weekends! That had to change—he wouldn't let Hogwarts take away more than it absolutely had to.
His bedroom door opened but he didn't look up.
"Regulus, dear, are you ready? We've got to leave if we want to be there on time."
He didn't say anything, his eyes flickering between the robes—black ones with emerald accents, one with little snakes that slithered across the robe when its wearer moved...
"Regulus, we haven't all day."
Or perhaps a set of robes with blood-red sleeves that had a matching sash and an elegant, golden buckle to cinch the waist...?
"Regulus!"
His head snapped up. "I'm busy!" he yelled and turned back to the robes.
"Well we've got to go!"
He looked up again and blinked. "I haven't anything to wear," he mumbled.
"The one on the left would be a good fit," she suggested, oblivious to his surprise.
None of his robes were a good fit, not compared to what Mother was wearing. She had a dead, stuffed crow for a hat and her dress robes were ragged at the hems, and instead of buttons it fastened with what appeared to be tiny skulls.
A moment later, Father appeared in the doorway, wearing robes and a hat that were just as eccentric, both made out of layered raven feathers.
"We have to go now," he said, "Bellatrix won't wait around for us, you know."
The one on the left... Regulus grabbed it – the one with the snakes – and followed his parents downstairs. Father's raven feathers seemed to dance with each step he took, and Mother's hat crowed every now and then.
He was awfully underdressed. He wasn't even wearing his dress robes, and he had nothing but his ordinary black hat, unless he was to wear his pointy school hat, but people would know it was his Hogwarts one and that would be terrible—Avery would be there!
They stepped outside. It was dry, and there were many Muggles walking around but they clearly didn't notice the carriage in front of their home. It was pulled by four of those strange horse-like creatures that pulled the carriages at the school.
"What are they?" he asked, pointing at one of them.
"Ah... we haven't the time for this now," said Father. Come on."
The three of them got into the carriage and it took off—into the sky. He leaned out of the window and watched as London became a small dot in the distance.
He sat back in his seat when the first raindrops landed on his hair. "Will you tell me about those horses now?"
"They're thestrals, not exactly horses," said Father.
"Bellatrix's idea, no doubt," Mother added with a smile.
"I've never heard of those before."
"They're not your ordinary winged horses," she said.
"Well... no. They're not horses," Father interrupted. "They can only be seen by those who have seen death."
"Most people avoid them," Mother said.
"But not Bella?"
"Of course not."
Father sighed and stared out of the window.
Mother continued. "She was far too young when she first saw them and she's been in love with them ever since."
"How old was she?"
"It doesn't matter," Father said. "She was too young, you are too young—I don't want to hear any more of this."
He said this last part staring coldly at Mother, who nodded. "We should be there soon," she said, changing the topic. "Hopefully there's still time for you to change."
That was something Regulus much agreed with. Thankfully, it wasn't long before they landed in a big field and stepped out into the heavy rain which soaked them within seconds. Many more guests were in similar positions to them and the large queue of people sloshing through ankle-deep muddy puddles let them know that was about to be their fate as well.
"Can't we Apparate?" he asked Father. The prospect of following the long sandpath up to the manor on foot in this weather was unappealing, to say the least.
But Father shook his head. "Anti-Apparition spells all around. There's nothing we can do."
So they made their way up to the manor through the muddy puddles that destroyed their shoes, socks, clothes... For the first time that day, he was glad not to be wearing his dress robes, for when they reached the manor, he was the only one with something clean to wear. Wet, yes, but clean nonetheless.
They entered the manor through grand oak doors and stepped into a hallway at least thrice the size of their own back home. Red drapes covered the walls on both sides and an impressive chandelier hung from the high ceiling, swinging back and forth slightly in the wind from outside. Two house elves pointed the guests to a room on their right, which was some sort of dining chamber, though it had the size of a ballroom. Two large tables stood decked with the most delicious dishes he'd seen in a long time, and the smell reminded him oddly of Hogwarts feasts.
He knew at once that this was the sort of home he wanted to live in when he grew up. Not a Muggle in sight, only open fields and a room so spacious he was sure to get lost a few times a day. Sirius could have their London home, he was getting himself a manor.
After all guests had arrived and filled their stomachs, dried their clothes, and Regulus changed into his dress robes, a tall, bald man who introduced himself as the groom's father Rodericus ushered them all outside again. They were to go to the family's private amphitheatre, where the ceremony would be held.
This would have been much more exciting if it wasn't so bone-chilling cold! He made his way through the fields alongside his parents and the other guests who were just as displeased with this outdoors wedding, even those who came prepared and carried umbrellas or had warm cloaks with them that dispelled any and all water that fell on them.
No such luck for Regulus, however. He stood at the front and was shivering and shaking by the time the ceremony began, which made it one of the worst events he'd ever been to.
Sure, Bellatrix looked stunning – at least he assumed she did, for he couldn't see her too clearly through the wall of rain that had formed a shield in front of him – and Rodolphus also appeared to have thought about the poor weather as he was carrying an umbrella, but the actual ceremony was so tedious to sit through whilst freezing that Regulus had to admit he didn't really pay attention.
He only knew it was over when he saw everyone applauding the couple, so he joined in—water splashing everywhere because of the sudden motion.
Guests all around him sprang to their feet, leaving the amphitheatre as quickly as they possibly could, back to the manor where they could sit by the fire, dry their robes, fill their stomachs...
He couldn't join them. He remained where he was. As family, it was rude to leave early.
After what seemed an eternity, Mother and Father pulled him along towards the middle of the amphitheatre. He could see now that there was a thorny archway with black roses and Rodolphus and Bellatrix were still standing beneath it, and so were his aunt and uncle and Narcissa.
"Congratulations," he mumbled as the newlyweds turned to him and his parents. The rain muffled his voice as it continued to pound down onto the already wet and muddy ground.
Bellatrix smiled brightly at him nonetheless, seemingly untethered by the weather. "Thank you. I'm glad you came—unlike your brother."
He managed a slight smile, then turned back to his parents. "I'm cold," he complained.
Mother shook her head but Bellatrix laughed. "Oh, of course you are! The weather couldn't have been better."
"Don't you mean it could have been better?" Mother asked.
She grinned. "Sure."
"Let's go," said Rodolphus to Regulus' surprise, "the young one is right, it is cold."
He could have hugged him right there. His words made everyone agree it was, indeed, cold and they sloshed back to the manor, through the muddy puddles that wrecked their clothes once more.
Back at the manor, they made their way through the hallway into a ballroom that was even larger than the room they'd eaten in before. It was decorated with tables for the occasion, although there was still plenty of space to dance if desired. There was also a pipe organ in the far left corner, on a raised platform, and the organist played a slightly eerie yet triumphant theme.
But above all, there was no rain. There was warmth and the scent of freshly baked goods, and cake.
Guests were already seated at some of the tables, chatting happily as their robes dripped water onto the floor which was hurriedly cleaned by a pair of eager house elves.
Regulus sat down at a table near the front, next to Mother and Father whilst Narcissa joined her parents at the table directly in front of theirs. Avery was nowhere to be seen (thank Merlin for that) and Evan wasn't in sight either, though he didn't get long to look for them as Bella and Rodolphus climbed on the platform that held the organist, who promptly stopped his depressing tune. Now they were dry and the rain was no longer hindering his vision he could get a good look at them. Rodolphus' robes appeared to be on fire, though the longer he watched him the more obvious it became that it was merely an optical illusion.
Bellatrix was clad in midnight blue, but moments after she wore a pale purple, and then blood red—her robes changed colour every few seconds which made for a dazzling appearance.
"Dear friends, family, thank you all for coming," Bellatrix started.
"Sorry about the weather," Rodolphus chimed in. "We didn't know it would be this... depressing."
"I maintain it's quite fitting for the occasion," Bellatrix added. "Nevertheless, that's why we're especially happy you still took the time out of your day to come see us 'tie the knot', as they say."
"We won't hold you up any longer. We have a great wedding cake and some lovely chocolates and the finest red wines selected for your enjoyment!" Rodolphus clapped his hands twice and the food appeared on their tables.
The cake was most beautiful—black, seemingly made out of rose petals and decorated with what looked like real human bones dancing on top. It was... intriguing, to say the least. And very tasty.
She hadn't been lying when she said the chocolate would be 'lovely', either, and he trusted the wine was extraordinarily good judging by the copious amounts his parents drank of it.
After about half an hour, Bellatrix came up to their table, asking to speak with him in private. They left the busy ballroom and went back to the dining room from before.
"What do you want to talk about?" he asked anxiously. The last time they'd spoken in private hadn't exactly gone well.
"I want to give you something. I think... it may come in handy some day."
He looked at her. "What do you mean?"
"Some things are better left unsaid."
The night before the last day at home he had slept so deeply he didn't wake until noon.
He was still half asleep, even when he stumbled into the dining room to find his parents quietly eating lunch.
"Regulus? How kind of you to join us today."
Flustered, he checked the time. It was rather late, and he was still in his night shirt, and that was unacceptable—what if there'd been guests?
"It was an accident," he mumbled, "I overslept."
"Did you, now?" Mother asked, "I certainly hope you don't oversleep at Hogwarts..."
"Of course not, I don't want to miss class."
"But you would miss breakfast with your parents. Not even home three days yet we're already unimportant."
"That's not what I meant."
"Then don't say it."
He sat down at the table without another word. The days back home after the wedding had been tiresome, lonely, and above all: cold. Not just in the typical sense of the weather; Mother and Father were more distant than he remembered them to be, and ignored him most of the time. The only comments he got were criticisms, and their criticism hurt him more than all of Avery's mockery combined.
They hadn't asked him about Hogwarts at all, and he hadn't talked about it either. If it was that trivial to them then they didn't deserve to know. All talk that did include the school was about Sirius anyway, so it quickly became a topic he wanted to avoid. Sirius wasn't here—he was. That made him the centre of the attention. At least, it should've.
He fled back upstairs after lunch to change and spent the rest of the afternoon already packing up his things for Hogwarts, so that he was all set and ready to go first thing in the morning the day after.
The train would leave at eleven as always and Father took him to the station with only minutes to spare. After a dreadfully short goodbye, he hopped on the train and off he went—he watched his father's figure on the platform grow smaller and smaller until he was nowhere to be seen and the bustling platform was traded for fields of green as they moved along the countryside.
Rain started to clatter down on the roof of the train and the windows became too splattered to provide him with a good view. He rummaged around in his trunk for a bit and pulled out the thing Bella had given him: a simple, small locket. Inside it was a note that said:
Hold onto this until the time is ripe.
It didn't make any sense, no matter how he looked at it. Such a simple locket but such a cryptic message... whatever it was, it was either very important, or a dumb joke. Those were his only options.
The train pulled up to the train station in the dark and he stumbled around to find Narcissa with her wand lit.
She guided him to one of the thestral-pulled carriages and together they rode back to the school. Flying had been much more fun.
"Are you happy to be back?" he asked her.
She smiled. "It's always special... it was my last time coming back from the Christmas holidays and it'll be my last Easter holidays soon..."
"Those aren't until April!"
"Trust me, they'll be here before you know it."
He huffed. Months to go and she thought they'd go by quickly? Here at Hogwarts time seemed to drag by more slowly than ever before.
But still, she wasn't all wrong. Monday came more quickly than he had anticipated and he was back in the classroom watching Manning have a mental breakdown over the amount of students near her. It was as if he hadn't been gone at all. Two weeks truly were nothing in the grand scheme of things.
The Peasegoods were still mad at him for refusing to share his cheating supplies, so unfortunately he found himself seated next to a smirking Avery.
There were matches laid out on their tables. Despite them having practised for months, Manning couldn't get them to transfigure even the simplest of things. Those cheating supplies really would come in handy if there were any written examinations because he couldn't remember ever learning anything in this class at all, aside from how to not teach.
"Why do we even bother to come?" he asked no-one in particular, "I think she'd prefer it if we didn't."
Avery laughed (he really hadn't missed that back at home). "We can leave if you want."
"Together? No, thanks."
"You're no fun," said Avery. Then he picked up his match and stood up from his chair. "Do you know what Muggles do with these?"
"They're Muggle things?"
No wonder he wasn't able to transfigure them—his wand had taste, thank you very much.
"Of course they're Muggle things! Merlin's pants, Black, three-and-a-half months of schooling and you still know nothing."
"I was just surprised, that's all! I use wizarding matches all the time."
"There is no such thing as 'wizarding matches'," Avery laughed again. "Oh, you're so cute."
He could feel the eyes of the entire classroom fixed on them both as he gritted his teeth. "I'm not cute."
"Oh but you are," Avery laughed. "I just want to squish those rosy little cheeks of yours."
Regulus slapped Avery's hand away as he reached out towards his cheeks. "Don't."
Avery pouted. "Aww! Pwoor bwaby doesn't want me to twouch?"
"Shut up!"
Avery glanced back at the crying teacher. "I don't think I will. I think we'll have some fun. See, Muggles use these to set things on fire..."
"They do what?!"
"Nasty creatures, those Muggles." Avery nodded solemnly. "They're absolutely barbaric."
"Why do they set things on fire?"
"It's fun. What more reason do you need?"
A lot more reason! 'Fun' was probably the worst reason for setting things on fire! But he didn't get the chance to share his worries—before he knew it, he fell back, his chair toppling over and his skin burning, blistering from the heat. There was screaming in the background but his own screams were louder, his throat roasted from the flames and his lungs filled with smoke until he could scream no longer. He was drowning, gasping for air...
And then, as quickly as it had started, it was over again. He opened his eyes and was met with a blinding light—he shut them again and pulled the sheets over his head. He didn't want to be here.
Sheets? His eyes snapped open again, now staring into the dark he created. Had it all been a dream?—no, the sheets were white, and the pain was slowly coming back to him. Not a dream. Was he back in the hospital wing?
Again?
Seriously?!
He slowly pulled back the covers and his suspicions were immediately confirmed when he saw Madam Pomfrey standing by his bed.
"Ah, you're awake. Very good, very good... You're lucky Professor McGonagall stepped in. This could have ended very differently if she wasn't so quick to put out those flames. Still, those were quite some burns you sustained..."
"I'll be all right, though, won't I?"
"Oh, yes, of course. It's nothing I can't fix, just some burns..." she shook her head. "I fix things far worse than this on a monthly basis, believe me. But you'll have to stay here for a little while, I'm afraid. Now lift your—that's it..."
He lifted his robes (well, what was left of them) and Madam Pomfrey applied some orange paste to the burns that covered his legs and parts of his stomach. She then gave him another potion (for the pain, she said) and told him to get some more sleep.
He didn't need to be told twice. He lay back down and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, it was dark.
He blinked aa his surroundings slowly came into focus and the light curtains around his bed told him he was most likely still in the hospital wing. Wonderful. Had he slept until nightfall?
His stomach rumbled. He managed to prop himself up on his elbows. Some food wouldn't be a bad idea, he thought. He hadn't eaten since breakfast.
"Madam Pomfrey?" he called out, his throat hoarse.
There came no reply, so he slowly sat up, wincing as his bandaged burns protested the movement. His head was heavy and the world around him was spinning but he still managed to swing his legs over the edge of the bed nonetheless.
He pushed himself up from the bed, trying to stand—his shaky legs gave way, letting him fall back onto the mattress, groaning in pain. He tried to steady his breathing as the flaring pain from the burns lessened and became a dull ache once more. What had happened? It all felt like a nightmare, and yet here he was. The pain was very real.
"Madam Pomfrey?" he tried again, a little louder this time.
It was eerily quiet.
"POMFREY!"
"Will you shut up?" a soft voice croaked from the bed to his right.
"Sorry. I didn't realise..."
He managed to pull himself back into the bed. Maybe he'd just have to wait; he could eat in the morning—golden crumpets with a generous layering of clotted cream and rivers of honey and a bowl of yoghurt and perfectly ripe strawberries... he could almost picture the savory sausages, still sizzling hot on his plate, with a steaming cup of tea beside it, waiting for him to take the first sip...
His stomach roared, but there was nothing he could do about it.