The following day was the twenty-fifth of December, and that obviously meant it was Christmas Day—Regulus only realised this because of the giant Christmas tree that stood next to the desk in the room he slept in (which he was certain hadn't been there before). At first, he had thought it was Christmas Eve, or the day of, at least, meaning the twenty-fourth, and he'd been excited... but Narcissa told him otherwise when he appeared in the little dining area for breakfast.

And it hurt. It being the twenty-fifth hurt. Not because he didn't like Christmas, or because he didn't want presents (and it wasn't that he was anxious about whether or not there would be any, for Narcissa had said there would be plenty for him to unwrap, foe Christmas wasn't complete without it), but because it meant it wasn't the twenty-fourth, and that meant he hadn't gone to the dining party that was held every year, and he hadn't seen his parents, grandparents and aunts and uncles... he hadn't done any of that—and it wasn't because he didn't want to, because he did want to, for it had been so long! But it was that he hadn't been given a choice because no-one had told him yesterday that it was the twenty-fourth. Bellatrix had left at four anyway. There had been plenty of time to go to the party...

Unless...

Had he not been invited? Or had Lucius and Narcissa declined the invitation? No, in that case, he could've gone on his own. He was old enough to travel by Floo on his own. He had done it countless times before, and there was nothing to it. If they really feared for him so much, they could've at least dropped him off or something. It made no sense.

And so, because it made no sense and Lucius and Narcissa were the ones that made it make no sense, he had gone straight back up to his room after breakfast to sulk about this matter. Sulking on Christmas Day... if that didn't show his maturity, he didn't know what would. All grownups seemed to despise the holidays, after all. Was it because they had to see so many people they otherwise avoided? Was that why he saw so little of his extended family growing up? His mind went back to Evan and everything he had said, and what Narcissa had said last year on the train when he was newly starting Hogwarts. They really were an oddity in the Wizarding World, weren't they? He let his head fall into his pillow, and he muffled his scream—he hated his family. He hated them all.

There was a soft knock on the bedroom door, and he lifted his head from the pillow, briefly wondering if he should hide somewhere, pretend to not be in, and where? But the door opened before he could do anything. In stepped not Narcissa, as he had expected, and not Lucius either. Abraxas Malfoy, Lucius' father, was the one who entered the room and walked up to his bed. He knew Mr and Mrs Malfoy still lived in this manor, but given the sheer size of it, they might as well have lived in a different city altogether. He rarely saw them, so he hadn't expected to see him now. Was it because of Christmas?

"Are you all right, son?" the man asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

Regulus just nodded; he was not in the mood for a conversation about how he felt, and certainly not with a man he barely knew. Influential or not, he had no business interrogating him about his feelings.

"Lucius and Narcissa were wondering if you wanted your presents now or later today."

"Later."

"All right, I'll let them know that," said Mr Malfoy, and he made way for the door again. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Mhm."

Mr Malfoy left the room and closed the door again, leaving him to himself once more. Just as he liked it. He let his head fall back on the pillow, but the moment was over. Screaming no longer helped his anger and frustration.

So instead he just lay there in silence, trying not to think of anything and failing, and thinking about everything at once, and then nothing again, and it was the silence that did it but he also liked the silence. It had been so long since he had some peace and quiet.

The peace and quiet did not last long. Barely five minutes later, there was another knock on the door. This time, it was Narcissa.

"Go away," he said.

"I will do no such thing, not until you tell me why you're cooped up in here."

He sat upright. "Because I want to be here."

"No child wants to be in his room instead of unwrapping presents."

"I'm not a child."

She sighed and approached him. "Really, Regulus, you worry us. Lucius and I have tried our best to make today enjoyable for you..."

"Well, you shouldn't have."

"Clearly... But if you tell us why, we can figure something out. Is it your parents?"

Regulus kept his mouth shut and deliberately stared at the floor, avoiding her gaze in defiance. He was not answering any more of her questions.

"It is, isn't it? I'm sorry they aren't here. They said they couldn't come, I'm not quite sure why, either. But we can still make it a fun day, can't we? You'll see them soon enough."

He kept silent.

"Come now, Regulus, please don't be this way. Maybe we can Floo there later today, all right?"

When he still didn't answer, she took to sitting down on the bed next to him instead of leaving. It was as if everything he did just made her stay longer, made her more determined to get an answer out of him. Why couldn't she just give up? It was bloody annoying.

"Are you sad about... something else?" she pressed. "Did you..."

"Did I what?"

She shook her head. "You'll see your parents soon enough."

"It's not about my parents!" he spat. "I don't care about them. I never want to see them ever again."

"You don't mean that."

"I do."

She stood up. "No, you don't. You don't say those things. Is it the party they would've held yesterday that's got you in this state? Are you upset there wasn't one?"

"What do you mean, there wasn't one?"

"They held no party. No-one did. Not your parents, not mine, not even Uncle Alphard—he's gone into hiding, you know? He's wanted for one thing or another. Our grandparents are too frightened to leave their homes... There is no party. There is nothing to party about."

"But you're holding a party. I mean, it's Christmas! What isn't there to party about?"

"We are not holding a party. We are doing this for you and for you only. And although you are young, you are not blind. You, too, must've noticed the times we live in. Even you must've noticed there are disappearances and deaths and destruction all around. Is that really a great time to party?"

"Narcissa, you're not frightening the boy, are you?" Mr Malfoy's head popped around the doorway.

"She's not!" Regulus countered.

Mr Malfoy shook his head.

"I'm just telling him what he needs to know," said Narcissa.

"He's young. He shouldn't worry about those things. Just focus on your studies, son. The world can wait."

"I'm not a child," he mumbled as Abraxas walked away, but the man must've heard him as he promptly turned around.

"You are a child. You are twelve years old. You barely know how to wield a wand. You cannot stand your ground. You cannot do the things adults can, and you mustn't. You shouldn't want to grow up any faster than you are forced to."

"I'm not wanting to grow up faster, I just want you to not treat me as if I'm six. Because I'm not. I'm twelve, I go to school, I-"

"Exactly," Mr Malfoy interrupted him. "You go to school. None of this concerns you."

"It doesn't concern me? When will it? You'll have me be seventeen and still know nothing? When Cissy just said people die all the time? What if that's me because I don't know what's going on?" he scoffed, suddenly reminded by that newspaper story he'd read about Kitty Sharp. She had been of his age when she died last summer. He could have been her. He could be her in the future if he wasn't careful, and now this man was trying to tell him not to care about what was happening? To not care about death and destruction? To just ignore it all until it's too late?! "I know a classmate of mine got killed. That could've been me. I'm not stupid, and I'm not a child."

Narcissa and Mr Malfoy looked at each other for a split second.

"How do you know that?" asked Narcissa.

"I read it in the newspaper."

Mr Malfoy shook his head again. "It doesn't do for a boy your age to spend his days with a nose stuffed into newspapers and books. You need action, son! I shall take you on a flight on your new broom."

He was ashamed to admit it, but the diversion strategy worked even though he saw it coming. "My new broom?"

"Oh, silly me! I forgot you didn't want your presents..."

"I got a broom?!" He looked from Mr Malfoy to Narcissa and back, and neither said they were joking, nor did they look as if they were. He jumped up from his bed and raced to the door. "Well, what are we waiting for? I want my broom!"

He ran downstairs and to the drawing room. Lucius sat on the black velvet sofa in his usual spot, but other than that, the room was deserted.

"Where are the presents?" he asked.

Lucius looked up at him. "Presents? I thought you didn't want any?"

"I do."

"He changed his mind when Abraxas let slip that he's getting a broomstick," said Narcissa as she and Mr Malfoy entered the room.

"You spoiled the gift?"

"I had to bribe him somehow. He knows about his classmate."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

"I'm sorry," said Lucius after a while. "I know you two were close."

"We weren't."

Lucius nodded. "All right, then. Presents?" He clapped his hands twice, and the room was filled with boxes of all shapes and sizes.

Christmas came to an end. Shortly after, so did 1973. The last few days of the year, he had resumed his lessons with Bellatrix. She took him outside into the garden to preach about the importance of proper stance, footwork, pronunciation and wand movement—all things he swore he already knew about, all things he was certain he already did right, but it wasn't good enough. It didn't live up to her standards, so they practised some more. Every day. All day.

The new started with more of the same. Bellatrix arrived at brunch, ate with them, and took him out to the back of the house. Their usual duelling spot was right under some trees in the extensive garden that belonged to the Malfoys' manor, helpful against the rain that came down more often than not. Bellatrix drilled him about the Disarming Charm and the Impediment Jinx, the impact of dodging (it wasn't a very useful tactic in most cases, but hiding behind objects was a good strategy) and the correct way to bow before a duel. She left just before Regulus was called in to dine with Lucius and Narcissa.

She returned the following day, as she had the days before. She came in the afternoon and this time she had brought a basket filled with sweets from Honeydukes. She'd visited the shop in Hogsmeade just before travelling to Wiltshire, she said, and she couldn't help but get him something as a reward for all of the work he'd been putting in with duelling. To him, however, it mostly served as a reminder that there were only a few months left before he'd be a Third Year, and he could go there himself—with permission! But his excitement faded quickly when she wanted to spend the rest of the day practising the Bat-Bogey Hex, the Conjunctivitis Curse, and the Jelly-Legs Jinx. They were in the garden until nightfall, and when Bellatrix finally left the home, it was a quarter to midnight.

Regulus went to bed without even wishing Lucius and Narcissa goodnight. He was simply too exhausted to try and find them at that hour. He barely undressed himself, figuring it wouldn't hurt to sleep in his day-robes for a change, and passed out on his bed face-down. He slept deeply and peacefully for about four hours when a bright light awoke him. A new day had begun. It was Thursday, the third of January, and he only had a few days left before returning to the school.

He turned beneath the covers and tried to catch some more sleep by burying his face further into the mattress.

"Good morning."

He lifted his head, blinking against the bright light—a bright light that wasn't sunlight. Bellatrix's face hovered inches above him, and the light was coming from her wand, which she held in her hand... No, it was coming from his wand, which she held in her hand. What was his wand doing in her hand?

He reached for it, but she moved out of the way. "Good morning," she said again.

He only groaned in response. The clock told him it was barely four in the morning. What was she doing in his room at four in the morning? He pulled the covers over his head – Bellatrix could wait, it was far too early – but they disappeared in a flash.

"I said, good morning," repeated Bellatrix for the third time.

He groaned again. "You call this morning?"

A sudden white flash blinded him; hot pain soared through his arm. It shot up from his fingertips to his shoulder. He rolled over and tried to make the pain go away by grasping and clawing at it, but it didn't. It only made it worse. He rolled over again, and Bella's blurred face came into view. Her twisted smile, her impatient tapping of her foot... she'd hurt him. She was still hurting him. Anger and resentment bubbled to the forefront of his mind and pushed the stinging, burning pain away; he could think more clearly now and flung himself at her, taking his wand away from her—it was his, and she did not have the right to wield it! She did not have the right to turn it against him!

"Expelliarmus!" he bellowed, and the scarlet light that hit Bellatrix was quite satisfying to watch. She stumbled backwards, and her wand lay discarded on the floor beside her. Now it was his turn to smile, and he did. It was a delight to see the shock and confusion on her face. She had obviously not expected him to retailiate, but in part, it had been her fault for teaching him that spell. He'd have done much worse if she had taught him anything that could do worse than that...

Bellatrix picked up her wand and smiled at him. It wasn't the smile she had worn when she hurt him, but it was a smile nonetheless. She took a few steps back and it became clear what she wanted—she bowed, and so did he, and she flourished her wand, bringing it down from its position above her head, and started the incantation: "Locomotor …"

"Expelliarmus!" He bellowed again, and once more, the scarlet of his spell shot towards her, ending her spell before she had fully cast it. But this time, she'd been prepared for his counter-attack, and her wand remained firmly in her hand. She twisted it around, and he lay on the floor. The back of his head hurt from falling down onto the hard wood, but it made him realise he barely felt his arm any more, and it made him realise he was stuck, for he couldn't even rub his head, nor his arm; he moved his arm, or so it felt, but he couldn't get it up. He moved his eyes, but even they were stuck. He tried to say something, but no words came out. Neither his lips nor his tongue cooperated. A wave of desperation washed over him and he frantically began moving all of his limbs at once, only to find them all bound to the floor, to find all of his muscles frozen. Not even the tears that pricked against his eyes would fall down.

That's when he saw her, hovering above him. "You're improving," she said.

Improving? In the position he was now? Was that improvement when he could not even protest her? When he could not even move his eyes? He'd missed this attack by a mile. That was hardly improvement!

"I won't be able to be here any longer. Important stuff to do, you see—not all of us have the luxury to be awoken at four by our lovely cousin turning on the light. Did it hurt, the sting in your arm?" she mused, moving out of his line of sight. "It did help you wake up, didn't it? Helped you find your strength. Keep practising, and you'll be the greatest duelist the world has ever seen."

The characteristic pop of Disapparition followed; she'd left him in this position. She'd gone off without helping him. She'd just left him there to rot, knowing it would be hours before anyone woke up, knowing that even after the others woke, they wouldn't look for him. She knew he'd have to just lie there until the end of time, at least! And where was his wand? Had she taken that as well? Had she left him wandless and alone on the cold floor of this dumb bedroom in Malfoy Manor?! He couldn't see his wand, nor feel it, nor move to look for it, and the entire situation made him increasingly more desperate and annoyed and hopeless. He could've cried if it wasn't for his frozen eyes. He was certain he would've. He'd have cried and screamed and shouted and torn the whole bedroom to pieces in his anger that no-one cared to see if he was all right, that no-one cared to check up on him. He'd done it before, hadn't he? Destroying a room? Back in that Muggle house. The emotions he'd felt back then were nothing compared to what he felt now. Nothing. NOTHING!

And yet, nothing happened.

Nothing happened until Narcissa came asking if he wanted something to eat because he hadn't been there for breakfast or lunch, and she undid the curse that held his body so still. He was all stiff and everything hurt, and he declined going down for the rest of the day. Narcissa had Dobby bring up some food, but even that was bland and tasteless, and he ended up just getting into bed at seven. He slept all night and didn't wake up until nine o'clock the following morning, and even then, he struggled to get out of bed.

"It's too early," he complained when Narcissa tried to haul him from his bed at ten. "I want to go back to sleep."

"It is nowhere near early."

"But it is!"

But Narcissa won because ten in the morning indeed wasn't early. It was Friday, and it was the last day before he went back to school, which meant he had a lot of packing to do. All the things he'd taken with him from school had to be taken back, and all the things he'd got for Christmas had to go as well. If anything, his broomstick had to come with—he'd have to show it to Sirius, and the Peasegoods, and maybe even Avery. Though Avery would probably make some snide remark about it, and the Peasegoods would steal it, and Sirius... there was no predicting what Sirius would do or say. Perhaps he shouldn't bring it, after all.

The only upside about it was that Bellatrix didn't come to practise with him. What was it she'd said? She had better things to do. As did everyone else, apparently. He had to do it all by himself, and even on Saturday morning, he was the only one at breakfast. They'd just told the house elf to tell him to wait by the front door for Lucius at half ten. So he did. So he stood there at half ten, waiting, for nothing, because Lucius didn't arrive until ten minutes to eleven. His excuse? He was busy. Busy! What was it everyone was doing that was so important he had to wait or be on his own for it?

But, all right. It was all right. Apparition was a quick method of transportation, so it wasn't as if he'd miss the train or anything. So he tried to swallow his anger and held onto Lucius' arm with one hand and his trunk with the other.

"Ready?" asked Lucius.

Regulus nodded in response, and they were swept away, squeezed through the invisible tube before landing again. He opened his eyes (which he had closed on instinct) and fully intended to take his trunk towards the train. After all, there wasn't much time left, what with Lucius' tardiness and all.

Only there wasn't a train. In front of them was not the platform but the interior of the Leaky Cauldon.

"Why are we here?" he asked, looking up at Lucius. Why hadn't they just Apparated to Platform 9 as always?

Lucius didn't answer his question. All he did was nudge him towards the fireplace. "Go on," he said, "you don't want to be late."

"Late...? But..."

Lucius nudged him a little closer again. "Go on in, you know where to go."

"You won't come with me?"

"You do know where to go, don't you? You're old enough."

"I don't understand. Why can't we just Apparate?"

"It's Platform 9. I know you know how to work the Floo Network. Now hurry, you're wasting valuable time."

Lucius was right about that. The train really wouldn't wait for him to come aboard, would it? He only had about six or seven minutes or so, and he'd still have to get to the train once he got to the platform. There really was no time to lose—was that why Lucius had been late? To pressure him to travel by himself?

Either way, it worked, for he dragged his trunk into the fireplace with him and took the Floo powder Lucius handed him. "Platform 9!"

The world spun around, and Lucius disappeared. Lucius was right. He knew how to safely travel by Floo powder. That wasn't the problem. That had never been the problem. The problem was that Lucius was supposed to come with, for that was what they agreed upon, not this. Not him having to deal with the soot that came from Floo travel. They were meant to Apparate!

He arrived at the platform with only five minutes left before the train took off. Five minutes to get to the train. Five minutes. The hairs on the back of his neck already stood upright at the idea of wandering around the platform by himself, but needing to do it quickly? He couldn't get his feet to move until he was shoved aside by an angry-looking man who dragged three children with him.

It was way too busy at the fireplaces.

He moved forwards, carefully, slowly, pulling his trunk behind him. He tried his best to blend in with the others who walked towards the train. Act normal, he reminded himself. Normal. What was normal? His heart was thumping in his chest, producing such a deafening sound that he could barely hear his own thoughts. Normal. Normal. He wasn't normal. He was a Black. Blacks weren't normal. They'd never been normal. Nothing about his life was normal. He didn't blend in. He wasn't the same. He was the odd one out, and they'd come for him. They were already coming for him, see? Wizards all around the platform had their wands out, and they were looking straight at him, following him with their eyes and following him by foot. They were after him. They'd take him to the Ministry and torture him until he gave up all he knew, and then they'd toss him into Azkaban for the rest of his life. He had to run.

He ran. He didn't let go of his trunk. He didn't look back at the wizards. He didn't care that he knocked several people over. He ran until he reached the train, pulled the compartment door close, and fell down on the seat, his trunk toppling over onto the floor. He was out of breath, his limbs were hurting, tears were streaming down his face and in the back of his head he could hear his cousin's laughs and he could see the flashes of green—how terrible he felt, he was sure he could be sick right then and there.

And the Malfoys had told him he was too young for this stuff! Wasn't this proof he was old enough? That he could get hurt, that he was being targeted the same as older purebloods? They were all in danger, and age didn't stop that. If anything, age made it worse. He wasn't as good at defending himself. He was still trying to learn the simplest spells, and he didn't have any experience. If it came to a battle one-to-one, he'd lose, and he had a feeling these wizards didn't battle one-to-one but four or five-to-one at the least. Hadn't seven of them followed them to that Muggle house? Seven to take down a family of three, seven to take on a mother, a father, and a child. It was ridiculous.

He shook his head, wiped his eyes, and properly sat down. He was safe now. It wouldn't do to think about the wizards outside or the things that could've happened. It wouldn't help anyone.

He did make a mental note to owl Bellatrix when he got to the school, or maybe tomorrow, since it would be late when he got there, and he was pretty sure he'd rather just sleep. But he had to tell Bella about what happened at the train station. He had to let her know it hadn't been safe. She'd tell off Lucius. He was sure of it. That was the best course of action. Had this been why Lucius had him go by himself? Was it because of the wizards? Were they Aurors? Were they after him, or after Lucius? Were they hurting someone right now, was there a family hiding away in Muggle homes because they didn't get to the train on time?

The train left the platform, and the sudden movement had him snap out of it. He was safe. There was no need to speculate. He had eight hours to himself to catch his breath, and then all would be back to normal.

Eight hours... once more, he wondered why Hogwarts hated its students, or rather, why the Headmaster did. Any mode of transportation would be better than sitting on a train all day long with nothing to do. Even Floo powder was better than this. Even travelling by broom was preferable!

Speaking of broomsticks... he hadn't taken it after all. It was still in the bedroom he'd slept in, back at Malfoy manor, and they'd promised to take it home for him. He just didn't want to have to deal with what other people thought of the broomstick. It was a good model, and that wasn't the issue. It was a Nimbus 1001! The fastest broomstick in existence! Oh, the jealousy he'd have to deal with if he brought it. It was the prospect of their jealousy that made him leave it behind. The way the Peasegoods would snatch it and treat it as their own. He was glad he didn't sit with them on the train, grateful even! They shouldn't expect him to seek them out, oh no! They could find him to apologise. He wasn't stooping so low.

The train ride went on. A couple of times, he heard ruckus out in the hallway, and he prepared himself in case anyone entered, but no-one asked to share the compartment. No-one asked to share a carriage with him either, and it got to the point where he had to ask others if they minded him tagging along. He eventually found some Fifth Years who were revising for their O.W.L.s who agreed, and the entire ride to the school, they were quizzing each other on topics that wouldn't be tested until after Easter. It was a little excessive, and it came to no surprise that the older students were Ravenclaws. This also meant they went their separate ways upon entering the Great Hall, and he seized the opportunity to sit by himself.

Neither the Peasegoods nor Avery disturbed him all throughout the Sorting and the feast, and Regulus was fairly certain they sat all the way across the table or something, that they weaseled their way into the Seventh Years' seats, that's how quiet things were. He wouldn't mind it if this was a permanent thing. Really, he should've argued with them ages before if this was what came of it.

He went down to Slytherin House feeling full and content. He went straight to bed.