Regulus pushed his thoughts of fairness and unfairness aside. If Avery was dead... if that was true... no, it wouldn't do to speculate. A cold shiver ran over his body and he wrapped his arms around his body in an attempt to warm up some more, since the fire wasn't helping one bit. Or if it did help, it certainly didn't help nearly enough. He couldn't possibly move closer to the flames... well, not unless he wanted to set himself on fire. That was a thought that did cross his mind at first – especially since he had no lasting damage from the first time he'd been set on fire, and it would mean he wouldn't be cold any more – but eventually decided against it because he couldn't be sure it would go as well this time, and he knew it wasn't exactly healthy or good to actually be burnt by flames. And it had hurt, hadn't it? That wasn't something to look forward to either.

Had he made a stupid decision, coming here when he could've been in the Greenhouses? He wouldn't have been as cold over there, with the plants needing certain temperatures to grow. It was almost tempting to go out and see if he could still catch some of the lesson, although it probably wouldn't be all that exciting, if the rest of the classes were anything to go by. And he'd have to explain his absence. He'd be stared at. No, joining his classmates was no longer an option.

Perhaps he could do something to stay warm and keep his mind busy. Get some homework out. Do it before the halfbloods came back to start more dumb pillowfights or whatever it was they did to have 'fun'. He could at the very least put his bag away, store his books... maybe the dormitory would be more comfortable. He doubted it, but it was possible. He wouldn't know unless he tried.

So he slowly got to his feet, grabbed his bag and swung it over his shoulder. At the very least it would just give him something to do. He could even just sort out his robes or order his stuff or whatever. The possibilities were endless.

He reached the corridor that housed the Boys' dormitories and walked mindlessly towards the door leading to the one he'd been staying in for over a year and a half now. It was instinct. He didn't even have to check the placard—after all, nine times out of ten this door was open wide, with the halfbloods' disregard for peace and privacy. It was closed now, though, because they were all in class, and the House Elves must've closed the door behind their backs this morning. Or perhaps the halfbloods grew sensible. Or had he been the last to leave? He couldn't remember.

He put his stuff down where it belonged and tried his very best to ignore the empty bed glaring at him from the corner. After a few minutes, he was done, and he left the room again. He closed the door behind him and was about to walk off when a cold wave washed over him, as if something terrible was about to happen. He looked over his shoulder at the closed door. His breath caught in his throat and his heart threatened to burst out of his chest—he looked away, for it couldn't be so. It had to be a trick somehow. He steadied his breathing and stood leaning against the wall for a couple more seconds before he slowly, but steadily, turned around. But it hadn't been a trick, nor his imagination, nor anything. The placard on the door listed only four names. The placard, which was supposed to be alphabetical, listed R. Black first. The halfbloods came next. There was no room for Avery at the top, there was no Avery anywhere on it.

He blinked, hard, his heart picking up pace again. It felt as if he was about to fall over so he reached for the wall—Avery's name really was gone, but how! It hadn't been wiped out, or crossed out, it hadn't even really disappeared, either; it was as if it had never been there in the first place.

And it all came crashing down on him. Barty's words, his suspicions about Barty being right, the brief mourning he had even allowed himself to do, the unfairness of it all. Barty's father had murdered the boy, hadn't he? He had. Despite knowing better, he hobbled over to the next dorm. Just to check. Just to be sure. Just to... it was futile, and he knew it before he read those names.

K. Montgomery

A. Miller

L. Padgett

M. Ollerton

No Avery.

He wasn't convinced, yet he was. He was convinced but he didn't want to be. But the last of the three dorms belonging to the Second Year boys housed only three people: Ogden, Orpington and Sykes. That was it. No Avery, but no Peasegood either, yet plenty of space for both.

No. No, no, no, no, no. NO. He darted through the corridor, even though his legs were trembling and he could barely maintain his balance. He ran out into the Common Room which was as empty as ever, left Slytherin House and sped through the dark halls that made up the Dungeons of Hogwarts. He was out of breath, though he wasn't sure why. He could barely run fast enough to be out of breath. He just couldn't get air. He was choking even as he came to a halt in front of Slughorn's office. He coughed, trying to clear his airways, but nothing was blocking them. He gasped for air and only then realised the salty taste in his mouth, and the tears that had flown from his eyes. He quickly wiped them away and hoped he looked presentable enough. He coughed again, steadied his breathing—he couldn't be a mess. He just couldn't.

Then he knocked. He knocked and he waited and a few moments later the door creaked open, and Slughorn's face popped around the corner. He looked surprised, then stern. "Mr Black, shouldn't you be in class?"

"I need to talk. It's urgent," he added, and although he tried his best, he wasn't able to hide the tremble in his voice.

Slughorn's expression softened a bit. "Very well, come in, come in." He stepped aside, allowing him to enter his office. "Apologies about the mess, I was just making preparations for the first Slug Club of the new year! Go on, take a seat..."

Regulus looked around the office. A seat? The chairs hadn't improved a bit since last time he was in there—though why he thought of that with the conversation he was about to have! But what was he even here for? He sat down on the least fragile-looking chair and stared at his hands, at the floor, at the table or the ceiling. Anything but Slughorn. Why on Earth had he come here. He was only risking detention for not being in Herbology. He had calmed down already, he didn't need anything from this teacher. He just needed time. He needed to be alone. He needed...

"What is it that has you so troubled?"

Regulus didn't look up. He wasn't sure if he could handle that. He'd come here because Pomfrey had said that stupid sentence of how Professors would know if students were really missing, and he'd come here because he was stupidly enough still looking for answers even though he'd already found them. Could he just say that? He sighed and folded his hands so he wouldn't play with his fingers in anxiety. "Avery."

"Ah, yes, young Avery..."

Regulus flinched now that Slughorn mentioned the name, and briefly looked up to see the professor stroking his mustache, deep in thought. He looked away again, afraid that, somehow, if he were to look at him, the words he'd say would be worse. As if it could influence whether or not Avery lived.

"Regulus, my boy," Slughorn spoke again, the words strangely soft. "Some things are beyond our comprehension. Some people we think will be with us forever, they leave us far too soon."

"He's gone, isn't he?" he whispered. "He's..."

"Dead?" Slughorn filled in, "I'm afraid so."

Regulus nodded, strangely calm.

"I suppose you'll be wanting to know how and why, but the details are still being looked into. However...I can tell you this. The Ministry has been cracking down on known and suspected sympathisers of You-Know-Who, and the Averys were among those suspects. The deaths happened whilst Aurors were at their house, that something went horribly wrong during the attempt to capture..." he trailed off. Regulus looked up to see him rummaging around a cupboard in the corner. Moments later he returned with a copy of the Daily Prophet, dated 24th December 1973.

ATTEMPT TO NEUTRALISE DEATH EATERS RESULTS IN DEATH OF THREE AURORS

His stomach turned as he read the headline, and he was properly sick by the time he'd skimmed the article: suspected Death Eaters — main suspect admitted to working for You-Know-Who — situation escalated — neutralisation — an explosion — three out of the four Aurors dead — main suspect fled — mother and child (12) dead — other child (14) taken to St. Mungo's in critical condition — more information to follow.

Neutralisation. The word haunted him. It was a sterile term. A clinical term. A term that might be used when a feral hippogriff has to be put down, not a term to be used when it came to human beings. Avery was no hippogriff. He was no creature, no beast, but a boy who hadn't deserved this treatment regardless of what the Ministry thought.

Neutralisation didn't even begin to convey the horror of what had happened, the horror this Ministry had brought upon themselves, the horror they caused even if they hid behind sad little tales of 'three Aurors dead' on a night they set out to murder a family of four. He hoped the surviving Auror felt mighty and powerful for killing a twelve-year-old. It was pathetic and despicable and he could swear and curse at them all day if it wasn't for Slughorn sitting opposite him, talking about how bright Avery had been, the future that had been ahead of him.

Regulus didn't listen. Regulus didn't care what Slughorn had to say about him. Slughorn didn't know Avery the way he did. Slughorn had no idea what he was talking about, he didn't know what it was like to lose a friend, he had no idea what he was feeling! Oh, the things he wished he could do to that man. He wanted him to feel the pain he felt. He could tear off his limbs, one by one, poke out his eyes, destroy his very heart...

Who would 'neutralise' a child?!

"These are dangerous times, Mr Black," he caught Slughorn saying. "Very dangerous indeed."

He had to suppress a laugh. Dangerous because Aurors sought to neutralise children, or dangerous because people tried to fight back? "Did they get the Peasegoods as well, then?"

Slughorn shook his head, looking genuinely puzzled. "The Peasegood twins? I'm afraid I haven't heard anything about them. It's possible they've just chosen to stay away for a while. Actually, I think they did say something about trying their chances in Germany—or was it the Netherlands? After all, Britain has grown quite dangerous."

Dangerous. There it was again, that word. "Shouldn't there have been an announcement or something? About Avery?"

"It's safer this way. To announce the death of a student in times like these... it would only cause fear, and-"

He couldn't bare it any longer and stood up from his chair in frustration. "Of course it'd cause fear! Avery was MURDERED! That's scary, that's what's dangerous, and that's what we have a right to know about—his friends, his... his... we deserve to know, to know who did this and to make sure they pay. I'll-"

"Black!" Slughorn was on his feet as well, his expression stern and his voice loud enough to make Regulus cower back into his chair. "That is a very dangerous path and precisely what we are trying to avoid. Revenge is not going to bring back your friend and I suggest you let go of that idea—now. Stay out of trouble and focus on your studies. Which includes going to class when you're supposed to. I might not be as lenient of your truancy next time."

What did it matter? Avery was dead. He was dead. Dead. DEAD and there was no denying it. It hadn't been a lie, nor a mistake, nor a practical joke. Barty had spoken true. This school had lied by making it all out to be nothing... Fear, ha! What did it matter, if people were afraid? He'd kept repeating how dangerous these times were, as if that wasn't scary enough? It was a stupid excuse for why there hadn't been an announcement. He was certain people just didn't like Avery, or his family, all because of those 'suspicions' about their sympathies for the Dark Lord—as if that was so bad! As if that warranted murder and exclusion and all this covering up their very existence. No, it was this school's fault, it was the fault of the professor who still looked down upon him with that ugly, stern face, waiting for an answer. He gave him an answer, all right. He stood up again and balled his fists and Slughorn was very lucky his wand had been in his bag today, Slughorn was so lucky he was powerless. So he gritted his teeth and nearly hissed: "Thanks, Professor."

He left without another word, back through the halls of this stupid school with its despicable teachers and its Mudblood agenda. With its stupid rules and stupid everything. It was all so fucking STUPID and he wished he was back home, but his parents wouldn't want him there, because they were just as stupid, and Narcissa would tell him she'd been right, and Lucius would be his own stupid self and Bella—he reached the Common Room and it destabilised him. A Slytherin Common Room without Avery. A Slytherin Common Room which would forever be without Avery.

What now? His knees were suddenly weak and his legs shakey and he could barely maintain his balance as he hobbled back to his own dorm. What now??

It was even more painful to see Avery's bed empty now. He stood in the doorway and just stared at the bed. He just stared and stared. His empty bed started to spin around him, the whole room was spinning, he was spinning...

The bell rang and he took the last few steps that were required for him to reach his own bed. He shut the curtains around the bed and climbed under the covers as his thoughts shattered into a million tiny pieces he could no longer make sense of. He disappeared into himself and time seemed to stop, if only for a moment. Everything stopped.

It stopped until the door swung open and noise filled the room. Chatter. Voices. The halfbloods had arrived and they were talking amongst themselves, joking as if Avery wasn't dead and gone forever, as if nothing had happened. He hated them for it.

He pressed his face into his pillow, trying to drown out the noise the halfbloods were making with their dumb jokes and their 'Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo'! And the bickering! The 'shut up's and 'stop it's and their laughter, the laughter was worst of all.

"I guess you'll just have to make sure you never fall in love. You know, so you don't end up dying," said one of the halfbloods.

"Wasn't planning to fall in love! That's yucky."

"You say that now but I bet the Romeo from the play also thought that once!"

"Well... I'm not that Romeo!"

But Regulus found himself wishing he was, and that he'd fall in love immediately, just so he'd die and the other halfbloods would know how it felt. Then he could laugh and joke in their presence, whilst they were mourning. It was the only proper payback there was.

But the halfblood didn't die, he wasn't suddenly in love, the conversation carried on, uninterrupted, and moved on to different topics, one after the other as Regulus lay there for hours upon hours before the halfbloods finally left him be—to go eat supper, no doubt. To keep on pretending nothing had happened...

Regulus fell into an uneasy yet deep sleep whilst they were away. The day he'd had had just been far too exhausting. So exhausting, even, that he woke up still exhausted the following morning—and he'd even woken up too late for breakfast. He could just about get to Potions before the bell rang. He hadn't even the time to properly comb out his hair!

He was still exhausted when he ate lunch, and was still exhausted after the bell rang signalling the end of classes for the day. He went to bed and slept a full fifteen hours before waking again, only to find himself even more exhausted than when he'd first gone to bed... a pattern that repeated itself in the days that followed. Regulus would wake up every morning feeling worse than the night before. He'd go to class, eat at the set times in the Great Hall, do his homework... it gave him something to focus on, even though he could barely focus at all. He seemed to have become nothing more than a bystander, looking down upon it all as if watching a play or reading a book when it was his own life he was watching... but there was nothing to be done, and no emotion to be felt about it, so he just did as he was told.

He grew more empty and hollow as the days passed into weeks and January became February. The weather turned milder but Regulus barely noticed if it wasn't for the lack of students in the Common Room. He didn't do anything with that knowledge. He couldn't bring himself to care over something as trivial as the weather, just as he couldn't bring himself to care about the letters he'd received from home, which were stockpiling on his bedside table—letters he wouldn't even have noticed if those owls hadn't been so convincing; he was too caught up in his own semi-consciousness. He had no idea what he was doing. He made mistakes in his homework. He made mistakes in class. He barely registered them, yet knew he'd made them. Somehow. He'd try to fix the mistakes and only made more in the process. He stayed up to fix those mistakes and missed out on sleep, causing him to sleep in and miss the start of the first lesson, or breakfast, eventually leading to him missing the first class altogether and never eating breakfast again.

By the time February came to an end, he hadn't handed in most homework in weeks, and the homework he had handed in was riddled with mistakes. He'd been spending all his time hidden in his bed, all but running from people who tried to stop him in the halls, the sporadic times he still went out. This even went for Sirius. He spoke to no-one. He just floated through the days as his apathy and exhaustion became a pertpetual state of being.

One Saturday morning in early March, he was woken up by one of the halfbloods. He didn't even have the energy to yell at him or tell him to leave him alone. The halfblood looked serious as he spoke, and Regulus tried to focus, and caught a few words. Slughorn. Missing class. He needed a word. Regulus had to go to his office, despite the state he found himself in.

He dragged himself out of bed and didn't even put on his robes. He just left the Common Room. He just went to his office and knocked on the door. He was called in and saw Slughorn sitting behind his cluttered desk, a frown etched on his face as he looked up from a stack of papers. "Ah, Regulus... take a seat, my boy, sit down."

Regulus obliged, plumping down onto the first chair he could see.

"You've been missing classes," said Slughorn, but his tone wasn't really accusatory. "Your assignments have been overdue for weeks, and not just for Potions. Professor McGonagall tells me you haven't handed in any homework all month."

Regulus didn't say anything. What was there to say? Slughorn was right.

Slughorn sighed. "Look, I know things are difficult right now. But isolating yourself, neglecting your studies... it's not the way to cope. You have a future ahead of you, a family who cares for you—your brother, he-"

"Sirius doesn't care," he said stiffly. "He's in Gryffindor."

"Your parents-"

"My parents don't want to see me."

"Well, what about friends?"

Regulus shook his head. "All gone."

"You can make new ones," Slughorn offered. "You should try to reconnect with your classmates. Try to participate in your studies. It might not seem like it now, but life does go on, and there are still things worth living for, and you'll find there are people who care about you, who want to help you. Let them. Let me. Why don't you come to the Slug Club this weekend? Sunday evening, eight o'clock."

Regulus shook his head. "I don't need help. I just... I just need to be left alone."

Slughorn sighed again. "Very well. But know that my door is always open and the invite remains."