A/N: Thank you to my lovely betas!

Title: can you see (the thestral)

Summary: Regulus sees the thestral, and he knows just exactly what it means: he has witnessed death.

WC: 1514

Genre: Angst, Horror

Characters: Regulus B.

Warnings: mentions of death, murder


Betas: CupCakeyyy, shy-n-great, Fires of Eden Red Rose Aurora


"But, how do the carriages move?" Regulus asks, stepping hesitantly into the carriage in front of him. There were boats for the first time they came to Hogwarts, but now that it's after the spring holidays, they have to take the carriages like everyone else.

"Magic," Mulciber replies, the cruel grin on his face probably means that what the older boy has just told him is false.

"Thestrals," Rookwood says blankly, as he helps Regulus up.

"Thestrals?" he echoes. He's heard the word before, but he isn't sure what it means.

"Creatures you can only see once you've witnessed death," Rookwood adds. "Most people can't see them. Oh, and they're attracted to blood."

Regulus shudders; they don't sound very nice, these thestrals. He doesn't think it's very safe for the school to have human-eating creatures pull first-years like him to the castle. But, there's a lot to distract him as they make their way to the castle: holiday anecdotes, late homework, gifts. Regulus quickly forgets about the thestrals.


Regulus makes his way off the Hogwarts Express alone. He's not usually this lonely. He has been surrounded by people during the entire spring holidays. His family, his friends, his fellow followers, there has never been a moment alone, but now that he's back on Hogwarts ground, there's no one around him. It's a little strange, a little paradoxical. But then again, there have been a lot of contradictions in his life recently; oppositions that shouldn't be .

Perhaps everyone feels that way when they're sixteen. Or maybe that's just something he's trying to convince himself of. He doubts a lot of sixteen-year-olds feel like him, or have any reason to feel like him.

There is silence all around him, despite the fact that all the other students are chatting together, telling tales of their holidays, all the fun they have had. In the distance, a very small part of him registers his brother's mocking, teasing. His voice is carried over just barely, but even after all that has happened, Regulus is still attuned to the sound of it, no matter how hard he tries not to be.

"Oh look, there goes my little Death Eater of a brother," is what Sirius says.

"And where's his mate, Snivellus?" James Potter, his best friend adds and they burst into laughter.

Well, he calls Sirius 'brother' but that is no longer the case, not since Mother blasted him off the tapestry. Now, Sirius lives with one he isn't ashamed of calling a brother, maybe he even loves him more deeply than he ever loved Regulus.

He wonders for a moment what Sirius would do if he knew just how true what he was saying is, how the holidays-

No. Enough with talk of the holidays, he doesn't want to think about them. He doesn't want to think about how there is a before and an after, and that now Sirius is truly dwelling in another life, living another life, one in which Regulus can no longer join him.

He dispels his thoughts and instead focuses on his surroundings. The sun is shining, which isn't entirely unusual; it's April, after all. The world is coming back to life after winter, the circle of life. But Regulus doesn't feel its heat, he can only perceive the cold of the barely-there wind on his skin.

He makes his way to the carriages, as expected of him. Words of the past echo through his mind. He can hear Rookwood's voice every time he looks at those carriages, dreading what he can't see. Except now, just as he looks over to them, he can. He knew he would. He sees it.

The thestral. A creature you can only see once you've witnessed death. Witnessed, that was the term Rookwood used. Funny word, witness, though not one he would apply to himself.

Standing tall and majestic, its long albatross wings lying on the floor, the thestral shuffles impatiently, anxious to leave. It is dark, black, like the sky before a thunderstorm, and the light gleams morbidly over its protruding bones. Harbinger of death, creature of terror and mourning.

Regulus can't help but make a parallel between himself and the beast.

But it stands proud and strong, despite how hated it is, despite how afraid it is,of all the people who don't understand it. Regulus can't say the same for himself.

Suddenly, as if the creature has sensed his presence, it turns its head to him and looks him dead in the eye. The breeze becomes icy, the sun disappears behind clouds of remembrance. The door where he's locked the memory of the holidays behind bursts open and he can't help but think of what has happened.

Flashes of green, curses, blood. All things he knew were going to come when the Mark was branded into his arm. All things he knew were going to come, and yet never thought were going to affect him, protected as he thought he was. All things he knew were going to come and he now wishes had never happened.

A body - a girl - barely over the age of seven. An easy target, that was what they told him. Too young to run. Too young to know exactly what she was to become: an imposter, a threat, a mudblood. A test, that was what they called it. You survived the Mark, but that is not enough.

The thestral has no pupils, no expression, only a pool of never-ending black and yet he can't help but see the frightened brown eyes of the little girl, barely seven, still a child, right in front of him.

It takes everything in him not to fall to the floor at that very moment.

"Seen the thestrals, then?" a voice says, teasing, pushing into him, intruding.

Mulciber. Regulus doesn't say anything; he's too shaken to say a word. But the other boy, no, man, seems to interpret it as condescension.

It's the way it now is with his friends. He's younger than them, so they tease him. But he's a Black, toujours pur, so he has their respect. They've accused him of being a fanatic, and it's one of their jokes, but he's the one who took the Mark, and not them. Another contradiction. They laugh at him as much as they fear him, they always have. Especially Mulciber.

"And do you see them, Mulciber?" Regulus asks calmly in the voice that his mother has groomed to perfection to be a mask of indifference.

Mulciber blushes. "No," he mutters.

"That was what I thought," Regulus comments, and Mulciber leaves him alone again. He takes his embarrassment with him, and leaves Regulus with his own fears.

This thestral is the supreme contradiction. It is him, and yet it isn't. It represents the part of him he wishes he could forget, and yet the cruel reminder is everything he stands for, he's been taught to stand for.

"You don't scare me," he tells the beast. "You don't mean anything to me." I refuse to let you remind me of what I wish to forget, is what he truly means, and the creature knows it. It's like it can read his soul.

It whinnies straight back at him, rearing itself up, making itself more imposing, provoking, frightening.

Regulus takes a step back. He isn't scared of it, he isn't. But he's no Gryffindor; he isn't stupid. He's self-preserving, and confronting the beast further will do no good for anyone.

"Oh, look at your brother," another one of Sirius' friends says with a laugh, the small mousy one, "Talking to thin air."

A few of them laugh, but Sirius looks straight at him. Regulus turns his eyes away, he won't look at him, he won't bear the accusation, or the truth for that matter. He'll leave it between the thestral and himself.


"Whoa! What's pulling the carriages?" a little firstie, Slytherin by the colour of her tie, asks. As the seventh-year prefect, Regulus should know her name. But, he's had a lot on his mind at the moment. As a matter of fact, he's always got a lot on his mind, these days.

"Magic, of course," another first-year replies as if it was the most obvious of things.

"As a matter of fact," Regulus intervenes as he watches them climb in, "They're pulled by thestrals."

"Thestrals?" both children ask.

"Flesh-eating creatures," he says simply.

They both look at him completely aghast, and their faces pale considerably. "Is he joking?" he hears one of them whisper to the other.

"You can only see them once you've witnessed death," he adds, "But most people never will."

The firsties shudder nervously, and Regulus hates himself a little more. How pathetic he is, scaring these children. He remembers when Rookwood told him those exact words. 'Once' and not 'if'. 'Most people' and not 'most of us'. Maybe he should have known.

The thestral pulling his carriage whinnies and Regulus flinches, the way he has always done. The thestral makes him a coward, but maybe Regulus will find other ways to be brave.


For The Houses Competition: Round 3

House: Slytherin

Class: Potions

Prompt: 2) [Creature] Thestrals

Category: Standard:

Word Count: 1,514