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”What did you do?”
James’ voice rang like a curse through Regulus’ ears— he wanted to say something, to shout that he wasn’t a bad person, but no words left his mouth.
James’ previously warm honey brown eyes were red-rimmed and cold as he started at Regulus’ forearm, denial visible through the quickly forming tears.
“I’m sorry,” Regulus said, internally begging for James to stop looking at him like that, begging for everything to go back to normal, begging for anything, everything to change.
“No,” James said, his voice like ice. “You don’t get to be sorry, not when I gave you every fucking chance Regulus— I gave you every chance to come with me, to turn your back on the blood purists you say you don’t belong to, and this is what you do! You got the fucking dark mark.”
Regulus wanted to answer, wanted to deny his boyfriend’s James’ claims, but he was right.
Fact was, James was always there, always offering alternatives or solutions, holding Regulus while he cried and assuring him that he was nothing like his family— but it was all for nothing. He couldn’t tell James that he hadn’t wanted the mark, that he was forced to take it, that he almost died under Voldemort’s wands; it would put him in danger and Regulus would rather die than put him in danger.
“Do you seriously have nothing to say?” James scoffed, “Fuck, I really thought you were different– I lied to Sirius for you! I did everything in my power to ae sure you were alright; you really had me fooled, huh?”
Regulus didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything. He felt sick— how did everything get so bad?
After a few moments, James took a step back. “Stay away from me, Black,” and just like that, James was gone.
The silence left behind was fragile, broken when Regulus fell to his knees on the cold stone floors, his body shaking with quiet sobs. He didn’t understand why it hurt so much— how could one boy bring him to ruins with just a few sentences? It was disgusting, he was a Black, he shouldn’t be thrown off by something so trivial— but he was.
Regulus had bared his soul to James, had cried into his arms, had laughed with him, had learned with him— and now that was gone. It was all gone and the fault only belonged to Regulus himself. He yearned for what once was, yearned for his light brown eyes and how they glinted in the sun, yearned for his smile which never failed to brighten the entire fucking world, yearned for James.
He stayed like that for a long while, stayed like that until the Room of Requirement shifted, stayed like that until the concrete beneath his body trembled to get his attention.
The room was different than what it had been a few moments ago, Regulus realized— gone were the comforting couches couches he and James used to sit on, replaced by shelves among shelves of books.
“What…” Regulus started, his voice hoarse from crying.
In front of him was a singular book, a book titled The Most Vile: Horcruxes.
Intrigued, Regulus shakily opened the book, staring at the Name scrawled in perfect cursive— Tom Marvolo Riddle.
The name was oddly familiar, but Regulus couldn’t wrap his head around it; quietly, he flipped to the next page and began reading.