dedgulung "vexed italicizing trouble magnet" black (regulus) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2008-11-21 21:11:00 |
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For nearly an hour, Regulus had remained in his room, flipping absently through photos with an unpleasant twinge in his chest. There was no more research to be done. No decoy to transfigure. No more people to see. He was alone with his thoughts, replaying the events of the week in his mind over and over -- Cissa's new baby, the ever complicated situation with Sirius, dinner with Julianne... Just waiting. The thought that the end was coming was a terrifying one. Facing his own fears and owning up to reality had never been a particular concern of his. He had never thought much about death before, always assuming he would have a long, productive life, serving the Cause and furthering his family. Self-delusion was like second nature -- as though it was all he ever did, sometimes, justifying and lying at will, but his present world remained different from the one he had lived in a week previous. He wanted to meet his godson; he wanted to marry Julianne; but a shift had occurred, requiring a conscious delusion that he wasn't certain his conscience would allow, no matter how much he wanted to stay... He couldn't go back to not knowing. There were no options for the future that could make everything Right. Not even Sirius. Sirius was an issue of his own -- perhaps not the first blood traitor in their family, but certainly the most impacting, as far as Regulus was concerned. He supposed it had been dangerous, speaking to him, but the Danger of talking to the Blood Traitor felt so incredibly irrelevant in the grand scheme of the week. What was the point of being angry with Sirius? What was the point of arguing? He knew he could not confide, no matter much of a blood traitor he was being himself. The vigilantes had murdered his innocent father -- who was to say they would offer him any more of a courtesy? They weren't to be trusted, and he doubted telling Sirius would help him anymore than leaving it a secret. If anything, it would only throw a snag in his perfectly laid plans and compromise the situation -- and this was one incidence he could not afford to compromise. He ached still for a way to preserve the opinions of the people he loved, though preserving the opinions from two different sides was a tricky game indeed. He did not like to openly indulge in sentimentalies -- emotion was weak, sensitivities could be weapons, but what weapon could damage him now? The photographs of himself and Sirius seemed to stick out like a sore thumb, forbidden to be displayed in the open. For the past two years, not a single visible remnant of Sirius was to be found, save his closed of bedroom door. It was as if he had been wiped from existence (would Regulus, too, be wiped from existence?), but to wipe his brother from his memory had never been as simple as locking photographs in a never-opened desk drawer. A constant yank left him exhausted, trying to decide what he felt -- what he was allowed to feel -- but he wasn't going to permit that power anymore. He loved his family, but no matter his persistent efforts, he couldn't remove Sirius's status as part of that family. Regulus thought about making copies, but he supposed in hindsight that there was little point in making copies when he was not going to be around to see them, nor was anyone in the family going to care to have them. When he came to the photographs of himself, Sirius, and his parents, Regulus hesitated a moment before carefully tearing it down the middle, leaving a crooked division between parents and children. Home had no place for either of them anymore, and Sirius would not wish for a picture of their parents, anyway. He did not think his mother was yet asleep, but it was not difficult to open his window (feel the icy breeze), to set up Canopus with a handful of photographs and a short note before watching the owl disappear into the dark. The night was coming to its swift end; it was only a matter of time before everything would fall into place. |