Look what I made!
Because I am an incredibly cool, busy person, the first thing I did upon making this LiveJournal was to go check out some kickass LJ HP Communities. Naturally, I had to join mwpp_mischief because, um, hello? Is there anything better than some good old-fashioned Marauder-era fic?
Yeah. I didn't think so.
Anyways, one thing led to another and before I knew it, lo, I had my first Harry Potter fic!
Yes. Yes, it is quite emotional, isn't it?
Title: What It Means
Author: factorydreams
Ratings & Warnings: PG, for language.
Word Count: 490.
Summary: Regulus learns what it means to be a Black.
Regulus is eleven when he learns what being a Black truly means, when the Sorting Hat shouts “Slytherin” - almost a little sadly, almost like it knows that “being a Black” and “destined for premature death” are synonymous - and he sees disappointment flash over his older brother’s face for the first time.
Regulus is thirteen when Bellatrix finds him and tells him that he’s more - better - than his traitor of a brother, destined for better people and greater things. He nods, because that is what it means to be a Black, and the next time he sees Sirius in the hall, he doesn’t smile.
Regulus is fourteen when Sirius leaves, when he listens to his mother calmly inform his older brother that he is no longer part of the family; when he hears his only brother spit back that he never was; when he hears the slam of the door echo through the house long after he’s gone, and thinks: Sirius didn’t understand what it meant to be a Black.
Regulus is fifteen when he tells Sirius he hates him. He says the words calmly - because that is what it means to be a Black - feels them slip off his tongue with a practiced precision he knows he’s been born with and hates himself for. Later, when he’s in the infirmary with a fractured arm and three broken ribs and the nurse says “Regulus Black,” emphasis heavy and unabashed, it occurs to him that the ability to throw out cold words isn’t the only thing he was born with.
Regulus is seventeen when he signs away his life for the look on his mother’s face - proud, but ever so cold - when he tells her he serves the Dark Lord. They celebrate, because Regulus has proved himself a true Black - but even after his fourth Firewhiskey he thinks only of Sirius - Sirius, and the fissure between sharing blood and being family.
Regulus is eighteen when Sirius shows up at his house and begs him to stop. Regulus is eighteen when he hears himself yell “You were the one who left, Sirius, you were the one who bloody left!” in his brother’s face, and feels himself cry for the first time in years. Regulus is eighteen when he feels his brother’s hand on his arm; looks into a pair of eyes identical to his and sees fear. “Please,” he swears he hears Sirius say, but he’s too quiet and it’s far too late and Regulus is a true Black, now, and when he shuts the door, Sirius doesn’t come back.
Regulus is eighteen when he feels himself slip under, eyes glazed and murky as the frigid water surrounding him. He feels his legs go numb and almost smiles at how easy it is; how effortless and simple and calm.
Right before his mind goes blank, he thinks of how hard it is to be a Black, but oh, how easy to die one.
Yeah. I didn't think so.
Anyways, one thing led to another and before I knew it, lo, I had my first Harry Potter fic!
Yes. Yes, it is quite emotional, isn't it?
Title: What It Means
Author: factorydreams
Ratings & Warnings: PG, for language.
Word Count: 490.
Summary: Regulus learns what it means to be a Black.
Regulus is eleven when he learns what being a Black truly means, when the Sorting Hat shouts “Slytherin” - almost a little sadly, almost like it knows that “being a Black” and “destined for premature death” are synonymous - and he sees disappointment flash over his older brother’s face for the first time.
Regulus is thirteen when Bellatrix finds him and tells him that he’s more - better - than his traitor of a brother, destined for better people and greater things. He nods, because that is what it means to be a Black, and the next time he sees Sirius in the hall, he doesn’t smile.
Regulus is fourteen when Sirius leaves, when he listens to his mother calmly inform his older brother that he is no longer part of the family; when he hears his only brother spit back that he never was; when he hears the slam of the door echo through the house long after he’s gone, and thinks: Sirius didn’t understand what it meant to be a Black.
Regulus is fifteen when he tells Sirius he hates him. He says the words calmly - because that is what it means to be a Black - feels them slip off his tongue with a practiced precision he knows he’s been born with and hates himself for. Later, when he’s in the infirmary with a fractured arm and three broken ribs and the nurse says “Regulus Black,” emphasis heavy and unabashed, it occurs to him that the ability to throw out cold words isn’t the only thing he was born with.
Regulus is seventeen when he signs away his life for the look on his mother’s face - proud, but ever so cold - when he tells her he serves the Dark Lord. They celebrate, because Regulus has proved himself a true Black - but even after his fourth Firewhiskey he thinks only of Sirius - Sirius, and the fissure between sharing blood and being family.
Regulus is eighteen when Sirius shows up at his house and begs him to stop. Regulus is eighteen when he hears himself yell “You were the one who left, Sirius, you were the one who bloody left!” in his brother’s face, and feels himself cry for the first time in years. Regulus is eighteen when he feels his brother’s hand on his arm; looks into a pair of eyes identical to his and sees fear. “Please,” he swears he hears Sirius say, but he’s too quiet and it’s far too late and Regulus is a true Black, now, and when he shuts the door, Sirius doesn’t come back.
Regulus is eighteen when he feels himself slip under, eyes glazed and murky as the frigid water surrounding him. He feels his legs go numb and almost smiles at how easy it is; how effortless and simple and calm.
Right before his mind goes blank, he thinks of how hard it is to be a Black, but oh, how easy to die one.