Chapter VI . . . cardiff to london

Sleep does not come peacefully for Regulus, after that.

It had already been awkward when he had returned to the dormitory, meeting Evan and Barty after spending the rest of the afternoon flat-out ignoring them. They had clearly worked through something, Regulus could tell, because Barty kept cracking quiet jokes to Evan while Regulus was away brushing his teeth that, though Reg couldn't hear, knew they weren't for his ears, anyway. He only heard Evan's snickering.

He doesn't mind if they did make up, anyway. Bully for them. Reg has more important things on the mind, doesn't he?

In any case, they were asleep when he came out of the shower, so he didn't have to deal with them no matter what. Good, he'd thought—his eyelids were heavy with sleep and dreams would be the perfect escape from the travesty his life had fallen to within the last few hours.

If only life were so easy.

He tosses. He turns. He huffs his frustration in the hopes that either Barty or Evan may wake up, just so he isn't the only one struggling.

It isn't his fault, of course, but Lyra's. It all comes back to her.

When he does manage to catch sleep, all he sees is her, like a poorly framed portrait that just captures the worst bit of the scene. He sees everything he has done with her, every conversation that has taken place, every word that has rolled off his tongue in her general direction—and she's always there, in every sense. She envelopes him. She swallows him whole with her curly brown hair and her big, innocent eyes and that vile scent of citrus she always smells.

Always, always, always. Everything about her, always. Never just a little bit. Never just a sliver of Lyra. It's always all of her. Smothering him until he's sure he'll suffocate.

He never does.

Waking up is a hassle after hours upon hours of Lyra nightmares. His eyes hurt, and his throat is dry, and though he took a shower the night before he feels disgusting anyway, so he takes another one. It's Lyra, he knows; his proximity to her, at least. It veils over him like a sheen of filth. Like her impurity is affecting his own.

When he watches the water run down the drain, it's clear as crystals. Perfectly clear. Pure. For a moment—an odd one, but one that makes him genuinely curious, at least for a second—he wonders whether people like Lyra must spend longer to bathe themselves. Exert more effort. Then he wonders if the water runs clean from them anyway. It must, right? Humans aren't inherently dirty beings. They're just—humans. Like Regulus is ultimately a boy with magic in him and Lyra is just the same.

But then he is angry, and he isn't sure what at, so he nearly busts the handles as he turns the water off and gets out.

Perhaps he's upset at the prospect of humanity. The fact that he just admitted to himself something he spent his whole life in denial of. But even now, thinking back on his childhood, the morals he was raised on... what is the point? What's the point of all the blood purity, if Muggleborns and half-bloods can have magic all the same?

So after a moment—a long time, really, of him sitting in his dorm alone and thinking this over—he pulls his jumper over his undershirt and rushes down the stairs to the common room. She isn't there—of course she isn't—so he chases the thought of her all the way to the Great Hall, not pausing for anything, needing to find her and practically choking on relief when she is at the Slytherin table.

Dorcas is looking at him like he's insane, and... Yeah, he doesn't blame her.

"I need to talk to you," he says, anyways, and she can tell from the look in his eyes that he means it. Needs to talk to her bad.

After a beat, Dorcas heaves a sigh and pushes her breakfast plate back. "Fine. Better not take too long, though, I've got double Herbology in twenty—"

They're barely outside of the Great Hall, just hardly stepped foot in the courtyard—into the cold—but Regulus whirls on Dorcas anyway. "Take out your wand."

Briefly, shock flickers across her face. Then confusion. But she acquiesces anyway, pulling it from her robes while offering Regulus a sceptical glance. "Are you on something?" she asks, tilting her head forward. "Is everything okay, Black—?"

"No," he says, out of habit, then winces and shakes his head. "I don't—I don't know. Just... Could you wave it?"

"Wave it," Dorcas repeats flatly, looking unamused. She crosses her arms. "Look, Reg, if this is some silly—"

"It's not," he says honestly, giving her his most earnest gaze. "I just need to see something. Could—could you do Lumos, just something simple—"

"Merlin, fine," she says, before lazily flicking her wand and adding "Lumos."

Nothing happens. Nothing out of the ordinary happens, he should say. Of course something happens—the tip of Dorcas's wand begins to glow—but that hadn't been what Regulus was waiting for. There isn't a sense of stuttering, any glimpse of hesitation. The magic came freely from Dorcas's lips and connected with her wand easily.

Nothing to even hint at the fact that she isn't of "pure" blood.

Regulus must be frowning, because the hardened expression on Dorcas's face slackens and she seems to relent the tiniest bit. "Is everything alright, Regulus? What's this about?"

He stiffens at once. Even though Dorcas might be the only person he knows that wouldn't turn her back on him and tell Barty or Evan everything he says—in other words, perhaps the most trustworthy person he knows—Regulus doesn't want to tell her anything. Just because she is trustworthy doesn't inherently mean he trusts her.

"Nothing," he says, shaking his head once. He's trying to convince himself now, too. "I just needed to see something."

But he didn't see anything, and that is what's causing him so much grief.

Come to think of it... Well, had he ever seen anything strange when Muggleborns or half-bloods casted the same spells as him? Ever a flicker of doubt in their magic?

Curious, isn't it? That he grows up being told Mudbloods have stolen their magic, when all along, it looks like it wants to be there as much as it does any pureblood.

"Alright.." Dorcas says, though she still looks sceptical. She's the most impertinent of all Regulus's acquaintances, and he knows she wants to press on further, so he nearly collapses out of relief when she blinks and gives the slightest shake of her head. "Yeah, alright, whatever. Hey, Barty told me to ask if he can skive off Potions and you'll still cover for him?"

Regulus is momentarily thrown by the sudden topic change, but he recovers swiftly, tucking his hands into his pockets and leading Dorcas out of the cold and into the corridor. "Yeah, why not?"

"He told me you were acting all cross yesterday," Dorcas says, and Regulus hears her kicking the snow off her feet behind him. "And last night, when you ignored them, I suppose. Don't shoot the messenger, or anything, but I expect they'll think you're cross if you act cross, Regulus."

He sighs, running a hand down his face and turning back to Dorcas. "I'm—not cross," he tells her, and he finds he really means it. "I just had... A lot was going on yesterday, alright? All sorts of things. I was—yeah, I was cross, but not at them. I suppose I'll have to tell them that..."

There's a beat of silence, and then Dorcas laughs. "Well, obviously you do. I wasn't going to."

Despite himself, he manages a smile. "Yeah, I figured."

"So," she says, tilting her head to the side and raising her eyebrows. "Do you want to talk about what happened yesterday, then?"

"What?" The word spilled out of his mouth with fervor, his eyes widening against his will, clearly already letting loose something he shouldn't. But how could Dorcas know? "What do you mean? What do you know?"

"Merlin, Reggie," laughs Dorcas, eyebrows high on her forehead, hands splayed in a sign of surrender. She folded her fingers in air quotes. ""I just had a lot going on yesterday.' Remember? Your words, not mine. But I get the feeling it's something catastrophic, based on that response—"

All at once, he shushes her and puts a hand over her mouth, glancing all around them to be sure nobody is around. A few younger Ravenclaws scurry past without looking over their shoulders, and the hall is empty other than that, but Regulus still rolls his eyes and pulls Dorcas down into an empty classroom.

"Oh, my god," she says, wrenching her wrist out of his grasp. "Do you kidnap everyone you come in contact with, or just the ones who you accidentally spill your guts to? Christ, Regulus—"

"Okay, look—okay, I'm sorry—Merlin," he hissed, as she glares at him and rubs the spot on her wrist he pulled her by. "I barely even touched you, Cas—"

"It hurts. I may scream."

"Shut up."

"I'm going to scream and you're going to go to Azkaban for kidnapping—"

"Dorcas."

"My wrist may be broken, Regulus."

"Piss off," he says, and she rolls her eyes but relents anyhow. "Look, I just didn't want anyone overhearing us. But I feel like—and don't you go getting a big head over this, 'cause I'll deny it to anyone you tell—I feel like I can tell you this. Out of all people."

She holds up a hand. "Hang on. Is this something for my ears or for Pandora's?"

"Pandora..." Regulus hesitates. He should be telling Pandora, of all people; she was the one that encouraged him to bridge a connection with Lyra, anyway, but Reg thinks it may break her heart to hear how awful the girl turned out. "Pandora will find out eventually."

"Oh, I see. Have you killed someone, and need help hiding the body?"

Regulus deadpans and moves past Dorcas toward the door.

"Okay, okay," she says, laughing, pulling at his shoulder so he stops in his tracks. She puts her hands up again. "I'm done. Say what you were going to tell me."

"I may—or may not—have snogged.. er, Lyra. Lyra North. The, er, the Hufflepuff with the—You know, she's mates with, ah, Amos Diggory, and probably Emmeline—"

"I know," Dorcas cuts in, no longer laughing. Her eyes are wide. "I know who that is, Regulus. I don't live under a rock."

"Well, you weren't saying anything, and I was getting nervous—"

"I wasn't saying anything because that's a lot to take in!"

"It was more than snog, actually?" he adds questioningly, looking to Dorcas as though for approval. He tucks his hands in his pockets and twists his lips to the side. "So. If that. You know, if that changes anything—"

"What the bloody hell would it change!?"

"I don't know!" he fires back, throwing his hands in the air. "I mean, can you say something, Dorcas?"

"Okay, okay, fine," she says, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Okay, so—you've kissed Lyra. You do realise..." She hesitates, looking a bit uncertain in herself. "I mean, you know she is a—"

"Yes," he snaps, mirroring her and growing more impatient by the minute. "I'm aware, Meadowes, that she is Muggleborn. Thank you."

"I wasn't sure—"

"I'm not worried about that," he continues, though he catches the way her face shifts at the comment. He waves it off. "I'm—I'm worried about the fact that it may be deeper than just a snog in the broom cupboard down the south corridor."

Dorcas knits her brows together suspiciously. "Deeper... in what direction?"

"Piss off!"

She grins, then lifts her shoulders. "Alright, alright, I'm all out. Are you telling me, though, that you might have feelings for her, Reggie?"

"I don't fancy her," he clarifies simply, glaring at nothing in particular. "I only—Well, I ran into her over the holiday, and we were talking about—you know, it's unimportant. But my point is, I think she's... she's nice, and she makes me laugh quite a bit, and I do think she's pretty; but all of that in the same way I thought it about Barty, you know? Friend-like."

When he finished, Dorcas is giving him the most unimpressed look he has ever received. "Reg, darling, if you think that's all in a friend way, then we have a lot to talk about. But right now I want to focus on what you said about the holiday—she... ran into you? Where?"

He furrows his brow. "Well, I don't know. The park outside Grimmauld. Why?"

Dorcas frowns, scratching her nose. "It's just a bit odd. I mean, the Norths live just up the road from Amos, in one of the houses in the field. Near the Mckinnons and the lot. It's weird she'd be all the way in London for the holiday."

Now, Regulus is the one frowning. "No, that's not right. She told me she lives down the road from me. Why else would she be at the same park I was on Christmas day?"

For a moment, Dorcas looks like she wants to argue. Then she shakes her head and lets the topic wither. "Whatever. I just—I guess I'm wrong, but I could've sworn Marlene told me she lives around them—"

"Why does it matter?" Regulus snaps, shutting his eyes. "Can we focus on something more than where she might or might not live?"

"Fine, like the fact that you fancy her?" says Dorcas, giving him a flat glare.

"I don't!"

"I don't!" she mocks, then rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. "Do I look impressed? Don't lie to me, Regulus. I won't tell anyone. Is that what you want to hear?"

He goes to bite back, but finds there is nothing sharp on his tongue. He pauses. That... yeah, that's exactly what he wanted to hear. That he can trust Dorcas—or the closest thing Regulus Black can do to trusting someone.

"The last person in my family to care for a Muggleborn ended up running away," he says quietly, looking anywhere but Dorcas. "I don't want to end up like him."

The last bit comes out uncertainly, because he finds it isn't true. Doesn't he want to be like Sirius? Hasn't he always?

"Sirius isn't the worst person to become," Dorcas says, tilting her head slightly like she can read Regulus's mind. "He's happy, you know. Sirius. He and Remus are together now for certain. James and Lily have them over all the time, and Marlene and Mary say there's always room for one more. I'm pretty positive they were talking about me, but I'd be glad to give up my spot for you."

For a long moment, Regulus lets this promise sit on his mind. What it would be like to be welcomed into this group, the people he always hated. Live with them. Joke with them. Have good times together, like he used to with Sirius.

It isn't possible, he knows—not since the black mark was imprinted into the skin of his forearm—but it's nice to think about anyway.

He shakes his head slightly. "Whatever. I just needed to get this off my chest. I didn't need resolutions."

She purses her lips, looking disappointed. "Fine. But I'm sure the offer's always open."

Then her brow furrows and she looks down, like a thought just occurred to her.

Regulus scowls. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just.." She shakes her head, looking entirely perturbed. "I know for fact Lyra lives by Marlene. We used to take walks 'round her neighbourhood and Mary always made a joke when we passed the Norths' house, 'cause the Norths lived just north of the Mckinnons."

"If that's what you lot laugh about, I'm glad I'm not a Gryffindor."

She rolls her eyes. "Can't you see what's odd, though? Why was she all the way in London when she lives over in Cardiff?"

"She's Welsh?"

"That's what you're focussing on!?"

"Sorry, sorry," he says, running a hand through his hair and exhaling a heavy huff of air. "I see what you're saying. Maybe.. maybe she moved, or she was visiting a family member in London. I dunno, Dorcas."

"Yeah," she agrees, though she still looks like she's in disbelief. "It's just weird. Isn't it?"

He hesitates. "I think you're looking too far into it."

Finally, she shakes her head and gives a little nod of assent. "Yeah, you're right. I'll bet she's got a grandfather in London or summat. What kind of person lives in Wales and doesn't have a family member somewhere posh, yeah?"

Regulus smiles and gives her a nod to agree, but he doesn't say anything, because now he's curious.

"Anyway, I'll see you later," she says, hiking the strap of her bag up her shoulder and moving back toward the door. "Got double Herbology now. Wish me luck."

When he comes back to himself enough to get the words past his lips, though, she's already gone. He tells someone good luck, but it isn't Dorcas.

Perhaps it's himself.

Author's Note

reg thinking he doesnt have a crush on lyra cus he feels the same way for her that he used to feel for barty... im on the floor rn. reg there is a river in egypt i need to tell you about