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themightyflynnTitle: Safe ch. 12
Author:themightyflynn
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Regulus Black, Harry Potter
Summary: Regulus has only ever known the cold and the wet. Or has he? When warmth comes back into his life, it triggers his memories.
Word Count: 1580
Warnings: Regulus is a shit.
Notes: Technically, this is only half a chapter. Next half will be up as chapter 13 next week. :)
Read on Ao3
Everything aches. From the tips of my hair to the bottoms of my feet, I believe there is not one tiny little piece of me that is not in pain.
“Excellent, Mr. Black. You have done much better than what was expected of you.”
I swear, if I had my wand, I would hex the cheerful smile off the therapist’s face. It has only been two days of therapy sessions and I am already sick of the constant jolliness he shows. Instead, I content myself with a tight smile. Mother instilled correct manners in me, even if I occasionally would like to throw them out the window. Sitting gingerly on the very edge of the bed, I let out a deep sigh. My eyes close automatically.
“Now, for the part that I believe you have been waiting for the entire morning.”
That grabs my attention immediately. My eyes snap open and my hands clench in the sheets beneath me.
“You have an estimate for my true age?”
The therapist – a middle-aged man who I was introduced to properly, but whose name I immediately forgot, much to my embarrassment – smiles at me. It is an indulgent smile, almost fatherly.
“Are you absolutely certain you want to know?”
I have thought about this quite a bit since Healer Bell first mentioned it. While, on the calendar, I am thirty-nine years of age, I do not look it. However, I also do not feel like the same impulsive eighteen-year-old who headed into that cave without a second thought. I nod slowly.
“Yes, I am certain. I want to know how old you believe I actually am.”
His smile widens. “In that case…” He taps a few things on the clipboard he carries with him each time I see him. “Taking everything into account, the age we believe you are physically is… Twenty-one.”
A breath that has been making my chest ache rushes out of me. Twenty-one. That is… Surprising. I had been dreading discovering that my time spent in the water had had a degenerating effect, despite appearances. Twenty-one is a brilliant result, I believe.
“That…” Nodding slowly, I let out another deep sigh. “Thank you.”
“You are very welcome, Mr. Black. I shall leave you to it, then. I think I hear your lunch arriving.”
Sure enough, the second the man exits the room, Kreacher steps in. With a deep bow, he begins setting up the lunch table.
Twenty-one. Breathing slowly and deeply, I examine the idea in my mind. I have missed three years physically, but that is nothing compared to the years I have missed in reality. It definitely could have been worse, I figure, just as the door opens again and Harry steps inside.
“Hullo.”
He is standing inside the slightly ajar door, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. With his hair standing on end, and the almost innocent look on his face, he appears much younger than I know he is. Unable to help it, I am immediately suspicious. I know who he is and who his parents were, so there could be no way that he is as harmless as he appears.
I have had this sensation before about him. It is almost like I want to like him, and want to trust him, but my suspicions will not allow me to. I cannot tell whether this is my problem, or if the sensation is caused by him, however.
“Good morning,” I respond, with a slight nod.
Harry runs a hand through his hair and shifts his weight, looking ever more awkward. “I, er, saw Alistair out there,” he offers after a few seconds. “The therapist?”
I mentally note the name down, determined that, this time, I will not forget it so easily. “Yes, he has left me with some news.”
Interest springs into Harry’s eyes at this, although he makes no move into the room. Standing in the doorway, rocking on the balls of his feet, it seems that he does not know how to proceed. Not that I blame him. The situation we find ourselves in is highly unusual, especially when you take the reason for his visit into account. When he does not make any verbal response, I wave my hand towards the chair Kreacher has set up for him.
“Would you like to sit?”
The grin this produces transforms Harry’s face. He is… average-looking at best, I would judge. I believe I may be biased, however, as all I can seem to see is his resemblance to his father. The grin, however, erases the dark circles beneath his eyes, and the almost permanent worried frown on his brow. He looks younger; looks his age.
“This looks fantastic, Kreacher, thanks.”
As Harry seats himself, I glance at the table Kreacher has set up. Lunch today appears to consist of salads and mixed cold meats. I wince as I stand from the bed to make my way to the other chair.
“Are you alright?”
I wait until I am seated across from Harry to respond. “These therapy sessions are tough. I did not realise just how out-of-shape I was until I was required to begin moving.”
Harry hums. “The inactivity would have been bad enough, but being suspended in water for so long is what made it worse, apparently.” When I cock my head to the side in silent enquiry, he continues. “Katie – Healer Bell – we went to school together. She’s kept me updated on the way things are going here generally. Nothing explicit about anyone in particular, just the stuff that someone who worked in the ward would know.”
I nod as I serve myself from the platters Kreacher has laid out. “Is that why you seem so fascinated with me specifically? Because we have a half-connection through my brother and having access to me is a way to keep in the loop?”
I keep my tone cautiously neutral, but Harry still makes a strange sound that causes me to look up. I cannot quite place the look in his eyes, but it seems close to offence.
“I don’t need to use you to get information about this case.”
There is derision and heat in his tone, telling me that, yes, I have insulted him. The fact that he is quick to anger is not surprising. His father was the same. I do not apologise. Returning my attention to the food, I nod slowly.
“What, then? What could possibly be so interesting to you about someone you have never met before? I would venture a guess that Sirius never mentioned me.”
“Actually, he called you an idiot for joining the Death Eaters.”
My head snaps up just in time to see Harry’s gaze resting on my left forearm. The Mark has faded and scarred over, all the magic drained from it with Voldemort’s defeat, I would assume. Harry cannot see it now, however, not with my hospital pyjamas covering it. My left hand clenches around the knife.
“He was always such a nice brother.” I try not to spit the word, but am not sure I manage it. “We got along so very well.”
A soft sigh from across the table grabs my attention, but I refuse to look at Harry. Not even the sound of his cutlery being placed on his plate makes me raise my head.
“I didn’t come here to argue about Sirius.” When I make no reaction, he sighs again. “Look, he and my father were really close, I know that. Close enough that Sirius was named my Godfather. James and Lily trusted him enough to want him to look after me if anything ever happened to them.”
Cutting into one of the cherry tomatoes on my plate, I try not to sneer. “And how did that work out for you?”
Harry’s cutlery crashes down onto the plate this time. I manage not to jump and, as casually as possible, place the half of the tomato into my mouth. The expected explosion doesn’t occur, however. Unable to resist, I glance up. Harry’s eyes blaze a bright green as they bore into me. The raw power I can see held behind them sends a shiver down my spine.
“Sirius spent twelve years in Azkaban for what Peter Pettigrew did. He then spent three years on the run because the Ministry were blind fools who couldn’t manage to work a case properly to save themselves. Be very careful about what you say about him in front of me because you might not have gotten along with him, but I did.”
Finally, I can see the intensity that tells me that this child could have the required power to defeat Voldemort. All the awkwardness has melted from him, to be replaced by a rigidity that can only come from being a soldier. Many of my peers had the same intensity, the same defensive posture, the same hardened look to their eyes. Having had some questions answered that I had not even thought to ask aloud, I incline my head slightly.
“Fair enough. The subject of my family is off the table for the time being.”
It takes a little longer for Harry to relax again. Even when he sits back against his chair again, though, I can still see the tension in his shoulders. It seems that I have gotten to him much faster and easier than I had expected. I stay silent until he is ready to speak again.
Author:
themightyflynnRating: PG-13
Characters: Regulus Black, Harry Potter
Summary: Regulus has only ever known the cold and the wet. Or has he? When warmth comes back into his life, it triggers his memories.
Word Count: 1580
Warnings: Regulus is a shit.
Notes: Technically, this is only half a chapter. Next half will be up as chapter 13 next week. :)
Read on Ao3
Everything aches. From the tips of my hair to the bottoms of my feet, I believe there is not one tiny little piece of me that is not in pain.
“Excellent, Mr. Black. You have done much better than what was expected of you.”
I swear, if I had my wand, I would hex the cheerful smile off the therapist’s face. It has only been two days of therapy sessions and I am already sick of the constant jolliness he shows. Instead, I content myself with a tight smile. Mother instilled correct manners in me, even if I occasionally would like to throw them out the window. Sitting gingerly on the very edge of the bed, I let out a deep sigh. My eyes close automatically.
“Now, for the part that I believe you have been waiting for the entire morning.”
That grabs my attention immediately. My eyes snap open and my hands clench in the sheets beneath me.
“You have an estimate for my true age?”
The therapist – a middle-aged man who I was introduced to properly, but whose name I immediately forgot, much to my embarrassment – smiles at me. It is an indulgent smile, almost fatherly.
“Are you absolutely certain you want to know?”
I have thought about this quite a bit since Healer Bell first mentioned it. While, on the calendar, I am thirty-nine years of age, I do not look it. However, I also do not feel like the same impulsive eighteen-year-old who headed into that cave without a second thought. I nod slowly.
“Yes, I am certain. I want to know how old you believe I actually am.”
His smile widens. “In that case…” He taps a few things on the clipboard he carries with him each time I see him. “Taking everything into account, the age we believe you are physically is… Twenty-one.”
A breath that has been making my chest ache rushes out of me. Twenty-one. That is… Surprising. I had been dreading discovering that my time spent in the water had had a degenerating effect, despite appearances. Twenty-one is a brilliant result, I believe.
“That…” Nodding slowly, I let out another deep sigh. “Thank you.”
“You are very welcome, Mr. Black. I shall leave you to it, then. I think I hear your lunch arriving.”
Sure enough, the second the man exits the room, Kreacher steps in. With a deep bow, he begins setting up the lunch table.
Twenty-one. Breathing slowly and deeply, I examine the idea in my mind. I have missed three years physically, but that is nothing compared to the years I have missed in reality. It definitely could have been worse, I figure, just as the door opens again and Harry steps inside.
“Hullo.”
He is standing inside the slightly ajar door, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. With his hair standing on end, and the almost innocent look on his face, he appears much younger than I know he is. Unable to help it, I am immediately suspicious. I know who he is and who his parents were, so there could be no way that he is as harmless as he appears.
I have had this sensation before about him. It is almost like I want to like him, and want to trust him, but my suspicions will not allow me to. I cannot tell whether this is my problem, or if the sensation is caused by him, however.
“Good morning,” I respond, with a slight nod.
Harry runs a hand through his hair and shifts his weight, looking ever more awkward. “I, er, saw Alistair out there,” he offers after a few seconds. “The therapist?”
I mentally note the name down, determined that, this time, I will not forget it so easily. “Yes, he has left me with some news.”
Interest springs into Harry’s eyes at this, although he makes no move into the room. Standing in the doorway, rocking on the balls of his feet, it seems that he does not know how to proceed. Not that I blame him. The situation we find ourselves in is highly unusual, especially when you take the reason for his visit into account. When he does not make any verbal response, I wave my hand towards the chair Kreacher has set up for him.
“Would you like to sit?”
The grin this produces transforms Harry’s face. He is… average-looking at best, I would judge. I believe I may be biased, however, as all I can seem to see is his resemblance to his father. The grin, however, erases the dark circles beneath his eyes, and the almost permanent worried frown on his brow. He looks younger; looks his age.
“This looks fantastic, Kreacher, thanks.”
As Harry seats himself, I glance at the table Kreacher has set up. Lunch today appears to consist of salads and mixed cold meats. I wince as I stand from the bed to make my way to the other chair.
“Are you alright?”
I wait until I am seated across from Harry to respond. “These therapy sessions are tough. I did not realise just how out-of-shape I was until I was required to begin moving.”
Harry hums. “The inactivity would have been bad enough, but being suspended in water for so long is what made it worse, apparently.” When I cock my head to the side in silent enquiry, he continues. “Katie – Healer Bell – we went to school together. She’s kept me updated on the way things are going here generally. Nothing explicit about anyone in particular, just the stuff that someone who worked in the ward would know.”
I nod as I serve myself from the platters Kreacher has laid out. “Is that why you seem so fascinated with me specifically? Because we have a half-connection through my brother and having access to me is a way to keep in the loop?”
I keep my tone cautiously neutral, but Harry still makes a strange sound that causes me to look up. I cannot quite place the look in his eyes, but it seems close to offence.
“I don’t need to use you to get information about this case.”
There is derision and heat in his tone, telling me that, yes, I have insulted him. The fact that he is quick to anger is not surprising. His father was the same. I do not apologise. Returning my attention to the food, I nod slowly.
“What, then? What could possibly be so interesting to you about someone you have never met before? I would venture a guess that Sirius never mentioned me.”
“Actually, he called you an idiot for joining the Death Eaters.”
My head snaps up just in time to see Harry’s gaze resting on my left forearm. The Mark has faded and scarred over, all the magic drained from it with Voldemort’s defeat, I would assume. Harry cannot see it now, however, not with my hospital pyjamas covering it. My left hand clenches around the knife.
“He was always such a nice brother.” I try not to spit the word, but am not sure I manage it. “We got along so very well.”
A soft sigh from across the table grabs my attention, but I refuse to look at Harry. Not even the sound of his cutlery being placed on his plate makes me raise my head.
“I didn’t come here to argue about Sirius.” When I make no reaction, he sighs again. “Look, he and my father were really close, I know that. Close enough that Sirius was named my Godfather. James and Lily trusted him enough to want him to look after me if anything ever happened to them.”
Cutting into one of the cherry tomatoes on my plate, I try not to sneer. “And how did that work out for you?”
Harry’s cutlery crashes down onto the plate this time. I manage not to jump and, as casually as possible, place the half of the tomato into my mouth. The expected explosion doesn’t occur, however. Unable to resist, I glance up. Harry’s eyes blaze a bright green as they bore into me. The raw power I can see held behind them sends a shiver down my spine.
“Sirius spent twelve years in Azkaban for what Peter Pettigrew did. He then spent three years on the run because the Ministry were blind fools who couldn’t manage to work a case properly to save themselves. Be very careful about what you say about him in front of me because you might not have gotten along with him, but I did.”
Finally, I can see the intensity that tells me that this child could have the required power to defeat Voldemort. All the awkwardness has melted from him, to be replaced by a rigidity that can only come from being a soldier. Many of my peers had the same intensity, the same defensive posture, the same hardened look to their eyes. Having had some questions answered that I had not even thought to ask aloud, I incline my head slightly.
“Fair enough. The subject of my family is off the table for the time being.”
It takes a little longer for Harry to relax again. Even when he sits back against his chair again, though, I can still see the tension in his shoulders. It seems that I have gotten to him much faster and easier than I had expected. I stay silent until he is ready to speak again.
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