Chapter Text
Prologue
~
Regulus Black died on a Tuesday in 1979.
The exact date was unimportant. There was no one to take note. No one left to mourn, at least as far as Regulus was concerned.
What mattered was that it was a Tuesday, Regulus’s least favorite day of the week. On Tuesdays, no one came to visit him, in fact, Tuesdays generally passed without a single word spoken in the stillness of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
While company had been sparse in those days, still most, he heard some word. Pandora often sent letters even though she no longer dared to visit. Sometimes she sent simple drawings or rambling tales of creatures and inventions she was working on. When the letters arrived Regulus would read her words aloud just to cut through the house's silence. On Tuesdays however, Pandora always retreated to the countryside to do studies with her eccentric boyfriend, so no letters came.
Other times throughout the week Barty and Evan would visit. They joked it was to check he was still alive, they all pretended that’s what it was, just a joke. Tuesdays, however, were their days on the rotation, they were sent to the Ministry. So no visits came.
Dorcas used to fire-call him on Tuesdays after he left school, before she could no longer deny that he’d become a Death Eater. Not that it mattered, Regulus heard she was dead now.
He wished that it hurt. But Regulus Black was past something as trivial as hurt. No, whatever that feeling was in his chest, it had long ago surpassed hurt. It felt like burning, like drowning every second of every day.
Really, Regulus thought, as he penned the last thing he’d ever write to Albus Dumbledore of all people—it was fitting that he’d die on the worst day of the week.
He wondered if Dorcas would forgive him in the afterlife. Probably not.
“You’re a coward,” Sirius’s voice hissed in his head, as it so often did.
“You don’t need to be a Gryffindor to be brave. You don’t need to be me or Sirius or anyone else, you can be afraid and still be brave, Reg. Fear makes you human.”
Regulus didn’t know which voice stung more. He’d failed both, not once but time and time again. He didn’t expect any forgiveness for his sacrifice. In fact, Regulus could clearly imagine Sirius scoffing and saying: “It was about time he did at least one good thing.”
So, this was Regulus’s one good thing.
Regulus tried to be brave as he held the potion up to the cave’s dim light. He tried as he swallowed the first mouthful. He did his best, even as it burned his throat, turning the blood in his veins to ash. He knew he screamed, distantly he knew Kreacher was force-feeding him the potion. He knew where he was.
But not really.
It all blended together.
Footsteps running down the hall, shadows painting his big brother’s face. Candles flickering above the Slytherin table. The sharpness of his mother’s hand, the way her nails dug into his arm. Screams, fighting, broken glass. Regulus was a coward, he did not come out from his hiding spot in the pantry. Not even when Sirius begged, not when his mother lashed him yet again. There was a smile, a hand, red cheeks, bright eyes. Tears.
Why are you doing this to me? How could you do this Regulus? Stop hurting me!
Regulus couldn’t breathe
I’m sorry.
I’m not.
Drowning was worse actually, than the feeling in his chest. Yes, drowning was much worse.
He wanted to breathe, but there was no oxygen left for him.
Somewhere on a Tuesday, in a cave off the coast, Regulus Black died.
Thousands of miles away, a fire was burning high in its grate. Warm and dry, Sirius Black laughed as he sprawled out on his best mate’s sofa.
Sirius didn’t have any particular feelings about Tuesdays.