CHAPTER THREE
the constraints of a friendship

                           𖦹 ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ˚⋆˚ 𖦹

  "REGULUS?"

The last thing she had expected to see upon her doorstep, no, windowsill so late at night was none other than Regulus Black himself. She also would never have expected him to look so... scruffy.

His curls are disheveled and strewn with stray leaves, the usually meticulous architecture behind them having crumbled completely. Flecks of mud dapple his porcelain complexion, his gaunt cheekbones drenched in heavy droplets from the rain shower. His expensive, tailored robes are in complete tatters and his palms are scraped raw, giving the impression that he was fleeing from something in a hurry. Though, Cove soon decides that the worst thing about him has to be his eyes.

The only way to describe them is haunted. Burst blood vessels stain the whites as if he's been straining against something, a massacre taking place in his mind. There's a bruised crater encircling his left one, not only from lack of sleep but from what looks like blunt force. He blinks slowly and infrequently, a faraway look glazing over his nimbus irises as if he's a victim of shell shock — she wouldn't be surprised if his ears were ringing, as well. He's shaking like a leaf and can't focus on one thing at a time, his stare darting around her bedroom wildly in case there's more danger awaiting him inside.

She doesn't quite know what to say to his intrusion, but it dawns upon her that he's injured and balancing on her windowsill, so she should probably hurry up and think of something before he hurts himself more.

  "Jeezo, Regulus," Cove breathes. "When I said that you shouldn't be a stranger, this is not what I meant."

  He kneads at his ribs as if he's got a stitch. "Is this a bad time?" he asks breathlessly.

Cove looks between him and her Transfiguration essay. She faces him again, shaking her head. "Don't be daft."

  She ushers him inside, stepping back to let him tumble onto her floorboards. He groans slightly when he lands on his knees, his injured palms suffering the brunt of the fall. Cove knits her eyebrows together.

"Triton's trident, are you okay?" It feels like a silly question the second she asks it, but she just wants a straight answer for once.

Regulus scoffs a laugh at the phrase. "Do I look okay?" he mutters defensively. His guard is up, that much is clear. It only makes Cove's concern deepen.

"You certainly had me fooled," she says dryly. "Seriously, what the fuck happened? And don't even think about lying to me."

He ignores her. "Do you have any Wiggenweld Potions?"

"Probably not. I can do you a paracetamol."

Regulus rolls his eyes. It makes her blood boil slightly, though the anger dissipates into concern when he tries to get to his feet without any assistance, unprepared for his knees to buckle and collapse beneath him. Cove rushes forward immediately, grappling onto his arms to try and steady him when he crashes down against the floorboards. He hisses through his teeth as if her hands burn his skin, pushing her away from him whilst muttering about how she shouldn't touch him.

"Well, I can't help you if you won't bloody tell me what's wrong with you," she admonishes.

  He looks like he's about to snap something in return when his rebuttal is replaced by a sharp, pained cry. Both hands twitch to grasp at his side, holding onto it firmly as a shadow of agony passes over his reserved countenance.

It's then that he crumbles, a maelstrom of hot tears pouring from his bloodshot eyes. His breaths come out in heavy staccato, rattling around in his chest painfully. "I-I can't—"

She sinks to the floorboards and rests her hands on his shoulders, her heart aching when he flinches slightly at her touch. "Regulus, breathe. Please tell me what's wrong."

  "Splinched," he gasps. "Only minor, luckily. I've never—" he clenches his teeth in pain. "I've never really apparated on my own before."

  Her eyes grow wide. "Oh my days, Regulus. Why didn't you say so? You're lucky you've still got your bloody head attached!"

His breathing begins to slow back down to a less worrying pace, his eyes screwed tightly shut as he focuses on matching Cove's deep breaths. He mutters something about paracetamol and she springs into action, getting up to rifle through her bedside table in search for some medicine. She procures the last few tablets of paracetamol she has left and returns to his side, pressing them into his hand.

   "Sorry, I don't have any water—"

   He doesn't give her the chance to finish what she's saying, dry swallowing it straight away and screwing up his face at the unpleasant aftertaste.

  "It still hurts," he complains.

  She raises her eyebrows, turning to hunt for bandages. "Oh, calm your tits. It's not magical, so it'll take a wee bit longer for it to start working. It's not the strongest stuff either, especially if you've been splinched, but it's all I have to hand."

  He grumbles something snarky under his breath, rubbing harshly at his temples. Pip, roused from her curt nap on Cove's blankets, pads over to him and nudges his knee with her nose, meowing loudly for his attention. Regulus picks her up almost immediately, cradling her in his arms like a newborn.

   She watches them carefully, handing over a roll of gauze for him to patch himself up with. "What happened to you? And why did you come here, anyways?"

   Regulus scratches behind Pip's striped ear. He looks like he's contemplating whether to tell her the truth or not, waging war with his own conscience. Ultimately, he decides that seeing as he's come to her for help and she can see straight through him whenever he leaves out details, there's no point in trying to hide the reality from her. Regulus indulges in vulnerability for the first time in a long while, cracking open his steel facade to reveal the shattered disarray within his bruised ribcage in a way he's never quite done before.

  "My parents," he admits, voice trembling as he unravels the bandages and begins to staunch the inconsequential bleeding. "It, um— it started getting worse after Christmas. They kept pressuring me into... things and preaching about blood purity more than they usually do. Last week they took me to a muggle town in Cardiff, just as the sun was beginning to set. They weren't really making any sense, rambling about numerous things that went over my head. Said something about it all being part of my, er, initiation."

  "What d'you mean?" she asks.

   He buries his face in his hands. "Salazar's sake, I don't know how to put this. T-they, um, well, they wanted me to use an Unforgivable Curse. On a muggle family." She tries not to show her horror, but she reckons she failed in her attempts. He takes a deep breath, wiping his tears on the back of his hand — his father always reminds him that men don't cry, so his ego was withering under her stare, even though she couldn't care less. "Cove, can I trust you not to share this with anyone, or kick me out into the storm, or hex me into oblivion when I tell you the rest? Please just hear what I have to say before making any irrational decisions."

   Cove pauses, unsure. She studies him closely for a minute before nodding gently. "I'm not a grass. Go on. You can tell me anything."

   "Well, I— It's probably best if I show you."

   She nods patiently, silent as a grave. Though, it's impossible for her to suppress a gasp when he pulls his sleeve up past his elbow.

The Dark Mark. She'd seen it in the papers, depicted as a glowing apparition in the sky as well as ink upon flesh. It looks painful, the serpent coiled tight around the skull as though it's rearing up to pounce, the irritated brand resting amongst a graveyard of scars. Cove swallows thickly, trying to banish the fear that swells up inside of her.

  He won't meet her eyes. "I'm not proud for what I've done. It keeps me up at night. My... proper initiation was earlier today. I got back to my bedroom and— well, I didn't really mean to apparate here. I just needed to get away from my parents as quickly as possible."

   Cove doesn't say anything for a minute. Instead, she leans forward and envelops him in her arms, hugging him close as if she could suppress the pain that courses through his veins and congests his every waking moment. His ribs are shaking with irrepressible sobs.

   "I'm sorry, Regulus," she whispers as he crumbles in her arms. "I'm so sorry. I can't even begin to imagine what that must've been like for you. Your parents are sick fuckin' people."

He sniffles, fisting the back of her cardigan until his knuckles turn white. He can't get anything out other than tears, his words lost in the torrents of his sorrow.

"I know you're nothing like the rest of them," Cove murmurs. "I know you didn't want to do anything that your parents forced you into. We can get you through this, sweetheart. We'll get someone to help, to get you out of there."

   Regulus pulls away harshly as if he's been scalded by her words. "No," he snaps. "No. We can't let anyone else know about this. I've already put you and myself in danger by coming here and telling you. I don't want you to tell anyone else." His eyes grow impossibly wide, revealing a terrified boy under the guise of a calculative heir. "Promise me."

   She gnaws on her lip. "Fine. Alright."

   That seems to calm him down a fraction.

   The rest of the night is spent in utter silence. Cove lets him take her bed and he's out cold in an instant, Pip curled close to his side as he rests. After settling herself at her desk, Cove doesn't get a wink of sleep until dawn breaks, too anxious to let herself do anything other than divide her focus between Regulus and the window. Her mind is working into overdrive with everything that she's been having to process recently, her shoulders growing heavy from the burdening stress and persisting concerns.

   Cove closes her eyes, exhaling sharply. What has she gotten herself into this time?

author's note!

this didn't turn out the way i imagined it would but shite ‼️‼️ cats out of the bag now — reg is officially a death eater, whoops x

(surely nothing bad will EVER happen to him after this)