tw: abuse, ptsd

REG HAD STOPPED WRITING TO HER. 

Malka thought it odd at first, and as time went on and her letters remained unanswered, she felt quite hurt by it; she thought they had a connection. So it was quite a shock when she saw him on the platform ready to go back to the castle, looking like he'd just come back from a battle in hell.

That was all she could think about through Cass's incessant chatter on the train ride, and she kept her eyes on him the entire evening, watching him push peas around his plate. He looked quite sad. Dumbledore gave his welcoming statements, including a warning about snowball fights in the courtyards and hallways (he winked at the Gryffindor table), and sat back down. 

"Erm- Cass?" Malka said, tapping her fellow Gryffindor's shoulder, chewing her lip in deliberation

"Yes?"

"Remember back in Como when I told you about Mister Black and I's correspondence?" Malka asked.

"Ooh, of course I remember," Cass said, eyes glittering with excitement.

"Well- and it's not good news," Malka said warningly. "I didn't really mention this in my letters because I thought he would reply, but he...stopped writing back to me. I dunno why,"

"...Oh," Cass leaned back. "Hmm, did his letters have any hints as to why? He does seem a little dejected tonight,"

"I- well. He mentioned fights around the town, but that they've been happening for a while. He's used to it," Malka said, rubbing her thumb over her bottom lip in thought.

"You should find him after. But if he doesn't give a good enough reason, dump his arse. He was never good enough for you anyway, love," Cass said firmly.

"Thanks, Cass," Malka smiled a little. 

Cassana gave really good advice sometimes. It was a shame she never listened to herself.

Dinner ended swiftly with a short few more announcements relevant to the upper year students. Fifth-year career meetings would be within the next twelve days, any amends to Quidditch teams must be completed within two weeks, and that there was a new scoring guide on the Charms essays in the O.W.L and N.E.W.T exams. The Gryffindors filed out, a mass of black and blue and bronze, as Malka slipped out unnoticed. She looked around and watched behind a suit of shuffling armor as the Slytherins headed the opposite direction to the stairs that led to the dungeon, before she saw him.

Reg looked shorter than he did before the holidays, but that was because of how much of a slouch he had. His hair was significantly longer than before, now growing past his shoulders in stringy waves that Malka knew how to make into curls with hair potion. His cheeks were slightly paler and more sallow than before, and Malka felt a bit worried that he hadn't been eating as much. No matter, as she reached into his mind.

His mental shields seemed quite strong; he'd practiced Occlumency over Yule, and he'd had a good teacher. Yet no one at Hogwarts besides the teachers had strong enough shields she couldn't fully penetrate, so Malka leaned into his mind, and recalled a childhood memory.

And when you want to send a message to someone, you move into their cerebellum. Imagine sliding under a rug, that's what the movement is like. And then, you speak your message, and like a slithering snake, you retreat back out. This isn't the most difficult part of Legilimency; projecting images are. But it's quite useful, bebé. And the best Legilimens can do it from hundreds of miles away.

Remembering the words of her mother, Malka reached into Regulus Black's mind, gave a hard push that almost made her feel a bit woozy, and whispered 'turn around'. Reg jolted like someone had shot him with an electric shock, and frantically whipped around like a puppet. She gasped at the look in his eyes- as if he were a wild animal running from a predator. There weren't any normal reactions to Legilimency messaging, but if there were then that would be greatly abnormal.

"You alright, Black?" someone, a Rosier by the looks it, said.

"...Yes," Reg said a bit erratically, and he saw him look around and spot her red robes behind the statue of armor. "Excuse me. I need to have a word with Professor Flitwick,"

He didn't turn around to see Rosier's nod, as he strolled inconspicuously towards her, before yanking her by the wrist into a broom closet near the Great Hall doors. It smelled like horrible cleaning potions, and Malka had to avoid tripping over a mop.

"How dare you?" Reg said, and he grabbed both her wrists, gripping them between long and strong fingers. "How dare you invade my mind?"

Malka's eyes widened with shock, and the pangs of fear hit her heart like icicles stabbing through a body, as she remembered that this wasn't someone she could mess with easily. But Legilimency wasn't illegal, and this reaction was completely irrational.

"I- I'm sorry? Mister Black, what is the issue-" Malka stammered, fear distorting her words, and like he saw something in her dark eyes that made him back down, he suddenly let go of both her wrists, causing her to crash back into the wall of the broom closet, as he leaned back into the opposite wall. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispered, clutching his own face as his hands covered his own eyes, unable to watch as Malka looked at her hands. There were white spots where his fingers pressed points into Malka's hands, and in the morning there would be bruises there. But Malka didn't feel anything, as she watched Regulus Black curl into himself, letting out raspy gasps as he tried to regain control of his own body.

There had been something terrible, Malka realized, something unimaginable done to him, and whoever had done it had done it with Legilimency.

"Mister Black," Malka whispered in shock. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," he snapped back to reality quickly, shaking his head like a dog flicking off a flea. "I-"

Malka looked down and noticed how his own wrists were still shaking with effort. "Mister Black, if you need help-"

"-No!" Regulus panicked. "I- wait, no, I don't need help," he said harshly, his voice a grating whisper.

"Oh. Oh, alright, I was going to speak to you about something, but I can go-"

"No, don't go," Reg said, his eyes erratic as his tone filled with longing quite inappropriate for a girl like her. Their entire situation was quite inappropriate, Malka noticed, as they were an unbetrothed man and woman in a broom closet that couldn't be more than a meter width and depth. 

"Miss Arslan. What is it?" he asked, and there was something foreign stirring in Malka's chest. Courage. 

"You should sit, Mister Black. You are unwell,"

"I'm not-" He said, eyes like pieces of flint, before taking a shaky breath. "I am fine. I am sorry,"

Malka looked at him dubiously, before pulling out a small vial within her robe pocket. It was a fizzy blue potion, and she handed it to Black, who glanced between the vial and her.

"A Calming Draught. Please," she said genuinely. "I haven't poisoned it,"

And Black reached out, long pale fingers with little dents all over them. In the sliver of light, she could see battered red flesh around all his nail beds, half-scabbed wounds from when he picked at the skin. His eyes were barely watery, and one of the rings on his finger glinted, almost like a scan, as he accepted the Draught. He would know what it looked and smelled like- they'd brewed it together in Potions a few weeks before Yule.

"Why haven't you been writing to me?" Malka said, as she stood to her full height, even though her voice was gentle. Reg looked up from where he was screwing the cork back into her vial.

"What?" he looked confused.

"Writing? Writing letters? You stopped our correspondence right after Christmas, even though there were two more weeks of the holidays afterwards," Malka said, letting some of the hurt seep into her voice.

"I- oh," Regulus said, and if possible, his pale face grew paler.

Malka watched his reaction. "You forgot?"

"I- Miss Arslan-"

"-Well, I must admit I am disappointed, but it is not of consequence. I'm sure you had other things to be preoccupied with," she mumbled, as she recalled the panic and utter fear in his eyes. 

"My apologies," Reg sighed, and the way he looked up at her weirdly reminded of a sad deer, so obviously she acquiesced at the sorrow in his icy blue eyes.

"...If I may; what happened with the Muggles in Islington?" Malka blurted out, and she briefly regretted it as the dark cloud seemed to settle over Regulus again.

Regulus closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed his feelings down. "It was as you suspected. The Dark Lord's most bold murder yet. But-"

Regulus then peeked through the small bright gap in the otherwise dark broom closet, before turning back to her again.

"-but this attack was spearheaded by my cousin, Bellatrix," he said, and he seemed to shrink with the weight of that information.

"Your cousin?" Malka said confusedly, before the pieces fell into place. "So your family is..."

"Involved," Reg murmured.

"I- what?" Malka whispered, as her eyes welled with tears. How could he? How could he be a part of something like this, a movement that called for the murder of people like her?

"Please- Malka, I didn't have a choice! My grandfather forced me to present myself to the Dark Lord after- after Christmas," he said, and Malka got a sickening feeling as to who had tortured him with Legilimency.

"No- no, it's okay," Malka said, squashing down the nausea in her stomach. He didn't have a choice, she remembered. He was tortured. "How- how long has this been going on for?"

And Reg almost seemed to sag with the relief that she was not angry at him. "Less than two weeks,"

"Oh," Malka rubbed her bruised finger against her bottom lip, a gesture that she'd done instinctively for years. "I thought you said your Grandfather was against serving Him?"

"He was," Reg whispered. "But- and you can't repeat this, but after Christmas..."

He swallowed a lump in his throat. "Nothing. Nevermind," as he blinked his eyes so rapidly, but Malka could see the silver of tearwater even through the dim light.

"What is it?" Malka asked, and Reg just shook his head over and over, closing his eyes and squeezing them shut. 

"Nothing," he said, and without thinking, Malka took half a step forwards and wrapped both arms around his waist. He smelled like old velvet and broomstick polish, and it was extremely unfamiliar to Malka. Reg stiffened, as if the person pulling his puppet strings gave a harsh tug. His breath hitched in his throat, and she felt a touch to her hair. But he never really hugged her back, she noticed.

"You can talk to me, Regulus," She whispered to him as she tightened her grip, knowing he was seeking reassurance over advice. Melite Rowle had always raised her to be kind. 

"I, I-" He mumbled in vague surprise. He inhaled a rattling breath that sent shivers of fright down Malka's spine, before continuing. "The night after I recieved your present- my brother, he- ran away from home,"

Malka felt rooted in her feet as her arms wrapped around his skinny body. His skin was cool through his robes as he swallowed against her left shoulder. Sirius ran away? If Malka was really thinking, she could have seen it coming; he never liked his brother, as far as she knew, and everything he did seemed to go against their family values. But the intense pain Regulus felt, it was unlike any other Malka had ever come in contact to, and it hurt her to see him like that. So there was more to their repationship than what people knew about. The serious boy she'd maybe fallen for a bit, didn't belong like this. Crying into the arms of a halfblood girl he maybe fancied, otherwise alone at school in the coldest January in years. It was so wrong, and Malka felt tears prick at her own eyes as she came into contact with the thought. He didn't deserve this, he didn't deserve to live this life.

Regulus let out the shakiest breath Malka had ever heard, and her heart broke a little at its sound. She winced and let go of him, not wanting to intrude for so long. And even though he never hugged her back with his arms, his left hand caught against a strand of her hair as she pulled away, tugging from his fingertips. Malka looked up, and she saw watery eyes, like summer rain in a blue sky.

Regulus let out a broken shudder. "I should've- I should've seen it coming, it was bound to happen any day now-"

"-No, no, it wasn't right," Malka said, eyebrows furrowed. "He shouldn't have done that to you,"

Regulus agreed, she could tell, but right now he was just too raw and broken to nod his head. And so he just let it fall, his head drooping down his tall frame as he tried to catch his breath. "I shouldn't have told you that,"

Malka didn't have an answer to that, so she stayed still. "I'm sorry," Malka whispered into the night of the broom closet, closing her eyes. She never could have imagined how this moment of hers would have gone.

"'M sorry for bruising your fingers," Reg murmured. 

"It's okay," Malka hushed, and she stayed with him, watching his chest rise and fall. And little did she know that that night was the first of many, many more times where she would suffer bruises because of Regulus Black.