UNFINISHED VERSION

2.8

Then the blonde boy flipped over, facing the other direction to go back to sleep as if nothing had happened at all.

———

Regulus sat anxiously on a stool outside the hospital wing. After the less-than-ideal confrontation in the dorm, the boy had picked up the girl and carried her all the way here. Not a care for gaining a detention or breaching curfew in his mind, his only thought was to get Violet here as quickly as he could manage.

He'd tried a few healing spells first, knowing she was bound to get into trouble for whatever she used and her being out that late under these conditions, but when nothing seemed to work he had to bring her here.

Originally, he had been standing next to the bedside, watching as Madam Pomfrey worked to figure out what the issue was. His endless reel of panic-based questions in retaliation to everything the healer brought near the girl proved to drag the process on for longer than was necessary and kept Madam Pomfry from doing virtually anything at all.

It wasn't long before the young Black boy was kicked out of the room—well... the wing—altogether.

Now he sat on an old stool, ripped and stained from age, his back pressed against the cold stone wall, alone with his emotions.

Horror, for what he saw—his brunette drop of sunshine dropping limp to the floor.

Frustration, for her arguing with him—insisting she do something so terribly stupid.

Anger, for his friends and their attitudes and indifference toward the situation.

Self-loathing, for the fact that in the end, they were right.

Hatred, for the 28 and the dark lord whose ideals pitted him against her.

Dread, for when he'd have to explain to his brother and all the other Gryffindors in the morning.

Anxiety, for what could be going on with her.

Worry, for her.

Distress, for her.

Fear, for her.

The door next to him swung open, breaking the boy from his trance as the healer stepped out.

He leaned on the edge of the stool, hoping she'd say something like, 'Oh, no worries, just an easy fix.'

The look of dismay on the healer's face signaled the conversation wouldn't be like that at all.

"Mr. Black," the woman trailed off, almost unsure of what she was saying at all, "I'm afraid she'll be unconscious for... for a little while."

He began to fiddle with the edges of his sleeves and pulled at the fabric of his pants, "W-what do you mean?"

The woman sighed, "You mentioned it was a potion?" the boy nodded, "I... I really hate to say it, but I'm afraid I don't know an antidote or a spell for a potion such as this one."

The boy remained silent, panic overtaking his body. what do you mean you don't know an antidote?

The persona he made for himself fractured further, broken eyes looking up at the woman, "What? Y-you don't know one or-or you just have to brew it?"

The healer closed her eyes defeated. In her years at Hogwarts so far, she's always had an answer. But, it seems there's always a first time for everything.

"Mr. Black, we don't have one." she spoke tenderly, "I've never seen a potion quite like this one before, I'm afraid that means I don't have, and don't know of a cure. It may take quite a bit to find one."

The boy looked down, his world seeming to crash down with it.

How strange it all was. The kind first year all those years ago who smiled at him on sorting day turning to someone he hated for years all based on a silly word and a silly color scheme.

The girl he grew to despise, the girl he tutored, the girl who grew on him, the girl who became his light, the girl who made his world shatter in just one night—all the very same girl.

He looked up, tears lining the rims of his eyes no matter how hard he tried to fight them back as he looked at the woman standing before him. "May-May I sit by her?" his voice small and more fragile than it ever seemed to be before, "Please?"

While the hour was late and the woman was supposed to say no and direct the boy back to his room, she couldn't find it in her heart to do so.

Instead, she led the young Black boy to the young Potter girl's bedside. She pulled a chair for him to sit in, along with a blanket and pillow, allowing him to watch over her for as long as he wished to.

———

Poor Reggie...

On a lighter note, did ya notice anything particularly interesting about this chapter?

Maybe perhaps how Regulus refers to Violet...? 👀

ALSO! TO THE EVAN AND BARTY GIRLIES OUT THERE: 

 I'm super sorry if I'm making Evan and Barty meaner than they actually are/super out of character... I actually don't know a ton about either of them and really just needed some bullies... so if you're a fan of either of them, this is my formal apology for my potential butchering of their characters.

-ghost