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28 - Two Sides of a Coin
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WARNING: This chapter will contain underage drinking and non-consensual action, viewer discretion is advised.
A name was meant to be a blessing, but in several cases, it could be a curse. In The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, a name was a title, a prove of honor. A name would depict each being to be equal to those aristocrats. Bonded them with a lifestyle full of extravagant Ball, mannerism class, and whatnot.
It started as a pride, exclusivity, that Regulus wore like a charmer. But the surname was heavier than a crown, it wasn't just a mark of family it was the core of magic to them. Deep to the marrow, to the mind. With that name, the idea of blood purity that entitled their status higher above everyone else was planted in a pristine mind, sculpted out of an innocent soul.
Then came rules, with rules came rewards and punishment. And fright became the pressure point to follow the rules — coercion. But not every soul could be molded just the same in a precise box of mindset as in factories. From that struggle came rebellions, namely Andromeda and Sirius. That left Regulus, fright sank to his skin, his brain, and expectation placed onto his shoulders. Regulus thought everyone was born the way he was. The boy thought it was mundane to live and think the way he was. To shove down doctrines that he didn't know was poison.
A poison that made him numb with facades day to day, kept his chin up with pride and concealed his feelings, becoming the epitome of a heartless man. Regulus had always thought it was normal to be that way, but then he felt despair consumed his being. He wouldn't be surprised if he died from sorrow that built up in his heart, downed it like a drink. Before he was dragged and drowned by the death to join them in the pit of despair.
Then once he was drowning, Regulus would be laughing because dying would be better than living the way he lived. Truthfully, he didn't know if he ever truly lived, he was a fine product and furnished in the name of Black. His blood tainted with ink, dark as the night that slowly left him hollow and none would be there to save him. As much as he tried to be the brightest star in pitch-black sky, he was a boy, a mortal with flesh limits and soul that bonded himself to feel.
Right now the burden was exceeding his mental capacity, the poison in his head was overwhelming. Perhaps, it was just the firewhiskey that burned his bloodstreams to distract his mind from reciting the bad news he just received.
Regulus tore his gaze to the sky, a letter was on his hand and his vision swirled before his grey eyes. Though, he could pin out the sparkling eternal stars that were hung above or the freezing water of the lake that echoed his screams. His voice filled with rage, lungs heaving as his eyes traced out the neat handwriting on the letter. The boy didn't know how he got there, all he wanted was to be alone so he could explode, so he could cry and sobbed his heart out. He propped his back against the frosted bark.
"Pride of name, bullshit!" his voice raspy, hand tossed the empty bottle of firewhiskey on his right hand. It scattered on the frosted grass, Merlin, the late-night air was freezing yet he wanted the cold to numb his senses. He wanted to stop feeling things, it would be better than the poking pain in his chest.
Bloody hell, he didn't choose to be born in this name! Fuck Merlin and his fucking power. Fuck the sacred 28 purebloods. Fucking inheritance bullshit! The boy tossed his head back with a grunt, his feet could no longer sustain himself. Losing his balance, gravitated to the frosted ground. With blurry vision he peered down at the messy tie and the way alcohol drenched his shirt. Whitish steam came out of his lips from each long, heavy breath that escaped his system and misted in the air.
Regulus was already drowning, he was already dead while breathing. It was the poison that finally got his mind, he needed an escape desperately. And when Rosier encompassed himself with girls, lust, and hearts to play around as to occupy his mind. Regulus had let despair sank, contaminated, and exposed the hollow in his chest. He had nothing to block his thoughts but to follow what the poison wanted. He set a goal and dominoes of priorities.
All in order, planned and detailed. Although in amid of civil war and massacre that was happening, the great things that his parents' wished for him to do were almost impossible. But at least, Black had something to look forward to. He looked forward to the day the felonious — that his parents adored, to win. Even if it meant a macabre reality, the day that darkness won over the light, and devils defeated the virtues. Then between the subordination of his being, between darkness he was trapped into—
A peony bloomed.
In the darkness, and land full of sorrow the green poked, glowing. Poison dripped over it, like a potent acid trying to burn its cells and cortex, but the flower remained.
"We're all still mere mortals with feelings we can't control. Being a pureblood doesn't guarantee you to be exclusively happy."
Her fucking voice! Regulus yelled at the image of azure eyes that shadowed his vision. It was an illusion it was made up, he told himself. Drunken state brought the deepest desire of people. He closed his eyes and wished for her to leave his mind. She was a chaotic soul, out of his well-calculated life, a joker in a card game. She was a hurricane, wiped out all his plan, he could no longer look forward. He could only wish to be in the present, because in the present he could be with her.
"Gemma." the word escaped his lips voluntarily as if it was the only thing he could say. And cold air penetrated his lungs.
The Slytherin murmured her name like a prayer, peony fragrance evaded his senses and he felt as if he could finally breathe as if he was alive. And if he had been drinking poison, she was the antidote. An antidote that was sent by the stars, the peony petals flew as it expanded to fill the void in his chest.
God, he was addicted. But then the image of her brought him relief as much as it upset him. For he thought, she would never be one with a creature of darkness like himself. If his life was a story he would never be the hero, he could be the one working for the devil because he had no choice. After all, his life was crafted that way. Meanwhile, Gammaliel was the embodiment of light and virtues. She would be the heroine.
They were like yin and yang, the sea and the land, the darkness and the light, the devils and the angel. And in this reality where difference matters, it was a dream for two different sides of a coin to be together without one overpowering the other. But perhaps, there was a universe where his and her fate didn't entangle in a holocaustic world.
Regulus rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palm, hoping the flashes of her chocolate hair and azure eyes left his vision. She ruined his plans and yet he needed her to keep his sanity. He didn't want himself needing her. Out of the deadliest things there were in the world, since the beginning of life, woman was the sweetest temptation for mankind. They could give a glimpse of heaven on earth, get a man drunk in ecstasy of feelings. But they could hurt and leave a scar that never healed.
"Gammaliel." Regulus scoffed, eyes closed and the alcohol in his blood swirled his head. His stomach churned and an acidic after-taste left his tongue. Dear Merlin, he didn't even think this trip through. How the hell he could make it back to the castle, drunk and a mess without being caught.
"Regulus." a voice came, he shook his head as he laughed with a snort. He must be dreaming, it was her voice. "Reggie, where are you?"
He opened his eyes to see azure eyes, he blinked rapidly to clear his vision. Then, instead of azure, the pair of eyes he saw was a familiar hazel, Evan's. The boy stomped towards him in his black suit. His brows furrowed.
"Where the hell have you been?" Evan inquired with a raucous voice, much emphasized when his eyes found the empty bottle of Odgen's brew. Then Regulus chuckled, Rosier had always been so sane and got himself together despite he had lost nearly everything in his life, how did he do that. The Rosier boy shook his head, "What the hell! Are you trying to poison yourself?"
"Calm down, Evan. It doesn't matter I'm already dead." Regulus rolled his eyes, mind swimming on his intoxicated bloodstreams. A piece of his sentence was the truth, he forced a rough chuckled through his expanded lungs and heavy breaths.
Evan stilled, his temples twitched as he peered down to Regulus. The grey-eyed boy bailed his plan to attend Slughorn's party, his frosty irises dilated from apparent intoxication. Oh, How the scent of alcohol lingered around him. Black rarely showed his feeling, he caged them like animals in zoos, but once he did, he burnout. Like now, his face screwed up and soaked in carmine. His raven hair tussled, a few fell to adorn the sharp edges of his face. Two buttons of his dress shirt from above were missing, tie loosened. His elegance disappeared, replaced with languid gestures and grumbles.
Until Rosier's eyes landed on a paper on his trembling hand, he snatched it. Whiskey spilled on the paper but Evan managed to read on, then he paused. Peering down to Regulus as he swallowed thickly. If he was in Black's shoes. Oh, Rosier would do worse, he then sat by his side while the boy gazed away to the unknown.
Hesitantly Evan spoke, "How long?" his voice nasals, watching Regulus's pale fingers trembled, "How long has he been sick?"
"I don't know." Regulus' voice tremulous, pale lips quivered, "He always said he was going to be fine." a sob cut him off, his body betrayed him as tears leaked out of his eyes, "But he isn't and I told him to — I told him to look after himself. But old man has priorities much more important than his well-being."
Regulus looked up to the sky, grey eyes polished with tears. His eyes spotted Orion constellation, as it twinkled faintly. Orion was the one who taught him about the stars, and he couldn't bear the thought of his father, the last light of his life would be gone. It broke his soul. The truth was, Regulus might have lived in glamour and comfort, but he never lived the way he wanted to.
He was dead all along, and he wished to live.
***
The Irish witch leaned closer to her date, inhaling his fuzzy peach cologne. She exhaled just as deeply, letting her blood rushed from the tense that built up the past 30 minutes. Her crimson lips itched from the amount of smiling to Slughorn's acquaintances.
"You have no idea how relieved I am." murmured the witch closely to his neck, her breath brushed his skin. "Slughorn might want to show me around if I stay any longer."
"So," McKinnon leaned to her ear, hiding the smile pulled from the edges of his lips. "Dancing with me is only a matter of distraction is it not?"
Azure eyes darted to meet the blond's adorning face, staring at him delicately. It was affectionate and honest. Though, it wasn't the way he wanted it, the starstruck and breathless that she only had for certain someone.
The blond had his black tie was pressed so tight, knotted against his neck. The dark navy suit jacket fitted ever-so-perfectly around him, matching the witch's silky dress. His golden hair unlike the usual messy appearance was gelled and brushed in waves, eyes glossed with admiration. His skin glowing carmine by the seconds they waltzed in the room.
"It's one of the advantages of taking your best friend as a date." quipped the Irish wittily, wiggling her brows. He huffed, of course, the witch clarified it that they were going as a friend. Martin rolled his eyes as she went on, "But if I might say you're quite good in this."
A smug grin formed on his face, "Of course." he began, "Wouldn't it be embarrassing to go to such party and I keep stepping on your fancy shoes."
The Ravenclaw had set a record of not stepping on her shoes the past five minutes, taking a mental note to thank Belby for his dancing lesson. Martin inhaled deeply feeling her touch rose the hair on his nape. Eyes transfixed to her pairs of dark sapphire that looked better than usual, but dissatisfaction glossed her gaze.
"True." the witch's answer was suave in his ears, he breathed in the sweet scent of her perfume. She inched closer to face him and McKinnon swore she would be the death of him. His heart decided to mimic a rhythm of race, almost inhumane that he hoped she didn't notice. Gemma tipped her head to gaze at his roughly shaven jaw, fingers climbing up to circle around his neck and the music seemed to dim in his ear when she spoke. "I want to ask you something, Marty."
Feeling his breath hitched, the blond blinked as he peeled his gaze from her lips up her slightly knitted brows, "Of course . . ." he leaned in to her ear and with a suave timbre he whispered. "Ask away."
"I have been thinking," she darted her gaze up his eyes, there was hurt buried between them. A huff escaped her lips, they inched closer face to face that Martin could almost taste her crimson lipstick. "What you did with Meadowes the other day, the seemingly fantastic snogging—"
"I didn't snog her." he cut her off firmly, his jaw clenched at the thought of that. The air between their lips seemed to grow thinner around their face. "She kissed me out of the blue."
Gemma grinned with mischief dancing in her eyes from the sight of Martin's apparent annoyance. "Look, I was thinking if one day—one of us will find someone more than friends, a lover." began the witch with a small huff, "Do you think that relationship will drift us apart? I mean I will be as understanding as I can but, will you have time to hang out with me if you have a girlfriend?"
The question was out of Martin's calculation, his gaze bore to her face, trying to decipher the reason behind her odd question. Resentment coated the base of his heart, and the thought of Gemma had fancied someone annoyed him. His nose scrunched, but she went on. "To be frank, I have received a few question since last year, if you are interested in anyone."
"Yeah?" Martin arched an eyebrow, swallowing the bitterness on his tongue. "And what did you tell them?"
"I said," Gemma grinned before she spoke. "As far as I know Martin Apollo McKinnon is having pure interest in fantasy book, wishing he was superman in a world without kryptonite."
McKinnon rolled his eyes at that, hearing the chuckle escaped from her lips. Her laughter was heavenly in his ears, he was both lucky and cursed that Gammaliel wasn't a legilimens like her brother did. Because if she was, she would've known right away that Apollo had crafted the warmest sunshine and golden dust as a throne for her in his heart. Or that his heart was long anchored in her beauty, it was trapped in a honey-glazed cage to adore her. That if he was a superman in this reality, she was the kryptonite.
"One day, if you finally allow someone to loan your heart, Marty—I hope they will not drift us apart, because as much as I like to be alone, being in a world without a person like you in it—a hero, in a world full of war, that terrifies me the most." her voice seeped to his hearing like silk, it soothed his heart as much as it pained him of how oblivious Gammaliel was.
It's you, Gemma. YOU.
If only she knew, the only person Martin wanted to be with was standing before him. Yet, the urge to speak his heart out was swamped by sinister whispers that echoed in his ears: a half-blood, an insufferable geek, nerd. All courtesy of Avery's mockingbird tone. Those were his little monsters, it was trapped inside Martin's brain like a bubbling cauldron. Because she was a breathing royal, and the blond was sure she wouldn't want to be with a guy like him. A half-blood.
"Believe me, Gem, it's patented in any universe, that Sherlock and Watson needed each other, they would never leave their partner." answered Martin with a long exhale, feeling his lungs were squeezed when her eyes twinkled with sincerity. "Until the sun stops revolving, Gem. You have me."
"Until the sun stops revolving."
It was one of those moment when he wished he could scurry his glorious flaw and taste a glimpse of her voice calling his name as they danced not just their feet or body, but tongues and lips. Good lord, he had told her how alluring she was that evening that she grew sick of it. When in fact, his tongue seemed to forget other words but the word beautiful.
Her eyes scanned around the room and watched Slughorn's guests were waltzing in a synchronized rhythm with the symphony. Lily was chatting with Slughorn, then Rosier was with Selwyn, trying to not eat each other's face. Sirius' eyes twitched to Martin with a warning, holding a champagne flute. Since the Gryffindor knew that the two fifth years were going. Sirius managed to get himself a ticket to the party. Gemma chuckled, inside Hogwarts' walls, life was never colorless, the night was young, heedless and alive. She might have to record this in her brain, before war bleaked, tore happiness apart.
A pang of worry struck her being once she knew she couldn't find a figure. She tore her gaze around the ballroom, to find the boy who usually dressed in all-black but found none. She flinched as she felt a sudden pain in her chest, blinking rapidly and flashes of darkness were in her vision.
Gemma.
She tore her gaze to find the figure and abruptly took a step back, stopping Martin and herself from dancing. That was his voice, and she was sure of it. The Merlin heiress blinked and felt chilling air crept up her skin, she saw a flash of twinkling stars and dark water.
"Gem, what is it?" Martin queried, tucking her hair behind her ears. The Irish looked up with lips parted, unsure what was happening.
"You heard that?"
"Heard what, Gem?"
Gammaliel.
This time his voice came with a suffocating pain and she felt her heart sank. Gemma heard him, she was sure that it was Regulus' voice. His voice came again, this time it weighed so much somber than she was anticipated. Martin jerked her shoulder, "Gem, are you all right?"
She closed her eyes for a second, sighing, "Can you get me a drink now, please?" she pleaded, the blond nodded briskly. "I think—I need fresh air."
"Sure, I'll be right back."
Martin vanished in the crowd and the witch squeezed herself out of the dance floor to follow her gut. Mindlessly, her feet led her to the hallway, where she found Evan was on his own holding his cheeks with a wince. Her heels echoed, clicking against the floor, "Evan—"
"I'm fine." Rosier cackled cockily, propping his back against the pillars. Hazel eyes scanning the witch as she strolled warily.
"Not that." Gemma bit her lips apprehensively, shaking her head, "Where is he?" she inquired, Evan arched his brows curiously. "Regulus, where is he? I didn't see him all night."
"Girly," Evan winced, "A witch threw her right hook on my charming face and all you care about is where Regulus at?"
The brunette tipped her head and spoke firmly, tapping her feet. "Leon."
The Slytherin boy curved his lips upward, "I don't know, darling. You are not the first one asking for his whereabouts. He told me he would meet me here." he grumbled grimly, showing off his reddening cheek, "You see, Fawley gave this accessory because he ditched her."
"Oh, well." Gemma battered her lashes, before she went on, "Are you going to look for him?"
"Of course, his arse owes me a slap, preferably with a chair." Rosier clicked his tongue with a grin. Though the boy frowned for a split second he had suspected something must be going on. He dusted off his suit, sighing as he looked up to Gemma, "I'll be out. Amanda is away for an ice pack so if you happen to meet her tell her I'll be right back."
As Evan pivoted on his heels the Irish blurted out, "If you can't find him anywhere, try the Black lake." she stated with a small smile. The boy nodded and gestured his hand to blow a kiss as he stepped away.
The discomfort settled in her body, it wouldn't go away. As much as she tried to ignore the coldness or the desperation of his voice in her ears she couldn't. She pondered for a moment, staring at Martin who was with Sirius, having an interesting talk. Then tore her gaze down, what was happening to her? Her feet moved again as if it had their own will. Think, Gem, Merlin must have told you something.
"So you saw him die?" Merlin's voice echoed, his honey eyes gleamed in curiosity. "Won't that be an omen then my dear, your Arthur needs you."
"What I can't understand, Críonna. Out of all the people I met. Him?" she queried back, denial was in her boiling blood, "What does it mean?"
Merlin gave a small smile, brushing his beard with eyes glossed with hope. "The answer will come, my dear, the thing that you should be aware of is that . . . your soul . . . entangled . . . his."
Merlin's voice faded inside her head as Gemma stared blankly at her feet, back to where she was right outside the ballroom of Slughorn's party. The Irish knocked her head with her palms hoping to recall what he said because whatever it was she needed it.
"Come on." Gammaliel groaned, eyes shut as she recalled her memories, she missed a detail, "Two . . . two sides of the same coin. Críonna, I swear I hate you for talking riddles like Kilgarrah."
"Lovely to see you here, cousin."
The arrogance in that voice was enough to break her thoughts, she shuddered before turning her back to face him. There, stood menacingly was Avery with a cigarette lit between his fingers, and smokes escaped his lips making the unpleasant smell invaded the air. Her face scrunched, instinctually she turned away to run.
"You sure you don't want to hear this, cousin?" his acidic voice seeped to her senses and Gemma closed her eyes with agony. His steps came closer heavily and calmly, while she froze, "I have something that you might want to know."
Gemma scoffed, watching Morphine satteliting around her with daunting smirk. "Why are you doing this?" she inquired, jaw clenched, "If you hate me so much why do you keep running to me?"
"Because." his cigarette was dropped to the cold ground almost immediately his shiny shoes pressed against it until the light died out. Avery shot up with a scoff, "I want you to suffer the same way as I do."
Grudge runs through Avery's bloodline so deeply that he couldn't find mercy for the Merlins. When Sonata passed away, Avery was left to blame. He was seven then, watching his galaxy crumbled for each hushed and whispers. Failure of a father, a brat, a bully. Until he was left alone the day his father died from grief and regret. But Avery was like his name, Morphine, he poisoned his mind on his own. Instead of acknowledging the accident, or sought for mercy he revolted, blaming the Merlins.
Gemma shook her head, eyes mirroring his own and she hated that the relation between them made her had to share identical physical features. "So you want to kill me?"
The boy tilted his head examining the glare that he found fascinating. "No, that's paradise to you isn't it?" he sneered satisfyingly, knowing his next words would jab her heart, "What's the point of resurrecting you from the dead then?"
Sirius Black needed a drink, now, so he spiked up his appletiser with giggle water. He sighed deeply pouring the well-needed alcohol into his glass, beaming. But then a red-faced Irish barged in and swooped his glass out of his hand. Before the boy could take it, she downed it empty.
"Fuck." she scrunched her face, shuddering while she observed the empty glass curiously, "Why does this drink burns? More."
"Fuck, indeed, little bird." Sirius deadpanned, his silver eyes widened.
One, two, and too many drinks later, Gammaliel couldn't stop laughing and tears blurring her vision. Mild headache spun her head, as she rested her jaw on Martin's nape, inhaling the peach cologne. Hands clung to his shoulders, lips mumbling incoherently. Her shoes were charmed to follow her, her sling bag was on Martin's shoulder while carrying the girl up to Ravenclaw's tower.
Gemma sobbed, the pain faded as much as it kept coming, cutting her soul to smaller pieces. Her brain recited Morphine's word over and over again, she wished it wasn't the truth. But life wasn't fair even to the Merlin heiress, her breath hitched.
"Why are you drinking? Merlin, you do know you are not legal yet. For fuck's sake, you're fifteen!" came the scolding tone of Martin, hoisting her body up the marbled stairs. In her defense, Sirius didn't tell her what it was but Martin needed to grumble. His voice echoed in the dimly lit corridor, her cried out was inaudible. Her lipstick smudged with marks on his suit. He couldn't think of anything else but annoyance, then as he tore his face to meet her polished eyes and ruined mascara he frowned.
"Why do I live?" her voice now crystal, sorrow had always engulfed her being. Behind the curtains of glossy face and beam, Gammaliel had lost the smile she used to have. The blond paused, deciding it was the right time for him to catch his breath. Slowly he put her down, and she took staggering steps before leaning against the wall.
Her eyes shut, voluntarily tears running down her cheeks. Martin had watched her broke down, but it was never been this way. The girl kept asking why she was alive, with teary eyes she shot up, "I never asked, I never asked to be brought back to live again." Her sob pierced each being's heart, now her hands was lit with azure flames, "This! This curse is what I got from escaping death!"
"Gem, stop th—"
"You know what else that I got from being alive again?" she paused, lips drew into a line while the flames on her hands vanished, "I got to watch my parents left me. my mum died to replace me in hell, my dad became mental because I'm alive!"
True, she lived a life that every witch wanted, worry less, unrestricted, and colorful. But she was supposed to be dead in the very first place, and that reality crushed her heart. The witch's galaxy wasn't the same the moment she left hell, drawn back to mortal's world.
She was alive, but she wished to be dead.
The Ravenclaw blond couldn't stand it, not when the girl kept wishing for her to remain dead. Every sentence squeezed his heart, wishing she would listen to him for once, that not everyone wanted her dead, and perhaps it was the reason she was brought back from Hades' grip. Her hands fidgetting on her dress anxiously, teary eyes staring on her feet.
Her make up screwed, but once a goddess would still look like one. When she no longer had the perfect glam, she was still the forbidden flower of Elysium. Her peach face toned redder than earlier, from the amount of intoxication and ramble and tears, eyes same bright, with pomegranate coated her lips.
Feeling his heart raced the slightest, he couldn't speak to make her stop. He raised his hand to graze her cheek gently, then she tore her gaze to meet his. Was it the heat of his hand that she melted in his touch, or the alcohol that was in her blood that made her acted the way she was — he didn't know, but what he knew was his skin burned as her peony perfume infused his olfactory receptors. The way it tingled from rousing breaths or how her crimson lips teased him to no ends the whole night.
"I didn't ask to live again. I never—"
He lowered his lips to hers, rapturously closing the distance between them. He felt himself burned in guilt and pleasure once her lips moved against his. She tasted like alcohol, breaths fused and guilt grew higher inside of him, he knew he had to stop. But once her hand was pulling on his hair, it didn't matter if the witch didn't love him — no, he didn't waste a peek to hell's paradise. And his body flushed against hers the way he must be sinful for wanting her. His raspy timbre called her name as he pressed his lips to her neck resonating against her pulsating skin, slamming her against the wall drowning in next rounds of ungodly kisses.
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