𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄, j. potter

──twenty eight

twenty eight

"WE WERE ALWAYS MEANT TO SAY GOODBYE, weren't we?" Regulus' voice is hoarse, thick with the words he forced himself to swallow.

Maxwell smiled sadly, his eyes are warm, one that Regulus had gotten so used to. They're always warm, inviting, determined. He nodded.

"Yeah. I think so."

"I love you," Regulus admits, hands clutching his wand so tightly that his fist was turning white. "I love you so much."

Maxwell stepped forward till there were mere inches between them. With eyes shut tight, he planted a kiss on his lover's forehead. "I know, I know. I love you too."

"Don't make me do this, please," Regulus begs, tears freely falling to his cheeks.

The older boy smiled sadly again as if he had no other choice. Regulus knew then that Maxwell had accepted it, accepted his death as if it was his fate. "Ironic isn't it? How hope keeps us breathing just to kill us in the end? I have no hope left in me, Reg. I'm done, but you're not. You have to keep going."

Slowly, Maxwell's hand covers Regulus'. Slowly, he lifted the wand till it's pointed exactly where his heart is. Slowly, he whispered the words "I love you."

Regulus couldn't control his sobs then as it rocked his body. "Please, Max, please don't make me do this."

"It has to be done, Reg."

"Golden child, lion boy," Regulus whispered between sobs and Maxwell's lips lifts up to a smile. "Tell me what it's like to conquer."

"Fearless child, broken boy," Maxwell replies, his voice just as soft. "Tell me what it's like to burn."

And very slowly, with his eyes never leaving the younger boy's and his hand tightly holding onto his, he muttered the words.

"Avada kedavra."

Regulus woke up in cold sweat, his chest heaving and his whole body shaking.

He rubbed at his teary eyes, glancing at the clock to see that it was only ten minutes past two am.

He allowed himself a moment to calm himself, breathing in and out. He shut his eyes tight, leaning on his headboard for support as he forced himself to focus on the loud beating of his heart against his ears.

It took more than a moment, of course. Regulus learned early on in life that his own personal demons were damn near impossible to chase away especially under the light of the moon with nothing but the company of his thoughts.

But eventually, he calmed down enough to pull himself from the fetal position he had somehow found himself in. Knowing there was no way he would be able to go back to sleep, Regulus let out a sigh before pulling the covers off, not letting his eyes wander to the wand that rest on his nightstand, the same wand that had killed his old lover.

Grief was a horrible thing. It claws at you from the inside, feeding at you like a living thing till there's nothing left but the rot.

But Regulus now knows nothing but grief. It's become his one companion in life, making sure to choke him at every second of everyday. Grief is a rope tied to his neck, never relenting no matter how hard he tugs at it.

But grief, he's learned, is also really just love. It's all the love you want to give but cannot till all of that unspent love gathers at the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hallow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.

And Regulus loved Maxwell with all the love the world had to offer. He loved him and his pale, long fingers tangled in Regulus' hair, running down his spine. Him and his lips against Regulus' neck, his jaw, his chin. And in the empty walls they often found themselves in, religion shifts and turns and blurs. His mouth had been Regulus' confessional, his name Regulus' prayer, and they sin, again and again and again and the devil had never seemed so holy.