The Story of Regulus Black - Years 1-4

XCVI. Davey Gudgeon

CW: this chapter dives heavily into the topic of depression and brief mention of suicidal thoughts. if you don't feel comfortable reading it, skip it - you are more important than missing one chapter of a fic.

Regulus awoke in the hospital wing feeling very similar to how he had when he had a hangover. His head was throbbing, heartbeat pounding in his ears, stomach twisting uncomfortably, and very high sensitivity to sound and light.

He could just vaguely make out the form of someone at his bedside, and he blinked slowly a few times before looking over. Barty was staring at him with a feigned impassivity, though there was clear concern in his eyes. Regulus gave him a small smile, though he didn't dare try to sit up. He had a distinct feeling that that would only make his head worse.

"Hey," he croaked, and Barty couldn't keep the smile from quirking his lips.

"Hey," he responded, and he looked Regulus over. "You look a mess."

"Do I?" Regulus looked himself over and frowned.

He was still wearing his Quidditch robes, which were very rumpled indeed. They were also covered in patches of dirt, and there were grass stains on a select few parts. He noticed that his wrist was bandaged tightly, and his frown only deepened. In the disoriented state that he had fainted in, the pain of his wrist had been completely forgotten.

He looked back at Barty, squinting at the bright sunlight that was streaming through the windows. "What happened?" He asked in regards to his wrist.

Barty furrowed his brow in concern, giving up his act of dispassion. "Mulciber hit that Gryffindor Seeker with a Bludger, and you went after him?"

"I know that. I mean this," he held up his wrist.

"Oh, I'm not sure. Madam Pomfrey didn't really tell me much. All she said was that you needed a lot of rest and that I wasn't to come back until you were better."

Regulus gave him an odd look. "How many hours has it been?"

Barty raised his eyebrows, and they quickly knit together again. "Reg, it hasn't been hours. It's been days."

Regulus's eyebrows shot up his forehead, and he sat up so fast that he was sent into a dizzy spell and risked throwing up again. Once he was sure that he could open his mouth without spewing whatever contents his stomach held onto his best mate, he spoke. "Days? What the hell do you mean it's been days?"

"I mean just that. You slept throughout Saturday and Sunday. Madam Pomfrey kept giving you Sleeping Draughts because she knew that you needed rest for your head. Apparently, you really did a number on it. When I came by this morning, she said I could come during lunch because that would likely be when you woke up. And, well, here we are."

Regulus was gaping at him. "I've been here for two days?"

Barty nodded his head. "I guess you had a pretty nasty concussion. She was able to heal it pretty easily with a lot of potions and a lot of spells."

Regulus laid his head back on the pillow, and he stared forward blankly. "Wow," he finally said. "Well, that's something, I s'pose."

Despite himself, Barty laughed. Though his laughter quickly died down, and he cleared his throat. "I think Wyatt wants to speak with you, by the way. D'you want me to tell him you're still asleep? I could-" Barty stopped speaking when he saw Regulus lightly shaking his head.

"No. Whatever he has to say, it's better to get it over with sooner rather than later, right?" To distract Regulus from his impending removal from the Quidditch team, he changed topics. "What happened to him?"