http://spindleform.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
spindleform.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bait_backup2011-05-17 12:53 am
spindleform.livejournal.com) wrote in bait_backup2011-05-17 12:53 am
Entry tags:
Silence like a cancer grows
*In the morning, Kreacher had woken Regulus from a fragile sleep. The creak of the door and the tap of hanger on wood as he hung Barty's cleaned and pressed clothes on the back of a chair had been enough to make Regulus prop himself up on his elbow and begin a day of waiting. He's long since stowed the black funeral suit away into the closet, where Barty cannot see it, but it's a wasted effort. Barty had already been awake before Kreacher had come in and opened the blinds, but he's yet to make a single move or single sound to recognise Regulus' presence, or the suits. Still, Regulus locks it away. He likes to think he'll say something sooner if he doesn't have to look at what he wore to bury his mother.
Barty looks small and strange, almost like an imposter tucked neatly under the blankets in one of Grimmauld Place's many spare rooms - his spare room, set aside and always made up just for him. Though he stares toward the window, he doesn't seem to be seeing anything, let alone noticing or caring about Regulus' valiant hiding attempts. To Regulus, his eyes are dull and so unlike him, more grey than their usual invigorating blue and not afraid to stare into the cool daylight. He doesn't even squint, merely looks as though the last thing he had really truly looked at was Bernadette's monument, like he can't bare to look away even after Regulus has led him home and gotten him a night's rest. He blinks still, sometimes he almost sighs, but his silence is so perverse it makes Regulus think he looks cursed, trapped inside a frozen body too full or too empty to notice the surroundings anymore. It frightens him, but he stays with him, never leaving the room once.
He watches him all through the morning and well into the afternoon, and only gives up trying to get him to eat after over an hours' quiet persuasion that gets nowhere and no response. At nine he holds a glass to his lips, but he doesn't drink. At noon he props him up with pillows, but he still looks straight through Regulus as though he's a ghost. At three Regulus begins to wonder what he will do when Barty needs to use the toilet or the shower. At five Regulus shakes him, just a bit, just to see if he'll tell him to stop. At seven, Kreacher brings them both dinner, and at eight neither plate has been touched.
Lamps are lit, Barty still only breathes, his chest heavy and his cheeks pale. When a feathery knock comes on the door, he only hopes it's Bernadette's ghost, because a terrified lump has been in his throat since the morning. He doesn't know how to replace a mother, only how to weather a silence.*
Barty looks small and strange, almost like an imposter tucked neatly under the blankets in one of Grimmauld Place's many spare rooms - his spare room, set aside and always made up just for him. Though he stares toward the window, he doesn't seem to be seeing anything, let alone noticing or caring about Regulus' valiant hiding attempts. To Regulus, his eyes are dull and so unlike him, more grey than their usual invigorating blue and not afraid to stare into the cool daylight. He doesn't even squint, merely looks as though the last thing he had really truly looked at was Bernadette's monument, like he can't bare to look away even after Regulus has led him home and gotten him a night's rest. He blinks still, sometimes he almost sighs, but his silence is so perverse it makes Regulus think he looks cursed, trapped inside a frozen body too full or too empty to notice the surroundings anymore. It frightens him, but he stays with him, never leaving the room once.
He watches him all through the morning and well into the afternoon, and only gives up trying to get him to eat after over an hours' quiet persuasion that gets nowhere and no response. At nine he holds a glass to his lips, but he doesn't drink. At noon he props him up with pillows, but he still looks straight through Regulus as though he's a ghost. At three Regulus begins to wonder what he will do when Barty needs to use the toilet or the shower. At five Regulus shakes him, just a bit, just to see if he'll tell him to stop. At seven, Kreacher brings them both dinner, and at eight neither plate has been touched.
Lamps are lit, Barty still only breathes, his chest heavy and his cheeks pale. When a feathery knock comes on the door, he only hopes it's Bernadette's ghost, because a terrified lump has been in his throat since the morning. He doesn't know how to replace a mother, only how to weather a silence.*
no subject
no subject
He won't starve, darling.
no subject
Perhaps Kreacher can do it. He taught me to eat my asparagus when I was young, didn't he? I remember.
no subject
But it's best not to try and force him. He'll come 'round on his own. One must be patient.