Falling Apart

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Story Notes:
The skin around the Dark Mark is red and raw. Regulus hasn’t bothered using a glamour to conceal the area that’s he damaged in his quest to remove the mark. It hurts her heart to see her cousin become this haunted shell of the boy he used to be. She knows who to blame. Lucius, Bellatrix, Rodolphus, even dear Rabastan all have the same mark, but they wear it proudly. They boast about torture and death over supper as if they’re discussing the weather. She has grown to detest their Dark Lord, not that they’ll ever know.

Regulus has to become stronger. Narcissa worries about him more with each passing day, and she knows his journey is an unhappy one. He regrets his choices, talks about missing Sirius and envying his freedom, whispers about rebellion and making a difference before their world becomes something neither of them want regardless of their opinions on magical bloodlines. She’s the only he trusts any more, and she knows the risk she takes by meeting him and listening to his plans.

It’s worth the risk. She has already lost a sister and a cousin to support the cause, and another sister is practically lost to obsession and devotion. She cannot stand to lose Regulus, too. Besides, when the cobblestones run red with blood, she isn’t able to see any difference between the two sides. Blood looks the same. It’s a thought that would get her killed, of course, so she keeps it to herself and plays her part of a dutiful wife and supportive Pureblood even as she refuses to receive a mark that she doesn’t believe in. Lucius protects her, and he seems to understand, in his way, even if they never dare speak about it.

“Cissy…I can’t do it anymore.”

“You can, Regulus, and you will.”

Narcissa joins him on the bed, leaning in to brush her lips against his. She touches his face as she urges him back against the mattress, wiping away tears that have been falling silently, listening to his broken sobs as he clutches her tightly. He’s so young, even if he’s only a few years younger than she, and she wishes she could do more to help keep him strong. This is all she can offer, though, and he accepts it with desperate whines and breathless moans. She strokes him as they kiss, his girth warm and pulsing against her palm.

Regulus is writhing beneath her, hips bucking up and breath catching as she kisses away his tears. She watches him fall apart, feels sticky wet against her fingers as he whimpers, continuing to stroke as he spasms in her hand. He looks at her with reverence as he catches his breath, so beautiful and already so broken.

Narcissa knows there will be no happy endings for either of them, not with how they think and how they feel. Regardless, she holds him as he falls apart before she slowly begins to put him back together again.