Regulus' soul hurts, it doesn't like pain. He wants to howl into his pillow at night when he wakes up in a sweat after the next nightmares that follow him.

He tries to smile when Evan jokes about some nonsense. But disturbing thoughts only glide through my head, they intertwine into a sticky web and poison the depths of consciousness.

Regulus pats his frail shoulders, as if he's trying to hug and comfort himself, while thoughts of the image of Sirius who left their home swarm in his head.

Regulus likes flying during Quidditch practice. But not because the excitement of the game turns his head, but because only at this moment he can feel free, like a bird soaring in the sky, which seeks to fly to the best place to hide from the harsh winter. But Regulus was the cold himself, he bound his own wings.

It's only when someone touches his shoulder with their hand that he finally gets distracted from his thoughts. Regulus felt like a frightened, wounded animal.