The Late Mr. Regulus Black (wetandbothered5) wrote,
The Late Mr. Regulus Black

About The Character

Name: Hannah
Age: Eighteen
LJ Account: noneedofcrepe
Email: ask
MSN Contact: ask

Name: Regulus Arcturus Black
Age: Eighteen
Double dates: 16 October 1961 - 21 December 1979
Canon: Harry Potter, book
Form a string of adjectives: Fretful, curious, guilty, bony, frustrated, wary, evasive, uptight, shy, neurotic, elegant, small, attentive, painstaking, merciful, yearning, jaded, translucent, delicate, selective, careful, wan.
What are your strengths?: I am entirely good at avoiding notice. Before I ended up here it was just how I preferred it, considering the circumstances, but down here being noticeable isn't always wise.
Weaknesses?: I don't feel comfortable with these questions. Mother always said I made my own problems, apparently she was far more on the money than either of us expected, seeing as I've ended up where I have. So do forgive me if I fail to see the positive side from time to time.

How did you fall down the Rabbit Hole?: When the Dark Lord asked if I was ready to devote myself to the cause... I suppose I told a terrific lie that night. I wasn't ready. That became much too clear as I was eventually brought in to work with people - so many of whom I knew, had known all my life - to do things I would care not to repeat. I stopped feeling safe no matter where I went or who I was with after seeing all I saw. I really didn't intend to discover what I did about the Dark Lord's secret. Ignorance really is bliss. Still, had Kreacher not returned to tell me what he had seen I can't imagine how much longer I could have stood watching people die, participating in a war I believe was doing more harm to our world than good when everyone started mistrusting everyone else and resorting to murder before asking questions. It was merely an unlucky miracle I had heard of a Horcrux once before, just a fateful twist that I figured out what he had done. Violence is a forced power, even if that power is deserved. And no house elf deserves so little respect. Kreacher was if anything more noble than most wizards, and he understood what respect of blood really meant. He didn't deserve to be used as a tool then cast aside. I had reached a point I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't stand myself for what I had done. It took all my bravery and suspension of all my fondest memories but Kreacher took me to that cave, he showed me that perversion. I ordered him to take the locket and leave me and I was so frightened I was beyond it. I pray he made it home safely. When the bodies dragged me down into the water... I let them. You must understand I didn't want to die, I just couldn't live.

Did you possess any supernatural or superhuman ability or advantage? How are you coping with its loss?: I wouldn't exactly call it superhuman, what I had. But I know one thing, I grew up with more than this. I suppose I never really understood what they meant when they said wizards had something so valuable and rare. I believed them, that magic made us special and different from muggles, but I didn't understand. Down here the only magic there is simply exists to more easily and more painfully remind us we're here. Frankly I would prefer not to be reminded. Magic is, in essence, why I died when I did. Perhaps it's a blessing in a hideous disguise that my wand is rotting somewhere at the bottom of that lake.

What Level of Hell have you been damned to and why?: Five. I believe that speaks for itself. Though if you really want a reason, irony. The delight this place and the things that run it take in irony is beyond cruelty. However I suppose one should expect nothing less from Hell, that is the point of it's existence, after all.
Unfortunately I always assumed it was a metaphorical existence - how ironic.
In all honesty, I assumed quite a lot of things. Among them being I assumed that I had reason to feel the things I did. I kept most of it to myself, I certainly did not tell most anyone, but most everyone still noticed. I always thought it was they who were in the wrong, none of them seemed to see just how unfair life was, and just how upsetting people had the capacity to be. Everyone went about acting perfectly happy even when there was nothing to support it. My whole life I was reminded that being wary was an oddity, when really I was only wary of being an oddity at all. Still, I carried on, I was pleased when it made sense to be, polite, there were things I cared about, things I thought were beautiful. But I suppose that isn't enough. It isn't enough to be made happy by only a small number of things and people, it isn't enough to smile only when it's really the time for it. The bottom line is that if I wasn't meant to be this way, if I lived so very wrongly, how did I end up here. I didn't make the world the way it was, I didn't decide to think what I thought and feel any certain way. It's not fair. And this place is proof. What a price to pay to be right.

How did you escape your native Level's punishment?: One could either call it rescue or ingestion. I stayed in the swamps of Five for what turned out to be far over a decade before I was reunited with a very dear friend I never expected to find again, Barty Crouch Jr. Of course that damn thing living in the water with all it's tentacles and teeth had to intrude and when the shreds of us found their way back together again we were on the edge of Four. Leaving Five that first time was an accident but I've spent ever since then trying not to go back.

How do you deal with the permanent after-effects of your Level?: When I first arrived here I didn't even realise there were any, when I was pulled under I came from one body of water to find myself here in another. In a way I was in Five before I even died, because I've been drowning ever since then. I have no other choice but to just try to keep breathing past the water.

Obituary: A private memorial service was held on the morning of Jan. 5, 1980, at the Church of St Mary Abbots, in Kensington, where relations and close family friends gathered to mourn the loss of Regulus Black. Following his shocking disappearance reported to the authorities the 22nd of this past Dec. from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the young scion's disappearance has been the cause of much contention, but what is certain is that the loss of this young life is devastating not only to those who knew him but to the rest of our world. Aurors have no evidenced leads in this unfortunate event and searches have been discontinued, he is presumed dead at the age of eighteen years.

Regulus Black was born in his ancestral home in the heart of London on Oct. 16th, 1961. He was a polite and intelligent child with a kind disposition and received the highest education at Hogwarts where he was attending his final year. His headmaster tells us that young Mr. Black was a good student who stayed out of trouble and that he was studying to take the N.E.W.T.s and scheduled to graduate this coming June. His presense will be missed by his classmates, his friends, and his family. He is survived by his mother Walburga Black and his brother Sirius.

To honour the memory of their devoted son, a headstone will be erected in the Black family plot beside that of his late father, the much respected Orion Black who passed away not long before his youngest son's disappearance. The family ask that all condolences be directed through their representative in the Office of Births Deaths & Marriages in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry of Magic.

RP Account: wetandbothered5
PB: Shaun Haugh
Write a sample entry: ~ Dropping down the side of a pile of garbage is much more difficult than it seems it will be when one's standing at the top. From there it looks safe and just a few quick hops until finally Seven's clutter can be left behind, but it's a bit more complicated than that. Regulus teeters on a broken chair and as he slips down on unsure feet a small avalanche of trash accompanies him. At the bottom now, he looks down at his feet and sees a used syringe sticking blatantly out of the toe of his shoe, mercifully missing any toes. He plucks it out and tosses back into the forest of broken items, leaving it there for the bugs to crawl over for the rest of time. ~
Write a sample comment: *Regulus looks up at the noise, wiping some ever-present dirty water from his face and scanning the darkened landscape for movement - that wasn't a scream from any human, he has heard all sorts of screams and cries but whatever it is out there definitely does not fit into that category - water trickles into his ear and he tilts his head to redirect it, listening, waiting for the noise to sound again*

Tags: !profile
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened