Long blades of grass tremble in the wind. Tiny feet pound it flat in the shade of an olive tree. Dancer and Audience hover in the tranquility of the tree, avoiding the sun that may or may not burn them. Dancer is a girl who cannot be more than ten years old. She pounds on the grass and makes them her stage. She sways and tosses her hands with all the freedom she can ask for and all the grace she never knew she had. She does not know the man standing just off to the side, but she knows that she is here for him. She can see it in his face.
Audience knows the little girl. He kept a picture of her in between the mattress and box spring of his bed before he passed. Her face looks so like the picture. He just wants to hold it still so that he can memorize it before it disappears again. He wants to cup her familiar cheeks in his worn hands and rub away the tears that glistened there the last time they met. She looks just as he remembers her: the same soft skin and the wide forehead. The speckled blue eyes and the sun catching hair. Even her blue sun dress is the same.
But that is not the nature of this place. He cannot touch what he longs to touch. He is the Audience. He must wait for Dancer to be done dancing before he can remind her that he was a little boy once, who loved her dearly. She had loved him too, and allowed him to love her. For that she was taken away from him. He tries to say something to the little girl, but his voice catches in his throat, reminding him that he is a Visitor here. A frustrated tear slides from his left eye, unexpectedly and he pauses to wipe it away. He does not see Dancer shed the same tear as he climbs up into the gnarled old tree to watch and wait.
An eternity passes. It occurs to Audience that he should join her in her dance, rather than let her dance alone. For the moment he forgets he is a terrible dancer. He climbs down and walks to the little girl, who glistens slightly in the half-light. He hovers on the edge of her stage, for to cross it would be a commitment to this quiet dance. She stops her dance for a moment—the first time she has stopped since he came to this small piece of Heaven—and looks at him. Her pretty blue eyes are expectant: waiting for him. Without conscious thought, he steps onto the stage and bows to her.
She curtsies and takes his offered hand. As he spins her around she shuts her eyes. His name comes to her slowly. Another tear leaks from her closed eyes, but she cannot remember why she is crying. He pulls her into his arms and continues to sway. She feels his tears on her face, mingling with hers. “Do you remember my name?” he asks softly, his tear-damp lips close to her left ear. She nods, and rests her head on his chest.
He kisses her forehead as they sway. “Put me down please,” she murmurs. He has to force his hands to let go of the little girl. She slides down his front and walks from the stage. He is half full of the fear that she will vanish in front of his eyes. He follows her tentatively to the edge of the pressed grass. She walks away from the shade of the tree and into the light of the sun.
As the sun hits her skin, he sees her as he never saw her in life. She is no longer ten years old but nearly his age. She looks as though his mother had never touched her. The sight brings tears to his eyes again. His knees buckle underneath him as her final moment alive rushes over him.
His skin is covered in goose bumps as the screaming gets louder. She’s calling for him. She wants him to save her, but he cannot. This door is in the way, and no amount of magic is going to make it move. He cannot do much more than beg. “Mum, stop,” he yells, but he cannot get his voice over the scream. He pounds on the door that his best friend is locked behind. His hands hurt from banging on the door for so long. “Sirius, help her, mum is hurting her!” he finds himself saying. He knows Sirius cannot help. Sirius is away at school. He cannot help the little girl screaming anymore than he can.
“Mum, please,” he begs, “I’ll never see her again if you just leave her alone!”
The door opens and Regulus Black allows himself the small hope that she heard him and is going to let her go. He imagines her running away and never coming back. He knows it will hurt a lot, not being able to play with her anymore, but he is willing to sacrifice his happiness for her. His mother wears a satisfied grin and stands aside to let him pass. “I won’t let you say goodbye to the next Muggle you bring home, boy,” she snaps before walking away.
Only one candle keeps the room lit. It flickers in the corner, and he goes to grab it. He brings it over and sets it in front of her face. “Anita,” he says. He cannot see much in the dim light. Only her face is visible with the candle. He tries to wipe the small trail of blood and saliva that trails from her mouth. Her eye cracks open, but she closes it tightly against the light.
“Regulus,” she says thickly, her voice full of pain. Her small hand reaches up to touch his face. Her thumbs wipe away tears he does not know he is crying. The candle shakes. “Can you kiss me?” she asks quietly, “I haven’t had my first kiss yet and I’d like it to be yours.” He nods and leans down. She tastes of blood and salt. Her hand slips from his face and falls to the floor with a quiet thud. She is still underneath him. He pulls back and looks into her eyes. The cold, lifeless blue that was so happy a few hours ago repels him. Those are not his best friend’s eyes.
He stands up when the door opens again. His mother is standing next to the house elf. She looks crazed in the half light. He barely controls the temper boiling under his skin. If he had been his brother, the woman who gave birth to him might be dead. But he was not and so he walked out of room without a word, wiping Anita’s blood off his lips.
It is not until he reaches his room that he lets his temper explode out of him.
Her hands startle him as they trace his neck. They are unusually warm. He looks up into her sparkling, speckled-blue eyes. She offers her his hand to help him up. He cannot take it. He leans his face downward. She tries to pull his chin up so that she can see his face. He shakes her off.
“What’s wrong? Is it me?” she asks, her voice heavy. He shakes his head.
“I don’t deserve this,” he says after a long moment of silence.
Anita raises his head at last. His eyes are glazed over, and they refuse to meet hers. She kisses him lightly. “You are forgiven,” she says. At this he can take no more. He pulls away from her and the meadow and retreats back into the shade. Her love is too much for him. He wants to run from here, be anywhere but here. And yet he is chained here like Prometheus to his rock.
“Regulus, why do you run from me?” Anita cries out.
He does not answer. He does not want forgiveness. He wants to burn in Hell like he deserves. But maybe this is Hell. Nothing could be worse than hearing Anita cry. He struggles with the urge to comfort her and the need to hide from her. He can barely feel the tears that run down this cheeks. He has not cried this much since she died.
The urge to see her again overpowers his sense. He does not want to lose her, his Anita, again. The fear that she has vanished for good moves him forward. At first he cannot see her, for he has adjusted to the darkness of the shade. But he has no reason to fear. He finds her sitting patiently in the light. A little daisy hangs loosely in her hands. She watches it with curiosity. “You never let me finish speaking,” she says, not looking up from the daisy, “You are forgiven because you love me. Please don’t run away again.”
He reaches for her hand and she takes it.
“I’ll never leave you again,” he promises, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her lips.