Chapter Text
Thursday
23 December 1976
Regulus stood outside the library door, pacing. He wrung his hands together nervously, trying and failing to calm himself down. Bella had gone to fetch Mother and Father, leaving Sirius on the floor of the library in a body-bind curse.
He had only toasted to the Dark Lord. What is Sirius on about? They had been in the ballroom while Father gave a speech. “To the Dark Lord!” he had concluded with, chorused by all the guests, Regulus included.
“What the hell was that?” Sirius had elbowed Regulus without a trace of his usual affectionate demeanour. It still hurt a bit, and Regulus absentmindedly went to rub his arm. Though, honestly, the pain had been more mental.
Sirius’ face had changed from confusion to hurt after Regulus questioned his lack of toast, and he ran from the room. Things had been going so well between them lately, and Regulus had gone and messed it all up; as per usual. Alright, maybe so well was an exaggeration, but they were speaking—amicable, even—for the first time since the summer.
Regulus had tried to run after Sirius and explain. Explain what? Regulus was not sure—Sirius had always been the one who had a way with words in the face of their parents—but he was sure that he didn’t want to lose his brother before the academic year resumed.
As Regulus had moved towards the exit, Barty had pulled him over by the wrist.
“Reg, you think that girl over there fancies me?” he’d said.
Regulus had raised an eyebrow in response. “Might I remind you that you’re probably cousins, Barty.”
“Hm. Far enough removed, I’m sure, I dare say.”
When Regulus had looked back, Sirius was gone. By the time he’d gotten free of Barty’s endeavors to impress some posh girl, he was too late.
He had swiftly passed by the library before hearing Bella’s screeching and backtracked. Regulus found her almost lustful reverence for the Dark Lord disconcerting. He was sympathetic to his parent's wishes, sure, but Bella’s adoration was unseemly. A chill ran down his spine, immediately straightening his posture when Bella emerged from the library, a mischievous glint, startlingly not unlike Sirius’, in her eye.
“Regulus!” She cut short her manic laughter and smiled in a way that put Regulus at unease as she caught him standing near the library door. “Be a dear and stay put for a minute, will you?” Bella patted his cheek, forcing him to muster every ounce of aristocratic composure within himself to resist from flinching. “I hexed him only an itty bit—a body-bind. I’m fetching Uncle Orion and Auntie dearest for some… fun,” she smirked, adding, “And that friend of yours, too. I like that boy,” as an afterthought. Regulus merely nodded, holding his chin high the whole time.
He didn’t let his shoulders relax or begin pacing until well after Bella had rounded the corner, leaving Regulus where he was now, flipping through a variety of definitions for Bella’s meaning of the word fun. It would be nothing of the sort, Regulus concluded.
He should do something. But then again, when had he ever done anything? It’s always been Sirius doing and Regulus watching. And when Regulus ever attempted to do something, he always messed everything up. Always getting Sirius in trouble, never speaking for himself.
Sirius broke the lamp, Sirius dropped the vase, Sirius spent last Christmas too weak to stand because Regulus could not do so for himself.
Even at their lowest, Sirius still looked out for him (“We’re brothers, we protect each other,” a much younger Sirius once whispered into the night). Point was, whenever he messed up, Sirius always ended up paying for it in blood, usually.
He snapped up straighter than before when Bella bounced back through the hall, twirling her wand between her fingers, followed by Mother, Father, and Barty—who grinned at him. Regulus’ stomach swooped with anxiety.
He was ushered into the library behind his parents and swallowed a lump in his throat at the sight of Sirius laying stiff on the floor with a defeated expression. His steel-blue eyes didn’t even look angry, just sad, and maybe a little scared too—though he knew Sirius would be damned to show fear.
“How kind of you to wait for us,” Bellatrix gibed. “Finite!” Sirius sat up, looking slightly dazed—likely from hitting his head. In typical Regulus fashion, he rendered his face void of any emotion when Mother looked towards him before rounding on Sirius.
“Sirius, my dear,” Walburga spoke with a false sweetness that rasied the hairs on his neck. “Don’t you know the Black Heir is to represent our family with dignity? I taught you better than this, did I not?.”
Sirius’ face twisted in rage so acute, Regulus wasn’t able to hold his gaze when it finally found him. He felt his ears grow warm with embarrassment.
“I hate that it must come to this so soon, but I believe this little… altercation proves to us that it is time you swear allegiance to the Dark Lord,” Father said. Regulus snapped his head towards Father incredulously. This had to be a joke, they had to be joking. How could they?
“No!’ Sirius retorted. Rightfully so, Regulus realized with an uncomfortable churn of his stomach. He had only wanted Sirius to become more devoted to the family, not join up with the Death Eaters!
Regulus considered himself a logical, rational person, and even he didn’t see an intersection between carrying the family name with dignity and taking the mark, especially before graduation. The order, disguised as an offer, seemed unreasonable, especially for Sirius. Regulus shifted on his heels.
“No? But don’t you want to make your prents proud? Proud of their eldest son for upholding his commitment to our noble bloodline?” Father inquired. Regulus watched Sirius’ f expression falter, and tears welled in his eyes.
Regulus tried to tune himself out, to believe this wasn’t unlike every other time Sirius had been in trouble. He didn’t usually watch for this long, being sent up to his room, but corporal punishment was normal in their home.
Nevertheless, Regulus had come to learn this wasn’t supposed to be normal. And this night seemed different than other nights. The Dark Lord had been a conversation reserved for the adults, the mark ever-looming, but neither of them were graduating for quite some time. But now, in this room of adults who claimed to work in Sirius’ best interests, the Dark Lord seemed more like a threat than a deity in a way he had never thought about it before.
“I—I’m trying! I’m trying!” Sirius cried. Usually, Regulus might scoff at the idea that Sirius was trying to be an active part of the family, but his expression was so genuine and his voice pleaded so desperately that Regulus’ heart sank. Maybe he is, Regulus thought. Maybe Sirius was trying…
Regulus wasn’t sure what inspired this sudden surge of affection for his wayward brother, but he couldn’t ignore it. It was his fault Sirius had left the ball in the first place.
“Don’t be so foolish as to lie to your own Mother, Sirius.” Mother tutted. To most, Regulus’ face appeared devoid of emotion, but had Sirius been looking, only he would be able to catch the sheer guilt reflecting through the eyes he knew like the back of hand. Regulus undertood all too well what it was like to be cast aside, always in the shadows, never quite meeting anyone's expectations. He was second born after all—the heir and the spare.
However, Regulus suddenly realized that both he and Sirius were spares in their own way. It had always been one or the other, Mother and Father had never needed both. One would have to take the mark in the end, but which one of them took it did not to matter to their parents. If they had truly desired a son to take the mark, there was no way they would have gone to Sirius first.
Regulus knew that Sirius would fight back with every bone in his body and when he fell short, they would simply move over to him. Would he be strong enough to say no, too? Or would he accept that grim fate quietly like he always did? He was never brave like Sirius.
When Regulus tuned back in, Sirius was spitting in Bella’s face.
“NO!” Sirius spat, and when Regulus heard the sharp tsk of wands be drawn, he winced as he knew what was to come. Despite the three wands pointing at him, Sirius looked right at Regulus with what appeared to be a goodbye.
He stared back at Sirius, and before his brain caught up with his heart, Regulus lunged forwards. Time slowed down just long enough for Regulus to realize, if I don’t now, I know that I'll never have a chance to again. Sirius looked as though he was being cursed just watching Regulus move into the line of fire. Regulus had never meant to hurt him, but deep down, he knew not acting would hurt Sirius more.
We’re brothers, we protect each other.
“Have it your way then, crucio!” Mother cried out. Red light filled the room, time resumed, and Regulus barely had time to comprehend what he was doing before the spell hit.
A blinding pain seared through him. His very bones were on fire, and every last nerve in his body screamed out in opposition, louder than he, himself, was screaming. Sirius screamed too, but it didn’t it stop like he thought it would. Did Mother’s resentment for Sirius override her love for him? Did she really hate Sirius more than she loved Regulus? Apparently so, now that she'd discovered that hurting Regulus hurt Sirius more than any curse could ever.
“Stop it, stop it, please ,” he heard Sirius plead from somewhere in the distance. “You’re hurting him! Please just—just hurt me instead,” he cried.
Regulus just wanted it to end, he saw Death in the distance and knew it was going to be over soon. At least I now know how Sirius feels, Regulus thought, grimly. He felt selfish. Sirius spent years, years, at the end of Mother’s wand for him, and only now, fifteen years later, was Regulus doing something in return for his brother.
It hurt, more than the white-hot knives stabbing every inch of his skin, that not only did it take this long for him to act, but that he wasn’t even strong enough in the end. He tried to mend their broken relationship with one brainless act of bravery and failed because he would be dead, Sirius would never forgive himself, and what would be resolved? Regulus’ guilt? He had never even gotten to apologize, nor did Sirius.
Death was so close now, his cloak was almost within grasp. They looked down at Regulus with knit eyebrows and frowned. It is your choice, though I doubt you’d be satisfied, Death spoke directly into Regulus’ thoughts. And might I remind you, nothing’s gone forever, only out of place. Regulus let go of Death’s cloak and watched them dissipate. There was no time to mull over Death’s words, not amongst all the screaming, so he tucked that in the back of his mind to think about later.
Later, Regulus realized that he wanted a later: he wanted to live. For some good to come out of his woes. To be more like Sirius. To do it for Sirius, despite their complicated bond. If Regulus died now… well, maybe that wouldn't be so—No, Andromeda had always said that he needed Sirius just as much as Sirius needed him. And maybe if he lived, he would get to see her again again one day, too.
For the first time that night, Regulus fought back. The pain intensified ten-fold with every ounce of resistance but the shock his mother faced in his ability to fight for himself was enough to counteract her wrath.
The searing pain of her curse stopped abruptly, and Regulus lay motionless on the floor. He heard voices fighting but found that he couldn’t bring himself to care. As for once, it was not coming from his own throat, which now felt raw and dry. He only cared that he still felt Sirius’ presence by his side despite the shuffling footsteps around him. Once the others were gone, Regulus allowed himself a moment of solace, falling into an enticing darkness.
“Reggie, Reg—Please, please wake up.” Someone was shaking him. “Fuck— Can you hear me? Regulus! Open your damn eyes!” The voice grew more desperate. It sounded a bit like Sirius, but Sirius hadn’t spoken to him, let alone woken him up for one of his stupid pranks, in ages.
“Mmm.” Regulus stirred.
“Oh thank Godric you’re alive,” Sirius, he realized now it was definitely Sirius, was laughing—no, he was crying. He seemed to be doing both at the same time. And why would Regulus be dead? He tried saying as much but found his voice was not working. He felt as though he hadn’t had a sip of water in a hundred years—but why?
He tried rolling over to ignore Sirius, just for another few minutes, but it caused a sharp pain to shoot up his spine and carry with it the memories of the night. He fell back and didn’t even give his tears a chance to well before cascading from him. It hurt to cry, in ways more than one, but that only heightened his distress. There was an unequal distribution of air into and out from his lungs which caused his sobs to hitch in his chest and for him to gasp for breath.
He felt—Sweet Salazar did he feel—Sirius pull him up and into his arms. The touch was foreign, yet familiar, but welcome nonetheless—despite the feeling that his bones were snapping. He felt much younger than he was in Sirius' arms at that moment.
“Shhhh,” Sirius was repeating, rocking him gently and running his hands through his hair: old habits die hard. Both of them were still crying; they really were a sight for sore eyes.
There was a certain tranquility about the library, it being silent besides for Sirius’ soothing whispers and Regulus’ whimpers. It was a lot to process for the both of them, but Regulus’ mind iterated only one thing, out, out out. His heart beat in tandem with Sirius’, and he could practically hear it singing the same tune.
His mind said leave but his heart said stay and that in itself broke him. He felt a childish hope that this had all been but a mistake, that their parents really did love him and Sirius and that, as the family Mother spoke of, they would persevere.
Mother and Father love me, they love Sirius, they want us to stay, to stay because they love us. The concept felt foreign enough for Regulus to tilt his head to meet Sirius' eyes and come to a mutual understanding without speaking a word.
Sirius gently lay him back down and began turning over the library in search of floo powder. There was a fireplace, but there was no floo powder. Mother never kept floo powder in the library. The fireplace was almost considered decorative, but Regulus had seen it be used once before so he knew it was connected to the floo network.
Regulus heard Sirius digging through desk drawers to no avail and turned his head towards the exit, contemplating what would happen if they went to search elsewhere. That was when he noticed a small pot sitting on the floor in front of the door. Not even metaphorically, was floo powder being served on a silver platter. In plain sight too—how they could have missed it, he did not know. But it almost felt like someone wanted them to escape.
“Sirius,” Regulus croaked, “the door.”
Sirius dropped whatever he was holding and rushed to grab the pot. He almost spilled it in his haste but was able to collect a handful and drop it into the fireplace. Regulus watched him standing in front of the green flames and felt a wave of anxiety and guilt wash over him.
“Leave me,” Regulus said. “You go—Get yourself help,” he forced out. Freedom was so close, it scared Regulus and was getting cold feet in his panic, thinking of the no-good that would surely come if they both left.
He knew it didn’t matter to their parents which one of them assumed the role of heir, as long as they took their proper place in the ranks of the Dark Lord. He liked to think that deep down, Mother really did love him, which is why he should be the one to stay. He understood it to be a necessary evil to leave him behind.
“You’re fucking daft if you think I’m going to leave you, Reggie,” Sirius said and Regulus felt weirdly warm inside. “This’ll probably hurt, I’m sorry in advance,” he scooped up Regulus from the floor—who hissed but bit back his tongue—and stumbled into the fireplace. “Potter Manor,” Sirius spoke into the green flames.
Regulus felt as though he was being sucked down a drain. He wasn’t quite able to tuck his elbows in and felt them scraping against who-knows-what but knew they had found their destination when he felt a gust of wind slap him hard across the face as they tumbled out of a fireplace. Sirius immediately dropped him, unable to support even his own weight, and they crashed right into a soft carpet.
“HOLY FUCKING SHIT! MUM! DAD!” Regulus heard who he presumed to be James Potter yell before moving his foot a bit to tap his brother—just to make sure he was really there—and let himself fall back into a more secure state of unconsciousness.