Chapter Text
Part I:
Chapter One
December 22nd, 1975
Mama, come here,
Approach, appear,
And Daddy, I'm alone,
Cause this house don't feel like home.
- Unsteady, X Ambassadors.
The first memory Regulus Black had of his childhood was of his older brother, Sirius, and the book he was reading from while he tucked Regulus into bed.
He had to have been four or five, barely old enough to understand his lot in life, and they were curled up on the chaise lounge in his room, his blanket wrapped around them like a shield. Sirius was sitting behind him, with Regulus’ back pressed to his chest, and his arms curled around him in a protective bubble while he read aloud. He voiced each character in a different accent or language, switching naturally between English and French, using the whole of his body to tell the story.
It hadn’t been the first time Sirius had read that story to him, and it wouldn’t be the last for several more years, but looking back on the memory, Regulus knew it was the last time he felt completely happy and safe.
Years later, by the time he’d turned eleven, he had grown to understand his place in the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, and the expectations that came with it. His first two years attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were spent in silence, surrounded by classmates and unable to reach them. He knew he was clever, he’d been told by the private tutors his parents enlisted when he and Sirius were younger, but he often suspected them of simply praising him because of his family name. He hadn’t believed them when they told him how quickly he brewed a potion or mastered a charm, and it hadn’t helped that they degraded his older brother when he faltered.
So, it wasn’t that he couldn’t preform in his classes, quite the opposite, and that seemed to intimidate the others in his year. Although, he supposed that was a good thing, since he had been sorted into Slytherin, and with his last name being what it was, he knew that his mother would be proud.
His brother, however, seemed to hate him once the sorting hat screamed out his house. Sirius had been so sure that he would end up in Gryffindor, with him and his friends, and when Regulus wasn’t, it was like Sirius forgot he existed. They hadn’t spoken unless forced to in nearly four years, and Regulus could feel the tell-tale ache begin to creep through his chest at the thought.
Two days into the Christmas holiday, hours before their annual Christmas party, Regulus found himself wandering through the shadowy halls of Grimmauld Place, both longing for and avoiding spending a moment alone with his brother.
Their mother had invited countless family members to the manner to celebrate Christmas, using the event to network and strengthen political alliances among the pureblood families of the wizarding world. Regulus knew he would be expected to behave like the perfect son during the party, otherwise risk his mother’s wrath, and therefore simply wanted to find comfort in the hours beforehand.
Like a ghost, he passed through the halls, unaware of where his feet were taking him until he stood in front of a door with a large star carved into the dark wood.
Sirius, the brightest star in the night sky.
The irony was not lost on Regulus, who refused to admit aloud that he still viewed his brother in the same way, even when pushed.
He stood, silently, gazing at the star, almost hoping that it would open to reveal the gray eyes of his brother, so similar to his own, and that Sirius would envelope him into his arms like he used to when Regulus was younger. He silently wished that Sirius would see how much the distance between them hurt, and reassure him that he was still loved, still wanted. That he wasn’t the spare that had to prove he had a reason to be there, to exist. He wasn’t the heir, he wouldn’t grow up to control the family wealth and legacy. That wasn’t his responsibility, but he was still expected to be absolutely perfect, especially when his brother wasn’t.
Being the perfect child was exhausting. He felt drained and wanted nothing more than to curl up in his older brother’s bed and feel as if the world outside didn’t exist.
He just wanted the door to open.
It didn’t.
Regulus lifted his hand towards the door, his fingers reaching forward as if to trace the star, but he stopped just shy of the carving, embarrassed. What was he doing? Standing in front of his brother’s door like he hadn’t made it painfully obvious that he wanted nothing to do with him? Hadn’t the past four years been proof enough that Sirius no longer cared for him?
Regulus had made a promise to at least try and speak to his brother over the break, however, and it looked like he would have to try again another day to work up the courage to knock.
Shaking his head, the thick black curls that sat atop his head shifting to cover his eyes, he turned to leave, intent on going into his room to hide until he was forced to interact with people.
However, he stopped and turned to look over his shoulder at the sound of the lock on the door clicking. His eyes widened in surprise at the sight of his brother’s bedraggled appearance as he stood just inside the door.
At sixteen Sirius Black stood nearly a head above Regulus, but with a similar build. His broad shoulders tapered into a thin waist and sharp hips connected to his long legs. An athletic build, honed by his time spent playing quidditch. Regulus had been proud of his brother when he earned his position on the Gryffindor team as a beater and had silently admired his skill on the pitch. He never told anyone, but Sirius was the reason he’d tried out for the Slytherin team his second year, and when he’d been made seeker, the first thing he had wanted to do was tell his brother and hear how proud he was of him. When he’d found Sirius, the older boy had told him to bugger off without letting him speak a word.
Now, he stood, although leaning was a better way to describe the way he was standing, looking at Regulus with a narrowed gaze and blank expression.
“Did you get lost?” He asked, his tone harsh as he spoke.
Regulus straightened his spine and lifted his eyes to meet his brother’s, closing off his expression at the aggressive tone. He’d had years to perfect the cold and empty mask he wore more often than not, and he used it now. “I had contemplated warning you to try and behave tonight during the party, but since you seem so eager to be at the end of mother’s wand I think I’ll just be on my way.” He replied, his voice void of the hurt that hid just below the surface. He could feel the tiny part of him screaming out for his brother, begging him to behave so that he could avoid getting hurt.
Please, just do as you’re told, for once.
He turned to leave, hoping to make it to his room before the mask fell and he was left looking at the shattered pieces. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking, trying to talk to Sirius like nothing had changed between them-
“Wait, Reg-.” Sirius’ voice stopped him, the softness pulling at his core, but he refused to turn. He was scared to breath too deep and risking breaking the bubble between the two of them. It had been years since they’d spoken to each other with any kind of gentleness, and he was weak enough to take whatever his brother would give him. “Just- I mean-“ He heard Sirius release a frustrated huff of air and he finally turned to look at him, surprised to see the flustered expression on his brother’s face. “I know that we aren’t…Look, um…I got you something.” As Sirius spoke, he opened the door wider and stepped back into his room, not waiting to see if Regulus would follow.
Regulus hovered just inside the door, tucking his hands into his pockets while he waited for Sirius to come back. His eyes traveled over the room he hadn’t had been given entry to in years, refusing to let his lips lift into a grin at the blatant house pride all over the walls, posters featuring flying quidditch players from different teams, and pictures filled with students from Sirius’ year and his dormmates.
Without his consent, Regulus’ feet pulled him towards a picture of four boys huddled around a pile of sweets, having clearly been taken during the previous summer. Regulus let his eyes move over each boy, struggling to keep the overwhelming emotions locked away. The picture had taken by a magical camera, giving the boys life as they pushed and teased one another over and over again.
On the far left was a young blonde boy with the face of cherub, his blue eyes bright and eager as he laughed repeatedly at the camera. Peter Pettigrew, Regulus had always thought he was the shiest of the boys and could hardly find a reason Sirius was friends with him.
The boy on the far right was easily recognizable by the scars that ran over his nose and cheek, Remus Lupin, the tallest of them and easily the most clever. If Regulus was a gambling man, he would have bet that Remus was the brains behind every prank his brother and his friends pulled off. He’d always wondered how Lupin had gotten his scars, but never had the courage to ask or look into it and watching as the boy continually looked away from the camera to smile down at his brother, tucked into his side, he was sure it wasn’t all that important.
Beside Remus was Sirius, completely at ease with the arms thrown over his shoulders as he smiled up at the camera before throwing an obscene gesture over and over.
Regulus’s eyes fell onto the dark-haired boy on his brother’s other side.
James Potter.
His glasses rested atop his nose and his wild black hair stuck out in all directions, as if he had been running his fingers through it constantly. His sun-kissed skin matched his golden-brown eyes as he seemed to stare right into Regulus’ soul, his lips curled up into a smile that promised mischief.
Letting his gaze linger on the boy with olive-colored skin and unruly hair, Regulus felt his heart give a slight shudder. Sometime during the previous term, he’d constantly found himself in James’ company. It had started off as a late-night study session by himself in the library, or so he’d thought. James had been a few tables down, and it had only been when Regulus went in search for a specific book that was located high on shelf that he’d been shocked by a voice behind him offering to help him get it down. He could remember making a snide comment about how he didn’t need help, but once it was apparent that he’d forgotten his wand, he begrudgingly let the older boy retrieve the book.
Study sessions slowly turned into late-night walks through the grounds, or by the Black Lake, and by the end of the term, Regulus considered James not only a friend but a source of comfort.
Not that he would admit it to the boy.
James had never judged him or compared him to Sirius, seeing them as two different people, and Regulus was unprepared for how quickly he’d come to rely on him. During their last conversation, a quick goodbye in an empty classroom hours before they had to leave the school, James had made him promise that he would try and talk to Sirius, hoping that they could begin to mend their broken relationship. Regulus had been reluctant, but eventually James pulled the agreement from between his lips, as if he could deny James anything.
James was all things good and happy.
Everything Regulus knew he wasn’t.
“Oh, here it is.” His brother’s voice snapped Regulus out of his thoughts, and he spun around to face the older boy, dropping the picture. Sirius rose to his feet and moved away from the chest he had been kneeling in front of and held out a small blue box topped with an emerald green bow. “If you hate it don’t tell me.” He sounded nervous, and Regulus tilted his head slightly before taking the box and cradling it for a moment.
It took a gentle tug to undo the bow, allowing him to open the top of the box, and saw that nestled inside was silver chain tucked beneath a silver pendent the size of a galleon with the words Cœur de lion engraved on the front.
Lionheart. The star for which he was named, Regulus, was the brightest in the Leo constellation. He’d never understood why he was named for that particular star, in that constellation. Lionheart meant courageous, and that was something he certainly wasn’t.
Gingerly, he reached for the pendent, the chain dangling as he lifted it out of the box. He ran his thumb over the engraving carefully and let out a soft sigh, his shoulders releasing the ever -present tension he felt within them. Looking up at his brother, Regulus nodded once before setting the box down and draping the necklace over his neck so that the pendant rested against his chest. He knew he would have to tuck it into his shirt before the party, but for the moment he let himself show it off.
“Sirius-“ He opened his mouth, hoping to finally voice the turbulent thoughts roaring through him, but slammed his mouth shut when he heard a loud crack just outside the door, in the hall.
“Master Regulus?” A croaky voice called from the hall as Kreacher, the Black family’s house elf, poked his wrinkly head into the room. The elf stood just to Regulus’ thigh, hunched forward in a near permanent bow, with large veiny ears that laid back against his head, and a deep scowl set on his face. The scowl deepened as his beady black eyes landed on the two of them. “Master Regulus is knowing how Mistress feels about his talking to his ill-behaved brother.” He whispered sternly, and although Regulus knew that Kreacher wouldn’t report the moment back to his mother, he wasn’t feeling brave enough to push his luck. He turned away from Sirius and tilted his head towards the grouchy elf. “Mistress is wanting you to join her in the parlor.”
Regulus nodded once and waited until the elf left to return to preparing for their guests before glancing back over his shoulder at Sirius. There was so much he wanted to say, but the slightly fearful look on his brother’s face kept him quiet, choosing instead to offer a reassuring smile before he left.
Regulus made his way to their parlor without thinking, taking only a moment to tuck his new necklace into his button up shirt, and stepped into the room without a word.
The parlor, like the rest of the house was decorated in different shades of black, gray, and green, with the occasional accent of purple thrown in for good measure. Off to one side sat a circular table big enough to seat six, a dark silk cloth draped over the surface, with six matching chairs surrounding it. Perfectly placed on the table was a delicate china tea set, complete with cups, saucers, cream and sugar, and a tall silver teapot. Beside the tea set was a serving tray filled with an array of small fruits, cheese spreads, and bread.
Regulus let his eyes wander over the room, taking in the couches and bookshelves that his mother used to entertain guests, and while he knew that the furniture was the most expensive and likely passed down through the generations of Blacks, he’d always found the room to be empty. Even with the sparse Christmas decorations that had been scattered around the room.
The only thing in the room that brought him any amount of comfort was the massive fireplace that sat across from the entrance. The mantle was made of black marble, with green accents, and an iron gate swung open to allow the floo to be used, the design on the gate was a B, as if anyone exiting the hearth wouldn’t know whose house they’d walked into. Resting atop the mantle sat the large green jar that Regulus knew held the ashy floo powder that was needed to travel the network.
Walburga Black, a tall thin woman with her black curls tied into a severe looking bun at the base of her neck, stood just in front of the open gate, her formal robes buttoned up to her neck. She stood with her back straight as she softly spoke to whomever had called through the floo, and for just a moment Regulus contemplated turning around and leaving.
He stayed.
And waited for her to acknowledge him.
That seemed to be all he ever did to be honest. Which was ironic, because the last thing he really wanted was her attention.
It felt like he stood there for hours, hands folded behind his back and feet shoulder width apart, like a solider awaiting his orders, before she finally turned around, having finished her conversation. Her eyes moved over him without really stopping. Without really seeing. It made his skin crawl, but he kept his mask firmly in place, his mind locked away where she wouldn’t find it, no matter how deep she dug into him.
He was her puppet, and nothing more, in that moment.
“Vous n’êtes pas habillé.” The statement sounded like the crack of a whip in the quiet of the parlor, but Regulus kept his gaze at a point just over her shoulder. He could always tell what mood his mother was in by the language she spoke, and if she was already speaking French, then the margin for error tonight was non-existent.
“J’étais sur le point de me préparer pour la nuit.” He responded automatically, knowing that she wouldn’t want to hear anything that could be defined as an excuse. He’d thought he would have a couple of hours before he needed to be dressed for the party but should have expected her to want him to be prepared for it anyway.
“Il y aura des gens importants du ministère présents. Je m’attends à ce que vous fassiez preuve de respect.” Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she spoke and Regulus heard the underlining threat before she spoke it. “Ne me decevez pas, Regulus. Vous n’aimeriez pas les consequences.”
“Oui, maman.” He knew better than to say anything else, and he waited until she lifted a hand in dismissal, sending him off to get ready. Regulus knew that she’d planned having prominent wizards and witches from the Ministry of Magic in attendance, and he knew why she’d felt the need to remind him of that fact. She was expecting to solidify alliances that would prove beneficial in the unrestful climate of their world.
Blood purists were gaining traction in the wizarding world, at least in the British Isles. They spent countless galleons on protesting laws that would allow for muggle born members of their communities better access to resources and education, as well as pushing through laws that benefited pure-blood families. Like the Blacks. It was literally on their family crest.
Toujours Pur.
Always pure.
The pureblood families made up the high society of the wizarding world, with their traditions, protocols, and bloodlines that could be traced back to Merlin and Morgana themselves. In Europe there were twenty-eight families that made up the pillars of that society, referred to as the Sacred Twenty-eight.
How original.
Regulus had spent countless hours studying each family tree, seeing how they were intricately connected, members marrying second and third cousins to keep their bloodlines from being “tainted” by outsiders, and one case of siblings. The knowledge that his mother was also his second cousin had always left him feeling slightly nauseated but he had never had the courage to voice his disgust, unlike Sirius.
By the time he had reached his room, Regulus could already feel a headache starting in his temples and wished he had asked Kreacher for a calming potion. He could summon the elf and have one brought to him, but he knew he would need to be clear headed for the night. So, with a huff, he collapsed onto his bed, sinking into the soft surface and intending to only lay there for a moment before getting up to dress. However, it seemed like he was far more tired than he’d thought and found himself slipping away into unconsciousness, dreaming of warm golden eyes accompanied by a soft smile.
~~
The sound of a crack echoing through his room shocked the sleeping boy, causing him into scurry into a sitting position on his bed, wand in hand and looking around for the source of the sound. It only took him moments to see Kreacher standing at the foot of his bed looking at him with wide, fearful, eyes.
“Kreacher?” His voice sound like gravel and his throat felt like he’d eaten glass as he spoke, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair before tucking his wand back into the holster on the inside of his arm.
“Kreacher is being sorry, Master Regulus, but Mistress is wanting you downstairs to greet her guests.” The elf spoke as he moved towards his black wardrobe, opening it to pull out the robes that his mother had chosen for him to wear. Regulus watched, his mind still foggy with sleep, unable to piece together what the house elf had said. Kreacher turned back to him once more, giving him a sigh, and rushed to his side.
Regulus was surprised by the strength the little creature held within his body but allowed himself to be man handled into the black dress robes anyway. He had always hated dress robes, or at least the style of robes his parents preferred. They clung to his chest and buttoned up his neck, while the arms hung off his shoulders before tightening around his wrists, and he knew that the likelihood of the fabric around both his wrists and neck had been charmed to tighten if he did anything his mother didn’t like was high.
Merlin, he hated them.
Once Kreacher was done dressing him, in as quick a fashion as they could, he turned to look in his mirror, trying to find anything out of place so that he could fix it. He saw his thick curls styled to frame his face, brushing against the tops of his ears in smooth rings in a way that made his alabaster skin stand out like a beacon. His gray eyes stood out, although the purple bruising under them did nothing to help hide his exhaustion, and he found himself wishing he had kept some of the muggle make-up he’d lifted from Pandora the year before to try and hide them. Just as he was about to make a self-deprecating comment about how he looked as dead on the outside as he felt on the inside, the bags began to slowly fade, and he turned to look at Kreacher who was lowering his hand with a soft smile.
“Master Regulus is being too good to look so sad.” He whispered, as if he was scared of being heard. Kreacher had always had a soft spot for him, and Regulus had never really appreciated it before now. “Now, Master is needing to be going downstairs. Guests is being here already.” The old elf added with a soft sniff, waving his hand towards the door.
It didn’t take long for him to reach the massive dining room, only hesitating for a moment to make sure the necklace around his neck was hidden before crossing the threshold, but he was surprised to see that there were already quite a few people milling through it. He saw floating trays carrying hors d'oeuvres, flutes of wine from his father’s wine shelves -charmed to keep the wines at the correct temperatures- and small tumblers of firewhiskey. He knew that at some point during the evening, Sirius would sneak off and steal one or two drinks, if not an entire bottle to keep in his room.
There were chaise loungers and stiff recliners everywhere for people to perch on, since sitting would be too informal to describe how most of them would barely let their posteriors touch something as common as furniture.
With a deep, steading, breath he walked further into the room, making his way to his mother’s side, like he knew she would like, nodding to anyone who greeted him with the typical blank expression that had become the Black family trademark. Once he stood beside his mother, noting that Sirius stood on her other side, he let his mind quiet, knowing that he was basically nothing but a puppet for the next several hours.
He greeted everyone he was supposed to, nodding to each wizard or witch that his mother personally introduced to him, skipping over his brother in an obvious show of favoritism, but he remained silent otherwise. It wasn’t until his mother placed a hand atop his shoulder and dug her fingers into the soft space just above his collarbone that his full focus landed on the people in front of him.
He’d known his cousin Narcissa all his life, and always appreciated her quiet inner strength, and since she’d finished school he knew she would be getting married soon.
The marriage contact had been the topic of discussion in his family for months. She’d been chosen to marry Lucius Malfoy, who was several years older than her, but had already gained a reputation for being a ruthless politician and business man. Regulus himself had only met Lucius a handful of times for private potion lessons -overseen by his mother, of course- and each time he felt like something thick and slimy clung to his skin.
Narcissa stood a few inches taller than him, but he knew he would soon catch up to her. Her blonde streaked hair hung to her shoulders in a wave of styled curls, most likely charmed to stay in place, and her steel-colored eyes studied him warmly before she gave him a warm grin. She wore a modestly styled set of pastel blue robes that clung to her, and Regulus mentally applauded her fashion sense. She’d never really like wearing just dark colors, and it seemed that the moment she didn’t have to she replaced her entire wardrobe with softer tones.
“You’re looking well rested, mon petite etoile.” Her voice loosened the knot that had wound itself inside his chest and he felt himself relax for the first time in hours at the sound of the term of affection. For as long as he could remember, she’d always called him her little star, and he hadn’t realized he’d missed it until he heard it.
“Thank you, Cissa.” He answered her with a soft grin.
He watched her mouth open, as if she wanted to say something else, but before she could he felt a cold shiver run through him as Lucius came to stand beside her, a leer on his pointed face as he looked down at him.
“I should have believed your mother when she said you were growing into a fine boy, Regulus.” The older man spoke, and it took all of his inner strength not to shrink away. “You must have grown at least three inches since I last saw you, and it seems like you’ve filled out a bit as well.” He laughed, his eyes sliding from Regulus to his mother and back again. “Must be all that time spent playing quidditch. You’re a Seeker, correct? That must be quite the spectacle, seeing you fly.”
Regulus tried to hold the man’s gaze, but the longer he did the more he felt like a rabbit locked in the jaws of a fox, until finally he dropped his eyes to the floor, trying to remind himself to remain still.
“Oh yes, Orion and I are extremely proud of Regulus.” His mother’s voice, while unpleasant, forced himself to shake off the violated feeling Lucius had left on him. “We’ve always known he would make the Slytherin team. Of course, we have hope that they will the House Cup this year, but only if he puts in the dedication and effort.” She added, her fingers digging into his flesh as she spoke, like she knew that he needed a reminder of the consequences if he disappointed her.
Regulus felt his hands begin to shake, and he clenched them at his sides, unfamiliar with the sensation coursing through his body. He felt like his blood was boiling beneath the surface and wanted nothing more than to let the fire consume him. How dare they talk about his achievements without acknowledging where the inspiration for them came from. He had only joined the team because Sirius had joined Gryffindor’s and he’d hoped that it might be something that brought them together, since they’d lost everything that had the moment he was sorted into a different house. He’d wanted to be able to fly with his brother, using the games between their two teams as a pathetic excuse to spend time with him, and it made him a better flyer. Sirius was a beater, using a bat and bludger to try and knock members of the opposite team from their brooms, and since Regulus played the winning position, he’d had to remain a step ahead of the older boy. Playing against Sirius made him a better flyer, and they were speaking as if he wasn’t standing beside them with his own achievements, like how he’d helped his team win said House Cup the past two years.
How dare they.
Before he could stop himself, Regulus felt his mouth open and the words fall from it. “Sirius has, in fact, won the House Cup the past two years.” His voice stilled them as they all gazed down at him with shocked expressions, save for Sirius, who looked both sick to his stomach and proud. “Perhaps a congratulations are in order.” He added because his mouth must hate him and deemed that he hadn’t caused enough trouble for himself.
The fingers on his shoulder tightened to an unbearable painful level and he winced slightly before dropping his gaze once more.
Based on her grip, he was going to regret saying anything.
The party got started properly and Regulus found himself being dragged away from his brother at the first opportunity his mother could find, forcing him to dance with the daughters of important ministry workers and aurors, and taking up his time by making him listen to the Lestrange brothers, Radulphus and Rebastan, go into great detail of their travels and dealings. Radulphus had married his cousin Bellatrix a year earlier, and while he hadn’t given Regulus the same slimy feeling Lucius had, he could say that he’d rather not have him in his family. His cousin, Bella, was -for lack of a better word- crazy. She’d shown how cruel she could be while she was still in school by cursing or hexing younger year students or those in different houses, and Regulus had been glad to see her go. She’d had no problem casting unforgivables on those around her for entertainment, and he knew first hand that she had a powerful cruciatus and imperio.
He was careful not to slip up again as the night went on, and by the time the last person left through the floo he felt drained and wanted nothing more than to go upstairs and climb into his bed.
However, it seemed like his mother had other plans, and before he could take one step towards the door of the parlor where they’d said their goodbyes he felt his nerves catch fire. He hit the floor before he could register what was happening, not having heard his mother cast the spell, and he tried not to cry out as he felt like he was being enveloped by flames, his body jerking violently, resembling what he knew muggles called seizures.
The pain encased his entire body before clawing into his mind to rip him apart and devour anything he failed to hide behind the walls he'd built over the years. It felt like talons scratching against the inside of his skull, and he could feel his mental wards chip away with each push of the curse. His heart fought to break free of his chest as he fought against the pain, and his skin felt as if it was melting into the floor with every passing second. He heard a animalistic scream rip through the air, and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it had come from him, as the taste of blood flooding his tongue -he couldn't remember biting down on it- and he heard the sound of his head cracking against the marble floor.
The pain lasted hours.
It lasted less than a minute.
“Stop!”
His eyes had closed at some point, and with the pain clouding his brain, he couldn’t be sure who spoke, but he was willing to bet that it was Sirius. Their father never stopped their mother until she had pushed them to unconsciousness, so it only made sense that Sirius was the one begging her to stop.
“He must learn to have respect.” His mother’s voice sounded like ice, and he knew that she was referring to his infraction from before.
This was his punishment.
“Maman, please.” Sirius never said please, and Regulus felt his chest tighten with both pity and comfort. “C’etait de ma faute.” Sirius never spoke French anymore.
Regulus felt his lungs loosen enough to take a deep breath, opening his eyes once he’d taken in enough air to comprehend what was going on around him. Slowly, he pushed himself onto his side, looking up at his brother as he stood in front of him. He saw the moment their mother’s attention shifted from him to Sirius and for the first time he was afraid for him.
Their mother’s eyes were shining and bright, anger and another emotion Regulus hesitated to name, as they slid from him to Sirius, darkening once they landed on his face. Normally their mother was calm, cold, and calculated, but at that moment she looked dangerous and he felt every muscle in his body tense. His already sensitive nerves frayed farther by the feeling of his mother's magic as it pulsed through the room, darkening it. She’d always been hard on Sirius, since he was the oldest, but Regulus had always suspected that it was because he had failed to be what she had planned for her entire life.
She’d been told that her purpose was to marry well and breed little pureblood heirs that followed in their ancestors’ footsteps. Sirius had never fit into that mold, in fact, he’d broken it the first chance he got when he’d gone to school. He was loud when he was supposed to quiet, he questioned her at every turn, and he called out their beliefs about muggleborns. There wasn’t a doubt in anyone’s mind that he would never follow in her footsteps.
And she hated him for it.
That’s what he could see in her eyes. Hate. She hated her oldest son for being her own personal failure, and as she pointed her wand at Sirius, Regulus could see that she was going to make him pay for it.
Sirius hit the floor almost instantly, his mouth open in a silent scream as he began to jerk and roll back and forth under the effects of the Cruciatus Curse. Regulus wanted to reach out and lend him some form of comfort but froze as a cold wet sensation trickled down his back. His muscles felt pliant as his mind began to cloud.
“Stand up.” The command came from his right and before he could even wonder how, he was on his feet and standing over his brother, who was still writhing under their mother’s rage. “Come stand here.” He had no choice but to listen as he walked over to stand beside his father, who grabbed his arm the moment he was within reach, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “Do not make it harder for him.”
He felt the spell release him the moment his father stopped talking and took a shaky inhale before turning to watch, knowing that if he didn’t his mother would force him to anyway.
Foam was beginning to leak from the corners of his brother’s mouth, but the older boy was stubbornly refusing to scream, and Regulus saw his mother’s face shift into something sinister and ugly.
She stepped closer to him and gave a jerk of her wand, dropping the curse. Sirius gasped greedily, taking in air as his chest heaved before he slowly pried his eyes open, searching for something.
Regulus could see that his brother wasn’t thinking clearly as his eyes moved around the room, but he forced himself to remain at their father’s side.
“You think you are better than this family?” Their mother whispered, her voice dripping with hate as she stood over him, her wand pointed at his chest. “You are nothing! You are no better than those blood-traitors and mudbloods that you fraternize with, and you will die like them.” Her hand jerked once more, and the parlor was suddenly filled with the most agonizing scream, the sound crawling inside Regulus and nesting in his chest as he watched his bother violently arch his back and slam his head back on the tile repeatedly, his hands trying to clench the floor below him as his body continued to writhe.
It felt like hours, but in reality was only minutes before Regulus saw Sirius’ body fall still, and he hoped that that would be the end of it, but before anyone could say anything, he saw deep gashes appear along his stomach and chest, the blood pouring of the wounds to stain the formal gray robes he wore and the tile beneath him. He heard himself whimper, a tiny sound that seemed so loud to him, fearful that he was really watching his older brother die at their mother’s hands. He wanted to do something, but he couldn’t get his body to obey him even though he was no longer under the imperius curse his father had cast.
He needed to do something.
He needed to stop her.
“Walburga, love.” His father’s quiet voice seemed to bring her back from wherever she had gone in her rage, and she instantly lowered her wand, stepping away from the still body of her son, and walked out without a word. Regulus’ eyes stayed on Sirius until he felt a hand on his arm, turning to look up at into his father’s pale blue eyes. Orion was taller than both he and Sirius, with a bulkier build, but in that moment Regulus saw that he looked smaller than he ever had. “It would be beneficial if he wasn’t here when she came back in. Do you understand, Regulus?” He whispered, sliding his eyes towards Sirius before turning back to the him.
He waited a moment in silence before following his wife out of the room without looking back, leaving Regulus alone with his dying brother.
It took a moment longer than he was willing to admit before Regulus dropped to his brother’s side, careful not to injure him further. With shaking fingers, he reached forward to try and find a pulse, exhaling sharply at the weak thump beneath his fingertips. He knew what he would have to do, but doing it meant cutting all contact with the only member of his twisted family that he loved, even when he hated him.
He whispered apologies to the unconscious teenager as he carefully gripped him under his arms and slowly pulled him towards the open gate of the fireplace, trying to ignore the wide trail of blood that followed them, a plan already forming in his mind. Once he was close enough to the hearth, he rolled Sirius onto his side, wincing at the groan of pain that let his lips, and got to his feet.
There was one more thing he needed to do before he was done. He went in search of parchment, knowing that his mother kept some in a small desk drawer a couple of rooms down.
He knew his time was limited so he swiftly penned out a message before folding the slip of paper and returning to his brother’s side. He tucked the parchment into his brother’s collar, hoping that it would be found before Sirius woke up and that the people he was sending him to would listen.
Regulus knew that if they told who had actual sent him, that Sirius wouldn’t stop until he got Regulus away from their parents, but that couldn’t happen. He couldn’t let that happen. If Sirius came anywhere near this house again, their mother wouldn’t hesitate to just kill him where he stood.
No, Sirius must never know it was Regulus that sent him through the floo. If he thought Regulus hated him as much as their parents, Sirius would try to have a life of his own, instead of wasting his time with his younger brother.
He’d always known he would be the cost of his brother’s freedom.
Finally, he stood and reached into the jar on the mantle, taking a handful of powder in his hand and tossing it into the hearth, watching as green flames roared to life. As quickly as he could, he knelt behind Sirius and rolled him into the flames, hoping that the trail of blood looked like Sirius himself had crawled into the hearth. Once he knew all of Sirius was inside the flames, he leaned his head in and opened his mouth, recalling the name of the safest place for him. “Godric’s Hollow!” The flames leapt upwards once more, and he had just enough time to pull his head out of the fire before it curled around his brother’s body and carried him away.
He sat in front of the hearth until the sun rose.