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All he had known for a long time was pain.
The pain of the curses, sent at him for speaking up, sent at him for being improper, sent at him for his pureblood mask slipping in front of his parents.
The pain of the blade, the cool metal opening his arms, his back, his thighs, his legs, his stomach and the blood so red, so warm, so sticky running and running and running down his not yet opened skin.
For his preference, too many of the scars the blades left had been inflicted onto him by someone else.
The wounds on his arms and thighs were welcome, the stinging pain distracting him, keeping him from locking himself in an endless spiral of thoughts and pain and it hurt, it hurt, it hurt so blissfully.
The other scars weren’t so welcome. The scars on his legs from cutting curses sent his way. The scars on his back, not nearly faded enough. He could still feel the dagger running down his back, opening more and more skin by the second, cutting deeper and deeper, spelling out one word: ‘improper’.
He knew he was supposed to keep quiet, not to disturb his parents, pretend. He had to pretend. Always pretend.
He was good at pretending, at presenting himself how his parents wanted him to be. But he never managed to pretend for long enough. There were cracks in his pureblood mask, cracks in his behaviour. He never managed to stay silent for long enough.
But how could he, when instead on focusing on his little brother, his parents would focus on him instead? No, Sirius Black knew exactly what he was doing when he felt his brothers mask slip up, so he slipped up harder. He knew what he was doing when his parents were about to punish his brother for being too loud, so he made himself be louder. He knew exactly what he was doing when he stepped into every possible punishment for his brother and distracted his parents from him.
Regulus was his world, his little brother, with unblemished skin, those big innocent eyes, and the question about universe on the tip of his tongue.
Regulus, his little brother was as innocent as he could be, growing up in Walburga and Orion Blacks house. And Sirius would be damned if something would happen to change that.
He would let himself be cut open farther and farther, hell, he’d gladly be scarred over and over, everywhere, if it meant that his little brother, his Regulus would manage to stay unblemished for longer.
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It’s funny how those two brothers would do anything for each other when they were younger. Sirius, always the big brother, taking the blame for things, he never did, trying to save his little brother from punishment.
Too bad he was too late, too bad he hadn’t noticed that Regulus skin from the outside may have been unblemished, but that Regulus insides weren’t. Too bad, that he had left for Hogwarts without looking back, not noticing, not being there to notice that Orion had developed an obsession with his unblemished little brother.
The Blacks were noticed for being one of the purest family overall, Orion and Walburga were cousins after all. It didn’t take long for Orion to move from cousin to son. Regulus was small after all and 10 year olds rarely can defend themselves.
But what Sirius doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.
He just had the best year after all! First, he went to Hogwarts, where no more cutting curses were sent in his direction, did you know, that wasn’t a normal punishment at all? Others were grounded, not hit, that’s a bit weird tho…
Then, he had found friends, if not even family! He was a Gryffindor and there were three other people in his dorms. Remus Lupin, whom he had become very close to, Peter Pettigrew, who was a bit shy but honestly a nice person to talk to, and last but not least James Potter! James Potter, who had become something akin to a brother to Sirius! James was so nice, he was Sirius best friend, and he made him forget that his early childhood wasn’t nice.
Yes, when with James, all of Sirius worries evaporated. He didn’t think of his home in Grimmauld Place, which never was much of a home anyway, he didn’t think of Orion and Walburga and his Aunt Druella.
He had the distinct feeling of forgetting something important, but that couldn’t be, right? Everything important to him he had at Hogwarts! His friends, his family, his wand, his brother, James. No, he couldn’t have forgotten anything, Sirius was sure of that.
James was his world. His brother from another mother! The sun to his star, they were thick as thieves!
Sirius was sure of it, he hadn’t forgotten anything.
He never came back. He never remembered. It could’ve been the trauma, but after his first year at Hogwarts, he never quite managed to remember what had happened at Grimmauld Place, he never remembered his birth parents, he never remembered Regulus. No, after finishing his first year and boarding off of the Hogwarts Express, Sirius had decided to go home with Euphemia and Fleamont Potter, James parents, they were so nice and warm and he was happy.
Such a shame he never managed to remember the small 10 year old left behind at Grimmauld Place, the one he had left in a house, not a home.
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In another universe, Sirius wouldn’t have left until fifth year, he would have squabbled with Regulus once he had been sorted into Slytherin, his parents house at Hogwarts. He would have been fighting with Regulus at school, but he would’ve still defended him at Grimmauld Place.
Too bad, that this isn’t that universe.
In this universe, Sirius mind had fractured, secluding his memories from Grimmauld Place, associating Regulus with the pain his parents had caused him for defending him.
And so, he had forgotten him, Regulus, his little brother, the one that he was supposed to protect, the one he had once called his world.
Regulus never quite made it to Hogwarts.
Sure, he got the letter, and he did send his acceptance letter back to Hogwarts with his owl, but it was very difficult to attend a school when your blood was dripping, and dripping and dripping and the floor was turning red, and redder and redder by the minute.
It was kind of satisfying to watch, the dark red of his blood flowing between the white tiles of his bathroom. The red slowly inching further and further over the white tiles, until everything he could see was turning darker and darker until he couldn’t see at all.
Until he was free.
He would never be able to take another step in Grimmauld Place, his father would never be able to rape him again, his mother wouldn’t be able to curse him again. Sirius would never be able to help him again.
But that was fine, Sirius hadn’t come back to save him after all. Sirius had gone away, with a smile on his face, without ever looking back.
Regulus died with bleeding wrists and a smile on his face, blaming his brother for leaving him in that house, which had never been a home, and being glad for never having to go back again.