Preperation
Remus.
The banging of metal on metal awakes Remus from his slumber. Shifting his weight so he can glance through the barred entrance to his cell, raising a slender eyebrow at the guard, dressed in their flowing crimson robe and black, shadowed mask, who is standing expectedly at the iron gate.
“Up. Get up. You’ve been chosen.”
Grabbing his battered cane from where it rests leaning on the wall, Remus follows the guard out of his cell and down a flight of stairs closely monitored by their colleagues.
“Sooo, chosen for what? Torture? ‘Cause Buddy let me tell ya, seen enough of that for a lifetime, don’t ya think? I mean look at all these scars! I must be a sort of legend amongst your people. The Boy They Couldn’t Break. Eh? Gotta nice ring to it I think.” He throws his arms out to his side, being careful to balance majority of his weight on his stronger left leg, displaying the multitude of scars that nearly blend into his pale, sun deprived skin. Remus doesn’t think the thick- headed guard appreciated the sarcasm lacing his tone though, given that he threw him against the wall with his forearm across Remus’ throat. Oh well, better he dies here than in a torture chamber.
“Just so you know, this little dominance act you’ve got going on, I’ve gotta say, it’s doing something for me. Eh? I mean, its surprising that a man with so little muscle and probably an even smaller cock can pull off something like this. I bet you’d die to have me under you, wouldn’t you sweetheart?”
The guard recoils from him, releasing Remus from his hold and pushing him in front. “Shut your mouth you filthy queer.”
Remus just winks.
The guard shoves him along making him stumble as his cane snags on the uneven ground. His right knee has deteriorated significantly over the past year, too painful to move it much, not holding up under much weight. Without the hold of a brace, which Remus certainly doesn’t have the luxury of in here, he isn’t able to walk very far.
They eventually stop at an ornate door at the end of the hallway, an upside-down star carved neatly into its wood. This doesn’t look like any torture rooms he’s been sent to before. A delicate golden handle attached to an expertly carved door; they wouldn’t waste such luxury on slaves. No. This must lead to something else, though Remus had no clue what that something else was. They enter the room after the guard completed a sequence of knocks, which Remus automatically memorised, giving him somewhere to focus his scrambling thoughts. A wooden stool sat in the centre of the room, capes, gowns, and ceremonial sheaths were on display surrounding it. Next to the stool there was a small table, piled high with gadgets and bottles that Remus had no clue what they were.
A bit dazed and confused, Remus sat on the chair when directed and faced the oddly dressed woman in the corner, hunched over a bucket filled with soapy water. What are they gonna do? Drown him?
“You can go, Markus.” The lady said, glancing over her shoulder, sweeping over the guard and settling on Remus. “Oh boy, we have a lot of work to do and so little time. That will be all, Markus.” She shoos the guard out the door then faces Remus with her hands on her hips and a look of pity on her face.
She sighs. “What have they done to you, poor boy. Well. Let’s get you cleaned and presentable for your big moment then, eh? Bet your excited to go outside.”
Remus sat on the stool allowing her to ‘work her magic’ as she’d previously called it and tried to listen to what she was saying. It was getting considerably harder to do so though, only two words echoing in his mind. Big. Moment. Outside. Was he… Would he finally be free? Could he have possibly been chosen to be released? Was he allowed to go home? To the house that always smelled like his mother’s baking? The house in which his father and him used to huddle close together before bed and read to each other? Could he finally breathe fresh air and be wrapped in the smell of his parents once more? Remus isn’t sure if he’s recalling their faces quite right, or the colour of their eyes, or the sound of their laughs. They could live as a family again, just the three of them.
His thoughts were dragged slowly out of his mind when a pair of white trousers and a smart long-sleeved top were pressed to his clean chest with an, “I think these should fit.” He inspected them as he slipped them on, thinking to himself that they were the most expensive thing that had ever been on his body. The trousers were a little baggy and long which would make walking more difficult, but his shirt clung to his chest exposing every groove of his ribs and sinching at his waist, the back sort of like a corset which Poppy helped tighten. He sat back down when Poppy insisted, trying not to fidget as she applies something to his face.
“That’s as good as that one will get, I’m afraid. This concealer’s not your shade so it doesn’t hide your scarring all that well, but it took good care of your dark circles.” She checks the time on her wrist, lips curling in a content smile as she sighs. “Perfect timing, look at that. Now, do you need that cane of yours to walk? Yes? Oh, alright then. Good luck dearie.” She knocks on the door, signalling to Markus that it was time and shooed them both out the door.
Markus turned, giving Remus a once over then looked away indignantly, but not before Remus saw the blush shading his cheeks. He rolls his eyes but can’t stop the smirk curling the corners of his mouth as Markus stays silent for the whole trip up now two flights of stairs and avoids even glancing his way.
His mind skips to his parents again, to the little village in the hills he grew up in and fantasized about what he would do first once he’d gotten back. He was so stuck in his mind and distracted by the cold wind wrapping around him, he didn’t even question why the moon was red and pronounced hanging in the shadowed sky, didn’t even wonder why they were doing this at night.
Regulus.
Regulus sat on his bed, rocking back and forth with his hands plastered to his ears, humming the tune Sirius always sung to him in situations such as this. The notes wobbled as Sirius’ screams became louder, echoing through the whole house. Regulus hated it. He hated his brother being hurt, he hated the weakness that ran down his cheeks, he hated that as hard as he tried, he couldn’t hate his own mother. That he didn’t. Because of course, this was normal, punishment for acting out of line was normal. This happened in every household, right? But was it right? How could a few mispronounced words lead to this? But it did, and Mother wouldn’t do something she thought was wrong. So, this must be right, even though every nerve ending inside him was screaming at him. To go down there. To help him. To get Mother to stop.
At last, the screams stopped. Regulus stayed where he was. A couple of minutes later, a knock sounded on his door. It was only 8 o’clock at night, Mother usually dragged out her punishment’s way into the early hours of the morning. Maybe she thought that it wasn’t so serious after all. Maybe she was showing his brother mercy. Regulus stood up quickly giving himself a once over in the mirror, fixing his dishevelled hair and wiping his cheeks, doing his best to ignore how bloodshot his eyes were. When he opened the door, one of their maids handed him a neatly folded letter, scrawled in his mother’s elegant cursive.
Regulus, attend to your brother's cleanliness immediately. You both must be prepared by 23:00, adorned in your best attire. We have a meeting to attend. Do I make myself clear? And should any blood mar my floors, you will be the one in need of mending.
- Mother
“He’s in his room.” The maid bowed her head and moved to the side, allowing Regulus through. “I’ll help you.”
They hurried together down the hall, barging through Sirius’ door. The sight that met them was enough to make Regulus gasp. A sob fought to overwhelm him, but Regulus knew that Sirius needed him to be strong. Besides, he didn’t want to cry in front of the servants and allow them to think him weak. “Siri…” His brothers nickname spilled out of his lips as he took it the sight of Sirius’ torn and battered body. The only part of him saved was his face, after all they need to keep up appearances and Mother would hate if anyone found out her eldest refused to act normally. Well, normal as they see it.
With two long strides, he was at his brother’s side, fingers circling Sirius’ bloody wrist to reassure himself that he is still alive. He is, of course he is. They have a meeting to go to. Mother wouldn’t push it to the max when the family is needed in public. But she nearly did. Sirius’ pulse is weak and there’s a pained expression on his face while he sleeps. They only have three hours to make Sirius comfortable with being able to walk and make sure they’re both presentable to the public.
The hours flew by in a wave of panic, with Sirius waking around the two-hour mark, their house nurse loading him up with painkillers so he could attempt to sit up and move around. It took another 30 minutes for him to actually do so. Regulus didn’t blame him, he usually gets at least a full day to recover from punishments, but he was paranoid that they wouldn’t make it downstairs in the timeframe Mother set. They managed it though, with Sirius dressing with Regulus’ help and with an arm wrapped around his shoulders, they hobbled down the stairs together with Regulus trying to be as gentle as he can while also nearly carrying his brother as they descend. Their Mother is waiting at the bottom of the stairs tapping her foot and glaring at her watch. “Your late.”
They weren’t, but Regulus knew better than to question her authority. “Sorry Mother, Sirius is having a little trouble walking. Will there be a seat he can rest on at the meeting?”
She scoffs. “I guess I could have one arranged if he’s so weak. Now, get in the car. Quickly.”