hush little baby (don't say a word)
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Almost fascinated, Regulus tracked the steady drops of blood that fell to the floor, trailing their way down his chin. Slowly, he raised his head to look at his mother. His cheek was still burning from the stinging slap he’d received. There was a crazy glint in her eyes, and her balance was off-kilter, like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with her limbs. Then, as suddenly as the violent fit had come over her, her face twisted, and the crazy look in her eyes receded. “Oh, my love,” she crooned softly. “You know that this is all for you.” She gently lifted his face and healed the split lip and bruised cheek with a wave of her wand. “We just want what’s best for you. Our family’s reputation rests on your shoulders.” Her cold palm cupped his cheek, and she began to hum softly. Mother cleaned off his face with a conjured cloth and kissed his forehead. “No matter, all is forgiven. How could I hold anything against you? You are my son, my flesh, and my blood. No one loves you the way a mother can.”
He was never sure how to act, no matter how many times the same thing would happen. He would make a mistake, she would enter one of her rages, and then she didn’t recognize anyone around her. She would say horrible things to Regulus. On the worst days, she’d rage at the invisible ghosts of his father and his brother. On those days he hid upstairs, curled up with a red blanket that wasn’t his own, in a room that was otherwise unoccupied and had been that way for almost two years. The only place in the house in which he could breathe.
On those days Regulus wanted to hate her like Si-like he had. Some days he wished for nothing more than the courage to get up and walk away just the way he did. But he couldn’t. When she was well, Mother loved him so much. There was no one else that loved him the way she did. His father’s death and his disownment had devastated her. What would happen if he left too? He had to stay. There was no one else. No one else for her and no one else for him.
If Regulus missed the earlier days, when life was simpler and he didn’t have to walk on eggshells, avoiding anything that could remind her of either of the absent members of the family, only he would know. And he wouldn’t—couldn’t—acknowledge the void in his heart, his soul, his being that could only be filled by the one person who always knew what to say, who protected him, comforted him, and was always there for him. Until he wasn’t. Mother gave him one last kiss before stepping back, regal and imposing. “I trust you have learned your lesson. Remember, you are the pride of this family. You cannot make mistakes.” Then she swept out of the room, presumably to resume conversation with Aunt Lucretia. Regulus had been with them until he’d accidentally dropped a plate on the floor and broken it.
In the mirror, he inspected his lip, finding no sign of the injury. If it looked like it was never there, maybe he could pretend it had never been there. A small part of him wondered how many injuries he had hidden like this before the end. His thoughts spiralled from one thing to another before they inevitably landed on the one thing he never wanted to think of again.
What would his mother say if she saw the small slip of paper hidden at the bottom of the secret drawer in his cupboard? Not the fake one that read General Category, which he’d presented to the family. The real, crumpled, tear-stained slip that damned him with just a few words: Little: Infant {12-24 months}.
Would all still be forgiven then?
If someone were to ask Sirius, he’d say becoming a Gryffindor was the most significant event of his life. He met his friends (if you could still call them that), was exposed to the world outside his mother’s manipulation, and managed to build himself into someone that, on most days, he could tolerate if not like.
That would be a lie. Countless insomnia-aided, futile nights, spent in reflection on his past, had presented him with a clear series of events. If someone had a way of getting Sirius Black to admit the truth, he’d say there were three events that irrevocably altered the course of his life, for better or worse. His sorting was only one of them and was last on the list.
Second would be the night Snape figured out how to get past the Whomping Willow, ripping the information out of Sirius. A few well-placed barbs brought up enough emotional vulnerability for him to tear down his Occlumency shields like a slicing spell through butter. Sirius had long since been aware of the threat of Snape’s Legilimency skills. He should have known better than to respond to the bait. However, his fifteen-year-old self had quite a bit of growing up left to do and didn’t see it that way. Between Sirius’ own stubbornness and self-loathing and James’ anger and Remus’ unwillingness to listen, it took months for the actual events of the night to emerge. At that point, it was too late. The Marauders were broken and would never return to what they once were. They’d tried, they really had. But it was clear the trust and love they had all taken for granted was gone. Their classifications were simply the last straw.
The most defining moment was years ago when Sirius was just twelve. His father had sat at the dinner table one night and casually announced that he only had months left to live. His life was never the same. His father’s condition grew steadily worse. The pressure of being the family heir was thrust onto his shoulders, and he buckled under its weight, suffocated by the expectations and responsibility he was far too young for. He was so busy trying to run from the burden he forgot about what he might have left behind. It seemed like his dear, sweet baby brother, who once hung onto his every word, had almost instantly transformed into a quiet, shy young adult whom he couldn’t recognize. It would be easy to pin it on something else, but Sirius knew better. It was his fault.
Buried at the back of his mind, Sirius knew all too well that there was another reason he had withdrawn from Regulus. In the months after his father’s death, his mother only ever had harsh words and harsher lessons for him, the heir. Yet she was only ever kind to Regulus. Those thoughts he ignored, or he would drown in the guilt.
He wondered whether he should add the day he was classified to the list. He was the most surprised out of them all. Loud, rowdy, misbehaved, immature Sirius Black was a Caregiver. Ironic, wasn’t it? He tried not to think about the well-hidden but unmistakable envy in James’ eyes. Maybe the universe was mocking them. The warmest, sunniest person he knew, who would be the best at caring for a Little, was let down, but him, the least deserving of any of them, was handed a responsibility he wasn’t sure he could handle.