Brothers Divide
Regulus strode down the castle’s stone corridors, head held high, his green and silver tie neatly knotted. Despite the flutter of excitement from his fellow first years about their first week at Hogwarts, he felt none of it. The excitement had been dulled by a growing resentment—a sharp, persistent ache he carried with him since stepping off the train.
Sirius.
Even now, the sound of his brother’s unmistakable laugh drifted through the air. It grated on Regulus’ nerves, louder than it should have been, as though Sirius had a talent for commanding attention without even trying. Regulus turned a corner toward the Great Hall, hoping to ignore it, but there he was. Sirius sat surrounded by his friends at the Gryffindor table, radiating ease and confidence as if he belonged nowhere else in the world.
“Look at him,” Regulus muttered under his breath, glancing down to adjust the cuffs of his robes. “The perfect Gryffindor.” His words dripped with venom, but inside, a different truth lingered. He missed the Sirius he’d known before Hogwarts—before Gryffindor, before all of this. The brother who used to share secret jokes and whispered stories with him under the covers at Grimmauld Place.
“Regulus!”
He stiffened at the sound of his brother’s voice cutting across the hall. Sirius was grinning, an arm casually slung around Remus Lupin’s shoulders.
“Come to join the brave and noble lions?” Sirius called, his voice carrying far too easily. A few Gryffindors laughed along with him, and James smirked, leaning in to whisper something in Sirius’ ear. Whatever it was, it made Sirius laugh harder.
Regulus clenched his fists at his sides, a slow burn building in his chest. He forced himself to walk to the Slytherin table without looking back, ignoring the heat of their stares. His pulse pounded in his ears as he slid onto the bench next to Evan Rosier, who was chatting with a group of second years.
“What’s his problem?” Evan Rosier, one of his dormmates asked, nodding toward Sirius with a sneer.
Regulus shook his head, keeping his gaze fixed on his empty plate. “He doesn’t have a problem. He is the problem.”
Evan laughed, but Regulus didn’t join him. His mind raced, replaying Sirius’ mocking grin.
Why does he have to make everything a spectacle?
When breakfast ended, Regulus made his way toward Potions, but his steps slowed as he passed Sirius and his friends lounging in the courtyard. He could hear them long before he saw them.
“You should’ve seen the look on Slughorn’s face,” Sirius said, barely able to contain his laughter. “He didn’t even know what hit him!”
“Probably your over-inflated ego,” James teased, shoving Sirius lightly.
Their easy camaraderie was suffocating. Regulus tried to walk past without drawing attention, but Sirius spotted him.
“Oi, Regulus!” Sirius called, his voice carrying.
Regulus stopped, his shoulders stiffening. He turned slowly, meeting his brother’s mischievous gaze.
“Still clinging to the family motto?” Sirius asked, crossing his arms. “‘Toujours pur,’ right?” His tone was biting, mocking.
“Unlike you,” Regulus snapped, his voice low but sharp. “I don’t throw away everything I was raised to believe just because I want attention.”
The Gryffindors around Sirius went silent, their smirks faltering. Sirius’ grin hardened into something colder, more calculated.
“At least I think for myself,” Sirius shot back. “You’re just a puppet, Reggie. Dancing to the Black family’s tune like a good little heir.”
Regulus felt his face burn, the words hitting harder than they should have. He took a step forward, lowering his voice so only Sirius could hear.
“Do you ever stop to think, Sirius?” he hissed. “About what you’ve done? What your gonna leave me to deal with?”
Sirius’ expression flickered, just for a moment. But then James clapped him on the shoulder, breaking the moment.
“Come on, mate,” James said. “Let’s not waste time on Slytherins.”
Regulus didn’t wait for a response. He turned sharply and walked away, his heart pounding. Sirius’ laughter followed him, echoing in his mind like a cruel reminder of everything he’d lost.
That night, Regulus sat alone in the Slytherin common room, staring into the flickering green flames of the fireplace. The room was silent, the other first years having gone to bed hours ago. He couldn’t sleep.
Sirius’ words played over and over in his mind. A puppet. A good little heir.
Regulus clenched his jaw, gripping the edge of the armchair until his knuckles turned white. “I’m not a puppet,” he whispered, as if saying it aloud would make it true.
But wasn’t he? Every decision he made, every step he took, was weighed against the expectations of his parents, his house, his bloodline. Sirius had walked away from all of it without a second thought. How?
Doesn’t he care about anything?
The portrait hole creaked open, and Regulus quickly straightened, wiping at his face as if to erase any trace of vulnerability. It was Barty Crouch Jr., his robes slightly askew, a mischievous grin on his face.
“Burning the midnight oil, Black?” Barty asked, dropping into the chair opposite him.
Regulus forced a smirk. “Something like that.”
“Good,” Barty said, leaning back with a gleam in his eye. “We’re going to need it if we’re going to outdo the Gryffindors this year.”
Regulus raised an eyebrow. “Outdo them how?”
Barty leaned in conspiratorially. “Let’s just say I have a few ideas.”
For the first time that day, Regulus felt the faintest hint of a smile tug at his lips. Maybe he didn’t need Sirius. Maybe he didn’t need anyone.
Let Sirius have his Gryffindor friends, his jokes, his freedom. Regulus would build something stronger. Something unshakable.
The Marauders made their presence known before they were even visible. The sound of James Potter’s laughter echoed through the hallways like a signal flare, an announcement that trouble was near. Regulus, sitting quietly at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, didn’t need to look up to know they were approaching.
He didn’t want to look up.
“They’re insufferable,” muttered Evan Rosier, his voice dripping with disdain.
Regulus merely nodded, his eyes focused on the parchment in front of him. He tried to ignore the growing commotion at the Gryffindor table as James and Sirius swept into the room like a pair of overconfident storm clouds.
James plopped down onto the bench, his energy filling the space as he launched into an animated retelling of their latest prank—a cleverly charmed chalkboard that insulted anyone who walked past it. The Gryffindors around him roared with laughter, leaning in to catch every word. Sirius sat next to him, his grin as wide as ever, and the sight of it made Regulus’ stomach twist.
“Honestly, it’s embarrassing,” Barty said, leaning closer to Regulus. “Potter’s the worst of them all. Thinks he’s so clever, running the place like he owns it.”
Regulus’ lips tightened. Barty wasn’t wrong. There was something about James Potter that grated on Regulus in a way few others did. It wasn’t just his arrogance—it was the ease with which he moved through the world, like everything would always fall into place for him.
But there was something else, too. A flicker of curiosity that Regulus couldn’t quite extinguish, no matter how much he wanted to.
The next morning, during Transfiguration, Regulus found himself seated near the back of the classroom, quietly observing as Professor McGonagall instructed them on human-to-object transformations.
“Today, we’ll be practicing animating inanimate objects,” McGonagall announced, her sharp eyes scanning the room. “Mr. Potter, as I recall, you’ve had some... creative interpretations of this spell in the past. Please refrain from turning anything into a snitch.”
James grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Professor.”
A ripple of laughter passed through the room, and Regulus rolled his eyes. Of course. James Potter couldn’t let a single moment pass without making himself the center of attention.
The class settled into their work, but Regulus’ concentration wavered as James and Sirius whispered conspiratorially a few desks away. He could feel their glances, like needles prickling at his skin, until James finally spoke.
“Oi, Black,” James called, leaning back in his chair. “Do all Slytherins have a stick up their arse, or is that just you?”
The room went silent. Regulus froze, his wand hovering mid-air. Slowly, he turned to meet James’ expectant smirk.
“Funny,” Regulus said coolly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “I was about to ask if all Gryffindors have an overinflated sense of self, or if you’re just special.”
A collective gasp rippled through the classroom. Sirius shifted uncomfortably in his seat, casting a wary glance between his brother and James.
James raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Special, obviously,” he quipped. “Glad you noticed.”
Regulus’ jaw tightened. “It’s hard not to, with how loudly you announce it to the world.”
Before James could respond, McGonagall’s sharp voice cut through the room. “Enough, gentlemen. Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, if you’d like to continue your discussion, you can do so in detention.”
James chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “All right, all right. I’ll behave.”
Regulus didn’t look at him again for the rest of the lesson, but he could feel James’ eyes on him, curious and probing.
After class, as Regulus gathered his things, James approached him, still wearing that infuriating grin.
“You’ve got some bite, Black,” James said, his tone lighter than before. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”
Regulus shot him a withering glare. “And I didn’t think you had the capacity for silence, yet here we are, defying expectations.”
James laughed, unbothered by the insult. “You know, you don’t have to be so prickly. I’m just trying to get to know you.”
Regulus slung his bag over his shoulder, his expression cold. “I have no interest in being a part of whatever game you’re playing, Potter.”
“It’s not a game,” James said, his grin fading slightly. “I just... you’re not like the others, are you?”
Regulus stiffened, his heart pounding in his chest. “You don’t know anything about me,” he said quietly, before turning away.
Professor McGonagall continued explaining the intricacies of advanced conjuration, her wand movements precise and deliberate.
Regulus took meticulous notes, his quill scratching against the parchment in a steady rhythm. It was easier to focus on the technicalities of magic than to let his thoughts wander. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t block out the sound of Sirius’ laughter from across the room.
He risked a glance in their direction. Sirius was sprawled in his chair, his posture relaxed in a way that screamed defiance. James was beside him, animated as always, gesturing wildly as he whispered something to Remus. Peter was laughing, though Regulus couldn’t tell if it was at the joke or just because James and Sirius were laughing too.
And then it happened.
A glance.
Regulus froze as he realized James Potter was looking at him again. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world around him seemed to still.
There was no malice in James’ gaze, no mocking smirk or teasing glint. Instead, there was something softer—curiosity, maybe even concern.
Regulus’ heart stuttered in his chest. He tore his eyes away, forcing himself to look back at his notes, but his hand trembled as he wrote.
Why was James Potter looking at him like that?
When the lesson ended, Regulus lingered, pretending to organize his notes. He needed a moment to collect himself, to push the strange weight in his chest back down where it belonged.
He wasn’t expecting anyone to notice.
“Hey.”
Regulus’ head snapped up, and his stomach sank as he saw James standing a few feet away, hands shoved into his robe pockets.
“What do you want, Potter?” Regulus asked, his voice colder than he intended.
James raised his hands in mock surrender, his signature grin flashing briefly. “Relax, Black. I’m not here to hex you.”
“Then why are you here?”
James hesitated, his confident demeanor faltering for a split second. “I just... I don’t know. You looked like you could use a break.”
Regulus’ brow furrowed. “A break from what?”
“From... all of it,” James said, vaguely gesturing around them. “Slytherin politics, family drama, the whole ‘Black’ thing.”
Regulus narrowed his eyes. “You think you know me? You don’t.”
James shrugged. “Maybe not. But I know what it’s like to feel stuck, like you’re being pulled in two different directions.”
The words hit too close to home, and before Regulus could stop himself, he spoke.
“How do you fight for freedom when you’re not sure you deserve it?”
The question escaped him in a whisper, raw and unguarded. Regulus immediately regretted it, his stomach twisting in knots.
James’ expression shifted, his usual bravado melting away. “You deserve it,” he said firmly, his voice quieter now. “Even if you don’t believe it yet.”
Regulus turned away, his hands clenched into fists. “You don’t understand. You can’t.”
James didn’t back down. “I’m trying to.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and unfamiliar. Regulus hated the way they made him feel—like someone was peering into a part of him he’d worked so hard to hide.
“I don’t need your pity,” Regulus snapped, grabbing his things and brushing past James without another word.
But even as he walked away, he couldn’t shake the feeling of James’ gaze lingering on him, like a question he didn’t want to answer.
That night, as Regulus lay in bed, staring up at the canopy of his four-poster, the question replayed in his mind.
How do you fight for freedom when you’re not sure you deserve it?
He hated himself for letting James see that part of him, hated the way the words had tumbled out before he could stop them.
But more than anything, he hated the tiny flicker of hope James’ reply had sparked.
Could he deserve freedom? Could he deserve... more?
Regulus shook his head, forcing the thoughts away. He couldn’t afford to think like that. Not now. Not ever.
Still, as he drifted off to sleep, the memory of James’ voice echoed in his mind, stubborn and unrelenting:
You Deserve It.