sirius black
the morning of the second day of summer of 1975
Sirius Black
The brightest star in the sky,
To be gawked at, to bleed dry
The thing about the never ending feeling of worthlessness that seemed to incapacitate Sirius black, is that it wasn't all consuming… no it was this itch that crept up his spine, burrowing deep into his soul. And once there, it was impossible to dissipate. It kept him awake through the night. Well, that and the taunting memories of enraged and disappointed best friends–ex-friends. It had taken Sirius hours to meet Morpheus, and despite that everlasting hatred of the Black family he swore to have, he felt a little bit at peace in his childhood bedroom. Nothing had been changed, nothing destroyed in fits of anger, no muggle propaganda taken down and ruined as he expected. It was all the same, and in some ways that was just as much a comfort as it was a hindrance. Because, when all is said and done, what did that mean of Sirius Black and his wretched family? Did it mean he was always meant to find himself here again, despite his stubborn insistence? Did they know his resolve wouldn't last? Did she know?
His eyes were crusted around the inner corners, he felt the ache of his bones as he reached a lithe hand to force away the sleep. His lips were chapped and dry, his face swollen with sorrow. He remembered crying himself to sleep, he remembered the soft touch of his mothers fingers brushing his curls away. It stirred a deep longing feeling he hadn’t felt in years. His tongue wet his lips. His eyes focused on the star–charmed ceiling. He wished his mind was running, he wished to be flooded with painful memories that sting and burn, but instead the boy was numb. There was a seering numbness that sent shivers along his body. Maybe he was going mad, maybe this was it and he’d be lucky to have a few coherent moments. Or perhaps that was wishful thinking and his lack of feeling was further proof that he belonged right where he was, in 12 Grimmauld Place.
It was an hour later that he was lathered in soap, drenched from the scalding water causing his porcelain skin to redden in anger. He knew he didn’t have much longer to wallow, he would be expected for breakfast any moment. And while he loathed the idea of being their perfect pureblood heir, he sure as hell wasn’t going to bite a gift thestral in the ass. He was dressed in all black, which was just as much staple for the family as green. His shirt was fitted, and trousers were slacks with a black belt looped through and black robes outlined in a deep shape of forest over top. He wore dragon leather shoes that he remembered being gifted to him by his Uncle Cygnus on his fifteenth birthday.
Just before he entered the formal dining room, his body collided with another. Instinctively he reached out to steady the other, just before his blood ran cold in fear of retribution. The person in which he collided did not also try to steady him, but instead made a soft scoff, just before Sirius felt the other person stiffen. Neither had seen the other, both their eyes gazed on the floor– and while Sirius could have sworn he had bumped into his father, when he looked up he saw his baby brother. Although gone was the stubby little boy who followed around his big brother with a goofy grin on his face, and here was a boy almost as tall as himself with a perfected sneer and indifferent brow raise.
“Sirius?” His voice is what changed the most, no longer squeaking and quivering, instead it was rather deep and smooth and the sound alone unsettled Sirius to his absolute core. When did his baby grow up? And yes, he was his baby. Sirius held him at night when he cried, rubbed soothing circles on his back when he had nightmares, and made a fool of himself just to hear his laugh. The year difference may not seem a significant amount, but to Sirius, it was everything. It meant he had to be everything for this little thing who depended solely on others.
“Hey, Reggie,” the younger boy flinched at the old nickname and the action alone made Sirius want to vomit. Had it really been that long since he had spoken to his brother with anything other than contempt?
“You’re home.” Regulus stated, in that bored tone he had adopted from Narcissa and made into his own, with slight disgust woven into it.
Sirius nodded, a slight purse to his lips.
“Oh good! You boys are reacquainted,” the sound of Walburga tore Sirius from his mind, and his body stiffened instinctually
“Good morning, Mother” Regulus always had an easier time placating their parents than he did. That’s not to say he hadn’t seen his fair share of punishment, despite Sirius’ attempt to shield him, because he did. But unlike Sirius, his little brother always seemed to bounce back easier, with less contempt but a steel mind to never make the same mistakes twice. And perhaps, that's when the resentment for his younger brother began to build. And why, when Regulus and he stopped speaking after Regulus was sorted into Slytherin, he didn’t fight it as much as ten year old Sirius would have sworn to do.
“Mother,” Walburga narrowed her eyes at his greeting, but said nothing of it.
“Well. Stop dawdling by the door and come eat breakfast. We have much to discuss,” her tone suggested no room for argument, and Sirius made sure to nod and head directly into the dinning room. His father was already sitting at the head of the table, and this made Sirius stand taller, head higher and an air of arrogance wafted around him, just as Orion had shown him long ago.
Sirius went straight to his father, standing to his left. “Father,” he began, not allowing the nerves to shake his voice, “Thank you for allowing me back into the family,” Orion’s gaze was steady on him, unflinching and unfazed. He slowly gazed over Sirius’ outfit, his being and stance. Apparently, he approved because he gave a curt nod and grunt, motioning to the chair to his left, the heir’s chair, for Sirius to sit.
Sirius felt Regulus’ gaze on him but didn’t dare look up to where he was sat, besides their Mother. Instead his gaze went past him, to the grandiose looking glass, seeing his reflection. It felt different than what he’d
seen in the bathroom, now primed and prepped and at the Heir’s seat. It felt shameful, and yet that everlasting numbness seemed to keep Sirius from dwelling too much on it before his father began to speak.
“There will be a Black family dinner at Astron House tonight, and we will be required to stay the summer. We will reintroduce Sirius back to the family. I have already made my father aware. We will all be on our best behaviors,” his words held a threat that Sirius knew well. Once upon a time, that threat would feel like a challenge. But now? Now it just felt final.
The Black brothers both nodded.
“Apparently, Lord Black will be making some stark changes to the family in terms of allegiances and expectations,” his lips curled ever so slightly up and his eyes shifted to Sirius. Apparently, these changes were of the sort which would cause Sirius strife if his father’s look has anything to say about it.
Walburga hummed, her head tilting ever so slightly. The motion was almost of canine curiosity and the thought sickened Sirius.
“Cygnus is under the impression a seer was involved in your father’s new rhetoric,” Regulus’ spine straightened just a bit more at this, and Sirius could see him swallow roughly. And just like that, his head was tilted in that same show his mother put on just moments ago.
Don’t speak, unless spoken to.
Regulus’ reaction itched something in his head, and it sparked a train of thought that tingled his fingers. A searing question was on the tip of his tongue.
Don’t speak, unless spoken to.
Regulus found his gaze, and there was something there. Something steely and brave. Sirius never thought he’d see something brave in his brother's eyes. This pushed Sirius even more. Perhaps it wasn’t bravery that Sirius saw, perhaps Regulus was trying to protect something, someone. But who would little Reggie want to protect?
While the two of them did not speak at Hogwarts, Sirius was often keeping a close eye on his baby brother. He knew his friends, the delinquents they were, other than a small few…
Barty Crouch Jr… delinquent
Evan Rosier… delinquent
Dorcas Meadowes… delinquent equivalent
Pandora Rosier… delinquent adjacent
It was like something was begging to be known, and yet? One last look at his brother and his stubborn resolve melted. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew that pleading look in Regulus’ eyes. He’d have it when Sirius would cause trouble at a family gathering, or when Sirius would take a deep breath to say something snarky to his mother and father. It was this look of ‘please, don’t’ that paused his train of thought.
And something in his mannerism must have shown his quelled interest, but not a moment later did Regulus let out a soft breath. If their parents knew them better, perhaps they’d see that silent conversation and question them of it. But, despite their observant and nosey nature, they couldn’t decipher the looks shared between brothers any more than Sirius could read his fathers face or mothers tone.
“Hm,” his father hummed with a mouthful of porridge.
“Regulus, do you know anything about this supposed seer?” the words screamed a test, and yet, Regulus was unflinching. He looked to their mother with ease, an ease that Sirius was envious of.
“Should I?” If Sirius was their mother, then Regulus was their father. It said something, that each boy would take after their tormentor. Regulus, despite portraying a dutiful and doting son to Walburga, could never quite fool their father. Sirius had often taken punishments for Regulus, or he’d take the blame and with Walburga in her blind rage, she never read more than the surface level of things. But Orion? Orion knew Regulus was no heir, he was too weak, too controllable. He was everything Sirius wasn’t. And so, perhaps in an attempt to gain their father’s favor, Regulus started to perfect his imitation. So much so, in the dead of night with no one around, he’d wonder where his father ended and he began.
That was no more present, than in the clear challenge he gave their mother. In the bored tone, and uninterested dull look. Sirius is sure that if it had been him who had spoken like Walburga, he’d have a handprint on his cheek.
“Regulus,” their father’s tone was demanding, and Sirius felt that familiar urge to take the tension and swallow it whole for his baby brother. It churned in his stomach, demanding and persistent.
“Perhaps it was Aunt Druella,”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Don’t speak, unless spoken to.
The words came out quicker than he could quell them. He was prepared for the lashing, for the wands to point to him. For this to be his end. ‘It will be the last thing you do,’ his mother had promised.
“Aunt Druella?” His father’s words were barbed and armed, and he had a tiniest of a smirk curling his lips. His mannerisms were almost cat like, toying with a mouse before devouring it.
Sirius knew better than to not answer, years of conditioning hadn’t just left him, just because he had spent the last year living at the Potters. “Yes. She was previously a Rosier, correct?” he felt dread icing up his back, cold and relentless.
Orion gave him a curt nod, “She was. And what do we know about Rosier’s?” oh merlin, a test. He could feel Regulus’ eyes burning a hole into the side of his head.
“We know that the Rosiers are French and Greek in origin, and that they are often blessed with the gift of sight, as well as twins. It is through the fathers blood to a daughter's blood in which a Rosier will gain the gift,” he spewed the facts quickly, and something about his own words brushed that itch of curiosity he dismissed due to Regulus’s pleas.
Regulus.
Oh. Fuck.
The young Heir’s mind was running, moving in circles as he began to slowly realize what it was Regulus was protecting. What Sirius may have just fed to the wolves.
No. Not what. Who?
Pandora.
“Yes. Well while we appreciate your astute observations, Sirius, let me remind you that you are not to speak unless spoken too. I understand things are run differently at the Potters,” He spewed their name like it was a nasty curse, “But we expect that as you’ve returned, you shall act the Black Scicon that you have been raised to be,” his father took another bite of his porridge.
“Yes, Father,” Neither Walburga or Orion commented on the easy give of the boy. Something that would have never happened before his year at the Potters. And Sirius took this opportunity to look at Regulus, who was already staring straight at him.
Sirius wanted to feel bad, wanted to feel as though he had done something wrong. He knows that to Regulus, he has. But there is this immovable force deep within Sirius that beckons him to come to his brother’s aid and he refuses to feel bad for it. Refuses to work on it, because once there was a time when Regulus was his everything. He never felt bad for calling James Potter his brother, because to him, Regulus was so much more.
And now that Sirius has lost almost everything, he’s reminded in the most sudden and brash way, that he hasn’t. Not truly.
Looking at one another, the Black brothers felt at a standstill. Unfortunately, Sirius fears he has opened Pandora’s Box. And Regulus knows he has. The older brother hopes he's conveying his apology in his eyes, because Regulus sure is conveying he doesn’t give a damn, loud and clear.