The Intimate Complexity of A Young Burdened Mind
There was nothing more difficult than childhood. Or maybe it was just Regulus’ childhood.
Being a child of Orion and Walburga Black was nothing short of a death sentence for neurotypical brain functions. Regulus was born the youngest daughter of the Head of the Noble And Most Ancient House of Black, a lineage that probably predated cavemen.
Regina Alhena Black.
The very taste of the name made his mouth sour. As early as he could remember, Regulus felt like the name was separate from him, like a series of noises he was meant to respond to, not an identity. He didn’t know why. He was too young, too sheltered.
For his entire childhood, Regulus ignored the sense of wrongness, the way being a girl felt off-kilter. Everyone must feel this way, especially when he hit puberty and it was as if his body were trying to kill itself.
He didn’t know.
His entire childhood he lived under Sirius’ shadow, and the weight of his parents’ expectations. Sirius was the firstborn, the son, the heir to the entire empire. Regina was the spare, the daughter, the one they could marry off for business purposes.
On the outside, Regina followed the rules. Regina kept a low head and learned how to be a proper woman of Black.
On the inside, Regulus ached to follow Sirius everywhere. He ached to climb trees and stomp in puddles like Sirius did, rather than sit quietly and learn how to set tea.
He didn’t know why.
At six years old, the abuse began. Or perhaps, that was when Regulus realized it was happening. It started small—a harsh slap across the face when Sirius carved a star into the dining table, or a bruising grip on Regulus’ wrist when he drew on the wall.
It elevated into belts, harsh enough to leave tender welts and bleeding lashes. Sirius always endured the worst of those. Regulus never realized how many times his own mistakes resulted in his brother crumpled on the floor, beaten to tears. He never noticed how many times Sirius stepped between him and cruel leather or fists. Knives and hot pokers got involved when the belt seemed not to work.
But he always knew when Sirius left. When their parents banished him to Alphard’s for getting out of line. Because then there was no one to stand between Regulus and his parents.
He always hid the bruises from Sirius when he returned.
Regina learned obedience was necessary to survive that house. She learned to blend in. She locked Regulus away in the further corner of her mind, because that was rebellion. Thinking any way that wasn’t the way Orion and Walburga wanted was a danger.
In that time, piano came into the picture. It was a saving grace—both an approved use of time and a secret escape. Here, in front of ivory keys, Regulus felt the disconnection dissipate. He felt whole, like the piano’s voice was fixing the tears in him. Playing meant he could shut himself in a room and get lost in music, able to ignore the weight of his parents, of his life, of Regina Black, and become who he was meant to be. Who he always was.
In the privacy of closed doors and gentle music, Regulus Black lived and thrived.
Besides Sirius, Narcissa was another saving grace. She was their cousin, and much gentler than her cruel sister Bellatrix, and equally rebellious sister Andromeda. She and Regina got along well, sitting quietly in another room reading books or playing piano while chaos from the others raged outside.
She was protective in a far more cunning way than Sirius had been in his courage. She was good at distraction and intimidation, frightening maids from telling on Regina when she spilled tea and stained the carpet, able to discreetly move a side table over the mark and charm the adults into conversation so no one noticed the shift. She found ways to get Regina out of trouble without ever getting into trouble herself.
Regina studied her every move.
By the time she was eleven, Regina was the perfect daughter. And Sirius hated her for it. She could see it in the way he looked at her, with the same narrow-eyed disgust he aimed at their parents. It crossed his face every time she obeyed a command, every time she stayed silent when arguments raged. Sirius had never learned how to blend in. He couldn’t. He was born to fight back, born to rebel in every way imaginable. It wasn’t in his nature to let his parents win.
So when news that Sirius was going to America for school crossed the threshold of their house, Regulus felt like the inevitable had finally arrived.
“Come with me, Reggie.” Sirius had asked that night, a whispered plea in the darkness of 2 AM.
“I can’t.” Regina whispered, staring at the ceiling as hot tears ran down her face.
“You can. We can get out of this place, go see the world. Alphard—“
“I don’t care.” Regina snapped. “I don’t care about Alphard. Fuck off to America, Sirius.”
There was a long stretch of silence.
“They’ll kill you if you stay.” Sirius said lowly. “You know that, don’t you?”
They already have. Regulus thought to himself. There’s nothing left to kill.
“No they won’t. I’m their cash cow, remember?”
“You’re not a cash cow, Reggie. You’re allowed to make your own choices—“
“I’ve made my choice.” Regina hissed. “I’m staying here.”
They’ll kill you if I go. Regulus thought. Someone has to stay. I wish I could go. Someone has to be the dam. Take me with you anyway.
Those were the last words they every spoke to each other. Sirius left for America and Regina Black was alone to face her parents without a shield.
In the four years of his absence, much had changed. The abuse got worse—Sirius had taught Regina how to stitch wounds, and she had gotten so good at it that there were virtually no scars left.
Piano remained the only light in the darkness of that house. When he was fourteen, the disconnection couldn’t be ignored any longer. In a rare moment of privilege, Regulus was able to access the internet and immediately asked why he felt wrong in his body. That was how he found out he was trans.
Everything he found matched his own internal being. Regulus Arcturus Black became fully realized, and he knew it was a secret he couldn’t bury anymore. He couldn’t live like this, constantly like the half of a missing whole. He couldn’t pretend to be someone he had never been. For survival, he could endure. Emancipation was legal by age sixteen.
He just had to make it to sixteen.
There wasn’t enough time. When he turned fifteen, he was told there were plans of marriage.
Amycus Carrow was a cruel, ugly old man that looked at Regulus like another object amongst a collection. That meeting, paired with the senseless beating he received afterwards for not smiling enough, sealed his decision.
He had to leave.
Narcissa was the only one he told about the marriage and of him being trans. The fear was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, wondering if he had made the biggest mistake of his life by revealing his secret.
But Narcissa hadn’t sneered at him or reported him to his parents. Instead, she very casually began making plans for his escape. She had married into the Malfoy clan, and had control over private funds that could aid him in leaving. She told him if he ever found a way to escape, to take her last name. She would cover for him, and funnel him money to keep him afloat. All he needed to do was figure out how to leave.
But how could he? With Sirius gone, there was no one their parents could control. If Regulus left, they would hunt of both of them down, and he was certain they would sooner murder the both of them then let it be heard both of their children left them. The scandal that would cause would ruin their reputation—that alone was enough to kill for. Orion and Walburga had only kept them alive because they were useful. But when Sirius left and his face was cut out of every family portrait, and Regulus heard what Walburga said she’d do to him if she ever saw him again…he could never be free unless they were dead.
Their murders had been so easy to plot that Regulus surprised even himself. A suicide, staged with a note from Regina declaring she was leaving, that they could deal with the scandal and fallout from the Carrows, would be enough to convince the police neither of them could bear to see their reputation fall.
Regulus snuck up on them easily, having been taught that women were not to be heard, his silent footsteps, a swiftly placed letter opener and rough shove down onto it with gloved hands. Carefully wrapping their limp fingers around the blades to leave fingerprints. Burning his clothes immediately after and throwing the ashes into the city sewage.
He had a repacked suitcase of enough clothes and necessities to look like a runaway and not a runaway murderer, and dumped it all into a bin by the city trash compactor.
He flew to New York on a ticket he’d booked weeks ago. Narcissa’s wire transfers helped him get an apartment, his name changed, top surgery, hormone therapy, everything. Within a year, Regina Alhena Black was dead, a mask finally cast aside for the wearer to step into the light.
It was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life. Regulus recovered from surgery alone, he got into the conservatory alone—and it all bottled up into a deep depression that surrounded him like a dark cloud.
Investigations into his parents’ deaths were ongoing for years. Police found it suspicious but couldn’t find any evidence of foul play. The Black name was in ruins, the title transferred to Sirius, who was back in London for university.
Narcissa warned him the police were looking into Regina’s disappearance, that she was deemed either another victim or a potential suspect. At that point, Regulus knew vanishing was not enough.
With Narcissa’s help, and a few connections within the papers and police, Regulus was able to get Regina Black’s death confirmed. A cleverly altered body courtesy of a mortician that owed the Malfoys a favor, and a woeful tale about a drowning and post mortem feeding by carnivorous fish leaving her disfigured beyond recognition, and he was finally free.
He never heard if there was a funeral. He didn’t know if Sirius had bothered to attend. They had been stonily silent to each other for five years.
Regulus pretended not to care. He threw himself into playing piano at the conservatory, finding ways to stretch his studies and stay as long as possible.
He didn’t make friends.
Narcissa showed up at his door a year into his new life to find the apartment in ruins. Dirty dishes, spoiled food, almost no furniture—all evidence of Regulus’ spiraling depression that left he almost immobile. She had gotten a notification from the conservatory that Regulus was not attending his classes, classes she had paid for.
Regulus was in a terrible state when she found him, locked in his bed and unable to move. The whirlwind of his running away and changing identities hadn’t left him time to process what exactly he’d done.
And grief, as suddenly as it does, struck him now. He’d lost his parents and brother entirely. Everything he’d ever known was gone, cut down by his own actions. By his own selfish desperation to be free. He didn’t deserve it. It was cowardly.
His parents were no saints, but did the price for his selfishness have to be their lives?
These thoughts tortured him constantly until Narcissa turned up.
She convinced him to find a roommate, someone to keep him in line, to force him to clean up and look after himself. She knew he cared about his image, and if someone else lived in his space, he would be motivated to keep his shit together.
That was how he met Remus Lupin. He put out an ad advertise an available room. Remus was the first to show up.
Regulus took one look at the scarred up boy at his door, blinked, and let him in. If he scared him off, he didn’t care. He’d tell Narcissa it just didn’t work out.
There was a guarded look in Remus’ eyes, and Regulus knew he was sizing him up just as he was. It was clear by the scars that this boy had secrets, and just like Regulus, he was trying to determine if he was going to pry.
They’ve been living together for nearly four years, and still didn’t know a thing about each other’s pasts, and they both liked it that way.
Remus breathed life into the apartment in ways Regulus had never known. He grew up with stiff chairs and rigid floors that had only ornamental purposes. Remus brought in squashy armchairs and an ugly green couch that was so ridiculously comfortable he couldn’t complain about its looks. He brought in shelves and desks just for all of their books and Regulus’ music, threw open the curtains and let the sun wake them up every day. He made home cooked meals that were warm and filling, unlike the strict diets he’d been on to watch his weight.
Remus taught Regulus how to live again, and how to live cozily rather than prettily.
He started going back to the conservatory and picking back up on classes. He worked even harder to prove his worth, often spending hours past lessons to keep practicing. Some of his favorite nights were sitting alone in the gallery, playing the piano and listening to the music echo about the chamber.
It was a rather good thing Regulus didn’t have to bother with a survival job. Not only was he not built to serve others in any capacity, but the idea of wearing anything that wasn’t Italian linen or French silk made him want to gag at the poverty. Narcissa had been kind enough to send enough money to Regulus every month to avoid this very prospect. She, like all Black borne, had standards—standards that she was more than willing to pay for so Regulus didn’t have to stoop below them.
Because of his rather lavish funds, Regulus decided not to tell Remus just how expensive their little flat was. He knew of his friend’s struggles, and knew he was not in the lucky positions he was. If it had been anyone else, Regulus would not be so merciful. But because Remus, in his own quiet way, had helped Regulus when no one else could—in return, Regulus decided he simply did not need to know he only paid about a quarter of their combined expenses. He knew Remus would think it charity or pity and demand for equality. If that happened, Remus wouldn’t be able to afford living with him anymore. And Regulus certainly wasn’t going to move somewhere cheaper for Remus’ sake.
Finally, he needed him as much as Remus needed him.
So in conclusion, Regulus wasn’t going to say anything, and Remus was going to stay put.
Manipulative, perhaps, but to Regulus, he’d simply foreseen an issue and eliminated any reason to cause it. He didn’t mind paying more—really, with the amount of money Narcissa sent—he didn’t really notice.
Life was going well. Regulus had just been accepted as the pianist for a Broadway musical, Remus was working two jobs and hadn’t had a serious panic attack in months, and things were finally falling into a steady, predictable pattern.
That was when James Potter came crashing into his life.