Leave It At That
Regulus and Sirius Black had grown up in the Capitol. They had grown up with the Hunger Games.
Eleven and twelve year old's. Sirius lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Regulus teased from his side of the large room. Sirius had jet black hair that he tried to grow longer than his mother would let him and he had undone the top button of his shirt; he hated the tight feeling, like choking. He lay on his back on his bed, staring at the arching ceilings. Regulus teased him from his side of the room, his shirt done up and his tie tightened. Sirius' was on the floor. He threw back a matching taunt and Regulus laughed. Desperate to please his impossibly cooler brother.
Twelve and Thirteen. Regulus sat in his perfectly ironed shirt and waistcoat with his back straight and his legs crossed on the couch. Sirius had his head on his shoulder and his legs sprawled out beside him. His tie was loose around his neck and his shirt undone several more buttons than was respectable. Their mother, Walburga slapped his legs and he quickly drew them out of the way, angry red marks spreading across his shin. She sat down next to them and smiled with pursed lips as the television turned itself on and the Hunger Games tune rang throughout the house. Sirius had only watched it once and already didn't care for the Hunger Games. Regulus was watching for the first time. They had always heard it through the doors of their bedroom. But sitting down with the adults felt different. Like a rite of passage. Regulus told Sirius that and he scoffed, outraged.
"You know they have a similar rite of passage in the districts," he whispered angrily.
He would've yelled but their mother would come down on them both with the full force of her rage if she heard this discussion.
"When they first put their names in Reapings to die in the arena," he finished cruelly.
Regulus didn't mention it again after that.
Thirteen and Fourteen. And Sirius could hardly contain himself. That year, as he watched the slaughter, he said some things he would regret several nights as Regulus patched him up, carefully avoiding his eye.
"It's just not fair," he said quietly to his brother as he dabbed at the long thin cuts only their mother's knife left, "They suffer in the districts while we live in luxury and then we watch that for entertainment. It's... sociopathic!"
Regulus paused with his gauze, looking determinedly at the cut, "I think," he whispered, "some of us suffer here too."
Sirius frowned and looked at his fidgeting hands. Regulus resumed wiping. They only spoke after that for Regulus to reassure Sirius quietly as he whimpered with pain.
Perhaps, Sirius thought darkly, Reg was right.
Fourteen and fifteen. Regulus was having none of the doubts his brother had at his age. Sirius was having more. When summer came, he point blank refused to sit down. Regulus cringed from his place at the dining table. He begged his mother. He begged Sirius. But it never made any difference. The door slammed and Sirius was gone with the wind. His mother chivvied Regulus along and they sat with their friends watching the Reapings. Sirius was returned home by a bored peacekeeper. Regulus locked himself in his room and buried himself in his duvet, drowning out the world until he felt sick. Sirius lay in bed that night, wishing for the open air that momentarily had meant freedom.
Fifteen and sixteen. Regulus thought it best to stay quiet, keep out of trouble. He never got into fights with mother, in fact, he hardly ever even spoke to her. If he said nothing, did nothing, then she couldn't find anything to be angry about. Sirius got into fights nearly every evening. He started joining protests. Sneaking out at night and returning with a bruised eye or blooded lip only after he'd had to flee for fear of execution. Regulus warned him he shouldn't go, that he would get hurt but Sirius only argued he would get hurt even if he stayed home. He got into more fights with peacekeepers than was reasonable. He wrote essays about why the Hunger Games ought to be stopped. But they rolled around again, every year, like clockwork. And all Regulus did was shake his head at his brother wasting energy on futile efforts. He had read books about the dark ages and he didn't need them to know that a rebellion would only bring bloodshed.
Sixteen and Seventeen. Sirius had had enough. And when Hunger Games season dawned once more, he marched with Capitol citizens in a protest that would change the Black's lives forever.
Regulus begged him not to go. Sirius didn't listen.
When he climbed out the window, Regulus felt obliged. He was scared, terrified. He told his mother. He thought she would go out and find him. Call him home immediately. She didn't. She called the peacekeepers office. Regulus begged her not to. She didn't listen. She told them neither she, nor any of her family were involved and she wanted Sirius prosecuted for his crimes. That was the first time Regulus screamed at his mother. He had thought that night, it would definitely be his last. He cried silently in his room all evening. He knew what it meant. Sirius was interrupted in the middle of the march. He was taken and dragged away. He kicked and screamed and fought. It did nothing. The peacekeepers took him away. Regulus assumed he would be executed. So did his mother. They made examples of all the adults at the protest. They sent them all to concentration camps where they'd be killed and hanged the important political figures and celebrities publicly. They published the names of the other adults, their families were disgraced. The children were sent to the districts and twenty of their name were put into that districts reaping. Sirius' name was mentioned, his picture shared. His too long hair and black family jawline with tired sad eyes and blood on his head. Walburga went around saving face. Telling everyone about how much of a disappointment Sirius was. Saying he was mad and that she did not consider him a son. She pretended she didn't care. Regulus had to as well. But at night he allowed himself the quiet satisfaction of sobbing into his pillow, lest mother hear his despair.
Walburga had Sirius' half of the bedroom turned into a separate office space. Regulus lay in his small room, afraid and alone. He stared at the ceiling and thought of his brother. He wrote of him in poetry desperately written and stashed away, the worst of it hastily burned. When his mother was asleep, he climbed out onto the roof and let the cold air numb his tears. He loved Sirius with all his heart. And he hated himself for what he'd done. He told himself it didn't matter. That Sirius would have gotten caught anyway and their family might have been punished like many others were. And perhaps that was true. But there was still a part of him that wondered if Sirius might have been able to run, to get away. If it weren't for him. He never thought he would see his brother again. Or at least, he hoped.