A More Hopeful Ending
Aberforth allows the boy his silence after that. It’s not as though he needs to get to sleep anytime soon, being a night owl. The lad obviously just needs to speak to someone, even if it’s a scraggy old bartender. Though it did bid the question of where the boy’s friends could be. Family was obviously not an option he could rely on.
Could he really be so alone? Aberforth wonders dully, continuing to wipe the countertop in order to not burden the boy with his full attention.
Then Aberforth comes up with an idea, something that may assuage his deeply unsettled idea that the boy may end up going out into the night alone. So, Aberforth takes the firewhisky from the shelf and tops off the boy’s glass, muttering something about grabbing wood polish for the bar before heading back into his cluttered office. He turns immediately to the floo and prepares to face the one man he never speaks with unless completely necessary.
“Aberforth?” Comes the hesitant voice of his elder brother, Albus remaining quiet otherwise. Albus knows nothing short of grave news would bring Aberforth into any sort of communication with himself.
“I have no time to explain,” Aberforth grunts out, “but get Sirius Black to the Hogshead as quickly as possible. Immediately,” he emphasizes. Aberforth then abruptly ends the call, grabs his dusty glass jar of Wooley’s Wonderous Wood Tonic, and lumbers back out to the bar. He’s relieved to see the lad is, once again, nursing his drink. The boy seems just as reluctant to leave as Aberforth is to let him go.
So Aberforth begins the tedium of shining up his bar- mostly annoyed that he has to resort to this in order to keep the pub “open” for the lad. Honestly, none of his patrons would ever care in the slightest if he did anything beyond basic cleaning. Some would likely be annoyed to be able to see themselves as they drown in their cups tomorrow, which actually causes Aberforth to smirk slightly under his large beard.
Just as he reaches the end of the wooden bar top, frankly upset that he may have to find something else to clean, the heavy oak doors of the pub fly open to allow entry to one severely harried-looking Sirius Black. The young man had obviously dragged himself from bed, curly hair flying about clothes haphazardly draped across his body. Aberforth hadn’t seen Sirius in years, but his frantic energy seems to have remain untouched by time. Aberforth keeps a steady eye on the energetic lad, unsure what Albus could have told him to actually get the boy to come to the pub so quickly. Aberforth pauses his polishing once he sees Sirius finally notice exactly who is the final remaining patron this evening and obviously far after closing time.
Sirius Black seems to go through a hurricane of emotions all at once, so many mixing together that one could only truly parse out the overarching upset, frustration and anger that fades mildly the longer he stands there with absolutely nothing else happening. Regulus, for his part, had startled at the sudden opening of the pub doors then frozen in place, staring out at his brother with a fearful gaze. Regulus had remained frozen since that time and continued to remain as still as a trapped hare under the gaze of a hungry wolf. Sirius says nothing, taking in the strange sight of his uppity little brother sitting in the absolute last place Sirius would expect him to be. As he slowly steps closer, Sirius notes something red around his brother’s neck, yet another oddity. Surely that woman would punish Regulus for owning any article of clothing with a sliver of the bright red…and gold currently adorning his neck.
Sirius stills then, face frozen with surprise and sadness, before gently reaching out to touch the soft fabric. “Reggie,” he whispers, as realization engulfed him. “You- you still have this?” Sirius never raises his voice, if anything it fades to a wisp of breath as he inhales sharply through his nose, snapping his gaze up to his brother's eyes as Regulus finally responds to his presence.
And Sirius witnesses something he hadn’t seen since before his second year at Hogwarts- Regulus beings to weep.
Soul-wrenching sobs clamor out of the smaller boy, grief so profound and held within for so long finally breaking loose. No mask is left for this boy. This boy, raised with fear and hatred and utter neglect, raised to speak when spoken to and otherwise remain silent. Raised as a sheep to follow another's lead, given as a sacrificial lamb to a cause he used to dread and now hates deeply. He cried and cries, unable to bring himself to reach out to touch his older brother. Too sullied and broken to touch someone so strong, someone who fights for what’s just.
Sirius swiftly grabs his brother, noting the way Regulus continues to sob while turning his face into Sirius’s neck despite not even attempting to return the tight embrace. He sees the bartender over Regulus’s shoulder, glassy eyes registering the man’s awkward, noncommittal gesture as he retreats through a door behind the bar, then returns his full attention to his brother.
And Sirius just hands there, holding his brother for as long as his Reggie needs, committing himself to comforting his only ally from a childhood shadowed by punishment and bigotry.
After a very long time, the sobs fade to sniffles and hiccupping whimpers before Regulus finally collects himself enough to speak. “Siri,” he says brokenly, “I-” His voice is trembling too much to speak clearly, struggling to attempt to steady himself. “I couldn’t find the mittens,” he admits in a hoarse voice, “I couldn’t find them, and- and Kreacher is hurt. I can’t help him. I can’t do anything.” Here he begins crying once again, though silently this time. “Siri, please.”
Sirius waits, holding tighter to his brother who has not yet pulled himself from the fold of the elder’s arms. “What is it you need, Reggie?” At this moment, Sirius promises himself that, if it’s within his power, he will do all he can to help his brother. The brother who, despite years of disappointment, snipes, insults and loathing- or what Sirius had assumed was loathing- had kept Sirius's small, rebellious gift. Sirius is getting the impression he may have judged his brother incorrectly in recent years.
Finally, finally, Regulus brings up his arms and clutches his brother desperately as he whispers, “Please. Help me.”