I Love You Most

Welcome, good readers! I bet you’re super excited to learn the great tale of Sirius Black. You want to hear about my wicked escapades and awesome years of rebelling against the stone cold monarchy. Unfortunately for you, that’s not going to happen.

I’m going to be retelling the story of my younger brother to you as if it happens in real time- makes it much more exciting, don’t you think? Never fear, you’ll get to see me eventually, but it’s Regulus’ story I’m telling, not my own. Believe me, if I told my own, you would be bored out of your damn mind. Really, all there is to tell about myself is the years I’ve spent with nothing to do but learn to play the guitar and write in my journal, maybe with a few slaps from mother dearest thrown in here and there. No, my brother’s tale is much more spellbinding.

So, what does a kidnapped prince do for entertainment while his “maman” is away, you may ask? He plays hide and seek with the chameleon he adopted, that’s what. He found Bartemius when he was only a baby, and has been attached to the little creature ever since. I roll my eyes so hard that they ache almost as badly as my heart. My brother should not have to play hide and seek with his pet chameleon at the ripe age of seventeen. It should be me he’s playing with, but alas. At least he has some company other than the old hag, reptile or not. 

“Hm,” he bluffs, muttering to himself as he searches the windowsill. “Well, I guess Bartemius isn’t here.” 

The reptile, who appears to have a fully functioning mind for some reason, sniggers. Strange, I know. Maybe it has something to do with the constant proximity to my brother’s godly magic. Bartemius screams a very chameleon-like scream as Regulus snatches him from where he was hiding unassumingly behind a flower pot and watches as his colours melt into a dark green.

“I’m so fucking bored, Barty,” he tells the lizard, as if it understands. Okay, that was rude, as if he understands. Maybe I’m just salty because a fucking reptile gets to play with my brother and I don’t.

Barty shoves his tail in the direction of the great expanses of greenery outside, raising what can only be the chameleon version of an eyebrow.

“Yeah, no. Absolutely the fuck not. You know I can’t leave this place.”

The lizard frowns.

“Shut up. I like it in here. You do, too. Don’t try and argue.”

The fact that Regulus has so much time on his hands that he has to resort to talking to a literal animal is truly depressing. Ugh, I just want to strangle that old witch with my bare fucking hands. I want to watch as I wring the life she shouldn’t have from her frail, wrinkly body. Gaze into her eyes as the light in them dims.

To be honest, his whole life is fucking depressing. Maybe even worse than mine. Sure, I’m neglected by my parents and also have nothing good to do, but Regulus has been lied to his entire life. He believes everything he’s been told by the woman that literally kidnapped him. That is far, far worse, if you ask me.

He has the same damn routine every day. 7 am, he wakes up and does the chores set for him by his fucking mummy, sweeping the tiled floor over and over again until it’s gleaming, absolutely spotless. He polishes Apollonia’s leather shoes and dusts every available surface. He does laundry for the two of them, and makes sure that all his maman’s jewellery is shinier than the moon. Then, he rereads the same books he’s had for literal years. Cheesy romances and adventure stories that he doesn’t believe he’ll ever get to experience for himself. His favourite, ironically, is Amelia by Henry Fielding- a tale about a young woman who defies the wishes of her mother to marry her one true love. How he doesn’t get bored of them, I’ll never understand.

After this, he paints the walls. Apollonia doesn’t mind. In fact, she praises him for his gorgeous work and excellent eye for detail. “You got your skill from me,” she lies, and Regulus beams with pride, and I grind my teeth. That skill never came from Apollonia. I’m the one who shares his artistic talents, much like we share the same eyes. Fuck, those eyes. I can never look into a reflective surface without thinking about him… Anyway, I would be lying if I told you that Regulus isn’t just better. Truly, his talent for painting is unmatched. He really is, well… gifted.

Then, he plays piano. Another thing that he’s shockingly good at. He plays softly, but only when he sings the flower song does his eyes glow. Apollonia is always present when he sings that song. She soaks up the energy into her freshly smooth skin, and Regulus never finds out what she looks like when she’s in her rightful form. “You’ll never have to,” she tells him, “because as long as you sing me your special song, I’ll always be here with you. Your loving mother.”

And of course, Regulus sings for her with the voice of an angel, the voice of a dying star, smooth and low, because he loves his maman, and never wants to lose her. She protects him from the world, and in return, he grants her the youth she doesn't deserve.

He also knits scarves and jumpers for her with the softest wool known to mankind, and bakes cherry pie with the freshest cherries ever gathered. Apollonia praises him once again, and he glows with joy. 

He completes the same puzzles he’s had since he was small, and teaches himself darts and cleans away the mess from his earlier baking. Occasionally, Apollonia will teach him a bit of ballet. “Such a graceful boy,” she says, and it makes me both sick and proud at the same time that it’s absolutely true. He has the grace of a pure swan, as white as snow.

When Apollonia isn’t around, he’s forced to play chess with Bartemius, not that he really minds. Of course he beats him every time, because no matter how advanced the chameleon’s mind is, he’ll never be Isaac Newton. With Barty’s lizardy help, they also create clay vases and pots for his mother’s favourite flowers (other, of course, than Regulus himself)- narcissus, dahlias, marigolds. Sometimes he even extracts the scents from these plants and puts them into beautiful aromatic candles. I have no idea how he manages to do that. My baby brother really is a miracle. 

Then he works out, paints some more, and sews some tiny clothes for his little pet. Bartemius pretends to hate them, but I can tell that it’s really all an act. I’ve noticed that the hot pink ones are his favourite. Then he reads the bloody books again and desperately tries to find some space on the crowded walls for more colour.

All the while I wonder and wonder and wonder- when is his fucking life finally going to start? 

-

Meanwhile, across the country, something else, much more exciting than my poor brother’s current “life” is happening. Above my castle, a storm is brewing. Not a real storm, yet for some reason the cracks of lightning feel just as thrilling. 

James Potter, a fugitive of the crown, almost 6 ft of Spanish sweaty skin, is racing over the marble rooftops, heart beating wildly. Two of his allies, Dorcas Meadowes and Evan Rosier follow behind, clearly nervous about the deathly drop below them, but doing their very best to smother their fear. 

“Woah,” James grins when they reach the top, gazing out at the kingdom of Arcturus below them. 

“Potter,” Dorcas hisses, “come on, let’s not waste time!”

“But would you just look at the bloody view? It’s nothing short of magnificent.”

He’s right, of course. Despite the state of the people, Arcturus has always been a rather sublime place, with rolling fields of French flowers and villages of run-down elvish looking cottages. Not that I’ve ever been on the roof, no, of course not. I would never be so reckless. (Shut up, that’s between the Captain of the royal guard and me, okay?). 

“Come on, you idiot,” Evan scolds.

“Would you just shut up for a second? Come on and enjoy yourselves a bit. Lighten up. Have fun,” his grin shines like the sun.

Pause for a second. Remember when I said that this story starts with the sun? Both metaphorical and literal? Yes? Well, allow me to introduce you to the sun, in the metaphorical sense.

Dorcas and Evan sigh, but do as they’re told, wandering over to the edge of the roof, where James stands proudly, shoulders back, fearlessly breathing in the royal air. Evan suppresses a whimper as his feet get horrifyingly close to the edge.

“Fuck, this is making me want a castle! What? You guys don’t want a castle? How can you not want a castle?”

“You’ll be able to buy your own bloody castle when we finish our heist. Come on,” Dorcas grips the fabric at his neck and yanks him away from the edge.

“Alright, alright,” he complains as he stumbles backwards. 

They go to stand above the trapdoor that opens up onto a million foot drop down to the polished floor of the throne room, decked in banners of green and silver. The weight of what they’re about to do isn’t lost on them. Fuck this up, and all three of them will be swinging by their necks come sunrise. Their hearts all beat out of time with each other, chaotic and jumpy. James smirks as Evan sinks to his knees to secure the rope around his waist.

“Oh, Evan, if you wanted to suck me off, you could’ve just asked.”

“Shut the fuck up, Potter.”

Dorcas rips open the trapdoor, and James shuffles towards it. He shows no signs of nervousness, unsurprisingly. James is an ethereal entity when it comes to danger, or just adrenaline in general. 

“If you drop me, I’ll murder you,” he winks.

Evan scoffs, “If we drop you, you’ll be dead.”

“Hm, I guess I’ll just have to trust you then.”

“Yes, I suppose you will,” he sneers.

“Well, I’ll be off then!”

James salutes as he climbs into the gap, and his two minions lower him ever so slowly down towards the ground. Down below him, there are at least twenty guards, all standing in rigid formation, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Of course, the idiots had failed to account for the hole in the ceiling, because they never would have dreamed that somebody would try to enter the room that way. I just want to laugh so hard about how utterly wrong they are. You should never underestimate the sheer insanity of James Fleamont Potter. 

The ropes securing him can’t possibly be comfortable, but James doesn’t seem to care. In fact, he’s grinning even harder than he was before, the adrenaline seeking dumbass. The rope burns must be hurting Evan and Dorcas’ hands up above him, but nobody really seems to care. 

James stretches out his arm when he finally gets close enough to snag what he wants. The ever famous crown of Arcturus. A handsome trinket, glittering with emeralds and diamonds moulded into the ragingly expensive silver frame. It’s just within his grasp. Oh, my heart is beating out of my chest right now. Who cares if it’s my family he’s stealing from? I am absolutely rooting for him. He’s got himself a little royal cheerleader. Go James! Go James! It’s a shame he’s a fugitive. I think we would’ve gotten along just excellently.

Just as his fingers close around the ice cold silver, a guard decides to sneeze. Smirking, James places it inside his precious leather satchel before deciding to play with fire. No, I take that back. He isn’t playing with fire, he’s swimming in a fucking volcano.

“Hay fever?” he toys with the guard, who has his back turned to him.

The guard, who hilariously fails to process that the crown is being stolen from right under his nose, replies like an absolute idiot, “You know it.”

“Yeah, that can be a bitch.”

Just as James is three quarters of the way back up, Evan and Dorcas’ agitation clear in the way they tug the rope, the guard realises his mistake. He curses and swings his body around, only to find the crown missing from its rich green velvet cushioned pedestal. He snaps his head up, almost breaking his neck, to see the trapdoor closing above his head.

“Fuck, WAIT! HEY! YOU BRING THAT BACK!”

“What the fuck are you playing at, Potter?” Evan growls as they race away from the palace.

“I was just having a little fun! And it was so worth it.”

“You have just alerted the entire royal guard of our presence. Will it be worth it when we’re caught and hung?” Dorcas pants, and James… well, he can’t really argue with that. Okay, so maybe he was a little reckless. 

They sprint through the cobblestone streets and out into the thick forests, where it will be much more difficult to locate them. Are they going to die because of his stupidity? Probably. Does he regret it? Nope.

-

The next day, Regulus’ skin is crawling with anxiety and hope. Tomorrow, it’s his eighteenth birthday. Will I stay up until midnight and bawl my eyes out when the clock strikes twelve? Yes, absolutely. I miss him so much, it’s like wildfire in my very soul, raging and eating away at everything else until nothing but the painfully eternal flames remain, and I barely even got a chance to know him. That’s eighteen years. Eighteen years, he’s been gone.

Apollonia is returning from her travels to see Regulus (I want to murder her in various gruesome ways, none of which I deem cruel enough), and my brother is hoping beyond hope that she just might let him explore a bit of the outside world for his birthday. It makes me sick to my core that he has to beg like a dog just to catch a glimpse of anything beyond his walls. Fuck, he doesn’t even know what grass feels like.

He hides Bartemius in his room, where he usually does, because Apollonia has no idea that he’s harbouring a reptile in her prison, and Reggie is terrified of what she might do to the creature if she finds out. You'd think that would be a sign that she isn't really the best mother, wouldn't you? But alas, Regulus remains as dense when it comes to this subject as he is brilliant at all others. He goes to the window, buzzing, awaiting his captor’s return. 

She emerges from the trees into the short expanse of field that rests between the forest and the foot of the tower. I want to rip her hair out of her head.

“Maman!” he calls, excited to see his “mother” return to him.

She waves cheerily at him, immeasurably pleased to see her son waiting for her like the good fucking boy he is.

“Bonjour, my darling!” she calls to him as Reggie goes to fetch the rope he uses to haul her ageless body up. 

He grunts as he pulls and pulls, never complaining about the rope burns that scald his palms, because he feels that he doesn’t have the right to. It’s his mother. It’s his duty to help her back into their pitiful home, is it not?

“Oh, baby,” she says sweetly as she clambers gracefully into their chamber, velvet green dress brushing along the windowsill, “how do you manage to do that every day? It must be ever so exhausting.”

“Anything for you, maman,” Reggie replies as he pulls her into a tight hug. Have I mentioned that I hate her guts? “You know, It’s a very big day tomorrow.”

“Is it really? Let me have a look at you, oh, you’re getting so big! Come here, see for yourself,” she guides him towards a full length mirror. A humble thing, unlike the woman who paid for it, with a simple wooden frame that’s beginning to rot. “Do you want to know what I see? I see somebody strong, beautiful and confident.”

Regulus beams.

“Oh, look! You’re here too!”

Do my brother’s eyes dim a little bit? I think so. Nevertheless, he keeps his head up high and laughs along with the old witch.

“Oh, darling, you know I’m only teasing. You’ve been an absolute miracle for me,” she strokes his cheeks and smiles softly at him, sweet and pretty like plastic. Regulus leans into the touch, swallowing her praise like a man starved.

Regulus clears his throat as Apollonia gazes vainly into the mirror, “You know, uh, as I was saying earlier, it’s a rather important day for me, so I was thinking that maybe-”

“Darling, I’m ever so tired right now. Would you sing for me? It would help me feel so much better.”

Regulus, of course, succumbs to the bait, just as he always does, and walks carefully over to the frayed sofa. He sits down and takes his mother’s hands into his own.

“Can we talk after?” he whispers shyly.

“Of course, dear, anything for you.”

“Okay,” he smiles, satisfied, and takes a deep breath before starting to sing. “Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine…”

His blue-grey irises start to glow first, and then his hands, transferring the divine power over from his body into Apollonia’s. She drinks it in greedily. As the flower’s- my brother’s- magic soaks through the flesh in her hands and into her bloodstream, the gold working its way through her body can vaguely be seen illuminating her veins, if you look closely. And Regulus always does. It never fails to reduce him into shambles of awe every time this happens. All the childish wonder he left behind returns to him as he watches the grey hairs in Apollonia’s mane regain their pigment. Her skin goes slightly darker, her lips more full and red like poison, her hair grows silky with black curls.

“Change the Fates’ design, save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine,” he finishes.

“Thank you, my dear,” she plants a kiss on my brother’s forehead. I want to scream. Rip her to shreds. Get the fuck away from my brother! I want to yell. But of course, I can’t.

“Um, so, as I was saying…”

“Oh, yes?”

“Well, I’m sure you know that it’s my birthday tomorrow…”

“Nope. Can’t be. I remember so clearly- your birthday was last year!”

“Yes, mother, because they’re annual,” Regulus sighs and looks down at his hands, where they now rest, clasped in his lap. “It’s just… I’m turning eighteen, and I wondered if, maybe, um,” the rest he mumbles, his words utterly indiscernible.

“Look at me when you speak to me darling, you know that I struggle to understand you when you do that. You don’t want me to struggle, do you?”

“No, maman, of course not. I was just thinking about what I really want for my birthday this year, and…” he trails off, biting his lip nervously. His pulse can be seen beating speedily in his neck.

“... And?”

“I want to see the floating lights,” he spits out, so rushed that what he says can barely be heard. But, oh, does Apollonia hear them. Her gaze darkens, and Regulus shrinks back slightly. 

“What?”

“I- I was hoping that you might take me to see the- the floating lights.”

He leaps up from his seat and strides over to where his masterpiece has been waiting for oh so many years. Behind a red velvet curtain, the best thing he’s ever painted. He reveals it, precise strokes and magnificent colours, his mother and him, gazing up at a deep blue sky, dotted with floating lights.

“Oh,” says Apollonia sweetly, a frail attempt at gaslighting, really. “You mean the stars.”

“N- no,” Regulus stutters. “Not the stars. I’ve charted the stars. Multiple times. And these? These are not… that. These come out on my birthday every year. Only on my birthday.” 

Of course Regulus feels like they’re meant for him, because they are. Every single one of those floating lights- lanterns- are for him. Every single year since the day he was born, they’ve been for him.

“I need to know what they are, maman. Please, I need to see them in person. Let me see them in person?”

For a brief moment, Apollonia seems angry. Her eyes almost turn as black as her raven hair. But then she corrects herself, replacing her sugar-sweet facade.

“You want to leave the tower? But Regulus, my darling, you’re so fragile. Just like a flower- no, not even that. Just a sapling. A sprout. Tell me, dear, why do we stay up in this tower?” She questions him as if she doesn’t abandon him for the outside world every day. As if she isn’t a fucking witch.

“To keep us safe,” he answers, staring intently at his feet, blinking away tears that I wish I could wipe away for him.

“That’s right,” she sighs melancholically, trying to guilt the poor child even further. “I suppose I always knew this day would be coming. Soon, maybe, but not yet. I can’t let you leave yet. I would be so alone, do you understand? Surely you don’t want to abandon me?”

“No, maman.”

“That’s right, darling. I know best. Mother always knows best.”

“But-”

“Listen to your maman,” Regulus watches as she walks around the space, closing the window and shutting out any other forms of light that dares to invade her precious prison. Soon enough, the only source of light is a small candle, held in Apollonia’s cold hand. It’s so chilling that it’s a miracle her iciness doesn’t snuff it out. “It’s such a scary world out there. I swear to you, darling, if you leave, something is bound to go wrong.”

Regulus has never seen his mummy dearest like this- scary. Scarier, in fact, than the world she’s describing to him. She uses the candle in her claws to create shadows against the walls and floor, casting eerie light upon his paintings and twisting them to show monstrous things. “Ruffians and thugs live out there. Poison ivy, darling, and quicksand will consume you. There are snakes and cannibals, even the plague!” 

She demonstrates the cannibals by gnashing her teeth, so close to his ear that she almost bites into his flesh.

“No!” Regulus shrieks.

“Yes! Large bugs that will poison you, and men with teeth like daggers and souls as black as the dark side of the moon. Do you know what men with teeth like daggers and souls as black as the dark side of the moon do to sweet boys like you?”

“N- no,” he stutters, voice high with fear, tears causing his voice to wobble.

She shifts so that the candle is resting just under his chin, flame close enough to his skin that if he tries to move, he’ll get burnt. She slides her other hand up and down his torso, toying with the buttons on his silk shirt then flicking the belt buckle around his waist.

“You don’t want to know, Regulus. Because it’s horrible, so, so horrible.”

That evil. Fucking. Bitch.

Regulus hasn’t seen the outside world. He’s far too innocent to fully understand the weight of what she’s threatening, but oh, how he gets the gist. He legitimately whimpers out of pure fear, and a salty tear drops onto the witch’s hand before she pulls away.

I hope, dear reader, that you can feel my pure fucking rage as I tell you this part of the story.

“Please, don’t make me talk about it, my dear! You’ll just upset me! But it’s okay, I’m right here, I’ll protect you.”

Regulus hides his face in his hands, weeping. Apollonia blows out the candle, and pitch blackness engulfs the room, only causing my poor baby brother to cry even harder. I want to storm into that tower and whisk him away like magic. I want to shield him from everything the hag has to throw his way. If it came to it, I would be his literal shield, cradling him in my arms as Apollonia tosses knives into my back. And still I would hold strong for him, even as hot crimson trickles down towards the floor.

The wicked woman finally reopens the windows and allows light to flood back in. She takes a pitying look at Regulus and tsks. She strides towards him with fake concern and pulls him into a hug, which he instantly falls into, quivering like a leaf caught in a winter gale. He shouldn’t be receiving comfort from a woman like that. He should be with me. In my arms, where I’ll actually protect him.

“Do you want to know what I suggest?”

“W- what?” Regulus snuffles.

“Skip all the horrors, darling. Stay right here with me, where it’s safe. You wouldn’t survive a single day out there all on your own. You’re sloppy and immature- still just a baby. Naive and gullible. Oh, please, they’ll eat you up alive.”

Regulus sobs even harder into her chest. I want to shove my hand in between her ribs and claw out whatever cursed thing lies in the place of where a heart is supposed to be.

“I’m just saying this because I love you, dear. I understand. I’m here to protect you. I only have one request, my sweet.”

Regulus sobs and looks up into her eyes, the whites of hers a stark contrast to the watercolour red of his own. “A- anything.”

“Never ask to leave this tower again.” She speaks slowly. Deliberately. Commandingly.

“Yes, maman,” he replies, then proceeds to whine again into her chest.

Only when the river of salt finally comes to a halt does she speak again, “I love you so very much, my darling.”

“I love you more,” he smiles.

“Not possible, dear, because I love you most,” she presses a self-satisfied kiss into my baby brother’s forehead before shifting backwards, cradling his face in her hands, probably ever so proud of the mess she’s created.

She then sighs and makes her way towards the window, smiling, the world’s best actress. Regulus fetches the rope eagerly and lowers her back down the side of the tower, onto the fresh grass that he’s never before felt, and doesn’t believe that he ever will. 

“I’ll be back in time for dinner, darling!” She calls up with ruthless kindness.

“And I’ll be right here,” he mutters dejectedly to himself, listening to the shuffle of Apollonia’s feet on the greenery, the wind that whistles around the window shutters, and the heady thrush of the waterfall behind the tower. 

Bartemius crawls over to Regulus and rests on his shoulder, hoping oh so humanly that he might be able to bring him comfort. He knows that, after everything that’s just happened, Regulus will never experience darkness the same way again. And every time he looks at his paintings, his mother’s whispers will echo around in his mind until all he sees are ugly terrors.