you don't get to tell me about sad
the "who's who" of "who's that?"
is poised for the attack
but my bare hands paved their paths
you don't get to tell me about "sad"
Regulus Black was born into a nest of vipers. The infamous Black family was vicious, quick, and ruthless. In the right light, their scales shone like gemstones, enticing, inviting, luring people in to look, to touch, until they got close enough and suddenly found fangs sunk into their flesh. The Black family matriarch prided herself on maintaining her family's status as the Noble and Most Ancient pureblood house in whole of Wizarding Britain; the entirety, she sometimes claimed, of the whole wizarding world.
When people claimed, “anyone who’s anyone will be there”, they were referring first and foremost to the countless functions held by the one and only Walburga Black and her sprawling family tree. To describe their ancestral home as opulent would be to greatly understate things; the manor was lavishly decked out in all of the extravagance one could imagine and then a bit more. Anything to impress their peers, anything to prove their superiority.
Regulus Black was born into a nest of vipers, but he never could quite seem to find his fangs. Luckily, he had a lion to protect him. Sirius was only a year older than Reggie, but that didn't matter. He dedicated an abundance his time and energy towards fulfilling his role as the protective older brother. Sirius sunk his claws in the ground over Regulus and roared and snapped and snarled and never let the vipers touch him.
And then, one day, he was gone. The safety of his brother’s shadow was replaced with blinding, suffocating nothing. Suddenly there was nothing to protect Regulus from the hissing, spitting inhabitants of his nest.
And so, Regulus had to learn to grow fangs.
☾☆☽
September 1976
The rain beats hard on the windows of Regulus’ train compartment, forcing the shouts and chatter from the hallway to fade into background noise. He presses his forehead against the cool glass, willing his thoughts to slow. His eyes track a single drop of water along its journey down the windowpane until it intersects with another, joining together to form an identical droplet. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, disgusted with himself. One stupid, simple raindrop should not be making him think of his stupid, traitor brother. This isn’t a poem, and those raindrops aren’t brothers reuniting after a long time apart; this is real life, and the rain is just rain, and Regulus worked hard this summer to get his shit together in any and all matters regarding his family, and he will not have that derailed by some ridiculous flight of fancy brought about by precipitation of all things.
Suddenly, as if he’s thought him into existence, a bark of laughter that is unmistakably Sirius’ pierces the muffled din from outside the compartment. Regulus’ head whips around, wide eyes finding each of his friends in turn.
Barty has just barely had time to open his mouth before the door of their compartment bursts open, bouncing on its track with the force of the action.
And there he is.
Sirius Orion Black.
Regulus’ big brother.
They haven’t seen each other in nearly three months, and Regulus can immediately see that, for Sirius, they’ve been a good three months. His hair is longer, the glossy curls shared by most of the Black family pulled into soft, beachy waves by the extra weight. His cheeks are round and flushed with a summer full of hearty meals and easy smiles, his fingernails are painted black, and he wears a pair of tight low-waisted jeans with a t-shirt displaying the logo of a muggle rock band, the hem cut off to expose his slim midriff. His lips are pulled back in a wide grin, eyebrows raised as he spreads his hands to the side, allowing Regulus to take in the sight of him.
Regulus narrows his eyes, curls his lips. He stands from his seat so he’s almost eye level with Sirius, resentful of the extra inch and a half of height that his brother’s chunky boots afford him.
“Sirius.”
Sirius’ grin drops, brows furrowing.
“Reggie?”
“Don’t.”
“I- what’s… Reg, what’s going on?”
Sirius’ tone has dropped into something Regulus recognizes; it’s the tone he used to use with their mother when he was trying to gauge his situation, see just how much danger he was in; it’s the tone one might use when attempting to approach a wild animal, a cautious plea for a viper not to strike.
Regulus grins, smug and unsettling, and watches as his brother’s posture shrinks in the doorway, pulling back enough to reveal another figure standing behind him in the corridor. Curly hair and the glint of light off of wire-framed glasses; Regulus feels a snarl crawl its way up his throat.
James Potter. The boy who stole his brother. The boy who is everything he will never be. The boy who was good enough for Sirius, who was important enough to make him leave.
That’s right, Regulus reminds himself, this is Sirius’ real brother, not me. This is who he wants. This is who he chose.
Regulus looks up and meets his brother’s - Sirius’ - soft, pleading gray eyes with his own, steely gray and cold like an angry winter storm.
“It’s Regulus.”
Sirius swallows, “What?”
“It’s Regulus. Not Reggie. Not Reg. That’s what my friends call me. What my brother called me. You no longer fall into either of those categories.” Regulus takes a step forward, suddenly towering over his brother despite their height difference, “So if you came to say something specific, spit it out. Otherwise, you can go.”
Sirius’ eyes are wide, shining with sudden tears.
“Reggie-”
“It’s. Regulus.” He takes another step forward and Sirius matches him, edging out into the corridor. Another step. Another, and Sirius is out of the doorway, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, at loss for words for what Regulus thinks might be the first time in his life.
Regulus reaches his arm out, grasping the edge of the compartment door. The last thing he sees before he slams it shut is Sirius reaching out blindly to the side, searching for comfort; searching for James.
Regulus returns to his seat with a scowl.
☾☆☽
The beginning of year feast is miserable. It's loud, it's crowded, and it's full of strange looks from the gryffindors and curious looks from slytherins and concerned looks from his friends and goddamnit why can't everyone just mind their own business and leave him in peace?
The ceiling of the Great Hall rumbles with thunder and rain pours down in sheets, vanishing before in can reach the tables' occupants. Regulus keeps his eyes steadfastly fixed on the table in front of him. It was raining the night Sirius left. Regulus is definitely not thinking about it.
Barty and Evan have been chattering about their summers for the last few minutes, and Regulus doesn't realize he's zoned out until Dorcas gently nudges his shoulder.
"You okay?"
Regulus exhales heavily, pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind and nodding.
"Fine. Just… you know. Saw Sirius."
Dorcas sighs, "Reg, I know his leaving hurt you-"
"I'm fine, actually," Regulus protests, pointedly taking a bite from his plate, "Sirius is a big boy, he can do what he wants."
Dorcas raises a skeptical eyebrow, but seemingly decides to drop the subject, instead focusing her gaze on the boys across the table from them, whose conversation she'd apparently been following, because she cuts in, "You're meaning to tell me you were in Paris for two months and still don't know a word of French?"
Barty throws his hands up, "I don't know what you people want from me!"
Evan scoffs, "Right, not like you've been living with Reg and I for the past four years or anything."
"S'il te plaît. Nous savons tous que Barty est le génie le plus stupide que l'on connaisse."
"Regulus, I refuse to be harassed in a language I don't understand."
"But how can you still not understand it? Not even a few simple words here and there?"
Barty scowls, "Evan, how do you say shut up in french?"
"Tais-toi."
Barty screws up his face and very exaggeratedly repeats Evan's words.
"Anyway," Dorcas interjects, "I want to hear about what the hell happened to Regulus over the summer. What’s with the radio silence?”
Now it’s Regulus’ turn to scowl.
“I didn’t go silent.”
“You certainly weren’t communicative.”
Regulus grumbles something incoherent and then takes another very pointed bite of his food.
It’s not that his friends are wrong. He is, in fact, very aware of the fact that they’re right. But what was he supposed to do? The Black home this summer was a hellscape the likes of which he’d never had to deal with before. He’s been busy attempting to meet his parents’ unending demands, and meeting the consequences when he failed to live up to expectations. He spent his time rebuilding the house in his mind into a fortress, erecting battlements and sealing cracks, locking any and all vulnerabilities safely in a vault in the dark, forgotten basement. He was dropped in the center of the maze that was being the Black family heir with no map and no notice, and learning to navigate it on his own easily occupied each and every ounce of his focus. Sorry if he hasn’t been great about answering letters.
“Don’t take it personally,” he murmurs.
“On the contrary, I’ve been taking it extremely personally. What kind of best friend only sends four letters all summer?” Barty scolds, waving his fork in Regulus’ face.
“No kind at all,” Regulus says.
“Thank you.”
“But Dorcas is my best friend, so,” Regulus shrugs and snatches Barty’s fork from his hand.
Barty gasps dramatically and collapses into Evan’s lap, “Oh, how could you? This I cannot abide! Evan, hold me. I don’t think I’m gonna survive such a cruel revelation. Fate has it in for me. It’s going dark…”
Evan pushes a hand into Barty’s hair sympathetically, toying with the strands for a moment before his other hand lands on Barty’s hip and swiftly shoves him onto the floor beneath the table. Barty lets loose a shriek to rival a banshee as he disappears at their feet. Regulus laughs along with his friends, decidedly ignoring the weight on his chest at the thought of their antics and what it would've earned them in his house over the past few months. He's less like them now, he realizes. Over the summer he'd learned to be more like a proper Black heir; he'd learned to be more like her.
☾☆☽
August 1976
Never again.
Never again.
Never again.
Never again never again never again never again never again.
It's Regulus' only thought as he pads evenly down the carpeted hall. The house is eerily quiet in the early morning hour, pale sunlight not quite managing to pierce the old windows and leaving the hallway gloomy and full of shadows.
Never again.
The promise he'd made himself almost two months ago, one he is finally starting to think - maybe, just maybe - he can keep.
And here is how.
He's awake with the sun, before the house elves have even started their day. He is outside gathering herbs and spices from the garden, selecting only the best for his stores. He's back inside before the morning mist has managed to burn away from the grass. He is in the basement mixing potions as the sun emerges from the horizon, practicing long-forgotten magic hoarded by the Black family as the house elves begin to rise, showered and back in the kitchen by the time his mother wakes, expertly preparing her morning cup of tea himself.
Following breakfast, he knocks respectfully of the door of his father's study, then spends the next few hours reading in silence, or listening to his father's ramblings, or observing Orion while he works.
He spends the remainder of his day reading, writing, anything that can be passed off as studying. If some of it is secretly poetry or muggle fantasy novels, well. What Walburga doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
He receives letters from his friends, reads them by moonlight once the house is asleep, burns them, doesn’t reply. He’s sure his mother intercepts anything leaving the house with their noble family owl, and besides, what would he say? All the life left this house with Sirius, and all that remains is survival.
In short, his summer has been a new kind of Hell. But he’d promised himself he wouldn’t allow himself to be a victim, wouldn’t give his parents any reason to punish him, and this was how he could keep that promise. If the sympathetic voice at the back of his head seems to be getting quieter as a result, so what? It always sounded like Sirius anyway.
☾☆☽
September 1976
If Regulus’ friends notice anything off with him (and he’s sure they do, the perceptive fuckers), they don’t mention it. He finds himself beginning to relax as days pass and classes begin, falling into a comfortable routine, but he keeps his guard up, knowing that distance does nothing to deter the watchful eye of his mother; the Black family has connections in both high and low places, after all.
Sirius tries several more times to talk to him, but each time Regulus simply keeps his eyes on what’s in front of him and stays silent until eventually something pulls him away.
He pushes away the part of him that wants to cry and apologize and reach for his big brother. That won’t benefit him. It won’t benefit his family. Sirius keeps telling him how sad, how upset he is. Regulus only scoffs. No one gets to tell him about sad.