lovely
J.P.
Don’t write anymore. Be ready.
R.A.B.
Regulus sits at his desk staring at the blank wall in front of his face; thinking. This letter, this plan is so absurd, laughable, almost. Almost; if it didn’t feel like he was signing his future away. He thinks, rather numbly, that it’s probably for the best. If everything pays off the way he wants it to then the saving grace for this whole plan is that his suffering won’t be in vain.
He can’t change the world, he can’t change his world, but he can change Sirius’ world. Or, atleast, be a part of that change. And somehow, that feels much more important than anything else.
He rolls up the parchment and ties it to the leg of the tawny owl that has had its beady yellow eyes on him for the last twenty minutes – occasionally pecking his windowsill impatiently, chipping the wood. He selfishly wants not to send it. He knows he’s going to lose Sirius. And that, if nothing else, will break him.
But Sirius is good. Hot headed, arrogant and stupid? Yes. In-arguably. But he’s good. And Regulus has come to realise there really aren’t that many good people in the world; so, they should be cherished, not trapped. Sirius deserves to get out because he’s good. And Regulus? He’ll cope.
He watches the owl fly away as the sun sets, an inexplicable feeling of loneliness and ending creeping in. His throat is tight, “there’s no going back now.” And that’s that.
He walks downstairs for dinner, resigned. He feels like he’s simply looking out his eyes, watching his body move on autopilot. The house is cold, it’s always been cold. Regulus can’t remember it ever being warm; Sirius used to tell him that it was, once upon a time. He doesn’t believe him. But it seems colder now. He shivers.
He sits silently, across from Sirius, eating. Sirius is only picks at his food, flicking a potato away with his fork. His long hair covers half of his face, covers the mottled skin. His cheek has a fresh cut on it, and he looks – he looks lost.
“Is something wrong, Sirius?” Their father says. Sirius moves slowly, like the simple act of living is painful; but he looks up to meet his father’s cold gaze.
“No.” He bites out. Regulus slips his hand into his pocket and wraps his hand around the wand. Orion sets his cutlery down with an irritated sigh. Not long now. “Do not take that tone with me, boy.”
Sirius scoffs. It’s quiet.
Regulus looks at his mother. She’s gripping her glass so tightly Regulus can see the strained muscles in her hand. The glass hits the table with a thunk, the force causing the water slosh around, spilling over.
“Insolent child,” she hisses. She must think it’s an insult, but the corners of Sirius’ mouth tug up slightly. This infuriates their mother further, her jaw is clenched, her eyes glinting dangerously. It’s inevitable now. They all know it. Sirius pushes away from the table, his chair falling and toppling with the sheer aggression of the action. Regulus has seen this a million time before. He knows what’s coming next. But they don’t and that’s his advantage. Sirius storms away.
“You get back here, now,” Orion Black demands. He’s ignored. Orion Black is not a man that is either used to or appreciates being defied. He likes power, and he likes to use it on other people. His parents march after Sirius, both gripping their wands now. Regulus follows. Waiting. Waiting for the right moment. The hairs stand up on his arms.
Now. A string of red shoots from Orion’s wand.
It hits Sirius in the chest and he stumbles back, winded; he wheezes, gripping his chest. Another jinx flies his away; this time Sirius lands on the floor. He’s curled up in the fetus position, and Regulus wants to go and hug him, comfort him, tell him it’s all going to be okay. But he doesn’t.
And it takes all of his willpower not to. Instead, he stands in the shadows. And he has to remind himself he’s not being a coward, he’s biding his time so that this plan works. But he still feels like a coward. Sirius looks at him, silently pleading. Regulus looks away.
Another yell from his father and Sirius is unconscious. His body too weak to withstand anymore. He looks dead. But he’s not – right? Surely not? Sirius twitches, the jinxes still affecting him. Regulus breathes.
He scans the room, his brain analyses the situation trying to figure out how this is going to work. It seemed so simple earlier, but now it’s here and it all feels too big for Regulus to handle. He sees Sirius crumpled on the floor – his brother, a shell of himself. And he knows nothing is too big for him too handle if it means he can save him. His mother raises her wand. Orion watches. Sirius wheezes.
“Cru-”, Regulus moves. He darts forward, standing between Sirius and his parents. He looks at his parents defiantly. He’s not even scared, not really, but that’s probably the adrenaline.
“Regulus,” Walburga Black is stunned. She’s taken aback because never in a million years did she expect this.
“Move”, Orion Black doesn’t care, his anger drives him and he wont let anything or anyone stand in the way of that.
“No,” Regulus shakes his head. He’s trembling. “Do not test my patience, boy,” Orion spits. Boy, as if he is nothing, simply a nobody that’s in the way. It sends a sharp pain to his chest, and he sees what he’s always known, really; he’d just never wanted to think it, say it, feel it. They don’t love him; they don’t even care about him. Not really. They just need him. He’s a means to an end.
That hurts.
Orion steps forward and Regulus pretends to stumble backwards, brought back from his thoughts. He’s getting closer to Sirius.
He steps back. Nearly there.
Another step. Almost.
He can nearly grab him.
Step.
He spins round, grabs Sirius, and they’re gone.
He’s apparated to the Potters’ house. He’d been here once before, a Christmas party when he was younger. A formality thing, till they were banished. Not surprising, really. Walburga and Orion Black aren’t pleasant house guests – unless you share their purist, psychotic ideology. It’s warm, like Sirius said it was. It smelled nice. Homely.
James rushes in and freezes, eyes wide and hair riotous, clearly startled by the noise of Regulus apparating. He sees Sirius and darts over to them, taking them over to a couch where Regulus sets Sirius down.
“James,” calls a woman’s voice, “What trouble are you up to now? What was that noise?”
James’ eyes are glistening, and he seems unable to speak, just staring at Sirius’ limp body.
“Is he- He’s not-”, Regulus shakes his head.
“James!” Euphemia calls again.
“Mum,” James hollers, “Help! Please, come quick.”
His voice breaks, and Regulus finds it strangely comforting. James truly loves Sirius. Regulus feels good leaving him here. He’ll be safe. And one day, he’ll be okay. Regulus knows it, Sirius was always strong like that.
“Reg-”, James turns around, but he’s gone.
It’s three days later the owl comes. Regulus is lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His stomach growls, he’s desperately hungry. Kreacher wont even bring him food anymore. Walburga caught on to that one quickly.
There’s a gentle tap at his window. He struggles to raise his body up, the sheer effort required makes him gasp and his vision colour. His head is pounding. He’s stiff, but makes his way over to the window, untying the rolled parchment from the animal’s leg.
R,
Sirius is fine. I know you said not to write, but I’m worried about you. Sirius won’t talk about what happened. Should I tell him? There’s a place for you here. If you want.
~J
Regulus is almost touched. Almost. And he longs for that feeling to stay, that feeling when you know somebody cares. Somebody is thinking bout you. But he knows he has to cut these ties. No loose ends, right?
J.P.,
Stop writing. I’m fine. Don’t tell Sirius anything. It’s easier that way.
R.A.B.
It’s true. If Sirius hates him, if he can make Sirius truly believe that he’s way past saving, Sirius won’t come back. But if Sirius thinks he could still save him, he would. Regulus doesn’t doubt that. So it has to be this way.
The owl flies away with the note and doesn’t come back.
Sirius got free. Regulus didn’t.