the ghost of my body
26th October, 1979
When Sirius comes to, Regulus is sitting quietly next to him on the threadbare sofa, hand awkwardly hovering above his shoulder. His grey eyes are darting nervously around the room as if each evening shadow is a possible enemy to ward away.
“What’s going on…?” Sirius tries to ask, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.
Regulus starts, hand accidentally brushing Sirius’ shoulder blade, “Oh, you’re back. You pulled your little disappearing act.”
“My….oh. Yeah.” Sirius can't really react much further than that, his head still fuzzy. He's done his ‘little disappearing act’ - as Regulus so lovingly puts it - since he was a young child, though these episodes have gotten frequently worse since…the summer of 1976. It's almost like falling asleep but never losing consciousness, like his head starts drifting from his body. James says that he knows when Sirius ‘disappears’ because his eyes go glassy and empty. He holds Sirius' hand through it every time.
“Are you o- are you back?” Regulus stutters, hand spasming where he's forced it into his lap. Ever the caretaker.
Sirius nods, giving a hesitant thumbs up in answer.
The younger man opens his mouth before snapping it shut, and then opening it again, “Do you- is- I could make tea? If that would…”
“Merlin, you're not very good at this, Reg.”
“I- Shut up, Sirius! I'm trying to help, you pr-”
“And I appreciate it!” Sirius exclaims, pushing down his urge to laugh at his awkward younger brother, “But, you know… stop. It's fine.”
Regulus is staring at him with wide, apologetic eyes. His mouth is twisting down again as he takes a breath, “I'm sorry, I should have been nicer about Pettigrew. Or less blunt, at least.”
“It's fine, Reg. Let's just… move on before your head explodes. You're okay.” Sirius bumps their shoulders together - a very Gryffindor action that causes Regulus to gape at him, positively aghast. He gives himself a shake and grimaces, “So, tell me your plan.”
“My what?”
“Your plan, Regulus.” Sirius snorts, “Your evil-genius-take-down-Voldemort-Dark-Magic plan?”
Regulus’ eyes grow sharp and determined, glinting with a mischievous quality that Sirius has only ever seen reflected in the mirror. And he begins to explain.
-
“So… there's an ocean, and then a cave, and then a secret other cave, and then a secret lake inside, and then an island…” Sirius relays, headache building behind his eyes.
The brothers have moved to sit on the floor, leaning against the coffee table.
“Yes.”
“And the Horcrux is on the island.”
“Yes.
“Which is in the middle of the lake.”
“Yep.”
“Which is inside the secret second cave.”
“Sirius-”
“Which is inside the first cav-”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Sirius lets out a peal of laughter, head falling back to rest on the table, “Okay, okay, sorry. So, we get to the island, drink the poison, replace the locket and leave. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am.”
“I- that's the short version, yes.” Regulus frowns, bothered by the fact that Sirius isn't technically wrong in his simplicity, “The poison is the tricky part. We need to both be there so that I can drink it and you can get us out-”
“What?! Why are you the one drinking it?!” Sirius demands, straightening up. Regulus has just finished talking about how painful the process would be, why on earth does he think that Sirius would let him go through it?
Regulus rolls his eyes, “Because I'm the one dragging you into this, I'm not making you poison yourself. Shut up.”
“Reg, I won't be able to force you to drink that poison when you're in pain. It has to be me who drinks it.” Sirius states, gravely. Manipulative, yes, but not a lie. It has to be him.
There is no world where Sirius Black doesn't protect his little brother. There's no world where he doesn't drink the poison, or say that he broke Mother's vase, or step in front of an onslaught of curses from an attacking wand.
There's no world, apart from this one because Sirius left. He left in the middle of the night, right after promising his baby brother that-
“Fine.” Regulus huffs, face drawn and solemn, “You- you can drink the poison.”
Sirius snaps back into himself, bobbing his head in acceptance. Okay. Good. He can keep his brother safe while also throwing a massive, silent fuck you towards Voldemort. A win-win.
“But I don't want any foolish heroics from you, okay? If you start to die, I'm getting us out of there. We can find another way.” Regulus stares at his fingers, as if looking at his older brother in this moment will be admitting how much he cares. Merlin, this must be embarrassing for him.
“Softy.” Sirius mutters.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing!”
Regulus gives him a warning glare before settling back against the edge of the table. His eyelids are drooping, nails scraping at his palms in order to remain alert. Sirius opens his mouth to offer a break but knows the gesture wouldn't be appreciated.
Instead, he rises to his feet, letting out an exaggerated groan as he stretches. He then flops down onto the sofa, meeting Regulus’ judgmental brow-raise with a shrug, “What? I'm getting too old to be sat on the floor like that.”
“You're 19, Sirius, not 90.” He snarks, though he too rises to sit delicately on the edge of the sofa.
“But I'm mature beyond my years, right?” Sirius deadpans. To be fair, he has been told that before.
Regulus lets out a sharp laugh in disbelief. A mean laugh, yes, but a laugh nonetheless. Sirius has no choice but to let out a chuckle of his own, if only out of pure bewilderment. He can't recall the last time he saw his brother laugh - a thought so wounding that the breath gets yanked out of his throat.
Stifling a yawn, Reg rakes his hand through his hair, “Okay, so we’ll leave early tomorrow so that we can get everything ready in time.”
Repressing a yawn of his own, Sirius nods, “Yep. And then we ruin Voldemort’s day.”
Regulus hums, his eyes finally drooping completely shut as he sinks further into the sofa cushion, “Oh, and you'll have to do your dog party trick on the boat ride. It's charmed to carry a single adult wizard.”
“...How the fuck do you know about that?”
-
Sirius wakes up to pale, pink light leaking into the room through the broken blinds. The room is silent in a way that only appears in the early hours of the morning.
A foot is digging into his ribs. Sirius’ left arm is completely numb. He feels more well rested than he has in months.
His little brother is sleeping soundly on the far end of the sofa, looking far younger than his 17 years. His brow is slightly furrowed, giving him a perpetually anxious expression even in sleep.
There are many things that Sirius needs to discuss with his brother. Like how they haven't spoken in two years or the fact that Peter is the spy (and Sirius understands that he can't tell anyone just yet even though it feels like he's letting his friends die) or the fact that they could both die tomorrow or the horrible truth that neither of them really remember what it means to be a brother.
There's so much to say, so much that his chest is beginning to hurt.
But right now, with the rising sun filtering in through the window, Sirius just relishes in the feeling of being whole again and lets his eyes dip closed.