promises, oceans deep

2nd August, 1974

In the wake of Walburga Black’s retreating footsteps, Sirius curls into himself - a painful kind of relief floods his veins until his body is finally able to relax.

She’s done with him for now.

Uncontrollable convulsions shudder through his frame, in the way that only happens after his mother’s Cruciatus Curse. The tips of his fingers and toes are numb and tingly with the repeated frying of his nervous system. Tears are wet on his cheeks. His mouth tastes of iron.

These symptoms are familiar, manageable.

What isn’t familiar or manageable is the blood pouring from his abdomen, leaking out onto the antique rug below him. 

It's not that she hasn’t broken skin before - neither Walburga or Orion are above a diffindo if the occasion calls for it. The problem is that Sirius is quite certain he’s going to die this time.

He’s not even quite sure what she did to cause this much damage. She’d charged at him, slashing her wand left and right until finally just deciding to crucio him where he stood. He can’t place a moment where she could have done this…

As blood continues to seep onto the carpet, he realises that it doesn’t fucking matter.

Sirius attempts to sit up, heaving for air in great gulps. Panic is beginning to set in. No matter the action he tries to take, it's as though his body has given up working - finally defeated by the exertion of it all. With great shame, Sirius braces himself to accept that he is simply too weak to save himself this time.

He’s just sorry that his friends will have to find out about this through the Daily Prophet…

The sound of the door creaking has him squeezing his eyes shut in fear - she’s back for more. Oh Merlin, she’s back to finish him off. It’s going to hurt so much, he can’t take it-

“Sirius? Oh, shit , Sirius?”

Through his blurry vision, he can just about make out a pale smudge of a face appearing above him. Warm hands flurry over his body, hesitant yet full of urgency. Sirius is just so cold.

“That’s a bad word.” He has the sense of mind to mutter as his eyes slip involuntarily closed.

The curses and pleas of his younger brother go ignored as he drifts away.

-

When Sirius comes to, he is tucked up next to a warm body. The pain is not so great anymore. His hand is being clasped tightly in someone else's cool fingers as an almost-silent voice whispers hushed healing incantations. 

He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that he’s in the safety of his brother's bedroom.

The incarnations stop as Sirius shifts slightly. The hand is quickly pulled from his grasp, “Sirius? Are you awake?”

Sirius can only supply a weak groan in confirmation. 

“How do you fee- Is it a bit better now?” Regulus whispers, voice carefully blank. They’ve done this enough times to know its best not to waste their breath on excessive pity. Just get through it together and move on.

“Yeah. ‘ank you.” He slurs against the deep exhaustion that’s trying to force him back under.

A deep exhale ( a sob? ) rings throughout the room, settling heavily in the air, “I’m sorry I can’t do more. I swear, I’ve been practising at school, I swear it. Just not enough, apparently. I’m so sorry.”

You’ve done more than enough. No one else in the world has done more for me than you have, Sirius wants to say, to scream, to cry, No ones ever been by my side like you have. 

But he drifts away before he can make the words form.

And, when he wakes up again, the air between them is cool and distant once again. The words remain stuck in his throat for all the years to come.

-

19th November, 1979

The leaves crunch beneath their feet as they walk, browned and decrepit. The trees, while bare, create a thick, impenetrable wall of defence. Clouds have gathered in the sky to cast a grey film over the forest, and a biting chill hangs forebodingly in the air.

Sirius is sure that they're lost.

“We’re not lost, Sirius, we’ve just taken a bit of a wrong turn.” Regulus insists, though his brow is furrowed uncertainly. He continues to briskly lead them through the forest, though his slight hesitancy with each step betrays him.

They’re most definitely lost. 

Sirius trails after his brother, gritting his teeth and silently cursing their familial affliction of excessive pride. They’ve been wandering trough this thick woods in the middle of bum-fuck fucking nowhere for a good few hours at this point, searching fruitlessly for the elusive Guant Family Shack. And, on top of that, Regulus is lugging around the first two Horcruxes around in his bag. They both agreed that keeping them close is safer than leaving them unattended at home but Merlin does Sirius wish their darkness wasn’t so goddamn potent. 

Former residence of the Gaunt family, the Gaunt Shack holds the third of Tom Riddle’s Horcruxes. Growing up, Sirius had heard stories of the Gaunt family - supposed direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin himself. And, apparently, very distant ancestors of one Tom Marvolo Riddle. The Shack is said to live in the very forest that the Black brothers are walking through, though there has been absolutely no sign of human life so far.

“Reg, be serious. Are we lost? Don’t fuck with me, right now.” Sirius demands, his foul mood increasing by the second. There’s something about wandering aimlessly through a freezing, spooky forest first thing in the morning that just… isn’t sitting right with him, for some reason.

“I thought being serious was your job.” Regulus throws over his shoulder, continuing ahead.

Sirius stops short, “What did you just say?”

Regulus seems to register his slip-up, pausing to eye his older brother with wariness, “Nothing.”

A slow grin stretches across his cheeks, “You just used my joke.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You love me!”

“No, I don’t-”

“I’m your hero!”

“Shut your mouth, Sirius Orion.”

“You idolise me-”

“Oh, look, the Shack!”

Sirius has no choice but to stop his teasing because Regulus actually is pointing at what looks to be an old run down house in the distance. He huffs, “Fine, but just know I’m never letting this go.”

Regulus just grumbles wordlessly, pushing through the trees towards the looming shape that sits within the fog. 

By the time Sirius catches up with his brother, a few feet away from the entrance of the house, he is already developing a splitting headache. He winces, “Well, it’s definitely in there. Could feel it a bloody mile away.”

Regulus doesn’t reply, too busy staring down the dead snake that seems to be nailed to the front door. The Shack is in complete disarray, consumed by overgrown foliage and falling apart at the seams. It is most certainly not stable enough to enter safely - a factor that will go readily ignored in this particular case. 

The younger Black heaves a deep sigh, “Well, come on then.”

“That illegal, depraved piece of Dark Magic won’t fetch itself.” Sirius finishes, nodding along. Regulus doesn’t even toss a glare his way for that one - a sure sign that he’s just as tired of all of this as Sirius is. 

As the brothers push through the entryway, Regulus speaks up, “We’re sort of going in blind for this one. So, I don’t know, just don’t touch anything.”

“What, you don’t think the ring would look good on me? I could start a trend!” Sirius exclaims, though his preening is interrupted by a cobweb brushing threatening against his cheek. Ew. 

Regulus snorts, “What kind of idiot would wear a Horcrux?”

“Anyone becomes an idiot when faced with that kind of power. Apart from us, bien sûr.”

They separate - as much as they can in such a small space - to search for anything that looks distinctly off. Regulus was right when he said that they’re going in practically blind for this one. He’d been unable to find any kind of information of defensive measures put in place for this Horcrux or much information about it at all . So, yeah, they’re going in blind. 

Sirius is pulled from his musings by the most abrupt wave of nausea he’s ever experienced. He sways on his feet for a moment, vision blurring. The floorboards beneath his boots are ever-so-slightly less dusty than the floorboard surrounding him, “Reg, I think I’ve found it. And he’s done something fucked up to it - I almost passed out.”

Regulus turns to frown at him for a split second, before zeroing in on the differing floorboards. He hurries over to crouch by the rotted wood, Sirius doing the same beside him. They work together to force the planks out of place, every move threatening to reveal some horrible defensive curse that could horribly maim them. When the boards are up successfully, Sirius lets himself relax slightly.

Under the floorboards lies an ornate, small round box, encrusted with gold and jewels - though the thick layers of dust remove from the dazzling nature of the finery. In it must live the Ring, if the thick air of darkness being emitted from it says anything.

Regulus hastily pulls on his leather gloves, understandably unwilling to touch the box with his bare hands. Sirius can't help but hold his breath as he watches his little brother reach into the hole in the floor, potentially about to make contact with some kind of deadly protection curse.

When nothing comes, he physically sags with relief. Regulus lifts it up to inspect it, frowning almost disappointedly at the lack of movement. He wastes no time before clicking open the latch and flipping open the lid. There, in the faded velvet, sits Marvolo Gaunt’s ring. The third Horcrux.

Regulus waves his wand over the box, whispering something under his breath, “It seems like there’s some sort of curse on the ring itself - much stronger than anything placed on the other two. The ring itself is the defence! Fascinating.” He’s unable to completely hide the glint in his eye that appears in the challenge of the unknown. Crazy bugger.

“Well, as completely awesome and cool as that sounds, this place is giving me the creeps.” Sirius gripes, standing up again, “Pack it away, and let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Regulus reluctantly nods and also stands. He pulls his bag round to his front, opening it up to slot the box inside. He winces at the sheer power emitting from the opening, quickly pulling the drawstring shut again. Sirius lets out a slight laugh, “Let’s hope they don’t all merge together in there to create some kind of mutant, mega Horcrux!”

Regulus groans, “Ugh, don’t even joke.”

As Regulus fusses with his bag, Sirius saunters towards the front entryway, back to the door. He laughs again, “We just need to thank our lucky stars that there weren’t any kind of insane booby traps this tim-”

Something warm and liquid sprays across the room, like rain. No, not rain. Not rain, more like…like…

Regulus’ pale face is splattered in something red, something dripping. His eyes are wide and watery, welling with fear. He does not move. His bony fingers tremble where they clutch at his satchel. 

Sirius wants to ask what’s so wrong but he…he can’t quite seem to get his mouth to move. It’s like it's full of…of…of honey or tar or something else warm and fluid and he thinks he might be choking? There’s a chance that he’s choking but on what? On the rain? No, that’s silly, there’s no rain. There’s no rain, there’s only…is it blood?

His knees buckle beneath him, sending him crashing to the ground. 

Shit, it’s most certainly blood, his own blood. Nothing else is ever so warm yet cold. See, when it leaks out of you like dripping sap, you get just so so cold but it's warm when it pools out beneath you. Like a blanket.

There’s someone sobbing and talking and hyperventilating next to him and their cold hands are flittering uncertainly across his body. Someone pale and dripping in red, someone familiar, someone like…

Regulus.

It’s Regulus, his brother.

His panicked words are coming into focus, like a scratched-up record player, “It’s just like then- it’s just like her. It’s her- she- it’s just like- it’s her. She’s- she’s- she’s-”

Sirius wants to shake his head because no, it's not like then! Come back, it’s not like then! We have to go, we have to move! She’s not here! 

Regulus does not hear. He does not see. He just cries and cries and cries. 

He’s gone. Gone back to Grimmauld.

Sirius’ head lolls to the side, weak weak weak. He’s warm like a blanket but cold like ice. He’s overcome with the overwhelming notion that he really doesn’t want to die. 

His eyes slip close as he wills himself and his brother home, wills them to safety. 

But home isn’t a cold, lonely manor in the countryside. Home isn’t the new bed he’s been sleeping in for weeks. It’s not an abandoned childhood skeleton in Warwickshire.

Home is a flat in London. Home is warm knitted jumpers and steaming tea and pale scars and stashes of chocolate. It’s a threadbare rug and a record collection and a wall of photographs of precious, precious people. Home is a flat in London.

When his eyes open next, Sirius is met with a familiar worried gaze. Eyes of hazel brown and tiny specks of green soothe him into unconsciousness.