Mama's boy

Regulus didn’t see his brother for the first two weeks of the summer of 1975. Sirius was mysteriously in his room a lot, barely speaking. Sometimes, at meals, Reg would attempt to catch his eye, but Sirius ate nothing and talked less. It was strange, Sirius Black being quiet for once. It brought back a few half-remembered memories of Walburga's old techniques for discipline. She used to use "Silencio" up until Sirius and Reg made their own kind of sign language to communicate around it. That kind of defeated her point, so from then on "Lacero" became the new favourite, then Reg experienced the dreaded Unforgivables for the first time.

He was okay now though, better at learning when to stay silent. It seemed like Sirius had finally learnt the knack alongside him.

Sometimes, when their parents were saying something about mudbloods or the Dark Lord, Reg would notice Sirius tense up. His mouth would half-open, then snap closed again, and his eyes would focus on the tablecloth or on his fidgeting hands. Sirius’ nails were chipped black polish, bitten down to the quick.

Reg would notice everything, but never say anything.

Now, Sirius read in the library or wandered around the house or scribbled furiously in a notebook. He sometimes disappeared for a whole afternoon, walking around the streets of London in leather that must have been way too warm for summer. Sirius Black would do anything to look cool. he sometimes smelt of smoke.

Regulus desperately wanted to see his brother, after last year’s disappearance one day into their holidays. It felt like a wasted summer. He would never admit it, but he still had the hurriedly scribbled note from last year. Reg was determined to spend some time with Sirius, even if it was sneaking after him, or sitting in silence at opposite corners of the room.
Somehow, Reg made it count. He moved a tiny distance closer with each day, until Sirius glared at him from where he sprawled on the sofa.

“Can you stop slithering closer to me?”

“I’m not. Got a homework project and you’re in the way.” He stood up haughtily and snatched a book from above Sirius’ head, then turned.

“Fancy a game of gobstones Reg?” Sirius’ voice broke when he said his brother’s name.

Regulus froze, his heart hammering. It felt like a trap. Sirius spent all of the school year picking fights with Reg, with Barty, Evan, Dorcas, with any Slytherin. So why was he staring at Reg like that? Huge grey-blue puppy eyes felt like ice splintering on Reg’s cheeks. Sirius’ hopeful-sad half smile was drawing Regulus in.

Because, truthfully, the Black brothers couldn’t stay away from one another. They were magnets. Planets eternally orbiting. Two sides of the same coin. Two sides of the same war.

“Yes, alright.”

Regulus won.

Now, they talked. Not much or anything, but it was progress. Even if it was forced and about odd things like weather and Kreacher (who Sirius really hated for some reason). They avoided school and parents and politics and family and friends and lessons and everything normal about their lives.

Sirius still spoke oddly, awkward in a way Regulus never imagined his brother. Still ran his fingers through his hair (which really was getting too long now, it looked like thick, silky knots of black wool). He still walked around the streets for hours and hours, but he did come back. And when Sirius came back, Reg felt an unexplained explosion of relief and warmth. Sirius was the sun, the star of Grimmauld. Without him, the house was dark.

On a Saturday, about two weeks after the Gobstones game, Reg heard voices from inside his brother's room. Fear and jealousy punched his stomach. He heard smothered giggles and a gasp. He swore he could hear the voices of that scrawny Lupin kid and damned Potter.

Regulus moved closer, so close. Close enough that his ear was pressed against the door. Through thick wood, he heard swearing and Sirius’ maniacal barking laugh. Merlin, it had been so long since he had heard Sirius laugh.

There was a sour taste in Reg’s mouth, like swallowing vinegar or licking a battery. It tasted like metal and jealousy. Why couldn’t he make Sirius laugh? When had he lost that delicious privilege?

He sank to the floor, pulling his legs up to his chest.

Suddenly, the door wrenched open. Sirius towered above, hands on hips. He raised an eyebrow effortlessly.

“Taking sneaking to a whole new level crouching outside my door Regulus. Now you’re eavesdropping, huh? I’m not even allowed my own room for privacy anymore?”

Reg struggled to recover quick enough. He scrambled to his feet, eye to eye with Sirius.

“Privacy for what, hiding Potter in there?” Reg fought to keep his voice steady. He patched up the cracks with coolness and sarcasm. Easier that way. Slipping on his mask was easy now. He no longer cried.

“Privacy for , for anything! What if I was having a wank in here?”

“Disgusting.”

“Oh darling brother, you have no right to say that word.”

Regulus sneered.

“What with the bullying first-years. Being friends with that creepy Crouch in Ravenclaw? Ugh.” Sirius rolled his eyes and went to slam the door, but Reg saw a flash of colour.

A flash of Skin-colour.

Skin and bikinis and tits.

He put his hand out, against the solid, dark wood worn smooth over the years. The door was still open slightly, Sirius’ face galring out.

“She’ll kill you,” Regulus whispered.

Sirius’ eyes narrowed. He looked dangerous.

“Is that a threat Reggie-boy? You gonna tell mummy on me? Gonna get your big bad brother in trouble to make yourself more of a Mama’s boy?”

Regulus cringed back a little. It stung that Sirius expected him to tell. Regulus was a lot of things, but he would never tell on Sirius.

“No. Of course I won’t tell stupid. But you know she’ll find out eventually and you know what she’ll do.”

“You think I care?”

“I know you care Sirius. It’s obvious.” Regulus turned away, keeping his back straight, shoulders back, head up, like the perfect little heir.

He dropped back to normal as soon as he was around the corner.

That night, he heard a stomp of black heels. Heard the screeches. There were no tame slaps this time, Regulus swore he heard a spell being yelled. Heard the trip to the bathroom a while later, the running tap, and the muffled sobs through the thin walls.He heard his brother beg for her to leave him alone when she found him collapsed on the tiled bathroom floor. More screams, then silence. Silence meant legilimency, which was worse than the scarring or cruiciatus.

Reg knew what he needed to do. He knew he should go comfort Sirius. Tell him it’s okay that she’s been in your head, as long as you use it to protect against her for the next time. Regulus knew what it was like to have Walburga in your head.

But it wouldn’t do anything. Regulus had lost the right to comfort his brother when James Potter had ruined everything. Sirius had James now. He didn't need his cowardly little brother.
But then, Regulus didn’t know that it wasn’t over.

The next day, Regulus and Kreacher went shopping to Diagon Alley. Okay, maybe it was embarrassing to go with your house elf instead of parents, but Reg didn’t mind Kreacher. He had a better day with the wizened elf than he would have had with any family members. Knowing the elf would refuse if asked, he even ordered Kreacher to have an ice cream, and ignored the odd looks from some of the other people. He opened the door to Grimmauld Place after 6 o’clock. The elf was struggling with the boxes and bags behind him. Regulus wanted to help but knew what his mother would say. It was probably better for both him and Kreacher if the elf just carried it all.

“Regulus. Go upstairs now.”

Walburga looked down at him.

He had barely even gotten through the door, and already she was upon him.

Her eyes were sharp like hawks, cold and dangerous.

Regulus turned, tearing his eyes to his brother. Sirius was standing behind their mother. His eyes were like skulls. His face was like snow. Regulus could never describe what fear looked like, but he knew it looked like Sirus in that moment.

“Upstairs.”

“Bu-”

“Now Regulus.”

There was no arguing with her in that tone

He went up the stairs, watching over his shoulder at the shadowy figures of Walburga and Sirius. It hurt to leave. It felt like a thick chain shackled him to Sirius and his fearful lips and shivering eyes.

He couldn’t hear what was said properly, sat at the top of the stairs, but he could hear crystal clear when the screaming started.

Sirius was fighting not to scream, but they were being ripped from him.

“Lacero! Lacero! Lacero!”

On and on and on.

Regulus sat on the top step, his elbows resting on his knees. It was the same place he'd spent hours waiting for Sirius to come home from his first year at hogwarts four years ago. He had been excitement. It was like a different lifetime. Finally, he heard the study door slam and ran along to his room and got out bandages from his sock-drawer. After the first two times or so, Regulus had gotten in the habit of keeping the bandages there. He told himself it was normal.

He waited at the top of the stairs for only around ten minutes, then the study door opened. It threw light across the hallway. A suddenly small looking figure tumbled out, just managing to keep his feet.

“Dinner in an hour Sirius.”

He made no reply, instead stumbling forwards to the stairs, grabbing the banister. The light from the study disappeared as Walpurga closed the door on Sirius.

Sirius Black always fought to be the biggest presence in the room, in the whole world. He needed to be seen as big, as bold, and bright and star-like and powerful and funny, energetic, enigmatic, a bit crazy, wonderful, chatty, annoying, bubbly, bouncy.

The sack of pain at the bottom of the stairs in Grimmauld Place that night in 1975 was not the Sirius Black that the rest of the world saw. It was Regulus’ personal brand of his brother.

The thing is, Regulus would rather have no Sirius at all than this tragedy. This wasn’t Sirius. This wasn’t his brother.

Or perhaps this had been the real Sirius all along.

Perhaps Regulus wasn’t the only one with a mask.

Regulus ran forwards, thrusting one arm under his brother, lifting and hefting until Sirius stood upright, legs trembling.

“We need to get you upstairs Sirius.”

No reply still. Panting.

Step by step, they climbed the stairs. Sirius’ face was pale and strained with each tiny movement. Spots of red hit the stairs. A tiny pitter-patter or scarlet waterfall.

Each spot was painful.

Blood trailed down the back of the light grey band shirt. It trailed into his pants and out of the bottom.

Regulus slammed into his brother's room and left Sirius swaying in the middle of the room. Judging by how pale he was, he was about to pass out. Sirius was a worrying green. Reg worked fast. He stripped off Sirius’ top and began working on the cuts, bandaging and wiping and mumbling sorry with each wipe. It took half an hour, and a lot of bloody bandages, but eventually the bleeding slowed. Sirius fell onto the bed, laying carefully on his front.

Regulus felt he should leave., now that Sirius was stable, but he couldn’t. Magnets kept him close. Their endless orbit.

The tartan blanket in the corner was still folded carefully. Regulus hadn’t been in his brothers room for years. The nude girls on the walls stared at him with fake grins and stupid pouts. Apparently they were permanently stuck on.

All the way through that night, as Sirius slipped between consciousness and unconsciousness Reg sat on the end of the bed. He couldn’t keep his eyes from his brother's face.

“Reg? Why’d you help me.” Came a throaty whisper as the room turned from silvery dawn to the golden of sunrise.

“What was it for? The posters?”

“Nah. Just me being me I think.”

“Oh.”

“Why’re you still here, Reg?”

“You need me.”

“Mrgh.” Sirius fidgeted. His head was resting on crossed arms, as he couldn’t sleep on his back with cuts like that.

He drew in a breath suddenly.

“Pass me another bandage? I’m bleeding again.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Thanks Reggie.”