“The girls will be over soon.” Evan says, pulling bags of chips out of a cabinet.
Regulus rolls his eyes. “Do we have to do this?” he drones boredly, leaning against the counter.
“Of course we do!” Evan exclaims in rote disagreement. It’s a conversation they’ve had many times before. “It’s tradition!”
Regulus crosses his arms, pretending to be annoyed.
“Aww, come on.” Barty teases, pulling a pack of beer out of the fridge. “Don’t you want to hear what your big brother is up to?”
Regulus considers giving him a shove, but picking a fight with Barty is a dangerous game. Besides, he doesn’t actually dislike this little ritual of theirs. He quite enjoys it, really.
Regulus doesn’t talk to his brother. They haven’t seen each other in ages. Sirius graduated school and went on to become a famous rockstar, and Regulus became, well, Regulus. Their lives don’t intertwine much these days, but every time Sirius releases a new song, Regulus listens to it. He and all his Slytherin school mates gather around, blast the single through the speakers, and spend the next hour picking the song apart and rehashing the good old days.
Evan’s right, it’s tradition, and although Regulus would never admit it, he loves these afternoons. He’s proud of his brother. Sirius made it out. He did exactly what he always said he would, and he made it out.
Regulus sighs and helps Evan carry the snacks into the living room. A short time later, the doorbell rings and Dorcas and Pandora enter the room.
“I’ve got it all cued up!” Dorcas cheers, waving her iPod in the air.
“It’s got a crazy number of hits already.” Pandora adds, perching on the armrest of the recliner. “It might be his biggest hit yet.”
A swell of pride blooms in Regulus’s chest, but he quickly squashes his smile. His friends don’t need to know what a simp he is.
“Good for him.” Regulus drawls, cooling his emotions. “Maybe he’ll finally replace the fortune he lost when mummy and daddy kicked him out.” It’s a low blow, and a harsh one, but it’s the kind of humor his friends are used to.
Barty snickers and the rest of Regulus’s friends smile indulgently.
After a moment or two, everyone is settled in their seats with napkins full of snacks and popped beer cans.
“Ready?” Dorcas asks before pressing play on the song.
Immediately, the bass starts to bump through the speakers. Everyone is nodding their heads and tapping along as the rhythm swells and the instruments kick in.
The song is angry. All of Sirius’s songs are angry. But when the lyrics start, there is more than just anger in Sirius’s voice. There is sadness, longing, regret.
Regulus starts to feel hot. The air in the room feels stifling and too close. His body tenses on the couch, his already posture-perfect back stiffening even straighter.
The mood in the rest of the room begins to shift too. As the verse turns to chorus, to verse, and to chorus again, there is less munching and more listening. The entire room stills. Growing looks of concern and horror bounce across the room as the meaning of the lyrics set in. The Slytherins’ eyes dart between the iPod, the floor, and Regulus.
Regulus doesn’t notice any of this, though, because there is a buzzing in his ears. It isn’t loud enough to block out the song, but it’s filling his throat and chest. It’s pressing against his eyes, making it hard to see. He feels his brain tugging at memories from the past, pulling them forward uninvited. It is a physical sensation, like pulling a jagged splinter out of tender skin. The memories from his childhood rip to the surface and splay out in vivid detail. Regulus isn’t in the room anymore. He isn’t sitting with his friends. He is somewehere else, somewhere worse.
The last bars of the song fade and the room drops into an uncomfortable silence. Everyone is stewing in their own thoughts, in their own realizations. It is deathly still as everyone waits to see how Regulus reacts. But Regulus doesn’t notice the tension. No, Regulus is too busy.
It’s Evan who breaks the silence. He’s sitting next to Regulus on the couch, and he looks over at his friend.
“Reg?” he asks softly, “Reg? Is it true?”
Regulus is shaking, trembling. There's a lump in his throat. He can't swallow. He wants to swallow but he can't, the saliva is just building up in his mouth.
Sirius wrote a song about them, their lives, everything that happened in that house. Well, not everything. No one would want to dance or sing to a song about everything that happened in that house, but it's enough.
Regulus wants to speak, he wants to answer Evan, to assure them that Sirius is just being a drama queen and it was never that bad. But there is too much screaming in his head. It’s his own screams, still ringing from when Walburga threw him against a wall. A crystal vase shatters next to his ear and Regulus tries not to flinch. She’s shouting at him, yelling so many curses and hexes that Regulus doesn't know which pain was coming from which. It feels like everything is burning around him, which maybe it is, because when it’s finally all over, there’s nothing left. It doesn't feel like there is a single piece left of him in that house.
Regulus faintly hears his friends’ voices calling to him, asking him to respond, to explain. But he can’t. Not right now. Now while there are screams in his ears.
He tries to stand up, to walk away. To be anywhere but here, under their stares. But he can’t. His whole body is shaking and trembling, he’s weak and dizzy. He wants to stand but his legs won’t support him.
And then Pandora is kneeling in front of him, one hand on each of his vibrating knees. Her blue eyes cut through the haze of memories.
“Regulus? Reg?” There is a hint of panic in her worry-drenched voice.
Regulus pries his lips apart. He swallows the lump in his throat. He is a Black. He is the picture of strength and decorum. He can speak. He has to speak.
“I--I didn’t know he knew.” He croaks.
It doesn’t really answer the question. It doesn’t really make sense, but it’s all that he can push out of his battered mind.
What Regulus means, is that he didn't know Sirius knew what happened after he left Grimmauld Place. No one should, Regulus never told anyone. Not even his friends. They have enough going on with their own families, they didn’t need to hear about Regulus’s.
Thankfully, Sirius didn't say it outright in the song. Most of the lyrics are just vague enough to hide what really happened. It’s a small mercy, really, that no one in this room has to know how Regulus screamed, and cried, and begged. But Sirius knows.
There is one line in the song, just one line that would be as innocuous as the rest of the lyrics to any other listener, but to Regulus, it stands out. It means something.
Sirius knew. He knew all of it. And from the sounds of it, it still hurts him almost as much as it hurt Regulus.
“Regulus? Reg?” The voices are still calling to him, but he isn’t here. Regulus isn’t here.
A sharp pain across his cheek jolts Regulus out of his reverie.
Barty is standing in front of him, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Everyone else is looking at Barty in shock and disapproval.
“Barty!” Dorcas hisses sharply.
Barty just shrugs, “What? I thought it would help.”
And that’s the funny thing, it did help. The pain always helps, doesn’t it? It always has. The sudden sting jolts Regulus back into himself, and he begins to laugh. It is a deep, full-bellied guffaw that starts in his stomach, gathers in his chest, and bursts out of his throat, pouring from him like an overflowing fountain. He throws his head back with the joy of it, an unhinged cackle exploding into the air.
Everyone is looking at him with a mixture of pity, sympathy, concern, and fear. But Regulus doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. It never mattered. He’s too busy laughing.
Pandora squeezes his knees tightly. “I—I’m so sorry, Reg.” she says, tears in her voice. “We had no idea how bad it was.”
But Regulus isn’t listening to her sympathies. They didn’t need to know how bad it was.
But Sirius knew. All this time, Sirius knew.