Chapter 2
Regulus
“That bitch. That bitch!” Sirius yells. “What did she do to you? What happened? Oh, I’m going to kill her. I’m going to strangle her. I’m going to crucio her until her eyes bleed.” Darkness grows in Sirius’s eyes, twisting them into something frightening.
Regulus nearly shrinks away from them. They are the same eyes she has. Walburga. Mother. They are the same rage-filled eyes that shouted curses at him. The same eyes that nearly killed him.
But Regulus doesn’t run. It never works, anyway. Those eyes will find him no matter where he hides. He looks down at the floor, waiting for whatever punishment is going to come. Waiting for the blood and pain. Waiting.
But it doesn’t come. Instead, Sirius grabs his arm and gives him another hug.
It’s been so long since Regulus saw his brother. So long since Regulus was hugged by him. But Regulus can’t move. He can’t hug him back. He can’t.
He can only stand there, taking shallow little breaths, trying not to pass out.
It’s different, that hug. Not like it was when they were kids. It’s harder, sharper, stranger. They don’t fit together like they used to, it’s all hard angles and strange shapes. Sirius smells different, too, not like he used to back when he and Regulus wore the same clothes and ate the same food and lived in the same house. Now, Sirius smells like cigarettes, motor oil, and, strangely, milk bones.
When Sirius finally lets go, he gently leads Regulus down the hall to a bathroom and sits Regulus on the closed toilet. He kneels in front of him and cups Regulus’s cheek in his hand.
“What hurts, Reg? What did she do?”
His grey eyes stare deep into Regulus’s.
It feels so good, so nice, to be seen, to be asked. No one ever asked before, though he knew they’d seen. The first break after Sirius ran away, Regulus had returned to school with a dark red cut along his side. The first of many. Evan and Barty had seen it when he was changing one day, he knows they did. But they didn’t say anything. Why would they? What good would it do?
But here, now. Sirius knows. Sirius sees. Even after everything, Sirius cares. It makes Regulus feel terrible.
“Reg, can you take off the shirt?” Sirius gently prods. He doesn’t need Regulus to tell him where to look, not really. He knows. It’s all too familiar.
Regulus hesitates, not wanting to do it. Not wanting to admit what’s under there. His failures, his imperfections. He earned every one of those cuts. He deserves them. But he has no choice, really. He slowly pulls the shirt off, moving as gently as he can.
Sirius has the tact not to gasp, but only barely. Regulus’s torso looks much like his own, only fresher. Deep cuts run criss-crossed on his back, and one particularly bad one travels around to his front, under his ribs. It’s still oozing and bleeding a bit.
Sirius reaches out to touch the red skin on either side of the gash, but Regulus winces back.
Sirius stops short and pulls his hand back.
“These are bad, Reg. Deep. We ought to go to St. Mungo’s and get them—”
Regulus shakes his head fervently and pushes Sirius’s hands away. No. He can’t go. He can’t let them stare at him. The useless Back heir. The ruined son of the noble and ancient house of Black. No. No. No.
Regulus starts to stand up. He has to leave. He has to go.
“Hey! Hey! It’s okay!” Sirius stands too and pushes Regulus’s shoulders back down firmly, taking care to avoid the tender wounds.
“We don’t have to go, okay? Just stay. Stay here.”
If Regulus were in a better mood, he might have laughed. Sirius begging him to stay? That’s rich.
But he allows himself to be sat back down.
Sirius roots around in a bathroom cabinet, pulling out a small kit.
“What about Marlene? Or Remus? They both have some healing training, will you let them help?”
Regulus tuns away, staring blankly into the tub.
Sirius lets out a breath. “Okay.” He says. “No one else. But you have to at least let me clean them up a bit.” He unzips the small bag in his hands and pulls out a few cotton balls and a bottle of disinfectant.
“Lily brought this over.” Sirius says as he pours the liquid on a cotton ball. “It’s muggle stuff. Hurts like the dickens, but she swears it works even better than magic. It’ll sting, but I’ll put some Murtlap Essence on right after, promise.”
Regulus nods ever so slightly, and Sirius begins to dab away at the wounds, going through cotton ball after bloody cotton ball. Regulus is vaguely aware of the pain. He knows in his brain that stings, but he is too far gone to feel it. He didn't doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even react at all.
When it’s all said and done, Sirius gently wraps some bandage around Regulus’s torso. He looks at Regulus’s dirty, blood stained shirt.
“I’ll go find you something to wear, okay? I’ll be right back. I’ll be right back.” And he disappears out the door.
Regulus sighs, relaxing back a bit on the seat. He knows why Sirius said it twice, but it doesn’t make him feel any better.