Chapter 4
Regulus
“Hey, alright if I come in?”
Regulus’s heart jerks at the sudden disturbance and he spins around quickly. Sirius jumps between Regulus and the intruder-- a rather apologetic-looking James.
“Oh, sorry.” James smiles, “But I found these, thought they might work.” He holds up a pair of striped pajamas. “They’ll be a bit big, but the pants have a drawstring so they shouldn’t fall off.”
“Thanks, James.” Sirius says, walking over to take the clothes from him. He turns back to Regulus.
“What else can we get you? Are you hungry? James has some tea in the kitchen, if you want. Or I can bring you something here? We’ve got a breakfast tray somewhere, I can dig it out so you can eat in bed if you like.”
Regulus frowns, so many questions, and all tumbling out of Sirius’s mouth far too fast. It sounds so desperate. So undignified. So un-Black-like. But Sirius did always wear his heart on his sleeve, it was part of what got him in so much trouble.
James puts a hand on Sirius’s arm. “Or maybe you’d just like to get some sleep?” he asks kindly. “It’s been a long night, I’m sure.”
Regulus would snort if he felt like snorting. Yes, it’s been a very long night.
Instead, Regulus just turns his head away, looking back out the window into the darkness beyond.
“Or we could talk?” Sirius asks hopefully. “It—it’s been so long, and I—” he cuts off, not finishing the sentence.
A bitter twinge curls in Regulus’s gut. He doesn’t turn away from the window. He can't. He cant open his mouth. Because if he does he might start screaming, and if he starts, he might never stop.
“Why don’t we give him some space, Pads.” James says gently. “Let him get changed and settled in for a bit.”
There is a pause as Sirius considers, before a very soft, very defeated sounding, “Yeah. Okay.” Followed by a louder, “I’ll leave the pajamas on the bed, Reg, and be back in fifteen—maybe ten—minutes to check on you, okay?”
Regulus doesn’t respond. He feels hot tears welling up in his eyes.
There is another moment of quiet before Sirius and James leave the room, shutting the door behind them.
It’s what Regulus wanted, some time alone, but the sound of that door closing drops a pit into Regulus’s stomach. He feels something shaky in his veins, something shaky and acidic. Slowly, he turns away from the window, taking deep breaths and wiping at his eyes. Crying. He’s crying, at his age. How pathetic. How absolutely pathetic.
He picks up the clothes from the bed and fingers the soft fabric. It feels warm and fuzzy. They’re red and gold, which is definitely not Regulus’s normal style, but beggars can’t be choosers, he supposes. Besides, Potter doesn’t owe him anything. He doesn’t even know Regulus. The fact that he’s willing to help him at all is… is…
Regulus shakes his head. Disgusting. It’s disgusting and foolish. Potter is a fool if he thinks Regulus has anything to offer him anything in return.
Regulus has just pulled on the pj’s and is folding his dirty clothes into a neat pile when Sirius enters the room again.
“Hey.” He says a bit too eagerly.
Regulus jumps again, but quickly tries to pretend he was just shaking out his torn robes.
Whether or not Sirius notices, he doesn’t draw attention to it.
“I brought you some towels,” he plows on “a bath towel and washcloth, in case you want to shower tomorrow. There’s a bottle of shampoo on the shelf you can use, and some extra bars of soap under the sink.”
Sirius puts the towels over one of the cardboard boxes.
Regulus frowns ever so slightly at the introduction of mess but says nothing.
Sirius turns around and looks at his brother, “Regulus, I—”
Regulus looks away. He can’t do this. Not tonight. He can’t.
Sirius seems to pick up on this.
“I’ll let you get some sleep.” He finishes, sounding a bit like a kicked puppy and looking a bit like one, too.
Regulus cringes internally at himself. Why is he so horrible? Why is he so awful? Why is he pushing Sirius away when he wants nothing more than to run over to him, to wrap his arms around him and tell him everything? Every horrid, unforgivable thing?
Sirius walks back over to the door and puts his hand on the light switch, waiting for Regulus to climb into bed. And Regulus, like the obedient little boy he is, does just that.
“I’m just down the hall.” Sirius says. “If you need anything, anything. Come find me. I don’t care if I’m asleep, come find me.”
Rather than answer, Regulus pulls the covers up to his chest.
“Demain viendra” Sirius says as he flicks off the light.
Regulus feels his throat tighten. Tomorrow will come, it means. It is a lyric from an old song he and Sirius used to listen to. The response is “Et je serai là” which means “and I will be here”. He and Sirius used to say it to each other every night, like a sort of ritual good night. “Tomorrow will come” Sirius would say, “And I will be here” Regulus would reply.
Tonight, though, Regulus does not reply. He does not say anything. After a moment, Sirius shuts the door, and Regulus is alone with his thoughts.
Regulus is trying his best not to think them. He’s trying to think instead about how soft the bed is. How long it’s been since he last laid down. Over 24hours, he supposes. Even then, it was on the hard stone floor, not in a bed. Not somewhere as nice as this.
He rolls over, trying to get comfortable, trying to sleep. He’s exhausted, he can feel his body trying to turn off, but his brain is whirling and spinning round and round. He wishes it wouldn’t. He wishes he weren’t so alone.
It’s a silly thought, really. He’s sixteen, after all, he’s practically an adult. Sure, at Hogwarts there are always other people in the dorm, but he’s had his own room his whole life. He’s spent plenty of time alone in that room, in that bed, trying not to think the thoughts in his head. This is no different. Which is maybe the problem. This is no different. With the lights out and the house silent, Regulus can almost imagine he’s back at Grimmauld Place. He can picture the hard stone walls and greenish lights. He can feel the scratchy fabric of his over-starched sheets. He can smell the burning, raw smell of dark magic and ancient power. He can hear the whispering voice of his mother from the other room. He can hear her. She’s right there, right outside of the door. Waiting for him. Looking for him. Coming for him.
Regulus sits straight up in bed and turns on the lamp, spreading warm light into the room and chasing away the blackness.
Regulus is breathing hard, he looks around the room, trying to chase away the images of his own room back home. Boxes. Window. Pile of towels. Safe. Safe. Safe.
The door bangs open.
“Reg? What is it? Are you okay? Can’t you sleep? Do you need something?”
Sirius is standing in the door, looking as antsy and nervous as ever. Sirius never was as calm and reserved as the rest of the Blacks, but this is next level.
And for once, Regulus is glad he’s here. He just… doesn’t know how to say it.