Chapter 9
Sirius
Sirius hasn’t been able to sit still all day. He can’t focus. He can’t settle. He needs to be doing something, to be helping somehow, but there’s nothing to be done.
He at least got Regulus to come sit at the table for dinner, but now he’s just blankly pushing food around his plate, like a ghost who’s forgotten what it’s like to be alive.
James is re-telling a story of something funny that happened to Lily on her last mission for the Order. Remus is laughing, but Sirius can’t follow. He can’t stop looking at Regulus. He’s gotten taller in the last few years. Older, too. Not just in his actual body, but in the way he moves, too. A bit more sluggishly, a bit more heavily. There is none of that little-kid joy or wonder that was still lingering in him even at fourteen. Now, Regulus moves like it is a chore, not an experience.
Sirius shoves a forkful of meatloaf into his mouth. “Dinner is delicious, James!” he chirps, swallowing the bite. “Did you try the mash, Reg? It’s fantastic!”
Regulus jumps, as if he had forgotten he was sitting at a table full of people, in front of a plate of food. He fumbles with his fork, but regains his composure.
“You really ought to have some.” Sirius tries again, scooping up another forkful of peas, as if reminding Regulus how to use the utensil.
Regulus pushes another bit onto the fork, staring at it, but not eating it.
Sirius looks helplessly at James and Remus.
Remus is the first to pick up on the silent plea. “Yes, thanks for cooking, James.” He says, taking an exaggerated bite of food. “It’s delicious! I was having such a rotten day today, but nothing makes me feel better than a belly full of warm food.” He looks at Regulus as he happily swallows the bite.
Sirius nearly groans at the horribly cheesy attempt from his friend. Remus is many things, but an actor he is not.
Regulus clearly isn’t impressed and keeps pushing around the same bite of food.
James tries a different approach, addressing Regulus directly. “You really ought to try to eat something, Regulus. You might be hungrier than you think.”
To Sirius’s surprise, Regulus takes the small bite on his fork and puts it in his mouth. He chews and swallows, with the whole table watching him.
Sirius grins so huge you’d have thought Gryffindor just beat Slytherin for the Quidditch Cup.
James and Remus smile too, but James quickly restarts the conversation, so they aren’t just staring as Regulus eats.
Regulus gets another bite of food on his fork, and eats that, too.
Good. He’s eating. He’s going to be okay. Sirius relaxes back a bit, allowing himself to get reabsorbed in the conversation about which animal is easier to catch, a squirrel or a rabbit.
Remus is carefully outlines the pros and cons of each animal, and Sirius is just about to chime in that rabbits are easier to follow with that bright white tail, when Regulus suddenly stands up from the table. He nearly knocks his chair over as he runs out of the room, one hand pressed to his mouth.
Panicked, Sirius stands too, shooting frantic looks at his friends before rushing after Regulus.
“Huh. Do you think the guy has a soft spot for squirrels?” James asks in a lame attempt at humor.
Sirius stops outside the now-closed door to the bathroom. Wretching sounds are coming from behind the door.
“Reg? Regulus? Are you okay?” Sirius calls, knocking on the door.
A few more choked heaves answer the question.
Sirius tries the door handle, but it’s locked.
“Reg?” he calls again, pulling out his wand. He’s just about to cast Alohomora on the lock when Remus puts his hand on Sirius’s arm.
“No, wait.” He interrupts. “Let him have some privacy.”
Sirius looks painfully at the door. “But—but he’s sick, and I, I have to help him, and—”
Remus gently leads Sirius away from the door. “And the best thing you can do right now is give him some space, yeah? Make him some tea, get him a toothbrush, and wait it out.”
Shock crosses Sirius’s face. “A toothbrush! Moony! Shit!” Sirius rushes back into the kitchen, where James is washing dishes. “Prongs, we didn’t give Regulus a toothbrush! He needs a toothbrush!” Sirius starts rooting around in kitchen drawers as if a toothbrush is going to magically manifest in one.
“Ah bollocks.” James sets down the dish he was scrubbing. “You’re right.” He pulls a spoon out of the drying rack, waves his wand, and transfigures it into a toothbrush. “Here, this’ll have to do.” He hands the slightly damp toothbrush over to Sirius, who takes it eagerly and rushes back down the hall.