Chapter 11
Remus
When Sirius re-enters the kitchen, he’s sobbing.
Remus immediately pulls him into a hug, holding him tight.
“He—he’s hurt,” Sirius sobs. “He’s hurt and he won’t tell me what’s wrong and I don’t know how to help him!” Tears are pouring fast and thick from his eyes. as he gasps and sniffs into Remus’s shoulder.
James rubs gentle circles on Sirius’s back. Neither man knows what to say. How could they? Remus helps settle Sirius in a chair and sits next to him, one arm wrapped around his shoulders, one hand grasping Sirius’s.
James puts the kettle on. “It’s okay.” James assures, “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”
“How?” Sirius whines hopelessly. “He won’t even talk to me! He’s been here a whole day and hasn’t said a single word!”
A horrified look crosses Sirius’s face. “Oh my god, you don’t think—you don’t think she cursed him, do you? I didn’t even think! What if he can’t talk!” He jumps up from the table, wand already in hand. “I’ve got to go reverse it!”
Remus grabs his arm and pulls him back down. “Sirius, wait! I don’t think that’s it. Even if he had some sort of powerful silencio on him, he could have written it down. He could have communicated through gestures. He could have cast the counterspell himself.”
James’s brow furrows. “Could he?” he asks softly.
Remus and Sirius stare at him.
“I mean, does Regulus have his wand?” James continues, his tone careful. “I haven’t seen it on him at all.”
Sirius’s face pales. Remus tightens his grip on Sirius’s arm.
“Oh god.” Sirius moans, putting his head in his hands. “Oh god. What did she do to him? What did she do?” his shoulders shake as he starts to cry again. Remus rubs his back comfortingly.
“We’ll figure it out, Pads. We’ll help him.”
But it doesn’t seem to comfort Sirius.
“He’s in pain.” Sirius whimpers. “he’s in pain and he doesn’t trust me to help. I left him.” He sobs. “I left him.”
Remus and James exchange worried glances over Sirius’s shaking back.
“He came here, Sirius.” Remus assures, “He trusts you, at least a little bit. He wouldn’t have come here if he didn’t trust you, if he didn’t love you.”
Sirius just keeps crying. “Moony, Moony.” he whines through his tears.
Remus exchanges another look with James.
Taking the hint, James pulls the steaming kettle off the stove.
“How about this, I think I’ve got some balms from my quidditch playing days, for sore muscles and such. I’ll bring Regulus some tea and see if he can make use of them.” Then he leaves the room, leaving Remus to comfort Sirius.
Regulus
Regulus collapses back into the bed, screwing his eyes shut. He never should have come here. Sirius has his own problems, he doesn’t need Regulus’s.
He should have just let her kill him. When she finally let up, he should have just done it himself. He still could. He could walk out, find a bridge or a building or a lake and just… go. But, Sirius.
It wouldn’t have hurt Sirius if Regulus just disappeared, they hadn’t spoken in ages, hadn’t been brothers in years. Regulus could have vanished off the face of the Earth and Sirius would have thought good riddance. But Regulus didn’t. Instead, for some stupid reason, he came here. And now Sirius cares. And Regulus won’t leave his brother behind. He’s all too familiar with how that feels.
The door opens and Regulus sits up suddenly.
“Sorry, sorry, just me.” James says, entering the room.
“Sirius will be back in a minute, but I thought I’d bring you these.” He’s juggling two small jars and a mug of tea. The tea he sets on the nightstand, and motions to the jars.
“They’re from my quidditch days at Hogwarts. Sirius mentioned you might have some injuries, and these always helped me. They’re not for anything major, but it’s better than nothing.”
James is looking at Regulus so hopefully, so pleadingly. Regulus can’t take it. He looks away. Regulus should be mad at Sirius for telling all his friends about his injuries, but he can’t muster up the ire right now.
James raises a brown jar with a pale green cream that smells vaguely of menthol and mint. “This one is for sore muscles, but I’ve found it just kind of numbs everything you rub it on, so it might help.” He sets it on the nightstand and opens up the other. There’s a pink slime inside that looks exactly like a jellified Pepto-Bismol.
“And this one’s for bruises, just smear a thin layer on top and it’ll heal them up almost immediately.” He sets that jar on the nightstand, too.
Regulus doesn’t acknowledge him. Potter should just go. He should leave him. It’s better if Regulus is alone.
He can feel the weight of Potter’s pitying look.
“Let me know if there’s anything else I can get you, yeah?”
Regulus doesn’t move a muscle. Too nice. James is too nice. That’s his problem. He’s lived his whole life spoiled by a loving family and perfect friends. He doesn’t realize that everything comes at a cost. He doesn’t know that Regulus can’t repay it.
Regulus has never been anything but rude to Potter. He should be kicking him to the curb, not bringing him painkillers. If there were any justice in the world, James wouldn’t be standing there, looking at Regulus with such care and concern. He should be leaving Regulus alone, letting him wallow in his pain. Letting him die.
As if reading Regulus’s thoughts, James tears his eyes away from Regulus and turns back to the door.
Regulus feels a twinge of disappointment in his chest. It only proves what he’s known all along. Regulus doesn’t get to be saved by the Potters. Regulus doesn’t get a second chance. Regulus never should have come here, and Potter knows it.
James pauses with his hand on the door and looks back. “I’m really glad you’re here, Regulus.” He says. “I’m glad you came.” Then he turns the knob, and leaves.
For a second, Regulus sits with the uncomfortable thought that maybe Potter can read minds. But no, of course he can’t. Even if he could, Regulus is a skilled occlumence. Both he and Sirius are, you’d have to be, growing up in that house. If James Potter tried to read his mind, he’d know.
To distract himself, Regulus takes the lid off of the pot of green goo. He considers putting it on some of his worst aches and pains but decides not to. It’s not that bad. He puts the little pot back on the nightstand.
Sirius enters the room a few minutes later. His eyes are still red, but his cheeks are dry and he’s wearing a big, phony smile.