Chapter 1
Some nights, Regulus hates his parents.
He can never keep hating them for more than a few days. Eventually he'll be reminded of one of his father's vivid stories about Regulus' grandparents or he'll find Mère panicking over a cracked glass and he'll be reminded that they had it worse.
But when he does truly, deeply hate them, hate them with every last bit of the fire he used to have before they drowned it out, it's because of Sirius.
Because it could never be anyone else.
Sirius gets in his head, reminds Regulus that their parents choose to hurt their kids, that they are adults who should know better. That being hurt by others doesn't justify perpetuating the cycle.
When Sirius gets hurt because of them, their actions, their choices, Regulus grits his teeth and clenches his fists and digs sharp nails and teeth into the soft flesh of his palms and cheek. Never enough to break through, never enough to be seen.
He cannot act on his anger. He will not act on his anger towards them, because if he does he will never be able to stop. So, instead, it rolls in and out like the tide, surges following the rise and fall of conflict around him.
It is in that way, with torn, jagged nails digging into soft flesh, emotions getting closer and closer to breaking over with every wave, that Regulus watches Sirius pack a trunk from the door.
"You won't stop me."
Regulus stiffens. It's the first thing Sirius has said to him all evening.
"That is not my intent."
His brother's eyes flick to him, damnably hopeful, though he schools expression back into his trademark confidence quick enough.
"Then what is your 'intent'?" Sirius clears his throat, light dancing in his eyes, and Regulus knows he is everything his brother says of him. "If you choose this, fair warning, I am using the Knight Bus."
Regulus bites down on his cheek, harsh, almost enough to draw blood. But he doesn't, because he's nothing if not a coward.
"I'm staying." It comes out level, thank the gods. Things will be much easier if Sirius doesn't know of his doubts. "I'm not exactly the type run off to the Potters. I trust you understand."
Truthfully, he knows Sirius will misunderstand. And, as ever, his brother proves him right. Sirius is getting far too easy to predict. That's only one more reason he needs him to leave.
The light behind Sirius' eyes dims for only a moment before it same light roars back, back and brighter and stronger, into a wildfire.
"Really? Then fuck you," Sirius snarls. "And here I thought you might choose to be anything but a little mummy's boy."
Regulus contains his reaction to a controlled blink. "Must we resort to such name-calling?"
"You called me and my best mate blood traitors. I think we're on even ground, you git."
It would be nice if he could ignore Sirius' words, dismiss them as lies. Regulus settles for pretending there isn't a lump clogging his throat. His brother has always known him better than anyone else. And, really, Regulus is all that he says: a soft, idiotic, cowardly git.
"Hm," Regulus hums, stalling, giving himself one moment more. Even if it is like this. Sirius stops at the door, trunk in hand, clenching it so the white of his bones poke through, the white-yellow of bleaching coral. "You know this is permanent."
"I do," Sirius says. Then he repeats it. "I do, and it'll be bloody worth it to get away from this piss-poor excuse for a family."
Sirius slams his door open, stomps down the stairs. On light feet, Regulus follows. He knows Sirius can hear him. He wants him to. Wants Sirius to remember him for as long as possible, before he runs off to Potter. Wants Sirius to have memories of him like this, not what he'll need to become. Not that who he is now is much better.
Sirius stops at the front door. He glances back, something Regulus can't read crashing over his expression, speckling bits of emotion on his face like sea foam spread on sand.
"Goodbye, Regulus." Sirius looks outside, to the street, but he lingers a moment more. "Don't be too much of an idiot. Think for yourself once in a while, will you?"
And he leaves.
He's out the door before Regulus thinks of a way to respond. Or knows if he can. For minutes, maybe an hour, maybe only seconds, he stands there. Where Sirius left him.
Too late, he wants to take it all back.
Then, from behind, a light hand rests on the small of his back. He supresses a shudder.
"Come along, dear," says his mother. "It's time."
Regulus follows.
He knows what comes next, though he's only ever had to watch before.
The family tapestry looms over him, generations of Blacks staring him down with hundred of eyes. The burn scars are a relief. They don't stare, don't watch him close for any potential mishap. Father stands in the corner, mouth set in a firm line.
"Orion, would you care to begin?" Her hand is still on Regulus' back, spreading a slimy, slick feeling up it that reminds him far too much of seaweed. He wants to squirm away from her touch. He can't handle it right now.
Regulus stays where he is bid.
Father nods. He draws his wand, wordlessly creating a flame.
"By my Lordship, I hereby strip Heir Sirius Orion Black III of his title."
Mère sparks her own wordless flame, smaller than Father's. But when she speaks, her voice matches Father's dull, toneless quality.
"By my name, I hereby strip Sirius Orion Black of his House."
Regulus swallows. He pulls out his own wand, whispers a nearly inaudible spell. A dim flame, no brighter than a star seen from under the sea, comes out.
"By my blood, I strip Sirius Orion of his family." It's only just above a whisper. But it is enough. Enough to sever Sirius' tie. Enough to open the floodgates for the Slytherins' blatant hatred to wash over the ex-Heir.
Enough to damn Sirius, if he falters. Enough to damn them all.
Father and Mère set their wands against Sirius' likeness. Regulus hesitates, but soon presses his own against the dates below.
"Toujours pur." Father whispers. He pulls his wand away.
Regulus follows immediately, curling jagged nails into the flesh of his palm at the sight of the blackened, oily scar on the tapestry. It's all he has left of his brother. It's all he'll have of him for–
For forever, now.
His parents– not Sirius', never Sirius' parents again, only his– leave. Regulus curls into himself on the cold floor. It's unbecoming and dirty and plebeian, but in the moment, he can't bring himself to care.
It's been less than five minutes since they burned him off the tapestry. Regulus wonders how long it will take for that hole gnawing at him to go away.
Three months pass, and the yawning, devouring, persistent hole in his gut doesn't go away.
Not through three months of delaying taking the Mark. Three months of lessons from Father on heirship. Three months of increased scrutiny from Mère.
Not through two months of playing politics in the Slytherin common room. Two months of telling Professor Slughorn everything is fine at home. Two months of pretending Sirius doesn't exist, because if Sirius doesn't exist then he can't be worried.
One month of biting and tearing at his lips until they bleed. One month of skipping meals whenever he can. One month of putting glamours over increasingly prominent bags under his eyes, because Dreamless Sleep just doesn't cut it anymore.
Three months without his brother.
Then, two weeks into the fourth, someone knocks on his door.
Slytherins don't enter his room. They certainly don't in the hours he pretends to sleep.
Regulus inserts his bookmark, setting the play he'd been reading on his nightstand. Perhaps it would be Rosier, or Heir Crouch. Mère wouldn't be happy if he openly snubbed one of them.
He pulls open the door, excuse ready on his tongue–
It's Sirius. Sirius, with a trunk in hand again and a new frantic look in his eyes. Sirius, who's a Gryffindor and free and shouldn't be here.
"I just need somewhere to stay for a bit, Regulus, please. I can't– they all hate me, I don't have anywhere else–"
Regulus closes his eyes for a long moment, Sirius' words frenzied and indiscernible as he thinks. At last, he sighs, slowly opening his eyes to meet his brother's pleading ones.
He steps aside, pulling the door open wider as he does. Sirius' words dry up.
"...Really?"
Regulus rolls his eyes. "Get inside or find somewhere else to stay, Sirius. Whichever you choose, do so quickly."
Sirius comes inside, only wasting a second to think it over. Regulus shuts the door behind him, but not before checking that no one saw their interaction.
Mère and Father managed to agree on three things before the school year started.
One: Regulus was to befriend any upcoming Death Eaters he could. Two: Regulus was not to slip up in any way. Be it schoolwork, alliances, or even Quidditch. Any mistake would be seen as a failure. And third: Sirius did not exist to them. Any of them.
Welcoming Sirius into his room violates at least one, if not two, of those automatically. If caught by the wrong person, it would be better to slip into the Lake and never come back out than go back to Grimmauld after failing thrice.
"Nice place you got here. If I realized Slytherins got their own rooms, I might have been a bit longer under the hat," Sirius says, breaking through Regulus' thoughts.
Regulus raises an eyebrow. "Mère told us all about Slytherin."
"Ah." Sirius nods, pressing his lips together as his eyes dart away from Regulus'. "Well, maybe if I had remembered."
Regulus shrugs, ignoring the sting. So what if Sirius could forget his duties and he never could? "What's done is done. And, while you are here, you can sleep on the couch."
Sirius glares, but it's lighter than he's come to expect.
"Fine." Sirius tosses his trunk next to Regulus' couch. "What's got you being so generous?" The to a blood traitor goes unsaid. Regulus is glad for it.
Call it the repayment of a debt." Regulus stops, thinks. "Better yet, don't call it anything at all outside this room."
Sirius snorts. "Slytherins. Calling it a bloody debt."
Neither of them say what Regulus is repaying. They don't have to.
But Regulus knows, in his bones, this is not enough to make up for eleven years of being kept safe in the eye of their mother's storm. Nothing ever will be. Even taking up Sirius' position in the walls around the eye, taking all their parents' expectations on himself to shelter his brother.
"So, you will refrain from saying anything?" Regulus asks. He can hide this, if his brother has learned when to keep his mouth shut.
Sirius shrugs, smirking. "We'll see, won't we?"
With a swish of his wand, Regulus vanishes his brother's trunk. Sirius' glare intensifies into something more real, and Regulus meets it with a level gaze.
"Ugh. Fine." Regulus crosses his arms, waits. Sirius rolls his eyes. "Fine, I won't tell anyone you actually have a beating heart somewhere in your chest."
Regulus brings back the trunk, knowing it's the best he'll get from Sirius. He ignores the insult's sting.
"Any other conditions for my extended stay?" Sirius flops onto his couch, muddy boots resting on the cushions. Regulus suppresses a grimace.
"Like what?" With a flick of his wand, both the boots and his couch are clean again. He doesn't even want to know how they got so dirty.
Was Sirius out by the lake? Bloody idiot if he was. Snape was planning on going out there earlier.
"Oh, I don't know." Sirius shrugs, but his mouth pulls into a sneer. "You'll want me to play nice with your bigoted friends, or write to Maman très chère, or–" He stops. "I'm just giving you ideas, aren't I?"
Regulus has no intention of making Sirius do anything, setting aside the fact that Sirius is just as much a storm as their mother. Regulus couldn't change his brother's mind if he wanted to.
But he shrugs, says, "If I made you do anything, this wouldn't be much of a repayment, would it?"
Sirius narrows his eyes. "You aren't even curious about why my friends don't–" Sirius chokes, looks away. "–don't want me around?" It's quiet. It's quiet and so, so unlike his brother.
He cares for them. His brother cares for them all, boastful and proud and annoying as his house is. He cares and they hurt him. Regulus bites into his cheek, iron spilling onto his tongue, to stop the words he can't say from boiling over and out of his mouth.
"I'm not." He is now. But Regulus knows Pettigrew gossips about practically everything, leaking the Marauders' secrets bit by bit. A few well-chosen words and an adequate disguise will get the answer easily enough. "Should I be?"
He steps closer to Sirius, one hand drifting up in the space between them. Once, he would have rested it around his brother's shoulders without thought, an offer of comfort and security. Now...
Now, he lays it on Sirius' shoulder, slow and visible. Sirius lets him, but doesn't meet his gaze.
"If you truly have nowhere else to go, I could never make you leave." It's an admission he doesn't want to make, a piece that will make life harder for them both when the time comes. The words that could possibly mean I care about you.
And that isn't a luxury he is allowed to have, anymore.
But the concession is almost worth it, because Sirius understands. He opens up.
"I was the one who hurt them," Sirius whispers. "He trusted me, and I proved I'm not worthy of it."
Regulus sits down next to him. His hand drops. It feels too much like one of Father's rare moments of affection, forced and fake and only adding more pressure, more water above his head.
"Okay." He's forgotten how to do this, he realizes, but there's no one else who will. Not right now. "So you'll prove to them that it was a mistake."
Sirius shakes his head. "We both know there's no such thing. I'm a failure."
"Give it time, Sirius." Regulus will make this right. This– Sirius feeling like this– is unacceptable. Not when they are meant to be his brother's new family. "Things will be clearer in the morning, okay?"
Sirius hesitates, but nods. "Do you have any Dreamless Sleep?"
"I do." It helps, on rare occasions. More often, it traps him a sleep of unwanted memories. "I can get you some, if you'd like."
Sirius takes in a shuddering breath. "Please."
Regulus gets him the potion. He watches his brother take it, falling asleep near instantly. He flicks his wand to take off Sirius' boots and jacket, pulling a blanket from the end of his bed to rest on the back of the couch.
Then, when he is sure Sirius is asleep, he slips out of the Slytherin dorms. The Marauders always know when he's out past curfew, somehow. Regulus has never liked it before.
He'll use it now. When they show up– and they will, one of them always does– he'll get them to listen, with words carefully chosen and a still-simmering anger they might almost feel.
Because Regulus cannot burn away memories so easily as holding a wand to a tapestry. Because Sirius is his brother, no matter where they will land in the war to come.
Because Sirius deserves more, and Regulus will give his life to give his brother even a single moment of joy.