This is so, so utterly stupid of him.
Sirius is no stranger to doing stupid things, not at all. All his life he has heard ‘you are too reckless, Sirius’ and ‘you must think before you act, Sirius’ and ‘rushing into things will get you killed someday, Sirius’.
He has never denied it either. His ‘bravery’ has always been a badge of honour for him, the consequences have never seemed to dissuade him from that.
‘A true Gryffindor’ James used to call him for these moments. Now he prefers ‘suicidal’.
He always dismissed James’ worries as an effect of his new status as a father, yet Sirius is now beginning to see the truth in such a statement.
It isn’t that he wants to die. Sirius has not fought so hard to finally live that he is going to throw it away, but it is rather difficult to stay alive during a war.
A war that is not going well.
No one speaks about it, not in such an honest way, but they all seem to understand that the Order is quickly becoming a sinking ship. And they are all going down with it.
For every step forward that they make, it seems to be that they take three steps back.
For the success of the incarceration of Lyndon Travers, they had to recover from the attack on the Mckinnon’s, Mary fleeing and a comatose Dorcas. For the death of Evan Rosier and Jeremy Wilkes, Moody was suspended and they lost James, Lily, Frank and Alice to hiding.
Everyone is becoming nervous, worried that each time one of them makes to go outside a swarm of Death Eaters will fall upon them from the sky.
Morale is at an all time low, and it is exhausting. Even Sirius is becoming fed up with the fight, and it is the only thing he has ever known to crave.
Sirius is also aware of the very unique position he is in, how he is both more and less fortunate than most.
Whilst Voldemort seems to have little consideration to the blood status of his opponents in the order, it is much harder to ignore the surname Black than the likes of Potter, Prewett, McKinnon or Longbottom.
No, a Black is not an ordinary pureblood. A Black is the accumulation of hundreds of years of their best breeding. So to spill his blood would be ‘controversial’, particularly when it would kill the futile hopes that he will return to the fold when this war is over.
It seems no matter how hard he fights, he can never escape their expectations.
The folly of youth, he has heard some call it. A little rebellion, as if he fights Voldemort for attention.
They still think he is a dog on their leash, even if it has been let off for a while. One call and he will come running.
Damn them. Don’t they know stray dogs turn feral?
Feral dogs are known for biting the hands that feed them, one need only ask his mother to test the validity of that statement.
Yet they become feral somehow. Not all dogs are born wrong, become that through the way they are nurtured. Strays who have been kicked down, purely so the owner can see if it will come back.
The Order does not understand the sentiment. They think that each time he goes off their leash his blood has won out.
Black blood always runs dark he heard Sturgis Podmore say to Gideon Prewett the other day. It took a lot for him not to remind everyone in the room that he and the Prewett’s share an aunt. It would not matter to them, because Gideon and Fabian are light, and Sirius is tainted.
It has become an infection, this way of thinking. Remus was the first to be infected, but it has quickly spread into the minds of the others too. There is a traitor in our midst Dumbledore says, and Sirius knows all eyes turn to him.
Of course Sirius has his own suspicions, but there is little he can do when he has no one to share them with.
Remus does not look at him anymore, at least not with anything but suspicion and distrust, and what he sometimes even thinks is hatred. Some of it is for the current, imagined betrayal, but most of it is remnants of his past, very real betrayal.
There was once fondness between them, love too. It did not matter what kind, it was as strong through friendship as it could have been through more.
There is little of that between them now. Each gaze penetrates like a knife, cuts his heart deep and leaves the gaping open wound untended to. Sirius feels no urge to tend to it, sees the monstrosity as his penance.
Remus does not owe Sirius mercy, so it is a good thing he seems uninterested in granting it to him.
Perhaps Remus will appreciate that you agreed to meet your end in the Shrieking Shack. Just as you deserved to long ago.
Despite the way he sounds, he is not completely stupid. Whilst he has agreed to come here alone, he has at least left a note for James to read saying where he is. Of course there is little James will be able to do with that information but know where they can start to look for his body, but Sirius likes to think it may serve as some closure.
It is the least he deserves for putting up with Sirius’ antics for so long.
Come on man, Sirius thinks as he casts yet another warming charm on himself.
He is in no rush to die, but a killing curse would at least be preferable to freezing to death.
Sirius checks the time. 8:55 pm it reads, so Sirius’ contact should be here within the next five minutes.
He decides he will give it until ten minutes past, and if no one has arrived by then he will count himself lucky his meeting was a bust that didn’t end in his death.
It is just as he makes this decision that he feels himself startle.
Someone is here.
The realisation has him intimately aware of the blood drumming through his ears. The night is eerily quiet and Sirius is aware that any sound would be as subtle as casting a Sonorus on a car horn.
Sirius doesn’t react for a second, merely keeps his position leaning against the shack smoking his cigarette as he tries to keep track of any motion.
*thunk, thunk, thunk*
The footsteps are subtle, as if the other person is just as afraid of being caught unawares as Sirius is. They are also slowly making their way to the wrap-around porch he is currently standing on, so he carefully puts out his cigarette and pulls free his wand.
3… 2… 1…
“Drop the fucking wand” he says to the newcomer, his own pointed right at their face.
The figure in front of him is in dark muggle clothes with a hood up so he cannot see their face, but he can see the way they move their hands up in the universal gesture of surrender.
“I didn’t think you would come” comes a quiet voice.
“That’s nice, now do as I say and drop the wand.”
In all fairness to the newcomer, he does as he’s told.
“Accio” Sirius says, because he feels much better with the wand in his hand.
He briefly glances down to see if he recognises it, if it will tell him anything about the hooded person in front of him. It is not one he has seen before, yet it looks to be in relatively good condition. If he were to hazard a guess, he would say it has been bought within the last five years. Little of this interests him, until his finger brushes over a small engraving at the end.
It’s a crow’s skull, and Sirius wastes no time slamming the newcomer against the wall.
“Where the fuck did you get one of these?” he snarls in their face.
“Now that’s no way to speak to family” the voice croaks.
“You’re not my family, now I’ll ask again: Where the fuck did you get this?”
“Ollivanders” the voice croaks.
“Liar.”
“Why don’t you lift my hood and see for yourself?”
It is clearly not a normal muggle hood, there must be enchantments in place because Sirius cannot make out one detail of the face in front of him.
It might be a trick, a paranoid part of his brain that sounds suspiciously like Peter whispers to him. It might be dangerous, you don’t know who he is.
Don’t you want to know what you came here for another voice like James whispers to him. Only one way to find out.
Sirius takes a step back from the figure, but only enough so that he can fit his wand in between them. He has the other hand on the hood.
“You try anything, and I will curse your bloody eyeballs out, do you understand?”
“Define ‘try something’.”
Sirius doesn’t deign that with an answer, instead just moves his wand closer to the aforementioned eyeball.
“Fine, got it.”
Slowly Sirius grabs ahold of the fabric across half the person's face, and he slowly starts to pull it down, never once letting his wand falter.
It isn’t until the hood has been fully pulled away that the charm seems to break, right alongside Sirius’ heart.
Regulus. It has to be him.
He looks different, better Sirius cannot help but think, even when one takes into consideration the nasty scar that wraps up his neck and onto his jaw.
His hair is no longer limp, his eyes look more alive than Sirius ever remembers them being. He even has a small grin on him, one that reminds Sirius of the little shadow he used to perpetually have as a kid. He looks like Reggie, his brother, not the distant ghost he last knew him as.
Regulus, but- it can’t be- Regulus is-
“Hello Brother,” Regulus says, and it immediately snaps Sirius out of his stupor.
He swings his fist back, and catapults it forwards.
“Fucking hell” Sirius curses as he nurses the bones in his hands.
“What the fuck was that for?”‘Regulus’ tries to ask, but it comes out a bit muffled from the blood running down his face. Sirius does not give him a chance to nurse it.
He reinforced his hold on the stranger. “Who are you?” Sirius asks again, and the imposter just leans his head against the wall, uncaring of the fact Sirius is staring him down.
“Your fucking brother. Merlin's beard, Sirius.”
“My brother would never swear at me alive, even less likely now he is dead. So, I’ll ask again, who are you?”
“I am Regulus, I am telling the truth!”
Sirius just raises an eyebrow at that.
Regulus just lets out an irritated growl at that. “Then ask me a question,” the imposter says, “something only Regulus would know, okay? Ask me anything”
Sirius thinks of what to say, something only he and Regulus would know. There are a lot from their childhood, but he is not sure he trusts all of those memories. The imposter’s wand had to be from his family, the carving told him so. It is entirely possible that whoever this is knows some of these memories from them.
Something only they knew. It is difficult to remember, children like to share so many little moments, even if they were less likely to than most. Who knows what Regulus may have told Narcissa, or Andy, or even Bella.
Sirius can however think of one memory Regulus would never have told anyone, if only because it is so embarrassing.
“What did you rename that stupid teddy when you were ten, and why?”
Sirius immediately feels him go rigid in his arms. “No, Sirius just- another one, please-”
Sirius uses his forearm to pressdown on his windpipe. “Say. It.”
The imposter seems to struggle for a moment, so once Sirius considers the message to have been appropriately passed on, he removes his arm slightly.
“Go on” he challenges.
“Fine! Fine, it was Muggle. Happy?”
“Why?”
“Because people were saying you may be a muggle lover! People were saying you may be a muggle lover and I wanted you to keep loving me.”
Sirius just stares in shock at that, finally realising the truth.
He’s right. Merlin, he’s right.
Sirius just stumbles back and feels the wands he was still holding slip through his fingers.
“It’s you?” he says, and his voice comes out weak and vulnerable like a childs. Gods, he thinks he sounds like a young Regulus.
Regulus just goes to take one step closer, but aborts when Sirius honest-to-God flinches.
“It’s me.”
“How?”
“It’s a long story, will you let me tell you?”
Of course Sirius does. He doesn’t feel like he could deny Regulus anything at this moment.
They go inside the shack and take a seat both side by side on the mangy mattress that Sirius knows has been magically repaired half a hundred times (seeing as he did most of them himself). It is surreal, seeing the way this new brother of his just sits down without a single concern for his hygiene. The older Regulus would have turned his nose up at the thing and Sirius alike.
Regulus’ story is not a happy one, for Sirius or his brother. For a long time Sirius has known Regulus was a Death Eater. It was impossible not to, Sirius remembers what caused him to run away. He always worried it was what caused Regulus to stay.
He remembers the shrine of Voldemort that took pride of place in his brother's room. A temple of naivety, madness and arrogance. Once upon a time Regulus’ worship was true, no matter how hard Sirius tried to destroy it.
He never told anyone. Not even James was privy to the knowledge Regulus had damned himself at the age of sixteen. It felt like a betrayal, both the idea of telling James and not.
It was instinct to trust James, to reach for his comfort and support. There is more than friendship between them. He was everything that was denied to him; friend, teacher, brother and self. Sirius was something before, but with James he became someone. To deny him a part of that felt like an amputation, as if he was losing James from doing it.
Yet there was something before he was eleven. There was a brother of a boy, for whom the boy mistook protection for affection. There was courage, which he only learned for the brother and kept for himself. Does that something still deserve nothing? Could he not keep this one secret for the shadow of a life long past?
He was fraying rope tied between two brothers, so one released him before he snapped.
Did it not break you anyway?
Sirius remembers the day he discovered the news, read the obituary of the little brother he had mourned long ago. Just as with his father, he was not told personally. He did not know of the funeral until it was too late.
He remembers little beyond that. Remembers little of the month following if he is being honest with himself. He drank, and fought, and made a valiant effort of trying to chase away the meagre amount of friends he had left. Were it not for James, he likely would have.
The Order was happy with the news, even if few dared to express it to his face. His wrath is an ugly thing nowadays and too easily shared with others. They have come to know this well.
All they saw was another Death Eater rid from this world, not a helpless child slaughtered by their neglect.
Sirius did not want to remember him like that, not if there was an option to otherwise. He had hoped that with no news on his cause of death, that maybe it meant he was good. He would have hated finding out that Regulus died trying to be a good person, but it was preferable to him dying a bad one.
He had never imagined Regulus was alive. Not for a single second did he ponder the possibility that his brother was strong enough to survive being good.
It is one of the reasons it hurts, listening to Regulus now. His soft and idiot brother. Sirius had given up on him. He is no longer sure it was the right choice.
He wants to scream at Regulus. Wants to shake him and squeeze him until he feels something release from him.
There is so much he wants to ask: Why was Kreacher being hurt enough for you to change, but not me? You never came to me, is that my fault? Why should I take you back when you stole my brother from me? I was the only one that mourned him, not even you did!
He has been carrying around his little brother for so long he yet to even realise Regulus had taken himself back.
The peace Regulus is describing feels foreign to Sirius. It unbalances him, imagining Regulus so content. Sirius had only ever lived it war, thought it the only way for them to exist. The man in front of him seems to disagree
Regulus looks up at Sirius, just finishing his beautiful description of a lovely muggle village he can hide in. It’s wonderful, and it has nothing to do with Sirius.
“That’s good Regulus, really. But why are you telling me this?” It is the first time Sirius has spoken through Regulus’ tale.
Regulus just seems to grimace, likely mistaking Sirius’ internal crisis for apathy. Sirius makes no move to correct him.
“I- I just wanted you to know.”
“That you were safe? No, you didn’t. It has been a year, a year when you could have told me at any time you wanted, but you did not. So, why are you telling me this?”
Sirius is not even angry at his brother, he is just so tired.
“You are my brother, I have always wanted to-”
Sirius interrupts him. “No. You haven’t.”
Regulus seems confused by the dismissal. “What?”
“I said, you haven’t. You haven’t ‘wanted to’ anything with me for five years. Maybe you want to now, but I had to lose you five years ago. You are not here because you want me back, are you? You want something from me, just like you always have, so what is it Regulus?”
“You think I never wanted anything to do with you?” Regulus whispers back to him.
“You told me you wanted nothing to do with me. When I was twelve. And thirteen. And fourteen, fifteen and sixteen. The only reason you did not after that is because you finally got your wish.”
Regulus just closes his eyes at that. “I- I know, and I am sorry. But I was only a child, I didn’t mean it. Even if I believed I did.”
“I was a child too,” Sirius says, and his words are accompanied by the burning sting of tears in his eyes.
Blacks don’t cry.
You are not a Black.
His words were a truthful admission that he has never let himself say before. All his life he was told that he was ‘better’, whether in praise of his name or in spite of it.
I am the Black Heir, I am the older brother, I am the only one who understands. His situation has always been so inherently singular that no one has ever shown him what to do.
“You are not his mother, Sirius” James once said to him when he was trying anything to get Sirius out of the house, and Sirius was trying anything to stay in it.
“I know. But neither is anybody else," he replied.
He had forgotten that he never had one either.
“I know. I’m sorry I never realised it sooner,” Regulus says, and Sirius' tears fall faster than France in the war..
Regulus appears startled for a second, and he seems to make a move to stretch his arms out towards Sirius. And despite it all, it seems there is some sibling still between the two of them, because it sets Sirius to laughing.
“You don’t have to hug me” Sirius manages to gasp out through his sobbing-laughter.
Instead, Regulus just places one hand on Sirius’ shoulder. “I know, but I have got better at that, you know.”
“Hugging?”
“Showing affection.”
Sirius’ sobs seem to be calming by now, and he feels much better for it.
“You think I haven’t realised?”
Regulus laughs, and then just looks at him. “Are you okay?”
“Merlin, and I thought you were soft back then.”
“I was soft back then, now I am just fed up of wasting time with my brother.”
It is embarrassing how much that makes Sirius’ heart melt. ‘You are not his mother’ James said, but don’t they always say a mother’s love is strongest?
“I don’t forgive you yet,” Sirius warns him, because he has yet to fully realise what he needs to forgive.
“If it helps I am not even sure I have forgiven you.”
Sirius chuckles. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Not sure. But we will have time.”
Regulus cannot be sure of that. Just like before there are too many things which may wish to cut their time short, but it is a nice lie to tell themselves for now. They do not have to forgive just yet.
“Are you finally going to answer my question?” Sirius asks.
Regulus scrunches his eyebrows. “What question?”
“Why it is you’re really here? And don’t say it is to see me, you have had plenty of time for that.”
“Can it not be both?”
“Sure, if you insist.”
Regulus just gives him a suspicious look, perhaps worried Sirius will burst into tears again or threaten to gouge his eyes out if he goes ahead as he was told. Sirius tries to dispel those reservations with a raise of his eyebrows that he hopes comes off playful and not threatening.
“Okay, well we need someone we can trust with the information we gather. Someone who can do something with it.”
“And you want that to be me?” he asks, just to double check.
“I do, only if you agree.”
It is an interesting idea, using Sirius to pass through information between Regulus and his mysterious informant and The Order. It certainly has its merits, Sirius is possibly the only one close enough to people on both sides of this war to receive and use the information. There is however one slight hitch.
“They think I’m a traitor,” Sirius tells his brother.
Regulus does not even take a second to respond. “Then they’re idiots.”
Sirius rolls his eyes. “You sound like James.”
“Excuse me?”
“Listen they’re not fucking stupid, alright? They have their reasons, and it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that they don’t trust me.”
Regulus just sighs, looking older than even Sirius feels. “Then they don’t have to. No one wants Dumbledore involved anyway. It’s just, you can save people this way Sirius. If it isn’t you, then it’s nobody. We need you. So do they.”
He will do it, it is not even a question. It does not matter what The Order thinks of him, he is not his family. The Order does not need to care for him in order for him to try and save them.
Besides, he thinks looking to his left at the familiar stranger sitting at his side, they are not the only ones he does this for. He is a loyal beast, through and through. For once all of his loyalties seem to align.
He agrees to Regulus’ proposition, will become his bloody errand boy. He has demands of course, and they spend a long time discussing how reasonable it is to arrange weekly check-ins so that Sirius can be reassured that Regulus is alive. He doesn’t care, and when he considers how quickly Regulus concedes to every fortnight, Sirius doesn’t think he does either.
The night passes like that. One of them saying something soft, underlined with years of love and understanding that has grown with them, and then the other responding with something bitter, underlined with years of grief and resentment that has never fully melted away.
Maybe it never will, but that doesn’t matter here. There is no future in the past, both of them are doing their best to remember that.
The stars look down upon two boys yet again, a mirror of the past. Each one of them twinkle, flash in and out of colour. A never-ending fluctuation. A man is no different from the namesake in this.
They are their spirit, bright and undimmable. One can cover their eyes from the shine, but never rid it from the rest of the world. They will shine on, even past their death.
And as they look down upon the still night, they bask in the presence of others. Two stars on opposing ends of the sky stop and think; With you, it is a pleasure to burn.
“.... Sirius?”
“Yes?”
“You know I never would have learnt to be brave without you, right?”
“.... Me neither, Reggie.
Me neither.”