nightmares
Regulus talks in his sleep.
He had night terrors when he was a kid; that one summer vacation you spent with the Blacks, Regulus’s chilling yells woke you in the early morning. You threw back the sheets, shot up, and ran to his room without pause, thought, or a robe. You wish you could say it was bravery that made you do it, but it was more curiosity than anything else.
When you pushed the great mahogany door open, you froze in the doorway, lips parted in a pant. Sirius, facing away from you, was holding Regulus on the bed, rocking him and whispering something you couldn’t decipher. The younger’s shuddering breaths rattled against Sirius’s chest. Muffled, broken sobs echoed through the room. You left before they noticed.
That image has haunted you since. Sirius, the boy that tormented you for as long as you could remember, gentle and soft in the dark.
That night, you selfishly ached to be held when you woke up crying. You ached for a sibling, a guardian, a friend- you ached for anything at all. You couldn’t meet Sirius’s eyes the next morning. He eventually gave up on teasing you when he was met with silence; you ignored the pressure of his confused stare for the rest of the day.
Regulus cries out, twisting in the hospital sheets. You leap up, snapping out of your half-asleep daze, and protect his arm from his thrashing. His face twists into a pained expression, and his nearly translucent skin is slick with cold sweat. He almost glimmers in the moonlight. He’s beautiful in the way ancient portraits are; untouchable, ethereal, somewhere between dead and alive. You push back the dark hair that’s clinging to his forehead, furrowing your eyebrows as you inspect him.
It’s just a nightmare. You should’ve given him a dreamless sleep draught- he looks like he hasn’t had rest in weeks-
“No, no…” he mumbles, lips twitching. His dark brow pulls taught over his tightly closed, sunken eyes.
You flounder for a moment before whispering, “It’s alright. You’re okay.” You purse your lips, unsure, and lay a gentle hand on his bicep. “You’re safe-”
“Don’t- don’t- wann- Sirri…”
You glance over at the side table drawer where you keep spare dreamless draughts. When you try to pull away, Regulus’s frigid hands suddenly grip your arm with unexpected strength.
His bleary eyes snap open, meeting yours confusedly. Regulus’s gaze flicks down to his hand before he rips it away, twisting his mouth into a snarl. You know you should feel afraid. You’re a fool to not be. This is the person that’s been trying to kill you, the person that’s almost succeeded twice- but you can only see the scared little boy cradled in his older brother’s arms.
“What-” he croaks, clearing his throat. “What happened?”
“You passed out when you were flying. Fucked up your arm pretty good. Relax.”
His eyes widen minutely before they fall down to his wrapped forearm. He takes in a shuddering breath, squeezes his eyes shut, opens them, and fixes them to the ceiling. A silence falls over you as you sit back down.
“I didn’t tell anyone. Nobody saw,” you say, tilting your head to him. “Just try to get some sleep. Do you want a dreamless drought?”
He looks at you, mouth agape, brows furrowed. You give him an expectant look.
“No,” he eventually rasps, wiping his face with his palm, “they don’t work on me. I-” he clears his throat, using his good arm to push himself up with a grimace, “I’m awake, anyway.”
You nod solemnly. They rarely work for you either. You pick up the novel you’ve been skimming, but you can’t focus on the page. Another pause, and your stomach churns with every passing second.
“I get nightmares, too,” you murmur. “I have since we were little.”
He looks at you with a tentative flash of curiosity behind his eyes. He clears his throat. “What about?”
You blink. Mother’s twisted snarl; the Dark Mark ripping through the skin of your forearm; Remus, crimson-stained and howling in pain; Sirius’s blank, milky, dead stare- “My friends getting hurt.”
He nods, but doesn’t respond. You stare at the words in front of you.
“What about you?” you tentatively ask.
Your words hang in the dead air.
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” you murmur, “but you can.”
He scoffs and turns his head to squint at you. Your eyes meet his over the book. “You wouldn’t understand.”
You feel a little smile curl the corners of your mouth. It’s weird talking to him like this- you typically only speak in knowing nods and fragmented, impersonal sentences about classwork. He's such a teenager, it's almost painful. “Why not?”
Regulus’s half-lidded glare narrows. “You aren’t-” he huffs, thinking. “You weren’t raised like I was.”
“How do you know that? You weren’t around all the time.”
He stays silent, moving his gaze to the far window. The moon is bright, despite it only being a crescent.
“Your brother said the same thing.” You can tell that catches his attention. “He said I wouldn’t get it since my parents aren’t as… you know. But they are. They are when we’re behind closed doors. Mother is cruel. Father is passive. I may not completely understand, but I can try, if you’ll let me.”
He turns away from you, his good hand reaching up to wipe his nose. He sniffs and keeps his face out of your view. His shoulders shake minutely.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” His voice trembles and cracks as he fumbles through the words. Your heart shatters with every syllable. He’s so young, too young to have this weight on his shoulders. Your throat feels thick and swollen, and you have to clear it before you respond.
“I always thought we had a lot in common. I know what it’s like to just… wish it would go away.”
“Maybe.” He swallows painfully. “But you’re not a Death Eater.”
There's a tense moment of silence. You stare at the back of his head, at the dark locks of curls, and feel your gut twist.
“No,” you whisper. “You’re right.” You feel frozen to your seat.
“Since when are you okay with…?” he trails off, gesturing to the bandage.
“I’m not,” you honestly reply, “but I know you wouldn’t do something like that willingly.”
Regulus’s spine straightens and his head snaps to you, his glare suddenly fiery. The splotchy pattern of red on his pale cheeks is the same as when he was a kid. “You know nothing about what I’d do. Nothing.”
“Yes, I do,” you reach out, gently putting a hand on his bandage. He flinches, but you keep your hand steady. You exhale your words in a rush, “I know how much you love Sirius. How far you’d go to keep him safe.” He rips away from you completely, eyeing you with disgust.
“Fuck Sirius, fuck you- you’re wrong.”
“Does it not get lonely? Keeping a secret like that? From your friends, from your brother?” His chest rapidly rises and falls in the silence, his hands and lips trembling. “Holding all of that in- that’s a different kind of pain, Regulus. I don’t know how you’ve held it in so long-”
“You stupid bitch- shut up!” he yells, face twisting into an unrecognizable grimace. You try to keep your expression placid despite the anxiety bubbling up your throat. “You have no idea what you’re getting into-”
He cuts himself off, his eyes meeting yours in a flash of realization. His lip trembles. You swallow and lean closer to him. It feels like the air is getting thinner with every breath- you’re lightheaded.
“I know. I know what you’re doing, what you’ve tried to do. And I’m not scared of you, Regulus. I can help you,” you whisper. You expect him to interrupt you with another yell, a curse, a punch- but he seems frozen in place, eyes wide. “I know you’re scared- I’m scared too. But it doesn’t have to be like this. They don’t care about you, Regulus- they wouldn’t do this if they cared about you.”
He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “You’re fucking up everything- you’re ruining everything-” he whispers under his breath.
“You don’t have to do this, Regulus.”
Tears slide down his cheeks. His shoulders drop, and he shoves his face into a shaking palm. He curls his knees to his chest, his broken arm hanging limply at his side. “They’ll kill me,” he whimpers. “They’ll kill them. We’ll all be dead by morning. I can’t- I fucked up, I fucked up- I’m sorry, I-”
‘Them’? Who’s ‘them’? His entire body is trembling with sobs, and his shoulders are pulled inward as if to shield himself from your view. You can barely stand the sight. You glance over at the place where Remus is hiding- an acknowledgement of his presence. Godric, you wish he could help, he’s so much better at emotions. He’d know what to say. You open the side table drawer and dig around, looking for a specific vial.
“I’m giving you a really strong sedative, alright? You need to rest. We can talk more in the morning. I’ll stay with you until then.”
When you look back, Regulus is staring up at you with watery eyes and a trembling chin.
His face hasn’t changed. His jaw has filled out a bit, and his cheeks have lost their youthful chubbiness, but his eyes are the same.
You’re not sure why you do it, but you disregard the potion and gather him in your arms instead. He clings onto you immediately, breaking down and sobbing into your shoulder; you sink into the mattress, waiting for him to let go.
Your cheeks are wet. You don’t move, even after his breath evens out, even after his fingers loosen their grip on your shirt, even when you ache from the uncomfortable position. You watch the first rays of dawn fall over the hospital wing, and Regulus’s back rising and falling in an even rhythm.
---
“He’s not dangerous.”
“He tried to kill you,” Remus spits, pacing in front of the hearth.
“He’s a hell of an actor if he is dangerous,” Abigail Bones says, twisting a lock of inky hair around her finger. “He cried like a baby.”
“Wouldn’t you?” you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “You lot keep forgetting- he’s barely fifteen-”
“And how old are you two? Seventeen, eighteen?” Ben scoffs, and you turn your head sharply.
“That’s different, you know it is-”
“What does it matter how old he is? He’s tried to kill you, twice, and put his own brother’s life in danger. He’s a threat. We can’t trust him,” Remus shakes his head, giving you a stern look. You flick your gaze up to the ceiling, where the spiraling rows of dozing ex-headmasters are sneakily listening along.
“He said ‘they’ll kill them’. They’re threatening to kill the people he loves. Wouldn’t you do the same if you were just a scared kid and your parents told you to?” you sink further into the armchair, sighing dejectedly. “He’s giving me the silent treatment, but he has to talk at some point, right? He can help us. I can convince him.”
Your voice rings in your ears- desperate, scared, delusional. Abigail’s wristwatch beeps, and she glances down with a sigh. “I need to go back and stare at the bugger. I’ll let you know if he does anything other than look at the wall. Moody’ll be up in a jiffy.”
You wave lazily at her as she leaves in a flash of dark skin and green robes. You run a hand through your hair, yawning. “What day is it?”
“Sunday,” Remus rumbles.
You laugh hollowly, rubbing your eyes. The sun just set behind the horizon- a slight tinge of orange creeps up the deep, cloudy sky. “We have our transfiguration exam tomorrow.”
“Jesus,” Remus sighs.
“You do, indeed,” McGonagall’s terse tone reminds you of her presence. You clear your throat and snap up in your chair, glancing over your shoulder to where she stands beside the headmaster’s desk.
“And we’re totally prepared for it,” you say, giving her a meek smile. She remains stone-faced, but her eyes flash with a strange, bittersweet expression.
“To bed. Both of you. You need rest, desperately,” she says, gesturing between yourself and Remus. You meet his eyes, shaking your head minutely.
“Ma’am, we can handle-”
“But I need to take care of-” you and Remus begin at the same time.
The headmaster raises a grey, bushy brow and cuts you off, “After providing Mister Black proper care, go straight to bed,” he sighs, standing from his seat. He makes direct eye contact with you. “I mean it. No tomfoolery. No shenanigans. No mischief. Goodnight.”
“But-” you start.
“Leave before I start deducting house points. I’d rather not lose the cup to Horace for the third year in a row,” McGonnigal snaps, rubbing her temple.
You follow Remus’s lead, hightailing it out of the tower.
“No tomfoolery or shenanigans or mischief,” you sigh. It’s much colder without the headmaster’s fireplace. A shiver slithers up your spine, and you link your arm with Remus’s, leeching off of his warmth. “Since when did this get so lame?”
Remus exhales from his nose, giving you a halfhearted smile. You press your cheek to his bicep, eyes half-shut in exhaustion. It takes quite a bit of effort to keep up with his lengthy stride.
“Do you still have the cloak?”
Remus pulls the silk cloth out of a pocket. “Mhm. Not sure how James hasn’t noticed yet.”
“Too distracted with exams, I bet. Alright, get that ugly mug out of my sight,” you drawl, pulling away from his heat with a grimace. You stop just out of earshot of the hospital wing, gesturing for Remus to dawn the cloak. He swings it on, poking his hand out of invisibility with a raised middle finger. You slap it away, snorting a laugh. Remus’s stifled chuckle is the only sign of his presence when you slip through the propped open door.
Hushed voices murmur behind Regulus’s privacy screen- a flickering candle casts a shadow of a wild head of hair on the curtain. Your eyes widen, and you slip your hand into your pocket to hold your wand. Creeping forward, you faintly hear Regulus’s rushed speech.
“-I had to take it, I had to- he’s going to kill them, Sirius. I know you hate them, but they’re our parents, and I can’t let them-” his voice cracks, and he falls silent. Your heart races, but your grip on your wand loosens. The sound of Regulus’s shaking voice whispering Sirius echoes in your head, filling up the space behind your eyes and between your ears, leaving no room for anything else.
“Reggie, we’re smart,” Sirius whispers. You haven’t heard his voice in forever, long enough that it feels like reopening a wound. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, trying to focus. “We can hide. I’ve got an apartment in muggle London sorted, we can just go, wait for it to cool down, maybe-”
“You aren’t listening,” Regulus spits, that anger snapping back into his tone. You hear him take a shaky breath before murmuring, “This won’t ‘cool down’. He’s stronger, smarter- I don't know how, but he's doing something dark to... change himself. I’d be surprised if Mother and Father are still alive. Not like you care.” He lets out a dead laugh, awkward and bitter. “But we’re next if I don’t...”
“Just tell me, Reg, please- what do you have to do? I could- maybe I could- If you can’t…?”
“I- He’s making me-”
You scramble to stand, letting your shoes noisily hit the ground as you walk to the bed. A faint curse comes from behind the curtain.
“Regulus?” you call, “You’re due for more elixir.” Just as you turn the corner you spot Sirius’s combat boot slipping under the bed frame, and Regulus frantically wrapping his forearm. His shoulders relax when he meets your eyes, dropping the bandage. You stare at each other for a moment as he catches his breath and you gather your thoughts. You move to his bedside.
“It’s just me,” you say.
“Thank Godric,” he mutters.
“You’re getting rusty, Sirius.”
“Bloody hell.” Sirius stands up and brushes himself off with a scowl on the other side of the bed. You can’t look at him- you only let yourself see the muddled outline and colors of him in your peripheral vision.
“What happened to the cloak?” you ask slyly on instinct- snarking at him is a reflex. You wince as you dig around in Regulus’s bedside cabinet.
“Don’t,” Sirius coldly cuts. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to relax the tremble in your fingers, before you begin to search again. You pray Regulus didn’t tell Sirius too much- with Regulus and yourself involved, Sirius would do anything, even if it puts him in peril. You can’t live with that.
“She saw it,” Regulus whispers, and your stomach clenches. You can practically hear Sirius gritting his teeth.
“And she didn’t say anything?” he spits, his glare hot on your cheek.
You take a deep breath. “It’s not my place. It’s not safe to talk about.” You shoot Regulus a look, hoping he understands- he meets your eye, but his expression remains blank.
“Safe? You’re worried about safety right now? My bloody little brother has the Dark-” Regulus cuts Sirius off with a shush, frantically shaking his head.
“You idiot, keep your voice down!” he hisses.
“Here,” you murmur, handing Regulus a bronze chalice full of purple liquid. He grimaces, giving you a look of disgust. “I know. Mandrake extract tastes like dirt. But I tweaked the recipe a bit, it should help with the nightmares now.”
“Nightmares?” Sirius says. You can perfectly see his expression in your head- eyebrows furrowed, right corner of his mouth twitched into a frown, eyes soft and concerned. You pull out your wand and begin assessing Regulus’s progress. “I didn’t know you still had those,” he finishes softly.
Regulus shrugs. “We don’t talk much.” He downs the potion in a few gulps, nose wrinkled.
“I-” Sirius starts, but Regulus cuts him off with a shake of his head.
“Don’t apologize. I haven’t been… warm, either, I suppose.”
There's a tense silence as you mumble incantations. You glance up at Regulus. “You’ll be good to go in a few days. Your arm is mostly healed, but I want to make sure. And you need rest.” What you really need is for Regulus to stay where you can see him. He could be discharged now, really, if you weren’t concerned for his safety. And yours.
Sirius nods, rubbing his jaw, and swallows thickly. “I- uh. I’ll visit you after my exam tomorrow, alright?”
Regulus blinks at him. “You have an exam tomorrow? Go study, Godric, Sirius-”
“Now I remember why we don’t talk much,” Sirius drawls. Regulus’s lip twitches up into a microscopic smile.
“Go.”
Sirius glances over at you, and you meet his eyes on instinct. He looks awful. Exhausted. You expect you look the same if not worse.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?” you ask, not sure what to say. His eyes soften as they flick over your face, and he nods.
“I had a good tutor for a while.”
He’s gone before you can respond.