Royally Fucked

The walk to the guest’s quarters was tense, and James wished he could blame it on the fact that they used to be Sirius’ chambers. It would be easy to attribute the tension in Sirius’ shoulders, the set of his jaw, and the poorly contained rage that was practically pouring off of him to the fact that he was marching to the room where so many of his worst traumas occurred. And some of it was likely due to that, of course. There was no way it could be easy for him to walk the same path he’d walked a million times, even though that felt a lifetime ago. 

But, as sometimes foolishly optimistic James could be, he knew better than to assume that all of Sirius’ upset was directed at his past. 

Rather, he knew the majority of the blame lay on himself, and his actions just an hour prior. Even as the many drinks he’d downed to drown out the nausea the entire situation filled him with worked to blur his memories of that dreadful lunch, he knew exactly what he’d done to piss off Sirius. It wasn’t as if he’d wanted to do it, he’d taken no joy in it, but he doubted that would matter all that much to Sirius. 

After all, James had sat right beside him and spoken about his little brother the very way Sirius had feared someone would. 

“Regulus is, if you raised him as I trust you did, precisely what I am looking for. Pretty, interesting, and obedient.” His own words rang in his ears, followed by another wave of that poorly dealt with nausea. His father would disown him if he ever heard word of James saying such a thing. And his mother? James didn’t want to even consider how she would react. 

They had raised him better than that. To them, it was bad enough he wasn’t marrying for love. Even if they hadn’t said anything about it, he knew how they felt. They had made it clear his entire childhood. Mum had gone through much of what Regulus was, from what James had gathered. His parents refused to tell him the tragic details, even after he’d fought in a literal war, but he had picked up enough from the hushed conversations he’d overheard. And he’d seen the effects, even now, after his parents had been happily and safely married for more than twenty five years. His mum’s nightmares, the way her hands shook if she made a mistake. All of the things he saw in Sirius. She’d been arranged to his father when she was far too young, from birth practically, for the political advantages. They were the same age, luckily, but she resented him for years, until their wedding. After that it was a love story for the ages. And that was what they wanted for James. Love. They would never dream of allowing him to have an arranged marriage, let alone one to someone going through what his mother had. They were only tolerating it because they knew he was doing it for good reasons. So if they had so much as suspected he’d even thought something like the awful things he’d spewed at lunch…Well, he imagined they’d be trying for a new heir as soon as his funeral was over. 

They’d likely be doing so soon, when Sirius was done with him. 

Their escort, a girl with stark white hair he vaguely recognised from their youth, left them in the sitting room just outside Sirius’ old bedchambers. Her eyes were a light green, reminding him for just a moment of what he remembered Regulus’  looked like. The way they studied him, as if their owner could read his thoughts simply by looking at him, reminded him further of the boy he was now set to marry. His fiancé. He thanked the girl nervously, hoping she’d attribute him stumbling over his words to the drink rather than being caught off guard. 

He was relieved for a moment when she left, if only for escaping the eerily familiar gaze, but he quickly wished she’d return. Sirius immediately left his side to stand by the large window on the far side of the room, crossing his arms across his chest and staring out of it as if he’d rather be outside. James didn’t doubt that he would. It seemed his parents had barely bothered to redecorate his room before they’d started calling it the guest chambers. He wasn’t sure if it was due to a lack of care, or the war draining most of their once seemingly limitless funds to redecorate. The room itself felt less grand, more empty, but all of the furniture was the same. Dark green armchairs set on each side of a small table, a sofa of the same colour between them. The window Sirius stood at normally had large black curtains drawn over it, a way to punish him as a child, but they were now open, tied neatly to the side and letting sunlight filter through. 

Perhaps that was why the room felt less intimidating than he remembered. Or maybe it was due to all of the things he had seen since he’d last been here, that the darkness of the Manor was more off-putting than scary. It was hard to be scared of the shadows that frightened him in his youth when the memories that haunted his own head were darker than they could ever be. Or perhaps it was the fact that he knew he had power here now, that no one would dare storm in at any moment and drag Sirius away to be punished like had happened one of the few times he’d been there when they were young. Regardless, at the current moment the scariest thing he faced in the sparse room was a silent, seething Sirius. 

“I might just go to sleep now. Pass the time until we leave tomorrow,” James said, feeling more uncomfortable around Sirius than he could ever remember feeling. The cold that was practically radiating off of him was only matched by the cold look Sirius gave him, followed by him raising one of his shoulders in an uninterested shrug. “I uh-...I wonder when they’ll let Moony and Lily in here. They have to eventually, right?” He asked, though he knew the answer. They did, and they would. He was just hoping to get some sort of response from Sirius. The silence was undeniably worse than the yelling he’d expected. Padfoot was many things, but quiet was rarely one of them. He wore his emotions on his sleeves, and was far from afraid of yelling when he was mad. So the silence was off putting to say the least. Sirius took a deep breath in and James tensed, preparing for the shouting. It didn’t come, instead Sirius just rolled his eyes and went back to staring out of his window. James sighed, his shoulders dropping. 

“Come on Sirius, would you please just talk to me?” He pleaded. Sirius didn’t react. “Yell at me, call me names. Fuck, you could hit me if you wanted, so long as you would bloody speak to me,” James rambled. He imagined it might’ve been embarrassing how quickly he was reduced to begging by just a few minutes of silence from Sirius, if he was anyone else. But he wasn’t anyone else, he was James Potter and he had never experienced this sort of coldness from Sirius. And he was certain he would do far worse than beg to make it stop. He didn’t have to though, because Sirius rounded on him, taking a few calculated steps towards him, his eyes narrowed in disdain. 

“My apologies, Your Highness,” He drawled, in his performative aristocratic voice he rarely used. He brought a hand to his chest with poised grace, feigning regret. “I was under the impression that silence would please his majesty, in place of my normal…How did you put it? Strong headed behaviour,” He said, and smiled. It was not the smile James was used to. Normally Sirius’ smile was all teeth, because he did everything in life so whole-heartedly he couldn’t even smile without putting the entirety of himself into it. It was a source of warmth, something that made James feel safe. Something that felt like home. This smile was unpleasant, forcefully sweet to hide the bitterness lying just below it. It looked like Walburga, swallowing her hatred of him in favour of sucking up to him. 

“That's not…Pads, You know I didn’t mean that,” James frowned. “You know that I didn’t mean any of it,” He added, not quite able to say exactly what ‘any of it’ was. Something hot flashed across Sirius’ face, his expression unwavering except for the steely cold of his eyes momentarily turning into something molten. 

“Oh no, Your Majesty, please explain to me exactly how little of your speech you meant,” Sirius prompted, his rage thinly veiled. James swallowed, unable to find his words between the alcohol and the anxiety that were swirling together in a terrible mix. “Go on. Tell me, Your Highness, how you didn’t mean a word of the things you said about my little brother. Explain to me how you could say such…such evil things about my brother and not mean a word of it,” He said, nearly choking on the venom in his words. Any pretense of respect was gone, and he was left with the anger. The hatred he seemed to have for James in that moment. As if any love he’d ever felt for him had turned into loathing the moment James had said what he had about Regulus. 

“I didn’t…I wouldn’t-,” James stuttered, trying desperately to figure out how to fix this. Sirius knew that he wasn’t like that, didn’t he? He had known him for so long, had trusted him with his life and then trusted him with Regulus’. Surely he didn’t think so lowly of him? 

“Oh but you would. And you did,” Sirius interrupted. He stalked towards James, just a few more steps. “You made it so very clear how you view me. How you view Regulus. I hope you are proud. You have managed to fool me for years, to hide who you truly are. For what purpose, I cannot imagine. I do not pretend to understand the minds of ‘people’ like you. You have succeeded in whatever your goal has been,” He narrowed his eyes. He drew himself back, standing in his best posture. 

There was a moment of silence, a single second for James to process everything Sirius had just accused him of, before his back was hitting the ground. He hadn’t even seen Sirius start running, hadn’t had a moment to react. And he still couldn’t react as he was splayed on his back, Sirius on top of him, because he’d gotten the wind knocked out of him. And quite possibly a concussion, thanks to his crown cracking against his skull when it bounced off the hard castle floor, something he’d have to have Lily check for if he survived. Sirius had one knee on each side of his abdomen, one hand pressing his shoulder to the floor and the other holding something cold and metallic to his throat. 

“Sirius-” James choked out, doing his best not to move. Sirius snarled at him, his face scrunched up into something animalistic. 

“Shut up, shut up,” He shouted. It became clear to James then that he was holding back tears, that hatred wasn’t the only reason he’d narrowed his eyes. His hand shook where it pressed what James could only assume was a knife to his throat. 

“No,” James said, firmly. Adrenaline had begun to course its way through his body, and he was finally able to think clearly, his mind sharpening the way it did when he was fighting. He was fighting against it, too, the sensation threatening to tip him to that point where memory mixed with reality. He couldn’t let himself slip into that, there was too high of a chance he’d hurt Sirius. He focused on the pressure of Sirius leaning on his, the smell of his cologne that he associated with safety, the cool grey of his eyes. 

“Hear me out. Please. Allow me the chance to explain myself,” He said, swallowing carefully, “And if you are unconvinced of my intentions, you are more than welcome to drive your dagger into my throat and kill me,” His voice shook as he spoke. It’s just Sirius, he reminded himself, focusing on his breathing. On the cold of the floor beneath him. On anything he could that would ground him in this moment, in what was real. 

Sirius wet his lips, considering. James believed for a second that he was just going to kill him, to press down with his blade and swipe until James was breathing in his own blood rather than oxygen. Until James drowned on dry land, in a pool of red not unlike the color of his kingdom. A bit of home, in a way of cruel irony. 

He could stop him, if tried. He knew it would be easy enough to throw Sirius off of him, to disarm him and incapacitate him until Remus could talk some sense into him. But…A part of him believed that if Sirius found him worthy of death, deemed him so utterly corrupted he deserved to be taken out by the one person who shared his soul, then he must be correct. Sirius knew him better than he knew himself. If there was anyone who could make that judgement, more than the reaper, more than the Fates themselves, then it was Sirius. 

And he supposed that that was mad, the type of thought that he ought to be committed for. Sirius was clearly not in his right mind, it was likely he had been triggered by James’ perceived betrayal and was now having an episode. He was in no state to make a judgement on the quality of James’ soul. Remus would have the both of them mentally evaluated if he found out. But James felt right in his decision to hand that choice to Sirius, no matter what state he was in. If he didn’t correct this now, then his relationship with Sirius would likely never recover. And, in all honesty, he was sure that he would find no reason to continue living if Sirius was not a part of that life. Sirius was an extension of himself, a piece of him so integral he wasn’t sure he could function without him. Calling him his best mate did not do it justice. 

There were stories of soulmates, of how humans used to be two people combined before they were split apart for whatever reason. James did not believe in those stories, not really. How could any one person be made so perfectly for you that it is as if you were once one? It was absurd. It was even more absurd, how deep down James had always felt as though Sirius was his other half. The moment they had met it was like the universe had clicked into place, and everything in the world had finally made sense. He loved him so deeply that once  he had almost believed himself to be in love with him. He wasn’t, not truly. Remus and Sirius were made to be together, the way the moon was made for the stars. Or perhaps the way the moon was made for wolves to howl at, to pour their souls into. Whatever the metaphor he chose, Remus and Sirius were perfect, even if they themselves were still unaware of it. 

Whatever the reason, Sirius was the most important person in the world to him. They had always been friends, he knew it, in this life and every other. They had lived a million lives together, they had to have. It was the only way to explain the way that he knew Sirius’ soul as if it was his own, the same way Sirius knew his. And that was why James stayed where Sirius had him pinned, even though he could so easily escape, awaiting his chance to plead his case before accepting his judgement. 

“Fine. You have one chance. But if I so much as suspect you are lying,” Sirius pressed down on his blade, adding just enough pressure that James could feel the sharp edge of it digging uncomfortably into his skin, “I will do it. Without hesitation,” It was a promise, rather than a threat. Sirius had never technically seen official time on the battlefield, it would have jeopardised his position as liaison, but that didn’t mean he had never taken a life. They had all done what they needed to to survive in the end, and not even he had managed to escape it. 

James had one chance, then. 

At least if he died he wouldn’t have to marry Regulus, he thought. It wasn’t much comfort. 

“I said many awful, terrible things to your family. I do not blame you for wanting to kill me now. I understand that, if I truly believed any of the things I had said, it would be your only way to protect Regulus,” He started, taking deep breaths to keep himself grounded. “But I don’t. You know I don’t. You are headstrong, that part I will admit to, but I would never…I would never view you or Regulus or any person the way I portrayed at lunch. I have nothing but respect for you, you know that. For Fates sake, I am marrying your brother simply because you asked me to. Because I would rather discard any chance I had to avoid an arranged marriage than allow your brother to be forced into a nightmarish situation,” He bit his lip. Sirius’ gaze softened a bit, tears fully falling down his face and onto James now, and he scanned James’ face for any trace of deceit. 

“I am sorry, I truly am. Saying those things…Nearly made me ill, in all honesty. But I knew that your parents would never buy that I wanted to marry Regulus if I couldn’t provide them with a reason. And as desperate as they are, I doubt they would marry him off to someone they knew was doing it out of pity,” James said. Sirius’ grip on his shoulder loosened. “I needed them to believe me. And I knew that they would sooner believe that I was like them, that everyone deep down is as despicable as they are, before they believed I wanted to marry Regulus for no reason at all. But Sirius, I am not like them. I don’t think like them.  I would sooner die than believe what they do. I swear it to you. But if you believe there is even a chance that I am, that there is the slightest possibility I intend to hurt Regulus, then I more than understand what you must do. I will not die with any anger in my heart towards you, Sirius. I will die loving you as I have my entire life, and that is far from the worst way I can think of going,” He finished. He dropped his head back to the floor and closed his eyes, waiting for the worst. Waiting for the skin of his neck to give way to metal, for the tearing of his muscle and flesh, for the pain that would only give way as his vision began to fade into nothing. He closed his eyes only so that Sirius would not have to know the trauma of seeing the life fade from them. 

Metal clanged against the floor as Sirius’ knife was flung across the room. James opened his eyes in surprise just as the weight of Sirius’ body left his own, and he sat up to see him sitting in front of one of the armchairs. One of his knees was bent, the other splayed out in front of him, and he leaned back on his hands. He looked as if he’d been thrown across the room rather than moving of his own accord. His face was streaked with tears, and his shoulders shook as he devolved into sobs. James was moving before he could think to regret it, pulling Sirius against his chest and hugging him fiercely. 

They sat in silence, aside from Sirius’ sobs. James didn’t cry, which surprised himself. He found that he couldn’t, that there was not a part of him that found the situation one to cry over. He had looked his best friend in the face and accepted a death at his hand and he did not regret a moment of it. Perhaps he was insane for that. Perhaps the rumours were true, the war had truly gotten to him and ruined something in his mind. But if he had died just then, he would have understood. Regulus meant more to Sirius than James could ever hope to understand. He did not have any siblings, Sirius was the closest thing he had to one, but he knew that he would kill for them without hesitation if he did. Sirius saw it as his duty to protect his brother, no matter what it took. And while James knew that he would sooner die than cause Regulus intentional harm, Sirius would never be able to truly be sure. He could believe with everything in him that James would never hurt him, but there would never be a foolproof certainty. Not after the life Sirius had lived. After the betrayals he had faced at his parents’ hands. At the hands of people who were once his closest friends. 

They had all trusted him more than nearly anyone else in the world, they had put their lives in his hands countless times. They knew him as well as they knew themselves. But he had still betrayed them. He had still done what he did. And James would be a liar if he said it hadn’t broken something within all of them. He still trusted Sirius and Remus with his life, with everything he held dear to him, but he knew now how risky of a decision that was. Because they had all learned first hand that it didn’t matter how well you thought you knew someone, or how many years you had spent with them as your closest confidant. There was never a one hundred percent guarantee. And James understood more than anyone how much it took for Sirius of all people to trust him with his little brother. Which was why he would have understood if he had decided that it wasn’t a risk he trusted him enough to take anymore, after the way he had acted. 

James wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, with Sirius’ head buried in his chest, his tears soaking the fabric of James’ stuffy dress clothes. It was long enough that the sun shifted from its place of early afternoon to mid afternoon. They only parted when the door to the sitting room was opened, both of them tensing, expecting the worst. 

Instead, they parted to find their friends staring at them, faces matching in their concern. 

“What happened?” Lily asked, tucking a piece of her red hair that had fallen from her neat bun behind her ear. Neither of them had the chance to answer before Remus was crossing the room, dropping to his knees and taking Sirius’ face in his hands. 

“You’ve been crying,” He said simply, his eyebrows furrowing. James stood, walking across the room to give them space. He didn’t hear the rest of their conversation, it was made up of hushed whispers and quiet reassurance, Sirius’ hands coming up to cover Remus’ where they sat on his face. And just like that, it was as if no one in the world existed besides the two of them. They were drawn together as if by gravity, pulled tight by invisible strings. Destined for each other, really. 

If only they weren’t both too daft to realise the feeling was mutual. 

“Hopeless, the both of them,” James said in greeting, offering Lily a small smile. She returned it, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She studied him carefully, searching for any indication of what might’ve been wrong. Eventually, she zeroed in on his neck. 

“You’ve a mark,” She frowned, bringing her hand up to gently trace her fingers against where Sirius’ knife had been earlier. James’ breath hitched in his throat at the touch, goosebumps spreading through him. 

“I’m alright, really,” He assured, grabbing her hand in his own and bringing it away from his throat. She drew her eyebrows together, clearly unconvinced. “Really, I am. Me and Sirius had…A bit of a tiff, over some of the things I said at lunch,” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. He ignored the pang in his head, deciding it was best not to tell her the extent of things quite yet lest she lecture them both. 

“You didn’t mean any of it. We all know you didn’t. He out of all of us  knows you far too well to believe you meant any of that nonsense,” Lily’s frown deepened. “He can’t have thought you did,” She said, almost to herself. As if Sirius’ behaviour was so baffling she had to reassure herself he couldn’t possibly be telling the truth. James spared a glance at Sirius to ensure he and Moony were still so caught up in each other there wasn’t a chance he’d hear him. They were, by the looks of it. Sirius was talking about something, hands waving as he did, and Remus was staring at him with so much love it made James feel nauseous. Disgusting, the both of them. 

“Can you blame him? After Pete…” He trailed off. He didn’t like speaking about him, none of them did. Not anymore. But he couldn’t let Lily go and get upset at Padfoot over the whole thing. Her green eyes widened in realisation, before her face shifted to something close to heartbreak. 

“You aren’t him,” She said after a moment, bringing her eyes back to his. They shone with unshed tears. “You are nothing like him,” She reiterated, her voice tight. James brought her hand that was still in his to his chest. 

“I know Lily, I know. But after everything we’ve been through, you can’t blame him for being distrustful,” He said gently. “We’ve sorted everything now. It will do you no good to be upset about it,” He wet his lips. They both knew she’d worry about it anyways, but he figured he might as well try. She nodded half-heartedly. 

“Alright…” Lily sighed. “Oh! I’ve a meeting with Regulus' handmaiden later. I thought I ought to clear things up amongst the staff before rumours start to spread,” She said, happy to change the subject. James bit his lip. 

“I appreciate it. I’d hate for Regulus to hear something awful about me before I even have the chance to convince him I’m not evil,” He mumbled. He’d decided at some point that it was for the better that Regulus hadn’t shown for lunch. He imagined the whole thing would have only been a million times worse if he was there, as disappointed as he was to have not gotten the chance to see who he’d grown into. It’d help to at least be able to put a face to his impending doom. 

“I figured as much,” She shrugged. Her eyes scanned his face again, and her lip quirked up fondly. “You look exhausted. I’ll draw you a bath and set out some sleep clothes for when you get out, alright?” She offered. Normally James would insist he could draw his own bath and pick his own clothes, thank you very much, but she was right. He was exhausted. The weight of everything that’d happened hit him at once, and he just wanted to sleep. A bath first was wise though, he’d feel disgusting when he woke up without one. So he just nodded. 

“Yes, please. Thank you, Lily,” He said softly. And before he knew it he was in bed, smelling vaguely of mint and whatever else was in the fancy bath potions Lily’d poured into the tub. 

-

Eventually Pandora had convinced him to let her in. She didn’t say anything, just drew him a bath in silence, humming some lullaby she knew from her childhood. Regulus let himself be relaxed by her presence, and the heat radiating from the tub as she filled it with dozens of foams and flowers and lotions. He had no clue what any of them did, but he liked the smell of them. Soft mint and something that reminded him of rain. He brushed his teeth as she filled the tub, and chugged the pitcher of water she’d brought up. He let her help him out of most of his clothing, and let her wipe the mix of eyeliner and tears off his face. He felt a bit bad, letting all of his friends’ work go to waste, even if he hadn’t seen it as necessary in the first place. 

“What happened?” Regulus asked as she finished getting his bath ready. He winced at how strained his voice sounded. His throat hurt, and the clear evidence of his little episode filled him with shame. He had been wanting to ask since he opened the door, but he kept stopping himself before he could gather the courage. Part of him didn’t want to know. Wanted to remain oblivious to his fate for as long as possible, to enjoy his bath and sleep in peace. The rest of him said it didn’t really matter, he would likely be beaten for his failure to attend no matter how the lunch had gone. Potter could have shot sunbeams out of his ass and begged to marry him lest he die of a broken heart, or revealed himself as secretly loyal to the Dark Lord and explained how marrying Regulus was all part of his master plan, and when it came down to it his parents would still beat him within an inch of his life for making them look bad. The scars that spanned his back hurt, as if they too were anticipating the fresh ones that would join them in decorating his skin when Mother got out whatever her weapon of choice would be. 

“Kreatcher came up to fetch you, and I told him you were sick,” Pandora said, her voice gentle but tense. She finally stood, wiping her hands dry on her apron. Regulus frowned. There had to be more to it than that. Even if she hadn’t been on staff for lunch, Pandora always knew what happened. She heard it through the grapevine, the quiet whispers of gossip only servants could know. If she wasn’t telling him, it had to be bad. And if she actually didn’t know, it had to be even worse.

“What else?” He prompted, wrapping his arms around himself, wishing he could disappear. He hadn’t felt insecure around Pandora in a very long time, even as he stood in front of her in just his pants, but everything felt wrong today. 

“I don’t know. No one who was at lunch will talk,” She frowned, clearly frustrated, “For once, the fear of your parents outweighs the staff's desire to talk. What ever happened, your parents have it under tight wraps. But I’m going to see Potter’s handmaid later, once we can meet up without suspicion. She ought to tell me what happened.” She looked at him and her gaze softened. She kissed him gently on the forehead. She was almost as tall as him, taller than any girl he’d ever met, and she barely had to stretch to do it.

 “I’m sure it’s alright. Your parents have no reason to refuse his proposal,” She reassured him. That was exactly the problem, but Regulus didn’t say that. He knew that she wouldn’t understand, the way that Barty and Evan still didn’t. How could he explain that he knew perfectly well that Potter was likely his only hope at any sort of freedom, and yet he would rather throw himself in the lake than marry him? How could he sound sane whilst saying he would rather live a miserable life than be saved, if his saviour was to be James Potter?  He couldn’t. So he didn’t try. He didn’t say anything, just kissed her forehead in turn. It was one of the few forms of affection he showed his friends, and he only ever did it with her. Barty, despite his madness, was his best mate, his closest friend in the world, really, but Pandora was his sister. His comfort. Something different entirely than the relationship he had with Barty and Evan. She gave him another soft smile before leaving the bathroom, closing the door behind her. 

She was more anxious then she was letting on. Pandora rarely left a conversation in such a state. Normally, Regulus would have had to force her out before she left willingly, especially after he’d had such a fit. None of them had ever seen him behave like that, and that meant she was bound to be worried about him. The only way she wouldn’t be fretting over him nonstop was if she was distracted worrying about something worse. 

He wished he hadn’t asked. 

Regulus had taken his time in the bath, finding comfort in the warm water even as he felt his life fall apart around him. He was in there for an absurdly long time, trying to hold on to that comfort for as long as possible, and only getting out when the water was too cold to hold out anymore. He found a silk set of pajamas, a light charcoal set that had been his favorite since he got it, waiting for him on his bed, along with a chocolate cake someone must’ve snuck him from the kitchen. There was a note beside it, written in a sprawling print he knew belonged to Pandora. 

‘Barty stole the cake for you. Eat it, you’ll need some strength. 

Sleep well, 

Dora’

He wasn’t one to argue with her when it came to matters of his health, so he scarfed down the cake with less grace than he’d like to admit to. She was right, of course, because the moment he’d begun eating it he realised he was starving. His parents wouldn’t be pleased he was eating something so sugary, but surely they’d be more upset if he caused a scene by fainting? He doubted it, but he downed the cake regardless. It was his favorite, of course. As much as he and Barty bickered they still knew each other as well as they knew themselves.

When he was finished with the cake, and yet another entire pitcher of cold water, he curled up in his bed, the curtains drawn shut around it to block out the light. He was exhausted in a way he hadn’t been in years, since Sirius had left at least. The brutal kind of tired that only such intense emotional turmoil could bring, that sunk into his bones and made him heavy with its presence. Before he knew it he was asleep, buried in his green duvet and mountain of pillows. 

Despite his ever growing anxiety, he spent the majority of the day sleeping. He woke up once to tell Barty to leave him alone, when he heard him making a racket trying to pick the lock on his door. Another time he woke up because Kreature had insisted on bringing him food, even after he told him several times he didn’t want any. The thought of eating anything else made his stomach clench unpleasantly.

Kreature had ended up being right, like he always was. He and Pandora were similar in that way. When he brought the food in, Regulus had protested, but then he smelled the food and his stomach had growled embarrassingly loud. In the end, he had eaten so much food he felt like he was going to explode. 

He was half certain that Kreature was magic in some way. He’d worked for the family since before Regulus’ father was born, and definitely looked it. A short, squat man with large ears and hair whiter than the Malfoy’s, though his undoubtedly received less maintenance. Despite his age, he was surprisingly strong and never seemed to get tired. You could find him wandering around the Manor at all hours of the night, always on the hunt for a mess to be tidied or a person to be fed. He always knew when Regulus needed something, even when he himself didn’t. Even when he protested to no end that the ancient man was wrong this time. 

Regulus found himself realising just how much he would miss the man when he left.

Other than those (mostly) welcomed interruptions, Regulus slept soundly. He’d expected his mother to storm in at some point to scream at him about how insolent and disgraceful he was, before dragging him out of his bed, potentially by the hair, to remind him what behaviour was expected of him. But she never did. One of the times his sleep had lightened and he was in that strange place just between true sleep and consciousness, he distantly thought that must’ve meant the lunch went well. Better than he could have anticipated. It was not a comforting thought. 

Regulus jolted awake as someone knocked on his door, loud and demanding. It was less of a knock and more of an outright pounding on the dark wood, the door rattling in its frame. He froze for a moment, the hair rising on the back of his neck. He sat up slowly, dread making itself at home in his stomach, assuming it was his mother. She’d finally come to make him sorry for his disappearing act. He suddenly felt like he was going to throw up all over again, which would only make matters worse for him. 

But then whoever it was knocked ‘A Shave and a Haircut’ into his door and kicked the last two beats as loud as possible. Must’ve been Barty then, the prick. He’d already sent him away once, but he supposed he should’ve known better than to believe Barty would listen. He might’ve found the persistence sweet if he were anyone else. His best mate was so worried about him that he was trying everything he could to check on him. 

He wasn’t anyone else though, he was Regulus Black, and he found Barty Crouch Jr to be the most insufferable twat on the planet, even if he was his closest friend. 

“Go away!” Regulus shouted, not bothering to get out of his bed. Barty couldn’t open the door anyways, his lockpicking skills were shite despite years of practice, and he’d likely get bored sooner rather than later. That assumption was proven right when after a few more insistent knocks, Barty left. Thank Fate for his short attention span. Why he was so insistent on waking him, he couldn’t imagine. Surely he understood that it would only serve to start a row. Then again, knowing Barty, that might be what he wanted. Regulus didn’t spend any longer dwelling on it. Trying to understand the mind of a madman would only lead oneself to insanity, even if Barty wasn’t actually mad most of the time. He let his eyes slip shut, sinking back into the warmth of his bed. 

He nearly jumped out of his skin when his bed curtain was thrown open. His eyes struggled to adjust to the light of late afternoon as the intruder opened his window curtains, letting in far too much light. His head gave a sharp throb in protest, and he attempted to silence it by blindly flailing his arm at his bedside table until he found the water that’d appeared there at some point during his nap, likely due to Kreacher. He drank more than he’d anticipated, dehydrated from his busy day of crying and sleeping. He screwed his eyes shut when he finished, flopping backwards with all the drama his ancestors had blessed him with. 

“If you’ve come to kill me, you have shit timing,” He grumbled. Or perfect timing, he thought. But he couldn’t risk saying that aloud, not even to a potential murderer. If word made it back to his parents he had no doubt they would find some way to bring him back from the dead just to punish him. Or perhaps they had some way of torturing spirits. Nothing would surprise him, knowing his family’s history. Regardless, Regulus made himself comfortable in his oversized bed, preparing himself for death. He was met with a familiar obnoxious laugh instead of the sharpness of a blade or whatever he was meant to expect when he died.

He’d been wrong before. Barty may have been an insufferable twat, but he was far from the worst. That place was held by the intruder who, from the sound of it, was making himself comfortable in Regulus’ bedchambers. There was a thud as he kicked off the shoes he was wearing.

“Aw, c'mon Reggie. That’s no way for a boy of your breeding to talk,” Sirius’ voice taunted from somewhere to his right. “You look a right mess,” He commented, helpfully. Always known for thinking first and being kind, wasn’t he. Regulus responded maturely, as always, by throwing a pillow at him. He could only hope he hit his target, with the refusing to open his eyes and all. He must’ve, based on the dramatic sound his brother let out. 

“Alright, scoot over,” Sirius said, shoving Regulus to the left side of his bed, away from the warm spot in the middle he’d been carefully curating for hours now. He made his displeasure known by swatting at him with the little vitriol he could manage in his groggy state. If he’d been asleep all day, why was he still so exhausted? He suspected it had more than a little to do with the bloke jumping onto his bed like he’d never been taught an ounce of manners. What had living with the Potter’s done to him?

Nothing, really. That would imply he’d ever had any manners to begin with. 

“Sirius, if you are wearing your filthy travel clothes in my bed right now I swear to the Fates I will make myself an only child,” He threatened, throwing his arm over his eyes. It was still too bright in his room, even as his headache faded as he got further and further from unconsciousness. Why must Sirius insist on disrupting his peace any chance he was given?

“There’s no need for violence, I changed. I know how weird you are about that,” Sirius said, a smile clear in his voice. Regulus relaxed despite himself. Even though it had been years, it felt natural to fall into this rhythm of casual teasing. His heart tensed at the reminder of how long it had been since he’d spoken to his brother.

“It’s not weird, it is perfectly reasonable not to want outside germs in my very clean bed,” Regulus huffed. “How did you even get in here? I am fairly certain my door is locked, and I don’t recall you having the ability to walk through walls,” He asked, letting his curiosity get the better of him. It was easier than asking about all of the things he really wanted to know about. 

“Please, you and I both know there are more ways around this house than just the hallways and doors,” He replied, stretching out on Regulus’ bed. He was right, even if Regulus had mostly forgotten about the hidden passages and doorways in the Manor since he’d left. He had no need for them without the childish prank wars he always managed to find himself dragged into. Regulus shoved at him as he intentionally threw an arm and a leg over him, and before he knew it they were wrestling, previous concerns about the room's brightness gone. It felt natural. Right. The rhythm of fighting with Sirius came back to him easily, as if he had only been gone for days rather than years. Their fight ended when Sirius jammed his fingers into Regulus’ side, tickling him until his stomach hurt from laughing and he was forced to tap out. 

“You should know better than to challenge me, Reggie. I always win,” Sirius grinned, leaning back on the mountain of pillows and crossing his arms behind his head. He didn’t stay like that for long, his inability to sit still getting the better of him. He pulled a cookie from Fate knows where, throwing a second one at Regulus’ face. He caught it with only mild difficulty and stuck his tongue out at Sirius in turn. 

“You always cheat, you mean,” Regulus scoffed, aiming for annoyed despite the fact he was still panting, trying to catch his breath after their antics. He was certain his face was red and splotchy, though if it was from the laughter or the tears was anyone’s guess. He made a face at Sirius, opening the paper that was wrapped around the cookie carefully, in attempts to prevent any crumbs from making their home in his bed. Sirius shot him an offended look. “We outlawed tickling after the incident at your tenth birthday party,” He reminded him. Sirius’ face turned red at the memory. The incident in question was when Sirius had tickled Regulus during a wrestling match in an attempt to show off and Regulus had broken his arm in front of both Potter and Lupin. Sirius hadn’t lived it down until the cast had come off, and he’d bribed Regulus to stop bringing it up in front of Lupin. Regulus wouldn’t be surprised if his ego was still recovering. 

“Alright, alright,” Sirius gave in, “It was a draw then.” He offered, with a smile. He was looking at Regulus with something softer than either of them could ever say out loud. It was an admission in of itself, the closest they ever truly got to being open with each other. He had missed Regulus, as much as Regulus missed him. 

“Why did you never visit?” Regulus asked softly. It surprised him as much as Sirius. They didn’t talk about that sort of thing. Emotions and the like had never been their strong suit, not since they were small and their parents hadn’t fully broken them yet. Since then they’d been trained far better than to discuss something so below them. 

Still, Regulus found himself wanting to know. For a moment he was thirteen again, watching as his brother chose to leave him alone in the nightmare that was their home. It had broken his heart when Sirius left, as much as he’d refused to admit it. The first year he had visited for holidays, to keep up appearances no doubt. He’d written Regulus often, then, their letters more often than not going out to each other multiple times a day. But it wasn’t long until he stopped visiting all together and the letters became less and less frequent. Up until their parents had asked Sirius for help with marrying him off the most they ever wrote each other was a letter every few months that mostly consisted of confirming they were alive. He had lost his brother altogether, and it was almost worse mourning alongside his friends knowing the person he missed the most was still alive. They weren’t separated by death, instead Sirius had actively chosen to leave him behind in favour of his preferred brother. In favour of the sort of happiness Regulus would never have the chance to pursue. They had been inseparable, even though they were so different, for so long. And Sirius had thrown it away without so much as a back glance.

 Regulus had never gotten over it, even after eight years. 

“I’m so sorry, Reg,” Sirius said quietly. “I never stopped thinking of you,” He promised, as if that somehow took away the hurt. If he was so pained by their distance, why did he stop writing? It wasn’t as if Regulus hadn’t tried. He’d sent him letters pleading, begging for a reason in those first few months of silence. A fourteen year old kid begging for some sort of answer from the only real family he’d had.

“You…you have to understand why I didn’t want to be here, at least for the first few years. This place…it was a prison,” Sirius bit his lip. Regulus wanted to protest, to argue that it was their home. But he knew more than anyone how much of a prison this place was. How it sucked the joy out of you, just being here. Living every moment of your life shrouded in darkness and fear made it hard to remember the brief moments of joy you have. But the difference between them was that Sirius’ sentence had ended when he left. Regulus’ was for life. No matter how far he went, he  would never truly be free of this place. 

“By the time I’d gotten up the nerve to come back the war had gotten worse,” He ran a hand through his hair, his voice tight. “Dumbledore thought I was a spy, for the last few years of it all. Someone was leaking information to the Death Eaters, and of course they assumed it had to be me. It didn’t matter how much I’d given up for them, how dedicated I’d been to the Order. I couldn’t escape our last name. The blood that ran through my veins,” He explained, something bitter in his voice. He was angry, hurt even, by the implication that he might have any loyalty to their family. Of course he was. He had no idea how hard it was, how much it took to live up to what their family expected. “I could hardly take a piss without someone monitoring me. Everything I did was under constant surveillance. They didn’t trust me. So… If I came back here, or wrote you too often…” He trailed off, like he couldn’t bear to finish. 

“They would have seen it as confirmation that you were spying. That you were loyal to the Dark Lord.” Regulus finished for him. The words hung in the air for a long time, a heavy silence surrounding them. For the first time since Sirius had entered his room, Regulus could feel the distance between them. They had been on different sides of the war. Even though it was over now, it was still keeping them apart. Things like that didn’t just go away. Even if Regulus had never had a real choice. Even if he had been forced into a war he prayed each night he would lose. 

“I’m so sorry, Reg,” Sirius said again, his eyes shiny with tears, “I never wanted to leave you here. I never wanted to leave you with them.” His voice cracked. He brought one of his hands to cover Regulus’. Being away really had changed him. It had been eight years, and Regulus couldn’t help but see all the ways he was different. His hair was lighter, not quite so raven, bleached by time in the same sun that was responsible for the healthy tan he sported now. His eyes crinkled when he smiled, as if he’d been doing it so much over the last few years it had reshaped his face to hold its place there. He had matured, too. Gone was the scrawny fourteen-year-old boy Regulus had known, and in his place was an actual young man. 

But the changes were more than physical. His accent had changed, had shifted to something looser. More relaxed. So had his posture. It was straight in a confident way rather than the carefully practised way Regulus carried himself, as if he walked into every room knowing he belonged there. And he showed his emotions freely now, more than he had before. He had always been more open than Regulus, but it was even more obvious now. He couldn’t remember the last time his brother had cried in front of him, and yet here he was. Crying like it was something easy and painless to do. Sirius was different now. He had grown and changed, so far away. It hurt, knowing that his brother had grown without him being able to witness it. 

Never in his wildest dreams would Regulus have imagined he would grow up without his brother. But he had. He was different now, too. He was taller, less of a wiry preteen boy that was all sharp angles and mean looks and more…Not exactly softer. He was never allowed to be soft. But less gaunt, having filled out a bit in carefully curated ways. More than the physical, he was colder. Meaner. Outright cruel, at times, his behaviour reminding him of his parent’s more and more frequently. Having Sirius around had been like having a source of warmth, something to keep a little bit of himself safe from his parents’ abuse. That little bit of warmth kept him from freezing over entirely, the way his parents expected him to. Sirius was Regulus’ weak spot, always able to crack his facade. To make him a little more human. Always able to make him laugh, or calm him down during a fit. And, in his own way, he’d done his best to protect Regulus from the brunt of things. Taking the blame for his mistakes and brushing his concern off with a comment about how their parents already hated him. He was Regulus’ humanity, his connection to who he was before his parents had really gotten to him. A grounding point. A little bit of magic in the painful mundanity of his life, a spark that gave him light in the darkness of it all. When he left, he took it with him. Leaving Regulus to freeze over like the family lake, just one careful step away from cracking and splintering into something sharp and uncaring. 

 Regulus wasn’t sure if either of them had changed for the better.

“I…I understand.” Regulus said stiffly, fighting his own tears. He was tempted to leave it at that. Expected to, even. While Sirius had been learning how to wear his heart on his sleeve, their parents had been enforcing the opposite belief in Regulus. He had been more emotional and emotionally vulnerable in the past few days than he had been since he was a child, and it was not something he found himself enjoying. But… this was Sirius. He wasn’t just anyone. And Regulus couldn’t let him leave without knowing, not when there was too great of a chance that the next time they saw each other he would be incapable of this honesty. 

“I missed you so much Sirius. I was so scared…” His voice cracked and he hesitated before adding, “I thought I’d never see you again.” It felt odd to confess. These were the sort of things he’d never dared say aloud before, had only shown through outbursts that only his friends had seen. They were the only ones who knew how much Sirius leaving had truly and deeply hurt him. And even then, none of them acknowledged it outside of the hushed whispers they shared when he was having an episode. So admitting it out loud in the light of day was odd to say the least, but maybe it was for the better if he was to be moving so close to his brother. Not that he planned on changing in the ways Sirius had. He wasn’t even sure he was capable of that sort of change, his brief moment of vulnerability alone was making him feel like his throat was closing, like his mother would appear any moment to punish him for his display. But at least Sirius would know that Regulus did care for him, even if he was incapable of fully expressing it. .

For the second time, Regulus found himself being tackled. This time though, he was brought into a bone crushing hug, pulled tight against Sirius’ chest. They stayed like that for a while, just holding each other in silence. Regulus tensed for a moment, not used to the physical contact. Still, he found himself relaxing into the embrace, burying his face in his shoulder and taking in the fact that despite all the years he still smelled like Sirius. Regulus hadn’t realised how badly he had needed a hug from his brother. He wondered how long the desire for one had been weighing on him, how long it had felt like that piece of him was missing. How long he had been craving something he wasn’t even aware he was going without. 

And if Regulus had cried, that was no one’s business but his and Sirius’. 

“I won’t lose you again,” Sirius broke the silence, pulling back, leaving his hands on Regulus’ shoulders. “Once…Once you and James are married, I’ll get you out of here. We’ll live together again, I promise you,” His eyebrows were knitted together as he watched Regulus carefully for a reaction. For a rejection. Regulus contemplated it, rejecting him. Insisting that he would stay here, even after the wedding. It would only be to hurt him, in the end. To give him a taste of the heartbreak he’d put Regulus through. Even if he actually wanted to stay, bringing it up would be a pointless venture. He had no choice in moving once he was married. 

“So it's confirmed then? Father accepted his proposal?” Regulus asked instead of answering, refusing to acknowledge how weak his own voice sounded. Sirius nodded. “That’s that then, I suppose…” He said, letting his shoulders drop. He was tired all over again. He felt like he could sleep for an entire week the way he had today and still feel completely and utterly exhausted. It was a relief in some ways, finally having certainty in his fate for the first time in months. No more late nights wondering what would happen to him when his parents got tired of Sirius’ stalling. That being said, in every other way it was just dreadful. No, he would waste no more time wondering. Instead, he knew exactly what waited for him. An unnecessarily lavish wedding, a move across the continent, and a life spent in a loveless marriage to a man who likely hated Regulus as much as he hated him. 

“I’m sorry, Regulus,” Sirius said for the third time. Regulus doubted he’d ever heard his brother apologise that many times in his life, and as much as he would usually take joy in it, he well and truly wished he would stop. “If I had it my way you wouldn’t have to marry anyone,” He frowned. Regulus picked at his duvet, resisting the urge to point out that his marriage to Potter was Sirius’ idea. Sirius had done his best, really. He’d done well to protect him, as much as he loathed to admit it. Marriage to Potter would be dreadful, but likely far better than whatever his parents would have cooked up. At least Potter was, as much as he loathed to admit it, visually appealing.

“It’s alright,” He shrugged, “I always knew it’d happen eventually.” He forced a nonchalance he didn’t feel. Of course he’d always known it would happen. He’d have to be daft to pretend otherwise. And it had been so easy to accept, hadn’t it? Just another part of his duty to his family, same as his etiquette training and the endless hours of classes he took to make himself someone worthy of the family name. For most of his life it had all seemed so… hypothetical. The war was heading for the worse, the battles getting more gruesome rapidly. Potential suitors were dying at a startling rate. His family’s name was tarnished to anyone who didn’t follow the Dark Lord, and anyone with common sense knew his odds of winning were getting worse by the day. Regulus had, at some point, assumed that marriage would stay something he swore he’d do that would never develop into anything real. How could he fret about marriage when he went to sleep every night wondering if his family's home would be the next victim of the war?

But now the war was over, and the burden that felt like it would never catch up to him finally had.

 He was going to be married. He was going to be married to James Potter. A man he barely knew outside of whispered war stories and brief tales from his brother’s letters, and yet knew far too well to try to convince himself he might experience some modicum of joy in their union. He would have to move days away from his home. The only place he’d ever truly known. 

He’d visited the other kingdoms, of course. Well…some of them. Viridis and Prongston, mostly. His family wasn’t keen on holidaying in the High Kingdom, let alone Conch. But even those visits were long ago, before the war had made such things impossible rather than difficult. He would be so far from home, in a place that was practically the opposite from everything he’d ever known.

 The foggy mire of Vasiliki wasn’t pleasant, seeing as their seasons consisted of Rain, Humid Rain, and Sleet. The food was often bland, especially now that they couldn’t afford the luxury of importing food from the kingdoms where crops actually grew and game was abundant. Viridis, the only kingdom still charitable towards them, was covered in snow and ice half the year and had their own food struggles. But Vasiliki was home. And Prongston…Well it was the opposite of everything he knew. It was warm and sunny, agreeable weather even in the winter when it snowed just enough powder to make a pleasant time, and food there was known for being rich and flavorful. Aside from Conch, they had benefited most from the war. Not that they needed the economic boost, as the largest and most prosperous of all the kingdoms. 

His friends argued it was an upgrade, that Prongston was lovely. But it was hard to be excited about such a thing when nothing in his life would ever be the same again.

 It wasn’t the best, life at Grimmauld Place, but it was predictable. He knew what to expect from it, even when the expected was beatings and lectures. He knew when to anticipate being yelled at. How to behave to avoid punishment the best he could. He knew the expectations and rules for any and every situation he would find himself in. He knew exactly what times meals would occur, what to wear when, and who to trust. Life was boring, and painful, but it was safe. Understood. 

But Regulus knew nothing about Prongston, much less Potter. There was no telling what it would really be like. He didn’t know what was expected of him there, or if any of the tales he’d heard of an idealised land of peace and happiness were even vaguely true. As much as his brother swore Potter was a saint, as many times as Pandora reassured him everyone she’d spoken to absolutely adored him, he couldn’t truly be sure. There was no certainty in it. And even if Potter was perfect, there would still be new rules, new expectations. New routines. And that alone was enough to make Regulus’ stomach twist. 

At least he’d be closer to Sirius, he supposed. It wasn’t as comforting a thought as it once might’ve been.

“James isn’t the worst person in the world to marry,” Sirius smiled weakly. “I meant what I said in my letter. He will be good to you, even though you aren’t exactly in love with each other. Even if you hate him for your entire marriage. He is good, Reg. Really, genuinely good,” He said. And he meant it, he clearly did. 

Regulus felt a pang of guilt. Potter had only agreed to marry him for Sirius’ sake. Did Sirius even recognise how much his friend was giving up for him? He was sacrificing the potential to marry someone he actually liked, or loved, or at the very least didn’t completely loathe, just for Sirius. What was so special about him that people were willing to throw their own lives away for him? Why did everyone around him seem to shift until he was the center of their universe, the central point in which their gravity was focused? It had been that way their entire lives, and Regulus had never understood it. And yet, he fell for it too, didn’t he? He’d centered his life around his brother for so long that it had taken him years to rebuild himself when he’d left. 

And even as Sirius reassured him, Regulus wasn’t entirely convinced Potter would be good to him. Sure, he was probably a good friend. A great one, even. He may be an amazing man who cared about the people around him. A philanthropist who fights for equal rights, and gave up his youth to help win a war for the right side. He may live up to every fantastical thing people had said about him. 

But people who were married expected things. Things Regulus wouldn’t deny Potter if he asked. Couldn’t deny him. It was his purpose, he had been taught that since birth. Potter marrying him was a monumental sacrifice, and…Once Regulus was married to him, he would have to spend the rest of his life making up the burden that it would be on him and his family. In any way he expected. Any way he wanted. And Sirius may believe that he would never take advantage of that, but he had no way of really knowing, did he? That wasn’t the sort of thing anyone could really know until it happened, and as far as he was aware Potter had never been married before. 

“So I’ve heard,” Regulus cleared his throat, “My sources say he’s a good guy,” He said professionally, like they were discussing business dealings rather than gossip. He thought it was funny, but Sirius just furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Pandora. She hears everything,” He explained somewhat awkwardly, the failed joke serving as another reminder of how little he knew about who Sirius had become. 

“Oh that makes sense. Remus and Lily always know everything. I swear there’s like a secret newsletter for gossip that only goes out to servants,” He chuckled, then paused, suddenly turning serious again. “Hey, speaking of. You might…Hear about some stuff that James said at lunch today. It was…Well, it wasn’t great, if I’m honest. I’ve…I’ve never heard him speak like that before,” He admitted. He was poorly masking his distress about whatever had been said. Apparently he was rusty at the carefully taught ability to hide their feelings. Anxiety wormed its way into Regulus’ chest, wrapping around his ribcage and squeezing until he felt as though he couldn’t breathe. 

“But it wasn’t real, any of it,” Sirius asserted. “Bellatrix challenged him in front of everyone, and he just said what Mother and Father wanted to hear. What he had to, to convince them to marry you to him,” He bit his lip. He didn’t sound as certain as he seemed to think he did. Regulus’ stomach lurched. There it was. The other shoe finally dropped. If Potter’s views aligned with their parents’…Regulus was better off going back to his original plan of  jumping from his window. If one thing in his life was functioning the way it was supposed to, he could only hope it was gravity. 

“He doesn’t believe any of it, I swear,” He rushed out, when Regulus remained silent. “I’m only mentioning it because…well, I just wanted you to hear what he said from me before you hear it from anyone else,” Sirius paused. Regulus raised an eyebrow, and he continued. “He just…uhm, said some stuff about our family having proper breeding, and. Uh. Raising you correctly? And something about obedience, I think,” He hesitated, grey eyes searching Regulus’ face for something he wasn’t going to find. Regulus’ head was spinning, but he kept his face a mask of neutrality. Unlike Sirius, he was far from out of practice. 

“Oh.” Was all he said, choked out around the tightness in his throat. All he could say. Sirius may have promised that Potter didn’t believe that, but how was Regulus meant to believe him? What if Sirius just didn’t know him as well as he thought he did? They both knew from experience that it was easier than people thought to hide who one truly was. Or how they truly thought. Regulus felt the urge to retch again. It didn’t matter how hard Sirius had tried, there was no escaping the fate he was meant to endure. 

He wondered if it was his presence, that it was due to the rottenness of his own soul that a flip had switched in Potter’s head. The blood that coursed through his veins filled with a history so vile it could turn someone allegedly as kind as Potter to someone like his parents. Or maybe it was inevitable. Maybe fate had deemed him due for a life of pain and it would corrupt whoever it needed to make that happen. Maybe it was the world punishing him for the sins of his family, for failing to turn out good and brave like Sirius had. Maybe all of the months of stalling, of Sirius’ scheming and searching were pointless because if there was one thing history had taught him it was that you cannot outrun your fate. 

 Or maybe Potter had always secretly been as terrible as his own father. Maybe the wonderful James Potter was, deep down, just as hateful and malevolent as Orion himself. Perhaps that was why Sirius had been so drawn to him in the first place, some part of him recognising that cruelty from his childhood and desperate to receive the validation he’d never been able to before. Under all of the heroism, the golden boy act, Potter was just another man who saw people like Regulus as something to be owned. Something to be claimed, to be used however his sick mind pleased whether it was as a trophy, a punching bag, or something worse. 

Maybe Regulus was doomed to live the same life his mother had lived, the same one her mother before her had, an endless cycle of pain and cruelty enacted against him because he hadn’t had the foresight to be born before Sirius. The curse his family bore by their own choice, handed from generation to generation in a twisted attempt to make their name mean anything more than its brutal, cruel history. The Most Ancient and Noble House Black. Dukes and Duchesses of Vasiliki. Centuries of history and their most notable heirloom was still the trauma and pain they forced onto their children for the sake of tradition.

It was only when Sirius snapped in his face that he realized he had still been talking when he’d zoned out. 

“Are you alright?” Sirius asked, his voice quiet. Regulus just nodded. He was. He had no other choice than to be alright. “I swear to Fate he doesn’t actually think any of that stuff. He isn’t like that. He isn’t like them,” He didn’t need to clarify who ‘them’ was. Regulus simply nodded along to what he was saying. There was no point in arguing. In making his brother feel as though he had condemned him to the very fate he’d promised to protect him from. He might as well let him hold on to the belief that he had managed to save him. 

“And, if you ever so much as feel like he is, like he sees you the way our parents taught you he would, you can come to me and I’ll kill him myself. You can live a lavish life off the money you inherit as a widower,” His attempt at a joke came out broken under the weight of what he was promising. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you ever again,” He promised, more serious than Regulus had ever heard him. 

And Regulus wanted to believe it, he really did. He wanted to find comfort in the fact that his brother would be there to protect him. He wanted to believe that if it came down to it, Sirius would believe him and turn his back on the one person he valued more than anyone else in the world. That this time, Sirius would come to his rescue. That this time, he would stay. That if he did, he would actually be able to do anything to save him. 

Regulus was many things, but a believer wasn’t one of them. 

“Okay. I believe you.” Regulus mumbled. A lie, one of many he’d likely be telling his brother in the years to come. The physical distance between them may be decreasing, but he wasn’t certain the emotional one ever would. He wasn’t certain he would ever be able to look at Sirius without thinking about how different they were. About how lucky Sirius was. He had a choice. A chance. Sirius could be whoever he wanted to be, and the world would applaud him for it. Regulus would never amount to anything without being tied to someone like Sirius, who was treated as better than simply because they’d been born first. 

There was a long pause. Maybe Sirius was feeling what he was, taking in the inescapable distance between them. Or maybe he was finally realising that while he may have had reason to be blindly hopeful, Regulus never would. More likely he was thinking of a million things at once and nothing at all, all at the same time. 

“So, what’s happening between you and Lupin? You were mad for him last time I saw you. Did you ever…?” Regulus asked eventually, desperate for a chance to change the subject. To enjoy a moment with his brother that wasn’t overrun by dread and guilt and the pains of the past. Sirius’ face turned red, and he groaned into his hands before throwing himself backwards onto the bed and kicking his feet in the air as if he was throwing a tantrum, all while screaming into his hands. His antics were quickly followed by a monologue about how idiotic Lupin was, and about how Sirius felt like a dog humping his leg (ew) with the way he was throwing himself at him. 

It was easy to fall into the flow of conversation then. They talked for a few hours, long enough that the sun had set outside his window in favor of the constellations they were named after. They talked about pretty much anything and everything, doing their best to make up for lost time. How oblivious Lupin was to the fact that Sirius was in love with him, how Regulus thought Narcissa was pregnant, how their eldest cousin had publicly disowned the family. They spent a considerable amount of time talking about who Evan was, how Barty had grown up to be, and how the two of them had ended up falling in love despite the odds. How Pandora ended up being related to Evan, in a shocking turn of events, his twin sister that their mother had given to an orphanage as an infant in order to protect her from their father. Sirius had a blast informing him of all of the pranks he’d gotten up to while he was gone, of the havoc he’d wrecked on the poor Potter’s and how it was seen as endearing mischief rather than shameful misbehavior. 

They expertly avoided the subject of Potter, and the war. They danced around the fact that Sirius avoided mentioning Peter in every story he told, despite the fact that he was likely in most of them, skirted around how empty the Manor had been since Sirius left, and how Regulus’ days would soon be filled with wedding planning. It was easy, not talking about the things that really mattered. They had years of experience doing it and Regulus had a feeling they would have years more starting soon. They caught each other up on everything else, all of the things that seemed so important yet really mattered so little. All of the silly, lighthearted things that painted both of their lives over the last eight years as more peaceful and fun than they possibly could have been.

“Okay! Get out, I’m tired,” Regulus declared, after the end of yet another laughing fit. Sirius had just finished a story about the first dinner he’d attended at Potter’s, and how strange he must’ve seemed as an overly posh little kid, and it was too close to how Regulus imagined he’d feel quite soon. Exhaustion had seeped back into his bones, winning out against the warmth and adrenaline that speaking to Sirius had filled him with, and he wanted to sleep. Sirius pouted at him, like the child he still was. 

“You slept all day! Don’t be such a spoilsport,” He whinged. He’d grown so much, and yet he was still such a little kid. Regulus responded in the most mature way possible, like the adult he was, by trying to push him out of his bed. He almost succeeded, he really did, but in the end all he managed to do was cause another wrestling match.

 It was short lived, because halfway through Regulus just decided to play dead. He fell limp, closing his eyes and letting his tongue stick out in a way he would deny to anyone but Sirius. It was hard to care much about his image when it was just the two of them, when deep down they were still six and seven, kicking each other under the table and calling each other mean names when their parents weren’t listening. Besides, it was far easier to just wait until Sirius had lost interest in fighting him than to put the effort into actually beating him. 

“Oh no, my dear brother has died,” Sirius fake cried, rather dramatically, “I guess he’ll never know what I have in my pocket that was specifically for him,” He said, the same way one might tempt a toddler out of a tantrum with the promise of sweets. It worked. That alone was enough to get Regulus to jump back up to a sitting position. He was a big fan of gifts. He liked things, what could he say. He was a simple man.  

“I’m alive! What is it?” He demanded, eagerly making grabby hands at Sirius. To his surprise, Sirius faltered. He let his hands drop, frowning. “What is it?” He asked again, seriously this time. His childish behaviour fell to the back of his mind, he could be ashamed of it later. What sort of gift could Sirius possibly have brought for him that would elicit this reaction? Whatever it was, it seemed that he had misunderstood the purpose of gifts. They were meant to be good things, not things that made an odd sort of anxious sadness cross the giver’s face. Typical of Sirius to not understand something so simple.

“James asked me to give this to you,” Sirius bit his lip. Oh. That explained it, he supposed. He could only hope it wasn’t something archaic and gross like he’d heard stories of being given to fiancées that his brother had convinced himself was normal. “He wanted to give it to you himself, but you didn’t show at lunch. Just…give it a chance, okay?” He pleaded. Regulus understood the real question there. ‘Give him a chance?’  He would do no such thing, but that didn’t mean he would refuse the gift. That would be rude, wouldn’t it? Surely his parents would frown upon such behaviour. 

He let his curiosity win against his better judgement, nodding once. Whatever it was, perhaps it would give him a better idea of what he was getting himself into. Sirius reached into his pocket, likely the same one he’d made the cookies appear from earlier, and slowly pulled out a small black box. It wasn’t anything special, but it piqued his interest anyways. It must’ve been jewelry, nothing else came in a box like that. Not a bad gift, if Potter had truly decided on it. He doubted it was his idea, or that he’d even picked out whatever it was. Still, it was the right thing to bring. Regulus was a fan of shiny things, as his traitor of a brother had probably informed Potter. 

Sirius handed the box to him, and the world seemed to pause as he opened it. It all seemed so dramatic for some reason. It is just jewelry, he assured himself. Something shiny in attempts to make him more agreeable, no doubt. He flicked the lid on the hinged box open, forcing himself to get on with it.

In the box, sitting in plush red velvet that reminded him of what Potter had been wearing earlier, was something that made Regulus’ heart squeeze in a way he didn’t understand.

 A ring.

 It was simple, really. Regulus had owned more elaborate pieces when he was a child. A silver band that was engraved with the design of twin snakes, much like his family’s crest, facing opposite directions so the centerpiece had a head on either side, their tails reaching halfway up their counterpart’s body where they met on the bottom. Inlaid on each, starting just before their heads and leading to the center of the ring, were three yellow gems. No, not yellow. Gold gems. One of the colors of Potter’s kingdom. The centerpiece was a silver star that had four main points with a smaller point between each of them, set on the heads of the two snakes. And, fittingly, it had an emerald inlaid in the center. Green, gold, and silver all on one band. His family’s colors with Potter’s. A lump formed in his throat. 

It was far from the flashy jewelry he was used to receiving, the things his parents bought him to make them look richer than they were, though it undoubtedly cost a small fortune with the amount of detail work it had. He doubted Potter had even noticed the price. It was unimpressive, really, compared to the things Regulus already owned. A sad attempt to buy his favour.

He heard the stutter of his breath before he felt it.

“Reg?” Sirius asked, his voice uncertain. Regulus stopped him from saying anything further by putting a hand up, not raising his eyes from where they rested on the ring. There was another moment of silence, unbroken aside from their breathing and Sirius’ never ending fidgeting. 

“Get out, Sirius,” He said finally, his voice even. “I will see you soon. I wish to sleep.” He knew his voice was cold, cold enough that Sirius flinched away from it, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. It didn’t matter when Sirius dejectedly wished him goodnight, and goodbye with the brief hug Regulus barely allowed him as they were leaving first thing in the morning. It didn’t matter as he drew the curtains back across his window, blocking out the moonlight that’d been the primary source of light in his room. It didn’t matter as he watched the carriage pull away, catching one last glimpse of Potter and the others. 

It all seemed so distant, like he had left his own body and was just spectating the events of his life as they unfolded. How easy his life would be if he could live every moment like that.