Empty and Numb
Regulus
He was used to it. That was the problem.
Regulus walked down the corridor away from Sirius’s room towards his own, thinking over the interaction they’d just had.
He’d been telling the truth when he’d told Sirius that something was bothering him, but he hadn’t meant the train. No, what had truly been bothering Regulus was that, for the first time in his life, he’d been able to watch Sirius be whipped and not flinch at the sight of it. He had felt no sympathy, no sadness or fear. No discomfort. He had simply accepted it. He had taken it in, and moved on when it was done.
He had watched the whole thing. Every single slash of their mother’s wand, every single wince of pain in Sirius’s shoulders, he had watched. And seeing it no longer bothered him like it used to. He was fully desensitized. Numb to it.
Regulus got to his door, entered, and shut it after him. Then he went over and lay down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He splayed his legs and arms out to try to take up as much space on it as he could. It was too big. He was used to the one in his dorm at school. He then thought of how Sirius, unlike him, probably couldn’t lay on his back just then, and so he turned onto side. He curled into himself and closed his eyes.
Regulus thought back to the first time he had watched Sirius be physically punished. They were small, he couldn’t remember how old. Orion and Walpurga had been going through a difficult time with each other. The smallest things would set them off. Regulus had done something, an accident probably, and Sirius had taken the blame for him. Odd… Regulus couldn’t remember what it had been. It must have been bad; they had never whipped Sirius before.
Unlike tonight, it was their father who had done it that time. He had drawn his wand, and in a single swift movement, slashed at the air. Sirius had buckled in pain and confusion, not understanding what was happening to him or why. Regulus had realized what had happened though, and it must have shown on his face because Sirius had looked to him and everything had seemed to click. It was like Sirius aged five years in that single moment.
This was what it would mean to be the elder brother.
Orion might have stopped there if it weren’t for Regulus. He had made a noise. Not a sob, because crying was looked down upon, but it was close. He remembered feeling his eyes watering, but not so much that they spilled over. He could still see the pain in the dipping of Sirius’s eyebrows. He could see it in how Sirius clenched his jaw.
He didn't want to see though. He had turned his head down and away. He couldn’t stand to see his brother hurting.
His mother had been standing beside him. He knew she’d been watching Orion and Sirius, but he hadn’t known she had also been watching him. He hadn’t seen her hand coming, but if he had he would’ve thought she was reaching to strangle him, her fingers shooting towards his throat.
She hadn’t strangled him. She had grabbed hold of his chin roughly and turned it back towards his brother. She held on.
“Hold up your face!” she said.
Her nails had dug into his skin.
Orion had spoken up then. “You’re not an infant, Regulus!”
If that was true then Regulus had been only barely older.
“You are a Black! Don’t cower there as if it’s too much! You’ve seen nothing!” Orion slashed the air again. “Watch!”
He shouted, punctuating each word with the slash of his wand.
“My!”
Slash.
“Sons!”
Slash.
“Are!”
Slash.
“Blacks!”
Slash
Regulus had not been able to look at Sirius, so he had looked at their father. He didn’t take his eyes off him. Not as he heard Sirius whimper. Not as he heard the dull thudding of a body slumping to the floor. Not when their father had stopped and there was quiet from Sirius.
“My sons will behave accordingly with the status of this name. We Blacks do not make fools of ourselves or engage in mischief, Sirius. And Regulus we do not look away when faced with the ugliness of pain. We are not weak or soft. We are noble. We are proud. You will hold up your chin!”
That was when the tears fell. Walpurga had let go of his face and he had to hold all of himself up on his own. He had not sobbed, or sank to the floor, or ran to his brother like he wanted. He had stood there quietly looking at the wand in their fathers hand as tears leaked down his cheeks.
“Yes sir,” came Sirius’s voice, muffled by the floor. There had been a new hardness in it that Regulus had never heard before.
Regulus still had not looked at him, but he knew that Sirius hadn’t said it because he meant it. He had said it to get Regulus to say it. It was the only safe thing for Regulus to do. Sirius was still trying to protect him, even after all that.
So Regulus had found his voice and said, “yes, sir,” through the thickness that crying and mucus brings.
And that was that. Regulus always had to stand by and watch whenever Sirius got in trouble. He could never really stand it though, and he had often cried in the beginning, always silently. Their parents hated crying, especially the noisy kind. He had learned to stop crying after a certain age because of this. Regulus was almost sure now that he was no longer capable.
Though he may not have cried anymore, he still, at least he had , felt for Sirius. He always flinched slightly when his mother or father’s wand pointed at his brother. Except he didn’t anymore, apparently. Not even a little.
Their parents would be proud.
Regulus wanted them to be proud of him, to live up to what they expected of him. The thought of them being proud should be a good thing. So why did it leave a sourness in his stomach?
He had tried to ignore the sourness, but he hadn’t been able to. It had led him right to Sirius’s room.
Regulus hadn’t gone to Sirius with anything since he was eight and Regulus had tripped and fell into the banister and cut his upper arm. Sirius had patched it, but not very well, and it had left a scar. That was almost seven years ago.
Now he had gone and seen him after so long of refusing to need him, and for what? Because he felt guilty? No. He didn’t feel guilty, that was part of the problem; he didn’t feel anything. The one person that could make him care no longer did. So he had gone to Sirius to try to care, to feel something.
It hadn’t worked. The most Regulus felt was hollowed out. Lacking. There was a space in him that should be occupied by Sirius but no longer was. He wanted so badly, more badly than he ever had before, to be his brother’s brother. To have Sirius change him back, for them to both go back to four years old and giggling making silly faces. To go back to when they, or rather, he , could feel happy.
Regulus had stopped crying after a certain age. That didn’t mean he smiled more. He didn’t. He had stopped doing that, too. Now he was left with neither and nothing.
He turned over onto his other side, and fell asleep, leaving both the lamp and his robes on, not bothering to get under the duvet.