Family Line
I say they're just the ones who gave me life
But I truly am my parent's child
Scattered 'cross my family line
I'm so good at telling lies
That came from my mother's side
Told a million to survive
Scattered 'cross my family line
God, I have my father's eyes
But my sister's when I cry
Arcturus
Walburga Black was never a good mother. It wasn’t like the Noble House of Black was known among magical families for their amazing parenting. But she didn’t even have an interest in children in the first place: after marrying her second cousin (honouring yet another of many bright traditions) she just knew children were expected. One was mandatory, others after that were for security. She birthed them and handed them to the nearest set of arms just to not spare a glance in their direction until they had pronounced their first word. Sirius’ had been “pie”.
Despite them being born a year and a half apart, they had lived most of their life like they were part of the same: they attended the same private lessons with the same teachers, participated at the same formal gatherings and were punished together in the same way. It was easier for their parents to just clump them together, almost as if that way they had to worry about just one child. It didn’t matter to Orion nor Walburga that Regulus was younger: he had to uphold not only their standards, but the one set by his brother as well. There wasn’t to be surprised about how much they were dependent on each other. Regulus used to panic every time they were separated, falling into deep desperation every time he let his brother out of his sight.
There had been a time that Sirius had come down with a nasty fever. Their parents had been scared shitless, not because he was ill but rather because they feared someone had targeted their heir. He remembered Orion locking him in a cupboard as they waited for a healer: he had screamed so hard and so long he was left voiceless for days and had launched himself at the door so hard he had scraped his knuckles and even got a nosebleed. It hadn’t been anything in the end; “just the growth spurt” had said the old healer and there was that. They had gone on about their day like Regulus’ whole universe wasn’t on the verge of ending. They didn’t even care about the blood oozing from his nose: they left him crying in a corner with his face and shirt bloodied. It was the first time Regulus understood that he wasn’t all that important, so long as Sirius was alive.
Sirius wasn’t much different in that sense. As soon as he had seen the blood he had flipped out. If that day Regulus understood his place in the family, Sirius had discovered that he wanted nothing to do with it. For the first of many times, Sirius had shouted at them, kickstarting his ever-long train of defiance towards the Noble House of Black. It was also the very reason Sirius had started to put himself between Regulus and them: every time there was a punishment taking place, Sirius would be the one suffering it; whenever Regulus annoyed Mother Sirius made sure to do something of so much greater gravity that she couldn’t help but forget about the younger Black.
Regulus didn’t have the heart to tell Sirius that his immolation was just apparent: they let him believe he was safe and protected, just to punish him behind closed doors and at ungodly hours of the night.
“I won’t move, I’ll always be here” he had said one night. They were hidden under the covers of Sirius’ bed eating coconut biscuits; Regulus had a red gash on his cheek, courtesy of Mother, but Sirius had been wincing at every breath since before dinner. Regulus believed him then.
Then Sirius was eleven and going to school and leaving him behind in that house. It wasn’t like it was his fault, but Regulus had been miserable, nevertheless. Sirius wrote letters of course and told him about his friends and the school and the professors and, oh, how he couldn’t wait for him to be there. Regulus wrote back and never said the other things. The trouble was that the moment they had heard about the Gryffindor fiasco, his parents had been insufferable. Regulus felt like he couldn’t breathe: his every move was under watch, and he wasn’t to be left alone; he had fixed hours when he had to eat and sleep, and Orion had taken to personally attend his classes.
Almost as if he was trying to keep his ties with his brother, at first, he tried to be a little like him, show them that he was strong like him and wasn’t going to stay quiet. Walburga had sealed his mouth shut for four days; when he had fainted on the third day, Kreacher had risked a heart attack and had cried because he couldn’t do anything against her orders. He had tried again after that and had been cursed again and again, to the point there wasn’t at least some part of his body aching. When Sirius walked through the front door in December, Regulus could tell something had changed. He had a new glint in his eyes, a renewed spring in his step and he was defying their parents as if it was the very thing he had been brought to the world for. Regulus was so proud of him he could have cried.
Sirius told him all about his friends, and school: he knew about James Potter and his stinky socks, he knew about Peter Pettigrew and his unmatched chess abilities, about Lily Evans and her quick lip and Marlene McKinnon’s harsh mannerism. Stupidly, Regulus made it his mission to become so good at chess he could play with Peter and read as many books as he could so he could befriend the quiet Remus Lupin. Their parents were still horrible, of course, but now that Sirius was home it was almost as if Regulus could barely notice them. They were background noise to Sirius’ solo, shouts in the crowd drowned by his blasting speakers.
But then Sirius got back to school, and the house was quiet again, and there was nothing else but them to notice.
“We seem to have neglected to make you understand your place in this family, Regulus.” Orion’s voice was unseeming but wriggled his way into every crevice of Regulus’ brain. “If your reckless brother is to continue on his foolish path, you must be ready to take up his place.”
They were harsher after that, sinking their claws as deep as they could and shackling him with every mean necessary. He was under the cruciatus curse for the first time that spring, and Sirius wasn’t there. He was forced to change his approach to the family if he wanted to survive because maybe if Regulus was around and obliging, Sirius could still have a way out. At ten years old, he already knew that only one of them could get out and that it probably wasn’t going to be him.
The next September he boarded the Hogwarts express alone and didn’t go finding Sirius as he had promised. “You will entertain the right relations” Orion had said. He didn’t look at his brother as he implored the hat to put him in Slytherin and kept his gaze low at breakfast the next day when the congratulations from his parents had come around. To his credit, Sirius had tried. He had tried to get him alone in the corridors or call him during dinner, or lunch, or breakfast. At some point he must have given up. It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did, but Regulus was miserable and alone. He had started to look forward to Christmas because maybe then he could have explained to him without risking any of their cousins going to their parents and telling them he wasn’t entertaining the right companies.
Except Sirius hadn’t come home during Christmas. Just a stupid excuse about studying and their parents didn’t ask anything more. It was like living one of those dreams where you feel like you’re constantly and aimlessly falling. Was it that easy for Sirius to hate him? To stop caring about him? It only took three months for him to completely give up. Maybe Regulus wasn’t all that important to begin with.
It only became easier to believe it after that, when Sirius and his group had started targeting Slytherins like it was a personal grudge. And it was. Formally, they had it out for Severus Snape, but Regulus knew that no one got offended like Sirius Orion Black. Going against Slytherins meant going against their parents, their family and their stupid views; it meant going against their mental cousins and all of those wealthy magical families that prided themselves in being dreadful; it was a riot against all of them as much as it was against Regulus. When they had started mouthing jinxes at him directly, Regulus was already numb to all of it.
When Sirius fired the first curse against him, he had already been crucioed six times and Walburga had ruffled through his mind at least fifteen times to be sure he understood his place. He had been imperioed once.
A stinging hex wasn’t going to faze him all that much, after all.
Regulus waited and waited until every single sound in the house had died down before going downstairs. His joints were imploring him for a hot shower but he had stuff to do first. It was the first night in months he could be alone and himself and he was positively drained, both physically and psychologically. But there was bound to be something he just had to do. He dragged his feet towards the fireplace and avoided everything abandoned on the floor: he swore Lupin was constantly picking shit up after his brother despite his clear injuries, but still the house was always a mess. Regulus liked Remus as much as he had thought he would have liked him when he was ten.
He didn’t have to wait long for Moody’s face to appear among the hot carbons of the fireplace. “Black.” He had greeted and Regulus really didn’t see a point in their frequent communications. It wasn’t like there was much to tell: the war was over. “Everything proceeding as it should?”
“Well, they took me to the vet, thanks for asking.”
“You know we still-”
“I don’t understand what’s taking you so long. I gave you a list, a very comprehensive one. I would be done by now if you just would let me.”
“Besides the fact that it’s dangerous, even though you seem to ignore it, I believe your methods don’t exactly align with ours.” Regulus huffed and dropped on the sofa. Sirius had forgotten his hair tie.
“My methods might be unorthodox, but I get the job done, at least.” Moody laughed. Regulus suspected the old man liked him despite his best efforts in the opposite direction. He didn’t like Moody, but he still was more bearable than Dumbledore who he hated with passion. Rationally, Regulus knew that as long as there were Death Eaters marching the streets, he wouldn’t have been able to show his face around, let alone telling the world he wasn’t actually dead. He was also aware that not all the supporters of Tom Riddle’s cause were known, and he would probably have to watch his own back for the rest of his life if word got out of what he had done. “It’s just… you know.”
“I understand that it’s not the best of situations.” Ha, how about you try and listen to your brother cry himself to sleep because you died. “And I will be happy to refer you to a mind healer when better times come. But the reason of this meeting is another.” And Regulus knew they would eventually find out about the others. He was actually surprised they took so little.
“Fire away, then.”
“As we were rounding up the people in your list, we couldn’t help but notice you left out names. Important names.” The look of the ambers with the man’s face couldn’t have been mistaken: they already knew; not because he had left traces, that is, but probably because they supposed. Of course they were right, but it wasn’t like they could send him to Azkaban now, was it? Not after all he had already done.
“I told you about-”
“I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about publicly known and rather high ranked Death Eaters. Most of which are related to you, just to lay out all the cards.” He huffed and kept toying with Sirius’ hair tie. “And upon investigation, it appears some of those people have mysteriously disappeared.”
“That’s quite strange.”
“Cut the bullshit.”
“They’re dead.”
“No shit. Was it you?”
“I had been the perfect house cat recently, if you haven’t noticed.” Maybe Moody wanted to delay the conversation for one of their meetings or perhaps it was enough of a confirmation. Regulus didn’t care much. It wasn’t like they could do anything to him: he had ended a war that they had been fighting with no success alone and as a nineteen-year-old but not just that; he also had killed his own cousin and many others, amongst which stood out none other than Tom Riddle’s name. So yeah, he didn’t care much about what Alastor Moody thought about his shenanigans.
“Do I have to suppose there are other names still on your very own list? Or will you behave properly, like we had agreed?”
“Do what you believe it’s best, Alastor, but don’t be surprised if you’re wrong. You lot tend to be that frequently in recent times, I heard.”
Killing Bella had been strange. It felt right, to give her back all of what she enjoyed giving him just to entertain her important guests on a boring Friday night. But she wasn’t nearly the biggest fish in his list. Nor was Tom Riddle, as it turned out. Regulus would have thought that all of his stupid horcruxes would have made him the big one, his accomplishment, his last hurrah. It turns out that the worst ones hide in the sidelines. There were a few names on his list, a lot less than in the other one he gave Moody: just the ones he didn’t trust would let themselves just be locked up, and maybe some of the ones he held a personal grudge with. Like Bellatrix, or Lucius. He didn’t necessarily plan to kill every single name on the list, but he wasn’t particularly keen on keeping any alive. Perhaps emaciated.
Not his parents, though. No, he would serve them right. Make them proud even, just this once. He had to warm up first, but eventually he would climb the steps to Grimmauld Place yet again. Get Kreacher out. Get them out.
They ended their communications shortly after that and he could finally sag into the sofa. He could smell Sirius’ dirty socks in the laundry basket from there (courtesy of the time he was forced to spend as a cat), and he was fighting off a migraine with all his will. He hadn’t been human for a whole night since months prior, preferring to spend them at the foot of his brother’s bed. It was weird to have Sirius close after all that time, let alone with the knowledge that he thought he was dead. Regulus couldn’t wait to tell him everything, and maybe also make some demands, perhaps scream a little, if he had the mind even hit him; but he dreaded his reaction as well as his friends’. Maybe he shouldn’t have been all that cuddly with Potter after all. Who knew if Sirius would have understood; after all he tended to be quite dramatic, that one.
The house was empty but still managed to not be silent: the floors creaked and so did the stairs, and Regulus was almost certain there must have been a huge draft in the attic somewhere because the howls coming from up there were no joke. But he strangely loved it. It was nothing like Grimmauld’s empty narrow hallways and silent seating rooms. He took his time and had a long and steamy shower to then proceed and walk around the house in one of Sirius’ unnecessarily opulent robes. He ordered takeout from a uncomfortably far restaurant because he couldn’t risk them noticing food missing and ate Chinese food sprawled on the bed. He was also finally free to properly snoop around.
There was a lot that Regulus came to understand about Sirius as his new fluffy companion. First: he had grown up. It should be expected really, but he had never thought his brother could ever be a full adult. Yes, he still struggled with laundry (but only because they wanted to do it the muggle way) and you couldn’t exactly say he had a balanced diet, but he had his own place, could cook himself a meal and go and visit his friends and do chores and go to the supermarket. And apparently, he could take care of a cat. Second: even though he had a flare for the dramatics, he was a damn good friend. He was there for James and Remus, always knew what they needed to hear. Because of how close they all were in school he had guessed it but seeing it was a lot different. Third: he was a good brother. For the longest time, Regulus had convinced himself that he hated him; it was easy to believe, especially after the way he escaped the family. But he still cared about him, grieved him and unconsciously constantly did things for him despite not knowing that his cat was actually his dead brother. His name, for example, or the coconut thing. Perhaps he was the bad brother, after all.
There were a lot of things he still had to fix. The Death Eaters, his friends, his brother, their parents. Regulus had a list once, he recalled as he munched on the stale coconut biscuits Sirius had left out for him; he had many, in fact. Turns out traumatised kids tended to love lists. He had thought that killing the Dark Lord would have been the apex, but it turned out the slope wasn’t as incline as he had thought.
He considered curling up in Sirius’ bed as he scratched the raised gash on his stomach. That was another thing he would have to get properly checked out sooner or later. But the sofa was comfortable, and he was properly relaxed so he fell asleep right there, still in the gown that smelled so much like Sirius. He fell in a sleep so deep he didn’t hear the keys jamming in the lock, nor the person slamming it shut. When Regulus finally jolted awake, it was because of the annoying tune the intruder was whistling.