The Bewlay Brothers

December 21st, 1971

Sirius’s belongings remained sprawled across his bed until that evening. Most of the boy’s things had been neatly packed into their trunks for the ride home, but his things lay sprawled across the boy’s dormitory. His books lay on his bed and his robes were still in his empty closet. Even his toothbrush was still in the small container in the boy’s bathroom, along with his hair-care products.

But he couldn’t bring himself to pack his things. He couldn’t bring himself to leave his home. The monster’s hold was just too tight on his throat and the dread was too cold in his veins. Maybe it was because he knew that when the snake-encrusted trunk finally sealed, it was real. Maybe part of him didn’t believe it; locked it away in a small box of monsters and scary things that he didn’t want to think about. 

Because as long as his shampoo was in the boy’s bathroom, he would shower in it the next morning. Just like he always did in the mornings. Right?

He knew it was foolish. He knew it was shameful that his limbs were rendered unable to pack his clothing or his shampoo. And he knew he was going to be in trouble when someone found him sitting on the bed of the common room with the curtains of his four-poster drawn, his knees pressed up to his chest and his trunk completely empty.

“You haven’t begun packing.”

He didn’t know how the strange boy knew he was in the room, even though he was hidden by the red curtains of his bed. But perhaps that was one of the reasons he was strange. He opened the curtains, just enough for the strange boy to see his face. “I can’t.”

He expected the boy to laugh at him or maybe tease him with that annoying smirk of his. But his face remained neutral; and agonisingly unreadable.

“Oh. Alright,” he just said after a while. And then he opened the shared closet. Sirius watched as the boy took Sirius’s clothing and folded them carefully upon his bed. They were so neat as he carefully placed them in the corner of his trunk.

And then he grabbed his school books, sprawled across various different corners in the common room. And when his wand and his quills and his toothbrush and the small trinkets laying around his bed were placed in his trunk, the strange boy was still looking for something. He wondered what it was, because Sirius was sure that all of his things were already inside.

After searching in the boy’s bathroom, Remus returned with a small jar. It was wide and filled to the brim, but Sirius couldn’t see what was inside. The boy wrapped it in a blue cloth, placing it in the final corner of his trunk.

“That isn’t mine.”

“Consider it a late birthday present.” the strange boy told him. “It’s for your wounds.” Sirius tried to ignore the implication that he would have wounds in the future.

He wanted to assure him that he wouldn’t need the mushy yellow liquid that made his bruises disappear so quickly, but giving hope where none was due was cruel. Besides, the liquid would be great for his younger brother, too.

So he swallowed his pride. “Thank you.”

“You shouldn’t thank me,” he told him. “It’s out of character.”

That drew a laugh out of him, if a little shaky. “Out of character? What is this, a novel?”

“I’m surprised you even know what a novel is.”

“Of course I know what a novel is,” he assured him. “A novel is a narrative work of prose fiction that tells a story about specific human experiences over a considerable length.”

“That’s actually..” The strange boy paused, looking quite surprised. “Scarily accurate. And unbelievably posh.”

He flashed the boy a smile. And finally, it was a genuine one. “What can I say? I’m a genius.”

He snorted. “Still haven’t got your head out of your ass, I see.”

But soon the time for laughter and teasing conversation was over. And as Sirius left the train, cold dread thrumming through his veins, those were the memories he clung to. The warm sweater and James’s embrace and the strange boy’s unusual kindness. 

As the monster laid its cold hands over his shoulder, he remembered the cheering charm and the warm arms of his best friend wrapping around him. He remembered the encouraging words of the strange boy after he’d received the letter and recalled the four blissful months where everything was beautiful.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Mother was dangerously quiet once they arrived at number twelve, Grimmauld place. The only reminisce of her anger were the sharp claws that dug into his skin at her touch. Sirius took care not to stumble as the world began spinning around him and not a moment later he was standing in the all-too familiar living room, trying his hardest not to throw up.

Regulus wasn’t at the train station when he departed, and he tried to not let that thought nag at him. At Hogwarts, surrounded by candy and new friends and bright lights, the monster that weighed on him within the dark walls of the manor had slackened. In fact, Sirius did everything in his power to forget about his mother and father, and as was now dawning on him, Regulus. 

He supposed the younger boy couldn’t contact him very much because of Mother. His stomach churned as he remembered the letter; written with her familiar loopy handwriting and filled to the brim with thickly concealed threats behind prim parchment. 

But that didn’t stop guilt from flooding his chest at the realisation that Regulus and he hadn’t exchanged a single letter in four months.

But  Regulus was mother’s pride and joy, nothing would happen to him, right? Maybe he was just bitter. Maybe he just regretted that Sirius had left and planned to hold a minor grudge just until he got home.  It wasn’t very hard to crack his younger brother, anyway.

The thought brought a small smile on his face as he stood outside his younger brother's door. And for the first time, he hesitated before turning the knob. When Sirius stepped in, Regulus didn’t look at him. 

His shirt was bigger on his figure than it had been when he’d left. He looked so small as he sat curled up against the window. His hair had grown longer, and he could no longer see the boy’s face within his raven-coloured hair.

“Reggie?”

No answer.

“Reggie!”

No answer.

It was as if he was a ghost. Nothing but a shadow looming amongst old books and silver rings. The boy didn’t even bother to lift his head in greeting. Sirius hated his eyes for burning. He took a shaky breath as he flicked his wand. In moments, the dim light in his room turned bright, and Regulus visibly flinched. It was his weakness, and thinking back Sirius knew he ought not have done it, but the monster had his hand over his neck and before he knew it Regulus turned abruptly and a long red mark streaked across his pale skin.

His hands were clamped over his eyes and Sirius’s stomach dropped. A thick, angry scar ran across his face like a fishhook, running down his nose and curling around his chin. Tears pricked his eyes like thorns as he hurried to turn off the light.

“Reggie,” he whispered.

Sirius crept closer slowly. He sat on the side of his bed loudly, taking care to attenuate his presence, even when his brother’s eyes were slammed shut. He tried to ignore the way his small figure tensed as he inched closer. He was still curled up in a bundle with closed eyes and brows furrowed as if in pain.

Before he knew what he was doing, his fingers were tracing over the ugly lines of the scar. Regulus recoiled almost instantly and a lump lodged itself in his throat. Then he lifted his head. Eyes red and glassy, he looked at Sirius. Regulus’  eyes were wide for a moment, as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

And then his face crumpled. “It hurts, Sirius,” he gasped. “It really hurts.”

Soft cries escaped him. They were breathless as if he didn’t have the energy to muster a sob. Thin arms wrapped around him and it was only then Sirius realised just how thin his younger brother had become; the gravity of what mother had done. Of what he had done.

“I’m sorry, Reggie,” he said, but it sounded more like a cry than a quiet confession. “I’m so sorry.”

Hot tears streamed from his cheeks and all he could think about was how unmanly he was being; how much of a child he really was. How could he be the heir to the ancient and most noble house of black if he couldn’t even offer a steady face to his younger brother?

The boy was silent for a moment.

“It’s not your fault.”

Sirius sniffled. He knew he needed to gather himself. He was holding his scarred, tainted younger brother in his arms and Sirius was crying. But still, his voice no louder than a whisper, he couldn’t help but ask: “It’s not my fault?”

He felt the boy shake his head against him. “It isn’t your fault, Sirius.”

He hated the sigh of relief that escaped him. He hated the tension he didn’t know he was holding dissolving. He shouldn’t be feeling anything remotely close to relief. Not when his brother was hurt, crying.

Soon his cries had subsided, turning into short gasps and quiet tears. “I tried- I tried to make a healing potion. I swear I tried,” he sniffled. “But mother- mother caught me.”

And  it hit him.

Fumbling for his wand

But before Sirius could retrieve his late birthday present from Regulus’s counter, Mother was already booming up the stairs. But as Walburga Black stormed up the stairs and Sirius slipped through the door,  all he could think about were his brother’s cries and the large scar streaking his skin.

It’s not my fault, he reminded himself as his mother slammed the door open with a bang,

It’s not my fault, he reminded himself as the blinding, searing pain pierced his skin in quick, orderly slaps.

“It’s not my fault,” he whispered as he lay weak at his bed, black spots dancing before his eyes.  He didn’t know how many times he’d repeated that sentence or when the words became not his, but someone else’s.

“It’s not your fault,” the voice said distantly. Though far away, it was no longer a whisper. It was firm—if a little shaky— and assured and of a voice that was not his own. It was that voice that made him untense, that made him unafraid to give in to the darkness.

When he woke, a blurry, red-eyed figure towered over him. It was pale as it poured over a thick book.

“Reggie?” he croaked.

The boy sprang up like a wire. Thin streaks and deep bruises littered upon his skin, and judging by his trembling lip and wide eyes, Sirius probably had it worse. Still, he couldn’t help the protective surge of anger that rose in his chest at the sight.

“I tried to heal you, I swear I did,” he blurted out. “I tried to copy it! I swear!”

“Copy what?”

The thing—the one you brought it- it.." he trailed off.

Sirius blinked. “What thing?”

“A mushy thing.” Regulus squinted at something he couldn’t quite make out. “A healing thing, I think. She found it.”

It took him a moment to register his words. For a moment, if he squinted really hard, he was sure he would see the strange boy coming out of the bathroom with the glass jar. With that kind look in his eyes and teasing quip. But he wasn’t at Hogwarts anymore. He was lying on his bed with a throbbing back and his younger brother’s rambling clouding his head. Suddenly, he felt a deep and profound need to be alone.

He was just talking and talking and talking until it felt like his mind was being stretched and twisted as the world began to spin and his thoughts once again grew jumbled and away from his grasp. 

“Could you stop?”

And then silence. Regulus flinched. His voice was louder than he’d intended,  firm and overriding his rapid thoughts. The first thing Sirius felt was regret flooding through him as he watched his younger brother gather what he could only guess were potion ingredients.

“I’m sorry, Reggie.” He swallowed.  “I just- could you leave?”

The boy was silent, and the only indicator that he’d left was the low click of the door as it shut.