the view between villages

regulus

sirius is here again. why is sirius always here? doesn’t he have a job? regulus is absolutely certain there’s work to be done with the other aurors, and yet, sirius is in his kitchen, cooking something rancid by the smell of things. regulus wants to swear at him. his near death experience, and harry’s by extension, still weighs heavy on his mind three days later. he just needs a moment to process. is that so much to ask? 

“sirius, do tell me. why are you here?” regulus asks. he knows he’s being unreasonable, but he’s irritated. he loves sirius to the ends of the earth and he always has, but a moment of peace is hard to come by and he’s desperate. he can feel the tension in his bones, the unshed tears pressing into his eyes. he wants to break down and he wants to scream and he wants to turn his wand against himself, but he can’t. why can’t he? because sirius is always. here. he never leaves. sirius has been here for two days, occupying a guest room, and the library, and the kitchen, and any space regulus is in. 

“i can’t enjoy time with my little brother?” sirius counters. it’s a valid argument, but it’s irritating. it took regulus murdering the dark lord for sirius to acknowledge their relation. it took saving the potters for sirius to finally look at him with something other than a snarl. it took everything, and a year after, and sirius has acted like nothing ever happened. he’s acted like regulus was never anything but his little brother. 

“save it, sirius. i’d like my house back. you can leave.” sirius rears back, nearly dropping the porcelain teacup in his fingers. offense glistens in his eyes and hardens his jaw. regulus knows sirius and he knows a fight is coming. he’s already preparing for the dirty laundry waving in the wind. sirius speaks without thinking, rages without consideration. it’s always been his fatal flaw, and it’s always gotten him into trouble, and regulus hates that about him. he truly does. 

“do you not want me around? is that what it is?” sirius asks, voice pinched. regulus rolls his eyes. he wishes sirius would start the argument already. 

“no. i don’t. please leave. you’re a bother and i’d like my privacy back.” sirius clenches his jaw. a little muscle there flutters beneath the skin and his eyebrow is twitching. regulus is pleased. he’s doing well. 

“i’m sorry for being fucking worried about you. y’know, after you nearly died and all.” regulus can’t help but scoff. where was sirius before? where was sirius when walburga had beaten him within an inch of his life, on multiple occasions? where was sirius when bellatrix forced him to take the mark? where was sirius when he was drowning in a cave, pulled beneath the water by thousands of inferi? 

“oh, yes, because you’ve always been there, right? you were there when walburga threatened the killing curse? or when tom riddle held a wand to my throat? oh! you must have been there for bellatrix carving riddle’s name into my chest! or perhaps when i nearly drowned at the hands of inferi?” he pauses, takes in the horrified look on sirius’ face, and blinks to contain his tears. “you’ve never been there, sirius. don’t try to be now if you couldn’t be bothered then.” 

“you were her puppet, regulus! i didn’t see anything worth saving!” sirius shouted. regulus was prepared for this, he really was, but it doesn’t make it any less hurtful. is that all he’ll ever be? his mother’s shadow? sirius should know better. he was always his brother’s shadow, not his mothers, and when sirius left, the shield did too. he could no longer huddle beneath the blankets with his brother, or sneak to the kitchen for snacks with his brother, or do the traditional swap at christmas dinner. he lost the childhood naivety the day sirius packed his bags and ran, and he’ll never forgive sirius for that. 

“i didn’t need to be saved. i needed to be cared for. barty was a better brother than you ever could’ve been, because at least he gave a damn. at least he didn’t leave me to die.” reg knows he’s playing with fire. he knows and he’s eagerly doing it. anything to make sirius leave. 

”i didn’t fucking leave you to die, regulus! i tried to take you with me! do you remember that? do you remember me half dead in father’s study, begging you to come with me? you looked me dead in the eye, and you ripped my heart out and stomped on it. that was all you, regulus, not me. don’t pretend you’re innocent.” he scoffs. sirius has always been dramatic, but this? this is too much. 

“let’s explore the mythical timeline where i did leave, then. let’s say i went with you to the potters’ that night. walburga would’ve dragged me back kicking and screaming, and she would’ve killed your precious new brother and you. she would’ve killed me, too. i did you a favor by staying in that house, and it’s about time you thanked me.” sirius’ eyes are wide, nearly popping out of his skull, and his face is so pink regulus is worried it’ll burst. 

“thank you? you seriously want me to thank you? you abandoned me! i lost my little brother to that house! now look at you!” a pause. there’s pity in sirius’ eyes, and his lips are trembling, and his shoulders are folded in on themselves. he looks young, the same boy regulus used to share a bed with. it’s pitiful, truly. “you don’t smile, you don’t laugh. it’s like she sucked your soul right out of your body and left nothing but a shell behind. you aren’t you anymore, regulus. i look at you and i don’t recognize the man staring back at me. he’s got the same face, but there’s no life in there.” regulus steels himself, tears burning his eyes, jaw clenching to hold in the emotion dragging itself up his throat. 

“i didn’t have james potter. i didn’t have lily evans. or remus lupin. i had no one but barty, and let’s be honest, sirius. barty was unhinged. he was feral. you’re lucky i haven’t slaughtered you under his influence by now.” sirius shakes his head. he takes a step forward, and regulus takes a step back. he won’t fall for sirius’ tricks. he won’t. even if he wants to, he refuses to. 

“you could’ve had them. gryffindor was just across the great hall. you could’ve come over, spoken to me. i would’ve accepted you. we all would have.” his brother is whispering now, pleading, practically on his knees from how hard his legs are visibly shaking. 

“yes, because your sneering was very welcoming. i truly felt at home with all the hatred in your eyes. don’t kid yourself sirius. you would’ve sent me away before i’d had a chance to open my mouth.” regulus is a spiteful fucker. he knows how to push buttons. he knows how to crawl under skin and he knows how to crush bones. it’s his specialty. and he loves it. he shouldn’t, but he does. perhaps it’s his mother speaking in his ear, or the dark lord’s hand on his shoulder, but he loves causing chaos. he hates himself for it. 

“i wouldn’t-”

“yes. you would’ve. you hated me for years. don’t pretend you didn’t.” the tears are falling now. the hurt is crushing him from the heart outward, eating away at his marrow and squeezing his organs. it consumes him, casts a shadow on his thoughts, embraces him with cold arms and morbidity on its lips. 

“i didn’t-”

”you did, sirius! you looked at me like i was a cockroach beneath your shoe! you saw our mother in my eyes and you hated me for it!” his voice is breaking. there isn’t much time before the china begins flying and a tornado rips apart his composure. 

“i could never hate you, reggie.” fuck that nickname. fuck the nickname, and fuck sirius, and fuck the hand on his shoulder. fuck everything. he wants to disappear, to dissipate into a cloud of mist and float out of existence. 

“don’t pull that ‘reggie’ shit on me. you should’ve let that name burn with our mother. get out of my fucking house.” 

“no. i won’t leave you again, reggie. i refuse.” sirius is hugging him, tight and bone-crushing, two sobbing chests pressed together and words whispered into messy curls. 

“get. out. i am not afraid to hex you.” he doesn’t mean it. god, does he not mean it, but he wants to mean it. he wishes he did mean it. 

“no. i’m staying.” sirius is too stubborn. regulus hates him. at least he thinks he does. there’s spite mingling with his oxygen, rushing through his veins, and he’s never been able to pinpoint who it festers for. sirius? walburga? orion? tom? james? himself? he fears he’ll never know, and he’s lashing out. sirius doesn’t deserve all of this, he realizes, but it’s already been said and done. he wants to scream and he wants to throw things and he wants to hurt something. 

“get out!” his fingers are itching to grip something and rip it apart, to taste the sweet relief of blood on his hands, to achieve the inner peace of a curse misfiring. 

“no.”

regulus collapses. he collapses and he cries and sirius is right there with him, holding him together while he’s falling apart. why is there so much hurt? how could everything go so wrong so fast? he feels like his mother, a broken woman forced into a marriage she didn’t want. he understands her, in a way. she was unnecessarily cruel, but he understands her. he doesn’t want this life either, and he’s taking his fury out on the same body. his, and sirius’. it’s pitiful, really. he feels pathetic. 

he cries until his throat closes. he cries until his lungs are swimming. he cries until tears run out. he cries, and he cries, and he screams. he’s howling and his throat is bloodied and he’s so immeasurably broken. sirius doesn’t leave. he drapes regulus in warmth, brushes the scars from his heart, unwraps the thorns from his lungs. another chain collapses to the tile of the kitchen floor. he can float now. isn’t that something? all it took was a screaming match with his brother, and his mother’s chains are finally melting away. one by one, he strips himself of them and joins sirius in the clouds. 

he’s free. 

september 1, 1972

regulus

regulus is nervous. his fingers tremble as he finishes the last of his packing. he can hear his mother in his brother’s room, swearing so loud he can hear it through the walls. he catches something about potter and blood traitors, but he can’t be too sure. his ears are swimming in blood. 

“hey, mon étoile.” regulus lifts his head, short curls bouncing with how swiftly his neck snaps. andromeda stands in his doorway, a soft smile curling her lips. regulus has always found her to be the prettiest of her sisters, and the nicest. narcissa is kind, but she’s spiteful and brooding. bellatrix can be cruel. she’s the heiress of that side of the family, and she seems to take that role very seriously. 

“hi, dromeda,” he greets softly. he doesn’t want his mother to come barreling back in and give him another lecture. he doesn’t think he can handle it, not with how hard his heart already beats in his chest. 

“do you need help packing?” she asks. she’s always been kind, and he can’t help but feel he doesn’t deserve it. perhaps it’s his mother’s doing. he’ll never know. 

“i’ll be okay. i just have a few things left.” he stands still beside his trunk, eyes darting between andromeda and the hallway. he trusts his cousin, but he can’t risk his mother seeing the final belongings he plans to pack. andromeda seems to catch the hint, as she steps into the room and silently lets the door shut. regulus rushes to pull up one of his floorboards, stuffing a muggle camera and a journal into the bottom of his trunk. his mother has already inspected his packing, and she likely won’t do it again, so he thinks he’s safe. 

“regulus,” calls his mother strongly from downstairs. andromeda shoots him a questioning glance, which he responds to with a simple nod, and opens the door once she’s received confirmation. she levitates his trunk for him, letting it float through the air as they proceed to the drawing room. andromeda’s last year was the year before sirius’ first, and this year it’s narcissa’s last and regulus’ first. it’s tradition for both sides of the black family to convene for the send off of the hogwarts students. for once, a tradition that regulus is thankful for. he doesn’t think he can do it without cousin andromeda at his side, even if it means the addition of bellatrix and her stone faced husband. 

mother is waiting beside the fireplace. her dark hair is tied back in a slick bun, her lips twisted in a permanent scowl, one that he’s learned to mimic quite well. sirius finds it funny, hiding beneath the blankets in the middle of the night. sirius is standing there too, practically vibrating with excitement as regulus steps into view. there’s a red handprint brightening his cheek, though his smile is nowhere near dimmed.

he’s grinning madly, rocking back and forth on his heels, though it doesn’t seem to bode well with bellatrix. her mouth is twisted into the same sneer mother often wears, truly a black gene, and she looks seconds from hexing him. narcissa is the calmest of the bunch. she stands steady, pale hair tugged into a plait between her shoulder blades. her hands remain clasped over her pelvis. she’s the definition of poise, as they all are, and regulus muses that he could likely place a stack of books atop her head and they’d remain. he knows he could. andromeda is fixing regulus’ trunk to a trolley, mimicking where sirius’ already is. 

“it’s time,” is mother’s simple command. andromeda takes hold of regulus, one hand on his arm and the other on his trolley, and he steels himself. there’s a pull in his navel, a twist under his skin, a sudden yank, and the black family stands in the station. he’s always hated apparition. it leaves him feeling nauseous, unsteady, disoriented. he barely processes as they tread through oceans of muggles. there are a few children in the distance pushing trolleys similar to his and sirius’, likely hogwarts students as well. 

“i’ll go first, reggie,” sirius chirps. platform nine approaches, and a child disappears into the brick. regulus is nervous. he gulps. his hands are shaking against the metal. “just do exactly what i do. i’ll see you on the other side.” 

sirius takes off running, sprinting into the brick wall, and he too disappears. regulus takes a shaky breath, tosses a glance to his mother. she merely lifts an eyebrow and inclines her head to the wall. she’s never been one for words, save for a decent scolding, so this is likely the best he’ll get. he inhaled deeply, exhales, and runs with so much speed he’s genuinely scared he won’t come out of the other side. he does, though. he breaks through the wall and into a cluster of witches and wizards and muggles alike. sirius is waiting for him there. 

“narcissa,” mother speaks sharply. narcissa’s head snaps to her. regulus’ does too. sirius’ hand is already within reg’s, gripping like he’s a lifeline. “you’ll bring regulus with you. introduce him to the right people. he is not to mingle with the wrong sort.” he knows what she means. with sirius remains in parenthesis at the end of her sentence. his heart drops to his feet. he won’t see sirius? he won’t sit with sirius? 

“yes, ma tante,” narcissa responds, clipped and posh. she glances to regulus, and there’s a twinkle in her eye that fits his heart into it’s spot between his lungs. “come.” regulus follows, as does sirius. 

they deposit their trunks into the back of the train, seeing as they won’t need them until hogwarts. first, though, regulus fishes a novel from the top of the contents as well as his wand. they’ve already dressed in their hogwarts robes. sirius wears the gryffindor insignia with pride. narcissa abandons them shortly after boarding the train, waving them off to the opposite end. sirius runs along the span of it, and regulus has no choice but to jog to keep up. sirius stops, so regulus stops. 

“my friends are in here. swap robes with me, and smile a bit, yeah?” sirius whispers hastily. regulus huffs, but there’s a grin on his lips as he slips out of his plain black robes. he tugs sirius’ on, giggling all the while, and trades belongings. he takes sirius’ wand and box of chocolate frog cards, and passes his novel and wand away. they’re still giggling as they enter the cabin. 

regulus sees three people. there’s a boy with blonde hair, chubby cheeks, and a shy smile. a boy with brown hair, tanned skin, scars marring his handsome face. the last is tucked away in the corner, a shock of golden skin and dark curls. he’s beautiful. truly, impossibly beautiful. the air is knocked from regulus’ lungs far before the most beautiful boy in the world tackles him to the floor. 

“sirius!” the boy exclaims. regulus is pinned, wrestling the pretty boy as he’s sure sirius does. he loses, of course, wrists pinned and a pout on his face. the other boy is impossibly triumphant. his eyes, like toffee dripped in honey, still on something just behind regulus’ head. they travel up, and up, and finally halt in their path. regulus watches the boy’s face transform — confusion, to awe, to horror, and finally to regulus. 

“james?” one of the other boys asks, but regulus can’t be sure who asked. the world is gone, sucked away by the molten topaz traveling his face. he’s not sure how a gaze can feel like a caress, but it does, and he’s got butterflies in his stomach. 

“you’re not sirius,” the boy — james, regulus assumes — finally punches out. regulus is the one in awe now. not even mother can tell the brothers apart, and yet, this stranger somehow did. how? he must be a god, regulus reasons. he looks like one. he looks like a growing deity, like adonis enduring puberty. 

“how?” regulus breathes. the boy — again, james? — grins from ear to ear. he clambers off of regulus, yanks him to his feet (the yelp he let out was embarrassing) and pokes the tip of his forefinger to the tip of regulus’ nose. reg is blushing. he’s blushing, and hard, because this boy is so pretty and he shines like the sun and he’s giving him the time of day. 

“sirius doesn’t have a freckle here. you do.” it’s a simple reason and it really shouldn’t set the butterflies ablaze, but it does, and they’re knocking against ribs and dislodging organs. one freckle. he noticed one freckle. a small spot of melanin out of place, and he noticed. how bizarre is that?

“you ruined it,” sirius is grumbling, but regulus can’t be bothered to pay attention. he stands on unsteady legs, looks at the boy in front of him, and he feels warm. he’s warm under his robes, and smiling past the point of control. surely he looks dumb like this. he can’t bring himself to care, though.

eventually, after quite some time, the cabin settles. sirius and regulus are comfortably seated on one side, the blonde — peter — and the scarred boy — remus — are on the other, and the pretty boy with the honeyed eyes — james potter — sits on the floor. the ride to hogwarts itself is boring, at least for sirius, as his big mouth isn’t afraid of announcing it. regulus spends the full time pretending to read, though he’s really staring directly at james potter. 

james is smiley. he’s happy. he’s loud, unapologetic, a bit messy. his glasses are askew nearly the entire ride, his hair looks to be permanently cowlicked in the back, and his clothes are wrinkled. even so, regulus thinks he’s the most put together boy on the planet. he’s nothing like regulus, nothing like sirius. where they resemble thorns, james is a rose, brilliant and blooming and impossibly vibrant. 

the train does stop, unfortunately. first years go one way, upperclassmen the other, and regulus is alone (by his own choice, mind you. sirius was fully prepared to come with, but regulus vehemently denied until his brother eventually became distracted by remus). he’s alone during the boat ride, alone as they enter the castle for the first time, and alone as the first years are escorted into the great hall. he’s not lonely, though. he can see sirius from here, and james by extension, and the friends he’s sure he’ll get to have, and there’s no hole in his chest. it’s full, overflowing with excitement. 

there are two first years before him. he’s nervous, rocking back and forth on his heels, rolling the fabric of his robes between his fingers. he knows he’ll get slytherin. it’s a fact. sirius was an anomaly, something never meant to happen, but regulus? he’s ordinary. he’s a black through and through, down to the core of his magic. he’ll be a slytherin. he’s known it since he was barely old enough to walk, and he’s not sure why the thought suddenly scares him. 

“regulus black,” calls the woman who escorted them in. she’s stern in the way she looks at him, which does absolutely nothing to quell the nauseous worry raging in his stomach. the stool is warm. the great hall is silent. the hat is worn. 

“please don’t put me in slytherin,” is the first thing he tells the hat. it’s odd, feeling the poking and prodding inside his skull, but it’s not uncomfortable. 

“ah, but you’ve got the makings of one. you’d do good in ravenclaw. your thirst for knowledge is unquenchable. you’ve got the loyalty of a gryffindor, but you lack the gall.” there’s a pause, a low rumble of thought. regulus is begging. anything but slytherin. anything but slytherin. anything but slytherin. “it’s your unlucky day, boy.” 

“slytherin!” 

a piece of regulus dies as he crosses eyes with his brother. there’s no warmth there, no love, merely disbelief. betrayal shimmering in the stony grey. he catches a glimpse again as he sits between two slytherins, and he wishes he hadn’t. sirius is broken, face fallen and eyes swimming in tears and fists clenched on the table. he sees regulus, offers nothing more than a sad smile. 

and just like that, reggie and siri are no more. it’s regulus and sirius, slytherin and gryffindor, brothers by blood and not by choice.