the view between villages

sirius

regulus has a nice house. a big, luxurious house, nestled in the hills of ballintoy. it’s only a handful of minutes from the muggle village below and the village is a few minutes from the harbor. the house itself is white with blue shutters and shingles, the front door painted a lovely shade of cyan and the back door made of sliding glass. four bedrooms, three bathrooms, a kitchen, a living room, a dining room, and a game room. more bookshelves than counter space, mismatched furniture, throw blankets on every conceivable surface. 

regulus has a nice house. a nice house built by sirius’ own wand from his own blueprints. it’s the house of regulus’ dreams, a home he’d spoken of for years, down to the powder blue walls and mahogany hardwood and slate grey carpeting. even the showers were drawn from a childhood dream, white tile and black metal. it’s the house of regulus’ dreams, the final home in northern ireland, far away from grimmauld house in london. every glimpse of the house, inner and outer, strikes sirius with a burst of pride. 

even when the house is torn apart. dishes on the floor, water licking at the kitchen cabinets, scorch marks on the walls around the fireplace. shattered glass in the bedrooms upstairs. front door off the hinges. the spark of untamed magic crisp in the air. it was a horrible day for both himself and his brother, who’d had a true breakdown on the phone the night before. screaming, crying, threats of suicide. 

three days later, and sirius still can’t bring himself to forget it. regulus has since shaped up, withdrawn back into his unfeeling shell. sirius wishes he could drag his brother’s walls down and smack a bit of sense into him. wishes he could force regulus to see just how loved and adored he is, just how much sirius worships him. cares for him. truly and deeply, all-consuming and endless. it devours him, strips him bare and gnaws at exposed flesh, sings in his bloodstream and bubbles in his lungs. the love he holds for regulus is without bounds, without control. the love of an older brother, the love of a caretaker and a nurturer. sirius loves regulus, from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. 

and it is because sirius loves regulus that he is currently presenting his newest piece of artwork. a rough sketch of the night sky, every important constellation — which is, admittedly, the only two he cares about — drawn and connected the way he’d once connected the dots of regulus’ freckles. it’s meant to be a tattoo, meant to cover the crude scrawling of tom riddle’s name scarred into his brother’s narrow chest.

there’s another tattoo design as well, a duo of paw prints. one belonging to a dog, the other to a cat. it was always a running joke that regulus was a cat, because he was easily disgruntled and fell asleep nearly everywhere as a child. sirius was the opposite. even in his early years, he was energetic, bouncing off the walls at all times and eager to shout his words rather than speak them. it only made sense that his animagus wound up being a large dog. he almost wants to force regulus into the transformation spell just to uncover his true persona once and for all. to determine if he truly is feline at heart. it’s a funny thought, in all honesty. 

“remus would be able to tattoo these?” regulus asks, a wary tremble to his voice. he shoots a few glances toward remus, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. sirius offers a chuckle and a steady hand, lacing identical sets of fingers over the dining table. 

“reg, i promise, remus knows what he’s doing. he’s done all of my tattoos aside from the ones we got together,” sirius assures, smiling softly to his brother. he glances at remus, the smile expanding upon noticing the softness directed toward regulus. remus would never admit it, but he’s got a bit of a soft spot for regulus. for weeks, remus has denied, and for weeks, sirius has called him on his bullshit. ‘i think the kid is annoying,’ remus will say. ‘i think you’re full of shit,’ sirius will respond. it’s a consistent back and forth, a continuous argument that remus is consistently losing. especially now, as he smiles with a fondness in his eyes. a fondness directed toward sirius’ little brother, the brother remus claims to dislike. 

“you’ve seen sirius’ chest piece, right?” remus asks. regulus nods. “i did that.” as he speaks, remus is gleaming with pride, glowing so brightly sirius can’t help but beam. 

this seems to be the final reassurance needed for regulus, as he’s carefully removed his shirt and fallen into the tattoo chair in the spare bedroom. sirius has great pride in this room, the room he designed for his moonbeam. there’s a leather tattoo chair in the center of the room, a desk off to the right of it. a shelf along the back wall filled with ink and spare needles and spare machines. artwork — a mixture of his and remus’ and james’ — adhered to all four walls courtesy of a sticking charm. the overhead light has been charmed to be much brighter, nearly medical-grade white light reaching every corner of the room. it's his pride and joy, everything he's ever loved held in four walls. 

"how is it?" sirius asks, flopping down into a chair he'd transfigured from a sheet of paper. regulus turns his head and smiles. it's the same tiny smile he'd worn in adolescence, the shy little curl of lips reserved only for sirius. and sirius adores it every time he sees it. if moony is good at turning him into a puddle, regulus is good at softening him into a pile of mush. he adores his little brother down to the smallest of molecules, down to bare bone and stripped flesh. especially when regulus is so painfully reminiscent of the little boy sirius had grown up with. 

"not too bad, honestly," regulus responds easily. his voice is vibrating with the buzz of the machine, though he seems to be taking the pain fairly well. sirius' chest swells. leave it to his little brother to handle tattoos better. sirius has never been more proud of regulus for upstaging him. 

"i cried a little when moony did my first chest piece," sirius comments, casting a shy glance to the focused form of his boyfriend. remus looks delightful, as he always does, but somehow better when he's got a tattoo machine in his hand. his hair is curled over his forehead where his eyebrows are creased, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, hand splayed flat over regulus’ chest. remus is a beautiful creature, in every sense, and it’s somehow amplified when he’s so focused on his art. 

“your chest piece is also extremely intricate,” regulus comments, a slight smile curling his lips. “a few lines isn’t anywhere near as painful as full blocks of ink, i’d imagine.” 

“he’s right, pads,” remus utters, barely glancing at sirius through his lashes. sirius sucks in a sharp breath, heart hammering against his chest. he’ll never not react to remus this way. every glance in his direction, every word falling from plush lips, every breath breathed in his vicinity. he’ll always be entirely and irrevocably overwhelmed by the slightest things. call him a sap, but he’s in love. completely, wholly in love with remus. 

“still,” sirius mumbles, leaning back in his chair. “you’re handling it a lot better than i did.” 

“you’re giving me too much credit,” regulus hums, chuckling under his breath. the sound draws a grin from sirius, a bouquet of flowers blossoming in his chest. it’s an older brother’s gift, hearing the laughter of a little brother. laughter is the best medicine, and regulus’ laughter is like a life draught. ambrosia, nectar, a gift from the gods themselves. a chortle capable of ripping him apart and piecing him back together in the same breath. 

it’s always been this way for sirius. regulus is his weakest point, and also his strongest. there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for his little brother. nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice. regulus is his muse, his other half, the better parts of him molded into his exact replica. every beat of his heart, every breath he breathes, every thought running through his head. all of it is done for regulus. he exists to protect, to love, to care for his little brother. always, always his little brother. 

perhaps it’s a bit of his paternal instinct, leftover remnants of raising regulus. teaching him to walk, to speak, to smile, to love. he is the base of everything regulus knows, down to the core of his magic and the depths of his soul. everywhere regulus is, a piece of sirius is with him. there’s nowhere regulus could go where sirius couldn’t follow. nothing he could do without sirius there to support him. it’s a brother’s gift, and a brother’s curse. unconditional love. blind faith in his little brother’s horrid judgement. because there is nothing regulus could do to force sirius away. 

it’s overwhelming, in a way. he has his brother. he has the love of his life. his soulmates, his best parts reflected back at him. interacting, mingling, caring so deeply for him that they can’t help but care for each other. it’s a beautiful, cursed sort of love. it’s his demise and his salvation, woven into two beautiful bodies, gifted to him by the intricacies of the universe. there is nothing he couldn’t and wouldn’t do for regulus, for remus, the true loves of his life. seeing them now, huddled close together, joined by a tattoo machine and a love of sirius, is truly doing things for his fickle heart. he’s always craved this, craved his two favorite people in a room together. and he’s gotten it. he has his little brother back. he has the light of his days. and they’re here, together, chatting in low voices, bonding over a love for books. and it’s beautiful. 

he wipes a tear from his cheek, angles his head back. he could weep. he really, truly could. this is a dream come true. his greatest fantasies, his only hope in this life, and he’s gotten it. he’s accomplished everything he’s ever wanted to, and it’s not the end of everything he’s ever done. it’s a beginning. a fresh beginning, a new start. the first pages of the greatest book known to the galaxies. his brother, his boyfriend, chatting about music and books and poetry. art in various forms. a gallery of gorgeous medias spoken of in hushed voices, and sirius isn’t paying a single piece of it any mind. his favorite artwork, his treasured pieces, are sitting right in front of him. crafted from clay and dust, rough around the edges, riddled with flawless imperfections. his first love, his first lover, smiling at one another, forming a friendship before his very eyes. 

“siri?” regulus hushes. sirius looks at him through his tears, gazes upon creased eyebrows and dark curls, and sobs about a laugh. his grin is so wide it might as well rip his face in two. heaven knows it’ll take only a laugh from regulus, a brushing touch from remus, and it’ll sew itself back together. 

“sorry. i’m a bit of a sap,” sirius laughs. he’s weeping, openly weeping, wiping drops of salt from his cheeks and sorrow from his heart. he’s content. satisfied. pleased beyond measure. the loves of his life, his little brother and his boyfriend, looking at him with such tenderness he can’t help but break himself in two. he’s secure in the notion that he’ll have two pairs of hands to stitch him back together, to smooth the broken surface of his soul. 

“having another of your happy cries, pads?” remus inquires. he’s still operating the machine, etching black lines into the pale expanse of regulus’ chest. he’s finished the constellations, and they beautifully disguise the ugly marring of his collarbones. the cat half of the paw prints is finished, skin around the ink flushed and irate. a dog paw is slowly forming, slowly taking shape. it leaves sirius a blubbering mess. regulus wears him on his skin in three separate ways. his constellation, a representation of his animagus, a star on his finger. oh, it’s too much. this is too much. his heart is bursting at the seams, sewed shut by the adoration he harbors for his brother. 

“i feel like my chest is going to explode,” he manages to gasp between shuddering cries. “i’m so full, moons. so full.” and he knows that remus understands. if there’s anyone on the planet who does, it’s remus. sirius is a gentle creature at heart, a true sap in the purest forms. he’s so easily overwhelmed, so easily expressive of the love he can’t contain.

perhaps that’s why he got on so well with james, who regularly calls to cry over joyous things that bring him to the brink of madness. harry smiling at him, lily waking up next to him. james is so full of love he’s bursting with it, showering the earth with adoration he can’t limit to his innards. sirius is much the same. very few things work out for him. very few things are truly beautiful, truly worth a damn, and he can’t contain his joy when he feels it so suddenly. he’s an empty chasm, and the loves he carries for those around him is a heavy pour, filling him until he overflows. and so he weeps, cries like a baby. all snot and wails and incoherence. 

it’s the black family madness. he knows it is. it’s sunk its claws into him, tore him limb from limb. but he’s no bellatrix. he’s subject to his occasional fits of rage, his destructive tendencies, his desire to break and burn and bleed. but he’s never truly twisted by his dark impulses. no, his brand of crazy stems from the love he’s conditioned himself to feel. the adoration he’s allowed himself to feel. and he feels it so fully, so completely, that he fully breaks. he’s deranged, twisted, psychopathic in certain ways. he crushes himself to bits, rips himself to pieces. but nothing can break his psyche quite like regulus and remus can. quite like james, and harry, and lily, and marlene, and dorcas. pandora, luna, mary. he’d burn the world to ashes if he could keep them safe. but for reg, for moony, he’d rebuild it from the ground up if it meant he could buy another minute in their presence. for harry, he’d turn the stars into a blanket and wrap him away from the world. 

“i love you,” regulus says. it feels like a momentary reprieve, a gentle caress amongst the battering of affection swelling beneath his ribs. but it swings harder than any hammer could, blisters and burns and breaks everything in his path. and he throws himself at it, pierces himself on every razor blade regulus’ care has to offer. he does it willingly. rips himself open, tears his heart from his chest, drops it at his brother’s feet. it beats for him, anyways. it was never truly his. it’s always been reggie’s. from the moment he came home wrapped in a blue blanket, a soft tuft of black hair peaking around the soft fabric, sirius had no heart. it lay in regulus’ chest, pumped him full of life and love. regulus was his first love, the first person he felt an inkling of affection for. the first person he cared for beyond mandatory family bonds. regulus was the first, and he’ll be the last, and he’ll be the always. the consistent. the only thing keeping sirius sane in his hurricane of emotion. 

“pads,” remus calls. the buzzing of the machine has stopped. sirius snaps his head up, gazing at his lover through damp eyelashes and quivering lips. and remus smiles, and sirius’ head is cracking open. every thought, every chemical reaction, every ridge of his brain belongs to remus. bright, beautiful remus, circling his mind day in and day out. never a moment he’s not thinking of remus. he’d gladly give remus his brain, an extra space to store all the smothering thoughts causing him harm. a sanctuary he’d fill with flowers, and sunshine, and everything good the stars have to offer. “breathe, baby. breathe.” 

sirius takes a deep breath in. it stings. oxygen expands his lungs, fills every capillary in his chest. it takes a moment for the clarity to return. for the suffocation to ease. it takes a moment, but it stills. the tears stall in his tear ducts, sink back into the reserves within his nasal passages. he smiles, wide and bright and lovingly. regulus is marked. he’s marked by inked paw prints, sketched constellations, mapped stars. and he looks beautiful. always beautiful. always like sirius, crafted in his image, formed by his gentle touch. his namesake, his truest form, is carried by pale skin and a smile so devastating it could break the strongest of men. and sirius would break willingly. for his little brother, his pride and joy, he would. 

“i’m alright,” sirius huffs. and it’s true. he’s alright. he’s more than alright, actually, but to convey his inner turmoil would entail writing a novel, then a sequel, and he’s not sure he quite has the time. 

“james sent a patronus a bit ago,” regulus says. sirius notes the faint blush on the heights of his cheekbones, the uncomfortable wiggle of his back against the leather chair. a curious thing indeed. 

“said something about veritaserum. probably a party for your birthday, or something,” remus comments absentmindedly. he’s applying a salve to the angry tattooed skin of regulus’ torso, entirely taken by his own form of artwork. sirius finds him beautiful, from the lip between his teeth to the socks on his feet. remus is a beautiful creature. truly beautiful. timelessly gorgeous. sirius is so smitten it physically hurts. 

“who’s on babysitting duty?” sirius finds himself asking. regulus raises an eyebrow, an amused smile playing on his lips. 

“you think there’ll be a babysitter? kids included. sober party.” 

a kids included party is asking for chaos. a kids included party with adults on veritaserum is asking for destruction. sirius has already downed his shot of it. thankfully, the potion is a mellow one. it affects the words, not the mind and body. felix felicis is an intoxicating potion, a pull at your instincts and a drug all the same. veritaserum is a hit to your filter. 

sirius is excited for it. he knows himself on veritaserum better than he knows his left hand, which is saying a lot because he quite favors his left hand. he adores harry and luna. he adores the friends he’s kept since school. nothing he could say would incriminate him, or leave him in a bad standing with his loved ones. he gets to enjoy the night listening to hidden truths and accidental confessions, and he gets to do so with his prongslet on his lap and his brother at his side. 

he and regulus are matching again. dark button downs, dark jeans, twin docs. the only visible distinction are their tattoos. three buttons are left undone, exposing collarbones and a bit of sternum. regulus’ new tattoos are on display, and the very top of sirius’ chest piece is showing. there’ll be no mixups tonight, no swapping. tonight is about truth. it’s the annual ‘spill your guts’ party held for sirius’ birthday. it’s a week and a half early since he’ll be working for his birthday, but it’s happening, and that’s all that matters. 

“you guys are my favorite people,” sirius blurts. he chortles at himself, tickling the toddler in his lap. harry is a giggling mess, squirming against his thighs, squealing for mercy. he eventually lets up, smothers the tot’s face in loud smacking kisses. this night is amazing. it’s perfect. his favorite people gathered in a room, laughing and chattering amongst each other. it couldn’t get any more perfect. 

except, of course, sirius isn’t daft. there’s a tension, heavy and unspoken, weighing in the air. pandora is glum, nowhere near her typical whimsical self. she’s sunken into the couch, arms crossed over her chest, glaring at a wall. regulus is tense beside him, jumping every time pandora huffs, every time she shifts in her seat. sirius isn’t daft. he understands that there’s a secret quarrel going on. regulus wasn’t present for the last get together, a cookout in mary’s back yard. pandora was, but refused to so much as utter regulus’ name. something’s happened, and he’d have to be an idiot not to notice. 

he intends to get to the bottom of it at some point. hopefully when regulus isn’t mere days from the last breakdown. hopefully when the animosity has calmed between the two.

in all honesty, he’s not entirely sure how he’ll get to the bottom of it. regulus is private, evasive. pandora is airy, silly, but she’s just as tight lipped and secretive. it’s a pureblood instinct. bottling everything up, keeping it to oneself, is a language learned only in a dark family. pandora is a rosier. rosiers are known for their tempers, their secrets, darkness hidden behind blonde hair and beauty. the black family is much the same. monstrosities disguised as strict rules and overbearing motherhood. it’s no wonder bellatrix turned out the way she had. she’s a mixture of black and rosier, a meld of temper and madness. volatile, unpredictable, a short fuse. 

“truth or dare,” marlene suddenly blurts, a broad grin on her face. it’s an echo of earlier days, simpler times. when naivety and childishness was embraced and encouraged. when silly little party games could ease the anxiety life had to offer. mary is a chuckling mess, viciously shaking her head. 

“never have i ever! please, please can we play?” mary begs, wearing a smile so broad it has to hurt. all eyes are turned to sirius, expectant and excited. he loves both games dearly. he loves the secrets and the messy gossip and the pure drama that ensues every time. truth or dare is fun, a way to break every shell in the room and force the real animal out to play. never have i ever is simpler, a game used as a catalyst for outing the most salacious of secrets. there are children in the room, though, and he can’t see them enjoying watching grown adults snog in the living room of regulus’ home. so, never have i ever it is. 

“i’ll have to side with mary on this one,” sirius says. he’s beaming. he’s excited. he loves this party. he loves these people. he loves this house. regulus has such a nice house and he has such nice friends and this is such a nice party. he’s beginning to wonder if someone slipped a bit of liquor into his cola. 

“i’ll go first!” lily automatically volunteers. she’s holding both hands out, all fingers extended. ten fingers. each person gets ten fingers, and whoever has the most up by the time the first person has all of them down wins. he explains this much to regulus, who prods his side with a confused tilt to his head. “never have i ever snogged a person in this room outside of a current relationship.” 

a plethora of fingers goes down. first sirius, then regulus, remus, james, dorcas, mary. james goes next, as he’s sitting next to lily. “never have i ever dropped lsd.” 

sirius puts a finger down. so does remus. and dorcas, marlene. surprisingly, lily. a round of scandalous gasps crosses the room. 

“lily potter! you best explain right this second!” marlene guffaws. lily flushes under the attention, cheeks ablaze. 

“i did it with remus one time over the summer. sixth year, i think? one of the muggle kids in town had some, so he trip sat for us.” 

it adds up, honestly. lily’s always been a bit wild, calmed only by the birth of her son. she’s never shied away from a party. always taken whatever drink or drug was offered her way. it’s as fun as it is worrying. she’s gotten herself in trouble plenty of times doing hallucinogenics without realizing. she enjoys the trip every time, according to remus, but it’s the principle. 

“you’re up, regulus,” james chirps, leaning slightly to smile at regulus. sirius notes the charming gleam in his eyes, the purposeful flex of his bicep as he relaxes back into place. a curious thing indeed. more curious is the pink forming in pockets across his brother’s face. curious, curious. 

“oh, uh,” regulus stalls, biting his lip. “never have i ever… uh… willingly used an unforgivable.” sirius can tell it was an accident. the curse of veritaserum is the impulse to blurt the first thing on your mind. it seems regulus is no exception, going based on his wince and the apologetic stare cast in sirius’ direction. he does his best to throw on a forgiving smile as he puts a finger down. he’s promptly swatted in the chest by his brother, who looks to be a mix of horrified and shameful. 

“what? i used it on you willingly,” sirius defends. regulus’ jaw drops open and he swats at his shoulder again. “it’s true! i did!” 

“it was not willing, siri!” regulus snaps. there’s a fierce scowl on his face, likely reflected on sirius’. “i forced you! you didn’t want to!” 

“well it’s not like i can lie on a truth serum, is it?” sirius rushes in return. he knows all eyes are on them, watching the argument, and he knows harry is probably giggling in his lap, but he can’t focus on that. his brother, his baby brother, looks so furious that he can’t tear his attention away. 

“it’s not like you volunteered, either,” regulus spits. “i begged you to use it, so you did. put the fucking finger back up.” james’ quip about minding language in front of the children goes unheard. 

“i could’ve said no, reggie. i easily could’ve said no and fucking left, but i didn’t. i used it, and clearly i meant it. you were shaking for a fucking week after! you’ve never reacted that way to a cruciatus! so clearly i fucking meant it!” 

“only because i begged you! i know you’re weak when it comes to me, and i used it to my advantage. i forced you into that and we both know it. so put. the fucking. finger. up.” every word is accompanied by a sharp jab to the chest. sirius huffs. he puts a finger back up. the room is silent. he notices that pandora has a finger down. and so does marlene. 

“killing curse during the war,” marlene admits when all eyes turn quizzically to her. a withering glare from dorcas, and she’s putting the finger back up. “never mind. not willing. understood.” 

“well,” sirius utters. it’s his turn now, and he’s already got a wicked idea. he peppers a few kisses to harry’s head, casts remus an apologetic grin. “never have i ever had my first kiss with a person in this room.” 

collective groans sound out in the space. marlene’s finger goes down. mary flips him off as she puts her finger down. then james, lily, and dorcas. and, surprisingly, regulus. sirius rears back in pure shock. regulus had his first kiss with someone here? he can’t remember a time regulus would’ve been alone with anyone other than pandora or dorcas, and neither of them seem up to snogging a gay kid with a bad attitude. 

“remus,” regulus utters, albeit a bit bitter. that’s another shock. he can only think of one time regulus has kissed remus, and that was a few weeks ago. surely regulus hadn’t lasted this long without snogging someone? that’s a preposterous idea. poor, poor regulus. marlene and lily give their grumbling of agreement to regulus. this isn’t a surprise. it’s common knowledge that remus, as the token gay, served as a sort of safe first kiss for the gryffindor girls. it is a surprise, however, that remus was regulus’ first kiss. how had he not known? he wouldn’t have recommended the brother swap if he hadn’t. now he just feels like a piece of shit. 

“since sirius wants to target,” remus huffs, then casts a smirk in his direction. he knows the dirty laundry is about to be aired to everyone, and he rolls his eyes. remus is nothing if not fucking petty. “never have i ever been given an orgasm by james potter.” 

lily and sirius put a finger down each. lily is a given, of course. james is a known selfless partner, and lily is his beautiful wife, so it’s sort of assumed that james is more than eager to supply her with a lifetime of orgasms. sirius and james had experimented with their sexuality a lot back at hogwarts. snogging blokes and birds left and right, confused about what it all meant. was it even okay to fancy both? so there had been a moment of weakness during which both of them had experimented with blowjobs, no strings attached, just to figure out whether they liked it or not. needless to say, sirius loves it. james isn’t a definite answer. 

there’s a moment now. regulus tenses. huffs a sigh. tips his head back. glares at the ceiling. then puts a finger down. and all hell breaks loose. 

“wait a damn minute!” dorcas sputters. marlene’s jaw is practically at her feet. mary is cackling wildly, luna giggling cluelessly in her lap. remus is laughing, loud and boisterous at regulus’ expense. 

and sirius? sirius feels like fucking vomiting. 

“it was an accident!” james automatically defends. lily is chortling at his side. sirius wants to fucking scream. he might vomit, actually. an accident? not only did he apparently give regulus an orgasm. but now it’s an accident? oh, fuck that. 

“so my little brother is an accident then, potter?” sirius spits. he’s got his wand out, a hex ready to fly. regulus is sputtering as he snatches it from sirius’ hand. 

“it really was an accident, siri!” regulus exclaims, shrill. he sounds for a moment like the little boy sirius raised, and it’s enough for him to minutely relax. he’s still pissed. royally. 

“how the fuck was it an accident?” he grinds out. he’s looking pointedly at james, staring daggers, but he’s talking to regulus. 

“james put me in a headlock. and i soiled my trousers. it was fucking embarrassing, so if we could move on i would absolutely love that.” 

sirius is laughing. this is too good. his little brother, soiling his trousers like a fourteen year old. it’s disgusting, because it’s his brother. but it’s also funny, because it’s his brother. poor, poor regulus. poor, inexperienced, hormonal regulus. 

“alright!” mary cheers. it’s her turn, and she’s got a sparkle in her eyes. “never have i ever wanted to shag lily potter.” 

james puts a finger down. marlene and dorcas. sirius. pandora, even. it’s a funny moment, laughter and camaraderie. 

then regulus groans. slams his fist into his lap a few times. and puts a finger down. 

sirius is disgusted all over again. seriously, he’s going to vomit at this rate. 

lily seems pleased, if her wink towards regulus is anything to go by. regulus, however, looks absolutely mortified. face red, sweat on his brow, grimace on his face. james flexing his bicep with every movement is certainly not helping. regulus looks just as ill as sirius feels. dorcas claps her hands, drawing all the attention to herself for her turn.

“never have i ever wanted to shag regulus black.” 

lily’s finger goes down. james’ follows swiftly behind. then remus’. sirius guffaws at him, swatting his arm with vigor. 

“you arse! you fantasize about my baby brother?” he shrieks. remus rolls his eyes, places an arm around sirius. harry is giggling in between them. 

“let’s not forget the night you two did your swap. i wanted to shag him thinking he was you.” sirius’ nerves ease a bit, though he still feels extremely disgusted. all of the truths coming out tonight because of this stupid game are at his expense. it’s no longer funny. 

“you can’t be serious,” regulus deadpans. sirius swivels his head to look at his brother, noticing the mask of indifference and the glare aimed at the potters. lily pulls a look, leans towards him with her cleavage pushed together. 

“i should hope not. that would be your brother,” she quips. james bursts out into laughter, falling back where he sits. sirius can’t help the chortle escaping him. “if i didn’t want to shag you, i wouldn’t have pushed your face into my tits. i’ve wanted to shag you since hogwarts, reg.” 

silence. complete silence. then sirius gags. marlene has a wicked smirk on her face. it’s her turn now, and she’s sure to cause at least mild chaos. marlene is a devious creature, a woman craving conundrum at all times. whatever she’s got up her sleeve, it’s bound to go somewhere with zero chance of return. 

“never have i ever,” a dramatic pause, “had feelings for regulus black.” 

lily puts a finger down. james follows. regulus makes a choking noise, akin to a dying animal. 

“not a fucking chance. no fucking way,” regulus utters under his breath. sirius places a hand on his shoulder, a small smile curling his lips. he was right. marlene has crossed a bridge, crossed to a point of no return. regulus looks seconds away from falling unconscious. god, this night is a wreck. it’s exactly the sort of thing he’d expect of his friends, and nothing he’d expect out of regulus. he’s honestly surprised reg has let the game go on as long as it has. though, the veritaserum and the fact that it’s a birthday party are likely pressing him to continue. sirius feels a bit guilty, admittedly. 

“never have i ever killed a friend,” says pandora suddenly. her voice and face are equally cold. she’s staring directly at regulus, eyes narrowed, lips curled into a sneer. and regulus has shrunk into himself, a look of shame crossing his face. 

what? 

regulus? murder? it’s a laughable idea. regulus is loyal. regulus loves fiercely and protectively. regulus would sooner slit his own throat than turn a wand against the people he cares about. what is pandora talking about? 

sirius spares a glance around the room. dorcas is openly glaring at pandora, who’s staring at regulus with vicious animosity in her silver eyes. 

regulus puts a finger down. 

“what?” 

“who?”

”pandora, stop.” 

silence. 

“i killed evan rosier and barty crouch jr.”

pandora heaves a cold laugh. the silver of her eyes could cut stone. the party has come to a halt. tension thickens the air, dense enough to choke on as sirius inhales. regulus is small. he’s shaking. he’s crying. sirius is seeing red. 

“you deserve to rot for what you’ve done, regulus.” 

there’s a pop. a cry. glass shattering. water flowing. smoke in the air. 

“get the kids out of here,” someone bellows. a ruckus of feet stomping, and harry is lifted from his lap, and someone’s crying. who’s crying? 

it’s regulus. 

“pads, you’re losing it,” someone hushes. he can’t hear. he can’t see. regulus is crying. regulus is hurt. why is he hurt? who hurt him? 

where is he? 

“come back to me, baby.” 

what’s happening? 

where is he? 

where is regulus? 

someone is crying. 

“breathe, pads. breathe.” 

someone is crying. 

“come back to us, sirius.” 

someone is crying. regulus is crying. 

where is he? 

what’s happening?

someone is crying. 

“remember yourself, sirius.” 

moony. 

moony is here. 

someone is crying. 

someone is crying. 

someone is-