soothsayer
Be still, my love, we've seen this before
When the dogs were out 'til dawn, looking for you
But they can't stop, and no, they don't stop there
Sucked in, but it's nice to know you care
Stand still and I'll come for you
I run slow but I know that you'll want me to
Stopped, propped on the hundred's top shelf
Last scene thinkin' about yourself
What thoughts of your dying day were they?
The day Sirius ran away from home, something inside him changed. Well, not so much change per se as frozen. Some small portion of his heart seized up and never worked again. Left in a constant stasis in his chest. Kind of like the last thread you pull when sewing. There has always been someone who’s been the one pulling that string, holding it taut and hostage inside him.
His little brother.
His little brother, still in that house. Looking down at him. The way Sirius didn’t look back for a last time. The stony look he had the last time Sirius saw him, through the distorting glass of the windows. The words sitting thick in the air between them, on both sides.
Why didn’t you ask me?
Would you have come?
He didn’t think seeing him again would unravel that string so badly. Falling completely apart. Like every single bit of his heart collapsed, all mushing together crushed by its own weight. Some monstrous fleshy creature heaving in his rib cage, threatening to tear itself out of him and lunge for his brother.
And maybe punching his brother was an overreaction but personally, he felt very justified in his actions. Though feeling Regulus’s head snap back against his knuckles did nothing to settle any uncomfortable feelings inside him, only heightening them if anything. His little brother on his knees in front of him, a bruise beginning to bloom on his cheekbones.
Some wretched part of him that had wanted to fall to the floor right next to him. Just to hold him again. To pretend like he was still his little brother. 9 and scared, crying over nightmares in his bedroom. When their world was as large as the backyard they played in.
To Sirius, Regulus has always been a fixed object in his life. Reliable and constant. A stable piece of furniture amongst his fucked up life. The bed you cry into, the table you sit at. Something he could always leave and come back to, to see it left in the same spot. Until one day he wasn’t there when Sirius came back.
He’d given up on waiting, and it was Sirius’ fault for not seeing it first.
He’s been hiding at Remus’ for the past week since the incident, or lying low at Lupin’s as he likes to call it. So the knock on the door is an expected one but it is an unexpected face behind it.
James steps into the corridor of Remus’ apartment, shaking off his coat with a familiarity that makes Sirius’ chest ache. He doesn’t know why. James doesn’t speak and neither does Sirius, he just steps back and makes room for him, almost a natural instinct, since they were kids. Forever tangled together in an impossible knot. There was always an empty slot next to Sirius until James came along, filling every corner and crevice of it.
They move together in tandem, automatically heading toward the kitchen. Not one word uttered. James grabs the mugs while Sirius fills and boils the kettle, it’s a soothing domesticity, the amicable company of James that just feels right. Tea bags slide into hot water and spoons stir in sugar and Sirius can’t lift his gaze from the mug to meet James’ because he knows what he’ll find. Pity.
“Sirius,” He pleads quietly.
Damn James for always being able to see through him like glass. Why is he even here again? Scrunching up his face, he hovers his gaze just over James’ shoulder, just to avoid the look on his face. The one that says Sirius is a wounded animal. A beaten dog, tightly wound, always on edge and about to strike at the smallest movement. Don’t they know he’s tired of being that animal, he’s tired of biting and scratching and the wounds that never heal. He’s so tired. He clings to his hot mug tighter.
“Sirius, please.” James’ voice has hardened.
That’s… new. Normally Remus is the one with the blunt-force approach, able to bully Sirius into seeing reason. But James? He’s the mother duck, with soft voices and gentle touches that lure you into comfortability to speak. But for him to be like this, it’s… different to say one thing. Well, no beating around the bush this time. He moves his eyes a fraction to the left, vision colliding with James’ unimpressed face. He grimaces then smiles in what he hopes is a nonchalant way, if that’s even possible.
“Do you want to talk about it?” James’ brown eyes are a blackhole of questions.
Sirius aims for relaxed, when he raises his mug to his mouth and sips before saying. “Not really no,” The scalding tea burns his tongue and he tries to hide his wince. So much for playing it cool.
James just sighs. “Please mate, we need to talk about it. All of it.”
Now Sirius knows why he’s here, James is finally ready to talk about it. About Pete. About Regulus. About all of the moulding skeletons in the back of Sirius’ closet. Sirius can feel his face harden and sour. Something ugly rearing back in his chest, poised to attack, to defend its open sores. That fucking dog again. Bearing its teeth.
“James. I don’t want to talk about it.” A warning, something that should make James hesitate. Because normally he knows, knows when to stop pushing and when to shut up. Clearly, not this time because James just barrels right into it.
“He loves you,”
And doesn’t that just feel like a bullet right to the fucking chest? He can feel that canine instinct in him rising again. If they hurt you hurt them right back. It's like a chant that has been engraved somewhere in his bones. He was born with it so he can’t really help it when the words slip past his teeth.
“Yeah James, do you remember when Peter loved us?” James’ face distorts in pain but Sirius keeps going. “Remember when he said we were his best friends? When he said he trusted us and that we trusted him. Do you remember that?”
James just looks at the floor, his knuckles white from where he’s gripping his mug.
“Yeah, so what a load of shit that love does for us. It blinded us, James, it was staring us in the face and we ignored it because it was easier to. Until- ha, until he fucking showed up on Dumbledore's doorsteps with it engraved on his chest. I mean Jesus Christ, Reggie’s a bit sadistic, isn’t he?”
He feels naked. Embarrassed. He’s carved into his stomach and now he’s dumping all of his morbid guts on the kitchen tiles.
“Sirius…” There it is again, that fucking pity.
Sirius can feel the lump in his throat and the heat behind his eyes. He knows it’s coming and so he doesn't stop it. “Fucking engraved on his chest James.” He practically whimpers.
He can barely feel the tears falling down his cheeks against the heat of his face. This is humiliating. But all for one and one for all he supposes. James moves forward and reaches for his shoulders and there’s nothing left in Sirius to fight against it. James looks him dead in the eyes, brimming with unfallen tears.
“Sirius, this is not your fault, and it’s not mine either. We loved Pete as well as we could, it was his decision to-” He can’t say it, Sirius knows he can’t. “-Leave us.” Is what he settles on. “But Regulus is back…” Sirius shakes his head, but James ploughs on. “... and he wants to see you,”
Sirius sobs a wet breath. “No, no he doesn’t.”
“Yes, he does. I spoke to him. He wants to see you.” He repeats it as if that makes it sound less ridiculous. And while he knows he shouldn’t, while he knows that his brother probably hates him and James is making some idiotic stunt to fix their relationship Sirius can’t help the spark of hope it ignites in him.
“Does he really?” He whispers.
James’ face lights up as he responds quietly. “Yes, yes, he does.”
—-------------------------
No time to breathe, I leave in the morning
Pulled a piece of his leaf off the wall, sold, now I'm sure it is
Her daddy's like that, so I don't talk back
Don't stop staring off the maniac in the mirror
On the floor, over dinner, now no more
Now no more
—-------------------------
Grimmauld place is absolutely disgusting, Regulus thinks. He certainly doesn’t remember it being so filthy when he left it a few months ago. Kreacher is still here, but his age is preventing him from being able to thoroughly clean, he supposes. His mother probably put a dust charm over the house when she learnt he would inherit it after her arrest. With a life sentence in Azkaban, the will was enacted immediately and Regulus had seized Grimmauld Place before she could write him out of it.
So now he’s here, wearing a tea towel over the bottom half of his face trying desperately to turn this place into something liveable. Something that doesn’t haunt him with every memory. But somehow it’s like every layer of grime he scrubs away a new one replaces it underneath. Maybe it’s a curse his mother put on the house. Maybe he’s going crazy, says a voice in his head. He has a new respect for the house elves.
He vacuums, he charms and tries to magick his way through the muck layering each never-ending room. All the portraits have been ripped from the walls, even his mother's. Apparently, special privileges come from being the saviour of the wizarding world, like good curse breakers. He took special pleasure in burning that one in the fireplace of his father’s office. Along with the portraits came the mounted house elf heads, though Kreacher was reluctant to let them go after Regulus begged, they were thrown away as well.
Unsurprisingly, hours of cleaning and sifting through dark magical objects is extremely tiring and after only less than a week of it, Regulus feels like his arms are going to fall off and he wishes desperately for some respite. Of course, he could probably pay someone to do it for him but imagining someone coming into this place and witnessing the horrible mass of insanity causing, leftover magic and sadness this house holds makes him want to peel off his own skin. So he does it alone.
The kitchen has been thoroughly torn apart and put back together, with gleaming dishes and tiles save for Kreacher’s nest under the sink that he refuses to give up even when Regulus politely asks him to. Regulus’ bedroom has been cleaned and tidied, of course, the bathrooms were the first course of action afterwards, polished to a sparkle. If Regulus is anything in his heart, he is a perfectionist. He doesn’t start a room before he’s sure he’s finished the last, absolutely certain of not a speck of dust left behind. It ensures a beautiful end result, it also ensures a painstaking process.
But there’s one room he’s yet to even enter, scared that it will fall apart like the delicate petals of a primrose- Sirius’ bedroom. The door remains shut, the plaque adorning it, he swears, glints the rare sunlight the house gets directly on him on purpose.
He can’t even imagine why he’s scared of opening it. He thinks that maybe his mother destroyed it all, that all of his brother’s belongings are gone, burnt to a crisp in a fire, not unlike the one he burnt her portrait in. He’s scared that if he opens the door, it will open into nothing, the room bare and haunted by ghosts he can’t bear to face, or it’ll open into empty air, and he’ll find that the room never existed in his house. Because how could any part of his brother belong to him?
So he leaves it alone. Tiptoes around it like those four walls have ears. When he returned after Sirius punched him in front of a crowd of people, he stared at the door for hours. It was almost like a contest but Regulus knew he would lose. He always has, to Sirius.
So, he left it shut. Avoided it for the entirety of the coming days. Put his entire mind to cleaning the house. And to his credit, the entire first floor has been finished at this point, and he’s started to move into the bedrooms. Turns out the room is particularly hard to ignore. It's like he can feel it staring at him from down the halls and stairs as he moves through the floor with his cleaning products. He pushes it from his mind as best he can most days.
When he’s not cleaning or personifying a room to have the same characteristics as his estranged brother, Regulus is eating and sleeping and trying to avoid a nagging thought in the back of his mind.
Just a small flickering thought, easy to shut down but persistent in its constant return. A thought of a dusted blush. A quiet smile and sweet brown skin. A cottage by the seaside and a little blue bed with sea animal plushies. Round-rimmed glasses and a bruised eye reflected in them. They shake him when they come, the memories, but as he tries to distract himself they seem to come more, by tenfold. Somehow bigger and brighter each time, in the technicolour of the boy’s eyes or the purple of his garish bruise.
It’s not as if he’s never noticed James before, of course, he has. He’s known James since before he went to Hogwarts, his brother’s amazing great new shiny best friend. The one that stole Sirius. He remembers seeing him on the Hogwarts Express, in his first year, glasses atop a mop of reckless curls. Loud and larger than life, laughing like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like just him doing that didn’t send a whirlpool of emotion into Regulus’ gut.
It was hard to hate him after meeting him. He never spoke to James, by the time he even had the courage to make his own friends the divide between him and his brother could stretch miles. So when James came storming through that door in the cottage, surprise was not the last thing he felt.
Then the boy sat down with him and touched his arm gently, fingers brushing, electricity slipping down Regulus’ spine. The warm wash of his magic came down in sheets on Regulus’ face, washing away the bruise like it was just makeup. Then he asked him, ‘Why?’, and it was only in the name of good manners that Regulus told him, Before finding himself spilling things he shouldn’t to James. The kind boy with the big eyes that soaked it all up, not judging just listening. The kind boy who told him his brother still loved him and told him that Regulus loved him too because he knew it in his heart. Well after that Regulus felt a lot more than just surprise.
But no, if you asked him, he’s not thinking of James Potter, not one little bit.
And when the doorbell rings as he cleans crockery, his heart does not pick up at all at the thought that it could be him. Nope, not one little bit.
—-------------------------
Hey, blame all the same, I appreciate you came
But my love for you was measured in the war
Stood tall overall, still my back's against the wall
And I, I need a sooth
And I, I need a sooth... sayer
I, I need a soothsayer
And I, I need a
I, I need a soothsayer
Won't you tell me what my story holds?
—-------------------------
He’s nervous. That seems such a strange thing to say but he’s nervous. Standing on the doorstep of his ancestral home, he’s nervous. It’s almost comical, he should technically have the rights to this place, as the firstborn but instead he stands before the door trying to calm his nerves, like it’s an obstacle rather than a block of wood in a hole. Something small in him wants to go, to tuck his tail between his legs and flee. It’s too much. Being back here again. He’s spent his entire life running away from this place and now here he is again, trailing back to its doorstep. Ugh. He needs to get out of here. Maybe Regulus isn’t even home, probably off doing some great saviour of the wizarding world shite like kissing babies or cutting red ribbons. He probably isn’t. So they should just go, yeah they should just leave. Come back another time. Or never. That suits Sirius as well. He wonders if his mothers portrait is still hung up.
“Let’s go.” He turns back towards the pavement, not even looking at James, trying to escape quickly but James catches him by the elbow.
“C’mon mate you said you would.”
Sirius rolls his eyes. “Yeah when I was crying on the kitchen floor, you can’t trust me when I cry. Do you remember when I tried to buy a dog online while crying ‘cause Moony said he’d never had a pet? Clearly, I’m unstable, we should just go.” He makes another go for the road but James stops him again.
“No, Sirius come on,” James looks exhausted. He better get some rest at home. With Sirius.
“I don’t want to James, I can’t go in there, I don’t even know what I’d say to him.” This is true, what do you say to your estranged little brother whom you punched when you last saw him after he saved your entire world as you knew it? It’s complicated and they should just leave it. Talking about it would take forever.
But before he can stop him, James has surged forward and pressed the small gold button that adorns the ornate frame. Distantly in the house you can hear the bell ringing through the air. Then the unmistakable sound of someone moving through the house, placing things down, shutting doors and pattering towards the front of the house.
“James! What the hell?” Sirius whisper-yells.
“You’ll thank me for it later,” He says, pushing Sirius towards the front door as it begins to crack open.
“This is betrayal and I won’t forget it,” He hisses over his shoulder at his best friend.
“What’s betrayal?” Regulus deadpans from the frame of the front door, looking down at his brother.
Sirius whips his head back up. “Oh, Reggie. Funny seeing you here, what a coincidence.”
His brother’s face doesn’t change spare a raised eyebrow. “In my own house?”
Sirius straightens up no longer being held up by James and meets his brother’s eye. “Well technically it was going to be my house remember, but-”
“Then you ran away.” Regulus finishes.
“Yep, crazy how long ago that was. Well no use dwelling on the past, let’s get on with it shall we?” He skirts past Regulus and goes back into the jaws of Grimmauld Place. The corridor is still the same, thick purple carpet. Tacky. But it’s less caked with dust, now more plush and vibrant. Oh my God. The weirdo’s been cleaning the house. Doesn’t he know there’s no saving it? Too much hatred marinated into the foundations. Well, each to their own. If cleaning is his way of coping then so be it. Useful at the very least. Maybe he should invite him over to have a peep at James’ mess. Though there’s no saving that.
They go through the house, Sirius feeling like the walking dead with James trailing awkwardly in his wake, Regulus bringing up the rear. It’s so strange being back, he drags his fingers along the wallpaper and is surprised when there’s no dusty residue. The house is relatively the same, though some particular portraits are missing he notices with relish, the one of his mother has left a gaping spot on the wall. It’s definitely cleaner though, scrubbed to a shiny finish in a way Sirius hasn’t seen before even with his mother’s extensive employment of house elves.
He whistles as they file into the drawing room. “Wow Reggie, you’ve really cleaned house, literally.”
“Yes, thank you for that insightful comment Sirius,” He deadpans, drawing out his wand to call a tray into the room, covered with an assortment of pastries and tea. James is lingering awkwardly in the doorway, looking onto the scene like a deer waiting for the sound of crunched leaves to flee.
Sirius feels uncomfortable, looking around the room, his eyes tracing the all too familiar shapes. He shuts his eyes like his brain is trying to push it back out, trying not to remember. The family tree is displayed starkly in front of him, he can’t bear it, can’t look for his own golden link, at the charred mark he knows is covering it. It’s this room, that brings it all back. He remembers how the carpet scratched and itched as he writhed unwillingly against it, pain shooting through his nerves like fire while his family stood over him. Disgrace. Disgrace, Disgrace. He can’t open his eyes.
“Woah,” James almost laughs. “They really didn’t do you justice in this tapestry Sirius,”
“What?” He turns and opens his eyes to see James pointing almost incredulously at the wall. But that doesn’t make sense, he’s been burned off, he watched Walburga do it. UNless James is trying to make some untasteful joke but no. When Sirius’ eyes finally reach the tapestry, there he is. In all his childlike glory. A small pumpkin headed version of Sirius Orion Black stares out at him, lips drawn in a straight line. His golden link flowing through him and Regulus and back up to their parents above.
“But, how?” He sputters, reaching out to feel the fabric. “It wouldn’t have changed on it own, I was burnt off-”
“I did it.” Regulus speaks quietly and both James and Sirius turn to where he stands next to the floating tea tray. He’s looking intently at the floor, fiddling with his wand. When neither of the pair say anything he speaks again. “I didn’t think anyone should be burnt off, I did it to all of them, look.”
So Sirius does, he looks at the tapestry painting his eyes all over it and true to his word, none of them have been burnt, every single connection to the Black family is there.
Another Sirius Black 1740-1752 intertwined with no one but his parents.
Samson Black chained to another witch Delilah Brude, a muggleborn presumably, he could think of no one in the sacred twenty eight with that name.
Lynx Lupin 1801-1872 and Perseus Black 1799- 1865 , linked with marriage bonds but no children, no doubt the reason they were blasted off. He’d have to ask Remus about it.
Iphignia Potter 1634-1688 is there linked to Antares Black 1630-1701. “Ew we’re related,” James says.
“Very distantly,” Regulus reminds him staring harshly and James flushes.
Zeta, Ascella, Castor, Cyrus, Itri… The list goes on and on.
All these people he never knew, that had been blasted off for their supposed crimes to the family, and it travels down, to him and Andromeda the latest disgraces, Regulus too though, he supposes. There's a lump in his throat.
He traces a hand around his own golden link. “I can’t believe you did this…” He’s almost breathless with the shock. His voice is thick.
Regulus just shrugs. “I’m head of the house now, it listens to me and I don’t think anyone should’ve been burnt off…” He trails off as Sirius turns to face him, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Oh.” He says. “I’m sorry.”
Sirius laughs wetly then. “No. No, it’s okay Reg,”
“Are you sure? I never meant to, I don’t, I didn’t mean to upset you,”
“You didn’t,” He promises, “I’m- It’s okay” He steps forward, wanting to reach out but not knowing how anymore he falters.
Regulus sees the aborted attempt and he just looks at Sirius, still clutching his own arms, looking every bit the little kid Sirius used to sing to sleep. Big round eyes, embarrassed pursed lips. He almost shudders with the intense flash of deja vu. There are too many memories in here, this house, this room, this boy. It's stifling. He needs to leave.
He sobs quietly, still looking at his brother, a chasm between them. “I can’t be here, I’m sorry, I need to go,” Without waiting for a response he’s out of the room, into the hall, panting as he hurries past and out into the sunlight. Suddenly he can breathe. It’s less claustrophobic on the outside of the house but still just as oppressive, being in its presence but he can at least catch his breath against the tears.
He falls on the front steps, tears still flowing as he hugs his knees. Waiting for James to come back out and apparate them safely home, he can’t possibly do it right now, would end up splinching himself in half. He tightens his grip around his legs and shoves his face into his knees, waiting, waiting, waiting. He just doesn't know what he’s waiting for, James or for this feeling to finally pass him by. The dog inside him whimpers.
—----------------------------
Regulus sees James out somewhat rudely once Sirius has fled the scene, ushering him to the door, and shoving biscuits and whatnot into his hands as a parting gift as James fumbles the conversation in light of the awkward circumstances. Regulus is hardly listening anyway, to focused on his brother, the way he had leaned forward for him, the distance he had almost broken. It’s only when James puts a gentle hand on his shoulder as they reach the front door that he looks up, snapping back into reality.
“Listen, if you need any help, cleaning this place out, I can come over,” He offers, the epitome of selflessness, it almost makes Regulus sick, the brightness of this boy. “Both of us,” He adds when Regulus says nothing.
“If you can drag him,” Regulus tries to joke but it comes out flat, nevertheless James perks up.
“Okay, okay, I’ll uh, see you then,” He nods and steps out the door, shutting it gently behind him, leaving Regulus standing alone in the hall.
That night Regulus spends his dinner staring at Sirius’ door.