Hatred
I: Regulus
Regulus hated James Potter. Hate didn't even begin to describe the bile that rose in the back of his throat every time he read the name in Sirius' letters. He despised the messy curls he's never seen, he loathed the smile Sirius raved about and he destested the way James Potter made him hate the sun. The bright, flaming ball that hung high in the sky, casting the world in a soft glow, that showered people with it's comforting rays. The symbol of happiness. Regulus, who used to adore the sun, who gave his heart for the warm that came from it, who would sneak away from his icy parents and into it's embrace, who would sit in the garden until he started to peel and write in his journal. Those hours spent in the fresh air became days spent hidden away in the library, the warmth suddenly becoming fire, the comfort becoming acid, the rays becoming a searing scapel shedding his flesh and burning his organs, boiling his bones. The sun, the symbol of positivity, became only another glooming reminder that he had been replaced by James bloody Potter.
Sirius' fourth letter, sent on the beginning of his second week at the Little Palace, was a three paged, front and back, rant about the ever glorious James Potter, the otkazat'sya boy who had happened to stumble upon Sirius sketching. The farther Regulus had read on, the larger the pit of dread gathering in his stomach seemed to grow, dragging down and swallowing the fragments of his broken heart. Two weeks apart and Sirius had found someone who was everything Regulus wasn't; confident, reliable, humourous and happy. When Regulus had heard about Edgar Bones, he had felt a flutter of jealously but small enough that he could smother it behind a facade of happiness. Sirius had finally made a friend, he should be happy. But James Potter, oh no. James had crushed Regulus' soul. If Regulus had wanted Edgar to trip on his way to the Great Hall, he hoped James drowned the next time he went for a swim.
The worst part about that letter was the shame and embarrassment Regulus had felt. Regulus had sent a letter overflowing with his sappy emotions, using his talent of manipulating words to create the most heartfelt piece of writing he's ever produced. He told Sirius about how he missed him, how he felt empty without the second half of his heart, how he curled up in Sirius' sheets every day and drowned himself in the few jumpers Sirius had left behind, mourning the loss of a brother who was only a twenty minute carriage ride away.
And Sirius had responded with a rant about James Potter, not even aknowledging the words Regulus had written to him. It had almost hurt more than hearing about how he had been replaced.
Regulus had cried hard that night, sobbing with full-body shakes, tears too thick to see through. Orion had heard him - of course he did, how could he not? - and told his mother. A blade had been run under his eyes, two thin slashes underneath his gathering bags. A reminder that boy don't cry.
He had only enraged his parents more by making the marks disappear with two swipes of his thumb.
Regulus had continued to cry everytime Sirius sent a letter. No word from his brother came without the mention of James Potter. Each time his parents would hear and each time the slashes under his eyes would be restored. Walburga made sure to hit the same line of flesh each time he was repremanded, tearing open the scars that had just begun to heal. Regulus knew that soon enough, the scarring would become permanent but he couldn't care less. The feeling of the blade against his cheeks no longer brought dread, no longer brought pain. He was numb as the blade parted his skin easily. He welcomed the cool steel time and time again. Instead of shying away from it as he most certainly was supposed to, Regulus began to greet the metal as an old friend.
After a few months, Regulus no longer stowed himself away and wept over his brother's letters. The pain was still there, it still stung everytime he read the name 'James' in Sirius' large, dramatic handwritting. It burned just as much as the rays of sunlight, if not more so, but Regulus learned to push it away. He buried the hurt under heaps of homework in preperation for his time to come at the Little Palace, expectations Regulus was failing to meet set by his parents, his beloved novels and his book of poetry.
Still, despite Regulus’ hatred, he was tremendously excited for Sirius’ inevitable return. The day he was due to come home, Regulus waited on the front bench of the foyer, watching the front door until his older brother walked through.
Walburga, who was already home, scolded him for it. She had smacked him upside the head but left it at that.
Regulus couldn’t describe the feeling that rushed through him when Sirius stumbled through the door dragging his trunk across the floor, hair drenched from the rain tumbling outside. It was like a breath of fresh air after being cooped up in the house for days on end. It was like a cool breeze whistling through while the sun was blazing. It was like a lungful of oxygen after a time spent underwater. It was like a genuine smile from his mother.
But it was also like sitting under the sun, turning his blood to acid and submerging him in wave after wave of white hot rage. It was raining jealously and Regulus’ skin was a sponge. Resentment clung to his bones, covering them like marrow. The fragments of a grudge forged throughout the hundreds of mentions of James Potter merged with his cells.
Still, despite the ranging war of emotions, Regulus threw himself at his brother. Sirius staggered backwards in surprise, dropping the handle of his trunk and wrapping his arms around his younger brother’s back.
“Hiya, Reggie.” Sirius whispered into the tuffs of Regulus’ hair.
Regulus didn’t respond, only tightening his grip. He breathed in deeply, savouring the scent of petrol and cinnamon that had long since faded from Sirius’ sheets.
“Sirius,” Orion’s voice glided through the foyer. “You should begin unpacking. Dinner is at 7.”
Regulus pulled away sharply, clasping his hands behind his back and standing tall until Orion’s footsteps retreated. Sirius gave him a curious glance over before a mischievous grin spread across his face. His hand disappeared down the pocket of his kefta and pulled out three small metal spheres. Regulus tilted his head. A small latch was visible along the top of the spheres and Sirius carefully manoeuvred his fingers to keep himself from pushing on it. When Regulus met his brother’s gaze once more, the blue specks in eyes were glinting with trouble.
Oh no. Regulus thought.
“These are dungbombs.” Sirius said proudly.
Regulus gave him a blank look. “What are dumgbombs?”
Sirius’ smirk widened. “One of James’ creations. He knows a Durast and an Alkemi and they came up with it. Press on the latch and it opens. The Alkemi, his dad, created a gas that smells horribly but doesn’t do any actual harm. The gas also attacks the capsule and disintegrates. Genius, really. I’m gonna set them off during dinner.”
After the end of each schooling year at the Little Palace, the families of Walburga and Druella Black get together for one family dinner to start off the summer. The elder Blacks view it as a special bonding experience, most of the children see it as an uncomfortable evening but Sirius, apparently, looks at the situation and sees the perfect opportunity to mess with everyone.
Regulus knows how this would end; with Sirius bleeding on the floor of the drawing room. He admits, the image of Walburga Black, queen of all things pristine, with her nose scrunched up in disgust from a smell coming from her own dining hall was highly amusing. The outcomes, however, would forever outweigh whatever enjoyment Sirius could squeeze from the situation.
And of course, there’s the fact that Sirius got these dungbombs from James Potter.
“That’s a terrible idea.” He said.
Sirius’ face dropped and he let out an exasperated sigh. “Come on, Reggie. It’ll be fun! What happened while I was gone? You would’ve been all over the idea, had I had asked last summer,” his expression quickly morphed into one of concern. His hands flew up to Regulus’ face, the latter flinching as Sirius tilted his head at various angles and scraped his eyes along his body. “What did they do to you? Did they hurt you?”
Memories of the past year flashed through Regulus’ head at lightning speed. Lessons, each drilled into his brain with a new way to remember.
One of said lessons had been the importance of emotion, or lack thereof.
Regulus’ expression shut down, face going blank and eyes turning to stone. “Everything is fine, Sirius. I’d rethink this prank of yours and the consequences that travel with it.”
With that, Regulus turned and disappeared down the corridor to his room. Once his back was to his brother, his mask fell. His fingers twitched with the need to pick at his nails. If Regulus knew anything about Sirius, it was that he didn’t back down. The curse of the Black family stubbornness. Sirius would follow through with his mischievous scheme and tonight would end horribly.
The annual Start of Summer Black Family Dinner between Sirius’ and Regulus’ first years at the Little Palace was one of the worst dinners Regulus suffered through, which is truly saying something if you consider the meals he would eventually sit through in his late teenage years.
As was tradition, each official Heartrender would be dressed in black and red. All those you were not yet of age adorned the colours of the Black family crest; silver and emerald.
It had started as just the adults; Walburga in her elegant black gown with red lace, Aunt Druella in a black dress of her own and a crimson corset and both Orion and Uncle Cygnus dressed in regal black suits with red waistcoats.
Then Andromeda joined, wearing a dress made completely of scarlet fabrics. Bellatrix would be next, wearing an outfit of near complete black but her jewellery was embedded with rubies. Cissa would be the perfect mix between Bella and Andy, dressing in a tight ebony skirt and a blouse of red, the pattern of a Heartrender embroidered around her wrists.
This year, Sirius wore the same suit as his father, leaving only Regulus in silver and green.
Squashed between Cissa and Sirius at the table, Regulus made himself as small as possible. Cissa glanced down at him periodically, curiosity and concern shining in her eyes. Sirius made eye contact with him once or twice but, for the most part, was completely immersed in a conversation with Andromeda.
Regulus knew the horrid topic was coming. He waited with growing dread as his parents, his aunt and his uncle talked about Sirius’ grades, the state of the Second Army, their despise for Albus Dumbledore, the recent disappearances caused by the Fjerdan drüskelle and a recent shipment of jurda from the Zemeni until finally, his Uncle Cygnus spoke.
“Regulus,” he said, Regulus’ posture instantly straightening at his name being called. “How are your pre-studies coming along?”
Regulus forced himself not to wince as all heads turned his direction, waiting expectantly for an answer. Regulus’ gaze shifted to his parents as he swallowed, their expressions fixed into matching scowls.
“Don’t look to us for an answer, boy,” Orion sneered. “Go on. Tell them how much of a failure you’ve turned out to be.”
Regulus couldn’t help the small noise that escaped past his lips then. Aunt Druella’s unsettling smile slipped off his face and Uncle Cygnus’ expression hardened. Dromeda glanced frantically between everyone at the table, Bella wore an expression of disgust and Cissa kept her face a carefully curated mask but as she lifted her glass to her lips, Regulus saw a hint of confusion. Sirius kept his gaze on his brother, as though expecting him to deny their father’s claim.
When Regulus didn’t respond, Uncle Cygnus scoffed. “Still more Tailor than Heartrender, I take it.”
Walburga hissed at him, taking a large sip of her wine. “Thank you, Cygnus. We surely couldn’t have come to this conclusion on our own.”
Everyone who seemed to care about the higher archery of Corporalki let out matching growls of displeasure, five pairs of steel grey glaring Regulus down, stealing his voice with their obvious display of dissatisfaction.
Regulus heard it before the chaos erupted. Three clinks as spheres of metal clattered to the floor. The roll of tin on marble. From the way Cissa’s eyebrow twitched, she heard it too. A trio of small explosions pierced the air for everyone to hear. The next thing Regulus knew was the most foul smell he’s ever experienced attacked his nostrils and plumes of lime smoke curled up from under the table, coating the air in a green haze.
Three outraged shrieks sounded, ranging from demented to bone-chilling to just plain annoying. Regulus heard retching and a brief cleared peak through the fog told him Andromeda had leaned over the edge of the table. He heard his father grumble about needing a firewhiskey, Uncle Cygnus screaming for Kreacher and next to him, Cissa seemed unperturbed by the scene and was instead sipping from her glass with an amused expression.
Sirius’ cackles were most clear over the orchestra of noise and Regulus’ brother’s hand clamped down on his forearm. Regulus was yanked from his chair and dragged to a spot of fresh air. Regulus breathed in deeply as Sirius doubled over, tears prickling at his eyes from wheezing.
By the time Sirius had sobered up, the gas had cleared leaving a confused Andy, smiling Cissa and the rest of the outraged table glaring at Sirius, who only smirked in response.
Walburga stormed over and grabbed Sirius by his ear, dragging him down the hall to the drawing room, Orion, Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella following tight on her heels.
Sirius’ screams from that night would be something that would stick with Regulus until he became one with the waves.
Just another reminder to hate James Potter.
II: Sirius
When Sirius limped into his room that right, face covered in slashes and back littered with bloodied red stripes from his father's belt, Regulus was sat on his bed. His younger brother, whose light had been drained in the time Sirius was at the Little Palace, had exchanged his suit of grey and green for his night cloths of black silk. Regulus perked up as he entered and winced at Sirius' state.
"Come to gloat, have you?" Sirius grumbled, stumbling over and flopping down on his matress. Regulus leaped up and shook his head frantically.
"No! No, not at all. Why do you think that?" Regulus said, eyes wide with horror.
"You told me not to do it, I did it anyway and look what happened."
"Why would I be happy about this?"
"You were right."
Regulus bit his tounge, fighting the words struggling to pass through his lips. Eventually, he blurted, "Since when has being right mattered more than you?"
Sirius paused, letting the words soak into his skin. He gathered them like jewels and tucked them away in his heart, holding them dear. His brother so rarely allowed himself a moment of vulnerability. "You seem...different, since September. I figured they got to you."
Regulus strode over to the edge of the bed. "Sit up."
Sirius hesitated before slowly shifting to a sitting position. Regulus sat in front of him, eyes soft yet serious. He reached his hand out, dragging his thumb down one of his open wounds, hovering just enough to avoid touching it. Sirius felt a tingling sensation run through his cheek as his skin knitted itself together. Regulus flicked his fingers, as if spraying water droplets that only he could feel, before repeating the process seven more times, once for each cut formed at his mother's hand.
"Look at me." Regulus murmured when he was finished and Sirius complied, taking in the flecks of green while his little brother held his face in his hands. "Don't ever think they'll be able trap me in their web of lies and make me think differently, much less abut you. I'd fight Fjeridans, travel the True Sea, traverse the rainy streets of the Barrel and stand with you between life and death for you. You, Sirius Orion Black, are my everything. Don't you forget it."
A tear seeped out from Sirius' eye and Regulus brushed it away. "I won't."
Regulus smiled, a soft whisp that lit the room. "Good," he let his hands drop and pushed away. "It'll last only a couple of days but it's the best I could do. Where else have they hurt you?"
Regulus healed and vanished the rest of his wounds. When he finished, he got up to leave but Sirius reached out and clamped his hand down on his bony wrist. Regulus looked back, a confused furrow to his brow.
“Stay, Reggie,” he whispered. “Like old times.”
Regulus glanced back at the door. “But what if Mother or Kreacher-“
“Forget them. Stay with me.”
Reluctantly, Regulus slipped into bed with him and Sirius wound his arms around his back. Regulus laid his head in his chest and sighed, eyes fluttering closed. The two brothers were asleep within minutes.
Kreacher found them the next morning. Both boys reaped punishment, Sirius more so, but Regulus healed them at first chance.
The summer continued much like that, Sirius proposing schemes and Regulus refusing. A small bit of begging and Sirius’ best puppy dog eyes later, Regulus rolled his eyes and helped in the smallest ways.
Sirius wondered in every moment what had happened in his year of absence. Something had clearly changed with his younger brother. Every time Sirius spoke about his time at the Little Palace, he grew cold until Sirius pleaded. Then, his lip would twitch into a barely there smile and all would be good.
Regulus had promised he wouldn’t succumb to their parents’ views. But sometimes, when Regulus nodded along to what they said, stayed emotionless like Walburga always wanted, Sirius couldn’t help but doubt whether or not deception was just another skill he’d picked up from their mother.
III: Regulus
The week leading up to Regulus’ testing, Sirius assured him that everything will go smoothly. He described each tester, what they did at the Little Palace and how to best connect with them. He ranted about how the amplification felt and how wonderful and free Regulus would feel outside the walls of 12 Grimmauld Place.
Walburga and Orion were especially tense as September 1st drew steadily nearer. Everyone knew what the outcome of the test would be. Regulus was Grisha. But he was a Tailor, plain and simple. He was a Heartrender(barely) but his abilities to disguise would always come first. When he would be amplified, his Tailoring would rush out.
But a Black would never be a Tailor.
Orion had been lecturing him left, right and centre and Walburga brought him to the drawing room every night. They were determined to somehow alter his power but even they knew it would be impossible.
The day Regulus stood before Pomona Sprout, Horace Slughorn and Poppy Pomfrey, he was terrified. His hand shook as he held out his arm. He flinched when the blade was pressed to his skin. And he gave a shout when Slughorn gripped his wrist.
Sirius was right about one thing. The amplification was perhaps the best feeling he’s ever experienced.
It was like he had been trapped underwater and had finally come up for breath. The stuffiness of the room cleared, the sun no longer burned. Colours brightened, he felt the breeze against every cell of his skin. The heartbeats that were usually difficult to reach were suddenly roaring in his ears. He heard every breath, every beat and the rush of blood. The seams of the Tailoring he’d preformed on Sirius earlier that morning shone and his work looked pathetic.
The power running through his veins sprouted from his cells. Too overwhelmed to think of an actual command, Regulus’ pent up anger exploded. Sirius toppled to the floor, unconscious. Walburga reached for her throat, choking as she desperately tried to gasp for air. Orion slumped against the wall, gripping at his chest.
Slughorn quickly yanked his hand back and the walls slammed down around Regulus, his power reduced to the pathetic fragment he held. He fell to his knees, breathing deeply. Orion held the wall with his hand and Walburga rubbed at the back of her neck, both their chests heaving. Sirius snoozed soundlessly on the floor, oblivious to all that happened around him.
Pomfrey stared at him, eyes wide and Sprout turned to his parents. “He is Grisha. He has thirty minutes to collect his things.”
The testers filed out of the house quickly after that. The moment they heard the front door slam shut, Regulus was struck across the face, hard. His head snapped to the side and a hand shot up to cover the blooming mark. Blood coated his fingertips from where Walburga’s ring nicked him.
“How dare you!” She shrieked. “You made us look like utter fools!”
Orion’s belt jingled as he slipped it from his trousers. He folded it in half and brought it down on his shoulder. The sting was ten times worse than any slap and Regulus let out a choked scream.
Regulus was whipped until Orion deemed his punished enough. His parents sauntered out of the room, only pausing to kick Sirius awake.
Regulus managed to Tailor all his marks before Sirius was conscious enough to register what they meant.
Sirius hugged him long and hard, promising to meet him outside the dining hall. Then Regulus was off, dragging his trunk to the carriage and having awkward conversations with Slughorn and Pomfrey.
Regulus didn’t remember much from the rest of that night. He knows he got his kefta, no blue to be seen. He remembers vividly his parents’ glares when Mad-Eye asked about new Tailors. He knows he met Edgar and Amelia Bones. He knows he had a tense dinner with his family, everyone sneaking suspicious glances at Sirius, waiting for more dungbombs. He knows Sirius ranted all night about the optional Healer lessons he was taking with Madame Pomfrey. He knows he cried himself to sleep, silently weeping as to not disturb the other boys in his dorm.
He knows most of all the great amount of time he spent contemplating just how he was supposed to reach his power through a brick wall.