The Unbreakable Vow
I: James
31 December, New Years Eve
Os Kervo
“You fucker! You’re cheating!” Alice cried, outraged.
Peter gasped. “How dare you. I would never!”
“Bullshit!” Marlene shouted, slamming her fist on the table. “You cheat all the fucking time!”
“I do not! You lot just suck and are sore losers!”
“There’s no way you +4 me three times in a fucking row!” Alice shrieked.
Through the mirror, Sirius laughed. James could barely make out the shape of his face from where he was buried beneath his bedsheets. “Everything alright?”
“Oh, yeah,” James said with a grin, glancing back at the circular wooden table that held Alice, Marlene, Peter, the Prewett twins, Mary and Frank. Each of them held a collection of cards, varying from one card to surely more than twenty. “They’re just playing Uno.”
James faintly saw Sirius blink in confusion. “They’re playing what?”
James’ mouth dropped. “You’ve never played Uno?”
“My favourite childhood toy was a hammer. You figure out the rest of the puzzle.”
“Y’know what, I think that’s a conversation for another time. UNO’s a card game that focuses on numbers and colours. There’s a couple wild cards and Peter - Wormtail - just made Alice draw twelve cards. I’ll have to teach you the next time I can visit.”
“Huh,” Sirius said. “Sounds like fun.”
“You fucking bitch!” Frank shouted and Gideon stuck his tongue out at him.
“Yeah,” James said with a shrug. “When you’re winning.”
“I’d take loosing over having to go to this fucking party.” Sirius grumbled.
“What’s it for again?”
“Ugh,” Sirius groaned. “To celebrate another great year for the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black and to pray to the Saints for an even better next year.”
“Sounds like fun.”
James got the feeling Sirius was giving him a bland look. “For most families, probably. But most families aren’t the House of Black.”
“Just- be careful, okay? Call me if you need something?”
“No offence, Prongs, but aren’t you in the middle of the ocean? How would you even get here in time?”
“I’m in Os Kervo, actually.”
“Really? Why?” Sirius asked, surprise.
“We usually spend notable holidays on somesort of coast, just to give the crew a bit of a break. With Christmas and New Years so close together, we’ve been docked here since I’ve given you the mirror.”
“Huh. Still, that’s hundreds of kilometres from my house to Os Kervo. I know The Golden Snitch is fast, but it can’t be that fast.”
James grinned. “You’d be surprised.”
Sirius took a deep breath, as if to say something, before he cut himself off. Distantly, James could hear screaming, muffled by Sirius’ bedsheets and the walls between whoever was shouting(which, if James had to guess, was his mother) and Sirius. He sighed heavily. “I have to go. Better now than let her break down the door and find this.” He shook the mirror for emphasis.
James hummed his understanding. “Alright. Remember what I said. Just say the word and I’ll be there.”
“Okay. Bye, James
“Bye, Sirius. Good luck.”
II: Regulus
12 Grimmauld Place, Ravka
“I just don’t get it.” Sirius said for the fourteenth time that evening from where he was sprawled on Regulus’ bed.
Regulus rolled his eyes as he buttoned up his shirt. “Oh really? I hadn’t noticed.”
Sirius sat up, leaning back on his hands while he crossed his legs. He and Regulus were, once again, in matching green and grey suits. “You don’t think it’s odd? Never, not once has our parents ever thrown a New Year’s party. I’m not even sure they believe in Saints, why would they pray for the time ahead?”
Regulus fiddled with his cufflinks. “Maybe it’s because they didn’t get to throw their Christmas party.”
Sirius gave him a bland look. “They had a wedding instead.”
“I don’t know what else you expect from me, Sirius. I’m not our parents.”
Regulus chose to pretend that he didn’t hear Sirius’ muttered ‘yeah, right’, despite the firm, deep routed pang in his chest.
Regulus ignored the creeping feeling in the back of his mind that whispered the same paranoid thoughts Sirius kept voicing. It would be fine. Regulus has been to hundreds of different dinner parties in his life. He knew what to do, how to act, what to show, what to say. He knew how to fly low, how to not draw attention to himself, how to please. He practically had a script in his mind, a thing to say in every situation, cues to follow. He was prepared. Has been for events like this since he was very young. Tonight would be no different. Just follow the script.
And besides, what other reason would Walburga and Orion throw a party? They most definitely were not the type of people to have a gathering just because they could, but Regulus could see no other option other than it being a simple - or, as simple as the House of Black could get - New Year’s party. Some food, some prayers to different Saints because while his parents may be bullshitting it, Regulus knew Sirius wasn’t. He knew Cissa wasn’t, Bellatrix wasn’t. Regulus himself wasn’t, most of the time. Sometimes he just couldn’t be bothered but that was very rarely. Maybe a bit of dancing, depending on the amount of attendees. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Regulus threw on his blazer.
A frantic knock sounded at his door and he frowned. “Come in, Cissa.”
His cousin slipped inside. “How’d you know it was me?”
“More importantly,” said Sirius, jumping to his feet and looking Narcissa up and down. “Why are you in a black kefta?”
Sirius was, for once in his life, right. Regulus had been expecting Narcissa to be dressed in green or blue, like she had for every other event the House of Black has ever hosted(that wasn’t the summer dinner, but that was different). And, while she did have a pale blue dress peaking out the bottom, Narcissa wore a forbidden, fitted kefta, one unlike anything Regulus has ever seen. Only two people in history has ever worn a black kefta, the Darkling and Alina Starkov, and yet, here she stood, dark fabric gleaming. The Heartrender design, stitched in red, trailed the neckline and circled her wrists.
“That is the least of your worries right now.” She snapped.
“Cissa?” Regulus said slowly, cautiously. “What’s going on?”
“A lot. A lot of shit is about to happen. You need to stay calm, listen to what you’re told and be on your best behaviour.” Narcissa glared pointedly at Sirius.
Sirius scoffed, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.
“I’m serious,” Narcissa hissed, grabbing Sirius’ shoulders firmly and giving him a little shake. Sirius was so stunned he didn’t even crack a joke about how he was Sirius and she was Narcissa. “We aren’t talking about your regular form of punishment here. This is life or death.”
Regulus went pale.
Sirius stared at her, wide-eyed. Then he said weakly, as if trying to convince himself, “They wouldn’t kill me. They’re crazy, but they won’t kill me.”
“Listen to me!” Narcissa’s voice pitched higher, borderline hysterical. “Don’t do anything or they will kill you in the most painful way they can think. Do what you’re told, keep your head down, follow Regulus’ lead.”
Regulus’ shoulders tightened. “No pressure.”
Narcissa winced and looked over, keeping her grip firm on Sirius. Regulus watched the way her fingers curled inward, spasming before she forced them to relax. “Sorry, Regulus, but you have much more experience with this sort of thing than he does.”
“What’s happening?” Regulus repeated.
Narcissa shook her head harshly. “I can’t tell you much but promise me when I say it’s nothing good. Just, for all the Saints above, remember how to lie.”
Well. Regulus did not like the sound of that.
Narcissa glanced up at the clock that hung on Regulus’ bedroom wall before she drew Sirius in for a tight hug. Sirius awkwardly pat Narcissa’s back and Regulus shifted uncomfortably at Narcissa’s expression. Her eyes were scrunched up tight, her brows furrowed in clear emotional pain. When she let Sirius go, Regulus saw the momentary watery shine in her eyes before she blinked it away, taking a deep breath. “Let’s go.”
It felt terrifyingly similar to a goodbye.
Regulus and Sirius trailed behind their older cousin as she led the way down the stairs and towards one of the ballrooms. Sirius met his eyes and raised a brow, ‘you know anything?’
Regulus shook his head. ‘I’m as lost as you are.’
Despite Narcissa’s strange behaviour and warnings, nothing could’ve prepared him for what awaited him.
For Regulus’ entire existence(which wasn’t long but felt like forever), ballroom/party attire consisted of extravagant dresses and crisp suits, clacking heels and neatly folded pocket squares, dangling necklaces and expensive chains.
Never has that dress code ever consisted of tens of Grisha in black keftas, all of which had a strange silver mask somewhere on their person.
The attendees, which were mostly the same as those invited to Bellatrix’s wedding with a couple of other people sprinkled throughout, most of which Regulus didn’t know but looked familiar; Second Army soldiers Regulus had only seen in passing. Some of them turned to look at the three of them as they entered, others were too entrapped in conversation to notice two teenage boys who looked very out of place in their three pieced suits.
“What the fuck?” Sirius muttered under his breath.
Walburga materialized at their side and pinched Sirius harshly on the back of his neck. Sirius didn’t so much as flinch. “Behave,” she hissed, before gripping both their shoulders in her bony, icy grip. “Come. There are people you should meet.”
For the next hour, Regulus and Sirius were paraded around the ballroom, talking with those they knew, those they’ve only heard of and those they didn’t know at all. They talked to Antonin Dolohov, twins Amycus and Alecto Carrow, the Malfoys(who had since been joined by Narcissa), the Lestranges(including Bellatrix), a couple of Greengrasses who wouldn’t stop cursing about their Fjerdan cousins. Regulus stopped keeping track after that.
When they finally managed to get away, Regulus and Sirius stuck to the edges of the room with Rabastan and Narcissa, when she managed to sneak away from Lucius, which wasn’t that often because her fiancé was a fucking leech. Rodolphus, unfortunately, was stuck with Bellatrix, people constantly cornering the two and asking pressing questions about their first week of marriage. Whenever someone turned their back, Bellatrix and Rodolphus would glare at each other with such fuming hatred, Regulus was surprised the two didn’t burst into flames.
“They’re both so unhappy, I don’t understand,” Rabastan grumbled. “Anyone with eyes can see they’d rather kill each other than be joined by marriage.”
“It’s not about what they want,” Sirius growled. “Always about what’s best for the family, what’ll get us higher in some imaginary ladder. It’s ridiculous.”
Rabastan glanced at him. “I forget that I’m older than you, sometimes.”
Sirius shifted on his feet. “That’s what being the heir will do to you.”
‘That’s what protecting your little brother from everything whenever you can will do to you’, is what he didn’t say but Regulus knew they were both thinking it.
“Do you think your parents are going to marry you off?” Rabastan asked.
Sirius stiffened and grit his teeth. “The moment I’m of age.”
Regulus linked his arms behind his back and subtly began picking at his nails. Of course it was a possibility Regulus had thought up thousands of times before. Sirius, being the heir, needed a wife and to have children, a new generation of Blacks to uphold the family name. And, surely, if they were going to marry Sirius off, they were going to find Regulus a wife of his own and the thought brought Regulus close to gagging. It’s fine. That’s a future Regulus problem. He’s only fifteen, after all. Three more years at the very least, before he has to worry himself with all this ridiculous nonsense.
Rabastan fiddled with the mask between his fingers in the tense silence that fell. Regulus peered at it, noting the small snake painted on the side. "What's that?"
Rabastan glanced over. "What? Oh. It's nothing important, don't worry about it."
Regulus raised an eyebrow. "Everyone has one here. Obviously, it's important."
Rabastan looked away, running his fingers over the snake. "You'll find out soon enough."
Regulus narrowed his eyes. "Why is everyone being annoyingly vague?"
"Regulus," Rabastan pleaded. "It's- it's hard to explain. You'll know by the end of the night, alright? Does that suffice?"
Before Regulus could reply, Rabastan paled before he flicked his fingers, forcing some colour back into his cheeks. His voice was strained as he said, "Maybe a little sooner than I thought."
Regulus, along with Sirius, followed his gaze to the doorway. And if Regulus thought everyone else was weird, this man who radiated dark, gloomy energy was on a whole different level.
The man had dark hair, combed back and styled to perfection, not a single strand out of place. His eyes were even darker, deep pools of pure black sweeping across the room as everyone in a kefta bowed their heads. His skin was pale, almost House of Black level pale and Regulus didn't know what to think of that. Thankfully, there was no room in his brain for such things, as the massive fucking snake wound around the man's shoulders and torso filled nearly every corner of his mind. Her scales were dark splotches spread evenly throughout the slightly lighter scaled canvas. Regulus didn't know if the light was playing tricks on him, making the dark browns seem slightly green, or if it was just reflected light from the man's striking kefta, mind-numbing green embroidered with very obvious Shadow Summoner black.
The man met his eye and smiled.
III: Sirius
It was the man from the wedding. Sirius didn't have to think very hard to understand that much. The snake was a pretty obvious giveaway. But it was just now Sirius realized just how fucking dangerous this man is. A Shadow Summoner, the third ever. The Darkling's secret son, over a thousand years old and yet still looking like he's forty something. The new and improved Black Heretic.
"I've seen him before," Sirius whispered. "He was at the wedding."
The Shadow Summoner's gaze shifted from Regulus to Sirius and he stiffened on instinct. Still as piercing as it had been a week ago, his eyes burning holes into his skin. Sirius repressed the urge to shiver, the urge to look away, to cower.
“I don’t like him.” Regulus’s voice was barely audible, like it was treason to utter those four, simple words.
Based on the way Rabastan went stiff as a board, Sirius wouldn’t be surprised if it was.
“Welcome, my lord.” said Walburga as she stepped forward. Her mask was clasped to an additional belt-like ribbon of fabric stitched into her kefta. She bowed her head and Sirius raised an eyebrow. Walburga Black didn't bow for anyone, not unless it was absolutely mandatory, and yet here she was, submitting herself to the Darkling's child, of all people.
The Shadow Summoner gave her a sharp smile, though Sirius didn't think he was trying to be malicious. He was genuinely pleased with Walburga, the dark undertones was just an ever looming cloud clinging to his aura. "Thank you, Walburga, and you as well, Orion, for holding tonight's meeting. Shall we eat?"
"Yes, yes, of course," Orion said, appearing beside his wife. "The dining hall is this way."
Orion nodded towards the dining hall but the Darkling gestured for him to lead the way. Orion did so without question and the cluster of Grisha began to part, a clear path forming through the ballroom straight to the entryway Regulus, Sirius and Rodolphus had chosen to linger beside.
The Darkling stopped abruptly in front of the two youngest members of the House of Black. Next to him, Regulus attempted to straighten his already perfect posture but the Shadow Summoner didn't so much as glance at him. Instead, he focused on Sirius.
"Are these your children, Walburga?" The Shadow Summoner asked without tearing his gaze away. He looked Sirius up and down, cold gaze sending prickling shivers down Sirius' arms.
"Yes, my lord," Walburga answered, coming to stand behind Sirius. Her hands clasped down hard on his shoulders, nails digging in so deep that Sirius would be concerned for his suit, if he actually gave a shit. "This is Sirius, my eldest and heir to the House of Black."
The Darkling hummed. "Such a fine young man. So much to carry. Quite strong, too, if you've managed to make it this far."
Sirius blinked up at him and Walburga, somehow, tightened her grip to spur him into action. He was probably supposed to agree with the man but instead, he blurted the one thing on his mind. "Who are you?"
Poorly masked gasps echoed in the deepest corners of the room and Regulus gave him an alarmed look, giving his head the slightest of shakes as if to say, 'no, no, no, you idiot.' Walburga's fingers spasmed, restraining herself from smacking him upside the head, at the very least.
But the Shadow Summoner laughed and waved off the concerns of his...followers? Soldiers? Whatever cult meeting this was. "Now, now, it's alright. The boy is simply curious and it's an entirely valid question. After all, having not the slightest clue why all these people have gathered in your home? I'd take you for a fool if you weren't the slightest bit concerned. I, young Sirius Black, am Lord Voldemort, only son of Aleksander Morozova and the last remaining Shadow Summoner."
Sirius swallowed thickly, fingers tapping against the meat of his thigh. He agreed with Regulus. He very much did not like this Lord Voldemort fellow. What kind of a name was that, anyway? Though, he shouldn't be talking, with the name Sirius Black.
When it became clear Sirius wasn't going to speak more, Voldemort shifted to Regulus. Sirius' younger brother kept his shoulder's pressed back and his chin held high, except for when he bowed his head. "And you must be Regulus."
"Yes, my lord," Regulus said, voice steady despite the racing of his heart. Voldemort's smile took on a pleased edge. "Pleasure to be meeting you."
Voldemort looked at Regulus a bit longer. "I must say, Regulus, you are not quite what I was expecting."
"A good thing, I hope." Regulus replied without missing a beat.
Voldemort hummed an affirmative before turning back to Orion. "As we were."
Orion continued to lead the hoard of people into the dining hall. Voldemort took a seat at the head, which looked weird to Sirius, who has only ever seen his father occupy that seat. Walburga kept her firm hold on him, guiding him to the seat next to her while Regulus was nudged not so gently into the seat beside Orion. The chairs around the massive table which, for once, didn't feel insanely empty, began to fill. Narcissa sat next to Regulus, the Malfoys following her lead. Uncle Cygnus sat next to Sirius, Aunt Druella and Bellatrix next to him, followed by the rest of the Lestranges and so on, and so on. The table was already set, by Keacher and whoever else Walburga and Orion must've hired to cater a group so large.
Once everyone and finally taken a seat, Voldemort stood, picking up a glass of wine. He didn't need to clink the side of his glass for the whole table to fall silent, the attention of every attendee drawn to him like moths to a flame.
"Before we commence, a thanks to our hosts, Walburga and Orion. Tonight, we draw one step closer to our end goal. Muggles have owned this world for far too long. They have killed us, imprisoned us, used us for personal gain and we shall take it no longer. With numbers, and training, we shall triumph over those who have wronged us since the beginning of time. So, let us toast," Voldemort raised his glass higher and everyone at the table followed suit, even Sirius, who's skin felt aflame with rage and a constant chant no, no, no, wrong, wrong, wrong, screaming in his head. "To a new dawn, a new year, and a better Ravka."
"To a better Ravka!" Voldemort's minions shouted and Sirius swallowed the urge to spill whatever contents of his stomach onto his plate at the sound of genuine glee in many voices.
Across the table, Narcissa drank half her glass in one, clean swallow.
Just down the line, Rabastan's hands were hidden under the table, still picking away at his mask.
Next to his younger brother, Rodolphus gripped his steak knife so hard his knuckles were void of colour.
Sirius met Regulus' gaze. His brother's face was blank, a clean, stone slate that emotions just slid right off of. A curtain fell over his eyes, hiding whatever was going on in his mind, and Sirius would be a fool to assume that Regulus was thinking nothing at all. Regulus was always thinking, possibilities, clues and secrets swirled filled his head, around and around like a record disk someone forgot to turn off. Sirius doubted that Regulus' mind ever fell silent, even in sleep.
And because Sirius was- well, Sirius, he saw through the smallest of cracks in Regulus' near flawless facade. The slight tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes flickered periodically between Voldemort and their parents, the minuscule tremble of his hands. Regulus was confused. He was skeptical. He was on edge. But most importantly, he was afraid. Young, little Reggie, his little brother, was terrified. Sirius had dedicated his own childhood to protecting him, to making sure he had someone to trust, someone who loved him. To trying to make sure he wasn't afraid.
Sirius wasn't always so great at that last one. Had he somewhat successfully hidden Reggie from the terror of having your own parents' hands coming down on him? Yeah, sure, heavy emphasis on the somewhat. Sirius had tried, he really, really, did but Walburga and Orion were relentless those years before Regulus had tapped into his Heartrending abilities. Sirius had done his absolute best, always trying to one up whatever it was that Regulus had done, desperately attempting to pry their parents' attention from Regulus and onto himself. It had worked more in these past couple years and he would gladly trade Regulus' fear for Sirius' well being over his fear for his own safety.
Sirius wasn't always the best but he tried. And now Voldemort had swept into Number Twelve and had personally injected fear into his little brother's veins, like it was some sort of drug designed to make everyone do his bidding.
Sirius was scared, too. Of Voldemort? Yes, you'd be stupid not to be. But more of whether or not the Shadow Summoner's drug would work. Whatever plan he had brewing in his mind, would Regulus blindly follow? Would he dance on the end of those strings, much like he had been doing for Walburga and Orion his entire life? If it came down to it, would Regulus choose Voldemort and the House of Black over Sirius?
The age old question that had been plaguing Sirius for the past few years circled back to the forefront of his mind. Are you on my side or theirs?
Dinner passed by quicker than Sirius was expecting. For once in his life, he kept silent, not speaking unless spoken to. More than once, Walburga glanced over at him, surprised about the fact that he was actually behaving. Regulus made quiet conversation with Narcissa, at least before she was dragged into some debate between Lucius and Bellatrix. On a completely unrelated note, Narcissa went through three glasses of wine. Sirius doesn't know what says more about her, the fact that she had three glasses at all, or that she did and was just barely tipsy.
When Kreacher and his helpers came out the clear the table, Voldemort stood and led the way back towards the ballroom. Sirius draped his arm around Regulus’ shoulders, pulling him close as he’s overcome with the sudden urge to protect. Against what, Sirius isn’t sure, but he knows it has something to do with the Shadow Summoner easily commanding a group of mostly Heartrenders like a mother and her ducklings.
“Sirius?” Regulus whispered, so quiet it was nearly lost in the sea of meaningless chatter. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
“It’ll be alright, Reggie. I promise.”
As they filed into the ballroom, the large group fell deadly silent. Voldemort stood in the centre of the room and everyone took to gathering in groups along the walls, aside from the far one that Voldemort had his back turned to. Once everyone had settled, Voldemort smiled and spread his arms wide.
“Loyal Death Eaters, welcome to yet another Unbreakable Vow Ceremony, in which we find those who haven’t been blindsided by the false promise of glory spoon fed to the soldiers of the Second Army, the ones who aren’t afraid to lay down their lives to right the injustice we’ve suffered and we bring them into our ranks. The ones who wish to aid in the end of muggles, the end of their tyranny and the end of Albus Dumbledore, the spineless man who calls himself our king, who calls himself fair in his ruling. The ones who believe that not everyone is the same, and will assist in the establishment of the Grisha Hierarchy once the Crown has fallen into our hands.”
Sirius couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The end of otkazat’sya? All these people - aside from Narcissa, Rodolphus and Rabastan, from what he’s seen - are willingly advocating and plan to commit mass genocide? Have the otkazat’sya been the kindest to Grisha, both in past and present? No, not at all. Grisha were hunted and hanged for simply existing but that was well over a thousand years ago(aside from Fjerda but that's different). The country has improved and now Grisha and otkazat’sya fight side-by-side. Are the otkazat’sya still resentful of the Second Army? Yeah, a bit, but that’s what happens when jealousy gets involved. All otkazat’sya shouldn’t be punished for things their ancestors did years ago, much less eradicated.
And the Grisha Hierarchy, don’t even get Sirius started. It was an ancient ideal, developed when the Second Army was first created. Soldier ranks were determined not only by skill level and time in the army, like every other army to have ever existed, but also by which type of Grisha you were. Utter bullshit, he knows, but so has been the rest of Voldemort’s spiel so he shouldn’t be surprised.
“To prove that they are passionate about our cause and worthy of our trust, each new Death Eater must go through the same orientation. They will pledge their allegiance to me, bear our mark and be given their mask and kefta. Today, we have two potential new members."
Sirius' heart drops as he finally understands what today is about. There is no New Years party, there never was, he was right about that much. Today's 'party' was to introduce Voldemort to Reggie and him, to expose them to this 'Death Eater' nonsense and have them sell their lives away. Walburga and Orion wanted them to join him.
Voldemort snapped his fingers and the door Regulus and Sirius had first came through opened. Next to him, Regulus gasped and Sirius felt his mouth drop open.
Of course, both Black brothers knew about Caradoc Dearborn's sudden disappearance. It had been blasted through the papers, the Second Army's sole Tailor was missing. Countless search parties had been sent out and Regulus was a silent mess. Sirius didn't know the full extent of what Regulus and Caradoc's relationship had been but he knew Caradoc had taught Regulus, even if it was only for a short period of time. He knew Regulus had been drawn to the older man. As a Tailor, Caradoc would understand Regulus better than anyone, from a Grisha standpoint. Regulus had read every Daily Prophet article, front to back, for the past two weeks, hoping to find some sort of clue of where his old teacher might be, or, at the very least, was alive.
Well, now he knew. Caradoc Dearborn was alive, but he wasn't in the best shape.
Caradoc's long blond hair was matted, his skin pale and dark circles surrounding his bloodshot eyes. For a man who had a slight limp, his hands were surprisingly steady as he carried a small pot. His kefta stood out starkly, the brilliant white even more of a sore thumb than Voldemort's deathly green, though there were small smudges of a black substance around the golden embriodery of his wrists. Around his neck, very obviously fused to his skin, was a golden collar.
Sirius saw Regulus' hands begin to tremble and he was struck with a horrible thought.
Tailors were at the very bottom of the Grisha food chain and that very fact was the sole reason Caradoc was enduring such treatment. In the mind of someone who wholeheartedly believed in the Grisha Hierarchy, Tailors were an insult to Grisha. They specialized in cosmetics, bring shame to all the grand things Grisha were capable of. They are nothing more than a servant, someone who should bend over backwards to satisfy your needs. If Voldemort got his way, if he brought death to all otkazat'sya, this would be the fate brought to every single Tailor.
Regulus was a Tailor.
The thought of his little brother, forced into white and chained to a master he doesn't want to serve made him furious. Actually, no, fury didn't even begin to describe the raging inferno boiling under Sirius' skin. No. Sirius would not stand for it. Regulus had so much to live for, a brilliant mind that could shake even the strongest of soldiers with his ideas. He would not suffer like this.
When Caradoc had knelt to the floor, in front of Voldemort with his back to him, Voldemort turned his cruel smile towards Sirius. "Sirius Black. Step forward."
Hands clentched at his sides and face surely pink from poorly concealed anger, Sirius dragged his feet foward.
Voldemort met Sirius' burning glare with a knowing gleam and yet, his smile did not falter. His snake curled around his torso, scales slithering as she manoeuvered herself so she was looming over Voldemort's shoulder.
"Are you ready to pledge yourself to me?" Voldemort asked but Sirius knew that Voldemort understood what Sirius' answer was going to be before he even uttered the word.
Sirius met his gaze, absent of fear and fueled only by the dire need to protect. His voice was loud enough to be heard by all, tone firm and opinion unshakeable when he said, "No."
Loud noises of shock spread like a wild fire, murmurs following their wake. Voldemort grit his teeth and his snake hissed. Caradoc stared up at him with wide eyes, shaking his head frantically but Sirius ignored him.
"You ungrateful, disrespectful brat!" Walburga shrieked, stomping towards him. She reached to grab his ear but he skittered out of the way.
"I won't!" Sirius shouted back. "This is ridiculous, almost as much as you thinking that I'd agree to this! I won't stand for it! I'm not about to take part in mass genocide and slavery! I refuse!"
Sirius glanced briefly over to Regulus, who stood frozen in place, face ghostly pale. Next to him was Narcissa, whose hands were subtly folded as she glanced up, lips moving rapidly as she fired a prayer up to whichever Saints were watching.
While he was distracted, Walburga slapped him so hard he fell to the ground. He rolled out of the way before she could pin him in place and leaped to his feet. She let out a booming, rage filled shout that shook the chandeliers. "You awful, pitiful excuse of an heir! You ruin everything you touch with those cursed hands of yours! I gave you everything and this is how you repay me?!"
Sirius dodged as she lunged for him again. No other Death Eater dared to interfere, not even Orion. "What you gave me was years and years worth of scars! But guess what, Mother?" He spat the word like it physically pained him to say. "No amount of 'discipline' will get me to roll over and agree this time."
Walburga’s chest heaved and a cruel smirk bloomed across her lips. “Is that so? Well, let’s test it then, shall we?” Then, she lifted her hands and made a few Heartrending gestures.
The effects were slow, but instant. He felt his body temperature rise, like someone was slowly inching up the heat dial. He grew lightheaded and a wave of nausea crashed over him. The world before him swam, the floor shifting under his feet as the walls began to dance. Sirius collapsed to his knees, falling forward onto his hands as he breathed heavily. After a night of suppressing gags, his stomach emptied rather easily, his dinner coming up without a fight and burning his throat- not just an I’m-sick kind of burn but a holy-shit-why-does-it-feel-like-I’m-on-fire? kind of burn.
Then the pain hit.
Let it be known, Sirius is most definitely not a stranger to pain. He can handle whips, knife slashes, punches, slaps- he knows them like old friends, often welcomes them as such, too. But this, this is something else entirely.
A fire has ignited under his skin and his veins are gasoline. The flames lick at every organ, every bone, every nerve in his entire being and threatened to turn him into some sick dinner meat. Sirius screamed. He flung himself across the floor, like it was the cause of this excruciating, mind melting nightmare. He ended up on his back, twitching and chest heaving as scream after blood-curdling scream was wrenched from his lungs.
IV: Regulus
Regulus stared, frozen in place in absolute horror at the scene in front of him. If seeing Caradoc in his current state had him slack-jawed, Walburga boiling Sirius’ blood was as surprising as winning the grand prize for a contest you never entered, except instead of being overwhelmed with joy and swimming in riches, Regulus felt like he was dunked in ice water and his brother was being tortured by his mother.
He couldn’t even begin to imagine what Sirius felt.
Sirius’ pain filled shouts have always haunted Regulus for as long as he could recognize them for what they were. He’s gotten better at suppressing his reactions throughout the years as his pain tolerance increased, but when Regulus did hear the effects of their parents’ disciplinary style, they’ve always been the cause of Regulus’ nightly horrors for weeks afterwards.
But this, this was something different. These weren’t the reaction of someone who had lost a game of dodge the dagger with Orion. No, these were the stomach churning, bone-chilling screams of pure, unbridled agony. These were the tear-inducing shrieks that had the power to shatter glass. These were the screams of someone who was dying.
Regulus doubted he’d ever have a peaceful sleep ever again.
Regulus didn’t really think about what the repercussions would be if someone saw him and for once in his life, he couldn’t care less. As subtly as he possibly could, Regulus flicked his hands and fought Walburga’s ministrations.
See, if Sirius wasn’t currently having his blood boiled, it would’ve crystallized, rupturing every vein in his body. The frigid temperature would’ve turned his organs into hunks of ice and he would’ve frozen from the inside out. But, countered with the extreme heat Walburga was currently forcing into his body, Regulus was lowering Sirius’ internal temperature to something somewhat normal.
Sirius stopped screaming, collapsing lifelessly on the floor. Regulus panicked for a moment, thinking that maybe his efforts were futile and the raging war within himself had killed Sirius anyways, but it simply knocked him unconscious.
Walburga grunted at the sudden resistance, pushing harder. Regulus grit his teeth, desperately trying to drag down Sirius’ temperature that inched up one degree at a time. He felt like he was gripping tightly to a balloon string that was slowly being pumped with more and more helium, digging his heels into the ground and throwing all his weight into keeping himself from floating.
Abruptly, Walburga ripped her arms back with a frustrated scream. Regulus quickly let his own hands fall, panting slightly in exhaustion. He didn’t dare let himself smile but inside, he was grinning in relief. After years and years of Sirius putting his own safety on the line to save him, Regulus had finally returned the favour.
“Orion, give me your dagger.” Walburga demanded, voice eerily steady as she whipped around and held out her hand insistently to her husband.
Regulus eyes widened, panic and fear slamming back into him full force. That, he couldn’t defend against.
Regulus didn’t want to think about a world without his brother in it. Sirius had always been there, from the day he was brought home from the hospital. Sirius was the one who soothed his cries as a child, the one who taught him how to tie his shoes. Sirius was the one who cared when Regulus wrote a new poem, the one who congratulated his achievements when he could barely Heartrend. Sirius was the one who checked up on him, the one who cared even when he replaced Regulus with James Potter. Regulus didn’t want to play with the idea of a giant, Sirius-shaped hole in his life, an empty void replacing the space his chaotic, passionate, idiotic brother took up.
But he was helpless but to watch as Orion shrugged and produced the gleaming blade from his thigh holster.
Strangely, Sirius’ saving grace was the man who had caused this whole situation in the first place.
“Not now,” Voldemort said and both Blacks stopped in their tracks, staring in shock and slight annoyance at the Shadow Summoner. “The boy is unconscious. He isn’t going anywhere. He can wait until after the ceremony has been completed.”
Walburga looked like she wanted to protest but she swallowed whatever complaint hung on the edge of her to tongue and stomped over to join the rest of the Death Eaters around the room, stepping purposefully on Sirius’ hand as she did so.
Orion grabbed Sirius by the ankles, dragging him carelessly across the floor to the dining hall, leaving his crumpled body curled in the entryway before taking his place beside his wife.
“Regulus Black,” Voldemort called and Regulus went rigid, mouth dry as a desert. “Step forward.”
Regulus’ tucked his arms behind his back, wiping the sweat off his palms on his blazer sleeves. He stepped forward without complaint, careful to keep his expression blank as he met Voldemort’s gaze dead on. Regulus hated the knowing look in his eye and prayed - even though he wasn’t feeling particularly faithful at the current moment - that it was because the Darkling knew it was him saving Sirius, and not the fact that he was a Tailor.
“Are you ready to pledge your allegiance to me?”
Regulus pressed his fingers into the creases of his elbows, keeping his terrified heart rate at its same racing speed. “Yes.”
Voldemort smiled, pleased. “Kneel. Roll up your left sleeve.”
Regulus slipped his blazer off and unbuttoned the cuff of his dress shirt. As he got to his knees in front of Caradoc, he rolled up his sleeve and forced his hands to remain steady.
Regulus’ breath stuttered as he met Caradoc’s sad blue eyes. Regulus watched him swallow thickly and difficultly around the golden band. Small pools of despair gathered along Caradoc’s waterline and a singular tear raced down his cheek as he attempted to blink them away.
It was like looking in a cruel, crystal ball. If Voldemort did succeed in his goal, this was Regulus’ fate. He’d be stripped of everything that made him human, everything that made him Regulus. His voice would be robbed, throat locked tight by an ornate collar, so beautiful for something so cruel. He’d be violated, shoved off the pedestal of ‘person’ and into the dark depths of ‘servant’.
And Regulus couldn’t say no. There would be no one to cool his boiling blood, no reason to interject as a knife was stabbed through his back.
“Repeat after me. I, Regulus Black.”
Regulus’ voice was as consistent as his heartbeat as he said, “I, Regulus Black.”
“Pledge myself to the Dark Lord.”
“Pledge myself to the Dark Lord.” Regulus said as Caradoc dipped his pinky finger into the pot he held and covered most of his forearm with his other hand.
“To fight with my comrades and for our cause.”
Regulus ignored the sting of Caradoc’s ministrations. “To fight with my comrades and for our cause.”
“To bear our mark with pride.”
“To bear our mark with pride.”
“And to blind my soul to the Death Eaters forever more, freed only in death.”
Regulus swallowed. “To bind my soul to the Death Eaters forever more, freed only in death.”
Voldemort snapped his fingers and a Death Eater - Bellatrix, Regulus noticed - passed a black Heartrender kefta and a mask into his hands. Caradoc drew back and where his hand had been, a snake with the head of a skull inked in black stood starkly against pale skin. Caradoc took out a roll of white bandages and wrapped his arm.
“Stand,” Voldemort commanded. When Regulus obeyed, he was handed the kefta and the mask. “The kefta is your responsibility to take care of and the mask is yours to customize. Welcome, Regulus Black.”
Claps echoed throughout the ballroom and Regulus felt like he was drowning.
The gathering went back to a normal party after that. People came by to congratulate him and he was given pats on the back that made him want to shrivel up in a cold, secluded cave a die. Regulus slipped on his new kefta, attached his mask to the belt and stayed near Narcissa.
When they were alone, Narcissa wrapped her arms around him. To an outsider, it was an older cousin congratulating a younger one. But, in his ear, Narcissa whispered a pained, “I’m sorry.”
Regulus pulled back and cleared his throat. I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry. Boys don’t cry. “It’s not your fault.”
“But-“
“It’s fine, Cissa.”
“It’s not, though.”
“There isn’t anything we can do about it,” Regulus said. “But, hey, we match now.”
And it was true. They both wore black keftas with dark grey embroidery.
Regulus blinked. Grey? No, it was supposed to be red. He knew it was red. It was red not ten minutes ago but when he looked again, the stitched thread was still grey.
“Regulus? What’s wrong? Are you alright?” Narcissa asked.
He met her gaze again and, despite being very confused, he nodded. “Yeah. My mind’s playing tricks on me, is all.”
Narcissa paled.
Regulus narrowed his eyes. “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”
She swallowed and looked away. “It’s nothing. I’ll tell you later. You’d better go check up on Sirius.”
At the mention of his brother, Regulus whipped around and met with an empty doorway. He blinked and the wooden trim turned grey.
“I’ll be back,” Regulus said. “Cover for me, please.”
He didn’t wait for a response before he slipped out of the ballroom.
V: Caradoc
Caradoc watched his star pupil - and, though he’d never tell anyone(not that he’d be able to), his favourite - discretely dip from the post-ceremony celebration. He’s done a lot of that lately, watching. It’s not like he has much else to do. He watches Voldemort, notes how his attitude can shift in seconds, sees the way he keeps a smile on his face at nearly all times. He watches the Death Eaters. He watches how some are much more willing to voice their thoughts- Bellatrix, more than anyone. He keeps a list of all the times Narcissa nearly slips her good girl facade. He watched every klutzy mishap Rabastan causes and the way he grows more solemn after each one. He sees every time Rodolphus pulls the finger on Bellatrix whenever no one’s watching. He saw the exact moment Sirius had come to, dragging himself across the floor and out of view.
All of these instances have sharpened Caradoc’s observational skills to perfection. These instances had allowed him to see the terror that shone in Regulus’ eyes as he recited his vow. It allowed him to see Regulus’ growing confusion as the merzost of the Mark began to infect him. It allowed him to notice Regulus sneaking away, even through crowds of people.
Caradoc was scared. Not for himself, no, he’s resigned to his fate, accepted it. He’d probably throw a party in the afterlife if he passed. Surely death was better than this.
But Regulus…he had so much potential. Regulus was unlike any other Grisha Caradoc had ever seen, power strong enough to fool the Testers, to fool the entire Second Army. And yet, by taking the Mark, the collar had been set around his throat. All it took was one misstep, one mistake, one comment that rubbed Voldemort even the slightest bit the wrong way and it’d be locked, permanently fused to his skin.
It was only a matter of time.
VI: James
“Can I have your attention, please!” James shouted to be heard over the cheerful, rambunctious conversations being had all over his ship. James stood, balancing on two barrels while he raised his glass of shitty wine they’d bought from some merchant in the market. At his plea, the chatter between crew mates died down, all eyes focused on the captain. “As we bring in this new year, I’d like to thank each and every one of you for your hard work, collaboration and fun you’ve brought to the ship this year. I appreciate you all taking the effort to welcome our two newest members, and to Alice and Frank, thank you for joining us in the first place. We’ve had a fantastic year as a crew and I couldn't ask for a better crew.”
In the crowd of people, Monty raised his own glass and said, "To Prongs and his amazing first year of captaincy!"
"To Prongs!"
James' mouth dropped open as all his crew mates shouted the toast. Surely they didn't mean it. With the whole Alice situation - which, she has gotten better and adjusted to what probably was similar to her personality from before whatever happened in her life but James still hasn't forgot - and his countless mishaps, he could've done much, much better. He will do better.
And yet, his eyes filled with tears and an insuppressible grin made its way onto his face.
James took a sip of his wine along with the rest of his friends before hopping off his barrels much gracefully than he would've only a few years before. He was instantly dragged in by his best mates, Remus throwing an arm around his shoulders and Pete doing the same around his waist.
"So, how's it feel, Prongs? One year as a captain down, only, what, thirty more before retirement?" Peter teased, swaying from all the kvas shots he took earlier once everyone had gotten tired of Uno and turned it into a drinking game.
James laughed. "Pretty good, Wormy. How's second mate treating you?"
"Probably better than first mate would've. I'm kinda glad I lost the coin toss," Peter whispered, than giggled. "But don't tell Moony."
Remus snorted. "Don't worry, Pete, we won't."
Peter hummed in appreciation. "You're such good friends."
"Alright," James said, prying the glass of wine from Peter's hands, ignoring the whiny noise his friend let out and the grabby hands he made. "I think it's time we cut you off."
"Noooooooooo!" Peter wailed and Molly came up next to them, face furrowed in worry.
"I'll take him." she said and James helped her unwind Peter from himself. Peter didn't seem to notice the change, latching onto Molly instead.
"Thanks, Molly." James called after her and she raised her hand in acknowledgement.
Remus took the extra glass from James and knocked it back before making a face. He peered down at the goblet incredulously. "That wasn't wine- what the fuck was that?"
James shook his head fondly. "It's Pete. We best not question."
Remus sighed and set the goblet down on a nearby table. "So, James-"
A buzzing could be heard from James' trouser pocket, the vibrations jolting up his leg and tingling against his thigh. "Oop- sorry, Remus, I'll just be a minute."
James slipped out from under Remus' arm, set his glass down beside Peter's empty one and walked to the bow of the ship, where no other crew mates were currently occupying, and produced the mirror from his pocket. "Sirius? What's up?"
For a second, there was no response and James wondered if Sirius had somehow managed to pocket dial him but than, there was a small, pained and faint voice. "James?"
James' shoulders tightened and his fingers clenched so tightly around the mirror he thought it might shatter under his strength. "Where are you?"
"Grimmauld."
"I'll be there as fast as I can. Hide, please. Pack a bag. I'll call you again once I get close."
"Okay." Sirius' voice was almost unconvinced, like James might not get there in time, and James' heart pounded.
"Sirius. Listen to me. We're going to get you out of there, alright?"
Sirius made a small noise and his voice was thick when he said, "Hurry."
James tucked the mirror back into his pocket and sprinted across the deck, back towards his crew.
Remus straightened when he spotted him, well before any other person aboard. "Captain? What's wrong?"
The rest of the crew fell silent as James snatched his sword and gun off the table the crew had dumped all their belongings on. As he strapped them to his person, he said, "My friend in the Second Army is in trouble. I don't know all the details but we need to leave now," he raised his voice for everyone to hear. "Moony, Marlene, Lily, Mary, Gid, Fab, Frank and Arthur, you're all with me. Prepare to decouple!"
The crew spurred into action. Weapons were snatched off the table and people fluttered about, much more sober than they had been mere moments before. James and the crew members he named climbed up to the upper-most deck of The Marauder and he wasted no time in pulling the lever on the mizzen mast. Together, Frank and Mary eased down the sail as it tipped backwards, eventually locking into place on the pole installed for that very purpose. The sail created a canvas ceiling, one that James’ Squallers - or, his Squaller and his zowa - began to push up against until The Golden Snitch lifted off the end of The Marauder.
“Where to, Captain?!” Mary called as she and Frank oriented the small flying ship eastwards, towards inner Ravka.
“Same as earlier this week!” James replied, yelling to be heard over the wind and the engines. Mary nodded in affirmative, murmuring directions to Frank, who hadn’t been on James’ first trip to Number Twelve.
“Two Healers?” Lily questioned as she sidled up to him, gripping the edge of the ship so she didn’t tip over. “Not to question you, Captain, but is it really that bad?”
James tapped anxiously on the hilt of his sword, the other hand rubbing comforting circles into his compass, the one his father had given him when he was three. “I hope not.”
VII: Sirius
Sirius dragged himself from his room, a steading hand pressed tight against the wall as his feet stumbled. The strap of his rucksack dug into his shoulder, weighed down by the clothes and essentials he stuffed inside in his haste. James had just messaged him, he and his crew only minutes away. Sirius will admit, he had severely underestimated the speed of The Golden Snitch and had been quite surprised once his pocket had buzzed.
Sirius doesn’t know what happened. He knew Walburga had boiled his blood(kind of hard to forget) but he’s terribly confused on how he survived. All he knows is that he’s not tomorrow’s dinner and his whole body fucking hurts.
Sirius crept down the stairs, avoiding the fourth step that creaked when faced with even the smallest of weight. The dagger the Second Army had gifted him was strapped to his boot, jiggling against his leg with each unsteady step. He held his breath when he passed the door to the ballroom, the celebratory noises of near fifty people unmistakable. He snuck through the kitchen and practically ran out the back door. The Golden Snitch stuck out starkly, sweeping sail and gleaming hull against snow dusted hedges. The silhouetted figures of James’ crew mates moved throughout the ship, completing tasks that Sirius’ fractured brain couldn’t comprehend.
The moment he saw him, James jumped ship and sprinted over to him. “Are you okay? You have your things? I have a couple Healers on board who can help…” James trailed off, eyes focusing on something behind Sirius.
Sirius turned around.
Leaned back against the door with his arms crossed stood Regulus. Regulus, who was dressed in a crisp ebony kefta. Regulus, whose left sleeve bulged around white, red spotted bandages. Regulus, who was looking him up and down with a frightening amount of concern for someone, for once and for all, chose their parents over his older brother. Sweet, naïve little Regulus who just signed his life away to his executioner.
Sirius heard James take several steps back but he paid no mind. Instead, he focused on his little brother, who straightened up and moved closer.
“You’re leaving, then?” Regulus asked stiffly, picking at his nails.
Sirius scoffed. “Well I’m obviously not staying. Narcissa was right. They’d kill me. Almost did, too.”
Regulus flinched.
Sirius pointedly looked him up and down. “I see you’ve made your choice.”
“You didn’t expect me to say no, did you? After she-“ Regulus cut himself off and his fingers began to bleed.
“Of course I did, Regulus!” Sirius threw his hands in the air and stumbled. Regulus surged forward to steady him, but Sirius swatted him away. “It was supposed to be you and me! You and me against all the bullies, against our cousins, against our parents, against the world! But you go and pull this shit! Following a man who plans to kill more than half of Ravka and I doubt he’d stop there! I raised you better than that!”
“Mother just nearly killed you!” Regulus shouted back and his voice was thick. “The only reason she didn’t was because of me! I stopped her! And you want me to willingly walk your same fate but without someone else to play mediator?!”
“You’re too late,” Sirius said and he felt tears of his own threaten to spill over. “Too late to play saviour. Too late to come out of the shadows and take action. Too late to be the brother you were supposed to be. You’re always too late. I had to find someone else to save me.”
Regulus’ entire being sagged like a puppet with its strings cut. “Sirius.”
“Does anyone even know it was you?”
Regulus looked down at his feet.
“Still, you can’t bear to disobey Mother, even when I’m dying.”
“That is not it at all!” Regulus cried.
“Sure it isn’t.”
“I am trying to survive!” Regulus screamed and Sirius had half a mind to be worried about those gathered inside overhearing. “You should know as well as anyone how hard they are! Not everybody is like you, Sirius!”
“They won’t stop, you know,” Sirius said. “You’ve laid yourself under the guillotine, all they have to do is let the blade drop. You aren’t as safe as you think you are. Compliance will only get you so far.”
Regulus didn’t reply, instead changing the subject. “Are you so keen to leave everything behind?”
“Yes.”
“Even me?”
Sirius hesitated, heaving a large sigh before he said, “It’s about time I start prioritizing my own safety.”
Regulus nodded and kicked the grass.
He knew it would be unfair to ask. Regulus had already made his decision, stepped off the line and made allies with people who’d tried to kill Sirius not even an hour before. And yet, he was helpless to the unrelenting, in-ignorable desire to ask anyways.
“Come with me,” Sirius said and Regulus’ head shot up in alarm. “Leave this place. They can’t hurt you if you aren’t there. Come with me. Please.”
“Stay,” Regulus countered. “Don’t leave me. We’ll figure something out. I know we can. I need you, Sirius. Stay for me. Please.”
Sirius lost his battle of despair and relentless streams of tears poured down his face. He and Regulus stood not two feet from each other and yet farther than they’ve ever been. One was branded, given a Mark he’d never be able to outrun, no matter how hard he tried. The other more than willing to try, to take flight and flee from his family name until his wings grew tired and his lungs gave out. A bond that was supposed to be forever, one that was meant to withstand the tornadoes of their parents’ rage, the landslides of their disappointment, the overwhelming storms the world swept them up in- shattered into thousands of tiny pieces, impossible to shove back together.
And yet, here they stood, on opposite sides of an old, burning bridge. Flames licked up the ropes, singeing Sirius’ clothes from how close he stood, desperately reaching out to try and grasp Regulus before he stepped on the other side. But he was too late, Regulus standing with Walburga and Orion while the bridge tumbled down into endless abyss in a smoking pile of trauma, disappointment and longing memories that’ll never stop assaulting either of them, even while their brotherhood burns.
The worst part of it all? The fact they were ever on opposite sides in the first place.
In perfect, somber, twisted sync, Regulus and Sirius whispered two broken words that would forever seal their fate, two words that will fuel their love and hatred for one another for a long time, two words no one ever wants to hear, two words that everyone always tells you not to say because of a false belief that their meaning can never be and yet, they summed up both situations perfectly.
Sirius wants to stay, wants to be there for Regulus, wants to drag him out of the hole he’s dug, wants to jump across the canyon. Instead, because he meant it when he said it’s time he start looking after himself, he says, “I can’t.”
Regulus wants to go, wants to follow Sirius and run away from the terrors his new journey will bring, wants to be the brother he always wanted to be but never was. Instead, because Sirius was right when he said that Regulus was too late, he says, “I can’t.”
Sirius blinked away tears, trying to memorize his brother’s solemn form before they, quite possibly, never meet again.
“You promised,” Regulus whispered and rubbed furiously at his eyes. His voice is broken when he continues, “You promised everything would be alright.”
Sirius straightened up, taking a step back, towards James, towards the people who’ll be the family he should’ve had, towards his new life. “And they will be. For me. I can’t save you now, Reggie. You’re on your own.”
Regulus made a strangled noise in his throat.
“Goodbye, Regulus.”
Sirius turned and stumbled towards James, who helped him on the ship. He doesn’t hear if Regulus says anything back. Doesn’t look to see his brother crumble to the ground, curling in on himself as he tears grass from the ground in fistfuls.
“Mary! Frank! Get us out of here before someone knows we’re here!” James commanded as he began to lead Sirius to a bench.
“Aye!” Came the response from a Ravkan man with brown hair and a Zemeni woman with wicked curls.
“Here, Cap, let me help you.” a feminine voice said at Sirius’ other side, her hands coming to lift his arm around her neck.
Sirius didn’t mean to do it, he really didn’t. It was pure instinct. But the moment her hand came contact with his wrist, Sirius is throwing James off with surprising strength for a man who can barely walk. He’s ducking under the woman’s arm, grabbing his knife from his boot and has it tucking under her chin in less than ten seconds.
There are gasps around the ship and Sirius ignored the sounds of drawing weapons. The blonde woman is holding her hands up, a shocked expression on her face.
“Sirius,” James said gently. “No one here is going to hurt you. Marlene here is one of my Healers. She’s going to help you, you just need to put the knife down.”
Sirius wrenched his arm back, hands shaking. “Sorry.”
Marlene gave him a small smile. “I should’ve asked. Can you tell me what happened so I know what I’m dealing with?”
Sirius opened his mouth to respond but as he blinked, his vision grew spotted. His knees buckled and James lunged forward to catch him. His eyes rolled as he was lowered to the floor and he fell unconscious for the second time that evening.
VIII: Regulus
When Regulus had returned to Narcissa, all evidence of his breakdown in the courtyard was gone, red rimmed eyes and drying tear tracks buried beneath Tailor seams.
Regulus never realized how much colour there was in the world until it had begun to fade. Rich browns, cool greens, bright reds and gleaming purples. He’d thought the night sky was black but it was actually a very deep blue. He’d thought Narcissa and Aunt Druella’s hair were the same shade of blonde but, looking at them now, he can see that Narcissa’s is far more white. He hadn’t realized that Sirius’ eyes, which he’d always assumed were grey, were far more blue than he’d imagined.
At least, before it was the last remaining colour he’d seen before his entire world went grey.
“How’d it go?” Narcissa whispered. “Is he okay?”
Regulus repressed the sob that tried to break free from his throat. He forced his voice steady when he said, “He’s gone.”
Narcissa cleared her throat and Regulus watched her veil slam into place over whatever stirring emotion bubbled under her facade. “I’m so sorry, Regulus.”
Regulus nodded sharply, picking at his whining fingers behind his back. Every time they began to bleed, he healed them so his hands wouldn’t stain.
He was tempted to say it was fine. But it wasn’t. No, not at all. Regulus hadn’t- doesn’t want to think about a world without Sirius but it was here and, no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn’t be able to hide from it. He couldn’t please the ideal, agree when he didn’t just to get it to leave him alone. Sirius was gone, he was never coming back. It was a good thing. He’d be safe. No one would hurt him, just like he said. And yet, Regulus couldn’t help the selfish desire to drag him back. To hunt him down, to get his parents to pursue the legal route(as Sirius was still under eighteen years old)- anything to bring his brother back. He’d be good, they’d start over. Regulus would be the brother Sirius wanted, the one he needed, the one he deserved. He’d be enough this time.
Except, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t change anything about his behaviour. It protected him for this long, he’d continue to do so until he couldn’t any longer. He wouldn’t find a way to bring Sirius back because it was unsafe. Despite how much it hurt, Regulus would rather have a brother that’s absent and alive than one he’d get to keep for a few more days, days in which Sirius would loathe him entirely, before he was inevitably killed. And he wouldn’t be the brother Sirius wanted, needed, deserved because he was not, could not, and would never be James Potter.
Regulus had always done his best to comfort Narcissa when this happened to her. When Andromeda chose love over family, when Alice chose freedom over love, when they chose something or someone over her. Regulus tried to sympathize with the deep rooted pain they’d inflected without necessarily meaning to, tried to understand and tried to be there for her.
Regulus might’ve seen the effects of Andromeda and Alice’s absences had had on Narcissa but nothing, absolutely nothing could’ve prepared him for the utter amount of anguish pulsing through his being. He didn’t know just how heavy the weight his heart would carry, didn’t know the extent of the endless oceans that seem to be threatening to burst out from behind his eyes at every given moment, didn’t understand just how much he wanted to lay down and never get up again. Sirius was gone, he wasn’t coming back and Regulus had to just deal with it.
He didn’t want to. He shouldn’t have to. Aren’t there Saints that are supposed to look after him? Supposed to protect him when he prays, supposed to reward him for his faith? Where are they? Where have were they when Regulus knelt before his bed and whispered pleas until his throat ran dry, an orchestra of Sirius’ screams playing in the background? Sirius was his one good thing in his life, and someone had to take him, too?
Well, Regulus should be used to it by now. He thought he learned a long, long time ago that all good things must come to an end eventually.
He just never thought that Sirius would be something that could end.
“You said you had something to tell me. What was it?” Regulus asked, mentally shoving all things Sirius-related into a locked chest, for the time being.
Narcissa let out a sharp exhale. “The Mark. It’s poisoned.”
Regulus raised an eyebrow. “You mean to say this thing is going to kill me?”
“It could,” Narcissa said honestly. “It hasn’t happened to anyone yet, though, but it most certainly is possible. The ink is enchanted.”
Regulus’ eyes widened. “With merzost?”
Narcissa nodded. “It gives it special properties. The Mark can never be healed, no matter how experienced the medic. It will forever stain your skin. And if you touch it with the intent to summon, the Dark Lord will appear and everyone else who bears the Mark can tell where. All Death Eaters are supposed to make it there as fast as possible.”
“But…merzost, it doesn’t give without taking.”
Narcissa nodded. “But because the Dark Lord isn’t directly using the ink, it’s not he who reaps the repercussions, but us.”
The puzzle pieces fell into place in Regulus’ mind. “Oh.”
“It can be bad, it can be barely anything at all. Aunt Walburga got her scar, my hair got dyed, Rodolphus lost a finger, Lucius lost an eye, Bella lost her sanity, Rabastan suddenly became left handed. Its effects would’ve set in by now…what happened? I can’t tell.”
Regulus hesitated, glancing around. “I’m colourblind.”
Narcissa sighed in relief. “Nothing major, then. To what?”
“Everything.”
Narcissa blinked. “So you see-“
“In black and white, yes. Though it’s mostly just- grey. A shit ton of grey.”
“That’s…depressing.”
Regulus’ blood runs cold with a sudden realization. He could do his face but that’s easy, he’s been doing that for years without needed a mirror. He knows what he looks like, even in his new world, but now...he doesn’t know what red is. He can’t tell purple from blue, yellow from green. He just can’t. And if he can’t see colour…can he still Tailor?
Colour, unsurprisingly, is a massive component in Tailoring. A Tailor will draw pigment particles from whatever object they hold and create a layer of whatever(eyeshadow, nail varnish, covering bruises, etc.) over skin, usually. You have to be careful, otherwise the particles will sink into the original layer and permanently disfigured whoever it is you’re working on. Skin is usually easier to replicate but is three times as dangerous. Regulus can do himself, that’s easy. He’d probably be able to do Sirius without thinking, too. But everything else…if Regulus can’t tell one colour from the next, how the fuck is he supposed to Tailor?
Now is not the time to find out.
“-ulus? Are you okay?”
Regulus squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
Narcissa gave him a disbelieving look but didn’t push. “Almost done, now. You have another ten minutes, at most, before this is over.”
She was right. Not long after, Voldemort gave another big speech and the celebration was dismissed. Narcissa waved him goodbye as she followed Aunt Druella, Uncle Cygnus and Bellatrix out of Number Twelve, along with every other Death Eater that didn’t reside in these walls. Voldemort was the last to leave, getting Caradoc to pack up whatever things he had before he swept out the door, Caradoc following with his head ducked low after giving Regulus one last sympathetic look.
Then it was just four of them. Walburga, Orion, Kreacher and Regulus.
No Sirius. There will never be Sirius again.
Regulus didn’t acknowledge either of his parents as he left the room and they, surprisingly, didn’t call after him about his less than polite behaviour. Maybe they were too busy thinking about Sirius, who they still thought was hiding somewhere around Grimmauld, not only the Saints knew where on a flying ship with Prongs the Privateer as his captain, his best friend, his brother.
Regulus felt tempted to slam his door shut but he couldn’t even manage that small of a rebellious act. He could save his brother’s life but he couldn’t make an unnecessarily loud noise caused by the raging emotional war threatening to tear him down?
Go figure.
Regulus threw off his kefta, draping it over the arm chair by his desk. He shedded his blazer, lost his waistcoat and slipped out of his shoes, leaving him in only slacks and a his dress shirt.
Regulus dragged himself to his bathroom and leaned all his weight on the sink, glaring as his grey reflection. He flicked his fingers, as he had countless times before, relying completely on muscle memory and hoping to all that is good - but not the Saints, no, Regulus would never do that again - that he hadn’t accidentally damaged his face in his moment of vulnerability. Thankfully, the seams came off easily. The tear tracks had dried, his eyes looked normal but Regulus couldn’t tell if it was because they were or he simply couldn’t see if they were red anymore. His eye bags were dark and heavy, clean scar lines running through them.
He thought of what Sirius would say if he saw him. He’d tell him he looked like shit, ruffle his combed back hair so his curls fluffed out and fell naturally. He’d be concerned, asking how he’s been sleeping and when the last time he drank water or ate. He’d be furious at the scars he’s never seen before, a little upset that Regulus didn’t tell him. He’d want to know how they happened and would shout at their parents for it. He’d end up screaming on the floor of the drawing room or Orion’s office and it’d be all Regulus’ fault. Again.
Regulus squeezed his eyes shut as his breathing grew laboured. No, he’s cried enough today, he won’t do it again. No.
The twisted part is that wants him here anyways. If Sirius got hurt, if it was his fault, even if Sirius loathed him, Regulus wanted his brother.
But he and Sirius would never be the same, even if Regulus managed to escape their parents’ twisted love, even if their claws retracted enough to let him go. The inked snake on Regulus’ forearm would forever be the cause of their burned bridge. It would be a painful reminder of how Regulus was a terrible brother, a terrible person, someone who would choose eventual, inevitable death over the one person who has been by his side since the very beginning of his existence.
Regulus let out a low whine and, despite his best efforts, tears spilled down his cheeks. He gasped for breath as he violently yanked his sleeve up. He snatched his knife out of his vanity and cut through the bandages, skimming his arm. He didn’t care. The bubbles that rose to the surface of his skin blended in with the other, dark grey spots dotting his pale skin around his new tattoo.
He turned the tap on, water scalding but he paid no mind, shoving his arm under and began to scrub.
There was nothing to wash but Regulus couldn’t stop, frantically rubbing at his arm, nails digging in to try and claw the ink from his skin. He scrubbed, and scrubbed, and scrubbed. He scrubbed until his arm turned an angry shade of darker grey(which he assumed was red). He scrubbed until his hand grew tired and blisters began to form, scrubbing even then. The Mark was covered in scratches, blood dousing his arm only to be washed away seconds later. He scrubbed through blurry eyes and heaving sobs, quiet enough to not be heard but painful enough it dug at his lungs like shattered glass.
Eventually, when he was tired and couldn’t physically stand the water’s temperature anymore, he gave up. He slammed his hand down on the tap, shutting it off, before he slumped down to the floor, back to the cabinet door. He tucked his knees up and let out a silent scream of pure anguish.
Why? Why did this have to happen to him? Why wasn’t enough? Why did the Saints hate him?
The world wasn’t fair. It never has been, never will be. Innocent people killed themselves, horrible figures thrived. Soldiers could sign away their whole lives just to die, little kids could be stuck down time and time again until they simply laid there, not caring enough to get up if they were just going to be forced down.
Regulus wanted so bad to believe this was just another fucked up game the universe was playing. The Saints were bored so they picked some sorry fellow to pick on, destroying anything and everything good in their lives. Regulus wanted this to be so, but no. He deserved this. He deserved to be held on the end of a leash, dragging him down, down, down under water until he drowned, too far to save himself even if he was to be let go. He deserved go have everything good he’d kept dear ripped from his hands and given to someone who was much more caring, more gentle, more compassionate than Regulus will ever be. He deserved to lay, shattered, on his bathroom floor, gaze forever void of colour and life, arm bleeding as he struggled to get a breath in between the cries that wrenched themselves from his throat.
Regulus curled into himself and tugged on his hair. He hated the ugly, pathetic sounds slipping past his lips. He hated the thick sheen over his eyes, spilling down his face. He hated the way he couldn’t stop it. He hated the burning Mark on his arm. He hated the fact that the one thing he liked about himself, his Tailoring, was taken from him. He hated the colour grey. He hated fucking Voldemort. He hated the way Sirius had left him without even looking back. He hated the fact that if Sirius were to walk right through his door, he wouldn’t even shout at him. He would, eventually, but he’d cling like an unwanted parasite, forcing his brother to hold him while he cried harder. He hated the way he was broken and didn’t care enough to put himself back together properly. He hated the fact that he never would be able to, because Sirius had taken a piece of him when he left.
He hated himself.
Sirius was gone, Regulus hated himself, he just signed his life away and he wanted to die.
He really, really wanted to die.
Regulus grabbed his knife from the counter and stared at it. He watched the light gleam off the blade, even through his blurred vision. He poked his finger on the pointed tip and watched the blood bead.
It would be so easy. There was no one around. No one would stop him. All he had to do was plunge the blade through his chest. He’d be gone, free from this fucking nightmare in ten minutes maximum. He had nothing to say, no one to leave anything for. No one would really miss him anyways.
No. That was a lie. Narcissa would miss him. The thought made him hesitate. She lost Andromeda, Alice, Sirius(though he wasn’t as detrimental to her as it was to him) and, if he went through with it, she’d lose him. Who would she talk to? Who would she bitch to about? Who would understand all things Noble House of Black? There’d be Rabastan, sure, but it wasn’t exactly the same.
He remembered what he’d said to her, only sixteen days before. He’d said he’d be there for her, forever and always. Was he willing to break that promise so soon? Or ever, for that matter?
And if he died, Walburga and Orion had no heir. With Sirius gone, there was no doubt that they’d make Regulus their new heir rather than hunting him down, especially if they were so keen on killing him. But if Regulus wasn’t there…
Regulus knew. They wouldn’t go without someone to carry on the Black Empire. Bellatrix was married, Narcissa soon to be. If there was no Regulus, they’d make sure there was Sirius. They’d find him, drag him back to Number Twelve and he’d never find another way out.
So, Regulus wouldn’t kill himself. Not now, at least. Whether it would be a debated topic further on was something he didn’t know.
He wouldn’t kill himself but he would punish himself. He dragged the knife under his eyes, tracing those scars. Blood dripped down his cheeks, iron mixing with salt on his tongue as it slipped into his mouth.
This was the first time Regulus didn’t stop there. Even after he reminded himself that boys don’t cry, he continued on, dragging the knife through the meat of his arm. He cut around and through the Mark because, maybe, if he couldn’t wash it off, he could cut it out.
His arm was a mess of blood and torn skin when he gave up again, blinking through the dizzy haze of his mind. He healed his arm, Mark knitting back into place and heaved himself off the floor. His mind and body were numb as he cleaned the blood off himself, the floor, the knife and the sink. He tossed the used bandages in the trash and dragged himself to his bed. Just as he was about the flop on top of it, he paused, glancing at the door.
Before the could stop himself, Regulus was slipping out into the hallway and travelling a few doors down.
Sirius’ room was nearly exactly the same. The closet was thrown open, clothes piling on the floor from where he ripped them off their hangers. Furniture was shifted slightly out of place where Sirius had been using them for supports. The picture he kept on his bedside table - one of him and Regulus when they were seven and eight, the beginning of summer before Sirius’ testing - was missing, its frame smashed and thrown across the room.
The thought of Sirius carrying around a photo of Regulus made him feel slightly less devastated.
Regulus collapsed on Sirius’ bed and burrowed himself under the covers, sounded by Sirius’ unique scent of cinnamon, petrol and leather. It was painful deja vu from Sirius’ first night away at the Little Palace, the first time Regulus had went without his big brother. The only difference from then and now was that then, Sirius had come back.
Regulus let out a breath and pulled the sheets higher. A singular tear, the last one his body had to give, spilled down onto Sirius’ pillow and Regulus drifted off desperately hoping that this entire night was a dream.
He should’ve learnt by now that hoping is useless.