The Prodigal Brother

Regulus Black: An anxiety riddled heir to the Noble House of Black.

             “Okay, I think you’re ready.”

Regulus’ heart is tight inside his chest. Lupin certainly hasn’t been making him feel relaxed, but this ‘crash course on lying’, as Lupin puts it, is definitely needed if Regulus is going to… he’s not actually sure what he will do. It all happened so quickly. 

He knows he’s not a good liar. Neither of the Black brothers are. In their household, where legilimency was regularly practised, lying quickly became a guaranteed way to invite a slap or a vicious curse.

The last time he lied, like actually lied, Regulus was about six or seven. It was his first case of accidental magic. He had accidentally blown up one of those repulsive elf heads hung up on the dining room wall. He always hated them, especially while he was trying to eat. 

His mother had immediately known it was him. Sirius hadn’t started to rebel yet, and Regulus was the one with a soft spot for the Elves. She had asked him, calmly at first, if he had destroyed the ‘art’ as she called it. Regulus had lied and said no. 

She knew anyway.

She sent him to bed with a cracked cheekbone. 

In an attempt to console his younger brother, Sirius adopted his customary role. He climbed into Regulus’ bed and tenderly wiped away his tears. Although he couldn’t mend the physical pain, he offered solace by softly singing a familiar tune, remaining cautious of their mother’s presence. It was one of the songs Andromeda had taught them, a melody from the muggle world. Strangely, it had become Regulus’ cherished song, resonating deeply within him. Underneath the covers, with tear-filled eyes and pillows stained with blood, the lyrics took on a new significance. What was once a love song now seemed to embody the two of them, a love between siblings. Still a love song, just a different type of love

Hoping I’m always there, I want her everywhere, and if she’s beside me, I know I need never care. 

Regulus had never lied again.

It wasn’t the last time Sirius had sung for him, that didn’t happen until years later.

Nevertheless, Regulus knows he needs to lie. Lucius can’t know Regulus has hidden all night inside the burning carcass of a tree. He can’t say he had a civil conversation with a werewolf. He can’t know Regulus wants out.

It was going to come out eventually. 

Regulus might survive with Lucius, skirting around the truth, never really saying anything. But when he comes face to face with the Dark Lord, Regulus knows he has no chance.

He doesn’t want to be a Death Eater. Not now, not ever.

He doesn’t want to die. Or go to Azkaban. 

He will die if the Death Eaters succeed, whether by his own hand or somebody else’s. 

And if he’s marked and they win… well, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

Sirius would string him up and take it in turns with his little friends to maim him one by one.

He doesn’t know how he got into this situation, it all happened so fast. He doesn’t know why Lupin wants to help. But for the first time in his life, he’s going to accept it. 

Even if it’s the help of a werewolf.

“Do you remember what I said?” Lupin asks, he seems to be a good teacher, he looks comfortable, well as comfortable as one can get when you’re talking to the enemy. 

Regulus nods. “Don’t add too much detail, don’t look shifty, keep my story consistent, pretend to myself that I’m telling the truth and stay calm.” 

It’s pretty basic advice but running through the checklist in his mind actually seems to help, it gives him something else to focus on. 

Lupin shoots him a goofy thumbs up, to which Regulus rolls his eyes. Lupin ignores this. “Okay, pretend I’m Malfoy and we can have a go.”

Regulus rolls his eyes yet again, but nods his assent. “Don’t listen to my heartbeat, it’s cheating.”

“It’s hardly cheating.” Lupin scoffs, “it’s not like I can help it.”

He holds his hands up in surrender at the glare Regulus shoots his way, Merlin, Lupin is irritating, but he’s not got any other options. 

Lupin shoots him an awkward smile before shaking himself out with such sudden ferocity that it makes Regulus flinch backwards. Once he’s finished his convoluted form of dancing, he straightens himself up and settles his face into a cold expression. “Black.” He says in an actually quite impressive impression of Malfoy. 

He grins when Regulus tells him as such, “I know right?” He says, before schooling his face back into the disconcerting pureblood mask. 

“Malfoy,” Regulus replies, keeping his voice neutral. He feels a bit stupid and he’s pretty sure his voice is too high-pitched, but Lupin doesn’t mention it. 

“I see you survived.” 

“Obviously.”

Lupin’s eyes sparkle with amusement, even if the rest of his face doesn’t react. “How?”

“How did I survive?” Regulus asks.

“No, how was the weather – of course did you survive.”

“Malfoy wouldn’t say that.” Regulus replies, Lupin just stares at him, so he continues. “I apparated home.”

Stay calm, don’t add too much detail. 

“Without a wand? All the way from Germany?” Lupin asks, in well-acted disbelief. 

Regulus pauses for a second, unsure as what to say. Pretend it’s true, convince yourself that you are telling the unequivocal truth. “Clearly.”

Lupin eyes him, and Regulus meets his stare, before remembering he can’t do that with the rest of them. He’s got to subtly avoid the eyes, or they can read his mind. He settles instead for staring at Lupin’s eyebrows. There’s a fresh cut slicing halfway through one of them, still gently weeping. 

“Impressive. I’m sure our most gracious hero the Dark Lord will be most impressed.” Lupin finally says.

Regulus winces, “can’t wait to be part of the team” he croaks.

They both sag in disappointment at the same time. Lupin throws his arms up into the air. “You were so close as well!” 

“Let me try it again.” 

Lupin assumes his unsettling pureblood persona once more, his demeanour becoming rigid as he straightens his posture and hardens his gaze, his mouth is set into a thin line. “I’m certain the Dark Lord will find satisfaction in this.”

This time Regulus says nothing, he just nods slowly and lets himself feel excited. Excited at the prospect of fucking off and leaving forever. Lucius will assume it’s excitement at the mention of the Dark Lord, he’s so obsessed with him that he conveniently assumes that all purebloods share his fervour, which works to Regulus’ advantage in his current predicament.

Lupin claps his hands together, “that was loads better, I actually believed you. Sort of”, he professes, he’s lost the pureblood demeanour and Regulus feels relieved at his words. He doesn’t know why he believes Lupin, but he does.

             Lupin apparates them both back to London. Regulus doesn’t tell him his address, he can’t, and even if he could he doesn’t trust Lupin enough for that. But he drops Regulus off close enough to walk home. He looks bone tired after and Regulus feels a stab of guilt for forcing him to stop off so far from home. Lupin doesn’t say anything though. He just nods and promises to write to Regulus about their plans and sticks his hand out for the Knight Bus, waving goodbye once he’s boarded. 

Regulus walks home with a sense of impending doom but also feeling a little lighter than he has in a long time. For the first time in years, no matter how slim, Regulus has hope. 

He’s just come out of the bath when his tentative good mood is effectively squashed. His mother is waiting for him in his bedroom. 

He stops in the doorway, feeling very exposed with just a towel tied around his waist. “Is everything alright, Mother?” 

“Where were you this morning.” She barks out. It’s a question, but the way she says it sort of sounds like an order. Regulus feels relaxed a little at the volume, though a loud and forceful Walburga Black is a familiar occurrence, a normalcy in their household. It’s during her rare moments of quiet that Regulus becomes truly concerned and uneasy. That means she’s truly angry, almost glittering in rage. That’s when she’s at her most dangerous, her most unhinged. 

He can’t tell her the truth, of course. This is his first test. Stay calm, don’t look her in the eyes. 

He meanders over to his chest of drawers in what he hopes is a casual way and roots around for some clothes to wear. “I was visiting Lucius.” 

His voice sounds even and unconcerned, at least to his ears. 

She hums. Regulus feels the hairs on the back of his neck prick up. He pretends not to hear, instead holding two robes up as if contemplating which to wear. 

“Why?” She still sounds angry, but less now, Regulus forces himself to relax, one tense muscle and she’ll realise. 

He turns around, his casual green and black robes in hand, and pastes a self-satisfied smirk onto his face. “He wanted to speak to me about my plans after school, about my future.”

Her eyes widen. She knows what he’s implying, she’s not stupid, and the Blacks usually only communicate in inferences and implications anyway. “Do you mean to say…”

Regulus' stomach curdles, but his face does not waver. “I think I will make the House of Black very proud quite soon.” He replies, trying to sound boastful.

She leaves him alone after that. 

Regulus vomits into a plant pot. 

Remus Lupin: Son of Lyall and Hope Lupin. Currently knackered.

             The house is quiet from the outside as Remus arrives. His mum’s at work, as usual, they couldn’t afford for her to take the shift off today, not each month. Anyway, his dad should be home. In a state of shock from the earlier events, Remus feels like he’s operating on autopilot. He’s still bleeding slightly, yet strangely disconnected from the pain. He ascends the pathway towards the front door, his movements almost robotic. The blood from the cut on his head has spread across his forehead like a bloody fringe. The red runs into his eyes. He wipes it away with the sleeve of his tatty jumper as he knocks on the front door. 

He keeps trying to get his parents to leave a key under the door mat, they don’t have a front garden, the tightly packed terraced houses in Carmarthen don’t allow for any space. In any case, his parents are too paranoid for that though, and it’s not like his mum can use an alohomora to unlock the door. 

He hears a shuffling to his left, and curses inwardly, he had hoped his dad would get to the front door before any of the neighbours had the opportunity to see him in this sad state, no such luck though. 

“Duw! Remus what’s happened to you?” Dilys, their incredibly nosy neighbour, irritating in a standard setting, borderline dangerous for a magical family. 

“Ah, you should see the other guy.” Remus remarks offhandedly, knocking a bit more frantically now. 

Dilys tuts and opens her mouth, no doubt gearing up for a lecture, when the front door swings open. Lyall Lupin is stood before him, relief clear in his eyes. 

“Merlin, where the hell have you been?” He hisses out, raking his eyes over Remus, assessing his injuries. He nods goodbye to Dilys before dragging Remus inside and slamming the door shut. 

“I was too tired to apparates back home right away, merlin Dad let me get inside before you start banging on.” Remus mutters petulantly, feeling somewhat guilty for lying and snapping, but it’s not like Remus can tell the truth. Sorry Dad, but you know Sirius? Yeah, the one you hate, well I was having a chit chat with his baby brother, yeah, the future death eater that’s right!

Fat chance.

His dad doesn’t say anything in response to that, instead he steers him into their living room. The kitchen is too small to fit a table, so it doubles as a dining room and a living room. However, Remus doesn’t mind this set-up; he appreciates the cosiness and openness. The entire lower floor follows an open plan design, a common feature among the houses in their neighbourhood.

With a firm yet caring touch, his father manoeuvres him onto the sofa, taking charge of tending to his injuries. He sets to work, utilising his healing abilities to fix Remus’ wounds.

“What the hell happened, cariad? You’ve not had it this bad in years.” He questions in a thick voice. 

Remus despises that voice, the mere presence of tears on the verge of escaping. There’s a profound anguish in hearing his father weep. Remus has been the only source of his father’s tears for as long as he can remember. Seeing the untouchable Lyall Lupin cry, holding back the tears, waiting until he thinks Remus is asleep to allow the tears to fall. He doesn’t know if its pain or guilt that causes the tears, maybe its both, maybe its neither. 

Remus shrugs, wincing in pain as he does so. Remus resigns himself to the silent healing administered by his father.

Finally, he leans back, assessing Remus. His face does… something, before he gently wipes blood away from Remus’ face. Only it’s not blood. Remus is crying. When did he start crying? Has he been crying all this time? He’s been shedding these tears since he was five. They’ve been leaking out of him since he can remember. They have become an integral part of him, an unending stream that has accompanied him throughout his existence. Being a werewolf has defined him all his life, and the weight of that burden has become almost unbearable. There are moments, especially in the aftermath of a moon, when an overwhelming desire overtakes him to surrender, to lie motionless on the cold floor of the Shrieking Shack and let himself rot into the ground.

“I hate this.” Remus whispers, almost like it’s a secret he shouldn’t say. 

His dad clenches his jaw. “It should have been me. It should never have been you. You deserve better.”

It’s not the first time his dad has said as such. It won’t be the last. 

Remus just shakes his head. “Can I have some tea please?” He can’t hear this again, he’s afraid he’ll agree. 

His dad goes to make the tea, Remus lets himself relax. He didn’t realise how much pain he was in until it was taken away. Now he just feels bone tired. 

“There’s a letter for you on the side Remus.” His dad says from the kitchen, he doesn’t need to shout, Remus would hear him from upstairs. 

Sighing from the effort Remus plucks the envelope of the table next to him, he doesn’t even need to stretch and still he has to take a moment to regain his breath before opening it. 

Remus (the letter begins, it’s Sirius’ handwriting.)

How was the moon? Feels weird not being there with you, was it awful? 

I don’t believe that you just wanted to handle it on your own, was it for Dumbledore? You can trust me; I know you said you can’t tell me what that meeting was about. EVEN THOUGH YOU PROMISED. But you can tell me, I won’t tell anyone, not even James. (Remus can feel the worry and irritation leaking from the page, it smells like Sirius, like his feelings dripped from his chest and onto the page as he wrote.) 

From Sirius. 

P.s. Hey Remus it’s James! 

Are you okay? Are you angry at us or something? I know you said you weren’t, but this was your first moon back at home since second year. At least for the next one come back to ours, it’s safer at the very least. 

Also, guess what, Peter got off with a muggle girl from our village behind the post office yesterday!! That little slag!

Lots of love, James.

Remus stares at the letter, trying to work out just how angry they’ll be at the vague reply he’s going have to give. He can’t tell them anything, he’s told Sirius this multiple times since his meeting with Dumbledore. He feels a stab of annoyance to Sirius for not letting it go. Sirius has been permanently annoyed about it all summer, as if Sirius has any right to his secrets. As if Remus wouldn’t tell him everything in a heartbeat if he could, but Dumbledore told him not to, Sirius should understand. It’s not fair on Remus that he just won’t let it go. 

He crumples the letter up and goes to toss it into the fire before quickly changing his mind and smoothing it back out. Sirius sent it after all, he keeps all of Sirius’ letters folded neatly inside his bedside table.

From Sirius. 

That’s what he said. 

James had said love. 

Remus feels like a right twat. Here he is, consumed by a profound love for Sirius that permeates him. His bones, his soul—everything belongs to Sirius. Yet Sirius doesn’t reciprocate even in a platonic sense. Remus would prefer it if Sirius were to etch a line into his heart with a dagger. It might finally stop Remus from loving him. Although despite the profound pain Sirius has inflicted upon him in the past, Remus’s love for him remains unwavering. Though, Remus knows that even in such a painful act, he might find gratitude. Gratitude that Sirius, in his own way, would touch his heart, and hold it in his long, spindly fingers, even if it meant inflicting further pain upon him.

 It’s pathetic. He’s pathetic. 

“You’re still down here?” His dad exclaims, slowly walking out of the kitchen with a steaming cup of tea, trying to level his hand so it doesn’t spill. “Merlin Remus, go to bed.”

Remus takes a deep breath and stands up. 

His father follows him upstairs, entering his room in tow. The sight that greets Remus is one of unexpected tenderness—the bed sheets have been changed, his laundry done. The scent of freshly applied detergent clings to his clothes neatly folded within the wardrobe. Overwhelmed by the gesture, a surge of emotions threatens to bring tears to his eyes.

Remus sits in bed and watches as his father performs a stasis charm on a cup of tea. The sheets envelop him with lingering warmth, embracing him in a comforting cocoon. Fatigue weighs heavily upon him, and he begins to fall into a comfortable sleep while his father carefully tucks him in.

“Thanks dad.” He breathes out sleepily.

His father’s tear falls onto his forehead, but it’s softly brushed away, replaced by a gentle kiss. 

“No thanks are necessary, cariad.” Remus hears his dad whisper in the lazy silence of his bedroom. 

I've been goin' through somethin'. One thousand, eight hundred and 55 days, I've been goin' through somethin' - United in Grief