fighting the inevitable

“For a wizard whose greatest fear is death, a horcrux may be their saving grace, though the toll it takes on a soul is incomparable. Very few wizards find life worth living after for the process to create a horcrux is nothing short of abhorrent.”

Regulus mindlessly took notes on the books he’d pulled from their collection at home, far more expansive in the dark Arts than any other library in England. He was no closer to solving the problem at hand though Bellatrix had yet to contact him in regards to their lessons so he was still safe for now. He just hoped he could stave off another episode until he could at least get back to school where Madam Pomfrey could mitigate any lasting effects should she change her mind.

“Master Regulus is needing to get ready, his portkey is to be ready in two hours,” Kreacher tutted as he began to clear away his tea that he had barely taken two sips out of.

He cursed under his breath- he had almost forgotten about that.

Apparently somehow in the last two days, his father had taken a turn for the worse, his condition rapidly worsening and he had called for Regulus to come to France as soon as possible- something about wanting to speak to him about what it means to be the Head of the House of Black or some other nonsense he wasn’t interested in. Of course that would be the one thing he was thinking about while on his deathbed.

Mum said she couldn’t possibly go and that she was too busy here but Regulus knew better- she simply didn’t care. His parents were nothing more than a formal and transactional business relationship, not a hint of love or even lust in sight. He couldn’t possibly imagine a life like that for himself.

He didn't quite know the extent of his fathers’ illness but he couldn’t even handle the fact that he was sick, much less the fact that he was about to die. It seemed more like a rumour, something he just couldn’t quite believe without any sort of concrete evidence.

His father was a grounding figure, always looming in the background of his life, appearing sometimes with a pat on the back or a tight lipped smile whenever he came home and otherwise simply hiding in the shadows of his mothers’ presence. He couldn’t imagine that one day, very soon, he might not be there anymore.

The mere idea of it caused his stomach to turn and heart to clench.

“Right,” he murmured, standing up, snapping and sending the books away before heading to his room to prepare a bag.

_______

The portkey spirited him away from another frigid and wet day in London to their home in the countryside of France where the skies were a clear crisp blue and the sun shone brightly down upon them. The cool breeze rustled his hair and revitalised him in a way he hadn’t felt since before he’d come home for the holiday.

He missed the holidays they had spent here when he was younger. The trips had grown increasingly infrequent as he became older until they’d stopped coming completely as holidays were considered frivolous and unimportant. He hadn’t been here in over five years and never without his mum hovering above him and monitoring his every move.

He took a deep breath before turning and walking up the long gravel pathway from the grand iron gates to the large front door, looking around at the lush landscape and peering over the mountain ridge to see the small muggle village bustling with life below them. He already planned on sneaking down there as soon as he got a chance.

Two young elves greeted him at the door in what must have been their finest tea cloths, bowing deeply before scurrying off with his bags and coat and offering him tea and biscuits and anything else he might desire.

He’d declined it all, instead choosing to leisurely wander around the estate, re-familiarizing himself with the property. He decided to forego the first floor that contained all the usual amenities- multiple receiving rooms, lounges, a kitchen and a dining room- and go right up the large spiral staircase to the rooms he had spent significantly more time in.

His mum hadn’t touched a single thing up here in years so it was like stepping through time as he walked down the long and wide corridors, windows lining the walls interspersed with lush tapestries and beautiful paintings. He paused by a painting of a young girl playing in a river, her mum sitting on the bend, her toes just dipping into the water. The young girl beckoned her mother to join her but she was content where she was, wiggling her toes and splashing little drops of water all around her. As one, the two of them turned to him and smiled and he did the same back before they went back to their routine.

He continued down until he stopped at an unlabelled door. There were no wards or warnings preventing him from going in yet he still hesitated, hand on the handle, as though there was still someone over his shoulder, watching his every move. He turned and found no one, though all of their old properties held that sort of eerie vibe so he just continued.

Sirius’ room remained perfectly preserved. His toy broom was propped up against the wall along with his child-safe potions kits and books he used to love reading. Traces of his older self remained in the clothing and the furniture but to Regulus, this room was an ode to a much younger and happier Sirius.

His own room was relatively the same as his back in Grimmauld if a bit lighter. Grimmauld was perpetually gloomy and his furnishings further reflected that but here, with his windows thrown open and stirring the gauzy blue curtains, his room was light and airy. There was a large chair tucked in the corner of the room by the bookshelves that was already calling to him- it was the one thing he didn’t compromise on in this room.

Perhaps once he graduated, he’d get a chance to visit more often for a chance away from the busy and loud streets of London in favour of a much simpler and quieter life here in the mountainsides of his home country.

Once he made it back downstairs he ran into the meditwitch that must’ve been taking care of his father. She had striking blue eyes and black hair that was tied tightly in a bun atop her head giving her face a rather pinched look. 

“Mr. Black, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,. My name is Camille and I’ve been your fathers primary caretaker” she spoke in a thick French accent.

“You as well, how is my father?” he replied in French, knowing they’d both make me more comfortable with it.

She dulled a bit as she conjured a folder from somewhere and handed it over to him, “Our Healers haven’t been able to determine a cause of illness for him. He presented with nausea, fatigue, and chills- standard symptoms, but suddenly he developed tremors, memory loss, and confusion. He’s lost most of his motor functions and struggles to remember certain details about his own life and others.”

Regulus flicked through his chart as she spoke but it was much of the same.

It was all suddenly becoming a bit more real for him as he read the way the charts started off long and detailed observations with accompanying medicines and solutions before slowly becoming curt and redundant with comments like, ‘no improvement’ or ‘condition has worsened.’

“So what then?” he asked a bit more harshly than he intended but he couldn’t process what she was saying, or maybe he just didn’t want to.

“I’m sorry Mr. Black but based on our Healers estimates, he has maybe two to four months left…he struggles to eat or even sleep. He has become completely unresponsive to medication, both magical and muggle. I’m afraid he is now receiving palliative care to ensure he is comfortable,” she said as evenly as possible but he could tell by the slightly panicked look on her face that this was her first time treating a patient teetering the line of death.

Her words were meant to comfort him but if anything he felt sick. He put the folder away and sighed, scrubbing his face harshly to hold back the swell of emotion that was painfully pushing against his mental walls, “Thank you Camille, that’s all.”

She nodded, gathering her things and before leaving she paused, “Your father’s been asking for you for days. He seems to forget most things, his own name sometimes, but never yours. We’re not sure whether the things he tells us about you are true but he’s the most lucid when talking about you and Sirius, your brother, yes?”

He wished she hadn’t told him that because of the painful lump that now developed in his throat, he just nodded before turning away as a sign of dismissal. The front door clicked shut and he let out a breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding.

So that was it then? His father had less than a year left to live and there was simply nothing to be done about it.

He wanted to rip his hair out and scream and the mere fact of that made him even more frustrated.

Before, whenever he thought about his father, he was barely able to manage any emotions, feeling incredibly neutral about him, and now the idea of his passing was enough to make him weak in the knees.

Death was so incredibly permanent but it remained a distant thought for him, a topic reserved only for wizards that were old and grey, well past 100 years old, not for his father who had barely made it half a wizards’ lifespan.

He walked towards the sunroom and found his father sitting in a wheelchair, his shoulders slightly hunched over and his hair almost fully grey as he looked out the windows at the same view he was admiring when he walked in.

“Papa?” he called out. He hadn’t called him that since he was a child and it felt odd and informal on his lips but his father just turned his head, a faint smile pulling at his face.

When Regulus approached he could see the sickness manifest on his father’s form. His face was sallow and grey, dark circles ringing his eyes and his hair weak and lifeless against his face. His hands trembled and he was far too thin, his cheekbones and collar bones sticking out starkly against his frame.

“Regulus,” he smiled, reaching a hand up to clasp his shoulder before guiding him to the chair at his side. “You came?”

“I did, Mother told me you had fallen ill…I wish I had known sooner.”

He just shook his head, “It happened suddenly, I didn’t want to interrupt your studies. How is school?”

For the first time, he seemed to be genuinely interested rather than going through the motions and asking because it was customary. 

He had wanted this kind of attention for years but now that he had it, it simply felt wrong- he wanted to shout at his father for falling ill, order the Healers to find some new treatment, even yell at his mum for not even caring but instead he was forced to sit in the overly warm room and pretend everything was fine.

“It’s fine, I’m doing well in all my classes,” he replied plainly.

He nodded, processing everything he had said incredibly slowly before looking around once more, “Can you take me outside? The mediwitches won’t let me go out,” he frowned, reaching a hand out to rest on the cool glass.

“You probably shouldn’t go out then, it’s too cold,” Regulus refused.

His father just turned a lined face onto him, “You would deny a dying man his final wishes?” He had a small lingering smile on his face and it was infuriating, he looked a bit wistful and lost like Dumbledore often did.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why mon étoile?” he smiled at the use of his old nickname, “It’s true after all.”

“How are you just fine ? You look like you don’t even care,” Regulus knew he also shouldn’t be fighting with a dying man yet that was all he wanted to do. “You can’t just leave .”

He sighed deeply, leaning back in his chair, “What else can I do? Do you want me to apologise for it?”

He was already losing and the battle had barely even started, “No but I want you to just care . You know our entire lives, I don’t think I’ve seen you care about a single thing,” he admitted honestly, throwing out his hand in irritation before dropping his head.

“Take me outside Regulus,” was all he said and begrudgingly, he did so, rolling him over the smooth tiled floor, over the entryway, and onto the cobblestoned path that led to an arbour in the centre of the large and lush garden.

Once he had locked his wheelchair in place again, he was about to just go back inside but his father’s voice stopped him and forced him to sit, the stone bench ice cold beneath him.

“You’re wrong. I care for much- I don’t think it’s possible to go through life without it,” he started honestly, his black eyes turned up towards the open sky, “I care for the garden, the cool morning air, I care for this house that we haven’t come to in so long. 

“I cared for my work once, my parents, my cousins- I cared for those that I grew up with. Those are all fine, those are acceptable things to care about and I feel free to admit those honestly-The problem arose when Sirius was born.”

His breath hitched slightly and even Regulus cringed a bit, not entirely following where he was going, “My whole life I was told that children are simply heirs, that they don’t matter really and I believed them… until I held Sirius for the first time. I found I cared a great deal about him and you too once you were born.

“I cared so much for you boys that I wanted to quit work, leave it all to stay home with you two and just watch you grow up. But your mother didn’t agree, she followed the plan of not caring, so often keeping me away from you two that it hurt like a physical pain- 

“When I realised I couldn’t change it, I tried to stop caring entirely because it hurt too much…soon it bled into other parts of my life I suppose, a habit I’d developed and couldn’t break.”

He clenched and unclenched his hands to force them to cease their trembling but it didn’t work. He bit the insides of his cheeks relentlessly and felt discomfort pool low and sickly in his stomach as his father’s words continued their relentless onslaught.

He hated how weak and powerless his father sounded, as though he were a mere nursemaid rather than the head of the House of Black, a role that his family continuously praised for all that came with it. He was supposed to be the final say and yet he spoke as though Walburga would whip him for saying anything that went against her own thoughts.

“That’s not an excuse- you-” his voice was tight, “You’re just using Mum as an excuse.”

“Perhaps…I am not proud of it,” was all he mustered- he couldn’t even deny it.

Regulus wished he hadn’t spoken at all because at least before he was able to claim that his father never cared for anything, that that was just how he was, but now he learned that his father was just a weak bastard who couldn’t stand up for anything- not even his own kids.

“So what then? Why’re you telling me this? You used to always say something about ‘Blacks never having regrets’- that’s all I’m hearing now,” he frowned, nails biting little crescent moons in his palm.

Orion plucked a leaf off the vine hanging next to him and tore it apart in a single hand, “It’s easy to say that when you think you have so much life left. Julis Caesar never thought he’d be stabbed in the back nor did Jesus believe Judas was betraying him- the greats always think they’d have opportunity. I fell prey to the same ideology but now as I look at you, still so young, I realise I have a great many regrets.”

“Like what?” he wanted to hear what it was exactly he regretted, if he could even vocalise it or whether he would just continue with his airy and empty words.

“I wish I could have taken you on a holiday- not just to one of our homes but somewhere Alphard went, like muggle towns and villages, he always promised me that we’d go together- we never got that chance. I wish I was the one to teach you magic or how to ride a broom- I was a quidditch player at school y’know? I always meant to teach you this one recipe my grandmother used to make, she believed food tasted better when made by yourself and not by elves. I wanted to take you to my ancestral home and even live there- I never quite liked Grimmauld. I wish-.”

“Stop,” Regulus said quietly but his father either hadn’t heard him or didn’t care and continued but then he said louder, harsher this time, “Stop.”

He paused, turning dark obsidian eyes onto him though for the first time, they didn’t seem glazed over but actually had depths to them, like he was actually more than just a cutout of a person.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he frowned, looking away towards the grey clouds that peeked out over the horizon, already making their way towards them.

“I suppose not.”

Regulus wanted to hex him, wanted to fight or destroy something for how inane his words were but the worst part was that he knew his father wouldn’t even fight him, even if he wasn’t sick probably- he’d just lie over and take it because that was just the kind of man he was apparently.

All his life, his mother chastised him for being weak and spineless and yet she had married the weakest man alive-perhaps that’s why she was so anal about it- because she never wanted Regulus to turn out like him.

“In your letter you said you wanted to tell me what it means to be the head of our House- what is it then?” he choked out.

Papa only turned inky eyes onto him, his arm trembling as he latched onto the chair, his breath rattling in his failing lungs, “It means to bear the burden of our ancestors. It means to continue a great and terrible legacy. It means to love and to lose for the sake of notoriety.” 

“I never meant for you to bear this burden so young…I always imagined it would be Sirius, Sirius had hope, he was strong and had support but you…oh mon cheri you were never meant for this.”

His words struck so sharply that Regulus had to look away as the once beautiful landscape blurred under the tears that built in his eyes- his harsh reality was suddenly starting to sink in, a dark and cold future unfurling right in front of his eyes with nothing behind him.

“Come inside, it’s getting too cold to be out here,” Regulus sighed wetly, trying to push back the wave of despair that struck him as he tried to process his words. He desperately needed to get away.

“No, one more hour is all I ask,” because apparently sitting outside in the bitter cold when a storm was approaching was the one thing he’d actually fight for.

He nodded to leave but his father insisted once more, “Stay with me.”

He sat back down because who was he to deny a denying man one of his final wishes.

_________

At some point under the warmth of his warming charm, his father had dozed off and Regulus found that time to go back inside. He rubbed his father’s clothed arm softly to wake him up so as to not jolt him awake and when he opened his eyes, he still jumped slightly at the sight of his face.

“I think it’s time to go inside,” he said, already rounding to the handles of his wheelchair.

“Alphard? What are you doing here?” he asked, his arms curling up in confusion.

“What do you mean?” he asked, crouching down a bit.

“I didn’t know you’d come home for the holiday! You’re always so sneaky,” he laughed, a bright gesture that showed all of his teeth. “Well it’s good you’ve come, it’s still bright out, I think we can go for a quick fly before supper.”

Regulus watched in detached shock.

“What am I doing in this thing?” he asked, looking around at himself before quickly jumping out of the chair and making his way towards the house and Regulus quickly wheeled up behind him.

“Pa- Orion, I think we should just rest yeah?”

“Rest? I know you’re older than me but I didn’t think you’d act old too, shall I call you grandsire as well?” he laughed again, hobbling with the speed of a much younger and healthier man.

When he reached the doorway, he tripped on the step and managed to catch himself on the door but he breathed deeply, “I suppose I am a bit dizzy.”

Regulus managed to corral him upstairs to his room that he swore looked different and he accused him of secretly changing it as well to which Regulus forced a sneaking smile and jested with a, “Maybe I did.”

It was only after his father was tucked in did he rush out of the room, shutting the door quietly, before promptly leaning back against it, forcing a trembling hand over his mouth to quiet his heaving.

That man that was in there was most certainly not his father. This version of Orion reminded him of himself or Sirius- begging to go for a fly with a mischievous glint in his eye, this was a man who enjoyed life.

And the realisation was jarring because what if Regulus ended up turning into him when he was older? If they were the exact same when he was younger, and Regulus was already gearing into following in his footsteps, was it only natural that he’d end up just like him? Cold and detached in a marriage with a woman he’d never love with children he’d never care about and live only to regret it all in the end?

He fled the house, only stopping long enough to summon a cloak from his room that he managed to clasp on just before a sharp gust of wind hit him and chilled his burning skin. He heard the squeaking of elves behind him but he was already gone, walking down to the town resting at the base of the green hill they were situated on, now taking no note of the scenery and only focusing on his destination ahead.

The wind rustled his hair and his eyes started to tear a bit from how fast he was walking against the wind and the billowing clouds were already beginning to roll in, thick and dark with the promise of rain. He only pulled his hood up over his head and continued.

When he finally made it to his destination, he took a moment to catch his breath as he surveyed the village. He’d never managed to get this close before under the watchful eye of his mother but it seemed so pointless now as he looked around- it was just like a muggle version of Hogsmeade- cute and quaint with families strolling by and patrons chattering in the open front cafes. Though they too noticed the clouds and already seemed to be making plans to head back home.

Regulus had no such intentions.

He walked in and out of stores, not buying much really, instead content to waste his time ambling by and distracting himself by pretending to be interested in the products on display.

The bakery had managed to tempt him though with the colourful rows of macarons and thick eclairs covered in sugars and syrups. He started with buying only one eclair and a few madeleines but once he started he couldn’t stop and he managed to buy so much that the poor girl at the till had to exchange the box she was holding for a bigger one just to fit everything in.

“Is that all sir?” she asked with a weary look.

Well now that she mentioned it, he had been eyeing the choquette but he refrained and simply nodded, handing her what he figured was the appropriate muggle amount before leaving.

Rain was falling in a steady downpour by now and the town was quiet and Regulus finally felt at peace from the whirlwind day he had.

One might think sitting alone at the table of an abandoned restaurant eating macarons straight out of the box might be sad but Regulus was having a right ball.

“Sir, we’re closing for today,” an older gentleman stepped out to let him know and Regulus just nodded but made no move to leave.Instead, he pulled out the mirror Sirius had gotten him and called out his name a few times and right when he was about to give up, Sirius’ face appeared.

“Calling me so soon? I’d have thought one call over the break would suffice,” he smiled, also sitting outside and under a grey sky.

“I was bored,” he shrugged his shoulders, taking a bite out of a rose flavoured macaron.

“Wait a minute,” he squinted, “Where are you?”

Regulus turned the mirror around to show his surroundings and Sirius sputtered, “You’re in bloody France? What are you doing there?”

“Eating macarons obviously.”

He rolled his eyes, and Regulus continued, though not with the truth because really, he didn’t want to think or talk about it, “Mum wanted to come for a few days.”

Sirius nodded, thankfully not lingering, “Look who I’m with.” He turned the mirror to reveal James, Marlene, and Peter all sitting in a circle and looking at Regulus with barely contained excitement.

“Hi…” he greeted them and they all eagerly waved back. James looked especially keen as he leaned his chin on his knees, head tilted slightly with wide eyes, silver chain dangling on his neck and Regulus thumbed his own matching chain beneath the mirror’s view.

Sirius thankfully turned the mirror back but it felt odd now knowing they were all listening in on their conversation.

“What are you all up to on Christmas then anyways?” he asked and leaned back as Sirius began to regale every single thing they had done and planned on doing, content to disconnect from the world for a bit and listen to his brother ramble.

He made it back home a few hours and another bakery refill later.

The elves immediately jumped on him the moment he arrived, running a warm bath for him and giving him tea with promises to immediately prepare supper and he wished he could just tell them he was fine but these elves so rarely had anyone to look after that when they did they went overboard.

His father joined him again for dinner and he was somewhere between here and there, in the present but also a bit dazed and confused. He ate dinner slowly and mechanically, not commenting much on the food or the drink nor did he ask Regulus where he had been all day. He didn’t even mention their earlier conversation.

He looked alright, the elves having clearly given him a bath and a change of clothes, but he didn’t have the same thoughtfulness he had before and despite how painful it was, Regulus missed it and certainly preferred that version of his father than the one in front of him.

He’d even take the detached version of his father than this shell of a man who could barely hold his own spoon up- it was a true display of how the higher one is, the longer and harder the fall.

They’d finished quickly enough and he excused the elves to offer to take his father up to bed himself instead and once he’d helped him into bed, his father finally spoke, “Regulus.”

“Yeah?”

“What do you say tomorrow we do a bit of cooking? I never told you but my grandmother made a wonderful shrimp stew I think you’d like. I know it is odd but-.”

“Yes, I mean, I’d love to Papa,” Regulus smiled, a true one this time.

His father nodded as he leaned back against the pillows, contentedly shutting his eyes and Regulus shut the lights and the door without another world, excitement blooming already at the prospect.

_______

Orion never stayed true to his word.

That was all Regulus could think as he stood in the doorway to his room, staring down at the still and frozen body lying supine in the middle of the bed.

All he could feel was piercing and bitter disappointment, like through dying, all his father had managed to do was lie to him again.

The Healers had lied as well- four months…what a load of rubbish it all was.

The house was incredibly silent and sombre, the clouds from yesterday continuing their barrage, and Regulus thought he ought to be crying. He stood in that doorway for what could have been minutes or hours, waiting for tears that never came.

Maybe he was just heartless? Or maybe because he couldn’t quite process it, the fact that Orion Black had died just didn’t quite meld into his mind, instead sliding off of his mental barriers and drifting away.

He felt like Orion must have known…it was the only thing that could explain his behaviour yesterday, why he had decided to bare his soul after remaining incredibly silent after 57 years of life. He had only managed to hold on for one single day more so that he could see him before giving up? Regulus just wanted to curse him.

“Your master is dead,” he said to the whimpering elf behind him before turning away and leaving.

_______

“Father is dead, I wanted to tell you before you read about it in the papers,” Regulus said, voice brisk and devoid of any emotion. He looked horrible, pale in skin and his features struck out starkly against his face, overly large grey eyes and lips thin and cracked. He looked like an injured bird- small, frail, and in desperate need of help.

“Oh,” was all Sirius could manage. He didn’t care for Orion much, his memories of him far from fond, and he couldn’t bring himself to even pretend to feel sympathy.

Still, his stomach dropped uncomfortably and the stray threads on his quilt suddenly became the most interesting thing in the world.

“The Healers don’t know what happened, it happened suddenly,” he whispered, glancing up at the door every few seconds, clearly in fear of their mother rounding the corner and hearing him. He wore a thick turtleneck jumper that looked suffocating.

“Is that why you were in France? You knew?” he asked, mildly shocked.

He just shrugged, “I didn’t know until I got there and by then…he was already gone, he only managed a day.”

Sirius felt like it was only polite to ask, “Are you er- okay?”

Regulus just frowned deeper, “Don’t pretend you care.”

“Do you?”

He paused, “I don’t know. Mum apparently seems to though, she’s losing her mind…”

This caught his attention and he quickly sat up, “What do you mean?”

Regulus bit the insides of his cheek and the mirror shook in his hand but still, he spoke, “She refused to have any sort of funeral or memorial- she had his body sent straight to the mausoleum. She’s been torturing the elves for days, sometimes me if she manages a chance but I won’t leave my room. She shouts to herself, sometimes for hours- she’s lost it completely.”

Sirius felt deeply uncomfortable, his mother on any given day was already a lot but going through something like this- she was nothing short of dangerous.

There was a loud crashing noise, loud enough that it was even almost too much for Sirius who had to hold the mirror away from where he had previously been cradling it close. Regulus instinctively crouched down, his shoulders up to his ears as he looked towards the source.

There was a loud pop, “Master Regulus is needing-” undeniably Kreacher’s voice appeared.

“I have to go, don’t tell James anything, bye,” he rushed and before he could properly end the connection, he dropped the mirror as another crash rattled the doors.

He could only see Regulus who was standing up now, pulling his bedroom door open. He peered around the corner and suddenly a stream of bright green light struck him in the shoulder and he collapsed with a cry, a whine ripping painfully from his throat.

“Regulus!” he shouted, uncaring about who heard.

Regulus quickly ended the connection without another word and again, he was left to stare at his own face.

If he could have jumped through the mirror he would, the urge to shield Regulus from her rampage was so overwhelming that he was shaking with it. Regulus was already barely hanging on and whatever that curse was was strong enough to snap that thread keeping him aloft.

No one had gone through what Regulus had in the past year alone let alone the past few years where he had been tormented by their family and peers alike. Sirius knew there was more that Regulus hadn’t told him but from what bits and pieces he had gathered from Mulciber’s Imperius to Bella’s cruciatus’, it was enough to cause bile to burn his throat and rage to boil his blood.

And the way he still thought about James in the midst of it all, how he wanted to protect him from their harsh reality had his eyes burning. He loved James so deeply, as much as he did.

James had told him that they finally used the ‘L word’ with each other and Sirius was just as thrilled as James was really, his joy was so bright and infectious that he couldn’t help but be happy for them.

James would be crushed if he found out…

He would probably run straight into Grimmauld if he knew the state Reg was in.

He would just have to get there first.

_________

He left that night, unable to wait any longer as Walburga’s condition was probably only going to get worse and he wanted to save Regulus as soon as possible before school started as well. They only had a week left before they were due to go back and he didn’t want him to collapse on the first day again.

James was right by his side all evening and yet, anytime he thought about telling him of his plans, the words died in his throat. No matter how much he loved him, he knew that bringing him along would only complicate things even further.

This situation required tact and while he hadn’t given it much forethought, he was determined, and that was enough to propel him into action and force him to think about all the possible scenarios.

He dressed in all black, throwing a cloak atop his entire outfit and crept as silently as he could out of the house, glad that everyone had gone to sleep early that night.

Thankfully, he had attended the Ministry-sanctioned apparition course last year and had managed to pass the exam without any injuries and receive his licence. Still, he cringed at the squeezing and stretching sensation as he was pulled into the space between nothing and spat out in London, a block away from Grimmauld.

Just being back in his old neighbourhood was enough to give him gooseflesh. Whether it was the middle of the night or day, he still felt odd and uncomfortable here, like there was a spotlight set on him with the entire Wizengamot watching him.

Never in a million years had he ever thought he’d be back here but he was not a Seer and life was unpredictable. 

He lingered awkwardly for a few more minutes, fighting the inevitable, but he knew he couldn’t dawdle much longer- he couldn’t afford to waste a single second. He started down the pavement, counting every step he took just to keep himself calm and steady.

He’d had the time to come up with the semblances of a plan- he’d cast stones to Regulus’ window, a bit inspiration given by a book Remus liked to read, call him out, force his arse to come with him perhaps through use of emotional or mental manipulation, and wait in the park just by the house for him. 

Regulus was smart, he could escape undetected if he tried and Sirius was now banking on that to succeed. He had faith that Regulus would make the right decision this time around.

He had made it to the crosswalk just before 12 Grimmauld Place would come into view and with a deep breath he crossed the road there, still looking both ways despite not needing to.

Though once he stepped foot on the opposite pavement, he was stopped.

His feet had simply…ceased working.

His feet were frozen in place and panic instantly seized him. He thrashed, his upper body still free but his feet stuck. He reached down and hastily untied his shoes to force himself free but it was to no avail, his feet were completely immobile.

He pulled his wand out of his sleeve instantly and cast spell after spell at himself, begging whatever God was listening to help him but his pleas had gone unheard as he started slicing at his own skin in an attempt to get free.

“Fuck!” he cursed aloud, uncaring of anyone that might see him.

He should’ve fucking known, frustrated tears began to prickle at his eyes as he fought against the invisible force keeping him down. His hair fell into his eyes and he felt overly hot now and he wanted to peel off his own skin.

He couldn’t even apparate away, his upper body being pulled in one direction before abruptly being dropped lest his body be ripped in half.

It felt like hours had passed and the tears had long since fallen, burning down his face in hot tracks.

“Sirius.”

It was the same voice that terrorised him every night in his nightmares. The cause of his woes, the reason for the scars on his arms and pain in his limbs. The voice of the woman that destroyed everything in her path, even her own children.

He wouldn’t cry in front of her, not again. He should’ve known she would have done something like this.

He straightened up, held his chin as high as he could as he scanned his eyes over her form.

She looked much the same as always as her vicious black eyes reflected the golden lamplight around them. She had the eyes of a viper- sharp and calculating, and those same slitted eyes trailed over his form in turn. Her cruel red lips were upturned on one side and her black eye makeup was smudged in tear tracks similar to his own.

He hated how much he was reminded of himself when he looked at her.

“I didn’t think you’d ever come back, did the Potters finally cast you away like I said they would?” she crooned, coming in so close that Sirius could smell the alcohol on her breath. He cringed away.

“Let me go,” he said darkly, keeping his voice even.

“I told you that if you ever left I wouldn’t take you back,” she frowned before running a sharp-nailed finger down his cheek, “But I suppose I can find some space for you. We are down an elf now.”

“Let me go you bitch,” he shouted right in her face.

Her vicious eyes lit up in excitement as though she had been waiting for this fight, letting her anger grow week after week since his departure, culminating in this final confrontation.

“Is that any way to speak to your mother?”

“You are not my mother,” he hissed, he balled his hands up to fists, not above punching her if he needed to. She had long since lost his sympathy.

“No, but I am Regulus’ so I ask you again, what are you doing here? I had wards set up to let me know if you ever came sniffing around here again. Orion thought it superfluous but I am always right,” she spat proudly.

“I forgot dear daddy is dead, what’ll you do now? You’ll be cast away from society in an instant you hag.”

Again, she reared her head, “Do you remember the day you left Sirius? The day you ran away like a coward? Because I do. I could cast a Cruciatus right now, shall I? Maybe it’ll remind you to mind your tongue.”

Her threat was enough to make his knees buckle, memories of that traumatic night flashing against his vision and giving him vertigo. He couldn’t fall, not yet, but gods, she knew exactly how to hurt him, to dig deep into his old wounds like a knife in rot.

“Or shall I cast it on Regulus? You always had a nasty habit of getting in the way,” she threatened, arm outstretched towards the house that was so close but felt a million miles away instead.

“Don’t you dare,” he cried out, whipping his arm out in her direction but she quickly stepped back and out of his grip. “Leave him out of this.”

“That is why you are here is it not?” she inquired, a slick smile pulling at her face, “You think you can waltz back here and steal Regulus away with you is it? Can brainwash him just like they’ve done to you? I will not allow it.” Her face was twisted in an ugly snarl- her aristocratic beauty and grace had long since faded with her age, leaving her only an ugly and worn out shell.

He could see her bordering on hysterical now as her body shook with rage, magic floating off of her in powerful waves, potent enough to taste, but he had withstood her threats and vitriol before and he would do it again.

He couldn’t back down either, clearly she had the foresight to see this coming, and if he tried to get Regulus out again, it would only be harder- he needed to make that final stand now.

“I don’t care what you have to say- I’ll go to the Ministry, one look at your wand and they’ll throw you in Azkaban. You let Regulus come with me now and I’ll never come back, you get to live your life. If Regulus wants to come back, he can, but you can’t keep him locked up like an animal ,” he pleaded.

“I can and I will!” she shrieked, “Your threats don't scare me.”

There must have been a silencing and notice-me-not spell laced into the wards because at this point, it was impossible for their fight to not have been noticed by the surrounding Muggle neighbourhood.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Let me the fuck go!” He was so godsdamned frustrated. Finally, he remembered his wand and raised it to her face, unafraid of the consequences for what he was about to do because it couldn’t get worse than this.

Never had he thought he was capable of casting an Unforgivable, but he was backed into a corner and his brother was in danger- it was enough to compel him to as the beginnings of the Cruciatus formed on the tip of his tongue.

True fear flashed in her eyes then and then suddenly she broke out,

“I’ll kill him.”

Silence.

Deafening silence filled his mind and his hand filled with static, pins and needles prickling at his extremities.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he hoarsed out.

She squared her jaw, “I will kill him. I would rather have no heir than another disgrace to the house of Black. I will kill him and the blood will be on your hands.”

He wanted to die.

“What are you talking about ? Are you mad ? He is your son!” he felt like perhaps he was the one going mad. The tears fell anew but he didn’t care because they weren’t out of fear but anger and despair.

Subconsciously, he knew the fight was already lost but gods, he did not want to believe it.

She ran a clawed hand through her thick black hair that was hastily thrown up, “You do not know me to make empty threats. I am saying I will kill him and let the house of Black end with me . Unless you leave right now- Regulus will never know of what happened tonight or that his brother almost killed him.”

She was the puppet master pulling him to her whims and he had no other option but to play her game.

She was right- he did know her. She would stay true to her word on not telling Regulus what happened if he left now and never came back.

He weighed the options in his head and knew retreat was the only option- Regulus only had another year and a half before he could be freed from her clutches…he could perhaps seize a chance to leave on his own. They were also in constant communication now so it wasn’t like Regulus was a world away anymore…

He had to bite.

“Leave him alone and I’ll leave and I won’t come back, ever,” he solemnly vowed.

She smiled to reveal rows of crystal white teeth and he could imagine venom dripping from them and the wound on his shoulder where she might have bit.

Finally, she pressed in close, her lips next to his ears as she whispered, “You deserved to die that day.” 

She pressed something into his hand and he was hurtling through time and space before being thrown out in some unidentified field, a small button fallen by his feet.

Nothing could stop the sobs that ripped from his throat then.

_________

Two days later, his mother calmly approached him at breakfast, looking far more pleasant than she had before, “We’re having guests over tonight, the dark Lord will be coming.” She seemed oddly placid and he assumed she had just gotten a bit too comfortable with having him around. “You will be in attendance,” she narrowed her eyes.

He didn’t have his father as a shield anymore apparently, “Okay.”

She smiled, nodded once, and left.

Odd.

Though an interaction that didn’t end in a Crucio was a good one in his books, his right side still pulled and ached from the beating she had given him just yesterday apparently just for existing.

He hurried through breakfast, reading through the letters Pandora and Evan had just sent him via Pandora’s incredibly clever if annoying owl. He was happy to hear that they were well- Pandora usually was and Evan said everything seemed quiet on his front, or at least his father was less of a raving maniac than he usually was.

They both included short condolence messages for his father but really, he just skimmed over them- more interested in Pandora’s research on ‘nargles’ than their empty words. He didn’t blame them though, Orion didn’t make many friends in his life.

When he got back upstairs, he frowned at the easel that was now propped up in the corner of his room staring back at him. Pandora’s Christmas gift to him was the ‘painting’ he had made almost two years ago in the Ravenclaw common room when boredom took over him after he’d first moved in because under any normal circumstances, he would not be painting of all things.

He had painted it a pale blue colour and never revisited it again, too preoccupied with everything else in his life to do so he supposed. How it was even still there or how Pandora remembered it, he wasn’t sure but even now he was as lost as he was when he had started.

Her attached note read, ‘Life’s too short to leave things unfinished.’

If anything it just took up space in his room and hurt when he stubbed his toe against it.

He spent the rest of his day staring out the window, charming a ball to bounce off various surfaces back to him, and reading- it was mind numbingly boring but that was exactly what he needed as the upcoming dinner loomed in front of him.

He felt like he couldn’t get anything productive done because of said dinner- it was like his feet were frozen in place, his mind racing a thousand miles a minute yet he was powerless to escape or do anything about it.

Above all of his usual fears when it came to events like this- his mother’s attitude kept drifting to the forefront, taking precedence. She was at best, mad, whenever anyone, especially the dark Lord, was coming around but this morning she had smiled and whenever he had seen her in passing for the rest of the day, she was calm as though nothing was wrong at all- as though her husband hadn’t just died.

So whenever he went around in circles in his mind, he threw the ball, let it bounce, caught it, and repeated until the dull thunking in his ears was all that he could bear.

Nightfall came as it always did and he dressed in his usual stiff and heavy black robes, clasped up his neck and down to his wrists and Kreacher had polished his leather shoes to perfection, the black polish shiny enough to show his own reflection.

He stood right by the doorway as he was always taught to do and received the guests, one by one.

He noticed the odd mix of people who were invited- Bellatrix and Narcissa, accompanied by their respective husbands, Mulciber Sr. and Jr., the Rosiers, a man introduced to him as Karkaroff, and a pair of, frankly creepy, twins, Amycus and Alecto Carrow.

It was an peculiar set of people and even weirder were their clothes- long and shapeless black robes, accentuated only by leather harnesses and chains strapped along their chest and back. The sleeves went down and over their hands so that only their fingers peeked out from the allotted slits and he couldn’t even see past their collarbone. 

He felt over and underdressed all at once.

No one spoke much, instead everybody chose to huddle in a small group in the receiving room and when he caught sight of his mother, she simply looked away.

His legs began to ache and he desperately wanted to talk to Evan who looked as uncomfortable as he felt though at least he was equally confused by everyone else’s attire as he pulled at the sleeves of his simple button-up top. He was relieved to see Evan here to at least know that he wasn’t here alone.

He wanted to just sit down but the dark Lord had not yet come and he wasn’t too inclined to speak to his guests though one of them did come up to him,

“How are you tonight Regulus?” Lucius asked, running a hand over a smooth sheet of long blonde hair.

“I’m well, and you?” he asked, as pleasantly as he could manage.

“A success for the dark Lord is a success for us all,” he said with an incline of his head and a glint in his pale blue eyes.

“Right,” he just nodded, looking back at the room, “So is there a reason why everyone is dressed…so interestingly?”

Lucius just laughed but it was tight and high, “Yes well, it is an honour we all share.”

At this, Lucius ran a finger along his forearm, tracing against the leather sewn into the sleeve before his finger ran into a divot where the fabric fell into a cutout just above his wrist.

His dark mark was on clear display and as he looked around the room, he saw that every single person here, aside from Narcissa and Evan, were marked.

“Oh,” was all he said.

A reverberating crack stole his attention away from Lucius and he turned to see the Dark Lord, standing only a few feet away from him in the entryway, his thick and pale skin dully reflecting the chandelier light above him. 

He looked at everyone in the room, waiting until they had bowed their heads, before meeting his gaze.

Regulus dipped his head, his chin hitting his clavicle before he raised it once more.

And The Dark Lord smiled as the air was stolen from his lungs all at once.