Spring of preparation
Christmas 1971 was the first time Regulus would experience the feeling of abandonment. He was used to the shouting, the punishments, the mockery of the family, the exaggeratedly strict rules and even the physical violence of his mother, but until that moment, he had never felt abandoned, yes, alone, but not abandoned. As far as Regulus could remember it had always been him and Sirius against everything, two frightened children who had nothing but each other's company. That had changed with Sirius's entry into Hogwarts. Regulus spent too many sleepless nights thinking about this. His brother was gone. Had he even looked back when he left?
A not so new feeling for little Reg had also reappeared since his brother's departure. Culpability. Regulus felt guilty about everything.
— Coward!
That was repeated every time he looked in the mirror. He saw Sirius's eyes in his and he couldn't help but get furious. sometimes he would cry too, although the little boy was getting used to not crying; his entry into Hogwarts was a few months away and he couldn't be a cry-baby by then.
— Your fault! Because of you he had to leave!
The string of comments was changing. These used to range from self-insults like: coward, whiny, brat, small, jerk, soft, weak, pathetic, to more complex phrases and well-constructed thoughts like: if you had stood up to your mother. Sirius would have done it for you. You only had to shout, make some noise. You'll be just like them when you grow up if you can't be like Sirius now….
That last one especially disturbed Regulus. He certainly wasn't like his brother, he never would be, Regulus understood pretty quickly how his brother had ended up in Gryffindor, little Regulus didn't look like his brother. Reg definitely wasn't like his parents either and he hoped he wouldn't be, in fact it was his biggest fear, ending up like them, cold, without feelings, cruel. When Regulus looked in the mirror all he saw was a scared boy. He wasn't a big brave lion like Sirius or a gigantic lurking snake like Walburga, he…he was just a scared child.
Nights passed and Regulus couldn't sleep. Everything was spinning in his head. A deafening noise sounded in his brain and he didn't know how to stop it. Sometimes he cried, that calmed him down, then he hated himself for doing it and everything started again, the noise, the rage, the what ifs...
While Regulus dealt with everything he felt, he had to endure his mother's screams and lessons. Walburga had decided after the holidays that in no way would a "Sirius Black" repeat itself in his family, that's what they now called to fail, Reggie hated it.
She had taught him everything. Etiquette classes, the possible heir to the Blacks had to be adequate and know exactly when to speak. Vocabulary, of course, he also had to master how to speak ridiculously refined language for an eleven-year-old. Dark magic, Walburga had thought that introducing Regulus to curses and dark magic was a good idea and poor Reg, in fear, had not dared refuse. Piano and solfeggio, in fact, Regulus enjoyed these, the piano made him happy, when his fingers touched the white or black wooden boxes he felt free. At that time he only knew how to interpret already composed pieces, but over the years, Regulus would become an excellent pianist and composer in turn. Advanced cursive calligraphy, probably the worst for the little one, his mother would make him repeat every word of a five-volume book written by his great-great-grandfather ten times, and if he twisted or dragged out the end of one o even slightly, the sheet would be burned out in a second and Regulus must start over. His hands bled with each calligraphy class, but in the end, the young man developed the most perfect cursive in the entire Black family, more than Sirius's, which was already considered exemplary by all his teachers at Hogwarts.
At the end of each day Regulus felt shuttered.
Between class and class, he also had continuous "advice" from his father who warned him of certain impure behaviours. He was always talking about Sirius. It made Regulus sick.
— Your companies are the key to good allies and a good status at school, son. We have chosen some perfect candidates, your age, you will enter the platform with them in September. Your brother will be with you too. This summer things will be clear to him, don't worry Arcturus. — Orion always did that, call Regulus by his middle name, he hated it, but he never said anything —
Regulus's spring was long and utterly exhausting. It was all preparation for how not to be Sirius Black, how to be a perfect Slytherin and how to be a perfect prodigal son.
Walburga attacked Regulus twice since Christmas. One for asking if he could text Sirius to see how he was, that question left a dark scar on his right ankle. Another for crying, of course. Regulus had become very good at avoiding showing his feelings but sometimes, like all human beings, he failed, and it cost him a deep but thin silver scar on his left wrist. He would have to hide that one, Regulus thought.
The months passed and soon came June. Regulus felt joy for the first time since the year had begun. His brother was coming home. At last, he would not be alone. He could make it up to Sirius for the horrible Christmas. He could apologize.