Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
Regulus hates begging, hates it with a vengeance. He hates getting on his knees and pleading for someone not to do something—
—“Mother, please no, not Regulus. It was me, mother, it was all me. Hit me instead—hitme!”—
He hates crying even more. Hates the pearly tears that lead a pathway down his pale cheeks, leaving a sign of weakness on him for everyone to see—
—Regulus is on the floor. The carpet beneath him is soft to the touch, but it burns his skin from where he’s being held down, wand at his neck. The stench of alcohol on his mothers’ breath is prominent and it makes Regulus gag.
Across from him, Sirius has one arm behind his back, Bellatrix Black-Lestrange cackling as Sirius yells at his mother, pleads for Regulus. “Please, take me, take me, hurt me. I’m begging you, mother, hurt me.” But Walburga hadn’t listened, just lowered the aim of her wand and wordlessly flicked her wrist. Agony spread through Regulus’ limbs, and he screams, writhing for release, twitching beneath the knee his mother has placed on his back.
Through the haze of green, Regulus sees Sirius’ lips moving, more pleading most likely, and then—then tears are travelling down his brothers cheeks. He hasn’t seen Sirius cry before and as he drifts, he finds he doesn’t like it—
Regulus hates being weak most of all. The feeling makes bugs crawl down his spine, makes a burning pain spread through the back of his eyelids and numbs his knees—
—“No more, Kreacher, no more.” Kreacher’s crying as he leads a hand up to Regulus’s jaw, tilting his head back. Regulus cries out as acid creeps down his throat. He wants it to stop. He wants it to go away. He’s never felt more betrayed in his life, watching Kreacher fill up another cup of the liquid that will haunt his dreams for years to come.
“Master Regulus has to drink it.” Kreacher croaks out, voice catching and breaking. Regulus parts his lips because he hates seeing Kreacher sad. “Hases to. Masters’ said’s so.”
“K-Kreacher, no more—no more.” Regulus distantly realises he’s crying. There are whimpers caressing the air and by the time he realises they’re coming from him; he’s swallowing another mouthful. “Please. No more. No more.”
“Hases to. Hases to. Hases to.” Kreacher croons. Regulus closes his eyes and tries to ignore the wanton warnings of death on the patterns of his eyelids—
He hates it most of all because he’s never been strong in his life.
-CUT-
Regulus wakes, feeling numb. There’s a dryness in his throat and the back of his eyelids are prickling painfully. His cheeks are cold, in the way when there’s a breeze batting on your cheeks after you’ve spent too long crying and your skins still wet and warm.
He blinks up at the ceiling, the dull white a nice ease on his senses. His hand catches on the silk covers pooling around his waist, shoving them off him quickly. Blinking at the wall, he tries to remember what happened, what he remembers last—
—pain, so much pain. Regulus remembers dying, the salty, acrid taste of death lying on his tongue.
“Master Regulus!” Kreacher’s voice is shrill as he gets pulled into the water, desperately grappling for Regulus. Regulus garbles out a single word before the water blocks his airways, burns his eyes, before he feels the shift and claw of his flesh being ripped apart.
One word, so big and so impactful. For it was the word that made Kreacher leave and not return, for it was the word that saved Kreacher’s life.
“Sirius.”—
Regulus gasps, arching upwards. He grapples with the covers, stumbling out of bed, rushing towards the window to look outside. A garbled scream builds up in his throat, but he doesn’t let it go, just sinks to his knees, eyes focused outside on the rolling hills of the outside of the quidditch pitch.
Whimpering, Regulus clutches at his throat; for he was back at Hogwarts, back where he needn’t have been. He should be welcoming death into his arms, so weak and frail they would likely not lift. He should be weeping for the sweet relief he has wished for has finally come. He should—
—“You’re going down, snake.” Potter hisses, flying around him, eyes dark. Regulus blinked, turning to stare at the male in question, a scowl already on his face for the way he’s being addressed.
“Please refrain from talking, Potter, you’re lowering the brain capacity of all those within earshot.” Regulus retorts sharply, flying down lower, eyes searching for a golden snitch. Potter glared at him, only stopping to score another goal when the quaffle was thrown to him, showing off by down a twirl in mid-air.
Regulus gritted his teeth. He needed to find that snitch. He blinks against the sun in his eyes when he hears a scream of warning, Regulus turning sharply to the side.
“Regulus!” The captain, someone Regulus had never learned the name of because he’d been a muggle born, shouted. The bludger caught his shoulder and from the corner of his eye, Regulus could see Sirius lowering his arms, bat aimed in his direction. Regulus screamed at the searing pain that burned his retinas before he felt the world tilt around him.
Regulus fell off his broom, grappling for purchase. His fingers wrapped around the hilt, and he let out another shout of agony as his broken shoulder got lodged, full weight pulling it down. There was a loud snap and pop, everyone in the pitch flinching at the sound as Regulus’s vision went white. His head hung loosely; mouth half parted in a silent scream.
“Regulus!” Immediately, the captain was there, urging Regulus to let the broom go. Regulus did so and slid onto the broom in front of him, tears streaming down his face. “That’s it, that’s it, steady now.” He murmured, lowering them to the ground. Regulus breathed out, slowly, giving the captain a smile.
“Thank you.” And then he promptly passes out, thankful that the relief of sleep dulls his pain—
He shouldn’t be here. That memory had happened just four months after Sirius had left the house, leaving Regulus behind. That had happened, but it hadn’t. Not now, not yet.
Regulus dry heaves for a long moment. He’s lucky he’s in Slytherin and not in Gryffindor, for his breakdown would be viable to three different roommates. Luckily, the Slytherin dorms are built only for two; Regulus’ roommate being Barty Crouch Jr, one of Regulus’s friends. And by the looks of it, Barty isn’t even in the room, most likely already down for breakfast in the Great Hall.
Pulling himself to his feet, Regulus takes a moment to draw himself back to reality. This was happening whether he liked it or not. He would have to deal with it as everything happened. It wasn’t ideal, but it was all Regulus could stomach right now.
Regulus grabbed his wand from underneath his pillow. It felt safer there somehow. He cast a tempus, to show him the date and time—the date a surprise to him. It was a day after the feast and he was in his fifth year, which means Sirius had left home just weeks before. Which meant nothing had happened between them yet.
Despite it being in the past, Regulus was still angry with Sirius. He couldn’t fault him for leaving, but the fact that he hadn’t even considered bringing Regulus along, hadn’t said goodbye, hadn’t asked him if he wanted to leave.
Regulus could forgive him, but he’d never forget—
—Regulus is startled by a smack to the face. He goes down, sprawling across the floor from how harsh the blow is. “Did you know?” Walburga screeches. Regulus cries out as cuts slash across his arms, stomach and legs, one across his cheek even, a courtesy of Walburga’s cutting hex. Whimpering, Regulus drags himself up onto his elbows.
“Know what?” Regulus hoarsely cries when Walburga slams a book across his face with a levitating charm. He can feel a bruise forming already.
“That your brother has left. His clothes and belongings are all gone. You knew, didn’t you? You transpired against me, both of you! Traitors!” Walburga shrieks. And then Regulus’s body is being lit on fire by tiny micro pins of pain. A scream forces its way pass his lips and builds up in his throat.
“I didn’t know—I didn’t know—I didn’t know—” Regulus gurgles, half delirious with pain. “I didn’t know—I didn’t know—I didn’t know.” He didn’t know. Why didn’t he know?—
Regulus’ breath hitches. He reaches for his wand and flicks it over himself, so that his uniform takes place and his pyjama’s fall back onto the bed, neat, crisp and folded. Regulus huffs softly to himself, spelling his hair up into a ponytail, tied with green ribbon. If he remembers correctly, he never put his hair up in Hogwarts, only at Grimmauld and even then, it was never when Walburga was near.
Sirius taught him how to put his hair up when he was very little. His small fingers would glide through his hair, sleek and thick, marvelling over the texture. He’s produce a small green ribbon he’d sneaked from Narcissa and help him tie his long hair so it wouldn’t get in his face—
—Sirius’ fingers are stubby as he collects Regulus’ hair in a ponytail. His lips thin in concentration. “It’s hard to do, Reggie!” He pronounced, smiling down at his brother, two of his front teeth missing. Regulus giggled.
“I can do it, Riri!”
“I know that!” Sirius said with a wide, proud smile. “My brother’s a quick learner!” Regulus’ chest puffed in happiness. Sirius finished tying the ponytail with the ribbon, making sure it wasn’t too loose before laying back, Regulus crawling towards him and collapsing into his side. “My baby brother.”
Regulus beamed up at him and giggled as Sirius’ hair tickled his brow. Sirius joined in seconds later, the sound of their laughter lighting up the dark, gloomy room—
Regulus’s lips thinned. He made his way through the common room and then exited the Slytherin dorms all together, making his way up the stairs and towards the Great Hall. He could feel his wand in his pocket, unprotected and unsafe. He’d have to buy a wand holster. Write a letter to either Ollivander or go looking in the shops when the Hogsmeade visits happen next.
Sighing, Regulus enters the Great Hall, stopping for a moment when he looks to the Gryffindor table and meets the eyes of Sirius. Regulus had forgotten that he hadn’t healed his injuries from Walburga that had happened during the summer, so his face is probably riddled with bruises. He knows there’s a cut on his brow too, most likely other cuts on his face somewhere.
Sirius mouth is gaping, eyes wide and misty. Regulus takes a step back when a tear tumbles down Sirius’ cheeks, the marauders looking concerned and worried. Sirius’s mouth shapes his name, and he takes another step back, bumping into someone.
“Sorry—sorry—” Regulus whispers, looking towards the girl, who just gives a small smile and shrug. She walks off to the Hufflepuff table and Regulus’ eyes are drawn back to Sirius. The marauders are looking at him too, faces drawn in shock. Sirius gets to his feet, lips moving and as he gets closer, Regulus can hear his name on Sirius tongue—
—“Reggie, oh shit—Regulus.” Sirius breathes. Regulus, from where he’d been sprawled across the bed in a starfish position, simply groaned and looked up into his brother’s eyes. Regulus whimpers when Sirius turns on the light, pain bursting across his eyes, so much so that he has to close them in fear of going blind completely.
“Sirius; can’t breathe—” Regulus whispers. Sirius breathes in deeply and then sits on the edge of the bed, hand coming up to Regulus’s head, stroking his hair.
“It’s going to be okay, Reggie, it’s going to be okay.”
Regulus closed his eyes as tears welled up in them. His lips quivered dangerously. He could feel the tears slipping down his face. Sirius said it was going to be alright, but it didn’t feel that way—
Regulus bursts to life again, stumbling back a few steps, until his back hits the wall with a loud thud. Hissing his displeasure and pain into the air, Regulus glances at Sirius. He’s already halfway too him, advancing quickly. The marauders are coming too, following after Sirius.
“Regulus!” Sirius says, more so calls. Regulus gasps for air.
Then, he turn tails and runs—
—“Run, muggle, run!” Bellatrix cackles. A man screams as a blasting curse hits him near his feet, blowing the ground up, dust and dirt flying everywhere. A woman pushes her child in front of her, crying. Regulus watches, doing nothing, feeling sick to his stomach as green curses fly. “Run, run, itsy bitsy muggle, run!”—
Regulus can hear Sirius yell, hear the thundering footsteps that mean they’re following him. He heaves for air as he breaks through the crowd, rushing through the open doors and further on, through the courtyard and into the quidditch pitch. He pushes his way to the towering stands, entering through the side.
He’s about to step onto it when arms snake around his waist and he’s forcefully tugged away. Regulus screams, kicking and clawing at the person. There’s a voice speaking in his ear, but he’s far too out of it, wanting to get away, that as soon as he is let go, he spins around, loosing his footing. He hisses in pain as he tumbles to the ground, gritting his teeth.
His blurry gaze focus up ahead, looking up into the eyes of his brother. Regulus had obviously caught his cheek since there’s a scratch just over his cheekbone.
Sirius doesn’t even notice. He just looks heartbroken. “Regulus, did … did mother do that—”
With a savage roar, one that surprises even Regulus himself, he flies at Sirius, smacking him across the face, beating at his chest. Sirius lets out a sound of surprise but doesn’t stop the onslaught of attacks.
“Pads—”
“I’ve got this, Prongs.” Sirius reassures. Regulus hits at him again, but Sirius doesn’t move, doesn’t fight back; he does nothing.
“Fight back, Sirius, fight back!” There’s a sob building in his throat. It breaks free, animalistic and grief stricken. “Why aren’t you fighting back? Why?” Regulus hiccups, voice cracking and breaking, punches growing weaker, until he stops all together, clutching at Sirius’s robes.
“Regulus …” Sirius starts, face hesitant.
Regulus’ shoulders shake from the magnitude of his sobs. “Why didn’t you fight for me, Riri? Why didn’t you take me with you?” Regulus cries. Sirius face twists, tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes.
“I didn’t—I swear, Reggie, I didn’t forget about you.”
Regulus lowers his forehead onto Sirius’s chest, weeping. Sirius’s undoes the ribbon around his hair, the one that’s gotten crinkled and ruined from his collide with the floor and fighting, watching the luscious hair fall about Regulus’s face. Sirius slides his fingers through it, grounding the boy and himself.
Sirius hums gently. It’s a lullaby Sirius used to sing to him when he would crawl into his bed after a nightmare, seeking refuge—
—Regulus crept down the hallway, careful of the creaks and cracks of the wood beneath his feet. He brought his fist up to his mouth, biting down on his knuckles to force down the whimpers of fear that are trying to break free upon seeing the shadows in the dark. They creep and twist and Regulus is terrified.
He gets to Sirius’ door, slipping inside and shutting it firmly behind him. He pulls back the covers, causing Sirius to shiver with cold and blink tired, sleepy eyes open at him.
“Reggie.” He murmurs, opening his arms. Regulus chokes out a scared sound as he slips under the covers, cuddling and shifting closer to Sirius’s warm body heat. Tears that he hadn’t been aware of flowing when he’d met Sirius’ dark gaze, starts dripping down onto Sirius’ silk green pyjamas.
“Riri, I’m so scared—”
“Don’t be, Reggie. I’m here, always gonna’ be here.” Sirius hums a soft tune. Regulus weeps a little more when he feels the warmth surrounding him, feeling safe for the first time since he had woken up, sweaty and pale, from a nightmare.
Regulus weeps and weeps and weeps—
Regulus pushes himself off of Sirius abruptly, getting to his feet, eyes wide, tears still clinging to his lash line. A sob’s stuck in his throat and it squeezes it’s way, sounding manic and agonising. Sirius winces.
“Reggie—”
“I hate you.” Regulus breathes, tears clinging to his jaw, running in streams down his throat and sticking the hair to his face. Sirius opens his mouth, closes it and then opens it again, floundering.
“You don’t mean that—Reggie, please, you don’t mean that—you don’t—you can’t—” Sirius pleads, sounding panicked as he gets to his feet, scrambles up. His lips are quivering and a sob rips free from the males mouth. “You can’t mean that …”
“I—I—I do.” Regulus stutters through his tears. Sirius lets out a wheeze, knees giving up, like his strings have been cut. His hands grapple for something to hold onto, pressing and pulling at the grass beneath his knees. Tears are wetting his cheeks, lips shaping words.
“No, no, no, no, no.” Sirius whimpers. “This isn’t happening—this isn’t happening.”
Regulus steps back and to the side, glancing towards the exit. He thinks about it, glances at the marauders and then makes a split decision, diving towards it. He’s stopped by the wolf, his grip strong and true, holding him back as Regulus kicks and screams.
“Let me go, let me go!” Regulus yells. “Let me go, wolf!”
Potter inhales sharply, Lupin tenses beneath him and Pettigrew stiffens. Sirius is too busy crying to notice, stuck in his panic, denial and fear to even comprehend the situation around him. Potter shakes his head, diverting the attention away from the comment Regulus has just made. “Not until you patch things up with Siri.”
“Get off me.” Regulus barks, rearing to face Potter, getting in his face. “If you don’t let me pass, Potter, I’ll nail your antlers to my wall. They’ll fit right in, in Grimmauld, as you’d know from all your precious Padfoot has told you.” Regulus snarls. Potter pales.
“He’s … he’s your brother---he protected you—” Potter scrambles to come up with something, some excuse, some reason that Sirius hadn’t come out with.
“He abandoned me!” Regulus yells, fist snapping forward and bunching in Potter’s robes, tugging him closer, so their noses are almost bumping together. Potter stiffens. “Do you know, Potter, do you know what the crucio curse feels like? To taste your own blood in your mouth, to feel your eyes beginning to burst, to feel the blood roaring in your veins? To beg for the relief of death and finally breathe when it leaves, only to drown all over again when it’s cast again?”
Potter’s eyes are wide with horror. Regulus jerks, not meaning to share that match as he pushes Potter back, eyes moist. “Forget it. I’m leaving.” Regulus whispers, turning and walking down the field, fists clenched tightly. As soon as he’s turned the corner, he sets off into a run, wanting to feel the burn of his lungs from pushing himself too hard, he wants pain, he wants the ache, he wants to feel human again—
—Dear, Regulus,
I’m leaving and I’m never coming back …—