Icarus and His Sun

Regulus wakes just as the sun is beginning to rise. His room barely being brightened by the soft morning light. He rubs his eyes, straightening his back and stretching out his legs under the covers.

He quickly peeks at the door and sees that it's still firmly closed: his Mother hasn't come up yet. He thinks about rolling over and falling back asleep when a soft tapping noise breaks through the air.

He sits up, eyes focusing on the source of the noise. An owl, medium in size with brown and white feathers, stands at Regulus's window sill, knocking on the glass to be let in.

Regulus's eyes go wide as he jumps up, throwing off the blankets and running to open his window. The bird holds a brown envelope between it's talons that it now picks up with it's beak, presenting it to the boy. Regulus takes it, quickly scratching the bird on the top of his head, before tearing into the envelope. He pulls out a piece of parchment, unfolding it and immediately beginning to read.

Dear Reggie,

I hope you're able to read this letter before Mother gets to it. I wanted to be able to tell you myself, that way maybe you'll understand better without the yelling.

I've been sorted into Gryffindor. I know, I was quite surprised as well. I was certain there had been a mistake, surely the hat had to know I was the heir to the Black family. But Reg, when I first walked into the common room, it felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Everyone here is so nice and fun— they threw us a party just for being sorted here ! I really think these are the people I was meant to be around, and I hope you can understand how I feel.

I've made some great friends already. I've been given a room with four other boys, two of which I had already met on the train: James Potter and Peter Pettigrew. They're so amazing, Reg. They're not like anyone I've ever met before. I can't wait for you to meet them, I really think they're going to like you.

If you are reading this, please don't send any letters until you've thought about this some more. Narcissa has already embarrassed me in front of half the school and I'm certain I'll receive a howler in the morning from Mother. I don't think I could stand it if you were disappointed in me as well.

I promise to write again soon. I'll try to find time to check out the library for you. Miss you already!

-Sirius O. Black

Regulus reads the letter three times before it starts to make sense, and it takes another two times for the words to really sink in.

Gryffindor? No one in the history of the Black family has ever been sorted into Gryffindor. Just the idea of that occurring is laughable. And yet it's just been done.

Sirius has practically spat in the face of Salazar Slytherin himself.

Regulus can't even imagine what the outcome of this will be. Sirius has disobeyed their parents before, but never like this. Never to this extent. He said Narcissa had already embarrassed him in front of half the school. Sirius Black, embarrassed— that's almost as unbelievable as a Black being sorted into Gryffindor. What had she said to him? What would their mother say?

The creak of the stairs alerts Regulus that someone is coming up to his room. He stuffs the letter back into the envelope, stashing it away underneath his mattress. He slams the window shut, frightening the owl into taking flight and returning to it's owner. There's no time to get back into bed so instead Regulus spins around, standing tall to face whoever enters.

Walburga pushes open his door, standing before him. In her hand she holds an ornate wine glass filled with a rich amber liquid. Regulus forces his face to remain neutral. It can't be past 8:30, but that's never stopped her before.

Even on her best days, where ever Walburga went the thick smell of liquor would follow.

"Come now, Regulus." She extends her arm, motioning with her glass towards him. "Sirius has just sent a letter. We must celebrate his addition to the Slytherin house as a family."

She gives him a dark smirk before heading out again. Regulus's mind is going a mile a minute. He quickly checks himself in the mirror, tucking his shirt back in and straightening out his hair as best he can. His eyes meet their reflection, blue and green flashing in silent panic.

A shaking hand lifts up to his mouth. He knows it's a dirty habit his mother hates but in this moment he can't be bothered to stop himself, anxiously chewing the nail of his thumb as he turns and exits his room.

With every slow step, another worry floats through Regulus's head: What would their father say? What would their mother say? What if she pulled him from Hogwarts. What if she wrote to the headmaster to demand he be placed in Slytherin. Was that even possible? What if Sirius refused? Surely, he would be punished. She would force him to do it.

Would she use the cruciatus on him again?

When Sirius was nine, he had accidentally pushed his brother down the stairs. He had barely shoved him, but Regulus tripped over his own feet and tumbled down two flights. He remembers Sirius immediately racing after him, kneeling next to his head on the landing. Tears were already streaming down his face. Regulus stared at him, his own vision starting to cloud over. There was a painfully sharp burn in his shoulder and he tried to look at it but Sirius wouldn't let him. He held his face, grey eyes wide with concern, and spoke frantically in French. Regulus fought hard to pay attention to anything but his arm.

When Walburga stormed in, Sirius was a wreck. He had never looked as terrified as he did in that moment before.

He barely had time to apologize before Walburga was yelling, and suddenly Sirius collapsed next to him, screaming in a way Regulus had never heard before and begged he would never have to hear again. He sounded as if his skin was being ripped off of him, as if a fire had been lit right at the center of his heart and was burning it's way to the surface.

And his movements. The sporadic jerking, the way his head tilted all the way back, face scrunched in agony. Regulus squeezed his own eyes shut, wished he could move enough to cover his ears so he would not have to bear witness to the unjust torture.

That had been the only time to date that Walburga had used an Unforgivable on her children, but the fact that she had been able to once clearly meant that she was open to it again. This fear lived in Regulus and was always just underneath the surface of his mind.

He stopped two steps up from the ground floor, unable to get his feet to move any farther. Eventually he sat, eyes trained on the entrance to the drawing room. He could see the back of his fathers head just above the top of his chair, a lit cigar burning between his fingers. There was a shuffling coming from inside, and then the sound of an envelope being torn open with an approving hum.

Regulus alternated the fingers in his mouth, gnawing at the already shortened nails.

The few minutes of silence that follow are the longest Regulus has ever experienced in his life. The entire universe is hanging on the edge, ready to tip over into the deadly vacuum of space. There's no way to stop it and no right answer as to what will happen afterwards.

The quiet is broken by a sharp gasp, which is quickly followed by an affronted scoff.

"No."

No. That single, two letter word is all he really needs to hear. Immediately, Regulus's heartbeat shoots through the roof. He's certain that had he not already been sitting down he would've passed out.

"No. He...how dare he!" There's the sound of paper ripping, over and over, while Walburga begins to pace the floor. "That vile, evil, disgusting little vermin! Kreacher!"

The house elf scurries out of the kitchen at the shrill sound of his masters voice. He stops in the doorway of the drawing room, his head bowed in waiting.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Bring me a quill and parchment! Now!" She was yelling now.

Regulus didn't have to see her to know what she looked like. Her cheeks flushed in anger, accenting her already sharp facial features. Her normally cold, grey eyes blazing with rage.

"Of course, Mistress." Kreacher turned quickly, disappearing with a loud crack. In a matter of seconds, he was back were he once stood, now holding a roll of parchment and a large black writing quill. He hurried towards Walburga, then left with another crack.

Regulus leaned forward ever so slightly, not daring to actually get up and enter the room. His view of his father remained the same. Orion had not said a word yet, though that was to be expected. He was well known as a man of few words, which meant when he did choose to speak it was equal parts terrifying and important. He clearly hadn't read the letter, but it had to be obvious to him that whatever it said was not good. Regulus didn't know what to make of his silence.

Walburga angrily cast a spell before screaming again, this time directed at Sirius as if he was still in the room.

"Sirius Orion Black! You dare defy your mother like this? Never in the history of Black lineage has anyone committed such a horrendous crime! You foul, rotten excuse of a son! I shall not allow a spoiled brat to destroy all of the hard work and dedication I have put into this family! You will not bring shame to the most noble and ancient household of all wizard kind!"

Regulus forced himself to stay present in the moment. He blinked back tears, his breathing becoming more and more shallow.

He realized his nail biting had evolved to form a pattern and he could not bring himself to stop it.

One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. Again and again the nail of his thumb slipped from between his teeth.

"I forbid you from fraternizing with any of the repulsive mudbloods and blood-traitors that reside in that house! Do you understand me? If I catch you associating with any of them I swear on my life I will make you regret it until the day that you die! You are not to make contact with any family members until you are back home, and that includes your brother! How dare you insult our name in such a way!"

Satisfied with her decimation, Walburga stops and the house is suddenly plunged into silence. She gives an aggravated sigh, moving around the room once more. A drawer is opened, something taken out and shuffled into place. With a shout Kreacher is back where he once stood, then gone again just as quickly.

One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. Regulus can't tell if he's breathing. His legs feel restless but he doubts they'd actually be able to carry him for long. He can't run, but he can't apparate either. How does he get by?

One, two, three. His toes wiggle inside of his socks, pointing and flexing and spreading out as far as they can. The day-old clothes feel thick and stale on his body, sticking in all the wrong places. There's a single thread that's come loose from the hem of his shorts.

One, two, three. One, two, three.

Someone is talking. No, someone is yelling.

A hand wraps around his wrist, ripping his fingers from between his teeth. When did his mother get here?

She's yelling. She's yelling at him. At least, Regulus thinks so; her words don't make any sense. She makes another grab for him but he leans away. That was a mistake. Her hand meets the side of his head, more gibberish coming from her mouth. He looks up at her and sees that she's incredibly blurry. Maybe that's why he can't understand: she's underwater.

Or maybe he is. He can feel wetness running down his face.

Yes, that's it. Regulus is underwater.

He surprises himself by standing and abruptly about-facing. His feet pound the steps below, leading him back the way he came. Running is a lot easier than he thought it would be. His bedroom door slams closed without being touched and the lock clicks into place. Eventually, the rubbish yelling comes to an end.

Regulus has never felt so small before. Curled up underneath his bedsheets for the second time today, his mind plays Walburga's words on a never ending loop.

Not to make contact with any family. That includes your brother.

Surely that wouldn't mean anything to him. Nothing their mother has said before has ever stopped him from doing something. He was Sirius Black, for gods sake. He wasn't scared of anything. Still, he doesn't particularly like being in trouble or having things taken away from him. It was too hard to tell if the pros outweighed the cons.

Regulus felt himself drift off to sleep as he wondered if and when he would receive another letter.