Sirius
Sirius didn’t end up going straight to Dumbledore. Instead, he found himself accidentally making a detour to the Ministry of Magic’s visitor’s entrance, walking down three sets of stairs to Kingsley Shacklebolt’s office, checking in with Kingsley’s secretary, and then waiting to take an Auror test.
He’d tell Remus it was an accident, because it was. Kind of. Not really. Not at all, actually. But that’s what he would tell Remus.
“Kingsley!” Sirius shouted, ringing the little bell on Kingsley’s desk. “Kingsley, Kingsley, Kingsley, Kingsley, Kingsley—”
The office door slammed against the wall. “For the love of God, Sirius! You’re more annoying every time I see you,” Kingsley shouted.
“I’m here to take the field trial section of the Auror’s test,” Sirius said, clapping a hand on Kingsley’s shoulder and pushing him behind the desk. “Quickly, I hope. I have a meeting with Dumbledore in an hour that I can’t be late for. I don’t know if you’ve heard of my new coworker, but he’s a little bitch and he’ll crucify me if I don't get him his money.”
Kingsley shook him off, rifling through the top drawer of his desk. “Are you serious?”
"Dead serious.” Sirius held Kingsley’s gaze in challenge, forcing himself to smile. “I’ll be fine. I’ve been preparing.”
Kingsley let out a long exhale. “I’m just not sure about the field trial… Remember what happened last time?”
Sirius impatiently rang the bell again. “Yes, as a matter of fact I do. I was there. That’s why I’m taking the field trial first and then passing the written examination.”
Kingsley gave a low whistle, flipping through Sirius' file. “Well, there’s nothing I can do to stop you. Dumbledore’s wanted you as an auror for years.”
“Thank you.”
“That was a statement, not a compliment.”
“Still warrants a thank you, in my opinion.”
Kingsley’s eyes shifted to the door, hands gripping the file so tight he left creases along the paper. “It should be smoother this time around if you’ve prepared. I’ll call Emmeline in?”
Emmeline’s head popped through the doorway immediately. Her face brightened when she saw Sirius, then quickly morphed into worry. “Sirius! This isn’t about Missy, is it?”
“Not this time.” Sirius plucked his file from Kingsley and handed it to Emmeline with unnecessary bravado. “I’m here to take the field trial.”
Emmeline pursed her lips. She looked quickly at Kingsley, who shrugged, then back to Sirius. “You’re serious?”
Sirius clenched his teeth into a smile. The nervous adrenaline was starting to build in his heart, and it was all he could do not to tear down the hall and burst into the testing room just to get it over with. “As serious as I can be.”
“Follow me, then.” Emmeline waved him into the hallway and he gratefully fell into step beside her.
She led him down a familiar route, past offices with smoke crawling out from under the doors, a quiet testing room, and the slightly terrifying interrogation room where Sirius had passed his background test. Twice.
Emmeline kept one step ahead, as always, but she kept turning to look at him. He met every worried glance with a cheery smile that would’ve fooled almost anyone.
“You’re sure?” Emmeline finally asked as they approached a closed door at the end of the hallway.
“I’ll be fine,” Sirius said, ignoring how his brain was telling him, run, run, run. “I know what I’m up against this time. I’ll use the momentum from the beginning of the test to send that bugger at the end straight to hell.”
Emmeline winced. “Sirius… we changed the order of the test. The boggart's first.”
The blood in Sirius’ veins turned to ice. A slow shiver of fear trickled down his spine, and when he tried to take a deep breath it sounded like he was on the verge of tears. Which he was not. “Emmeline, I’ll be fine. It can’t be that bad. Not if I’ve seen it before.”
“I’ll be right on the other side of the glass,” Emmeline said, hand lingering on Sirius’ arm. “If you need to tap out, send up a flare. Don’t try to be a hero, Sirius. There’s only so much one person can take.”
“I look after your daughter for eight hours a day.” Sirius managed to smile. “I can take more than most.”
But then the door opened, and then it closed, and doubt crept into Sirius’ mind.
The room was pitch black.
Sirius took a careful step forward, shouting into the nothingness, “Where are you, you changeling fucker? Let’s get this over with.”
He steadied his breathing, readied his mind, thought about James and Harry and all of the light that came along with them.
"Lumos," he muttered.
Suddenly, his corner of the room was awash with light, and he took a stumbling step back. “Fuck,” he whispered, pressing a hand over his eyes. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”
James and Harry, he thought. Peter. Marlene. Alice. Stick and Poke, for Merlin’s sake.
But he couldn’t picture any of them. He could only see Regulus.
Regulus. His little brother. Lying on the floor, pale and waterlogged, droplets dripping from his dead fingers. It was the scene that replayed every time he closed his eyes. It was the figure that haunted him in dreams. It was the ghost that stood above him when he woke, wearing the same expression that the real Regulus used to have when he’d say, "Sirius, I think I’m going to throw up."
He wasn’t standing now, or vomiting, or revealing any indications of the youthful boy that Sirius used to know. His limbs splayed in odd directions, and there was a certain weightlessness to him, as if he were floating underwater.
Drip, drip, drip.
"Riddikulus." The light at the end of Sirius’ wand went out, and he tried again. "RIDDIKULUS."
Just as the darkness became suffocating, just as the fear in Sirius began to build to unimaginable heights, he felt the air lift, as if life had been breathed back into it.
“Is that all?” Sirius yelled. “Did I do it? Emmeline, I think I—”
“Who was that?” A small voice pierced through the dark.
Sirius’ heart seized. He stumbled back farther, trying to find the wall. It was his mind, he told himself. His mind was playing tricks on him in the darkness. That was all.
But the tiny footsteps stepped closer, and Sirius frantically lit his wand again.
Little Regulus stepped out of the shadows, and a strangled cry died in Sirius’ throat.
The Regulus in front of him was how he always thought of his little brother. Dark hair neatly combed to one side, play clothes that looked awkward on his mini aristocrat’s body, concern and confusion etched onto every feature of his face. “Sirius, who was that?” Regulus repeated.
“Stop it,” Sirius said, surprised by how his voice shook. “Stop it, Regulus. You’re not real.”
In movements too slow for a living, breathing human, Regulus tilted his head to look up at Sirius. “I saw someone on the ground. He looked like you.” Little Regulus’ chin quivered. “He looked like me.”
“Shut the fuck up. You’re a monster, you’re not real,” Sirius choked out, frantically searching his brain for anything— any good memory to center him.
James singing.
Lily dancing.
Mary laughing.
Percy with butterflies in his hair.
Tears flooded Regulus’ face, trickling over his sunken cheekbones and pooling on the floor. “Why are you saying that, Sirius?” he wailed. “I am real.”
Sirius’ hands shook, and he grabbed his right hand with the other to steady his wand. Still, the riddikulus spell refused to cooperate. “Stop it! You are dead! You’re dead, Regulus! You’re twenty, not seven!”
Little Regulus’ mouth dropped open in horror, and he raised his white hands to stare at his palms. “I’m not dead. I’m alive. I feel my hands and my heart. Sirius, don’t say I’m dead. I am real.”
Sirius’ wand clattered to the floor. The sound was far off, distant, just an echo in a room full of darkness. His heart beat fast in his chest, threatening to burst from his body and fall on the floor next to his brother.
“Look at me! Listen to me! You’re not real," Sirius hissed desperately. “You’re dead, Regulus.”
“I am real,” Regulus cried, eyes widening in fear. “Sirius, I am real!”
“You’re dead!” Sirius roared. “Stop tricking me, you’re dead!”
Regulus’ wails turned to shrill, anguished screams. He threw his head back, and his body twitched and shook. In horror, Sirius watched his childhood pass him again in a span of five seconds. Regulus’ limbs lengthened, curls appeared in his hair, his face sharpened into a familiar, permanent look of pain.
Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. Eighteen years old.
“I AM REAL,” eighteen year old Regulus screamed. “I AM REAL I AM REAL I AM REAL—”
Sirius watched in horror as Regulus’ eyes sank and his skin greyed. His brother became drenched with water that mixed with his tears.
Drip, drip, drip.
Regulus dropped to his knees, unable to stand under the weight of his wet clothes, but his voice remained panicked and ear-splitting. “I AM REAL I AM REAL I AM REAL—”
He lifted a shaking hand and grabbed at Sirius’ leg.
Sirius cried out, kicking his brother away and diving across the floor for his wand. The wand was slick with water, and for one terrible moment, Sirius thought it would slip from his hand. He tightened his grip and pointed it upward, shouting a flare spell over the sound of Regulus’ screams.
A door banged open, and light streamed into the room.
Sirius heard Emmeline shout, "RIDDIKULUS!" and the boggart flew across the room and back into its case.
Sirius closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to the floor. Around him, the water evaporated from the tile, hissing towards the ceiling.
He heard Emmeline kneel down beside him, and felt her sturdy arm around his shoulders.
“It’s gone, Sirius. Get up.”
He took a shaky breath. “It's not gone."
“What?” Emmeline leaned closer to hear him.
“He’s never gone. I’m going to see him again tonight.”