Dirty Work
Light the candle
Put the lock upon the door
You have sent the maid home early
Like a thousand times before
Like a castle in its corner
In a medieval game
I force terrible trouble
And I stay here all the same
4th August 1974
A knock on his office door interrupted Charlus Potter’s musings, hunched over decades worth of papers.
Focused, on a way to get Ara out of that House.
That was the issue, loathe as the Potter family were willing to admit. Words they did not say to the children, lest the eldest continue her self-sacrificing. Legally, the brothers were free. As both men and youngest, their way out was clear. So many routes and plots. Total freedom once Sirius was seventeen; barely three years of waiting remaining.
But Ara. Poor Ara.
Her parents had written her away. Unless they managed to break that betrothal contact, she was doomed to always return.
Doomed to turn seventeen and leave school immediately. Manor House and a couple heirs for a man double her age.
And there was nothing in anything from the Wizengamot that could help. Nothing in the papers filed in the Ministry by the Blacks. Not even Andromeda’s case was applicable; considering, in its wake, the Blacks had made Ara sign that if she left they were legally allowed to chase her.
She hadn’t read it before signing.
That was the issue that he realised as he scoured the filed document. Scrolling these demands, reading each consequence that the young girl clearly did not know. Each clause of her submission - from giving up her wand to promising an heir within three years.
Each letter she ignored from her betrothed was merely contractually obligated as another line in her vows. Ones Olin Flint would orchestrate.
So far, the heiress had to be up to thirty lines. Thirty sentences that her future husband would write, forcing her final unmarried words to be of his composition.
She hadn’t read the contract.
If she had, his greatest hope was that she would have at least told Dorea of the details. But she hadn’t. And he had to believe that she had no way of reading it now, not unless he gave it to her himself.
But she hadn’t stayed.
And Charlus had no way to prevent it.
Not when the contract was overseen by bloody ‘Lord Tom Riddle’.
It was a name that the Potter hadn’t considered in years.
Not since the prefect had caught him and Dorea in a broom closet and told her nieces and cousins about the event. Not since that blasted boy had gotten his wife free of her House.
Last Charlus had heard, the man was in Europe studying Dark Magic.
It made sense he had returned to the Blacks first. Charlus remembered his little gang from Hogwarts. Cygnus and Orion Black had simpered after the boy since third year. Followed quickly by Abraxas Malfoy and Hephaestus Avery.
Bending at the knee for a half-blood, despite all their prejudice.
And now, asking the wizard to oversee betrothal contracts for their children.
His name was on a dozen different documents. The arrangement between Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. Rosemary Avery and the Nott fellow. Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange. A handful more that Charlus hadn’t remembered the wizard getting along with in school.
There was a great conspiracy, one he felt himself brushing at the seams of. Something great and terrible that he ought to pay proper attention to.
“Enter.” He bid, waving a spell to distort the papers into generic Wizengamot fliers.
The door clicked open; hinges in need of a quick spell to grease them anew. And, with a hesitant smile, Regulus Black crept into the office.
He had clearly been in the gardens with his brother and James; red shirt grass stained and muddy from scrapping. It was a hand-me-down from James, one Charlus recognised from the previous Summer. Paired with jeans that Dorea had taken the boy into town to buy. Both a bit stressed by the Muggle shops and agreeing to buy from a Muggle-born seamstress at the end of Dragon Alley. They were all just glad that he’d gone; considering how much the boy loathed shopping.
“Am I interrupting?” Reg’s voice wavered as he spoke - a clear fear in entering such a room. With great care, Charlus smiled softly and shook his head.
“You’re saving me from these proposals that Monty asked me to scour before his next Wizengamot session.” He laughed, motioning for the boy to come closer.
In doing so, he saw as this surprised delight gradually brightened the boy’s eyes and cheeks. Grey roaming the bright decor - a marvel that Charlus couldn’t help but smile at.
“Your office is… it’s so light.” The boy let out a surprised laugh as he marvelled at the decor. All pale blues and reds - lined with faded wood and wide windows.
“My Dorea wouldn’t let me stew in here unless the windows were all tall as she was.” Charlus chuckled, standing from his chair to join the boy as he admired the view of the gardens. Peeks of the back wall of the house; lined with opals that glowed as the sun rose and set. “It isn’t a place to think of politics and all that rubbish. Makes one too dreary to fight the good fight.”
“That would make sense. The office at Grimmauld is all dark and gloomy.” Reg shuddered lightly, too focused on the view to realise the gesture.
“Every detail I hear of that place makes me want to raise it to the ground or redecorate.” Charlus huffed.
“I don’t think it’s been redone since my parents’ marriage.” Reg laughed, looking Charlus’s way just as the man relaxed and managed to smile his way. “I think that’s how Grimmauld Place is supposed to work. As some warped replica of its current Lord and Lady.”
“And I think you’ve been reading too much Shelley, recently.” Charlus raised a brow - the boy’s blush giving away the accuracy.
“Am I supposed to let such literature not infect my mind?” With a shrug, Reg turned away from the window - eyes roaming the seemingly uninteresting papers on the desk. “It isn’t as though it’s shared, like with the twins. I can fill it with all the rubbish I’d like.”
“I think Effie might still be giggling about Ara’s new ear worm infecting Sirius, even at this distance.” Charlus grinned, stepping towards his desk to sit and speak with the boy.
“It’s not as annoying as the time they got that ruddy TREX album.” Reg laughed, shaking his head in fond memory as he followed and sat in the armchair opposite the desk. “By the end of the month, Remus and Pete showed up at my dorm and begged me to take the record. And Ara immediately knew what they did, so she got David to sneak it back out to her. He wouldn’t shut up about it for a week.” He chuckled, the older man joining in as they laughed at the twins and their odd habits and eerie traits.
The twins always knew when someone was trying to pull something over them. Always able to figure out who to turn to as to fix whatever was changed.
They were more observant than anyone gave them credit for. But he supposed, so was his nephew.
“Is anything the matter, Reg?” Charlus asked kindly, leaning back in his chair. “I wouldn’t think you the sort of boy to seek out company just to rib on your siblings.”
“I can be.” He replied cheekily, that hint of Black mischief flashing against the grey of his eyes.
Charlus thought that was a more apt name for the ‘madness’.
None of them were truly mad. A little broken, greatly harmed and afraid, but not insane. Instead, full of mischief that each sibling seemed to sparkle with. That glow of the next prank, the next silly joke, the next anything that might bring them that bubble of joy they’d been lacking so long.
That same spark that Dorea had, little tricks on his family that none assigned to her but made them both laugh so heavily.
No wonder, in dimmer environments, it turned sour. Despite their surname, the Blacks were so very filled with colour. They simply could not cope with how they’d orchestrated their lives.
“I got a letter from… from my father.” Reg sighed finally, fumbling in his pocket to extract a piece of expensive parchment. With hesitation, he unfolded it - offering it to the older man with great trepidation. Eyes downcast, lips pulled into such a worried frown. “Can you read it?”
Nodding sadly, Charlus accepted the parchment and turned it upwards - spying the short note.
Regulus Artucus Black,
With approval from our Lord, you and your siblings are permitted to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays next academic year; on the condition of your sister’s return in the following Easter break. It is too late to reverse these tides, and I’m afraid you may never get the chance.
Your siblings have forsaken me as I have them. As my last son, remember your task. Remember your duty as heir to continue this House.
Remove your mother and I from your heart, my son. It is the only way to continue this path you have begun.
Lord Orion Black
The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black
Charlus sighed as he placed the letter on his desk, looking up to the fretful gaze of Regulus Black.
“I am so very sorry, my boy, that this responsibility has been placed upon you.” He said simply, genuine as anyone can be. “How we live is our choice. It should always be, and it should never be bastardised by others intentions. Whether we marry or stay a bachelor like your Uncle Alphard. Whether we become Aurors or bookkeepers, it doesn’t matter. I don’t mind whatever path you choose in life. Quidditch or Ministry work or whatever you wish. As long as it is your choice.” Charlus swore. “Your heart is something that can never be taken from you, nor should your freedom.”
“My… Orion once told me the fate of our House lies on me. I don’t know if I can handle that.” Reg admitted.
“And you shouldn’t have to.” Charlus promised. “Your brother and sister are there to help you, whatever may happen.”
“But that’s the thing.” He fidgeted his thumbs, twisting them the same way that his sister did. “Ara’s idea of help is to throw herself to the sharks like chum, and Sirius thinks if he pisses them off enough they might let him be heir again.”
“How in Merlin’s name do you know about sharks? I didn’t learn of them until I was at least twenty, on an expedition of New Zealand with my Dorea.”
“Henry likes animals.” Reg shrugged, letting himself be distracted from his wallowing. “David’s got good comics and all, but Henry has actual books on all these different types and species of sea creatures and insects. I dunno, it’s interesting.”
“Are you positing a career in Care of Magical Creatures?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged again, shoulders a little tenser. “I’d really like to change the laws for House Elves. How they work now in most places… it isn’t fair.”
“No it isn’t.” Charlus nodded. “And I suspect you have seen more that is unfair in your thirteen years than many have in lifetimes.”
“Do you think he hates me?” Reg blurted, eyes wide as he registered his words.
“I think that he is a man that has always been stuck in a certain situation. And it must be very difficult to watch your inaction lead your children out of your house.” Charles spoke solemnly. “But that will never be an excuse to put the responsibility of fixing the damage onto anyone else. It is not your job to solve his mistakes, kid.”
Regulus nodded uncertainly, words held on his tongue - not daring to utter his fears aloud.
Because if it wasn’t his job, who would do it?
——
7th August 1974
Breakfasts at Potter Manor were a practiced affair. Often a time for the Black siblings and their guardians - Dorea and Charlus making sure they ate before a day of adventure with James. It was comforting, to have such a simple routine. One they could break without worry, but one they preferred to keep up.
Especially when the post arrived.
That morning, it came after the papers. Charlus was nose deep in some article on gnome reform; Dorea having taken the lifestyle section. Grumbling that it put too much stock in the notions of Wizengamot wives over the most stylish of ladies.
A Black family owl knocked at the window - black envelope clutched in its beak.
After a moment of silence, it seemed that none of them would move to get it. All watching as the dark owl paced the frame with agitation. It had been a gift from Alphard to the siblings many years prior; a Long-Eared owl with eyes like saucers. How they’d sent letters to the Potters during school - until one day in second year it had flown away and not come back. They had supposed that it preferred Alphard, and let it be.
Still, it was nice to see the familiar bird.
As Sirius began to begrudgingly make to move, Dorea finally stood. Straightening her skirt and stepping carefully to the glass, unhitching it and taking the letter with a practiced nod.
The owl did not stay any longer. It had never really liked the siblings anyways.
Probably flying its way back to Alphard; a dark fleck in the clouds.
“It’s addressed to the pair of you.” She spoke, waltzing round to deposit the envelope between the brothers. It lay on the table, so stark against the light tablecloth.
“If we must.” Reg sighed, grabbing the envelope and offering it to his brother to undo. Sirius snatched it with shaking hands - slicing the seal undone with his butterknife and pulling the pale parchment from the dark cover.
The brothers held it between them, scanning the words with furrowed brows and worried eyes. Both silent as they seemed to read it a second time, finally raising their brows and widening their eyes as the words sunk in.
“Alphard’s been disowned.” Regulus gasped, releasing the paper as though it had burned him.
“It’s a bloody farce.” Sirius growled, scanning the words a third time.
“Sirius!” Dorea exclaimed, frowning at his language.
“It is! Cygnus just wanted rid of him so he could take control of the tapestry again.” Sirius threw his head into his hands as he dropped the letter, shaking it with a sad laugh. “No wonder he seemed so self-assured at Bella’s dinner.” The boy scoffed, looking to his brother.
“What does that mean for the arrangement?” Regulus fretted, looking to Charlus and Dorea. “He helped arrange for our time here. Without him, will it hold?”
“Don’t fret on that today, love.” Dorea assured him, smiling softly. “We made sure to file with the goblins as well as the Ministry. Those bankers are far more intimidating to your parents, and we had already agreed to have you for the next few holidays. You’re coming back for Yule, and for Easter, and for summer. I swear it.”
——
Dear Sirius and Regulus,
I trust that you will pass this information your sister’s way. I have not yet found a gap in your cousin’s wards through which to share this.
I have been disowned. Or rather, they’ve half-blasted me off the tapestry and bloody Cygnus has got the family ledger and I am afraid that I cannot assure you of any security in your situation. It is with a heavy heart that I write this, and with great sorrow that I apologise for not being able to do any more.
It is unlikely I will see any of you again whilst you’re in Hogwarts. So, for the sake of an old man that has been trying to look out for you all for the past few years; don’t let this be in vain. There will come a day when your freedom will be all you can fight for, and I beg of you to fight.
I have always been so very proud of you children.
May we meet again,
Alphard Black
Formerly of The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black
——
12th August 1974
Sirius and Reg ended up spending the ensuing week at each other’s throats. Barely able to look each other in the eye without one of them snapping about something ridiculous.
Tensions in the Manor were rising; both boys too stubborn to admit their feud lied in their terror. It was far easier to yell at a brother than to acknowledge how precarious everything felt.
Without Ara, the distance seemed to grow each breakfast. Each meal they seemed further apart - even in the same seats as always. Conversations grew stilted between the entire family, each person uncertain just how to mend this break while not even being certain of how it had erupted.
It was like that first Summer with the twins. Waiting for the inevitable blowout that was simply needed for the pair to get along again. Hoping it wouldn’t go too far and end up with the pair at each other’s throats.
So when James asked the boys if they wanted to play pick-up Quidditch, and Sirius ended up accidentally knocking his brother off his broom… the Potter heir had finally had enough.
And he locked them in a room together, yelling that until they sorted out whatever their issue was, they wouldn’t get dinner. To hurry up before Reg left to visit his friends. Before the simmering tensions boiled over.
At least it was a decent sitting room.
One Dorea had clearly designed; with soft lilacs and greens in underwater hues. Tapestries across the walls, throws over the chairs and sofas. Both brothers could understand why James had locked them in that precise room. After all, it was so eerily reminiscent of Ara. Something in the design that screamed of their sister.
In one great motion, Sirius Black strode past his brother and flopped onto the chaise by the window - lying with an arm over his eyes.
Begrudgingly, Regulus followed suit. Well, he sat in the armchair opposite and watched his clearly disgruntled brother.
“Can we shake hands or something and tell your mate that everything is alright?” Regulus sighed, slumping into his armchair. “Ara’s not here, there no point to pretend-”
“He wrote you.” Sirius said simply, the words hard against Reg’s ears.
“What?”
“Father.” He grunted, face still covered. “He wrote you instead of me. He wrote Ara last year, but nothing for me.” And Reg realised that he’d been on the wrong side of their debate this time. He’d assumed the usual defensive of being angry at his brother for not trusting him, for thinking him some snotty little child. But Sirius was simply a scorned son. And he should have been the heir the letter spoke to.
“I’m sorry.” Regulus sighed, rubbing a hand over his face to hide as he tried not to let his eyes mist. “If it helps, all he does is tell me to support you and fix all his mistakes.” He looked up at his brother, just in time to see his arm fall and this hint of amusement overtake the boy into bubbling laughter.
“Oddly, it does.” His chuckles died in hiccups, eyes dimming. “But even with that, I’m still the one that gets forgotten. Ara’s eldest, you’re heir, and I’m just the other one.”
“Do you even want the responsibility?” Reg frowned, raised brow pointed his brother’s way.
“I dunno.” Sirius shrugged, tucking his arms under his head. “I just want to be thought of by someone other than Ara.”
“I think of you.”
“Yeah, right.” Sirius scoffed and Reg could not help his wince. “Your main focus will always be Ara, as will it be mine. There’s no point in kidding each other.”
And there it was. The fact that split the Black brothers.
Never in their lives had they picked the other first. Without their sister to tie them together, the boys simply did not know how to interact.
“Why do you have to be so calloused, Sirius? You’ve always… even as children, you held me at arms length and tutted whenever I was near.” Regulus replied as he ran a hand through his growing hair - trying to not focus on its similarity to his brother. On their similarity to each other.
“Tu avais besoin d'un parent.” Sirius sighed deeply, speaking the words in their secondary tongue; as though he could not imagine speaking them in their first. “Someone to look after you and keep you safe and sorted. And Ara was more than happy to take that role. I just… je voulais un frère.”
“I am your brother.”
“Because we’ve grown up a bit.” Sirius admitted. “You can’t tell me that it wasn’t different as children. I love you, but I could never do it. I’m too brash and excitable; I couldn’t fill in as a parent and tuck you in or read you stories. Not when I was a kid myself.”
“I never asked you to do that.” Reg spoke tightly.
“You never had to.” He spoke with a mirthless laugh. “You never knew it wasn’t how it should be, because Ara was always there to do the job. She took it for us, all that shite. She took the weight of everything she could, to protect us. But I was five when the illusion was shattered, and I know you were younger. And I’ll never understand how you kept up as you had before.”
“How could I not?” Regulus bit back, shaking his head at his brother. “I couldn’t let it change, I couldn’t let her be changed.”
“And I’m glad it worked out for you.” Sirius turned to sit upright, running his hands over his face before he continued. “I’m glad that you got to keep her as your protector.”
“Is that it? Does it really boil down to the fact that she couldn’t protect you too?”
“No, it boils down to the fact that she nearly died and you still hid behind her! You still clutched on to Walburga, after she’d tortured the kid that basically raised you.” Sirius held his hand between them, shakily; willing himself to calm down. After a deep breath, he continued softly. “Why’d you think we only started to get along once we were at Hogwarts? Without Walburga breathing down our necks, I got to see who you were. And I like you.”
“Really?”
“Of course I do.” Sirius scoffed. “You’re cool now.”
He truly meant it. Despite the resentment - the way he would never truly be able to forgive his baby brother for standing behind Walburga - Sirius was ready to move past it. He’d grown over the summer - voice beginning to deepen and crack. No longer a boy, now ready to become a man.
“Alright then.” Reg nodded, satisfied enough. “Are we done fighting now? I’m only asking since I can smell Effie’s Toad in the Hole through the door.”
“Oh, bloody hell, that’s just not fair!” Sirius exclaimed, leaping from the chaise to yell through the door. “We’re done fighting now!”
No reply sounded.
The elder Black brother looked to the other with a confused shrug, before tugging the handle as hard as he could. The door, naturally, flew open.
“I’m gonna kill James.” Sirius sighed as he righted himself, having been dragged by the motion.
“Oh, shut up and eat your holy toad.” Reg laughed, standing to drag his brother down the stairs.
Arms around each other’s shoulders, laughs as they joked on odd Muggle food names.
And both more glad than they were willing to admit, that they could mend a fight without Ara’s intervention.
Maybe, just maybe, they’d be alright without her.
One could hope, anyways.