The night Sirius Black ran away from home.
An intense smell of blood, that is the first thing Sirius remembers. He barley recalls hearing James’ cries, but he knows they are there, that the hands shaking him belong to his brother, no, he corrects himself, they change, from a brother to another, but the pain, the worry and begging – for him not to die, for him not to close his eyes – is always the same.
Blurry images follow: Regulus shoving him to the chimney and throwing the floo powder in, James catching him once he lands, just as surprised as he is – or would be, had he been mildly conscious -, Euphemia trying to heal him while Fleamont, a solemn expression on his face, calls for help.
He doesn´t know, then, what he had done to deserve to live. He was so sure he would die that he hadn´t bother to think about this other scenario - the one where he lives and his little brother is trapped in hell -.
The night had started surprisingly well, considering the pain he had endured during the years, Orion had summoned him to his study and had apologised.
"I feel I haven´t given you the chance to prove yourself yet" he had told him, a cup of firewisky grabbed tightly with his right hand, "We shouldn´t have given the whole gryffindor thing so much importance. You were right all along: it is only a school house, after all".
He had felt, in spite of himself, a wave of happiness and pride he had only let himself dwelled on during his early childhood, and he had embraced it then, thinking foolishly he had still a chance to become their son, just as perfect as Regulus Black was, in his own way.
He should have known, he should have remembered that him, traitor Sirius Black - who had betrayed the person he loved the most, who had risked everything he had achieved over the years out of spite and had almost killed that pathetic boy, Severus Snape -, was too much like them to be treated any differently.
He remembers his red blazing eyes the most. The way they had looked at him as if he were the predator and Sirius the prey. He had stood there, covering Regulus with his body, for hours.
The dinning hall seemed small then, crowded with people dressed in black; he felt trapped, it was almost as if he couldn´t breath, not anymore, not while gazing at Voldemort´s red eyes. Maybe this is the way I can prove my loyalty, he had told himself, maybe, if I tell Dumbledore whatever happens here, I´ll deserve to live again.
How preposterous, to assume they had nothing to do with him, that he was invited to that ball just by chance.
They had gathered around him not long after dinner was served.
“Sirius Orion Black” he had announced, looking straight at his eyes, “we are here to give you one more chance, the last one you´ll ever receive. Your parents tell me you´ve become a talented young man, and, while the Dark Lord is not used to making any exceptions, I´ve decided differently this time”.
“What is this?” he bellowed, not understanding yet what was actually being offered.
“The dark mark can only be given willingly, so I must ask you, heir Black: will you accept the mark of the faithful, the sign of those chosen to walk among gods, the final step to get the purity of your blood proven?”
He already knew he was facing death when he said no.
His brother had warned him - not to defy the Dark Lord, not to be brave, not to be Sirius, not when being Sirius meant death -, but he wasn´t used to listening to him. However, that time... he did, that time, when he defied Voldemort, he was not Sirius, he was Regulus.
Cunning, I need to be cunning, he told himself, searching for a way to scape. That was what they needed to do, that was the only way to keep Regulus safe, and not at all what Sirius would do, but what he ended up doing anyway.
Because... what would happen to Regulus Black when his brother died fighting death eaters and their master? Would he, perhaps, take his place, not because he wanted to, but because he had no choice? Sirius couldn´t allow that, he would never forgive himself for it, - for dying, for leaving him -, so, just as Voldemort and his death eaters approached, he grabbed his brother´s hand and ran.
“What are you doing?” he asked him.
He was pale, he realized, and shaking. His hair was stuck against his sweaty face and his loopy legs were barely able to keep up with him.
“We´ve got to get out of here” Sirius answered.
Needless to say, they couldn´t get away for long.
Walburga nudged him across the room, her hand on his neck. She didn´t even bother to tell him of, for the first time ever, she didn´t seem to care. It affected him more than he´d ever admit, the disinterest, the way her eyes were filled with hunger.
“My lord” she said, once they were, once again, by his side, “the traitor and my son”.
He didn´t need to ask who was who.
“Perfect” muttered Voldemort, “let´s teach him a lesson, shall we?”
He must have looked like a lunatic, - grinning while walking towards them -, but the truth was he was overjoyed. They were not punishing Regulus, only him, and that was more than he could ask for.
It had been Orion who had suggested a little persuasion would help. The worst was that he did care, and that was his way to show it, that he believed in him to do what he considered the right thing, that he trusted him; and that fact pained him even more.
When the curses arrived, he saw Remus.
They were, once again, six years old.
Sirius had escaped home only to end up in a muggle park. It would be the best day of his life, that one in which he met Remus Lupin.
It hunted him at night – how he had betrayed his trust -, and it hunted him then even more. He remembered his smile, the happiness he had felt the day he learnt they did not care, that his friends loved him just the same, despite of him being a werewolf.
He longed then, just as the second round of cruciatus started, James ´company. His cuddles... he missed his cuddles the most, the way he was not afraid to show his feelings or the way he loved physical contact but always asked the other person whether or not they felt comfortable with that.
“Are you willing now, Sirius Orion Black, to take the dark mark?” Voldemort asked him for a second time.
“NEVER” he answered in a loud and confident tone of voice – much more confident than he really felt -.
He felt weak, or more like, weak and sleepy.
His vision went blurry and he closed his eyes slowly. No! He heard Regulus shout in the distance, Sirius, no! Keep your eyes opened!
He tried, he really tried; he tried to reach him. He was screaming, an irrational voice in his head stated, something was wrong, he needed him...
It was then, while Bellatrix was whispering something to the Dark Lord´s ear, when Regulus broke running.
He wondered when he had became that tough, enough to defy their parents, hell, enough to defy a bunch of dark wizards only to get to him. He was proud, right then, he felt proud of him.
How much he wished he could have told him so; how much he wished he could have seen him again.
“You are behaving Sirius” he had managed to articulate with the little strength he had left.
“No” his brother corrected him, the last words he would ever say to him on the tip of his tong, “I´m behaving Regulus”.
His upper lip trembled as he shoved Sirius into the chimney.
“POTTER MANSION” he would bellow as he threw the floo powder he had been guarding in his pocket into him.
It was a miracle, that he had escaped, that he had reached the potters´ alive, - if not for long, had not been for Euphemia -. That is what people would say, what they would whisper from ear to ear every time they saw him.
Voldemort´s presence, his defiance and the way Regulus Black saved the day, - sacrificing himself to a life of suffering -, would be never known. He wished it was, he wished that was what they were saying about him these days; that way, none of them would have believed him to be the spy, the murderer.