Chapter 1
Regulus is five when Sirius dares him to steal the sweets in the middle of the night.
They’re in Regulus’ bedroom, sitting on the bed in the pillow fort they built in the evening. The faint silver glow of the moon shines through the curtains, stars glitter on the night sky, and everyone’s asleep.
Regulus hesitates. Even in daylight, when the sun flitters through the windows and everyone is up and about, Grimmauld Place can be scary. With the light out and the heavy silence penetrating every corner and nook, Regulus imagines the house to be absolutely terrifying. He looks at Sirius, sees the beginning of a smirk form on his brother’s face, and makes his choice. He is almost six, not a baby, and he won’t be scared.
“Okay,” he whispers, hoping he looks and sounds braver than he feels. In his head, he forms a plan; he will creep quietly down the stairs, take extra care on the third and second floor where his parents’ bedrooms are, and sneak into the kitchen. Regulus knows how to be quiet. The rest of the task is easy, for, unlike Sirius, Regulus knows where Kreacher keeps the sweets, and if he stands on his tiptoes on the chair, he’s almost sure he can reach the shelf.
He stands up, trying to hold back the smile at the look of surprise on Sirius’ face, and slips out of the room, the darkness of the night as his shield.
As he has planned, he slinks through the narrow corridors steeped in black, quiet like a ghost.
Everything goes well. For a second, Regulus is scared he has made too much noise with the chair, but no one comes to get him; the house is silent as it has been when he crept down the stairs. He grabs the green metal tin, puts the chair back into its place under the kitchen table, and tiptoes out of the kitchen, victorious and with the treasure tucked under his arm.
Imagining Sirius’ face as he presents him with the tin full of sweets, Regulus passes by the small parlour when he notices something strange. The door is ajar. They use the small parlour so rarely that most of the year, the room is closed with sheets covering the furnishing as to not let the dust settle on the furniture.
Feeling that luck is on his side, Regulus pushes the door open wide and sticks his head inside. How much more surprised Sirius will be when he hears that Regulus ventured into the small parlour during nighttime?
What he finds in the parlour is his father, unconscious, on the floor. Regulus stares at his father’s pale face, the sheen of sweat covering his forehead, the small puddle of blood on the rug. He drops the tin with sweets. The metal clatters loudly against the floor, and Regulus screams, the ear-piercing sound cutting through the silence of the house.
He doesn’t know how long he stands by the door, staring at his father’s motionless body. Kreacher comes and moves Orion to his bedroom. Mother runs down the stairs, shouting at Regulus for making a noise, Sirius at her heels with eyes wide with fear. Regulus stands frozen and alone, with his eyes glued to the bloodstain on the rug until someone takes him to his bedroom. He does not remember who it was, only the touch of a gentle hand on his shoulder as the person led him upstairs and the soft voice murmuring soothing words into his ear.
He sits on his bed, stiff and cold, still seeing his father’s unconscious form on the floor, the night a blur of horrible images in his head. Downstairs, healers and family members come and go through the fireplace; the portraits grumble and mumble about the noise and the endless string of strangers in the house. The quietness of the night is gone.
Sirius sits next to Regulus, his arm warm against Regulus’ shoulder. “I dropped the sweets,” Regulus whispers after what seems like hours. His chin starts to tremble.
“It’s okay,” Sirius says, squeezing his shoulder. “Kreacher will clean it up.”
They lie in Regulus’ bed, facing each other, and Sirius pulls the thick emerald blanket over them. For once, Sirius’ movements are slow and careful, lacking the usual impatience that follows Regulus’ brother wherever he goes and whatever he does.
“It will be okay,” Sirius says. His voice is clear and sure, but even in the darkness of the room, Regulus can see the uncertainty in his brother’s eyes. This is Sirius; putting a brave face for Regulus is something he does.
Under the blanket, Regulus finds Sirius’ hand and grips it tightly with his fingers.
***
Regulus is still awake when Uncle Alphard pokes his head into his room early in the morning. He glances at the bed, notices Regulus and Sirius and smiles. It looks weak, but Regulus appreciates the effort.
“How is our father?” he asks in a whisper as to not wake Sirius.
Alphard sighs. He steps inside, closes the door and sits at the edge of the bed. “He’ll be alright,” he says.
Regulus watches his Uncle, searching his face for a sign of a lie. He looks honest, though perhaps not as confident as Regulus would like. And tired; there are dark bruises under Alphard’s eyes, and his mischievous smile is gone.
“He’ll be alright,” Alphard repeats when Sirius shifts and blinks his eyes open, woken by their voices. “He’s a little sick, and it seems he fainted on his way to the cellar.”
The cellar is where their parents keep potions. Regulus ponders on his Uncle’s words and frowns. Father didn’t look sick yesterday; they had dinner together last night, and Orion looked well, healthy, strong.
Sirius pushes his messy hair out of his eyes, rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “Is he awake then?”
Alphard shakes his head. “Not yet. He’s still quite sick, but the healers say he will be fine in a few days.”
“Can we see him?” Regulus asks. He’s overcome with the need to see his father with his own eyes. Even though Regulus knows that adults know best, he needs to make sure Uncle Alphard isn’t lying or mistaken.
Alphard watches him as he thinks, and Regulus starts to play with the loose thread on his sleeve, tugging at it with his fingers. He wants to see his father, and he wants to be brave, but he has a feeling that if he met his Uncle’s eyes, the man would see right through him.
“Of course,” Alphard finally says.
They clamber out of bed and put dressing gowns over their pyjamas. When they’re ready, Alphard takes their hands and leads them down the stairs to their father’s bedroom on the third floor.
The first thing Regulus notices when they step inside Orion’s bedroom is the scent. The room smells of healing potions. Regulus’ eyes and throat start to burn from the heavy stench of dried herbs.
Orion lies in bed, covered by the mountain of thick blankets and with a cloth on his forehead. He’s a little pale and a little sweaty, but Regulus lets out a relieved breath when he sees no blood on the snow-white pillowcase.
“See?” Alphard kneels between them, wrapping his strong arms around their shoulders. “He’s fine, just sleeping.”
Regulus tiptoes to the bed, trying to be as quiet as possible to not disturb his father, and touches Orion’s hand. It’s warm. He wraps his fingers around his father’s thumb and squeezes tight. Sirius comes to stand next to him and pats Regulus’ on the shoulder. His hand joins Regulus’ around their father’.
“He’ll be alright,” Sirius whisper, and this time, Regulus hears no uncertainty in his brother’s voice, sees no fear in Sirius’ grey eyes.
“What are they doing here?” a stern voice cuts through the air, sudden and unexpected like a storm.
Regulus turns around to face his mother. There’s an ugly scowl on her face as she glares at uncle Alphard and her fingers tighten around her wand, which is never a good sign. Instinctively, Regulus reaches for Sirius’ hand and inches closer to his brother, trying to make himself as small as possible in hopes she won’t notice him. When their mother is in a bad mood, she’s scary.
Alphard shrugs. “They wanted to see their father.”
“In that state? Are you out of your mind?” Her stormy eyes fall onto Regulus. “And you! Don’t think I forgot about your disobedience. How many times I have to repeat before it sinks into your thick skull that the night is for sleeping, not sneaking around the house? Go to your room now and think about your behaviour!” she shouts at Regulus.
Sirius steps in front of Regulus, shielding him with his body. “It was my idea.”
Regulus holds his breath. He knows Sirius’ confession won’t change their mother’s mind, but he hopes Sirius will not join his fate. Mother loves Sirius the most because he’s firstborn, and sometimes, mother lets off Sirius’ misbehaviour with just a light scolding. Regulus thinks that’s because Sirius is the heir; it’s alright for him to be a little rebellious; outspoken, as Grandfather Pollux calls it. Regulus is the spare, though, and needs to stay in line, keep his head down, and let his brother shine.
“Then you’ll get the same punishment.”
“Wally,” uncle Alphard starts in a soft voice, “you’re being too harsh.”
“When you’ll have children of your own, you can treat them however you like, but don’t try to tell me how I should raise my sons,” she says coldly, and her eyes flash darkly. “Kreacher,” she shouts.
The elderly house-elf apparates in the middle of the room and bows so low the tip of his nose touches the floor. “Mistress called for Kreacher?” he says in a croaky voice.
“Take Sirius and Regulus to their rooms and make sure they don’t get out until I allow it.”
The elf nods, bowing again; he grabs Regulus and Sirius’ hands and apparates them to the fourth floor.
“I’ll come to you later,” Sirius murmurs, soft enough for Kreacher not to hear before the elf ushers them inside their bedroom and closes the door.
***
Despite Uncle Alphard’s words, father doesn’t get better. Days go by, and Orion’s still in bed, asleep and with the cloth over his forehead, fighting with a fever. Healers from St. Mungo’s come and go, carrying chests full of tiny vials filled with potions in every colour imaginable. Sometimes, Regulus and Sirius sneak into their father’s bedroom when the healer is inside. If they ask nicely, the healers tell them about different mixtures they’re trying, explain how they are made or tell them a story.
Regulus likes Healer Carmichael, who sneaks sweets for them in the pockets of her lime-green robes, pumpkin pasties and chocolate frogs and sugar quills. She never gets annoyed with Regulus for asking questions; never shouts when Sirius plays with empty vials and other items she brings in her bag.
What’s more important, she never tells their mother. Although Regulus notices that Walburga has stopped caring about them sneaking into their father’s bedroom. In truth, she doesn’t care about anything at all. For a time, Regulus thought their mother caught the same sickness their father had, for she’s spent a lot of time in bed with curtains drawn shut. Before he could share his observations with a healer or someone from the family, though, he saw his mother in the drawing-room. She twirled around the room with a bottle of red-coloured liquid as her partner, laughing under her nose.
Something about it made Regulus think it’s better not to tell anyone about it.
Instead, he and Sirius take advantage of their mother’s distracted state. They play around the house (quietly because it’s better to be safe than sorry) or spend time in the small garden at the back of the house, enjoying the first signs of an early spring.
In the evening, though, they sneak into their father’s bedroom. Sometimes, they read him a story from the Tales of Beedle the Bard; other times, they tell him what they were doing during the day. In a way, it’s easier with Orion asleep; if he were awake, Regulus can’t imagine he’d have time for their silly stories.
***
Spring turns slowly into an early summer without much change in their father’s health. Through the window in his room, Regulus watches trees become greener and greener, branches rounding with small emerald leaves. He hears birds in their nest under the roof chirp in the morning, and some days, he leaves crumbs of bread on his window for them to steal.
Father is still asleep, getting thinner and thinner, paler and paler with each day that passes by. Regulus watches the faces of healers who still come into the house and sees the heavy frowns between their brows and the lack of hope in their eyes. Even healer Carmichael’s smiles are a little more strained, her voice a little less sure as she answers Regulus’ questions.
No one from the family comes these days. Regulus has overheard a terrible fight between his mother and Uncle Alphard. The next day mother has ordered Kreacher not to let anyone in, except for the healers from St. Mungo’s, and even they come less often than in the beginning. The doors to the house are closed, the fireplaces shut down, and the owls fly back with unopened letters still tied to their legs.
Sometimes, Regulus fears they will be locked in the house forever, that they will miss the snow in the winter and heat of the summer, that they will grow older and older and miss their time to go to Hogwarts. Sometimes, he fears that mother will keep them in the house until the day they die.
Regulus and Sirius curl up in their pillow fort, whispering about things they will do once their mother finally lets them outside. They make plans in hushed voices, dream of visiting Uncle Alphard in his flat in Nottingham, building sandcastles on the beach at Aunt Cassie’s cottage.
“We have to run away,” Sirius says one evening. The window is open, and the light breeze trickles into the room, carrying sounds from outside, like the tinkling laughter of muggle children from the park, barking of dogs and meowing of cats.
They look longingly at the window, trapped in the dusty house.
“We can’t,” Regulus says, “you know we can’t.”
They have tried that already. Sirius packed some clothes in his little rucksack, and Regulus stole some food from the cupboards, and at night, they snuck out of their room, determined to escape. Kreacher found them by the front door, and it was only because of Regulus’s tears that Kreacher agreed not to tell their mother.
“Kreacher will catch us again, and this time, he will tell mother,” Regulus says. He tugs at Sirius’ hand, trying to draw his brother’s attention off the window. He needs to make Sirius understand. Regulus doesn’t know what their mother will do if she ever finds out about it, but he fears the worst.
“We could dose Kreacher with a sleeping potion,” Sirius suggests. “Healer Carmichael told you about it, didn’t she? You know how it looks like.”
Regulus shakes his head. “Kreacher’s too clever to fall for that. Besides, how would we even get to Uncle Alphard’s?” he asks when Sirius opens his mouth, probably to offer another idea.
To this, Sirius doesn’t have the answer. Whenever they visit someone from their family, they go through the fireplace, or one of their parents apparate them. With both options out of the question, they have no way of getting anywhere except for the unfamiliar streets of muggle London. And they both have heard enough about muggles to ever risk it. It was better to stay in the house, invisible to muggles who would steal their magic, than wander outside and get robbed in the worst way.
“And we can’t leave father here,” Regulus says. Whenever they discuss getting away from Grimmauld Place, he feels as if he’s the oldest, not Sirius.
Sirius’ shoulders slump. A sure sign of defeat, and Regulus lets out a relieved breath. He curls around Sirius, hugging him tightly.
“At least we’re together,” Sirius says, a small smile stretches on his lips. “If we’re stuck here forever then, I’m glad I’m with you.”
***
In the middle of June, something changes. When Regulus wakes up and goes to the bathroom, he spots Kreacher busying around the house. The elf dusts heavy frames on the walls, scrubs the floors and cleans the silvers. The windows are all open, letting air and sunshine inside the house. Regulus turns around and runs to his bedroom, where Sirius is still asleep, snoring softly and kicking his legs despite bed sheets tangled around his ankles.
“Sirius!” he shakes Sirius’ shoulder. “Wake up. Something’s happening.”
Sirius rubs his eyes with his hands, mutters something in a voice thick from sleep, but Regulus doesn’t listen. Impatient, he tugs at Sirius’ sleeve, dragging him out of the room to show him Kreacher at work, the open windows, how clean the house looks. They lie on the floor, peeking through the railing before they look at each other with wide eyes and grin.
The next day, Kreacher opens the fireplace for guests, and family start to trickle through the emerald flames. First, come the grandparents. Grandfather Arcturus and Grandmother Melania step into the parlour and look around with sour expressions on their faces. Then, Grandfather Pollux and Grandmother Irma come through, arguing quietly. At last, Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella show up, with - much to Regulus and Sirius’ surprise - their daughters in tow. Bella, Andy and Cissy should be still at Hogwarts.
Regulus and Sirius sit on the floor on their landing, waiting for their mother to call them downstairs, but the summons doesn’t come. The adults stay in the parlour for some time, talking loudly, though not loud enough for Regulus and Sirius to hear, before they go to father’s bedroom, one by one.
“Why aren’t they calling for us?” Sirius asks. “We should go downstairs.” He starts to stand up when Bella shows up on the stairs.
“You can’t go there,” Bella says. Regulus doesn’t like the look of the smile on her lips. Cruel and gleeful, it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “They talk about your father,” Bella continues in a sing-song voice. “They’re going to put him down like a dog. You know what will happen then?” She looks at Sirius. “You’ll be the heir.”
Regulus’ chin starts to tremble. It can’t be true.”
“You’re lying,” Sirius says, echoing Regulus thoughts.
Bella laughs. She plays idly with her wand, twirling it between her long fingers, an innocent expression on her face. “Why would I lie? Daddy says it’s useless to wait for your father to wake up. It’s been two months already. Besides, Aunt Walburga is very eager to-”
“Bella!” Andy’s voice cuts in. She rushes up the stairs and pinches Bellatrix hard on her forearm. “What are you doing?”
Bella massages her forearm, scowling at her sister. “They should know what’s going on.” She turns her head and looks at Sirius and Regulus. “That’s why they took us out of Hogwarts. So we could say goodbye,” she says, rolling her eyes.
Andy rushes towards them and wraps her arms around their shoulders. She wipes Regulus’ cheeks, brushes the loose strand of hair off Sirius’ forehead. Regulus notices Andy’s eyes are red as if she has been crying. “Don’t listen to Bella,” Andromeda says before looking at her sister. “Daddy will be so angry with you-“
Bella doesn’t let her finish. “Daddy said Uncle Orion is a waste of gold and that we could use the gold for something better than paying healers to do impossible.”
“And I bet that’s something you’re not supposed to talk about,” Andy says. She ushers Regulus and Sirius into Regulus’ bedroom and sits with them on the bed. “Don’t listen to Bella,” she says again. “She’s angry because Frank Longbottom went to Hogsmeade with someone else.”
Regulus sniffs. “Is it true?”
Andy bites her lip. The silence stretches between them, heavy and unpleasant, and before she can say anything, Regulus knows the truth. He starts crying.
Before his father fell ill, Regulus didn’t spend much time in his company. Orion spent most of his time locked in the study, working, writing, researching, and showed up downstairs only for meals. But after two months of sitting at his father’s bedside, of reading books to him and telling stories, Regulus can’t imagine a world without his father.
Sirius stands up. “I won’t let them,” he says.
Andy tugs him into her arms. “They won’t do this,” she whispers. “Arcturus won’t allow this, and Uncle Alphard won’t either.”
With great difficulty, she manages to convince Sirius to stay upstairs. She tries to draw their attention off what’s happening in the parlour with a game of Exploding Snap, but even though they remain in Regulus’ room, their thoughts are downstairs, where the adults decide their father’s fate.
In the afternoon, Cissy comes. She glances around and wrinkles her nose. Regulus and Sirius’ bedrooms are the only rooms in the house that Kreacher has not cleaned. Clothes, toys and pillows are strewn all over the floor. Andromeda doesn’t care about the mess, but Cissy has always been the primmest of the sisters. “This room looks like a piglet,” she says with her nose in the air, turns on her heel and leaves.
In the evening, everyone goes home. Regulus and Sirius are once again alone in the house, not knowing what the family has decided. Before they fall asleep, they sit on the windowsill and look up, where stars glitter and wink against the blackness of the night sky. Regulus closes his eyes and makes a wish. He wants his father to wake up.
***
Regulus is almost six. Summer seeps through the windows in father’s bedroom, and the park outside is in full bloom with colourful flowers sprouting from the vivid green grass. Leaves on the trees flutter in the light summer breeze.
Sirius reads out loud from the book on his lap, stuttering every few words. Today, they picked one of their father’s transfiguration books because Orion likes transfiguration the most. The text, though, is full of difficult words that even Sirius cannot pronounce correctly; the frequent pauses make the reading less flawless than usual.
A month has passed since the family gathered at Grimmauld Place. Regulus and Sirius are still locked inside the house, but their father is alive, and healers from St. Mungo’s still come with their potions every few days.
Regulus birthday is in two weeks. He hates the idea of spending the day at Grimmauld Place, suffocating in the dusty rooms, but he doesn’t say anything. Sirius takes their imprisonment worse than Regulus; he’s restless and gets angry a lot faster than before. Regulus is sure that the moment he even mentions his upcoming birthday, Sirius will start again with his stupid ideas of running away. Still, he can’t stop himself from watching the park through the window, where muggle children play with a ball, screaming and laughing.
Something twitches against his leg. Regulus lies his head on the windowsill, letting Sirius’ voice lull him into half-sleep. Again, something brushes his leg. Regulus glances at his brother over his shoulder and gasps, interrupting Sirius’ reading.
Their father is awake.
Orion’s light grey eyes fill with tears as he stares at Regulus. He looks at him as if he’s part of a dream, something Orion has made up in his head. He looks at Regulus as if he returned from the dead. “Regulus?” He croaks. He turns his head and notices Sirius. “Sirius?”
For a moment, Regulus and Sirius watch their father in silence, shocked by the sound of his voice, weak as it is. Regulus has almost forgotten how his father’s voice sounds like.
Orion clears his throat, blinks his eyes and tears spill on his cheeks. “Come here,” he whispers, opening his arms.
Regulus hesitates only for a second before he rushes into his father’s arms. The book falls on the floor with a soft thud when Sirius follows a second later. Orion wraps his arms around them, pulling them close to his chest, and a quiet sob slips from his lips.
Regulus tucks his head into his father’s chest, grasping Orion’s pyjamas with his fingers and breathes in his father’s scent. It’s still there, lingering, despite the time that has passed. He catches Sirius’ eyes, and they grin at each other. Over a month later, but Regulus wish has come true.
“My boys,” Orion sighs, kissing their foreheads. A tear lands on Regulus’ nose when his father whispers, “I love you.”