Chapter Text
The first time his mother hit him, Regulus was seven years old. He’d not expected it, which was probably why his mouth had gaped like an open wound, his watering eyes wide and unblinking despite the sting. He’d seen her strike people before. Mostly Sirius when he argued with her, but he’d seen her strike Kreacher, if the poor elf didn’t beat her to bashing his own head. On rare occasions, he’d even seen her slap his father. All of those times, Regulus had known why she was angry. The only thing he’d done was ask a question.
“Mother, why haven’t we met cousin Cedrella?” He heard the crack before he felt the bite of her palm, hot as it raced up his cheek and curled around his eye. It didn’t hurt half so much as the intensity of Walburga's glare. The burnt patch above the embroidered banner reading “Cedrella” taunted him from over her shoulder.
“You’ve no cousin with any such name,” she said icily. Had she been any other person, even his father, Regulus might’ve pointed to the tapestry and said ‘But she’s right there. She’s our first cousin twice removed, just like cousin Callidora.’ Now, Regulus remained silent and instead of praising him for remembering the order of familial relations, his mother said “Leave. I can’t stand to look at you.” He’d turned and sprinted past a wide-eyed Sirius on his way up the stairs, hot tears rolling down his still throbbing cheek.
“You can’t mention the burns around her Reg,” Sirius said later, wringing excess cold water out of a washcloth and pressing it to his brother’s swollen eye. “She gets cross when you do. Forget about Cedrella. Actually, forget the tapestry. She’ll just hit you again.”
“But they’re family,” said Regulus, squirming as the cold cloth met swollen skin. “Mother says there’s nothing more important than family.”
“And she’s right. But they’re not family,” said Sirius, gripping his shoulder to hold him still. “At least, mum doesn’t think so.”
“Why not?”
His brother went silent, a rarity Regulus would usually consider a blessing. Mother didn’t get mad when Sirius stayed quiet. “I think they did something wrong.” He said finally.
“What did they do?”
Sirius shrugged. “Must be something wretched. Mum wouldn't burn someone off the tapestry if it wasn't."
“But I didn't know. Why would she hit me for it?” As the words left his mouth, Regulus felt stupid for asking the question. Their mother had never been the most predictable of people and if the many times she’d struck Sirius were any indication, it was probably luck Regulus hadn’t before now felt his mother’s hand. Sirius sat back, frowning. Sirius almost never frowned.
“You know what she’s like,” he said, placing a hand on Regulus’ shoulder, the movement giving Regulus a waft of the vegetable patch outside the kitchen door, toothpaste, and a warm scent Regulus could only describe as something distinctly Sirius. “She just goes off sometimes. It’s not your fault.”
Regulus furrowed his brow. “How can I make her happy again?”
Sirius blinked. Then looped his arms around his brother. The scent from earlier wrapped around him like the weight of Sirius’ arms over his shoulder blades. “You make her plenty happy right now. Today’s only a bad day for her. I promise it’ll be better tomorrow.” He pulled back, smiling. “And I wouldn’t break a promise would I?”
Regulus smiled back, shaking his head. Sirius never broke his promises.
---
Regulus got a sense of what cousin Cedrella and her fellow estranged family had done when he was ten.
“Engaged? To a mudblood?”
“It’s perfectly wretched, Walburga,” his aunt’s usually shrill voice had risen in pitch, cracking as she said her sister in law’s name. Regulus wondered if she’d been crying. He and Sirius hadn’t been invited to tea, so they were limited to what they could hear and see through the sitting room door keyhole. Presently, the irregular gap presented Regulus with a lovely view of Bella’s embroidered sneer and her sister’s ash blonde fringe. His aunt’s shadow turned the tapestry’s emerald background the color of seaweed.
“Cissa cried all night. I don’t know what to do.”
“There’s nothing you can do,” the bite in his mother’s tone made him blink. She never spoke that way to Aunt Druella or Uncle Cygnus. “There’s no reasoning with blood traitors. Out of their wits, all of them.”
“You really think she won’t come back?”
“Did Cedrella? Did Isla?”
“No, but we’re talking about Andi,” said Aunt Druella. At her daughter’s name, her voice cracked again. There was an urgency to her words Regulus didn't quite understand. “She’s always loved her family more than anything. You told me yourself you’d never seen a closer set of sisters.”
“If she truly loved Bellatrix and Narcissa, she wouldn't be marrying that mudblood varlet,” his mother said as though dealing with a particularly willful toddler.
Regulus turned to his brother. “Who’s Andromeda marrying?”
Sirius was glaring at the door. “She’s marrying the man she loves. They should be happy for her.”
Regulus couldn’t help but puzzle over his brother’s reaction. A year ago, his brother might’ve been distraught over Andromeda’s engagement and imminent disownment, as Regulus was. Grief and anger were to be expected. Andi had minded them as children, teased them, played with them, told them stories, taken blame and subsequent punishment for trouble they'd caused, as they had on occasion for her. Just thinking that she'd never again squeeze his shoulder with a smile warm enough to offset her freezing hands, or make a witty remark and teasingly tug on Bellatrix's hair whenever his eldest cousin's good-natured bullying became less than good-natured, made something in Regulus's chest ache. But ever since Sirius had come home from Hogwarts, it was as though an imposter had taken his brother’s place. Regulus knew his brother had changed, expected it even. No one spends a year away from home and comes back the same. But it’d been so drastic he couldn’t come up with an explanation. Suddenly Sirius was scolding Regulus for using the word mudblood, insisting the more polite word was muggleborn, and his arguments with mother had turned from mere clashes over disobedience to full on screaming matches over blood ideology and muggle clothing at the dinner table. Regulus could understand how “mudblood” might be seen as offensive, but Sirius’ new defense of muggles and underbred witches and wizards utterly confounded him.
“But they said he’s muggleborn.”
“Damn it Reg,” Sirius hissed. There was a rustling of robes and the muffled thud of a cup being placed on the table from the sitting room. “Muggleborns aren’t—”
“Ignis recta.” Regulus fell back into his brother at the blast of flame, sending them both tumbling to the hall carpet. When he sat up, the acrid smell of smoke and singed fabric wafted into his nostrils. He stifled the urge to cough.
“You did the right thing, Druella.” Eyes still wide, Regulus knelt back at the key hole, which now framed the bottom of a still-smoking patch of tapestry just above Bella’s head. This time, her sneer seemed to scold him for being caught off guard.
Regulus’ mouth fell open. “She—”
“Young masters!” Kreacher stood at the end of the hall, droopy ears flattened. “Why do they do such a thing. Eavesdropping!” The house elf sputtered.
“Kreacher's mistress hates such nasty things. And poor mistress Druella, how can the young masters treat her this way?”
Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps if you kept that saggy old growth you call a nose out of our business—” Regulus interrupted him with a sharp jab of his elbow to his brother’s ribs.
“We were just leaving, Kreacher. What’s for lunch?” Even as the house elf shuffled them off to the dining room, the smell of smoke and the image of Andromeda’s face blasted from the tapestry stayed with him. He made a promise to himself. If it came at the cost of his family, muggleborns and blood traitors weren't worth a moment of his time.
---
Sirius was angry. Regulus didn’t know what about exactly, but the heavy-handed Rachmaninoff thundering from the piano in Aunt Cassiopeia’s music room made it clear Sirius wanted to hit something, even if he had to settle for their great aunt’s poor piano. Regulus was attempting to busy himself by flipping through a cigar tin of old family photos, hoping Aunt Cassiopeia would be too distracted by Sirius’s abuse of her instrument to chide him for being inattentive during his brother’s portion of their music lesson.
Most were photographs of his grandparents’ and great aunt Dorea’s weddings or of his great grandparents posing with their children for various family portraits. He flipped from a photograph of his great Aunt Dorea as a child with a fluffy black kitten in her lap to one of four children seated next to various instruments. Though the picture had to be at least forty years old, he easily recognized the bespectacled girl seated on a piano stool as his great aunt and the slender boy gripping the neck and body of a cello as his grandfather. He deduced the smaller girl, whose feet barely reached the pedals of her harp, to be his great aunt Dorea, but a little boy he didn't recognize stood between his grandfather and Aunt Cassiopia with a violin resting against his shoulder. The head of dark curls identical to the other three children certainly suggested he was related. Regulus flipped the photograph over.
Pollux, Cassiopeia, Marius, and Dorea before their first Christmas Recital.
Regulus frowned. The name Marius looked familiar, but he couldn’t remember where he’d seen it.
“Well,” said Aunt Cassiopeia as Sirius hammered out the final chord. “That was certainly an energetic performance.” She pursed her lips, looking at Sirius over the tops of her spectacles. “You missed half the notes and you'd have been six bars behind by the end if you played it with an orchestra. I thought you were working on Debussy this week.”
“Yes, you play Debussy quite well.” Regulus turned at the new voice. Pollux stood in the doorway, tucking his watch into the pocket of his robes. “Besides, your hands aren’t big enough for Rachmaninoff yet. Better to leave his pieces to Bellatrix for now.”
“And I thought you liked Debussy,” Aunt Cassiopeia added.
Sirius huffed. “I do. I just wanted to play Rachmaninoff.”
Their great aunt raised an eyebrow. “You must’ve driven your parents mad if you sounded like that every time you practiced.”
From the hint of smirk that lit his brother’s face, Regulus gathered that had been the idea. Sirius must be arguing with mother again. Aunt Cassiopeia let out a sigh before turning her attention to Regulus.
“Why don’t you and Pollux get started. I’ll get Pepper to fix us some lunch.” At her name, the elf appeared with a crack. She followed barely a step behind her mistress as Aunt Cassiopeia made her way to the door, half dragging Sirius by the arm. "Sirius and I are going to extend our lesson in the downstairs parlor. If he insists on playing Rachmaninoff, I believe he has an etude to learn for our next lesson." At Sirius's groan, her pleasant expression turned mischievous. Regulus almost felt bad for his brother as he watched her lead him out the door. Aunt Cassiopeia wasn't the kind of person to let anything be done haphazardly. Her thoughtful hum echoed as they disappeared into the hall. "Something quick, I should think. Perhaps with a syncopated left hand."
Regulus crossed the room to where his cello lay by the piano. He’d just sat down to adjust the end pin when he felt his grandfather’s hand on his shoulder.
“Why don’t you let me use that one today.”
Regulus frowned but handed the instrument over. “Is something wrong with yours?”
“It no longer belongs to me.”
“You… you gave it away?” Regulus looked with disbelief from his grandfather to the nearly hundred-year-old rosewood case that had housed the cello in question. It had been part of a quartet Regulus’ great-great grandfather commissioned for his own children among two violins and a viola, all crafted by the finest luthier of magical stringed instruments in France.
On the surface, not much distinguished a magic instrument from a muggle one. Though many wizarding luthiers crafted their work more after the baroque style than however the muggles were making theirs these days, the main difference lay in the materials used and namely, in Regulus's opinion, that a muggle instrument could never produce music quite as lovely as a magic one. His grandfather's cello had been made of cypress with silver-wound abraxan hair strings. During Regulus's first ever lesson, Pollux had shown him how the sound could be adjusted minutely with magic, how sensitive it was to him both as a wizard and musician. He'd played a passage from the Cassado cello suite three times and if Regulus hadn't loved the piece to the point of memorizing it before he'd even held a cello, he might not have recognized them as being the same. The music was already beautiful, but with the addition of magic, it took on a life of its own, like a well crafted spell given sound.
Like wands, the materials used to build the quartet had been matched to his great-great aunt and uncles and the instruments themselves were charmed to never scratch or go out of tune, but it wasn’t just their age and quality that made them so valuable. The scroll of each instrument had been lovingly carved into a figure from the myth of Perseus and Andromeda, each a work of art on its own.
The first violin, now in Regulus’ father’s possession, had king Cephus of Aethiopia, crown perched on his head and scepter in hand, whittled between its tuning pegs. Cephus’ wife, Queen Cassiopeia, sat in a beautifully ornamented throne carved from the second violin’s scroll. The viola, formerly Andromeda’s, showed the chained maiden that had been his cousin’s namesake, and the cello’s depicted the sea monster Cetus, mid-leap among rolling foam-tipped waves. When arranged into a quartet, the king and queen watched over their daughter, put forth as sacrifice to the monster sent by Poseidon to punish Aethiopia for its queen’s vanity.
“Yes,” said Pollux, giving his grandson a small smile. “I knew someone who would appreciate it more than I.” He slid the case towards Regulus.
Regulus blinked, then slowly bent to open the case. The faint, piney scent of rosin rose to meet him as he stared down at the sea monster, baring its teeth at him from where it was nestled into the case’s green velvet lining. He looked back to his grandfather, wide eyed. “You’re giving it to me?”
“You’ll be off to Hogwarts next year and you’re advanced enough for a such quality instrument,” said his grandfather. “I thought it’d give you an incentive to keep practicing and I know you’ll take good care of it.”
Regulus looked back in awe at the cello, sliding his fingers up the smooth, pale cypress veneer of the finger board until it ran into the dark, glossy finish of the scroll. “Thank you,” he breathed. “I hope I will be worthy of it.”
Pollux smiled. “I know you will be. But you won’t improve any if we spend the rest of our time talking, so set up your rock stop and pull out the Haydn concerto. Mind your phrasing and keep the chords in tune.”
Regulus finished his own lesson without any of the dramatics of his brother’s, after which Pollux gave him a list of improvements and a new piece to practice (Prokofiev cello sonata in C major) before asking Regulus to tell Sirius and his sister goodbye and dismissing himself to go to lunch with his wife.
As he carefully put his instrument away, the cigar box on the side table caught his attention once more. Aunt Cassiopeia ought to know who Marius is. Tucking the box into his robes, Regulus descended the stairs to the dining room. Sirius was already seated, slurping up large spoonfuls of vegetable soup. Their mother would’ve scolded him had they been at home, but Aunt Cassiopeia had always been a bit more lenient when it came to her grand nieces and nephews minding their table manners. Regulus eyes flicked to Pluto, the blue oriental shorthair cat on the table, currently drinking out of his great aunt's water glass. Perhaps she assumed it would be hypocritical to do so.
Cassiopeia looked up at him over her copy of the prophet. “There you are. We were wondering if my brother would keep you to himself all day.” She gestured to a chair. Regulus sat, setting the cigar box on the table, nearly dropping it when Pepper appeared with a crack and set a bowl of soup and a basket of warm, dark bread that smelt of yeast and rye in front of him.
He patted her on the head with a smile. “Thank you Pepper.”
“Master Regulus is too kind,” The house elf said, bowing until Regulus could see the brown speckles covering the backs of her ears, before disapperating with another loud crack.
Aunt Cassiopeia’s eyes crinkled at the corners in a half smile. “She goes on and on about you when you’re not here.”
Regulus ducked his head, feeling his cheeks heat. “She’s a good house elf.”
“She is.” Aunt Cassiopeia agreed, patting Pluto on the head before picking up her glass and taking a sip of water. She nodded to the cigar box. “I see you’ve been going through my pictures again?”
“Haven’ chou seen ‘em aw?” Sirius asked through a mouthful of soup, giving Regulus a gorgeous view of a piece of mashed carrot.
“Chew your food,” Regulus said, shooting his brother a disgusted look as he popped the lid off the box. He pulled the photograph from the top of the stack and slid it towards his great aunt who straightened her spectacles and moved Pluto to a neighboring chair. “Who’s the boy with the violin. He’s listed as Marius on the back.”
His aunt paused and looked up from the photograph. From the corner of his eye, Regulus saw Sirius glance between the two of them. Aunt Cassiopeia sat back in her chair with a sigh, removing her spectacles and pinching at the bridge of her nose. “He would’ve been your great uncle.”
Regulus frowned. “Would’ve been? Then he’s dead?”
“He was disowned when he was seventeen.”
“Oh.” Regulus thought back to all the scorched patches on the tapestry. “Did he marry a muggle like...” He trailed off at Andromeda’s name.
Aunt Cassiopeia shook her head with a chuckle. “No, I’m not sure Marius would’ve known what to do with a muggle if he’d met one. He was a squib.” Regulus blinked. He hadn’t thought it possible for there to be a squib in the family.
“A squib?” Evidently Sirius thought the same.
“Yes, he lived here until he was of majority, then my mother dropped him off at King‘s Cross. I never learned where he went.” She opened her mouth to speak, but Sirius cut her off.
“But he didn’t do anything wrong. How could they just put him out like that?” Sirius’ brow furrowed, only serving to emphasize how out of place his frown looked. Sirius smiled and scowled and gaped like a sinkhole, but it was rare to actually see him frown. His eyes suddenly flew to Cassiopeia. "He was your brother, why did you let them do it?" Regulus was startled at how genuinely upset his brother looked.
Though amusement glinted in her eyes, it rang hollow with the sad smile she gave her grand-nephew. “Don’t think of it like that, Sirius. He was never under the delusion he’d be allowed to stay. And it’s not like he was tossed out with nothing but the clothes on his back. He was given enough money to buy a ticket and support himself until he could make other arrangements and he kept most of his possessions.” She tapped the photograph. “I doubt my mother would’ve cared if he’d written us, not that he ever did.”
Sirius was still frowning. “But he was disowned for something he couldn’t control. How is that right?”
Aunt Cassiopeia sighed. “Right or not, there’s nothing to be done about it now. Better not to dwell on it." She nodded to Sirius's bowl as she lifted her newspaper, putting an end to the conversation. "Eat your soup, your mother’s expecting you back soon.”
Regulus started on his now tepid soup, knowing not to push the subject. Besides, what did he care about muggles and squibs? He had Sirius and his parents and lots of cousins and aunts and uncles who loved him. A great uncle he'd never met couldn't mean anything to him.
---
“Merlin Reg, what all did you bring?” Sirius pushed one end of the mahogany trunk as Regulus huffed, pulling at the handle on the other. Sirius had better warn him before setting the trunk down. Between the trunk at his front and the cello strapped to his back, he was an ill-timed breeze away from toppling over.
“My school things, non-uniform clothes, treats for Pygmalion.” The grey faced sooty owl ruffled its wings from where his cage sat on Sirius’ trunk a few steps away. “I packed a few books as well.”
Sirius’ head whipped up, brow raised. “A few?”
Regulus inhaled deeply as he gave another valiant pull at his trunk, cursing the uneven brick platform that made his footing so shaky. Unlike the muggle platform on the other side of the wall, which was covered in dust and smelt strongly of tar, platform nine and three-quarters was free of dirt, grime, and vermin, its odour reminding Regulus of a roaring hearth at Christmas with something something electric in the air he could only describe as magic. “Just the important ones. Quidditch through the Ages, The Ultimate Handbook to Handling your Owl, Attaining Academic Aspirations: Spells to Succeed in Your Studies, A Werewolf in Berlin—”
“You packed novels? You realize Hogwarts has a library.”
“But what if they don’t have what I want? Besides, I like having my own books.”
Sirius dropped his end of the trunk on the platform by his own luggage with a sigh, sending Regulus stumbling before he crashed into his brother. Sirius caught the top of the cello case, the strap pulling taut and biting into Regulus’ shoulder, keeping him from any further flailing. “You and Remus. I’ll never understand it.” Though he sounded irritated, the corners of his lips were turned up. He grinned and ruffled Regulus’ hair before setting him upright, making his carefully combed fringe go frizzy. Regulus scowled and attempted to smooth it down. He didn’t really care, but mother would throw a fit. Sirius gave him a thoughtful look.
“Maybe you’ll be a Ravenclaw. You certainly read like one.”
“Nonsense, he’ll go to Slytherin.” Walburga approached her sons, Orion still talking to Uncle Cygnus a few meters down the platform. Predictably, she frowned and began fussing with Regulus’s hair.
Sirius smirked. “Are you certain? You said that's where I'd go last year and, well." he looked down, gesturing to the crimson and gold tie tucked beneath the collar of his jumper. "Look where we are."
Walburga didn’t spare him so much as a glance as she stepped back to examine her younger son’s appearance. “As stubborn and thoughtless as you are, I can’t say I was surprised. However, Regulus possesses a certain degree of… reticence that you lack.” She moved her inspection to her older son, straightening his tie and smoothing the top of his hair. He’d insisted on growing it out, much to her disapproval. Regulus was sure the only reason she hadn’t tied him to a chair and cut it herself was Sirius's claim that he was copying her own father's hairstyle, which he thought looked rather distinguished. Regulus had his doubts as to the sincerity of said claim, but it wasn't his hair and mother seemed to accept it, so it didn't concern him.
The look on his face as their mother pulled a thin leather tie from her pocket and tried to pull his hair back reminded Regulus of one of Aunt Cassiopeia’s cats when mistakenly left out in the rain. He batted her hands away, scowling. “Reticence? I can be reticent.”
“Do you even know what it means?” Regulus asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow.
Sirius scowled at him. “Quiet. Reserved. Taciturn. Soulless and bloody boring, that’s what.”
“Sirius.” Walburga frowned at her oldest with narrowed eyes. They stared at each other a moment, gazes unyielding as though daring the other to look away first. Finally, Walburga sighed and shook her head, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. “Well, if you know what it is, do try to show some. I don’t want to receive any letters from Professor McGonagall about whatever you and those classmates of yours have hexed or blown up or—”
“Flooded?” Sirius added with a smirk. “We can’t forget about the great lakes can we?”
Walburga remained unimpressed. “I’d hardly call a few flooded bathrooms a great lake.”
Sirius looked ready to protest, but Regulus jabbed an elbow into his ribs. Sirius’ weird pride in his pranks be damned, the last thing he needed to do was set their mother off by reminding her it’d been every toilet, sink, and faucet in the school. Regulus had been sitting by her when she’d received that particular letter. Poor Kreacher had been so frightened he’d dropped an entire tea tray.
Walburga shook her head. “Really, you ought to set a better example for your brother.”
“Reggie’s his own person,” Sirius said defiantly. “He doesn’t need me to tell him what to do.”
“Thank Merlin for that. The world would meet its fiery end there were two of you,” said Orion, adjusting his cloak as he approached his family. “Shall we get your things on the train?”
Sirius narrowed his eyes at the stairs leading up to the train. “If you can get Regulus’ trunk up there. He packed half the library.”
Orion reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand, levitating both trunks with an efficient flick. Sirius looked on wide eyed as Regulus fixed his brother with a wry look. Wasn’t the levitation charm a first year spell? Snatching his slack jawed brother by the wrist, Regulus followed his father and the trunks up the steps and down the carpeted walk. Orion stopped at an empty compartment, ushering his sons through the doors and the trunks into the overhead rack. Regulus hefted his cello up beside them. Reaching once more into his pocket, Orion counted out a few sickles, handing three to Sirius and three to Regulus.
“In case you get hungry,” he said, pocketing the extra change. His grey eyes passed over each of his sons. “I expect to hear from both of you by the end of the week. Hopefully before I hear from Professor McGonagall.” At this, he narrowed his gaze as Sirius, who looked bored. As they’d just had this conversation with their mother, he probably was.
“I know you’ll do well. Both of you. Have a good ride.” And with that, Orion left the compartment. Sirius craned his neck out the compartment door, watching their father leave. Then, he stepped up and started down the walkway.
Regulus felt a seed of panic take root in his stomach, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth in an attempt to abate the feeling. Realistically, he knew he’d be fine on his own, but when planning for the trip to Hogwarts, he’d not accounted for the possibility of Sirius not wanting to sit with him. Something inside him sank at that thought. Sirius’ letters home had been riddled with the names of other people. Of course he would have new friends. Sirius loved people, it would be suffocating for him to not have friends. Trying not to feel too put out, Regulus sat back down in the compartment and pulled a dog-eared paperback from his robe. This was fine. Even if he ended up riding to Hogwarts with complete strangers, he had a book. There was situation that couldn’t be solved with a book. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Regulus flipped to where he’d been reading at breakfast just as the door slid open again.
“They must not be here yet. I can’t—” Sirius cut himself off, frowning at Regulus. “Is something wrong?”
Regulus blinked, then shook his head, the anxious nausea roiling in his stomach settling slightly. “No. Everything’s fine.”
“You sure?” Sirius squinted at him, taking a seat. “You’re doing that thing. With your lip.”
Regulus immediately stopped chewing on his lip, looking away from his brother. “Sorry. Force of habit.”
Sirius’ brow furrowed. “What? You never do that.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking thoughtfully at Regulus. “Only time I’ve ever seen you do that is when Bella teases you or mum brings you to dinner parties and I have to—” Sirius blinked. Then, a truly, indisputably evil grin stretched across his face. Regulus scooted back towards the window.
“Aw,” said Sirius, not dissimilarly to how he spoke to grandfather Arcturus’ dog. “Did someone say hello while I was out? Scare them off, did you?”
Regulus shot Sirius a look. “No. What are you doing? You sound like an idiot.” The insult didn’t have the intended effect of subduing his brother’s gleeful expression.
“No?” Sirius crowded closer as Regulus debated throwing himself to the compartment floor. “Then did my baby brother think I would just leave him alone with all the big bad strangers? Didn’t mummy warn you about talking to people you don’t know?”
“Sirius, get off,” Regulus slowly started inching his way towards the edge of the bench as his brother closed in on him. “I mean it.”
“Come now, don’t be like that,” Sirius crooned. Regulus pushed off the bench the moment Sirius sprang forward to wrangle his brother into a hug intended to smother. Contrary to how Regulus had heard Aunt Druella talk about Bellatrix and Andromeda as children, he and Sirius had never been the kind of siblings to get caught up in horseplay or fistfights. The rolling, pushing, and squirming currently taking place on the compartment floor happened rarely, usually when, like today, Sirius decided strangulation disguised as fraternal affection was an effective means of tormenting Regulus. As it almost always did, this particular instance ended with Regulus’ face trapped in Sirius’ armpit, warm and smelling strongly of sweat and detergent, as his brother waxed poetic about how never in all of Aunt Cassiopeia’s cats’ nine lives would he ever abandon his bitty baby brother.
“You’re only a year older,” Regulus grumbled, trying in vain to turn his nose out of the vicinity of his brother’s armpit.
“Exactly,” said Sirius, shifting in his seat on Regulus’ leg. “I’m older.”
Even though his brother couldn’t see it, Regulus made a face. “Yes, you’re older. Let me go now?”
“Hmm,” Regulus could hear the grin in his voice. “I don’t know. I’m rather offended you thought I’d abandon you to sit elsewhere when this is far more entertaining.”
Regulus scowled at his brother's ribs and weakly elbowed him in the knee. “You’re allowed to sit with your friends.”
“I know.” Sirius rest his head on his hand, elbow digging into Regulus’ ribs as revenge for the Regulus's earlier jab. “My friends are allowed to sit here too. Besides, I want you to meet them.”
“Oh.” Despite the admission, Sirius still didn’t let him up.
“You do know,” said Sirius, teasing gone from his voice. “And I’ll only say this once. I’ll be ill if you suddenly expect me to spout sentimental rubbish every time you get a paper cut.“
Regulus fought back a disbelieving huff. Though perhaps not in his words, Sirius was one of the most sentimental people he knew. No birthday or holiday card, letters, or mail of any kind that wasn’t an advertisement was ever thrown out. Part of the reason his brother‘s room was such a mess was due to his refusal to throw away or move his childhood things to attic storage. His walls were so covered in posters and photographs the silk damask wall paper beneath was hardly visible. Regulus wouldn’t be at all surprised if he still had little soft dog toy Narcissa had made him as a baby, though Regulus couldn’t throw stones there. He still had the little lion she’d made him for his first birthday.
Sirius pulled back slightly to look his brother in the eyes. “Even if we’re in different houses, I’ll be just across the castle. I can’t promise I’ll get to see you more than at meals every day, but if someone bothers you or a teacher’s out for your blood or if for only Merlin knows why you actually miss home, you can come find me. You know that, right? No questions asked.”
Taking the opportunity of his brother’s momentary distraction, Regulus pulled his head out of Sirius’ armpit, blinking a few times. Sirius looked earnest, no trace of a smirk or grin. Slowly, Regulus nodded.
Sirius smiled. “Brilliant. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, why don’t—”
The compartment door flew open with a bang, revealing a boy with glasses and a mop of unruly dark curls. The boy gasped theatrically, clasping his hand close to his chest. “Sirius, my love!”
Sirius popped up like a gopher, flinging his arms out. “James, darling!” The boy flung himself at Sirius, revealing a second, tawny-haired boy standing in front of yet another boy, blonde and short, looking on nervously from behind.
The taller of the two had a hand over his face, which he removed with a sigh to reveal tired brown eyes and a collection of white scars; one curved over the bridge of his nose, another cut through his eyebrow, and several others trailed his cheeks and hairline. “You couldn’t wait five minutes?”
He was drowned out by melodramatic exclamations of “I thought we’d be parted forever!” and “Oh, how I've missed you so!”. The boy shook his head, the gesture ruined by the poorly suppressed smile playing at his lips, then his gaze settled on Regulus. He smiled apologetically.
“You must be Sirius’s younger brother. Regulus, isn't it?”
Regulus nodded.
The boy crouched before him and held out a hand. Regulus caught the faint scent of chocolate and ink wafting off his robes, clearly secondhand, judging by the too-short hem and ill fitting shoulder seams. “Remus Lupin. You deserve a medal.”
Regulus blinked, then looked around at the compartment. Sirius and the bespectacled boy were still competing over who could proclaim their love in the most ridiculous fashion while the nervous boy struggled to lift his trunk into the overhead rack. Then he remembered he was still sitting on the compartment floor, his hair and clothes now likely mussed and wrinkled. He couldn’t help the near hysterical laugh that burst from his lips.
---
“I’ll sit up front, don’t be nervous about it. It’s just a hat.” Sirius gave his shoulder a firm pat before backing off in the direction of the other second years. “Cissa will probably be saving a spot for you at the Slytherin table, so you’ll see her too. No need to worry.”
Regulus hadn’t bothered after his first attempt to tell his brother he wasn’t nervous about the sorting. Despite what Sirius may wish, he was almost certain he’d go to Slytherin. The entirety of the Black family had and, though his brother was an exception, Regulus had never been ill suited to family tradition the way his brother seemed to be. It was more the getting to the sorting ceremony that made him uneasy. Granted, a boat of other first years was preferable to a compartment of upperclassmen, but not so preferable he wouldn’t have chosen to stay with his brother, if given the choice. Regulus gave a cheerless wave as Sirius finished backing away to rejoin his friends.
After meeting Potter, Lupin, and Pettigrew, Regulus had no doubts about who had caused Sirius to change. Both Lupin and Pettigrew were certainly the type his father would call underbred and Potter, though technically heir to a pureblood family, was still a Potter. In their mother’s eyes, a boy from a family who so publicly flouted all notions of blood purity would hardly be better than a muggleborn himself. The friendship was likely only tolerated due to Potter being Aunt Dorea’s grand-nephew.
Regulus would admit Sirius’s friends were, for the most part, pleasant and well mannered, but he worried about what sort of trouble Sirius would find if their mother knew the exact lineages of the less than pure classmates with whom Sirius caused so much trouble.
“Firs’ years! Firs’ years!” An enormous bearded man holding a lantern beckoned to the large group still sorting itself out at the platform. Taking a deep breath, Regulus steeled himself and approached the growing number of first year students—
And promptly fell on his back, as something barreled into him. He wheezed as the air was forced from his lungs.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Regulus spat out a mouth full of black robe and blinked up at whoever’d run into him.
A boy with flax-brown hair sat across from him, trying desperately to wrangle a squirming brown and white rat into his robe pocket. “I'm so sorry, I swear he knows how to undo the button.” With a final shove, the rat fell into the pocket, which was quickly buttoned closed. The vague shape of the thrashing rodent could still be seen through the garment.
“No…worries,” said Regulus. breathlessly, head still spinning.
The boy stood and brushed off his robes before offering his hand to help Regulus up. “You alright?”
Regulus nodded, gratefully hauling himself up. “You?”
The boy laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, you cushioned my fall. Barty Crouch, nice to meet you.”
Regulus dusted his own robes, nodding in acknowledgment. “Regulus Black. Pleasure.”
The boy, Barty, blinked in surprise. “Black? As in Arcturus Black?”
Regulus nodded. “He’s my grandfather. Do you know him?” He started walking, sparing a glance at the group of first years following the large man with the lantern. They'd fall behind if they didn't hurry.
“He works with my dad,” Barty said, scrambling after Regulus.
Whatever nervousness Regulus might’ve had about the boat ride disappeared. If this boy’s father worked with his grandfather, he wasn’t really a stranger. “Really? I’m surprised we haven’t met before.”
The two stepped into a boat, one of the few that hadn’t started towards the castle. Regulus had to stop and take it all in, any answer Barty might’ve given lost on him. The castle was brightly lit, almost glowing against the star-specked, cobalt sky. The lantern light from the boats glinted and danced off the lake, stealing his breath in a far more pleasant way than before. Even though he'd grown up surrounded by magic, well aware of how stunning a well cast charm or the silvery steam from a cauldron could look, Regulus didn’t think he’d ever seen something more beautiful.
“Oh, Ella, look.” The boat tilted as a girl with light brown, almost blonde hair and an awe-struck expression stepped into the boat, tugging on the sleeve of her companion, a girl with wild black curls straining at the clips keeping them out of her face.
“I’m having trouble not seeing it,” the second girl—Ella, supposedly— replied flatly, despite her more subtle awe-struck expression. Her gaze flicked to Regulus and Barty as she stepped into the boat, quietly accessing them before looking back at the castle, evidently the more interesting of the two.
As the boat left the docks, the blonde girl turned to the boys, pale eyes sparkling, even in the dark. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Regulus nodded, but said nothing. Barty however answered eagerly. “I’ve never seen anything like it. My mother says there's nothing like it in all of Britain.”
The girl grinned. “My brother told me it only gets better." She looked between them, her evident excitement rendering her movements quick and jerky, bringing to mind the image of a hummingbird. "Do you know which house you’ll be in?" she asked eagerly. "My dad and my brother were Ravenclaws, but my mum was a Gryffindor. I think I’m more of a Ravenclaw though.”
Barty shrugged. “I’m an only child and my parents were both Slytherin. Chances are I'll be one as well. What about you, Regulus?" He turned his head to look at Regulus curiously. "Didn’t your brother sort Gryffindor?”
Regulus supposed he shouldn’t be surprised Barty knew about that. Gossip traveled fast among pure blood circles and the son of an ancient and noble, exclusively Slytherin lineage sorting Gryffindor was about the juiciest bit of gossip you could get barring a murder, arrest, or disownment. “Yes, but the rest of my family is Slytherin." He shrugged. "Odds are I’ll be the same.”
The girl mulled this over before turning to Ella, who in the time they’d started the conversation, had pulled out a book, though, by the way her bookmark was still nestled between the open pages, Regulus suspected she was listening and not actually reading. Perhaps she wanted the excuse to avoid having to speak, Regulus had certainly employed similar strategies to get out of conversations. Her friend, though, either wasn’t aware of the tactic or knew and didn’t care. “I don’t think you ever gave me a straight answer on the train. What house do you think you’ll sort to?”
The girl raised a dark eyebrow, eyes flicking over to her companion. “I told you, I don’t know. My mum was a Ravenclaw, as you well know, but I don't have any other basis to predict my sorting.”
"So your father's a muggle?" Barty asked looking between the two girls before sharing a look with Regulus.
"No," the dark haired girl said, an unimpressed look settling over her face at Barty’s tone. "He's French."
"Uncle Mirach went to Beauxbatons," the blonde girl added quickly, giving them an apologetic smile. From the corner of his eye, Regulus saw her nudge her companion harshly with her foot, though the other girl ignored her. The blonde girl sighed before turning back to them and sticking out a hand. "I apologize for my cousin,“ she said, earning a raised brow from the girl beside her. Regulus thought she might be amused, but it was difficult to tell with how slight her expressions were. “She's not a people person. I’m Genoveva Ollivander. It’s a pleasure to meet you."
Regulus felt his shoulders relax minutely. The Ollivanders were considered a respectable family, even if his mother thought less than favorably of how eccentric they tended to be. He could certainly make worse aquatinces.
Barty reached over to shake her hand. "Barty Crouch. It's a pleasure to meet you as well," he said, grinning. "Ollivander, huh? You’re related to the wandmaker?"
Genoveva nodded. "He's our grandfather," she said, gesturing between herself and Ella before looking at Regulus, smiling pleasantly. He tried to return the expression, hoping it didn't look like a grimace. "Regulus Black. Nice to meet you." Suddenly, both girls were looking at him as though he'd said something nonsensical. When the ensuing silence began to border on awkward, Regulus cleared his throat uncomfortably and tried to appear friendly. He nodded to Ella. "Ella, right? Is that short for Eleanora? I think I've heard my father mention an Eleanora Ollivander before."
He isn't prepared for Genoveva to burst into giggles. Ella smirks beside her, then says "Eleanora Ollivander is our grandmother."
Regulus felt his face heat. "Sorry. I shouldn't have assumed."
"Don't worry about it," Ella said, looking back at her book, then out across the lake. Following her gaze, he saw they were approaching the docks where a few adults were arranging students who had already disembarked into a line.
“First years!” A woman wearing a pointed hat was calling this time. As the side of their boat gently scraped the dock, Ella snapped her book shut and tucked it into her robes. She climbed out and offered a hand to her cousin.
“I suppose we’ll see you in classes,” said Genoveva as she took Ella's hand and allowed herself to be pulled up to the dock. “Good luck in your sorting!”
"Same to you," Barty called after the pair as Ella dragged her cousin off towards the line.
As the professor in the hat, who had introduced herself as the infamous Professor McGonagall whose signature lined all forty-three detention notices owled to Grimmauld last year (yes, Regulus had counted), began arranging everyone in order of surname, Regulus was surprised to find that Ella had been placed between him and Marissa Bulstrode. Then he remembered Ella had said her father was French, meaning her Ollivander family was on the side of her English mother, who must've taken her husband's last name.
As the line of first years was led into the great hall, Regulus found himself torn between looking for his brother at the Gryffindor table and trying to start a conversation with the student behind him, as many of the other first years had, but Ella had once again pulled out her book and, after realizing that the title was French, he decided to leave her alone. He knew he wouldn’t want to be bothered while trying to read French.
Movement from the table decked in red and gold drew his attention. Sirius was standing on the bench waving both arms over his head with a wide grin on his face. Warmth flushing over his cheeks, Regulus gave a small wave back.
“Abbot, Elisabeth!” all chatter ceased as a girl with braids timidly climbed the steps to where a threadbare brown hat with a drooping point was propped up on a stool. The moment the professor sat it on her head, it quite literally came to life. Regulus could only watch in fascination as the material folded and wrinkled at the front, forming vague outlines of eyes, a nose, and a mouth, as though someone had draped fabric over a real face. After a moment, the hat reached a decision.
“HUFFLEPUFF!” The table decorated in black and yellow cheered, applauding their new housemate as she excitedly made her way to their table. Any anxiety about his own sorting faded as he watched the hat sort the rest of the As. What sort of charm work had gone into that hat? How could it possibly know where best to put someone? Did it sort by family? Clearly it couldn’t, how would it know where to put the muggleborns? With each student sorted, his marvel over the hat grew. A ward complex animated with a complicated bit of charm work would probably be the best way to animate it, but wards were fixed, so how would that account for its ability to sort people who hadn’t been keyed to the wards? Perhaps a second ward complex designed to key students into the hat wards had been placed on the boats? But that seemed awfully extravagant for a simple sorting…
“Black, Regulus.” Regulus blinked. Was it already his turn? Something poked his spine. Ella raised an eyebrow when he glanced at her over his shoulder. Blushing, he made his way up the stairs to the stool, trying his best to keep his posture straight, his gait steady, and not to stare at the professor as she placed the hat on his head.
For a moment, all was silent. Was the hat performing some sort of spell? Did it need time for the ward complex to temporarily key in his magic, provided his theory was correct?
“Another Black, eh? Far more curious than the last one I see.”
It was in his head? Regulus thought, trying to remember something from his father’s library that fit what he’d seen of the hat. He didn’t think a ward complex could do that. Was a professor using legilimens to read his mind, then animating the hat? He shuddered at the thought, though it certainly fit if his mind was being read. He suddenly wished he’d worked harder in his occlumency lessons. Now that a Legilimens was in his head, there was no way he could force it out with his weak, poorly tended shields. Could hats be Legilimens?
“Well done. You clearly have a sound mind and a craving for knowledge. Plenty of drive too, and the desire to make something of yourself. Far less courage than the last one…no, Gryffindor is not the place for you. Hm, you are a tricky one." Regulus sat nervously as a long minute passed, filled only by the the hat's thoughtful hums and murmuring from the great hall that only grew as his sorting stretched well into hat stall territory. "You possess an eagerness to help as well as great loyalty," the hat remarked. "Such loyalty is one of your most admirable traits. It's unquestioning and unconditional to those lucky enough to receive it, though I see few, mostly family, are so fortunate. Perhaps it is too hard earned, too sparingly given...no, you do not belong in Hufflepuff. The hat was silent for a moment and Regulus had the odd sense that all its speculation and chatter had been a distraction to avoid saying what it really wanted. Then, quiet and almost wistful, "You’d do well in Ravenclaw, you know. It is not what you want, but you would find yourself at home among the house of eagles.”
Something sharp caught in his stomach, bringing back the nauseating feeling from the train. " You must be mistaken. I belong in Slytherin.” Surely the hat was wrong. No one besides Sirius and now the hat had ever suggested he’d go anywhere but Slytherin. What would mother say if he sorted anywhere else?
“Are you sure? You are ambitious, to be sure, and your exceptional cunning and intelligence would set you apart from your peers, but competition among Salazar's house is fierce and you lack a certain ruthlessness the most successful of slytherins possess. As I said, you have drive, but you hold a deep respect for the lives and successes of others that I fear will blind you to those who would sabotage or take advantage of you. I would be most disappointed to see such a mind as yours troubled and conflicted.
"Slytherin," Regulus thought stubbornly. He would argue with the persistent piece of headwear for the entirety of the feast if he had to. "I belong in Slytherin."
"I see." The hat said with a sigh. "Well, if you’re so insistent, better be…”
“SLYTHERIN!” Regulus blinked as the silver and green table erupted into cheers. On instinct he sought out his brother at the Gryffindor table as he walked towards the other side of the room. To his surprise, Sirius was clapping, the grin from earlier still on his face. As he sat down next to Narcissa, he realized with a shaky breath just how unsteady his hands were.
“It’s over now.” Narcissa pulled him closer, giving him a quick hug. She smiled knowingly as she gently gripped one of his shaking hands, running a thumb soothingly over his knuckles. “Welcome to Slytherin.”
“Black, Capella.” Both cousins looked up. Regulus saw Sirius climb the bench again to get a better view of whoever had been called. Regulus watched with wide eyes as Ella started up the stairs, tucking her book away as she got to the stool.
As the Professor placed the hat on her head, Narcissa leaned over, frowning. “Do we know her?”
“I met her and her cousin on the boat ride over," he said, his eyes still glued to the girl on the stool, as though if he blinked another girl might suddenly be sitting in her place. "She’s the granddaughter of Ollivander.” Regulus watched as the girl—Capella— tilted her head, eyes focused up towards the hat. He couldn’t see her expression from where he sat, but he somehow knew it was the same considering look she’d first given him and Barty at the docks. “I never asked for her name. Her cousin called her Ella.”
“A nickname,” Narcissa said decidedly. “She’s far shorter than Bella or I at her age. Surely it must be a coincidence.” Narcissa, squinted in attempt to better observe Capella. Slight stature aside, Regulus wondered if she saw any resemblance to her sisters. The girl’s dark hair was borderline unmanageably curly like Bellatrix’s, but lots of people had curly hair. Narcissa shook her head. “It must be a coincidence. The Blacks aren’t the only family to name their children after stars.”
Regulus nodded. He’d never seen a Capella on the tapestry. Surely, if she were family, she would be there.
“RAVENCLAW!”
As the hat was lifted off her head, she gave a small smile, striding purposefully towards the table decked in blue and bronze. Regulus wondered uneasily if he would’ve looked half as proud had he let the hat have its way.
"Far less courage than the last one..."
Regulus ducked his head to stare at the empty plate in front of him, uncomfortable as his mind began churning over the hat's words.