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I. freedom is a set of wings (only take one per family, please)
The first words Regulus ever remembers saying are “Sirius, don’t” and that is largely indicative of the rest of his life.
Sirius was a year and some odd months old, when Regulus was born, and never lets his brother forget those months that he ran unchecked, unrestrained, without Regulus to clench the cloth of his robes between chubby fingers and tell him not to run so recklessly or scream so loudly, lest the parents hear and grow angrier. But nothing Sirius or Regulus do can quell that anger, which rises and surges like the waves at the beach, the one time they were allowed to go.
Number Twelve is a tempest, filled to the brim with rolling waves of anger and resentment, just seconds short of boiling over, and if Regulus said that the blame for that laid squarely on one set of shoulders, he would be lying.
The blame belongs to all of them, every one of the four inhabitants of this house that feels like a prison, and Regulus sees the monster in all its forms-- Father's indifference and the drag of Mother's wedding ring along his cheek when she is Teaching Them A Lesson and Sirius' rage, cold and bright and seeking a target, any target, to pay for the sins committed against him. And he sees it strongest, sees it looming just behind his shoulder as he smiles at the mirror, already familiarly acquainted with how to make the light work for him rather than against him.
"You're meant for great things, Regulus..." His mother had cooed to him, cupping his cheek as she knelt down to match his eye level. His eyes burn with unshed tears as he looks her straight in the eye, not daring to look away for fear of what could come next if he did, and he wants nothing more than to run like Sirius would have, run straight for the stairs and sit on the roof and refuse to come down.
But Regulus is not brave like his brother, not the least bit daring, and even the "Yes, Mother" he comes up with is lackluster when compared to the mockery Sirius makes of obedience.
"Reggie?" Sirius calls from the doorway, late at night, and Regulus pulls back a corner of his sheets to give Sirius a place to slide in. And he does, giggling, before touching his ice cold toes to Regulus' without a thought. Regulus hisses, frowning, and Sirius pulls his head forward to rest against his chest before speaking. "Thanks."
"Y're welcome." Regulus coughs, his whole body straining with the effort, and he whimpers as he balls up the silk of Sirius' pajama shirt in his hands. "Stay?"
"Not cause I want to." Sirius says, quickly, before wrapping his arms around Regulus. "I'm only here 'cause thunderstorms suck. I hate thunderstorms. But you knew that already."
"You're rambling." Regulus pats Sirius' face softly and neither one mentions how they both flinch at the contact.
II. the phoenix rises from the ashes (i will not set myself on fire for you)
"Are you so determined", Regulus forces out from between tightly clenched teeth, nails digging half moon cuts into his palms, "to leave me behind?"
Sirius is proud, head held high, and the aristocratic tilt to his chin comes naturally to him in a way it does not to Regulus, who struggles, but works until he can perform. Because that's all it is, all their lives have ever been-- some sick performance in which they are puppets, punched and thrown about for the amusement of a crowd.
"Maybe, Reggie", Sirius says, a smirk placed firmly on his face despite the fading bruise casting a shadow across his cheekbone, "you shouldn't be so determined to be a martyr. You can go down with this disaster or you can save yourself. And all you've got to be is brave to do it."
"I'm not brave." Regulus says, voice betraying the fear that maybe, maybe he might be. Bravery is a sin, in this house, where compliance to tradition rules with an iron fist. Regulus is ten and knows the feeling of metal rending his skin and does not wish to feel it again. He frowns, nose scrunching up as he tries to imitate his mother's expression of anger from dinner, and Sirius laughs, that traitor. "I can save myself without all that courage stuff you're on about."
"Promise me, though." Sirius says, once he has caught his breath. "Don't let them cage you in."
"I promise." Regulus whispers, curling his pinky finger around his brother's, and they never speak of the promise that was much, much more than that again.
September rolls around all too fast and the hat hums as it is set on Regulus' head, making a case for Hufflepuff (so much loyalty in your head and heart, little one) before Regulus begs it to say Slytherin, whispers to the voice in his mind that if he is to be without Sirius, he needs to do it in one fell swoop, as grandiose a move as possible.
"Go big or go home", Sirius would have said with a snort, and Regulus nods as the hat yells Slytherin to the hall, head held high and proud as he walks to the green and silver table.
He makes the mistake of looking for Sirius in the crowd, and is met with silver eyes brimming with disappointment.
III. i'm fine (i've only been lying forever)
"Reggie, I can't stay." Sirius whispers, spending one last night in Regulus' room, and Regulus nods against his chest, the picture of resignation. "I'm leaving tomorrow morning."
Regulus is hardly fifteen, still entrenched in the process of growing into too long arms and legs and Sirius is comfortable with himself as he stands right on the edge of the cliff marking the difference between sixteen and seventeen, toes pointed as he prepares to dive off into adulthood.
"So soon?" Regulus forces out, sounding more like the scared four year old yelling "Sirius, don't" as his brother tumbled down the stairs than a boy, soon to be man, with a war to fight. "You can't--"
"Reg, if I stay any longer, they'll make me take the Mark." Sirius spits the words out, coloring them with disdain, and his expression twists into something murderous, something so full of the rage that Regulus fears that he hardly noticed his breath is coming faster until he feels Sirius hands on his shoulders, squeezing hard to bring him back to himself. "That's why I can't stay. Don't you see what all of this is doing to you?"
"I-- Sirius, you can't just leave!" Regulus hisses, and Sirius closes his eyes, exhaling hard. "You're going to."
"The Potters will take me in." Sirius says, some minutes later, voice even and steady. "They're willing to have me for the rest of the summer, if not longer, so I won't be coming back. All my things are packed, Reg. This is really the end."
"This is the end", Regulus repeats, and it feels solid, final, as it lodges itself in his chest. Sirius is choosing himself, being brave like he's begged Regulus to be all these years. Sirius is a Gryffindor, at the end of the day, and will save himself. He pretends not to notice when, in the early hours of the dawn, Sirius extricates himself from the Gordian knot their limbs have become and disappears, the sound of a motorcycle engine breaking through the near silence of the early morning.
Sirius does not look back at Number Twelve, and if he did, he definitely would not have seen Regulus sobbing with his face pressed against the window, barely managing to wave goodbye as his brother disappeared down the road.
Definitely not.
iv. how many ways can i say i miss you (without ripping myself to pieces)
Sirius sneers at Regulus in the hallway as he passes, sneers at soft, spineless, little baby Regulus with his neat haircut and perfectly pressed clothes.
Sirius lounges around the castle in articles of clothing lovingly stolen from his friends, these days, keeping parts of them as close to his skin as possible to remind himself who really loves him, and he pretends not to notice the way Regulus' already hung head only shifts a few degrees lower when Sirius says his name.
"Reggie", Sirius calls after him one day, when the hall is empty and it is just the two of them. Narcissa and that troll she's planning to marry are off somewhere, probably discussing the multitude of differences between different shades of white, leaving Regulus to fend for himself.
"Let go." Regulus grinds out, and the voice that echoes from his little brother's mouth is rougher, darker than the one he remembers. Sirius remembers soft giggles and softer smiles, hard earned and worth the work, but the Regulus that stares back at him now is hardly anything more than a ghost of that boy. His eyes, once shining silver just like Sirius', are a dull grey, only fading when compared to the dark purple half-moons beneath his eyes. His sleeve rides up, the echoes of fingers pressed tightly enough into his skin to leave marks even now.
"Reg, you can't stay there." Sirius says, and if he is a little harsh with his tone, he pretends not to notice. "I'll get you out, I'll do something. Anything."
"You had your chance." Regulus says, softly, regarding Sirius as if he is a particularly tough Potions problem rather than a person. Sirius knows this because it is the same way Orion Black looks at people, reducing them to nothing more than masses of silly problems that are hardly worth his time. "And you left. Don't come running back pretending you care now."
"I'm not pretending." Sirius growls, Padfoot running too close to the surface, and Regulus smirks, shaking his head, before easily wrenching his arm free of Sirius' grasp, continuing down the hall to the stairs that lead to the dungeon.
Sirius stares at his now empty hand, still held in the shape of a handcuff, and wonders when his brother grew up.
v. goodbye has been a long time coming (enough people have cried for me)
"Kreacher", Regulus gasps out. "The--the locket. Take it back."
His heart is failing, thumping too fast and too slow at once, and the wind roars in his ears as Kreacher helps him into a sitting position. Regulus moves to pull off a sock, something Kreacher can wear, and Kreacher stumbles back, nearly falling into the lake himself.
"Kreacher, I'm proud of you. We did it. Well done." Regulus laughs, despite the taste of copper surging in his mouth. "Well done."
"Master Regulus looks a lot like his brother when he laughs." Kreacher remarks, a shadow of sadness creeping into the general air of disapproval, and the house elf startles when he notices something stirring in the depths of the lake.
"Tell-- Tell Sirius I was brave, Kreacher, please." Regulus begs. He knows what is in the lake, has heard rumors and recognizes the pattern the water is swirling in. "Go, now!"
A hand emerges from the water and Kreacher is gone, disappearing with nothing but a harsh crack that echoed throughout the cave to prove he was ever there.
"Come and get me!" Regulus calls, hearing Sirius' nine year old voice thrumming in his ears, caught in some long lost memory. "I'm not scared of you!"
He only screams, after that, but he is glad that he had last words that he could be proud of, even if no one heard them.