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The plan had taken an entire afternoon to put together, from the point where his brother had been hauled from his bedroom for an unspecified sin and taken down to the library. It had taken an impressively long time for the screaming to start, and for a while he’d been impressed by his brother’s fortitude. Now, he was horrified by his stubbornness. It was becoming evident that something would have to be done, and as a result he had spent the rest of the afternoon until almost dinnertime working out his plan.
Now, he was a floor below his own bedroom, crouched trembling outside his parent’s room - a place he was forbidden to enter. He had timed this part of the plan so that his parents and their guests would be occupied in the library, and the house elves would be occupied with cooking the meal. There shouldn’t be anyone to disturb him.
The door creaked open and he froze, trembling, before reminding himself that the noise from downstairs would drown out anything else. As if on cue, another bloodcurdling shriek floated up the staircase, making him jump and close his eyes.
“Give up,” he whispered, almost involuntarily, before giving himself a shake and entering the dark, forbidding bedroom. He searched quickly, knowing from experience not to touch anything, and moving as silently as possible to avoid detection. To his very great relief, it was only a few minutes before he slid open a drawer and the Chestnut wand was before him. Cautious of defensive charms, he carefully picked up the wand which touching nothing else within the drawer, which held a variety of objects that under normal circumstances he would have loved to investigate. Now, with time of the essence, he retreated on silent feet, and took a deep breath when he was back on the landing, tucking the wand into his sleeve and hurrying back to the stairs, fresh screams following him.
On the floor above, he ignored the safety of his own room and instead entered the door opposite, where the decoration was brighter than anything else in the house, vivid red swearing violently at the dark furniture and carpets. He cursed inwardly at the mess, but hauled open a trunk at the bottom of the bed and began piling in everything he could reach. He prioritised the things visible, assuming these had been used more recently, and piled in as much as he could. With memories of his own room and his own way of hiding particularly treasured items, he hunted under the bed and found a locked box, which he added to the mound. When the trunk was full of a jumbled mix of school supplies, personal possessions and clothing, he closed and fastened it, glancing anxiously at his watch. The whole process was taking much longer than he’d expected.
He flew back to his own room, ignoring the ongoing screams now, and changed rapidly into formal robes, hiding both his own and the stolen wand in the sleeve. After some thought, he pulled a second robe on over the first, arranging them so the underneath one was invisible, and tugged his hair back into a neat tail. He was almost ready to descend the stairs when he remembered the trunk and hurried back, hunting desperately though one of his own school books for the spell he needed. With the book open in front of him, he mimicked the wand movements and whispered the incantation and the trunk, to his very great surprise, shimmered and disappeared. He chewed thoughtfully on his lip for a second and then shrugged his shoulders. He had no way of knowing if it had gone where it was supposed to.
Replacing the spell book and closing the doors to both bedrooms, he schooled his face into a neutral expression, pulled himself very upright, and descended the stairs. The screaming seemed to have subsided now to a dull whimpering, and as his family greeted him in the hallway he realised that this was the reason why. His mother’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder.
“We have a ritual to do upstairs, before dinner,” she said, as calmly as if she’d been commenting on the weather. “Go and see what disobedience results in, please, and remain there until it is time to eat.” The only possible response to this was a murmured,
“Yes, Mother,” which seemed to satisfy her and she swept upstairs to join his father, the others following behind. Thankful that her orders co-coincided with what he had planned to do anyway, he headed towards the library. He mentally tried to prepare himself for the worst as he opened the door, but even this did not prepare him for the sight that met his eyes. The figure was lying on the floor in a pool of blood, gashes sprinkling his arms and, where his robes were torn, his exposed chest. He thought his brother seemed unconscious, but low moans still came from him at regular intervals and when he dropped to his knees beside him, one eye flickered open.
“Hey.” After an afternoon of screaming, his voice was barely more than a whisper. Regulus closed his eyes.
“Hey?” he repeated, softly. “Fucking hell, Sirius, you’re almost dead! Can you sit up?” Between them, they managed to get Sirius upright, though his left arm hung uselessly at his side and he still whimpered with pain with every breath. Regulus fetched a glass of water from the jug on the desk, wincing when Sirius spat blood-stained water onto the floor. “You need to leave,” he said. Sirius looked slightly confused, but his brother stripped off the spare robe and held it out. “Hurry!” he hissed. Using his good arm and with Regulus’ assistance, Sirius managed to lever himself to his feet. He hissed in pain as Regulus carefully pulled the clean robe over his injured arm, but compared to the screaming earlier this was nothing. Regulus dressed his brother quickly, hiding the injuries under the black robe and fastening it for him before taking his good arm.
“Come on,” he said urgently. “We need to get you out of here, you need to move!” Wincing with every step, Sirius allowed his brother to pull him towards the front door. It opened silently, for which heard Regulus mutter thanks to Salazar, and before he knew it then were standing on the pavement. Regulus handed him his wand, pressing it into his fingers.
“I’ve sent your trunk to the Potters,” he said urgently. “At least, I think I have.” He stuck out his arm into the road, glancing anxiously over his shoulder. “Go there. Don’t come back.” Sirius nodded his understanding, moving slightly to lean his head on his brother’s shoulder for a second.
“Thanks,” he muttered, as the Knight Bus appeared in front of them, the conductor jumping off to greet them. He looked suspiciously at Sirius.
“He drunk?” he asked. Regulus shook his head.
“Take him to Potter Manor please, as quickly as you can,” he said, holding out some money. “Take whatever you need.”
“Reg,” Sirius said suddenly, as he was pushed towards the bus. “Are you not coming too?” Regulus shook his head.
“I can’t,” he said sadly. Sirius held out his hand.
“Please, Reg!”
“No. I need to go. I’m going to stun myself and tell her you did it and escaped. Just leave, Sirius. Leave and don’t come back.”
“Come on, get a seat,” the conductor said briskly, still looking at Sirius suspiciously. With his free arm, Sirius pulled the robe around himself to hide his injuries and dragged himself to the nearest empty seat and sat down gingerly, still staring out at Reg. There was a bang, and Grimmauld Place, together with Regulus, disappeared from view.