Chapter Text
Regulus Black was a Slytherin. He was clever, and believed strongly in fraternity, in the strength of his magic, and in himself.
He believed in other things, like the moon fae, and secretly longed to be whisked off to Avalon, where he might live under the light of the yellow moon and dance in it’s glory wearing naught but leaf skirts, in the arms of the Fae King-
But that is not the point of this tale.
Back to the point, which is that Regulus, though widely seen as a titchy, fae, lad, not quite so memorable as his rambunctious brother, was a Slytherin.
And when a Slytherin set his eyes on something, then he would not rest till he had it.
Currently, all Regulus wanted was to eat his pea soup in peace. He supped elegantly, filling his spoon exactly three-fourths full, and made sure not to slurp. To his right, The Honorable Orion Geminius Black was taking a less than elegant glug of his wine, while Sirius and Walburga raged at each other across the way.
“Papa,” Regulus murmured to his father, his tone quietly admonishing, and looked meaningfully at the already half-empty wine glass.
“Right you are,” Orion sighed, used to his youngest’s fretting. At least someone bothered, Orion thought dourly, watching Sirius and Walburga screech at each other.
“You insolent whelp! You would so easily cast aside the match that I found for you-!”
“The day I agree to breathing the same air as one of your pureblood bints will be my last! I can’t believe that you thought of arranging my marriage!”
“Why should I not!” Walburga screeched, her face reddening. “What girl of good standing would agree with your wild ways? You are sixteen, you have made a name as a hooligan, and a near murderer after that incident at school-“
“Don’t you dare talk about that!”
“I had to pay reparations! Reparations to that blood-traitor chit Eileen Prince and her spawn, for your actions!” Walburga screamed, sweeping her arms madly across the table, upsetting the tureen of custard. Regulus steadied it with a quiet levitation charm, and brought it over to himself and Orion, who smiled.
This was all Regulus wanted, really - his father to be happy and stress-free, his family to enjoy a quiet meal together-
“-and that thrice damned werewolf-!”
“DON’T TALK ABOUT REMUS!”
“HOW DARE YOU-!”
“HE IS WORTH TEN OF YOU!”
“You would harass your mother on the behalf of a cursed creature!” Walburga shrieked, this time toppling the chicken. Regulus caught it with another levitation charm, and brought it over.
“Leg or breast, papa?”
“Leg, please, thank you poppet-“
“I would trade this entire family for that werewolf!” Sirius yelled, pounding the table, and setting off the spinach. With a seeker’s unerring accuracy, Regulus came to the rescue and helped himself to some fiber.
“Spinach with your chicken, papa?”
“Urgh, no-“
“You’ve next to no fiber on that plate, papa.”
“Oh very well then, give me a scoop-“
“I WOULD RATHER DIE IN A DITCH THAN STAY HERE A SECOND LONGER!” Sirius cried with great finality. Walburga gave a withering gasp and sat down heavily, clutching her breasts, and that was the final straw for Orion and his sadly neglected chicken dinner.
“ENOUGH!”
Both Walburga and Sirius snapped to attention and jumped at Orion’s abrupt anger. Regulus slunk down in his seat, shimmying down to the floor, and slugged into the kitchen to seek refuge with Kreacher.
“You are a wretched and ungrateful boy for saying such a thing, and in front of the woman who carried and birthed you!” Orion thundered at Sirius, bringing the full force of his rage to bear upon his awestruck eldest. “Your mother and I spare nothing for you, tirelessly working to give our children the best life we can manage, and this is how we are repaid?
“Can I not expect a peaceful meal with my family without my wife and son clawing at each other, like a pair of hippogriffs in rut? I come home from working a full day, tired and seeking just a little time with my family, but am forced to see this! My own son throwing everything in my face, upsetting his mother, scaring his brother-“ Orion paus his chest heaving.
“Just- go. Go upstairs, I will not see you this night,” Orion ordered his eldest. “No, don’t argue, Walburga,” he said, as Walburga made to speak, “Sirius, go upstairs. I will see to you in the morning. I cannot bear to look at you now.” Orion sat down, and wiped a tired hand down his regal face, now strained and with the barest traces of tears. “To think,” he murmured, “that I have failed at my job as a father. That I have raised such a wretched and evil child.”
“Evil!” Sirius seethed, his momentary silence broken. “I am not the evil one here! I’m not the one espousing putting down muggleborns and werewolves, or hunting house elves, spewing bigotry! That is for you people, at the Wizengamot, or at your luncheon services with your like-minded friends-!”
“You call us evil,” Orion hissed venomously, “when it is you who sent a boy to his death, betraying your so-called ‘friend’. You are no better than your blood, boy, for all that you claim otherwise. Blood will out.”
Sirius gawked at his father- his unshakable, statuesque father- and…
Burst into tears.
As he ran upstairs, Walburga made to follow, but was held back by her husband. “No. Let him go, Burga,” Orion muttered.
“Orion, that was cruel,” Walburga whispered. “You know how he begged that werewolf for forgiveness. He lowered himself to his knees, he was remorseful.”
“He was thoughtless, cruel, and rash, and is everything that he claims he is not,” Orion said sharply. “He is no different from Bellatrix, or Cygnus, or Lucretia in his actions. I can only hope and pray that one day, he will learn to temper his actions with some thought.” Orion pushed his plate aside and stood up. “I can’t eat, and that was some dashed good chicken, too.” He looked at the plate next to his. “Regulus didn’t eat either,” he murmured, “and that boy has no fat left to lose.”
Even as he said it, Regulus’ plate began to float, and make it’s way towards the kitchen door, where it was grabbed by a deft, slim, hand and squirreled away with a squeak. Orion snorted mirthfully at his youngest’s sly shenanigans, and even Walburga chuckled wetly.
“We ought to take a leaf from his book,” Orion admitted. “I shall take my plate upstairs.”
“To bed!?” Walburga asked.
“Oh yes,” Orion said, picking up his plate. “I am going to tuck myself into bed, prop open a useless fluff novel, and eat chicken and custard, and none shall stop me.”
Walburga giggled, wiping her wet eyes. “I do believe that I shall join you in that. I feel as though we need a little… whimsy.”
“We have a little whimsy. His name is Regulus.”
Walburga laughed, even as Regulus tamped down an affronted squeak from his position eavesdropping from the kitchen. Regulus listened to his parents footsteps fade away, and slunk down into a cross legged position on the kitchen floor.
“Is Master Regulus not sitting at the table now?” Kreacher asked gently, bringing ober his own plate of food.
“But I want to sit with you,” Regulus smiled, and was rewarded with a genuine smile and a gentle hand in his hair from Kreacher.
“You is being a good boy, a good son,” Kreacher said softly. “The elfling of Kreacher’s heart.’
“More than that,” Regulus said. “You came to my parent-teacher conference.”
“Master and Mistress were being busy,” Kreacher said. “Kreacher is doing his duty.”
“I didn’t know that you had a dinner jacket and a bowler hat,” Regulus recalled the night in question, when Kreacher had shown up to his parent conference dressed in Orion’s old jacket and hat. McGonagall’s face had been a picture, and Dumbledore had had an attack of pure joy, giving Regulus twenty points. “What did papa say?”
“Master is looking at Kreacher and blinking for a long time before lying down.”
“Swept away by your good looks, perhaps.”
Kreacher snorted mirthfully and gave Regulus another leg of chicken. “You is eating that, you is too thin, Little Master.”
Regulus smiled at his elf’s tender ministrations. Now if only his human family could be so peaceful.
***
At the stroke of midnight, Regulus was once more on the prowl, checking in with his slumbering family. Creaking the door open, he saw his mum and papa asleep, chicken and custard demolished, spinach less so. Seeing that the coast was clear, he proceeded to Sirius’ room and crept in with his brother’s rewarmed dinner.
Only, Sirius was not in bed, but Regulus heard the shower going. Odd, he thought, and made to place the dish on the study table, only to see a half written letter. Feeling like a terrible sneak, he snooped.
To my family,
I have left this house and all that it entails. I cannot be the son that you wanted, and you cannot be the parents that I need. I admit to being the failure that you say I am, but glory in being the failure of the Black family, for this can only make me a better man.
You were right about one thing - I am a bad person. It is my fondest hope that distance and repentance will temper the evil in my blood.
I do not wish you ill. I wish you temperance. I know that your family will be happier with just you, mother and father, and your daughter, Regulus.
Sirius.
P.S. - Sorry Reg. But you’re one ribbon short of being a girl.
Regulus put the letter down with shaking hands, and hastily tucked it back into the envelope, sealing it again, his heart pounding. He stole away, plate in his hands, leaving no evidence of his presence.
Once outside, Regulus all but collapsed. Airius was going to leave. He was going to run away. Mum would die of heartbreak, papa would blame himself and take to the drink, and Regulus would be an orphan, living a sad, lonely, miserable existence, and Sirius would probably be dead in the ditch that he had mentioned earlier-
Regulus rushed away to be sick, dry heaving in the washroom, having upset his delicate constitution. Heart still pounding a staccato in his chest, he slunk down beside the bathtub. What should he do? If he woke papa, then he would kill Sirius for sure. Mama would just die-
Distantly, he saw the chicken dinner, still sitting innocuously on the table outside. Looking up at the bathroom cabinet, Regulus spotted his potions shelf, dotted with his own herb extractions. Mama always cringed when she saw Regulus mucking about in the garden patch, growing this and that, she said herbology was for commoners. Papa was more tolerant, and Regulus has spotted his father taking pictures of him picking the flowers on more than one occasion.
Regulus scanned his shelf, looking at his bottles of tinctures - moly, belladonna, snargaluff, mandrake, mexican mint, lavender-
Snargaluff, Regulus recalled blearily, was particularly nasty. While pod extractions could be used for therapeutic use in the treatment of scrofungulis and other rashes, the leaf extract was known to cause emesis and low blood sugar levels.
Regulus looked at the chicken dinner, then at the tincture. Dare he do it? Was he brave enough? He thought of mum, of papa, of Sirius, dead in a ditch somewhere in Essex-
Regulus stood back up on shaky legs, and took the snargaluff tincture, feeling like a cad. Ought he? Would he become the evil that Sirius accused their family of, if he did this?
Regulus worried his lip between his rabbity teeth. He was not cruel, no. He was sparing his parents, perhaps Sirius too, in the long run. Hand posied over the dinner plate, tincture dropper at the ready, Regulus paused. He was manipulative, certainly. He was selfish, and scared, and determined to save his family.
Regulus Black was a Slytherin, and no one would know of his greatest triumph.
***
Sirius emerged from the shower, eyes still red and wet, and spotted the plate on his bed, accompanied by a little note. Immediately, his eyes flicked to his letter to his family, and breathed a sigh of relief at finding the seal untampered. Sirius then plodded to his bed and sat down, for what was the last time.
The broom was ready, standing net to his bed, as it always did. The letter was penned, and on the table. His jewelery and ostentatious clothes were packed away, in a box for Regulus, once he grew tall enough. Mother would not allow it, but he knew that Regulus would like the reminder that his brother thought about him at this last moment. The rest of Sirius’ clothes were packed in a bag, resting in the cupboard.
Regulus was also in the cupboard, stuffed beside the bag, spying on his brother, wand and stunning spell at the ready, just in case the chicken went uneaten.
Think of the devil, and he shall appear, Sirius thought wryly, unfolding the note next to the plate.
Eat dinner! You are skinny!
Reg <3
Sirius snorted and looked at the plate. It was some damned good chicken, and he probably wouldn’t eat again till he got to Wiltshire. It was a long way by broom.
Regulus peered out of the cupboard, feeling his stomach swoop as Sirius bit into the chicken.
***
Sirius didn’t mean to fall asleep, but the dinner was heavy, and he ws feeling a bit dizzy to boot. Perhaps a nap, and then he would go. The longer he stayed, the more he chanced seeing his gerbil-faced brother, and Sirius’ resolve would crumble like a bread and butter pudding.
Still, Regulus’ scheme had worked, and Sirius drifted off. Waiting ten minutes, Regulus extricated himself from the cupboard, and approached his brother, giving him a prod. No response.
Regulus squeaked happily, elated at having saved his family from ruination. Then, as though on cue, Sirius groaned. Regulus jumped in fright, and saw that his brother’s brow crease. Sirius didn’t look good, and Regulus noted the beads of sweat on his face.
Regulus fretted. He had added just enough of the tincture to have this response, but it still bothered his pure heart to have done so, to put his brother in pain. Another groan, and Regulus’ resolve crumbled.
After banishing the dinner plate - the evidence of his crime - Regulus shimmied out of the room and across the hall to the master bedroom. He snuck in quietly, and saw his father fast asleep, curled into a ball while his wife hogged the blankets.
“Papa?” Regulus whispered, touching his father’s arm.
Orion stirred awake, frowning at his son. “Regulus, what is it?”
“Papa, I just went to check on Sirius-“
“Why do you pander to the boy, you incorrigible pixie-“
“-and he is quite sick, papa!” Regulus stressed, steamrolling his father. “He is sweating, and feaverish, and he was not rousing at my touch, I am ever so worried!’
Orion blinked blearily, but sat up at his son’s fretting. “Ugh. He would have cried himself till feverish, that boy,” Orion mumbled, but git out of bed nonetheless. “Honestly, he is so like his mother, that one, bombastic and emotional and so loud, egads. They always do this, work themselves up till something gives…”
Orion continued to mumble incoherently till they reached Sirius’ room. By this time, Sirius had sweated through his shirt, and looked an absolute wreck. Orion paused, and then quickly approached his son. “Fever.” At Sirius groan, Orion winced. “Muscle pain too, I would say. The fever is a tad high, I should like him to soak in the tub.”
Regulus began to cry, he did not mean to cause his brother such pain. “Will he recover?”
Orion rolled his eyes. “Yes, you little fool. He just needs to let the fever work. Wake your mother, she keeps some fever reliever potion. He probably ate something bad, we should get him to vomit, really.”
Regulus waddled quickly and woke his mother, who blinked tiredly at him. “Darling? What is it?”
“Oh mum! Sirius is very sick! Papa is getting him into the tub to bring down his fever, and he wants to make Sirius empty his stomach lest he ate something bad!” He had, but Regulus would never admit to his crime.
Walburga roused herself and straightened her nightgown before getting the required potions. “If your papa is worrying, it must be something,” she mumbled, hurrying to Sirius’ room, with Regulus bouncing at her heels.
“Orion? Where are you?” Walburga called.
“Bathroom,” Orion grunted, and Walburga and Regulus went in to find Sirius stripped in the tub, with Orion holding his head up, looking tired and cross. “You have the potions? Bung the emetic potion in him first, get him to throw up. Then the fever reliever.”
“He is not insensible,” Walburga murmured, drawing her wand and pointing it at Sirius. “Ennervate.”
Sirius roused tiredly. “Huh? Wuh-“
“Drink,” Walburga said, measuring out a dose of the emetic. “Regulus, go and find a bowl or basin for him to throw up into.”
Regulus dashed off, pausing to grab Sirius’ letter of farewell. It would not do for anyone to find it. Regulus got back to the bathroom just in time for Sirius to throw up into the basin. Once he had finished, Orion scourgified his mouth before bunging the fever reliever in. Sirius spluttered, but choked it down and rested limply in Orion’s arms, quickly regaining his senses after the potion took effect.
“W-what? I don’t-“
“You are ill, fool boy,” Orion muttered without any heat in his words. “You must have eaten something off, we made you throw up. What did you eat?”
“C-chicken, custard,” Sirius mumbled, “s-spinach-“
“Hmph. Figures,” Orion muttered. “We didn’t eat the spinach and we were fine. It must’ve gone bad.”
“Odd,” Walburga mused, “Kreacher is usually so meticulous.”
“Have him boil his nose,” Orion muttered sourly. “Sirius, stop slouching would you, I’m trying to keep you upright.”
Sirius muttered something to the effect of ‘m’tired,’ but sat up, feeling the cool water lap at his skin-
“I’m naked!” Sirius yelped, looking down, and sure enough, saw his winkie on full display.
“Oh do stop,” Orion grumbled. “Three of four people in the room have penises, and the woman has seen all of them.”
“Ew, ew, ew,” Sirius and Regulus chanted, because mum and dad had bodies and touched at least twice in their lives, gross.
The attention focused back on Sirius’ winkie, and Walburga tutted. “I’ve always said that they didn’t make the cut properly. Now look, it’s all lopsided.”
“Mum!”
“We should have just gotten Old Shacklebolt to do it, not that moronic Derwent chap-“
“Old Shacklebot’s hands tremble so badly that your son would be lucky to have one at the end,” Orion rebutted.
“I am going to faint again,” Sirius muttered droopily, “if only to relieve myself of this nightmare.”
“Might as well,” Orion agreed, “you’re still running a bad fever.”
“‘M I gunna live?” Sirius asked, the throes of fever making him uncharacteristically vulnerable.
“Of course you will, silly boy,” Walburga said immediately, exchanging a worried look with her husband. “I did not spend three days in labour with you, only to have you perish now.”
Orion dried Sirius off with a flick of his wand and dressed him for bed, gently laying him down. The family watched Sirius continue to fret in his sleep, clearly pained by his illness. “Orion, he’s not improving,” Walburga whispered.
“He will,” Orion muttered. “He purged his stomach, no?”
“We should check for curses.”
“He hasn’t been out in days.”
“It could be slow acting.”
Watching his parents worry nearly broke Regulus’ resolve. Nearly.
“We should call Arcturus-“
“Why on earth,” Orion grumbled, “would calling my father help anyone?”
“He was a healer!”
“The boy had dodgy spinach! It's not a disease, per se.”
“Orion!”
“Oh fine!”
Orion thumped away to call his no doubt irate, curmudgeonly father, leaving Walburga to fluff Sirius’ pillows and fret. “Regulus,” she said, surprised to see her youngest still fluttering about, “you should sleep now. Thank heaven that you found your brother when you did, who knows what the fool boy would have done with himself otherwise. Now, go on. Bed!”
“Okay,” Regulus said, and squished himself into Sirius’ right side. Immediately, the crease in Sirius’ brow faded, and he relaxed.
“I meant your own bed,” Walburga sighed, but sat down in the corner to sit vigil.
At one point, Regulus was made aware of his grandfather coming into the room, picking up his deep baritone. “…honestly, Orion… need to be more careful-“
“What do you mean poison?” Walburga’s slightly hysterical voice interrupted, and Regulus’ stomach twisted.
“A natural one, definitely plant based,” Arcturus replied. “I did not pick up any curses. Really Orion, if you had become a healer like I had told you to, and not some dusty lawyer, then you could have checked him yourself.”
“This is really not the time to pick apart my career, papa,” Orion said.
“I disagree. Nevertheless, you should stay with him tonight. Whoever made him vomit was correct, it helped work the toxin out of his body.”
“You could give me some credit, pa.”
“Never. It was Walburga’s brew, at any rate. You were never quite so natural at potions.” Arcturus paused. “For the love of Circe, the boy will be fine by tomorrow! Stop fretting like a couple of eggless chickens!”
“Thank you, pa,” Orion mumbled. “I’ll see you to the floo.”
“Nonsense. I am not about to track soot into my house at this time of night. I shall stay in the spare room.”
“We haven’t dusted it-“
“Regulus’ room then,” Arcturus said, already walking away. “He’s always neat, and always uses such nice scents.”
There was silence for a while, which Orion broke with a stretch and groan. “Well, let’s go up, then. We’ve to sit vigil.”
“No, I shall sit,” Walburga said sharply. “You put your back out the other day, you need to lie down!”
“Just as well, the bed is big,” Orion muttered. Regulus quickly feigned sleep again when his parents entered, and felt the bed dip on the other side as Orion got in.
“Orion, put your shirt back on!”
“Shan’t! It is warm!”
“Good grief, what will the boys think?”
“That their father has the obligatory Black family third pseudonipple? Big surprise.” Regulus felt the mattress dip further as Orion rolled closer. “Hmm. Fever’s broken.”
“Oh good,” Walburga mumbled. “Now you can sleep.”
“Right-o,” Orion agreed and fell asleep.
The only Black now awake, Regulus felt different emotions warring in his heart. Relief, first and foremost, that Sirius was still here, and that his plan had worked. Grief, knowing that Sirius had been ready to leave them behind. Anger, that Sirius was going to leave him behind.
As his mother’s light snores filled the room, and his family settled into sleep, Regulus decided that he, too, had earned his rest.