Chapter Text
There had been a fight that day. A loud one.
Despite this, it wasn't until 2am that Regulus sneaks into his brothers room. Sirius hadn't locked the door and he thought it strange, but the thought vanished when he saw Sirius.
His hair stuck to his tear stained and blotchy face, as he shoved clothes into a bag. Lion emblazoned clothes were tossed about the room, quickly being snatched up.
Regulus feels his world crash around him. The sounds of sniffles are muted, the sight in front of him fades and there is a stuck moment in time. The universe is simultaneously breaking into pieces, cracking like his voice when he clears it, and stopping. Slowing down.
Sirius whirls around at his sound. He didn't mean to, and yet with wide eyes and a wobbly voice Regulus couldn't help the small noise that was wrenched out of his mouth. It should've been louder for what the reason for it was, but it didn't matter. It was deafening all the same.
Striking silver meets a pair of eyes that match each others, except for the swirls of blue that flash with hurt now in Regulus's eyes.
"No." And he'd meant to sound strong. He'd meant to be forceful and compelling. He'd meant to be like Sirius.
But it comes out as a hoarse whisper, dredged up from the basest parts of his stomach twisting with nausea. The sound makes his ears hurt, the same way his throat feels dry, the same way his heart has stopped beating in his chest.
He doesn't think he's been more afraid in his life. Not when he'd first heard the whispers of a Dark Lord. Not when his parents spoke in revering tones of a powerful man who wanted to rid the world of filth. Not when he'd come to realize that he would not be able to be passive for the rest of his life. Not even when Sirius had left the house for twelve days before finally returning, clutching crumpled letters that held written threats in his palms.
Though the last one was the closest.
It's clawing up his throat. An infectious disease that stopped his heart and is dragging its claws to his lungs so it can stop them too. Spreading like a cold chill, leeching around him and onto him, all the way down until it sinks into his fingernails. Until it makes a home under his cuticles and decorates cabins in his sweaty, shaking palms.
The air is so, so cold all of a sudden.
And he is still staring into Sirius's eyes.
It's not the time, and he knows that, but unbidden, as though the sickness he feels brought it, a memory rises to his mind.
They're sitting on one of the many staircases in Grimmauld place. Regulus has just turned nine and Sirius is ten. The same stupid way that he does every year, Regulus is bragging about how now, they aren't two years apart in age, just one.
"Reg! That's not how it works." Sirius sighs. "Never mind, I try telling you this every year."
Regulus smiles triumphantly before his brother's eyes widen. Sirius reaches out and snags Regulus around his waist from where he's hopping around on the steps.
"It doesn't even matter! I'll be 11 in four months time, and then according to your logic, I'll be two years older than you again. Your big big brother!" He crows and ruffles Regulus's hair, not letting him go even as he squirms.
"Sirius!" He whines, dragging out the 'uh' sounds in his name. Sirius stops for a small second, before grinning so wide, Regulus remembers wondering if his cheeks hurt.
And then he was being tickled. And Sirius tickled him over and over relentlessly until Regulus finally said that Sirius was two years older, and for good measure, Sirius made him say that he was the best brother too before he let him go.
"Reg. Reg. Reggie. Come on!"
Regulus huffed.
"That was mean!"
"Was not!" Sirius smiled. "It's a big brother thing. You wouldn't get it, you know? Since we're two years apart and you're just so young after all."
Regulus scowled.
"When we get to Hogwarts, I'm so hexing you! I'll find one that shrinks your mental age down I swear it."
"That'd be potions." Sirius quirked his lips in his lopsided grin that suited him well, but his Mother said made him look 'unrefined.'
(Regulus remembers Sirius saying he didn't care.)
(He also remembers Sirius very carefully smiling in the mirror. And he remembers his Mother noticing it the next time he smiled, and he remembers Sirius beaming when she had said, 'Oh much better, would you look at that?')
"No it wouldn't be! Potions would be if I wanted to de-age you. I said mentally. That's mainly curses…though I'm sure I could find a potion to do it…"
Sirius sighed.
"What?" Regulus asked, blinking at his brother.
"You're just…you're pretty smart. Did you know that Reg? You're pretty smart for someone who just turned nine."
Regulus tilted his head, studying his brother slightly.
"I know. You're smart too though."
Sirius had turned to stare at Regulus, and his expression wasn't one Regulus saw often. The smile on his face didn't quite fit him, not as a ten year old. It was too troubled, and his brother's gleaming eyes were normally unbearably bright with humor, even when their Mother was yelling at them, and yet they seemed to be different now.
(Regulus remembers Sirius tip toeing into his room after they'd been scolded and he remembers Sirius making jokes about the fight. Ones he had undoubtedly thought of in the moment, and Regulus had always been jealous of the way he somehow kept them in, didn't show them on his face.)
(His Mother always said he showed too much on his face. The last time she'd told him to be more like Sirius was then. He will always remember her sharp tone, and will always remember Sirius coming into his room, and telling Regulus that there was no need to be more like him.)
"What's wrong?" He asked, slightly put off by his brother's solemn face.
"You know-" He cut himself off though, before starting again. "I don't um, I don't tease you and stuff to be mean Reg."
(He remembers being flabbergasted. What did this have to do with anything?)
"Sometimes it is. Sometimes I'm just being your older brother and doing it because I can, or because your face is funny."
Regulus wrinkled his nose, and Sirius's lips twisted into a half smile.
"See? Like that." He blew out some air and leaned back on the railing behind him. Not energetic enough to seem like a normal ten year old boy.
"But sometimes you don't act like my little brother."
"What? Where do you get that idea from? I kinda have to be your little brother."
"Well…We both always have to answer questions and go to balls and do what's expected of us but I…I worry about you sometimes Reg. You never…You always seem to be- and for once I'm not making a pun out of this- seem to be too serious."
Regulus pursed his lips, pondering it.
"See! That! You turned nine yesterday! No nine year old makes that face."
Regulus had laughed, tossing his head back and Sirius grinned at the sight and sound of it. Regulus turned to face him.
"Siri. You made that face at nine. We're…We aren't just a big brother and little brother you know? We're…We're the Black brothers. Remember? You talk all the time about ruling Hogwarts together as the Black brothers. But…"
"But it means we're different from the other kids too. I know. Higher than them and stuff. Which means that at nine years old-"
"At nine years old we make this face!" Regulus finished for him. It was silence for a second, a bit too heavy, and a bit too thick but finally Sirius broke it.
"I just…I saw some boys the other day. I think they were both our age. I was looking out the window and they were playing some Muggle game. I don't know what, and its not like I wanted to play some Muggle game." He said, twisting his face into one that likened the expression on someone who didn't want to touch something they perceived as dirty.
It was a bit rude, a bit pretentious, and exactly the face he was supposed to make when something like Muggle sports, came up.
"But they'd been getting all dirty, and they were having lots of fun and, and it just looked like something nice." He finished lamely.
"Sirius. If you want to play Quidditch with me when we get to Hogwarts…You can." Regulus responded, looking puzzled.
Sirius huffed out a laugh that didn't seem very real to Regulus.
"No. I mean…I don't know!" He sat back again, frustrated. "I don't know what I mean, but I don't mean just playing sports with you Regulus. I guess… the Muggles were just doing, well they were doing whatever they wanted! And I just thought it would be nice, not to be Muggle, but to be someone other than a Black for once. So we could get dirty and, and, maybe you wouldn't have to know which curses did what and stuff." He stood up on the steps abruptly.
"It'd be fine if we were just a normal magical family and you learnt it on your own but you didn't! And, why should we? We can learn all of it at school anyway! And we shouldn't have to do it! And I don't know why…I don't know why we shouldn't have to but it just, we just shouldn't! And I know I sound stupid but for one second I just wanted to be like them! Out there like the Muggles and doing whatever I want. Not getting dressed in pinchy shoes and heavy robes for boring balls." He pouted, looking just like a ten year old.
Regulus would have responded if it weren't for their Mother standing at the steps.
"I was going to request you downstairs." Her voice was icy. Her eyes were colder.
"To your room Sirius. Now. Your father will be up in a moment to discuss what it means to be a Black. And why you can't go running around doing whatever you want and smiling lopsidedly like some fool who's dignity has gone down the drain. And speaking of lessons, you, have been slacking. You can read while you're up there. You will know everything you need to know before you go to Hogwarts and then we will leave your schooling up to their curriculum."
Her grey eyes gleamed.
"Unless you wish to be kept home?"
Sirius leapt backwards.
"You can't do that!" Except his voice wavered in question, in uncertainty.
"Really?" His Mother asked, and he felt his brief bravery waver just like his voice had. She watched him step backwards, slinking with his head down.
"Right. To your room, and recognize that I am being generous. I simply do not wish to ruin this nice day, or to have it out with you right now about the balls, which we've discussed plenty of times."
(If only she knew how many times they would 'have it out' in the future.)
She turned around and walked away, dismissing Regulus.
He stayed in his own room, until he felt it was safe enough to enter his brothers. His Father is gone, and when he slowly turns the knob and slouches in, he sees Sirius on his bed, books in front of him.
"Are you okay?" He asked. Sirius's head jerked up.
"What are you doing in here? If they catch you, then you'll be in trouble too!"
Regulus simply shuts the door and scrambles on to the bed. It's silent for a bit. Comfortable. Before Regulus grabs the books and sets them softly and the bed side table.
"Reg! I need those." He scowls, looking surly.
Regulus feels a little bad, he knows it's important, but right now he wants to do something. There's an impulse he wants to act on and he wonders if that's what Sirius had been talking about back on the stairs.
(He knows now that Sirius hadn't known how to describe those two boys, because he and Regulus had never experienced anything like that. Never seen it. Only ever seen the inside of ballrooms and other boys who spoke just like them, as refined as young children with lisps could be.)
Regulus peered into his brother's eyes. Sirius blinked at him and scooched closer to him.
"What are you doing?" Sirius asked, his tone just pure curiosity.
"I wish I had eyes like yours. I like grey eyes. They look silver often times. It's cool."
Sirius blinked, smiling a little and Regulus smiled too at the sight of it.
"Wanna hear a secret?"
Regulus nodded, leaning in.
"I like yours better."
Regulus's mouth dropped open a little.
"Huh? Why would you like mine better!" Except it was more of an exclamation than a question. Sirius hurried to shush him.
"That's another secret, you don't get to find out until you're older."
Regulus flopped back onto the pillows, holding in a groan only so his parents wouldn't hear.
"I hate it when you say that." He mumbled. Sirius flopped back next to him.
They lay in silence like that. Quietly, shoulder to shoulder, studying books discarded. Occasionally, Regulus would feel Sirius's wrist against his, shift, and be able to tell his pulse was racing. When it happened twice more he sighed.
"Siri." He spoke quietly.
"Yea?"
"You know everything in those books. Stop worrying. I looked at them when I moved them."
Sirius's body relaxed a fraction.
"Siri?"
"Yea?"
"I wanna be like you when I'm older. Older older, not just ten or 11."
There was the longest silence yet. It stretched and stretched and stretched. A steady, awkward sort of pressure came down on the top of his head, over his hair.
Keeping his mouth there, Sirius mumbled a response.
"Thanks Reg."
(Later that night, when Regulus was in his own bed and Sirius was staring up at his green canopy, words fluttered out of his mouth like a sigh.)
"No you don't Reg. No you don't." Because in his head were too many things, too many things that were wrong. That his parents would murder him for. He never had these thoughts when he was younger and yet, there were times he saw things, saw people, saw kids…and wished for something other than his green canopy. Something he couldn't name yet.
(Something he got later on, for more than one high price.)
*********
Sirius lifts his wand and Regulus doesn't flinch. He nearly surprises himself by that, but he doesn't.
The door slams shut behind him.
He stares into his brothers eyes and he remembers his Mother's words, telling him he expressed too much. He wonders what his face is telling Sirius now. A silencing charm goes up.
"Regulus. Get out." His voice sounds worse than Regulus feels. Scratched and raspy from how hard he'd been screaming, and choked up and watery. He's seen Sirius cry, multiple times in the course of their life.
None of them compare to the tear that slides down his brothers face now. His eyes don't look silver anymore, the tears cloud and mist them and they look grey, a soft grey that's too different to be his Mother's and too similar to hers to properly be Sirius's.
(He'd found out later, when he was older why Sirius liked Regulus's eyes better than his own.)
Regulus was 12, Sirius was 14. Regulus's birthday was in a week. June 25th.
Things were stiff. Awkward. More tense than it'd ever been between the two of them. They did not come together on their own anymore, only after fights,
Sirius was in Gryffindor. Regulus was in Slytherin. Summer break was too hot and too cold, and the two brother's were staring at each other as though they didn't know what to do.
Regulus climbed onto Sirius's bed and hugged him for the first time in a year.
And Sirius's angry, hurt eyes, finally squeezed together and let tears spill out. He was quiet with his sobs, as one learned to be at this house.
They stayed that way for longer than they should've. Regulus did not look around at his brother's room, he had already seen some of the changes that were made and he feared looking at them again might ruin this. Ruin this pretend scenario where they were both children before school and their parents weren't as unforgiving.
"Reggie?"
"Yea?"
Their voices are both hoarse and Sirius is trembling. Despite their silence to each other, Sirius had stood in front of Regulus down stairs and had yelled at his Mother for the loudest time yet. This would be the first time Sirius had screamed at their Mother.
(It marked the first of many.)
Because sure, he'd argued with her all the time, but nearly always lost, never raised his voice above hers, which could reach astronomical heights. Even when he was eleven and came home after being sorted into Gryffindor, even at twelve when they'd had the fights about Sirius's friends, even at 13 when there had been a near miss, a split second before Sirius's voice became an unacceptable volume .
(This time, It had been about how she was treating Regulus. Something she'd said, perhaps. He still doesn't know what part quite set Sirius off.)
"Do you remember when I said I like your eyes better than mine? All those years ago?"
His voice is barely a whisper and Regulus matches his volume.
"Yea. You said the reason why was a secret."
There is quiet again, though no stillness. There is a restlessness in the air and Sirius is still muffling sounds.
"Her eyes are grey." He finally breaths out, scarcely audible.
"What?" He goes to pull back, but Sirius tightens his arms around him.
"Mum's. Her eyes are grey just like mine. She used to talk about it, how she was pleased I'd gotten her eyes. Back when I still made a decent heir." He takes a breath. "When she's yelling at us, all I see are my own eyes staring back. I hate it. I hate her."
"Sirius!"
Sirius finally lets him pull away, and when he does, his older brother is glaring into his eyes.
"What?" He asks, defensively. "I do. Dad's got blue eyes, Mum's got grey. I got grey, and you got a mix. I don't see either of them when I look at you. I see blue and grey and that's it. It's a pretty color. I got grey. The same shade. The same everything. I can't stand it. Maybe you don't hate her, but I do."
Regulus swallows. He could argue with Sirius, but his fingers still feel shaky from the fight downstairs, and he and Sirius have not spoken this much in what fees like forever.
He slides off the bed anyways and walks to the door, he turns around though and stares straight into Sirius's eyes.
They are glittering still, from tears. But they are hard and angry too, there Is something like a storm swirling in them and Regulus can't help but feel envy.
He knows there was nothing fierce in his eyes when he let Sirius stand in front of him and yell at their Mother. Absolutely nothing. And yet sitting in front of him, trembling with tear track stains on his cheeks and eyes that are grey, yes, is Sirius. Sirius who had wanted to play swords with him when they were young and wanted to go on adventures to rescue pureblooded damsels when Regulus wanted to read.
(Not the study books, he wanted to read something else.)
Sirius who is a Gryffindor raised by Slytherins, is everything Regulus is not and everything he wanted to be.
Sirius who is still who he looks up to, who he wants to be when he's older older, even though in his parents eyes there is no longer anything admirable about him.
Regulus looks at Sirius's grey eyes and sees everything he loves resting there.
"Sirius?"
"Yea?"
"You are nothing, like mum."
And he slinks out of the door, just as quiet as when he came in.
**********************
"Be careful. You can't use too much magic in here, you know that. The Ministry will detect it if you use too much. You're still sixteen."
"Thanks for the warning." He snarls at Regulus, and his eyes are untamed, wild and furious and absolutely petrified.
Sirius is scared, Regulus realizes. In a distant sort of observation, Sirius, his big brother who's always been the braver of the two; is scared.
And Regulus feels his pulse speed up a bit more. Faster than it was already racing, it is now hardly even there. The only way he knows his heart is still beating is because it's pounding against his chest. A sharp thud over and over again, it pounds like it wants to escape his chest, break through his ribs and burst free. He knows it can't, no one ever escapes in this house.
But Sirius seems about to.
His brother reaches up his hands and throws them through his shorter than normal hair, at the reminder of the impromptu haircut he was given, Sirius tosses his hands back down and snatches up another shirt.
"Stop. Sirius. Sirius stop. Sirius!"
"What?" He asks, whirling around, looking absolutely feral.
"Just-Just think about this. You're sixteen. One more year, just, only one more." And Regulus knows he's pleading, finds it sad he doesn't ask what Sirius is doing, finds it sad he doesn't have to ask where Sirius is going.
"I can't." His eyes well with tears. "I can't, I can't, I can't. Regulus, I can't." He's pacing, on the verge of hyperventilation when he stops and strides up to Regulus.
(And how he envies the way his walk is so powerful, so assured even now with tears streaming down his face and strands of blunt hairs sticking to his wet face.)
His hands hover over Regulus's face for a moment, like he can't decide if he's allowed to touch him, or if he even should.
Eventually he does. His hands are warm and damp slightly. They are shaking, but steady when they press into his face. Sirius's big hands hold Regulus's thinner than usual face, his prominent cheekbones, and then they are moving. They're patting him down like a loved one does to someone who's been caught in a dangerous situation.
They roam all over him and then Sirius gulps in a breath of air.
"Reggie. Regulus."
"Please."
It's one word. A single one that's riddled with a multitude of oxymoron's and emotions. They swish back and forth in his mouth like mouthwash, they're bitter like saltwater and sweet like a lollipop makes your spit taste and sharp like spearmint gum. They curl in the hollows of his eyes, staring at his big brother. They sit in the grooves of his teeth and fester, form cavities that rot their ways into his words.
"Please."
And Sirius isn't crying anymore. Sirius wrenches himself away. Sirius closes his bag despite the fact Regulus knows there's more he could put in.
"Don't. Don't please don't, I can't do this please please-" he's rambling, he knows.
Because in what way should he be expected to stay coherent in a situation like this. In a situation so impossible?
(He's so ashamed because there is still a tiny part of the bacteria in the grooves of his teeth that are also scared of his mother, of what he will do without Sirius to be a lion and roar right back to Walburga. The shame curls and cuddles close, hovers in his heart. The fear is tugged even closer.)
Sirius swings open his door, jogs down the stairs quietly, skipping the creaky steps.
Regulus's hair whoosh's slightly with the wind of his brother and the door. He stares at Sirius's room. Things strewn all over the place and his eyes catch one, two, three, four, fivesixseveneight- more things Sirius's could've, should've packed.
(It is only later, later later, when Sirius has disappeared into the night and Regulus is alone in his big brothers room that he realizes; that for once Sirius was being cowardly. That Sirius left things behind and bolted so fast because he knew he wouldn't stay strong in the face of Regulus. That he'd stay. He thinks of how Sirius had for once, seen Regulus as the stronger one, that apparently Sirius Black, almighty, was weak in front of Regulus. Bitterness wells like blood in a cut.)
A beat passes where he simply stands there, staring at the empty room. He is unwillingly pulled into his mind, into a moment similar to this one.
**********
'I got here too late.' Is the first thought to enter Regulus's mind. There is not a second, nor a third, his mind has set into panic.
Because Sirius's room is empty, the front door's unlocked in the way his parents never let it be, and the remnants of a shouting match is still floating in the air downstairs, the vibrations of screaming voices are still reverberating and oh God, Sirius has run away.
His footsteps are loud when he scrambles to go downstairs, to tell his parents, to be selfish as hell because Regulus needed him. (He likes to hope sometimes, that when Sirius makes aborted movements towards him in the halls of Hogwarts, it means he needs Regulus too.)
He stops though. Not out of a sense of loyalty that Sirius wouldn't wish for him to tell their parents, no; but because it has been ages since he's been in Sirius's room alone. In Sirius's room at all, really.
He eyes the red and gold colors that are out of place in this house. He takes a step out of the doorway and pushes the wooden door with his foot. It drift shut without a creak, the House Elves were good at their jobs.
He's fourteen as of 4 days ago, and Sirius is fifteen.
His hand drifts over the dresser, and he stares at a magazine about Muggle motorcycles. Without reservations, he picks it up and flips through it. On the ninth page, he stops. He stares at a picture of a motorbike. There is a price and a brand name listed at the bottom, but he doesn't glance at it. While he thinks Sirius might find the motorcycles cool, he knows now that this…motorbike thing, is more of Sirius's style. He flips through the rest of it, and by the time he's finished with it, he knows without a doubt that the motorbike on page nine specifically, is Sirius's.
Unbidden, an Image of his brother rises to the forefront of his mind, sitting on that motorbike. The colors don't look bad, but he thinks Sirius might paint it. Red and gold, and would probably scribble sentences all across it, letting his friends add their own words……
But the image would never come true- he realizes. As long as Sirius is the heir to the Black family, that won't happen.
The smile he's envisioned on 'motorbike Sirius' fades, as does the picture. He stares at the Gryffindor banner on the wall, at the picture of Lupin, Potter, and Pettigrew on the wall.
Walks around, writing down the changes. Neither of them had canopies anymore, Sirius's bed was no longer green, but was not obnoxiously covered in the Gryffindor insignia as one might think It to be. But Regulus had known that, he'd known the obvious changes. The slow removal of green from his room, the vanishing of silver, he'd known that.
What he hadn't known, was that the Black crest was now removed as well, from its spot on the wall. In his own room, it was painted above his bed. In Sirius's, it was gone.
Regulus blinked, foreboding creeping upon him. It seemed so small, and yet foreshadowed something so big. The family motto he also can't see. Oddly enough, it's that detail, that sends him into a frenzy. Not the picture of a Muggle model on the wall by his closet, not the soft red bedsheets, not the removal of the crest nor the missing silver accents throughout the room.
He frantically walks where it should be, scanning the area before he blinks at the Gryffindor banner on the wall. An odd place for it really, random.
When he lifts up the banner, 'Tojours Pur' sits in perfect silver calligraphy pen.
Relief doesn't thunder through him at all, Sirius still managed to remove the crest, and will remove this too.
It's not removing décor, it signifies removing family.
Regulus prays to Merlin it doesn't mean removing him too.
(Turns out it does, Regulus knows now.)
They have been raised to know the importance of family, of pride, of their motto and crest. To know that Sirius is trying to remove them from his walls, erase them from his life, is not the move of an upset, ignorant child.
It is a calculated move and Sirius knows exactly what it means. Their Mother would have a fit if she knew, but Regulus suspects she hasn't been in Sirius's room since their fight over the portrait of Sirius's friends hanging on the wall earlier that year during Christmas break…
"You won't leave family heirlooms in your room, but it is perfectly okay to have a glaringly large picture of you and your friends in your room?"
Sirius scoffed.
"Please, it’s not that big. You're being dramatic, the way you always are. It's none of your business what decorations I place in my room."
Walburga had not thought so, straightening up and glaring down at her son.
"It is my business as long as you live in my house! I have no issue compromising with you Sirius, it is you who is making this difficult."
"No it's not! I'm not keeping that dumb chair in there, it takes up space. I don't care if it’s some sort of important furniture passed through our family. Put it somewhere else! I'm not asking for you to burn it, though if I were, there shouldn't be a problem with it. Our house is practically built out of heirlooms." He paused before speaking again. "And, I have no problem living anywhere other than your house."
Walburga inhaled, nostrils flaring before closing her eyes as though praying for patience. "You may place your picture in your room, if you keep the chair. It is an important piece of furniture that was made specifically for one of our ancestors as a thanks, to him, for his work in society. By claiming that this is simply a piece of furniture is not only disrespecting a great Wizard who spent time imbibing this chair with good magic, but your ancestor and our family."
Sirius simply snorted.
"They're all dead anyway, the magic in the chair is only there in theory and I think the only charm that still works on it is the one keeping it from falling apart. I'm sure our ancestor worked super hard to make donations of money and marry his sister to keep our line clean, but I'm going to take it out of my room." He turned around, but not without adding, "Oh, and that's not to say I don't appreciate the effort and faith you guys had when you placed that chair in my room when I was a child. Don't misunderstand Mother, I know you put it there as a symbol of how great of an heir I'd be. Think your judgement was a little skewed though."
And he walked into his room, shutting the door.
At the time, Regulus had been baffled by his brother's behavior. He'd stared at the old family chair. It was a sign of honor, crafted with powerful magic and gifted to one of their…uncles, Regulus believed. Now though, only the memory of the magic remained, and it still looked quite regal…but old.
He could understand why his brother hadn't wanted it, if it was just a normal chair, but it wasn't! It was an heirloom, which was important. And the fact that Sirius had been gifted it, was also important.
Being gifted heirlooms was an honor, for Sirius to have to chair in his room when he was a child, was good. For Sirius to want to get rid of it, was not good. The importance of family trumped everything, especially something as trivial as thinking the chair didn't look good, or took up too much space.
"Sirius Black!! You will not slam your door in your Mother's face!" Their Mother shrieked. Regulus flinched away at the shrill noise, and he watched his Father step forward as well. That was never good, their Father didn't often get involved in their fights.
But when he did, it was harsh.
The fight that day was big.
"Your halfblood friends, don't deserve to be friends with you, let alone hang on a wall in your room." His Father's voice had boomed.
(Unbeknownst to the two boys, Orion could hear his own Father's voice echoing with his, similar words spat at him, and being regurgitated now.)
"You don't want to be considered a blood traitor, do you Sirius?"
"Don't talk about them like that!"
"They're basically mudbloods, Sirius!"
"Choosing them over your family?"
"That's not how that works at all! I've never said that! It's just a picture!"
"If it's just a picture, you'll have no problem not having it in your room at all then?"
And Regulus wasn't sure when the fuse broke, never was sure in these types of fights, but Sirius had stormed past his parents who were still in his room, holding something.
Being on the top floor of the house was something he'd chosen to take advantage of.
Sirius tossed a glass, magic crafted, family heirloom over the stairs.
The pretty figurine spiraled in it's descent, delicate and glittering and his parents were too late when they leaned over the rail and had caught up to what Sirius had done.
It's like slow motion as it falls, and Regulus watches it and thinks his emotions are a bit too late. He blinks at the heirloom, watching it fall and the magnitude of what happens snaps into place only when the object hits the floor of number twelve Grimmauld place.
There is a deafening moment of silence, invoked upon all four of them by the sharp sound that rang out when the figurine hit the ground. The only sound they hear now, is the schhhh of the glass rolling back and forth against the floor.
No one processes that this sound means the heirloom is still (probably) intact, instead, there is a flurry of movement before the shouting starts again.
His Mother's voice reached astronomical volumes, his Father's booming shouts creating a terrible sort of harmony between the two of them.
Regulus ran to his room, registering that this time, Sirius did not yell back.
Late that night, Regulus still sneaks into his brother's room, despite knowing what the consequences could be if he was caught. Naivety was not something you held on to in this household.
(It's still something he has, something Sirius had protected. He blames Sirius once or twice, for protecting that, because perhaps he wouldn't have water in his lungs, perhaps he wouldn't have ink on his arm, perhaps things might've gone differently if Regulus experienced everything that Sirius had.)
When he's in Sirius's room, the chair is there, sitting in the corner. Though Regulus can't see the picture of Sirius's friends, he doubts it gone, knowing his brother.
He clambers on to Sirius's bed, where his older brother Is sitting, fists clenched and head down.
He doesn't turn around or acknowledge Regulus, but he does speak.
"So I assume you're here to defend her then?" His tone is sharp, in a way that Regulus had a hard time getting used to the first time it happened.
Now he simply feels a soft pang of sadness, that hits in his chest, right over his heart first, before it seeps like a chill all throughout his body. He ignores it, eyeing Sirius's spine that is prominent through his cotton t-shit with the way he's sitting hunched over. Regulus is wearing pajamas as well, and he reaches a hand out. His original intent had been to turn his brother around, to look Sirius in the eye, but he hesitates at the last second and instead drops his palm down.
He turns around and places his back against Sirius's, slouching in a way that makes their spines meet at the curve and would make their Mother upset. Were she to come in and see them now, after the fiasco earlier, she'd perhaps backhand them sharp enough to leave a bruise and a stinging cut from where her wedding ring sat.
Another heirloom.
He sighs, feeling Sirius startle up straight before collapsing back into his curved position, making no move to separate them.
"No. I'm not." Regulus says, and this time the chill that moves throughout him, slithers into his eyes, making them burn. "You really think I would?"
"Maybe. I don't know what you would do anymore. You're still on their side."
"There isn't a side Sirius!"
Their position is dislodged as Sirius whirls around, unbalanced and while he should look silly, wobbling on the bed, he doesn't. His face is tired but his eyes are sharp, and when he starts talking, he gestures with his hands.
Regulus's eyes are drawn to claw marks on Sirius's arm, from his Mother's nails.
"Yes there is! You still agree with them about blood purity, you still think we're superior, and don't think I don't know what you think about me." He says the last part with a glare, dark and angry and that's all Regulus can see. He doesn't notice the hurt in his brother's eyes until he's lying in his bed later, reflecting on their conversation. He wonders when he stopped being able to pick out Sirius's feelings the minute he felt them.
(Sirius is no where near as expressive as you are Regulus. You must work on that, people will use your emotions against you. Don't let them, you must be the one always three steps ahead, always on top. Always superior. Revealing that you're some overly emotional boy, unfit to be heir to the Black family can not happen. Do you hear me?)
"And what do I think about you? Hm?"
"You think that I'm betraying my family, just like everyone else. You think I should've kept that bloody chair in here without a fit and that I should still believe everything they believe." He states, chin jutted out strong.
"It's not that I think anything bad of you Siri, I just don't understand." Regulus implores, looking at his big brother almost pleadingly. Hands opening and closing defeatedly on the bed, and Sirius stares at them.
"What do you not understand?" He asks, completely disbelieving, a scoff in his voice.
And suddenly Regulus is angry with his brother. The way he has been when they're at Hogwarts, in a more harsh way than when they were children, he's angry.
"You didn't toss that chair out of your bedroom because it was ugly. You-"
"Well it is."
Regulus glares at his brother's grumble, and continues speaking.
"You took it out as an act of defiance! You wanted to make that problem. I don't agree with the way Mother…acts. I really don’t. But this wasn't her being irrational randomly. You did that on purpose for the sake of being oppositional! You aren't stupid Sirius, despite your actions." He says, sharpening his tone in a way his brother blinks at.
"You knew it would start a fight, you wanted one. And even more so! If you didn’t do it just for fun, just to argue, then I don’t understand why you would genuinely take out the heirloom. It's a, well it's a heirloom. I would've liked to have it." He adds, and Sirius does not miss the small burning of envy that is twisted around his words.
Sirius furrows his brows, stares at Regulus so hopelessly. As though he feels sorry for him. Regulus narrows his eyes.
"Don't feel pity for me simply because I know our rightful place in Wizard society Sirius."
And then, the look is gone. Covered up so fast that Regulus can't tell what he's feeling at all.
"I don't feel pity for you because of that Regulus. I feel pity because you're wrong, and you don't even see it." He turns his head, and Regulus mulls over the look on his face, the break in his façade. He looks devastated, as though hope has been in lost in something he'd been rooting for.
It's not his usual face after fights, and Regulus doesn't understand. He doesn't understand a lot about Sirius these days.
Sirius opens his mouth, seemingly about to say something. His eyes harden a little, his face firms, but ultimately? He sighs, lines relaxing again.
There's silence and Regulus realizes that they are getting nowhere else today. Sirius isn't going to talk, and Regulus has nothing further to say. He stands up off the bed stiffly.
Sirius lets him. He makes it to the door of Sirius's room, turns his head around and eyes the pictures of Muggle girls in bikinis that Mother probably made a fit about as well before dropping his eyes. He hears rustling as he settles his hand on the doorknob, fingers fiddling with it slightly.
"Goodnight Sirius." And then there are footsteps, quick and light and Regulus frowns, making to swivel around and let go of the door knob but instead, two strong arms wrap around him, crushing him against a firm chest.
Sirius's head rests in the crook of his neck, something that can not be comfortable. Regulus stands shell shocked for a moment.
Silence. Stillness floats in the air, a rocky peace weaving around them, broken if they move too fast.
A beat, two. Regulus's hand drops from the doorknob, and he sinks backwards into the embrace, the first embrace he's had since the last time Sirius hugged him. (He is not counting his friends quick grabs and shoulder pats when he catches the snitch for Slytherin, he means the authentic ones born of feeling.)
They stay like that, neither looking the other in the eye. Sirius clutching Regulus as though he's a lifeline, and Regulus standing, curved spine and bent knees, close to the door.
It's Regulus who moves forward first, blinking wetness out of his eyes, hand back on the doorknob. An awkward, steady pressure presses on his head, like so many years ago.
"Goodnight Regulus." Sirius whispers into his hair, sounding a little hoarse and a lot exhausted.
Regulus eyes the glass figurine standing on a shelf next to Sirius's door, perfectly intact from the protective charms placed on it before Sirius was even born, and leaves, envy and confusion present in his chest…
He shakes his head, thinking of what he would do for Sirius to be standing in his room right now, thinks of how he regrets snapping at him, how he would sit and listen to Sirius explain now, if only he were to stay afterward.
When it becomes a little difficult to breath, he hurries to his own room and calls to Kreacher.
"Tell Mother that Sirius seems to have run away." He speaks flippantly, as though he doesn't care.
"Master Sirius is…gone?" Kreacher asks, and Regulus doesn't miss the small amount of unhidden glee in the elf's voice.
"Correct. He's, he's not in his room nor the rest of the house."
"Mistress will not be happy about this…Master Sirius will be in much trouble…" And he sounds as though he can't decide between being upset that Walburga will be displeased, or happy at Sirius being in trouble.
Regulus purses his lips and thinks that he will have to ask what exactly it was that started the feud between the two of them, he must have been too young to remember.
"Go Kreacher."
Kreacher looks a bit miffed at his unusual snappish tone, but pops away.
Sirius comes back twelve days later, multiple letters held in his clenched fists. He goes straight to his room and does not respond when Walburga tells him to be downstairs in an hour to talk.
When Sirius goes downstairs, and the shouting begins, Regulus tiptoes into Sirius's room.
The letters sit, badly crumpled and torn, on his bed. One looks as though he tried to burn in, but someone stopped him.
James, Regulus knows.
He picks them up and reads through them, one by one,
Multiple threats, most of disownment, some of lost inheritance, some of simply ruining his life and making him miserable.
But a few are about Regulus. The one that is half burned, curled and charred, mentions Regulus.
Regulus can't tell if this is a good thing or a bad thing. (And wonders once more when he stopped being able to know Sirius.)
He leaves the room, angry and slighted. He wipes the letters from his mind and instead, now that Sirius is home, thinks of the fact that he had left.
He just barely managed to forgive Sirius for that week. He can't let him leave again. He simply can't. He turns around and realizes that Sirius has forgotten one of his Gryffindor ties. He grabs it, not knowing why, and bolts down the stairs.
Sirius must've cast a charm that hasn't worn off or been cancelled yet, as his footsteps are silent against the wooden steps. He reaches Sirius at the door.
His brother is struggling with shaking hands to unlock the door, but he whirls around when he hears Regulus's panting, and stares at him; short hair looking strange on him, tear tracks looking stranger. He begins to shake his head just as Regulus reaches for his hand. His fingers graze Sirius's, but his older brother rips his hand out of his grasp and finally unlocks the lock, shoving it open and dragging his things out the door.
The air is cold, winter break this year is icy and the tears Regulus didn't know were falling felt frozen on his face.
"Sirius!" He marches after him, socked feet becoming damp in the snow. "Sirius!"
Sirius is practically tripping over himself and the large backpack he has on his back, his right hand is reaching out, ready to summon the Knight Bus- and Regulus throws himself at his brother, both of their wands getting lost somewhere in the small bit of snow on the ground, sliding on the ice underneath.
They're practically grappling, rolling around in the snow, slipping and accidentally hitting each other. Regulus tries using his extra 2 inches in height to his advantage, pushing his weight forwards. Sirius catches on and yells out, shoving an ice cold hand into Regulus's cheek, "I grew another half inch during school asshole! You're only an inch and a half taller than me!" And it hurts to wonder what it would be like to tease Sirius about being shorter than him the way Sirius used to tease about Regulus being younger than him. It hurts to know they don't have that anymore.
Ultimately, Sirius uses his bigger build (because Regulus may be taller, but he was scrawnier.) and flips them, shoving Regulus off and searching for his wand.
They're both shivering, Regulus in soaked pajama pants and an oversized jacket, Sirius a little better off in jeans and a Muggle band t-shirt. When Sirius has hold of his wand, Regulus doesn't tackle him again. Instead, he reaches up from his spot on the ground, he grabs Sirius's arm with both hands and asks,
"Stay."
The wind whips around them, painful and cold, shoving Regulus's hair behind him and Sirius's forward.
It feels still, but it's not. The soft half an inch of snow has been disrupted in their scuffle, the trees are loud, branches hitting windows. The wind is louder, and their breaths are heard above everything, even the wind.
It feels like they're in the eye of the hurricane, the moment where a path is about to close, where something is going to be left behind forever, and dear Merlin Regulus hopes that's not him.
It feels like something is about to change everything.
Sirius's eyes widen, striking silver, red rimmed and conflicted. In his half crouched position, almost to standing and nearly to sitting, he stumbles and falls to his knees.
"Come with me." Is what he says. Regulus feels like he's been crushed, like Sirius has reached into his chest, and ripped out his heart.
He grasps his wand in the snow next to him, fingernail crescents scarring themselves into his palm.
He opens his mouth, inhaling sharp air. He wants to say yes. He wants to board the bus with Sirius and ride to James Potter's house.
But his heart is beating erratically, his fingers are trembling. His lips are blue and dry and he licks them, feeling like he's standing on the edge of a cliff.
He nearly says yes.
But he thinks of Walburga. Of Orion. He thinks of the Slytherins at school. And he knows deep in his heart. He knows that he was never as brave as Sirius. He knows in the way he let Sirius protect him, in the way he didn't approach Sirius in school except for in secret, in the way their entire lives have been. He knows he was never going to escape this place, not alone and not with Sirius.
"I can't." He says and his voice breaks in the middle of the word, and he almost thinks he can see Sirius's heart breaking with it, in those silver eyes. Thinks he can hear his own heart crack as well.
"Then that's that I suppose." Sirius whispers. And stands up. Regulus grip on his arm falls away without resistance.
Regulus rises with him, holding his shaking wand up.
"I'll hex you."
"We're outside of wards-"
"I don't care. I'll hex you."
Sirius gives him a watery smile.
"No you won't."
"And how would you know that?! Hm??" He yells, wants to intimidate, wants to leave, needs to stay.
"Because I won't hex you, not first and not ever. And we've always been more alike than Mother and Father said."
It's one of those weird insight moments Sirius has. The strange times he's not reckless or impulsive, not brash or loud.
"I'm not like you Sirius. That's why I'm staying, because I can't be like you."
(Later he finds he can, water in his mouth, hands on his ankles, darkness reaching for him; he figures out he can be like Sirius, but his big brother never knows.)
"Reg, you don't need to be like me." Sirius pleads, "Just be with me."
"And you don't have to leave. You don't have to be the perfect heir Siri, just stay with me." But Sirius shakes his head, and sticks out his right hand. The Knight Bus arrives and then Sirius is climbing on, leaving.
"Siri. Sirius." And Sirius looks down at him and for a split second his hand lets go on the handle, and his foot falls back onto the snow. Regulus grabs him, and yanks him close.
"Please stay." And he hates the way it's selfish, hates the way he's too scared to stay without Sirius and too scared to leave with him as well. Hates the way he's only thinking of himself when Sirius has only ever thought of Regulus. His shoulders are shaking with either sobs or shivers, Regulus doesn't know.
There is no awkward steady pressure on his head, no firm arms to wrap around him, nothing. He holds tighter and waits for his brother to break down and stay.
But he doesn't. Sirius stands stiff and rigid in his arms and leaves.
(And breaks down when he's with James instead.)
Regulus finds the Gryffindor tie on the doorstep of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, wrinkled and belonging to someone else. Unsure as to why, he picks it up and leaves to his room.
He lets his Mother find out on her own that Sirius is gone.