Chapter Text
July 1976
The smell of burning tapestry was probably better than the look on his brother’s face that night, Regulus thought. He watched Sirius as he lay on the floor, in pain, tears dried on his face, slowly regaining consciousness as he remembered what had happened to him.
It wasn’t that seeing his brother in pain was an easy thing for Regulus. Because it wasn’t, but it was complicated. The complicated part being that Regulus could not help Sirius without ending up in the same position. Lying on the floor. In pain. Unconscious. Crying.
What bothered Regulus the most was that Sirius could never seem to understand it. He never understood that Regulus wouldn’t exchange his life for this notion of courage that Sirius longed for. It’s probably the reason why he hadn’t asked Regulus to leave with him. Didn’t even give him a choice to tell him he wouldn’t leave. Or that maybe if he had gotten the choice, he would have left.
But Regulus Black never got any choices. His brother made sure of that. Sirius Black had taken all of Regulus’s choices away from him.
So instead, Regulus decided the smell of burning wool wasn't so bad. Breathed it deep into his lungs as his mother made sure that Regulus would never see his brother in pain again.
Not because she loved either of them.
No.
Walburga Black would never love her sons.
Not even now that she only had one.
~
The end of July was Regulus’s favorite time to be in Scotland. The weather was at its warmest and every day there was a breeze that perfectly complimented the heat of the sun.
He could also fly his broom when they were at their manor in the Scottish countryside. London was too busy, too full of muggles for him to be in the sky. So Regulus was thankful they had left for Scotland the morning after Sirius had left. Being on his broom was the only time he felt like he could breathe, the only time he didn’t have to think about anything.
The wind argued with him as he pushed against it, left hand outstretched in front of him, eyes on the snitch he had let loose just forty-five minutes ago. If his dark curls hadn’t been a knotted mess before, they would be once he got off this broom.
The wind whipped his face aggressively, as though he was flying in the middle of a storm. Or rather as though he was flying in the moments before a storm began.
The snitch was unusually close to the ground when he spotted it. Even now it flew about 150 centimeters off the ground, but it was good practice for him. Especially as the pair approached a heavily wooded area, forcing him to dodge trees and sending him and the snitch into a waltz for several minutes.
Soon enough, the snitch was just barely out of his reach, fingertips brushing its back. Just a few more centimeters and…
As he wrapped his fingers around the small golden creature, he jerked his broom to make a tight turn, narrowly avoiding the tree that he had been charging straight towards with willful ignorance.
He sat there on his broom, snitch in his left hand, right hand gripping the broom, with his feet lazily hanging down and gently brushing the grass, relishing in the feeling that coursed through his body. Moments after he caught the snitch, he felt the first drop land on his forehead. That was his cue. Within a second, he drove the handle of his broom directly upward, flying through the leaves and past the branches until he broke free into the sky.
Regulus probably could have cheered out at the feeling that grew inside his stomach as he soared higher, and higher, and higher. But instead, he breathed in, as deep as his lungs would allow, and then released.
He broke through the clouds next, and a smile spread across his face. It had been so long since he genuinely smiled, that the way his mouth contorted itself upward felt unnatural, but he ignored it. He just let himself be in the moment.
These moments typically didn’t last long for him.
The second Regulus dismounted the broom, his walls went back up. He boxed up all of the things within him that made him feel anything at all, and he forgot about them.
Regulus walked through the back patio, soaked by the rain that began falling at a rapidly increasing rate, and entered the house.
The Black Manor was quiet as it ever was in the early evening. His mother was nowhere in sight, as per usual. He presumed that she was in her study, likely with a silencing charm cast over the room as well. Not that Regulus cared much what sort of business his mother got up to, she did what was best for her family and that’s all Regulus needed to know. All he cared to know.
He walked past her study towards the stairs, considering for a moment; pressing his ear up against the door and eavesdropping. It was a silly thought, but it was always Regulus’s dumbest thoughts that Walburga seemed to hear.
The door flew open, which probably should have scared Regulus, but after fourteen years of doors being flung open on him unannounced, he didn’t even flinch. He just stopped in his tracks and stared straight ahead. From the corner of his eye, he saw his mother’s hand atop the wand on the desk she sat behind, the only tell that she was the one who had cast the door open at all.
“Regulus,” she said his name as more of a statement than a greeting.
“Maman,” Regulus returned, “How are you?”
The question was not exactly rhetorical, however, Walburga had a knick for leaving questions unanswered.
“You are soaking wet,” she hadn’t glanced up from her desk since before the doors had opened, as far as Regulus knew. However, her observation didn’t phase him.
“It was raining, Maman”
“Clearly.”
The two wallow comfortably in the silence for several moments.
Then Walburga kisses her teeth, “Dry yourself and prepare for dinner. It should be served within the hour.”
Regulus lingers for just a second, not because he expects her to say more but because he hopes she will. But when the two words he hopes to hear do not come, he buries the hope away.
He buries it with the thought that if Sirius was here, he would have wished him a Happy Birthday.
But Sirius was not here. Sirius was not going to wish him a Happy Birthday. So he buried it deep within, deemed it childish, to begin with. Which it was. It was childish.
And according to Walburga Black; Regulus did not have a brother. So it was foolish for him to wish for something from someone who did not exist.
~
Despite her wishes that Regulus be on time and presentable for dinner, Walburga herself did not bother with the gift of her presence at the dinner table. Regulus was not disheartened, however.
His father was sitting at the end of the table when Regulus entered the room.
The table was long, and only two plates were set across its entirety. The first plate sat in front of Orion Black, and the second plate was set a ways down the table, probably much further than necessary, but Regulus did not object. Instead, he sat at the table and waited.
Several minutes flew as the pair waited for their food, however, this silence was not so comfortable. When Regulus’s father was silent, he wasn’t actively trying to break down any walls you have built, unlike his wife. You see, Orion Black simply judged the walls that stood before him. He couldn’t care less what they were hiding. And for some reason that was worse.
Orion said nothing as their supper arrived. Not a word as they ate, nor in the minutes after they had finished. Regulus wasn’t sure if it was better this way, not speaking, or if it meant much, much worse things.
With continuing silence, Orion rose from his chair and beckoned Regulus to follow him to the sitting room at the front of the manor. Hesitantly, Regulus followed him.
Rather unexpectedly, Regulus entered the sitting room barely moments after his father and found Orion sitting in his favorite chair with a long, rectangular box in his hands.
“Come,” his voice was deep and scratchy, but reassuring, “my son, please sit.”
Regulus sat on the sofa that his father had gestured to, accepting the box extended out to him once he was comfortably seated. Immediately, Regulus felt the magic emanating from the box.
The box was black, and in perfectly centered gold etching read;
Regulus Arcturus Black
“Papa,” Regulus looked up at his father, who wore the faintest hint of a smile on his face, “what is this?”
“Happy Birthday, my child.”
Immediately something warmed within Regulus for a moment. It was similar to how it felt riding on his broom early that day, but the two feelings were not quite the same. Regardless, the same awkward smile took its place on his lips as he opened the box and found one of the most elegant watches he had ever seen.
The straps were made of the smoothest black leather Regulus had ever felt, and the entire case was made of what he could only assume was real gold. Within the face of the watch clock, the golden gears were exposed, moving as the tiny clock's hands tick, tick, ticked around, and pointed at every golden Roman numeral.
The most fascinating part of it all though was the small hourglass that centered itself beneath the clock hands and appeared to hold real, golden flecks of sand within it.
“Papa, I-” Regulus had absolutely no words for the gift he had just received.
“No, my child. You need not have words right now,” then in French, “On ne peut pas perdre de temps sur des mots inutiles. Utilisez-le à bon escient.”
“Merci, Papa.”
“Tout pour Vous,” he smiles gently and Regulus returns the warmth. It’s not often moments like these happen in the House of Black, so he takes the energy to feel it.
His father ends the moment, much sooner than Regulus had hoped, and sends him on his way to bed, reminding Regulus to say goodnight to his mother before he rests. Regulus does not argue, even though he suspects that the last thing Walburga wants is for Regulus to disturb her yet again today.
So instead he wanders past her office, up the stairs, and into his bedroom. Regulus’s bedroom was bigger in the manor than it was at 12 Grimmauld Place. There was much more floor space, more windows, the paint was lighter. He was never scared of falling asleep in this room when he was younger. The Black’s yearly visit to Scotland was the only time of the year where Regulus didn’t sneak into Sirius’s room so that he could fall asleep.
At least it was when he was a child. But Regulus was no longer a child.
Once Sirius had gone to Hogwarts and come back a completely different person, Regulus had stopped waking up and crawling into his brother’s room in the middle of the night like he always used to.
Though, he supposes its hard to wake up when you never fall asleep to begin with.
Regulus collapsed onto the bed, sinking into the duvet and letting it engulf him entirely. He lay there for several minutes, listening to the rain and occasional thunder before raising his watch up in front of his face so he could read the time.
8:32. Tick, tick, tick. 8:33.
As he watched the minutes tick by, he noticed something strange about the watch. There was not one, but two crowns along the right side of it.
Regulus sits up in his bed, interest piqued. He takes the watch off of his writst and closer examines the crowns on the side of the watch. Then he sees, etched into the face of the lower crown, is an hourglass identical to the one in the center of the watch.
"Utilisez-le à bon escient"… his father had said. Use it wisely.
How does somebody improperly use a watch? Regulus had thought this in the moment, ignoring his fathers words. As he further examines the watch as he rethinks what his father had said to him. The better question, he concludes, is; how does somebody use a watch wisely to begin with?
"On ne peut pas perde de temps"… his father had said that as well. We can’t waste time. Time.
A Time Turner. The watch was a Time Turner. It had to be. His father had gifted him a Time Turner.
Just as Regulus was about to jump up in excitement from uncovering the meaning behind his father’s words, his bedroom door swung open.
Walburga glided through the doorway, holding her head high with her nose pointed up. She stopped several feet in front of Regulus and cleared her throat. Immediately, Regulus stood up from his bed, leaving the watch on the covers behind him.
His mother’s expression did not falter. It remained apathetic. Cold.
“We will be leaving first thing in the morning Regulus,” she paused a moment, considering him, “I expect you to be prepared to leave at 7:00 sharp. Not a second later.”
“Yes maman,” Regulus gave her, standing straight up and staring straight ahead, too afraid to meet her gaze.
“Your father gave you your grandfather’s watch, I presume?”
“Yes maman,” he wondered if she knew the kind of magic the watch held.
“Very well,” if she did know what the watch was, she did not show it in her face, “Take care of it, Regulus. It has been passed down from heir to heir for generations in the Black family. Your father will be very disappointed if something were to happen to it.”
And before Regulus could process what she had said, what the weight of her words were, the door was slamming shut behind her.
From heir to heir.
Heir. To. Heir.
Of course, Regulus realized.
Orion and Walburga Black only had one son. One heir.
Regulus Arcturus Black; Sole heir to the Black Fortune.
And Regulus Black did not have a brother.