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Summary
Sirius had a bad habit of forgetting anything he knew about self-preservation when it came to their mother. What Regulus found once he’d made his way up the stairs, if anything, was proof of that. He would say that he was surprised, but that would be lying. Terror was a more fitting word, he figured, to describe what he felt as he saw his brother through the crack in the door, trembling and covered in blood on the floor.
He had never seen Sirius so weak. So wounded. Barely awake, hardly strong enough to carry a breath of air in his chest as he shuddered, Sirius looked utterly broken. And he was crying. Sirius didn’t cry. Never in front of her.
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Sirius wants nothing more than to be himself. Walburga wants nothing more than for him to live up to his name. For once. And by any means necessary...