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Sirius should have listened to James. He’d offered before the summer that he could stay, not have to go home to his family for once and they could spend the summer pissing about muggle villages and playing Quidditch. But Sirius couldn’t do that. He couldn’t do that to Regulus.
And so here they are, the aftermath of another horrendous family dinner and Sirius can’t quite remember how they ended up like this. When did he go from his mother’s gorgeous little boy to the bane of her existence? When did his father start looking at him like shit on the sole of his shoe? When did his baby brother start looking at him with that sickeningly desperate look in his eye?
When did the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black turn into this? Sirius used to be proud of his house, used to proudly tell anyone he met that his father was Orion Black and one day he, Sirius himself, would inherit the family fortune and legacy. And now, Sirius shies away from the name, runs from it like it has teeth. Sirius doesn’t know when became the boy he is today.
He’s laying on the floor, chest heaving and face wet with tears and sweat as he gasps for air. Professor Ackles taught them about Unforgivable Curses last year, all three of them he’s seen used in his own home, two of which involved himself as the victim. Sirius didn’t know that. James told him back in third year that the things his parents did weren’t what normal parents did, but he never knew that it was illegal. He didn’t know that there were people rotting in Azkaban for less.
Regulus is staring at him, eyes wide and terrified from where he’s rooted in place in front of their father. Orion holds him fast, gluing him to his spot on the floor with a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder. A single tear glides down his cheek and somehow even now he manages to look perfectly regal. A true Black son, their father would say.
And then there’s Walburga, standing over Sirius with murder written on her face and a steel grip on her wand. Her thin lips are curled in a sneer and her thinly framed glasses sit slightly crooked on her nose. She looks perfectly deranged.
‘Your insolence will no longer be tolerated in this household, Sirius,’ Walburga is telling him. ‘The Dark Lord is holding a meeting next week and you will be attending, with your brother, to receive the Dark Mark. Do I make myself clear?’
Sirius pushes himself up onto his elbows, glaring up at his mother defiantly.
‘He’s fifteen! You can’t—’
‘Crucio!’ her shrill voice rings out in the room, but it’s soon overpowered by Sirius howling screams. The china rattles in the cabinets, glass doors shaking in their frames. And Sirius writhes on the floor, rolling across the centuries-old hearth rug, preserved for eternity and now stained with Sirius’ sweat and blood.
The pain stops abruptly and Sirius sucks in a long breath, making the most of his reprieve whilst it’s permitted. His eyes slide over to Regulus.
‘Mother, please, he can’t take much more,’ Regulus whispers. From the tight set of his jaw, Sirius can tell how hard he’s fighting to maintain an even tone. ‘You’ll kill him,’
‘If he dies tonight, it will be his own stubbornness that does it, do not forget that, Regulus,’ Orion snaps, knuckles turning white around the ball of Regulus’ shoulder. Sirius grits his teeth.
‘You may retire to your room if you cannot stomach it, but mind that you will not come out until you meet with the Dark Lord,’ Walburga concedes, keeping her eyes on her eldest son even as she speaks.
Regulus hesitates, Sirius knows he wants to leave but even though they haven’t spoken in nearly three years, there’s still an inexplicable loyalty between them. Sirius doesn’t want Regulus here, no… he has a job for his brother.
‘Reg,’ Sirius croaks, once more trying to push his way up enough to twist his head around to the boy. ‘Reg, the mirror. Get the mirror,’
Regulus mouths the words silently and Sirius watches the cogs turning in his mind. He sees the moment it clicks and his brother squares his shoulders, understanding the mission.
Their parents watch him curiously as he slips out from under Orion’s grasp and makes his way over to the door. Nobody stops him. They probably don’t think there’s anything he could do to save Sirius from his fate at the hands of their parents. Sirius only hopes that James can help.
At this point, the Potters are his only hope because he knows there isn’t anything he can do top stop his parents now. If he is still in this house in a week, that tattoo will be on his arm and his life will be sworn over to Voldemort.
***
Sirius’ room is a mess. There are robes strewn across the floor, books decorate every surface and Regulus doesn’t even want to know why he’s got tatty old posters of Muggle girls in bikinis plastered over his walls. He is pretty sure his brother is, well, playing for the other team. Anyway, none of that matters, Regulus has a job to do here. Find the mirror.
The thing is, Regulus has never actually seen the mirror, the only way he knows about it is because he was impatiently waiting for his brother to join him to find their parents when Potter had gifted it to him. It was wrapped up in bulky packaging with ‘FRAGILE’ scribbled across the front in Potter’s obnoxiously messy writing.
So now Regulus must find a mirror in the mess that is Sirius’ room, but the thing is he’s already found two other mirrors into which he furiously whispered Potter’s name several times over before deciding that neither of those were right.
Downstairs, he can hear Sirius screaming and Regulus furiously wipes away another tear. He shouldn’t be crying; Blacks don’t cry. But after tonight, after listening to his deranged cousin prattle on about the Dark Lord and how he’ll bring justice and prosperity to the Wizarding World, he’s not so sure.
The Black family have always been respected and Regulus has spent his life earning that same respect, buying into their motto and legacy. But his best friend is a half-blood, Barty’s mother was muggle-born and he’s a perfectly respectable boy. He’s Slytherin through and through, sharp as a whistle and a good friend. Why does his blood mean he shouldn’t be Regulus’ friend?
Regulus shakes his head, trying to rid himself of these thoughts. Now is not the time for an existential crisis, nor is the time for finding this damn mirror. And there it is, glinting beneath a red and gold Gr\yffindor scarf.
Snatching it up, Regulus holds it carefully and looks into it, at first all he sees is his own face, but he’s sure that this is the one. There are little hoof prints stamped along the edge. A deer’s hooves.
‘Potter!’ Regulus hisses into the mirror. ‘Potter, where are you?’
Silence.
‘James Fleamont Potter, where the fuck are you?’ Regulus snaps, glaring at the mirror as though through pure force of will, he might summon the insufferable prick into sight.
Surprisingly, this works.
‘You know my full name,’ James smirks, face shifting strangely in the mirror as though he’s just picking the object up. And there he is, the arsehole himself, dark messy hair falling all about his face as he reclines back on his bed, grinning at Regulus. ‘You pay attention to me,’
‘Shut up, you delusional pillock, will you listen—’
‘Oh, talk dirty to me, Reggie,’ James fucking winks at him. At a time like this, James is doing his stupid flirting act that Regulus cannot stand. He hates it.
‘Shut the fuck up, you pea-brained pissant, where are you?’ Regulus cuts him off. He’s never done that before. It doesn’t matter, James needs to listen for once. ‘You need to come here… No, not you. You stay where you are, where are your parents?’
Sirius wouldn’t want James seeing him like this.
‘My parents?’ James straightens up, seeming to finally catch on to the severity of the situation. ‘They’re downstairs playing chess, why?’
‘Pay attention, you obstreperous twit, they need to come here. Now!’ Regulus insists, beginning to get frustrated. Why couldn’t it be Remus who gave Sirius a mirror? At least he could be of some use.
‘Alright, alright, calm down. I’ll go get them, we’ll be over in a minute—’
‘No!’ Regulus cries. ‘Not you. Just them,’
James pauses for a moment, eyes flicking back and forth, clearly searching Regulus’ face for something. He isn’t sure what James finds, but it seems to shut him up so Regulus doesn’t push further. James simply nods and then he disappears.
Regulus can only assume that his parents are on the way. So he sets the mirror back down and tentatively steps back towards Sirius’ bedroom door.
His screams have stopped now, leaving an eerie silence in their place. Regulus shouldn't be so accustomed to the soundtrack of his brother’s punishments, but it plays over and over in his dreams and sometimes he wonders if he'll ever escape it. Silence rarely means anything good on nights like this one. Silence means something new is about to happen and Regulus is skidding down the stairs before he can stop to think twice.
He should wait for Mr and Mrs Potter, they'll take Sirius away and then he can get on with his summer. Maybe he'll have to take the Mark, maybe he won't but surely if it's what his parents want, it's what he must do. Barty has been talking about getting it, Severus Snape from the year above already has it, he was bragging about it when he got back from Easter break. Perhaps this is the right thing to do.
Still, something is wrong and Regulus needs to make sure his brother is okay, so he’s hurtling back towards the drawing room and bursting through the door without a thought in his head. Only Sirius. He’s on his feet when Regulus manages to rejoin the party, wand in hand and pointed at their parents who are looking at him with shocked looks.
Mother laughs, a high pitched and painful noise that Regulus doesn't remember ever enjoying. She didn't used to laugh like this. Mother didn't used to laugh at her children or use every spell she knows to cause her eldest pain. Father didn't stand by and bellow at his sons while his wife tortured one of them. The Black family used to be different. Regulus misses his old family.
Sirius has blood on his face now, it's trickling from a gash just over his left eyebrow, his eyeball is stained red with it and there's a manic look in his eye. Regulus has never been scared of his brother before, but he wonders if their parents are.
‘You think you can beat me? Your own mother? Sirius, dear, that is preposterous. Stand down and do as you're told,’ Mother tells him once her cackling has subsided. As always, Father is standing behind her, wand poised at the ready but he follows her lead.
‘Mother!’ Regulus cries as she aims another curse at Sirius face and another gash slices through his cheek. ‘Please stop, just leave him alone!’
Sirius is shaking from head to toe, Regulus tells himself it's adrenaline but he knows it's something worse. He's seen it before when Barty used the Cruciatus Curse on that poor Muggle girl a few weeks ago. It had hit the Daily Prophet the next day that she died in a Muggle hospital early that morning.
‘Its fine, Reg, it was always going to come to this, I've known it for years—’ Sirius finally tears his eyes away from Mother— ‘it's us or them.’
Sirius makes it sound like Regulus should have known too, that he shouldn't be surprised by his words, but he feels sick to his stomach. Because he didn't see this coming. Never before has Regulus thought he would have to choose between his parents and his brother. His parents who birthed and raised him, who taught him who he is and what he should be. His brother who has always stood between him and any danger, who taught him who he could be.
Regulus doesn't have time to make a decision. Father's wand flicks through the air and Sirius goes flying backwards into the bookshelf. It shatters and the books go flying, several of them knocking Sirius in the process. He sits there dazed, blinking slowly and Regulus leaps in front of him.
‘Sectum Sempera!’ he cries, wand pointed at his father’s chest and suddenly his pristine, white dress shirt is staining red. Crimson blood seeps through his clothes, dripping down his body as he cries out in pain, falling immediately to the floor.
Snape really wasn't kidding when he said to only use that curse on his enemies. It's a horrific sight, his father lying on their most prized rug, bleeding profusely all over it. Mother shrieks, for a moment Regulus wonders if somewhere in their bloodline, a Banshee got involved, the sound is truly terrifying.
She comes flying at him, wand in one hand while the other stretches out, going for his neck. Mother doesn't reach him, though, because a book comes flying past Regulus’ cheeky and hits her square in the jaw. She hits the floor right next to her husband, knocked clean out.
‘Shit! Reg, what the fuck?’ Sirius shouts, scrambling to his feet and rushing over to their father.
‘You said ‘us or them’! I chose us!’ Regulus cries indignantly. Father is groaning incoherently as they kneel next to him, both too stunned and ill-equipped to know what to do.
‘That doesn't mean get locked up in Azkaban for murder! Fuck me, have some self-control!’ Sirius mutters, pressing his hands down on Father’s abdomen where the bleeding seems to be the worst. ‘Did you get to James?’
‘Yeah, I told him to send his parents. They should be here soon,’ Reg responds nervously. He didn't mean to do this, hell he didn't even know what the spell was going to do! This isn't how tonight was supposed to go.
‘Good, Eddie's a brilliant healer. She’ll fix this,’ Sirius insists. ‘Effie will fix this,’
Regulus swallows thickly and nods his head. He never would have thought that of the two of them, it'd be Sirius trying to keep their father alive. As if hearing his thoughts, Sirius scowls down at their father.
‘I’m not doing this for you, you pretentious prick. I’m doing it for him, don't you forget that,’ he tells him firmly then, as if just realising Regulus is still knelt beside him, glances over quickly. ‘Why don't you go wait for Effie and Monty outside, make sure they can get in,’
‘Yeah… yeah, right… I’ll do that,’ Regulus agrees, letting Sirius absent-mindedly shove him to his feet and out of the drawing room.
What did he do? He didn't mean it. He didn't mean to hurt his Father that badly, he just wanted to protect Sirius. He was hurting his brother, Regulus couldn't stand by and watch. That's all he's done for the last fifteen years of his life, stand by like a useless, unfeeling bastard who wouldn't even stand up for his brother. A brother who is currently trying to stop him from becoming a murderer
What's going to happen now? Regulus hand shakes on the door as he pulls it shut behind him. It's chilly for summer, or perhaps the chill is coming from inside but either way Regulus’ dinner robes feel awfully thin. It'll be even colder in Azkaban when he no doubt ends up there.
Will Sirius be able to visit him? Will he even want to? Regulus will be a murderer. The boy who killed his own father with underage magic. Talk about the pride of the family. He’ll never be able to show his face around any of his relatives again. In fact, he’ll probably be killed himself for this. If not by his mother, then Uncle Cygnus’ endless sense of familial loyalty might do him in.
‘Regulus? Son, is that you?’ a voice calls out from the darkness. Regulus hadn’t even heard the crack of someone Disapparating nearby, but now two figures make their way down the little cobbled path that lead up to the door. He used to sit on his father’s shoulders walking up this path every Sunday when they left for family dinner. The shoulders of the same man that is now on his deathbed because of him.
‘Regulus, sweetheart, what’s going on? James said you needed help,’ Mrs Potter says as the two reach them. Her face quickly pales and her eyes go wide. ‘Oh my goodness, what happened to you? What’s all this blood,’
‘Not mine,’ Regulus mumbles. The adults share a look and Regulus finds himself hunching over, shoulders curled in on himself. No amount of Mother’s screeching in his mind could make him stand up tall now.
‘Sirius?’ Mr Potter questions gravely.
Regulus shakes his head.
He can’t bring himself to say it. Can’t conjure up the words: ‘I killed my father’. Regulus killed his father. He has murdered his own father. He’s a murderer. A murderer who murdered his father because he is a murderer.
Murderer.
It doesn’t even sound like a word anymore, but it’s the only thought in his head. Garbled English swirling around as he pictures his life in Azkaban, the chill of Dementors hanging over him forever. This cannot be happening.
‘Son, you need to let us inside so we can help. Let us help you.’ Mr Potter’s hands are on Regulus’ shoulders, holding him steady but he doesn’t have the same bruising grip Father does. ‘Let us in,’
Regulus nods numbly, turning around and leading the Potters up the steps to his house. He’s never felt embarrassed by his house before, but he’s never realised just how cold it feels until now. The Potter’s house, Regulus is sure, must be warm all the time. If James lives there, it’ll be warm. James is always warm.
‘Effie? Effie, help!’ Sirius yells as soon as he hears the creak of the door and the woman is quick to rush past Regulus, following Sirius’ voice and bustling into the drawing room. Regulus stands in the doorway, struck dumb.
He can’t move. He can’t leave, yet cannot bear to stay. He won’t look at his Father again, can’t handle the sight of his pale face, blood slowly draining from hundreds of cuts littering his tall frame. He didn’t think such an indestructible man could be taken down with one simple spell. Regulus didn’t even know what the spell would do.
This is all his fault. He shouldn’t have gone back downstairs, should have just waited and let Mr and Mrs Potter come for Sirius, then everything would have been okay. Regulus would still be the golden child, Sirius would be disowned just like Andy and Regulus would take over as heir of the Black family. He’d hate every second of it, but they would be okay. Everything would have been fine.
But he had to go downstairs. Had to make sure that Sirius was okay. Sirius would have been okay, but now his hands must be stained red with their father’s blood and he’s crying now, the sounds muffled behind the door of the drawing room and Mrs Potter is saying something quietly.
There’s a hand on Regulus’ shoulder. A gentle hand and a soft thumb stroking backwards and forwards in a soothing gesture. Still, Regulus doesn’t move.
‘I didn’t mean to,’ he whispers, eyes fixated on the half-closed door to the drawing room. He can’t see anything other than his mother’s high heels just poking around the corner. Sirius got a good shot in on her, perhaps he should be a Chaser like James.
‘I know, Regulus,’
‘He was going to hurt Sirius,’
‘I know,’
‘I just wanted it to stop,’
‘I know,’
Regulus has never heard Mr Potter’s voice before, only seen pictures of him on Sirius’ bedside table and once or twice he’s caught a glimpse of the Potters on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. He never knew how kind a man’s voice could be.
The tears have returned, sliding down Regulus’ cheeks freely and he doesn’t even try to stop them now, simply lets them fall as he stares at the door. Mrs Potter and Sirius are in there for a long time. There’s some muttering from the older woman, most likely a healing spell, more crying from both of them and then silence.
Finally, they emerge.
Sirius’ hands are clean, the gashes on his face healed up like nothing ever happened. His hands still shake, though, and there’s no light in his dull eyes. He looks like Regulus. That was always the difference between them; Sirius still found joy in life and now it seems Regulus has taken that from him as well.
Mrs Potter announces that both of Regulus’ parents are going to be just fine, they’ll come around soon enough. She says it’s probably best if they’re gone by then. So they all trudge upstairs and Mr Potter waves his wand to pack all of their things away. Mrs Potter flicks her wrist and all their luggage disappears. Just like that, their rooms are empty.
‘Time to go, boys,’ Mr Potter announces and he holds out his arm to Regulus. ‘Hold on tight,’
Apparating with Mr Potter is the first time he hasn’t felt sick doing so. Whenever his parents had dragged him along, he’d feel nauseous for hours afterwards, but Mr Potter holds him close as they spin on the spot and Regulus hardly knows it’s happened.
But it’s obvious where they are when James’ voice starts bellowing throughout the house.
‘Pads! What happened? Are you okay? Regulus said you were in trouble, what did they do now? I’ll kill them, you know. I’ll bloody well kill—’
‘James, settle down,’ Mr Potter says firmly. His hand stays on Regulus' shoulder and he’s fairly certain it’s the only thing keeping him upright as James’ words crash over his ears. I’ll kill them, you know. I’ll kill them. Kill them. Kill him. I’ll kill him, I killed him. I did kill him. I killed my own father. I killed my own fucking father.
Murderer.
‘Let’s get you settled in, boys. James, why don’t you find some spare pyjamas,’ Mr Potter suggests, voice gentler now as James deflates like a balloon that’s had a needle thrust through it.
So Regulus allows Mr Potter to guide him around their home, showing him the bathroom and where he’ll be sleeping. He shows Regulus where he and Mrs Potter sleep, ‘just in case’ he says. Just in case what, though? He would never have dreamed of bothering his parents in the night. Does James wake his parents up at the arse crack of dawn like Sirius whinges he always does to him? Is that why he acts like such a spoiled brat?
Regulus accepts the hot chocolate Mrs Potter makes and forces himself to eat the biscuits she offers even though it feels like sandpaper in his mouth. And when the Ministry owl flies through the open window, he lets Mrs Potter read the letter out to him.
He lets James curse and swear up and down that the Ministry is run by wankers who don’t understand mitigating circumstances. He can be quite intelligent when he tries, really. But Regulus lets him rage and lets Sirius hug him and promise to come to the hearing with him. Nobody cares that Regulus nearly killed his father, they only care that it was underage magic. They don’t care that his mother had, only moments before, used an Unforgivable Curse on her own son. They only care that Regulus Black waved his wand before his seventeenth birthday. It could have been any spell and he’d still be getting grilled by Mr Potter every day before the hearing, straightening out his story. It could have been any spell and he’d still be sitting in this circular chamber in front of the entire Wizengamot to determine if the youngest son of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black should be punished.
All of the Potters come to watch. It takes James cornering him against a wall one evening to drill it through his head that they only want to support him. Dumbledore comes to speak on Regulus’ behalf and Professor McGonagall tries to reason that it’s become clear that the Black children do not live in a safe home.
Nobody listens.
The hearing lasts for barely two hours and then Regulus is being ushered into another room where the Potters aren’t allowed to follow. Not even Sirius is allowed in with him. A tall man stands behind a desk and demands to see his wand. Regulus doesn’t want to hand it over. He knows what happens now.
But he doesn’t have a choice. Regulus has never had a choice. Not in his brother leaving him to go to school, not in being placed in Slytherin, far away from his brother, not in having to be the perfect son to maintain some sliver of his parents’ sanity. He doesn’t have a choice in this either.
So Regulus hands over his wand and shuts his eyes when the man takes it in to hands, holding it up to eye level and, with a flick of his own wand, snaps the wood in half. Only the since unicorn hair remains intact, still connected to either side. The only tether Regulus has left to his old life.
Regulus never goes back to Grimmauld Place, in fact it’s years before he ever sees his parents again. He never goes back to Hogwarts either. Everyone moves on around him, Barty insists they’ll stay friends but then one day he pulls up his sleeve to reveal a great big skull tattooed to his forearm and Regulus feels sick.
What’s the point in it? Blood purity. It’s all bollocks anyway. Even a Pureblood from the most respected and well-bred family can be cast aside like dirt, left to rot at the bottom of the food chain. Everybody else keeps climbing and Regulus… Regulus sinks.