Work Text:
Regulus never liked children.
There was no specific reason for his aversion, but the truth was that Regulus simply could not deal with children, much less have patience for them. Perhaps it was because, in his own childhood, no one knew how to deal with him or have patience for him. After all, childhood demands dependence, vulnerability, a constant need for affection and attention—something Regulus had never known. At least, not in the right way.
He never truly felt that need because he knew it would not be met. The closest he ever got to love and care was from Sirius, who was just as broken as he was, if not more so. They were two children raising each other, trying to give something they never truly received.
It was to Sirius’ bed that he ran when he was afraid of a storm or when he had a nightmare; it was in Sirius’ lap that he cried when he was punished for something he didn't even understand. And, of course, beyond that, it was Sirius who defended and protected him from everything, the one who took the punishments in his place and stood up to their parents so Regulus wouldn't suffer.
During Sirius’ first year at Hogwarts, Regulus religiously awaited his brother's weekly letter telling him all the news, talking about his new friends (especially James, with whom Regulus secretly developed a certain fascination over time, even though he was jealous that his brother had grown so attached to someone else) and their pranks that drove the professors mad, barely able to wait to join him the following year.
In Regulus’ first year at Hogwarts, for the first time, he was afraid of disappointing his brother when he was sorted into Slytherin, fearing Sirius would stop loving him for it. He never did. In fact, he hugged him as soon as they met and said he was proud of him, regardless of the house Regulus was in. His brother made him feel loved.
When Sirius left without so much as a goodbye, Regulus lost his footing and his world became much grayer, because all the love he knew was ripped away from him before he could even prepare for it.
Regulus never cried over his brother’s departure. At least, never during the day, when his mother might hear him and punish him for it—after all, crying was a sign of weakness, a vulnerability a Black could never show, regardless of the situation.
Since Sirius had left, his mother constantly compared him to his brother, no matter how hard he tried. If his posture was good, Sirius’ was better; if his French was good, Sirius’ was better; if his grades were good, Sirius’ were perfect. Perhaps that was Walburga's twisted way of saying she loved her firstborn and that her younger son was a failed project she hoped would improve so he might receive meager scraps of affection.
Every night, Regulus would silently sneak through the house and into Sirius' room, lie down on his bed, smell the lingering scent of his brother, and weep. He couldn't quite name the reason for the tears, whether it was the sadness of losing his brother or the rage that Sirius hadn't even considered taking him along, but he tried to push all that feeling out, hoping to loosen the knot in his chest. It never worked.
Regulus couldn't say exactly when he stopped going to Sirius’ room to cry. Perhaps it was when he saw how much happier and healthier his brother looked away from the house where he grew up, or when he realized that Sirius wouldn't even look his way while they were at Hogwarts.
He tried to approach his brother, tried to talk, tried to understand, but Sirius made a point of turning his face and walking away every time Regulus attempted an approach, as if the mere presence of his younger brother brought back the memories of the hell they grew up in.
That was when Regulus realized he was alone. Completely and painfully alone.
Regulus wasn't sure who he was angrier at: Sirius, for having abandoned him to his own fate, without even a farewell; his parents, for having had two children when they clearly barely had the capacity to love one; or that damned James Potter, for having taken away the only person he loved and who loved him back.
Regulus was a child who had to grow up alone, who had to tend to his own wounds, dry his own tears, and pick himself up, because if he didn't, no one else would.
When the Dark Lord rose to power, Regulus saw an opportunity. Not that he agreed with the sick pure-blood ideals he preached. In fact, it was his parents' enthusiastic approval that pushed him, the perfect chance to finally make them proud. To make them love him like they loved Sirius.
That was how, at sixteen, Regulus ended up with the Dark Mark tattooed on his arm. It burned like hell and he thought he was going to pass out, but he made sure not to let his face show any sign of pain or discomfort. He was good at that, at pretending, acting, and behaving exactly as people expected him to.
He clearly had no idea what he was signing up for; not even in his darkest thoughts could he have guessed everything he would be forced to endure simply to survive. But, in that moment, all that ran through his head was the proud smile his mother gave him when he returned home, the skull and snake still pulsing on his left forearm.
~★~
Of course, like everything good in Regulus’ life, the euphoria of being a Death Eater was short-lived, just long enough for him to taste what it was like, for the first time, to be truly seen by his parents, before the harsh reality was thrown at him like a bucket of cold water on a harsh winter day.
When the Dark Lord's missions began to weigh on him, when he had to torture innocent people and pretend to enjoy it; when he had to participate in basically suicidal ambushes; and, by Merlin, when he had to kill for the first time, Regulus bitterly wondered what the hell he had done with his life. When did things spiral so far out of his control?
It was two years. Two damn years in which he had to swallow his fears and anxieties, taking care of himself to avoid going mad, all while everything he wanted was to run back into Sirius' arms, as he did when he was a child. But Sirius wasn't there anymore, and he wasn't a child anymore, so he had to deal with the consequences of his own choices alone.
~★~
At eighteen, Regulus discovered something that could finally defeat Voldemort and free him from the miserable life he had been leading since becoming a Death Eater.
The Dark Lord had been making Horcruxes, splitting his soul into several fragments with the darkest of magic. And, luckily for Regulus, he now not only knew about Voldemort's evil plan for immortality but also knew the location of all of them. After all, the Dark Lord had dragged Kreacher, the Black family house-elf, to help him hide each of the cursed objects, so all Regulus had to do was retrieve them and find a way to destroy them.
Of course, talking was much easier than doing.
Out of the five Horcruxes the Dark Lord had created so far, Regulus already had four, but no matter what he did, what spells he cast, or what corrosive potion, no matter how powerful, he poured over the objects, nothing worked, so he kept going back to square one.
Kreacher was hesitant to take him to get the last Horcrux, always murmuring about a horrible cave full of Inferi. Regulus didn't care. He knew that even death would be better than the life he had been leading in recent years, and if he could do something to stop that lunatic, he would die with a clear conscience.
Regulus didn't know exactly what motivated him to write a letter to Sirius the night before his trip to the Cave, but he did it anyway. Perhaps, in the end, he just wanted his brother to care about him, even if it was for the last time.
Sirius,
I don't know if you will even read this letter before burning it, but I feel the need to give you an explanation before it's too late.
I know you must hate me now, after all, I represent everything you fight against, but I hope you know that not everything is as it seems, and I feel like you need to at least hear my side before sinking into any bitterness.
When you left, I felt lost and helpless. You were everything I had, everything I loved, and suddenly, you were gone without even looking back, without even considering taking me with you out of that hell. You left without even saying goodbye. In the blink of an eye, I had nothing left.
I don't blame you for anything. If I had had the chance, if I had been a little braver, I would have left too.
Since your departure, I've made many stupid decisions, following everything Mama said, in the naive hope that she might love me, even just a little. As you must know, that obviously didn't work out.
The stupidest decision I ever made, however, was becoming a Death Eater. I don't even believe in what the Dark Lord preaches, but the proud smile Mama gave me when I came home that day, as if I had finally done something right, was what motivated me to continue. For the first time since you left, I felt like I could be loved.
It didn't last, of course. Nothing pleases Walburga Black for long, as you must know.
Anyway, what I really want to say with all this is that I bitterly regret the decisions that brought me to where I am today, and since I can't just take a Time-Turner and fix the past, I've decided to do something to guarantee everyone a future.
The Dark Lord has been fragmenting his soul, creating Horcruxes to ensure his immortality. To my knowledge, there are five so far, and I already have four of them. I just haven't figured out how to destroy them yet. I will leave them with Andy, so that if I don't survive, you can figure it out, as you always did.
Kreacher is worried about our trip to the Cave tomorrow, but I will be more than happy to die if it means the Wizarding World can be rid of the Dark Lord. I hope this helps you hate me a little less, too, although I'm not foolish enough to have such high hopes.
I hope you are happy, Sirius. You deserve it!
Your brother,
R.A.B.
On that same night, Regulus asked Kreacher to deliver the letter to Sirius, and then, alone in his room, sensing imminent death, he allowed himself to cry one last time.
~★~
The feeling of drowning was bad at the best of times and desperate at the worst.
First came the panic of being dragged under the water by dozens (perhaps hundreds) of arms, which tore at his skin and suffocated him, ensuring he had no chance of escape. Regulus didn't even want to fight, but his body reacted instinctively, struggling, grasping for oxygen, in a desperate urge to return to the surface.
Then, when he could no longer hold his breath and began to inhale water, his lungs began to burn, his muscles started to go numb, and he simply stopped struggling, surrendering willingly to the cold and the darkness.
So this was what death was like? Like a cold embrace, from which you cannot escape, no matter how hard you try? After fighting so hard, after suffering so much, not just in that moment, but throughout almost his entire life, Regulus was more than happy to surrender into the arms of Death and allow himself to rest. Finally, a little peace and silence.
~★~
Regulus woke up with a start, the darkness ripped apart by a faint light from what looked like a torch. He vomited more water than he thought was humanly possible and shivered uncontrollably, the cold seeming to freeze his bones.
How the hell had he gotten to the surface? Or rather, how, in Merlin’s name, could he still be alive? There was no saving him; there was no way he could have gotten out of that water alone, even if he had wanted to (and he hadn't), so how…?
Before he could even complete the thought, a pair of arms pulled him desperately, clutching Regulus as if he would disappear at any moment.
“You idiot, how can such a brilliant mind be so dense at the same time?” The voice was very familiar. Regulus would recognize it anywhere. He just needed his thoughts to be a little clearer; he just needed to remember…
“Sirius?” he asked, his voice coming out hoarse, broken, and foolishly hopeful.
“Of course it’s me. Merlin, Reggie, what were you thinking? Did you really think you could send me a letter saying you were going to die and I’d just sit here with my arms crossed, waiting?” Sirius sounded desperate, almost as if he genuinely cared.
“I thought you…” Regulus paused to turn sideways as best he could, still in his older brother's arms, to vomit more water, before taking a deep breath and resuming his sentence. “I thought you didn’t care anymore.”
Before Sirius could reply, a third voice made itself known, and with a slightly clearer mind, Regulus recognized it immediately.
“He cares a lot. In fact, he wanted to break into Grimmauld Place last night just to stop you from even getting here,” Regulus turned his head toward the voice and saw James Potter standing there, looking a bit awkward, as if he felt he was intruding on a private moment between the brothers.
Regulus wanted to answer so many things. He wanted to say that if Sirius truly cared, he wouldn't have disappeared in the middle of the night without saying goodbye, wouldn't have ignored all his attempts to talk, wouldn't have left him alone in the damned place where they were both broken.
Before he could even think about opening his mouth, James approached slowly, taking off his coat and wrapping it around Regulus, saying something about blue lips and possible hypothermia. Regulus couldn't quite understand; his mind was still foggy. All he knew was that one moment they were in that Cave, and the next, they were in a house that smelled of homemade sweets and tea. Something that truly felt like home.
Regulus passed out shortly after.
~★~
The months that followed were absolute madness.
Regulus was properly welcomed by Euphemia and Fleamont Potter, who did everything not only to heal him physically but also worked hard to make him feel safe and cared for, even though all the other members of the Order of the Phoenix looked at him as if he had some contagious disease.
Dumbledore had somehow managed to destroy the Horcruxes, with Basilisk venom or something like that, which meant that when the final battle finally arrived, the Dark Lord was as mortal as any common wizard, which was definitely a crucial factor in his imminent defeat.
When the Death Eaters who were still alive were called for trial, Sirius and James made sure to testify on his behalf, which allowed him to be acquitted almost immediately.
Despite being a free man, whenever he passed by, he could hear the whispers of those who wanted him locked up in Azkaban for the rest of his life. Regulus didn't care. Everything was over, and even though people didn't know about his sacrifice, those who truly mattered knew. That was enough.
The relationship between Regulus and Sirius was slowly being rebuilt. There were still many hard feelings and a lot to be talked about before they could even think about trying to be as close as they were before, but they were working together towards it. Regulus expected everything to work out.
What Regulus definitely didn't expect was James's sudden closeness, who seemed to disregard the concept of personal space, following him everywhere and always asking how he was, if he needed anything, and occasionally picking a fight when he heard someone speaking ill of Regulus.
Despite feigning bad humor every time James got too close or flirted with him in an idiotic manner, Regulus had to admit to himself that he loved the attention he was receiving, and everyone around them seemed to notice it, including Potter himself, who seemed practically to glow with excitement.
It was no surprise to anyone when, after a few months of them orbiting around each other, James finally asked him out on a real date, and Regulus accepted. Just as it was no surprise when they quickly entered into a relationship and, later, a marriage.
~★~
Regulus never wanted to be a father.
Besides not liking children because he didn't know how to deal with them, he had a tremendous difficulty showing affection and an abysmal fear of ending up like his mother. He wouldn't want to bring a child into the world if he didn't have the capacity to love them as every child deserves.
However, every fear and insecurity he might have vanished the second he held Harry for the first time in his arms.
It didn't take much for Regulus to know that he loved that child, his son, more than anything in the world. The moment Harry looked up at him with those gray eyes, so incredibly similar to his own, the messy black hair like James’, and held his index finger with all the strength his tiny baby hand had, Regulus knew he would do everything possible and impossible to ensure he was as happy as possible. His son would never have to wonder if he was truly loved.
When James approached the hospital bed where he was lying, with Harry comfortably nestled against his chest, Regulus knew he needed nothing more.
He finally had a real family, and most importantly, he discovered what it truly meant to love and be loved.