Chapter Text
“I want it to be, like, messy.”
Those were the last words Sirius had spoken to Regulus. Three years ago today. Regulus was sure he was the only one in this house who remembered Sirius was actually a person, not just the faceless golden idol.
Regulus was sitting perfectly still at the kitchen table, his hands folded neatly in front of him. His pale skin and silver rings contrasted sharply with the black marble of the table. His sleeves were slightly too long, and they obscured his thin wrists. His right wrist was twisted a little, but Regulus couldn’t fix that without it hurting.
A note had been stuck to his locker today.
Meet me. House. 4pm. Don’t be late.
Regulus would recognize his mother's handwriting anywhere.
So at 3:47pm, Regulus was sitting at the table, terrified of what had incurred Walburga to call him home this time.
On the date Sirius ran away, no less.
The only change Regulus allowed himself when he thought about Sirius was the tiniest furrow in his eyebrows. He didn’t allow his perfect posture to change at all. He didn’t allow his legs to fidget under the table. To his mother, at this moment, he was the perfect son.
It was also entirely possible that Walburga had hidden a camera somewhere, just to see it Regulus slipped up.
At 3:52pm, a floorboard creaked. Regulus jumped without managing to outwardly show how startled he was.
His father, Orion Black, wasn’t home. He was never home. He had a high-ranking job as the CEO of something Regulus could never remember. Did that make him a bad son? Regulus didn’t know. He was a disappointing son and person anyway, so this was just one more thing onto the list.
Regulus still couldn’t decide if he liked it better when Orion wasn’t home. The house was a lot quieter without the nightly shouting matches between his parents.
But everything was cleaner when Orion was home. There was no layer of dust, no cobwebs in the corners. Everything was absolutely neat, and all meals were exactly on time.
And also, Regulus almost preferred Orion’s method of discipline. The worst he’d done was hit Regulus with his steel belt. It took a couple weeks to heal, but Regulus didn’t think he’d ever recovered from some of the things Walburga had said.
Which was why Regulus still hadn’t moved. It was now 3:57pm. If you asked him, he would’ve said he was practicing his posture. Making sure he didn’t disappoint his parents again.
In reality, he was so scared of Walburga getting home that he felt paralyzed with anxiety.
It was the kind of fear that curled cold tendrils through his bones, settled in his stomach, and made him afraid to blink. Too afraid that he would miss something, and that even the smallest movement would cause a chain reaction.
Like the old saying about how a butterfly’s wings flapping on one side of the world could create a hurricane on the other side of the world.
At 4:01pm, the lock finally clicked open.
Regulus tensed, almost imperceptibly.
And Walburga strode into the dining room.
Walburga wore her customary black shawl, high black heels, along with her silver-topped cane. She always made Regulus feel underdressed, always looking impeccable with not a thread or hair out of place. Regulus tried to dress properly, but no matter what he did, Walburga always managed to find something wrong.
Walburga didn’t even look at him. That was almost worse, like Regulus wasn’t worth her attention at all. She just stalked into the kitchen and started making herself a strong cup of coffee.
Regulus remembered when him and Sirius were little and pretending to be demon hunters.
They’d stolen the duvet off Regulus’s bed, dragged it into Sirius’s bathroom, and thrown it in the bathtub. They locked the door, drew the bathtub curtain, and turned off the light. Then they crawled under the duvet and huddled together.
Regulus had been giggling while Sirius did impressions of what he thought demons would sound like. Sirius ruffled his hair, and Regulus squirmed away.
Sirius pushed Regulus out from under the duvet, and Regulus squeaked and dove back in, complaining the demons would get him.
Sirius got a very, well, serious expression on his face, and told Regulus where all the bad demons were. The closet, under the bed, the basement…
And then Sirius said the thing that changed everything for Regulus.
“But the worst demon is the one that lived downstairs.”
Little Regulus stared at him with huge silver eyes. He had been about to defend their mother, and say, ‘oh, Sirius, why would you say something like that,’ but then all the pieces fell into place.
The way Walburga told them she loved them right before she locked them in their room for days.
The way she pushed Regulus down the stairs so hard he fractured his wrist, and then got punished even more harshly when his handwriting got messier while his wrist healed.
But for every time Regulus suffered a bruised cheek, a cut hand, a black eye, Sirius always got ten times worse. Sirius always got ten times worse.
Sirius always protected Regulus. Even when he didn’t deserve it.
But Sirius wasn’t here anymore.
Regulus never learned how to stand up for himself the way Sirius had. And Sirius was way braver, standing up for both himself and his cowardly little brother.
There was no one to protect him from his mother this time.
Regulus didn’t even know what he did this time. Other than be ‘a disappointment and disgrace on the family name’, of course.
Walburga finally walked back from the kitchen, and paused directly behind him. Regulus could feel the heat from her coffee, that was how close she was.
He refused to let his posture slump. Walburga hadn’t even said anything yet. She was running a hand through his black curls silently. Regulus fought the urge to shudder. He’d never liked people touching his hair. Since Walburga always was fixing it, stroking it, he’d learned to associate it with unpleasant experiences.
Walburga faced Regulus, cupped his chin in her hand, tilted his head up, and their eyes met.
There was a storm brewing in her eyes. The kind of storm that levelled cities and sent thousands fleeing.
Walburga reached one hand into her pocket, never breaking eye contact. She withdrew Regulus’s report card.
That explains what she’s upset about.
Regulus’s eyes watered from not blinking, and when he finally dropped his gaze, losing what he was pretty sure was a silent battle of wills, Walburga finally spoke.
“I stopped by the office today. Do you care to explain this?” Her voice was freezing daggers on Regulus’s skin.
“It’s my report card, maman.” Regulus internally cringed at every word coming out of his mouth.
“Do not state the obvious, Regulus Arcturus. Why are your grades so low?”
Regulus’s grades averaged a 93. “I tried my best, maman, I swear…”
Walburga’s piercing blue eyes would have made Regulus shrink back if he hadn’t trained himself out of it. And he didn’t want to find out what would happen if his posture slipped again. “Regulus, your best is simply not good enough. How will you ever get into an Ivy League school with that sort of average? You’re not even in the running for valedictorian. Do you know what salutatorian means?”
Regulus risked a small shake of his head.
“It is Latin for ‘not good enough’.”
Regulus’s eyes flicked down as he tried to hide how much that hurt. Walburga said something along those lines every time. You’d think Regulus would be used to it by now.
“Your brother,” –Walburga spit the words as if they were poison– “was top of his class every single year without fail. Never missed a single class. Never got sick once. Why on earth he left was unfathomable to me. He had everything he could have possibly wanted, and now I must waste my efforts on you.”
Regulus knew he wasn’t his brother. Even before Sirius ran away, he was always being compared to him and coming up short. He always wished he was his brother. Sirius was smarter, cooler, better-looking, and had a full scholarship to Berkeley by the time he was fifteen.
Regulus, on the other hand, as Walburga so kindly reminded him, was not set to graduate valedictorian, hadn’t received his university applications back, and missed class frequently because of one thing after another. Influenza, pneumonia, you name it, Regulus got it at some point. And when Regulus skipped a grade, did anyone care? No, no they didn’t.
Regulus opened his mouth to speak, and immediately regretted it when he met Walburga’s eyes. Upgraded from storm to hurricane made landfall. “I’m not my brother,”
Walburga’s already thin lips curled into a sneer. “No, you’re not, and every day I wish you were. Sirius was everything I could possibly have hoped for in a child. You… you’ve let me down since the day you were born.”
Regulus felt tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He remembered his father slapping him, saying ‘boys don’t cry!’ He didn’t let the tears spill over.
“You didn’t talk until you were five years old. You couldn’t read until seven. Failed all math tests put in front of you until age fourteen.”
Regulus just nodded. What else could he do? She was just stating facts.
Walburga placed both hands on the marble table. “You are going to go to your room. You will think about how you have disappointed your father and I. I hope when you come out, you will be ready to start preparing for your French C1 literary exam.”
Regulus nodded again. “Enjoy your youth, Regulus. Not everyone will be as nice as I am to you in your life. But this is the only way you will make it anywhere.” Regulus felt tears prickling the backs of his eyes. Walburga dismissed him. He unwove his fingers from where they’d been lying on the table, slowly stood up, and started walking up the two flights of stairs to his room.
He swore he heard his brother’s door creak open, but dismissed it as his imagination. No one else was home. The demon was in the kitchen.
When Regulus stepped inside his room, he went straight to his desk, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out his neon purple cell phone. Sirius had gotten it for him as a joke for his tenth birthday, and then Regulus realized it actually worked. Orion and Walburga still didn’t know about it. After seven years, Regulus was amazed it still worked. There were only three numbers saved on it: Barty, Evan, and Sirius.
Regulus tried calling Barty, then Evan. No response. Straight to voicemail both times. He tried again, and then a third time, then gave up. He didn’t know why he’d thought they’d respond, they hadn’t responded to his calls for the past two or three weeks.
Regulus didn’t bother trying to call Sirius. He’d tried him every day, seven times, the month after he’d run away.
Then five times a day.
Then twice.
Finally, he stopped calling altogether.