Chapter Text
Reggie was three years old now, but Sirius was an only child when guests were present, or when Mère and Père took him out to dinners or teas, or even when their cousins Bella, Andy, and Cissy were over. Then Reggie stayed in his bedroom, a warded 'spare room', and Frowsy or Kreature kept him company when they could.
However, no guests resided in Number 12, Grimmauld Place as two boys, so similar only size could differentiate, tore through the halls on little legs shrieking and giggling, taking turns chasing and tackling each other to the elaborately knotted rugs. Mère was at tea at the Malfoys, Père was attending business, Sirius had finished his coursework for the day, and Kreature, they discovered, did not care what they played as long as no one misbehaved, so they wriggled on the rug, tickling and shoving until one escaped to race away.
Reggie caught Sirius by the calf, toppling him and pulling his captor down with him into an encasing hug, rolling too close to the staircase for Sirius' liking as he tickled his brother's ribs before pinning him farther away from the stairs. Their games went on for what seemed to be a blissful nap, long and short and corporeal, until tired little legs lost their balance and crashed into that rickey little giltwood console decorated with yellowing doily and heirloom vase. Well, had previously housed that hideous old vase. The centuries-old goblin cut glass shattered into millions of fine shimmering crystals as Sirius yoked his brother back, letting his foot and the back of his calf deposit flecks of red only seen if one knew to search for the crimson.
Reggie's right hand jumped to twirl his cufflink, but they were not wearing their regular clothes, only their 'play-robes', as Mère called them. His eyes widened and his breath shortened as he shook his head, eyes misting over the farther off they gazed. Oh no, Sirius thought, not this again.
"A veracious gardener are you now, Lucretia?" Mère smiled politely, though the look in her eyes conveyed a superior viciousness with the private knowledge she now had an heir and a potential spare. "Do pardon me if my cogitation was incorrect, but I merely assumed it must have been fine, albeit ill-conducted. But if Mr. Prewett's spawn is inadequate, my dear cousin..."
Sirius had sat quietly, hands folded in his lap with his back straight and mortified of drinking his tea incorrectly, previously focused on neglecting the étagères' sweetmeats, wondered what Mère and Tante Lucretia meant by 'trimmed the family tree'. It was all the more odd at how his aunt's fair skin paled ill-humoredly when she set her tea down to announce it.
"It was utterly de rigueur for the situation," Tante Lucretia replied coolly, dusting the sandwich crumbs clinging to her gloves off above her plate before dabbing her mouth with an embroidered silken napkin, effectively finishing the subject.
That was a week after a midwife carried a bundle out of a spare room of their chateau with Père on her heals, pure golden sunshine forming shafts across the floor, climbing up to the midwife's content, proud exhaustion and Père's porcelain face, forever immobile and hard yet seldom harsh, his eyes different today. "Sirius, this is your brother, Regulus Arcturus," he spoke evenly, slowly, and measured in his calming way. So that was what the blather was about! "Once he is older, you may play with him. He will be yours to keep well, and I am assured you shall felicitously."
And that was when, at two years old, Sirius Orion Black decided that babies were hideous creatures and he wanted nothing to do with them, and that Andy and Cissy's baby dolls were so irrevocably misleading an act ought to be passed against the deceptive production of the dolls.
But.
But Regulus would be his to play with. Only Nounou played with him, when he behaved well and showed learning progress. Frowzy played with him, but only to keep him quiet or occupied.
So Regulus was his, ugly and squish-faced and useless or not, and that was the end of it.
Reggie was his little brother to protect, and he would, because Père said he could.
And he did.
Always.
Sirius carried his brother by the underarms down half the steps as the little pants became increasingly shallow and fervent. No one was around; house-elves would never tattle. It was okay. He watched and forced himself to continue breathing steadily as his hands guided his brother's gaze toward him (eye contact only made it worse) and pressed their hands together, smiling as the breathing soon evened out. It still works.
"Let us play with cards now. Kreature shall tidy up," he said gently, helping Reggie up.