Chapter Text
Pitch black is the first thing that registers.
Just a soul floating in pitch black, tethered or untethered, it was unknown.
No light or shapes to register, just him. He’s not sure if his eyes are even open.
What are eyes? What is sight?
Who is he? How does he know what a man is? And why is he so sure that he is one?
Regrettably, touch and feeling are the senses that come flooding back next. It’s agony, burning fire on his skin, flaps of bloody flesh peeling off of his body.
But when his mouth opens to scream, nothing comes out. Liquid rushes into his mouth, filling his throat with the fire, tearing him open from the inside out.
Pressure builds on all sides, squeezing him from all sides, arms pinned to his chest when all of a sudden—
The pressure subsides and light floods his senses.
Air.
Wonderful, fantastical air enters his lungs as he sputters, crying out with relief. What a horrible ordeal.
He suddenly felt himself being lifted from where he landed, too out of it and wrung out to protest or even register what was happening.
He feels himself being placed on a warm cushion, pressing into what he concludes is his naked skin.
As he struggles for breath once more, crying subsiding, he forced his eyes open, sensitive and weak.
Despite understanding few details of the memories flooding back to him, he grasps onto two things his small brain can understand.
The first being that he was just born, and today was his birthday.
The second being far more disturbing, if possible. He lifted his small, wobbly head to confirm, and there, in front of his big nearsighted eyes, laid a drained but clear-eyed Walburga Black.
Far more sane than Regulus had ever seen her, she looked present and put together, corners of her mouth rising slightly at him. How he knew that she had never looked this sane before, he had no idea.
With those terrible truths solidified, the conclusion was undeniable.
Regulus Arcturus Black, by some grace of magic, had been reborn.
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There wasn’t much he could understand, being born very recently. A week ago, in fact.
Regulus had spent most of that time sleeping, curled up in a bassinet near Walburga’s bed.
His sense of time had certainly been affected, but Walburga had mentioned today that, “It’s your first week living. Congratulations.” She’d murmured it quietly to him while bottle feeding his night time milk.
It was surprising how sane she still looked. Perhaps Regulus had assumed she was always insane, or that she always enjoyed torture and death. It was hard to picture her cradling a baby with such tenderness as she bestowed upon Regulus now, but so far, it seemed Walburga was normal and content.
So Regulus tried to relax. And sleep. He did a lot of sleeping. Newborns were kind of boring in that regard, he admitted.
He did pretty much nothing, too tired from growing most days, and just apathetic to moving other days. With every passing day, more of his memories registered, and while older Regulus had enough repressed childhood trauma to allow him to shut off his feelings, baby Regulus did not.
There were too many complicated feelings, far more than just sad or happy. They were emotions he couldn’t even name when he was older, it was an impossible task for a baby to pick apart and deal with.
It had been another few weeks of Regulus not moving except to be fed when Walburga finally took him out of her room. Maybe, somewhere deep in her heart, her maternal instincts sensed something wrong with her baby, and decided a change of scenery would be good for him.
Regulus just wished she would leave him alone.
Ignoring his silent protests in his mind, Walburga carefully carried him to their living room.
It was a garish, horribly decorated place that would’ve put him on edge even without his memories. With his memories, all it reminded him of was—
Pain. Torture. Spines cracking backwards, tensing muscles on fire against their will. Emotions breaking.
Tears welled up in his eyes, and they were wiped away and shushed just as fast as they came.
Rocking gently while hushing him softly, Walburga sat down on one of the tacky green couches.
“Are you ready,” she asked in a hushed tone, “to meet your new best friend and protector forever?”
Regulus paused, unnoticeable to Walburga. Who in Merlin’s name was she talking about?
Clambering footsteps could be heard clumsily making their way closer to where Walburga and Regulus were sitting on the couch. Coming into view just over the couch arm was a small black mop of hair, bouncing and energetic.
Walburga smiled slightly, and chastised the black mop.
“Calm down, Sirius, you have to be gentle around the baby,” she reminded him. “Remember what we practiced?”
The black mop nodded excitedly, rounding the couch and showing his pale, bright, one year old face.
“Gentle hands around the baby,” he told her, speaking like he was reciting something he’d been practicing for a while.
Walburga nodded proudly.
“Alright, sit up here, and I’ll place him in our lap,” she instructed him.
Regulus watched with wide eyes as he took in Sirius’ appearance, so small and childlike. He could barely remember when he looked like that before now. Childhood trauma played a part in the apparent amnesia, he supposed. He had almost forgotten about Sirius, in all honesty. He'd been kind of preoccupied with the whole rebirth thing happening, and processing an entire life he'd had before this. Sirius had just slipped his mind, and the fact that he was living in this house before he was born.
It was surreal to see him, so trusting and young. Chubby cheeks, too much hair for his head, and hands small and pudgy.
Those small, pudgy hands were pulling Sirius’ body onto the couch, and as soon as he was settled near Walburga, he reached for Regulus.
A realisation came over his face, before Sirius asked, “May I please have the baby, Mama?”
Walburga nodded, smiled while saying, “Of course, dear. Good job remembering your manners.”
Sirius’s face brightened, and Regulus felt his body being lifted before being placed in baby Sirius’s lap.
If Regulus thought it was surreal seeing baby Sirius before from afar, it was ten times weirder seeing his baby face staring down at him, so close.
Sirius let out a breath, still clearly excited but containing himself for Regulus. Regulus found his body relaxing more with Sirius than it had been in Walburga’s arms, finding solace in the arms of his brother who’d protected him for so long.
Regulus had craved that safety for so, so long.
Regulus was still staring at his face, wide eyes trying to memorize his face while welling up with tears, bottom lip sticking out, clearly startling Sirius, because he looked to his mother for guidance.
“Try rocking him,” Walburga suggested, amused.
Sirius looked down at him again, starting to rock him slowly and clumsy.
“Don’t worry baby brother,” he stage-whispered (because one year olds don’t know how to whisper) “You’re okay. I’m here to protect you.” He smiled proudly at that, and at the fact that Regulus had stopped crying.
Sirius was clearly going to take his protector role as seriously in this life as he had in their old one.
“No.” thought Regulus. “I’m going to protect you this time. All of you.”
And with that, Regulus’s fate was put into motion.
This time, with this crazy circumstance, he wouldn’t take his life for granted.
He would do everything he could to save his friends and family.
No matter what.