Chapter Text
But my dreams, they aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance that's never free
When my fist clenches, crack it open
Before I use it and lose my cool
When I smile, tell me some bad news
Before I laugh and act like a fool
And if I swallow anything evil
Put your finger down my throat
And if I shiver, please give me a blanket
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat
- Behind Blue Eyes (1971)
November 23rd, 1979
Regulus Black was the first to die.
It was slow, and it was painful, and it was bitter. As he drowned, alone and unloved, he wished it felt unfamiliar. As his lungs burned and everything numbed, he was consumed by an unbearable and suffocating sadness. As his eyes were forced to close one last time, the only thing he saw were happier times; when smiles hadn’t yet been tainted and hearts hadn’t yet been broken. Regulus Black spent his whole life trying to never let light into it, because he thought it would only hurt more when everything went dark.
He was right.
September 1st, 1972. 11:32AM.
Sirius was excited.
It poured out of him in waves as he bounced his leg, routinely checking outside the carriage with jerky, unsubtle glances. Sirius had always been that way, with Regulus. Unsubtle. As rebellious as he wanted to appear to the outside world, Sirius still instinctually presented himself with grace around others, as if he couldn´t bear to be seen as anything other than polished to a shine after years of it having been ingrained into him. But when they were alone, just the two of them, he was rougher, brusque, obvious, as if to say ‘Look at me! I have nothing to hide’; Regulus didn’t know what to think of it. The deliberate uniqueness of their relationship made him feel special, and like a fool for even fancying such thoughts. Sirius was also biting his nails, a nasty habit Mother had tried to beat out of him. Regulus thought that was part of the reason he kept doing it.
“Here they come!” With a shout, Sirius jumped from his seat, cracking open the window and squeezing his head and shoulders through the cramped opening. “In here, you tawts!” His hands left blurry, dirty imprints on the cool glass.
Dread settled like lead in his chest, and Regulus discreetly rubbed a hand over it to try and untangle the knot that was forming. Because Regulus was always like that, discreet, no matter who he was with.
Sirius settled back in his seat, nudging him with his shoulder giddily. “Don’t worry, Reg, you’ll love them.” Regulus knew better than to think his brother had noticed his inner turmoil; the only way Sirius knew how to soothe himself was through reassuring others, which is how he knew that Sirius wanted this meeting to go well. Which was fine, really. He had known that. It shouldn’t have made the rock on his chest grow heavier than it already was.
James Potter. The saint. The funniest boy Sirius had ever met. The shield to Sirius’ sword. Regulus hated him. Hated the way Mother spit on his name. Hated how his brother lit up when he talked about him, how he had spent all summer longingly reading the letters his friends sent him, and the rest of the time assuring Regulus how much fun he would have at Gryffindor. Regulus hadn’t been brave enough to voice his doubts, which he felt was answer enough to the fears running around in his head.
You’re not him.
Before Regulus was able to reassure his brother, the compartment door slid open. His back somehow tightened further with nerves, a steady thrum of ‘you’ll never be enough’ beating through his blood. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor.
“Potter!” Sirius bolted towards the door, happily greeting the boy. His clear elation settled under Regulus’ skin painfully. As if the past month of separation had been torture. Because Regulus wasn’t enough.
A joyous chorus of hello’s and insults were exchanged, and Regulus tried to tune them out, focusing on where the carriage’s rug was torn up at a corner. Then a body settled next to him, and Regulus jolted, lifting his gaze. It was a mousy boy, stout and with badly-taken-care of blond hair, the tips fraying. He offered up a polite smile, and Regulus fought to keep his face blank.
He looked up to try and catch his brother’s eye, see what he was doing, and was surprised to find another boy already sitting in front of him, his face littered with scars, more than Regulus had ever seen on a person, a few peeking out from under the collar of his shirt. Feeling embarrassed at how he was likely unabashedly gawking, Regulus tore his gaze away, only to see that his brother was staring, too. Something in the way his brother looked at the boy threw him. It was pure, rapt, unfiltered curiosity. And in response to a rather dull conversation, Regulus noticed, as he tuned back in and realised the boy was only recounting his journey through the station, complaining about something or other. His voice was soft.
Why had Regulus never heard of him? This was clearly not Potter, and his guess was that the mousy boy next to him was Pettigrew. How could Sirius look at someone that way, and Regulus had never even heard his name before? He didn’t like it.
As Regulus spiraled, the scarred boy noticed his gaze, and turned to look at him, offering up a smile. It wasn’t polite, like the Pettigrew boy’s, just nice. Soft. Regulus felt sick.
“Aren’t you gonna introduce us?” he asked, the soft – now teasing – smile lingering on his lips. Sirius turned, tracking the boy’s line of sight and startling when he saw Regulus, as if he had forgotten he was there. Then he smiled brightly again.
“Boys, this is my little brother, Regulus.” Maybe they haven’t even heard of you before. Maybe you weren’t important enough to mention.
“Reg, this is Lupin, Peter, and James.” Regulus finally found the strength to glance at the remaining boy in the compartment, a decision Regulus severely regretted instantly.
James Potter turned to meet his eye, having finished struggling with all their luggage, and smiled brightly, a huge thing that took over his whole face, giving him dimples and crinkling his eyes at the corner, showing off his slightly crooked front tooth. He leaned down, a mop of unruly black hair falling over his glasses, and extended a hand towards Regulus. “Nice to meet you, mate!”
Regulus was extremely self-conscious as he reached out slowly with his own hand. Probably too stiff, too unnatural, too odd. As he gripped Potter’s lightly, nothing like his family had taught him to do, he realised, mortified, that his palms were likely sweaty. He yanked it back, as discreetly as he could bring himself to do so, fighting hard to keep the blush off his cheeks.
That particular problem was quickly solved for him, as Potter sat down next to Sirius and said - loudly, with the same dumb smile on his face -: “We’ve heard all about you from Sirius, Reggie.” Regulus begged the ground to swallow him as he glared at his brother, instantaneously filled with murderous rage as all the blood drained from his face. Sirius smiled gleefully while Potter went on. “I’m sure you’ll fit right in at Gryffindor; it will be lots of fun.”
Regulus managed the barest of nods, glancing out the window, hands clasped in his lap. Finally, he rasped out: “Just Regulus is fine”.
The dusty old hat had barely touched the top of Regulus’s head before it shouted out Slytherin.
He grimly climbed down towards his table, gaze fixed on the floor as he sat next to Narcissa. He had spotted where she was in the crowd, earlier. Just in case. She doesn’t say anything when he settles next to her, just greets him with an empty smile. Neither of them talk throughout the whole dinner. He managed to glance up towards the Gryffindor table, once. Lupin and Pettigrew were looking down at their plates silently, while Sirius laughed a bit too loudly and Potter whispered stuff to him, his brows etched with a frown, that slowly broke out into a nervous smile as Sirius continued to go on about something, unnaturally joyful, unease still clear on James´ face. Regulus didn’t dare look at their table again after.
The walk back to the dorm was a blur. He had two dormmates, Evan Rosier and Barty Crouch Jr. They barely talked on their way up the stairs, as Crouch filled the space with snide, mean comments, a strange smile contorting his features, and both Evan and Regulus simply nodded vaguely, without speaking a word. When Regulus looked at Rosier, he noticed his eyes, dead and trained on nothing, a bored expression etched on his face. Regulus felt his features actively trying to match it instantly. Once inside the dorm, nobody talked at all anymore, and getting ready for bed was a quick affair. Yet, Regulus lay awake until the early hours of the morning, his heart beating louder and louder no matter what he tried, his mind churning nonstop.
Around one, he snuck down to the common room – palms cold, heart pounding – only to find a girl already there, sitting cross-legged on the cold floor in front of the couch. He tried to go back upstairs before being noticed, but her gaze had already snapped up, deep, soulful black eyes burrowing into him. They stared at each other, quietly, assessing, until she offered out: “I don’t bite”. Regulus moved towards her quietly, sitting in front of the couch across from hers. There they sat, silent, until finally, as if she found what she was looking for, her face broke out into a smile, with a brightness that could match Potter’s but a softness that would rival Lupin’s.
“Dorcas Meadowes.”
And for the first time all day, he realised he wanted to smile back, so he did. “Regulus Black.”
July 5th, 1974. 03:08PM.
Sirius and Regulus were reading their letters.
They were accustomed to the routine by now, sitting at the dining room table that stretched ominously around them, as they quietly read each of their friends’ letters, Walburga Black standing over their shoulders, silently taking in every word. The candelabrums overhead were dizzyingly bright, drowning out the damped light that had managed to worm its way through the thick glass panes.
The house was overly tense today. Something had made Mother grimace while collecting their letters that morning, and she hadn’t spoken since, quietly glaring at them. Sirius had been on edge since yesterday; Regulus knew it had been because last night was a full moon.
Nobody knew Regulus knew, though. He could keep a secret.
Today, Sirius had received three letters and Regulus four. That, instantly, was odd, and had Regulus’ blood freezing in his veins as he racked his brain trying to decipher who the fourth letter might be from. Sirius, predictably, hadn’t noticed his plight, and was instead glaring at his letters with barely restrained intensity. His hands shaking, he picked up his first letter – which was, again, predictably from James, - and quickly read through it, his desperation to quickly check the rest of the senders’ names obvious.
Regulus followed suit, taking more time to read through his. The first one was Barty’s, filled with foul language and crude descriptions of his day-to-day life that neither Mother nor Regulus could bring themselves to be remotely surprised by, and Regulus regrettably found endearing. The next one was Evan’s, dull and bare and Regulus couldn’t help but smile, picturing his friend’s bored drawl. The third one was Dorcas’, the nicest of the bunch, flowery and kind and filled with innuendoes that Mother would never catch. Regulus found himself gripping the paper more softly.
He risked a glance towards Sirius. Pettigrew’s and Potter’s letters discarded, he was staring at his third and final letter dejectedly. It was from his girlfriend, Mary Macdonald, and Regulus settled on the fact that he would have to ignore that his brother was disappointed he had gotten a letter from his girlfriend of almost two years (if you ignored their constant fights and separations, which Regulus did) for the first time all summer, and not one from Lupin.
As Regulus turned back to Dorcas’ letter, he folded it slowly, panicking at the thought of who his last letter could be from. No matter how hard he racked his brain, no name came up, and he was barely able to hide a wince as he saw Potter’s name.
Behind them, Mother leaned even closer, glaring at Regulus venomously, burning holes in the back of his neck.
“Care to elaborate,” she asked slowly, “on why you are getting letters from a blood traitor like James Potter?” At this, Sirius’ head instantly snapped up to look at Regulus, a baffled frown settling heavy on his already troubled face.
Regulus swallowed, inwardly cursing all things Potter and disgusted with himself because of the small thrill he felt seeing James’ there. Their friendship was a fickle thing, consisting almost entirely of inconspicuous meetings where they flew together late at night. He hadn’t a clue how it started, in the last few months of his second year, but he silently treasured those moments. And now James Potter had written to him.
James Potter had missed him.
He clutched the letter between his fingers eagerly and mournfully. He was desperate to read even just a fragment of it. What could he have written? Alone at home, what had made him think of Regulus? What words could he have considered important enough to write down and to owl to Regulus?
It was likely something dumb and Potter-like, about quidditch or a shop he liked, but Regulus was still starving for it. To know. To hold it and keep away from the rest of the world, from Mother’s and Sirius’ judging gaze. Cradle it and keep it as something soft. Something just for him.
Yet he knew what he had to do. Face blank, he quickly flung the letter at the fireplace in front of them, not even opening it. He rolled his eyes, turning back to the rest of his letters to hurriedly write out an answer to his friends. “Sirius, make it clear to him I’ll never answer an owl of his. And I wouldn’t worry, Mother, I could venture a guess on that it’s something idiotic relating to Sirius, but I assure you it’s nothing of importance. Nothing that moron ever says is.”
His heart was beating loudly, too loud, regret flooding his veins. He hated doing that, and now his chest ached as he gripped his quill. But he couldn’t show it.
Sirius dubiously turned back to his letters, grabbing a quill to write some back. He worked slowly and carefully, but Regulus worked fast, his brain a stuttering, painful haze. Barty would probably want to know about the latest book he read, though he would pretend not to. He started there, his hand sluggish and unbalanced as he hurried.
Mother paced until she was standing in front of the fireplace, the paper Regulus had thrown inside now ash. “Regulus, dear, be sure to invite the Rosier boy over next Tuesday. I’ve already sent out word to his parents.”
“What’s next Tuesday?” Sirius asked, looking up from his letters.
Mother sneered, as if his very voice annoyed her. “Merely a casual meeting, with a few respectable families. We’ll be discussing some shared interests; some plans we can set in motion. I expect you to not leave your room during the entirety of it.”
Sirius was apparently undeterred, as he went on: “Does it have to do with him?”
Regulus froze, quill midair. Across the table, which seemed to shrink before their eyes, Walburga slowly turned her head, posture sharp as a knife, eyes murderous as they burned into Sirius, no pretense of family. The lights overhead seemed brighter, the windows darker, and Regulus focused on the quickly drying ink. Dorcas would love to hear that Potter had owled him. He wouldn’t dare write it.
Next to him, Sirius shifted in his seat, defiant and so, so, small. Mother had been cold during Sirius’ first summer away from Hogwarts. Demanding on his second. This summer she struck. As the slap echoed across the room, Regulus kept his gaze stuck on his paper. Maybe Evan would fancy hearing a joke from Regulus. He never made them, didn’t expect it to be good, but Evan would appreciate it. Next to him, Sirius ripped his letters. They were screaming now, and Regulus realised his hand was shaking. He set the quill down slowly. He stared down at his wrists, fingers now splayed over his lap. He couldn’t close his eyes; Mother would notice if he did. He just waited, as Walburga’s shrieks and Sirius’ shouts got louder, closing and opening his fist, rhythmically, gaze glued to the slowly moving tendons.
Eventually, angry, stern footsteps retreated, the sharpness of a heel. Sirius shook Regulus’ shoulder gently, hand trembling (from fear or fury Regulus would never venture a guess). “Reg? Reg, it’s alright.” It was never for him.
Regulus turned to Sirius. He wanted to offer comfort, reassure him. Sirius’ cheek was red from the slap, and Regulus knew he should probably ice it. The nails had scratched him slightly, leaving two drops of blood blooming no matter how much Sirius wiped it away. Regulus wanted to be warm, safe. He wanted to be James.
He wasn’t. Instead, Regulus was angry.
“Why would you say that?”
Sirius frowned, dropping his hand. “Say what? Mention him? Inquire if a psychopath with murderous ideals was gonna come visit my house? Come here and brainwash my little brother and his friends?”
“Brainwash? Is that what you’re calling it now? Merlin, Sirius, you couldn’t be more idiotic if you tried. The fact that I don’t disrespect my family or spit on their name doesn’t translate into me being a mindless little soldier that does everything they tell me to.”
“No, it just ‘translates’ into being a pretentious, pathetic little prat that can’t stand up for himself and anytime he opens his mouth it’s just to spew hateful nonsense. I mean, for fuck’s sake, what are you doing going around calling me best mate a moron for? What has he ever done to you?”
“I’m just being smart, Sirius, a concept that the remaining braincells you haven’t smoked away yet apparently can’t even comprehend. Just because I don’t pick a fight in every single conversation I have doesn’t mean I’m a coward. It’s your own fault that you don’t know how to keep your mouth shut-”
“Christ, Reggie, can you even hear yourself? It’s my fault cuz I can’t be quiet? You sound just like her.” Regulus hid a flinch. “Speaking out against a power-hungry bigot that’s throwing parties in my house is not picking a fight, it’s called having a spine. And if you stopped kissing Rosier’s and his lots’ arses you would realise that.”
“Do you hear yourself? You even swear like a muggle, and you’re criticizing my friends? Maybe if you spent less time with Braindead Potter and Loony Lupin and that Macdonald slag-”
Sirius smashed his fist on the table, upsetting a leftover glass. “Shut your fucking mouth Regulus or I swear I will break it!”
The words rang heavily in the air that slowly closed in around them, the walls colder and darker, the lights brighter and brighter, nauseating in their shine. Regulus hands had been shaking the entire confrontation, his heart pounding, the tell-tell pinprick of tears behind his eyes.
“Shit, Reg, I…”
Regulus turned away from Sirius, gathering up his friends’ letters, sans James’. He wanted to say sorry. He wanted to turn around and crumple in his brother’s arms like he used to, confess all his sins. Admit that he knew Lupin was a werewolf and that Sirius likely fancied him. That Regulus himself fancied James since the very first day that they met and had spent every day since trying to forget it. That the only person he had ever told his shameful secret was Dorcas, when they confessed their queerness to each other in the most terrifying and joyous moment of his life. That he thought Mary Macdonald was brilliant, that he was horribly jealous of Lily Evans, and that he missed Hogwarts just as much as Sirius did. That he hated his brother for leaving him behind, for having better friends, better brothers that Regulus would never be able to live up to. That he loved his brother more than anyone in the world and that fighting was the only way he knew how to keep him safe.
Instead, he finished gathering his stuff and left without glancing back, tears running rampant down his face that he made no move to wipe away, lest Sirius notice.