fic for nundu_art: Being Black (Regulus, Sirius, G)
Title: Being Black
Author: d_andru
Recipient: nundu_art
Rating: G
Character(s): Regulus, Sirius
Warnings: none
Author's Notes: Happy Holidays! You generously asked for only a happy ending. I hope you enjoy these little snippets of time.
--
Yule 1970
Regulus couldn't wait until the Winter Solstice. Yule was, without a doubt, his most favourite time of year. Evergreens decorated the parlour and the room smelt of cinnamon.
This year he was nine, and if he were lucky, he'd be getting the same Yule gift that Sirius received last year. He really needed a broom because Sirius had become a complete prat since his birthday.
Mum must have been beyond mad when she decided to give him a training wand for his ten-year gift. He longed for the day when his brother found himself some Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs to torment. He was tired of Sirius using him as a practice target for all the jinxes and hexes he'd learnt.
He couldn't fight back, Sirius was too strong, but maybe, he could learn to be a better flyer. If he got a broom, he might stand some hope of surviving until next September, when Sirius left for Hogwarts.
This was his chance to be the best at something. Sirius had always been a bit afraid of heights, and he'd never really used his broom. Not that he'd let him use it either.
He'd been waiting patiently for a chance to outshine Sirius. He might not get to be the next Black sorted into Slytherin, but he would be the next Black to play Quidditch for Slytherin House.
He ran around the parlour flying on his imaginary broom, caught up in his dreaming. He pretended to zoom through the air as he called out, "Regulus Black, Slytherin Seeker of the century, and legend of the wizarding world!"
The locking of his knees and the tumble onto the carpet brought him harshly back to reality.
Looking up, he saw Sirius standing over him, training wand in hand. He didn't like it when Sirius got that gleam in his eye, or when he let go one of his eerie, barking laughs. That laugh always held the whispered promise of misery.
He knew he'd best shout for help while he was still able, squeezing his eyes closed, he cried out as loudly as he could, "Kreacher!" Regulus sighed with relief as the little elf popped into the room just as the next hex hit him. Kreacher would always save him.
Yule 1974
After a long ride on the Hogwarts Express, they were finally home, and Sirius was still being an attention-seeking prat. He wouldn't stop whinging about wanting to go the Potters' for the entire school holiday.
Merlin, but Gryffindors were a boisterous lot, always complaining. He didn't want to think about how loud their common room must be during term.
Mum had started screaming when Sirius wouldn't stop asking to leave. She'd stormed off without her usual grace and slammed the door to the library. He sniggered as he thought about the kinds of hexes that she was likely looking up for Sirius's punishment.
Since he'd been sorted into Gryffindor, Sirius wouldn't do anything to please Mum. They were constantly bickering because he just tried to vex her.
It was nice to be the one who had her favour for a change. Mum was proud of him because, last term, he'd made the Quidditch team, and she'd said that he'd been behaving like a proper Black.
During term, she'd sent an owl to congratulate him. The owl had brought a small parcel as well as a letter, and inside he'd found a family crest pendant on a silver chain. Sirius had seen it in the Great Hall and refused to talk to him for an entire week.
All those years, Sirius had bullied him while taking Mum's preference for granted, and now, he was the favourite son. He smiled and stretched as he thought about how patience had served him well.
Taking a deep breath, he enjoyed the scent of cinnamon mixed with evergreens -- no other place smelt quite like home. The Potters couldn't possibly be planning a better Yule than Mum.
After all, Blacks were famous for their charming, if lavish, celebrations. This was probably another one of Sirius's annoying attempts to make everyone miserable. He really didn't understand him anymore.
He couldn't work out why Sirius looked so unhappy every time they had a school holiday. Things would've been fine, if he'd just behave once in awhile.
Kreacher popped into the room and offered him some of this year's special cider. It was delicious, both lush and smooth. As he savoured the taste, he realised again that Blacks always had the best of everything because nothing less was acceptable.
Regulus decided, right at that moment, that he'd always come home for Yule. He'd never forget that he was a Black, and he'd always strive to make his parents proud.
Yule 1977
Despite Mum's warnings, this year Sirius hadn't come home, and Mum, in a fit of rage, had blasted him off the family tree.
It was strange to be sixteen and, suddenly, the official first-born. For the last few days, he'd been the recognised heir of the Black family. Sirius was lost to them, lost to stubborn defiance and Muggle sympathizers.
The idea of going back to Hogwarts and ignoring his brother might have been odd if they hadn't been slowly growing apart for years. Sirius didn't understand how betrayed they'd all felt when he'd ran away to pretend to be a Potter.
Mum had even called Sirius a blood traitor, and then she'd cried. Father and Mum were both distressed over losing Sirius, but Regulus knew that with every loss came an opportunity.
He'd made certain to live up to their expectations in every way that Sirius had failed. Last night, he'd received his reward for his loyalty and devotion.
When his father told him that he was to be initiated into the most powerful ranks in wizarding history, his heart had nearly burst with joy. For so long he'd wanted to prove his worth, and finally, he'd been given the opportunity.
For him, at least, this had been the best Yule ever. He rubbed his forearm; it still ached and burned. He hadn't expected to receive such an honour so young, but he was grateful to be amongst those few chosen to represent and defend.
He was proud to be a part of the movement that would look after his family's heritage and traditions. Father said that the Dark Lord was going to reshape the wizarding world, squeezing out the unsavoury while protecting the loyal and pure.
He sat down in his favourite chair and pulled back his sleeve. The Mark was still red and inflamed, but, already, he knew the temporary pain was a small price to pay in exchange for the camaraderie of the wizarding elite.
He was going to stand beside Britain's best and reclaim their magical society. His pulse raced as he thought back on the power that had swept through the room during the initiation ceremony. It had been intoxicating.
The Dark Lord had questioned all of the new members, ensuring that each had the proper willingness and convictions to support the cause. When he'd seen Sirius's mate Peter kneeling down near him, he'd felt overwhelmed with relief.
If Peter could be in Gryffindor and still conform to the ideals of the Dark Lord then there would always be hope that Sirius might come to his senses.
Regulus looked around at the evergreen boughs hanging throughout the parlour. It was another new year. Breathing in the rich, comforting smells of Yule, he decided when he returned to Hogwarts next term, he'd try, at least once, to reach out to Sirius.
He couldn't tell him about Peter because they'd all sworn to keep each other's identities secret, but he could try to make his brother see reason.
It was never too late to make amends. He would attempt to make Sirius understand how badly he'd hurt their parents. Gently running his fingertips over his Mark, Regulus smiled as he thought of all the fantastic things he was going to accomplish.
This gift, the Dark Lord's Mark, was his new beginning. He was officially part of something positive and grand, something larger than being a Slytherin Seeker or the son of an upstanding wizard.
He couldn't wait to see what the future held. Sirius may have been a fool and thrown away his legacy, but very soon, he'd prove to everyone exactly what it meant to be a Black. He was going to hone his powers and focus his ambition until no one would ever forget the name Regulus Black.
He startled when Kreacher popped into the room with some of their cider. Bowing in apology, the little elf offered him a drink, and he couldn't resist smiling. No matter what changed, Kreacher and the parlour always stayed the same.
Author: d_andru
Recipient: nundu_art
Rating: G
Character(s): Regulus, Sirius
Warnings: none
Author's Notes: Happy Holidays! You generously asked for only a happy ending. I hope you enjoy these little snippets of time.
--
Yule 1970
Regulus couldn't wait until the Winter Solstice. Yule was, without a doubt, his most favourite time of year. Evergreens decorated the parlour and the room smelt of cinnamon.
This year he was nine, and if he were lucky, he'd be getting the same Yule gift that Sirius received last year. He really needed a broom because Sirius had become a complete prat since his birthday.
Mum must have been beyond mad when she decided to give him a training wand for his ten-year gift. He longed for the day when his brother found himself some Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs to torment. He was tired of Sirius using him as a practice target for all the jinxes and hexes he'd learnt.
He couldn't fight back, Sirius was too strong, but maybe, he could learn to be a better flyer. If he got a broom, he might stand some hope of surviving until next September, when Sirius left for Hogwarts.
This was his chance to be the best at something. Sirius had always been a bit afraid of heights, and he'd never really used his broom. Not that he'd let him use it either.
He'd been waiting patiently for a chance to outshine Sirius. He might not get to be the next Black sorted into Slytherin, but he would be the next Black to play Quidditch for Slytherin House.
He ran around the parlour flying on his imaginary broom, caught up in his dreaming. He pretended to zoom through the air as he called out, "Regulus Black, Slytherin Seeker of the century, and legend of the wizarding world!"
The locking of his knees and the tumble onto the carpet brought him harshly back to reality.
Looking up, he saw Sirius standing over him, training wand in hand. He didn't like it when Sirius got that gleam in his eye, or when he let go one of his eerie, barking laughs. That laugh always held the whispered promise of misery.
He knew he'd best shout for help while he was still able, squeezing his eyes closed, he cried out as loudly as he could, "Kreacher!" Regulus sighed with relief as the little elf popped into the room just as the next hex hit him. Kreacher would always save him.
Yule 1974
After a long ride on the Hogwarts Express, they were finally home, and Sirius was still being an attention-seeking prat. He wouldn't stop whinging about wanting to go the Potters' for the entire school holiday.
Merlin, but Gryffindors were a boisterous lot, always complaining. He didn't want to think about how loud their common room must be during term.
Mum had started screaming when Sirius wouldn't stop asking to leave. She'd stormed off without her usual grace and slammed the door to the library. He sniggered as he thought about the kinds of hexes that she was likely looking up for Sirius's punishment.
Since he'd been sorted into Gryffindor, Sirius wouldn't do anything to please Mum. They were constantly bickering because he just tried to vex her.
It was nice to be the one who had her favour for a change. Mum was proud of him because, last term, he'd made the Quidditch team, and she'd said that he'd been behaving like a proper Black.
During term, she'd sent an owl to congratulate him. The owl had brought a small parcel as well as a letter, and inside he'd found a family crest pendant on a silver chain. Sirius had seen it in the Great Hall and refused to talk to him for an entire week.
All those years, Sirius had bullied him while taking Mum's preference for granted, and now, he was the favourite son. He smiled and stretched as he thought about how patience had served him well.
Taking a deep breath, he enjoyed the scent of cinnamon mixed with evergreens -- no other place smelt quite like home. The Potters couldn't possibly be planning a better Yule than Mum.
After all, Blacks were famous for their charming, if lavish, celebrations. This was probably another one of Sirius's annoying attempts to make everyone miserable. He really didn't understand him anymore.
He couldn't work out why Sirius looked so unhappy every time they had a school holiday. Things would've been fine, if he'd just behave once in awhile.
Kreacher popped into the room and offered him some of this year's special cider. It was delicious, both lush and smooth. As he savoured the taste, he realised again that Blacks always had the best of everything because nothing less was acceptable.
Regulus decided, right at that moment, that he'd always come home for Yule. He'd never forget that he was a Black, and he'd always strive to make his parents proud.
Yule 1977
Despite Mum's warnings, this year Sirius hadn't come home, and Mum, in a fit of rage, had blasted him off the family tree.
It was strange to be sixteen and, suddenly, the official first-born. For the last few days, he'd been the recognised heir of the Black family. Sirius was lost to them, lost to stubborn defiance and Muggle sympathizers.
The idea of going back to Hogwarts and ignoring his brother might have been odd if they hadn't been slowly growing apart for years. Sirius didn't understand how betrayed they'd all felt when he'd ran away to pretend to be a Potter.
Mum had even called Sirius a blood traitor, and then she'd cried. Father and Mum were both distressed over losing Sirius, but Regulus knew that with every loss came an opportunity.
He'd made certain to live up to their expectations in every way that Sirius had failed. Last night, he'd received his reward for his loyalty and devotion.
When his father told him that he was to be initiated into the most powerful ranks in wizarding history, his heart had nearly burst with joy. For so long he'd wanted to prove his worth, and finally, he'd been given the opportunity.
For him, at least, this had been the best Yule ever. He rubbed his forearm; it still ached and burned. He hadn't expected to receive such an honour so young, but he was grateful to be amongst those few chosen to represent and defend.
He was proud to be a part of the movement that would look after his family's heritage and traditions. Father said that the Dark Lord was going to reshape the wizarding world, squeezing out the unsavoury while protecting the loyal and pure.
He sat down in his favourite chair and pulled back his sleeve. The Mark was still red and inflamed, but, already, he knew the temporary pain was a small price to pay in exchange for the camaraderie of the wizarding elite.
He was going to stand beside Britain's best and reclaim their magical society. His pulse raced as he thought back on the power that had swept through the room during the initiation ceremony. It had been intoxicating.
The Dark Lord had questioned all of the new members, ensuring that each had the proper willingness and convictions to support the cause. When he'd seen Sirius's mate Peter kneeling down near him, he'd felt overwhelmed with relief.
If Peter could be in Gryffindor and still conform to the ideals of the Dark Lord then there would always be hope that Sirius might come to his senses.
Regulus looked around at the evergreen boughs hanging throughout the parlour. It was another new year. Breathing in the rich, comforting smells of Yule, he decided when he returned to Hogwarts next term, he'd try, at least once, to reach out to Sirius.
He couldn't tell him about Peter because they'd all sworn to keep each other's identities secret, but he could try to make his brother see reason.
It was never too late to make amends. He would attempt to make Sirius understand how badly he'd hurt their parents. Gently running his fingertips over his Mark, Regulus smiled as he thought of all the fantastic things he was going to accomplish.
This gift, the Dark Lord's Mark, was his new beginning. He was officially part of something positive and grand, something larger than being a Slytherin Seeker or the son of an upstanding wizard.
He couldn't wait to see what the future held. Sirius may have been a fool and thrown away his legacy, but very soon, he'd prove to everyone exactly what it meant to be a Black. He was going to hone his powers and focus his ambition until no one would ever forget the name Regulus Black.
He startled when Kreacher popped into the room with some of their cider. Bowing in apology, the little elf offered him a drink, and he couldn't resist smiling. No matter what changed, Kreacher and the parlour always stayed the same.