fic: Packing for the Crash (The Black Brothers Variations) (HP; Regulus; gen)
Packing for the Crash (The Black Brothers Variations)
Harry Potter; Regulus Black; g; 1,120 words
If he lives through this, maybe Sirius will be happy to see him.
Thanks to angelgazing for looking it over.
Remix of Salt the Earth by schmevil
***
Packing for the Crash (The Black Brothers Variations)
Regulus waits until Mother is out shopping for Narcissa's trousseau before he pulls the battered old suitcase out of the closet and tosses it onto his bed. He packs quickly, methodically, as if there is anywhere he can go that's safe from Bellatrix, from Voldemort. From this stupid war and the stupid choices he's made since he got involved in it. Since he didn't follow Sirius out the door five years ago. Since he was born.
He doesn't bother with magic; he needs to keep his hands busy to stop them from shaking with anxiety, with rage.
He packs robes, both casual and dressy, and a heavy black cloak to keep him warm. He empties his underwear drawer quickly, balls up his socks, and leaves his pajamas behind. He adds two pairs of shoes and a ratty pair of trainers that still smell like fungus from a prank Sirius played on him before he left school. He hasn't worn them in years, and won't be wearing them any time soon. Still, he imagines he might need them in the new life he's going to make for himself when he leaves.
He has an illicit pair of Muggle blue jeans, smuggled in when he was feeling adventurous (on a rare occasion when he was missing Sirius), the cuffs wide and frayed. He slips into Sirius's room, the unmoving Muggle posters of girls in scanty bathing suits staring down at him vacantly, their wide sunny smiles sinister in the dim, dusty light of the abandoned room, and looks to see if Sirius left behind any Muggle clothing he might use now. He thinks about going to America, where being foreign will be enough to excuse any oddities of behavior. Secretly, he's always wanted to go to San Francisco. He imagines dozens of girls like the ones on Sirius's posters, blonde and tanned and inviting, ready to show him a good time.
Regulus knows he's never going to make it to America. He'll be lucky if he makes it out of the house, really, though he's got the house elves on his side, which is something Sirius never had.
He tries not to think about Sirius, about owling him and asking for help, letting him know that he was right all along. No doubt Sirius would come over all smug and superior, talk about how as the big brother, he was always right, and Regulus would hex him and they'd end up not speaking again, and it wouldn't be any good at all, because Regulus would still be fucked and Sirius wouldn't be able to save him.
No, he's not going to call Sirius unless and until he gets out of this mess himself, because Sirius has always been one to say, I told you so, and Regulus has never enjoyed hearing it.
He yanks open the chest of drawers, wincing at the way the warped wood shrieks, and remembers the half dozen times Sirius threatened to run away, packing his stuff up in a righteous fury and then unpacking it just as quickly when he lost his nerve. Regulus had never believed he'd actually go through with it, never understood why he wanted to. Even now, as he's planning to turn his back on everything his family has represented for the past eight hundred years, he's still trying to come up with a way to reconcile his beliefs about Muggle inferiority with his disgust at Voldemort's methods.
But wizards have never been good at negotiating a middle way, and Blacks are even worse at it--if the family motto is Toujours Pur, perhaps unofficially it should be all or nothing at all. He thinks that might look fine embroidered in silver thread on Mother's precious, moth-eaten tapestry. Perhaps he will have a new one commissioned when he gets to America, to celebrate his new life in the new world.
Like most members of his family, Regulus has always had delusions of grandeur. It's just that he's more aware of how ridiculous they are than the others. Even his sense of humor is failing him in this situation, though.
He rifles through the dusty, nearly-empty drawers and finds a balled up pair of green socks, a few dingy pairs of y-fronts no one ever threw away, which is a surprise, because Regulus had thought his mother was going to burn down the house when she'd discovered Sirius had finally gone, and shoved into a corner, amid the dust bunnies and the remains of old copies of Quidditch Weekly, he finds Sirius's old stuffed dragon.
Her fur is dusty and threadbare, her ears are crushed, and her seams are straining. One dull black eye is barely holding on by a thread, and her wings are bent and lopsided from being crammed into the corner of a drawer for so many years. She's certainly seen better days. But then, so has he.
His mind skates lightly over the memories of thunderstorms, of sneaking into Sirius's room to snuggle under the blankets while the skies roared and rained above them, back before Sirius was in Gryffindor, before he was the family disgrace. Back when he was just Regulus's big brother, his hero. When he was everything Regulus ever wanted to be.
Regulus brings the decrepit old stuffed animal to his face, inhales dust and fur, and pretends he can still smell Sirius, the soap they used when they were kids, the slightly sweaty scent that always clung to Sirius's skin. (Later, for some reason, he'd always smelled a little like wet dog when Regulus got close enough to sniff. He had never asked about that. He'd thought maybe it came from associating with mudbloods.)
He's had a long time to get used to Sirius being gone, had started missing him the day he went to Hogwarts the first time, when Sirius got on the train and he stayed on the platform and watched until the Hogwarts Express disappeared into the distance. And then, Sirius's sorting had opened a rift between them that nothing could bridge.
Well, Regulus thinks, maybe not nothing. If he lives through this, maybe Sirius will be happy to see him. He's surprised to find that he forgives Sirius for leaving. He hopes he survives long enough to discover whether Sirius forgives him for staying.
He tucks the stuffed dragon under his arm, ignoring the musty smell that makes his nose itch, and imagines Sirius is there encouraging him to spit in Voldemort's eye.
It's the only thing he takes with him when he goes. He shoves the suitcase under the bed, and tells himself he'll make it home in good enough shape to retrieve it.
He's always been pretty good at lying to himself.
end
***
I don't really have much to say about this one. The original is about Sirius packing and unpacking, over and over, as he tries to get up the courage to leave home--and his crazy family--behind. The first thing I thought of in terms of remixing was Regulus leaving, a few years later, under more dangerous circumstances, and how he probably didn't really turn his back on his family so much as he wanted no truck with killing people, even if he still believed Muggles were inferior, etc., and how he probably made the same mental connection to Sirius leaving, and maybe was scared enough to hope they could reconcile, though I'm also pretty sure he knew he wasn't going to survive going up against Voldemort. So this is basically a whole exercise in futility and self-deception for Regulus, but it allowed me to do a little meditating on him and his relationship with Sirius, which I find fascinating. I like how it turned out, and so did the remixee, so that makes me happy.
***
Harry Potter; Regulus Black; g; 1,120 words
If he lives through this, maybe Sirius will be happy to see him.
Thanks to angelgazing for looking it over.
Remix of Salt the Earth by schmevil
***
Packing for the Crash (The Black Brothers Variations)
Regulus waits until Mother is out shopping for Narcissa's trousseau before he pulls the battered old suitcase out of the closet and tosses it onto his bed. He packs quickly, methodically, as if there is anywhere he can go that's safe from Bellatrix, from Voldemort. From this stupid war and the stupid choices he's made since he got involved in it. Since he didn't follow Sirius out the door five years ago. Since he was born.
He doesn't bother with magic; he needs to keep his hands busy to stop them from shaking with anxiety, with rage.
He packs robes, both casual and dressy, and a heavy black cloak to keep him warm. He empties his underwear drawer quickly, balls up his socks, and leaves his pajamas behind. He adds two pairs of shoes and a ratty pair of trainers that still smell like fungus from a prank Sirius played on him before he left school. He hasn't worn them in years, and won't be wearing them any time soon. Still, he imagines he might need them in the new life he's going to make for himself when he leaves.
He has an illicit pair of Muggle blue jeans, smuggled in when he was feeling adventurous (on a rare occasion when he was missing Sirius), the cuffs wide and frayed. He slips into Sirius's room, the unmoving Muggle posters of girls in scanty bathing suits staring down at him vacantly, their wide sunny smiles sinister in the dim, dusty light of the abandoned room, and looks to see if Sirius left behind any Muggle clothing he might use now. He thinks about going to America, where being foreign will be enough to excuse any oddities of behavior. Secretly, he's always wanted to go to San Francisco. He imagines dozens of girls like the ones on Sirius's posters, blonde and tanned and inviting, ready to show him a good time.
Regulus knows he's never going to make it to America. He'll be lucky if he makes it out of the house, really, though he's got the house elves on his side, which is something Sirius never had.
He tries not to think about Sirius, about owling him and asking for help, letting him know that he was right all along. No doubt Sirius would come over all smug and superior, talk about how as the big brother, he was always right, and Regulus would hex him and they'd end up not speaking again, and it wouldn't be any good at all, because Regulus would still be fucked and Sirius wouldn't be able to save him.
No, he's not going to call Sirius unless and until he gets out of this mess himself, because Sirius has always been one to say, I told you so, and Regulus has never enjoyed hearing it.
He yanks open the chest of drawers, wincing at the way the warped wood shrieks, and remembers the half dozen times Sirius threatened to run away, packing his stuff up in a righteous fury and then unpacking it just as quickly when he lost his nerve. Regulus had never believed he'd actually go through with it, never understood why he wanted to. Even now, as he's planning to turn his back on everything his family has represented for the past eight hundred years, he's still trying to come up with a way to reconcile his beliefs about Muggle inferiority with his disgust at Voldemort's methods.
But wizards have never been good at negotiating a middle way, and Blacks are even worse at it--if the family motto is Toujours Pur, perhaps unofficially it should be all or nothing at all. He thinks that might look fine embroidered in silver thread on Mother's precious, moth-eaten tapestry. Perhaps he will have a new one commissioned when he gets to America, to celebrate his new life in the new world.
Like most members of his family, Regulus has always had delusions of grandeur. It's just that he's more aware of how ridiculous they are than the others. Even his sense of humor is failing him in this situation, though.
He rifles through the dusty, nearly-empty drawers and finds a balled up pair of green socks, a few dingy pairs of y-fronts no one ever threw away, which is a surprise, because Regulus had thought his mother was going to burn down the house when she'd discovered Sirius had finally gone, and shoved into a corner, amid the dust bunnies and the remains of old copies of Quidditch Weekly, he finds Sirius's old stuffed dragon.
Her fur is dusty and threadbare, her ears are crushed, and her seams are straining. One dull black eye is barely holding on by a thread, and her wings are bent and lopsided from being crammed into the corner of a drawer for so many years. She's certainly seen better days. But then, so has he.
His mind skates lightly over the memories of thunderstorms, of sneaking into Sirius's room to snuggle under the blankets while the skies roared and rained above them, back before Sirius was in Gryffindor, before he was the family disgrace. Back when he was just Regulus's big brother, his hero. When he was everything Regulus ever wanted to be.
Regulus brings the decrepit old stuffed animal to his face, inhales dust and fur, and pretends he can still smell Sirius, the soap they used when they were kids, the slightly sweaty scent that always clung to Sirius's skin. (Later, for some reason, he'd always smelled a little like wet dog when Regulus got close enough to sniff. He had never asked about that. He'd thought maybe it came from associating with mudbloods.)
He's had a long time to get used to Sirius being gone, had started missing him the day he went to Hogwarts the first time, when Sirius got on the train and he stayed on the platform and watched until the Hogwarts Express disappeared into the distance. And then, Sirius's sorting had opened a rift between them that nothing could bridge.
Well, Regulus thinks, maybe not nothing. If he lives through this, maybe Sirius will be happy to see him. He's surprised to find that he forgives Sirius for leaving. He hopes he survives long enough to discover whether Sirius forgives him for staying.
He tucks the stuffed dragon under his arm, ignoring the musty smell that makes his nose itch, and imagines Sirius is there encouraging him to spit in Voldemort's eye.
It's the only thing he takes with him when he goes. He shoves the suitcase under the bed, and tells himself he'll make it home in good enough shape to retrieve it.
He's always been pretty good at lying to himself.
end
***
I don't really have much to say about this one. The original is about Sirius packing and unpacking, over and over, as he tries to get up the courage to leave home--and his crazy family--behind. The first thing I thought of in terms of remixing was Regulus leaving, a few years later, under more dangerous circumstances, and how he probably didn't really turn his back on his family so much as he wanted no truck with killing people, even if he still believed Muggles were inferior, etc., and how he probably made the same mental connection to Sirius leaving, and maybe was scared enough to hope they could reconcile, though I'm also pretty sure he knew he wasn't going to survive going up against Voldemort. So this is basically a whole exercise in futility and self-deception for Regulus, but it allowed me to do a little meditating on him and his relationship with Sirius, which I find fascinating. I like how it turned out, and so did the remixee, so that makes me happy.
***