Sirius/Regulus WIP 1/2 (so far)
Authors: quirkie and pervvymermaid
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, drug use, Blackcest, slash, mention of character deaths, WIP
Pairings: Regulus/Sirius, Sirius/Regulus, implied James/Sirius, mention of James/Lily
Current Length: 11,396
Author's Notes: This post is to make it easier for me to see what's gone on so far, and also for anyone that might be following this. It'll continue in the comments on the entry for part two. If you see problems with the coding, let me know, please.
Prequel here.
Reg wanted to hex Potter across London every time he even looked at Sirius, but decided that was Not On.
Maybe it was the way that James would show off constantly around Sirius. But even worse was the way James would stop the minute Sirius got bored or annoyed by the showing-off.
Or maybe it was the way that James and Sirius would sometimes share a smirk and hold each others' eyes and look... like they both Knew Something. They had shared secrets, and inside jokes, and could talk without words sometimes.
But most painful of all was the day Regulus was in Hogsmead and overheard somebody in Rosmerta's tavern saying it was as if Potter and Black were brothers.
And damn if it wasn't true: Sirius treated James more like a brother than he'd ever treated Reg, to whom he hadn't said more than a couple of words to in months.
Sometimes, he hated Sirius for being a bloody Gryffindor; more often, he hated himself for being a Slytherin.
There were, however, advantages to be gained in Slytherin-the ability to get one's hands on nearly anything happened to be one of them.
Regulus wasn't desperate. Really. Slytherins don't get desperate, they just Have Plans.
...
Ok, well, maybe Regulus didn't have very much of a plan, if he were being honest with himself, but as long as he didn't admit that to anybody else, he wasn't weak, either, right? And so it was that he found himself sneaking around the corridors after curfew, dungbombs held gingerly in his right hand, and bottles of firewhiskey tucked clumsily under his arm.
Now, all Regulus had to do was remember the way to Gryffindor Tower (Travers hadn't been very clear about it, but Reg supposed that was the best he was going to get).
He had passed the same portrait (whose occupant, a fat woman in a pink dress, stared at him suspiciously) three times before he realized that, even if he found the dorms, he didn't have the password.
Shit.
Regulus ducked around a pillar. Maybe he could overhear the password from the next Gryffindor to go through the passageway? It was inconceivable that he was the only student out past curfew, after all.
He knew, simply from watching Sirius and Potter, that Gryffindors didn't follow the rules much more than Slytherins did. There had to still be a few sneaking around somewhere-
He turned to watch the stretch of corridor, which he was relatively sure hid the Gryffindor dorms, and just as he thought to Disillusion himself, the portrait of the woman in the pink dress swung open.
He gaped as he glimpsed a painfully gaudy room, decorated in various shades of red. Was there something wrong with the portrait? Was it a trap? Was somebody he could not see going through even now? More importantly, should he try to follow, and if so, how would he get away with it?
It happened so fast-one minute, he was watching the common room entryway, and the next, he was stumbling from some sort of... shove. "Out past curfew, ickle Slytherin?" a disembodied voice taunted.
Dammit.
It was Potter.
Or Potter's voice, at any rate.
A proper Slytherin would have, well, slithered his way out of this, but Regulus was too angry to bother with The Rules. "Fuck you," he bit off, trying to figure out where Potter's voice was hiding.
Regulus burned with hatred as he heard a soft chuckle (to... his left?). "Now, now, little snake, that's not a very becoming word for such a proper, polished pureblood, is it? What would Slughorn say if he heard you talking like that?"
"You know," he continued, "I think, even with all your money, he would still have to say something about that. Don't you think, Black?"
By this point, Reg hadn't the foggiest idea where Potter was hiding.
He thought he heard someone tell Potter to stop, but he didn't recognize the voice, and he wasn't even sure that's what it had said.
"He wouldn't care," Regulus said reflexively, because it was true. "I'm the heir of an ancient family, now,” he added, trying to keep bitterness out of his voice. "I'll 'go places' in life, no matter what I do. I could burn down the astronomy tower tonight, and Slughorn would just laugh."
Whose voice had that been a second ago? And how many other people were invisible in the hallway?
"You little-"
This voice (accompanied by the sounds of a slight scuffle) was undoubtably Sirius'; Reg had been hoping the taunt would expose him.
"James," whispered a voice Reg didn't recall, but hated anyway, on principle, "we're late! There's someone coming-"
The noises stopped, except for the sound of fabric sliding together, and a more unpleasant one, growing louder by the moment.
There were quiet footsteps tapping down the corridor.
This was no time to get into a pissing contest with Potter-Regulus had to get out of there. He darted from the pillar towards the hallway on the right, but a voice hissed, "This way!" to his left. Regulus hesitated only a second-neither Potter nor Sirius (not to mention whomever the Other Voice belonged to) would want Regulus to be caught, because then Regulus could turn them in, too.
Without thinking about it, he hurtled down the dimly-lit corridor exposed by the tapestry that appeared to move itself aside. The sound of running feet trying to be quiet was all around him, as was the swishing of something that sounded vaguely cloaklike.
Well. Now he knew how Potter & co. had become invisible. Trust the blood traitor to have one just lying around.
He could think about that later, though-a hand had just appeared and dragged him down a flight of stairs he hadn't even seen a moment before. They were lucky they managed to get all the way down without anyone breaking his neck.
Regulus stumbled at the abrupt stop as they made it to the bottom of the stairs. The cloak had them all pushed very close together, and even so, Regulus was pretty sure their feet must have been showing. He looked up, and Sirius's face was just a hairsbreadth away. Regulus's heart stopped for just a moment and his body froze-if he leaned over even an inch, he would be all but kissing his brother.
Sirius didn't give him time for that, however.
"I'm gonna murder that bird of yours, Prongs," he muttered, turning his head enough that Reg could no longer kiss him by 'accident.' After a moment of hushed bickering, he turned back to his brother.
"Look, Reg," he began, wrinkling his nose.
Regulus scowled. The last thing he needed right now was to be belittled on top of being humiliated in front of Sirius's surrogate brother. "Toss off, Sirius," he muttered, and turned to make his way out of this damn cloak.
Too bad he dropped a dung bomb as he bumped into somebody's elbow.
Realizing what he had done, he was able to begin, well, scampering away a split-second before the bomb hit the floor, and thus, he was able to avoid a bit more of the full blast than the others.
He didn't stop running until he tore out from behind another tapestry, apparently somewhere on the second floor. He then ducked into the nearest broom closet and tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.
He couldn't have possibly guessed that Sirius had tools and ways of finding him, though he would later admit he was very lucky that Sirius had insisted on coming after him by himself (though he never stopped hoping that he'd managed to catch Potter's damn cloak on fire). Sirius crept up on Regulus, who was catching his breath and clinging to his firewhiskey, and a second later shoved the younger boy against the wall.
"You worthless Slytherin! You did that on purpose, you sonofabitch!"
Regulus winced, but schooled his features to blankness. "Don't talk about our mother that way," he said coldly.
Sirius snorted, and Regulus punched him.
The firewhiskey in Regulus's punching arm shot straight to the floor and shattered loudly, splashing on the boys' trousers.
"What the fuck was that?" Sirius demanded, livid.
Regulus paused just a beat. "Firewhiskey," he replied, though Sirius may have been talking about being punched and not the shattered bottle.
In fact, it was most probably the part about being punched, since Sirius was, from what Regulus could gather, rather more acquainted with firewhiskey than with being punched.
Unfortunately, that didn't keep Sirius from punching him back.
The fistfight escalated to an all-out brawl in moments, which was probably why they didn't notice that the second bottle had slipped out of Regulus's grasp, crashing to the floor to join the first. Sirius jumped at the sound, and Regulus hastily tucked all the dungbombs into his pockets to prevent those from falling, too.
"What's with you, Reg?" Sirius snarled, shoving him against the wall of the cupboard.
For the second time that night, Regulus contemplated kissing Sirius. This time, he followed through.
"Uuumph!" Sirius grunted as Regulus's mouth bumped into his. Well, maybe it wasn't the smoothest kiss in the world, but he'd had to move fast, right?
Regulus broke away after just a second, before Sirius could respond beyond just the grunt-Regulus wasn't sure he wanted to know what Sirius would do. "You're my brother," he said, words tumbling out too fast, "Mine. Not Potter's." His hands were clinging to Sirius's shirt, he realized.
"I-I don't have time for this-I have to go," Sirius decided, trying to escape Regulus' grasping hands.
"No!" Regulus half-shrieked, holding tighter. "I'm sick of you ignoring me, Sirius!"
Sirius hesitated, and Regulus pulled on his shirt insistently. "You can go through your rebellious-Muggle phase or whatever this is, you can fight with mum all you want, you can turn your back on Slytherin-but I'm your brother, Sirius!" He hated how desperate his voice was, but it couldn't be helped now. "You're pushing me away, but what the fuck have I done to deserve that?"
"I'm ignoring you for your own bloody good, you idiot! I'm not a Black anymore, remember? If your mum thinks you're turning out like me, she'll disown you, too!" His voice boomed in the small space, but he seemed to sag under some unseen burden.
"She's your mum, too." Regulus replied quietly, resting his forehead against Sirius' shoulder, suddenly feeling very worn out.
"I don't care. I'm not going to let her hurt you because of me, because I know you don't really want this. Believe me, Reg. Just...leave it be." Regulus hoped that if he could see Sirius' face, he'd be stubborn-looking as ever-it was better than this pleading. In a way, Reg was glad that he couldn't see it.
Regulus pulled away and looked up at his brother. "I hate you," he said softly, knowing that too much hurt would show on his face for the statement to be taken literally.
"I know," Sirus whispered back, and pulled Regulus into a tight hug.
The single chime of the clock tower broke the spell, figuratively speaking, ahe brothers let go of each other quickly. Sirius babbled something about it being late, and hurried away.
Reg just stood in the middle of the corridor for awhile, watching Sirius disappear into the gloom. He plodded down to the dungeons, not bothering to exercise caution-he'd been punished well enough tonight that he figured the universe might lay off for awhile.
He didn't cry after he crawled into his bed. He wasn't sure he still could.
The next time Regulus Black saw his brother, it was on the Quidditch pitch.
Brutal as the Quidditch rivalry between the two Houses had always been, this match was worse than usual-Sirius had hit a Bludger at his head at least three times, now, and Regulus still wanted to hex Potter every time he saw him. Instead, though, he'd obtained a personal record for successful Quaffle steals in one game.
And Potter didn't like that at all.
"Fuckin' nail him already, Sirius!" he shouted as he whizzed by. "Just fuckin' kill him!"
Regulus gave Potter a gesture that would earn them a penalty, but before the call could be made, cheers exploded from the Slytherin end of the stands. It seemed Lestrange had grabbed the Snitch from right under McKinnon's nose.
She was not pleased; Rabastan just looked smug, as usual.
Potter and Sirius, on the other hand, looked absolutely murderous.
Unfortunately, Regulus only knew about this from what he'd heard later-at the same time he'd had his head turned to give Potter a rather... expressive... gesture, a Bludger collided into his spine and he fell from his broom.
The next thing Regulus remembered seeing was his mother's blurry face, swimming into focus above him. It took him a moment to realize that it was actually his cousin, Bellatrix.
She did not look pleased to see he was still alive. She nodded once, then stalked off, presumably to inform the rest of the family on the condition of the heir apparent.
Regulus sighed.
"What the bloody hell happened?" he moaned, not really knowing if anybody else was nearby or not, but figuring the school nurse or Kreacher or somebody (where the hell was he, anyway? And why was his tongue so huge and mouth swollen?) couldn't be far away-it must be bad, if Bellatrix had checked on him.
A handful of people started talking at once, but the comment Regulus actually picked up on was something to the effect of, "Jeez, Pads, I know I told you to kill him, but really. Look, he's fine; he can talk and everything. Can we go now?"
"Fuck off, Potter," Regulus mumbled, but damn, his mouth was thick. He was probably in mortal danger of swallowing his tongue, which felt as if it were the size of his knee. Had he bit it on his way down, or something? Regulus tried to do a quick mental inventory of his limbs... one, two, three... three... wait, that wasn't good, wasn't there an extra number somewhere? One... two... three... oh, shit... oh, there it was, there was another.
Something was the matter with that fourth limb, though.
Fuck.
Apparently, at some point during his passionate affair with unconsciousness, his left leg had been turned into a tentacle of some sort.
How the hell that had happened, he hadn't the foggiest.
It was probably Potter's fault somehow, though.
Regulus was torn between feeling tragically sorry for himself in front of his audience, and wanting them to just bugger off so he could count his limbs again without distraction. Or sleep. Counting was hard to do right now-maybe he'd been given a pain tonic or something. That would explain why he couldn't feel his maimed fourth limb or his probably horribly-disfigured mouth.
He vaguely wondered if he had grown a squid-like beak, as well. Bellatrix must have come for a good laugh; otherwise, she'd have just asked Rodolphus to check.
Reg gave up worrying for the moment. If he went back to sleep, perhaps this would sort itself out.
When he came to, it was much darker, wherever he was. He wished half-hearted curses on his friends and his brother's friends for leaving him before he even knew what had happened. Although, if his brother and brothers' friends really had been there, he must be in the hospital wing, not back at home.
He tried sitting up.
It went well enough, though the room spun a bit at first before wiggling itself into focus.
There was a redheaded girl Regulus didn't recall ever seeing before sprawled over a chair next his bed; he assumed she was one of the nurse's assistants.
A touch of sadism moving him just loudly enough to wake a light sleeper, Regulus began checking his limbs and face. They seemed back to normal, though he couldn't be quite sure.
"Oh, are you feeling better now? Good, that means Black didn't poison your potion. Umm-the other Black, I mean." She stood and stretched. "Any questions? I'm going to bed, I'm beat."
He scowled at her. "Not literally, like me, I expect, but you could at least tell me what happened and who won."
She walked around a bit; from what Regulus could see, she was frowning ferociously. "Well, Slytherin did, actually. Down by one hundred forty, but then Lestrange caught the Snitch. Ended up 230-240, I think, or thereabouts. Bla-Sirius was so angry-it was him that hit that Bludger straight at you. He's got a detention for Professor McGonagall, then three weeks' worth more from Professor Slughorn." She seemed quite satisfied about this.
Regulus felt light-headed again suddenly. "Si-Sirius hit that at me?" That couldn't be right, Sirius had come here to check on him, it had to have been the other Beater who’d hit him. And here Regulus had just wondered to himself while this girl was talking whether he should ask for his brother! He bit his lower lip hard (the potion must still be working, because he didn't feel it) and turned his head away.
It was Potter's fault. Sirius would half-kill his own brother, just because Potter said to. "I hate him," he said, belatedly realizing he'd spoken aloud.
"Sirius? I don't blame you." the redhead sighed. Regulus didn't bother to correct her.
"Anyway, the nurse said you fractured your spine in six places." She wrinkled her nose in what appeared to be distant sympathy.
"She left another dose of Dreamless Sleep, if you want it. You're nearly better, but I can't let you leave, with all the potions in your system right now."
"Fine." And then he remembered his manners, and looked back up, making eye contact with the girl. "Thank you," he said softly, knowing that girls liked eye contact and not mumbling. All Blacks were capable of being meltingly charming on cue, after all. The girl smiled, and it was enough to make Regulus blurt (after only a moment's hesitation), "It's not Sirius. I mean-Sirius isn't the one I hate, it's Potter. Sirius only hit me because Potter told him to."
The girl seemed displeased by this, but chided, "Well, you were playing Quidditch against each other, of course he's going to-"
"He said to kill me," Regulus insisted. "He meant it-never mind." This was stupid-why the hell was he even telling her any of it? Time to go back to charming, so she'd leave, instead of sticking around to argue. "Thank you for the potion, and the update." And please hex Potter down a flight of stairs, next time you see him. Sirius, too, he thought bitterly.
Apparently a bit flustered by his rapid changes, the girl poured him a half-dose of Dreamless Sleep, then made her excuses again and left Regulus alone, staring into the dark of the nearly-empty Hospital Wing.
Dreamless Sleep, when used for physical relief, took awhile to kick in-only the variety meant for psychological torture was instant (rumor had it that some Aurors needed that kind of Dreamless Sleep every night). Regulus drummed his fingers on the bed, bored and restless. He had a good 15 minutes before sleep, at least. Since nobody seemed to be around, he sort of half-sang to himself the bit of song that was stuck in his head:
Is this how it happens, is this how it feels,
Is this how a star falls? *
So bored!
Perhaps four and a half minutes had elapsed since he'd drunk the potion down, and he wasn't even beginning to go fuzzy yet.
Not that he was counting or anything. He was just so bored.
After maybe another minute or so, Regulus heard footsteps clicking toward his end of the hall. Much as he wanted the company, he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.
Regulus mentally ticked hexes off in his head, searching for the right one in case it was Potter, but he suddenly realized he didn't even know where his wand was.
Blood and ashes! What the hell now? No wand, and against a senior student?
The way Reg saw it, he had a few options: he could keep pretending to be asleep and hope it wasn't Potter, he could pretend to wake up and hope it wasn't Potter, or he could keep pretending to be asleep and jump on Potter when he got close enough to steal his wand.
He liked option three, though he wasn't much for fistfights. It was only until he got Potter's wand, after all, and Potter couldn't be as bad as Sirius.
Unfortunately, option three was the worst one for somebody with a wounded leg. Nearly healed was not healed, and no potion would block such a sudden onslaught of pain.
Luckily, though, it wasn't Potter at all. "Reggie," a voice hissed-hmmm, maybe this was unlucky in the end-"you awake?"
Regulus didn't bother opening his eyes to glare. "Come to finish me off, have you? Potter tell you to do me in again?"
"Nice to see you, too," Sirius snorted.
"Shut up."
"Fuck you!"
"Fuck Potter!"
Sirius looked a little stunned. "The hell is that supposed to mean?" he asked, looking caught off guard.
Regulus wasn't exactly trying to look asleep anymore.
"He told you to kill me, and you tried to, you horrible blood-traitor. Playing the bitch boy to some filthy skirt-chaser means more to you than your own fucking family? Fuck Potter. And fuck you, too, Sirius."
Regulus was getting quite a bad mouth on him these days.
He was just glad that Sirius hadn't brought bloody Potter along to comment on it again. That would have been icing on the cake, and Regulus was getting rather sick of icing; it was starting to pile up in a very unpleasant manner.
Regulus expected his brother to be furious, but he merely seemed stunned. "Regulus-is that what you think? It-it was a fucking game, right? I'm pissed off every time I see you in that damn green and silver, but when you're trying to score against my team-"
"Shut up, Sirius." Regulus was getting too tired-literally-for this. "You've shown-many times, now-that Potter means more to you than your own brother you grew up with and used to blame for all the shit you got into. So much for your bloody Gryffindor loyalty. Fuckin' fine, if that's what you want, just bugger off and don't try to kill me when I don't deserve it."
Sirius was silent, so Regulus tried another route. "You meant to wound me today, you wanted me to get hurt. So why are you even here?"
"Obviously, I'm here because I didn't mean it," Sirius replied, more than a touch acidic. "And don't go blaming the whole thing on James, either."
"Why the hell not?"
"Because he's my fucking friend! Just-fucking leave him out of this."
It was an argument that was going nowhere, and Regulus was getting tired of it. "What are you, his fucking gi-oh, shit." Regulus's chest sank. "Are you?"
"Shut up," Sirius snapped coldly, sounding uncomfortable and confirming Regulus' suspicions.
Oh, fucking hell. This was worse than Sirius trying to shatter Regulus's back.
"Fuck off, Sirius. Just get the hell out."
By the weak light of the moon, Sirius looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn't. As Dreamless Sleep took him, Regulus was grateful for that.
Regulus didn't talk to Sirius again-other than a single instance that he didn't even let himself think about-for a little more than two years.
Sirius was piss-drunk, at that point, and Regulus was well on his way.
And here they were again, a couple years later, both near-drunk.
They'd learned to hold the alcohol a little better, and could function more easily than before, but bloodshot eyes and a thin layer of sweat couldn't really be blamed on anything else.
Regulus was chain-smoking now-Sirius wondered when the hell he'd picked up a filthy Muggle habit like that-and watching him. Regulus watched Sirius when he wasn't smoking, waiting for Sirius to come over, confident he wouldn't be the one to make the first move.
Fuck, this was awkward. A Muggle club, of all places-what were the odds of two Blacks ever stepping foot in a place like this, much less at the same time?
Sirius was content to merely stare back for awhile. He smirked as some Muggle tart (who was wearing scanty clothing and too much makeup) tried to chat Reg up. Reg, tactful as ever, ignored her for awhile, then just got up and left her standing there, heavily rouged mouth hanging open as he sauntered up to the bar.
Sirius wasn't quite sure what Regulus ordered, but it was cloudy and brown-ish. Regulus dropped some money on the bar and walked to the back of the club to lounge in a chair somebody had just abandoned to get up and dance.
Two fucking years. And some months. Barely out of Hogwarts, and Regulus looked like shit (not in a no-longer-gorgeous way, but in a beaten-in, seen-too-much, bit-on-the-gaunt-side way). His eyes were too old on his face, his hands too bony, his shirt carelessly only half-buttoned over his trousers, sleeves rolled up a little and Oh, Merlin, a bit of the Dark Mark was visible on his forearm.
Regardless of the fact that it meant Reg had won their not-quite-game, Sirius strode over to the corner as inconspicuously as possible.
Regulus leaned over far and said something to the man in the chair nearest his own. The man's eyebrows shot up, then his eyes searched Regulus with great interest. Regulus said a few more things, then the man got up and walked away.
Regulus propped his feet up on the empty chair to save that spot, then looked up at Sirius deliberately, inhaling long on his cigarette, as if trying to drain it.
Well, just because he'd given in first didn't mean he was going to submit to Regulus in everything. Pointedly ignoring the recenty-vacated seat, he sat on the arm of Reg's chair, immediately pointing out the obvious.
"You look like shit, Reg," he stated bluntly.
"Shut up," Regulus replied, shoving him a little and shifting away a bit.
Sirius looked at him-really studied him for the first time up close in years. Regulus stared back, his face scrutinizing, and Sirius wondered what his brother saw when he looked at him, what deductions he was making.
"Mother's dead, you know." Just like that-blunt, out of nowhere, no emotion in the voice.
He did know-somehow, he'd gotten a handful of Howlers from various family members on that day, telling him about it and calling him blood-traitor.
He'd started burning them before they could explode, but not because they bothered him; he lived in a Muggle neighborhood, now, though he doubted anyone would call the police just for shouting.
"I know," he grunted, and Regulus just nodded, staring at his fag (there seemed to be two things Regulus stared at that night-his damn cigarettes, and his damn brother), exhaling the smoke in the form of a tired sigh.
A few moments passed in silence between them, though the noise of the club didn't fade.
"So," Regulus finally said, taking another drag. "Heard Potter's got himself a new toy."
Sirius gave his brother a hard look. Don't do this, you little shit, don't you fucking do this. "A son," he growled protectively. "At least, we think it'll be a boy. I'm its godfather."
Regulus scratched the tattoo that Sirius had been ignoring, and Sirius could almost swear that what he could see if the snake wiggled briefly almost as if in response. Regulus looked very uncomfortable for a minute, for the first time all night, then blurted, "Look-tell Potter to take her away, ok? Just-they need to fucking leave. Somewhere they won't be found."
Sirius stared for a moment, then his hands were at Regulus' throat.
"What do you know?!" he snarled, shaking him. "Dammit, Reg, what do you know?!"
Someone pulled Sirius off of his brother, and Regulus curled around himself protectively, a fit of coughing wracking his fragile-looking frame.
Sirius tried to shake the Muggles off of him, but before he could be tempted to use magic (risky, these days, very risky to be done in an area where magic wasn't usually detected), Regulus coughed, "It's ok. Let him go. He's my brother, he won't hurt me." His eyes held Sirius's a moment, as if tempted to add "except that one time he nearly killed me," but the younger man simply stood up and begin limping out. It really was a limp, too, Sirius realized-not the alcohol, not a foot that was asleep, but a never-fully-healed injury.
The hands on Sirius hesitated, then released him.
He made no pretense of not following Regulus-he immediately stalked after him, a few of the Muggles edging away from him as he passed. He was tempted to snarl at them, for kicks, but opted not to cause more of a fuss (though the old Sirius would have, for the sheer hell of it).
It didn't take him long to catch up with Regulus, who'd ducked into a filthy-looking alley a few doors down.
As soon as Sirius had rounded the alleyway, Regulus lunged at him, intent on pinning him against the wall. Regulus's eyes darted around briefly, then he hissed in a low voice, "What the fuck are you doing, Sirius? Drawing attention to us? Making me tell them I'm your brother? There is a fucking war going on, you arsehole-what're you, new at this?"
"As if the Muggles care if we're brothers, Reg! Honestly-it's not like Voldemort doesn't already know it, too! Isn't that why you're here tonight? On his orders, trying to kill me? Or did you suddenly decide that you wanted to go out drinking with the Muggles, then blow the fucking club to smithereens? What the fuck do you really want, Regulus? Tell me, 'cause I'm at a loss, here."
Regulus studied his face for just a second, then shook his head. "You stupid, ignorant fool. No wonder your side is losing." He lowered his voice even more, and Sirius could barely strain enough to make out the words. "I'm going home. We can talk there." With a last glance around and a cracking sound, he was gone.
Sirius stared at the stretch of air Regulus had so recently occupied, then carefully Apparated into the back garden of 12 Grimmauld Place. He just barely missed putting himself half through that vicious old tree (which snapped a few twigs in his direction), and quickly stumbled through the kitchen door.
Regulus was in the dining room, drinking from a bottle of firewhiskey, his wand left deliberately visible on the other side of the room.
The house looked a little different-a fine layer of dust was forming on the fixtures, and books utterly littered the surfaces in a way that would make Moony drool. But it still had the green velvet decorations, the Black family crest silver teasets (though those were now starting to tarnish... but just seeing so much silver so soon after thinking of Remus made Sirius wince), the fucking tapestries and paintings.
The place's never looked better, Sirius thought sourly, pausing a moment, then gently pulling the bottle from his brother's hand and gulping some down himself.
He handed it back, and Reg studied it for a moment before draining the last mouthfuls and tossing the bottle at a painting of some unpleasant-looking relative whom Sirius vaguely recalled might have been Headmaster of Hogwarts for a time. The bottle shattered, the painting squealed, and Regulus muttered, "'ll clean it up later."
It would have been comical, if he wasn't so intense the next moment. "Look, Sirius... what happened back there... that can never happen again. Never. Do you really not see it? Neither of our sides would hesitate to kill us on sight if they found out that we met up somewhere and talked. Do you think that was safe? Do you really think nobody on your side is checking up on you-for good or ill? You're going to get yourself killed, you bastard." Regulus' voice was full of frustration and exhaustion, but the anger was gone.
"Voldemort's already after you, isn't he?" Sirius asked, eyes narrowed. "That's why you were in that club tonight," he added quietly.
"He isn't yet," Reg sighed, flopping into the chair at the head of the table, "but if things go the way I think they're going to, He will be soon."
Sirius sat right on top of the table, crinkling the edge papers of a book. Regulus winced-whatever was in that tome, he wanted to know. Sirius wondered what his brother was researching, but first things first.
"What do you know about James and Lily being in trouble with your side?"
Regulus stared at him a moment, then laughed. Sirius wasn't sure whether the laugh sounded more insane, or bitter.
"Do you have any idea how it'll look, if you tell them to go into hiding without letting on that you heard from me?"
Sirius just glared.
"Besides, you ought to know better than that," he continued, dragging a finger through a bit of spilled firewhiskey. "You know I just said that to get you listening."
Regulus sighed and leaned back. "I'm a dead man walking, Sirius, but you might make it through if you start thinking, ok? Here is what you should have already realized: The Dark Lord does not take well to being evaded. At all. Ever. Your little friends have done that to him twice now. He's really not fucking happy about that, you know. It's personal now. He won't be sending recruiters for them next time, they're marked for death. And-" Regulus hesitated a moment, stroking the Dark Mark on his arm again, then pushed himself to finish, "I don't know who the spy is on that end, but you can be sure that your group has one. They all do, but your people are of particular interest." Regulus got another fag out and lit it. "The Potters will have to go. One way or another."
A lot of incidents over the last year began replaying in Sirius' mind-Peter, turning up in the middle of a meeting, white and shaking; Remus, coming back at half-past four in the morning, a week and a half late; James and Lily rowing, Lily with tears in her eyes and a hand held protectively over her stomach.
"That isn't all, either," Regulus added, watching Sirius' reaction with careful calculation.
"What else?" Sirius croaked. He was going to be ill, he was nearly sure of it. All the alcohol in his system crashed over the feeling of his world, his stability, being torn down. This was his family Regulus was casually reading the death sentencing for, his fucking family. In every way that counted, at least. And they were going to die? And there were traitors? It battled everything Gryffindor inside of him.
"It's-it's Him. I don't know what it is, but He can't be killed. S-A friend let it slip, once, and coming from him, it isn't just fanaticism. I believe him, Sirius."
Sirius sick fear was quickly returning to hatred. "I don't know what kind of trick you're trying to pull Reg, but it's not funny. First, you tell me that all my friends are going to die, except the one that's been lying to us all along, and now you're telling me that there's no way to kill the bastard that's doing it?! Fuck, if I'm going to just let you say this, without any proof!"
"You want proof?" Regulus asked quietly, his eyes fever-bright in the dim room.
"Yes!"
Regulus stood up, teetering for just a second from the alcohol and his bum leg. There was something about his tortured look that suited him very well, somehow, much more so than the polish of his boyhood. He was a bit pop-star-esque.
"Get out," Regulus growled, and Sirius blinked, shocked to realize he'd been pondering his brother's looks after what he'd just learned. "You've turned your back on me so many times, I can hardly remember your face. Now I risk my fucking life to wake you up to what's going on right in front of you, and you want proof? Fuck you, Sirius."
Before he could say anything, Sirius found himself out in the back garden again, staring at the very firmly-closed kitchen door and pointedly ignoring the nasty rattling sound that tree was making, suddenly feeling very alone.
He pounded on the door for several minutes, before the tree actually began reaching for him, at which point he tried to Apparate into his flat across London. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten about the wards, and had ended up staring at the back door of Grimmauld Place once again. For good measure, he'd pounded again, and shouted several strings of obscenity, but nothing happened, and he finally went home, this time Apparating into the alley nearest his building.
Under other circumstances, he'd have gone to see Remus, but opted not to, on the count that he might be the spy (even though, in his heart, Sirius didn't really believe that).
By the time he sat down on his bed, he was shaking. He took Floo powder out to contact Prongs, but before he did, he got out a piece of parchment and wrote down one word: Why? He woke his owl up and sent the note off to his brother.
He was afraid to believe Regulus, but if his brother was right-he had to know.
Before he could Floo James, however, Sirius fell asleep.
The next morning, he woke up with a splitting headache, clothing rumpled into unpleasant places, and the taste of old socks in his mouth. There was no return owl.
Part Two here.
* (Reference to a song by The Cure, which totally wasn't out for another 20 years from this point. Whatever. Needed a star reference, didn't want to take up more time thinking of another.) - pervvymermaid
All references to the sentient tree come from this fic, for those of you unfortunate souls that haven’t read it.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, drug use, Blackcest, slash, mention of character deaths, WIP
Pairings: Regulus/Sirius, Sirius/Regulus, implied James/Sirius, mention of James/Lily
Current Length: 11,396
Author's Notes: This post is to make it easier for me to see what's gone on so far, and also for anyone that might be following this. It'll continue in the comments on the entry for part two. If you see problems with the coding, let me know, please.
Prequel here.
Reg wanted to hex Potter across London every time he even looked at Sirius, but decided that was Not On.
Maybe it was the way that James would show off constantly around Sirius. But even worse was the way James would stop the minute Sirius got bored or annoyed by the showing-off.
Or maybe it was the way that James and Sirius would sometimes share a smirk and hold each others' eyes and look... like they both Knew Something. They had shared secrets, and inside jokes, and could talk without words sometimes.
But most painful of all was the day Regulus was in Hogsmead and overheard somebody in Rosmerta's tavern saying it was as if Potter and Black were brothers.
And damn if it wasn't true: Sirius treated James more like a brother than he'd ever treated Reg, to whom he hadn't said more than a couple of words to in months.
Sometimes, he hated Sirius for being a bloody Gryffindor; more often, he hated himself for being a Slytherin.
There were, however, advantages to be gained in Slytherin-the ability to get one's hands on nearly anything happened to be one of them.
Regulus wasn't desperate. Really. Slytherins don't get desperate, they just Have Plans.
...
Ok, well, maybe Regulus didn't have very much of a plan, if he were being honest with himself, but as long as he didn't admit that to anybody else, he wasn't weak, either, right? And so it was that he found himself sneaking around the corridors after curfew, dungbombs held gingerly in his right hand, and bottles of firewhiskey tucked clumsily under his arm.
Now, all Regulus had to do was remember the way to Gryffindor Tower (Travers hadn't been very clear about it, but Reg supposed that was the best he was going to get).
He had passed the same portrait (whose occupant, a fat woman in a pink dress, stared at him suspiciously) three times before he realized that, even if he found the dorms, he didn't have the password.
Shit.
Regulus ducked around a pillar. Maybe he could overhear the password from the next Gryffindor to go through the passageway? It was inconceivable that he was the only student out past curfew, after all.
He knew, simply from watching Sirius and Potter, that Gryffindors didn't follow the rules much more than Slytherins did. There had to still be a few sneaking around somewhere-
He turned to watch the stretch of corridor, which he was relatively sure hid the Gryffindor dorms, and just as he thought to Disillusion himself, the portrait of the woman in the pink dress swung open.
He gaped as he glimpsed a painfully gaudy room, decorated in various shades of red. Was there something wrong with the portrait? Was it a trap? Was somebody he could not see going through even now? More importantly, should he try to follow, and if so, how would he get away with it?
It happened so fast-one minute, he was watching the common room entryway, and the next, he was stumbling from some sort of... shove. "Out past curfew, ickle Slytherin?" a disembodied voice taunted.
Dammit.
It was Potter.
Or Potter's voice, at any rate.
A proper Slytherin would have, well, slithered his way out of this, but Regulus was too angry to bother with The Rules. "Fuck you," he bit off, trying to figure out where Potter's voice was hiding.
Regulus burned with hatred as he heard a soft chuckle (to... his left?). "Now, now, little snake, that's not a very becoming word for such a proper, polished pureblood, is it? What would Slughorn say if he heard you talking like that?"
"You know," he continued, "I think, even with all your money, he would still have to say something about that. Don't you think, Black?"
By this point, Reg hadn't the foggiest idea where Potter was hiding.
He thought he heard someone tell Potter to stop, but he didn't recognize the voice, and he wasn't even sure that's what it had said.
"He wouldn't care," Regulus said reflexively, because it was true. "I'm the heir of an ancient family, now,” he added, trying to keep bitterness out of his voice. "I'll 'go places' in life, no matter what I do. I could burn down the astronomy tower tonight, and Slughorn would just laugh."
Whose voice had that been a second ago? And how many other people were invisible in the hallway?
"You little-"
This voice (accompanied by the sounds of a slight scuffle) was undoubtably Sirius'; Reg had been hoping the taunt would expose him.
"James," whispered a voice Reg didn't recall, but hated anyway, on principle, "we're late! There's someone coming-"
The noises stopped, except for the sound of fabric sliding together, and a more unpleasant one, growing louder by the moment.
There were quiet footsteps tapping down the corridor.
This was no time to get into a pissing contest with Potter-Regulus had to get out of there. He darted from the pillar towards the hallway on the right, but a voice hissed, "This way!" to his left. Regulus hesitated only a second-neither Potter nor Sirius (not to mention whomever the Other Voice belonged to) would want Regulus to be caught, because then Regulus could turn them in, too.
Without thinking about it, he hurtled down the dimly-lit corridor exposed by the tapestry that appeared to move itself aside. The sound of running feet trying to be quiet was all around him, as was the swishing of something that sounded vaguely cloaklike.
Well. Now he knew how Potter & co. had become invisible. Trust the blood traitor to have one just lying around.
He could think about that later, though-a hand had just appeared and dragged him down a flight of stairs he hadn't even seen a moment before. They were lucky they managed to get all the way down without anyone breaking his neck.
Regulus stumbled at the abrupt stop as they made it to the bottom of the stairs. The cloak had them all pushed very close together, and even so, Regulus was pretty sure their feet must have been showing. He looked up, and Sirius's face was just a hairsbreadth away. Regulus's heart stopped for just a moment and his body froze-if he leaned over even an inch, he would be all but kissing his brother.
Sirius didn't give him time for that, however.
"I'm gonna murder that bird of yours, Prongs," he muttered, turning his head enough that Reg could no longer kiss him by 'accident.' After a moment of hushed bickering, he turned back to his brother.
"Look, Reg," he began, wrinkling his nose.
Regulus scowled. The last thing he needed right now was to be belittled on top of being humiliated in front of Sirius's surrogate brother. "Toss off, Sirius," he muttered, and turned to make his way out of this damn cloak.
Too bad he dropped a dung bomb as he bumped into somebody's elbow.
Realizing what he had done, he was able to begin, well, scampering away a split-second before the bomb hit the floor, and thus, he was able to avoid a bit more of the full blast than the others.
He didn't stop running until he tore out from behind another tapestry, apparently somewhere on the second floor. He then ducked into the nearest broom closet and tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.
He couldn't have possibly guessed that Sirius had tools and ways of finding him, though he would later admit he was very lucky that Sirius had insisted on coming after him by himself (though he never stopped hoping that he'd managed to catch Potter's damn cloak on fire). Sirius crept up on Regulus, who was catching his breath and clinging to his firewhiskey, and a second later shoved the younger boy against the wall.
"You worthless Slytherin! You did that on purpose, you sonofabitch!"
Regulus winced, but schooled his features to blankness. "Don't talk about our mother that way," he said coldly.
Sirius snorted, and Regulus punched him.
The firewhiskey in Regulus's punching arm shot straight to the floor and shattered loudly, splashing on the boys' trousers.
"What the fuck was that?" Sirius demanded, livid.
Regulus paused just a beat. "Firewhiskey," he replied, though Sirius may have been talking about being punched and not the shattered bottle.
In fact, it was most probably the part about being punched, since Sirius was, from what Regulus could gather, rather more acquainted with firewhiskey than with being punched.
Unfortunately, that didn't keep Sirius from punching him back.
The fistfight escalated to an all-out brawl in moments, which was probably why they didn't notice that the second bottle had slipped out of Regulus's grasp, crashing to the floor to join the first. Sirius jumped at the sound, and Regulus hastily tucked all the dungbombs into his pockets to prevent those from falling, too.
"What's with you, Reg?" Sirius snarled, shoving him against the wall of the cupboard.
For the second time that night, Regulus contemplated kissing Sirius. This time, he followed through.
"Uuumph!" Sirius grunted as Regulus's mouth bumped into his. Well, maybe it wasn't the smoothest kiss in the world, but he'd had to move fast, right?
Regulus broke away after just a second, before Sirius could respond beyond just the grunt-Regulus wasn't sure he wanted to know what Sirius would do. "You're my brother," he said, words tumbling out too fast, "Mine. Not Potter's." His hands were clinging to Sirius's shirt, he realized.
"I-I don't have time for this-I have to go," Sirius decided, trying to escape Regulus' grasping hands.
"No!" Regulus half-shrieked, holding tighter. "I'm sick of you ignoring me, Sirius!"
Sirius hesitated, and Regulus pulled on his shirt insistently. "You can go through your rebellious-Muggle phase or whatever this is, you can fight with mum all you want, you can turn your back on Slytherin-but I'm your brother, Sirius!" He hated how desperate his voice was, but it couldn't be helped now. "You're pushing me away, but what the fuck have I done to deserve that?"
"I'm ignoring you for your own bloody good, you idiot! I'm not a Black anymore, remember? If your mum thinks you're turning out like me, she'll disown you, too!" His voice boomed in the small space, but he seemed to sag under some unseen burden.
"She's your mum, too." Regulus replied quietly, resting his forehead against Sirius' shoulder, suddenly feeling very worn out.
"I don't care. I'm not going to let her hurt you because of me, because I know you don't really want this. Believe me, Reg. Just...leave it be." Regulus hoped that if he could see Sirius' face, he'd be stubborn-looking as ever-it was better than this pleading. In a way, Reg was glad that he couldn't see it.
Regulus pulled away and looked up at his brother. "I hate you," he said softly, knowing that too much hurt would show on his face for the statement to be taken literally.
"I know," Sirus whispered back, and pulled Regulus into a tight hug.
The single chime of the clock tower broke the spell, figuratively speaking, ahe brothers let go of each other quickly. Sirius babbled something about it being late, and hurried away.
Reg just stood in the middle of the corridor for awhile, watching Sirius disappear into the gloom. He plodded down to the dungeons, not bothering to exercise caution-he'd been punished well enough tonight that he figured the universe might lay off for awhile.
He didn't cry after he crawled into his bed. He wasn't sure he still could.
The next time Regulus Black saw his brother, it was on the Quidditch pitch.
Brutal as the Quidditch rivalry between the two Houses had always been, this match was worse than usual-Sirius had hit a Bludger at his head at least three times, now, and Regulus still wanted to hex Potter every time he saw him. Instead, though, he'd obtained a personal record for successful Quaffle steals in one game.
And Potter didn't like that at all.
"Fuckin' nail him already, Sirius!" he shouted as he whizzed by. "Just fuckin' kill him!"
Regulus gave Potter a gesture that would earn them a penalty, but before the call could be made, cheers exploded from the Slytherin end of the stands. It seemed Lestrange had grabbed the Snitch from right under McKinnon's nose.
She was not pleased; Rabastan just looked smug, as usual.
Potter and Sirius, on the other hand, looked absolutely murderous.
Unfortunately, Regulus only knew about this from what he'd heard later-at the same time he'd had his head turned to give Potter a rather... expressive... gesture, a Bludger collided into his spine and he fell from his broom.
The next thing Regulus remembered seeing was his mother's blurry face, swimming into focus above him. It took him a moment to realize that it was actually his cousin, Bellatrix.
She did not look pleased to see he was still alive. She nodded once, then stalked off, presumably to inform the rest of the family on the condition of the heir apparent.
Regulus sighed.
"What the bloody hell happened?" he moaned, not really knowing if anybody else was nearby or not, but figuring the school nurse or Kreacher or somebody (where the hell was he, anyway? And why was his tongue so huge and mouth swollen?) couldn't be far away-it must be bad, if Bellatrix had checked on him.
A handful of people started talking at once, but the comment Regulus actually picked up on was something to the effect of, "Jeez, Pads, I know I told you to kill him, but really. Look, he's fine; he can talk and everything. Can we go now?"
"Fuck off, Potter," Regulus mumbled, but damn, his mouth was thick. He was probably in mortal danger of swallowing his tongue, which felt as if it were the size of his knee. Had he bit it on his way down, or something? Regulus tried to do a quick mental inventory of his limbs... one, two, three... three... wait, that wasn't good, wasn't there an extra number somewhere? One... two... three... oh, shit... oh, there it was, there was another.
Something was the matter with that fourth limb, though.
Fuck.
Apparently, at some point during his passionate affair with unconsciousness, his left leg had been turned into a tentacle of some sort.
How the hell that had happened, he hadn't the foggiest.
It was probably Potter's fault somehow, though.
Regulus was torn between feeling tragically sorry for himself in front of his audience, and wanting them to just bugger off so he could count his limbs again without distraction. Or sleep. Counting was hard to do right now-maybe he'd been given a pain tonic or something. That would explain why he couldn't feel his maimed fourth limb or his probably horribly-disfigured mouth.
He vaguely wondered if he had grown a squid-like beak, as well. Bellatrix must have come for a good laugh; otherwise, she'd have just asked Rodolphus to check.
Reg gave up worrying for the moment. If he went back to sleep, perhaps this would sort itself out.
When he came to, it was much darker, wherever he was. He wished half-hearted curses on his friends and his brother's friends for leaving him before he even knew what had happened. Although, if his brother and brothers' friends really had been there, he must be in the hospital wing, not back at home.
He tried sitting up.
It went well enough, though the room spun a bit at first before wiggling itself into focus.
There was a redheaded girl Regulus didn't recall ever seeing before sprawled over a chair next his bed; he assumed she was one of the nurse's assistants.
A touch of sadism moving him just loudly enough to wake a light sleeper, Regulus began checking his limbs and face. They seemed back to normal, though he couldn't be quite sure.
"Oh, are you feeling better now? Good, that means Black didn't poison your potion. Umm-the other Black, I mean." She stood and stretched. "Any questions? I'm going to bed, I'm beat."
He scowled at her. "Not literally, like me, I expect, but you could at least tell me what happened and who won."
She walked around a bit; from what Regulus could see, she was frowning ferociously. "Well, Slytherin did, actually. Down by one hundred forty, but then Lestrange caught the Snitch. Ended up 230-240, I think, or thereabouts. Bla-Sirius was so angry-it was him that hit that Bludger straight at you. He's got a detention for Professor McGonagall, then three weeks' worth more from Professor Slughorn." She seemed quite satisfied about this.
Regulus felt light-headed again suddenly. "Si-Sirius hit that at me?" That couldn't be right, Sirius had come here to check on him, it had to have been the other Beater who’d hit him. And here Regulus had just wondered to himself while this girl was talking whether he should ask for his brother! He bit his lower lip hard (the potion must still be working, because he didn't feel it) and turned his head away.
It was Potter's fault. Sirius would half-kill his own brother, just because Potter said to. "I hate him," he said, belatedly realizing he'd spoken aloud.
"Sirius? I don't blame you." the redhead sighed. Regulus didn't bother to correct her.
"Anyway, the nurse said you fractured your spine in six places." She wrinkled her nose in what appeared to be distant sympathy.
"She left another dose of Dreamless Sleep, if you want it. You're nearly better, but I can't let you leave, with all the potions in your system right now."
"Fine." And then he remembered his manners, and looked back up, making eye contact with the girl. "Thank you," he said softly, knowing that girls liked eye contact and not mumbling. All Blacks were capable of being meltingly charming on cue, after all. The girl smiled, and it was enough to make Regulus blurt (after only a moment's hesitation), "It's not Sirius. I mean-Sirius isn't the one I hate, it's Potter. Sirius only hit me because Potter told him to."
The girl seemed displeased by this, but chided, "Well, you were playing Quidditch against each other, of course he's going to-"
"He said to kill me," Regulus insisted. "He meant it-never mind." This was stupid-why the hell was he even telling her any of it? Time to go back to charming, so she'd leave, instead of sticking around to argue. "Thank you for the potion, and the update." And please hex Potter down a flight of stairs, next time you see him. Sirius, too, he thought bitterly.
Apparently a bit flustered by his rapid changes, the girl poured him a half-dose of Dreamless Sleep, then made her excuses again and left Regulus alone, staring into the dark of the nearly-empty Hospital Wing.
Dreamless Sleep, when used for physical relief, took awhile to kick in-only the variety meant for psychological torture was instant (rumor had it that some Aurors needed that kind of Dreamless Sleep every night). Regulus drummed his fingers on the bed, bored and restless. He had a good 15 minutes before sleep, at least. Since nobody seemed to be around, he sort of half-sang to himself the bit of song that was stuck in his head:
Is this how it happens, is this how it feels,
Is this how a star falls? *
So bored!
Perhaps four and a half minutes had elapsed since he'd drunk the potion down, and he wasn't even beginning to go fuzzy yet.
Not that he was counting or anything. He was just so bored.
After maybe another minute or so, Regulus heard footsteps clicking toward his end of the hall. Much as he wanted the company, he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.
Regulus mentally ticked hexes off in his head, searching for the right one in case it was Potter, but he suddenly realized he didn't even know where his wand was.
Blood and ashes! What the hell now? No wand, and against a senior student?
The way Reg saw it, he had a few options: he could keep pretending to be asleep and hope it wasn't Potter, he could pretend to wake up and hope it wasn't Potter, or he could keep pretending to be asleep and jump on Potter when he got close enough to steal his wand.
He liked option three, though he wasn't much for fistfights. It was only until he got Potter's wand, after all, and Potter couldn't be as bad as Sirius.
Unfortunately, option three was the worst one for somebody with a wounded leg. Nearly healed was not healed, and no potion would block such a sudden onslaught of pain.
Luckily, though, it wasn't Potter at all. "Reggie," a voice hissed-hmmm, maybe this was unlucky in the end-"you awake?"
Regulus didn't bother opening his eyes to glare. "Come to finish me off, have you? Potter tell you to do me in again?"
"Nice to see you, too," Sirius snorted.
"Shut up."
"Fuck you!"
"Fuck Potter!"
Sirius looked a little stunned. "The hell is that supposed to mean?" he asked, looking caught off guard.
Regulus wasn't exactly trying to look asleep anymore.
"He told you to kill me, and you tried to, you horrible blood-traitor. Playing the bitch boy to some filthy skirt-chaser means more to you than your own fucking family? Fuck Potter. And fuck you, too, Sirius."
Regulus was getting quite a bad mouth on him these days.
He was just glad that Sirius hadn't brought bloody Potter along to comment on it again. That would have been icing on the cake, and Regulus was getting rather sick of icing; it was starting to pile up in a very unpleasant manner.
Regulus expected his brother to be furious, but he merely seemed stunned. "Regulus-is that what you think? It-it was a fucking game, right? I'm pissed off every time I see you in that damn green and silver, but when you're trying to score against my team-"
"Shut up, Sirius." Regulus was getting too tired-literally-for this. "You've shown-many times, now-that Potter means more to you than your own brother you grew up with and used to blame for all the shit you got into. So much for your bloody Gryffindor loyalty. Fuckin' fine, if that's what you want, just bugger off and don't try to kill me when I don't deserve it."
Sirius was silent, so Regulus tried another route. "You meant to wound me today, you wanted me to get hurt. So why are you even here?"
"Obviously, I'm here because I didn't mean it," Sirius replied, more than a touch acidic. "And don't go blaming the whole thing on James, either."
"Why the hell not?"
"Because he's my fucking friend! Just-fucking leave him out of this."
It was an argument that was going nowhere, and Regulus was getting tired of it. "What are you, his fucking gi-oh, shit." Regulus's chest sank. "Are you?"
"Shut up," Sirius snapped coldly, sounding uncomfortable and confirming Regulus' suspicions.
Oh, fucking hell. This was worse than Sirius trying to shatter Regulus's back.
"Fuck off, Sirius. Just get the hell out."
By the weak light of the moon, Sirius looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn't. As Dreamless Sleep took him, Regulus was grateful for that.
Regulus didn't talk to Sirius again-other than a single instance that he didn't even let himself think about-for a little more than two years.
Sirius was piss-drunk, at that point, and Regulus was well on his way.
And here they were again, a couple years later, both near-drunk.
They'd learned to hold the alcohol a little better, and could function more easily than before, but bloodshot eyes and a thin layer of sweat couldn't really be blamed on anything else.
Regulus was chain-smoking now-Sirius wondered when the hell he'd picked up a filthy Muggle habit like that-and watching him. Regulus watched Sirius when he wasn't smoking, waiting for Sirius to come over, confident he wouldn't be the one to make the first move.
Fuck, this was awkward. A Muggle club, of all places-what were the odds of two Blacks ever stepping foot in a place like this, much less at the same time?
Sirius was content to merely stare back for awhile. He smirked as some Muggle tart (who was wearing scanty clothing and too much makeup) tried to chat Reg up. Reg, tactful as ever, ignored her for awhile, then just got up and left her standing there, heavily rouged mouth hanging open as he sauntered up to the bar.
Sirius wasn't quite sure what Regulus ordered, but it was cloudy and brown-ish. Regulus dropped some money on the bar and walked to the back of the club to lounge in a chair somebody had just abandoned to get up and dance.
Two fucking years. And some months. Barely out of Hogwarts, and Regulus looked like shit (not in a no-longer-gorgeous way, but in a beaten-in, seen-too-much, bit-on-the-gaunt-side way). His eyes were too old on his face, his hands too bony, his shirt carelessly only half-buttoned over his trousers, sleeves rolled up a little and Oh, Merlin, a bit of the Dark Mark was visible on his forearm.
Regardless of the fact that it meant Reg had won their not-quite-game, Sirius strode over to the corner as inconspicuously as possible.
Regulus leaned over far and said something to the man in the chair nearest his own. The man's eyebrows shot up, then his eyes searched Regulus with great interest. Regulus said a few more things, then the man got up and walked away.
Regulus propped his feet up on the empty chair to save that spot, then looked up at Sirius deliberately, inhaling long on his cigarette, as if trying to drain it.
Well, just because he'd given in first didn't mean he was going to submit to Regulus in everything. Pointedly ignoring the recenty-vacated seat, he sat on the arm of Reg's chair, immediately pointing out the obvious.
"You look like shit, Reg," he stated bluntly.
"Shut up," Regulus replied, shoving him a little and shifting away a bit.
Sirius looked at him-really studied him for the first time up close in years. Regulus stared back, his face scrutinizing, and Sirius wondered what his brother saw when he looked at him, what deductions he was making.
"Mother's dead, you know." Just like that-blunt, out of nowhere, no emotion in the voice.
He did know-somehow, he'd gotten a handful of Howlers from various family members on that day, telling him about it and calling him blood-traitor.
He'd started burning them before they could explode, but not because they bothered him; he lived in a Muggle neighborhood, now, though he doubted anyone would call the police just for shouting.
"I know," he grunted, and Regulus just nodded, staring at his fag (there seemed to be two things Regulus stared at that night-his damn cigarettes, and his damn brother), exhaling the smoke in the form of a tired sigh.
A few moments passed in silence between them, though the noise of the club didn't fade.
"So," Regulus finally said, taking another drag. "Heard Potter's got himself a new toy."
Sirius gave his brother a hard look. Don't do this, you little shit, don't you fucking do this. "A son," he growled protectively. "At least, we think it'll be a boy. I'm its godfather."
Regulus scratched the tattoo that Sirius had been ignoring, and Sirius could almost swear that what he could see if the snake wiggled briefly almost as if in response. Regulus looked very uncomfortable for a minute, for the first time all night, then blurted, "Look-tell Potter to take her away, ok? Just-they need to fucking leave. Somewhere they won't be found."
Sirius stared for a moment, then his hands were at Regulus' throat.
"What do you know?!" he snarled, shaking him. "Dammit, Reg, what do you know?!"
Someone pulled Sirius off of his brother, and Regulus curled around himself protectively, a fit of coughing wracking his fragile-looking frame.
Sirius tried to shake the Muggles off of him, but before he could be tempted to use magic (risky, these days, very risky to be done in an area where magic wasn't usually detected), Regulus coughed, "It's ok. Let him go. He's my brother, he won't hurt me." His eyes held Sirius's a moment, as if tempted to add "except that one time he nearly killed me," but the younger man simply stood up and begin limping out. It really was a limp, too, Sirius realized-not the alcohol, not a foot that was asleep, but a never-fully-healed injury.
The hands on Sirius hesitated, then released him.
He made no pretense of not following Regulus-he immediately stalked after him, a few of the Muggles edging away from him as he passed. He was tempted to snarl at them, for kicks, but opted not to cause more of a fuss (though the old Sirius would have, for the sheer hell of it).
It didn't take him long to catch up with Regulus, who'd ducked into a filthy-looking alley a few doors down.
As soon as Sirius had rounded the alleyway, Regulus lunged at him, intent on pinning him against the wall. Regulus's eyes darted around briefly, then he hissed in a low voice, "What the fuck are you doing, Sirius? Drawing attention to us? Making me tell them I'm your brother? There is a fucking war going on, you arsehole-what're you, new at this?"
"As if the Muggles care if we're brothers, Reg! Honestly-it's not like Voldemort doesn't already know it, too! Isn't that why you're here tonight? On his orders, trying to kill me? Or did you suddenly decide that you wanted to go out drinking with the Muggles, then blow the fucking club to smithereens? What the fuck do you really want, Regulus? Tell me, 'cause I'm at a loss, here."
Regulus studied his face for just a second, then shook his head. "You stupid, ignorant fool. No wonder your side is losing." He lowered his voice even more, and Sirius could barely strain enough to make out the words. "I'm going home. We can talk there." With a last glance around and a cracking sound, he was gone.
Sirius stared at the stretch of air Regulus had so recently occupied, then carefully Apparated into the back garden of 12 Grimmauld Place. He just barely missed putting himself half through that vicious old tree (which snapped a few twigs in his direction), and quickly stumbled through the kitchen door.
Regulus was in the dining room, drinking from a bottle of firewhiskey, his wand left deliberately visible on the other side of the room.
The house looked a little different-a fine layer of dust was forming on the fixtures, and books utterly littered the surfaces in a way that would make Moony drool. But it still had the green velvet decorations, the Black family crest silver teasets (though those were now starting to tarnish... but just seeing so much silver so soon after thinking of Remus made Sirius wince), the fucking tapestries and paintings.
The place's never looked better, Sirius thought sourly, pausing a moment, then gently pulling the bottle from his brother's hand and gulping some down himself.
He handed it back, and Reg studied it for a moment before draining the last mouthfuls and tossing the bottle at a painting of some unpleasant-looking relative whom Sirius vaguely recalled might have been Headmaster of Hogwarts for a time. The bottle shattered, the painting squealed, and Regulus muttered, "'ll clean it up later."
It would have been comical, if he wasn't so intense the next moment. "Look, Sirius... what happened back there... that can never happen again. Never. Do you really not see it? Neither of our sides would hesitate to kill us on sight if they found out that we met up somewhere and talked. Do you think that was safe? Do you really think nobody on your side is checking up on you-for good or ill? You're going to get yourself killed, you bastard." Regulus' voice was full of frustration and exhaustion, but the anger was gone.
"Voldemort's already after you, isn't he?" Sirius asked, eyes narrowed. "That's why you were in that club tonight," he added quietly.
"He isn't yet," Reg sighed, flopping into the chair at the head of the table, "but if things go the way I think they're going to, He will be soon."
Sirius sat right on top of the table, crinkling the edge papers of a book. Regulus winced-whatever was in that tome, he wanted to know. Sirius wondered what his brother was researching, but first things first.
"What do you know about James and Lily being in trouble with your side?"
Regulus stared at him a moment, then laughed. Sirius wasn't sure whether the laugh sounded more insane, or bitter.
"Do you have any idea how it'll look, if you tell them to go into hiding without letting on that you heard from me?"
Sirius just glared.
"Besides, you ought to know better than that," he continued, dragging a finger through a bit of spilled firewhiskey. "You know I just said that to get you listening."
Regulus sighed and leaned back. "I'm a dead man walking, Sirius, but you might make it through if you start thinking, ok? Here is what you should have already realized: The Dark Lord does not take well to being evaded. At all. Ever. Your little friends have done that to him twice now. He's really not fucking happy about that, you know. It's personal now. He won't be sending recruiters for them next time, they're marked for death. And-" Regulus hesitated a moment, stroking the Dark Mark on his arm again, then pushed himself to finish, "I don't know who the spy is on that end, but you can be sure that your group has one. They all do, but your people are of particular interest." Regulus got another fag out and lit it. "The Potters will have to go. One way or another."
A lot of incidents over the last year began replaying in Sirius' mind-Peter, turning up in the middle of a meeting, white and shaking; Remus, coming back at half-past four in the morning, a week and a half late; James and Lily rowing, Lily with tears in her eyes and a hand held protectively over her stomach.
"That isn't all, either," Regulus added, watching Sirius' reaction with careful calculation.
"What else?" Sirius croaked. He was going to be ill, he was nearly sure of it. All the alcohol in his system crashed over the feeling of his world, his stability, being torn down. This was his family Regulus was casually reading the death sentencing for, his fucking family. In every way that counted, at least. And they were going to die? And there were traitors? It battled everything Gryffindor inside of him.
"It's-it's Him. I don't know what it is, but He can't be killed. S-A friend let it slip, once, and coming from him, it isn't just fanaticism. I believe him, Sirius."
Sirius sick fear was quickly returning to hatred. "I don't know what kind of trick you're trying to pull Reg, but it's not funny. First, you tell me that all my friends are going to die, except the one that's been lying to us all along, and now you're telling me that there's no way to kill the bastard that's doing it?! Fuck, if I'm going to just let you say this, without any proof!"
"You want proof?" Regulus asked quietly, his eyes fever-bright in the dim room.
"Yes!"
Regulus stood up, teetering for just a second from the alcohol and his bum leg. There was something about his tortured look that suited him very well, somehow, much more so than the polish of his boyhood. He was a bit pop-star-esque.
"Get out," Regulus growled, and Sirius blinked, shocked to realize he'd been pondering his brother's looks after what he'd just learned. "You've turned your back on me so many times, I can hardly remember your face. Now I risk my fucking life to wake you up to what's going on right in front of you, and you want proof? Fuck you, Sirius."
Before he could say anything, Sirius found himself out in the back garden again, staring at the very firmly-closed kitchen door and pointedly ignoring the nasty rattling sound that tree was making, suddenly feeling very alone.
He pounded on the door for several minutes, before the tree actually began reaching for him, at which point he tried to Apparate into his flat across London. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten about the wards, and had ended up staring at the back door of Grimmauld Place once again. For good measure, he'd pounded again, and shouted several strings of obscenity, but nothing happened, and he finally went home, this time Apparating into the alley nearest his building.
Under other circumstances, he'd have gone to see Remus, but opted not to, on the count that he might be the spy (even though, in his heart, Sirius didn't really believe that).
By the time he sat down on his bed, he was shaking. He took Floo powder out to contact Prongs, but before he did, he got out a piece of parchment and wrote down one word: Why? He woke his owl up and sent the note off to his brother.
He was afraid to believe Regulus, but if his brother was right-he had to know.
Before he could Floo James, however, Sirius fell asleep.
The next morning, he woke up with a splitting headache, clothing rumpled into unpleasant places, and the taste of old socks in his mouth. There was no return owl.
Part Two here.
* (Reference to a song by The Cure, which totally wasn't out for another 20 years from this point. Whatever. Needed a star reference, didn't want to take up more time thinking of another.) - pervvymermaid
All references to the sentient tree come from this fic, for those of you unfortunate souls that haven’t read it.