I am the son
and the heir
of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and the heir
of nothing in particular

-The Smiths

He sleeps with the window open, always. Even in the winter. Especially in the Winter. He finds that a nice cool gust of Arctic air is just the thing to blow away the dust of hundreds of years of Black dreams. When Kreacher shuts the window by accident Reg spends the night tossing fitfully in a baleful fever struggling against invisible demons.

Later, looking back he finds this funny. This was the period of life when he had no demons. When he does finally acquire them, eight years and one permanent tattoo later he finds that he sleeps like a baby. Though the potions certainly do help.

Regulus wishes he looked different. The Black Family is known for producing powerfully built headstrong men. He is a bit too pale, a bit too dark, a bit too skinny, and a bit too slippery. He hates confrontations more than anything. When Sirius and his parents start having rows he stuffs his spare uniform in the crack under the door and puts on mufflers so he doesn't have to listen to the shouts.

When Uncle Alphard claps him on the shoulder and hands him a galleon for being a good boy Reg has to wince from the blow. He bruises easily and gets the flu at least twice a year. For this reason he hates chicken soup.

Though he may be fashionably late to an appointment his nose is always right on time.

Sometimes late at night in summer when the wind is slack and the everything is full of a dreadful stillness he counts his ribs, one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four—and marvels at the way his hipbones jut out.

When he first learns how to play Quidditch he wants nothing more than to be a keeper. In a Post-Hogwarts era this is the only time Sirius will play with him.

So, he spends most of that summer sitting on his broomstick, hands sticky from lemonade, getting beat up by Quaffles. He loves it. Sometimes he wonders if he's a masochist.

When he gets to Hogwarts he finds out that he is too light to be a Keeper and promptly binges himself on Honeydukes in an attempt to move up a weight class. Instead he spends the rest of the weekend in the Hospital wing throwing up while Madam Pince puts him on Suicide Watch. He finds this deeply ironic.

In his second year he makes Seeker and realizes half-way through the first game with Gryffindor that it's his perfect position after all. There is something about snatching the snitch from right under James Potter's nose and watching his brother pound his broom in fury that makes the game personal--and deeply satisfying.

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He isn't stupid. When Nott begins stumbling into the dormitory late at night, his breathing ragged—but his steps light--Reg knows that it isn't a late night shag. When Rosier finally gives up his ridiculous short sleeved shirts in favor of the more practical long sleeved oxford he knows it isn't because Evan has finally gained his long lost sense of style.

What he wonders is why they never bothered to ask him. But, in the summer of sixth year thoughts of long sleeved shirts are blown out of his head.

When he comes home from two weeks at the Patil's Sirius is gone. For a long time the way his mother's lips tighten and the way his father's eyes tear up whenever Sirius is mentioned make him fear the worst.

One terrible silent night in July, when even counting ribs fails him, he holds a secret vigil for his brother. He is not surprised that his parents do not tell him about Sirius's death, clearly it must be hurting them as much as it hurts him.

He thinks this until Aunt Eugenia comes for a visit. He freezes on the stairs when the words blood traitor drift up from the kitchen. He wants to smack himself for not checking the tree. When he finally does he discovers that he cannot bear to look and instead lets his fingers guide him to find the raw burn mark, right where he knows it will be.

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His brother is dead to him, but it still hurts to see him at Platform 9 ¾--so clearly alive. Sirius is talking, laughing like the live person he has no right to be.

When Mrs. Potter gives Sirius a hug and Mr. Potter ruffles his hair Reg sees red, and forgives his mother for not coming to see him off.

They fight on the train, a fight too strong to be made up solely of spells. Reg uses his fists, his feet, his words, anything to try and stop the pain.

Finally he realizes it is useless to tell Sirius what he has planned to say. Instead he wipes the small dribble of blood from the corner of his lip and spits the worst insult he can at his former brother.

Sirius's eyes widen at first and then he starts to laugh. The damn laugh reverberates around the compartment and Reg has to stop himself from throwing up.

Reg's friends help him back to the Slytherin compartment and Nott heals his cuts. That very night Malfoy approaches him with an offer. Reg accepts.

Later he realizes that Sirius was the reason they hadn't offered in the first place—Reg doesn't know whether to be grateful or not.

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Reg believes in angels. He also believes in second chances. When Patil comes to him with the offer it's as if he's seen the light at the end of the very dark corridor.

By this point he knows that Rosier and Nott have fallen too far. He still feels like it's his duty to make sure. One Saturday spent lazing around on the couches after a particularly invigorating meeting he opens his mouth to say something and then catches the manic gleam in Rosier's eye and shuts it again.

That first day when he posts the white envelope, thick with the Dark Lord's secrets, he feels as if his soul is being torn apart and sewn back up all at the same time.

Even though he is still at Hogwarts it is too dangerous to pass his information directly. Instead every month at the full moon he escapes the watchful eyes in the Slytherin Common Room and slips down to the Hogshead.

He suspects that they think he's seeing someone down in the village and Rosier's knowing smirk as he slips out of the common room fills him with a slight disgust.

Though all he does is pass information he's hardly a faithful informant. His contact changes every month, along with his appearance.

This is, he suspects, entirely a good thing when the door of the pub swings open and Sirius Black swaggers in, complete in leather pants, shiny white aviators, and a hand knitted red scarf.

He's dying to know who the scarf is from, but Sirius is open with the information—an early Christmas present from Mrs. Potter. Reg sips his firewhisky and wonders what it would be like to have a mother who doesn't sometimes call you by the name of your dead elder brother.

Said dead elder brother scrutinizes him closely, "Do I know you?" Sirius asks, raising an eyebrow.

Reg shakes his newly chesnut head, "That's not part of the agreement" He says, and hopes that his smile doesn't come out as bitter as he feels.

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He has never fancied himself as a blond. When he signed himself up as a spy he never realized that it meant coming to the Christmas parties as well.

To be frank, before he joined the Order he never knew these were supposed to be family events. Death Eater parties tend to come with an entirely different class of entertainment than Boffo the Clown and his dancing monkeys.

Still, his brother seems to be enjoying himself blowing up all manner of strange balloon animals for the children, plus, Dumbledore is looking at him out of the corner of his eye. So, Reg stays and resists the urge to slip back down to the Dungeons and spend Christmas alone. The rest of Slytherin has gone home for the holidays, but Reg opts for staying in the castle.

He spends many long nights chatting with the Bloody Baron, no matter how fierce the arctic gale outside it never manages to reach the already freezing dungeons.

To his immense surprise he finds himself almost enjoying the party. Certainly he enjoys the free bar, though Dumbledore's look when he tosses down firewhisky like an expert makes him stick to eggnog after that.

He has yet another of his peculiar conversations with the Werewolf, Lupin. He looks forward to when Lupin is his contact. The werewolf has an odd habit of making him feel welcome and the only person with a lower alcohol tolerance than Reg. Sometimes he gets a nasty feeling that Lupin suspects who he is.

The party trickles down slowly, the talk becoming more serious as those with children return home and the embers in the fire die down.

Reg pretends to be asleep, his eyelashes fluttering gently while he lies back in a puffy armchair. He hears the twins, Gideon and Fabian, telling some absurd joke about a Monk and a Griffin. They are rewarded with a chuckle from Albus and even Reg's lip twitches up a bit.

He can also hear a woman's voice talking quiet undertones, he opens his eyes a crack and sees the blur of red. Lily Evans then, or the Prewett's sister.

As the discussion in the room turns to more melancholic discussion of the lives already lost, and speculation as to which 'morally upstanding' citizens are really Deatheaters Reg gets up to leave.

Really, there is only so much slandering of one's family one can take in a night.

As he is about to leave a hand falls heavily on his shoulder. He recognizes the hand and turns around to look into his brother's dark eyes.

He holds his breath for a second, fearing, hoping--For recognition, a grin, a grimace, something.

Instead Sirius's face crinkles into a smile and he pulls out a bizarre violet creation.

"Here blond bloke, cheer up—it is Christmas after all." His ex. brother pats him on the head, patronizingly until Potter's voice pulls him away.

It is only once he is down in the dungeons that Reg takes a look at the small balloon animal in his hand.

A mongoose.

How apt.