Disclaimer: I don't own the characters/places involved.
I hope you like this one! I'm going through a Black family phase now askdjfbbs. Hope you like it!
Regulus is nine when the dead bodies reach for him, yet again.
They grope toward him, their rotting-cold-dead hands grasping his wrists. The chill trails across his shoulders - a path of slimy coldness his neck. The skin on their faces are pulled taut across their grinning skulls, their leers emblazoned through the darkness in terrifying masks of death.
Regulus trembles, tears threatening to spill as the pressure in his chest caves. His heart flutters like a hummingbird's flight as he stumbles and runs as fast as he can down the corridor of the impossibly big house.
Eight-year-old Regulus bursts into Sirius' room and dives into the bed.
"Sirius," he whimpers. He feels pathetic and stupid. "The skeletons are here again."
He feels the sheets shuffle, and Sirius' arms wrap around him.
"It's okay now, Reg," Sirius' voice is smooth and soothing, as it always is. "It's okay."
Regulus presses his face against his brother's shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of him, of home and protection solid-trust-strength-warmth.He wraps his arms around Sirius' chest and holds on to him as tightly as he can, because Sirius is tall and strong and brave and everything Regulus isn't and if Sirius leaves him, the skeletons will be back and Regulus isn't brave like Sirius and and they will capture him and drag him under -
"They aren't really here," Sirius murmurs, running a hand through Regulus' hair. "It's just a stupid nightmare. It's okay. You're okay now."
"But you'll be g-gone t-tomorrow," Regulus sobs. "You'll be going to H-Hogwarts tomorrow and I'll be s-scared."
"You won't be," Sirius tells him. "Be brave, Reg. I know you can. I'll be proud."
Regulus sniffs.
"I'll write to you," Sirius tells him. "I'll tell you all about Hogwarts. I'll tell you about the food and the teachers and pranking annoying people and about everything you'd want to know about. You'll be fine, Reg. You're my brother."
Regulus found. Himself relaxing as his brother holds him close. He will be brave. He will have to be. He will never be scared anymore. He will make Sirius proud. A sort of warmth starts in his chest. With the comfort of Sirius' solid, undefiable form beside him, protecting him, Regulus falls back asleep to the lull of his brother's voice.
Regulus is eleven when he smiles back at the skulls.
He is trembling as Sirius glares down at him, tall and intimidating and in control of everything. His hands are curled at his sides and eyes burn holes through Regulus's head.
"What do you want?" Sirius's voice is like a bucket of ice.
"Sirius, I..."
Regulus cannot speak. His tongue is frozen and uncoordinated. All the carefully planned lines and apologies rehearsed earlier seem melt away under the fury of his brother's gaze. Now he is trapped, disorientated, with his throat jammed with a million things struggling to come out and his chest fluttering horribly. His head swims and his legs involuntarily tense up as though that will somehow make him more solid.
"I... I... I'm sorry..." he manages miserably. "I'm sorry, Sirius. I..."
His voice shakes like it always does when he is losing it. He bites his lip so hard he feels his teeth breaking through the skin. Sirius doesn't understand. With a rush, Regulus hates himself for being so pathetic and small. He hates himself because he is a coward he is a coward (and Sirius is tall and strong and brave and everything Regulus isn't) and naturally Sirius won't be able to understand the cowardly blubbering mess that Regulus is.
Sirius snorts.
"No. You aren't sorry," he says bitterly. "But I guess I should have expected it. I bet Mum and Dad are so proud of you now. You've done what they wanted, haven't you? You've chosen become the perfect little pure-blood. No more need for them to worry about you getting polluted by blood-traitors like your brother. Well, you've chosen your way. I've chosen mine. I have my own friends now. Go back to your Slytherin friends, Regulus. They'll look after you now."
A kind of dizziness seem to overwhelm Regulus as the weight of his brother's words hit him. He looks up at the resentful disgust that contorts Sirius' face into something unrecognizable and feels his eyes and chest burn. Sirius does not need him anymore. Sirius does not want him anymore, because (Regulus' Slytherin friends will look after him now, Sirius will not). Sirius has his own friends now and does not need Regulus anymore (because Sirius is tall and strong and brave and everything Regulus isn't -)
And all of a sudden he is struck by a desperate, aching desire to be held again, to be told that it will all be alright, to be reassured that his elder brother will always be there, just like the way it had always been before everything went wrong. Because Sirius they have skulls in the Slytherin common room and I'm scared, Sirius, I'm scared again (andif Sirius leaves him, the skeletons will be back and Regulus isn't brave like Sirius and and they will capture him and drag him under -)
"Leave, Regulus," Sirius's voice is colder than steel. "Just leave."
Regulus wants to fight, to plead, to make Sirius understand him. Instead, his breath fails and he wheels around and runs.
As the skulls grin down at him from the phosphorescent patches of wall in the common room where he now belongs, Regulus contorts his face and leers back. As he does, he can almost taste the hollowness in his muscles of his cheeks as he feels his heartbeat die away.
Regulus is thirteen when he sees that he is not the only person who has ever gone to bed to the dead.
Regulus stops dead.
It is an early Sunday morning when he has come into the Hospital Wing to help Parkinson collect his weekly dose of scar-healing potion. The Hospital Wing is empty, apart from a single bed at the side of the room with blinds drawn around it.
Regulus stares at the row of blindings concealing the occupant of the bed.
He hears it again.
"It's okay. You're okay. I'm here."
A few shades deeper than his own, smooth, currently soothing, Regulus's brother's voice is to drifting from behind the blinds. Regulus just has the time to contemplate the idea of running, before he hears movement from there, and the sound of heavy breathing.
Sirius speaks again: soothing and gentle and loving.
"You're okay now, Moony. It's all okay."
A new voice: shaky and broken and terrified.
"I see them, Sirius. They're coming for me. So many of them... I'm scared, Sirius. What if one day - I - I - It's so possible - The Shack -"
Lupin' voice breaks and Regulus feels numb. One day what? What is it that it is so possible Lupin might do?
"Of course you won't, Moony." There is a laugh in Sirius' voice now, teasing and so familiar that chills run down Regulus' spine.
"You're too... Moony," Sirius says. "Anyway, it isn't real. It's just a figment of your imagination. Come on, you gotta relax. James and Peter will be coming in a minute."
Regulus hears Lupin take a breath.
"You're right, Sirius," he says. "I... This is stupid. You and James and Peter must think I'm pathetic..."
"No," says Sirius forcefully. "Of course not, Moony. How can you say that? You're our brother. You're my brother, Remus. We'll be the last to judge you."
His voice cracks a little, so filled with the love and care and concern and brotherhood that the thick liquid sweetness of it steals Regulus' breath away -
Acid rises up in Regulus' throat, searing his insides as his heart flutters in his chest.
His stomach churns with bile as he turns and runs out of the Hospital Wing, potion forgotten. A kind of pressure is building up in his chest, pressing deeper and deeper into his lungs.
You're my brother, Remus.
(Go back to your Slytherin friends, Regulus. They'll look after you now.)
The pressure is building. It is blinding, suffocating, a bright white before Regulus's eyes. Air seem to be squeezed right out of his lungs.
(They'll look after you now; I won't have to anymore. I don't need you anymore.)
Blood pounds in Regulus' ears. He bolts the door of the nearest bathroom and leans against the cold stone wall, and fights tooth and nail to stop the tears from falling.
Regulus is fourteen when he is confident that he has left the skeletons behind.
The air seems freeze as Orion Black sits down at his place at the head of the table. Regulus' mother watches him with cool expectancy. Sirius glares down at his plate, still and silent. Regulus bites the inside of his mouth and fixes his eyes at a point a few inches from his father's eyes.
"The Dark Lord," Orion begins, "Is gaining strength and power."
For a moment, no one speaks. Regulus sees his father's eyes gleam, and his mother's mouth slowly widen.
"He fights for power. He fights for wizard domination - wizard supremacy. He will bring us wizards, of pure blood and supreme power out of hiding, to rule over the Muggles and the Mudbloods."
Regulus' heart begins to race. He can feel it coming, feel the excitement building beneath his skin, the dream his father was going to propose -
"He will bring us our rightful place! He will teach the unworthy creatures where they belong!"
His father's fist comes down on the polished table.
"And you, my sons - you will join him."
Regulus' mother nods with approval. "The Malfoy son has already pledged his allegiance to wizardkind. So has Druella's second-eldest daughter. It is about time."
"Sirius Black." An almost manic look seems to steal over Orion's eyes as he fixates on Sirius whose face has gone pale but who still refuses to meet his father's eye. "Prove yourself to me. Prove yourself to your noble heritage." His voice lowers dangerously. "This is your last chance, my heir. Show us your courage!"
Regulus swings his gaze to Sirius, expectant, pleading -
Sirius has look up at last. And the gaze that he fixes his father with darkened metal eyes is one of absolute fury.
"I will not." Sirius' voice trembles with anger and hatred.
"What was that?" Regulus' father hisses.
Sirius gets to his feet so quickly that the table rattles and his glass of water tips sideways and shatters. His fists are clenched at his sides, his face contorted with disgust and fury.
"I will not!" he explodes. "I will not join the Dark Lord! I will die before I ever do it!"
"Sirius Black!" Mrs. Black screeches. "How dare you! The Dark Lord strives for fairness! For domination and strength! The Mudblood filth are no fit lick the slime off our boots!"
"Sit back down!" Regulus' father bellows. "I'd never expected my eldest son to be such a coward! I -"
Before his father can finish his sentence, Sirius kicks over his chair and hurls his plate onto the ground, where it shatters with a resounding crash. With that whips round and storms out of the dining room. Regulus can hear the pounding of his footsteps as he thunders back across the hall to the stairs. Regulus' heart pounds. Disappointment and fear clouds his mind. His mother gapes at the door Sirius slammed, her chest swelling rapidly. His father's fists are clenched, his face stony, his stature impossibly intimidating in the candlelight.
"I - Mum, Dad, I'll -" His voice trembles pathetically. He hesitates for a split second, before he gets to his feet and runs through the door and down the hallway.
A kind of numbness seems to overwhelm his legs as he sprints down the carpeted floor and up the stairs. From behind him, he hears his mother's fresh shriek as she finally gets to her senses. He hears the door banging open and his father's footsteps approaching.
He reaches Sirius' bedroom door and throws it open.
"Sirius!"
Sirius turns at the sound of his voice.
"Get out!" he snarls.
"Sirius -"
Sirius is tearing through his room, hurling his belongings into the open trunk at his feet. A sort of recklessness seems to have overwhelmed him as he attacks his items with a furious vigor.
Regulus gulps.
"Sirius, what - You're not - Mum and Dad are -"
Sirius has finished packing. He throws his trunk shut and heaves it to the door.
"I'm leaving," he tells Regulus curtly. His voice shake with barely controlled anger. "They've really gone and done it. I've had enough."
A wave of panic hits Regulus' chest. He stretches his arms out desperately, trying to prevent Sirius form going through the door. His heart pounds in his chest, his ears, a terrible sinking, swooping sensation plunging down in his chest because he knew - somewhere inside of him he knew that this was going to happen someday -
"Sirius! No!" he yells. "Y-you can't! Please!"
Sirius scorches him with a glare.
"Get out of the way, Regulus! You heard them! Do you think I'm just going to sit around while they make us join - make us become -"
"But maybe it isn't all bad! Like Mum and Dad said - maybe a pure-blood society can be good! Maybe - Please don't -" Regulus' voice rises humiliatingly as he screams at Sirius, desperate to make him understand, to make him see - "There has to be another way!"
"Then come with me!" For a split second, Sirius' voice cracks. His eyes are ablaze with emotions as he stares down at Regulus, and for a moment it seems as if he is struggling with too many words. "Then come with me, Regulus! You don't have to stay here with them!"
Something breaks inside Regulus. "I - I - I can't, Sirius! You know I can't! We have a duty to Father and Mother! We - we can't just -"
Sirius' expression hardens. His eyes are ablaze with disgust. "I get it."
"Sirius -"
Yet a reckless rage seems to have overwhelmed Sirius. He seizes Regulus' collar and shakes him.
"You're a coward!" he roars into Regulus' face. "You're just a bloody coward!" Through the chaos and the pain of Sirius' grip and the spit and the panic Sirius' face is a red blur - red and uncontrollable and unrecognizable. "Have fun with the Inferi!" he spits. "I hear he has loads!"
With one hand, he pushes Regulus out of the way and storms down the stairs. Regulus hits the ground and feels fresh bruises blossoming on the skin on his elbows. Nevertheless, he scrambles up and races down the stairs. He hears his father's yells, his mother's screeches, and Sirius' wordless, inarticulate howl of fury. A loud crash splatters into the air followed by a scream of pain - footsteps - more yells -
"Sirius!" Regulus cries. "S-Sirius! You can't -"
When he reaches the hallway, the front door is already slamming shut, the end of Sirius' trunk disappearing out of view.
"Sirius..."
Regulus' father comes back in a a few moments later, white-faced with fury.
"No son of mine," he mutters. He turns to the room and Regulus' hysterical mother braced against the wall, gasping and clutching her chest. "No son of mine!" He bellows.
He reaches Regulus in three strides. Regulus bites his lip hard and feels his chest contract as his father puts his impossibly large hand onto his shoulder.
"Do not utter that blood-traitor's name ever again," he whispers. "He is no brother of yours."
Regulus nods, shaky and obedient. His insides churn horribly. "Yes, father."
Yet even his father's satisfied glance does does nothing to stop the tears from burning his eyes as he looks away.
Regulus is sixteen when the skulls become part of him.
The wizard before him is still, silent and impossibly tall. He is almost completely covered by his robes. He face is hidden behind his hood: out of sight, all-seeing - or perhaps, he did not have a face at all. All that can be seen are the long, pale fingers that caress a wand with unearthly grace and an almost elegant power.
Regulus shivers. He feels powerless and uncoordinated. His heart flutters like a hummingbird's flight with a mixture of overwhelming fear, nerves and excitement.
The wizard speaks.
"Approach, boy."
His voice is high and clear, and impossibly cold. It sends a tremor right down Regulus' spine.
Shakily, Regulus falls to his knees and crawls forward toward this wizard - this invincible, unearthly being that towers over him. Once he is close enough, he picks up the hem of the Dark Lord's robes and presses his lips to it.
Cool hands grip his arms and steadily lift him to his feet.
"Service," says the Dark Lord, every syllable reverberating in the quivering air. "Or death."
A thrill sparks through Regulus as the Dark Lord guides his sleeve upward to expose the skin of his forearm. A second later, the tip of the wand presses into his flesh as the Dark Lord's other hand firmly grips his arm.
The pain is like fire, searing and flourishing and beautiful. It smoulders across Regulus' skin and burns inward, rooting itself into his flesh. Regulus' eyes open wide, transfixed with horrified fascination as the dark shape of the skull with a serpent's tongue blossoms to life onto his skin.
(Go back to your Slytherin friends, Regulus. They'll look after you now.)
His step is steady as he steps back to join the circle of silently watching, hooded Death Eaters. As he fills his position between Nott and Avery, the circle is closed - seamless and perfect. His heart quivers and swells with a warm sort of triumph, proud to join this new family at last.
Regulus is nineteen when he is truly no longer afraid.
The potion is like acid. It wracks his insides and burns through his mind and body. His insides are dissolving, his mind swirling in a feverish blur. Terrible, disjointed images flood through him. Sirius' hazy face swims before his in a torrent of disgust. The Dark Lord's sneer of amusement as he lifts his wand by just that little fraction and blasts the whole family of Muggles apart emblazons itself into the forefront of his furiously flickering vision.
Regulus gasps and lifts another goblet-full of potion to his lips.
Sirius towers over him, livid and burning with that righteous anger of his. In the glare of the light of a candle his eyes are wild with hatred.
"Coward!" he spits. "You bloody coward!"
It reverberates around his mind and pounds against his ears in a rising crescendo, pressing in on his skull as though a million voices are screaming - a million voices that deafens him, blinds him, driving into him his worthlessness, his cowardice. Regulus drops to his knees screams too, as though this might assuage this torturing guilt, as though this will make it stop, make it all go away... His own voice rises among all the others, twisting into the same shapes, the same words, the same utter disgust.
He hears the sound of Kreacher sobbing, and it is perhaps that which gives him the strength to grip the newly filled goblet and force it to his mouth. He has to remember his task, the very reason that he is here. He is here to prove himself, for his elf, for the Dark Lord, for his brother. He is not a coward - not a coward - not... a...
And the voices in his mind reach such a pitch that he is no longer sure if they are still there, or if he has gone blind, that the world has already shattered around him. Darkness blooms like a flower and he knows no more.
He wakes to a silent, throbbing, maddening thirst. His vision is blurred and burned. The sight of the silently glittering water is too much, too much -
In all abandon he crawls feverishly to the water's edge and reaches out a shaking hand to the cool, promising surface that glitters like a mirage...
When the first Inferius seizes his wrist and grasps his upper arm, he almost laughs out loud. The rotting coldness feels almost like a promise, a gift of nothing. Another pair of dead hands seize his torso and drags him slowly and surely toward the water. As he gazes up into the gaunt, grinning faces of the Inferi, he realizes that he is no longer afraid. Instead, he closes his eyes and throws his head back, and allows the Inferi to pull him down into the icy depths of the water.
The sun glows through the window as Sirius smiles down at him.
"You're so brave, Reg," he says, and the words warm Regulus as though in a dream. "Just like I always thought you could be. I'm so proud..."
As the last light flickers and dies above the dark depths of the water and the last breath is sucked away from him, Regulus thinks he smiles.
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