Disclaimer: The Harry Potter characters and stories are the property of JK Rowling and (in some twisted legal way) Warner Bros. The song belongs to Missy Higgins. I make no money from this work of fan fiction.

Notes: Written for a challenge from the Review Lounge Forum. And because I have not written about my beloved Regulus for ages…

Song lyrics are underlined. Flashback bits are in italic.

Special Two

How do you admit that you were wrong? How do you admit to yourself that you've been following the wrong path, that you're scared of shadows, that sometimes you wake up sweating in the night and you can't move a muscle because you're so scared.

I've hardly been outside my room in days,


'cause I don't feel that I deserve the sunshine's rays.

He buried himself in Grimmauld Place, hiding away from everyone and everything. It was a cry for help as well as an escape, but no one noticed. The Black family rarely did notice what went on inside its hallowed halls.

Sometimes he would be angry, sometimes upset, but mostly he felt frightened, filled with a sickening terrifying dread. He looked down from the window in the attic, the garden below was filled with flowers. Beautiful blooms of red and gold…

They weren't for people like him, they weren't for murderers.

The guilt within him ate at his insides. And it was always at times like this he thought of Sirius, his brother.

Brave Sirius, noble Sirius, who turned the right way, away from the Black and towards the Light.

Then he rolls up into a ball in the darkness of the attic and tries not to cry. Because he's jealous of Sirius for having such an awful childhood, for being against his parents, for fighting so hard against the system. Whereas he, Regulus, had everything he wanted and followed like a good little sheep down the road to hell.

Then Bellatrix knocks on the door impatiently and he uncurls and wipes the dust off his robes. He puts on a mask and goes out to kill. He's forgotten what it's for now, and why he ever wanted to do it.

The darkness helped until the whiskey wore away,


and it was then I realized the conscience never fades.

He takes a leaf out of Sirius's book and tries some Firewhisky. He feels awkward buying it, the purveyor talks at length about 'straights' and 'blends' and it's all Regulus can do to keep from blushing as he asks, "Just something with alcohol in."

The man raises an eyebrow but hands across a bottle of something.

Regulus takes it back up to the attic and tries a gulp, but it sets his mouth on fire and his throat stinging. He splutters and coughs and then throws the bottle against the wall, sobbing, because Sirius used to knock the things back easily and he can't even cope with a mouthful.

He's spiralling now, deep into self loathing, and thinking: you're so weak, so hopeless, no wonder Sirius used to knock you about you must have been the worse little brother ever. You could never keep up with him, never play his games properly, no wonder he never wanted to play with you, no wonder he preferred his friends from school.

Then Bellatrix is knocking again "Regulus? We'll be late!"

So he goes to kill again. And he can still feel the burning taste of the whiskey in his mouth.

The guilt burns harder.

When you're young you have this image of your life:


that you'll be scrupulous and one day even make a wife.

They had been friends at some point, because when you're brothers in a family that hardly goes out anywhere you cannot help but have a certain degree of armistice. And as he crawls back up to the attic again, shaking with fear and self-loathing, he remembers the first time he came up here with Sirius:

"Don't be such a baby Regulus, it'll be fun."

The attic had been bigger then.

"Wow, there's probably some really cool dark magic stuff here."

Because that was back before Sirius went to school and came back full of Right and Wrong. Regulus had followed in his brother's wake like a little silent shadow as Sirius had pulled aside old broken furniture and unused rugs in search of adventure.

It had mostly been junk, but eventually they'd found the boxes full of old dress-robes and Sirius had pulled them out.

"I'll be the young wizard pirate adventurer prince and you can be my squire."

Sirius always made up the games. Sirius had played with him then.

"Can I have a crown too Sirius?"

"You can have a silver one, because you're the second mate. I'm the Captain, I have a gold one."

Sirius was always gold, and Regulus was silver.

"I'm going to be a pirate when I grow up." Sirius said, brave and confident, wrapped in trailing robes to big for him, "And I'll marry a princess, except she can stay at home."

"Can I come too?"

"Yeah, if you want. We'll both be pirate-kings Regulus!"

And you make boundaries you'd never dream to cross,


and if you happen to you wake completely lost.

He'd missed Sirius so much when he'd left for Hogwarts. And when he'd returned, full of enthusiasm and excitement and with a gold scarf wrapped firmly around his neck they'd talked for hours. Sirius hadn't teased him once that day, just talked and talked about ghosts and moving staircases and wonderful meals and Quidditch.

He'd talked about his friends too, and Regulus had felt a horrible bitter stab of jealousy.

"But Sirius, didn't you want to be in Slytherin?"

"No!" His brother looked at him scornfully, "Slytherin is full of Dark wizards, Regulus. Evil people. James said so."

Regulus thought if he heard about James Potter one more time he would scream.

"Cousin Bella isn't evil."

"Sometimes she can do evil things Regulus."

"Will I go to Slytherin?"

"Probably."

"But I'm not evil!" Regulus wailed.

"Well." Sirius thought for a bit, "Maybe not then."

"I won't. I'm not evil Sirius, I never…" He thought around for something that was utterly and unarguably evil, "I never killed anyone Sirius."

"Maybe you will though."

Regulus was almost in tears, "I won't."

But he had.

But I will fight for you, be sure that


I will fight until we're the special two once again.

After a while Bellatrix stopped coming to collect him. But the Dark Mark still burned in his arm, and there was nothing he could do, no way to stop the pulling and the fighting and the killing.

Until he snapped.

Sirius would have stormed up to the Dark Lord and challenged him there and then. Sirius would have been brave, bold, noble.

Regulus dusted himself down and left the attic. He went into the library.

When they were children Sirius had stood in the attic fighting a hundred enemies at once. Sirius had died a thousand brave deaths and then jumped back up again laughing and smiling.

"Lets play Aurors!"

Regulus searched for a book that he'd seen only once before. It had a green cover, silver lettering, and it taught you not just how to take life, but how to keep it as well.

"C'mon Regulus, you can be the Evil Dark Wizard, and I'll be the brave Auror."

He took a notepad down as well, glancing over his shoulder the whole time. After a while he took out the quill pen and wrote 'Horcruxes' at the top. He underlined it neatly, feeling the thrill of rebellion beneath the hidden litany of fear.

He would fight for Sirius. He would fight for his brother because once there was a time when he always would have, unthinkingly, unquestioningly

"You're dead Regulus, my curse hit you."

" But I hid behind the tree!"

"The tree is over there, you're not playing properly, you're the evil wizard and you're dead Regulus."

And we will only need each other, we'll bleed together,


our hands will not be taught to hold another's,

He still came when he was called, he still killed when he was told. But beneath it all he felt a surge of power because he was fighting, fighting against the force which had held him, against the things Sirius had fought against at age sixteen.

Now they would fight together. Except he knew in his heart that they wouldn't not really, because if he truly managed to pull this off he wouldn't last for long, if he lasted at all.

"Of course you can't kill me, you're the evil wizard, Regulus, you have to die."

"Can't you ever die?"

"Don't be silly. Auror's don't get killed."

'cause we're the special two.

They had been once. Maybe not as close as some brothers were, but still together. And he had worshipped Sirius, despite the fact that the older boy had just treated him like a toy that's fun for a while until it gets thrown aside.

But they had been together. When Sirius was dragged to his fathers study for some misdemeanour it was Regulus who comforted him afterwards:

Crouching in Sirius's room, holding his brothers hand while Sirius leaked hurt angry tears onto the pillow.

"Don't cry Sirius, please don't cry."

Sirius had to be strong, strong for both of them because Regulus was weak.

He'd been terrified even then. Terrified that his father would hear them and come and shout at them and then haul them both off to the study and that scared Regulus more than anything because he'd never, never been punished like Sirius was.

"It's alright Sirius, I'm here."

Sirius looked up at him and smiled, a week watery red-eyed little smile. "It's just us two now Regulus."

"Yeah." Except he didn't understand what Sirius meant by that.

"Us against all of them."

"Of course Sirius."

He understood now.

And we could only see each other, we'll breathe together,


these arms will not be taught to need another's,


'cause we're the special two.

He'd agreed with Serverus sometimes, when he'd said that James Potter was the worst thing ever to happen to Hogwarts. Because James Potter had taken Sirius away from him, and then Bellatrix and Voldemort had taken Regulus away from himself.

The two of them against the world, and the world had always conspired to keep them apart. His parents had driven Sirius away and James Potter had welcomed him with open arms and Sirius had never thought to look back.

Never thought to look and see if his brother was still there.

He stood by the window, watching Sirius cursing quietly as he struggled with the lock, the heavy rain plastering his hair to his face. It had only been a matter of time, he'd known that, but somehow he'd always hoped that there still was plenty of time left.

Eventually Sirius got it open and pulled his luggage out after him. There was no alarm, no sound; Grimmauld Place had a thousand ways to stop intruders entering but not one to stop rebels leaving.

Regulus had stared out of the window as Sirius slid on the mud in the driveway. He kept expecting his brother to look back, to take one last glance at his childhood home…

He didn't.

And Regulus stared at the rain pouring down the window and thought: this is the worst day of my life.

He'd never told his parents he'd seen it.

If only they could fight together. He needed someone else, he knew. The Dark Lord would have charms, spells, all sorts of things protecting the hiding place of his soul. There would probably be something involving blood, there usually was, and Regulus didn't think he could make it alone.

Sirius would help, Sirius would be there.

I remember someone old once said to me:


"that lies will lock you up with truth the only key."

He blamed the Dark Lord for everything. For taking Sirius, for trapping him, for splitting the brothers apart with his lies and hatred and promises of supremacy. He blamed the Dark Lord because he didn't want to blame himself, he didn't want to admit he'd been weak, that he'd followed the path of least resistance, the path of no resistance.

Sirius had fought all the way; and if there had been no resistance, he'd created it. Regulus had to wonder sometimes, what would have happened if Sirius had been brought up in the Prewett household, or the Weasleys. Would he have still rebelled? Would he have defied his parents and gone to Slytherin?

Would the Dark Lord have taken him then? Trapped him in the web of lies, the web that you made yourself because the further in you got the less you wanted to know the truth.

How can you, how do you admit to yourself that all this time you've been following the wrong path, that you've been wrong from the beginning? That you're a murderer? You can't. The longer you leave it, the worse it gets.

The truth is out there, but it's hidden by the lies in your head.

All the lies wrapped around each other, strangling the rules you made when you were small, strangling anything inside you that might have been good.

And Regulus thinks: Sirius would have made a great Death Eater. He's like Bella, strong and proud, and he'll never admit he's wrong.

Even when Regulus left for Hogwarts, there was still the stain of Sirius to contend with.

"Make sure you go to Slytherin, we don't want you turning out like your brother."

"Yes mother."

"Went to Gryffindor, joined some misbehaved Gang, I doubt he's had a week there without getting detention."

"Yes mother."

"It's nothing to be proud of, a son like that. You make sure you behave at school Regulus."

"I will mother."

He had. And he sometimes thought it was singularly unfair that Sirius, for all his wild behaviour, had escaped the Dark Lord while he, Regulus, the good student, the dutiful son, had been trapped hopelessly and utterly.

It was Bellatrix's fault. She had brought him to the Dark Lord. She had presided over his initiation.

It was Bellatrix's fault. He had to keep believing that.

But I was comfortable and warm inside my shell,


and couldn't see this place could soon become my hell.

Thinking it was Bellatrix removed the guilt from him. He could think back over the years he'd spent in hell and think: yes, it was her. She was the one who brought me in.

But she hadn't stopped him leaving, and he'd never left. That had been his decision. To stay safe and protected in the web of lies. To stay hidden from a judgemental world that used words like 'murderer' and 'inhumane.'

There had been no one time when Regulus Black had slipped from Good to Evil. It had been a path, a progression, a pre-destined road that had been mapped out for him long ago. And the further down the road he got, the harder it was to leave.

Well, he was leaving now. And he was going to make it an exit to remember. Because for all his strength and all his bravery Sirius had never managed to strike a blow like this before. This will be a blow straight to the heart.

A blow to the soul.

He just doesn't know how to do it.

It isn't until the Dark Lord asks to borrow Kreature that the plan unfolds inside his head (creeping under the nest of lies, sliding through the ropes of fear). When Kreature returns, injured, hurt and bleeding, he knows beyond all certainty that he has to do this.

Regulus has always stood up for Kreature, when Sirius boots him down the stairs or forces him to smash his head against the cold stone floor.

He can't so it alone though. He knows he needs help, and Kreature is too ill and too weak, to take out again.

So is it better to tell and hurt or lie to save their face?


Well I guess the answer is don't do it in the first place.

It's the hardest thing he's ever done, going up to the door of Sirius's London flat. He stands for a while, staring at the woodwork.

He lifts his hand, then lets it fall again. He forces himself to think this through, what will Sirius say, what will Sirius do?

He thinks: I can't do this now, not now, not a week after I left two of Sirius's greatest friends dead in the woods. That will be the first thing he asks, 'Were you there when the Prewetts died?'

He's not sure what answer he'd give. He needs Sirius, he needs his help but more importantly he needs his trust. He needs Sirius to believe him, to trust him, to believe that there still is something worthwhile left inside him. He wants Sirius's wild enthusiastic smile, he wants Sirius to scoff at his fears, to tell him that destroying a Horcrux is easy, that they can manage it because they can do anything together.

He doesn't want Sirius to turn away from him, snarling and bitter. To attack him, to spit at him, to tell him that they found the Prewetts bodies and anyone who will do that to a person doesn't deserve anything, let alone the trust and friendship of Sirius Black.

Slowly, he backs away from the door. Why had they done that to the Prewetts? Bella had told him to. He'd looked into the screaming, pleading face of Fabian Prewett and felt nothing, nothing at all.

He walks away eventually. He doesn't want his brother to know what he's become.

I know I'm not deserving of your trust from you right now,


but if by chance you change your mind you know I will not


let you down 'cause we were the special two, and will be again.

He walks back to his room and writes two letters:

Dear Sirius,

I will probably be dead by the time you get this. I just wanted you to know that I was not always as bad as you might have imagined me. I know that I have done many things you would disapprove of; I have done things that make me sick now to think of them.

When you get this letter I know you will think for a while of the young Death Eater who wrote it, the brother who betrayed your ideals. I hope however, that you will someday come to remember me as I was before you left for Hogwarts. The time when we were together, when we fought side by side in the attic. Do you remember the attic Sirius?

I am fighting for you now Sirius. The way I should have been fighting my entire life. My last hope is that I can complete my task, and that I will not let you down.

RAB

The second letter is shorter, but signed the same way. After it is written he grabs a locket from the cabinet and shoves the note inside. The locket is placed carefully in his pocket, its weight feels like a curse, but somehow also like redemption.

The first letter is put into an envelope. He addresses it, then stares at it for a moment before throwing it into the fire.

He doesn't want to tell Sirius what to think. He almost doesn't want Sirius to know, because the letter is a sign of weakness, a sign of longing. The letter is an admission of guilt, and Regulus doesn't feel he can show that to Sirius, not yet.

And we will only need each other, we'll bleed together,


our hands will not be taught to hold another's,


'cause we're the special two.

"Kreature!"

The elf walks down the stairs and Regulus takes a deep breath. He knows what he has to do, and he knows that he can only do it alone. He tries not to be afraid of it, to face death as Sirius would face it, snarling defiance and anger.

He tries to imagine Sirius is with him.

And we could only see each other, we'll breathe together,


these arms will not be taught to need another's,


'cause we're the special two.

They apparate, arriving near the cave. It's a cold evening; Regulus shivers as the wind forces its way through his thin robes. He wishes he were more prepared, but he wants to get this over with quickly. He's not brave, he's not like Sirius; he doesn't want to die.

"Master must swim."

Kreature is wearing even less than he is, Kreature is still injured, still hurt. Regulus forces himself to think of that, as the icy water hits his legs and he gasps aloud. If Sirius were here, he would probably dive straight in…

And then Regulus remembers that Sirius would never do anything like this for a mere house-elf, especially if nobody was watching. As the freezing water surrounds him he strikes out for the cave, wondering if Godric Gryffindor was as proud as Sirius, as annoying as James Potter.

He fills his mind with inconsequential thoughts, with his last Charms exam, the rules of Quidditch, anything to stop him thinking of what's going to happen, what he knows he has to do.

I step outside my mind's eye's for a minute.


And I look over me like a doctor looking for disease,


or something that could ease the pain.

The thought that he's doing Good doesn't cheer him up; he feels none of the strong determination that's meant to fill people's hearts at times like this. He stands outside the cave, soaking wet and shivering, wishing he could go home.

But going home means going back. Back to the life of hell, back to the life of darkness and uncertainty. He doesn't feel he can do that.

He looks down at Kreature, shivering next to him. "I-is it this way?"

Slowly, Kreature nods. Regulus stumbles forwards into the cave, wondering how much death hurts, and if there's anyway to make it less painful. His toes feel numb, but they hurt like crazy when he stubs them against a rock.

He's sure Sirius will manage his death so much better. A blast of defiance probably, a last stroke to save his beloved James Potter. Sirius would never die cold and aching in a damp cave with no one around to witness his final act of desperate bravery.

Regulus pulls out his wand and mutters "Lumos" through shivering lips. He tries to remember a spell to warm up, but his brain feels sluggish and dull, full of panic and cold.

He stops at the stone wall. "Alright Kreature, what now?"

The house-elf looks apprehensive. "Blood, master."

He nods. No surprises there. He extinguishes the light at the end of his wand and mumbles "Sectumsempra."

Kreature lets out a wail as the hot blood courses down Regulus's arm, and Regulus waves his hand to quieten him. He splashes his blood all over the wall, thinking: Bloody hell that's a deep cut, what on earth was Severus playing at thinking that curse up?

It hurts, but he's feeling so numb now he doesn't care. He just wants to get this over with, to finish it.

But nothing cures the hurt you bring on by yourself,


just remembering, just remembering how we were...

They glide across the lake, the young man with blood over his robes and the shivering house-elf. Regulus can see the locket at the bottom of the basin, beneath the green light.

"What now."

Kreature swallows. "Master must drink."

He nods. Kreature gives another wail. "No Master Regulus, no. Let Kreature drink, let Kreature serve the noble house of Black."

"No." He sways, wondering how much blood you need to loose before fainting, "No, Kreature, I-I forbid you to drink."

The house-elf gulps, large tears squeezing from the edge of its eyes.

"When I've finished, this is an order Kreature, when I've finished take what's in the bottom of the basin and keep it safe until it's destroyed, alright?"

Kreature nods. Regulus takes a deep shaky breath and dips the goblet into the basin, raising it in a mock salute.

"To-to Sirius. For how it used to be."

Before he can feel stupid for toasting his brother in a deserted cave with a drink that's going to kill him he downs the goblet, choking on the foul-tasting liquid.

And then it starts:

He's falling, sliding down the stairs one at a time to land in a heap at the bottom, Sirius grabs him, his face twisted in rage and starts pummelling him, the fists rain down and Regulus can't even remember what he's done this time.

"Kreature I order you to make sure I drink this." He chokes on the words, splashes the cup into the basin and drinks again, spluttering and gasping:

Fabian Prewett kneeling in front of him, his face so badly gashed it takes Regulus a while to see who it is. Fabian is moaning, bleeding, begging and Regulus raises his wand for a Crucio, another one, he can't remember how many he's done…

Sobbing, Regulus fills the cup again, his body is aching worse than ever, his mind on fire. He wishes he were brave, he wishes he was worth something, anything, to anybody.

James Potter, chaser, flying out of nowhere. Regulus swerves, trying to avoid it, but the last thing he hears before the collision is that hateful voice hissing "This is for Sirius."

Fabian Prewett, his blood cascading down Regulus's robes.

Snape, performing the killing curse on Fabian's brother, his face unreadable.

A child, crying in the rubble.

Sirius laughing in the attic.

He drinks and drinks, because he's too scared to stop, too terrified he'll fail. His life unrolls in front of him, all the mistakes, the terror, the fear. He feels thirsty, so thirsty, his head is going to explode he knows it. He's feeling week as well, maybe he's lost too much blood.

He drinks for Kreature. He drinks for Sirius.

He feels so thirsty.

"M-master. Kreature can get the locket…"

The words get through to him eventually. And then he doesn't even think, he throws himself towards the lake, eagerly scooping the water up in his hands.

The dead carry him off.

Death does hurt after all. But Regulus is beyond caring. He thinks: Maybe it won't be so bad.

When we would only need each other, we'd bleed together,
these hands would not be taught to hold another's,
we we're the special two.

He doesn't know what happens after death. But he hopes wherever he goes Sirius will come too.

Both of them together, finally, with no one to separate them, no thoughts to pull them apart.


And we could only see each other, we'd bleed together,
these arms will not be taught to need another's,
'cause we're the special two.