Disclaimer bit
Not mine, JKR's/Warner Bros. property. No financial gain, purely for fun, wah wah wah wah. Contains spoilers for 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows'. Don't say you've not been told.
The Ties That Bind
In his earliest years, Regulus Arcturus Black had always been forced to live in what was an impressively large shadow cast by his much more effervescent, overbearing and above all else, loud older brother Sirius. He'd not complained: there was something strangely satisfying about being the younger son. Less pressure, less stressful. He liked his status as the young Black brother. Everyone sort of overlooked him.
That suited young Regulus right down to the ground. He was a withdrawn, insular boy who generally preferred his own company and the company of his vast collection of books to acting the 'proper young wizard' at one of his mother's many and varied dinner parties. Before he was nine years old, Regulus had been exposed to the kind of dark magic conversations that would have shocked adults three times his age.
And then it had all gone totally wrong. Sirius had gone off to Hogwarts leaving his nearly ten-year old brother at home – which in itself was difficult enough – but he'd only then gone and been sorted into Gryffindor.
He may as well have committed murder for the effect this heinous act had on number twelve, Grimmauld Place.
Regulus had been the one who'd borne the brunt of Mother's anger the day the news came back. It had been he who Walburga had lashed out at with such fury. She'd raked a series of slashes across his face with the back of her hand, the long, delicately manicured nails tearing into his face. She had been immediately contrite, gathering the little boy in her arms and hugging him close.
It was one of the last times Regulus could remember being held in his mother's arms and comforted. She'd never been a tactile woman and just as this seemed to have turned Sirius into a shameless flirt, it had had the reverse effect on Regulus. He was cool, aloof.
He was lonely.
Furious as Walburga – and to a much lesser extent Orion had been at Sirius, their anger didn't even come close to the sense of ignominy that Regulus felt. Not only did he feel the family's shame at one of their own being sorted outside of Slytherin house, but he felt the weight of expectation being subtly shifted from his brother's shoulders to his own.
He would sit in his room at night listening to Walburga and Orion screeching at one another on the floor below, each trying to put the blame on the other, neither willing to accept the fact that their once-beloved Sirius had become a disgrace to the family. The one and only time Regulus had tried to enter the argument, sticking up for his brother, he had been told in no uncertain terms that his opinion counted for nothing.
So, keeping his worthless opinion to himself, Regulus had lived quietly and obediently, attending closely to his mother's home tuition. He found the lessons to be far less entertaining without his brother: Sirius had always had a knack of keeping Regulus smiling.
Smiling – and its companion, laughter - seemed to have gone to Hogwarts with Sirius leaving the Black household bereft. It felt like nothing more than a house now. It was no longer a home. It was an empty, silent shell.
Yet always the shadow of his brother remained.
Sirius had always been outspoken and quick to temper, entering into many arguments with his mother and rebelling against her enforced rules from as early as Regulus could remember. Regulus had loved Sirius for his deeds of derring-do - even if it was something as simple as being told to stay upstairs during a dinner party, Sirius would sneak downstairs, often in his pyjamas. Regulus, who had been only a very small boy, would sit on the staircase, peeking out at his bold brother with his fist stuffed in his mouth to stem the giggles.
Sirius invariably got into trouble following these displays of rebellion, but he always bore his punishments with a grin and a wink at Regulus – even the thrashings.
Thus it was that when Sirius headed off to Hogwarts, Regulus had cried, his childhood confidante and champion separated from him. Then had come the news of the Most Dire Shame Ever To Have Been Brought Upon The Black Family (as he later came to think of it, capital letters and all) and his mother had expressly refused to allow him home in the holidays.
That first Christmas without Sirius waking him up before dawn tore at Regulus' heart. In years to come, he would grow used to it, although he never enjoyed coming home for Christmas without Sirius. Every year he would see his brother watching from the courtyard as they headed off to the railway station.
Still, he'd had nearly ten years of a hyperactive, excitable brother waking him up and instilling him with the kind of excitement that only elder siblings could generate – that was more than many people could say.
Although in that first year he'd written to Sirius almost religiously once a week and received far fewer letters in return, Regulus had missed the company of his brother terribly.
He hadn't seen Sirius again until the summer and had been sadly disappointed, even a little puzzled. The light-hearted, cheerful big brother he remembered had gone, replaced by someone who seemed so much older and more self-assured than him – even though Sirius was only twelve years old.
Sirius had arrived home, exchanged a few brusque and exceptionally uncomfortable words with his mother and more or less retreated to his room without even so much as saying 'hello' to his young brother.
Then just when the dust had settled, he'd gone off for two weeks to stay with one of his new friends, a boy called James, who only just grudgingly received his mother's approval on the ground that at least he was a pure blood – even if he was another Gryffindor.
Regulus strongly – and correctly - suspected that Sirius would have gone even if Walburga had disapproved anyway.
He was disappointed that his brother was away for his eleventh birthday and thus the arrival of his letter from Hogwarts – and also the long, laborious lecture he'd received from Walburga in Sirius' stead about how important it was that Regulus regained the family's standing in the wizarding community.
Sirius had sent him a gift, though, along with a letter that told him to make sure Walburga didn't see it.
"Good old Uncle Alphard gave me this when I was eight," wrote Sirius. "Apparently it belonged to Phineas Nigellus – you know, the grumpy bloke in that portrait halfway up the stairs? The one who used to be a Headmaster of Hogwarts? It's a family heirloom. It strikes me that now I'm a traitorous Gryffindor, it might do better coming back into the family. And now it's mine to give, I choose give it to you, my annoying little brother. Do NOT let the Aged P see it, she'll blow whatever gaskets she's got left…not that this would necessarily be a truly BAD thing…"
'The Aged P' was Sirius' less than complimentary nickname for his mother. Orion escaped the sharp end of Sirius' tongue – which could be cutting indeed when he so chose - on the grounds that he was a pleasant enough old duffer in his way.
The pocket watch was old, battered and probably extraordinarily valuable and Regulus had treasured it for the rest of his life.
The surprise gift took the edge off Walburga's lecture. Her earnest, angry orders proved to be a lot of pressure for an eleven year old boy to take and he'd sat on the Hogwarts Express, his first day at school wearing his new robes, listening to the excited chatter of the mass of children around him, staring out of the window miserably.
Sirius hadn't even spoken to him other than a few brief, curt words. It was obvious to Regulus, even then, that Sirius simply assumed Regulus' opinion was the same as that of his parents. He figured that there was very little he could do to change Sirius' mind, so simply decided not to even try.
The Sorting Ceremony had been possibly the hardest experience of Regulus' young life. He had been smaller than many of the other first years and as he'd sat back on the stool, his feet barely touching the floor, his eyes had met those of his brother's, sitting at the Gryffindor table.
Oh, there were so many unspoken words passed between them during that exchange of glances. Poor Regulus felt desperately torn between earning his brother's respect and that of his family. In the end though, the pressure exerted by Walburga won through and the Sorting Hat, picking up the boy's loyalty to his family finally sorted him into Slytherin.
He had never told anybody how close he had come to being put in Gryffindor. He had never told anybody how the Sorting Hat had whispered that in him was something unexpected.
Sirius' eyes had broken away from him at that point and Regulus had felt a genuine sense of loss. The early bond he and Sirius had shared had been severed. No more would he have to live in his brother's shadow, because now his brother had moved away from him.
Regulus Black was finally his own person.
And it wasn't quite what he had imagined it to be.
Time wrought its differences on Sirius and Regulus. Two young men, both cut from the same cloth, but both so very different. Where Sirius was effortlessly intelligent, Regulus had to study hard just to remain mediocre. Where Sirius was handsome, Regulus was less so, although he was never a bad looking boy. Where Sirius was popular and well liked by his peers, Regulus only had two or three friends at school who his mother deemed 'appropriate'.
Ever the loyal son, Regulus chose to accept his mother's rulings without question, which served only to distance him from Sirius still further. Time spent in Slytherin made him necessarily harder and emotionally stronger.
But if Regulus had one thing that Sirius didn't, it was the ability to think outside the proverbial box. Sirius took everything at face value, but Regulus looked around and beneath situations. He was cool and level-headed where Sirius was impetuous and fiery and it had always served him well.
Especially now.
Now a young man of seventeen, Regulus dealt with the onslaught of memories as he stood on the lonely cliff top overlooking the ocean. He had always been drawn to places like this: bleak, stormy, somehow finding humility in the overwhelming power of nature. A heavy gust of wind lifted his dark hair up and into his eyes. Reaching up he almost absently brushed it back into place.
He glanced down at his much smaller companion.
"Kreacher," he said, softly. "You really don't have to do this if you don't want to, you know."
"Master Regulus, Kreacher has said he will do as you bid. And it is an honour to serve." The house elf gave a low bow. "Kreacher is honoured to serve the Black family. Master Regulus has done his mother proud. So many nice things she has to say." The old house elf patted Regulus rather self-consciously on the arm and gave what was presumably a smile.
Regulus' lips curved upwards in what could have been a sneer or a smile of his own – largely depending on your point of view.
Oh, yes. How proud Walburga had been to realise that her son, her precious, seventeen year old son was already deeply ensconced in the Dark Lord's inner circle. Regulus tried not to linger on the many underhand acts he had committed to get himself there. He had shown no mercy at times. One so young, the Dark Lord had said, his whispering voice sibilant and cruel. And yet one already so suitably…twisted.
But now? Now he had realised too late that Sirius had been right all along.
Over the years at Hogwarts, he and his brother had rarely spoken, but had maintained an unspoken bond of brotherhood. Regardless of their differences, Sirius had, even if unconsciously and unintentionally kept aflame the sense of big brotherliness that Regulus had so been drawn to as a child.
Their sibling closeness, however, was completely conditional. Sirius would only meet Regulus on neutral territory and without any friends on either side. Those meetings were often terse and difficult – but at least they spent some time together, strained though it might be.
Their last such meeting had been more than eighteen months ago when Sirius had practically begged Regulus to rethink his plans to follow the leadership of Voldemort.
Another gust of wind blew sea spray into Regulus' face as he thought back on that last meeting.
"Reggie, you don't get it. You're bright. Stay on at Hogwarts and pass your NEWTs. There's no point in leaving now. Especially not to follow that…whatever he is. Because whatever he is, Reggie, he's not human. Not any more."
"Sirius, I was never as bright as you, you know that. The only thing I'm any good at here at school is Quidditch and Defence Against the Dark Arts. You can't take a NEWT in Quidditch and you have to take at least three subjects to stay on." Regulus had shrugged his slender shoulders. "Leaving is the only real option for me."
He had sighed. "I haven't even had my OWL results through yet, but I reckon I know how they'll pan out."
Sirius had heard rumours, but had tried his hardest to ignore them. It couldn't be true; his younger brother joining up with the latest intake of Voldemort's followers, who were now commonly known as Death Eaters. "So what are you going to do?"
To Regulus' ears, Sirius sounded uncharacteristically weary, even a little emotional. Regulus had been dreading this reaction, but the days Regulus had spent staring at his reflection in the mirror and practising his response most definitely paid off.
Giving his older brother a supercilious sneer, he had replied: "You KNOW what I'm going to do, brother. I'm going to make our mother proud, which is more than you ever did."
"Regulus…"
Somewhere, deep down, Regulus regretted the harshness of his tone. He saw the light of affection, dim though it was, die out totally in Sirius' blue eyes and be replaced by something else.
It was what he had planned.
No point in retaining an attachment to Sirius. It would only lead to trouble later on. It was one of the first things you realised when you entered the service of the Dark Lord. Your family came a very distant second to your loyalty.
Their parting had been brief and bitter – and he'd not seen Sirius or even attempted to make contact since.
"Master Regulus?" The tremulous voice crept into his consciousness pulling him back to the here and now. Away from the shadows of the past and into the cold, stark light of day.
"I'm sorry, Kreacher, I was just thinking about Sirius."
The house elf scowled.
"Master Sirius broke the mistresses heart, yes he did. Nasty little Gryffindor…" Kreacher spat on the ground and Regulus sighed. For all that the elf had displayed such loyalty to the family, there were times when he could have screamed at Kreacher for his misguided ways; his unswerving acceptance that Walburga's word was absolute.
Not that it really truly mattered any more. Orion had died a couple of years ago. It had been the last they'd seen of Sirius before he'd packed his things and run away from home. Regulus had been present during that final meeting between his brother and his mother and it had been agonising to watch.
He would never have told Sirius how much Walburga had cried when he had gone. She grieved for him as much as she had grieved for Orion. For all their apparent differences, his parents had truly loved one another once and, Regulus had realised as he'd listened to Sirius slam out of Grimmauld Place, had been the buffer between his wife and headstrong son.
He had been nearly fifteen when Sirius had stormed out of the family home to live with the Potters, just entering his OWL year. He'd lost himself in work in a way he'd never done before, observing all the while that his brother, who was now a NEWT student, carefully and studiously ignored him except for when it couldn't be avoided.
The experience had certainly hardened Regulus, given him an edge that helped and aided him now as he stood here on this lonely cliff top, with only an aging, half-senile house elf for company, the knowledge of what he had to do so very strong in his thoughts.
In his hand, he held a golden locket, a forgotten piece of his mother's jewellery. It was worthless and yet at the same time invaluable. In his mind he held the plan - and in his heart?
In his heart he held terrible fear. Fear that his plan would not work, that somewhere down the line things would go so badly wrong that his sacrifice would be for nothing. Fear for the knowledge of what lay ahead, both in terms of what awaited him on the other side of the lake – and indeed in the lake itself.
Inferi.
Repressing a shudder, Regulus took a deep breath. Expediency was the order of the day, not dawdling. He had spent enough time lost in memories.
One by one he cut the ties that had bound him to his life. They flapped their confused tendrils in his mind and then were gone.
"Remember what I've ordered you to do, Kreacher. Regardless of what I might say to you, as soon as you've taken that locket out of the font, you Apparate back to Grimmauld Place. You go home, Kreacher."
Kreacher's lined face looked troubled. "Master Regulus, Kreacher knows what it is to drink that potion. Let me do it for you."
"No, Kreacher. No."
Regulus' voice was firm, but gentle. "No," he repeated. "I will not put you through that again. I asked for your forgiveness for putting you through it in the first place but you would not give it me. This is my way of showing you I care."
The elf blinked his huge eyes up at Regulus. "Whatever Master Regulus says, Kreacher will do."
"I know, Kreacher." That's what I'm counting on. He reached down and lay a hand on Kreacher's head almost in benediction. "I know, and thank you."
The elf's eyes swam briefly with tears as he looked up at the young master he'd grown so close to. Kreacher may have been little more than a slave, but he was no fool. He knew what this trip meant, what the result would be. He'd already seen the family he'd served so happily for years wither away one by one. And he knew that this would see the end of Regulus.
Regulus stared out over the ocean, focusing on the white tips of the waves and thought once more of his brother. Then finally and with terrible reluctance, he severed that one, last tie to his mortality.
The gathering clouds above them caused what little daylight there was left to darken ominously and Regulus pulled his cloak more tightly around him.
"There's a storm coming, Kreacher," he murmured softly.
© S Watkins, 2007