Regulus was ten when his mother looked up from her breakfast plate, where she was slitting heavy parchment envelopes open with a silver-handled knife. She was holding one loosely in a be-ringed hand; he saw the black blot of wax which meant it was from Aunt Druella.
"Regulus, come with me," she said, her lips drawn so tight they had whitened about the edges. He followed her through their unhallowed hall and stared at the family tree, trying not to look at the burnt spots.
"Mother?"
"Regulus, look at me. Look at me." She gripped his chin with thin, pale fingers; so hard he squeaked. He craned his neck so he could gaze up at her with wide, scared eyes. "Regulus, you are never to mention your cousin Andromeda again, do you hear me?" Her breath was hot on his face, like being up close to a live dragon.
"Why?" he asked in a small voice and received a clip round the ear for his trouble. Still stinging, he watched in miserable silence as his mother burned away Andromeda's name. He didn't really understand, then, that she was burning away everything Andromeda had ever been to her.
"Regulus," his mother said when the curlicues of Andromeda Black had gone completely, only a blackened mark left where a young woman had existed. "Tell your brother."
Regulus hadn't really understood then, either, that Sirius would never forgive him for being the one to tell him that in the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, you conformed or died.
---
"Sirius – "
"Fuck off."
"Sirius – "
"Fuck off, Regulus."
"Sirius, if Mother and Father catch you with that, they'll kill you. It's Muggle."
"I know, Regulus. What's your point?"
"I – "
"If you're going to snitch, go now. I don't have time to waste hanging on tenterhooks."
"Sirius – "
"Fuck off, Regulus!"
A pause.
"Fine."
---
The first time Regulus honestly, truly thought his mother was mad was when Sirius used his enchanted Muggle bicycle-thing to fly out of 12 Grimmauld Place. She stood in the garden, her hair tossed back, sweaty and tangled. There was soot on her face from the duel with Sirius and she was screaming; in her voice, Regulus could hear the cracked and hoarse cadences of a hag.
She wasn't shrieking abuse or anything like that. Not then. Just one long, continuous scream, winding itself round Regulus's brain and making him think of an animal who had been heart-struck. Eventually, she collapsed, shattering their paralysis, and his father ordered the house-elves to put their mistress to bed. He took Regulus into the drawing room and poured him a glass of brandy, as if Regulus were a favoured guest.
"You understand, Regulus, don't you, that you're not to have any contact with Sirius?"
Regulus sipped the brandy. It seared his throat on the way down, but he felt the warmth return to his body. There were advantages to being the good son. Sirius could never have sat like this with Father. "But what if I see him at school?"
His father lifted an eyebrow in exactly the way that Sirius hated and Regulus dreaded. "Treat him as you would any other blood traitor, son."
It didn't mean much to Regulus, who quite liked Weasley – the tall one, anyway – and Bones was also fairly decent. But he nodded, because Father probably knew best about these things.
---
"Narcissa – "
"Regulus! How's my dearest cousin?"
"I'm fine, but Cissy, I have to talk to you about – "
"Of course, dear. Has Aunt Walburga spoken to you yet?"
"No, she's been in bed ever since it happened. She's really upset."
"Why on earth is she upset? It's the best thing to happen to the family in ages!"
"What? Sirius just left, just like that, like he didn't even care about any of us – "
"Stupid! I meant Bella's engagement, silly."
"I wanted to talk to you about Andromeda!"
A pause.
"Narcissa, darling, how wonderful it is to see you."
"I'm so glad you could come down, Auntie."
"I wouldn't miss Bella's party for the world..."
---
It was September 4th when Regulus finally cracked and spent three hours pacing outside the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. His feet were sore and his heart worse, but Sirius had to come out sometime. He had to.
He heard some scuffling and called out sharply, "Who's there?" in case it was one of the first years, but it was Remus Lupin who came round the corner, his prefect's badge glinting in the torchlight.
"It's just me. Sorry."
"Sorry." Regulus shifted his weight to his left leg. Now was the best moment he seemed likely to get, but his throat was dry. As Lupin, with an apologetic glance, whispered the password to the Fat Lady, he thought of the brandy and felt like vomiting his courage all over her. "Wait!"
Lupin paused, the portrait door half-open. He moved slightly out of the way, as if to let other people out, though there was nobody there that Regulus could see. "What?"
"Will you – is Sirius in there?" His heart was beating so wildly that Regulus thought he might die. He'd been living on a half-rotten bite of hope all summer, since he'd heard Sirius was safe at the Potters'. Lupin's gaze almost destroyed him. It was compassionate; the sort of look people gave to the maimed and terminally diseased.
"I'm afraid – he isn't in there, Regulus."
"Tell him to talk to me," Regulus said urgently, not caring how his voice was breaking over the vowels. "Please." It was almost a whimper and Regulus was abruptly ashamed of his weakness.
"I will," Lupin promised with all the gentleness of a talented mediwizard. It was a lie, because Regulus was so obviously on the point of crying that Lupin would do almost anything to get away. He nodded blindly. Lupin climbed into the portrait hole, muttering "Pathetic" to himself as he vanished. It was such a ridiculous, petty little thing to get upset about, but Regulus sat down right there and cried himself sick.
He did not try and visit Sirius again.
---
"Bella?"
"Hello, Regulus."
"How – how've you been?"
"Well."
"You look it!"
"I know."
"Why are you here?"
"I wanted to talk to you, Regulus."
"Why?"
A pause.
"Because you were always my favourite cousin."
---
Bellatrix's fingernails were painful in his shoulder. She was pressing down hard, forcing him slowly, inexorably to his knees.
"This is the moment you've been waiting for all your life," she had hissed before they swung the old knocker. "If you disgrace me in front of Him – " The Him had been disturbingly intense, but that was Bella all over. She'd always got a bit het up sometimes. Sometimes.
"Regulus Black," murmured the Dark Lord. His voice slithered down Regulus's spine, making him shudder. His father sounded like that; or Narcissa at her most tooth-achingly ingratiating.
He was wondering if he, too, sounded like that when he bent and kissed the hem of the Dark Lord's robe. "Sire."
"And you wish to serve?"
"Bella said – " and Narcissa had said it, too, with her soft hands on his face and Mother had whispered it to him, her voice rasping from her fury at Sirius becoming an Auror, and Father had gripped his wrist with cooling fingers that they'd had to break to make him let go. The point of Bella's shoe was hard and sharp in the small of his back. "Yes, my lord."
"Very well." If Regulus had dared look up with Bellatrix standing over him like a venomous bat, he would have ascertained the Lord's amusement.
"I – thank you, sire." It had been easy, Regulus realised with the beginnings of a violent exultation. Of course it had been, he was Regulus Black, Walburga's son, Bellatrix's cousin and his Ministry interview had been harder than this –
A white hand came down and snatched Regulus's wrist. Regulus began to scream.
---
"Regulus, do you – what in the name of – ? Are you sure you've got enough books there?"
"No."
"Little pissant. Do you know the Macreadys?"
"No."
"Well, find out who they are, yeah? And there's another job waiting for you after that."
---
When he considered all the mess of becoming one of the Dark Lord's chosen few, Regulus thought he should've plumped for the Auror training instead. Like Sirius had. In all the mess of being Walburga's son and Bellatrix's cousin, perhaps he'd forgotten to be Sirius's brother, too.
He wondered if Sirius would care all that much if he knew Regulus was sitting on a hillside and waiting to die. He probably would, even though he'd looked so lost the day Regulus told about the motorbike.
Sirius could be like that. It was all part of his dubious charm.
Was it worth trying to write a letter? His last confession, signed and sealed. He could've turned Ministry's Evidence, but he'd rather die here than in a poky little Auror holding cell. Or Azkaban. Regulus hugged his knees. There wasn't a better option.
He wanted Sirius; a sudden desperate longing that made it difficult to breathe. He'd never understood why – how – Sirius had cut them all out of his life so completely. He'd carried the wound around for months, sure that someone would see it and tell him what was so sick in him that his own brother couldn't live with him. Only no one had, and the sickness had grown in his mind, poisoning the well where love should have been. It wasn't worth writing a letter. There was no owl, and what would he say?
Dear Sirius, I hate you. It wasn't true. Dear Sirius, I love you. It wasn't enough. Dear Sirius, I'm going to die. It wasn't fair.
Sirius had probably thought that once, or so Regulus wished. Dear Regulus, I love you, but...
There was the sound of voices. Swearing. Three of them. Regulus was flattered. Sirius would've been insulted, but Sirius could've taken thirteen with one curse.
He thought of standing shoulder to shoulder with Sirius, united against the world, or at least the part of the world that didn't like them. But they weren't the Prewetts.
"Regulus Black?" one of them inquired.
"Just Regulus," he said, and waited to die.