Title: Crateva religiosa
Summary: The tapestry at Grimmauld Place can be misleading if you don't look closely... or Sirius knows how to keep Regulus close to him forever. Sirius/Regulus Sorta' explicit.
Side notes: B-day present for r.b fanfic . Sorry it's late. Life tackled me.
July 28th, 1972
Number 12 Grimmauld Place, London
Sirius Black's window squeaked ever so slightly.
He'd perfected the art of opening it over the years. Slowly at first, with a sharp push about halfway through to minimize the length of the noise. Then he would stand with an ear cocked, listening for any sign that his mother or father had been awakened. It was a silly fear; his parents' bedroom was up an entire floor from his and on the opposite side of the house. The odds of them waking up were astronomical, but Sirius was still wary. Sirius's mother had never laid a hand on him, and his father had never truly hurt him, but he still lived with a strong fear of them. His mother was so bizarrely tranquil, and his father carried himself with such a fierce regality that Sirius got the impression they were standing hand in hand on the precipice of some great cliff of sanity, and that at any moment, one of them was going to jump.
It was windy outside. Both window panels swung faster than they usually did and their screech drew out. Sirius's mauve curtains fluttered around his face as the wind pulled them outside. The air was muggy and hot. Sirius stared out over the expansive backyard, magically made ten times the size it seemed from the muggle street. It was still night, but dawn was considering breaking through the eastern skyline; there was a hazy pink creeping around the horizon, in between distant buildings and streetlamps. It was the perfect time of day, when, within the next half hour, there would come the single moment when the sun, stars, and moon all shone at once.
Sirius looked up at the grove of trees he'd climbed so many times. Starlight filtered down through their branches. The wind flared up every so often, making the trees' darkened leaves flutter like bats trapped in a giant net.
He took a breath of hot air and let it warm his lungs. From behind him the magically cooled air of Grimmauld Place rushed out with an almost audible swoosh.
Sirius stepped out his window and dropped onto the patio below. To his left was a wrought-iron table and chairs which were permanently connected to memories of his mother and uncle Alphard, who would sit and talk over Italian sodas on weekend afternoons. Sirius could picture them perfectly now. His mother, snug in her lilac dress robes with a wide hat shading her sallow, sick face. Her brother, sitting opposite her with that immaculate grey suit he always wore, a black tie, and a crooked grin. The two of them would talk and even laugh (Walburga Black's brother was the only person who could make her laugh). Sometimes they would play Othello.
"Sirius," his mother would say. In the bleeding sun her eyes would seem to change colors, morphing from their normal grey to the darker blue Sirius had seen in several very old photographs. Sirius could see vividly the wilting flowers pinned to her hair. "Stay close here and play in the grass. I don't want to lose sight of you in all those trees."
"That's right, be careful, my boy," Alphard's voice had always been too old for his body. "That grove will swallow you right up!"
Nobody else looked right sitting at that table. The only time Sirius ever had, he'd sliced his leg open on the sharp iron of the chair leg. It made sense, really, he'd realized with the grim sincerity of an eight year old as his father scooped him up and took him inside to the bathroom, because it was Mother's chair, and that was her and Uncle Alphard's table. Not Sirius's. Not Father's.
Mother's.
But Sirius was no longer eight, he was fourteen, and just as he had come to realize early in his life that the back patio's metal table was Mother's, so too had he learned that the trees were Fathers. Orion Black had planted them, enchanted them, and cared for them. Out here in the yard he grew special potion ingredients. Sirius knew this because he'd seen his father harvest leaves and bark from the trees, thorns from the bushes and the stems of the multi-colored thistles that gathered around the tree trunks. Sirius had not known, however, exactly what types of potions his father was making. He and his brother were not allowed near Orion's potion lab. It was down in the second basement, and it was there, with his hand inches from the door handle, that Sirius Black had first feared his father might one day hurt him.
"Sirius!" Orion had bellowed. "Don't you dare move one more inch."
And Sirius had stilled. The way his father's voice had cracked, like the man was on the precipice of breaking apart and revealing an entirely different person, sent chills down his entire body. Sirius remained still for what seemed like an eternity before finally working up the courage to turn his head. Just slightly. Enough to see his father in his peripheral vision.
Orion Black was seething, his fists opening and closing, the expensive wedding band on his left ring finger managing to glint fiercely even in the hallway's dim lighting. He looked barely in control of himself, and Sirius became afraid. His father was deliberately staying back, probably counting in his mind, trying to calm down. Sirius stopped breathing, terrified that any noise or movement might break Orion's hold on himself.
"What's in there is not for you," Orion said softly, and with a jolt, Sirius realized his father was suddenly right behind him. Orion took ahold of Sirius's shoulders firmly and led him back upstairs, murmuring, mostly to himself, "Children are not to be concerned with potions made from poisoned flowers."
"Flowers?" Sirius had asked, craning his neck to look up at Orion. The words were purely reflexive. He hadn't meant to say anything at all, still terrified of his father as he was.
Shockingly, Orion answered him. "Some of the flowers in our garden, when prepared correctly, can create special potions."
"What do they do?"
Orion was silent for a long while. He and Sirius had stopped in the kitchen. From the floor above, Sirius could hear the creak of his mother's footsteps as she meandered up and down the halls of their library.
"They make sure things come back to you," he said quickly, as though the speediness of his words could somehow prevent Sirius from hearing them.
The idea of such concoctions had captivated Sirius like nothing ever had before. That the properties of a flower could ensure something came back to you…
So that morning, as he had multiple times before, Sirius was setting out through Grimmauld Place's expansive backyard in search of his father's magical varuna, the blossoms that fell from the limbs of the sacred garlic pear tree. There was little doubt in his mind that these were the blooms his father used in his potions, because on many mornings he had peered through his curtains and seen Orion cutting them off, letting them float languidly down into a dark wicker basket before covering them carefully and taking them inside.
And they worked like magic.
Sirius slid across the yard to the base of the pear tree. It sat on the very edge of the grove, and was the only tree protected by a small, white wire fence at its base. The tree would not bear fruit for some weeks. Now its branches were littered with white blossoms, from whose centers sprung dozens of languid stamens. Sirius reached up to touch the very tip of one long strand and felt it move.
The tree itself was magical in the very ancient sense of the word, meaning that it was simply not right. It had sprung up quickly and rocketed to twenty feet high, but there it had stopped. The cycle of its fertility was oddly accelerated. All year long—with the exception of the three deepest months of winter—the tree sported either its fruit, or its flowers. The varuna, enchanted from the unusual soil that fed the plant, did not seem to need bees or other insects to transfer their pollen. The flowers turned from blossoms to pears in the middle of October as effortlessly as they did in late June.
"Poisoned flowers," Orion had said. Somewhere in all the magic of the tree, something had turned sinister in compensation. When he held the silky flowers in his hands, Sirius was reminded of spiders, limp with death. The flowers always left a strange, silky residue on his fingers. Orion always wore gloves when he harvested them. Sirius never really thought to. He wondered sometimes if the varuna would kill him, or if perhaps his frequent exposure to them would build up in his system unnoticed until the day it began to erode his mind.
Sirius stole six of the trees flowers, then looked around to the horizon. The sun was cresting now, turning the world a dusky blue. A gust of wind pulled Sirius's hair across his face. He walked slowly a small patch of his father's garden where there grew some more normal flowers: white and black orchids, daffodils, black and blue roses, and purple thistles. Sirius selected several of each. He pulled a length of twine from the pocket of his robes and shaped the plants into a bouquet. He carefully tucked the varuna in as well.
The moon and stars were fading fast. As day was fully peaking over the skyline, Sirius Black was stepping back in through his window. He tucked the curtains back inside—though the wind protested this—and swung his window back shut. It was not nearly so noisy when it closed. He latched it securely.
Then Sirius crept from his bedroom and down the hall. He was still wary of waking his parents; his father had expressly forbidden him from touching his sacred garlic pear tree. He hid his bouquet in his robes until he was safely at Regulus's bedroom door.
His little brother had no lock on his room; their father wouldn't allow it, so Sirius slid effortlessly inside. Regulus's curtains were open and his room was filled with early dawn light. Regulus was asleep in his bed, buried under a purple blanket and blue sheets. Sirius approached him.
"Wake up, Reggie," he murmured softly, not truly intending to wake his brother up. The clock on the wall told him it was just past five-thirty. Regulus should sleep.
Sirius leaned over his brother and kissed his cheek softly. Regulus's skin was healthy and warm, so unlike how he had been the three summers previous, during that critical July when Sirius had first learned of the poisonous varuna from his father.
Regulus rolled over, blinking himself awake. Sirius smiled ruefully and set the flowers on his brother's pillow.
"Good morning, Sirius," Regulus yawned.
"Good morning, Regulus," Sirius said. He plucked a single varuna blossom from the bouquet and twined it carefully into Regulus's hair. Regulus smiled and touched his fingers to it, recognizing immediately the flower that had saved his life.
"How are you feeling?" Sirius asked his brother, who was rubbing at his eyes. Unlike everyone else in the family, Regulus's eyes were a bright blue, the same blue that Sirius had reason to believe his mother's eyes had once been. But Walburga's eyes must have faded at some point, and Regulus's weren't far behind. It was only in the early hours of the morning, like just now, that they still shone a bright lakewater-blue. By breakfast they would be as dull as river rocks, the same as Sirius's, Orion's, and Walburga's.
"Sirius, stop it," Regulus whined. "I've not been sick for ages."
"Just checking," Sirius said. "You can go back to sleep, I didn't really mean to wake you."
"Don't go," Regulus pleaded. Sirius had begun to straighten up, as if he intended to let Regulus continue sleeping in peace. "If you go, I'll just follow you," Regulus added with startling honesty. "I'll always follow you." His voice trailed off into a yawn.
Sirius chuckled. He slipped off his robes and eased under his brother's covers. Regulus closed his eyes in contentment and twined his fingers around Sirius's. The flowers lay between their heads, oozing the smallest amounts of sap onto the pillowcase.
Sirius ran a hand down Regulus's side. His fingers came to a rest on Regulus's lower back, where they drummed softly to a tune Sirius was humming. Regulus was mostly naked, choosing to sleep in only his underwear during the summer months. Sirius felt oddly overdressed with his trousers and button-up shirt still on, but the thought of stripping himself any further felt inappropriate.
Regulus's eyes opened again. He pressed the back of his fingers against the flower in his hair.
"Don't crush it," Sirius whispered. Regulus sniggered.
"It makes me look just like Mum," he insisted. He placed a small hand on Sirius's chest. "I think that…it…" he broke off, yawning and his eyes closed again. Moments later he was asleep. Sirius sank down into the warmth of the bed. It felt hot and stale, as if he were still outside. Regulus shifted about in a fretful sleep. The way he tossed and turned reminded Sirius painfully of Regulus's ninth summer, when he had nearly slipped away…
Regulus had been born early, far too early.
"It's because Walburga doesn't take proper care of herself," Sirius's Aunt Druella had commented. Sirius remembered her vaguely, sitting there in his parents' drawing room, a glass of red wine in one hand, the other pressed up against her chest to stifle her hiccups. Sirius's mother sat next to her on the sofa, head lolling on one hand and a distant stare on her face. Sirius sat at her feet hugging a stuffed silver dragon while his father was pacing up and down the carpet.
"Don't be ridiculous, Dru," Orion hissed. "Sirius was fine. Sirius was absolutely fine. There's nothing wrong with me or my wife."
"Don't kid yourself, Orion." Everyone's heads twirled about to see Uncle Alphard leaning in the doorway (everyone except Walburga, who did not seem capable of movement and looked more like an old ragdoll which had seen too many playdates out in the yard).
"There's nothing wrong with a child that can't be traced back to at least one parent."
Orion bared his teeth and hissed again, "Sirius was FINE."
Druella cackled softly into her wine glass and said in a supremely unconcerned voice, "So Walburga was stronger when Sirius was born, but now she's weak. She's practically withering away and so will the child."
Orion glared at her. Walburga turned her eyes briefly towards her sister-in-law. She almost looked as though she would speak, but then some commotion started up in the hallway and she sagged to the side again. Orion's sister Lucretia and her husband Ignatius were speaking loudly with a healer.
"Walburga should be in the hospital," Alphard argued. "She's not well. She's not been well for ages," he added with a harsh glance at Orion.
"No!" Orion spat. "No hospitals…! She doesn't need one. I don't even like having one of…them in my house."
"The healers are here for your son," Alphard said coldly. "To find out what is wrong with him. A job that would be much easier if you would allow them to run their tests—"
"There will be no tests," Orion seethed. "No tests on him, and no tests on my wife. There's nothing wrong with either of them, so there's nothing to find."
"Ha!" Druella scoffed loudly. "The thing's half the size he should be, and he's stopped breathing twice already."
"Regulus was two and a half months premature, Orion," Alphard said. "There may not be enough magic in the world to compensate for that. Something was wrong with my sister's body and you should be concerned that she may have passed the weakness on to him. They need to both be in intensive care."
"No!" Orion screamed with such vehemence that Sirius started crying loudly. Walburga dropped a listless hand to his head to quiet his cries.
Orion's outburst had summoned his sister and brother-in-law, who arrived in the drawing room a moment later.
"Regulus is stable for now," Lucretia said, eyeing Orion's livid face warily. "There's not much else the healers can do without signed content from you, brother. Or Walburga…" She glanced hopefully at Sirius's mother, whose gaze had fallen to the floor and seemed set to remain there.
"Nothing else is needed." Orion insisted. "Tell them they can leave."
"Are you sure?"
"Tell them," Orion hissed. He strode over to his wife and pulled Sirius from her grip. "Quiet now, stop shaking," he whispered. "Mummy's fine and so is your brother. Everything's all right. Everything's going perfectly…"
How had Aunt Druella described Regulus? Half the size he should be. That was certainly correct. By the time Regulus was seven, he could have passed for five, and when he was nine, he became so weak that he couldn't get out of bed. His compromised immune system had left him vulnerable and a disease which manifested with the symptoms of tuberculosis yet was resistant to TB treatments ran rampant through his body. Sirius Black had come to terms with the fact that he may have to bury his little brother.
"Walburga will leave if Regulus dies," Sirius had heard his Uncle Alphard say one evening. During the worst bouts of Regulus's sicknesses, Sirius was usually sent to live with relatives while his parents tried desperately to both fix their youngest son and hide his frailty from the public.
"It's what always happens, isn't it?" Cygnus Black, Walburga and Alphard's younger brother, added solemnly. "People do not stay together after they lose a child."
"Walburga blames Orion for Regulus's condition," Alphard said. "She won't ever explain why, but she's certain he's at fault. If Regulus dies…she'll be gone."
"It seems more likely to me that Regulus's weakness comes from Walburga, though," mused Cygnus. With his wand he lit his pipe. "She's been so feeble in recent years."
"Yes," Alphard concurred. "Ever since she married that megalomaniac—Sirius!" Alphard cried. He'd spotted his nephew peaking around the door. "What are you doing out of bed?"
"I want to see my brother," Sirius had whispered. "I want to go home."
Alphard had taken him at once, insisting to Cygnus that he would not deny Sirius what could potentially be one of his last opportunities to speak with Regulus. Sirius could remember how skeletal his baby brother had been, how he was sweating a river but cried that he was freezing if you removed his blankets. Every few minutes he'd cough so violently that Sirius was sure his throat would break.
Everybody said he had maybe a week.
Sirius had screamed and cried when his father tried to send him away with his uncle again. Eventually Orion relented. Sirius stayed home. He slept each night in his parents bed, pressed into his mother's chest and dreading each new day, because any morning could be the morning they woke up to a dead Regulus Black.
To the amazement of all, Regulus briefly stabilized. Two weeks later, he was up and about again, and it was Regulus who had dared Sirius to sneak into Orion's private potions lab.
"I'm sorry," he'd sniffled when Sirius told him how their father had caught him with his hand on the doorknob. "I didn't want you to get in trouble."
"It's all right," Sirius had said. Already incoherent plans were forming in his mind. The next time Regulus got sick, he would do something about it.
And do something he did. Less than a month after his miraculous recovery, Regulus fell ill again. He slid out of his chair one morning at breakfast, sputtering, his eyes rolling back in his head. Orion rushed him to his room and sent for their close relatives. He still adamantly refused Walburga's demands that they take Regulus to the hospital, but this time it was not because he was afraid of what they might find should they run a blood test on the child…this time it was because Regulus Black was minutes away from being dead no matter what anybody did.
Sirius slipped silently from the dining room and walked right out the back door. He would not allow Regulus to go.
Outside the morning air was still brisk. Sirius bounded through the dewy grass and clambered over the small, white fence that protected the sacred garlic pear tree. From its lowest branch he tore the seven flowers he could reach. Their petals were slick, and their stamens rubbery. Sirius was shaking as he hustled back to the house, so badly so that he had to consciously keep himself from squashing the blossoms.
No one was in Regulus's room. Everyone was in the entryway and by the sound of things, arguing. Sirius caught a glimpse of his mother as he dashed past the first floor bathroom. She was throwing up violently into the sink.
Sirius closed himself in Regulus's room and approached him cautiously. Regulus seemed to truly be on his last legs. His breathing was shallow and irregular, and he didn't seem to recognize his brother at all.
Sirius threw the flowers down onto Regulus's bed. With sticky hands he brushed his brother's fringe from his eyes and whispered, "It's okay, now."
Regulus's eyes wouldn't open, and he was starting to go limp. Frantically, Sirius pushed the flowers into his brother's hands. He tore Regulus's shirt from him and pressed them to his chest and stomach, knowing their properties would leak in through his skin…-but it wasn't fast enough!
There was a glass of water on the nightstand. Sirius crushed the base of a flower above it and saw its juices turn the water purple. He poured the whole glass down Regulus's throat. Regulus choked and gurgled, and most of the water ran off onto the sheets, but Sirius hoped he'd swallowed at least some of it.
"Shh, you're okay," he stroked Regulus's face. He rearranged the remaining flowers around Regulus's pillow, close to his face. "You'll be okay," he repeated.
Sirius had curled up next to next to Regulus and waited patiently for his brother to wake up…to come back to him.
And come back he had. When Walburga Black limped into Regulus's room shortly thereafter, intending to be with her son while he died or, should he have passed on already, kill herself and join him, she was shocked to find a very alive Regulus Black lying in his brother's arms. Regulus's shirt was lying ripped on the floor and there were bizarre marks on his chest, but none of that mattered. With a sob, she approached the bed and Sirius held Regulus out to her. She sat at the foot of the bed and pulled Regulus into her lap, slowly rocking back and forth.
One by one, Sirius's aunts, uncles, and cousins filtered in to the room. They, too, were amazed that Regulus had pulled through. Orion Black entered last. He alone took note of the discolored blotches on Regulus's bare skin, and the crushed flower petals that littered the bed. While everyone had crooned over Regulus, he had pulled Sirius into the bathroom and for the first time ever, spanked him. Sirius had cried more in shock than pain. Orion then yanked up Sirius's sleeves to closely examine his arms and hands. Sirius's palms were smeared with the same stains as Regulus's chest. Orion wiped them hastily with a damp cloth. Sirius moaned at the painful friction of the towel, at the same time trying desperately not to breath. The bathroom still stank of his mother's vomit.
"You will never touch that tree again," Orion growled.
Sirius had nodded sullenly, unwilling to provoke his father into hitting him again.
"And you will not speak about what you did to anyone, Sirius, am I clear?"
Perfectly.
So perfectly that now, almost three years later, Sirius had not breathed a word to anybody. Not even when the adults had been fawning over Regulus's recovery, asking how could he have possibly gotten better? And so quickly! And wasn't it a miracle that he had not gotten so sick again? True he was still constantly on the edge with an emaciated body and a lethargy rivaled only by Walburga, but he had not collapsed in years.
Regulus seemed to know his brother had saved him. Where before he had loved Sirius, now he adored him, and Sirius found he didn't quite mind. At the risk of inciting his father's wrath, he had taken it upon himself to shower Regulus with the tree's magical flowers on a regular basis. His logic was that the blossoms he gifted to Regulus were like a medicine that would keep him from ever being so near to death again. And it seemed to work: while Regulus's once-bright eyes faded to a dull grey and his health never improved, he did not fall so frighteningly sick anymore.
So Sirius found every excuse to slip the white flowers into Regulus's grasp, braid them into his hair, or press them gently to his lips. Just the week before, he had snuck up behind Regulus and grabbed him around the waist, sliding several blossoms into his grasp and kissing his neck.
How Regulus had giggled.
And finally this very morning, where the two of them lay surrounded by not just the varuna, but by a spectrum of flowers Sirius had chosen simply because they looked nice, and he had wanted to give Regulus something pretty. Because Regulus was pretty.
Sirius slid a hand through Regulus's hair. (Over the years, some of the discolorations on Regulus's chest and neck had become permanent. None of the stains on Sirius's hands ever lasted for more than a few hours, for which he was grateful).
Regulus let out a contented sigh as Sirius's fingers raked through his hair. Sirius's stomach twisted, and he felt his cock start to harden. With a groan, he rolled onto his back, away from Regulus. The timing of these things really could be horrible. He was just considering getting up and going to the bathroom when he felt a warm hand grab at the hem of his pants.
"Regulus!" Sirius yelped as his brother determinedly tugged his trousers down to his knees. Regulus was sitting up now and had slipped a hand down the front of Sirius's boxers before Sirius had the presence of mind to grab ahold of him.
"What are you doing?" he demanded, horrified. When had he given Regulus the impression that this had ever been on his mind?
Regulus huffed at being pushed away by Sirius. He propped himself back up on one arm and reached a hand back down to Sirius's erection, which he took hold of gently.
"Oh hush yourself, Siri, and let me do something nice for you for a change."
Sirius had more protests on the tip of his tongue but Regulus's palm slid deliciously up his cock and they all died. He fell back against the pillows with a quiet moan while Regulus worked.
"Regulus," Sirius gasped. "Do you do this yet? I mean are you…are you old enough?" A part of Sirius had always imagined Regulus, with his weakened body and dead eyes, would never be capable of any sexual urges, but here he was pulling Sirius steadily towards a wonderful completion.
Regulus sat himself up completely, kneeling over Sirius with a leg on each side of him. Then he redoubled his efforts. "I certainly wasn't going to stay nine forever, Sirius," he said with a smile.
Sirius could feel his eyes starting to glaze over. Regulus slid his fist back down Sirius's cock, twisted almost too far at the base, and pulled his hand back up again.
"Regulus," Sirius keened, feeling an almost painful tightening. He looked frantically around them. "You…your bed…"
Regulus stretched himself out over Sirius's body and let go of his brother. He put a hand on either side of Sirius's head and kissed his chin. Sirius came between them, dampening his shirt and Regulus's chest.
Sirius was panting frantically; a dozen different apologies were spilling from his lips. Regulus only smiled.
"Please do be quiet now, Sirius," he intoned. "I'm tired still."
For a moment, Sirius stumbled over his words. It was suddenly outrageously awkward to have his spent prick rubbing up against his brother's belly. Sirius rolled Regulus off of him and righted himself. Regulus immediately curled back up against him.
Sirius slipped off his soiled shirt and after wiping down Regulus as best he could, threw it under the bed.
Then, because he felt like doing so was crucial, he stuttered, "I—I love you, Regulus."
"I love you, too, Sirius," said Regulus calmly, without opening his eyes. "I'll love you to death and back."
May 13th, 1984
Azkaban Island
Sometimes, when he listened hard enough, Sirius Black could hear the waves breaking against the rocks at the base of the fortress. Tonight was one such night. There was a storm of some kind ravaging the island, throwing monstrous waves up against more than just the shoreline—the sound of water crashing against the side of the prison was almost deafening. More than once, Sirius had felt the damp spray of the sea as ocean water crested in through his window.
The dementors from outside his cell had gone. This happened every so often when a new prisoner was being locked away or when positions were being reassigned. Once in a blue moon, Sirius found himself free of the cloying presence of the dementors and for those few brief hours of freedom, a happy memory or two would come blazing back into his mind. The last time it had been several disconnected memories of fun times at Hogwarts with James and Remus (Peter was conspicuously absent) and the time before that a hazy recollection of his first Quidditch game (although Sirius could remember little more than the memory of remembering something happy. When the dementors inevitably returned, they sucked the happy recollections away with them.)
So despite the horrific storm and the freezing temperatures it brought, Sirius sat happily in the corner of his cell, awaiting his pleasant memory. What would come crashing back to him this time? What little piece of himself would he be temporarily allowed to remember?
"Ink," Sirius muttered. "Ink and paper…" if he had a quill or some parchment he could write the memory down as it came back to him, and then have it forever, but sadly that wasn't a possibility.
The other prisoners on his cellblock were feeling the joy as well. Sirius listened jealously as one by one, their memories came back to them. He could hear the distinct voice of his cousin, Bellatrix, as she began to almost cry with delight. The boy in the cell across from him, the Crouchs' son, was babbling frantically to his mother, as if he could see her there in front of him. Sirius brought his knees to his chest and waited. Waited to hear his friends' laughter, or to feel his mother's hand guiding his wand movements, or to see the Hogwarts grounds lit up for Christmas.
When no memories came, Sirius felt like he could cry. He closed his eyes in frustration and fell onto his side, his body wracked with sobs.
"Shh, Siri, why are you crying?" cooed a soft voice. Sirius blearily opened his eyes to see his brother kneeling over him, a hand gently cupping his face.
"Because I'm a terrible person," Sirius cried. He sat up. The curtains of his four-poster bed were wide open; he could see the dorm was empty. Everyone else had gone home for Christmas. Sirius had felt too guilty to go home with James.
"No you're not," Regulus insisted. "You're the best person I know."
"I left you behind," Sirius said. He didn't take the time to wonder how Regulus had gotten into the Gryffindor commons again. He'd done it several times before because Sirius used to always tell him the password ("Just in case you ever need me, little brother, so you can come and get me") but he'd not done that in over a year.
"I know," Regulus admitted. "But you have to think of yourself sometime."
"But—"
"You don't owe me anything, Sirius," Regulus said firmly. "I'm living on borrowed time already. You've done enough for me."
"It must be awful for you all alone there."
Regulus wrapped his arms around Sirius and nodded solemnly. "It is," he said. "But it's okay, Sirius, because you needed to get out."
"I should have taken you with me."
Regulus pressed a finger to his brother's lips. "And Father would have followed and dragged at least one of us back home. The man spent his life securing our family's legacy. He wouldn't have let both his heirs slip away without a fight."
Sirius kissed Regulus's finger. Regulus smiled.
"Anyway," he said softly. "I thought you might be moping in here. I just wanted you to know that I'm not mad at you anymore, and I'm sorry I said such hurtful things to you when you left last summer."
"M'sorry."
"Yes you've said that. I'm sorry too." Regulus released his brother and stood up. He made his way to the door. Before opening it, he said. "I'll love you no matter where you live."
"Regulus," Sirius said, his voice finally steadying. "Don't go, please."
Regulus came back to him.
"I worry," Sirius said. "I worry that if I'm not there, you'll start to listen to our family, that they might pressure you into something."
"Oh Sirius," Regulus laughed. "I already do." Seeing the horrified look on Sirius's face didn't deter him from continuing. "They've got me good. I'll do what's necessary to help our family."
Sirius choked back his terror. "Would you do what you had to in order to help me?"
"Don't be silly, Sirius," Regulus ordered. "You don't need me."
"Yes I do!"
"Mother and Father need me. Pureblood Society needs me. You…you have your friends now. Peter, Remus, and James…"
Sirius got up with a wounded growl. He crashed against Regulus, silencing him with a harsh kiss. "Need you," he whispered against Regulus's lips. He could feel Regulus's rueful smile play against his own mouth.
Regulus looped his arms around Sirius's neck and kissed him back. "Yes," he admitted. "I suppose you do need me for some things…James Potter would probably lose his shit if you asked him for this."
Sirius ignored him. He ripped Regulus free of his robes, almost crying with frustration when he saw the shirt Regulus wore underneath had well over a dozen buttons.
Regulus pulled back from his brother and laughed. "Easy, Sirius," he begged. "Don't break me."
Sirius stripped himself as quickly as possible while Regulus languidly undid his shirt one black button at a time, smirking all the while. Finally Regulus let his shirt fall to the floor. Sirius could still see the faint stains that littered his chest and lower neck, but thought little of them. It had been years since he had thought to shower Regulus in flowers.
Regulus kicked off his shoes and fell backwards onto Sirius's bed. He let Sirius finish undressing him by tugging off his pants and underwear and sending them sailing across the room. Sirius immediately clambered onto his brother.
"Ouch! Sirius, you've never bitten me before!" Regulus cried. "Just what have you been learning up here in Gryffindor?"
"Shush," ordered Sirius. "Just let me have you." He had the most horrible feeling he was losing Regulus, that his brother was poised to willingly walk away from him and into his family's horrible darkness.
"If it'll keep you from starting crying again," Regulus said.
Sirius kissed him frantically, grinding his erection against Regulus's belly. Regulus grabbed Sirius's hips.
"Siri," he chided. "Slow down. I don't have time to go multiple rounds with you here, so if you want to be inside me then you need to ease up for a second and get me ready."
"Maybe I'll just keep you here all winter break," Sirius shot back. "Do what I like with you."
Regulus had rolled over onto his stomach and crawled just far enough from Sirius to reach the nightstand, which he was opening and fumbling through. "Mm, as delightful as that sounds, you know damn well Bella is coming to get me in an hour."
Sirius groaned as he remembered that Regulus was indeed scheduled to spend the holidays with Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange.
"Don't go with her," Sirius urged. "Stay here with me."
"Won't your friends just love coming back next month to see me in their dorm," Regulus laughed. He procured a small tube from Sirius's drawer and bent his arm at an awkward angle to hand it to Sirius.
"Use a lot, please," he asked, collapsing face first back down onto Sirius's mattress. "I'd rather not have to explain to Rodolphus why I'm walking funny."
Sirius slicked up two fingers and slid them inside his brother. Regulus jerked.
"Is it too much?" Sirius breathed, concerned. "I'm not hurting you, am I?"
"No," Regulus laughed breathlessly. "It's just cold."
Sirius let out a bark of laughter. "I'll make you warm again," he whispered.
Regulus hummed in agreement. Sirius added another finger and kissed Regulus's quivering back.
"Oh, fuck," Regulus panted.
"I've missed this, Regulus," Sirius said, grinning. Regulus keened and it sent another wave of blood to Sirius's cock.
"Fuck…" Sirius started sobbing again. He sat up on his knees and buried his face in his hands. He could feel the cold stone of his cell floor beneath him and hear his own grief-wracked cries echoing off the hard walls. "Reggie…Reggie…" he chanted. He was unwilling to open his eyes and see that he was still in prison. That his Hogwarts dorm was a thousand miles and ten years away. That Regulus was dead. That Regulus had joined Voldemort. That he had killed himself out of guilt and loneliness.
(It was the warden of Azkaban herself who had informed Sirius of the circumstances surrounding his brother's death. Her sympathy had made Sirius feel sick.)
Blindly Sirius fell forward against the bars of his cell. Jagged spikes of rusted, broken metal dug painfully into his hands.
"Jeez, Siri, don't leave me waiting," Regulus huffed. "You've got a cock, so use it."
"Sorry, my Reggie," Sirius smiled. He pushed one hand firmly down on Regulus's shoulder and with the other, guided his prick to Regulus's entrance.
Regulus moaned obscenely. Sirius let go of himself and wound his hand into Regulus's hair. Then he snapped his hips forward violently. Regulus choked on his own breath.
"Shit, Sirius," Regulus gasped. "Give me a second."
"Yes, Reggie…sorry." Sirius kissed the back of Regulus's head. "Breathe for me, okay?"
Regulus let out a deep breath and nodded. Sirius groaned as he felt Regulus tighten around him. He could feel Regulus shaking beneath him. Regulus twisted his neck and kissed Sirius's forearm.
The jagged edge of the cell bar sliced into Sirius's arm. There was minor resistance, but Sirius leaned forward and his skin gave way with a snap, embedding the shard into his flesh.
"I love you Reggie, so much, how could I have forgotten?" Sirius gurgled.
Because Azkaban took it away from you, he thought. And as soon as the guards come back, Regulus will leave you again. You'll forget.
"No, no, no," Sirius insisted. He tugged his arm against the bar to slice a line into his skin. Blood pooled and began to spill. Sirius repositioned his arm and used the sharp edge to slice a half circle, and then more lines…he felt worryingly numb to the pain.
Regulus was positively writhing beneath him. Sirius was very close.
"Do you want me to pull out, Regulus?" Sirius asked reluctantly.
Regulus didn't answer immediately. He thought for a second, then arched back against Sirius.
"No," he said. "It's all right."
"Merlin, thank you," Sirius breathed. He looped one arm around Regulus's neck and another around his waist. He slammed into Regulus three more times before collapsing against him, shaking.
"Oh, Sirius," Regulus whimpered, his voice muffled by the blankets. "Oh my god."
Sirius was absolutely spineless. He was so hot he was surely melting. Regulus's weak shoulders heaved beneath him, and Sirius was prompted to pull out and roll off his brother, concerned that he couldn't breathe.
Regulus violently sucked air into his lungs. He turned his flushed face to Sirius.
"Fuck," he said again, pushing his bangs from his eyes. For the briefest of moments, Regulus looked as he had in his early childhood: overheating, hair limp with sweat, bony shoulders, sharp clavicles, and a look of pure adoration on his face.
Sirius leaned in to kiss Regulus softly on the lips.
"Did you come?" he asked, smiling. Regulus blushed and looked away.
"Come here," Sirius said. "Let me help you with that."
"No, Sirius, God," Regulus snickered and rolled over. Sirius reached over him and smoothly jerked him off. Regulus laughed all the while before coming with a loud howl.
"Damn, Regulus," was all Sirius could say. "I love you so fucking much."
"Yes you do," Regulus agreed. He rolled on top of Sirius and looked down at him lovingly. "You love me more than anything and that's why you're going to do something very special for me."
"What's that?" Asked Sirius, smirking.
Regulus kissed Sirius deeply one more time before clambering off the bed and slipping back into his clothes.
"Regulus?" Sirius asked worriedly.
"I've sent a letter to James Potter's parents," Said Regulus sweetly. "They'll be on campus in an hour, and when they get here, you're going to go home with them. Have a happy Christmas."
With those words, he left the dorm.
"Regulus!" Sirius yelled. "Don't leave me, hey! Come BACK here!"
Regulus had never once disobeyed that command before, and Sirius thought maybe Regulus's footsteps might have paused on the staircase outside, but when he stuck his head and bare chest out the dorm door to see, Regulus was gone.
"Fuck!" he screamed.
"FUCK." Sirius fell backwards to the floor. He could feel the dementors returning, his happiness sliding away. Blood oozed from the words he had crudely carved into his arms, which read:
Reggie. Poisoned. Love.
Only what was bitter remained.
August 27th, 1995
Number 12 Grimmauld Place, London
It was with great reluctance that Sirius had suggested his parents' house be used as Order headquarters, because he knew he would have no option but to return himself. At first it had been a general distaste for his childhood that kept him at bay, but soon, in the prolonged absence of Azkaban, memories began to pour back into his ragged mind and he realized he had multiple ghosts to fear.
Ghosts of happy things.
Regulus had been a happy thing, a happy thing laced with sadness and poison.
Sirius's godson, Harry Potter had finally come to join them. It was a small ray of comfort to Sirius, who could feel his mind beginning to drift away. The damage had not been so noticeable until he had escaped from prison. When the memories and the feelings had begun to return to him, there were pieces missing, as if his brain had become a sieve and the thinner parts of his past were running right through it.
"Sirius."
Sirius jumped. He had been sitting at his kitchen table, picking at the remains of his dinner. He'd thought himself alone. There was not to be another meeting for several days, Remus was off with Dumbledore, and Molly and Arthur Weasley had taken the kids out for dinner (with Sirius's money).
"Harry," Sirius said. "I thought you were with the Weasleys!"
Harry Potter was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning shyly against the doorframe. He shrugged. He'd changed into a nice set of school robes. ("I don't have a lot of decent normal clothes," he'd told Sirius once. "It gets old, looking like a homeless person.")
"I didn't want to go out anywhere," he explained. "I'm not in a very social mood."
"I think I see what you mean," Sirius said with a small smile. "I would have cooked for you if I'd known you were home, though."
What a terrible godparent you are, Sirius, if Harry was alone in your house all evening and you didn't even notice him!
"It's all right. I thought maybe we could just talk."
"What did you want to talk about?" asked Sirius. Part of him always dreaded talking with Harry, fearing that his novelty might be wearing off. If Harry ever got to know him too well, wouldn't he start to see just how empty and defective Sirius had become, or had perhaps always been?
"I dunno'," Harry admitted. He stood awkwardly on the threshold, not quite confident enough to stride into the room. "I don't really know much about you, do I? I mean, everyone says this is your parents' house, so I just thought…"
"My family's not that interesting," Sirius said quickly.
Harry seemed to sense the evasiveness of Sirius's voice. He backed down immediately.
"That's okay," he said just as quickly. "I understand. I won't pry. I just thought…"
Harry's words failed him and he trailed off. Sirius understood, though. Harry wanted a distraction. He wanted a topic for conversation that could distract him from his own misery, and Sirius could see where he was coming from. The kid had a court hearing hanging over his head for Christ's sake, and the omnipresent threat of Lord Voldemort. Sirius decided he could buy Harry a few moments of blissful distraction.
"No, no, no, I'm sorry," Sirius said earnestly. "Ask away, I just can't promise my answers will be pretty. Many of my relatives were very…strongly opinionated."
Harry winced. "I see…"
"Actually," Sirius said, standing up. "Why don't you come with me? Into the drawing room? We can look at my parents' tapestry."
Sirius herded Harry from the room and up a flight of stairs. Soon they entered a very dusty room.
"Tapestry?" Harry asked in confusion, coughing a little.
"Sorry about the air," Sirius apologized. "We've not cleaned this room yet, have we? Anyway, my family had an enchanted tapestry which shows our family tree. It was passed down to each new head of the family, meaning my mother and father had it last. So it's here, in this room, actually."
Harry spotted the tapestry immediately. It was pinned to the far side of the room and took up half the wall. Harry approached it slowly.
"It's gorgeous," he breathed.
Sirius shrugged. "I was hoping we'd be able to get rid of it, actually. I've no doubt we'll be unable to do so without taking out the whole wall, though."
"Why would you want to get rid of this?" Harry marveled. "It's amazing!"
The fabric connected hundreds of wizards with thin, golden lines. Harry quickly tracked down the Lestranges, the Malfoys and the Potters.
"I'm on here!" he exclaimed. "At least I think!"
On the level of Sirius's grandparents was a Dorea Black who was connected to Charlus Potter. Below them was 1s connected to an unnamed woman, and below those two was another 1s.
Sirius laughed. "I guess that is you," he admitted. "Good eyes. I'll see if I can't get everyone to start calling you by your real name, 1s."
Harry pretended to scowl. "That's one son to you," he joked.
"I haven't looked at this in years," Sirius commented, bending closer to examine the Lestrange corner of the tapestry. He could almost feel Harry smiling behind him. "I'll admit I'm sort of glad you dragged me in here."
"Wait, I dragged you?" Harry scoffed. "That's not what I remember."
Sirius rolled his eyes. "You know what I meant…oh, there's Bellatrix."
"Bellatrix?" Harry asked suddenly. "The death eater?"
"You'll find a lot of death eaters on this tree," Sirius said sadly. "There's Rodolphus and Rabastan, his younger brother. The both of them are in Azkaban with Bella. There's Lucius Malfoy…"
Harry hunted down Sirius's parents.
"These are your folks, right?" he asked, pointing. "I heard another portrait calling the picture of your mom Walburga," he explained when Sirius shot him a surprised look.
"Oh yeah, they are."
"But you're not on here," Harry continued.
"I ran away from home when I was sixteen," Sirius said. "So my mom blasted me off, along with anyone else she was mad at. Tonks's mom Andromeda used to be over there." He pointed to another burn mark some two feet to his left.
Harry cocked his head. "How do you know you mom was the one who burned you off if you'd left home?"
"My brother told me," Sirius said and immediately he felt a sharp sizzling in his heart. Memories of Regulus were always painful, no matter how many years had passed.
"Your brother Regulus?" Harry asked.
"My only brother, yeah," Sirius said breathlessly. He felt his throat closing as he subdued the sobs that wanted so desperately to come. The faded scars on his arms stung as they hadn't for years.
"His room is down the hall from mine," Harry continued. "Kreacher goes in there a lot."
"I imagine he would. He always liked Regulus."
"What happ—" Harry stopped himself and looked away.
"What happened to Regulus?" Sirius asked bitterly, and Harry cringed. "He ran off to join Voldemort and got himself killed for it."
Harry gasped. "He was murdered?"
Sirius shook his head and gave Harry a strange look. "Only you would use the word murdered to describe a death eater," he said fondly. "No, Regulus killed himself. Got in a little too far and decided he didn't want to be involved anymore. Must have thought he had no other options."
"Who told you that?" Harry asked.
Sirius shrugged. "Got most of it from the last time we talked, a few months before I wound up in jail. He was giving off that vibe. The warden of Azkaban told me he was missing shortly after they hauled me in…"
Harry stared at him.
"I also talked to Kreacher a little bit," Sirius admitted. "Thought it wasn't my idea to do so. He told me all about how Reggie went to some island of Voldemort's and let a group of inferi drag him down to drown. He was reveling in letting me know just how badly I'd failed."
Harry bit his lip. "But they never found his body?" he guessed.
"No," said Sirius. He was doing his best to look anywhere but the bit of the wall that said:
Regulus Arcturus Black
1961-1979-
"So how do you know he's really still dead?"
Sirius turned his gaze to Harry, alarmed. "Because Snape says Voldemort's not looking for him. Because Kreacher saw him go under the water. Because his death date is right there on the fucking tapestry and that thing never lies!...and what do you mean, 'still' dead?" he demanded.
Harry took a deep breath to gather his courage. Sirius was looking extremely disheveled.
Well how would you look? A voice in Harry's head demanded.
"I just meant that maybe everyone was mistaken…or else your tapestry was a little off…"
"Impossible," said Sirius. "It's never been wrong before. Reggie died sixteen years ago."
"I know that," said Harry. He pointed to Regulus's name and this time Sirius bent down to look more closely. "But it doesn't say he's dead now."
Sirius gasped. "What the…?" Sure enough, Regulus's name was accompanied by a birth date, a dash, a death date, and a second dash…
1961-1979-
"That's weird," Sirius concluded. "It's weird but it's probably nothing. People don't come back from the dead."
Harry didn't look so sure.
"They don't," Sirius insisted.
Harry half-shrugged. "Anything's possible," he said.
"Not this. Listen to yourself, Harry."
Harry smiled. "When I was eleven, a bird gave me a letter asking me to come to a magical school somewhere north of England. I'm pretty open-minded about these things."
Sirius shook his head in disbelief, though it was not so much because Harry could suggest something so crazy as Regulus still being alive, but because if Reggie were alive, why hadn't he come back to Sirius? He'd always come back before.
Perhaps Sirius's flowers had worn off for good.
Harry and Sirius both jumped when they heard the front door slam. Immediately thereafter the house was filled with the sounds of the Weasleys talking and stomping around.
"Looks like you've got a full house again," Harry said. "Ready to go face everyone?" He seemed to understand Sirius's conflicting emotions about having the Weasleys over. Sirius obviously loved the company, but on the other hand…they could be a bit much, especially Molly.
"You go greet them for me," Sirius begged. "I think I fancy a walk in the backyard. It'll help me think. My father used to have quite the garden out there…"
"It's still there," Harry insisted. Sirius raised his eyebrows in question.
"Walks help me think, too. I go out there in the early mornings sometimes," Harry explained. "Please don't tell Professor Lupin or Ms. Weasley. They'd freak."
"Everything's still…alive?" Sirius asked in shock.
"Most of it, yeah," Harry explained. He started to walk towards the door, meaning to meet up with the Weasleys as Sirius had asked. "Some of the trees are still blooming," he added.
The Sirius was left alone in the drawing room. He listened for a few moments to the sounds of conversation coming from the kitchen.
Regulus is dead. He told himself. He repeated it in his head over and over again because the alternative was too painful.
Regulus is dead. That's why he didn't come back.
Dead, dead, dead, DEAD.
Fifteen minutes later, Sirius was lying on his bed, twirling a single white varuna between his fingers and crying unashamedly. Ten minutes after that he was asleep.
Sirius Black's window squeaked ever so slightly. The shrill noise woke him from his fitful rest. At first, his eyes saw nothing but darkness, but he could feel a strong, warm breeze blowing in his face. His window was open.
Sirius sat up and blinked furiously until his eyes adjusted to the dismal light provided by the stars and the moon outside. He could hear the fabric of his curtains rustling and whipping about in the inconsistent wind.
Something moved, and Sirius's breath caught in his throat. He wanted to scream but couldn't find the energy. Someone had crawled in through his open window and dropped down from the sill. They were straightening up…
"You've been away for a long, long time, Sirius," they said casually. "And it's awfully hard to come back to you when you're not here…"
Sirius was panting.
"Regulus?"
Regulus sat down on the bed beside him. He reached around Sirius's waist and Sirius realized he'd almost crushed the varuna in his sleep. Regulus held the flower gently. Sirius could feel the vague heat coming from his brother, could hear the rustling of his breath, could smell his clean hair. Everything felt right.
Regulus turned the varuna over in his hand. As Sirius's night vision improved, he could make out his brother's sharp face and soft bangs as he scrutinized the damage done to the flower.
"You're really here?" Sirius asked in awe. "You've really come back? After so long, you still came back?"
Regulus laughed and held up the varuna. It's long white stamens swung about like jungle vines.
"Truly, Siri. You of all people must know you ought to be careful with these," Regulus chastised. He tucked the blossom gently into Sirius's hair. "Theirs is not a magic to be taken lightly."
Signed/tenrousei-kuroi