DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to JKR.
Written for the character one hour challenge on HPFC
character: Regulus Black prompts: truth, great hall
It had started out like so many of their other arguments, an innocuous comment or attempt at regaining the fun banter they had enjoyed as children, misinterpreted as an attack on the other. He knew he was sometimes guilty of this, taking what he later realised was a joke as another attack on his beliefs or personality. In these cases he usually tried to apologise, though more often than not that started a whole new argument, with Sirius believing that his apology was really a sneaky way to prove that he was really in the right.
Sometimes he wondered how Sirius managed to avoid being in Slytherin. Oh yes, on the outside he was bold and daring, negligent about the rules, willing to pick a fight and stand his ground. He was also very good at getting people to like him and to do what he wanted. A real charmer, a gift Regulus envied terribly.
He tried so hard to be the sort of person people just liked and admired. He was rarely disagreeable (Sirius and his friends were the one exception), mostly did as he was told, just….tried to be that perfect son, that perfect student, that perfect friend. But it was never enough.
He was a good and dutiful son, his mother occasionally said so in between the times she was yelling at Sirius, arguing with Sirius, duelling with Sirius. Father rarely spoke to either of them, but when he did it was to Sirius: don't get into so much trouble, stop associating with mudblood filth, no more contact with your disowned cousin. And all the while Regulus sat in the corner being quiet and dutiful and completely ignored.
One day he had decided he'd simply had enough, and when Mother and Sirius started hollering about muggle inventions polluting wizarding society he spoke up to say that he didn't really mind cars or motorbikes. Mother had slapped him and sent him to his room, frog-marching him past his gaping brother. The next night Sirius looked to him to back him up on a point, even smiled like he used to before he messed up their perfect world by being sorted into Gryffindor. But Reg wasn't strong, and he kept his eyes fixed firmly on his roast pork and tried not to cry at the sneer of contempt he saw from the corner of his eye.
Today's argument seemed different somehow, though. Usually they yelled at one another for an hour or two, Sirius pacing madly around the room slamming his fist into the wall for emphasis. On rare occasions wands were drawn and sparks flew to match their tempers, but no real harm was ever done. Eventually Sirius would get bored and leave, slamming whatever door was closest on the way out and the silence would echo between them for a day or two before it all happened again.
This time the topic was werewolves, and whether or not they should be treated like other people. Regulus hadn't ever had a reason to think Sirius would care one way or another about the issue; certainly he had never said anything before about it. He had intended the idea of using werewolves as guard-dogs to be amusing and fantastical, a story to pass the hours on Christmas Eve. Great lords in ages past who needed to move chests of jewelled treasures could do so under the light of the full moon, his human servants chained to the casket suddenly becoming monstrous beasts when attacked. Many would fall to the wizarding outlaws seeking to waylay them, but they would protect their master's valuables to the bitter end, dying for a cause far above their station.
For some reason Sirius snapped at him that it wasn't funny, and had stormed from the room, leaving the handful of younger children they were supposed to be looking out for staring. When Reg had gone after him he had snarkily commented that he wanted nothing to do with anyone who thought that people could be divided into lesser and greater classes.
When Reg saw the open bottle of wine in his brother's hand he knew that continuing the argument was a bad idea, but his curiosity got the better of him for once. Haughty disdain usually got a response of some sort, and his inquiry of whether Sirius wanted to invite Kreacher to Christmas Dinner too earned him a snarl and a hex of some sort that his seeker's reflexes barely avoided. His duelling practice with cousin Barty had paid off, and he was able to deflect the next three and get a decent head-start out of the room.
Now, crouched behind a clothes press in one of the spare rooms, he wondered how it had come to this. Why would Sirius care about werewolves when he so openly disregarded goblins, house-elves and other lesser creatures? He briefly wondered if one of Sirius' Gryffindor buddies was one, but dismissed the idea. No-one would ever let a dark creature like that onto school grounds, not even muggle-loving Professor Dumbledore. One of their siblings, maybe? As far as he knew, Potter and Lupin didn't have any relatives at Hogwarts. The other one had a cousin in Ravenclaw who played reserve chaser, but no-one close. Not that he had stalked them or anything, he told himself sternly as he waited for the thumping footfalls to pass. Not that he had found every scrap of information he could about them, spoken to everyone in their year about them, trying to work out what they had that would make Sirius turn his back on his real family.
The truth was, he wasn't sure when exactly he had lost his brother. It wasn't during that terrible year that Sirius was away and he suffered his mother's temper tantrums about family dishonour and ill-repute. That Christmas had been fun, full of stories of a common room high above the castle, secret passageways and playing tricks on the hapless caretaker.
He had still been the real Sirius then, brushing away Mother's imperious demands that he have nothing to do with that 'terrible Potter boy' or 'those mudblood girls with their skirts hiked around their waists.' Reg hadn't known them then, but for the stories. In those Potter was fun and daring, the other boys able side-kicks as they ran wild over the school. He had often imagined himself joining them for their midnight explorations of the school or the forest, and once even asked if Sirius would take him along next year.
His brother had smacked him over the head and said "Of course you can come, if you want to, as long as you're in Gryffindor."
Perhaps it all came back to him, he thought as he heard his brother stumble away, probably drunk already and going to puke. If he had just asked the hat to put him in Gryffindor too it might all be different, better. Except it wouldn't be; Sirius would still be the centre of attention, and he would be the one who simply followed his brother. Nothing special, except that Mother and Father would hate him too.
The last face he saw as the sorting hat slid over his grey-Black eyes was his cousin Narcissa, giving him that warning look, and when the hat asked him whether he wanted somewhere other than Slytherin he said no without stopping to think. The sneer of disdain that he knew all too well now had been pasted on his brother's face for the first time as he made the short walk to his new table. When they passed in the corridors he got a wave or a nod as his brother walked on with his friends, and when a hex-war broke out after the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match he didn't even get an acknowledgement, despite sneakily disarming the fourth-year about to hex his brother from behind.
Over the years he had become accustomed to the blatant disregard from Sirius, but it still burned a little every time his brother turned to his Gryffindor friends instead of him. They had stolen him away from his real family, like the fairies would come and steal children in the night in the old stories, and leave a replacement behind who wasn't quite right.
The sound of retching reached his ears as he passed by an open window overlooking their back garden. The icy night air made him shiver, and he hesitated, hand on the latch. His brother was curled on the ground, one hand still reaching for the bottle rolling out of his reach while the other kept his hair out of the way of his mouth. Sirius didn't want to speak to him, he reminded himself as he wedged the window shut. If he went down there now all he would get was another row and round of curses. And it served him right anyway, he shouldn't have thrown those spells and he definitely shouldn't have been drinking.
But the coughing, shivering lump looked so helpless, so pathetic that Reg couldn't turn away. Resigning himself to the abuse he slipped into the kitchen and poured a glass of water, swiping a potion vial from the back cabinet that mother used occasionally after formal events on the way through.
The adults were still in the sitting room, the soft tumble of words and the glowing lights in the Christmas tree falling through the slightly ajar door. He could clearly make out cousin Bella talking over Lucius Malfoy, like she usually did, and a quick glance showed Father, Abraxas Malfoy, Royden Urquhart and Uncle Cygnus in the corner by the fireplace, brooding over their firewhiskey. Mother was in the other corner with Auntie Dru and Aunt Lucretia, cooing over some piece of jewellery that Mrs Urquhart was holding. Kreacher was piling logs onto the fire, well and truly busy for the next while.
He slipped past cat-quiet, charming the back door to open silently as he snatched up two cloaks and stepped into the winter night. A gentle fall of snow was starting to dust the stone patio and the birdbath was solid ice, reflecting his wand-light as he stepped into the shadows and followed the growth of ivy around the side of the house. It took Sirius several seconds of bleary blinking before he seemed to realise who had come to his rescue, and he managed a slurred "go 'way Reg," before puking again.
Regulus knelt beside him, throwing the cloak over shaking shoulders and vanishing the stinking pike of liquid as it started steaming in the garden-bed. He held the glass of water up to his brother's lips, only to have it batted away with a silent glare and another round of heaving.
Eventually Sirius turned to look at him again, confusion mingling with annoyance in his grey eyes, and he raised the glass and waved it.
"It's not poison you know. You drunk that all by yourself."
Sirius glared at him for a few more seconds before reaching out and gulping the liquid down.
"Wasn't poison," he muttered between mouthfuls as he rinsed his mouth and spat. "That was Father's good elf-wine he was keeping for when the Minister visited. Bloody good vintage, though it tasted horrible on the way up."
He blinked for a few seconds and Regulus froze, wondering when the curses would start flying again. Astonishingly, Sirius smiled instead, and said "Maybe it was poisoned. Mother was complaining about how the Minister didn't understand the importance of proper pure-blood lines and wanted to knock her off."
Now it was Regulus' turn to blink in shock. This was how they used to talk, wild theories and fun stories instead of rows and curses. He tried a smile and found that it fit.
"Well in that case, we'd better get you the rare and expensive antidote. It's a long and dangerous quest. Oh wait, I forgot, I already grabbed some."
He held out the hangover potion, and couldn't help but smile as Sirius snatched it and gulped it down, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
"Have I ever mentioned you're a wonderful brother when you're not being a prejudiced little shit?"
And there it was, right back to where they started. Only this time Regulus wasn't going to let it become a fight. It was Christmas Eve after all, a time for family whether they liked it or not.
"You could stand to mention it more," he replied carefully, keeping the smile in place so that Sirius would know he was joking around. "The wonderful brother bit, not the prejudiced little shit bit. You mention that plenty."
"Shouldn't give me so many opportunities."
He sighed, trying to think of something un-aggressive, and reached out for the nearly empty bottle near his feet.
"Father's good wine? Really? Do you actually have a death wish?"
Sirius grinned at this, and said, "You should try it. Go on, finish the bottle. I promise I didn't puke into it."
Regulus could think of a dozen reasons why it was a bad idea, but the fact that he and Sirius were talking made him pour the last mouthful down his throat. It had a sweet taste, almost sickly sweet, with a hint of summer berries.
"Not bad," he said as he examined the label, noticing the fine writing marking it as the 1914 vintage, just like Sirius had said.
"Of course Father will be furious in about two weeks time when he finds it missing."
This earned him a mischievous grin and a clumsy clout to the shoulder.
"Ah but we'll be back at school then, brother of mine. He'll probably blame Kreacher and serve something else instead."
Regulus bit his lip to prevent a comment about how unfair that was to Kreacher, and looked up at the sky instead. Through the swirling clouds a small patch of moonlight was visible. It was half-full right now, and he reminded himself to finish his astronomy assignment before he got too side-tracked with presents and holidays. It was all the school-work he had left to do, having shut himself in his room for the first day and a half of the break, mostly to avoid the worst of the Mother-Sirius rows.
They always had a few bad ones during the first few days of every holidays, until they got used to being under the same roof again, and after two and a half years of school, Regulus had found the perfect escape. Academically he was on par with his brother, better even in Potions and Arithmancy, though he had to work for it. Sirius got away with glancing over his textbooks and charming the teachers, and occasionally doing his homework before it was due.
A sudden swirl of icy wind reminded Regulus of where he was sitting and he glanced up again to see nothing but clouds and a heavier fall of snow. Tugging at his brother's arm he said, "Come on, let's go sit by the fire. Uncle Alphard will have probably talked all the little ones to sleep by now, and if not we can just charm them silent."
For once his brother did as someone told him, rising shakily to his feet and leaning heavily on Regulus's shoulder as they walked together back to the house.