Unspilled Secrets
Regulus knew that his secret was out when Sirius pulled him into a third-floor alcove between classes on a crisp November day. The fading afternoon light cast a shadow over Sirius' face, emphasizing his look of agitation. Panic stabbed at Regulus' chest. How was he ever going to explain himself to his brother?
"Regulus," Sirius began, his voice sharp, "do you fancy James?"
Regulus blinked. That wasn't the accusation that he had been expecting. Not at all. "What?"
"Do you fancy James?" Sirius repeated, more slowly this time. When Regulus continued to stare blankly at him, he elaborated, "Do you have a thing for my best mate?"
"For your—?" Regulus huffed out a laugh. The idea was so ridiculous that there was no other appropriate course of action. "This must be another one of your jokes. Why would you even ask such a thing?"
"I don't know how else to account for your odd behaviour lately," Sirius said, sounding exasperated. "You're moody and sarcastic—"
"I'm always sarcastic—"
"—and I see you looking over at James all the time…"
Regulus was now quite certain that his secret was safe—Sirius was grasping at straws. Still, he needed to make sure that his brother dropped this absurd Potter thing. What could he say to make him understand that there was nothing going on between him and the boy with the messy black hair?
"I'm not interested in him," he said firmly. "James Potter is a"—he racked his brains for an eloquent insult that he could use, though Potter was hardly worth the effort—"an uncouth bespawler!"
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "We can't all be geniuses like you, Reg. Mind filling me in on what 'bespawler' means?"
"Would it kill you to consult a dictionary?" Regulus retorted.
"Maybe," Sirius shot back. After a moment, he rolled his eyes. "Fine. Keep shutting me out. I guess you've got your precious Slytherin friends to keep an eye on you now anyway."
They weren't his friends. Regulus didn't know what they were, exactly, but they were definitely not "friends."
"Sirius—" He tried to grab his brother's arm, but Sirius pulled away. Regulus hardly recognized him with his squared shoulders and set jaw. It felt like he was looking at a painting of him—the general shape was there, but the brush strokes were uneven and sloppy.
"No, I'm done, Regulus," Sirius said at last. "There's no point in trying to get through to you."
With that, he turned on his heel and stalked away, taking Regulus' hope with him.
"I need saving," Regulus whispered to his brother's retreating back.
WC: 431