I do not own Harry Potter.
One thing is beautiful about this fanfiction . . . it is the first multiple-chaptered one I have ever posted that is actually DONE. Hence, I just have to sit back and relax at this point, and post the chapters at intervals so that it's not all one fell swoop and then over. If you're one of those wonderful people who actually return to read chapters, it has chapters in all, so come back for all of them-- please? I'll love you forever.
One thing that has always bothered me about many depictions of pre-Hogwarts Sirius is the idea that his parents hated him all of his life. What reason would they have for that? He was their firstborn and their heir, and he seemed to possess all of the quintessential Black family traits: good looks, a slight arrogance, and a rather rash temper. I'm guessing it was only his views, gained later in life-- and his realization that the world he was raised in had many flaws- were what did him in. That was just my inspiration . . . also trying to figure out my little brother's motivation for screaming all the time (he's trying to get me kicked out of the family! BWAHAHA! cough nevermind . . . ).
Oh, by the way, this starts out very nice and PG, but as it goes on, it's going to get much worse . . . as Regulus grows up, you know; there are some things that cannot be avoided, particularly to give him the appalling shock he needs. So, if you only read stories under PG-13 or R, enjoy these first few chapters while you can (ahh, the innocence of Regulus's youth), because I will be changing the rating as the story goes on later.
I wasn't always Mummy's favorite.
I was always the baby. I toddled along behind everyone else for years. By the time I was old enough to play intelligently with my cousins, Bellatrix was nearly school age. The short days in which all five of us cousins could play together as children, I was the weakling who always toppled over and had to go crying to my mother, the neophyte who wasn't wanted on any team, the scapegoat when the entire clan got in trouble. I was the one sent to ask Mummy for cookies when it was Bellatrix who was hungry- she knew her aunt would oblige the toddler- and it was I who was saddled with the hardest, dirtiest jobs when none of the adults were around to see the others shirking.
Bellatrix was the model first cousin: bossy, perfectionistic, and undisputably the leader. I always saw her as a beacon of maturity and childhood wisdom, and I respected her every commandment and obeyed her every whim. Her wrath- added to the fact she was always a head taller than me until I reached puberty- could make anyone tremble.
Only Sirius ever had the courage-- or stupidity-- to provoke it. She was three years his elder, but it was amazing how far Sirius could push her. He was mischievous and unpredictable, one minute her friend, the next the destruction of whatever she had calculatingly planned. I thought it was masochistic to turn the tables that way, inflaming Bella to the point that she charged on top of him, pummeling him wildly and shrieking at the top of her lungs, but Sirius always emerged from the tussles laughing- only worsening the anger. Of course, there were moments when Bellatrix had the upper hand, causing Sirius to pale and sometimes even attempt to fight her as she would him- though Mummy or Father always managed to intervene in his case. Sirius hated and loved Bellatrix at the same time- they were companions, but constantly at rivalry: the oldest and the heir.
Andromeda, though older than Sirius, stayed out of their way. She was mild and feminine- Bellatrix was just short of a tomboy- and preferred to stay back in order to keep Narcissa and I at hand. She was our connection between the smart, wild, aggressive older cousins. I often resented her condescension- though I took advantage of its results. Yet Sirius had a tender fondness for her; he could play with her in ways he and Bella never had patience for around each other. The two of them talked- talked as adults- as children, something I did not understand at the time and found frightfully boring.
Narcissa and I were left at the bottom, the baby and the porcelain doll. Narcissa was the opposite of Bellatrix: always calm and collected, and so fragile no one would dare play roughly with her for fear of breaking her in two. Bellatrix was the warrior in our games; Narcissa was the goddess. She was never ruffled, even when hurt- her eyes would widen and she would grow even paler in her white cheeks- but tears would never even show. I hated her for hiding emotion so well.
I, I was the eager one. I desperately wanted to be right in with Bellatrix and Sirius, but the two were too busy topping one another or plotting together to take notice. I got whatever role was untaken, always something disposable in case I got hurt or had to take a nap. I hated that most of all, sitting in my room with the covers drawn up and the curtains drawn- though the light leaked in as would through bars of a jail cell- as I could hear the playing continue in the nursery just outside.
At least in the evenings, when the cousins left and I was left alone with Sirius, I was included. Then, however, was time for the entire family. Sirius was the oldest son, the heir, the pride of the family. Mummy always wanted to hear his take on everything. Sometimes, as she nursed one of my frequent scraped knees or nosebleeds, she would watch the games- continuing on without me- and beam at what she saw as the perfect Black. Sirius had the family good looks, with his shining dark hair and deep dark eyes. He carried himself proudly, and laughed like a haughty emperor. He was clever, stubborn, and proud, just as his father and grandfather were before him. Even his rashness, mischievousness, and quick temper were charismatic and praised with the contented sighs of my mother.
She never sighed that way for me. Her sighs were of exasperation and pity. I was too needy and weak. I came to her constantly for attention and affection. In truth, I loved her, and I wanted her to love me back. Most of all, I wanted her to show it. She would roll her eyes at my requests, and sigh that I needed to learn to take care of myself- though she did, of course, always help me. I was her baby, after all . . . but what was the baby to the heir?
I would draw pictures for her, or pick flowers from the yard, or even follow her around the house chatting animatedly, trying to stir up some favor. It only annoyed her; why didn't I go play with the other children? When I did make it into her lap I would cling to her, feeling superior as I watched calmly from my throne as they played on without me. I liked the feeling.
Yet though she humored it, she did not encourage it. She much preferred strong Sirius, who would sooner pull away with a scathing remark than be coddled, even when injured. He didn't like visible or physical affection the way that I did. He needed no embracing. Ironic, considering he was the one Mummy would have preferred to have embraced.
Though Sirius ignored me around our cousins- our first and practically only playmates of youth- he and I had our moments, usually in the latest parts of the evenings, just before bed. Sirius would order Kreacher to clean up the nursery (the elf and his peevish look scared me until I finally grew taller than it), and then he would show me something of interest in his room, the west wing of the nursery, across from mine. When he learned to read he would pull out the volumes of stories- many of which, we were told, were about various ancient Blacks- and tell me tales, though his voice grew more monotone as he grew older. He had learned to read on the same set of stories, over and over, in hopes he would memorize them all. Andromeda had taught herself to read, and on books of her choice, but Sirius and Bellatrix were deluged with the same stories of Orion Black, the warrior hero in the Muggle-Wizard battles of the Middle Ages, Betelgeuse Black, the Ministry diplomat who headed a movement to cease the Muggle Enlightment through a combination of destruction and Imperius Curses in an effort to keep wizards in obvious superiority to the now technological Muggles, even the more recent Polaris Black, who had bribed the last Minister of Magic in an effort to protect the grander, darker families when the Ministry began to do purges of Dark Arts. It was assumed we would respect each of these forefathers, and I did, of course. After all, they had a book written about them.
By the age of five, I could recite the names of my fathers back to the mid-1600s. Bellatrix once made an attempt to trace her matriarchal line, but, of course, it was practically untraceable, since no one cared to keep track of mothers and marriages, so she stuck with the Maison de Toujours Pur.
We were a house of tradition, after all. I respected Sirius as I was required to, almost but not quite at the level I did my ancestors. He was my older brother, and would always have power over me in the household, even when we were both fully grown. That was the way we had been taught, so it seemed only natural.
Yet there was something unnatural about Sirius. His rivalry with Bellatrix never prompted any suspicion from the adults, but he started showing signs of holding something unparallel to the rest of us in his mind.
One day, when I was about five or six, Bellatrix had happened to break something in the parlor. She called me over subtly and asked me to hold it, whatever it was- some crystal sphere with a light that had once shined but now blinked, the glass cracked visibly around one side- and check to see if it was broken. I assured her it was, it was obvious, and she promptly shrieked for her parents.
"Regulus broke something! Mum! Daddy! Come look!"
I turned to her, stunned, feeling my heart begin to thump against my thin chest. She met my look with a devilish grin. It had happened before, and, as usual, I wondered what I had done to deserve to take the blame from her.
Anything that called the parents in from their usual associations outside of our presence- we were expected to be unseen and unheard, except in emergencies- naturally attracted everyone else's attention as well. Andromeda and Sirius, who had been taking turns reading each other some of Andromeda's favorite fairy tales- until they saw Bellatrix's act- slid off of the big silk upholstered chair and tiptoed nervously around us to take a spot out of the way but in good view. Narcissa turned composedly away from her dollhouse and adjusted herself on her knees, placing her hands in her lap to watch like an aloof kitten.
All four entered- my mother and father, and my Aunt Elladora and Uncle Alphard. Uncle Alphard saw the broken glass and puckered his lips in a sympathetic but forgiving "o," but the other three simply stared in shock. I felt myself grow paler; their gazes were never forgiving.
"Look," Bellatrix reiterated. "He broke it." She turned to me, tipping her head to the side and cooing in a terrible mock-baby voice, "Widdle Wegulus bwoke somefing again." Usually she would end such a taunt with a chilling laugh, but in front of the parents she suppressed it. She was good at acting whatever part was best for her to play.
Aunt Elladora took the object out of my hands and began to tap it with her wand, trying to repair it. My mother's eyes looked weary, but she only shook her head. My father, however, straightened up and crossed his arms- always a bad sign. I cringed before him.
"It wasn't Regulus."
No one knew where the voice came from for a moment.
Sirius stepped out of the shadows from within he had been hiding, his face confidently turned up to his father's, his eyes alight with truth. I wouldn't have dared to be so bold; I shrunk down futher as if to make up for his lack of humility.
Bellatrix jerked around to him, her face pale and stricken but not enough to give her away. I could see the threat brewing in her eyes. I would never tell on her, lest I wake in a recent night to find myself face to face with a venomous snake in my bed, or something of the like.
Yet Sirius was not telling on her. He did not even notice her gaze-- or, if he did, it did not concern him. He took another step forward. "I broke it. I . . . I left it there, on the ground, because I hoped nobody would notice, and Regulus must have picked it up."
It was an obvious lie, but Sirius held his confidence.
My parents exchanged concerned glances. Finally, Father cleared his throat and spoke. "Well, if that's a confession, Sirius . . . I'll see you in my office."
Sirius hesitated for a moment, as if wondering if he had made the right choice-- I had never been sent to Father's office under such a circumstance, but Sirius had, and had returned in conditions that made me severely dread the day I would find myself there-- but he took a deep breath, bringing some color back into his cheeks, and walked off proudly.
Bellatrix was beside herself, but she hid it well. I, however, noticed that the glass orb I had been holding had done some damage. I screamed involuntarily at the sight of the glooey red squeezing out of the hair-thin crevace in my palm and flung up my hands to show Mummy. She twitched backwards in shock, and I accredited her reaction to an equivalent fear of the blood. Yet when she caught her breath, she took my wrists and insisted that I had nothing to worry about from such a little cut. She tapped it with her wand and it sealed over, but I still panted with fear.
"Oh, Regulus . . . " she sighed. She scooped me up in her arms and carried me upstairs to the nursery. Father followed, instead of branching off for the office, where Sirius awaited his fate. The lower branch of the family went on with their business downstairs without us. I wondered if we were missed.
Mummy sat down on a little bench, beside me, her arm wrapped around me as I calmed down. Father gave her a covert glance that even I could understand: it was pathetic how traumatized a little blood made me.
"It's obvious he's guilty," Mother said to him. "Otherwise he wouldn't be so distraught." I felt my heart rate jog at that; surely I wasn't going to be punished after that whole ordeal? "Why did you believe Sirius? It's obvious he lied." She wrinkled her nose. "He didn't think he was doing something respectable, did he? It's like the sort of thing Charles Potter or Fred Longbottom or another one of those Gryffindors would have pulled when we were at Hogwarts, shielding each other from the right blame. Never understood it."
"Well, Sirius will soon learn that taking the punishment for others will only get him punishment," Father smirked. "It's a self-forbidding trait."
I listened to the two of them under the pretense of still being too distraught to be paying attention. I rocked a little on the bed, hugging myself as Mummy wiped sweaty locks of hair from my forehead.
"I'm sure you don't mind it a bit, do you, Regulus?" she asked, leaning over to look into my eyes.
I met her eyes and said innocently. "He was right, though. It wasn't me."
Mummy let out a little laugh. "Regulus certainly has more common sense than Sirius."
"He's properly Slytherin," Father barked. "He'll do anything to shield the blame from himself."
I didn't know that it was a compliment, a suggestion of my ambition and personal determination. So I explained, "It was Bella. She broke it, and she made it look like I did it."
This time, both of my parents laughed. "Perhaps not so much sense," Father chuckled.
"Maybe you should look into it?" Mummy suggested. "Bellatrix could be lying, too."
I wondered for a moment how on earth our household was supposed to run properly if everyone were expected to lie all the time.
Father nodded. "First, though, to deal with Sirius." He took his wand out of his inner-chest pocket, twirled it around his finger one, and went out.
That night, Sirius came into the nursery with a faint red tinge to his face, rather like a sunburn. He looked at me expectantly, and I met his eyes.
"Why'd you do that?" was the best I could phrase it.
He shuffled his feet, smiling rather proudly for one who had just been punished unnecessarily. "Well, you didn't do it, so I couldn't let them believe you had. It would be lying."
"But you lied when you said Bella did it."
He opened his mouth but then stopped. The thought had apparently not crossed his mind.
Much as I wanted to point out how stupid he had been-- and perhaps add in what I had heard between Mummy and Father-- the fact that I was standing here perfectly comfortable while he glowed an unhealthy red checked my speech. It wasn't a bad situation, really.
"Thank you," I said.
Father talked to Uncle Alphard, but he did nothing about it. Bellatrix had a way with men, even her own father, that charmed her from fault. It was just her way.
Yet I had found a very valuable tool. I fell into scrapes without meaning to-- and often without having even done anything-- but Sirius was always getting into trouble of his own accord. He played pranks and played roughly, and every violent eruption that flung him towards Bellatrix resulted in some repercussion administered by strict Father. It would not seem so impossible for some of my mishaps to be his. If I pointed to Sirius before Bellatrix could point to me, she would second the motion-- after all, as long as the blame did not fall on her, she had no qualms, and to keep from blowing the cover she had to remain consistent with her stories.
Every time I blamed Sirius, he lost favor and I gained some. It was a child's dream, finding favor through tattling.
Yet my actions were nothing compared to what Sirius brought upon himself.