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Chapter 7: Brave Lil Brothers & Derringdo

"What?!"

Whatever Salem had been expecting…that wasn't it.

Regulus grinned. "It's bloody brilliant. He'll never suspect."

"Wha-what? How-"

"Now, come on." He pulled Salem's arm. "Like you said, we need to get to Transfiguration!" his younger brother chirped, practically skipping down the hall with him in tow. Thankfully, the halls they were traveling down were deserted or Salem would've been mortified for life.

He did NOT need THOSE kinds of rumors circulating around about him and his brother.

After carefully taking a seat in the back, Regulus carefully arranged his things on his desk.

Opening his textbook and propping it up, he then discreetly motioned for Salem to do the same.

"We'll have about five minutes before McGonagall comes over and yells at us. So without ado, here's the plan: we have Charms first thing tomorrow morning. I'll 'get sick' and insist on just 'resting' in the dormitory. You'll escort me with the excuse of 'watching over me.' You'll give him a concerned look. And he'll interpret that as you knowing about my blackouts. Trust me, he'll just be so thankful that I shared it with someone that he'll let us out no problem."

Salem glanced at him questioningly.

Regulus sighed. "Flitwick worries that I never open up enough with my peers. He thinks that I should share my issues. He and Dumbledore keep trying to sign me up for counseling."

"Well, you aren't exactly forthcoming with information, especially personal affairs."

Regulus waved a dismissive hand. "My concerns are my own. Anyways, he'll understand and let us go. Then, we'll go down into the dormitory and wait there for a solid hour and a half. That way, during the break before the next class, our housemates will see us there and verify our location. Then, after the second class has begun, we'll sneak out and up to the 7th Floor."

Salem gave a slight nod and that was all the encouragement Regulus needed. Eyes bright with excitement, he launched into the rest of his plan.

For a moment, all Salem could do was stare. Since when was his brother such a strategist? What happened to the little kid who tagged along after him? It was always the elder Black who came up with the plans. Reggie was just a wingman, a follower, when did he start taking charge?

When you left him leaderless, came that little voice in the back of his mind.

His plan…it was so conniving, so mischievous, so…marauder-like. For a moment, Salem just looked at him. Sizing him up. No…no it wasn't possible…was it? Could Reggie really have…?

But there was no denying it, with plans like that and a glint of reckless adventure in his eye…yes, his brother could've fit right in with his gang.

Reg just never had the chance. They never let him have one.

Regulus was still plotting, oblivious to Salem's glazed expression. "Tragically, it's a no flying zone ever since Potter broke that window for the third time. But I won't be discouraged. In fact, it just means they'll be more baffled by my success."

Salem nodded mechanically, trying to suppress the wave of melancholy that was eating at his insides.

Taking that as approval, Regulus grinned; Part One: Plotting was complete.

Salem sighed and slipped a hand into his pocket feeling the diary there. It was moments like these…he just didn't know his brother at all, did he?

Regulus, ignorant of his friend's glumness, proceeded to fidget with anticipation through the rest of his classes. Sirius was finally going to get a dose of well-earned humility. He gave a wicked chuckle; this was going to be fun.

Any doubts Salem had on the feasibility of Regulus' plan, were swiftly put to rest.

Sure to his word, Regulus could act sick. Flitwick had already asked him twice, if he wouldn't care to go to the infirmary to rest.

And why wouldn't he? Any Professor would be distressed by such a sight.

Regulus seemed on the verge of collapse—short of breath, eyes glazed, unfocused. His voice was brittle and thin and his face worn and pale—the epitome of frailty.

And the fact that he kept repeating, that "no, he was quite alright, thank you" and how "with exams so soon, he couldn't afford to miss any classes" made it all seem more pitiful.

Several Slytherins shifted uncomfortably and muttered to themselves about awful timing.

After all, if Regulus was too ill to participate in the coming Quidditch Match, Slytherin was sure to fail. His replacement, Wallace, was abysmal. Bugger! Losing to Hufflepuff would be humiliating!

Soon more whispers arose, ranging from concern to contempt:

Do you think he's alright?

He's really too concerned about schoolwork! Health should always be top priority!

How horrible, it's always the handsome ones who wilt!

What a pansy! Come on princeling, too weak to shake off a little cold?

I wonder if this means we'll win?

Salem sighed and glanced down. It was strange. He knew this was just a charade and yet…he glanced at his brother's lightly trembling frame…damn, he was convincing! And he couldn't find a more gullible audience.

Finally, midway through a lecture on proper wrist technique when spell-casting water charms, Regulus abruptly stood.

He begrudgingly admitted, after swallowing several times, that, no, he did not feel well. That he was deeply sorry for all of his interruptions during the lessons. But that he really, really needed to-

He wavered slightly and Salem swiftly stood, steadying him by the elbow; just as they had rehearsed.

"I'll guide him to the dormitory," Salem announced. "Maybe if he rests a bit, he'll feel better?"

He gave the professor a meaningful glance, and Flitwick nodded. "Take as long as you need, I'm certain your housemates will supply you with tonight's homework. I wish you a speedy recovery, Mr. Black, and advise you to visit Madame Pomfrey if you don't feel any improvement within the hour."

"Th-thank you Professor," Regulus muttered, eyes downcast in embarrassment.

Flitwick waved a hand dismissively and motioned for them to go.

Regulus allowed Salem to brace some of his weight and they made their way out into a hall.

Whispers and stares followed them until the door closed shut.

Once they were safely inside the empty dorm, Regulus straightened from his friend's grasp.

He flopped onto a couch near the fireplace and dramatically placed his hand over his brow.

"O woe is me. Cough, cough."

He caught Salem's eye and grinned; the eyes glittering beneath his bangs seeming decidedly wicked.

"Fools," he chuckled. "How easily deceived they were."

Salem crossed his arms and sat down on chair adjacent.

"I wouldn't have known you were faking," he replied bluntly.

"Well, that's sort of the point, isn't it?" Regulus shrugged carelessly.

At the glare he received, Regulus amended, "Wel,l it wouldn't have been very convincing otherwise."

"Your-er-our housemates seemed concerned."

"A few," he agreed.

"Even a couple Hufflepuffs looked sympathetic-"

"God, I know! Poor souls. They are a gullible lot, aren't they?"

Salem sighed and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "You really just…don't care do you?"

Regulus rose slightly. "About what? Lying?"

Seeing his friend's mouth set itself rigidly in a frown, he sighed and lied back down. "Everyone lies, Salem. Purposely, accidentally, selfishly, or selflessly. You can't escape that. And as long as everyone else lies, why not learn to be a master of it?"

Salem gripped the arms of the chair so hard, he was sure his nails were gouging it. But as much as he wanted to shout and rant, he knew it was useless. His brother never responded to that sort of stuff. He'd just layer some more ice in his eyes and smile. He remembered that from the few conversations (feuds) they'd had before…the end.

It was kind of tragic. When they were little, arguments had been simple. He would shout, Reggie would cry, he'd feel bad and comfort him, and Reggie would either sniffle his own

apology or offer a reason.

And then everything changed. Their arguments weren't about simple things anymore: who broke whose broomstick handle or who took the last cake slice. And they didn't end simply.

Didn't end at all in fact.

No, it was battle after battle in one long grueling war—and neither brother was willing to budge an inch. The reason for this Hell had a name and it was Pride.

He never apologized. They never reconciled. Regulus never offered any explanations. And so he never knew anything about his brother's…death except for the fact itself.

Salem glanced at his brother. Cold grey eyes were studying him as though he were some specimen on display.

It was amazing how Regulus could still look so composed even while reclining on a couch.

For any other boy, it would have seemed lazy and befitting of his youth. But for Regulus…no…the hands resting on his stomach was too stiffly laced, his posture too straight…no this was a trick of some kind. Yet another illusion.

Salem frowned more deeply. Yes…illusions, layers of them, from the moment he'd donned this disguise, he'd encountered numerous barriers surrounding his brother's character.

The first was a shield of status. He hid beneath the Black name, allowing familial prejudices to dissuade others from seeking him out.

The second was his health; a truly double edged sword. To those who were unaware of his condition, he let nothing slip and the image of a powerful Black remained untarnished.

Meanwhile for those who knew of his delicacy, he allowed them to fuss over him while ignoring all of their advice. He…Salem blinked at the realization…Regulus allowed them to underestimate him. That way…he could get away with stunts like this.

And beneath this laid Reggie's real armor: his seemingly unflappable composure. Oh sure, he could stretch his face into the appropriate expression depending on the circumstance. But between those instances where society demanded expression, he was cold, blank, his eyes unreadable.

And the only thing that gave Salem hope were those rare occasions where Regulus laughed. Because sometimes…just sometimes...it still reached his eyes.

Salem sunk back in his chair. The whispers about Regulus seemed despairingly true. The younger Black really was an ice prince—handsome and heartless like the villains of so many fairytales. He just hoped that, unlike them, Reggie's story wouldn't end in tragedy.

When the break came Slytherins bustled in and out—either to switch textbooks, gather parchment, or share the latest gossip. Several inquired to Regulus's health and whether he'd attend the next class.

He ruefully informed that, "No, he would not," and "could they be so kind as to inform the professor for him?"

A few Slytherin girls cooed over him—fluffing his pillow and assuring him that they'd be more than willing to help him with the assignments he'd miss.

Salem didn't bother to hide his smirk; it seemed that girls fawned over Black men no matter what house they wound up in. Well, at least they now had one thing in common.

At the sight of the prone Regulus, Flint (who had come to snatch a homework assignment he'd forgotten to pack) snickered, "O poor little prince, the stress of peasant life getting to you?"

"Just the smell," Regulus retorted, not opening his eyes. "But I'm sure you're leaving soon."

Flint took an aggressive step forward, but a venomous glare from Salem warned him away.

Not that he'd really needed to bother; two of the prettier girls had been carefully extracting their wands through the exchange.

Apparently, the girls protected the handsome ones here. And, after taking a brief look at the general male populace, he couldn't say he blamed them, especially when you knew you were going to wind up married to someone in the room.

Salem wondered how many of them had their hopes set on his brother…and whether he should start placing bets.

When everyone left, Regulus cracked an eye open.

"Coast is clear," Salem confirmed. "I can't believe you though."

"Hmmm?"

"Way to make friends," Salem sighed.

Knowing he was speaking of Flint, Regulus rolled his eyes.

"We were never friends," Regulus remarked shortly. "Our fathers are friends or allies or whatever."

"You rode in the same compartment as them," Salem pointed out.

"Well, duh, we're housemates. Didn't want a Gryffindor finding me alone."

There was silence until Salem quietly asked, "Do they pick on you?"

Regulus stiffened slightly, before shrugging a shoulder.

"They used to. Back when I was a young, stupid first year. But I'm smarter now, not an obvious target, you know?"

"What'd they do?"

"It doesn't matter, it's in the past."

"Was it…intentionally…malicious?"

Regulus gave him a wary smile, "A little."

Regulus felt the intense stare being leveled at him and sighed. He knew his friend wanted answers—had been hunting for them all morning.

And Salem was doing him a favor, aiding him with this prank. He supposed he could offer him some shred of information—mortifying as it was.

Damn Salem and his concern, it always made him feel obligated to reveal things to him.

He took a deep breath. "See, I was very…enthusiastic about being a Slytherin. You know, praise the color green and all that?"

Salem nodded. He remembered. Reg had been a whirlwind of bouncing green joy, rubbing Mum and Dad's praise in his face.

"Well..they…er…they made a nice little welcome goo just for me…" H forced a grin. "Cheers for green slime…my favorite color…yep…dumped it all over me. It was…pretty…humiliating. Luckily, we were the only ones around so no one else saw. But it was still…" He shuddered at the memory.

"You didn't tell your brother that," Salem stated flatly, nails puncturing his armrests again.

"Course not. Didn't want to give that lunatic any ideas. And I just…God, it was bad enough that Snape saw me-"

"-Snape?"

"It's not surprising though. He's always skulking about. I daresay Snape's seen me at my worst."

Salem frowned. "He's not just a 'useful' tool to you."

"Huh?"

"I mean," Salem stressed, "you don't act friendly with him just for 'the sake of your Potions grade.'"

Regulus played with his cuffs for a moment, "Okay. So I wasn't entirely truthful with you that day. Can you blame me? I was still getting to know you and, in Slytherin, 'friends' are a crutch or a target. Huzzah for alliances and blackmail cooperation, but friendship—well, come on! It sounds awful Hufflepuffish. Not to mention, if you did turn on me—it was best to avoid collateral."

"And just why would I do that?"

The younger Black gave a sad smile. "Oh, you'll find a reason someday. They always do."

Before Salem could argue, Regulus swiftly sat up. "You wait here. If any stragglers come in say you think you're coming down with something too. If anyone asks about me, just say I went to rest on my bed."

He then strode quickly downstairs to their dormitory.

On his return, Regulus couldn't help but grin. Part Two: Deception had been successfully completed. Now Part Three: Infiltration was commencing.

"Here, you get to carry this satchel. I enchanted it last night so it has much more depth now. It should be able to carry it all and still remain feather light." Regulus threw the shoulder bag to a startled Salem.

"All what? You still haven't told me what it is you're going to do and-Wait, why do I have to carry it?"

"Salem. Don't. You've got the easy part," he stated exasperatedly as he marched toward the entrance wall.

Salem groaned as he situated the bag on his shoulder and followed his brother's retreating form.

As they set off down the hallway Regulus ordered, "Shoulders back, head high. Remember, Salem, we're Slytherins. As long as we strut like we own the place, no one should suspect us."

At Salem's wide-eyed stare, Regulus clarified, "Use the stereotypes against us."

Salem shook his head in exasperation but straightened his posture nonetheless.

Without a hitch, they calmly made their way through the Entrance Hall and up to the seventh floor.

Damn, no one really did pay attention to haughty Slytherins. The few Prefects that saw them abruptly turned to walk down another corridor. They were no match for the polished sneer of ultimate disdain from one Regulus Black.

"So then, you know the plan," Regulus remarked cheerfully stepping out onto the balcony. "Go wait at the portrait and do approach it from the side or she'll rat you out."

"Right, but…I still don't see why we're out here."

Regulus ran a hand through his hair. "I will be out here and you-" He jabbed him in the chest. "-will be waiting at the portrait."

"But-"

"-Just do as I say," Regulus commanded as he strode out and over to the balustrade. For a long moment, he analyzed the intense drop before nodding and gripping the ledge.

"Wha-what the bloody hell are you doing?"

Regulus swung his legs over the railing. "I told you, Salem, I've got it figured out. Those Gryffindors are so cocky. I can bet you that their windows are only latched shut—not charmed. They'd never believe anyone would dare sneak into their dormitory. It's perfect."

Salem grabbed his wrist. "That's because this is insanity! Don't! It's dangerous."

"There's plenty of ledge and I'm good at Charms. If I fall, I'll slow my descent."

"Regulus. NO."

The younger Black rolled his eyes "God, Salem, don't be such a wet blanket. I've got plenty of experience with this sort of thing. I mean, how do you think I sneak out of my house?"

Salem gaped, frozen in shock, and the younger Black took that moment to pull his arm free.

Reggie had snuck out before? Wait…what? No…Reggie was always the good son, the proper obedient one. He didn't do rebellious things like this. That was his department.

"Why don't you just bully one of the first years for the password?" Salem asked desperately.

Regulus made a face. "That sort of thing never settled well with me. Not to mention it would send an alert through all the Gryffindors. Nope, this is the right approach. It'll completely blindside Sirius."

"Regulus, please don't-"

"Salem, remember a few days ago—when you wanted to antagonize Flint and I told you not to?"

"Reg, enchanting someone's socks to always mismatch and scaling a tower are completely-"

"You said that my biggest problem was that I live too cautiously. That I overthink everything. And you're right…sometimes you just have to go for it!"

"Not when It is something stupid." He reached over to grab him again.

The boy shook off his grip. "I'll only be a moment and then I'll let you in. So go stand and wait at the Fat Lady's portrait. It's just down the hall and to the right, you can't miss it."

"Regulus," he murmured helplessly.

Regulus made a shooing gesture with one hand before placing it back on the rail. He then began scaling towards Gryffindor tower.

The next twenty minutes were some of the worst of Salem's life. And he'd thought some of his Auror raids were awful. At least then, there had been some tangible enemy to fight instead of just gravity at work.

He swallowed nervously and leaned over the rail, refusing to let his brother out of sight.

Heaven forbid his brother fall…but if he did, he'd be there.

He gripped his wand tightly, thinking over and over: levicorpus levicorpus levicorpus.

Here, balanced precariously at a great height with wind ruffling through his hair, whipping at his robes—he felt alive. Even in spite of the fact that a plummet from this height meant certain death.

Regulus grinned; it was just like flying: the same feeling of ultimate freedom. There were no strings here; no loyalties, no illusions, and no lies.

He liked the simplicity of it; just him and a ledge. All he had to do was cross it. If only life

were as simple as a bridge.

This sort of thing was practically second-nature. The surrounding was just so peaceful.

He calmly made his way over to the tower. He hoisted himself up towards the windows, gripping the sill tightly with one hand as he rummaged through his robes.

He carefully pulled out his wand and tapped the glass.

"Alohomora."

He leaned back as the window opened.

Then, gripping the window sill with both hands, he pulled himself forward and toppled into the room.

He quickly righted himself and leaned out of the window, giving his housemate a thumbs-up.

Salem didn't seem to share his enthusiasm though, and just glared at him darkly.

Regulus mouthed a 'go 'round to the Fat Lady' and the boy nodded agitatedly.

The younger Black grinned as he shook his fringe out of his face. Elation and adrenaline pumped through his veins and he barely resisted the urge to whoop his success. Hollering would sort of defeat the purpose of sneaking in.

He tried to swallow the emotion down a bit; he was a Black after all. And even in the face of pure success, composure needed to be maintained.

After all, what with the rapidly changing Ministry Laws, what else was supposed to distinguish his kind from the riff raff?

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