Escapism

He had grudgingly accepted witchcraft in the beginning… even if it was due to a distorted belief that all of his problems and money woes would disappear with a wave of his wife's wand, that and the pleasure enhancing potions. There was also the added complication of his interminable love for her, as much as he hated it with every fibre.

She had grudgingly accepted the drinking in the beginning - because she thought that by the time the baby was born, he would get better. Fatherhood would make him better.

"Come on, Ei" Toby prompted loudly from downstairs. "What yeh doing up there? The Christmas party's probably been done and dusted by now!"

"Trying to find something that won't make look like a moose," Eileen bit back from in front of the wardrobe of their bedroom.

"I'm afraid that's the card you were dealt, love."

Eileen dropped the long black cardigan she was holding in her hands and shuffled to the landing as fast as her legs could carry her.

"Say that again and I'll have your testicles for earrings."

But she was met with an upturned grin from the bannister down below.

"Joking."

Eileen raised her eyebrow, though he could not see it in the darkness. "Hrm…" she groaned, but her mood was brightened all the less as she went back into the bedroom to throw the cardigan on. He was in a curiously good mood… he was the man she loved when he was on the wagon.

She knotted the tie around her swollen belly and took one last look in the mirror… Well, it was probably the best she could achieve.

"Yeh look nice," he said when she arrived at the door. She knew she had never, in her entire life, looked 'nice' – not conventionally 'nice' by any means. But for some reason Toby loved that. She supposed it was because she was the only thing in his life that was incomparable to what the other lads had. "Now come on."

Before they both reached the front step of the door Eileen grasped at his wrist.

"Just remember your promise," she warned perilously.

Tobias gave her a look, as if he were about to give her a once over for reminding him about the drink… but he rearranged his face into something of a long-suffering smile.

"Just one? It's Christmas."

Eileen pulled back toward the house, "you promised!"

"Argh. Ok, ok, none, none."

"And we're going just to pop in, remember," Eileen reminded him. "We've got to drive to your brothers tomorrow for lunch."

"I know that," he snapped. "I do remember these things occasionally."

"No drinking there either – remember."

"I know. I promised." He replied, rolling his eyes as he turned away.

If he knew what was good for him – and he would do later that night if he returned home sober – he would damn well stick to that promise.

The little one stirred within her and she rubbed her belly to calm both infant and herself. She didn't know how much further stress she could handle without going right into labour… he'd better be good to her these last few weeks or it'd be their child's life on his hands.

Without noticing her discomposure, Tobias pulled her away from the door. They walked down the backstreets toward to the factory; arms subconsciously wrapped around each other despite both of their darkening moods, and said nothing.

The Christmas party was well and truly underway when the Snapes entered the semi-full hall. Tobias kissed his wife's forehead quickly and jogged off to join his co-workers; he clearly expected her to follow suit and join all of the wives who were congregating in another corner of the hall… he clearly was delusional if that was the case. Eileen stood and watched him like a hippogriff for a while, waiting for one of his mates to offer him something; every nerve stood rigid, waiting, when one of them held a bottle lager out. She almost had to stand on her tiptoes as she watched the exchange. She breathed a silent sigh of relief when she saw him grasp at it, but then slowly shake his head. She beamed. Maybe it would be a good Christmas.

Eileen turned to see all of the wives and girlfriends whispering behind their hands and shooting bemused gazes at her. Subtlety was not their forte. She hatedthese work events Tobias dragged her to; most of the time she stayed home, and by the looks of these women's faces and their sniggering voices she felt that that had been a wise decision. She waddled over to the fruit punch bowl, ladled a few scoops into a paper cup and stood in a corner. The women soon began to lose interest in sneering at her (staring them down didn't hurt) and went back to their wine and bitchy conversations. Eileen felt her back twinge and decided, seeing that no body was about to give up their seats to such an outsider despite how visibly pregnant they were, that she would lean up against the wall and count the minutes until they could go home.

It wasn't long before she took a glance over at the men's table again. This time Tobias was nowhere to be found. Hardly any of the men stood where they previously abided. She looked over to the women's table, wondering, vaguely, if there was another wife or girlfriend looking as anxious as she was… no… all of them were laughing, chattering, prattling, babbling on about topics she knew were of the most mundane subject matter. Not one of them felt that pitting pool of disappointment in their bellies. Eileen supposed Muggles might have been affected differently by alcohol – no one around here really seemed to mind how much it encumbered their lives.

She was halfway toward the corridor, preparatory to scurrying down the stairs and confirming everything she already knew, but then she remembered that it was Christmas. She didn't want to be screaming and fighting and flinging plates at him while carols could be heard in the street.

And it wasn't just 'them' anymore.

What was it worth?

When Tobias came back stinking of the stuff half an hour later, and smiled at her, kissed her on the cheek and rubbed her distended belly, all she could do was smile sadly and kiss him back - that lying, deceitful, addicted son of a bitch.

"Shall we call it a night?"

Eileen bit her lip.

"Yes," she answered. "I think so."

The dark grey skies had dominated most of London that night. The teenage boy sat on his bed with his arms crossed over the windowpane, his chin nuzzled in between the crevice of his inner elbow. He had been staring at the same formidable cloud for the past ten minutes… it could almost be the Dark Mark.

He shuddered. That could be him out there in a couple of years. He forced himself to believe that it had just been a shudder of elation.

Two black shadows strutted their way across the paved street in front of him. He knew the gait of one of those shadows. It was the same shadow that made its way through the black gate and up the front stairs… the second being did not follow him.

"Kreacher," he called.

A sound like a whip-crack emanated from the corner of the bedroom. The boy turned upon his bed to see his family's ever-faithful House Elf bowing before him.

"Master Regulus," the Elf crooned with affection. "I supposed you would be calling Kreacher."

"You've noticed," Regulus replied as a statement more than an enquiry.

"Kreacher has."

Regulus nodded and contemplated his next move. He did not have time to follow this contemplation through, however, as he heard the front door of Number 12 slam shut.

"What would Master have Kreacher do?" the Elf asked with a delicate spark in his eye.

Regulus surveyed his servant, and his friend. Usually he would have commanded something marginally brutal and stood on the top of the stairs and watched the commotion. But he was far too incensed to be a bystander… after everything his brother had put his family through.

"Stay here," Regulus commanded as he moved onto the landing. He could not see Kreacher reach out for him behind his back as the door closed shut.

Sirius was halfway up the staircase when his younger brother swung around the bannister, wand at the ready. He flicked it speedily, calling upon all his inner strength.

Sirius thrust his hand into his repugnant Muggle jeans pocket, but the wand was merely a quarter of the way out when Regulus swooped him off his feet and left him dangling, as if the hem of his trousers had been hooked on the end of a fishing line, in the air above him. Regulus felt an extraordinary rush of exhilaration and pride… he had just managed his first non-verbal spell.

"See you still can't fight like a man!" Sirius bellowed, his coat barely hanging onto his elbows. He flung an idle punch through the air as if to hammer his point home.

"See you still have the mentality of a child," Regulus returned. He held out his hand for his brother's wand and waited patiently for him to hand it over. When that action did not come into fruition, he raised an eyebrow and added: "do you think I'm going to let you down when you're pointing that at me?"

"I can let myself down! And when I do Regulus-!"

Regulus wasn't all that sure if Sirius knew the counter-curse to the Levicorpus spell. He wanted a good gloat, but he also wanted to gloat in one piece. When Sirius threw a spinning red curse at him, he seized his golden opportunity and disarmed him. The chocolate coloured wand pranged its nimble way down four or five stairs, all the while being watched, hopelessly, by Sirius, who had his head tilted back so far that his forehead could almost have touched his vertebrae.

Sirius heaved a mighty sigh.

"Well don't leave me hanging, Reg."

"Don't call me that!" Regulus said – his wand shaking in his fist. "You relinquished any familiar usage of my name when you relinquished this family! What are you doing here?"

"For a big old tearful reunion with my dear old papa and mama; what do you think I'm doing here, you twit? I've left some stuff here. Stuff I own and stuff I want back. Believe me, I wouldn't be here unless I really fucking needed it – alright?"

"I don't know how you can have the gall to ever show your face in his house again."

"Well, thanks for keeping me even longer. Appreciate that."

Regulus bit his lip and pondered if he should throw a far more vicious curse at his brother. His breathing quickened in his uncertainty. He would have decided to go through with it if Sirius hadn't looked him square in the eye… he couldn't look at them without gazing at a seven year old.

Liberacorpus.

It was easier to just let him fall down the stairs. He fell in a heap, a heap that then clung to itself and groaned.

"Nice…" Sirius wheezed. "It's like I never left."

"I'll finish the job if you don't leave by the time mother gets back."

It was the first time his older brother looked genuinely anxious. "What?" he queried. "She's not here?"

"She is on a social call."

"When's she coming back?"

Regulus could not help but notice that Sirius's eyes kept darting to the door. After a few moments he caught on.

"She'll be back soon, along with father," Regulus responded with a smirk. "Why? Worried about your friend outside?"

"No!' Sirius barked, pushing himself up from the mahogany floorboards and brushing off dust from his coat. "Just worried for you. This is the longest you've gone stripped of the chance to hump that old bag's leg - I'm surprised you haven't collapsed in a gibbering mess yet."

The laugh that ensued pushed Regulus's bubbling fury over the edge of the pot; this time a curse did fly towards Sirius's head, missing him by only inches, and instead crashing down upon a completely innocent statue of a bare-breasted witch holding a bloodied wand.

Sirius looked back at the rubble and gave another hearty chuckle before pushing his brother into the wall and hastily skipping past him up the stairs. "Ooooh, your lover – sorry, I mean mother – isn't going to be happy with you!"

"Mrgh!" Regulus willed his wand to transform into a particularly barbed javelin so that he could stab the traitorous bastard right into his neck… he screamed instead: "OUR MOTHER! SHE'S OUR MOTHER!"

How Sirius could still laugh at him after what he had done made Regulus's insides bleed. He heard his footsteps make their familiar way to his old bedroom and yelled out, after him: "Kreacher! I've changed my mind! Do what you want with him!"

The sounds of an unnervingly gleeful cackle and a scattering of clawed feet, followed by a: "Don't even think about it, you scaly pintsized ogre!" reverberated from the upstairs landing. Regulus could have followed and continued the forlorn war of endless words, sprinkled here and there with physical violence, until the Hippogriffs came home – but he knew nothing would make Sirius come to senses and end the persistent cloud that he had brought upon their family since his departure.

No. No point.

But… but… he could use the friend outside as bait. He knew how much friends meant to Sirius, over his own family.

By the time Sirius had managed to tie Kreacher to one of the posts of his bed and gather his belongings to take back to James's in his Hogwarts portmanteau, Regulus was waiting for him at the door. He could not even speak as his brother side-skipped down the staircase with his wand raised – anticipating a brotherly scuffle.

Instead – the door was held open for him.

"Huh. A show of courtesy from my flesh and blood…" Sirius muttered as he dragged the suitcase into the forbidding ebony frame – the entrance and exit to everything one loathed, and consequently inspired the other to guard. "First time for everything. Thought I suppose opening the door for me isn't all that of a new experience."

"I can't believe you." Regulus whispered in a slow, incredulous manner. "I have no idea whether you are trying to buy yourself into this family again – but that –" he shoved a finger toward to the door, "- is not going to work."

"What? What are you going on about now?"

"If you come back here, I'll kill you."

"Haha! Yeah, good one!" Sirius roared. "You couldn't kill a cockroach if you found it in bed with mum! HUH-"

Sirius had lurched himself forward, obviously intent on making Regulus flinch and thus make his point. But instead of a cowering, baulking younger brother, who Sirius expected to mimic its ten-year-old self, he was struck on the face with a wet lump of spit.

At first Sirius gave a tiny little laugh – confused at what had just happened. As he brought his hand up to wipe off the sticky substance, however, his face dropped to the floor. He gazed at his hand before blowing a sharp shot of air from his nostrils; he looked up into the face of the perpetrator. There was something in his eyes that had changed… Regulus had never seen them that way before.

"You know…" Sirius whispered, sounding deeply hurt for the first time in his entire life. "I used to think the phrase 'I have no brother' was so vomit-inducingly cliché…"

Regulus merely continued to watch and to pant away his fury.

"But now I can actually say it without feeling like a melodramatic twit," Sirius continued. "I've hated the ground you walk on for a long time, but today is the day you stop existing." He picked up his belongings and swung them over his back. "Good luck at attempting to conceal the real you to Voldemort."

Regulus did recoil this time; as much as he tried to hide it, Sirius had caught it.

"Yeah," he nodded. "You're going to need it."

"Go back to your gang of nitwits and your hussy," Regulus jolted his head to the outside world. "We don't want you anyway."

Sirius nodded. Acquiescent. He left without an insult or a goodbye. His estranged brother watched on, his head craning to see what Sirius would do when he reached what seemed like his new piece of skirt.

But Sirius disappeared beyond their belladonna shrub, and he was forced to run upstairs and peer through the same window that he was watching the rain through only fifteen minutes earlier.

"You said five minutes. I'm more lake than woman." Aurora quipped from underneath her umbrella as Sirius approached her. She shot the five or so young Muggle boys that had gathered across the street to gape and point at her an unamused glower.

"You should stop wearing that cloak places – they'll give you a hallowed out pumpkin and start taking you door-knocking for sweets."

"Oh no, this is too much fun." Aurora swept a hand, concealing her wand, palm down, over a pool of water bottlenecking at the gutter; a spray of the stuff cannonballed toward the youngsters, drenching them from head to toe. Instead of shrieking and scurrying away, or going on the offensive and attempting to throw various pieces of rubbish at her, they all began hooting in pronounced amusement and started kicking the water at their end toward the couple. Aurora shot a sly smirk at them.

"Have you finished?" Sirius enquired.

"… yes. Done." Aurora flicked her wand back into her cloak pocket and waved goodbye to the boys. Sirius threw his bag over his shoulder, and with his other arm entwined it around hers. They walked together.

After a few minutes, Aurora sensed that there was, perhaps, something wrong, as usually she could not shut him up.

"Was anyone home?" she asked as tentatively as she could without appearing too worried - she didn't want him to think she was girlfriend material. 'Lover' sounded far more psychologically safer than 'girlfriend'.

"Yeah. Regulus."

"Punch up?"

"Eh?"

Aurora gestured to where his hand was pressing upon his abdomen. "Did he stab you?"

Sirius gave a strained chuckle. "No."

"What's wrong with you then?"

He caught her eye and immediately returned his hand to clutching the strap of his schoolbag. "Nothing's wrong with me!"

A small finger jabbed its way through his shirt and he issued an incredibly embarrassing pained yelp. Which he, of course, immediately covered with a very manly sounding cough.

"Ah-hah?"

"Oh, it was just Regulus being his usual weasely fuckwit self. What's new? Didn't lay a finger on me; only Levicorpus'd me, then released me so I fell down the stairs and then he…" he paused. "… like the coward he is!". He was definitely about to say something else, but it was as if he was taking an eraser to his words.

Aurora was too busy trying to violently heave the thought of that spell out of her head. She was glad he provided an opening. "How bad is your side?"

"May or may not have broken a rib. Not sure." He replied through clenched teeth.

"Oh.." Aurora gave a half-amused, half-pitying snort. She could sense the sadness radiating from him… he had lost his entire family – how could it not seep out of every pore he had? She knew he would not like it one iota if she began mollycoddling him to death, though: thank Merlin, because she did not pull off the 'mothering' trait all that well.

She pushed him gently with her shoulder, "chin up; you'll bore me very quickly if you mope about blubbering over your brother all of the time."

They turned the corner from Grimmauld Place and headed toward central London, preparatory to Floo-ing in their separate directions (Aurora and James were still very much at the awkward-acquaintance-post-complete-strangers-at-school phase. Waltzing into his house with his best friend's hand gripping her arse was probably not the most proper thing to do in such a situation, and Merlin knew she could not pry him away from her arse).

He laughed again, the second time today; it was still forced and strained… but ever so slightly less so. He drew his arm out of its knotted bearings amongst hers, and wrapped it around Aurora's shoulder. She leant in reluctantly and allowed him to kiss her on her temple. It was the least she could do given the circumstances.

"Thanks, Rora."

"See, there you go being all soppy again…"

"Fine. Fuck you?"

Aurora nodded. "I like you more already."

Regulus watched the apparent madly in love couple walk arm in arm down their street (down his street) from the comforting fortress of his bedroom. He made a mental note to never speak of his brother's visit to his parents, especially his mother. He did not want one bit of her to harbor any sort of hope that her eldest would return to her… even if that was a completely false and delusional hope. He wanted him to remain nothing to her. Nothing, so that he, her youngest and most loyal, could be everything.

He had loved her beyond anything. He would do whatever it took to make her proud, make her happy. What did Sirius do? Sirius went wherever the flimsy skirts went, apparently. He never knew the Sinistra bitch was such a treacherous slut.

He continued to watch his window well after they had left with the bag containing his brother's life. He watched until his beloved mother came back.

Kreacher, who had been calling out his to Master for quite some time, unable to break the magical ropes tying him to his ex-Master's four-poster bed, merely watched the marginally ajar door – hoping to be found.