Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Otherwise, this would be less online and more book form.
Author's Note: I'm relying heavily on the better late than never line of thinking here. I do have several excuses though. Planning a wedding, starting Paediatrics training and working towards ARCP, trying my hand at original fiction, and a total absence of muse with regards to Reg. I have the bulk of the next chapter lined out, so hopefully not so long a wait next time but in the meanwhile, I hope you enjoy this. It's definitely a slow burner but things will (eventually) start moving on. Hope you guys enjoy it.
A special thanks to jql78, Ice Night, Jenkt5, and I-want-a-shrubbery for reviewing the story.
Thanks to summer164, nightworldangel, melisse, jql78, Shadowsfading, Ice Night, I-want-a-shrubbery and Heathenia for favouriting this story.
A thanks to summer164, .shattered, nightworldangel, melisse, lilleil, kunoichi, jql78, crayontesia, Shadowsfading, , QueenDromeda, Miray666, Kageriah, Jenkt5, Ice Night, I-want-a-shrubbery, Heathenia, and AngelDemonPrankster for following the story.
I hope the length of the chapter goes to some extent to appeasing everyone that may be annoyed with the delay. Especially Jenkt5... It wasn't quite ready by Monday!
Shadows of Stars
I can't say I was ever lost, but I was bewildered once for three days.
Daniel Boone
Sirius can't peel his eyes away from the vision of Snape, snivelling, slimy Snape, pounding away at Reg. Sounds leave his mouth, work their way past the lump occluding his throat, but they are senseless. Dimly, he sees his blasted cousin staring at Snape with compassion. Reg was his cursed brother, the brother for whom he had left his allegiances to fighting the good fight for, and where was the compassion for him? Why was there any for the slimy snake he is certain led his brother astray in the first place? He blinks and blinks and some of the moisture make their way down his cheeks, blanched in shock, and mingle with the rain from outside but he cares not.
Why should he?
That is his brother over there – his brother's body, he corrects himself and the shuddering starts again. It doesn't stop when he thinks he hears a gasp of breath or sees Snape collapsing in an extremely undignified heap on the floor or hears choked incomprehensible sounds resonating from Rosier.
It doesn't even cease when he hears a very quiet, hoarse 'Sev' that trembles vulnerably in the air, sounding suspiciously like his little brother. In fact, the shaking magnifies and Sirius can't tell if it's shock or something more familiar.
'You STUPID little brat,' his voice erupts the quiet that engulfs them and Sirius supposes that he now knows his shaking is from anger, although everything feels detached. He can hardly acknowledge the anger when he can't feel the guilt as he sees his little brother's feeble attempts to shuffle away or his eyes, large and openly scared as they haven't been since he'd first left for Hogwarts.
He is feeling rather incensed and he doesn't hesitate or pause to wonder if it is misplaced. He wants to shout and scream and all that comes out instead is a growl and Sirius is instantly diverted, wondering what research has been performed on the long-term consequences of regular transformations into animagi forms, because that was a remarkably canine growl and it was so automatic. He knows Prongs won't be interested and he doubts Wormtail would have the smallest notion but maybe Moony would join him in the research?
He's already decided on five books that he'll 'borrow' from the family collections – after all, now that he's set foot in the home he had declared he never would, he might as well take advantage of it and the vast, flamboyant library he used to play hide-and-seek in. Admittedly, he'd spent more time frightening his kid brother, but it had been entertaining regardless, and they'd still called it hide-and-seek.
The smile that had unknowingly spread across his face slips away as two spooked faces stare at him (and one stares resolutely at the floor).
'Would you like me to escort you home, cousin?' Rosier's voice, brutally chilling in its aristocratic emotionlessness, at odds with how he had been speaking during the rest of the evening, has Sirius blinking, his thoughts of research slipping seamlessly into irritation.
'Why would I need you to do that?' Sirius eyes him with misgiving, instincts warning him of a trap but unable to identify how.
'Well, that was really a rather polite way of asking you to get out,' Rosier admits with disarmingly frank honesty and a slightly apologetic tone that couldn't help but cause Sirius to reluctantly grin.
'How considerate of you,' he retorts in kind. 'I'd hate for you to be rude.'
'I know,' Evan spreads his hands with a physical representation of 'but what can one do' that Sirius eyes with appreciation, admiring the dramatics. Dastardly though he is, he is equally entertaining and it is nigh on impossible to not respond to him in kind. And there is a very deep-seated (and always to be denied) part of him that likes his cousin, conscienceless murderer though he is.
'Regardless, I think it would be infinitely preferable,' Evan's eyes flitted briefly to his brother's form, his living, breathing, soon-to-be-dead-at-his-hands brother that stared steadfastly at the floor. 'If perhaps we could keep the noise levels to a minimum. Unless you were particularly keen on a tête-à-tête with your mother?' One well defined blonde eyebrow lifts slightly, and Sirius feels his stomach turning, and damn the blonde fop because he has Sirius at a metaphorical wand-point and he knows it, the smug bastard.
'Mother,' the strangled, breathless gasp turns all eyes onto the shivering youngster on the floor. It's with a twisted, morbid fascination that Sirius watches him, limbs shaking in all directions, as he tries to stand up and falters again and again.
'I'll check on her,' Evan says as all Sirius does is stare, and his voice is remarkably soft and warm and contrary to any time Sirius has ever spoken with him (admittedly, not often). 'And you, dear cousin, are coming with me.'
Some auror I would've been, he thinks as his arm is gripped tightly by his blonde cousin before he has time to raise his wand, let alone throw a curse, hex, anything that would help him escape a meeting with his mother. Evan even has time to light the kinara on the desk and levitate it before them with a simple flick of his left hand, closing the door behind them with another elaborate flick. The unused candles release a gentle scent of sandalwood. The shaking is back but Sirius knows this time it's dread and disgust more than anything else. As he is led away from his brother's bedroom, his mind runs its paces, coming up with plan after plan that could allow him to avoid this meeting before the silence is broken by Evan's cheerful, dulcet voice.
'It's been a rather long time since you've been home, cousin. Things have changed a trifle,' he confides in him, as though this could interest Sirius. 'Aunt Wally isn't well,' a hard note creeps into his voice and Sirius stiffens. 'She's been bound to her quarters for the better part of a year and,' Sirius flinches from the pinch on his arm. 'Regulus cares dearly for her and so I can't have you upsetting her because that'll upset him. You understand my meaning, cousin?'
His tone is the epitome of perfect, even politeness but there is a martial light in his eyes and this glint unties Sirius' tongue and raises his hackles. 'That woman is insane, an evil, insane, crazy woman. Besides, in case you didn't know, she's blasted me off the tapestry,' Narcissa had been rather pointed about informing him so. 'And my very existence will upset her. So maybe you should let me go,' he finishes triumphantly, optimistically hoping that this'll play to his advantage.
'And let you go back to shout at Reggie some more? You must think me dim-witted, cousin,' Evan continues his march onwards, Sirius trapped at his side.
'The whole world thinks so, Evan,' Sirius bites back.
'Yes, but I don't expect common sense from the rest of the world,' Evan replies with nonchalance and Sirius can't help the laughter that erupts through his lips. He has no love for his cousin or any of his family, as he tells people time and again, but they do entertain him. The silence continues as they creep closer to his mother's quarters and Sirius' mood sinks correspondingly.
'Do you remember how your father used to introduce Regulus at parties?' Evan asks suddenly. Sirius racks his memories, ignoring the pang he feels momentarily. His father had always introduced him as Sirius, his heir, having once told him that he was Sirius Black first and foremost, an heir second. It had sounded profound to his little ten year old self but clearly all his father had meant was that he was disposable.
'He never did,' Evan speaks again, his face contorted into hard angles and shapes that give this foppish cousin a frightening, sharp edge. 'Keep that in mind when you belittle your mother in front of Reggie.'
Before Sirius is able to retort (the anger rises swiftly, the words less so), Evan is knocking on the familiar door of his mother's chambers. Evan's brows quirk and he enters, dragging Sirius with him.
The vitriol dries with his throat. His mother had always been proud of her patrician cheek bones; she gifted it to both of her sons. But prominence doesn't describe the cheekbones of the woman before him; rather they look caved in. She looks thin, dreadfully so and Sirius suspects illness rather than fashion fad. Her eyes look positively giant with the orbits jutting out like circular cliffs. Her skin looks like tissue paper with no glamours in place and the tears are drifting down silently.
His mother's eyes light up momentarily, yet as he steps towards her, feeling not quite capable of yelling at someone who looked so frail and unwell, her face falls and for the first time in his life, he sees his mother cry. He would never admit it but it touches his heart – she looks dreadful, snot mingling with her tears, her face crumpled up, but it's the first time he has associated human emotions with this monster.
Eventually, he works out what she's mumbling. Evan is already by her side, arms around her and rocking her gently, murmuring quietly to her. 'Reggie, oh my poor Reggie, my poor son.'
It's like being drenched in Salamander saliva. It burns, slowly but deeper each second. Of course there was only one son she had ever cared about. For all that he can't recall his father introducing Regulus at parties, he can remember every time his mother complimented Reggie at his expense. Oh, you're flying on the broom Sirius? But Regulus, your form is perfect. Making potions? But my, isn't Reggie growing to be a genius at it.
She calms down, eventually, as Sirius stands there, stubbornly refusing to offer any comfort. Why should he?
'You have found him? He is okay? You are certain?' There's desperation in her eyes and if only she had shown him a quarter of such care, he would have never despised her. Fortunately, Evan is still there, both of her hands surrounded by his as he replies to her, promises her that yes, he is alive and well in his bedroom.
Sirius can't help the snort that escapes. Well is certainly an exaggeration but Evan continues to reassure her, soothes her nerves and she has never seemed less frightening and more pathetic. It should curb his resentment but it is fanned instead.
'Dinner will be a little late, Aunt Wally. If I don't come and have a bite with you, I'm sure Sev will. Reggie's just a little under the weather,' Evan finally says with the sort of understatement only he can make commonplace. It is minutes since the tears have dried and Sirius is about to bitingly point this out when he notices two plates of food, untouched, that causes his stomach to clench painfully. He's still not too distracted to notice Evan stealing the crumpled, wet letter she had been clutching in her wasted hands.
The walk back is silent, Sirius seething impotently and Evan's normally carefree façade wearing a frown. Buzzing sounds greet them outside his brother's bedroom and Sirius has little time to be more than perplexed before Evan enters it, and then all he can hear is Severus shouting.
'You peacock brained pig of a fool,' Snape is shouting, spittle spraying everywhere as Sirius gapes at him. 'Penny will prick your ears with a dozen holes, she'll curl your nails off, rip of your eyelashes one at a time. Do you have any idea how foolish you are, you rabbit brained dunderhead?' His arms are waving around in magnificently theatrical gestures, large and wide and occasionally knocking things around.
Snape turns around and sees that the two of them have returned. His lips twist into something and he practically snarls as he talks. 'Oh good, you're back. You can mind this pigeon-witted fool of a child for me while I work out an antidote for the poison he has so happily drank.' Just as abruptly, he turns back to Sirius' little brother and snarls again. 'And you, you spotless leopard-hearted gazelle-minded dimwit, you had better call Penny and Cissy,' Severus shudders as he says the two names. He gestures to Kreacher – and this nearly knocks Sirius over with shock – Kreachers says nothing in defence of the master dearest to him other than casting Reg a darkling look, sniffing and muttering 'Master Severus is right about silly little master. It's a shame Master Severus was not shouting at him before he did such foolish, foolish things,' and with this parthian shot, he grabs hold of Severus and apparates away.
Sniggering to himself, Evan walks to Regulus on the bed, and plops down. "Guess I'm babysitting again,' he says so cheerfully that it could only be false, the concerned frown disguised by his grin.
'And where do I stay?' Sirius asks testily, scowling. He nearly steps back at the poisonous glare that Regulus gives him. Such ingratitude, he thinks but he's interrupted by the painful, croaking whisper.
'You could go home, I don't even know why you're here,' his little brat of a brother says petulantly but before he has time to explode, Evan interrupts in a suspiciously timely manner.
'Or if you'd like to stay, there's always your bedroom,' he adds a beatific smile and Sirius' scowl worsens as he eyes the two of them with distrust. He finally stomps out of the room, unsure of how to point out that his right as an older brother trumps those of an older cousin without sounding infantile. He turns into the bedroom next door, the familiar scantily clad women on posters greeting him. He looks behind his cupboard, clearing things away from the hole in the wall, and drops himself gracelessly onto his old bed. This is his house as well, damn it. Or at least more his than Evan's or Snivellus' and blow him like a blowfish if he'll be chased away by those two. He'll leave when he wants to, he decides, burying his face into a pillow with such a familiar scent, of sandalwood mingled with something else, and while straining to hear the words that drift through the hole, he falls deeply asleep, dead to the world around him.
Regulus watched Severus disappear with relief, eyes meeting his cousin's with mutual amusement. When cowardly abandoned by his cousin, he had faced a quiet Severus, with cold, calculating eyes, assessing and analysing through any feeble shields Regulus had attempted – all metaphorical, of course, since he hadn't been able to feel a trace of his magic since being 'saved', and wasn't that a ghastly thought to be ignored for the time being?
Severus had asked questions, employing none of the cunning that every single Slytherin he had ever come into contact with had tried to teach him. Instead, he asked questions like a persistent hammer, again and again with every permutation that he could think of, in a manner so methodical and tedious that it invariably worked, if the victim was unwilling to hex him or themselves into oblivion. He had been more a hawk than the eyas he so frequently behaved like, but Regulus, for once, evaded. He answered distractedly and avoided eye contact because Severus, the dunderhead, had been known to accidentally perform legilimency. How one could perform an advanced mind art accidentally was beyond his comprehension but did confirm his belief that there was more than just mere Prince blood that Severus had discovered in his sixth year.
In spite of his best efforts, understanding had entered Severus' face, and that brief expression of enlightenment had kindled a faint memory in Regulus' mind. There had been something familiar in that cold but understanding face that could readily resemble flews of a bloodhound unpleasantly with age (and weight, if the idiot ever took the time to eat regularly). It had regardless disconcerted him. Without any ability at occulomency, doubting whether he would even be able to detect legilimency currently, he could but rely on his understanding of human character and the human character before him in particular.
When Severus had become his usual bombastic self, throwing expletives nobody had ever heard of, employing animals into insults in truly creative ways, Reg was relieved because it meant Sev was on his way to overcoming his anger. It was entertaining, Sev was always entertaining, but Reg felt so cold, he didn't have any of his magic because he was dying, he now unfortunately knew what would come of his death and he had a stupidly absurd desire to was glad, so immeasurably thankful when his cousin entered the room and Sev left with Kreacher's too-knowing eyes, and ever more grateful when his ex-brother left because even if there was that furrow between his eyes, Reg knew Evan loved him enough to give him some peace before asking questions.
Of course, that gratitude all but evaporated when that dandy was asked to babysit him. It was childish but Reg was pouting, all out, pursed lips pouting, and if there was one thing Reg wasn't, was a child. Perhaps legally, technically, in most countries, he was considered a child but he wasn't, not within his soul and especially not with the curse slowly destroying what remained of it and the term felt like mockery. He still shifted towards the wall as Evan gestured to sit on his bed, the great big git.
'So Sirius is still alive,' Evan spoke nonchalantly, closely examining his left index fingernail. It was always that nail he looked at when trying to stealthily start a deep, meaningful conversation.
Idiot, Reg thought but announced it with his expression if Evan's amused eyebrow was anything to go by.
'I tried to warn him,' Evan admitted. 'It was too late.'
'Shame. You should've let the tosser die,' Reg said instead of asking if they were being found out. His heart hammered painfully against the injuries on his chest. He couldn't live with himself if Sev or Ev got hurt because of him, his stupidity, his inability to find an escape route. Luckily, he wouldn't be living long anyway, he thought, the humour doing nothing to lift his mood. Apparently, living with despondency for months did nothing to get him accustomed to it.
The warmth of Evan's body beside him burnt Reg's skin, burnt his eyes enough to bring infantile tears within them. He's sorry, so sorry, but he isn't really because Reg knew he'd make the same stupid decisions all over again. Ereshkigal, what had he gotten himself into? His hand slipped into his pocket and his thumb brushed over the coin, over the female figure with wings.
His shuddering subsided as Evan's arms closed around him, pulled him firmly into his cousin's chest and he finally allowed tears to fall. The silence was comforting, more than words could have been. His cousin's presence was a balm and finally, his tears stopped. He was so damn cold and nothing was warming him up.
'Georgina?' Evan's voice was low, soothing but Reg still jerked away violently. All he managed in response was a shrug, tense and tight and giving everything away that he didn't want it to.
'I'll find out tomorrow for you,' Evan promised, smart enough not to utter hollow comfort. The silence settled again like a warm blanket, Reg's head still resting on Evan's chest as his fingers slipped through Reg's black hair in a soothing rhythm. His hair has gotten too long, he should cut it, thought Reg, tired through to his bones. Couldn't let his animated corpse look anything other than outstanding, could he?
'We'll talk about it in the morning,' Evan murmured, the vibrations running through Reg. It sounded like a threat but Reg doubted he'd even live to see the morning. It mattered not, not in the here and now, surrounded by his cousin, subduing the resentment that he couldn't seem to rid himself of.
'So Sev is going to have a late dinner with your mum…' Reg felt Ev's lips curving into a smile and his lips responded accordingly.
'Does he know yet?' He forced a croak through his throat.
Ev doesn't need to laugh; it's in his words. 'Not yet. We'll break the news to him. Gently.'
'I don't understand why he's so scared of mother,' Reg wondered out loud. 'She loves him.'
'It's probably the fact that she always makes him eat seconds and tells him to put on some weight.'
'And that he needs a holiday abroad to somewhere sunny so he can stop looking so pale.'
'And the fact that your mum is a genius.'
Reg demurred. 'She always said father was the genius.'
'But she was also the only one who could ever keep him in line,' Ev objected. Reg didn't deny it, he burrowed his head into the more comfortable nook between Ev's arm and chest; years of pratice allowed him to do so with ease. He wouldn't sleep tonight, he wouldn't sleep until it became the more permanent kind but Ev knew him so well and Reg already knew he was prepared to stay up all night. He'll tell Ev tomorrow, Sev too, about the locket, he decided. His fingers grasped the metal coin in his pocket, eyes drifted to the amulets of various theriomorphic beings he'd kept for luck, and momentarily, the cold receded. It returned with a vengeance and Reg clung to his cousin.