Chapter 3: Chapter 2: November 1980
Summary:
The aftermath, part 1
Notes:
Hello!! It's 11.36pm but you're getting your Friday update as promised!!!
I'll have the next update hopefully within the next 5 days, definitely by next Friday, it's coming up to end of semester so I'm very busy with assignments and sorting things out for summer, but the fic will keep being updated so no need to worry.
Hope you enjoyed, we'll get a lot more of Dumbledore and chaotic Reg in chapter 4 (since the next chapter will be one of the Regulus fighting the war chapters) which I'm sure you will love, but there is a fair bit of Reg being quite something in this chapter. Also in either chapter 4 or 6, we unlock a *new character* which will pop off.
Anyways, hope you enjoy and make sure to let me know your favourite parts or what you want to see next x
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
November 1980
There is silence for a solid minute following Regulus' departure.
It was almost anti-climactic in the end, the way the war ended. Years and years of planning and fighting and living and dying, all for a 19-year-old boy, barely a man, still only a teenager, to not only drop the answers on their lap but have the puzzle solved without errors, almost like an afterthought.
Dumbledore is still seated at the head of the table, his eyes unmoving from the pile of ash that used to be Lord Voldemort.
Sirius has an endless loop of he's alive, he's alive, he's alive in his mind as he thinks about the brother he spent the last two years grieving for. There had always been a part of him that believed he was alive, that if he focused hard enough, he could find him, but anytime it tried, whatever glimpse of Regulus he thought had always slipped out of reach. The other more rational part of him had tried to accept that he was gone and grieved anyways.
"You're dead to me" was the last thing Sirius remembers saying to him during a Death Eater raid in Swansea. It was one of his first ones, him, James, Remus and Peter all fighting for the light, doing the right thing, trying to win the war, when he recognised his brother. He had been wearing the same black robes as the others, his head hidden underneath his mask, but none of it had mattered; Sirius knew it was Regulus. He held himself differently than the others, like he was better than everyone else, like he was a Black and he knew it.
He hadn't realised until after that Regulus had only been casting defensive spells against him and that the two offensive spells he'd cast were to those on his own side.
And all Sirius had said was, "you're dead to me," which Regulus had evidently taken far too literally.
He still remembers seeing Regulus' name on the missing people section of the daily prophet in June 1977 and scoffing, thinking he was hiding away with other Death Eaters. Then, in early August, Regulus' name was on the front page of the daily prophet, and the title hit Sirius so hard that he wondered if he'd die from the pain too.
BLACK HEIR PRESUMED DEAD.
Four simple words, three grief-filled years, two brothers, but only one survivor.
It was a war, death was commonplace throughout it, but it's different when it's one of your own. Regulus' portrait that was taken to announce his new position as heir had been taking up most of the page, but as Sirius had stared at the paper, he hadn't seen the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black looking back at him.
He had seen his little brother when he was four and Sirius was five, and he had performed accidental magic for the first time. Sirius had stolen Regulus' favourite toy, holding it out of reach until it shot out of his hands involuntarily and landed in Regulus' arms.
He had seen his little brother when he was eight, and he had knocked over a vase and was so, so scared that their mother would be angry, but Sirius had just laughed and told him no one cared about it anyways. He had taken the punishment for knocking it over silently after Regulus had gone to bed as his mother cursed the clumsiness out of him.
He had seen his little brother, the one who got sorted into Slytherin, befriended bigoted purebloods, sneered at his friends and became one of the people Sirius had run away from to fight on the other side of the war.
He had seen his little brother, always his little brother, except he was dead.
But he's not; he's alive and he's here.
Sirius can't believe it.
He's alive.
He's alive.
He's alive
Regulus was quite pleased with how the day had gone.
He had ticked off the first agenda on his three-step list and had shown the results in the most dramatic way possible. He hadn't even needed to practice what he was going to do or say; he's a Black, and Blacks are always noticed, always dramatic, and always the best.
And he's bested all of them.
He had never expected to return to Grimmauld Place again, purely because he thought he'd die before he ever got the chance to. The goal was always to defeat Voldemort or die trying, but he's here now.
He's here and he's not dead.
His parents are dead, he knew this as soon as it happened, but he repressed any grief for them that he might have felt. There's no time to grieve in a war full of the dying and the dead; there are only private, selfish celebrations every time you realise that you're not among them.
But Regulus is a selfish person, he isn't afraid to admit it, and after what he's just done, he thinks he deserves a celebration.
He hasn't returned home for a long time. The only new addition that he's noticed, apart from Sirius and the other blood traitors, is that his mother's portrait is on the wall with curtains seemingly warded shut.
For the best, he thinks. It's probably better if she doesn't see me again. She would hate to find out what else I've done.
The others can leave; he hopes that they leave. He recognises some of them from school, the marauders, minus Pettigrew; Vance, who he remembers from quidditch matches across the years; Dumbledore, of course, and various Aurors. Potters' mudblood and her friend are there, not Dorcas' girlfriend; he knows they both died shortly after graduation, but the other one who likes gossip and wouldn't stop staring at him.
He can't hold that against her, though; everybody was staring at him.
He's looking at himself in the mirror, healing the cuts and grazes across his body and decides that the first thing he's going to do is have a long, hot shower.
The water is scalding, almost burning his skin, but it's the only way he doesn't send himself back to the cave he barely escaped three summers ago. The water swirling down the drain is pink, tinted with blood, but Regulus doesn't know whose it is. A bit of his, a bit of Voldemort's, and a mix of ten to twenty Death Eaters. It was a brutal end to a brutal war; he wouldn't be surprised if he doubled his kill count today alone.
He washes his hands repeatedly, but they're still red, even after the water runs clear. He's a murderer and a Death Eater, and his hands are stained with blood he can't wash off. He hates it, not because he's grown a conscience, but because red is the colour of Gryffindors, and they're why he had to fight this war in the first place.
Regulus is tired, he's only 19, but he's achieved in 3 years what others couldn't do if they had thousands. The one thing the Order of the Phoenix wanted to do, Regulus did instead. He wonders if they're grateful or resentful.
At any rate, he's alone now.
His friends are Death Eaters who haven't seen him since school and either presume him to be dead or will wish he was after they learn of his betrayal. He doesn't suppose that any of the Order are willing to spend time with him voluntarily.
Except Sirius.
Sirius is too wrapped up in morals and honour and loyalty to reject him entirely; he'll take him back whether he knows it or not, which is something Regulus knows without a doubt. He saw how Sirius was after his faked death; he knows at least one person had missed him.
Eventually, Regulus has washed away every physical trace of the war. The mental traces remain on his soul like permanent markers on a whiteboard, unerasable, and he dries off and puts on a pair of casual robes, which are still nicer than the average wizards' gala robes and stares at the pot plant on his bedside table which has never been healthier. The room seems warmer than he remembers, though, almost crackling with magical energy, and he doesn't understand why until he realises that somebody must be trying to get through the wards that he's put up. They clearly don't know that this only makes them stronger.
Stay out, Regulus thinks. Stay out and leave me alone, but he knows the wish is futile.
He knew that there was always going to be one person who wouldn't listen to his silent plea, who would find out who the wards would allow through even if they didn't know why, who would enter even if though they didn't know what's waiting for them on the other side, and sure enough, it only takes another 20 or so minutes until the attempts to break through cease suddenly.
The door opens, somebody walks through, and Regulus almost smiles.
"Sirius."
It's chaos outside the door of Regulus' room.
Following his departure, it was Remus, surprisingly, who was the first to speak, muttering a quiet "well, fuck me" that seemed to echo across the kitchen. Everybody else was still so caught up in recovering from the earthquake of Regulus Black that Andromeda never even told him to mind his language, and there was no let's save it for later, Moony from Sirius.
They were all shocked indeed.
Molly Weasley was the next to speak, a tentative "where does this leave us now, Albus?" no doubt hoping that she could get back to her children and raise them in a world without violence.
Dumbledore had taken a long time before he spoke next, simply saying, "this is not something we could have predicted, but it is indeed an aid that we can utilise."
Some share disbelieving glances, while others nod sagely, holding onto his every word.
"An aid?" Mary MacDonald blurts out. "It's not an aid, Professor; it's the solution."
"On the contrary, Miss MacDonald, the war is not over yet. We need to round up the remaining Death Eaters, retain order across Britain and then heal the survivors of the war as we continue into the next chapter of our lives."
"And there's a Death Eater in this ruddy house, so I say we get him and lock him up," Moody growls out, his wand raised as he walks out of the room in the direction Regulus went.
"Hang on," Sirius cries out, his big brother instincts kicking in automatically. "You're not going to send him to Azkaban, are you? He's literally a war hero. He won us the war."
"A trial will be completed for Mr Black, and the power of justice will decide that, dear boy. After all, he is still a Death Eater, and we need to proceed with caution and hear his version of events. Let us go now."
For some reason, everybody follows him. That's a lie; everybody knows why. They all want to know what happened, to get an insight into the drama, the exclusive live rendition of the story of Regulus Black.
"Don't worry Pads, we won't let them send him away," James whispers, and Remus squeezes his shoulder slightly in an attempt at comfort. Sirius doesn't know what it would take for him to attain it, but in any case, they follow the others up to the third-floor landing where Regulus' room is, the plaque denoting Do not enter without the express permission of Regulus Arcturus Black a dead giveaway as to which of the five doors is his own. However, entrance is not as easy as turning the handle and passing through the door.
For starters, no one can reach the door handle. There are wards up, and the door remains firmly closed; no combination of alohomora, colloportus or finite incantatum gets it open. Neither vanishing charms nor banishing charms nor incendio remove it, and nobody is willing to try fiendfyre.
Regulus had made it look effortless. It's an effective spell, there's no denying that, but it's also deadly and destructive and can very quickly become uncontrollable. It's a bit like Regulus, really; maybe that's why he wields it so well.
Whatever the wards are constructed of, they're holding fast, none of the layers have been chipped away, and no cracks nor holes are appearing; you can't even tell somebody has tried to tamper with them.
Moody is trying; nobody can refute that. He's shooting spell after spell at them, the aura getting darker and darker with each one, and Sirius is realising what Regulus meant when he said that the light breaks the same rules that they condemn the dark by. He feels uncomfortably chastised.
Emmeline Vance did her training in curse breaking before she came to the Order to fight full time in the war, but nothing she tries works either. The wards are neither light nor dark, they seem to defy any currently known classes of wards, and the more magic she sends at it, it only appears to be absorbed and strengthen the ward rather than overwhelming the magic to such an extent that it explodes. The runic sequences can be seen, but she can't understand them. She did her Mastery in curse breaking, but she doesn't have a clue where to begin.
She's still brainstorming strategies to tackle it when Dumbledore tries, pulling out his wand and shooting spells that are yet to be tested. However, there's still no progress which leaves everybody voicing their ideas.
The wards can't be removed, altered, or weakened. They can't even class what type they are, let alone what they could do to start bringing them down, so what are they made of? Death Eater magic? Dark magic? Blood magic?
Everybody looks at Sirius in unison as this last idea is raised. Is it blood magic?
Having no choice to refuse, Sirius reaches his hand out carefully, expecting to feel the same hard wall that the others who had tried had described and see if he recognises the magical sequence, but to his surprise, his hand passes through the barrier and touches the smooth stained oak of the door.
"Bring the boy out", Moody growls. "He'll be locked up in Azkaban before the night is over."
Sirius doesn't reply, simply cracking the door open before shutting it behind him. He feels the rest of the Order leaning closer, trying to see the elusive ex-Black heir, their idolised war hero, but all they could see was a distorted kaleidoscope of colours.
As annoying and inconvenient as they are, Regulus' warding skills are spectacularly impressive.
Now, all they can do is wait for Sirius to drag him out, it shouldn't take more than 10 seconds, but as 5, 10, and then 20 minutes pass, Sirius is sure that they can't help but wonder what they're doing.
Regulus looks better than he did when he walked into the kitchen. He's showered and dressed in the same robes he evidently wore at sixteen and looks every bit the pureblood heir he used to be.
His robes were tailor-made to his sixteen-year-old body, but now, nearly four years later, they hang loosely around his frame despite his growth. He's lying on his bed over the covers, hair still damp, and even though he knows he would get cursed if he said it, Sirius thinks he almost looks sweet.
It's laughable, really. This is the same person who dragged a corpse into their house 30 minutes ago after assumably torturing and murdering who knows how many others to make it happen, and Sirius still thinks he looks sweet.
It's the Black family madness, he thinks. I've succumbed to it at last, but he is pulled out of his musings by a steady "Sirius," and he turns his head and makes eye contact with his brother for the first time in years.
"Reggie," he says automatically; it's all he can manage. This is his brother, who he thought he'd never see again. Who he'd grieved for. Who he thought he'd already lost. "I never thought I'd see you again," he continues honestly, almost afraid to say each word for fear that this fragile moment will crack and Regulus will crumble out of sight, lost again.
Regulus frowns at this. "I told you I'd try".
"You did?" Sirius asks confusedly. "You'd try what? When? I don't remember when this was."
"I know," Regulus answers, almost seeming to choke the syllables out, like there's a deeper meaning somewhere, but Sirius can't work out what it is, and Regulus seems unwilling to elaborate.
"So," Sirius begins, at a loss of where to go from here. "How have you been?"
Regulus looks at him like it's the stupidest question he's ever heard. "How have I been?" he repeats dryly. "How do you think?"
"I don't know, Reggie, that's why I'm fucking asking, you prick," Sirius replies frustratedly.
He can't get a read on him anymore. He used to know his brother like an open book in a language only he could read, but now he's put a padlock on himself and those who can find the key have to also try to decipher his emotions written in code and invisible ink.
Regulus isn't talking, still simply staring, so Sirius blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind: "it's good to see your face blood free."
Sirius didn't think Regulus could get any more unimpressed, but his look gets even drier.
"If you were anybody else, I would've cursed you for that comment."
"You're not going to curse me?"
"No, but I'll change my mind if you don't shut up".
"Awww, you won't curse – OW! FUCK, REGGIE!"
Sirius' forearm is swollen up to almost double its usual size where Regulus' stinging hex hit it, but it's unlike any stinging hex he's ever seen. Or felt. It fucking hurts and, well, stings.
"That's enough of you, Sirius; now you can fuck off while I make myself a meal."
"You're going to make it yourself?" Sirius asks incredulously. "What, has that god-awful house elf done us all a favour and died then? I was wondering where he'd got to."
This is evidently the wrong thing to say as magic forgotten, Regulus reaches out and just shoves Sirius towards the door, chanting, "fuck off, fuck off, I hate you, get out, get out, get out!" Each sentence is accompanied by a push and a hint of heat where Regulus' magic is getting influenced by his emotions to such an extent it's burning his skin slightly with every touch.
Sirius is naturally confused and alarmed by this latest development, tentatively saying, "Reggie -?"
"Out!" And with a harsh burst of magic, he finds himself outside the room and unable to enter the door.
That fucker, Sirius thinks with a huff of laughter and disbelief that can't entirely block out the concern for the violent response. Evidently, Kreacher is an off-limits conversation topic.
Sirius is pulled abruptly from his musings by the sounds of people talking over each other who are all trying to talk to him and he wishes he could lock himself in his room like Regulus too; he understands the appeal now.
"Sirius –"
"Sirius-"
"What did he say?"
"Did he curse you?"
"Did you curse him?"
"Is he coming out?"
"Will he come out?"
"Did you try to kill him?"
"Is he going to kill us?"
The door swings open at that last statement, and everybody silences instantly. Wands are held in trepidation that only raise higher as Regulus calmly says, "keep talking, and we'll see what happens," before sweeping from the room and walking downstairs. The others follow him, and as he turns off towards the kitchen, they appear behind him in the doorway.
This evidently isn't what Regulus wanted, as when he turns around, his stare is molten lava.
"Get the fuck out of my house."
"It's my house, actually," Sirius mutters, but this is lost over Moody and Dumbledore talking over each other.
"You're coming with me on a one-way ticket to Azkaban, boy."
And
"Mr Black, it is imperative that I hear your side of the story."
Sirius can see the frustration in Regulus' eyes. As much as he wants to know what happened and throttle his brother for making him grieve for him, surely allowances can be made. He just won the war. By himself. What's another day going to do? What's Regulus going to do?
This last thought pulls him up short. What is Regulus going to do?
He finds out the answer seconds later as Regulus looks his brother in the eye and says in a deadly tone of voice, "Sirius, get them out, or I will."
This sounds… ominous and not at all something Sirius wants to explore further. This is a shared sentiment, as evident by the way everybody's wands raise higher in unison.
"This is our headquarters Reggie," he says slowly, carefully. He hasn't forgotten that his brother is a Death Eater. Or was a Death Eater. Whatever. "We can't just abandon –"
"You can't abandon what? The war effort? There's no war left to win now. I'm still the heir –"
"You're not –"
"Oh, for fucks sake," he cries out, his emotional stability evidently surpassed its threshold again, and in the same manner Sirius had been forced out of his room, the rest of the Order of the Phoenix disappears and finds themselves in the square outside, staring in disbelief at the brickwork that joins 11 and 13 Grimmauld Place together.
"It seems," Dumbledore says eventually, "that Mr Black is currently unwilling to cooperate. I will see you at Hogwarts next Thursday for our next meeting on how to capture the remaining Death Eaters while we wait for him to… come to us." And then he disapparates with a loud crack.
Moody, Shacklebolt and some others are trying to get through the wards again, trying to simply see the house, but it's to no avail. They've all been removed entirely, and everybody has the same collective thought as they realise this:
They had underestimated Regulus Black.
He had cast fiendfyre with unprecedented precision, had created wards strong enough to keep multiple Aurors at once from breaking them down or even detecting what they were, and now he'd banished most of them from the house that he wasn't even the Master of.
And he'd ended the war.
He had ended the fucking war.
Who knew all it would take was for the forgotten son of the darkest of families to play the game so well that nobody even suspected him. He had watched Dumbledore and Voldemort play chess, dark versus light, pawns being sacrificed left, right and centre while the kings remained untouched. There was no stalemate, checkmate, or resignation; Regulus simply came in and blew the chessboard to pieces.
Game over.
Regulus is in the kitchen making his sandwich. It's not a very glamorous meal for a Black, but he just wants to finish it, go to bed, and not wake up for at least three days. He doesn't know when he's last gotten a full night's sleep. The pressure of trying to win a war unsurprisingly leads to many sleepless nights, and he's exhausted. Not visibly, he still looks every bit as elegant and proper as always, but inside there's a dull and heavy feeling across his mind and limbs that he hasn't been allowing himself to feel.
But he feels it now.
All he wants to do is go to bed and now that the Order is gone, it should be only him and Sirius left in the house who will either leave him alone or get hexed until he does. However, as he turns around, he realises this is not the case.
Of course Sirius isn't alone; he never could go anywhere without Potter and his boyfriend, could he?
Sirius, Potter and Lupin are all staring at him in silence with varying expressions on their faces. James looks like he's seen a ghost, Remus looks like he wants to ask him about his warding strategies, and Sirius looks like he wants to hug him.
Regulus hopes that he doesn't.
They're quiet. He can hear the clock ticking on the mantelpiece, echoing in the vast space as Regulus looks back at the men in front of him, trying to figure out why they're all still here. He knew he couldn't banish Sirius; he has a birthright in the place, after all and Regulus had named him heir in a rather full circle moment following his disappearance, but why didn't it work for the others?
He doubts they would have done blood magic with one other; he's sure it's far too dark for their tastes, and there's no noticeable change to their magical signatures. It's darker than it was, for sure, the war changes the best of people, but they're still them. Honourable, courageous, and morally righteous Gryffindors.
He's running through the possibilities in his head, they're not Black family, they're not –
"You're not fucking married, are you?" he asks, unsure whether to lean into concern or disgust.
Remus and James look at him like he's grown an extra head while Sirius folds over and laughs and laughs and laughs. Regulus assumes it's from the shock of his return; he's not usually this funny.
"Reggie, I, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Sirius chokes out through his laughter. "No, we're not married, or not yet, for Remus and me".
Remus. The werewolf. He almost forgot about that, but it all makes sense now.
"But you're bonded nonetheless, all three of you. I suppose I should've seen that coming."
This means they're basically an extension of Sirius, which means that the genetic wards on the house that allow the Black family unconditional entry won't keep the other two out.
Fuck's sake.
He could cast blood wards, he supposes, but they take a lot of magical energy, and he's fatigued. He's been fighting this war on his own for nearly 3 years, and besides the people he's interrogated, oblivated or murdered, he's barely had proper human contact for the same time. The wards on his bedroom will definitely keep them out, although he's disappointed in himself to know that Sirius will most probably be allowed constant entry unless he angers him enough, like earlier, to temporarily change his mind.
"We're not bonded," James says slowly as Sirius nods slowly in agreement. Regulus looks to Remus, though, eyebrow perfectly arched as he says, "aren't you?"
Remus is simply staring at him like all his nightmares have come to life.
"We are," he says hoarsely, and Regulus smiles saccharinely, but it's also menacing and vaguely threatening.
"I know it was a subconsciously mutual decision, but it's at least courteous to explain what was happening."
"What was happening?" Sirius and James ask in unison.
Remus is either shocked or simply unwilling to elaborate, so Regulus takes on the responsibility.
"Your little werewolf boyfriend here completed a pack bond with you two, although I'm assuming Pettigrew broke his end of it when he betrayed you. As it remains, you all have a deeper connection between your souls, which means you can all get through the same wards of each other's houses. I would advise keeping that last part confidential," he says succinctly and James and Remus look a mixture of surprised and confused, but Sirius? Oh, he's angry.
This should be good, Regulus thinks smugly, always ready for a fight.
"How the fuck did you know that? Wait, no, you're wrong, Regulus. Whatever you thought about that was right, it's wrong."
Regulus just smiles innocently and says, "oh, is he not your boyfriend anymore? I didn't know that you'd broken up, my apologies." The little prick doesn't sound sorry at all.
"No, we're not broken up," Sirius sputters. "But that's not the point of this conversation. Remus isn't a werewolf, and you don't know what you're talking about and –"
Regulus has missed meddling with his brother, but he forgot how personally he took some things. When he did it with Evan and Barty, curses or punches got thrown if the wrong joke was made, but Sirius is a Gryffindor until the end, which means he takes it all to heart.
Regulus half hates it and half admires it; he doesn't know when he last dealt with an emotion he didn't want to feel instead of simply occluding and repressing it. He's putting off the moment when he brings his mental shields down in case he hides too much away and they crack apart, all falling down at once in one great, big, traumatic, hysterical mess.
No thanks, Regulus thinks. I'll leave that to Sirius, who is currently still speaking, making excuses, pleading, and panicking. It's a bit sad, honestly.
Regulus sends another stinging hex at him, which makes him yelp, but mercifully stop talking, as he sighs and says, "if I've kept his secret for 7 and a half years, I don't suppose the rest of my life will kill me."
Sirius seems to deflate with relief before he focuses on Regulus more, his gaze becoming so intense it's almost unsettling. He reaches forward without warning, far too quickly towards Regulus' neck, saying, "is that a scar on your –" but Regulus grabs Sirius sharply by the wrist, twisting it back and snarling, "don't you fucking touch me."
He looks manic, almost like a wild animal who's been threatened.
Sirius is understandably concerned at the violent reaction, and with a horrifying thought, he wonders if the anger is personal. Like he knows that Sirius knows where he got the scar from. But surely not, Regulus can't be –
"Are you a werewolf?" Sirius blurts out. "Is that how you know about all of this?" He doesn't try to sugar-coat it, he never really was good at subtlety anyways, and he almost regrets his question until the corner of Regulus' lips twitches upwards. Like a switch flipped, his anger is evidently forgotten.
He almost sounds amused as he says, "no, I'm not a werewolf, Sirius," which fills Sirius with relief until he follows up with, "it wasn't a werewolf who left these scars, and it sure as hell wasn't your boyfriend, no Azkaban for him."
Sirius blanches and Regulus sighs.
"How did you realise?" he asks eventually.
"February of first year, I think. It's obvious if you look, and there was clearly something going on. I knew you figured it out, but Potter and Pettigrew were still clueless by the time I knew."
Remus looks shocked, while James looks oddly afraid? His pupils are dilated with what Sirius assumes is fear, and they both seem to be waiting for someone to say something.
"Okayyyyy," Sirius responds slowly, clearly at a loss as what to say, but surprisingly it's Remus who fills in.
"I appreciate you keeping this secret," he says, unsure how to interact with his boyfriend's brother, who everyone thought was evil and dead until a couple of hours ago.
"And I'd appreciate it if you'd fuck right off, but here we are," Regulus shoots back, causing Remus to choke out a huff of shocked laughter, and then without any closing sentences, Regulus flounces out of the room.
Sirius strains his ears to hear the footsteps up the stairs, but instead, they're getting louder and louder and –
Regulus is back.
He looks at Sirius with a long calculating look in his eye and eventually says, "c'est bon de te revoir, malgré tout," before walking out of the room without waiting for his response.
He's too far away to hear by the time Sirius whisper a quiet "toi aussi" in response.
The following day, Sirius wakes early and frantically goes across the landing until he stands outside Regulus' room and just, keeps standing there. He doesn't know exactly what brought him here; he just felt a pressing need to check that he was alright. He doesn't know where it came from; it's not like it's been a recent thing he's been doing. He grieved a lot of people in the war, but Regulus was one of the first casualties of their group. Regulus was the first one Sirius knew personally, and even though he was definitely numb to grief and death in the end, he was never, ever numb to the loss of Regulus.
And now he's alive, but Sirius still can't trust that it's real.
He wants to check on him but doesn't know how well that will be received. He doesn't want to say it out loud, but his brother is dangerous. Everybody can see it, but nobody knows whether to call him courageous or suicidal.
Who goes into a war and becomes a traitor to their own side?
Who fakes their death just to win a war they weren't even alive to start?
Who actually manages it and still makes it out alive?
Evidently Regulus Black, and Regulus Black alone.
It's only 6 in the morning, and they hadn't gone to their rooms until at least 11, so he's had 7 hours of sleep maximum. Sirius decides that he'll be alright and can sleep a while longer.
A while longer is taken literally, and by 10am, Sirius is getting antsy. He wants to see his brother again, even if he just throws a curse at him and leaves. Any interaction is better than none.
By midday, he's concerned. He doesn't know what Regulus' sleeping habits were in the war, but he doubts sleeping in every day was how he won. Growing up, if they weren't up by 6 on a weekday or 7 on the weekend, they were punished, and it's something that Sirius took years to unlearn.
He hasn't quite managed it, though. Even now at 21 years old, he still finds himself waking up and apologising before he comes into consciousness and remembers that it's just him and Remus. No Grimmauld Place and no parents. And no Reggie, his mind would also supply, but he tried to ignore that bit. And then, every time, he would remind himself that his parents can go fuck themselves and just refuse to get out of bed until at least midday to spite them.
It was petty and juvenile and dramatic, but he did it anyways.
At 3 o'clock in the afternoon, Sirius can't take it anymore. He throws off Remus' hand, which is resting over his and ignores James' questioning and finds himself standing once again outside Regulus' door, but this time he walks straight in. A slight tingling sensation passes through him as he crosses the threshold, which makes him realise that Regulus must have put a ward up to protect himself and keep people out. Sirius wonders why Regulus would have let him in and tries not to overthink it but smiles anyway.
This smile drops when he sees Regulus.
He's still asleep, yes, Sirius did check that he wasn't dead, but that isn't the problem. Sirius had seen the scars on his neck yesterday that Regulus had gotten defensive about, but now Regulus is sleeping shirtless with one arm sticking out of the duvet cocoon he's buried under, and the skin is more pink than white. It's a mosaic of scars that criss-cross each other, and all come in groups of five. It looks like somebody or something tried to claw him to death. Based on the sheer number of scars, Sirius wonders how close they were to being successful.
He looks innocent asleep. He almost looks sweet, like the little Reggie who used to drag him to the garden at twilight every night so that they could look for the fairies he'd learnt about in one of his books, even though there was no way that they would set up a grotto in central London of all places.
He almost wants to take a photo and frame it; however, the image is swiftly shattered as Regulus gasps awake, shooting a curse at Sirius before he's fully woken up. He drops to the ground, screaming in pain, which causes Regulus to almost sprint out of bed, chanting "fuck, fuck, fuck" under his breath.
Sirius feels like his blood is boiling and his organs are melting, and he swears he's going to die when just as suddenly as the pain started, it stops. He gingerly gets back up, the absence of pain that was just consuming him almost eerie. He hopes he never experiences it again.
"What the hell was that?" he bursts out incredulously, looking wide-eyed at Regulus, who is mirroring his facial expressions.
"A blood-boiling curse."
"Well, that explains a lot," Sirius thinks.
"I didn't know that existed," Sirius says back. He doesn't know if 'thanks for saving me from the curse you cast in the first place is the proper response.
"It didn't until I invented it," Regulus replies, frowning, before he looks up and abruptly screams, "what the fuck were you doing watching me sleep? You're lucky I didn't kill you!"
Regulus' moods, Sirius is learning, are wildly unstable. He swings from extreme apathy to angry and defensive to sweet and almost innocent if an ex-Death Eater can really be that anymore, and he never quite knows which one he's going to get. At this moment, it's evidently angry and defensive, and he's keen to try and diffuse it before his blood gets boiled again.
"I was worried that something had happened," he says calmly, a sharp contrast to Regulus' wide-eyed, almost manic gaze.
"And why would you care about that?" Regulus replies harshly. "You didn't have a problem leaving me at 16, so why would it be any different now that you're 21?"
That hurts, admittedly, but Sirius can't exactly blame him for it either. This doesn't stop him from retaliating with, "you did worse! Yeah, I ran away, but you made me and the entire world believe you were dead!"
"I'm so sorry that my survival turned out to be such a disappointment," Regulus replies tonelessly, evidently back to apathy again, before grabbing the first shirt he finds and walking out of the room where Sirius says a weak "Reggie –" and follows after him.
To Regulus's immense disappointment, but no great surprise, Lupin and Potter are still in the house. Potter even tries to talk to him as he says, "er, good afternoon Regulus."
It's not a good afternoon if you're in it , Regulus thinks scathingly. Out loud, he says, "I almost killed your brother and your boyfriend," gesturing to James and Remus accordingly. "I suppose it is a good afternoon after all."
"Pads, what the fuck is going on?" James asks while Remus can be seen mentally cataloguing any injuries Sirius may have.
"Reggie accidentally cursed me –"
"Wasn't an accident."
"Would you shut up and let me finish! Reg cursed me with a spell he invented, but he had the counter curse, so I'm fine."
"You invented a spell?" Lupin asks, seemingly impressed. "When you say you invented it..."
"I mean that I invented it," Regulus replies, bored already.
"Are you being deliberately obtuse?" Sirius asks.
"Are you being deliberately annoying?" Is the snappy comeback.
"You're still a death eater Regulus," Lupin chips in. "Forgive us for being wary".
"You're forgiven," he replies sweetly before rolling up the sleeve of his left arm where his smooth, unblemished skin, aside from the claw marks of course, shocks them.
"There's no tattoo? I thought you were a Death Eater?" Sirius says, stunned.
"I was."
"But you're not anymore?" Regulus doesn't even bother replying to that one.
"Have all the Death Eaters' marks gone?"
"No."
"Just yours, then?"
"No."
"Are you going to give us any more information?"
"No."
"Nice to know the war didn't change how much of a prick you are."
"I'll curse you again."
Sirius seems unwilling to test if it's a bluff or not, which amuses Regulus, and the rapid-fire of conversations between the Black Brothers reaches a lull as they continue to stare at each other. Tensions are mounting in the room as they ignore the others, and James Potter takes it upon himself to settle the peace.
"I'm James Potter; we haven't spoken in a while –" he begins before he is cut off by Regulus saying, "I know who you are." His tone of voice makes it seem like he isn't very pleased with this fact.
"Good", James continues hesitantly, seemingly unsure how to respond. "I'm glad you're alive, and I'm hoping we can get to know each other and –"
"Are you aware that I hate you?" Regulus interjects emotionlessly. He looks like this conversation is paining him.
Genuine hurt flashes across James' face and all he can choke out is a simple "why?"
"Why do you think?" Regulus responds, umimpressed again.
"I, don't, know….?" James replies slowly, almost like it's a question.
"Really?"
Regulus' dry tone and genuine disinterest in the conversation rubs James the wrong way. He's trying to be friendly and give him somebody to talk to because he's assuming that none of Regulus' Death Eater friends will be willing to hang out with him anymore after the most impressive betrayal possible, and he's trying. James is trying, and Regulus won't even appreciate it or acknowledge it.
"Is this because Sirius ran away to me and you didn't?" he asks, not angrily, but definitely forcefully. "Because I wanted you to come, but every time I tried to talk to you at Hogwarts, you'd either curse me or ignore me and so forgive me for trying here, now that we've both got a common goal and –"
He's giving Regulus a headache.
He didn't win the war just to be harassed by James Potter and his ridiculous demands for friendship. Acting on instinct alone, his wand moves in a complicated motion, and the kitchen is blissfully quiet again.
Regulus has vanished his lips; the skin between his nose and his chin is now one dark, smooth patch of skin.
Unfortunately, the silence lasts only a few seconds until Sirius shoves himself far too close into Regulus' personal space as he gestures at James incredulously and says, "Regulus! He can't talk; you vanished his lips!"
"I know," Regulus says, smiling. It's the biggest one they've seen on him so far. "It's a good spell, isn't it?
"Regulus, he can't talk." This is Lupin now, who's decided to join the conversation.
"Exactly," he replies, talking slowly like they're both missing the point.
"Put them back." That's Sirius, who looks more panicked than James, honestly; they're both just miming helplessly while Regulus basks in the quiet. He's had years of experience toning Sirius out, so the atmosphere is almost peaceful if you can exclude the frantic gesturing.
"Regulus, I'm telling you to put them back".
"I can't," Regulus says unapologetically. "I haven't invented a counter curse yet. It shouldn't take more than a month or two, though."
James still can't talk, but everybody can hear the "What?!?!?!?" loud and clear. He's panicking, Sirius is panicking, Remus simply looks stunned at the turn the day has taken, when Regulus realises he's almost pitying them.
"I forget how gullible you Gryffindors are," he says, sighing, and with another careless wave of his hand, the spell is cancelled, and James can talk again.
A disappointing outcome, he thinks, turning to look back at him.
Regulus isn't smiling, but there's mirth in his eyes, he genuinely enjoyed himself doing that, and the peace was nice while it lasted because, sure enough -
"You vanished my lips!" James cries out, aghast.
"Yes, I did do that."
"You didn't even ask me to be quiet."
"Would you have?" A single eyebrow arched disbelievingly.
James can't really argue with that one. "Well –"
"Exactly," Regulus says with finality. "I didn't want to listen, and you didn't want to stop. I found a solution."
"It wasn't very nice," James says petulantly, seeing that Regulus is genuinely unrepentant and any other argument is futile.
Regulus just scoffs, cruelly amused. "You think I won the war by being nice, Potter?"
And then the anger is back. Sirius is tensing instinctively, hoping James isn't about to have his blood boiled too or something else as painful and gruesome, but Regulus thankfully just sweeps from the room and closes the door to the library.
"Your brother is fucking psychopathic, Pads, and I mean that wholeheartedly."
Sirius just nods in response.
Notes:
Translation:
Regulus: It's good to see you again, despite everything
Sirius: You too