Disclaimer: I don't own HP.
AN: : D Please don't hurt me. Thank you for all of your reviews! Reading them always gets me psyched up! The Good, the Critical, the ANGRY. Honestly, I wrote this chap 4 times. First time, it was eaten by my flash drive. Second time, it was eaten by my computer. Third time…it just…sucked, and I let the Delete button eat it. For anyone genuinely interested in the WHY of why it took so long I offer the following: College, Work, Internship, & my own writing. (Psst. I apologize for grammatical/spelling errors. Quick! Read it before Fate tries to swallow it again.)
Hope you're all still interested in this aaaand I NEVER abandon a fic (loved or unloved as they are...O 'Curiosity' Someday, someday you'll make it to 5.)
Enjoy!
Chapter 11: Aftermath
"You broke it!" Sirius hissed as he handled his toy broomstick as gingerly as an injured bird.
The handle was splintered from a rough impact from the ground.
"Daddy will fix it," Regulus assured as he brushed grass from his hair.
"He'll ask us how it happened and then he'll take it," Sirius growled, his frustration growing since he knew how this would pan out: since the problem involved HIS broomstick and HIS brother, it was sure to be HIS fault.
"Get Uncle Alphy to do it then. He always helps you," Regulus muttered, a twinge of bitterness already settling into his voice.
"It's all your fault," Sirius grumbled as he examined the damage: it was a hard crack that ran all the way down to the twigs.
"I was trying to do a trick," Regulus argued, knowing full well that a successful loop-de-loop would've impressed his brother.
"Well, you managed that! Tricked me into lending it to you."
Regulus frowned. "I wish you'd just go ask Uncl-"
"I wish you'd just disappear!" he snapped.
For a few moments, Regulus had no comment and just stood there blinking hard as they glowered at each other.
The wind whispered by, ruffled their clothes, and almost drowned out Regulus's reply.
That handle could've been your head, Sirius thought dumbly as he stared at the stage.
He'd stood up at some point—couldn't remember when—and had made it halfway to the aisle when ... he realized it was too late.
Dead. The students whispered back and forth amongst themselves. Dead. One of their classmates was dead. Several screams rang above the shocked buzz of the audience, even as the teachers milled about trying to prevent hysteria.
"Thought they were friends."
"That's an expulsion. That's an expulsion for sure. Did they have permission to do that one?"
"Damn, there goes our Seeker and we have one more match."
"No we don't."
"What?"
"No, we don't. Knott, learn to count."
He vaguely registered that James was panting by his ear and bodily dragging him back to his seat. He tried to shift away and found that Remus was there too, heaving him backwards muttering: "After. After, Sirius. We'll get him after."
The Drought of Living Death. He'd had an assignment on it. A mistake in the amount of wormwood could kill. That's why students were never permitted to test their own potions.
He'd joked loudly that it was a shame, as there were several classmates he'd like to try it on.
He honestly couldn't comprehend it…a novel experience for him. Professors always hailed his genius, his wit, his ability to interpret concepts and apply them.
So why? Why couldn't he understand this?
Why would Regulus do this?
It was stupid, and melodramatic, and unnecessarily dangerous. And even as he thought that, a voice in the corner of his mind sneered: Your fourteen-year old self became an animagus…that's dangerous.
But that was different. That was…
Why? Why would Regulus risk himself for Snape of all people?
You've risked your life every full moon.
Why would dignified Regulus do something so common and stupid as showing off? For twenty House Points? For twenty stupid House Points? For Snape?
Pride? Loyalty? Trust? Spite?
"I wish you'd just disappear…"
"Maybe I will…"
Salem sighed as he buffed an old Herbology medal from 1919. McGonagall had banished him to detention after overhearing his extremely foul mouth that morning. Apparently, verbally defending himself from a confrontational Gryffindor equated a detention. Never thought he'd resent his old house.
Still, scrubbing awards in the trophy room really wasn't so terrible a fate; he'd get to miss whatever presentation Regulus and Snape kept going on about. He'd sat through half of one of their rehearsals before stalking out.
Darkness, death, doom…it held some strange allure for them. It disturbed him. How chummy they'd get when discussing it, especially considering how they both ended up in Voldemort's ranks. Plenty of death and darkness for the both of them. Too much in fact. Soo much, that they'd both end up defecting.
Salem twisted the rag in his hands until his knuckles turned white. He'd always wondered…how Regulus ended up in that lot of lunatics. Always assumed Bella dragged him into it. But maybe it was Snape. In fact, the more he considered it, the more likely it seemed. Regulus clearly respected him. Him! Even though he was up to his eyeballs in the Dark Arts! Even though he was a self-serving git!
With a friend already joined up, it was probably easy for the Death Eaters to lure him in.
It didn't help that Regulus possessed a natural fascination for the occult. He'd often stay behind and pester Professor Mysterio with lists of questions he'd composed earlier in the week.
To quote Salem's original school days, he'd coined Divination as the "Squeamish Man's passing fancy for the Dark Arts." They'd get to blather on about death and doom without any real consequence. Predicting death wasn't the same as dealing it. No doubt his brother would later learn that the hard way.
Unless Salem could dissuade him now…
It'd be difficult though. Regulus had a real attachment to the subject.
A few days ago, he'd noticed Reg frowning as he shuffled his tarot cards in Divination Class.
He selected a card and stared…long and intense enough that Salem's curiosity piqued.
He'd strolled over, Charms essay in hand with the pretense of asking a question (he really just didn't have an ounce of talent for this class so he may as well work on another. Professor Mistereo even seemed to agree because the man had offered to check for misspellings) when he got a good look at the card.
DEATH
The word was large and imposing, the image was even worse: a grisly grinning skeleton digging his own grave.
And he'd startled so bad that he tripped over a pouf. Because Regulus and Death seemed to frolic together and nothing Salem did seemed to distance them.
Regulus had peered over then and asked him quite seriously, "Salem, your mother didn't die giving birth to you, did she?"
He blinked. "Uh, no?" Had he been younger and feeling vicious, he'd have added an 'unfortunately.'
Unexpectedly, he felt a stab of guilt. Because…because if she had then…well, he wouldn't have had a younger brother at all…and wouldn't his life have been easier…?
No Regulus. Just James. You'd have never had to choose between them at all. His stomach churned even as he thought it and, unbidden, Snape came to mind. Not so long ago for him, yet decades in the future he'd been complaining to the Order about his inactivity at Grimmauld Place. How he may as well have been back in Azkaban because he was certainly a prisoner once again.
"Ever the victim, aren't you?" Snape sneered. His dark eyes glittered maliciously as he tutted, "Must be exhausting."
Regulus had sighed and set the deck down, "Snape bought a faulty set. He probably opted for the cheaper kind made from that chemical pulp. He doesn't understand that you've GOT to have papyrus dipped in poppy oil and peppered with raven's bone. Else they'll just tell you gibberish."
"Oh?" He sat up, trying to dispel his uneasiness.
"Hmm. I was going to read for you. Snape doesn't let me read for him anymore. Not my fault he kept asking the same question."
His fortune. Regulus was trying to read HIS fortune. And it started with Death. Comforting.
"Ah well, may as well have a go. Might be amusing. Next is Hanged Man, so you're at a crossroads. Well no shit, if you ARE dead, there's that whole Heaven and Hell gambit. Though, according to this, you'll get to choose. How considerate. Alright, next is The Moon. Which means you're confused. Well, yes. You're probably wondering why the powers that be are lazy and allowing you to choose your fate. Fool Reversed…you want a new beginning but don't know how to go about it. Yeah, that whole Death thing might've put a damper on your plans and you want to be back on schedule."
Salem stared as the younger Slytherin laid each card until the space in front of him took on a cross-like pattern.
"Justice in Reverse, soo you feel wronged. Understandable. Judgment. You don't want to rush in. Wheel of Fortune Reversed. Which essentially means life isn't fair, get over it. Sorry Salem, doesn't look like the Cosmos overly care about you. 7 of Swords in Reverse, if you don't toe the line, trouble will bite you in the arse. Though, how you can be worse off than dead is a mystery to me. Knight of Wands means you have a message to bear. I bet you it's two words for the Cosmos. Second word: you. And here we go, last card: Strength. So your fears, justified as they are in this situation, must be conquered. Best of luck, mate."
Regulus had glanced up with a cheeky grin that faltered, "Salem, you alright?"
No. No he wasn't alright; even days later, his "reading" left him queasy. Coincidence. Salem ran a hand through his hair, oblivious to the polish he was leaving in it.
"Snape doesn't let me read for him anymore."
No kidding. It was spooky.
Hard elbows to his best mates' stomachs set him free. Sirius barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Honestly, did they really think they could hold him back? Had they forgotten who his relatives were? If he could fight off Bella, what chance did they stand?
Sirius stalked over to the stage where he vaguely registered that Snape was still droning on. Something about wanting a volunteer?
Snape wanted a volunteer, did he? O he'd get one alright. He rushed by a suit of armor near the bottom of the stage's stairs.
He'd only managed a foot on the steps when a familiar grip landed on his shoulder. He'd learned it well from first year and every year subsequently.
McGonagall stared levelly at him. It wasn't quite annoyance or disdain. Hell, he'd say it might've been pity. She gave his shoulder a slight squeeze before releasing him and snapping her fingers.
Immediately, he found himself in a metal, vice-like grip. And damn it all if his arms were pinned just tight enough that he couldn't grab his wand.
As the suit of armor manhandled him out of the hall, he heard Snape hastily assuring (though his haughty tone was wavering a bit) that the younger Mr. Black would make a full recovery.
Professor McGonagall dryly commented that for Snape's own sake, she hoped so.
Ultimately, it took two well positioned "reductos" to the suit of armor before Sirius was sitting in a pile of grey ash. Unfortunately, a good deal of time had passed since he'd first managed to wiggle his arm free and fetch his wand.
More time had passed as he tested spells against the suit. Bombarda and the Blasting Curse were just too dangerous to use in such close proximity to his target. Meanwhile his metallic foe wasn't organic enough for a Severing Charm to be useful.
His current situation (while embarrassing in its own right) was made infinitely worse by the fact that he gained an audience. All his damned Gryffindor peers, who hadn't bothered to show up to the ceremony, were gallivanting about the halls and stopping to gawk.
They alternately cheered and booed while he released a slew of spells that dented the armor or rebounded from it. Hell, a few onlookers had even called out a suggestion or two.
There'd been applause once he'd freed himself and a demand for a "speech."
He growled what they could do with that speech…which scandalized a few Hufflepuff first years and caused one Ravenclaw Prefect to jot something down on her notepad with a smug look.
Whatever.
He heaved the door back open and reentered the assembly. The lights were dimmed again. The only light was shining on Snape. Regulus wasn't there. Good.
Good. It meant he was backstage. Which was… good. It meant their nasty row wouldn't be on stage in front of a quarter of the school. He'd just drag Regulus to a corner, use an Imperturbable Charm, and berate him until his ears bled.
Sirius paused at the top of the stairs. Snape was ranting again about mutability and Morpheus and whatever. Sirius had a choice: he could hex that greasy git or he could check on Regulus.
Had it been James…Prongs would've wanted immediate retribution…
Sirius slipped behind the curtain and shouldered past stage workers in charge of the event; he gave a particularly hard shove to a Hufflepuff Prefect who was trying to direct him back out to the benches.
He also trod on more than a few house elves that kept tugging at his trousers telling him, "Young sir is not allowed here, we is-"
He'd expected to find Regulus leaning against a wall and discreetly watching from the eaves. Or mouthing the words theatrically. Or rolling his eyes. Or acting snobbishly indifferent.
Regulus was on a stretcher near the back…grey, motionless, and too solemn to be sleeping.
So…their whole act only involved killing him, not reviving him. It made his insides buzz like wasps. Snape was out there being praised; Regulus was in here laying forgotten.
He twirled his wand a few times in search of inspiration. There had to be some spell or charm or something he could cast! If not to help Regulus than to spoil Snape's finale!
Those sandbags holding the curtains looked promising; a Severing Charm there could definitely liven up that dreary soliloquy and-
"Mr. Black."
He glanced up.
Madame Pomfrey gave him a grim nod. "I've already administered Wiggenweld."
There was something vaguely dismissive in her tone and it pissed him off.
"And?" he demanded.
Her eyebrow rose, but he stood his ground. "And?" he repeated.
"He was only…" she paused a moment, perhaps realizing that "dead" wasn't the right word to offer even in jest. She might've commented on the irony: Sirius was infamous for his lack of tact and perhaps she would have dared if her patient had been a marauder…
"Gone," she emphasized a bit too forcefully "…for a few minutes. His blood was still warm which will make the whole process go a lot quicker. You see homeosta-"
Blood. Everything always seemed to come back to blood. Why couldn't Sirius escape it? Vile substance. It stained things or chained people together. It always made a mess of everything.
"I'm taking him to the Hospital Wing now for observation," Madam Pomfrey stated as she flicked her wand and headed toward the Great Hall.
Sirius nodded and walked slowly alongside them. It felt like a procession.
It was creepy, seeing his brother so…still. Pomfrey had placed his hands over his stomach—likely for comfort but honestly… it made him look…
Great-Great Aunt Lysandra had looked like that. All pale and arranged and…still…in her lacquered box (the best that Galleons could buy—they'd even laid two on her eyes before the lid closed). It'd been bad enough her skin had been so white and thin that her face was skull-like—but the coins…like two gaping gold holes.
He'd been forced to lay flowers on her box after the ceremony. He remembered how large and imposing the coffin had seemed to his seven-year-old self. And the only relief was that it was closed and six feet down in a rectangular hole.
Regulus's fingers had been small and squirmy as Sirius pulled him along. At first, Sirius had thought him afraid but the reality was…his little brother was completely captivated by a butterfly. One of those common white ones had landed on his brother's rose—making him utterly oblivious to the creepiness of the whole ordeal.
Sirius had been furious… so furious he'd snatched the rose right out of Regulus's hand, smashed it together with his, and threw them down into the hole.
"It got away. Didn't it, Siri?"
Sirius had done his best to ignore both his brother's voice and the sound of dirt being magically poured. "It got away. 'Cause it can fly. And things that fly always get away. Don't they, Siri?"
Madame Pomfrey kept the door open for him with a flick of her wand.
He stared blankly at the white walls of the infirmary—the space felt small—it felt rather like he was suffering a bout of claustrophobia. He'd only ever experienced it once when he and James were exploring a narrow burrow in the Forbidden Forest—hiding out from the spiders there.
He forced himself to move closer to the bed Regulus now rested on—refused to be intimidated even in the face of…uselessness. He didn't know how to administer healing potions or speed up recoveries. He blasted and transfigured and charmed stuff. He barged in where others hesitated. He was an Auror in the making.
Something oppressive pervaded his senses. He couldn't even peg it as a side-effect of his animagus form. But it had to do with Regulus and him and whatever this was.
He'd never put much store in Divination before. Fate was too confining for someone as devil-may-care as himself. Yet…
Regulus didn't move…or twitch…or breathe…
And it didn't feel like he'd escape this…
Sirius swallowed nervously as he failed to detect any change. Wiggenweld was supposed to take immediate effect.
"H-hey..." He reached out a hand—clasped his brother's shoulder and shook it. Regulus felt oddly solid—less like his brother and more like a body.
His stomach churned a bit as nothing happened. No 'Sirius stop it! Or I'll tell Mum,' no 'Five more minutes,' no 'Tell Kreacher to do it.'
Not even a twitch. And Snape was still down there getting applause.
"A chair for you, Mr. Black," Madame Pomfrey announced brusquely as she set the furniture down with a wave of her wand. "If you do intend to stay, I think you're in for a wait. Recovery tends to vary patient to patient."
Maybe he imagined it, but it seemed like a hint of challenge shone in her eyes. Like she thought he wouldn't do it. He sat. Hell, he'd sit here if it took two days and then he'd throttle the little bugger.
Damn it. Damn him! Putting his older brother through all this. The hell was he thinking? Drought of Living Death! Regulus was supposed to be smart! Drought of Living DEATH!
How did it seem like a brilliant idea? Sure becoming an animagus was dangerous, but dabbling in things that might hurt you was vastly different than doing things that would hurt you.
"Why'd you do it?" he murmured.
Regulus was young, an heir to the Black Family legacy, a respected student, a Charms Master, a person of budding influence. And he risked it all for nothing. Just casually tossed it aside for what? A fleeting moment of attention…boredom…or maybe…
He really didn't care.
Like he didn't care about his health. Or scaling a tower. Or becoming destitute.
Maybe he really just didn't…care…
"Siri! Sirius! Pssst!"
Without even looking, Sirius lobbed a pillow. He was rewarded with a soft "oomph" of surprise from the doorway.
Barefeet padded across the wooden floor. The bed dipped and he instinctively threw his arms over his face as the same pillow was now mercilessly shoved against him. After a few moments of harmless tussling and giggling, Regulus settled down beside him. He was quiet for a few moments, then squirmed restlessly.
"Sirius?"
"What?"
"You'll tell me about the Slytherin Common Room, won't you? Barty says that he heard that there were secret passages there. Can you imagine the sort of tricks we could pull with—what is it?"
"Nothing," he lied. He wasn't really sure if he wanted to be in Slytherin. Not that he could share that with Regulus—it would scandalize the younger boy. "Nerves."
"Don't worry, Siri, you're not an Unsortable. You won't be eaten."
Sirius blinked. He probably shouldn't have made up that rubbish about the Sorting Hat devouring first years who didn't fit into any House.
Meanwhile, Regulus continued waffling on about how every Black was sorted into Slytherin so Sirius shouldn't worry. He was plenty ambitious and clever enough to be selected. Why, remember last Tuesday when they'd convinced Cissy they'd put House Elf nail clippings in the soup and she wouldn't take a bite? Sirius would do well in Slytherin and when Regulus came to school they'd try out for the House Quidditch Team.
"We'll be great," Regulus finished with relish. "We'll be great on the pitch and in class. We'll master all the subjects and know every impressive spell there is."
At this, he looked longingly over at Sirius's wand which was on his bedside table.
Sirius frowned, irritated; his brother had been trying to sneak it away since its purchase. And this was his last opportunity: Sirius would be boarding the Hogwarts Express in the morning.
"You were reading earlier, did you…did you learn any new spells?" Regulus asked.
"Color Change Charm," he admitted.
"Show me?" And though it was asked calmly, his brother's grey eyes were so wide with poorly concealed fervent hope that Sirius found his previous agitation with him fading.
Sirius snatched his wand up and eyed the room. "Fetch that hat."
Regulus eagerly obeyed and the hideous old-fashioned wizard's cap, their dotty old Aunt Lucretia had given him, was tossed his way.
"Colovaria!"
Regulus softly oohed as the green material turned red. He beamed at Sirius once it finished and took great interest in inspecting it.
"It was probably easy for you, wasn't it? That Ollivander man said your wand was excellent for incantations."
Feeling charitable and knowing it'd be a while until he could spend more time with his brother, Sirius beckoned him over and handed him the wand.
"Here." He guided him through the movement—when to swish and when to flick. "No, no, when you pronounce the 'ah' hold it a beat longer. Yes, good."
They both stared when the hat turned from red to blue.
"I did it!" He smothered a cheer—fearful of waking their parents. "Siri, I did it!"
For a moment, Sirius was genuinely surprised. Regulus had gotten it on a second try with someone else's wand.
Beginner's luck. It had to be.
Still, it wouldn't be right to spoil his triumph.
"Nicely done, Reggie." He ruffled his brother's hair.
Sirius startled awake as someone bustled around him—the edge of an apron brushed past his elbow. Madam Pomfrey was checking his brother's vitals.
He glanced around. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the room. Hours had passed. He stared intently at the body…which still didn't move.
"Poppy?" he questioned.
She didn't reply and walked a bit too stiffly over to her office where a clipboard rested on her desk. She jotted a few more notes down and then rolled the parchment up.
He broke into a cold sweat as she opened her horned owl's cage.
Sirius swallowed twice before stating, "Something is wrong."
"I want a second opinion, that's all," she replied lightly, but she didn't face him when she said it.
"Come on, Sirius, it's time for dinner." Remus tried not to flinch at the glare sent his way. "I'm sure he'll…recover…I guess they just…miscalculated a bit."
"…Where's James?"
"Uh…working on a Transfiguration Essay."
"Bullocks."
Remus fidgeted and then sighed, "You elbowed us."
"Waaah. Didn't know ickle Moony and Prongs were so feeble."
"It's the principle of the thing. We're your mates. James wants an apology. He says we were saving you from Azkaban and…I think he's sort of right. If you had thrashed Snape then and there-"
"Oh, I'm sorry. You know, there was just that whole Snape killed my brother bit that I was a little worked up about. Maybe you witnessed it? You know that moment where he stopped breathing. And you see-" He gestured to the bed. "-Hasn't started again. I'm a bit concerned. But if that's too difficult for James to understand then maybe-"
"I'll bring you back something from the kitchen, shall I?"
Sirius glowered at the floor. "Yes. Thank you."
"Where's Snape?"
Lupin stilled, chewing slowly. "I've made it a point not to know."
"Does James know?"
"I don't know. Sirius, I didn't lug all this up here for you to poke at it."
Sirius stared down at his plate. At the moment he was currently tearing his biscuit apart with his fork.
"Must be the ambience."
"I agree, but you won't leave."
"What if Snape did it on purpose? What if…what if this was just some long-winding scheme against-"
The door opened and both boys stared as Alphard Black gave a wave.
He was still taller than Sirius by half a head and noticeably plump (especially by their family's standard of fitness). His black hair was graying which stood out against the crisp black of his suit. He also had a tendency to look bored which tended to irritate whatever company he was keeping. Even now, he looked a bit apathetic—his eyes swept over the prone figure of his younger nephew without obvious alarm.
Alphard Black drew up a chair beside Sirius. He mentioned running across Crouch Jr. in the Entrance Hall and inquiring about his nephews which led him to the Hospital Wing. He did it in a 'discussing-the-weather' sort of tone that seemed highly out of place given the solemn air of the room.
"Where's Mum?"
Of all the questions Alphard planned for on the way over here, that wasn't one of them.
"Well?"
He sat beside Sirius and pulled off his glasses, while fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket.
Alphard gestured at his unconscious nephew. "Bludger?"
"Drought of Living Death actually."
"Oh," he murmured as he continued cleaning the lenses. "Yes, quite dreadful I imagine." He abruptly stiffened as it sunk in. "WHAT?"
"Drought of-"
"Sirius!"
Sirius shook his head. "I-I don't know what they were think-"
"Where the hell were you in this kerfuffle?" Alphard demanded.
"What?" How was this Sirius's fault?
"You are his older brother, Sirius; you're supposed to be watching out for him."
"Hey-"
"What? You think Cygnus never did stupid things? Well, let me assure you-"
"What are you even doing here then, if it wasn't about this?"
"Well…I got your owl and I've been trying to investigate the matter. Only…Walburga isn't returning my letters. Grimmauld Place is in lockdown. I can't get past the new wards without Regulus's permission."
Sirius glanced at his brother. "Well, you'll be in for a quite a wait. Hopefully, you won't need a Ouija board."
Alphard chewed on his lip a moment. Sirius clearly didn't appreciate the severity of the aforementioned situation. He fiddled with his glasses again, debating with himself on how much to tell.
"Sirius… family members should always be welcome in one another's homes-"
"-Barring us bloodtraitors-"
"-Fact that Regulus isn't discriminating family from foe is…troubling. And Kreacher acted odd when I commanded him."
"How is that news?" God, Sirius hated that vile little piece of snitching scum.
"Sirius, I was one of Kreacher's masters growing up. He's supposed to be obedient to the House of Black."
"Aaaand?"
"And I really had to emphasize the importance of my lineage." He sighed. "He's loyal to Regulus and Regulus wants him quiet. He wouldn't let me in, Sirius. He wouldn't let me see my sister. And my sister either wouldn't or couldn't see me. Something isn't right."
"She hasn't been seeing Regulus to or from school," Sirius murmured.
"Who's been accompanying him? Cissy or Bella?"
"Neither. He's been walking or taking the Knight Bus."
"Walking through London with a trunk and owl?"
"Or the Knig-"
"No, he's got a lifetime ban from-"
"WHAT? HOW?!"
"Another time, Sirius." Alphard waved a dismissive hand. "Now, do you think you can tell me more about the letters you read?"
"I can do better." He offered a wolfish smile. "Fetch is my forte, only..." He glanced down at Regulus.
"I highly doubt he's going anywhere," Alphard remarked flippantly.
Sirius frowned; perhaps Regulus was right when he'd complained about being Uncle Alphard's least favorite relative.
"James, come on. Just an hour and I'll have it back to you."
James sighed. "No."
"I need those letters and those letters are in his trunk which is in the dungeon and in order to infiltrate the dungeon...I need your cloak."
"Sirius, EVERYTHING is about Regulus lately," he muttered.
"Well sorry, James, he's sort of in mortal peril."
Hazel eyes appraised him skeptically.
"He's my brother."
"You said we were brothers," he mumbled quietly.
"We ARE…It's just…" Blood. It kept pooling between Sirius and everyone else.
"Look. He's in trouble. Lots of it. And this is a problem I can solve, right here. Right now. I need to do this. He needs me to do this."
Sirius gritted his teeth, willing James to just understand. Regulus wouldn't ask for help so Sirius just had to GIVE it.
"I don't understand why it's resting on you to-"
"James," Remus interrupted. "The sooner we tidy life up for Regulus. The sooner Sirius will stop being mental."
Sirius shrugged and then nodded.
James sighed and kicked his trunk open.
He wadded the cloak up and threw it to Remus. "I'm done. You go with him. It's your turn to save Snape from Sirius's idiocy."
Both boys watched in stunned silence as he stalked out of their dormitory.
Remus stared at the translucent fabric in his hands. James did bring up a valid point.
Severus WOULD likely be down there and Sirius could NOT be trusted. The fact he didn't even argue about it, supported the claim.
"Oh yes," Remus muttered. "I have good feelings about this: werewolf in the dungeons, murderous Potions Master, vengeful brother, and a lifetime of grudges between us all. What could go wrong?"
R & R pleeease :D