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1

In the early morning of December 27th 1978 as the sky grew lighter over the neighbourhood of Islington, a teenage boy from Number 12 Grimmauld Place lay wide awake in his bed. He was average height, had wavy black hair, and pale blue eyes that stared wide into space. Stretching his slender frame and sitting up fully, Regulus Black had to accept that it was indeed his seventeenth birthday.
Looking around his room he knew nothing had really changed, but Regulus had felt a shift returning home for the Christmas holidays this term. The books he’d taken from the study lay untouched, the wardrobe still had that small scratch his brother had made when they’d been young and running wild in their loft floor. The walls were papered the same, but Regulus felt as though the room belonged to a stranger. He stared down at the Dark Mark inked into his forearm and felt a twinge. He jerked back in pain.
Regulus had kept himself occupied since he’d gotten the mark. He filled his time studying for N.E.W.T.S, or practicing for Quidditch, or casting the disillusionment charm to wander the halls unseen. Anything to keep himself from thinking about his future, or remembering his past. It was for this reason he was able to put his birthday out of his mind for weeks.
Toujours Pur was not only a saying for the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, it was a part of how they were raised as much as magic. Since he was a child Regulus had understood the significance of the tradition. Birthdays were a part of this family tradition, normally seventeen meant he would claim his birthright. Regulus glanced again at his Dark Mark out of the corner of his eye. He shivered. It was always there.
The unity and power of the Black legacy as one of the original 28 Magical Families was paramount to all else in the eyes of his parents. A wizard was pure if they upheld the ideals of the legacy they bred and cultivated. Their magic was special, powerful. He’d believed in it all for a long time, more than his brother had. He could remember running around lavish and elegant parties with Sirius as a child. The grand displays of excess and wealth faded as the war continued on. On his fifteenth birthday he would no longer have his brother.
The year had been well, his cousin Bellatrix had been the talk of the family after graduating Hogwarts and her recent engagement to Rodolfus Lestrange, a Death Eater. Bellatrix had been eager to join the Death Eaters since their formation, her allegiance to the Dark Lord was stronger than any union. She would make sure to wear a dress that would expose her years healed Dark Mark. Her left hand gleaming with diamonds would be lifted and examined scrupulously by the family, obsessed with the status and expectations of the match. The perfect allegiance.
Regulus didn’t care that his night was shared, he preferred it. At a young age he’d learned how to hold the spotlight and still evade attention. Music had been his way to disappear at gatherings. He would spend most the night fixed in front of the piano mute while he eavesdropped on attendees. He would be seen as the son that played his part beautifully, remembered as someone important but still unknowable.
That night Regulus had been organizing a small pile of news clippings from The Daily Prophet. He was avoiding his mother who had taken Sirius into the study before the party. Every so often he could pick up pieces of her talking, her harsh hiss. A filthy half-breed… a disgrace like Alphard… blood-traitor– traitor— traitor!
For a long time after that Regulus could hear nothing. He tried not to think about how long the two had been alone. Hours. Moments that would add up to nothing but stretched to forever in his own mind. Then heard his father speaking low and angrily in the hall below. There was a small click, a door opened. Moments later Regulus heard light footsteps at the top of the stairs, another click and Sirius had returned to his room.
Regulus began sifting through the piano music his mother had given him for Christmas, in a poor attempt to decide what pieces to play for the night. The news clippings lay neatly on the bed still, flashes of light over moving figures in hoods and cloaks, headlines reading: “A Leader Steps Down; Minister for Magic Nobby Leach Contracts Mystery Illness” “Pure Bloods Protest: Squib Act Endangers Magical Bloodline.” Collecting these articles and clippings felt important, the world was going to change. His brother had warned him, his parents had foreseen Voldemort and the Death Eaters would raize a change in the world that nothing could stop.
A knock.
Regulus ignored it. No one knocked unless it was Kreacher, and he did not wish to be disturbed. This room was the only place Regulus never felt watched at Grimmauld Place. Sirius had been given too much trust, they had wanted to believe their shining star was more than a beautiful ball of fire. He tried to prove to them he wasn’t. All the rebellion made a statement about who Sirius chose to be, it was purposeful.
He hid behind these acts of rebellion, kept who he truly was from their parents. Their mother refused to stay in the dark with Regulus. Since the moment he was born her bony grip was clenched around his fragile heart.
Regulus had secrets too, only he thought becoming completely invisible would make them go away. All they wanted was a person to mold into their pure life. Regulus adored but watched with a discerning judgemental eye. He had no room to find his way because from the moment he could understand it all became a performance. He’d recognized it in his brother right away, he’d learned from everything he saw Sirius do. Right, wrong, he would watch.
Until Regulus had received his Hogwarts letter Sirius had tried to claim him from their parents. If his brother had shown him what disobedience meant, their cousins had shown him the consequences of disloyalty. He had watched them carefully. He shed his skin and became an imposter in every life. There were things his brother couldn’t do that Regulus had decided at a very young age he could, hiding was one of them. Sirius preferred the attention, no matter what it was.
He’d used Regulus’ eleventh birthday for one of these grand shows of allegiance. Looking back, it was probably a gift. Sirius replaced the Slytherin banners that had hung from Regulus’ room since childhood to Gryffindor ones.
Walburga Black was unforgiving, Regulus was a boy of only eleven placed under a full body bind swallowed by the large high back chair from his father’s study watching. “My trust is broken Regulus, I am devastated,” his mother’s eyes were filled with rageful tears as Sirius writhed on the floor struggling to breathe under the cruciatus curse. “To have to resort to a portrait to tell me the truth! No that is no good, you must learn now that some will never have the discipline and dedication to uphold our legacy. What traitors must atone for.”
The result, a warning sign handmade and hung above the threshold, for their own good: Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black.
His relationship with his brother had been difficult since then. At home there was no safe space for friendliness, each would spend their silent nights wandering the house alone and keeping in their rooms during the day.
The night of his fifteenth birthday there was a knock on the door.
“Ponce, let me in,” Sirius hissed. Regulus jumped from his bed, opening the heavy door to a sliver of his brother’s eyes.
“What?”
“Oi, just let me in.”
“I don’t care to at the moment I–”
With a shove, Sirius made his way into the room. His brother’s black hair was cut in a stylish shag nearing his jaw, far longer than it had ever previously been and looking like he’d shorn it himself. It had been the first time they’d seen each other at home since the holidays. Sirius had been keeping his distance since around his own birthday in early November. Something had happened and it changed his brother, but only to him. He would avoid his eyes in the hallways like he had a secret he knew Regulus would figure out.
Sirius’ eyes immediately went to the clippings laid out on the bed.
“I love what you’ve done with the place, so facist-chique.You really are a Black through and through, good for you Reg,” Sirius voice was sharp. Regulus rolled his eyes.
“I told you I was busy,” Regulus sweeped up the clippings, “and you have no right to judge me.” Sirius sat on the bed still looking around, doing the judging anyway.
“What is it, what do you have to say?” asked Regulus, haughty. His brother’s large eyes bored straight through him twisting something in his stomach.
“You know, one day I won’t be here.”
“What’re you suggesting?” Regulus’ voice was soft.
His brother’s expression remained cold, that didn’t matter much in the house of Black. Regulus searched instead in the grey blue eyes they shared, shallow with emotion only the two could understand. Sirius did not look away. It was rare they spoke during this time, even more rare for Regulus to accept the clawing guilt in his stomach for leaving his brother to fend for himself.
“An ending,” Sirius said, firmly. Regulus felt his throat swelling, closing off his voice, he coughed.
“It’s my birthday.”
“I thought I’d, see–” Sirius whispered, his voice hitching on Regulus’ stare. He couldn’t leave. It would endanger them both. He would stay to fill his part because he had to. Because they would all be condemned if he didn’t. It was why their cousin Andromeda never spoke to him, why Alphard had been blasted from the tapestry.
“This is death. You won’t be remembered fondly, you’ll have no safety.” Regulus hissed.
“To them, I’m sure,” Sirius affirmed, “I’d like to think you’d keep my memory alive,” his brother refused to hold Regulus’ stare. There was no changing his mind.
“What happened to waiting?” Regulus asked, annoyed. As much as he wished it were, he knew it wasn’t all about leaving to join Dumbledore’s youth cult early. Sirius’ mouth hardened in a line, his eyes fixed on his socks.
“I have people… that need me. I can’t be with them anymore, mother will keep forcing my hand and father will support it. We know how those fights always end.”
Sirius’ eyes focused, landing on Regulus who had seen his brother’s follies end in curses and invisible scars. The wooden hearted stone lady, they were mirror images of her. Two reflections. Her heirs, precious and special things, her legacy she bore and reared. Connected. They sat impassively on either side of the long bed.
“Don’t you wish you could stay?” said Regulus
“I don’t,” the other boy said simply. Regulus felt his lip curl. Sirius stood, arms held up wide and nonthreatening.
“Not that I don’t— look it’s not like that. I just know what’s going to happen.” He spoke to Regulus with firm affection. Then Regulus realized. Sirius would be expected to take on the Dark Mark soon, his seventeenth. He wouldn’t do it, he would rather die. It stung to realize Sirius hated what he was destined to become, denied something about him that was unchangeable for Regulus.
He felt that pain, knowing Sirius ultimately could never have belonged to their family, knowing that he, Regulus, would take the title of heir. No matter what he felt, he was born to replace his brother. He had the safety of his thoughts when there were portrait ears in every room. Sirius couldn’t be stifled and caged and trained. Sirius was bold, Regulus was not. For the first time he truly understood they were on a diverging path.
He had done all he could to preserve Sirius, kept him close in secret, took on the responsibility. Separating them. For Regulus, to act was to die. Sirius had grown tired of the static, of the malice. The night of their childhood was long and the day would come soon for his brother. Fear trickled down his spine, growing roots. He could only express his spite.
“Traitor.”
Sirius pursed his lips, something hurt and angry flickered behind his eyes, it was gone in another moment. He put his hands on his knees and stood up, sliding a hand through his hair as he coolly addressed Regulus.
“I am.” The door shut and Regulus could hear Sirius’ heavy footsteps make his way to his own room. The next day Sirius was gone.
Regulus observed himself presently in the mirror. His face was sharper now then that night as he looked into the mirror and saw the face of his brother, but younger. Their high cheekbones on Regulus looked exaggerated, his lips were not as full as Sirius’ but severe- they even shared the same grey blue eyes. His nose was his own though, a hybridization of their French and Egyptian heritage. Aqueline, noble, perfect. There was so little that was different about them, so little that was perfect about just him. Regulus touched his nose watching his reflection mirror him.
It was another birthday, one of the bleak ones he thought of all the time. That he seemed to keep experiencing. Regulus turned to leave the room. He retrieved his wand from his bedside table and cast a disillusionment charm silently for the first since he had come home. As he walked the corridors he traced the wall with his finger absentmindedly, catching slivers of familiar rooms through open doors, no birthday well wishes from family members’ portraits on the wall.
His own house was not nearly as open as Hogwarts despite it being his true home. For one, Regulus had stopped talking to his brother at home long before Sirius had even left. Breaks were harrowing times for both of them, Sirius got the worst of it, Regulus was a perfect angel who would never disappoint his mother or else.
At Hogwarts sneaking around the corridors had been how Regulus got through his first two years. He’d simply manage to slip away, disappear before someone noticed him too hard. He didn’t want people to know him, it was too overwhelming. He’d begun to make friends soon enough, it was bound to happen at school, but he still wandered the corridors alone. It was a habit by then, and he preferred it. As he kept exploring he’d found quite a few useful secrets hidden within the magical walls of the castle. There were trick steps, secret passages and corridors he’d come across by luck.
On the edge of reality, at the top of the staircase on the first floor Regulus turned back, restless with no desire to enter a world where he was now seventeen.
When his sixteenth birthday had approached he’d half expected his brother to come for him in the middle of the night. Stow him away and try to make him a part of his life. Regulus had spent the year after his brother’s face had been burned off the family tapestry desperately trying to hold himself above water. She had told him the eldest had been a disappointment but Regulus was his mother’s favorite star. His brother was a betrayer, he was not, he would not. He would make her grateful that Sirius had renounced them.
Ever loyal and noble. Ever the living embodiment of the Black legacy. Under the watchful eye of his parents, Regulus was introduced quickly into the parallel world of Death Eaters. They presented him to Lord Voldemort, and he pledged to join him one day. He waited, expecting Sirius would come for him, he wouldn’t really abandon him. He’d cared too much to let Regulus go.
The Dark Mark had been burned into his skin that very night. Regulus was sixteen and the sting of his brother’s absence bolstered his resolve. It was the moment Voldemort started to recognize the worth of the Black boy, the opportunity for a perfect spy. Regulus knew he could see how desperate the Blacks seemed to retain their own power. Offering their progeny, one of the youngest, to maintain their perfect image. To show they were not weak, they had produced someone strong and promising, they couldn’t be taken out.
Without the mark his family was at risk, their loyalty had become tied to safety. Regulus could no longer wait for his brother to prove he cared about him more than his room mates. Without the Death Eaters he served no purpose. He was the bearer of burden.
Regulus remembered his cousin Bellatrix’s giddy laugh, his mother’s stone expression, his father’s hand on his shoulder standing silent and approving. Regulus was mute as the most excruciating pain in his life shot through his arm like an electric current. Afterwards many complimented his composure, it had taken all his effort to put on a pleasant facade and ignore the knot growing in his stomach, the raw violent current ripping his arm apart.
Still buzzing with energy despite his weak arm, Regulus took to wandering the halls long after everyone had gone to sleep that night. Without even realizing he found himself staring at his brother’s closed door. His arm still throbbed. That night he hadn’t mustered the courage, simply looked at the door until he heard Kreacher muttering from some corner below.
The morning of his seventeenth birthday Regulus would finally decide to enter his brother’s room.
He remembered the weeks his parents spent after Sirius disappeared in silence. His mother’s quiet furious weeping for her failure, every cruciatus curse, stinging lash across the arms or legs, every lesson she imparted had not been enough to make that boy stay put. When she composed herself, his brother’s face was burned off the family tapestry. When the time came he remembered his father distinctly refusing to disinherit, he held a candle for the safe return of his prodigal son. He tried not to hold it against himself, that his father suspected he would be a failure.
He watched silently in the background as they struggled to find a counter spell to remove the posters and memorabilia Sirius had plastered all over the walls in his final performance of defiance. It took weeks for her to finally admit defeat. The room was sealed, a firm ban placed on the space formerly inhabited. Their father sat stonily growing weaker with illness, his mother became more bitter. Her second son’s face, a fresh reminder of her failure. She began making appearances less and less, refusing to even walk past the second story. Kreacher often cursed at the closed door as he wandered the halls, furious at this final injustice, a room that could never be made perfect again.
Entering it the morning of his seventeenth birthday Regulus realized all this time he could have simply turned the knob. There was a thin layer of dust coating the room which was bare aside from the few items Sirius had presumably deemed too unimportant to carry with him or otherwise couldn’t bring with him. Besides that it looked the same. In the center of the room was a large bed with a carved headboard, long blue black velvet curtains closed over large windows. Slivers of daylight filtered through the small openings reflecting off the silver candle chandelier. These shimmering dapples of light weren’t nearly enough, but Regulus felt wrong disturbing anything.
“Lumos,” he whispered. The tip of his wand emitted a warm soft light to fill the room. It was Cypress, with Dragon Heartstring, 13 inches and swishy. He could remember the day Ollivander had placed it in his hand, great potential, the wandmaker had said. Now, holding the wand in front of him he inspected the posters of muggle motorcycles and girls in bikinis.
Regulus found this amusing despite himself, Sirius always knew exactly how to provoke someone, their mother especially. Regulus had never seen these muggle women on the walls before, he assumed his brother meant them as a final farewell. Not much had been left, Sirius took everything besides what he knew would infuriate their parents when he left for The Potters.
James Potter and his wonderful family took him in and he had all but vanished. Separated by school houses, Sirius had managed to spend his last year skirting around all of the ways they had managed to remain brothers before. No longer did they hold secret meetings in hidden corridors, late night arguments at the boathouse; finding him in the crowd at a Quidditch match had become a rare thing.
He couldn’t figure out what had done it. Did he grow tired of trying to pry Regulus off of the growing tapestry of their family tree? Had it been impulse, time for his brother to disregard them as if they had never been family in the first place? He desperately wanted to know.
He did know James loved his brother, he knew his brother was loved. He wondered what that felt like, and if Sirius could ever feel that way about him now. James was the better brother, the better man. There was something about that Potter. He could charm anyone, one day a mischief-maker, the next Head Boy. Regulus had felt a call to them on the train that first year, he fought it, stayed silent, pushed them all away. To not get a howler, to not be a disappointment. They welcomed him despite that.
After his sorting, Sirius had withdrawn for a long while. James had remained friendly. Besides Quidditch they never really interacted much, none of the boys attended Slughorn’s meetings and they were a year above. He felt a strange desire to know James Potter. James had taken his brother for his own and Regulus could barely begrudge him it. Sirius could have suffered alone but James had seen the goodness in him, when their family shunned Sirius, Potter was unswervingly loyal.
Older students watched him from the corridors. The eyes of his parents. He could feel it then in the compartment, that there would not be a need for him. Sirius had found a family, Regulus didn’t fit. He didn’t have the rowdiness or the courage they all did in that compartment. He could sense how threatening his presence was to them, for him.
Remus Lupin hadn’t shown him the kindness James had willingly given away, he was quieter. Regulus could tell there was something scaring him, he felt they were very alike in that way. They had both always noticed the eyes of others. They could sense the danger all around them, while Sirius tucked it away, Regulus and Remus held it as a reminder.
Without knowing each other, without knowing how things would turn out they were both acutely aware of the danger Regulus presented to the group. It wouldn’t be harmless, it would affect them all. They had all been intelligent, but Remus was clever in a different way. Lupin was never in trouble, but Regulus knew he had a talent for mischief just like the rest of them. He’d been able to hide it the way Regulus had, in plain sight.
They were all there, all over his brother’s room. The decorative flare of boys who put their minds together to make this room the misery it was to their mother. His brother’s bed was shabbily thrown together, as if Sirius had thought about making it and then decided it would be too much work. Peeking through a layer of dust and a couple old shirts were a small stack of records, with a wave of his wand Regulus cleared away the dust.
He recalled when cousin Andromeda, whose face he couldn’t even remember, would sequester them to her room to listen to muggle music. She’d lay out all the albums her friends at Hogwarts had collected for her, it felt as if she’d done it all just for their sakes. Or rather Sirius who would send constant letters during the school year begging her to come to Grimmauld Place for breaks.
Andromeda had disappeared with a muggle-born wizard to the surprise of the entire family. She had been the first of their generation to be blasted from the family tree. Before it all she would bring small records her boyfriend had given to her at school and play them songs in Sirius’ room. He remembered braiding her long brown hair as she sang along to the Beatles.
Her betrayal was shocking, she’d stayed long after leaving Hogwarts. Bellatrix had signed her allegiance to the Dark Lord and joined the Death Eaters before she’d left school, Andromeda had been safe. No one had known about the muggle-born boyfriend, or the years-long engagement. It was the middle of second year when the letters came, they all found out together in the Great Hall. Sirius sat where he was with the Gryffindors, always making sure to face Slytherin. Regulus stared back from his place beside Narcissa. No one else got letters. She was pregnant and their family would wipe any trace of the cohabitation from the face of the planet, mercilessly.
Regulus picked up an album. Sirius had gone to a lot of trouble to get them here, why hadn’t he taken them? How his brother acquired all this muggle paraphernalia underneath not only their parents, but Kreatcher’s watchful eye was something of an impressive feat. They weren’t like his decorations, music was special. It was almost like a gift, or a reminder.
He thought about the quartet of them as he observed the room. Noticed only when they wanted to be, even at school. He couldn’t really understand how they’d managed it, all the trouble that they caused. Harmless stuff mostly, rebellious at the most. The only time they’d been caught for something big it had gone terribly wrong. It was a year before Sirius left. It hadn’t been a prank at all. It reminded Regulus of all the times Sirius would get into trouble to protect him. He thought it better to scare someone away than deflect, or convince, or hide.
He searched through the room. A small pile of library books lay on the floor beside the side table. He inspected his brother’s cabinet for a player and found only the kind of hollowness that comes with loss. It was as though his brother had barely existed here.
Regulus slid a curtain open so a patch of light appeared on the wood floor. He lay in the sun, wishing he could hear the music his brother had relinquished to Number 12. There was movement from down below. Not just Kreacher but his father’s heavy shuffle and the sharp click of his mother’s boots.
Regulus lay in the semi-dark a little while longer. Seventeen meant he was a man, he was supposed to decide who he was going to be now. His fate was determined though, he’d be the one to replace his brother. If Regulus failed it would disgrace them. Sirius had no issue leaving. Regulus felt a tight hand squeezing his heart, cutting off his breathing thinking about how easily he let his skin be branded until the day it fell off his bones.
It was easy at the time, in light of his terrible weakness, the heart he was not supposed to have. His brother, the friends he loved. He had to choose to be their champion. It didn’t matter what he felt, what he wanted for himself. He was a Black, there was nothing more to it.
He didn’t want to leave the safety of his brother’s room. He stood in the sun for a long while with closed eyes. In the end he decided he’d be back over the last few days of break at Grimmauld Place to slowly take his brother’s records and the stolen library books into his trunk. There was bound to be somewhere at Hogwarts he could listen to the music. To hear what his brother had passed into his care.
Breakfast had begun by the time Regulus entered the kitchen. His mother and father sat at the far end of the table with eggs, biscuits, tea and pumpkin juice. Orion Black had a handsome face, coffee colored eyes and greying hair. He took a sip from his hot mug and smiled weakly. His strong facial structure was the only thing that remained since he’d succumbed to the blood disorder that sucked away his strength and his tan skin, leaving him tinged green.
“Happy Birthday,”
“Thank you, father.” Regulus sat in the middle of the long slab of wood, Kreacher swiftly delivered his meal.
“Looks brilliant as usual Kreacher” Regulus turned and spoke to the elf, “Thank you.” Kreacher took a deep bow, his long pointy nose pressed against the ground. His mother sniffed disapprovingly, their high cheekbones and sharp noses had come from her and these features made her look even more stern and intimidating. She wore an elegant black robe, the fabric accented with lace detailing, her long dark hair secured in a tight bun.
“You look well this morning, mother.”
“Am I to be addressed now?” Her eyebrows rose sternly. It seemed to Regulus that his mother always found a way to be disappointed so even he, her “little star” was imperfect. He knew she hated it when he acknowledged Kreacher but it felt wrong not to. Kreacher had helped raise him, had always unconditionally cared for him. His mother looked at him expectantly, waiting for his response. His father took another sip of tea and shook his head slightly.
“Apologies mother, I wasn’t thinking.” Regulus shocked himself by thinking he couldn’t wait until the rest of his family arrived and his mother’s attention was placed elsewhere.
“I’d just rather hope that you would keep that sort of business to yourself when the guests arrive,” His mother was looking down the bridge of her nose into her tea as she spoke, “It displeases me that you would address the elf in such a familiar way. Before even your own mother.”
“Regulus is sensitive, leave him be darling,” his father interjected, “he forgets his manners but he is still a fine young man.” With pursed lips his mother held her tongue. Regulus thanked Merlin for birthdays.
“Now that you are of age Regulus, the world will be expecting great things from you,” his mother’s pinched composure disrupted only by her slightly curled upper lip. “I have something for you, it was your grandfather’s- your father’s father’s. It belongs with you now.”
Regulus nodded, heirlooms were to be expected.
“Okay.”
With a flick of his mother’s wand, a small box wrapped in brown paper whizzed through the air, halting in front of Regulus’ porridge. His parents' stony faces watched Regulus turn his attention to the box. Inside lay a silver watch with a black leather band, instead of hands small stars circled around on its face.
“For you to pass on,” his mother placed her hand over his own, her skin was ice cold to the touch. His Dark Mark prickled, he could feel it getting hotter and more uncomfortable. He tried to focus on the watch, not the painful reminder of his permanent allegiance and the desire to pull away.
“I- I don’t know what to say,” Regulus adjusted the watch on his right arm, displaying it proudly. “Thank you, so much.”
“That was given to your father’s grandfather during his time working for Gringotts, I hoped you would suit it well.”
Regulus tried hard to forget that the watch was intended for his brother. He spun his spoon in his hand. They continued to eat in relative silence. Normally he woke so early Regulus didn’t even see his parents at the table. The decorum for leaving said table felt different when with one’s parents, he felt obligated to stay even though he hadn’t been hungry all morning.
Finally his father had finished with his food, stood up from the table and made his way over to the doorway. In the same second Kreacher was on the move, removing the plate from the table and disappearing once more. Orion Black towered over Regulus, neither sure about what to do next. His father decided to clasp his back in a familiar way. Regulus tried for a small smile and his father continued on before stopping in the doorway. He looked sallow in the poor lighting.
“There is one more gift– in the study.”
“Oh?”
“Whenever you want it,” his father straightened a little and left.
The upstairs study glowed unfamiliar in the daylight, he knew by nightfall the light would be sucked from the room. Sturdy shelves laden with books refused to sag, small dark artifacts were scattered around as well. One item from the room was worth more than half of the dark magic collected in Borgin and Burke's shop.
There was no room more enticing for a young wizard. The price to pay for entering the study had been severe as children, he’d been caught after dark once and sent to the tapestry room with a boggart. Rarely did their father use spells as punishment, he didn’t enjoy the punishment in the way their mother did.
Underneath a window lay Regulus’ gift. It was a large parcel, long but skinny. He dug his finger under a piece of spellotape to open the package, a shiver went up the back of his spine and he whipped around. No one was there, but Regulus felt eyes on him from everywhere, he decided he would take it up to his room.
Finally on his landing after passing Sirius’ room and shutting his own door tightly, Regulus got to work. It was maddeningly exciting to rip off the packaging and reveal a brand new Flyte and Barker Wind Weaver broomstick. Regulus admired the broom’s angular handle, its finely trimmed tail. He had truly appreciated his mother’s gift, but this was perfect.
Now that James Potter had graduated, Regulus was the most skilled player at school. James had been impressive and irritating, always talking while simultaneously managing to confuse his opposition and expertly leading the Gryffindors to victory. It was always exhilarating to share the air. The new broom fit perfectly into Regulus’ hands, he was itching to fly. Really they couldn’t stop him, it wouldn’t do any harm. He was an adult now, he could do what he wanted.
Regulus strode over to his window facing away from the main street below into a small yard their muggle neighbors used. He pushed the window open and let the cold air rush over him. There was a thin coat of snow on the ground below and inconsistent but light snowfall. Looking around he could see no one in the street and most of his neighbors' curtains were still drawn. Regulus took a deep breath before he mounted the broom, floated up and slipped out the large window. In an instant he shot toward the grey sky climbing high above the clouds.
Nothing was more exhilarating than flying through cold crisp air he thought, nothing made Regulus feel more alive. He did a few loops and feints testing the broom’s agility. For a while he took to watching the city moving below him, the world was beginning to wake and soon enough tiny dots began moving around below.
He was anxious to be done with this holiday and back on the train. Then again, he would be graduating at the end of the term. He knew his parents expected him to put quidditch behind him after Hogwarts. It made sense to him, there was no point in a sports career beyond school, there was a time to put away childhood ambitions. Still Regulus longed to stay free in the sky for the rest of his life.
Regulus looked at his slender hands, extending his nimble diligent fingers. They’d been perfect for retrieving snitches for six years. Now he had to face that his hands were promised to something that demanded they get dirty. He didn’t know how far from the bottom he was before he sank himself, like he had tied weights and jumped in.
The summer after he received the Dark Mark he went on raids and blackmail missions, saw many casualties. After hiding away at Hogwarts he had to show his loyalty, his participation was expected to prove it. He could remember flashes of green light used against muggle-borns and blood-traitors useless stupify. The pain of others brought him no pleasure no matter who they were. The imperius curse was his small mercy, despite knowing from N.E.W.T. studies how distressing it was on the body to experience. Despite knowing first hand the invasive manipulation that twists your mind and makes you a marionette on strings.
He felt the Cruciatus Curse tangle his tongue, but his wand would not betray him to the people he surrounded himself with. It provided weak nonverbal pain, enough to turn peoples heads from suspicion. The killing curse, though some used it freely and gladly, Regulus could never make himself say it. The permanence of the spell frightened him, the short rush of adrenaline as the body hit the floor was undoable and Regulus felt that still. He was grateful when the Hogwarts Express picked him up at the beginning of the year, he would be able to escape. But Regulus had run out of time. The Death Eaters were expecting him.
His father supported his desire to go into banking. Despite his detestation of goblins, he believed currency was the key to power and longevity. Regulus couldn’t think of why he wouldn’t want to join the banks and he had no problem with Goblins, but the Death Eaters, and his mother made it clear that his focus would be the family. Everything was famed as his choice, or in his best interest but he felt trapped.
Regulus was feeling quite exhausted now, he checked his watch and realized almost two hours had passed. His skin was chapped, his fingers had started turning slightly blue, his body was shivering uncontrollably.
Once he had squeezed back through his window he heard a knock on the door. The air had been sucked out of the room. Had his mother seen him leave the house? Were there spells on the windows? Of course there were, Regulus had been so stupid, his mother didn’t care how old he was. He scrambled to the door prepared to stand down to his mothers wand, instead he was greeted by Kreacher’s watery pale eyes, a levitating plate trailing close behind.
“Merlin– Kreacher! I thought you were Mother!” Regulus opened the door fully, letting the elf enter.
“Master, I noticed you left the window open-” The elf was shaking like a leaf, Regulus quickly turned to the window but with a blink from Kreacher the window slammed shut.
“Kreacher, I just wanted to test the broom… I needed a break.” Kreacher had wordlessly started working on a fire, the flame’s intensity increased as the room began to fill with a soft warmth. The levitating sandwich platter bumped into Regulus’ leg, Kreacher reminding him to eat. The elf had been staring at him now, waiting patiently for the food to be noticed. Regulus took the platter to his bed and began munching on a gouda and turkey sandwich. Satisfied, Kreacher turned his attention to the rest of the room.
“No good, not proper cleaning in here Master. Mistress wouldn’t like, I will–”
“Kreacher, I’d rather you leave my room be,” Regulus interrupted. Kreacher’s great pale eyes fixed on his master’s face with shock, he looked as if he were malfunctioning.
“But–”
“I just like to keep it the same,” Regulus insisted again, the elf slunk away wringing his already raw hands. He knew Kreacher meant well, but this room was the only place he had total control over now and he wanted to come back the same way he’d left it. He thought about returning to his brother’s room for a while but decided against it, he’d only look suspicious to the watchful eyes of Grimmauld Place. With that thought in mind Regulus began packing his trunk for Hogwarts for the last time.
The trunk hadn’t contained news clippings since Regulus received the Dark Mark, it felt very childish and unimportant after that. He wished that he had thought to ask someone for a camera in all the years he went to Hogwarts. There would be no evidence of his time there aside from his Quidditch team photos. He never thought of Hogwarts as an important time to capture, but now he had collected no memories and there was no life ahead of him worth remembering.
Dinner was tense, there was no gushing or jovial celebration. Malfoy had nearly been
caught at work, a nice cushy job in the Ministry. McNair, a fellow Death Eater working for the Department of Mysteries, had to work hard to cover for Lucius’ thoughtless mistake. Voldemort was furious and Malfoy bore the consequences, his hands were bandaged, each plane was lacerated from deep wounds created by a spell of Voldemort’s own design.
His injuries would not heal for weeks. Regulus thought of his brother, at thirteen taken to the lounge by the ear after dropping dungbombs on their cousin Bellatrix, it wasn’t the first time they’d heard or even seen the Cruciatus Curse performed but it was Sirius’ first time experiencing its effect.
Bellatrix sat at the family table between his mother and her husband Rodolphus Lestrange as the triple chocolate cake was brought out. He wished their cousin, his school friend, Pandora Lestrange had been in attendance, but he had told her to stay home. There was little fanfare as Regulus blew out the candles, he was seventeen to the world.