Crimson Rivers

Chapter One: Misfortune

The 84th annual reaping is supposed to be Regulus' last.

He's twenty-five, and he'll be twenty-six before the next, which means he'll age out. His birthday takes place two days before the reaping each year, so he has a rather fortunate stroke of luck in that regard.

James Potter doesn't, as it turns out. He's only two months away from twenty-six, and if only he was born just a few months earlier, he could have escaped his fate.

His name is the first that's called, and Regulus can't stop himself from looking through the crowd to watch James slowly push out into the open. His parents are quietly weeping. A lump forms in Regulus' throat as he drags his gaze from James to the stage, where Sirius is already standing, his jaw clenched as he nods at James when he climbs the steps up.

There is no doubt in Regulus' mind that Sirius is going to do everything in his power to make sure James survives the arena. He'll beg, borrow, and steal; he'll teach James everything he needs to know; he'll be the best mentor their distract has ever seen, and he'll get his best friend home. Whoever the other tribute turns out to be, Regulus preemptively feels sorry for them, because there is no life Sirius will put above James'.

"Regulus Black!"

That's the second time Regulus has heard his name called at a reaping—and here he was, daring to think he was lucky.

The first time he heard it, he was fifteen, only just, and he'd felt his whole body go cold as soon as he did. He hadn't even moved at first, too terrified to, unable to fathom how it had happened to him. It had to happen to someone, but no one ever thinks it's going to be them, until it is.

Regulus had gotten two steps out of the line when Sirius burst out and volunteered in his stead, only sixteen and ready to throw himself on the pyre so Regulus wouldn't have to.

Sirius had gone to the arena, and Regulus didn't think he was going to come home. He watched, day after day, as his brother fought for his life. He watched, day after day, as Sirius ran, starved, and murdered just to make it back. He watched, on that last day, as Sirius broke down when he was announced the Victor, laughing like a madman on the screens.

He was never the same after that.

Ten years later, and it's happening again. There is no one to volunteer in his stead this time, because Sirius is a Victor, and he can't. No one else would, and maybe even if he could, all these years later, neither would Sirius.

Regulus—just like last time—finds himself frozen, a horrible dread crawling through his veins like ice. The only thought he has is why, why me, why this? Whispers break out through the entire courtyard, and Regulus knows the reason behind it, what they're all saying. It's no secret that James is Sirius' best friend, and no one could ever forget that Regulus is his little brother. Oh, they're going to love this in the Hallow.

Next to him, Barty nudges his shoulder, looking at him with his lips pressed into a thin line, and so Regulus moves. He forces himself to, putting one foot in front of the other, feeling untethered from his body as he makes his way to the stage. As he climbs the steps, his gaze lifts to meet Sirius', and Sirius looks back for all of five seconds before his eyes sink shut, like if he's not looking, then it's not real.

Regulus wishes it was that simple.

It isn't.

He looks away from his brother, and he finds his gaze crawling to James next. For a long moment, they just stare at each other, and then they both look away all at once.

~•~

James is pretty sure he's about to throw up. The only reason he doesn't, he thinks, is because his parents are here. Despite all of this, Effie's hands cradling his face grounds him.