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Chapter Text

SIRIUS BLACK BACK IN AZKABAN

Thomas Toadfoot

Sirius Black has been caught and returned to Azkaban–and it is not the relief that we all thought it would be. 

Some say that the punishment was too light–he was, after all, supposed to receive the Dementor’s Kiss.

However, the Kiss-on-sight was prevented, first by a mysterious Patronus, and then by the forceful charge of Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore  insists–despite all the evidence to the contrary–that Black is innocent. 

“It’s an absurd idea,” says Bartemius Crouch, Minister of Magic. “The evidence stacked against him has been insurmountable since the start.”

But Dumbledore insists that Black was given no trial, and pleaded for the Kiss to be withheld until a trial is secured. Black is thus being held in Azkaban, with additional security measures, until the trial happens. 

Nobody was happy with Black’s return to Azkaban, least of all Sirius himself. Reports say he went “mental” when they took him back, “screaming and thrashing” until they cast him unconscious. 

There are esteemed individuals on either side of the dispute over his innocence, but most notable is Harry Potter, who allegedly went into hysterics at the news that Black was once more in Azkaban. 

Has Black continued his reign of darkness over the Potters, bewitching Harry after killing his parents? Or was he failed at every turn and sent, innocent, to a lifetime in prison?

Sirius Black’s case will be revisited to discover the truth within the next few days, the Ministry of Magic assures. More to come.  

Harry sat at the breakfast table, his fists pale around the sheet of paper. Hermione was gripping his arm to support either him or her, while Ron was pressed against his side. The rest of the table watched silently, as if afraid to make Harry explode.

Explode. Yes, he felt a good deal like exploding something. 

“He went mental,” Harry muttered to himself, crumpling the paper in his hands. “Well of course he went mental! Anyone would, if they were sent back there!”

Sirius Black, back in Azkaban. Harry couldn’t bear the thought. 

“We have to be able to fix this,” Hermione said anxiously. “It–something must be done.”

Harry looked around the room, glaring at all the eyes fixed on him. The Daily Prophet was a common subscription in Hogwarts, ever since Sirius Black went on the loose, and everyone, it seemed, had read this article by now. They all watched him, waiting to see what he’d do.

“I wasn’t hysterical,” Harry muttered, rather hysterically. “And if I was, what of it!” His voice raised. “You’d all be hysterical too, you know!” he was itching for a fight, but the only person who might dare provoke him–Malfoy–was slurping his stew like nothing was happening. 

Snape walked into the room. There, perfect.

“You!” Harry screamed, launching towards Snape so fast that he almost tripped. “You filthy, conniving, slimy little–”

Angelina and Wood had him each by the arm and were holding him back, while the Weasleys, it seemed, were quietly urging him on.

“YOU PUT AN INNOCENT MAN BACK IN PRISON!” Harry screamed. “YOU KNEW HE WAS INNOCENT!”

Snape regarded him impassively. “Your incredible passion on this subject indicates that perhaps you are not as in-control as you think.”

“Oh, I’ll show you control,” Harry snarled, wrestling the others and marching forward. He pulled out his wand–

“Harry, stop it!” hissed Angelina, holding him back just inches from Snape. “You can’t hex the teachers!”

Harry paused suddenly. “You’re right.”

Angelina’s hand faltered in surprise, and with all his might, Harry punched Snape in his pathetic, hooked nose. 

Now he let Angelina drag him back. He hoped Snape’s nose was hooked and crooked now.

He left the room angrier than he entered it. Sirius Black, back in Azkaban. Harry knew better than anyone what the dementors were like–and Sirius had been there so long– and they had to know he was an animagus by now–surely, they’d found some way to block it–

Sirius Black, back in Azkaban, with nothing to keep the nightmare away. 

Harry thought he’d been angry before. It was nothing to this. 

“The paper said the Ministry of Magic would re-evaluate what happened,” Hermione said, in the privacy of Harry and Ron’s room. It was only the three of them in there, and Neville, who was rearranging his socks and trying not to listen. 

Ron snorted. “The Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s full of old gits, is what my dad says.”

Hermione shot him a dark look and pretended he hadn’t spoken. “They can put us under Veritaserum, and we’ll just tell them that he’s innocent under that.”

“Veritaserum doesn’t make you tell the actual truth, only what you think the truth is,” Ron rejoined. “Otherwise someone can just say, “how do we defeat you-know-who,” and any old bloke could answer it.”

“Then they can put Professor Lupin under it,” Hermione insisted. 

“He’s a werewolf, nobody will listen to him,” Ron said.

“Well then Dumbledore–”

“The Ministry hates Dumbledore, I don’t think he’ll be able to help much at all,” said Ron tiredly. 

“Well I don’t see you suggesting anything!” Hermione spat. “How do you think we should declare Sirius innocent?”

“I don’t think we should try at all,” Ron said, and Harry whipped his head around to glare before Ron finished, “I think we should break him out ourselves.”

“Oh!” said Hermione. “Really, Ron! And I suppose you’ve got some clever spell to get us in there?”

“That’s what your here for,” Ron said earnestly. 

Neville spoke up from across the room. “Harry can defeat dementors, can’t he? If he teaches the rest of us how to, then maybe… I don’t know…”

Hermione lifted her chin. “Us?”

“Well.” Neville flushed. “Gryffindor will help you, at least I will, I, I think, and I’m sure the Weasleys and…” 

Neville trailed off, looking a little sick at what he had just promised. 

“It’s the only way,” Ron insisted into the silence. “The Ministry of Magic will muck it up, especially with the Malfoys against us, especially with Werewolf McWerewolf as the only witness besides us, especially with Snape doing anything to prove him wrong, and especially when it’ll look horrid on them if it’s revealed that Sirius was innocent!”

“Well, we’ve got Dumbledore on our side,” Hermione said hotly.

“He’s just a man!” Ron said. “A powerful one, but there’s only so much he can do. He couldn’t even prevent Sirius from getting arrested in the first place.” 

“People go insane in there,” Neville peeped. “We can’t just leave him, can we?”

“We’re not leaving him! We’re going to win his trial,” Hermione said, determined. 

“No, we’re going to break him out,” Ron rejoined. 

Hermione and Ron began to have a silent glaring contest, but as soon as they met eyes, they realized that they’d forgotten all about the third member of their party. They turned to him quickly. He was staring into the fire, as if he hadn’t heard them at all. 

“What do you want, Harry?” Hermione said, eyes wide. 

“Yeah, what do you want?” Ron echoed earnestly. “We’ll back you up, whichever way you go. It’s probably better to work together.”

What did he want? For a startling moment, Harry thought, I should ask Sirius for advice. And then he caught himself, and for that moment, he just wanted to cry. 

What did he want? The decision made him feel like he was drowning.

He had been close, so close–and now– 

Now–

“I just want Sirius,” Harry muttered. 

Harry closed his eyes, unable to stop picturing it: Sirius realizing he couldn’t escape, Sirius fighting, Sirius losing, Sirius going right back to where he started. 

He didn't know the man well at all. But Sirius had been his dad’s best friend. Sirius had been innocent. Sirius had been so ready to help Harry, so quickly... he'd bought him a broomstick...

“It’ll only be a few days,” Hermione tried.

“I only spent a few minutes with a dementor and I couldn’t handle it,” Harry said sharply. “And now that people know he’s an animagus, they’re going to make provisions for it–-he’s not going to be able to escape again.” Tears bit at Harry’s eyes. “He’s never going to get out of there…”

“Let’s not give up just yet,” Hermione said softly. “How about this: the trial’s in a few days, the paper said. We’ve got a week till summer. Let’s prepare everything we can for the trial in the first half of the week, and then, if the trial doesn’t work, we’ll break him out in the second half.”

“Good idea,” Ron said, eager to make Harry feel better. “I bet others will help us too. Nobody in their right mind believes that Harry, er, isn’t in his right mind. And everyone loves Professor Lupin. They’ll side with us.”

“We will,” Neville agreed from across the room, looking very relieved at not having to break into Azkaban just yet. 

“Yes,” Hermione agreed with a satisfied nod. “We’ll just wait for the trial, and then figure it out.”

And so they waited, and researched, and waited, and researched, for two days. 

On the second day, Hermione was acting like a court lawyer, Ron was nose-deep in Black family history, and Harry had stopped eating. 

“The article said within the next few days,” Hermione told Ron over breakfast. “‘Few’ usually means “around three,” and we’ve still no date for the trial. Does few mean something different in the wizard world?”

“I don’t think so,” said Ron with a nervous glance at Harry. Harry had been swinging wildly between staying in bed all day, wandering irritably over the grounds, and drawing little pictures of Snape’s gravestone. Ron was starting to get concerned. 

“I’ll write Dad and ask him about the trial, see if he’s heard anything,” Ron said, hurrying off to his room. 

Day three brought a response from Mr. Weasley and another newspaper, with no update on Sirius Black except that the trial would be held “soon, within the next few days, certainly within the week.”

Hermione wondered aloud why it hadn’t happened yet.

“I’ll tell you why,” Ron said, angrily crumpling the letter he’d received from Dad. “It hasn’t happened because it never will.”

Hermione looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Dad’s told me more about the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” Ron said angrily. “And that stupid–-Bartemius-–Crouch.”

“What about him?” Hermione asked, the whole table hanging on his words. 

“He’s pushing for this to go under the radar,” Ron said, his voice rising. “Crouch–-and the rest of the Ministry–-wants everyone to forget the possibility that Sirius is innocent, because if it comes out that he’s innocent, the Ministry will be in serious trouble.”

Harry stood up and went to his room. 

He pushed the door open with a bang, and slammed it shut harder. It was happening again, that horrid, horrid helplessness.

Harry had tried to fight it, to fight back, to make life go the way he wanted it to go. It hadn’t worked with the Dursleys. It never made Snape less cruel. Things kept happening unfairly, and by now Harry was certain there was nothing he could do about it.

He recognized it–that ugly, ugly certitude that he was powerless to do anything, and that nothing was going to change. He was stupid for thinking it might in the first place. 

“Hey,” Ron said softly behind him. 

Harry glared at him with watery eyes. “Quit following me all the time.”

“I’m just worried about you,” Ron said. “He'll get out, Harry. I promise.”

“People kill themselves in there, Ron,” Harry said with shaky anger.

“But he’s Sirius Black,” replied Ron, “Marauder and lord and, and everything. He’ll survive it.” Ron squeezed Harry’s shoulder. “He just has to.”

Chapter Text

Muggles had a bit of an obsession with time. Maybe fixation was a better word. Yes, muggles had a fixation with time. Regulus figured it was because of how little control they had over their lives. A broken bone took weeks to fix. Visiting a relative could take hours or even days. You could spend an entire morning looking for something that you lost. Muggles would plan and pander time as if they could stop it if they just organized it hard enough. Still, with all of that, for most of that time, they wasted it. Killed it, even. 

Regulus had discovered, in the past twelve years, that he was not very different from the muggles that he lived among. 

Similar to them, he liked planning. His days were down to a rhythm. Work, exercise, read, cook. Occasionally, he would babysit his neighbor's daughter, or watch the television. He would travel, every few months. The neighbors next door would invite him for dinner, or he would take a meal over to the old lady down the street. He’d leave cat food in the backyard and sign his checks Vincent Rombs. He would wake up in the middle of the night in a craze, with some half-baked concept in his mind, and go down to the basement and play with his potions until he blew something up, left for work, or made the idea come to life.  

You know, the normal things.

It was a mundane life. Not a life that would satisfy his family. It was too menial for his dad, too muggle for his mum, and too boring for his–-for Sirius. 

Well. Regulus liked it. And the rest of them weren’t around to make him feel bad for it. 

If the papers were correct, Sirius was in Azkaban now. What he was in there for, Regulus did not know. If the papers were correct, his parents were dead by now. If the papers were correct, James Potter had died long ago, too. Likely, Sirius went off the rails and killed someone after James’ death, and that was what landed him in prison. It seemed like the sort of thing he’d do.

It was all behind him. It was a time long gone by. 

Still, that was the thing about time–no matter how far he pushed, it all could catch up to him in an instant. 

“Regulus.”

Regulus whirled around in his backyard, wand in his hand, heart in his throat. They found me, they finally found me–

“Severus?”  

“In the flesh,” Severus said, looking annoyed at his own answer. He cast his eyes around the yard, looking incredibly out-of-place in his dark robes among the squirrels and green leaves of Minnesota. “You had the entire world to settle down in–did you have to choose America?”

“Severus, what are you doing here?” Regulus said. “You said you wouldn't come.”

“You will want to know this.”

“Am I in danger?”

"You aren't--"

"Are you in danger?"

"I am not--"

"Does it involve magic?"

“No, I want your opinion on my interior decorating.” 

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you. Keep it to yourself.” Regulus tucked his wand back up, and straightened his collar. “I told you, I’m done with all of that.”

“You say that very certainly for someone who has a wand up his sleeve,” Severus said coolly. 

“It’s for safety’s sake!” Regulus snapped. 

“Safety.” Severus smiled thinly. “Sirius would be ashamed of you.”

“Of course he would be,” Regulus replied promptly. “He’s always shunned anything remotely smart.”

“On that, we can agree.” 

They regarded each other silently for a moment, each thinking back to their days as Hogwarts students, and of the natural animosity between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and how everything always revolved around Sirius Black. 

“I wish you’d come for any other reason,” Regulus told Severus. “When I said you could stay here if they didn’t trust you there, I meant it.”

“I am not going to leave behind the world I have wronged,” Severus bit back.

“You would have, if it was anybody but Lily Evans that died,” Regulus taunted. “If you want my help, you won’t insult me to my face.”

“If you want me to refrain from murdering you, you won’t bring Lily into this,” Severus said through gritted teeth. “I could leave,” he muttered, seemingly to himself. “I could leave, right now…” he sighed, and addressed Regulus again. “Will you let me present the case, at least?” 

Regulus glanced around the fenced-in yard, worrying about neighbors peeking over the top. He knew for a fact that Charles was working from home today. 

He cast a weak muffling spell and glared at Severus. “Do it quick.”

“Thank you.” Severus’ mouth flattened in a thin line. “I made… a bit of a mistake.”

“Get to the point.”

“Although I can’t be blamed for it… it’s exactly what he would do…”

“Get to the point.”

“It was only when Harry Potter…” Snape's eyes darkened, and he muttered something under his breath. "...blasted idiot... but I went through his mind, and..."

“The point, Severus!”

Severus sighed. “I want you to break out a prisoner of Azkaban.”

“No.”

“He’s not a death-eater.”

“Still no.”

“I will reward you. Dumbledore can cleanse your name. You can take over the House of Black–”

“No,” Regulus said sharply. “Find someone else. I’ve had enough with that sort of ambition. It’s pointless.”

“It’s serious.”

Regulus faltered. “How so?”

“Sirius as in it’s your brother ,” Severus snapped. 

Regulus hesitated, but only a moment, before he said, “Sirius chose his family. And I am not part of it.”

“Oh, Salazar’s slippers,” Severus muttered. “You told me your greatest secret when we barely knew each other, and you won’t do anything to rescue your own brother?”

"My being alive is not my greatest secret, and Sirius is not my brother."

“For the love of…” Severus whipped out his wand and said, “Legilimens.”

And Regulus was thrown down, down, down into days that he didn’t want to remember.

-

Eight years old. Sirius was leaning against a wall, gasping for breath. 

Regulus hovered at the doorway. “Are you okay?”

Sirius jerked up. “Wh–Regulus! What are you doing out of bed?”

“What was dad doing?” Regulus asked, heading over and sitting next to Sirius against the wall. 

“Oh–-just practicing a curse,” Sirius said breezily. “The--cruciatus curse. One of his favorites.”

Regulus gnawed on his fingers. “Does it hurt?”

Sirius laughed, and Regulus started.

“Does it hurt?” Sirius repeated, giggling like a maniac. 

“Well, does it?” Regulus asked, eyes wide.

“Oh–-well…” Sirius caught on his giggling and quelled it. “Well. Not really.” Sirius smiled tremblingly at Regulus, tucking him against his side. “Kinda like being tickled real hard. It’s forbidden because–because nobody likes being tickled.”

“Huh.”

“Still. Best to avoid it, okay?” Sirius tweaked his brother’s nose. “Don’t go breaking any rules. Leave that all to me.”

Regulus smiled, but didn’t giggle. “I heard screaming.”

“Just the portraits,” Sirius said, as calmly as one could while they were trembling and panting. 

“Oh,” Regulus said. “Yeah, they make a lot of noise.”

“They do,” Sirius agreed. The trembling stilled, and he tucked Regulus’ head into his shoulder. 

-

Eight years old. An ancestral vase lay at Regulus’ feet, broken. Broken. Regulus had broken it. He’d. He’d been playing with Dad’s quidditch broom inside, and he had broken the vase. The vase belonged to Mum’s grandma and the broom belonged to Dad, oh, she was going to be so angry– he had never, ever done anything this bad–

Wide-eyed, he looked at Sirius. 

Sirius was staring at the vase, looking as scared as Regulus felt, but as soon as their eyes met, he hissed, “what are you doing?”

“I–” Regulus stammered, his heart in his throat. Footsteps were coming down the stairs.

“You idiot!” Sirius snatched up the broom and stuffed Regulus in the cupboard. “Hide, hide!” 

“You–” Regulus started, but Sirius was whirling around, and Dad was in the room.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said right away, and Regulus watched with his heart in his throat. What was Sirius doing? Why wasn’t he hiding, too? “I meant–I was only having a bit of fun…”

Dad’s hand was around Sirius’ arm and he was marching him up the stairs before Regulus could think. Dad was quiet, but he did everything quietly. 

Go, Regulus tried to tell himself. Tell Dad it’s your fault, because Sirius clearly wouldn’t. 

Regulus tried to get his fingers to move, but he couldn’t. His heart was still hammering in his ears, although the danger had long passed. What was Dad going to do? Hit Sirius? Lock him in his room? 

Hopefully nothing too bad, but no matter what, Regulus could not get involved. He opened the door, finally, but he didn’t go to his dad’s office. He stood at the bottom of the stairs and hovered, thinking he could comfort Sirius if Dad made him cry, although Regulus had yet to see Sirius cry…

This would be so, so much easier if Sirius wasn’t causing messes all the time. But this time had been Regulus’ fault…

Sirius was tossed out and landed on his hands and knees. The door slammed behind him, and Regulus scrambled up the stairs. 

“What happened?” Regulus whispered, and Sirius started. “Are you okay?”

“Fine, just fine,” Sirius said breathlessly. He was clenching at his shirt, and Regulus helped him to his feet. “Just… just a curse, it’s just a curse…”

He laughed shakily, and Regulus led him down the hall, kicking open the door to Sirius' bedroom. “What did Dad do?”

“Just a curse…” Sirius was muttering. 

“Was it the…” Regulus thought of the last time he’d seen Sirius like this. “The cruciatus curse?”

Sirius didn’t answer, which Regulus figured meant yes.

He dumped Sirius on his bed and said accusingly, “you said it only tickled.”

“It does tickle,” Sirius insisted, easing himself onto his back. “Just in a… sort of painful way.”

Regulus chewed on his lip. “Like, how painful?” when Sirius didn’t answer, he clarified, “like, on a scale of one to ten.”

Sirius looked at him. Regulus hid his hands under his shirt, wondering what the answer was. If it hurt, if it really hurt… what would he do? He couldn’t let Sirius take it, but could he take it himself? His heart beat faster at the thought.

“Like, a four,” Sirius said dismissively.

“Oh.” Regulus’ hands slipped out, and he said hopefully, “that’s not too bad.”

“No.” Sirius smiled. “Just tiring. Still–let’s not get in trouble anymore, shall we? Leave all of that to me?”

Regulus nodded, and he meant it.

-

Nine years old. Sirius was sitting on his trunk, waiting for the train to Hogwarts.

“You don’t have to go,” Regulus whispered. 

“Hm?” said Sirius, who had been watching for the train with eager eyes. “Oh–Reginald, you’ll be fine.”

“Don’t call him that,” Mom said irritably. 

Sirius winked at Regulus. “I’ll write to you tons.”

Regulus managed a smile, but it slid off. Regulus was a good kid–a great kid, according to his parents and all their friends. He liked learning the rules and the proper things and all that. It was nice and satisfying and fun. 

But he also liked it when Sirius dragged him out into the rain to dig for worms, or when they went swimming in a dirty lake, or when they played in the fort hidden deep in the woods of their property. He liked anything, if it was with Sirius. 

Mom and Dad had never liked that–-and Sirius always seemed to get in trouble after–-but neither of them wanted it to stop. 

“There’s the train,” Sirius said, springing to his feet. 

He stepped toward it, then, as if he’d almost forgotten, whirled back around and hugged Regulus tightly. 

“Be good,” he whispered into Regulus’ ear. “Really good–-not like me.”

“Don’t hug him like that,” Mom said, tugging him up to his feet.

“Promise me, Regiment?” Sirius said, batting Mom away.

“Don’t call him that!” said Mom, but Regulus smiled and grinned. 

“Good.” Sirius pointed at him, eyebrow raised. “I’m holding you to that, make me proud, write to me if you get in trouble, okay?”

“Sirius Black, do not ignore me!” Mom said hotly.

Sirius’ grin faded as Mom dug something out of her pockets. 

“Here,” Mom said, shoving a quill at Sirius. 

Sirius paled a bit. “Mom–-”

“Use it to write your letters home,” Mom said sharply. “I’ll know if you don’t, and you know what– who –will suffer from that.”

Stone-faced, Sirius pocketed the quill.

“What–-?” Regulus started, but Sirius was already picking up his trunks and heading off. 

“I’ll write home plenty, Regular!” he called with a big wave, making every eye turn towards him. “Love you lots!”

“Love you too!” Regulus called excitedly.

Mom smoothed back his hair. “Don’t shout, sweetheart.”

Regulus nodded, leaning against her as the train puffed off. 

Ten. Sirius had written home, but his letters had been short and written in odd, red ink. Still, he told Regulus about his new friends, his new lessons, and how he missed their time together. And today he was coming home for Christmas. After months spent dragging through the boring preliminary school, Regulus was finally going to have Sirius back.

Regulus watched eagerly as he entered the driveway, and ran down the stairs to greet him. “Sirius!”

“Yet Humorous!” Sirius cried, easily accepting Regulus’ embrace. “How are you, Regulator?”

Regulus giggled, giddy at how everything was the same once more. “Well, I’m not Sirius.”

“Then I’m not humorous,” Sirius declared. His smile faded, and as he stood, Regulus turned round to see their father. “What ho, Pops.”

‘Pops’ seemed a fitting name, given the way his eyes popped out at the inappropriate address, and Regulus watched Sirius get hauled upstairs with a strange mix of worry and relief. It seemed like everything was back to normal, but normal at Grimmauld Place was very, very strange. 

Sirius was different, that Christmas. He was no longer cool to their family, he was downright heated. Mom said it was all due to James Potter. They got into a few fights. Regulus found himself inclined to agree with Mom–Sirius was different since he got back, moodier and yet also more cocksure. He was Gryffindor, and Regulus hated it. He was abrasive and stubborn and hotheaded and couldn’t he see that he was making everything with Mum and Dad worse? At first, Regulus thought that maybe everything had changed.

But then–-yes, then there was that very clear memory of Sirius taking him out on the frozen lake behind their house, and using a bit of illegal magic to charm their shoes into skates. They fell on their elbows and laughed until they cried. 

Dad was piping angry when they got back, of course, but Regulus was confident that Sirius would handle it. Sirius handled everything. 

Eleven. Regulus was finally at Hogwarts, where he would be with Sirius again and everything would be perfect–-yet somehow–-it wasn’t.

Regulus had heard all about James and Peter and Remus, but even on the train over, they didn’t seem to like him much. Oh, Peter made polite conversation and Remus smiled very nicely at him, Sirius introduced him and James gave him a high-five, but then they were whispering in the compartment across from him without telling him why. After about two minutes of this, Regulus decided he didn’t like it, and left to find the first years.

Eleven. Regulus was put under the sorting hat. 

“Hm… yes, a few options…” muttered the hat. “Can’t say you wouldn’t be a fit in Slytherin, but you’d do nicely in Ravenclaw…”

Slytherin, please, Regulus had thought back. It was what Mum and Dad and even Sirius told him to do, and Regulus knew he could do well–-excel, even–-in Slytherin. He was good at being cunning. That was how he’d gotten Mom and Dad to like him so much. He was good at being cunning, he'd never been punished by his parents. And he had plenty of his own little ambitions… making his parents proud, joining the quidditch team, the little house that Sirius used to tell him they’d buy together when they grew up…

“Very well,” said the hat. “You’ll be going into SLYTHERIN!”

Regulus grinned with relief and hopped off the chair, pleased that his family would be pleased. It was very rare that he didn’t meet their expectations–and Sirius had always been there to catch his mistakes if he didn’t. 

Regulus craned his neck to Gryffindor, looking for Sirius. He was startled to see that Sirius wasn't looking his way at all, but was instead staring down at the table as if he hated it. When Regulus finally caught Sirius' eye, Sirius didn't smile. He nodded a greeting, but he didn't wave or anything, and that was when Regulus realized that things at Hogwarts were not going to be the same as things at home. 

Eleven. Regulus was arguing with Sirius for the first time he could remember. 

“Why are you so mean to them?” Regulus said pleadingly. “They’re my friends.”

“They’re all jerks,” Sirius replied. 

“They’re my house!”

“Well, I can’t help that .”

Tears stung at Regulus’ eyes. “You told me to choose it!”

And for a moment, Sirius looked caught off guard. Then he cleared his throat and said, “it was for your own good.”

“What good? Sirius!”

“Sorry.” Sirius smiled, having the chagrin to look a bit chastised. “You’re right. Hey, I’ll lay off your house, alright?”

“Thank you.”

“Except for that bitch Snape.”

“Sirius!” Regulus was caught between gasping and laughing. “If mum heard you–”

“Oh, she’d have a special curse for me,” Sirius said, and then demonstrated a few curses, although they were not the magical kind, only the kind that Regulus was not allowed to say. 

Eleven. They were heading back home for the summer. They sat together, both pretending the other didn’t exist. 

To Sirius’ credit, he had tried to be nicer. But then there had been a fowl in the quidditch cup, and a big fight between them all, and nobody was quite over it, and Sirius was good at a lot of things but he was not good at staying still. 

Mum was right, Regulus thought sourly. James has changed Sirius. Sirius never used to lash out like this at home, at least, not so easily. And Sirius never used to ignore Regulus like he did around his friends. He wasn’t at all mean like that back home. Regulus didn’t understand it, and he didn’t like it. 

Still, when their house was looming over them, Sirius and Regulus unanimously pressed into each other’s side. 

Regulus liked home, he did–all those people on his side, it made him feel very safe and secure from the world outside–but he still pressed against Sirius. Home was safe and secure, as long as–well, as long as you followed the rules. And Regulus was really good at following rules. 

But Sirius was not. He had been different at Hogwarts, he (sort of) listened to (some) teachers. Severus said (very smugly) that Sirius had cried while McGonagall was scolding him, once. He was sort of softer, at Hogwarts, he smiled more and laughed more–

And he was so, so much wilder. Hexes in the hallways, pranks in the dining hall, licking his friends(?) in class, flirting with the teachers–if Mum heard half of this stuff, she’d faint. Mum had told Regulus to write about what Sirius was doing, but Regulus didn’t want to get him in trouble…

Regulus wondered how much–if at all–Sirius felt pain. It had never seemed like he did before, nothing ever really got him down. 

Sirius patted Regulus’ shoulder. “Home, sweet home.”

Eleven. Something happened here. Regulus, the real Regulus, suddenly conscious of himself, faltered in surprise at the fact that he didn’t know what it was. What the–

Twelve. Last summer had been horrid and wonderful all at once. Sirius was crazier than ever, yelling and slamming things–or maybe Dad was yelling and slamming things. Maybe they both were. Sirius didn’t tend to shout around Regulus, and Regulus stayed far away from them whenever that was happening, and went to Mom instead, and listened to her talk about the House of Black and their ancestors that were always watching over them. 

In other ways, it had been wonderful, because they were together again, as if nothing had changed. Sirius and Regulus still ran around outside together, and Dad still dragged Sirius into his office after. Mom and Dad talked about politics at the dinner table, which Sirius loudly argued with–sometimes privately, sometimes in front of guests. It made Regulus squirm with embarrassment, and he was displeased to find that, for the first time, he really disagreed with Sirius. 

(He wasn’t sure if he disagreed with his parents, too–they were purebloods, they were superior, Regulus knew that, but he didn’t think it was nice to toy with muggles, just like it wasn’t nice to toy with house elves or pets. He never dared say it, though.)

Now they were heading back to Hogwarts. 

Sirius’ hair whipped around as he looked at Regulus. “Want to sit with us?”

“Okay,” Regulus said, wondering if this year might be different, but then the four of them were all chattering to each other and none of them seemed to notice Regulus at all and Regulus just hated when Sirius did this... 

“Sirius–” Regulus started.

“Hold on,” Sirius said absently, and then continued telling James, “I think I’ve figured out how to track without DNA, we can set it so that–”

“Shh.” Remus elbowed Sirius and said, “Regulus wants to say something.”

Sirius had the audacity to roll his eyes–to roll his eyes!– and turned to Regulus. “Yeah, Reggie?”

“Don’t call me that,” Regulus snapped. “I was just going to tell you that I’m going to find Barty and Evan.”

“Kay.” Sirius gave him a cursory nod and went back to his friends, this time whispering. 

Regulus stormed off to another department, where his friends were. He had never liked Sirius’ group, anyway. Marauders was a pathetic name, and they hung out with mudbloods, and they were always so mean to Slytherin, even to Regulus’ friends who’d never even talked to them…

Twelve. Regulus was going to his room in tears. 

Sirius caught up with him outside the Slytherin portrait and grabbed him by the arm. “Hey, I’m sorry, okay?”

“Don’t,” Regulus said, snatching his arm away. “Sirius, we didn’t even do anything…”

“Emeric made Peter’s food turn into bugs in his mouth, Regulus–”

“Don’t,” Regulus repeated, and climbed through the portrait into his dorm. So what, Emeric had transfigured food? James had been turning his robes into tutus, and even if he hadn’t, it wasn’t like the rest of the team had done anything… and still, Sirius and his stupid Marauders had made all of Slytherin’s brooms go haywire…

Regulus wiped his eyes. They always did this! They always messed with Slytherin… Sirius insisted it went both ways but Gryffindor always seemed to need to have the final laugh… 

It had been Regulus’ first Quidditch match. He’d been so excited. Did Sirius know and choose to do it anyway, or was he not paying enough attention to remember? Regulus would never ask. He was scared of the answer, a little scared of Sirius, and above all, scared of arguing.

Thirteen. They were heading back home for Christmas. 

“Mudblood,” Regulus spat at a harried girl who knocked over his books. He grabbed them all up and stepped into their compartment, only realizing after he’d shut the door that Sirius was looking at him in dismay. 

“What?” Regulus said irritably. “You call people mean names too.”

“Not that name,” Sirius said, and Regulus felt something–shame?–worm up his spine. Sirius was tapping his foot inconsolably. “Hey, Regetable, listen…”

Regulus perked up. Sirius hadn’t called him nicknames in a while.

“Uh, I was just, um, thinking…” Sirius twiddled his thumbs. “Well, James invited me to stay at his house this summer so I’m going to do that.”

“WHAT!?”

“Just for the summer!” Sirius said quickly. “I’ll still be home for this Christmas and everything!”

“I–you–” 

Regulus was speechless with fury. Summers were theirs– no friends to whisper without him, no enemies to hiss at, no mudbloods and no marauders. Summers were when they were brothers again, when they pretended that they weren’t house rivals and that Regulus’ friends didn’t hate Sirius and that Sirius didn’t hate Regulus’ friends. Summers were theirs, they always had been–

“You can’t do that!” Regulus said, mortified to find tears spilling over his eyes. 

“Oh, don’t cry,” Sirius said anxiously, kneeling in front of him. “Look, I just, I mean, you’re well behaved,” he started.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Regulus wailed.

“I just mean–you don’t need me watching out for you anymore, right?” Sirius said desperately. “Just keep being yourself and you’ll be fine.”

“I don’t care about being fine!” Regulus’ mouth trembled. “I want to be with you!”

“Well, I’m not going back there this summer!” Sirius snapped. “You can come with me to James,’ if you want–”

“No!” Regulus didn’t hate much, but he hated James Potter.

“Fine!” Sirius barked back. “But I’m going! I can’t–I just can’t stay there, listening to them and–I deserve–I deserve happiness, okay?”

“I make you happy,” Regulus said stubbornly. At Sirius' wince, he said, “ don't I?”

“Of course you do,” Sirius pleaded. “But everything else there just makes me so, so miserable.”

Regulus crossed his arms. 

“We’ll still have Christmas, right?”

Regulus sniffled. “It’s not going to be the same.”

“It’ll be different,” Sirius soothed, “but I promise, it’ll still be okay.”

Fourteen, and they were home for the summer–Sirius had decided to stay, this time. James Potter had been driving Regulus insane. Sirius had been driving everyone insane. There was no more digging for worms. There were barely even polite smiles. Sometimes Regulus checked on Sirius, if his parents hurt Sirius very badly, and he would tell Sirius, you’d be absolutely fine if you learned to control yourself, and Sirius would reply, I wouldn’t be fine, I’d be like you.  

The brother that Regulus used to know, who went digging for worms and dragged Regulus into all sorts of trouble, was gone. Regulus couldn't remember how they'd ever been able to stand each other. 

He found Sirius packing one night with shaky hands. 

“You’re splitting off already?” he said, not really surprised. “It’s only been a week.”

“Worst week of my life,” Sirius muttered. He was missing a few fingernails on his left hand. 

Regulus tried, one last time, though at this point he wasn’t really sure why. “You really would be fine if you stopped aggravating them and did what they say.”

“I don’t want– a family–like that,” Sirius said shakily. He tossed his Hogwarts books in. He glared at Regulus. “And screw you for siding with them.”

“Well, of course they’re being harsher than they should,” Regulus said, “but you’ve got all these crazy ideas, Sirius, about mudbloods and–”

“Save it!” Sirius banged his wardrobe open. “This isn’t normal, Regulus. Most families aren’t like this, you know?”

“Of course I know,” Regulus muttered. “But you can’t just leave because–”

“Watch me,” Sirius snarled, dumping his sweaters in his case.

Regulus froze. 

“Why–why are you putting your sweaters in there?” he asked, his voice coming out smaller than he meant. “It’s summer.”

Sirius gave him a defiant look. 

“No.”

Sirius shrank down his sweaters and placed his robes on top. “Yes.” 

“No,” Regulus repeated, eyes wide. “You’re not leaving forever.”

“I’ve waited around long enough.” Sirius tossed the last of his clothes in and slammed his case shut. 

“No!” Regulus said. “Sirius, you can’t!”

“I will!” Sirius screamed. “You’re all crazy here! You think you’re better than everyone when you’re the worst people I’ve met, I’ve had enough, I’ve seen enough, I want out, I want it to end, I don’t care anymore!”

“You do care!” Regulus cried, mortified to find that he was tearing up. “Sirius, we’re brothers!”

Sirius snatched up his wand and glared. “Brothers don’t tell each other that their parents are right to hit them.” His hand was shaking around his wand. “My brother is James Potter, and you can just fuck right off, okay!? I’m sick of defending you! I’m sick of you defending them! I’m so tired of–”

“Expelliarmus!”

Walburga stood in the doorway, a fire in her eyes, Sirius’ wand now in her hand. Regulus looked from her to Sirius, and his heart faltered in his chest.

Sirius’ eyes were wide and his face was pale. Sirius was afraid.

Sirius was afraid. 

“And where,” said Walburga, her voice low, “are you going, Sirius?”

She stepped forward, and Regulus felt sick with fear. But why? He wasn’t the one she was angry at. He never was.  

It was Sirius that she was angry at. And it was Sirius who was afraid. 

Walburga took another step in, and Sirius stepped back, towards the window. She went past Regulus, wand out and pointed at Sirius.

“Stupefy!”

A shot of red light–-a yelp of surprise–-

And Walburga was out cold on the ground.

Regulus stared at his own wand in shock. He had barely even registered pulling it out. A whimper slipped out of him, uninvited.

“You stupified her?” Sirius cried. “You idiot!”

“I–” Regulus stammered. What would she do, when she woke up?

Sirius had snatched up his trunk and knelt over Walburga, wrenching his wand out. She was going to be so mad–and Regulus had earned it, and what was he thinking, sticking up for Sirius like that?

Sirius stood, eyes shining. “Come with me.”

And Walburga would–

Would–

“What?” Regulus croaked.

“Come with me,” Sirius repeated. “Come to the Potters. You can pack your stuff and we’ll leave in five minutes–”

“No.” Regulus blinked, then almost laughed. “You’re crazy, Sirius, you’re absolutely crazy!”

“You’re crazy!” Sirius replied. “Mum’ll wake up any minute–”

“I’m not going,” Regulus said firmly. “I’ll–I’ll talk her down, or something, but I’m not going to live with James Potter.”  

Sirius looked at him pleadingly, but Regulus stayed firm.

“Fine,” Sirius snarled, and knelt over Walburga. For a terrifying moment, Regulus thought he was waking her up–

But all Sirius did was whisper, “obliviate,” and Walburga’s breaths evened out, and she sank deeper into her sleep.

“You can obliviate people?” Regulus said in shock.

Sirius gave him a pained look that Regulus didn’t quite understand. “Yes, I can.”

And then he left. Regulus heard him running down the hall, he heard Dad pounding after him, he heard Sirius yell, “I’m leaving! And I stupified your wife, so take that!”

He heard Dad roar, “crucio!”  

He heard Sirius scream. 

And then, less than five minutes later, he saw Sirius stumble out the door and down the street. 

“STOP IT!” Regulus shouted, staggering forward through his memories into the present day. 

He jerked back, reeling. He had pocketed so many of those memories away. He had been doing so good at putting it all behind him–

Merlin, the Place was–had it really been that bad? Fingernails taken off, whatever the Crucio curse was–probably other things that had been hidden from Regulus–it wasn’t right, it just wasn’t.

Regulus felt sick to his stomach. Had he actually defended what his parents were doing?

Blindly, he looked up to find Snape’s wand pointed directly at his chest. 

“Crucio,” Snape said calmly, blasting Regulus in the chest, and for quite a bit after that it was just blinding pain.

Chapter Text

Colors came back into focus first. Blue, green, yellow, brown… shifting blurs of birds passing overhead… And it took a moment to all come back. Minnesota, his backyard, Snape… what the absolute hell?

And now it was all swimming into focus, the bright sky and green trees and…

The neighbors. Regulus whimpered. 

“He's alive!” said the first of the neighbors, a tweenage little girl named Canary. Her hands flitted about uselessly. “I’ll give him Heimlich!”

“No, Canary,” said the second neighbor, in a deep and tired tone. He was a pudgy, middle-aged man named Charles, and he currently has his big, stupid, bearded face shoved up in Regulus’ business. “You okay?”

“Ah… seizure,” Regulus got out, mentally pleading for them to go away, go away… That had been–that had been–

Fire, licking through his veins, peeling back his skin, every inch of him twisted and mutilated–

That had been the cruciatus curse?

“Glory, are they always that bad?” Charlie asked. “You were screaming, mate.”

“What?” Regulus said blankly. “Oh, seizures, you mean?”

Regulus winced. He should’ve come up with a better excuse, and he would have, if not for–if not for–

“Medical condition,” Regulus said, improvising and hating it. “Exceptional case.”

“What's it called?” Canary asked eagerly. 

“I don’t like to talk about it,” Regulus bit out, sitting up with help from Charlie. 

“But I'm going to be a nurse–”

“I know, Canary,” said Regulus tiredly. 

“So I need to practice now–”

“We know, Canary,” Charlie said fondly. “Vincent, do we need to take you to the hospital?”

Regulus shook his head. “It’s fine, I’m fine, I just–” I need to think. “Just need to sit down–”

“Oh, we’ll get you inside,” Canary promised. Her clipped yellow hair whipped around as she commanded, “Dad, get him inside!”

“Yes, your highness,” muttered Charlie with a small smile. “Will you be okay if I take you in?”

“Yes,” Regulus said unthinkingly, and then, as Charlie lifted Regulus into his arms like a child, “no! Put me down, you big oaf!”

“Your british comes out when you’re not thinking about it,” Charlie informed him, as Canary opened the door and fretted for Regulus to be put on the couch. “Can, could you get a glass of water?”

“Can do!” Canary chirped. It was one of her favorite sayings. 

“What else do you need?” Charlie said, looking around blankly. “People like physical touch after seizures, right? Where’s your cat?”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “I have no idea; Leo has a mind of his own.” He tried again. “Listen, I’m just fine now, I swear, I just need peace and quiet…”

Charlie regarded him curiously. “I can send Canary home, if she’s too loud.”

“No, she’s fine,” Regulus said, automatically taking the glass Canary was now offering. “I just–need to…”

He trailed off, but that didn’t seem to matter. Charlie just nodded.

“Give us a call if you need anything,” he said, and ushered Canary out the back door. “Focus on getting better.”

“Bye, Mr. Rombs!” Canary called. “I'll make you a get well soon card!”

Charlie shut the door, and Regulus sagged in relief. Unbidden, his mind went back to the curse. Everything on fire–burning, burning… He had never known it was that painful. 

He had never–he had never known. 

Regulus thought back to all those years at home. He and Sirius had fought, at school, near daily. But no matter how big the fight was, no matter how much they hurt each other–Sirius always, always had his back at home. Anything Regulus did wrong–if he broke something, stained the carpet, lashed out, slept in–Sirius would find a way to say I did it or I provoked him or I hexed him to miss class.  

Regulus never knew why Sirius did it. His excuses weren’t even that good, but, well, people believe what they want to believe–and after a while, Regulus stopped screwing up, and Sirius continued to deliberately screw up everything as much as possible, and nobody would believe anything different anyway. 

Still. Sirius had chosen to throw himself in front of the train tracks. Regulus had never asked him to. Regulus had barely even known. 

Regulus was Slytherin. If Sirius wanted to sacrifice himself every Merlin’d minute, then Regulus would let him make that choice. 

But he had never realized how much it hurt. Sirius had always acted as if he barely felt any of it. 

Regulus considered going into the basement, but he felt so tired and tingly that he thought he might collapse on the stairs. Magic had already chased him down. He might as well…

“Slippery slope,” Regulus muttered, sliding his wand out. “Just this once. Accio Curses of the Cruelest Kind.”

A book came zipping up from the basement, and he flipped over to the unforgivables section. The Cruciatus curse… excruciating physical pain… used for torture…

Regulus closed the book quickly. How had he never known?

No, seriously, how?

Regulus thought back to his other encounters with the Cruciatus. It was not required curriculum for Hogwarts, although he’d vaguely heard of the unforgivables. He knew they were used for war, but Regulus had always been more behind-the-scenes, making potions and spying quietly… he must have just never paid attention…

No, that’s not it. Regulus didn’t think he would’ve seen it happen and not been curious to know more. He searched his memory for an explanation of the curse and came up blank. Yes, he must have been obliviated. By who? By Mum, so that he wouldn’t leave their home? No, erasing things wasn’t her style. By Dad? He wouldn’t care. 

By Sirius? Why would he obliviate Regulus? To hide the truth from him? Would Sirius do that?

Yes, Regulus thought, and was startled by the realization. Yes, if it hurt Regulus to know the truth, Sirius would make sure that Regulus did not know that truth. After all, wasn’t that what he did throughout all of their childhood?

Sirius had been taking it, all those years… even in the end, when he was leaving and he yelled to Dad, I stupifyed your wife, so take that!

Regulus had thought he was just goading Dad on. But it was so, so obvious now–he’d been protecting Regulus. Even after everything. 

Regulus closed his eyes and pictured it. Sirius, less than ten years old, with fire licking up his veins. Sirius, running away at sixteen, because who wouldn't? 

Really, who would stay at a place where they were at a risk of that?

Regulus wouldn't, he knew he wouldn't. 

But Sirius had – for years – for him. 

Conniving, self-sacrificing idiot…

Regulus launched to his feet. There was no time to waste. He had a rescue to plan.

Chapter Text

Two days of preparation. That was what Regulus allowed himself. It took far too long, every time he thought of Sirius alone in there, but it was necessary, it really was. To keep his cover, to make sure he could get in and out safely... Sirius would just have to be patient.  

Far too long, and far too short. Regulus could still only sometimes produce his patronus by the time he left . 

It would have to do. Far too long, and far too short. Back in the UK – back in the wizarding world – back to Sirius. Regulus didn't think he'd ever feel ready. 

But there he was. In Azkaban. Where he would be trapped in an instant if he was caught–and if Sirius got thrown in despite being innocent, then Regulus didn't stand a chance. They wouldn't even need to catch him, he'd be right there in their prison like a gift-wrapped present, and nobody would come to rescue him, he'd rot away in there... Focus, focus. 

Azkaban was not hard to break into, not in the end. Not for anyone who knew a bit of magic, both of the wizarding and muggle type. Regulus needed to get into the building, avoid dementors, and open Sirius' cell. 

Wizards tended to have a fairytale-ish view of things: nobody could break through the heavily-warded walls, nobody could get through the dementor-guarded halls, nobody could apparated into the thoroughly charmed rooms. 

Muggles, not having dementors or wards or anything like that, had a simpler point of view: just blow the wall up. Problem one solved. 

With some his regular methods of sneaking and a bit of his altered Felix Felicitas, it was easy enough to avoid the dementors. Problem two solved. 

And now he stood outside Sirius’ cell, picking the lock with shaky hands. Problem three. Solved. 

What would he find behind this door? Would Sirius be insane? That is, more insane than he used to be?

Regulus got the lock off, and turned it over in his hand. It was just any old lock. It was not the sort of thing that should be capable of stopping his brother. 

For all of his life, Sirius had been the strongest person he knew. Even as a kid, he’d be angry and ornery, and when their parents bit at him, he would snap back. They tried everything they could to break him and he came out stronger. The only reason Mum and Dad had let him leave was because they gave up on breaking him. He was that good at holding on. What would he be like, fresh from Azkaban? Scared? Crying? Did Sirius even cry at all? 

Stop stalling, he told himself sternly, and opened the door. 

It was a small room. There was a dim light, a blanket riddled with holes, and nothing else. 

Well. Nothing except Sirius.

Regulus stood at the door, and was infinitely aware of his warm coat and firm wand and clean hands, because Sirius so clearly lacked it all. 

One wrist was chained to a wall–a security that none of the other prisoners had–and the other hand was hanging limp against the floor. He looked more sickly than Regulus had ever seen. 

It was his face that scared Regulus the most. He had seen Sirius display every other emotion under the sun. Sirius was always the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. Sad and scared, and then angrier, angrier, angrier, and then happier, from the glimpses Regulus got, when he had left Regulus behind. Regulus had seen it all.

But–he had never seen Sirius so broken . His eyes were shut, his eyebrows creased with pain, and he was just so–so limp, and defeated, and tired, and all his life the only thing that Sirius was always, always able to do was keep fighting…

“Sirius,” Regulus whispered. His own voice sounded harsh in the dead-quiet room.

No response, and Regulus had the terrifying thought Sirius had given up and died already. 

“Sirius!” Regulus pleaded, crossing the room and crouching in front of him. His hands hesitated uselessly. Wake him? Unchain him? What first?

--Was that blood?

Regulus took up Sirius’ arm gently. Dementors didn’t torture, not physically–that wasn’t their style. But there was a wound on Sirius’ arm. Dry blood was caking it, and beneath that, there was something carved in.

Regulus dipped his sleeve in the cup of water and wiped carefully at Sirius’ arm, cleaning away the blood until he saw words: HARRY, carved in jagged, large red letters. 

Regulus craned his head, looking around the room. Yes, there in the far corner. A pocket knife, the muggle sort, open and bloody. How had that gotten into this cell?

“Sirius,” he stammered again, trying not to sound like he was begging. What had happened, in the last six days? How could he ever have left Sirius in here alone? For twelve years? Even now, the terror and deep sadness was pressing in, and all he could think of was those days of horror – repressed though it had been – in his own house. 

But all that did was lead him back to Sirius. 

“I’m going to get you out,” Regulus said, picking the lock with shaking hands. “And I’ll take you to America, and you’ll be okay, I promise.”

He got Sirius’ wrist free – it was raw and bleeding from trying to pull at the chain – and looked up at his face.

Sirius was staring back at him. 

“Sirius!” Regulus cried in relief, and there was a crazy moment where he thought, Sirius will know what to do now.  

His brother's eyes were dazed and exhausted. “...James…?”

“What? No, it's me,” Regulus said angrily. “It's Regulus. James is dead.”

“Regulus…” Sirius muttered, and horrible hope entered his eyes. “Am I…?”

“You’re not dead.”

“Oh…” Sirius shrank back into himself, looking terribly sad. “But…”

“I’m not dead either,” Regulus told him, a bit calmer. This was one of the conversations he had scripted out beforehand. “I'll pinch you if you’d like. I faked my death.”

Sirius closed his eyes in resignation. “You… little… shit.”

“Listen–just listen, okay? I'm getting you out of here.” Regulus hurriedly shrugged off his coat and put it around Sirius, who gripped weakly at it, pulling it closer. “Can you–what was that?”

“Don’t… take me… to them…” Sirius head lolled, and he jerked it up quickly and gripped Regulus’ hand, rasping, “please, Regulus. Please… if you ever cared…”

“To who?” Regulus said blankly. “What, the Death Eaters? Oh, Sirius–” Regulus dropped Sirius’ hand and took up his face. Sirius whined and tried to jerk away, but Regulus gripped at him. He needed to hear this, to really hear it. “I’m not on his side, I promise I’m not. I haven’t been on his side for twelve years.”

“Liar.” Sirius weakly batted at Regulus’ hand until it was out of his face. “You would’ve rescued me.”

He said it with so much confidence. Regulus’ heart sank into the floor.

“We–we don’t have time to argue,” Regulus stammered, “but I promise, the only side I’m on is yours and mine. I’m going to take you somewhere safe, I’m going to make you better, I’m just… you just need to hold on, Sirius, and you’ll keep going…”

“‘Course I’ll keep going,” Sirius muttered. “I never give up.”

The words were said without any pride or promise. In fact, he pronounced them like they were a curse. 

But now Sirius was looking down at his arm. Belatedly, Regulus realized he was looking at the word written there – HARRY.  

Fire blazed in Sirius’ eyes, and he gripped onto Regulus’ outstretched hand. “I never give up.”

Regulus sighed in relief – he would’ve carried Sirius if necessary, but he was not confident in his ability to do that while also being ready with his wand. “Good. I’ll just–-haul you along, then. Let’s go.”

He took a deep breath. Sirius is here. He’s here. I rescued him, and he’ll be home with me… at least for a little…

“Expecto Patronum,” Regulus whispered, and a wispy little cat emerged. In spite of everything, Regulus grinned. He could do it after all. 

“Whazzat,” Sirius slurred.

“My cat, Leo,” Regulus whispered back. “Now come on, let’s get out of here…”

They staggered through the halls, eventually finding their way towards the hole that Regulus had blown in the wall to get in.

“Sirius. Sirius,” he said, shaking his brother to focus him. “We need to jump, alright?”

Sirius hummed, shivering in the wind. 

“You can’t apparate in Azkaban,” Regulus said. “But we’ll be fine with a bit of a boost. Just–hold on to me.”

He knew as he said it that Sirius holding onto anything right now would be borderline impossible.

“Fine, then,” Regulus muttered, adjusting his grip. “I’ll be holding on to you.”

And with a deep breath, he flung them both off the ledge.

CRACK. 

They appeared about a hundred feet over the crashing waves of the North Atlantic Ocean. For a dizzying second, Regulus watched the water swell up to meet them and felt sick to his stomach. No, focus. He closed his eyes and apparated again.

CRACK. 

Again, the ocean swelled beneath them, this time a mere fifty feet below. Doggone it, Regulus should have practiced more! Come on, come on.

CRACK.

They were catapulting down into the water, but there was land in sight–-

CRACK.

They crashed into the woods of Florida, next to a rusty blue car. Just as he'd planned. Rain was drizzling down through the trees, and thunder rolled in the distance.

For a moment, Regulus just laid on his back and panted for breath. They had made it out. They had made it out.  

Regulus almost laughed. He had just broken into and out of the greatest prison in the wizarding world. 

He looked at Sirius, for a moment expecting him to have the same thrill of adrenaline. 

Of course not. Sirius was flat on his back, watching the rain zip down to the earth around him. As Regulus watched, he lifted a trembling hand and let the raindrops slide down it. 

Sirius glanced at Regulus, and the intense memory of their childhood came to mind, the two of them lying flat on their backs just like this, after kicking around in the mud looking for worms to put in Bellatrixe’s hair. 

Sirius’ eyes slid shut, and his hand dropped. 

Regulus hauled his brother into his steel-blue car and drove off to the Midwest. 

Sirius woke somewhere around Jacksonville. Regulus had expected a blind panic, a sudden jolt upright, a demand of is this real, and perhaps some heartfelt tears on both their sides. 

But when he looked over at Sirius and found him awake, Sirius was only sitting there dully and watching the trees whizz by. 

Regulus inhaled sharply, glanced at the road, back at Sirius, and decided he was too frazzled to continue driving. 

His nerves were going into overdrive. Sirius was the first taste of home, the first taste of the wizarding world, and besides all that, he was Sirius. They had talked, of course, in Azkaban, but that wasn’t exactly the proper place for a reunion…

Twelve years. So much had gone wrong, but Regulus was on his side again, and once he explained everything, surely Sirius would be on his side, too. 

Sirius would go back to the wizarding world, probably–but maybe he'd stay?–and even if he didn't stay, he would be here, at least for a little bit… and Regulus wasn't a death eater anymore, they were on the same side…

Regulus parked by the side of the road and reached into the backseat, scrambling for the cooler he’d tossed back there. He pulled out a sandwich, glanced at his brother, and pulled out the soup instead–Sirius looked so cold, and he had to be too tired to do much chewing, anyway–

Water! Regulus grabbed one of the water bottles from the cupholder, unscrewed the cap, and gave it to Sirius, then went diving back into the bag of food. After a little heating spell, the soup was pleasantly warm, and Sirius had drunk about half the bottle of water. 

“Here,” Regulus said, offering the bowl to Sirius, who took it halfheartedly. “It’s warm. I–I’m trying not to do too much magic, but I figured one heating spell wouldn’t be too bad, and you look cold–-are you cold? Hold on–-I have blankets–-”

He went diving back through the messy back seat of the truck, coming out with a handful of fluffy gray fabric.

“–-This’ll warm you up,” he said, spreading it on Sirius’ lap and coming dangerously close to tucking him in. “And the soup, too, though again, I don’t think it’s a good idea to use magic so you’ll have to get healthy with potions and the muggle way–-”

“Regulus,” Sirius muttered, almost too quiet to hear.

Regulus straightened instantly. “Yes?”

Sirius had his hand running over the fluffy gray blanket, picking at it and clenching it as if he’d never seen fabric before. “I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Regulus sat back, his heart thumping irregularly. 

It had been–what, thirteen years? And even then, when they’d last seen each other, they had not truly known each other. Sirius thought Regulus a traitor, and Regulus thought Sirius didn’t care. Really, it must have been almost twenty years since they had understood each other, if such a time even existed at all. 

Regulus was not sure how such a change had overcome him so quickly: just three days ago, he had been perfectly content with his quiet, ordinary ways. He had worked so hard to be content with his quiet, ordinary ways. 

And now, everything was rotating once again around his damn brother, and he wasn’t sure he could ever be content without Sirius in his life. Did Sirius feel the same? It didn’t seem so–he had barely reacted to the fact that Regulus was alive. Maybe he knew? Regulus thought desperately. But he could not imagine his Gryffindor brother finding out he was alive and not trying to hunt him down. 

Sirius had emptied the bowl of soup by now, and Regulus automatically held out a sandwich.

Sirius shook his head and rasped, “I’m okay.”

“Okay.” 

Feeling ridiculously childish, Regulus fiddled with his hands. He had scars, but they were very, very faint. Regulus had barely bled in the past decade, except for itching at scabs or biting his lip. Sirius’ newest scar–the word HARRY carved into his arm–looked less than a week old. 

Sirius was watching him. 

“What?” Regulus said. Perhaps now, Sirius would ask– how did you survive? Why did you break me out? Where are we going? Where have you been?

“You got glasses,” was all Sirius said. 

“Uh–yeah.” Regulus adjusted the round frames self-consciously. “Just… for disguise.”

Sirius curled further into his blankets. “You look a bit like James.”

His eyes slipped closed, and Regulus’ hands stilled with dismay. 

The distance between them had never felt wider. Sirius was supposed to be the overeager, overreaching one, and Regulus was the one to brood quietly. They were never meant to switch, and Sirius was never meant to be so awfully quiet, and how was James Potter still the center of Sirius’ life when James Potter had been dead for over a decade? 

Of course–any prisoner of Azkaban would be distant and quiet and in his head and, in a word, depressed. Regulus knew that. He had prepared himself for that. But it seemed he had never quite gotten that childish view of Sirius–of the arrogant brother who went vaulting into danger, never left anything alone, no stone unturned, no snake unpoked, no question unanswered. 

The difference was something Regulus had tried so hard to steel himself for. It still, somehow, caught him by surprise. 

They drove in silence for several hours. Sirius did not fall back asleep, but stayed motionless, watching the world whirl by. It was raining non-stop, and Sirius rolled down the window a crack, closing his eyes as it drizzled down onto his seat. 

Memories flashed through Regulus’ mind like a television show. He could not remember, at the moment, the cruel, sharp Sirius of Hogwarts. All that was going through his mind was the, well, the serious Sirius, who hated home but loved Regulus.  

Regulus had known that his parents could be cruel. He’d heard Sirius rage and he’d heard Mom rage back. He'd known Sirius would get hurt sometimes. 

But he has always imagined… what? That Sirius deserved it? That their parents knew best? That it wasn't that bad? That all houses were like this? 

Regulus couldn't remember. It all seemed like another life, the world of Grimmauld Place. 

It was not like Sirius had been a placid child. He had been shouting and fighting long before their parents turning to hexing and cursing. He had not made himself easy to love. 

Stop trying to justify this. Regulus needed to stop thinking. He turned on the radio. 

I Will Always Love You came on, and Sirius flinched in surprise. 

“Muggle invention,” Regulus explained. 

“I know what it is,” Sirius rasped. They drove on. 

Whitney Houston’s mellow voice rang out. “ ...Please don't cry, we both know I'm not what you need…”

Good grief, Regulus was not going to cry to a Whitney Houston song, of all things . He wouldn’t allow it. He gritted his teeth and steeled his grip on the wheel. 

“Who sings this?” 

Regulus glanced at Sirius, and saw the glint of one of the few things that Gryffindor and Slytherin tended to share: curiosity. 

His breath unspooled with relief. “Whitney Houston. She’s been a rising star for a while.”

“I see.” Sirius shifted under the blankets. “Why… why aren’t we just apparating?” 

“Don’t want to attract attention,” Regulus explained, flipping on his blinker and turning right onto a long stretch of abandoned road. “Once word gets out that you’re not in prison, I expect the Ministry of Magic will be looking for recent records of suspicious activity. It’s best to avoid any notice.”

“But we apparated away from–from Azkaban…” Sirius’ touched his forehead with a frown, as if he’d forgotten recent events. “Didn’t we?”

“Yes, we apparated to Florida,” Regulus replied patiently. “But the Ministry won’t pay any attention to road trips. All they’ll care about is magic, and as long as we don’t use any magic, we’ll avoid detection.”

Sirius stared at the dashboard. “Is this your car?”

“I rented it.”

“How did they not sense you?” 

“What, the Ministry?”

“The… dementors,” Sirius said quietly. “Your patronus was weak.”

“Oh, right. I never was able to make a very strong one.” For the life of him, Regulus could never think of a pure, happy memory–his happiest memories were with Sirius, and even those were tainted with his departure. 

“Me neither,” Sirius said quietly. 

“Right. Anyway.” Regulus tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “I drank quite a bit of Felix Felicitas. That kept them at bay.”

Sirius squinted at him suspiciously. “You weren’t happy enough to be on Felix.”

“I altered it.”

“Oh.” Sirius closed his eyes. “You should've been potions master. Instead of that bitch Snape.”

“He's the reason you're out of there, you know,” Regulus said, feeling like he owed Snape one. “He's the only one who knew that I was alive.”

“Why him and not me?” Sirius asked, opening his eyes again. Apparently the only thing that could keep him energized was his hatred of Snape.

“Because he was once a death eater as well,” Regulus replied smoothly. “I heard he was backing out too, so I offered him a place to stay if he needed one, in exchange for his promise that he'd let me know if the Ministry or Order discovered I was alive.” 

(This was where Sirius might ask him, so you’re not a death eater anymore? Where have you been all these years?)

“Wish he'd taken it,” Sirius muttered viciously, “except I wouldn't want even you to suffer like that.”

“Oh, sod off,” Regulus replied comfortably. They were back to their regular banter, like at Hogwarts. That was better than nothing, right? “Snape found me two days ago and, er, told me you needed to be rescued.”

“Oh, don't tell me I owe the old git,” Sirius muttered, draping an arm over his eyes. “Wait, no, I don't. I wouldn't even be back in there without him. If anything, he owes me.”

“What about the time you nearly killed him with that prank?” Regulus said lightly. 

“What about the time he decided to be a little butt trumpet?” Sirius shot back angrily. 

“Really, Sirius, you're acting like a teenager.” 

“I’m damn close to one!” Sirius shouted, lifting his arm from over his eyes. “I lost twelve years–- and it was Peter–-”

Sirius fell silent, and did not talk again for several hours. Regulus didn’t try saying anything either.

Chapter Text

Other than that burst of anger (Regulus wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not), Sirius barely raised his voice. His voice, in fact, sounded too hoarse and weak for him to do so. 

They drove through Florida and into Georgia by afternoon. Sirius seemed a bit alarmed by the rush of traffic on the highway (and it would be no good for him to be seen by other drivers) so Regulus stuck largely to the backroads. He had hoped for at least a bit of a sunset, but it had been raining the whole time. Sirius didn’t seem to mind, anyway. He watched the droplets roll down the window over and over and over again. He slept in brief fits and jerked awake.

That evening, when he began rustling and moaning without any sign of waking up, Regulus nudged him.

“What? What?” Sirius said in alarm, wrestling himself out from the increasing amount of blankets Regulus was piling on him. (No matter how much time passed, he didn’t seem to get any warmer.) 

“You were having a nightmare,” Regulus explained.

“So you woke me?” Sirius said. He shuffled back down under the blankets. “Don’t bother, next time. There are always nightmares.”

“But you’re out of Azkaban,” Regulus said with surprise. “Surely they’ll stop now.”

Sirius turned over, trying to make himself comfortable again. “They never stop,” he said shortly. They drove on. 

Regulus stopped for gas an hour later. Standing next to the pump and waiting for his car to fill, he just breathed for a moment. It was airy under the awning, and the rain pleasantly muted everything around him. He felt strangely alert, but at the same time, a little detached. 

What had he thought would happen? He would rescue Sirius and they would suddenly be absolute chums, with no issues and no annoyance? They hadn't even been like that in the first place. 

“What is that?” Sirius said, appearing at his side and startling a shit out of him. 

“Don’t do that!” Regulus hissed. “This is–uh, it kind of, gives the the car the energy to keep going.” He pulled out the pump and closed the hatch. “You should get back inside. You’re still a wanted man, you know.”

“I know,” Sirius replied dully. He watched the gas pump dully for a moment, then returned to his seat, curling up and shivering.

“Are you cold?” Regulus asked when he came back into the car.

Sirius shook his head – “It’s not that.” – and fell asleep.

Sometime around eleven at night, Sirius asked, “Are you going to sleep?”

“No, we’re going to keep driving until we hit Mississipi,” Regulus replied. “I want to put as much distance between us and the apparition as possible.”

“You've been driving so long," Sirius muttered. "You should stop for the night.”

“Not until we hit Mississipi,” Regulus insisted through gritted teeth. He had a plan and he was going to stick to it. “Besides, I have this.” He rattled his coffee cup. 

“Is that a potion?”

“Coffee.” Regulus took a long draft of it. “I’ll get you a cup at the next gas station.”

“I could get it,” Sirius offered.

“You could get caught,” Regulus snapped again. “Mercy! You’re as reckless as ever.”

“And you’re still a stupid idiot,” Sirius snapped back. 

Regulus’ grip hardened around the steering wheel. At least he’s talking now, at least he’s talking…

Finally, around two in the morning, Regulus pulled over, grabbed a blanket, and crashed. He’d had a long day, after all, and he slept deeply. If Sirius had nightmares, Regulus was too tired to hear. 

He woke around nine–glory, his circadian rhythm was going to be a right mess after this–and drove on, Sirius lightly snoozing beside him.

The rain had stopped, but it was still cloudy. The radio said the forecast would clear up by noon. He kept driving and bided his time… there was a nice lake, but the sky was a dull, unending grey… now the sun was shining, but the only thing in sight was dull, concrete buildings… finally.  

The sun burst through the clouds in soft rays, right as they drove past a long stretch of the Ozark mountains. Clouds clumped near the top, and it was green and vibrant and finally, finally, something worth seeing. Regulus nudged Sirius awake. 

“What, what is it?” Sirius said, starting badly.

Regulus didn’t bother to answer, but only rolled down both their windows, feeling the wind whip pleasantly through his hair.

“Oh,” Sirius said, so softly that Regulus almost didn’t hear it. Regulus loved the mountains. He had been to see them dozens of times in the past ten years. Sirius had not. 

“These are mountains,” Regulus said, and then wanted to die in a hole. Sirius knew what mountains were. Regulus felt himself began to flush, he hated flushing, he hated how people could tell what he was thinking… “Uh, I figured that you probably haven’t seen much–well, much anything–these past twelve years,” Regulus went on, his fingers tapping anxiously on the wheel. “So while we drive back, we’re just going to take a bit of a scenic route at points, see the uh, the wilderness areas, drive through a few beaches and some mountains…”

He glanced quickly over at Sirius. Tears were rolling down his brother’s face. 

Regulus trained his eyes directly on the road again. He was not equipped to deal with his big brother crying.  

“Sorry,” Sirius said thickly. 

“It’s okay,” Regulus said, too startled and frightened to say anything else. Sirius apologizing was just as rare as Sirius crying. 

“It just,” Sirius started, as if he had to justify himself. “I just.”

“It’s okay,” Regulus said again. 

Twelve years without the sun… the thought made Regulus feel sick. Once again, Sirius had taken the punishment that was in all honesty due to Regulus. 

“Cry away,” Regulus murmured, turning the radio a bit louder. Sirius rested his head on his hands and watched contentedly out the window. Africa played, soft and tinny, as they cruised along the road. 

When Regulus next stopped to fill gas, he looked inside the car–and his heart stopped. 

Sirius was gone. 

He peeked around the car just to make sure. “Sirius?”

No answer. No, no–

Regulus burst into the gas station store in a blind panic. “Sirius!”

“What?” Sirius said irritably. He was standing near the bathroom in the trench coat from the back seat, examining all the bright colors on the candy shelf. 

Regulus breathed a sigh of relief and grabbed his brother, dragging him back to the car. “Don’t do that!”

“I was only going to the loo,” Sirius said, wrenching his arm away. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“The cashier heard your name!” Regulus said, shoving Sirius into the car. 

“Only because you said it!” Sirius cried as Regulus scrambled into the front seat. 

“This is important!” Regulus yelled, starting the car with a jerk. “Now everyone will know you're in America!”

Sirius narrowed his eyes at the worker. Regulus saw the worker's eyes smooth over, and then she kept working. 

“There,” said Sirius with satisfaction, sliding Regulus' wand up his sleeve. “Now she’s forgotten about it.”

“And now you've used magic!” Regulus cried. 

“Sod off, nobody's keeping track of every spell in America!”

“But there's–security cameras and other people!” Regulus said. “You've got to stay in the car!”

“I AM NOT GOING TO LIVE MY LIFE TRAPPED!” Sirius roared, with such force that Regulus was too startled to be angry. 

And then, once he caught up with Sirius’ words, he wanted to shrink inside himself and eat his words.

“I’ll take us into some woods or something to eat in,” Regulus muttered, turning along a side road. Sirius sagged back in his seat, exhausted.

Regulus found them an old hiking trail on the border of Mississipi. They marched along it for a good half-hour, made longer by Sirius, who kept stopping to look at the rabbits or trees or particularly interesting rocks.

He really is addled, Regulus thought, as Sirius watched a butterfly with fascination. It was like he was discovering all these things–sunlight and butterflies and gentle wind–for the first time. Regulus supposed, in a way, he was. Azkaban made one forget every happy thing they knew, and it seemed that Sirius only recognized things after he’d studied them for a moment. 

“This is good enough,” Regulus decided, surveying the small clearing. 

Sirius looked over, startled, as if surprised to see him there. 

Regulus tossed down a pack of sandwiches and muttered, “Today, we feast.” 

They ate in quiet silence, Regulus focused on his sandwich, Sirius focused on something new every five seconds–the twittering birds, the squirrels, the lapping water from a nearby brook. He drank it all in like a dying man. One second he was eating his sandwich, the next second he was tossing crumbs of it to the birds, then he was pocketing a smooth, round rock, then he was craning his neck up to look at the trees. 

To his delight, a twittering little bird landed at his feet. 

“That’s a bluejay,” Regulus muttered, not sure if Sirius knew. “We only have Euresian Jays in England.”

Sirius watched the bird very, very closely until it flew away. 

“Okay,” Regulus said, when they were back in the car. “I still don’t want you leaving the car much, until we’re back in Minnesota. I don’t think it’s wise to leave a trail.” He smiled at Sirius. “But I don’t think it’s wise to leave a Gryffindor caged, either. Least of all this one.” 

Sirius snorted, looking out the window. 

“So I think the first thing we need to do is assume a disguise.” Regulus turned to dig around in the backseat.

“Polyjuice?” Sirius said, interested. 

“A muggle disguise.” Regulus grinned and held up his findings. “Scissors and a good shave.”

Sirius’ hands went up to his head in horror. “You’re going to make me bald.”

“You made me bald,” Sirius said in dismay, looking at mirror in the sun visor.

“No I did not!” Regulus said, laughing. “Your hair’s still down to your chin.”

“I’m bald,” Sirius repeated. He rubbed at his chin and moaned. “I look like an egg!”

“You look like me!” 

“As I said!”

“Shut up!” Regulus said, but he couldn’t help grinning. “Look, you look very dashing. I’m sure all the girls will come running.”

Sirius eyed him suspiciously. “Toward or away?”

“Both, I suspect, in equal amounts,” Regulus said earnestly. 

“Good,” Sirius replied sharply. “Got to keep them on the edge.” 

He sighed, slumping back in his seat, and for a moment he looked very young, and truly miserable, with his hair curling around his ears. 

“You can grow a nice beard or something,” Regulus consoled, trying to get the lighter atmosphere back. “But it was too criminal-looking.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Sirius muttered.

“Do you want to go back to Azkaban?” Regulus said, and instantly knew he’d said the wrong thing.

Sirius stiffened, and looked resolutely out the window. The teasing atmosphere was gone.

Regulus, jaw clenched, started the engine. They rumbled on. 

Regulus took Sirius past mountains and beaches and woods, and into a few of the more charming suburbs and cities. He insisted that Sirius wear sunglasses and a hat (when it was sunny) or stayed in the car (when it was raining). Sirius agreed to the compromise, mostly because he liked how he looked in sunglasses. 

“You know America very well,” Sirius remarked, fiddling with his baseball cap in the reflection of a window. 

“I’ve traveled a lot,” Regulus replied, angling his own hat as well. Now would be the time for Sirius to ask more–where did you travel? Why are you in America anyway?

But Sirius only frowned and adjusted the sunglasses. 

Finally, they were within forty-five minutes of home. Regulus, tired of waiting for Sirius to ask questions that weren’t coming, decided to just explain it all. 

“We’re in Minnesota,” he said, not sure if Sirius was even listening. “Land of a Thousand Lakes. I go by Vincent Rombs. You'll be my brother–haven't decided a name yet, you can choose–but don't go calling yourself Padfoot.”

“Caelum,” Sirius suggested. 

Regulus tsked. “Make it muggle.”

“Ha,” Sirius said humorously. “Never thought I'd hear you say that.”

“Well, it's been over a decade,” Regulus said grimly. “I've changed quite a bit. I like muggles now. There's a sweet old lady down the street–a family next door–they're all good company, you'll see.”

When he received no reply, he glanced at his brother and was startled to see Sirius looking at him with quiet pride. 

“I always knew you had it in you,” Sirius said. 

Regulus flushed. 

They arrived home around one in the morning, and Regulus shook his brother out of yet another nightmare. It seemed to be true, that Sirius couldn’t sleep without them. He didn't look surprised by them, though, so that was something. 

“We’re here,” Regulus said as they entered. “I’ll give you the full tour tomorrow. One floor, I’ve fixed up the guest bed for you, uh, what else… oh, I have a cat, Leo, he tends to come and go…”

“You named your cat Lion?” Sirius said, his eyes searching the house. “Lions are Gryffindor.”

“Lions are cats,” Regulus replied stiffly. 

“So you named your cat Cat.”

“It’s my constellation, okay?” Regulus headed to Sirius’ room. “I left you some of my clothes… they might hang a bit loose. Minnesota’s a good place to be in the summer,” Regulus rambled on, now in Sirius’ room and going through his wardrobe. “We can sometimes get away with wearing long sleeves if they’re thin.”

“Why would we need to wear long sleeves?” Sirius said blankly. 

“Well, I’ve got this little thing,” Regulus said, rolling up his sleeve to show his mark. “The guys at the gym think it’s a tattoo, but things are changing, and I’ve got to hide it.”

“But what do I have to hide?” Sirius said blankly. 

“Are you joking?” Regulus turned to him. “You’ve got ‘Harry’ carved into your arm in all caps, mate.”

“I do?”

“Roll up your sleeve and look,” Regulus said, rolling his eyes. “Where’d that come from, anyway?”

When he received no response, Regulus turned to look at his brother. Sirius was staring at the words as if he was just recognizing them. 

“Sirius?”

“I’d forgotten,” Sirius said in a strangled voice. “I–um, I carved them in.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Regulus said. “Why?”

Sirius turned his arm over carefully, examining the words closer. “So that I wouldn’t kill myself.”

“What?”

“It’s Azkaban, Regulus.” Sirius gave him a look that made him feel childish and stupid. “There’s not much to keep you going in there, and the second time around, without Padfoot... well, you've got to understand, the only thing that keeps you going is remembering what you're fighting for... and they'll try so hard to make you forget.” Sirius looked lost for a moment, as if he really had forgotten everything. “I woke up with a knife in my pocket. I think the ministry put it there, hoping I’d kill myself so they could claim suicide and drop the whole thing.” Sirius smiled bitterly. “But instead, I used it to keep going, so.” He collapsed down into the armchair in his room. “Joke’s on them.”

“I suppose it is,” Regulus managed to say. He’d known people killed themselves in Azkaban, but not Sirius. Sirius didn’t give up like that. He never had. 

When Sirius spoke next, his voice was carefully calm. “Do you know what’s happened to Harry?”

“Harry Potter?” Regulus said, as if that was a question at all. “He went home for the summer, I presume.”

Sirius curled up in his seat, despondent. “He was supposed to stay with me.”

Regulus didn’t know how he was supposed to respond to that, so he didn’t. 

“I was going to take him in,” Sirius said, sounding near tears, “and everything was going to be okay. But I’m still a criminal, and now I’m…” he examined his trembling hands. “Like this.”

“You can write to him,” Regulus offered, silently begging that Sirius would not ask to take the boy into Regulus’ home. 

Sirius’ hands fell into his lap with a thump. “I was supposed to do so much more.”

“Well, we don’t always do what we’re supposed to do,” Regulus said softly. “Now, I’m tired, and I’m going to go to bed, and so should you.”

“Alright,” Sirius said, but Regulus doubted he would. He rolled his eyes and left the room.

Sirius sat in his armchair for half an hour, waiting for Regulus to fall asleep, his mind fracturing in the dark room. He slipped out of bed and began wandering through the house, his mind still fracturing, fracturing, fracturing. 

It was eerie and calm in the dark. The floor creaked as he walked down the hall. The silent steps of Grimmauld place, as dad hauled him up to the office by his hair. 

The window was wide open, and the moon provided soft light in the formal room. Remus, screaming at him for the prank. The shadows shifted. Dementors, floating closer–closer–Sirius shivered in the cold, and he saw none outside, but he was suddenly, horribly certain they were near.

He whirled around, heart beating. But it was only a cat, mewing softly. 

“Oh,” Sirius said. Shaking, he sank to the ground. “Hey there, kitty. Leo, right? You should meet my friend Crookshanks…”

The cat rubbed against him on the soft, beige carpet. James, spread across it, his eyes wide and unseeing, red seeping slowly into the soft, beige carpet of his house. Stop, stop… keep talking, distraction, get a distraction…

“Um, Crookshanks is Hermione Granger’s cat,” Sirius continued to Leo, his voice unsteady, his hands carding through Leo’s hair. 

James, running his hands through Padfoot’s fur. James, his hand freezing when Sirius clutched it. James, for once not responding to Sirius, for once leaving him cold and alone, after they had promised to always be there for each other, be godfathers together, grandfathers together, grow old together... Focus. Don't think about that. Distraction, distraction.

“Crookshanks,” Sirius gasped, “sort of–saved my life–a few times…”

Sirius, getting it all wrong. Sirius, suspecting Remus and doubting himself and worst of all, trusting Peter. Sirius, shivering in the dark, clutching at the wall, everything getting colder and colder as the dementors passed his cell, trying to convince himself that he was innocent, he was, and he deserved happiness too, because that's what James always said and James wouldn't lie, not about this. 

Sirius squeezed his eyes shut, pressed a hand to his face, and let the tears leak out. 

Leo mewed, startling Sirius. With a wavering sigh, he looked back at the cat, who was snuggling against him. Mother's cat, who watched serenely as Sirius wept with hunger. Kreacher looking at him with no pity in his eyes, that first time Sirius was refused food. Grimmauld Place and the cruciatus curse. Sirius learned quickly to not scream, and to not cry a little slower, and not to be sorry about crying slowest of all, and he’d forgotten all those lessons so quickly… Grimmauld Place and the imperius curse, when Mom would bring him to the dinner table but keep his fists clenched at his side, refusing to let him eat while the rest of them enjoyed their food. Grimmauld Place and Regulus, the only star in that night, trusting and bright. Sirius had tried so hard to keep it all from him. Regulus, peeking around the corner as Sirius sat against the wall, panting for breath after Dad cused him. Regulus, pleading for him not to leave. Regulus, abandoned and alone, because Sirius had listened to James and put himself first and let Regulus stay behind and get caught up with the Death Eaters. 

The cat nestled into him, and Sirius started again. No, no, he had to stop. Think–think of something happy–

After a large amount of straining, Sirius called to mind the Potters. James, feeding the strays out by his house. James, giggling like a girl when they stayed up late talking. James, dead on the floor–

Stop it. 

Try again.

This time, Sirius thought of Regulus. Regulus… they used to… dig for worms in the dirt. Mud on their hands, mud on their faces, Dad finding them when they went home, being hit with curses again and again and again–

“Stop it,” Sirius said, out loud. He stood unsteadily. This wasn’t working. He was going to go mad–the same memories kept circling, and circling, and circling– he just wanted to sleep, to shift, to forget, but he still couldn't change into Padfoot and sleep was just worse. 

He walked into the kitchen, where the trees swayed outside. Closing his eyes, Sirius tried again. The trees. The trees along the way, on that long drive through the States. The sun shining peacefully in the blue sky, or softly through the clouds. The mountains. The beaches they passed. The hours spent in the car, remembering that beautiful world that Sirius had forgotten about. It used to just be darkness, cold, unending darkness, twelve years of it and then a week more. No, don’t think about that. 

The trees. The stars. The drive. The hours spent in the car, too tired, liking the view, but hating it, hating how he was trapped, hating how he’d never be free.

Sirius wanted to cry. It’s not working, he thought fiercely, and for a blind moment he was ready to pull out his mirror and call James–they would talk about his thoughts, or more likely talk about anything else, until Sirius was too tired to keep thinking and his head would hit the pillow, lulled to sleep by James going on and on about Lily. 

James, dead on the ground. 

Sirius gasped for breath and clutched at the edge of the sink. He was alone. He had forgotten. He was always alone, wasn’t he? The Marauders were no more and who else did he have?

Leo curled around his legs, a reminder of his owner. Regulus. Regulus. He had Regulus, and for Regulus, he had to hold it together, he had to at least not kill himself, because he hadn’t been there before and he had to be there now and for one, for now, he had Regulus.

But, looking around the house–for how long? It was only a house. How protected could he be, over here? How long would it last? 

It wouldn’t last. Sirius was certain it wouldn’t. For all his efforts, he had landed himself back in Azkaban all over again. 

This is different. You have Regulus now. 

Different, perhaps. But, really, how much could Regulus do?

Sirius’ eyes strayed to the knife block. 

Do it, a voice in his head said. Do it, now, before you can change your mind. Before you get thrown in there again. Before the dementors kiss you. You survived sixteen years in your family’s house and twelve in Azkaban. Aren’t you tired of fighting pointlessly? 

Sirius’ hand twitched to take up the knife. But–there was something–

Not entirely sure why he was doing it, Sirius rolled up his sleeve. The word HARRY was carved there, in untidy, angry scars. 

Harry. Right. Harry and Remus and Regulus and–Sirius could not leave him alone. Harry didn’t seem very fond of the Dursleys, but Dumbledore trusted them, and Sirius knew enough of the Weasleys by now to know that they wouldn’t leave Harry there if he really needed somewhere better to go. Sirius could not leave him alone, but he would be okay, at least for a little. It would have to be enough. 

Sirius took deep breaths. Harry, alone with no guidance – Sirius, trapped in his own house – starvation and blood and imprisonment and curses and so much hatred – and Sirius wanted so bad to help Harry, but he couldn’t even help himself, and if he was just – better, stronger, cleverer – then Harry would have him – but he couldn’t get himself –

"Stop it," Sirius pleaded, if only to himself, hiccupping into his hands like a little damn kid. It didn't stop, it never did, even as a child his pleas had meant nothing.

And he had thought that would change - he had fought for that to change. He'd grown his hair long and lashed back and every time he could, he chose. He just wanted to be in control, he wanted what he said to matter, and it never did. Mum never stopped. He didn't get a trial. The dementors, even when they were gone, haunted his head and turned him inside out. His hair was short, and he was scared. For all he screamed and shouted, it never - made a difference -

“Morning,” Sirius interrupted himself. “It will be better in the morning.” 

Morning, when the sun was out and the shadows did not play tricks on his mind, making him think the dementors were all around him. Sirius trudged to his room and fell into bed, knowing that sleep would only make it worse–at least when he was awake, he could try to think of other things. But it had been such a long day, and it was so, so hard to hold on to the good memories.

He closed his eyes, steeling himself against the nightmares he knew would come. In the haze of sleep, the terrors weren't bound to reality, and Sirius didn't know what reality was, and he hated it more than awakeness. 

Leo hopped onto the bed and nuzzled his chin, snuggling into him. Sirius curled around the cat and, for what felt like the fifth time that day, started to cry. He'd been trying - failing - to keep himself calmer, for Regulus, for Regulus... he just couldn't keep it up anymore. He clung to the cat and cried until it felt like he had nothing left inside of him, and at some point, he fell asleep. As he'd suspected, sleeping was worse than waking.

Chapter Text

Sirius woke around nine. The night had gone exactly as he suspected it would, and all he wanted was to lay in that wonderful, soft bed under the thick comforter and do nothing else for a day or a week. But he knew it would just lead him in circles, and all those horrible whispers would begin filling his head, and he above all didn't want that to continue. He needed… a distraction, something else to focus on…

So he went to the bathroom instead, and found Regulus there. His head was bent over the sink and he was running his hands through his hair. Perfect. 

“What are you doing?” Sirius asked, leaning against the wall. 

“Bleaching.” Regulus squinted into the mirror he’d put above the sink. He looked as tired as Sirius felt. 

“Ooh, what color?” 

“Dirty blonde.”

“Boring.” Sirius thought about persuading Regulus to dye it neon colors, but that burst of interest left as quickly as it came, so all he said was, “Won’t the neighbors find that odd?”

“No, it’s been dirty blonde for most of my time here.”

“It was black when you found me.”

“I used a potion to turn it back. Wanted to make sure you'd recognize me,” Regulus replied crisply. For some reason, he began wrapping a plastic bag around his head. 

“You have potions?” Sirius said, genuinely intrigued. Regulus was an excellent distraction from his own thoughts. 

Regulus nodded, flushing. “But it's just for safety and such, I try to do things the muggle way… slippery slope and all that… I've only used a few spells in all this time…”

“Mate, there's no need to defend yourself to me,” Sirius said, smirking. He looked around the bathroom, which had two sinks, an inner room for the shower and toilet, and was distinctly larger than it was from the outside. “I see you've enchanted this room, at least.”

“Just to make it more suited for two,” Regulus muttered. “I've done almost nothing else… and I don't plan to, I'm staying in muggle Minnesota,” he said, almost angrily. 

“Alright, alright,” Sirius said, holding up his hands in surrender. “No need to get your robes all twisted.” He smiled, Regulus was so easy to ruffle up. “But you said you make potions?”

“Yes, but it's really just for safety and such–oh.” Regulus looked guilty. “Sorry, I meant to offer last night–I have sleeping draught, do you want some–?”

“No,” Sirius said quickly, and Regulus flinched in surprise. “Sorry, I just–it makes it worse.” He glared at the wall. Sleeping draught just made the nightmares impossible to escape, he'd tried so desperately at first. 

“Okay,” Regulus said quietly. “Calming draught?”

“Doesn't hold,” Sirius said tightly. 

“How so?”

“It doesn't stop the memories, okay?” Sirius snapped. “It just–makes them slower, but they're always just as strong.”

Angrily, Sirius took up a toothbrush. 

“That's my toothbrush,” Regulus said distractedly. 

Sirius took up another toothbrush and began brushing his teeth. Unbidden, his mind went back to summers at the Potters, when he and James would elbow each other for space in the mirror. He nearly growled. 

“Does anything stop the memories?” Regulus asked, tilting his head and taking up his own toothbrush. 

Sirius glared at him. 

“I'm just curious!” Regulus said. 

Sirius spat his toothpaste out. “I dunno, they used a bit of Draught of Living Death to take me back to Azkaban–”

“They did?”

“–And that was dreamless.” Sirius rinsed out his mouth while Regulus gaped. “They gave me an antidote when I got there, though.”

“Why not just sleeping draught?” Regulus said. 

“Not potent enough for someone as dangerous as me.” Sirius picked at his teeth—he’d scourgified them with Regulus' wand on the trip back, and accidentally chipped one in the process. 

“They're insane over there,” Regulus said. He adjusted the plastic bag around his head and glanced at his watch. “We’ll want to dye your hair, too.”

Sirius’ eyes went wide. “ Dye it?”

“Come off it, you need to be disguised!”

“You’ve already shorn me,” Sirius said in horror, “Is it your goal to utterly humiliate me?”

“Mate, I promise, girls will be falling over you no matter what you do,” Regulus said, pinching his nose. 

“It’s not about girls! It’s about standards!” Sirius felt at his hair protectively. “At least let me charm it, instead of doing whatever… ghastly thing is happening there.”

“Bleaching,” Regulus repeated, glancing in the mirror one last time and then heading into the kitchen. 

Sirius followed, looking around with interest. As he'd known would happen, it was all much friendlier in the daylight. There were cobwebs gleaming under the skylight. The fridge was littered with magnets and even a few children’s drawings. The cabinet was ajar, with papers, boxes, and plastic bottles of muggle medicine stuffed inside it. 

Regulus was puttering around, turning knobs and opening fridges and pulling things out of the pantry. 

Sirius' eyes were drawn back to the skylight. There had been a sort of window in his cell, a barred strip along the top of it that he could just reach with the tips of his fingers. The sun rarely shone around Azkaban, and when it did, the angle of the window meant that sun wouldn't shine down into his cell. 

But–sometimes, if the dementors weren't around, and the time of the year was right, and it was neither raining nor cloudy–the sun would beam through that window just right, and illuminate a little bit of his cell. Sirius never turned into Padfoot for that, but he would crawl to that sunlit little area and sit there, face tilted up, and let it wash over him. It was always bright and new and so, so warm. He’d stare outside, if he could handle it, and wonder what the rest of the world was like out there, by now. He’d be mesmerized by the light and clouds and everything, aching for that little window. 

And here it was again, but bigger, warmer, and he could go beyond it. 

“Regulus…” Sirius said, shifting under the skylight. “How long have you lived here?”

“Since I ran away. Twelve years–thirteen, almost.”

“And you were never caught?” Sirius asked faintly. He followed the patch of sun and sat down in it. Yes, it was perfect, cozy and familiar, cobwebs in the corner of it…

“Not once,” Regulus said proudly. “I’m cunning, remember?”

Twelve years… Regulus escaped notice for twelve years…

I might actually stay out.  

The hope was so terrifying that he almost shut it down. He had, after that second capture, been too scared to think of that possibility. Going back even for those six days was far worse than when he first went there, because he had hoped, he had really hoped, that he wouldn’t be in Azkaban again. And then he was. 

And Sirius knew– after six days, even after six hours in Azkaban again– Sirius knew beyond a doubt that if he hoped again and lost again, he would die.

But if Regulus had stayed undiscovered for as long as Sirius was imprisoned… Regulus, who was cunning enough for the both of them… Regulus, who had grown so much… 

If anyone could keep Azkaban away from Sirius, it was Regulus. 

Regulus was hovering over the stove, flipping pancakes and muttering under his breath. He had somehow made batter and all just while Sirius was thinking… His collared shirt’s sleeve trailed into the batter, and he cursed, fumbling with the button. 

“Here, let me,” Sirius said, standing and reaching to button it. Even as a kid, Regulus had had trouble…

Regulus. Before he could stamp it down, hope bloomed up inside Sirius. 

Here was Regulus, alive, healthy, and whole. Sirius had barely given himself the chance to think about it. 

But suddenly, it was all he could think about. Regulus, alive and healthy and whole–he was safe, he'd been safe and at peace and alive this whole time–

“Regulus, what happened to you?” Sirius asked, finishing the button and clasping Regulus’ hand in his. The questions began pouring out. “Why did you go into hiding? Are you still a death eater? You should’ve told me. Why did you rescue me? Where–where did you say we were? What’s your plan now?”

Regulus was smiling–nearly beaming.

“What?” Sirius said suspiciously.

“Nothing.” Regulus went back to the pancakes. “Uh, let’s see… I went in hiding because I was hunted. No, I’m not a death eater anymore–after Kreacher was nearly killed following the Dark Lord’s bidding, I decided I wanted out, and… it’s a long story. I didn’t tell anyone–well, except Snape. I rescued you because he convinced me too. And we’re in Minnesota. And the plan… still workshopping it.” Regulus tapped his fingers on his leg, all business. “I haven’t decided on a disguise for you yet. How’s your American accent?”

“Hairy Podder drank a wadder boddle,” Sirius tried.

“So, it’s miserable,” Regulus surmised. 

“Oi!”

“And that’s a dead giveaway.” Regulus actually laughed. “S’alright. We’ll fit your brit right into the cover story.”

Sirius looked around the kitchen again, soaking it in. There were flashes of color–the magnets on the fridge, the warm brown cupboards, the bright red apples and bananas on the counter. The dishwasher thrummed quietly, and somewhere, a clock was ticking. 

Sirius watched the clock. He watched the minute hand tick little by little. The telling of time was not a luxury given to those in Azkaban. Sirius had tried calculating it by the dementors’ visits, but they had no structure and no rhythm, they only went where they saw extreme sadness or extreme happiness. He had tried relying on his sleep’s schedule, but the dementors did not let him keep that rhythm, either. Sirius eventually turned to calculating by how long his hair got, but even that was a shoddy estimate. 

When he got out the first time, Azkaban seemed like a blur, but a blur that lasted a lifetime. 

How long had he been in there, this second time around? It felt like weeks, because the memory of freedom was so close behind him…

Sirius heard the sound of running water, and blinked, stretching. Regulus was at the kitchen sink, running his hands through his now-brighter hair, the plastic bag off his head. 

“What’s your life like, here?” Sirius asked, curious. “What do you do all day?”

Regulus shrugged. “I work for a library. I babysit the girl next door on the weekends, sometimes, and bring food over to Gloria–she’s the old lady down the road–on Sundays. I read and work out when I can.”

Sirius smiled. Yes, that sounded like a life his Regulus would love. “What are you reading?”

“Crime and Punishment, right now.” Regulus squinted into the mirror. “I think you’d like it.”

“And…” Sirius examined his nails. They were broken, cut, or missing completely–he was pretty sure that he’d torn them off for lack of something else to do. 

“Yes?” Regulus prompted.

Sirius had to think to remember his question. “Are you happy?”

“Happier than I was there,” Regulus said grimly. 

Sirius smiled and let his hand drop. “I’m glad.”

Regulus gave him a look, a bit pitying and a bit guilty, but all he said was, “I should show you the basement.”

“Wait.” Sirius lifted his head sharply. “Someone’s at the door.”

“What?” said Regulus, but a moment later there was knocking.

“The door!” Sirius said.

“Okay, I’m getting it!”

“Regulus, someone’s at the door!”

“I said I’m going!”

“You need to get the–”

“What is wrong with you?”

“I’m part dog, idiot, get the door!” 

“I’m going!” Regulus said from around the corner, and then his voice shifted. “Oh, Hannah!”

Sirius’ ears perked. Regulus had put on an American accent.

“Hi, Vince,” said a woman–Hannah?–warmly. Hastily, Sirius charmed his hair light brown and wavy. Squinting in the mirror, he aged his face up a decade and gave himself a snazzy mustache. Finally, he grabbed a blanket off the couch to hide how thin he was, and ran a hand through his hair. He thought of James. He forced himself to stop thinking of James. It did not work. 

“The girls wanted to stop by and see if you were home yet,” Hannah was saying. “Who were you talking to?”

“Oh–my brother,” Regulus fumbled. “Didn’t I tell you? I went to pick him up…”

Taking his cue, Sirius took up a cup of coffee and popped around the kitchen corner. There were three ladies at the door, a plump middle-aged one, a bright looking teenager, and a brighter looking preteen. The teenager had light brown hair, but the other two both had hair in a sunny yellow. 

“Oi,” Sirius said with a smile. “You must be the neighbors.”

“You must be the brother,” said the middle-aged woman with a smile. “I’d say we’ve heard so much about you, but we haven’t, Vincent.”  

She gave a pointed look at Regulus, who flushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Er… well…”

“I could say the same about you,” Sirius replied, poking at Regulus’ ribcage. “Vinnie’s never been keen on sharing his double life.”

“Don’t call me that,” Regulus hissed, batting his hand away. 

“Ignore him,” Sirius told the neighbors. “Anyway, I’d shake your hand, but I’m just recovering from a bad illness.”

“Really?” the youngest girl perked up. “What are your symptoms? I can–”

“Love, I’m sure he’s already been looked over by a real doctor,” said the woman, smoothing down her daughter’s hair.

“I could be a real doctor, someday,” said the youngest.

“You don’t even want to be a doctor, you want to be a nurse,” said the middle, tweaking her sister’s nose. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

“Ignore them,” said the woman, smiling. 

“I'm Hannah, and this is my older, Raven, she’s off to college next semester. Canary’s my younger, and there’s my husband, Charlie, but he's at work.”

“Pleasure,” Sirius said pleasantly. It was far easier than he expected to pretend at politeness again. “My name is Gemini.”

“No it's not!” snapped Regulus. “Er–sorry. He likes to screw around with people when he first meets them. His actual name is–” Sirius took a sip of his drink, he could practically see the wheels turning in Regulus’ head. “–Raskolnikov.”

Sirius choked on his coffee. 

“Oh, are you Russian?” said Raven eagerly. 

“Mum is,” Sirius said as smoothly as he could. “I've never visited the place, but she was very attached to it. Still, Dad put his foot down and insisted that old Vincent here would have a normal name–didn't want him to get bullied in school, that sort of thing.” He chuckled lightly into his cup. “Clearly he liked my brother more than me.”

“But you're from England, are you?” said Hannah, smiling. “I'm from the Lake Districts myself.”

“Really? Glory, why did you come here?”

Hannah laughed. “My sister and I moved over together, actually, although she moved back. And you, what are you doing here?”

“Just bumming around,” Sirius said vaguely. “I'll be staying here until things settle there.”

“What things?” asked Canary, wide-eyed. 

“Oh, you know…” Sirius trailed off. “There have been rumors about death and kidnapping, murderers are on the loose…”

“Oh! Yes, I heard a bit about that,” Hannah said, nodding. “There was some crazy murderer, right? Uh… what was his name?”

“Sirius, I think.”

“Right! Sirius White.”

“Sirius Black.”

Hannah snapped her fingers. “That’s the name. I don’t blame you for leaving, he looked crazy in the pictures.”

“I thought he looked sort of–ruggedly charming.”

A glass shattered in the kitchen.

“Shoot!” said Regulus. “I think I left a water pitcher to close to the counter. He shot Sirius a withering glare. “Rodya, can you get the broom–?”

“Anything for you, Vincie,” Sirius said, stepping into their laundry room. 

“Yeah, I heard things are getting crazy there,” he heard Hannah say sympathetically, as he hunted around, unsure where the broom actually was. “We were going to all go in a few years, but now I'm not so sure.”

“You didn't say that!” cried Canary.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Regulus soothed. “I’m sure the viscous criminal will be contained within a few years, and even if he’s not, what are the chances of you running into him?”

“Well, but I’m getting dual citizenship,” Canary said importantly. “So, since I’ll be there so long, the chances are totally high.”

“He’d have more important things to worry about than you,” Raven muttered. Sirius finally located the broom. 

“And he’s a lot stupider than people give him credit for,” Regulus added crossly. 

“How so?” said Hannah, and Regulus fumbled. 

“I mean, he got caught twice, didn’t he?” Sirius said, emerging from the laundry room. “What kind of brilliant criminal does that?”

“It probably wasn’t intentional,” Hannah said, laughing. “Anyway, we should go, I’ve got to get Canary to her summer program. It was wonderful to meet you, Raskolnikov.”

Sirius saluted. “Please, call me Rodya.” 

“Rodya?”

“Russian nickname.” At least, Sirius assumed it was, since Regulus used it. “Pleasure to meet you all.”

“I’m sure we’ll talk more soon, have a good day, my brother needs to go lie down” Regulus said, practically closing the door in their faces. 

He locked the door and turned to glare at his brother. “This is why Mum doesn’t love you.”

“What? I was having a conversation!”

“You managed to get not only your name, but also your face, into a conversation while she was standing right in front of you? Sirius!”

“I panicked!” Sirius said. “And, really– Raskolnikov? What happened to normal names?”

“It’s normal to lots of Russians,” Regulus snapped, flushing. “Now help me clean this glass up.”

“We could use spells, you know,” Sirius said amusedly. 

“Slippery slope,” Regulus replied. “I’ve barely used a spell in all this time. You need to get used to getting your hands dirty.”

“Mum would be rolling in her grave.”

“—Good,” Regulus said, and Sirius grinned at him.

After a fairly lucid morning, the rest of the day faded in and out. Sirius was pretty certain he'd had lunch—there was a peanut butter stain on his shirt—and he knew he'd fallen asleep in the afternoon, because he dreamt of James, dead on the ground, and woke with a start. Dinner was nice. Quiet, but not unpleasantly so. Regulus disappeared into the basement for hours at a time. It was a neutral day. 

But then the night came. 

Not again, not again—Merlin, please, not every night—

Sirius shuddered, pressing his hands into his eyes hard enough to see stars. Half his brain was circling through Grimmauld Place, running and hiding and being found anyway, shoved into closets, cursed, burned, sliced open—

—and the other half was begging please, stop, enough, enough, just let my mind be my own—

He was sat in the kitchen, in Minnesota, still, safe. And his mind was running, running, running. 

“Sirius.”

Regulus, sang out a little part of him, and Sirius chased that thought down. Regulus—Minnesota—kitchen—

Wood scraped tile as Regulus pulled out the seat next to him. 

“What can I do?” Regulus asked. His voice was steady, calm, and not at all like the scared little boy he used to be. Twelve years—Regulus had been alive twelve years—alone twelve years—and—and had he chosen—? “Sirius?”

Sirius. Regulus. He had asked a question. Grimmauld Place—James on the Hogwarts Express— what can I do?

“Nothing,” Sirius got out. “There's nothing you can do.”

He had been through this before. He had escaped before. And he knew that Azkaban chased you down for days, weeks, and even after it still crawled into your mind more than you permitted it to do. 

His words were met with silence, and the scraping of a chair. Sirius buried his face in his hands. The day had been—it had been hard, but it had been fine, he could chase those memories away if he tried—but night was here, the dark, the cold, the wisps of pure blackness that trailed past his cell, leaving the cold kiss of snow behind and stripping Sirius of every protection and every covering that he had ever in his life had, leaving him cold, cold, cold and alone. 

Regulus was back. “Sirius, will you tell me what's wrong?”

His voice was steady and certain and when had that changed? Left, Sirius had left—and they'd been split apart—

“Sirius.” 

“I just—” Sirius' face shuttered. “I can't—stop—”

“—Thinking?” Regulus finished. With the tips of his fingers, he pushed a mug of tea into Sirius' hands. “It's warm. Drink.”

Sirius wrapped his hands around the mug. It was solid and thick and warm, warm, warm, like a fire at Christmas, like a hug from James, or Remus’ cardigan, or Peter's—

Peter's—

“Drink it,” Regulus said, an edge in his voice. He was standing, now— when had he started standing?— next to a muggle appliance that Sirius could not remember the name of. He narrowed in on the muggle thing—Remus’ father had had one, he put bread in it— 

Sirius blinked, remembered Regulus' instructions, and took a sip of tea. It went like liquid fire down his throat, melting him from the inside out, and he couldn't help his moan of relief. 

Cold, he was so cold—

Regulus was back, and his fingers ghosted along Sirius' arm, tingling where he left his prints. “You're still cold.” 

“It’ll continue for a few weeks more,” Sirius said roughly. At least he could feel his fingers, now. The mug in his hands was red and flaked. Feral and free, it said, with an obnoxious eagle holding a flag streaking across it. Eagles—birds—Sirius spent his first week of freedom just laying in the woods, listening, listening, wandering if he could ever be like them—

That little bluejay in the woods—Regulus rambling like he always used to—

A hand went over his, and Sirius snatched himself away in shock. Too much, too quick–

“Sorry,” Regulus muttered, his hand withdrawn as well. His face was burning and his eyes were on the table. 

Sirius took a deep breath. It was just a touch, barely even that, but it was so—so—so—he wasn't used to it and it burned and it made his chest hurt in a way that was far too painful, but he wanted it, just a hand to hold, he needed it, but he couldn't get himself to—and wasn't that the story of his life—

“Hey,” Regulus said. He pushed a plate to Sirius. “Eat this. It's toast.”

Mechanically, Sirius picked up the toast. It was speckled and crisp and spread with dark pink jam. He pressed the crust between his fingers and watched it crumble onto the plate. He took a bite. 

“Good boy,” Regulus teased, and Sirius glared at him. “Now finish your tea.”

Sirius woke up cold and tired at nine in the morning. Nine in the morning. 

And he'd slept the whole night. 

Regulus looked particularly smug when he came downstairs. “How'd you sleep?”

“Well,” Sirius said, amazed by the answer. He hadn't dreamed at all, not even a bit… “Regulus, what did you put in that tea?”

“You liked it?” Regulus grinned. “It's not really a sleeping potion, more of a… a good-sleep potion, I don't know what to call it.”

“Soundsleeper,” Sirius suggested. “Dreamtaker.”

“...Sure. I developed it yesterday.” Regulus smiled, looking proud and a little hesitant. “I used fae dewdrops, like with the draught of living death, but I didn't put on any sleeping potion, and…”

“Thank you,” Sirius whispered. He closed his eyes, it had been… not even before Azkaban, he hadn’t been sleeping so soundly, not since Regulus’ death. “It was—I just—thank you.”

“you're welcome,” Regulus replied, just as quiet. 

“Do you…” Sirius cleared his throat. If Regulus had helped with that, maybe he could help with this. “This, um, keeps me from being Padfoot… do you know of any way to get it off?”

Sirius held up his left wrist, which still had that silver ring of metal encircling it. There was no latch and no lock, but if anybody could get it off, it was Regulus.

Regulus' face fell. “I forgot about that.”

“It’s alright,” Sirius whispered. Better, even, because if he’d been Padfoot those first few days, he might never have wanted to change back… but now, with a few days of those circling thoughts, he was more used to it, and eventually they’d calm down… still. He wanted Padfoot back.

“Yeah, I can get that off easy,” Regulus said, and that stirred a deep resentment in Sirius that he didn’t quite understand. “Follow me.”

Regulus flicked on the light. “So… this is the basement.”

He tried to see it for the first time, through Sirius’ eyes. Nobody had been down here besides him. It was the place–the only place–where he let magic flow in his house. And it was, a little bit, his sanctuary. 

By wizard’s terms, it wasn’t anything special. The ceiling was a sort of calm orange–Regulus had painstakingly painted it by hand–and bookshelves took up everything else. His large collection of books, both muggle and magical, occupied three of the walls, while the fourth wall held rows and rows of potions. 

He breathed it in, taking comfort even now in the room. It was not magically enlarged, because that was how Regulus wanted it: small and cozy and mundane. 

Regulus pushed back one of his bookshelves, and it swung aside to show his bigger (and, yes, magically enlarged) potions room. 

“This is well-stocked,” Sirius said, peeking into his cabinets. 

“Just in case,” Regulus mumbled. “I play around with them a lot.”

Sirius gave him a slightly amused look. “What happened to just for safety?”

“You never know what might come in handy,” Regulus replied airily. “Here, come in.”

He snatched up a small vial of dark gray liquid. “This is my metal-melter. Give me your wrist. The other one.”

Sirius stepped back nervously. “I don’t know if I want you near me with something that melts.”

“Only metal. Don’t worry about it.”

Regulus poured the potion over Sirius’ clasp, and Sirius watched with fascination as the metal shriveled up and melted away into nothing at all. “Nice.”

Regulus ignored the sort-of-compliment, examining Sirius’ wrist. It was raw and red, but not bleeding. “There aren’t any lingering effects, are there? Can you turn into, um, Padfoot, now?” 

“I assume so,” Sirius said, turning his hand over. “I should be able to…”

Sirius shifted, and without warning, Regulus was slammed to the ground by a huge, black dog and being licked all over the place.

“Hey! Sirius! Sirius!” Regulus spluttered, trying to angle his face away. “Get off! Bad dog, bad dog! Shift back–stop it, no, don’t–”

Regulus giggled as Sirius trodded on one of his more ticklish spots. 

“Get off of me, you big oaf,” he said, giggling again as Sirius tickled his chin. “Your stupid tail is knocking over all my things!”

Sirius turned in a circle, his tail still wagging furiously and sending more herbs crashing to the ground, and then turned back around, and it was like he saw Regulus for the first time all over again. He started barking excitedly. 

“No! Stop!” Regulus said, laughing, and once Sirius really started going crazy with all the smells and equipment, he pulled out his wand and untransfigured Sirius. 

Sirius fell back on his rear. “Whoo! Got a bit excited, there,” he said, taking Regulus’ hand up. “Padfoot was happy to see you again.”

“Again?” Regulus repeated. Sirius gave him a sly look, and Regulus thought suddenly of that overgrown, fluffy black dog that would find him at Hogwarts, sometimes, and sit with him when he was in his more melancholy moods. “That was you?”

The dog that Regulus remembered had been healthier and bigger and just overall brighter. Then again, Regulus supposed, he could say the same about Sirius. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Regulus said, astounded.

“Couldn't have you blabbing,” Sirius replied cheerfully. “You’ve got slobber all over your face, by the way.”

Grimacing, Regulus wiped his wet face and pocketed that little fact away to think about in private. “Your spit smells disgusting.”

“You wish your spit smelled as good as mine,” Sirius said with astounding confidence. He looked around, still visibly excited. “I can clean.”

“No,” Regulus said, remembering when Sirius had tried to help Regulus pack for school. He always put everything in the wrong place. “Let’s just–head back out.”

Sirius closed the shelf to the potions room and flopped down in an armchair, looking around with delight. It seemed that a bit of Padfoot’s excitement had transitioned over with him. “This is brilliant.”

“Thanks,” Regulus muttered, sitting in the other armchair. He’d brought down the one from his room for Sirius. 

“It’s brilliant,” Sirius repeated again. “Where did you find all this?”

Regulus smiled. “I restock on my travels. But most of it… robbed Bellatrix right before I left. And I took a lot of Dad’s potion stuff, too…”

“I’ve never been prouder of you in my life.” Sirius looked around the room again, and his eyes landed on a few open boxes in the corner. “Hang on…” Sirius stood, and headed over. “Is this…”

“Your stuff,” Regulus confirmed, hovering awkwardly behind him. “I, uh, brought, um… I brought your stuffed deer with me when I left the Place. And the rest was from the Ministry’s storage unit… it was looted, but only for expensive things…”

“My wand?” Sirius said, clutching the stuffed deer with one hand and rifling through everything with the other.

Regulus knelt next to him and pulled it out from the bottom. “But think before you use it. Once you start casting spells, it can’t be used as evidence for your trial.”

Sirius looked at the wand for a long moment, then snatched it. “Better to be prepared. I’d rather not toss off the only weapon I’ve got for a trial that won’t happen.”

“Doesn’t have to be your only one,” Regulus muttered. He lifted up his jacket to reveal the pistol in his belt. “Muggles have some very clever means of protection, too, and wizards don't know how to defend against them. I’m utter pants, but I think you'd be better at it. Charlie–the man next door, I'll introduce you–he goes down to the shooting range sometimes, he'll take you if you want…”

Sirius smiled for the first time Regulus could remember. It wasn’t a happy smile, but it was something. 

“Look at you.” Sirius nudged him. “Using ‘muggles’ and ‘clever’ in the same sentence.”

“Come off it,” Regulus said, nudging him back. He peered over the rim of the box. “You know, I never went through this very thoroughly.” 

Sirius didn’t respond, but went on pulling out folded old clothes, a leather jacket that he immediately slipped on, and notebooks that he set aside gently. His movements slowed, and he turned over snowglobes and quills and t-shirts reverently, as if they were artefacts of an ancient time and he wasn’t quite sure what they were for. Regulus had just about decided to leave him to do it alone when Sirius pulled out a set of mirrors and brightened, tucking them away. 

“That’s enough for today,” he decided. “Blimey, it must be near noon.”

Regulus glanced at his watch. “It’s 10:30.”

“Oh. Say, do you have quill and parchment? I want to write to Harry.”

“I have pen and paper.”

“Thanks,” Sirius said, relieved. “Wish I could visit him…”

Regulus looked up sharply. “Will you?”

Sirius hesitated, and Regulus immensely regretted the question. Why did you bring up that idea? But no, no, of course Sirius would be heading back eventually. Regulus had planned for that when he first rescued him…

“I don’t… I don’t think it would be wise,” Sirius said softly. He pulled a mirror out of his pocket and stared at it as if it contained the secrets of the universe. “I don’t think I’d be much help to Harry, like this…”

“Yeah, I agree,” Regulus said quickly.

Sirius looked at Regulus, thinking long and hard, and Regulus tried not to squirm under his gaze.

Sirius then held out the mirror. “Take this.”

Regulus took it and looked in the reflection. He had missed a spot when he bleached his hair.

“Regulus,” Sirius said, and Regulus looked up. “No, look down in the mirror.”

Regulus looked again. Sirius was staring up at him. 

“A two-way mirror,” Regulus realized in awe. 

“James and I used to use it.” Sirius smiled fondly, and Regulus soured. “We’d call over the summer and during detentions…”

“Maybe you should keep it, then,” Regulus said shortly. “If it’s so special to you…”

“No, no.” Sirius pushed the mirror back into Regulus’ hands. “Don’t you see? Once I go back to Harry, we’ll be able to still communicate!”

“Oh.” That was… surprisingly thoughtful. Regulus softened and tucked the mirror away, feeling decidedly more generous. “Thanks, Sirius. And don’t feel too bad about not reaching Harry Potter yet. I mean, it's not like your time before then will be wasteful.”

At the sneaking tone in Regulus’ voice, Sirius brightened. “Why? What else will we be doing?”

Regulus still had no plans to return to the wizarding world, but he set out with gumption to prepare Sirius to do so. He’d taken the month off of work, so the two spent their days brewing potions (mostly Regulus), practicing spells (mostly Sirius), and working out (both, sometimes together, often whenever the mood struck them, so Regulus would wander out of his room at three in the morning and find Sirius doing push-ups in the living room). Rows of polyjuice potion were produced, Regulus pumped rejuvenating potions and protein smoothies into his brother, and Sirius discovered the wonderful world of muggle weapons. They wrote (Regulus in his journal, Sirius to Harry) and went on walks and both pretended that Sirius was normal, that everything was normal, and that above all, the two of them were normal. Regulus would wake up in a haze and rush down to the basement to make some potion come to life before he forgot it. Sirius would be sitting in the backyard, watching the sunrise. Regulus would emerge four hours later. Sirius would be in the exact same place, in the exact same position. They would eat lunch. 

Regulus didn’t know when Sirius would go back. Sirius didn’t quite seem to know either, and Regulus certainly did not ask. 

They talked, and bickered lightly, and even laughed. Sirius was as amicable as Sirius could be. But he still… well, he didn’t ask Regulus about what had happened. He didn’t ask Regulus how he’d faked his death, or why, or anything.

Just ask, Regulus thought, a dozen times a week. Ask me what happened, and then I can tell you that I defected, that I was brave, that I was like you…

But Sirius didn’t ask, and Regulus was not going to answer a nonexistent question.

Chapter Text

Two weeks passed, wonderfully and horribly mundane. 

Sirius didn’t seem to mind. He marveled at cheese in the grocery store and turtles crossing the road, and Regulus would find him awake at odd hours, gazing at the stars, or asleep at odd hours, crashed on the couch. He went through the motions like they were some sort of spell that would magically make him whole again.

It seemed to be helping, Regulus thought. Sirius hadn’t gained his weight back yet, but he just looked healthier, after all the workouts and spells and potions. Regulus felt certain that Sirius would get bored at some point, but so far, it had yet to happen (the muggle shooting range that Charlie took him to seemed to help). 

What was more of a surprise was how Regulus felt. 

He’d loved the muggle life, hadn’t he? It had been so simple and predictable. He had thought, with company (and not just any company, but the company of Sirius), everything would be perfect.

And Regulus liked the company of Sirius. It was wonderful. It felt sort of whole again. 

But still, everything was slightly off. Regulus was as tense and frisky as Leo. 

Because he had questions for Sirius, and didn’t Sirius have questions for him? Didn’t Sirius want to know what Regulus had done as a Death Eater? And why had Sirius obliviated Regulus?

He didn’t want Sirius to notice how tense he was, and Sirius did not seem to notice, but that upset Regulus as well. 

Regulus glanced at Sirius, who was bent over a piece of paper, scritching and scratching away. Writing to Harry, undoubtedly. The two of them kept up a correspondence near-daily, with Sirius sending along little packages of American junk food, flowers that he found interesting, or whatever else caught his eye. Regulus drew the line at him sending a magnet from Minnesota—the American junk food was already too incriminating, and really, did Harry need all of this, anyway?

“I’m his godfather,” Sirius said indignantly, when Regulus voiced that question. “It’s my job to spoil him.”

“James is dead; it’s your job to raise him,” Regulus spat. “And children don’t do well getting everything they want.”

Sirius gave him a nasty look. “I have nearly thirteen years to make up for, I’ll send him whatever I damn want to.”

“Fine! Fine,” Regulus said, throwing his hands in the air. This was, in his opinion, exactly what went wrong with James Potter. He’d seen—or heard—enough of his life to know that his parents egregiously spoiled him. Dozens of Christmas presents, Sirius had said, hugs every night, they’d make soup for him when he was sick and tuck him into bed at night… it was no wonder he'd been such an arrogant prat, thinking he was the center of the world.

Glancing at Sirius, who was now writing mutinously, Regulus decided it was wise not to say this. 

“He didn’t want to be there…” Sirius was muttering, although Regulus didn’t know who the words were directed at, “but he said he’s fine… and Dumbledore wouldn’t keep him there otherwise…”

Regulus watched Sirius write. He’d snooped through a few of their letters to each other. Harry seemed an excitable child who was completely taken with Sirius, just like his father. His first letter to Sirius had been so, so eager, and far too familiar. That desperate need to hear from Sirius, to know he was okay, the thinly disguised desire for him to return… and Sirius probably didn’t recognize it at all. He was always too straightforward for his own good.

According to Harry’s letter, he and his friends had been planning to prove Sirius’ innocence or break him out if they needed to. Arrogant little prick. As if he could get Sirius out of there, not even a teenager…

Regulus had a little owl stop in the woods which he used to mail and retrieve letters from Sirius to Harry, so of course he read everything Sirius sent, as well as what he’d received. And he’d seen it all over Sirius’ letters to Harry – are you okay? Are you sure you’re okay? Are they treating you well?  What do you want for your birthday? How have your friends been? How has Hogwarts been? How have these past twelve years been? How have you been? 

All good questions. None of which he bothered to ask Regulus. 

James said this, the letters would go, James said that, James was like this, James was like that… Regulus was sick of it. Did Sirius really not notice, or did he just not care? 

It all came to a head on the fourth of July. It was near ten at night, and the fireworks were going to go off any minute now, so Regulus went to hide in the basement. He hated fireworks.

“But I’m not going to use a muffling charm,” he told the room sternly. He’d been slipping, lately, and using all sorts of spells. He was trying very, very hard to break that habit. Slippery slope, slippery slope…

The first firework cracked above him, and Regulus hissed, curling down in his seat. Blasted patriotism. He grabbed a book at random and tried to start reading it.

The door flew open with a bang, and Sirius streaked down the stairs, skidded to a stop inside, and looked around, eyes wild.

“For goodness’ sake, close the door!” Regulus hissed. 

“What? What?” Sirius swung round to look at Regulus, and visibly calmed. “Oh. Hi. Right. Door.”

He flicked his wrist, and the door slammed shut, and another firework went off. Regulus flinched, and Sirius, having just sat down, shot up again. 

“You too, huh?” Regulus muttered miserably. Sirius gave him a sort of manic look, and Regulus realized what he should have realized earlier: dogs, fireworks. They didn’t mix. 

Sirius cast a muffling charm, and the cracking dimmed considerably, and Regulus pretended he wasn’t relieved.

“Sit,” he said, nodding to the open armchair.

“Merlin.” Sirius collapsed into the other armchair. “You could’ve told me!”

Regulus grinned, now. “It was more fun this way.”

“For you,” Sirius muttered, looking surly as he sank further into his seat. “Merlin, I hate those things… you should’ve told me.”

“Don’t pretend you or James wouldn’t have done the same sort of thing.”

Now Sirius looked wistful. “Yeah, we would have…”

Regulus sighed, and they lapsed into silence. Regulus felt more sullen with each muffled crack of the fireworks, and Sirius seemed to be the same.

He looked around suddenly. “Where’s Leo?”

“What, you think I control that thing?” Regulus said. “Must be somewhere outside.”

“Won’t he be scared of the fireworks?” Sirius said, and Regulus felt a surge of warmth at his brother’s concern. 

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Regulus dismissed. Sirius gave him an odd look, and he snapped, “what?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“Just…” Sirius flushed. “It’s not like you to not care about creatures.”

“I care,” Regulus protested. “I just know Leo can look out for himself.”

Sirius gave Regulus another odd look. 

“What?” Regulus said. 

Sirius did not answer, and Regulus began to feel strangely apprehensive. Was this it? Was this going to be their fight?

Not if Sirius didn’t say anything, and Regulus thought that might actually happen, and Sirius would keep his mouth shut. With a mixture of relief and disappointment, Regulus returned to his book. He read the first page three times before he realized he wasn’t reading it at all.

“Did you know I was in Azkaban?” 

“What?” Regulus’ head shot up, and his heart leapt into his throat.

Sirius was staring at him, a little defiant and a little afraid and a lot smaller than he usually looked. “Did you know I was in Azkaban? The whole time?”

A series of muffled booms rang outside. For a brief, wistful, instinctive moment, Regulus considered lying. 

But he couldn't, not to Sirius, not after everything. 

“Yes,” Regulus replied. 

When Sirius spoke, it was very, very quiet. “I see.” 

Sirius didn’t shout, and Regulus sort of wished he had. All he did was turn, shivering and silent, to look at the fire. 

“I–I didn’t–you said we weren’t brothers,” Regulus stammered, feeling the desperate need to justify himself. “You said it. And I figured you wouldn’t be put there if you didn’t deserve it, and I figured–Remus would’ve gotten you out if you didn’t deserve it, or–if you were innocent, well, someone would help you…”

“Yeah,” Sirius whispered, sounding pained. “I figured that too.”

Silence fell again. Shout at me, Regulus wanted to say. Fight back.

“I promised I’d leave it all behind,” Regulus said, trying to explain again, “and you said we weren’t brothers…”

Sirius turned to him. There were tears in his eyes. “And you thought that mattered?”

“What else was I supposed to think!?” Regulus cried. “What, would you have rescued me, if–”

“Yes.”

“–If I had still been a Death Eater–”

“Yes.”

“–If you thought I’d murdered all my friends–”

“Yes.” Sirius’ lip trembled. “I’d always rescue you.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know that!?” Regulus cried angrily. “You left! How was I supposed to know you still cared?”

“Did you honestly think I would stop?” Sirius said in dismay. “After all the summers I spent killing myself for your sake? The only thing that made me stay as long as I did was you, Regulus!” 

“Then you should've bloody told me!” Regulus roared. “Instead of saying that the cruciatus curse was like a harsh tickle!”

Regulus breathed heavily after his outburst, feeling slightly ridiculous for being so angry at such an unstable man–and feeling quite a bit frustrated that it was so easy to fight again. He had sort of thought, with everything else, they would leave the arguing behind them. 

“I just wanted you to be happy,” Sirius said, his voice small. 

It was a quiet sentence, almost too quiet for Regulus to hear, but he caught it. Damn Sirius, he thought angrily. 

“Then you should have stayed,” Regulus said fiercely. 

Sirius, to Regulus’ surprise, did not respond. When Regulus looked at him, his mouth was trembling, and his eyes were on the floor, and tears were dripping silently down his face, and what Regulus said caught up with him. 

“I’m sorry,” Regulus said. 

“I shouldn’t have stayed,” Sirius whispered.* “I didn’t deserve it. James said so.”

It sounded like he was trying to convince himself, not Regulus. 

“I know,” Regulus stammered. “I didn’t mean to–I’m sorry.”

Sirius did not say, it’s okay. He didn’t even say I forgive you.

“I offered–for you–to come to the Potters,” Sirius said in a trembling voice. “You could have–”

“Oh, don’t pretend I could consider going,” Regulus snapped. “Me, staying with the two Enemies of Slytherin? I wouldn't have survived Hogwarts if my house knew where I was, and I didn't want to be there anyway, not with you mocking everything we stood for.”

“James and I would have stopped for you.”

“No you would not have!” Regulus said. “You never stopped for me!” 

He slumped back in his seat. Sirius did not apologize. Regulus was not sure if Sirius was supposed to. He had never quite known how this worked–family arguments, that is. For his mother and brother, they were always screaming matches (Sirius lost). For his father and brother, it was more of a staring match (Sirius lost). And Regulus himself did not argue. He just did what he was told, or, if he didn’t do what he was told, he at least had the sense to not do what he was told quietly. If Hannah and Cole and their family argued, Regulus did not know it, because they never did it in front of him. 

Regulus wanted to tell Sirius how much it had hurt. He wanted Sirius to know that he had missed Sirius every day. He wanted Sirius to know how horrible some of the things he said in school were.

But how could he say that, when Sirius was sitting in shambles across from him, and Regulus could have rescued him any day in the past twelve years and had chosen not to?

“I might have left,” was what Regulus finally said, “if I had known the truth of our home, Sirius.”

Sirius flinched.

“You obliviated me,” Regulus said. “Didn’t you? You kept me from knowing what the Cruciatus curse was.”

“I did,” Sirius whispered. 

“Why?”

“Because–oh, you were in hysterics, Regulus.” Sirius buried his face in his hands. “You were so upset, and I didn’t want you–to start–I didn’t want her to hurt you, too. You were so ready to just, fight her right then and there–”

“I was?” Regulus said. He could not picture that. Mum had been fierce–never to Regulus, but fierce all the same. Regulus wondered if Sirius had accidentally obliviated some of his bravery, too. 

Sirius nodded. “I didn’t–I didn’t want her to be against you, too. And–I didn’t–you were always so kind, Regulus, and I didn’t want you to lose that, to become like–like me.  So, yes, I obliviated you.” He examined his nails, which were dirty and torn. “But there are worse curses out there than forgetfulness.” 

Regulus rested his hands on his lap. “So you just… wiped my memory of everything bad, and then left me in there anyway?”

“Well, but you were doing fine, weren’t you?” Sirius said desperately. “You’d always been mother’s favorite–she didn’t hurt you, did she?”

Regulus did not respond. How could he explain to Sirius that it had never been about Mother hurting him? How could he explain that summer had always just been about being with Sirius again? How could he say that, at some point in his life, home switched from the Place to Sirius?

“Did she?” Sirius repeated, a harder edge to his voice.

“No,” Regulus said softly. “But I believed her.”

“But you were safe.”

“But I was a Death Eater, Sirius!” Regulus fought to keep the quavering out of his voice. “I am responsible for the deaths of innocent people! And I didn’t see the truth about our home because you were always hiding it from me!”

Sirius’ eyes squeezed shut, and tears leaked out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think–I didn’t think you would. You were always so sweet, even to house elves, I never thought you could hurt muggles, I thought that your kindness would protect you…”

“Please,” Regulus scoffed. The only protection I ever had was you. “Don’t pretend you ever knew me well.”

“I thought I used to,” Sirius said helplessly. “James thought it was the right choice, leaving, I mean….”

“Yes, and he’s just the paragon of truth, isn’t he?” Regulus snarled. 

Sirius fell silent again. Regulus hated that. It made him feel like such a jerk, having the last word in a fight. Why did people argue so much? It was miserable. 

“I’m sorry,” Regulus said, because he was, “that I never rescued you. I should’ve done it.”

Sirius didn't reply. 

“I missed you,” Regulus said. That felt right to say, it was neither false nor cruel. 

“I missed you too,” Sirius said with a tremulous smile. 

Sirius didn’t go on, and neither did Regulus. But silence fell, and it didn’t feel stifling. Sirius glanced at the door. 

“Sounds like the fireworks are over,” he said softly. “Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

Chapter Text

A month passed. Sirius continued to stare off to nowhere for long amounts of time. His nightmares lessened. He spent up to half the day lying in the sun in Regulus’ backyard. The two of them took trips to Tesco for groceries, or to the gym to workout, always heavily disguised. It was all very mundane, but it was sort of driving Regulus insane, too. There was just so much that Sirius didn’t ask and Regulus didn’t bring up, even now…

Sirius sat on the couch around one in the morning. 

Gryffindors faced their fears. So Sirius was going to do it. He was going to conquer the dark, where dementors lurked and James lay dead, and he was going to do it. Tonight. Now. This was the night. This was the time. He had waited long enough.

Closing his eyes, Sirius thought back to summers at the Potters, having snowball fights at midnight and then baking cookies at two in the morning.

“Expecto Patronum,” Sirius whispered. James, baking cookies, James, playing Quidditch, James, dead on the floor. Shit.

The Marauders, then. Remus. Remus was still alive. But Remus hadn’t tried to get him out of Azkaban… and how could Sirius blame him, when he thought Remus was the spy?

Harry and their home together–but could it actually happen? Would that dream ever come true?

A mew came from the door, and Sirius broke off, grateful for the distraction. “There you are, Leo. I was beginning to worry you’d run away.”

Leo curled up around Sirius’ foot, and Sirius collapsed on the couch with a sigh. Leo hopped up onto his lap.

“It’s not working that great,” he told Leo quietly. It was a little odd to talk to animals, but he’d been doing it for years, and he saw with his own eyes Regulus muttering to his coffee maker last Tuesday. “Nothing’s happy enough.”

Leo nestled into his lap, and Sirius’ mouth quirked with a smile. 

“How’re your memories, kitty?” he asked, stroking the fur. “What do you dream of? Killing rats? Me, too…”

Sirius stroked Leo for a little longer. Hugs were still—well. It was still so painful, so searing, when anyone touched him. Sirius felt certain that if Regulus ever hugged him, he'd fall apart. It was easier when Sirius chose to do it, when he was expecting it, but on a night like tonight, he'd fall apart anyway. And he was tired of doing that, especially in front of Regulus, but he just got so lonely on nights like these, so... Leo.  Leo was a good option.

Until Leo hopped off his lap and strolled away.

“Blood traitor,” Sirius called half-heartedly. 

Regulus walked into the living room next, yawning and scratching his hair.

“Hullo. What are you doing up?” Sirius said tiredly. 

“Leo woke me.” Regulus smiled sleepily and scratched at his head. “Think he likes you.”

“you've got your wand.” Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Come to practice your patronus with me?”  

“Couldn’t let you wallow in defeat by yourself,” Regulus replied, already steeling himself for failure. “I’m so bad at this.”

“Then why are you doing it?” Sirius twirled his wand absently. “You said you’re not going back to the wizarding world.”

“I think it’s prudent that we’re both able to fend off dementors,” Regulus answered. “Whoever gets their patronus last does the dishes tomorrow.”

Sirius smirked. “I’ve been in Azkaban for twelve years, you don’t think that’s a bit unfair?”

“Only a bit.”

“Fine. I’ll win anyway.” Sirius raised his wand and furrowed his brow, and Regulus did the same. 

He focused on what he had focused on last time: the thought of him and Sirius together, peaceful, in their little muggle house. 

But this time–when it had actually come true!–he didn’t… he didn’t really feel anything at all. 

Come on, Regulus said, thinking again of the idea—him and Sirius, together again, them against the world… oh, why had he ever thought it would come true? It had barely been like that in the first place—it was Sirius against everyone, and then Sirius and James against the world, and even now there was Harry etched into Sirius’ arm, a physical reminder of where Sirius’ was focusing his happiness and priorities. This wasn’t working. 

“What are you thinking of?” Regulus asked.

“The time I ate Snape’s homework,” Sirius replied, dropping the wand with a look of relief. “You?”

Regulus grimaced, sweeping his now-sweaty hair off his forehead. “Couldn’t decide. I can’t think of a happy enough memory.”

Sirius lowered his wand, accepting defeat. “Me neither.” They smiled sadly at each other. “We're a good team, huh? Neither of us can fight off the thing that's hunting us down most.” He twirled his wand listlessly. “James could produce a patronus so quickly…”

“We’ll keep cracking at it,” Regulus said. “I think that’s enough spell practice for today.” 

“You were working for five minutes.”

“And I’m plum tuckered out,” Regulus replied, primly tucking his wand back up his sleeve. 

Sirius muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “just like James.”

Regulus cleared his throat. “Toast and tea?”

Sirius nodded and wiped a bit of perspiration off his forehead. Toast and tea was a nightly occurrence (or, very-early-morning occurrence, today) and the closest thing they had to a rhythm.  

They went to the kitchen, and Regulus set into the toast while Sirius worked on the tea. 

Sirius didn’t particularly care for this life. It was solid and dependable, the muggle way, always knowing what would happen if you did this or that, and that was nice. That was good. There was a comfort in turning the stove on, filling the kettle with water, and watching it boil. There was a calmness. But there was an utter dullness, too, and it was setting in more and more every day. 

Sirius glanced at Regulus, who was staring at the bread in the toaster. Regulus didn’t seem to mind this life at all, even though he had been the one most adamantly against adopting muggle methods as a kid. What had changed, in Regulus? Had Sirius asked? He couldn’t remember.

“Why’d you choose to live among muggles, anyway?” he asked, deciding that was the best way to find out. “What made you like them?”

Regulus straightened. “I didn’t, at first.” 

The toast popped, and the kettle whistled. They busied themselves with their food and drink.

“Like I said, I didn’t like muggles when I first came to Minnesota,” Regulus told Sirius, when they were both settled at the table. He was twitchy with excitement. Finally, finally, Sirius had asked. “At least, I thought them beneath me.”

Sirius broke off a corner of his toast. “What made you change your mind?”

Bright yellow flashed through Regulus' head. The color of the car he had borrowed, the color of a tuft of fine hair. 

Raven, pounding on his door at midnight, saying that her mom was giving birth early and Charlie was out of town. Regulus, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as he drove the Robinson’s car to the hospital, just a few days after getting his driver's license, because to refuse would have been suspicious and Hannah just looked so scared . 

Holding Hannah's hand, having absolutely no idea how he got into this situation, getting a very intense education in childbirth while she delivered her baby. 

And seeing Canary, a little bundle in her mother's arms, innocent and helpless and already hurting. And seeing Hannah, her face shining with exhausted but heartfelt love. And seeing Raven, outside the door, gnawing on her lip anxiously. And realizing that this little muggle mother had more love in her pinky finger than Walaburga had in her entire body. And feeling sick at the realization that he had once helped kill, with his own potions, of his own choice, human beings who had once been this small and innocent, only because they were muggles. 

“Any day now,” Sirius said dryly, calling Regulus back to the present.

“You’re one to talk,” Regulus muttered. “Anyway, the neighbors did… I mean, I saw the way Hannah looked at Canary, like—like love incarnate, and Canary was only a little, squishy baby… and I thought, if muggles have this much love in them…” and our parents, the purest of purebloods, didn’t… “then how can we say they’re beneath us? And then I saw the things muggles’ve made." As always, Regulus felt a little breathless at everything he'd seen in the past twelve years. "They’ve been to the moon, Sirius, and—buildings that scrape the sky, built with nothing but hands and tools, compositions, paintings—it’s incredible, all of it…” Regulus cut himself off before he started rambling, and cleared his throat. “But. Yes. It was Canary and her family that first changed my mind—the way Hannah looked at her when she hadn’t even spoken…”

“Kids are like that,” Sirius said softly. “You should’ve seen James after Harry was born…”

“I’m her godfather, actually,” Regulus interrupted. “Canary’s, I mean.” Regulus wasn’t sure why he’d said that, exactly, but he wanted Sirius to know.

“Really?” Sirius lifted his head from his cup, he was smiling. “We should introduce her to Harry.”

“Mmm.” Regulus blew on his tea. “I don’t know how I got wrapped up with the Robinsons. They just introduced themselves with brownies when I moved, and I’d see them on walks around the neighborhood, then suddenly I was driving Hannah to give birth and then I was a godfather, and they just kept inviting me over…” he sighed. “I can’t really make heads or tails of why.”

“Because you helped them and they like you, idiot.” Sirius nudged him teasingly. “You make good company.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “No I don’t.”

“Yes, you do!” Sirius insisted. “When you’re not all hot and bothered over impressions and expectations and dull things like that.”

Regulus hummed, unsure of how he felt about that, and they lapsed into silence. 

His tea was almost finished when Sirius said, “why did you leave?”

Regulus looked at him. He seemed intensely curious. 

“I can’t remember if I’ve asked,” Sirius said sheepishly.

“You haven’t, really,” replied Regulus. “I left because of Kreacher, actually. No, don’t start! Kreacher was always kind to me.”

“He was a beast to me,” Sirius muttered into his cup. 

“It’s what he was taught,” Regulus said, aggravated. 

“James said–”

“We’re not going to have this conversation again,” Regulus cut him off and doggedly continued, “the Dark Lord wanted Kreacher’s help for something, and it nearly killed Kreacher to get it, and damn it, Kreacher was not his, and I couldn't stand with him after he nearly murdered our house elf!” Regulus flushed. “And then, you know, after I left, I realized that muggles were just as clever and strong as wizards, in their own way…” 

“And good for you!” Sirius said. “What did Voldemort do that hurt Kreacher, anyway?”

“It’s a long story,” Regulus said, straightening with excitement. Finally, finally, Sirius was getting to the good part. “Do you know what a horcrux is?”

“Something terribly evil, no doubt.”

“Well, you’re not wrong. It’s a sort of soul-storer, and Voldemort had one, and he used Kreacher to get it…”

The story came pouring out, how Regulus had tugged the truth out of Kreacher, the indignant anger at how Voldemort had hurt his house-elf, the same anger at volunteering Kreacher himself, and the nights of research as he tried to figure out what, exactly, Voldemort had put there. 

Then, the destruction of the Horcrux itself. Regulus’ heart had been pounding, and even then, all he could think of was Sirius. Could he be as brave as his brother? He wanted to try. 

“Kreacher loopholed around my command,” Regulus wrapped up with. Sirius had been listening intently and without interruption. Did he think it was brave of Regulus? Or stupid? “He took me to some abandoned house, I don’t know where, and healed me with my own potions, and, well…” Regulus sighed, feeling a trace of that old panic, of the realization that he was still alive and could therefore still be hurt. “I didn’t think I’d survive that encounter. I thought I’d die, and that then, I’d be safe, and once I wasn’t…” Regulus flushed. “I’d done my part, I figured. I’d destroyed the horcrux. I didn’t want Voldemort to find me. So I obliviated Kreacher and just left. Doggone it, not another hug!”

Sirius (who hated being touched but had no problem doing the hugging himself) had draped himself over Regulus. “You were so brave.”

“Get off me,” Regulus said halfheartedly. 

“You’re amazing, Regulus.”

“Shut up!”

“My little Gryffindor Slytherin…”

“Stop it,” Regulus said, laughing. “I’m not Gryffindor at all, The Hat never considered it…”

“To Hell with the Hat, it knew you when you were twelve,” Sirius said, snuggling his head into Regulus’ shoulder. “I’m your brother and I say your brave. Did Voldemort ever find out you replaced it?”

Regulus flushed deeply. Every time he thought of that stupid note, he wanted to dig a hole and die in it. “I’m… not sure.”

Sirius pulled away, suspicious. “What’s with that tone of voice?”

“Just–well, if he looked for the Horcrux, he definitely knew I stole it–” And why had Regulus decided to sign his full name? What a stupid, stupid thing to do.

“How did he know you stole it?” Sirius asked eagerly.

Regulus shifted. “I, uh–I just, left him a little note–”

“What did it say?”

“Well, you see–”

“Just sum it up, I won’t be mad–”

“Basically, sort of, I-stole-your-soul-and-screw-you-signed-Regulus-Arcturus-Black?”

Long pause of silence. 

Then Sirius was throwing his arms around Regulus again. “I am so, so proud of you. You’re so brave. But, Merlin, you’re so stupid, too.”

“You’re describing yourself,” Regulus said, grinning fiercely. 

“I’m sorry you went through that alone,” Sirius said, resting his head on Regulus’ shoulder. He lifted it up quickly, eyes wide, saying, “I would’ve helped. You know that, right? You know I would’ve helped you if you’d asked?”

“You were at the Potters,” Regulus said.

“James would have helped too.” Sirius put his head back in place. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I do now,” Regulus muttered. “Really, I’m fine. It was nearly thirteen years ago…”

Stupid Sirius and his stupid cuddles that were stupidly effective. Regulus had never been much of a hugger himself, but this… wasn’t so bad. Tentatively, he nestled down further.

Sirius had said he was brave. 

Finally. 

The next day, Sirius found a clear, plastic little flower on his plate. 

“What's this?” he asked, amused. 

“Night-light. For your room,” Regulus answered briskly. “You plug it into the wall.”

“Cute.” Sirius grinned, turning it over. “Where'd you get it?”

“Canary,” Regulus replied. “I asked where she got hers, and she just gave me her extra one.”

Sirius examined the nightlight a moment longer. Between Padfoot and the potions, sleeping held no terror anymore. It was only the dark that made Sirius' heart pound in his chest. There was no facing your fears when you were chasing them away... unbidden, the words of the Sorting Hat came into his head: running away is sometimes the bravest thing you can do. Yes, James had said the same thing, and now, here was Regulus, unknowingly echoing it...

“Tell her thanks,” Sirius said, tucking it away. 

Chapter Text

It was the start of the Hogwarts year when Sirius left. 

It was okay. It was fine. Regulus had been expecting it, at some point, or at least he'd been trying to get himself to expect it… and it still took him by surprise.

“Harry's scar is hurting,” was how it started, when Regulus entered the kitchen to find Sirius stuffing a jar of Smucker’s Goober in a bag. “I think Voldemort might be on the move.”

“That's ridiculous,” Regulus said, following him to his room. “I destroyed the Dark Lord’s horcrux, how could he come back?”

“The Resurrection Stone?”

“The Resurr—that’s a children’s tale, Sirius.”

“A ghost, then? Soul-binding? Possession?” Sirius suggested. “I don't know what's going on, but if Harry’s scar is hurting, then things could get very bad, very fast.”

Regulus' heart was sinking deeper and deeper into his chest. “So you're going? Just like that?” 

He had known this was going to happen at some point, he had known Sirius would return to the wizarding world, but this soon? He was still so sick and unhealthy, both in his head and physically. 

“He needs me,” Sirius replied, snatching up his wand and a pistol. 

“To do what?” Regulus said, following him now to the kitchen. “What can you do that Dumbledore can't?”

“Wield a Glock 17,” Sirius said, tucking the gun into his hidden holster. “You should see Charlie and I at the range—”

“Be serious!” Regulus cried, then, “no, don't say it–”

“I'm always Sirius.”

“Damn it, this matters! There's no reason for you to overreact like this. You could be caught. Is that what you want? To be thrown back in Azkaban?”

Sirius, in the middle of stuffing apples in his pockets, paused. 

“Good grief, did you actually not consider that a possibility?” Regulus said in disbelief. 

“It won't happen,” Sirius said shortly, turning for the entry hall. “I'm good at escaping.” He gave Regulus a cocky smile. “If not, you’ll rescue me again.”

“Don’t count on it if you’re tempting fate like that!” Regulus said angrily. “Stay, Sirius. Harry would want you to.”

Sirius faltered at the door. He’s considering , Regulus thought wildly, and went on. 

“You used to say this was what we'd do,” Regulus said desperately. “Get our own little house and live together when we grew up, remember? And then…” then James Potter had come into the equation, and Sirius seemed to forget every promise he'd ever made to Regulus. 

Even now, he was looking at Regulus blankly. He still doesn't remember. 

“I want to stay,” Sirius said earnestly. “Really I do, but Regulus—if Harry's asking me about these things, then that means I'm all he's got.”

You’re all I’ve got, Regulus thought, but he had enough dignity left in him to not say it out loud. Sirius seemed to read his mind anyway. 

“Come with me.” The words burst out of Sirius like he’d been waiting to say them. “Regulus, we could be the greatest team in the wizarding world, we could take it all by storm–”

“Stop, stop.” Regulus interrupted. “Didn’t we already do this? I’m staying where I am.”

“Last time you said that you went and joined the Death Eaters!”

“And last time you left for a Potter, you spent twelve years in prison!” Regulus snapped. “I know what I did wrong. Do you?”

“He needs me,” Sirius repeated. 

“Harry Potter has plenty of people on his side.”

“He could have more if you'd come with me.”

“I don't want that world,” Regulus protested. “I like it here–I like dishwashers and telephones and radios–”

“And you like scheming, and plotting, and making potions in the dead of night!” Sirius replied hotly. “You've got a basement full of it! It's not that you're content living this life–it's that you're scared of the other one!” 

“I never said I was brave.” Regulus spoke almost on top of his brother. “I never said it. If I go back and the Ministry finds me–”

Regulus broke off. Azkaban was waiting for him, if he was discovered. 

“I'm not like you,” he said weakly. 

"What do you mean? That you're not brave?" Sirius' eyes were stormy. "Don't kid yourself Reggie, you are brave."

“I was, once, one time! And then I hid for twelve years! Gryffindor was never a consideration for me. For goodness's sake, there's not even anything for me to do there! It's not like the Dark Lord has returned!”

“But if he does return,” Sirius said, eyes dark, “will you fight him?”

“No,” Regulus said instinctively, and he stood by it. Voldemort knew a hundred ways to hurt. Regulus had seen so many. 

“We could use your help,” Sirius coaxed. 

“No,” Regulus repeated, his voice rising. “I've done my part. That's not my world anymore. It's not my responsibility.”

Sirius looked disappointed with him, an expression that made Regulus feel 13 years old again and up to his neck in shame. 

“James would say it's always your responsibility if people are hurting and you don't help,” Sirius said, dashing any shame Regulus felt. He wanted to scream. “James would–”

“In case you didn't notice,” Regulus snarled, “I'm not James! I'm not your perfect, crazy, 12-years-dead brother! I'm Regulus!” And now he nearly was screaming. Was this how his mother felt, when she and Sirius got into their fights? “I'm Regulus and I'm not brave!”

Sirius looked at him with pure disappointment, and Regulus was suddenly, terribly certain that for all they talked, for all the time that had passed, the two of them were as distant as ever. Sirius was still ready to go charging into enemy territory for anyone he cared about, and Regulus still… wasn't. Nothing had changed. They still didn’t understand each other, and they both knew it. It felt like a slap to the face to realize it.

“Okay, Regulus,” Sirius said tiredly, sagging all at once. 

“Okay, Sirius,” Regulus muttered back. 

“Do you have your mirror?”

“Yes.” Please, just go…

“Okay,” Sirius said, looking more lost by the minute. “Okay, well…”

“You should get going, because… well, because you should get there soon,” Regulus said.

“Right.” 

“Right. Get out of here.” Regulus led Sirius to the front door and practically closed it in his face. 

What if that’s the last time you ever see him? said a voice in his head.

Regulus ducked into Sirius’ room, then came running after him. “Wait!” 

Sirius turned hopefully. “What is it?”

“I didn't change my mind,” Regulus said, and shoved the plastic flower nightlight into Sirius’ hands. “But take this with you. Just… for the dark.” He tapped it, and the outlet prongs bent in. “It'll work without an outlet now.”

Sirius smiled. “Thanks, Regulus.”

“You're welcome. Now shut up and get out of here.”

And life was back to the way it used to be, three months ago. 

It was startling how three months could make such a difference. The house that Regulus used to be so proud of–small and cozy and his– was too big, now, and too cold, for him alone. 

Sirius did call, true to his word, and as usual they pretended they had never fought. Neither of their lives were particularly eventful at the moment, so Regulus taught him some of the muggle games–two truths and a lie, never have I ever–that Raven and Canary used to make him play. Sirius called once at seven in the morning, while Regulus was getting ready, and again in the evening. Regulus listened to Sirius ramble about Harry, learning more about the boy than he really cared to. He returned to his day job, and gardened and worked out and babysat, and it all seemed duller than it used to be. 

“This tournament thing is absolutely ridiculous,” Sirius scoffed. It was a late evening call, around ten for Regulus and three in the morning for Sirius. It had been four weeks and counting. “Making a fourteen-year-old compete in it.”

“Is he okay so far?” Regulus asked, meandering around the house like he always did on a mirror call.

“A bit shaken.” Sirius shook his head, frustrated. “I can’t believe they’re letting him do this, but it’s a magical contract, or something.”

Regulus decided to cut up an apple for a snack. “Well, you were doing pretty stupid stuff at fourteen, too.”

“But not alone. I was with friends.”

“See, but that just made you egg each other on,” Regulus said, popping an apple slice in his mouth. For the sake of conversation, rather than out of any personal care, he asked, “are Harry’s mates doing okay?”

“I don’t know, I should check on them,” Sirius said, looking troubled. “I think he’s fighting with one of them…”

“They’ll get over it."

"Eventually," Sirius agreed. "Ron's a steady chap... quick-tempered, but he'll come around... sort of like James..."

Regulus glanced at his watch. "Five minutes and thirty-two seconds."

"What?" Sirius said, startled.

"That's how long it took for you to mention James. I'm impressed; yesterday you went less than two minutes."

"Oh, shove off. He was my best friend, of course I'm going to talk about him."

"Well, I've got dead friends too, and you don't see me bringing them into every conversation I ever have."

"True." Sirius' face softened, which was not Regulus' intent. Oh, Merlin, he was about to get all honest. "I guess Evan died, then?"

"Piss off."

"I know Barty did."

"Piss off," Regulus repeated, and then realized all of a sudden that Sirius and Barty were there, at the same time. Sirius might have witnessed his last moments. Regulus tried to keep his voice harsh when he asked, "...did you... talk to him? In Azkaban?"

"Barty? A bit." Sirius grimaced. "He mostly cried for his mum."

And if that didn't break Regulus' heart in two... yes, Barty had always held a soft spot for his mother, no matter how much he hated his father...

"His dad's still around," Sirius said, bite entering his tone, and that just wasn't fair, that Barty's father outlived him. "Still causing trouble."

The edge in Sirius' voice made Regulus look up, curious. "What did he do to you?"

"It's what he didn't do that's the problem," Sirius muttered. "Didn't you hear? He never gave me a trial."

"I'll murder him."

Sirius grinned at Regulus. "I'll find you a knife."

"Excellent," Regulus said, for a moment legitimately caught up in the thought... but no, no, it was too much risk for too little reward.

Someday, maybe, he might kill Barty Crouch Senior. For Barty, or Sirius, or honestly just for the sake of the ministry at large, because a man that stupid shouldn't have that much power. For now, Regulus abruptly changed the subject, before Sirius could start prying more into memories he had been trying so hard to forget. 

"How’s it for you?” Regulus finished up his apple. “Bored yet?”

Sirius laughed. “No, actually.” He tilted his mirror up. “Look.”

In a confusing whirl, the mirror was now reflecting the stars above. 

“Reggie, you should go outside,” Sirius said excitedly. Used to accommodating his brother’s whims, Regulus trudged up the stairs and into the backyard, casting a quick privacy charm. “Lay down on the ground, Reggie.”

“Lay down on the ground, Reggie,” Regulus imitated under his breath, complying. “Let me cheat off your notes, Reggie. Fetch me my slippers, Reggie.”

“I never said that last one,” Sirius said, his voice amused from behind the mirror. 

“I knew you were always thinking it.”

“It’s true. I’ve always viewed muggle-lovers like you beneath me. Are you lying down?”

Regulus stared up into the night sky. “I am.” 

“Good.” Sirius sounded immensely pleased with himself. “Now we can stargaze together.” 

Regulus sighed contentedly. The Hogwarts astronomy tower was by far the best location for stargazing, because it was charmed to block out light from earth nearby. His house was less than ideal. There were streetlights and city lights and he really couldn’t see that much. 

But what he saw was beautiful. The stars had never needed to be many in order for them to be dazzling. Regulus had not stargazed in a very, very long time. 

He held up the mirror so that Sirius’ sky, in London, was up among the dimmer Minnesota sky. His little piece of glass reflected far more stars than were in the sky above him. 

Sirius’ face appeared eagerly, startling Regulus. “Reggie, can you see my star?” 

Regulus looked for a moment, then nodded. “I see it.”

“I see yours. It’s so bright.”

“You’re very sappy tonight.”

“Can’t help it,” Sirius said happily. “You should feel the grass here, Regulus, it rained so it’s all dewey and fresh–and the wind’s blowing, and the stars are so clear…”

Regulus smiled. Maybe, after twelve years in Azkaban, a bit of time in nature away from people was exactly what Sirius needed. 

“How’s the food?” Regulus asked.

“Eh, same cave, same rats.” 

“Nasty.”

“No, eating rats is the best part.”

Regulus laughed. He thought back to when Sirius had dragged him out to stargaze at the Hogwarts astronomy tower. They’d been, what, eleven and thirteen? Yes, it had been his first year. Sirius had been so excited…

And now, no matter where you are in the world, you can take comfort in the fact that we see the same stars, Sirius had said sternly, but Regulus even at his age had known that was false, and replied, well, actually, the constellations aren’t the same in different parts of the world… Regulus didn’t remember the rest of that very well. Did Sirius remember the rest of it? Did he remember it at all? 

“You know, even though we’re in different places, you can take comfort in the fact that we see the same stars,” Regulus said tentatively. 

The response was instant: “Wellactuallytheconstellationsaren’tthesameindifferentpartsof theworld–”

Regulus burst out laughing. “Come off it, I didn’t sound like that.”

“You did,” Sirius said, eyes wide. “You really did! You always talked so fast that nobody could keep up, not even you.”

Still laughing, Regulus said, “my voice certainly wasn’t that high.”

“My voice certainly wasn’t that high,” Sirius mimicked. “You were eleven, Regulus. Hey, put your mirror on your chest so that I can see your stars.”

Amused, Regulus complied. “Yes, your majesty.”

“Thanks.” 

Sirius fell silent, and Regulus pictured him, squinting at Regulus’ sky and fitting it in with his own. 

He glanced back inside. There was a piano, a grand piano, that had arrived last week. Regulus had ordered it for Sirius a few days before Sirius left, because the piano at Grimmauld Place was one of the only things Sirius had ever loved there. He’d hesitated to buy the piano, worried it would bring back bad memories, but Sirius really had loved playing it as a kid… they used to play duets together, Regulus on the violin and Sirius on the piano. Even later, when things were worse, Sirius never screwed with their performances. Maybe it was just because he liked his piano too much, but Regulus liked to think it was because he’d asked Sirius not to. The thought of them playing duets again had been enough for Regulus to order the piano anyway. 

And here it was now, collecting dust, as abandoned as Regulus’ violin was. 

Chapter Text

Harry breathed in the crisp air as he walked through Hogsmeade. It was nearly snowing. Was Sirius okay? Surely, if he was Padfoot, he would be fine… thick coat and all that… but Harry should’ve brought a blanket or something, or at least food… no, Sirius had his wand, he'd said so in a letter, he would be fine. 

For all of Hogsmeade's charms, it was Sirius that made Harry most excited to get out here. They had written plenty, but Harry hadn't seem him face-to-face since the night he'd learned Sirius was his godfather.

The three of them found Padfoot at the edge of Hogsmeade—or rather, Padfoot found them, bounding into Harry and nearly tackling him to the ground in his excitement. Despite the dance, despite the tournament, despite everything, Harry laughed as Padfoot licked him up and down. Here, he was right here, safe and alive and steady. Even Hermione smiled when Padfoot nuzzled her. 

And then he was off, bounding for the caves. Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed, clambering up rocks and down valleys until he led them into the mouth of a cave and disappeared inside it. 

Literally disappeared—he padded into the entrance of the cave and vanished. For a moment, Harry was so stressed that he thought he might explode—what had happened, was Padfoot okay? Without a second thought, he darted into the cave.

Sirius was on the other side, grinning brightly, and Harry caught his breath.

It was warm in here, really warm, sweater-fresh-from-the-dryer warm. And there was a sort of pile of pillows and blankets, a few books, and a little, plastic flower that was lighting up the room. 

“What, did you think I’d stay here in the cold?” Sirius teased. Harry looked at him, and something in him unraveled.

Sirius looked healthy—still thin, but not like before. There were no dark circles under his eyes, no matted hair. He even looked happy. 

And he was smiling at Harry, like it was the easiest thing in the world to do. 

“Brilliant,” said Ron, coming in behind him. “How’d you manage all this?”

“Oh, it was nothing.” Sirius did a fancy little twirl with his wand. “Bit of this, bit of that…”

“How did you get your heating charm to extend over the whole cave?” Hermione said, looking a mix of bewildered and impressed. 

“Oh, I just altered the original spell a little, it was ages ago.”

“Is that safe?” Hermione said, alarmed.

“Safe?” Sirius laughed. “Hermione, when have I ever given you the impression that the things I do are safe?”

“So you’re alright here?” Harry said, suddenly able to breathe a little easier, because Sirius had been living like this, for the whole of this year of Hogwarts, for him…

“I’m just fine,” Sirius assured, collapsing onto the pillows on the ground. He waved his wand, and a few of the larger rocks shifted into beanbag chairs. “I like it, really. Excellent stargazing, it’s easy to summon food…”

Harry lowered himself cautiously into a chair. “You said you’re eating rats."

“I eat the rats by choice,” Sirius replied, suddenly solemn, and Harry had no idea if he was joking or not. “Now, sit down, sit down! We have lots to talk about.”

And they talked. Sirius told them about Snape and Karkaroff, and gave them plenty of warnings… and Harry listened, he did. 

But… it was so warm in there… and Sirius’ voice, it had a sort of lilt to it, so steady and confident that it could just make Harry fall right asleep…

“...Poor lad’s finally cracked,” Harry heard, and a hand brushed against his forehead. He muttered his annoyance, even as someone laughed… “When do you head back?”

“We’ve a few hours,” Hermione replied, and Harry blinked awake.

“Hmm?” he said, yawning. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Just for a minute,” Sirius replied, grinning fondly. “Don’t worry, you didn’t miss anything important.”

“S.P.E.W. is important,” Hermione said hotly. “And if you were a house elf then you’d want someone to…”

“Great, you’ve set her off again,” Ron said. 

"No, but I'm serious," Sirius said to Hermione, "do you have any badges on you?"

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Do you want one?”

“Yes.” Hermione looked like the sun. “Well, but I won’t wear it.” Hermione’s face crumpled. “But I’ll make sure it gets worn…”

“Oh, well, okay,” Hermione said, “well, I don’t have any on me, but… here!” she ripped Ron’s right off of his shirt. “Take this.”

“Hermione!” Ron said, crestfallen. “You tore my shirt!”

“...Thanks,” Sirius said to Hermione, and then waved his wand, mending Ron’s shirt and making the color less faded in the process. “But do be more careful with your friend’s clothes, yes?”

“Oh.” Ron looked down at his now-bright shirt in pleased surprise. “Er, thanks… wait.” Ron’s head jerked up, and his eyes went wide with excitement. “Can you… say, are you any good at transfiguring clothes?”

“Not as good as James was, but… better than the average person,” Sirius said, a little smugly. “Why, do you need me to fix anything?”

“Well… well,” Ron started, his breath coming a bit fast with excitement, “well, I have these dress robes, but… they’re really bad, Sirius,” he said pleadingly, “they’re awful, and old, and—”

“I'll take care of it,” Sirius said briskly. “You know about the Honeydukes passage, right?”

Ron nodded eagerly. 

“Well then, go off into Hogwarts and bring them here, I’ll fix it up for you,” Sirius said easily. Ron looked ready to cry with relief. 

“Thank you,” he breathed, and then leapt to his feet, seizing Hermione by one hand and Harry by the other. “Come on, let’s go!”

“Oh,” said Harry, startled by the sudden turn of events. He had really liked just sitting there, and listening to Sirius and Ron and Hermione talk… it was so nice and warm in here, and he hadn’t seen Sirius in so long…

“Why don’t you and Hermione head back together,” Sirius told Ron, at the same time Hermione said, “Harry, why don’t you stay a bit longer with Sirius?”

After a beat of silence, Ron said, “perfect!” and the two of them headed off.

“Excellent,” Sirius said smugly, and sank down on the beanbag next to Harry. “Do they know that they fancy each other?”

“What, Ron and Hermione?” Harry said, startled. “They don’t!”

“Why not?”

“Well, they always argue, and…” Harry thought. “They’re always glaring at each other, and they get upset so easily, and…”

“Oh, Harry,” Sirius said with a sigh, “You have so much to learn. That’s what people do when they like each other.”

“Why?” Harry said, baffled. The thought of arguing with someone he liked—with Cho, perhaps, for example—turned his stomach. 

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” Sirius teased, poking him. “Now, you’ve got this odd sort of furrow in your brow. What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing,” Harry said out of habit, but his heart took a great leap at the realization that Sirius really could help him with this. 

After all, Sirius was… well, he’d been unhealthy and unhinged when they first met, but it was so clear after even just one conversation where he was remotely well: Sirius was charming. He must have swept everyone off their feet, back in the day. 

“Well, I’m a little worried,” Harry began, “a lot, actually. You see, there’s the Yule Ball coming up, you know…”

“I know,” Sirius said, grinning mischievously. 

“And I have a date, finally…”

“What took you so long?” Sirius said, propping his head in his hand. “You’re the Boy who Lived, a triwizard, and handsome to boot. I’d think anybody in that school would be eager to go with you.”

“Well… well, thanks,” Harry stammered, “but Sirius, the girl I wanted to go with already said yes! To another triwizard!”

“Oh, that is a pickle,” Sirius murmured. “Well, you’ll just have to show her what she missed at the Yule Ball.”

“After the Yule Ball, she’ll want nothing to do with me,” Harry moaned into his hands. “Sirius, I’m bloody awful at dancing… and the worst part is, I have to do it in front of everyone, and…”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Sirius laughed. “Oh, Harry, dancing’s easy.”

“It’s not,” Harry whined. “I’m horrid at it.”

“But don’t you see, it doesn’t matter!” Sirius leapt to his feet excitedly. “Nobody will notice if you’re bad at dancing–it’s all about confidence! Remus could waltz like a royal and James had two left feet, but it was James who was the belle of any ball, and why?”

“Confidence?” Harry said tentatively. 

“CONFIDENCE!” Sirius bellowed. 

Harry looked at him flatly. “And where, exactly, am I supposed to get this incredible confidence from?”

“You’re of the house of Gryffindor!” Sirius cried. “The home of the lions, Harry!”

“Oh, and I suppose a lion will just come in and show me how to dance.”

“I will,” Sirius declared. Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m serious!”

“We’ve met.”

“You’re not funny. Come on.” Sirius flicked his wand, and a lilting, light tune began to play. “This was your father’s favorite waltz…” Sirius coaxed. 

That got Harry to stand up, and Sirius grinned. 

“Look, we’ll start simple,” Sirius began. “I’ll lead, and then we’ll switch. Girl’s hand on the shoulder, guy’s hand on the waist, okay? And you go in a triangle—follow my lead.”

Sirius led Harry through the wizard waltz, taking care to stumble plenty himself, enough that he had Harry begrudgingly smiling by the middle, and giggling by the end. 

“Excellent,” Sirius said, lying. He hated to say it, but Harry was decent at best. “Now you lead.”

Harry did worse at leading than at following, but they stumbled their way through two more songs, and with Sirius’ light instructions and dark jokes, Harry was laughing by the end.

“See, there you go!” Sirius said, when Harry stumbled through a twirl but smiled anyway. “Confidence! That’s what’ll get you through the Ball!”

“Yes, if the Ball is you and me in a deserted cave,” Harry laughed. 

“Bah. If you can do it here, you can do it there,” Sirius said. 

“But it won’t be with you, Sirius, it’ll be with Parvati, and I don’t even think she likes me that much…”

“Look, you can charm any girl, I promise,” Sirius said, twirling Harry again, with a bit more ease.

“How?”

“Just talk to her, Harry! Be polite and pay attention to what she wants to do. Dance if she wants to dance, talk if she wants to talk, and she’ll have a grand time and so will you.”

“But Parvati—”

“You just need to practice,” Sirius said sagely. He nodded a greeting to Ron and Hermione as they walked in. “Look, there’s a girl you can practice with.”

“Yeah, and there’s Hermione, too,” Harry said, grinning. “Nice dress, Ron.”

“Shut it,” Ron muttered. He had the dress robes bundled up in his arms and a look of fury that Sirius attributed to the outfit. 

“Oh, I’m sure it can’t be that bad— Merlin!” Sirius yelped, staring at the frilly monster Ron was unfurling. “That’s horrid!”

“I know,” Ron moaned. “Can you fix it?”

“If I didn’t, it would be a crime against humanity.” Sirius held the robes up, examining them. “Any preferences, Ron?”

“Um, that I don’t look like my granny?” Ron replied.

“Let me rephrase. Tie?”

“No, please.”

“Ascot?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Vest?”

“...Alright.”

“Colors? Red?”

“Maybe a bit, but not maroon, if you don't mind. Uh, brown is okay too…” 

Sirius grinned. “I can work with that. Let’s see…” he looked Ron up and down, and then looked the dress robes up and down. With a quick flick of his wrist, he split the lace off of the dress robes and twirled them into a golden, embroidered vest. The cloak stayed largely the same, only in a nicer fabric and a darker brown. The trimmings went a bit more colorful and less frilly, and the inside of the cloak turned the same color red as the trimmings. “How’s this?”

“Brilliant,” Ron whispered, taking it in his hands. “Absolutely brilliant, thank you…”

“Easy as anything,” Sirius said breezily. “Just come back by midnight, or you’ll turn into a pumpkin.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Sirius winked at Hermione, who stifled a giggle. “Won’t he look nice in it?”

He directed the question at Hermione, but sweet, loyal, clueless Harry answered before she could. 

“Yeah, you’ll look smashing, Ron!” Harry said brightly. “Say, do you two want to practice some dancing?”

“No, I'm telling you, Harry needs to practice with a girl,” Sirius said, after Harry and Ron had danced together thrice in a row, trying to trip each other over, and cracking up the whole time. 

“Yeah, and I need to practice with someone my own height,” Hermione added indignantly. “Well, I mean—”

She shut her mouth, and Ron gave her a sullen look. 

“Yes, yes, let's switch!” Sirius said impatiently. He'd already put Ron and Hermione together once for their practice, but they had stumbled over each other the whole way through, glaring either at their partner or their feet. “Ron, with me.”

He took Ron’s hand and flicked his wand, and the music played louder. 

“Won't we be–” Hermione started anxiously. 

“I've got a silencer on the cave,” Sirius replied, anticipating her question. 

“Wow,” Hermione said, charmed, and Ron went even more sullen. 

Harry and Hermione struck up an easy conversation, and Sirius turned to Ron. 

“What’s wrong, Ron?” Sirius asked quietly. 

“Nothing,” Ron muttered.

“Nothing that we can’t fix, you mean,” Sirius said. He cast a slight muffler around him and Ron. “Something happened on the walk with Hermione, didn’t it?”

Ron looked down at his feet as if they were the bane of his existence. 

“What did she say?” Sirius wheedled, poking and prodding until something burst out. (It had always worked for James.)

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Did she tell you who’s she’s going to the Yule Ball with?”

Ron’s eyes shot up incredulously. “You know?”

“Not at all, but I assume I’ve hit the nail on the head?”

“Yeah,” Ron muttered.

“So…”

“It’s Krum,” Ron burst out angrily. “Viktor—bloody—Krum. That’s who she’s going with.”

“Krum, the Quidditch player?” Sirius winced. “That is bad luck.”

“I don’t care,” Ron muttered. “He’s—insufferable, and she’s—worse—arrogant and know-it-all and stuck up…”

“Now, now, that’s no way to talk about your friends,” Sirius chided. Ah, Ron really did remind him of James. “You won’t win anyone’s hand with that attitude.”

“I don’t want to win any hands,” Ron muttered, his hands grasping awkwardly at Sirius.’

“Well, if you want to keep any friends, at least, I’d suggest you lose that attitude,” Sirius replied, raising his eyebrows. “Do you have any ground to stand on? If I recall correctly, Hermione was the one who stayed by Harry’s side.”

Ron looked even more miserable, and Sirius instantly regretted what he’d said.

“Best not to dwell on it,” Sirius told Ron briskly. “You’re not the only one here who’s failed their friend.”

“Well, surely you didn’t do anything as bad as me…” Ron muttered.

Sirius laughed out loud. 

“Sorry,” he said, when Ron raised his eyebrows. “It's not that funny, but… trust me, I've done worse than desert a friend. But we’re getting off topic. It doesn’t matter who she’s going with, it’s just a dance, he can’t be that impressive compared to you…”

“Did you not hear me? Viktor. Bloody. Krum.”

“So?”

“So—” Ron sputtered. “Haven’t you heard of him? Quidditch champion, Triwizard—”

“I know who he is,” Sirius dismissed. The song ended, and he quickly started another one. “what difference does it make?”

“Easy for you to say,” Ron muttered, stumbling over his feet. “You’re rich, and charming, and clever…”

“Well, you’re two of those things,” Sirius encouraged, “That’s over halfway there.”

Ron furrowed his brow, trying to figure out if that was a complement of not.

“Just teasing,” Sirius said lightly. “But really, you think Hermione cares about any of that?”

“Again,” Ron muttered, “easy for you to say.”

Ron pushed away from Sirius and marched out of the cave. Sirius cast a quick notice-me-not and hoped Hermione and Harry were too caught up in their dancing to notice. A quick glance at them (they were arguing loudly over who would get to lead) assured him that they'd be fine.

“Sorry,” Sirius said lightly, when he stepped outside to find Ron slumped against the cave’s opening, arms crossed. “But I mean it when I say that Hermione wouldn’t care.”

“I care,” Ron muttered, tracing patterns in the snow with a stick. “Look, Sirius, you’re great, but you really don’t get it, okay? What it’s like to—be poor, and unsteady, and a bad friend, and the least good-looking, and the least favorite child, and the least—”

“Woah, woah, woah.” Sirius eased down next to Ron. “Hey, I do know how that feels. Well, not being poor, and certainly not being ugly, but the rest of it I get,” he said earnestly. “And it’s not like you know how it feels to be ugly, either.”

Ron smiled against his will. 

“I’ve been a bad friend and a worse enemy, I really have,” Sirius said earnestly. “And trust me, I’ve been the least favorite child. But it’s not… it’s not like that, favorites and everything, it just isn’t. And you’re a great friend, Ron.”

“Not really,” Ron muttered.

“Yes, really,” Sirius said. “That was the first thing I knew about you. When you stood on broken bones and said I’d have to kill you to get to Harry—before anything else, I thought, thank Merlin Harry has someone like this.” Sirius nudged him, and presented the highest compliment he knew: “It was something James would have done. You’re a great person. Hermione will see it.”

“Thanks,” Ron muttered, and then quickly snapped, “it doesn’t matter, though, because I don’t want to go out with Hermione; she’s just lucky someone asked her at all, and—I don’t even like her! And—”

—And she’s the most insufferable know-it-all I’ve ever met, and her… her hair, it’s so bright, and her eyes… James would ramble, nearly every night, to the point where Peter and Sirius started keeping a tally of how many nights he went in a row talking about Lily Evans.

It really wasn’t that funny, but Sirius grinned. 

“Really, Ron, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar,” he said. 

“I don’t want to catch her, and she’s not a fly!” Ron said hotly. “She’s—”

And on he went, even as Sirius tugged him back inside to practice another dance. To Ron’s credit, he did just fine as a dancer when he was too angry to doubt himself.