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Chapter Text

Sirius Black sits in his kitchen at 13 Tipperary Road, Flat 7, bent over an old grimoire that belonged to Arcturus Black, his late grandfather. He’d secretly kept it with him from the day he left Grimmauld Place, despite cutting ties with most of the Black family. His grandparents were always Sirius’ biggest weakness, eager for their approval as he was for his mother’s. But where Walburga hadn’t bothered to invest him the way she invested in Regulus, Arcturus and Melania had no such intention. Arcturus didn’t push for him to return to Grimmauld, merely uttered in a letter that I hope its contents bring you sense as your parents appear to have none. Sirius took his grandfather’s words as his blessing to stay with the Potters despite how much his absence fractured the family apart. 

There was a specific spell he was looking for, one the heads of houses used for magical core expansion to help with pregnancy. It was said to encourage the fetus to have a stronger magical connection upon birth, but Sirius had no plans of using it for such things. He had always been good about modifying spells, planned to make it something soaked in desolation and despair. Dumbledore discouraged them from bodily harm, to not use the same killing curse that was sent towards them because he’d rather gather information from Death Eaters who refused to speak than anything else. Sirius has never been good at following directions that weren’t his own or James. He saw no reason for mercy when these same fucks didn’t have the same courtesy when they drew their wands. 

Sirius supposes he’s spiraling. He hadn’t spent this much time away from James since the end of fifth year when the situation with Snape and Remus occurred. Sirius should’ve agreed to be the Potter’s secret keeper, would’ve died to keep them safe, but it would have been so obvious if it was him. So they changed the plan, pick Peter, unassuming, quiet Peter. Sirius hadn’t seen him since Marlene’s funeral, or Remus for that matter, always away on a mission, always busy. It perplexed Sirius greatly, but he assumes something bigger is at work here, so when he suggested they keep Remus in limbo, James agreed even though Lily hesitated. It’s not that Sirius didn’t trust Remus, it’s just that he didn’t trust those he couldn’t keep an eye on. 

Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, Sirius’ eyes flash with images of Regulus’ coffin lowering in the ground and his expression shutters, forcing these thoughts away. When it came to James, to Lily, to Harry, Sirius couldn’t afford to be trusting. The less who knew, the better. Sirius finds the spell he’s looking for just as his wards rattle dangerously, and then there is a low pop. He’s on his feet immediately, wand twirling in his right hand, and stiffens when he finds another wand pointed at his face from where he’s pointed his own. Sirius makes out the wrinkled, gnarled face of Kreacher peeking out from behind a pair of dark, luxurious robes, the hanging droop of his nose a brilliant red. He slowly drags his eyes up, gaze snagging on a familiar clasp holding the robes closed. It was of a raven’s wing, onyx and pearly dark, with platinum inlaid throughout.What is this, Regulus had asked softly. For you to remember me, Sirius had responded. He finds himself bristling, a sharp swell of rage permeating through him. He grits his teeth, furious. His voice shakes, “When I was 6, I fell off a tree. What did I break?”

This person would never know the answer because Regulus was dead, his brother was dead-

“Your left pinky. It still pulls to the right because you insisted on fixing it yourself.” Regulus answers, tugging off his hood. Sirius feels tears sting his eyes. His brother has aged finely since their last tremulous meeting, in the same terrifying way of their father with their mother’s cold, eerie eyes. His cheekbones are defined to compliment that angular, hard curve of his jaw, the whispers of baby fat from their youth long gone. A singular curl sweeps across his forehead, much longer than Sirius had ever seen it where it curls just above his ears. Sirius feels his lips part, shocked. Regulus studies him back, wand still raised as Sirius’ was. “For every birthday since I was 5, you promised me. What was it?”

“Forever.” Sirius swallows hard, heart thudding against his ribcage as his eyes lock with his brother’s for the first time in years. The moment stretches between them, silent but charged. Sirius tightens his grip on his wand, its tip pointed unwaveringly at Regulus, who mirrors the gesture without hesitation. Regulus’ voice is steady, yet Sirius catches the faintest tremor beneath the surface, “Have I passed your test or shall we keep pointing wands at one another until you grow bored?”

A thread inside him snaps.

“She buried you.” Sirius snarls. “I watched the coffin go into the ground-”

Regulus lifts a hand, placating, “I had to.”

“You… You had to?” Sirius hisses furiously. “I fucking mourned you!”

“I’m sorry, Sirius.” Regulus replies, his expression twisted with a terrible sadness, which is so unusual that it sends Sirius reeling. He doesn’t know what to do in this moment, if he wants to deck Regulus in his handsome face or sob like a damn child. His body feels torn and ragged and it takes everything to not throw his arms around him. 

“Why?” Sirius manages. “Shall I expect your precious Dark Lord to waltz in behind you?”

Regulus’ lips twist into a bizarre meld of a sneer and a smile. “If I’d come on his behalf, I wouldn’t have hesitated.” His gaze flickers to Kreacher, who stands frozen behind him, wringing his bony hands together nervously, which was peculiar. Regulus brings Sirius’ attention back to him, “You wards are impressive. Unfortunately, they are no match for elf magic.”

“Pity.” Sirius snips, flicking his wand up slightly, a silent warning. “Talk or I might get trigger happy with that pretty face of yours.” 

Regulus sighs, lowering his wand just enough for Sirius to relax a bit, “I’m not here to fight you, Sirius. I’m here with news.”

Sirius scoffs, his mind racing. He takes a cautious step back but keeps his wand trained on Regulus. “News? You? Since when do you care about helping anyone but yourself? You’ve been dead for almost two fucking years!”

Regulus’ expression hardens. Their years apart had left something frigid and steely into his features, yet Sirius sees a flicker of raw hurt that makes his chest throb desperately. Regulus jerkily reaches into his robes, pulling out a thick satchel and spills it open on Sirius’ table. A ring, a locket, a gilded cup, and a diadem spill out, sickly and wrong and Sirius staggers away with an ugly gag. Vomit swells sharp in his gut, mouth sweating with discomfort as he takes in the items laid before him. Kreacher swallows audibly. 

“I don’t care about anything,” Regulus starts slowly, meeting Sirius’ gaze evenly. “But I do care about you.”

“What is that?” Sirius needs confirmation or he may lose his mind. “Whose are they?”

“Sounds that you already know.”

“You’re…” Sirius swallows hard. “You’re lying.”

Regulus levels him with a look. “When have I ever lied to you?”

“You lied to me for two years!” Sirius snaps, voice clipped and short.

“And that is the only time.” Regulus replies curtly. “When have I ever lied to you?”

Sirius’ mouth trembles. He wants to say you haven’t. Even when they were children, Regulus was direct and blunt and it became more apparent as he grew, so unbothered by how abrasive he could be at times, his expression so stoic yet his mouth would spill secrets without second thought to Sirius. He’s lying, a part of himself hisses. He wouldn’t, Sirius thinks, wand trembling in his hand. Even when Regulus signed away his soul to this man, he was honest with Sirius as to the why, answered every how could you directly and would simply say, I did it for you. Sirius never understood and now he still doesn’t understand. 

Sirius pulls his eyes away from Regulus to the items, breath caught in his throat, and he jabs at them with his wand. There is an ugly hiss that spills forward, and Sirius gasps quietly, hands shaking as he struggles to take everything in. He pushes hard into Regulus’ space, tugging at his robes and pressed shirt, looking for signs he’s injured or bleeding or maybe he isn’t real at all and this is just a dream, it had to be a dream because it made no fucking sense why Regulus Black would come home to him with-

Regulus gently takes his hands, cheeks dusted pink, “I am fine.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.” Sirius snarls, tugging him into a bruising hug. His brother stiffens against him, then melts, wrapping his arms around Sirius’ body with a low noise. Sirius blinks back the hot bite of tears, heart pounding in his chest. He doesn’t understand. “Why?”

“He plans to attack your precious Potter.” Regulus responds softly. “You’ve picked a rat, brother.”

Sirius inhales sharply, distrust warring with instinct to believe him. Peter wouldn’t do that. He loved James. Sirius grits his teeth, slowly staggering back, “Peter wouldn’t do that. How do I know you’re not lying? You’ve always been conniving.” 

Like pretending to be dead for two fucking years.

“You don’t,” Regulus admits, voice softening, almost resigned. “But unlike you, I had access to his inner circle. Would you like the memory?”

Sirius hesitates, his mind racing. Memories could be altered, couldn’t they? Sirius slowly, reluctantly, lowers his wand but doesn’t put it away, “How?”

“Barty.” Regulus answers quietly.

So Barty Crouch knew Regulus was still alive. Sirius swallows hard. He remembers the last time he saw Barty, amongst the chaos and death that wrecked the streets of Britain, how shocked he had been when the mask he knocked off revealed none other than his brother’s best friend. Sirius drew back despite everything in his soul demanding he put Crouch in the ground. It was loyalty that stilled Sirius’ wand and Barty had stared at him for a long moment, blood spilling down from his hairline, his skin busted and bruised, panting, as spells sparkled and crashed all around them, and watched Sirius stagger away with a wounded ache in his heart. A kindness, he had thought then. A favor, Regulus’ voice in his mind had whispered.

Regulus straightens his robes, his movements deliberate, telling, like someone trying not to spook an animal. His gaze peers around, taking in the various changes Sirius made to Alphard’s flat that was now his. Regulus’ eyes linger on the small picture of them situated on the fireplace mantle. He doesn’t say anything, but neither does Sirius, a flush of shame creeping through him. Regulus turns to him, eyes shadowed with concealed emotion, “The Dark Lord plans on attacking the Potters tomorrow. I’ve done what I could to keep them safe, but they need to be moved.”

Sirius blinks, the words settling over him like a douse of cold water, “You… you actually betrayed him?”

A bitter smile tugs at Regulus’ lips, “You sound surprised. My loyalty is not bought so cheaply.” 

“Isn’t it?” Sirius spits sharply. “You stay loyal to the family creed. Blood purity and that crock of-”

“Don’t.” Regulus interrupts curtly. “You abandoned me to them. Don’t judge me for trying to survive the chasm you left behind.”

Sirius bristles, hurt warring with fury. “Don’t blame me. I begged you to come with me, Regulus.”

“You are not the only one who wanted out, Sirius.” Regulus hisses, pressing hard into Sirius’ space. “Just because I was too cowardly to leave then, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t of strayed.”

“You didn’t wait for me!” Sirius shouts. A terrible silence falls over them, heavy, filled with regrets and a fractured bond that Sirius feels in his very soul nearly every day. He swallows softly, hands curling into fists at his side. His voice is quiet, trembling, “Why now? Why come back to me after all this time?”

Regulus hesitates, his hand brushing against the raven clasp of his cloak, “Stupidity.”

Sirius stares at his brother, his mind a whirl of confusion, suspicion, and a tiny, treacherous spark of hope. He wants to believe Regulus, to trust him, but the scars between them ran deep and they still hurt terribly. Sirius’ voice cracks when he speaks, “How can I trust you?” 

Regulus’ expression softens for just a touch and Sirius is suddenly back in Grimmauld with the boy he’d grown up with, poking his head into Regulus’ bedroom so they could make a fort. That bright, hesitant joy on his brother’s face, eyes so wide and full of mirthful glee. “I don’t blame you, but I intend to prove my worth once more.”

Sirius swallows hard, his throat tight, “Peter?”

“Peter.”

Sirius rubs his face roughly, exhaustion suddenly weighing on him. His wand trembles when he lifts it, mouth twisting, and struggles to think of a happy memory. He thinks of the first time he met James, that hesitant handshake that turned into laughter when James scoffed and said, I’m a hugger. Bring it in, Black. We’ll go so far. Then it’s Sirius teaching Marlene how to dance, and she kept stepping on his feet because they were both tipsy and delirious with giggles. And finally, the first time Regulus held his hand in a hidden alcove of Hogwarts, both of them nervous as Regulus stuttered through his sloppy confession until Sirius decided to fuck it all to hell and kissed him. A bright burst of silver appears before him, the lazy flick of a fluffy tail, then the image of a spectral cat standing before him with empty eyes.

Regulus inhales softly but doesn’t speak. 

“To James Potter,” Sirius starts with a trembling voice, “Prongs, you’ve been sold out. Peter’s a Death Eater. I need you to leave. Now. Go to Hogwarts, I’ll meet you there. Speak to no one but Dumbledore. Oh. Tiramisu is incredibly bland and shouldn’t be a dessert.” 

We should have a code, Sirius had suggested. Two truths and a lie, James agreed. The cat rubs its face with a paw before swirling with a flick of its tail, disappearing out the door. The following silence is just as terrible as the first. Sirius breaks it tentatively, “Don’t.”

Regulus inclines his head. 

Sirius looks at him, studying the subtle glint in his eyes, how Regulus’ face appears thinner and drawn the more he looks at it. His eyes narrow, “You are still marked, aren’t you?”

Regulus swallows softly. His voice is quiet, “Yes.”

“Regulus-”

“It wasn’t on my list of priorities.”

Sirius tucks his wand away. He swipes up his grandfather’s grimoire and thumbs through the yellowed pages before his eye catches a ritual incantation that may work. Annulling marriages could come in handy for this. “Tell me about the mark. How did he not know you weren’t dead?”

Regulus slowly rolls up his left sleeve, revealing sickly, scarred skin with an ugly pulse of rotting skin where the mark resides. Greenish, black veins spread through his skin, pulsing angrily in time with his heartbeat. It appears dull, grotesque, but Sirius can make out how the rot begins to spread upward. He staggers forward, grasping Regulus’ arm and nearly gags at the way it throbs in his hands. Regulus winces, subtle, yet Sirius catches it, “What is this?”

“The bite of an inferi.” Regulus answers simply. “It wasn’t a priority.”

“You fucking idiot!” Sirius hisses. 

“It was a gamble.” Regulus waves a dismissive hand. “I’m not pressed.”

“God, you-”

“We can do this another time.” Regulus responds, massaging his eyes.

“No.” Sirius states bluntly. “The last thing I need is you in Azkaban or actually dead.”

“The Potters are more important right now.”

Sirius scrubs his face roughly, wondering why Regulus is being so damn difficult. “I’ll deal with the Potters after.”

“Let me have my penance.” 

“Regulus-”

“Enough, Sirius.” Regulus sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“You expect me to sit here while you- God, you’ve never been this fucking stupid.” Sirius snaps angrily, his frustration boiling over. He meets Regulus gaze, watching him mull over his words. Regulus’ eyes cut upward, like their mother would do, and crosses his arms. He sulks, a bit like the same child Sirius grew up with.

“Regulus.” Sirius presses.

“Fine.” Regulus spits. “I am still linked to his magical core. The bite is of the dead so he can no longer sense me.”

“You should’ve came to me.” Sirius argues heatedly.

“I had to protect you-”

“I don’t need your fucking protection!” Sirius spits, furious and aching and god, what a fucking mess. 

“Believe what you want.” Regulus hisses, snatching his arm away. “I did what I could with what I have. I will not apologize for it, brother.”

Sirius bristles, ready to argue, but Regulus is turning away, expression locking behind a familiar, blank mask. His hands shake at his side. Sirius swallows thickly, stumbling away from him, “We’re fixing it. Now.”

Regulus’ response is simple, “Fine.”

Sirius slumps in relief, taking a seat at his table, and gestures for Regulus to sit as well. “Kreacher, I have lemon butter cake on the counter under a stasis. Help yourself.” 

“Thank you, Master Black.” Kreacher whispers quietly.

Sirius can’t find the will to correct him, peering over his grandfather’s notes with a feverish intent. It seemed simple enough, but Sirius is wondering if he can modify the magical bond to represent the core instead and separate them. If Voldemort could communicate with it, he likely he could push emotions as well, which would make sense. It’s linked to his own core as well, Sirius thinks, humming softly. But Regulus has been considered dead. Idiot, Sirius thinks, pissed. To use such ugly magic and leave it there to ensure his deception was frightening. He couldn’t even imagine how much Regulus had suffered. Sirius asks, “How fond are you of your left arm?”

“Fond enough.” Regulus responds dryly. 

“I don’t think severing would work enough anyway.” Sirius mutters. “I think I can separate you from it, but it’s going to hurt like a bitch. It’ll feel like a disownment, most likely… even if he already believes you to be dead.”

Regulus’ response is simple, “Fine.”

Sirius leans back in his chair, tapping the edge of the grimoire as he processes the information. Regulus appears stiff across from, a faint crease between his brow betraying his unease. Sirius could see a whisper of their mother in that expression but won’t say such things aloud. He’d rather leave that comparison buried. Sirius’ lips quirk, a bit amused at this blase response, “Fine? I don’t remember you being quite so stupid.”

Regulus lifts his shoulder in a delicate shrug, “Pain is irrelevant.”

Sirius wonders if he’s reading too deep between the lines here. Walburga always had a filthy temper, yet Regulus was very rarely on the other side of it. I wasn’t there, Sirius thinks, a bit dour and bitter. He wishes Regulus would’ve came with him to the Potters. He tries to keep his voice level, “Remember that when you’re wanting to hex me to oblivion.” 

Regulus doesn’t rise to the bait. His gaze drifts to the grimoire, eyes flashing in recognition, “Which ritual is it?”

Sirius exhales sharply through his nose, sitting forward, “The annulment spell originally designed to sever the magical bond of marriages. Grandfather, the charming bastard that he was, crafted it for situations where annulment wasn’t mutual. It forcibly breaks ties, regardless of consent.”

Regulus tilts his head, eyes narrowing in thought. “I trust you.”

Sirius’ heart flips, “You can’t say that, Reg.”

“I do. Your side never changed that.” Regulus says quietly. 

Sirius doesn’t think he deserves such confidence when he didn’t quite feel the same. He pushes to his feet, studying the diagram. There were a web of runes arranged in a circular pattern. Sirius pulls the book with him, stepping through the archway of his kitchen and into the livingroom. He flicks his hand to push all of his furniture out of the way and pulls up his rug. Polished wood peers back at him and Sirius sets about carving the runes into the floor, unbothered by how the wards pulse in quiet questioning. He wishes Regulus would’ve come to him sooner but understands that he might’ve not been very receptive, past grief or not. Sirius privately admits he doesn’t want Regulus tied to that upstart anymore. If it was linked to his core, it was likely linked to his will, which means the bond will fight back.

Sirius powders the runes with salt and sprinkles of silver, watching the symbols come together with a glow of hot magic that forms an intricate web of indescribable words and power. He sets the grimoire down, turning to see Regulus appear in the archway. Sirius gestures to the circle, watching Regulus’ hesitant steps before he steps into the center. Regulus’ shoulders are tense, his posture rigid and coiled like a serpent waiting to spring, jaw clenched just a fraction too tightly. Sirius doesn’t ask him if he’s sure, knows what the response will be and lifts his wand. 

The runes around the circle begin to glow as Sirius begins the chant. The light starts faint, pulsing blinding white in time with Sirius’ words. As the incantation shifts in tone, the light intensifies, brightening until the living room is bathed in an eerie, silver glow. Smoke begins to billow from the left sleeve of Regulus’ robes and he grits his teeth, hands trembling as he rolls his sleeve up. The mark curls upward like a living thing that hisses and sparks. 

Sirius continues, wand moving in precise, fluid motions, each gesture accompanied by another string of words. The air grows heavy and thick with magic that crackles like static electricity. Regulus staggers, knees buckling as a strangled noise escapes his lips. The mark was writhing now, the black smoke twisting and lashing out like a cornered animal. Sirius grits his teeth, eyes narrow, wand cutting through the air as the smoke coalesced into a shape; jagged and twisted that pulsed with malevolence. It lunges toward Regulus but the runes flare, the silver light entrapping it completely in a barrier. Sirius pushes back hard, voice rising as he pours his magic into the spell. 

With a final, piercing shriek, the smoke dissipates. The light from the runes flickers and dies, lights on the walls shattering with a deafening noise. Sirius stumbles forward as Regulus sways dangerously. He manages to catch him before he collapses, pulled to the floor by his weight. Regulus’ skin is pale, sweat glistening along his brow as he pants quietly, skin bubbling as it resets into a smooth slab of color. Sirius searches desperately for more signs of rot and sags in relief when nothing occurs, smoothing a hand over Regulus’ hair, and Kreacher comes forward with a glass of water, his eyes wide and concerned. 

Sirius shuffles Regulus upright, a bit winded, and summons a pain potion as Kreacher guides the water to Regulus’ lips. “I need you to drink this as well.”

“I’m fine.” Regulus manages, leaning heavily against Sirius.

“Master Regulus must listen,” Kreacher admonishes gently. 

Regulus concedes then, clearly still no match for them both. The color slowly begins to come back to his face after he drinks and Sirius struggles to get him upright, though he’s grateful his brother was less of a beanpole now, more built like their father. Regulus was so skinny in their youth despite how much Walburga showered him with affection. He settles Regulus in his bedroom, ridding him of his robes and heavy boots before tucking him in. It is a strange image, his brother in his bed. One that feels like it came from a time long, long ago. Regulus clutches his hand when Sirius moves away. Sirius huffs, kneeling at his side, “I’ll be back.” 

“Promise?” Regulus whispers. 

“Yes, little lion.” Sirius assures him. “We’ll go to mamie’s when I return.”

“I haven’t been there in so long,” Regulus admits in French. “It seemed wrong without you there.”

“Neither have I.” Sirius responds quietly. “Rest.”

Regulus hesitates, then speaks, “I’ve missed you.”

Sirius feels his face soften before he can stop it. He links their pinkies together and presses a soft kiss to Regulus’ forehead. Regulus sighs against him. 

“Keep him in bed, Kreacher.” Sirius orders, pushing to his feet. He gives Regulus’ hand a lingering squeeze before pulling away. 

“Yes, Master Black.” 

Sirius doesn’t comment. What a fucking day.

Chapter Text

“Do you think anything will change?” Sirius asks, eyes drifting to the sky. Regulus studies his profile, the softer curve of his jaw, how his eyelashes can’t seem to decide if they want to curl or straighten, still so long and fluttery. Their mother would have a fit if she found them outside like this, but Kreacher swore to secrecy, and Sirius insisted they count clouds today. Regulus had no reason to say no, as he had finished with his studies for the day. He doesn’t know if Sirius had finished his own work, but his brother had always been clever, so Regulus is certain he did.

They had found a spot amongst the taller hedges in the southern part of the gardens, and Regulus had been privately pleased when Sirius slipped a hand into his own when they were further away from the house. Sirius is now stretched out beside him on his back, gaze fluttering through clouds as they slowly move past overhead. Regulus studies the soft curve of his profile, the youth of their childhood rounding his cheeks, but it doesn’t detract from how stunning Sirius is. Those silver eyes cut back to him, followed by a cheeky grin, “Did you hear me?”

Regulus blinks, “What did you say?”

Sirius laughs and the sound echoes in Regulus’ mind, “I asked if you think anything will change?” 

“When you become Lord Black?” Regulus asks. 

Sirius raspberries, which is unbecoming of an heir, yet Regulus finds his heart skipping a beat. His brother turns away, eyes drifting back to the sky, and his mouth twists, “When I become Lord Black.” 

No, Regulus thinks. He says, “Possibly. Mother has been looking at betrothals for you.”

Sirius pulls a face, “I’m only 12. Ugh.” 

“It is expected.” 

“I know.” 

A heavy silence falls between them that Regulus doesn’t appreciate. He shuffles to his elbow, peering down at his brother. Sirius stares back, eyes so soft and warm, and Regulus’ mouth waters. His stomach twists strangely, and he hesitates. Sirius smiles at him, slowly, “Want a kiss, Reg?”

Regulus swallows softly, “May I?”

Sirius pushes up on his elbow, reaching for Regulus, fingers gently curling along the nape of his neck and Regulus closes the distance, eyes slipping closed when their lips press together. He opens his eyes to a stretch of nothing beside him, arm stretched over a slowly cooling spot where Sirius had hesitantly curled up the night before. Regulus stares at the empty space for a long, quiet moment, then presses his face into Sirius’ pillow, inhaling the quiet scent of his cologne, the soft fragrance of the conditioner he switched to in their teens, and breathes. 

It was a trying effort to convince himself to come to Sirius. Regulus didn’t know how Sirius would respond to him after years apart, thinking he was dead, knowing that for the first time Regulus Black lied to Sirius Black indirectly. Their last conversation before his death had seemed so final, so strange with a crumbling town around them and Sirius begging him to just come home. His heart had cracked so terribly. Sirius Black never begged, never groveled, even under their mother’s wand, but he did when he ran away and he did when they met that night. Regulus had refused, too swept up in his own plans, and now, finally, it had come to fruition. He knows he wasn’t innocent by any stretch of the imagination, the things he’s done, the lives he’s taken, and at one point he believed the drivel that spilled out of Voldemort’s mouth, eager for approval since the day Sirius left him behind. Oh, how long he had told himself he didn’t need Sirius anymore, even when every action was rank with his devotion.

How long he had lied to himself. 

Regulus forces himself up, blearily peering around Sirius’ bedroom. It was neatly kept, borderline obsessive as was Sirius’ room in Grimmauld, with the walls filled with pictures of Sirius and Potter, Sirius and McKinnon, Sirius and those friends he stuck so close to. His eye catches a picture Regulus doesn’t fully remember taking, but it’s of him, his profile bathed in the setting sun, familiar gray eyes staring at the expanse of the Black Lake. Oh, Regulus’ breath hitches and his mind ripples. What is that for, he had asked. For me, duh, Sirius had scoffed. He pushes out of Sirius’ bed, roughly running a hand over his face as he works the remnants of sleep from his eyes. Regulus can hear the faint clatter of pans and Kreacher’s low voice followed by a quiet laugh.

You should be nicer to Kreacher, Regulus had said once.

Sirius looked at him, cutting those silver eyes in a way that was every inch of their father with their mother’s sneer, and said fine. Only cause you asked.

Regulus wonders if Sirius thinks of their past life together as much as he does. He pushes his way into Sirius’ ensuite, taking in the reddened irritation of his eyes, how exhausted he looks and splashes water on his face. The bathroom is just as neat as the rest of Alphard’s old flat and Regulus wonders if his brother ever allowed chaos in his personal life. Of course, Sirius himself was chaotic enough, but it never quite translated to where he resided. Regulus pushes his hair out of his face, using his wand to conjure a glass of water, and chugs it. His ears pick up the sound of the bedroom door opening and he turns to see Sirius poking his head inside.

His brother’s hair is tied up into a lazy, disheveled bun, silver eyes as exhausted as Regulus feels. He’s aged beautifully, their parent’s features warring along the perfect symmetry of his face like a fresh orchid in bloom. His brother had always been a stunning piece of magic and oh, how Regulus longed to chain their souls together. Sirius musters a grin, “I’ve made breakfast. Come eat.”

“Ok.” Regulus responds, moving towards him. He hesitates, eyes flickering to the photo of him on Sirius’ wall, then back. Sirius follows his line of sight, expression shuttering minutely. Neither of them speaks and Regulus finds he wants to but cannot find words. Sirius pulls away from the door, repeating his words and nothing else. Regulus trails after him. There are more pictures and portraits along the hallway walls, one from Hogwarts, a few of a baby in Lily Evans Potter’s arms. One of Potter, Evans, and Sirius, all laughing with sparklers in their hands and party hats atop their heads. Then another of Regulus with Barty pressed together. He doesn’t smile, but his eyes shine, Barty’s arm wrapped around his neck with a seedy grin. Regulus looks away. 

Kreacher is setting the table when they emerge, ears fluttering happily when he notices Regulus. The little elf appears a lot better than he did the day prior, their prolonged contact with those things weighing heavily on them both. At the center of the table sits a heavy spread of fresh croissants, overeasy eggs, bacon, sausage with a variety of jams and spreads. I’m not a breakfast person, Sirius’ voice in his mind rings. But you are. Regulus feels his heart skip a beat, taking a hesitant seat when Sirius gestures for him to sit. He’s out of his depth here and it felt like it had been a decade since they spoke or even stood in the same presence of one another when it had only been two years. Sirius brings out a board of sliced, delicious smelling bread and an array of cheeses. He sits across from Regulus.

“Have a seat, Kreach.”

Kreacher’s mouth trembles. He mutters, voice heavy with emotion, “Thank you, Master Black.”

His brother cuts his eyes but doesn’t comment. Regulus knows the title bothers Sirius, who never wanted it to begin with and was willing to defer his heirship to Regulus, but Orion and Arcturus had disagreed, even when Sirius ran away from home after a splendid fight between himself and Walburga. A cup of coffee appears before Regulus, black with the faintest hint of honey, and his heart squeezes savagely in his chest. 

“We’ll talk after you both eat,” Sirius sniffs, leaning back in his seat as he summons a bowl of fruit for himself. 

He still likes mangos, Regulus thinks, preparing a plate as Kreacher hesitantly follows. He can feel Sirius’ critical gaze on him until Sirius feels like he’s included enough on his plate. Regulus finds himself pleased. Even apart for so long with the stretch of nothing between them, Sirius still worried about him. He was glad the mark was gone, even if he was willing to die with Voldemort. It wouldn’t have been what he wanted, would rather die with Sirius by his side, in his arms, for him, but he was aware there was a penance for the things he’s done. Sirius had taken that reality away from him and, despite it all, he was grateful for it. 

Sirius doesn’t eat as much as he did when they were growing up together, but the meticulous way of rearranging the food on his plate in a way that makes sense to him was still present. Regulus sneaks glances at his brother, the twist of curls that spill haphazardly out of his bun, the dark wisps that frame his face, the softening bow of his mouth, and wonders when Sirius grew into something so stunning. He couldn’t appreciate this realization the last time they saw one another, but now he could. It almost feels like they’ve never been apart, but these changes say otherwise.

Sirius’ right eyebrow twitches and those silver eyes drift up to Regulus. His mouth quirks in the corner, the start of a perfect smile, but Sirius doesn’t smile now, just levels Regulus with an amused look that has his neck warm and has his palms sweating. Years apart, years together, yet still Regulus feels the same way he did at 6, staring up into Sirius’ warm gaze when he would hug him, begging the Mother that they be allowed to stay together forever as Sirius had promised him. Regulus clears his throat, embarrassed, “Apologies.”

Sirius snorts, just as undignified as it was in their youth. “At least I know I’m still eye candy.” 

Always, Regulus thinks but doesn’t say. “What did you do with his… trinkets?”

Sirius tilts his head, innocent, “Asked Prongs to make me a… jewelry case. Didn’t say why. I’ve got them somewhere else. I assume Dumbledore may want them.”

Regulus pulls a face.

Sirius coos, his grin shifting into something dangerous, “Kidding. Don’t pout, little brother.”

Regulus sniffs, indignant. 

“Chill.” Sirius laughs. “I’m not inclined to hand them over. Or you, for that matter.”

Regulus nods, pleased, “The Potters?”

“I convinced Jay to stay at Black Manor, where it makes sense, for now.” Sirius replies lazily. “Potter Manor has too many… ghosts.”

Regulus had remembered the day Euphemia and Fleamont Potter passed. On the cusp of war’s beginning. Sirius refused to see anyone, locked up tight with Potter.

“There is more.” Regulus begins carefully. “The Longbottoms..”

Sirius’ gaze sharpens, “Spill.”

So Regulus does, describes the careful plans laid by the Dark Lord to have a targeted attack against Frank and Alice Longbottom. Their child would be… collateral. Sirius listens intently, face growing darker and darker by the second. He pushes sharply to his feet, mouth twisted in furious anger. “How?”

“Barty.” Regulus answers, voice quiet. “He’s been ordered to join them.”

“Bring him here.” Sirius commands, moving towards the kitchen. 

Regulus hesitates, “Sirius-”

“I won’t ask again.” 

Regulus procures his wand, dread pooling low in his gut. He doesn’t know how this conversation will go. Over the years, Barty and he had developed a way to communicate. At the beginning, Regulus had no intention of telling Barty his plans but Bartemius Crouch knew him well, almost intimately, took the mark alongside him without question but his gaze would drift to Sirius when they saw him in the Great Hall before flickering back to Regulus. Regulus doesn’t know when Barty found out with how careful Regulus had been. His eyes hardly lingered, even if his mind did, his heart yearning and quiet every time he feels his brother’s magic draw close.

“To Barty Crouch. Follow the spark,” Regulus says in quiet German, watching his brother’s shoulders go stiff. He sends off a flurry of black, an uncommon color for a patronus, but Barty had always been meticulous. The response comes quickly, the image of a raven swirling happily along kitchen table before a low knock comes to the door. 

Sirius crosses his arms against his chest, watching Kreacher move to let Barty inside. The air turns electric and frigid when Barty enters the room, his brown eyes assessing the situation with quiet certainty. His eyes linger on Sirius before moving to Regulus. He’s put more weight on since their last chance encounter, muscles lean against the dark fabric of his loose shirt. There is a questionable stain that resembles blood, but no one comments on it. Barty is the first to break the silence, smile seedy and loose, “Siri.”

“Artemis.” Sirius responds, curt. 

Barty grins, clearly delighted, “I’ve been waitin’ for this day. Tell me, Black. You love a good piss, how’d this one feel?”

Sirius cuts his eyes in a way that is every inch of their father, but his mouth twitches, “Your old man gonna know you’re here?”

Barty scoffs, plopping down in a seat beside Regulus. He throws an arm around his shoulders, tilting his head with a mad smirk, “Which one? You know me better than that. Daddy dearest doesn’t deign to speak to me. I only got one leash around my neck, Sirius. Curious as to has my collar?”

Sirius glances at Regulus and Barty beams.

“Who else is involved with the Longbottoms?” Sirius asks.

“Dear ole Bella and her miscreant of a husband. Pretty sure Rab is going to.” Barty hums, plucking a piece of bread from the table. “And yours truly, of course.”

Sirius’ face tightens in an almost blinding fury.

“They aren’t one of mine.” Barty responds immediately, almost placating.

Regulus watches them.

Sirius works his jaw, slow and hard, before joining them at the table. “Time?”

“When the Potters are supposed to go down.” Barty answers honestly.

“I’ve dealt with the Potters.” Sirius informs him, drumming his fingers against the table. He takes a slow look at Kreacher, “They’ll likely have anti apparition wards up when they attack. Kreacher will be my in and their out.” He pauses, glancing at Barty. “Or… we can have a little third year reenactment. I’ll be Alice, of course. Her tits are great.”

Barty grins slowly. 

Regulus straightens, “You will not go alone.”

A flicker of fondness spreads across Sirius’ face, “As if you’d allow it anyway.”

Regulus fights to keep his expression level, recognizing that awful knowing glint in Sirius’ eyes. Perhaps Regulus hadn’t been as unassuming during their Hogwarts years as he wanted, or perhaps Sirius still knew him very well. My little shadow.

“Regardless, Bellatrix is mine.”

Regulus resists the urge to shiver, watching that bloodthirsty spark of derision. This was a common expression when it came to his brother whenever Bellatrix was mentioned. They had never quite got on when they were younger, as if their similarities were too prominent to ignore. Regulus will never forget the first time Bellatrix turned her wand on Sirius, how his brother burned bright with a righteous fury that shook Grimmauld to its core. It had taken Cygnus, their father, and their grandfather to break them up. Bellatrix may have been older, crueler, but Sirius’ offense was breathtaking. 

“Don’t think Robbie will let you touch his wife.” Barty coos.

Sirius scoffs, “What is a Lestrange to me?”

Regulus’ heart skips a beat, “Do you intend to tell Dumbledore?”

Sirius hums thoughtfully, “Unsure. I don’t quite appreciate how he’s dealt with things so far.”

Regulus attempts to read through the careful blank that ripples across his brother’s face. Sirius had never been good about following orders, seemed to find direct challenges in obeying anyone that wasn’t himself. It’s what Regulus loved about him, what their father loved about him, their grandfather and grandmother. But it does make him curious.

Barty looks between them, curious and delighted, and leans forward with a grin, “What about me?”

Sirius levels him with a look, “Careful, Crouch. You’ve already pissed me off with your little secret.”

“I have loyalties, Black.”

“So you do.” Sirius smiles, sharp. He glances at Regulus, expression softening a touch.

Regulus does shiver then, his hands curling into fists against his thigh. “You are angry.”

This is completely unexpected.

Sirius tilts his head, hair dragging along his shoulder and it spills along his arm, “I think the House of Black has forgotten their place. I’ve been… too lenient.” His smile is sharp, deadly. “You’ve now shown me that, Regulus. If I’m forced to wear the crown, I might as well make it rot.”

Barty inhales sharply beside him but doesn’t speak, a crazed mania coloring his features. He used to listen to Regulus’ heated ramblings about Sirius’ lack of loyalty to their house, especially after Sirius ran away, because Regulus had been so hurt and abandoned but Barty had looked at him so strangely as if he could see something Regulus couldn’t. A house doesn’t change the roots, Reg, Barty had said. Patience. Regulus’ eyes flick to Barty, quiet understanding in his heart, but even if Sirius had turned his back completely, Regulus would stand beside him as he had before, eager to drink up the shadow he cast. 

“What do you want for this information, Art?” Sirius asks. “You already cashed in one favor. You get one more.”

Barty straightens, “Evan.”

Sirius cuts his eyes, “Rosier. Hmm. Depends on how deep he is.”

“I just need to talk to ‘im.” Barty says, his voice a bit pinched.

Sirius levels him with a look, so much of a Black, so much like their mother, that Regulus feels his mouth dry, “And if he doesn’t?”

Barty goes stiff beside Regulus, swallow loud and audible. “He will.”

Sirius hums, noncommital. 

Regulus places a hand on the table, “We’ll deal with it.”

“Fine.” Sirius says coolly, pushing to his feet. “I’m leaving. Got shit to do. Things to organize.” He points a lazy finger at Barty, “Remember my courtesy. You try this shit again and I’ll use your spine for fodder.”

Barty’s eyes dilate, shivering, and strangely, he ducks his head. “I get it.”

Regulus wonders what has happened between them since he’s been away. He gracefully rises as Sirius moves towards his bedroom and grasps his hand. Sirius turns to him, softening completely, and Regulus searches his face frantically. He opens his mouth to speak but Sirius beats him to it, “You make me weak, did you know that? Even after all these years.”

Regulus’ chest tightens.

Sirius glances at Barty, who remains sat at the table, “Eat up, Art. You’re too fucking thin.”

Barty chokes on a laugh.

“After this,” Sirius says slowly, running his thumb over Regulus’ knuckles as he focuses back on him. “Barty should come with us. He can bring Evan if Rosier sees reason. Druella is still under my thumb even if her miserable husband makes me fucking sick.”

“You’ve accepted this so easily.” Regulus swallows hard, heart thumping loud in his chest. “Why?”

Sirius clasps his neck, pressing their foreheads together, a remnant of touch from their childhood. “I won’t lose you again.”

Regulus’ mouth trembles, his mind frazzled and frantic and he feels undeserving. No, he thinks furiously. I deserve this. Regulus nods, curt and quiet, and Sirius grins, squeezing his hand before he moves away completely. Regulus returns to Barty’s side, watching the turbulent emotions flicker across his best friend’s face. He doesn’t speak until hearing the sharp crack of apparition. 

Barty looks at him, almost desperate, “Why isn’t he furious?”

“I do not know.” Regulus admits. “He was when I first arrived.”

“What does that even mean?” Barty hedges.

Regulus glances around Alphard’s flat, “I’m unsure.” He looks at Barty, his unusual nervousness, and he understands it well. Regulus expected Sirius’ fury, but he wasn’t expecting the sudden change of attitude. His heart yearned so desperately, yet he felt bereft and adrift. “Perhaps he is upset.”

Barty shifts, almost nervous in a way that he was never before the Dark Lord.

“You are afraid.” Regulus says, awed.

Barty’s head snaps to him, “You haven’t seen him since you fucked off and died. I have.”

“Tell me.”

Barty hesitates.

Regulus stares at him, mouth thinning in displeasure, and Barty sags like a limp puppet, rubbing his face with rough, jerky movements, “Siri has always been… off. Even at Hogwarts, but I didn’t realize how deep it went until the Snape shit happened. You haven’t seen him out there. His… He’s not like those other light fucks. Sirius doesn’t care about anyone who he has no loyalty to. I’ve never seen anything like him. Death is a kindness, Reg. Your brother…”

He laughs, bitter. “We’ve met a few times out there. I know the only reason he let me go was because of you. I watched him turn other Death Eaters into flesh puppets that ate at themselves. I watched him use their own bodies against them.” Barty looks at Regulus, expression shuddering. “He is a monster.”

Regulus feels his slacks tighten, chest threatening to burst with a strange arousal. That’s power, his heart sings. He watches Barty watch him, the expression of shock and an awful knowing. Barty sucks in a harsh breath, “You knew.”

I know every part of his soul, Regulus thinks, but doesn’t say. He doesn’t look away, “Sirius has always been methodical. He is a Black.”

Barty breathes shakily, “Does Dumbledore know what he houses?”

“Dumbledore wanted a Black under his palm.” Regulus answers, quiet. 

“The Dark Lord wants him.” Barty admits. “Since you’ve… been gone. Dumbledore may have not noticed but the Dark Lord has.”

Regulus’ head snaps to him, bristling with fiery outrage, “What-”

“If I told you, it would’ve fucked everything up!” Barty says, almost desperate. “Think about it, yeah? You would’ve fucked up all our plans because of Sirius. He’s not stupid enough to join.”

“He was stupid enough to join Dumbledore.” Regulus spits.

“Because of Potter.” Barty grasps Regulus’ shoulders. 

“Potter.” Regulus grits out, a harsh swell of jealousy spreading through him. He pushes the feeling down, struggling with the onslaught of anger that ping pongs against his rib. His emotions felt so complicated and terrible and he’s hated James Potter since he saw him drape his arm over Sirius’ shoulders, hated him since Regulus saw how soft Sirius could be to someone that wasn’t him, but Potter was Sirius’ so Regulus ensured that Potter would remain safe even if it felt like his heart threatened to shred him to nothing. Regulus exhales, air crackling around him, and Barty’s expression turns sympathetic.

“You have him now, Reg.”

Regulus nods, curt. His thoughts drift back to the pictures on Sirius’ wall, the one of him, the one in the hall of him and Barty. He rubs his face roughly. 

I won’t lose you again. 

Regulus breathes.

Chapter Text

“You’re doing what?” James hisses, his skin coloring with outrage from the tiny mirror.

Sirius scratches his ear, grinning, “It’ll be fine, Prongs. Not the dumbest shit I’ve done.”

“Dumbledore-”

“Dumbledore knows what I plan on doing.” Sirius interrupts smoothly, slumping further in one of Alice’s wicker chairs. His legs lazily dangle over the side, swaying with an absent tune. The Longbottoms had a cute house for their cute family. Alice had always told him that once she was out on her own, she’d decorate to her heart’s content, unburdened by the stiff furniture her parents forced upon her. Sirius supposes she got what she wanted, knowing Frank would support her wholeheartedly as he had since the day he proclaimed to love her dramatically, on a table, in the Great Hall.

He never imagined how soft Frank Longbottom would become, however. Alice smoothed his harder edges, made him less cocky, more real, and then they fucked off and had a kid. There were no touches of Augusta present either, as if Alice had decided to give Frank a safe place beyond the usual tacky decor and brooding sensibilities. The Longbottom’s home was all soft creams and baby toys and cozy blocks of warmth that made Sirius envious of what a normal childhood would’ve looked like.

Sirius lazily turns back to the mirror, watching his best friend turn a blistering shade of red. He coos, and James glares at him, dark skin flushed with frustration. James bites out, “Are you alone? I can-”

“No,” Sirius replies firmly, feeling his face go dark.

“Sirius-”

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” Sirius hisses. It felt too close of a call already. Regulus dropping back into his life had upended everything, but Sirius realizes that without him, he could’ve lost much more. He doesn’t know what he would’ve done. It was hard enough to ignore Regulus being gone, his family in turmoil, his father dead, but for James to also leave him behind? Sirius inhales shakily, fighting to keep his expression level. It must crumple anyway because James’ expression softens completely.

“I’m here, Pads.”

Sirius roughly rubs his face, “I’m not alone. It’ll be fine.”

James straightens, hesitant, “Is… is he with you?”

Sirius doesn’t know how James Potter feels about Regulus. This felt like a similar conversation throughout their time together, and while Sirius was careful, Regulus a ghost in his mind, James had been suspicious, as if he could see through the façade they had created. Sirius was careful, so he fed into the rumors that ran rampant at Hogwarts, even though he never touched anyone but one person. Marlene believed it, felt Sirius to be a slag that she hyped up enthusiastically until her death. Remus felt Sirius was just interested in being disinterested in everything, but James seemed to be squinting between the lines. Every time Sirius would disappear suddenly, every time Regulus would be particularly vicious towards them.

Sirius and Regulus kept a cordial, if not hostile, relationship at Hogwarts that leaned heavily on antagonism, but it almost seemed like a game of sorts. Regulus ignored him. Sirius sought him out with barbs and careful words that sliced through Regulus’ calculated defenses like butter. Then they’d go home for the summer or for Yule, and Sirius would resemble a particularly mean animal that missed its master. No one else seemed to notice, but James had. Perhaps he felt the furious jealousy hidden beneath Regulus’ hostile attitude towards him, especially after Sirius ran away, but James hadn’t asked. Yet.

Maybe he didn’t want to know.

Sirius glances over to where Regulus lingers near the tightly drawn curtains, arms crossed against his chest, gaze icy and empty, and he is beautiful like this. His displeasure had been made known since James’ voice filtered through the mirror. It is an unusual sight to see his brother out of his robes; a high collared tunic hugs his frame, all smooth, matte fabric and sleek cuffs fastened with the subtle clasps of a canine’s skull. Sirius finds himself amused at Regulus’ jealousy, considering he never felt such a way towards Barty, despite how much Crouch loved to goad him. However, Sirius supposes he understands. A Black doesn’t share.

He drags his gaze back to James, “Yes.”

James slumps, relieved, “Are we, like, going to talk about this?”

About Regulus being very much alive and deflecting from the Dark Lord.

Regulus’ hands slowly curl into fists.

Sirius tilts his head, “Maybe. Not today, though. Things to do, Prongsie.” He pushes upright with a grin, “See you soon, Potter.”

“Be careful.” James hisses.

“As if I would let anything happen to him.” Regulus spits, finally boiling over in frustration.

James bristles, “You were dead for two fucking-”

“Jay.” Sirius interrupts quickly because his brother’s expression is cracking with a madness that felt more dangerous than his quiet brooding, “Later, alright? Kiss that baby of yours for me.”

James works his jaw, flushing in furious disbelief before he sags in acceptance. He nods, curt, and lifts his pinky to the screen. Sirius mimics the gesture easily before closing the mirror. He pushes himself upright, moving to stand beside Regulus. Sirius hesitates briefly before sliding an arm around Regulus’ shoulder. His brother stiffens for a second, then melts into him. They’re nearly the same height now, with the wisp of an inch between them, as their father’s genes favored Regulus. Sirius marvels at how much his baby brother has grown.

“Staring.” Regulus comments, his voice quiet.

“Pot meet kettle,” Sirius replies.

Regulus scoffs, but his ears are pink, “Be silent.”

“Yes, brother.”

There is a low pop, and they move as one, turning to see Kreacher. His gnarled face appears fiendish yet elated at seeing them together. Sirius holds Regulus tighter when he tries to move away, and his brother’s face shifts into quiet pleasure, “What’s the sitch, Kreach?”

Kreacher nods very seriously, “Kreacher mask the stitching in wards left behind. He only feel the blood- Longbottoms. He also finish Master Regulus’ potion.”

Sirius glances at Regulus, “Yeah, are you finally gonna tell me what that is?”

“Tend to your task.” Regulus sniffs.

“Yes, brother.” Sirius replies easily. He is incredibly curious as to what Regulus has been working on. His brother has always been crafty, filthier in a way with his work, which often made their mother’s eyebrows rise in shock. Slughorn cultivated this, of course, he did, and Regulus simply became more dangerous. Whatever, Sirius knew his tasks: handle Robbie, put Trix in the grave that Sirius had been digging for her since their first duel, and kill Barty. Well, that’s that, he hums thoughtfully, eyes drifting towards the portrait of Frank and Alice with their fat baby hanging over the fireplace mantle. Sirius moves away, cracking his neck as he listens absently to Kreacher droning on to Regulus. James would disapprove of his methods, but he always did when Sirius was being especially stupid.

“Dismissed, Kreacher.” Regulus says, taking a vial filled with a ghastly concoction.

“We’ll get fried chicken after.” Sirius chirps.

Kreacher’s ears flutter in quiet happiness just as he pops away.

Regulus sends Sirius a look, “You are being strange. Permissive.”

I feel feral, Sirius thinks but doesn’t say, grinning, “I’m simply rewarding him. Two years is such a long time.”

Regulus studies him for a long moment, eyes flickering over Sirius’ face, “Sirius-”

“Later, alright?” Sirius hums, twirling his wand.

Regulus narrows his eyes, “You are upset.”

Oh, I’m furious, Sirius thinks, but doesn’t say. The war had him… stressed. He had too many people he cared about, too many lives spilling between his fingers like sand, and he felt useless, like their mother’s words branded into his soul over and over until all he could do was hear them every time one of his friends was lowered into the ground. You will fail them just as you failed your brother. Sirius inhales slowly. He had much to be angry about; Peter betraying the Potters, his once proud house bowing to some old man, him inadvertently bowing to another old man, Regulus being alive, not dead, not dead, not- Sirius breathes out harshly, fingers flexing along the supple wood and carved runes. How funny. Being so angry when he had spent most of his life feeling indifferent about everything, except James, except Regulus. Two figures standing on his shoulders, one whispering loyalty even in a cage, the other breathing freedom at the price of damning all he’s ever known. 

Regulus watches him quietly.

Sirius rubs a hand over his face. “I’m fine.”

Regulus inclines his head.

The wards shift subtly, but Sirius catches it. He knew these wards very well because he had built them for Alice, for Frank, just as he had built the new ones for his mother after Regulus’ death, and you are all I have left, will you leave me to rot as your father did? As your brother did? Sirius catches Regulus’ eye, and Regulus nods, dissolving back into the shadows of the living room. Like old times, Sirius thinks, remembering the times he pushed Regulus aside against their mother’s anger, Regulus handling Sirius’ problems with the subtlety of a panther lurking in a dark underbrush. Sirius dons James’ cloak with practiced ease, catching a sliver of parchment that suddenly appears. He carefully unfolds it. Be safe. His heart clenches in elation, then steels.

Rodolphus is the first to appear, his face free of the silver mask he usually wears, and Sirius works his jaw slowly, watching Bellatrix closely follow with a mad smile coloring her features. Do you think we could convince her, Regulus had asked, and Sirius knew his brother only considered such things for Andromeda, perhaps Narcissa. No, Sirius thinks, watching them closely. They split up with Rabastan nowhere in sight, but Sirius knows he’s here. A dull thud catches his ears, followed by a gurgling gasp, and Bellatrix turns sharply from where she stands in the entryway of Frank’s study. Sirius whips his wand, smashing her inside, and the door slams shut with a series of runes glowing menacingly on the wood. Bellatrix screams in surprise.

Rodolphus startles, but Sirius is already moving, whipping James’ cloak off as he spits a curse that catches Rodolphus across the face. The other man staggers back, skin bearing the pulsing black of burnt flesh. His eyes hazily focus on Sirius, and it is amusing to watch such a proud man’s face wither and pale, “You-

“Of course, it’s me.” Sirius laughs, twirling his wand. “You’ve touched what’s mine.”

Rodolphus manages to summon a shield, the damaged skin of his face beginning to melt and drip like papier mache. His expression twists into an ugly cut of fury, firing off a complicated set of spells, and Sirius notices Barty then, leaning against the entryway with quiet amazement. How exciting, Sirius thinks, gracefully twisting out of the way, and plucks his hair band out. It transfigures into a gnarled knife, and he sends it caroling through the air, hidden under a fiery burst of red. Rodolphus doesn’t notice until the knife sinks into his arm just as the spell smacks him into the wall with practiced ease. Regulus appears then, blood splattered across his face, and flicks his wand, “Incendio.”

He goes up like paper, a shrill scream ripping from Rodolphus’ mouth, fingers scrambling and clawing at the place where he’s stuck. Sirius watches them, startled, his gaze solely locked on Regulus’ emotionless face in quiet disbelief, then dismisses the sigil on the office door, and Bellatrix blasts it open, her expression frenzied and wild, and oh, that surprise is delicious. She stares at Sirius, then at Barty and finally Regulus, disbelieving as Rodolphus wails in front of him, skin blackening and pulsing like broken pieces of lava. 

“Trixie,” Sirius greets cheerfully. “Surprise.”

He’ll later relish in his ability to render her silent, how her wand trembles slightly like she can’t understand what she’s seeing. Then her eyes flicker back to him, and the seething rage that splits through the air makes him shiver. Regulus steps away from Rodolphus, unbothered by how the remnants of his body slump, and Sirius smiles, sickly sweet, the same smile she used on him for as long as he can remember.

Bellatrix moves first, but Sirius is faster, conjuring a shield before Regulus and Barty before his brother can interfere. His cousin’s face twists with outrage, and Sirius blows her a kiss. They had only met a few times on the streets, mostly after Regulus died, her barbs still fresh in his mind like a brand, a curse. You failed him for the last time, Siri. Now, wittle, baby Siri is all alone. Who else wants that miserable soul of yours now that Potter has chosen his mudblood over you? Bellatrix is a dancer ever in her element, an arc of black fabric and snarling fury as she fires streaks of red and yellow light, and Sirius is her successor, molded by the brunt of a Black’s name, a Black’s shame with a Potter’s mercy. Their grandfather might’ve made her an heir if she had been a man, if she had any of the levelness of Cygnus, but Bellatrix had no loyalty, not truly, chased and chased her idea of freedom, just as Sirius had. 

“How fitting.” Bellatrix sneers, sidestepping one of Sirius’ spells. “Your little shadow shows his face again. Is this your great redemption arc? The boy who once worshipped you, crawling back for table scraps?”

Sirius’ grin is sharp and joyless. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Bella. Upset Andy never came back to you like mine did?”

Bellatrix’s expression tightens with furious jealousy. Her eyes flare, all mask of amusement gone. “You turned your back on him. You turned your back on your blood, on all of us, for a fucking blood traitor and his mudblood whore.”

Sirius doesn’t flinch, only laughs, a cold, broken sound. “And yet, after everything, Regulus still chose me.”

The room explodes with light, curses ricocheting from walls, igniting the Longbottoms’ cozy furniture. The overhead chandelier groans and crashes down between them. Bellatrix cackles, wild, free, her long hair tangled and her robes scorched. She surges forward, slashing through her next curse with a crackling whip of raw silver and blue magic. Wood splinters. Books fall like rain. And Sirius grins when she presses into his space, catching that brief spark of uncertainty, his wand catching under her jaw with deadly precision, “I win, sweetheart. Vermiculatus.”

Her voice chokes in her throat, an erosive beam of light sparking through her face. Bellatrix staggers back, frantically touching her skin, and a laugh bubbles out, high and deranged. She moves to speak but freezes, a maggot spilling from her lips. Then another and another. Wiggling and crawling out from between the corners of her eyes and sickly looking blood trickles out after. More burst from her mouth, bloodied and clumped together like pus. Sirius watches her realization dawn and dips into a bow remnant of their childhood, “Sleep well, Trix.”

Bellatrix’s face crumples, wounded and terrible, and Sirius sees Andromeda in this fleeting moment, when she left them all behind. He watches her stagger forward, wand slipping to the floor, and grabs Sirius tightly. She stares into his eyes, panicked…afraid, and Sirius is a child again, staring up at his cousin. She was still beautiful, but loss made her bitter, their family made her nothing at all. Sirius gathers Bellatrix in his arms, and she slumps into him. Blood oozes from beneath her dress, spreading beneath them like a chasm of the end. Her left arm splits from her body, then her right, and Sirius continues to hold her, dully listening to the clumpy mess that surrounds him. 

Sirius gently lays what’s left on the ground and keeps her wand with him, for Andromeda. He doesn’t know if he should mourn, if he deserves to. Bellatrix could’ve been him and finally had what she wanted. He could’ve been her, chasing after a person who would never return. They were the same. What if Regulus had actually died? Would he spend the rest of his days as Bellatrix had? I already have, he thinks.

Barty whistles, “Light wizard, my ass.”

Sirius gives a delicate shrug, “Loyalties are loyalties.”

Regulus comes to stand beside him, expression closed off and quiet. He doesn’t spare Bellatrix a glance, his gaze solely focused on Sirius with quiet understanding. Sirius’ eyes drift back to Bellatrix. He swallows, limbs feeling like lead. What would James say? Sirius turns to his brother. Why doesn’t he care? Sirius’ hands shake. His heart hardens. He swallows again, but Regulus beats him to it, “If you hesitated, I would’ve finished it.”

Sirius glances at Rodolphus and believes him. He breathes, “Alright, Artemis. Let’s kill you.”

“Fuck yes!” Barty cheers.

Regulus gently cups the side of Sirius’ neck, “I’ll do it.”

Sirius blinks, “You’re sure?”

“Go call your Potter.” Regulus gives him a light squeeze before pulling away.

Sirius obeys, stumbling out of the living room. His fingers tremble around the pocket mirror. He doesn’t quite feel human, “James Potter.”

The mirror ripples, and James’ face appears when he opens it, concerned. Sirius sags against a wall, sinking to the floor, “How are the Longbottoms?”

James’ gaze turns critical, clearly noticing something, “Fuck, Sirius.”

“Longbottoms.” Sirius prompts, his eyes stinging.

“Safe.” James’ voice softens. He frantically searches Sirius’ face. “They’re safe, Pads.”

“And you?” Sirius asks, voice sounding far, far away.

“We’re safe, Pads.” James responds, gentle. “Come home, yeah?”

“I can’t yet,” Sirius responds automatically. “Peter’s still out there. He’s still out there.”

Sirius feels like he can’t rest, that there is still so much to do. He had Regulus now, but Voldemort was still running rampant, James was safe, but that was for now. What about-

“Let me help.” James says, almost desperate. “You think I’m not worried about you? God, Pads, it’s like you’ve just been moving through life since…. Come home. We can figure everything out. We can talk to Dumbledore. Bring… bring Regulus with you. Just come home.”

Sirius’ eyes water, “I’ve failed enough people. I can’t-”

“Pads, no.” James urges. “Just for a day. One day, alright?”

“He’ll visit after our… house meeting.” Regulus’ voice cuts in.

James blinks in surprise, “Let me talk to your brother.”

Sirius hesitates, but Regulus is already taking the mirror and drifting away from him. He can’t hear their conversation, can’t read through the careful mask Regulus wears, but James seems satisfied when the mirror is gently pushed back into Sirius’ hands. Sirius looks to Regulus, searching, and his brother taps his forehead with a lazy brush, heading towards a dramatically wailing Barty Crouch Jr.

“End of this week, I’ll see you. Both of you.” James’ voice brings Sirius back to him.

“I don’t-”

“A nice, little informal meeting.” James chirps, his eyes glinting.

Sirius gives a nervous laugh.

Chapter Text

Black Manor hasn’t changed much since Regulus had been away. Tall, opulent, and blackened in a way that left little to the imagination of what sort of people it housed. Arcturus is a ghost in the walls, Melania before him, and now, the one who stands at its helm is the very person who turned away from it. Regulus studies his brother’s back, how Sirius gazes absently out the laden windows, and draws closer slowly. The sky is darkening purple, clouds heavy with the threat of rain. 

He hesitates, brief, before sliding his arms around his brother’s waist, pressing his face into the curve of Sirius’ neck. It is a moment of weakness, but Sirius appears to be just as out of his depth with how he barely flinches, sagging against him with a grasp to his wrist. Neither of them says a word, Regulus lost in the feel of his brother’s skin, Sirius lost in his own mind. His mind ripples with a memory. It’s of Sirius when those friends of his cast him aside after everything happened with Snape. Regulus had found his brother in the Astronomy tower, teetering dangerously near the railing, and he had grabbed him then, his arms around Sirius’ waist, begging him to remember their promises. Sirius had stood still, as he did now, lost in his mind, traveling through memories as if searching them feverently to see if it would be worth his time.

Sirius had always been like this, weighing himself against his actions. Regulus had never believed his brother to be suicidal. It was beneath them, beneath that of a Black, but Sirius smothered his intense emotions so deeply that most times Regulus would worry when certain situations would push all of his brother’s hesitancy to the forefront like a dam waiting to break, like the sun heralding the blink of dawn. Regulus holds Sirius tighter, and Sirius finally breathes. 

“I didn’t think it would be like this,” Sirius admits quietly.

“You were born to wear this barbed wire.”

Sirius manages a laugh, “You can make jokes now.”

“Barty believes me to be a jester.”

“Is that what you are?” Sirius asks, a smile in his voice. “A jester to Lord Black.”

Regulus hums, noncommittal.

“How funny.” Sirius laughs once more, “I should find someone more suitable-”

Regulus stiffens, hot jealousy sweeping through him. “Who better than me?”

A familiar statement. A familiar feeling, like when he first heard the whispers that Sirius was calling James brother as if he only had one.

Sirius inhales sharply, “Reg-”

“Who better than me?” Regulus hisses, turning Sirius to face him. His brother’s expression cracks like a breath of twilight, searching Regulus’ expression rapidly, and in this moment, they are children; Sirius with a weighted shackle latched around his neck under their grandfather’s stern gaze, how Sirius subtly looked to Regulus, how Regulus could only stare back with his heart in his throat. Sirius staggers back with a swallow, and Regulus grasps his arm tightly.

“Who better to be at your beck and call but me?” Regulus presses, feeling as though he’s been possessed. Feelings overwhelm him completely. If there were any jester, any fool at Sirius Black’s feet, it would be him. Regulus smiles, slow and terrible, “Don’t pretend to dislike, brother. Devotion is our currency and it has always caught your eye.”

Sirius’ pupils dilate and he scoffs but doesn’t remove his arm from Regulus’ grip, “What would you know about devotion? What would I? Your two years dead has shown me this. You’d throw this in my face as you do all else.”

“As you would throw mine.”

Sirius looks at him steadily, snatching his arm away, “At least you knew I was alive. At least you knew I roamed somewhere on this earth, knowing I was waiting for you. I mourned you, Regulus.”

Regulus swallows. “And I, you.”

Sirius manages a tired smile. “That’s not the same, Reg.”

“Isn’t it?” It almost sounds like a beg, Regulus feeling his expression fracture so splendidly with regret, with longing. Sirius looks away in the face of it, arms rising to cross against his chest. His jaw works slowly, pain flickering across his features. Regulus watches these expressions rapturously as he has watched all his life. He understands the hurt he’s caused, and even if some part of him preens that his death was enough to rattle Sirius completely, it doesn’t dissuade from the carved chasm he left behind. He loved Sirius, desperately, whole heartedly, in a way that he has never loved another. Perhaps, distantly, he thought Sirius would move on, carve a life far from them, from what they meant to each other, but Regulus knows he would linger in Sirius’ thoughts. 

The idea riddles him with mania as if all those tales of Black madness were suddenly real and maybe, maybe they were. Sirius grits his teeth, shame coloring his features. So delicate and fragile and Regulus finds himself moving forward. His brother stops him with a glare, mouth trembling in rage, “You never waited for me.”

It’s on the cusp of a flicker that Regulus remembers this promise, Sirius underneath him despite the growing friction between them since Sirius ran away, his thighs bracketing Regulus’ hips, the anger and desperation that lingered so palpable that Regulus thought he may choke. Alphard’s gone, just wait, Sirius had urged even as his face twisted in ecstasy, even as Regulus riddled him to nothing but low whines and whimpers. Just wait, just wait, just wait, but Regulus hadn’t listened, eager to prove that he could be anything without Sirius Black.

“You made your choice.” Regulus responds softly. “I needed to protect you.”

Sirius’ head snaps to him, “I didn’t need your protection. I needed you. I wanted you. You. Did. Not. Wait. For. Me.”

“You stopped looking for me.” Regulus says before he can stop himself, and Sirius’ expression breaks completely. An overwhelming grief passes over his brother like a string snapped so completely, and Regulus’ heart stutters hard in his chest at the desolation expression he’s met with. His hands shake at his sides, unsure and overwhelmed, and he forces his gaze up to meet the harrowing, broken gaze of his older brother. Sirius swallows, low and audible, then steels himself completely, expression tucked behind a glow of raw determination. Sirius Black does not beg, but for Regulus, always for Regulus, does he plead. 

Sirius grasps the back of his neck suddenly, silver eyes so despairing and desperate, “Never.” He urges. “Even in the ground, you were my thoughts, Regulus.”

Regulus closes his eyes, “Liar.”

“Not to you.”

Never to you, Sirius’ voice whispers in his mind, like a curse, like a plea. Regulus forces his eyes open, meeting his brother’s furious gaze, and finds himself softening as he always did. Foolish, he thinks. That is love, his mother’s voice whispers, that is obsession, his father’s voice disagrees. Sirius presses their foreheads together, thumb smoothing along the hard line of Regulus’ cheekbone. Regulus breathes and finally tugs Sirius into his arms. He holds him tightly, feeling the softer parts of his brother’s body, how they mold to him so easily as they always did, and Sirius grasps him back just as tight. 

“You promised me.” Regulus murmurs.

“I know.” Sirius rubs a soothing hand over his hair, “I was meant to be yours.”

“Liar.” 

“Not to you.”

Regulus whispers against him, “You promised me forever.”

“You have me.” Sirius responds easily.

“Do I?” Regulus kneels before him suddenly, and he can tell it rattles his brother severely. He has never kneeled, not even to Voldemort, but he will kneel to Sirius, would kneel until his limbs bled and ached and decayed until there was nothing left. He grasps Sirius’ hand, peering up at him, “I am your most faithful servant, Lord Black. I should be rewarded.”

Sirius’ hand shakes in his, “What do you want?”

Regulus brushes his lips along his brother’s knuckles, “What you promised me.” 

Forever.

Sirius inhales sharply, and Regulus is certain he will deny him, after everything, but his heart still leaps when he hears the response, “Stand.”

Regulus obeys, heart in his throat, and Sirius tilts forward to kiss him. It feels like their first time, their numerous excursions hidden under their parent’s knowing gazes, and yet it feels so new, like Regulus’ skin has been set on fire. He cups Sirius’ face in both hands, tilting his head, and is rewarded with Sirius parting his lips for his tongue. How long had it been? Too long, Regulus thinks. Incredible, he thinks as his mind fogs, hooking his arm around Sirius’ hips to drag him closer. Sirius slides his arms around his shoulders, melting into him as he did during their childhood, their teens, and it burns Regulus up completely because if Sirius Black would not yield to anyone, he would yield to him. 

“We have company.” Sirius murmurs against his lips. 

“You rule this house, Lord Black.” Regulus responds simply, carding his fingers through Sirius’ hair. 

Sirius laughs against his lips, humorless, “I should let them rot.”

“You wouldn’t.” Regulus kisses the corner of his mouth.

Sirius grasps his neck tightly. He hisses, almost furious,“You make me weak.”

“I know,” Regulus admits. Every time Sirius yielded for Walburga, every time Regulus made a request that Sirius obeyed. There was only one time Sirius refused him, and still he begged for Regulus to join him.

Sirius kisses him once more before pulling away, locking his expression into a mask of indifference. He smooths out his shirt, glancing once more at Melania’s wilting gardens before straightening his shoulders. A fine line of derision flickers across his face before it’s swept away to reveal the mask that their grandfather helped carve for him; dangerous, unyielding. If Arcturus Black failed in anyway, it was not in making his eldest grandson the perfect mix of Melania and himself. Beautiful yet unyielding, an unmovable object yet an unmovable force. Sirius was the perfect example of a Black despite anything pointing to the contrary. Their grandfather’s heir, their father’s first choice, their family’s burning phoenix. 

Sirius glances at him, “Why is Druella here? She is only a Black through marriage.”

“She is not the source.” Regulus replies simply. He hoped Evan would see reason, for their companionship but mostly, privately, for Barty. “Her brother is close to the Dark Lord.”

Sirius hums, “Is he? Welp, guess we’ll see.” He moves towards the door of Arcturus’ bedroom and pauses, “I asked Andromeda to come.”

Regulus’ head snaps to him, startled, “What?”

“For Trixie.” Sirius responds evenly. “I doubt she’ll show… but she did love her.”

An unspoken conversation transfers between them; this could’ve been us, that could’ve been you at the end of my wand. The family knew of Bellatrix’s obsession with her sister, how she longed to be at her side before Ted Tonks swept Andromeda away. Bellatrix was never quite the same after Andromeda ran away, neither was Narcissa, but Bellatrix, Bellatrix tucked that offense in her chest until it threatened to choke her. Regulus inclines his head but speaks no more. Sirius shoots him a sunny smile despite how dead his eyes appear before pushing out the room. Regulus follows, taking in the various paintings that Melania decorated in the halls. Arcturus lived for their family, their beliefs, their traditions, but Melania breathed life into him beyond the Black name. 

Sirius walks ahead confidently, touching the delicate trinkets that charmed him once as a child. He shifts his head as he descends the stairs, and Regulus moves to stride beside him, their fingers brushing together before Regulus tucks his arms behind him. Sirius resembles their father in this moment, cool yet refined, how his eye purposely lingers on certain members of their family once they enter the sitting room. Pollux, despite his refined appearance, shifts noticeably. Cygnus refuses to meet either of their gazes, and Druella’s eyes remain fixed on the floor. Narcissa blinks in shock upon seeing Regulus, but it is quickly smoothed away. 

Cassiopeia clicks her fan open, “Nephew, you look incredible for being dead.”

Sirius’ mouth twitches. “Doesn’t he?”

Cassiopeia simpers, giving Sirius a lecherous once over. “As do you.”

“Mind your eyes, aunt.” Regulus says simply.

“Oh, don’t mind me.” Cassiopeia smiles, sugary sweet. “I have long awaited this day.”

Pollux shuffles in his seat, sneering, and Sirius raises his hand, lazy and unbothered, “Careful, grandfather. I’m already pissed.” 

Pollux’s face sours completely.

Sirius takes a graceful seat, Regulus standing just behind his chair, and their family’s gazes shift to them. Sirius waves a dismissive hand, and Regulus watches them slump minutely. A frantic set of feet comes from the entry hall, and Sirius inclines his head just as Andromeda Tonks bursts into the room, eyes wide and frenzied. Druella stiffens dramatically, as does Cygnus, but Narcissa takes a calm sip of her tea, masking her shock easily. Sirius turns with a sunny smile, “Andy.”

“Sirius Black.” Andromeda snarls, charging deeper into the room like a storm cloud. “What is the meaning of-”

Sirius holds up Bellatrix’s wand and her voice dies in her throat. She stumbles forward, collapsing hard onto her knees as she reaches for it. Sirius hands it over easily, his face firming at the onslaught of visual rage and devastation that shakes her face. Bitter tears slide down Andromeda’s face, wand clutched tight to her chest as she succumbs to devastating sobs. Narcissa swallows audibly, looking away, but the remainder of them watch and watch and watch. Sirius addresses them, “We were once a mighty house, were we not?”

No one answers.

Sirius crosses one leg over the other, “Yet we dwindle. We kneel. For what?”

“He is powerful.” Druella says suddenly.

Cygnus shushes her.

Sirius arches an eyebrow, “Oh? I wasn’t aware that we were power chasers. Wasn’t aware we needed outside forces to be powerful.” He pushes to his feet, every inch of a young lord as he grins, sharp. “If you want to kneel for someone, you will kneel to me.”

The following silence is deafening. Cassiopeia’s wand snaps closed, her grin wide and dangerous. “Oh?”

Sirius winks at her, “This house has wasted enough, has it not? You refuse, I’ll wipe you off this tapestry. After all, what use is a dead house to me, who was hellbent on running away from this fucking farce?”

Pollux bristles, offended, “This house-”

“Bends to a no name.” Sirius hisses sharply. “Yet. You. Have. Look at us.” He laughs, a bit sardonic, “Look at me.”

A hushed silence falls at such unusual words. Regulus had wondered when Sirius would address his relationship with Dumbledore, if he would’ve bothered with the old man if it weren’t for James Potter. His mother had wailed at such a decision as she had when Regulus chose Voldemort. A sharp click of heels fills the room and Sirius turns, dipping politely at the waist, arm offered to none other than Walburga Black. 

Regulus’ throat tightens. His mother was not the woman she once was, loss had carved deep into her despite her beauty. Walburga hesitates subtly before taking Sirius’ arm, and she studies her oldest with a strange fondness, then settles that icy gaze on Regulus. The whisper of a smile spreads across her lips, eyes flickering with ugly satisfaction and… pride. Regulus nearly puffs up his chest. Their family watches Sirius guide Walburga into the seat he once sat in, gazes ping ponging rapidly between the three of them. 

Ah, so this was his intention, Regulus thinks. He had noticed Sirius’ evasiveness. Coupled with Walburga’s unexpected appearance and her lack of surprise at Regulus’…. sudden revelation. He wonders if their mother was enraged, how Sirius handled that. Sirius leans against the arm of Walburga’s chair, smoothly crossing one leg over the other. Regulus can see the visible surprise when Walburga Black doesn’t even chide Sirius’ lack of etiquette. 

“Now we can begin.” Sirius taps his knee.

Walburga watches her eldest almost rapturously.

Pollux chuckles derisively, “Ah. So you called us here to play house, boy?”

Sirius’ smile is razor-thin. “I called you here for this house’s survival, sir.”

Narcissa finally speaks, lips pursed. “You speak boldly for a man who has spent these years playing Gryffindor’s martyr.”

Sirius lazily glances at her, “You speak cautiously for a woman whose son will be chained to the monster your husband covets like a lovesick girl.”

Narcissa says nothing, but her hand curls into a fist.

Cygnus manages a laugh, appearing uncharacteristically unsure, “You expect us to move against the Dark Lord?”

“I expect you to be Slytherins.”

The air freezes as though these words were unexpected.

“I don’t follow Dumbledore.” Sirius continues, “I follow what’s mine. I’m certain you all know this.”

Druella shivers.

Cygnus leans forward in his seat, intrigue sparking across his face, “So it is true.”

“Naturally. I am a Black.” Sirius snorts, flexing his fingers. “What is my loyalty if it isn’t…” His gaze flicks to Regulus. “Obsessive. Uncle, your influence still stretches far and wide. Auntie, yours is very much the same. Lestrange has no one now. I imagine he’s quite upset with Malfoy for convincing his heir and spare to join him. Ah.”

Sirius gives a loose grin. “He even sent me a letter knowing I’m the one who put his sons in the ground. Naturally, I had to share my condolences, but well, I’m not interested in protecting people who aren’t mine.”

Andromeda inhales shakily from the floor, clutching Bellatrix’s wand. Cygnus’ eyes flash, realization dawning, and he shakily stumbles to his feet. He finally spares his middle child a glance. Strangely, there is regret in his face. Cygnus’ fists clench, “What do you require, Lord Black?”

Druella’s head snaps to her husband, shocked.

Pollux sneers but doesn’t disagree, inclining his head to Sirius, “I’ll talk with Nott. Carrow is currently on the fence. He has been waiting for… our response.”

Sirius hums. “Appreciate it.” He turns to Cygnus, “I want his status crushed. What is sentiment to someone who spits in the face of our culture? Sentiment loses war. Sentiment makes irrelevance. Shall we continue to let this house be irrelevant?”

Cygnus nods curtly, and Pollux scoffs. “Fine.”

Druella forces out, “Evan-”

“Spoken for.” Regulus says curtly, watching her sag in quiet relief.

“If he sees reason.” Sirius pushes to his feet. “I want a vow. From each of you.”

“Done.” Walburga responds. It was unusual for her to be so quiet, yet she remained still like a porcelain doll during this entire conversation.

Cassiopeia smacks her fan open, fanning herself with a sultry smile. “You have my hand, nephew.”

Regulus glares at her. 

She winks at him. 

Chapter Text

Barty had been hunting Pettigrew religiously, with only the devotion of someone looking for the House of Black’s favor, and when he came to Sirius with a location and confirmation, Sirius had clapped him on the shoulder, You have two more favors now, Artemis, and Barty had nearly wept with joy. The werewolves had Pettigrew, tortured, agonized like that could erase the grief he had caused Voldemort, caused the ones once closest to him. Potter had been silent when Sirius told him the news and that they’d have to wait for their sunny reunion, stewed and stewed and stewed until he simply said, “When you get your hands on him, I want to watch”. Regulus hadn’t expected such cruelty from one of Gryffindor’s golden boys, but Sirius had grinned in such a way that maybe, maybe Regulus never knew James Potter at all beyond the mask he presented. 

However, werewolves weren’t to be trifled with but even so, they were no match for a family that built their foundations and wealth on the blood of others. Regulus slips a hand into Sirius’, watching his brother scan the distance with narrow eyes. Sirius intertwines their fingers easily, tilting his head this way and that, nostrils flaring with thinly concealed disgust. Perhaps there was only one werewolf that Sirius was tolerant of. Remus Lupin. Or perhaps there was something more personal that slipped through Regulus’ understanding. Fenrir Greyback was a notorious monster, something whispered in warnings, in late bedtime tales. He was the only known werewolf who actively prowled and hunted in Britain. Regulus knows that Lyall Lupin had offended someone he shouldn’t have based on the dismissive sneers of their parents, but…. He peers at Sirius, whose expression has gone thunderous. It’s such a beautiful sight.

“Lupin?” Regulus asks tentatively.

“I can smell him.” Sirius responds, his voice clipped and curt. His expression shutters. “I can smell his blood. But he isn’t here.”

Regulus inhales sharply. He squeezes Sirius’ hand. “We destroy them.”

Sirius turns to him, “Grandfather-”

“I know it.” Regulus tells him.

Sirius’ face breaks, “Why?”

“I was jealous.” Regulus admits.

“And now?” Sirius presses.

“I have you.” Regulus whispers.

“You had me before.” Sirius hisses.

“Did I?” Regulus asks, almost desperately.

“You had me.” Sirius snarls, yanking his hand out of Regulus’ but Regulus snatches him back, grasping his neck in an almost bruising grip. His brother’s eyes dart erratically across his face before Sirius turns away with a harsh swallow. Regulus strokes his thumb along the hard curve of Sirius’ jaw and Sirius melts, silver eyes watering. He startles subtly when Sirius grasps his wrist, swallowing hard at the bright burn of hatred that ripples across Sirius’ face. “Greyback is mine.”

Regulus can only nod.

“You come back to me.” Sirius demands, a warning, a plea.

“Always.” Regulus promises.

Sirius kisses him, long and lingering before slipping into the shadow of the trees. He had wanted Regulus to stay behind but not even the goddess herself could seperate them now that Regulus had his brother back in his line of sight. He waits a breath, counting to thirty, and follows, steps as silent as a ghost’s despite the damp, pine needle underbrush of the forest floor Greyback holed himself up in. He knows that he’s mainly support but he’d gladly die for such a title, wand twirling nimbly in his hand as he mows down the stragglers Sirius couldn’t reach or simply didn’t bother to deal with. Bodies fall like leaves, air growing thick with the stench of blood and unwashed flesh but Regulus tends to his task, a shadow at Sirius’ back, Lord Black’s most faithful servant. 

It must be pride or sure idiocy that Greyback hasn’t noticed them, hasn’t smelled them amongst the growing rot and pungent sour of blood but Regulus never attempted to understand this monster or the feral creatures he housed. Even Voldemort had turned his nose up at them but undestood their use. Who needs a breeding cow when you could have a werewolf loyal to the lifestyle he carved from the backs of children and a constant need for blood shed and dominance? 

Regulus melts behind a thick oak, his gaze finding Sirius lurking at the edge of crudely made tents, his eyes bright with fury and so exceptionally beautiful that it makes his heart skip. His brother had always been exceptional but his anger, his anger would twist something so deep in Regulus’ gut that it would make him faint with delirium. Regulus suddenly feels 13 again, Sirius standing between him and their mother, those eyes still a brilliant shade of cold fire even if his hands had shook. He’s mine, Sirius had spat, infuriated and building and Walburga had looked between them with something like awe in her face, perhaps delight. He doesn’t know when their parents had realized their relationship dipped deeper than simple sibling bonds but he does know that Orion sat with him when Sirius had left, stoney and silent and simply laid a calm hand on Regulus’ shoulder even as his wife wailed in despair. He’ll return. Even if it isn’t for us, his father had said.

But Sirius hadn’t or perhaps, Regulus didn’t notice, swept up in his own plans, his own realization that he’d have to burn their family apart the same way his big brother did to achieve his goal. Orion Black may have never witnessed Sirius returning, as his heir, as Lord Black, but their mother had and surely she’d tell him all about when those same stars came to fetch her.

Greyback stands, unbothered, just as deranged and mangy as the last time Regulus saw him, Pettigrew’s cowering form beneath him. His slacks are torn suggestively, face a mess of snot and blood, and Greyback traces a dirty fingernail along the flesh of his quivering form. He chuckles, deep and low and Sirius bristles out of the corner of his eye, “Our master would thank me for seasoning his meat.”

Sirius moves then, graceful like a murder of ravens with how his wand sings through the air before his body does. The spell catches Greyback across the face, who flinches, a scream spilling from his lips like a siren’s wail, and Sirius is gone, replaced by a dog, the same dog that haunted Regulus’ mind when he was away, when he was dead, felt that coarse, curling fur beneath his palm only once before their lives were ripped apart seamlessly by his own actions, by Sirius’. Greyback stumbles back, veins pulsing on his skin, red then silver and Sirius lunges, taking that thick neck between ghastly teeth and drags the monster that haunted many to the ground like a sack of excrement. 

Greyback roars, a sound of pure, agonized fury. The silver burns and smokes, filling the air like seared flesh that have come to join the forest’s rot. Sirius holds tights, teeth bloodied, eyes wild and frenzied and he drags this creature like the very filth their grandfather used to whisper about. Even as an animagus, Sirius isn’t weak, a hulking monstrosity of a dog, a bear, baring his weight down like a creature of old, jaw locking and tearing even as Greyback slams his fists into that solid body. Regulus watches, enraptured, but his eye catches more movement, more werewolves coming to their master’s aid.

He doesn’t hesitate. Sirius might’ve been a burning inferno but Regulus was his brother, the ice in the House of Black’s veins that kept that shuddering, ugly heart still beating and… and his grandfather taught him well, to defend just as Arcturus Black did for Melania. I know what you both keep hidden, his grandfather had intoned, eyes just as icy as Sirius’ and he heaved a deep sigh, a flickering of smile on his face. Very well. Our heir has chosen. What was a halfblood to him, to them? Lupin was lucky to have left with just a few bruises to the jaw after Regulus learned of his interest towards what was his. But Regulus Black had loyalties, even if it involved saving the same damn miscreants that took his brother from him. Potter, Lupin, and even, Pettigrew despite the untimely demised he’d meet once Sirius was finished.

Regulus advances, stepping over whimpering, shuddering bodies, his wand an extension of himself. My shadow, Sirius’ voice ripples in his mind and that’s all Regulus could ever be, ever offer. A faithful servant, he thinks, watching filth fall before him, puffed up and bloated, their shrill screams filling the night air and in the corner of his eye, Sirius shakes and shakes that sturdy neck like an animal, like every inch of the animagus form he wore, blood on his face, in his eyes, strong and unyielding and when Greyback finally falls slack from blood loss, gold eyes wide with despair, Sirius shifts to himself, marble covered in gore and blood and he grins, standing over the quivering form that haunted so many, many nightmares.

“B-Black.” Greyback gurgles. 

“Me.” Sirius grins, unbothered by the thick slump of a body Regulus just dispatched. He straddles this disgusting form, caressing Greyback’s face with a gentleness that is belied by the ugly, furious burn of his eyes. “You have something of mine.”

Greyback flounders, blood spilling from his lips, eyes wide with a despair Regulus had never seen. “L-Lupin?”

“Oh, yes, that’s one of those things.” Sirius says sweetly. His mouth turns to steel, shoulders lined hard with ferocity as he grabs that thick neck. “Pettigrew is mine to kill.”

“Have him.” Greyback responds, almost desperately.

Sirius hums thoughtful, catching Greyback’s fist easily, and purrs, “I wonder if Remus would mount your head on Lyall’s wall once I’m through with you. I wonder if he’ll piss on it every morning. I finally caught you, Fenrir. You won’t escape me again.”

Regulus stands watch, listening to the garbled screams as Sirius digs his wand into that monster’s belly, knowing it was laced with silver, like he hadn’t watched Sirius carve new runes into his wand that vaguely translated to the moon, like he hadn’t wrapped an arm around his brother’s waist and asked you’re sure. Sirius had stiffened, stared and stared and stared and simply said I should’ve killed him sooner. The camp is filled with dead, empty husks, their blood sucked through the very spell Regulus cast because the best way to deal with a werewolf was to simply collect their blood, Melania had said once even as Arcturus blanched at such behavior. Sirius might’ve been this house’s heir but Regulus was, is, always faithful to Sirius Black.

Pettigrew whimpers quietly, eyes going wide at Sirius’ bloodied state, “P-Pads-”

“Don’t.” Sirius’ voice is frosty. He procures that same handheld mirror and states, “James Potter.”

Pettigrew’s expression goes ashen.

“Found him then?” Potter’s voice fills the dulled silence. He doesn’t seem surprised by Sirius’ state.

“How do you want him?” Sirius asks quietly.

Potter hums, thoughtful. “Ask your brother. He always had riveting ideas.”

Sirius glances at Regulus, holding the mirror to him. Regulus closes the distance between them, taking it between his fingers, and watches his brother roll his neck with a sickening crack, eyes dark with mania. He glances at Potter’s impassive expression in the mirror, angles it for Sirius and Pettigrew in full view, and states plainly, “A crucio isn’t enough.”

Sirius’ fingers twitch at his sides, staring down the same boy he shared a dorm with, expression so dark and twisted that it makes Regulus’ heart stutter. His question is soft, barely a whisper, “Who else has he betrayed? Beyond James?”

Pettigrew goes taut, eyes darting erratically between them, and the sickly color of his skin has Regulus bristling. Potter inhales sharply at the response, voice raising in demand. Regulus shoves the mirror back into Sirius’ hand, grabbing Pettigrew roughly by the chin, and stares into his eyes, ripping through those flimsy suggestions of a shield like a child through wrapper. His breath hitches, watching Marlene McKinnon welcome this man into her home, the bright smile of her father and sisters as she loudly proclaims that this was one of her friends from Hogwarts. How Pettigrew’s hand shook on his wand when he mowed those same family members down before turning to McKinnon, her eyes wide with despair, wand no where in sight, but Pettigrew was unable to draw his wand at her, mind flickering to them as children and laughing and oh, how warm Marlene McKinnon was towards him even if he wasn’t James, wasn’t Sirius. 

Pettigrew plunged a knife into her neck, shaking and shaking, but her last words would haunt him for eternity, those dimming blue eyes, the whisper of her last words, S-Siri will never, hic, forgive you and… I h-hope he kills you, and Regulus is back in this decrepit camp, panting harshly. He turns to his brother, shaking. and Sirius stares at him with teary eyes like he already knows it will break his heart, and demands, “Who?”

Regulus swallows hard, knowing this would devaste Sirius completely like the looming suggestion of James Potter’s demise. If Potter was on one shoulder, McKinnon was on the other but even Regulus feels her loss. A dark house, however lesser than that of a Black, but she seemed to read between the lines, would seek Regulus out with questions about Potions and nonsense with that pretty smile and assured him I’ll take care of him when you’re not around, even as Regulus scoffed and stated he didn’t know what she was talking about but her eyes had glintend and hooked an arm around his neck while cheerfully waving Sirius over, who seemed so pleased at their interaction like he always was when Regulus deigned to entertain his friends, and Regulus remembers thinking she would. Pettigrew whimpers brokenly behind them and his heart breaks for his brother, whose expression has gone so crazed with panic that he can’t meet his eye. Still, Sirius demands once more, “Who?!”

“McKinnon.” Regulus grits out.

Potter’s voice trembles from the mirror. “M-Marlene?”

Sirius face breaks completely, despair, longing, and such bristling rage that Regulus nearly wilts. He grinds out, “How?”

Regulus purses his lips, hesitating.

“How?!” Sirius demands furiously.

“He’s the one who killed her and her family.” Regulus states quietly. “He was too cowardly to use his wand on her, however. Simply watched her bleed out beneath him. Her… Her last words were about you, Sirius.”

“Oh fuck.” Potter whimpers but it’s drowned out by Sirius’ shuddering wail of despair, of such anguish. Regulus doesn’t stop his brother, merely takes the mirror when Sirius passes, grabbing that useless neck by the hands and shakes.

“M-Marly?” Sirius sounds broken despite the prevalent fury and agony, “Marlene? It was you? You took her away from me?! From Dorcas? You… How could you? She loved you, Peter!”

Pettigrew tries to speak, to beg, plead, but he can’t, face going purple with lack of oxygen yet Sirius shakes his head roughly like it could solely cause this despicable creature’s head to roll. Regulus stands there, mirror in hand, and watches impassively when Sirius staggers away, sinking hard to his knees. He doesn’t comfort, knowing at this moment, his brother wouldn’t appreciate it. Sirius shakes where he’s slumped, hands slowly curling into fists, eyes shadowed by his hair, and Regulus can’t even bring himself to feel an inkling of pity when Sirius rises, blood drying on his face, eyes empty and lost and when he turns, Pettigrew wets himself in terror with Regulus Black and James Potter as the witness to his execution. 

There is no better example of a Black’s rage, their madness, beyond Sirius Black. A Gryffindor, outsiders would whisper, but what did that mean to a Black? It just meant more excuse for rage, for burning brighter than the sun, and Sirius is an exceptional study. He breaks Pettigrew’s arms before ripping them off his body, seals the wound with a cartery that would have their father squinting at such cruelty, and tears at every tendon, every socket until the screams blur together. Potter doesn’t ask him to stop, neither does Regulus, watching and watching as Sirius Black, a golden boy of Gryffindor, the Black’s rising pheonix, turns man into mush, turns mush into smashing bits as he slams and slams his fists down into meaty flesh like a brawler. Regulus watches, even when Potter buries his face in his hands to weep, as Sirius slams and slams his boots, his fists, his head into the man beneath him until it’s nothing but withering waste and then Sirius crucios Pettigrew with such a severity that their mother must surely feel it.

But, even at the end, Sirius can’t kill him, staggering away like a wounded animal even as Pettigrew is left a mulled mush of barely living, solely living because of Black’s magic, and slowly wheezing. When Regulus steps forward to finish it off, Sirius stops him, voice pleading, “Tell me to stop.”

“I won’t.” Regulus states, firm.

Potter’s voice quietly follows. “Kill him.”

“He was our friend.” Sirius sobs into his knees.

“He killed Marlene.” Potter whispers.

“He was going to kill Potter.” Regulus agrees.

Sirius stiffens, glancing at Regulus, “You’re enjoying this.”

“He was always beneath you.” Regulus hisses but he can’t hide his pleasure. “Now he has touched what was yours. Will you let this go unchallenged, Lord Black?”

Sirius’ breath hitches, staring at him, and even covered in blood and viscera, Regulus has never seen anything more stunning. Sirius breathes, stumbling to his feet, and in this moment, he seems so lost, deranged, and every inch of Bellatrix. He drags himself to Pettigrew’s rasping form, draws his wand, and slams in hard into his neck. Pettigrew gasps softly, eyes darting furiously even as they begin to gloss, and Sirius shoves his wand deeper, eyes expressionless despite the shake of his shoulders. “She knew I’d kill you. Just like you knew I would when you betrayed James, like you knew I would if I ever found out what you did to Marlene. You’ll never see either of them again and when we meet in hell, I’ll kill you all over again, Peter.”

Pettigrew releases one last gurgle before falling completely still. Regulus snaps the mirror closed, carefully wandering towards his brother. His voice is quiet, “Sirius.”

Sirius stares absently at the face beneath him. His breath hitches, tears spilling from his eyes. “I’m a monster.”

“No.” Regulus responds, soothing. “You’re perfect.”