Chapter Text
“Regulus!” Pandora giggles, slapping his arm while simultaneously pulling him in so she can rest her head on his shoulder. Her delicate fingers are wrapped around a kouign amann, courtesy of Regulus Black himself, thank you very much.
“Yes, Regulus, what is wrong with you?” Evan laughs, holding an éclair that he’s already almost finished with, despite the fact that they just left the café a few minutes ago. One of his favourite things about France really is the pastries, perfectly textured and flavoured so beautifully it melts on your tongue.
“I think the most important question to ask here, is what is wrong with you, Evan. We all saw that fucking hat, did we not? I am just the only one with the guts to tell the truth to that American tourist. They are like a disease.” Regulus scoffs at the mere thought. Loud, rowdy Americans usually keep themselves in Paris, the City of Love or whatever. All you can really find there is overpriced food and crowded walkways. But sometimes they make an appearance in Regulus’ quaint little town, and they think they’re all the better for it, when they’re really not. They don’t—despite what they might think and brag—fit in, because you can spot an American from across the fucking ocean, whether it be their terribly loud voices, heinous fashion decisions, proclivity to lean anywhere and everywhere, or tipping habits. No, you do not look like a local, Rebecca, you are screaming on the phone in the middle of a diner because your ticket to Versailles was postponed and ordering a croissant in a terrible accent. Might as well be screeching the national anthem with an eagle on your shoulder; even that would be less obvious.
Evan snorts, shoving the last of his pastry in his mouth. That means he’s going to be very annoying when they actually arrive at the meadow, begging and pleading for ‘just one bite, Regulus, don’t deny a starving man, Regulus, I’ll suck you off, Regulus,’ and more unhinged bargains. Regulus, very annoyingly, almost always seems to give in eventually. Very annoying. He hates his friends.
“You could’ve been nicer about it. I mean, what if some American came up to you scoffing in a language you didn’t understand, speaking in fast angry English?” Pandora demands. She’s probably the kindest person Regulus has ever known; too nice . A man could spit on her shoe, and she’d say ‘no Regulus! Don’t beat him up, he’s probably just having a bad day! ’ to which Regulus would go ahead and do it anyway, because he’s not gonna let someone talk to his friend like that, even if she’s too nice to do something about it. Evan, obviously, would hold the scum of a man down.
“Oh, you mean all the time?” Regulus inquires with a raised eyebrow.
“Well, not all the time,” Pandora defends, scowling at him. “But you do run into them on purpose and do the exact same back, don’t you?”
“They deserve it.” Regulus shrugs. “Obnoxious, rude, and think the word revolves around them. They should thank me for keeping them humble. It’s a public service.”
“You’re impossible,” Pandora sighs with a small grin.
Regulus can’t help the twitch of his mouth either. He really does love Pandora.
Barely a few seconds pass before the predicted “Reginthfru, what did you order?” Comes from Evan as he slides open the small gate that leads to their destination.
He, on the other hand, is Regulus’ mortal enemy.
“Nothing that concerns you.”
Evan grumbles something in English; Evan and Pandora were raised bilingual, because their mother was British and their father French.
They aren’t as fluent in English as their mother—seeing as they never use it anywhere but with her—but they know how to keep a conversation. Regulus had them teach him insults, but he never learned beyond that, refusing to entertain Sirius when he spent an entire year learning their stupid words in preparation for his exchange student program somewhere in the sewers of England. He was not interested in such things. Still isn’t. He’s not doing the program, so he sees no need. He’ll stay in France forever, in his quaint little town with a quaint little bookstore and an apartment on top. He’s content.
Sirius left because he was desperate to get away from their parents; Regulus has no such problems. They’re assholes, they hit and scream, but he’s only got two years of school left before he can move out and get his inheritance. He simply just avoids his house as much as he can get away with. Evan and Pandora help with that. In fact, lately, he’s barely even been in his house except for obligatory family dinners where they glare at each other in tense silence or to sleep. Sometimes—though it never ends well for him—he even tries his luck and stays out all night.
After a few minutes of walking a dirt path, the small townhouses of Regulus’ life get smaller and smaller, becoming small blobs of colour over the horizon. The trio discovered the meadow drunk off their asses on red wine after a disastrous dinner party sending Sirius off, stumbling into each other and giggling like most did at fourteen, when everything was big and they were just so small. They had a stolen bottle from the wine cellar, no glasses, and the uncomfortable dress clothes on their backs. Evan had tripped over the gate, folding like a lawn chair over the delicate metal, sporting a bloody nose and staining his white shirt. They absolutely died , ending up on the floor with those laughs so loud and cathartic that you can’t breathe and all that comes out is a wheeze.
They’d been chased away by old Mrs. Sinew and her broom, screeching so loudly the house lights came on and curiously annoyed townspeople poked their heads out of their windows.
They ran and ran, still tripping over themselves with laughter as they left the miserable old woman in the dust, staining their black dress shoes that pinched their toes and cufflinks being forever lost beneath their feet.
Regulus thinks that that moment, falling into the beautiful grass moonlit beautifully and leaning his head back to stare at the endless sky, with his lifelong best friends by his side still giggling and whispering to each other, was the last time he was really, truly happy.
The next day Sirius was off to England, with a host family who loved him like their own, and a boy his age who got him into endless trouble. Meanwhile, all Regulus had was this. This, and stilted bi-weekly phone calls where Sirius tries to downplay his antics while a low foreign chuckle is barely muffled on the other side.
Surely you can see why he would prefer this.
Pandora smoothing out a trademark chequered picnic blanket, a basket full of snacks and pastries, and red wine, atop flowered grass overshadowed by a long-limbed tree; just on the outskirts of Annecy, hidden behind shrubbery and overlooking a vast expanse of beautiful land untouched by urban industrialism. Away from expectations and iron-rod spines. Away from phone calls you can tell your brother is only making because of a sense of obligation instead of the urge to talk to you after moving out of the country. Away from harsh ringed slaps and never being good enough.
Evan laying his head in his lap with a wistful sigh, watching where the flowers dip down and staring at the massive mountains tinted blue from distance. Where Regulus cards fingers through the boy’s hair because he likes it and thinks too much. Where Pandora snacks on grapes while threading flowers into a flower crown, which by the end of the night there will be three of. Where nobody is looking for them, nobody is watching them, nobody is analysing their every move. Where Regulus pretends not to notice Evan sneaking small bites out of his pain au chocolat, because he’s a good friend. Where the sky is endless and bright blue, blanketing them in the comfort of a mildly cloudy day. Where nobody has to talk to be understood.
The meadow is comforting for all of them, but for different reasons. Evan likes it because the gentle quietness of the scenery helps him organise his thoughts; like being able to just press pause on the constant ticking clock of life for a few hours. Regulus likes it because there’s nobody around, and he can finally not think, because there’s nothing to think about; there are flowers and flower crowns, and he is a nameless young boy, soaking up the tail-end of his teenage years with his friends. He isn’t an heir, or a spare, or a son, or a brother or a friend. He is just a boy. Regulus thinks Pandora just likes to be able to tell her silly intriguing stories to an audience that wouldn’t ever dare to laugh at her, to be one with the ground and the trees and nature.
Like they do every time, they stay for hours.
The golden sun gives everything an ethereal sparkling air, tinting everything a beautiful yellow. There’s dirt beneath his fingertips, edging beneath his fingernails uncomfortably because he’s been absently picking at blades of grass. A soft breeze musses his hair. There are dusty green flowers woven between his curls, tickling his cheek. Evan’s breathing is soft and level. Pandora’s smile is pearly white and beautiful, snow-white curls waterfalling down her shoulders, woven between small yellow flowers. Nothing is real or tangible. Beneath his fingertips is a simple sensation, the smell of wood and interwoven scents of nature are the air, and the swollen pluck of love in his heart when he looks at Pandora and Evan that weaves beneath his skin is blood, giving life to his head and keeping him upright. Evan’s sandy hair is soft between his knuckles.
There is no heir or spare or son or brother or friend.
There is a boy named Regulus, lounging on a picnic blanket hidden in the French countryside. There is a beautiful girl named Pandora, with soft-spoken tales of elves and fairies that you have no choice but to listen to. There is a boy named Evan, who has strong yet gentle hands and speaks in well-thought out sentences. There is the soft laughter of teenagers who feel immortal twirling around in the air, with so much life to live.
There is Evan, whose mind never quits. Pandora, who giggles about her strange dreams and wears glittering jewels on her neck and wrists. Regulus, who always wants more.
Together, they are one soul, one blink in the grand passage of time, not to be remembered. In a few decades, nobody will remember the three kids who snuck away and finally felt happy. But they will. They will remember, they will come back with wrinkles and grey hair, and remember how this used to be their spot. Share stories of when they thought they’d never die, where underneath the trees they sat in a fissure of time, where the clock’s ticking was quieted down to a soft wind and everything was paused. Where there was no past or present or future, there was just them.
A girl’s head on a snarky boy’s shoulder, watching the sun slowly dip beneath the horizon, marking the end of their adventure when the moon takes its spot back in the sky, gently pressing kisses to the dirt in the form of soft white light. Where they gently nudge awake their friend, collect their scraps and trash in a basket, fold up their blanket with care, and remove the only signs they had ever been there until all that would be left was in the form of sideways grass, which would find its spine by the time the sun inevitably rose again to sing another good morning and whisk fathers off to work with a kiss to their wives and small children. To wake lovers tangled between soft white sheets, grinning and whispering sweet nothings to each other in voices thick with sleep and adoration.
Regulus grabs the wine bottle, now empty, just as his phone buzzes in his pocket. Now that he’s a son, brother, spare, and a friend, his heart’s steady beat picks up momentum. Sirius calls on Sunday nights; probably so he can feign tiredness and the looming day of school to get off of the phone faster. It’s a Wednesday.
He slips his phone from his pocket and takes a deep breath. Mother .
“Yes, Mother?” Regulus greets, keeping his voice steady and bordering on bored. Evan looks over at him, with the same anxious expression he knows is on his face as well. Pandora’s eyes are reassuring and steady as she bends over the picnic basket, head tilted up to stare at him. It’s never good when his mother calls.
“ Where are you right now ?” She demands. She never wastes any time with casualties. Her voice is sharp and authoritative, like a large blade.
“With Evan and Pandora,” Regulus answers, trying desperately to calm his heart. He didn’t do anything. He didn’t do anything. There is nothing for him to be in trouble for.
“Get home. There are things we need to discuss.”
“Tonight?”
“Tonight, Regulus.” His mother confirms, and then the line goes dead, and Regulus can breathe again.
“Alright?” Pandora asks, finally rising.
“I don’t know.” Regulus admits. “She said ‘ there are things we need to discuss ’ which could be anything from she caught me smoking fucking crack in her bedroom to she wants to go over the script for her next dinner party.”
“She’s a fucking witch, is what she is.” Evan sneers, battling between the instinct to comfort Regulus and express his distaste for Walburga Black.
Regulus hums noncommittally.
Evan slings an arm over his shoulder, pulling him into a side hug as Pandora skips ahead. Evan is bright and steady, always there when you need a shoulder to cry on. His advice is generally kind of shit—that’s Pandora’s department—which is funny because he thinks so much, but he is always there , if and when you want him. Evan’s the kind of guy whose phone is never on silent, and who would hop out of bed without a second of hesitation if you rung him at three in the morning just because you had a cold. He’s the kind of guy who never pulls away from a hug first, and showers you in passive compliments just because that’s how he sees you. But he’s also the kind of guy to tell you when you’re being ‘fucking stupid’, and will call you on your shit without hesitation, which is precisely why Regulus needs him in his life. Regulus needs someone who won’t let him get away with self-sabotage, because it’s his favourite pass-time.
Sometimes Regulus thinks that if there is anything or anyone up in the sky, that he and Evan were carved from one stone; their bodies were carved out in perfect shape with one another, so that when they came together, the fit was perfect. Evan is the reason to Regulus’ overthinking, the optimist to his pessimist, the extrovert to his recluse. Evan reaches so far past brotherhood into something that just can’t be described. It’s something that surpasses romance and friendship and love. Evan pulls him out of depressions, has seen every piece of his ugly, barbed heart, and has stuck around through it all.
Pandora is- well, she’s Pandora . Ruthlessly loyal and so sickeningly sweet. Her and Evan are twins, so Regulus supposes he would be as dramatic to say that together, they are both carved out to fit him right in the middle. They are his soulmates. It never feels awkward to hang out with them; where in most cases siblings—especially twins—are either so close there’s just no room between for a third kid whose blood doesn’t even match theirs, or they’re arguing so often you can’t help but wince when they demand you step in. Evan and Pandora do neither of those. Obviously, they get caught in their fair share of petty squabbles and arguments that arise from being attached at the hip for their entire lives, but there are no sides . They can be mad at each other without making it his problem. They can still go on outings with him together, and within five minutes of semi-awkward conversation, one of them will sigh and offer to pay for the food, and then it’s like nothing ever happened. It almost reminds Regulus of him and Sirius when they actually knew each other, before Sirius started avoiding questions about Christmas and summer hols and ‘ when are you coming home ’s, because he wasn’t coming home, he just didn’t know how to say it. Sirius has been back to visit exactly twice since he left for year 10. Regulus hasn’t seen his face in person in two-and-a-half years.
Regulus doubts that Sirius would even be calling once a week if they weren’t related by blood, which is why he loves Evan and Pandora so much. They’re not his siblings; they don’t hang out with him out of obligation or pity; they hang out with him because they like him , and they want to . It honestly means more to Regulus than pretty much anything.
He sighs and relaxes into Evan’s embrace, resting his head on his shoulder and sending Evan a grateful smile.
Evan winks at him.
—
Grimmauld Place looms. If you asked anyone in town to name one characteristic of the Black’s generational home, it would be looming and ominous . From the dark gothic-style architecture to the perfectly impersonal manicured garden without an ounce of life on the entire two acres of land, something about the house has always screamed danger. It’s the kind of house kids dare their friends to touch after exchanging ridiculous ghost stories about murders and suicides occurring inside. It’s the only house that makes Regulus’ palms sweat and his spine snap ram-rod straight. The kind of foreboding that echoes in his ears with every loud blood-rushing beat of his heart. The kind of house where you put your hands in your pockets when you enter, because hands are the one thing you could never mask and shaking hands is a sign of weakness. Where weakness means exploitation and beatings.
“I’m home,” Regulus announces loudly. His voice is steady and blank. It took years to train.
“Regulus, darling, in the sitting room.” His mother calls. Regulus takes a deep breath before pushing the door open. Walburga sits next to Orion, sharp features only refined with her expertly applied makeup. She has always looked menacing and powerful. She has the ability to just look at you and make you feel as worthless as the dirt stuck to her heels. A burden. There has never been a single hair greyed or out of place in the carefully crafted buns atop her head, she has never smiled, and her hands are only for hurting and intimidating. She sucks all of the air and positive emotion out of a room the second she steps inside, an almost physical change in the air when she makes an appearance; the air ripples and your heart sinks to your feet. When she wants to talk to you, and when your forever-sick father is with her, you are in trouble.
Regulus works his jaw as he takes his seat with all of the expected poise and elegance of a potential heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. He can’t think of his misstep. He can’t think of his mistake. If she asks, and he plays the fool, it will only be worse. If she asks, and he guesses wrong, it will be even worse. If she asks, and he guesses correctly, he is admitting guilt and that he knew what he did was wrong. The punishment will be her sick game of hell, for each and every outcome. There is no winning with Walburga Black. There isn’t even minimization. A shoe sideways on the mat might be no food for a week, or it might be a slap on the wrist and thirty minutes of degradation. She has no system. The whiplash is even scarier than the well-worn punishments by now, which is probably why she does it.
“Regulus. Do you know why I’ve called you in here?” Walburga asks, folding her hands in her lap atop her black dress. Regulus has never seen a hint of colour on her. Ever. It’s like living in a fucking black-and-white movie.
“No ma’am.”
“You have nothing to repent for?”
“No ma’am.” A broken record.
“You have done nothing to displease the Lord? Your actions have been rooted only in devotion to your family?”
“Yes ma’am.” Regulus nods. She knows something. She has to know something. Regulus can never fucking read her. He can read anyone and everyone, but he has never correctly guessed what was going through his mother’s mind.
A thick silence envelopes the room. Regulus counts his breath in sets of 7. She knows. She knows. She knows. What exactly, is what he doesn’t know.
He hates the suspense.
That’s exactly why she does it.
Walburga calculates him, eyes scanning him up and down. When her eyes catch his head, her gaze sharpens dangerously. Her eyes glint.
The flowers.
He forgot to remove the flowers.
“Regulus, what is in your hair?” Walburga asks calmly. Regulus is fucked.
Breathe . “A present from Pandora, ma’am. You know how she is.”
“Why have you brought filth into this house, Regulus? Have you no respect for the life you live as the potential heir to the Black Legacy?”
Breathe. “I am very sorry, Mother. I tried to tell her no. I will remove them immediately.”
“Nonsense. Come here, boy.” She demands with a scowl. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe . Regulus prays he’s not shaking when he gets up to kneel before her. Her hands are ruthless and tugging as she frees the crown from his loose curls. “This behaviour is not befitting of a potential heir, Regulus, do we need to have words about your choice of acquaintances?”
“Sirius is the heir, Mother. Have you seen his choice of company?” Regulus asks. It’s a shitty thing, a very shitty thing to do, to throw your sibling under the bus. Sirius is safe, though, in another country. His lifestyle is not enforced by an iron whip like Regulus’. Regulus is on the precipice of a punishment. The worst thing she can do to Sirius is call to yell at him, but he simply hangs up the phone. Sirius can hang up the phone. Regulus can’t.
“Sirius is...a loose cannon, Regulus,” Walburga sighs, waving over a servant to pass them the flower crown and ordering them to burn it. Regulus tries not to let the wince of his heart show on his face. When her hands slide over his curls and cup his chin, it isn’t comforting or motherly like the action should be. It’s suffocating and entrapping. “His chosen path is leading him away from us, I’m afraid. It seems it’s only a matter of time before we must make a difficult decision, dear.”
Disown. She wants to disown Sirius. He’s safe.
She takes a breath, cupping his face in her hands. Further trapping him. “Regulus, you are our last hope. We have decided that as a family, we must send you to lead him onto the right path. I am not sure it can be done, but your father still holds out hope for him to find his way back to us.”
“What does that mean?” Regulus asks quietly. Not disowning. Are they bringing him back to France? Are they pulling him from the program?
“It means, Regulus, you must take on responsibility. You must do your duty as a potential heir by sacrifice.”
“Mother, I am not understanding.”
Walburga closes her eyes and clenches her jaw. Regulus is one question away from a slap, but he doesn’t understand . He doesn’t get it. What is he sacrificing? What is he doing? What is his responsibility, and what does it have to do with Sirius?
“Regulus, do not be daft. It is not a good look on you.” She sighs, eyes blazing with annoyance. “You will be completing your final two years of school in England. You will show your imbecile brother sense, and you will not embarrass us as he has. You will learn English so that you can be well-rounded, as we should have done before. If Sirius can not pull through, we will need you to become heir, and my heir will not be an idiot who only knows one language.”
England. Heir. English. England. Heir. English. England. Heir. English.
“What?” Regulus asks, pulling out of her grip and falling back. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense. England. England. England. Sirius. England. He is going to England. Regulus is going to England. He’s going to England because his brother won’t pull his head out of his ass and at least pretend to be responsible. They are going to make him leave France, leave his life , because his brother is misbehaving. His older brother.
“Surely you understand, Regulus. You are a good boy. You have good potential. If anyone can do it, it’s you. I believe you will not be selfish for once, and do something for the family. You may return when you graduate, and your inheritance will be given to you. Please, do not be dramatic.”
Dramatic . Regulus is being dramatic. Dramatic. He has to move to another country, learn another language, learn a different school system, all because of his fucking brother. He’s being dramatic. Selfish. His last sixteen years of life he has bent and folded himself into the perfect son for them. He has taken everything. He has sacrificed plenty of friends and not uttered a single word of rebuttal. He was perfect, and because Sirius isn’t, he has to uproot his entire life.
“Mother, that isn’t fair- please, please don’t make me move. I’ll talk to him, I’ll talk to him. He’ll be good!” Regulus begs. He’s not above begging. Not about this. He needs Pandora and Evan. He needs the meadow. She doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know who he is if he isn’t here. This is where he belongs . He can’t move, just because Sirius is having a rebellious phase. They can’t make him move. It’s wild. Crazy. Extreme.
Walburga raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Nonsense. Sirius is past his time of verbal rehabilitation. Your father has faith in him, for some reason unbeknownst to me.” She sighs heavily. “Please, save it. I don’t have time for this. Pack your essentials. You have two days to say your goodbyes to anyone unfortunate enough to have talked to you. Your last night will be a dinner party, I’ll have the script for you tomorrow—please behave. That is it. You are excused.”
Regulus doesn’t remember the walk to his bedroom. He only remembers leaning against his door with his hands shaking violently and his cheeks wet. He can’t breathe.
He’s pressing Sirius’ blurry name on the screen.
***
“But really , I mean, it’s a lot of chickens.”
“I can take a few little chickens. Easy.”
“One hundred chickens, Sirius!” James laughs, groaning dramatically and falling onto Sirius’ bed. Sirius falls right on top of them, and they’re reduced to gangly limbs and giddy laughter, poking and grabbing at each other with shit-eating grins on their faces. James is definitely Sirius’ platonic soulmate, through and through. They just get each other. The very first day they met, Sirius was 14 and scared out of his fucking mind about being in a new country with people who spoke a weird language, but also just so relieved he finally got out of that fucking house. He was a proper mess, shaking like a leaf and heart thumping in his ears. The Potters were waving one of those obnoxious large signs reading ‘Welcome, Sirius Black !’ with childish glitter and designs. He remembers thinking immediately, that Reggie would have died, and then speaking of Reggie, he needed to call him like he’d promised. Sirius shyly made his way over, laughing awkwardly. The Potters were a force . Effie tackled him into a hug, Monty clapped his shoulder and asked ‘ do you like books, lad?’ to which Sirius had replied ‘ no, but my snobby brother Reggie loves them’. Then, he’d turned to the tan boy with messy hair and golden glasses, and it immediately felt like the world actually stopped spinning. Sirius looked at him, shook his hand, and he knew . They were going to be best friends forever. James grinned at him with a twinkle in his eye, and had said ‘ oh, we’re going to have so much fun !’.
Really, that was that. Best friends going on four years, and they still look at each other with that starry-eyed look you’d expect from lovers, not two teenage best friends.
Sirius rolls onto James, propping himself up on his elbows with a shit-eating grin. James’ glasses are askew, terribly taken-care-of hair a rat’s nest, and a blinding smile for days.“Okay, and you really think you could take a bear ? Jamie, you are delusional . D-e-l-u..whatever I give up. Anyway , you’re not being logical. Look, they’re just chickens, mate! They’re like, the size of my shoe. A bear ? It’s like, twice as big as a human, and basically one-hundred times stronger, too. You would not take a bear.”
“I would !” James exclaims, shoving Sirius off of him with a loud laugh. “With the right weapon, you could totally take a bear. The chickens would be climbing all over you and biting you, and let me tell you mate, that shit hurts —my uncle has a farm, I fed them once. They tried to eat me ! And that was only, like, five.”
“Oh piss off , Mr. My-Ego-Is-So-Big-I-Need-A-Victorian-Mansion-To-Contain-It.”
“ Oi ! My ego is perfectly reasonable, seeing as I am a lovely miracle baby with great grades and a three-year winning streak in football.”
“‘ Miracle baby’ .” Sirius scoffs. “Laying it on a bit thick there, Prongs, no?”
James hums, pretending to actually consider it for a good minute. “Yeah, no, I don’t think so.”
“You’re such an arrogant prick.”
“Wanker.”
“Tosser.”
“Cunt.”
“Bit-” Sirius starts, but stops when he feels a buzzing between them. “Well look at that. The air is electric between us, baby!” He croons, smacking his lips obnoxiously. James shoves him away with another laugh.
“Sod off. Is that yours or mine?”
Sirius hums, patting his pockets. “Me.” He pulls his phone out, frowning when he sees it.
“Who?” James asks casually, propping himself up on his elbow. “I thought Reg only called on Sundays.”
“Me too.” Sirius agrees quietly, finger hovering over the button. Look, he knows he’s kind of a shitty brother, alright? Abandoning his little brother and barely calling, but he asked Regulus to come with him— begged —but Regulus was and always will be a stubborn prick. Sirius thought it was stupid when Regulus opted to stay with their terribly abusive parents just for friends . Sirius couldn’t imagine meeting someone you love so much you’d be willing to live in agony for.
That was before James. Too late, but he gets it now. If James was in France, Sirius would probably have stayed.
If only the wedge hadn’t been cemented by Sirius’ train ticket the next day, and an explosive fight at his send-off dinner party.
He’s trying, really, but it’s hard. It’s hard, when he can hear Regulus on the other end, sounding like he’d rather be anywhere else than making stilted conversation. Relationship mending is fucking difficult , when you only have thirty-minute calls once a week, and pretty much everything is a no-touch topic. Sirius loves his little brother, he wants to be in his life, but sometimes he feels like he doesn’t want that more than he despises his parents and loves the Potters.
He thinks that’s probably the part that makes him a shitty brother.
With a breath, he presses answer. If Reggie’s calling, of his own free will, then Orion must’ve finally bit the bullet or something. It has to be serious to warrant a call.
The first thing he hears is frantic, furious French. Sirius’ first language is French. The majority of his life has been spent speaking French. Not even he can really understand what’s coming out of his brother’s mouth. All he knows is something is wrong . Like, wrong wrong .
“James. Get out.” Sirius orders sharply. James sends him a worried look, but scrambles away dutifully. Sirius switches to French. “Regulus, slow down. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Okay? Okay ?” Sirius hears a full on sob on the other end. To say he’s worried sick out of his mind is an understatement. “How could I possibly be okay , Sirius? It’s all your fault! It’s all your fault! I hate you ! I hate you ! How could you do this to me? I hate you !”
“Reggie,” Sirius exhales, fisting his shirt over his heart, which is working overtime. “Regulus, breathe, what’s wrong, Reggie? What’s wrong?”
There’s a long moment of silence, punctuated by heaving breaths and sobs. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong . Because of you- you- you can’t be a- you can’t do your fucking duty, Sirius! You’re slacking off with that stupid fucking Potter boy and dicking around like a fucking idiot! Don’t you see? You’re acting fucking worthless!” Regulus screeches, and something crashes to the ground on his end. “It’s all your fault! They’re sending me to England for you! To- to England , because of you! I hope you’re fucking happy , Sirius, because you’re ruining my life !” Another crash. “I hope you’re fucking happy . Fuck you !”
The line goes dead. Sirius stares blankly at his wall for what could be hours. His head is reeling . The room is spinning. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck?
You’re acting fucking worthless . That’s something for Walburga to spit. That’s something he’s built up defences against. That’s something that basically bounces right off of him, because she’s her , and once he saw what real family was, he stopped giving two flying fucks about what she had to say about him. Sirius would’ve gotten himself disowned, if it weren’t for Reggie. If he didn’t know they’d forbid Regulus from seeing him. Walburga is a beast; a blood-sucking beast. She says shit like that all of the time. Regulus? He’s never heard his brother sound so betrayed and hateful towards him. Regulus has never really insulted him, despite the casual sibling ones. This hurts terribly. Regulus meant that. He meant that, and it gets Sirius right in the middle of his heart, stabs through over and over like a dagger with every beat of his pathetic heart. I hate you . I hate you .
They’re sending Regulus to England because of him? Because Sirius isn’t being a good heir? Honestly, Sirius forgot about that title. He forgot pretty much everything to do with his shitty life the moment he got to rub that ticket between his thumb and knuckle. His literal and metaphorical ticket out of there . He had never been so happy. Evidently, Regulus does not feel the same. They’re sending him to England, to do what? Lead Sirius on the right path? Convince him to go back? Sirius doesn’t get it. Doesn’t get why they’d send Regulus after him.
All he knows is that Regulus hates him for it.
All he knows is that this could very well have been the final nail in the coffin of his relationship with his brother, and fuck if that isn’t the most terrifying thing he’s ever thought.