Chapter Text
The days leading up to the last day of the semester was a blurred haze of devastated glances from the Marauders, snogging with Barty in empty classrooms and closets, and Regulus’s disapproving glare.
Sirius nights were spent tangled in emerald sheets, curled up Barty’s bed with the taste of firewhisky on his tongue and dark runes inked into his wrists. Barty didn’t ask questions, he didn't need to anymore, if he ever had. It was as if reading Sirius was the easiest thing for him. Small comments of approval when Sirius needed it, a vail pushed into his hand when he looked like he was thinking too hard or a heated makeout session when he wanted to feel like a normal teenager again.
Barty kissed like he had everything and nothing to prove. It was almost frantic, with a hunger that bordered on desperation. He touched Sirius like he was something sacred and dangerous all at once, like every inch of him was a secret meant to be uncovered, devoured, ruined. It was chaotic, consuming, and one of the best things Sirius had experienced in a long time.
During the days, Sirius drifted through corridors with a dead-eyed kind of grace, pockets lined with different vials and arms still sore from the hexes he practiced with the others in the circle. He was always cold now, even when the halls were well over 21 degrees thanks to the charmwork of the teachers, but there were so many potential factors that he didn't even try to figure out the main one. It was rooted somewhere deep in his ribs and didn’t leave, continuing to consume every fiber of his body, making every move a struggle, as if his joints were frozen.
Sirius could always feel Regulus' eyes on him across the table in the great hall. In the corners of the common room, from the end of the corridor when Sirius stumbled out of an empty classroom with Barty too, shirt misbuttoned and eyes glassy. He never said a word in front of others, but Sirius could feel the judgment radiating off him like heat.
It should have made him angry, made him feel babied. And It used to. But now, Sirius just felt tired. He wondered if Regulus was waiting for him to drop dead at any moment, or if he was waiting to stop him from doing just that.
One evening, Sirius caught him alone by the Black Lake, pacing the shoreline with his arms crossed tight against his chest. The snow had started falling in slow, silent sheets, covering the grounds. Regulus looked like he belonged in the cold, all sharp edges, silver eyes and pale skin. Sirius lit a cigarette with shaking fingers and said nothing.
“You stink, you know that?” Regulus muttered, without turning.
Sirius laughed, hoarse and bitter. “Must be the family cologne.”
Regulus finally looked over. Different emotions filled all of his features, something furious, something helpless. “Do you even care anymore? At all?”
“About what?” Sirius exhaled smoke through clenched teeth. “About school? About Remus? James?” He took a step closer. “Because if that’s what you’re asking, then no. I don’t. Not even a little. But I do care about you, as I've already said, I'll always care about you.”
“You’re killing yourself,” Regulus said, voice low. “And you’re dragging everyone down with you, anyone can see how worried they are for you.”
“I’m not dragging anyone down,” Sirius snapped, eyes suddenly sharp. “They left. They left me. I'm just finishing what they started. And how can I drag anyone down when I'm not even around them?”
“They didn’t leave,” Regulus said. “You pushed them. They have tried to talk to you, but you never listen to them”
Sirius’s breath caught. That wasn’t what had happened. “They left me first. I know what I did was wrong, but they forced me to go home! They couldn't look into my eyes, or even at me. I was a monster to them and it felt as if they finally saw me for what I am, and they couldn't handle that. They abandoned me and then had the audacity to pretend that nothing had happened as soon as they saw me change!”
For a moment, it felt as if the wind dropped. The snow drifted, slow and soundless, between the two of them. Regulus stared at him with wide eyes, it was the most emotions Sirius had shown to him in years. They were brothers, but also opposites and the space between them felt impossibly wide, the silence was deafening. Neither of them knew what to say, because what do you say?
Regulus spoke first, his voice almost too loud in the silent air. “So you're really coming home for christmas this year?”
Sirius looked over his shoulder to meet his brother's eyes, silently thanking him for the change of topic. “Sure I am, wouldn’t want to miss another one of the annual yule fests with the other pureblood families.”
“Youre impossible” Regulus said with annoyance, but a small smile betrayed him. “such an airhead.”
Sirius shrugged, pulling his coat tighter around him. “Takes one to know one.”
They stood in silence again, shoulder to shoulder. The snow had started to cover their hair and clothes, lightening up what was usually just dark. The lake in front of them was still, black as ink and reflecting nothing. Sirius stared out at it like it might swallow him whole if he just took one step out. He was so tempted to try, so tempted to step out and let the cold take over and drag him down.
Regulus’s voice was quieter when he spoke next. “You can’t keep doing this, you know. You’re going to die if you do.”
Sirius didn’t respond, just continued to stare out over the water. Regulus took a step closer, cautious, like Sirius might bolt when their shoulders brushed. “You think I don’t see it, the full extent of it, but I do. The magic, the cuts, the not eating., the alcohol and whatever you’re taking. Barty. It's killing you Siri.”
Sirius let out a breath, sharp and bitter. “Careful, Reg. You're starting to sound like Mother, all controlling and shit.”
“No, you don't get to compare me to her,” Regulus said, voice firm. “She wouldn’t mind seeing you fall apart. I do.”
Sirius' jaw tightened and his hands, already trembling, dug deeper into his pockets. “Then don’t watch.”
“You’re my twin,” Regulus said. “How am I supposed to stop? You've looked out for me our whole life, now it's my turn to look out for you.”
That silenced Sirius, there's really no way to argue with that. For a moment, the far-off cry of an owl and the distant pounding of his own heart were the only things he could hear, the snow muffled every other sound around them. He didn't know what to say, so he tossed the cig on the ground and lit a new one.
Sirius stared at him while taking a long drag. Regulus, with his perfect uniform and immaculate hair, silver and green Prefect badge gleaming even in the dim light from the moon and snow. Sirius hated that he looked so put together. Hated it more that he wasn’t faking it.
But he also remembered the nights when they were young, when Regulus had crept into his bed after nightmares and Sirius had pretended not to be scared too. The shared language of twinhood, of glances that meant everything and touches that meant home. Before all of this. Before Sirius' brain declared war on everything that dared to look at him with concern or anything alike.
“I appreciate it, but I don't need help,” Sirius muttered, already turning and moving away from his brother.
Regulus didn’t make any move to stop him. He just nodded once, shoulders sagging slightly. It wasn’t acceptance, more like resignation. As if he knew that for Sirius, “I don’t need help” was as close as he could get to “I’m not ready, but I hear you.”
Sirius walked away, vanishing into the dark. Back into the long corridors of the castle. Back to Barty’s bed, to the soft burn of curses under his skin, to whatever potion or powder that would dull the edges for a little while longer.
Behind him, Regulus remained at the edge of the frozen lake, still as the trees, the snow gathering on his shoulders. He didn’t follow. He just stood there watching, waiting, as if Sirius would turn around and come back to him.
The day after Regulus entered grimmauld place ahead of Sirius, his trunk gliding behind him with practiced grace. Sirius followed, hands in the pockets of his worn coat, eyes flicking from the staircase to the old portraits that lined the walls. The air was thick with tension and the kind of ancient magic that sank into the bones.
At the end of the hallway stood Walburga, and Sirius felt a wave of déjà vu from when he returned home before summer break. The same cold eyes, stern face and tight bun at the nape of her neck. The only difference was the gray streaks in her hair.
“Mes fils reviennent enfin,” said Walburga, voice smooth. “Regulus, mon chéri. Sirius…” A pause. “Tu as une mine affreuse.”
Sirius rolled his eyes, dragging his trunk over the threshold with a grunt. “Bonsoir à toi aussi, Mère. Toujours aussi belle.”
Regulus turned his gaze towards Sirius, silently begging him to not cause a scene, before stepping forward and embracing their mother.
“Regulus, tu es arrivé sain et sauf. Tu es toujours élégant, toujours digne de ton nom.”
At their mothers praise, Regulus' cheeks turned a few shades darker before he stepped away. “Merci, Maman.”
Walburga's eyes shifted to Sirius, narrowing with visible disdain. She didn’t even try to act like she saw her sons as equals to one another.
« Et vous… avez-vous continué à jouer avec les traîtres et les Sang-de-Bourbe ? »
Sirius offered her a mocking bow, his voice sweet as poison. “Bien sûr, elles sont de meilleure compagnie, maman.” It wasn’t even true, he hadn’t spent time with anyone other than purebloods for the past half year. But it would please his mother too much for Sirius to admit that.
Her mouth turned into a sneer, eyes full of distaste. “Tu es un déshonneur Sirius. Ton sang est pur, mais ton âme est sale.”
“Toi et moi pareilles, maman.” Sirius replied coldly.
Regulus stepped between them. “Maman, ce n’est pas le moment.”
Walburga sniffed, lifting her chin. “Je n'ai plus rien à dire à cet imbécile, de toute façon.” With that she turned on her heel and strutted out of the corridor into the lounge.
Sirius exhaled, long and low. “She’s as lovely as ever.”
Regulus gave him a tired look. “You know what she’s like. And your not exactly making it easier for either of you”
“Of course I know,” Sirius said. “That’s the problem, I can't not press her buttons.”
They split off then, Regulus giving him an unamused look before heading to his room with the same self assured steps he always used in this house. Sirius lingered, staring up the staircase like it led to somewhere far worse than hell. Eventually, he made himself move up the stairs and into his bedroom.
His room had been left untouched since the summer, but it felt colder, somehow. The Gryffindor banner was still pinned up defiantly across from the bed, half singed at the edges. Books on curse theory and blood magic lay in a pile on the floor where he’d thrown them years ago, before he ran away, when he still felt the need to be the heir that everyone wanted him to be.
Slowly, he began to unpack. Clothes hurriedly being thrown into drawers, a cigarette between his lips. When he was around halfway done his hand closed around something cold, a vial. He didn’t remember packing any, he wasn’t even sure he had any left. When he extracted the vial from his trunk he saw the note attached to it.
I noticed that you had run out of potions so I made some for you, see you at the yule fest, Barty
Sirius felt something settle in his chest as he read the note. It may be slightly on the destructive side, but Barty had noticed and gone out of his way to make it for him. He quickly removed the cork before downing the content in one swift motion. Instantly he felt calmer, a wave of comfort washed over him and he simply laid there like a star fish for what felt like an eternity. He didn’t have any energy left to move, it felt as if the gravity had multiplied in strength and the concept of time had disappeared.
Dinner that night was stiff. Their father was present in body only, a silent, drifting specter in velvet robes, eyes dulled by too much time without being able to acknowledge any feeling. Walburga presided over the table like a queen still clutching a ruined kingdom. The food sat in front of Sirius, but he wasn't able to eat anything. The knot in his stomach made him too nauseous.
“La nourriture ne vous plaît pas, Sirius?” she asked midway through the meal, eyes set on Sirius plate.
He didn’t look up from his plate. “C’est délicieux. Tout simplement parfait”
Regulus kicked him lightly under the table. Walburga looked like she was one second away from cursing him, and Sirius forced himself to not press her buttons further.
Afterward, in his room, Sirius lit a cigarette with his slim fingers, watching the smoke curl out the window and disappear out into the snowy night.
A quiet knock came at the door. He didn’t have time to answer, Regulus let himself in anyway, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
“You survived the first night,” he said.
“Barely.”
They sat in silence for a while. Sirius exhaled smoke toward the ceiling.
“She said my soul is filthy,” he said at last.
Regulus stared ahead. “She doesn’t know you.”
“No,” Sirius said, voice soft. “I don’t think anyone does anymore.”
Regulus looked at him then, his gaze so intense that Sirius didn't know what to do. “Moi, je te vois encore.” I still see you
Sirius didn’t reply, but he knew it was true. He didn’t tell him to leave, but opted to move slightly to the left. Regulus saw the invitation for what it was and slid into Sirius' bed where he then stayed for the remainder of the night.
The Black family’s annual Yule Fest was in full swing. Tapestries shimmered with enchantments that made the motives move in elegant cycles of bloodline and conquest. Crystal chandeliers floated, candlelight dancing across gold-trimmed mirrors. Elves scurried across the room, hurrying to refill glasses. Guests arrived in cloaks woven from galleons and pride; Malfoys, Traverses, Notts. All the old names. The sacred 28.
Sirius had traded his usual black clothing for deep crimson robes that clung to his frame like a glove, Walburga had cast a spell making the robe fit him again, despite the weight loss. His hair had grown out quite a bit since summer break when Walburga had decided to cut it, finally reaching his cheekbones instead of brly reaching his eyebrows. His expression was composed, cool and unwavering. At least until his gaze drifted to the far end of the ballroom where Barty Crouch Jr was leaning against the wall, wine glass in hand, lips curled in a smirk as his gaze drifted.
Regulus had warned him. Behave tonight, he'd said under his breath before the guests arrived. Don’t give her a reason.
Sirius had laughed.
“She doesn’t need a reason. never does”
The night dragged on without any drama. He danced once with Narcissa, because it was expected, and again with some distant cousin whose name he couldn’t bring himself to remember. He probably drank too much champagne, and he snorted powdered dreamshade in the upstairs corridor when no one was looking, swallowing it down with some firewhiskey. The colors grew sharper. His skin buzzed. Everything felt unreal, like he was on top of the world and his mother was nothing more than a thing created in his imagination.
He found Barty in the hallway outside his fathers office one and a half hours later.
“Come to hide from all the inbreeding?” Sirius asked.
Barty’s smirk widened, like this was what he had waited for the entire night. “Come to find something worth spending my time on.”
Neither of them could hold back longer. The kiss was immediate, desperate and hot, teeth clicking together. Sirius backed them into a wall, hands fisting in Barty’s robes, mouths hungry, breathless. There was nothing soft about it. There never was. Barty kissed like he wanted to consume, and Sirius responded just as eagerly.
It wasn’t love exactly, nor was it safety.
It was need, a pure desperate need.
He didn’t hear the footsteps until it was too late, neither of them did. They didn’t feel the presence of another person until a hand janked him by the shoulder so hard it would definitely leave a bruise.
“Comment oses-tu !” she shrieked. “Un mec? Tu es sérieux? Sous mon toit, tu es une honte pour notre famille!”
“Mère, arrête !” Regulus was there suddenly, pushing through the onlookers who had begun to gather at the threshold of the hallway. None of the sacred really cared about using violence to make a point or teach a lesson, but they were all curious on how this would play out.
As if only now noticing the growing crowd of stunned onlookers, Walburga grabbed Sirius by the collar of his robes, twisting the fabric with a grip like iron. Her face was red with fury, lips drawn back over her teeth. The ballroom fell back into careless conversations behind them as she dragged him away, through the corridor, down past the darkened parlour and into the depths of the house.
Regulus and Barty both followed until the heavy study door slammed shut between them, stopping them from following them any further. Sirius barely had time to register the familiar scent of ash, old parchment, and damp stone that clung to Orion’s office before the curse hit.
“Crucio.”
The scream that tore from Sirius's throat was raw and involuntary. White-hot pain spread through every inch of him like a million shards of glass stabbing outward from the inside. He collapsed with a crack onto the cold floor, limbs twitching and flailing in a grotesque rhythm that was not his own. His back arched off the ground, fingers clawing for something to grasp onto, mouth wide but soundless now, as though the agony had stolen even the breath that was required to scream.
“Tu es une abomination,” Walburga spat, advancing, wand steady, voice trembling with hate. “Tu as souillé ton nom, notre nom. Avec lui. Devant des invités. Devant des familles de sang pur.”
Sirius tried to breathe, tried to lift his head, but the pain returned with another flick of her wand.
“Crucio.”
His vision shattered. Red. White. Darkness blooming at the edges.
He tasted blood. His body no longer obeyed him. He felt himself biting his own tongue, heard a noise like a dying animal echo off the high ceilings and realized, distantly, that it was himself that made that noise.
When she finally lifted the curse, he lay crumpled on the floor, gasping for air. Every joint throbbed. His skin was ice, slick with sweat, his heart racing so hard he thought it might burst. The silence that followed was nearly worse than the pain, a silence full of judgment and deep hatred.
Walburga loomed above him, eyes wild, her breath coming in shallow breaths.
“Tu aurais dû mourir à la naissance,” she whispered. You should have died at birth.
She turned her back on him then, purple robes swirling like fire as she stormed towards the desk. Her hands were shaking.
Sirius coughed, voice ragged and hoarse. “At least then I wouldn’t have had to know you.”
The third Cruciatus hit before Sirius could even comprehend that Walburga had actually heard him. His scream cracked against the walls, and something inside him folded. But then Barty, who came out of nowhere lunged forward, wand raised, but Walburga flicked her own without even looking, slamming him into the opposite wall.
The silence afterward was suffocating. Sirius lay on the floor, shaking, panting, the red of his robes darkened with sweat. His limbs twitched, and he couldn’t make them stop. The pain lingered like an aftertaste, poisoning the air in his lungs.
“Tu es un honte,” Walburga whispered, eyes burning. You are a disgrace.
Regulus knelt beside Sirius, his face pale, eyes wide with horror.
“Don’t touch me,” Sirius rasped, trying to pull away, his voice barely audible.
Regulus didn’t move, just let his hand grip harder onto Sirius. “She would’ve killed you.”
“Should’ve let her,” Sirius rasped.
Behind them, Barty sat dazed against the wall, lip bleeding, fury twisting his features, but he didn’t move either. He probably couldn't, not after being flung into the wall like a ragdoll.
Walburga lowered her wand slowly, eyes sweeping over the three teenagers in front of her. And then she turned and walked away, back into the ballroom, back into her throne of ice and blood, as if she hadn’t just tortured her own son and assaulted one of the sacred 28 heirs.
For a moment, no one moved, all three of them trying to comprehend what had just gone down. Sirius slowly rolled onto his side, every movement sending sparks of residual pain down his spine. He tasted copper and bile. The floor beneath him was ice cold and unforgiving, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Fuck,” Barty breathed, finally moving. He stumbled forward, one hand braced against the wall, blood running from the corner of his mouth where Walburga’s spell had hit. “Fuck. Are you, Sirius, are you-?”
“Don’t,” Sirius croaked. “Don’t ask when you already know the answer." The irony in the situation itself would have made Sirius laugh until he couldn't breathe if he had the strength.The concept of Barty asking if he was okay even though they practiced dark magic on one another many times a week felt like a joke.
Barty crouched beside him anyway, fingers hovering in the air, unsure where to touch, so unlike Barty that Sirius wondered if his mothers spell had damaged his brain as well. There was nothing reckless or smirking in his face now, only a helpless kind of rage.
“She used the Cruciatus,” Barty said, disbelieving. “On her own son, with guests just a few meters away.”
“She doesn’t care, she has enough influence in this world that it doesn’t matter” Regulus said flatly. He was still kneeling beside Sirius, hands clenched into fists in his lap. There was a tremor in his jaw, but his voice was steady. Almost empty of any emotion. “She never does.”
Sirius coughed, a dry, painful sound. “You gonna say I deserved it?”
Regulus flinched. “No. Merlin, no.”
He looked down at his brother, at the lines of pain carved into his face, the blood smudged at his temple, the shaking he couldn’t control. Sirius had never looked smaller. Never looked more breakable.
“She’s unhinged,” Barty muttered, standing abruptly. “She’s mad. What the hell was that?”
“Nothing unusual," Sirius whispered hoarsely, trying to push himself up. He sent a half hearted smirk at Barty “Just the usual family reunion.”
Regulus reached out on instinct to steady him. Sirius didn’t pull away, instead slumped against him with a groan, eyes fluttering shut. His whole body was vibrating with aftershocks of the curse. Three times in a matter of minutes was a new record,
“We need to get him out of here,” Regulus said quietly, glancing at Barty. “Now.”
Barty nodded. “I’ll get our coats. Stay here and then I’ll help you get to the door.”
Sirius laughed, merely just a breath, cracking one eye open. “You two coordinating now? That’s cute.”
“Shut up,” Regulus snapped, but the worry in his voice undercut the bite. “You’ll get us all killed if you stay here. Especially with your stupid words.”
Sirius’s head tipped back against the wall. “She’ll come after you.”
“She won’t touch me,” Regulus said as he helped Sirius to the door. “Not tonight. Not with the Rosiers and Malfoys still here. She wouldn’t risk it. As you know, I'm the spare to the heir.”
“Youre ridiculous, you know that Reg?”
“She’ll finish what she started,” Barty said darkly, appearing with his wand in one hand and a couple folded cloaks in the other.
Sirius blinked up at him, a bit stunned that he actually seemed to care. “You’re really going to help me flee from the manor? You’re such a bad influence Crouch.”
Barty leaned down, cupping Sirius’s face gently for a moment, wiping a smear of blood away with his thumb. “Only the worst, love.”
After that they moved quietly through the manor. Regulus helped Sirius to his feet, Barty casting illusion charms over the three of them. The manor loomed around them like a beast breathing in its sleep, unaware of the escape underway within its ribs.
The ancient portraits on the walls hissed their disapproval as they passed. The floor creaked in protest beneath their feet. But none of it stopped them. At the threshold of the front door, Sirius paused. His legs were weak, his vision blurred, but there was a strange clarity in his voice when he spoke.
“You are coming with me this time, you don't have a choice.”
Regulus looked at him. The fire from the nearby chandelier danced in his eyes.
“I know,” he said with a crooked smile. “I wouldn't want to stay without you either way, now that i know how it feels”
Sirius didn’t reply, he didn't need to, the way his shoulders relaxed said enough. He stepped over the threshold and out into the snow-covered street beyond Grimmauld Place, the icy wind biting through his robes. Barty followed close behind, hand brushing his lower back, and Regulus off to the side.
In the heart of the house, Walburga Black sat alone in the flickering light of the ballroom, sipping wine while a couple danced around her. She was surrounded by whispers and the sound of shoes on hard wood, either unaware or unbothered that both of her sons had just walked out.