Chapter Text
Regine-Marie cried only once during the weeks leading up to the start of everything, and it was during the haircut. She held it together through everything, the uniform fitting, the binder buying, new shoes, new textbooks and stationery, but she lost it the moment the private barber cut off a lock of her beautiful long black hair. Losing it, for Regine, meant stiffly bearing through the haircut, and shedding a few shameful tears once safely behind her closed bedroom door. The barber had to be private, of course, to avoid any word getting out about the scheme that her parents were attempting, and so far succeeding, to pull off. He hadn’t said anything to her, hadn’t addressed her at all, spoke only in hushed tones to Walburga, Regine’s mother, and spent the rest of the procedure in tense silence. After, washed and dried and styled, Regine stared into the large mirror she was sat in front of, and saw someone she didn’t know how to place. It was her, yes, but it also was not. She looked like a boy, short hair curling slightly at the ends of their shorn pieces, her chest wrapped tightly down, not that there was much there anyway. With simple clothing, she was the picture of male youth. It was frightening, but also, in a strange sort of way, empowering. That was the point, after all, to make her into a boy. Her parents had planned it since her birth, possibly even before, when they found out her to be gender. There were no schools prestigious enough for them, for the family’s reputation, that accepted females. Regine thought it was positively archaic, she was one of the most intelligent of all her relatives, and could not fathom how the chromosome difference could equate to not deserving an education of high standard. The UK had been increasingly known for their slack in the recent decades, and the Black’s, holding so dearly onto their noble French heritage, would not allow their name to be tarnished by their youngest member. So Regine, at the spiteful age of 14, would be heading to Scotland, to follow in her elder brother’s fresh footsteps, and join the throng of entitled boys that attended Atterbury Academy.
“Is everything packed?” the words exit Regine’s mother’s mouth like she is asking one of her countless employees if they have completed their assigned task, not as if she is addressing her youngest child, though perhaps, for the Black wife, this is how one treats their children.
“Yes ma’am,” Regine confirms, chin high and eyes on the floor. Walburga takes a tentative step into the room, scanning the two neat suitcases positioned at the end of the bed. The room is, other than the cases, completely empty, void of any and all personal affects. It is so bare that it leaves one to wonder there was ever anything special there at all…
“Good. I have one last thing for you,” a small dark blue book is held out in Walburga’s spindly fingers. Regine reaches out to take it, their hands not touching. It’s a passport, with a gold crest pressed into it. It’s not her original one, no, this one is mint. “Kreacher will take your brother and you to the train station tomorrow morning at 9. Do not be late. I know your brother feels the freedom to tarnish our noble family’s name… I hope you do not feel as unwatched as he does. Your reputation, your future, your entire life lies within how the Blacks are viewed. Remember that.”
With that, her mother spins on harsh heels, and walks out of the room. As the sound of Walburga’s shoes decrease in volume with their distance from Regine’s childhood room, the blue passport is opened. It is, nearly instantly, dropped to the floor. Regine picks it up swiftly, internally scolding herself for her momentary lack of composure. She controls her breathing, her thoughts, and reads through the information page with the recent picture of her printed on it.
SURNAME: Black
GIVEN NAMES: Regulus Arcturus
NATIONALITY: British Citizen
DATE OF BIRTH: 25 June 2007
SEX: M
PLACE OF BIRTH: London
DATE OF ISSUE: 10 Aug 2021
DATE OF EXPIRY: 10 Aug 2026
Regulus. Regulus Arcturus Black. I’d better practice this. Regine thinks. Pleasure to meet you, my name is Regulus Arcturus Black. Pleasure to meet you, my name is Regulus Arcturus Black. The name makes Regin- Regulus confused. She- he doesn’t have any aversion to it, in fact, he might even go so far as to say that he likes his new name, which is questionable, considering he has never ‘liked’ anything his parents have decided. It’s the name of a star in the Leo constellation, Regulus is pretty certain. His parents certainly could not have decided on such a... tolerable name. Regulus stares at the shut door where his mother just exited. He doesn't even consider asking her.
How does one be a boy? Regulus is not entirely sure, but from analysing the male members of the Black family, he has come to few conclusions about the gender differences. Firstly, men do not wear heels, skirts, makeup, or floral perfume. This is of little importance to Regulus, so it will not be a change regardless. Men do not walk with a sway to their hips, they do not focus on how their feet should step neatly in front of one another. This, again, shall not be a problem, though it was hit into Regulus many a time when he was far younger. What else is there? Less cooking and cleaning and looking after children? This wouldn’t have effected him anyway for a while. A bigger issue will be relationships, specifically how different they are with friends and partners, but this is not something that comes to Regulus’ mind in this moment, right before the start of this irreversible change. He supposes he could ask his brother for advice, though he has notably been avoided by his older sibling for the past month. Something is amiss with Sirius, Regulus is sure of it, but he does not know how to approach it. Sirius, always the brave, the one who wouldn’t shy from a fight, was now hiding in his corner of the Black house, finally fulfilling their parents expectations, but in doing so betraying himself. They’d been close during their childhood, each other’s pillar to fall back on after every punishment and disagreement from their parents. But Atterbury had flipped a switch in Sirius, he began to be more rebellious, far more than his usual antics, pushing Walburga to her limits, not cutting his hair and painting his nails. His walls, once as bare as Regulus’ are covered in explicit posters and ‘demonic’ music covers. He came home from his 9th year with ear piercings, and went to bed with lashes in his thighs. Regulus’ vision of Sirius’ face comes back to his mind, of that day mere months ago - Sirius limping to his room after the sun had fallen, eyes filled with tears but not allowed to fall, his sharp jaw set with determination for an action not yet known to Regulus. There was an emotion so overwhelming in his face that day that Regulus had to take a physical step back, it was such pity that laced his features, pity that came apparent as he glanced over at his younger sibling. Atterbury had, as well as changing Sirius, stolen him from Regulus. Before Sirius had gone, it had always been the two of them, impenetrable pillars against the rage and madness of their parents. But Sirius had left, and in doing so had dropped the entirety of their parent's attention on the youngest Black child. They haven't seen each other much since then, with Sirius being gone most of the year, and only coming back for a few measly months over the summer when he had no ulterior option. With all that space, Regulus feels Sirius growing away from him, from their family. He has no clue what or how to do anything about it, if anything...
Orion Black appears outside Regulus’ room at an ungodly hour of the night. Regulus is awake instantly, jerking to consciousness and desperately flinging on a large shirt, less form hugging than the tank top he was sleeping in, and yanking up, with fervour, a pair of long tracksuit pants. It is hot, yes, but the more clothing he had on, the longer it would take for his father to remove it, and that sometimes deterred him. Regulus is shaking, attempting and failing to calm himself, sitting in the foetal position on his bed, terrifyingly aware of the old man’s presence outside his closed bedroom door. Orion hadn’t done anything since they began to turn Regulus into a boy, he wouldn’t dare put his hands on his son, that would be disgusting, no man should touch another man in that way.
The years of slipping into Regulus’ room in the heavy hours of the night had destroyed any respect Regulus had had for the man who deemed himself his father. Now there was only terror and hate. He had ran to his mother the first few times, only to get dismissed by her. Regulus had not, however, gone to Sirius. There was no particular reason why, even he couldn’t reason it out, but some satanic type of fear locked up this part of his reality, not allowing it to be expressed to anyone else, even his brother, who had been the only person he could have felt truly safe with. But now there was a secret, one kept within Regulus, one so dark he couldn’t even think about it without wanting to rip off his skin, tear off every centimetre Orion had ever touched and burn it, not caring if it meant burning himself.
Tonight, his father opened the door quietly and entered his room. Regulus considered his options. Run, but he wouldn’t make it past the door before he caught him. Jump out the window, but it would take a minute to unhook the latch, and Orion would grab him then. He is stuck, frozen beneath the pile of blankets and clothes he had covered himself with, trembling as minimally as he can manage.
“I have a gift for you, my son,” Orion begins. He has a green box between his meaty fingers. He places it softly on the duvet by Regulus. “My father gave me one, and I had this one made for you. Open it.”
Adhering to his command, Regulus slowly opens the box. In the moonlight, the silver inside gleams. He lifts out the watch. It’s silver all around, expect the watch face itself is a deep metallic green. It’s beautiful, but that thought does not enter Regulus’ mind, he is too busy swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth. Engraved in cursive around the watch face are the words ‘toujours pur’. Regulus runs his thumb over the words. Orion puts one hand over his child’s, Regulus flinching instantly.
“So you can always remember us.” He breathes. His hand is clammy on Regulus’ and it lingers far longer than it should. His last taste of the daughter he once had. Then, Orion gets up, leaving the watch with Regulus. He walks out of the room and does not look back.
Regulus stays is his position for the rest of the night, moving only to place the watch on his bedside table. He stays, he does not fall asleep again, he does not cry or feel anything at all. He crawls deep, deep within himself, a roach hiding beneath a tick shell, far too hot beneath multiple layers of clothing, but unwilling to take them off.
-
He has to tell Regine-Marie at some point. It’s going to kill him if he doesn’t. Sirius sits at the edge of his bed, on newly washed and ironed linen, a gross vomit green colour that he despises, and ponders his existence. Sirius tries not to think that much. At school, it’s easy, he can surround himself with his friends, busy his days with pranks and stupidity, and girls whose names he struggles to remember. Drown it all out with alcohol, weed, sex, and his best friends in the entire world. At home, though, he can’t avoid his mind. He can’t run from it, can’t distract it. All he can do is brace himself for the worst. And it is always the worst.
He didn’t bring anything home this year, other than the holes in his ears that he tried so desperately to hide. Which was the first clue that something was amiss, Sirius is not one to shy from confrontation. But the plan was in place, it was set so nearly in stone, and he could not afford to aggravate his parents further than he does unintentionally. Alas, the holes were spotted, by Walburga of course, with her hawk eyes, and sharper talons, and his calves still burn when his pants rub on them. Did he deserve it? Sirius doesn’t have an answer. The cuts themselves are deep enough that they will leave scars, he knows these things from Remus, and from his younger years. Sirius didn’t bring anything home, no posters, no speakers playing ‘devil’s music’, no guitars or albums, no Godric banners, no liberal books or art. He left it all with James. His parents either didn’t notice the sheer absence of stuff, or they genuinely thought he was making a turn towards their definition of better. Sirius did not give a single fuck what they thought though, he was going to move into James Potter’s house. Out of this hell hole, and into his best-friend’s sanctuary. The only problem was getting Reg to come with.
Sirius had met the Potters in the beginning of his 8th year, and had joined them for the subsequent two Christmases. The first one was lovely, such a monumental difference from what he thought ‘home’ was. He had drunk it all up like a man who had been living in a desert his entire life. The second Christmas was hard, hard because Euphemia Potter, James’ mother, seemed to have realised something was wrong with Sirius’ upbringing, and she had, very kindly and with much love, hounded him until he told her everything. Told her every scream, hit, and cut executed by his parents. Effie had held him until he stopped crying, and he still feels the weight of her hand rubbing circles on his back.
Later, when the emotions had calmed, she told him that he could leave the Black Manor, if he wanted, that all he needed to do was fill in a few forms at the police station, and he could move into the Potters, who were registered as foster parents. It was too good to be true. The catch was that Regine-Marie had to confirm their parent's abuse as well. Sirius had come face-to-face with a dead-end. Could he convince his sister? Could he enlighten her that the life they were living is not one that any child should have to live? Sirius did not, and still does not, feel qualified for this.
Why is he putting off telling his sister his plan? The truth gnaws coldly in his chest, and he doesn't want to face it. It's a horrible thought, really, but Sirius created it because there might be some truth in it. Sirius is worried, truly worried, that Regine will say no. The words build impossibly big in his mind. You left her, she doesn't trust you anymore, you left her under the influence of them for the past two years. She might even agree with them at this point, she is their favourite child after all. She's never fought back, or disagreed. And you left her to sink further into the shadows of the Black legacy.
He can't stop the guilt. He also can't stop the fear, and with it, a little tinge of animosity towards his sister. It's unfair of him, he knows. Sirius knows he has been an excuse of a brother for the past two years, but he looks at Regine and he sees Walburga and her belts, he sees Orion and his cane. It was easier to just hide behind James, pretend he was one of the Potters, and push all the Black memories out of his head, including Regine. How will he tell her? How will he ask her to leave with him? The clock is ticking.
Sirius has noticed something though, since the depression he had to sit with this summer he has become awfully observant. He has seen Orion slipping into Regine-Marie’s room, late, late at night, when everyone is assumed asleep. Multiple times, in the beginning of the summer, then less, and less, and it hasn’t happened for a few weeks now. Sirius has one suspicion, but it’s so ghastly he cannot even think it into existence. He will tell Effie, at some point, he’ll tell her what his father is doing to his little sister, even if he might want to throw up and kill himself at the same time, and she’ll be able to help. He definitely has to get Reg out now, he'll push through the horridness of everything. He'll do everything in his power to silence the hatred of her, knowing it's only the correlation he despises.
-
“Master Regulus,” Kreacher, the short, shrivelled piece of a man that has worked for the Blacks as their butler for many years, and will work for them for many to come, calls softly into the foremost sitting room. He receives no response. In said sitting room are the two Black children, side by side for the first time in a month, both staring numbly ahead of them. Kept separately, one would be able to remark about how similar they look, both siblings with their silky, wavy black hair, storm-grey eyes, and porcelain skin. Put them together, however, and one can only spot their differences. Sirius is clad in rebellion, his laces untied, shirt untucked, collar askew, long hair billowing about him, untied, sits in contrast to the precision of the now-named Regulus, who has everything impeccable and tucked in, his dark locks cutthroat neat upon his head. Regulus’ eyes are a fraction darker than his elder brother’s, a smidge more ink went into them. They are the personification of dark and light, such a hypocrisy given their matching features, but Sirius jovial, carefree atmosphere lightens his depiction, whereas Regulus’ moody character seems to obscure his colourings to that of something darker than they actually are.
They both stare emotionlessly at the husk of a house that surrounds them, the clock ticking towards 9 o’clock. The began this summer as brother and sister, but they shall end it as brothers. The thought brings a small mound of fear into Regulus, but he shoves it away quickly. The Sirius situation is strange, Regulus thinks, the sibling he knows to be so fidgety all the time, now as still as a dead mouse beside him.
“Master Regulus!” the call comes again, a decimal louder and Regulus, not yet accustomed to his new name given that nobody has referenced him by it yet, is too zoned out in his thoughts to realise he is being addressed. Sirius realises for him though, and stabs him aptly in the ribs.
“Ow!” Regulus exclaims, “oh, apologies, Kreacher, what is it?”
“Your bag, Master Regulus.” Kreacher says pointedly. Regulus looks down at the backpack settled between his legs, and is not sure why it is a problem. It is a plain black backpack.
“The pink keychain,” Sirius whispers to him, and oh, the pink keychain. It is a keychain that was given to him by one of his best friends, Pandora, a small pink cherry, hanging off a silver loop. She had a matching one too, which they had put together on their bags. But pink is girly, and anything with that vague connotation is no longer allowed for dear Regulus, so he must take it off. He hesitates though, it feels wrong to remove this gift from one of his closest friends. And yet it must be done. With Kreacher eying him, and Sirius breathing down his neck, Regulus leans down and manoeuvres the keychain off his backpack zip. He opens the backpack and lets the cherry fall inside, another part of himself dropped into the depths, but surprisingly enough, this feels far worse than the other transformations.
“We are ready to go, Master Regulus and Master Sirius,” the butler says curtly, clipping over Sirius’ name. The siblings rise to their feet, the elder more steadily than the younger, and they both exit the house, following Kreacher.
Regulus pauses outside the door of his home, some invisible force tying him down, to the cold stone tiles. Their mother and father, Walburga and Orion, are not present. They are most logically at work, running their joint company and having rather suspicious, but not mentioned, impacts on the political space of the country. Sirius does not care that they are not there to see their children off, and Regulus has miniature versions of them residing in his head 24/7 regardless, permanently scolding and coldly reminding, and they serve enough. Kreacher has brought the Aston Martin for the trip to the train station, and Sirius slides into the soft leather seat. Their suitcases are already loaded. The school gives them the option to return for the brief Christmas and New Years holiday, but as Regulus stares up at the towering house they are leaving, he knows he’ll do his best to not return at all.
"Stop having your prima donna moment, and get in Reg! It's time to go," Sirius calls from the car, watching bemusedly at Regulus gazing solemnly, as though he is the main character, up at the Black Manor. Regulus rolls his eyes at the impatience of his brother, and tries to hide the grin spreading over his face.