Chapter Text
1
•••
PROLOGUE
The last chapter of his story came to an end without him realizing it. He never knew which hurt most, the chapters or the entire story. He thought, perhaps, it had to do with how the story ends. If it ends with a happy ending then all the pain and suffering it caused was worth it, even if they lost a few along the way. And if it ended in tragedy then was it worth it at all? Yes. Maybe it was because it was a story worth knowing even if it ended in blood. It was still worth it.
But what about the stories that ended in tragedy and were never really known. The stories you still don’t know because they haven’t been told to you yet, the stories you skim by while buying a book because the cover isn’t pretty enough, because it was part of a series that wasn't worth your time.
Sometimes, Regulus Black felt like one of those books. The one without a pretty cover. The one that has pages torn, marks along the margins, a spine without creases. A book shoved at the bottom of a shelf so it wouldn’t be seen, a book covered in dust from its years as a cast aside.
He was the book no one wanted to read because it wasn’t worth reading the story between his pages.
He was just another Slytherin amongst Slytherins. A face amongst faces. A Black amongst Blacks. A small brown book amidst a colorful library filled with equally colorful books.
He was Regulus Black. A nobody.
A travesty. A walking tragedy.
Perhaps that’s why when he desired to change the course of his story, it had already been too late. The chapter had ended, the story had been cut short, the book had closed. And he had died alone and afraid. That was the end, he could no longer rewrite his story more than he could rewrite history . . . except somehow he did.
In the end, he did, because unbeknownst to him, this was just the end of a chapter, not the end of the story.
•••
Regulus, July 1975
Regulus woke up to screaming, to all too familiar screaming that still haunted his dreams. There was a crash, glass breaking against a solid surface. The air cracked with electric magic, dark electric magic, enticing and ensnaring. It made his skin crawl, made goosebumps erupt across his arms. Regulus was suddenly hit with nausea and he doubled over the edge of the bed, spilling the content of his stomach onto the ebony floorboards. His throat was raw and scratchy, he heaved and gagged trying to suppress the urge to puke all over again.
His vision was blurry and he tightened his grip on the edge of the bed to prevent himself from toppling over, straight into a pool of his puke. “Kreacher!” He croaked, weakly and broken. His body was on fire, he could feel it boil his blood and fry his nerves, from the poison he had drunk in the cave. For a moment he wondered how he had gotten here, to his bed and away from that wretched cave.
There was a loud pop and Kreacher appeared next to the sickly content on the floor. The small elf gasped, his oldest friend, in what Regulus could vaguely identify as horror. He tried to give the elf a reassuring smile but most likely than not, he failed. He was weak. Far too weak, weaker than he ever remembered being in his entire life. Even in the years, he had been at the end of the Dark Lord’s wand, Bellatrix’s or a Death Eater or another’s for his failures, this felt far much worse. There was an ache in his bones, in his muscles as he moved to stand. He stumbled at first, mind too disorganized and vision too blurry for him to keep his balance for too long. He gripped the bedpost of his bed to keep upright, heavy pants leaving his lips by the mere action.
By Salizar, he was such a weakling!
“Master Regulus!” Kreacher called out to him, and it took him a moment for him to piece together that the elf was addressing him. For a frightening moment, he had forgotten his own name, his own identity. He gritted his teeth at the thought- and from the pain. He noticed Kreacher had moved, he was now standing on his bed, big round eyes now leveled with his. They were swirling with many dark-negative emotions. Regulus could pick out only two in his state. Anger, most likely because he was in such a state. And hopelessness because he didn’t know how to help him, elves didn’t possess the power to heal, perhaps once they did but not since their powers had been limited by the Wizarding World when they were forced to be their servants.
Kreacher reached out with his tiny hands, perhaps to help steady him or to drag him back to bed, but before he could Regulus flinched violently away from him. Hurt flashed across Kreacher’s face, understandable considering Regulus had never done so before, in fact, he always made an effort to welcome the elf’s touch for both their benefits. Regulus, to feel less alone and less touch starved, and Kreacher, to feel more useful and comforting to the young master who was stuck in such a helpless situation.
But at that moment, Regulus couldn’t stop himself from flinching back. He could still feel the phantom claws of the Inferies, sinking their claws into every inch of his flesh. He could feel the coldness of the water chilling him to the bone, he could feel his last breath leave his lips, he could hear the stillness of silence in the wake of his drone-out screams.
He heard it all. Feel it all. It echoed in the back of his mind.
“-lus! Master Regulus!”
Regulus's attention snapped back to the elf, who was now on the verge of hysteria and panic, as much if not more than he was at the moment. It took Regulus a long moment to realize he wasn’t properly breathing- in fact he wasn’t breathing at all. He was shaking uncontrollably and his legs were beginning to buckle underneath him. But Regulus wouldn’t allow himself to sink under the waves of his respiratory fit. No, he will not, he will pull himself out like he always has, he will stay afloat.
He will survive.
Regulus clenched his jaw, his eyes fell shut, concentrating to find some kind of grounding. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his skin until they drew blood until he could no longer feel the pain of it. Until he became numb once again.
“Master?” Kreacher called out for the third time, this time hesitantly, cautiously.
“I-” Regulus swallowed hard, opening his eyes slowly, blinking away the traces of his dizziness away from the edges of his eyes. “Kreacher? What- What- I’m fine Kreacher. I’m fine- I’m okay.” Regulus tried to soothe his friend who was borderline hysteric and sobbing on his bed now. Fuck, what was he supposed to do now? He opened his mouth to further soothe and reassure his friend, but he was cut off by another crash that ricocheted throughout the house like thunder.
Regulus turned back to Kreacher, “What is going on, Kreacher?!” he demanded.
Kreacher winced, his ears going flat against his head as his hands fidgeted with the hem of his dirty pillowcase. He seemed to hesitate, averting his watery eyes away from Regulus. “Kreacher.” Regulus prompted as a scream bounced off the walls from downstairs.
“Mistress is arguing with the Blood Traitor Brother, but Kreacher is supposed to keep Master Regulus up here so Mistress won’t hurt Master Regulus like she will hurt the Blood Traitor Brother.”
“Blood Traitor Bro- Wait, do you mean, Sirius? Sirius is here?! Why?”
Kreacher frowned, thin brows knitting together in confusion, “Why wouldn’t the Blood Traitor Brother be here? Kreacher was certain the Blood Traitor wouldn’t leave until two weeks from now at his Blood Traitor friend’s house for the rest of the summer like he always does.”
Now Regulus was super confused, at least he was until the unthinkable crossed his mind. His brother would never willingly come back here, over his dead body would he ever set foot in Grimmauld Place. Unless… Unless he never…
Unless he hasn’t left.
Regulus gulped, cold-icy fear creeping up his spine. “Kreacher- what day is today?” His hand began to twitch subconsciously, much like his body tended to do when he experienced the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse.
“Today is Monday-”
“The year, Kreacher?” He interrupted, briefly closing his eyes in hopes of better controlling the pain that was beginning to bloom in his heart. He couldn’t do this. Not now. Not again.
Never again.
If Kreacher wasn’t concerned then, doubtful really, then he was certainly concerned now. “Kreacher knows the date, Master. The date is July 24, 1975, Kreacher knows this.” A whimper left Regulus’s lips without him meaning to. It sounded broken, tortured, in pain. If he hadn’t just had a respiratory fit just moments prior, then Regulus might have found the will in him to panic, to rage, and cry from the unfairness of it all.
“Damn it all!” He hissed to himself. This wasn’t fair, Regulus didn’t want to be here. Anywhere but here. Here, at this point in time, was the most painful time he had ever experienced. Worse than joining the Dark Lord’s ranks, worst than taking the dark mark, worse than going on raids, worst than all the pure torture he had endured.
This was the point in time that had truly broken him.
This was the day Sirius had left him, the day he had turned his back on him and left him to fend against the wolves they called parents.
But right now all Regulus felt was a deeply chilled numbness that overtook him, it was like his mind had gone into autopilot. He locked away any emotions that could get in the way of what he had to do, the gears in his head switching to the all familiar ones he had used during the war to keep calm under dangerous situations.
Survival. Always survive and stay alive. That was his goal, his only goal. Well, that and getting out of here! He wasn’t going to stay here and endure another round of pain. He will not stay only for him to meet an early grave, but first Sirius . . . Where was that son of a bitch so he could get him out of here as soon as possible with minimal injuries on both parts?
Regulus swallowed his fear. “Where are mother and Sirius?”
“In Master Orion’s study.”
“Is father there?”
Kreacher shifted a little from nervousness, seeming to contemplate something before deciding against it. “No. Master Orion is not home.”
“Good,” Regulus said, more to himself than to Kreacher. Everything seemed to be the same, Sirius and his mother arguing in the study, him trying to hide upstairs and pretend that this wasn’t happening, and his father absent as always. “ Good ,” he repeated with a sick satisfaction. He was going to do something potentially stupid and impulsive that could potentially get him killed by his mother’s hand.
So just another Tuesday. . . technically Monday.
Regulus heard the slam of a door, the creaking of the stairs under heavy footsteps. They seemed to pause before his door for a moment, contemplating, before they rushed past and down the hallway. There was another slam of a door before the house descended into an eerie silence.
The calm before the storm.
Regulus turned back to Kreacher, contemplating-plotting-considering. A cruel smile stretched across his lips, making the elf take a step back from where he stood on the bed. “Kreacher, can you do me a favor?”
•••
Sirius
Sirius slammed the door to his bedroom hard and began to pace. He had been back for the summer holidays for only a few weeks and already his mother and he were at each other’s throats. Usually coming back for the summer holidays went by without a hitch if Sirius went out of his way to ignore his mother and stay out of trouble. At least until August rolled around and he could escape to the Potter’s home.
But his mother had actively sought him out this time.
He had tried. Sirius had tried to keep his head down as James had said. He had tried to come out of his room only when necessary until it was time for him to go. He had tried to make as little noise as possible. He tried. But his mother had been insistent, she had cornered him when he had least expected it and dragged him off to his father’s study.
She had tried to make him submit, submit to her will and that of the Dark Lord’s. He had asked for the Heir of House Black to be amongst his ranks. And his mother had been all too happy to comply, all too happy to sell off her oldest son.
But that couldn’t stand, Sirius will never bow down to that madman. Over his dead body. So he had shouted and he had raged. He made his disagreement and resentment known again and again until his mother had lost her nerves and took out her wand. He had to endure the Cruciatus Curse for twenty seconds for three minutes straight with little pause between each session. This is why he was slower than usual as he moved around his room, his mind already made up.
He was running away from this place tonight and never coming back.
He grabbed the black leather satchel Moony had given him for his birthday in his third year. It had an extension charm embedded in it so he just began to dump everything he needed in it. He removed the pictures on his wall of the Marauders & Co. He had placed the oldest of them, the very first pictures that were muggle made, on the wall out of spite to anger his mother. He had placed a strong sticking charm on them so only he could remove it. He placed them in a stack before shoving them in his bag. He grabbed his school robes, his regular clothes, his books, quills, and vinyl recordings gifted to him by his cousin Andromeda.
He was finishing placing the last of his things in his satchel and mentally forming a plan for his best escape route before a voice sounded from across the room.
“Leaving?”
Sirius whipped around, startled and afraid with terror at the prospect of getting caught this quickly. But he relaxed only slightly when he saw Regulus standing in the doorway instead of his mother. “What do you want, Regulus?” He sneered, instincts suddenly kicking in.
“Are you leaving?” He asked again, ignoring his question.
“What is it to you whether I leave or not? Off to tell on me to Mother dearest?” He hissed defensively. Fear coursed through his veins at the thought that his brother would sell him out to their mother the first chance he got. He wouldn’t put it past him, he was the Perfect Son after all.
Regulus raised an eyebrow at him unimpressed, he was the epitome of calm. Which was… surprising to say the least. There was a blank look in his eyes, empty like cold death, and he leaned his body against the door a little too much to be natural.
“No,” Regulus stated, cold and simply. Sirius tried his best not to show his surprise at his brother’s tone. Regulus had always worn his heart on his sleeve and was so easy to read even when he was younger. Regulus had always been soft. Sirius didn’t know how he survived in the Snake’s Pit this long, perhaps that was why he always kept his head down, always staying out of conflicts whether it involved him or not. He was soft, too soft, Sirius always knew what he was thinking without him saying anything, always knew what he was feeling by the look in his eyes, always knew not to expect anything from him at all because Sirius knew he would never live up to the expectations he set up for him. He had learned that long ago, when he still had a childish dream that Regulus would be just like him, brave and strong to stand against their parents and evil.
But he didn’t have such a dream anymore, he had learned never to set expectations upon anyone, especially his brother.
Sirius immediately noticed that there was something off about Regulus, and Sirius couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was. He couldn’t read Regulus now, not with those cold-lifeless eyes staring into his. Not with the way he stood, hostile and ready to launch an attack towards him. It was like a shift had happened around Regulus without his knowledge, like something had shifted relating to his brother and he didn’t know what.
“What's wrong with you?” Sirius asked, slowly and cautiously. He gripped the strap of his satchel tightly, bracing himself to hear that his mother had not just tortured him, but Regulus as well. If he looked closely Sirius could see how the edges of his brother’s face were blurry, “Are you wearing a Glamour Charm on your face?” Sirius took a step forward to get a better look at it, and he half expected Regulus to take a step back and deny it. But Regulus said nothing, neither confirmed nor denied, he just stared at him and it gravely unnerved him.
Regulus walked into the room, letting the door close shut behind him. “Are you leaving?” He asked again, patiently waiting for an answer calmly and collectively.
Sirius pursed his lips into a thin line. “Yes,” he replied truthfully, “I’m running away to the Potter’s and….” He hesitated, Sirius didn’t know why but he hesitated before he barreled on anyway. “And I’m not coming back,” he whispered softly.
In that moment Sirius expected a flash of hurt pass across his brother’s eyes, he expected anger, resentment, or pain. But what he got was a grin with a little too many teeth for his liking, it made Sirius take a step back in fear.
“Hmm,” Regulus casually hummed in acknowledgment like Sirius hadn’t just dropped a bombshell on him. Like he had not just implied he was leaving the family forever. “Okay,” Regulus said, shrugging like this had nothing to do with him, like it was no big problem.
“. . . Okay?” Sirius asked hesitantly. He was beyond confused at this point.
“Okay,” Regulus repeated, and honestly he seemed to be repeating everything today. Regulus took a step towards him, and then another until he was only a few feet away from him. He eyed his satchel for a moment before he met his eyes once again, eyes he couldn’t read anymore. Regulus suddenly threw something at him, something Sirius hadn’t even noticed he had been holding this entire time.
He caught it and peered down to look at the small black obsidian figure of a lion. Sirius stared at it in disbelief, he had thought Regulus had long gotten rid of it when he saw he wasn’t carrying it with him everywhere he went when he got back from his first year. When he had asked about it Regulus had only ever said it was gone. Not ‘I lost it’ or ‘it was destroyed’, just gone.
It had been the first gift he had ever given his brother when he was three and Regulus was one. It had been a product of his first accidental magic as a child, to transfigure one of mother’s precious jewels into something baby Regulus could play and entertain himself with.
Sirius looked up, only to see his brother giving him an amused smile; he didn't know why it was being directed at him. “Goodbye, Sirius,” Regulus whispered before he turned to walk out of the room, but not before turning over his shoulder to call out, “Starlight.”
And like that, Sirius felt the familiar traces of magic coming from the lion figurine before he was pulled, only reacting fast enough to see the door of his bedroom open and his mother’s maddening gaze meet his own as she loomed behind Regulus. Sirius tried to shout at his brother, to give him a warning but it didn’t matter. He was already being pulled, by the Portkey, being compressed and stretched into a tiny tube before he landed on his back with a grunt of pain.
He looked up frantically as if doing it fast enough would bring him back to his room so that he could try to save his brother from their mother’s wrath. The lamp perched on the stoop of a house lit up, and it took Sirius a second, perhaps a second too long for him to figure out which house exactly he was now kneeling in front of.
The front door opened only for James Potter to step out from it with a concerned look on his face.