Work Text:
A scream rang out.
The sound was jarring — high pitched and unrestrained. It was clear that the person screaming had no control over the sounds they were making; a raw and desperate manifestation of their agony.
It was Sirius.
Regulus stared straight ahead, hand frozen on the handle to the drawing room.
It was Sirius.
His mother was cursing Sirius.
She was using an unforgivable.
Regulus stayed frozen, breath coming fast.
His choice should be any easy one. It should be so easy it shouldn’t even be a choice. He should slam the door open, shove his mother out of the way, and protect his brother. He should jump in the way, take the pain in his stead.
He should do something.
Regulus looked down at his trembling fingers, clasped around the handle.
It was not easy.
It was not easy because he was not Sirius. Was not bold and brave and strong and Gryffindor.
No. He was Regulus Arcturus Black.
And he was afraid.
His brother’s voice heightened in its intensity, the horrifying sound ringing in his ears.
Regulus let go.
Slowly, he backed up, steps cushioned by the soft carpet.
He should go in there.
His back hit the wall.
He should go in there.
He slid towards the ground.
He should go.
Arms wrapping around his legs, Regulus curled tight into a ball, face pressed into his knees, and listened to his brother scream.
There was no indicator of how long it would last, when his mother would decide to let up her punishment.
Punishment. As though torture could be summed up in so simple a word.
Regulus’s eyes burned, face growing wet. But he made no sound. A lifetime of hiding his tears, tears that were unbecoming of an upperclassman, had taught him how to be silent.
A lifetime of cowardice had taught him how to hide.
And if only he were not such a coward. If only he could be like his brother, and muster up the courage to go in there. To do something in return for once and make up for all the times his brother had saved him.
And yet, was that not their dynamic? Was that not what had allowed him to survive?
“Hide Regulus! Mother is coming!”
“But what about you?”
“I’ll be fine, just hide. Quickly!”
It had always been Sirius taking the brunt of their mother’s fury as Regulus hid away. It had always been Sirius redirecting the conversation to distract her from some faux pas or taking the blame for something he had not done.
And now, when Sirius needed him most, he could not move.
But that was not even the most pathetic thing of all. The most pathetic thing was that he wished Sirius were here with him. He wished his brother would come and save the day; hold him tight as though he were a child again and rock him until it all passed.
Abruptly, the screams stopped.
Regulus’ head snapped up, breath stuttering. His heart dropped, terror turning his blood to ice.
Had Sirius-?
Sharp footsteps rang out in the silence.
Regulus’ face drained of colour.
Quickly he scrambled to his feet, having no time to think, only shoving himself as fast as he could into the cramped alcove under the stairs where he would hide as a child.
And just in time. The door swung open.
Regulus watched, heart beating in his throat, as his mother stepped out of the room. He knew that he was hidden by the shadows, his haven just as effective as it had always been, but it was hard to believe so as his mother stared straight towards him, skin purple with fury.
Her ire was all-encompassing, radiating out from her, dampening the atmosphere of the house. It had never been hard to know when she was angry.
Regulus fought not to shake lest she sense the movement, holding his breath.
But just as she had been staring long enough that he was convinced he had been noticed, she turned on her heel, stalking down the corridor.
Regulus stayed frozen, listening to the sound of her sharp footsteps disappearing up the stairs, loud in the silence.
He stood there - listening.
Nothing.
Slowly, he breathed out, squeezing his eyes closed. His heart hammered in his chest.
She was gone.
Eventually, he managed to peel himself away from the wall, stepping quietly into the hall.
His eyes flickered about as he moved towards the room. Yet, still, he hesitated, hand hovering over the door knob. It was not long, however, before shame had him reaching forward, pushing lightly at the door.
Sirius was on the ground.
Curled on his side, the older was unmoving, hair splayed about his head like a halo.
Regulus pushed the door shut behind him, striding forwards and dropping to his knees beside his brother.
Sirius did not move.
Hands shaking, Regulus forced himself to press his fingers against his brother’s neck, feeling for a pulse.
His heart thundered in his ears, throat tight.
But then… yes. A faint beat.
Regulus breathed out sharply, feeling as though he could collapse in relief. But he had no time. He knew what he needed to do.
Getting to his feet, Regulus stared down at his brother.
He could not lift him. Not even years of quidditch had filled out his wiry frame enough to be able to carry his brother.
Regulus breathed out, steeling himself, before grabbing his brother’s arms.
He heaved.
Sirius was heavy. Whilst years of playing seeker had made no difference to Regulus’ thin build, years of playing beater had filled out his brother’s form, thick with muscle.
Regulus cursed under his breath, and pulled. The slow process of dragging his brother gave him the time to notice some of the details of Sirius’ condition he had missed, such as the sweat that lined his hairline, the twisted look of pain across his pasty face, the way his brother’s arms spasmed in his grip, still rocking with the aftershocks of the curse.
Regulus breathed out heavily, eyes flicking between his brother’s form and the door.
He could only hope that he wasn’t making enough noise to alert either one of their parents, because if one of them found out what he was doing, his punishment would be no lighter.
Regulus puffed his chest out and with one final heave his brother was inside the fireplace.
Regulus straightened up, panting. But he didn’t have time to rest. Not if he wanted to get Sirius out before their parents intervened.
Quickly, he snatched the bowl of floo powder off of the mantelpiece, taking a handful. With one final glance at the door he stepped back, taking in his brother’s form.
Inexplicably, he found his eyes burning.
This was the last time he would see him here. The last time they would live together as brothers. And likely the last time Sirius would speak to him.
He had no intention of telling Sirius what he had done, and he knew the younger would assume he had somehow dragged himself to the fireplace, saving himself from their parents.
He would never know that Regulus had helped him.
Regulus swallowed, hand clenched tight around the powder.
If only he could leave with him.
But he had no choice.
Steadying himself, he took one last moment to memorise his brother’s face, pained in sleep, before he threw the powder at the hearth.
“Potter Manor!” He commanded, and with a flash of green, Sirius was gone.
For a moment, Regulus stared at where his brother had disappeared.
The green flames twisted in the fireplace tantalisingly, beckoning him forward.
Regulus breathed out shakily.
He could not go. If he left, they would never leave Sirius alone.
His brother was free, and if that meant throwing himself to the wolves - if that meant chaining himself down in their grasp - then he would endure.
He would not go if it meant swapping places with his brother. He could not do that to him.
The door handle clicked.
Regulus froze. His blood ran cold.
He did not turn, but he did not need to. The sound of the handle creaking downwards was loud in the silence, cut only by the crackling of the fire.
The figure stepped behind him. They said nothing, a silent presence at his back. And yet their fury was palpable.
There was no warning, no sign. Only the flick of a wrist before it came.
“Crucio!”
And the world narrowed into nothing.
Regulus screamed.
He was not sure how he ended up on the ground. Only that he was there, lying on his back. He knew nothing else except pain.
It shot through him, igniting every single nerve alight at once. He had never felt such agony and yet so very aware of every single part of himself before; his blood and capillaries, his fingertips to his toes, every single part of him was burning, lighting up with excruciating intensity. He could not call it waves for it would not be true — there was no release, no pause between the crashes. Only an severity that built and built and built, until it felt as though it could not build any further only to increase more.
His body was completely out of his control, writhing and begging and screaming and sobbing and whatever else babbled from his mouth.
He did not think that even if he were aware of the pleads that spilled from his lips that he could muster the will to be embarrassed. For in this moment he would do anything if it meant escaping this feeling, even just temporarily.
He dug his fingers into the floor, scrabbling at the wood for purchase. His head jerked, his legs kicking out beneath him, pushing to get away, away, away.
He could not tell how long had passed — seconds, minutes, days — before it let up.
Instantly every muscle in his body released, body collapsing to the ground.
Regulus stared up at the ceiling, panting.
His vision was glazed in a way that he distantly registered must have meant he was crying, throat raw from screaming.
He was in shock.
Never, not once, had his mother raised her wand at him.
Oh, she had screamed, slapped, starved, beaten him. But never had she raised her wand.
That had always been reserved for Sirius; the disobedient child. The wanting child. The one who needed to be taught a lesson only magic could teach.
Her using the cruciatus curse on Sirius was shocking, but not surprising. It had been an escalation a long time coming.
But she had never raised her wand at Regulus. Not once.
And the first time she had…
A sharp step sounded, close to Regulus’ head, and he bodily flinched, eyes snapping shut.
“Filthy blood traitor.” His mother’s voice came.
“Open your eyes. Open your eyes, now! If you are brazen enough to help that disgrace, you will deign to look at me, Regulus Arcturus Black!”
Regulus pried his eyes open, knowing the consequences of not doing so would far outweigh the effort it took.
The image of his mother looming over him swam across his vision, her skin white in fury. Instantly her expression thinned, lips pulling taut.
“Diffindo!”
Regulus cried out as a gash sliced itself open across his cheek, tearing through his throbbing nerves. For a moment his vision whited out and he choked on his spit, a sob rattling through his bruised chest.
His mother scoffed, expression showing nothing but disgust.
“Weak,” she uttered. “You’re a disgrace to the name Black.”
Regulus felt blood drip down the side of his face, lips white where they pressed tight together. He forced himself to keep his eyes open and trained on the ceiling, too fearful of the consequences of closing them.
His mother shook her head.
Without another word she turned on her heel and stormed from the room, the door rattling in its hinges as it slammed behind her.
The click of the lock was loud in the ensuing silence.
He waited until the sound of her footsteps faded into nothing.
And like that he was undone.
Shamelessly he let himself cry, snot and tears and blood coating his face as his chest shook, sending tremors of pain shooting through him.
Above him the green light of the fire flickered across the ceiling, taunting him.
Finally, certain that his mother was gone and not coming back, he let his eyes fall shut, squeezing them tight.
It was no wonder his brother wanted to leave. It was a wonder if anyone could stay after that.
Merlin, he would miss his brother.
Tears dripped down his cheeks, pooling on the hard wood floor. He breathed out shakily, chest still trembling with the aftershocks of the cruciatus curse.
He thought longingly of the fireplace, of letting himself be taken away to another world, a Gryffindor world of red and gold and softness and naivety.
He would sit at the table with Sirius and his stupid friends, play nice whilst the Potters — the kind, sweet Potters, who radiated a warmth and acceptance he had never known — would smile, ruffling his hair like he was just another part of the family.
But it was just a dream. Regulus knew he would never have that. Would never make it out of here. He he had no choice. He could not leave.
He would not leave if it meant forcing his brother to live through this again. Even if he drowned, alone in this wretched manor, he would stay, if it meant Sirius never had to come back.
Never would his brother go through this again.
Even if he was the price to pay.
Even if he would never be free