He wasn’t his brother. He would never be his brother. It was as impossible for him to become Sirius as it was for him to become a centaur. Or a Kneazle. Or… Well, anything, really. His hand still held the handle and he allowed it to move upwards and graze the soft wood. It felt nice to touch and yet it was strong as anything, to have lasted this long. The house was ancient. Not as ancient as they – the Blacks – were, of course, but ancient nonetheless. He thought back to Father’s words. Yes, they weren’t the same as other families. He knew that. They were better than other families. He had known that for as long as he could remember; there was a hierarchy in this world, with the Muggles at the very bottom. The dung. The stuff the streets needed cleaning of. Then Mudbloods and half-breeds and other such creatures. Not people, as Father had said. Then half-bloods and blood traitors and those who sympathised with Muggles and their ilk – the dragons, who mustn’t be fed, lest they take over and destroy everything. Then, at the top, the pure-bloods: the ones who mattered in this world. And of the pure-bloods, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black reigned supreme. It was the natural order of things. Yes, being a Black meant safety, and strength, and power. It meant being respected. It was precisely as Bellatrix had said back in Knockturn Alley: no-one would ever dare harm a Black. Their bloodline was sacred. All this had been repeated to him too often for him not to know about it. The only problem was that Sirius didn’t seem to know about all this. He didn’t seem to understand – or worse, he didn’t seem to care. That was why Mother and Father had to keep repeating it. That was why they seemed angry so often: Sirius kept testing them. Kept laughing, arguing, ignoring what they said, as if he could do whatever he wanted. As if being born into the best of the best came without responsibilities. But people watched their betters. Listened to them. Followed them. Imitated them. That was the weight of it. That was why none of them could afford to have an off day, because everyone would know about it. They’d talk about it, or even start to do the same thing themselves. Soon enough the whole world would be having nothing but off days. After all, that was the example they’d set, then, wasn’t it? That was why Father was right to say they had misbehaved; Sirius had slouched in the shops, looked sour, argued, acted more childish than his age allowed. Tantrums weren’t for Blacks, and especially not in public. Just think of what could happen! What he could have brought upon them all with the way he’d acted! He felt his hands curl into tight fists as he thought back to how Sirius had behaved that day – and how he’d behaved just now, yelling those things about Mother and Father! And the more he thought about it, the more he hated the whole situation. The more he hated Sirius and his antics. The more he hated even Mother and Father. Because had Mother and Father done anything about it? No. They’d argued right back, raised their voices, sent Sirius to his room, yes, but they hadn’t done anything about it. They were too busy with whatever it was they were busy with to care, or to see that Sirius just kept getting worse, or to even be able to do anything about it at all. He hated how busy they were. Busy with this and that, busy with things he wasn’t allowed to know about. Busy with things that impacted everything. So busy they lost sight of their own sons, let Sirius run loose, or dumped them both with their grandparents. Too busy for birthday visits. He pressed his nails into the palms of his hands to suppress the burning anger – Father was on the other side of the door and would surely hear if he let anything out, and then he’d get another lecture out of it. Because hadn’t he just been told how to behave? He couldn’t spoil it this quickly. He wouldn’t. He spun on his heel, raced up the stairs, and didn’t even look in the direction of Sirius’ door as he entered his own room. He shut it softly. Carefully. Even though every single part of him wanted to slam it as hard as he could. But he didn’t. Because Blacks didn’t slam doors. Blacks behaved. Always. Because the world was always watching. He dropped his hat on his desk and pulled at his hair until it hurt, hoping to make the feeling go away, to drown out the urge to destroy something. He sank onto his bed and stomped his mattress twice, trying to be as silent about it as he could. Still, the frustrated groan that escaped him was raw and barely muffled by the pillow. He held his breath, but all he could hear was Sirius, causing a wreckage in his own room. It wasn’t fair, he thought, as he let out another choked sob. It wasn’t fair that when Sirius overturned a table, it was shrugged off as passion. A strong will. A fiery spirit. It was seen as something good. It wasn’t seen as the deliberate misbehaviour it so obviously was. The temper tantrum at age nine and three-quarters. But if Regulus as much as frowned in the wrong direction it would be pointed out to him that Blacks didn’t do such things. It would be turned into a whole lesson. He sighed deeply, squeezed his eyes shut and counted to ten. It helped. A little. Anger and sadness and frustration and the desperate feeling of unfairness all still bubbled beneath his skin, but, when he opened his eyes again, something else had appeared alongside it: determination. The glass wall that had separated him from the world all day had shattered somewhere along the way and his mind was no longer clouded. He could think clearly. And so he stood, wiped his eyes dry, and crossed the room to his desk. And, fuelled by this newfound determination and clarity, he picked up his handcrafted quill and a bottle of ink and pulled the stack of parchment closer to him. He uncorked the bottle, dipped his quill, scraped off the excess ink, and put the tip to the parchment. I am not my brother. He hovered his quill over the parchment for a while, watching the ink dry. The words felt very... final. But in a good way. Because yes, he wasn’t his brother. They weren’t treated the same. They didn’t act the same. And Regulus would make sure they never would be the same. He dipped his quill again and added: I will be a good Black. He smiled and nodded at these two statements, satisfied. Yes, he would be a good Black. He would be a better Black than Sirius ever would be. Of course, he’d made the promise before. Just last year he’d had a similar resolution. He’d wanted to prove himself and be better than his brother. But this time, things were different. This time, he’d make sure he’d stick to it. He wouldn’t fall for Sirius’ schemes. He wouldn’t be convinced to break this promise, not again. Not after last time, not when he could have died after they’d sneaked out to that Muggle park, not after the incident with that awful Boggart. And, as all his feelings settled more firmly into determination, he knew exactly what he had to do. He went through his wardrobe and chose his finest robes and put them on his desk, ready to be worn tomorrow morning. He then read every book he owned on manners and proper conduct before dinner. And again after. He didn’t go to bed until he’d finished them all, and he rose with the first light of dawn. He dressed carefully in the robes he’d prepared and sat quietly at the table whilst Kreacher set out the plates. The elf no longer seemed wary of him. That had to be a good sign. Regulus hadn’t meant to scare him, or insult him, or anything of the sort. Of course he hadn’t. He’d meant what he’d said. Kreacher truly was invaluable and he was so happy to have him here. But if Kreacher had noticed a change in him... well, there must have been one, mustn’t there? It had to be because of what he’d decided last night… Or maybe it had just been long enough since the incident. Maybe Kreacher had forgiven him. Or forgotten all about it. Or something. There was no knowing what went on inside his little head and Regulus decided not to ask. He didn’t want to risk stirring it all back up. He simply sat. He sat and waited. Half an hour later, Mother and Father entered the dining room, looking the same as always. They spared him a nod of acknowledgement as they sat down opposite him. They spent the rest of breakfast ignoring him. Barely ten minutes later, Mother left to fetch Sirius. He arrived stomping about the place, clearly still upset from yesterday’s talk. He was loud, unwashed, and still in his nightclothes. He looked as though he hadn’t combed his hair at all – and, knowing him, he likely hadn’t. He was so... unpresentable. So unBlackish. Regulus sat up a little straighter at that, but neither Mother nor Father seemed to notice. They were far too busy telling Sirius to sit up properly, to use his napkin, to lower his voice... And Sirius was far too busy telling Mother and Father that they didn’t get to tell him what to do. Mother snapped back, Father raised his voice, but Sirius walked right over them. It went on and on, back and forth, louder with every minute, until Regulus felt as if the entire morning had been consumed by it. But when it finally stopped, and he looked at his wristwatch, it had only been forty minutes. He followed Father to the study in silence, ignoring Sirius and taking advantage of the fact that he still needed to get dressed. He worked his sums quickly and tried to finish all of them before Sirius returned. And he succeeded. And he’d made sure there were no careless mistakes this time. His arithmetic was flawless, but Father said nothing, because Sirius came back dressed in swimwear and a travelling cloak. On purpose, of course. That much was obvious. Sirius was doing this out of misguided feelings of spite. Sirius must have thought he’d show them what misbehaviour really was. Or, that was what Regulus imagined Sirius must have thought. The possibility remained that Sirius just loved to rile them up for nothing. Either way, Father just gave him a short lecture and told him to change. When lunch came around, things hadn’t improved one bit. Yes, Sirius was properly dressed now, but he was still in a mood and kept trying to drag Regulus into his nonsense. For example, he’d started naming the buns. One was called Cepheus, a King from some far-off place who’d been imprisoned by Thamyris, another bun, who apparently dreamed of being a famous singer. And then there was Sirius Junior, which he cradled in both hands as if it was some kind of fragile, living thing. He held it out to Regulus with exaggerated tenderness. Regulus just grabbed it. And he ate it, because it was a bun. And there was jam inside. And he liked jam. What else was he supposed to do? At this, Sirius made a great show of fake crying, but since no-one paid him any mind, he quickly moved on, confirming Regulus’ suspicions and making him all the more annoyed at his brother. Especially when he began singing all his requests. ‘Would you please pass the BUTTEEEEER!’ he bellowed, stretching his arms dramatically across the table, nearly knocking his pumpkin juice off the table. And to Regulus’ great horror, Father just… handed it to him. He just gave Sirius the butter, and all he said was a simple “Please do try to behave” – and he said it far too gently, in Regulus’ opinion. Sirius grinned. ‘Of course, my dear Mister General Stern-face, Sir!’ And Father still said nothing of it. And neither did Mother. And Regulus kept still as well. Kept quiet. He didn’t even roll his eyes. He didn’t react at all, not even when Sirius kicked him in the shins under the table. Hard. Then again. And again. And again, until he was sure there was a bruise forming. And still he did nothing. Still he just sat there, back straight, legs down, hands above the table, elbows tucked away... And so the weeks carried on. And the harder he worked to ignore it all, the harder Sirius worked to get a rise out of him, shoving and pinching him when nobody was looking, dropping spiders into his shoes and putting Floo powder in his ink, making it unusable. He called him a bird-witted nobody and a blockhead and said he was a mouldy sack of soggy turnips and a dusty old tattle. But Regulus never tattled, not even when Sirius stole the book he’d been reading and drowned the last page in ink, nor when he messed up the sums Regulus had been working on with inappropriate drawings. Regulus didn’t give in, because not giving in was the only way to resist. The only way to avoid what had happened last time. It was his only strategy. And it worked. It did. Eventually. Because one morning in early October, it all just… stopped. Sirius didn’t shove him. Didn’t do anything to his books or shoes or sums. Didn’t even look his way all throughout breakfast and their lessons. And Regulus could hardly believe it. He hardly dared believe it was over until dinner came around and Sirius was polite. Civil. So well-behaved that Regulus had no choice but to believe the war was over. That after one long month, he had won. Because what else could explain Sirius’s sudden silence? His bowed head? The way he spoke only when spoken to? But it all became clear once the plates were cleared and Father had hidden himself behind his newspaper, and Kreacher began to pour the tea. ‘Can I go to Uncle Alphard’s?’ Sirius asked, voice casual, as if he was asking for a lump of sugar. ‘Just for a day or two. He said I could. He wrote.’ Father hid himself more fully behind his newspaper, but Regulus still caught the way he and Mother shared a look of disapproval. And yet, she agreed. She let him go. As if it was nothing. Rewarding him after all he’d done. After the tantrums and the shouting and the arguing and the shoving and the names and the ink on his books, after everything, Sirius had been given a reward, allowed to go with Uncle Alphard, whilst Regulus, who had done everything right, was stuck at home working on his arithmetic and handwriting and reading and other such boring tasks, drowning in the unfairness of it all. It wasn’t that he wanted to come along, oh no, definitely not. He wasn’t sure what to think of him any more after they’d visited last Easter and Mother and Father had left and everything else that had happened. Not to mention the incident with Andromeda. But just because he didn’t want to go to Uncle Alphard’s didn’t mean he couldn’t be jealous of Sirius being allowed to go. It just wasn’t fair he’d got something he wanted so badly without having worked for it. It just wasn’t fair that Sirius got treated differently, it wasn’t fair that Mother and Father refused to involve them in whatever they were doing and only talked to them when it was about either something trivial, or to teach them something – or to scold them, of course. To argue with Sirius and to let him win. And so he spent the hottest – and quietest, for there was no Sirius and there were no distractions (and that hurt more than anything in the world, even though he tried not to let it get to him) – October in living memory working on his penmanship and his arithmetic, whilst Sirius was doing all sorts of fun things with Uncle Alphard. Because he hadn’t gone for “just one or two days”. Sirius didn’t return until the evening of the second of November. And when he did, Regulus hid in the shadows and watched as Sirius came barging into their lives again, looking all smug as he told Mother and Father stories about places Regulus hadn’t seen and jokes he didn’t understand. He spoke fast, loud, barely stopping to breathe. Uncle Alphard had taken him to the coast, apparently, during the heatwave, and they’d eaten chips with their hands and gone out without robes and stayed up past midnight. Mother and Father nodded blandly as Sirius spoke. They didn’t seem to mind. Regulus did mind, however. He minded that Sirius didn’t mind his manners. He minded that he spoke so freely about this holiday, without even thinking about how it had been for him. He thought about leaving. Going up the stairs. But that would mean stepping out of the shadows, and then Sirius would surely see him. And yet, when Sirius was fifteen minutes into telling them all about the time he’d eaten two full buckets of coffee-flavoured ice cream without getting sick, he took the risk. He left the shadows and headed for the stairs as quickly as he could. ‘OH! There you are!’ Sirius exclaimed at that, dropping his bag at the foot of the staircase, blocking his path, and fishing something out of his cloak pocket. It was wrapped in brown paper. ‘Did you miss me, Reggie?’ he said brightly, approaching with a grin. ‘Bet you were bored out of your skull without me!’ Regulus didn’t answer, didn’t want to give Sirius the satisfaction of being right. He just watched as Sirius took the brown paper off to reveal a ridiculous model dragon that flapped its wings and breathed little puffs of fire. ‘Uncle Alphard said I could take it with me – it’s for you!’ Sirius nudged the toy toward him, still grinning. Regulus stared at it. Shrugged. ‘I’ve been busy,’ he said flatly, ignoring the gift. Sirius laughed. ‘Yeah, I can see that. Busy being the best little Black ever. What’d you do, memorise the entire family tree whilst I was gone?’ Regulus opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, Father steered the conversation away from the matter. ‘Unless I am very much mistaken, you’re wearing new gloves?’ Sirius looked down. ‘Gift from Uncle Alphard,’ he said with a nod. ‘For my birthday. Says he can’t make it tomorrow, he’s got stuff to do.’ ‘May I?’ Sirius handed over the gloves, then launched into a dramatic retelling of some duel they’d seen. Mother kept shushing him for shouting (and Father didn’t say anything at all, too busy examining the gloves), but Sirius just went on as loudly as he could. And Regulus took his chance, stepping over Sirius’ bag and heading up the stairs. When he looked down at them from the landing, he could see Father still looking at the gloves in his hands, he could hear Sirius still talking loudly about his gadding with Uncle Alphard, and Mother was still trying to get him to be quieter. No-one had noticed him leaving, because of course they hadn’t. Even when he tried his best he was still forgettable. Unnoticeable. Because he was not his brother. He climbed more stairs until he reached his bedroom. He closed the door behind him and fell on his bed, face pressing into his pillow, his mind rewinding the last two months for him. The promise he’d made. Sirius and how he’d acted. Sirius’ reward… He fell asleep, eventually, with his arms flung around his pillow and his blankets pulled over his head, blocking out the world. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep – because it would just bring tomorrow more quickly, and he did not want it to be tomorrow – but it had still happened, and he cursed himself silently for it when he woke up. Because it was Sirius’ birthday. There was no escaping that. And it felt worse than even his own birthday had felt to him, but for very different reasons, though he felt no less alone. He wished Sirius had stayed at Uncle Alphard’s for his birthday, wished they wouldn’t have to celebrate it. Of course, it wouldn’t be anything big. Tenth birthdays weren’t that important. But the fact remained that, no matter what happened, it would always be grander than his eighth birthday had been. Nothing could change that Mother and Father were present at this birthday and they hadn’t even bothered to write to him at his. Hatred was a strong word, but he was sure that was what he felt now, thinking about this. He hated them. That feeling only intensified when Mother knocked on his door. Loudly. Impatiently. As if he never woke up on time. As if he hadn’t spent the last two months waking up before them. He hid himself beneath more blankets but he could hear her footsteps approaching all the same. She yanked the blankets off and stared at him with a look of deep disapproval that he wanted to wipe off her face and it took him all his might not to talk back to her when she told him to “Get up. Now”. Still, he didn’t get up. He curled up tighter against the cold mattress. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snapped. ‘It’s your brother’s birthday.’ Exactly! he wanted to scream at her, really hammer it in. Where were you at mine?! But he said nothing. He didn’t move. He wasn’t sure he could keep himself from shouting if he did. ‘If you think sulking is going to make me feel sorry for you, you’re sorely mistaken,’ she said. He didn’t think that. He’d never thought that. He knew she didn’t feel sorry for people when they were sulking. And he didn’t need her to feel sorry for him. He just needed her to leave before he couldn’t keep it to himself any more and earned himself a scolding. Because that was the last thing he needed right now. He would surely explode of that happened. ‘You will come down,’ she said again, ‘and you will behave. Do you understand me?’ He nodded, just barely. Just so she’d go away. He just needed her to go away… And away she went. And Regulus waited until he no longer heard her footsteps before releasing the tears he’d been holding back, because though he hated her, it hurt to do so. His whole body ached. He could barely breathe and was left gasping for air. For several moments, he lay there, feeling miserable in all possible ways and without any way to stop it. Then his tears just dried up, and his breathing returned to normal, and the hatred and sadness in his chest made place for the same determination he’d felt earlier, when he’d just broken free of the confusion and the glass wall. All he had to do was make sure Sirius’ tenth birthday would be just as great a disaster as his ninth. Date: 24 August, 1969. Event: aftermath of the talk in the previous chapter Date: 25 August 1969. Event: Regulus is determined to do better than Sirius. Sirius is determined to act out. Date: weeks passing Event: Regulus ignores Sirius, Sirius acts out Date: early October Event: Sirius asks to go to Uncle Alphard’s Date: October, in passing Event: Regulus does his lessons, resents Sirius Date: 2 November, 1969 Event: Sirius returns, is full of stories, Regulus is angry Date: 3 November, 1969 Event: Regulus is angrier because he doesn’t think it’s fair that his parents are at Sirius’ birthday when they weren’t at his. Walburga wakes him up late. Regulus resolves to make Sirius’ birthday a disaster. Characters: Black Family: Sirius Pollux Black Regulus Arcturus Black Walburga Sopdet Black Orion Sirius Black