Even when the first rays of light gave shape to the room, hours and hours and hours later, Regulus was still stuck in the same position he had been in all night, cowering behind the chair. The fire had long since died out and he hadn’t slept at all. His limbs were stiff and painful yet he didn’t move – he didn’t dare. He barely dared to breathe. He wanted to forget, just as he’d been told to by Uncle Cygnus. But he had never seen him so furious, and that image was forever etched in his mind, and every time he thought about doing anything, it came up and pushed him down, suffocating him. And so he sat in the drawing room with his knees pulled up to his chest, hands still clutching the fabric of the chair. He sat there all through the night, until a soft creak startled him. He jerked his head up, and saw Narcissa peering through the door. She hesitated for a moment, then stepped fully into the room, her nightgown trailing lightly over the floor. She looked back at the doorway over her shoulder, as if checking to make sure her father wasn’t nearby, then knelt beside him. ‘Are you all right?’ she whispered. He nodded. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t come back sooner. I wanted to—I couldn’t—Father—Did he hurt you?’ He shook his head. She pressed her lips together and reached a hand out to him, and brushed some hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear. ‘Did you sleep at all tonight?’ He shook his head again. Narcissa sighed, looking back at the doorway. ‘You can’t stay here,’ she said. ‘Father’ll wake soon... he likes to come here in the mornings. If he’s still angry...’ Regulus felt himself freeze even more at that. He didn’t even want to know what would happen if Uncle Cygnus was still as angry as he had been last night. ‘Come on. We’ll go to my room,’ she said, gently taking his hand. ‘He won’t bother us there.’ Regulus slowly unfolded himself, his limbs protesting painfully after several hours of being forced in the same position. He let Narcissa pull him to his feet, and he let her lead him out of the drawing room, up the stairs, and to her room. She shut the door carefully behind them and pointed over at her bed. ‘You can sleep there if you want,’ she said. Regulus didn’t argue. He just let her guide him to the bed, let her take off his hat and his shoes, let her pull the blankets up around him, let her fingers smooth his hair again as he curled onto his side. He felt his bones grow heavy and he felt his muscles release their tension. He closed his eyes. But instead of falling asleep, he was, once more, overcome with desperation. It came quite suddenly, breaking through the empty feeling that had settled in his body. Everything hurt. Everything was so overwhelmingly not home. His eyes burnt and he felt the tears fall down his cheeks and over his nose, onto the pillow. Narcissa ran her fingers gently through his hair, trying to soothe him, but it felt wrong. Everything about this felt wrong. ‘I want to go home.’ She stopped fumbling at his hair. ‘Home?’ He turned his face into the pillow, away from her. Tears still burnt his eyes and the embarrassment of it all did nothing to improve that. ‘I want Mother,’ he admitted quietly. And she was silent. And he held his breath. And he held the pillow tightly in his hands. And he felt as though he was suffocating again. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, slowly. ‘She’s not expecting us. She’s busy. She—’ ‘Please,’ he whispered, the pillow muffling him. ‘Please—Please.’ He couldn’t get much else out. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘We’ll go home.’ He turned around and looked at her, wiping his eyes. ‘Really?’ She nodded. ‘Come on.’ He got up from the bed and followed Narcissa through the house. They were careful not to disturb the silence as they went back to the drawing room. Narcissa listened at the door for signs of Uncle Cygnus, then slowly opened it and pulled him inside. Regulus’ hand was trembling as he took hold of Narcissa’s, and she threw the powder into the fire. He thought back to last night and whimpered a little, but Narcissa was steadfast. ‘Number twelve, Grimmauld Place,’ she said, pulling him with her. The world spun. They landed unsteadily, and the room they were in was dark, but he recognised it easily. He could make out the familiar shapes of the writing desk, the bookcases, the sofa, the chairs... This was the drawing room. It was empty, however. And though it was lovely to be back here, in this familiar place, he needed to find Mother. So he took off, towards the doors. He opened them and scanned the landing, his heartbeat speeding up. She wasn’t there. She had to be in her room. It was still early. Anticipation was rising and his energy levels rose with it as he sprinted up the stairs, faintly registering Narcissa coming up after him, calling his name. He went straight for her room. He felt the handle – he didn’t even consider knocking until after he’d already opened the door – and ran over to her bedside. She wasn’t there. Panic set in and clouded his vision. He spun around, in circles, frantically trying to locate her. She had to be here. She had to be in this room. He could no longer hear Narcissa; the world grew distant and obscured. Tears rolled down his cheeks and he felt so small, so alone. He’d felt so small and so alone for so many weeks and he was finally, truly breaking apart. His legs were shaking and could no longer support his weight. Hands outstretched, he tried to reach for the bed, for stability – and he fell into something soft. He startled, stumbling backwards, tripping over the hem of his robes. Soft hands caught him mid-fall and brought him back to his feet. He blinked heavily against his tears. The blurry sight took on familiar shape and when the lights turned on, everything felt heavy from the overwhelming mixture of emotions running through him. Because the hands that had caught his body belonged to his mother. She had caught him. She was here. He buried himself against her, his fingers twisting into her hair, her robes, anything he could hold onto. He inhaled deeply, her scent filling his lungs until no more air could enter. Then it all came out. For a very long moment, he stood trembling, snot pooling from his nose, eyes wet and puffy and stinging horribly. Mother did nothing. She didn’t hold him, nor did she push him away. He only heard her say, ‘Narcissa? What is the meaning of this?’ He could only imagine Narcissa standing in the doorway. He didn’t dare let go of his mother to check if his vision was right. Neither did he have the energy to. He clung to her with all his might, his breath shuddering against her waist. ‘Explain,’ he heard Mother say, and the vibrations of her voice sent waves of calmth through him. ‘He was with us, and… Father got angry,’ came Narcissa’s careful reply. ‘Really angry. Angrier than I’ve seen him in ages.’ He felt Mother’s sharp intake of breath, and he flinched closer to her, his grip tightening even further – which was somehow possible. At this, her hands lifted, hovered over him, then rested on his back. She released her breath. ‘You’re all right.’ Regulus nodded against her, taking in another shaky breath. He held her ever closer and Mother’s grip tightened around him. He needed to be as close as he could be, he needed to be so close it hurt. He pressed, and pressed, and so did she, her nails digging in his flesh, holding him still against her. He was vaguely aware of Narcissa’s voice explaining why he’d come to stay the night with her. Every now and then Mother said something in return, but his mind wouldn’t let him follow what was said. All it did was focus on the calming vibrations, on the ever quickening beat of Mother’s heart, and her breathing, her oh-so irregular breathing ... It was obvious she was annoyed about something, but for now, Regulus didn’t care. He only allowed himself to come to again when Mother said, ‘Go. Go home and tell your parents my sons shall never set foot in that house again.’ There was a short silence, followed by Narcissa’s timid “Yes, Aunt Walburga”, and footsteps that left the room. He had no idea how long they stood there for. He had no idea how long he pressed his face into her robes, soiling them with his tears and his snot. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever let go if she hadn’t disentangled his fingers herself. But she did. She pulled him free from her robes and looked him over. ‘Did he strike you? Hurt you anywhere?’ He swallowed and shook his head, fresh tears forming, this time because he knew he shouldn’t have acted this way, he had overreacted, nothing had happened, Uncle Cygnus hadn’t even touched him— But Mother wasn’t mad. Her hand was in his hair, the same way Narcissa’s has been. His eyes closed, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘It was just so scary...’ He looked up at her face but it was unreadable, and she said nothing in return. She just steered him to her bed and lay him down, the same way Narcissa had done before, but better, for it was Mother doing it. His limbs felt heavy as they reached the mattress, and his eyelids were already drooping. He curled onto his side and she drew the covers up around him, tucking him in. The mattress dipped slightly as she sat on the edge. Their hands intertwined. He squeezed, and she squeezed back. He let his eyes fall closed again and focused on her now-steady breathing. In, out. In, out. And just the same, he drifted in and out of sleep. He could feel the warmth of the blankets, he could feel their weight, tucked securely around him. He could feel Mother’s presence, her fingers still curled around his. But he couldn’t make out anything else. There was a world beyond, waiting for him, pulling him under. Then there were voices. Voices he couldn’t distinguish, saying things he couldn’t make out. He thought they were his parents’, but he was too drowsy to know for sure. But the longer he lay there, the more he felt. His cheeks were sticky and cold from the dried tears. His limbs were leaden. His throat was raw from crying and his fingers hurt from the intensity with which he’d gripped at first the chair and then the robes… Mother’s robes. It was very clear now – one of the voices was hers. Sharp, angry. He curled in on himself, flinching at the tone, even when he didn’t know what she said. He could imagine all too well that she was angry with him. He wasn’t even supposed to be here. He’d acted so childishly. He— ‘Regulus?’ He held his breath. Something he’d done had alerted his parents, something he’d done had told them he was awake. Any moment now, they would start and lecture him … He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, bracing himself. Because he didn’t want to be lectured now. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to forget this ever happened. He wished he was still back at his grandparents, that— ‘Regulus, we know you’re awake,’ came Mother’s voice again, and it clenched his stomach, making him sick. He could feel her piercing gaze on him. He knew he could no longer pretend, he could no longer try and sleep. So he opened his eyes, blinking against the bright light that came in through the open curtains. The Sun had risen high in the time he’d lain there, half-asleep. When his eyes grew used to the light, he looked around the room. Mother still sat on the bed, her hand still resting over his own, and she was watching him. Father stood by the fireplace, arms folded, his expression unreadable. He, too, was watching him. Regulus swallowed. His throat felt tight and he wasn’t sure what to say or do. ‘How much did you hear?’ Father asked. He shook his head. ‘I didn’t—’ ‘I’m not cross,’ Father interrupted. ‘Come. Sit up, have some water...’ Regulus did as asked. He sat up. Mother left his hand and he didn’t try and take it back. He wanted to, but he didn’t. He drank from the goblet he was handed and knew it wasn’t water, nor was it pumpkin juice. It was some sort of potion. Still he drank it all and handed back the goblet. He had no idea what it was supposed to do, because he didn’t feel any different at all. For a few moments, no-one said anything. Then Father clasped his hands together. ‘So. What happened last night?’ he asked, and Regulus’ heart shot up towards the ceiling. He gripped the blankets and shook his head. He couldn’t— ‘Regulus – you need to tell us what happened,’ Father said. ‘We’ve got to know.’ He shook his head again, more forcefully this time. Nothing happened. That’s what he was supposed to say. But the words wouldn’t form. ‘Regulus,’ Mother warned, and he screwed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to see the anger building on her face. He couldn’t deal with it, not now. Not when he couldn’t do as they asked. It wasn’t fair. He could still hear Uncle Cygnus’ voice in his head… Not a word of this to anyone. Not if you know what’s good for you. His breath came in shallow bursts. He had to explain. He couldn’t have them angry. He had to… ‘I—I can’t—’ he tried, but Mother didn’t let him. ‘Regulus Arcturus Black! you will—’ she started, and he could hear the anger in her voice, and he knew he’d messed up, but he just couldn’t— ‘He’s already scared, can’t you see?!’ Father interjected, silencing Mother. ‘Getting angry won’t work.’ A silence. Then: ‘Why can’t you tell us, son?’ His voice was soft, and it somehow made Regulus feel even worse. ‘I’m not supposed to,’ he whispered. ‘Not supposed to? Not supposed to—’ ‘Walburga!’ Father warned. Then he sighed. ‘Regulus... whatever it is, we can fix it. You just have to tell us. We can’t help if we don’t know what happened.’ He just shook his head again, his eyes still shut. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be a part of this. He didn’t want to fail them. He knew he already had, but he couldn’t go against Uncle Cygnus either. He’d been so angry… ‘I... I can’t,’ he whispered again, his voice thick with dread. ‘I’m sorry.’ ‘But why?’ Father pressed again. ‘Help us understand why.’ ‘I—I’m not allowed. H-He said—I can’t. I promised him. He said—Uncle Cygnus told me not to talk about it. Not to you, not to anyone. He—he said I’d regret it. I-I-I can’t—Please...’ There was a long silence and he buried his face in his arms, trying desperately not to cry. He had been crying so much lately. He shouldn’t be. He wasn’t a baby. He wasn’t helping anything by acting— ‘Look at me,’ Father said. His voice was much closer now, coming from right in front of him. But Regulus couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. He knew he should, but it was too much. He couldn’t see their angry faces. Something touched his shoulder. Regulus, so caught up in images of last night, of Uncle Cygnus’ anger, flinched back before he realised the hand belonged to his father. And the hand held him steady, tight enough to keep him in place. He trembled slightly, unable to stop. ‘Regulus,’ he said, commanding yet calm, ‘I need you to listen to me. I know you’re scared. But I need to know what happened.’ Regulus tried to pull away, fear building at his words (because he couldn’t tell! Why wouldn’t Father just accept that he couldn’t tell!), but he could do little against his grip. ‘It’s all right, son. Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you. There’s no need to be afraid...’ A sharp pressure seized his chin, forcing his head up. It sent a wave of shock through him and his eyes snapped open. Father stared back at him, crouched at the bedside. And then— The drawing room flashed back into view, and Bellatrix’s cold, sharp laugh filled the room. You should be thanking me, she was saying. I have met— You do not meet men like him. Uncle Cygnus’ face, twisted in fury, shaking with rage, came into full view. Then Bellatrix was gone. Narcissa was still standing in the doorway, pale and trembling. Not a word of this to anyone. Not if you know what’s good for you. You’ll regret it. Mother’s bedroom came rushing back into focus and he nearly fell back into the pillows. Father’s hand, still on his shoulder, steadied him and he flinched back at the increased pressure in the touch. His heart was racing. His hands were trembling more than ever before. Father still sat in front of him, crouched, expression unreadable. ‘Thank you, Regulus,’ he said quietly, letting go of him. ‘You did the right thing, showing me that.’ Regulus squeezed his eyes shut again and lay down, curled up, pressing his forehead against his knees. He didn’t know what had just happened. He didn’t know how Father had done that. But he did know that Uncle Cygnus would be furious if he found out. ‘What did you see?’ he heard Mother ask, and he pressed himself deeper into the pillows, trying to block it out. ‘Not here. Not in front of him,’ said Father. Mother made a frustrated sort of sound, and then there were footsteps, and the sound of the door shutting behind them. Then there was silence. Dreadful silence. He could only hear himself and his uneven breaths as he tried his best to calm down. His face felt hot, and his hands wouldn’t stop trembling... He hated this. He hated all of this. He curled up even tighter, willing himself to disappear, to fold into the bed and sink into the darkness of sleep and never return. The world was too loud. His mind was too loud, replaying the memory over and over again. The fury in Uncle Cygnus’ eyes, the way Bellatrix had spoken about that dangerous man, Narcissa standing there, frozen… He didn’t know how long he lay there, trying to feel better and failing. Minutes? Hours? The notion of time had become foreign to him, and the day passed in a blur. He only moved again when the door creaked open, just to flinch back and bury himself deeper into the blankets, bracing himself for the worst. But the footsteps were too light to be Uncle Cygnus’. They hesitated near the door, then padded softly across the floor. Regulus’ heart fluttered with them. He held as still as he possibly could when the bed dipped, and the blankets shuffled from the weight of someone climbing. For a moment, everything was silent. ‘Reg?’ The voice was barely a whisper. His stomach clenched. He turned his face away, pressing into the pillow, hoping that if he didn’t say or do anything, he’d be left alone. But the voice came again, even softer this time. ‘Reggie? Are you awake?’ Regulus kept his eyes shut, but he felt his brother watching him. Waiting. ‘I know you are,’ Sirius said. He shifted on the bed. ‘They’re not here. It’s just me.’ Regulus swallowed. Sirius wasn’t supposed to be here at all. He wasn’t supposed to see this. ‘I heard them talking,’ he said, voice still uncharacteristically quiet. ‘They’re in the drawing room. Something about—about Bellatrix.’ Regulus said nothing. ‘What happened? Father came to get me this morning. He looked... upset. Scared. No-one’s telling me anything...’ He sighed, feeling bad for his brother. He always hated being kept in the dark and now he was doing the same thing to him. It wasn’t fair. But what else could he do? After a moment, peeked out from under the blankets. Sirius sat beside him, cross-legged, his face drawn and serious. Then he sighed and folded his hands behind his head, leaning against the headrest. ‘Fine. Don’t tell me. But I know it’s bad. I can feel it.’ He didn’t know what to say to that. But he also didn’t want to say nothing. So he opened his mouth, but all that came out was a shaky breath. ‘Are you all right?’ ‘I—I don’t—’ Regulus’ throat closed up. He wanted to tell Sirius, but the words felt trapped. ‘I won’t tell anyone,’ Sirius said, shifting closer. ‘I swear. If you tell me, I won’t say a word to anyone. Not to Mother, not to Father. Not even Dromeda will know—Cross my heart.’ Uncle Cygnus’ words came back to him, thundering through his mind. You’ll regret it. He was sure he would. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘It’s nothing, I—I’m fine.’ Sirius huffed. ‘You don’t look fine.’ ‘Well, I am,’ he said, turning away again. ‘And I don’t want to talk about it.’ A long silence followed after that, and if not for his brother’s breaths, he would’ve been sure he was alone again. Then the bed shifted and Regulus braced himself for more questions as Sirius adjusted his position – but they never came. Instead, there was a long, drawn-out sigh. ‘Fine,’ Sirius said, again. ‘If you don’t want to talk, then we won’t talk.’ Regulus expected him to leave after that. He expected the weight on the bed to lift. He expected his brother to huff in frustration and storm off. But the blankets lifted and Sirius crawled under them, beside him. Regulus frowned into the pillow. ‘What are you doing?’ ‘It’s a bit chilly,’ Sirius said simply. Regulus turned his head slightly to look at him. Sirius looked back, his face blank. There was no grin. No sign he thought it a joke. Nothing to indicate he’d pressure him any further. ‘You don’t have to stay here,’ Regulus mumbled. ‘I know.’ ‘Then why are you?’ ‘I’m your brother,’ he said. Regulus sighed, and neither of them said anything for a long while. Then Sirius sat up, saying, ‘D’you want me to bring you something?’ Regulus shook his head. ‘Not even some chocolate?’ He shook his head again. Sirius sighed, flopping back against the headboard. ‘You’re making this being a good older brother job very difficult, you know that?’ A small huff of something close to amusement escaped him before he could stop it. Sirius sat up again. ‘Was that a laugh?’ Regulus scowled and pulled the blankets over his face. ‘No.’ Sirius poked him in the side. ‘It was. I heard it. You’re laughing at me!’ ‘Just go away.’ Sirius seemed to hesitate for a moment. ‘Is that really what you want?’ Regulus’ breath hitched. He wanted to say yes – it would be easier, without his brother here he could just sleep and ignore the world. But he couldn’t get it over his lips. His fingers clenched the blankets. ‘I don’t know.’ ‘That’s all right. I wasn’t going to anyway.’ He lowered the blankets again. Sirius looked so... unbothered, so free, so indescribably at peace. A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed around it. ‘I don’t deserve it.’ ‘What?’ His stomach churned. He bit his lip, wanting to take the words back, but he knew he couldn’t. And Sirius was looking at him, waiting. And so he had to say, ‘I don’t deserve you staying.’ Sirius was quiet for a while. Then, slowly, he reached over and flicked him on the forehead. He flinched back, scowling, rubbing his head. ‘Ow! What did you do that for?!’ ‘That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say,’ Sirius said, lying back down, propping his head up with one hand. ‘You’re stuck with me whether you deserve it or not.’ He just stared at him. ‘So,’ Sirius said, in an exaggeratedly casual way, ‘since you’re stuck with me, what should we do?’ He blinked. What should they do? He didn’t want to do anything. ‘We could talk about something else,’ Sirius continued. ‘About, I dunno... about how I’m obviously the best brother ever.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Or how you’re going to owe me forever for sneaking you chocolate.’ ‘You didn’t sneak me chocolate.’ ‘Yet,’ Sirius corrected. ‘I could, though. If you want.’ ‘I don’t need chocolate.’ ‘Fine,’ Sirius said, sitting up. ‘Then I have no choice.’ He frowned. ‘No choice but what?’ Sirius wiggled his fingers. ‘To tickle you.’ Regulus’ eyes widened, and he tried to scramble away, but Sirius was faster, tackling him with all the force of a determined older brother. He yelped as Sirius’ hands found his sides, digging in just enough to make him squirm. ‘Stop it!’ he gasped, kicking at the blankets. ‘Say I’m the best brother ever.’ ‘No!’ Sirius grinned, still moving his hands. ‘Then you leave me no choice...’ ‘Fine! Fine! Y-you’re—you’re the b–best!’ Sirius stopped immediately, sitting back with a victorious smirk. ‘I knew it.’ He was still gasping for air, trying to come to from what had happened, so he couldn’t reply to that – but he didn’t have to. Something about it had lightened the mood, and they spent the rest of the day talking about silly little things, and Regulus thought no more about Uncle Cygnus’ angry face or Bellatrix’s wild curls, not even when Mother came and brought them down for dinner, and not even when she sent them both up to their respective bedrooms. All he could think of was how glad he was to be back home, with his parents and his brother by his side. All he could think of was how glad he was that things were finally the way they were supposed to be. Date: 23 August, 1969. Event: rab stays awake all night, scared. Narcissa finds him, takes him home. Orion uses Legilimency to find out what happened (Regulus won't tell them) and gets Sirius back home. Regulus spends the day in Walburga's bed. Sirius ends up next to him, tickling him, trying to cheer him up. It works. Characters: Black Family: Sirius Pollux Black Regulus Arcturus Black Narcissa Black Walburga Sopdet Black Orion Sirius Black