Chapter Text
Night fell in Grimmauld Place like a thick black cloak. Looking at it, all looked still. But within, if you were watching closely, if you listened very carefully, you found that the fabric really covered very little. It was more the darkness you had to get through.
Regulus was listening.
His mother’s voice, quiet but still shrill and angry. Most of her words were muffled through the two closed doors and staircase separating them, but he heard distinctly the words “careless,” “irresponsible,” and “disgrace.” Her lecture must be nearly over if she was resorting to two-syllable insults. The end-of-season Malfoy ball had gone wonderfully, but Siri had gotten into a debate with Miss Malfoy about the merits of various Ministry policies and evidently his views on the matter weren’t suitable for the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Luckily, Heir Malfoy hadn’t heard the discussion. Unluckily, Mother had.
Above him, Kreacher. Popping in and out of different rooms. Office. Library. Siri’s room. Portrait room. A pause here. Kreacher loved to admire the rich history of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Then back to the office following a call from Orion. Library. Office. Father needed a book, then. After so many nights reading in the office while ignoring the lectures downstairs, reading material tended to become sparse.
A door closing. Footsteps. His mother’s, sure and measured, like even her footsteps somehow indicated her status. No hesitation. No indication of regret, not that there ever was, but Regulus still checked. His mother made it to her rooms and Regulus focused all his attention on the parlor she had just left.
Two minutes. A chair scraping against the floor. Slow. Just a little too loud to be accidental. A door opened, then closed. Just a little too hard. Footsteps. Siri’s. Heavy, slower, and–a stumble. Slight, but noticeable. It had been bad, then. Regulus let out a breath and reached for his kit. Siri paused just short of the end of the staircase, close enough for Regulus to hear what had stopped him.
“Young Master Black, shall I clean up the parlor for you?” Kreacher had always been keenly aware of how to keep the mistress of the house happy.
A pause. Regulus knew how to translate what Siri really meant by now. The pause meant he was debating whether the punishment for a messy parlor in the morning would be worth the feeling of freedom it would give him.
“Yes, thank you.”
Defeat was always noticeable in Siri’s voice, but tonight it sounded more like concession.
A pause while Kreacher bowed before popping away (parlor), then Siri finished climbing the steps and reached his destination. His bedroom door closed, a few steps, then his window opened. Steady steps on the bricks outside, broken by scuffing as he slipped on one of them, then a slight thud on the roof as Siri sat down. Regulus followed through his own window.
It had become tradition, these nights on the roof. Siri would climb up, knowing Regulus was listening. Regulus would climb up, knowing Siri didn’t hear him. Siri would talk, sometimes about the weather, sometimes about the social season, sometimes about the various antics exhibited by the pureblood elite, never about the lecture he had just gotten. Regulus would clean the lacero marks, making quiet noises of agreement and interest, and would sometimes offer his thoughts. Some of them, at least. Siri was just a little too impatient for all of them. Before Siri started talking though, he would wait for Regulus.
In the past, before he got his letter, Siri would have spent his time on the roof looking at the stars. Running through the stories out loud, trying to find the happy endings. He’d taught Regulus to love the stars, so much so that he could now point at the sky and tell you a story about it on any given night. Since the letter, though, Siri tended to look north. His gaze was startling in the light of the stars, unblinking and focused somewhere else. Regulus thought, for a moment, that it looked a bit sad, but he wasn’t sure why.
“It might be better there.”
“Reggie! I didn’t hear you. Better…?”
“Hogwarts. It might be better there.”
Siri huffed a breath. A light chuckle. “How did you know?”
Regulus shrugged, then took his position. “You leave tomorrow. It makes sense.” You always look where you want to go.
Siri nodded, conceding the point. “D’you think–ow! Watch it with that! – D’you think the teachers there are…” as strict as she is.
Regulus paused, the alcohol-dipped rag suspended in midair after Siri’s outburst. He returned to dabbing at the wounds on his brother’s back, more gently this time. Was wine really the best for cleaning lacero marks? Probably not, but the more watered-down the wine in the cellar was, the easier Siri would have it. “I dunno. Prob’ly not all of ‘em.” Siri relaxed, then winced as the movement reopened a recently dried mark. Regulus winced too. Orion left the office, his book dropped on the floor for Kreacher to pick up. He did, almost immediately.
“But some of them.”
“Prob’ly.” I wish I could tell you different.
“Bet the house elves there cook better than Kreacher, though.”
“Prob’ly.” Kreacher popped into the house elves’ quarters. Must have finished in the parlor.
“Yeah.” Siri drifted into silence.
“Think you’ll room with anyone we know?”
“Think I’d better. Mother would have an episode if I roomed with some mudblood.”
“Dungeons prob’ly aren’t that bad. You’ll see mermaids when you’re studying.”
Siri turned around then, looking at Regulus in disbelief. “You wanna see mermaids? There’ll be loads more interesting things in the lake than that.”
“Like what?”
“I dunno, sharks and octo-whatevers and… something with teeth.” Something exciting and loud. The dungeons are too quiet.
“Mermaids have teeth.” You’re just not listening hard enough.
“Yeah, but they’re all…girly.” Not good enough. Boring.
“Yeah, reckon sharks are more fun.” Mermaids are smarter. “You’re going to write though?”
“Every week.”
“Good.”
A pause. Siri seemed to be lost in his thoughts, a rare occurrence for someone who kept his thoughts so close to his lips. Then he shook his head lightly, ran a nervous hand through his ebony hair, disrupting the starlight it reflected. “You done?”
“Yeah.”
“Mother asleep?”
“Yeah.”
“Father?”
“Yeah.”
“Kreacher?”
Pause. “Yeah.”
“Good. ‘Night then.” Siri stood. Regulus followed. Siri went to his room. Regulus did the same. Siri went to sleep. Regulus watered down a little more wine.
–
Breakfast was simple. Only five platters of food on the table. Orion ate, then excused himself. Siri ate just a little too quickly, earning a look from Walburga. But only a look, because then the plates were cleared and they all went to the station. Kreacher lugged Siri’s things onto the train as Siri walked behind Walburga, pausing when she did. Measured steps. Perfectly matching. Fake. Regulus followed.
“I expect regular reports of your studies.” Short, to the point, perfectly presentable. Just like her black hair, pulled into a bun at the base of her head, each hair laying exactly as it should. Calculated. Her eyes, distant and reminiscent of a crow. Never a good set of eyes to see up close.
“Of course, Mother.” The heir’s voice. Matching Mother’s, always. The heir’s posture, perfectly straight, perfectly balanced, perfectly superior. Both just a little too forced. I’ll send you the exact amount of news you require, and no more.
“If your accommodations are…unacceptable,” if you’re roomed with one of those…things, “I expect a letter right away.”
“Of course, Mother.” Not if I can find an owl willing to lose it for me.
“Good. Kreacher!” Pop. “Let’s be off.”
Regulus looked at Siri. Siri looked back. Smiled. Winked. Just a little too obvious. Regulus smiled back. Turned. Followed.
He’s not going to make it into Slytherin.