Chapter Text
Sirius’ stomach growls as he lays on his bed. He stares at the ceiling, contemplating whether being sent to bed without dinner for the third time that week was what finally sent him over the edge. If tonight was the night that he finally left this hell and disappeared into the night. Would he be able to convince Regulus to go with him? Would he still leave if his brother chose to stay?
Cramping joins the growl of his empty stomach. His thoughts shift from escape to food. Breakfast had been a chocolate bar he found in his desk drawer and a cigarette because one of his parents had locked and charmed his door the night prior. The charm finally wore off just before lunch, which was cut short when his father caught a whiff of the tobacco poorly hidden by his eldest’s cologne and threw Sirius’ plate against the wall. He wonders if he could convince Kreacher to bring him something from the kitchen. Probably not. That damn elf hates him almost as much as his parents do.
He sighs, resigning himself to another night of hunger when something crashes downstairs. It sounds fragile. Glass? Porcelain? Ceramic? Sirius couldn’t tell what it was, but his blood ran cold when he heard it. The memory of years of pain rushed to the forefront of his mind. Beatings and curses cast on him for the slightest of transgressions. The tiniest of slivers of his mind dared to hope that Regulus, the favorite son, would be spared from such punishments.
Then his mother’s shouting barely cuts through the ringing in his ears as he jumps out of bed. “Crucio!”
The blood-curdling scream filling Grimmauld Place shatters something in Sirius. He’s used to hearing that agony in his own voice. Part of him was okay with accepting that pain if it meant Regulus never had to feel it. But now it’s his baby brother’s screams fueling the adrenaline flooding his veins. His hunger is forgotten, replaced by pure panic, when the door doesn’t open.
“No,” Sirius breathes. “No, no, no, no.” He tries the doorknob again. Locked. “Alohamora.” Nothing. The door must be charmed again. “Fucking OPEN!” he snaps as he throws himself at the unyielding wood. His vision is blurred with tears, shoulder sore and bruised when the door starts to crack. Fifteen minutes have passed by the time that first crack grows enough that it finally gives way.
Pain shoots down his arm like lightning when he hits the floor in the hall. Like his hunger, the pain is pushed to the back of his mind by Regulus’ sounds of agony. He winces at the splintered wood digging into his palms as he pushes himself back to his feet. The shrieking. The sobs. It’s all he can hear as he races down the hall. He takes the stairs three at a time, stumbling when he reaches the bottom, and follows his brother’s voice to the sitting room.
Shards of the vase Regulus broke catch his eye first. Delicate painted porcelain scattered across the floor even out into the hallway. Then his attention quickly snaps to the boy writhing on the floor and the enraged woman looming over him. How long has it been? Sixteen, seventeen minutes?
“Expelliarmus!”
The spell passes his lips faster than Sirius can process. Fear for his own safety slowly creeps into his mind as their mother’s wand clatters across the floor and Regulus finally goes quiet. He feels the familiar tightness in his chest as he locks eyes with his mother for the few seconds that it took for his mind to register what he has to do to stay alive. He has to run. If he stays in this house for even another hour, he wouldn’t see another sunrise.
“How da-”
“Petrificus totalus!”
The surprised gasp as Walburga is paralyzed is like a spark of hope. Orion had left just after Sirius had been banished to his room for some work emergency. So, he wouldn’t be back to cast the counter-curse and free her until the boys were long gone. Kreacher was watching from the corner of the room. He’s gone out of his way to entertain or protect Regulus in the past. Sirius knows how much that elf loves his brother. He wouldn’t do anything to put him in danger. He won’t free Walburga. At least, not until they’re out the door.
Sirius’ hands shake as he pushes his wand through his tied up hair and drops to his knees beside the trembling boy in the middle of the room. He’s afraid to touch his brother, to pick him up and carry him away. His shallow breathing and unfocused eyes are so painfully familiar to Sirius. He knows all too well how the bone deep ache lingers for days after the sharp, burning pain ends. How much it hurts to be touched and moved. When he endures the cruciatus, he’s usually left to suffer wherever he dropped until he can drag himself to his room.
But they don’t have time. “Reggie,” he softly calls. His breathing doesn’t change; eyes don’t move. There’s no sign that he was heard at all. “I’m sorry,” Sirius breathes as he collects the small boy in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he repeats when Regulus cries out.
He glances back to their mother, rage and hatred burning in her eyes, before he runs back up to his room. He wants to take the time to check his brother for injuries as he sets him on the bed, but he doesn’t have time. There’s already a countdown in his head until they have to be out of this god forsaken house. Regulus is still mostly conscious. He’s still breathing. He’s in pain, but alive and that will have to be enough for now.
There’s been a checklist in his head for this very moment for years now. What can he fit in one bag in five minutes? Clothes. He grabs enough from his closet for two outfits for himself and darts across the hall to collect the same from Regulus’ room. While he’s there, he grabs his brother’s shoes and the stuffed dog that’s held a permanent spot on his bed since he was five. They can get new school supplies and toiletries, so he leaves those. He grabs Regulus’ wand off his desk before returning to his room. He doesn’t waste time packing everything neatly. His brother’s wand joins his own in his hair and everything else is dropped in a duffle bag he’d stashed under his bed.
“Siri?” The small, confused voice startles Sirius as he climbs up on his desk. He had fully expected for him to still be out of it for a while longer.
“I’m right here, Reg,” he calls back, trying to keep his voice steady. “How are you feeling?”
“Hurts,” Regulus whimpers.
“I’m sorry.” It’s all Sirius can think to say as he pulls a small lockbox from the air vent. He checks it for the thousandth time since he got back from Hogwarts. His and Regulus’ birth certificates and passports, an address book, a hundred euros, fifty galleons, and a key to his personal vault at Gringotts. “This will never happen again,” he promises, hopping off the desk and dropping the box into the bag.
“How?” Regulus asks as he watches his brother throw on a pair of boots.
It takes a moment for Sirius to process that question. He’d never considered that Regulus didn’t fantasize about running away like he did. He’s never thought of an escape plan. Sirius has spent the past eleven years of his life protecting this boy from the worst of their parents’ abuse and neglect. Regulus saw what Orion and Walburga put him through, they’d started forcing him to watch when he was three, but this was the first time he’d felt more than a hard slap before his brother stepped in.
He always felt safe so long as Sirius was there. He was never afraid enough to need to run, so he never thought about it. “We’re going to leave,” he explains as he helps Regulus sit up and put his shoes on. “We need to be gone before dad gets back. Okay? We have to run.”
Regulus glances to the door. “I’m scared,” he finally confesses as Sirius finishes tying his shoes.
“I know, baby. I’m scared, too. But it’s not safe here for you anymore, and it hasn’t been safe for me in years.” Sirius slings the duffle bag over his shoulder and stands. “We have to leave now. Do you think you can run?” Regulus winces as he slides off the bed, holding on to Sirius when standing makes him dizzy. As he takes a step towards the door, he hesitantly nods. Then he stumbles and quickly shakes his head as pain throbbed through him with the second step. “It’s okay. Come here.”
It breaks Sirius’ heart to feel how Regulus tenses and whimpers from both pain and instinctive fear when he’s picked up. He wishes he could do more to comfort him. To take away his pain and ensure he never has to feel it again. But all he can do is hold him tight and run.
Sirius’ mind races as he rushes out of his bedroom and down the hall for the last time. Where will they go? Who can they trust? He’s more careful as he descends the stairs. If he tripped while carrying Regulus, he doesn’t know if he’d be able to catch himself. Walburga’s glare from the sitting room is almost palpable as he darts past on his way to the front door. There’s a warm breeze when they’re finally outside. It would be a pleasant evening on any other occasion.
The closest entrance to the Ministry is just a few blocks east. He contemplates going there, reporting his parents to an Auror. The Cruciatus is, after all, a forbidden curse. They’d be thrown in Azkaban simply for casting it, let alone casting it on children. But who would believe him? Sirius Black, the black sheep of the Black family? He doesn’t know how he’d prove the abuse they’ve been through. The neglect. Walburga and Orion stopped parenting the moment Regulus started taking a bottle instead of breastfeeding. They’d left his care to a nanny that came by for six hours every weekday and five-year-old Sirius. And they’d fired the nanny the night they caught him in the kitchen in the middle of the night, bottle in one hand, baby in the other.
Even if he did manage to convince an Auror that he was telling the truth, Orion worked at the Ministry. Surely, they’d believe someone they worked with over a teenager known for his rebellious spirit. No. He can’t take that chance. Not when Regulus’ safety is on the line.
Sirius runs west. There’s a park with a bus stop a few miles from Grimmauld Place. They can figure out where to go from there.