Chapter Text
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July 11th
The house was silent, the kind of silence that pressed against Regulus’s ears like the weight of deep water. His heart hammered so loudly he was sure it would wake them. He didn’t dare move at first, huddled in the shadows of his bedroom, the faint scent of singed fabric lingering from the spell that had torn through his robes earlier. His hands trembled as he tightened his cloak around himself.
The pain was dull now, though it still radiated through his ribs and stomach, a sharp ache flaring with every shallow breath. His arms throbbed where he’d braced himself against the floor after collapsing under the Cruciatus curse. He didn’t dare inspect the full damage. His father’s hex had struck his side, leaving a fiery, raw sensation that made it hard to stand upright. And his mother… well, he didn’t want to think about the moments that had followed.
Regulus winced as he straightened. A deep, stabbing pain bloomed in his ribs, forcing him to pause, his breaths shallow and uneven. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to stay quiet. He’d been quiet his whole life. Why should this moment be any different? The thought was bitter, but he swallowed it down like poison.
Gripping his wand with white-knuckled determination, he crept toward the door. Every creak of the floorboard beneath him felt like a betrayal. Every whisper of sound in the ancient house sent his heart racing. He imagined the portraits coming alive, screaming his name. He imagined his mother’s cold, furious voice slicing through the air, “Where do you think you’re going, boy?”
But no one stirred.
At the top of the stairs, he froze, his breath hitching as he glanced toward his parents’ closed door. His stomach churned, his knees nearly buckling under the weight of his fear. For one horrible second, he thought he heard movement. But the house remained still, its shadows stretching long and ominous across the walls.
Keep going, he told himself. His hand shook as he gripped the banister. One step at a time.
By the time he slipped out the front door, his chest ached from holding his breath. The cool night air hit him like a spell, sharp and cutting against his damp skin. He staggered into the darkness, the gravel beneath his shoes crunching too loudly in his ears.
He froze, glancing back at the house in disbelief. The wards… how hadn’t they gone off? He knew they were there, layered with cruel precision to detect any disobedience. He wasn’t sure he’d bypassed them properly; his magic had felt sluggish and erratic, barely responding under the strain of the curses he’d endured. Yet somehow, they hadn’t stopped him. He didn’t understand it, but he wasn’t about to waste time questioning it.
He was free.
The streets were empty, the world bathed in cold moonlight. Regulus pulled his cloak tighter, his free hand pressed to his side. Every step sent a jolt of pain through his body, sharp and relentless, like shards of glass digging into his ribs with every movement. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t think. If he thought, he would fall apart.
The night was alive with sounds, rustling leaves, distant dogs barking, the wind carrying whispers that sounded too much like voices. He glanced over his shoulder again and again, convinced he was being followed. His breathing grew shallow, quickened by the mounting panic.
Every inch of him hurt. His ribs throbbed with a searing pain, his stomach twisted and aching from where another curse had struck him. His knees threatened to buckle with every step, but he forced himself to keep moving. He couldn’t stop now.
You should have stayed. You’ll never make it. The voice in his head was cruel, but he shoved it aside.
Regulus’s foot caught on a loose stone, and he fell hard, his knees slamming into the ground. He bit his lip to stifle a cry, the taste of blood flooding his mouth. For a moment, he stayed there, shaking and gasping as the pain flared through his body. He wanted to lie there, let the street swallow him whole, but the thought of being caught, of being dragged back, pushed him to move.
He pressed his hands to the ground, his raw palms stinging as he forced himself upright. His vision swam, the edges blurring as he stumbled forward. His breaths were shallow and rapid, each one clawing at his throat as he fought against the rising panic.
They’ll find you. They always find you. The thought gnawed at him, and he shook his head, trying to dislodge it.
He kept walking. His mind was a storm of fear, pain, and memories he couldn’t outrun. The last time his mother had used the Cruciatus on him, she had looked almost bored. A lesson, she’d called it.
The blinding headlights came out of nowhere, flooding the street and sending his shadow skittering ahead of him. Regulus stumbled back, his wand half-raised. The screech of brakes echoed in the empty street, followed by the metallic clank of the bus door swinging open.
“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard,” came the cheery voice of the conductor, Stan Shunpike, who blinked at Regulus with wide, startled eyes. “Blimey, mate, you look like—”
“The Potter’s house,” Regulus rasped, his voice hoarse and trembling. He shoved a handful of Sickles into Stan’s hand before collapsing onto the nearest seat.
Stan stared for a moment but said nothing. The bus jolted into motion, sending Regulus sprawling against the window. He didn’t care. The world outside blurred into streaks of color, and for the first time in hours, days, fucking weeks he allowed himself to breathe.
The pain throbbed with each beat of his heart, but he ignored it. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass, his gray eyes vacant as he stared at the night rushing past. The Potters. He was going to the Potters.
To Sirius.
But what if they didn’t want him? The thought clawed at his mind, sharp and relentless. What if Sirius slammed the door in his face? What if he really was as unwanted as his parents had said countless times.
Worthless.
He closed his eyes, his fingers curling into fists. The bus’s chaotic movement rocked him like a cradle, but there was no comfort in it. Only the endless, gnawing ache of uncertainty.
His hands burned, the skin scraped raw from where he had fallen earlier, and he risked a glance at his palms. Even in the faint light filtering through the hall window, he could see the blood smeared across his skin. He bit back a curse and wiped his hands against his cloak, though it did little to hide it.
Regulus’ mind spiraled, replaying every argument, every curse, every cruel word. His mother’s cold sneer, his father’s sharp disapproval… they were burned into his memory, etched so deeply he wasn’t sure he’d ever be free of them.
The night outside was endless, the trees and houses blending together in a dark, shapeless smear. Regulus closed his eyes, his fingers curling into fists as he tried to steady his breathing. For now, he was moving forward. It was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
The Knight Bus jolted forward with a sudden lurch, and Regulus had to grip the armrest to keep from sliding out of his seat. His knuckles were white, his nails digging into the cracked leather as the world outside blurred past. His ribs screamed in protest at every bump in the road, each jolt sending fresh pain rippling through his battered body.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to steady his breathing, but it was no use. His thoughts churned like a storm, chaotic and relentless.
I hate them.
The words repeated over and over in his mind, bitter and sharp, like glass cutting into old wounds. He hated his parents, hated the house he had grown up in, hated the family name that weighed on him like chains. But most of all, he hated himself. For staying, for enduring, for being too fucking weak to leave until now.
The curse still lingered in his bones, a phantom ache that made his hands tremble and his teeth chatter. He thought of his mother’s cold smile, the way her wand had barely wavered as she hurled curse after curse at him, her voice echoing in the cavernous house: “You are a disgrace to the Black family name.”
His chest tightened as the memories surged forward, and he clutched at his side, willing himself not to fall apart. He felt so small, so hollow. His head throbbed, and the edges of his vision blurred. His body begged for rest, but he couldn’t give in. Not yet.
The bus rattled around him, its garish purple walls too bright, too strange. Regulus barely noticed the conductor, who kept glancing at him nervously. He stared out the window, the world outside endless darkness and faint light, and tried to hold on to the one thought that kept him moving forward. Safety.
He had memorized the address Sirius had sent him over a year ago, burning the letter so his parents wouldn’t find it. He hadn’t gone then. He’d told himself he couldn’t. He needed to stay. Needed to protect Sirius, even if his brother didn’t want his protection.
But Sirius was safe now. And Regulus wasn’t.
Hadn’t been for a long time. Longer than he cared to think about.
His breathing grew shallow, his chest heaving as the pain flared again. He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the cool glass. His fingers trembled as they brushed against his wand, the only weapon he had left. He hated how useless it felt, how useless he felt.
The bus jolted to a stop, the sharp motion nearly throwing him forward.
“We’re here,” came Stan’s voice, hesitant and awkward.
Regulus forced himself to move, his body heavy and sluggish. His knees wobbled as he stumbled down the steps, the cold night air hitting him like a slap. He didn’t bother to thank Stan. His voice was too weak, his mind too scattered. The doors slammed shut behind him, and the bus disappeared with a loud crack, leaving him alone on the quiet street.
He looked up, his vision swimming as he spotted the small, welcoming house at the end of the lane. Warm yellow light spilled from its windows, and he felt a pang of something he couldn’t name… longing, perhaps.
His legs moved without him realizing, dragging him closer to the house. His boots scraped against the gravel driveway, each step heavier than the last. The ache in his ribs grew sharper, and his head pounded, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
By the time he reached the door, he was trembling violently. His breath came in shallow gasps, and his vision blurred until the house seemed to sway in front of him. He raised a hand to knock, but his arm gave out, and he collapsed against the door, his body too weak to hold him up any longer.
For a long moment, the world was silent except for his ragged breathing. The night pressed in around him, cold and unforgiving. He wondered if anyone had heard him, or if he’d be left here, crumpled on the doorstep like some discarded thing.
Just when despair began to creep in, faint shuffling sounds came from within. The floorboards groaned, and his heart stuttered. A minute passed, though it felt like an eternity, before the door was pulled open.
“…Regulus?”
James Potter’s voice was sharp with shock, his eyes wide as he took in the figure slumped against the doorframe. Regulus tried to speak, to explain, but no words came. His throat was too dry, his mind too clouded. He managed a faint, shaky breath before the darkness began to close in.
“Merlin—Mum! Dad! Sirius!” James shouted, kneeling down and reaching for Regulus. His hands hovered for a moment, unsure where to touch without causing more pain.
Regulus felt himself being lifted, and though his body protested the movement, he was too far gone to resist. James’s strong arms cradled him, and Regulus heard him mutter something, words he couldn’t make out over the roaring in his ears.
“Bloody hell,” James whispered, his voice thick with disbelief and anger. Regulus was too thin, his body frighteningly light, his pale skin marred by bruises and cuts. James carried him inside, his heart hammering as he called out again, “Mum!”
Sirius appeared first, his face twisted in confusion that quickly turned to worry when he saw who James was carrying.
“Reg?” Sirius’s voice broke, and he took a step forward before stopping abruptly, his hands clenched into fists. He stared at his brother, his gray eyes flicking over the bruises, the blood, the cuts. He looked physically ill, his face pale and his jaw tight.
“He’s hurt bad,” James said, his voice urgent, panic bleeding into his words. Euphemia hurried into the room, her wand already in hand and a small wooden case tucked under her arm.
“Bring him to the couch,” she instructed, her tone calm but firm. James obeyed, gently lowering Regulus onto the cushions. Sirius followed, his movements stiff and hesitant, his hands flexing at his sides.
Euphemia knelt beside Regulus, her expression softening with worry as she began casting diagnostic spells. Pale blue light danced across Regulus’s battered body, revealing fractured ribs, deep bruises, and lingering traces of dark magic. She frowned.
“He’s been hit with the Cruciatus,” she muttered, mostly to herself, her lips pressing into a thin line.
She reached into her case and pulled out several small jars of salves, along with a vial of clear potion. “James, bring me some clean cloths and warm water,” she said briskly. James darted into the kitchen without hesitation.
Sirius stood frozen, his pale face betraying the growing storm inside him. His breaths came shallow and fast as his eyes darted over the injuries covering his brother’s frail frame. “My parents did this,” he said suddenly, his voice sharp and raw.
Euphemia glanced up at him, her gaze kind but steady. “Sirius, stay with me. We’ll take care of him first, then talk about what happened.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, grounding him.
“I—” Sirius’s voice broke, and he clenched his fists tightly. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve—”
“You couldn’t have stopped this, Sirius,” she said gently, but firmly. “What you can do is help him now.”
James returned, setting a bowl of steaming water and a stack of cloths beside her. Euphemia dampened a cloth and began dabbing at the blood and grime on Regulus’s face. When she moved to the deeper wounds on his side, Regulus let out a low, unconscious whimper.
Sirius flinched, his hands trembling at his sides. He stepped closer and knelt beside his brother, his anger melting into something raw and desperate. “Reggie,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.
Euphemia handed him a jar of salve. “Work this into the bruises,” she instructed, giving him something to focus on. Sirius nodded wordlessly and took it, his hands unsteady as he began applying the ointment to Regulus’s ribs.
“This wasn’t an accident,” James said, his voice tight and trembling with restrained anger.
“No,” Sirius said sharply, his movements halting for a moment. His eyes flicked to James, dark with fury. “They did this on purpose. It’s how they are… how they’ve always been.” His voice cracked, but he forced himself to keep going. “And I left him there.”
Euphemia’s hand stilled for a moment, then she placed it lightly on Sirius’s shoulder. “You couldn’t have saved him back then, darling,” she said gently. “But he’s here now. Safe. And that’s what matters.”
James stepped closer, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he watched Sirius work. The room fell silent except for the crackling fire and Regulus’s uneven breaths.
When Euphemia finally leaned back, her spells and salves having worked to mend some of the more pressing injuries, she met Sirius’s gaze. “He needs rest now. We’ve done what we can for the pain and wounds. The rest will take time.”
James started to move toward Regulus, but Sirius stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I’ll do it,” he said quietly, his voice steady but low.
James hesitated, then nodded, stepping aside. Sirius carefully slipped an arm under Regulus, lifting him with surprising gentleness. For a moment, he just stood there, holding his brother close and staring down at him with a mixture of anger, guilt, and grief.
“I should’ve been there,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
James watched silently, his chest tightening at the sight. Euphemia touched his arm gently. “Take him upstairs, dear. We’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.”
Sirius nodded, carrying Regulus up the stairs as James and Euphemia exchanged worried looks. The house, usually so warm and welcoming, felt heavy with the weight of what had just happened.
The door creaked softly as Sirius carried Regulus into the bedroom he shared with James. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the moon filtering through the window. Sirius crossed the threshold carefully, as if afraid Regulus might break further if he jostled him. His younger brother was alarmingly light in his arms, his thin frame more noticeable now that Sirius had the chance to really look at him. Every bruise, every cut. It was unbearable.
Sirius gently lowered Regulus onto his bed, his movements deliberate and precise. For a moment, he just stood there, staring down at him. His chest ached, a mix of anger, guilt, and heartbreak swirling inside him.
James lingered nearby, his expression soft but worried. “I’ll grab some more wash cloths,” he offered quietly, disappearing from the room to give Sirius a moment.
Sirius knelt by the bed, his hand hovering over Regulus’s face. He wanted to touch him, to reassure himself that Regulus was still breathing, but the sight of the bruises stopped him.
“What did they do to you?” he whispered, his voice shaking.
When James returned with the clean cloths, Sirius took them wordlessly. His movements were stiff, his jaw clenched as began gently cleaning the blood from Regulus’s hands.
Regulus stirred faintly, a low groan escaping his lips. Sirius froze, his hand trembling as he withdrew the cloth.
“It’s okay,” Sirius said softly, his voice cracking. “You’re safe now.”
James watched from where he stood at the foot of the bed, his chest tight as he saw Sirius struggle to hold himself together. He had never seen Sirius like this, so raw, so vulnerable.
Sirius worked slowly, his anger fueling his focus as he wiped away the grime and blood. He found an old set of pajamas from his drawer. Ones he had outgrown but kept for some reason, and carefully helped Regulus change. His hands shook as he pulled the soft fabric over Regulus’s fragile frame, taking extra care not to disturb the bruises that littered his skin.
When he was done, Sirius sat back on his heels, letting out a shaky breath. James stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“You did good,” James said gently.
Sirius let out a bitter laugh. “Did I?” He shook his head, his voice low and filled with self-loathing. “I left him there, James. For years. I left him to them.”
James didn’t know what to say, so he guided Sirius over to his bed. They sat side by side, the room heavy with silence except for the faint, uneven breaths of Regulus sleeping.
“I didn’t think he’d ever leave,” Sirius admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He rubbed his face with his hands, his shoulders hunched. “When I left, I thought—I thought maybe he wanted to stay. That he agreed with them. But I still hoped, you know? I hoped he’d come. I stayed up some nights just… waiting.”
James frowned, his heart breaking for his best friend. “You sent him the address,” he reminded Sirius. “You did what you could.”
“I didn’t do enough,” Sirius shot back. “I thought about going back so many times. But I never did. I was scared, James. I thought if I stepped foot in that house again, I’d never leave. That they’d make me stay.”
“You’re here now,” James said firmly. “He’s here now. That’s what matters.”
Sirius swallowed hard, nodding, but his eyes remained fixed on Regulus’s frail form.
A soft knock interrupted them, and Euphemia entered with a tray of tea. She placed it on James’s nightstand before sitting beside Sirius. Her hand found his hair, stroking it gently, lovingly.
“He’s going to be okay,” she said softly. “It’ll take time, but he’ll heal. And he’s always welcome here, Sirius. You both are.”
Sirius leaned into her touch, his eyes brimming with tears he didn’t try to hide. Euphemia kissed the top of his head before standing. “I’ll check on him in the morning. Try to get some rest, boys.”
As she left, the room fell silent again. Sirius looked at James, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t protect him, James. I should’ve. I should’ve been there.”
James didn’t hesitate, pulling him close and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Sirius resisted for only a moment before he let himself collapse against James, his head resting on his lap.
“They didn’t hit us, you know,” Sirius said quietly, his voice muffled and raw. “Not like normal kids get hit. That would’ve been too…mundane for them. Too beneath them.” He laughed bitterly, a sound that was more pain than humor.
James stayed quiet, letting Sirius continue.
“They had spells for everything. Spells that made you feel like your skin was on fire. Spells that made it hard to breathe or kept you awake for days. If you talked back, if you didn’t meet their expectations… You’d feel it.” Sirius’s voice cracked, and his breathing hitched as another wave of emotion hit him.
“I used to try and take it for him,” he said, his hands trembling in his lap. “Reggie… he was so small. So quiet. He wouldn’t fight back. And I—” Sirius broke off, his voice strangled.
James’s hand stilled for a moment, then resumed its soothing circles.
“I’d step in. Say it was my fault. Take the blame. And for a while, they let me. I thought I was protecting him. But it didn’t stop, James. It never stopped. When I finally left… I begged him to come with me.” Sirius’s voice cracked again, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “He wouldn’t. Said he couldn’t. Looking back now, I can see it. He wasn’t being stubborn. He wasn’t being a coward. He was just terrified.”
The room went quiet except for Sirius’s uneven breaths. James tightened his hold on him, his throat constricting at the weight of what Sirius had just revealed.
“They broke him, James,” Sirius whispered, his voice barely audible now. “Piece by piece. And I wasn’t there to stop it.”
“You didn’t leave because you didn’t care,” James said quietly. “You left because you couldn’t survive there anymore. That’s not the same as abandoning him.”
Sirius didn’t respond, they just sat there like that in silence until eventually Sirius’ breathing gradually evened out as sleep overtook him. His head grew heavy in James’s lap, and soon, the steady rhythm of his breaths signaled that he had fallen asleep.
James sat still, staring at the firelight flickering on the walls. His gaze eventually drifted to Regulus, lying motionless on the bed. The moonlight streaming through the window illuminated his face, sharpening the contours of his features and casting deep shadows across the bruises marring his skin.
James’s mind raced. He barely knew Regulus. Just glimpses in the halls, brief interactions during Quidditch matches. Sirius had always kept his distance from his brother, and James had assumed it was because Regulus wanted what their parents had to offer. The pure-blood legacy. The power.
But now… now he wasn’t so sure.
The boy lying on the bed didn’t look like someone who wanted any part of that world. He looked like someone who had fought and lost. Over and over again. James’s chest tightened, anger curling hot and sharp in his stomach.
He glanced down at Sirius, still asleep, his face softened in the glow of the firelight. James ran a hand through his own hair, the weight of everything he’d just heard settling heavy in his chest. Whatever came next, he knew one thing for sure: he wouldn’t let them go through this alone.
Regulus shifted slightly in his sleep, his face pinched as if even dreams couldn’t bring him peace. James felt a pang of something… pity, maybe. Or guilt. Or something else he couldn’t quite name.
He sighed, his hand still resting on Sirius’s shoulder as he stared at Regulus, his thoughts a jumble of questions and worries. He stayed awake long after Sirius drifted off, watching over both of them as the night stretched on.