Doppelgänger

by katekatreads

Summary:

/ˈdɑpəlˌɡɛŋəɹ/ · noun. a person who is almost identical to another.

almost being the operative word.

OR

Walburga has had it with the Heir Apparent, and forces Regulus to drink Polyjuice Potion to pretend to be Sirius at Hogwarts. How hard could it be to impersonate Sirius Black, the most obnoxious brother known to man?

Chapter 1: A Clever Plan

April 1975

 

Friday, April 17th, Sirius Black received a letter. The family owl unceremoniously dumped it onto his breakfast plate, ruining his carefully arranged spread of pastries and eggs, and simultaneously, ruining his morning. Sirius picked the greasy letter off his breakfast plate, handling it as if it were a particularly ripe banana peel he’d just plucked from the garbage.

 

At the exact same moment, Regulus received an identical letter carefully placed on an empty spot on the table. Both brothers were too preoccupied to meet each others’ eye across the Great Hall.

 

Sirius peered down at the family crest stamped onto the envelope, Toujours pur engraved in dark green wax, sealing the letter closed. Sirius could tell from the address that Walburga had sent it.

 

James eyed him across the table. “That from you-know-who?” 

 

Sirius blinked. “Yeah, looks like it.”

 

James shook his head, and without missing a beat, asked, “once you’ve opened it, can I burn it?”

 

Sirius laughed, but it felt slightly forced. His family hardly contacted him these days; they most certainly didn’t send him letters to exchange small talk. Whatever was in this letter, it had to be important, which meant it was something Sirius probably didn’t want to know. He debated not opening it at all, stuffing it in his bag to deal with later, but he knew he would agonize over not knowing just as much as he’d likely agonized over knowing.

 

He sighed and slid his butterknife under the seal, breaking open the letter and freeing the words on the page. His eyes skimmed Walburga’s scrawling cursive, and his face fell rapidly.

 

“What is it?” James asked, mid-buttering his third piece of toast.

 

Sirius swallowed hard, and found the words wouldn’t come. Walburga always had the uncanny ability to silence him even from kilometers away.

 

“Sirius?” Remus asked again, and Sirius shook himself from his thoughts.

 

“I’ve got to go home this weekend,” he said dully, forcing his tone to remain even, “Wally’s arranged it all with Dumbles, I guess. We leave tonight.”

 

“That’s shit, Pads,” Peter said immediately.

 

“Why would Dumbledore approve that?” Remus asked, anger evident in his tone.

 

“More importantly,” James cut in, “what does she want that you have to go home for? What can’t wait?”

 

Sirius found himself scanning the Slytherin table for Regulus, and their eyes locked. Their relationship had taken a turn for the worse this year, as Sirius did everything in his power to rebel against the House of Black as Regulus seemed to fall further into it. But he saw his own trepidation matched on Regulus’s face, and this brought him some comfort, though minimal.

 

“Who knows,” Sirius laughed, trying to ease the tension, “she’s proper insane if you ask me.”

 

He made a valiant effort to return to his breakfast, but his carefully selected pastries now felt tainted. Sirius reached for a biscuit instead, gnawing on a corner. 

 

“You said we --” Remus started, but Sirius threw him a scathing look and Remus quickly, and wisely, let the sentence hang. His friends knew better than to mention his brother, especially so early in the morning and without any alcohol in his system to soften the blow.

 

He felt Regulus’s eyes on him for the rest of breakfast, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet his brother’s eyes again.

 

Sirius did his best to act normal for the rest of the day, but it was like the words from the letter had bled off the parchment and painted themselves across his skin. Every step he took, every muscle he flexed, seemed to remind him of what was waiting for him that evening. In a few short hours he’d be off to Grimmauld Place, with no one but Regulus to witness what transpired. No one to save him.

 

You have disappointed us for the last time, the closing line of the letter read, and we will tolerate your insolence no longer. You will learn, Sirius, or you may die trying. 

 

Sirius swallowed hard. He wasn’t even sure what he’d done this time, to be honest, but that hardly seemed to matter to Walburga these days. Any small infraction was cause to punish him, cause to bloody him beyond recognition to shape him into a better, more noble heir.

 

Once they’d returned to their dorm for the evening, he packed for Grimmauld in relative silence, and his friends watched him grimly.

 

“Just two days, Pads,” James said reassuringly.

 

A lot could happen in two days.

 

“Maybe just…keep your head down?” Peter squeaked, and Sirius found he didn’t even have the energy to spare to snap at him for such a stupid remark.

 

“We’ll be here when you get back, Pads. Whatever you need, yeah?” Remus said softly, twisting his sweater in his hands, a nervous tell.

 

Sirius looked up from his trunk then, taking in his friends’ anxious faces.

 

“Godric, you lot need to worry less,” he joked, “I’m not off to a funeral. It’ll be fine; I’ll be fine.”

 

He wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure them or himself.

 

He levitated his trunk beside him down to Dumbledore’s office, turning down his friends’ offer to accompany him. The halls were deserted, everyone off having fun with their Friday night, and the thought did nothing to lessen Sirius’s foul mood.

 

“Fizzing whizzbees,” he hissed angrily at Dumbledore’s guardian gargoyle, and it spun to reveal the stone staircase.

 

Sirius stomped up the steps, trunk floating behind him, and knocked hard on Dumbledore’s office door.

 

“Enter, my boy,” Dumbledore called, and Sirius opened the door to Dumbledore’s study to see Regulus already standing there.

 

“Ah, right on time!” Dumbledore sang, eyeing Sirius’s trunk. “You two ready to go?”

 

“Yup,” Sirius said, popping the ‘p’. 

 

“Yes, sir,” Regulus replied, always one to follow proper decorum.

 

“Excellent, excellent,” Dumbledore said, “I’ve created this portkey to bring you back to Grimmauld Place.”

 

He held out a gobstone to them, and both brothers regarded it dubiously. 

 

“Now just hold it between you like this--” and Dumbledore pushed the gobstone into Sirius’s hand, then dragged Regulus’s hand on top of it. They both kept their free hand on their trunk.

 

The three of them stood there in silence as the seconds ticked by, and with them, Sirius grew to doubt his own sanity as well as Dumbledore’s.

 

“Are you sure this--” and the rest of Sirius’s question died on his lips as he felt the sensation of a hook just behind his navel yank him away from Dumbledore’s office.

 

In an instant, the two Blacks were on the landing of Grimmauld Place, breathing hard.

 

“What…” Sirius panted, “the fuck…was that…”

 

“I think-- I think I’m going to be sick,” Regulus croaked, and he leaned toward the bushes framing the sidewalk, but nothing happened.

 

“Godric, I will never agree to do that again,” Sirius wheezed.

 

Regulus nodded in agreement, until both brothers realized they were having a somewhat friendly conversation, and silence fell between them once more.

 

Sirius waited until Regulus straightened before asking, “shall we?”

 

Regulus gave him a curt nod, and the two entered Grimmauld Place.

 

Walburga was on them in an instant, as if she’d been waiting in the foyer for their arrival, which didn’t bode well for Sirius.

 

“Regulus, my darling boy,” she cooed, “oh, how I’ve missed you. Go unpack, I’ll be up to see you shortly.”

 

“Yes, maman,” Regulus said shortly, dragging his suitcase up the stairs without sparing Sirius a parting glance.

 

“Sirius,” she said coolly, but her eyes were sparkling, “join us in the study, won’t you? We have much to discuss.”

 

Despite every instinct in his body telling him not to follow her, Sirius knew he didn’t really have a choice. He left his belongings behind in the entryway and followed his mother to the study.

 

The study was Sirius’s least favorite room here at Grimmauld, his least favorite place. The study was where Orion sat behind a tall mahogany desk, sipping large amounts of amber liquid in a short glass, regarding him like a particularly bothersome bug. Squinting at him and mocking him until he got bored of the insults, and turned things over to Walburga. Walburga had always been better at driving a point home; using her wand and her words and her nails to draw blood of all kinds.

 

Tonight began no differently. Sirius sat in the same seat, endured Orion’s classic you-are-a-disappointment-to-the-House-of-Black speech, and spoke only when spoken to. He couldn’t understand what about this necessitated him being brought home from Hogwarts. Finally, Orion’s speech changed, and the new words caught Sirius’s attention against his will.

 

“You know,” Orion mused, “it’s rather interesting, what we heard recently. Venture a guess, Sirius, as to what it was?”

 

Sirius knew a trap when he heard one. “I don’t know, sir,” he said through clenched teeth, trying desperately not to let his frustration get the better of him.

 

“Well, you see, our family is so well-connected. It’s a shame, really, you’re so hellbent on defying us, Sirius. We could work so well together, if you’d give us the chance.”

 

Sirius stared back unblinking, and his father continued.

 

“One of our esteemed connections has raised some rather egregious concerns about your activities at school.”

 

Sirius nodded, not sure what he was agreeing to but not willing to open his mouth to speak, either.

 

“It really is dreadful, Sirius, the things she said.” Orion paused here to take a long sip of his drink, leaving Sirius hanging on the silence. 

 

“But I’m sure, I’m sure, we’ll get to the bottom of this horrid business.”

 

And Sirius knew that Orion was baiting him, knew that he wanted Sirius to ask what this dreadful business was, and Sirius couldn’t help himself; as much as he hated playing into Orion’s hand, he needed to know.

 

“What’d she say?” he asked, hating the way the words felt on his tongue almost as much as he hated hearing them fall from his mouth.

 

Orion’s eyes lit up. “I’m so glad you ask, Sirius. You see, and I can’t believe I’m forced to push these words past my own two lips, she said that you’ve been fraternizing with a halfblood. And not only is he a halfblood, he’s a-- my, my, my, Sirius. He’s a werewolf, too.”

 

Every single feeling in Sirius’s body was replaced with leaden terror.

 

Silence sat in the study between Sirius and his parents, the occasional clink of ice in Orion’s glass the only sound to disrupt it.

 

“Well?” Walburga shrieked eventually after the silence had dragged on, “is it true? Have you dirtied yourself with a beast?”

 

And for one single, unchangeable moment, Sirius forgot himself.

 

“He is not a beast he is--” 

 

Orion hurled his glass at Sirius, and the impact of the glass on his throat left him gasping for air, the alcohol soaking his shirt like an afterthought. 

 

“Oh, Sirius,” Orion chuckled darkly, but there was nothing funny about any of this, “I thought you’d disappointed us before but this? This is low, even for you.”

 

Sirius breathed hard, feeling a bit like the glass had crushed his very lungs. He almost wished it had.

 

“We can help with that, of course,” Walburga hissed gleefully, “we’ll make an heir out of you yet. And I know just how to start.”

 

“Crucio!” Walburga shrieked, and Sirius had exactly one second to fear for his life before it all went black.

 

- - -

 

Regulus sat on his bed and, as he did best, he worried. Sirius had clearly done something idiotic and foolish enough to warrant this surprise trip home, but this was hardly surprising. His brother had reached new heights of rebellion this past year; it would’ve been more surprising if Sirius hadn’t done something to royally piss his parents off.

 

It was still concerning, though. They’d never felt the need to bring them both home during the school year before, and Regulus missed the relative safety of Hogwarts.

 

He tried to distract himself by reading the assigned chapters for Defense Against the Dark Arts, but his traitorous brain kept drifting away from the book and down the stairs to Orion’s study, where Regulus was sure the rest of his family had gathered. As the hours ticked by, Regulus's restlessness grew, and he eventually gave up the pretense of reading altogether to lie on his bed and stare up at his ceiling. He couldn’t go to bed because his mother had specifically said she’d be up, which meant Regulus was forced to wait.

 

Close to midnight, she knocked on his door and entered moments later. She crossed the space and came to sit next to him on the bed, and Regulus’s alarm grew.

 

“Regulus,” she said sweetly, “how have you been?”

 

“Well, maman, thank you.”

 

Walburga looked at him for a long moment, and Regulus got the distinct impression she was sizing him up.

 

“Your father and I need a favor,” she said carefully, “you always were our better son, always better fit to be the heir.”

 

Regulus’s blood ran cold, but he wouldn’t let his face show it. Walburga asking for a favor? Admitting to needing help? Something terrible had happened downstairs.

 

“Of course, however I can help,” Regulus said, inclining his head, but they were none of the words he wanted to say.

 

“Sirius finds himself…indisposed, for the time being,” Walburga said shortly, and Regulus blinked hard to keep any emotion off his face.

 

She let that hang between them for a moment, testing him, and continued when Regulus kept his face carefully neutral. 

 

“I’m afraid of how it might look, of course, at that wretched school. People talk far too often about things they really shouldn’t.”

 

Regulus nodded slowly, but he had no idea where she was headed with this.

 

“But if you were to go and be the heir, Regulus, well, that would solve all our problems, wouldn’t it?”

 

Regulus stared, and forced himself to speak. “How so?”

 

“Simple. Really, Regulus, do try to keep up,” and she threw him a withering look that made Regulus feel one foot tall, “You go to Hogwarts, as Sirius, and we tell the headmaster you’ve taken ill. You get to play the part of heir, we get some more time to straighten Sirius out, and no  one will even have time to miss him.”

 

Regulus swallowed hard. “What do you mean I go as Sirius?”

 

Walburga grinned, and it looked predatory. “Well, that’s my clever addition to the plan. You use Polyjuice Potion, and no one will be able to tell.”

 

“But Sirius…” and Regulus trailed off, afraid to ask the question he really wanted to ask.

 

“Don’t concern yourself with him,” Walburga hissed, and Regulus flinched in the face of her sudden anger, “maybe you’re not reading me clearly here, Regulus. We are not asking this of you, we are telling you that you will do this to carry out your obligation to this family.”

 

Regulus nodded, desperate to keep Walburga’s anger at bay, “yes, maman, I understand.”

 

Walburga grinned, calm once more. “It’s probably best if you give your brother some additional time to recover, anyways. I’d hate to push him before he was ready, lest something terrible happen.”

 

And Regulus nodded, seeing the threat for what it was. He’d return to Hogwarts, drink the Polyjuice Potion, and pretend to be Sirius. How hard could it be?

 

Notes:

hi besties surprise i decided to drown myself in 2 simultaneous WIPs! this one will be updated on Tuesdays, with the next update being next week :)

this was inspired by a post on tiktok by @almostmarls & i've reposted it on my tiktok account if you'd like to see it! thanks for the idea!

now, let the shenanigans ensue!

Chapter 2: A Rich Maroon

That Saturday, after barely sleeping the night before, Regulus searched everywhere for Sirius. He checked Sirius’s bedroom first, holding his breath in anticipation of the sight that might greet him, but his brother wasn’t there, leaving Regulus’s mind to conjure up horrible images of the potential injuries Sirius might have. 

 

Regulus’s feet carried him to his father’s study, where Sirius sometimes remained after his more violent encounters with Walburga and Orion. He pushed open the door as slowly as he dared, and it creaked loudly as it went. Regulus stuck his head inside, not eager to step into this particular room, but Sirius was not there either. His crumpled body was not lying on the floor unconscious as Regulus had imagined it might be, and the study looked entirely undisturbed. Regulus closed the door behind him and continued searching the house, checking every possible room, but Sirius was nowhere to be found, which left only one option.

 

The basement at Grimmauld Place was seldom used, its stone walls and floor gave it a damp, chilly air even in the warmer months. Regulus approached it cautiously and reached for the door handle as if it had teeth and could bite his hand at any possible moment. Slowly, he wrapped his pale fingers around the door knob, and taking a deep breath, he turned the handle.

 

It didn’t budge; it was locked.

 

Regulus felt a traitorous sense of relief flood him, as he really hadn’t wanted to descend the creaking steps. But he also knew then, beyond a doubt, that Sirius was locked in that basement. Which had only happened one other time, the last being--

 

“Regulus!” his mother snapped behind him, and Regulus flinched violently as he turned to face Walburga, yanking his hand away from the door handle as if it had burned him.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked coldly, and Regulus swallowed hard.

 

“I thought-- I thought I heard something, maman, but I must be mistaken.”

 

Walburga regarded him shrewdly. “Yes, you must be,” she agreed, and the words felt more like a threat than an agreement. “Now, come join me for breakfast.”

 

Regulus left the basement door behind and tried desperately not to picture Sirius leaning against the other side, screaming, a silencing charm and a thick wooden door forcing them apart.

 

The weekend passed by in a blur, Regulus busying himself with homework and textbooks and doing his very best to steer clear of his mother and father. Sirius did not make an appearance over the next 2 days, and Regulus’s feeling of dread continued to grow. Finally, Sunday evening, Regulus knew they were both due back at Hogwarts shortly, and Walburga came to find him.

 

She sat on his bed once more, smiling in a way that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

 

“I’ve purchased enough Polyjuice for you to be Sirius for at least the week,” she said, “and will owl you more this weekend if necessary. The one I purchased is quite potent and should last 12 hours, although you should drink it more frequently than that to prevent a lapse.”

 

Regulus blinked hard, he’d expected to be Sirius for a day or two, definitely not longer than a week. He found himself once again worrying for Sirius, and forced his growing anxieties into a question. “How long do you expect this will take, maman?”

 

“I don’t know, Regulus, it’s not as if I’ve done this before,” she snapped, always so quick to anger, and Regulus shrunk back in the face of it.

 

She shook her head and continued in a syrupy voice, “sorry, Regulus dear, you know how your incessant questions upset me.”

 

A very small part of Regulus felt annoyance bubble up at the words; he’d only asked one question, and he’d only asked it at all because of the ridiculous favor his mother was demanding of him. But the larger part of Regulus, the part that helped him survive Grimmauld Place, knew not to act on this feeling.

 

“Sorry, maman,” he said instead, injecting as much sincerity into his tone as he could muster.

 

She grinned once more, and placed a weathered, beat-up bag between them. 

 

“I figure this is something Sirius would carry around with him,” she said derisively, clearly meaning it as an insult, “I’ve placed an undetectable extension charm on it, and placed all of the Polyjuice vials inside.”

 

Regulus grabbed the bag and peered inside, seeing dozens of vials. 

 

“Thank you,” Regulus said with a nod, knowing his mother would want acknowledgement for her efforts.

 

Walburga looked at him for a long moment, then spoke once more. “I know your brother can be particularly dense and altogether disappointing. Do see to it that those unfavorable attributes don’t rub off on you.”

 

Regulus nodded despite not truly agreeing.

 

“Right,” she said, “your Portkey back is set to leave in 10 minutes.” She placed a scroll of parchment on his bed, clearly meant to be the Portkey, and walked towards the door. She looked behind her one final time and said, “better drink up.”

 

Regulus reached into the bag and withdrew a vial. “You’re not going to stay and see how it works?” 

 

Walburga pressed her lips into a thin line, “I’d rather not see Sirius right now.” And then she was gone.

 

Regulus, alone in his room, uncorked the vial and stared at the potion inside. His mother had apparently added Sirius’s hair to each vial, as the potion was not a dark, muddy color as he’d expected, but a rich maroon.

 

Regulus raised the vial to his lips and shuddered as he drank. The potion tasted like the Earth, dirt with a hint of smoke. Almost immediately he was overcome by the sensation of his insides vibrating as if he were on a particularly turbulent broom. He gasped as the vibrating feeling dissolved into something more fluid, and Regulus was slightly worried his skin was melting off his bones, that Walburga had made some sort of error with the potion.

 

He doubled over on his bed as the sensation intensified, hardly aware of his fingers lengthening and his legs stretching, his hair growing and his complexion shifting. As quickly as it began, the feeling stopped, and Regulus found himself looking down and viewing Sirius’s body, his robes now several inches too short.

 

“Wicked,” he breathed, and the word came out in Sirius’s voice. 

 

He walked over to the mirror and watched as Sirius’s reflection blinked back. He raised an experimental hand in the mirror and, as expected, the Sirius in the mirror held up the same hand.

 

He’d known it would work, of course, but he could still barely believe his eyes.

 

He snuck into Sirius’s room, feeling guilty for stealing a set of robes, shoes, and a Gryffindor tie, but it couldn’t be helped. He changed into his uniform, or disguise, rather, and stared back at his reflection once more, transfixed. 

 

He suddenly realized the Portkey would be leaving at any moment, and he rushed back into his room to grab onto his belongings-- well, Sirius’s belongings and his new satchel of potions.

 

He held the scroll of parchment tightly in his other hand and sat silently, willing the parchment to whisk him away. Despite doing nothing but waiting for the Portkey to activate, he still yelped when he felt the tugging sensation and his vision blurred as he was catapulted through the air, landing with a thud in Dumbledore’s office.

 

“Ah, Sirius,” the headmaster greeted him, and Regulus blinked away his disorientation.

 

“Professor Dumbledore, sir,” he greeted, then winced. Shit, Sirius wasn’t that formal. Fortunately, Dumbledore didn’t seem to notice.

 

“I’m sorry to hear your brother’s taken ill, I do hope he’s on the road to recovery.”

 

Regulus nodded, trying to think of how Sirius would respond. He forced himself to slouch slightly, as Sirius was never one for proper posture, and took a breath; the show started now.

 

“Reg’s tough, he’ll be fine,” he found himself saying, and Dumbledore beamed.

 

“Glad to hear it,” Dumbledore responded, “now, you best get off to Gryffindor for the evening, I’m sure your friends are eagerly awaiting your return.”

 

Fuck, Sirius’s friends.

 

“Right, yes, wouldn’t want to keep them waiting,” Regulus said with a small laugh.

 

“Goodnight, Mr. Black,” Dumbledore said, inclining his head, and Regulus left the office.

 

He fortunately knew where the Gryffindor common room was, everyone in the castle knew about the fat lady and her antics, but as the portrait came into view, he realized very quickly he did not know the password to enter.

 

When Regulus approached the fat lady and merely stood there, her eyes lit up with excitement.

 

“Oh, you must be here for a show,” she cried, brandishing a crystal goblet.

 

“No, no I--” but he didn’t get to finish, the portrait cut him off.

 

“No, I insist! Prepare to be amazed!”

 

Regulus stiffened, entirely unsure of what to expect, when a hand landed on his shoulder and he flinched violently. He turned and was face to face with a red haired witch he recognized immediately.

 

“What gives, Black? Fancy going deaf?”

 

Regulus shook his head, and took a risk, “no I’ve been gone all weekend, and the password changed.”

 

Lily arched an eyebrow at him. “No it hasn’t,” she said skeptically, “it’s still Gillyweed.”

 

Regulus turned to the fat lady and tried to look exasperated, “that’s what I said! She wouldn’t open!”

 

The fat lady gasped at the false accusation, but fortunately, Lily wasn’t keen on hearing either of them out.

 

“Yeah, yeah, alright, get inside already, Black. I have better things to do than babysit you out in this hallway.”

 

“Right, uh…” Regulus searched his mind quickly for Lily’s last name, “...Evans. I have better things to do too, you know.”

 

Lily scoffed. “You are such a child,” she admonished, and the two of them crawled through the portrait hole.

 

“Takes one to know one,” Regulus shot back; he’d been on the receiving end of this comeback from Sirius countless times.

 

Lily scanned the common room, “looks like your havoc-wreaking friends aren’t down here. Hopefully they can keep whatever disaster they’re planning contained to your dorm room.”

 

Regulus huffed, “probably not.” Lily laughed briefly before walking away to join her own friends, and Regulus felt victorious. Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as he’d thought.

 

The Gryffindor common room was far warmer than the Slytherin one, decorated in red and gold with a big fireplace casting the room in a warm glow. There were an abundance of overstuffed arm chairs and couches, and students talked loudly amongst themselves. After a careful moment of observation, Regulus determined which staircase was the boys’, and forced himself to walk up to Sirius’s dorm room.

 

His feet slowed outside the door as he thought about his impending challenge. Could he really fool Sirius’s best friends just by looking like him? Would they see through it in an instant? Regulus had heard so much about James, Remus, and Peter back in Sirius’s first year, before Regulus had started Hogwarts. But as soon as he’d been sorted into Slytherin everything had changed, and they were forced apart by not only the school itself but also their parents.

 

He shook himself one final time before pushing open the door to the fifth years’ dormitory, and he made it two steps inside before he froze, three pairs of eyes glued to him. James and Peter were halfway through a game of Exploding Snap by the looks of it, and Remus was sitting on his bed, reading a book.

 

“Pads!” James cried, and Regulus fought the urge to look over his shoulder and see what James was talking about. Unless… was he calling Sirius ‘Pads’ ?

 

Regulus cleared his throat, forcing himself to slouch and look less tense. His eyes bounced from James to Remus to Peter. “Uh…hey.”

 

He instantly wanted to smack himself. Uh hey? Sirius would never sound so unsure of himself, definitely not with his friends. He had to do better.

 

He returned his gaze to James, expecting to see confusion or suspicion, but James only looked concerned. “Alright then?” he asked softly, and Regulus was surprised that the question, and James’s tone, made him feel a little less nervous.

 

Regulus found himself hesitating once more. Would Sirius tell them all about his weekend? Or would he keep the details to himself?

 

He decided to play it safe and say the least amount possible. “Yeah, fine, all good,” he said in an attempt to brush it off.

 

“Really?” Peter squeaked.

 

“Yeah,” he said, then switching tactics he added, “I’d really rather not talk about it.”

 

His eyes shifted to Remus, who was studying him intently. “Sure, Sirius,” he responded once he noticed Regulus’s gaze, “whatever you need.”

 

Regulus surveyed the room. Remus was occupying his own bed, but the other 3 were equally messy, and Regulus had no idea which might be Sirius’s. His eyes roved over the walls, the one closest to the bathroom had pictures of Peter’s family on the nightstand, and Remus was next to him. The two beds on the other side of Remus shared a wall space, James and Sirius’s photographs mixed together. Regulus took a gamble and assumed Sirius would want the bed on the end, because selfishly that was the bed he would have preferred.

 

He walked in that direction, dropping his stuff between the two beds in case he chose incorrectly, and threw himself onto the bed.

 

“Uh, Padfoot?” he heard James call from across the room. Fuck.

 

“What, James?” Regulus called, entirely unsure of what nickname James should have. If Sirius was something as ridiculous as Pads , maybe James was Tampon?

 

He laughed at his own joke, then realized he’d missed whatever James had said.

 

He sat up, eyes falling on James, who was watching him with a crease in his brow.

 

“You’re in my bed,” James said, and by his tone Regulus could tell it was the second time he’d said it.

 

Regulus shrugged, “yeah, well…I missed you.”

 

The sentiment made James beam, and Regulus inwardly scoffed at how easy it was to manipulate people’s emotions.

 

“Missed you too, you dork,” James said with a grin, then turned back to his game with Peter.

 

Regulus laid on the bed for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling. He wondered what was happening in the Slytherin dorm right now; if they’d been alerted Regulus was staying home for the foreseeable future. He missed his own friends and his own bed and found himself once again resenting Sirius for something that wasn’t really his fault.

 

“I think I’m going to turn in early tonight,” he said to the room, eyes still trained on the ceiling.

 

“You’re sure you’re alright, Sirius?” Remus asked gently.

 

“Yeah, I just didn’t sleep well this weekend,” Regulus responded, and he was suddenly very sure that was a true statement.

 

He rummaged through Sirius’s very disorganized wardrobe for some pajamas, then set off for the bathroom to get ready for bed. He decided to take a shower, prolonging his return to the dorm room, and was immediately frustrated by the sheer amount of hair on Sirius’s head.

 

“No wonder maman wants him to cut it all off,” he grumbled to himself, rinsing shampoo out of it for far longer than he’d ever washed his own hair.

 

He toweled off, and flinched backwards when he saw himself in the mirror, wholly unprepared for Sirius to be staring back at him. It made him feel a little guilty, truth be told, knowing that Sirius was likely suffering back at Grimmauld and there was nothing he could do but buy him some more time here.

 

He brushed his teeth while avoiding looking in the mirror, then re-emerged to the dorm. James and Peter had ceased their game of Exploding Snap, and now all 3 boys sat on their respective beds, arguing about a Transfiguration essay they had due the next day.

 

Regulus reached into the satchel, uncorked a vial, and downed it in one go, not able to completely suppress a shudder at the feeling that coursed through him, although it was far more tolerable than before.

 

“What’s that?” Peter asked, and Regulus barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Why was every single thing Sirius did an invitation for an interrogation? Luckily, he’d prepared an answer for this.

 

“Healing Potion,” he replied, “Regulus got really sick over the weekend and it’s supposed to prevent me from coming down with whatever he’s got.” Saying his own name felt weird, and hearing it leave his mouth in Sirius’s voice was even weirder.

 

Three sets of wide eyes stared at him after that statement, but he couldn’t think of what he’d said wrong.

 

“Right,” he said into the awkward silence, “well…goodnight, then.”

 

The boys chorused goodnights back to him, and he pulled the curtains tightly around his bed.

 

He didn’t sleep for a long time. He heard Sirius’s friends finish their conversation, heard as they each got ready for bed and settled down for the night. He could tell by the shadows under his curtains when all the lights had been turned off, and he’d just begun to think he was safe for the evening, when someone was pulling his curtain back.

 

James sat on his bed, uninvited, and shut the curtains tightly behind him.

 

“So?” James asked, “how was it really?”

 

Regulus chewed his lip; this was clearly a routine with James and Sirius. He decided to continue his strategy of being as vague as humanly possible.

 

“You know how they are,” he whispered back into the dark, “it wasn’t exactly a picnic.”

 

James winced sympathetically, then said softly, “anything you need me to heal?”

 

Regulus blanched, shocked that Sirius would ever admit to needing help like that from his friends. Fortunately, he didn’t have to lie as the truth tumbled from his lips.

 

“No, I’m alright.” Then, wondering if it would be suspicious that he came back unharmed, he added, “Reg was able to heal me.”

 

Even in the dark, Regulus could see the way James’s eyebrows shot up at that statement. “You two got along okay then?”

 

Regulus’s mouth felt very, very dry all of a sudden, as he put together the common thread of confusion this evening: himself. What had Sirius been saying to his friends about him?

 

“As good as we can,” he responded, stomach twisting uncomfortably.

 

“That’s good, Pads,” James said, smiling in earnest, and Regulus tried to smile back, but he worried it looked more like a grimace. 

 

“Well, goodnight then,” James said, lying down next to Regulus. Regulus gaped at him.

 

“Excuse me?” he said before he could stop himself, and James rolled over to look at him.

 

“What?” he said with a smile, and Regulus realized this must also be part of their routine.

 

“I-- you’re hogging the pillows is all,” Regulus responded meekly, and James laughed, shoving a pillow in Regulus’s direction.

 

“Fine, happy now?”

 

“Very,” Regulus responded, mind reeling.

 

“Good. Goodnight then, drama queen.”

 

Regulus scoffed. “Goodnight, you giant prick.”

 

James huffed a laugh into his pillow, but didn’t turn around again. Regulus listened as James’s breathing deepend and slowed, and he found himself wondering how the hell he would be able to sleep next to a stranger. 

 

Maybe this wouldn’t be so easy after all.

Notes:

welcome back! thank you all so much for the nice comments, it made me even more excited to post this chapter! 2 things to mention-

1: the chapter count is just a rough estimate, i just didn't want people to think this would be a 100k word fic because i unfortunately don't have the stamina for that lol.

2: do people want jegulus in this? it wouldn't be the whole focus but i had a couple people asking here and on tiktok, so i'm wondering if people want jegulus crumbs or if the majority doesn't.

see you back next week for reg's first full day of being sirius! :)

Chapter 3: A Sliver of Smoke

Regulus woke and was immediately aware that he was not alone. The thought would be comforting to most, but to Regulus, it felt like an intrusion of the nth degree. Despite being overwhelmed by the need to flee, Regulus did not rush; never one to act without knowing all the facts.

 

He opened his eyes slowly, taking in the maroon canopy above him. His eyes flicked to the side and found James Potter, dead asleep, a trail of drool hanging from his mouth and pooling onto the very pillow Regulus was resting his head upon.

 

Sirius’s pillow.

 

Regulus’s circumstances came flooding back. The trip home, Sirius’s most recent punishment, the Polyjuice potion.

 

The Polyjuice potion.

 

Regulus’s hand shot up to his face, feeling Sirius’s nose and unruly hair. Thank Salazar.

 

Slowly, Regulus shifted to free his right arm from his side, trying his best not to rouse the sleeping boy next to him. He reached, fingertips extending as far as possible, to grasp the vial he’d left on his nightstand. Sirius’s nightstand.

 

He uncorked the vial and drank, shuddering both at the taste and what he was up against. What exactly did a day as Sirius Black entail?

 

Classes, of course, but he didn’t have Sirius’s timetable. Assuming he couldn’t find it as his brother never excelled at being organized, Regulus would have to follow James around and hope for the best. The idea did not excite him.

 

At the thought of classes, Regulus dared to get out of bed. It quickly became apparent that Regulus had not needed to exercise caution as James had not shifted even a millimeter. Remus and Peter’s beds were both quiet, curtains drawn tightly, and Regulus had no desire to wake them.

 

He could do with a moment alone.

 

He quickly got ready for the day, finding Sirius’s bookbag haphazardly discarded at the foot of his bed. He sifted through it briefly, ensuring there were at least quills, ink, and parchment; then pulled it onto his shoulder and set out for the Great Hall.

 

As he walked down to the Great Hall he became painfully aware of how early it was. The early morning sky was a dull, uninspiring grey. Regulus couldn’t help but dread the fact that Sirius almost certainly couldn’t see the sky in that windowless basement.

 

He hoped he was okay.

 

He entered the Great Hall and took three steps in the direction of the Slytherin table before freezing. He hadn’t anticipated every moment of this being so difficult. He forced his feet to pivot and walk towards the Gryffindor table. He slowed, hesitating as he tried to remember where Sirius sat with his friends. He pulled up the image of Sirius opening that dreadful letter days ago, and estimated they ate about halfway down.

 

Regulus sat on the wooden bench and made himself a cup of tea. He had never been one to eat in the morning, but he desperately wanted something to do with his hands. It felt nice to be doing something authentic for himself, even though he was still wearing his brother’s clothes.

 

He took his time stirring in some honey, letting his eyes roam across the Slytherin table, but it was a Monday; hardly anyone was awake. Regulus sighed, sipping the tea, and opting to read one of Sirius’s textbooks to pass the time.

 

Regulus had many hesitations about this plan: fitting in with Sirius’s friends, convincing his professors, playing the part. The one part of this scheme Regulus had no concerns about was keeping up with Sirius’s schoolwork.

 

As Regulus read Sirius’s potions textbook, he knew he was right. Their tutors had covered this material years ago, and even if they hadn’t, Regulus had always been a quick study. Regulus found comfort in the predictability of the potions recipes; at least this he knew.

 

“Sirius!” Regulus heard then, but he didn’t look up.

 

A rather breathless James and Peter soon sat next to him, and only then did Regulus remember to look up.

 

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Peter panted.

 

“Yeah mate seriously, when’s the last time you’ve been up before the sun?”

 

Regulus bit back the reply that he was always an early riser and tried to channel Sirius once more. “Couldn’t really sleep,” he said instead, well aware of Sirius’s insomniac tendencies. 

 

James and Peter both tilted their heads in mirrored pictures of concern, and it was all Regulus could do not to groan aloud.

 

“Caffinating then?” James asked, and Regulus guessed James was assuming the tea was coffee.

 

“Yup,” Regulus replied, popping the ‘p’ like he’d heard Sirius do countless times.

 

“Oh great,” Peter moaned, “just what the world needs, a more hyper Sirius. Goidric help us all.”

 

Regulus didn’t even have to force the grin that pulled from him; he fully agreed with Peter.

 

Regulus let his eyes drop back to his book, hoping that would end the conversation, when a plate piled high with pastries and eggs was pushed in front of him. Regulus looked up to find the culprit, and watched as James flashed him a grin and a cheerful “eat up!”

 

“No thanks,” Regulus said before he could think better of it, “I’m not hungry.”

 

He returned his attention to his book once more, and read exactly one sentence before he felt the silence radiating from Sirius’s friends. He looked up to see them both staring at him.

 

“What?” he snapped a little harsher than necessary.

 

“You’re-- you’re not hungry?” James asked, and the genuine concern in his tone was overwhelming.

 

Regulus stared back, equally perplexed for different reasons. Did Sirius’s friends always mother him this aggressively? How dreadfully codependent. He decided to switch tactics.

 

“Yeah,” and he put effort into selecting the less formal term of agreement, “I already ate before you came down.”

 

James nodded, but didn’t entirely look reassured. “More for me, then,” he said regardless, and pulled the plate back towards himself. Regulus sighed in relief, looking down to continue reading about everlasting elixirs. James and Peter finally seemed to pick up on the fact that Regulus wasn’t in a chatty mood, and they resumed talking once more.

 

A good while later, Remus joined them at the table, seemingly still half asleep. He sat down hard next to Regulus, then reached over to seemingly pick something off his plate. His hand paused as he seemed to realize Regulus did not have a plate to pick off of, and Remus’s hand hung in the air as he scanned the table, rerouting to James’s mostly empty plate.

 

“Oi,” James protested, “that’s mine!”

 

Remus didn’t reply verbally, instead choosing to bite into a pastry. Regulus thanked anyone listening that Remus wasn’t chatty in the mornings as well.

 

As it turned out, Remus had arrived minutes before their first class. They packed up their belongings and set off for class, which Regulus immediately determined was History of Magic by the route they were taking.

 

Yawn. 

 

The only hiccup Regulus ran into, obvious in hindsight, was that he’d attempted to take out parchment to take notes.

 

“What are you doing?” James whispered, fixing him with a raised eyebrow.

 

Regulus stared back, at a loss for what the problem could be. “Taming a dragon,” he answered dryly. “What do you think I’m doing?” 

 

James huffed a laugh then responded, “Remus takes notes for England, mate. Are you trying to ruin the system?”

 

Regulus paused his extrication of the parchment and sighed heavily. Of course Sirius didn’t even take his own notes. What on Earth did he do in this class, then?

 

Regulus’s unspoken question was answered as James promptly crossed his arms across his desk, letting his head fall onto his arms.

 

For Salazar’s sake.

 

The minutes dragged by slowly, and the drone of Professor Binns’s lecture did nothing to drown out Regulus’s racing thoughts. Left with nothing to do but spiral, Regulus grew increasingly agitated. He’d soon picked at his nails aggressively enough to draw blood, but he barely registered the pain. By the end of the class, he had managed to convince himself that Sirius was dead and Regulus would be forced to perform as him until the day he died.

 

As Binns dismissed the class he leapt to his feet and had the uncanny feeling that Sirius had done the same in this very spot. The thought made his stomach churn.

 

He couldn’t do this.

 

He exited the class without looking backwards, entirely forgetting Sirius’s friends as the panic took hold. Regulus was used to anxiety; he excelled at overthinking, coming up with every possibility, and fixating on the worst of them. But he’d never experienced feeling crushed, like the air was being sucked from his lungs, in a body that was not his own. It was like walking through his room in the dark but someone had rearranged all the furniture, something so familiar feeling strangely foreign, and he stumbled to navigate the feelings of dread coursing through his veins. Sirius’s veins. Fuck.

 

“Hey,” Remus said, appearing next to him suddenly, “want to ditch?”

 

And more than anything, Regulus did. 

 

He nodded quickly, and followed Remus without a word, trusting that wherever Remus brought him would be better than standing there. He seemed the most likable to Regulus of all Sirius’s friends.

 

Remus ended up leading them back to the dorm, and Regulus was happy to let him. 

 

Regulus sighed as he sat on Sirius’s bed, trying to feel some relief, but every breath still took immense effort. Regulus watched warily as Remus crossed the room towards his own trunk, pulling out a small cardboard box.

 

“Fancy a smoke?”

 

The absurdity of Sirius Black, pureblood prince and Heir Apparent, smoking hit Regulus like a ton of bricks, and the laugh that was pulled from him sounded so preposterous, so breathless, that Remus would be insane to think this was Sirius sitting before him. Regulus had none of the confidence or bravado necessary for this role. But he was in too deep.

 

Remus watched him neutrally, not giving anything away with his expression, and Regulus suddenly understood why his brother liked him.

 

“Why not?” Regulus replied finally, a little too high pitched to be normal. 

 

Remus didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he opened the window, and climbed out onto the roof.

 

Have I been transported to another dimension ? Regulus thought a little desperately. Have I gone absolutely mental? Have I been taking an insanity potion instead of Polyjuice? They hang out on the bloody roof? Smoking?

 

He’d made this bed and now, he had to lie on it. He stood up slowly and gingerly climbed out the window, refusing to look at the ground; refusing to even acknowledge his fear of heights.

 

Remus was perched on a relatively flat part of the roof, and Regulus positioned himself so that he was staring at Remus rather than at the ground below. Remus already had a cigarette lit and was holding it loosely between two fingers. His assessing gaze was turned on Regulus now, and Regulus didn’t have to fight a flinch; he was used to scrutiny.

 

“You were picking at your nails in class,” Remus said finally.

 

Regulus blinked. “So?” He’d picked his nails while thinking ever since he could remember; an easy way to keep his hands busy.

 

Remus took a long drag of the cigarette then passed it to Regulus. Regulus held it like a bomb, worried it would somehow implode in his face.

 

“That’s your tell that something’s bothering you.”

 

Regulus sat very, very still as he contemplated the implication that he and Sirius had the same nervous habits. The thought was comforting and deeply unsettling all at once, and he was entirely unsure of what to make of that. To buy himself a minute to think he brought the cigarette to his lips and breathed in. He lasted less than a second before he was spluttering and shoving the cigarette back at Remus. He was almost thankful for the burning in his lungs giving him something new to focus on.

 

Remus seemed intent on waiting him out, but what Remus didn’t know was that this was Regulus he was dealing with. Regulus was much more patient, much more quiet, and much less willing to share the inner workings of his mind than Sirius was.

 

Regulus shook off his own anxiety and came to a decision. To play a convincing Sirius, he had to rely on his own strengths as well. He took in Remus’s appearance then, and noticed he looked tired and a bit pale, his pallor accentuating the long scar that ran across the bridge of his nose. There were dark circles under his eyes that were put there by far more than one sleepless night. He decided then to redirect the conversation.

 

“Are you alright?” Regulus heard himself ask in Sirius’s voice.

 

Remus blinked, then conceded, “yeah, I’m alright. Just a tough week, you know.”

 

And Regulus didn’t know, he had no idea at all what could make this a tough week for Remus. But Sirius would.

 

“Yeah, Remus, I know.”

 

Remus tilted his head at Regulus once more, a look flashing through his eyes that Regulus couldn’t interpret. Remus passed the cigarette back then, giving Regulus no choice but to take it. 

 

“You really don’t want to talk about it then?”

 

Regulus fought the urge to sigh. Sirius talked too much.

 

“What’s there to say?” Regulus replied after a moment, trying to sound more resigned than irritated.

 

Remus didn’t seem frustrated with Regulus’s avoidance at all, which was even more annoying.

 

“Whatever you want to say, Pads,” Remus replied gently, “I’ll listen to any of it.”

 

This time Regulus did allow himself to sigh, the force of it redirecting the cigarette’s smoke. He decided the best course of action was pieces of the truth.

 

“They were angry,” Regulus started, then immediately stopped. “They’re always angry,” he tacked on a little quieter, feeling his stomach twist. It was true these days. Sirius was always, always on their bad side. Not that he seemed to care.

 

It came back to him more forcefully then. How there had been no trace of Sirius anywhere in Grimmauld Place. How he had never made it up to his room, no signs of him in the study, no trace of him anywhere the light touched. How Walburga had said he was indisposed . How he’d needed time to recover. How the basement door had been locked.

 

And with a sickening jolt Regulus could only wonder what had happened to Sirius once the only witness had been removed from Grimmauld Place. 

 

Remus’s hand landed on his arm then, and Regulus couldn’t suppress the full-body flinch that time. Remus didn’t remove his hand, though, which told Regulus he and his brother had more in common than he’d previously thought.

 

“Hey, Pads, stay with me, yeah?” Remus said softly, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “We only need to talk about it if it’s going to help.”

 

Regulus dragged in a breath, trying to order his heart to stop racing. The best, and only thing, he could do for Sirius now was play the part. It seemed that Regulus was always playing some kind of part.

 

Besides, Walburga had only sent enough Polyjuice for the week. He could do this for a few more days, go home, and fix all of this.

 

How? He had no idea, but the thought of devising a plan brought him some comfort; a modicum of control over his current situation.

 

“Sorry, yeah,” Regulus said a little breathlessly, then decided to give one more truth. “It was shit, Remus. Utter shit.”

 

Remus sighed too, then, and Regulus wondered once more how much he knew. How much they all knew. Regulus took a small drag from the cigarette, managing to exhale a sliver of smoke. He wondered if Sirius would be proud. He passed it back to Remus.

 

“But you’re back now. They can’t touch you here.”

 

“Yeah,” Regulus responded, “right.”

 

How he wished Remus was right.

Notes:

why hello! yes, I know, you're not hallucinating -- I have returned! It's been a crazy year and I won't bore you with the details, but just know this story will be completed as I already have the next two chapters written and the rest outlined. Plan is to update every other week on Sundays unless I start writing faster; just want to make sure there's consistency

Also sooo many of you shared your thoughts (a lifetime ago sheesh) on jegulus in this fic, and ultimately I've decided against it. I think there just won't be the space in here to do it justice, and would feel weird writing it from Sirius's body. Buuuut shameless self promo I do have a completed jegulus AU fic "road to hell" if you're interested!

if you're reading this still I love you<3 kay bye see ya soon!

Chapter 4: A Sick Motherfucker

Regulus had heard of method acting before; dragged along to stuffy theatre productions with Walburga, Orion, and Sirius far too many times for the art of production to feel like anything other than a chore. He’d seen actors and actresses sweep across large stages in larger costumes, declaring love and anger and every emotion in between. He’d even studied it with their tutors; Walburga had always emphasized the art of perfecting performance. She had always said that the best performers lived in their role. Regulus understood that now. As his submersion into the role of Sirius Black grew, so did his need to perfect it. He didn’t want to just act like Sirius; he wanted to be him.

 

So, with an attention to detail born from years of etiquette lessons, Regulus performed.

 

He’d made himself scarce after his conversation with Remus on the roof, feigning homework and revisions that he needed to catch up on. He’d sat in the common room that evening, head stuffed in a book, but he hadn’t been reading; he’d been listening.

 

He’d heard the cadence of their jokes, their nicknames, the give and pull of a conversation. Regulus studied them like he imagined a muggle might study a wizard: curiously, if not a touch apprehensively, and hungrily.

 

Regulus tried to organize all this information in his mind. Then, once he’d gone to bed, he lay alone staring up at Sirius’s canopy. And he planned. He’d always felt better with an agenda; like he was controlling the narrative. So Regulus laid awake for hours, imagining dialogue, ways to move his body, ways to be Sirius. And when he finally heard James’s alarm go off after barely sleeping himself, he knew he was as ready as he’d ever be.

 

He continued to act the part of sleep-deprived at first, groaning his way through breakfast and sleeping through his first class. It had to have been expected enough of Sirius as no one tried to intervene. Regulus was never really sleeping, though. He was preparing for the show.

 

He joined Sirius’s friends in the Great Hall for lunch, throwing himself onto the bench with the grace of a drunk dragon.

 

Three sets of eyes snapped to him. Good.

 

“I’ve been wondering something,” Regulus drawled, a line he had been rehearsing in his head for the better part of an hour. He didn’t say it that way, treating it like a throwaway line; a thought just popping into existence.

 

“Is that why I smell smoke?” James quipped, and Regulus hesitated for all of one second before he found himself elbowing James for the remark. James’s eyebrows shot up in a way that told Regulus his reaction had been the correct choice. 

 

“Prongs,” he moaned, pulling the nickname from an overheard conversation earlier, “you wound me.”

 

He was met with more laughter at that, and he took the interlude as an opportunity to fill his plate. Regulus hated to have eyes on him like this, felt the weight of each and every stare, but he knew Sirius loved to perform and milked these moments for all they were worth.

 

“So? What have you been wondering?” Peter questioned finally, fork halfway to his mouth.

 

“I’ve been wondering,” Regulus continued, bracing himself for the crassness of his next comment, “fuck, marry, kill: James’s mum, Remus’s mum, my mum.”

 

Remus choked on his pumpkin juice as James and Peter doubled over laughing. The commotion turned the heads of a dozen of their house mates and numerous students from neighboring tables. Regulus actually felt a spark of pride at that, letting his smile stay loose on his face.

 

“You’ve lost the plot, Pads,” James wheezed, handing a napkin to Remus who was now covered in pumpkin juice.

 

Regulus shrugged as if he hadn’t spent the better part of his day brainstorming specific conversational topics to use with Sirius’s friends. The trick, he was learning, to being Sirius was simply speaking all the thoughts he would never dare to say out loud as himself.

 

“Well obviously I’d kill your mum,” James began without hesitation, and the four of them burst into laughter again, Regulus’s a bit breathless.

 

“So you’d rather be in an incestual relationship than--”

 

“Aren’t your parents cousins anyways?” Remus asked, and Regulus actually found himself laughing again in spite of himself. 

 

“ Second cousins,” Regulus replied with Sirius’s signature smirk, emphasizing second like it made a difference.

 

“To answer your question, Sirius, yes I would rather marry my own mother than be with yours even for one day.”

 

Regulus didn’t take offense to this; he’d known it was coming. Instead, he let the mirth grow in his eyes as he’d seen Sirius do dozens of times. He leaned in close towards James as if he were about to share a secret.

 

“I always knew you were a sick motherfucker,” he grinned, eyes flashing, as if he hadn’t anticipated the conversation heading in this exact direction and planned this exact response.

 

James gaped at him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, but his eyes gleamed. 

 

“No one seems to care about my mother,” Remus replied mildly, pouring himself a new glass of pumpkin juice.

 

“I’d fuck your mum, Remus,” James replied dutifully, and the table burst into laughter once more.

 

It was easy, then, to let them run with the conversation. Regulus grinned, nodded, and laughed as needed as he ate the rest of his food, actually feeling hungry for the first time in days. He was halfway through spearing a potato when he felt someone lightly kick his foot. He looked up to see Remus staring at him, a small smile tugging at his lips.

 

“Don’t forget,” Remus whispered like a secret, “you promised me half of that Honeydukes bar. No more procrastinating.”

 

Regulus froze; he, obviously, had not promised Remus anything of the sort.

 

James looked up then, abandoning talks of Quidditch.

 

“You two and your deals,” James moaned, “starting to make the rest of us feel left out!”

 

“Yeah,” Peter pouted, wiping a fake tear from his eye, “I remember when we used to be included in their secret pacts.”

 

Regulus, momentarily, found himself speechless.

 

Remus raised an eyebrow, an expression Regulus was beginning to realize frequently adorned his face. “You didn’t forget, did you?”

 

Regulus allowed himself 3 seconds to ponder the right answer. He knew the only way through was confidence. He rolled back his shoulders, letting Sirius’s smirk pull at his lips once more.

 

“Course I remember, Moons. Just didn’t think you’d beg for it in public.”

 

Regulus could have heard a pin drop from the Owlery; it was so silent. He briefly wondered if he’d overdone it, opened his mouth to take it back--

 

When he was met, once again, with uproarious laughter.

 

Regulus truly hadn’t known people could laugh this much. Remus stared at him, blinking slowly, mouth slightly agape as James and Peter laughed so hard they turned Gryffindor crimson.

 

“Oh you’re in a mood ,” Remus mused, then leaning in he whispered, “should I be worried or excited?”

 

Now it was Regulus’s turn to be speechless. What, the fuck, was he doing right now?

 

Back to confidence. “You tell me,” he grinned, tossing in a wink, hoping his eyes showed amusement rather than the complete and total confusion that was ricocheting through his brain. 

 

Remus hummed noncommittally, picking up his fork once more. “I guess we’ll find out.”

 

Regulus quickly shoved a potato in his mouth to prevent it from hanging wide open. He chewed it over and, for the thirty seventh time since arriving back at Hogwarts, wondered how on Earth he’d ended up in this position.

 

“Afraid I’m tied up this evening,” he said around a bite of potato, picturing Sirius doing the same in his mind. “I’ve got detention.”

 

James gave him a sympathetic smile but Peter exclaimed, “how? You’ve barely been in class since you’ve been back?”

 

Regulus swallowed his bite, responding, “from before my little getaway. Filch has got me scrubbing cauldrons for 3 more Tuesdays.”

 

“Tough, Pads,” James responded, “least that’s not Quidditch practice.”

 

Regulus blinked several times; he had completely forgotten Sirius was on the Quidditch team.

 

“Right, or I’d just be ditching detention,” he said with a huff. James nodded knowingly.

 

Regulus spent the rest of lunch launching fingerling potatoes at James, who eventually charmed spoons to levitate like Quidditch hoops. Regulus, citing bad aim, continued to aim them at James’s face regardless. 

 

“Cut it out already,” Remus snapped fondly, “we’re going to be late.” The kind of fond exasperation only a friend of Sirius’s could capture Regulus thought to himself.

 

They made the trek to Transfiguration next, and Regulus actually looked forward to a break in the show.

 

They piled into class, James sliding into the seat on Regulus’s right and Peter and Remus taking the table behind them. Regulus pulled out some parchment from his bag, tore off a corner, and tossed it at James.

 

The secret to being Sirius Black, as it turned out, was to act like an immature child.

 

Regulus laughed at his own thought as the paper hit James square in the nose. James spluttered, but barely had time to react as Professor McGonagall began class.

 

Regulus dipped his quill in ink, feeling the smallest bit pathetic at how relieved he felt to be doing something as mundane as taking notes uninterrupted for the next hour. McGonagall began talking and Regulus started writing in his best imitation of Sirius’s slanted handwriting. It was nothing like Regulus’s own penmanship, but he’d spent enough time reading Sirius’s written work as a child to be able to imitate its basic shape. Regulus wrote exactly 6 words before his elbow slid into James’s forearm. 

 

James blinked at him and Regulus hissed an apology before turning back to his own work.

 

Except it happened again. And a third time. By Regulus’s fourth line of notes, James was making no effort to disguise the fact that he was blatantly watching him.

 

“What?” Regulus finally whispered, uncomfortable with James’s eyes on him.

 

“Haven’t you always been left-handed?”

 

Regulus froze. He stared at his right hand, Sirius’s hand, as if it had betrayed him.

 

“Some people can write with both hands,” Peter whispered from behind them, always wanting to be involved in the conversation. Regulus couldn’t even be annoyed; he was so thankful for the excuse.

 

“You’re bi?”

 

Regulus dropped the quill that time. “What?” he whispered incredulously.

 

“That’s bisexual, mate,” Remus whispered from behind them, “you’re thinking of ambidextrous.”

 

James blinked. “Oh. Well, if you can write with both, go back to your left and quit abusing my arm, I’m going to have a bruise from where your bony elbow keeps connecting with my poor fragile skin.”

 

Regulus didn’t hesitate on what Sirius would do this time. He continued to write with his right hand, bumping James’s arm harder and harder until James finally, if not a bit dramatically, fell from his chair onto the floor. 

 

Regulus didn’t have to fake the smile that landed on his face after that.

 

After Transfiguration they had Potions. Regulus had always enjoyed Potions; it was methodical and clear with little room for improvisation. He should have known that Sirius would not share this viewpoint. 

 

He walked with Sirius’s friends into Potions and was ultimately surprised when Peter joined him at the table, James and Remus taking the table in front of them.

 

“Is he really that mad about me elbowing him?” Regulus asked Peter.

 

Peter shook his head, “I’m sure he’s already planning how to get revenge on you.”

 

Regulus tilted his head slightly. “Then why am I paired with you?”

 

As soon as the comment left his mouth Regulus wished he could take it back, only hearing how rude it sounded after the fact. But it was confusing; even from the Slytherin table it was always obvious that Sirius was closest with James, then Remus, then Peter.

 

Peter, apparently used to this treatment, didn’t even look mildly offended. “What do you mean? We’ve been doing it this way since second year. I’m the only one good enough at Potions to balance out your shitty chopping skills and complete inability to accurately follow a direction.”

 

Regulus laughed in spite of himself. That was so classically Sirius. 

 

Slughorn cheerfully called the class to order, and Regulus felt a strange pull in his gut at actually missing his head of house.

 

“Settle down, settle down," Slughorn called out to the class, “we’ve got quite the potion to make today.”

 

The class settled, turning their books to the potion spelled out on the chalkboard.

“Today’s practical assignment is a Wit-Sharpening Potion, which allows the drinker to think more clearly.”

 

In perfect unison, James turned to Regulus and Regulus turned to James. “You could use that,” they said in stereo, and the class burst into laughter.

 

Slughorn waved a hand to stop the laughter, and began to write the directions on the board. Regulus glanced up at the chalky words, but he didn’t need them. He’d studied this potion years ago and made it at least a dozen times.

 

“Want me to get the armadillo bile?” Regulus asked Peter. 

 

Peter fixed him with a look. “Do you know what it looks like?”

 

Regulus stared. How stupid was Sirius? “Yes I know what it looks like,” he said huffily, turning on his heel to retrieve the ingredient without waiting for Peter to respond.

 

He gathered the armadillo bile, bringing it back to the table as Peter chopped ginger roots. Regulus reached for the mortar and pestle to grind the scarab beetles when Peter levelled him with yet another look. 

 

“What?” Regulus asked incredulously.

 

Peter stopped chopping and seemed to contemplate Sirius for a moment. “Are you serious?”

 

“I’m always Sirius,” Regulus bit out, not feeling an ounce of satisfaction at getting to use his brother’s favorite joke.

 

Peter regarded him again. “It’s just…I usually do that. You usually…I don’t know, throw spit balls at James and try to sabotage their potion.”

 

Regulus felt annoyance flare up at his brother once again. Perfect, arrogant, Sirius Black didn’t take his own notes or make his own potions. He’d probably let his friends chew his food if it meant he could conserve energy for running his mouth.

 

“Well not today,” Regulus said firmly, “give me the mortar and pestle.”

 

Peter passed him the beetle with the mortar and pestle and Regulus ground it perfectly. They added the chopped ginger root and the armadillo bile, the potion turning from lime green to a deeper blue. Regulus added the beetles, mixing them in until the potion turned red. Peter watched him warily the whole time as if Regulus was plotting something. 

 

Even Slughorn seemed impressed when he came by later, appraising the purple hue of their Wit-Sharpening Potion with narrowed eyes.

 

“Well done, my boys,” he said with a smile, “especially you, Sirius.”

 

Regulus had to fight not to roll his eyes. Leave it to Sirius to do the bare minimum and receive an accolade. 

 

The rest of the day passed in an almost painless manner. Regulus lounged by the Great Lake with James, Remus, and Peter; James toying with a snitch, Remus reading a book, and Regulus playing Wizard’s Chess with Peter. He beat him four times in a row, and never stopped to consider if Sirius was good at chess. It didn’t matter , he told himself, he deserved a little fun too.

 

After dinner Regulus pretended he was off to detention, desperately looking forward to the chance to gather his thoughts.

 

He was fully confident now that he could play this part, if only with a little bit of planning.

 

He holed up in an abandoned classroom, intent on not being found, and thought for a long time. The day had gone surprisingly well, but Regulus knew there was more to Sirius than sarcasm; that the jokes would only hold his friends at bay for so long. The difficulty was that Regulus might know Sirius Black better than anyone else; he’d seen Sirius broken too many times to count, put the pieces back with childish hands and whispered assurances. But that was Sirius from Grimmauld Place. To actually do this right, and do it well, Regulus had to admit to himself that there was a different version of Sirius here that he didn’t know. One that he was learning quickly.

 

He stayed out long past when a detention would have ended, long past curfew. He snuck back through the halls with practiced precision, hissing the password at the fat lady before she could perform an impromptu concert. And as he settled into bed, surrounded by the sound of Sirius’s roommates sleeping, Regulus started to believe for the first time that he actually could do this.

Notes:

two days late D: but I'm here! I promised I would be!

this is my favorite chapter yet (and the longest!), so hopefully that makes you forgive me <3 thank you for all the kudos and comments, let me know your thoughts on this one! and this one also references the original tiktok inspiration from @almostmarls (I have it reposted on my tiktok @katekatreads if you want to see it)

love you all see you soon!

Chapter 5: A Sacred Agreement

Summary:

Regulus finally realizes exactly who Remus Lupin is in Sirius's life. He also has to talk about himself, unfortunately, and gets to talk to Lily Evans, which is a bit more fortunate.

Regulus’s first mistake playing Sirius Black was that he allowed himself to get comfortable.

 

By Wednesday morning Regulus had settled into a semblance of routine: he coasted through classes, joked endlessly, tossed inanimate objects at James, then wandered the castle alone at night on the pretense of homework, detentions, and hijinks. The system was working exceptionally well; better than it had any business working. Regulus had come to realize, for the most part, Sirius Black was exactly who Regulus expected him to be: arrogant, lazy and a never-ending source of entertainment for those around him. It was exhausting.

 

It brought Regulus no joy to dwell on just how untrue those descriptions were of the Sirius Black currently trapped at Grimmauld Place.

 

The first hiccup began at lunch that third day, as Regulus lounged besides James and across from Remus and Peter, fighting every one of his instincts and forcing himself to slouch. He eyed the table and its various lunch options before spotting the peas, and groaning, remembered they were one of Sirius’s favorites. Mostly for the fact that he could make pee related jokes as he ate them. Salazar help him.

 

It was then, as he spooned peas onto his plate, that James spoke.

 

“Haven’t seen Regulus in days,” James remarked casually, eyes lingering across the hall at the Slytherin table. His eyes, busy scanning the long table, did not take in Remus and Peter’s identical expressions of shock, making it clear this topic could only be broached by James or Sirius himself. Regulus’s stomach filled with unease again. He had figured out a lot about Sirius in the past few days, but had no better understanding of how to discuss himself. He’d been hoping to avoid that subject altogether.

 

“Uh…yeah,” he said without meeting anyone’s eyes, “he stayed home.”

 

Three pairs of eyes shot to him, and Regulus internally groaned at once again being forced into the spotlight. He was beginning to wonder if Sirius ever felt the same.

 

“Why?” Peter asked as he twisted to view the Slytherin table as if he could see the outline of where Regulus was missing from.

 

“I already told you he was sick this weekend,” Regulus said, tone edging into aggravation. He hoped by feigning enough disdain, the others would let it drop.  

 

“He must have been really sick,” Remus mused, “for them to keep him home. We have a whole hospital wing here.”

 

The comment sat in the air like a downed tree; difficult to bypass, hard to ignore. Regulus did his best to ignore it anyways. He was stubborn like that, and he knew Sirius was as well.

 

Peter followed up, voice unsure, “aren’t you…y’know, worried? About him?”

 

Regulus felt the weight of this comment settle on his chest, pressing down hard, and he knew he’d be stuck with that pressure until he saw Sirius again. Because of course he was worried, just not in the way they thought, and he couldn't tell a soul. Damn Sirius’s idiotic, meddling, well-meaning friends.

 

“Yes, well, he--” and Regulus flinched at the formal tone coming out of his mouth, his own reflexive habit in response to stress. He cleared his throat and tried again. “He’ll be fine. They like him. He’s always been their little prince.” The words tasted like ash on his tongue, but he knew, at least to a certain extent, that Sirius believed them to be true. Sirius had made that abundantly clear as of late.

 

James huffed a laugh, but it was uneasy, before asking in a much smaller voice than his usual,  “do you really think that?”

 

Regulus snorted without meaning to; did Sirius not make fun of him every chance he got? How did they not know that’s how Sirius felt? Instead of responding with this, he settled on, “of course I do.” Then, before he could stop himself, the words started pouring out in Sirius’s hollow voice, “Reg’s the perfect little heir. He never slouches, never speaks out of turn, always does as he’s told, he really--” and he cut himself off with exorbitant effort, jaw now clenched. What was he doing?

 

James, Remus, and Peter were all watching him cautiously. Regulus felt the sudden, inexplicable urge to pick up his plate and hit himself in the head with it, which felt like exactly what Sirius would do in this situation. He wanted to laugh at the irony of it all.

 

It was Remus who broke the silence. “You used to say he was as miserable in that house as you were, Pads.”

 

The words pierced Regulus’s heart like an icicle, radiating cold into every extremity, and he fought the urge to shudder. Used to. Because, he was gathering quickly, Sirius didn’t talk about him at all anymore. And somehow that hurt more than Sirius complaining about him nonstop.

 

“He was,” Regulus responded, then corrected himself, “he is.” Then, against his better judgment, he gave them one last truth. “But he’s the kind of miserable they approve of. The kind they can control.”

 

As Regulus let those words settle into the air, he reached for his water glass and drank, trying to prevent himself from speaking another word. He wondered if honesty was contagious. He wondered if Polyjuice had negative long-term side effects. He wondered if Sirius was okay. 

 

He slammed his glass down with more force than intended and rose to his feet. “I’ll catch you lot in Herbology, yeah?” He didn’t give them a chance to answer as he sped away from the table,  desperate to outrun their questions; desperate to stop discussing himself in Sirius’s voice.

 

Behind him, faintly, he heard Peter yell, “We have Charms, not Herbology!”, and Regulus allowed himself an audible groan this time as he made it out of the Great Hall.

 

The day, to its credit, did improve from there; although the bar had been set quite low. He coasted through classes, and while they remained close, Remus, James, and Peter seemed to get the hint that he was done discussing his brother. Regulus settled back into the whispered jokes and quiet smirks when he was hit rather uncomfortably by the thought that Sirius likely hid his discomfort behind these actions as well. It left Regulus with a rather complicated tangle of emotions in his chest. He knew with absolute certainty that Walburga had not ordered him to do this to gain any kind of sympathy for his brother. He couldn’t afford to. But there was something unsettling about all these little truths he was discovering; truths Sirius would never confide in Regulus.

 

But it didn’t matter. He needed to stick to the plan, not get caught, then get Sirius back. And once Sirius was back-- well, Regulus actually had no idea what would happen then. One problem at a time.

 

After classes, Regulus found himself walking alone in the hallway for the first time in ages, devising a plan for the rest of his day, when he was pulled quickly and rather efficiently off his feet and into a broom closet. Regulus instinctively reached for his wand and instead found further reason to despise Sirius Black as his wand was sticking out of a ridiculous bun on the back of his head; his last effort to keep Sirius’s long locks out of his face.

 

His eyes didn’t even have time to adjust to the darkness before he was pushed up against the wall, one hand pressed to his shoulder while the other snaked around his neck, and kissed with an intensity that bordered on frantic. Regulus could hardly breathe, let alone protest, as a stranger’s lips pressed to his own, seeming to smile against Regulus’s, hot and heavy in their desperation. The hands reached for his hair, undoing Regulus’s careful bun, and Sirius’s wand clattered to the ground as hands threaded through Sirius’s hair, holding tight.

 

Regulus’s first thought, a bit nonsensically, was that this was an awfully dirty place to have to kiss someone; the scent of cleaning potions and dust heavy in the confined space.

 

Regulus’s second thought was the startled realization of how his stomach swooped at the kiss. He had kissed Pandora before, and they'd both quickly agreed they were better off as friends, but this was-- unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He told himself it was nothing, it was Sirius’s body reacting to the kiss, but the realization left him feeling off-kilter, and he was suddenly grateful this person’s hands were on him to keep him upright.

 

And then Regulus, almost in slow motion, slot the pieces together.

 

This person was several inches taller than him.

 

This was a boy.

 

He had a Gryffindor tie.

 

The hands holding him were scarred.

 

This was Remus Fucking Lupin.

 

Regulus broke the kiss by turning his face away, breathing hard. So was Remus, for entirely different reasons.

 

“Sorry, sorry, I--” Regulus didn’t even know what he was apologizing for but the word came tumbling out anyways. How could Sirius not tell him this?

 

When had they become strangers?

 

Remus let his hand fall to the small of Regulus’s back, their faces still inches apart. “I’ve missed you,” Remus said in a whisper, “it’s been hard to get you all to myself recently.”

 

Sirius was…what? Hooking up with Remus? Dating him? For how long?

 

Regulus had the strange impulse to laugh and abruptly bit his tongue to curb it. He wasn’t convinced he’d be able to stop himself if he started. “Oh,” he wheezed out, “right. Of course.” He suddenly became very aware then that his hands were still hanging limply at his side. He made no effort to move them; entirely out of his element. Here was yet another side to Sirius Black he didn’t know.

 

“You know,” Remus mused, tone playful, “I think it’s Wizarding Law you have to kiss your boyfriend once a day. We’re woefully under quota this week.”

 

Leave it to his idiot brother to fall for someone who used words like quota when flirting.

 

“Boyfriend,” Regulus repeated faintly, the one word using all of the air he had in his lungs.

 

He thought back to breakfast yesterday, the banter he’d assumed was friendly, the nudge under the table, the shared cigarette. 

 

Oh how had he not seen this coming?

 

Remus was staring at him, an assessing look on his face. “Are you alright?” 

 

Regulus swallowed hard. “Yes-- yeah, fine. I just--” but he cut himself off again, mind reeling.

 

How could Sirius not tell him this? Who else knew?

 

Regulus suddenly felt choked by the idea that other people knew about this. Sure, he hadn’t known, but gossip like this had a way of spreading quickly. If their parents ever found out that Sirius was dating a boy, and a half-blood at that--

 

“Sirius,” Remus said in a tone that implied it wasn’t the first time he’d said it, “we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. We could talk.”

 

And Regulus actually could not believe it, but snogging Remus Lupin was the easier option here.

 

He leaned forward for a fraction of a second before he let his head fall backwards, thunking into the stone wall behind him. Damn his morals.

 

“I’m just tired,” Regulus whispered into the dark, staring up at the ceiling. The confession hurt because it was true, more true than anything he’d said in days. He was so goddamn tired.

 

Remus began rubbing Regulus’s back then, almost absentmindedly, as he spoke again. “That’s okay too. However you feel is okay.”

 

The gesture and words were so sickeningly kind that, in an absurd twist, Regulus found himself wishing he had kissed Remus. Remus just stood there, embracing him, not speaking, giving Regulus the space to just be. It made Regulus want to cry suddenly. And he knew with unshakeable certainty that he was not about to cry in front of Remus Lupin, no matter how good of a kisser he was. This strange thought at least knocked some sense into Regulus, who found himself immediately stepping away from Remus. Salazar help him.

 

“I’m, I think-- I think I’m going to go,” and he sucked in a breath of aggravation again at how unintentionally formal the words came out before responding, “if that’s alright, Moons.”

 

Remus was watching Regulus very, very closely. He did not like it one bit. But a smaller part, one he refused to feed in this moment, wished desperately that Remus would see through him. He was so tired.

 

“Sure, Sirius. Whatever you need.” Remus had stepped back to give Regulus space to leave, but his gaze still weighed on Regulus, making his skin crawl.

 

Regulus knew this was not the Sirius thing to do, but he couldn’t help it, he needed to put distance between them if he had any hope of keeping it together at all.

 

He tried to soften the blow, and as he scrambled for the broom closet door, came up with the most Sirius-like goodbye he could think of, one that Sirius used to call to him as a child: “see ya soon, baboon!”

 

The door shut behind him with Remus still inside, likely baffled, and Regulus actually smacked himself on the forehead as he replayed the last five minutes in his head.

 

Sirius’s boyfriend had kissed him, hot and heavy, and he had…called him a baboon?

 

“You are so fucking stupid,” he growled to himself under his breath, entirely unsure if he meant the comment for Sirius or for himself. Maybe both. He felt like laughing. He felt like screaming. He wanted to cry. He could afford to do none of it. What he needed was to pull himself together.

 

Regulus indulged himself by retreating to the library. He knew Sirius’s friends would never look for him here, and Regulus desperately needed to be alone. It was less than ideal to fall apart in a public space but Sirius seemed to never crave solitude; his friends were always flitting nearby whether they were in the common room, dorm room, or hidden behind random tapestries. It was like they had a tracker on Sirius hunting down his every location.

 

He located his typical table in the back corner of the library beneath a large window. It was thankfully empty. Regulus pulled a large book off a shelf without even reading the title, laid it out flat on the table, put his head in his hands, and tried to breathe.

 

Regulus missed his friends. He missed his dorm room. He missed his bed, and the feeling of his own wand in his hand. But most of all, and it pained him to admit it, he missed Sirius. Sirius would know what to do right now. Sirius would tell him what to do, and even if Regulus rolled his eyes and pretended to hate it, he’d take comfort in it. Sirius was always so confident, so self-assured, and Regulus, even after walking in his shoes, had no idea how he did it. Regulus knew how to prepare, he knew how to be calculated, but he did not possess the innate ability Sirius seemed to possess which allowed him to get by without trying. Regulus was pouring all of his time and energy into being Sirius and he could barely pull it off. He couldn’t fathom how Sirius did it.

 

It was then that Regulus felt more than saw someone slide into the chair across from him. He was rallying himself to say something biting, coated in Sirius’s signature charm to make it sharp but funny, when the person in the other chair spoke before him.

 

“Petunia’s lost it again,” the voice said, and Regulus quickly looked up and registered it was Lily. Rather unexpected.

 

Once Regulus had lifted his face, Lily seemed to scan him. She had to have taken in the bags under his eyes and the absolutely wild state of his hair, but she didn’t comment. Just nodded to herself and continued talking. Regulus was thankful for the distraction, even if he had no idea what she was talking about.

 

“She’s sent a letter,” Lily continued, “and she's gone absolutely mental.”

 

Regulus, making a fast assumption, deduced this flower-named individual was likely Lily’s sister. What a Muggle habit, to name things in patterns. He was then abruptly aware of the penchant his own family had for naming people after stars and constellations, and he choked back a laugh, sure that Lily would not be as amused at this revelation as he had been.

 

Regulus wasn’t sure how Sirius would respond here. He’d experienced bantering with Lily in public spaces these last few days, but this felt different somehow. He decided to test it, in case this was a setup of sorts.

 

He raised one of Sirius’s eyebrows and drawled, “I care because?”

 

Lily blinked at him. “Don’t be daft, Black. We have a sacred agreement here; a sibling pact because-- well, no one else quite gets it, do they? We have to tell each other, that way you won’t drink every time you’re cross with Regulus and I won’t hex every teacup in the castle when Petunia pisses me off.”

 

Regulus blinked, then blinked again. Sirius wouldn’t discuss him with his closest most trusted friends, but discussed him with Lily? Why?

 

“Yes, yes, fine I’m listening,” he said, mind reeling but trying not to show it. Lily was watching him closely, eyes narrowed, so he took it a step further. “Go on, Evans. Horrify me.”

 

Lily, seemingly appeased, groaned and continued. “She’s on about that boyfriend of hers, remember Vernon? She says they’re going to elope. Mum’s in a tizzy about the whole thing because not only have they barely been dating a year, but if she is going to get married, Mum wants it to be a proper wedding.”

 

Regulus nodded; clearly this was a conversation Lily had had with Sirius before.

 

“And it’s not just that, but none of us even like Vernon that much. Mum and dad tried telling her he’s a bit-- well, stupid for their tastes. I tried to tell her that as well but of course it ended in a screaming match. She thinks I’m jealous of her. As if, the man is shaped like a teapot, and screeches like one too”

 

Regulus, surprising himself, laughed at that. He realized that he had underestimated Lily Evans. He had a feeling many people did.

 

“So that’s that. She doesn’t even want to try and prove them wrong. She’s decided she’s done with them entirely. Said she’s going to elope and that they can read about it in the paper. And of course it falls to me to keep the peace, because they’re furious with her and she’s furious with them and I’m always the one stuck in the middle of it all.”

 

Regulus kept his face very, very still despite the way this story lodged between his ribs. The stubbornness, the burning of bridges, being forced to play mediator. Lily thought she was talking to her Petunia right now, but she was wrong. She was talking to a Black imitation of herself.

 

Regulus knew what he would say as himself. He forced himself to say what Sirius would say.

 

“Sounds like she’s being a bitch.”

 

The corners of Lily’s mouth turned up. “She is being impossible. She says she’s sick of fighting, but then she sends me these letters with no other point to them than trying to get a rise out of me. It’s almost like…she needs the anger to justify leaving. Does that make sense?”

 

“Yes,” Regulus responded, thinking of all the times Sirius had baited Walburga; baited him, to turn around and use that as an excuse for his misery. “Maybe she…maybe she likes the sport of it.” This was always Regulus’s suspicion of Sirius.

 

“Maybe,” Lily said softly, “or maybe she’s forgotten how to talk to me without it being a fight.”

 

Regulus inhaled deeply, and refused to let his next words shake. “I understand that too.”

 

Lily tossed her hair back over her shoulder and regarded Regulus with a tilt to her head.

 

“Alright, your turn, lay it on me.”

 

Regulus felt his stomach turn. He knew he should say something harmless, something made up. Instead, the words that came out were a little sharper and a little more truthful than he’d intended to share. There was something innately persuasive about Lily's presence, like he couldn't quite stop himself from spilling his guts the way she had just spilled hers.

 

“He’s impossible to talk to lately. He puts on this cold front where he acts like nothing’s wrong, but he forgets that I..I know him. At least I used to.” Regulus dragged in a shaky breath, then continued, “he never lets his guard down anymore. And if I try to get under his skin,” and Regulus was reminded of all Sirius’s jabs and jokes, considered them for the attempts at connection that they were, “he just shuts down even more. Like I’m not even worth reacting to.”

 

Regulus hadn’t even known this was bothering him until Lily had just dragged it out of him. He was starting to see why his brother confided in her like this.

 

Lily sighed before responding, collecting her thoughts. “I don’t think it’s that, Sirius. Maybe he’s just scared to let you see where the cracks are. Petunia-- she’s like that. Acts untouchable, but if you so much as hint at a flaw, she’ll run for the hills. And every time she leaves I’ll think ‘ good riddance! ’, but then she comes back acting like it never happened, and so do I.”

 

And maybe it was the disguise of Sirius’s skin, but Regulus allowed himself to pay Lily a compliment that he very much meant. “You’re really smart, Evans.”

 

She smiled back, eyes creasing. “I know, Black, but thanks for the validation.”

 

“Any time,” Regulus responded. Then she pulled out her own homework, and the two sat in companionable silence.

 

It was the most relaxed Regulus had felt in days.

Notes:

longest chapter yet alert!? youre welcome!?

I have so many thoughts on this one:
- peter yelling after regulus that they had a different class makes me laugh
- REMUS KISSES REGULUS !?!?! remus is..lowkey..reg's gay awakening? i know thats right
-reg, panicking: see ya soon baboon! he is me and i am him
- "its like theyre tracking sirius!" ha ha almost like they have a magical map or something
- bamf lily who is just so perfect and regulus talks to her for 3 mins and is like oh okay I get the hype

please let me know your thoughts! oh and for you math wiz(s) out there I did add one more chapter so now you have that to look forward to..or dread. whatever floats your boat!

thanks for reading as always I live for your kudos and comments <3

Chapter 6: A Death Grip

Summary:

death grip (n): an extremely tight grip caused especially by fear, particularly when someone is afraid of letting go

In other words, Regulus is losing his grip on this whole operation.

Regulus was running.

 

He was late for something, he was sure of it, but he couldn’t remember exactly what that was. 

 

His footsteps echoed thunderously through Grimmauld’s quiet halls. Ordinarily this would incur Walburga’s wrath, but Regulus knew instinctively it was more important to get where he was going than it was to be quiet.

 

The hallway was endless, stretching around him, seeming to grow with every step he took. Portraits blurred into each other, their voices blending into a dull drone that spurred him forwards, when suddenly the ground fell away.

 

Regulus wasn’t running, now; he was falling.

 

He didn’t have time to struggle before his body roughly hit stone, the impact jolting him, but he somehow stayed on his feet. He was surrounded now by damp stone walls in a sparsely furnished room. A light charm flickered in the corner by the stairs as if it was using every ounce of its power to light such a desolate place. He had been in Grimmauld’s basement only one time before, but every detail was still seared into his mind, including the figure before him.

 

Sirius was curled on the floor, shirt torn open at his collarbone, arms wrapped around himself like they were the only thing holding him together. Both eyes were closed tightly, and one eye appeared swollen shut, dried blood caked in its corner like crimson makeup.

 

The worst part was the silence. Despite the agony painted across Sirius’s body, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t dare look at the basement’s newest arrival.

 

Regulus knelt beside him, but couldn’t quite bring himself to reach out.

 

He wanted to speak, he had so many things to say, but his voice wouldn’t work. He didn’t have to try to speak; he knew somehow it was pointless before even trying to force his lips to make the sounds. 

 

He knelt there, closer to Sirius than he had been in ages, further apart than ever before, and hated the way his hands were the ones that were trembling.

 

He hated himself, and like a shark sensing blood in the water, Sirius’s eyes flashed open. Lifeless, flat, grey. Regulus had never felt so relieved to see them. Regulus had never felt so ashamed.

 

Regulus tried to say they were going to kill you. 

 

He choked on I didn’t have a choice.

 

His mouth twisted around I’d do anything to take it back.

 

Silence prevailed; Sirius equally unable or unwilling to break it.

 

And eventually, begrudgingly, Regulus settled on the words he somehow knew would make it past his lips.

 

“This is your fault,” he hissed. “Why are you doing this to me?”

 

He woke up before he got an answer, tangled in Sirius’s sheets and trapped in Sirius’s skin.

 

The dream clung to him throughout the morning, taunting him with his own inability to do anything about it. To do anything at all-- even if he was home at Grimmauld, would he help Sirius? Could he? His thoughts were stuck in a vicious cycle of feeling helpless and being helpless.

 

His mood was not improved at all by breakfast. Remus seemed to be keeping his distance, quiet and withdrawn, but his eyes lingered on Regulus. He could only assume that he’d hurt Remus more than he’d intended to in the broom closet yesterday. Just another part of Sirius’s life he was fucking up. 

 

If James and Peter picked up on any tension between Remus and Regulus, they didn’t let on. James laughed loudly, Peter chewed with his mouth open, and Regulus forced himself to play along, determined to not ruin things more than he already had, because this he could do. This was the one thing he could do.

 

James tossed Regulus a baguette, then, and the two began sword fighting across the table. Crumbs rained down as Peter worked frantically to move all spillable and breakable objects out of their way. Regulus delivered a lethal sideways blow, cutting James’s bread clean in half, and James looked mournfully at the fallen half of his baguette before straightening himself.

 

“Size matters not,” he declared, brandishing half a baguette

 

Regulus blinked, exchanging a wide-eyed glance with Peter, identical grins growing on their faces.

 

“Now Prongs,” Peter said with a grin, “there’s no need to be insecure about the size of--”

 

“Enough,” Remus snapped out, startling Regulus. “We’ve got to get going.” He stood up and began walking without looking back at the three of them.

 

Regulus stared at the other two at a complete loss now. Sure, he wasn’t in the best of moods either, but their bread shenanigans had been far tamer than many of the acts Remus had quietly let them get away with all week.

 

“Reckon he’s feeling it already?” James asked quietly.

 

“Yeah, he hardly ate,” Peter replied.

 

Then they both turned to Regulus, like it was his fault. Like they knew.

 

“It’s not my fault,” Regulus blurted.

 

James tilted his head. “Obviously we know that, Pads,” he replied slowly, “but you’re always the one on Moony patrol.”

 

Regulus blinked, feeling stupid. Right, of course.

 

“Oh,” he said shortly. Then, when Peter and James both continued to stare, he added, “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

James wiggled his eyebrows, “oh I’m sure that whatever you do to him--” and Regulus threw his baguette at James before he could finish the thought, ending the conversation.

 

They trudged to Defense, several minutes behind Remus and barely on time. Their Professor, Clemson, stared with narrowed eyes as they slid into their seats, but didn’t comment.

 

Regulus, who had chosen to sit next to Remus, tried to study him more closely. Now that he was looking, Remus did look tired, like he’d also been kept awake most of the night by nightmares. Regulus sincerely hoped they weren’t the same ones that had kept him awake. Remus had already taken out parchment, clearly intent on ignoring Regulus.

 

Regulus knew from experience that Sirius was not easily ignored.

 

He nudged Remus with his foot, then again when Remus didn’t immediately look.

 

Remus turned to look at him then, and Regulus saw through the mask easily now that he was looking. Remus wasn’t angry. He was tired, and judging by the furrowed skin around his eyes, in pain.

 

Regulus put on his most angelic Sirius smile and whispered, “hi.”

 

Remus pressed his lips together, although his eyes glimmered in amusement. “Hi.”

 

Regulus thought back to all the times Sirius had tried to make him feel better. Sirius excelled in not naming things; he was a master in saying what you needed to hear without ever dredging up the cause of it. Regulus had thought it was magic when he was a kid.

 

He still did, to be honest.

 

Regulus kept Sirius’s easy smile on his face, and continued, “I’ve heard bad moods are contagious. Lucky for you, I’m immune.”

 

Remus watched him with fond exasperation. “Is that so?”

 

Regulus nodded solemnly. “I swear it, Moony. Be grumpy all you want, I’m not going anywhere.”

 

A smile flickered across Remus’s tired face, and Regulus exhaled in relief at having done one thing right with him.

 

“Now, class,” Professor Clemson said cheerfully, “I have something special in store for you today!” Her grin was far too wide for someone who kept monsters under her bed by choice.

 

“This oughta be good,” Regulus whispered to Remus, and Remus looked back warily. 

 

“Today we’ll be battling Boggarts using the spell we’ve been studying, Riddikulus,” Professor Clemson said to the class, and everyone immediately broke out into murmurs. 

 

Regulus’s heart plummeted straight out of his body. Remus had gone pale beside him. Regulus turned to take in James and Peter’s reactions, and felt oddly comforted by the fear on both of their faces as well.

 

Regulus’s dread was much more complex than theirs, however. He didn’t want his deepest fears exposed to this class of course, but it begged the question of whose fears the Boggart would read. His body’s, being Sirius’s? His mind, being Regulus’s? A combination?

 

Regulus wasn’t sure what his own deepest fear would be. He feared a lot of things; he could drown himself in a lake of what he was afraid of. But Regulus felt fairly confident that Sirius’s greatest fear would be their parents, and with good reason. 

 

If they hadn’t been before this week, they likely were now.

 

“Now remember,” Professor Clemson said, interrupting Regulus’s train of thought, “to cast Riddikulus successfully, you must imagine your greatest fear in a humorous way. I gave the example of my own fear being thestrals,” and she shuddered with the admission, “but I simply imagine them to be rainbow unicorns, cast the spell, and the fear is managed. Any questions?”

 

No one asked a question, and the class slowly organized itself into a line. Their group meandered towards the end of the line, with James in front, then Peter, then Regulus, then Remus. James and Peter exchanged nervous glances, whispering to each other, while Regulus kept to himself. He chanced a look behind him at Remus, whose gaze was set stonily on the wardrobe, like he already knew exactly what his deepest fear was and exactly how he’d dispel it.

 

At the front of the class, Lily was up first. Professor Clemson opened the cabinet slowly and the boggart exploded out of it, wasting no time in morphing into a teetering stack of homework, marked with failing grades.

 

“Riddikulus!” Lily shouted, and the papers turned to confetti, exploding in the air like fireworks.

 

“Well done!” Professor Clemson called, and the line continued to move.

 

Regulus was too preoccupied by his own imminent turn to pay much attention to Sirius’s peers. Their fears ranged from rational, to silly, to downright chilling. Regulus continued to take slow steps forward. As he approached the cabinet, he imagined Walburga appearing there and what he could possibly do to make that a funny image. He had the insane thought of imagining her like one of the bikini clad muggles plastered on Sirius’s walls at home.

 

Marlene went next, turning the frowning image of a man Regulus assumed was her father into a jolly imitation of Santa Claus.

 

James was up after her, the Santa Claus twisting and morphing into the shape of a limp, bloodied body. Sirius’s body.

 

Regulus’s mouth went dry.

 

He froze, but James didn’t.

 

“Riddikulus!” James shouted, and the battered Sirius transformed into a tutu wearing, opera singing version of himself with an ease that told Regulus James had known exactly what his deepest fear was.

 

The class erupted into laughter, and James stepped back. His eyes flickered to Regulus, seeming to take in Sirius’s body to reassure himself that he was fine; still breathing and unbloodied. Regulus’s bones ached at how untrue it probably was.

 

Peter was next. His boggart shifted and split into a sea of laughing peers who ignored him completely. Their backs were turned to him, voices cruel, but Peter didn’t let that stop him. He cast the spell with only a slight crack in his voice, and the multitude of bodies turned into a swarm of cornish pixies. 

 

Regulus stepped up next, wand raised, bracing himself for which Black parent would materialize in front of him.

 

The cornish pixies reunited, forming one looming shape, before they began to shift, spilling into the outline of a Black family member with practiced ease.

 

It wasn’t Walburga standing in front of him.

 

It wasn’t even Orion.

 

It was himself. Regulus, that is.

 

His wand fell back to his side.

 

He was smaller, younger, still just as haunted. Dressed in Slytherin robes, not a seam out of place. He looked pale. Cold. Cruel.

 

“Always pretending,” the Boggart said in his soft, calculated voice, “you don’t even know who you are anymore, do you?”

 

The room was dead silent.

 

Regulus stared at himself. 

 

He could feel the Marauders watching; felt Remus’s breath catch behind him.

 

He lifted his wand, and in the flattest tone he could muster, said “Riddikulus.”

 

The Regulus before him turned into Kreacher wearing a bright pink dress and matching bonnet. Regulus turned away without registering the laughter of his surrounding classmates.

 

He was too busy trying to determine if that had been his greatest fear or Sirius’s. 

 

Or both.

 

Because the thing about Boggarts was that they ripped the truth from you. Hidden, ugly truths that you maybe couldn’t even admit to yourself.

 

It would make sense that it was Sirius’s deepest fear. Confronted by the ghost of his younger brother, the boy he never could quite save, whispering the very accusations that flooded Sirius’s mind in the dark. You are fake. You are pretending. They weren’t taunts, or cruel, just statements of fact; statements of Sirius’s fear. Because somewhere, beneath the rebellion and the noise, there was a gaping chasm where his true self should be. He’d thrown himself into performance, into catering to the many demanding audiences of Sirius Black, and lost himself along the way.

 

And it would make sense that it was Regulus’s deepest fear, too. Confronted by a far more innocent version of himself, a version he could never quite become again, whispering the very thoughts that plagued him late at night. You are fake. You are pretending. They weren’t threats, or accusations, just admissions of the truth; verbalizations of Regulus’s unspoken fear. Because somewhere, underneath the mask and careful control, there was a hollowed out space where his true self should be. He’d devoted himself to perfecting his image, the perfect Black son and the perfect Slytherin, and lost himself along the way.

 

So maybe it was Regulus’s deepest fear, or maybe it was Sirius’s, or maybe it was both of theirs, tangled up together, impossible to differentiate.

 

Maybe it didn’t matter whose it was. Maybe all that mattered was that it was known now.

 

He joined James and Peter off to the side. He didn’t mention their Boggarts, and they didn’t mention his.

 

Sirius’s wand, still clenched in his hand, felt like it was dragging him down.

 

He looked backwards just in time to see Remus’s Boggart turn into a balloon, ricocheting around the room and back into the cabinet where Professor Clemson had been keeping it.

 

“Simply marvelous, all of you,” Professor Clemson said to the class as she locked the Boggart back in its wooden prison. “I should’ve known, you Gryffindors always handle this lesson well.”

 

Everyone began to pack up for the end of class, but Regulus felt frozen. He stared at the wand in his hand for another beat before sliding it back into the pocket of his robe. He forced himself to take a slow breath, then another, before following the others out of class. James was waiting for him, but Peter and Remus must’ve gone on without them.

 

“There you are!” James said, slinging an arm around his shoulder. The touch felt restrictive, but Regulus forced himself to endure it.

 

“Here I am,” he echoed back weakly.

 

“You alright?” James asked then, eyes fixed on Regulus like he couldn’t quite force himself to look away.

 

Regulus remembered James’s Boggart again with a shudder. He opened his mouth then shut it again without saying a word. He wasn’t sure how Sirius would respond here, would he confide in James? Brush it off?

 

James’s gaze softened, “it’s alright if you don’t know who you are, Pads, because I do. I’ll know for the both of us.”

 

Regulus stared wide-eyed, entirely at a loss for what to say. This didn’t seem to bother James.

 

“And as someone who knows you,” he said gleefully, “I know how to cheer you up!”

 

He started dragging Regulus down the hallway, Regulus’s feet barely cooperating. 

 

“Come on!” James cried, “you’ll love it, promise!”

 

And Regulus had no choice but to follow. 

 

James dragged him, rather ungracefully, down multiple moving staircases, through several corridors, until he was finally pulling Regulus out the side door by the Quidditch Pitch.

 

“No,” Regulus blurted out as soon as they were outside, “no, James, absolutely not--”

 

James didn’t slow. “Oh, come off it, Pads! Nothing cheers you up like flying at dangerously unsafe speeds with a complete lack of adult supervision!”

 

Regulus sighed deeply and loudly, because he knew Sirius agreed with this. Regulus did not. Regulus hated Quidditch, and brooms, and flying, and heights.

 

He fucking hated heights.

 

“If I die,” he ground out, “I’m coming back to haunt you. Loudly.”

 

“That’s the spirit!” James crowed, dragging him towards the equipment shack.

 

They grabbed their brooms, and Regulus wondered when the last time he’d been on a broom was. Probably years, when he’d flown at Sirius’s insistence in their charmed courtyard so Sirius didn’t have to fly alone. 

 

He’d thrown up afterwards, if he was remembering correctly.

 

He followed James with leaden steps out to the middle of the Quidditch Pitch, hands locked in vice grips around Sirius’s broom. James didn’t throw him a second glance, simply mounting his broom and pushing off into the open sky like they’d done this a million times.

 

They probably had.

 

Regulus mounted the broom slowly, carefully, as if the more cautious he was on the ground the easier the sky would be on him.

 

He inhaled sharply, kicked off the ground hard, and shot into the air. He immediately and irreversibly regretted every decision he’d ever made that led him to this point, maintaining a death grip on the broom the entire time.

 

The broom wobbled under him; far too fast, far too thin, entirely out of his control. The wind whipped beside him, trying to tear his robes from his body, screaming into his ear like a warning. He didn’t go high, but he refused to look down, so he continued to fly at an indeterminable height.

 

This was Sirius’s broom. Sirius’s body. Sirius’s center of gravity, and his reflexes, and his hands to grip the broom, and his legs to nudge it in the right direction.

 

But it didn’t matter.

 

He wasn’t Sirius. 

 

He was beginning to realize that all the Polyjuice in the world couldn’t change that.

 

He watched with begrudging admiration as James soared ahead of him, cutting turns and looping like the broom was merely an extension of his own body. Like he was born to do this.

 

Regulus gritted his teeth and leaned forward, doing his very best to coax the broom into a slow, stable lap around the pitch. Above him, James zipped around like a one-man hurricane. 

 

“Pick up the pace, Sirius!” James shouted, his voice carried by the wind, “You’re flying like you’re carrying all of Remus’s books with you!”

 

Regulus flipped him off in the same way Sirius had flipped him off a dozen times before, but he immediately abandoned the gesture in favor of returning to his death grip as the broom wobbled once more. Regulus gripped the handle so hard he feared he’d crack the wood. His hands were sweating, making it all the more difficult to maintain his grip. Every time the broom jerked without his permission his breath caught. He couldn’t breathe at this height; couldn’t think. 

 

He forced himself to keep flying in slow, big laps. Above him, James did a barrel roll, shouting about glory and honor. Regulus wanted to shout back he was taunting death with nothing but an enchanted piece of wood.

 

He didn’t utter a word, not trusting himself to speak.

 

James came down to hover beside him.

 

“Alright, break’s over, time to dive!”

 

“No,” Regulus said immediately, too quick and too final.

 

James blinked back. “No?”

 

“I--” Regulus cut himself off. Say something like Sirius. He averted his eyes from James, looking down.

 

Big mistake. The ground swam beneath him, threatening and taunting all at once.

 

“Sirius? You alright?”

 

Regulus tried to wave him off, unable to speak, but the broom tilted with the motion. His hands locked into place, his whole body screaming at him to get down, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know how. His breathing hitched once more. 

 

James must have seen it. His face softened immediately, and he slowly approached Regulus.

 

“Okay,” he said gently, “it’s alright, yeah? Let’s head down together. Nice and easy.”

 

Regulus couldn’t answer, every ounce of concentration he had focused on gripping the broom and not looking down. He forced himself to tilt it down slowly, and James matched his descent. He didn’t tease Regulus, or rush him, or laugh at him. He just stayed.

 

By the time Regulus’s feet touched the ground, his legs were shaking uncontrollably. His hands wouldn’t unclench from the broom. He tried to dismount off the broom, stumbling in his haste and with his body’s lack of coordination, when James caught him. 

 

“I’ve got you,” James said in the same gentle tone, helping to lower Regulus to the ground. He sat besides Regulus on the grass, their brooms forgotten beside them. James’s hand settled on Regulus’s back, steady and warm. Regulus allowed himself to take comfort from it.

 

“Thanks,” Regulus croaked, and he hated how raw his voice sounded.

 

Now that he was on solid ground, he allowed himself one second to close his eyes. He felt the grass with his hands, smelled the mud of the pitch, heard James breathing beside him. He tried to match it. In and out. In and out.

 

He opened his eyes, and James was staring at him.

 

“Alright?” James asked once again, after Regulus’s breathing had evened out.

 

“Yeah, fine,” Regulus admitted a little breathlessly. Then, because he knew he should, he quipped, “think my broom’s cursed.”

 

James didn’t laugh. “You looked like…you looked like you were going to faint up there,” he said quietly. Then, even quieter, he added, “I’ve never seen you like that.”

 

Regulus straightened slowly, trying not to show how his legs still shook. He tried another grin. “Maybe I’m just getting old.”

 

“You’re sixteen,” James replied, eyebrow raised.

 

“And yet I possess the wisdom of a much older man,” Regulus replied back.

 

James didn’t laugh at that either. Instead, with his hand still weighing on Regulus’s back, he said “you don’t have to fake it, you know. Not with me.”

 

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and Regulus looked away, focusing on the castle in the distance.

 

“I’m not faking anything,” he said, a beat too late to be sincere.

 

James didn’t call him on it. “Alright. But, if something is eating at you, I’d rather you said so than fell dramatically to your death from the sky.”

 

The words brought back the reminder of James’s Boggart; Sirius bloodied and limp on the floor. Regulus continued to watch the castle as he formulated his next question.

 

“Why--” he stopped, eyes flicking to James before he continued. “Why was I your Boggart?”

 

James blinked. “What?”

 

“In class,” Regulus clarified, “your Boggart was me. Hurt. Why?”

 

James didn’t answer right away. He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up in ways the wind hadn’t yet. Regulus watched him, afraid to look away; afraid to miss his explanation.

 

“Because,” James said finally, “you die all the time in my head.”

 

Regulus’s breath caught, but not for the reason James thought.

 

“You do stupid things all the time. You bait people. You walk into danger like it’s your job. And I can’t-- I can never stop you, Sirius.” 

 

Regulus didn’t reply, couldn’t reply, so James went on, refusing to look at him. “And every time you leave Hogwarts-- every time you go back to that house. I know you pretend it’s just noise and yelling and portraits, but-- shit, Pads, it’s more than that. I know it is.”

 

Regulus’s fists clenched in the grass, uprooting some of it, but he didn’t interrupt.

 

“I picture it,” James whispered, eyes on the horizon, “I picture Walburga hexing you into the wall. I picture Orion doing worse. I picture you going in and not coming out. I picture a letter from your mother saying you’re dead and she’s glad for it.”

 

He finally looked at Regulus now, and his eyes were burning. “And I wouldn’t know until it was too late.”

 

It knocked something loose in Regulus. He felt a piece of himself clatter to the dirt-stained ground and roll away. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get it back.

 

Because he’d had this thought too. He’d thought about how stupid Sirius could be, how reckless he was, how it was impossible to stop him. How it was impossible to stop them. How he wouldn’t know until it was too late.

 

Regulus’s throat constricted.

 

He hadn’t realized anyone else had noticed.

 

He hadn’t realized anyone else had worried.

 

And suddenly, unbidden, he felt the truth bubbling out of him.

 

“James, I--”

 

But James shook his head, “I’m not saying it because I want you to explain or apologize, Sirius. I’m saying it because you need to know, okay?”

 

And Regulus looked at James and it was unmistakable how much this boy cared for Sirius Black.

 

“Okay,” Regulus responded quietly, because it was the only thing he could give James right now. 

 

He was left with the sickening thought that he’d really grown to like James Potter. And that James Potter would probably never, ever forgive him for what he was doing right now. 

 

Notes:

longest chapter alert again! I'm spoiling you guys :')

ha ha I planted the seed for reg fear of heights chapters ago, I think it ties in well with his fear of losing control yknow? also james potter you are so good and wholesome his literal worst fear is sirius dying?? who cooks this shit up!

and reg almost confessing!! gosh what's it going to take!

we are rapidly approaching the end I can't believe it :O tune in next time and thank you sincerely for every comment, kudos, bookmark, etc!! they make me write faster *hint hint* :)

Chapter 7: A Twisted Production

Summary:

Regulus runs into some of his own friends for the first time in days. Meanwhile, Remus is getting worse by the second, and everyone seems to know how to help except for Regulus. It's starting to feel like a recurring theme in his life.

Regulus shouldn’t have been in the dungeons. He especially shouldn’t have been in the dungeons before the sun had even risen, taunting the shadowed halls with Sirius’s Gryffindor tie. It was a bad idea. More than bad: completely stupid. Reckless. Irresponsible. Idiotic.

 

He was starting to fear that repeated Polyjuice dosages had long term side effects. Whether that was insanity or becoming more and more like his brother, Regulus couldn’t say. He wasn’t sure there was too much of a difference.

 

But his skin was humming from long days spent surrounded by the Gryffindors. As he’d begrudgingly come to know them, and maybe even come to tolerate them, he’d grown to miss the relative comforts of Slytherin he’d been taking for granted. How his friends knew how to exist in silence, how they communicated as much with what they didn’t say as what they did. It was taking a toll on Regulus, both his performance and his concern for Sirius. And that was why he found himself wandering the dungeons, seeking out a sliver of solace that he didn’t deserve. He was tired, and fraying, and he could not afford to lose it. Not when there was so much at stake.

 

He wasn’t even aware of it until two figures emerged from the shadows, but he’d also been selfishly hoping to run into his own friends, desperate for their presence even if they wouldn’t act the same around him in Sirius’s skin.

 

“Well, well, well,” Barty drawled, “if it isn’t everybody’s favorite blood traitor.” The sound of it, the familiarity, made Regulus want to smile. He didn’t, though. He knew what it meant when that tone was leveled at Sirius; poised like a wand about to strike. He’d seen it happen too many times to count.

 

He rolled his shoulders, and tried to get into character.

 

“Crouch, Rosier,” he said, addressing them each in turn, “to what do I owe the displeasure?”

 

Evan was leaning against the stone wall beside him, twirling his wand in his hand, too close and too calm. His smile was casual, but his eyes were sharp and searching. “You’re looking well, Black,” he said neutrally, “considering your baby brother has been missing for--” and he counted on his fingers one by one in an exaggerated motion, “oh, five days now?”

 

Regulus swallowed hard, and resisted the urge to flex his hands, aware of the sweat beginning to prickle there. He knew them well, maybe better than anyone else. He knew they’d be looking for any small tell, any hint at weakness, the same way Regulus did when he stood at their side. It hurt to be on the receiving end.

 

Barty leaned closer, smelling of the same shampoo he’d used since Regulus had met him four years ago, and the familiarity gnawed at him once more.

 

“Here’s the thing,” Barty whispered, “Rosier and I here, we’re getting a touch twitchy. Because we haven’t seen your dearest brother in nearly a week, and it’s starting to feel like it’s…well, I’m sure you know.”

 

Regulus did know. He said nothing.

 

“We know how your family works,” Evan continued, “We know, Black, so don’t kid us. Regulus wouldn’t vanish like this of his own accord he’s-- he’s not you.” He spit the last word like poison, and Regulus felt the sting, even though it was meant in his defense.

 

There was a pause, then, and Regulus knew they were both appraising him; looking for chinks in the armor. He couldn’t give them any. Part of him wanted more than anything to give up the charade, confide in his friends, get some help in this impossible situation he’d been forced into. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t safe to. He couldn’t risk telling the truth. One wrong move, one hint to Walburga and Orion that the plan was amiss, and Regulus would lose any control he had over the situation. And that would be catastrophic for himself and Sirius.

 

He inhaled slowly and replied, “I haven’t seen him.” It was Sirius’s voice, and it came out hollow.

 

They stared.

 

Then Evan, with a cold smile Regulus had never been on the receiving end of, replied, “funny, that. You don’t sound nearly as smug as you usually do when you know something we don’t.”

 

“Perhaps he’s going soft,” Barty said, directing this at Evan, but in a flash he turned his attention back to Regulus. “Or perhaps he’s feeling guilty.”

 

Regulus couldn’t help but stiffen slightly. 

 

He forced his gaze to stay bored, forced his mouth into Sirius’s Slytherin-sneer to deliver his next line. “I’m sorry,” and the words were sharp and cold, now; Regulus’s oldest defense, “are you actually worried about him? Don’t tell me you’ve grown feelings. They don’t suit you.”

 

Evan’s smile slipped just a fraction as Barty’s hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to forgo the wand and punch Sirius in the face. And in that moment Regulus could see it painted in their body language: the fear, the anxiety, the anger.

 

The fact that they’d been so desperate they’d sought out Sirius. For him.

 

It made him speak again.

 

“Like I said. I haven’t seen him.”

 

Barty was growing restless, Regulus could tell, but he had no way of stopping it in Sirius’s body.

 

“If anything’s happened to him--” Barty growled, and he let the threat hang in the air unfinished, the fourth member of their conversation.

 

“He can handle himself,” Regulus snapped, sharper than he meant to, his frustration rising to meet Barty’s anger.

 

They were talking about Regulus. He was talking about Sirius.

 

Barty’s eyes narrowed as if he could sense the discrepancy; he made a hum somewhere between amused and intrigued.

 

“Now that…that almost sounded like concern, Black,” Evan said quietly, head tilted.

 

Regulus forced himself to stand still. He knew that tone. Evan was prodding now; gentler than Barty, but more dangerous than him, too.

 

“So what?” Evan continued, pressing an angle, “you finally put him to work? Let him take the fall for one of your idiotic rebellions, then left him all alone?”

 

Regulus swallowed, and it burned on the way down, as he grit out, “I don’t need him to do anything for me.” And then, in an effort to put some distance between them, goad them back into familiar territory, he added, “and he certainly doesn’t need either of you.”

 

Barty laughed. “Oh that’s rich coming from you, Black. Last I checked you’re the one he didn’t need. Unless that’s changed now?”

 

Regulus said nothing, not trusting himself to make a comment. But he knew Sirius would have. Sirius never, for better or worse, possessed an ounce of self-restraint. He’d say whatever he thought no matter the consequences. Sometimes Regulus admired him for it, not that he’d ever tell him that. But right now, Regulus hated him for it. The silence that fell was unnatural, not like the banter Sirius usually engaged in so easily, and Regulus could feel Barty and Evan growing suspicious.

 

“...what happened this weekend?” Barty asked in a rush, like he had to force the words past his lips quickly for them to be allowed at all, “something’s different. You’re twitchier than usual. Almost like you’ve got something to hide.”

 

With effort, Regulus rolled his eyes in an attempt to hide the way his heart had started racing at the words. He took a step away from his friends, desperate to turn and run far away from this corridor, from Hogwarts, from the Black name itself.

 

“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.” What a terrible, horrible lie. Because he would tell them as Regulus. He couldn’t as Sirius.

 

Evan spoke next. “If he’s…in trouble, though. You’d say something, wouldn’t you?”

 

Regulus didn’t answer immediately. He was struck by the question. Would Sirius say something, if Regulus was in trouble? What would Sirius be doing if the roles were reversed? If Regulus was the one imprisoned at Grimmauld, and Sirius was forced to play him in a twisted production of his own life?

 

And Regulus knew with no hesitation that Sirius would. Sirius had many faults. Loyalty was not one of them.

 

He forced himself to meet Evan’s gaze and replied, “Yeah. I would.”

 

The silence that followed was suffocating. 

 

Suddenly the weight of their gazes was too heavy, mixing with the crushing weight that had settled in his lungs the moment he’d first drank the Polyjuice potion, almost drowned out by his pulse thundering through his ears. He was worried if he stayed here they’d figure him out. He was worried he’d let them.

 

He turned to leave, not letting himself run, but walking fast, trying to prevent the panic from clawing its way up his throat. But Barty’s voice followed him.

 

“For someone who’s supposed to hate his brother, you’re doing a shit job at pretending not to care!”

 

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t let that truth catch up to him.

 

He arrived in the Great Hall, breathless and wide-eyed, approaching the Gryffindor table like it had its own gravitational force and it was pulling him in against his will.

 

“Godric, did you fight a dragon in the corridor?” James asked, eyes raking up and down Sirius’s disheveled body as if he was checking for dragon-related dueling injuries. His eyes had lingered on Regulus longer than necessary ever since James's Boggart had revealed itself yesterday; like he needed to keep proving to himself that Sirius was here in one piece. 

 

“Yeah,” Regulus replied as he dropped onto the bench because it was easier than admitting the truth, “I made quick work of him. Minister said he’d send my medal in the post.”

 

“A dragon a day keeps the ladies away,” Peter said then, “that’s what my mum always says.”

 

“Oh, so you’ve been fighting dragons too, Pete?” James asked, and Peter’s cheeks burned.

 

Regulus began to make himself a cup of tea to keep his hands busy. He stirred slowly, and was about to take a sip when the Black family owl deposited a letter in front of him. Regulus picked up the envelope slowly, aware of the two other sets of eyes trained on the Black family crest sealing the letter. Regulus knew from the penmanship that it was from Walburga.

 

“That from you-know-who?” James asked, seemingly the only Gryffindor brave enough to break the silence.

 

Regulus pursed his lips. “Appears so.”

 

James, without missing a beat, asked “after you’ve read it, can I shred it? I’ve been practicing a spell for the occasion.”

 

Regulus didn’t laugh. He couldn’t. Because, despite its light weight, this letter held his entire fate between its sharp creases. Whether Walburga was calling him home or forcing him to stay, sending more Polyjuice or sending Sirius, it was likely all written in Walburga’s elegant handwriting, letters sharp enough to kill.

 

Regulus tore it open slowly, like the parchment might grow teeth and sink them into Regulus’s open palm if he moved too quickly. His eyes slowly took in Walburga’s scrawling cursive, and he forced his expression to remain blank. The letter was short, three sentences, too much information and not enough all at the same time.

 

Your presence is requested at Grimmauld Place this weekend. I’m afraid your brother has taken a turn for the worse. Arrangements have been made for Saturday afternoon.

 

Regulus had studied astronomy voraciously in his youth, as it was an encouraged hobby by Walburga, noble and befitting the family. This was how he knew the death of a star was not a single solitary event. It was a process. Stars existed in balance, an eternal struggle between their core pushing outwards and gravity pressing in. When stars ran out of fuel, the external forces would prevail, and the collapse began.

 

“Sirius?”

 

The death of Regulus was nothing special. He’d always caved easily to external pressures, always felt relief in their solidity. He would burn out, implode, and that would be that.

 

But the death of Sirius, the brightest star in the galaxy? That death would be cataclysmic. Irreparable. Blinding.

 

That death would be his fault.

 

“Sirius?” James pressed, clearly repeating himself; obviously stressed.

 

Regulus’s mind was galaxies away. 

 

I’m afraid your brother has taken a turn for the worse.

 

Was he too late? Had he waited too long? Would she even put it in writing, if he was gone?

And then, a far more sinister thought: should he keep the letter for evidence? As proof?

 

The thought was so jarring it brought him back to the present moment; an asteroid colliding back with Earth. 

 

“I’ve got to go home,” he said to James, not quite looking at him.

 

“Again?” Peter squeaked in surprise.

 

“Yes,” Regulus said shortly, eyes still on the letter, mind in constellations.

 

“But you can’t go tonight!” James protested immediately. It was such an odd specification that Regulus found himself meeting James’s eye without meaning to, trying to figure out what he meant.

 

“I’m not. I won’t leave until tomorrow.”

 

“Oh,” James said, relief evident in his tone, “that’s good.”

 

Regulus stared at him incredulously. How, the fuck, was that good?

 

“Not that that’s good,” James continued quickly once he noticed Regulus staring, “I just mean…you know, Moons will be happy. He needs you.”

 

Regulus blinked again. Did they not understand how bad things were at Grimmauld Place? They couldn’t, if James thought anything was more important than that. 

 

“Right,” Regulus said slowly, “Remus.” Then he looked around, noticing Remus still hadn’t joined them for breakfast. He was always a late riser, but this was late even for him. “Where is he anyways?”

 

James and Peter stared at him, and Regulus felt the distinct feeling that he was missing something once again settle over his skin, stretching taut.

 

“Reckon he’s still asleep,” James replied, like that answered anything.

 

“Right,” Regulus said again, despite nothing feeling right.

 

“Yeah he’s always tired on--” Peter began, but James elbowed him hard.

 

“No talk of that at the breakfast table, yeah Pete?”

 

Pete nodded, rubbing his side, and Regulus was too preoccupied with his own problems to pay it much mind.

 

They trudged off to History of Magic, and Regulus was so relieved by the chance to put his head down and sleep that he didn’t realize James was the one taking notes today.

 

Remus joined them in their second class looking downright dreadful. The bags under his eyes were somehow more pronounced than yesterday, and he moved like every action cost him something. Regulus didn’t even have to fake the concern he knew Sirius would have.

 

“Moony,” he started as Remus slid into the seat next to him, “what are you doing here? You should be in bed.”

 

Remus shook his head, too tired to even argue it appeared. Regulus had no idea what to make of it. In the last week Remus had been the steadiest of them all, least prone to mood swings and outbursts. Seeing him so drained was setting off warning bells in Regulus’s skull.

 

Regulus decided to switch tactics.

 

“Did you sleep at all last night, or did you decide to wrestle a dementor for the hell of it?”

 

Remus let out something between a laugh and a groan before croaking, “a bit of both.”

 

“Well you missed breakfast,” Regulus responded, “not the best idea if you’re looking to take down dementors.”

 

“I wasn’t hungry.”

 

“Liar,” Regulus responded reflexively.

 

“I’m fine, Sirius,” Remus said quietly, turning his attention to the front of the class.

 

Regulus didn’t press; he didn’t know how. Sirius knew how. Sirius would have dragged Remus out of class no matter how much he complained. He would’ve forced Remus to eat something and go back to bed. He’d always been good at taking care of people that didn’t want to take care of themselves.

 

Professor McGonagall began class, and Regulus couldn’t help but be hyper-aware that Remus didn’t even attempt to take notes, his blank parchment and quill perfectly still in front of him. Remus sat with his head in his hand like it might fall off his neck and roll away from his body if he didn’t hold it in place. His eyes were directed in McGonagall’s direction but they were glazed over, none of his usual curiosity in them. 

 

What was even stranger was that McGonagall was letting him get away with it. She was known throughout Hogwarts for being the strictest teacher; a no-nonsense witch. And yet, she didn’t scold Remus for not taking notes, she never once called on him to answer a question, and she didn’t ask him to demonstrate a single spell. Regulus had the insane thought that he was not the only person Polyjuiced in the room; that Remus and McGonagall were fakes as well.

 

When she dismissed the class, James and Peter rushed over to their table.

 

“Moons,” James said sweetly, “ready to collapse yet? Or do we have time to drag you back upstairs first?”

 

“I’m fine,” Remus repeated, but it lacked conviction. He fumbled to grab his bookbag, knocking his quill to the ground. Peter jumped to grab it off the floor, placing it and Remus’s parchment into his bookbag without a word.

 

Regulus stood slowly, mind spinning, grappling with all the pieces he had but unable to make a complete picture with them.

 

“Come on, mate, you’ve made your point. Now let's get you back to bed.” James looked to Regulus as he said it, clearly asking for backup, but Regulus had no idea what he was supposed to say here.

 

“Yeah, Remus, please. Don’t make us take you to Pomfrey, you know what she’s like.” This felt like a Sirius thing to say; Sirius hated hospitals, and he’d never trusted the mediwitch.

 

Remus blinked at him slowly like he was trying to make sense of the words.

 

James was looking at him, too. And so was Peter.

 

Shit.

 

“Boys,” McGonagall said smoothly from the front of the room, “see to it that Mr. Lupin makes it back up to the dormitory. I do believe some rest would do him well.”

 

James tore his eyes away from Regulus. “Yes, Minnie-ma’am! Right away!”

 

Remus allowed himself to be dragged back to Gryffindor Tower, then, but Regulus felt the weight of Remus’s eyes on him the entire way up.

 

They burst into the dorm room as a single mass of people, and James and Peter quickly set to work like they’d done this a million times before.

 

James tugged the curtains open beside Remus’s bed, muttering a quick warming charm at his sheets, before tasking himself with fluffing all of Remus’s pillows up. Peter dropped Remus’s bag at the foot of his bed, which he’d carried up from class, before rummaging through his trunk and tossing chocolate frogs onto Remus’s bed. 

 

Regulus hovered in the doorway feeling useless and entirely out of his element.

 

Remus curled up in bed without changing out of his robes or removing his shoes. James reached down and tugged them off. 

 

Regulus watched it all, still as a statue, and he felt his heart tighten painfully in his chest. This care, the comfort, was second nature to them. It wasn’t performative, or dramatic; it didn’t beg for a thank you in return. And for a small moment, he allowed himself to imagine how easily Sirius fit into this scene. The thought caused an ache in his chest he didn’t fully understand.

 

“Need anything?” Regulus asked Remus, half to distract himself and half to not feel so useless.

 

“No, thanks,” Remus replied, words muffled by the blanket near his mouth.

 

Regulus floundered for a moment. What did people need when they didn’t feel good?

 

“How about water?” Regulus asked.

 

“Already had some,” Remus answered.

 

“You need more,” Regulus said, a bit desperately, wishing Remus would let him do something; give him some kind of task he could complete to make this better.

 

Remus shifted in the bed, pulling himself up to a more seated position as he stared across the room at Regulus.

 

“Since when do you nag so much?”

 

Regulus blinked. “Since always?”

 

James glanced over from where he’d busied himself emptying Remus’s bookbag. “Pads nags when he’s feeling guilty about something. Or when he’s trying to keep himself busy.”

 

Remus’s eyes opened more than they had all morning. “What do you have to feel guilty about?”

 

Regulus’s breath caught. He opened his mouth, unsure of what he was going to respond with, when James beat him to it.

 

“Existing, probably.”

 

Remus didn’t smile, but he didn’t ask any more questions, either.

 

Regulus cleared his throat. “I’ll go, uh-- get the water.”

 

He stepped out of their dorm room quickly, shutting the door behind him with a little too much force. He pressed his back against it for a moment, head hitting the wood softly, and sighed. Then, through the door, he heard them talking.

 

“He’s acting off,” Remus said. Regulus pressed his ear to the door so he could hear them better.

 

“He got another letter at breakfast,” James replied, as if this explained it.

 

“What did it say?” Remus asked, but he sounded tired, and Regulus was filled with guilt that Remus was worrying about him right now.

 

“He has to go home again.”

 

“Tonight?” Remus asked, anxiety threading through the word.

 

“No, he said tomorrow,” Peter answered, and it sounded like the words were spoken around a chocolate frog.

 

“Is that what it said? Or is he staying for me, because I can’t-- I can’t be the reason she gets angry with him.”

 

I can’t be the reason he gets hurt hung in the air, unspoken.

 

Peter broke the silence. “Well, James did make him feel like shit for possibly leaving tonight--”

“Pete that is NOT true and you know it!” James snapped, actually sounding angry, “Moons, I swear, I didn’t. He told us the letter said tomorrow. We just have to believe that.”

 

“Why didn’t he tell me?” Remus croaked, making no attempt to mediate their argument.

 

“You know him, Remus. He doesn’t want to worry you, especially not right now.”

 

“I worry anyways,” Remus said sulkily.

 

“We all do,” Peter said agreeably.

 

It was silent for a moment, and Regulus almost moved to descend the stairs, when Remus spoke again.

 

“Do you think it’s because of Regulus?”

 

“Could be,” James replied, “I still haven’t seen him around.”

 

“Do you really think he was sick? Or do you think he’s--”

 

James cut Peter off. “Sirius would never leave him there hurt. I’m sure he’s fine, getting the spoiled prince treatment. Walburga’s probably tired of being a sweet, doting mother and wants to take that out on Sirius.”

 

Regulus turned away before he could hear any more, sprinting down the stairs, not caring if they heard his footsteps. He ran hard, putting as much distance between himself and Gryffindor as possible. His feet hit the ground hard, and he forced his steps to hit harder, letting the feeling consume him, refusing to dwell on James’s last comment.

 

Sirius would never leave him there hurt.

 

His feet carried him to a seldom used boy’s bathroom on the sixth floor. He entered, alone, and stood there a moment, taking in the ringing silence. Thankful for it and hating it all in one breath.

 

He crossed the tiled room to the sink, turning on the tap and running it until the water was ice cold. He stuck his hand in the stream, staring as the sensation turned from sharp pain to blanket numbness. 

 

It wasn’t his hand, of course; it was Sirius’s. But the numbness felt the same.

 

Sirius would never leave him there hurt.

 

He willed the feeling to spread over his body, desperate to stop the nonstop hurt of the last week, desperate to slow the way his chest was heaving. He wasn’t sure if it was being in Sirius’s body, or living his life, but everything was too much: his laughter, his pain, his silence. He couldn’t take it much longer.

 

He turned the tap off and the sound reverberated around the small space, far louder than it had any right being. With great effort, Regulus dragged his eyes up to view himself in the mirror. To view Sirius.

 

And he saw Sirius. But he didn’t look like him anymore.

 

It wasn’t the potion failing, no; Regulus was failing. Sirius had never looked this unsure, this tired, this defeated. He gripped the edge of the sink tighter. 

 

Sirius would never leave him there hurt.

 

As if he needed one more reminder that he wasn’t, and never would be, Sirius Black. Because Regulus had left his brother there.

 

“Pull it together,” he hissed at Sirius’s reflection.

 

The Sirius in the mirror stared back, offering no advice, no comfort, no response.

 

Regulus, surprising himself, picked up the bar of soap on the sink’s ledge and hurled it at the mirror. The image shattered spectacularly and there, in the fragmented glass, Regulus could finally see himself.

Notes:

surprise!!! I'm here within a week! who cheered!?

barty and evan seeing through regulus in one conversation where everyone else has been fooled for days :')

ALSO the marauders taking such good care of remus and regulus is like wait idk how to do this OUCH

LASTLY remus saying he can’t be the reason walburga is mad at sirius when we know from chapter 1 that is exactly what’s happening! ha!

okay so about the chapter count...lol..can't believe this story was originally supposed to be 5 chapters? basically what's happening is I have had the whole thing outlined from the beginning so the last 2 points of the outline are both taking 2 chapters to write instead of the 1 I had anticipated so yay more story! and you lucky ducks the next chapter is finished as well so I will post that next weekend! no more biweekly updates hooray!

I love love love hearing your thoughts on this so I shall see you in the comments <3 hope everyone has a great week!