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October, 1975
There were four billion people on the planet. Fifty-six million in the United Kingdom. Five million in Scotland. Ten-thousand in the village of Hogsmeade. And yet, somehow, someway, Regulus Black still winds up sitting outside Sirius Black’s office.
Technically speaking, Sirius was Headmaster Black. And wasn’t that a load of shit? Mother had practically needed to be sedated when Father had come home with the news that the board had voted to approve him, despite their boisterous objections. (Boisterous does, in fact, seem to refer to many rounds of blackmail and threats).
Regulus sat up a little straighter when Professor Lupin left the office, shutting the door softly behind him. He gave Regulus and his two co-conspirators a look riddled with disappointment. Regulus’s stomach felt a little funny at the sight of it.
“Headmaster Black would like to see you boys now.” Lupin paused, not moving from his position in front of the doorway. He looked between Barty, Evan, and Regulus, his gaze lingering on the latter. “I hope you all learn a lesson from today. I know you’re better than this kind of behavior.”
Well ouch.
The history professor’s words didn’t seem to have much effect on Evan or Barty. The two exchanged ill-disguised eyerolls and nudges. Not shocking. But Regulus? He wasn’t feeling so hot right about now.
Professor Lupin was undeniably his favorite Professor. He knew he was supposed to like Snape, the science professor, the best, being his head of house and the clear choice of all his best mates. But while he did like the man, Lupin’s quiet, empathetic nature made him Regulus’s first choice.
And now he’d gone and done something even worse than making the professor angry: he’d actually managed to disappoint him.
Regulus rose with the other boys, the trio making to head into Sirius’s office. A hand on Regulus’s arm stopped him from fully entering through the doorway with Barty and Evan.
“Regulus.” Lupin’s hand loosely encircled his bicep. Regulus swallowed and forced himself to make eye contact. Professor Lupin’s eyes were wrinkled around the edges, making him look older than he must be. He’d been schoolmates with Sirius, so he couldn’t be that old, maybe thirty? “I know things have been… challenging for you this school year,” and the award for understatement of the year goes to… “Just know if you ever need to talk, my door is open.” With that, Lupin patted his arm once and released him.
Regulus gave him a stilted nod, then turned and walked into his brother’s office.
Sirius was sat behind a large dark wood desk that he must’ve inherited from the previous Headmaster. It didn’t really suit his style, looking more like something Father would’ve appreciated.
Frames littered the desk and walls. A shot of a group of teenagers, neckties loosened and hair all a mess. A young Sirius and another boy sticking their tongues out at the camera. An older couple smiling by a Christmas tree. A Hogwarts graduation. A more recent version of Sirius standing beside a bride and groom. Notably absent was any memento from any other member of the Black family. To his credit though, Mother wasn’t exactly well known for documenting her children’s lives in photographs. There were only a handful of photos of himself that Regulus had ever seen around the Black family home. (None of Sirius, although that wasn’t to say they hadn’t existed at one point or another).
Regulus took a seat in the empty chair on the end, across from Sirius. Less than five feet from each other for the first time in years.
Sirius looked at him for what couldn’t have been more than half a second before his eyes cut back over to Barty and Evan. “Well?” He looked between the two of them, but addressed the room at large. “Who would like to give an explanation?”
Barty and Evan both glanced at Regulus, because, yes, technically explaining trouble away would normally be his domain. But they were on their own here. In fact, if Father couldn’t get Sirius sacked anytime soon, they were gonna be on their own for the rest of the semester, if not the rest of their tenure at Hogwarts.
Regulus shrugged minutely, slouching lower in his seat.
Barty got the hint because he cleared his throat, giving Sirius what Regulus had deemed his charm-the-adults smile. It didn’t seem to have the desired effect, Sirius’s frown deepening. “Well, Professor, I think this may have been a bit of a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding?” Sirius leaned back in his chair, hands folding together, fingers intertwining.
Barty nodded, eagerly misinterpreting Sirius’s tone for intrigue rather than the skepticism Regulus knew it to be. “Yes sir, a misunderstanding. See, we thought Gilderoy was choking and were just trying to clap him on the back to help him out.”
As far as explanations go, it wasn’t what Regulus would’ve gone with, but it certainly wasn’t the worst Barty had ever come up with. (That title went to the time he tried to convince Professor Snape that they had been out of the dorms after curfew because they had all collectively taken up sleep walking–Snape hadn’t bought it and had seemed irritated enough with the sorry excuse that he’d taken it out on all their arses).
“Ahh, so this wasn’t a fight. It was being a good samaritan?” If Regulus didn’t know better, he’d think Sirius almost looked amused. Although maybe he was amused. From what he’d heard about Sirius, in whispers at family parties or from Andromeda (the only one bold enough to talk about him openly these days), his brother had been prone to his fair share of fights back in his school days.
“Yeah, exactly.” Barty sat back in his chair, looking pleased with himself.
Sirius nodded slowly, then leaned forward, forearms resting on the desk. “Then why, exactly, is Lockhart sitting in the infirmary right now with a black eye and sprained wrist?”
Regulus couldn’t help but snort a small laugh.
Sirius’s eyes flashed to him. “Something funny?”
Regulus pursed his lips, not wanting to be drawn into this, but not able to resist pointing out, “Look, I’ll own the black eye part, but Gil’s got a sprained wrist because he doesn’t know how to throw a bloody punch. You can’t hold us accountable for that. If anything, that’s his parents’ fault for giving him the weak hands gene.”
Sirius’s lips quirked up briefly before he schooled his face back into a stern mask. “Alright, I can concede that point. But the black eye still stands as less than comradery behavior.”
What Regulus wanted to say was that a black eye was less than Gilderoy deserved for the shit he’d been talking to Marlene. But this whole detente had already gone on far longer than he would’ve liked. So instead, he shrugged and said, “I suppose we weren’t feeling very comradery, then.”
“Any particular reason?”
Regulus didn’t answer, looking over at Barty and Evan. Tap in guys.
Barty took the hint, reclaiming the narrative. “Gil was being a prick, Professor. He’s been a jerk to Marlene McKinnon all month just because she was invited to Slughorn’s little club and he wasn’t.”
Regulus himself had also been invited, but Lockhart knew better than to try and mess with him over it. Maybe if Lockhart had just been acting like a prick to him, Regulus wouldn’t have had to clock him during history class. Regulus was good at just ignoring guys like Lockhart, he had a fair bit of experience dealing with people that needed to feel superior all the time. But Marlene was nicer than him, and she expected other people to be nicer too. So it had obviously bothered her when Lockhart was going on and on today about how Slughorn had clearly lowered his standards for membership to the Slug Club.
He hadn’t appreciated Regulus pointing out that even if that were the case, Gilderoy still hadn’t made the invitee list, so what did that say about him?
The ensuing brawl had drawn in Evan and Barty. Regulus would’ve felt bad about it being three on one if that one wasn’t the world’s most insufferable person alive.
“I see.” Sirius sounded like he did see, and Regulus allowed himself to hope for a second that this was the end of their dressing down.
But then he went and stood up, pushing his sleeves up half way up his forearms, and walked over to the wardrobe in the corner of the room.
Damn.
Sirius opened the wardrobe, selecting God’s worst invention from its depths.
A cane.
Regulus wasn’t a stranger to it, although he wasn’t nearly as familiar as some students (as Sirius himself likely was back in his own school years). But this was the first time he’d been sent to the Headmaster’s office this school year. The first time since Sirius had been appointed to the position.
Somehow the long, thin cane looked infinitely more intimidating in the hands of his brother than it ever had when wielded by the old Headmaster.
Looking over at Barty and Evan’s pale face, they seemed to be feeling the same way. Regulus was pretty sure neither of his friends had been sent to the Headmaster’s office, and certainly not for a caning, since the new school year had started. If they had thought being friends with the Headmaster’s younger brother would benefit their arses (as Barty had so eloquently implied when news of Sirius’s appointment had come out–that was another black eye Regulus didn’t regret giving) then they were about to be sorely mistaken. Pun intended.
Sirius looked between the three of them, his gaze lingering on Regulus this time. He almost looked sorry, but that wouldn’t have made any sense so Regulus may just be projecting a bit. Moving to stand off to the side of his desk, Regulus used the cane like a pointer and gestured to the edge of the desk. “You’ll each be getting four strokes. Mr. Crouch, you first.”
Four wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, but it certainly wasn’t the little tap on the wrist they’d all been hoping for.
Barty swallowed, slowly standing up. He walked the four feet required between his chair and the side of the desk as if it was the green mile. Once at the required spot, Barty bent at the waist, resting his forearms on the desk. His face was turned to stare down at the wooden desktop, so Regulus could only see part of his expression. But he could’ve had a paper bag covering his head and Regulus would still have been fairly certain there was a grimace firmly in place on his face.
Sirius moved to stand at Barty’s left side, blocking him from view. Now the only thing Regulus could get a good look at was the horrifying sight of the cane being pulled high and back, then brought down with enough speed that it blurred in the air. The resulting crack made everyone in the room breathe in sharply, Sirius included. Barty made a gasping sound, like the wind had been knocked right out of him.
When the cane pulled back and was brought down again, Regulus watched Barty’s knuckles turn white as they gripped the edge of the desk tightly. There was this high pitched sound filling the room, and it took Regulus a second to realize it was coming from Barty himself, a prolonged whinge like a balloon letting out air. The sound reached a sharp crescendo when Sirius landed the third and then the final stripe across his trousers in quick succession. Sirius stepped back, allowing Barty a moment to catch his breath and wipe away from his face any evidence of how much that hurt.
Barty eventually stood, breathing still stilted but the whinging sound quieted. Sirius clapped him on the shoulder with his free hand, giving his arm a squeeze. “Good lad, you took that well.” The words sounded foreign coming from Sirius’s mouth. They were what the old Headmaster would’ve said after disciplining a student, not something his warm-and-casual brother would say.
Barty didn’t seem to notice the strangeness of the phrase, merely straightening up further. “You can head off to your next class now, Mr. Crouch. My secretary will write you a late slip for it on your way out.”
With Barty’s swift (albeit stiff-legged) departure, Regulus’s, and likely Evan’s, heart rates increased. One down, two to go.
Sirius turned his attention back to the two seated students, looking between them before his gaze came to rest on Evan. “Mr. Rosier, you’re on deck.”
Evan got up, already looking queasy. Regulus was pretty sure humans weren’t meant to turn that shade of green. Nevertheless, he trudged over to the spot Barty had vacated, bending over the desk without prompting. Regulus idly wondered if Evan puked all over the desk, would Sirius still cane him or would he be too preoccupied with the whole gross-mess situation?
Sirius doled out the four strikes to Evan much faster than Barty, like he was finding his footing with it. How many times had Sirius had to cane someone in the couple of months he’d been Headmaster? Maybe this was the first time anyone had warranted it since classes started back up. Regulus felt an unwanted stab of pity for his brother. He knew this was likely the part of the job Sirius would have dreaded. He would’ve felt genuinely sorry for the guy if it wasn’t Sirius himself choosing to wield that cane.
Unlike Barty, Evan hollered after the first stroke, keeping up a steady stream of yelps until it was over. From what Regulus could see of his back, Evan was breathing awful heavily. He wasn’t surprised when his friend stood and faced the room, giving Regulus a look at his tear streaked face.
Sirius clapped Evan on the shoulder as well, giving it a longer squeeze. “The slate’s wiped clean, so I hope I don’t see you in here again anytime soon.” He wagged a faux stern finger at Evan, making the teen smile. That sounded a bit more like the normal Sirius to Regulus’s ears.
Evan was sent back off to class as well. He spared Regulus a lone, pitying look from the doorway before making his escape.
With the door closed behind Evan, he and Sirius were trapped alone together. Neither looked at the other for a solid minute. Sirius busied himself with straightening a few already-straightened items on his desk and Regulus concentrated on breathing at as normal a rate as he could manage.
Once Regulus’s breathing was under control, and Sirius couldn’t find anything else to fiddle with, their eyes finally met. Sirius cleared his throat, then nodded wordlessly at the desk. Regulus got the message, standing up on suddenly-wobbly legs. He wiped his damp palms off on his uniform trousers, stepping over to the side of the desk. Swallowing hard, he forcing himself to bend over the desk.
Regulus’s mind felt inconveniently blank; he couldn’t remember what he normally did with his hands in this situation. Grasp the edge of the desk? Stretch his arms out and reach for the other side? Or just let them dangle like limp noodles? He settled for noodles, arms sprawled out around his head.
Sirius’s hand came to rest on Regulus’s back, giving it a quick rub, and Regulus had just enough time to note that he hadn’t done that for Barty or Evan before the first whack took his breath away.
Regulus had never been caned by his brother before. In fact, the only memory he had of Sirius giving him any kind of rebuff was on Christmas years ago, back when Sirius still came around the Black family home once a year for the holiday. He’d been about eight or so, and Sirius had gifted him with a big kite. Naturally, Regulus had quickly decided that just flying it from the ground wasn’t getting it high enough. So, he’d climbed up to the tallest part of the roof, flying it from there for the roughly fifteen minutes it took before Sirius had realized what he was up to.
Sirius had come to personally retrieve him, carrying him back down to solid earth. Regulus had been voicing his loud complaints about this interruption of his fun when Sirius had tucked him under an arm and swatted him on the backside a dozen or so times soundly. It had managed to startle Regulus enough that he quit whinging.
Even more startling had been the hug Sirius had squeezed him in, holding him tight enough to kinda hurt. It hadn’t been anything like when Mother hugged him, all stiff and sharp fingers digging into his sides. Sirius had felt soft and warm. He’d enjoyed it enough that he hadn’t even pointed out that he was far too old to be carried around and smacked at his ripe old age of eight.
In hindsight, those few swats had nothing on this evil cane.
That first smack had felt like a line of fire being branded on his arse. He almost wanted to reach back and check if there was a scorch mark across his trousers now, but he’d just have to wait until later in the washroom. He couldn’t give Sirius the satisfaction of seeing it.
“You’re in your third year now, Regulus,” Regulus, not Mr. Black like it had been Mr. Crouch and Mr. Rosier. Maybe that was just a tad too informal for their relationship, even for the man who seemingly wanted that relationship to be non-existent. “I expect more out of you than fighting in classes.”
“Can I fight somewhere else, then?” Regulus couldn’t resist the retort.
He took Sirius’s answering smack of the cane to be an emphatic no.
“Sirius–” Regulus gasped after the second stripe seared across him. Sirius faltered a moment, the third strike landing infinitely softer than the one before, more a stuttered tap than anything.
Sirius cleared his throat, bringing the cane down sharper than any of the others for the final whack, making up for the previous one with enthusiasm.
Regulus couldn’t fight the yelp that escaped his throat, echoing loudly in the small office. He was almost certain his arse must look like a red zebra right now. He was actually missing Snape’s paddle, at least that had never caused smoke to rise from his backside.
Well. Maybe it had. But Sirius and that damned cane had wiped all memory of any other instrument ever possibly being remotely as cruel.
Sirius’s hand left Regulus’s back, leaving a chill behind where the warm palm had been resting. Regulus felt like he was gasping more than breathing, fighting desperately to get that, as well as the burning tears behind his eyes, under control. A few stray tears leaked out as he squeezed his eyes shut.
Once he was sure he wasn’t about to do something dumb, like start bawling or take a swing at Sirius, Regulus stood up fully.
Sirius was staring at him, expression pinched. Regulus waited for the cheer up, lad and quick cuff Barty and Evan had received. Instead, Sirius’s voice softened as he asked, “You alright, Reggie?”
Regulus swallowed thickly, throat feeling like it was about to close. Maybe this was an allergic reaction? Yeah, it must be. Sirius probably poisoned him with pine nuts or something, the bastard.
“I’m fine, Professor.” It sounded watery, but still managed to be cold enough to not invite further questioning. Just the right amount of thinly veiled resentment, Mother’s specialty.
Sirius blinked, possibly at the chilly tone or possibly at the title of Professor. Either way it gave Regulus a twinge of satisfaction.
“Good.” Sirius cleared his own throat, turning to walk back around his desk, taking a seat once more. “I hope we don’t need to have this discussion again.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Professor.”
Regulus considered Sirius’s flinch his dismissal, turning for the office door. Maybe if he sweet-talked Sirius’s secretary, or just looked extra pathetic, she’d make his hall pass be for fifteen minutes later than the actual time, giving him a chance to go wash up in the boy’s lavatory.
“Regulus. Hold on a moment.” Damn. So close to freedom.
Regulus slowly turned back towards the desk, hand keeping its grasp on the door handle. “Yeah?”
Sirius didn’t look up from the papers he was fixated on, “Did you start the fight today?”
“That depends on how you define start.”
“You threw the first punch?”
“If that’s your definition, then yes, I technically started the fight.” He’d also ended the fight with another, harder, punch, but pointing that out probably wouldn’t help.
“You’ll have additional detentions then.” Super. Perfect. There goes his after class plans all week. How was he gonna explain to his quidditch captain, Emma Vanity, that he couldn’t make practice because he’d decked Gil? She’d get the decking Gil part, god knows everybody wanted to, but she was gonna kill him over the detentions.
Biting his tongue, Regulus ground out, “Yes, Professor.”
“Two weeks, every afternoon before supper.” Oh, fuck. Two whole weeks? Vanity was gonna wring his neck. “To be served here, in my office.”
Regulus opened his mouth to give another annoyed yes professor before realizing what Sirius said. Wait, what? Detentions happened with whatever Professor happened to be on duty, usually announced during lunch the same day. As far as he knew, that person was never the Headmaster himself, let alone the Headmaster for two full weeks of detentions.
“What? Here? With you?” Regulus clarified, blinking at Sirius.
Sirius nodded, still focused on that damned stack of papers. “You’ll report to my office in the afternoons. I will be supervising your detentions.”
“No, you can’t!” Regulus’s voice was shrill and panicked, taking a few quick steps towards Sirius’s desk once more.
Sirius looked up, frowning. A person who didn’t recognize that look in a Black’s eye would think him genuinely puzzled over Regulus’s horror, but Regulus knew better. Sirius was amused by Regulus’s reaction, and it was only solidifying his determination to torture Regulus with these one-on-one detentions. “I can and I just did. You’ll come here this afternoon for the first one.”
Regulus ground his teeth together, nails leaving indents on his palms as he clenched his fists. “Yes, Professor Black.” He didn’t give Sirius a chance to respond (and possibly add even more levels of horror to this twisted game they were apparently playing), turning and stomping out of the office.
Regulus was beginning to suspect this whole detention thing was just a ruse for free labor.
So far he had spent his afternoon vacuuming Sirius’s office, cleaning his windows, and now, dusting his bookshelf. There were probably laws out there about how much Clorox a child could possibly be made to spray in a day, and just as soon as he was free from Sirius’s scrutiny, he was heading straight to the library to figure it out.
Scrutiny probably wasn’t the right word. Sirius had barely looked at him since Regulus had shown up an hour and a half ago. He’d spent the whole time just sifting through stacks of papers, occasionally deigning to glance at Regulus and order him to a new task. The only responses Regulus was getting from Sirius was a grunt of approval when he had finished vacuuming, and a displeased groan when Regulus (maybe kinda on purpose) sprayed some windex a little too close to him. (His hand slipped, he promised!).
At least Sirius’s bookshelf was a bit more interesting than his plain grey carpet or streaky windows.
There were, of course, books on the wooden shelves. He had a bunch of old, likely never-been-opened books on dull topics like ancient history or, even worse, maths. If Regulus were to gamble on it, those were probably leftovers from the former headmaster. He wondered if Sirius only kept them because he thought they made him look smart (a strong possibility) or if he was just too lazy to remove them (a stronger possibility).
Sirius seemed to have a thing for those dime store mystery novels. He had a well-worn collection of them shoved into every corner of one of the shelves. Regulus picked one up, turning it over to read the summary on the back. A detective. A kidnapping. A blah blah blah. He shoved it back haphazardly, snagging another. Okay, a little more interesting. A young boy solving the case of his parents murder–who had betrayed them?
“You can borrow that if you like.” Sirius’s voice jolted him, causing Regulus to drop the book. He fumbled for a second, picking it back up and looking over at his brother. Sirius was staring at him, his pen set down and paperwork temporarily abandoned.
“Sorry, I was just looking.” Regulus clutched the book tightly.
Sirius shrugged. “It’s fine. You can borrow any of those. That’s a pretty good one that you’ve picked out. You won’t see the twist coming.” He gave Regulus a conspiring wink.
“Really?” Regulus offered a small smile in return, thumbing the book open to look at the first page. In the top corner of the inside cover was a little inscription. Padfoot–At least try not to guess the ending of this one, it’s more fun that way. xx James.
The smile faded from Regulus’s face. James. James Potter. James the upper level Professor who was rumored to have a vendetta against anyone in Slytherin. James who still thought he was some bigshot quidditch star despite being an old and basically decrepit 30 year old now. James who’d given Regulus a detention in his first year for basically no good reason and had the gall to pretend to look all disappointed in him about it. James the school mate Sirius had moved in with all those years ago, leaving the Black house behind. That James.
He shoved the book back on the shelf, not caring that he bent the corners in his haste. “I don’t want it.”
“Okay…” Sirius sounded confused by the sudden shift in mood. “If you change your mind though–”
“I won’t.” Regulus turned and grabbed his bookbag off the guest chair he’d tossed it on, avoiding looking at Sirius. “My time’s up.”
He didn’t wait for a dismissal, turning and fleeing the office.
“You’re late.” Was his pleasant greeting on his third day of detention.
“Sorry, I didn’t want to come.” Regulus muttered the reply, but Sirius’s sharp look let him know he’d heard loud and clear.
Sirius pursed his lips, getting a look on his face that felt oddly familiar, but Regulus couldn’t quite place from where. “Young man,” oh for the love of god, here we go, “someone who has already managed to get into as much trouble as you have this early in the school year really should be watching how they speak to their teachers.”
Regulus flopped down to sit in one of the guest chairs, preparing for the long haul. Seriously, when had Sirius gone and gotten so holier than thou? “You don’t even sound like you when you talk like that, you know.”
If possible, Sirius managed to look even more self righteous. “I sound like a disappointed headmaster, which is exactly what I am. Honestly, Regulus, you can’t just do whatever you like and act however rudely you please. I don’t appreciate this rebelliousness I’m seeing in you.”
Well that felt unfair. Regulus wasn’t exactly a troublemaker, certainly less of one that Sirius himself had been in his own school days. He was a does-his-homework-two-days-early kind of student and a fairly level-headed kind of guy. If anything, it was Sirius who brought out any rebelliousness in him. He’d felt out of sorts ever since his dumb brother had accepted the headmaster position, thus sufficiently invading his life.
He wouldn’t even be sitting in this stupid detention right now if Sirius hadn’t ordered it, forcing them into closer proximity.
Hackles raised, Regulus crossed his arms. “If you don’t like something you’re seeing, Professor, may I suggest looking away?”
Sirius straightened up, eyes sharp. But then when he steepled his hands on top of his desk, nose flaring as he prepared to launch into what surely would’ve been a scathing lecture, Regulus saw the resemblance. “Regulus Black–”
“Oh,” He cut Sirius off from his tirade, “that’s who it is. You look like Mother when you frown like that.” Regulus cocked his head, studying Sirius’s thin face and dark eyes. “Yeah, you get that same look in your eyes that she does when she’s ready to lose it.”
Sirius sucked his lips in instantly, frown disappearing. He looked like Regulus had just backhanded him. His face contorted, trying to look like anything or anyone else.
When the silence grew to an uncomfortable level, Regulus cleared his throat and added, “You don’t normally look like her so much. It’s just a when-you-frown kinda thing.” Not totally true, but it unfroze Sirius’s face from that horrified expression to a only-marginally-stricken one, so it was a good white lie.
Sirius sucked in a slow breath, scrubbing a hand down his face a bit harder than necessary. “Go out to my secretary’s desk. You can spend your detention helping her with any organizing she needs.” He waved his hand towards the office door, shooing Regulus out.
Sirius had, among other flaws, an almost hoarder like quality to him. He was like a bloody pack rat, storing up knick knacks for the winter months.
Regulus had (and he wasn’t exaggerating here) dusted no less than ten million little bits and bobbles. Sirius had them sprinkled all around the room, hiding in corners on the windowsill and behind books on the shelves. If they’d had the kind of relationship where they talked about things like this, Regulus may have staged an intervention.
This likely wasn’t a new phenomenon for Sirius, though. Sometimes, at home, Regulus would find little things of Sirius’s hidden around the Black House. A small toy car shoved in a floor vent. A plastic toy soldier buried in the dirt in the treeline along the property. Some shiny rocks in an old shoe box. He’d always liked to sprinkle his little treasures around himself. Regulus had always found it rather soothing at home when he would stumble across one. Little reminders that someone else had always been there first. He still kept that toy car in his bedside drawer.
Most of the little trinkets in the office were pretty dusty; he’d removed about a centimeter of dust from a cracked teacup. But when Regulus reached the center shelf of one of Sirius’s unnecessary amount of bookshelves (he swore there weren’t that many even at the beginning of the week, they must be multiplying themselves) for his dusting, he found an already dust-free little…something. Regulus picked the clay lump up, trying to figure out what it was supposed to be. It was long with a few little stumps at the bottom of it and a big roundish blob on one side. Not exactly a museum-worthy creation.
Flipping it over, he saw Siri carved into the bottom of it. Ahh, so his brother was displaying his own (poor) artwork and naming the little thing after himself. Classic.
“Not very artistic were you?” Regulus’s question shattered the long silence of the room.
Sirius jumped a little, startled, gaze landing on Regulus. He frowned, eyes narrowing as he saw the little mound of clay. He didn’t speak for a long moment, but just when Regulus thought he might completely ignore him, Sirius said, “No, I was never very artistic. But I didn’t make that.”
Regulus snorted, turning the clay-something (for the life of him he really couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be) over to display the bottom. “It’s got ‘Siri’ carved into its arse. Or head. I really can’t tell which way is up on this thing.”
Sirius leaned back in his chair, one arm going to rest behind his head. He gestured with his free hand for Regulus to come closer. Regulus groaned internally, hoping he hadn’t managed to irritate the Headmaster with his teasing. Or at least not badly enough to warrant any sort of whacking. “Look, I was just joking. It’s not that shit I guess, if you hold it out of the light at least.” Regulus stepped over to the desk, standing just close enough to hand the clay figurine over.
“Language.” Sirius said absentmindedly, taking the little animal (because Regulus had decided it was probably supposed to be some sort of animal. Or insect. Or maybe a boat?) and turning it over in his hands. With a finger, he traced the carved Siri on the bottom. “That’s what you used to call me.” He finally said.
Regulus frowned. Sure, he sort of remembered that being his brother’s nickname. It wasn’t exactly a massive leap to go from Sirius to Siri, not a whole lot of creativity being flexed there. “Sure.” He drew the word out slowly.
Sirius rolled his eyes (a gesture Regulus surely would’ve been reprimanded for, the hypocrite). “You made this lion as a gift for me. That’s why you carved Siri into it.”
Regulus blinked, not sure how to deal with that revelation. He had made this? He didn’t remember that at all, so he must’ve been awfully young. It looked like the work of a toddler, although that may just be because of Regulus’s lack of gift in the arts. Most toddlers don’t know how to spell Siri.
But, more importantly, he had made this and Sirius had kept it. Hadn’t just kept it, had displayed it on the prime slot of his largest bookshelf. Had kept it dust-free when clearly dusting was not a hobby of his. Like he was proud of the ugly little thing.
Regulus’s chest squeezed a little, feeling suddenly too tight. Sirius kept his little lion the same way Regulus kept his little toy car, holding onto a little reminder. It made his nose sting. He wanted to cry and hug his brother, but he also wanted to throw the clay lion at his head or smash it on the floor and yell about how Sirius was the one who left in the first damn place. So why should he get to look all melancholy right now, look so nostalgic about a stupid lion? He could’ve had a dozen more of these dumb lions if he’d ever bothered to visit Regulus. Hell, Regulus would’ve made him a whole clay zoo.
He couldn’t say any of that, though, obviously. So instead he said through a tight throat, “There’s not a chance in hell this thing is a lion.”
Sirius laughed, a loud and surprised sound. He grinned at the small clay figure, rubbing a thumb over what Regulus now suspected was supposed to be a mane, and not just some weird smudged growth. “I think it has a lot of character to it. Although I’d be pretty confused to meet a lion that looks like him in the wild.” Sirius gently set the clay mound down on his desk, right in front of his collection of framed photos.
Regulus was, to put it eloquently, royally fucked.
As it turns out, Sirius may have actually had a leg to stand on when he said Regulus was experiencing some rebelliousness. Because there really was no other explanation for how, a week after his fight with Gil and half way through his subsequent detentions, he finds himself sitting outside the Headmaster’s office once again, outside his allotted detention hours.
At least his knuckles weren’t bruised this time, but he could certainly do without the already stinging arse. Professor Snape’s hard hand had made his perspective on Regulus’s behavior loud and clear, and being dragged off to the Headmaster’s office (by a bloody ear, no less!) had solidified that.
He could hear slightly raised voices coming from inside Sirius’s office. That didn’t exactly bode well. When Snape exited the office, holding the door open for Regulus to enter in his place, looking severe, Regulus was struck by terrible deja vu. Was he really about to get his second caning of his lifetime just a week after the first? The raised lines that had plagued his arse after the first had only just faded a couple days ago.
Steeling himself, Regulus walked into his brother’s office.
To say Sirius looked mad would be a great misjustice to the word mad. Sirius looked like he was about to spit fire. He was standing behind his desk, as if too furious to even sit. His hands gripped the edge of the desk in a white knuckled embrace, reminding Regulus hauntingly of how it looked when he himself gripped that desk for his caning. Sirius’s jaw was set in a hard line, and Regulus resisted pointing out that he once again looked like Mother. Actually, scratch that, now he was angry enough to look like Father.
That probably wasn’t something he wanted to hear either.
When he spoke, Sirius’s voice was barely controlled, on the verge of shouting, “What, in God’s bloody name, were you thinking?”
When Regulus didn’t answer in the two seconds apparently allotted for a reply, Sirius barked out, “Answer me!” and slapped his hand on the top of the desk.
Regulus jumped reflexively, taking a hopefully imperceptible step back. He wasn’t exactly used to his fun-loving brother shouting like this. Even when they’d been caned, Sirius hadn’t been this angry.
Either Sirius noticed that he was scaring Regulus, or he just realized that his shouting wasn’t exactly good-Headmaster-behaviour, because he took a long deep breath in through his nose, releasing it through his mouth. He straightened up, releasing the edge of the desk. “Regulus,” he sounded like he was trying very hard to stay calm, “please explain what happened.”
Regulus licked his lips, feeling like his whole mouth was too dry. “Professor Snape,” he cleared his throat when it came out hoarse, “Professor Snape caught me climbing the water tower.” He decided this may be a good moment for respect, tacking on a hasty, “Sir,” at the end.
Sirius gave him an expectant look. “And?”
“And…?” Regulus furrowed his brows.
“And why the hell were you doing that? Was the goal dying or just breaking your bloody neck?” Sirius lifted his hand as if to slap the desk again, but seemed to think better and lowered it with pointed gentleness once more.
“It was a dare, sir.” Regulus shrugged, then wished he hadn’t when Sirius’s nostrils flared.
“A dare?”
“Yes, sir. It’s, uh, something the quidditch team does every fall.” A longstanding tradition at Hogwarts, the quidditch teams competed for a week doing elaborate dares. The more risky the task, the more points it was worth. The team with the most points at the end of the week was the winner. Gryffindor had won the last several years in a row, and Slytherin was chomping at the bit to get out of second place and claim first. All Regulus had to do was climb to the top of the water tower, stick a Slytherin flag on top and take a polaroid picture for proof. And he’d made it too! He’d gotten up without incident, planted his flag, and taken his photo. It had only been on his descent back down that his head of house had spotted him and shit had gone sideways.
Sirius narrowed his eyes, recognition flooding his face. “So,” he began dangerously slow, “you’re telling me this all was because of that ridiculous quidditch dare week?”
“Ridiculous?” Regulus bristled. “I bet you didn’t think it was ridiculous when you were in school. You’re telling me you never participated in the dares?” The idea of Sirius Black not participating in dare week was laughable.
“What I did or didn’t do a decade ago isn’t what we’re discussing right now, Regulus.” Sirius said sharply. “We’re discussing you climbing up more than thirty metres to be on top of a water tower. That is completely unacceptable; you could’ve been killed.”
Regulus rolled his eyes. “There was a ladder. I’m not the most coordinated person on the planet, I’ll give you that, but even I can handle climbing a ladder.”
Sirius walked around the edge of his desk, coming to a stop a couple feet from Regulus. “And if it had started to rain? If the tower had become slick and you’d fallen? Or if you had just missed a step and lost your grip?”
“Then I guess I’d be dead and you’d have to use one of those ouija boards to be giving this lecture. Which sounds a lot better than what’s happening right now.”
Quick as Regulus could blink, Sirius’s hand shot out and snagged his bicep, yanking him closer. He tucked Regulus under one arm and smacked his backside twice in rapid succession with the palm of his other hand. “I’ve had more of your mouth than I’m going to tolerate, young man.” He swatted Regulus again, the sting radiating across his backside.
Regulus sucked in a sharp breath. He wasn’t exactly an expert when it came to the Hogwarts student handbook, but this felt like it wasn’t exactly standard Professor-Student disciplinary practice. He didn’t have any recollection of a professor ever swatting him with a hand like this, let alone tucking him under an arm as if he were a toddler.
“Sirius!” He stomped a foot, trying to shift out of Sirius’s vice-like grip. “Quit it, already.”
Sirius smacked him again. “You are not in a position to order me around, Regulus. I’ve got no problem keeping you right here and smacking your bottom for as long as it takes you to speak civilly to me.” He gave Regulus a small shake from under his arm. “Can you show some respect, or do I have to do just that?”
When Regulus didn’t answer right away, Sirius landed several searing swats to his thighs. “Well?”
Regulus winced. “I’m thinking, gimme a minute.”
Wrong answer, evidently.
“You’re thinking about it?” Sirius hitched him further up, gaining better access to the lower part of Regulus’s backside and making his displeasure well known there.
It felt counterintuitive for a professor to not like a student thinking, but hey, who was Regulus to judge Sirius’s teaching methods?
“Ow, ow, okay!” Regulus kicked a foot back, unsuccessful in landing on any part of Sirius. “I’m not thinking, I can do it.”
“You’ll show some respect while we talk?” Sirius sounded skeptical, his hand resting on Regulus’s backside, ready to strike should he give a less than satisfactory answer again.
Not about to give Sirius the opportunity, Regulus nodded frantically and said, “Yes sir, I can be respectful.”
Sirius hmm’d, but thankfully released him, righting Regulus on his feet. Regulus’s hand instantly shot back to rub the sting out of his arse. Damn, Sirius had a hard hand. He’d forgotten that somehow.
Sirius leaned back against his desk, arms folded over his chest. “Are you ready to finish telling me what the hell you were thinking?”
Regulus took a small step back, deciding it was probably best to put a little distance between himself and Sirius. He didn’t think the unimpressed, unfamiliarly stern look on his brother’s face was a good omen.
“I suppose I was just thinking about getting points for Slytherin.” He didn’t miss the way Sirius’s face twitched at the mention of his house. Even standing here as the Headmaster of the entire school, he couldn’t be bothered to hide his disdain for a quarter of the student population. Typical self-righteous Gryffindor prick.
“And a less neck-breaking dare was out of the question because…”
“Because the more risky the dare, the more points it’s worth.” Regulus said it slowly, like he’d explain it to a child.
“And you just had to have the one with the most points, did you?”
Regulus didn’t appreciate the mocking note he heard loud and clear in Sirius’s voice. “Well, sir, I wouldn’t have had to do the one worth the most points if you hadn’t given me so many bloody detentions.”
“Excuse me?” The mocking was gone, replaced with the beginnings of that earlier stern undertone. Sirius seemed to be long past done with Regulus’s attitude. Well good, Regulus was done with Sirius’s too. Who the hell was he to start acting like he knew best, like he should have a say in whether Regulus breaks his neck or not? He hadn’t been around the last half a decade and Regulus had gotten by just fine. He’d break his neck if he wanted to break his neck, screw Sirius.
“You heard me.” Regulus jutted his chin up. “I’ve missed a week of quidditch practice already, and I’m going to miss another too because of your stupid detentions. I had to get Slytherin the win to keep everyone from being completely fuming at me.”
“And you’ll miss another week of practice after this.” Sirius pointed a finger at him.
“What?”
“You heard me.” Sirius mimicked. “Another week of detentions for this damned stunt.”
Absolutely. Fucking. Ridiculous.
Three weeks worth of detentions? He was gonna get booted off the team at this rate. That was probably what Sirius was hoping for too, taking away something Regulus genuinely enjoyed just for the hell of it. He wouldn’t be happy until the entire Black family suffered, was punished for whatever perceived slight existed in Sirius’s mind.
Regulus was hearing an angry ringing, probably coming from the steam leaving his ears. “Where the hell do you get off?” It didn’t even sound like his own voice, all warped with rage.
“What did you just say?” If Regulus sounded like a steaming tea kettle, Sirius sounded dangerously quiet, a hissing snake ready to strike.
“I don’t even know you and you’re standing here acting like the goddamn dictator of my life.”
“You are a student and I am your Headmaster. If I want to give you bloody detentions for a year, that’s my right.” If anyone had ever doubted that Sirius belonged in Gryffindor house, the pompousness in his voice would have washed away any doubts.
“You have never given anyone else detention for weeks in your damn–”
Sirius cut in with a sharp, “Watch you mouth.”
“–in your fucking office. What the hell did I ever even do to you? Why do you just hate me so much?” He’d meant to sound angry, meant to accuse, but Regulus’s voice shattered a little at the end, trailing off into a hoarse plea.
Sirius had looked about ready to break the cane in half on his arse, but he faltered. “Hate you?”
“I don’t know what I did to make you hate me,” Regulus swallowed, a foreboding sting prickling behind his eyes, “but this isn’t fair.”
“Regulus,” Sirius sounded strained, “of course I don’t hate you. If I hated you, I wouldn’t care if you broke your neck being a moron.”
Regulus snorted. “If this is you not hating me, then I don’t know what the hell it is. You leave for years, never call, never see me, and then you show up here and start acting all bloody controlling. You don’t treat other students like this, I know it.” he fiddled with his shirt sleeve, looking down to pluck at a loose string. “If you hate Mother and Father, fine, but quit taking it out on me.”
“Reggie,” Sirius rubbed a hand over his face, “you were so young. You don’t remember what it was like. I had to go, I…” he sucked in a deep breath, “I never wanted to leave you behind, but I couldn’t see you without seeing them.” Regulus tensed as Sirius reached out, hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “But here? I can see you here. I can keep you from breaking your neck here.” His grip tightened on Regulus’s shoulder. “And that is exactly what I’m going to do.”
Sirius stepped back, keeping his grip on Regulus and steering him towards the couch along the wall. Regulus was hauled over to the worn leather sofa, Sirius sitting down in the center and standing Regulus between his legs.
“Sirius…” Regulus tried, squirming as his brother’s hands came to hold tightly to his hips, keeping him in place.
“Don’t even start, Regulus. You could’ve gotten yourself killed today pulling that ridiculous stunt. I’m not going to let that happen, not as your Headmaster and absolutely not as your brother. You are fourteen years old, I’m not about to let you run around doing whatever the hell you please.” Sirius’s hands flew to his uniform trousers, deftly undoing them and letting them fall down below Regulus’s backside.
Before Regulus could fully process the situation, he found himself being pulled over Sirius’s lap, staring at the rug below their feet. “Sirius!” He complained. “What are you doing?”
Sirius snorted. “I would assume that was obvious, kid. I’ve seen your grades, I know you’re smart enough to figure this one out.”
Regulus rolled his eyes. “I mean why are you doing it like this? Shouldn’t I be over the desk?” He’d only ever bent over a desk for a few whacks with whatever instrument of choice his professors deemed necessary. Just last week he’d been over Sirius’s desk for the cane, so he’d expected much of the same today. He was almost certain professors weren’t actually allowed to take a student across their lap like this. The whole brother-thing made it a grey area Regulus didn’t wanna push.
A hand rested on Regulus’s lower back. “I think we could both use a reminder of what exactly our relationship is.” With that ominous statement, Sirius’s free hand slapped down sharply across his backside.
Regulus gasped. It wasn’t nearly the sting of the cane, but it was still less than pleasant.
Sirius quickly fell into a rhythm, hand bouncing around Regulus’s backside at a rapid pace. “I think we need to get a few things straight between us, Reg.”
Perfect, time for a lecture.
Sirius continued on, apparently fairly adept at the multitasking involved in chatting and smacking. “You mean a great deal to me.”
Oh. Not exactly the scathing scolding Regulus had expected.
He continued on, “You mean a great deal to me, and I know I haven’t made that clear enough in recent years. But we’re going to start making up for that lost time right here and now, my boy. So let me be very clear: I care about you, I love you, and I will not have you *get yourself killed* just for some bloody game.” He emphasized his final point with a volley of harder smacks to the lower portion of Regulus’s backside.
Regulus was almost glad for the harder smacks; they distracted him enough that he didn’t have to focus on the words, the horrifying declarations of *love* (gross!).
He focussed on the last part of the scolding, finding that easiest to bite back against. “It’s not just some game! You know how important the dares are, it’s bragging rights for the team all year.” Honestly, if anyone should understand that, it would be Sirius. He was a Gryffindor through and through, and Regulus knew he would’ve done whatever it took to get his team the win too. The hypocrite.
Sirius didn’t seem to be keen on his hypocrisy being pointed out. He tilted Regulus forward more, giving himself a better target. He must’ve raised his hand higher because the next few whacks felt as bad as Snape’s dreaded paddle. “Bragging rights? In exchange for your life?” He sounded unimpressed, Regulus could practically hear the stern line his mouth must be forming.
His arm wrapped tighter around Regulus’s waist, holding him close to his middle. Regulus felt the slow fire that had been growing on his backside become a full fledged flame. It was a different kind of sting than the cane, or even a paddle. The cane felt like sharp lines, like a brand had been pressed against one spot for ages. The paddle was more this deep ache that felt itchy soon after. (But a word to the wise: don’t try to scratch it, that didn’t feel so great on a freshly-paddled arse). This, though, was like if you sat down on a heater and slowly cranked the temperature up. A steadily growing burn with the feeling of overlapping hand prints snaking across his whole backside.
“Quit it already, I got it!” Regulus kicked his legs out, emphasizing his got-it point.
He could feel the frown in Sirus’s voice when he said, “I don’t think you do get it, young man. But you’re gonna get it by the time I’m through.” His hand moved lower, targeting Regulus’s already scalded thighs. “There’s no stupid little dare that is worth you getting yourself killed over. Period. Full stop. You don’t get to take risks like that.”
Regulus whimpered, burying his face in his folded arms. At least with the cane it was over quickly. It was a lot easier to keep your composure for less than a minute of searing stripes than it was to hold it for this never ending eternity of smacking.
Sirius didn’t seem to be in any sort of hurry. “I swear if I have to smack your backside every day for a month for you to learn this lesson, then our detentions are just going to get a lot more hands on for you.”
Christ, his stomach dropped at the mere thought. How was he ever going to sit down in class again at this rate? Hell, with Sirius deciding to take a more hands on approach to their familial relationship, he had a feeling this whole school year was about to be filled with a lot of him squirming in classes.
Tears embarrassingly sprang into his eyes, starting to drip down his nose and wet his shirt sleeve. “Siri…” He gave a last ditch effort plea for leniency.
To his relief, it had the desired effect. Sirius’s hand slowed and the strength behind it lessened. He gave a few last half hearted smacks to the middle of Regulus’s backside before stopping. The warm palm came to rest on Regulus’s back where his shirt had ridden up, rubbing small circles.
“Alright. Alright, Reg.” The sternness had left his voice, replaced with a soft warmth.
The softness of his tones made Regulus cry harder, sobs breaking free from his chest and shaking his shoulders.
Sirius let him cry it out over his lap, just petting his back and saying dumb stuff like you’re a good kid and it’s okay, Reggie and other sappy things that made Regulus’s chest hurt.
Once he’d managed to get his wailing under control (god he hoped the secretary had gone off to lunch already and wasn’t listening in on this fussing), he shoved himself up off Sirius’s lap. Sirius let him go, standing as well and turning his head to look the other way while Regulus fixed his trousers.
“You okay?” Sirius asked, reaching out to straighten Regulus’s shirt collar for him. He smoothed his hands over Regulus’s shoulders, wiping away some imaginary lint or something.
Regulus nodded, not trusting his voice not to crack and betray his lack of okayness.
Sirius must’ve read it loud and clear though because he tutted and put a hand on the back of Regulus’s neck. He squeezed it gently, tugging Regulus forward and pulling him into his chest for a hug.
Warm arms wrapped tightly around Regulus, securing him into his taller brother’s chest. Sirius’s hand came to cup the back of his head, thumb rubbing through his hair. “Reggie…” he trailed off, apparently not sure what to say. Regulus wasn’t sure either, so he just pressed his face further into Sirius’s shirt and burst into fresh tears.
They stood there like that for what felt like a long time, Sirius’s nice shirt becoming a handkerchief for his wet face. He’d forgotten how nice it felt to have someone rub his back and press a kiss to his head while he cried his eyes out.
Eventually Regulus’s tears dried up and he determined that continuing to stand there and let himself be cuddled was getting a little embarrassing. He wasn’t a little kid, after all.
Squirming out of Sirius’s embrace, Regulus took a step back. Sirius smiled fondly at him, his own eyes looking a little mistier than was normal. He cleared his throat and clearly tried to shift back into stern Headmaster mode, “I hope we don’t need to have this discussion again, young man.”
Regulus wiped his wet cheek with the back of his hand and shook his head. “No, sir.”
Sirius raised an eyebrow and looked Regulus up and down. He must’ve deemed him good enough because he smiled once more. “Good boy.” He patted the top of Regulus’s head. “Classes are just about done for the day, you can stay here and rest if you’d like.” He nodded at the couch.
Regulus tentatively sat down on the couch, instantly regretting it. He didn’t appreciate the smirk on Sirius’s face when he winced. Determining that his arse wasn’t meant to be sat on at the moment, Regulus turned to lay down on his side, facing Sirius.
Sirius picked up his pen, going back to work. Regulus watched him in silence for a moment before asking, “Did you really not do the dares when you were in school?”
For a moment it seemed like Sirius wasn’t going to answer him, but eventually a small grin crossed his face. He glanced up and gave Regulus a little wink, “Who do you think came up with the dare week in the first place?”
Regulus rolled his eyes. He should’ve guessed as much.
Sirius wagged a finger at him. “Now let that be a lesson, I always know exactly how these little antics go around here. You can’t pull the wool over the master’s eyes.”