Chapter Text
January 27, 1970
Standing on the ceramic floor of the bathroom during a winter midnight seemed like standing on fresh morning snow—or at least that’s what he thought. He had never been allowed to play in the snow, and least of all barefoot. It was one of those silly, dangerous things that proper girls weren’t supposed to do. The now disassembled hair locks felt like sticky breadcrumbs under his feet. They stuck to the sole of his foot, feeling like a thousand tiny needles, and it felt like a strange mix of disgust and tickling. He wanted to shake them off, but part of him felt like he deserved to step on them. Like punishment. Like proof that he had finally destroyed the thing they loved so much about him.
He looked up and saw his reflection in the mirror. He could both feel and see the tears in his eyes that ran down his cheeks, as if they were trying to win a race. His chest tightened and his throat burned.
Oh gods, I screwed it up.
He had always felt uncomfortable in his own body, as if he didn’t belong there. As if he’d been trapped in a costume sewn too tight, one stitched with rules and silence. He hated the curve of his waist and the small swell that had recently appeared on his chest—reminders that his body was turning into something he didn’t want, something he hadn’t asked for. He hated his long hair, the same one his mother made the domestic elves braid tightly, painfully, when he was little, saying it made her daughter look “refined.”
Even his name, Cassiopeia, didn’t feel like his. Nothing did. Every part of him felt borrowed, forced, wrong. It all felt like he was under a heavy costume with a harsh closure that he struggled to open, so he was drowning in that skin that wasn’t his, but he was forced to wear.
He remembered that summer night of last year when he and his older brother, Sirius, had sneaked out to play hopscotch in the backyard—something that had ended with them both being beaten up later. He remembered how the conversation went like.
"I don’t wanna be a girl. Girls are silly"
And then Sirius laughed.
"Well, maybe you aren’t meant to be a girl. What should I call you? " Sirius said, and Regulus stayed silent for a moment, blinking in confusion.
"Your new name, dumbass! If you wanna be a guy, you should have a new name. No guy out there is called Cassiopeia." Sirius smiled at him, and for once in his life, he felt like he could take the costume’s mask off and breathe.
"Look, up there! " His brother pointed at the sky, where the constellation Leo was, and he watched how his finger wandered across the stars in search of a new name.
"Regulus. The heart of the lion" Sirius said, and Regulus smiled to himself. Regulus.
That certainly felt like him. He let out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding and smiled more to himself than to his brother. Regulus.
From that day, Sirius had called him Regulus, and referred to him as a boy when their parents were not around. Even though he still felt trapped under a skin that wasn’t his, and he longed so badly to feel himself, it was nice seeing how someone could see him as he was—and not the girl his parents wanted him to be. Not as a future husband’s shadow. Not Cassiopeia. But Regulus.
So he was now standing in front of the mirror, a pair of scissors in his right hand, tears in his eyes, and a terrible haircut. He had tried to give himself a mullet, or something like that, but damn, he had screwed up. It was uneven, patchy, and somehow worse than before—
At least it is mine.
It was an act of defiance, even if it was clumsy.
He knocked on the bathroom wall, knowing his brother would hear him, because his room was just next door.
"Sirius?" He says, and after a few minutes, he hears his brother’s voice.
"Yes? " Sirius’ voice echoes through the wall.
"...Please come" Regulus says, and Sirius let out an annoyed sigh.
"Okay! I’m coming! " he says, and just a few moments later, enters the bathroom, and his eyes widen at the sight of Regulus’ horrific haircut.
"Regulus, what the hell did you do!?"
"I just wanted a haircut! " Regulus bursted into tears. Sirius hugs him.
"Don’t cry, silly boy. C’mere, I’ll give you a goddamn haircut."
Sirius was like a magical hairdresser, just that he didn’t use magic at all. But with just a few cuts here and there, he transformed the mess on his head into a work of art. His now short curls looked magnificent. It wasn’t a super short hairstyle—his hair still covered his ears—but it was so short, and boyish, and he loved it so much. For once, he looked at his reflection in the mirror and saw Regulus instead of Cassiopeia. And maybe, just maybe, that was the closest he’d ever felt to real.
✧
When the sun was up that morning early, he went downstairs to have breakfast. They had breakfast every day at nine in the morning—one minute late and you wouldn’t eat for the rest of the day. His parents were strict. Very strict, he dared to say.
As soon as he entered the room with his everyday clothes—still elegant and classy, of course; not that his parents would ever allow him to wear something casual (that would be like staining the family image, even if no one saw it)—he saw all eyes on him.
Even though Sirius hid his smile under a serious look, Regulus could still see how his lips turned upwards. After all, Sirius had never been the good liar in the family. Orion was shocked, and obviously mad, but the look that scared him the most was Walburga’s. She looked absolutely terrified, and almost yelled.
"Cassiopeia Adhara Black, what on Merlin’s beard did you do to your hair!?" Walburga said in a firm and scary voice.
He always felt intimidated when she spoke. And of course, both he and Sirius were used to her being hella angry and yelling, but he had never heard her so mad. Regulus panicked.
How the hell am I supposed to explain this?
he thought, but words refused to come out of his mouth. He was no longer even thinking about what to say, but about the beating he was going to receive later—until he heard a savior’s voice.
"It was me, sorry. I... I thought it was funny, so I cut her hair while she slept" Sirius said.
Clearly, his brother was beaten up. The punches were so hard he could hear his father’s knuckles crashing on Sirius’ skin from the other room. He cried, and cried, the guilt eating him. Sirius was being beaten up so he didn’t have to. And yes, he felt like himself now with that hair, he felt happy—but at what cost?
Each thud echoed like a crack down his spine. He covered his ears with trembling hands, but the sound still slipped through, crawling under his skin like something venomous. He knew the rhythm by heart now: blow, silence, blow. And the silence was always worse. That pause between hits, where Orion probably waited for Sirius to cry out or beg—he never did. Sirius never screamed.
Regulus rocked back and forth on the floor outside the door, forehead pressed to the wood, whispering apologies that no one could hear. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Again and again, like a prayer.
The house was cold that morning, colder than usual, as if even the walls knew punishment was in the air. He could hear Walburga pacing downstairs, muttering about disgrace and shame, too steady for someone who had just let her son be brutalized.
It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, and it wouldn’t be the last. But it was the first time he was the reason. The first time someone bled for him.
And he hated how part of him—the smallest, cruelest part—felt grateful.
That night, long after the house had gone still and Regulus was lying curled up under his covers, eyes wide open and throat raw from holding in sobs, the door creaked open softly. A figure stepped inside, moving slowly, limping. Sirius.
His face was half-covered in shadows, but Regulus could make out the bruises along his cheek and the way he held his side when he walked.
Without a word, Sirius walked up to his bed and pulled the blanket higher over Regulus’ shoulders, then brushed his curls off his forehead with a gentleness that didn’t match the violence of the day.
"I’m okay" he whispered. "You don’t have to cry anymore"
And then he left, closing the door behind him with the softest click.
Regulus stayed awake the rest of the night, staring at the ceiling, hands gripping the edge of the blanket Sirius had tucked around him. He wanted to be brave like his brother. But all he could feel was shame.
✧
September 1, 1971
It was warm, the sun was already on top of the sky, and the air smelled like school—not because he had ever gone to school. He and his brother had been taught by governesses their whole life. But Sirius was finally eleven, and that meant he was going to Hogwarts—the school of magic Regulus had always dreamed of going to—and be away from their awful family during the whole year.
Regulus stood by the doorframe of Sirius’ bedroom, barefoot on the cold wooden floor, watching him pack with shaky hands. He hadn’t said anything yet. Just stood there, frozen, like if he stayed quiet enough, the moment wouldn’t become real. Sirius hummed softly to himself as he folded one of his robes, stuffing it carelessly into the trunk.
His chest felt tight. His throat burned. His arms ached with the need to cling onto his brother and beg him to stay. But he didn’t. Because he knew Sirius wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
Sirius had always taken the blows for him. Always stepped in first. Always laughed the loudest. And now he was going to leave him alone in that cursed house, with the yelling, the cold silences, and their parents' eyes sharp like blades. Regulus didn’t blame him. He envied him.
Sirius was packing up his things—not many, if he was being honest: his clothes, school books, and supplies. His brother was still there, but he couldn’t help but think about the year that was waiting for him.
It is going to be an awful year
Without Sirius to be the face of the family, all that responsibility leaned on Regulus, and he knew just how hard it was going to be—mostly because he would be alone.
"I don’t want you to go... I want to go with you!" Regulus said, trying not to cry, as he clung to his torso as strongly as a tick grabs onto a dog.
"I’ll be back during winter holidays, and then we’ll spend all summer together, and I’ll tell you about my adventures and friends, okay, Reggie?" He said, making sure their parents didn’t hear.
Regulus’ lip trembled a bit, as if he were about to cry, but he refused to, not wanting to seem weak.
"I’ll miss having you at home' he said, and Sirius softly patted his head.
"You’ll be at Hogwarts next year too, and we’ll be best mates, okay?" He smiled, and Regulus faked a smile just so Sirius wouldn’t worry about him, though not even he fell for his lie.
He wasn’t gonna be okay—and they both knew it.
He watched the train disappear, his small hand still raised in a goodbye wave, long after Sirius had vanished behind clouds of steam. The platform grew quieter and quieter until it was only him and his parents again, their rigid posture like statues carved out of ice. His mother's hand rested heavy on his shoulder, like a leash. His father's silence was worse than any word. They just turned around and expected him to follow.
✧
The house felt bigger without Sirius. Bigger and colder. The rooms echoed louder. The air tasted like dust and discipline. There was no one to sneak into his bed after a nightmare. No one to whisper jokes behind Walburga’s back. No one to defend him when he was scolded for standing too hunched, speaking too softly, smiling too wide.
The beatings became more frequent.
Orion would pour himself another drink before calling Regulus into the study, and Walburga started paying more attention to him—inspecting his posture, his handwriting, his tone of voice. His every move was under a microscope. One time, he dared to ask for seconds at dinner and was slapped so hard he couldn't chew on that side for three days.
He stopped talking unless asked to.
Stopped crying too.
That year, the governess quit three months in. Regulus never found out why. They didn’t hire another one. Walburga said it was time he started studying on his own, like a proper Black. Most days, he spent alone in the library, memorizing books he couldn’t understand just to avoid punishment. The only joy he had was watching the snow fall outside the windows and pretending he was on the Hogwarts grounds.
That year was made of long, unbearable dinners in complete silence. Of slaps for misbehaving and long lectures for crying. Of hours locked in his room being told to reflect on his actions. Of forced tea parties with pure-blood girls and lessons on how to walk, speak, and sit properly—like a lady. That year was hell. And he survived it only by thinking of Sirius.
next year, I’ll go to Hogwarts too. I’ll find Sirius. He’ll keep his promise. We’ll be best mates.
✧