Mother's Delight

Lullaby, and good night

They say the last sense you lose before you die is hearing.

Regulus doesn't know if he's dying. He doesn't know if he's being born. Again.

It certainly feels like dying. And the only thing he can do right now is hear.

He's hearing a soft hum, a soft song, a lullaby. The same lullaby Mother used to sing to him when he was little.

The same one she used to sing while she was pregnant with him.

Or so she said.

Yes, he must be dying.

But then again, dying shouldn't hurt like this, should it? Because he can feel it now, the pain. He can feel how his muscles are screaming with every breath he takes (because, yes, he is breathing), he can feel how his legs seem about to implode. He can taste blood in his mouth, he can smell vomit. He just can't see. It's too dark where he is.

There's a pause to the lullaby and someone whispers 'Lumos'.

At first the pale light on the tip of a wand blinds him, but then his eyes adjust and Regulus realises he's not dying. At least not yet.

Bella is pointing her hand at him, and the front of her dress is dirty with vomit and spilt alcohol.

And images of the day before overwhelm him suddenly. Memories of horcruxes and Inferi, lockets and a potion that made him weak, so weak that even Dementors would have been a welcomed relief. Tumbling from the fireplace at 12 Grimmauld Place, and slipping back amongst the milling guests at the wedding. Being thrown into the basement, and Lucius Malfoy hitting the back of his legs with his ridiculous walking cane.

Ruining the wedding.

'The wedding day is very important for a woman, Reg,' she whispers. 'Every woman wants to keep the memory of being the centre of the world on her wedding day. Even if she's marrying an old fat bastard chosen by her family.'

Regulus ruined Bella's and Rudolphus' wedding. He doesn't know how long he has been unconscious, but it can't have been too long, because Bella is still wearing the ancient wedding dress and the family heirloom jewels.

The silk of the dress has been woven with blood from generation of women and the white gold, the pearls, the diamonds and the Slytherin emeralds of the jewels have been bathed in teardrops of those same women.

Every woman, whether born a Black or simply marrying into the family (sometimes both), has worn them on her wedding day.

You're your mother's delight

'Hurry up, Sirius. I only let you in because you said it wouldn't take you long gathering your things.'

'Sirius, Mother will soon be back from her tea-party.'

'What are you doing, Sirius? Can't you see how much you're hurting Mother?'

His brother is standing in the middle of their parents' former room (now Mother's room, an entire corridor away from their father's), looking at his reflection on the vanity. He's wearing Mother's wedding dress, the priceless tiara lying haphazardly on his unkempt hair.

On the wall behind him, the portrait of Mother on her own wedding day seems to mock Sirius. Not because she's looking at him and seeing how pathetic and broken he looks, forever drawn away from her lap, but because she's not moving, like a Muggle portrait. If she moves her hair will fall out of place, the dress won't cling so perfectly, the bouquet may lose a petal, so she stays still like the ghost of a marriage that is no more.

Sirius rubs his face, smudging the badly applied make-up of Egyptian kohl and sperm-whale fat, and looks at his brother.

'Me? Hurting Mother, Reg?'

'Yes, Sirius. You don't see it, do you? You're her favourite, always have been. That's why she expects more from you than she'll ever do from me. She loves you, Sirius.'

'Do you know how it feels to look into someone's eyes and see how much they love you, Reg?'

Shining angels beside

Regulus hadn't planned to be in that corridor that day, but fuck if the moving stairs in Hogwarts always took the students where they wanted to go. He had absolutely no idea where he was. He didn't even know whether he was underground or up in some tower.

Suddenly he heard some murmurs and decided to follow the sound. Maybe he found someone, they could tell him where he was and more importantly, how to go back to the dungeons.

But then someone laughed from the room he was walking to and Regulus recognised that bark-like laugh. Sirius.

He couldn't just walk up to his brother and ask him the way back, could he? He'd never hear the end of it, if his brother, who walked through the corridors, like he had been the one building the castle himself, found out that after five years he still got lost.

Regulus decided to peer through the door. If his brother was with all the Gryffindors, that meant he was somewhere near their tower.

Inside the badly lit room were Sirius and a fellow Gryffindor. Lupin, the stringy Half Blood, who was part of his little group.

His brother was leaning back against an old desk, his hands grasping the borders, and Lupin was pinning him with his body against it. Both boys were looking down.

Regulus followed the direction of their eyes and had to bit back a gasp. Through the layers of their open robes he could see Lupin's long fingers curled around their cocks.

Faggot. His brother was a faggot. Sirius was already hurting Mother so much with his attitudes and now he was a shirt-lifter. To a Half Blood, nonetheless.

Mother had warn Sirius that she was going to have a talk with him during the oncoming Christmas break, and Regulus would make sure she knew what he had been up to.

He was brought back from his thoughts by a change in the sounds coming from the room. Both boys where shuddering and they gasped into each other's mouths, lips barely touching, until Lupin dropped his head on Sirius' shoulder and hugged him.

Regulus wanted to flee. He wanted to storm inside the room and point his finger at his brother. But then Lupin raised his head and looked at Sirius. Carefully he smoothed the loose strands of hair on Sirius' damp forehead and cradled his face in his hand.

But what caught Regulus' attention was his brother. It was almost like it wasn't Sirius anymore. There was almost shyness in his body language, and more than that, awe.

There was awe in the way Sirius was looking at Lupin, awe in the way he leaned into the touch.

Close your eyes and rest your head

Regulus drags himself backwards on the basement's floor until he's sitting against the wall. Bellatrix crawls after him and straddles his legs, pointing her wand at his chest.

'Such a pretty boy, you are,' she whispers, while Regulus looks the other way, trying to avoid her foetid breath. 'Always were, thinking you could get away with mostly anything.'

It takes Regulus a moment to realise she rocking on his lap, rubbing herself against his broken legs.

'You can't just leave the Dark Lord. Once you're a Death Eater, there's nothing you can do about it, Reg,' she gasps. And 'You're a Black, and there's nothing you can do about it, Sirius.'

Regulus turns his head to look at her and almost wants to laugh.

Soft and warm is your bed

'Do you know how it feels to look into someone's eyes and see how much love they have for you, Reg? Do you?' Sirius walks carefully around his brother, making him feel like a trapped animal. 'I envy him, Reg, I envy Remus so much. I want to know how it is. I want to crawl under his skin, look through his eyes and see myself like he sees me.' Sirius steps forward and Regulus backwards, and he feels the back of his legs hit Mother's bed.

'But I can only see myself when that bloody Boggart in the drawing room downstairs comes out of the cupboard!'

With a not quite gentle push from his brother Regulus falls on top of the bed and Sirius crawls on top of him, straddling his hips. There are pots of cream and powder, all sort of make-up appliances on the bed, and the silk of the dress is all around them.

'Will you show me, Reg?'

Suddenly Sirius opens Regulus robes as much as possible, but enough to take his cock out, brushing it with his fingertips. Regulus wonders how did this happen, when, in the middle of their discussion, was this bound to happen. And Sirius should stop now, because it's wrong, oh so wrong, and can't he see that he's hurting Mother, how much Mother loves him? But he does see it... Or is that what he wants to see?

They both should stop, because Mother wouldn't want this. This is not how good sons behave, and Regulus really wants to be a good son. The good son Sirius never was.

And maybe if he lies still, if he doesn't move or make a sound, Sirius will stop. Maybe he'll disappear.

Sirius doesn't stop, though. Instead he reaches for a pot of cream, Mother's cream, and then his slick hand is touching Regulus' cock.

'Will you show me, Reg?' he asks. 'Will you let me see myself in you?'

Regulus opens his mouth to say No, I'm not you, I'm the good son, but Sirius places the other hand over his mouth, shushing him.

'Will you let me love you, Reg?'

His brother smiles at his stillness and moves to hover over him. Amid the roughness of the underskirts, Regulus can feel his brother skin, naked and slick, too, and wonders if Sirius had thought of this beforehand, if he had prepare himself for this.

'I know how you love pretty pureblood girls in pure virginal dresses,' Sirius says, looking down at him. 'Like Mother. Doesn't Mother look lovely in that picture, Reg? Wearing this dress? She used to be so beautiful, didn't she? What do you think happened to her?'

Regulus suddenly grabs Sirius' waist, and with a twist of his hips buries himself inside. His brother's eyes go wide and he almost falls forward, gasping. Regulus wants to laugh, because that must have hurt and he deserves it, since Sirius is what happened to Mother.

But Sirius sits back again, smiling again, and starts rocking, letting out quiet obscene whimpers. He lifts the skirt to try and touch himself, but Regulus swats his hand away.

'Don't you love cock so much, Sirius? Then you'll come on mine alone.' Regulus wants to shock Sirius, but he just shrugs and locks his hands behind his head.

They're young, too young, barely sixteen and fifteen, and it doesn't take long for Sirius to throw his head back, gasping out loud. Regulus closes his eyes, because he doesn't want to feel, he doesn't want to hear himself, he doesn't want to see Sirius smearing Mother's wedding dress with come.

When he finally opens his eyes, the way Sirius is staring at him makes him wish Sirius were indeed looking like Lupin. Instead there's too much pain, too much fear in his brother's eyes for it to be love. He leans forward and kisses Regulus softly on the lips.

'I'm sorry,' he whispers and he's getting up awkwardly, tripping on the hem of the dress and turning his back on his brother.

Sirius undresses himself and lays the dress down on a stuffed chair, trying to smooth the wrinkles on the silk. But all Regulus can look at is at his own come on his brother's pale thighs.

'Don't worry, Reg, I'm leaving now.'

So sleep without fear

Oh Lord, oh Lord, help me, I'm dying! She'll kill me, she's killing me...

She's taking my life. Like he did.

And fucking Bella is like fucking Sirius, isn't it? It's not a matter of depravation...

Is letting Beauty overwhelm you. Beauty with a capital 'B'.

Because Beauty knows no gender, no blood, no age, Beauty knows no time-frame and, really, it's like fucking the entire Black-line up until the first wizard and witch.

Oh, Lord, I don't want to die!

Don't the French call it le Petit Mort, the Little Death?

But she'll never be as perfect as he is...

She? Who is she? Bella? Mother?

And he? Sirius? Me?

Lupin?

May thy slumber be blessed!

Bellatrix throws her head back moaning, like Sirius did.

'Aaaaaaaaaaah,' she cries, and it's the first letter to the first word to the last curse.

But Regulus never hears her cry the Killing Curse like she's crying his name.

Like his name is Death.

The End