Brothers

Sirius was shaking with fury as he ascended the stairs of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. His mother's words echoed in his head. "Half-breeds and blood-traitors, Sirius! Is that the company you choose to keep? Is that the shame you bring on our ancient line--" He'd hoped, for some reason, that the summer holiday would be better this year. He didn't know where the hell he'd gotten that idea, though. He'd known everything would be the same: the stifling, oppressive house, filled with reminders of why he could never be what they were; his cold, research-obsessed father; his exacting, angry, disappointed mother (who Sirius was starting to suspect was less than fully sane); and then, of course, his little prat of a brother.

Sirius stormed past the house-elf heads that lined the stairway, trying to ignore the images his mind conjured to go with them. Much as he hated their house-elf, the idea of his mother putting a knife through its neck made him shudder. It had gotten worse, every year since he'd started school-- the revulsion and horror he felt at what his parents asked him to be.

What he almost had been, Sirius realized, stopping for a moment on the landing. In his mind's eye he saw a younger version of himself, sitting in the living room with his uncle Alcinous and his cousin Bellatrix. Alcinous was recounting a humorous tale, complete with sound effects and grotesque faces. Bellatrix and Sirius were laughing.

Sirius' hands curled into fists at his sides. He would never, never forgive himself for that.

That memory had occurred to Sirius frequently during the past few years. What he hadn't remembered until now was the sequel: a small, dark-haired boy with earnest eyes stood there, biting his lip. He looked up with a mixture of distress and guilt, then back at the floor as he mumbled "I felt sorry for the muggle, though." A laugh, and a light, casual answer: "It was just a muggle. They're not really like us." When the boy tried to look comforted and failed, the voice added, "Besides, I don't really believe it. Uncle Alcinous was probably making it up. Muggle-hunting's illegal..."

When that memory came to mind, Sirius felt his frustration threatening to boil over. How could he have ever been so stupid?

And how could Reg be so stupid now? It hadn't taken a year in Gryffindor and an extremely determined halfblood friend to show him what was wrong with that picture; he'd seen through all their family's lies at eight years old. And now, at thirteen, he fell for every one of them. These days, Sirius found it difficult to even look at his brother.

Sirius reached the top of the stairs, and somehow managed to trip over something. He pitched forward, catching himself with his hands to stop his face from hitting the floor. There was something sticky and red and liquid pooled there. Sirius scrambled to his feet and turned around.

Regulus was lying there, completely still and unnaturally pale. Around him, a pool of blood was gradually growing.

"Reg?" Just a joke. It's just a joke. "Reg? Reg!" Sirius dropped to his knees beside Regulus. "Cut it out!" Sirius ordered. He took his brother by the shoulders and shook him. Regulus' head flopped limply from side to side. Sirius felt a rising panic. "Reg! Dammit, what--"

The unnatural stillness melted away. The pale face started to smirk. The grey eyes opened, and Reg sat up. "Gotcha."

"YOU-- LITTLE-- BASTARD!" Sirius yelled, emphasizing the last word with a punch, which Regulus dodged. His smirk had grown to a grin.

"I scared you," he informed Sirius.

They stared at each other for a moment, and despite himself Sirius started to grin. Not too bad, even if--

"SIRIUS BLACK!" His mother was running up the stairs, her faced flushed. "What did you--"

"I didn't do anything! He--"

"Fighting with your brother--"

"I wasn't fighting, Reg--"

"Don't lie to me--"

"I'M NOT LYING!" Sirius roared, standing up and facing her. He was taller than she was now.

"Don't take that tone with me! Do not disrespect me! Worthless, ungrateful--"

"I HATE YOU!" The words flew from his mouth in a strangled, anguished howl, a voice terribly unlike his own. A resounding silence followed the words.

"Very well, get out! OUT! YOU ARE NO SON OF MINE!"

The next day, Regulus Black stared at the burn mark where his brother's name had been. He had tried to tell his mother the truth while she and Sirius yelled at each other, but neither of them had heard him. It wouldn't do any good now.

His mother was crying in her room. What she said didn't make sense half the time. She shouted at Sirius, even though he'd left last night. She mistook Regulus for him. Reg's father was in there now, and he had ordered Regulus from the room. Reg had been glad to leave. He could do little to comfort his mother, and his guilt threatened to overwhelm him.

It wasn't his fault, though! It was Sirius who'd done this, not him. No, it wasn't even Sirius. It was his friends. The blood-traitors and mudbloods had stolen his brother, reduced his mother to this. Mingling with that sort would always end in trouble.

Regulus bit his lip and raised his chin, standing very straight before the tapestry that showed the long lineage of his family. "Toujours Pur," Regulus whispered.

He was the heir now. He would protect his family. Never again would he let himself be weakened by pity for those who did not deserve it. He was not like Sirius; he would not be a traitor. He would defend those he loved, not abandoned them. I will be worthy, mother. I promise.