Lag Behind

Lag Behind

You always knew.

You knew the moment your father hit him, when you didn't hear him cry out and all you saw was the red mark on his face not hiding the defiant jut of lip and flash of eye.

When he ran ahead and you tried to follow, legs lagging, breath coming in sharp gasps as your chest hurt too much but he was only a few steps farther -

You knew then, too.

He went off to school first, and you spent the first day he was gone lying on his bed, clutching his sheets and repeating "a Black does not cry, a Black does not cry..."

Which of course you did.

His parents got the letter and were furious - how could their boy, their first born, their heir be sorted into that house, the one they didn't speak of, the one with impurity and mud smeared over its name.

Somehow you were not surprised, and when they told you that you better live up to their expectations you swore you would and they smiled and some part of you was happy.

But when it came your turn to wear the hat, all you could do was clutch the side of the stool and think "Gryffindor, Gryffindor, please Merlin, Gryffindor". Just before you squeezed your eyes shut you could see him gesturing to you and whispering to his friends at the table you weren't supposed to go to. You heard them laugh. You tried to think harder.

Then you took the hat off and went to the table you were meant to be at and hoped that is was disappointment you saw cross Sirius' face.

You were in your third year and he and Cousin Bella were in sixth, and she came to you one night and whispered things in your ear, terrible things that made you blush.

But they also made you wonder.

That summer he left. He fought with your mother and father over his friends, the half-blood werewolf (oh, they knew, they always knew), the muggle-lover Potter, the weak Pettigrew.

In the night, you heard his door open and shut and you heard the staircase creak (third stair from the bottom) and you stuffed your fist in your mouth to keep from crying out after him.

In the morning, you went downstairs, knowing that he wouldn't be there to ignore you. Somehow, your parent's knew too. They never said anything.

First day back at school, you pointedly refused to look at him. You passed him in the hall and heard him say "Reg..." almost like a plea. You walked on.

At dinner you kept your eyes on your plate because you knew if you lifted them you would only look at him.

Midnight came, and you snuck into Cousin Bella's room, and she whispered things in your ear and stroked your skin and you tried not to cry when you spilled yourself in her.

His last day at Hogwarts you found yourself drifting nearer and nearer to him, not to talk to him, but just to hear his name spoken out loud.

You knew that you would never hear it again.

That summer you sat on his bed and caressed the ugly mark on your forearm. It had to come to this, because it's what he should have done. You had to do it instead.

After your first killing, you went into the woods and retched and retched until you were throwing up nothing but bile. You brushed the sweat off of your forehead shakily and thought that it should have been him doing it.

They caught you in the end, just like you knew they would. You couldn't run that far that fast, your wand wouldn't work, your lips wouldn't form curses, and you found yourself in a circle of people who were supposed to be good.

When you felt the ripping, tearing pain flash through you, you wondered if they really were.

You lay on the ground, sobbing and shaking and wanted him so bad - so much - but you knew that he had run ahead and you were meant to stay behind.