“Hello, little cousin.” The woman’s voice was perhaps permanently cold, but she greeted Regulus with warmth enough, gripping his forearms and leaning in to kiss him. She ignored Sirius entirely, and he returned the favour, continuing to wring water out of his drenched cloak, letting it puddle on the richly carpeted floor.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d be here.” Regulus continued. “I’d heard it was likely you’d be spending Christmas with the Yaxleys.”
On a less beautiful woman, Bellatrix’s expression might have been called one of annoyance. “I’ve broken things off with Claudius. He bored me, and besides, his mother was a indolent whore,” she said dismissively.
Regulus chuckled. “Your parents can’t be pleased, though. This is the second proposal you’ve rejected this year.”
“Fourth over all,” she said, sounding viciously satisfied with her score.
“Parents been bribing you to stay away from their sons again, have they?” Sirius muttered under his breath as he discarded his second damp shoe and straightened up again.
Bellatrix turned her chilly smile on him, her dark eyes taunting. “The same might be said of you, dear one. How is that little Potter fellow these days?”
Sirius scowled, but lost the chance to retort when Kreacher appeared at the top with the announcement, “Masters’ and Mistress’ parents will be home soon, and tea has been prepared.” Bellatrix swept Regulus up the staircase in front of her without another glance in his direction. Sirius trailed after them, dropping his bag on top of Kreacher, who was busying himself drying and smoothing the wet cloak Regulus had left behind. Kreacher returned Sirius’ scowl venom for venom, but said nothing, and Sirius went up the grand staircase and followed the voices he heard into the parlour, where Regulus was greeting Narcissa and their mother’s parents Pollux and Irma. He hung about the doorway briefly, trying to decide whether or not to go in, but when he’d been standing there for several minutes and no one had so much as looked over at him, he decided it was safe to escape up to his room and avoid further notice.
Sirius spent much of the next few days in his room, reading and sulking and trying spells he wasn’t supposed to (his seventeenth birthday was not until the following summer, but with the plethora of adult witches and wizards in the house, he knew there was hardly a chance of Magical Law Enforcement catching him at it). He spoke to James in the mirror as often as he could, but James seemed much busier than he, shopping and attending parties with his parents, though every time they spoke James asked when Sirius thought he could come to stay. “It’s terrifically boring without you around, mate,” James would declare, hazel eyes earnest as he pushed messy black hair away from his face in a familiar gesture that made Sirius miss his friend more than ever. “Get over here soon so we can test that Smothering Charm on the draperies in my mother’s parlour.”
His longing to be with James grew worse a few days later, when James appeared breathlessly in the mirror, hair even more rumpled than usual, with soot marks on his face and upturned collar, and announced, “I’ve just practically blown up the receiving room, Sirius! You should see the hole in the ceiling!” “What did your parents say?” Sirius asked incredulously, but James only grinned and said, “Oh, they thought it was a laugh. My dad wanted to know what kind of charm had ‘gone wrong’.” Sirius could only shake his head, and wonder what his mother would say if any hole attributable to Sirius appeared in their house.
Sirius wrote several long letters to Remus back at Hogwarts, and sent exploding postcards to Peter, and there were several days when the only time he left his room was for dinner in the evenings, an event he knew from long experience was not something at which his absence would be excused.
Dinner with the Blacks was an elaborate, formal affair, especially with so much family visiting Grimmauld for the holidays. By some stroke of what Sirius thought was sheer bad luck (though time would reveal otherwise), he kept finding himself seated across from Bellatrix, who would inquire nastily about what he did to himself in his room all day, and twirl her steak knife about in her long, pale fingers, and purse her dark red lips at the ripped-up blue jeans and t-shirt printed with a flaming motorbike that Sirius would wear to dinner because he knew his mother couldn’t stand to see him in Muggle clothing.
Sirius would retort with a dig about her frigid nature or directed at her current condition “ twenty-five and still living at home with the parents, how did she expect to proliferate the pureblood race that way? “ until one of their various elders would notice, and tell Sirius to behave himself, unless it was Sirius’ mother, who would use this opportunity to launch into a detailed critique of everything from his school performance (yet another letter from Hogwarts saying he’d sneaked into the Slytherin common room and released doxies to wreck havoc) to his habits (swears like a jarvey, and slouches to no end) to his appearance (those dreadful clothes, and couldn’t even manage a proper haircut).
Sirius had long ago grown tired of these sorts of insults, and after years of training himself to ignore them, was by now rather immune. Still, there was only so much a sixteen-year-old boy could take, and more than once he found himself snapping back at his mother, and then feeling slightly surprised at both his own lack of self-control and his mother’s willingness to abandon all sense of propriety in order to attack him. The woman was no longer the stately, intimidating figure Sirius remembered from his childhood. When they fought now, he found himself seriously questioning her sanity, wondering if her mind hadn’t taken a turn for the worse.
.&.
Christmas morning dawned bright and clear, and as Sirius stared out of his bedroom window at the bright, early morning sunlight striking the ice that covered the square across the street, he felt a strange sense of foreboding come over him. He had dragged himself from his oversized, cold bed at the break of day, perched in the window seat, and watched the sun rise while trying to keep from brooding too much. The pressure had been building in the house for weeks now, things said piling upon things unsaid; it couldn’t be much longer, he was sure, before something hit the ceiling. He could sense that a blow-up was imminent; what he wasn’t sure of was whether he would be able to endure the outcome.
He shivered. The sun’s rays had brought little warmth with them as they crept over the edges of his windowpane, and the draft seeping through the glass raised gooseflesh across the bare skin of his chest and legs, but he refused to wear the supplied black dressing gown embroidered with the family crest. He’d rather pad about his room in only his boxers than encase himself in the “Toujours Pur” symbol of his family’s mania. He smiled briefly, remembering the time he and James had celebrated Gryffindor’s winning the Quidditch Cup by running through the Great Hall clad only in their red and gold underwear, and wondered what his friend would say if he could see him now, huddled in the window seat and refusing to put on a silly dressing gown.
He turned away from the window finally with a heavy sigh. It was going to be a long day, but there was no delaying it any longer. He was expected at Christmas brunch shortly, and didn’t have the energy this early in the day to wage the battle that would ensue were he late to arrive.
Sirius crossed the large room to his wardrobe, where he pulled on the same tattered blue jeans he’d been wearing all week to annoy his mother, then finished dressing normally in one of the many sets of black robes hanging before him. As an afterthought, he dug through the bag he’d brought with him from Hogwarts until he found his school tie, emblazoned with the red and gold of Gryffindor, and set about knotting it neatly beneath his collar. He wanted the familiar colours on him, not only because they set him apart from the rest of his family, but also because he thought he could use the extra courage the Gryffindor colours inspired in him on this of all days.
Just before leaving his room, he glanced at the photo of the Marauders he’d attached to the wall just next to his mirror. It was one of his favourite pictures of the four of them, taken just after they’d completed O.W.L.s the year prior. They stood close together on the grounds of Hogwarts, the Whomping Willow in the distance behind them, smiling and laughing in relief that the year was over. In the photo, Sirius stood next to James, his arm slung over James’ shoulders, and the world around them was bright and untarnished. He smiled at his carefree self in the photo, and wondered at what point Hogwarts and these boys had become home and family to him in place of his current surroundings. He reached out and touched the photo briefly, for luck, he told himself, before turning to stride out the door.
He was stopped short on the landing when he almost walked into Regulus.
His brother stood just outside his own bedroom, directly across from Sirius’, his head turned slightly away to glance back at his own doorway, though he faced about quickly when he heard Sirius come out of the room. The two stared at each other for a long moment, until Sirius broke the silence.
“Happy Christmas, then.”
At these words, Regulus finally met his eyes, looking rather hopeful and confused and worried all at once.
“Happy Christmas, Sirius.”
“Your tie is dreadful.”
Regulus wore his school tie just as Sirius did, the silver and green shimmering slightly as he glanced down at it, then back up at Sirius in the red and gold version. There was a moment in which Sirius thought Regulus might be offended, but then he laughed, and Sirius chuckled, and the tension between them lifted.
“At least mine doesn’t clash with the overwhelming décor of the house,” Regulus teased softly, and Sirius felt a sudden rush of affection for the brother who had grown so distant in the last few years.
Regulus tilted his head back slightly to look up at Sirius, who still claimed a couple inches on the younger brother, despite the fact that they were barely a year apart in age. Regulus had always been smaller, slighter than Sirius, and more timid, and quiet. As a result, Sirius had always felt rather protective of the brother who was really only barely his junior. He had never felt that Regulus could really manage to stand up for himself, and had always, whether at home or at school, tried to keep an eye out for his brother.
Even if they avoided each other’s gaze in the halls, or argued over what “duty” really meant “ even if he knew it would have bothered Regulus to know that Sirius threatened Mulciber the day after he saw Mulciber “forcibly suggest” that Regulus hex a Muggle-born between classes, or that Sirius would intentionally try to draw their father’s attention onto himself when he sensed that Regulus was growing uncomfortable with the turn that the Magical torture devices conversation had just taken “ still he felt the need to protect the younger boy. Why Sirius still did these things he was often unsure of, but it was enough for him to know that Regulus sometimes needed taking care of, and that he was usually good at it.
“Wasn’t sure we’d see you this morning,” Regulus went on, his grey eyes holding Sirius’ as his smile faded into questions. “ You’ve been in your room so much…”
Sirius managed a short laugh as he shrugged. “Seems like things are less likely to explode or shatter in this household so long as I’m not around. Figure it’s better for all involved. Besides, it’s not as if anyone really misses me.”
Regulus’ forehead creased slightly, and when he spoke it was so soft that Sirius almost missed it. “Why’re you so sure that’s true?”
They had gotten too used to not being around each other, Sirius realized suddenly, so that they no longer knew how to tell each things even when they stood face to face. He took a deep breath. “Regulus “ ”
The door to Regulus’ bedroom, having stood halfway ajar throughout their conversation, suddenly opened the rest of the way to reveal a tall, slim, angular figure draped in dark robes and standing very straight and stiff.
Sirius broke off abruptly, surprised by the appearance, and Regulus turned back to face the doorway. Staring at the back of his brother’s head of glossy dark hair, Sirius sensed Regulus moving away from him again, and couldn’t help but feel that he’d missed his chance, again.
Bellatrix moved slowly forward, her black eyes glimmering as she gazed intently first at one brother, then the other. She reached Regulus first, and spoke his name, and Sirius watched Regulus draw himself straighter ever so slightly, lifting his chin and squaring his shoulders. When he turned back to Sirius, there was distance between them again, and he did not speak but moved away, stepping past Bellatrix and then down the stairs, towards the main floors of the house where the rest of the family was beginning to gather, their voices resonating through the large house to where Sirius now stood alone with Bellatrix outside the open door of his brother’s bedroom that still bore the childish sign forbidding entry to intruders. He could only wonder.
Bellatrix had now fixed her eyes on Sirius, but still said nothing to him. He watched her warily, wondering what the look on her face meant, though he could tell it was nothing good.
She advanced deliberately at last, stretching out a pale hand with long, pointed fingernails. She was exactly the same height as he, and her movements were catlike, graceful and threatening all at once. Sirius had to will himself not to flinch as she drew nearer, much too near, and finally grasped his tie, using it to draw his face close to hers.
“Are you ready?” Her voice was both soft and rough, and her lips were curled in a smirk that still could not mar her beautiful face. Her eyes were pools of darkness, and Sirius found he could not look away from the image of his own eyes reflected in hers.
“Ready for anything,” he replied, decisively, watching her watching him. He kept his expression carefully guarded, his back straight. He refused to step backwards; he would not be the one to back down.
Her breath was oddly cool as it drifted across his face. He wasn’t aware that he was breathing faster than normal until he noticed that she was as well. Black hair floated around the periphery of his vision, and he wasn’t sure if it was his own or hers, she was so close. She leaned in even farther, until her cheek was next to his, just barely not touching, and her lips brushed his ear as she whispered.
“Careful, little one. You play a dangerous game.”
“Do I?” Sirius breathed. Black hair was all around him, her angular shoulder was digging into his chest, it was getting harder to breath, though it was possible that had to do with her vicelike grip on his tie, or possibly not.
Neither of them moved for what seemed like eternity, until the utter stillness was shattered by a shout from below.
“Bella!” It was Regulus. “Are you coming?”
She drew back slowly, releasing his tie as she went, wiping her fingers against each other as if she had touched something dirty. Her eyes never left his face as she said with an air of finality, “Every game I play is dangerous, but this one I don’t play alone. Choose wrongly, and suffer. Consider yourself warned.”
She withdrew down the stairs, leaving him with no choice but to follow, though he did so without hurry, suppressing a shudder as he went.