PART I: REGULUS
AUGUST 1971
Sirius and Regulus sit crossed-legged on Sirius's bed, the duvet hovering above them like a makeshift tent. Their father's doing.
"Again," Regulus whispers, eyes wide as he stares at the new wand clutched in his older brother's hand. He can see Sirius's grin even in the dark.
"Lumos." The tip begins to glow, lightening up the fort and causing Regulus to gasp just like he did the last four times.
"It's so beautiful," Regulus says, before blushing. His mother doesn't like when he talks like that—beautiful, pretty—she says it makes him sound soft.
But Sirius only smiles wider. "Neat huh?" he says, waving his wand around a little. "All I had to do was read it in my textbook and I figured it out right away. This school things is gonna be so freaking easy."
Regulus nods enthusiastically, certain he's right, Sirius is the smartest person he knows. "Why do you even need to go at all? Couldn't you just learn all your magic from books?" he hopes his voice doesn't sound as desperate as he feels.
Tomorrow Sirius is going to the train station, going to Hogwarts, going away from Regulus. Until Christmas. He feels his lower lip start to tremble and instantly stops thinking about it. Sirius doesn't mind when he calls things pretty, but he hates it when Regulus cries.
"I could probably teach myself yeah," Sirius shrugs, with all the cocky assurance of an eleven year old. "But then I'd have to stay here." He wrinkles his nose, like the very thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
"But you'd be with me," Regulus says meekly, causing his brother's face to soften.
"Aw Reg, you know I love you right?" he claps Regulus on the shoulder. "You're my best friend. But I can't stand this house. It's too stuffy. It's too small."
Regulus doesn't really know what he's talking about, the house feels plenty big to him. Too big even. He hates being alone on the top floor—hearing the floorboards creak or windows rattle and knowing that he has to run drown at least three flights of stairs before he'll find another person.
"Besides, you'll be joining me next year, so it's not even that long."
A year feels like an eternity to Regulus.
"You'll write?" he asks nervously.
"Of course I'll write!" Sirius says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I'll write everyday."
Regulus feels his heart leap. "Everyday?"
Sirius smiles again. "Everyday," he knocks their foreheads together and Regulus laughs. A moment later Sirius's wand flickers and goes out.
JANUARY 1977
Sirius never did, of course.
Write everyday.
Or any day.
Regulus forgave him. He forgave him at the time and he forgives him now. It's an awful lot to expect of an eleven year old, to keep his promises.
Regulus can't figure out if it's irony or some other form of poetic justice that years later James Potter would manage what Sirius hadn't. Writing him a letter for every week they were apart. Regulus thinks about it as he lies on his back in a cot in Azkaban, arm thrown behind his head as a makeshift pillow.
His feet hang off the end which is unfortunate because of the rats. They like to...snack. He tries to pull his legs in but his muscles cramp and his back hurts. He isn't used to being this tall. Or strong. He's clunky and awkward when he moves, unable to accurately judge his size in relation to the things and spaces around him. He ran into a few low hanging doors when they were smuggling him in.
