Chapter Text
December 15, 1980 (Present)
Regulus is running. His breaths come quick as he pants, his legs ache, his lungs burn, but he runs. He looks over his shoulder, seeing his mother chasing him. Stumbling over his own feet, he falls to the floor. The carpet of the hallway scrapes against the skin of his palms, leaving furious red marks.
Merlin, what have I done? Regulus scrambles to his room where Kreature is already waiting, slamming the door behind himself and frantically locking it. It’ll only be a moment before Walburga gets here, and he won’t have much time until she breaks down the door with the incessant pounding of her fists.
“Kreature you must send a letter for me!” Regulus declares, looking up at Kreature, the family’s butler, with pure desperation. “To Sirius. Please!” Regulus grabs a nearby scrap of paper, a receipt from only yesterday when he bought a handful of new books.
“Master Regulus, you’ve upset the Mistress. She won’t like me sending mail to that disgraceful-” Kreature begins, nervously wringing his hands in the front of his white button up.
“Kreature, enough! I don’t ask much of you, just get this to Sirius!” Regulus pleads, handing Kreature the scrap of paper. The only thing written on it is “help -R.A.B.” in messy handwriting because of Regulus’s rushing.
Regulus doesn’t like to demand Kreature. He’s an older man, but he’s always been soft on Regulus. He’s served the Black Family for years, since before Regulus, before Sirius, before Walburga even. His duty has always been to the family, so if Regulus asks this of him, he’ll do his best to make it happen.
“Yes, Master Regulus. I’ll send this to Master Regulus’s muggle loving brother,” Kreature relents, his clear disdain for Sirius written in his tone and present on his face. Sirius and Kreature never got along.
“Kreature, I must leave. I hope you can understand.” He says to his butler, never one to get emotional, but dreading leaving Kreature. Kreature practically raised him, he’s one of the only people in the family Regulus intends to do right by. Regulus rushes to grab a bag out from under his bed.
As he pulls it out from the depths of darkness, he hears his mother’s shrieks as she finally figures out where he is. “Regulus Arcturus Black! What have you done?! You’ve killed him! You’ve really done it!” Walburga’s shrill voice screeches, banging against the door with her fists.
The door rattles on it’s hinges from the force of it. He remains silent, not wanting to give anything away. He shoves cash, lots of it, into the bag. Then, the files. All of them, making sure not to leave a single one behind. He doesn’t have much time, and with a final, wavering nod to Kreature, he opens the window, tossing the bag out before him.
“Regulus! Open this door this instant!” He hears Walburga bellow in rage. Regulus wastes no time jumping right out the window, landing just beside his bag with a sickening crunch. His leg aches instantly, and if he looks at it for longer than a moment, he’s sickened. It’s bent at a weird angle, like the bone is protruding beneath the skin.
A low whine releases from his throat as tears burst to his eyes. Why had he thought it’d be a good idea to jump from the second story window?
Trying to get to his feet, he tosses the bag over his shoulder. He hobbles to the street, putting a fist out to signal a taxi. He’s never done this before, has no idea if he’s doing it right, but continues. Thankfully, Walburga hasn’t noticed that Regulus has escaped through the window if the sound of her screams has anything to do with it. She seems to be in the same position outside his door, and he’s thankful she hasn’t thought about him leaving yet.
Soon enough a taxi comes. An older man with bright blonde locks, nodding at Regulus in the mirror. Regulus tosses his bag into the vehicle, climbing in beside it. He doesn’t spare a look back at his house, not wanting to think about all he’s leaving behind.
“Where to?” The blond headed man asks Regulus with a lazy draw. He’s got a cigarette in one hand and his other rests loosely on the wheel.
This man clearly isn’t in a hurry, but Regulus is. “Anywhere, anywhere but here!” Regulus says frantically, trying to convey his rush to the man. He can’t be bothered to act composed as one would expect from a Black, but he can’t help it. He’s in searing pain and his heart is pounding in his chest.
The driver does pick up on Regulus’s tone, speeding away from none other than Number 12 Grimmauld Place. He looks at Regulus warily through the mirror, but seems to understand that he isn’t going to talk.
Regulus is scared. Merlin, he’s petrified. He’s never done something so daring, so bold, so… Sirius. He feels a little like his brother at the moment, like he’s stolen a bit of his courage and tucked it away into his heart.
Sirius was always the better one of the two, in Regulus’s opinion. He always did good, always stood up for Regulus, took the beatings and abuse for him so he didn’t have to deal with it.
But he’s gone. He left. Regulus thinks bitterly, then shuts down all thoughts of his older brother immediately. He hasn’t thought this much about Sirius in a couple of years, it’s jarring.
Despite this, who did he turn to as a last resort? Who did he send a message to when there was no one else?
Regulus can only hope that Sirius is still so inherently good, that he still holds some care for Regulus. He might be Regulus’s only hope.
In a few hours, the taxi driver informs him he must leave. It’s late and he has a family to get back to, and he’s driven miles and miles away from Grimmauld Place at this point.
Regulus understands, he doesn’t blame the man, but he feels bitter. Regulus can’t get far enough away from that hell hole.
“Here, thank you.” Regulus says, reaching into his bag and grabbing a wad of cash. Definitely more than the ride was worth, but this man has no idea how he’s saved Regulus. He deserves it, in Regulus’s mind.
Regulus exits the taxi with his leather bag, almost collapsing from the pain in his throbbing leg. It looks awful, honestly. In the hours since his departure, it’s turned into an ugly bruise. It’s all different shades of reds and purples and yellows.
It hurts to stand, it hurts to sit, it hurts to exist.
He has no idea where he is and doesn’t think to ask before the taxi is speeding away, likely glad to be rid of the mystery that is Regulus Black.
A stranger approaches him, he can barely hear her voice through the ringing in his ears and the thumping of his heart. He looks up at her, half delirious.
She’s a middle-aged woman, a few grays in her hair, but pretty nonetheless. She has a kind face, and a kinder voice.
“Mister, are you alright?” She asks, clearly nervous, but caring too much about others and feeling the need to help. She sees how Regulus barely keeps himself up and holds onto his arm, helping him support himself.
Regulus can only groan, and would collapse then and there if it weren’t for the surprising strength of this random woman. His knees buckle, but she holds him up.
“A hospital! We need a hospital!” The woman cries, looking around the street, but they’re the only people there. It’s all but abandoned at this time of night.
“No… no hospital. ‘M fine…” Regulus manages to get out, despite very much not being fine. At that moment, he blacks out. He goes completely slack in the stranger’s arms becoming oblivious to the world.
~
December 25, 1970 (Past)
Regulus wakes up excited, which is rare for him. He’s back from Hogwarts, his boarding school, and it’s Christmas!
He rises out of his bed and rushes over to the window. He’d deny it if anyone asked, but he loves Christmas. It’s like something right out of a fairytale that Regulus would never admit to enjoying. The pure white snow blankets the earth with a gentle hand, powdery, glittery, and beautiful. A wide smile spreads on his face, he doesn’t know yet to conceal such expressions.
He flings open the door to his room, then goes just across the hall to knock eagerly on the door across from him.
His little knuckles wrap on the door insistently, waiting for the inhabitant of the room to open up. When the door opens up, he’s met with the mischievous smirk of his older brother, Sirius. He grabs Regulus and tucks him under his arm, ruffling the top of his head in the way he knows Regulus hates. Even that can’t dampen Regulus’s mood.
“Siri! It’s Christmas! Let’s open presents!” Regulus says, smiling up at his older brother. They haven’t yet grown apart, and it’s clear to anyone who looks at them that Regulus admires Sirirus. Looks up to his older brother like he hung the stars himself.
“Fine, fine, come in…” Sirius relents, acting as though he’s not as equally as excited as Regulus is. Regulus knows he is though, he sees the smile on Sirius’s face.
Regulus happily bursts into Sirius’s bedroom, his eyes scanning around for any sign of his presents. Sirius always hides them so well, then makes Regulus search for them. It’s their own little holiday tradition.
“How many do I look for Siri?” Regulus asks, his eyes scanning observantly, but not seeing anything. Sirius knows better than to hide them in plain sight or else Regulus would be opening them right away.
“Are you a spoiled brat or something?” Sirius teases, ruffling Regulus’s hair once more. Regulus speaks like he expects presents from Sirius, and to be fair, he should.
“But you always get me presents,” Regulus says, his doe-like, childish eyes looking up at Sirius expectantly, a pout on his lips. Regulus can play Sirius like a fiddle, and they both know it.
“Okay, whatever, I got you three this year.” Sirius says, smirking at Regulus. That’s one more than he usually gets Regulus, and it’s exciting.
Regulus quickly starts hunting around Sirius’s room for his three presents. He looks under his bed, just to be through, but there’s nothing there other than some old socks. He checks in the closet, under a pile of shoes, and sure enough, the first one is there, wrapped in shiny, green paper.
Regulus smiles up at Sirius as he grabs the present, ready to open it then and there. He would, too, but Sirius takes it. He has to, or else Regulus would be too distracted to find the other two.
Regulus pouts again, but goes back to his search. He looks in Sirius’s drawers, in his bins, in his guitar case, but he doesn’t find anything. He;s getting slightly discouraged, but when he gets to Sirius’s bed, carelessly tossing the pillows to the ground as he gets a glimpse of a small present wrapped in silver.
Again, Regulus is ready to tear his claws into the paper, wanting to get to his gift, but Sirius swiftly takes it out of his hand, sending Regulus back on the hunt for the remaining gift.
Regulus never gets to find it that day, because in storms Walburga Black, their wicked witch of a mother.
She’s furious for the ruckus so early in the morning, never one for the holiday spirits. She doesn’t even give the children any gifts.
“What are you two doing up so early?” She demands, grabbing Sirius by the hair like it’s solely his fault. She’d assume that because he’s the oldest.
“Mama, we were just-” Regulus begins, but is cut off by Walburga slapping him across the face. Her nails catch his skin, leaving welts across his cheek as tiny droplets of blood rush to the surface. Tears spring to his eyes, unable to stop them.
“What have I told you about calling me that? I am your mother, not your ‘Mama.’ Grow up Regulus!” She spits harshly, then turns her attention back to Sirius who is writhing in her grip despite the hold she has on his hair. He doesn’t appreciate her putting her hands on Regulus. “And you! Playing along with this silly little game. You’re too good for these things, you’re a Black, and Black’s don't need presents and games and cheer!” Walburga chastises Sirius cruelly, sounding very much like a grinch to Regulus.
“It was just for fun!” Sirius demands, trying to wiggle out of Walburga’s grasp ineffectively. It’s in their blood to be stubborn to a fault.
Walburga doesn’t express her anger through words this time, no. She grabs her cane, which she’s taken to walk with nowadays, and brings it down across Sirius’s ribs with crack.
When he still resists her, she brings it down on him again, and again, then once more. Regulus knows Sirius tries to resist, he would resist, but he looks over to him, cowering in the corner, watching with wide eyes, filled with fear.
Regulus always thought himself was the weaker of the two.
Regulus watches his brother go limp, and he’s screaming. Not words, just pure anguish coming out of his mouth.
This isn’t the first time, nor will it be the last that Walburga has brought harm to her children. But everytime, like a reflex, Regulus screams when Sirius goes limp.
Walburga leaves without another word, huffing in disappointment at her offspring.
Regulus can’t move, he just keeps letting out a scream, watching Sirius on the floor. Eventually, Sirius pulls himself together despite the pain radiating from his ribs, crawling over to Regulus, pulling him down with him, and cradling him in his arms like he would when he was a baby.
“It’ll be alright, Reggie…” Sirius whispers until Regulus’s screams silence. He lets out pathetic whimpers, reduced to a baby in his brother’s arms.
He’s the one hurt, yet he comforts me?
December 16, 1980 (Present)
Regulus wakes to a bright light shining in his eyes and the chatter of unfamiliar voices around him. He’s instantly cautious, and peaks open his eyes, seeing two strangers on his left side.
“Oh, darling, he’s awake.” A feminine voice says, pulling the attention of the other figure to Regulus.
“Gods, he must be in so much pain…” A masculine voice says sympathetically, the man patting the woman on the shoulder.
Regulus groans, attempting to sit up, but gentle hands nudge him back to laying down, which admittedly isn’t as painful as sitting upright.
“Now, don't sit up boy, you need to stay laying down. We don’t want to jostle your injuries. I’m Podma and this is my husband Rusef.” The woman, Podma, explains gently, taking her husband’s hand in her own for reassurance.
“What’s your name? What happened to you?” Rusef asks, looking at Regulus cautiously. He notices Podma nudge her husband, and he frowns for a moment, looking scolded despite there being no exchange of words.
“Sorry, dear. Take your time, tell us what you can.” Podma says in her soft voice, looking at Regulus reassuringly. Regulus can only think that she’s pitying him, he doesn’t appreciate that.
“Regulus Black. I… fell, out a window.” He explains, purposely lying and omitting details. He has no idea who these people are, nor the desire to tell them his life story. It’s bad enough he’s here, in their home, injured.
Speaking of his injury, he looks down at his leg, and it’s covered by a blanket, but Regulus can see the outline of a cast. He also doesn’t feel the immense throbbing pain anymore, so he can only assume these people gave him some kind of painkiller while he was out to relieve the pain.
Podma and Rusef look at one another, clearly doubting Regulus’s story but not questioning it. They can tell he’s suffering, and that’s enough for them to lend him some kind of kindness.
“Yes, well, as I said, we’re Podma and Rusef Thompson. We just want to help you.” Podma says softly, smiling at Regulus reassuringly.
“You caused quite a bit of a stir for us. You’re lucky I’m a doctor, or this could’ve gone a whole lot worse for you.” Rusef says gruffly, clearly not as soft spoken as his wife.
“Honey, it’s okay,” Podma says, rolling her eyes fondly at her husband. It’s clear that despite their differences, they hold a lot of love for each other. “Regulus, you said it was? Anyways, we’ve patched you up best we could in the meantime, although you probably won’t be able to walk for quite a bit. There’s painkillers in that drawer right there if you need them.” Podma gestures to the drawer in question, right by the head of the bed Regulus is laying in.
“Thank you,” Regulus says quietly, not used to expressing gratitude, but knowing he must. These people very well saved his life, he’s indebted to them and their kindness.
“No need to thank us, kid. Here, eat something.” Rusef says with a huff, shoving a tray of food into Regulus’s arms. It’s clear the man means well, no matter how tough he seems on the outside.
Regulus gratefully accepts the food and wants to shovel it into his mouth. However, he remembers his manners and that he’s a Black, and takes small, polite bites.
It’s a warm, delicious curry, something he’s never had before. It’s soothing and comforting, and tastes amazing.
“We’ll give you a chance to gather your wits, just give a shout if you need us,” Podma smiles as she speaks, then leads her husband out of the room, closing the door behind them to give Regulus some privacy.
Even alone, Regulus doesn’t let himself stuff his face with the curry, he takes polite spoonfuls and brings them to his lips, eating slowly. His mind sets to work.
Where’s my bag? Where am I? Can I trust these people? My leg doesn’t hurt nearly as much… Thoughts race back and forth in his mind, mainly questions he’s too worried to ask.
He considers it, but he’s not going to call the nice people into the room just to answer his questions. He can wait until they come back of their own free will.
He turns his head to the side and sees his leather bag propped up on a soft looking, cushioned chair. It’s still closed, and it seems as full as it was when he passed out, meaning they haven’t taken his money, nor seen his files. That’s good.
Regulus is about to continue eating when he hears the low chatter coming from the other side of the door, presumably Podma and Rusef on some kind of call.
“Yes, Regulus Black. The Regulus Black. He seems hurt, there was some kind of incident.” Podma says in her soft voice, clearly worried.
“You just want a statement from him? I don’t know how he’ll feel about that.” Rusef says, his gruff voice not able to be quiet, and Regulus hears that quite clearly.
They’re talking to the Aurors, or Prophet, or even my mother. Regulus concludes, his heart racing in fear once more.
He doesn’t blame them, it’s a sane reaction to having the son of a literal billionaire, collapsed in their home.
He just wishes it didn’t happen, this means he must leave before the people the Thompsons are calling reach him.
Regulus does end up scarfing the rest of the curry down, now having an excuse. He tosses the blankets off his legs, looking down at his right leg, which is encased in a cast. It’s fresh, and clean, and doesn’t hurt currently.
Regulus swings his uninjured leg over the side of the bed, planting it on the floor. He then grabs his right leg just under the thigh, carefully lifting it. That does hurt, and Regulus is holding back tears as he transfers that leg to the floor as well.
Once both his feet are carefully on the floor, he reaches into the drawer Podma mentioned earlier, retrieving the painkillers. He knows he’ll need them when the current dose wears off, he can only hope the Thompsons won’t mind.
He carefully places the pills in his bag, pulling out a small wad of cash and putting it in the drawer, right where the pills were. It’s more than enough to make up the expenses for the painkillers, materials used for his cast, the food, and his short stay here.
He closes it solemnly, regretting having to leave. He wishes he could enjoy this peaceful home for a while longer, it’s the first time in a long time someone’s taken care of him other than himself or Kreature.
It was nice while it lasted.
Regulus stands, almost collapsing once again at the pain that shoots up his leg from the action. It’s the worst pain he’s felt in his life, but he knows he must go on.
He quietly hobbles to the door now that the hushed voices on the other side no longer sound like they’re there. He opens it slowly, peering through the crack to see if he can see Podma or Rusef. He can’t, and assumes the coast is clear.
He slowly, due to being held back by his leg, makes his way to the front door. He opens it quietly, then closes it behind him as he exits the warm home.