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Tweak says, "i miss corbis!"

_ky_ (_ky_) wrote,
@ 2007-09-22 00:54:00

Current location:	In a ball
Current mood:	tired
Current music:	um...er....
Entry tags:	fanfic, regulus, remus, sirius

Paint Me Black
When I transfered my stories over here, I do believe I missed one. Oops.

Title: Paint Me Black
Pairings: strongly implied Remus/Sirius... strongly implied, as in I sort of flat out mention it.
Warnings: some language, some angst
Spoilers: part of my Halycon Days series. In fact, it is part of The Dark Night Effect. However, it does stand nicely on its own.

Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, I just play with them and hope they enjoy it. All characters used are property of JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Bros., et cetera et cetera. The song mentioned is, of course, “Paint it Black,” by The Rolling Stones, and alas, I don’t know what corporate entities it belongs to, and so I’m just going to give it the ‘et cetera’ part, which is me trying to cover my legal bum.

Summary: Regulus spends a day watching the Marauders, and he learns more than he intended to about his brother and himself. It is a day of reflection; it is a day to remember. It is a day full of laughter, love, friendship, and music. For two brothers, it is a day that can illustrate what it really means to be from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

Regulus Black clutched the piece of parchment in his hand as he pulled the invisibility cloak around him. James Potter thought he was so special for owning one of these, but honestly, Anthony Edgecombe had had one for years. It had been easy to get it from him for the day too; all he’d had to do was threaten to show Anthony’s girlfriend evidence that he’d been cheating on her. A little blackmail can go a long way in Slytherin House. Normally, he’d be scared to blackmail a Slytherin who owned an invisibility cloak, but Anthony had been placed in Salazar’s house more for his ambitions than his cunning; it would never occur to him to use the cloak to get his own blackmail material.

Besides, it was important that Regulus use the cloak today. It was urgent that he talk to his brother, and no one could see him do so.

He was sliding unseen around the twisted stairways towards the Gryffindor towers when he heard Sirius’s barking laughter echo down a rather unused hall. It was a laugh that he knew all to well, for it had always cheered him as a child, and even now when he heard it across the Great hall during meals it tugged at the corner of his lip before he let a scowl manifest instead of the grin that tried to form.

He followed the achingly familiar sound to a dusty classroom and slipped into the door just before James Potter closed it firmly. The room was inhabited by Potter, his girlfriend the Mudblood, Siri, Remus Lupin, and the sort of sleazy one that always seemed to be hanging around the potions lab during Slytherin study nights, though Regulus never could remember his name.

With distaste, Regulus found a corner of the room and seated himself silently in the dust. He waited as the four friends crowded around a strange boxy object, admiring it as Lupin showed it off. Finally, his brother asked the question that he’d been wondering the entire time.

“What the hell is it, Moons?”

‘Okay, not quite the way I’d would word it,’ Regulus thought, though he snorted internally at the nickname. Severus had hinted wildly enough one night that Regulus had been able to figure out that his brother was best-friends with a werewolf, and that for some reason Severus, though privy to this knowledge, was forbidden from speaking about it. He could see the Headmaster’s work in that one, what with the way that he favored the Gryffindors and all.

“It’s a phonograph.” Lupin answered proudly.

“What the fuck is a phonograph?” That was a little bit closer to what Regulus felt like saying, and he grinned at his brother, though Siri couldn’t see it.

“It plays Muggle LPs. Music,” replied the Mudblood… Lily, Regulus thought her name was, though he tried not to pay much attention, answered.

“Like that Jazz crap that you listen to, Moons?”

“Yeah, but you’ll like this, I promise. It’s a different type of music. Its Rock n’ Roll.”

“That’s a rather silly name for a band.”

Lupin rubbed the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “It’s not the name of the band, Sirius; it is the style of music.”

Regulus rolled his eyes; even he knew that. What type of Muggle-Lover did his brother think he was if he didn’t even know that?

“Well, what’s the bands name then?”

“The Rolling Stones.”

Sirius snorted. “Isn’t that Rock and Roll said another way?”

“It’s a play on words. You know a literary device?”

Regulus bit back a laugh, if he didn’t watch himself, he might actually start liking the werewolf.

Sirius flipped his fingers at Lupin in an obscene gesture. “I know what a literary device is, Moons, so just fuck off. You know I hate you.”

Lupin gave a lopsided grin. “I know you don’t; but if you insist that you do, I’ll just take this and be on my merry way then.” He made to pick up the phonograph and laughed as Sirius jumped to stop him.

“No! You said that you got it for me! It’s my present!”

“What I want to know is how you’ll get it to work.” The squeaky voice of the chubby little one spoke up. Peter. Peter Pettigrew, Regulus finally put a name to the face.

“It’s quite simple, really, if you have someone like Lils working on it. She charmed it to run on magic instead electricity. Of course, it has a limited lifespan; it will only play for a couple of hours.”

“Well, then hurry it up. I want to listen to these Stones that you were so anxious for me to hear that it couldn’t wait for break.” Sirius grinned. “I can’t believe that you had your Da owl all of this to you.”

Remus smiled at Sirius, and Regulus was taken aback by the emotions that were loaded into that single smile. It transformed the werewolf’s face from one of tense earnestness to almost playful flirtation. It gave the Slytherin pause to question what exactly that look had meant; he wondered what exactly the werewolf was to his brother.

Regulus watched his brother lean back against a desk and close his eyes, complete and utter relaxation etched on his features in a way that Regulus didn’t remember feeling in a long time. Not since Siri had quit coming home.

“Hit it, Monsieur Moony.”

There was a scratchy noise before several hard drum beats filled the room. He could see the smile start to form on Sirius’s face as those few beats bounced across the walls before the guitars kicked in. Sirius never opened his eyes, but his head was bobbing to the rhythm and his thick combat boot was tapping even before the lyrics started. When they did, the grin he was wearing nearly split his face.

For some reason it almost hurt Regulus to see Siri like that. But he was unable to take his eyes off of him. He listened to the music, absorbing it just like Siri was, and watched it transform his brother. When the song ended, and the scratching on the LP was the only sound in the room, he watched as Sirius grabbed Lupin by the hand.

“You, Remus Lupin, are brilliant.”

And they kissed. Not the kiss of friends, not a kiss of two people simply being silly. It was a real kiss. A kiss shared by lovers. Hands carded through short black hair, hands caressed under the collar of a worn corduroy jacket, noses nuzzled as tongues dueled and lips teased. They sipped and tasted each other as the repetitive bump of the LP filled the room, and the other three laughed as if nothing was amiss, as if nothing was new, nothing changed.

But Regulus’s whole world was upside-down at the moment.

“Play it again.” The husky voice was one that he’d never heard his brother use before, and frankly, didn’t care too.

The bastard half-breed just laughed and walked over to the box again, starting the song anew. As the thumping sounds started again, Siri reached out and grabbed Lupin’s arm, pulling on him. Laughing they began to clumsily dance, half-falling over as much as they were moving to the music. James and his girl soon joined them, as well as Peter, as they all moved in a group. It was one of the most ungraceful displays that Regulus had ever seen.

He was quite jealous.

When the song ended, it was, of course, started again. Then again when the song finished was the record reset, over and over. Soon, they were not only dancing and laughing, but were singing as well. Siri, Regulus knew, had a decent voice, and he soon learned that Lupin did too. Surprisingly, for someone that was so squeaky when talking, Pettigrew didn’t sound half-bad, but neither Potter nor the Mudblood could carry a tune worth a damn. He winced slightly every time they hit a particularly bad note, as did Lupin and Sirius, though Pettigrew was oblivious to the musical monstrosity that was occurring.

On it continued, with them laughing harder and harder, and Regulus’s mood becoming more foul and darker the longer he had to listen to those damnable lyrics as they repeated. It was a blessing when, with a crackle of magic that caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end, the phonograph went silent.

Lupin’s eyes went sad and remorseful as he looked at his brother. “I’m sorry, Pads. I thought it would last longer than this.”

Regulus closed his eyes as Siri once more pulled the werewolf to him, though that didn’t block out the sounds of their kissing, or his brother’s gentle voice whispering, “It was perfect, Moons.” In fact, he decided, opening his eyes, his imagination was probably making it worse.

He realized quickly, that the other three were leaving, and that Sirius and Lupin were firmly planted, arms around each other, leaning against a table. It didn’t take a Ravenclaw to surmise that he wanted to leave the room with the others, and not bare witness to what was going to happen once the two were alone together. So he waited until Potter was making a lot of noise gathering the now useless phonograph, and he stood. His knees protested, and he groaned softly as needles of pain shot down his legs.

It was difficult to follow the other Gryffindors to their tower on legs that were basically numb from disuse. Luckily, they were in no hurry, so by the time they got to the portrait of a Fat Lady in a Victorian style gown, he had regained feeling in his lower limbs.

He’d thought to wait out in the hall for Siri, but the opportunity was too much not take, so he slipped into the Gryffindor common room behind the others.

It was very red. He blinked against the crimson decorations, and turned back to the portrait hole, debating on fleeing.

He paused though, staring at this strange place that his brother had called home for seven years. It was so different from Slytherin House, and part of Regulus hated Siri for that. Part of him loved him for it as well; he was pleased that Siri had somehow gotten free of the darkness that seemed to consume the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

The Mudblood – Lily, he made himself call her by name – went up a set of stairs leaving Pettigrew and Potter alone in the common. They sat the phonograph down on a corner study table, and plopped themselves ungracefully down on couches near a fireplace that was roaring with flames despite the unseasonably warm weather.

“Pads and Moony seem to be doing better.” Pettigrew said conversationally. “I’m glad to know they got over that fight, or whatever you would call what was going on.”

Potter shrugged noncommittally. “They still got a lot of shite to deal with, though.”

“What’s up with you and Lils? It’s seemed tense the past couple of days.”

“You really feel like gossiping like a fourth year girl?”

Regulus had to cover a snort; as much as he’d always told himself he’d hated the Gryffindors, he was seeing them in a completely new light. Their native habitat, he laughed to himself. They could actually be people that he’d like.

He was glad his brother had them.

Pettigrew had turned a bright shade of pink that was quite unbecoming on him. “I’m just worried ‘bout my friends. Merlin. Don’t get your knickers in a twist over it.”

“Sorry, Wormtail. But, yeah, Lils has been acting strange. I just… don’t know why, and don’t feel much like talking about it.”

Regulus didn’t feel much like hearing about it. For all that he was gaining a new respect for the Gryffindors, sitting idle while they gossiped about their love lives was not why he’d borrowed the cloak.

However, the more he saw into the mysterious life of his Gryffindor brother, the more he’d realized that he’d been foolish. He’d never needed to confront him anyways. His fears had all been for naught, because Sirius wasn’t him.

He stared at the back of the portrait and begged for it to open, to release him from this red prison so that he could retreat back into his dark world of scheming and manipulations of Slytherin House where nothing was trusted, but everything made sense to him.

Where he could hide the feeling that he felt when he looked inside himself and saw the hope that Siri always made him feel.

Finally the door opened, and none other than his brother and his mutt stumbled through laughing; he pushed passed them as quickly as possible, and barely waited for the door to close before he tore the cloak off, gasping for air. The Fat Lady jumped slightly, and gave a startled shriek. He quickly turned to reassure her; he’d been around enough melodramatic portraits of his ancestors that he knew to always be polite to paintings.

“I’m sorry, m’Lady. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She looked at him skeptically for a moment, as if trying to figure out if he was mocking her. “You don’t belong here. You didn’t give the password.”

“No… I thought I wanted to talk to my brother. But, well, I changed my mind.”

“You look like your brother. That Sirius Black. Always in trouble, he is. You belong to the snake pit, though.”

For a moment, the cheerful red Gryffindor common room was all he could see as he stared at the entrance portrait. He closed his eyes, forcing the cold, grey, stone walls of Salazar’s House to take their place. “Yes. I belong in the snake pit,” he replied shakily.

“Would you like me to get you brother for you? You don’t look well.”

He stretched out a hand and ran a finger down the frame. The bricks that guarded his common could never show concern, or sympathy. Here she was, worried about him, and he wasn’t even of her house. Inside, Regulus cried out once again for what Sirius had.

“No, thank you, ma’am, though I appreciate your concern.” Regulus replied formally. “Please… please don’t tell my brother I was here. I would hate for him to worry.”

The Fat Lady merely smiled as he turned away. He heard her murmur something about “polite boy” but he was no longer listening as he hurried as fast as he could away from Gryffindor Tower.

It was nearing time for dinner, and he was to meet Anthony in the Great Hall so that afterwards he could give him the evidence as well as the cloak. He headed in that general direction, knowing he would be quite early. He did have one matter that had to be attended to first.

He ducked into a nearby loo and pulled the crumpled piece of parchment out of his pocket. His cousin Narcissa’s neat, tidy script etched lightly over it. Cissa was one of the few members of the family that was not so caught up in intrigue, either political or familial, that she didn’t simply write to him in an honest and straightforward manner. He figured that would probably change though with her marriage to Lucius Malfoy; but for now, he cherished it.

He glanced at the letter again, at the warning that Mother would be contacting Sirius to give him one last chance to return back to the open arms of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Cissa had warned Regulus because of what it might do to his reputation in Slytherin House, where status was a piece of power to use as leverage. It was common knowledge that, though Sirius had been disinherited, Regulus had yet to be named the official Black heir. If Sirius denied their mother again then Regulus would finally be given the title he deserved.

Regulus had gone to warn Sirius, to tell him not to take their Mother’s offer. Not because Regulus wanted the money, but because Sirius didn’t understand what the family had become. It was no longer just rhetoric and fanaticism; it was hatred at its deepest level, and it was bloody.

Regulus lit the edge of the parchment with an Incendio and watched it slowly start to burn. He looked at himself in the mirror above the sink as the smoke filtered up from the basin. He stared into his slate grey eyes, so similar to the smoke biting at the edge of the parchment, so similar like his brother’s eyes. It appeared that their similarities ended there.

He’d seen his brother today, laughing and dancing to that song, and he’d known: Sirius didn’t have the heart of a Black. Sirius would never take Mother’s offer, because when he looked inside himself he saw the love and laughter that Regulus had seen today. When Regulus looked inside himself, at the very heart of his being, all he saw were shadows. He was truly the heir.

He rinsed the last of the letter down the basin, and splashed cold water on his face at the same time. He didn’t look at himself in the mirror again; instead, he turned away, toward the door to the loo before he brushed to droplets of water off of him.

In a few days time, the notification would arrive, both that he was officially the Scion of the House of Black, and that he would be Marked into service of the Dark Lord. Slytherin House would most likely throw him a party. He squared his shoulders, and straightened his green striped tie. He might as well start acting like he was proud of it all now.

He left the loo and headed for the Great Hall. He passed a group of Hufflepuff girls, all laughing and giggling as they gossiped in the corner. Their robes were undone to show that they wore Muggle dresses in the latest of fashions. One of them gave him a sweet smile, and he turned away, a scowl fixed firmly on his face. They were all so carefree, so joyous. Like Siri. Later he might be interested, but right now, he was simply in too foul of a mood and he would hate to taint future prospects because he couldn’t hide his disdain for who he was.

Because while they could be cheerful and relaxed, the only thing Regulus was – the only thing Regulus had ever been – was a Black.

Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts,

It’s not easy facin’ up when your whole world is black.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

The Dementors were resting. The oppressive weight that sat on his chest as they moved around the prison was gone, and that happened so infrequently. Only when the damnable things were resting were there moments of peace, which was only for a few sporadic moments everyday, usually just after feeding time. The black shaggy dog let out a huff of air before standing and transforming into an even shaggier looking man.

Sirius Black curled up in the corner of his cell, and, just for a moment, let the rush of human memories overwhelm him. James, Lily, the twinge of their deaths still ached every time he thought their names. His godson, Harry, who had started Hogwarts, and probably didn’t even remember his face, or want to since he believed he was the reason his parents were dead.

His Remus… was probably angry at him, probably believed the worst of him. He probably hated him and regretted everything they had shared.

He clung to these thoughts, no matter how much they hurt; positive memories would draw the Dementors, would wake them from their rest. Some days it was easier than others, and lately it had been decidedly difficult to hold onto the negative thoughts.

Ever since he’d seen that article, anger was one of the few negative emotions that he could truly cling to. The article lay crumpled in the corner of his cell, under his small cot. He tried not to think of it, worried that any ideas about his impending escape while in human form would be picked up by the Dementors.

They would feed upon his hope like it was a delicacy.

Instead, he tossed his mind back, tried to think about things that wouldn’t cause that flare of longing. He needed to concentrate on hopelessness, on despair, on sorrow. He had become quite good at this in twelve years. It was one of the only ways that he could regain his human form, and remaining a dog indefinitely would have driven him just as mad as the Dementors would have.

Regulus had one time told him that he didn’t have darkness inside him, that he wasn’t a true Black because of it. The day his Mother gave him that damnable ultimatum, Regulus had said that to him. That he would never know what it was like to suffer, as a Black was meant to suffer.

Apparently, his brother was wrong. Perhaps Sirius was supposed to be heir after all. He’d learned to suffer just fine. He almost barked out a laugh before he caught himself. It wouldn’t have been a true laugh, it would have been too tinged with bitterness to have real mirth behind it, but in this place, one can’t be too careful.

He remembered that week as clearly as if it had happened yesterday; in a way, that was one of the real horrors of Azkaban, it would bring you clarity of thought, before it destroyed those very thoughts forever. He tried not to remember how happy he’d been as he’d danced with Moony; he never wanted to lose that. He didn’t want to lose any of that laughter, any of the kisses, knowing that Remus might not forgive him for what Peter had done when he finally left these dank walls behind and escaped back into the light of day.

Regulus must have been there, in the classroom that day; he must have watched them kiss, heard them laughing. He’d indicated as much to Sirius, but Sirius had never been able to place how he’d known about the song. He’d quoted it, when Sirius had tried to talk to him about the letter Mother had sent to him. Sirius had told him that he didn’t have to join Voldemort either, but all Regulus had said was, “I look inside myself and see my heart is black.”

Sirius had hugged him, his baby brother, and those had been the last words they had spoken to each other. Now Regulus was dead, a murderer and a Marked man, and Sirius was a framed criminal believed to be the same.

He looked out the tiny barred window near the ceiling of his cell, and saw the orange and golds of what he imagined was a beautiful sunset. The Dementors would be waking again soon; he needed to shift back into his animagus form. He would only need to suffer through this for a short time longer. Then, once again, he would be free.

Though, looking up through the window again, he thought that his brother might be right. He would always carry this darkness in his heart. He was, after all, a Black.

No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue

I could not foresee this thing happening to you

If I look hard enough into the settin’ sun

My love will laugh with me before the mornin’ comes.