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Title: These Four Kings (Year Two 1/4)

Author: Dani ([livejournal.com profile] escribo)
Word Count: 2781 

Rating: PG
(Pairings: in the future will be remus/sirius, lily/james)

Timeline: September 1 (Friday) 1972

Summary: Regulus' world changes

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. I've not made nor seek any profit.



Year 1: one/ two/ three/ four/ five/ six/ seven





Regulus hadn't cried when his father had seen them off at Platform 9 3/4 and he was stunned to see how many of the other first years had. He'd stood straight and solemn next to Sirius, nodding when his father spoke again about the importance of making the right friends and a good impression, and he felt very grown up in his starched uniform. No tie yet, but that would come soon. Sirius had told him that he could ask for the House he wanted, had told him Gryffindor was the best, had spent the entire summer whispering about all the things they could do, the pranks they could pull, the fun that could be had. Their father, who had only just joined them for the last week of their holiday abroad, had spoke every night about his days in Slytherin, of his own father and his father's father. When they finally boarded the Hogwart's Express, Regulus' ears rang with the refrain of family tradition, honor and pride, and Sirius' look of scorn had made Regulus' stomach twist.

Abroad the train, Regulus silently followed Sirius down the aisle and into the carriage where Sirius' friends already sat waiting for him. James Potter, who Regulus had met when their families' paths had crossed in Italy, was regaling the other two boys with stories of his summer. He could pick out Peter and Remus from the stories his brother had told; Peter Pettigrew, short and round with a moon face, and Remus Lupin, as tall as Sirius but thinner with golden eyes. Both boys were listening to James but grinned when Sirius came into the carriage dragging along his owl and his brother, catching James in a headlock and wrestling with him until the train rolled forward and they were off.

During the summer, their mother had allowed them to spend the day at the Potter's villa on the lake. They’d played and swam and James had shown them how to skim across the water on a broom and Mrs. Potter had bought them all ice cream, and Sirius a second one when Sirius had given Regulus his own when Regulus’ had fallen onto the ground because Sirius and James had been playing around. Later, their mother had said what a shame it was about the Potters, letting their boy run so wild, looking at Sirius as she’d said it. He’d found out then that their mother hadn’t given them permission to be with the Potters at all but had sent Sirius to take Regulus to see some distant cousin. She’d sent him to bed, then, and Sirius had come into the room they were sharing much later, his breath hitching in the strange way that said he was holding back tears and it made Regulus’ stomach ache. He’d hated James Potter then, because it was clearly his fault that Sirius had gotten into trouble. Regulus had crawled into Sirius’ bed, the sheets cooler than his own, and asked about Hogwarts, about the classes and Sirius' friends, because it always made Sirius happy to talk about them.

Sitting on the train, Regulus tried not to listen to James and didn’t reach for Sirius’ hand. He just crossed his arms because Peter kept looking at him like Regulus had something on his face, and studied the boy on the seat across from his, who had pulled his feet up onto the bench and was half reading, half listening. He was wearing jeans, an old, faded green t shirt, and a thin jacket that had a hole in one elbow. Muggle clothes, Regulus thought, and knew his mother wouldn't approve.

"C'mon Lupin, how can you read?" James asked from where Sirius had him in another headlock.

"It's interesting. My father found it in the shop when we got my school books.”

“It makes me want to throw up to read on the train,” Peter said unhelpfully, rolling his eyes and staggering back into his seat.

“Put the book away, Lupin. You’re making Pettigrew want to throw up.”

Remus looked up, grinning at James’ joke but put his book face down on the seat next to him, his hand holding it still so that it didn’t fall off when the train jerked or shuddered.

“Tell us what you did for the summer, Remus," Sirius said, falling back into his own seat next to Regulus. "Or else I’ll have to ask Peter.”

“I didn’t go anywhere like you and James. Peter went to Brighton, though. He owled me.”

“Only for a week. It was hot and my brother brought his girlfriend.”

“I wasn’t allowed to owl you,” Sirius said, his voice low, and Regulus looked first at Sirius and then Remus when he said, "I know. It's okay."

“I’m going to be disappointed if the only thing you did was read, Lupin.” James stood and brushed his clothes off, smoothing down his shirt. “And you could have owled me.”

“You know we don’t have an owl.”

Regulus stared hard at Remus again. He’d never heard of anyone not having at least a family owl. He was 11 and had his own owl, sitting in its cage next to Sirius’.

“You could have sent Peter’s," James said. "It knew the way to me."

"He only owled me back the once and half of it was in Latin, which you know I can’t read.”

“See, I’m rubbish at writing letters that anyone wants to get. Can we stop talking about owls?”

“You didn’t read all summer. What else did you do?”

Remus shrugged, his eyes going to his book again, and Regulus thought that maybe he wouldn’t answer at all until Sirius kicked Remus’ leg gently with the toe of his shoe. “My dad and me came down by train yesterday to get my things and he took me to this big museum. We didn’t go anywhere else though.”

“You didn’t have to go anywhere. What did you do?” Sirius pressed.

Remus shrugged again, rubbing his fingers over a worn patch in the velvet covering of the bench he sat on. “My dad tutored me in maths. Calculus.”

“Is that like school work?” Peter asked, his face twisted in confusion at the idea that anyone could have spent days meant for lounging about doing actual school work.

“Professor McGonagall said it would help with arithmancy."

"Did she come to your house?" Peter looked as though he thought this might be the worst thing he'd heard that could happen

"A few times, for tea." Remus blushed, looking from Peter to Sirius and then back down at this hand resting on his book. "They gave me problems to solve. Puzzles. I liked them and Professor McGonagall said I could start arithmancy this year. And I did read a lot, and I mapped the woods down to the river.”

“You and your maps,” James said, rolling his eyes, but he was smiling, too.

“You found them helpful last year, like when you needed to find the Slytherin common room.”

“But cartography isn’t a healthy way to spend the summer.”

“What’s cartography?” Regulus asked.

“It means that Remus has an unhealthy obsession with making maps, no matter their usefulness,” James said and Remus’ lips quirked into another smile, his fingers curling around his book and sliding it back into his lap.

“Don’t you dare start reading again. I’m declaring a moratorium on everything that even resembles an academic pursuit,” Sirius said, twisting his voice to mimic Professor Flitwick’s. “At least until McGonagall sets our first essay.”

“You’re going to have to translate that for Pettigrew.”

“I know what he meant.” Peter sat up straighter in his seat and his arm shot up like he was in class. “He means no sending owls full of Latin that nobody can read during summer holidays.”

“I can read Latin,” Sirius said, grinning at Remus.

“I can, too,” Regulus said, not looking at Remus but Sirius.

“Which rather underlines the point of it being unnatural,” James said “C’mon, Remus. Tell me you did something fun.”

“My mum taught me to swim,” Remus said after a moment's thought, though he didn't look like he found it particularly fun, at least not how James meant it. “And my dad showed me a spell to make fireworks."

"I thought your dad doesn't use magic."

"He doesn't," Remus said, his cheeks going pink again. He sat up, giving it some more thought, and began to take off his jacket. His t shirt had a picture on it that was so faded Regulus couldn’t tell what it had been though he thought maybe an owl. "But this was special. It was just me and him. Anyway, that’s it. My summer.”

“How did you get those marks on your arms?” Regulus asking, leaning forward to point at the lines of scars across Remus’ arms.

Remus’ eyes flickered to Sirius’ as he reached for his jacket again, sliding it back on even though it was warm in the carriage filled with five little boys and four owls.

“He was in an accident, Reggie,” Sirius finally said into the quiet of the carriage. “When he was littler than you.”

“I’m only a year younger than you. I'll be twelve in three weeks. How much littler?”

“Five,” Remus said, drawing his feet back up onto the bench and hugging his book to his chest again.

Regulus could read the title, Magical Mapping for the Contemporary Cartographer, and saw that the spine was broken. It looked old and tattered, like Remus' clothes and shoes. “What kind of accident?”

“Leave him alone, Reg. You don’t actually have to know everything.”

“That’s how we can tell he’s your brother,” Remus deadpanned, opening his book, and Sirius leaned forward to snatch it from his hands, holding it out of reach. He climbed onto the bench when Remus jumped to his feet, both laughing, and Remus lunged at Sirius, catching him around the knees and sending them both onto the floor where James tackled them. Their rough housing only stopped when when there was a knock at the door and they found the tea trolley on the other side. Everyone stood to buy something, except Remus who just collected his book and settled back into his seat.

Regulus, his pockets bulging with Drooble's Best Blowing Gum and Licorice wands, sat back in his seat to look out the window and ate a Cauldron Cake while the conversation turned back to Peter and his brother at Brighton. Sirius, his own pockets bulging as well, sat next to Remus and dropped a chocolate frog from his own stash onto Remus' stomach behind where Remus had the book propped against his knees. Watching him nibble at the chocolate as if to make it last for as long as possible, it dawned on Regulus then that Remus was poor, too poor to buy himself candy. While his brother and James and Peter started talking about Quidditch and England’s chance at rebuilding their team in the face of this summer’s truly stunning defeat, Regulus studied Remus, his worn clothes, his second hand book, the hole in the elbow of his jacket, and remembered what his father had said when Sirius had come back from school before they’d left to travel: honor and disgrace, maintaining appearances, being careful with whom one associated.

“You’re a half breed,” Regulus breathed out, leaning forward just a bit more to see if maybe there was some other mark, some other way of telling about Remus’ birth. Instead, he noticed that when Remus looked up over the cover of his book, his eyes were a strange gold color as the train turned and they headed truly north now. The sun fell across Remus, and Regulus also saw that Remus had a hair thin white scar across his neck that looked like a sickle. and that the soft half smile that Remus had worn was gone, his cheeks bright red for the third time that trip. Regulus didn’t think Remus was mad so much as embarrassed, and Regulus couldn’t work that out. Surely the other boys knew.

“What did you say?” This from Sirius, who a moment ago had been leaning towards James and loudly arguing Puddlefoot as a far superior seeker than Davies, and Regulus wondered how Sirius had heard at all, since Regulus hadn’t even meant to say it out loud.

Regulus swallowed hard, recognizing the way Sirius’ eyes darkened from the light silver-gray of cumulus clouds to the heavy gray of thunderheads. He knew it was a warning but pushed forward, the idea that Sirius could be angry at him too foreign. Sirius had always been his protector and the pursuit of this bit of knowledge was too tempting. “Father said one of your friends is a half breed. I didn’t know who. It’s Remus, right? It’s you.”

Regulus looked at Remus for confirmation, still unsure why Sirius was angry, and he was positive that Sirius was angry.

“My mum is a Muggle,” Remus whispered, as if it was a secret and Regulus looked to Sirius with wide eyes, wanting to say, see, but never getting the chance because Sirius was already on his feet and swinging wildly. His fist glanced off of Regulus’ chin before he drew back to swing again and Remus’ book fell to the floor as Remus stood, grabbing both of Sirius’ arms and holding him back. Regulus cupped his hand over his chin, shocked because Sirius had never hit him before, and James moved to stand between Regulus and Sirius though his features were hard, too, and nothing like the boy who had helped him build a sandcastle at the lake with six spires and a working drawbridge.

“Don’t you ever say that word again, Regulus!” Sirius yelled, struggling against where Remus held him.

“But that’s what father said one of your friends was. That’s what father said.”

“Don’t you dare repeat what he said.”

“But Sirius--”

“It’s okay, Sirius,” Remus said, his voice barely audible over the sound of the trains wheels clacking over the track, so quiet that Regulus almost didn't hear him.

“No, it’s not.”

“He didn’t know,” James said, still looking down hard at Regulus, and Regulus remembered that he was meant to hate James for getting Sirius in trouble while they were in Italy, and he felt the same bitterness in the back of his throat well up for this Remus--the half-breed, he knew his father was right--who had caused Sirius to hit him.

“Apologize,” Sirius demanded of Regulus, and Regulus opened and closed his mouth, finding no words for what he wanted to say and settling on the ones that Sirius demanded.

“I’m sorry.”

“Not to me.”

“I don’t understand. It’s what he is. Father said--”

“The word is vile. No matter who says it,” James said.

“But it’s true.”

“It’s true that his mother is a Muggle and his father is a Wizard, and it’s true too that being a pure blood means nothing,” Sirius bit out.

“Father said--”

“Father’s not here. I am, and I’m telling you that if you ever say another word about Remus again, I will thrash you.”

“Sirius,” Remus said more urgently this time but Regulus watched as Sirius turned his head and gave a sharp shake that silenced whatever else Remus might have said before he turned back to Regulus.

“Do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

Sirius shook off Remus’ hands and pushed past James to stand in front of Regulus, his arms crossed over his chest. “Then apologize.”

“I’m sorry, Remus,” Regulus murmured, his cheeks burning.

“It’s okay, Regulus.” Remus sat down on the bench, and, after a while, Sirius picked up the book that Remus had dropped and handed it to him before he threw himself down on the bench next to Remus, his arms still crossed over his chest as he stared at Regulus.

The rest of the trip was quiet, James and Peter going back to their Quidditch conversation after a while and Remus hunched over his book, though he wasn’t really reading, Regulus could tell. He'd seen Sirius do the same thing on their last night home when Regulus had overheard his mother whispering to his father that Sirius was lost. He was beyond their reach, they had said, and he knew what they meant now. He knew they were right. Sirius wasn’t his brother, couldn't be if he would take the side of a half-breed over his own brother. Late that night, when the Sorting Hat had called out Slytherin before it was barely set upon Regulus' head, he’d watched as Sirius’ features twisted hard against him and knew then that Sirius knew, too.

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