I, Sirius

TITLE: I, Sirius


AUTHOR: Lady Sirius

PAIRING: RL/SB

RATING: NC17

FEEDBACK: shelley_runyon@yahoo.com


DISCLAIMER: Of course all rights to Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling

- I only wish that Sirius and Remus were mine, other than in my heart!


DEDICATION: To my glorious, talented, wondrous and everlastingly sexy
inspiration - Gary Oldman - and to all those fans whose enthusiasm and kind words keep me going!



I, Sirius
Reflections of the Brightest Star

Chapter III - Brotherly Love




My first recollection of my brother was of a tiny swathed bundle of mystery which was ceremoniously carried into my bedroom early one morning - at that time I was blissfully unaware of dates, but of course it must have been the day of Reg's birth, April 6, 1961 - and laid into a waiting cradle which had magically appeared there sometime during the night, apparently, as I'd been completely unaware of its presence when I had retired the previous evening. Numa woke me from my innocent slumbers; taking me by the hand she walked me up to the sleeping newborn, introducing me to my newly arrived brother. "This is Regulus," she later recounted the story to us both, "you must always watch over him, Sirius." "Yesh, Numa," I dutifully lisped, and from that day forward I became the protector and guardian of one Regulus Arcturus Black.

I have some early photographs which somehow survived the purging of the family records, unlike the family tree which was cleansed of my name once I left home, (and what good company I keep in that regard, for Uncle Alphard is missing too, and Andromeda, as well as Nymphadora, and a few others), but that was years after the time of which I now relate, and better left alone for now. The pictures show me cradling Regulus, softly kissing his noble brow, and smiling. Yes, smiling. A tender moment trapped in time.

My actual awareness of myself and my environment begins to come into focus about the time that I was five or six, I think. Odd snatches of memory, some clearer than others. Bits and pieces, some of which made no sense at the time but seen with the advantage of age and maturation take on an astounding clarity. The other pureblood families whose faces swim before me in mind-numbing similarity, and were only sorted out later as I learned who they were - the Malfoys, the Lestranges, the Crouches, the Potters, the Rosiers, the Wilkes, the Prewetts. It seemed as though the ones I liked didn't last long, became simply faded memories, so I learned early to be careful of my feelings, learned that dissembling was self-protection. I actually met James when I was maybe six or seven, but the Potters must not have have cut the mustard, so to speak, because although we got along swimmingly, I didn't see him again until I was eleven, and entering Hogwarts, and by then I had actually all but forgotten our first encounter. But if I remember correctly, we hid ourselves in the backyard, climbing up into one of the gnarled misshapen trees, defying all efforts by my cousins to find us - no doubt for purposes of torture - and in the process discovered that we were indeed kindred souls. Not to mention relatives. But then I think every one of the bluebloods is related in some misbegotten incestual way.

James. Lily. If only.... So many if onlys... Knowledge gained which had it been obtained earlier could have been put to such good use. But alas, that can be said of so many things, and what good does it do to regret, regrets are only the stepping stones to heartache, after all, and only lead to madness brought about by the inability to change what was. But one of my biggest regrets has to be the horrible sacrifice which was made, the complete and total waste of two precious lives, lost far too young... far too young. And in those moments when I ponder their fate, rail against the powers that be that chose this particular path for two people who did not deserve to be treated in this way, I cannot help but stop and think about the ones that managed to live to a ripe old age that certainly did not deserve to do so, and if I sound bitter because of it, that is because I am. But with just cause.

Stop it, Sirius, just stop it. Now. There are those who say that I have already wandered too close to the edge of madness, while others insist that I have long ago crossed that particular line. No reason to add fuel to the fire, now is there? So simply cease and desist...

Regulus. My brother. Keeper of my secrets and bearer of my confidences. He was my responsibility, he was my charge, and I discharged my duty toward him most honorably on a regular basis. We shared a room from the time of his birth until I turned eleven - to be precise, until I left for Hogwarts. By the time that I had returned to Grimmauld for first hols he had already moved out of our room and into one of his own, and there was the beginning of an estrangement between us, a rift which was never completely healed. But when we were younger, we were inseparable.

Growing up, Regulus was my shadow. He was a little me, following me about, mimicking my every action, watching me closely with his large expressive eyes, blue like my own, which must have galled my mother very much. Even then, as young as I was, I sensed a disparity between her treatment of my brother and that of myself, though I probably would have been hard pressed to put a finger upon it at that time. And although Numa ostensibly was nanny to us both, Walburga actually mothered her younger son, to a degree that I was not aware she was capable of, having evidenced none of it myself. When we would be called to their presence to account for ourselves, my parents that is, I felt as if I were simply tolerated, while Regulus was.... loved. Assuming they truly understood the meaning of the word. I have my doubts.

What of my father? Was he as blatant as his wife, did he disdain me as well, or did he attempt to compensate for her coldness by enveloping me in the warmth of his paternal affection? Alas, my father merely existed. He spent little time at home, preferring the company of his friends and associates, and chose not to interfere in the running of the household, nor the raising of the children. Father by proxy. It was easier to give in than to take a stand. And truth be told I never knew what stand he might make, were he to choose to do so.

Perhaps if we hadn't become estranged, my brother and I .... perhaps if he hadn't turned away from me, or me from him, depending upon one's point of view. Could I have saved him somehow? Would I have been able to see the direction in which he was being led, intervened for his own good, led him back toward the light? So many questions, no good answers, too many regrets.

I should have known. I really should have, if I question my own conscience closely. I mean after all, they approached me didn't they, me whom they did not even truly care about, attempted to force me to follow that bastard. I knew even then, even as a wet-behind-the-ears teenager, that I wanted no part of him, of them, of their crazy ideology. So why would it be so surprising that they not only selected my brother for their crazy schemes but that they actually succeeded in impressing him into their cause? He was never as strong-willed as I was, my Regulus... he only wished to be accepted.... to be loved....

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. To some extent I have to accept the blame for what happened, I can't absolve myself of the guilt, the self-abhorrence, no matter how much or how often I speculate on what might have been. Regulus, truth be told, I failed you, in so many ways. Fucking hell. I have to set this aside for now. It's...... overwhelming..... the guilt.... the shame.... And no absolution in sight.