When is a monster not a monster?
“I read something, the other day,”
“Hm?”
“Poetry.”
“Obviously.” Regulus shoved his brother at that.
“Remember when you used to sing me to sleep?”
“Well, I don’t know about singing, but…” Sirius says with a chuckle.
“No, you did. I’m not teasing you about it.”
“Uh, okay, yeah, I remember. What about it?”
Regulus is lost in thought, looking at the puddle growing at the bottom step of the set of stairs both brothers are perched on.
“Most nights I don’t sleep. I can’t, it’s like my eyes refuse to stay closed, and my mind can’t find one thing to stay focused on. It’s either blank, or overcrowded,” Regulus admits, fingers fiddling with the lace of his right shoe. Sirius is waiting patiently, silent as the night sky, in fear of stopping this trail of thought.
Regulus continues after a few seconds, “Sometimes I remember how easily I used to fall asleep with you humming next to me.”
And Sirius turns his head from his brother, hand reaching up to scrub the tears from his eyes. The ever-present lump he’s had living in his throat since he’s been sat with his little brother feels like it doubles in size, and he’s never ached to wrap anyone up this tightly before. To sing him to sleep.
“But the poem I found the other day asked, ‘when is a monster not a monster?’.”
“Reg, you’re not-“
“When you used to sing it to sleep.” Regulus finished. And it was a few seconds after, seconds filled with Sirius fighting that lump away again, that Sirius finished his previous words.
“You’re not a monster, Reg.”
“But that’s exactly my point: you wouldn’t say I’m a monster. You wouldn’t say it, don’t believe it, because when I was that age, the age where you could still sing me to sleep, I wasn’t a monster. How could I be? I was a child. So were you. But now… Now I’m an adult, and everything I’ve done has had intentions behind it.”
“You’re hardly an adult, Regulus. You’re sixteen, for Merlin’s sake.”
Regulus just shrugged, “Still.”
“All right, so you’re a monster. You’re a monster, because- because of what, Reg? Because you’re sixteen and don’t have your shit together yet? What fucking teenager does?”
“It’s not just-“ Regulus’ words fell short.
“Pandora was flipping through one of those muggle magazines the other day, and they had a section on celebrities describing themselves in one word. And the only word that came to mind when I thought about how I felt about myself, was awful. Because I am. And I know I am, because the only person I have left is my blood brother who most spends most of his days trying to disassociate himself from his biological family… And that includes me, so.”
Sirius knows no matter how often he tries to remind the younger of the two that his leaving had nothing to do with Regulus was a futile attempt at consoling him. Because he doesn’t believe it, has never believed it, and probably won’t ever, either. So instead of being on the defence against his own life choices, he’d try and defend his brother’s.
“You’ve fallen out with Pandora before. You’ve made up with her before, also.”
“Not like this, Siri.” And Regulus’ defeated look is like a pin to the heart.
“Your friends, they’re not going to… understand the way you are, not fully. Not when they didn’t grow up in the same house we did- not when they’re still in the same house you are.”
“I can’t just use that as an excuse-“
“It’s not an excuse, it’s part of an explanation. Do you know how long it took Remus to understand why I do half the shit I do? And he’s one of the smartest people I know.”
Regulus seemed tired, his answers no longer in defence of his own beliefs and just staying silent.
Sirius didn’t know if that was good or bad.
“You need to talk to people, Reg. You can’t just expect them to understand, especially when they don’t know the whole story. And you need to apologise, even if it burns your pride and goes against everything Maman and Papa told you.”
“You’re not a monster, Reg. You’re my little brother.”
