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This was his comeuppance.
For years, he’d complained to his friends that he’d wished he were an only child.
Evan had laughed and rolled his eyes – he hadn’t believed him.
Barty had looked him in the eyes and asked him whether that was smart, with his mother how she was.
But Regulus’s mother was fine. She loved him, really.
So what if it had taken until he was ten for her to show it? So what if she’d always preferred Sirius when they were children? It was normal for parents to have favourites, and anyone with sense would prefer Sirius over him. Sirius was cleverer. Sirius was more charming. Sirius was braver. Sirius was better-looking. Sirius was more coordinated. A better flyer. Sirius didn’t flinch. Sirius didn’t cry. Sirius didn’t have to rely on the House Elf for company. Sirius wasn’t weak. He wasn’t soft.
It was just that Sirius was a Gryffindor, and that couldn’t stand.
He hadn’t even been offended when his mother had told him at dinner that she’d anticipated Sirius being the one who would restore the family name. That Regulus was supposed to be the spare – the one free to make as many mistakes as anyone in the House of Black was allowed to make. That she’d evidently been wrong in this assessment, because Sirius being Sorted into Gryffindor was the worst sort of stain on the family name. He’d be cavorting with Muggles.
It hadn’t occurred to him that his mother’s brave attempt at holding back tears may have been a manipulative technique (or, at the very least, excessive). It hadn’t occurred to him that she was, once again, pitting them against each other – this time without Sirius here to mitigate the damage.
What had occurred to him was a sort of drowning feeling – how he hated feeling as if he were drowning – as he struggled under the realisation that something had changed. Fundamentally.
He’d done his duty when it had been his turn for Hogwarts.
Slytherin House. Then in second year, Seeker on the Quidditch team. In third, he was top of the class in Ancient Runes and Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures. In fourth, Professor Slughorn had personally written his parents a glowing commendation of his skills both in Potions and at befriending classmates who may, one day, turn out to be useful (and who were all, without exception, members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight).
The summer after his fourth year was when things got worse.
His mother never really praised him, of course. He understood that. He was only just managing what he needed to do as a Black. He wasn’t exceeding expectations – never mind that he’d been the spare for the first ten years of his life.
That was fine.
His mother loved him, and he would make sure not to damage the family name.
Until Sirius got worse.
He’d always been a disappointment, of course. Regulus knew better than to associate with him at school. (That was the version he made himself remember; he blocked out any feelings of hurt or rejection or any memories of trying to talk to his brother in the corridor – he would never have risked such a thing). Sirius and his friends were bullies. They associated with Mudbloods. They liked Dumbledore. They came up with targeted attacks against Slytherins.
That summer, Sirius came home to more screaming matches. More disappointment.
Regulus locked himself in his room and did his summer reading. It wasn’t worth disturbing his mother to ask to go visit Evan. Kreacher brought him lunch every day, so Regulus only needed to leave the top landing for dinner.
As he was on the top landing, it was impossible not to notice Sirius’s door slamming shut.
Regulus couldn’t understand why Sirius couldn’t just do as he was told. Mother would go easy on him if he did.
Parents loved their children, after all. Mothers especially.
She only ever hexed him when he pushed her to it. If he’d listened, like Regulus, if he’d kept quiet and known better than to antagonise her… it all would have been fine.
That day, Regulus didn’t think much of the screaming match. He didn’t think much of Sirius stomping up the stairs or slamming his bedroom door across the landing. He didn’t think much of the sound of Sirius throwing things around his room. Sirius did that when he was angry. Regulus only put his quill down and switched to reading, lest Sirius try to barge in (again; Regulus had set every privacy spell he could, and yet his brother always managed to counter them).
When he heard Sirius’s door slam open again, he read the same line four times until he heard Sirius stomping down the stairs. Idiot.
Another screaming match, this one louder. The same line ten more times. But if he gave up, he’d have no choice but to pay attention.
Then, curiously, the front door slamming open. Through his open bedroom window, Sirius shouting profanities. Regulus closed his window and cast another charm to muffle the noise. He knew that was the coward’s way out, but if Sirius wanted to cause a scene and make Mother furious, Regulus was going to know as little about it as possible.
It was better that way.
The room now quiet, he returned to his book.
He didn’t dare leave his room until Kreacher fetched him for dinner. He made sure he was properly dressed and groomed, but he didn’t keep his mother waiting.
He knew better.
He wasn’t surprised that Sirius wasn’t at dinner. He didn’t say anything. Neither of his parents did, either.
Until, that was, his mother finished her glass of wine. “Regulus, darling.”
“Yes, Mother?”
“You are now an only child.”
Even though he knew better, he couldn’t quite keep the surprise off his face, or stop himself from asking, “What do you mean? Sirius isn’t dead, is he?”
His mother sneered. Her tone turned cold. “Do not mention that name in this house. He is dead to us. I burned him off the family tree this afternoon.”
“Oh,” Regulus said, trying desperately to make sense of this all. Sirius wasn’t dead, then, was he? Not properly. But Regulus couldn’t understand why he’d been burned off the family tree; his grandfather’s brother had been a Squib, which was a good reason, and Andromeda had run off with a Mudblood, so he understood that, but what had Sirius done?
Was it really so difficult to shut up and do as he was told?
Now Regulus would have to be perfect. He wasn’t good enough to be perfect. His mother would grow to hate him, too, now, with Sirius no longer around to distract her.
He understood, then, what Barty had meant about being an only child.
Being an only child meant that there was no one else.
He was alone.