Chapter Text
1972
Two choices out of four. A fifty-fifty percent chance, and he’s shaking.
Ideally, Gryffindor. His parents will be mad, but he’ll be—there’ll be Sirius. There hasn’t been Sirius for a year. The moment the Sorting Hat announced his colors, Sirius was a little more ghost, and a little less son.
This past summer has been complicated, and Regulus misses his brother. Misses being whole, he can’t be that when he’s constantly torn between his parents and his brother. Being used on one side of an argument, then the other. Less brother, less son, and more tool.
Second-best, Slytherin. His brother will be disappointed, but he’ll have—he’ll have his parents’ approval. He is twelve and all too aware, now, of what it means not to have it. The tension. The stress. The nit-picking over every single thing Sirius does wrong, even when he doesn’t.
Regulus has never really thought about torn families before. You do not think about broken families when yours isn’t. But Regulus has been seeing cracks in the family façade for an entire year, and he doesn’t know what might happen. If he’s sorted red and gold.
The Great Hall buzzes with anticipation, Regulus feels it on his skin, dripping down the back of his neck. He doesn’t look at the Gryffindor table as he steps forwards when his name is called, nails digging crescent moons into his palm to avoid the trembling his hands have been doing for the past hour.
Regulus has never been sorted before. Doesn’t know what to expect, and he was sitting too far away to really hear what it was saying to the other students before the Black name.
He doesn’t expect the Hat to start spilling his life to the entire first rows of students. Why. Why. Why.
“Ah, another Black. Quite the lineage. I see conflict, a troubled mind, smart though, strategic. And ah, a yearning to prove yourself. But also—”
Regulus squeezes his eyes shut. This is horrible. This is the worst. This is—shameful, it’s horrendous, it’s—Shut up, please, please be quiet, pick and let me go, I just want to survive this—
“A remarkable survival instinct, yes,” the Hat continues, humming thoughtfully. considering. “There are many paths for you,” and Regulus’ breath hitches
—Just pick, pick, I’m dying here—
“SLYTHERIN!”
The word echoes through the hall, and Regulus opens his eyes, the room coming back into focus. The Slytherin table erupts in applause, and he steps down, handing the hat to Professor McGonagall. It’s a bittersweet victory. He doesn’t know if he feels like he’s won or lost. Perhaps a little bit of both.
He makes his way to his new housemates, random strangers he’s never seen before, who open their arms out to him. He smiles, the motion uncomfortable. There are eyes on his back, icy gray like his. He’s feeling the titanic power of his brother’s stare, the shards of ice embedding themselves into his spine.
He doesn’t look back.
He’ll find Sirius later. Not now. Not in front of all these people.
Regulus sits down, green and silver. It’s what his mother wanted. So he doesn’t understand. Why the tension in his shoulders doesn’t fade. His parents will be proud. He will be safe. Loose. Loosen up, shoulders. Come on. Come on. Smile. It’s a good day. Slytherin is good. I will talk to Sirius. Everything will be fine. Smile. Ca va. Ca va. Loosen up. Come on, come on. Aller. Aller, relâche.
He glances up, green and silver, finds another boy looking at him with a contemplative look on his face on the other side of the table. Half of his semi-long hair is pulled up in a bun. He isn’t looking at everyone else, just at the newly anointed Slytherin. There is a smirk on the side of his face as he extends his hand.
“I’m Severus. You can call me Sev.”