Chapter Text
There was a loose floorboard under the bed in the second guest room. Sirius had discovered it by accident when he was five, and he’d made it their place . No one else knew. Not Kreacher, not Walburga, not Orion. Just the two of them.
That night, the house had been loud. Screaming. Shattering. The kind of cold silence afterward that made the air feel too thick to breathe.
Sirius found Regulus curled up in the hallway, knees to his chest, clutching the cuff of his sleeve.
"Come on" he whispered, grabbing his little brother’s hand. "Come on.”
He pulled him into the empty room and locked the door. Then he knelt, lifted the loose floorboard, and reached inside.
Underneath was their stash: a biscuit tin with a broken lid, scraps of food Sirius had hidden over the week, gauze he'd stolen from the bathroom cabinet, a pair of gloves two sizes too big, and a safety pin he’d sharpened against the stone fireplace.
But Regulus’s favorite part was the stub of a candle, and the single match Sirius always saved for emergencies. Tonight counted.
Sirius struck it. The little flame bloomed, and the darkness backed off, if only a little.
"Sit up straight," Sirius said gently, pulling Regulus down beside him.
Regulus adjusted his posture, but sniffled loudly. Sirius clicked his tongue.
"Don't do that. Use the handkerchief. Always. Never your sleeve. She hates that.”
Regulus wiped his nose with the worn square of fabric Sirius handed him.
"Sorry.”
"Don’t apologize. Just remember. You're a Black. You're supposed to look like you’re better than everyone else, even when you feel like dirt.”
Regulus nodded quietly.
Sirius handed him half of a broken biscuit. "Here. Eat. Slowly. Small bites. If she notices it’s missing, she’ll think Kreacher took it.”
They sat in silence, legs folded, candlelight flickering between them like a spell they didn’t need a wand for.
Then Sirius took the safety pin and held it up. "You ready?”
Regulus nodded eagerly.
Sirius leaned forward, showed him again how to press it into the gap of a lock, how to feel the catch give, how to be patient and quiet while doing it.
"Don’t force it. Listen. Locks always talk to you, if you pay attention.”
"Like magic?" Regulus whispered.
Sirius smirked. "Better than magic. Magic won’t always be on your side.”
Regulus beamed, then tried for himself, struggling with his little fingers. Sirius gently corrected his grip.
"Gentle. Like that. Perfect.”
After a few minutes, the click came. Regulus looked up, wide-eyed with pride.
"Did I do it?”
"You did.”
"You’re going to teach me everything, right?”
"Everything I know. You have to be smarter than them, Reggie. Sharper. Cleaner. Quieter. You have to survive.”
Regulus leaned against him, tired.
"You think I can?”
"You’re a Black, aren’t you?" Sirius said softly, brushing Regulus’s curls back from his forehead. "Of course you can. You’ll be better than me.”
In the stillness, Regulus believed it. Believed that maybe he could learn enough, become enough, be perfect enough to stop the screaming.
To keep Sirius safe.
To keep them both whole.
For one night, in the smallest sliver of space between floorboards and silence, they were just two brothers sharing a biscuit and a flickering flame.
And nothing hurt— not yet.