stonecrandall Chapter 286: Bark Now, Pay Later
Chapter 286: Bark Now, Pay Later
Regulus watched Sirius cross the platform toward him.
He stopped at Regulus’s side.
Kreacher saw him and went rigid.
His long ears trembled twice. Then he snapped back into his standard posture of deference and folded into a bow.
"Young Master," Kreacher’s voice quavered, pitched high with something close to excitement. "Young Master is coming home too... the Master and Mistress will be so pleased!"
Sirius’s mouth twitched. The smile that formed had no warmth behind it.
He didn’t believe a single word of that, but he couldn’t be bothered to correct it.
Pleased.
Walburga would probably greet him with a cold sniff. Orion might spare him a glance, or might not.
But Kreacher believed they’d be pleased, so Kreacher said so.
The house-elf straightened and reached out a bony finger toward both their trouser legs.
Sirius stepped sideways, out of reach.
Kreacher’s finger hung in the air. He looked up, eyes swimming with confusion. "Young Master?"
Sirius ignored him and turned to Regulus.
His problem wasn’t with Kreacher specifically. It was with house-elves as a species.
Kreacher just happened to be one. Happened to belong to the Blacks. Happened to have scurried around after him since he was small enough to trip over.
What Sirius couldn’t stand was the way they existed. No sense of self, no freedom, obedience baked into their bones, servitude worn like a badge of honor.
The whole thing made his skin crawl.
"You said once," Sirius fixed his gaze on Regulus, tone easy, "that Apparition is the entry point to Spatial Transfiguration."
Regulus glanced at him, already knowing where this was going.
"Let me feel it."
The corner of Regulus’s mouth shifted.
Not a bad idea.
"Smooth ride, or rough?" Regulus asked.
Sirius blinked. His brow furrowed. "What do you mean? Apparition comes in flavors now?"
He opened his mouth to follow up. "Smooth means..."
Before the question was half-formed, Regulus seized his arm, fingers clamping tight, and said to Kreacher, "Go back on your own."
Space contracted.
The first thing Sirius registered was the pressure in his ears. His entire skull squeezed inward, temples swelling, a low drone filling both ear canals.
Then his body. Starting at the chest, pressing in. Air forced out of his lungs layer by layer. He tried to inhale and couldn’t, as though a fist had closed around his ribcage.
The skin was the strangest part. A thousand fingers pushing inward from every direction at once. No pain, but the density of it, the sheer number of contact points, made him want to shudder.
It lasted two, maybe three seconds. In those seconds he felt as though he’d been stuffed into a tube that was twisting and shrinking at the same time.
Regulus had given him the medium setting.
Not entirely to make him suffer. Maybe a little. But mostly to let him feel the full process of spatial transit.
If he smoothed everything to its gentlest, the spatial distortion would flatten to almost nothing, and the whole trip would pass unfelt. A wasted experience.
Regulus felt nothing. Same as taking a step.
Baruk, nestled inside his robes, didn’t react either. Last time Regulus had deliberately softened the compression to its minimum, and the spider had still dry-heaved for a stretch, though at least he’d kept the silk inside. This time he’d adapted.
So the only one suffering was Sirius.
They landed on the front steps of Grimmauld Place.
Sirius doubled over, hands braced on his knees, a string of choked sounds rising from his throat.
It took him nearly half a minute to straighten. His face was pale, a thread of saliva hanging from the corner of his mouth where the retching had pulled it loose.
He looked at Regulus, teeth bared. "Was that the smooth one or the rough one?"
Regulus stood beside him. Not a wrinkle on his robes, breathing even, hands at his sides, the faintest trace of amusement curving his mouth.
"Fairly smooth," he said.
Sirius glared. A single word ground out between his teeth. "Shit."
---
A thin frost coated the iron railings. Dead grass poked through the cracks between the stone steps. The black door sat heavy in the dark.
It opened from the inside. Kreacher emerged, bent low, and shuffled to one side. "Young Masters, please come in."
Sirius looked at the open door. Looked at Kreacher. Then looked at Regulus.
His brow creased, eyes clear, face full of genuine confusion. "Why didn’t you just Apparate inside?"
Regulus glanced at him, gave a small shake of his head, said nothing, and walked through the door.
Stupid question.
The Black ancestral home, open to Apparition? That would be the end of everything.
The Anti-Apparition Charm on Grimmauld Place had been reinforced by generations. The space inside the house was locked down tight.
His Starlight Kite could force its way through, but that was the exception. Ordinary Apparition couldn’t breach it, and he had no desire to trip those defenses every time he came home.
The fact that Sirius didn’t know this meant he’d absorbed exactly none of the Black family history Walburga had drilled into them as children. Not a word.
Beyond that, no common sense. And beyond even that, no inclination to think before opening his mouth.
Sirius pulled a face at his brother’s back, mouth twisting sideways, then followed him in.
Kreacher shut the door behind them.
Night had fallen. The entrance hall fireplace was burning, green flames throwing the portraits on the walls into shifting halves of light and shadow. The Black ancestors gazed toward the door.
Footsteps came from the direction of the parlor. Walburga emerged from the far end of the corridor.
She wore a dark green robe, the Black family crest embroidered over the left breas
The lady of the House of Black maintained her elegance even at home.
Before, whenever Regulus came back, Walburga had practically run to meet him. Quick steps, voice pitched high, hands reaching with such force they carried a breeze, ready to crush her son into her arms, a torrent of my Reg and my good boy spilling from her lips.
Not this time.
She came out of the parlor at an unhurried pace, stopped in the middle of the entrance hall, hands folded in front of her, chin lifted, mouth set. Her gaze settled on Regulus with a composure that was clearly deliberate.
"Regulus." The warmth that usually saturated her voice was absent. "You’re home."
She stepped forward to embrace him. Her arms came up and circled loosely, barely touching, as though completing a formality.
Then she released him, stepped back half a pace, and her eyes said what her mouth didn’t: You know why.
Regulus stood there. Let her embrace him. Let her let go. His expression didn’t shift once.
He read her perfectly.
This was about what she’d pulled. About her belief that he should be more obedient to her, more obedient to Bella. Now that he was home, she wanted him to understand she was displeased.
She wouldn’t say it directly. She’d communicate through manner alone.
She thought withholding warmth was punishment. Thought reducing attention was leverage. As though dialing down her affection would make him anxious, make him explain himself, make him bend.
What she didn’t know was that her son didn’t need her warmth, and wasn’t afraid of her coldness.
What she probably didn’t know at all was that this kind of play only worked on people who genuinely cared about her moods.
Care, and you were led. Stop caring, and it was just performance. Not even a convincing one.
The truth was, in this house, nobody cared. Except Kreacher.
But he wouldn’t say it. No need, and regardless of everything, she was his mother.
Sirius stood on the other side of the entrance hall, back against the wall, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets.
He watched the scene, a slight curve forming at the corner of his mouth. The look of someone enjoying a show.
He knew exactly how Walburga used to greet Regulus. The kind of display that could’ve used an amplifying charm to announce to every witch and wizard in London that her son was home. The lunging, the clutching, the smothering.
It had turned his stomach every time.
So what was this?
He placed it alongside what Regulus had told him by the lake.
Things will happen over the holiday. Stay calm.
And now Walburga greeting Regulus like this. The timing was too close to be coincidence.
Was this it? Was this the thing?
Walburga?
No. That didn’t track.
Walburga’s world revolved around the prestige of the House of Black and the glory of pure-blood heritage. Regulus had never embarrassed her on either count, not as far as Sirius knew.
So who was this performance for?
Which meant Regulus had done something she knew about but didn’t approve of. He just couldn’t figure out what.
He turned it over once more, came up empty, and let it go. They were home. Regulus had said he’d explain once they got here. He’d ask later.
Walburga released Regulus and turned toward the dining room. "Dinner is ready."
She hadn’t looked at Sirius once.
Sirius was happy to be invisible. He waited until she’d gone, then sidled up to Regulus and dropped his voice, grin dripping with the kind of needling only an older brother could deliver.
"Baby Reg, Mummy doesn’t love you anymore?"