Entry tags:

fic, sirius/regulus, slash

Happy Springsmut, enderxenocide
Author: tarie
Recipient: enderxenocide
Title: None the Wiser As They Both Be Fools
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Sirius/Regulus
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: While carrying out an Order mission on Knockturn Alley, Sirius spies Regulus. Mission temporarily aborted, Sirius follows, lead by lineage and love lost. Missing canon moment(s).
Warnings: Blackcest
Word Count: ~3,000
Author's Notes: Thanks to my beta! enderxenocide, I hope you enjoy. I tried to hit on some of your requests; hope I didn't cock it up too badly! Happy Springsmut!

A man feared that he might find an assassin;
Another that he might find a victim.
One was more wise than the other.
- Stephen Crane

It smells like piss and death inside, which suits Sirius' mood. Pulling the hood further down his forehead, he stamps the mud from his wellies in the doorway, the hem of his cloak swinging about his calves. A gust of wind slams the door shut behind him. Or maybe that had been the doing of the ancient-looking bastard at the counter. His wand is gesturing in Sirius' direction, after all.

Puffing his chest out, Sirius shoots him a shite-eating grin.

The craggy old bloke glares at him. At least, Sirius reckons he is; it's fucking hard to tell what's what on account of the swab of hair covering half his face. It's been yonks since Sirius has been here; he'd been but a wee lad tagging along as his mother bought back a family heirloom Uncle Alphie had sold for spite. Sirius can't recollect if the fellow is Borgin or Burkes, though that doesn't matter. It would do him well to carry on with the dumb as a double-ended newt routine.

"Hallo!" he says brightly, though not too brightly as to make himself a memorable wanker. Just as Dumbledore had made sure McKinnon told him – get in, get the item, get out, get lost. Why Dumbledore can't be arsed to just fucking talk to Sirius himself rather than relaying messages through McKinnon, Sirius doesn't know. At least McKinnon has better tits.

Get in: check.

Three more to go. Easy fucking peasey. Still doesn't make him feel any better that he'd been the one selected to go on this pain in the arse mission. Knockturn Alley is more fucking dangerous than ever. Sirius wouldn't be in his current sodding predicament if only Hagrid hadn't buggered up…whatever the sodding hell he'd buggered up. The oik had been too goddamned swollen and covered with bits of tar and feathers for Sirius to suss out exactly what had gone wrong – other than the obvious: Rubeus Hagrid Should Never, Ever, Bloody Fucking Never Attempt Magic. While put out over the whole thing, Sirius will still do his job, play his part, and la dee fucking sod it all da.

"May I be of any assistance today, young master?" Borgin-or-Burkes asks in a bleating voice, following Sirius along the length of the counter. "Have you something to sell today? Something very special concealed beneath that cloak of yours, perhaps? Or should you like to arrange for someone to pick up the goods at your estate, Mister…?"

"Boardman," Sirius says smoothly, inwardly chortling. Boardman, bloody indeed. "I'm not selling today. I'm buying, actually." His gaze roams over the countertop until he spies what he came for in a glass case.

A broad, snaggle-toothed smile breaks out on the wizard's face. Stumping over to the case, he says, "Ah, this may be your lucky day then, sir." Eagerly, he waves toward a withered hand on a manky cushion. Sirius' nose wrinkles. Maybe that's where the smell of piss or death (or both) is coming from. "Arrived only yesterday, this did. It's a fine—"

"I want that," Sirius interjects, pointing to a pair of staring glass eyes.

Tucking his wand away, Borgin-or-Burkes rubs his hands together. Sirius can practically see the wheels in his greedy little melon churning.

"Excellent choice, sir," the proprietor nearly coos. "The All-Seeing Eyes. Things rendered invisible are un-seeable no more, for these eyes can pierce through any manner of matter. They also—"

Cutting him off, no more wanting a sales pitch than he'd like for his cock to be bit off by a cheap brasser, Sirius says pointedly, "How much?"

"Twenty-five thousand Galleons," Borgin-or-Burkes squawks.

Sirius narrows his eyes. Whichever bloke this was, they both had the same reputation: buy items cheap and sell them for a bloody outrageous profit. "I don't mean for the lot. I just want one."

The old bloke shakes his head. "Can't break up the set. They're a pair, see?"

This bartering shite is for the birds, of which Sirius is not. Reaching deep within the confines of his cloak, Sirius withdraws a heavy purse and tosses it at the git. "Eighteen thousand. Take it or leave it."

The glass case is opened immediately. "You present a rather convincing argument, Mister Boardman."

"You bet I fucking do." Snapping his fingers to speed Borgin-or-Burkes along, Sirius says irritably, "Now wrap that up. I've got better things to do than hang about this shite shop."

Get the item: check.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

Parcel tucked deep within one of his cloak's hidden pockets, Sirius ducks out of Borgin and Burkes. Almost immediately he has to step back onto the narrow stoop to avoid being trampled by a pack of nattering old witches. Scowling, and plotting some sort of revenge against Hagrid even more vile and uncomfortable than what he'd already done to himself, Sirius looks both ways before stepping out into the narrow alleyway again.

Get out: check. Mission nearly bloody accomplished.

Across the way, a pair of dodgy duffers watch every move Sirius makes. Though he'd like nothing more than to toss them Ye Olde Two-Fingered Salute, Sirius remembers dead sexy McKinnon's warning that he ought not bring attention to himself and does nothing more than nods at them.

"Human fingers, with or without flesh," a shrill voice pipes up suddenly in his ear.

"I prefer mine with flesh and attached to my hand, thanks," Sirius says grimly, pushing past a natty-looking witch with a mole shaped like a flobberworm on her cheek.

"Oh, come on, dearie," she wheedles persistently, dogging his steps.

Sirius' nose wrinkles and in that moment he doesn't give a fuck what McKinnon told him or that he'd been able to look down her robe to have a look-see at her tits while she'd briefed him on this mission. Eyes narrowing, Sirius whirls on her, taking a firm hold of her thin wrist. "Now you listen here, you twat-arsed twit, because I'm only going to say this bloody well—"

Something familiar moves into Sirius' peripheral vision just then. Something familiar and yet not, not anymore.

Almost as an afterthought, he drops the witch's hand and moves away, the insult forgotten on his lips.

Up ahead. It can't be.

But it is.

Behind him, he can vaguely hear the old crone's outraged and hollow threats being tossed in his direction, but Sirius pays her no mind. Something much more important is ahead, just rounding a corner.

Mission temporarily aborted, Sirius follows, lead by lineage and love lost.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

The hair is longer than Sirius remembers, though there is no mistaking the wiriness of the frame and the aristocratic gait. He does not even take pains to hide his appearance, for on Knockturn Alley everyone is a supporter – or pretends to be.

Regulus, his brother once and brother no more, all dark and lithe and purposeful. Wouldn't Mother be proud.

Sirius' lip curls and his heart and mind begin a slow descent into madness, for there is no other way to be in the presence of alpha leonis.

The last time Sirius saw him, Regulus hadn't known Sirius had. He was visiting Remus, arguing over crap Darjeeling tea and cheese toasties as to why Moony had to be such a secretive, stubborn arse about things. Sirius threw a kettle against the wall, water splashing about on the ancient, wavering glass of the crooked window. Practically spitting with rage, Sirius made quick work of charming the water off, snarling at Moony's refusal to have an honest fucking chat, when he saw Regulus. He was out on the lawn, standing beside the corpse of an old rowan tree, just staring as the waning moon hung high overhead. Looking in the window, simply watching. Every fibre in Sirius' being had screamed out that he'd needed to get out there and hex Regulus. He was a Death Eater and they were the Order of the Phoenix.

Yet Sirius had said nothing. Done nothing. Regulus would not betray him, not even if Mother would have thought otherwise.

Like the brightest star had done than night out on Remus' lawn, Sirius just watches– though in the comfort of the shadows provided by the stoop of a closed storefront.

There is a rickety old shack at the alley's dead end. Regulus disappears inside it. To pass the time, Sirius drums his fingers against the door jamb with the peeling paint, tapping out some crap song they play on the Wireless too damned much. When the faintest bit of light colours the crack between the bottom of the door of Regulus' shack and the dirt ground, the tapping abruptly stops. Sirius' curiosity is piqued. The light dissipates almost as quickly as it appeared and the door opens, hinges squealing in protest.

Out steps Regulus, a haughty yet determined look upon his face as he tucks something – Sirius catches glimpse of a long silver chain – into a trouser pocket. Now is the time to act. Regulus' attention is directed elsewhere, at concealing whatever it is the silver chain is attached to. His chin is ducked down as he passes Sirius' hiding spot, hand cramming deeper into a pocket.

Now.

Fingers curled tightly over the hilt of his wand, Sirius steps out into the empty street just behind his brother. With nary a word of warning, the tip of his wand is pressed against the base of Regulus' throat and a hand has taken hold of Regulus' bicep. With brute force and pent-up angergriefconfusion, Sirius hauls Regulus up onto the stoop, shoving his brother's slighter frame against the door.

Leaning in close, Sirius inhales the scent of Regulus – witch hazel and cinnamon and something new, something Sirius doesn't recognize. It's contrite and shite, but it's true: he sees red.

Lunging against Regulus' back, digging the wand into the front of him, he chokes, "Breathe."

The elbow he receives unexpectedly in the stomach takes his breath away. "Fucker!" he gasps, hands and wand pressing against his gut.

In the space it took him to breath, Regulus had turned around. His face is oddly calm as he says, "Get out of here before somebody sees you."

For two heartbeats Sirius does nothing. When they pass, he does Something.

Sirius laughs.

Sirius laughs as though Regulus is taking the piss out of him and it's the lark to end all larks.

Regulus shakes his head, dark fringe falling in even darker eyes. "Stop having a laugh. Leave."

That sobers Sirius right up. "You hate it when I leave," he says quietly.

"I hate you."

The words hurt more than a hundred Cruciatus Curses ever could. Sirius has never cast it, has never had it cast on him, but he's seen it. It looks like hell on earth.

How many Cruciatus Curses have you cast? he wants to ask. How many times have you used the Killing Curse? How many people have you ruined with your pride, your stubborn pride and misguided admiration?

But Sirius does not ask. He can only inhale deeply and look away, hiding stinging eyes from the one fucking person who can gut him without lifting a bloody finger.

I hate you, too.

Oh, how Sirius wants to say it. He wants to say it so badly because it's true but he can't because it's a lie. It is both truth and lie in the way that Regulus is both light and dark. Fucking anomalies.

"I left Grimmauld Place," Sirius begins, but he can't continue because the words freeze on the tip of his tongue. I didn't leave you. The words hang there, unspoken, unknown to the one person who should know them.

It doesn't matter. When Sirius ran away from Mother and Father, trunks filled to the gills with books and jumpers and Muggle girlie magazines, Regulus had been left in the dust, left to bow to their mother's whims, pass their father's silent judgement, and while away the hours with dreadful fucking Kreacher.

But Sirius hadn't meant it. Hadn't meant to leave Regulus behind. Hadn't meant to leave Regulus at all.

Sirius blinks and there is a sharp fist hard against the line of his jaw, the line of his jaw that is mirrored in the face glowering over at him. His head whips back and his feet rock, balance askew. The wall crumbles a little, dust and dirt and decay billowing up as Sirius' back meets it. He sees stars.

He sees Regulus.

A metallic tang fills his mouth. When Sirius touches the pad of a thumb to his lower lip, he comes away with blood.

The corners of Regulus' lips twitch. His eyes flash impatiently. "What are you doing here?" he demands.

"What are you doing here?" Sirius counters.

"I asked you first."

"No, you drew blood first. Answer the fucking question."

Regulus' expression grows pinched. "I don't have time for this."

"Then leave." It's a cheap shot, Sirius knows. He doesn't have to care.

"Shut up!"

Straightening, not bothering to wipe the crimson rivulet from the corner of his mouth, Sirius says again, "Then leave."

"Shut up, Sirius!" Regulus is practically begging now, voice higher than Sirius has heard it in years, like it was the day he'd left Number Twelve Grimmauld Place for good and Regulus had pleaded with him to reconsider.

"What are you doing here?"

Abrupt silence, punctuated with downcast eyes.

Emboldened, Sirius takes a step closer to his brother. "What's in the pocket, eh?" His head shakes with disgust. "Right. You can't tell me. Important fucking Death Eater business, innit?"

When Regulus lifts his head to meet Sirius' hard gaze, Sirius nearly gasps; he has never seen such a hollowness, such a resignation in his brother's eyes before. "It's my business. No one else's," he says thickly. He sucks in a quick breath before shoving at Sirius roughly, attempting to pass him by.

His Seeker skills must be rusty, Sirius thinks idly as he takes hold of Regulus' wrist and drives him against the door again. "You don't get to do that," Sirius says wildly. "You don't get to leave."

Regulus stirs, lurching forward, and for a moment Sirius thinks he's going to get punched again. But he doesn't. Instead, he gets good and sodding snogged.

It's fucking wet and terribly sloppy and frantic and Sirius falls into the rhythm of it quickly, without missing a beat.

This is what he had left behind back in the dark, dusty corners at Grimmauld Place.

Regulus' tongue swipes at the corner of Sirius' mouth, tasting the blood he had drawn. Eyes falling shut, Sirius groans and presses his frame against Regulus. Their noses collide almost violently but Sirius doesn't let the sudden sting deter him; he absolutely devours his brother's mouth. Pushing his tongue past Regulus' lips, Sirius feels the ridges of teeth and the pillowy softness of the inside of his cheeks as a hardness presses against his thigh. Regulus twists against him then, jerking his hips to rub his cock against Sirius more firmly, more fiercely. A fire beings to burn in the pit of Sirius' belly, heat flaring up and out to every last bit of his body.

Though Regulus' hands are much, much smaller than his own, they do not lack prowess, reaching between them to grab hold of Sirius' shoulders. The world spins and it is Sirius who is now against the door.

They kiss again, lips meeting for a kiss that will last Sirius for a lifetime, nothing veiled between them at last. The kiss is as it once was, always was – fast and fierce and fuck me fantastic and fraternal. It becomes rougher, more insistent. Sirius tangles his hands in Regulus' hair, twisting and yanking until there is a sharp cry pushing into his mouth. Between them, Regulus has worked a hand, fingers tweaking Sirius' nipples. Wrenching his mouth free, Sirius mutters, "Fuck," as his head bounces off the door. When Regulus falls to his knees then, Sirius' fingers slip through his hair to hold onto nothingness.

There is no sound in this little discarded nook of Knockturn Alley save for breathing, the pounding of Sirius' heartbeat, and myriad unspoken apologies and threats and promises.

Sirius watches with heavy-lidded eyes as Regulus leads Sirius' cock out of his trousers, his hand forming an almost careless ring of fingers around the length.

"No games," Sirius grates out, hips arching into his grasp.

"No games," Regulus returns, taking Sirius in his mouth.

His entire body stiffening, Sirius cannot tear his eyes away from his brother's face, studying how his cheeks hollow as he sucks against Sirius' length. As Regulus' tongue swirls around his shaft, Sirius' mouth slackens somewhat. It feels so fucking good, so much more brilliant than anything, practically. And when Regulus looks up and their dark eyes lock? Sirius has to think long and hard about Madame Pince and edible knickers to stop himself from coming right now and then.

But this isn't the first time they have done this and Regulus knows just how to get to him. Just as Sirius clamps a hand down on Regulus' shoulder, he feels something hard press against his entrance. The hardness is there for a moment and then there is a finger inside of him. Sirius sucks in a large gulp of air and rocks back and then forward again, shivering at the suction. And then in one blinding moment, he feels Regulus' finger press against a spot, the spot, and no amount of craggy librarians in edible knickers in the world can stop him from coming. Sirius comes hard and fast and hot and thick against the back of Regulus' throat.

The world is still spinning when Regulus stands up to smooth the fringe back from Sirius' damp forehead.

"Go," he says, his hands shaking.

Sirius' eyes roll up, watching those slender fingers light against his temple.

"Tell me you'll see me again," Sirius breathes, not bothering to right his clothes just yet. It'll ruin the moment, ruin the memory.

Mute, Regulus shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

"Lie to me," Sirius says, not so much desperate as he is petulant.

"I'll see you again, Sirius," Regulus says dutifully. His eyes say otherwise. They don't leave Sirius' as Regulus buttons up his brother's trousers. "You'd better go now. Somebody's going to see you." There'll be trouble is left unsaid.

Wordlessly, Sirius pulls up the hood of his cloak and steps out onto the alley. He doesn't look back.

He'll always regret it.

Get lost. Check.