Painted Scars // WOLFSTAR

Year 5: Amortentia

Sirius scratched at his neck uncomfortably, looking from left to right as if he were worried someone would see him. Constantly on edge since his birthday, Regulus pulling him outside into the cold courtyard was doing nothing to quell his worries.

"Would you stop looking around like I've just told you there's a hitman following you?" Regulus bit, tugging his pompous scarf tighter so that it covered the bottom of his face.

This shook Sirius out of it slightly, tilting his head in confusion and staring at Regulus like he'd grown another head. "Hitman? Really, Regulus? What sort of creep, cloak-and-dagger friends are you making?" He shoved his ungloved hands into his armpits in hopes of hiding how red they'd gone from the cold. Snow was pelting all around them, thick flakes beating against his face angrily.

"Don't be a smart-ass. There's something I need to ask you." His voice sounded vaguely shaky, but it was solid enough that Sirius blamed it on the cold without another thought.

"Whatever it is – no. Helping you has never gone my way before, and I doubt it'll start now." He turned, ready to march his way away from Regulus and never see him again, but a hand on his arm stopped him. It wasn't friendly, in the sort of way James would stop Sirius from turning away, but vigorous, drawing attention to itself in the only way Regulus knew how.

"Won't you just hear me out?" Regulus asked in a tone that implied if things were the other way around, Regulus certainly wouldn't help him.

After a moments unrest, Sirius finally caved with a sigh, "What?"

Regulus's expression flooded with relief but evened almost immediately after, having Sirius question if it had happened at all. "I–" he started, but suddenly couldn't find the words.

Freezing half to death, Sirius decided he couldn't care less what Regulus had to say if he couldn't even speak it aloud. "Spit it out or I'm going back inside," he threatened, with no real intent to do so. However, the warmth wafting out from the castle was tempting enough to debate it.

This was not the right thing to say, because Regulus suddenly looked so panic-stricken – face going white and lips drawing in to form a straight line – that Sirius actually began to worry.

"Jesus, Regulus, you didn't kill someone, did you?"

"Nothing like that!" he scowled, checking from left to right in a similar way as Sirius had done before. "I'd like to ask you a favour, and I'd rather it if you don't make fun of me."

"When have you ever–?"

"When I covered for your sorry arse when you wanted to prance about with Potter, when I defended you in front of our parents, when I convinced Mum not to send you away to Beauxbatons–" Regulus began listing the times he'd done favours for Sirius off his fingers, which only caused Sirius to grimace and hold up a hand to stop him.

"Okay, whatever, you've made your point. What do you want?"

Then Regulus drew back into that subtle cold. Expression indistinguishable, but cheeks too pale to be anything but nauseous.

For a long while, Sirius worried Regulus was going to say nothing at all. He'd pulled a hilarious prank on Sirius! Getting him to stand in the cold for a few minutes! But then he drew in a sharp breath, and he knew that wasn't the case at all.

"I'd like for you to come home for winter break."

What?

"...What?" he voiced, perfectly articulating his thoughts.

Regulus had the nerve to scoff at him, no longer deterred by the blockade stopping his words. "Have you gotten thicker? You. Coming to the Manor."