Foolish Heroics

It was another blazing row that woke Regulus from his fitful sleep. Arguments were common in their house, ever since Sirius had turned twelve and begun to believe that his parents weren't always right.

Regulus was the twelve year old now, in his first year at Hogwarts. He'd been sorted into Slytherin like he was meant to. The sorting hat had almost put him in Gryffindor, and while he wanted to be with his brother, because he loved his brother, worshipped him even, he was scared of his parents, and no matter how much he wanted his brother to be proud of him, he wanted his parents to be prouder.

Sirius hadn't been happy. At least, when he'd smiled and said he was fine with it, the smile hadn't reached his eyes. And all of his friends had bristled a little when Regulus had gone over to…to what? To apologise? Yes, that was the right word. He'd gone over to apologise for wanting his parents to notice him. Sirius had always been the golden boy. Always. He was the eldest, the quickest, the cleverest. And Regulus had just wanted a little of his parents adoration. Of course, he was beginning to get it now. Now that Sirius argued with his parents all the time. Now that Sirius was friends with halfbloods. Now that Sirius kissing mudbloods.

Hugging his knees to his chest, Regulus listened to the same old accusations being flung around, the same old doors being flung open, and his older brother being flung into a wall. Well, that was probably an exaggeration, but that's what it sounded like.

There were hurried footsteps on the staircase, and Regulus tensed as they paused outside his door. It was slowly opened, and there was his brother, barefoot and pyjama clad. "Reg?" he whispered. "Are you awake?"

The younger boy nodded and sat up. "What happened?"

Sirius shrugged, crossing the room to sit on the bed next to his brother. "The usual." He sighed, the tips of his fingers ghosting across the reddened flesh of his cheek. Regulus lifted his fingers, as though he was going to trace where his brother would have a bruise tomorrow, but Sirius hung his head, moving out of his brother's reach. "Don't follow me, Reg," Sirius murmured, his too long fringe obscuring his eyes. "Don't try and be a hero."

"But you always said…" Regulus was confused. His brother usually told him to be brave, to question their parents, to think for himself.

"I know," Sirius said, his shoulder beginning to shake. "But it's hard." A sob burst from him, and Regulus stared in horror, as his dependable, wonderful, older brother began to cry. He hesitantly placed a hand on Sirius' shoulder.

Sirius flinched and pulled away, standing up and crossing to the door. "You're better off believing them," he muttered, directing his words to the floor. "I hope you won't, but it's better for you."

Regulus watched his brother slip out of the door with an open mouth. He didn't understand what his brother was talking about.

Later, when he stood in front of the basin surrounded by the dead, he understood. He understood that it would have been better for him to follow blindly and die for the cause. He only wished his brother would know that he hadn't believed, at least not always, that he had thought for himself, that he had done his best to be a hero.