Sirius Black had always told himself he wouldn’t mourn Regulus.
It was easier that way; cleaner. He’d buried the idea of his brother a long time ago, somewhere between slamming the front door of Grimmauld Place and the cold silence of Azkaban. Regulus had made his choice. That’s what Sirius told himself every time the guilt threatened to creep in. Regulus chose their parents. Chose the Dark Lord. Chose the name over the boy he used to be.
But years later, when the truth came tumbling from Harry’s mouth; hands shaking, voice small, grief like a second shadow, Sirius found he couldn't hold onto the story anymore.
R.A.B.
Regulus Arcturus Black.
It didn’t even feel real. Like some cruel joke, some twisted punchline fate had been waiting to drop.
He’d gone back.
Regulus had gone back. Stolen a Horcrux. Sent Kreacher away. And stayed behind.
Didn’t make it out.
Sirius had stared at the locket Harry placed on the table, and for the first time in years, the weight of it all hit him.
His brother had died trying to stop the very thing Sirius had spent his life fighting. Alone. Quiet. Without fanfare or glory or anyone there to see it.
And Sirius, he had spat his name like poison for years. Had let the world believe Regulus died a loyal Death Eater. Had believed it himself.
Because it was easier.
Because he couldn’t face the thought that Regulus might have been better than him in the end.
He buried him out of anger, not knowing he'd buried him alive.
...
He remembered the last conversation they’d had.
It was late. One of those brittle winter nights where Grimmauld Place seemed to crackle with tension in the walls. Walburga was screaming downstairs about something, blood traitors, probably, and Sirius had been packing his things in a fury when the door creaked open.
Regulus leaned against the frame, arms crossed. “You’re really going, then.”
Sirius didn’t look up. “Wasn’t exactly subtle about it, was I?”
A beat of silence.
“You could stay,” Regulus said quietly.
That was when Sirius looked at him. Really looked. He seemed smaller somehow, even in his pristine robes, even with that perfect posture their parents drilled into him. His eyes were tired.
“I’d rather die than rot in this place,” Sirius said, biting each word. “But you already knew that.”
Regulus didn’t flinch. Just nodded. “I know.”
Sirius expected him to argue. To beg. To throw one of Mother’s lines back at him. But instead, Regulus said, “It’s not as simple as you make it out to be.”
“Isn’t it?” Sirius snapped. “They’re either monsters, or they’re not. You don’t get to float somewhere in between, pretending you’re not part of it.”
Another pause.
“I’m trying,” Regulus murmured. “You just don’t see it.”
Sirius scoffed, turning back to his trunk. “Then try harder.”
Regulus stayed a second longer, like he wanted to say something else. But in the end, he just stepped back and said, “Goodbye, Sirius.”
He didn’t sound angry.
He sounded... resigned.
Like he’d already accepted the outcome.
...
Sirius hadn’t thought about that moment in years.
But now? It was the only thing he could think of.
He didn’t cry. He didn’t speak. He just sat there for a long time, staring at that cursed locket like it was a wound that had never properly closed.
He thought about Regulus. About the way he used to trace constellations onto the ceiling when they were boys. The way he whispered questions at night, like the stars might answer if he asked politely enough.
He thought about the way Regulus walked, always straight-backed and sharp, like he was trying to hold the weight of the world on his shoulders without flinching.
He thought about all the years he’d spent hating him. All the years he’d spent not knowing a damn thing at all.
And Sirius realized, he had never truly grieved him.
Not the boy. Not the brother.
Not until now.
There was no requiem. No funeral. No grave.
Just a name. Etched into a fake locket. Echoing through time like a secret finally told too late.
Sirius closed his eyes.
“Idiot,” he whispered. “Stupid, brave little idiot.”
And somewhere, beneath the dust and ruin of a house that never knew how to love properly, a brother mourned the ghost he never got to say goodbye to.
Not loudly.
Not with tears.
But with memory.
...
He died a traitor.
No. That wasn't quite right, Sirius thought.
He died a brother.