The Scars of Two Lives

The next day, Harry woke up alone with a suffocating emptiness lingering in the air. His head pounded, and a dull ache pulsing behind his eyes—he groaned as he pressed the heels of his palms against his temples. His last night's drinking endeavor made him dizzy and he could feel nausea rolling through his stomach. Harry swallowed and he winced at the way his throat scraped like sandpaper, his mouth felt dry and still a bit sour with the bitter aftertaste of firewhiskey. The faintest light filtering through the drawn curtains made his eyes hurt—so he pulled a pillow and burried his face. 

He wasn’t ready to face Hermione or Ron yet. And while he understands their desperation to change this reality to stop the pain, for Harry this felt like they were chasing shadows. He had 7 years of his life with stupid adventures with them and now he was… tired.

He was so tired of doing something good for the world. Fighting for it—saving it then losing himself in the process. He knew that every act of bravery had cost him and that had left him more traumatized than before. He’s tired. He was tired in a way that sleep couldn’t fix. Very fucking tired .

And while Harry knew Hermione and Ron would be waiting for him with hope in their eyes and promising plans on their lips. He also understood that this day was one of those bad days—where he felt like a thin shell where he needed something to bring him to reality. His feet carried him almost on instinct, guiding him down the hallway until he found himself standing in front of a door he hadn’t opened in a long time—Sirius’s old bedroom.

Pushing the door open, Harry stepped inside. The room looked untouched, as though Sirius had only just left. The scent of old leather and wood filled his nose, stirring memories that only brought the familiar ache in his chest.

His eyes fell on Sirius’s leather jacket, draped carelessly over the back of a chair just like Harry had left it before. He moved toward it, his fingers tracing the worn fabric before lifting it. It was heavy in his hands, heavier still when he slipped it on. And just like every time he wore the leather jacket, he could feel as if Sirius was in there hugging him. 

He knelt down beside the bed, running his fingers over the floor, and felt the cool, rough edge of a hidden compartment he discovered long ago. After he’d finally settled into Grimmauld Place. He had barely unpacked his things when the overwhelming grief for Sirius hit him like a tsunami. And just like any normal young adult, he decided to solve his problem with a bottle of firewhisky in hand.

He had been sitting there, slumped against the bed, drunk and broken when his foot had accidentally kicked the floorboard. It shifted under the pressure, revealing the hidden compartment beneath the bed. Inside it was a dusty box filled with memories of Sirius’s life with his friends and his brother. 

Each one was a fragment of a life Harry had never gotten the chance to know. 

Because on October 31st of 1981, everything fell apart.

A Sun died leaving behind a sky that would never see the dawn. A flower withered with its petals falling to the cold ground as a child cried in the corner. The Dog imprisoned for the betrayal of the Rat, and the Wolf was left alone howling mournfully under the moonlight forever.

And just like that Harry found himself shifting through the photographs again. There was a photo of the Marauder on the Quidditch pitch taken around their fifth or sixth year, James grinning wildly with his broom slung over his shoulder, Sirius throwing his head back in laughter, and Remus smiling softly at the camera. Pettigrew was there too, grinning widely and waving his hands. Another photo of the Marauders again but this time with four girls standing with them—three were wearing the Gryffindor uniform and one was wearing Slytherin. Harry recognized his mother, Lily, as one of the Gryffindors. Another photo with the Marauder in what looks like a muggle pub, James was laughing but a flush of red on his face that shows he’s quite drunk, Remus slung his arm around Sirius and they were laughing at Pettigrew who looked about to vomit.

Harry shuffled through the stack—this time, mostly photos of Sirius and Remus. In one, they were younger, perhaps in their fourth or fifth year. They sat together in what looked like the Hog's Head. Sirius had his arm draped lazily around Remus's shoulders, their face looked happy and untouched by the war. Another photo showed Sirius lying on Remus’s lap and a book covering his face as if he'd fallen asleep mid-read, while Remus still reading his own book on hand. Another one is Sirius was on a broom, flying across the Quidditch pitch, but what made the picture stand out was Remus, clinging to Sirius's back, his arms wrapped tightly around him. Sirius was laughing, wild and free, while Remus held on, smiling but clearly nervous. Harry couldn’t help but smile. They really are very close friends.

There were also photographs of Sirius and his brother, Regulus—which mostly from when they were young. They couldn’t have been more than ten and nine years old in this one. Sirius had his arm slung over Regulus’s shoulder, both of them smiling. In another, Sirius was high up in a tree, grinning down while Regulus stood below, gazing up with irritation on his face as if Sirius had dared him to climb and he couldn’t. Another was Sirius and Regulus dressed in their finest robes along with three older girls, who must be Narcissa, Andromeda, and Bellatrix. They are standing stiffly in front of a grand fountain. And then, there was the Hogwarts photo of Regulus in his Quidditch robes, glaring at Sirius, who was smirking smugly at the camera. They were still so young, probably second and third years—this is the only photo of them that they have in Hogwarts.

Tears welled in his eyes as he continued to sift through the photos again, his fingers trembling. He couldn’t stop the sob that broke free from his chest as he realized just how much had been lost—not just to him, but to all of them. His parents, Sirius, Remus, Regulus, and even fucking Pettigrew. 

They were just children.

And they were all gone.

Harry then heard a slight creak, followed by the shuffle of small feet. Harry wiped his eyes hastily and stood, the photographs clutched in his hand. He stepped out of Sirius’s room, just in time to see Kreacher scurrying out of Regulus’s old bedroom, clutching a rag as though he’d just finished cleaning. Harry’s eyes followed the old house-elf, watching as he disappeared down the corridor. Harry found his feet carrying him toward Regulus’s room, the door creaking slightly as he pushed it open.

The room was neat, thanks to Kreacher cleaning it almost every day. The dark green curtains hung heavily by the windows, barely letting in any light. Dark emeralds and silvers dominated the space—from the bedspread to the tapestry on the wall. Very different from Sirius’s room where the color red had exploded. Regulus has newspaper collages that are all about Voldemort and the attacks on Muggles while Sirius has posters of Muggle motorbikes and naked women on his walls. 

The Black brothers are so different. He thought.

Harry wondered if Regulus had ever looked around this place and felt as trapped as Sirius had. Because if you would ask Harry right now—this room felt like a cage. A cage carefully constructed and maintained, a place where there was no room for rebellion—no room for mistakes. A room for an Heir with no choice.

Harry lingered for a moment before his gaze landed on the bed. Then suddenly his mind wandered back to Sirius’s room . Would he?

And to test his theory, Harry knelt down beside the bed and ran his fingers over the wooden floor. There was nothing at first, just the cold, smooth surface, but then—just as before—his fingers grazed a rough edge, a slight unevenness in the wood. His heart quickened as he pressed down. The floorboard shifted with a soft creak, revealing a narrow compartment beneath. A secret compartment, just like Sirius’s.

Maybe the Black brothers are not so different.

Harry couldn’t help but smile at that though. He wondered if Sirius had taught Regulus how to hide his things like this away from their parents. 

He reached into the compartment and pulled out a small box. The wood was smooth to the touch as if it had been handled many times before. Harry opened it carefully, and the first thing he saw was a Golden Snitch with an engraved ‘ from your Sun ’ and then next a muggle book entitled ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ that had a drawing of a flower on the cover. 

He also saw a photo of Regulus with a beautiful Revenclaw blonde girl who had a dreamy smile that reminded Harry of Luna. Beside her stood a handsome Slytherin blonde boy who looked strikingly similar—maybe they were twins? A Slytherin girl can be seen with them who had dark skin and beautiful dark brown curly hair that went down to her shoulders—she looks a year older than them. And then Harry’s eyes widened as he saw the familiar handsome face of Barty Crouch Jr, who looked so young and carefree. Harry blinked, this wasn’t the Regulus he had been told about—the brooding, weak, soft, cowardly man who later sacrificed himself and died in the hands of inferi—this was a Regulus who was loved. Who had lived .

However, what truly surprised Harry was the letters.

Letters for Sirius. Dozens of them.

The letters looked old and yellowed with age, and unsent . He couldn’t help but notice that some edges frayed as if Regulus had held onto them for far too long. Harry pulled the first one free, unfolding it gently. The ink smeared in places as if Regulus’s hand had trembled while writing it.

Siri,

Are you okay? It's strange without you here. The house feels empty, more dull, and suffocating than before. I hope you’re okay at the Potters.

I miss you already, Siri. I didn’t realize how much until now. It feels like part of me left with you.

Missing you,

Reggie

Sirius,

I know you think I chose our name over you and that I stood with them against you. But I didn’t. I just can’t be like you, Siri. I’m not brave like you. I’m sorry if I stayed.

I love you always, Siri.

Reggie

Harry swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. He picked up another letter.

Sirius,

I heard Mother and Father fighting after you left. Father called you a disappointment and berated Mother that she had failed to raise an heir. I heard Mother’s voice crack as she cursed you. I don’t know if it matters, but she cried later when she thought no one could hear.

I wanted to hate her for what she did, but part of me pitied her.

Because I know they both failed to raise you. To raise us.

Regulus

Another letter came next.

Sirius,

I saw Mother blasted you off the family tapestry today, Sirius. She was furious, but… I heard her crying afterward in her chambers. I guess she was also breaking inside too. I don’t think she expected you to actually leave and never come back.

Regulus

Sirius,

Father had told me he had disowned you and made me the new Heir. I don’t know what to feel. I think I’m drowning here.

Regulus

Sirius,

It may be hard to believe this but I don’t want to be the heir. I don’t want any of it.

I don't want to be the son they wanted anymore. I don't want to be the perfect heir, because every day it feels like I’m losing myself. I don’t even recognize who I am anymore.

I  don’t want to be here, please help me get out of here.

I miss you, Sirius

Your brother,

Regulus

The letters continued, this time they had smudges like the writer had cried as he wrote them.

Sirius,

The Dark Mark is being offered to me. And Father is telling me that as the new Heir to the House of Black, it’s my duty to serve the cause of the Dark Lord. I always wanted to make him proud. You know I have. But I know that this is a decision I’ll regret for the rest of my life.

I don’t know what to do, Sirius. Every part of me is screaming to run, to fight back, but I’m afraid of them. I am afraid of what they’ll do. And I am afraid of what I’ll become if I give in.

Please, tell me what to do. Tell me how to be brave like you. I can’t do this without my brother.

Sirius, I need you here.

Your brother,

Regulus

Sirius,

It’s done now. I have the Dark Mark. And I feel trapped, more than ever. This Mark isn’t just on my arm, I think it’s also in my soul, binding me to become the monster you'll forever hate.

Just know that I hate myself for this too, Sirius. For choosing duty over freedom. For choosing to stay silent when I should have spoken out. For clinging to fear when I should have had the courage to stand beside you. For choosing to stay for them, Sirius, when I should have gone and choose you. I’m sorry.

I don’t know how to make this right. I don’t even know if I can.

Again, I’m sorry... please, forgive me. I know I don’t deserve it, but I need my brother.
 
Still your brother,
Regulus

Sirius,

It happened. My first Kill.

I didn’t want to, Sirius. Merlin, I didn’t want to. But I did it. I raised my wand, and the words fell out of my mouth like poison. I barely even managed the spell, but it didn’t matter. The sound they made before they died—Sirius, I can’t forget it. It’s still ringing in my head, over and over, like it’s clawing its way into my soul.

I hate this, Sirius. I hate what I’m becoming. I want to scream but I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to run but I couldn’t move. I want to leave but I couldn’t. I want to make it stop but I can't. I can't.

If I can I wouldn't do it but I don't have a choice. I’m trapped. And I’m scared.

I wish you were here with me, but at the same time, I’m glad you’re not. I hope you’re free of all this. I hope you’re far away, being safe, being happy.

Your broken brother,
Regulus

Sirius,

I can’t do this anymore. 

I thought everything would me easy if I could make Mother and Father proud but I was so damn wrong. It doesn’t get easier, Sirius. It only gets worse.

It feels like I’m falling apart piece by piece, and I don’t know how to put myself back together—or if there's pieces of me still left.  I wish I could go back and do it all differently. But it’s too late now, isn’t it? I’ve burned the bridge, and I’m drowning in the ashes of my failure.

I hate myself. I want to end everything. I don't want to be human anymore. I want to end it.

Your drowning brother,

Regulus

Sirius,

I think I’m dying. Not in the way that there's blood—there’s no wound, no fatal blow from a curse. But inside, I feel it. Something inside of me is slowly dying. Like piece by piece I am disappearing, and I can’t stop it.

Maybe it was my curse for the terrible things I've done. Things I can never undo. Because every time I wake up, there's this emptiness in me that I can never shake. And slowly I can feel myself slipping away and I don’t know if I can hold on much longer.

I wish I could talk to you about what I'm feeling, and maybe you can comfort me again like when we were kids. But I know I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you.

Your dying brother,

Regulus.

Harry’s breath caught as he unfolded the last letter in the box that was for Sirius. It was longer compared to others and written with rough and hurried strokes.

Dear Siri,

If you’re reading this, then maybe you came back. Maybe you found this, or maybe you never will. But I need you to know that I’m about to do something I should have done long ago. I am going to do something and it might finally kill me.

I am writing these in hope you can read this someday. I want to tell you how happy I am to be your brother—how lucky I am to have you as my brother. How proud I was when you got sorted into Gryffindor and how I wished I also had your courage to be there as well. I want to tell you that I did not resent you for leaving, in fact I was glad when you escaped, Sirius. Even though it meant losing you, I was proud of you for walking away, for being brave enough to defy them. And again, I wish I have your bravery to walk away as well. I wanted you to know that I have tried. I tried to be the brother you could be proud of, even if I didn’t have the strength to show it while you were around.

There were so many things I wanted say to you—things that I should've said to you, Siri. So many letters I wrote but never sent because I was to weak. And I regret it. I wish I had the courage to let you know how much I cared, how much I admired you, and how deeply I hate myself for not being there for you. I am sorry. And maybe I don’t deserve your forgiveness. Maybe I will never will but, I wish you’ll understand. I hope I can say these things to you in person someday.

However, I think the only place I’ll be able to say these things to you is in the afterlife. Don’t rush to meet me there, though. Live a long life, Siri. That’s why I’m doing this, after all. To finally help your lot end the Dark Lord.

Goodbye, and I love you, Siri.

Your idiot brother,

Reggie

Harry knew that after this letter he had gone to the cave alone and died. His mind then wonders—wonder if Sirius ever read this. And if he did, how would he have reacted? Would he be proud of his brother? Or would he blame himself for not getting him out? Harry would never know the answer. Because they were both gone. They’re dead. 

And the saddest thing? Neither Sirius nor Regulus had a grave, they had no body to bury. Like stars that died silently from the night sky, their light went long before anyone realized it.

Harry was about to put everything back but then, he saw another letter addressed to ‘Starling’ and he could only assume that it was for Regulus. Harry reached for it and opened it, and in an instant, his stomach dropped. 

The familiar handwriting stared at Harry. He knew who wrote the letter. He knows who wrote the letter because Harry had memorized her last letter to his Godfather. He knows the familiar strokes of the letter g’s because it’s the same way he did his. Harry knew who wrote the letter because it was his mother.

What the actual fuck?

Harry furrowed his brows, his mind reeling. Why would Lily Potter—a Muggle-born and member of the Order of the Phoenix be writing to Regulus Black—a pureblood Death Eater? And why would she mention her pregnancy to him as if they were an old friend? Maybe they became friends? But why did no one tell him that? Fucking hell. 

He felt nauseous he had so many questions and possible answers but they made no sense. One thing is for sure though that this just shows that he knew nothing of his parents—beyond the fact that they died for him. The people who truly knew them—Sirius, Remus, Mary, Dorcas, Marlene, Pettigrew, and apparently Regulus Black—these people who knew their secrets, their fears, who they were beside the title of Harry’s parents—were all gone . 

Harry didn’t realize he was moving, barely noticing the confused look on the elf as he crossed the room and stood in front of the fireplace. His hand trembled as he reached for the Floo powder before he knew it, he had contacted Hermione.

“Harry?” Her voice was laced with worry.

“Tell me what’s the plan,”