There is an awful look on Sirius' face. It is one that Regulus has never seen on him before, because Sirius wears his heart on his sleeve, he always has. But now, his face is so empty. So devoid of emotion that he could be any other pureblood heir, but not Regulus' brother.
His brother is not... not this. Whatever this is.
It has, however, thrown their mother, because she is the one showing emotion now - eyes flicking from the open door to her leaving firstborn. Her eyebrow is twitching, that perfect pureblood mask of hers cracking and peeling apart.
Yet, there is still somehow nothing except the same hardness there always is, so for all Regulus knows, this could be another performance, albeit an out of character one.
Cygnus emerges from the dining room. His shoes click against the black marble floors.
There is dry, flaky blood in the cracks between the tiles. Regulus knows whose it is.
He looks away.
"Go on then." Cygnus' voice is almost as ugly as he is. It is high and reedy and impossibly weak. It is a voice that speaks of its longing for a power than no third-born is given.
It is a facade, an attempt to be as cruel as the Black's legacy says he must be.
He places a hand on Walburga's shoulder, and his fingers spasm slightly. They are thin, and blue-ish veins stick out of the sides. The rings he has adorned them with are large and gaudy, and mere seconds away from slipping off.
Sirius' eyes flick over to his uncle. One of them is bruised, a mottled yellow and purple. Red creeps into his pupil, blood pooling in his tear ducts. A rare, illegal spell was used to do that to him, one from the Black Family Grimoire.
It is illegal for a reason.
"What does it look like I'm trying to do?" Sirius says, quietly.
Cygnus very nearly snarls. He pushes forward, attempting to tower over Sirius, despite being about an inch shorter than him.
His brother just looks at him, contempt slipping through his emotionless state.
"You are not worthy of the title of Heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black." Cygnus grits out.
His brother curls his lip in disgust. "Jealous, Cygnus?”
"You should be more grateful, you blood traitor."
"Grateful for what, exactly? These bruises and broken bones?"
"You should have been left for dead."
"A shame that I no longer feel the same."
"You deserve nothing, insolent child."
"Okay."
"You are worthless without this family."
"Fine by me."
"You-"
"Stop." A streak of black smoke snakes around Cygnus' mouth. Regulus turns to look at his mother.
That spell is familiar enough for him to know that Sirius did not cast it.
She is standing straight, head held high and wand clutched in her right hand. She is not looking at Sirius, despite his gaze being fixed on her.
"Leave this house." Her words are final the end of it all.
Regulus can feel grains of sand slipping through his fingers. He looks down.
There is nothing there.
Sirius is turning away, his shoulders more relaxed than he has ever seen them in this house. There is a patch of dark blood on his side. His robes are ripped. His left leg drags behind slightly as he limps out the door.
(And Regulus lets him.
He lets his brother leave him there.)
The wards ripple as he goes. Just before they shut, blocking him out forever, he looks over his shoulder and locks eyes with Regulus.
He grins, teeth stained with blood. Regulus wants to run towards him, run with him.
But the door closes. The wards rearrange themselves.
And Sirius is gone.
Just like that.