The Prettiest Star

Regulus sat, frozen still on the edge of Sirius’ bed, tears streaming down his face. 

“Where will you go?” he asked. It came out like an accusation, as if Regulus thought his brother didn’t have any other possible place to turn to. But he knew that wasn’t true. 

“The Potter’s,” replied Sirius. Regulus bristled at this. Of course. Of course he’d be going to live with James Potter. Sirius and James were practically brothers, a remark Regulus had never much appreciated. 

His reaction went unnoticed by Sirius, who was chucking his many belongings into an array of bags. Regulus looked miserably at the floor. The tears kept coming; they hadn’t stopped at all since Sirius had revealed that tonight was the night he was leaving the ancestral Black Family House for good. 

Sirius had dreamed of this moment for years. Regulus should have realised he wasn’t going to wait another year. His brother was almost seventeen, almost of age and nearing the end of his education. Regulus really should have seen it coming, but it had caught him by surprise. 

A horrible surprise. 

You don’t have to go, he kept thinking to himself as he watched Sirius pack. He’d put up with their parents for seventeen years now, what was one or two more?

“You’re going to be fine, Reg,” Sirius told him. Regulus wasn’t sure who he was reassuring, his brother or himself. Both, perhaps. 

And in a way, he would be. Regulus had always been better at being a Black than Sirius. He could keep his mouth shut when he needed to, and when he did talk he knew how to say the right things. He could keep his head down, and stay out of people's way. Regulus did what their parents wanted, as much as he could, anyway. Sirius had always had trouble with that. He said and did all the wrong things. He was loud, and stubborn, and he started arguments. Sometimes Regulus thought he must’ve been doing it all on purpose.

Sometimes, a small, mean part of himself thought Sirius was asking for it, the way he acted. But at the same time, Sirius didn’t seem to know how to act any other way. He simply couldn’t be quiet, or keep his head down, or say the right things; it wasn’t in his nature.

But Regulus loved him anyway, and surely that was enough? He couldn’t just leave him here. Regulus knew how to play the game a little better, but it wasn’t the kind of game you could win; it was a game you tried not to lose. How could he live in that House without his brother? He didn’t want to be left at Grimmauld Place all by himself. 

“Stay,” he begged quietly, at the same time that Sirius asked; “Come with me.”

“I can’t,” they both said, looking away from one another. Regulus’ chest ached. 

“Are you going to stay here your whole life?” demanded Sirius sharply. 

“Maybe,” he replied stubbornly. Maybe he would. 

“I’ll write to you,” said Sirius, kinder this time. 

“No you won’t,” Regulus cut back, just as stubborn. Sirius would never be able to get any post past their mother, and they both knew it. 

“Come and help me with these bags, then.”

Regulus was in half a mind to say no. He got up and walked over to the many cases and rucksacks. 

“How are you going to carry all of this?” he asked. 

“I’ll just levitate them,” replied Sirius. 

“What, all the way to Potter’s? I suppose the statute of secrecy doesn’t apply to you?”

“I’ll shrink them then. Use extension charms. Something.”

“They already have extension charms on them,” Regulus reminded him bitterly. 

“Whatever,” sighed Sirius, kneeling next to the largest case. “Help me shut this, won’t you?” he instructed. Regulus pushed on the lid with all of his weight, which was just enough for Sirius to force it closed. They moved onto the next bag and repeated the technique. Sirius was terrible at packing. 

“What am I going to tell Maman tomorrow morning when she finds you’re gone?”

“Tell her you know nothing,” replied Sirius calmly, “You had nothing to do with it.”

Regulus didn’t say anything, chewing slightly on the inside of his cheek. 

They finished with the cases and the bags, and Sirius opened his bedroom window. The cool night air drifted in. 

“Don’t tell me you’re climbing out of there,” sighed Regulus tiredly. 

“I’ve done it before,” reasoned Sirius, offering up a timid grin. Regulus didn’t return it. At some point, he’d stopped crying, but now the tears resumed. 

“What about the bags?” he sniffed. Without a word, Sirius withdrew his wand and began to levitate them all out of the window and down onto the street below. They landed neatly on the pavement. Now all Sirius had to do was follow them. It struck Regulus then that he was really leaving. He could never come back now. “How will you get to the Potters’ house?” he asked quickly, drawing out the conversation as long as he could. 

“I’m catching the Knight Bus,” he said easily. 

Regulus wanted to ask something else, to find a hole in Sirius’ plan that would force him to stay, at least for tonight, but he couldn’t think of anything. 

“Can’t believe I’m finally leaving this shithole,” breathed Sirius. 

Regulus frowned. The corners of his mouth were pulling down and his nose had started to run. He felt like a little boy again, crying in front of Sirius. He never cried in front of his mother, not if he could help it. But Sirius always let him. ‘Stay’, he wanted to ask again, but he knew it was no use. 

“I’ll miss you Reg,” came Sirius’ voice. Regulus said nothing. “I’ll see you at school,” he added. Still, Regulus was silent. Sirius took one final, sweeping look at his room before he went over to the window and started to climb out. 

“I never want to see you again,” Regulus blurted out, clenching his jaw. Sirius was already halfway out the window. He gazed sadly at his little brother and Regulus gazed painfully back. And then, he turned and climbed out, and he was gone. 

***

After a while the tears stopped. He stayed standing in Sirius’ room, surrounded by the red and gold of his Gryffindor banners, and the few books he’d left behind. The bed was unmade. It still smelled like Sirius in the room. Regulus wondered how long it would be until it didn’t anymore. 

It felt horribly empty.

Maybe it was because the record collection was gone, or because the wardrobe was bare apart from the dress robes he'd hated so much, or because the posters had been taken down. But really, Regulus knew it was empty because Sirius wasn’t there. Because he’d never be there again.

Eventually, Regulus made his way to his own room. He scrubbed and scrubbed at his face in the bathroom, trying to get rid of all traces of his tears from his splotchy face. Then he drank great gulps of water from the tap. He felt if he didn’t, he might start crying all over again. Once he was done, he went to lay down on his bed, above the sheets. He could almost pretend that Sirius was still in the next room over. Almost. 

The sky was light before he fell asleep. He didn’t have any dreams, and when he woke up his teeth were clenched. 

***

The morning after Sirius ran away, there was no screaming. There was no shouting, or hitting, or hexing, or threats. In fact, there was no mention of Sirius at all. It was as if he’d never existed. 

Regulus assumed someone (perhaps Kreacher), must have found his bed empty at some point before breakfast, because when Sirius never came down to eat, no one breathed a word about it. There wasn’t even a place set for him at the table. The empty chair was like a black hole. He tried not to look at it as they ate in stony silence. 

The next day was the same. No flares of anger or aggression, and no semblance of an admission that they’d ever had a second son. Instead, a thick tension descended over the House like fog. A childhood at Grimmauld Place had taught Regulus that anything could break that fog, turning it to bitter rage, so he kept to himself, and he kept quiet. Invisible. He was careful. After all, Sirius wasn’t there to take the blame anymore. The reminder was bitter, too. 

A few days later, as he passed through a sitting room to the Black family library, he saw that Sirius had been scorched off the family tree. Where his face had been, there was now a great burn mark. Even his name was charred and smudged. It was then that Regulus realised; with Sirius gone and disowned, that left him with the title and responsibilities of the first son. The heir. 

***

Two days before Sirius had left, there had been a fight. An awful one. 

“Where is the silver comb, Sirius?” Walburga had asked at the dinner table. Her voice had taken on that sharp, dangerous tone that it sometimes had. Both brothers knew very well what it meant. 

“How should I know?” he replied easily. It made Regulus squirm, the way Sirius would dare to talk to her. 

“It’s missing,” she huffed, turning her eagle eyes on Regulus. 

“So?” said Sirius. 

“One of you took it.”

“I haven’t touched it,” seethed Sirius, shoving a forkful of potato in his mouth. 

“Regulus?” she asked tightly. 

“I didn’t take it, Maman.”

She turned back to Sirius. 

“Where is it?”

“I didn’t take it, either!” he insisted, “You probably just lost it or something…”

“Don’t talk to your mother that way,” interjected Orion. Sirius shut his mouth, glaring at the two of them as he trailed his fork around his plate. Regulus looked between his mother and his brother, his chest tight. 

“Where is it, Sirius?” demanded Walburga harshly, “I will not be giving you another chance.”

“I didn’t take it!” he told her irritably, “Why would I want your stupid, old hairbrush? Kreacher probably pinched it.”

“Kreacher would never do such a thing–

“Then you’ve lost it!” he interrupted, and Walburga looking icily furious. “I didn’t lay a hand on it. Why don’t you summon it if you want it so badly?”

“It cannot be summoned,” she replied stiffly, “It’s an old magic object.”

“Tell your mother where it is,” ordered their father. 

“I didn’t fucking take it!” shouted Sirius, dropping his fork beside his plate in his agitation. Regulus sat very still in his seat. He couldn’t stand fights. Whenever they happened, he would withdraw into himself, staying as silent and still as he could, in the hopes that everyone would forget he was there. In the hopes that he would be invisible. 

When he had been little, if he was very quiet, his parents would often forget about him, and leave him be. As long as he was silent, and still, then he could disappear. 

“Do not speak that way!” spat Orion. 

“I didn’t take it,” repeated Sirius, “It wasn’t me.”

“Sirius Orion Black, go and bring it to me right now,” seethed Walburga. 

“It wasn’t me!” he was shouting again, “Why do you think it’s me? I don’t- Why would I want your comb?”

“Sirius,” she warned, “This is the last time I will ask you.” 

“Well this is the last time I’ll tell you that it wasn’t me ,” he bit back. 

Walburga rose from her seat, her mouth pursed tightly. Regulus clutched the edge of the table hard. 

“This disrespect is outrageous,” she declared, sending a stinging hex at Sirius with a wave of her long, thin, wand, which only served to infuriate him further. He stood up too, his chair skidding back as he did so. He began to advance on her, before suddenly stopping in his tracks, pinned in place. His arms were stuck to his sides, and his fingers were fisted tightly and trembling. He was frozen. 

Regulus had seen this magic used many times. It had been used on him, too, before. 

“Let me go,” seethed Sirius. 

“Tell me where it is,” countered Walburga in a strained voice. 

“You know I don’t have it!” he retorted. Walburga’s jaw tensed. 

“This is your very last chance.”

“I hate this house!” screamed Sirius, “I hate this fucking house!”

“That’s enough!” roared their father. 

Everything happened very quickly after that. 

Orion drew his wand, and uttered the spell. It wasn’t quite crucio, but it was as close as you could get undetected. Sirius began to tremble violently, locked in place as he was. He didn’t scream. He didn’t make a sound. He only stared right at Walburga, his eyes full of fire. 

Regulus watched on, shrunken into his seat, his heart in his throat and his nails digging into the wood of the table. 

The next morning, Regulus had found the silver and ivory comb in his bedroom. He’d taken it as a bookmark in a hurry and then forgotten all about it. It sat innocently in between the pages of ‘Advanced Potion Making’. It made him sick to look at it. 

That fight had been the breaking point. The final straw. 

And then Sirius had left. And he’d made it very clear, that he was never coming back.