Regulus stood stiffly in the doorway of Sirius’ room; the air thick with the unspoken truth between them. He watched as Sirius threw clothes into a battered bag, movements sharp and determined, but there was a tightness in Regulus’ chest that wouldn’t go away. He swallowed hard, trying to calm the fear rising inside him, the fear that’d been there since Sirius first hinted he would leave. It wasn’t just the thought of Sirius walking out the door—it was the thought of being left behind, alone, in this suffocating house, with their parents’ cold stares and cruel expectations.
He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, afraid his voice would betray how much it hurt. He didn’t want to be weak, didn’t want to be the pitiful little brother begging to be saved. So instead, he cleared his throat, forcing his face into something neutral, and barely above a whisper, said, “I don’t want you to go.”
The words hung in the air, and they were nothing—just a pale echo of what he truly felt. They fail to capture the dread gnawing at him, the terror of being left to face everything alone. But he can’t say more. He can’t admit that without Sirius, he’s not sure he’ll be able to survive this house at all. He doesn’t know how to say that staying here feels like drowning.
Sirius paused, his back still turned, and for a moment, Regulus wondered if he’d heard him at all. But there’s no going back now; the truth is out, even if it’s just a shadow of it. And Regulus feels raw, exposed, standing there in silence, praying that Sirius will understand what he can’t bring himself to say.
Sirius turns slowly to face Regulus, the fire in his movements dimmed by the sadness in his eyes. His face, usually so full of defiance, now softens, the anger replaced with something heavier—exhaustion, perhaps. He looks at his younger brother, really looks at him, as if seeing the weight of it all for the first time. He sighs, running a hand through his hair, and says quietly, “I can’t stay here anymore, Reg. Not in this godforsaken house. Not with them.” The bitterness in his voice as he speaks of their parents is unmistakable.
Regulus’ heart clenches at the words. He knew this was coming, had seen it in Sirius’ eyes for months, but hearing it spoken aloud—final and unyielding—makes it real in a way he wasn’t prepared for. His throat tightens, and he tries to hold back the wave of emotions that threaten to rise.
Sirius’ gaze is steady, but there’s a deep sadness in it, a kind of mourning for something already lost. “They don’t care about us, not really. They never did. They just care about their ideals, their image, and I can’t be part of it anymore. I can’t breathe here.” His voice trembles, and for a second, it’s clear that Sirius isn’t just running from their parents—he’s running from the suffocating weight of what their family has become.
Regulus feels the urge to say something, to tell him he understands, but his chest feels hollow, words tangled and caught somewhere between his heart and his throat. All he can do is stare at Sirius, feeling helpless. He wants to say that he’s scared, that he’s terrified of being left alone, of what will happen when Sirius is gone. But that would mean admitting too much, more than he’s ready to.
“I don’t want you to go,” he repeats, barely a whisper now, feeling how inadequate the words are against the storm inside him. But it’s all he has.
Sirius looks at him for a long moment, his face softening, but there’s still that resolution in his eyes. “I know,” he says gently. “But I can’t stay and let this place destroy me. I’m sorry.” The apology is real, but it changes nothing. He’s already made his choice.
Regulus nods, but his heart is breaking in ways he can’t even begin to explain.
Regulus stood frozen, the question slipping from his lips before he could stop it. “So you’re leaving me?” His voice quiet. The second the words left his mouth, the weight of them settled over him like a crushing burden. He hadn’t meant for it to sound so raw, so vulnerable, but there it was—everything he had been too afraid to admit. It stung, the thought that Sirius had made his decision, that leaving them also meant leaving him.
His mind swirled with doubts and fears, ones he had buried for so long. Wasn’t he enough? Why couldn’t he be enough to make Sirius want to stay? If their parents’ cruelty and coldness couldn’t be undone, surely the bond between brothers still mattered, didn’t it? Or had that too been worn thin by the constant arguments, the distance that had grown between them? It gnawed at him, the fear that Sirius had already given up on him, that he wasn’t worth staying for.
And yet, Regulus couldn’t help the selfish desire that flared in his chest—he wanted Sirius to choose him. To prove, somehow, that despite their differences, despite everything, Regulus still mattered to him. He wanted Sirius to stay not because of the family name, not because of obligation or blood ties, but because he was his brother, and Regulus had always thought that meant something. He had always hoped it did.
The words tumbled in his mind, the things he had never said but desperately wanted to. He didn’t care that Sirius had been sorted into Gryffindor, despite what their parents thought. That had never mattered to him. He didn’t care that Sirius had no interest in the Dark Arts or the pure-blood fanaticism their family clung to so fiercely. None of that had ever been what Regulus held onto.
But none of those words came out. They sat heavy on his tongue, trapped by the years of silence and pride that had always stood between them. All he wanted was to say it—that he didn’t care about any of those things, that he just wanted to keep his brother, to not lose him to the bitterness that had already claimed so much of their family.
But when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. His throat tightened, the weight of everything he wanted to say pressing down on him, making it impossible to speak. He stared at Sirius, hoping somehow that he would understand all the things Regulus couldn’t say, that he would see past the silence and realize how much Regulus didn’t want to lose him.
Sirius’ face softened, and for a moment, Regulus thought he saw a flicker of hesitation, of recognition. But then Sirius sighed, his expression clouding with sadness. “I’m not leaving you, Regulus,” he said quietly, the words sounding both true and not true at the same time. “I just can’t live like this anymore. I can’t pretend to be someone I’m not.”
Regulus nodded, but his heart ached with the knowledge that it didn’t change anything. Sirius was still leaving, and Regulus would still be left behind, whether Sirius meant it that way or not. All the words he couldn’t say seemed to choke him as he stood there in silence, feeling like he was losing something more than just his brother—it felt like he was losing a piece of himself too.
Regulus wanted to scream, to shout at the injustice of it all. The frustration built inside him like a storm, but he forced it down, swallowing the lump in his throat. The unfairness of everything clawed at him—Sirius, the one person who had ever made this house even remotely bearable, was leaving too. It felt like the last flicker of warmth was being snuffed out, and the loneliness that stretched before him seemed endless.
But instead of lashing out, instead of letting that pain spill over, Regulus held it in. His nails dug into his palms as he clenched his fists at his sides, keeping his voice calm, though it trembled at the edges. He took a shaky breath, and in the quietest voice he could muster, he asked, “Where will you be going?”
The question was almost too small for the enormity of what he was feeling, but it was all he could manage. He hated himself for it, for sounding so weak when all he wanted to do was scream at Sirius to stay, to demand why he had to be the one left behind, again. But no amount of shouting would change the truth. Sirius was leaving. And Regulus was powerless to stop him.
Sirius paused for a moment, the weight of the question hanging in the air between them. He looked at Regulus, eyes soft with something like regret, but the determination in them hadn’t wavered. “I’ll figure it out,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. “I’ve got a few places I can go. James’ house, maybe. Anywhere but here.”
There was a finality in those words that made Regulus’ heart sink further. Sirius didn’t have a plan, but he didn’t need one—he was already gone in spirit, long before his body would follow. He had chosen freedom over everything they’d been raised to believe, over their family, over this house that had only ever been a prison to him.
Regulus nodded again, feeling hollow. He should have said something more, something meaningful, but the words wouldn’t come. All he could do was watch, knowing this moment would burn itself into his memory like a scar.
"I hope... you'll be okay," he managed, the words small, but sincere. It was the closest thing to a goodbye he could bear to give.
Sirius met his gaze, and for a moment, Regulus saw something flicker in his brother’s eyes—an acknowledgment, maybe even an apology. But Sirius didn’t say anything more. He simply nodded, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
“I’ll be fine,” Sirius replied, but Regulus wondered if he said it more for his own sake than for his. Then, with one last lingering look, Sirius turned and walked out of the room, out of the house, leaving Regulus standing alone in the quiet that followed.
As the door clicked shut behind him, the silence of the house felt louder than ever. And Regulus was left with the bitter truth that the one person who had ever truly mattered to him was gone.
Regulus let out a shaky breath, the sound barely audible in the empty room. His chest felt tight, his throat constricted as he fought to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. He wasn’t supposed to cry—he had trained himself not to. Not in this house, not under the cold, judgmental eyes of their parents. But now, with Sirius gone, the weight of it all pressed down on him in ways he wasn’t prepared for.
His eyes remained locked on the door, as if somehow, by sheer force of will, he could make Sirius turn around and come back. But the door stayed closed, and the silence stretched on, heavy and suffocating.
He wanted to scream, to collapse under the weight of all the emotions he’d been burying for so long—the fear, the loneliness, the crushing realisation that he was now truly alone in this house. Sirius had been the one good thing, the one person who made the darkness of their home bearable. And now, even he was gone.
A tear slipped down his cheek despite his efforts, and he quickly wiped it away, feeling angry at himself for letting it show. He clenched his fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he swallowed back the sob that tried to rise in his throat.
All his life, Regulus had been taught to endure, to hide his emotions behind a mask of composure and obedience. But as he stood there, staring at the door that Sirius had walked through, it felt like the mask was cracking. The hollowness of the house seemed to echo in his chest, and for the first time, he allowed himself to feel just how deeply the absence of his brother cut him.
He wasn’t enough to make Sirius stay. He’d known that deep down, but facing the reality of it was harder than he’d imagined. The tears he fought so hard to contain burned behind his eyes, but he blinked them away, forcing himself to stay still, to remain silent.
Sirius was gone, and Regulus knew that nothing would ever be the same.