Velvet Bond

The flames had long since died down, but their phantom glow still clung to the air, thick and suffocating. Smoke curled around them, winding through the mourners like fingers of a ghost unwilling to let go. The scent of burning cedar and flesh lingered, an acrid reminder of finality, of the cruel passage of time.

Regulus stood a little apart, watching the way Evan held himself- too still, too quiet, too lost. The flickering embers cast long shadows across his face, deepening the hollows beneath his eyes. Grief had sculpted itself into his features, sharp and unyielding, but his expression remained impassive. Regulus didn't know if he was contemplating if all of this- this show was necessary or remembering his past time with his father.

His brothers were there, silent and solemn, standing like statues carved from the same sorrow. His mother, regal even in mourning, accepted murmured condolences with a nod, her spine unbending under the weight of loss. There were others, too-figures dressed in dark robes, their presence more a duty than a devotion.

No one cried. No one screamed. But Regulus had expected that. They were pure-bloods; emotions were not allowed, not even at a time like this. They had to show that nothing could break them, that they were still whole after everything. But wasn’t that the problem? The fact that they had to suppress something so difficult to keep at bay? It could only lead to suffocation. That strength would become their weakness, burning from within, leaving behind nothing but emptiness.
No wails, no trembling hands reaching for the coffin that wasn’t there. Because there was nothing left to bury, nothing left to mark a place in the earth. Just ashes, held in a vessel too small to contain all that a man had been.

Evan had not moved since the fire had been lit, standing in the freezing cold of January like a ice statue, as if he could stop the time, as if he could go back to prevent everything that has happened.

Regulus noticed how the others approached him carefully, as if he were a creature caught in a trap, liable to lash out if touched. There were brief, whispered words. A hand on his shoulder that was quickly withdrawn. A hesitant embrace he did not return. And then, one by one, they left.

Until it was just the three of them.

Evan, unmoving, staring at the urn in his hands as though it might shatter if he so much as breathed too hard. Barty, standing beside him, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, unsure whether to say something or let the silence stretch. And Regulus, watching.

Always watching.

The night stretched endlessly, the wind carrying away the last remnants of smoke. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted—a sound too alive, too indifferent to the weight of the moment.

Evan exhaled, a long, slow breath, and finally, finally moved.
He knelt, fingers ghosting over the lid of the urn before twisting it open. For a moment, he hesitated. Then, with a careful, deliberate motion, he let the ashes slip through his fingers, scattering into the cold wind of winter, the only thing right about all of that.

It was strange, Regulus thought, how little of a person was left in the end. A handful of dust, weightless and insubstantial.

Evan’s lips parted, as if he wanted to say something, but no words came.

Regulus and Barty stayed close, silent sentinels to a grief too vast to be spoken aloud.

The last of the ashes were carried away into thin air, and Evan stood, watching as the wind took his father's the last presence, as if he wanted to keep it with him, as if he was trying to picture his father in his mind. And Regulus, once again, watched.
Watched unable to say anything.
Because what was he going to say? What could he say? Nothing.

Then, Barty moved.

Regulus only noticed him approaching when a hand brushed against his elbow—light, fleeting, a touch meant not to startle but to anchor. He turned, meeting Barty’s eyes, and there was something in them that was softer than usual. Resigned, perhaps. Knowing.

“I’ll leave you two,” Barty murmured, voice quieter than the wind that rustled through the trees. He cast a glance toward Evan, still lost in thought, still watching the night as if waiting for something—an answer, a sign, a moment of clarity that would never come. “He needs you now, more than me.”

Regulus didn’t answer, but Barty didn’t need him to.

“You were his best friend long before I was anything to him,” Barty continued, a hint of a smile that didn’t quite reach his lips. “Before Hogwarts. Before any of this.” He gestured vaguely to the dark, to the world that had shaped them into what they had become. “And right now, he needs that. He needs you.”

Regulus swallowed, his throat tight.

He could still remember it- Evan as a boy, sharp-tongued and reckless, dragging him into trouble before they even knew what trouble was. Nights spent sneaking out under the summer sky, lying in the tall grass, whispering about the future as if they had all the time in the world. Before the war, before the lines drawn between them had become so stark, before they had learned what it meant to make choices that could not be undone.

Evan had been his first friend. His truest.
And now, Regulus was the only one left standing beside him.

Barty exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before taking a step back. “And don’t think about… what we found out,” he added, his voice lower now, edged with something unreadable. “Not tonight. Not here.”

Regulus stiffened, remembering the voices "You belong to me".
No. No he didn't. Stop it. He had to stop it. He was fine, he was him.
The weight of that knowledge sat heavy between them, unspeakable in the presence of so much death. A secret that burned, even as the embers of the pyre had died out.

Barty looked at him one last time, then nodded- more to himself than anyone else- and turned away, leaving Regulus alone with Evan.

Regulus hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.

Evan didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge him, but Regulus knew he didn’t have to.

He was here.

Regulus stayed beside Evan for a while, silent, unmoving. He had never been good with words- not the kind that mattered. Comfort had never been something he was taught; the Black household did not raise sons who knew how to soothe grief, only how to bury it beneath duty and expectation. But he was not his parents, and Evan was his friend. That, at least, he knew how to be.

So he did not tell Evan that things would be fine, because they wouldn’t be. He did not say he was sorry, because apologies did not stitch together the kind of wounds left by death. Instead, he made a decision.

With quiet purpose, he stepped away from the lingering scent of burnt wood and loss, disappearing briefly before returning with a glass bottle in hand. The weight of it was familiar, cool against his palm.

Vodka.

Something sharp, something clean. Something that burned—but not in a way that hurt too much. It burned like the fire lit just a few hours ago. It scratched at their throats in just the right way, a quiet reminder that they were still alive. That as long as it burned, the body was still working, the cells still moving, regenerating, surviving.
Regulus held it up slightly, a silent offer, before uncorking it with a flick of his fingers. No words passed between them as he began walking, and after a moment, Evan followed.

They didn’t go far. Just beyond the clearing, where the last wisps of ash had scattered into the wind, where the ground still bore the faint, dark imprint of what had been. It seemed fitting, somehow, to sit there- on the cool grass, beneath a sky too vast and indifferent to grief.

Regulus took the first sip, tilting his head back as the vodka burned its way down his throat, then passed the bottle to Evan.
No toasts. No empty words. Just the quiet understanding of two people who knew loss too intimately, who had long since learned that some wounds were not meant to be spoken aloud.

Evan took a long, slow sip, letting the warmth settle in his chest, dull but present. He passed the bottle back to Regulus, who accepted it wordlessly. For a while, they sat there, the night stretching above them, a silent witness to their grief.

Then Evan spoke.

“My father wasn’t a kind man,” he said, his voice quiet, as if the words might shatter if he gave them too much weight. “Not to me. Not to Pandora.”

Regulus didn’t react immediately, just tipped the bottle to his lips and took another sip. He didn’t look at Evan, but he was listening. He always listened. He always waited. Between the two, Regulus was the silent one, Evan the friendly.

“We were the youngest,” Evan continued. “The most… emotional, I suppose. That was the word he used. Emotional.” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “You’d think being the youngest would mean they’d go easy on you, but it was the opposite. We were supposed to grow up faster, be stronger. We were a disappointment before we even had the chance to be anything else.”

Regulus finally turned to look at him. Evan wasn’t crying—he never did—but his grip on the bottle was tight, his knuckles white against the glass.

“He was never violent,” Evan added, almost as an afterthought. “Not in the way some fathers are. But words… words last longer. You know that.”

Regulus did know that.

Orion Black’s hands had rarely left marks, but his voice had cut deeper than any curse.

Evan let out a slow breath, tilting his head back to look at the sky. “I should hate him. I should be-” He hesitated, rolling the bottle between his hands. “But I’m not. I just feel… hollow. And guilty. Like I should have done something. Or said something. Or-” He exhaled sharply, frustrated. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to feel.”

Regulus didn’t answer right away. He reached for the bottle instead, taking a long sip before speaking.
“You asked me how I did it,” he said, his voice steady. “How I killed Orion.”

Evan didn’t say anything, but the question lingered between them, thick as smoke.

Regulus exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “It wasn’t hard,” he admitted. “And that’s the worst part. I thought it would be. I thought I’d hesitate, that I’d hear his voice in my head telling me I was pathetic, ungrateful, nothing. But when the moment came, there was just… silence. Just me. And him. And the choice I had to make.”
He took another drink, swallowing hard. “I don’t regret it. And I don’t feel guilty.”

Evan turned to look at him, studying his face. “How?”

Regulus let out a slow, deliberate breath. “Because he would have done worse to me if I let him. He would have done worse to others. And because,” he hesitated, “he never loved me. Not in the way a father is supposed to. He loved what I was supposed to be. Not who I was.”

Evan huffed a laugh. “That’s the difference between us, then. I think-” He faltered, fingers tightening around the bottle. “I think my father loved me. In his own way. Just… not enough. Not in the way I needed.”

Regulus nodded, because that, too, he understood.
They lapsed into silence again, passing the bottle back and forth, lost in the memories of childhoods neither of them had survived unscathed.

After a while, Evan spoke again. “Do you remember that summer, when we were nine?”

Regulus smirked faintly, because he did. “When you tried to run away from home?”

“I did run away,” Evan corrected, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I made it all the way to your house.”

“To the gate of my house,” Regulus countered, shaking his head. “And then my mother found you and nearly hexed you into next week. But I laughed so hard. Oh fuck- it was so funny. My mother couldn't touch you and she was bailing with fury.”

Evan chuckled, though there was an edge of something else beneath it. “I thought I was being so clever. Thought I could just leave, and things would get better.” He sighed. “But I was nine. I had nowhere to go.”

“You had me,” Regulus said simply.

Evan looked at him then, something unreadable in his expression.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “I did. And I still do, Reg. You're the best. Even though the others can't see you the way I do- Sirius, that James Potter, everyone."

At some point, the weight of grief began to blur at the edges, softened by the burn of vodka and the quiet, steady rhythm of their conversation. The bottle made its rounds between them, each sip pulling them further from reality, deeper into the kind of hazy, reckless comfort that only alcohol could provide.
Regulus could feel the warmth in his limbs now, a pleasant disconnect between thought and action. He leaned back onto the cool grass, staring up at the stars, and exhaled. It was welcomed- making his mind and his thoughts blurred, making him forget everything that happened in the last days, in the last months, in the last years.
Everything.

It was wonderful, like floating away from problems. Regulus smiled.
“Evan,” he said, voice just slightly slurred. “I think I might be drunk.”

Evan let out a low chuckle, tipping the bottle to his lips again. “Might be?”

Regulus turned his head toward him, blinking slowly. “Well, I might also be a genius. A prodigy. An incredibly attractive and powerful wizard. But I don’t go around saying it out loud, do I?”

Evan snorted, shifting to lie down beside him. “You literally just did.”

“Did I?” Regulus frowned, trying to retrace his own words. “Huh. Maybe you’re drunk, and you think I said that.”

Evan turned his head, squinting at him. “That’s not how reality works.”
Regulus hummed, unconvinced.

A pause. The wind stirred lazily through the grass. Evan lifted the bottle again, inspecting it with deep concentration before frowning. “It’s getting empty,” he observed solemnly.

Regulus sighed. “Tragic.”

Evan shifted, propping himself up on his elbows, his hair messier than usual. “I feel like we should do something important right now.”
No. No they didn't. They needed to get drunk and forget everything.

Regulus waved a lazy hand. “We are doing something important. We’re drinking. That’s a very noble tradition. In times like this it's doing us a flavor.” Regulus stuttered. "No- not flavor- fla- favour-"

“You're so stupid. F-L-A-V-O-U-R,” Evan giggled. "But no." Evan insisted, shaking his head. “Something big. Something we’ll remember forever.” He paused. “Or maybe just something really fucking stupid.”

Regulus grinned, a slow, lazy thing. “Oh, I love stupid.”

Evan sat up fully, pointing at him. “Exactly. You, my friend, have done so many stupid things in your life.”

Regulus scoffed, pressing a hand to his chest. “Excuse you, I have done nothing but make excellent life choices.”

Evan gave him a flat look. “You joined the Death Eaters.”

Regulus opened his mouth, then shut it. “…Fair enough.”

“You stole Slughorn’s entire stash of Firewhisky in sixth year and blamed it on the Hufflepuffs.”

Regulus waved a dismissive hand. “It was a social experiment.” Then he giggled. "Merlin we got so fucking drunk."

“You turned my broom pink before a match against Ravenclaw.”

Regulus grinned. “And I still maintain it suited you.”

Evan groaned, flopping onto his back. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Regulus said smugly.

Evan sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately, no, I don’t.”

Regulus turned his head, squinting at Evan. “You know what? We should get more alcohol.”

Evan huffed out a laugh. “Yes. But we are far too drunk to apparate.”

Regulus considered this for a long, serious moment. “We could… summon a bottle.”

Evan raised an eyebrow. “Summon a bottle of vodka from where, Reg?”

Regulus blinked. “Good question.” And the laughed. And Evan with him. Fuck Barty was going to be so fucking mad with him, but he was the one who left Reg with Evan so- really- he should've expected it. Together they became pretty damn stupid.

Evan sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck, we are so stupid.”

Regulus grinned. “Isn’t it great?”

Evan turned his head, looking at him, and for the first time that night, his smile wasn’t laced with grief. It was just real.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “It really fucking is. Thanks Reg. Really.”

Sirius had known he would find them here.

He had seen the necrology notice in the paper, had read the name- Laurent Rosier, honored pureblood, devoted father- and scoffed at the words, at the lies dressed up in polished ink. He had known Evan would be here, and where Evan was, Regulus wouldn’t be far behind.

And so he had come, slipping into his Animagus form before even reaching the clearing, padding silently across the grass until he found them.

They were sprawled on the ground, the nearly empty bottle of vodka glinting under the pale and gray sky, laughing in the careless, slurred way of men too drunk to remember their grief.

Sirius sat at the edge of the trees, watching. Regulus was an absolute mess- his usually pristine posture completely abandoned, hair tousled, shirt wrinkled, eyes heavy-lidded with drink. Evan wasn’t faring much better, lying half-sprawled on his back, gesturing wildly with his hands as if recounting something terribly important. Sirius watched and watched and- he couldn’t find a moment in his memory. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Regulus like this. Was it his fault? That Regulus didn't trust him enough?
Sirius could hear their words now, the conversation looping between deep philosophical nonsense and complete absurdity.

“I’m just saying,” Evan was slurring, “if we had managed to steal that broom from Filch’s office, we could’ve started a business. Underground Quidditch betting, Reg. We could’ve been legends.”

Regulus, who was blinking sluggishly up at the sky from his position, hummed. “Mm. Yes. Truly a loss for history, damn it.” And he sighed.

Sirius snorted under his breath.

And then, as if sensing his presence, Regulus turned his head slightly, his brow furrowing. “Evan,” he muttered. “There’s a dog.”

Evan sat up, squinting toward the treeline. He broke into a slow, delighted grin. “Holy shit, there’s a dog.”

Woah- a dog? Incredible. As if they had never -ever- seen one.
Sirius huffed a quiet laugh, stepping forward. Evan immediately patted his thighs enthusiastically. “Come here, boy,” he called, slurring the last word slightly. “Look at him, Reg- he’s huge.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes, his drunken brain struggling to process. “I feel like he reminds me of someone.”
Sirius trotted closer, tail wagging slightly. Evan, without hesitation, reached out and grabbed his face, holding it between both hands. “Who’s a big scary dog?” he cooed. “You are. You are.”

Regulus snorted. “Merlin, Evan, have some dignity.”

Evan ignored him completely, scratching behind Sirius’ ears with an enthusiasm that would have been humiliating if Sirius had any shame left. “He’s a handsome boy, isn’t he, Reg?”

Regulus tilted his head, eyes narrowing. He was clearly trying to think, but the alcohol wasn’t making it easy. Finally, he pointed a slow, accusing finger at Sirius.
“You look like my brother,” he declared.

Sirius froze.

Evan blinked, then squinted between Regulus and the massive black dog before breaking into laughter. “Shit, you’re right. The same arrogant aura.”

Sirius, recovering quickly, let out an indignant huff and shook Evan’s hands off his face. Evan just cackled. “Look at him, he’s offended. Very Black family behavior.”

Regulus hummed in agreement, scratching his chin. “Maybe he’s an Animagus,” he mused. “Maybe my dear estranged brother is secretly watching us right now, disguised as a dog.”

Sirius’ tail wagged in amusement.

Regulus turned serious, gripping Evan’s arm. “Do you think,” he whispered conspiratorially, “that if I pet him, he’ll send a secret message to Sirius?”

Evan gasped, scandalized. “Regulus. You can’t just pet a messenger dog. That’s not how Animagi work.”

Regulus nodded solemnly. “Right. Right. We need a plan.”

Evan nodded back, completely serious.

Sirius, unable to hold back anymore, let out a sharp bark of laughter.

Regulus blinked at him, tilting his head. “Evan,” he muttered. “I think he’s mocking us.”

Evan scowled. “We can’t let that stand.” He turned back to Sirius, eyes gleaming. “You. Dog. We challenge you to a duel.”
Sirius barked again, loud and amused, before lunging forward, knocking Evan flat onto his back and shoving his cold nose against his cheek.

“Ah! Betrayal!” Evan gasped dramatically. “Regulus, save yourself!”

Regulus, for all his drunken bravado, only barely managed to remain upright. He squinted at Sirius again, then, after a long pause, finally reached out and hesitantly patted his head.

Sirius stilled.

Regulus’ hand was warm, slow, like he wasn’t quite sure if he was imagining this entire moment. His fingers brushed against Sirius’ ear, hesitant but deliberate.
Then he huffed, pulling his hand back. “His fur feels like Sirius’ hair,” he muttered.
And—well—his hand, his caress, was so gentle it stole the breath from Sirius’s lungs. He had never seen Regulus like this, never imagined him capable of such quiet tenderness. It was almost unreal, a ghost of something soft that had somehow survived within him, despite everything.

Sirius had never seen him love. Once, he had wondered if Pandora might be the exception, the one to unravel him—but Regulus had always kept his distance, sidestepping affection as if it were something cursed.

And maybe, for them, it had been.

Their mother had called it love, the punishments, the curses—until love and suffering were the same thing, indistinguishable. Until flinching became second nature.
But Sirius had unlearned it. He had discovered love in its truest form, in Remus’s quiet steadiness, in James’s unwavering loyalty, in the warmth of the Potters’ home.

But who had Regulus?
The thought struck deep, a pang of guilt blooming in his chest.
What if- nothing. This was nothing. He should stop there- they were on two different fronts. Nothing else mattered.

Evan gasped again. “It is a secret messenger dog!”
Sirius let out a low, amused growl before stepping back. He glanced at Regulus one last time before trotting off toward the trees, knowing he’d already pushed his luck.

“Wait!” Evan called. “Come back! We have questions!”

Regulus just sat there, staring after him, his expression unreadable.
Then he sighed, rubbing his face. “Evan.”

“Yeah?”

“…I think I miss my brother.”

Evan exhaled, falling back onto the grass. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”
Sirius stopped in his tracks.
The words had hit him harder than they should have.

I think I miss my brother.

Regulus had said it so easily, tossed it into the night like it didn’t matter. Like it was just another drunken thought, fleeting and inconsequential. But Sirius felt it settle deep in his chest, heavy and unshakable.

He ducked behind a tree, his body shifting effortlessly back into his human form. His hands went straight to his head, fingers threading through his hair, gripping hard.

Fuck.

He had come here expecting—what, exactly? To confirm that Regulus was still the cold, unfeeling little shit he remembered? To remind himself that his brother had made his choices and that he had made his?

But this—this was something else.

It was the alcohol talking. Sirius knew that. Knew better than to let himself believe that Regulus—sober, in daylight, with all his walls up—would ever admit something like that.

And yet…
There was a thread of hope now. Thin. Fragile. But there.
He exhaled sharply, running his hands down his face.

Then he froze.

A presence. What a stupid-

Sirius’ wand was in his hand before he had even turned, his heart pounding—but then he saw them.

James and Remus.

He let out a breath, shaking his head. “Merlin’s bloody balls, you scared the shit out of me.”

James smirked. “Good. That’s what you get for sneaking off without telling us.”

Sirius scowled, tucking his wand away. “How the hell did you even find me?”

James gave him a pointed look. “You’re not exactly hard to track, Pads. We knew you’d come here.”

Sirius crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “Did you, now?”

James shrugged, but there was something knowing in his gaze. “We knew you’d want to see him.” A pause. “We just didn’t know if you were coming to talk to him or to hex him into next week. So…” He gestured between himself and Remus. “We figured we’d come too. Just in case.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. If I wanted to hex him, I wouldn’t need backup.”

James smirked. “No, but you would need someone to stop you from doing something incredibly stupid.”

Remus sighed. “Which, let’s be honest, is a full-time job.”

Sirius scoffed. “Oh, piss off.”

James and Remus exchanged a look, amusement flickering between them. But then James’ expression softened slightly, his gaze flickering toward the clearing where Regulus and Evan were still drunkenly sprawled in the grass.

“…How is he?” James asked quietly.

Sirius hesitated, glancing back in the same direction.

How was he?

Drunk. Messy. Laughing more than Sirius had seen in years. And yet, beneath it all, the same old Regulus—the sharp mind, the stubborn pride, the weight of things he would never say out loud.
And then, of course, there was that. The words that had knocked the breath out of Sirius, that were still echoing in his head.

I think I miss my brother.

Sirius swallowed, his throat suddenly tight.

“…He’s still Reg,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual. “Just… a little different. I don't know. I-” Sirius stuttered, passing a hand through his hair. "I just feel so betrayed by him but at the same time he's my little brother and-"

Sirius wanted to believe it. God, he wanted to believe it. That Regulus had meant what he said, that somewhere, beneath all the lies and betrayals and years of silence, his little brother had still wanted him.
But the words felt hollow, like an echo of something that should have mattered but didn’t. Because if Regulus had really missed him—if he had really wanted his brother—then why had he stayed? Why had he chosen them? Why had he turned away when Sirius had begged him to leave? People didn’t throw away the ones they loved. They didn’t stay quiet when they needed saving. They didn’t wait until they were drunk and reckless to tell the truth. So no, Sirius couldn’t believe it.

Because if he did, he’d have to admit that maybe—just maybe—

James studied him for a moment, like he knew there was something Sirius wasn’t saying. James had that look in his eyes. Something unreadable, something that didn’t quite match the words coming out of his mouth. It wasn’t pity, and it wasn’t the usual stubborn optimism James always seemed to carry- but it was something. Something Sirius couldn’t put a name to.

A hesitation, maybe. A weight.

Like he knew more than he was saying. Like there was a piece of the puzzle that Sirius hadn’t seen yet. But before he could press him on it, before he could demand to know what the hell that look meant, James sighed and ran a hand through his hair, shifting the conversation just enough that the moment slipped away.
Then he clapped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing once. “Come on. Let’s go before you start getting sentimental.”

Sirius huffed. “Yeah- Too late.”

Barty had been watching.

He wasn’t stupid- he had seen movement in the trees, the dark silhouettes slipping closer. Had felt the weight of someone else’s presence long before he caught sight of them. And when he saw who it was- fucking Sirius Black, James Potter, and Remus Lupin- he didn’t think.

He reacted.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Barty stormed toward them, wand already drawn, stance wild with barely-contained fury.

Sirius, James, and Remus all froze.

Barty didn’t care. He planted himself between them and the absolute mess that was Evan and Regulus, his arms outstretched like some overprotective mother hen who had been waiting for a fight.
“I knew you lot would pull some shit like this,” he snapped, voice sharp and furious. “Can’t leave well enough alone, can you? Had to come over here, find them vulnerable, and what- hex them into oblivion while they’re too drunk to stand?”
Barty seethed, fingers clenched tightly around his wand as he took in the absolute state of them.
Two hours. Two hours. That’s all it had been. And in that time, Evan and Regulus had somehow managed to get absolutely wasted in the middle of an open field, leaving themselves vulnerable to literally anyone who might have come across them.

James blinked, shocked. “What?”

Sirius scoffed. “Are you insane Bartemious?”

Barty waved a hand toward the disaster on the ground. “Look at them! They’re defenseless!”

Everyone turned.

Regulus and Evan were still lying on their backs, blissfully unaware of the absolute scene happening just a few feet away. The nearly empty vodka bottle was clutched in Evan’s hand like some sacred artifact, and Regulus, frowning up at the stars, muttered, “That one looks like a kneazle.”

“It’s a star, Reg,” Evan slurred.

“I’m very sure it’s a kneazle.”

James looked back at Barty, unimpressed. “Yes. Defenseless. Absolutely terrifying.”

Barty huffed. “I will hex you, Potter. Don’t test me.”

Remus, ever the voice of reason, raised his hands. “We’re not here to hurt them. Obviously.”

“Oh, obviously,” Barty mocked, narrowing his eyes. “You just happened to be skulking around in the woods while my best friend and my boyfriend are so drunk they wouldn’t even dodge a Stupefy.”

Sirius groaned, rubbing his face. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Crouch—”

But before he could say anything else, Evan suddenly sat up, squinting at Barty.

“Barty?” he asked, blinking slowly, like he had just realized he existed.

“Yes, love?” Barty snapped, still aiming his wand at Sirius.

Evan frowned deeply. “…Why are you yelling at a tree?”

Barty’s eye twitched. “I’m not yelling at a tree, Evan, I’m yelling at-” He gestured wildly to the three intruders. “-them.”

Regulus sat up too, tilting his head at Sirius, expression unfocused. Then he gasped.

“The dog!”

Sirius blinked. “What?”

Regulus pointed at him, squinting through the haze of alcohol. “Evan, the dog is back. But he’s—he’s a man now.”

Evan turned, gasped dramatically, then grabbed Barty’s arm in horror. “Barty. The dog turned into a person.”

James covered his mouth, clearly trying not to laugh.

Sirius closed his eyes. Breathed deeply. Willed himself not to lose the last shred of patience he had.

Barty, however, was still on the warpath. “Yes, thank you, Evan, but we have bigger problems right now—”

Evan shook his head, looking deeply betrayed. “I trusted that dog.”

Regulus nodded solemnly, a little pout forming at the end of his mouth. “Me too.”

James lost it. Remus pressed his fingers to his temple, trying so hard to keep it together, while Sirius just glared at the sky, begging for strength.
Barty, now officially done with everyone, turned back to Sirius and co. “I don’t care why you’re here, but if you even think about-”

“We’re not here to kill them!” Sirius finally exploded. “Or hex them, or curse them, or whatever the fuck you think we’re here for! I was just-” He hesitated. Looked away. “—checking on Reg?” Sirius spoke with such uncertainty that a part of him died inside.

Barty narrowed his eyes, not believing him. “Checking on him?”

James nodded, hands still half-raised in surrender. “Sirius read the obituary. He figured Regulus would be here. That’s it.”

Barty studied them for a long moment, gaze flickering between them, searching for deception.Then he sighed, rolling his eyes. “Fine. Fine. But if you ever try anything, I will-”

A thud.

Everyone turned.

Regulus had fallen back over.

Evan, still gripping the vodka bottle, nodded sagely. “He’s dead. Oh poor- poor Reggie" he said after a while, poking his friend with a- stick? He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Barty groaned, raking a hand through his hair. “Fucking hell, I hate all of you.”

Sirius didn’t hesitate. The second Regulus hit the ground, he was at his side, crouching next to him and gripping his shoulder. “Reg? Reg, come on—” He shook him lightly, panic creeping into his voice.

Barty, arms still crossed, rolled his eyes. “He’s not dead, Black. He’s just—” He sighed. “He probably hasn’t slept since it happened.”

James, who had been watching the whole scene unfold with narrowed eyes, finally spoke. “Since what happened?”

Barty tensed.

James pressed. “We- like saw each other five days ago what happened in the meantime? What else?”

Barty’s jaw clenched. “None of your damn business, Potter.”

James huffed, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, come on, Crouch, we’re literally standing in the middle of a field full of dead family trauma-”

Barty whipped around, eyes flashing. “And whose fault is that, exactly?” His voice was sharp, edged with something dangerous. “You lot have never given a shit about him before. What, just because he’s suddenly useful to you now, you’ve decided to care?”

Sirius snapped his head up, his own temper flaring. “Oh, fuck off, Crouch, you don’t know a damn thing about me and Regulus-”. He threw his arm in the air, like he couldn't believe what he was witnessing and- how dare Sirius Black look at him like that? Like he had the right to be angry. Like he had any claim over Regulus after all these years of silence and abandonment. Like he was the one who had been there.

Where had Sirius been when Regulus had come back bloody and exhausted from missions he never should have been sent on? When the weight of expectations had nearly crushed him? When he’d needed someone—anyone—to pull him out before it was too late?

Nowhere.

Sirius had left.

“Oh, I know plenty,” Barty cut in, literally exploding because they couldn't- “I know he spent his whole childhood drowning in that house, and you-” He jabbed a finger toward Sirius. “-just left him there.”

Sirius shot to his feet, stepping closer, his fists clenched. “I was sixteen! What the hell was I supposed to do?”

Barty laughed, cold and bitter. “I don’t know, maybe something other than running off to play house with the Potters and pretending he didn’t exist?”

Sirius probably saw red and Barty liked to rile him up so much, he liked to be a fucking piece of shit. “You don’t get to stand there and act like you know what it was like for me-”

Barty scoffed. “Right, poor, poor Sirius Black. You got adopted by a perfect family, had your best friends take you in like a lost little puppy-”

“Because I was being tortured, you absolute prick! What, you think I wanted to leave him?”

James stepped forward, hand on Sirius’ shoulder, always the righteous and brave man. “Mate-”

Sirius shook him off, glaring at Barty.

Barty didn’t back down. “You still left.”

Sirius took another step forward, anger rolling off him in waves. Sirius had a fury in him, a fury that regulus never had, because where “And what about you, huh? You think you’re any better? You let him become a Death Eater! You stood by and watched-”

“Oh, go to hell, Black,” Barty sneered. “You don’t get to judge me when you abandoned him first.”

Sirius’ breath was heavy, fists still clenched, and Barty’s wand was gripped too tightly in his hand.

It was going to explode.

And then—

“BOYS!”
Both Sirius and Barty froze.
Because Regulus had sat up, his face serious, and his tone was the exact same scolding voice Walburga used to use on them as children.
A second later, he frowned. “…Why are you so loud?”

Evan, still lying flat on his back, groaned. “Ugh, they’re fighting over you, Reg. It’s disgusting.”

Regulus turned his head toward Sirius, eyes unfocused. “Are you fighting over me?”

Sirius hesitated. “Uh—”

Regulus squinted at him.

Then at Barty.

Then back at Sirius.

Then he blinked slowly, and his face morphed into something completely mocking.
“Oh my god,” he drawled, voice too dramatic. “Sirius, are you jealous? Of Barty and me? You were always a jealous little prick. Even with Evan.”

Sirius choked.

Barty choked.

James, completely done, burst out laughing.

Regulus turned to Evan, nodding sagely. “He’s jealous, Ev.”

Evan patted his shoulder. “I would be too. Barty’s a totally catch even as a boyfriend.”

Barty, completely thrown off, gaped at them. “I- excuse me?”

Regulus waved a lazy hand. “I mean, he’s kind of a prick, but-”

“Oi!” Barty yelped.

Evan nodded again. “But a hot prick.”

Sirius, face burning, ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Regulus, shut up!”

Regulus grinned, wide and victorious. “Oh, no, no, no, we should talk about this. Should we duel for my honor? Are you done whining, little big baby boy?”
Sirius groaned, Barty was muttering murder, and James was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes.

And just like that, the fight was over.
Barty, who had been standing off to the side, massaging his temples, finally snapped.
“Alright, that’s enough. I am not dealing with this level of bullshit anymore.”

Regulus and Evan turned to look at him in betrayal.
“But we were bonding,” Evan tried.

“I don’t care,” Barty said flatly. “You’re both drunk, loud, and have the decision-making skills of a demented flobberworm. We’re going home before you embarrass yourselves further.”

Regulus blinked, looking vaguely offended. “I have excellent decision-making skills.”

Barty raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because you’re currently lying on the ground like some tragic Victorian poet, arguing with a stick-wielding lunatic about who is more graceful.”

Evan nodded sagely. “It’s a valid debate.”
Barty groaned, dragging a hand over his face.

Then, with a sigh, he turned to Sirius, exhaling sharply before asking, “Are you going to help or just stand there looking pretty?”

Sirius blinked, caught completely off guard. “Wait- you want my help?”

Barty rolled his eyes. “No, I want you to let your uselessly drunk brother collapse into the dirt and rot there. Yes, I want your help. I can't carry both of them, idiot.”

Sirius hesitated, clearly surprised by the request, but before he could even respond—

Regulus fell forward, completely crashing into him.
Sirius barely caught him, arms instinctively wrapping around his very, very intoxicated little brother.
Regulus blinked up at him in confusion. “Oh,” he said, sounding genuinely surprised. “Hi.”

Sirius let out a long-suffering sigh, adjusting his grip. “Reg, you are so fucking drunk. Come on let me help you.” Sirius grimaced, his expression twisting like the mere thought of helping his Death Eater brother was enough to make him sick. Like even now, even in this ridiculous, drunken mess of a situation, he still couldn’t stomach the idea of being close to Regulus.

Barty watched him, lips pressing into a thin line.

Had he made a mistake?

Maybe he should have asked Potter instead- at least he seemed to have some level of basic human decency. Or Lupin, who always played mediator, who probably would have stepped in without hesitation.
But no. He had given Sirius the chance. And now, watching the- Barty didn't really know what that expression was- disgust? Annoyance? Pettiness?- flicker across his face, he wondered if it had been the wrong call after all. Regulus couldn't take anymore of his shit.

As they finally started moving, Barty muttered under his breath, “He’s going to wake up tomorrow and want to die.”

Sirius huffed a laugh, adjusting Regulus’ weight. “He’s not even listening.”

Barty sighed. “Yeah, well, tomorrow he’ll be eating his own liver, so maybe he should start listening.”

Regulus groaned, muffling his face against Sirius’ shoulder. “Stop talking about my liver.” And with that they apparate away, at the front door of their house.

Barty watched as Sirius stepped back, shaking out his hands like he could physically rid himself of the weight of what he’d just done. Of who he’d just touched. Of the brother he had just held.

“It’s better this way,” Sirius muttered, not quite meeting Barty’s eyes. “If I took him inside- the Order would just start asking questions. What did I see, what you're been doing. This way, they can’t touch you. Me. No one really.”

Barty didn’t respond right away. Just watched him.
Because he knew—knew—that wasn’t the real reason.

Sirius wasn’t worried about the Order. He wasn’t worried about protecting Regulus from interrogation.
He was worried about himself.
Because Sirius Black—loud, reckless, impossible Sirius Black- had no fucking idea what to do with the fact that his little brother was here, alive, drunk, and still a complete mystery to him.

And so, instead of figuring it out, he was running.

Again. It was a Black thing evidently, even Regulus always run away from talks, emotions, feelings. And it was so- fucking- stupid- that Barty wanted to scream at the sky.

Barty exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Right. Sure.” His voice was flat, unimpressed. “Wouldn’t want you to actually sit with your feelings or anything, God forbid.”

Sirius scowled. “Piss off, Crouch.”

Barty only smirked, sharp and cold. “Already have, Black." Have a fucking good night alone he thought in his head.

And with that, he turned, stepping over Regulus like he was used to picking up the pieces Sirius left behind.
Tomorrow- tomorrow would be a fucking nightmare. Barty already knew it. Regulus would run from him, avoid him, until Barty took the reins and forced him to face it.

Tomorrow.

Sirius barely said a word on the way back.

The streets were quiet, the air cold against his skin, but his mind was anything but still. It was burning- flaring hot with every step he took, the alcohol he’d barely even touched doing nothing to soften the sharp edges of his thoughts.

When they reached the house, James finally broke the silence.

“What did you do with him?”

Sirius exhaled sharply. “Left him at the door.”

James frowned. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Sirius muttered and James shut up, knowing that it was no more time of debate.

And he didn’t explain. He didn’t say how he had stood there for a full minute, just watching his brother sleep- Regulus, too drunk to wake, breathing evenly, head resting against the doorframe like he didn’t have a single burden in the world.

He didn’t say how he had almost- almost- stayed. Until the next morning- until Regulus was coherent enough to speak, to scream at him, insisting it had all been a fever dream, a lie, a mistake.

But he hadn’t.
Because he couldn’t.
Because standing there, seeing Regulus like that- as if nothing had happened, as if years hadn’t passed, as if they hadn’t already lost too much- as if he hadn't been betrayed- was too much to stomach.

Like Sirius was supposed to just- accept it.
Like Regulus could just stumble back into his life in a drunken haze, say a few sentimental words, and make him forget what he had done.
Because that’s what this was, right?
A trick of the alcohol. A fleeting, meaningless thing.

I think I miss my brother.

Sirius clenched his jaw.

Barty’s voice still rang in his head, sharp and cutting:

“You left him there.”

“You abandoned him first.”

“You let him become a Death Eater.”

Sirius inhaled, pressing his fingers against his temple.
It wasn’t his fault.
It wasn’t.

Regulus had made his choices. He had picked his side. He had turned his back when Sirius had asked him—begged him—to leave.
That wasn’t on Sirius.

…Was it?

His stomach twisted.

Had it been easier, after all, to let himself believe that Regulus was just like the rest of them? That he had been too far gone to save? That he had wanted the life Walburga had carved out for him?
Had it been easier than trying?
Than fighting for him?

Sirius’ breath came short and uneven.
He had spent so many years convincing himself that his brother was a lost cause. That Regulus had never really needed him. That he had chosen that path with his eyes wide open.

But what if—
What if he had been wrong?
What if Regulus had wanted to leave, but hadn’t known how?
What if he had needed Sirius, and Sirius had—

Sirius slammed his fist onto the table, the sharp crack of wood breaking the silence.

James and Remus turned toward him, startled.

He didn’t look at them.
He couldn’t.

Because suddenly, he wasn’t sure anymore.

And that was the worst part of all.