We Have Done This Before, Haven't We?

Regulus Black gingerly puts the quill down on the dark wooden tabletop and stares at the small note in his hands for a moment. He took his time writing it, carefully spelling out the letters in his neatest cursive. It had been hard, in the dunkle lighting — the golden light coming from the candles really too weak to be easy to work with — but once he started he didn’t want to — couldn’t — get up and do anything about it. He needed to get it out, now that he at last knew what he wanted to say.

It’s short. Concise. He thinks it’s enough, and he really doesn’t want to write anymore. He just wants this to be over. Deciding that this will have to do, he folds it up — just as neatly as he wrote it — and puts it into the locket. The fake one, that he’ll replace the real one with; hopefully within the hour if everything goes right.

He wonders what Sirius will think. The uncertainty whether or not he should write a note for Sirius too or not plagues him. He is his brother after all, but that only strengthens both the argument why he should and why he shouldn’t.

He’ll be twenty in just a few days now. He’ll be twenty and Regulus won’t be here anymore. Maybe he should wait a little, in case something goes wrong and they find him. In case stories break of his untimely demise and the gossip will be all over Wizarding England just in time for Sirius’ birthday.

But he can’t wait. It’s pressing matters, and the sooner the better.

Still, Sirius deserves to know. Even if he really doesn’t care about Regulus anymore, maybe there’s a small part of him that would like to know. To at least get some closure.

He wonders what Sirius will think, not for the first time in his life. He’s sure that a part of him will always wonder what Sirius thinks.

Regulus thinks that Sirius will think that he died in service. Service of the Dark Lord he has come to hate so terribly. It’s probably what his mother will tell him, if she decides to say anything at all. Or that he ran. It doesn’t matter, although Regulus can’t decide which he thinks is worse.

He deeply wishes that his brother could just know. Know that he wasn’t a coward, at least not until the end, nor brainwashed or a horrible person. That he tried to make up for it.

But he can’t, he can’t know. If he knows, he’ll die for it, sooner or later. It’s safer this way. He’ll just have to deal with Sirius hating him for the rest of his life. He has for a while now, already, hasn’t he? He’ll have to deal with Sirius being ashamed, with Sirius avoiding his name.

It’s just how it is; Regulus will sacrifice himself in all ways.

He stands up and slips the locket into the pocket of his jacket. Then he decides to go downstairs, because he really should say something to his mother before he leaves.

He makes his way out of the room, out into the dark hallway. A dark hallway in a dark house. A dark hallway that has been there for centuries, and probably will be for centuries more after him. It’s just the last time he passes through it.

He passes by a mirror and lingers in front of it, for just a moment. His black hair is longer than it’s ever been before — he hasn’t had time or felt the need for a haircut — and he looks paler, skinnier and more tired than he ever has. Like he’s aged ten years in one.

It’s a good thing that he’s made his last public appearance, because people would start asking questions soon, if he stayed around. Or maybe they wouldn’t, because Andromeda is long gone, Bellatrix entirely mad, Narcissa is only focused on Lucius and Sirius hasn’t been home for years.

It doesn’t matter. Neither of them will see him again, anyway.

Everything goes as planned and less than an hour later, Regulus lies sobbing on wet, sharp stones and there’s a searing pain in his stomach and throat and mouth. Except he couldn’t possibly plan for the pain and the fear that he’s feeling now. It’s worse than his mother’s curses, than Bellatrix’s. He briefly wonders if it just would’ve been easier to just let himself be hunted down by Voldemort’s men; his former friends. If he ever really had any of those.

Sometimes it’s hard to tell, the difference between a friendship and a rewarding alliance.

Either way, he pulls himself over the ragged cliffs, and doesn’t even notice the way they scrape his skin open. He reaches for the water because he’s so, so thirsty and he just needs a little bit and he can’t focus on anything else; he doesn’t even hear Kreacher’s whimpering and his mother’s taunting and his brother’s accusations in the darkness behind him.

Just as he reaches the still surface — so still that the lumos he cast looks just like the moon as it’s reflected in the water — white skeletal hands fly up from the darkness and grab his forearms. More hands are reaching for his upper arms and shoulders. Their grip is like stone; he desperately tries to bend their hands open but it’s impossible. His heart pounds to the point that it feels like it might explode, but he doesn’t have time to scream.

It’s already lost. He’s already gone.

They pull him down into the dark, wet cold, and the burning in his lungs hurts even more than any of the burning the potion caused.

Regulus Black is dying. And then he is dead.

Regulus runs through the wet grass, breathing hard. The cold autumn air is biting at his cheeks and he’s vaguely aware that his brother is somewhere behind him, panting too, but for a moment he’s miles away, lost in thought. He stops suddenly, feeling like he was just somewhere else.

His brother, with hands and feet too big for the rest of him at the moment, with endless energy, doesn’t see that Regulus has stopped in time. Instead, he crashes straight into Regulus’ smaller back, sending his little brother falling headlong towards the dying grass with red and brown leaves spread out all over it.

Regulus doesn’t even understand what’s happening, too disoriented, and he would’ve fallen straight on his face hadn’t Sirius quickly reached out his hands and grabbed his dress shirt, breaking his fall.

Regulus’ breath hitches in his throat as he suddenly hangs by his clothes. Unfortunately, this is the exact moment Walburga Black steps out of the house, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She is dressed entirely in black, just as always, and there’s a sour expression on her face, almost like always, too. A western wind tugs on a loose strand of her black hair that’s escaped her tight up-do, twirling it. She instantly tucks it behind one of her ears, and crosses her arms again.

What is strange is that Regulus somehow feels as if she looks younger than when he saw her last, in a way he can’t quite explain.

Behind him, Sirius swears quietly — if mother heard she would kill him, but luckily it’s just Regulus close enough to hear — and pulls him upwards again. Regulus looks up to meet Sirius’ eyes and upon closer inspection, he decides that Sirius should be older too.

Walburga’s gaze is dark and Regulus knows she’s angry. He cringes before she even opens her mouth.

“Boys, stop this at once!” she demands and Regulus shivers. He’ll never not be afraid of her. “You’ll get dirt on your nice clothes and embarrass me and your father in front of the entire family. Do you really want to look like a fool on your own birthday, Sirius?”

“No, mother,” Sirius replies, shouting back across the small garden. His tone is light-hearted in a way Regulus couldn’t ever dare to when talking to his mother. “We are sorry.”

Walburga looks decidedly unimpressed, but she uncrosses her arms and turns to head inside again.

Sirius wraps one of his arms around Regulus, and Regulus looks up at his brother that’s both younger than he should be and yet much taller than Regulus in a way Regulus didn’t think he was. Can’t remember him being.

“Ready to greet the dragons, Reggie?” Sirius questions, looking down at Regulus.

“You shouldn’t call them dragons, Siri,” Regulus points out without thinking. It comes as a reflex, almost.

“Trolls, then,” Sirius counters and then laughs when he sees Regulus' scolding expression. “Relax, I won’t ever do it to their faces.”

Regulus frowns, his gaze travelling back to the dark house towering over him. Now more than ever, it feels like it watches him. He can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.

“Cheer up Reg. Andy is coming, remember?” Sirius tries, nudging him with his elbow.

That snaps Regulus out of his frown. Something curls tightly inside his small ribcage. It feels like ages since he last saw Andromeda.

“There you go,” Sirius comments and Regulus feels as if Sirius is so much older than himself, even though he’s so small himself and probably not older than ten. Exactly how old he is, Regulus can’t for the life of him remember, even when his birthday is today.

He looks rather dressed up as well. Not in a good way, but like he’s in a costume. For Halloween; the way he’s seen those muggles celebrate it. For some reason, Regulus thinks something more dressed down would suit him better. For some reason, he can imagine Sirius in those muggle trousers — jeans — and a t-shirt, although he’s quite sure he’s never seen Sirius in such clothes before.

He couldn’t have worn anything like that, because then mother would surely kill him.

“Come on, let’s go inside,” Sirius says, giving Regulus an odd look, as if he can just tell that something is wrong too. He puts a hand on Regulus’ back, leading him forwards. “It’ll start to rain any minute.”

As on queue, a strong wind tugs on their clothes and hair, as if to underline what Sirius said. Regulus glances up at the dark clouds that don’t look nearly as threatening as the facade of 12 Grimmauld Place that blocks more and more of them from his view the closer Sirius and him get to its door.

Regulus steps into the house from the garden and his foot lands on a landing in the staircase between two floors. Sirius stands by the top of stairs from the floor above, staring down at Regulus. It’s so dark inside that he barely sees more than Sirius’ silhouette.

In his hand he holds a trunk. Fully packed, Regulus quickly guesses before he even knows what is happening.

It’s an entirely different part of the day. It was just morning and now it’s late at night, judging by the darkness and thick silence of the house, which makes the building even more unsettling than it already is. Secondly, Sirius is decidedly older; he is considerably taller, shoulders broader and his hair longer.

Regulus looks down at his own hands, and they are larger than they were just seconds ago.

“Wha-what is going on?” Regulus asks quietly, looking desperately up at Sirius, who doesn’t move, not until many seconds have passed and Regulus has almost spiralled into anxiety.

What is going on? Where is Sirius going? Why does he have his trunk? Wasn’t he just somewhere else… both of them? Was it in their garden? Is he dreaming? Is this all a nightmare? Is he going mad?

Without a word, his older brother makes his way down the set of stairs to come to meet Regulus at the platform. Regulus watches him in silence, mouth dry and heart hammering viciously in his chest.

Coming face to face, it becomes clear that Sirius is almost a head taller than Regulus and even though he is taller too, it somehow makes him feel even smaller than he just did, out in the garden. Now closer, Regulus can see an angry bruise forming on Sirius’ high cheekbone. A voice in the back of his head wonders how he looks under the big, maroon jumper that he wears.

There’s probably lots of bruises like this one there.

How does it, the voice, know?

Regulus turns his eyes away, but unfortunately his gaze lands on the trunk in Sirius’ hand instead.

“Can’t you tell?” Sirius finally murmurs and his voice is darker too. He is frowning, his jaw set tightly, and there’s none of that usual confidence and playfulness that usually lines Sirius’ aura.

Regulus notices Sirius’ arms twitching a little every other second. He feels as if he should know why that is, but he can’t remember.

He is leaving. Regulus just knows. He doesn’t know what day or year it is but he knows that Sirius is leaving and he isn’t coming back. Somehow it feels like somewhere, in another universe, this has already happened. Or maybe it’s happened in one of his nightmares before.

Either way, there’s a strong feeling of déjà vu coursing through his body although he’s unable to explain.

“Must you leave?” he asks then, and it sounds weak and small and Regulus cringes.

But Sirius is leaving and he doesn’t understand and yet he really does.

“They’ll kill me sooner or later if I don’t,” Sirius replies quietly in a set, determined voice but his grey eyes are bright and shiny.

Regulus nods; his throat suddenly feeling extremely tight. He wants to reach out to Sirius but he feels frozen. Like all of his joints are stuck, and his limbs are heavy.

“Besides, I thought you wanted me to, at this point,” Sirius goes on coldly but his voice wobbles a little. He looks awfully tired.

“W-why would you think that?” Regulus whispers. He feels as if something, the house maybe, is listening and he doesn’t want anyone but Sirius to hear.

“Because… you know,” Sirius replies and avoids the question like it hurts him to think about it. Regulus hasn’t even heard the answer yet and it already hurts him too. “But… wo-would you come with me?”

Regulus stares at him through the darkness. Any moment one of their parents could wake up or Kreacher, but he isn’t too worried. It’s as though he already knows that they won’t.

Somewhere, a clock is ticking. The seconds seem to drag on for too long. Tick… tock.

Otherwise it’s quiet except for the wind outside tugging at the house, pushing against its old windows every now and then. And to think that Sirius is about to go out into this cold, windy and dark night by himself…

“Reggie?”

No… I can’t.

“No, I can’t,” he says, as if he’s on autopilot. As if it’s already pre-decided, set in the stars.

“Why not? Reg, I-I’m worried, what they’ll do… what she’ll do, to you, once she finds out-”

I’m sorry.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, avoiding Sirius’ glossy gaze as he feels his own eyes burning.

“Reg, you need to be brave , for once, please-”

Someone needs to stay. If you don’t, then I’ll have to.

“Someone needs to stay,” he quietly interrupts his brother, who shrugs back as if Regulus had physically hurt him.

“You will never choose me, will you?” he says, and the tears finally spill over, leaving glistening streaks on his red cheeks.

Regulus’ chest hurts like nothing else. He feels horrible.

“Siri, I’m sorry-”

“No,” Sirius shakes his head and pushes past Regulus. Regulus wants to reach out and stop him, but he’s still frozen. “Goodbye, Regulus.”

“Goodbye, Sirius,” Regulus whispers to himself and the darkness, when a moment of silence has passed and Sirius is already long gone, his own tears spilling over as well.

Suddenly it’s light around him and he’s sitting on his bed. His old, familiar bed. It’s calm here, warmer than where he was just now, and probably much quieter than where this Regulus was before he climbed up the stairs to his room.

It’s all very intricate. And it mangles his brain as he tries to keep up with it all.

Regulus feels familiarly stiff too, in a way he only does when he’s in his finest clothes. When he tries to wrap his arms around his knees that he pulls up to his chest his movements are rather restricted by his robes.

His eyes are stinging again but his cheeks are dry this time. He stares at the dark wallpaper in front of him. Dark, with a large, floral pattern. He wonders how long they’ve been here, those wallpapers. He wonders what he would’ve picked for himself, given the choice.

There’s a knock on the heavy door that belongs to his room, followed by the sound of it opening. He already knows that it’s Sirius; partly because neither of his parents knock and Kreacher always waits until Regulus gives him permission to enter.

But also because Sirius was just behind him when they left from the bottom floor, you know this Regulus, deep down.

Regulus has just always been good at moving both quietly and very fast in a way Sirius isn’t, which is why Regulus suspects he got such a lead, but he isn’t sure.

Sirius enters; dressed in a fine, light linen costume that Regulus remembers well, with even a bowtie around his neck to complement it. He’s tall now too but not as broad-shouldered as he just was. He appears younger. Regulus guesses fifteen. Or maybe fourteen.

Regulus watches as Sirius closes the door gently behind him and brings out his wand from his inner pocket, muttering a spell underneath his breath.

“So they can’t hear us,” he explains, putting the wand back and Regulus really wants to know what that spell was, but there’s a lump in his throat, preventing him from speaking. “Anyway, we really have the worst parents, don’t we?”

His tone is soft and he wants it all to sound casual but his smile is sad. He is quietly mournful and a little awkward at that too, in a way Sirius rarely is. For a moment, he lets it slip through, before he puts on a brave face, pushing his shoulders back and straightens his back, like the unbreakable son that he is.

Regulus nods quietly, because even though it feels like he was just thrown into this situation and his mind is laced with confusion he knows that his parents have just humiliated him in front of the family. Then, Sirius would have argued, which never ended well.

It’s the strong sense of déjà vu that leads him to this conclusion, but he knows that wasn’t a rare thing happening in this house.

Sirius slowly makes his way over to Regulus’ bed and once he reaches it, he sits down next to his brother. Regulus tearily eyes him and wonders how Sirius can seem so unaffected by his mother’s screaming. Sure, he knows that Sirius really is quite sad, but Regulus feels hollow to the point that it feels like he could implode, like a black hole. But now, Sirius is bright like the sunshine that seeps in through the curtains and makes the dust particles in the air look like glitter; much more like the star he was named after than Regulus.

Regulus has always thought that Sirius is much more like a star than he himself is. Which is the answer to his enquiry, of course, that and why Sirius is brighter and stronger than he is. That’s why he can take it all.

Regulus is more like a black hole than a star.

“I’m sorry, Reggie,” Sirius says, which causes Regulus to shake his head.

“It’s not your fault,” he protests quietly, wrapping his arms even tighter around his knees, and a ghost of a smile passes over Sirius’ features at that.

“Maybe not,” Sirius says. “But it sucks either way.”

Regulus nods again, blinking. His emotions are strong and he doesn’t trust himself to speak. He doesn’t want to cry in front of Sirius, even though he knows Sirius wouldn’t really mind. If the situation was different, Sirius might’ve teased him about it, but now Sirius is gentler than he most often is and then Regulus knows that he wouldn’t laugh at him.

“At least we’ve got each other, right?” Sirius says then and Regulus looks up at him.

His head is a mess and he’s already starting to forget what happened before, so he trusts Sirius when he says that they do have each other.

He doesn’t have much reason to believe that they won’t.

So he nods slowly and Sirius smiles. “You’ve got me, Reggie, remember that. And I’ve got you.”

Regulus blinks, eyes straining to get used to the lack of lightning. He sits by a desk in the library of Grimmauld Place; the only room except his and Sirius’ rooms that he remotely likes. Still, it’s dark and hauntingly quiet — so much so that even his own breathing feels too loud — and there’s a knot in his stomach and a stiffness over his chest. It’s silent in a way that’ll have you sneaking slowly to not make as much as a sound, even though there’s nothing to disturb, except the house itself.

Before him, there’s a book lying open. He must’ve just been reading. It’s old and looks to be bound in what Regulus dreadfully suspects is human skin. He stares at the cursive letters below his nose and he tries to remember what he’s doing but his head hurts.

He looks up again and his eyes drift to the window. The moon is shining brightly outside, casting long rectangles of silver on the dark floor as the moonlight passes through the window.

His gaze travels then to stop on a calendar on the table next to his left hand. It says that it’s 1979. He frowns.

He looks at the book again, unwilling to accept that he does not understand. The chapter is titled ‘Horcruxes’ and while that rings a vague bell he can’t pinpoint exactly what that is. So he gets back to reading although the words leave him with a deep, horrible feeling.

“Reggiekins!” Bellatrix calls and Regulus instinctively curls himself further into the space behind the tree.

It’s only a matter of time before she finds him.

He never liked Bellatrix, if he were to be honest. Not that he would ever admit that; not only would he feel horrible but deep down he also knows that Bellatrix wouldn’t be particularly hurt, but instead just more vile.

He doesn’t like her later, either.

And he hates when she calls him Reggiekins .

“Bella!” comes a new voice that Regulus instantly recognises as Sirius. He sounds angry, but not at Regulus. “Bella stop it!”

The tightness around Regulus’ chest releases a bit. He feels a bit braver even, and so he slowly stands up, stretching his legs — which to his great disappointment never seem to grow longer — and brushes off his dress trousers.

Sirius is here, and he’ll help him.

And so he steps out from his hiding spot; which wasn’t very good in the first place, considering there’s but one tree in the garden of Grimmauld Place. It may be old, on par with the house, and therefore its trunk is enormous; but that doesn’t make it a good hiding place. It’s too obvious.

To his defence, Regulus doesn’t even remember what happened right before he hid. He probably panicked. It wouldn’t be a strange reaction to most things Bellatrix does.

“There you are Reggie!” Bellatrix exclaims as soon as he steps forward, her eyes glimmering in a mean way.

She takes a step in his direction, but Sirius is faster and skids past her, coming to a stop in front of Regulus.

Sirius is taller than Regulus, so Regulus barely sees Bellatrix over his shoulder.

“Let him be, Bella,” Sirius says angrily, voice deep and as threatening as he can manage it.

Sirius doesn’t like Bellatrix very much either.

A huff of wind blows through the garden, tugging at their clothes and Regulus just wants this to end, so that they can go back inside. He’s shivering, only dressed in his dress robes, without a jacket.

Bellatrix ignores Sirius, and stretches up to look over his shoulder, down at Regulus. You see, Bellatrix is taller than Sirius even, and she looks as threatening as their mother Walburga.

Wild, curly black hair, black eyes, a black victorian-esque dress and a vile curve of her chapped lips.

“Something tells me that Sirius won’t be here to protect you forever Reggie,” she begins in that horribly sweet voice of hers. “You need to learn to protect yourself, little cousin, or else this will end badly for you. You aren’t getting any younger, are you?”

“Do it Regulus!” his mother screams, a wicked look in her dark eyes as she wildly points to Sirius’ name and face on the centuries old tapestry. “DO IT!”

Regulus looks around himself, wondering how he got here and what he just was doing, but it all becomes very clear what is expected of him as soon as he sees the state of his mother.

She looks like she’s absolutely, definitely, lost her mind. Her face is red, which is a strange sight considering that it’s always so pale, almost like snow, otherwise. And her hair, that’s probably the most unsettling part. Instead of being neatly put up into a strict knot or something like that, it’s messy and strands of hair — almost all of the front pieces even — fall into her red face.

He looks at his father, pleadingly, but his father doesn’t even seem to see him, staring angrily somewhere in front of him, jaw set tightly and with his hands balled up into fists. It almost looks like his eyes could pop out of his head, the way he stares.

It feels like the tension out rivalled the oxygen in the room because Regulus can’t quite breathe.

“Regulus!” Walburga shouts and Regulus shivers. “Show us that you aren’t a useless blood traitor! A disappointment like him! Show us that we can count on you and that you will not let us down like that little rat did.”

Regulus trembles but doesn’t move. He feels frozen still. They won’t even say his name.

Sirius was the only light in this wretched house and they won’t say his name. Sirius is their son.

And that, that lights a fire deep somewhere inside Regulus, deep into the core of his entire being. It’s not strong enough to make him argue with his parents, it just makes him even more miserable. Not that there’s any use to fight back against them at this moment; his mother looks like she could kill him at any second.

Walburga lifts her wand and points it at him. Right at his chest. Regulus isn’t surprised, but that doesn’t mean that he isn’t terrified.

It feels like the entirety of the house and all the family portraits inside it, watch every second as they drag on.

“Don’t betray me too or I will kill you. I’d rather have two dead sons than two traitorous ones,” she hisses, leaning closer and Regulus can’t bring himself to meet her black, flaming eyes.

Regulus’ wand shakes as he slowly lifts it. His tears blurs his vision so much he thinks he might accidentally burn himself off the family tree, considering that his image and name is right next to Sirius’.

If he does this, Sirius can’t ever come home.

But maybe Sirius doesn’t want to.

Maybe, just maybe, he’ll set Sirius free by doing this.

His brother has never been the one to accept being locked down like that, anyway.

Regulus thinks of nothing else besides this, as adjusts his grip on his wand with his clammy hand and wipes his eyes to get rid of most of the blurriness with the other. And then he casts the spell.

Sirius whirls around to look at him, grey eyes filled with anticipation. For a moment, Regulus is frozen, until he remembers the somewhat crinkled drawing in his small hands. What’s just happened, before , is already tucked away into the parts of his mind farthest away from his conscience. Nicely hidden, somewhere in the back.

Now they’re both standing in the dining room, Regulus by the entrance and Sirius by the table. Kreacher is running around, bringing out a snack for them. Their parents probably aren’t home. It wouldn’t be a strange occurrence.

Regulus always kind of liked those days. Just him, Sirius and Kreacher. The air always seemed a bit lighter and he wasn’t as worried. Kreacher and Sirius never yelled at him, not in a scolding manner at least. It’s also probably because Sirius always seemed happier as well. Calmer, yet brighter all the same.

Sunlight is falling through the few windows, creating golden squares on the already tiled floor.

“You drew something? For me?” Sirius asks, taking a tentative step closer and grabbing Regulus’ attention.

Regulus nods, his black fringe falling into his eyes, when he realises that he needs to move, or say something. Then he reaches out the crinkled paper to his older brother. He used the eraser frequently on it, wanting it to be perfect and in the strive for perfection, he was a little too rough when removing lines not deemed straight enough. The parchment itself isn’t in such good shape anymore — any traces of the supposedly fine quality now gone — but at least he’s happy with the art. Or else, he would’ve never given it to Sirius, or anyone else for that matter. Or else, he would’ve hidden it far away, embarrassed, or perhaps even set fire to it.

“What is it?” Sirius asks, carefully taking the drawing from Regulus’ smaller hand.

“Can’t you tell?” Regulus counters, a panicky expression twisting his features and dread and disappointment bubble up inside of him like it so easily does.

He’s never been a person very much at ease, has he?

“Yeah, of course,” Sirius replies quickly yet confidently. Maybe he can tell what’s going on inside Regulus’ head. “It’s clearly a dog, a very good one. And then a star which I guess is Sirius, yeah?”

Regulus nods hastily.

“A dog and its star. My star.”

“Yeah,” Regulus murmurs, feeling those stressful feelings wash away, melting off him like snow in the spring.

Now he just hopes Sirius likes it.

“Thank you so much, Reggie,” Sirius says then, and envelops Regulus into his arms, squeezing him to his shoulder. “Thank you. It’s really nice.”

“It is very nice Master Regulus,” Kreacher agrees as he pours them both a glass of milk.

“Thanks, Sirius,” Regulus murmurs into Sirius’ dress shirt that’s identical to his own, just a little bigger, before he lifts his head to meet their house elf’s gaze. “Thank you, Kreacher.”

Kreacher bows deeply, Regulus nods back.

“If you want to, maybe you could draw one with a lion and your star? So I can have a set?” Sirius asks, hopeful eyes looking down at Regulus. Regulus smiles, which is a relief of its own. It feels like it’s been a while since he smiled. “I could do that.”

“Yeah?” Sirius utters, shining up even more.

“Yeah,” Regulus smiles shyly.

Regulus doesn’t quite know what he did to provoke it. Well, now he has no idea, but he remembers this moment. It’s engraved in him, in his spine. Imprinted in his soul. He can tell immediately what day this is. December 23rd 1976. Regulus was fifteen, Sirius was seventeen and now a part of the Potter family.

Of course, the biggest consequence and, admittedly, great downside to Sirius leaving was his absence.

Sirius was very much a part of a time in his life that was gone, and yet still he wasn’t with how much it hurt Regulus still. Regulus thought about those lost but better years almost every day, especially later when he walked alone in the quiet hallways of 12 Grimmauld Place that never felt so imposing as now before.

But another big drawback was the way his relationship with his mother changed. She was more angry these days than before.

Back then Regulus rarely ended up at the receiving end of her anger. Mostly because he tried very hard to be a good son. He didn’t make any noise, he did well in their lessons, he spoke fitting, agreeing words when their parents expressed their views. It always made Sirius angry when he did and he’d sometimes hold an angry speech for Regulus in his room afterwards, explaining how they were wrong.

Regulus didn’t know then what to think. Sirius wasn’t dumb but neither were Orion and Walburga. In fact, they were very smart people, in Regulus’ opinion, since they seemed to know more about most things than he did.

Also, he lived in the same house as loud, bold, argumentative Sirius and so Regulus was never at the receiving end of his mother’s anger.

But this day, and many others like it, he had no clue what he’d done. It was like all his wiggle room had vanished and suddenly he made her angry by just existing.

And he knew better than to argue — Sirius had tried that and that did not work — so he just stood still, trembling with burning tears in his eyes, awaiting the pain that would eventually come while wishing that he was never born. Wishing for this strange, long and horrible nightmare to end. He’s never experienced anything like this before, but he can say for sure that he never wants to experience such a horrifying dream again.

He was really scared, last time mother was this angry. He is really scared; he can feel that numbing, icy fear creeping over him and making all his limbs heavy and his mouth dry.

His father is nowhere to be seen. Regulus can’t remember where he was, either he’s not home or maybe he just locked himself in his office.

Regulus really misses Sirius as Walburga towers over him, inching closer. She’s a tall woman and Regulus a small boy for his age, and he wonders how Sirius ever could be so brave.

“Trust me, we all wish that it would’ve been Sirius here instead,” his mother hisses at him, as if she knew what he was thinking. “You’ve always been too weak.”

If Regulus dared to open his mouth he would’ve told her that he wishes Sirius was here too. Instead, his eyes dart down to the dark, elegant but slightly crooked wand she holds in her pale hand. He looks up at her face again and tries to raise his chin, if not to appear brave then to at least appear noble, proud.

Walburga scoffs at him, a twisted grin appearing on her face. It’s not just Bellatrix that’s mad in this family.

She shakes her head, her black eyes boring into Regulus’ soul, before she raises her wand.

“You are such a disappointment, Regulus.”

“You’re such an idiot, Reggie,” Sirius laughs, throwing his head back the way only he does.

And there he is. Regulus manages to breathe again, so relieved to see his brother.

Behind Sirius, rain is hammering on his bedroom window, making Sirius’ room seem a bit darker even though it’s not evening yet. Still, this room appears much brighter than the hallway he was just in, in front of his mother.

Regulus can’t help but to smile, although he is confused. “What are you calling me an idiot for?”

“You know Regulus,” Sirius grins widely, looking insanely mischievous. He almost always does, to some degree, but the level of it is definitely heightened right now.

“I really don’t,” Regulus counters, trying to glare at his older brother but even he realises that it’s hard.

Sirius has always been really good at making Regulus laugh when he’s sad; even when he actively tries to stay angry. It’s always been hard to be angry with his brother. Sirius knows exactly where Regulus’ buttons are, for better and for worse. He’s too charming for his own good, like Andromeda always said. And right now Regulus is very happy to see him.

“You do, deep down in that skinny chest of yours, you know,” Sirius replies and Regulus forcefully rolls his eyes. “That you are an idiot.”

“Well, you are an even bigger idiot, Siri, and somewhere in your small brain, you know that.”

“What did you say?” Sirius questions, standing up with his eyes bright. “What did you say?! Take that back, Reggie!”

With a roar he closes the distance between them, tackling Regulus to the floor. Regulus lets out a yelp, laced with both surprise and amusement. Sirius’ eyes are bright and he laughs loudly as he wrestles Regulus.

In the end, Sirius is lying over his back, with Regulus pinned to the floor so that together they form a cross.

“So, Regulus,” Sirius begins, voice filled with mischief and proudness, “this is what happens when you insult me. So you know.”

“Remember who started it,” Regulus mutters and either Sirius doesn’t hear or he chooses to ignore it, because no answer comes.

Regulus just scoffs but accepts lying pinned to the floor. It’s better than most things he’s experienced recently. He’s nostalgic over moments that are still happening; moments when his biggest concerns involved Sirius using his more impressive bodyweight against him. When his brother teasing him had seemed like the end of the world.

Right now, he’s right here. He tries to focus on that for now, and finds it quite easy with his cheek squished against the carpet. In fact, he ends up thinking, a bit disgusted, about how much dirtier Sirius’ carpet must be than his own, considering he doesn’t let Kreacher clean as much as he wants to.

“Aren’t you going to fight back, Reg?” Sirius asks after a few moments of silence. He sounds a bit confused now. “Come on, show some fighting spirit little brother!”

Regulus doesn’t move, barely hearing Sirius. He’s deep in thought; primarily enjoying the stillness that never seems to last and secondarily thinking about dirty rooms.

 Sirius waits for another couple of beats before he quickly rolls off him.

“I’m not suffocating you, are I?” he asks a little worriedly, sounding so much like a kid, even to Regulus’ ears, even though Regulus is younger. He’ll always be younger. “Reggie?”

Regulus lies still for a moment, while Sirius sits back next to him. The older brother even pokes him with a finger to his side. He doesn’t know what Regulus is planning.

It’s childish. He’s too old for this, really. But he can’t help himself.

So when Sirius stills entirely, he attacks. Suddenly, using the element of surprise; it’s the only thing he has over his bigger opponent. It’s calculated, as calculated his eleven-years-old brain can make it. And he shoots himself off the floor, hurling himself at Sirius, who immediately tips backwards as Regulus collides with him.

Sirius shouts and Regulus laughs, loudly. It bubbles out from his stomach and up his throat without permission but he can’t be mad. Nothing about this makes him angry or sad.

This is somewhere nice. Much nicer than where he just was. He wishes he could stay here, for a while.

But he can’t because suddenly Sirius is gone from underneath him and the dulled brightness of the room leaks away entirely to make room for the darkness. Regulus sits back on his heels, looking around his room for a moment.

There’s newspaper clippings on his bedroom wall. And with that, he knows that a couple of years have passed. It makes him uncomfortable, although that discomfort turns a hundred times worse when a distressed and absolutely horrible scream cuts through the tense air of 12 Grimmauld Place.

Sirius.

Regulus suddenly feels like he’s suffocating. The floor seems to sway as Regulus creeps closer to the entrance of his room. He should walk faster but fear has a grip on him and it feels like he has water up to his neck when he moves.

Until Sirius screams again and a door slams closed in the midst of it. Regulus knows what just happened; it was his father closing the door to his study because he doesn’t want to be disturbed.

Which means that Sirius is alone with Walburga.

That makes Regulus run. He runs and almost tumbles down the flights of stairs, face first. His elbows and shoulders hurt from having to take on his weight as he uses the rails to break his falls and steer his way downstairs as he hurries.

He can’t listen to it. He doesn’t want to hear it, ever again. But in contrast to his father, he doesn’t just close his door. Sure, in the past he has hid in his room behind his closed door, but not because he didn’t want to be disturbed. Instead, he had been sobbing, scared for his and Sirius’ lives.

But now he stumbles down to the first floor and he turns the corner to see Sirius on the floor, his mother a tall and dark figure above him. Like he knows, Sirius lifts his head, stretching his neck into an odd position, just to make eye contact with Regulus.

There’s tears in his eyes. Regulus’ chest constricts.

He almost slips, as he runs as fast as he can, and he curses to himself because of course he would slip in a moment like this but luckily he manages to stay upright. He can’t quite breathe and suddenly Sirius is screaming again, his body squirming on the floor and Regulus scrambles to reach him. He bends his knees, crashing down on the floor, reaching out his hands. His mind is cleared of anything else but helping Sirius, his sight dark and blurry around the edges, only focusing on his brother.

He doesn’t know what his plan is. Throwing himself in front of Sirius. Dragging him away, perhaps. Launching himself at his mother?

But when his knees collide with the floor, just as his hands are about to curl into the fabric of Sirius’ band t-shirt, Sirius disappears.

He does land on the floor however, just in a different time and space; Sirius' horrible screams still ringing in his ears. 

“Regulus, what are you doing?” Andromeda questions, her brows furrowed as she stretches her neck to look at her youngest cousin.

“You know, Reggie, he’s always been a little strange,” Sirius replies for him, watching him too from the couch next to Andromeda as Regulus stares at the floor, nose centimetres away from the dark floorboards, catching his breath. Then he glares at Bellatrix. “But don’t you tease him about it, Bella, or I’ll make sure your eyebrows disappear sometime during the night.”

“I’d like to see you try you little brat,” Bellatrix counters, trying her best to look unimpressed — even inspecting her nails — but her eyes gleam mean.

“You do know he can hear you right?” Narcissa comments from her spot as Regulus closes his eyes to try to still his breathing. “He might be strange but he isn’t deaf.”

No one is screaming. At least not yet. He is starting to blush furiously as realisation settles in that they’re watching him being weird, crawling on the floor like some madman, but at least no one is screaming.

No one is screaming.

Regulus breathes in and out. Then he takes his eyes away from the floor, looking up at the rest of them. Instantly, his face burns, and he knows his cheeks and ears are turning pink. They always do, when he’s embarrassed.

There’s a rustling sound in the background, in the direction of where his cousins and his brother sit. It’s followed by a soft hand on his shoulder and someone sitting down next to him. Regulus looks up, hesitantly, meeting Andromeda’s soft, brown eyes.

She’s the only one in the family that has those, the gentle hazelnut orbs. Regulus has never thought it was a coincidence; he remembers that now when he looks into them for the first time in a long, long time.

She’s a sight long gone. Only when he lays his eyes on her, he truly feels how much he’s missed her. His insides twist by the sheer sight of her. His breath seems to get stuck in his throat.

“What happened, Regulus?” she asks, boring her eyes into him. It feels like they see all of him, like they understand him. And they make everyone else fade away, until it feels like it’s only him and Andromeda in the room.

Understanding, grounded Andromeda.

“I-” he begins, his small voice choking and he closes his mouth, clears his throat and wets his lips before trying to speak again, “I… I don’t know.”

Andromeda squeezes his shoulder and it’s been so long. Andromeda ran away when he was ten. That means that he’s that or younger, now. She’s younger than seventeen.

“It’s okay,” she says, steadily. Nodding once, holding his gaze. “You don’t have to know, all the time.”

Regulus nods too, and Andromeda pushes the curls that fall into his eyes when he does away from his face, gently.

“Okay,” he breathes and she smiles, pulling him into a hug.

Regulus can breathe again. He remembers now, that once, Andromeda’s arms were a safe place too.

“Come on, Reggie,” she begins after a while and it’s only her and Sirius that call him that, “let’s go and enjoy Christmas, shall we?”

After Andromeda and the comforting Christmas lights, making 12 Grimmauld Place look less imposing than it is, the darkness returns. Regulus finds himself curled into the corner of his bed, against the wall, when the door to his bedroom opens slowly with a creek.

Bellatrix is only a silhouette where she stands in the doorway, her shadow oblong and terrifying in the bright square on the floor that the light in the landing behind her creates.

“Hello, Reggie. It’s time,” she says and Regulus doesn’t have to see her to know that she’s grinning, her eyes bright. She and Sirius have always been quite alike in that way; bright eyes and big grins, but Sirius never looked so mad. She looks mean and entirely crazy and Regulus would give anything to have Sirius grin at him instead. Sirius’ grin might have been mischievous but it was never mad, never evil. “It’s your time to shine.”

“No,” he says, as a violently bad feeling flips his stomach, causing unrest in his mind and chest. He tries to push his body closer up into the corner of his room, but he’s already as close as he can be. “No!”

“No, what?” Bellatrix asks, feigning confusion as she steps into the room. A soft bluish white light blooms from her wand, deceivingly comforting, and she holds it out in front of her, so that she can see him better and he can see her.

“No, I don’t want it,” Regulus chokes, voice trembling but at least he said it. Said what he’s thinking. At last, he protests.

It is not going to end well. Everyone’s days are counted, but with this, Regulus’ count drops severely.

Bellatrix pauses, looking amused. She looks at him like she’s a spider and he’s a small, little fly caught in her net.

He often feels like a fly caught in a net. If it’s not in Bellatrix’s, then it’s Grimmauld’s.

“But that’s not what you said, Reggiekins,” Bellatrix says softly, her tone taunting, eyes gleaming impossibly meaner, as she leans closer, towering over him. “You said nothing. And so, the mark was branded into that pale, slim arm of yours and your life was forever doomed. It’s a shame, really. But oh well, such is life, little cousin.”

Regulus’ mind grapples to understand what she’s saying and Bellatrix slowly lowers her wand, directing the tip and the light towards Regulus’ left arm. Regulus lifts his right hand, which is trembling terribly, and slowly pulls up the sleeve of his jumper and there it is.

Stark black against his almost white skin and it’s a violent sight, crawling on his forearms, twisting and Regulus panics.

He stares and he stares and Bellatrix laughs and then he screams.

Regulus gasps, flinching. Almost like waking up from a nightmare.

He blinks and is so relieved to find himself — while still in his bedroom — alone, finally. It’s dark outside, and in his room, except for the lamp on his bedside table, casting a yellowish orange glow on the dark wallpaper behind it, and the rest of the room.

Bellatrix is long gone.

His heart still hammers in his chest though. Slowly he stands up from his bed, looking around himself. His knees are weak and his mouth dry, but it only takes him only a moment to confirm that Bellatrix is in fact no longer in the room.

Thank Merlin.

Is it over?

Did he finally wake up?

He closes his eyes for a moment, letting himself breathe. Maybe it’s over.

There’s no way to tell because Regulus doesn’t remember what he did before falling asleep. But, on the other hand, it makes sense that he did it in his own bed.

He feels watched though — more watched than he always does; there’s something more than the house watching — and his grey eyes travel over the different, old furniture again, but he is decidedly alone. Not even Kreacher is here.

They stop at the window. Something compels him to walk closer, to look outside.

There is someone outside, his mind tells him. It’s like a tickle, a voice tucked far away. Itching at his brain, moving his feet forward.

Maybe he actually isn’t awake yet, still.

He would be disappointed, but for now he’s too distracted by what’s happening now. He reaches the window and stares down at the street below it. At first it’s hard to see past his own reflection in the glass but eventually his eyes detect a figure, far down there.

Tall, with long hair. That’s all he can see. But he still knows that it is his brother.

He’s seen him before.

Something in him screams for him to sneak down the stairs, outside and into his brother’s arms. Another part of him reminds him that Sirius has a new brother now.

Regulus thinks about opening the window. His fingers twitch even, with the urge to feel the fresh evening air — or as fresh as it gets in London — hang his upper body outside and wave to his brother, call out to him.

But there’s something holding him back.

Bellatrix’s voice echoes in his head, bouncing off its walls.

‘But that’s not what you said, Reggiekins.’

That’s not what he did. So he doesn’t, and he just watches Sirius watch him, until Sirius turns on his heels, walking down the street and disappearing in the autumn shadows, away from the street lights.

Regulus sits once again in the dark green velvet sofas in the drawing room. He’s not alone, although Sirius is nowhere to be seen. Next to him is Barty Crouch Jr, nonchalantly half-sitting-half-lying on the sofa while Regulus sits straight-backed. He has a heavy glass of some dark golden liquid, fire-whiskey probably, in his hand and Regulus realises that he has one too.

Around the room are Rosier, Avery and Yaxley. The latter two sit on the sofa directly opposite to Regulus, and Rosier is casually leaning against the wall behind them, facing Barty and Regulus. He has the entire bottle in his hand instead of just a glass.

These are the people he spent his Hogwarts days with. Rosier and Yaxley are a little older, Barty a year younger. Avery in his year. He always saw them as his version of Sirius’ silly friends. His own Marauders — Regulus always found that name ridiculous, like they thought no one knew that they called themselves that but it was obvious from the beginning — his own replacement of Sirius just like Sirius replaced him.

It all comes back to him now. The feelings of betrayal, jealousy, abandonment. When spending time with Sirius himself made them all fade, he forgot how he felt. How he spent a long time feeling.

But here — in this room, lost in thought — his emotions run high, like electricity in the air. Like he could reach out and touch them, feel the energy in the space around him.

These people heighten those feelings, it must be. Because he saw them as his new brothers. The people he desperately wanted to be his brothers in the first place. People who actually wanted to hang out with Regulus, and didn’t do it out of obligation. Or maybe they do; he’s the heir of the most ancient pure-blood house after all. It makes sense.

He doesn’t feel very hurt by it. Not anymore; he must’ve come to this conclusion before. And besides, he has felt oddly detached from everything for a while now. Especially since this confusing mess started.

Yaxley takes a few large gulps of his red wine, before leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His eyes are stuck somewhere in front of him.

“Some of us might not make it tomorrow,” he thinks, out loud and Regulus can’t remember what they’re doing tomorrow but he’s probably entirely correct.

All he remembers from his time as a Death Eater is violence and death. So that statement seems highly believable.

Rosier scoffs and pushes off the wall behind him. He rolls his eyes. “Stop being so dramatic, Yaxley.”

“But it’s true,” Yaxley defends himself, sitting up and throwing his arms out. He looks pale, Regulus notices.

He knows the feeling.

“It’s the same as always,” he hears himself say and he looks away from Yaxley to see the others’ reaction as well. Avery has an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face, and Barty doesn’t seem to mind at all, grinning still. His eyes drift to the tapestry next to Rosier. He looks at the burned spots where Andromeda and Sirius used to be.

“Such party poopers,” Rosier comments, laughing tauntingly at them. It cracks Avery too, who always laughs with Rosier. “Show some fighting spirit! You’re Slytherins, Death Eaters. Come on! You’re disappointing me.”

He comes to stand by the coffee table between the sofas. There’s an old candelabrum placed on the tabletop and the burning candles cast strange light on Rosier’s face and the shadows contort it in an odd way. It looks almost scary with his white smile.

Regulus thinks Rosier has come to the wrong person, because all Regulus does is disappoint people. He’s almost immune to the accusation now, it doesn’t really hurt his heart the way it used to. At least not when it comes from someone like Rosier, it doesn’t hurt much at all.

Regulus doesn’t reply and Rosier rolls his eyes. He just sits, hyper-aware of the dark mark on his skin. Dressed in the dark robes that have come to be almost a fighting armour at this point. A uniform.

“Last time the Order killed five,” Yaxley points out, turning almost a green shade now.

“Because five people slipped up. But we don’t slip up, do we?” Rosier replies, running his strict gaze over the others. “You’re disappointing me. This isn’t how we won all the Quidditch games! How we won the House Cup!”

“But they are good. And they’ll be there tomorrow too, I’m sure of it-” Yaxley protests, until his voice breaks.

“And this isn’t at all like the Quidditch games,” Regulus chimes in bitterly but no one seems to listen to him.

It’s okay because he barely listens to himself, his own voice muffled like spoken through a glass window, like underwater. He’s thinking about something else.

They will be there.

Sirius will be there.

He wonders what it would be like, if it was him that died tomorrow. Maybe even Sirius would actually kill him. Accidentally, probably in that case. Or maybe he underestimates how much Sirius actually hates him. But it’s hard to imagine, when Sirius just came to check on him through his window, or when he light-heartedly wrestled him to his carpet.

But it also would be easy to do it accidentally, with the masks that they wear. It can’t be easy to know, that it’s actually Regulus behind his mask that looks identical to the others. One would have to go by build; height and weight. But, Regulus has also grown quite a bit since Sirius left home.

All he’s saying that it could happen. And he isn’t too upset about it.

But for some reason, he has another feeling though. That it will be Rosier himself instead. Unfortunately for him, but better for the greater good of the Wizarding kind, he supposes. Rosier is a mean one. Blood thirsty.

Regulus is nowhere near as dangerous.

“YAXLEY!” Rosier roars and slams his fist into the coffee table. The candelabra jumps, almost tipping over but rocks back and forth instead. The chandelier above them even rattles.

Barty yelps loudly before bursting out into an even louder, manic laughter. Yaxley stares at him with wide, distrusting eyes and Avery looks between them with a fascination on his face.

Barty leans closer into Regulus’ space.

“He got me there,” he says after he’s quieted down a bit and his eyes gleam.

Regulus doesn’t reply, but finally takes a drink of the whiskey.

Oddly, he doesn’t feel any burning of it, at all, as it slips down his throat.

He is writing a note. He is going to sacrifice himself, that much he knows.

This will be the last thing he writes.

"To the Dark Lord. I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more. R.A.B."

And then he’s standing in the doorway to Sirius’ room. Sirius looks up from the magazine he’s reading where he lies on the bed, on his stomach, feet in the air. He even seems to flinch, but quickly gathers himself.

“Hello there, stalker,” he grins, although he looks a little confused too. “How long have you been standing there?”

Regulus just breathes and blinks. His head feels like it's throbbing and he wants this bad dream to end. He just wants this to stop and he wants to just be free to go wherever he wants and he wants to go to his room and lie down in his bed and pull the covers up over his head.

“You know it’s rude to stare at people, don’t you Reggie?” Sirius replies nonchalantly but there’s just a hint in his voice that’s a bit concerned.

This is safe. But he doesn’t want to be here. Yet he does. It would just be a lot nicer if he didn’t have the strong sense that this isn’t real.

His eyes burn.

Sirius sees, frowns and sits up in his bed, shuffling around until his legs are in front of him, his back straight. “Everything alright, Reg?”

Regulus can only shake his head, he can’t bring himself to force any sound out of his throat. It’d probably only sound like a whine anyway.

“Come here,” Sirius says and it’s like the counter-spell to Regulus’ stiffness and suddenly he can move.

He doesn’t even think as he lets his feet take him into Sirius’ room, onto his bed and into his waiting arms.

Sirius just buries his nose into Regulus’ hair and squeezes him tight, tight, tight and it’s safe, safe, safe.

Regulus wants it all to end but he also wants this to never stop.

Regulus’ fingers travel quickly across the keys and Sirius plays the violin beside him. The whole family and possibly other guests sit behind him, spread out in the large ballroom, he can tell without looking over his shoulders.

Regulus frowns, his playing slowing down to a stop. He stares at the black and white, shivering to the point that he almost feels feverish. His head hurts.

He’s confused.

A murmur passes through the room behind him. Because he can hear it so clearly, Regulus realises that Sirius has stopped playing too. Someone whispers to someone else. Regulus swallows, suddenly feeling quite strangled by the bowtie around his neck.

Sirius leans in closer.

“Reg, why did you stop?” he looks between Regulus and the crowd he’s facing. And although Sirius sounds confused, and perhaps even a bit worried, his presence is a bit calming, at least. “Mother is going to be cross-”

“Regulus?” his mother herself interrupts, tone stern and warning.

To anyone else it could sound like a question but Regulus can hear the irritation in her tone, well hidden, but not perfectly so.

Regulus blinks, before looking up at Sirius, who frowns back at him. Behind him, the others start to actually talk to each other, instead of just whispering. Regulus still doesn’t want to look over his shoulder; he doesn’t want to see how many they are or how they look at him.

“Reg, are you okay?” Sirius questions, stepping closer.

He reaches out a hand and places it on Regulus’ shoulder, giving it a rough but assuring squeeze.

Regulus nods slowly, although there’s a distinct squeezing of his chest. The candelabra next to him is suddenly too close, the candles and their flames too warm. He trembles.

“Reg, just know that I don’t like lies. I can tell that you’re slipping.”

“Slipping?” Regulus echoes quietly under his breath, trying very hard not to tug at the bowtie.

“REGULUS!” Walburga yells behind him and Regulus flinches, accidentally pressing down on the keys, making a very unpleasant sound.

There’s a giggle behind him he knows belongs to Bellatrix.

Sirius squeezes his shoulder again before his hand slips away, leaving a cold spot. Regulus sits up straighter and lets out a trembling breath, trying to gather his wits.

You can do this Regulus. Concentrate.

Don’t slip away.

Suddenly he’s standing in a dark hallway. He looks to the right and sees his door, distinct with the sign he put up when he was younger.

Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black.

He wonders why he’s here, what’ll happen. But at least there’s no crowd staring at him now; it’s just one person. Somehow he can tell before he finally looks over his shoulder to see the taller figure of his older brother.

Sirius is standing at the other end of the hallway, and it reminds Regulus much about another night, especially when Sirius looks the same, but this time Sirius thankfully doesn’t have a trunk in his hand. Regulus’ chest feels a little less tight at the revelation.

There is an anger radiating off him though, Regulus can tell through the dark, several meters away. His brother’s emotions have always been strong, just like his mother’s. You can tell by the way their moods shift the atmosphere of the entire house.

Regulus is more like his father in that sense, or at least he has been told so by Andromeda. He thinks about that sometimes, because he doesn’t necessarily want to be like his father.

But he feels like his father when he turns around to step away, knowing that not much good will come out of anything when Sirius is this angry; something his father often does when it comes to his mother, knowing the same.

But Sirius is fast and closes the distance between them with long legs and grabs his forearm in a tight grasp. Regulus is forced to a stop when his arm won’t stretch any longer. With a tug, Sirius makes him turn around.

Dread pools in his stomach.

Seeing Sirius up close, he can tell that Sirius is more upset than angry.

“Why do you hate me?”

Regulus leans back a little, staring up at his taller brother, who stares right back down at him, eyes a little brighter than usual, but not in the right way.

“I… I could ask you the same question,” he replies slowly, much softer than he intended to sound.

The tension in the air is palpable. Regulus twists uncomfortably but can’t look away from Sirius and Sirius seems to feel the same way as he’s frozen, staring down at Regulus as well.

“I-I don’t really hate you, Reggie,” Sirius replies, the heat in his voice gone. Still engaged, but not angry.

“You don’t?” Regulus asks before he can stop himself, a genuine question.

“Reggie,” Sirius sighs and looks somber. When he continues, his voice sounds just a little bit uneven. “What do you think you going missing did to me?”

Regulus blinks. Going missing?

When did he go missing?

The note.

To the Dark Lord-

Regulus grits his teeth when his head suddenly aches, like a spear through his mind. Sirius’ grip, that’s loosened up, tightens again and he pulls Regulus forward; he must’ve started tilting backwards.

“You should’ve left me a note, Reg,” Sirius goes on, clinging onto Regulus’ pale, thin forearm. Regulus feels a bit trapped. His chest constricts again, suffocating him. “Because deep down you know that I don’t hate you.”

“Sorry,” Regulus breathes and although he’s alone with Sirius he feels like there’s a thousand eyes on him. He doesn’t understand and it’s too much and he doesn’t have any answers for Sirius. “I… I am confused. I-I’m so sorry.”

He leaves after this, remember Reggie?

Sirius opens his mouth again but doesn’t have time to say anything else before it all melts away.

“At least we’ve got each other,” Sirius says, leaning in just a bit closer to Regulus. He is fifteen, but Sirius left at sixteen. Sirius has already left.

Regulus frowns; he would like to agree but his mind is elsewhere. “Haven’t we done this before?”

Sirius sits back a little. Regulus expects him to look as confused as he feels, but his older brother just slowly nods.

“Yes,” he replies, calmly but bluntly all the same.

For some reason, Regulus didn’t expect Sirius to answer him so honestly. To catch onto what Regulus means. Because Regulus feels quite mad himself. More mad than Bellatrix ever were.

“But… how?”

“I dunno, Reg,” Sirius says, shrugging. Then he huffs a smile, raising an arched eyebrow. “You tell me, little brother.”

“But I don’t know either,” Regulus replies miserably and he doesn’t understand. And Regulus has always hated it when he doesn’t understand.

There’s a lump forming in his throat by just the thought of it.

Even with Sirius right next to him — comforting him and assuring him that they have each other — he feels alone. There’s an odd sense of this being not real. That nothing is real. Yet he has been here before.

“Why don’t we just get back to it then?” Sirius suggests swiftly.

Before Regulus can protest, or do anything really, Sirius snaps back to where he was just before. As if someone had put an obliviate over him, and he forgot all about it.

Regulus blinks. Sirius smiles. “You’ve got me, Reggie, remember that. And I’ve got you.”

His mother screams.

Not at him though, but for once, he wishes that it was.

The day is January 2nd 1979. The day he became Lord Black.

He’s clearly in some sort of an alternate reality; trapped in his own head or somewhere else, but he’ll never forget that date.

Regulus closes his eyes, clasping his hands together where he sits in the office, his father’s office. There’s stacks upon stacks of papers and books, along with artefacts and objects of dark magic. On the windowsill, there’s a photograph of the entire family; mother, father, Sirius and him, taken back at their summer house in France. He’s never been in here before, just waited outside the door, catching a glimpse of it from outside the hallway. He didn’t know his father had that framed, put up. It makes him feel odd, uncomfortable. His father never seemed like the person that would care to decorate with family photos.

He feels as if he should be here, yet like there isn’t anywhere else he can be, either. It’s not his; and this feeling is especially strong with the large portrait of his father behind his head, that he knows is staring down at him.

Although the office just became his.

There’s a soft knock on the doorframe of the room. Regulus opens his eyes to see the healer stand there, a resolute expression on her face. She looks exhausted, although her greying hair is still in a tight knot and her back straight.

Regulus knows what’ll come out of her mouth before she opens it.

“My condolences, Mr Black,” she says and Regulus just nods, once.

He doesn’t know what to say. He just feels cold.

The healer lingers, looking unsure.

Regulus presses air up from his chest, forcing out a few choked words.

“Thank you for your service.”

The healer nods, before turning around and leaving him in peace. Which isn’t much better, because all he can focus on is his mother wailing upstairs. He can’t tell if she’s angry or sad. Probably a mix of both, although mostly angry, if he knows her right.

She’ll probably complain later, fuming, that his father gave up. That he was weak.

Instantly, his chest tightens at the thought and he almost stands up, getting the urge to swipe everything on the tabletop off it. To break something.

But he stays seated, breathing hard but slow and clutching his hands into fists until his knuckles whiten, trembling.

He should write to Sirius, to let him know. So that he won’t hear the news through The Daily Prophet.

But he just can’t bring himself to reach for the quill.

“Gryffindor?!” Walburga yells furiously and Regulus flinches.

He’s sitting by the dining table, feeling so small. He must be nine years old because there’s no mistaking this moment; the moment his parents find out Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor instead of Slytherin.

“Gryffindor!” she roars again and suddenly porcelain crashes with the checkered tile floor, hurting Regulus’ ears. “Our son in that house of filthy blood traitors!? I am outraged! The hat must be wrong! A mistake has been made, we must do something about this Orion! Our honour as the most Ancient House of Black is endangered. We must do something before that foolish idiot of a son ruins us entirely!”

Regulus doesn’t really think Walburga believes that a mistake has been made. If he were to be honest, if they all would for once be honest with each other, it would be clear that no one ever truly believed that Sirius would end up in Slytherin.

“What are you staring at?” Walburga suddenly hisses and a cold shiver slowly makes its way down Regulus’ back once he realises that she’s turned her fury to him.

And to think that Sirius faced this almost every day.

His mouth is dry as the Sahara desert and he can’t get himself to answer, his tongue feels stuck, his lips won’t form words.“What? Are you thinking about betraying us too? Be like your brave, beloved older brother, hm?”

He immediately shakes his head, because although he has carefully thought about life in another house than Slytherin, he knows it would be stupid to actually consider it, and even more stupider to admit thoughts like that to his mother.

Sirius would perhaps do it, but not because he didn’t know any better, but because he wanted to provoke. He always wants to provoke Walburga.

His father’s eyes watch him wearily and it’s hard to say if he’s angry at Regulus too or just Sirius. It’s always been hard to read his father, he’s a closed off man.

“Get out of my sight!” Walburga yells when her very short patience is up and Regulus winces again. “I don’t want to see you.”

He looks too much like Sirius; that must be the problem. Stupidly, he opens his mouth instead of running away immediately. It’s just, can’t they see that he tries, so hard? That he will try so hard, for them, for the rest of his life? Until the end of his time?

He looks pleadingly towards his father, but Orion looks away. Regulus turns his grey eyes to his mother instead.

“But mother-”

“GET OUT!” she howls and Regulus falls off his chair, his knees painfully connecting with the tiles.

He whimpers and suddenly there’s a burning sensation in his shoulders and neck and upper arms. He looks up and flares are flying through the air, like sparkles from a fire or fireworks, and they’re coming from his mother’s wand and heading towards him.

Regulus scrambles to his feet, slipping once more, but this time he doesn’t even feel the pain in his knees, too panicked, and he runs out of the kitchen, almost crashing into Kreacher. He runs, and doesn’t stop running until he makes it up to his room, closing the door quietly behind him.

He jumps into his bed and curls into a ball, lungs burning and eyesight blurry from tears. And so he cries because his mother hates him and he misses Sirius and his father won’t ever help him and he almost knocked down Kreacher and never apologised and he’s confused and nothing makes any sense anymore, because time has stopped working. Because he’s going insane.

He is six years old and Sirius is chasing him through the house. Sirius is eight although he was just fifteen, then nineteen and then eleven. It doesn’t make sense. Regulus’ head hurts. And still, he runs when Sirius roars playfully, even giggling. It’s so easy, to give in, and pretend that everything is fine.

But, it isn’t.

Regulus slows down his step. Sirius will catch up either way, he has longer legs.

“You make it too easy Reg!” Sirius laughs behind him, slowing down too, not to crash into Regulus.

Regulus listens to his light, bouncy steps over the expensive carpets and smiles wistfully to himself. Luckily, Sirius is only eight years old, or else he would’ve noticed that something was wrong immediately, because little kids of only six years don’t smile in that bittersweet, melancholic way. But Regulus isn’t just six. He’s also thirteen, seventeen and nine.

“Got you!” Sirius exclaims as he jumps at Regulus, grabbing his shoulders.

Regulus almost loses his balance despite anticipating his brother, and Sirius hurriedly wraps his arms around Regulus’ upper body to stabilise him, but they end up falling to a heap on the floor either way.

Mother is yelling at him. It’s hard to tell why but he gets that strange, horrible sense of recognition.

“I’ve been here before,” he says, mouth dry like the Sahara desert, where he sits frozen by the dining table, his mother stalking closer like he’s an unassuming sheep and she’s a wolf.

“You’re correct Regulus. We’ve been here before. And how utterly disappointing that I have to be here again,” Walburga spits, eyes angry like a storm, her voice like ice.

She’s always angry at him, isn’t she?

He watches as she twirls her wand in her long, slender fingers.

Disappointment is nothing new.

Regulus has been disappointing all his life.

“Regulus?” Narcissa says, her tone impatient.

Regulus doesn’t answer at first. The hex from his mother that he waits for doesn’t seem to come and he blinks, surprised to see his fair-haired cousin in front of him instead of his mother and her aura of darkness.

“Regulus?”

“Oh…” he says, blinking. He looks around himself. He doesn’t know how old he is but he’s definitely in Grimmauld. He is never not in Number 12 Grimmauld Place. “Sorry, I was… lost in thought.”

Narcissa looks as beautiful and well-put together as always — a stark contrast to the way Regulus is falling apart — where she sits on the dark green sofa opposite to the one Regulus is sitting in. Meanwhile Regulus feels like an old rag but it’s comforting to know that someone is keeping up the elegance the House of Black historically has been associated with. Or at least has really wanted to be associated with.

“Why am I not surprised?” Narcissa replies, scoffing. “You really ought to get rid of that habit, Reg, it’s not respectable nor professional. No one will take you seriously if you keep drifting away, you know?”

“I am sorry, Cissa,” Regulus says, although he knows it’ll happen again. It happens all the time now.

Narcissa smiles. It’s both a little condescending and amused. Yet still warm in a way, oddly forgiving. In Narcissa’s way. “No harm has been done. So what do you think?”

“About what?” Regulus questions before he can stop himself. He clutches the armrest a little tighter with his hand.

Narcissa rolls her black eyes and gets up from her seat, her black silk dress falling elegantly and her long blond hair swaying behind her back. “Merlin, forget it.”

Narcissa may be elegant but she has never been patient. Even less so than Sirius — which is an achievement — but at least a little more than her oldest sister, thankfully. Never violent though.

Never violent, not like Bellatrix.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus says quietly. “I’ve been confused lately. I-I don’t know… It’s like I’m dreaming all these weird things-”

He stops himself and shyly looks up at his cousin. Luckily, her dark eyes are soft, even though her hands are tightly clenched together in front of her. She walks around the sofa to come and stand by him, reaching a hand down to touch his shoulder.

“It’s all right little cousin,” she says, gently, a small curve on her painted lips. “I would be too if I was in your shoes. After all, it has been some time now, since this happened. It’s easy to get confused. Memories fade.”

The floorboards creak underneath Regulus’ bare feet as he stands in the darkness, by the doorway to Sirius’ room. He doesn’t know exactly how he ended up here, but when he was young he always used to sneak into Sirius’ room whenever he had a nightmare and judging by the way he’s almost trembling; it was a bad one.

There’s shuffling from the corner in which Regulus knows Sirius’ bed is situated, he just can’t see it in the current lack of lightning.

He blinks, rubbing his eyes, and maybe he sees Sirius’ silhouette as he sits up, maybe it’s just abstract shapes that his brain conjures in the darkness.

“Nightmare?” Sirius asks knowingly, whispering. With the lack of other sounds, it sounds louder than it is.

“I’m having the strangest dreams,” Regulus hears himself replying, whispering too, before he knows it.

“So, a nightmare?” Sirius questions in response, because strange typically doesn’t mean good.

Regulus nods until he realises that Sirius probably can’t see and he forces out a small sound. “Yeah.”

“Come on,” Sirius coaxes and there’s some more rustling from his corner. There’s no audible difference from the previous sound but Regulus knows by experience that Sirius is making room for him in his bed.

In a second, he leaves his spot and hurries over cold floorboards towards Sirius’ bed and slips under the warm covers.

Luckily, Regulus is always cold so sharing won’t be too hot. Typically, he sleeps in many layers so if he gets overheated he can just shed one.

Sirius, on the other hand, will probably not sleep very well from now on but Regulus sincerely hopes that he’s had a few good hours of sleep so far. And that he’ll tell him if it gets too much, although he doubts that he will.

“You don’t have to worry Reggie,” Sirius whispers tiredly through the blackness in such a comforting way that Regulus manages a smile. “There’s many years until those nightmares come true.”

And suddenly Regulus’ blood runs cold as he remembers this night. There’s a chill running down his spine, one vertebra at a time. He starts trembling, ever so slightly, again.

He remembers what he dreamed of.

Murky waters and bony hands.

So it did come true.

How is he here then? And how does Sirius know?

Regulus lies stiffly, trying to gather some bravery to ask, until he finally opens his dry mouth.

But just before he forces something out, a soft snores comes from beside him and Regulus snaps his mouth shut again, terrified, unable to do anything but to wish for all of this to go away. To at least give him a break.

Or else, it’s surely just a matter of time before he snaps in half for good.

There’s tears running down Regulus’ round, rosy cheeks.

He tries to hide it, from his mother’s disapproving, hard gaze, by looking down at the stone stairs leading up to the front door of their home, but he can’t stop them from falling.

At least he’s quiet now. Earlier this morning he was sobbing.

Because Sirius is leaving. And no matter how much Sirius tried to get Regulus to calm down, no matter how much he promised Regulus this morning that he’d write and that it wouldn’t be too long — he’ll be home soon and then everything will be the same again — just to make Regulus stop crying — mother and father don’t like it when he does — it doesn’t help.

Regulus can’t even imagine life at home without Sirius. Sirius is his best friend. Sirius is the person he spends all of his time with except for when he’s alone in his room, drawing or reading, but more than half of those times, Sirius was there nevertheless, lying on his bed and mindlessly chatting about something.

He’s tried. Late at night, when he couldn’t sleep, he tried to assure himself that it would be fine, that he’d be strong and a good son and brother and he’d just have to wait until Sirius returns, and he thought he had it under control but now, finally confronted with the reality, he bursts at the seams.

He tried to be brave and good but now hot tears are slipping down his cheeks and he’s an embarrassment to both Sirius and their parents, but he’ll just miss Sirius so much, so much that it hurts and he isn’t ready to let his best friend go yet.

Sirius, young still — in the youngest category of all the kids going on the train that leaves in just half an hour now, Sirius and their father have to leave, any minute — grabs his shoulder and bends down a bit to Regulus’ height. Regulus looks up at him through blurry vision.

Without saying anything, Sirius wraps his arms tightly around Regulus’ shoulders, pulling his brother into his chest.

“It’s just a year, Reggie,” Sirius says softly by his ear. Luckily, Regulus’ birthday falls right at the end of August, just enabling him to join Sirius Hogwarts next year, despite the almost two year age difference between them. “You’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

It’s just a year, Sirius is right, but it’s so much more than that. Regulus knows that this is the first chapter of a story he doesn’t want to finish; the story of how he lost his brother.

Of course, Sirius couldn’t know that, not in 1971.

Although, Regulus already knows the end he doesn’t want to hear about. Because, he is eighteen years old, not ten. Or at least he was eighteen. Sirius’ birthday was just around the corner, making him almost twenty.

But for now, Sirius is eleven and deep down — behind all the worry for Regulus — about as excited as he has ever seen him.

Will ever see him.

Regulus is sure of that now, looking up at Sirius once Orion declares that they have to go and his brother lets him go, cold September air replacing Sirius’ warmth, that Sirius will never be more excited — at least not in Regulus’ presence — than he is right now. He knows that for a fact.

This day was one of the worst of Regulus’ life. It was also one of the happiest in Sirius’. It’s tragic how things can fall out in such a way.

Regulus stands by the doorway to the drawing room, in which his mother sits, by the fire. She looks awfully alone. He knows that she is. It’s just the two of them now.

It’s easy to know that this is recent. The house is so quiet.

And the lump in his stomach that slowly travels upwards reminds him why he is here.

She looks elegant still, even though there’s grey in her once pitch black hair. It’s pulled up into a strict hairdo and her dress is as imposingly beautiful and dark as ever. Authoritarian. He wishes she would’ve taught him how to be authoritarian too. He would’ve needed that, as Lord Black.

All she made him was smaller, putting all her effort into Sirius, who hasn’t been here for a long time.

But of course, no one knew that they would end up here. Two, lonely souls, instead of the four where it began. He doesn’t know why but he thinks the house laughs at them. It feels like it does. It’s never felt so big and dark before. Never so quiet. He thinks even his mother is a little bit threatened.

“Mother?” he says, tone surprisingly even. He knows what he must do. He remembers a note; if it’s in the future or the past, he isn’t quite sure but he can tell that this concerns that.

Because he has been here before, a long time ago.

“Yes?” she asks.

If she was surprised by his presence, she doesn’t let it slip. She does sound distant though, like she’s deep in thought. He wonders what she thinks about.

It’s probably his older brother. It’s always Sirius.

“I have to go out…” he begins. “I’ve got errands that I must finish,” he adds, sort of like an after-thought.

There’s something about his mother that’s always made him lose his track. He could’ve thought out an entire conversation, a script down to the details, and still he would lose it the second he entered her attention.

“Of what sort?” she questions, tone even. She doesn’t sound very interested, but like she knows that as the unofficial head of the house — she’s never seen Regulus as much of a leader — that she must listen.

She needs to be in control of the situation, in control of it all. No matter how lost she gets, how confused and distant, Regulus suspects that that instinct will never leave her.

“Just minor things, nothing of interest to you, or anyone really... nothing interesting,” he says because he doesn’t have a finished script, because just minutes ago, he said goodbye to his brother before he left for Hogwarts. It’s too soon to say goodbye to his mother too.

Still, he plays with. Because he somehow knows what to say.

“Don’t be gone for too long,” Walburga replies and she doesn’t even look at him. All he sees is her silhouette, outlined by a warm, orangey light coming from the fire.

On the back wall, there’s a huge shadow of her, shifting a little as the fire moves, almost dancing.

And perhaps Regulus reads a little bit too much warmth into that ever-so-cold voice. Maybe, because he wants it so much. ‘Don’t be gone for too long’. It sounds like something he’d always wanted her to say, only a bit more worriedly than she does know.

But just maybe, there’s a sliver of concern there. A bit of love. Because even Walburga Black must’ve realised by now that sons don’t last forever.

Although he’s probably exaggerating her motherly tone. One can’t count on memories, you know. Because memories fade and they’re wrong.

“I won’t,” he lies. “I’ll hurry,” he adds and that’s more of a truth.

“Good,” she says. He wants her to look at him.

She doesn’t. So he leaves.

Sirius closes the door to Regulus’ room behind him with a click. Regulus looks up at him through stinging eyes.

His brother is dressed in a neat and light linen costume. He looks very proper, but Regulus feels as though he’d suit better in somewhere else.

Sirius mutters a spell underneath his breath.

“So they can’t hear us,” he explains once he’s done and spins around to face Regulus. “Anyway, we really have the worst parents, don’t we?”

The corners of his mouth curve upwards into a small, lopsided grin but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Sirius’ stormy orbs betray the truth, like they always do, which is that he isn’t as unbothered as he likes to pretend that he is.

Regulus nods once, a lump in his throat preventing him from speaking and Sirius leaves his spot by the door, making his way to Regulus.

He sits down on the bed next to his younger brother. Regulus feels the bed dip down underneath Sirius’ weight. He looks up at him, his eyesight a little blurred from the tears that desperately wants to fall but Regulus won’t let them.

He can’t even remember why they’re there in the first place. Probably because his parents had one of their less fine moments; judging by Sirius’ comment. 

Sirius smiles back, soft and bright like the sunshine that seeps through the curtains, making the dust in the room sparkle like embers.

“I’m sorry, Reggie,” Sirius says and Regulus shakes his head.

“It’s not your fault,” he protests quietly, although he can’t remember what happened. He doubts that it was Sirius' fault more so than Walburga’s or Orion’s.

Not that it matters now, Regulus thinks to himself with discomfort. He’s years too late to this moment.

“Maybe not,” Sirius says, shrugging. His fringe flops down into his eyes. “But it sucks either way.”

Regulus nods once, but doesn’t say anything. The lump in his throat grows along with the feeling that none of this is real.

“At least we’ve got each other.”

“Except we won’t,” Regulus replies, burning tears in his grey eyes that he shares with his brother.

Sirius’ face falls now too, as if on queue. The brightness slips off and he bites his lip, his expression like a downcast, gloomy day. All of him finally looks tired.

At last, Sirius is exhausted. Regulus thought he’d never see the day.

“No, not forever,” Sirius admits, voice sounding odd. None of that confident tone to his words.

“So you know too?” Regulus asks, a bit confused. Alarmed, unsure. He sits up straighter. “What happens, later?”

“Yeah, of course I do,” Sirius replies like it’s obvious, despite his slightly choked voice.

Outside, the sun seems to go into hiding behind clouds because suddenly it’s a bit darker in his room and the embers are gone.

“But…” Regulus begins, not understanding.

“Reggie…” Sirius sighs, sounding older than his years. “Don’t you get it? I’m you. I’m all you. All of this-” Sirius gestures around himself, at the room, at the sunlight pouring in through the window, at the dust in the air that looks like sparkles, like embers “-is all you.”

It feels like someone grabs Regulus’ throat because suddenly he can’t quite breathe.

He had his suspicions but he hadn’t exactly guessed this.

“You’ve made this up yourself,” Sirius goes on, leaning a little closer and tilting his head down; sort of like how a parent does to make sure that their child understands. “Of course, something like this happened once, but it’s been a long time since now. No one remembers the details and order of things, not even you. The only thing sure is that this, right now, isn’t real.”

Regulus blinks. He feels more like a black hole than a star.

He is more like a black hole than a star.

He… he is a dead star.

Regulus’ fingers land on the keys again, and he stares at them while his family stares at his back. Sirius stops playing the violin after a couple of seconds when he realises that Regulus has stopped completely. A murmur passes through the crowd behind him.

His head aches. Sirius leans closer to him.

And it can’t be, please-

“Reg, why did you stop?” he looks between Regulus and the crowd he’s facing. And although Sirius sounds confused, and perhaps even a bit worried, his presence is a bit calming, at least. “Mother is going to be cross-”

“Regulus?” his mother herself interrupts, tone stern and warning.

To anyone else it could sound like a question but Regulus can hear the irritation in her tone, well hidden, but not perfectly so.

Regulus looks up to Sirius, looking for confirmation, help, anything, but Sirius looks just as worried and confused as last time. Behind him, the crowd starts talking but it sounds like a white noise to Regulus.

“Reg, are you okay?” Sirius questions, stepping closer.

Regulus shakes his head, more and more furiously.

“Reg?”

“REGULUS!”

Regulus screams.

He screams and he screams although he’s never been a screamer. It was always mother, Sirius, Bellatrix and Rosier and more. Regulus never screams, he doesn’t scream.

Except he does now. He feels as if his heart should hammer in his chest, pound like it was about to jump out. But his chest is entirely still. It just aches.

“Am I dreaming still?” Regulus asks Sirius.

“No, you’re not dreaming, Reg,” his brother replies, shaking his head slowly.

Dread squeezes Regulus’ heart, tightly. Ice pools in his stomach.

He pauses and then asks what he’s really wanted to know for a while. It’s time.

“I am dead, aren’t I?”

The question hangs heavy in the still air; sort of like those bluish-grey clouds that heavily hang in the sky, that make you stop and wait for the first raindrops to fall, because you know that they are coming any minute. There’s a moment of suspense, during which you don’t even really breathe. You just wait. Wait for the anticipated sky-fall to come.

They are standing, staring at each other through the dark. Sirius, at the top of the stairs with a trunk in his hand. Regulus, at the platform, looking up at his older brother, who he is about to lose, for good. A clock is ticking in the background, but otherwise it’s quiet. The silence feels palpable. Regulus’ throat is dry.

Sirius stares at him for a moment.

Tick… tock.

“That is unfortunately the case,” Sirius replies, eventually.

And in that moment, Regulus doesn’t even try to take cover as the sky opens up. He doesn’t try to run from it; he accepts it, staying and letting himself get soaked. Even when it chills his entire being.

“You’ve known for some time, haven’t you?” Sirius questions, watching him with equal parts curiosity and pity.

Like he’s oddly fascinated but still feeling empathy, trying to balance between the two.

“I don’t know,” Regulus chokes out, his voice sounding odd. Maybe, in the back of his mind he’s known all along.

Meanwhile, Sirius begins to walk down the set of stairs, the thuds of his footfalls seem to echo through the entire house. The steps croak unhappily, as they do all the time. He comes to a stop in front of Regulus, setting his trunk down by his feet — finally, Sirius stops and puts the trunk down — and Regulus bends his neck a little to look him in the eyes. The height difference between them was never so big as it was, here, at this moment.

“Oh, but you do,” Sirius smiles and it looks like it hurts, with that dark bruise on his cheek. “Deep down in that skinny chest of yours, you’ve known.”

“M-maybe… but I… I don’t… what happened?” He can’t quite remember and it terrifies him.

“I dunno,” Sirius says, shrugging. The brightness fades from his face. “You didn’t leave me a note, remember? I am out there, back in the real world, unknowing of what happened to you.”

“Oh,” Regulus murmurs. There’s something, deep in his core, that’s pulling him downwards. Like realisation, settling. Like a rock tied around his foot, dragging him down. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Sirius says. “Well, not really. But I don’t even know that you’re dead. To me, you are still alive. Just missing. Gone.”

“Isn’t it better to just be dead, then?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Sirius says, shrugging again. Regulus dreadfully feels as if they’re stuck in a loop. “You tell me.”

“I think so… so I’m sorry,” Regulus states, and realises that not many times before, has he stood with such a straight back, and said that he was sorry so calmly and sincerely. Not that he lied that much, just that he often uttered the words with fear in his voice, through a throat thick from crying, or not at all.

“Thank you, Regulus,” Sirius replies, a wistful, solemn expression on his face. It looks strange on a sixteen year old. “But, Reggie?”

“Yeah?”

“You do know that I am just you, right?” Sirius asks, looking a bit unsure.

Regulus nods; he doesn’t like that it’s the case, but he knows.

“I do. None of this is real. It hasn’t been real in a long time.”

Sirius shakes his head. His black hair, that’s growing really long, sways as he does. “It hasn’t.”

“I just… I just wonder where you are now,” he ponders out loud and surprises even himself. Ideas, feelings, thoughts exit his mouth at the same time as, or even before, they fully form in his head.

It’s new to him. Or at least it’s been a long time since. Recently, he’s been so careful about what passes through his lips, words calculated and measured.

It’s a sinking feeling, knowing that he’s dead, for sure. Not necessarily bad — he’s not even sure that he’s too sad about it — it just feels like he’s slowly, peacefully, letting himself sink to the bottom of a blue lake. Like he can see the dancing surface — how the sunlight shatters beautifully against it, like sparkles — and he knows what waits up there; a place where everything is louder, faster, brighter and more real, but he can’t get up. It’s a calmness down here, but also the slight feeling of being trapped, held in place. Even though it’s quieter and more still — at least now that the realisation has set in, when he isn’t terribly confused anymore — he misses it. He misses his brother.

And he wonders where he is, what he’s doing, right now. Whenever that is, up there, above the surface.

It’s strange because he hasn’t known exactly where Sirius is in several years. Ever since Sirius ran away, this night, he hasn’t known his brother’s location for sure. For the first two years he was probably at the Potters’ when he wasn’t at Hogwarts, but after he graduated and joined… joined the Order of something — Regulus can’t quite remember details anymore, it’s all a fuzzy mess — Regulus lost all track. It did bother him some; he thought about Sirius a lot, often right before he fell asleep, wondering if they’d meet each other on the battlefield. He remembers not wanting that. Wishing that it wouldn’t happen even though wishing doesn’t do a whole lot of good.

But now, now he would give anything to see Sirius, just a glimpse, just to know. He looks at the version of Sirius that’s standing in front of him, looking perfectly real and watching him expectantly, but it isn’t right. He wants to know where the real Sirius is and he doesn’t really know why. Maybe Sirius was sort of an anchor to Regulus, keeping him from drifting away completely. Maybe he was the only person he ever really loved. It’s hard to say, with complicated feelings like that.

Although maybe they aren’t so complicated. Perhaps Sirius thought them to be easy. Sirius has always found a lot of things Regulus found hard, simple. Like French. Sirius has always been more natural at French — their second language — than Regulus.

Or like the way he didn’t find standing up to Bellatrix too difficult. Or leaving things that aren’t good for oneself behind. Or just laughing. Being optimistic. Seeing the good in things. Regulus wishes that he learned to smile like Sirius did.

Regulus would give anything, but he has nothing to give anymore. Maybe he never really had anything, except status and gold, but none of those things really matter; definitely not down here, at the very least.

“I mean, out there, in the real world,” he adds after a lot of time has passed. Or at least it feels like it; perhaps it was only a moment. Time is fleeting, like that.

“I can’t really tell you that,” Sirius replies, that strange wistful look — knowing, patient, too-old-for-this-body — bright in his grey eyes, the ones Regulus shares, the ones they’ve always been complimented on, even though their mother never really liked the colour. “But I’m probably wondering where you are too.”

It’s a shame it had to end like that. He wants to tell Sirius that he misses him, but it doesn’t do much good to tell this one that.

I miss you.

Regulus isn’t — maybe he should say wasn’t because Regulus apparently isn’t anything anymore except dead — as good at French as Sirius is but one thing he does know is the French translation of ‘I miss you’, which is ‘tu me manques’. It just stuck with him, ever since he heard it for the first time, when he was a kid. Its direct translation is ‘you are missing from me’, and Sirius would probably call him soft if he knew that Regulus was so fond of it.

To some people, it’s probably very romantic, but to Regulus is better puts into words the feeling that’s followed him around from years like an uncomfortable pressure over his chest. He misses Sirius and the time during which he properly had a brother, that’s a more simple way to put it, but to say that it was missing from his being, like a lost piece of the puzzle, is more accurate. It’s like when Sirius walked out that door, just down the stairs and at the end of the hallway, right out of sight, he took a part of Regulus’ soul with him. Put an end to that part of Regulus’ life, the only good part.

And it’s probably too much, too strong, too potent, too soft. Emotions aren’t good things, they make you weak and get in the way, like his parents taught him, but even if they were wrong, Sirius probably still would’ve thought it to be uncomfortable to hear, too extreme. Not that Regulus would’ve ever dared to voice his feelings, not like this.

Sirius has other people he loves, all of them probably more than Regulus. The people that he chose, that are his new family. Regulus is the one he left. Regulus used to be jealous but jealousy is useless now. Instead he’s quite happy for Sirius’ sake, because he loved his brother; he can see that now. He loved him, even though he shouldn’t, even though he wasn’t allowed and even though Sirius left him behind.

Maybe it’s a tiny bit less complicated after death.

He wonders where Sirius is, but also if he misses him too. If Regulus is missing from his being too. If he feels permanently uneasy, that something is never quite like it used to be. Like something is broken and unfixable and even though it’s past him, just something in the corner of his eye, moving in the background, it’s still very much there and not fully ignorable.

Even though Regulus doubts Sirius is as broken as he is — it was his choice, it’s his friends, it’s his loud laughter that rang out through the dining hall at Hogwarts and made Regulus’ stomach twist — he figures that you can’t spend half your life with someone; seeing them every day, seeing them as your best friend, and fully forget it. Fully push it away, be completely unfazed when they disappear, even if they stopped being your brother a while ago.

Logically, Sirius probably misses Regulus too, wherever he is. And Regulus is nothing if he isn’t logical.

The conclusion brings him a little peace, even though it makes him feel worse at the same time.

“I’m sorry,” he says then, his voice sounding choked to his own ears, even, “and I would give anything, anything, to be able to tell you that.”

“Oh, Reggie,” Sirius says and grabs his shoulder, pulling him into his arms. He hugs him tightly, really squeezing him. Regulus rests his head against Sirius’ sturdy shoulder and it almost feels real. “What do you say, why don’t we go somewhere nicer?”

Regulus sighs. He doesn’t really think he deserves to, and besides, it’s not real anyway. But what does it matter? He is already dead. There’s nothing more for him to do, but stay here at Grimmauld, for as long as it lets him.

“You just have to relax,” Sirius speaks up, as if he can tell where Regulus’ thoughts are going. He probably can, seeing that he’s a creation of Regulus’ own mind. “It’ll feel weird at first, but then if you fully let yourself go, it’ll feel much better. It’ll feel as though it’s happening for the first time again.”

Regulus is sceptical about that last part but ends up nodding once. What else can he do with himself now? Maybe it’s a bit crazy, pretending to have never seen your own memories before, but what ghosts are sane?

“Okay,” he says, resolution and acceptance in his tone and then tall Sirius is gone, replaced by a smaller version of himself, that chases Regulus down the hallways of their home.

It’s one of those days where Grimmauld feels oddly light; the ceilings high and hallways wide, sunlight filtering in through the windows. Laughter echoes through the hallways, in a way he vaguely remembers that his parents don’t like, but he doesn’t care anymore. There’s nothing they can do to him anymore.

And then it’s Christmas and Andromeda is there. Regulus hugs her tightly and buries his face into her shoulder.

Narcissa asks him for advice about Lucius, even though Regulus knows nothing about the matter.

And then Sirius sits next to him, on his bed, and assures him that at least they’ve got each other.

Regulus doesn’t protest, but nods and smiles, tears blurring his vision.

Then he’s standing with Sirius by the entrance to the ballroom at Grimmauld Place. It’s probably New Years Eve, or something similar; his parents always arranged the most spectacular party of the pureblood community every New Year.

Organising the celebration was the only thing that brought real joy to his mother, he thinks.

And now their ballroom is filled with people in tailcoats and dresses. In their best robes, clearly, hair done up nice and backs uncomfortably straight as the stand, talking to each other over the music. Some of them are having completely pointless discussions, and some of them after talking politics, which of course, could be seen as pointless too.

Some of them are getting recruited, remember Reg?

Right. He later found out… somewhere when someone — he isn’t sure who it was anymore — told him that they were recruited at New Years eve at his house. It’s something Regulus hadn’t known before, that fates were set, right here, in this overly decorated room. It’s quite sad, to think of it. He was never really free himself. Because even though it wasn’t his life that was promised to the Dark Lord this night, it would never really end well for him as soon as Walburga and Orion invited these sorts of people into his own home.

On top of that, his opinion of his parents’ balls and other events turns even worse.

A lump in his stomach starts to form, gaze travelling across the room, looking for young people signing their life away — because that’s exactly what it is, really — until his older brother distracts him. Thankfully, because he can’t do anything about this now. It’s too late.

Sirius leans closer to Regulus, bending down to his height, his eyes still stuck on their oldest cousin mingling with the Lestranges. They’re both dressed in ridiculous robes, but Regulus has always felt that it’s fine as long as he and Sirius are matching.

“Here’s what we’re going to do, Reg,” he prompts, tone low but filled with mischief and fiery determination. He doesn’t even have to be that quiet, with the constant murmur of multiple conversations and piano music around them. “You’re going to go first, because you’re faster and smaller than me. You’ll go unnoticed. Then, you’ll confuse her, grab her attention, and then I’ll strike, using the element of surprise and then I’ll… well I don’t quite know yet, but it’ll be great, you’ll see Reg.”

Regulus — not quite sure what year it is now or what it was when he died, not sure why this is happening — grins. He is sure that he was absolutely terrified when this happened the first time, but now he feels carefree. He’s dead. Bellatrix can’t hurt him anymore. None of this is real.

Although it feels so very real, real enough for Regulus to still be fully invested, enjoying the thrill and spending time with Sirius, who isn’t, but feels present. Like he’s just here, brushing shoulders with Regulus, telling him about his grand plan.

Nothing can go wrong. There’s nothing that can happen to him and so he grins.

Sirius seems to catch this out of the corner of his grey eyes and turn them both to Regulus, looking a little surprised. “So you’ll do it?”

“I’ll do it. I can easily weave through the adults… they won’t notice me,” he says and Sirius brightens up considerably.

He looks so proud, bright like sunshine. A grin is slowly spreading on his face, his grey eyes wide. He even straightens up a little in surprise. Regulus just wishes he could’ve made Sirius this proud in life, before he died, before Sirius started hating him.

“That’s the spirit, Reggie! Absolutely fantastic.”

Regulus just grins back.

“You know, life moves fast,” Sirius says and that has an entirely new meaning for Regulus now, a new weight he isn’t entirely sure that Sirius means or understands when he says it so casually. “If you don’t fool around a bit, you might miss it.”

And he is right about that.

“That sounds oddly philosophical coming from you,” Regulus says before he can stop himself, because he misses the banter.

“That’s an oddly big word, coming from you,” Sirius counters mercilessly and Regulus snickers.

And then he leaves Sirius’ side and makes his way through the sea of dresses and tailcoats and other dramatic robes, towards Bellatrix, not at all worried that he won’t see this Sirius again.

There’s a man standing in the middle of the drawing room and he’s terrifyingly familiar and yet Regulus doesn’t remember seeing him before.

Although he isn’t sure of anything anymore. A long time has passed now. He doesn’t know how many years but it could be more than an eternity.

He remembers that he used to be so sure; so sure when answering the questions on tests back at Hogwarts, so sure when his father told him to be proud to be a Black. When his mother told him that he was a disappointment.

Now he stands in the shadows and he doesn’t know what year it is or how old he is or who the man is; although he recognises the wild, black hair. Even though it has just a smidge of grey in it now, that it hadn’t before.

He does look a lot like his father though. But not entirely. Father never had that long hair.

The man’s eyes reach him. He lets out a strangled noise. Regulus’ own breath gets stuck in his throat.

He almost disappears into the shadows again, to go somewhere nicer.

“R-Regulus?” the man says and his glimmering grey eyes are terrifyingly familiar. It feels like they fix him to his spot, half in the shadows, half not.

Regulus slowly nods, unable to say anything. He is still holding his breath. And he can’t move.

“H-how… how are you here?” the man asks, voice uneven and choked.

“Who…?” Regulus begins, his own voice sounding just as odd. His heart hammers in his chest.

“It’s S-Sirius,” he says, but the name comes out as a whisper.

“Sirius…” Regulus repeats, testing out the name and just as it rolls off his tongue he is sure. And it feels good to be sure of something. “Sirius,” he repeats himself then, but with much more confidence behind his words.

“Yeah,” the man breathes, seemingly understanding what’s happening. “Sirius. And you are Regulus.”

“Regulus Black,” Regulus repeats decidedly.

“Exactly,” Sirius says, flashing him a half-smile that seems unsure, distrusting, sad. “Now, how are you here?”

“What do you mean?” Regulus says. “I’ve always been here.”

Sirius frowns. His mouth wobbles oddly.

“This hasn’t happened before,” he adds then, mostly to himself.

“No,” Sirius replies still, shaking his head furiously. He laughs a little, without any trace of humour whatsoever. He sounds bitter. Like there’s bitterness deep down in the core of his entire being, waiting to escape, and Regulus wonders what bad things happened to him. “I am pretty sure no bloke has ever met their supposedly dead little brother after sixteen years. His little brother, who still looks exactly like he did when he disappeared.”

Sixteen years.

It doesn’t mean anything to him. He can’t imagine that many years into the future.

He flips it around. Sixteen years before he died, he was two years old, too young to remember, so that doesn’t mean anything to him either.

All and all, time has lost its power.

“No,” Regulus replies softly, frowning. His vision goes out of focus as his eyes get stuck on nothing in front of him. “I’m sure it hasn’t.”

He doesn’t notice Sirius stepping closer to him. “I can’t believe it. Fuck I missed you so much-”

He reaches out his hand for Regulus’ but it passes right through him. Regulus doesn’t even feel it. Sirius shivers.

“So you really are dead.” A tear spills over in Sirius’ eye and rolls heavily down his cheek. He wipes it away.

He doesn’t bother with the second, or third.

“I suppose so,” Regulus says, looking up at his taller, now even older, brother.

“How did you die?”

“I… I don’t remember.”

Sirius shakes his head again, looking away and swearing under his breath. He really wanted to know, Regulus realises. He can feel it in the air, Sirius’ anxiousness, his grief, his desire to finally get some closure.

“I wrote a note.”

“No, you didn’t,” Sirius replies, a bit more heat behind his words as more tears escape his eyes. “I’ve spent all this time wondering, what happened to you. Really… I-I never stopped thinking about you, Reg.”

“The note wasn’t to you,” Regulus says. Sirius scoffs quietly, his shiny grey eyes stubbornly looking away. “Because… because you couldn’t know.”

He remembers it vaguely. The note, he remembers perfectly. He’s seen it many times by now.

“What couldn’t I know?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Shit, Reggie. Were you murdered? Hunted down for running? Killed in action? Reggie, you are my little brother, it means a lot to me to just know-”

“But I remember the note.”

He’s seen it many times these past, apparently sixteen, years.

“What?”

“The note. I wrote it to The Dark Lord.”

Regulus doesn’t quite want to admit that he doesn’t really remember exactly who the Dark Lord was. Sirius’ wide eyes and paleness provides him with what he needs to know, for now, though.

“‘To the Dark Lord,’” he begins, his tone low, solemn, "...’I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know it was I who discovered your secret... I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more… R.A.B.’"

During the time he recited the note, Sirius has sat down on the nearest sofa, paleing further. His grey eyes are stuck somewhere in front of him, the tears a steady stream now.

“Merlin, Reggie,” he chokes out after a few moment’s silence. Regulus waits patiently because if there’s one thing he has, it’s time. “You-you sacrificed yourself, didn’t you? B-but I don’t understand… horcruxes? What did you do? What did he do?”

Regulus slowly shakes his head, regretfully and the realisation settling on Sirius' face tells Regulus that he already knows before he opens his mouth. “I’m sorry-”

“-but you don’t remember.”

“No,” Regulus says and flashes him a sad smile. “But if it means something to you… horcruxes...” his words drift to nothing because he knows Sirius already understands. He knows that Sirius will spend a lot of time researching horcruxes now, just like he did.

Sirius nods. “I-I’m sorry, Regulus. I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Regulus says. His eyes are dry. He’s not sure he even remembers how to cry anymore. “It’s alright.”

“I-It really isn’t. You are so young… were s-so young,” he cries and Regulus doesn't quite know what to do. “And I wasn’t there… I wasn’t… and I see these kids a-and to think that you were the same age, almost, i-i-it’s just-”

“It’s fine. It was a long time ago,” Regulus assures him steadily because that seems like something Sirius would do if it were him.

“But not to you, I’m sure.” Sirius says, turning his eyes to him. He looks odd, like this. Suddenly eerily calm but still on the verge of losing it.

“No,” Regulus admits. “Not to me. But time doesn’t mean anything to me, not anymore... time takes all things in the end. It has already taken me, but it’s okay. It was supposed to happen that way, it’s the way of the world. And maybe it only served me right. I did bad things and had bad views on life and muggles.”

“You were a product of your environment,” Sirius says and he’s really an adult now, wise and all. The Sirius Regulus knew probably wouldn’t have said something like that.

Regulus smiles softly, appreciating Sirius’ response, but shrugs, because he isn’t sure it’s only that. In that case, Sirius would’ve gone down that road too.

“Perhaps,” he muses. “Either way, I’m dead and it was a long time ago. I hope there’s not a hoard of people hating me out there, somewhere. But… in honesty, I only really cared about you.”

Sirius just sobs. Regulus stays with him for a while, before he returns to the shadows, where he belongs.

Sirius, the old one, stands in the hallway outside of their rooms. They’ve been here many times before; eight and six chasing each other, or sixteen and fourteen, fighting, amongst many more. Never like this though.

It’s been awhile since Regulus saw him; well, in actual measurements of time, but he’s seen many Siriuses in many different ages but all younger — almost two decades, Regulus guesses — than this one.

Sirius stares at him for a moment, looking wild and disoriented at first, but then sadness and longing, and really a cocktail of similar emotions, settles on his face. It doesn’t take long before his eyes start glittering again; Regulus can tell even from the darkness of the house he grew up in. The house he’s trapped in.

“Sirius,” Regulus starts, without really knowing where he’s going with this, but just to fill the silence that stretches for far too long, even for him.

But Sirius cuts him off by leaving his spot and rushing towards Regulus. Regulus stares at him, unmoving, waiting for Sirius to pass through him; captivated by the oddness of his older brother’s behaviour. But then Sirius reaches him and Regulus barely has time to react to the feeling of Sirius simply grabbing his shoulders before he’s confronted with the feeling of Sirius wrapping his arms around him tightly, pressing him into his chest for the first time in a very long time.

Now, he doesn’t feel time, not like he did when he was alive, but he knows by the feeling, that this wasn’t yesterday. Like a tickle, in the back of his mind, he remembers the feeling of this. The only difference is that he can’t feel or hear Sirius’ heartbeat as he rests the side of his head on his ribcage. Not because he’s gone deaf, but because it isn’t there anymore.

“You died,” Regulus remarks and that does things to his own unbeating heart that takes him by surprise. It hurts in a way nothing has hurt since he died himself.

“Yeah,” Sirius says, and his voice is thick with emotion and yet light-hearted. “Shit happens. Time takes us all, it’s the way of the world.”

Regulus snorts softly and Sirius squeezes him impossibly tighter. It’s a bit suffocating but Regulus doesn’t mind, not after not feeling much at all for so long.

“I’m sorry you have to be here,” Regulus says then. “I know you never liked it at Grimmauld.”

“It’s not your fault, you lovable idiot,” Sirius replies fondly, masking his tears with humour. “It’s not so bad, with mother gone and you here. You were the only good part about this place; and now it’s just you and me, Reggie.”

“But I’m sure there’s people you’d rather be with than me,” Regulus replies, not even bitterly because this is another one of those things he’s sure of. Sirius relaxes his grip and leans back, inspecting Regulus. “Unless you all somehow made it through it all.”

“James and his wife Lily died shortly after you did,” Sirius tells him and there’s so much pain in his voice that Regulus even shivers. Of course he had expected that something along those lines would happen sooner or later, but hearing Sirius say it so bluntly and straight-forward… it’s harrowing. “Killed by the Dark Lord himself… But Reggie, there’s room enough in my heart for them and you. I don’t love them any more than I loved you.”

“Really? I thought you hated me.”

“Regulus, I loved you through it all. If I didn’t, then I wouldn’t be nearly as hurt as I was. I could never truly despise you. And I hope you truly never despised me either.”

“I didn’t… I couldn’t.”

“I loved you Reggie. I couldn’t have loved you any more.”

“I loved you too Sirius. Love you.”

“Tu m'as manqué,” Sirius says in unpracticed French, deformed from probably years of not using it.

“Tu m'as manqué aussi,” Regulus replies and his French isn’t as perfect as it once was either but it doesn’t matter anymore.

Nothing matters anymore, other than this. Regulus adjusts his arms around Sirius’ back, weaving his fingers together, locking his hands, and feels more alive than he has in a long while.