#Regulus whispering those last lines before he walks into the cave

[xysidhe]

Break My Heart by Matt Hansen has jegulus vibes

You can’t convince me otherwise. Just. Listen. Look.

James-

Darling, I would break my heart If it was gonna make yours whole I would rip myself apart If it was gonna heal your soul

Woke up in a panic for a moment Forget that you told me that you had to go

Regulus-

And I’m scared but I don’t wanna show it Feels like it’s been weeks but it’s only been days And I’m slowly losin’ all my self-control There’s only one thing I can say it’s

I could spend forever always lovin’ ya But if I let you go, would you be happier?

James-

I would pick up all the pieces I don’t need a million reasons Oh, to break my heart for yours

I’ll be lyin’ if I said that it’d be easy To realize that I wouldn’t have you by my side But I’d do it, if that’s what you needed

Regulus-

I say that I could let you go And I pray, I never have to know You’ll always be the one I love the most

https://open.spotify.com/track/5nlKcuzD8Pd79njhGXt1vT?si=425fb9ce08ae412a

[hpdabbles]

Prompt: Severus thinks the best way to get revenge on Sirius Black is seduce his brother. It goes horribly wrong

The idea comes to him right after Black taunts him by  announcing the loser of whatever game the large group of lions and baggers are playing had to ask out Severus Snape on a date. The pain of the others gagging as they turn to look at him is nearly as much as the hate he feels for those smug-looking silver eyes.

See how much you repulse everyone? They seem to say. See how much no one wants you? You’re the worst punishment I can think of.

He forces himself to walk away willing their mocking laughter to silence for once as he steps. Severus had been enjoying the sun, reading his books not bothering anyone, enjoying himself for once and they had to ruin it. They always have to ruin it. Especially Sirius Black.  

He keeps his eyes on the ground, watching his feet raise and fall as the earth passes him by. There is a deep ache in him that earns for vengeance, to make Black rue the day he said that about Severus.

But how could he? Even Severus can admit the teenager is outrageously handsome, and had he not been an ass then even he would fantasize about dating the Gryffindor. Trying to say that no one would date Black would only make him look like a fool.

“Excuse me.” A soft voice said as a person passed him rather abruptly. Severus spared the running student who was most likely late for a class a disinterested glance. Shorter then him, with long wavy black hair, a sweet looking face and green robes of the finniest silks. 

Regulus Black. Black’s younger less impressive brother. He didn’t have any friends, barely even talked but looked and acted like a deliciated porcelain doll. He is beautiful like his brother but he was also always one harsh word from breaking. He bended before conflict and tried to blend into the shadows when every one so much as looked at him.

Half the time the youngest Black looked frighten to even be out of bed much less in public. The only reason he isn’t a target of bullies, who would love to turn such a weak little boy into a toy is because his family name protects him.

Severus found his lack of strength disappointing. If he had been born lucky enough to be part of such a powerful family he would use that power to the fullest. Such a privilege was a waste on Black who-

Who is the younger brother of Sirius Black, someone Severus wanted to hurt. Who adored his precious little brother no matter how much he tried to hide it. What would the bastard do if said little brother was to be deflowered and become a laughing stock were the knowledge ever to get out?

It’ wouldn’t be that much of a challenge really, to seduce the younger male. After all he is isolated, any attention would be welcome even if it was from someone as repulsive as Severus. He just had to find the right things to say, the right buttons to push and he would have a warm body in his bed. 

Severus smiled a wicked thing watching meek little Black run up the stairs, ducking his head as he pass other students.  “What fun this will be.”

He waited for the perfect moment to approach the other. It took two days but eventually, Severus is able to find the way to seduce him in the library. He had been watching him for a while, making notes of what Black did in his spare time and found the boy absorbed in a fantasy novels more often then not. 

Most purebloods turn up their noses at that branch of literature, thinking too uncouth for their refine taste. Black knew this because he only read them when he was sitting in the farthest corner of the library away from all other students in a old table that was half hidden in shadows. His silver eyes lit up with more joyous emotions then even flying as Slytherin Seeker did, as he read his books while Severus watched from a between the space of two books a bookshelf over.

Severus had his mother send him a book from his bedroom, a old copy of the Thief and the Fantasy Spell-book, where a muggle finds a spell that allows him to cast magic. Of course it’s not even close to real magic but hopefully it would do it purpose. It was the only book he knew that had the word “Fantasy” take up have the book cover. 

He walked out his hiding place pretending to be so engross in his novel that he did not notice Black scrambling to hid his book. He looked up with a well-practice surprise look on his face fighting not to smirk in amusement. Black is sitting with hunched shoulder, a advance potion text book now in his hands. It is upside down.

You fool no one. Severus thinks tauntingly.

“Apologizes I didn’t realize anyone was back here.” He says out loud instead making his tone casual. Black flinches, as if being address is a physical attack, but he lowers his book ever so slightly as Severus turns making sure he can see the cover.

Like a fish hooking onto a line the Black blurts  “You read fantasy?” in surprise before shrinking back.

Hiding the satisfaction his plan is working, Severus struggles to keep his face the perfectly even disinterested expression he is known for. “Hm? Oh, yes. I think it’s a lovely past time, though I only read muggle kind. I haven’t been able to find a wizard series I enjoy besides Spartan’s Path.”

“You’ve read Spartan’s Path?” Black lowers his book completely his pretty face on full display. Severus, despite himself, feels a bit stun by the eagerness and wonder in his expression momently blinded by how attractive the boy is. 

“Y-yes.” He coughs. Now was not the time to be distracted by his hormones. “My favorite is the third book, The Sea of Sin.”

“Mine too! I just adore the scene where they fight the giant sea serpent all the while the ship captain is attempting to seduce Nephele!” Black exclaims with far more life then Severus has ever seen. “Oh but it was romantic don’t you think? Especially when the Veela shows up to try and lure him away? I have a theory that it didn’t work because the captain despite being male who is attracted to a female, is not actually interested in gender but rather the person. It would explain why his magic comes form the necklace of his True Love then Nephele herself. The cave scene for example-”

Severus took a seat across from Black who was speaking more now then the last five years he’s been at Hogwarts. He couldn’t get a word in because Black jump right into another theory of his, citing examples from the text to back up his claims in a very un-pureblood matter.  

He couldn’t look away. 

Oh no Severus thinks watching as Black spoke with his hands a happy little flush on his cheeks, those lovely grey eyes focus entirely on him Oh no he’s so cute.

His plan of revenge! How would Severus go through with his plan now, that Black had gone and placed butterflies in his stomach with his surprisingly sharp mind and energetic softness?

“Oh by the way Snape.” Black says some hours later when they are walking back to their dorms, after talking so long about various book series they both enjoyed. Severus himself got carried away with a few potion academic essays but found that Black could keep up with. He never had so much fun speaking with a other human about possible changes to potions before not even Lily. “If you keep following me around I’ll make your intestines into out-ines. Well good-night!”

Severus blink as the fifteen year old waved at him with a sweet smile and scurried down to his dorm. 

Did....had he been aware the whole...time? He never felt more off balance then he did in that moment questioning every action of his that could have given him away. 

“Don’t beat yourself up Snape” Black called over his shoulder, twisting his neck so one grey eye could peak at him. A playful smirk was on pink lips that had lava boiling in the pit of Severus’s stomach. “Not everyone is as intelligent as me to pick up the signs. I’m sure you’ll get better at deceiving people when you’re a big boy. I wouldn’t mind teaching you a few....things.” 

The last word curved with sinful promise that a shiver ran up from the half-blood’s toes to his head as Black threw his head back and laughed. But it was not mocking. It was a honest to Merlin, laugh of mirth as if though Severus was someone who could inspire that type of emotion in someone. 

“Oh no.” Severus whispers watching the back of the other until he disappeared behind a door.  “Oh no he’s hot.”

[neptune-stars]

hey darlings it’s samhain today so here’s a little fic i wasn’t sure what to do w for the occasion!! mwah sorry for the angst

———————————————————————

when sirius was eleven, he walked up to the hat and requested gryffindor.

“your ambition will be the end of you,” said the hat, but put him into gryffindor anyways.

sirius, while in school, could not figure out what that meant, because he wasn’t particularly ambitious. he supposed he liked pranks well enough, but they weren’t his entire life, and he liked pissing off his parents, but he wasn’t going to make a career out of that either.

it came to him suddenly, and when it did, the world stayed the same.

james potter met sirius black when they were barely eleven and defended him against some snotty greasy boy on the train. james potter didn’t care that sirius was a black, didn’t care that sirius’ family was dark - he didn’t mind that sirius wasn’t all that light either.

see, sirius would lay down his life for just about anyone really. but there were only two people that he would kill for. that he would love until the end of time.

and one of those people were james potter.

when james died, all the bright and happy and good things in the world died with him. sirius was the one to find him first, his james lying spread eagle across the stairs, wand still in the living room. but james looked peaceful there, like he was ready and happy it was finally over, and sirius wanted nothing more than to go to the afterworld and yank that peacefulness away.

lily is upstairs. her usual bright green eyes are cold in death, red hair surrounding her head like a halo. her collarbone is bleeding something awful, and when he pulls down her shirt a little to see - to stop the bleeding, to stop the blood from sinking into her shirt because it was lily’s favorite sleep shirt, one of marlene’s old ones - he finds a rune, a cross between algiz and six he’s never seen before carved into her skin. her blood is sprinkled around the edges of the room and there is a matching rune on harry’s crib.

harry is alive. he is bleeding sluggishly from the forehead, and he is wailing something awful, but he is alive. sirius picks him up, closes lily’s eyes and closes his own when he walks past james. puts harry carefully into his sidecar, and then hagrid is there and sirius trusts him and and and

he is filled with a vengeance so deep there is nothing that could possibly stop him. he think he would kill dumbledore, voldemort, Lady Magick herself if they got in the way, and he goes after peter with reckless abandon-

he is tricked.

it is such a slytherin move, such a slytherin move for little, mousy peter pettigrew that when the aurors find him he is laughing and laughing and laughing and then he is crying.

alastor is there, staring at him with nothing less than absolute disgust. his mentor, his and james’ mentor, thinks sirius killed james, and that just makes him laugh harder.

he is thrown in azkaban without a trial. it’s cold there, and they only give you one meal a day, and the vengeance still burns but not as bright as his grief.

bellatrix, his big cousin bella, takes him under her wing. she’s a little bit mad, and she tortured his friends to insanity, but she knows he didn’t betray the potters and she know he didn’t kill all those muggles and she still loves him. she protects him, with their cells right next to each other, by telling him story after story until her throat goes dry and she can’t speak another word, like they are children again and walburga and druella are screaming and banging on the other side of the door while they hide from their mother’s rage.

“why did you do it, bella?” he asks her one day, when his brain is particularly loud. “why did you kill all those people? those innocents?”

“i didn’t mean too,” she says, and she sounds terribly small. “the dark - it’s seducing, sirius. it pulls you in until you can’t get out.”

the death eaters all come from broken homes, homes where there parents were still together in loveless marriages and their mothers liked to scream and slap and fathers like stone cold silence and quiet crucio’s. the dark arts is a savior, a winning, something to help them get away from suffocating under the stress of it all.

it doesn’t help, sirius thinks, that muggle studies is so behind. sirius thinks a lot in azkaban and he thinks that muggle studies class should be mandatory, because most of the death eaters are convinced muggles are still burning witches and wizards at the stake.

“will you kill him?” asks bella another day. “the man who betrayed you, and cousin james?”

sirius thinks of all the people he killed during the war. he thinks about the small part of him that thought it had been fun, literally ripping out spines and burning them from the inside out and back again. he had insisted it was for justice, justice for marlene and dorcas and mary and gideon and fabian and benjy, but now he isn’t so sure.

“yes,” he says. “i will.”

when the ten year mark hits, bella screams in her cell, screams and screams and slowly the rest of prison fills with it too. the next day, in the courtyard, she shows him her arm, the tattoo that was almost faded and now is turning black again.

“he’s coming,” she says, but she does not sound happy. she sounds tired.

“promise me something,” she says later that night. “promise me, when we get out of here, because you know we all will - promise me you’ll aim to kill. i can’t keep going on mad, killing people just for their blood.”

he stares at her, his cousin bella. he remembers when they were just kids, reading in the library and skating on ice in bella’s back yard in the winter, and then later, in hogwarts, when he would find her cursing muggle-borns and half bloods and blood traitors alike. he didn’t recognize her then but he recognizes her now, as his scared, tired big cousin, more like his mum than his mum ever was.

“i promise,” he says. “now promise me the same.”

“you have a godson,” she says. “you must protect him.”

“promise me,” he insists.

she does.

the day before he escapes, he hugs her tight in the courtyard. she hugs him back, hands shaking, and when he sneaks out in dog form she gives him a shaky nod.

the ambition to protect james failed, so now he will do so with harry. the last potter.

harry flies like his dad, maybe even more, with completely recklessness and only the smallest amount of control. harry throws witty comments at draco malfoy and winks at cho chang in the air and all sirius can see is james.

“he’s a werewolf!” hermione granger explodes, pointing to remus, and sirius thinks he is the only one who sees harry’s look of yeah, obviously.

(later, harry will confide in sirius that he figured it out the moment he saw remus’ boggart.)

“i don’t think my dad would’ve wanted his best mates to become murderers, thanks,” says harry, still sarcastic and still so james even as he protects the man who made him an orphan.

sirius does not have the heart to tell him he already is one, and apparently neither does remus, but they back down anyways.

sirius thinks the next two years pass in a blue he barely remembers. he went to the caribbean for a little while, ate good until he was almost healthy and glowed with a light tan. he went back to dreary Scotland because harry was being hunted, again, and he remembers, distantly, living in a cave, watching harry in dog form as he slammed into the ground, a dead boy held tight in his hands.

dumbledore sends him right back to the dursley’s, and sirius wants to kill him. harry does not get grief counseling, or therapy, or to be surrounded by people he loves, because he is harry potter and it is not easy, being him.

sirius moves back into his old, childhood home, and stares at the spot on the living room floor where he had been tortured before he ran away. he throws up in the bathroom where he and bella used to hide.

he cleans the drawing room, where he and andi used to stare at the inter crossing lines, andi promising “i won’t be on there one day, just you wait.” he cleans the kitchen, where he and cissa used to flurry around with kreacher, throwing flour and sugar at each other while they attempted to make cookies.

he walks through the halls, where he and regulus used to chase eachother, to the stairs, where he used to slide down the curling banister, to the cell, where he used to get locked up.

harry comes to grimmauld and he yells at his friends - rightfully so - and then yells some more at dinner, and then he cries. he cries in the living room, in his bedroom, in the kitchen, in the drawing room, on the staircase. he cries when sirius hugs him and he cries when remus pats his shoulder and he cries and he cries and he cries and sirius just has to sit there and listen, because he can do nothing else.

it is quiet when harry leaves for school. sirius drinks a lot of firewhiskey and smokes a lot of hidden cigarettes and it is lonely even after harry comes back for yule time because then he leaves again.

hermione writes him a letter and says harry doesn’t cry anymore. now he’s angry all the time, at dumbledore for ignoring him and cedric for dying and his friends for not understanding and his parents for killing themselves so he could live, at himself for living-

on june eighteenth, sirius wakes up for the last time. he brushes his teeth and uses whiskey as mouth wash for the last time, eats blueberry pancakes for the last time, pets buckbeak and kisses remus for the last time and-

he hugs harry for the last time. there is a voice whispering in his head that he knows it is today, today he will finally rest, so he hugs his godson extra tight.

bella is there. she looks insane, with her hair spiked up and eyes bright, but when she looks at him her smile softens a little bit.

“you promised,” she mouths.

“so did you,” he says back, and they duel.

she doesn’t want to kill him. she hits him with a stupefy, but the veil is just behind him, and he falls through it.

harry is screaming bloody murder, heartbroken and pleading, and wrestles with remus who is trying to hold him back. it’s like the whole world stopped, and bella is looking at him, meets his eyes one last time, and says loudly, clearly, “i promise.”

he says thank you, i forgive you, i love you, with his eyes, and then he falls faster and lands hard on the ground.

“blimey, mate,” says a voice. “you really are clumsy, even when you’re dead.”

james potter grabs his hand and pulls him up, regulus holding his shoulder, and sirius begins to cry.

[saudadeonly]

you take a breath and then another

Read on ao3. Part six.

Death Eater!Sirius Black AU

New Year's Eve on the edge of a cliff. Regulus has regrets and wishes; Sirius has nothing at all. But at least they are on the same side.

Word count: 2435

___

December 1981

The ground is cold underneath Regulus’s fingers as he braces his hand on it to sit himself down on the patch of dry grass at the edge of the cliff. His legs dangle over the ledge and his stomach twists itself up as he gauges the long way down that might await him at the slightest slip.

Sirius doesn’t look at him but he does move his hand toward something at his side and hands him a bottle of Ogden’s, which is not nearly as empty as his eyes. He’s shivering but his fingers don’t tremble as he brings his cigarette to his mouth and takes a drag.

Regulus casts a warming charm, first on Sirius then on himself, and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat. Sirius’s shivering lessens infinitesimally, his shoulders drawing up. He gives a small nod of acknowledgement.

Regulus opens the Firewhisky and swallows down three gulps before he gives it back to Sirius, who doesn’t hesitate to bring it to his lips and drink. It burns down his throat, but Regulus has long ago learned to swallow the bite.

Far below them, the ocean laps at the rocks, relentless, and the sky above drifts by, unbothered. The cottage behind them—he still thinks of it as Uncle Alphard’s cottage, even though he’s been dead for nearly five years and Regulus himself has been its main resident for over two years—stands tall, dark and irrefutable. Regulus wishes he could be more like any of them.

He fingers the chain around his neck, the locket hanging from it, now harmless and charred, a reminder of how far he and Sirius have come, of how much they’ve accomplished—but also of how much more awaits them. The ring and the cup are already taken care of, both of them resting safely in the drawers of the desk in Alphard’s study, but Regulus knows, as does Sirius, that there are more. How many more, neither one can tell.

Seven, Sirius said, citing the reason they both knew well—the most powerful, the most balanced number in use of magic; their mother made sure they knew that before they could properly walk. Seven parts of a soul, six Horcruxes.

Two years to have found and destroyed three. But they were long, hard years and each passing day begs the question how many more there can be before Sirius ends up the one destroyed.

Regulus wishes he could be the one to don the mask like armour, to be the one to shield Sirius for a change, that Sirius could be the one to stay home, safe and behind so many protective charms that Voldemort himself wouldn’t be able to get through. But Regulus is dead, at least to the rest of the world, and right now that is their greatest advantage.

“I’m sorry about Rosie,” Regulus tells him.

Sirius, to his credit, doesn’t flinch. He only takes a drag of the cigarette and says in an exhale of smoke and shaky breath, “I’m sorry about Evan.”

“He was more your friend than mine, at this point,” Regulus says softly, but the sting of Evan’s death has yet to let go. He is glad to know that Evan, at least, went down on his own terms, if with questionable loyalties; though the fact that he was questioning his loyalty to Voldemort brings Regulus little satisfaction in the face of his bitter and unnecessary death, he is proud of Evan for having even considered it, for listening to Sirius before Regulus dared to. Only one more thing he can add to his list of regrets: he never told Evan how proud he was of him, how sorry for everything he had put him through; that he was and will always be his best friend.

“It’s a worse world regardless,” Sirius says. He sounds dead and shaken and freezing but Regulus cannot blame him. Rosie was his best friend, his most constant supporter through all of this; that he was forced to lose her is a cruel, cruel thing but the fact that he has to go on and serve the man that is in a way responsible for her death is yet crueler.

“Yeah,” Regulus agrees, reaching over to swipe the Firewhisky and take another swing, “it is.”

Sirius stays silent. His profile, the line nearly identical to Regulus’s, as they were constantly told, is outlined against the starry sky, the waxing moon. Regulus’s heart tugs apart and breaks for him, for all that he has done and failed to do. He was a Gryffindor, a Marauder, and maybe he still has the possibility of being one again but right now, he is just a man, barely grown up from a boy, as vicious as he is devoted, who hates as fiercely as he loves, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, grieving the death of a friend. There was a time one could read every emotion from his brother's face, could know what he was feeling just by glancing at him.

There isn't much on Sirius's face these days, not beyond the lines and dark bags around his eyes.

Regulus cannot stand it so he looks away, towards the sea below, towards the dark horizon. The village down the hill is lit in soft, flickering lights, some of the Muggle youth shouting and laughing in anticipation of midnight, only minutes away. Regulus knows they have fireworks and he is looking forward to it, those little flashes of light in a world that has gone entirely too dark.

Sirius wasn’t with him for Christmas; he only arrived a couple of hours ago, silent, dejected, but the Daily Prophet, with a number of death reports and missing cases, told Regulus all he needed to know about his previous whereabouts anyway. He doesn’t mind Sirius’s absence, but it hurts him to see what happens to him in that time, how deeper into himself he goes. He’s always come back but on some days, more so in the last month, Regulus fears he won’t.

It’s a scary thing, watching someone die with their heart still beating.

He wonders if that’s how Sirius felt when he joined the Death Eaters to protect his stupid little brother, when he stood as a shield between him and their parents, expecting to wage a war against an army, only to be stabbed in the back instead.

Regulus closes his eyes. In a whole lifetime of regret, in years and years of trying, he can never repay Sirius, can never undo the pain he’s caused him over and over again. He still remembers the words Sirius, at his wit’s end, beaten down to the fucking bottom, shouted at him. They were the first words to really reach him, to hit home, to twist in his heart, and make it bleed straight out of his mouth.

I don’t need you to be with me, I just need you not to be with them.

Regulus didn’t know then and he doesn’t know now how to make any of it better. But he likes to think he’s succeeding in trying.

There is a series of loud bangs, nearly explosions, and they both look up to see that the village boys have released the fireworks that now crackle and light up the sky. Regulus hums at the sight, always feeling a little childish delight when he gets the pleasure to watch fireworks.

Christmases in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black were always a stuffy affair, for which they were forced to dress up in the most stifling of robes so that Walburga and Orion could parade them in front of their family and other associates like trophies, either in the house they were forced to call home or whichever soulless mansion the party had been organised at. Cries and complaints were always dealt with quickly and quietly, often before anyone could even blink, but they held a promise of disciplining for either one of them that was acting up—a disciplining that Sirius always ended up getting the brunt of.

But for New Year’s Eve, their house remained blessedly empty while their parents went off to rub elbows with ministry officials and left their sons in the care of their house-elves. Sirius, before he went off to Hogwarts, always tiptoed into Regulus’s room and took him up to the roof where, swathed in blankets and drinking hot chocolate Regulus had pleaded out of Kreacher, they watched the skyline of London bathed in an explosion of colours. Regulus remembers thinking that whatever Muggles had done to deserve the treatment their mother was slowly imposing on them they surely couldn’t be that bad if they managed to create something so stunning without even the barest knowledge of magic.

His mother spent the rest of his life as she knew it trying to teach him the opposite.

One particularly large firework flies into the sky, dispersing itself into streaks of blue and green and golden that, rather than a star-like figure, dance and sizzle all around until it almost seems that there is a city in the sky, a reminder of the beauty that still lives and breathes.

“Bonne année, Reggie,” Sirius whispers, his words slipping into each other almost seamlessly. He is always different when he speaks in French, not softer exactly, but less rough around the edges, as if something in him changes when his language does. It’s not an unpleasant thought—that Sirius is a different person sometimes, that he has the potential to be more than he has been moulded into.

Regulus wonders if there is a world where Sirius is different—a world where he chose his friends, his freedom, and his happiness over Regulus and finds he doesn’t mind the possibility much; even if that means his life ended in the cave, going out with the worst memories at the front of his mind, he hopes Sirius is happy there.

“Bonne année, Sirius,” Regulus says back, smiling gently.

The fireworks fade over time, the shouts from the village settling down and drawing away, the alcohol in the bottle slowly disappearing as they pass it back and forth, accompanied by soft words, memories that are not so painful now in the darkness of the night, in the light of the new year, and with each passing breath, Sirius’s shoulders sag. His hair, long and wavy but too tangled, hangs around his face as he leans forward, tipped far too much in the direction of the ocean.

The cold bites into their hands, slipping under their robes, the warming charms having worn off, and Regulus doesn’t quite trust himself, even less so Sirius, with a bottle of alcohol at the edge of a cliff anymore. He nudges Sirius, somehow having managed to get himself on his knees and under Sirius’s arm without even being in the danger of dying.

“Allons,” he says softly, drawing them both up to stand.

Sirius is light against him, even with leaning almost his entire weight on him, the ridges of his spine prominent through his robes and cloak when Regulus readjusts him. They trudge towards the cottage, the door opening with an awkward tap of Regulus’s wand, the lights flickering on as soon as they step over the threshold. Regulus leads them past the kitchen, up the small flight of stairs, into the room that has always been unmistakably Sirius’s, even when Alphard was still alive.

The dresser is littered with pictures, small tokens Sirius has allowed himself here in this house that is unknown to all: there is James, of course—Regulus isn’t quite sure when he stopped being Potter, someone who stole Sirius away, and became James, Sirius’s other brother—and Lily right along with him; a few of Remus and a number of their group photos, all of them strategically cut to miss one person, occasionally accompanied by Marlene and Dorcas. There are only a couple of the two of them but Regulus doesn’t mind—Sirius has him as a reminder that he is here, he doesn’t need a picture for it. The one of Evan and Rosie, blonde hair like halos around their heads, both laughing as they lean into each other, brother and sister, the martyr and the avenger, makes his mouth taste like iron but he is comforted by the fact that wherever they are now, they have each other.

He lays Sirius down on the bed and somehow manages to wrangle him out of his coat, throwing it on the chair nearby. Sirius is awake, grey eyes blinking slowly as they search Regulus’s face. He reaches out, swallowing, and touches the pale, age-faded scar across Regulus’s throat.

Regulus can only imagine a sliver of what that scar represents to Sirius. He has his own, plenty of them, but Regulus thinks this one is the greatest reminder of his pain and suffering, of all he has had to give up and destroy. Regulus remembers that night in flashes, although he has tried for years to get back the memories that his mother created and then took; he remembers Sirius on the floor, screaming, and his mother’s pointed wand, first at Sirius and then at him, his father’s booming, unforgiving voice and the cold bite of a blade against the skin of his throat. He thinks sometimes it is better that he doesn’t know and always feels the pang of guilt at leaving Sirius to be the only one to carry the burden.

“Pas de regret,” Sirius whispers now, curling his hand into a fist as he draws it back.

A lump forms in Regulus’s throat. “Je t’aime, Sirius,” he murmurs into the space that isn’t quite in the right direction but loud enough that he knows Sirius can hear him.

Sirius pauses, blinking. His eyes aren’t wide, exactly, but there is a surprise to them that seems almost youthful. Then his entire face softens, opens like cracks through a pavement, and he reaches out again to sweep Regulus’s hair out of his eyes. “Love you too, little brother,” he says softly, then closes his eyes, his breaths coming in soft and slow.

Regulus knows better than to believe it but he takes the dismissal for what it is and stumbles toward the door. Once he steadies himself against the doorframe, he looks back at Sirius—except there is no Sirius anymore. Instead, curled over the thick duvets, specked with starlight, Padfoot lies, his side rising and falling steadily.

Outside, the sky is bathed in red and gold.