Chapter Text
III.
Regulus is fourteen years old when Sirius disappears. This cloudy night, which smells like a summer storm, terrifies the younger Black.
He's terrified of the thought of his brother being somewhere out there. Or is he no more, he has nowhere to be, because he was struck by the lightning of this Muggle world?
No.
Regulus knows perfectly well that Sirius is sitting now, safe, with hot tea in his hands at the Potter house. Maybe he's a little bruised, maybe even his tendons hurt a bit.
(Regulus also knows how the wizard after Cruciatus feels.)
Safe.
Regulus looks out the window. Clouds flow through the moon, causing the night to turn completely black for a brief moment.
Regulus yearns.
If it was a normal night, he wouldn't be sitting alone on a chilly ledge in his room.
(He would have been sleeping already curled up in a Sirius's bed, surrounded by the veil of his older brother's hair. He would dream of Hogwarts lessons and hippogriffs, or have nightmares about portraits of 12 Grimmauld Place, but it would not matter. Sirius would be with him, Sirius Carrying Peace. This would be the case if Regulus was six, not fourteen.)
It is a normal night.
There are dark rings blooming on Regulus's wrists, blood running down them, a cutting spell struck him. Several times. With astonishing precision.
Sirius is gone.