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The room was empty and cold and unlived in. It had been years since a living human had stepped into the room. There was a feeling in the air, like the past of the owner loomed in every direction.
Sirius was just… staring. He could feel himself staring, hardly breathing, trying to convince himself to take a step forward. And when he did that, he had to convince himself to flick on the light. And then he seemed to stop breathing altogether.
The room looked very much the same as it always did. The bed was neatly made. There were no photographs on the walls, simply a Slytherin banner that their mother had given him hung above his drawers. The closet held numerous white, grey, and black clothing as if he had never worn one color in his life. Even the shoes were paired and tucked away. If there had been someone living there, you wouldn’t know it from looking at the room. It was a ghost’s habitat. A place that had a memory of living that could never be pinned down.
Kreacher had told him that he had been caring for “master Regulus’” room after his disappearance. He never let the dust gather, he kept everything exactly how master liked it. It was a stagnant piece of history, unnoticed and untouched even as years moved on.
Sirius felt like the past was holding his hand, gripping tightly, forcing him to remember times spent in this room. Times spent with his…
His brother.
The titled smarted at a wound that Sirius held deep down, one that he couldn’t explain. James was his real brother, not Regulus. Regulus had picked his side. He had decided against Sirius.
And yet.
Sirius would never deny the presence of an ache in his soul when he remembered Regulus. He had felt his absence in his life the moment he had left his brother behind. No amount of begging would convince Regulus to join Sirius and leave their abusive house behind them. He was just as stubborn as Sirius was, but he lacked the courage to leave.
During their school years, Sirius had noticed evidence of their parents’ cruel treatment of his younger brother, but he never seemed to complain. In fact, Sirius often wondered if Regulus knew how to feel emotion. He seemed so cold and stone-like. Remus had compared him to a statue on numerous occasions. Sirius couldn’t help but agree.
The room Sirius stood before belonged to a human that Sirius had known but maybe hadn’t fully understood. Remus told him of his mysterious disappearance and later the declaration of his death. It weighed on Sirius more than he would admit. And now, he was standing in the doorway of Regulus’ room, looking as dark and as cold as Regulus had been himself.
“I don’t suppose there is anyone in here?” He said, a sarcastic note in his voice. “Regulus would never lower himself to becoming a ghost and haunting this house. It’s haunted enough.” He wandered into the room, settling into the desk chair, swiveling it to face the bed.
“It's weird, how different we were. My rooms were always covered in portraits and posters. Whereas his is just… plain. Even in the place where he was supposed to feel most safe, he never left any evidence of himself.” Sirius leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I always wondered if Regulus ever wanted to live a life outside of this,” there was a hint of pain as he spoke. “I guess I’ll never know.”
He looked at the room again, assessing the cold atmosphere, and felt a deep longing inside him to just ask Regulus what he thought about his own room, why he had left it so bare. And, beyond that, why he hadn’t left. Why he refused to change, why he never let emotion overwhelm him as any ordinary kid would have. He had so many questions for his brother that he felt would never be answered.
With a tired sigh, Sirius turned the chair back toward the desk and gently pulled the drawers open. The first drawer was incredibly tidy, quills bound together on one side, notebooks and scrolls layered on the other side. The second drawer had a bit more interesting things. There was a painting, slashes of grey, black, and red, signed by someone named Everett. There was a locket with the words “and on” inscribed inside. There were photographs of people, Slytherins in their common room; some laughing, some hugging or scowling. Other pictures of trees swaying, grass blowing in the wind, water rushing over stones. Then he found the camera and wondered where Regulus had learned to shoot magical portraits. And wondered too if he had enjoyed it. It seemed like he had. They were beautiful, for lack of a better word.
Sirius replaced the camera and opened the small draw across the top of the desk. There was nothing inside of it but a small folded-up parchment. And on top of this parchment was a name.
His name.
It was addressed to him.
With trembling hands, Sirius pulled the letter out, tracing over the swirls of Regulus’ writing of his name. He steeled himself and pulled the page apart.
He had written him a letter.
Regulus had written a letter to Sirius. Before he died.
The letter was short. Sirius couldn’t help the tears as they came to his eyes as he read the words written in steady handwriting.
“The star “Sirius” is considered the brightest star in the whole night sky. You couldn’t miss it, even if you tried. Just like you. You were always the bright one, the one that people stopped and took notice of. I always envied you for that.
On the other hand, the star “Regulus” is the brightest star in the lion constellation. By itself, it’s possible it wouldn’t be noticed at all. It requires the presence of others to truly be seen. It’s actually a collection of stars, but is visible only for a few months in its full glory, before disappearing. I may not have matched you in eternal glory, but at least I offered something.
I guess the first 17 years of my life would be considered the time I shone the brightest. And now, I am coming to the end of the light. The world is rotating, moving on… without me.
I am sitting here, staring at this treacherous mark on my arm, watching the snake move against my skin, and I wonder how I could have done it. How I ever let someone tell me how to live my life, how to feel, who to be.
I am not what he wants me to be.
And, if there is anything I’ve learned in the few years I have been alive, it’s that the people who love you should allow you to be you. And not demand you to change for the sake of their gain and their image.
You never did that. You always just wanted me to be me. That’s why you shone brighter. You illuminated the work and love of everyone else. Like a lighthouse, showing the good and the bad of the treacherous sea. You were always like that. Even after you left.
In my wardrobe, there’s a small wooden box that holds photographs I’ve never shown anyone. I want you to have them. I hope one day you will read this letter and find those photographs, and maybe you will begin to understand.
I think a part of me has always known it would come to this. Me, alone, in the house that seemed to hate us from our conceptions. You, off saving the world, with the people who love you so well, dreaming of a future I can’t even imagine. I think there has always been an understanding in my heart that I would never have that future, no matter how hard you tried to give it to me. That’s why I stayed, Sirius. I knew, if I went with you, you’d never let me be. You’d give all of your attention and energy to me, trying to make me into the person you hoped I could become. But I know better. Unfortunately, I will never be that person. It seems I have run out of time.
Other people need that love more than I do. I got to have it for so long, and I know how powerful it is. Other people need that. I hope you don’t hold back in giving it to them.
Can I tell you a secret? I never gave much thought to what I wanted to be when I grew up. I think a part of me always knew I would never get that far. And now, possibly at the end of my life, I know that I am not afraid to die.
I only wish I could tell you, Sirius, how badly I don’t want to leave you. Leaving you, as I have had to do over and over again, is like the story of the man in hell, who pushes a boulder up a hill, having to watch it fall to the bottom after every try. That pain and anguish I feel, leaving you, it doesn’t go away. It just starts over, again and again.
I promise this is the last time I’ll do it.
I hope you get to grow up and become the things that you’ve always wanted. I hope that where my life stops, at the edge of all this potential, your life will dive in and grow and flourish. That alone gives me the strength to let this be the end.
I wonder what you’ll be when you grow up. I wonder how your obnoxious and loving light will save people. It saved me. You may not believe it, considering where we are, but it did. And if my life is to end now, I hope the years I had left will be transferred to you.
You made me the lion’s heart. And now, I’m going to prove to you that you did not believe in me in vain.
Yours, faithfully,
Regulus”
And Sirius didn’t know why, but he felt like his heart stuttered to a stop. And it did not resume its beating for several moments. When he felt himself come to life again, he stood and wandered to the wardrobe, where he found the small wooden box that Regulus had left for him. He slid the lid off and pulled out a hefty stack of pictures. Some were enchanted, others were not. But it was clear who the star of them was.
It was Sirius.
Sirius with his friends, in the great hall, walking between classes, cheering at quidditch matches. There were a few of him dozing beneath a tree or swimming in the great lake. Pictures of him smiling and laughing, holding Remus’ hand, or stealing a kiss.
It was all Sirius.
And for the first time in his life, Sirius understood that Regulus had been there for all of it. He hadn’t been ignoring Sirius. He hadn’t left Sirius, as Sirius had always thought. Regulus had watched him, every moment of him, had understood him. He had captured who he loved and how he loved them. He captured him in quiet moments, and loud.
Regulus had never left him at all.
At the bottom of the pile of photos was a portrait of Regulus himself. He was setting the camera up on a bookshelf, and he was smiling. He must have been about sixteen. He was in… He was in Sirius’ room, wearing one of his old muggle band shirts. He looked more like a kid than Sirius had ever seen him, an aura of innocence about him. The picture came to life, showing Regulus laughing as he balanced the camera before moving backward. He didn’t do anything but smile, but it was the most beautiful picture that Sirius had ever seen.
It was like Regulus had left his soul in that picture. He had left it, as proof for Sirius, that he had lived. And, more importantly, that he had loved him.
He held the picture to his chest and collapsed to the ground, not even noticing the sunset behind him. And, feeling more heartbroken than ever, Sirius cried more than he had since James and Lily had died.