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“MOONY! NOW!”
Remus’s eyes snapped open. It took him a moment to stretch and sit up, and the second he raised his arms above his head he regretted it. Bile rose in his throat and he had to lay back down for a moment. The man he had been at James’ bachelor party did not think about the man he would be the next morning. Hands trembling, he reached for the glass of water on his nightstand, but the water was too cold and just made his head hurt more. “What?” he managed.
“Come here!” Through the haze, he put a name to the voice. Peter. Coming from Sirius’s room?
A momentary panic ran through him, bringing some clarity to his mind. What was Peter doing in Sirius’s room?
“Can you come here?”
“No!”
“Merlin, Peter!” Remus swung his legs over the side of the bed and rested his forehead in his hands. “I’ve never been so hungover in my life. Can it wait?”
“ No! ”
Remus usually didn’t trust Peter with diagnosing the urgency of a situation. The last time he had said something couldn’t wait and Remus needed to come right away, it was to see the Potter’s cat lounging in the window seat at sunrise. “I wasn’t sure how long she would be doing that,” Peter had said. Remus responded with a fist to Peter’s stomach.
But Remus didn’t have it in him to doubt Peter this time. Partially because it felt like his head was being crushed in from either side, but mostly because it was possible something was wrong with Sirius.
He staggered to the door, dizzy but determined. The minute he peered into the room next door, he knew something was wrong.
Peter and Sirius were sitting on the floor, leaning against Sirius’s bed. Peter was rocking back and forth, with a newspaper clipping clutched in one hand and his other hand wrapped around himself, hugging himself. Sirius was motionless, his jaw set and his gaze loose at the floor. Neither of them looked up at Remus when he came in.
“What is it?” asked Remus.
Wordlessly, Peter held out the newspaper. Remus squinted at it. It took him a second to focus his eyes enough to read it, but the second he saw the headline, he regretted how long it had taken him to respond to Peter’s call.
BLACK HEIR CONFIRMED DEAD
Regulus Arcturus Black II, only child of Orion and Walpurga Black, has today been confirmed dead in a statement issued from the Black family home in Islington. Born in 1961, the heir to the Black house and fortune was eighteen years old. He had recently completed his education at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he distinguished himself as an impeccable student and gifted quidditch player.
Regulus is survived by his parents and his cousins who will attend a private memorial service later in the week. The family have requested privacy.
A shock ran through Remus, from his head all the way down to his ankles. It sobered him up immediately. “Oh. Oh, shit. Sirius .”
Sirius’s voice was gruff. “He couldn’t have died at a worse time.”
“Sirius, I’m so sorry--” Peter started, but an icy glance from Remus shut him up quickly. This wasn’t the time for sympathy. They couldn’t tell what was going on in Sirius’s head and it was pointless, and downright dangerous, to try to assume.
“Fucking idiot,” he said, and then promptly started to cry.
Peter immediately got up and left. Remus didn’t blame him. Peter was shit at situations like this, and they all knew it. Besides, he had already done his duty by calling Remus.
Luckily, Peter had closed the door behind him. Remus took his seat next to Sirius and laid his head on Sirius’s shoulder.
“Fucking idiot. He got what he deserved,” mumbled Sirius. He gingerly leaned his head back against the side of the bed.
Remus didn’t say anything. Sometimes, he had learned, it was better to just let Sirius talk it out to himself, and to be there when he was done and needed someone else.
“It doesn’t say what happened, does it?”
Remus shook his head.
“Hope it was a duel with some Death Eater in the middle of nowhere. Maybe he went out in a petty fight.”
“Maybe,” said Remus.
Sirius wiped his eyes. “James can’t know.”
“It’s in the Daily Prophet. Odds are he knows already.”
“No. I can’t ruin his wedding.”
“It’s not your fault,” Remus replied, and immediately knew it was a mistake.
Sirius’s body stiffened. “I know.”
“You didn’t make him go to their side. He made his own choice, and you made yours.”
“I could have stopped him. I could have turned him around. I could have helped him.”
“Would you have?” asked Remus, carefully. “If you were given the option?”
Sirius’s eyes were steely, but his voice was uncertain. “Yes.”
“Would he have helped you?”
That did it. Sirius stood up, his hands clenched at his sides, his gaze still at the floor. “I don’t know.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“He fucking hated me. He died thinking I was some selfish prat who hated my entire family.”
“He didn’t. I promise.”
Sirius was walking back and forth in front of the bed, his breath raggedy and his chin tilted towards the ceiling. “I can’t ruin James’s wedding.”
Remus watched him pace. He looked like a teenager. He still was a teenager, just barely, but he had always seemed older, with a lithe and mature demeanor and a calculated, poised air about himself. But now, he really did look like what he was: a teenage boy who had just lost his brother.
“Sit down, Pads. You’re okay.”
“My family is going to hate me. They’re going to think I did something to get him killed.”
“Do you really think the Black family is going to be displeased at their noble heir perishing for their cause? If anything, they’ll thank you for driving him to their side.”
Sirius didn’t respond.
“It’s not your fault, and besides, there’s nothing to be done.”
Sirius sank back down next to Remus and laughed bitterly. “Yeah. Nothing to be done. One more Death Eater down, I guess.”
Remus bit his lip. “They’ll be leaving soon for breakfast, I guess. Want to come?”
“I think I’ll just stay here. Don’t want to bring down the mood.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
Remus stood. “You okay? For real? I can skip breakfast.”
Sirius nodded and wiped his eyes again. Remus looked at him carefully. He hadn’t realized how much energy Sirius must have to use to keep up his persona. It was odd to see him like this, without his veil of confidence and flair. He really was just a boy.
And really, Regulus had just been a boy too.
Remus repeated that out loud. It hung in the air for a second. Sirius’s face was unreadable, but as he opened his mouth to speak, Remus interjected.
“It’s really sad, Sirius. You have a right to be sad. You don’t have to be -- You don’t have to be Padfoot today. No one will blame you. For any of it, for that matter.”
“I know.”
“Okay.”
They were silent for another moment. People were moving around downstairs, pulling on cloaks and calling directions to each other. James’s voice floated above the others, yelling out for someone to help him find his left shoe.
“I’m going to go to breakfast. Are you sure you don’t want to come?”
Sirius sat down on the bed and pulled the newspaper clipping into his lap. “It’s okay. Go.”
“Alright.”
Remus left and closed the door behind him. He felt bad about it, but James was calling him from downstairs, and the hangover was making him deliriously hungry.
Besides, as he had said, there was nothing else to be done. The boy Sirius had grown up with was dead, and though he had really been gone for years, Sirius was now going to be more alone than ever. It didn’t matter how many friends he surrounded himself with, or how much he hid behind his confidence to convince himself he was okay. He was lost at sea, and no one, not even Remus, would ever really understand what he felt. The noble Black Heir was dead, but the estranged son was left to bear the burden of his life.