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Regulus' eyes have lost their spark.
That's the only thought crossing SIrius' mind when coming face to face with his little brother for the first time in years.
His expression is one of slight surprise, yes, but his eyes are dead. Sirius had never imagined he'd be hit with a wave of grief when meeting his brother.
What have they done to you?
Sirius expects Regulus to put up a fight, or run, or even try to talk himself out of the situation. He doesn't expect resignation to take over his face once the shock subsides. Regulus simply… gives up.
He drops his wand to the floor, and takes half a step back, like he wants to take one final look at his older brother.
"What are you doing?" Sirius finds himself asking out loud. His voice sounds defensive.
Regulus blinks.
"Do it."
"Do what?"
"Just do it, Sirius."
Hearing Regulus say his name wakes a very childlike anger inside of Sirius. He feels like a young teen again, trying to convince his brother to help him out. The rage of his sixteen year old self after his brother agreed with their mother bubbles up to the surface. The confused frustration of his eight year old self after getting berated for helping his baby brother chimes up from deep within his chest.
Sirius might be nineteen now, out of his parents' house, out of Hogwarts, out in the world making a name for himself, but at that moment, he's just a little kid, angry at his little brother.
And oh, Sirius has missed this.
The anger swirling inside his guts brings along a gentle recognition, a spark of comfort at the familiarity of it all.
Sirius looks at Regulus and notices the dark spots under his eyes, the sunken cheeks, the faint lines making a home between his eyebrows at just seventeen, from years of suffering.
The young man in front of him is a stranger.
Sirius doesn't know what food he likes, what music he listens to, if he still plays piano with quick-witted fingers, who he's friends with, or if he still looks at their mother with useless hope.
But Regulus, his Regulus is still there.
Sirius finds him in grayish-blue eyes, in curls always tighter than his own, in narrow shoulders, in a thin, subtle silver necklace, in a faint scar in his temple, and in long lips that still carry the ghost of a gentle smile.
The young man in front of him carries the remains of Sirius' baby brother along with him.
Sirius reaches out to him in a split second, grabbing Regulus' arm and pulling him to an even more recluse corner of the far apart side of Diagon Alley where they were standing.
Regulus simply follows.
"There's no need to stretch this out," he mumbles once Sirius lets his arm go.
"I won't kill you, Reg, don't be so dramatic." Sirius huffs and palms his coat pockets.
"You should."
Sirius glares at Regulus for a second before finding the pack of cigarettes and fishing it out of his coat. He opens the cardboard box and hands one out for Regulus. His brother lifts one eyebrow, but accepts.
"For old times' sake," says Sirius, lighting his cigarette with the tip of his wand and then doing the same for Regulus'. Leaning on the dusty alleyway wall, he breathes smoke in.
Regulus, in the same resigned attitude he's maintained since they ran across each other, leans beside him.
"Is this your best idea for an 'old times' sake' meeting?" he asks after letting smoke escape from his mouth.
Sirius huffs, "I had to come up with something in about two seconds, I'm sure you'll understand. Still, it's very fitting for us, isn't it?"
Regulus tilts his head in agreement.
"Our greatest bonding experience."
Sirius lets out a breathy laugh at that. He taught Regulus to smoke when they were fifteen and thirteen. It seems insane looking back, to have such young kids smoking.
Regulus isn't wrong, though.
After months of teeth-scraping tension, the brothers managed to spend some time together by having a cigarette to mediate between their strained relationship.
Regulus had learned how to smoke immediately, even at just thirteen. His lungs seemed to accept the toxic smoke with open arms, not coughing once. Sirius remembers having been jealous of his baby brother's ease for such a 'cool activity', seeming to not even need clear air.
Now, it seems obvious. Regulus has always needed to flirt with death to remember he's alive.
Sirius can see it now. His brother holds the smoke inside his lungs for longer than necessary, just to feel the sting of his cells choking. Regulus watches the smoke slowly leave his mouth with enraptured fascination. It's the most amount of emotion Sirius has seen on his face in the entire five minutes they've been together.
"Do you resent me? For introducing you to this so young, I mean." Sirius surprises himself with the question. There's so much Regulus must resent him for, yet this is the heaviest one on his mind.
Regulus takes another drag of his alarmingly shorter cigarette, letting the smoke escape his mouth with each word.
"No. This has been my greatest form of escape. I should thank you, actually."
Sirius turns to fully face his brother, feeling the raspy wall under his shoulder.
"Aren't you afraid it will kill you young?"
Regulus huffs. "You are not killing me, Sirius. I chose to keep smoking."
They make eye contact then. Sirius, already shaken by Regulus' eerily accurate interpretation of what his question actually meant, and feeling the hidden meaning of his words come to life with each second, finds himself terrified by the sheer acceptance brimming in his brother's eyes.
"You were so young, though," mumbles Sirius, "barely thirteen."
"You know the amount of shit we had already gone through at thirteen." Regulus looks up, probably focusing on the clouds above. Sirius' eyes lock on the black tattoo on his brother's wrist, visible after fixing his hair.
He finds it doesn't sting as much. He has also done awful things to survive.
"Even then, I felt so old," whispers Regulus. Sirius lifts his eyes up to his face. Regulus remains impassive, "I don't think I remember ever feeling like a child."
"Yeah, I get that," Sirius whispers back. The drag he takes from his cigarette has a tinge of old, familiar fear.
They spend a minute in silence. Regulus is quick to finish his cigarette, and Sirius offers him a new one.
"Do you still feel that way?" asks Sirius. Regulus raises his eyebrows, questioning. "Like you're old."
A small, almost imperceptible smile.
"I guess."
Not knowing how to answer, Sirius remains quiet. Silence has always spoken more eloquently than he ever could.
"It's more refined now, I think," says Regulus, breaking the lull of quietness, "Like when our grandmother used to say she was too old to do the things she wanted to do. I…" he stops briefly to inhale smoke, like he's trying to choke the words still living in his throat, "I would have loved to learn more about magical creatures. I used to check on magazines for any trips to Rumanian dragon reserves."
Sirius feels his lips stretch to a small grin.
"I know someone who works on one of those, he might open up a slot for you."
Sirius realizes the reserve would never let a Death Eater roam the terrains, but it's too late to take it back now.
Regulus shrugs. It's a defeated, almost inanimate shrug.
"It's a bit late to make dreams come true."
"You're seventeen, Reg."
Another shrug. He looks like a puppet.
"Seventeen, seventy. It doesn't make a difference."
Sirius opens his mouth to argue, but something from deep within makes him stop.
He doesn't know how to argue with this man, Sirius realizes.
His brother was easy to sway.
Sirius could have made logical statements until reason entered his stubborn head. Seventeen in nowhere near seventy. Seventeen means you have a lot of time, and a young body that will bear with pretty much everything.
Seventeen means you're far away from your grave.
Sirius looks at Regulus again.
The man at his side has already caved the hole on the ground, and is lying in it. He's just waiting for the dirt to be poured over him.
Logical statements won't work on someone who's already leaning into death's warm embrace.
So, Sirius lights up another cigarette and raises it slightly in the air, as a small toast.
Regulus shakes his head fondly, and copies.
The next time Sirius hears about his brother is in the newspaper.
He's been reported missing.
Sirius doesn't need to be told what happened to him. He knows.
He hopes Regulus has found the rest he has always searched for.