Chapter Text
Breakfast at Hogwarts was usually loud in a way that felt almost rehearsed.
The Great Hall had its own morning music: cutlery chiming against plates, owls beating their wings through the high air, students calling to one another over toast and porridge and pumpkin juice, chairs scraping, laughter sparking, the occasional groan from someone who had remembered they had double Potions before lunch.
Above them, the enchanted ceiling wore a pale winter morning, all silver-blue light and thin drifting cloud. Beneath it, the four long House tables were crowded with half-awake students bundled in scarves and robes, their hair sleep-mussed, their hands wrapped around mugs of tea like offerings to gods of survival.
At the Slytherin table, Regulus Black sat with one elbow resting neatly beside his plate, turning a silver knife between his fingers.
He had not touched much of his breakfast.
There was toast on his plate, cut in half. A spoonful of eggs gone cold. A cup of tea steaming less than it had been ten minutes ago. He looked entirely composed, almost bored, his dark hair falling in its usual careful sweep, his expression clean and unreadable in the way only a Black could manage when something in the world had been set on fire and they were pretending not to smell smoke.
Beside him, Barty Crouch Jr. was eating as though breakfast had personally insulted him and he intended to win. He had one knee hooked against the bench, his tie already loose, his grin sharp and wolfish around a mouthful of toast.
“You’re quiet,” Barty said, not sounding concerned so much as delighted by the possibility of trouble. “Quiet in the murder way or quiet in the poetry way?”
Regulus did not look at him. “Those are the only two options?”
“For you? Yes.”
Across from them, Evan Rosier snorted into his tea. Pandora Rosier, sitting beside him, had a piece of toast balanced delicately between two fingers and a distant, dreamy expression as she watched a spoon inch itself slowly away from someone’s bowl down the table.
Dorcas Meadowes looked up from buttering her toast.
“Don’t encourage him,” Dorcas said to Barty. “He’s been smug since he sat down.”
“I have not,” Regulus said.
“You have,” Evan said immediately. “You’ve got that face.”
Regulus arched one eyebrow. “I only have one face.”
“That’s the issue,” Barty said. “It always looks like you know where someone’s body is hidden.”
Pandora smiled serenely. “Or where all their socks are buried.”
Regulus’s fingers stilled for half a second on the knife.
Dorcas noticed.
Evan noticed too, because Evan always noticed the moments where Regulus’s stillness became a different species of thing. He narrowed his eyes slightly, gaze dragging over Regulus’s mouth, his untouched breakfast, the loose grace of his posture.
“Reg,” Evan said slowly. “What did you do?”
Regulus lifted his teacup.
“Nothing.”
Barty froze.
Then he smiled.
“Oh, that’s a lie.”
“It is not.”
“It absolutely is,” Barty said, leaning closer. “That was the most pure-blood lie I’ve ever heard. That lie had a family crest.”
Dorcas’s knife paused against the butter. “Regulus.”
Regulus took a sip of tea.
The Great Hall thundered on around them. A burst of laughter went up from Ravenclaw. At the Gryffindor table, Fabian Prewett was arguing loudly with Gideon over something involving marmalade. Frank Longbottom was watching them with tired amusement while Alice Fortescue stole the last good-looking strawberry from his plate with no remorse whatsoever. Marlene McKinnon had her boots hooked on the bench, elbow on the table, laughing at something Mary Macdonald was saying with exaggerated hand movements.
Lily Evans was reading over a parchment while eating toast one-handed, somehow managing to look like she was studying and judging the entire hall simultaneously.
Peter Pettigrew had his cheeks full, nodding along to James Potter, who appeared to be telling some grand story with both hands and an alarming amount of confidence.
Remus Lupin sat beside Sirius Black’s usual spot, tired-eyed but faintly smiling, one hand curled around a mug.
Sirius himself was not there.
Regulus’s gaze did not move to the empty space.
Barty’s did.
Then Barty’s smile stretched wider.
“Oh,” he said softly. “Oh, this is about to be spectacular.”
“What is?” Dorcas demanded.
Regulus set his cup down. “Nothing.”
Evan leaned back, eyes glittering now with suspicion. “He’s missing.”
“Who?” Pandora asked dreamily, though she was watching Regulus too now, her toast lowered.
“Sirius,” Evan said.
At the name, Regulus’s mouth twitched.
Just once.
Barely.
But it was enough.
Dorcas stared at him. “Regulus.”
“What?”
“What did you do to Sirius?”
Regulus turned his knife again. The silver flashed. “Why does everyone assume I did something?”
“Because,” Barty said, nearly vibrating in his seat, “you look like Christmas came early and screamed.”
Evan opened his mouth, probably to make it worse.
The doors to the Great Hall slammed open so hard that several students shrieked, an owl veered violently into a floating candle, and Professor McGonagall’s head snapped up from the staff table with the expression of a woman who had already had enough of today despite today being barely awake.
Sirius Black stood in the entrance.
He looked feral.
Not merely angry. Not merely annoyed. Not even the theatrical, half-amused furious he sometimes wore when James stole his hairbrush or Remus called him an idiot in that flat tone that somehow hit harder than shouting.
No.
Sirius looked like something had clawed its way out of him and stolen his face.
His hair was a disaster, dark and wild around his pale face. His tie hung undone around his neck. His robes were thrown over what looked suspiciously like yesterday’s shirt. One sleeve was half-rolled, the other hanging loose. His eyes were wide and blazing.
“Sirius!” James called. “Mate—hold on—”
Sirius did not hold on.
He stormed straight down the centre aisle of the Great Hall.
The noise began to dim as heads turned.
Regulus did not move.
Barty’s entire face lit up with wicked delight.
“Oh, here we go,” he whispered.
Dorcas muttered, “For fuck’s sake.”
Evan sat up straighter.
Pandora blinked at Sirius with the mild interest of someone observing weather.
Sirius reached the Slytherin table and stopped beside Regulus so sharply that his robes snapped around him.
For one breath, neither Black brother spoke.
The Great Hall seemed to lean in.
Regulus finally looked up.
His expression was calm.
Worse than calm.
He looked amused.
“Sirius,” he said, voice quiet and polished. “You look tired.”
Sirius slammed both hands onto the table.
Plates jumped. Regulus’s teacup rattled in its saucer. Barty’s pumpkin juice sloshed dangerously close to his sleeve.
“What the fuck did you do?” Sirius roared.
The whole hall went silent.
James skidded to a stop behind him, breathless. “Pads—”
“No,” Sirius snapped, not looking away from Regulus. “No, he’s answering me.”
Regulus tilted his head slightly. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
Sirius laughed once, harsh and disbelieving.
“More specific?” he repeated. “More specific?”
Regulus only looked at him.
Sirius’s hands curled against the table. His knuckles were white.
“My dorm,” Sirius said, voice shaking now with fury. “My bed. My clothes. My trunk. My records. My books. My posters. My photographs. My entire fucking life, Regulus.”
A flicker moved over Regulus’s face at that.
Not guilt.
Something darker and colder.
Then it vanished beneath the smirk.
Barty’s eyebrows shot up.
Evan went very still.
Dorcas’s mouth parted slightly.
Pandora lowered her toast the rest of the way to her plate.
At the Gryffindor table, people were half-standing now, craning to see. From the staff table, McGonagall had risen, but the distance between the staff and the centre of the hall seemed suddenly enormous, as though everyone had agreed in the silent, terrible way of crowds to see what happened next before anyone stopped it.
“What happened?” Lily asked, stepping closer, eyes moving between Sirius and Regulus.
Sirius did not answer her.
His gaze stayed locked on his brother.
“Say it,” he demanded.
Regulus blinked lazily. “Say what?”
“You know what.”
“I know a great many things.”
“Don’t you dare,” Sirius snarled. “Don’t you dare sit there and act like you don’t know.”
Regulus’s smirk sharpened.
James looked between them, uneasy now. “Regulus, what’s he talking about?”
Regulus did not answer James either.
Sirius leaned in closer over the table.
“You got into my dorm,” he said. “Somehow. Don’t know how. Don’t care. You got in there and you destroyed everything I own.”
Gasps moved through the hall like wind through leaves.
Marlene’s brows lifted. “Everything?”
Sirius finally looked aside, briefly, viciously. “Everything.”
Mary’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God.”
Peter looked horrified. “Everything everything?”
Sirius whipped back to Regulus. “Clothes ripped apart. Ink poured into my trunk. Books shredded. Records cracked. Posters torn down. Photographs smashed. My sheets cut to ribbons. My shoes filled with—whatever the fuck that was—”
Barty made a strangled noise that sounded like he was trying not to laugh and choking on joy.
Dorcas elbowed him hard without looking.
“Ow,” Barty hissed.
Sirius pointed at Regulus, hand trembling.
“The only thing untouched,” Sirius said, voice dropping low enough that it somehow carried more fiercely than the shouting, “was my wand.”
Regulus’s eyes went colder.
“Yes,” he said softly. “I left that.”
Sirius stared at him.
The hall stared at him.
Regulus sat there with his neat posture, his untouched breakfast, his silver knife, and the calm of a boy who had done something terrible with clear eyes and steady hands.
“Even I’m not that cruel,” Regulus said.
For a second, Sirius looked as though the words had struck him physically.
Then his anger surged back, red-hot.
“You think that makes it better?” Sirius shouted. “You think leaving my wand makes you decent?”
“I didn’t say decent.”
“You destroyed my things!”
“Yes.”
The single word landed like a slap.
James’s mouth opened slightly. Remus’s face tightened. Lily’s eyes widened.
Sirius froze.
Regulus looked up at him without flinching.
“Yes,” Regulus repeated. “I did.”
The silence that followed was huge.
It swallowed the Great Hall whole.
Then Sirius exploded.
“You’re insane!”
Regulus’s smirk returned.
“Am I?”
“Yes!” Sirius shouted. “Yes, you are! Who the hell does that?”
Regulus set down the knife at last.
The sound of silver touching wood was small, clean, final.
“You do,” he said.
Sirius blinked.
Regulus leaned back slightly, hands folding in front of him.
“You have done that,” Regulus continued, voice quiet but carrying. “For years.”
Sirius’s face twisted. “What—”
“For years,” Regulus said again, firmer now. “Since we were children. You have taken my things. Without asking. Without permission. Without any intention of giving them back.”
Sirius stared at him, breathing hard.
Regulus’s gaze did not waver.
“You took them and left them in random places. You broke them. You lost them. You pretended you had no idea what I was talking about when I asked for them. You laughed when I got angry. You never apologised. You never replaced anything.”
Sirius scoffed sharply. “That is not the same—”
“It is exactly the same.”
“No, it’s fucking not!”
Regulus stood.
The movement was smooth and quiet.
Not dramatic. Not rushed.
But when he rose, the air changed.
He was not as loud as Sirius. Not as wild. He did not fill a room by storming through it.
Regulus filled it by making stillness feel dangerous.
Barty stopped smiling quite so broadly.
Evan’s eyes flicked between the brothers.
Dorcas’s jaw tightened.
Pandora watched Regulus with something almost sad in her soft, strange gaze.
“You never asked,” Regulus said. “Not once.”
Sirius laughed again, but there was a crack in it now. “You’re seriously standing there trying to justify—”
“I am not trying to justify anything.”
“You destroyed my entire dorm!”
“I destroyed your things.”
“My things!”
“Yes,” Regulus said, and his voice was suddenly sharp enough to cut. “Yours. Strange, isn’t it? How quickly you understand ownership when it belongs to you.”
Sirius’s mouth snapped shut.
James took a step forward. “Reg—”
Regulus’s eyes flicked to him.
James stopped.
Not because Regulus had threatened him. Not because James Potter was easily frightened. He was not.
But there was something in Regulus’s face that told him this was not a place where he belonged, no matter how much Sirius was his brother in all but blood.
This wound was older than James.
Older than Hogwarts.
Older than all of them.
Regulus looked back at Sirius.
“You guarded your own things like treasure,” he said. “You screamed if I touched them. You yelled if I looked too long. You would snatch them away and tell me to keep my hands off because they were yours.”
Sirius’s jaw worked.
Regulus’s mouth curved faintly.
“But mine?” he asked. “Mine were available. Mine were there for you to take. My books. My quills. My clothes. My school things. My little trinkets. My everything. You never cared. You never had to. Because they were mine, and mine meant nothing to you.”
“That’s not true,” Sirius snapped.
Regulus laughed softly.
It was the coldest sound in the hall.
“No?”
Sirius’s face flushed with fury. “No.”
Regulus stepped around the bench.
Barty shifted as if ready to follow, but Dorcas caught his sleeve.
“Don’t,” she murmured.
Barty looked as though every instinct in his body hated that order, but he stayed.
Regulus stopped in front of Sirius.
The brothers stood close enough now that the resemblance between them became almost cruel. Same black hair. Same fine bones. Same storm-born elegance sharpened into different weapons. Sirius was fire, all blazing rage and reckless movement. Regulus was ice over deep water, smooth until something drowned beneath it.
“You borrowed my broom,” Regulus said.
Sirius’s expression changed.
It was small.
Barely there.
But everyone close enough saw it.
Remus inhaled quietly.
James looked at Sirius.
Lily’s face softened with understanding and then tightened again with disapproval, though for whom it was difficult to tell.
Regulus watched the change land.
“There,” he said quietly. “You remember.”
Sirius swallowed. “It was an accident.”
Regulus’s eyes flashed.
“You took it without asking.”
Sirius looked away for half a second.
Regulus’s voice stayed level, which somehow made it worse.
“You took it without asking,” he repeated. “You used it. You broke it. You brought it back like it was rubbish and left it where I would find it.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did.”
“I didn’t mean to break it.”
“No,” Regulus said. “You never mean to. That’s your favourite excuse.”
Sirius’s lips parted.
Regulus stepped closer.
“You never mean to break things,” he said. “You never mean to lose them. You never mean to hurt anyone. You never mean to make a mess. You never mean to do any of it, and somehow everyone is still meant to clean up after you.”
James’s face darkened. “Careful.”
Regulus glanced at him.
“Or what?”
James stiffened.
Sirius shoved between them with a snarl. “Don’t talk to him.”
Regulus’s eyes returned to Sirius with cruel amusement.
“There it is,” he said. “Still guarding what’s yours.”
Sirius’s hands clenched at his sides. “James isn’t a thing.”
“No,” Regulus said. “But you still care when I touch.”
The words hit too precisely.
Sirius looked like he wanted to shove him. Or hex him. Or scream until the ceiling cracked.
Instead he said, “You’re a spiteful little bastard.”
Regulus smiled.
“Yes.”
Dorcas closed her eyes briefly, as if asking some higher power for patience and finding none available.
Barty whispered, “Merlin, he’s beautiful when he’s awful.”
Evan muttered, “Shut up, Barty.”
Pandora, very softly, said, “Sixteen years is a long time to keep a tally.”
Frank, standing behind Alice, murmured, “This is bad.”
Alice’s arms were folded, her face sharp with concern. “This is more than bad.”
Fabian leaned close to Gideon. “Do we intervene?”
Gideon stared at the brothers. “Do you want to die before lunch?”
Fabian considered. “Not especially.”
Mary looked upset, eyes flicking from Regulus to Sirius. “Sirius, did you really take his things all the time?”
Sirius rounded on her, furious and defensive. “That’s not the point!”
“It is the point,” Remus said quietly.
Sirius turned.
Remus looked pale and tired, but his voice was steady.
“It doesn’t excuse what he did,” Remus continued. “But it is the point.”
Sirius stared at him as if betrayed.
“You’re taking his side?”
“No,” Remus said. “I’m saying you’re both standing in the middle of the Great Hall screaming about a war that started before any of us got here.”
Sirius shook his head sharply. “He destroyed everything I own.”
“I know.”
“You saw it!”
“I did.”
“And you’re still—”
“I’m not saying he was right,” Remus said, more firmly now. “I’m saying you asked why, and he’s telling you.”
Sirius looked away, nostrils flaring.
Regulus gave Remus a brief glance. Something unreadable passed through it. Not gratitude. Regulus Black did not offer gratitude in public.
But perhaps recognition.
Perhaps not even that.
Lily stepped forward, eyes on Regulus now.
“You could have confronted him,” she said.
Regulus’s smile was faint. “I did.”
Lily frowned. “Before destroying his things.”
Regulus looked at Sirius.
“I did,” he said again. “For years.”
Sirius barked, “You whined.”
Regulus’s expression hardened.
The word had done something.
It moved through him like a knife through silk.
“I asked,” Regulus said.
Sirius’s face twisted. “You complained.”
“I asked.”
“You threw fits.”
“I asked.”
“You were always so precious about every little thing—”
Regulus moved so fast that Barty actually stood.
He did not touch Sirius.
He did not draw his wand.
He simply stepped forward until Sirius was forced either to step back or allow Regulus into his space. Sirius did not move, because Sirius Black would sooner choke than retreat.
So they stood nearly chest to chest.
Regulus’s voice dropped.
“When you wanted something,” he said, “you took it.”
Sirius’s jaw clenched.
“When I wanted it back, I was precious. When I was angry it was broken, I was dramatic. When I cried, I was pathetic.”
The word made Sirius flinch.
Regulus saw it.
He smiled without joy.
“Yes,” he said softly. “You remember that too.”
Sirius’s voice came out rough. “We were kids.”
“For sixteen years?”
Sirius said nothing.
Regulus’s eyes glittered.
“Were you a child last week?”
Sirius’s face shut down.
“Were you a child when you took my broom?”
Silence.
Regulus lifted his chin.
“Were you a child when you broke it and did not apologise?”
Still nothing.
The entire Great Hall seemed to have stopped breathing.
“Answer me,” Regulus said.
Sirius’s eyes flashed. “Fine.”
Regulus waited.
Sirius spat, “Fine, I took the stupid broom.”
Regulus’s mouth twitched.
“The stupid broom,” he repeated.
Sirius dragged both hands through his hair, furious, cornered, miserable. “I didn’t think it would matter that much.”
Regulus stared.
For a moment, the cold slipped.
Not enough for warmth to come through.
Just enough for the hurt underneath to show its teeth.
“You didn’t think,” Regulus said.
Sirius looked away.
Regulus laughed under his breath.
“Of course.”
James’s voice came quietly. “Sirius.”
Sirius whipped around. “Don’t.”
James held up his hands slightly, but his face was unsettled now. “I’m not saying anything.”
“You all are,” Sirius snapped. “You’re all looking at me like I deserved this.”
“Nobody deserves having all their stuff destroyed,” Alice said, crisp and clear.
Regulus’s gaze flicked to her.
Alice did not flinch.
“But,” she continued, looking at Sirius, “you also don’t get to act like things only matter once they’re yours.”
Sirius’s throat moved.
Frank nodded slowly, though he looked uncomfortable. “That’s fair.”
Marlene exhaled. “Bloody hell.”
Mary’s eyes were still wide. “This is horrible.”
“It’s breakfast,” Peter said weakly. “Can we not have family collapse over breakfast?”
Barty turned to him. “This is the best breakfast Hogwarts has served in years.”
“Barty,” Dorcas warned.
“What? It’s true.”
Evan leaned his arms on the table, watching Sirius with cool interest. “So what exactly are you angry about, Black?”
Sirius turned on him. “Stay out of it, Rosier.”
Evan smiled lazily. “Hard to, considering you brought your tantrum to our table.”
James snapped, “Oi.”
Evan’s eyes slid to him. “What?”
James stepped forward, shoulders squared. “Don’t.”
Barty perked up again. “Oh, please do.”
Dorcas stood now too. “Everyone stop.”
“No one asked you, Meadowes,” Sirius growled.
Dorcas’s expression went dangerous.
Regulus’s head turned slowly.
The temperature around the Slytherin table seemed to drop.
“Do not speak to her like that,” Regulus said.
Sirius gave a sharp, bitter smile.
“There it is. Saint Regulus, protector of friends, destroyer of wardrobes.”
Regulus’s eyes narrowed.
Sirius laughed again, but there was something raw in it now, something frayed.
“You care so much about manners, don’t you? About what’s yours and what isn’t yours. About rules. About respect.” He threw a hand toward the doors. “You broke into my room.”
Regulus said nothing.
“You broke into my room and you wrecked everything because of a broom.”
“No,” Regulus said.
Sirius sneered. “No?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Regulus’s voice was very quiet.
“Because you still think this is about a broom.”
The words emptied the hall again.
Sirius stared.
Regulus looked at him, really looked at him, and for once there was no smirk. No polished cruelty. No careful mask.
Only exhaustion.
Cold, old exhaustion.
“The broom was the last thing,” he said. “Not the only thing.”
Sirius’s anger flickered.
Regulus pressed on.
“You want me to apologise.”
“Yes,” Sirius snapped, seizing the simpler part because it was easier to hold. “Obviously.”
“No.”
Sirius recoiled like he had been struck.
Regulus’s face closed again.
“No,” he repeated. “I will not.”
“You—”
“I will not apologise.”
“You destroyed—”
“Yes.”
“My things.”
“Yes.”
“You had no right.”
Regulus smiled again then, small and vicious.
“Neither did you.”
Sirius’s voice cracked with rage. “That’s different!”
Regulus’s eyes flashed.
“Why?”
“Because I never—” Sirius stopped.
Regulus tilted his head.
Sirius’s chest rose and fell.
“Because I never did anything like this,” Sirius said finally.
“No,” Regulus agreed. “You did smaller things. Again and again and again. For years. And every time, you taught me exactly what it felt like to have something taken by someone who did not care.”
Sirius’s hands shook.
“You could’ve just taken something of mine.”
Regulus’s smile widened.
“You never let me.”
The simplicity of it was brutal.
Sirius had no answer.
Regulus continued, calm and merciless.
“You guarded your trunk. Your books. Your clothes. Your broom. Your little bits of freedom. Everything you owned, you held behind your teeth. But mine were always in reach.”
Sirius looked away, breathing hard.
“So I changed that,” Regulus said.
James ran a hand over his face. “This is mad.”
“No,” Barty said brightly. “This is consequences.”
Remus gave him a tired look. “Not helping.”
“Wasn’t trying.”
Marlene looked at Regulus. “You really destroyed all his clothes?”
Regulus turned his head slightly.
“Yes.”
Marlene blinked. “All of them?”
“Yes.”
Fabian winced. “That is… thorough.”
Gideon nodded solemnly. “Commitment to the bit.”
Lily shot them both a look.
Fabian immediately looked down at his plate despite not being seated anywhere near it.
Gideon coughed.
Mary shook her head, torn between horror and fascination. “Regulus, that’s awful.”
Regulus looked at her.
“I know.”
The admission made everyone pause.
Mary frowned. “Then why—”
“Because awful things do not become less awful when they happen quietly,” Regulus said.
Mary fell silent.
Sirius swallowed.
For the first time since he had stormed in, something other than anger moved across his face. It looked like confusion. Or guilt. Or the beginning of something he did not know how to name and did not want to touch.
Regulus saw it and seemed to hate it.
He sat back down.
The motion was abrupt, dismissive.
“As I said,” Regulus said, picking up his tea again, “I will not apologise.”
Sirius stared at the top of his head.
The dismissal hit him worse than the argument.
“You don’t get to end this,” he said.
Regulus took a sip.
Sirius grabbed the edge of the table again. “Regulus.”
Regulus looked up slowly.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Sirius let out a disbelieving breath. “What do I want?”
“You came here to scream. You’ve screamed.”
“I want my things back.”
Regulus’s expression did not change.
“You can’t have them.”
Sirius looked like he might break the table in half. “You little—”
“They’re broken,” Regulus said. “That is rather the point.”
Sirius went still.
Regulus’s voice was silk over a blade.
“You know how that works. Don’t you?”
Sirius’s eyes shone with fury.
For a second, it looked as though he might actually lunge.
James moved closer at once, hand hovering near Sirius’s shoulder but not touching.
Remus did the same on his other side.
Peter hovered behind them, pale and nervous.
Lily stood with her arms folded tightly, watching every breath.
Alice and Frank had shifted too, ready if it went badly. Fabian and Gideon exchanged a look and quietly positioned themselves where they could grab James if James grabbed Evan if Evan said something unfortunate, which, judging by Evan’s face, was increasingly likely.
Marlene leaned toward Mary. “This is going to end with someone hexed.”
Mary whispered, “This is going to end with everyone hexed.”
Barty, delighted, whispered, “Please.”
Dorcas snapped, “Barty.”
“What?”
“Stop looking like that.”
“I can’t. This is my face.”
“It’s a problem.”
Pandora spoke softly, not looking away from the brothers. “He left the wand.”
Everyone close enough heard her.
Sirius’s gaze flicked to her.
Pandora’s pale eyes were calm, unreadable.
“He could have broken the wand,” she said. “He didn’t.”
Sirius barked a bitter laugh. “Should I thank him?”
“No,” Pandora said. “But you should know what line he did not cross.”
Regulus looked at her sharply.
Pandora looked back with placid innocence.
Barty grinned. “She’s got a point.”
Sirius sneered, “Of course you’d think so.”
Barty’s grin vanished.
“Careful,” Evan said softly.
James immediately stepped forward. “Are you threatening him?”
Evan smiled. “I’m advising.”
“Oh, shove your advice—”
“James,” Lily said.
James stopped, jaw clenched.
The hall had begun to murmur now, whispers spreading in every direction. Slytherins leaning together with glittering eyes. Gryffindors looking scandalised, defensive, curious. Ravenclaws practically taking mental notes. Hufflepuffs mostly looking like they wished breakfast had stayed breakfast.
At the staff table, McGonagall was moving now.
So was Professor Flitwick.
But Sirius did not care.
His world had narrowed to Regulus sitting at the Slytherin table, calm as a knife left out in moonlight.
“You think you won,” Sirius said.
Regulus set his cup down again.
“No.”
“You’re sitting there smirking like you won.”
“I am sitting here because I was having breakfast.”
Sirius slammed his palm against the table again. “Don’t play with me.”
Regulus’s eyes lifted.
“I am not playing.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No,” Regulus said. “I played when I was little. When I thought if I got angry enough, or cried enough, or shouted enough, maybe you would stop.”
Sirius’s face changed again.
Regulus’s voice stayed flat.
“You never did.”
Sirius said nothing.
“You laughed.”
Sirius swallowed.
“You told me I was being dramatic.”
Sirius’s gaze dropped for half a second.
“You took what you wanted.”
Regulus leaned forward slightly.
“So I did the same.”
The words sat between them.
Taste of his own medicine, cold and bitter.
Sirius looked at him like he wanted to hate him.
Maybe he did.
Maybe he always had in some tangled, brother-shaped way, love and rage and resentment braided so tightly none of them could tell which strand was which anymore.
“You’re my brother,” Sirius said suddenly.
The hall seemed to recoil from the softness of it.
Regulus’s expression did not shift, but his fingers tightened around the edge of his saucer.
Sirius looked furious at himself for saying it. Furious that it had come out sounding less like an accusation and more like something wounded.
Regulus stared at him.
Then he said, “You remembered.”
Sirius flinched.
Regulus’s smile returned, brittle and beautiful and cruel.
“How convenient.”
Sirius’s mouth opened.
Nothing came.
Regulus looked down at his plate.
“You may leave now.”
Sirius went very still.
James’s eyes widened slightly. “Regulus—”
“No,” Sirius said.
Regulus did not look up. “No?”
“No,” Sirius repeated, voice lower. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to wreck my things, throw sixteen years in my face, and then dismiss me like I’m—”
“Like what?” Regulus asked.
Sirius stopped.
Regulus looked up.
“Like I’m you?”
Sirius stared at him.
Regulus’s face was sharp with something far older than anger.
“How does it feel?” he asked softly.
Sirius’s lips parted.
Regulus held his gaze.
“To have something taken,” he said. “To be told it does not matter. To be angry and have everyone stare at you like you are making too much noise. To want an apology and know you will not get one.”
Sirius breathed in, unsteady.
Regulus smiled.
“Tell me,” he said. “How does it feel?”
Sirius’s expression cracked.
Only for a second.
Only enough that Remus saw it and looked away.
Only enough that James’s hand finally settled on Sirius’s shoulder.
Only enough that Lily’s face softened despite herself.
Then Sirius shoved the crack closed with fury.
“I hate you,” he said.
Regulus did not blink.
Barty’s smile faded entirely.
Evan’s hand curled against the table.
Dorcas looked sharply at Sirius.
Pandora lowered her gaze.
The words landed ugly.
Too ugly.
Even Sirius seemed to hear them after they left his mouth.
Regulus’s face went blank.
Not calm.
Blank.
Like the entire world had been shuttered from the inside.
Then he gave the smallest nod.
“There,” he said quietly. “That sounds more honest.”
Sirius’s jaw worked.
James squeezed his shoulder. “Pads.”
Sirius shook him off.
Regulus reached for his knife again.
His fingers were steady.
“You should go,” he said. “I assume you’ll need to find something to wear.”
Barty made a strangled noise.
Dorcas kicked him under the table.
Sirius’s face twisted.
“You smug little shit.”
Regulus looked up through his lashes.
“Yes?”
Sirius leaned in again, voice low and shaking. “This isn’t over.”
Regulus smiled faintly.
“It never was.”
Before Sirius could answer, Professor McGonagall’s voice cut through the hall.
“That is enough.”
The words cracked like a whip.
Everyone jolted.
McGonagall had reached them, robes sweeping, mouth pressed into a severe line. Professor Flitwick hovered a few steps behind her, looking alarmed but ready.
“Sirius Black,” McGonagall said, eyes blazing behind her spectacles. “Regulus Black. Both of you will lower your voices at once.”
Sirius turned toward her, still breathing hard. “Professor, he—”
“I heard enough to understand that this discussion does not belong in the middle of breakfast.”
Regulus sat with perfect posture. “Of course, Professor.”
McGonagall’s eyes snapped to him.
“And you, Mr Black,” she said coldly, “would do well not to look quite so pleased with yourself.”
Regulus lowered his gaze with false humility so polished it practically reflected candlelight.
“Yes, Professor.”
Sirius let out a bitter laugh. “He destroyed everything I own.”
McGonagall looked at him sharply.
“I am aware you are upset.”
“Upset?” Sirius repeated. “Professor—”
“Sirius,” Remus murmured.
“No, don’t Sirius me,” he snapped. “He broke into our dorm and wrecked all my stuff!”
A louder murmur rolled through the hall.
McGonagall’s lips thinned.
Regulus did not deny it.
That, more than anything, seemed to make her pause.
“You admit this?” she asked.
Regulus looked up.
“Yes.”
McGonagall inhaled through her nose.
James stared at Regulus. “Bloody hell, you’re not even pretending.”
Regulus glanced at him. “Why would I?”
“Because you’re in trouble,” Peter squeaked.
Regulus’s gaze slid to Peter.
Peter immediately took a step behind Remus.
Barty muttered, “Wise.”
McGonagall’s voice sharpened. “Mr Crouch.”
Barty smiled angelically. “Yes, Professor?”
“Silence.”
“Gladly.”
Evan snorted.
McGonagall looked at him too.
Evan became very interested in his tea.
Sirius pointed at Regulus again. “He’s not sorry.”
Regulus looked at him.
“No,” he said. “I am not.”
McGonagall’s eyes narrowed.
“Mr Black.”
Both brothers said, “Yes?”
The response came at once.
A few students made startled choking noises.
For one mad moment, even James looked like he might laugh.
McGonagall did not.
“Regulus,” she said icily.
Regulus inclined his head.
“You will come with me.”
Sirius immediately snapped, “That’s it?”
McGonagall turned on him.
“And you, Sirius, will go with Professor Flitwick.”
Sirius looked outraged. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” she said. “Unless you intend to continue screaming across the Great Hall.”
Sirius’s eyes flashed. “He—”
“I am not debating disciplinary procedure with you over sausages.”
Fabian whispered, “Iconic.”
Gideon whispered, “Historic.”
Lily elbowed both of them with impressive accuracy.
McGonagall ignored it, gaze still fixed on Sirius.
“You will go with Professor Flitwick,” she repeated, “and explain the state of your belongings. Mr Potter, Mr Lupin, Mr Pettigrew, if you witnessed the damage, you may accompany him.”
James looked at Sirius.
Sirius said nothing.
Remus gave a small nod. “We did.”
Peter swallowed. “Unfortunately.”
McGonagall turned back to Regulus.
“Mr Crouch, Mr Rosier, Miss Rosier, Miss Meadowes, you will remain here.”
Barty opened his mouth.
“No,” McGonagall said.
Barty closed it.
Dorcas looked relieved.
Evan looked irritated.
Pandora gave Regulus a gentle, unreadable look.
Regulus stood.
He did it with the same composed grace as before, smoothing one hand down the front of his robes. He looked as untouched as ever, every inch the perfect heir, the perfect son, the perfect little blade hidden in a velvet-lined box.
Only those closest saw his hand tremble once before he curled it into a fist.
Sirius saw.
His face shifted.
Regulus noticed him noticing.
The tremor vanished.
Regulus stepped out from the bench and moved to follow McGonagall.
Sirius turned toward him, voice rough now.
“Reg.”
Regulus stopped.
The nickname hung there.
Small.
Old.
Cruel in its familiarity.
Regulus did not turn around immediately.
When he did, his face was unreadable again.
Sirius seemed suddenly unsure of what he had meant to say.
The Great Hall waited.
James watched him closely. Remus looked tired and sad. Peter looked like he wished very much to become invisible. Lily’s expression had softened into something conflicted. Mary and Marlene were silent. Alice stood with Frank’s hand resting lightly at her back. Fabian and Gideon, for once, had no jokes ready.
Barty’s eyes were fixed on Regulus.
Evan’s jaw was tight.
Dorcas looked between the brothers with the face of someone watching a bridge burn from both ends.
Pandora, very softly, whispered, “Oh.”
Sirius swallowed.
Regulus waited.
Nothing came.
Whatever apology might have existed remained buried beneath pride, rage, humiliation, the watching hall, sixteen years of habit, and the terrible Black family instinct to bleed before bending.
Regulus smiled faintly.
“There,” he said. “Now you know how it feels.”
Sirius’s face went pale.
Regulus turned away.
McGonagall led him toward the staff table exit, robes slicing through the silence. Regulus followed without looking back, head high, every step measured.
Behind him, Sirius stood beside the Slytherin table with his hands still clenched, surrounded by friends who loved him and students who watched him and the wreckage of a morning he had not expected to survive.
James stepped close. “Pads.”
Sirius did not answer.
Remus said quietly, “Come on.”
Sirius stared after Regulus until he disappeared through the side door.
Only then did his shoulders sag.
Just slightly.
Just enough.
“He destroyed everything,” Sirius said, but the words no longer sounded like a battle cry.
They sounded young.
James’s face softened. “I know.”
Sirius looked down at the table where Regulus’s tea still sat cooling beside the untouched toast.
For years, Regulus’s things had gone missing.
For years, Sirius had taken and laughed and broken and moved on, because little brothers were easy to annoy and easier to dismiss. Because Regulus always got angry in that cold, sharp way that made Sirius want to push harder. Because Sirius had been careless with anything that did not belong to him, and careful only with the things he could not bear to lose.
Now his own world lay upstairs in pieces.
Clothes ruined.
Books shredded.
Records cracked.
Posters torn.
Photographs smashed.
Sheets cut open.
Trunk wrecked.
Everything touched.
Everything taken.
Everything except his wand.
Even Regulus was not that cruel.
Or perhaps Regulus was exactly that cruel, and had simply understood that some things were too sacred to break even in revenge.
Sirius breathed out slowly, shakily.
Across the table, Barty Crouch Jr. watched him with glittering eyes and a mouth gone unusually flat.
Evan Rosier leaned back, arms folded, gaze cold.
Dorcas Meadowes looked tired.
Pandora Rosier picked up her toast again, though she did not eat it.
At the Gryffindor table, the abandoned plates sat cooling beneath the enchanted morning sky.
No one quite knew what to say.
Then Gideon, very quietly, muttered, “Breakfast is fucked, then.”
Fabian covered his face.
Marlene made a strangled noise.
Mary whispered, “Gideon.”
Lily looked as though she wanted to scold him and laugh despite herself, which seemed to irritate her more than anything else.
Even Frank coughed into his hand.
Sirius did not laugh.
He looked once more toward the door Regulus had left through.
His anger was still there. Of course it was. It burned hot and bright and wounded in his chest. Regulus had crossed a line so violently that Sirius could hardly see past the smoke of it.
But beneath it, under the wreckage, under the humiliation, under the fury of having his life torn apart with deliberate hands, something else had begun to move.
A memory.
A little boy with grey eyes, asking for his toy back.
A hand snatching something away.
A laugh.
A broken thing.
An apology never given.
Sirius shut his eyes.
Then opened them again, because Blacks did not fall apart in public unless they could make it look like theatre.
“Fine,” he said hoarsely.
Remus watched him. “Fine?”
Sirius swallowed, jaw tight.
“Fine,” he repeated, louder, sharper, dragging the word back into anger because anger was easier. “Let’s go look at the crime scene again, then. Since apparently my brother’s gone completely mental.”
Barty called from the Slytherin table, bright and cruel, “Careful, Black. Things are only mental when they happen to you.”
Sirius turned.
For half a second, it looked like the whole thing might ignite again.
Then Dorcas slapped a hand over Barty’s mouth.
“Enough,” she said.
Barty’s muffled protest was immediate and dramatic.
Evan smirked despite himself.
Pandora patted Barty’s shoulder gently. “There, there.”
Sirius stared at them, breathing hard.
Then James caught his arm.
“Come on,” James said quietly.
This time, Sirius let himself be pulled away.
Remus walked on his other side. Peter followed close behind, still pale. Lily, Mary, Marlene, Alice, Frank, Fabian, and Gideon trailed after them in a worried cluster, the Gryffindor tide moving back toward the doors Sirius had slammed open minutes before.
The Great Hall slowly remembered how to breathe.
Voices returned in whispers first, then murmurs, then cautious conversation.
At the Slytherin table, Barty finally pulled Dorcas’s hand away.
“You nearly suffocated me,” he complained.
“I was saving your life,” Dorcas said.
“From what?”
“Yourself.”
Evan lifted his tea. “Impossible task.”
Pandora looked at Regulus’s empty place.
“He’ll be in trouble,” she said.
Barty shrugged, but his expression was sharper than his voice. “Obviously.”
Dorcas sat down slowly. “He knew that.”
Evan’s gaze lingered on the door. “He didn’t care.”
“No,” Pandora said softly. “I think he cared very much.”
None of them answered that.
Regulus’s tea continued cooling.
At the far end of the hall, the doors closed behind Sirius and the Gryffindors with a heavy, echoing sound.
The kind of sound that made the morning feel divided.
Before and after.
Upstairs, Sirius’s dorm waited in ruins.
Downstairs, Regulus’s breakfast sat abandoned.
And somewhere between the broken records, shredded clothes, smashed photographs, stolen childhood things, and every apology that had never been spoken, the Black brothers had finally found a language they both understood.
Damage.
Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
But damage, at least, was honest.