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It had been years since Sirius left the house he had grown up in.
Seven, to be precise.
Seven years in which he had lived in a healthy environment, surrounded by people that loved him the way one should love.
In all this time, there was not a single choice he regretted for having left.
His parents were all the opposite to him, and their pressure had always been suffocating.
They owned one of the biggest businesses in the city, having a well-known name and recognition as one of the best families.
Sirius had always thought this was the stupidest thing ever, because neither did anything other than hold a title that had fallen over them once his father had been old enough to take over the family business.
Not once had they done anything for it other than giving minimal orders to the ones that led it by stupidly low wages while his parents obtained almost all the benefits without moving a finger.
Sirius had been expected to take over it once old enough.
He had been forced studies he never wanted to so he’d know how to deal with it. He had been forced into these stupid dinners to meet ‘potential whatevers’—as he called them.
The breaking point was when too alone and overwhelmed with all that was hanging over his head, Sirius thought that maybe, if he wanted to be free from them, there was no other way than death.
They didn’t let him live, and Sirius had almost given in.
But Sirius didn’t want to die.
One night, he packed up his things and left without looking back.
At the very first moment, he had been clueless where to go. Leaving had been an impulsive decision, but there was no way he’d go back.
So Sirius went to the place of the only person he thought could help him: James.
They knew each other for a few years, being the man’s mother, owner of another business his parents had once tried to link to.
His parents arranged meetings with them some times, in which Sirius had been dragged against his will.
Surprisingly, though, there had been another boy too.
He didn’t look sad or bored, though, almost as if he was really interested in learning whatever was going on.
This threw him back, because which kid in their right mind would ever want to get into something like this? Parents forcing you into things you hated was never nice, so how could this boy just— look so interested?
But through the dinner, they had exchanged a few words, and James seemed like the most amazing boy in the world.
They only saw each other a few more times before James’s mother rejected any kind of deal his parents had been trying to get.
It had been about a year since the last time he saw him, and maybe it was stupid, because they had barely spoken out of the few times they sat together at these dinners, but James had opened Sirius’s eyes to a new world he had never expected.
James wasn’t doing this because he didn’t have another option, but because it truly interested him and he looked up to his mother.
It had been the most impulsive decision, not even sure if James saw him as anything else than the boy he saw whenever his mother met the Black.
James, however, had been excited to see him.
Euphemia didn’t have any problem letting him stay for the night, and when James’s father—whom Sirius hadn’t met yet—found out about the situation as well, he didn’t hesitate to take him in either.
He became emancipated and started to live with James’s parents, a whole new world opening for him.
At the very start, Sirius didn’t feel deserving of it, because they barely knew him. But God, they had gone past any barrier as quickly as he had arrived.
And James?
James was the best thing that ever happened to him.
Years went by and Sirius started a new life, meeting amazing people and living behind everything that had once hurt him.
Lately, he had been practicing with the guitar Monty had bought him for the second birthday he spent at their place. His eighteenth.
Oh, he had fallen in love with it so quickly, and Sirius had become amazingly good at it.
His dream was to be in a famous band, sometime. Or maybe play alone. But definitely, live off playing the guitar. Live off his dream.
However, that didn’t occupy all of his time.
During mornings, he worked at a small café nearby, where he had met this cute boy he had been fancying for a while now.
And some afternoons, he volunteered at a crisis hotline.
It hadn’t been anything planned. Not at all, but he happened to cross paths with a post of someone whose life had been saved that way.
Maybe some wouldn’t have thought much of it, but Sirius had just discovered that maybe, someone could have helped him back then. That maybe, rather than drown in misery for a short period of time, he could have spoken with someone.
It’s not that he had wanted to do it, but… he did see death as an option.
And it had been awful.
So he tried volunteering. Because he had been alone in a way he wished very few people for. And if Sirius could do anything to make someone feel better when they felt like he had, there was no more thinking to do.
He had taken a training course during a few weeks, learning how to deal with certain situations and finding out some other things that didn’t seem to make sense, but he agreed nonetheless. It was, after all, what he was required to do for this. And Sirius truly wanted to.
Despite what he had thought it would be, actual dangerous calls arrived very every now and then.
Most of the time, stupid or drunk people called, knowing that the number they called was available all day and night, and that their calls would be answered. Sirius learnt to hang these up quickly.
Then, less often but still common, people that called meaning to talk.
Most of them were not on the verge, some hadn’t even thought of death, but they needed someone to vent to, and Sirius was there.
Because in one way or another, they were the ones he had been more similar to.
Some were sad because their partner cheated on them, not knowing what to do with their lives. Some others were older people that felt alone and abandoned by their family members. Very few actually mentioned having thought of committing, even if some did voice having thought dead would be calmer.
During the first weeks, it had been hard.
Even if the problems weren’t his, they felt like it. And after the calls ended, he kept thinking of them.
Sometimes, Sirius even wondered about some of the people that had once called him.
He wondered if that nice lady had ever gone over her husband’s death, having now to carry the bookstore they built together alone. She had just wanted to talk, too alone to find someone to do so in person.
He wondered if that kid’s parents kept fighting everyday or had gotten a divorce already.
He wondered if that girl had finally let herself love the woman she loved even if her parents would hate her for it.
Some people never escaped his head. And maybe they never would, but that was part of this.
It was hard not being able to offer advice, but even if at first he had thought about it at the stupidest rule ever, within time, Sirius understood why it could be dangerous.
It never got easier, but he handled it better within time.
After six months of volunteering, Sirius had gotten a single call from someone that was in real, instant danger.
They had a gun.
Sirius had not been ready to hear it so bluntly, but taking it slow, he managed to calm this person.
Words have to be measured carefully, because stupidly enough, he was forbidden from just trying to convince anyone to do otherwise.
“As much as it hurts, they have their right and free will to decide whether they want to die or not. You cannot trace a call or send help if they don’t request it themselves,” someone had explained during the training course.
It was the stupidest bullshit ever.
But Sirius went along with it. And somehow, by the moment the call ended, this person had calmed down and decided it wasn’t worth it yet.
That night, Sirius had slept in James’s room.
It shouldn’t have affected him that much, but it had.
It truly had, and the call haunted Sirius for weeks after it.
Even if they hadn’t pulled the trigger in the call, the idea that they may be dead by now was deeply upsetting. But there wasn’t anything Sirius could do about it.
So far today, not many people have called.
A man that expected a woman’s voice to speak back at him with God knows what intentions, an old man whose grandson had died in an accident and a woman that was just waiting until her sister married to take her own life.
Sirius had been picking up his things, about to leave when the time arrived, but a last call paused his doings.
Technically, it was past ten already. Just by a few minutes, but he wasn’t meant to take any other call.
But he was here because he wanted to help, so even if he’d have to explain later why he took longer to James, Sirius sat back down and picked up the phone.
"Hello," Sirius said, settling back into his chair. His voice softened into the practiced calm that had taken months to learn. "You've reached the crisis line. My name is Aster. I'm here to listen. What would you like me to call you?"
No reply came.
He could hear breathing. Faint and uneven.
Sirius waited.
The silence never bothered him as much as it had in the beginning. People often needed a moment to decide whether they actually wanted to speak.
“You don’t have to tell me your name,” he added after several seconds. “You can stay anonymous if you’d rather.”
Another breath.
“...It doesn’t matter.”
Sirius’s fingers stilled over the notepad beside him. The voice was… slightly familiar. Not enough to ring a bell, but it made him feel uncomfortable in a way very few calls managed to make him.
“It matters to me if it matters to you.”
The caller scoffed lowly with something far from amusement. It sounded exhausted, and Sirius sat straighter, paying close attention now.
“I’m really glad you called tonight,” he continued, keeping his breathing slow, because this call felt more serious than most of the ones he usually took. “Can you tell me what made you call me?”
There was silence.
“I didn’t want to die alone.”
Sirius felt his stomach tighten.
For a split second, his mind went blank, remembering that one call.
Breathe, he told himself. Don’t rush. Don’t make promises. Keep them talking.
The man curled his free hand into a fist beneath the desk so tightly his nails bit into his palm.
“Thank you for telling me that,” he said, surprised at how steady his own voice sounded. “I’m glad you decided not to be alone right now.”
A pause.
“Can you tell me what’s happening tonight?”
Sirius reached for the notepad beside him, though his eyes never left the dark window in front of the desk. He wanted to help. He wanted to help whoever this was. To calm them down, to change their mind.
But he couldn’t just do that. Not straight up. Because he wasn’t meant to… change their minds. Not exactly. Not directly. Just try to calm them. And that was eating him up.
“...I took enough.”
His pulse lurched.
Pills.
Maybe. Or maybe something else. He couldn’t assume.
“Do you know what you took?”
“Not sure.”
“And when?”
Silence.
“...A few minutes ago.”
Right. Ok. This— this was not like last time.
Last time there was a chance. The person hadn’t actually… done anything.
But this one had.
Sirius had thought himself ready. Practice calls had gone well. But this? This was real. And if he wanted to help, he needed the caller to actually ask for help. And by the looks of it, he didn’t mean to.
“Do you want to tell me what led you to this?”
The answer came so quickly it almost caught him off guard.
"Tonight was just..." The caller exhaled shakily. "The night I stopped pretending tomorrow would be different."
Sirius scribbled a few words onto his notepad, more to occupy his hands than because he needed the reminder.
“It’s been years, and… I can’t do this alone. My parents are awful, and… I don’t know. I can’t do this on my own,” a broken sob tore out of the man, and Sirius bit his bottom lip.
The caller drew in a slow breath, as though weighting every word.
“There used to be someone else.” Sirius stayed silent, inviting him to continue. A quiet laugh escaped the caller, brittle enough that it almost sounded like it hurt. “Funny,” the caller murmured. “I used to think leaving was the brave option.”
Sirius frowned, but before he could speak, the caller spoke again.
“Someone else managed it.”
The words lingered between them. Sirius reached for his pen again, though he hadn't realized he’d set it down. “Do you want to tell me about them?”
Maybe that could work. He’d think of someone, then regret and… call an ambulance.
Sirius was just supposed to hang around until he died, otherwise. Could he really?
A quiet breath met his ear.
“He was older.” Sirius nodded to himself, writing nothing. “Our family… is awful. He did good, I guess. My mother was terrible, just wanted him to make everyone proud and follow my father’s steps.”
Sirius’s pen froze. That felt too close home, but there were plenty of families like that. It wasn’t uncommon, and he could swear having taken a call from someone tired of having to meet family expectations.
“That sounds like a lot of pressure for him.”
“It was.”
“And for you?”
Silence.
“...I got what was left.”
Sirius’s jaw tightened. Looking at the clock, he noticed about two minutes had gone by. And the caller mentioned it had been minutes already since he took the pills.
That was not great.
“That must have felt lonely.”
“Lonely?” The caller echoed softly. “No.” Another pause. “Lonely would have meant there was room for anything besides disappointment.”
Sirius shut his eyes for the briefest moment. Maybe he could just…
“Were you close?”
“He was my brother.” The answer came without hesitation.
“You cared about him very much,” Sirius affirmed, getting a low hum.
That was something. Ok. Good.
“Still do.”
Sirius smiled sadly.
“Have you spoken to him since he left?”
The line was quiet enough that Sirius wondered if the question had crossed somewhere it shouldn’t have, but maybe, the only chance he had was making this man think about someone worth living for.
“...No.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“Not exactly.” Another cackle, weaker this time. “I know he found people who actually wanted him. People to love, I guess.”
Something in Sirius’s chest shifted. That was an odd choice of words, but that didn’t matter.
For what it seemed, this boy had been left with everything his older brother left behind, only to meet disappointment and solitude.
“You sound happy for him.”
“I am.” The caller inhaled shakily. “I just wish he’d taken me with him.”
Sirius’s breath caught, a memory surfacing before he could stop it.
Regulus standing in the doorway of their bedroom, no older than ten, asking in a whisper if Sirius could leave the light on.
He wondered if this is how Regulus would have felt.
Sirius hadn’t thought a lot about it. Of course he missed his own brother, and of course he… had his doubts about having left him. But their parents had always been good towards him.
He pushed the thoughts away.
Unfortunate coincidence.
“I’m sorry that happened. It must have been awful for you, and it’s not fair,” he spoke quietly, trying to lead the conversation to the point he wanted to get at. “You could try speaking with him.”
Fuck.
He wasn’t meant to give advice. He wasn’t meant to. Maybe this ended up worsely because of him. But what did it matter, if the caller had already taken pills? This was a race and Sirius could only try anything so this person would last a day more on earth.
“I…—” the caller paused. “My parents forbade me from ever contacting him. They… they’re violent, sometimes.They weren’t before. Not to me, but… they… sometimes, when I’m not what they want me to, or when I mention anything about him, or my friend… he did this too. My— my friend. His father was foul and he hung.”
Ah, what an awesome piece of missing information.
His parents hit him if he did as much as ask about his brother, and just if that wasn’t enough, his fucking friend hung.
Sirius was doing it just great by reminding him of all this, wasn’t he?
“I miss them. Bat was… he was everything. And— Sirius is the only one I had, before him.”
Everything inside him went still. The room vanished. The notepad slid from beneath his hand and fluttered onto the desk.
No.
No.
There were other people named Sirius. There had to be.
“...”
He forced himself to breathe. “That’s… an unusual name.” His voice almost failed him. As much as he wanted to focus on other parts of this, he— he could not.
What were the chances?
“Yeah.” Another pause. “Our parents liked stars.”
Sirius forgot how to breathe.
There were hundreds of families that named their children after stars. There had to be. And even though he tried to convince himself of this, the thought wasn’t enough.
It couldn’t be enough.
He swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat. “They sound…” Sirius searched for a neutral word, finding none. “...particular.”
The caller gave a quiet hum. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Do they know you called tonight?”
A scoff.
“They only know about me what they want to believe.”
“Would they be worried if they found out you were hurting?”
“They’d be worried about the scandal.”
The words came so matter-of-factly that Sirius felt something twist painfully inside his chest.
He knew people like that.
He had lived with people like that.
“You don’t sound very surprised.”
Sirius blinked. “What?”
“You didn’t tell me they loved me.”
He hadn’t. Because for what the boy had said, they didn’t. And he wouldn’t lie. That’d just worsen it.
“I don’t know your parents,” Sirius answered carefully. “I don’t want to make assumptions.”
The caller let out a slow breath. “You’re the first person that said that.” Sirius stared at the grain of the wooden desk.
“Most people insist that every parent loves their child.”
“And what do you think?”
The question caught him off guard.
Don’t answer for yourself. Bring it back to them, his training echoed through his head.
“I think,” Sirius said quietly, “that whatever your relationship with them is, it sounds like you’ve been carrying it by yourself for a very long time.”
“...Yeah.”
The single syllable was barely audible.
“He knew.”
Sirius frowned.
“Your brother?”
“He always knew.” A pause. “He’d take the blame whenever Father was angry.” The caller laughed softly. “It didn’t matter whose fault it was. Sometimes there wasn’t even anything to blame.”
Sirius’s breath hitched, trying really hard not to think about it, but it was becoming impossible. The name, the situation, everything—
"He sounds like he cared about you."
"He did."
"Do you think he knew you cared about him?"
The line was silent.
Long enough that Sirius almost thought he'd lost the call.
"...I don't know."
The voice cracked for the first time, words dissolving into a breath that sounded heavier than the last one.
Sirius let the silence settle.
“What makes you wonder that?”
Another pause. “Because I never told him.”
Sirius’s pen hovered uselessly above the page.
“Never told him what?”
“That I didn’t blame him.” His voice was slower now, sleepier, and it made Sirius’s heart race faster. “He was trying to save himself.”
The words hit Sirius harder than he expected.
“Do you think he knows that?”
“...Probably not.” A pause. “He always thought he had to protect me.”
Sirius’s throat tightened. “Did he?”
“All the time.” The caller laughed weakly, but it was softer this time, almost caringly. “He wasn’t very good at listening.”
It seemed like a good moment to try again. He needed to, he—
“What would you tell him,” Sirius asked, choosing each word with care. “If he were listening right now?”
There was a long stretch of silence. So long Sirius glanced at the timer on the desk to make sure the call was still connected.
“That I love him… And that he was right. There wasn’t anything left to save.”
Sirius’s heart sank.
“Mother…” He swallowed audibly. “Mother got worse.”
Sirius shut his eyes.
Don’t.
Don’t assume.
Rich families.
Controlling parents.
There were many.
“That sounds frightening.”
His brother’s name is Sirius.
“...Mm.”
The hum was sluggish, slower than before.
Sirius’s pulse began to climb.
“Can I ask you something?”
“...Guess.”
“What did you take tonight?” That could give him an estimate, but the caller sighed.
“Does it matter?”
“It helps me understand what’s happening with you.”
Silence.
“...Just whatever was in the cabinet.”
Sirius’s grip tightened around the receiver.
“Can you remember any names?”
“No…” Another pause. “There were a lot.”
His words blurred together ever so slightly, and Sirius felt a knot settle in his stomach.
“Can you stay with me?”
“I’m trying.”
Good. Good. He was trying, he— he was trying to stay up, at least. That was progress.
“You’re doing great.”
A weak chuckle. “You sound like him.” Sirius’s breath caught. “He always…” the caller yawned halfway through the sentence. “...always made sure I knew even the smallest things.”
Sirius stared at nothing, truly unsure how to proceed, feeling every nerve of his body screaming at him.
“He liked my name, too. He said that often… it’s a star, too. Did I say that? My parents liked stars,” the boy repeated. “Mine’s Regulus.”
The pen slipped from Sirius's fingers and clattered onto the desk.
He barely heard it.
Regulus.
Regulus.
His little brother.
Seven years.
Seven years without a word, and somehow the first thing Sirius had heard from him was that he hadn't wanted to die alone.
His throat constricted.
Every instinct screamed at him to say his name.
Reg.
I'm here.
It's me.
The words climbed as far as the back of his teeth before he forced them back down.
He wasn't Sirius.
Not here.
Not now.
If he blurted it out, he had no idea what it would do to Regulus. Whether it would comfort him or send him spiraling. Whether he'd hang up.
Sirius couldn't risk losing him.
He took one careful breath.
"Regulus," he repeated, his voice astonishingly even. "Thank you for telling me your name."
"...Mm."
The response was delayed.
Sluggish.
Sirius's stomach lurched.
"Regulus, can you stay with me for a moment?"
"...Trying."
Another long pause followed.
Too long.
"Regulus?"
"...Yeah."
His speech had softened around the edges, each word taking effort.
"Can you tell me where you are right now?"
"...Home."
"Is anyone else there with you?"
Regulus was quiet.
"...Don't think so."
Sirius swallowed.
Don't think so.
"Can you look around for me?"
Nothing.
"Regulus?"
"...Hold on."
A rustle crackled through the receiver.
Fabric.
Something bumping softly against wood.
A sharp intake of breath.
Sirius leaned forward so far his elbows nearly slipped off the desk.
"Take your time. I'm right here."
More silence.
Then—
"...It's dark."
His words were beginning to slur.
"Curtains are..." He exhaled. "...closed."
Sirius closed his eyes for half a second.
Stay focused.
"Can you turn on a light?"
"...Don't..."
Another pause.
"...Don't really want to move."
The knot in Sirius's chest tightened.
"I know. It sounds like you're feeling very sleepy."
"...Yeah."
"Can you do me a favor anyway?"
Regulus hummed.
"I need you to keep talking to me."
"...About what?"
Sirius searched desperately for something—anything—that would keep him engaged.
"Tell me about your brother."
A tired laugh escaped Regulus.
"...You ask a lot about him."
"You talk about him like he mattered."
Silence.
"...He did."
Sirius bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood.
“Maybe he misses you too, and wouldn’t like this to be happening.”
Regulus was quiet for so long Sirius thought he'd drifted off.
“He was loud,” Regulus hadn’t replied. Sirius didn’t like that. “Annoying, funny… found a guitar once and played it, even though Mother hated it.”
Sirius froze, swallowing hard.
"...I used to imagine..." Regulus mumbled, the words running together, "...that maybe he still played."
Sirius's vision blurred.
He blinked hard, forcing himself back into the room.
"Regulus."
"...Mm?"
"I need you to stay with me."
"...Trying."
The word came out almost as a whisper.
Then Sirius heard it; the unmistakable sound of Regulus's head settling heavily against something behind him.
And for the first time since answering the phone, genuine fear eclipsed everything else.
"Regulus?"
No answer.
"Regulus, I need you to answer me."
A few agonizing seconds passed before a faint, barely conscious murmur reached him.
"...'m here..." The whisper was so faint Sirius almost imagined it.
Relief lasted less than a second.
"...Regulus?"
Nothing.
Sirius straightened so abruptly his chair rolled backwards with a screech.
"Regulus."
Silence.
He could hear the line.
The low static.
Nothing else.
"Regulus!"
His voice cracked.
No answer.
Sirius's heart lurched violently against his ribs.
"Regulus, I need you to answer me."
Nothing.
The silence wasn't the silence of someone thinking. It wasn't the silence of someone crying. It was...
Wrong.
"Regulus?"
Sirius was already moving before he realized it.
The chair toppled behind him as he stumbled into the corridor, the phone still pressed so tightly against his ear it hurt.
"Call an ambulance!" he shouted, louder than he'd ever spoken inside the hotline. "Now!"
Doors opened.
Faces turned.
Someone asked him what had happened.
Sirius didn't answer.
"Unknown overdose," he managed to choke out to whoever was listening. "He's unconscious. I—I have his address."
Hands took the slip of paper from his desk where he'd scribbled it moments before. Someone was already dialing emergency services.
Sirius didn't let go of the receiver.
"Regulus."
Nothing.
His breathing came in short, uneven bursts.
"Reg, come on."
He didn't even realize what he'd said.
Someone touched his shoulder.
He shrugged them off.
"Regulus, please."
Static.
That was all.
Somewhere nearby, he heard someone speaking rapidly into another phone.
"Male,... suspected overdose... unresponsive..."
Sirius couldn't focus on the words.
His entire world had narrowed to the silence on the other end.
Say something.
Anything.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
"It's me," he whispered, the words escaping before he could stop them. "Reg... it's me."
No response.
His knees gave out.
He hit the floor hard enough to bruise, but barely felt it.
"I'm sorry," he breathed. "I'm so, so sorry."
Seven years.
Seven years he'd spent convincing himself leaving had been the only way either of them could survive.
Seven years of wondering if Regulus hated him.
Seven years without a letter.
Without a call.
Without once looking back.
And the first time he'd heard his little brother's voice since walking out of Grimmauld Place—
It had been to say goodbye.
Sirius pressed the heel of his hand against his mouth to keep from breaking apart completely.
"You should've called me," he whispered into the silence. "God, Reg... you should've called me."
The receiver crackled softly against his ear.
Somewhere in the distance, sirens began to wail.
Sirius didn't remember leaving the hotline.
Someone had taken the phone from his hand. Someone else had been talking to him, asking questions he couldn't understand, guiding him toward the exit as though he had forgotten how to walk. By the time he reached the car, James was already waiting, white-knuckled around the steering wheel, eyes wide with a fear Sirius had never seen before.
Neither of them spoke.
James reached over once, halfway through the drive, and squeezed Sirius's hand so tightly it almost hurt. Sirius couldn't squeeze back. His fingers felt numb, his body too heavy to belong to him, while Regulus's last words kept replaying in his head like a punishment he couldn't escape.
"I just wish he'd taken me with him."
Sirius didn’t remember having got home after the hospital either.
The front door clicked shut behind them with a sound so ordinary it felt cruel.
Sirius stood in the entrance, staring at nothing. James quietly locked the door, then turned toward him, waiting for him to move.
He didn't.
His coat was still on, his shoes still damp from outside, his hands hanging uselessly at his sides. The house smelled faintly of lavender and dinner that had never been eaten. It smelled like home. Safe. Warm. Everything Regulus had never known.
James stepped closer.
"Pads."
Nothing.
"Sirius."
Still nothing.
His eyes were fixed on the family photographs lining the wall.
One of him and James, muddy from a camping trip.
One with Effie kissing his cheek while he laughed.
One of Monty proudly handing him a guitar wrapped in birthday paper.
Seven years of memories.
Seven years of birthdays.
Seven years of Christmases.
Seven years of being loved.
Seven years ago, Sirius saved himself.
Seven years later, he has to wonder what that choice cost.
And somewhere, every single one of those years, Regulus had been trapped inside that house.
Sirius made a sound so broken James almost didn't recognize it as coming from him.
His knees buckled.
James caught him before he reached the floor, but Sirius fought him with surprising strength, wrenching himself free until he hit the wooden boards hard enough to make the picture frames rattle against the wall.
"I left him."
The words tore themselves from his throat.
"I left him there."
James dropped beside him immediately.
"No, Sirius—"
"I LEFT HIM."
His voice cracked so violently it barely sounded human.
"I knew what they were like."
His hands clawed at the floorboards until his nails scraped uselessly against the wood.
"I knew."
His breathing hitched.
"I knew what Mother was."
Every breath became shorter than the last.
"I knew what Father was."
He laughed.
It was horrible.
"And I still left."
His dad approached slowly, Effie following, and Sirius didn't even realize he was crying until his mom wrapped both arms around him.
He collapsed into her.
Monty crouched nearby and his hand settled on the back of Sirius's neck.
Warm.
Steady.
The same hand that had taught him to drive, clapped his shoulder after his first day at work, fixed his guitar when he'd snapped a string. Sirius had always believed that hand could fix anything.
It couldn't fix this.
Effie was crying now.
"Oh, sweetheart..."
His voice had become frighteningly quiet.
"He waited seven years."
Nobody answered.
"I thought..." He swallowed so hard it hurt. "I thought he hated me."
Another laugh escaped him.
"I thought he'd forgotten me."
His face twisted.
"He loved me."
His shoulders began shaking harder than before.
"He loved me."
The sentence broke him.
He pulled away, folding over himself so violently his forehead struck the floor with a dull crack.
James reached for him again.
This time Sirius didn't even seem to notice.
"He called because he didn't want to die alone."
His words dissolved into sobs.
"And I answered."
His breathing became ragged, almost frantic.
"I answered my own brother."
He squeezed his eyes shut.
"He told me everything."
His hands flew to his face.
"He told me he wished I'd taken him."
His fingers dug so hard into his skin James had to pull them away before they left marks.
"He thought I abandoned him."
"No," James whispered, voice breaking. "No, he didn't."
"He did."
Sirius shook his head over and over.
"He said he wished I'd taken him."
His chest heaved.
"He thought I was happy without him."
A pause.
"I was happy."
The words came out filled with disgust.
"I learned guitar."
Another sob.
"I got a job."
Another.
"I laughed."
His voice rose until it echoed through the house.
"I was living."
The last word shattered completely.
"And he was dying in that house."
Silence swallowed the room.
"I heard him."
Sirius whispered it this time.
"So sleepy."
His eyes stared through the floor.
"I kept asking him to stay awake."
His lower lip trembled uncontrollably.
"He kept trying."
A tear hit the floor beneath him.
"I heard his head hit something."
Another.
"I heard him stop answering me."
James closed his eyes.
"I knew."
Sirius's voice became barely audible.
"I knew he was slipping away."
His breathing caught.
"And I still didn't tell him."
His whole body folded inward as another sob ripped through him.
"I should've said my name."
Nobody spoke.
"I should've let him know."
His words came faster now, tripping over each other.
"I should've broken every rule, every stupid rule, I should've told him it was me, I should've let him hear his brother one last time, I should've—"
His voice gave out entirely.
Nothing came out except air and broken cries.
James wrapped both arms around him, holding him together as Sirius finally collapsed completely against his chest.
"I want my brother."
The sentence was so quiet James almost missed it.
"I want my little brother."
He clutched James so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"I never got to say goodbye."
Then he screamed.
Not words.
Just grief.
Raw, animal grief that tore through the house until even the walls seemed too small to contain it.
Effie buried her face against Monty's shoulder, sobbing openly. Monty's arms wrapped around her automatically, though tears streamed silently down his own face.
James only held Sirius tighter as he cried until he couldn't breathe, until his body shook with exhausted, painful spasms, until every apology dissolved into incoherent sobs.
Long after the crying became silent, Sirius still whispered the same two words against James's shoulder.
"I'm sorry."
Again.
"I'm sorry."
Again.
"I'm sorry."
As though if he said them enough times, somewhere, somehow, Regulus might still hear him.