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That piece of me that never left
Has much to see, to not regret
What you’re to be don’t have to be
You never know what’s ‘round the bend
Memories of Grimmauld Place are pitch black with a taste of costly perfume. Cold with neglect and heavy with endless pain. Grimmauld Place is darkness, starvation, and bruising fingers. It’s lonely nights and shameful silence made of a thousand broken words.
It’s a lot of things.
But it’s not a home. Never that.
No matter how much time passes, a piece of him will always stay in that house. Trapped. Alone. Like he never even left in the first place.
Except he did. Regulus left. But all the dark monsters from his past are still lurking in the shadows behind him, mouths wide open like the jaws of hell. There are some big things haunting him, things that feel like his insides were ripped out and spilled on the floor. There's blood for everyone to see, his blood. Fiery red – easily spotted even from afar. No family. No home. Yearlong abuse.
But here’s something they don’t tell you about hardships: the biggest are not always the hardest. For Regulus, it’s the small things. The things that should be obvious – easy – but are not. Not for him. Sometimes he can’t even hold a simple conversation without disassociating. His thoughts are just too loud, too much. Like a thunderstorm roaring inside his head. There are voices telling him things. Bad things. Evil things. You’re not good enough. Inadequate. Weak. A bleak version of your brother. Not good enough. Never enough.
One voice is the loudest. Always the most pungent, always judging. She was supposed to love him. Why couldn’t she love him? You’re not good enough.
And maybe he isn’t. Maybe he’s just not good enough for things, for people – for life. That’s what he resigns himself to, when he fails to do the simplest of things. Again. Always. Talking with people is hard. And being around people is hard – but so is loneliness. Eating, texting, leaving the house. He struggles to keep in touch with his close ones, and rarely does things for himself. You have more important things to do. No time for childish activities. How can people just do things for the sake of doing them? With no deeper purpose behind them?
He’s out now, out of Grimmauld Place, and suddenly the world is so much bigger than that house. It’s overwhelming. How can freedom be overwhelming? But it is. It’s like he’s floating in an endless universe, every star a thing he’s never done before. Like he spent his entire life in a blackhole, just to pop out of it and be blinded by the light of a million shining stars.
Sirius tries to show him around. To be shown the world, what a silly thing to say. As if he’s an alien on earth, a stranger in a place so familiar.
And Regulus will think: There was a time where that house felt like a home. Sirius sitting next to Regulus in bed, reading him ‘Le petit Prince’ as a bedtime story. Two brothers hiding under a bed. Making up their own language. Sirius ruffling through Regulus’ raven-black hair. Sirius drawing smileys on his homework. Sirius. Sirius. Sirius. Then you stole the stars and left. That house was never a home without you.
Now they are back together, but something has shifted between them in the time they were apart. Regulus can no longer read Sirius’ face, can no longer feel his brother's arms around him without feeling a bit like suffocating. They’re like two stars no longer shining in the same sky.
But they both try. Hell, do they try. How can it be so easy to lose, but so hard to find again? Recently, they tried going to the cinema together, watching a relaunch of Inception, but even with the movie playing, the silence felt awkward between them. They visit bookshops and art galleries, Sirius takes Regulus out for dinner with his friends and afterwards, they play boardgames together. When Regulus goes back to school, Sirius helps him with studying, and in return, Regulus reads through Sirius’ newest songtexts. They try to refill the empty box between them. They really do.
But it’s hard to live side by side, when you only know an older version of the brother beside you. A few chapters behind. Regulus sees how Sirius looks at him in the dark, when he thinks Regulus is not watching. The look in his eyes saying, you’ve changed. And it’s true. He has changed. He’s changed so many times, desperately trying to be what others wanted him to be, that sometimes he can’t even recognise himself anymore. There are so many versions of him. He’s made them up and sorted them in his head like pieces of clothing in a closet. One version of himself for every occasion. To feel right for once in his life. To feel included. To feel like family.
It still wasn’t enough. You’re not enough. He has nowhere to belong. Like a star with no constellation.
And who is he now? Who is he, when all the rules are gone? He’s lived by them for all his life, clinging to them as if they were a raft keeping him above the water. He’s never learned to swim, and now he’s floating in an endless sea of possibilities. It’s scary. So scary it feels like he’s drowning most of the time.
Here, the water is so clear he can see the pond. It shouldn’t be so frightening after he swam in ink black water for years and years, with no way to see the thousand monsters beneath him. Never knowing what’s around the bend. Because in Grimmauld Place, every smallest movement could lure the dark creatures in. Every word could be a mistake. Every step the cause for punishment. Regulus remembers the feel of warm blood on his skin, tears running down his cheeks, nails digging in and the cold of the floor. Remembers tracing the structure of the wooden floorboards with his finger. Fine lines and tree rings. Years lost. Lost, lost, lost. He’s lost.
Mothers to daughters
Who turn sons into fathers
In time, we all get taller
While sometimes feeling smaller
The feeling of family is supposed to come naturally. In children's books, you always see this image of people laughing together, holding each other, and sharing their warmth. Just sharing. Just caring. It all seems so normal and easy.
Nothing in the family of Black was ever easy. Because sole pretending is just not enough to turn a house into a home, to turn people into family.
For the House of Black, family is nothing more than a word made of six letters, a term used to describe a group of people connected through blood and nothing else. Everything is dark and twisted, words with newly constructed definitions. Like that, marriage isn’t about love, but about business. His father is more like a tutor. And his mother – his mother is a monarch. The queen of the house.
Sometimes, when Regulus dwells on memories of his childhood, he comes to think that he grew up without parents, with no one to lead him the way. But then the word brother turns into father, and Regulus realises that this definition has changed as well. It was Sirius, who filled his days with games and jokes; it was Sirius, who searched the closet for monsters; it was Sirius, who cheered for him in the school’s chess tournament. And it was Sirius, who gave up on his childhood just to make one for his little brother.
Always my little brother. That’s what Sirius had said. And then he’d left anyway. Gone. Regulus has never learned to expect anything from his family – they’d never given him any reason to do so – but it had felt very close to breaking apart when Sirius ran away. He was everything. Now he had nothing. You’re nothing. Worthless. Not enough. Sirius leaving had always felt like a confirmation for everything that was wrong with Regulus. All the things he could never manage on his own, the things he was scared off. All his failures and flaws.
Regulus never felt quite whole again after that. Sirius had always been by his side, all his life. Made him a complete piece. He’d covered all the broken parts and made Regulus believe that maybe, just maybe, all the shards and sharp pieces were beautiful, despite everything. That Regulus was beautiful. Lovable. Enough.
Not enough. Never, never, never.
People say it gets easier with time passing, but it’s still all too heavy, dragging him down like a hundred stones on his back. Likes ropes slinging tight around his limbs, choking him, crushing his bones into splinters. He has completely fallen to pieces, lost some of the parts in the shadows of his early life, his adolescence, and now he doesn’t know if there is any part of him left. How can you repair something that’s not there in the first place? Why even bother to try?
Why, why, why?
But Regulus’ body has never worked by logic. Back there, back in Grimmauld Place, he would struggle with food. His body would just not allow any food in, especially after being refused food by his parents. No matter how much his stomach growled. Even when his insides were twisted with hunger. And even now his mind is always the loudest when he’s supposed to focus. He forgets how to speak when people ask him questions. Nothing about him works by logic. Nothing makes sense.
So, he doesn’t exactly know why, but Regulus goes on. And goes on. It’s habit by now. This is not about him wanting to go on, wanting to be whole again, wanting to live, to actually live. This is just about him trying to prove to the people around him that he’s not weak. That he won’t give up, won’t break, that he’s not a fragile little boy.
Even though he’s both of these things. He’s fragile, on the verge of breaking. Maybe already broken. And he’s small, he feels so fucking small all the time. It’s pathetic, really. All this time growing, growing older and growing taller – and still, he's never felt smaller in his entire life. As if his life is reversed. His body not growing, but shrinking. Maybe one day he’ll fully disappear. Plop out of existence. Like he never existed in the first place.
Now this house ain’t a home
No, this house ain’t a home
The darkness that blocks my view
From the outside, noisy voices judge everything
Shrinking back, sighing with complaints
Someone else defines my beliefs and values
This place feels so cold to me, so cold
The whole world is dizzying, dizzying
It’s not that Regulus never wanted to see the sun, to feel her warmth on his skin, the light on his silhouette. Because he did. He always did, deep inside. It’s just that he grew up with a grey rain cloud blocking the view. Stopping the light and joy from reaching him. He'd been standing in blistering rain for years and years. Soaked wet with misery. Water dripping from his hair and face and clothes like a river of lost spirits.
Sunshine wasn’t a thing that existed in Grimmauld Place. His soul is bland like pale skin that has never known light and warmth.
All he’s ever known are roaring voices. Back then it was his mother, her noisy voice commenting on everything he did. Every word he spoke, every step he took. Be it the way he dressed or the people he liked to spend time with. And now, the voices are in his head. As if there were a hundred different people in the back of his mind, all the people from his past, his present, and future. You should, you should, you should. He’s attached to a thousand strings. Be like this, be like that – be like him. Never like him.
It was never on him to decide who he wanted to be. A bit like painting with a limited colour palette. His family chose all the colours and motives – and he had to create the painting to their liking. He was never an artist, for art is born of passion. Art is freedom, emotions, and endless choices. But for Regulus, every brush stroke from his past feels like crawling fingers on his skin. Like a second layer of skin that’s pressing in on him, suffocating him. It feels strange and wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
It’s hard now, to be who he wants to be. To be free. He has to carve through layers and layers of paint and colours, reshaping all the beliefs and values his family has etched into him. It leaves him feeling naked and empty. Cold. There is nothing to hold on to, nothing to protect him. Like he’s standing in the spotlight for everyone to see, fingers pointing in his direction and people screaming his name. Look, look, look! His misery is a spectacle. But the worst of all is: he’s forced to look at himself. At the face that should be familiar after so many years, but still feels wrong. The hands that have caused so much wrong. The lips that always said the wrong things, and had stayed closed one too many times.
All his mistakes. It makes him feel hot and cold all at the same time. Dizzying, dizzying. Like hot water on ice cold skin, digging in like a thousand needles. It hurts, hurts, hurts – but his insides are slowly melting.
We need to break free to a place
Where we can fully embrace who we are
Tear the curtains and head to a new home of mine
Sirius had never called Grimmauld Place a home. Had never in sixteen taken the word into his mouth. Maybe he’d hoped that like this, Regulus would never learn to call that dark place a home either. Because when Regulus was a little kid – no more than a year old – he would always imitate his older brother’s words in a babbling tone. His first word was Sirius – not mum or dad. And he would continue to adapt to Sirius’ way of doing things. They were so similar as kids. Talking the same. Dressing the same. Spending almost every minute of the day together.
Who could have known that all it would take to break them apart was the meaning of one single word. Home. A place like hell. An obligation.
They were two ravens trapped in cages, with no room to fly, but Sirius had always wanted to break free. To spread his wings. It was so easy for Sirius. The sole view through the metal bars was enough for him to plan his escape. He’d never had a second thought about it. On the other side, Regulus had always felt like his wings were trimmed. Like he wouldn’t be able to fly, even if he wanted to. But maybe it was always him, his weakness and cowardice, that were holding him back. As if he put himself into chains to make it look like he had no choice.
His mind is a prison. Still. It was never just Grimmauld Place he had to break free of – only the first of a hundred draining steps.
On the other hand, Sirius seemed to have skipped over all the steps, aiming straight for the perfect life. And what if Regulus just isn’t a part of that? Sirius keeps telling him that’s not true. He says things like “I’m so glad we’re out”, fleetingly whispering the words in his ears when they’re hugging, his breath warm against Regulus’ skin. Hell, he even says “I love you, Reggie” at least once a week, and Regulus flinches every time. It’s fucking scary. How can he hear those words without being terrified it’ll all disappear? Poof, and then gone. Good things go so easily, it barely takes a gust of wind to blow them away.
For so long, Regulus hadn’t given a shit about his own life. He’d never had the opportunity to even make it his life. Had never gotten the chance to try things, experience things, and drop the things he simply didn’t like enough. Precious things were rare – there had never been something that could be taken away. Except Sirius. But in the years after he left? He’d feared a lot of things, but had never had to be scared to lose something he loved. His life had never been precious enough for that.
And now it was.
He got his brother back. His freedom and his choices. The people around him actually care about him, they ask him if he’s fine, if he needs something. He has a room that’s small and stuffed with cardboard boxes, but feels so much more like home than any chamber in Grimmauld Place ever could. It’s warm and full of colour. Sirius brought him beautiful plants and stuck glow-in-the-dark stars to the ceiling right over his bed. It’s such a silly thing to do, but Regulus remembers how he’d always wanted those as a little kid.
The dark is so much scarier when you’re standing in the light. He’d always been scared of the dark, but he’s terrified now.
So, he stays in between, not yet tearing the curtains down. He can’t allow himself to fully stand in the light. He just can’t.
Still playing in the playground instead of having a real home
Still holding onto childhood habits
A kid who ran away from home
Slides felt cozier than beds
A sin of stacking up new homes without knowing the worth of the old
A silhouette shining outside the window
That voice echoing down the hall
Even the TV we sat around on Sunday nights
I miss that place that was just a “house”
Despite getting used to his new life, Regulus still finds himself in a lonely corner of the neighborhood sometimes. Dark alleys and empty playgrounds. When he was younger, he would stroll through desolate streets after school. He’d walk around for hours, sitting on cold benches or reading books behind garbage bins with freezing fingers. On rainy days, he would search for cover on playgrounds, hiding under wood painted in all the colours of the rainbows – a cruel reminder of the joyous childhood memories he would never have.
It didn’t matter where he went – as long as it kept him away from Grimmauld Place for a little while longer.
He remembers that when he’d been even younger, at the time Sirius was still by his side, they would go outside together. Sirius had always wanted to explore the neighborhood. He’d made it his life goal to visit all the playgrounds there were. To try all the slides, even the steepest, and to climb all the towers and obstacles. They’d made up thousands of stories, played pretend. Sirius would sometimes invent whole worlds for them to live in just to forget reality for a moment. He’d made it seem like an adventure – not just a sorry excuse to escape their abusive home.
Regulus never had that much imagination by himself, so after Sirius left, he’d simply ponder around with no direction. He no longer had a colorful made-up world to escape to. And no one to go with him, so it’s not like it mattered anyway. Reality was the only option left, and he did his best to adapt – no matter the pieces he left on the way, or the damage he caused.
Regulus doesn’t know why he keeps falling into old patterns. There is no reason for him to stay away from where he lives now. It isn’t a bad place. It isn’t dark or lonely or confining. It isn’t Grimmauld Place. But old habits die hard, that’s what people say. And it’s true, Regulus guesses. If it wasn’t, then he wouldn’t have been lying on a cold metal slide for the past two hours. There are no children playing on the playground – it’s way too cold for that with the night slowly creeping in. He’s in the middle of London city, but if he looks hard enough, Regulus can see a few shining stars in the sky.
The stars have always given him comfort. They were maybe the only constant in his life. Sirius is back now, Regulus reminds himself. But he won’t take it for granted. Can’t.
The cold slowly starts to seep into Regulus’ skin, summoning around his heart. It reminds him of all the lonely nights in his past, and something about it feels so familiar it’s almost comforting. Even the darkest feelings can hold a sort of comfort if you only get used to them. If you’ve been swaying in them for so long they settle at your core, consuming you like they’re a part of you. As if they define you. It’s hard to get away from that.
Because letting go is hard even when you never wanted to stay in the first place.
That piece of me that never left
Has much to see, to not regret
What you’re to be don’t have to be
You never know what’s ‘round the bend
Mothers to daughters
Who turn sons into fathers
In time, we all get taller
While sometimes feeling smaller
Now this house ain’t a home
No, this house ain’t a home
“Hello?” I asked myself
“Are you still there?”
Growing up without balance
You came to hate yourself
“Where exactly?”
“Is it somewhere?” Yeah
The sea of rest
I must go find it
So I set off across wide fields
On an endless road
Sometimes it feels like Regulus is more than just one person, like he left some versions of himself behind just to get rid of all the imperfections. If he looks back now, he can still see his past self, the little boy winking at him, asking: “Do you still remember me?” And Regulus will scream: “No, I don’t know you! You’re no one! Get lost!” But his brain will whisper: I know you so well, inside and out, it’s making my skin crawl. You’re the reminder of all my mistakes, my flaws and fears. But I’m scared if I acknowledge your presence, I’ll get stuck again, with no way to go on.
Because after everything, he finally wants to go on. To grow and evolve. To fail and try again. Regulus wants to take the right path, no matter if it’s the hardest. Because for the first time in his life, he can see that the end point, the final destination, is not the only thing to be cherished. The way there matters as well. All the sight and little moments of joy. The challenges, and the people who help you through them.
It doesn’t matter if he wakes up screaming at night, the cold sweat like a river down his spine, because Sirius will be there to hold him afterwards. It doesn’t matter if he’s having a panic attack after accidently breaking a glass in the kitchen, expecting some kind of punishment, because Sirius will break three more glasses just to prove him that nothing is going to happen. And it doesn’t matter if he struggles to find words sometimes, because Sirius will gently rub his back and give him the time he needs.
One day, Regulus will reach the end, the place he always wanted to be at, but until that point comes into sight, he will not be alone. And he will not be lost. Life is an endless road, where all the people of the world make their way. It’s not a road as you know it, but more of a wide range of different paths and tracks, all varying in width, surface and accessibility.
Some roads are known by everyone, they’re safe and easy, going for the final destination in the straightest way possible. This road is nearly bursting with people. It’s almost impossible to get lost, since there’s always someone in front of you, leading the way. It’s an easy road, but it’s so crowded you barely see any of the wonderful sights around you – the small flowers beside the track, the rare bird flying in the sky, the small star-shaped stone in the gravel.
Other paths are narrow and uneven, overgrowing with thorns and ivy from all the years left untouched by humans. It’s difficult to spot them from afar, and hard to make a way on them. You’ll get stuck in the spindly vines, the thorns scratching your ankles until they’re bloody. This path is curvy and crooked, working its way through dark woods in a mess of lines. No one chooses this way intentionally. You’re shoved onto it roughly or dragged there by gripping hands in a moment of thoughtlessness. There is no way back. You have to go on or you’ll get stuck forever.
Regulus and Sirius have been thrown onto one of these paths before they were even old enough to protest. A childhood made of scratchy vines and sharp thorns.
But nothing can go on forever, things are bound to change – and so is their path in life. For a while there, Regulus and Sirius have walked separately, as if they’d lost each other in the dark and gloomy forest. It’s not too late, for now they walk side by side again, their hands intertwined, and it feels as if the forest is slowly clearing out. For the first time in a long while, Regulus is the one to initiate a hug.
And it doesn’t feel one bit like suffocating.
The anxiety that comes with night
Is a bitter taste that’s hard to bear
I swallow it down, tears well up
A sudden rain shower blurs my vision
I endure one day, then one more
Hoping that someday I’ll reach that place
One moment cannot undo everything from a dark past. Night follows the day, and darkness is bound to return at some point. It’s a bit like a colorfully striped scarf – every colour representing a different emotion. Pain. Joy. Anger. Sadness. Satisfaction. Every section varies in width, but all of them share one thing: they end. And they all reappear at some point, making up a wild pattern.
There are a lot of bad days. Hollow days. Regulus often feels like nothing is going to last. Like all the good things in his life will just disappear. On these days, it’s almost impossible to get out of bed, to interact with people or simply go about his day. His thoughts feel so heavy, but they circle relentlessly anyway. It’s exhausting.
But for Regulus, it’s the good days that are the hardest. The periods of time where his brain tricks him into thinking that things are getting better, whispering things like: The darkness is over. You’re better now. It’s in your past. And he’ll fall for it every single time. He’ll believe that he’s standing in the light for good, that he’s finally living the life he always wanted, when that’s just not true. Healing isn’t as easy as that. You don’t just get better from one day to another.
Every day is different. So, you have to take it one day at a time. Good days will end, and the bad ones will arrive, but it’s all temporary. Regulus tries not to get comfortable in the darkness, in the cold, like he used to. Instead, he holds on to the smallest spots of light – the little moments of joy. And these moments will remind him that no misery lasts forever. He takes it slow. He takes it – one day at a time.
One day at a time.
When he binge-read a newly published book from his favorite author in just one day, sitting in his bed the whole time, covered in warm blankets. His room dimly lit, the glow-in-the-dark-stars shimmering on the ceiling. A steaming cup of Earl Grey on the bedside table.
One day at a time.
When he went to Sirius’ very first live performance of his own songs. In a comfortably lit bar, colorful lights shining, the air smelling of food and a note of alcohol. Sirius standing proudly on the small stage, guitar in hands and the biggest smile on his face when he saw that Regulus actually came. It was the first time Regulus didn’t feel overwhelmed by the mass of people around him, even though it was at least fifty persons.
One day at a time.
When Sirius, as he had many times before, said “I love you, Reggie” and Regulus didn’t flinch. He didn’t say it back, but he smiled softly at his brother. And it was enough. In that moment, it was enough.
One day at a time.
When Regulus calls the house where he lives now “home” without even realizing it, because for the first time the word feels right on his tongue. Warm and safe. Like a shelter. A place to be himself with no excuses. Home.
That piece of me that never left
Has much to see, to not regret
What you’re to be don’t have to be
You never know what’s ‘round the bend
Mothers to daughters
Who turn sons into fathers
In time, we all get taller
While sometimes feeling smaller
Now this house ain’t a home
No, this house ain’t a home
‘Cause this house ain’t a home
‘Cause this house ain’t a home