Chapter Text
There was silence in the Black household.
But it wasn’t peaceful (it never was) . It was the kind of silence that sat heavily in the corners, thick with accusation — the kind that followed an explosion.
Regulus came down the marble staircase slowly that morning, his feet silent on the cold stone. His robes weren’t on yet — he still wore a grey jumper and pressed black slacks, his hair neatly brushed, his expression unreadable.
The dining room door was already open. That meant they were waiting for him.
Walburga Black sat at the head of the long obsidian table, her tea untouched. Orion stood by the fireplace, stiff and silent, arms folded behind his back. Neither of them spoke as he entered. The silver breakfast trays remained covered. The house elves weren’t even present.
Just silence. And two sets of eyes like ice.
Then his mother spoke. Her voice was quiet and sharp as if she were cutting him with every syllable.
“Did you know this was going to happen?”
Regulus paused.
The words didn’t surprise him, but they still lodged in his chest like a splinter.
“No,” he said softly. “I didn’t.”
His mother stared. Her wand was in her hand, though she wasn’t using it. Her knuckles were white. Her lips curled ever so slightly as if even hearing Sirius’s name now would sour the air.
“He made his choice,” she said bitterly. “He turned his back on his blood. On us. On you.”
Regulus said nothing.
There was nothing to say.
He stood in the silence for another moment before moving to sit at the table. Neither of his parents stopped him, but neither joined him either. The breakfast went untouched.
And Regulus didn’t taste a single bite.
⸻
The night before
It had started like any other summer night.
The Black household was tense by default, but that evening had been especially brittle. Sirius had screamed at their mother again. Regulus hadn’t caught the start of it — just the tail end, the slam of a door, the crash of something breaking.
He hadn’t gone to check.
He never did anymore.
But later that night, something made him go to the window.
The curtains in his room were slightly parted, and he stood there, unmoving, as he saw Sirius — wearing Muggle clothes, a backpack slung over his shoulder — walk out the front door.
He didn’t storm out. Didn’t look back.
Just walked down the long gravel path with quiet defiance, hands in his pockets.
Regulus pressed a hand to the cold glass, heart hammering once, then again, slower.
Just turn around, he thought. Just once.
But Sirius didn’t.
Not even a glance.
⸻
September 1st. Platform 9¾.
The station was buzzing with sound. Parents kissed their children on the cheeks, trunks rattled over cobblestones, owls hooted from cages above.
Regulus stood by the edge of the platform alone. Orion hadn’t come. Walburga hadn’t lingered.
No goodbyes. No fuss.
He turned slightly — just in time to see them.
The Marauders. ( an idiotic name, in regulus’s opinion)
Potter was laughing at something Lupin said. Pettigrew was dragging a heavy trunk behind him. And Sirius — Sirius — was walking just a few feet behind them, shoulders relaxed but his gaze darting.
He looked better already.
Faded leather jacket. No trunk — just a satchel.
Then Sirius saw him.
Their eyes locked for the first time in months.
Sirius took a breath, stepping forward — as if he might say something.
But Regulus turned and walked away before he could.
Not quickly. Not dramatically.
Just… deliberately.
⸻
The Hogwarts Express rolled on. Students whispered in the corridors.
“Did you hear about the Black family? One of them ran away—”
“The Gryffindor. Total blood traitor—”
“I heard he lives with the Potters now—”
Regulus sat in the corner of the Slytherin carriage, legs crossed, head tilted back, pretending to sleep. His friends were there ,Barty lounging on the opposite bench, Evan already talking about Quidditch, Dorcas chewing a sugar quill. Pandora sat nearest to him, quiet as always.
They didn’t ask much. But eventually, Barty — never one to avoid a pointed silence — broke it.
“You alright, Reg?”
Regulus opened one eye. His voice was flat.
“I don’t care.”
Barty raised an eyebrow.
“Didn’t ask if you cared. I asked if you were alright.”
Regulus closed his eyes again.
“Everything’s fine.”
No one believed him.
But no one pushed.
⸻
The night before school
The room smelled of smoke.
Regulus stood behind the velvet ropes, arms crossed tightly, watching his mother with quiet horror as she raised her wand to the family tapestry.
Incendio.
The gold thread of SIRIUS ORION BLACK shriveled instantly, the burn spreading outward like rot. The flames didn’t flicker or spark — they just consumed. And when it was over, nothing remained but a jagged hole, like a wound.
“He is no son of mine,” she whispered, lowering her wand.
Regulus didn’t speak. Didn’t move.
He wanted to.
But what would he even say?
He didn’t sleep that night.
He just lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, the ghost of Sirius’s name burned behind his eyelids.
⸻
The next morning, as he adjusted his tie and buttoned his robe collar with perfect precision, his mother appeared at his bedroom door.
She didn’t step inside.
She just looked at him with narrowed eyes and said,
“Do not shame the family further.”
And then she was gone.
⸻
Regulus stood now in the sixth-year boys’ dorm at Hogwarts. It looked exactly the same. Same stone walls. Same emerald green hangings. Same old carpet by the fireplace where Barty likes to lie down with his feet up on the armchair.
Everything was the same.
But nothing was.
He looked over at his bed.
Perfectly made. No mess.
Just an empty bed.
The other boys joked across the room. Talked about summer. Rolled their eyes at the new Defense teacher already.
Regulus didn’t join.
He sat on his bed, back straight, hands folded in his lap.
Outside, the castle bells rang.
A new year had begun.
But Regulus felt like something had already ended.
And not even magic could bring it back.