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Unexpected
Mr. Black notifies his eldest son about something important. And no, it's not about his brother's death.
Dark eyes stared mutely at the corpse, briefly flitting over and taking note of the numerous injuries and the extensive damage, a habit he'd picked up after almost a year working in the morgue at St. Mungo's. They lingered a moment over the young man's face, dyed with a still pallor, before turning their attention to the only other occupant of the room.
"Why did you bring me here, sir?"
Sirius' tone was clipped and cold, as he usually kept it when interacting with his once-father. They were the only two who still kept in touch, but it was always a tense occasion.
Mr. Black scowled heavily, thick brows knitting together as he answered hotly.
"This is your own brother, lad! I'd have thought that his death would have touched something in you, but I suppose you've-"
"He's not my brother anymore, as was made clear over six years ago."
The older wizard was white with rage and shock. He was usually more capable of keeping check on his emotions. Something was off. Sirius watched him warily out of the corner of his eye, willing his own brash behavior back. If he opened his mouth again…
Mr. Black took a steadying breath, obviously struggling. All the broken moments, the bad feelings left over from the fallout hurt, especially now, but both were loathe to let that show. The family pride wouldn't allow that, after all.
A chuckle escaped his lips, and the young man glanced up sharply.
"It's your fault."
Sirius frowned.
"What is?" he asked, his interest piqued. His father never spoke like that; he was always forthright, a man of few words.
The reply was more direct and abrupt than he would have liked.
"Somehow influenced by you, he turned on us and ended up like this."
"Unlikely," he scoffed, "Regulus was a boy after your heart."
"And yours is exactly identical to mine," was his father's smug response. "Now, don't argue with me, just take another look at the body."
Sirius felt, in those moments immediately following, as though someone had just pulled the ground away from underneath him. He held onto his brother's limp arm, fighting off the waves of confusion and regret and his father's attempts to wrench him away , and marveled at the clean, pale, unmarked skin on his left forearm.