Regulus Black has never exactly been one for athletics. That has always been his brother's area, for as long as he can remember. Smaller and frailer than Sirius, Regulus has always preferred the more abstract things in life.

Sirius knows all this as much as Regulus does. Which is one of the dozens of reasons why Regulus is surprised when his brother asks him to join him for a game of Quidditch after classes.

Regulus says yes. It's just a game of Quidditch. Just a silly game of Quidditch, but Regulus gets through the day looking forward to it.

When Regulus reaches the Quidditch pitch, Sirius till hasn't arrived. He feels self-conscious, all alone on the wide expanse of grass. He glances all around him to make sure no one's looking, and nervously takes his broom out of his bag.

He has never ridden it, but the twigs are bent from being crowded into his truck for too long, and the handle is smudged with the oil he'd tried to clean it with.

Regulus is still examining his broom when a shadow falls across his pale face. He jumps and turns his face up to see that Sirius is finally there, flushed and sweaty, clutching an old, falling apart school broom. His black hair is windswept, blown across his face and sticking up and altogether looking so odd that Regulus can barely stop himself from giggling.

"Hey, Little Brother," Sirius says, smiling shyly, and his voice has deepened since Regulus has last talked to him. "This should be fun, huh?"

Regulus nods, and pulls himself onto his broom.

Sirius mounts his broom as well, frowning. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

Regulus looks at his brother carefully. "Like what?" he asks finally.

Sirius is already in the air, and he calls down, "I don't know. Anything, I guess. Say something about school. Say something about the weather. Say something about how amazed you are at my Quidditch skills."

Regulus pushes off from the ground. He rises to the same level his brother is at, catching the Quaffle when Sirius throws it to him. "It's been a while since I've seen you," Regulus says finally, gently tossing it back to his brother.

Sirius catches it easily. Stares at it for half a second, and throws it back to his brother. A little harder, and Regulus is forced back a little, catching it. "Yeah," he agrees, "it has."

Regulus responds to Sirius' stronger throw by adding a little weight to his own. Sirius reaches a little to catch it, his mouth half open as if he wants to say something. Regulus beats him to it. "We miss you at home," he says, and it's like he's accusing Sirius of murder the way he says it.

Sirius lets out a short bark of laughter as he throws the Quaffle back to his brother. "Don't try to fool me," he says derisively. "I'm sure you've all been having the times of your lives without me."

Regulus cocks his head and gazes intently at his the other boy. Sirius is defensive, on edge. His brother is at once more vulnerable and more ready to attack than Regulus has ever seen him. "You don't really think that, do you?" Regulus asked quietly, gently releasing the Quaffle to Sirius. "Nobody wanted you to go. Nobody made you go. You left all by yourself."

The Quaffle comes back at Regulus so fast and so hard he's barely able to catch it. Sirius' face is red now, and Regulus knows that he's touched a nerve. This is not the vulnerable, helpless boy he'd seen peering out of those grey eyes. Sirius was ready for a fight, and Regulus isn't sure he wants one. He throws the Quaffle in the air twice, then watches his brother mildly.

Sirius' voice comes quick and broken, a rough staccato like waves rushing over rocks. "I didn't have a choice," he says, hands trembling. "I couldn't stay. I couldn't be there, anymore, where you all hated me and everything I thought and wanted me to do things I didn't believe…I couldn't stay." And his hands are almost too shaky to toss the ball to his brother, and Regulus has to dive a little to even catch it at all.

Regulus watches his brother try to keep his anger in control with utter indifference. "I didn't hate you," he said calmly. "And Mum didn't hate you. Or Dad. I think you were the one who hated us. Yeah—you know, I seem to remember you screaming something along those lines at the three of us as you left. Funny how I don't remember Mum ever saying that to you. Ever."

Sirius' breath is coming at an alarming rate, now. He catches the Quaffle mechanically, barely feeling his hands clench around it. "They never said it. But they never said anything else, either—and what was I supposed to think from the other things they said? Don't try to pretend it was different. I made the right decision. I know I did."

Regulus is annoyed to find himself growing angry with his brother. This isn't something he wanted. He had pictured himself collected, talking Sirius back home. And now they are angry and the air is cloudy and grey and he can barely see what's ahead of him at all.

"Mum misses you," he says finally, whispering. And all he's been feeling and thinking since Sirius left leaks out in hot pools in his eyes. "She's barely gotten out of bed since you left. And Dad's locked himself in his study. Which leaves me alone. I don't suppose you thought to care about that?" And he's surprised at the bitterness in his own voice, and the way the force of his throw send Sirius bending backwards.

"If you don't like it, get out," Sirius says eagerly. Pleading. "Come with me. The Potters will love you. Get out. I miss you, too, Reg." His face is earnest and shining for the first time that night, and Regulus knows that that's what he's really been wanting to say all night.

"I don't abandon my family," Regulus says shortly. "I don't leave when things get bad. I don't force two people to have both of their sons abandon them. I'm not you, Sirius."

Sirius' face crumples momentarily, but his face soon becomes as hard and blank as it ever was. "I guess not," he says simply. "So. I guess you've made your decision."

"I have," Regulus acknowledges. They toss the Quaffle silently for sometime. Regulus decides to break the silence. "You know," he says deliberately, "For a Gryffindor, you really aren't very brave, are you?"

The silence between them is a raw wound, aching and sore. Anything and everything between them has been torn out and left in the stinging air. "What do you mean?" Sirius asks finally, his throat aching with saying the words.

"I mean—I mean you left. You ran away! What happened to facing your fears? What happened to loyalty? What happened to you, Sirius? You aren't—you're different."

"So are you," Sirius says murderously.

"You're a coward!" Regulus is screaming now, and tears are falling down his face, hot and fast. "You left us all—that's not what a family is, Sirius. Black. Black. That's what you are. Whether you like it or not. And you left because you thought you were too damn good for the rest of us. You aren't, you're a miserable stinking coward!" He wants to go on; because there's so much more he wants to say, but he can't because it hurts to talk and he can't see and his stomach aches with sobbing. The Quaffle comes hurtling at him and he's knocked backwards off the broom and since he was already falling he barely hurts when he lands.

Sirius lands beside him and for one insane minute Regulus thinks that maybe he's worried and he's going to scoop Regulus up like he did when they were little and rub his hair and tell him everything is alright, always alright…

A foot connects solidly with his face, and blood spurts onto the ground.

"I hate you," Sirius says, and he's weeping too. "I hate you."

It was just a game of Quidditch. Just a stupid little game of Quidditch. Neither of them quite remembers going back to their dormitories, but they do know what happened afterwards. Regulus remembers aloneness, curled up by himself near a dying fire trying to stifle the stream of blood from his nose and mouth and the stream of tears from his eyes.

Sirius remembers James, coming to him and embracing him. "I am your brother," James whispers. "I love you."

Sirius closes his eyes and tries to pretend that none of it is a lie.