If someone asked Regulus Black when the next Holyhead Harpies game was, he would not have been able to answer.

This supposition was proven true one late November afternoon as he lounged in an armchair in the Slytherin common room, aimlessly staring at the fire and suppressing small smiles that found their way back on his face. Alex had detention again, and she'd left an hour ago with a half-hearted wave and an embarrassed kiss on his cheek. He just hoped that she didn't have to go anywhere cold; the winter was quickly bringing its freezing air by night, and—

"When's the next Holyhead Harpies game?"

Regulus looked up without recognition for a few seconds, trying to connect the voice to the person in front of him who just slumped into the nearby sofa.

"I don't know," he said, beginning to feel that there was something wrong with him. He didn't know. What didn't he know? The Holyhead Harpies. Game. Quidditch game. He always knew when the Holyhead Harpies were playing; one of the best teams in the country, arguably the world, merited that much attention. And now he was telling Leila Parkinson that he didn't know when their next game was. Something was wrong. But the heat from the fire felt so warm, and Alex was going to come back in less than two hours, nothing could possibly be wrong.

"Funny," Leila crumpled up her face, peering into her Quidditch notebook. "You always know. You're paranoid about it, actually."

Regulus decided to let the comment slide. Ever since the Parkinson-Rosier pair had broken up, the Parkinson part of the pair was becoming more and more… ah, vocal. Even more vocal than usual, which Regulus did not think was possible until it happened. "HH is your favorite team, not mine," he said, turning his face back to the fire. Leila scoffed.

Regulus raised his eyebrows. "Problem?"

Leila shrugged. "I dunno, Black." Leila was possibly the only person in the Slytherin house other than Alex who dared to call him Black—again, another recent development that came with the break-up. Regulus shook his head internally. Even he thought that Evan Rosier was not a person worth getting this much upset over, and he was a boy.

Leila evidently got bored from their exchanged and soon left—presumably to consult the Daily Prophet Sports section. Regulus went back to his previous position in the armchair, staring at the fire silently.

He couldn't tell when the next Holyhead Harpies game was. He could barely remember when the next "corridor meeting" was. He had an essay of some sort due the day after tomorrow—yes, he worked on it this afternoon in the library. With Alex. Alex, who had a bit more sense than him and avoided snogging anywhere near the library, instead choosing to get her work done. Alex, whose schedule he remembered better than his own. Regulus shook his head in dismay. He had to get a grip.

But he forgot this resolve when Alex finally came back, breaking him from his ruminations.

"Hello," she said shyly, leaning against the armrest. Regulus snaked his arm around her and pulled her on his lap. Unresisting, Alex rested her head at the crook of his neck and snuggled closer to him. Regulus tightened his arms around her, trying to get as close to her warmth as possible. She smelled faintly of the forest mist, the snow, and…

"Something for the groundkeeper?" Regulus mumbled. Alex responded by nodding, which resulted in her snuggling even closer.

"The Christmas trees were ready," she said. "So we had to—" yawn— "chop them down and—leave them at a safe place to dry for a couple of days. And then a bunch of decorating done in the Great Hall. You'll be surprised tomorrow morning." She poked him playfully in his side, but Regulus couldn't help but notice that her lips on his neck were still cool. He cradled her head in his hands and patted her hair. Damn the Holyhead Harpies and the rest—as if they could ever make him happy.

So the days passed by before his eyes, one after the other, but to Regulus time itself felt like Honeydukes turned into a long, unceasing tunnel where they could walk together for a couple of hours, stop by some stations, and, after a brief interim of sleep, continue walking down the tunnel again, always delighted by something new, something familiar, something unexpected. He'd stopped counting the hours, the days, the weeks. The Quidditch match against the Ravenclaws came as a complete surprise in early December, and the Slytherin won the game—a precariously narrow victory. Exams should have been more expected, but Regulus couldn't remember what argument he had made in the History of Magic essay. The last Christmas meal. And then—

"I can't sit there."

Alex, who had bashed her head against thew window from springing away from Regulus, attempted to rub her head discreetly. "Hello, Leila," she said.

"Hello, Parkinson," Regulus echoed, feeling the sudden lack of weight on his laps. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Really," Leila drawled drily. "We're all on the same train, if you've forgotten."

"Thanks for the reminder," Regulus couldn't entirely keep sarcasm out of his voice. Alex, who'd recovered from the injury, sat down gingerly at some safe distance from Regulus.

"Leila," she said slowly, "what's going on?"

"That… thing and that… other thing are getting it going. In the Slytherin compartment, I mean," Leila said, frowning distastefully. Regulus rubbed his eyes tiredly. Parkinson couldn't even say their names out loud. Alex, meanwhile, gave her a sympathetic smile and patted on the seat next to her.

"I'm just glad that my grandmother decided to get sick this winter," Leila muttered. "Whole family's going to Italy for fresh air. I won't be seeing either of them until the school starts again."

"I'll keep you posted," Regulus muttered, still disgruntled. Leila threw him a dirty look.

"I don't know what you see in him," she said to Alex, who merely grinned.

"He's an acquired taste." At Regulus' irritated look, she laughed out loud.

Rebecca opened a Quidditch magazine and began to browse through the new brooms catalogue. Alex, watching the scenery outside, soon fell asleep with her head resting against the window. Regulus watched silently, thinking about how her slightly swollen lips felt on his only half an hour ago, the family events that awaited him at home, the gloomy prospect of Grimmauld Place that had lost its festive light in the recent years…

"Something from the trolley, m'dears?" the trolley witch's entrance had escaped his notice. His eyes automatically went to Alex, who'd been sleeping.

"Let her sleep," Leila muttered, reaching for her coin purse. "She's been studying until two for about a week now. Someone's been distracting her from studying. Two pumpkin pastries, two pumpkin juices, and a chocolate frog, please."

"I can get hers," Regulus said. Leila shrugged.

"She'll feel better about getting it from me," she said. Regulus looked away, annoyed.

"Three pumpkin pastries, please," he said to the trolley lady. Leila gave him a look.

"Edge likes pumpkin," Regulus said.

"That annoying little owl likes anything that it can peck," Leila shot back. Regulus ignored this particular jibe. The trolley lady left. Leila opened the package disinterestedly and sniffed at the pastry inside.

"You have a problem with me, Parkinson?" Regulus said, watching Leila take a cautious bite.

Leila didn't answer, and Regulus thought that she hadn't heard what he said. She chewed slowly, as if trying to discern every ingredient in the baked good, and Regulus opened his mouth irritably to ask the question again when Leila swallowed and said nonchalantly, "of course I do."

Regulus raised his eyebrow. Leila didn't volunteer any further information.

"What do you mean?" he was thus forced to ask. Regulus didn't like having to pry for answers. Blacks didn't pry for answers, for Merlin's sake.

"Alex," Leila said, "is quite possibly the stupidest girl I know. I mean, she's quite intelligent, I suppose, and rather nice, but she's not Rebecca. She doesn't know a thing about manipulation," Leila gave him a significant look.

"That's obvious," Regulus said, even more irritated.

"In short," Leila said calmly, "she deserves better than to be dragged into your mess."

"My mess?"

"The Black family mess," Leila clarified. Regulus stiffened his back and glared back at her.

"You can give me the 'oh-I'm-Black-and-mighty' look all you want," Leila said. "But did you even think about what being with you would mean for her?"

"That," Regulus said, "is none of your business."

"She's my friend, and she doesn't know what she's getting herself into. So I'm making it my business."

"You mean she's a useful shoulder to cry on when you need help. I didn't see you advertising your friendship before you realized what was going on with Rosier." His words were harsher than usual, Regulus knew, and had it been any other situation he might have been able to school himself. But this was his family and Alex, of all people, and both belonged to him, not anyone else.

"Like you've been the model friend?" Leila drawled. "That was some action you pulled in fourth year." Regulus glowered back at her but didn't say anything. Fourth year was a mistake, even by his standards.

"I'm glad Alex's happy," Leila continued. "But in a few years, she's going to be out there looking for a job, and a place to live, and she needs someone stable. The second son of Black whose older brother is intent on burning the family house to the ground and whose parents can't even be in the same room with the "working people" isn't stable."

"That's the future," Regulus said. "We live in the present."

"Alright, so we live in the present," Leila said. "How does Alex feel about the "corridor meetings"? Is she even invited to the dinner party your parents are throwing?" Leila observed his reactions keenly. "Do your parents even know that their precious son has a girlfriend?" Regulus' lack of response was enough confirmation, and Leila leaned back into the seat and opened her Quidditch magazine, apparently finished with the conversation. Regulus stared at the cover of the magazine for several seconds, wishing that whatever Parkinson was reading would make her extremely unhappy. Leila, who may or may not know what was going on in Regulus' head, remained unmoved in her seat.

Several more tense hours passed until Alex stirred from her sleep.

"Where are we?" she asked groggily.

"About thirty minutes away," Regulus said, as Leila assured her "we still have half an hour." Regulus decided to spare her an annoyed glance.

"Ah," Alex said, slinking back into her seat. "That's—" whatever came after was covered by her large yawn.

"It's alright," Leila said assuringly. "Time enough to get changed into Muggle clothes. Here's a pumpkin pastry."

Alex stared dumbfounded at the large package suddenly in front of her face, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Enough," Regulus said. "Just let her get her bearings first."

"I'm sorry, Black," Leila said sarcastically. "Are you the world's foremost expert on the nutritional requirements of a growing fifteen-year-old? I didn't think so."

"Sixteen," Alex said groggily. Leila didn't respond. Regulus barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Barely.

"Parkinson, I don't think people without sense should really be in charge of nutritional intake of a growing person, let alone my girlfriend—"

"ENOUGH," Alex said, whole body wobbling a bit as she stood up. "I'm going to the bathroom. I'm going to change my clothes. Can both of you promise me that the compartment will remain intact when I get back?"

"It's Black who resorts to magic, Alex. All I ever do is articulate," Leila said sweetly.

"Yes, and when the said articulation contains strings of curses and jinxes, it's called using magic," Regulus muttered. Alex gave him a look. Regulus felt his cheeks flush very slightly. So she expected better of him. It pleased and embarrassed him at the same time. The door closed crankily behind her.

Regulus looked out the window. It was raining.

Leila insisted on possessing Alex for the rest of the train ride, an insistence that Regulus found out to his annoyance he could not overcome. So he listened to Parkinson's half-hearted attempt to weasel out what she was getting for Christmas from Alex, her recounting of the records of the Chudley Cannons (which contained, Regulus was loath to say, some information that he himself did not have), and her description of the little villa in Italy that "Alex should definitely see some time." Regulus doubted that Mr. Parkinson in particular would welcome visitors whose parents he didn't know, but Regulus decided to keep his mouth shut on that particular point. No need to have Parkinson firing off about his own parents. Regulus rubbed his brows. Maybe, maybe, he could bribe Sirius into keeping his mouth shut about Alex for just this break…

"We're here." Leila's announcement pulled him out of his pool of thoughts. Alex was already working on getting their trunks onto the floor.

"I'll see you in January, then," Alex said to Leila as they disembarked. "Have fun in Italy for me."

Leila rolled her eyes. "It's just another family house," she said.

"I've never been to Italy, so..."

"But who knows, I might find me a handsome Italian boy." Leila shrugged. "See you later, Wilson." Without further ado she walked in the direction of the crowd, pulling her large trunk behind her. Regulus watched her go with a raised eyebrow.

"Charming, that one," he said. Alex smiled wanly.

"She's just hurting," she said. "Trying to distract herself. You could try to be nicer to her, you know." Regulus grimaced.

"Let's change the topic," he suggested, not wanting to say out loud that as far as he was concerned Parkinson and her relationship problems could stay in the decrepit Italian villa until they rotted. "I think we were discussing something very important before she interrupted us."

Alex crinkled her brows. "Were we? But we were—" the end of her sentence was then reenacted in full public as Regulus bent down and kissed her.

After a while they came back for air. Alex blinked.

"Oh," she said. "That."

"I didn't get to have you for the train ride," Regulus said, unable to keep petulance out of his voice entirely. And he loved that he could be petulant with her, just a little… "I just wanted to say good-bye."

Alex smiled at him. "But I can't possibly not let you say good-bye," she said, drawing him closer to her again, her fingers playing idly with his hair. Her warmth felt especially nice in the cold winter air…

"Really?" Regulus murmured, nuzzling into her as her lips grazed his cheek. "I was just beginning to wonder if—"

"Alex!"

The sharp voice of Sophia Wilson broke them apart and the couple somehow managed to whip their heads into the same direction with a same innocent sort of a smile that wouldn't have fooled a five-year-old.

"Mom!" Alex said, looking torn between being genuinely happy to see her mother and being embarrassed. Based on her ears, Regulus judged embarrassment had won.

"Ms. Wilson," Regulus said, trying to keep his voice smooth. "It's nice to see you again."

Sophia Wilson's expression clearly indicated that it was not nice to see him again. "Regulus," she said curtly. "What a… surprise."

"And we really should get going!" Alex said, her voice shrill. "We really should. It's going to be a long drive, and Reg needs to find his parents, and we all need to go home—"

"Yes," Sophia Wilson said, still distastefully looking at Regulus. Regulus realized that the collar of his robes had become undone. "Let's go, Alex."

Alex gave him an apologetic look. Regulus grinned and, before she could say anything, planted a large kiss on her lips.

"Merry Christmas," he said, and made his way toward the crowd.

His mother was waiting for them, and a very disgruntled Sirius was looking way past the barriers of the station.

"You're late, Regulus," his mother said as a greeting.

"I'm sorry, Mother." Regulus said. "I had a business to attend to." Next to him Sirius scoffed loudly. Regulus discreetly stepped on his foot—hard. Sirius yelped.

"Well, then," his mother said stiffly. "We must get out of here. All the Muggles, they're positively filling the air with filth." Sirius opened his mouth, his back straightening in preparation for a fight. Regulus nudged him in the ribs hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs. They began to move toward the exit.

"You," Sirius, still coughing, growled to his younger brother. "You just wait. I'd just love to see dear mummy's face when she learns that she might have to welcome a Wilson as her daughter-in-law."

"And I'm certain that you'll enjoy the evening with your fiancée at the Christmas dinner," Regulus said nonchalantly. "I've heard that she's grown into quite a beauty. Unless, of course, someone forgets to send her family an invitation."

Sirius made a disparaging noise. "Are you still in charge of that?"

"Do you want her at the party or not?"

Sirius glared at the ground. "I swear," he muttered. "If our mother's not the death of me, you'll be."

"Same to you, brother mine."

Sirius was fidgeting.

Not that Regulus could particularly blame him—the dress robes that Mother ordered for both of them were tight. Not just form-fitting, but tight enough to interfere with blood circulation—so tight, in fact, that Regulus wondered if his mother had, in a moment of—mental weakness—sent the last year's measurements to the tailor. But the state of the things was that the famous Black Christmas dinner party had already begun and that they couldn't possibly leave the table just to change the cravat. Regulus shifted his neck discreetly, trying to see if he could loosen the death grip that was the piece of cloth without anyone noticing. Sirius, on the other hand, had openly disposed of it after the first fifteen minutes. Their mother had given him a dirty look.

"What a handsome couple they make," Mrs. Black said dotingly to Uncle Cygnus, looking at the couple sitting a few seats away. Narcissa Black had finally decided to let Lucius Malfoy join the annual Black tradition. They ate silently, apparently having not much to say to each other and comfortable in each other's silence. Next to him Sirius let out a large snort. Regulus, on the other hand, watched his mother nervously. Something about the flickering of her eyes told him that she was not feeling as well as she said she was. He just hoped that the dinner would go smoothly.

"Don't you agree, dear?" Mrs. Black asked Mr. Black emphatically across the room. Regulus' lips tightened automatically. The discovery of Mr. Black's yet another paramour—a woman of some ill repute from Germany—occurred only that morning, and his mother was still sour about it. They both knew it was a loveless marriage, but a public flaunting of it was, in Mrs. Black's eyes—

"Oh, yes, perfectly," Mr. Black said, smiling too widely at his wife. "Absolutely."

Mrs. Black ignored his sarcasm and continued to tell Uncle Cygnus how wonderful the young couple's life would be and how she wished "just the same" for her own children. Sirius' jaw clenched, and Regulus didn't fail to see it. But he didn't know what he could say to make it better. Sirius didn't like being engaged to a girl he rarely met. To be entirely frank, Regulus wouldn't really like being engaged to a girl he rarely met, either. But so it was for the Black heir—what could they do?

Sirius muttered something under his breath as Mrs. Black droned the importance of a woman's good breeding.

"What was that, darling?" Mrs. Black's voice was saccharine, but her look was anything but sweet. It challenged her eldest son to repeat whatever blasphemy he'd uttered.

"Nothing, Mother," Sirius said glumly. Sirius had struck a deal with Mrs. Black when the winter break started; she would let him go to the Potter's for January, if he managed to behave well for December. Especially at public gatherings like this. And to visit his friend Sirius temporarily gave up his moralistic duty to correct every word that came out of his mother's mouth.

"Reggie darling," Sirius said over roast, "I can't possibly comprehend how you stand these things."

If Regulus was being honest, he was only half-listening to what his mother had been saying. The importance of breeding in women ceased to be an important issue halfway through the nineteenth century, as far as he was concerned. But he couldn't say that. Sirius would only bring it up later to make a point, usually against him. "But when is the wedding, Narcissa? It must be in June."

Narcissa smiled in a practiced manner and opened her mouth to respond, but her sister got better of her.

"Sooner," Bellatrix cackled. "March, at latest. We can't risk having her turning into our errant sister, after all." The mention of Andromeda Tonks, née Black, failed to go unrecognized by anyone in the dining room. A heavy silence fell on the participants of the dinner party.

"Well, good grief," rang Sirius' loud voice through the ancient hall. "That could only to Cissy world of good."

Heads slowly turned toward their direction. Regulus began to let out a stream of all the curses that he ever learned. He then realized that he had been shouting them inside his head only.

"C'mon," Sirius continued, either oblivious of everyone's reaction or choosing to ignore it, Regulus could never tell the difference. "Andy's happy with Tonks. They're even expecting their first child, you know that? The most Malfoy here can offer is a big mansion and a disappointing bed. What?" he said, looking directly at their mother. "Like we all don't know what's going on." Mrs. Black's face went paler than the finest sheet of parchment.

"Sirius, that's enough," Regulus murmured at his plate. Sirius pretended not to have heard him.

"And how can you bear it, Uncle Cygnus?" Sirius taunted. "You're going to be a grand-daddy of a half-blood You should be ashamed of yourself. Didn't you have enough guts to have your daughter taken care of? That's what you do to everything wrong in the world, isn't it? Kill them. Slaughter every last Muggle on earth. So why didn't you take care of your own daughter?"

Uncle Cygnus' face gained the violent shade of plum that he was so famous for. "Young man," he said, his voice shaking, "I'll give you one last chance to apologize."

Unfortunately, Sirius was all fired up now. "You know, at least that baby won't have a mental problem. Unlike your other daughter. Bellatrix, how are you feeling this fine evening? Sure that there's no impossible scratch on your brain?"

Bellatrix stood up so quickly that all the silverware on the table rattled. "You," she hissed, "what are you saying, that I'm mental?"

"Oh, look at that," Sirius answered airily. "A moment of clarity."

"Sirius, stop it," Regulus said, his voice stronger, but he was still not looking at his brother. Instead, he was looking at his mother, the way her pupils dilated dangerously in her gray eyes, the eyes that he and Sirius shared, the way her body went impossibly, inhumanly still. Her wand was—in her grasp. Oh, Merlin. Regulus turned toward his father, but he was simply reclining back in his chair, looking bored by his elder son's antiques, as if this was just another banal phase that children had to go through. Regulus couldn't look up at Sirius' face. He was afraid to see what was there—hatred and disdain. Disdain for him.

"You!" Bellatrix screamed, whipping her wand out. "I'll show you, I'll show you who's better! Expul—" She was pulled back by Narcissa, who managed to drag her sister back to her seat. Neither Lestrange, Bellatrix's husband, nor Malfoy had gotten up to interfere.

"Oh, look at that," Sirius said sarcastically. "At least I'm not pulled down by Reggie here." Then Sirius did the worst thing he could do and turned toward Regulus. "You aren't going to hold me back, are you, Reg?"

"Sirius," Regulus said quietly. "Stop this."

"Like you can stop me," Sirius said. "Oh, by the way, Mum? I think you'd better prepare your family tree for another blasting. Reg might marry a half-blood. You might remember her. Alexandra Wilson." There was no sign of recognition on Mrs. Black's face. No change in her face whatsoever. Then her nostrils flared.

Regulus tried to master his expression into something—bland. But how could he be bland? No expression at this moment would be suitable. No surprise, no anger, no disappointment—nothing would be acceptable. What was he even supposed to say?

"Sorry, Reggie," Sirius said obnoxiously. "But you see, I got my part of the deal when my fiancée didn't come. I guess I'm just letting everything go to hell now. Mother certainly won't let me spend the summer at Potter's."

And at this exact moment, Kreacher managed to walk into the dining room, ignorant of all the proceedings of the past five minutes.

"Madame," he said, respectfully bowing to Mrs. Black, "the pudding's ready. Would you like it served with—"

"Kreacher!" Sirius' voice boomed. "Good ol' Kreacher. Did you know that he's supposed to do anything I tell him to? Even if I tell him to go and kill himself. Did you know that?" Again no one answered. There was no sound in the room expect for Bellatrix' huffs from being thwarted from her attack.

"What, no one believe me?" Sirius said in mock disbelief. "Well then. Kreacher, do kindly go to the oven and burn your hands. Come back and show us."

"Kreacher," Regulus said sharply. "My brother's not in the right state of his mind. Don't pay him any attention." At this counter-command Kreacher visibly relaxed, but his shaking legs told Regulus that ignoring Sirius' words still had negative effects on the poor house-elf. Kreacher glared at Sirius.

"I'm proving a point!" Sirius shouted when he saw the chastising look from his little brother. "Purebloods can order these things to do anything—anything—and none of you think it's wrong! And you say that I'm not in the right state of mind? The one who's mental is our mother!"

"Sirius Orion Black," Mrs. Black spoke up for the first time since the one-sided argument. "Apologize to everyone here you've offended, and go to your room."

Sirius gritted his teeth. "No."

"Apologize, and go to your room."

"No," Sirius repeated, his stance resolute. "I'm not listening to you or anyone mental anymore."

"Sirius," Mr. Black said warningly from across the table. "Watch what you say."

"It's the truth!" Sirius shouted. "Dear old mum's clinically deranged, and everyone knows it! Just because we can't stand to lose our face, we just ignore it for the better part of our lives. And Bellatrix—oh, sweet Bellatrix, I think there hasn't been a day in her life when she didn't feel an impulse to kill someone! In case you don't know, Bellatrix, that's not normal. And everyone else here is just trying to cover everything up and say everything's okay, even when it's not. It's not okay to have mental patients in your family, it's not okay to have disgusting house-elves in your homes, it's not okay to have arranged marriages with complete strangers, and it's not okay to support a blood-thirsty wannabe tyrant like Lord Voldemort. Yes, I dare to say his name." As he spoke, the giant chandelier over the table began to shake and rattle—at first imperceptibly, but the crystal beads clang together more and more until there was a screeching cacophony of crystals.

Then the largest piece exploded, followed by hundred other crystal beads that enveloped and evolved around the centerpiece.

Regulus felt things graze his cheek. Sharp stings came on his cheeks, his brows, his hands. A cursory glance told him that most people had the sense to duck, including Sirius. Only their mother sat as she had, shivering uncontrollably. Regulus swallowed. This couldn't be—

"OUT!" she screeched. "ALL OF YOU! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" Lestrange and Malfoy complied at once, leading their wife and wife-to-be out the nearest exit. Other relatives quickly followed. Mr. Black had stood up and began to make his way toward his wife, but he wasn't quick enough.

"Walburga, calm down," he said, almost exasperated, but Mrs. Black was beyond hearing.

"YOU!" she screamed, turning toward Sirius. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT A DISGRACE YOU ARE? INSULTING YOUR MOTHER, INSULTING YOUR FAMILY—"

"It's not my family, you were never my family!" Sirius shouted. "What kind of family does this?"

Mrs. Black screamed, and something hurled past Regulus' ear. It took him a few moments to realize that their mother had thrown silverware with her bare hands. Sirius gritted his teeth. A knife was thrown into the wall, followed by the champagne flute and carving knife. Sirius gritted his teeth.

"That's it," he said. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH. I'M LEAVING. I hope you're very happy here in your beloved home." Without further comment Sirius turned his back and began to stalk out of the room. Mrs. Black raised her hand again.

"No—" Regulus said, lunging toward Sirius without thinking. A burning pain seared across his back and both brothers stumbled. Sirius looked around in disbelief.

"Go!" Mr. Black said, finally at his wife's side. "I'll hold her—stay away until she calms down." Neither needed more convincing and they set out toward the stairs, the third floor where their rooms were. Regulus lagged behind, out of breath from the fresh wound. When he reached the top floor, however, the sight in front of him stopped his breath altogether.

Sirius dragged his trunk from his room.

"What are you doing?" Despite everything, his voice was very calm.

Sirius didn't look at him. Regulus didn't think he was looking at anything. "Like I said. I'm leaving."

Regulus frowned. "No, you're not," he said matter-of-factly. Sirius going away—ridiculous. This was just supposed to be another one of the arguments. Regular. Insignificant.

"Yes, I am," Sirius said emphatically. "Don't try to stop me."

Regulus barely had the strength to tell Sirius that he couldn't stop him even if he wanted to. The wound on his back was beginning to ache. "Where will you go?" he gasped. "Think this through, Sirius. You'll regret this."

"No, I won't." Sirius shook his head viciously. "Haven't you seen what a mental case our mum is? What kind of a man our father is?"

I do, Sirius. But they're our parents, and we're family, and we're supposed to stick together, no matter what. Even if you insist on ruining every Christmas dinner and Mother insists on scarring her children. We're family.

But words were impossible for him now. Regulus frowned and leaned against the wall.

"Well, then," Regulus said. "Maybe it's not a bad idea to—put a bit of distance. Cool your head. Think about it."

"I don't need to think about it. I packed days ago. I was just—" Sirius looked away, looking slightly abashed for the first time. Looking for the right time. Regulus didn't need the sentence completed to know what he was going to say.

"Fine, then," Regulus said softly. "But you should know that—this isn't some heroic stunt that you're pulling. This isn't a grand gesture. It's you being rebellious and saying that you're better than everyone else—and in the end you're just—" his last words were cut from him as a violent fit of coughing seized him. You're just abandoning me. Your own brother. But perhaps it was better that Sirius didn't know how much it hurt.

Sirius looked at his brother with pity and revulsion. "You're just as stupid and impossible as the rest of them. Can't you see that they're wrong? That they're bigots headed toward their destruction? I'm just trying to do the right thing and live a better life. To serve justice and peace." And without anything else—not even a handshake, for Merlin's sake—Sirius began to climb down the stairs, head held high. Regulus tried to follow him and say something hurtful, but the injury slowed him down. When he finally reached the landing, the front door was wide open and Sirius was long gone.

Regulus turned around and saw his father also staring out at the empty street.

"He's gone," Regulus said unnecessarily. It felt unreal. Mr. Black nodded slowly.

"Yes," he said. "He told me that much."

"But he can't be."

Mr. Black sighed but didn't say anything more on the matter. "Your mother's quieted down a bit. Kreacher gave her the usual potions, and now she's sleeping it off." Regulus nodded numbly.

"Any damage?" Regulus asked, feeling silly for asking. Sirius was gone. Everything else was—

"Yes," Mr. Black said. "Your mother burned a hole through the family tree." Regulus frowned in confusion and twisted around to see his father's face. His pale skin was ghostly in the moonlight, and there was no life in his gray eyes. Despite his health and age, he looked like the death itself.

"Congratulations, Regulus," he said. "You're the next heir of the family."

And then he lost all consciousness.

A/N Thanks to all those reviewed/followed:)