Chapter Text
On the last day of his fourth year at Hogwarts, Regulus received the news that his parents were dead.
Strangely, he didn't remember much after that. It would stand to reason that upon hearing such news, one would recall at least how they felt. But for Regulus, it didn't work quite like that.
He vaguely remembers Professor McGonagall’s steady hand on his shoulder, firm yet gentle as she guided him from the Slytherin table, across the Great Hall, and up the many staircases to the Headmaster’s office. Her expression had been unusually soft, but it was her silence that had struck him the most.
In the warmly lit office, he recalled Professor Dumbledore rising from behind his desk, his eyes sombre beneath the half-moon spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. The Headmaster’s voice, usually so commanding, was now almost gentle as he explained what had happened. The words parents, accident, death, and fire floated around him, all tangled into what was likely a coherent sentence, but to him, it felt like a puzzle his brain couldn't piece together quite yet.
McGonagall had offered him a cup of tea, but he had declined with a faint shake of his head. His voice gone into hiding somewhere deep inside him. The rest of the office seemed to carry on around him, voices lowered in hushed discussion, footsteps pacing the worn carpet, but it was all blurred by the fog settling over his mind, making his vision more unfocused by the minute.
Then, suddenly, the fog lifted.
A brilliant green flame burst to life in the fireplace, flaring with such exuberance that it seemed to slice through the muted tones of the office. From amidst the smoke and emerald light stepped a figure as familiar to Regulus as his own reflection, though he hadn’t seen him properly in months.
Sirius Black.
His older brother stood tall, his robes scorched at the hem and ash clinging to his shoulders, yet his eyes burned with frantic energy, wild and alight. His dark hair was wind-tossed and his face was flushed, as though he had run the whole way here the moment he’d heard the news.
Regulus barely managed to draw a breath before Sirius was in front of him, arms wrapped tightly around his frame in a desperate embrace. It was as though all the colour had returned to the world at once. The sensation of being held, truly held, was overwhelming, like a jolt to the system. A reminder that he was still alive, that he could still feel something.
He let himself fall into the embrace, every inch of him drawn to the warmth he’d craved for so long, the closeness he was only permitted in fleeting and furtive visits during Hogsmeade weekends and forbidden dreams.
“Sirius,” he breathed, the name escaping his lips as though it had been waiting there all his life. It carried within it something between a prayer and a sob.
“Shh, mon petit,” Sirius murmured, his voice low and soothing. He held Regulus tighter, arms looping around his waist, anchoring him in place. “I’m here now. It’s going to be alright.”
Regulus sniffed, trying in vain to steady his breathing. “What… what happened? Mother and Father—?”
At the mention of their parents, he felt Sirius’ body stiffen. The change was subtle, but unmistakable. Sirius pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him, and Regulus already regretted the question, mourning the loss of the warmth he had been clinging to.
“They’re dead, Reggie,” Sirius said plainly.
Logically, he already knew that. But hearing the words spoken aloud from Sirius, of all people, made it real in a way that Dumbledore’s careful delivery hadn't.
It felt real now. His parents were dead. Walburga and Orion Black were gone.
“There was a fire at Grimmauld Place last night,” Sirius continued, his tone detached. “They didn’t make it out in time.”
“How—” Regulus began, but was interrupted.
“There is an investigation underway, Mr Black,” Dumbledore interjected. “It appears to have been an accident, but the Aurors are looking into it. We shall know more in time.”
Regulus turned back to his brother, searching his face, not only for comfort, but also understanding. Sirius’ expression was hard to read. His eyes had that same familiar coldness he always wore when speaking of their parents, but there was something else beneath the surface this time. Something flickering.
Relief.
And when Regulus examined his own feelings, he found the same emotion mirrored there. Not grief or anguish. But something startlingly close to freedom.
They’re gone.
Every time the thought passed through his mind, it became more solid. He found himself battling the urge to smile—a bitter, guilty smile—and when he caught the glimmer of the same struggle on Sirius' face, he knew they were both thinking the same thing.
We’re free.
Regulus cleared his throat, the next words tasting strange in his mouth. “Where am I supposed to go now?”
It was a practical question. Not a demand to see his parents’ bodies, nor a plea for more answers about their sudden death. Only a simple, logical concern. Now that his house had burned to the ground, where did he belong?
Sirius stepped forward again, a softness creeping into his movements. He reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind Regulus’s ear, fingers lingering on his skin. The touch was feather-light, but it sent a warmth coursing through him.
“You’re coming with me, mon petit,” Sirius said, voice firm but tender. “To my home.”
He drew Regulus into his arms once more, his breath brushing against his ear in a whisper that sent a fresh flush across his face.
“We’re safe now. They can’t hurt us anymore.” His voice was quiet, but resolute. “I’ll take care of you, Reggie.”