Chapter Text
Regulus didn’t cry.
He folded.
Methodically, viciously, like someone trying to erase evidence rather than pack a life.
T-shirts. Jeans. One good coat. Socks, mostly black. The hoodie Evan had left behind before he went away. Toothbrush. Charger. Power bank, because God knew if he’d even have a wall to plug into by tonight.
The notebook—closed but still buzzing with the heat of the confrontation—sat at the edge of the bed like a monument to his own stupidity.
He should’ve closed the damn tab. Logged out, cleared the chat history. Done something— anything —besides leaving his laptop open in the sitting room while he reheated tea.
He’d thought she was out.
But Walburga had come back early, and found it. Found everything. The conversations. The saved photos. The fucking voice note where Barty called him “darling” like it was a joke that had grown teeth.
She hadn’t screamed. That would’ve been easier.
After a few explanations that obviously didn’t explain anything: “You have thirty minutes to collect your belongings and leave my house.”
He hadn’t asked what “leave” meant.
She didn’t need to clarify.
The old version of her would’ve just slapped him. The newer one—fractured by Orion’s recent death, sharper and more unhinged than ever—preferred exile. Surgical and silent.
His hands trembled as he zipped the suitcase. Not from fear. From adrenaline, from fury, from the sheer animal awareness that this was it.
He had no place to go.
Andromeda lived in Devon. Sweet, but too far.
Evan was in fucking Peru, last he checked—probably somewhere remote enough that signal came and went with the wind.
Barty… no. No. They hadn’t spoken properly in months. Not since everything blew up. And even if they had, the last thing Regulus needed was Walburga’s fury spilling into the Crouch household. She would spread this—of course she would. Rot it from the root up.
Cissy and Bella, well.. after Walburga herself kicked him out he doubted any of them would greet him with open arms.
The cash he had on hand might get him through a few nights.
His phone buzzed once. Probably the second warning—five minutes left.
Regulus took a breath through his nose, sharp and shallow, and unlocked the screen.
Then he went to the messages and there it was. Still pinned after 2 years since he received it. Still unread, technically.
“If you ever need it: Flat 390, 46 Delancey Street.”
No apology. No explanation. Just coordinates.
Regulus had let it sit there like a scar that hadn’t quite scabbed over. Proof that the door was open — even if he’d never dared knock.
Not since they last saw each other. Not in seven years.
But tonight — with thirty minutes, a duffel bag, and no cards that would work past midnight — there was no choice.
He shoved the phone into his pocket, closed the suitcase with one violent motion, and stood.
There was nothing else to take. No family photos. No childhood keepsakes. No inheritance.
Just him, the bag, and the taste of blood at the back of his throat where he’d bitten the inside of his cheek too hard.
He stepped into the hallway, the door shut behind him like the world was locking itself away.
He wasn’t ready to see Sirius.
Not even close.
But he was out of time and out of options.
So he walked.
⊹
He paid the driver with shaking fingers, cash folded tight, and stepped out into the street.
Camden Town at night wasn’t quiet, but it felt quieter than he remembered. Or maybe it was just the weight of the bag on his shoulder, digging into skin already raw from everything else. The air smelled like rain and cigarette smoke and someone’s takeaway curry.
46 Delancey Street.
It looked exactly like the kind of building Sirius would live in: old, red-bricked, with peeling paint around the entry buzzer and a set of stairs that probably hadn’t been swept since Thatcher resigned.
Regulus stood in front of the intercom for a full ten seconds before pressing the button.
Flat 390 – S. Black / R. Lupin
There was a crackle. Then static.
Then a voice, his brother's voice.
“Yeah?”
He swallowed. God, even seven years later he would recognize his voice anywhere.
“Sirius. It’s Regulus.”
Silence.
Not static. Not wind. Just pure, human silence — thick and cold and total.
He thought maybe the connection had dropped. Maybe Sirius had walked away. Maybe this had been a mistake and the night would end with him curling up outside some train station like a pathetic, homeless cliché.
Then, finally, with a soft buzz — the door clicked open.
He exhaled.
Didn’t let himself think. Just walked.
The elevator groaned as it ascended. The walls were scratched metal, and someone had drawn a lopsided penis near the button for floor five. Regulus stared at it blankly. Every breath echoed in his throat. He could feel his pulse in the strap of his bag.
The doors opened with a jolt.
And the flat door — the one at the far end of the hall, with faded numbers and a scratched welcome mat — was already open.
Sirius was leaning against the frame.
Hair longer than Regulus remembered. Pyjama bottoms. A shirt with some faded band logo. Barefoot.
He looked older, but not old.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t say I missed you or what the fuck happened .
Just watched him.
Like Regulus was some ghost on his doorstep.
So Regulus walked the last few steps, dragging the weight of everything he wasn’t saying, and stopped just outside the threshold.
They looked at each other. Just—looked. Longer than strangers do. Longer than brothers should, maybe.
Sirius’s eyes dropped to the bag. His mouth twitched like he might say something—something sharp, something mean, something real—but all he did was sigh and scrub a hand through his hair.
“Come on in, Reg.”
Regulus nodded once, tight, and stepped past him into the flat.
It wasn’t luxurious. Nothing like they’d both grown up used to. But it was… warm. And surprisingly spacious. Books stacked on every available surface. A guitar leaning against the wall. A blanket tossed haphazardly over the back of the couch. Dim lighting. Yellow walls. Real lived-in comfort.
And in the kitchen—open-plan, one of those American-style layouts that bled into the living room—stood a tall man. Broad shoulders. Rolled-up sleeves. Dark blonde hair pulled half-back, half-messy. He was pouring water into a teapot.
Regulus stared. Just for a second. Not at his face, but at the familiarity of it. The domesticity.
It landed somewhere between shocking and obvious.
Sirius followed his gaze and cleared his throat. “Reg, Remus Lupin. Moony—this is my brother, Regulus.”
Remus looked up.
He didn’t smile.
He stared at Regulus for a beat longer than polite—long enough to make it clear he knew exactly who Regulus was, and wasn’t impressed.
Then, finally: “Pleasure to meet you.”
Regulus nodded again. Still hadn’t spoken. Still wasn’t sure he could.
Sirius turned to him “Tea?”
Another nod.
Regulus let the strap of his bag slide off his shoulder and lowered it carefully onto the floor—gently, as if it were a bomb that might go off if jostled wrong.
Sirius was already moving. Without a word, he scooped up the bag and disappeared down a narrow hallway, pushed open a door, and set it inside.
Regulus didn’t follow. He just stood in the middle of the flat, surrounded by warmth and softness and the smell of mint and honey, and felt like an animal shoved into a strange enclosure.
Watched. Silent. Small.
Like he’d wandered into someone else’s life by mistake.
Remus placed three mismatched mugs on the table and began pouring hot water from the kettle, slow and steady.
He gestured toward the chair opposite him without speaking.
Regulus sat. The wood creaked slightly beneath him, as if protesting his presence.
“Hungry?” Remus asked, not quite looking at him.
Regulus cleared his throat. His voice came out rough, like it hadn’t been used in days. “No. Thank you.”
The silence after that wasn’t cruel. Just… strained. Like no one knew what shape the evening was supposed to take.
Sirius returned a moment later, sliding into the seat beside Remus. Closer than friends usually sat.
Their knees brushed. Remus didn’t move away. Sirius leaned into the space like he belonged there.
Right… Definitely a couple.
Regulus exhaled slowly and lifted the mug in front of him.
The steam hit his face. Chamomile. He took a sip. It was warm, earthy and almost comforting.
But as if anything would help him sleep tonight.
It was Sirius who broke the silence. “Tell me what happened.”
Regulus didn’t look at him.
He kept his eyes on the steam rising from his mug, fingers curled too tightly around the handle. “She kicked me out.”
The words sat between them like something heavy and wet, dripping into the floorboards.
Silence.
Regulus glanced up, briefly, then down again. His voice was steadier this time, but only just. “Sorry. I didn’t know where else to go. She cancelled the cards. Dora lives too far from the city. I don’t have a car, and I’d miss too many classes. It’s just… for a little while. I’ll sort something out. Then you won’t have to deal with it anymore.”
Sirius shook his head slowly. “It’s not something to deal with, Reg. There’s a spare room. Stay as long as you need.”
Regulus finally looked at him.
Sirius was still—infuriatingly—beautiful. In that same boyish, sharp-edged way he always had been. Like someone who never flinched, never bent, never gave anything away unless he wanted to. He hadn’t changed much.
That made it worse, somehow.
“Right,” Regulus said softly. “Thanks.”
“What happened?” Sirius’s voice wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t cruel either. Just direct. Like he wanted the truth without the dressing.
Regulus stared at the bottom of his mug. There was no more steam. Just the tea, cooling.
He wasn’t sure how to say it. Wasn’t sure how to make it sound like something that had actually happened to him and not to someone else.
But Sirius was watching. So he would have to find a way.
“She went through my things,” Regulus said finally, voice flat. “I was stupid. Left my laptop open. I was gone for ten minutes, maybe less. When I came back…” He gave a hollow shrug. “Well. You can imagine…”
Sirius was still watching him. Carefully. Quietly. “What did she see?”
Regulus sighed, long and sharp.
Then he looked him dead in the eyes. “I’m gay, Sirius. Apparently that’s a dealbreaker for dear Mother. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
His gaze flicked over to Remus, who hadn’t said a word since the introductions.
He looked… tense. Sharper around the edges. His jaw was tight. His shoulders square. The arm closest to Sirius had shifted slightly—just enough to be noticed. Not a threat. Not a warning. But a barrier.
A shield.
Regulus dropped his eyes back to the mug, throat burning.
Then— Sirius laughed.
Loud. Sudden. Unapologetic.
Regulus blinked and Remus stiffened like he was about to throw the kettle.
Sirius laughed so hard he had to wipe his eyes. “Sorry. Sorry—” he gasped between breaths, “—but come on. That’s—fuck, that’s perfect .”
He leaned back in his chair, still chuckling. “Walburga. With two gay sons. Honestly, if that’s not divine punishment, I don’t know what is.”
Regulus stared at him and then stood abruptly. “I didn’t come here for your entertainment.”
The room went silent again. Sirius sat up straighter, the grin dropping from his face like a stone. “Reg—no. That’s not what I meant.”
Regulus’s eyes were sharp now, burning. “I know this must sound hilarious to you. Finally , our mother kicked me out. Was that what you wanted all along? For me to get a taste of her poison too?”
Sirius blinked. Confusion flickered across his face, quick and genuine. “No, Reg. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed, alright? But—fuck—come on, you’ve got to admit it’s—”
“I don’t have to admit anything.”
Regulus’s voice was clipped now. Controlled. Brittle. “Look, I have class tomorrow. I’m sorry for barging into your home. But if I can stay, I’d like to go to bed now.”
Sirius nodded slowly.
The humor was gone from his face, replaced by something heavier. Regret, maybe. Or something closer to exhaustion. “Yeah. Of course. Come on—I’ll show you the room.”
They walked in silence down the hallway.
Sirius opened the door to the guest room, flicked on the light. His bag was already on the foot of the bed.
It was simple. Clean. No decorations, no clutter.
Except— Scattered on the floor near the window, there were toys. Small stuffed animals. A set of wooden building blocks. Two little cars. They looked like they belonged to a different reality altogether—so soft, so bright, so untouched by the sharp corners of his own life.
Sirius crouched and started gathering them into a corner. “Sorry. My best friend’s kid sleeps here sometimes. I’m his godfather—me and Remus, both. But the room’s yours now, don’t worry. You can put your things wherever. Make it comfortable.”
Regulus lingered in the doorway.
Then finally stepped inside.“Thanks. Tomorrow I’ll be out early.”
“Right,” Sirius said. “You mentioned. What are you studying again?”
“Chemical Engineering. I’m in my final year. But I need a master’s to apply to the tracks I’m aiming for.”
Sirius nodded, a small twitch of something like admiration in his expression. “Yeah. You were always good at that stuff, weren’t you?”
Regulus didn’t answer. Just looked at him—calm, unreadable.
Sirius let out another breath, rubbing the back of his neck. The tension in his shoulders was obvious, barely contained. “Well. I’ll let you rest. Good night, Reg.”
He stepped out of the room and pulled the door mostly shut behind him— but not all the way. Not locked. Not slammed.
Just closed enough to give space.