Chapter Text
There exists a concept in the language of words created to explain the inexplicable feelings, something that grips your throat tightly, but you can't let anything out because you can't put into terms what you're feeling. There's one specific word that has always caught Regulus' attention.
“Dead Reckoning ”
to find yourself more bothered by someone’s death than you would have expected, as if you assumed they would always be part of the landscape, like a lighthouse you could pass by for years until the night it suddenly goes dark, leaving you with one less landmark to navigate by, still able to find your bearings, but feeling all that much more adrift.
A rather sad word, in my opinion. But I can explain; Regulus has always been fascinated by death, there was something about it that mixed morbidity with melancholy and resulted in something beautiful. Don't judge him for it, it's his job as a writer of horror books to face death and dissect it. To make it interesting. To make it poetic. To make it lovely.
There was nothing interesting, poetic or lovely about Pandora's death.
The news came from nowhere, as this type of news usually does. It was an ordinary Tuesday, and like on any other ordinary Tuesday, he was pacing incessantly around his office while trying to find inspiration for his new book.
He couldn't suppress the sigh of relief upon hearing his phone ring, being released from his torturous life as a writer blocked by inspiration. Such a sheer relief, upon recognizing the number from the local hospital, got stuck in his lungs and tried to break his ribs.
Somehow he already knew. He could feel it in the small remnant of soul he had.
Pandora.
Pandora was his only emergency contact, and Regulus was hers after her husband. It was hard to grasp all the words of the attendant after that, the buzzing in his ears being too loud to ignore and his blurred vision making it impossible to think.
“Car accident... Lovegood couple... their daughter…”
The sound that came out of his lips was almost animalistic as the call ended, and no one was there to witness. It was like when a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear the sound it makes. Regulus had no one to embrace his grief, his suffering; how could he feel that it was real? It was hard to stay grounded and not dissociate.
Pandora would know what to say, what to do. She always knew.
How could he live without his lighthouse? He felt like he was drowning.
He could only think of Pandora. Of her wide smile, of her quirky earrings, the way her gaze shone with knowledge that couldn't belong to a 25-year-old. Of all the times she took all the broken pieces of Regulus and turned them into a new work of art.
"There's a Japanese art called Kintsugi, Regulus," she always said, every time Regulus found himself so broken that he felt he was far from repair. "It's a technique for repairing broken pieces, you use gold to glue the pieces together and make the parts that had been mended evident."
He found himself repeating her words alone. "It's about making something beautiful out of suffering."
Regulus wondered if she would find something beautiful in his suffering now.
Would it ever stop hurting?
He briefly thought of Xenophilius. Of the way he so easily accepted Regulus' importance in Pandora's life, of the comfortable silences and meaningful glances they exchanged every time Pandora did something lovely.
Then, he thought of Luna.
Oh, God. Luna.
Regulus wasn't a religious person, the years of religious trauma took that away from him, but he found himself praying for Luna. For his 5-year-old goddaughter. For the girl who had lost her parents before understanding what it meant to be a daughter.
Who would she have now? Pandora and Xenophilius had no family. They only had Regulus.
They only had Regulus.
Luna only had Regulus.
Fuck.
His phone rang again.
This time it was a call from social services.
★
Everything passed by in a blur after that. Identifying the bodies, organizing the funeral, the funeral itself, the sight of Pandora's lifeless body.
Pandora, who was so full of life, so bright, now nothing but a soulless shell.
Wrong. That was the word swirling in Regulus' mind as he fought back the sobs that threatened to escape his parched lips. Pandora shouldn't be dead. Xenophilius shouldn't be dead. Luna shouldn't be in a social service’s home, alone and scared until the state decides to act. Wrong. Everything was wrong.
He didn’t cry.
Upon arriving home that day, he had a fit of rage. It felt like all the pent-up negative emotions he had accumulated over the years were crawling out of his skin with the intent to destroy.
He had lost the only true love he knew.
With every antique vase he smashed, every piece of art he destroyed, and every upholstery he tore, he snarled at the heavens.
How could you do this to me? How could you leave me alone to suffer? What did I do to deserve this? Wasn't I enough for you to stay? For you to love me eternally?
He didn't know if he was cursing Pandora, his brother, his parents, or God.
As he destroyed his parents' house, the house he had never managed to leave, he remembered a conversation he overheard Pandora having with Luna a few months back.
"What is love?" The sudden question made Regulus and Pandora pause the chess game they were playing, Luna's curious, large eyes fixed on both of them.
Regulus hesitated. He wasn't sure if he knew what it was.
"Love is when you want someone's good so much, you don't leave." Pandora, however, had no trouble answering.
The answer surprised him, making him reconsider everything he had read about the feeling before. It was a new concept. All he heard was that love was letting go.
"That doesn't make sense. Sometimes you, daddy, or Uncle Star don't stay with me." The child asserted, with all the certainty about the world that is only possible at five years old.
"Did you know the Sun never leaves the sky?"
"But I don't see the Sun at night." Luna crossed her arms, defiant.
Regulus, who was trying not to interrupt, chuckled at the sheer personality of someone who had not yet reached a meter in height.
"Oh, that's because the Earth rotates." Pandora patiently explained, briefly winking at Regulus. "The Sun keeps shining. It never leaves us, even if sometimes we can't see it."
Luna softened her expression, not fully grasping the rhythm of the conversation. Then, her mother continued:
"What I mean is, the Sun understands love." She whispered as if she were telling a secret, both to Luna and to Regulus, who was as interested in the subject as the curious child. "It has other hearts to warm in different places, it can't decorate the sky for everyone at the same time. It has to choose. But it always comes back and shines brightly. The Sun will always show up for us to love again."
He was sure, at the time, that Pandora was using the Sun as a metaphor for herself.
Where was the Sun now? Regulus thought bitterly.
In his opinion, the literal sun could explode at that moment and take everyone with it, so the rest of the world would feel a third of the pain he felt. Everyone would be as miserable as he was. Everyone would have a loss.
That night, as he listened to the messages left on the voicemail about Luna's adoption case, a new and different voice sounded instead of the apathetic voice of the social worker in his ears.
Hey, Reggie. It's Sirius. Regulus became pale, looking like he saw a ghost from his books. Your brother. The idiot added, as if Regulus had forgotten; as if he hadn't spent years mourning someone who was alive. I heard about what happened to Pandora. Listen, sorry for only showing up now, but you're not alone in this. Call me if you need anything.
Where have you been for ten years? Regulus wanted to scream into the phone, but he contented himself with just tossing the device to the other side of the room and surrendering to an agitated sleep. He would pretend he hadn't heard that message. Sirius was dead in his mind for ten years and would remain so.
If he dreamed of playing hide and seek with his brother, treehouses, and secret plans to get a dog, no one needed to know.
★
"I don't think this is a suitable home for a child, Mr. Black," the assigned social worker stated as she looked around.
Regulus knew that his childhood home was not a perfect place for a child, after all, he had grown up there. The dead animals on the walls, the dark corners, and the sharp-edged furniture were not conducive to healthy development.
Also, the destruction caused by his rage outburst the previous night obviously didn't help to cause a good impression.
He could perfectly recall the trauma that each room of the house carried; he thought that if he closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment, he would still be able to hear his brother's screams.
He couldn't exactly say why he had never left. It was as if he was always tethered to the edge of his bed, unable to eat or leave because he had used the wrong spoon during one of his father's political dinners.
He didn't have Sirius' courage. Regulus would always opt for the pain of the known rather than the possible misfortunes of the unknown. He already knew which corners to avoid to not be flooded with memories, he was sure which step creaked and which door made less noise; how could anyone blame him for not leaving? What pains awaited him outside that house?
Regulus could feel Walburga's cold smile and Orion's scornful gaze every time he opened a real estate website, only to cowardly close it after a few minutes. It wasn't just familiarity that kept him there, no, it was more than that.
It was what his brother used to describe as 'too soft'. It was the terrifying hope that adorned his bones and tightened the chains.
It was the childish, yet knowingly unfounded belief, that his parents loved him.
And this, this was everywhere.
It was at the kitchen table, where Regulus received extra dessert after agreeing to report when Sirius didn't clean his room. It was in the times his parents made him play the piano at important events, proclaiming to the winds how talented their youngest son was. It was in the lost look he sometimes saw on his mother's face, so similar to his own. It was in the bloodstain on the living room carpet that they had never managed to remove, from the night he traded Sirius' freedom for his own; they chose him, they wanted him to stay. He can't leave and let these memories die.
The bile burned his stomach and threatened to stain the carpet even more as he imagined Luna growing up in a house like that.
Time to break the cycle, he thought.
"And what if I find a new home? What do we do from there?" He tried not to sound too anxious, faking a confidence that had never been his. "When can Luna come live with me?"
To anyone on the outside, it would seem like Regulus was ready to raise a child.
He wasn't.
The idea of raising a human being was terrifying enough on its own, and it only increased when it was loaded with the fact that it was the daughter of his dead best friend. Don't get him wrong, he loved his goddaughter with all the love he was capable of producing; he just didn't know how to make it work.
He thought of Luna's big, bright eyes, her quirky glasses, and the way she seemed ready to make the world bend to her command at just five years old.
Regulus didn't know how to maintain that. What if he contaminated every part left by Pandora and Xenophilius? What if he had the same tendency as his parents to leave people beyond repair?
Everything that entered his life he had a tendency to break. Every relationship that went wrong, every pet that ran away, every friendship that simply turned its back and walked away spun in his mind as proof that he always ruined everything.
Not Pandora, though. Pandora always made it seem easy to love him, that it was delightful to be in his company. That no matter how stained his past was, there was still so much light within him.
It was his duty to try to access that light for Luna. To ensure that she would have the childhood that he never had.
Regulus knew he had to break free from the patterns of his upbringing. He had to consciously choose to be different, to offer Luna a home filled with love, acceptance, and unwavering support. It wouldn't be easy, but he was willing to fight against his own demons to ensure Luna's happiness and well-being.
“It's a complicated process, Mr. Black." His expression must have been pitiful, because the social worker quickly added, "But considering your file and the instructions left by Mrs. Lovegood, it shouldn't take more than a few weeks." She smiled briefly. "Find a new house as soon as possible and remember to make it a home.”
He imagined laughter filling the rooms of their new home, shared moments of joy and discovery, and a sense of belonging that would anchor Luna's soul. He promised himself that he would be there for her every step of the way, offering guidance, encouragement, and a shoulder to lean on whenever she needed it.
Regulus would try.
It wasn't much, but it would have to count for something.
★
Here's the thing about growing up in a controlling household: it teaches you a lot of things, independence was not one of them.
And when you grow up having your clothes, your haircut, your friendships and your life choices controlled by your parents, the tendency is always to allow yourself to be controlled. Breaking free from that cycle is daunting. It means confronting not only external expectations but also the internalized beliefs that had shaped your identity for so long. It means reclaiming autonomy over your own life, making decisions based on your own desires and values rather than those imposed upon you. But do you know yourself well enough to claim that you're ready to make a life on your own? Or are you just a shadow of your submission?
Hard questions, hard answers.
Adult life, Regulus realized at 23-years-old, was something he had never been prepared to handle.
Even after his parents' death, six months ago, the household assistant, affectionately nicknamed Kreacher by two children who thought of themselves as so funny, took care of everything. Bills, food, cleaning.
He had his personal assistant, Amelia Bones, to take care of his career. Frank Longbottom, his accountant, handled his finances and any personal accounts.
Regulus had never had to worry about adult responsibility his entire life. Sometimes, he felt like he never grew up. Now, he would have to raise a child. It was so tragically comical, if you ask me.
Sure, he could ask for help from one of his employees, but he felt it was time to learn how to navigate adult life if he was about to become a caregiver. Not to mention that he wasn't prepared for a personal conversation with either of the two mentioned above, and doubted that Kreacher knew anything about child-safe homes.
He was alone in this.
You should call Sirius back. The voice of his conscience, sounding a bit too much like Pandora's, echoed in his mind.
Obviously, he ignored it. If it were actually Pandora, he would hesitate but ultimately end up listening to her. But Pandora was dead. She would never come back. Dead people couldn't weigh in on the lives of the living.
Regulus wished they could, though. His only friend's wisdom would be helpful. But then again, he was in this situation precisely because she died.
Pandora was dead.
That was a fact Regulus had to constantly remind himself of. Every time he thought about picking up the phone to talk about his day, ask for advice, or see if she wanted to hang out - reality hit him. And it hurt more and more each time.
He thought the greatest emotional pain he felt was when he received the news, but the greater pain was in the absence. In the longing he couldn't satisfy. In the emptiness he couldn't fulfill. It was in listening repeatedly to the voicemails she left, trying not to forget the soft voice that had often lulled him to sleep. It was in begging to a God he didn't know he believed in to not let him forget about Pandora.
It was in those moments of quiet desperation, when the weight of her absence pressed down on him like a suffocating blanket, making Regulus reach for something beyond his own understanding. He didn't know if he truly believed in a higher power, but he grasped onto the childish hope that there was something or someone out there who could offer him solace, who could ease the pain of his loss.
As he listened to Pandora's voicemails, each word a bittersweet reminder of what he had lost, he whispered silent prayers into the void, pleading for a sign, for a fleeting moment of connection with her spirit. He clung to the memories they had shared, cherishing every precious moment as if it were a lifeline keeping him tethered to her memory.
But despite his fervent prayers and desperate longing, the silence remained unbroken, and the ache in his heart continued to grow. In those moments, Regulus grappled with the realization that some losses were too profound to be healed by mere words or wishes. And yet, he refused to let go completely, holding onto the hope that one day, somehow, he would find peace in the memory of the love they had shared.
For Pandora. For Luna. For himself.
As Regulus hoped, his thumb hovered hesitantly over Sirius' contact, but he couldn't bring himself to make the call. The fear of reopening old wounds held him back.
And then, out of nowhere, his phone began to ring. He hadn't saved his brother's number, but he had looked at it so many times that he could recite it in his sleep. Now, he stared at the phone as if it were going to attack him and scream about how cowardly he was.
Was this the help he had prayed? Was this the sign he asked for?
He couldn't say. After all, he let the call go to voicemail one more time.
As the ringtone ceased and silence once again reigned, Regulus wondered how much longer he would be able to bear this alone.
★
Not for much longer, he discovered.
Years of repressed emotions, traumas, codependency, and being unprepared for adult life hadn't exactly made him well-equipped to seek out a new place to live.
Who would've thought, right?
Money wasn't a problem in finding a nice place, far from it. He had the fortune his parents had left for him and an enormous bank account due to his sudden success as a writer.
His initial plan wasn't writing; it was a childhood dream that seemed more distant than the existence of singing flowers. He had a future well-prepared and drawn by the firm hands of his parents.
Get good grades at the fancy boarding school we put you in, get into a renowned university, study law, become a politician bathed in nepotism, marry a nice girl, and produce an heir.
However, not long after finishing college, his parents died. It was difficult to break their expectations, even in death, and seek out an independent publisher to release the book he had spent his entire university life writing.
He wasn't exactly sure what had prompted him to send the draft, maybe a sudden rebellion, maybe a desire to make a difference, or maybe he just looked for the comfort of rejection that would come from it rather than the torment of 'what if?'
But that rejection never came.
The publisher's response was immediate, and the public's even more so.
He never, in a million years, imagined success like that. It was thunderous. It was impossible.
“Of course it's possible. After all, I knew it was going to happen.” Pandora would say every time Regulus was surprised to break a new record, a knowing smile and proud look adorning her clear eyes.
So, yes, money wasn't the reason he found himself in an apartment where rats had tried to make a home in one of the wall holes and now were running frantically through the place to escape the unknown noise echoing throughout the living room.
The reason was that with his clear inexperience and his appearance of a rich boy, he was an easy target for unscrupulous real estate brokers who wanted to squeeze every penny out of him for houses that not even the rats wanted to live in.
Regulus might be a rich and inexperienced boy, but he was also petty to the last drop of his blood. “You're joking. You have to be joking.”
“It just needs a little shaping,” the agent said with a falsely cheerful smile as he attempted to kick a rat out of his way.
The smile lasted until the rat bit the man's heel, his scream echoing through the apartment and bringing chaos to the rest of the apartment's occupants.
Regulus thought his eye would never stop twitching from stress after that.
After several more failed attempts, including a broker trying to convince him that a houseboat was the perfect place to raise a child, Regulus swallowed his pride as if he were eating glass and called his brother.
“Hello?” Sirius' voice was easily recognizable, even after ten years. That lively tone, full of fire and love for life, could be recognized by Regulus even in death. “Reggie?”
Regulus quickly hung up the call.
‘That wasn't very nice’ Pandora, or his conscience, he wasn't even sure anymore at this point, made sure to add.
For Luna, he reminded himself.
It was time to grow up, Regulus thought. He refused to let his grudge get in the way of the mission to find a new home for Luna.
Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, as if preparing for war, Regulus squared his shoulders and dialed the number again, steeling himself for whatever conversation awaited him on the other end of the line.
As the phone rang, each tone seemed to echo the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Sirius answered the call again. “Reggie? Are you going to talk?” His voice held a hint of surprise, tempered with a touch of wariness.
“Sirius,” Regulus replied, his own voice steady despite the nerves that threatened to overwhelm him. “It's been a while.”
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, as if Sirius was processing talking to his brother after ten years of silence. Then, he spoke again, his tone softening slightly. “Yeah, it has. How are you?”
Regulus took another deep breath, gathering his thoughts before plunging into the reason for his call. “I... I need your help,” he admitted, his voice tinged with vulnerability.
It was scary to let Sirius in after so many years, to no longer see him as a fragment of his past but as a real person. Every instinct screamed for him to run, that it was dangerous, that he would only know suffering once again, that reaching out to his brother was reopening wounds that had never truly been closed.
Regulus braced himself for the outcoming pain of rejection, knowing that Sirius had offered help a week after Pandora's death, but perhaps he had only offered because he knew that his younger brother, steeped in pride from head to toe, would not accept.
There was a pause, and then Sirius' voice came through, surprisingly gentle. “Of course, baby brother. What do you need?”
Regulus would deny it if anyone asked, but he felt a weight lift from his shoulders.
★
“I like what you've done with the place,” Sirius remarked, pausing in the middle of his childhood living room, hands resting awkwardly on his hips as he looked around. As if he hadn't spent sixteen years of his life there, as if he hadn't laughed, cried and bled in that same room he now regarded as if he had never been there before.
Regulus forced himself to take a deep breath, counting to ten in his mind as he fought back the urge to leap from his chair and confront his brother. How could Sirius act so calm? Were ten years nothing to him? Was Regulus just a charity case?
The questions burned in Regulus' mind, begging to be unleashed in a flurry of anger and frustration. He wanted to scream until he saw at least a single tear in Sirius' eyes, some evidence that he had suffered from the distance between them as much as Regulus had. That he, too, felt the sting of loneliness every time he sat down for breakfast, having shared 5,475 mornings with his brother only to end up alone at the table.
But Sirius had never been alone, had he? Not like Regulus had been.
Regulus knew he needed to push aside these thoughts as quickly as possible, otherwise he wouldn't be able to bear one single glance at his brother.
“I didn't change anything,” Regulus replied tersely, his voice betraying none of the turmoil raging inside him. He watched as Sirius continued to survey the room, his expression unreadable. “But thank you, I guess.”
“You're welcome.” At this point, Regulus was certain that his brother was doing it on purpose. “Now, I heard that my little baby brother needs help finding a nice house.”
Regulus' jaw clenched as Sirius' casual tone grated on his nerves. He fought to maintain his composure, reminding himself that he needed Sirius' help, no matter how infuriating he found his brother's behavior.
“Yeah, I could use some help,” Regulus replied, trying to keep the poison away from his words. “Finding a suitable place for Luna has been... challenging, to say the least.”
Sirius nodded, though his expression remained inscrutable. “Well, lucky for you, you've got the best real estate agent in town right here,” he said with a smirk. “Let's get started, shall we?”
“Sirius, you're a singer.”
“Well, it's pretty close.”
Regulus saw red.
★
Turns out buying the perfect house in London wasn't as simple as Sirius made it seem.
“If you don't choose a house right now, I swear on everything sacred that I'll make you live on the streets.” Sirius' carefree facade was quickly shattered by Regulus' indecision and excessive demands.
In the three days that his brother was visiting, they had seen fifteen houses, four apartments, and one motorhome. In each one, Regulus had found some flaw that made him dismiss the option immediately. Whether it was the noise from the neighbors or the danger of Luna getting lost in the attic, nothing was enough to please him.
The social service was already beginning to apply pressure, saying that if the situation wasn't resolved soon, Luna will end up in foster care.
It wasn't hard to see that Regulus was on the verge of breaking down.
“Sorry if it's easy for you to choose a new house, brother .” His first instinct was to attack, the years of bitterness against his brother fighting to surface and attack.
Sirius threw his arms up in exasperation. “And I don't understand how it's not easy for you.” Of course, he would attack back. Old habits die screaming. “My blood is still on the carpet, Regulus!”
Three full days of tense coexistence, tiptoeing around each other, and avoiding any topic other than the search for houses could only result in disaster.
The barrier holding back their resentments was now broken, there was no turning back.
“You know what I think, Reggie?” Sirius' tone lowered and grew calmer, but that's where the danger lays. “You're finding flaws in every house because you can't truly break free from our family. You're afraid to step out of your comfort zone and you're self-sabotaging. What you don't realize is that you're sabotaging Luna in the process.”
Regulus faltered, taking a step back as the weight of truth fell upon him. Yes, he was afraid. Afraid to step out of his parents' shadow, afraid to face the real world alone, afraid of how he would raise Luna. Choosing a house would make everything real, and that's why he had been procrastinating so much.
But Sirius didn't have the right to say things like that, he didn't have the right to try being a brother when he left without locking back.
“Why are you still helping me, Sirius?”
“Because you're miserable, Regulus.”
The silence that followed felt like thousands of broken violins trying to play a symphony.
Sirius' eyes widened, as if he regretted his words the moment they left his mouth. “Reg…”
“No, Sirius. You don't need to apologize. I am miserable.” Regulus' breath quickened as he spiraled. “I've been miserable for ten years. Ten years since my brother walked out that door and left me alone to rot in this God-forsaken house. Then, Pandora came. And guess what? She left me too. I don't see any other way to be, except for miserable. In fact, I think I could die right now and no one would care!”
The only sound that could be heard in the room was their heavy breathing.
It was as if something had been broken between them again.
“I would care, Regulus.”
“Prove it.”
“I will.”
Yes, perhaps something had been broken, but that didn't mean it couldn't be rebuilt into something beautiful.
Kintsugi, as Pandora would say.
★