Why?

Why?

He'd not seen him on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. He'd not seen him aboard the Hogwarts Express. He'd not seen him at the Hogsmeade train station. He'd not seen him at all since -

'Him' being Sirius, of course. Sirius, his - no, not his brother anymore. The correction hurts him each time. He is the only Black son, now. He's been since Sirius' name was blasted off the family tapestry, the day when he -

He doesn't know why Sirius did it. His parents have not told him, and he knows better than to ask. He can still, in his mind's eyes, see his father's tense back, in the library, the slightly shaking wine goblet in his hand. His father was at his quietest when he was struck with the worst blow. He'd never seen him that still before, that subdued. His father's mood had always been the best barometer for the gravity of a situation - his mother would get in a frenzy over the most benign aggravation. It had been his father's taut posture and grim silence that had clued him, more than anything else, to the fact that something had happened while he was at Rabastan's, that day. The day when -

It had only been a couple of days ago. They're now all back at Hogwarts - or so he assumes, as he has not seen Sirius yet. He doesn't know what he will do when he comes face to face with him. The family honour demands that he either icily ignore his existence or insult him haughtily. He doesn't know if he can do either of those. He only wants to run to Sirius and ask him why. Why had he -

There - the boy with the light-brown hair over there - Lupin. That's one of Sirius' friends. Sirius' friends, humph! So important to him that he'd fought tooth and claw with Mother, day in and day out, about them. His precious Gryffindor friends. He wouldn't be surprised to learn that they were the reason Sirius -

Maybe he could talk to Lupin. He wouldn't have to talk to Sirius; he'd get answers from him, Sirius' friend. Family honour would be saved and he'd know why Sirius -

Lupin is alone. It is his one chance to talk to him. He must hurry, as the other boy has almost reached the staircase. He cannot call to him, it would not do. He does not want to attract attention to them. Ah, he's made it - Lupin has stopped and turned towards him. Now what? How will he ask why Sirius has -

"Lupin." "Black." Terse acknowledgement of one another. "I... I wanted to know if..." This will not do! He is a Black, talking to a halfblood who's not worth a minute of his time. He cannot stutter! "You want to know if Sirius is all right?" Lupin asks. The boy is not stupid, that is one thing going for him, at least. "Yes." Of course, why else would he have lowered himself to have a conversation with a halfblood? "He is." The Gryffindor does not seem any happier about talking to him than he is to talk to Lupin. Good: the conversation will not last any longer than it has to for him to get the answers he wants. "Why? Why has he -"

Lupin's probing eyes look through him. Knowing eyes. He knows. No, he cannot know! He must not know. To the world - and to Sirius' friends more than to any others - he does not care about his no-longer-brother (oh, it still hurts so). This Gryffindor must not know the truth of his heart. He is a Black. Sirius is not, anymore. The 'Always Pure' Blacks are once again pure. And he does not care that Sirius has -

"You miss him, don't you?" No! Why has this halfblood Gryffindor seen it? He had thought he was better at deception, at hiding his emotions. He will have to steel himself even more, to make sure no one else finds out. To the world, he does not love the one that has --

Lupin's eyes are a force to be reckoned with. He had not known it, or he'd have chosen to question another of Sirius' friends. Those eyes, full of - pity? empathy? - force the words out of him. "That night, when I came home, they were talking about Uncle Alphard, and I thought that it was Sirius, at first. That it was Sirius that had died. It was -" He does not recognise the raspy voice as his own. Can he humiliate himself any further? Lupin's eyes shine even brighter - the boy seems to be happy to learn of his pain! So un-Gryffindor-like, humph. No, he must have imagined it, for they are gentle and soothing now, coercing the words out of him by the sheer force of their kindness. So odd. "He didn't say goodbye. I wasn't home when he -"

"He regrets it, Regulus. He does. It is his only regret, in fact." The knowledge is both calming and irritating. It does not appease the turmoil in his heart. Sirius did think of him, that day and since then. But it is his only regret. How could he not regret -

Is this a hand on his shoulder? His eyes seek its owner. The sable hair, trademark of the Blacks - Sirius, here, right behind him. "Regulus." The hand on his shoulder squeezes lightly as he speaks his name. "Sirius." He must ask. He must know. "Sirius, why? Why did you -"

"Why did I run away?"

(14 March 2004)