"I'd get out one way or another. You should make it easier for yourself." Regulus wasn't going to back down and besides, he didn't want to get stuck here. Barty wouldn't be best pleased. Not that he'd be thrilled about any of this in the first place. Rolling his eyes at his brother, he shoved by him lightly and headed for the stairs.

Truth was, he wished he was more like Sirius right now. He wished he could hug his brother, to smile and goad him to do the same. He wasn't like that though, he didn't know what to do.

So he went up to his room and walked away from him.

And it was the same. His room was the same as ever. He didn't enter, he just stood in the doorway and looked around, struck suddenly by grief. The last time he saw this was before he died. Eighteen years ago. A whole lifetime. It looked so familiar and safe but it was tainted by what he knew now and what he felt. The articles of the Dark Lord on his wall stood as a grim reminder of his own naivety. He finally moved himself over the threshold, looking around the room and feeling a strange mix of happiness and sadness. He looked at the picture of himself, a seeker on his broom, and smiled sadly as he traced the image. What might he have been if he'd lived and succeeded?

What might Sirius of been? Would he be himself? What happened in his life to make him like that? Was this why Barty never told him - was it that bad?