word count: 2,230
October 2nd, 1981
You sit on the couch of yours and Sirius' shared apartment, trying to piece together who the mole in the Order could be. Your eyes travel over the picture, a smile momentarily gracing your lips as you look at how Sirius isn't even looking at the camera— no, he's looking at you.
You've been dating the boy for nearly five years, and you know you're going to be with him till the day you die. There's no question about that.
What is questionable, though, is why you had a stronger reaction to the news that his brother, Regulus, had been killed. You knew Regulus and Sirius didn't get along, but regardless, Regulus was hardly the worst Black.
Regulus was a Death Eater. You know this, and you shouldn't feel pity, but something about the whole thing feels off. The last time you saw him, he didn't look scared. He looked tired and paler than usual, sure. But he didn't look scared.
He looked determined.
Determined to leave the Death Eaters? Determined to stick it out? If he had been determined to stick it out, you doubt he'd be dead right now. Plus, Sirius said he got scared of the whole "lifetime service or death" thing Voldemort's got going on with his lackeys.
But something in your gut says that's not the whole story.
There's no body to be found, and you'd think that if Regulus truly did try to leave the Death Eaters because he was scared, the Death Eaters would make a show of his death. The only reason you know Regulus is dead is because Kreacher, the Black's house elf, told you and Sirius.
You'd never seen Kreacher cry, and you hope you never do again, because it was a horrible sight. You know Kreacher hates you because you're not a pureblood, but you wanted nothing more than to comfort him in that moment.
Sirius, on the other hand, had no reaction. It's like he didn't even care that his brother was killed. Sirius didn't even ask how, and you felt it wasn't your place to ask, nor did you have the heart to ask Kreacher to tell you in his fragile state. So, now the only thing you can do is speculate.
You hear the front door open, and you look up, smiling at Sirius as he walks into the living room.
"Hello, darling," he muses, leaning down and kissing you. You return the kiss, your stomach still filled with butterflies even after all these years.
"Hello, my love. How was the meeting?"
"We're making headway," he says, sitting beside you on the couch and throwing an arm over your shoulder. You lean into him, exhaling.
"Good. It bothers me that the mole is so..." you trail off.
"Moley?" Sirius offers. You'd laugh if it weren't so true.
"Yeah."
"Don't sweat it. We'll find them," he assures. You sit in comfortable silence for a bit, but your eyes keep going back to the Order picture. "(Y/N)."
"I'm sorry," you sigh. "I'll just never be able to rest peacefully until they're found."
"I know. Me, too. But we've got the brightest minds on the case."
"If you mean you and James, we're never finding them," you joke. Sirius gasps, laying his free hand over his chest.
"I'm wounded. Truly."
"You'll forget about it in a few minutes."
"Forget about what?" Your lips quirk into a smile, and his follow suit. His hand runs through your hair, and you let out a long breath.
