Shattered Masks, Unbroken Vows - Jegulus

Chapter 4

St. Mungo's was a quiet storm of emotions. In one of its sterile, spell-cleaned rooms, the faint beeping of enchanted monitors and the occasional murmur of Healers filled the air. Regulus Black lay on a narrow bed, still pale and ghostly, fighting for his life. It had been a week since he had collapsed in the Order's headquarters, tossing the destroyed locket at Dumbledore before succumbing to the basilisk venom that still flowed through his veins.

Sirius sat by his brother's side, his eyes bloodshot and weary, having not left the hospital room in days. Remus came and went, supporting Sirius as best as he could, but often had to leave for Order business. James, too, made frequent visits, though he split his time between the hospital and his son, Harry. On some days, when the room became suffocating with silence, James brought little Harry with him, hoping that the sight of life would stir some hope in his old schoolmate.

But Regulus had not stirred. Not yet.

Sirius sat slumped in the chair next to Regulus's bed, his gaze fixed on his brother's face. Regulus looked thinner, almost frail, his dark hair a sharp contrast against the white sheets. Every day, the Healers tried something new to fight off the effects of the venom, but the process was slow—agonizingly slow.

"Come on, Reggie," Sirius muttered under his breath, for what felt like the hundredth time. "You're stronger than this. You survived a damn basilisk. Don't you dare give up now."

His voice cracked, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. He felt like he was talking to a ghost, and the thought made him sick. His mind was a storm of guilt, regret, and anger—mostly at himself. He had failed Regulus. He had assumed the worst about his little brother for so long, and now, when he finally knew the truth, it might be too late to make amends.

"I should've been there," Sirius whispered, his voice barely audible. "I should've helped you."

He wasn't used to feeling this helpless. In the war, there were always things to do, plans to make, actions to take. But here, in this cold hospital room, all he could do was sit and wait. And it was driving him mad.

Remus entered the room quietly, holding two cups of coffee. He handed one to Sirius and sat down next to him.

"Still no change?" Remus asked softly.

Sirius shook his head, his eyes never leaving Regulus's face. "No. He's still... somewhere else."

There was a heavy silence between them. They had grown used to these quiet moments, where words felt both necessary and useless. Remus wanted to comfort Sirius, to tell him that Regulus would pull through, but even he wasn't sure anymore.

"It's not your fault, Sirius," Remus said after a long pause, his voice gentle but firm.

Sirius's jaw clenched. "Isn't it? I left him. I ran off to the Potters and never looked back. He was just a kid, stuck in that awful house, surrounded by Death Eaters. If I had stayed... maybe he wouldn't have gone down this path."

Remus placed a hand on Sirius's shoulder. "You can't change the past, but you're here now. That's what matters."

Sirius didn't respond, but his grip tightened around the coffee cup, as if holding onto it could stop him from unraveling completely.

The door to the room creaked open, and James Potter stepped inside, carrying a sleepy Harry in his arms. The little boy's messy black hair stuck up in every direction, just like his father's, and his round glasses were slightly askew. Harry's bright green eyes blinked sleepily as he looked around the room.

"Thought I'd bring some company," James said softly, giving Sirius a tired smile as he shifted Harry in his arms. "Figured a bit of life in the room couldn't hurt."