Remus nods mutely, and still it's a moment before he can gather the courage to turn and face what he's done to the person he loves more than anyone in the world. Can he even claim that anymore? Could he have done this to someone he really loved? Would he have believed so wholeheartedly that Regulus was evil if Regulus really meant as much to him as Remus thought he did?
He doesn't know the answers. He feels numb, a gaping hole opening up and slowly growing inside of him, filling his chest where his heart should be as he climbs shakily to his feet, unsure for a moment if he'll even be able to stand.
But he does stand. And he picks up Regulus' wand. And he moves to Regulus as though through a dream, the sounds of Sirius' ragged breathing and his own short, quick gasps for air growing muffled until all he can hear is the rushing in his ears as he kneels down next to the pale-faced boy – because that's what he is, really. It's what they all are. Children, forced to grow up to fast, fated to make mistakes that nobody twice their age should have to bear.
Regulus look so small where he lays, his delicate features pale against the hard floor, and Remus can't help but to reach out, his quivering fingertips brushing sorrowfully over one high cheekbone. Probably the last time he'll ever touch that face.
"Renneverate," he whispers, letting his hand drop away so that he won't be touching Regulus when he wakes. He hasn't the right to touch him anymore – probably won't even be able to help him up off the ground – and he can't stem the flow of tears that he as of yet refuses to give any voice to.
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He doesn't know the answers. He feels numb, a gaping hole opening up and slowly growing inside of him, filling his chest where his heart should be as he climbs shakily to his feet, unsure for a moment if he'll even be able to stand.
But he does stand. And he picks up Regulus' wand. And he moves to Regulus as though through a dream, the sounds of Sirius' ragged breathing and his own short, quick gasps for air growing muffled until all he can hear is the rushing in his ears as he kneels down next to the pale-faced boy – because that's what he is, really. It's what they all are. Children, forced to grow up to fast, fated to make mistakes that nobody twice their age should have to bear.
Regulus look so small where he lays, his delicate features pale against the hard floor, and Remus can't help but to reach out, his quivering fingertips brushing sorrowfully over one high cheekbone. Probably the last time he'll ever touch that face.
"Renneverate," he whispers, letting his hand drop away so that he won't be touching Regulus when he wakes. He hasn't the right to touch him anymore – probably won't even be able to help him up off the ground – and he can't stem the flow of tears that he as of yet refuses to give any voice to.