“When I find a way out, I’ll tell him everything. I missed out on too much of his life, I want to go back and tell him I never wanted the distance between us, and this time I won’t leave. The war is over, my parents are six feet under, there’s no reason to keep it like this. But of course, this is only if you’re telling the truth and he never… Well he never hated me. I don’t know how to believe it.”

He sparked with hope as the plan ignited in his head. Everything took shape, he finally had something to look forward to, a goal, a reason to find an escape, something to dedicate himself to. The dementors shifted closer to this sudden surge of hope, their hands stretching in hunger, like moths circling the promise of a lit up lamp in a dark room.

“Sirius… That’s not gonna happen.” His tone had shifted with his gaze, now fixed on the same floor tile as Sirius'.

“You’re a complete mood ruiner, you know that? It’s not because no one has ever escaped that I won’t be the first.”

“You don't– Even if I doubt your capacities… It’s not that. Regulus, he…” He took in a deep breath, the seconds stretching with his unfinished sentence. “He drowned himself. Two years ago.”

Sirius was the one drowning. His heart sank, his lungs gave out, the ground faltered beneath him. The water level was rising in his eyes, veiling his vision. But it didn’t spill. It only rose from inside, choking him with every new word that slipped out of Crouch’s lips.

“I thought you knew, but looking back I see why you don’t. I kinda thought he would leave you a note, you know? I didn’t get one. I don’t know what I expected, not a monologue about feelings, it wasn’t his type of bullshit. Maybe just an explanation, a warning, anything. But I thought he’d leave you a word, you were his favourite person.”

It didn’t make sense. Or maybe it did, but Sirius couldn’t make anything out of it. His thoughts were blurred despite the distance between him and the dementors. A veil of unclarity had fallen on his mind, he didn’t understand anything. All he could do was fight through the fog to understand Crouch’s monologue and try to deny its meaning. All the barrier of trapped tears allowed him to see was his own hands, shaking, and the pair across from him, following the same frantic dance.

“They didn’t even talk about it in the papers. Something about it being too shameful. I didn’t agree, of course. Reg had always been brave, there was nothing shameful about him. I don’t know what he was doing that night. He worked on something for a long time, something big, something he never told anyone about. Not that I know of, at least. I don’t think he wanted to die.”

He didn’t want to die. Die. It couldn’t be real. Crouch must have been messing with him, meddling with his mind out of pure cruelty, leading Sirius to his breaking point. But it didn’t feel like a lie. Crouch was shaking too, betrayed by his wavering voice.

“Whatever he was doing, he knew he wasn’t coming back. I got a package the day after, it was dusty and clearly packed many weeks ago, filled with some of my stuff, some of his. No note. It was a fucking joke. And a bad one, too. Bella said he betrayed the Lord and got what he deserved, but I saw her crying. Some people said Voldemort was the one who murdered him, but I know it’s not true. Regulus would have never let that man kill him. He was above that.”