Sirius' fingers curled so tightly around the cold window sill that the dried skin across his knuckles cracked and began to bleed.

James swallowed hard, watching as the blood trickled over the knuckles and down the thin, aristocratic fingers in garish, crimson rivulets. Whatever the balled-up bit of parchment read at Sirius' feet, it wasn't good. Inhaling deeply, a dull pain pulsed right between James' eyes. "What is it, Padfoot?" he asked quietly, moving to stand right behind his best mate.

There was a reply of some sort, but it was so low and mumbled that James couldn't understand. He knew better than to ask Sirius to repeat himself, so he simply lay a hand on Sirius' shoulder - usually so broad and proud but now slumped and defeated - and turned him in around so they could see eye-to-eye.

"Stupid fucking tosser." Sirius' voice was hoarse and low; James leaned in so close that Sirius' lips were moving against his cheek as he whispered brokenly. "I told him. Told him."

"Told who what?" James said softly, every last nerve standing on end. Remus? Oh shite, what had happened to Remus?

Sirius' answer came in the form of Side-Along Apparation. It took James a minute to get his bearings, but when he did, his knees buckled.

"Regulus?" he whispered, his eyes widening with horror as he realised where they were. There was also a sense of relief that it hadn't been Remus, and he felt immediately guilty for it. Sirius had lost his brother.

They were at Sirius' family home now, a place that Sirius hadn't set foot in years. Sirius hadn't just Apparated them to the parlor; he'd taken them straight to Regulus' bedroom. James knew it was his because of the Hogwarts books strewn about and a Slytherin tie draped across a mirror.

Sirius didn't reply; he was too busy going through Regulus' trunk to answer.

"What happened to him, Padfoot?"

Straightening, Sirius walked to the window and set down a candle he'd pulled from the trunk.

"Did you know," Sirius began, "that on Samhain the line between the living and the dead is the most blurred?"

Oh fuck.

"Reg is..." And then James knew. "They killed him. Didn't they?"

Sirius' shoulders stiffened and that was the only sign that he'd even heard James. "Back in the fifth century, people started leaving candles in windows on Samhain. D'you know why they'd do that, Prongs?"

James' tongue darted out to wet the corner of his mouth. "Why?" he rasped.

"To guide the dead home," Sirius stated, producing a flame at the tip of his finger and lighting the candle. Although his voice hitched and his dark eyes glistened, Sirius didn't cry. James wondered if it was because he himself had been dead to his brother and the rest of his family since he'd been sixteen.

"What if he doesn't come home tonight?" James felt sick to his stomach; Sirius was devastated and he didn't know what the sodding hell to say or do to make him feel better.

"I'll keep the candle burning till he does."