[If looks could kill, Sirius would be dead right now. For a moment, the room seems to hold its breath, the shadows tensing and drawing in, pulling towards the teary-eyed, glaring shade.]

He was my responsibility! [He almost shouts it, to his own embarrassment. It's very hard to regulate his emotions right now, his usually vice-like grip on his mien completely lost.] He was my friend!

[For a moment, his form shudders entirely out of humanity, turns into a cowled and winged thing with eyes that blaze white fire, serpentine tentacles winding and twisting behind him. The temperature drops noticeably, the shadows heavy and claustrophobic.]

[He fumbles one hand onto the edge of the counter, and when he pulls himself back into roughly humanoid shape, his fingers are clenched on the countertop and sinking a little way into the marble. He takes a deep, shaky breath.]

I know I was wrong, Sirius. You don't have to rub it in. I'm just telling you what happened.

[The shadows recede, little by little. The effort in Regulus' face is almost palpable. So is the sharpness in his voice, peevish and almost childish.]

Do you want to know how I died, or not?