Sirius listened as Regulus spoke about the party, but his eyes were drawn only to the tapestry. He walked slowly over to it, tracing his fingers over the name he had last seen as a blackened hole as his mother blasted him off it. He could still feel her curses, the cruciatus that left him screaming, the cuts that would mark him forever. But there is was, his name elegantly scrawled across the branch. As if it had never left.
"Thank you," he whispered, so quietly Regulus might not even be able to hear him.