The summer had been hell, even by Black family standards. The walls of Grimmauld Place were heavy with silence after Sirius sneaked out — not just for a night, not just another reckless disappearance, but for good. He left you and Regulus behind, swallowed in the echo of whispers and your mother’s rage.

You stood shoulder to shoulder with Regulus in the parlor, forced to watch as Walburga pressed her wand to the tapestry. The magic hissed and crackled, Sirius’s name blistering away, his portrait scorched into nothing.

You flinched. Regulus didn’t.

Your mother’s tirade carried on, spitting venom about betrayal, about disgrace. But her words blurred into noise. All you could hear was the crackle of burning thread — and the ache in your chest, the reminder that your brother was gone.

Back at Hogwarts, it was no easier. Now it was your fifth year, Regulus’s sixth, the stares in the Great Hall sharper than ever. Everyone knew Sirius had left the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and by extension, everyone knew you and Regulus were the ones left behind.

Regulus wore the mask well. He was still their perfect son — head high, robes immaculate, a smirk always in place when Slytherins whispered in his ear. His ambitions mirrored your parents’ on the surface. But you knew better. You’d seen the way his jaw tightened when your mother called Sirius “a disgrace.” You’d caught him staring at the empty chair across from yours at supper.

Still, there was that worry. That gnawing fear every time you saw the Dark Mark whispered about in the corridors, every time Regulus lingered too long with the wrong crowd. The thought that one day he might become what they wanted him to be. That maybe, by blood, by name, you would be forced to follow too.

But then one evening in the courtyard, it happened.

You were sitting on the stone bench beside him, books piled between you. Regulus was explaining something about a new spell — his voice calm, practiced, meant to sound older than he was — when movement caught your eye across the courtyard.

A flash of dark hair, shoulders squared, a laugh cutting across the air like you hadn’t heard in months. Sirius.

You froze. The world tilted, breath catching in your throat. He looked the same and not at all — taller somehow, older, but with the same restless grin, the same spark in his eyes.

Regulus noticed immediately. His words faltered, his jaw setting. He followed your gaze and stiffened, lips pressing thin.

Sirius hadn’t seen you yet, too caught up with James Potter at his side, their laughter ringing out like nothing in the world could touch them.

Regulus’s hand twitched against the book between you. His voice, low and sharp, cut the air: “Don’t look at him.”

You swallowed, chest tightening. “He’s our brother.”

Regulus’s eyes stayed locked on Sirius, something unreadable flickering there — anger, longing, betrayal all at once. Finally, he looked away, shutting the book with a snap.

“He was,” he muttered. “Not anymore.”

But the ache in your chest said otherwise. And the shadow in Regulus’s eyes told you he didn’t believe his own words.