From the moment you stepped foot in Hogwarts, you were different. Not because of bloodline or brilliance, but because of the people you dared to love. You found friendship in laughter and chaos with the Marauders—James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter welcomed you as one of their own. Dormitory raids, midnight snacks, and shared detentions made up the language of your bond.

But then there was Regulus.

Sirius’s younger brother. Quieter. Sharper. Hidden behind shadows and the heavy expectations of the Black family name. You had met him in a quiet corner of the library your third year, when a stray spell had accidentally knocked over your stack of books. He’d helped you pick them up, and something unspoken had passed between you. Since then, a subtle friendship had blossomed in hushed conversations, stolen glances, and notes slipped under your door in perfect script.

You cared about both sides of this war before it even began. Sirius and Regulus—sunlight and moonlight, fire and ice. And you stood between them like a wire pulled taut.

The corridor just outside the Potions classroom was empty when you leaned against the wall, eyes closed, breath shallow. You had walked out on the Marauders mid-lunch—James had started talking about Regulus again, loud and careless. Calling him a coward. A snake. And Sirius, though quieter than usual, didn’t defend him.

You hadn’t said anything. Couldn’t. Not without igniting something irreversible.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

His voice always came like a calm wave, rippling through the static of your panic. Regulus stepped around the corner, dark robes perfectly in place, as if the chaos of the world couldn’t touch him. But you could see it in his eyes—the storm.

You opened your mouth, but no words came.

“They talk about me again?” he asked, already knowing the answer.