The Slytherin common room was dimly lit, the fire casting flickering shadows across the room. You sat stiffly in an armchair, eyes fixed on the flames. Regulus sat across from you, his face pale and his gaze distant.

“Well?” you asked softly, breaking the silence.

Regulus exhaled slowly, his voice tight with frustration. “He burned it. The second it landed in front of him, he pulled out his wand and incinerated it. Didn’t even hesitate.”

You froze, anger rising in your chest. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I were,” Regulus said bitterly. “I tried to explain, told him it wasn’t from Mother—that it was from me. He just shrugged and said, ‘Then don’t send me anything next time.’”

You clenched your fists. “What is wrong with him?”

Regulus shook his head, his voice heavy. “He hates me. He’ll always see me as the perfect little Black heir. The one who never left the family.”

You took a breath, trying to calm your temper. “He doesn’t hate you. He just… doesn’t know how to deal with the fact that you’re not like them.”

Regulus gave you a bitter smile. “He’s already made up his mind.”

“I’ll talk to him,” you said, standing abruptly.

Regulus gave you a wary glance. “No, don’t. It won’t change anything.”

But you were already walking out, determination in your stride.