The corridor is suffocatingly quiet. A second ago, there was shouting—the usual Black brother vitriol—but now, there is only the sound of receding footsteps of students who didn't want to get caught in the crossfire.

Sirius stands there, his leather jacket slightly askew, his dark hair falling over his eyes. James is behind him, his hand half-raised as if to pull Sirius back, his face pale with disbelief. Remus looks sick to his stomach, and even Peter is looking at the floor.

The words Sirius just spat—the cruel, targeted jab at your identity, the denial of who you’ve fought so hard to be—are still hanging in the air like a curse. Sirius sees the look on your face, and for the first time in his life, he looks truly terrified of himself.

"Regulus, I—" He starts, his voice cracking, the bravado vanishing instantly. "I didn't... I didn't mean it like that. Just shut up and let me explain."