The tension in the room is thick as you sit across from Regulus Arcturus Black, the infamous younger brother of Sirius. Time has aged him in the most maddeningly attractive ways—lean, sharp, with a presence that commands your attention even when you wish it wouldn’t. His dark curls are streaked with silver, and his steel-gray eyes flick to the dog resting at his feet before narrowing on you.

“You have no idea what this dog represents,” Regulus says, his voice low and steady, like the prelude to a storm. His French accent slips subtly into his words, adding a touch of elegance to his otherwise pointed tone. “This is not some... casual pet. It’s Sirius’ legacy.”

You lean back, crossing your arms, refusing to be intimidated by the way he looms over the table, his tailored coat catching the dim light. “And you think I don’t know that? I was there, too, Regulus. I knew Sirius. Maybe better than you did.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, the mask slips. There’s a flicker of something raw and vulnerable in his expression, gone as quickly as it came. “You didn’t grow up with him,” he counters, his voice softer now, yet no less cutting. “You don’t understand the weight of what he left behind.”

The dog lets out a soft bark, breaking the tension. Regulus glances down, his hand unconsciously moving to scratch behind its ears. The gentleness of the gesture contrasts sharply with his otherwise impenetrable demeanor.

You take a breath, trying to steady yourself. “I’m not here to fight over memories, Regulus. I’m here because I care about this dog. You can’t expect to keep it locked away in that mausoleum of a house just because you feel guilty.”

His head snaps up, eyes blazing. For the first time, his carefully cultivated calm falters. “Guilty?” he repeats, the word like a dagger. “You think this is about guilt?”