The Astronomy Tower was colder than usual.

Regulus stood with his back to you, arms braced on the stone ledge. His uniform blazer was crisp, like he’d just come from the Common Room. He didn’t turn when the door creaked shut behind you.

You crossed the space slowly, boots echoing against the old flagstone. The smell of smoke clung faintly to the fabric of your cloak.

Moonlight caught the edge of his collar, the Slytherin pin gleaming silver against black. His hair was neater than usual, slicked back like he’d just come from some pureblood dinner, like he was trying to be the heir again. But his knuckles were white against the stone.

“You came,” he said.

“You asked.”

He glanced over his shoulder, face unreadable in the dim moonlight. “Didn’t think you’d still do what I asked.”

You didn’t answer. Just stepped beside him and rested your hands on the ledge. Below, the grounds stretched into shadow. A few lights still burned in the castle windows.

“Father sent another owl,” he muttered.

You looked at him.

“He wants me home over break. There’s… something he expects me to do.”

Silence.

He exhaled, jaw tight. “The meeting. With the others.”

The weight of it landed between you both.

You stared at his fingers — pale against the grey stone, one ring glinting faintly. Your hand hovered near his but didn’t touch.

“Are you going?” you asked.

He didn’t reply right away.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs below — faint, then gone again.

“I’m expected to,” he said.

“That’s not what I asked.”

He pushed off the ledge and paced a few steps away. His posture was rigid, hands shoved into his pockets. The wind ruffled his hair as he turned to face you.

“My name means something to them.”

“And what does mine mean to you?” Your voice came out sharper than intended.

He stilled.

You didn’t back down. “Because I need to know. Before you go running off to play heir and soldier.”

Regulus flinched. “It’s not that simple.”

“No,” you said. “It never is. But you still get to choose.”

He crossed the space between you again, slower this time.

“You think I want this?”

The words hung there.

He looked down at you, eyes dark and shining. The scar near his knuckle caught the light as he reached up, hand brushing your wrist, tentative.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“You will,” you said, steady, “if you pick him.”

His grip tightened slightly. The wind picked up.

A beat passed.

Then another.

Finally, he glanced down. “I don’t know how to get out of it.”

You didn’t touch him, but your voice softened. “You don’t have to figure it out tonight.”

The wind stirred his cloak again. You watched his fingers twitch — like he wanted to reach for your hand but couldn’t quite do it.

You stared at him.

His tie had come slightly loose, collar askew from where he’d been tugging at it earlier. His lips were chapped. His breathing uneven.

You reached up and fixed his collar. Smoothed the edge of it down with careful fingers.

“You know, I’m not the one you need to convince,” you said. “But I’m right here.”

Regulus nodded once. Then looked away again — toward the forest, the sky, the future he wasn’t sure he wanted.