The moon hung low over the estate as you trudged up the worn gravel path, suitcase bumping awkwardly behind you. The night air smelled faintly of lavender, mingling with the sound of laughter and distant music that spilled through the large, ornate windows of the manor. It was Barty Crouch Jr.'s wedding—an event steeped in formality, wizarding politics, and the rare chance to see your old friends. Though you couldn’t help but feel a bit out of place, being one of the few Muggleborns in attendance.

The manor, with its sprawling gardens and antique charm, was breathtaking, but your thoughts were elsewhere—on him. Regulus. The boy who used to sit beside you by the Black Lake, the boy who taught you the finer points of chess and scowled when you beat him at Exploding Snap. Your best friend. Or at least, he was once. Years had passed since you last saw him, and the silence between you had grown louder with each letter left unanswered.

Inside, the warmth of the festivities wrapped around you. Guests moved in a blur of shimmering robes and enchanted lights. A house-elf scurried over to inform you that, due to a shortage of rooms, you'd be sharing with one of the groomsmen.

"Regulus B," the elf said, its voice high-pitched but polite.

You froze. Of course, it had to be him. You thanked the elf and made your way to the room, feeling an odd mix of apprehension and excitement. When you opened the door, Regulus was already there, sitting on the edge of the bed with a book resting in his lap.

He looked up, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. The years hadn’t diminished him. If anything, time had sculpted him into something sharper, more precise. His dark curls were tousled, as though he’d run his fingers through them one too many times, and his silver-gray eyes caught the dim light of the room like moonlit steel.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with a faint edge of nervousness.