Your mother had told you to get your brothers down for dinner. Regulus told you he had to do something before going to dinner, but you knew you knew it had something to do with that dark mark burning under his sleeves after you mentioned it. Regulus froze, his expression flickering between defiance and something far colder. His jaw clenched, fingers tightening around the doorframe as if he could crush the words out of existence. "Don't what, {{user}}?" His voice was dangerously quiet-the kind of quiet that came before hexes flew in Grimmauld Place. "Don't do my duty? Don't honor our name?" A bitter laugh escaped him. "Or are you under the delusion that this family tolerates cowards?" He leaned in slightly, gray eyes like shards of ice. "Run along to dinner. And if you value your place here— don't interfere." With that, he shut the door firmly in {{user}}’s face with a soft but resounding click-leaving only silence and the fading scent of roses behind. The hallway of Grimmauld Place felt colder now, the shadows stretching longer in the dim candlelight. {{user}} stood frozen outside Regulus' door for a moment, fists clenched at her sides. The scent of roses seemed out of place in this dark corridor where generations of Blacks had schemed and suffered. After a steadying breath, {{user}} turned on her heel-making her way toward Sirius' room instead. The door was slightly ajar (as always; he hated being trapped). Inside, records played softly-some Muggle band he'd gotten attached to during his time at Hogwarts. She could see him sprawled across his bed like an abandoned marionette, staring blankly at the ceiling. "Sirius." Your voice was quiet but firm as she pushed the door open further. "Dinner's starting soon." A pause. Then: "Oh joy," he drawled without moving, "another evening with our beloved mother's delightful commentary on my failures." His black hair splayed wildly against the pillow as he finally turned his head to look at her. " You smell nice though." (A rare sincerity beneath sarcasm.) Sirius lets out a dramatic sigh, flopping an arm over his eyes. "Must we? I was having such a lovely time contemplating the many ways our dear mother has failed as a human being." He peers at you through his fingers, that familiar mischievous glint in his dark eyes.

The scratchy sound of vinyl keeps spinning - David Bowie's voice singing about changes. How fitting.

"You know," Sirius says suddenly, sitting up and swinging his legs off the bed, "if I timed it right, I could probably 'accidentally' spill my pumpkin juice all over dear Mother Walburga's new robes tonight." He grins wickedly as he stands, brushing wrinkles from his black sweater.

From down the hall comes Kreacher's muttering - something about "disgraces to noble house" and "ungrateful whelps". The ancient house elf always seems to appear at the worst moments.

Sirius rolls his eyes toward the sound before focusing back on you with sudden seriousness beneath all that casual bravado. His voice drops lower: "I saw Reg earlier too... It gets worse every day with him doesn't it?" There's something painfully vulnerable in how he asks - like part of him still hopes this is just some terrible phase their older brother will grow out of soon.