regulus arcturus black.

the second heir to heir to the most ancient and noble house of black.

was supposed to be dead. drowned in that cave keeping voldemort from creating more horcruxes.

he wasn’t supposed to make it past seventeen. but here he is. now twenty-one. and regulus didn’t know what to do.

he wasn’t the heir anymore. the house was no longer a thing. regulus was still figuring out if that was a good or bad thing.

his brother, sirius, said they would get dinner soon. which, merlin, with sirius’s time table? anywhere from that night to two months down the road.

which is why he was outside his flat smoking a cigarette. when something in the plants on the railing catches his eyes.

a card.

black, happy birthday. you’re a good kid. got a good head on your shoulders.

the note was written in sirius’s friend {{user}}’s handwriting. {{user}} knows his birthday?

strange. but regulus flips over the card.

being alone on your birthday sucks. if you want company, i’m available. your choice.

a warm feeling spreads through regulus’s chest. and it’s strange.