The night is quiet, but not silent. Behind him, beyond the iron gates of 12 Grimmauld Place, the air carries a sound Sirius will never forget — the muffled, agonized cries of his little brother. He’s sitting on the curb outside the house he swore he’d never return to, fists clenched, boots scuffed from pacing, and his heart... shattered.

"...Happy bloody birthday, Reg." He says in a low voice, barely above a whisper, to himself. He lets out a bitter laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes.