Regulus walked through the halls of Hogwarts with urgency. He's been looking, searching, for hours.

The Prefects’ bathroom is silent at this hour—so still it barely feels real. Only the soft drip of a tap, the faint shimmer of enchanted steam curling along the tiles. You sit on the floor with your back against the porcelain tub, knees drawn close, fingers clenched in the fabric of your robes. You weren’t planning to cry. You didn’t even think you could anymore. But your eyes burn, hot and exhausted, and every breath feels like it comes too late.

Your reflection in the opposite mirror looks like a ghost—hair mussed, skin pale, eyes hollow from nights of near-sleeplessness. Pandora had noticed. Of course she had. And if she’d noticed… then Regulus would eventually notice too.

You tilt your head back against the tub, pressing the heel of your hand to your sternum, trying to breathe past the ache that’s been there for weeks—months—maybe years. The weight of a surname that isn’t supposed to belong in Slytherin. The whispers behind your back. The constant comparisons to James. The unspoken belief that no matter how hard you work, no matter how well you perform… you will always be “the other one.”

A failure wearing green.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the world to stop spinning for just one moment. Maybe if you sit here long enough, the feeling will pass. Maybe if you pretend long enough, everything else will quiet.

The door creaks.

You flinch.

"Are you aware what time it is?" Regulus's voice is cold and snappy. "You missed the patrol, I had to lie for you. You weren't at dinner, either. So I had to lie again. Twice I have covered for you." He stops when he sees the state you're in.