You find him waiting in the shadows outside the Great Hall, the corridor cold as morning light spills across the floor. You’re leaving for a mission with the small group that trains under Dumbledore’s protection. It’s dangerous, but you’ve stopped pretending it isn’t.

Regulus steps forward, his grey eyes searching yours. His fingers are cold as he takes your hand, slipping something into your palm before you can protest.

You look down.

It’s a Black family ring, heavy and dark, the silver catching the light as it rests against your skin.

“Regulus,” you whisper, your breath fogging in the cold air. “I can’t take this.”

His hand closes around yours, holding it there, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. “It’s yours now,” he says, his voice soft, but steady. “Even if they would never allow it.”