Good News!

The next month is, for lack of a better word, bliss.

It’s the kind of bliss Regulus isn’t sure he deserves, but one he finds himself sinking into anyway, like the feeling of the sun after a cold winter, warming his skin whether he asked for it or not.

Between Padfoot dragging him into new antics almost daily, joining him alongside his lessons with Snape, and an unexpected ease settling into his conversations with James, Regulus has started to let go of the tight, constricting hold he once kept on himself.

It’s strange... this new version of life. The one where he dances through. Laughter comes easier, teasing doesn’t always feel like an attack, and being seen... truly seen... doesn’t make him want to disappear into the shadows.

Padfoot, of course, takes full credit for it.

“You’re welcome, Reggie!” he says at least three times a week, flashing his infuriatingly perfect grin as he links his arm through Regulus’s and parades him down the corridor.

Regulus usually rolls his eyes in response, but he never pulls away. The truth is, as annoying as Padfoot can be, he makes things… lighter. Easier. Like the world isn’t quite as heavy as Regulus has always believed it to be.

But of course, nothing is ever simple.

James Potter, in all his golden-boy glory, is driving Regulus absolutely nuts.

It’s not that James is doing anything wrong... quite the opposite, in fact. He’s everywhere lately, smiling at Regulus in the halls, complimenting his outfits in that offhanded way that makes Regulus’s face heat up, and finding excuses to talk to him even when it’s entirely unnecessary. It’s infuriating how good James is at being… well, James. He’s effortlessly kind, effortlessly funny, effortlessly everything Regulus isn’t.

Regulus finds himself watching James more and more, cataloging the things that make him so... so him.

The way he runs a hand through his hair, always a little messy but somehow perfect. The way he laughs, loud and bright, like he’s never once doubted that he’s allowed to take up space in the world. The way everyone seems to orbit around him; teachers, students, friends; like he’s the sun and they’re just planets, grateful to bask in his glow.

James Potter is golden.

And Regulus? Regulus is tarnished copper at best.

The thought gnaws at him whenever James looks at him with that soft, earnest smile, like he’s actually seeing Regulus for something more than what he is. James is too good, too kind, too much.

And no matter how much Padfoot insists on his newfound “popularity,” Regulus knows better.

Boys like James don’t fall for boys like Regulus.

And yet, James won’t leave him alone.

Regulus catches him staring sometimes in class, his chin propped in his hand, his eyes crinkling at the corners like Regulus is saying something funny even when he hasn’t spoken a word. Or in the Great Hall, when James slides into the seat across from him and launches into an insane story about Quidditch practice, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, before promptly being returned to the Gryffindor table by McGonagall, winking as he's dragged off.

Regulus doesn’t understand it. James is magnetic, dazzling, adored by everyone. Why waste even a second of his time on someone like Regulus Arcturus?

It’s that thought that keeps Regulus up some nights, staring at the ceiling of his dorm room as he turns it over in his mind like a puzzle he’ll never solve.

One particular night, Regulus is out on the Astronomy tower, stargazing.

Regulus sits cross-legged on the cold stone floor of the tower, his coat wrapped tightly around him as the wind pulls at the edges of his hair. The stars above are crystal clear tonight, scattered like shards of glass across the vast velvet sky. It’s the kind of night that makes him feel small in a way that’s almost comforting; no matter how tangled his thoughts get, the stars will keep shining, completely indifferent to his existence.

He exhales slowly, his breath clouding in the cool night air, and tries to let his mind quiet. But of course, it doesn’t. Because his mind is like a restless animal lately, always circling back to the same thing... or rather, the same someone.

James Fleamont Potter.

Regulus groans quietly, tilting his head back until it thunks lightly against the tower wall. It’s maddening, how much space James takes up in his brain. He tries to think of anything else, but it doesn’t matter. James always finds a way back in. Like a weed, persistent and stubborn. He’s so caught up in his internal spiral that he almost doesn’t hear the soft creak of the door opening behind him.

“Didn’t think I’d find you here,” a familiar voice says, warm and amused.

Regulus’s head snaps up, startled. James is standing there in the doorway, hands stuffed in his pockets, his hair tousled as if he’s just come from flying. There’s a light flush in his cheeks, like he’d been moving fast to get here, and something about the sight of him makes Regulus’s heart stutter painfully.

“Potter,” Regulus says, managing to keep his voice level despite the way his pulse quickens, "what are you doing here?”

James grins, stepping closer, unbothered by the chilly night air.

"I could ask you the same thing.”

James pauses, as if considering something, before plopping down onto the stone floor beside Regulus.

“You’re going to freeze,” Regulus mutters.

James just laughs, that easy, honeyed sound that seems to fill every empty space around them.

"I’ll be fine. I’m sturdy.”

Regulus huffs, turning his gaze back up to the stars.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

James stretches his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his hands, as he says, "What, I can’t come stargazing now?”

“You’ve never come stargazing before,” Regulus points out, his voice a little sharper than he intends.

James shrugs, still smiling, though there’s something softer about it now.

"Thought it was worth trying if it’s your thing.”

Regulus’s chest tightens. His thing. It’s so simple, so casually said, but something about it makes Regulus’s stomach flip. He glances at James out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge his intentions. James is looking up at the sky now, his expression a little wistful.

“They really are something, aren’t they?” James murmurs.

Regulus follows his gaze, watching the stars twinkle high above them.

"They’re constant,” he says quietly, "even when we can’t see them.”

James hums thoughtfully, "Is that why you like them so much? The consistency?”

Regulus doesn’t answer right away. He’s not used to being asked questions like this, ones that aren’t superficial or thinly veiled judgments. But James looks at him like he’s genuinely curious, like he actually wants to hear what Regulus has to say. It’s unnerving. And, maybe, just a little bit comforting.

“Partly,” Regulus admits after a moment, his voice softer now, "and partly because they don’t care. About us, I mean. They just… are.”

James shifts, turning his head to look at Regulus.

"That doesn’t bother you?”

Regulus raises an eyebrow, meeting his gaze.

"Should it?”

James studies him for a long moment, something unreadable in his brown eyes.

"I don’t know. I think I like the idea that people care."

“That’s because everyone does care about you.”

“Not everyone,” James says, too quietly for it to be his usual teasing tone.

Regulus frowns, caught off guard by the shift in James’s voice. His heart falls and he rushes to say something, when James perks back up again.

"Besides,” James says, nudging Regulus’s knee lightly with his own, “I don’t think that’s true of you, either.”

“What?” Regulus asks, his voice faintly disbelieving.

“That no one cares about you,” James says simply.

"You think no one notices you, Regulus, but you’re wrong.”

Regulus’s breath catches, the words hitting him somewhere deep, somewhere he doesn’t know how to defend. He turns his gaze back to the stars, unable to look at James, suddenly afraid he might see the truth reflected in his eyes. Regulus doesn’t answer. He can’t. His throat feels too tight, like the words James said have lodged themselves there, refusing to be dislodged. Instead, he stares hard at the stars, as though if he looks long enough, they’ll offer him some kind of answer.

But James doesn’t press. He just stays there beside him, quiet, like he understands that Regulus isn’t ready to respond. The silence stretches between them; not awkward, but heavy in a way that feels impossible to ignore.

After a long moment, James shifts, leaning back on his elbows again.

“You know,” James says finally, breaking the silence, “I think you’re a lot more like the stars than you realize.”

Regulus’s head turns sharply, his brow furrowing, "What is that supposed to mean? Is this because my name-"

"Calm down, calm down. I’m trying to be poetic here.”

Regulus scowls, but it’s half-hearted at best, and James knows it. He nudges Regulus’s knee again, gentler this time, before continuing.

“They’re constant, like you said,” James says softly, echoing Regulus’s earlier words, "they're always there, even when we can’t see them. But they’re also… brilliant. Stunning, even. You just have to look up.”

Regulus freezes, his breath catching in his chest. He doesn’t know what to say to that... what to do with that. James is looking at him again, and there’s something softer in his gaze now, something Regulus doesn’t know how to handle. Something that makes him want to crawl out of his own skin and run as far away as possible.

But he doesn’t move.

Instead, he swallows thickly and looks back at the stars, pretending he doesn’t feel James’s gaze lingering on him.

“You’re ridiculous,” Regulus mutters after a beat, trying, and failing, to sound exasperated.

James laughs, low and warm, but there’s an edge of something else in it. Fondness, maybe. Or something closer to longing.

“Yeah, well,” James says, his voice light, “I think you like ridiculous."

Regulus sighs, but he doesn’t deny it. And James doesn’t need him to.

They sit there in silence for a while longer, the wind tugging at their hair, the stars gleaming above them, indifferent as always. But Regulus feels… seen. Exposed, maybe, but not in a way that hurts. It’s strange, the way James makes him feel that way... like he doesn’t have to hide, even if he still doesn’t quite believe he deserves to be seen at all.

Eventually, James breaks the quiet again.

“You know, you don’t have to do that.”

Regulus blinks, glancing at him.

"Do what?”

“Sell yourself short,” James says, his voice gentle, "you're not tarnished, Regulus. You’re just… a little hidden. That’s all.”

And for the first time, Regulus thinks maybe he doesn’t mind the idea of being known. Not if it’s James.

Not if it’s someone who looks at him like this.

The thought terrifies him. But he doesn’t run. He doesn't run.

Instead, he lets James’s words settle into the spaces between them, warm and impossible to ignore.

And when James finally stands to leave, clapping Regulus on the shoulder and murmuring a soft, “See you at the dorm, Regulus. Don't stay out too late," Regulus stays where he is, staring up at the stars with something new and unfamiliar blooming in his chest.
______________________________________________

The next morning, Regulus finds himself walking to history with James, something that’s becoming an unsettlingly regular occurrence. It’s not like James forces him to do it. It just sort of… happens. James always seems to be waiting for him, flashing that infuriatingly easy smile, falling into step beside him like they’ve done this a thousand times before.

What’s worse is that Regulus hasn’t figured out a good excuse to stop it. Not that he’s been trying that hard.

Today, though, they’re not alone. Padfoot appears halfway through their walk, slinging an arm across Regulus’s shoulders so suddenly that Regulus nearly drops the book he’s holding.

“Merlin, don’t you ever warn people?” Regulus snaps, shrugging Padfoot’s arm off with an annoyed scowl.

“That would ruin the surprise,” Padfoot grins, unfazed. He spins to walk backward in front of them, effortlessly avoiding other students in the corridor.

“Morning, gents. Just thought I’d do my dear best friends the honor of escorting them to class today. Maybe I'll pay Professor Lupin a visit and tell him all about my new, advanced historical studies. Jealous Regulus?"

Regulus snorts and flips him off.

"You’re not walking us to class because you care,” he says after a moment, voice flat, "you're only here so you can see him.”

Padfoot shrugs lazily, but the way his face twitches just slightly makes Regulus’s lips curl into a smug smirk.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about."

“Your boyfriend? Remus Lupin. Tall. Smart. Quiet. Somehow tolerates you. Ring a bell?”

"Boyfriend is a strong word.”

“Boyfriend is the correct word,” James chimes in, smirking as he nudges Padfoot in the side.

"Don’t think we don’t all see you following him around like a lost puppy. It’s embarrassing, really.”

Padfoot glares at James, though it’s undermined by the way the corner of his mouth twitches upward, "I don’t follow him around.”

“Right,” Regulus drawls, “and I suppose it was just coincidence when you accidentally went into his classroom three times yesterday?”

Padfoot groans, throwing his head back dramatically, and whines out, “Unbelievable. I come to spend quality time with my beloved friends, and this is the thanks I get? Harassed and slandered.”

“Truth hurts,” Regulus says, shrugging, but there’s an unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes.

James laughs, loud and bright, and Regulus feels it like a weight lifting off the air. It’s so easy, being with them like this. Like they’re just normal, and the world isn’t so complicated after all.

As they near Lupin's classroom, the sound of quiet laughter reaches Regulus’s ears. He glances inside and spots Barty, Evan, and Peter already seated toward the back of the room, heads bent together, their shoulders shaking with suppressed giggles, lovesick looks on each of their faces.

Regulus can’t help the way his chest warms at the sight. It’s not the first time he’s seen them like this; comfortable and light-hearted, so different from the careful, calculated expressions they wear in front of anyone else... but it never fails to hit him in the same way.

Regulus can’t quite suppress a small smile as he makes his way to the seat beside Evan. James trails behind him, still grinning like an idiot as he drops into the chair to Regulus’s left.

As Regulus sets his book on the desk, James leans back in his chair, shifting slightly, and then it happens; his hand lands against Regulus’s back, gentle and easy, just above his shoulder blade.

Regulus freezes. James doesn’t seem to notice, but if he does... he doesn’t pull away. His hand stays there, warm and steady, like it belongs. And what’s worse is that Regulus doesn’t hate it. In fact, a traitorous part of him leans into it, just a fraction, before he catches himself.

He doesn’t dare turn to look at James, because he knows that if he does, his face will betray him. Instead, he stares at the front of the room, willing his pulse to slow, as if that will somehow stop him from feeling like James’s hand is burning through his uniform.

Everything feels good. The quiet laughter from his friends, the warmth of James’s touch...

And then, predictably, it all goes to shit.

But this time... Merlin. It really all goes to shit.

It happens when Padfoot, grinning ear to ear, saunters up to the front of the room, clearly intending to charm Lupin.

“Morning, Professor,” Padfoot says breezily, rocking back on his heels like he hasn’t got a care in the world, "you looking positively radiant today. Must be all the time spent—”

“Not now,” Lupin interrupts sharply.

Padfoot freezes mid-sentence, blinking as though he misheard, "What?”

“I said, not now,” Lupin repeats, his voice unusually firm, his expression pale and tight. His hands are clasped together on his desk like he’s holding onto something invisible. His eyes flicker, just for a moment, toward the door, like he’s expecting something... or someone.

Padfoot hesitates, the grin faltering at the edges as he straightens, "What-what’s wrong?”

The sudden shift in Padfoot’s voice snags Regulus’s attention like a hook. Something about it... something about Lupin’s not now, makes his stomach curl in on itself. Lupin has never ever talked to Padfoot like that.

He and James exchange a glance, both of them sitting straighter in their chairs, the same realization sparking in their eyes: Something’s not right.

Padfoot steps closer to Lupin’s desk, his brows furrowed, his voice softer now.

"R-Remus? Are you okay?”

Before Lupin can answer, the door to the classroom slams open, the sound echoing like a thunderclap.

Regulus jerks around to look. The corridor outside has gone eerily silent, save for the heavy boots of the... aurors.

Six or seven aurors enter in dark uniforms, their wands already drawn, their faces like stone.

For a moment, the entire room seems to hold its breath.

Then, chaos.

“Remus Lupin?” the lead auror calls, his voice clipped and cold, "you'll come with us.”

The class erupts into whispers, heads swiveling toward Lupin, who hasn’t moved from his seat. He looks shockingly calm, though his knuckles are white where they grip the desk. Regulus doesn’t know what’s more terrifying, the arrival of the police or the resignation in Lupin’s eyes. Like he’s known this was coming.

Padfoot, however, isn’t calm at all.

“What the hell is this?” he demands, stepping in front of Lupin’s desk like he can shield him from the officers, "What are you doing here?”

“This doesn’t concern you, sir,” the lead auror says curtly, "stand aside.”

“The hell it doesn’t!” Padfoot shouts, his voice shaking with barely restrained anger, "You can’t just-"

“We can,” the man cuts in, his wand still raised.

“Professor Lupin, you’re coming with us. Now.”

Lupin stands slowly, his movements careful and deliberate.

"There’s no need for this. I’ll come quietly.”

The whispers grow louder. Regulus can feel the tension spreading through the room like a sickness. Confusion, panic, and something sharper, uglier, lurking underneath.

He’s on his feet without realizing it, James standing at his side. Padfoot whirls on the officers, his face pale but furious.

"Let him go! He hasn’t done anything!”

“Mr. Lupin’s condition has come to light,” the auror says coldly, "Hogwarts will no longer be harboring a werewolf.”

The word lands like a hammer, and the classroom erupts. Students gasp, others exchange frantic looks, and the whispers become shouts, tumbling over one another.

A werewolf.

Regulus feels like the ground has been ripped out from under him. The room sways, but it’s nothing compared to the devastation on Padfoot’s face.

“What?” Padfoot breathes, his voice suddenly small, "No! That’s-that’s a lie-"

“It’s no lie,” the auror replies, "Werewolves are a danger to students. He’s been relieved of his post.”

“No!” Padfoot shouts, and this time there’s something raw in it. He moves like he’s going to grab Lupin, to pull him back, but two officers step forward, blocking him.

"You can’t just-he hasn’t-you can’t do this!”

“Sir, sit down,” the auror snaps, "this is not your concern.”

“It is my concern!" Padfoot growls, his voice shaking with fury, "you're making a mistake! He’s-he’s not like that-"

“Sirius.”

The sound of his name, so calm, so steady, cuts through the noise. Padfoot freezes, turning to look at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"It’s alright.”

“Remus-"

“Don’t,” Lupin says gently, "Please.”

The aurors grab Lupin by the arms, and Regulus hears a hiss of pain escape Padfoot, like it’s him they’re dragging away.

It’s too much. Regulus feels his own voice slip free, sharp and desperate.

“Are we just going to let this happen?!”

His words hang in the air, slicing through the noise like a knife. For a second, the classroom falls silent again. But no one answers him. No one moves.

Regulus feels something cold and hard settle in his chest.

Cowards. All of them.

Padfoot takes a staggering step forward then, and Regulus doesn’t even recognize his face. He’s not smiling, not cocky, not loud. He just looks… shattered.

“Remus,” he chokes, the sound almost drowned by the growing noise from the students, “Remus, please-"

But Lupin doesn’t look back. He walks steadily forward, shoulders squared as if the world hasn’t just turned on him. Like he’s spent a lifetime preparing for this moment. And maybe he has.

The door slams shut behind him.

Padfoot crumbles. He stumbles back to the desk, sinking into his chair like he can’t hold himself up anymore. He puts his head in his hands, shoulders trembling, and then he’s sobbing. Big, ragged, gasping sobs that scrape out of his chest like they’re being torn from him.

Regulus looks around the room, waiting, hoping, that someone will do something. Say something. But they don’t. Instead, the whispers start again, uglier this time.

“Figures. A werewolf teaching here? How’d they let that happen?”

“No wonder he always looked a bit off. Bet he was dangerous."

“He’s a monster-"

“Shut up,” Padfoot growls, lifting his head, his voice broken but venomous, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The whispers falter, but only for a second.

“He’s not dangerous,” Padfoot insists, his voice cracking, “He’s... he’s Remus! He’s good and kind and-"

Regulus swallows hard, watching Padfoot unravel in front of him. His mind feels like it’s spinning, but there’s a sharp edge to it now. An urgency he’s never felt before.

“You don’t understand,” Padfoot says, looking wildly around the room, like he can force someone to believe him.

"He’s not like that. He’s not.”

The whispers keep swirling like smoke, choking the air.

Padfoot’s voice, rough, ragged, cuts through the noise again.

“He’s not like that,” he insists, standing now, fists clenched against the desk like he can anchor himself there, "you all don’t know him! You don’t see him!"

Regulus watches, his heart hammering, his skin crawling with something bitter and cold.

“Sirius,” Regulus says sharply, and for once Padfoot’s head snaps toward him. Regulus had never once callen Padfoot Sirius.

Regulus meets his gaze, jaw tight, and says, “He is like that.”

Padfoot’s face goes slack for a heartbeat, disbelief flashing through his eyes.

"What are you talking about?” he breathes, voice hollow.

“He’s a werewolf,” Regulus spits, not because he wants to but because someone has to say it plainly, "that's the truth. You have to face it.”

Padfoot recoils like Regulus just hit him.

"No!" he says, shaking his head, "no, you-you’re wrong!"

“I’m not.”

Regulus’s voice rises, sharp and cutting.

"You can’t keep pretending this isn’t real.”

“You don’t understand! You don’t know him. You-you don’t know anything!”

“Enough,” James cuts in, his voice low and tense as he stands, stepping between them, "not here.”

Regulus glances around. He hadn’t realized how quiet the room’s gone, every pair of eyes trained on the three of them. The whispers have stopped, but the weight of their stares feels heavier somehow, sharper.

Peter, Barty, Evan, sit at the back of the class still, blinking. Their faces are unreadable.

“Let’s go,” James mutters to Padfoot and Regulus, gesturing toward the door, "Now.”

Padfoot doesn’t even look at him. He just storms out, shoving past desks and chairs like they’re nothing. Regulus follows, his jaw clenched tight, and James brings up the rear. The hallway outside is colder than the room, but it feels somehow suffocating. Regulus hears the door slam shut behind James before Padfoot whirls around, furious.

“What the hell was that, Reggie?” Padfoot snaps, his voice shaking, "How can you say that about him?"

“I’m not saying anything that isn’t true! Sirius-"

"Stop! My name isn't Sirius and Remus isn't a werew-"

“Being a werewolf doesn’t change anything Padfoot! He’s still Remus!"

Regulus stands there, staring at Padfoot with his chest tight. The cold air feels like it’s pressing in, but he can’t seem to move away. His heart is hammering, but there’s a kind of clarity now, a sharpness cutting through the chaos inside his mind.

“Sirius Orion Black,” he starts, forcing the words out despite the lump in his throat, “you need to drop the prejudice. Just… accept the truth.”

Padfoot’s face twists in disbelief, his eyes red-rimmed and wild, and for a moment, Regulus thinks he’s going to lash out. But instead, Padfoot chokes on a sob, shaking his head violently.

“No! No, you’re lying!”

Padfoot’s voice is desperate.

"You don’t know what you’re talking about! Remus… he’s not like that! He’s not a danger-"

“Knock it off, Padfoot!” James’s voice suddenly cuts through the tension, sharp and hard. He steps forward, grabbing Padfoot by the shoulder, forcing him to meet his eyes.

James looks incredibly serious as he says, "Do you hear yourself? Calling werewolves dangerous?"

"They are!"

"Padf-"

Before anyone can talk further to him, Padfoot turns on his heel, breaking into a sprint down the corridor. His footsteps echo in the empty hallway, a painful reminder of how completely shattered he is. The sound fades quickly, leaving them standing there, his heart aching, his mind racing.

Regulus stands frozen for a few moments, staring after Padfoot.

He shakes his head, "Werewolves... they aren't dangerous James. This shouldn't change anything... James?"

James has his eyes closed and he's taking deep breaths. He says nothing

"James?" Regulus repeats.

James lets out a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping as he rubs the back of his neck, looking between Regulus and the empty corridor where Padfoot had just disappeared.

“You’re right,” James says, voice strained, but with a touch of resignation, "you're right. But he’s not ready to hear it yet.”

Regulus shakes his head, his heart thudding in his chest. His fingers curl into fists, and his breath becomes shallow as the frustration burns inside him.

"The world's not ready to hear it yet, Regulus."

Regulus’s pulse is racing, his chest tight, and his thoughts are like a tornado tearing through his mind. The words spill out before he can stop them, raw and jagged.

“This world... this stupid, fucked-up world... needs to learn then! It needs to understand that people aren’t defined by things they can’t control! He-he doesn’t get it. Padfoot doesn’t get it! He thinks just because it’s different, it’s dangerous. He doesn’t even see how much that hurts... how harmful that is," his voice rises with every word, the anger bubbling over like an uncontrollable force, "People like Remus, people like me, we didn’t ask for this. We didn’t choose it, and yet we’re expected to just hide it. Be something we’re not. And for what? So people like Sirius... people who should understand... can go around spouting off this shit about danger? What about what he thinks? What about the harm in his ignorance? It’s like no one gives a damn about that!”

Regulus clenches his fists so tightly, his nails digging into his palms, that he doesn’t notice the paintings on the walls starting to tremble. The air itself feels like it’s vibrating around him. The next thing he knows, the frames are shaking loose, falling with loud crashes, the thundering sound echoing in the hallway. The paintings’ chaos mirrors the violence of his own emotions, but Regulus doesn’t care. It feels like everything inside him is coming apart, like he can’t hold the pieces together anymore.

His breaths come in shallow bursts, his chest heaving. The hall is silent now, save for the stillness left in the wake of his outburst. The paintings are scattered on the floor, forgotten pieces of art reduced to debris.

Regulus blinks, taking in the mess around him, suddenly aware of what he’s done. He stands frozen for a moment, breathing hard, his whole body trembling from the release. The cold of the corridor sinks into his skin.

“Shit," Regulus mutters, his voice quieter now, and he looks over at James, feeling like the weight of everything is about to crush him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his words heavy with regret, but James is already shaking his head, his expression firm but understanding.

“Don’t,” James replies, his tone gentle but unyielding.

“Don’t apologize. You’re right, Reg. I get it. I just… I’m not sure how to fix any of this either.”

Regulus swallows, the fire in him slowly dying down, replaced by a bitter, hollow ache. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to collect himself. His throat feels tight, and for a moment, the air feels too thick to breathe.

“I think I’m going to head up to the Astronomy Tower,” Regulus says quietly, his voice now steady but tinged with something that’s hard to place, "Get some air. You can come with me if you want.”

James hesitates, and Regulus can see the desire flicker behind his eyes. But after a moment, James shakes his head.

“I should go check on Padfoot,” James says, and there’s a quiet sadness in his voice, "he's… he’s not okay. And he's my best friend, Reg. I can’t just leave him."

Regulus feels a tight knot form in his stomach, a dull ache that pulls at him.

“Yeah. Sure. Go comfort your best mate,” Regulus says, his words bitter but coated in a mask of indifference.

James looks at him, concern flashing across his face, but he doesn’t say anything more. He just gives Regulus a nod, turning to walk away toward Padfoot. The heavy footsteps of his retreat are like a confirmation, like a door slamming shut in Regulus’s heart.

Regulus stands there for a moment, his chest tight, the weight of his own thoughts pressing down on him. It’s not the first time this has happened, but every time it feels like a thousand knives to his chest.

He’s not the one for James, never has been. James is that boy; the one everyone else can have, the one everyone else can love. And Regulus… Regulus will always be the one who’s left behind.

He swallows hard, turning away from the empty corridor, feeling a strange sense of finality settling over him. He makes his way toward the Astronomy Tower, every step feeling like a weight.

And when he gets there, when the cool air hits his face, it’s like he can finally breathe again. But the ache remains. The ache of knowing that James will never choose him. And maybe, just maybe, it’s time for Regulus to stop waiting for a choice that will never come.

Regulus steps onto the Astronomy Tower, the wind cutting through the air as he ascends the spiraling stairs, his heart heavy with the weight of everything that’s happened. The door creaks open, and he stumbles out into the open air, the cold bite of it grounding him in the moment. His breaths are shallow as he stands at the edge of the tower, staring out into the vast expanse of the grounds, the towering trees, the distant shape of the Forbidden Forest that feels more menacing than ever before.

The wind stirs his hair, but it does nothing to soothe the chaos in his chest. He feels the sting of his own emotions, the helplessness and fury boiling under his skin. The moment from the classroom flashes in his mind again.

The aurors barging in, the sharpness of their words, the finality in Remus Lupin’s eyes.

He can feel the anger rise within him once again, an overwhelming force that threatens to tear him apart from the inside out. The injustice of it all. The cruelty of the world that refuses to see beyond something someone can’t control. That thinks it’s perfectly acceptable to judge someone for something they were born with, something they can’t change.

And it’s not just Lupin. It’s everyone who’s ever been made to feel less than. It’s the weight of the world on so many shoulders, forcing them to carry something they never asked for, but the world won’t stop to listen. It won’t stop to understand.

Regulus grits his teeth, his fists clenching at his sides. He can feel the heat of his anger rising, pushing out all rational thought. How can they just stand there? How can they watch something like this happen?

It’s not right. It’s never been right.

This is it. This is his final push. He feels it, like something clicking into place inside him.

For the first time in his life, Regulus feels utterly sure of what he has to do.

He will be strong enough. He will be powerful enough.

He’s going to get in front of Dumbledore and tell him everything.

And Dumbledore will make this right.

Because Regulus is done being too small and too late to save anyone.

Not this time.