Good News!

The grand, imposing facade of the Ministry of Magic loomed before them, its golden doors reflecting the late afternoon sun. Regulus felt his stomach churn as he followed Sirius through the entrance, his steps hesitant while Sirius strode ahead with his usual effortless confidence.

The lobby was alive with activity; wizards and witches bustling about, enchanted memos zipping through the air like paper birds, and the faint hum of magical energy crackling in the background.

Regulus inhaled sharply, trying to steady his nerves, but it was no use. His palms were clammy, and the bile that had been rising in his throat since they’d left Diagon Alley seemed to thicken now. His fingers brushed against the pendant around his neck, a small, fleeting comfort that did little to calm him.

“Come on, Reggie,” Sirius called over his shoulder, a grin plastered on his face as he waved casually to nearly everyone they passed.

Regulus glared at him but said nothing, quickening his pace to keep up. Sirius’s nonchalance grated on him, though he knew it shouldn’t. That was just Sirius, completely unbothered by things that sent Regulus spiraling into overthinking. They were here for a reason, one Sirius had assured him wasn’t a big deal. But then why did it feel like his chest was being crushed under the weight of a thousand expectations?

The sound of small, quick footsteps interrupted his spiraling thoughts. A house-elf appeared at their side, bowing low and motioning for them to follow.

"This way, young masters,” the elf squeaked, its voice high and formal. Regulus barely glanced at the creature, though his stomach twisted uncomfortably at the sight of it. He recognized the way its hands shook slightly as it led them toward the lifts, the faint flicker of fear in its eyes. It was too familiar.

He tore his gaze away, bile rising again. He hated the way it felt, the way it always felt, like acid burning its way through him. He could never forget, no matter how far he tried to distance himself.

But then Sirius nudged him, pulling him out of his thoughts as they stepped into the lift.

The lift’s golden grille slid shut with a soft clang, and the gears whirred to life as it began its descent. The confined space seemed to amplify Regulus’s nerves, his breath hitching as the floor beneath them shifted slightly. He stared straight ahead, watching the enchanted numbers above the door flicker downward, his hands clenched tightly by his sides.

Sirius leaned against the wall casually, his arms crossed over his chest, but his sharp grey eyes flicked toward Regulus. He could see the tension in Regulus's jaw, the stiffness in his posture, and the way his fingers twitched nervously. Sirius sighed, straightening up and bumping Regulus lightly with his shoulder.

“Oi, Reggie,” Sirius said, his voice softer than usual, “you alright? You look like you’re about to hex the next person who so much as sneezes in your direction.”

Regulus shot him a glare, but it lacked its usual sharpness.

"I’m fine,” he muttered, though his voice wavered slightly, betraying him.

Sirius didn’t buy it for a second. He stepped closer, lowering his voice so that the house-elf wouldn’t overhear.

"Hey, listen. I know you’re nervous, but you’ve got this, alright? You’re Regulus Arcturus, for Merlin’s sake. You could win a duel against half the people in this Ministry combined with one hand tied behind your back.”

Regulus huffed, but his lips twitched, threatening to curve into a smile, "Flattery doesn’t suit you, Sirius.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” Sirius countered, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, "look, I know you. You’ve been through more than most people can imagine, and you’ve come out of it stronger. Smarter. You’re one of the most capable people I’ve ever met, and I don’t say that lightly.”

Regulus glanced at him, his fingers relaxing slightly as the sincerity in Sirius’s voice sank in. He wanted to brush it off, to scoff and tell Sirius to stop being so dramatic, but the words stuck with him, wrapping around his chest like a warm hug.

“You’ve worked so hard to get here,” Sirius continued, his tone softening even more, "you deserve this, Reggie. More than anyone else. And no matter what happens in there, you’ve already proven yourself a hundred times over. To them, sure. But more importantly, to yourself.”

Regulus blinked rapidly, his throat tightening. He wasn’t sure what to say, the lump in his throat making it impossible to form words. He settled for a small nod, his gaze dropping to the pendant around his neck. It felt heavier now, but in a comforting way, like an anchor keeping him steady.

Sirius clapped a hand on Regulus’s shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"And hey,” he added, his grin returning, “if all else fails, just imagine James’s face when you tell him about how brilliant you were today. He’ll probably swoon. You know how he gets when you’re even slightly impressive.”

Regulus’s cheeks flushed, and despite himself, he let out a quiet laugh.

"You’re insufferable,” he said, though there was no venom in his tone. The corners of his lips lifted into a small, genuine smile, the weight on his chest easing slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Sirius said with a wink, "but you love me for it.”

The lift slowed to a stop, and the golden grille slid open, revealing a long, dimly lit hallway. Regulus took a deep breath, his nerves still present but dulled by Sirius’s words. He straightened his shoulders, glancing at his rommate... his best friend... his brother... one last time before stepping out of the lift.

“Thanks, Sirius,” he said quietly, his voice steady now.

“Anytime, Reggie,” Sirius replied, falling into step beside him, "now let’s go show this wizard what R.A.B is made of."

Regulus rolled his eyes but smiled again, the nervous flutter in his chest replaced by a small spark of determination.

The house-elf shuffled ahead of them, stopping in front of an intricately carved wooden door at the end of the dim hallway.

The brass plaque on the door read 'Albus Dumbledore, Chief Wizard.'

Regulus’s heart picked up speed again, but Sirius tightened their interlinked arms slightly, a silent reassurance.

The elf cleared its throat and squeaked, “Lemon drop.”

The door clicked open with an almost imperceptible creak, swinging inward to reveal the office beyond. Regulus and Sirius stepped forward together, their arms still hooked, and Regulus hesitated only briefly before crossing the threshold.

The office was like nothing Regulus had expected. It was vast, the air thick with the hum of ancient magic. Shelves upon shelves of books lined the walls, their spines cracked and worn, while odd, glittering objects sat on tables and in glass cases, whirring and spinning of their own accord.

A phoenix perched serenely on a golden stand near the window, its brilliant red and gold plumage gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight. Regulus blinked in surprise as the bird tilted its head to regard him, its intelligent eyes seeming to look straight into his soul.

The ceiling was high and domed, charmed to reflect a swirling expanse of stars that glittered like a night sky. A silver telescope stood in one corner, pointed toward a constellation Regulus couldn’t quite name but thought he should recognize. The room smelled faintly of parchment, lemon, and something warm and sweet, like cinnamon.

At the center of it all sat Albus Dumbledore, perched behind a desk that seemed both cluttered and perfectly organized in its chaos. His half-moon spectacles glinted as he peered up at them, his long silver beard trailing over his chest and nearly brushing the desk. His robes were an explosion of color, shimmering with threads of silver and blue that seemed to shift when the light hit them. Behind him, an ornate shelf displayed dozens of small, delicate trinkets, all humming softly with faint magical energy.

Dumbledore’s eyes were the most striking thing about him. Piercingly blue, they twinkled with an enigmatic warmth that seemed to see more than they should. They flicked to Sirius first, then to Regulus, and Regulus felt as though the man already knew everything about him; his fears, his doubts, even the things he’d never dared say aloud.

“Ah, Mr. Arcturus. And.... Mr. Black, it appears,” Dumbledore said, his voice as warm as the fire crackling in the grate nearby. He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk, their upholstery a deep, velvety crimson, "Please, do sit. And do forgive me if my office feels a bit… eccentric. I like to surround myself with curiosities.”

Regulus hesitated, his feet rooted to the floor. But Sirius, ever confident, tugged him forward with their still-interlinked arms, guiding him to the chairs.

Regulus perched on the edge of his chair, his back ramrod straight, every muscle in his body tensed like a bowstring. His hands gripped the armrests tightly, his knuckles white, and his eyes darted around the room, trying to focus on anything but Dumbledore’s piercing gaze. The phoenix trilled softly from its perch, the sound soothing and melodic, but it only seemed to amplify the tightness in his chest.

He felt like an insect under a magnifying glass, small and exposed. His mind raced with a thousand thoughts; had he prepared enough? Would he say something wrong? Would Dumbledore see through him, see all his flaws, his failures, the stains he carried? He couldn’t breathe, the air felt too thick, too heavy—

“Bloody hell,” Sirius muttered under his breath, cutting through Regulus’s spiraling thoughts.

Sirius was staring at Dumbledore with wide eyes, the usual bravado in his expression tempered by something akin to awe, "It’s... wow. I mean, it’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

Dumbledore’s smile widened slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting in polite amusement.

"You flatter me, Mr. Black,” he said, his voice calm and measured, "but the honor is mine, truly. I have heard much about you… both of you.”

Dumbledore's eyes lingered on Sirius for only a moment before shifting back to Regulus.

Regulus felt the full weight of that gaze settle on him, and he froze. The room seemed to hold its breath, the hum of magical objects and the crackle of the fire fading into the background. It was as if the entire office had shifted its focus, narrowing in on him.

Dumbledore’s expression remained kind, patient even, but there was an unmistakable sharpness to his gaze, a quiet intensity that left no room for pretense.

Sirius, sensing Regulus's discomfort, nudged him gently.

"Reggie,” he said softly, leaning close so only Regulus could hear, “breathe. You’ve got this.”

Regulus blinked, inhaling shakily as his fingers relaxed their death grip on the armrests. His gaze flicked to Sirius, who gave him an encouraging nod, his expression uncharacteristically serious. It was enough to steady him, just a little. He turned back to Dumbledore, swallowing hard before speaking.

“It’s… an honor to meet you as well, Chief Wizard Dumbledore,” he managed, his voice quieter than he intended but steady enough.

Dumbledore inclined his head, the twinkle in his eyes softening slightly.

"And it is a pleasure to meet you at last, Mr. Arcturus,” he said, his tone as warm as the firelight that danced across the room, "you have shown remarkable power to get you here today. That, in itself, speaks volumes.”

Regulus’s stomach churned at the word power, but he forced himself to hold Dumbledore’s gaze. He wasn’t sure if he was succeeding in hiding the storm of anxiety inside him, but Dumbledore’s expression remained calm, unreadable. After a moment of what felt like heavy silence, he broke into a soft laugh, a sound that startled Regulus and made Sirius blink in surprise.

“Goodness, I always seem to forget how intimidating this office can be,” Dumbledore said, gesturing once again toward the chairs in front of his desk, "Please, sit, sit! It’s not every day I have such esteemed guests in my office.”

Sirius smirked, recovering quickly, and dropped into the crimson chair without hesitation, sprawling comfortably as if they were in their Hogwarts dorm room instead of the Chief Wizard’s office. Regulus, on the other hand, perched stiffly on the edge of his chair, his back straight as a ruler, as though he were trying to appear smaller.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers, leaning back in his chair, his piercing gaze softening into something almost playful, "I must say, it’s not every day one encounters two boys who could not be more alike and yet more different. Quite a curious thing. A tangle of similarities and opposites all at once.”

Sirius shot Regulus a sideways glance, an amused quirk to his lips. Regulus ignored him, focusing instead on the ornate patterns carved into the armrests of his chair.

Dumbledore reached for a small glass bowl on the edge of his desk and plucked a lemon drop from within. He popped it into his mouth, his expression brightening as though it were the most delightful thing in the world.

"Ah, forgive me,” he said, gesturing toward the bowl, “would either of you like one? Lemon drops have a remarkable way of easing nerves.”

Sirius shook his head with a grin, "I think I’ll pass, sir. But Reggie might need one.”

Regulus shot him a glare, his cheeks flushing faintly, "I’m fine, thank you.”

Dumbledore chuckled softly, settling back into his chair and folding his hands in his lap, "As you wish. Now, where was I?"

Dumbledore began to recount a series of peculiar stories, his voice warm and rhythmic as if he were telling bedtime tales rather than speaking to two young wizards in the middle of the Ministry.

He spoke of enchanted teapots that danced when no one was looking, of a particularly mischievous portrait in his family’s attic that used to switch places with others to cause confusion, and of a cousin who had once turned herself into a magpie by accident and spent an entire week stealing shiny objects before she was restored.

Sirius raised an eyebrow at Regulus during the tale of the magpie cousin, as if to say, 'this guy is mental.' Regulus bit back a smile and returned the look, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

As Dumbledore finished recounting the story of his magpie cousin, he trailed off, a smile still lingering on his face. The fire crackled softly, filling the momentary silence, and for a brief moment, the room felt lighter. But then, as if a switch had flipped, the warmth in Dumbledore’s expression dimmed, replaced by a thoughtful gravity.

“Mr. Arcturus,” Dumbledore began, his tone gentle yet piercing, “may I ask you something rather personal?”

Regulus stiffened in his seat, the lightness he’d felt a moment ago evaporating instantly. He nodded cautiously, his heart thudding in his chest.

“Do you believe,” Dumbledore asked, his voice dropping slightly, “that your family is proud of you for being here today?”

The question hit Regulus like a hex. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he couldn’t find any words. The room, so filled with whimsical magic only seconds ago, now felt unbearably heavy. Sirius shifted beside him, sitting up straighter, his relaxed posture gone. His hand twitched as if he wanted to reach for Regulus but wasn’t sure if he should.

Regulus swallowed hard, his gaze falling to his lap. His fingers clenched and unclenched against the armrests as the silence stretched on, suffocating. Finally, he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"My family... they're dead.”

Dumbledore didn’t react immediately. His piercing blue eyes flickered, the usual twinkle dimming as he absorbed the confession. The silence between them grew heavier, and for a moment, the only sound was the soft, rhythmic ticking of an enchanted clock on one of the shelves.

“Ah,” Dumbledore said at last, the single syllable carrying a weight that made Regulus’s chest tighten. There was no pity in his tone, no awkward attempt to gloss over the moment. Just quiet understanding.

Sirius’s jaw tightened, and he leaned forward slightly, his grey eyes sharp as they flicked between Regulus and Dumbledore. He didn’t say anything, but the protective edge in his gaze was unmistakable.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled once again, his gaze distant as if he were staring into some far-off memory. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, tinged with an unmistakable sadness.

“Family,” he began, “is a peculiar thing. It is a bond forged not merely by blood but by shared history, by loyalty, by love; or, in some cases, the lack thereof. It can be a source of great strength or great pain, sometimes both at once.”

Regulus’s fingers tightened around the armrests, but he didn’t interrupt. He couldn’t. Dumbledore’s voice was hypnotic, the weight of his words pulling him in despite himself.

“I have seen families torn apart by ambition, by hatred, by fear,” Dumbledore continued, his gaze now fixed on the swirling stars above them, "and I have seen families that endure despite every trial, every hardship. Siblings, in particular, hold a unique place in this web of connections. They know us in ways no one else ever will, for better or for worse.”

Sirius glanced at Regulus, his expression unreadable. Regulus kept his eyes fixed on the floor, his jaw clenched.

“I, once, had a sibling,” Dumbledore said, his voice softening further, "a sister. Her name was Ariana. She was…” he paused, his lips pressing into a thin line, “a light in my life, though I failed to protect her when she needed me most. It is a regret I carry with me always.”

The room seemed to grow colder as Dumbledore spoke, the warmth of the fire unable to reach the corners of the room. His eyes, so often filled with a quiet humor, now seemed haunted.

“I had a brother as well,” he went on, his tone bitter and wistful all at once, "Aberforth. We were… not close, to put it mildly. Too many arguments, too much pride on both sides. But in the end, even after all our differences, I learned that there is no bond quite like that of siblings. We see the best and worst of each other, and yet, if we are fortunate, we still find it within ourselves to love.”

He paused, his gaze finally returning to Regulus. His expression was unreadable, a mixture of sadness, curiosity, and something softer; hope, perhaps.

“Mr. Arcturus,” he said gently, “family is not defined solely by those who share our blood. It is the connections we choose to nurture, the bonds we fight to preserve. And sometimes, it is the people who stand beside us in our darkest moments, who remind us that even in the face of loss, we are never truly alone.”

Regulus exhaled softly, his grip on the armrests loosening as Dumbledore’s words settled over him like a thick, heavy blanket. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, and for the first time since entering the room, Regulus felt a strange kind of stillness in his chest. He lifted his head and glanced sideways at Sirius.

Sirius was watching him, his grey eyes filled with something Regulus couldn’t quite name; concern, maybe, or pride, or that fierce protectiveness that had always been at odds with his sharp tongue. Sirius raised an eyebrow, wordlessly asking if he was all right. Regulus hesitated for only a moment before giving a small, almost imperceptible nod and, for the first time in what felt like forever, a tiny, fleeting smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

He cleared his throat, the sound too loud in the quiet office, and shifted in his chair. Turning back to Dumbledore, he straightened his spine, his hands clasping together in his lap.

“That’s why I’ve brought Sirius here today,” Regulus said, his voice quieter than he intended but steady nonetheless. He hesitated, glancing at his friend for strength before continuing, "We… we didn’t always get along. We started as enemies, really, when we were assigned our dormitory together. But over time, that changed. We’ve fought, argued, and hurt each other in ways... that only siblings can. Yes, somehow…” He paused, the words catching in his throat. “Somehow, we’ve become best friends. We’ve become brothers.”

Sirius stared at him, his expression unguarded for once. The usual humor and bravado were gone, replaced by something raw and vulnerable. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he simply reached over and gripped Regulus’s forearm tightly, a silent confirmation that he felt the same.

Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes flicked between the two boys, his expression unreadable. For the briefest moment, something flickered across his face; something like surprise, mixed with a depth of understanding and awareness that seemed to transcend Regulus's own knowledge. It was gone in an instant, replaced by the faintest upward twitch of his lips and a twinkle in his eyes that hadn’t been there moments ago.

“Ah…” Dumbledore said, leaning back slightly in his chair, his voice as soft as the firelight, “very interesting. Very interesting, indeed.”

His words carried a weight that made both boys glance at him curiously. For a moment, it almost seemed as if he were seeing something they could not; some thread of fate or possibility that stretched beyond the walls of the office. But he did not elaborate. Instead, he reached for another lemon drop from the glass bowl, his expression shifting back to one of gentle amusement.

“Family,” he said, popping the lemon drop into his mouth and leaning forward, his fingers steepled once more, “is a most fascinating thing. I suspect the bond you share may yet surprise even the two of you.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze flicking between Dumbledore and Regulus, "You make it sound like we’re blood-bound, sir."

Dumbledore chuckled softly, the sound warm and soothing, "Perhaps-"

The sound of the door opening cut off whatever Dumbledore was about to say. All three of them turned to see who had entered, and Regulus’s breath caught in his throat when he saw the familiar figure step inside.

Severus Snape stood in the doorway, his black robes billowing slightly as if stirred by an invisible wind. His expression was as inscrutable as ever, his dark eyes scanning the room before settling on Regulus. For a moment, his face softened, but only slightly, in a way that most people wouldn’t have noticed. Regulus noticed.

“Professor Snape,” Regulus said quietly, rising from his chair instinctively. His voice carried a mixture of surprise and something else; relief, perhaps, though he didn’t fully understand why.

Snape inclined his head toward him, the corner of his mouth twitching in what might have been the ghost of a smile.

"Mr. Arcturus,” he said, his tone cool and measured, though there was an unmistakable undercurrent of warmth in it.

Regulus’s heart was pounding, though he wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or something else entirely. Snape rarely showed up unannounced, and certainly not in a setting like this. It was… unusual.

Sirius, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he regarded Snape with thinly veiled suspicion.

“What’s he doing here?” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Regulus to hear.

Snape’s sharp gaze flicked to Sirius, and his lip curled faintly in disdain before he turned his attention back to Regulus.

"I thought it appropriate,” he said, his voice as smooth as silk, “to be present for such an important occasion. After all, it is not every day that one of my most promising students steps into a moment of such significance.”

Regulus’s eyes widened slightly at the words. He could count on one hand the number of times Snape had openly praised him, and each instance had left him feeling conflicted and uncertain. But now, standing in Dumbledore’s office with Sirius at his side, the words felt different... heavier, somehow.

“You… you didn’t have to come,” Regulus said, his voice faltering slightly.

Snape raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable.

"Perhaps not,” he said, stepping further into the room and letting the door close softly behind him, “but I wanted to. I may not be the sentimental sort, but even I can recognize the gravity of this moment.”

Dumbledore, who had been silent during the exchange, watched the interaction with quiet curiosity. The twinkle in his eyes returned as he observed Snape’s rare display of something approaching affection.

“Ah, Severus,” Dumbledore said, his voice warm and inviting, “I did wonder if you might make an appearance. It seems your timing is impeccable as always.”

Snape gave a slight nod of acknowledgment but didn’t respond to the comment. Instead, he turned his focus back to Regulus... and Sirius. His dark eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the older boy.

The tension in the room grew thicker as Snape’s gaze lingered on Sirius, his sharp eyes narrowing ever so slightly. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, a flicker of something calculating in his expression.

“You really can’t resist, can you, Mr. Padfoot?” Snape said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "Always having to steal the spotlight, even when it’s not your moment.”

Sirius’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t flinch. He met Snape’s gaze with a coolness that could’ve frozen the room, but his tone remained steady, almost dismissive.

“I go by Sirius now,” he said, the words laced with a quiet firmness, "not Padfoot. And actually, sir, my roommate invited me."

The tension in the room hung thick as Snape and Sirius locked eyes, neither of them backing down. The air crackled with a quiet intensity, as though the space between them was charged with an unspoken rivalry that could ignite at any moment. Snape’s lip curled in disdain, his gaze sharp enough to cut through stone, while Sirius stood his ground, his posture stiff but composed.

Finally, Dumbledore clapped his hands together, breaking the silence with a light-hearted yet commanding sound.

“Ah, how lovely to see such spirited exchanges between wizards,” he said, his voice as warm and inviting as ever, "but I believe we could all use a bit of refreshment.”

He turned to the side, his gaze sweeping over to the small bell on the desk, and with a gentle flick of his wand, he summoned his house elf.

"Elf!” he called. The small, round elf popped into the room, his large, bat-like ears twitching eagerly as he straightened.

Regulus did not like in the slightest that Dumbledore hadn't taken the time to learn his elf's name.

“Master Dumbledore, sir! What can I do for you?” the elf squeaked, his eyes wide with anticipation.

“Ah, yes, tea would be most appreciated,” Dumbledore said, his eyes not meeting the elf's, "Could you kindly fetch the tea-making servants for us? It seems we have a bit of time to pass.”

The elf bobbed his head energetically, "Of course, sir, Master Dumbledore! Tea will be here soon!”

As the elf vanished in a flash, Dumbledore turned back to the group with an air of serene patience.

“Severus, my dear boy,” he said, gesturing to one of the chairs near the fire, “do please sit. I am sure we can make ourselves comfortable while we wait.”

The silence that followed Dumbledore’s invitation to Severus Snape felt thick, suffocating almost. Regulus could feel his heart still pounding in his chest, but now it was a subtle hum under the quiet. The conversation had shifted, a strange tension hanging in the air, and yet, no one seemed eager to break it.

Snape, with his usual air of composed aloofness, lowered himself into the chair beside Dumbledore’s desk. His dark eyes flicked over to Regulus once, his face unreadable, before turning toward the fire, his thoughts seemingly miles away.

Sirius settled in his seat as well, his posture still tense but relaxed in comparison to Snape’s unnerving stillness. Regulus found himself fighting to focus on anything but the uncomfortable quiet.

Despite the warm crackle of the fire, Regulus felt cold. His mind kept drifting back to Dumbledore’s exchange with the house-elf. The way Dumbledore had dismissed him so easily, never bothering to address the elf by name… It gnawed at him, tugging at his conscience.

Regulus glanced sideways at Dumbledore, who was gazing into the flames, his expression unreadable. A quiet sense of discomfort stirred in Regulus’s chest, the weight of the situation building. His fingers twitched, a slight nervous energy taking hold. He couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Breaking the silence, he spoke up, his voice cutting through the stillness.

"Professor Dumbledore,” he said, the words feeling strange on his tongue, “Do you know your house elf’s name?”

The question hung in the air, reverberating louder than he had expected. Sirius turned toward him, eyes widening in mild surprise, while Snape shifted slightly in his seat, his sharp eyes narrowing at Regulus as though he had just said something daring.

Dumbledore looked at Regulus, his expression softening slightly, a small chuckle escaping his lips.

“Why, Mr. Arcturus,” he said, his voice light and tinged with amusement, “why should I? Is a name truly necessary when one has such loyalty? The elf is but a servant, after all.”

Regulus felt his stomach tighten, the words landing harder than Dumbledore likely intended. He blinked, trying to keep his voice steady, "I—I’m sure he has one. He’s not just a servant. He’s a being, isn’t he?”

Sirius’s gaze flickered between Regulus and Dumbledore, and he sat up slightly, seemingly realizing where Regulus was going with this. Snape’s lips curled ever so slightly, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, as though watching some unsaid exchange between the two boys.

Dumbledore’s gaze, now thoughtful and not without a flicker of something deeper, met Regulus’s.

"Ah, I see. You’re right, of course. I apologize if I’ve given the wrong impression. But,” he added with a glint of humor in his eyes, “the elf does not seem to mind. He knows his role here, and it is one I am grateful for.”

Regulus could feel the frustration building in his chest, but he tried to stay calm.

Snape’s lips curled in disdain at Regulus’s question, and he turned to Dumbledore with an almost imperceptible flick of his wrist.

"Wizard, I shall implore you to disregard the disrespect of my student. He may not fully grasp the nuances of your position, but I trust you understand the nature of the bond you share with your house elf.”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, as though considering Snape’s words for a moment, before nodding in agreement, his expression now contemplative. He glanced at Regulus, but his gaze was not one of reproach. Rather, there was a quiet understanding there, as though he knew the questions Regulus was wrestling with.

The tension in the room had shifted slightly, but it wasn’t broken. Snape’s next words pierced the air like ice.

Turning his gaze to Sirius, Snape’s voice dropped into its familiar cool, almost mocking tone, "And you, Mr. Black, after putting on such a performance insisting you be addressed as ‘Padfoot,’ why now, all of a sudden, do you wish to return to your given name?”

Sirius’s jaw tightened, but his gaze didn’t waver. He leaned forward slightly, his posture stiff with determination.

"I’ve changed my mind,” he said, his voice firm but not unkin, "It’s not about my name, it’s about what my name stands for. I’m doing it for Remus.”

Snape laughs, "Oh come off it-"

"I'm. Doing. It. For- REMUS?!"

Regulus’s head whipped around so quickly he almost felt the muscles in his neck snap. His eyes darted toward Sirius’s gaze, searching the room for whatever had caused Sirius to speak with such fierce emotion.

And there, standing in the doorway, was Remus Lupin.

And he was alive. His once-messy hair was slightly longer than Regulus remembered, his clothes a little more worn, and his face drawn with exhaustion. But the faintest glimmer of warmth lingered in his hazel eyes. He looked the same, and yet so different, as though every part of him had changed without losing the core of the person they had both known.

Sirius didn’t hesitate. His body, trembling with emotion, surged forward before Regulus could process what was happening. He didn’t even take a step. He bolted. The moment his eyes locked with Remus’s, everything else blurred.

“Sirius-" Remus began, his voice breathless and surprised, but he didn’t get to finish. The floodgates opened.

Sirius’s breath hitched in his throat as he broke into a sob, his voice raw and desperate. He ran to Remus with a speed that left Regulus momentarily stunned, the chaos of the moment unfolding too quickly for him to catch up. Sirius collided with Remus, knocking him back slightly, but Remus steadied him, not even a flicker of deterrent on his face as he wrapped his arms around Sirius.

“Remus,” Sirius gasped, his voice barely coherent through the sobs that wracked his body, "You’re- You’re here. You’re alive!"

Remus didn’t say anything right away. He didn’t need to. Instead, he set the teapot down carefully onto the table beside Dumbledore’s desk, the sound of the delicate porcelain meeting the wood loud in the silence. Then, without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around Sirius more tightly, pulling him in as if he could shield him from the world.

Sirius’s sobs grew louder, his body shaking with the force of them. His hands gripped Remus tightly, like he was afraid to let go in case it was a dream. He buried his face in Remus’s chest, his words muffled against the fabric.

“It’s alright, Sirius,” Remus whispered gently, his voice a soft, soothing murmur that seemed to calm the frantic chaos inside Sirius. It was clear Remus wanted to say so much more, but he appeared at a crossroads within his head.

Sirius clung to Remus as if his very life depended on it, his sobs hitching in his throat, each one more broken than the last. Remus gently ran his fingers through Sirius’s hair, the motion tender and steady as he shushed him, his voice a soft lullaby in the midst of the storm.

“Shh… it’s alright,” Remus repeated, pressing his cheek against Sirius’s hair, feeling the heat of his tears on his skin.

Sirius’s sobs were guttural, heart-wrenching. His whole body shook with the force of his emotions, and in that moment, it was as if all the walls he’d built up over the years came crashing down. Regulus watched them, his heart aching at the rawness of it. There was something unbearably beautiful and painful about seeing Sirius like this, so vulnerable, so open.

The door creaked slightly as another figure stepped into the room behind Remus, carrying a tray laden with teacups, plates, and a steaming pot of tea. The young servant, clearly startled by the emotional scene unfolding before them, froze at the entrance. Their wide eyes darted back and forth between Remus, Sirius, and the others in the room, unsure of what to do.

Regulus watched as the servant hesitated, glancing nervously at Dumbledore. The old wizard, his eyes still fixed on the reunion before him, lifted one hand slightly, as if brushing aside any tension in the room.

“Place the tea on the table,” Dumbledore said calmly, though there was an edge to his voice, a firmness that let the servant know exactly what was expected of them, "do not concern yourself with what is happening here.”

The servant nodded hurriedly, their face still a mixture of confusion and disbelief, and set the tray down on the table beside Dumbledore’s chair. They then backed away from the scene, retreating to a far corner of the room, looking like they would rather be anywhere else.

The soft clink of porcelain against wood barely registered to Regulus, whose eyes were still trained on Sirius and Remus. The two of them, caught in their raw, emotional moment, were still locked in a tight embrace. Remus, despite his initial composure, had begun to tremble. Regulus’s heart tightened as he watched Remus lean into Sirius’s arms, his face buried in his chest as silent sobs wracked his body.

Remus pulled back just slightly, enough for Regulus to catch a glimpse of his face. Remus’s eyes, bright and tear-filled, met Sirius’s before he buried his face once more into the crook of his neck, his body shuddering violently as his tears began to fall. Sirius’s sobs only grew louder, as if hearing Remus break down too had cracked something inside of him that couldn’t be mended.

Regulus didn’t know whether to look away or not. The sight was so intimate, so painful, it felt like an intrusion just to witness it.

But before he could even register his next thought, the silence in the room was shattered by the sharp, resounding clap of Dumbledore’s hands. The sound echoed across the stone walls, breaking through the tension like a thunderclap.

“Enough,” Dumbledore said, his voice loud and filled with an unexpected fury, "Silence, now.”

Sirius and Remus both froze. The air in the room felt charged with a sudden, heavy intensity. Remus’s tears still stained his face, but he pulled back from Sirius, his hands shaking as he wiped his eyes, a startled, almost apologetic expression crossing his features.

Sirius, too, slowly released Remus, though his body was still trembling. The two of them stood apart now, their connection suddenly severed by the weight of Dumbledore’s anger.

The room, once thick with emotion, seemed to freeze at the sharpness in Dumbledore’s voice. For the first time since his arrival, his calm, authoritative demeanor cracked. The warmth that usually radiated from him vanished, replaced by a chilling fury that sent a ripple through the room.

“Enough,” Dumbledore repeated, his voice now low and dangerous, “do not test my patience, werewolf.”

Regulus’s heart skipped a beat, unsure of what had just been said. He watched as Remus’s hands trembled, wiping away the remnants of his tears, but his posture stiffened. Dumbledore’s words had a biting cruelty to them, as if they were coated with something far darker than mere frustration.

“You’re a filthy animal,” Dumbledore spat, the words like venom, “you've no place in a room like this. You have no right to waltz in here and speak out of turn, you are a danger to all of us.”

Regulus’s pulse began to race, his body trembling with a surge of anger that he had never felt before. His eyes widened in disbelief. He couldn’t process what he had just heard. Filthy animal? The words felt like a slap to his face.

Sirius recoiled slightly, his breath catching in his throat. Remus’s face paled, and the tremor in his body became more pronounced, but he said nothing. He just stood there, silent, as though he was trying to disappear into himself, to retreat from the sting of Dumbledore’s words.

Regulus, unable to hold himself back, sprang from his chair. His hand shot out toward Dumbledore, pointing a trembling finger toward the old man’s face. His chest rose and fell with each labored breath as his voice shook, laced with fury.

“Repeat that,” Regulus demanded, his voice low but seething with rage, "Repeat what you just called him.”

Dumbledore turned his head slowly, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, a flash of disbelief crossing his features. But Regulus didn’t care. He felt his blood boil, a fire igniting in his chest that he couldn’t ignore.

Sirius, who had been silent until now, stood beside Remus, his hand twitching to grab his.

"R-Reggie... you can’t seriously-"

“Shut up, Sirius,” Regulus spat, not breaking his glare from Dumbledore. He was seething, his whole body shaking.

Dumbledore slowly straightened in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in Regulus’s furious stance. The room was unnervingly still, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the occasional, shallow breath from Remus and Sirius. The tension thickened, each second stretching longer than the last.

Finally, Dumbledore’s fingers drummed once, twice, on the edge of his desk, his posture smoothing out as though he were reining in some unseen storm. He let out a quiet sigh, the flicker of fury in his eyes fading into something more controlled, but still sharp.

Before Dumbledore could say anything, Snape’s cold voice sliced through the air.

“What in the world do you think gives you the right to speak to the Chief of Wizards like that, Mr. Regulus Arcturus?” Snape sneered, rising from his chair and stepping toward Regulus. His dark eyes glinted with an unmistakable challenge as he leaned in close. The venom in his words was almost tangible.

"You’re nothing but a child, and you dare question a wizard of Dumbledore’s caliber?”

Regulus didn’t flinch as Snape’s face came within inches of his. He stood tall, eyes burning with defiance. For a moment, it seemed like the two might collide, the tension between them palpable enough to suffocate anyone standing close. But then, to Regulus’s surprise, it was Dumbledore who intervened.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said with a quiet yet unmistakable authority, raising a hand. Snape froze, his eyes narrowing but not daring to disobey.

"That will be enough.”

Regulus blinked in disbelief as Snape’s sneer faltered. The DADA professor glanced back at Dumbledore, his face an unreadable mask, but he remained silent. The quiet tension in the room thickened, and Regulus’s pulse raced, still riding the rush of his anger.

“I apologize, Regulus,” Dumbledore continued, his voice now gentler, “if I caused offense earlier. It was not my intention.”

He turned his gaze toward Snape, the briefest flicker of reprimand in his eyes before returning his attention to Regulus.

"You are right to question me, and I should have been more considerate of both the elf and the wolf."

The words hung heavy in the air, surprising everyone in the room. Snape’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent, clearly taken aback by Dumbledore’s rare show of humility. Remus, still standing near Sirius, exchanged a quiet glance with him, neither quite able to process the shift in Dumbledore’s demeanor.

Sirius took Remus's hand into his in the wake of Dumbledore's calmness, and Remus easily reciprocated.

Regulus’s heart pounded in his chest, though this time, the fury was tempered with something else: surprise... as well as something like reluctant respect.

Dumbledore paused for a moment, his eyes flicking back to Regulus with a new intensity.

"I see you are not afraid to speak your mind, and that’s a trait I value in my people. Now. Mr. Arctrurus, it is time that we test your true power.”

Regulus blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone.

"Test my power?”

Dumbledore nodded, his voice taking on a weighty, almost cryptic quality. Regulus’s heart still hammered in his chest, his mind reeling from the bizarre shift in the conversation. He stared at Dumbledore, unsure what had just happened.

“I’ve seen your potential, Regulus,” Dumbledore said, his voice quiet but firm, "Now I wish to test it.”

With a slight motion of his hand, he conjured a piece of parchment and placed it on the desk in front of Regulus. The parchment glowed with a faint shimmer, a symbol written across it in ancient runes.

Regulus eyed the parchment, his confusion deepening. He was no longer sure what game Dumbledore was playing, but something about the way he was speaking sent a ripple of unease down his spine.

“Read from this,” Dumbledore instructed, nodding toward the parchment, "The spell you will cast is written here. Focus on the words, and remember that this will not be a test of technique.”

Regulus’s eyebrows furrowed, "What do I need to muster to cast it? Will it require—”

"This spell is not about finesse or the precision of your wandwork,” Dumbledore said, his tone dismissive of the notion, "this is a test of power, pure and simple. How much strength you can draw upon and project. Nothing more.”

Regulus blinked, his mind processing Dumbledore’s words, but the confusion remained. Pure power? He could feel the energy inside him, the raw potential, but the idea of simply channeling it without form felt foreign.

“Understood,” Regulus muttered, his voice tight with uncertainty, but he didn’t hesitate. His hand reached for his wand, his fingers brushing the cool surface of the parchment, and he began to read the incantation aloud.

For a moment, everything was still. The words rolled off his tongue in a language that felt both familiar and strange, the air thick with an unspoken anticipation. Regulus’s heart raced as he concentrated, the parchment in front of him flickering slightly with each syllable, but nothing else seemed to happen. No sparks, no surge of magic, just the quiet murmur of the words echoing through the room.

And then, from the far corner of the room, a sound broke the silence.

A low, guttural howl; a scream of pain, almost as if something was being torn apart from the inside out. Regulus’s head whipped toward the source, his eyes wide in horror.

There, in the farthest corner of the room, stood the forgotten servant. The wizard that entered behind Remus, so quiet and unnoticed until now, was writhing on the floor, clutching his head as if it were being driven mad.

The howl echoed again, louder this time, a shriek that sent chills down Regulus’s spine.

“Wha- what’s happening?” Regulus stammered, his voice trembling as he watched the man in agony.

Dumbledore watched calmly, an unreadable expression on his face, though his eyes flickered briefly to Snape, who looked as if he were enjoying the spectacle.

Regulus's fingers tightened around his wand, his voice trembling as he screamed, “What’s happening? What’s going on?”

Dumbledore’s calm voice cut through the chaos.

“Watch carefully, Regulus,” he said, his tone strangely detached, as though this spectacle was part of some twisted lesson.

Regulus’s eyes darted back to the writhing figure, and in a horrifying moment, he saw it. The servant’s body began to shift, contorting grotesquely, bones cracking and twisting as fur began to sprout along his skin. His face elongated into a snout, and within moments, the man was no longer a man at all. He was a wolf.

The transformation completed with a final, chilling howl as the servant-turned-wolf staggered to its feet, its eyes wild and feral.

Remus, still standing near Sirius, went pale. His eyes were wide with terror, his body shaking. He gripped Sirius’s hand so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The air around them felt thick with fear, and Remus’s breathing became shallow.

“Reggie... Reg, what are you doing?” Sirius’s voice cracked with disbelief, his eyes wide as he looked between Regulus and the transformed wolf.

Regulus was frozen in place, his mind struggling to process the horror he had just unintentionally unleashed. His heart hammered in his chest, and a feeling of profound guilt washed over him. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat.

Before he could form a coherent thought, Snape’s cold voice broke through the tension.

“You’ve turned the werewolf into a permanent wolf,” Snape sneered, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement, "Congratulations, Mr. Arcturus. You’ve made him no longer human.”

Regulus’s breath caught in his throat. The words crashed into him like a tidal wave, and his heart shattered. He never meant to do this. He never meant for this to happen.

“I… I never meant to..." Regulus’s voice faltered, the weight of his mistake suffocating him. His hand trembled as he looked at the wolf, panic and guilt rising within him.

The wolf, its eyes glowing with ferocity, suddenly turned its head toward Remus and Sirius. With a terrifying growl, it lunged forward, moving with lightning speed.

“No!” Regulus screamed, his voice raw with desperation.

But before he could act, Dumbledore’s voice rang out, steady and commanding.

“Avada Kedavra!”

A flash of green light shot across the room, striking the wolf directly in its chest. The wolf’s body stiffened in mid-air, and then collapsed to the ground, motionless. The room fell eerily silent, save for the crackling of the fire.

Regulus stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat, as he watched the lifeless form of the wolf. The echo of Dumbledore’s spell still lingered in the air, and Regulus could feel the weight of the consequences pressing down on him. He had done something terrible. Something unforgivable.

He could barely process the anguish twisting in his chest. And most of all, he felt a deep, unrelenting rage burning inside him... at himself... at Dumbledore... at the cruel twist of fate that had led to this moment.

Sirius was still holding onto Remus, his eyes darting between Regulus and Dumbledore. His face was a mixture of disbelief, anger, and hurt. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but no words came out. The silence in the room felt suffocating.

Dumbledore, however, remained unmoved. His expression was unreadable, his gaze flicking briefly to the dead wolf before returning to Regulus.

“You… killed him."

Dumbledore nodded without hesitation, his expression calm and unflinching.

"Yes, I did.”

Regulus’s stomach turned. His eyes flicked from Dumbledore to the dead wolf on the ground, the reality of the situation crashing over him in waves.

“You… killed him,” he repeated, his voice shaking with disbelief and anger.

He turned back to Dumbledore, appalled, unable to reconcile the calm, collected figure before him with the cold, unforgiving action he had just witnessed.

Dumbledore’s lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smile.

"You should be proud, Regulus. You’ve demonstrated an incredible level of power tonight. Not even I can alter the DNA of a wizard through such a simple spell. But you, you’ve shown me something truly remarkable.”

Regulus’s eyes narrowed, his mind seething. Power? This? This wasn’t power. This was cruelty. This was the destruction of a life, a living being, nothing more than an experiment to satisfy some twisted notion of control. He couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge the praise, his heart heavy with the consequences of his actions.

Ignoring Dumbledore’s words, Regulus’s voice became ice-cold, tinged with fury.

"How many werewolves do you have working for you?”

Dumbledore’s eyes met his, unblinking.

"Hundreds. Wolves, goblins, and house-elves alike. They serve me in ways you cannot yet comprehend.”

The answer hit Regulus like a blow to the gut, and his body trembled with the fury that surged within him.

The idea that Dumbledore... someone he had once revered... had used creatures like Remus, like Kreacher... as tools, as... pawns! As nothing more than pawns in his endless game of manipulation... this thought pushed Regulus to the edge of his breaking point.

"What was his name?!" Regulus demanded, his voice thick with emotion, "The one you just murdered! What was his name?!"

Dumbledore’s gaze flickered for a moment, as though he was considering whether or not to answer.

Then, with a shrug, he said, “I don’t know his name. He was just one of many.”

Regulus’s heart seemed to stop in his chest. His mind reeled. He could feel his vision blur with the hot sting of tears.

But no tears came. Instead, it was pure, unrelenting rage.

He had never felt so much anger in his life. Anger at Dumbledore for his callousness, anger at himself for having played along, anger at the world for allowing this to happen. He clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, his body shaking with the force of his emotion.

Dumbledore’s lips quirked slightly, as though he were amused by Regulus’s clear anger.

“You’re more like me than you think, Regulus,” he said, his voice still calm, but carrying a dangerous edge, "And one day, you’ll realize that. Until then, remember what you’ve just witnessed. This is what true power looks like.”

Regulus took a step back, shaking his head as he tried to breathe through the bile rising in his throat. He had never been so disgusted, so enraged, in his life. The tension in the room was suffocating, the weight of everything crashing down on him. He couldn’t stand it anymore.

With a final, bitter glance at Dumbledore, Regulus raised his wand and screamed.

“Crucio!”

"Crucio!"

Dumbledore’s voice rang out with the same incantation, his face calm, almost disinterested, despite the storm brewing between them.

The two curses collided in midair, a flash of blinding light where the dark magic met. The force of their meeting sent shockwaves through the room, rattling the windows and causing the very floor to tremble beneath them. The light, a sickly mix of dark green and silver, twisted and writhed in the space between them as their power clashed, a battle of will and strength.

With each passing second, the world around them seemed to collapse into that single point of energy. The light from their curses flickered and twisted, an ethereal dance of destruction. Regulus’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath shallow as he focused all his rage on Dumbledore. He could feel the darkness in the spell, the way it surged through him like a storm waiting to tear everything apart.

Sirius’s voice shattered the silence, a desperate scream that pierced the chaos.

“Reggie! Please, stop!”

The words cut through Regulus’s rage like a blade, but they did nothing to weaken his resolve. His eyes remained locked on Dumbledore, his chest heaving with each breath, his hands tight around his wand.

The room seemed to spin around him as his thoughts narrowed to nothing but the duel in front of him. He wanted to hurt him... no, he needed to. The old man had crossed a line that Regulus could never forgive.

"Please, Reggie, don’t—”

But Remus’s grip on Sirius tightened, pulling him back from the edge of the room as he struggled against his hold.

“Sirius!” Remus’s voice cracked, his own face pale with fear. He could feel the raw magic radiating from the two wizards, could see the way Regulus’s fury poured into every fiber of his being.

“Let me go, Remus!” Sirius fought, his eyes darting to Regulus, the desperation in his voice rising with each word, "He’ll kill him! We need to stop this!”

Meanwhile, Snape stood in the corner, eyes gleaming with an unsettling mixture of fascination and anticipation. He was entranced by the display of power before him, watching the two wizards duel with rapt attention. It wasn’t just a clash of magic... it was a battle of wills, of raw, untamed strength.

Snape felt an eerie thrill as the energy of the duel filled the room, a darkness so powerful it almost seemed to speak to him. He marveled at the power in both wizards; the sheer force of Regulus’s rage, and the cold, controlled fury of Dumbledore.

Regulus’s pulse was pounding in his ears, and he could feel his magic surging with every ounce of fury inside him. He was losing himself in it, consumed by the heat of his anger. He wanted to break Dumbledore, to see him fall, to make him feel the pain and frustration that Regulus had carried for so long.

Everything else; the room, the people, even the howling winds outside, faded into the background as he focused on the duel. Regulus’s mind went blank, and all that remained was the burning, consuming anger that had become his fuel. It was a fire inside him, so hot that he could feel his skin prickle and burn with the power of it.

Regulus’s head spun, his emotions a tangled mess of fury, hurt, and confusion. The sound of Sirius calling his name again... of Sirius pleading... brought him back for a fleeting moment, but it wasn’t enough to stop him.

Not yet.

As their duel continued, Regulus couldn’t help but feel the gnawing emptiness in the pit of his stomach. There was something worse than the power that surged between them. Something worse than the magic they wielded. The guilt, the betrayal, the realization that no matter how powerful he became, it would never be enough.

No, nothing would ever be enough. Regulus would always be an outsider... his power would never be enough.

Then, in a moment of clarity, Regulus poured everything into the spell, all of his pain, his guilt, his confusion, all his hatred toward the world into the man before him. The force of the curse intensified, the air around them vibrating with raw magic.

The power behind the curse exploded, an unstoppable wave of destruction that collided with Dumbledore’s defense. The room seemed to crack in half as the force of the duel reached its peak. And then, with a final, deafening clash, the light flickered, and Dumbledore crumpled to the floor.

Dumbledore's body stiffened, his breath hitching, but despite the force of the curse, there was no cry of pain. Dumbledore, the great and powerful wizard, remained unnervingly silent as he lay sprawled on the floor, crucified by the curse Regulus had cast.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, with a sudden, sharp motion, Dumbledore’s wand flew across the room, its length cutting through the air with a whistle, and landed directly into Regulus’s outstretched hand. The weight of it was heavier than it had ever been before, but it felt strangely right, as if the wand had chosen its new master.

Regulus stood there, trembling, staring down at the wand in his hand, his breath ragged. The room around him seemed to spin, his heart pounding with adrenaline and confusion. He had done it. He had won. But the victory tasted like ashes in his mouth.

Snape, who had been standing in the corner, his eyes alight with dark fascination, stared in shock at the scene unfolding before him. He looked from Dumbledore’s fallen form to Regulus, as though trying to comprehend what had just happened.

Remus, on the other hand, stood frozen, his wide eyes flicking between Regulus and the broken form of Dumbledore on the floor. He was trembling, his body stiff with disbelief, as he struggled to process the scene.

Sirius, his voice cracking with emotion, finally spoke.

“Reggie…” he sobbed, his voice breaking the silence, his eyes filled with pain and fear. He took a step forward, his body shaking as he closed the distance between them. He reached out, arms trembling, and pulled Regulus into a tight hug.

Regulus’s body was stiff, unmoving. His arms hung limply at his sides, his mind in a haze. He didn’t hug Sirius back. He couldn’t. His body felt like it was made of stone, unable to respond to the warmth and comfort of the person he loved most. He stood there, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, his eyes staring ahead without truly seeing anything.

Sirius pulled away slightly, his tear-filled eyes searching Regulus’s face as if trying to understand what had happened, what had broken inside of him.

“Reggie…” he whispered again, his voice filled with desperation.

But Regulus remained still, his eyes unfocused, his thoughts swirling in a chaotic mess. He couldn’t bring himself to speak. He couldn’t bring himself to feel anything other than the cold emptiness inside.

Then, in a voice that carried an unmistakable urgency, Dumbledore’s weak but commanding voice broke through the silence.

“The wand. Severus. He has the elder wand."

The words sent a shockwave through the room, breaking the spell of frozen time that had seemed to envelop them all. Regulus’s heart skipped a beat, and his eyes flickered to Dumbledore’s fallen form.

The importance in his voice cut through Regulus’s haze of emotions, and for the briefest moment, he was snapped back to reality.

Without thinking, he shoved Sirius off of him, pushing him away with a force that left Sirius stumbling back in surprise. Regulus’s movements were frantic, his body suddenly overcome with a sense of panic. He barely registered the hurt look in Sirius’s eyes, the confusion that flickered across his face. Regulus didn’t have time for any of it.

With the two wands tightly clutched in his hand, Regulus bolted for the door. His body moved with a speed that startled even him, his legs carrying him away from the scene that had broken him. His mind was consumed with one thought: escape.

He could hear Sirius calling after him, but the sound was muffled, distant. The only thing that mattered now was running.

Sirius watched, his heart pounding in his chest, as Regulus disappeared into the darkness of the hallway, the door slamming shut behind him. The weight of the moment settled heavily over him. He wanted to call out, to stop him, but his voice caught in his throat, trapped by the confusion and fear that consumed him.

“Mr. Black,” Snape's voice sliced through the tension like a knife, cold and commanding, "Retrieve him at once.”

Sirius turned toward Snape, his fists clenched at his sides, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. Without another word, Sirius turned and bolted after Regulus, his feet pounding against the cold stone floors as he raced through the dimly lit corridors.

His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, his heart a maelstrom of emotions. Regulus, his best friend, his... brother... had made a decision that none of them could undo. And now Sirius knew he had to make a choice of his own. And he had no clue what it would be.

It didn’t take long for Sirius to catch up. His breath was ragged, his legs aching, but he didn’t stop. Not when he heard the faint echo of Regulus’s footsteps up ahead. Not when he reached the Department of Mysteries, where the dark, quiet corridors seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction.

Regulus was standing there, his back to Sirius, his figure outlined by the flickering light from the far-off torches. His body was still, but Sirius could feel the tension in the air; the anger, the pain, the sheer force of Regulus’s emotions.

“Regulus!” Sirius called, his voice raw, filled with both desperation and anger, "What the hell are you doing? You’ve ruined all chances of teaming with Dumbledore! Everything you've worked for, everything you've risked... it’s all gone now. Because of you.”

Regulus’s head snapped around, his eyes dark with fury, his jaw clenched in a tight line. For a moment, the silence between them was suffocating. Then, in a voice low and seething with rage, Regulus spoke.

“You think that’s what matters right now, Sirius?” His voice was barely a whisper, but it held a dangerous edge, "You think this is about Dumbledore? About my work? My power? You don’t get it. I’m done. I’m done with all of it. With everything. And if you’re too blind to see that, then maybe you’re the one who’s lost.”

Sirius recoiled, his anger flaring as he stepped closer, his hands balled into fists.

"What are you talking about? You could’ve had everything! You could’ve made a difference! And now you’ve destroyed it all, for what? For some misguided sense of vengeance?”

Regulus’s eyes flashed with something darker, something fierce. He took a step forward, his chest rising and falling with every labored breath. His laugh was bitter, devoid of humor.

"You don’t know me at all. You think you do, but you don’t. And you never will. So stop pretending you can fix it. There’s nothing left to fix."

"Reggie I-"

“Attention, all Ministry personnel!" boomed Snape’s voice over the speakers, dark and sinister.

"This is Severus Snape. Leave the premises at once. Immediately. You have been warned.”

Regulus’s body tensed, his gaze flickering towards the ceiling as Snape’s voice continued, his words laden with malice.

"There is an evil wizard among us; Regulus Arcturus the Bad. R.A.B. He has stolen Dumbledore's Elder Wand. He is a danger, and he must be stopped. Do not engage with him. Get out while you still can.”

Regulus’s eyes hardened, his grip on the Elder Wand tightening in his hand. His chest heaved with the weight of the moment, but his face remained unreadable. He could feel the cold sting of Snape’s words, the cruel public accusation that seemed to reach every corner of the Ministry.

"He has inexplainable powers, far more dangerous than anything our wizarding world has ever seen. He is an embodiment of darkness. He is evil. He is a monster. He is wicked."

Silence.

“Sirius…” Regulus finally whispered, his voice so faint that it barely registered over the crackling of the intercom.

“I have to get out of here. I can’t stay. It’s over. It’s all over.”

“No, Regulus, please… you need to apologize. You still can. It’s not too late to make it right-"

“How can you say that, Sirius? After everything that’s happened? After everything I’ve done? You want me to apologize?"

“Regulus, I don’t want you to choose the wrong side. I want you to come back with me. We can still fight for what’s right. Please.”

Sirius’s breath hitched, and a sob caught in his throat.

Silence fell between the boys. Both silently begging the other.

Regulus finally spoke.

“Do you think I’m spineless? Is that what you think of me? That I’m too weak to make my own decisions? That I’ll just bow down and apologize for everything I’ve done?”

Sirius recoiled, his heart breaking further as Regulus’s words sliced through him.

"No,” he whispered, his voice breaking as tears filled his eyes, "I just… I don’t know what else to do, Reggie. Please, come back to me. We can fix this together.”

Regulus’s face twisted with frustration, but there was something in his eyes; a flicker of something softer, something that almost looked like regret. Almost. But he quickly masked it, his expression hardening once again.

“I can’t stay here, Sirius. I can’t. I need to get out of here… I can’t be part of this anymore. I’ll fight for what’s right, but it’s not here. It’s not with them. It’s somewhere else.”

Sirius’s heart pounded, the weight of the moment crashing down on him. He couldn’t let Regulus go. He couldn’t lose him. But then, as his heart screamed at him to make things right, Regulus spoke again, his voice quieter, as though he was speaking to himself more than to Sirius.

“We could fight for justice together, Sirius. We could… do something that matters. Something real.”

Sirius’s voice faltered, his breath catching in his throat as he whispered, “Regulus… please, don’t do this.”

Regulus hesitated, his eyes locking with Sirius’s, but then he turned away, his face hardening.

"I need to go,” he muttered, voice thick with emotion, "I can’t stay in this place any longer. But you can come with me! We can-"

"Snape never mentioned my name, Reggie.”

Regulus froze in place, his back still to Sirius, but his shoulders stiffened as the words hit him. A sharp, visceral reaction swept over him, like a punch to the gut. Sirius’s words hung in the air, echoing through the corridor, louder than Snape’s damning announcement or the distant sound of hurried footsteps as Ministry workers fled.

Snape never mentioned Sirius's name.

Of course, he hadn’t. Why would he? Sirius Orion Black... the hero, the good, the brave... was untouchable. Sirius could walk into hell and come out with the devil’s respect. His name, his reputation, his very existence radiated power and defiance. People admired him. Loved him. Feared him.

But Regulus? Regulus Arcturus was born to be the shadow, the scapegoat, the villain. A name whispered in disdain or forgotten altogether. He was no golden boy. No rebel with a cause. He was the enemy. He had always been the enemy.

He clenched the Elder Wand tighter, his knuckles white, the rough texture of the ancient wood biting into his palm. His chest heaved, but the air felt thin, like it couldn’t reach his lungs no matter how hard he tried. Sirius had always been the one to escape unscathed. Even now, in this moment, with chaos breaking loose and their world crumbling around them, Sirius would survive. Sirius would fight, would rise from the ashes, would have a story worth telling.

But Regulus? Regulus would fall. And his name would become just another cautionary tale, a warning to others about ambition and folly, about darkness and betrayal. About wickedness.

Wicked.

The word slithered into his mind like a serpent, coiling around his thoughts. It was what Snape had called him. It was what they all thought of him now, wasn’t it?

Snape had called him dangerous. Evil. A monster. And for the first time, Regulus didn’t fight it. He embraced it.

Because Sirius would survive this. Sirius would be fine. He always was. But Regulus? He didn’t have the luxury of heroism. He didn’t have the privilege of redemption. No one would ever see him as anything but a villain. So why not lean into it? Why not become the wicked thing they all already believed him to be?

Sirius’s voice broke through his thoughts, sharp and desperate.

“Reggie, please!” Sirius’s voice cracked with emotion, raw and pleading, "You don’t have to do this."

Regulus turned, slowly, his face blank. He met Sirius’s gaze, and for a moment, he hesitated. He saw the pain in his eyes, the tears threatening to spill over. Sirius looked so young, so vulnerable... and for a second Regulus and Sirius were just two brothers buying star pendants for one another.

But then Regulus looked down at his second necklace. His locket. The locket of Salazar Slytherin.

This was Regulus's destiny.

He was made to be wicked.

Regulus’s gaze softened for a moment, a flicker of the boy he used to be shining through. But then he shook his head, a sad smile playing on his lips.

“You can’t save me, Sirius. No one can.”

And with that, Regulus turned away, the Elder Wand clutched tightly in his hand as he walked into the shadows.

Sirius didn’t follow.

"I love you, Reggie," Sirius sobs out.

The footseps halter. For just a second.

"I.. I really hope you get what you always wanted Sirius. And I really hope you don't regret it."

And then he apparates away.
_____________________________________________

“Kill R.A.B.! Kill R.A.B.!”

The chant was a venomous, pulsing roar, spreading like wildfire through the streets of the wizarding world. The sound was distant but inescapable, reverberating through the walls of the Ministry and striking Sirius like a physical blow. Each shout, each angry cry, was a knife to his heart.

“Kill R.A.B.! Kill R.A.B.!”

Sirius felt like he couldn’t breathe. They didn’t understand. They didn’t know him. Regulus wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t wicked. He was just a boy. A boy who had been hurt too many times, who had tried to do the right thing and been broken by it. A boy Sirius had failed to protect.

Sirius’s sobs wracked his body, each one tearing through him with an intensity that left him gasping for air. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

“Reggie,” he whispered, his voice muffled and hoarse, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

The sound of footsteps behind him barely registered. It wasn’t until the cold, commanding voice spoke that Sirius realized he wasn’t alone.

“Get up, Black.”

Snape’s voice was sharp, devoid of any warmth or sympathy. It cut through Sirius’s grief like a whip, forcing him to acknowledge the presence of the man who now stood over him.

Sirius didn’t move. He couldn’t. His body was weighed down by the crushing guilt, the unbearable loss.

Snape’s voice came again, this time harsher, more insistent.

“Get up. Now.”

Still, Sirius didn’t move. Instead, his sobs grew louder, more ragged, his hands clutching at the floor as though he could anchor himself to the spot and refuse to face the reality of what had just happened.

Snape’s patience, if it existed at all, was wearing thin. He stepped closer, his shadow falling over Sirius as he loomed above him.

“You don’t have the luxury of wallowing in self-pity, Black,” Snape spat, his tone laced with disdain, “while you sit here crying like a child, your dear friend is out there, armed with the most powerful wand in existence, and the entire wizarding world is calling for his blood. He's out causing evil while you-"

“Don’t you dare,” he snarled, his voice raw, “Don’t you dare talk about him like that!”

Sirius’s tear-streaked face was twisting with fury while Snape’s expression remained cold and unyielding.

“Knock it off, Black,” Snape snapped, his voice sharp and commanding, "You think this is about your grief? About your guilt? Grow up. Regulus has made his choice. And now it falls to you to make yours.”

Sirius glared up at him, his face still damp with tears, but his fury was palpable.

"You don’t know anything about him!” he shouted, his voice cracking with emotion, "He’s not what they’re saying! He's not some monster, some villain! He's my brother! And I won’t let you—”

“Enough!” Snape barked, cutting Sirius off. The sound of his voice echoed through the empty hallway, silencing Sirius’s protests, "Your sentimentality is irrelevant. Regulus Arcturus has just declared himself the enemy of the wizarding world, whether you like it or not. And the world will demand someone to stand against him.”

Snape’s black eyes bore into Sirius’s, his expression as cold as stone.

"That someone,” he says, his voice low and deliberate, “will be you. Sirius Orion Black. The brave. The hero. The one who stood up to his wicked friend gone astray, and fought for justice.”

Sirius recoiled as though Snape had struck him.

"You want me to what?” he hissed, his voice trembling with disbelief.

“You are to become the symbol of hope,” Snape continued, unbothered by Sirius’s reaction, "the public needs a name, a face, to rally behind. Someone who represents everything Regulus is not. You will counter him. You will fight him. And you will be the shining beacon of righteousness that the wizarding world needs.”

Sirius’s fists clenched at his sides, his breathing heavy and uneven.

"No,” he growled, shaking his head, "no. I won’t do it. I won’t fight him. I won’t turn the world against him.”

Snape’s lip curled in anger at Sirius’s defiance. With a sharp snap of his fingers, the air seemed to shift, a cold, suffocating presence descending over the corridor. From the shadows, a figure emerged; no, not emerged, but was dragged into view, levitating a few feet off the ground.

Sirius’s breath hitched as his eyes widened in horror.

“Remus!” he cried out, his voice breaking as he took an instinctive step forward.

Remus Lupin was bound in midair, his arms spread wide as though crucified, his body convulsing and writhing in agony. His face was pale and streaked with sweat, his eyes squeezed shut as a low, guttural moan of pain escaped his lips.

Snape didn’t even flinch as he stood beside the levitating form, his wand lazily pointed at Remus’s trembling body.

“Stop!” Sirius bellowed, his voice raw with desperation as he lunged forward, only to have Snape flick his wand and send a wave of force that knocked Sirius back to the ground.

“Do you understand now, Black?” Snape hissed, his tone icy and venomous, "This is not a game. This is not about your pathetic, self-righteous sense of morality. This is war. And in war, sacrifices must be made.”

Sirius scrambled to his knees, his hands trembling as he reached out toward Remus, who let out a weak, strangled cry, his body arching in response to the pain.

“Stop it! Stop it, please!” Sirius begged, tears streaming down his face as he looked up at Snape.

Snape’s expression remained cold, unmoved by Sirius’s pleas. He took a deliberate step closer to Sirius, his wand never wavering as he intensified the Cruciatus Curse. Remus let out a pained whimper, his body jerking violently in the air. Sirius's whole body heaved.

“You have a choice, Black,” Snape said, his voice as sharp as a blade, "Join us. Become the symbol of hope, the hero that the wizarding world needs. Or stand by and watch as the people you care about are destroyed, one by one.”

“No!” Sirius screamed, his voice hoarse and cracking, "Please! Don’t do this!”

Remus’s moans of pain turned into a guttural, heart-wrenching scream, his head lolling back as his body convulsed violently.

“Enough of this,” Snape said coldly, raising his wand higher.

"Avada—”

“Down with R.A.B! Down with R.A.B! Down with R.A.B!”

Sirius’s scream tore through the corridor, raw and desperate, his voice echoing off the stone walls.

He looked into Snape's eyes and once again gritted out, "Down with R.A.B."

Snape paused, his wand still raised. The eerie green light of the Killing Curse danced at its tip, casting sinister shadows across the corridor. He studied Sirius with a chilling detachment, his expression a mask of calculated control.

“Wise decision,” Snape said softly, his voice devoid of emotion.

With a flick of his wand, the curse binding Remus dissipated. Remus’s limp body crumpled to the cold stone floor with a sickening thud, his shallow breaths the only sign of life.

Sirius scrambled toward him, his hands trembling as he cradled Remus’s head in his lap.

"Remus! Remus, can you hear me? Please, say something!” His voice cracked with panic as he brushed the matted hair from Remus’s sweat-drenched forehead.

Remus let out a weak, pained groan, his eyelids fluttering open for the briefest of moments before shutting again.

"Sirius…” he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper, “don’t…”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Sirius murmured, his voice breaking as tears streamed down his face, "I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

Snape’s cold voice cut through Sirius’s frantic murmurs like a dagger.

"Enough of this melodrama, Black. Leave him here and follow me. Now.”

"I’m not leaving him,” Sirius growled, his voice low and feral, "you can’t make me.”

Snape let out an impatient hiss, his dark eyes narrowing.

"I haven’t the time to entertain your theatrics. You’ve made your choice; now prove it. Leave him and come with me. He’s of no use to us in this state, and you have far more pressing matters to attend to.”

“Like hell I will,” Sirius spat, his voice shaking with fury, "you think I trust you? That I’d just leave him here, defenseless?”

Snape’s lip curled in disdain, but instead of retorting, he raised his wand and made a sharp, deliberate motion. A shimmering thread of light formed between his wand and his outstretched hand. His voice was low, measured, and laced with venom.

“An Unbreakable Vow,” he said coldly, "I vow that Remus Lupin will remain safe for the next hour. No harm will come to him, not by my hand or anyone else’s, while you are away.”

Sirius’s jaw tightened as he stared at the glowing thread of magic. He hated Snape with every fiber of his being, hated the smugness in his expression, the power he wielded over him in this moment. But he also knew he didn’t have a choice.

Sirius shook Severus's hand, and the magic faded with a final, binding pulse, leaving the air heavy and oppressive.

“Now go, Black,” Snape snapped, his voice sharp and impatient, "your little sentimental display is wasting what little time we have.”

Sirius swallowed hard, his throat dry and aching. He leaned down, his forehead pressing against Remus’s as he whispered, “I’ll be back. I promise.”

Remus’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and full of pain.

“Don’t… Sirius, don’t do this,” he murmured, his voice weak but resolute, "not for me. Not for anyone.”

“I have to,” Sirius whispered, his voice cracking, "please, just-"

“You’re playing right into his hands,” Remus rasped, his expression twisting with anger, “this isn’t how we fight. This isn’t you.”

“I’m doing this for you!” Sirius shot back, his voice breaking, "I can’t lose you, Remus. I won’t.”

Remus shook his head weakly, a bitter laugh escaping his lips, "You just don't get it Sirius Orion Black.”

Sirius couldn’t answer. His chest felt like it was caving in, his every breath a struggle against the weight of his guilt and fear. He leaned down, pressing a soft, trembling kiss to Remus’s forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius whispered, his voice so quiet it was almost inaudible. He tilted his head, brushing his lips gently against Remus’s, seeking solace in the one thing that still felt real.

At first, Remus resisted, his body tense beneath Sirius’s touch. But then, with a shuddering sigh, he gave in, his lips parting ever so slightly as he kissed Sirius back. The kiss was brief, full of pain and unspoken words, a desperate attempt to hold on to something in the face of impending loss.

“I love you,” Remus murmured against Sirius’s lips, his voice raw and broken, "but I’m furious with you. You hear me? Furious.”

“I know,” Sirius choked out, his tears falling freely now, "I’m sorry. I... I'm sorry."

Remus’s eyes burned with unshed tears as he glared at Sirius, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his crucifying, and with his current absolute rage.

Sirius followed Snape down the long, dimly lit corridor, his legs moving as if they belonged to someone else. Each step felt like a betrayal, a knife twisting deeper into his chest. The distant hum of voices echoed in the back of his mind, muffled and indistinct, drowned out by the roar of his own thoughts.

He didn’t dare look back. He couldn’t. If he turned around, he’d see Remus lying there, broken and furious, and it would be too much. His heart was already shattering into a million pieces, and there weren’t enough left to endure another blow.

Snape walked ahead of him, his robes billowing in the cold, sterile air of the Ministry’s halls. His strides were brisk, purposeful, unbothered. Sirius, by contrast, stumbled forward like a man condemned, his entire being weighed down by the crushing realization of what lay ahead.

Finally, they emerged into the grand atrium of the Ministry of Magic, its marble walls gleaming under the enchanted golden light. The air was thick with tension and anticipation. The press was already gathered, their Quick-Quotes Quills hovering in midair, ready to pounce on every word, every gesture.

At the foot of the grand staircase stood Albus Dumbledore, his presence commanding and regal as ever. His long silver beard glimmered, and his piercing blue eyes scanned the room with a calm authority that belied the storm Sirius knew he was about to unleash.

Dumbledore turned to them as they approached, his expression grave but composed. Snape inclined his head ever so slightly, a silent acknowledgment of their arrival, before stepping aside to let Sirius take his place at Dumbledore’s right hand.

The room exploded with noise as reporters clamored for attention, their voices rising in a chaotic cacophony.

“Chief Wizard Dumbledore! Is it true that R.A.B. has declared war on the Ministry?”

“Mr. Black, how did it feel to be betrayed by one the of the most dangerous man in wizarding history?”

“Is R.A.B. truly behind the theft of the Elder Wand?”

Dumbledore raised a hand, and the room fell silent almost instantly. His gaze swept across the gathered crowd, his expression somber.

“It is a dark day for the wizarding world,” Dumbledore began, his voice carrying effortlessly across the vast atrium, “when one of our own turns to such nefarious means, seeking power and destruction above all else. Regulus Arcturus the Bad... R.A.B.... has made his intentions clear. He has chosen a path of wickedness and immorality, forsaking the values of decency and unity that we hold dear.”

Sirius flinched at Dumbledore’s words, his stomach twisting into knots. Wickedness? Immorality?

The reporters scribbled furiously, their quills scratching across parchment as Dumbledore continued.

“We must stand together in the face of such darkness,” Dumbledore declared, his tone resolute, "and we must commend those who have the courage to do so, even when it means facing the most personal of trials.”

He turned to Sirius, placing a hand on his shoulder. The touch was meant to be reassuring, but Sirius felt like he might collapse under its weight.

“Sirius Black,” Dumbledore said, his voice filled with carefully measured gravitas, “has shown immense bravery and fortitude in these trying times. Sirius has chosen to fight for what is right. He has chosen to fight for all of us.”

The room erupted in applause, the sound deafening and overwhelming. Sirius felt every pair of eyes on him, every camera flash searing into his skin. His chest felt tight, his breath shallow and uneven. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to be their hero. He didn’t want to be anything at all.

“Sirius!” one of the reporters called out, her voice cutting through the noise like a knife, "Do you have any words for your Hogwarts roommate? For R.A.B.?”

The room fell silent again, every quill poised, every gaze locked on Sirius. He opened his mouth, but no words came. His mind was a maelstrom of emotions... grief, guilt, anger, despair... all swirling together in a chaotic storm. What could he say? What was left to say?

His hand drifted to the pendant around his neck, the one embellished with Regulus's name on it... purchased only this morning. He clutched it tightly, the edges digging into his palm, grounding him in a moment that felt entirely unreal.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, but carrying enough weight to pierce through the silence.

“R.A.B…” he began, his throat dry, his voice trembling. He squeezed the pendant tighter, his knuckles turning white.

"I hope you’re happy.”
_____________________________________________

Regulus Arcturus apparated with a soft crack to a desolate cave far from London, where the crashing of waves echoed through the hollow stone chambers. The air was damp and cold, carrying the sharp, briny tang of the sea. For a moment, he just stood there, his chest rising and falling as he took in the stillness around him, the weight of the world pressing heavily on his shoulders.

He inhaled deeply, trying to steady the storm within him, but his breath caught as his hand instinctively reached for the chain around his neck. Pulling it out from beneath his robes, he gazed down at the simple silver pendant engraved with a single word: Sirius.

A strangled sob tore from his throat, raw and unbidden, as he clutched the pendant tightly. Tears blurred his vision, and he pressed the necklace to his lips, trembling as he let out a quiet, broken whisper.

“I’m sorry, Sirius…”

His voice faltered, and he shook his head, as if trying to push away the guilt, the love, the longing that threatened to consume him. He wiped his tears with the back of his hand, tucking the pendant back beneath his robes as he forced himself to stand straighter, shoulders squared against the ache in his chest.

His fingers then brushed against another chain, heavier and colder. Slowly, he pulled it free and let it dangle before him... a gleaming locket emblazoned with Salazar Slytherin’s mark. The artifact felt heavier than it should have, like it carried the weight of his choices, his sacrifices, his purpose.

And yet, as he stared at it, a small, wavering smile broke through his tears.

His smile grew steadier as he tucked the locket back under his robes and turned toward the edge of the cave. The jagged rocks fell away beneath him, revealing an endless expanse of ocean, its waves roaring and crashing against the cliffs below. The horizon stretched endlessly, a kaleidoscope of grays and blues merging into the overcast sky.

Regulus stood there for a long moment, the wind whipping through his hair, as he gazed out at the vastness before him. He let the salty breeze fill his lungs and quiet the noise in his head.

He knew there was no going back. His path had been chosen. He had walked too far into the darkness, made too many sacrifices, to ever return to the light.

But as he stared out at the boundless sea, the infinite possibilities it seemed to promise, something stirred in him. A quiet voice, a faint spark.

The future wasn’t set. Not entirely. The choices ahead... whatever they were... were still his to make.

And they were his to make alone.

His heart swelled with a bittersweet kind of hope, fragile but unyielding.

Everything from here on out was still unlimited.