Sirius Black

The Black house, gloomy and silent, greeted Sirius as always—with cold marble floors, heavy air, and shadows in the corners. He crossed the threshold, sighed, and glanced at the dark staircase. The front door slammed behind him, echoing throughout the house.

"Sirius!" a thin, joyful voice rang out from above. Little Regulus, just seven years old, burst out of the hallway, then leaped down the last few steps and rushed toward his older brother. His face beamed with happiness, and he wrapped his arms around Sirius's waist, squeezing him tightly with his small hands.

Sirius froze. His shoulders shook. The suitcase almost slipped from his hand.

"Hey, kid... be careful," he muttered, barely touching his brother's fair head. There was no smile. Just a shadow of something heavy in his eyes.

And at that very moment, a voice came from the depths of the house, which seemed to shake the very walls.

"SIRIUS BLACK!" Walburga's scream lashed out like a whip. "LEAVE REGULUS AWAY! YOU'LL INFECT HIM WITH YOUR IDEAS! YOU DISOBEDIENT, SHAMELESS BOY!"

She appeared from around the corner, wearing a dark robe, with a proud posture and cold fury in her eyes.

"I will not allow my youngest son—the heir to the pureblood line—to have anything to do with you , a traitor to the family! Your filthy thoughts will not touch him! Gryffindor abomination! DISGRACE!"

Regulus cowered against Sirius in fear, but Sirius gently pushed him away.

"Go to your room, Reg." His voice was quiet and dry.

“But…” the boy began, but Sirius had already turned away, gritting his teeth, and headed for the stairs.

He didn't turn around. Regulus was left alone in the hallway—small, confused, and very, very lonely.