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The Black family house was quiet at night. Downstairs, the portraits of long-dead ancestors muttered in their sleep. Kreacher shuffled somewhere near the kitchen, whispering to himself. But in the room at the top of the stairs, two voices still murmured through the dark.
Sirius lay sprawled on his bed, arms folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling where the faint shapes of Quidditch posters gleamed. Across the room, Regulus sat cross-legged on the floor in his pyjamas, carefully arranging Chocolate Frog cards in a neat little line.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Sirius said suddenly.
“What thing?”
“The thing where you line them up in perfect rows. It’s creepy.”
Regulus didn’t look up. “It’s organised.”
“It’s boring."
“It’s neat.”
“Neat is boring.”
Regulus finally glanced at him, unimpressed. “And what’s your brilliant alternative?”
“Chaos,” said Sirius, grinning into the dark. “Freedom. True art.”
“True art looks a lot like your trunk right now.”
Sirius laughed. “Exactly. A masterpiece.”
Regulus rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself. The trunk in question was still open at the foot of Sirius’s bed, a jumbled mess of robes, socks, and old magazines. A broom handle stuck out at a dangerous angle.
“You’re going to forget something,” Regulus said, gathering his cards into a tidy stack.
“I’ve got everything important.” Sirius ticked off fingers. “Wand, broom, Gryffindor courage—”
“You don’t even know if you’re in Gryffindor yet.”
“I will be.”
Regulus frowned. “You don’t get to choose, Sirius.”
“Maybe not, but I know I won’t end up in Slytherin.”
The words came out more sharply than he meant them to. Regulus’s face flickered, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
Outside, a carriage clattered past the square. In the house, a clock struck eleven.
“You don’t have to be rude about it,” Regulus said finally, his voice small.
Sirius sighed. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean it like that.” He pushed himself upright, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I just… want something different, that’s all. You know what Mum and Dad are like.”
Regulus nodded, still looking at his cards. “Yeah.”
They both knew. The house was full of things they weren’t allowed to touch, full of people who thought in lines and rules and names that mattered too much. Sirius had always been the loud one, the wrong one. Regulus had learned to be quieter.
After a moment, Sirius reached under his pillow and pulled out something wrapped in a bit of parchment. “Here,” he said, tossing it gently. “Before I forget.”
Regulus caught it clumsily. “What is it?”
“Open it.”
It was a small compass, old and a bit tarnished. The needle quivered when Regulus turned it, glowing faintly red.
“Nicked it from Father’s desk,” Sirius said cheerfully. “It always points to the person you most want to see.”
Regulus blinked. “Isn’t that… dangerous?”
“Only if you’ve got something to hide.”
Regulus looked down at the compass again, then back at his brother. “Why are you giving it to me?”
“So you can find me,” said Sirius, shrugging as if it were nothing. “If you get bored here.”
For a moment, the younger boy didn’t say anything. Then he smiled, a small, crooked thing that Sirius decided might be the best thing he’d seen all summer.
“I don’t get bored,” Regulus said lightly, turning the compass over in his hands. “You’re the one who can’t sit still for five minutes.”
“Because sitting still is boring.”
Regulus grinned faintly. “You just don’t like thinking.”
“That’s your job, little brother.”
“I’m a year younger.”
“Exactly. Younger, smarter, and infinitely more well-behaved.”
Regulus made a face. “You make that sound like an insult.”
“Only because it is.”
Sirius tossed a pillow at him. Regulus caught it, threw it back, and missed spectacularly. They both tried to smother their laughter in the blankets, half-afraid of waking their parents, half-not caring.
When the quiet settled again, it was more comfortable.
“Do you think Hogwarts will be different?” Regulus asked, almost whispering.
Sirius tilted his head back against the wall. “Yeah. I think it will.”
“How?”
“Because it won’t be here.”
Regulus considered that, gaze distant. “I hope they’ve got good libraries.”
Sirius groaned dramatically. “Of course that’s what you care about.”
“What do you care about, then?”
“Flying,” Sirius said instantly. “Freedom. Friends. I’m going to have a whole gang.”
“You already do,” Regulus pointed out.
“Yeah,” Sirius said, smiling. “But I mean proper ones. People who don’t care about family trees or bloodlines. People who laugh too loud and steal pudding from the table when the professors aren’t looking.”
Regulus smirked. “Sounds dreadful.”
“It’ll be brilliant.”
He could almost see it already—the towers of the castle rising through the mist, the Great Hall filled with candlelight, a thousand faces turning to cheer as he joined Gryffindor. The thought made his chest buzz with something like hope.
Regulus was quiet for a while. Then: “When it’s my turn next year, you’ll show me around?”
Sirius looked over. “Course I will. I’ll be the cool older brother everyone likes.”
“You already think you are.”
“Because I am.”
Regulus rolled his eyes but smiled. “Fine. You can be my guide, then.”
“Deal.”
Sirius flopped back onto his pillow. “Oi, Reg.”
“Mm?”
“Don’t let them make you boring while I’m gone.”
Regulus yawned. “Don’t let them make you expelled before I get there.”
Sirius grinned into the dark. “No promises.”
When the house finally fell silent, the compass on Regulus’s bedside table glowed faintly red, the needle steady and sure, pointing north—towards Sirius’s room.