Chapter Text

The Brother He Chose

Evan Rosier had been born eleven minutes before Pandora, and she had treated those eleven minutes as a legally binding contract from the moment she became old enough to understand numbers.

It meant Evan was responsible for everything.

He was responsible for checking whether the mushrooms she found in the woods were poisonous before she licked them.

He was responsible for pulling her down from trees when she climbed too high and then announced, with dreamy calm, that she had forgotten how she had got up there.

He was responsible for stopping her from mixing household potions in their mother’s silver teapot, talking their father out of locking the laboratory cupboards and removing whatever small, smoking creature Pandora had accidentally created beneath her bed.

He was also responsible for standing between Pandora and anyone she had deliberately provoked for her own amusement.

That happened rather often.

Pandora could ragebait a corpse.

She had a peculiar talent for looking like an angel in a religious painting while saying something so perfectly designed to ruin another person’s afternoon that Evan occasionally wondered whether she could see five minutes into the future and simply chose the most destructive possible path through it.

She would tilt her head. Her pale hair would spill over one shoulder. Her expression would remain distant and soft, her large eyes fixed somewhere beyond the mortal plane.

Then she would say something like, “People who shout during arguments usually do it because their thoughts are too small to hear otherwise.”

And Evan would have to catch Barty before he climbed over a table.

Or stop Dorcas from hexing a prefect.

Or explain to a professor that Pandora had not technically called them stupid. She had merely compared their reasoning skills to those of a concussed garden snail and then spent three minutes describing the snail sympathetically.

Pandora wandered.

Pandora experimented.

Pandora climbed onto roofs to collect rainwater during thunderstorms because she claimed the lightning made it taste different.

Pandora put strange things in jars, forgot where she had left them and smiled serenely when they began screaming in cupboards.

Pandora disappeared into the Forbidden Forest because she had seen an unusual blue light between the trees.

Pandora once decided that the best way to test whether a particular protective charm worked was to cast it on her own hair and then set herself on fire.

Evan had been there with a bucket.

Evan was always there with a bucket.

He had been cautious from childhood, which was perhaps inevitable when one grew up with Pandora Rosier for a twin. He checked doors. He counted heads. He carried spare bandages, two antidotes, emergency sweets, a folding knife he was not technically supposed to have and a handkerchief because Pandora never remembered one.

Felix, their elder brother, had once told Evan that he behaved like an anxious old woman.

Felix had then fallen off a horse because he had refused to tighten his own saddle properly.

Evan had laughed for nearly an hour.

Felix was a prick.

There was no gentler way to put it.

He was older, louder and deeply convinced that age was the same thing as authority. He treated Pandora like an entertaining inconvenience, Evan like an irritating rival and nearly everyone else like furniture.

Evan loved him in the distant, exhausted manner one loved a particularly aggressive family heirloom.

He would have sold him for half a sandwich.

So when Evan arrived at Hogwarts and found that his habit of taking care of people had expanded beyond Pandora, he was not surprised.

He was only surprised by how quickly it happened.

Regulus Black was the shyest first-year Evan had ever seen.

That was saying something, because first-years arrived at Hogwarts in various states of terror. Some cried before the boats reached the castle. Some gripped the Sorting Hat as though it might eat them. Some forgot their own names when Professor McGonagall called them forward.

Regulus did none of those things.

He was far too well trained to make a scene.

He sat on the little wooden stool with his back painfully straight and his thin hands folded in his lap. His face was blank. His dark hair had been brushed carefully into place, his new robes fitted perfectly and his shoes shone beneath the candlelight.

Only his eyes betrayed him.

They were enormous.

Grey, frightened and fixed on the Gryffindor table.

Fixed on Sirius Black.

Evan had known who Sirius was before he ever saw him. Everyone in their world knew the Blacks. Everyone knew that Sirius, eldest son and heir, had been sorted into Gryffindor the year before and had apparently made it his personal mission to turn the family scandal into a performance.

The Great Hall had gone unnaturally quiet when Professor McGonagall called Regulus’s name.

“Black, Regulus.”

Regulus had walked towards the stool while whispers rushed through the room.

Another Black.

Another heir.

Another spectacle.

The Hat had barely touched his head.

“SLYTHERIN!”

The Slytherin table erupted.

Evan had applauded automatically. Pandora had clapped with dreamy enthusiasm beside him, though she had only known Regulus existed for seven seconds.

Barty had slapped both palms against the table and shouted, “YES, BLACK!”

Dorcas had rolled her eyes at the volume but shifted along the bench to make space.

Regulus had looked towards them.

For one tiny moment, relief had softened his face.

Then Sirius stood on the bench at the Gryffindor table.

He cupped both hands around his mouth.

“BOO!”

The sound cut cleanly through the applause.

A few people laughed.

James Potter laughed loudest.

Sirius grinned, bright and vicious beneath the floating candles.

“Wrong table, Reggie!” he shouted. “Though I suppose they’ll take anyone!”

More laughter.

Regulus froze halfway between the stool and the Slytherin table.

His face emptied.

Not in the natural way of someone unimpressed or bored, but in the desperate, practised way of someone slamming shut every visible door.

His chin lowered.

His fingers curled into the sides of his robes.

He walked the rest of the way without looking up.

Evan saw the tears anyway.

They gathered along Regulus’s lower lashes but did not fall. He blinked hard as he reached the bench, still staring down, and the first thing he did was try to sit at the very end, where no one would have to move for him.

Evan moved before he had properly thought about it.

He caught Regulus lightly by the sleeve.

“Here.”

Regulus flinched so hard that Evan released him at once.

The boy looked at him with naked panic.

Evan kept his voice quiet.

“I was only making space.”

“Oh.”

Regulus swallowed.

His voice was so soft Evan barely heard it.

“Sorry.”

“You haven’t done anything.”

Another confused blink.

Regulus looked as though Evan had spoken in Gobbledegook.

Pandora leaned around her brother.

“Your eyes are very grey.”

Regulus stared at her.

Pandora smiled dreamily.

“They look like the sea when something has drowned in it.”

There was a brief silence.

Evan closed his eyes.

“Pandora.”

“What?”

“You cannot say things like that to frightened people.”

“I meant it nicely.”

“I know. That is the concern.”

Regulus made a tiny sound.

It was almost a laugh.

Almost.

Barty shoved a bowl of potatoes towards him.

“Eat.”

Regulus looked at the bowl.

Then at Barty.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You look like you’re going to die.”

“Barty,” Dorcas said.

“What? He does.”

“He has been here for four minutes.”

“And already looks terminal.”

“I am not terminal,” Regulus whispered.

“Excellent. Potatoes.”

Evan moved his own goblet aside and nodded to the space beside him.

“You can sit here.”

Regulus glanced towards the Gryffindor table.

Sirius had sat back down. He was whispering something to James, who looked over and laughed again.

Regulus sat beside Evan.

That was all.

There had been no ceremony.

No promise.

No grand declaration.

Regulus simply sat beside him, and Evan’s life rearranged itself.

It happened quietly over the following weeks.

Regulus did not ask for help directly. He had apparently been raised to consider needing anything a personal failure. Instead, he hovered.

He hovered near Evan when he could not fasten one of the straps on his schoolbag.

He hovered near Evan when the staircase moved while he was trying to find the Charms corridor.

He hovered beside Evan at breakfast with an unopened jar of marmalade in both hands, pretending to study the label until Evan took it, opened it and passed it back.

He hovered outside the common room after curfew when he had forgotten the password, shoulders drawn up around his ears.

He hovered beside Evan in the library with a torn piece of parchment.

He hovered outside the hospital wing after Barty had dared him to eat a leaf from a plant Pandora claimed might produce prophetic dreams.

It had produced violent hiccups and purple smoke.

Evan had turned slowly towards Barty.

Barty had held up both hands.

“In my defence—”

“No.”

“You haven’t heard my defence.”

“I do not need to hear it.”

“It was funny.”

Regulus hiccupped, and a cloud of violet smoke poured from his mouth.

Pandora watched it curl towards the ceiling.

“Beautiful.”

Evan glared at her.

“You said it caused prophetic dreams.”

“It might have.”

“It has caused him to breathe like a chimney.”

“One result does not disprove the other.”

Dorcas folded her arms.

“Did you know what the leaf did?”

Pandora considered this.

“No.”

“Then why did you tell him to eat it?”

“I wanted to know.”

Evan looked at Regulus.

Regulus, looking faintly ill, whispered, “I wanted to know too.”

“You are all impossible.”

Another hiccup.

More smoke.

Barty grinned.

“He looks like a tiny dragon.”

Evan grabbed him by the collar before he could poke Regulus in the stomach.

“Hospital wing. Now.”

Regulus looked up at him.

“I can go by myself.”

“You walked into a suit of armour three minutes ago.”

“The corridor moved.”

“The corridor did not move.”

“It seemed to.”

“You are holding my sleeve.”

Regulus glanced down.

His fist was clenched tightly in Evan’s robe.

He released it at once.

“Sorry.”

Evan sighed and held out his hand.

“Come on.”

Regulus stared at it.

Evan waited.

Eventually, hesitantly, Regulus took his hand.

He was eleven.

His fingers were cold.

Evan did not let go until they reached Madam Pomfrey.

After that, the hovering became less cautious.

Regulus began bringing him things.

A quill when Evan’s broke.

A biscuit from dinner wrapped carefully in a napkin because Evan had missed pudding while helping Pandora clean exploded ink from the common-room ceiling.

A book he thought Evan might like.

A smooth black stone from the edge of the lake.

He never explained the gifts.

He simply placed them nearby and acted as though they had appeared naturally.

“Is this yours?” Evan asked the first time, picking up the stone.

Regulus, sitting across from him with his nose in a book, shook his head.

“It was beside my bag.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Regulus turned a page.

“You said you liked black.”

Evan looked at the stone.

Then at Regulus.

“Thank you.”

Regulus’s ears turned pink.

He bent lower over his book.

Evan smiled.

It got worse from there.

Or better.

Depending on whom one asked.

Regulus looked to Evan for everything.

Not always because he was incapable. In fact, Regulus was irritatingly capable in most areas. His essays were precise. His spellwork was controlled. His memory was frightening. He learned the castle faster than any of them and could recite entire passages from textbooks after reading them once.

But when something went wrong, his eyes searched for Evan.

When Barty and Dorcas argued too loudly, Regulus looked at Evan.

When Pandora vanished during a storm, Regulus looked at Evan.

When a professor assigned partners, Regulus looked at Evan.

When Sirius laughed from the other side of a corridor, Regulus looked at Evan.

He never seemed aware of it.

That was the part Evan loved most.

Regulus did not come to him because Evan had demanded loyalty or because their families had arranged some useful connection. He came to him instinctively, without thinking.

As if Evan were safe.

As if Evan would fix it.

As if that were simply the order of things.

And Evan did fix it.

He fixed Regulus’s bag when the clasp snapped.

He fixed the collar of Regulus’s robes when it folded beneath his jumper.

He fixed a badly wrapped bandage after Regulus cut his palm in Herbology.

He corrected the directions Sirius deliberately gave him in second year.

He sat with him after nightmares without asking what they had been about.

He taught him how to throw a proper punch, though Regulus had disliked the idea of striking anyone and had spent the entire lesson apologising to the practice cushion.

“You are not hurting it,” Evan told him.

“It has a face.”

“It is painted on.”

“It still seems unnecessary.”

“It is a cushion, Regulus.”

“It cannot defend itself.”

Barty, sprawled across a chair nearby, groaned.

“You’re making me ashamed to know you.”

Regulus stared at him.

“You cried when Dorcas stepped on a beetle.”

“It was a very charismatic beetle.”

“You named it.”

“Bartholomew deserved dignity.”

Dorcas did not look up from her book.

“You tried to feed it cheese.”

“I did not know what beetles ate.”

“Not cheese.”

“Now we know.”

Pandora tilted her head towards the practice cushion.

“It may remember this.”

Evan looked at her.

“It is stuffed with wool.”

“So are some people.”

“That does not make the cushion alive.”

“It does not make some people alive either.”

Regulus laughed.

A real laugh this time.

Quiet, sudden and bright.

Evan looked at him and thought, with a familiar rush of warmth, there you are.

He did not think of Regulus as a brother immediately.

That word came later.

At first, Regulus was simply Regulus.

The nervous first-year who apologised when other people stepped on his feet.

The little shadow who followed their group through the corridors.

The boy who went very still whenever Sirius entered a room.

The boy who acted cold because coldness was safer than looking wounded.

The boy who pretended not to care when letters from home arrived for Sirius and not for him.

The boy whose hands shook beneath the table after a Howler but who insisted he was perfectly fine.

The boy who had been trained as a spare.

Evan knew that without ever being told.

People in their world understood these things.

Sirius had been born the heir. The important one. The future of the family. Regulus had been born as insurance, polished and educated and corrected in case the first attempt failed.

Then Sirius had left.

Not the house, not yet, but the role.

He had gone to Gryffindor and loudly rejected everything expected of him.

The family turned to Regulus.

The spare became useful.

That did not mean he became loved.

It only meant the pressure shifted.

Sirius, meanwhile, seemed to regard Regulus’s continued existence as a personal insult.

Sometimes he ignored him completely.

That was when Regulus watched him most.

He would sit at the Slytherin table and pretend to read while his eyes drifted towards Gryffindor. He watched Sirius laugh with James. He watched Sirius throw an arm around Peter. He watched Sirius lean into Remus and steal food from Mary’s plate. He watched him argue with Lily, race Fabian and Gideon through the hall, clap Frank on the back and carry Alice’s bag when she injured her wrist.

He watched Sirius be a brother to everyone except him.

Other times, Sirius noticed him.

Those days were worse.

“Careful, everyone,” Sirius called once when Regulus entered the Great Hall with a stack of books. “Mother’s favourite little servant has arrived.”

James snorted into his pumpkin juice.

Marlene turned around on the bench.

“Does he come with a winding key?”

Mary laughed.

Regulus walked past them.

His face did not move.

Evan, watching from the Slytherin table, saw how tightly he held the books.

On another day, Sirius passed him in the entrance hall and looked deliberately over his head.

“Did someone hear something?”

Peter grinned.

“Sounded like a house-elf.”

“Must’ve been.”

Regulus stopped speaking for the rest of the evening.

Evan wanted to hex Sirius.

He did not.

Regulus hated scenes.

Regulus hated being looked at.

Regulus hated when people fought over him because he had been taught that every problem circling him was somehow his fault.

So Evan restrained himself.

For years.

He stepped between them where he could. He redirected. He guided Regulus away. He glared across rooms. He reminded Barty that murder would cause paperwork.

“Worth it,” Barty said.

“No.”

“I can make it look like an accident.”

“No.”

“I can make it look like Potter.”

James, at the next table in the library, looked up.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Evan said.

Barty smiled at him.

James stared for another second before slowly returning to his essay.

Pandora leaned close to Barty.

“You would need some of his hair.”

James looked up again.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Evan repeated.

Dorcas rubbed her forehead.

Regulus, beside Evan, calmly moved Barty’s ink bottle out of reach.

Evan had assumed, eventually, that Sirius would grow bored.

He did not.

Sirius grew older, louder and more certain that cruelty became righteous if one aimed it at the correct person.

He had reasons.

He always had reasons.

Regulus represented the family Sirius hated. Regulus wore the colours Sirius rejected. Regulus remained at home. Regulus obeyed. Regulus did not shout back. Regulus did not run.

Therefore, Sirius treated him as guilty.

It was easier than admitting the boy had been left behind.

Evan despised him for it.

By their fifth year, his patience had worn thin enough to see daylight through it.

By then, the five of them moved through Hogwarts as a unit.

Pandora wandered, naturally, but she always wandered back.

Barty bounced between them with the contained energy of a poorly sealed explosive.

Dorcas walked as though every corridor belonged to her and everyone else had been granted temporary access.

Regulus remained the quietest.

He had grown into his face. The frightened roundness of childhood had sharpened into something fine-boned and severe. His dark hair curled neatly around his ears. His expressions had become nearly impossible for strangers to read.

People called him cold.

Evan knew better.

Regulus was shy.

Painfully so.

He was nervous beneath the stillness, always watching, always measuring, always making himself smaller before anyone could order him to.

He spoke more around them.

Not much more, but enough.

He argued with Barty over chess.

He listened to Pandora’s theories with grave attention.

He allowed Dorcas to steal his scarves.

He brought Evan books without being asked.

He also continued looking to Evan whenever he needed anything.

That morning, it had been a quill.

“Evan.”

Evan looked up from his breakfast.

Regulus stood beside him holding a black feather quill in two pieces.

“What happened?”

Regulus glanced towards Barty.

Barty put an entire slice of toast in his mouth.

Dorcas sighed.

“He tried to flick ink at me.”

Barty chewed furiously.

Regulus placed the broken quill on the table.

“He missed.”

“I did not miss,” Barty said thickly. “You moved.”

“You were aiming at Dorcas.”

“You moved her.”

“She was reading.”

“She called my handwriting diseased.”

“It is diseased.”

“It has character.”

“It has symptoms,” Dorcas said.

Evan picked up the broken quill.

“Why is this Regulus’s problem?”

Barty swallowed.

“He lent it to me.”

Regulus sat down beside Evan.

“It was my spare.”

“I’ll get you another.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

Regulus looked at him for a moment.

Then he nodded.

“Thank you.”

Barty leaned across the table.

“Can I have another one too?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you murdered this one.”

“It died in battle.”

“It died because you attempted to weaponise ink.”

“Same thing.”

Pandora was staring into her porridge.

“Do you think oats remember the field?”

Everyone paused.

Dorcas looked at her.

“What?”

Pandora stirred the porridge slowly.

“They grow beneath the sun. Then they are cut down, crushed, boiled and eaten. It seems a dramatic end.”

Barty lowered his toast.

“I don’t like where this is going.”

“Perhaps breakfast is haunted.”

Regulus looked into his own bowl.

Evan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Pandora, eat.”

She smiled.

“As my elder brother commands.”

“You are eleven minutes younger.”

“An ancient authority.”

Regulus’s mouth twitched.

Evan saw it and smiled despite himself.

That afternoon, they had Arithmancy after lunch.

The library books were Regulus’s idea.

Of course they were.

Professor Vector had assigned a research essay on the structural weaknesses of long-term numerical enchantments, and Regulus had apparently decided the suggested reading list was insufficient.

“It contains twelve books,” Dorcas said as they left the library.

“Eleven,” Regulus corrected.

“You have seven in your arms.”

“The others were irrelevant.”

Barty stared at the stack.

“How did you decide that?”

“I read them.”

“When?”

“During lunch.”

“You were sitting with us during lunch.”

“Yes.”

“You were talking.”

“Occasionally.”

“You cannot read eleven books while eating soup and listening to Pandora explain why mirrors are socially aggressive.”

“Reflective,” Pandora corrected.

“Same difference.”

“It is not.”

Regulus shifted the books against his chest.

“The fourth, sixth and ninth repeated material covered more clearly in the second. The seventh relied on an obsolete translation. The tenth was written by a man who believed prime numbers could feel romantic attraction.”

Pandora looked interested.

“He may have been right.”

“He was not.”

“You cannot know that.”

“I can know that five does not yearn.”

“Perhaps five is private.”

Evan reached over and took the top two books before they slid.

Regulus looked at him.

“I have them.”

“You had them badly.”

“I did not.”

“One was falling.”

“It had not fallen.”

“Because I caught it.”

Regulus glanced at the remaining stack.

Then at the books now tucked beneath Evan’s arm.

“All right.”

Barty slung an arm around Regulus’s shoulders.

“See? This is why we keep Rosier.”

Evan looked at him.

“We?”

“Yes.”

“You have contributed nothing today.”

“I contributed atmosphere.”

“You spilled ink on Regulus.”

“Atmosphere.”

Dorcas caught Barty by the back of his robes and pulled him away from Regulus before he could make the smaller boy drop the remaining books.

“Walk normally.”

“I am walking normally.”

“You are hanging sideways.”

“It’s expressive.”

“It’s irritating.”

Pandora drifted ahead of them, one hand trailing along the stone wall.

Evan watched her automatically.

“Pandora.”

“Yes?”

“Do not put your fingers in that crack.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“There may be something inside.”

“That is precisely why.”

Pandora withdrew her hand.

A moment later, something small and many-legged scuttled from the crack.

Barty recoiled.

“What the fuck was that?”

Pandora watched it disappear beneath a suit of armour.

“A friend.”

“That was not a friend.”

“You judge too quickly.”

“It had teeth on its knees.”

“An evolutionary triumph.”

They moved through the corridor at an easy pace, their conversation kept low.

Other students passed around them.

A pair of Hufflepuffs carrying a large box came from the opposite direction, and Evan moved closer to the wall to give them space. Dorcas caught the door for a group of second-years. Regulus paused when one of his books slipped, careful not to block the corridor while he rearranged the stack.

They were not saints.

Barty had once cursed a boy’s shoelaces to strangle each other.

Dorcas had broken a seventh-year’s nose with a textbook.

Pandora had convinced an entire History of Magic class that Professor Binns had been replaced by an unusually transparent spy.

Evan himself had a temper that had frightened people larger than him.

But they knew how to move through a shared space without treating everyone else as obstacles.

The approaching Gryffindors apparently did not.

They could be heard before they were seen.

A roar of voices rolled around the corner, followed by pounding feet, a shriek of laughter and the crash of someone colliding with a suit of armour.

“Move, move, move!”

“Potter, you’re cheating!”

“I am strategically advancing!”

“You shoved Peter!”

“Peter’s fine!”

“I’m not fine!”

“Keep running, Pettigrew!”

“Out of the way!”

The corridor erupted.

James Potter came around the corner first, sprinting backwards while shouting over his shoulder. His glasses sat crooked on his face, his hair was windswept and his tie hung loose.

Sirius was beside him, laughing so hard he nearly ran into the wall.

Peter followed, red-faced and wheezing.

Remus was walking more quickly than usual behind them, a book tucked beneath one arm, though his grin suggested he was enjoying the chaos far more than he pretended.

Lily, Mary, Marlene and Alice came in a loud cluster, all talking over one another.

Frank was trying to tell Fabian and Gideon to stop attempting to trip each other.

Neither listened.

They filled the corridor from wall to wall.

A third-year Ravenclaw flattened himself against a window as James rushed past.

Sirius clipped a Hufflepuff’s shoulder and sent the boy stumbling into his friend.

Marlene jumped over someone’s dropped bag rather than stopping.

Fabian deliberately hooked his foot around Gideon’s ankle.

Gideon staggered into Frank.

Frank hit the wall.

Mary laughed.

“Graceful!”

“Fuck off,” Gideon said, laughing too.

“Language,” Alice called brightly.

“You said worse at breakfast.”

“That was breakfast.”

“What does that change?”

“Everything.”

“They’re going to hit someone,” Dorcas muttered.

“They already have,” Evan said.

Regulus had gone quiet.

Not ordinary quiet.

Not comfortable quiet.

The particular silence that came over him when Sirius was near.

His shoulders tightened. His fingers closed around the books. His eyes dropped to the titles as though he had suddenly found them fascinating.

Evan noticed.

He always noticed.

Barty did too.

His grin vanished.

Pandora stopped trailing her fingers along the wall.

Dorcas moved half a step nearer to Regulus without looking at him.

The Gryffindors saw them.

James slowed first.

Sirius followed his gaze.

His laughter faded.

His eyes landed on Regulus.

The change in his face was immediate.

It was not simple dislike. Dislike could have passed without comment.

Sirius looked at his brother and saw an audience.

His mouth curled.

“Well, look who it is.”

Regulus kept his gaze on the books.

They were standing close to the wall already. There was more than enough room for the Gryffindors to pass.

Evan continued walking.

“Keep moving,” he murmured.

Regulus nodded once.

Sirius stepped directly into their path.

The others crowded behind him, still flushed from running.

James leaned against the wall, grinning.

Peter looked between the brothers expectantly.

Marlene folded her arms.

Mary whispered something to Alice that made both girls laugh.

Remus watched Regulus over the top of his book.

Lily’s eyebrows rose.

Fabian and Gideon exchanged matching smirks.

Frank rubbed the shoulder he had struck against the wall and looked relieved to have a new distraction.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Sirius asked.

Regulus stopped because Sirius had left him nowhere to go.

His eyes remained lowered.

“Yes.”

Sirius’s smile thinned.

“And?”

Regulus shifted one of the books.

“And what?”

Barty’s eyes flicked towards him.

It was not defiance.

Regulus sounded genuinely uncertain.

That seemed to irritate Sirius more than an insult would have.

“And are you planning to answer?”

“I just did.”

James snorted.

Sirius looked at him.

“See what I mean? He’s been spending too much time in the dungeons. They’ve taught him to be funny.”

“I don’t think that was a joke,” Peter said.

“That makes it funnier,” Mary replied.

Regulus’s grip tightened.

Evan could see the pale line across his knuckles.

Dorcas’s face hardened.

“Move,” she said.

Sirius glanced at her.

“I wasn’t speaking to you, Meadowes.”

“And yet I spoke anyway. Miraculous.”

Marlene laughed.

“Oh, she’s terrifying.”

Dorcas looked at her.

“You’ve got half a tie hanging out of your pocket.”

Marlene glanced down automatically.

There was nothing there.

Barty barked a laugh.

Marlene’s face darkened.

“Very mature.”

“I thought it was,” Barty said.

Sirius turned back to Regulus.

“So, what have we got here?”

His gaze dropped to the stack of library books.

“More instructions on how to become the perfect little pure-blood?”

Regulus said nothing.

James craned his neck to read the titles.

“Arithmancy.”

“How thrilling,” Sirius said. “Mother must be proud.”

Regulus’s face stayed blank.

Evan felt the anger begin low in his chest.

He had seen this too many times.

Sirius would prod.

Regulus would withdraw.

Sirius would become angrier because withdrawal denied him the fight he had come looking for.

Then he would push harder.

Every time.

“What’s the matter?” Sirius asked. “Lost your voice?”

Regulus looked to the side.

Not at Sirius.

At Evan.

Only for a fraction of a second.

A silent, instinctive glance.

Evan stepped forward.

“We are going to class.”

Sirius looked at him.

“No one asked you, Rosier.”

“I wasn’t asking permission.”

James straightened from the wall.

“Careful, mate. He always looks like he’s about to challenge someone to a duel at a funeral.”

Fabian laughed.

Gideon added, “Rosier probably schedules his expressions.”

“Half past two,” Mary said solemnly. “Glare at commoners.”

Alice covered a laugh with her hand.

Evan ignored them.

He looked directly at Sirius.

“Move.”

Sirius’s eyes flashed.

Behind Evan, Pandora said softly, “His left pupil is larger than his right.”

Barty glanced at Sirius.

“Is it?”

“Only when he is angry.”

“Fascinating.”

Sirius’s jaw tightened.

“Can you lot ever go anywhere without acting like escaped patients?”

Pandora smiled at him.

“Can you?”

Peter laughed.

Sirius whipped around.

Peter stopped at once.

Regulus remained silent.

Sirius faced him again.

“You know, I was having a perfectly good afternoon.”

“That seems unlikely,” Dorcas said.

Sirius ignored her.

“Then I had to see your face.”

Regulus swallowed.

Evan saw it.

No one else would have.

Regulus had perfected stillness too well.

Sirius took another step closer.

“You could at least look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Regulus’s eyes stayed on the floor.

“I don’t have anything to say.”

“Oh, he speaks.”

James grinned.

“Careful, Sirius. He might read an entire book at you.”

“Would improve the conversation,” Lily said.

She was smiling when she said it.

Regulus’s gaze flickered towards her and away again.

Lily saw.

Her smile remained.

Sirius reached out and tapped the top book with two fingers.

“What’s this one?”

Regulus did not answer.

Sirius knocked his fingers against it again.

“Come on. You’ve dragged half the library into the corridor. At least entertain us.”

“We have a lesson,” Regulus said quietly.

“So do we.”

“Then you should go.”

There was a pause.

Barty looked almost impressed.

Dorcas’s mouth twitched.

Evan did not smile.

He knew Sirius.

He saw the exact moment humiliation twisted into anger.

James made an exaggerated sound.

“Ooh.”

Marlene laughed.

“He told you.”

“He did not,” Sirius snapped.

“He sort of did,” Frank said.

Sirius looked at him.

Frank immediately studied the ceiling.

Regulus tried to step around Sirius.

Sirius moved with him.

Regulus tried the other side.

Sirius blocked that too.

“Where are you going?”

“To class.”

“Without saying goodbye?”

Regulus stared past his shoulder.

“Sirius.”

The name came out tired.

Not angry.

Not pleading.

Just tired.

For some reason, that seemed to enrage Sirius most of all.

He slapped the books from Regulus’s hands.

The sound cracked through the corridor.

Hard covers struck stone.

Parchment fluttered loose.

One book skidded beneath a bench.

Another landed open and bent beneath its own weight.

Regulus flinched.

His empty arms remained raised for a second, curved around the vanished stack.

The corridor went quiet.

Not completely.

A suit of armour rattled somewhere in the distance.

Students whispered at either end of the hall.

But the laughter around Sirius stopped long enough for the ugliness of the act to settle.

Then James snorted.

It was a small sound.

It was enough.

Sirius smiled again.

“There,” he said. “Now you’ve got something useful to do.”

Peter laughed.

Fabian bent to pick up one of the fallen sheets, glanced at it and whistled.

“Look at this handwriting.”

Gideon peered over his shoulder.

“Tiny.”

“Like him,” Marlene said.

Mary laughed.

Alice shook her head with a smile.

“Honestly, Black.”

Lily looked down at the scattered books.

“Bit dramatic.”

She did not bend to help.

Remus watched Regulus.

There was a faint crease between his brows, but he said nothing.

Frank looked uncomfortable.

He still said nothing.

Sirius leaned closer to his brother.

“What?” he asked. “Going to cry?”

Regulus’s face had gone colourless.

His eyes were fixed on the books.

“No.”

“You did at the Sorting.”

The words landed harder than the books had.

Regulus froze.

Sirius laughed.

“You thought no one noticed?”

James looked at Sirius.

There was surprise in his face.

Then amusement returned.

“You cried?”

Regulus said nothing.

“Oh, he did,” Sirius said. “Little silver tears. Very dignified.”

Barty moved.

Dorcas caught his wrist.

Not because she did not want Sirius hurt.

Because Evan had already stepped forward.

Evan placed one hand lightly against Regulus’s shoulder.

Regulus startled beneath it.

Evan’s voice changed at once.

“Back.”

Regulus looked at him.

Evan kept his eyes on Sirius.

“Come here.”

He drew Regulus behind him with a gentle tug.

Regulus went without resistance.

That frightened Evan more than anything.

Regulus was so accustomed to being moved around other people’s anger that he obeyed the slightest pressure automatically.

Barty was beside him at once.

“Reg.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

“You’re doing the voice.”

Regulus blinked.

“What voice?”

“The one where you sound like a ghost pretending to be a person.”

Dorcas crouched and began gathering the books.

“Did he catch your fingers?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Pandora stepped in front of Regulus and peered into his face.

He leaned back slightly.

Her expression was soft and distant.

“Your eyes are wet.”

“They are not.”

“They are.”

“Pandora.”

“You do not have to lie to us.”

Regulus looked away.

Barty put himself between Regulus and the Gryffindors.

His entire body had gone still, which was far more dangerous than when he shouted.

“I can bite him.”

“No,” Regulus whispered.

“Just once.”

“No.”

“A small bite.”

“Barty.”

“Fine.”

Dorcas rose with three books in her arms.

“One of the spines is damaged.”

Regulus looked down at it.

His lower lip tightened.

Pandora touched two fingers to his sleeve.

“We can repair it.”

“It belongs to the library.”

“Then the library will forgive you.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Dorcas said.

Regulus glanced towards Sirius.

That reflex.

That awful, automatic instinct to see whether his brother was angry.

Evan turned fully towards Sirius.

Sirius smirked.

“There he is.”

Evan said nothing.

Sirius lifted his chin.

“What? Going to give me another lecture about manners?”

Evan handed the two books he had been carrying to Dorcas.

“Hold these.”

Dorcas took them and stacked them with the others she had picked up.

Her eyes sharpened.

Barty’s face lit with sudden understanding.

“Oh.”

Regulus looked at Evan.

“Evan.”

Evan shrugged his bag from his shoulder and passed it back without turning.

“Take that.”

Regulus accepted it automatically.

“Evan.”

Sirius laughed.

“What are you doing?”

Evan stepped closer.

James pushed away from the wall.

“Easy, Rosier.”

Evan ignored him.

Sirius was still smiling.

He had no idea.

Of course he did not.

Sirius Black fought with a wand.

He fought with jokes and curses and an audience behind him.

He fought by being louder.

He had probably never been hit properly in his life.

Not by someone who knew how.

Evan knew how.

Felix had made certain of that.

Felix, who liked to turn every childhood disagreement into a contest.

Felix, who had taught Evan how to block by trying to break his nose at thirteen.

Felix, who was a prick but at least had the decency to expect people to hit him back.

Sirius spread his hands.

“What, Rosier? You going to—”

Evan punched him.

There was no warning.

No dramatic swing.

No shouted threat.

Evan planted his foot, turned his shoulder and drove his fist straight across Sirius’s face.

The crack echoed.

Sirius’s head snapped sideways.

His entire body followed a second later.

He stumbled into James, knocked James into Peter and nearly went down.

James caught his robes.

“What the fuck?”

Sirius jerked upright, stunned.

Blood appeared instantly beneath his nose.

His eyes were wide.

He looked at Evan as though Evan had violated some fundamental law of nature.

Evan hit him again.

This time, his fist caught Sirius in the mouth.

James had not released him.

That only kept Sirius upright long enough for the punch to land cleanly.

His knees buckled.

James lost his grip.

Sirius hit the floor.

Hard.

The back of his shoulder struck stone first. His head narrowly missed the wall.

A collective gasp rushed through the corridor.

No one laughed.

Evan stood over him.

His knuckles burned.

He barely noticed.

Sirius stared up from the floor, one hand pressed to his bleeding mouth.

For once in his life, he had nothing to say.

James found his voice first.

“Are you fucking insane?”

He lunged forward.

Dorcas moved between them.

She did not raise her wand.

She did not need to.

“Try it.”

James stopped.

Marlene came up beside him.

“You just hit him!”

Evan looked at her.

“Yes.”

“Twice!”

“I can count.”

Fabian stared at Sirius.

Gideon stared at Evan.

Peter had backed into the wall.

Alice’s hand covered her mouth.

Frank looked horrified.

Mary’s face had gone pale.

Lily stepped forward.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Evan turned his head.

“What is wrong with me?”

“You punched him!”

“He slapped five books out of Regulus’s hands and screamed in his face.”

“That doesn’t mean you can just—”

“Hit him?”

Evan’s voice was quiet.

Lily stopped.

Evan looked over the entire group.

“You all seemed to think it was funny when Sirius used his hands.”

No one answered.

Behind Evan, Regulus whispered, “Evan, please.”

Evan glanced back.

Regulus looked shaken.

Not frightened of him.

Worried for him.

That nearly undid Evan.

“I’m all right,” Evan said softly.

Regulus stared at his knuckles.

“You’re bleeding.”

Evan looked down.

The skin across one knuckle had split against Sirius’s teeth.

“It’s nothing.”

“You need to clean it.”

“I will.”

Sirius pushed himself up on one elbow.

“Get away from him.”

Evan’s head turned slowly.

Sirius wiped blood from his mouth with the heel of his hand.

His face was already beginning to swell.

“Did you hear me?” he snarled. “Get the fuck away from my brother.”

Something in Evan went cold.

Not hot.

Not wild.

Cold.

The sort of anger that narrowed the world into one clean line.

He took a step towards Sirius.

James moved in front of his friend this time.

“Don’t.”

Evan stopped.

Not because James had told him to.

Because Regulus’s fingers had caught the back of his sleeve.

A tiny grip.

A plea.

Evan stayed where he was.

Then he looked at Sirius over James’s shoulder.

“Your brother?”

Sirius’s face twisted.

“Yes.”

Evan laughed once.

There was no humour in it.

“That’s interesting.”

“Fuck you.”

“No. I think I’d like to understand.”

Evan tilted his head.

“When exactly is he your brother?”

Sirius glared at him.

“When you boo him in front of the entire school?”

Regulus’s grip tightened.

“When you mock him in corridors?”

Sirius’s nostrils flared.

“When you ignore him for weeks and then remember he exists because you need someone smaller than you to humiliate?”

“Shut up.”

“When you tell your friends stories about him crying?”

“I said shut up.”

“Or is he only your brother now because someone else stood between you?”

James glanced back at Sirius.

Sirius shoved himself to his feet.

He swayed.

James caught his arm.

Sirius ripped it away.

“You don’t know anything about us.”

“I know enough.”

“You know what he lets you know.”

Regulus flinched.

Evan saw it.

His voice sharpened.

“He does not need to tell me anything. I have eyes.”

Sirius spat blood onto the floor.

“Congratulations.”

“I saw him on his first night here.”

“Evan,” Regulus whispered.

Evan did not stop.

He had stopped too many times already.

He had swallowed too many words because Regulus feared scenes, because Regulus would rather be wounded quietly than defended loudly.

Enough.

“I saw you stand on a bench and boo an eleven-year-old boy who had done nothing except be sorted into the house you decided to hate.”

The Gryffindors went still.

Sirius’s jaw clenched.

“I saw him try not to cry because his older brother thought humiliating him was entertaining.”

“Don’t.”

“I saw him spend years watching you treat everyone around you better than you treated him.”

“Rosier.”

“I saw him wait for you to notice him.”

Sirius’s expression changed.

Only slightly.

Evan saw it.

So did Regulus.

Regulus’s fingers loosened from Evan’s sleeve.

Evan continued.

“I saw him look for you in every room when he was younger.”

Sirius’s face had gone white beneath the blood.

“He doesn’t—”

“He did.”

Evan’s voice cut through him.

“He looked for you at breakfast. He looked for you after Quidditch matches. He looked for you whenever people spoke about home. He looked for you every time the doors opened.”

Regulus stared down at the floor.

Pandora moved closer until her shoulder touched his.

Dorcas held the books tightly against her chest.

Barty’s eyes remained fixed on Sirius with open hatred.

“You ignored him,” Evan said. “And when ignoring him was not cruel enough, you mocked him.”

Sirius’s mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

James looked between them.

Remus’s face had lost all trace of amusement.

Lily crossed her arms, but the gesture now looked defensive rather than angry.

Mary stared at Regulus.

Alice lowered her hand from her mouth.

Frank looked at the scattered parchment around his shoes.

Fabian and Gideon were no longer smiling.

Evan took another step.

James did not move to stop him this time.

“You want to know what is wrong with me?” Evan asked. “I am tired of watching you treat him like something stuck to the bottom of your shoe.”

Sirius’s eyes flashed.

“He chose them.”

Regulus looked up.

The words seemed torn from Sirius.

“He chose all of this. He chose Slytherin. He chose them. He chose to become exactly what they wanted.”

The silence after that was terrible.

Regulus’s face went blank again.

Completely blank.

Evan knew that expression.

It meant something had struck too deep to show.

Evan looked at Sirius as though he were something rotten.

“He was eleven.”

Sirius said nothing.

“He was eleven,” Evan repeated. “He did not choose the Sorting Hat. He did not choose your parents. He did not choose to be left in that house after you decided you were too good for everyone in it.”

Sirius took a breath.

“You think you know what happened?”

“I know you left him there.”

“I was a child too!”

“So was he.”

That stopped him.

Evan’s voice did not rise.

It did not need to.

“You were a child, and you were hurt, and you were angry. Fine. But you have spent years making a younger child pay for it.”

Sirius’s face crumpled for half a second.

Then fury returned to cover it.

“He defended them.”

“He survived them.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know Regulus.”

“No, you don’t.”

Evan smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

“I know he hates pears but eats them when they are served because he does not like wasting food.”

Regulus blinked.

Sirius stared.

“I know he reads the last page of a book first when he is anxious because he cannot stand not knowing whether anyone survives.”

Regulus’s cheeks coloured faintly.

“I know he sleeps with the window open even in winter. I know he pretends he dislikes sweets and steals the sugared almonds from Pandora’s plate. I know he reorganises his notes when he is frightened. I know he cannot ask for help directly, so he stands beside me until I notice.”

Evan’s throat tightened.

He ignored it.

“I know he apologises when other people hurt him. I know he still looks at you when you enter a room.”

Sirius looked at Regulus.

Regulus looked away.

Evan stepped fully between them.

“You do not get to tell me I do not know him.”

Sirius’s voice came out rough.

“He’s my brother.”

“No.”

The word was immediate.

Sirius stared.

Evan did not blink.

“No, he isn’t.”

Regulus looked sharply at Evan.

Everyone did.

Evan’s voice remained steady.

“A brother does not do what you do.”

Sirius’s lip curled, though the expression trembled.

“You don’t decide that.”

“You did.”

“What?”

“You decided it every time you looked through him. Every time you laughed at him. Every time you chose your friends over him and then used those friends as an audience while you made him smaller.”

Sirius’s hands curled into fists.

Evan looked down at them.

“Careful.”

Sirius glanced at the blood on his sleeve.

His fists loosened.

Evan’s gaze lifted again.

“You are not the only person who can get a new brother.”

The words landed in the corridor like a spell.

Regulus stopped breathing.

Pandora’s head turned towards Evan.

Barty’s expression shifted.

Even Dorcas looked surprised.

Evan did not look back.

He kept his eyes on Sirius.

“You replaced him years ago.”

James flinched.

Sirius did too.

Evan nodded towards the crowd behind him.

“You found yourself brothers everywhere. Potter. Lupin. Pettigrew. The Prewetts. Longbottom. Anyone who laughed loudly enough when you performed.”

No one moved.

“So Regulus found one too.”

Sirius stared at him.

Evan’s voice dropped.

“I am his brother.”

Regulus made a tiny sound behind him.

Evan felt it more than heard it.

Sirius looked from Evan to Regulus.

Regulus’s face had finally cracked.

His eyes were wide.

Not with fear.

With shock.

As though Evan had said something impossible.

Something Regulus had never allowed himself to imagine.

Evan continued before he lost the nerve.

“I have been his brother for years.”

Sirius shook his head.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I was there.”

Evan’s anger sharpened each word.

“I was there when he started Hogwarts. I was there when he got lost. I was there when he was sick. I was there after your family’s letters. I was there after you humiliated him. I was there every time he needed someone and you had decided he did not deserve you.”

Sirius’s eyes shone.

He blinked hard.

Evan felt no pity.

Not then.

“You are not necessary to him anymore.”

Regulus’s breath caught.

Sirius looked as though Evan had struck him a third time.

Evan did not stop.

“He does not need you.”

“Evan,” Regulus said softly.

Evan finally looked back.

Regulus stared at him.

His eyes were wet now.

Pandora’s fingers were wrapped around his wrist.

Barty stood pressed close against his other side.

Dorcas held his books.

Regulus looked from them to Evan, as though seeing the shape of the group for the first time.

Evan’s anger loosened.

His voice softened immediately.

“He doesn’t.”

Regulus swallowed.

Sirius spoke behind him.

“Regulus.”

Regulus flinched at his name.

Evan turned back.

Sirius had stepped around James.

Blood marked his mouth and chin. His cheek was reddening. His expression was no longer mocking.

For the first time Evan could remember, Sirius looked at Regulus without contempt.

It was too late.

“Regulus,” Sirius said again.

Regulus did not answer.

Sirius took a step.

Evan moved in front of him.

“No.”

Sirius’s eyes snapped to his.

“Move.”

“No.”

“I need to speak to him.”

“You have spoken to him enough.”

“That is not your decision.”

Evan glanced over his shoulder.

“Regulus?”

Regulus stared at Sirius.

The entire corridor waited.

His lips parted.

Nothing came out.

Sirius’s face shifted, almost hopeful.

Regulus looked at Evan.

Then at Pandora, Barty and Dorcas.

He looked down at the books gathered in Dorcas’s arms.

His voice was barely audible.

“I want to go to class.”

Evan nodded at once.

“All right.”

Sirius took another step.

“Reg—”

Barty spun around.

“Do not.”

Sirius stopped.

Barty smiled at him.

There was nothing wild or playful in it.

“You heard him.”

“He didn’t say he wouldn’t talk to me.”

“He said he wanted to leave.”

“He’s my—”

Barty’s smile vanished.

“Finish that sentence and Rosier won’t be the only one who hits you.”

“Barty,” Regulus whispered.

Barty looked back at him.

The fury left his face at once.

“What?”

“Please.”

Barty breathed through his nose.

Then he nodded.

“Fine.”

Dorcas handed the damaged book to Evan.

“You should carry these.”

“I can carry them,” Regulus said.

Four heads turned towards him.

Regulus frowned faintly.

“I can.”

“Your hands are shaking,” Pandora said.

Regulus looked down.

They were.

He curled his fingers into his palms.

“I’m fine.”

“No,” Evan said gently. “You’re not.”

Regulus’s throat moved.

Evan adjusted the five books beneath one arm.

“You don’t have to be.”

Regulus stared at him.

Behind them, the Gryffindors remained silent.

Evan reached for his bag.

Regulus was still holding it.

Their fingers brushed.

Regulus tightened his grip on the strap.

“I’ll carry this.”

Evan looked at him.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“All right.”

Regulus slipped the strap over his shoulder.

It hung too low.

Evan reached out automatically and shortened it.

Regulus stood still while he did.

“There.”

“Thank you.”

Evan checked his face.

“Did any of the books hit you?”

“No.”

“Your feet?”

“No.”

“Your hands?”

“No.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

“Headache?”

“Not yet.”

“Tell me if you get one.”

“I will.”

Barty leaned in.

“Do you want me to carry you?”

Regulus blinked.

“No.”

“I could.”

“I am aware.”

“You’re very portable.”

“I am not luggage.”

“Debatable.”

Dorcas elbowed him aside.

“Stop.”

Pandora looked at Evan’s hand.

“Your knuckle is bleeding more.”

Regulus’s attention snapped to it.

“I told you.”

“It’s a scratch.”

“It requires cleaning.”

Evan smiled despite everything.

“Yes, all right.”

“Now.”

“We have Arithmancy.”

“You could develop an infection.”

“From Sirius?”

Pandora considered the blood on Sirius’s mouth.

“Possible.”

Barty looked delighted.

“Do you think he’s venomous?”

Sirius’s face twisted.

Dorcas’s mouth twitched.

Regulus stared at Evan’s hand.

“We should go to the hospital wing.”

“It can wait.”

“No.”

Evan raised an eyebrow.

Regulus rarely sounded firm.

It was almost endearing.

“Is that an order?”

Regulus hesitated.

“Yes.”

Evan smiled properly this time.

“All right.”

Regulus’s expression softened with relief.

Only slightly.

Enough.

Evan turned towards the end of the corridor.

Pandora moved with him.

Dorcas followed, books in her arms.

Barty remained facing the Gryffindors for one final second.

He pointed two fingers at his own eyes, then at Sirius.

“I’m watching you.”

Dorcas caught the back of his collar.

“Walk.”

“I was being threatening.”

“You looked ridiculous.”

“I looked sinister.”

“You looked cross-eyed.”

“I cannot help the shape of my fingers.”

She dragged him around.

Barty stumbled after her.

Regulus stood where he was for one heartbeat longer.

Sirius looked at him.

“Regulus.”

The word was quiet now.

No laughter.

No audience in it.

Regulus’s shoulders rose.

Evan almost stepped back between them again.

Then Regulus spoke.

“You broke a library book.”

Sirius stared.

Regulus looked down at the damaged spine in Evan’s arms.

His voice remained flat, but Evan heard the tremor beneath it.

“I will have to repair it.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did.”

Sirius opened his mouth.

Regulus looked at him at last.

His eyes were bright.

“You always make things mine to fix.”

Sirius went still.

Regulus turned away.

Evan waited for him.

Regulus came to his side.

They walked.

No one followed.

The corridor remained silent behind them until they turned the corner.

Then Barty exhaled explosively.

“Holy fucking shit.”

Dorcas smacked the back of his head with a book.

“Ow!”

“Volume.”

“He punched Sirius Black into the floor.”

“I was present.”

“Twice.”

“I can count.”

“That was magnificent.”

Evan flexed his aching hand.

“It was necessary.”

“It was art.”

“It was a punch.”

“Art can be a punch.”

Pandora looked thoughtful.

“Most art is.”

Regulus had stopped walking.

Evan noticed after two steps and turned.

Regulus stood in the centre of the empty corridor, staring at him.

The others stopped too.

“What is it?” Evan asked.

Regulus said nothing.

His face had returned to blankness, but the effort of holding it there was visible now. His mouth pressed into a thin line. His eyes remained too wide.

Evan shifted the books.

“Regulus?”

“You said—”

His voice failed.

He looked down.

Evan waited.

Regulus tried again.

“You said you were my brother.”

Barty went very still.

Dorcas’s expression softened.

Pandora smiled.

Evan looked at Regulus.

The anger was gone now, leaving something heavier behind.

He had not planned to say it.

He had known it, perhaps, without naming it. He had felt it every time Regulus looked for him, every time he fixed a strap or opened a jar or stood between Regulus and something cruel.

But he had never said it.

Regulus had never heard it.

Evan put the books down carefully on the windowsill.

Then he faced him fully.

“Yes.”

Regulus looked at the floor.

“You were angry.”

“I was.”

“People say things when they’re angry.”

“They do.”

“Things they do not mean.”

Evan’s chest ached.

He took one slow step forward.

Regulus did not retreat.

“I meant it.”

Regulus’s fingers tightened around the strap of Evan’s bag.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

“You already have Pandora.”

Pandora tilted her head.

“I do not consume the entire sibling allowance.”

Regulus glanced at her.

She smiled.

“You may share.”

His mouth trembled.

He looked back at Evan.

“And Felix.”

Evan grimaced.

“I try not to.”

Barty snorted.

Even Regulus let out a faint breath that might have been a laugh.

Evan continued.

“Felix is our brother because we were born into the same family. Pandora is my sister because we were born together and because I would tear the world apart for her.”

Pandora’s dreamy smile became something warmer.

Evan looked at Regulus.

“You are my brother because I chose you.”

Regulus’s eyes filled completely.

He looked away at once.

Evan pretended not to notice for exactly one second.

Then Regulus scrubbed the heel of his hand beneath one eye, furious with himself.

“Sorry.”

“Do not apologise.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

Regulus’s shoulders folded inward.

Evan stepped closer.

“May I?”

Regulus looked at him.

Evan opened one arm.

He did not touch him.

He waited.

Regulus stared at the invitation as though he did not understand it.

Then he moved.

Quickly.

Almost angrily.

He stepped into Evan and buried his face against Evan’s shoulder.

Evan wrapped both arms around him.

Regulus was smaller.

He always had been.

Thin beneath his robes, tense as wire, holding himself rigid even in an embrace.

Evan placed one hand against the back of his head.

“It’s all right.”

Regulus shook his head.

Evan felt the first sob before he heard it.

It was tiny.

Choked off at once.

Regulus gripped the front of Evan’s robes.

“I’m sorry.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for.”

“I didn’t—”

His breath hitched.

Evan held him tighter.

“You don’t have to explain.”

Regulus pressed his face harder against his shoulder.

The books sat forgotten on the windowsill.

Barty looked abruptly at the ceiling.

Dorcas looked at the floor.

Pandora stepped closer and placed one hand between Regulus’s shoulder blades.

“You have always been ours,” she said softly.

Regulus’s fingers twisted in Evan’s robes.

Barty sniffed.

Everyone looked at him.

He glared.

“Dust.”

“There is no dust,” Dorcas said.

“There is emotional dust.”

“That is not a thing.”

“It is now.”

Dorcas’s own eyes were suspiciously bright.

Barty pointed at her.

“You’re doing it too.”

“I will kill you.”

“See? Emotional.”

Regulus laughed against Evan’s shoulder.

It came out broken and wet.

Evan smiled.

“There he is.”

Regulus drew back enough to look at him.

His face was flushed. Tears clung to his lashes. He looked younger than he had in years.

“You really meant it?”

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

“Yes.”

“That you don’t mind when I ask you for things?”

Evan frowned.

“You barely ask me for anything.”

“I do.”

“You stand near me and stare at objects.”

Regulus’s ears went red.

“I do not.”

“You do,” Dorcas said.

“You held a jar beside his head for five minutes last week,” Barty added.

“I was waiting.”

“For what?”

“For him to finish speaking.”

“You did not say anything when he finished.”

“I assumed he would notice.”

Evan smiled.

“I noticed.”

Regulus looked at him.

“I don’t annoy you?”

“No.”

“Not even when I lose things?”

“You rarely lose things.”

“I lost my gloves.”

“Pandora took them.”

Pandora lifted one hand.

“They were soft.”

Regulus stared at her.

“You said the staircase ate them.”

“It may have.”

“You had them?”

“For part of the time.”

“Pandora.”

She smiled.

“I can return one.”

“Where is the other?”

“I do not know.”

Evan sighed.

“I’ll get you new gloves.”

Regulus looked at him at once.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

Something changed in Regulus’s face.

A small understanding.

He looked down, then back up.

“All right.”

Evan put a hand on his shoulder.

“Good.”

Barty flung both arms around them.

Evan grunted.

Regulus nearly vanished between them.

“What are you doing?”

“Family embrace.”

“You are crushing him.”

“I am contributing.”

Dorcas caught Barty by the ear.

He yelped.

“Get off.”

“Violence during a tender moment!”

“You are standing on Regulus’s foot.”

Barty jumped back.

Regulus looked down at his shoe.

“Sorry.”

Four voices answered at once.

“Stop apologising.”

Regulus blinked.

Pandora smiled dreamily.

“We are becoming synchronised.”

“That is horrifying,” Dorcas said.

“It is beautiful.”

“It can be both,” Barty replied.

Evan picked up the books again.

Regulus wiped his face with his sleeve.

Evan handed him the handkerchief he always carried.

Regulus accepted it without protest.

“Thank you.”

“Keep it.”

“I’ll wash it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

Evan glanced at him.

Regulus’s mouth twitched.

They resumed walking.

This time, Regulus stayed close enough that their shoulders brushed.

He did not seem to notice.

Or perhaps he did.

Behind them, around the corner, the Gryffindors remained exactly where they had been left.

For several seconds after the Slytherins disappeared, no one spoke.

Sirius stood in the centre of the corridor with blood drying beneath his nose.

His cheek had begun to swell.

One of Regulus’s abandoned sheets of parchment lay near his shoe.

James bent to pick it up.

Sirius flinched.

James paused.

“It’s just parchment.”

“I know.”

James straightened.

The page was covered in neat, tiny writing.

At the top, Regulus had written his name.

Regulus Arcturus Black.

The letters were controlled and elegant.

James looked at them for a long moment.

Then he held the page out.

Sirius did not take it.

Peter cleared his throat.

“That was…”

No one helped him finish.

Marlene rubbed the back of her neck.

“He hit you hard.”

Sirius laughed.

The sound was empty.

“Thank you, McKinnon.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“What did you mean?”

Marlene’s mouth closed.

Mary looked towards the corner where the five had vanished.

“Did he really cry at the Sorting?”

Sirius turned on her.

“What?”

“You said he cried.”

“So?”

Mary’s face changed.

“It was funny five minutes ago.”

Sirius stared at her.

“It wasn’t funny,” Alice said quietly.

Everyone looked at her.

Alice’s hands were clasped together.

She looked pale.

“I laughed,” she continued. “But it wasn’t funny.”

Frank looked down.

“No.”

Fabian shifted his weight.

Gideon shoved his hands into his pockets.

Lily exhaled sharply.

“Rosier still shouldn’t have punched him.”

Remus looked at her.

“No.”

Lily seized on the agreement.

“Exactly.”

Remus closed his book.

“He should have stopped after the first one.”

There was a silence.

James looked at him.

“Moony.”

“What?”

“You’re joking.”

Remus’s face was unreadable.

“I don’t know.”

Sirius wiped at his mouth again.

“Brilliant.”

Remus looked at him.

“You slapped Regulus’s books out of his hands.”

“So?”

“And mocked him for crying when he was eleven.”

Sirius’s eyes narrowed.

“You laughed.”

“Yes.”

The answer came without defence.

Remus looked towards the scattered parchment.

“I did.”

James folded the page in half carefully.

“We all did.”

Peter looked sick.

Sirius gave another broken laugh.

“Are you all going to turn on me now?”

“No one is turning on you,” James said.

“Sounds like it.”

“You were being a prick.”

Sirius stared at him.

James’s jaw tightened.

“You were.”

“He’s my brother.”

“Then why did you do that?”

The question hit harder than any accusation.

Sirius looked away.

James stepped closer.

“Why?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it.”

Sirius’s face twisted.

“He looks at me like—”

He stopped.

“Like what?” Remus asked.

Sirius stared at the floor.

“Like I left him.”

No one spoke.

The corridor seemed colder.

James’s expression softened.

“Sirius.”

“I did leave him.”

His voice cracked.

He clenched his jaw at once.

“But he stayed. He did everything they wanted. He wore the robes and learned the names and sat there like—like none of it mattered.”

“He was eleven,” Frank said.

Sirius looked at him.

Frank swallowed but did not take it back.

“He was eleven.”

The same words Evan had used.

Sirius closed his eyes.

Mary leaned against the wall.

“We laughed.”

Marlene grimaced.

“Yes.”

“At him.”

“Yes, Mary.”

“He didn’t even say anything.”

Lily looked at the bent book still lying near the bench.

Her face tightened.

Alice crouched and picked it up.

The spine was cracked.

She held it carefully.

“We should take these back.”

Sirius opened his eyes.

“Leave them.”

“They belong to the library.”

“He’ll come back.”

“No,” Remus said.

Sirius looked at him.

Remus’s voice was quiet.

“He won’t.”

Sirius stared towards the corner.

James finally held out the folded parchment again.

Sirius took it this time.

His bloody thumb left a faint mark beside Regulus’s name.

He stared at it.

Behind the blankness of his face, something collapsed.

“He used to follow me everywhere,” Sirius said.

No one moved.

“When we were little.”

His voice sounded far away.

“He’d sit outside my room if Mother locked me in. Didn’t say anything. Just sat there.”

James watched him carefully.

Sirius’s fingers tightened around the parchment.

“I told him to go away.”

Remus lowered his eyes.

“He never did.”

Sirius laughed once, breathlessly.

“Until Hogwarts.”

The corridor remained silent.

A bell rang in the distance.

Their lesson was beginning.

No one moved.

Sirius looked down at the blood on his hand.

Then at the corner where Evan had led Regulus away.

“He said he was his brother.”

James did not pretend not to understand.

“Yes.”

Sirius’s eyes burned.

“He can’t just decide that.”

Remus’s expression was tired.

“I think Regulus can.”

Sirius looked at him.

For once, he had no answer.

Far away, in a quieter corridor leading towards the hospital wing, Regulus walked between Evan and Pandora.

Barty and Dorcas argued behind them about whether a punch could be classified as visual art.

Pandora had stolen the handkerchief from Regulus and was using one corner to wipe the remaining tear tracks from his face because she claimed he was doing it inefficiently.

Regulus tolerated this for nearly twenty seconds before taking it back.

Evan carried the books beneath one arm, though Regulus had offered three times to take them.

His knuckles hurt.

He was going to receive detention.

Professor McGonagall would probably send a letter home.

Felix would hear about it and become unbearable.

His father might shout.

His mother would certainly ask whether he had damaged his face.

Evan did not regret it.

Not once.

Regulus glanced at him again.

Evan caught the look.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

Regulus looked ahead.

After another few steps, he spoke.

“Evan?”

“Yes?”

A pause.

“Could you help me repair the book later?”

Evan smiled.

“Of course.”

Regulus nodded.

His shoulder brushed Evan’s again.

This time, he left it there.

And Evan, who had spent his life watching doors, counting heads and carrying buckets behind Pandora, adjusted the books in his arms and walked on beside his brother.