26th January 1973

Dearest, Mother and Father,

I do hope this letter finds you well (or, at the very least, in a state of mild distress at having received it). I must apologise for my lack of correspondence—I've been terribly busy corrupting my noble bloodline and doing my utmost to bring shame upon the family name. It's exhausting work, really, but one must remain dedicated to one's cause.

Now, I bring you news that I know will positively thrill you. My appreciation for Muggles has grown beyond even my wildest expectations. I now actively seek out their company and have begun studying their fascinating customs. Just the other day, I had a fascinating chat with a Muggle-born and discovered 'small talk', a Muggle tradition where they engage in pointless discussions about the weather, for example, for no discernible reason. Imagine my distress upon learning that these conversations contain zero useful information. No gossip. No hex threats. No concealed family insults. Just, "Bit chilly today, isn't it?"—AND THEN THEY JUST MOVE ON. Utter madness.

Speaking of Muggle delights, you'll be overjoyed to hear that I have been introduced to football. No brooms. No Bludgers. Just feet. They run. For ninety minutes. On purpose. The goal is to kick a ball—a completely non-magical, non-sentient ball—into a giant net, and if you use your hands, you get yelled at by a tiny man in a black uniform. Riveting stuff, truly. Remus, my half-blood friend, is obsessed with it.

Forever a disgrace,

Sirius Orion Black

Sirius smirked as he signed the letter, imagining his mother's face turning a delicate shade of purple upon reading it. He knew she'd likely tear it up rather than respond, but that wasn't the point. The point was getting under her skin.

Satisfied, he folded the letter and sent it off with his owl, Barnaby, out of the dormitory window. Before sprawling back onto his bed with a sigh. He didn't expect a reply, and honestly, he didn't want one.

Which was why, three days later, when a familiar owl dropped a letter onto his plate at breakfast, Sirius nearly choked on his pumpkin juice.

James leaned over. "Not your mum, is it?"

Sirius frowned at the wax seal, dread pooling in his stomach as he recognized the insignia—not his parents' mark, but still unmistakably Black.

"It's from Regulus," he muttered, breaking the seal with slightly unsteady fingers.

The parchment was smooth and crisp, the ink perfectly neat, written in Regulus' careful, controlled hand.

Brother,

If your goal was to humiliate yourself further, congratulations. The entire house has read your pathetic attempt at rebellion, and Mother nearly burned the dining room curtains in rage. Father thinks you've lost all sense, but let's be honest—he's thought that for years.

You think this is funny, don't you? You think taunting them, mocking everything we were raised to believe, makes you better than us. It doesn't. It just proves how desperate you are to belong somewhere else. It's pathetic, Sirius. Stop embarrassing yourself and come home. Be the son you were meant to be before you make things even worse.

Regulus

Sirius stared at the letter, his vision blurring at the edges. He could hear James saying something beside him, but the words weren't registering.

He'd expected silence. He'd expected rage. He hadn't expected this—his brother, not spewing hatred, not disowning him outright, but pleading. Urging him to change.

And the worst part was, for a brief, fleeting moment, Sirius wanted to.

That night, Sirius sat on the windowsill in their dormitory, the crumpled letter clutched in his hand. The rest of the boys were already asleep, save for James, who sat cross-legged on his own bed, watching him closely.

"You're brooding," James noted, breaking the silence.

Sirius huffed. "Brilliant observation, Potter. You ought to be a detective."

James ignored the bite in his tone. "It's about the letter, isn't it?"

Sirius didn't answer for a moment, then sighed heavily. "It's just... I know Regulus meant what he said. He really believes all that rubbish about me embarrassing myself. That I should just fall in line, be who they want me to be. And part of me—"

James sat up straighter. "Don't even say it, Sirius."

Sirius let out a humorless chuckle. "Relax. It's just... I don't know. Reg and I used to get on. Before Hogwarts, before I got sorted into Gryffindor. And now? He thinks I'm nothing but a disappointment."

James frowned. "He's wrong."

Sirius snorted. "Of course you'd say that."

"Because it's true. You're not a disappointment, Sirius. You're the best bloke I know. You're brave, and you stand up for what you believe in, and you're not afraid to call out bullshit when you see it. You're not embarrassing yourself. They are."

Sirius swallowed, something thick settling in his throat. "You're not just saying that because I let you copy my Transfiguration homework?"

James grinned. "That's maybe like 60% of the reason."

For the first time all day, Sirius laughed. And as he stared down at Regulus' letter, the words no longer felt quite as heavy.

…

Sirius wasn't in the mood to sit still.

The common room had started to feel too small, too warm, too suffocating, so he slipped out, making his way through the quiet corridors and down the stairs leading to the greenhouses. The cold night air hit him as he stepped outside, and he exhaled sharply, pulling a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He wasn't even sure why he had started carry them—just another bad habit, one his mother would loathe—but tonight, he didn't care.

He lit one with a flick of his wand and took a slow drag, letting the smoke curl around him as he leaned against the side of Greenhouse Three. The scent of damp earth mixed with the sharp, bitter smell of the cigarette, grounding him. For a moment, the weight of Regulus' letter, of all the expectations and disappointments, felt a little lighter.

"Didn't take you for a smoker, Black."

Sirius exhaled, glancing sideways. Marlene McKinnon stood a few feet away, arms crossed, her usual smirk softened by the dim moonlight. Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, and she was eyeing him with mild amusement.

"Didn't take you for someone who cared," Sirius shot back lazily, offering her the pack. "Want one?"

Marlene shook her head, pulling out her own pack of cigarettes. She lit it with her wand whilst holding it in her mouth. Eerily, Sirius had made that same action two minutes previous. It was like watching his reflection.

They stood in silence for a while, smoking in tandem, the only sound the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. It wasn't awkward, though. Marlene was one of the few people Sirius didn't feel the need to fill the silence around.

"So," she finally said, flicking ash onto the ground. "What's got you moping out here instead of basking in your adoring fan club in the common room?"

Sirius sighed, tipping his head back against the glass. "Family drama. The usual."

Marlene hummed. "Let me guess. Your mum thinks you're a disgrace, your dad's pretending you don't exist, and Regulus is trying to guilt you into taking your rightful place as the Black family heir?"

Sirius turned to stare at her. "Are you a Seer?"

She smirked. "No, just not blind."

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "You'd think I'd be used to it by now. But Reg…" His fingers tightened around the cigarette. "He actually thinks I should change. Like it's still an option. Like I'd even want to."

Marlene was quiet for a moment before nudging his shoulder with hers. "Well, do you?"

Sirius scoffed. "What, go back and play heir to the Black name? Yeah, right."

"That's not what I meant. Do you want Regulus to be in your life?" she asked

The question hit him harder than he expected. He opened his mouth to snap out a response, but nothing came. Because the truth was… yeah. He did. Not the way his family wanted, not as the 'perfect' sons they had been raised to be. But as brothers—the way they used to be, before their family had torn them apart.

"Yeah," Sirius admitted quietly. "But I don't think he wants me. Not really. Just the version of me he thinks I should be."

Marlene took another slow drag of her cigarette before blowing the smoke into the night air. "Well, that's his loss."

Sirius turned to look at her, and for once, she wasn't smirking. Just watching him with something like understanding in her expression.

"Yeah," he murmured. "Guess it is."

They stayed there a little longer, finishing their cigarettes in silence. And when Sirius finally walked back inside, he felt just a little steadier.