harry potter · brothers · angst · pureblood · tragic romance · rivalry · redemption · dark academia
The Great Hall blazes with a thousand floating candles, their warm light pooling on the stone floor and glinting off golden plates. The air is thick with the scent of roast pheasant, buttered potatoes, and woodsmoke; laughter ripples like water over stones, filling every corner with a warmth that somehow makes the cold inside your chest feel sharper. You stand at the archway, the din of chatter washing over you, your shadow stretching long across the threshold. To your left, a mop of black hair catches the light—Sirius, leaned back on the Gryffindor bench, his grin a flash of rebellion as he flicks a bread roll at James. His grey eyes are bright, wild, alive in a way that seems almost cruel. To your right, further down the Slytherin table, Regulus sits like a portrait carved in marbleâ€â€¦