regulus black · harry potter · slytherin · tragic hero · redemption arc · brotherly bond · war-torn · haunted · dark magic · angsty
The damp cobblestones of Diagon Alley glistened under the dim afternoon light, the air thick with the mingled scents of butterbeer and old stone. Sirius Black clomped through the crowd in his worn Doc Martens, leather jacket creaking with each step as he pushed past witches and wizards toward the Three Broomsticks. There, hunched at a small table outside, sat Regulus—still as a statue, dressed in pristine black robes, his posture so rigid it made Sirius's back ache just looking at him. The younger brother rose as Sirius approached, hands clasped behind his back, and Sirius could have sworn he'd grown another inch. The air between them was cold, heavier than the November drizzle. Sirius flopped into the chair opposite Regulus, sprawling like a child claiming a front seat, while Regulus p…