"I know you had a reason for what you did." Lily's laughter faded, her expression turning serious. "You're not the type to bully someone for no reason. But I'll admit, I couldn't figure it out at first. I don't know the rules and hierarchies of Pure-blood families, but I know Britain has its aristocracy, its titles, its traditions of dueling over family honor. It's just... that world is so far removed from ordinary people. To me, those are plots in novels and films, not things that happen in real life."
She watched Regulus's reaction. When she mentioned films, his expression didn't flicker with confusion.
He remained calm, even a touch encouraging.
"I thought about it for a long time afterward," Lily continued. "I realized you were protecting your family's honor? Dignity? But the methods were... intense."
She glanced at him again. No anger, no rebuttal. He listened in silence.
"Later, Marcia Fawley explained a few things. She said in Pure-blood circles, certain lines can't be crossed. A lower-ranking family can't publicly treat the heir of a higher-ranking family that way. She said you weren't bullying anyone. You were drawing a boundary."
Her voice dropped, as though the concept still didn't sit comfortably in her understanding.
"Anyway." Lily lifted her chin and met his eyes. "You're my friend, so I'll support you. And now that I know why you did it, even if I don't fully understand those reasons, I accept that they exist. So no, I don't think you were wrong."
She finished and looked at him, a little tense.
Regulus looked back.
Lily was trying. She'd grown up in an ordinary household, both parents Muggles. She'd walked into Hogwarts and found herself in an alien world of moving staircases, talking portraits, owl post, and people who valued bloodline and family honor above all else.
She'd tried to make sense of his actions through her own logic. That logic didn't perfectly map onto Pure-blood customs, but she'd made the effort. She'd even gone to a Pure-blood roommate to understand the other side's perspective.
And her conclusion was simple: a friend's actions have reasons. I may not understand all of them, but I'm on your side.
Something quiet and warm flickered through Regulus's eyes. Lily caught it and shot him a look. "What's that face? You look like a teacher watching a student finally get the right answer."
He didn't take the bait. Just nodded, his tone even. "You're right. That's exactly what it was."
They held each other's gaze for a few seconds before Lily looked away first, the corner of her mouth curving up.
They read in companionable silence after that. The library was still, broken only by Madam Pince's occasional snore and the soft rustle of turning pages. Sunlight slanted through the high windows, casting bright bands across the oak table, dust motes dancing in the light.
When the feast drew near, they closed their books and stood.
"Happy holidays," Regulus said.
"See you next term," Lily said.
She paused at the door and looked back. "Write to me, if your family owl can find my house."
"It will," Regulus said.
Lily smiled, turned, and left.
---
The end-of-term feast. The Great Hall was draped in Slytherin silver and green.
The enchanted ceiling reflected a summer night sky, candles floated overhead, and the long tables groaned under mountains of food.
Dumbledore rose and tapped his glass.
"Another year behind us." His voice rang clear and strong. "First, the House Cup standings."
No surprises. Slytherin first.
Ravenclaw second, Gryffindor third, Hufflepuff fourth.
The Slytherin table broke into restrained applause. A few upperclassmen raised their goblets in acknowledgment.
Over at the Gryffindor table, several students glared at James and Sirius, the house's premier point-hemorrhagers. Fighting alone had cost them fifty points.
James and Sirius couldn't have cared less. They leapt to their feet, cheering, whistling, banging their plates until they clattered.
McGonagall fixed them with a stare. They sat down, grins undiminished.
Dumbledore continued.
"To our graduating seventh-years." His gaze swept toward the students at the far end of the tables, dressed in fresh robes. "Hogwarts will always be your school. The world beyond these walls is more complicated than a castle, and the choices harder than any classroom assignment. But remember this: magic isn't only power. It's responsibility. What you do with it, what kind of person you become... the answers to those questions determine which path you walk."
His blue eyes, behind those half-moon spectacles, moved across the hall.
"Do what is right," he said. "Not what is easy. Sometimes the two align. Sometimes they pull in opposite directions. When that happens, the judgment must be yours."
The message was clear enough.
Among the seventh-years, some bowed their heads. Others gripped their goblets. A few exchanged glances with their neighbors.
Dumbledore raised his glass one final time. "A happy holiday to all. See you in September."
The feast carried on in a swell of noise. At the Slytherin table, Cuthbert was outlining his summer plans. His family had an estate in France, and he'd be spending two weeks there. Alex mentioned, half under his breath, that he wanted to visit a magical zoo in Germany. Hermes said nothing, though his gaze lingered on Regulus for a moment.
Regulus waited for the feast to end.
When the crowd began flowing toward the doors, he stood, crossed the Great Hall, and walked toward the Gryffindor table.
James Potter spotted him first. The grin vanished from his face instantly, his body tilting forward like a hound coiling to spring.
Regulus stopped two paces away. His gaze passed over James entirely and landed on Sirius.
"Father wants you home."
The words were for Sirius, but James reacted as if someone had stepped on his tail.
"Home?" His voice pitched higher, raw with anger. "Back to that place? What for? Sirius isn't happy there! Your whole Pure-blood supremacist garbage, those portraits nagging on and on, and your crazy..."
He didn't finish. Sirius's hand clamped down on his shoulder, hard.
"James."
James turned to look at him, chest heaving, and fell silent.
Regulus hadn't spared James a single glance. His eyes stayed on Sirius the entire time.
Sirius stared at his shoes.
He'd gotten Orion's letter. The owl had arrived at Gryffindor Tower yesterday. He'd torn it open to find a single line: Come home for the holidays.
If it had been Walburga's letter, he might've tossed it straight into the fireplace. His mother's letters were always the same rotation of Pure-blood glory, family duty, you should have been in Slytherin, you should associate with the right sort of people. He was sick of those words, bored of them, nauseated by them.
But his father was different.
Orion rarely intervened. For as long as Sirius could remember, his father had been silent, stern, spending most of his time in his study or tending to family affairs. He never screamed or raged or hurled vicious words the way Walburga did.
He'd just look at you with those deep grey eyes, and that silence carried more weight than any tantrum.
Sirius rebelled against his mother freely, righteously. He loathed everything she represented, loathed it to the marrow.
Against his father, the defiance faltered. The conviction wasn't there.
Orion had never forced him into anything. Never made him memorize the family tree. Never dragged him to those tedious Pure-blood gatherings.
His father simply existed, and that was enough to create pressure.
Sirius had considered pretending the letter never arrived. Owls encountered trouble in the wild all the time. Letters got lost, got eaten by the owl itself. There were always excuses.
But Regulus had come in person, and he couldn't pretend he hadn't heard.
He raised his head and looked at his brother.
Regulus's face was unreadable, his gaze calm. They held each other's eyes for a moment before Sirius looked away first.
"Got it." His voice came out dry and rough.
Regulus nodded and turned to leave.
James glared at his retreating back, fists clenched. Lupin murmured, "Let it go, James. It's a family matter."
"Family matter?" James's laugh was cold. "A family like that, he's better off never going back."
Sirius hadn't gone home for Christmas. He'd stayed with the Potters, and that was no secret in Pure-blood circles. The eldest son of the Black family, spending his holiday at the home of a family considered insufficiently pure. The act itself was a signal.
Orion summoning him home wasn't a simple case of a father calling his son back. This was about the face of House Black.
If Sirius skipped two consecutive long holidays, what would the other families think? That the Blacks couldn't control their own heir. That something was wrong inside the House.
Pure-blood society ran on appearances. No matter how vicious the internal feuds, the outward image of family unity had to hold.
Sirius understood all of this.
He hated it.
But hatred didn't mean he dared cross that line. Not yet.
Orion's patience had limits. Push past the boundary and his father might respond in ways that couldn't be taken back. Cut off his finances. Make life difficult for the Potters. Or go straight for disownment.
Disownment.
Something stirred in Sirius's chest. If he were truly cast out, would that mean freedom?
The thought lasted barely a heartbeat before he crushed it. He knew the consequences.
Being disowned by the Blacks meant losing all family protection. It meant every door in the wizarding world becoming harder to open. It meant dragging James and the Potters into it. They'd become targets for sheltering a Black family traitor.
He couldn't be that selfish.
So he'd go back. Play the part for a few days, keep up appearances, then find an excuse to slip away again.
The feast broke apart for good. Students poured toward their common rooms for one last round of packing.
Sirius followed the Gryffindor crowd toward the tower. James walked beside him, starting to speak several times and swallowing the words each time.
In the end, he just clapped Sirius on the shoulder. "Anything happens, write. My family's owl will be on standby."
Sirius nodded and managed something close to a smile.