No house occupied by James Potter had ever achieved true silence in its lifetime.
There were still creaks in the old wooden floors, pipes humming softly in the walls, the distant ticking of a clock somewhere downstairs, and the occasional rustle of leaves brushing against the windows from the garden outside.
But compared to the usual chaos?
It was peaceful.
Warm morning light spilled through the curtains of the upstairs bedroom in long gold stripes across the carpet. Dust floated lazily in the air. One of Sirius’s boots had somehow ended up on top of the wardrobe. James’s glasses were balanced precariously on a stack of books beside the bed. Someone’s sock hung from the lampshade like a surrender flag.
Regulus Black stood in the middle of the room holding bagpipes.
He looked deeply evil.
Not dramatic evil.
Not dark-lord evil.
No.
This was the quiet, personal evil of a younger brother who had finally, finally snapped.
His expression was calm.
Too calm.
The sort of calm that should have legally counted as a warning sign.
The bagpipes sat awkwardly under one arm while he adjusted them with the concentration of a man preparing a military operation.
On the beds behind him, James Potter and Sirius Black remained gloriously unconscious.
Idiots.
Both sprawled in ways that looked physically uncomfortable.
James was starfished across his bed with one leg hanging off the side and his mouth slightly open. Sirius had somehow rotated entirely sideways during sleep, half buried under blankets, dark hair everywhere, one arm dangling dramatically toward the floor like a Victorian woman dying of consumption.
Regulus narrowed his eyes.
He had been at Potter Manor for exactly eleven days.
Eleven.
And in those eleven days:
Sirius had dragged him out of Grimmauld Place in the middle of the fucking night
James had introduced him to “competitive hallway sliding”
The two of them had replaced his shampoo with blue hair dye
Sirius kept stealing his socks
James kept calling him “our little hostage”
The pair of them had attempted to teach him poker despite neither actually understanding poker
Someone had put a rubber snake in his pillowcase
Sirius had bodily carried him downstairs yesterday because “you were ignoring breakfast and that’s illegal here”
And worst of all—
Worst of fucking all—
They thought this was funny.
Regulus glanced toward the sleeping pair again.
Slowly…
Very slowly…
A smirk spread across his face.
“Oh,” he whispered softly. “You are both so unbelievably fucked.”
Sirius snored.
James twitched in his sleep and muttered something incomprehensible about Quidditch.
Regulus adjusted the bagpipes again.
He had found them in one of Fleamont Potter’s old storage cupboards downstairs while looking for biscuits.
Apparently Fleamont had once tried learning traditional Scottish music during a “brief identity crisis” in the fifties.
Regulus didn’t know what that meant.
He also didn’t care.
Because the moment he saw the instrument, divine purpose had entered his soul.
Now he inhaled deeply.
Raised the bagpipes.
And played.
The sound that erupted into the room did not resemble music.
It resembled a murder.
A long, screeching, soul-tearing blast ripped through the bedroom with the power of a dying demon being strangled through a traffic cone.
James woke first.
His entire body convulsed violently.
“FUCKING HELL—”
He rolled directly off the bed.
There was a horrific crash.
“JAMES?” Sirius screamed, bolting upright so fast he immediately smashed his head into the bedside table.
THUNK.
“AAAGH—”
Regulus played louder.
The bagpipes shrieked like a cursed battlefield.
James was still on the floor tangled in blankets.
“What the FUCK IS HAPPENING?”
Sirius clutched his head. “WHY IS THERE SOUND?”
Regulus blew harder into the instrument with absolutely no musical talent whatsoever.
The noise became worse.
James looked genuinely terrified.
“IS THAT A PERSON DYING?”
“NO,” Sirius yelled. “IT’S REGULUS.”
“THAT’S SOMEHOW WORSE!”
Regulus finally stopped playing long enough to cackle.
Actually cackle.
It echoed around the room like a tiny aristocratic supervillain.
Sirius stared at him in horror.
“You little shit.”
Regulus grinned sweetly.
“Oh, are we upset?”
James pointed accusingly from the floor.
“You can’t just assault people with bagpipes before nine in the morning!”
“You kidnapped me.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
James opened his mouth.
Paused.
Closed it again.
“…Fair.”
Regulus lifted the bagpipes again.
Sirius’s eyes widened immediately.
“No.”
Regulus smirked.
“Regulus.”
The smirk widened.
“Don’t you fucking dare—”
BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH.
James screamed into a pillow.
Sirius launched himself off the bed.
Regulus burst into delighted laughter and ran.
“Oh, you are DEAD!” Sirius shouted after him.
Regulus nearly crashed into the doorframe because he was laughing too hard.
Behind him came chaos.
James yelling.
Sirius swearing.
The sound of someone tripping over bedsheets.
Regulus sprinted down the hallway clutching the bagpipes like stolen treasure, laughing so hard his stomach hurt.
For the first time in days—
Maybe weeks—
He felt light.
Actually light.
Not careful.
Not tense.
Not waiting for shouting or slammed doors or cold silences.
Just…
Happy.
Which was unfortunate.
Because Sirius and James were now chasing him.
“GET BACK HERE!” Sirius yelled.
“You weaponised folk music!” James shouted.
Regulus wheezed with laughter and skidded around the staircase corner in socks.
“YOU DESERVE IT!”
“You ate our breakfast!”
“You left it unattended!”
“That’s theft!”
“That’s survival!”
Sirius finally caught sight of him at the bottom of the stairs.
Their eyes met.
Regulus immediately realised something terrible.
Sirius had entered older-brother mode.
“James,” Sirius said calmly.
James appeared beside him, hair sticking in every direction. “Yeah?”
“Get him.”
Regulus gasped.
“Oh, fuck off.”
James cracked his knuckles dramatically.
Regulus turned and sprinted toward the kitchen.
The bagpipes under his arm gave another awful dying shriek as he ran.
“REGULUS BLACK,” Sirius shouted between laughter, “I SWEAR TO GOD—”
Regulus vaulted over a kitchen chair.
James nearly collided with the table.
Sirius slammed into James.
Both crashed to the floor.
Regulus doubled over laughing so hard he almost dropped the instrument.
“Oh my God—”
“You—” Sirius wheezed from the floor. “You actual menace.”
James pointed at him weakly. “I liked you better when you were emotionally repressed.”
Regulus grinned.
“Liar.”
Sirius looked up at him then.
Really looked at him.
At the flushed cheeks.
The bright eyes.
The unrestrained laughter.
The way he looked younger suddenly.
Softer.
Alive.
Something in Sirius’s expression shifted for a second.
Tiny.
Barely there.
Relief.
Then James groaned dramatically from underneath him.
“Get off me, you heavy bastard.”
Sirius immediately ruined the moment.
“You’re literally built like a wardrobe.”
“You landed on me!”
“You were beneath me spiritually before physically.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
Regulus snorted.
James pointed at him. “Don’t encourage him.”
Too late.
Sirius was already getting up with dangerous energy.
Regulus took one step backwards.
“Don’t.”
Sirius grinned slowly.
“Oh, now he’s scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
“You’re retreating.”
“I’m strategically repositioning.”
James stood too now, rubbing sleepily at his face.
Then he looked at the bagpipes.
Then at Regulus.
Then at Sirius.
A terrible smile spread across his face.
“No,” Regulus said immediately.
“Oh, absolutely yes.”
“James.”
“Give me the bagpipes.”
“James Fleamont Potter.”
“Give me the instrument.”
Regulus clutched it protectively.
Sirius gasped dramatically.
“Are you refusing your host?”
“You’re both evil.”
“You started this.”
“I regret nothing.”
“You will.”
James lunged.
Regulus shrieked.
All three boys immediately descended into absolute violence in the middle of the Potter kitchen while bagpipes screamed intermittently like a cursed goose being exorcised.
By the time Euphemia and Fleamont returned home two hours later, they found:
one broken chair
flour all over the floor
James asleep on the sofa
Sirius upside down in an armchair
Regulus sitting triumphantly on the kitchen counter with the bagpipes in his lap like a victorious warlord
Regulus always knew his brother inherited their mother's mean streak. They spat insults the same way; their eyes gleamed with the same amount of vicious glee, their mouths twisted with the same amount of satisfaction whenever they made the other person cry.
To Mother and Sirius, they won whenever they saw the tears of their opponents. It could be something serious, like Regulus accidentally spilling a secret they didn't tell him was a secret, or something as simple as him bothering them with his presence.
Sometimes, Mother would snap at him because she was upset, and he was close enough nearby. Sometimes, Sirius would all but growl at him because he wanted to relieve some stress. Then the two would act like it never happened, as if he wasn't standing by the wall, wary of their mood swings.
As if he wouldn't lie awake at night going over the day, wondering what he had done or said to set them off. Why do they act like they loved him more than anything in the world one day, and then suddenly they remembered how much he annoyed them whenever he opened his mouth? It only seemed like they disliked him because neither reacted this way with their friends or the rest of the family.
He would have to remind himself that they were good people and he just needed to work on himself more.
Regulus always forgave them. He just learned to watch his words. Recognize the signs to vanish from sight whenever one of them was having a bad day. Limit the hours spent around them to avoid accidentally ruining their day.
Before long, Regulus stopped leaving his room. He locked himself in his four walls, losing hours to searching through book pages and trying to find ways to fill the time. He would pick up hobbies like picking strawberries in a field: reading, writing, scrapbooking, knitting, crocheting, jewelry making, bookbinding, painting, drawing, and anything else his family could afford for him to try.
It was better this way.
Regulus knew they loved him, but they had a problem with their anger. It was the kind of anger that consumed and made them want to lash out. It was explosive, but much like fireworks, it was bigger and brilliant than simply gone.
Usually, by the end of the day, they would be back to smiles and thoughtful actions because they weren't in the wrong - Sirius and Mother were never in the wrong - but it would be silly to linger on an argument. In their worst arguments, they would pretend Regulus didn't exist for a couple of days.
They wouldn't talk to him or even look at him until whatever anger was boiling under their skin vanished. Gone like the winds of winter, seemingly gone but back again in a few short months. A constant cold.
Regulus wants to say he was better than that. But he knows that's a lie. He inherited his father's anger. The kind that shut him down, where he would go months without speaking to someone over a simple argument.
He was prideful, to the point that he would be willing to burn himself alive if it meant not allowing the other person to feel they could move on. His mother and brother couldn't hold on to a grudge for so long.
His father didn't visit his grandfather on his deathbed because the old man had called Orion a loser five months before. He hadn't gone to the funeral either, scoffing when Regulus' aunt begged him to.
Instead, Regulus had watched his father reference fights long since buried - apparently ones since before Orion even attended Hogwarts - and had to live with himself for putting his foot down. Had to bite his lip so hard it bled as his aunt sobbed like Orion was the one dying, but it was their own father that was being lowered into the ground.
Regulus hated how he could see it gutted his father to not go. But he would rather live with the poison than admit defeat. It was like looking at a twisted mirror.
Regulus had his father's anger, his grudges, his stupid, ridiculous pride that sank into his veins and poisoned him until he could no longer feel anything.
Maybe that's why he went along with Sirius' and Mother's act like nothing was wrong after a fight. Why didn't he mention the burning storm hiding behind his eyes as they slipped back into place within his life? They thought themselves forgiven.
He knew they weren't worth the effort.
But he let it happen. Again and again until one day, Regulus realized they thought he was like them. That only Orion Black couldn't let things go.
That day, he proved them wrong was the day Sirius went too far. When his brother got angry, it was as if all rational thoughts vanished from his mind, as if nothing else mattered, which meant he could win.
Their relationship was on the rocks ever since Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor, but Regulus was too soft to really do anything about it, at least according to Sirius.
It was apparent his brother grew more and more jealous every day of the approval Regulus had from their parents. How his determination to uphold tradition made Sirius' skin crawl. How he turned his nose up at the sight of Muggle-borns just like he had been taught, while Sirius tried his best to befriend the magic stealers.
But what really tore them apart was the way Sirius interacted with James Potter. Despite the years they have survived their tempers and their disagreements, Regulus realized Sirius didn't actually like him.
He loved him, but that was likely due to all the years they had spent together. Froced to love him with enough exposure. Sirius adored James and loved him like he had never realized what family love was supposed to feel like. He would never behave that way with Regulus.
The second he realized it, Regulus' world changed. Maybe he would have stayed. Perhaps he would have gone to become the son his parents so desperately wanted. Maybe he would have been the youngest Death Eater, serving a man he deeply admired. Perhaps he would have been everything Sirius claims James Potter isn't.
Maybe the pain of ever being even liked by his brother would lead to him sobbing uncontrollably in his room. But that's not what Regulus feels.
Instead, he feels a freezing, devastating coldness. He's angry.
Angry like his father, in an unreasonable way that's more self-destructive than sensible.
He rushes to his room, packing all his belongings he could realistically carry in a crazed haze of ice-cold anger (Best not to cast any magic. Less traceable that way). Regulus leaves his wand on his stripped bed, knowing that the Trace would be tracked back to him if he took it, and it's like he's cutting his own heart open, leaving it behind, letting his wound bleed as he closes the door to his dorm, and his wand hoster sits empty.
He slips from the Common room, walking by students in the hallways without a single word. He doesn't stop, even when some of his friends call his name, even when the caregiver demands to know why he has so much on his person.
Regulus doesn't break his stride once, even when he makes it outside and passes Sirius and his group, cursing Snape to dangle by his ankles near the lakeside. It's actually a lucky break.
With everyone focusing on Snape's undergarments and that Evans girl stepping in, no one notices Regulus reach the edge of the wards. No one sees him throw his bag over the wall, or the way he carefully climbs the walls using the muscle memory of climbing to his rooftop as a child to get away from the family tension.
No one sees him walking straight into the Forbidden Forest. The woods stretch on for miles and miles. He keeps walking until the sun has set, and the forest comes to life with growls and soft hoots of owls. He doesn't stop when his feet start to ache from all the walking.
Regulus ignores the centaurs that watch him from the edge of the trees, poised over the string of their bows. He lets his eyes flicker to the fleeing herd of unicorns, but he keeps going. His eyes burn, his steps start to wobble, and it takes significantly more effort than it should to move his legs, but still, Regulus pushes on.
He swears he stepped over a sleeping mountain troll and saw more than three Acromantula following him, but even then, Regulus does not stop.
He's too angry. Too upset.
Too sure that come morning, Sirius will realize that Regulus is long gone and he won't have someone to disrespect anymore. Now his stupid anger will be taken out on his group of friends since his favorite punching bag is gone.
Sirius will then see how fast they turn away from him. How unlike Regulus, no one will be willing to put up with his mood swings.
Eventually, the sun rises, a few of its rays slipping through the branches, but not enough to make a noticeable difference. Regulus has walked so far into the forest that its dimmest light setting is when the sun is directly overhead. He stops walking at the base of a giant tree that has been carved out.
It likely used to be the home of a traveling giant because it towers over his head as tall as the Gryffindor Tower, and it has stairs carved inside, leading to the top of the tree where ledges are place as if they were hanging rooms.
Regulus ends up tumbling to the ground inside the tree because his body can no longer push further.
He is sweaty, dirty, hungry, his feet are likely bleeding, and he is exhausted. But a flash of Sirius's smug grin goes through his mind, and he finds the will to get up and set up camp.
He doubts he will be here long.
Sirius would come racing in here with a group of searchers, attempting to bring him home, and when he tried to act like nothing happened, Regulus wouldn't let him. He would force him to look bad in front of everyone, and Sirius would be so desperate to look good in front of everyone.
Regulus will likely get detention for this stunt. A lecture to end all lectures from his mother and a grounding that may affect his chances of joining the Death Eaters from his father.
But it would be worth it.
He just had to wait for Sirius to come and get him. Regulus wouldn't go back unless it was at his brother's groveling. His anger, his damn stupid pride, would never allow it.
He just has to wait.
Regulus knew Sirius would come for him even if he didn't like him. He had to. He wouldn't let his fourteen-year-old brother be at the mercy of the Forbidden Forest.
Yes, Regulus nods to himself. He wouldn't. Nobody would. I just have to be patient, and I won't be the one running back to them this time. That Regulus Black is no more.
What fourteen-year-old Regulus didn't know was that he would be learning about family tracking magic in later years for his Charms classes. In another life, he would know sometime in the fifth or sixth year that his family tapestry would only track the beliefs of family members.
It was created in a time when spells weren't researched as deeply, relying on the fact that people didn't usually think of themselves as dead, so the images reflected this.
But the second thought, that Regulus Black is no more, the tapestry acted accordingly. The old Regulus was dead to him, and now where his face once stood in the tapestry was a gleaming skull with the numbers 1975 resting under it.
His mother lets out a scream when she sees it. His father breaks open a bottle and doesn't stop drinking until it leads him to an early grave four years later.
And Sirius? He merely stops talking about the brother he once had. Sometimes, when he is drinking, he'll mention how soft Regulus was, too much of a coward to be anything but what his parents wanted. But those are sporadic moments.
Regulus stays in the forest, setting up shelter in the hollow of a tree, finds a source of drinking water, learns to hunt for food, and waits for someone to come see him.
Sixteen years later, while he's slowly tracking some Acromantulas that he plans on feasting on with his trusted bow- he had struck a deal with the centaurs, brewing them the few potions he knew in exchange for some hunting lessons- he encounters two children being led by a shaking black dog.
It takes him a moment to recognize the uniforms they are wearing- a Slytherin and a Gryffindor- and even longer for him to find words. It's been so long since he last saw another human that he has almost forgotten what it was like to look down instead of up at the centaurs.
"Hello," He croaks as the two children stare wide-eyed at him. They looked scared stiff, the blond one on the verge of tears, and the one with green eyes looking just as green in the face.
It's not like he hasn't talked since he's been in here waiting, but he is a bit out of practice, so he'll forgive them for that reaction. He lowers his bow, stepping closer. "What are you two doing in the Forbidden Forest?"
"Because brothers don't let each other wander in the dark alone." — Jolene Perry
Regulus Black's first year at Hogwarts was supposed to be different. Sirius promised it would be better at school, away from their parents' suffocating expectations and their mother's increasingly unstable demands. But when the Sorting Hat places Regulus in Slytherin and Sirius turns his back, that promise shatters like glass.
Alone and rejected, Regulus finds unexpected friendship with three other misfits: Edgar Bones, a loyal Hufflepuff; Barty Crouch Jr., an anxious perfectionist; and Pandora Rosier, a strange Ravenclaw who sees the world in colors no one else can perceive. When their brilliant Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Cicero Vance, frames Regulus for a vicious attack, these four first-years must investigate a Death Eater operating within Hogwarts itself.
Their desperate search for evidence leads them into a trap that threatens all their lives—and forces Regulus to cast the one spell that might save him: a Patronus message to the brother who abandoned him.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
New longfic project. By new mean old project rewritten. First year trans Regulus Black, enjoy. Note that while it won't happen in this 'book' this series is endgame Jegulus so keep that in mind.
The house rivalry among the different houses was no secret and had been ongoing for what felt like eternity. What started as an innocent fight between friends, during the time of the founders of Hogwarts, slowly turned into a hatred between their houses’ students that would last on for centuries.
They were now writing the year 1976, yet nothing had changed at all. The seventh years seemed to only wake up each day to provoke each other, yet insist that they were the innocent ones when asked. The sixth years went even further and sent hexes flying at each other as soon as they saw each other in the hallways, called each other names and went far beyond what would be considered innocent pranks. Even the fourth years and younger were already affected by the rivalry, switching between throwing each other curious gazes and murderous glares when egged on by the upper years.
And right under everyone’s noses, the fifth years were acting rather strange. When others engaged in fights, pranks and duels, the fifth years kept their heads down, always walking away from the action. However, everybody else was too caught up in their rivalry to notice the oddity that were the fifth years.
If anybody had asked, the fifth years would have simply smiled secretively and went on with their day. Perhaps, if one was lucky, one of them would cheekily say that ‘the fifth years were above such childish things’ or ‘engaged in way more interesting matters’. Because the fifth years had their very own secret shared between all of them.
And it was a well-kept secret too, protectively and possessively guarded by the Slytherins, causing giggles among the Hufflepuffs, pride among the Gryffindors and satisfaction among the Ravenclaws.
Their shared secret was none other than Regulus Black, who unbeknownst to the rest of the Wizarding World, had recently been appointed Lord Black after his parents’ unexpected and tragic deaths and who was now using his family’s power, knowledge and history to form a new generation of tolerant, skilled, open-minded and knowledgeable wizards.
The class had reached the sort of boredom that became physical.
It sat on shoulders. It slumped in spines. It made quills droop between fingers and parchment blur into one long beige smear. Somewhere near the back of the room, Peter Pettigrew had stopped pretending to take notes and had begun drawing what appeared to be either a Hippogriff or a very judgemental potato. Mary Macdonald was leaning her chin on her palm, blinking slowly like she was trying to charm herself unconscious. Fabian Prewett had folded a corner of his parchment into a tiny hat and placed it on Gideon’s ink bottle. Gideon had not noticed yet, because Gideon was too busy staring at the wall as if the wall might, by the grace of Merlin, explode.
It did not.
Tragically.
James Potter looked ready to start a revolution simply because nothing better had happened. Sirius Black was tipped back on two chair legs with the relaxed elegance of someone who had never once considered consequences a serious institution. Remus Lupin had his book open but had not turned the page in nearly seven minutes. Lily Evans was the only one who still looked like she might be paying attention, though even she had the tight-eyed expression of someone silently begging the universe to become interesting.
Marlene McKinnon had given up entirely and was whispering, “I could jump out the window.”
Alice Fortescue, beside her, whispered back, “We’re on the third floor.”
“That’s why it’d be interesting.”
Frank Longbottom heard that and looked alarmed. “Please don’t.”
Across the room, the Slytherins were no better.
Barty Crouch Jr. had his chair turned slightly too far to be considered polite, one boot hooked around the leg of Regulus Black’s chair as if to irritate him by proximity alone. Evan Rosier was drawing neat little daggers in the margin of his parchment. Pandora Rosier had constructed a tiny tower out of spare quills, her expression dreamy and distant, like she had named all of them and assigned them tragic fates. Dorcas Meadowes was staring at the professor with the flat, unwavering focus of someone deciding whether the lesson was worth surviving.
Regulus Black sat between them all with his arms folded, posture perfect, expression blank, eyes half-lidded in serene contempt.
He had not written a word in twenty minutes.
Sirius, from the Gryffindor side, glanced over and mouthed, You alive?
Regulus slowly turned his eyes toward him.
No.
Sirius grinned.
James leaned over. “What’s he saying?”
“He says he’s perished.”
“He didn’t say anything.”
“Soulfully, James.”
Regulus rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
Barty caught it immediately and hissed, “Oh, look at that. He’s having fun. Someone alert the Prophet.”
“I will bite you,” Regulus said softly.
“Promise?”
Evan’s quill paused.
Pandora, without looking up from her quill tower, murmured, “The energy in this room is getting crunchy.”
Dorcas nodded once. “Something’s going to happen.”
The professor must have felt it too.
They had been lecturing for what felt like several centuries, voice droning on, wand occasionally tapping against the desk for emphasis. But even professors had limits. Even professors could look out at a room full of dead-eyed teenagers and realise they were one dull paragraph away from losing the crowd entirely to madness.
The professor stopped mid-sentence.
The silence was sudden enough that half the class looked up.
“Clearly,” the professor said, voice clipped, “theoretical explanation alone has failed to capture your imaginations.”
Fabian whispered, “Understatement.”
Gideon whispered back, “Don’t provoke them.”
“I’m always provoking people. It’s my gift.”
The professor’s eyes narrowed.
Fabian straightened, suddenly deeply fascinated by his parchment.
“Perhaps,” the professor continued, “a practical demonstration will prove more engaging.”
At once, the room changed.
Not into attention, exactly.
Into suspicion.
Mary sat up a little. “That sounds dangerous.”
Marlene brightened. “Good.”
Lily muttered, “That is not the word I’d use.”
James’s glasses flashed as he leaned forward. “Finally.”
Remus closed his book with great care. “James, no.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“You’re thinking too loudly.”
Peter perked up. “Is it the sort of practical where we need to duck?”
Frank pushed his chair back an inch.
Alice patted his arm. “Probably not.”
“Probably?”
Sirius, delighted, dropped the front legs of his chair to the floor with a thud. “Oh, I love a demonstration. They always go wrong.”
The professor shot him a look. “This one will not.”
Sirius’s grin widened. “That’s what they all say.”
Regulus, still lounging with an air of aristocratic exhaustion, murmured, “If I die, Barty gets none of my things.”
Barty clapped a hand to his chest. “Wounded.”
“Evan gets my books.”
Evan looked up. “Accepted.”
“Pandora gets my jewellery.”
Pandora smiled serenely. “I shall wear it to your memorial and look devastating.”
“Dorcas gets my knives.”
Dorcas nodded. “Fair.”
Barty stared at him. “What do I get?”
Regulus blinked. “The emotional consequences.”
Sirius laughed so loudly the professor snapped, “Mr Black.”
Both Sirius and Regulus answered, “Yes?”
The whole room snorted.
The professor inhaled through their nose in the manner of a person clinging to professionalism by the last thread.
“Observe.”
The professor lifted their wand.
The room went tense and glittery with interest. Even Regulus shifted his gaze properly toward the front, unimpressed but watching. The air seemed to pinch inward around the wand-tip. A pale shimmer gathered there, silver-blue and trembling, thin as mist and sharp as wire.
The professor began to explain, “This charm is meant to encourage honest articulation under controlled conditions. It is not to be used recklessly, and it should never—”
“Should never what?” James whispered.
Remus whispered, “That means it’s about to do exactly that.”
“—be cast without a stabilising countercurrent,” the professor finished, with a pointed look at the class.
The wand moved.
The spell burst forward.
For one beautiful, impossible second, it worked.
A ribbon of silver-blue light curled elegantly through the air, bright and delicate, turning in a perfect spiral above the desk.
Then Fabian’s tiny parchment hat, perched on Gideon’s ink bottle, chose that moment to slide off.
It tipped into the ink.
Gideon jerked.
His elbow knocked Fabian’s arm.
Fabian’s knee hit the desk.
The desk scraped.
Peter squeaked.
Marlene said, “Oh, hell.”
The professor’s wand twitched.
The spell snapped.
It did not explode.
It ricocheted.
Silver-blue light shot across the classroom like a furious comet.
Everyone screamed.
James ducked so hard he nearly slammed his forehead into the desk. Lily grabbed Mary by the sleeve and yanked her down. Frank threw an arm in front of Alice on instinct. Marlene laughed while ducking, which was frankly insane but very Marlene. Fabian and Gideon both shouted at once, one in horror and one in delight. Peter vanished under the desk entirely.
Sirius rose halfway from his chair. “Reg—!”
Too late.
The spell hit Regulus Black square in the chest.
The room went dead still.
Regulus froze.
His hands, which had been resting calmly on the desk, went rigid. His shoulders locked. His chin tipped down as if an invisible hand had caught him beneath it. His grey eyes widened, then blanked over completely, the sharp intelligence behind them wiped clean beneath a glassy silver sheen.
Barty’s face changed first.
Not joking. Not feral. Not amused.
“Regulus?”
Evan was already half-standing. “Professor.”
Pandora’s quill tower collapsed soundlessly across her parchment.
Dorcas’s hand moved toward her wand.
Sirius took one step forward, all colour draining from his face. “Reggie?”
At the sound of Sirius’s voice, Regulus’s head snapped up.
Then he grinned.
It was not his usual smile. Regulus’s usual smile was a rare, narrow thing, dry as a blade and twice as smug. This was bright. Wide. Dimpled. Too sweet. Too polished. His body lifted from the chair as if pulled by invisible strings, and he rose onto his toes with a little bounce.
The entire class stared.
Regulus spun.
A perfect, ridiculous spin, robes flaring around him, one hand pressed dramatically to his chest.
James’s mouth fell open. “Oh, no.”
Remus whispered, “Oh, this is dangerous.”
Lily said, “Professor, stop it.”
“I am attempting to,” the professor said, voice suddenly strained, wand raised as they flicked through counter-movements. “Nobody move.”
Regulus moved.
He hopped neatly onto his chair.
Barty choked. “He’s standing on furniture.”
Dorcas said, “That is the least concerning thing happening.”
Regulus tipped his head back, eyes blank silver, grin angelic and horrifying.
Then, in a voice so clear and bright it seemed to ring off the windows, he sang, “Dear God, up in Heaven, a prayer for Campbell.”
The room froze again.
Sirius blinked. “Campbell?”
Regulus clasped his hands beneath his chin, lashes fluttering in absurd sweetness. “Once she was my hero, now she’s a disgrace.”
Mary slapped both hands over her mouth.
Marlene whispered, “Is he singing?”
Peter’s head appeared slowly from beneath the desk. “He can sing?”
James, still crouched awkwardly, stared up at Regulus like he had discovered a new species. “He can really sing.”
Regulus stepped from the chair to the desk with impossible balance, robes swaying. He planted one foot among his unused parchment and posed, one hand on his hip, smile dazzling.
“I’m here on top and she’s less than zero,” he announced, sweet as sugar and twice as poisonous, “dragging me down to save face.”
Barty looked between Regulus and the professor. “What is Campbell? Who is Campbell? Why is he sparkling?”
Evan, eyes narrowed, said, “That is not the important question.”
Pandora whispered, delighted despite herself, “He looks like a haunted music box.”
Dorcas stared. “A smug haunted music box.”
Regulus bounced lightly on his heels and pointed at no one in particular, voice ringing with cheerful accusation. “She always worked hard, she was trusting and fair.”
He leaned forward, eyes wide and innocent.
“And, Lord, that’s the crux of her problem right there.”
Fabian made a strangled noise.
Gideon slowly turned toward him. “Are we witnessing a confession?”
“I think we are witnessing theatre.”
“Those are not mutually exclusive.”
The professor tried another counterspell.
The silver sheen in Regulus’s eyes flashed brighter.
Regulus whipped around toward the Gryffindor side, landing in a cutesy pose with one knee bent and both hands tucked beneath his chin.
“You need that killer instinct to give you the nerve,” he sang, smiling directly at James now, “to grab everything you want in life, but may not deserve.”
James looked personally attacked.
“Why is he looking at me?”
Sirius, still tense but unable to stop a baffled laugh from escaping, said, “Because you look grabby.”
“I do not look grabby.”
Lily gave him one dry glance.
James amended, “Not that grabby.”
Regulus pivoted smoothly, robes swishing. His face sharpened beneath the spell’s puppet-bright grin, smugness bleeding through the magic until it looked almost like him again.
“Like if some girl’s in your way,” he said, tone coy, “there’s only one thing to do.”
He placed one hand over his heart, the other pressed to his forehead like a tragic stage maiden.
“You pout at your mother who sits on the school board.”
Alice blinked. “There’s a school board?”
Frank whispered, “Is there?”
Remus, eyes narrowed thoughtfully, said, “I don’t think that part translates properly.”
Marlene whispered, “Who cares? He’s confessing crimes in choreography.”
Regulus spun again, then landed facing his own friends.
Barty pointed at him. “You have never pouted at your mother in your life.”
Regulus leaned down toward him from the desk with a viciously sweet smile.
“To get Campbell transferred and ripped from the life that she knew.”
Barty’s eyebrows shot up.
Evan went still.
Dorcas said, flatly, “Oh.”
Pandora breathed, “A transfer.”
Regulus straightened, arms thrown wide, voice soaring with bright triumph.
“And your dreams come true.”
The words hung in the air.
Then he turned sharply, stepping over his ink bottle as if it were part of a rehearsed routine.
“And your dreams come true.”
Another step. Another pose.
“And your dreams come true, oh, oh.”
The classroom erupted.
Not fully. Not yet. It was too stunned to become chaos all at once. It came out in bursts.
Mary gasped, “Regulus!”
Marlene started laughing so hard she bent over the desk. “No. No, he did not.”
Fabian pointed across the room. “That explains it!”
Gideon slapped his arm down. “Don’t point at the magically compromised boy.”
“He’s confessing sabotage!”
“He’s being magically forced to confess sabotage.”
“That’s still confession.”
Peter looked horrified and impressed. “Can they arrest him for singing?”
Sirius snapped, “Nobody is arresting him.”
Regulus turned toward Sirius like he had heard only that.
He winked.
Sirius stared.
Then Sirius, despite himself, broke. “Oh, you little menace.”
Regulus beamed.
Barty sat back slowly, expression blooming into outright awe. “I cannot believe you never told me.”
Evan said, “I can.”
Barty whipped toward him. “You knew?”
“No. But I can believe he wouldn’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because you would have made it louder.”
Dorcas muttered, “He is currently making it louder himself.”
Pandora, eyes shining with fascination, said, “The spell has chosen sparkle as its language.”
Regulus pranced lightly down the length of the desk, every movement unnervingly graceful, as if invisible hands guided his ankles, wrists, chin, smile. He stopped near the end and flicked his robes back with flair.
“It takes that killer instinct, that killer desire.”
His voice dipped playful and sharp.
“Are you the little ant or do you set the ants on fire?”
Frank looked disturbed. “I don’t like that question.”
Alice, though clearly trying not to laugh, said, “No one should set ants on fire.”
Marlene wheezed, “That’s not the point.”
Lily pointed at the professor. “Can you please end this before he admits to arson?”
The professor, now visibly sweating, said, “I am working on it, Miss Evans.”
James leaned toward Remus. “Do you think he has committed arson?”
Remus watched Regulus hop neatly from one desk to another. “I think we’re about to find out.”
Regulus landed in front of a cluster of staring students, then turned back to the room with a wicked little flourish.
“And if there’s two people in line to lead the team before you,” he sang, and now every Slytherin in the room went utterly silent.
Barty’s jaw dropped.
Evan stopped blinking.
Dorcas leaned forward.
Pandora whispered, “Oh, this is the captaincy.”
Sirius’s eyes widened. “This is the captaincy?”
James sat up like someone had fired a starting whistle. “This is Quidditch gossip?”
Marlene slapped the desk. “Shut up, everyone, this is Quidditch gossip!”
The professor made a strangled sound. “Miss McKinnon.”
Regulus smiled wider.
“Then you hack the school system and change Skylar’s grade from—”
Lily stood so quickly her chair scraped. “He did what?”
Remus’s brows shot up. “That’s… oddly specific.”
Peter whispered, “Can you hack Hogwarts?”
Mary whispered back, “Apparently Regulus can.”
Sirius turned toward the Slytherin side, eyes glittering with appalled pride. “Reggie.”
Regulus pointed dramatically at the ceiling.
“A D to an F, then you hire some sick guy.”
Barty made a sound like he had been shot. “You hired a sick guy?”
Regulus crouched slightly, one hand near his mouth as if sharing a secret with the entire room.
“To lick Kyler’s toothbrush, so he contracts mono.”
There was a beat of pure, perfect silence.
Then the classroom detonated.
Mary shrieked.
Marlene collapsed against Lily, howling. Lily looked both disgusted and unwillingly amused, which made Mary laugh harder. James slammed both palms on the desk, eyes huge behind his glasses. Remus covered his mouth, shoulders shaking. Peter looked like he could not decide whether to gag or applaud. Frank made a faint noise of horror. Alice pressed her fingers to her lips, eyes sparkling despite her best efforts.
Fabian and Gideon lost it completely.
“He licked a toothbrush!” Fabian gasped.
“Someone licked a toothbrush,” Gideon corrected, laughing into his hand.
“For money!”
“We don’t know it was for money.”
“What, for passion?”
Sirius dropped into his chair as if his knees had failed him and dragged a hand through his hair. “Regulus Arcturus Black.”
Regulus, still on the desk, blew him a kiss.
Sirius pointed at him. “Do not cute your way out of this.”
Regulus smiled so sweetly it was practically a weapon.
Barty stared up at him, betrayed. “I thought we told each other everything.”
Regulus tapped his own cheek, mock-thoughtful.
“Now no one is left to be Captain,” he sang, spreading his arms, “so they turn to you.”
Evan said very quietly, “That explains everything.”
Dorcas nodded. “The timing was suspicious.”
Pandora said, “I did wonder about the illness.”
Barty threw both hands up. “You all wondered and nobody told me?”
“You would have shouted,” Evan said again.
“I am shouting now!”
“Exactly.”
Regulus lifted onto his toes, face glowing with enchanted smugness.
“And your dreams come true.”
James was laughing openly now, delighted beyond reason. “That is foul.”
Lily snapped, “James.”
“What? It is.”
“It’s also terrible.”
“It can be both!”
Marlene wiped tears from her eyes. “I’m furious he’s not on our team.”
Frank said, “That’s your reaction?”
“Yes!”
Alice shook her head, smiling despite herself. “Of course it is.”
Regulus stepped down from one desk to the next, moving closer to the front as the professor tried another silent charm that fizzled into sparks before reaching him. He paused, and for the first time since the spell hit him, the grin wavered into something theatrical and wounded.
He pressed both hands to his chest.
“Do I sound awful? What have I become?”
The room went quiet again, but not sadly. Expectantly.
Because even with blank silver eyes and magic tugging his body into performance, Regulus Black somehow managed to look like he was mocking the very concept of remorse.
He turned toward the dark reflection of the window, fluttered his fingers near his face, and crooned, “Who’s that boy in the mirror I see?”
Peter whispered, “Oh, maybe he does feel bad.”
Regulus spun back, smile sharpening.
“Some backstabbing whack-job I’d run screaming from.”
Frank nodded faintly. “That’s reasonable.”
Regulus’s grin split bright and vicious.
“Oh, God, I just love being me!”
The room screamed.
Barty stood on his chair. “That’s my best friend!”
“Sit down!” the professor barked.
“No!”
Dorcas yanked him back by the sleeve. “Sit before you become part of the practical.”
Barty sat, still grinning like a lunatic.
Sirius laughed despite every protective instinct warring on his face. He looked horrified, relieved, proud, and deeply, deeply inconvenienced all at once. “He is impossible.”
James clutched his chest. “He’s majestic.”
“He’s fifteen,” Lily said.
“He’s a mastermind.”
“He made someone lick a toothbrush.”
James paused. “A disgusting mastermind.”
Regulus pointed at the whole class, chin high, eyes shining blank silver.
“Wouldn’t all of you kill to be me?”
“No,” Lily said immediately.
“Yes,” said Marlene.
“Maybe a little,” Fabian admitted.
“Do not answer that,” Gideon told him.
Mary, still giggling, said, “I don’t want anyone licking toothbrushes for me.”
Pandora looked serene. “That is because you lack vision.”
Frank stared at her. “Pandora.”
“What? I didn’t say I endorsed it. I said it had structure.”
Regulus pivoted on the desktop and began strutting down the centre aisle as if the classroom had become a stage built only for him. His robe hem flicked with each step. His expression was darling, dangerous, and unbearable.
“You need that killer instinct since time first began.”
He snapped his fingers. Sparks of the failed spell shimmered around him like stage lights.
“From Genghis Khan to Bristol Palin, you need a killer plan.”
Remus blinked. “Bristol Palin?”
James whispered, “Who?”
Sirius whispered back, “I have no idea, but I support Reggie’s commitment.”
Lily looked at him. “You support this?”
“I support his vocals.”
“He sabotaged people.”
“I don’t support the toothbrush.”
“That is not enough of a condemnation.”
Regulus hopped down from the desk to the floor with the lightness of a cat and landed directly in front of the professor, who stepped back in alarm.
Regulus smiled up at them.
“You need to reach the top if it’s the last thing you do.”
The professor, pale and rigid, said, “Mr Black, resist the charm.”
Regulus tilted his head.
Barty cackled. “He’s not going to resist a spotlight.”
Evan murmured, “He would rather die.”
Dorcas said, “He’d rather win.”
Pandora sighed fondly. “Same thing, for him.”
Regulus spun away from the professor and glided toward the Slytherin side again, his whole body bouncing with puppet-bright energy. He climbed onto his own chair, then onto the desk once more, now looming over Barty, Evan, Pandora, and Dorcas with all the grandeur a small, smug fifteen-year-old could possibly possess.
“I’m the guy to beat, the slytherin prince.”
Sirius clapped a hand over his mouth.
James lost another battle with laughter.
Mary whispered, “He called himself a prince.”
Marlene whispered back, “He is standing on a desk mid-confession and somehow pulling it off. Let him have prince.”
Regulus planted one hand on his hip, pointed dramatically at the older students in the room, and sang, “Seventh years kiss my ass and I’m just 15.”
The reaction was immediate and violent.
Fabian slammed his forehead onto the desk laughing. Gideon made an offended noise that failed halfway and turned into a laugh. Frank looked like he wanted to object on principle but could not find the words. Alice laughed behind her hand. Lily’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. Remus covered his face. Peter whispered, “Can he say that to seventh years?”
James said, “Apparently he already has.”
Sirius, eyes bright with tears of laughter now, called, “That’s my baby brother!”
Regulus snapped his head toward him and smiled like sunshine weaponised.
Sirius pointed at him again, voice cracking with laughter. “I’m still telling you off later.”
Regulus winked.
Barty thumped both hands on the desk. “He’s four foot frame fury!”
Regulus turned instantly, as if fed by the phrase, and threw his arms wide.
“I’m raisin’ hell, and I’m a felon in a four foot frame.”
Evan, very calmly, said, “That is accurate.”
Dorcas nodded. “Legally concerning, but accurate.”
Pandora smiled dreamily. “Pocket-sized calamity.”
Regulus leaned down toward Evan, still grinning blankly, and sang, “I just use my killer instinct and my—”
He sprang upright.
“Dreams come true.”
The professor managed another countercharm.
This time it caught the edge of the silver-blue light around Regulus. The shimmer flickered. His smile twitched. His body jerked slightly like strings pulled too hard.
Sirius stood again at once. “Careful.”
The professor snapped, “I am being careful.”
“Be more careful.”
Regulus did not seem to notice. He slid into a final, bright little pose, one knee bent, chin lifted, hands spread as if presenting the whole ridiculous, incriminating world to them.
“I use my killer instincts ooh.”
Marlene was banging her fist silently on the table, red-faced from laughing.
Mary had given up pretending horror was winning over amusement.
Alice murmured, “He really does have no regrets.”
Frank said, “None.”
Fabian lifted his head, gasping, “I want him as captain of my life.”
Gideon shoved him. “No, you don’t.”
“I do. Imagine the efficiency.”
“Imagine the crimes.”
“Efficient crimes.”
Lily pointed across the room. “Do not encourage him.”
James, grinning helplessly, said, “He doesn’t need encouragement. That’s the problem.”
Regulus turned one last time, eyes still silver, grin radiant.
“Killer instinct, oh, yeah!”
The final note rang out crisp and bright.
Then the professor’s counterspell struck properly.
The silver-blue shimmer shattered.
Regulus’s body stopped.
His eyes cleared.
His grin fell into a blank, unimpressed stare.
For one long second, nobody moved.
Regulus looked down.
He was standing on his desk.
Everyone was staring at him.
Barty was half out of his seat, looking betrayed, awed, and delighted. Evan’s mouth had the faintest curve at one corner. Pandora looked like she had just watched a rare celestial event. Dorcas’s arms were folded, one brow raised in deep judgement and deeper entertainment.
Across the room, Sirius was standing with both hands braced on the desk, face caught between protective fury and hysterical pride. James looked as though Christmas had come early and brought scandal. Remus was rubbing his mouth like he was trying to wipe off a smile. Peter stared with shining, terrified admiration. Lily looked appalled. Mary looked appalled but amused. Marlene looked like she might start cheering. Alice was smiling helplessly. Frank looked overwhelmed. Fabian and Gideon looked ready to compose a ballad on the spot.
Regulus slowly blinked.
Then he said, very calmly, “Why am I on the desk?”
The room exploded.
Everyone spoke at once.
“Because you’re insane,” Barty said.
“Because the spell hit you,” Evan said.
“Because you confessed crimes,” Dorcas said.
“Because your dreams came true,” Pandora said dreamily.
“Because you sabotaged your way into captaincy,” James shouted.
“Because apparently someone licked a toothbrush,” Mary cried.
“Because you can sing,” Peter added, like this was the most important revelation.
“Because you called yourself the Slytherin prince,” Marlene said.
“Because you are a felon in a four foot frame,” Fabian wheezed.
Gideon leaned over and said, “He’s not four foot.”
Regulus looked at him.
Gideon immediately sat back. “Metaphorically.”
Lily stood with her hands planted on the desk. “You hacked the school system?”
Regulus stared at her.
A beat passed.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The entire class booed.
Actually booed.
Even Remus made a soft, disappointed sound.
Regulus looked around the room, taking in the faces, the professor’s pale horror, his friends’ open delight, Sirius’s barely restrained grin.
His expression shifted.
Very slowly, the corner of his mouth lifted.
Sirius saw it first. “Don’t you dare.”
Regulus’s eyes slid toward him. “Dare what?”
“You know what.”
“I really don’t.”
James pointed at him. “That. That face. That is guilt.”
Regulus stepped down neatly from the desk, smoothing his robes like nothing unusual had happened. “I don’t do guilt.”
Dorcas snorted. “Clearly.”
Barty grabbed his sleeve the second he sat down. “You unbelievable little snake.”
Regulus glanced at his hand. “Remove that.”
“No. You didn’t tell me you orchestrated a captaincy coup.”
“I did not orchestrate anything.”
Evan gave him a look.
Regulus met it with smooth blankness.
Evan said, “You absolutely did.”
Regulus shrugged. “Allegedly.”
Pandora leaned closer, eyes bright. “Was there truly a toothbrush?”
Regulus picked up his quill. “I’ve never seen a toothbrush in my life.”
Mary burst out laughing again.
Lily pointed at him. “That is not a denial.”
“It is a statement.”
“A suspicious statement.”
“Most statements are suspicious if you want them to be.”
Marlene slapped Lily’s arm. “Evans, leave him alone, I need details.”
“You do not need details.”
“I need all of them.”
Frank looked faintly pained. “Nobody needs details.”
Alice was still smiling, though she tried to soften it. “Regulus, did you actually get someone ill so you could be captain?”
Regulus looked at her for a long, silent moment.
Then he said, “Quidditch is very competitive.”
The room screamed again.
Sirius dropped back into his chair, laughing into both hands. “Reggie.”
Regulus looked at him with perfect composure. “What?”
“That was not an answer.”
“It was context.”
James leaned over the aisle, grinning. “You’re a menace.”
Regulus looked him up and down. “You’re loud.”
James touched his chest. “Wounded.”
“You’ll recover.”
Remus, still trying to look sensible and failing, said, “For the record, that was a horrifying abuse of magical and administrative systems.”
Regulus nodded once. “Noted.”
“And the toothbrush part was vile.”
“Alleged.”
“And your singing was excellent.”
Regulus paused.
Barty gasped. “That’s what gets him.”
“It does not,” Regulus said.
Evan smirked faintly. “It does.”
Pandora sighed. “He accepts praise like a cat accepts being witnessed.”
Dorcas said, “Badly?”
“Elegantly badly.”
The professor, who had finally regained enough control of the room to speak, slammed a palm on the desk.
Silence fell in uneven pieces.
“Mr Black,” the professor said, voice tight.
Regulus turned, all polite attention. “Professor?”
The innocence was so cleanly delivered that Fabian choked.
The professor’s eye twitched.
“You will explain—”
“No, he won’t,” Sirius said instantly.
Every head turned toward him.
Sirius stood straight, chin lifted, expression suddenly sharp beneath the fading laughter. “He was hit by a spell that went wrong. He wasn’t in control of what he said or did. So unless this class is now a courtroom, nobody’s interrogating him because your practical backfired.”
Regulus’s face softened by half a fraction.
Not much.
Enough that Barty noticed. Enough that Evan noticed. Enough that Sirius, across the room, noticed and looked smug about it.
The professor stiffened. “Mr Black—”
Sirius said, “Which one?”
Regulus immediately added, “Yes, do specify.”
James muttered, “They’re unbearable together.”
Lily muttered back, “They really are.”
Marlene whispered, “I love it.”
Frank rubbed his forehead. “Of course you do.”
The professor exhaled slowly. “Sirius. Sit down.”
Sirius did, but his eyes stayed on Regulus.
Regulus gave him the smallest nod.
Sirius returned it with a grin that said, Later, I am absolutely never letting you live this down.
Regulus’s answering look said, Try and die.
Barty leaned into Regulus’s space again. “So.”
“No.”
“You don’t know what I’m going to ask.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Can I hire a sick guy?”
“No.”
Dorcas reached across and smacked the back of Barty’s head.
Barty yelped. “Ow!”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m being inspired.”
“Be less inspired.”
Evan rested his chin on his hand, eyes still fixed on Regulus. “You became captain through sabotage.”
Regulus dipped his quill into ink. “Through opportunity.”
“Sabotage.”
“Strategy.”
Dorcas said, “Sabotage.”
Pandora said, “A strategy with teeth.”
Barty said, “A masterpiece.”
Lily said loudly, “A crime.”
Regulus glanced over. “Multiple, if you were listening.”
Mary made a noise that was half gasp, half laugh. “He admitted it.”
“I admitted nothing. I clarified your accusation.”
James was shaking with laughter again. “I can’t breathe.”
Remus said, “That’s because you keep laughing instead of inhaling.”
Peter looked at Regulus with awe. “Did the seventh years really—”
“No,” Lily snapped.
Regulus looked at Peter.
Peter went quiet.
Regulus smiled faintly. “Depends which seventh years.”
Marlene nearly fell off her chair.
Fabian pointed at Gideon. “We should kiss his ass.”
Gideon shoved him so hard his chair skidded. “We should not.”
“For research.”
“For never.”
Alice looked at Frank. “This class has gone very strange.”
Frank nodded, dazed. “I miss the boring part.”
“No, you don’t,” said Marlene, James, Barty, and Fabian at once.
The professor sat down heavily behind their desk.
That, more than anything, truly ended the lesson.
For a few seconds, everyone simply existed in the aftermath: ink spilled from Gideon’s bottle, quills scattered across Pandora’s parchment, Peter half under the desk, Regulus perfectly composed as if he had not just performed an enchanted musical confession on school property.
Then Sirius leaned across the aisle and said, “Oi. Slytherin prince.”
Regulus did not look up. “Die.”
Sirius grinned. “Love you too.”
Regulus’s quill paused.
Barty made an obnoxious little cooing sound.
Regulus kicked his ankle under the desk without looking.
Barty yelped again. “Violence.”
“Strategy,” Regulus corrected.
Evan, quiet and amused, said, “With teeth.”
Pandora nodded. “And excellent pitch.”
Dorcas sighed. “None of us are ever going to be normal about this.”
“No,” James said, still grinning across the room. “None of us are.”
Lily sat down slowly, still looking like she wanted to lecture someone but could not decide whether the target should be Regulus, the professor, the school, or the concept of Quidditch itself.
Mary leaned into her shoulder, whispering, “He really did sing beautifully though.”
“I know,” Lily muttered. “That’s the annoying part.”
Marlene whispered, “I’m putting money on Slytherin next match.”
Frank looked betrayed. “Marlene.”
“What? Their captain has killer instinct.”
Regulus’s mouth twitched.
Not a grin. Not quite.
But enough.
Sirius saw it and pointed sharply. “Ha.”
Regulus looked over with icy dignity. “What?”
“You’re smug.”
“I’m bored.”
“You are smug.”
“I’m always bored.”
James said, “You sang an entire confession about being smug.”
Regulus looked him dead in the eye. “And yet I remain captain.”
There was a beat.
Then Barty slammed both hands on the desk again. “THAT’S MY BEST FRIEND!”
The professor shouted, “Mr Crouch!”
The class broke all over again.
And Regulus Black, Slytherin Quidditch Captain, alleged saboteur, unwilling musical prodigy, and absolute menace in a four foot frame, sat primly in the middle of the chaos with ink on his fingers, a silver spell-flicker still fading from his lashes, and no regret anywhere on his face.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Prologue
The Black family had known that Regulus was special ever since he was born. At first glance, he was just like them with his silver eyes, pale skin and dark hair, but when one looked closer you could easily spot the small differences - his eyes had a slight hue of lilac to them, his skin glowed as if he had been kissed by the moon and his hair was slightly lighter than everyone else's, a soft dark brown instead of the typical black hair. However, the most obvious tell, was the sparkle to his eyes. Not just as a metaphor, no. His eyes sparkled in all colors of the rainbow and he seemingly saw everything around him, even the things that nobody else did.
Regulus is now in his fifth year of Hogwarts and everyone who had known just how special he was, was either dead or had left the gloomy safety of Grimmauld Place years ago. Regulus is the only one left and he plans to both bring equal rights and opportunities to the Muggleborns and Halfbloods, yet also bring the Wizarding World back to their roots, with the help of his friends and a secret alliance between the fifth years.
