Chapter Text
Regulus fixes his tie in the mirror. He twirls his finger around a curl or two, making sure his hair is perfect. He smirks at himself in the mirror for a minute. Immaculate. He looks like an heir.
“Regulus! Stop primping yourself or we’re gonna be late!” Regulus rolls his eyes. Barty. His annoying, albeit entertaining, best friend. Regulus walks out of the bathroom, grabbing his bag off of his bed. Barty watches him with an amused expression as he throws a book in.
“What are you smirking at?” Regulus asks, glaring slightly at him. Barty laughs, openly, as if Regulus had just told the funniest joke known to man. Barty, seeing as Regulus is still looking at him in amused confusion, tries to come up with an answer.
“Oh, nothing.” Barty turns, before adding, “But don’t forget your prefect badge!”
Regulus looks over at his bedside table. Nothing was on it. That's where he usually keeps his badge — he wouldn’t dare put it somewhere else. He looks down at his chest. His badge. He scowls. “Fuck you Crouch!” He yells, rushing after Barty.
So much for perfect composure.
______________
Sirius runs into the common room, cackling wildly. James follows after him quickly, a wide smile splitting his face. Remus and Peter follow after, both looking at their friends, seeming bored.
“Padfoot, get back here!” James yells, closing the distance between him and Sirius. He catches up to him, wrapping his arms around him, “Padfoot, give it back!”
Sirius cackles, putting his arms as far away from James as possible, “What if I want to try being a Head Boy?”
James continues to try and grasp the badge again, this time bringing him and Sirius to the floor. “That’s not how it works and you know it. Now fuck off and give it to me. If Lily finds out I got it stolen she’s going to kill me.”
“Serves you right, leaving it out in the middle of nowhere.” Sirius retorts, but he hands James the badge back. They get up, Sirius running a hand through his hair, James straightening his robe and putting his badge on. Remus and Peter walk over to them, Remus kissing Sirius on the head.
“You’re an idiot.” He whispers, smiling against Sirius’ temple. Sirius smiles back up at him. They seem to be completely in their own world, Sirius reaching up and pressing a kiss on his lips. James and Peter exchange a glance, before James starts faking gagging noises.
Sirius pulls away, rolling his eyes, “Oh piss off, we all know you’re just as sappy.”
James laughs, “Yeah, whatever. Now come on, I don’t want to miss breakfast.” He throws an arm around Peter, and they walk out together.
“Oi! Sirius, give that back.” Remus grumbles, taking a slice of the toast out of Sirius’ hands. “Godric, you want everything for yourself, don’t you?” The tone sounds annoyed, but the small twinkle in his eye says otherwise.
“Oh, come on. You always do your toast perfectly.” Sirius whines. He looks up at Remus, a pout prominent on his lips.
“No.” Remus mutters, “Don’t give me the eyes. Don’t you dare.” Sirius continues to give him the eyes. Remus’ rolls his before grabbing a piece of toast and starting to spread jam on it. Sirius beams. James rolls his eyes, gaze glancing over at the open Great Hall doors. He watches as students trickle in, one particular group sticking out to him. He can hear Sirius scoff across the table.
Black. The other one. The younger one. Regulus, with his group of Slytherin friends. He walks over to his table, looking as though he owns the hall. James rolls his eyes, almost just simply annoyed at his arrogance.
“Look at him,” Sirius grumbles, “Thinking he's so much better than everyone else. Fucking bastard.” James nods in agreement, slowly turning back to his own plate. He notices Sirius’ glare, his toast completely forgotten from his mind. James himself seems to have lost an appetite. As well as being Sirius’ “Perfect”, You-Know-Who supporter brother, he also happens to be the reason Gryffindor didn't do so well in Quidditch last year. Their streak lost to him.
“Sirius, please eat. Don’t think about him, he’s not worth it.” Remus rubs at Sirius’ back, finally causing him to break his gaze away from Regulus. He looks down at his plate, where his two pieces of toast made for him sit. He smiles a little bit, looking back up at Remus.
“Thank you, Moony.” He says, grabbing at the toast and starting to nibble at it. James shoots one last glare over his shoulder at Regulus, somewhat hoping he’ll see it and feel guilty. He hates
him. Hates him for how he makes Sirius feel. Hates him for believing he was the one doing the right thing. Hates every little thing about him.
Fuck you, Black.
______________
Regulus is writing. Not writing notes, as he feels no benefit in doing so. No, he’s writing his own words. Lines, lyrics, poems, whatever. He writes idly, head propped up on his hand, not paying attention in the slightest as to whatever the professor is talking on and on about. Some nonsense of the future, Regulus believes. Either way, he doesn’t care. He finds absolutely no purpose in Divination, as those only able to see actual predictions are able to thrive. Which he can’t, so he doesn’t understand why exactly he has to take the class. He never exactly pays attention to the nonsense Professor Tuttle spits out during the lesson. It’s all crazy talk, anyway.
Of course, he still passes the class. Get’s all O’s — his mother would be furious if he got anything below that. He studies, no matter how stupid all of it sounds. He makes up whatever the most plausible prediction of the future is. Professor Tuttle seems to love Regulus, despite the disinterest he always shows. Star student. He says. Prodigy. He says. Does Regulus still think Tuttle is crazy? Perhaps. Would he be lying if he said he didn’t like the amount of praise he got in that class? …Yes.
And of course, it’s not like he doesn’t get this praise in the rest of his classes. Potions, Defence Against the Dart Arts, Transfiguration. He was a skilled wizard, to say the least. He just happens to succeed extra well with the random shit he says in that class. He doesn’t know why, and frankly, he doesn’t care. As long as he is the best student in the class, that’s all that truly matters to him.
As he’s packing up, he notices Professor Tuttle walking up to him with a wide smile. Regulus is quick to put away his writings, not daring to show any disinterest in the class. As Tuttle gets closer, Regulus looks up at him with a respectful smile. Not too much, not too little.
“Regulus, come see me in my office when you are done packing up, please.” Regulus looks up at him, wide-eyed. His office? Has Regulus done something wrong? Did Tuttle realise that Regulus had been lying to him the whole time?
He swallows the lump forming in his throat, “O-of course, sir. I’ll be there in a moment.” He curses in his head at the stutter and the shakiness of his voice. He can hear his mother scolding him. A Black never shows weakness. Tuttle walks away, smiling as wide as ever. Regulus’ is gone, wiped off his face by the sudden panic of doing something wrong.
“What did that nut job say to you?” Barty asks, walking up beside Regulus. Evan is beside him, clearly as interested in the answer as Barty is but not willing to ask.
Regulus slings his bag over his shoulder, “He said he wants me to see him in his office.” Barty’s eyes widen, as shocked as Regulus is scared.
“Oh, shit. What the bloody hell did you do wrong?”
Regulus shakes his head, “I don’t know. But I should probably go. No need to leave him waiting.” Regulus feels the crease in his eyebrows, and he desperately tries to calm it. A Black never shows weakness. He reminds himself. That gets the worried expression off. His heart is still pounding, but not as loudly.
“Well, do you want us to wait for you? We can.” Evan suggests, nodding his head to the doors of the classroom.
Regulus shakes his head, “No, I’ll be fine. You go to the next class. I’ll tell you as soon as possible.” They both nod, giving him a look of comfort, before walking out the classroom doors. Regulus takes a deep breath, turning and heading his own way to Professor Tuttle’s office.
Regulus tries, he really tries to not overthink it. But he just can’t help it. What did he do? Did Tuttle notice his favorite student didn’t care about the class? Did Regulus’ disinterest show on his face? Did he say something controversial? Did he not do so well on his latest assignment?
These questions continue to float in his mind all the way until he’s at the door leading to Tuttle’s office. He takes another slow, deep breath, begging for his heart to stop pounding. He knocks on the door, and anxiously waits for a response.
“Come in!” He hears Tuttle’s joyous voice on the other side of the door. Slowly, Regulus turns the door knob, forcing his hand to remain steady. He sees Tuttle, smiling widely. He gestures to the chair in front of his desk, “Take a seat.” Regulus does as he’s told, perhaps too quickly in fear that his legs would give out at any moment. Being a little quicker than what was appropriate was less humiliating than falling onto the floor, anyway.
“Now, Mr. Black, I assume you are wondering why I brought you in here?” Regulus nods, his head screaming at Tuttle to get on with it. “Now, I promise you are not in trouble. Yes, big relief,
I know. I noticed just how well you have been doing in my class, seeming as if this is very simple work for you. I have taken it into consideration that maybe you need more of a challenge. Now, I don’t want to single you out in your current class, but I do want you to be more challenged. That is why I am asking how you would like to be moved to the year above you instead?”
Regulus processes that information. He’s not in trouble, thank whatever god may be listening. Tuttle must have noticed at what ease Regulus did everything (although by “ease” it was just bullshitting through a response). He wanted to move him up a year. The 7th years. That seemed promising.
7th years.
Sirius…
Suddenly the idea didn’t seem appealing in the slightest. He couldn’t just say that, though. “Well, Professor, I do appreciate your offer, but—”
“I know your brother is in that class.” Regulus feels somewhat offended by which Tuttle interrupted him, but allowed him to continue. “And I know you two are not on speaking terms right now. However, maybe this opportunity can be somewhat of a… reunion between the two of you. Perhaps you could rekindle the flame, starting connecting again—”
“Professor, I do appreciate the offer, I really do.” Regulus cuts off Tuttle, unable to handle it anymore. “However, I do not exactly find it appealing to start seeing Sirius every class. We have very different opinions on certain topics and I can’t see how we could ever… rekindle anything.”
“Well, yes, I know this. I was just thinking that, well, you wouldn’t have to talk to him but—”
“I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to be in the same class as him, or any of his friends, for that matter. I would like to stay as far away from him as possible. He is a disgrace to everything me and my family stand for. I won’t share a class with him, I just won’t. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to be late for my next class.”
“Please, Mr. Black. At least—”
But Regulus is already out of the office, absolutely fuming. How dare he assume that Regulus would willingly be within 30 feet of Sirius. How dare he try to convince him and say that perhaps they could reunite. Is he the slightest bit embarrassed about losing his temper in front of a professor? Perhaps, but he had every right to lose it. Start connecting again, as if. He assumes,
as well, that Sirius would not be the least excited to see his little brother in the same class as him, so in some way, Regulus is doing him a favor. As if he deserves it, anyway.
Regulus feels this boiling anger all the way to his next class, Transfiguration. So much so he makes more noise than needed when opening the door. As he closes it, he notices the class looking at him, in shock and amusement. His anger quickly turns into embarrassment as he quickly walks over to his seat, next to Barty, head cast down.
“Where were you, Mr. Black?” Professor McGonagall asks. Although, she seems more bored than disappointed in any case. Regulus can’t tell if that makes him feel better, or worse.
“I was talking to Professor Tuttle, I’m sorry.”
McGonagall nods her head, seemingly approving of that answer. “Okay. Next time just have him write you a pass.” Regulus nods, head still down as he settles into his seat. He hears McGonagall go back to whatever she was teaching, although Regulus can’t find it in him to concentrate. He’s still overwhelmingly upset over Tuttle’s offer that he doesn’t even notice the small scrap of parchment sitting next to him. Barty has to bump his shoulder against Regulus’ to get him to concentrate.
What happened?
He asked me if I wanted to be moved up a grade. With Sirius.
Fucking dick.
Regulus almost snorts, if it weren’t for the fact that he didn’t want to embarrass himself a third time in the last thirty minutes. Instead, he just smirks, looking up at Barty quickly before trying to listen in on what McGonagall might be talking about.
However, his mind wanders back to Tuttle. Fucking dick was right, but Regulus couldn’t help but anxiously think how this might affect his relationship with the professor in the future. Would he be pressed about this? Would seeing Regulus’ face only remind him of when Regulus lost his temper at him? The mere thought of that makes Regulus want to curl up and die. His mother definitely would not like the fact that he lost the respect of a professor simply because he didn’t
want to associate with Sirius in any way. Would his mother hear about this? He doubts that Tuttle would send her a message, although he also doubted that Tuttle would ever do something to suggest he talk to Sirius again. The possibility of Tuttle telling his parents made him shiver. He couldn’t. Regulus didn’t want to ever talk to Tuttle again, but if he had to in order to prevent him from sending a letter to his parents, he would.
Regulus doesn’t even notice when the bell rings, again Barty having to nudge him in order to get him out of his own mind. Regulus nods, signaling his gratitude, before slowly packing up his items, mind still half on the conversation.
“So, he really just asked and thought you would approve?” Barty asks, still in disbelief.
Regulus rolls his eyes, “Yes. He said perhaps I could rekindle the flame. Start connecting again as if I’d ever want to see the shithead’s face 5 meters in front of me.”
Barty snorts, “Did you say that to his face?” Regulus makes a face, horrified at the fact that idea crossed Barty's mind for a minute.
“Oh, God no. I may have snapped a little bit about not wanting to see Sirius, embarrassing, I know. He might hate me now. I interrupted him three times. God, it was horrid. But it was valid. I could not be with Sirius, and he was saying this as some sort of opportunity for me. As fucking if.”
“You? Interrupted a professor? God, how did your mother raise you?” Barty puts a hand to his chest, facing shock. Regulus snorts, looking down as a small smile splits his face.
“My mother will hopefully never hear about this encounter. She would yell for an hour just about respect. And that is something I definitely do not want to hear.” Regulus throws on his bag, “Now, shall we go on with our day or sit here and complain about what an arse Tuttle is?”
“I rather like complaining about arses.” Regulus slaps him over his head, causing Barty to raise his hands in surrender and hurry off out of the room.
Regulus is reading, his mind in a completely different world. This world is all about dancing, love, long, flowing dresses. He finds it a gorgeous escape from reality. He pictures it in his head, every little tree. It’s magical — almost. Not magical in the way wizard magic is. Magical in the figurative way. Not actual magic, finding this is a Muggle book, but sometimes it feels that way. Sometimes, muggles even incorporate their own idea of magic in the books. Those Regulus reads purely for the entertainment of laughing at how wrong Muggles are. This is a completely normal Muggle book, but it feels like he’s in a different dimension. He loves that.
However, he gets pulled away from this world by a hard shove on his shoulder. He looks up, glaring, only to find a clock in his face. The clock is in Barty’s hand, of course, and Regulus reads the time on the clock. 6:01. Regulus looks up at Barty.
“Yes? The time is 6:01? What about it?” Regulus asks, raising an eyebrow skeptically.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Barty raises his eyebrow back at him. Regulus looks at him for a minute, confusion clear on his face. Until slowly realisation dawns on him. The prefect meeting.
“Oh shit! Fuck, I'm late.” He scrambles off his bed, book long forgotten. He quickly throws on his shoes, his robe, looks himself in the mirror to make sure he's at least presentable. His hair is a little messy, but it'll do. He rushes out, barely waving to Barty. He runs up the stairs, legs already burning. He knows he’s going to be flushed and sweaty from running up four flights of stairs, but it’s the only way to prevent being more late. Today is really not his day. He turns the corner sharply, the door to the meeting room right in front of him. He nearly crashes into it, stopping as quickly as he could in order to open the door. He prays he doesn’t look too bad as, for the second time today, everyone in the room stares at him. He looks around for a seat…
…And finds one next to none other than James Potter. Possibly the man Regulus hates the most. He tries not to show the disgust on his face as he sits down, keeping as far away from Potter as possible.
“...Anyway.” Lily says, clasping her hands together. Regulus doesn’t really remember when Lily appointed herself the leader of the meetings, but she’s leading. “We were discussing disobedient behavior seen amongst the other students. Potter, you were going to say something?”
Regulus can’t help but notice the way Potter’s eyes light up at the mention. He thinks of the irony that James Potter had something to say about disobedience. “Right! I’ve noticed many more students out of bed after curfew, many being that of the Slytherin house.” Potter says the word Slytherin as though it were something foul, “Might they be planning something? Or have they just decided that they’re too good for the rules?” Potter looks directly at Regulus. Regulus knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s baiting him, trying to force him to lose his temper.
Regulus hates that it works.
“You’re one to bloody talk. The Gryffindors have pranked us at least three times in the past week. If anyone felt ‘too good for the rules’ it would be you and your stupid gang.” Regulus shoots back, glaring daggers at Potter.
“Watch your mouth. Your brother is in my stupid gang, might I remind you.” Potter practically growls, eyes flaming with anger. Regulus goes for the pocket with his wand in it, lest the situation escalate that far.
“You watch your mouth. Because he is not my brother.” Regulus fumes, clenching his jaw together so tightly it’s starting to hurt. In response, Potter leans closer, a malicious smirk on his face.
“He is biologically.” He remarks. Regulus loses his patience.
“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?” He snaps, careless of who hears him.
“Why don’t you fuck me yourself, sweetheart?” Potter retorts, snarling. Regulus finds that pocket again, as for some reason his hands had wandered to the table. He grabs a hold of his wand, ready for an attack at any point.
“Oh I bet you’d like that.” Regulus says in response, almost teasing.
“I’m practically gagging for it.” Potter puts a hand on his chest, fake swooning.
Regulus pulls his lips into a snarl, about ready to stand up, “You know what, Potter—” But before he has a chance to say anything, someone is in-between them. He looks up and sees Lily, somewhat horrified.
“This is a prefect meeting, are you two out of your minds?” Lily exclaims, “Remus, switch with Regulus please.” Lupin does so, looking somewhat dazed, and Regulus annoyingly replaces his seat, crossing his arms. He sends one last glare at Potter, who returns it with a smug smile.
What a dick.