Weird encounters
Lupin stayed true to his word then. The next pranks were only aimed at the people who deserved it. That’s good. Regulus really managed that by just… pointing it out? Bloody Gryffindors, honestly. As if they didn’t know.
At the moment, he’s sitting in the library, working on his potions essay. It’s quiet. The kind of quiet that wraps itself around Regulus like a well-worn cloak.
Outside, rain patters steadily against the tall windows, soft and rhythmic, muting the world beyond. He dips his quill into the inkwell, carefully crafting another sentence for his Potions essay, his handwriting neat and precise.
He likes it here when it’s like this—still, almost sacred. The soft rustle of pages turning, the distant hum of rain, and nothing else to disturb his thoughts.
“Mind if I sit?”
Okay, so apparently, someone does have the audacity to disturb his thoughts. Regulus looks up, a frown on his face as he sees James bloody Potter standing there, hands shoved into his pockets, hair as unruly as ever but damp at the tips. Oh, he can feel his anger burning up already.
“Yes, I do mind actually. I have to study. Leave.”, he demands angrily.
Potter sits down across from him, because of course he does. Prick.
For a moment, he just stares at the table, tapping his fingers lightly against the wood. Regulus arches an eyebrow, wondering what on earth could have driven Potter to invade his quiet corner of the library.
“Look,” James starts, voice low enough not to disturb Madam Pince’s keen ears. “I wanted to... apologize.”
Regulus stills, quill poised above the parchment. “For what, exactly?”
James lets out a breath, scratching the back of his neck. “For how I’ve treated the Slytherins. You know, all the pranks that affected people I didn’t actually want to affect. Remus talked to us and explained what you…um…what you told him and… I’ve been... well, a bit of a prat. I honestly didn’t realize. So… Sorry.”
He looks like he means it too, the fool. All big brown eyes and smooth brown skin. His bird nest some people call hair. Come on, his father invented the Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion, fur fucks sake! Salazar, get a grip Regulus! One look and he could already hex him. The prat.
Regulus doesn’t reply immediately, a bit too stunned to do so, though he doesn’t let it show. His expression still cold. He watches him with that guarded, calculating look. James continues, undeterred.
“I guess I just—Sirius always made it sound like Slytherin was some sort of nightmare, and I didn’t bother to think for myself. I honestly just wanted to make Mulciber and his lot pay. But what we-, what I did…that wasn’t fair. I did it to make Pads-, I mean Sirius feel better, I guess… It was wrong, we stopped and I’m sorry.”
The rain grows heavier, sheets of water sliding down the windows. Regulus’s fingers tighten slightly on the quill. “You’re right. It was wrong.”
James glanced up, hazel eyes sincere. He looks ashamed. “Yeah. I know that now.”
Regulus considers him for a moment longer before giving a slight nod. “Okay, you can leave now. I have to get this done. And honestly, I’m not the only one you should apologize to.”
James smiles, a bit lopsided but genuine, and leaves.
Huh, that was weird. Regulus thinks that maybe, just maybe, Potter doesn’t always act selfishly. He still hates him though. Just to be clear.
The quiet returns, and Regulus dips his quill once more, the words flowing a little easier now.
When he returns to the common room after finishing the essay, he decides not to tell his friends about the encounter. Why? Regulus couldn’t say. It feels private, somehow.
The Slytherin common room hums with quiet chatter, the firelight dancing on the green walls. Regulus slips inside, finding Barty and Evan hunched over a chessboard, Dorcas flipping through a book, and Pandora braiding Evan’s hair while he pretends not to notice. He does though. Probably likes it too. It amuses Regulus more than anything. All of his friends are really quite beautiful. Maybe it’s weird to think that. He doesn’t care.
Barty has an average build, soft features, thin lips, a very charming smile. Always shows his teeth, that one. Some moles and even a few freckles here and there. His skin is light, but not as light as Regulus’. He has short, dark brown, spiky hair. It’s a bit messy at times, but in a somehow dangerous and cute way. He wears lots of shabby clothes, mostly to piss off his father, but he also claims that they’re very comfortable. Overall he’s tough looking, but in a charming way. Regulus fell for that charm too at one point in his 4th year. He remembers it like it was yesterday.
---
Regulus is sitting at his usual spot by the fire, half-listening to Barty recounting a particularly chaotic prank he pulled on a group of Hufflepuffs. Evan rolls his eyes, and Pandora giggles, but Regulus can’t quite focus.
It’s the way Barty’s eyes light up when he talks—sharp, animated, almost feverish with excitement. The way he grins, reckless and brilliant, daring the world to keep up with him. Regulus feels his heart stumble in his chest, and he quickly looks down at his parchment, heat creeping up his neck.
He swallows hard, trying to focus on his Potions notes, but it’s impossible now. The realization is loud and undeniable: he likes Barty. Likes him in a way that twists his stomach and makes his hands tremble. So that’s why he was never interested in girls then. Fuck.
Panic settles in, cold and sharp. This isn’t supposed to happen—not to him. His family has always been clear about how they feel about “that sort of thing.” It’s unnatural, shameful, a disgrace to the Black name. Regulus clenches his jaw, trying to push the feeling down, bury it beneath duty and pride.
But then Barty glances over, catching his eye with a crooked smile, and Regulus’s breath hitches. For a moment, it’s like the room narrows down to just the two of them, and Regulus doesn’t know whether to run or stay rooted to the spot.
He feels vulnerable—exposed in a way that terrifies him. What would his parents say if they knew? What would his housemates think? What would Sirius think? He usually doesn’t agree with his parents. But about this? He doesn’t know.
The fear coils tight, but beneath it, something warmer and softer stirs, something that makes him want to take the risk just to see Barty smile like that again.
Barty snaps his fingers in front of Regulus’s face, pulling him back to reality. “Earth to Regulus—are you even listening?”
Regulus forces a smirk, hoping it looks effortless. “Why would I? Your stories are all the same—loud and mildly illegal.”
Barty snorts, but his eyes linger a moment too long, curious. Regulus ducks his head, hoping the firelight hides his blush, wondering how he’s supposed to deal with this feeling.
---
Deal with it, he didn’t. Not really. He just kept it to himself and swallowed it down. That’s just how he handles things. And, honestly? Barty’s great, but Regulus doubts he’d be the right person for him. His parents will most likely choose his spouse anyway. He’s got more important stuff to worry about.
Evan is beautiful too. He looks like a god sometimes. All high and sharp cheekbones, smooth dark skin and blue eyes. Or turquoise? Like an ocean, somehow. Pandora has the same eyes. Same hair too. They could be twins in another life. Regulus smiles at that thought. Though Panda’s skin is a bit lighter than Evans’. They both have long, blond hair and they both wear it in beautiful dreadlocks. Overall, they look soft and nice. They are, too. Panda especially. She’d never hurt a fly.
Dorcas though… Well, she’s a force to be reckoned with. If he was into girls, it’d be her. Probably. She’s great, truly. Very smart, fierce and loyal. A deep, smooth voice, black braids with golden jewelry in them. Dark skin and curvy body. Sarcastic at times, but never malicious. She’s also very open-minded. Not a blood supremacist. He probably wouldn’t be either, if it wasn’t for his parents. He decides to not think about it too much.
Anyway, they’re gorgeous, all of them.
“Finally done scribbling essays?” Barty asks without looking up, interrupting his thoughts about how pretty his friends are. How’d that even happen?
Regulus smirks. “As done as they’ll ever be, considering the textbook can’t spell ‘asphodel’ correctly.”
Pandora’s eyes widen. “Did you correct it?”
“Obviously,” Evan mutters. “Regulus can’t leave anything out of order.”
Dorcas glances up. “Someone has to keep things organized around here.”
Barty moves his knight with a triumphant grin. “Check. By the way, did you hear about Mulciber? Slughorn caught him smuggling doxy eggs—said it was for ‘personal research.’”
Evan snorts. “Research on losing eyebrows, maybe.”
Pandora giggles. “Baby doxies are adorable. I’d name one Thistle… Or Luna?”
“More like Menace,” Dorcas quips.
Barty’s queen takes Evan’s bishop, and Evan gasps. “You cheat.”
“It’s called strategy, darling.” Barty winks at him. The bloody charmer.
Regulus leans back, amused, letting the easy banter wash over him. Whatever happened in the library with Potter seems far away now, tucked safely behind the comfort of his friends. He’s really grateful for them, though he’d never say. Admitting that would be stupid and Regulus Arcturus Black is anything but.
---
A few days later finds Regulus sitting at the Slytherin table for breakfast again. This time, it’s not nearly as fun.
He got a letter. From his mother. He reads it, pays the worried glances of his friends no mind, finishes his eggs and leaves.
The Slytherin dormitory feels suffocating. Regulus sits on the edge of his bed, his mother’s letter clutched tightly in his hand, the parchment crumpling under his fingers. The words blur together—accusations, disappointment, expectations.
“You will come home for Christmas. You will show the family that you are the son we can be proud of.”
His chest feels tight. Sirius is gone—really gone. Ran away from home, left him alone to deal with the fallout. Regulus bites back the bitter taste rising in his throat. How could he just leave? How could he abandon him to face their parents’ wrath alone?
Someone knocks on the door—Dorcas’s voice, casual but curious. “Reg? You in there?”
Regulus forces his breathing to slow. “Busy,” he manages to call back, but his voice sounds strained. There’s a pause, and then she tries again.
“Come on, it’s just me. You missed lunch.” Right, because he’s sitting here, looking at the letter since he left breakfast.
“I’m fine,” Regulus snaps, harsher than intended. Silence follows, and eventually, Dorcas’s footsteps retreat.
She knows better than to push when he gets like this. They all do. They know about his family and Sirius. Everyone knows. He’s been disowned, cursed and hexed quite thoroughly after causing a scene last Christmas and defending muggleb- mudbloods. Regulus just stood there and watched him leave.
They know about the Black family madness, the pureblood society and the expectations Regulus has to live up to now. They know about the abuse. Not that Regulus ever told them but… They know.
Needing air, Regulus slips out of the dormitory and the common room. He walks down the dim corridors, finding a small, shadowy alcove behind a tapestry on the 6th floor where no one ever looks. He presses his back against the cool stone wall, fingers trembling as he finally lets the tears spill over. His shoulders shake, and he covers his mouth to muffle the sobs.
This will be his first Christmas without his brother.
He hates how small he feels, hates that he’s stuck between duty and the ache of loss. Sirius left. Chose freedom over family, Potter over Regulus, and now Regulus is left to pick up the pieces, to be the perfect fucking heir while his heart twists with guilt and anger.
He slides down the cold wall and hugs his knees. He’s shaking. Panicking. He doesn’t want to go back there. Not alone.
The rain outside matches his mood, tapping softly against the high windows. It’s Oktober now and it’s slowly but surely starting to get colder at Hogwarts.
He wipes his face, willing himself to breathe, to focus. But the loneliness feels heavier than ever, pressing down on him until he can’t think, can’t move—just sit there and hope that, for once, someone might notice he’s breaking.
Someone does.
Regulus doesn’t hear the footsteps at first—too caught up in the way his chest feels like it’s caving in. When someone clears their throat, he startles, looking up with wide, red-rimmed eyes.
James fucking Potter of all people is standing there, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh...I-… didn’t mean to intrude,” he says awkwardly, voice softer than usual. His glasses are slightly askew, his red wool jumper is too small for him and his hair as messy as always. Regulus wants to rip it out. Why on earth does he have to see him like that?!
Regulus swipes hastily at his eyes, scowling. “Go away, Potter. I’m not in the mood.”
His voice sounds raspy. Worn out.
Potter doesn’t move, because of course he doesn’t. Instead, he glances around, probably realizing how hidden the alcove is. He lets out a breath and leans against the opposite wall. “Didn’t know anyone else knew about this spot,” he remarks.
Regulus glares. “I said go away.”
“Yeah, I heard you. Just... you looked like you could use a bit of company.”
Regulus’s jaw clenches. “Why do you care?”
Potter hesitates. His usual cocky smile is nowhere to be seen, replaced with something that looks like... concern. “Because you’re sitting here alone, crying your eyes out. And I know what that’s like.”
Regulus scoffs. “You don’t know anything about me.”
He doesn’t argue. Instead, he just sighs and slides down the wall to sit cross-legged on the floor. Right next to him. “True.... But I know what it’s like to feel abandoned. Sirius... doesn’t talk about it much, but he-… well he misses you.”
Something sharp twists in Regulus’s stomach. “Don’t.”
Potter raises his hands in a small, placating gesture. “Alright. Not here to make it worse.” There’s a beat of silence before he quietly adds, “It’s okay to be upset, you know.”
Regulus sniffs, refusing to look at him. “I’m not upset. I’m fine.”
Potter thankfully doesn’t call him out on the obvious lie. Instead, he just moves closer, slow enough that Regulus has time to move away if he wants. He doesn’t. When Potter reaches out, Regulus stiffens, but then there’s a hand on his shoulder—warm, steady.
Regulus doesn’t pull away, too tired to keep up the front. Potter doesn’t push, just sits there, his hand staying put as a quiet comfort. Then, after a moment, he shifts forward, pulling Regulus into a hug. Holding him.
Regulus tenses, caught off guard, but Ja- Potter doesn’t let go. It’s surprisingly gentle, firm enough to feel grounding but not trapping. Regulus can feel the soft wool of the taller boy’s jumper, the steady beat of his heart, and something in him breaks.
Before he knows it, he’s clutching the fabric, fingers digging in as he chokes on another sob. Potter doesn’t say anything—doesn’t mock him, doesn’t tell him to stop. He just holds him closer while drawing gentle patterns on his back, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hands are warm. Ridiculously warm.
It feels... safe. Regulus hates that it feels safe. Hates that it reminds him of Sirius and warmth and home. He hates that he needs it so much and that it’s Potter of all people. The guy who’s at fault for his misery. Well…partly.
But he still holds on tight. Lets himself be hugged. He’s never been hugged like that before. Not since Sirius and him drifted apart. It feels good. He misses his brother.
Jam- Potter holds him.
When his breathing finally slows, Regulus pulls back abruptly, wiping his face and glaring at the floor. “Don’t tell anyone,” he mutters.
Potter just nods, a small, sad but understanding smile on his face. “I won’t. I promise.”
Regulus doesn’t thank him, can’t find the words. But when he gets up and leaves, he doesn’t feel quite so alone.