Silly questions
Regulus
Regulus can still feel Potter’s eyes on him as he walks away, but he refuses to look back. His hands curl into fists, nails digging into his palms, the echo of James’s voice still ringing in his ears. Care about him? What a ridiculous, foolish thing to say.
It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter. Regulus tells himself that over and over as he rounds the corner, finding refuge in an alcove where the light doesn’t quite reach. He presses his back against the cool stone wall, forcing his breathing to slow. He will not let James Potter get to him.
But the words replay, uninvited. I can’t stand the thought of you being there... alone in that house.
His jaw clenches again. It’s just Gryffindor pity, nothing more. They see something broken and think they’re the ones to fix it. It’s not real. Ja- Potter doesn’t know him at all. He’s just making assumptions like everyone else, and Regulus isn’t about to be one of his pet projects.
Still, he can’t deny that it was different. Potter didn’t smirk, didn’t gloat like Regulus would have expected. His voice was... quiet, almost pleading. The stubborn, reckless idiot had actually looked sorry.
A heavy sigh escapes before he can stop it. He rubs a hand over his face, annoyed at how easily James got under his skin. Stupid, persistent, infuriating Gryffindor. Regulus thought he knew him, just like he thought he knew his brother. But maybe he doesn’t.
Lost in thought, Regulus barely notices the figure approaching until it’s too late. He stiffens immediately, preparing himself for another confrontation, but it’s not James. It’s one of the Slytherin seventh-years, Bole, giving him a curious glance before striding past without a word.
Good. Regulus doesn’t want to talk to anyone. He just wants to make sense of this feeling gnawing at him. No one’s ever looked at him like that—like they actually see him. Not just the heir, the obedient Black, the quiet guy in class. Just him.
He shakes his head sharply. It doesn’t matter. He won’t let it matter. James Potter is a fool if he thinks he can understand him. Regulus won’t be weak. He won’t give James the satisfaction of thinking he’s right.
And yet, he can’t help but wonder what it would be like if he was.
Surprisingly, Regulus didn’t actually hate the other boys company these past weeks. It was nice. Sitting with him in silence, though he’d never admit it.
That’d be pathetic and Regulus Arcturus Black is anything but.
He gets up and straightens, brushing imaginary dust from his robes, when he hears a soft, familiar hum drifting down the corridor. He looks up, and there she is—Pandora Lovegood, gliding toward him with that dreamy, absentminded smile that always makes him feel strangely at ease.
Half of her dreadlocks are pulled back, the rest cascading her face, and her earrings—a mismatched pair of tiny glass orbs filled with swirling colors—catch the dim light.
“Panda,” he greets, his tone softer than usual. He can feel his mouth turning up at one corner, seeing his best friend. He quickly puts on a straight face.
“Reg,” she replies with a lightness only she can manage, as if his name were a song. “You look like a storm cloud.”
He huffs. “Do I?”
She nods, reaching out to brush a stray curl from his forehead. “You do. A bit rumpled and fierce, like you’re about to rain on someone’s parade.”
Despite himself, he smirks. “You’re one to talk. Those earrings look like something you fished out of the lake.”
Pandora giggles. “They’re full of powdered moonstone and essence of dawn. Dad sent them. Aren’t they lovely?”
He gives a curt nod. “They suit you.”, he agrees, because they do.
Pandora beams, unbothered by his clipped tone. “Your curls are extra wild today. You look like a lion trying to pretend he’s a house cat.”
Regulus blinks, thrown by the odd comparison, but when Pandora loops her arm through his, he doesn’t pull away. Usually, he hates people touching him, but Pandora’s different—light, airy, as if she might float away if he doesn’t hold her down.
“Where are we going?” he asks.
“Anywhere,” she replies. “You looked like you needed rescuing.”
“I don’t,” he lies, but doesn’t make a move to leave.
She hums again, like she knows better. “Sometimes I pretend that the corridors are rivers, and we’re just drifting along. It’s easier that way.”
Regulus gives her a sideways glance. “You’re strange.”
“I know,” she says cheerfully. “But you like it.”
He doesn’t deny it.
They walk in comfortable silence, Pandora occasionally pointing out odd shapes in the stones or telling him about a theory she’s concocted about thestrals’ sense of humor. At some point, Regulus realizes he’s smiling, and when he glances down at her, she’s grinning up at him like she’s won some kind of unspoken challenge.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, so quietly he’s not sure she hears.
But Pandora just squeezes his arm. Salazar, he really loves that girl.
As they continue walking, Regulus thinks back to the fight he’s had with Potter in the Astronomy Tower. He said something there. Regulus remembers:
— I think you’re someone who doesn’t know how to ask for what they need. That’s all.
These words really got to him. Made him think and, rather reluctantly, Regulus has to admit that they’re probably true.
So when Pandora asks him in that dreamy voice of hers, “Reg, are you okay, really? You seem a bit lost in that little head of yours. Need anything?”, Regulus wants to ask for what he really needs in that moment.
He hesitates. The words feel stuck in his throat, tangled and stubborn. He doesn’t know how to say it. Doesn’t know how to ask.
Potter’s words echo in his mind, a frustrating, persistent whisper. I think you’re someone who doesn’t know how to ask for what they need.
Pandora’s arm is still linked with his, her fingers light against his sleeve. She’s looking at him with those curious, steady eyes, as if she has all the time in the world to listen.
“Reg?” she prompts again, her voice gentle and patient. “What do you need?”
He swallows, forcing himself to look at her. “I...” His lips press together in frustration. He’s not used to this. Not used to needing, let alone admitting it. “Could you... um...”
Pandora tilts her head, waiting, but she doesn’t rush him.
He breathes out, feeling oddly like he’s standing on the edge of something uncertain and vast. “Could you... just... hug me?” His voice is so low, it almost gets lost in the echo of the corridor. He can feel his neck flushing. Salazar, that was pathetic.
But Pandas expression doesn’t change—she doesn’t laugh, doesn’t tease. Instead, her face softens, and without a word, she unwinds her arm from his and steps closer.
Slowly, she wraps her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. Regulus stiffens at first, unsure where to put his hands. Eventually, he settles them lightly around her waist, as if he might break her by holding on too tight.
But Pandora doesn’t pull back. Instead, she hugs him with surprising firmness, like she’s grounding him. One hand rubs slow circles on his back, and she hums softly under her breath—a melody he doesn’t recognize but somehow calms him.
Regulus closes his eyes, letting the tension seep out of his muscles. It’s strange—how something so simple feels like breaking through the surface after being underwater for too long. Pandora’s warmth seeps through his clothes, and for once, he doesn’t feel cold.
His cheek presses against the top of her head, and he allows himself a deep, shuddering breath. It’s not overwhelming, like he feared. It’s... nice. Comfortable. Safe.
Pandora doesn’t ask why he needed the hug or what’s been eating at him. She just holds him, content to let him take what he needs without question.
After a while, Regulus speaks, his voice muffled against her hair. “You don’t think it’s... stupid?”
Pandora pulls back just enough to look at him, her hands still resting on his shoulders. “Needing comfort isn’t stupid, Reg. You’re allowed to ask for it.”
He meets her gaze, and for once, doesn’t look away. “I didn’t know how.”
Pandora smiles softly, brushing her thumb against his shoulder. “That’s okay. You’re learning.”
A faint smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
They stand like that for a moment longer before Pandora gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Feel better?”
“Yeah,” he admits, almost reluctantly. “I do.”
Pandora links their arms again, as if nothing’s changed. “Good. Let’s go find some hot chocolate. I think you deserve it.”
Regulus doesn’t argue. He lets her lead the way, the warmth of her hug lingering like a soft, persistent light.
And for the first time in a long while, he thinks maybe Potter wasn’t entirely wrong. If he wants to be hugged, he can just ask. In the end, it wasn’t that hard to do and he really does feel better now.
Now, Regulus is someone who does know how to ask for what he needs. Thanks to Potter, but Regulus decides not to think about that too hard.
Well… Should Potter try to talk to him again, Regulus supposes he could try to be a bit nicer to him.
---
Potter does try to talk to him again. The very next day. He really is persistent.
It’s late, the common rooms are quiet, and Regulus finally has a moment of peace in the library. He’s half-buried in a book, letting the silence wash over him, when he hears the footsteps approaching.
Potter stumbles in, pausing when he spots Regulus, and for a second, Regulus hopes he’ll just walk away. No such luck. Instead, he wanders over, leaning casually against the nearest bookshelf. Why is his hair like that?!
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” James says, his tone infuriatingly casual. His voice smooth and deep.
Regulus doesn’t bother looking up. “What do you want, Potter?”
“Nothing. Just... trying to figure you out.”
Regulus scoffs. “Good luck with that.”
Potter pulls out the chair opposite him, plopping down uninvited. Regulus tenses but doesn’t say anything, determined to ignore him.
“Alright,” he says, too brightly. “Let’s say I wanted to get to know you. Where would I start?”
Regulus gives him a flat look over his book. “You wouldn’t.”
Potter grins like he didn’t hear the dismissal. Regulus finds himself understanding why so many girls fall for that grin of his. It’s rather charming. Just… Objectively of course. “Come on. Answer one question. Just one.”
“This is stupid,” Regulus mutters, going back to his book. Potter doesn’t take the hint.
“If you could fix one world problem, what would it be?” he asks, trying for a thoughtful tone but sounding almost too eager.
Regulus huffs. “Why would it matter?”
Potter shrugs. “It might. Maybe you’d make house-elves wear little uniforms or something.”
Regulus glares at him, unimpressed. “You think you’re funny.”
James’s- Potters grin only widens. It’s infuriatingly bright. “Sometimes.”
Regulus sighs, almost giving in just to shut him up. “Fine. Hypothetically, war. Happy? You can leave now."
The other boy blinks, looking more serious than Regulus expects. “Yeah. That’s a good one.”, he agrees, ignoring the second part. Prick.
Silence stretches out, and Regulus wants to be annoyed, but the question lingers, uncomfortable. Potter shifts, clearly thinking of another.
“What’s something you regret doing?” he tries, softer this time.
Regulus stiffens, debating telling him to shove off, but he wanted to be nicer this time, so he lies. “I don’t regret anything.”
Potter smirks. “Yeah. Sure.”
Regulus doesn’t know why he doesn’t get up and leave. Stupid Gryffindor persistence. Maybe if he answers, Potter will just go away.
“Your turn,” he says suddenly, breaking the quiet.
Regulus narrows his eyes, wary. “Fine. What’s one secret you’ve never told anyone?”
James laughs, but it’s not his usual boisterous sound. “Subtle, Black. Ok, sometimes... I’m scared I’ll never be good enough. For my friends. For Sirius. For myself. For you too actually.”
Regulus looks at him properly for the first time, caught off guard by the admission. He doesn’t know what to say, but for once, James isn’t looking for a reaction. He’s just... honest.
The silence this time isn’t uncomfortable. Regulus still thinks this whole thing is stupid, but somehow, he doesn’t hate it quite as much as he thought he would.
---
The library is empty again. Regulus is alone, just as he prefers. The quiet should be comforting, but his mind keeps drifting back to the night before, to Potter’s ridiculous questions and that stupid grin. He frowns at his book, unable to focus on the words.
It’s stupid. He’s never had any patience for Gryffindor antics, and Potter is the worst of them. Persistent, nosy, infuriatingly earnest. Regulus tells himself he only stayed because leaving would’ve been admitting defeat. Besides, it’s not like Potter actually cares. Gryffindors just can’t help sticking their noses where they don’t belong.
Still, James’s answer lingers. That crack in his cocky armor when he admitted his fear of not being good enough. Regulus can’t quite shake the way it made his chest feel tight, like he was seeing something he shouldn’t. Someone vulnerable.
A scrape of footsteps breaks his thoughts, and he tenses instinctively, already guessing who it’ll be. Sure enough, Potter strolls in like he owns the place, spotting Regulus immediately. A smirk spreads across his face.
“Back for more riveting conversation?” James asks, sliding into the chair without waiting for permission.
Regulus rolls his eyes. “You must be bored.”
“Or maybe I just enjoy your company,” James shoots back with an exaggerated wink. Regulus pointedly looks at his book, pretending to read.
The taller boy leans back, undeterred. “Alright, new strategy. I’m asking rapid-fire questions, and you answer without thinking. Ready?”
“No.”
“Great! First question—if you could be any magical creature, what would you be?”
Regulus glares at him. “That’s idiotic.”
“Come on,” he coaxes, giving him an annoyingly charming grin. “I’ll go first. I’d be a hippogriff. Stubborn, a bit reckless, but loyal. Your turn.”
Regulus hesitates, not wanting to give in. But James is staring at him expectantly, eyes bright. “...Thestral,” he mutters, almost too quiet to hear.
James-no, Potter pauses, clearly surprised. “Thestral? Huh. Mysterious. Kinda fitting.”
Regulus scowls, unsure whether to be insulted. James presses on. “Next—what’s the worst lie you’ve ever told?”
Regulus stiffens, eyes hardening. “Pass.”
James- Potter! doesn’t push, sensing the shift. “Alright. What’s one thing that makes you genuinely happy?”
The question hangs in the air, and Regulus’s mind blanks. Happy? What a pointless question. “I wouldn’t know.”
James’s expression softens, and for a moment, Regulus hates the pity he thinks he sees. But then James just nods, like he understands without needing to say it out loud.
“Alright,” James says, his tone lighter again. “One last one. If you could do one thing without any consequences, what would it be?”
Regulus looks at him, really looks, and something about the question digs uncomfortably under his skin. He doesn’t answer, and James doesn’t push this time. Instead, they sit there in silence, and for once, it doesn’t feel like a battle.
Regulus knows he should walk away, should shut Potter out before this gets any worse. But the truth is, part of him doesn’t entirely hate the company.
---
The courtyard is nearly empty, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the stone paths. Regulus sits alone on a bench near the fountain, the quiet a welcome change from the bustling corridors. He keeps his gaze fixed on the parchment in his lap, but his mind drifts to James’s ridiculous persistence.
Naturally, that very persistence appears, striding into the courtyard with a confident air. James spots Regulus immediately and makes his way over, unbothered by the lack of invitation.
“You always pick the most broody spots,” James says, plopping down beside him.
Regulus doesn’t bother to look up. “And you always pick the most inconvenient times to be a nuisance.”
James just grins. “You’d miss me if I didn’t.”
Regulus huffs, though it’s less annoyed than intended. “Doubtful.”
James leans back, stretching out his legs. “All right, question of the day. If you could turn into any animal—no Animagus rules—just transform completely, what would it be?”
Regulus frowns, still not meeting his eyes. “That’s stupid.”
“Humor me,” James insists, nudging his shoulder lightly.
There’s a pause before Regulus mutters, “A coyote.”
James’s eyebrows shoot up. “A coyote?”
“Yes. They’re adaptable, clever, and survive where others don’t. They don’t trust easily but know how to take care of themselves.”
James is silent for a moment, clearly not expecting such a thought-out answer. “That’s... actually kind of brilliant.”
Regulus finally glances at him. “What about you?”, he can’t help asking.
James grins. “A stag.”
Regulus scoffs. “Of course.”
“Hey, stags are noble, strong, and protective. Besides... they run in packs. Never alone.”
Regulus pretends to focus back on his parchment, but he can’t help the flicker of something—maybe curiosity—at James’s answer. “Sounds impractical,” he mutters.
James just laughs, light and easy, as if Regulus’s attitude doesn’t bother him at all. “You’re a tough one, you know that?”
Regulus doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t leave either. He hopes James doesn’t read into that too much.
---
It’s past curfew when Regulus slips into the Astronomy Tower, needing space to think. The sky is clear, stars scattered like flecks of light against the dark. He doesn’t expect anyone else to be there, but of course, James is already leaning against the railing, looking up at the sky.
Regulus freezes, considering turning back, but James spots him and grins. “Couldn’t sleep either?”
Regulus huffs but walks over anyway, leaning on the opposite side. “You seem to have a talent for showing up where you’re not wanted.”
James just shrugs. “Or maybe I’m just good at finding you.”
They lapse into silence, and Regulus surprises himself by not leaving. After a while, James breaks the quiet. “Do you ever think about leaving? Just... running away from it all?”
Regulus frowns. Not this again. “Running solves nothing.”
“Maybe. But don’t you ever just want to escape?”
Regulus hesitates, the truth on the tip of his tongue. “Sometimes,” he admits quietly. “But it would change nothing. The world would stay the same.”
James studies him carefully. “I used to think you were all about the traditions, the pureblood stuff. But... I’m starting to think that’s just what everyone expects of you.”
Regulus’s shoulders tense. “You don’t know what it’s like. Being born into something so heavy, so suffocating, and knowing that fighting it would mean... losing everything.”
James’s voice softens. “Yeah. But what’s the point if you lose yourself instead? You live your life for you. Not for anyone else.”
Regulus glances at him, caught off guard. “It’s not that simple.”
“No,” James agrees. “But it doesn’t have to be that hard either. Sometimes... you can choose what parts of yourself you keep and what parts you let go.”
Regulus exhales, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. “You make it sound easy.”
James gives a small, wry smile. “It’s not. But it’s worth it.”
There’s a long pause, and then Regulus finds himself asking, almost without meaning to, “Why do you care so much?”
James shrugs again, but his voice is softer. “Maybe because I know what it’s like to have people try to shape you into something you’re not. Or maybe I just... don’t like seeing you so closed off all the time. You deserve better.”
Regulus doesn’t know how to respond to that, but he doesn’t feel the usual urge to push James away.