Back To School
The Hogwarts Express is loud as ever—trunks banging, owls hooting, steam hissing through the corridors like the train itself is holding its breath. Regulus packed and unpacked his suitcase a lot yesterday. He was nervous. Really nervous.
Regulus walks on with a new scarf (one Effie knitted, gold and navy), muggle clothes he chose himself in Muggle London, a secondhand trunk borrowed from the Potters, and a name that no longer has a manor behind it.
He keeps his chin up. He always does. But his hand is tight around the strap of his bag until he finds his compartment—and hears them.
His friends.
Barty, Evan, Pandora and Dorcas, curled up beside Pandora like she’s always been there. There’s laughter inside, and warmth, and the hum of conversation—and it all goes quiet when they see him.
“Reg,” Barty breathes.
Evan blinks, then grins. “You actually did it.”
Regulus steps inside. There’s a beat of silence, and then Pandora launches forward and hugs him so tight it knocks the breath out of him.
“You absolute idiot,” she says into his shoulder, “I’m so proud of you.”
Barty shoves her out of the way with an elbow. “We were placing bets. I said you’d chicken out.”
“You also said he’d marry a Pureblood heiress and die at forty from repression,” Dorcas adds, smirking.
Barty shrugs. “Still possible.”
Regulus rolls his eyes—but he’s smiling. And his heart’s beating so fast it’s almost painful.
They knew. He told them everything over break—his decision, the blow-up with his mother, Sirius and the Potters taking him in. Still, seeing their faces now, seeing that they’re proud—it hits different.
He sits, exhales, lets his shoulders drop a fraction and starts answering questions about James, Sirius, Effie and Monty. Even Lupin. His friends listen to him and Regulus feels good.
But that’s just the train.
Hogwarts is a different beast.
---
When they arrive, it happens in waves.
The Slytherins? A cold divide. Some pretend not to notice. Others absolutely do. Mulciber makes a loud, snide comment about “Potter’s charity case.” A few first-years stare at him like he’s a ghost of bad bloodlines. Even among the neutral ones, there’s unease. Regulus Black was supposed to be something important. Now he’s just—what? Sirius’s shadow? But his friends support him.
The Gryffindors are oddly quiet about it. A few raise their eyebrows, a few offer awkward nods. Marlene gives him a casual “welcome to the rebellion” when she passes him in the corridor. Lily Evans actually smiles at him like she’s been expecting him to show up in her camp for months.
The professors are polite. Slughorn gives him a look that might be respect. McGonagall gives him two extra lemon drops and pointedly avoids saying anything about his parents.
And Sirius? Sirius keeps looking at him like he can’t believe he’s really here, on the same side of the line. He says nothing too sentimental—but he hovers. He sits near him at meals. Him and James pick fights with anyone who looks at Regulus sideways. He hands him a stolen Chocolate Frog without comment and walks off like it’s no big deal.
---
But for Regulus, it is a big deal.
He’s nervous. Terrified, even. Every hallway feels sharper. Every stare cuts deeper. His name isn’t armor anymore—it’s a question people whisper behind his back.
Why’d he leave? What did he give up? What’s he trying to prove?
But then he sees his friends, arms looped around each other in defiance.
He sees Lupin, giving him a quiet nod like he knows this is harder than Regulus lets on.
And he sees James, who claps him on the shoulder and says, “Hey. I’m glad you’re here.”, when he spends some time in the Gryffindor common room.
Regulus doesn’t reply. Just nods once, sharp and sure.
He’s still scared.
But he’s free.
And more than that—
He’s proud of himself.
---
About a month after the winter break, Regulus has settled into a new rhythm at Hogwarts.
He has his routine now. Breakfast with his friends at the Slytherin table. Classes. Long hours spent reading or listening to music tucked into corners of the library or the common room. Occasionally, he drifts into the Gryffindor common room—usually to spend time with Sirius, sometimes Lupin, and, more often than he expected, James. There’s always another one with them too—Pettigrew. He’s funny in a strange, self-deprecating way. Regulus finds himself liking him more than he thought he would.
He studies. He does his homework. He laughs more.
People moved on from the gossip about him leaving home faster than he’d anticipated. There are fresher scandals now. New things to whisper about in corridors. He’s old news.
Somehow, that makes him feel safer.
He also finally took the time to properly meet Marlene—the infamous girlfriend Dorcas had been talking about for months. Marlene’s sharp, confident, easy to be around. Regulus gets it now. He sees why Dorcas is so into her.
All in all, Regulus is happy. Maybe the happiest he’s ever been.
And to top it off—he caught the Snitch in the match against Gryffindor.
James sulked for a full day. Sirius, too. It’s their final year, and they were determined to beat Slytherin. Regulus can’t blame them—but still. He caught it. He’s just that good.
Naturally, he kept the teasing and fliting going. James gets flustered every time, and then immediately berates himself for it. Regulus finds it hilarious. James is, regrettably, adorable when he’s annoyed. That’s probably why Regulus does it so much. Not that he’d ever admit that. Not even to himself.
Sometimes, James needs help with Potions. Regulus helps. Every single time. Not without mockery, of course—because Regulus is a year below him and still better at it, which is just tragic for Potter.
Pandora hasn’t changed at all—still strange and serene in equal measure. But Barty and Evan? There’s something going on there. Not tension, exactly. Well… maybe a specific kind of tension. The sexual kind. They flirt, constantly, and terribly. It’s borderline embarrassing.
Regulus watches the whole thing unfold like it’s theatre. Eventually, curiosity gets the better of him.
So one day, he asks Evan about it.
They’re sitting by the window in the dorm room, legs stretched out, books open but entirely ignored. Evan is pretending to read, which is ironic because he hasn't turned a page in ten minutes. Regulus knows. He’s been watching.
“So,” Regulus says casually, “you and Barty.”
Evan doesn’t even blink. “Me and Barty what?”
Regulus raises an eyebrow. “You tell me.”
“We’re friends,” Evan replies smoothly, a little too quickly. “We have excellent banter. Very sharp. Entertaining. Nothing more.”
Regulus hums. “Right. Friends. That’s why he blushes every time you call him ‘darling.’”
Evan shrugs, flipping a page with exaggerated calm. “He blushes when the wind changes direction. Not my fault.”
“And the hand-on-the-knee thing last Thursday? Also just banter?”
“I was steadying him,” Evan says, sounding vaguely offended. “He almost tripped over Mulciber’s bag.”
Regulus scoffs. “He was sitting down.”
Evan finally looks up, expression perfectly blank. “You’ve become very nosy lately.”
“I’m just observant. And bored. You two are the only soap opera I’ve got.”
Evan smirks despite himself. “You should get a hobby.”
“I have one,” Regulus says. “It’s you.”
That makes Evan laugh—an actual laugh, not one of those half-sighs he usually passes off as amusement.
“Fine,” he concedes, leaning back against the wall. “Maybe there’s something.”
Regulus grins. “I knew it.”
“But if you tell anyone,” Evan warns, pointing a very non-threatening finger at him, “I will hex your eyebrows off in your sleep.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Regulus retorts, clearly delighted. “So what is it, then? A crush? A thing? Is it mutual?”
Evan groans, dragging a hand down his face. “God, you’re relentless.”
“And yet you love me for it.”
Evan throws a cushion at him
Just as Evan’s cushion sails past Regulus’s head and hits the floor with a soft thump, the door creaks open.
Barty steps inside.
He’s holding a half-eaten apple, tie hanging loosely around his neck, his hair looking like he fought the wind and lost. His eyes land on the two of them, curious.
“What are you lot on about now?” he asks, sounding amused, a bit distracted.
Regulus doesn’t respond. He’s too busy watching Evan freeze in real time.
Then Barty adds, offhandedly, “Heard my name. Something about a crush?”
Evan’s breath catches. He opens his mouth, then shuts it again. Regulus can see the panic setting in, and oh, it is delicious.
“He’s making things up,” Evan mutters.
“Am I?” Regulus drawls.
And then—like he’s just figured something out, like the pieces of a puzzle have finally clicked into place—Barty sets the apple down on the nearby table and walks over.
The room suddenly feels very small.
Evan blinks up at him, clearly unsure whether to laugh or hex someone.
But before he can say anything, Barty leans in.
And kisses him.
No ceremony. No hesitation. Just walks right up, grabs the front of Evan’s jumper, and kisses him like it’s something he’s been meaning to do for ages and simply ran out of patience.
Regulus’s jaw drops slightly. He does not look away.
Evan freezes for half a second—then kisses him back.
It’s not long, but it’s enough.
Enough to make Regulus lean back against the bed, blinking like he’s watching live theatre unfold in front of him.
When they part, Evan looks dazed, breathless, like someone just shoved all his thoughts off a shelf.
Barty, as usual, looks annoyingly satisfied with himself.
Regulus tilts his head. “Wow,” he says, voice light. “That was… deeply satisfying to witness.”
Neither of them says a word.
Regulus smirks. “So… are we still pretending there’s nothing going on, or can I finally be smug about being right?”
Evan groans and hides his face in his hands.
Barty just grins and picks his apple back up.
---
With Barty and Evan now, well… a thing, Regulus finds himself alone more often than not. Not lonely, exactly—just alone. There's a difference. One he’s only recently learned to articulate.
Pandora, it turns out, also has someone. A boy named Xenophilius.
When she first said his name, Regulus genuinely thought she’d sneezed.
They're all sort of ridiculous, in that soft, nauseatingly cute way that new couples often are. And most of them are queer, which fills Regulus with a quiet kind of peace. It’s nice, knowing he’s not the odd one out anymore. They’re openly dating, holding hands in corridors, stealing kisses between classes—and the world hasn’t collapsed around them. There are still the occasional glares or muttered insults from the usual pureblood suspects, but nothing unmanageable.
It’s strange to think there was a time he believed he was the only queer boy at Hogwarts. Now? It’s practically a club. Sirius. Remus. Dorcas and Marlene. Pandora and her sneeze-boyfriend. Barty and Evan, finally.
And him.
The only problem is, now that everyone’s loved up and off being adorable, no one wants to go to Hogsmeade with him.
Which would be fine—he can spend a day on his own. He’s done it before.
But he doesn’t want to.
Everyone has plans. Except for him. And—well, except for James.
Regulus considers it. The idea lingers like steam from a cup of tea.
They could go together. Just as friends, obviously. All of James’s friends will be on dates anyway. It would make sense. Logical. Casual.
But still—Regulus doesn’t want to ask.
It would be silly, wouldn’t it?
And Regulus Arcturus Black is anything but.
Still… he remembers something James once told him, in a moment that stuck:
“I think you’re someone who doesn’t know how to ask for what they need.”
And right now, what Regulus needs is to talk to someone. To not walk through Hogsmeade feeling like the last single person on Earth.
So he gathers whatever passes for courage these days and makes his way to the Gryffindor table at lunch.
James is sitting with Sirius and Peter, mid-bite of something that looks suspiciously like a meat pie. Regulus joins them casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. He even manages a half-smirk at Sirius when his brother blinks at him in surprise.
Then he turns to James. Light. Breezy. Like this means nothing.
“So,” Regulus says, stabbing a grape with the end of his fork, “do you want to come to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”
James pauses, mid-chew.
Regulus rushes to add, “Not like that. I mean—just as friends. Obviously. Everyone else has plans, and I didn’t want to go alone. So I thought, you know. You also have no life.”
Peter snorts into his pumpkin juice. Sirius raises an eyebrow so high it could disappear into his hairline.
James, for a terrifying second, says absolutely nothing.
Then, slowly, he swallows and smiles. “Sure,” he says. “I’d love to.”
Regulus blinks. “Right. Cool. It’s settled then.”
He pretends to go back to his grapes, but his hands feel warm and his heart is doing something very unhelpful in his chest. Which is weird. It’s just casual. He didn’t actually ask him out. He would never.
Sirius is still staring. Regulus kicks him under the table.
Hard.
---
It’s a chilly Saturday morning when Regulus meets James outside the castle gates, bundled in a dark green scarf and long coat, gloved hands stuffed into his pockets. He isn’t nervous. Why would he be? It’s just Hogsmeade. With James. A friend now, Regulus supposes.
James is already waiting for him.
And he looks… good.
Really good.
His hair is still a mess—obviously—but it’s a curated mess, like he’s been trying to make it look like he hasn’t tried. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, his jacket is new (a muggle one: brown leather with a soft, cream-colored lining), and his scarf is Gryffindor red but matched with an oddly elegant white jumper beneath. He’s even wearing nice shoes. Regulus, being Regulus, clocks all of this instantly.
But doesn’t think much of it.
“Nice jacket,” he says casually.
James blinks like he wasn’t expecting Regulus to say anything first. “Oh—uh, thanks. You too. That’s a—um. Nice scarf. Slytherin chic.”
Regulus smirks. “Trying to charm me, Potter?”
James opens and closes his mouth. “I—what? No. Just—complimenting. You know. Normally.”
Regulus raises an eyebrow and starts walking.
James, after a beat, follows quickly.
---
The streets of Hogsmeade are bustling with students. Couples everywhere—arms linked, mittens matched, eyes dreamy. It looks like a winter romance novel cover exploded on the cobblestones.
To anyone watching, they look like just another pair of lovesick idiots.
They walk side by side, shoulders bumping occasionally, James sneakily glancing over more often than he probably should. Regulus, oblivious as ever, is focused on the shops, the smells from Honeydukes, and the way the frost crunches under their boots.
“Where do you want to go first?” James asks, probably trying to sound nonchalant and absolutely failing.
“I don’t care,” Regulus replies. “You invited yourself, remember?”
James flushes. “You invited me!”, he exclaims, outraged
Regulus gives him a long, slow look. “Did I, though?”
James makes a strangled sound. Regulus smirks and keeps walking. This is hilarious.
---
They end up at the bookshop for a while, where Regulus finds a rare charms volume and forgets James exists for a full ten minutes. When he finally looks up, James is leaning against a shelf, watching him with a soft, amused smile.
“What?”
James startles. “Nothing! Just. You looked very…intense. Like you were about to duel the pages.”
Regulus rolls his eyes and slaps the book shut. “It’s called focus, Potter. You should try it.”
James mumbles something about being plenty focused and follows him out.
---
At Honeydukes, James insists on buying Regulus a bag of chocolate-covered peppermint toads.
“You didn’t have to,” Regulus says, staring at it suspiciously.
“I wanted to,” James shrugs, far too casual. “You like those, right?”
“I do, but how do you know that?”
James pauses. “...You mentioned it. Once. I remembered.”
Regulus stares.
James looks away, cheeks pink.
“Alright, relax,” Regulus says, biting into one. “I won’t hex you for remembering a detail. It’s sweet.”
That earns him a stunned glance from James, who very nearly walks straight into a lamp post seconds later.
Regulus laughs. “Merlin, you’re a mess.”
“I’m fine,” James insists, rubbing his shoulder. “Just distracted.”
“Mmm,” Regulus hums, clearly enjoying this too much. “It’s so easy to mess with you. You always get flustered. Acting like this is a date.”
James stops walking. “Wait—”
Regulus turns. “Not that this is a date,” he clarifies, utterly calm. “Obviously. Just saying. That’s how people act on dates.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah. Of course. Definitely not a date,” James says, laughing awkwardly as he adjusts his scarf and tries to recover some level of dignity.
Regulus just pops another peppermint toad into his mouth and grins. This is amazing.
---
The sun starts to dip by the time they head back, and their shadows stretch long over the snow. There’s a quiet comfort between them now—like something has shifted gently but hasn’t landed yet.
Regulus glances over. “Thanks for coming.”
James looks up, startled. “You’re thanking me?”
“I can be polite,” Regulus says, mock-offended.
James chuckles, hands shoved into his coat pockets. “Any time, Reg. Really.”
Regulus doesn’t reply right away.
But he walks a little closer.
---
“How was the date?”
Regulus groans.
He doesn’t even look up from the Transfiguration textbook he’s pretending to read. “It wasn’t a date.”
Across the library table, Lupin is not even pretending to study. His quill is dry, his parchment untouched. He’s leaning in with that patient, infuriating little smile that always means he knows more than he’s letting on.
“Right,” Lupin says slowly, “just a friendly little stroll through Hogsmeade, where James Potter wore cologne and walked into a lamp post because you said one nice thing to him.”
Regulus exhales dramatically and lets his head fall onto the table with a soft thud.
“You spied on us?” he mumbles into the wood.
“No,” Remus says, far too pleased, “but James told me literally every single detail about it. Now why would he do that if it wasn’t a date?”
“It wasn’t,” Regulus grits out. “We just didn’t want to go alone. It made sense. Pure logic. No romance.”
Remus hums. “And the chocolate-covered peppermint toads?”
“He bought them.”
“Uh-huh. And the nice jacket?”
Regulus lifts his head slightly, eyes narrowed. “He looked fine.”
“He looked like he spent twenty minutes trying to pick something that would make you look at him twice.”
Regulus opens his mouth to argue—
Then stops.
Because—when he really thinks about it…
James had seemed different. Not just dressed up, but nervous. Laughing too hard. Tripping over words. Fiddling with his scarf like it had personally offended him. Blushing when Regulus teased him. Like everything he did mattered more that day.
Like he was trying.
And he had bought those stupid toads even though Regulus hadn’t mentioned them since October. He’d remembered.
“Oh,” Regulus says, quietly.
Remus’s smile fades into something softer. “Yeah. Oh.”
Regulus sinks back in his chair, frowning slightly—not out of annoyance, but because something’s rearranging in his chest. A feeling he hadn’t let himself examine earlier. It rises slowly, warm and weighty.
“He did seem nervous,” Regulus says, almost to himself.
“He was, yeah,” Remus confirms gently. “Which doesn’t happen often. You kind of… short-circuit him.”
Regulus presses his lips together. “I thought he was just being a disaster. He’s always like that.”
“Not like that,” Remus says. “Not around anyone else. Just around you.”
Silence settles between them for a second.
Then Regulus says, in a voice smaller than he intends, “It meant something to him.”
Regulus stares down at the book in front of him. Then he straightens, the tension snapping back into his spine like a reflex. His voice sharpens just enough to deflect.
“Well, it didn’t mean anything to me.”
Lupin blinks.
Regulus shrugs, too casual. “And anyway, does Potter even like blokes?”
Remus studies him for a moment. Quiet. Not pressing. Just watching.
Then he says, “You tell me.”
Regulus doesn’t respond.
Because he doesn’t know.
Or maybe—he just doesn’t want to let himself know yet.
---
Well, it didn’t mean anything to me.
It should’ve felt clean. Sharp. Like a closing door.
But it doesn’t. It feels hollow.
Because he keeps seeing James’s face in his mind—pink-cheeked and grinning, eyes bright as he held out that ridiculous bag of toads. Keeps hearing him stutter through a joke that wasn’t even funny and then immediately apologize for it. Keeps remembering the way James had reached for him instinctively when they crossed the street, like it was natural. Like touching him was allowed.
Regulus hadn’t pulled away.
He thinks of what Remus said. The “he’s not like that with anyone else.” And it unsettles something in him. Something he’s not used to feeling. Something dangerous.
Because if it did mean something to James—and if Regulus keeps telling himself it didn’t mean anything to him—then why does he still feel warm when he thinks about it?
Why does he feel disappointed?
He brushes it off as best he can. Tells himself James is just like that. Nice to everyone. A little stupid. Overly enthusiastic. Wears his heart on his sleeve.
But then the other thought sneaks in, quieter.
Does Potter even like blokes?
Regulus has never heard anything. No rumors. No whispers. Not even a hint. But there’s something about the way James had looked at him—like he was trying to memorize him—that doesn’t feel platonic. Not even slightly.
He frowns and pushes open the door to the Slytherin common room, walking straight to his bed, pulling the curtains closed behind him.
He lies there in the dark and tells himself it didn’t mean anything.
Then thinks about James’s hands fumbling with his scarf and feels something twist low in his stomach.
He groans and covers his face with a pillow.
“This is stupid,” he mutters into the fabric. “I’m being stupid.”
But he doesn’t stop thinking about it.
---
The next time Regulus sees James, he tells himself he’s going to be cool. Normal. Unbothered. Absolutely not thinking about scarf-hands or peppermint toads or how green James’s eyes actually are.
He is a fortress of composure.
A model of indifference.
He lasts exactly seventeen seconds.
James waves at him from across the courtyard, his hair a wind-blown mess and that stupid, sunshine grin on full display. “Hey, Reg!”
And Regulus’s brain just—short circuits.
Because he looks obnoxiously good. Like he got more attractive somehow. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, his jumper fits a little too well, and when he jogs over, his entire face lights up like he’s genuinely happy to see him.
Regulus feels his lungs quietly forget how to function.
“Hi,” he says stiffly, as if that’ll help.
James looks at him for a second, squinting in a weirdly fond way. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
“You’re… standing really straight.”
“I am straight,” Regulus says instantly.
A beat.
James blinks. “Um. Okay?”
Regulus wants to throw himself into the Black Lake.
Instead, he crosses his arms and tries again. “I meant my posture. Not my… Anyways, it’s excellent. Thanks for noticing.”
James is still staring at him, confused but smiling now. “Right. Well, ten points to posture then.”
Regulus looks away. His ears are burning.
Be normal, he tells himself again.
“So,” James says, shifting his weight, “I was wondering—did you want to go to the library later? I could use some help with Potions again.”
Regulus’s stomach flips.
But he just shrugs. “If I have time.”
James grins. “Cool. No pressure.”
And then he touches Regulus’s arm. Just briefly. Just a brush of fingers over his sleeve before walking off toward Herbology.
Regulus stares after him like he’s been hexed.
His face is on fire. His brain is static. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s screaming.
But out loud, all he says is: “Normal. Totally normal.”
He turns around and walks straight into a tree.