The Deal
REGULUS BLACK HATED the potions classroom. Don’t get him wrong—the subject itself was… fine, albeit taught by a bumbling fool who thought and treated everyone in the class like they had just left primary school. No, it wasn’t that — it was the godawful smell. As much as Slughorn tried to alleviate it by placing countless bouquets of drying lavender and honeysuckle throughout the room, nothing could scrub the scent of pickled organs, animal blood, and sulphur. The previous class, a group of N.E.W.T.-level students, had been brewing Draught of the Living Death, bringing the usual scent from unpleasant to downright evil.
Slughorn, as always, was unaffected.
He stood proudly in front of the class, wearing a garish green and purple waistcoat, its straining gold buttons polished to the point that they were blinding among the reflections of the flickering candles. In his hand, he held a stack of parchments.
“Well done, my lovely students, for pushing through another practical!” he paused to beam at the practically catatonic room.
Merlin, he hated him.
“Now, I know you’re all positively itching to get your grades back!” His large, heavily jewelled hands grasped his wand, and with a dramatic flourish, the parchments flew up into the air, fluttering over their respective owners. Slughorn stood there awkwardly as the papers flew across the room, as if expecting some sort of applause. When none came, he quietly slinked back to his desk, a slightly dejected look on his face.
Regulus Black glared down at his potions report as it rested atop his desk. This couldn’t be possible. A massive “D” hurriedly scrawled in red at the top of the page stared right back at him. This shouldn’t be possible. Yet there the shameful letter stood, with Slughorn’s annoyingly cheerful tips for improvement seemingly mocking him in the margins. Evan leaned over, the silver beads in his hair softly clinking together as he let out a low whistle. “Another dreadful? Surely the assignments this term aren’t that hard to do.” He was right. They weren’t. Of course, he wasn’t the best at potions—he was no Severus Snape, after all—but he certainly wasn’t the worst. The syllabus for this term was stupidly easy as well—Skele-Gro Potion, Sleeping Draught, Cure for Boils—a blind hippogriff could’ve made them with little to no trouble.
So why on earth—
The harsh clanging of the bell annoyingly cut through his train of thought, like a child running through an almost-finished jigsaw puzzle.
The rough sound of scraping chairs and clattering quills immediately filled the air, everyone eager to clear out of the muggy, damp room. Regulus was still sat shell-shocked in his chair.
Another D in a row…
Evan clapped his hand on his shoulder, breaking him out of his stupor. “You alright mate?” Barty and Pandora were lined up behind him, their things already sorted and packed away.
“Yeah, just… thinking.”
“Well, when you're done ‘thinking’, meet us outside,” he slung his bag around his shoulder, “we'll be in the great hall.” And with that, they turned heel and neatly filed out of the classroom, leaving Regulus alone.
Slughorn was still sat at his desk, seemingly unaware that Regulus was still in the room. He had appeared to have recovered from the snub at his previous trick and was now… fiddling furiously with some object on top of his paperwork?
Regulus sighed as he moved to stand up. It was now or never.
He made his way up, Slughorn still fixated on the mysterious object in his hand. his desk was a mess. it was littered with countless greeting and thank you cards, from both students and alumni. Flashy and useless knick knacks took up almost every free space available, and a treasure-like box of chocolates sat guarded next to him, their wrappers glinting like jewels in the low light.
He loudly cleared his throat.
“Regulus, my boy!” he had finally looked up. “Is there anything that I may help you with?”
“Actually, there is-”
“Look at this marvelous invention!” Slughorn had finally held up the mysterious object to the light, revealing… a multicoloured cube? “It was kindly gifted to me by one of my older students - a muggle invention. They apparently call it a Rubik's cube!”
“Yes, well that's very all very interes-”
“You should really consider investing in one yourself! Really puts your brain to work,”
Was he fucking auditioning as a door to door salesman or something? The heady smell of the room in combination with Slughorn’s stupidly chipper voice was starting to make him feel sick.
There was a pregnant pause.
“… Right, well I actually wanted to speak to you about a matter of my grades.”
Slughorn immediately snapped to attention, Rubik's Cube swiftly forgotten.
“Well, I've noticed that my marks haven't really been corresponding with my work. Every single practical I've done for the past three weeks has been brewed with little to no mistakes, yet I keep getting D’s. I mean, Lucinda Talkalot managed to blow up her cauldron last week and she still got an E.”
“Ahh, I remember that day,” Slughorn smiled fondly at the memory, as if Lucinda didn't have to get rushed to the hospital wing for severe burns. “Great fun that lesson.”
“I just wanted to know if there's anything in particular that I'm doing wrong. Are my potions off? I-is it the written portion because I'm fully willing to-”
Slughorn waved his hand, stopping Regulus in his tracks. “No, no, it's not that. Your potions are actually brewed quite well Regulus!”
…Huh?
“The matter of your grades are…more to do so with your partner.”
Right. Umbridge.
Sure, she was an annoying piece of work, but he couldn't understand what on earth she had to do with his grade.
“I'm sorry Sir, but I'm afraid I don't understand - we are using individual cauldrons, so I don-”
Slughorn casually cut him off again, a pleased smile on his face. “It's actually a new teaching technique that I decided to implement into the class! I got the idea from a teaching conference a couple months ago from Switzerland. Beautiful place you know, the mountains are positively beautiful at this time of year…” His eyes glossed over, about to delve into a lengthy tangent before he suddenly caught himself. “It's a new method, pairing your students' grades together, apparently it helps foster friendship within classes by encouraging students to work together and support each other! Merlin knows we need more friendship with this dreaded house rivalry going on…”
Slughorn’s thick fingers absentmindedly started tapping on the desk. “However, if you don’t think your grades aren't up to your standard, maybe you could help tutor her? After all, the point of partners is of course teamwork!”
“Actually, I was perhaps wondering if I could swap-”
This time it wasn't Slughorn’s incessant talking that cut Regulus off, it was his face. The smile that seemed to be permanently etched into his uncle like visage disappeared, contorting into a disappointed frown. His eyes - usually stupid but full of warm, friendly whimsy, started hardening like cooled wax, as if someone snuffed out the light behind them. They might as well have been beads of smoked glass pressed into a human face.
His big boisterous voice quietened into something much more stern and serious. “This isn't because Dolores is a half-blood, is she? Because I'll have you know that we do not tolerate that sort of… intolerant behaviour in this class.”
Regulus could feel his throat tightening, tiny pinpricks of sweat starting to bead up on his forehead. “No, no, it's not that sir-”
Slughorn visibly relaxed in his chair. “Ah, good. I guess that matter is settled then. I'll see you at the club’s Valentines day party, correct?”
He gritted his teeth into a tight smile. “Of course sir.”
Another awkward silence followed.
“Oh, would you look at the time!” He feigned looking down at his watch-less wrist. Realising he didn't have one on him, he hurriedly whipped his head over to the long since broken grandfather clock collecting dust in the corner. “It looks like I'm late for my meeting! Lovely chat we've had, but I'm afraid I simply must get going - don't get into too much trouble now!”
With a hasty wave of his wand and a rushed Accio, his hat and cloak flew off of the coat rack with abysmal force, sending the whole thing clattering to the ground. Slughorn flinched from the sudden noise, yet still carried on, like an lonely infantry soldier fleeing from a losing battle. After an uncomfortable long sequence of shuffling and Slughorn muttering curses underneath his breath struggling to put on his coat, he finally escaped from the room, leaving Regulus alone once again.
“Soooo… how did your talk with Slughorn go?” Pandora asked.
It was the beginning of dinner time. It was early, and students were still trickling in from their evening classes. Dinner still hadn’t been served yet, and Regulus could tell that Evan was getting impatient, scratching his fork back and forth across his empty plate. Everyone was fixated at their usual spots on the Slytherin table. Dorcas was sat next to Regulus, and Barty, as usual, was sandwiched in-between Evan and Pandora, who was indiscreetly trying to hide the blue and silver of her Ravenclaw tie. Her eyes - a shining pale chartreuse colour- looked at him eagerly for a response.
“It was awful - he kept faffing around with this stupid muggle toy - something called a ru-bucks cube? I couldn't even get a word in! Kept cutting me off everytime I tried to say something.”
Dorcas scoffed. “I'm surprised he hasn't gotten sacked. The man's incompetent.” She tapped her cheek, gesturing to Pandora across the table. “You have soot on your face.”
“Oh!” she haphazardly scrubbed at her face with her sleeve, spreading the dirt further along her face, leaving a bigger stain than before. “Thanks!”
Barty gave a loud, over dramatic sigh of disgust. “This isn’t another one of your muggle technology experiments, is it?” For the longest time since Regulus had known Barty Crouch Jr, he had noticed that he had an almost excessive aversion to anything that he considered “muggle”. Even though he was the most openly fond of Pandora, he never did like her experiments and her attempts to combine magic with the mundane.
Regardless, she pushed on. “I am, actually. I’m attempting to make the first steam powered broom!”
“Uh huh… and how’s that working out for you?”
She huffed, pointedly ignoring his question. “I don’t know why you’re so averse to it - muggle technology can be amazing!”- she leaned in, lowering her voice “Y’know, I heard they even found out a way to make it to the moon.”
He clicked his tongue in disbelief. “Oh fuck off, you know that's not true,”
“No, no it is! It was the Americans who made it there, Aurora showed me! There's proof, there's a moving picture and everything!”
“Americans?” he barked out a laugh. “Now I know for certain it's fake. Americans couldn't even rub two brain cells together to tie their laces, let alone go to the goddamned moon.”
“Really?” She crossed her arms. “And how exactly are you suggesting they faked going to the moon?
“Simple. They crafted up a set- you know like one of those plays we saw last summer? And took pictures of actors just to make it seem like they landed on the moon.” He ended his statement with a smug, self righteous smile, and leaned back in his seat.
“Look, this moon landing conversation is all very interesting but can we please talk about the fact that Umbridge is ruining my grades? And stop leaning, you're going to crack your skull open.”
“Umbridge?” Evan had finally broken his silence and looked up from his empty plate. “Isn’t she your potions partner?”
“She is. And apparently she’s so bad that she’s tanking my grades from an A to a D.”
There was a sudden loud pop, signifying the long awaited arrival of food.
Evan's face fell immediately. “Toad-in-the-hole? Didn't we already have that yesterday?”
Barty, who was currently biting into the metal of his fork, suddenly perked up, a wicked grin splitting along his face. He elbowed Evan in the ribs, pointing over Regulus's shoulder, fork still in his mouth. “Speaking of toads…”
Regulus whipped around.
Speak of the devil and she shall appear.
There she was, standing in the shadow of the great hall’s door. Umbridge. Despite the uniform restrictions, as usual she had somehow managed to incorporate her own strange personal tastes into her outfit without getting caught. In Slytherin House, where well tailored, dark English cut suits and formal clothing were preferred over the more sloppy, casual styles of the other houses, Umbridge stood out like a clown at a funeral. He couldn’t make out much due to the distance from the table, but he could see that switched out the classic grey skirt for a garish fuchsia number. On top of the black school's waistcoat, she wore an obnoxiously fluffy pink cardigan, covered in darker pink paw prints.
“What’s she doing here?” Evan said. “I thought she was off sick.”
“Probably getting dinner like everyone else?”
Regulus could see Barty’s eyes tracking her as she moved across the hall.
“Merlin, look at her… she looks like a shrink wrapped hippo.”
A loud SMACK reverberated throughout the table. Pandora’s hand was caught in motion above the back of Barty’s blonde buzzed head. The fork he had in his mouth had clattered to his plate, his eyes wide with surprise.
“Barty! You can't say those types of things about people!” Her face was full of barely contained fury. “It’s horrid!”
“What? It's the truth, isn't it?”
Pandora’s gaze was arctic. Conversations had subtly quietened among the table, other students starting to turn their heads to commotion.
He looked at the other for support.
Evan had turned away, having suddenly found an incredibly interesting spot on the table. Out of the corner of his eye, Dorcas was shaking her head in disapproval - though a tiny flicker of a smile could be seen tugging at her lip.
“Oh come off it, we were all thinking the same thing!” More bickering ensued. Regulus, however, wasn't paying attention. He was too busy focusing on Umbridge, who had now turned away and was currently making her way out of the great hall.
“I'm gonna talk to her.”
The group went silent.
“What, right now?” Dorcas questioned.
“Yes, right now. She's barely around as it is and she’s leaving. Hopefully I’ll be able to sort something out with her.”
“Sort something out? With UMBRIDGE?” Evan sighed, shaking his head. “Good luck Reg.”
She was already out of the hall, and had already made it into the corridor. Regulus found himself sprinting to keep up.
“Umbridge!”
She whipped around. Now that they were up close he could fully make her out. Despite the numerous cat themed paraphernalia she surrounded herself with, she honestly reminded Regulus more of a mouse than anything. She was stout, rosy-cheeked and very short - Regulus was nowhere near tall - hell, even Pandora towered over him at an impressive six foot- but even with her annoying clicky heels, she barely reached his chin. Her russet brown curls were cut short and pinned into place with a single pink bow. And her eyes - the big puddle blue irises that were so often filled with barely concealed boredom, or fake cheer, were now giving way to almost giddy excitement.
“Yes, Black?” She spoke with a constant high pitched, simpering tone that sounded not too dissimilar to the sharp whistle of a tea kettle.
Merlin, this was awkward. Despite being potions partners for a good chunk of the term, he realised that they never actually talked to each other. There had always been an unspoken agreement with each other to leave one another to their own devices and cauldrons, the extent of their conversations being a quick, ‘Can you pass the scalpel?’.
He swallowed. “Well, I was just noticing that in our recent potions report we're both… sort of failing.” She nodded, her lips pressed together in a thin line. “We both got D’s. I don’t really want that stain on my report, and I’m pretty sure you don’t either.” He threw in a fake chuckle to try and ease the tension. “And I was just wondering if you needed any help with tutoring, or anything? I’m pretty sure I have some old books you can borrow-”
Her face fell immediately. Shit shit shit. By the looks of it, she was either going to start crying or start hurling insults at him. He hoped it was the latter. He was never good with the whole tears thing. Instead, she fixed him with the most pitying gaze he had ever seen, and a small saccharine smile. “Oh no, I wouldn't possibly dream of taking up your precious time Black!”
“It’s really is no problem-”
She shook her head, curls bouncing rapidly across her face. “No, no, no, you must have so many duties, I mean, black heir, you must be incredibly busy right?” She continued to prattle on. It was like watching a badly made pantomime. Even though it sounded like she would rather jump off of a cliff than take up his time, her speech was dripping with condescension, and the corners of her lips kept tweaking, like she was struggling to stop herself from bursting into laughter. She reached up and patted his cheek, flashing him another diabetes-inducing smile. “Thank you ever so much for your offer, but I think me — and my grades — will be fine.” She turned to walk away, the scent of her perfume practically slapping him in the face.
“Goodbye, Black!”
_
“This isn’t your fucking house Crouch Jr! Curfews almost up, you're gonna have to go back to Ravenclaw. And more hair dye potion? Really? At this rate you're gonna go bald by 6th year.”
Barty was currently bulldozing through the Slytherin common, his cropped hair slathered in a thick, crimson paste. He looked like he just escaped a crime scene. Pandora trailed behind him, her leather inventor's gloves covered in the same material. “You've got - to hold - still! How do you expect it to look good if you keep moving?”
He ignored her request, hopping over a table of chess playing students to Regulus.
“Merlin's bloody beard, did she beat you up or something? You look half dead.”
Regulus was sprawled on the main sofa, eyes glazed over. It was too close to the fire and he could feel himself overheating, but at this point he couldn't bring himself to get up. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of wild ink black hair and for a second a slight squeeze of nervousness gripped his heart. He focused, then saw the warm, droopy brown eyes, and the countless moles, as if God flicked a paintbrush across her face. Andromeda, not Bellatrix - thank Merlin - she had already graduated.
She swept in, taking in sight of Barty’s head dripping red dye across the Persian rug, and Regulus laying spread eagle on the sofa, and took in a deep heavy sigh. “What is going on here?”
“Little Reggie here is pissed because he got beat up by a girl.”
“She did NOT beat me up.”
“Oh so now you’re back from the dead.”
Andromeda pressed her fingers to her temples and took in another sigh. “Pandora, Bartemius-” he bristled at the mention of his full name - “Can you guys please go back to Ravenclaw? It’s late and I know you guys don’t want to get caught by Filch after hours,” Her eyes flickered to the carpet, “plus you’re dripping potion dye all over the floor…”
He gave out a dramatic groan, but still filed out of the common room with little complaint, Pandora close behind, trying to stick bits of tinfoil to his hair.
“Now,” she said, sitting next to Regulus on the sofa, eyes filled with concern, “is this true? Did you really get into a fight?”
“No it’s just - Slughorn put us all into pairs and decided to make its so that our grades our compounded together and when I tried to go to Umbridge because SOMEHOW shes bringing my grades down to a D, she flat out refused my help and now I’m going to fail and a howler from Mother is going to come any second now and-”
“Wait, hold on, Umbridge?”
He sat up. “You know her?”
“Yeah! I used to tutor a group of 4th year’s last year,” she tapped her finger on her chin thoughtfully, “I don’t understand what she was doing there honestly, she was a stand out.”
Stand out?
“No, no, no, she's failing.” Right?
“Failing? I find that hard to believe. She was brewing 5th and 6th year potions when I was tutoring her without a problem.”
It was like someone had driven an ice pick through his skull.
“So you’re telling me,” his voice shaking, “that Umbridge was excelling in potions?”
“Yes! What is going on with you, you look deathly pale.” She gave him odd, sideways glance. “Well, more than you usually do.”
“I need to go. Right now.” Andromeda opened her mouth to speak, but he was already dashing out of the common room, and banging on the wall next to the spiral staircase leading up to the girls dormitory. “Dorcas!”
She emerged from the top of the stairs, her braids wrapped up in a silk scarf and her sleeping mask pulled up on her head. Her pajamas were printed with moving images of baby crups. “What the hell are you doing? It's almost nine o' clock, shouldn't you be in-”
“Umbridge, is she up there?”
She shot him an annoyed glare, her eyes surrounded with dark circles. She always insisted on going to sleep two hours before everybody else. Early owl got the worm, she usually said.
“No? I'm pretty sure she mentioned going to the potions classroom… she said she needed to finish some work. What do you want with her at this hour anyway? Regulus? REGULUS!”
He was already storming down the corridor, the echoed clicking of his shoes against the stone floor pounding like a war drum inside of his head. His temple throbbed. Idiot. How, couldn’t he have seen it before? The sly looks, the quick ‘nothings’ whenever he asked her what she was doing. He all but threw himself into the door, bursting into the dingy potions room. Among the bottles of foul liquids and dissected animals, in her pink monstrous glory was Umbridge, filing her nails with an almost bored expression on her face.
“You did this on purpose.”
She looked up from, brows furrowing in mock concern. “Why, whatever do you mean Black? Are you feeling OK?”
Liar. Cheat. Go to Hell. “Give up the act. I know you’re ruining my grade on purpose.”
Her mouth dropped open, her expression cycling from anger, surprise, until finally, giving way to pure absolute delight, a wide Cheshire grin stretching across her face.
“Finally! Do you know how long I've been planning this for? I was originally going to try and collect dirt on you, but being partnered up with you in potions? Sabotaging your grade?” Her voice had dropped an octave from the usual high whistle, shifting into something much more natural sounding. “It was an opportunity I couldn't resist.”
Blackmail. Of course.
The combination of her sickly sweet perfume and formaldehyde was starting to get to him. Regulus inhaled - burnt flesh, sulphur, his own shaky breath. Control yourself. “How much do you want?”
A look of genuine confusion crossed her face. “Huh?”
“How much do you want? Money, is that what you want? A hundred galleons? Two hundred? Five hundred? I really can't be bothered to deal with this nonsense at this time of night. Hurry up and pick your price.”
There was a moment of silence. She then burst into one of her chipmunk-like giggles. “No, no, I don't want your money silly! Do I really look that materialistic? I want your connections Black. I want you to get me into Slughorn’s next meeting.”
He almost fell over from disbelief.
“YOU want to get into one of Slughorn’s parties? You do know he can't stand you right?”
Was it him or was the atmosphere in the potions room getting worse? He needed to finish this conversation quickly before he keeled over.
“Well yes, I know, but-”
“He basically called you a suck up last meeting, you know that right?” He slapped his head. “Oh wait, you couldn’t have known since you weren’t invited. Trust me, you'd have a better chance of becoming Quidditch cup champion than getting in. And besides - it’s the Valentines day party. The only plus ones allowed are couples. I couldn't even give you an invite if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”
Her face fell for a moment, a cloud of worry overtaking her face. It was, however, quickly overtaken by another one of her grins. She looked ecstatic. He could practically see the candle being lit inside her brain.
“You-”
No.No, no, no, no.
“and I could pretend to be a couple so Slughorn can let me in! Oh I’m a genius! The old sap is an absolute sucker for romance, he wouldn't dare split up a couple.”
Regulus almost retched at the idea.
“And If I say no?
“Well, I guess you'll just have to explain to dear old Mother Black why you're failing your OWLS. And we wouldn't want that now, would we?”
He stopped in his tracks. The type of anger that Mother emitted was nothing like how his friends described their punishments. Her anger was calculated. The impending sense of doom when half-term came around. His father’s sad, disappointed gaze and refusal to look him in the eye. The coldness from her letters and the awful silence in the house that always followed for months on end. The effort it took to get back into her good graces. It was either that - or putting his disgust aside to hang out with Umbridge for a couple of days.
He gritted his teeth. The air was unbearably stifling. He braced himself, holding himself up on one of the many dusty stools.
“Fine.”
She clapped her hands together with joy, the belled bracelets on her wrist tinkling from the movement. It was like the bellow of a gong in his ears. “Perfect! So its a deal,” she outstretched her hand into his face, “shake on it?”
His vision swam. It was all too much - her overwhelming perfume, the vague smell of evil from the jars on the shelves, the entire situation at hand - and before he could stop himself, he doubled over and proceeded to lose his dinner over her hot pink Mary Janes.