Pep-Up Potion
Pep-Up Potion
Regulus Black crouched in the garden that lay beyond the walls of 12 Grimmauld Place, his posture improper and his mind elsewhere. It was laced with magic, though enchanted felt too kind a word for its eerie existence. The space was filled with twisting black branches, draped in blood-red flowers that hung like drops of fresh wax. The garden brimmed with power, an extension of the books his mother had made him study, the kind he was strictly forbidden from mentioning at Hogwarts.
No one tended the roots, not ever, because they didn’t need people to grow. They just did, curling deeper into the dirt like they were hiding from something. Maybe if he sat there long enough, they’d feel a little less sad. He knew they were sad by the way their drooping red petals curled in on themselves. But they weren’t scary or dangerous, like Kreacher warned they were. Regulus wasn’t scared.
Sirius had started calling him a “scaredy cat” over the summer. It was a stupid Muggle phrase he picked up from that half-blood friend of his, and Regulus hated it. He thought the phrase was stupid. His friend must not be intelligent, which was embarrassing —to not be smart, that is. Cats weren’t scared; they were careful. They knew when to run and strike, when to keep low, and when to pounce. They weren’t afraid; they just understood danger better than the idiots who walked straight into it. They watched and calculated. And if that made them cowards, then maybe everyone else was just reckless.
Once a cat got into the garden. Regulus watched the way it moved, slow and deliberate, always aware. Its feet barely made a sound as it stepped over gnarled roots, tail flicking as it scanned its surroundings. It hunted for mice, eyes sharp, body still until the exact moment it needed to strike. And when something bigger loomed—a shadow stretched too close or a noise cracked the air—it knew when to retreat. It did not retreat out of fear, but rather out of sense. It was a delicate balance.
Regulus was very bored when Sirius was away at school, so he decided to try and mimic it.
His mother was something the cat might consider a threat, because she was erratic and unpredictable, so he started to watch her. He studied the way her fingers tapped against the arm of her chair when she was restless and the sharp inhalation before she spoke. He memorized what set her off and what didn’t, the exact way her face tightened when she was on edge. He even watched the way she drank her tea, how she stirred it when she was deep in thought, or how a certain tilt of her head meant she was about to snap.
It was a work in progress.
One day, she walked into the garden to gather ingredients for a potion. Regulus could tell what kind by the certain plants she stole from. When she spotted the cat, she caught it by the neck and held its twisting body up, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. Then she turned to Regulus and told him to kill it. A practical wand work lesson, she called it.
That day, he decided the cat had made a mistake. It had underestimated the threat that held it in the air. And Regulus knew that he never wanted to make the same one.
"Master Regulus, Mistress Walburga bids you to the music room at once," Kreacher, their house elf, said, disrupting his thoughts.
Kreacher shuffled forward, his eyes narrowing as they landed on the dirt-streaked fabric of Regulus’s trousers. With a disapproving click of his tongue, he raised a hand.
“Scourgify,” he muttered, watching as the grime vanished. “Filth does not suit a child of the Noble House of Black."
Regulus barely spared him a glance, smoothing down his now-pristine robes before heading toward the music room. As he stepped inside, his gaze immediately locked onto Sirius, slouched at the grand piano, fingers idly pressing dissonant notes into the tense silence.
Sirius was similar to their mother, both impulsive wildcards. So, over the summer, Regulus began to watch him too. Right now, Sirius was bouncing his leg. A quiet energy replaced his usual air of arrogance, causing his fingers to twitch with impatience. It seemed he was anxious to head back to Hogwarts tomorrow. Today’s lesson might actually be something to stress about.
The music room in Grimmauld Place was a grand thing, its furniture draped in deep blacks and rich greens, gleaming like the shell of a beetle. The walls, lined with heavy tapestries, swallowed what little light flickered from the chandelier above, casting long shadows across the polished floor.
Regulus took his place beside Sirius, hands clasped, eyes forward. He didn’t fidget. He knew better. Walburga Black sat stiff-backed in an ornate chair, her sharp gaze fixed on her sons.
Sirius' fingers pounded the first chord with excessive force, causing the lesson to derail. Walburga’s glare flicked towards him, like a knife finding its mark.
Regulus picked up the melody, his voice threading through the notes like a silver needle.
"Pronounce your consonants, Regulus," Walburga snapped. "Do not let your syllables slur together like some common minstrel."
Regulus adjusted instantly. Sirius, however, faltered on another note.
"Focus," Walburga hissed.
Regulus spared a side-eye glance at his brother, watching as Sirius decided to redefine the word. His lips pressed together, and his shoulders went rigid. A refusal took shape in his expression.
No.
Then, Sirius slammed both hands onto the polished keys, wrenching a shriek from the piano—a jarring, clashing mess of notes. The sound made Regulus recoil, his hands flying to his ears as he shot Sirius a sharp glare.
Walburga’s gaze hardened, cold and calculating, like she was plotting her next move in an elaborate game of chess. Her eyes locked onto Sirius, issuing a silent challenge. Your move.
Sirius met her stare, unflinching. Daring her.
With a sharp flick of her wrist, Walburga drew her wand, the tip glowing faintly in the heavy silence.
“Please, Maman, Sirius is just tired! His hand slipped. He won’t make that mistake again,” Regulus blurted, his voice quick, desperate.
Everyone knew it was a lie. He did it on purpose.
“Shut up, Reggie!” Sirius spat, but the venom wasn’t for him.
Walburga barely blinked. "My son is tired? Kreacher!"
A soft pop echoed as Kreacher appeared, hunched and expectant. "You called, madam?"
"Take Sirius to his room and vanish his bed."
Regulus flinched but kept his head down.
Sirius, who had assumed she’d only take away dinner, stiffened. Panic crept into his voice.
"No, please, I’ll do it properly, I swear. My fingers aren’t even crossed this time."
"Get him out of my sight now," Walburga snapped, her voice like cracking ice. "Make him stand up straight for the rest of the night. And if he drifts off, wake him."
Regulus’s heart pounded. In a desperate attempt to defuse the situation, he rushed forward. “Please—”
The back of her hand struck before he could finish. The impact sent him sprawling, the room spinning as sharp pain blossomed across his cheek. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.
Walburga sneered. "Since you're so desperate to stand up for him, you can join."
She turned away, already finished with them.
"Kreacher," she said coolly. "Take them both."
It had been a miscalculation on Regulus’ part. He should have known better than to try and help Sirius. It would never end well, because unfortunately, he was the smallest person in the room—except for Kreacher—and small things were easy to dismiss. And yet, he had tried.
It seemed impossible to keep Lightning and Thunder apart; they always traveled together, crashing into each other with love and fury in equal measure, much like Sirius and their mother. He filed that information away, another quiet lesson learned through the stinging on his cheek and the weight in his heart.
They dragged their feet behind the elf, up to Sirius’ bedroom. Regulus shifted uncomfortably, his stomach growling in protest as they stood in the empty room, the absence of the bed a cruel reminder of their punishment. The silence felt heavy, stretching on forever. His feet ached, and the hunger worsened it, but he didn't dare say anything.
Sirius broke the silence, his voice a mix of frustration and something softer, like he was trying to figure it all out. "Why would you do that, Reggie?”
Because I did not want to see you hurt. “Because I wanted to help you like you help me, but in my own way… by talking.”
Sirius shook his head, clearly not agreeing. "That will never work. She’s a right lunatic."
Regulus scowled at that. He didn’t think she was a lunatic. She was just making sure they were the best. She was harsh, but it worked. And being around her would make him strong, like a “scaredy cat.”
"I won’t let her do that to you again," Sirius added, his voice a bit softer in promise, even though he knew it didn’t mean much.
They lapsed into another dreadful silence, and Sirius began swaying back and forth, probably feeling a combination of boredom, exhaustion, and hunger.
This time Regulus spoke up, “Can you tell me about Hogwarts?”
Sirius whipped his head around with a slight eyebrow raise and questioned, “Ohhh, so now you want details. And here I thought you ‘didn’t want to hear anything about my stupid new friends.’”
Regulus turned his head down. He did say that, but now that it was approaching, he was starting to feel a bit nervous of the unknown.
Sirius leaned in close, a grin tugging at his lips as he laughed softly.
“It’s wonderful. You’ll meet loads of new friends and get to stay up past bedtime,” he stated, eyes looking far away, like he was imagining a place much better than being by Regulus’ side. “AND—” he emphasized, raising a dramatic finger, “I might let you in on me and my friends' pranking secrets… once you’re placed in Gryffindor, that is.”
Regulus’ lips forced a harsh line. “I don't want to be in Gryffindor,” he said quickly.
Sirius made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Yes, you do. I promise, it’s way better than those snobby Slytherins. The common room is soft and bright—it feels like a real home.”
“No,” Regulus shot back, his voice firm. “We already have a home. This place is a real home, and the people in this home should be Slytherins.”
“Don’t be like that, Reggie. Just trust me.”
“No,” Regulus insisted, his voice growing tight with frustration. “It’s not proper! I don’t want to be there.”
“But I’m there. Don’t you want to be with me?”
Regulus went silent at that, the words lingering in the air like an unspoken weight.
Much later into the night, when the stars burned brightest and the trees stood as silent witnesses to the secrets of the dark, both Regulus and Sirius grew unbearably sleepy. Their heads began to tilt, heavy with exhaustion, as they drifted toward slumber.
But then, without warning, a sharp, cold rush of air sliced through their bones, jolting them awake. Their eyes snapped open in an instant, both of them gasping for breath.
“GODRIC!” Sirius exclaimed, his voice hoarse with shock.
Kreacher, who had been standing near the door all this time, lowered his hand slowly, saying nothing.
Kreacher's face remained as indifferent as ever, but Regulus could have sworn he saw the faintest softening in the elf's eyes when they flicked toward him for a brief moment.
Regulus’ heart raced uncontrollably, and no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t calm it. An unsettling sense of desperation crept in, though he couldn’t name it. It felt as though his heart might burst, or worse, run off without him.
Sirius, sensing Regulus’ distress, leaned closer and whispered, “Sing a song.”
When Regulus didn’t respond, Sirius repeated himself, his voice soft and steady, as he placed a grounding hand on Regulus’ shoulder.
Quietly, Regulus began to hum, the vibrations slowly easing the tightness in his chest. He then softly started singing the silly French song they had made up last Christmas. Their parents had left them for most of the day to attend "meetings," so they made up the song to kill time.
Oh là là, les chocogrenouilles dansent,
Les Fantômes font la romance!
Si Peeves vole tes chaussettes,
Tâchez-vous sous la couette!
He kept singing the nonsense, and when he was finished, he felt much better. Sirius laughed beside him.
"I don't know how, but you manage to make that song sound sad."
"No, I don’t."
"Yes, you do. Your voice is kind of haunting, like a siren."
"Sirens are girls."
"Not always. You sound like you're luring someone to their death."
"That's not very nice."
"Yes, it is. It means you could lure Maman to her death if you keep practicing. She doesn't even know she's training a right assassin! Look at you, Reggie, she's going to train you to kill her. HA HA."
He rolled his eyes at the dramatics but couldn't shake the thought. I didn’t know she could die. I love her; I don’t want to kill her. But Sirius wants to kill her. And I think she wants to kill him, too.
The next morning, Kreacher snuck them both a pep-up potion. Regulus ran the ingredients through his mind:
Gillyweed.
Peppermint.
Ginseng root.
Dragon liver.
Butterbeer.
Sirius, who had been stewing in bitterness after the previous night’s punishment, hurled the potion straight at Kreacher.
Regulus muttered a quiet thanks and downed the contents in one go, his throat burning slightly.
After getting ready, Walburga apparated them to Platform 9¾. The sudden rush of magic churned the potion in his stomach, leaving him queasy. Sirius, who hadn't consumed any potion, didn't appear better off, albeit for entirely different reasons.
When they arrived, Walburga immediately straightened their robes, tugging Sirius's tie so tight it nearly choked him.
"Remember, you are Black; our blood does not break; it does not bow. Toujours Pur…"
Her words echoed around them, but Sirius’s attention drifted. He glanced off in the distance, his eyes landing on a boy with messy hair and garish glasses.
That must be James Potter.
Regulus doesn’t like James. For one, he comes from a family of blood traitors, which, well, can’t be a good thing. And when Sirius was in his first year, he sent Regulus a letter claiming James was their "third brother." Regulus didn't need another brother. He already had one that was... a bit much. And based on all the crazy stories about this third brother, it sounded like he was just as uncontrollable. Regulus definitely didn’t need more of that. But Sirius loved it. He thought James was the greatest thing since butterbeer, and that made Regulus worried. What if he was too boring for Sirius? Too Slytherin, too serious? He didn’t make Sirius laugh, but James probably did. James probably did a bunch of stupid pranks and sang silly songs, and not in the sad way like Regulus, but in a way that made people laugh. Maybe that’s why Sirius liked him more.
Suddenly feeling very irked at how little attention Sirius was paying to both their mother and himself, Regulus tugged on his brother’s sleeve. Sirius glanced back at him, and Regulus immediately felt better.
Because they were in public, Walburga let Sirius' misbehavior slide, though only just. Her face tightened, like her bun her hair was in. She gave them both a quick, tense nod before promptly apparating away.
Less than a second later, James came running toward them. Regulus' hand, still holding onto his brother's sleeve, was knocked away as Sirius rushed to meet the boy halfway. They collided, hugging each other tightly.
Regulus recovered quickly but ended up standing awkwardly behind Sirius, like his shadow. He had never been on the train before, so he didn’t know what to do except trail behind and wait for Sirius to show him the way.
The Potters walked towards them, trailing after their messy son. They looked at James in a strange sort of way, smiles stretching across their faces. They didn’t seem bothered by his hair being all over the place or his untucked shirt. Regulus, too frustrated to watch Sirius and James anymore, decided to study the older Potters closer. He noticed the slight wrinkles on their cheeks and foreheads. He didn’t know anyone who had those. The Potters clearly didn’t care about appearances.
James eagerly introduced Sirius to his parents, who hadn’t had the chance to meet their son’s best friend yet, since they’d been late picking him up last year. However, he didn’t introduce Regulus, who had quickly faded into the background, forgotten for the moment.
“I’m Sirius Black, and while I’m sure you’ve heard rumors, I assure you, I’m not as bad as they say. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, extending a hand to Mrs. Potter. She laughed, finding the awkward greeting amusing.
“Oh, sweet child,” she said warmly, “my name’s Euphemia, but just call me Effie.” She reached for Sirius, who stiffened at first. When he realized she was going for a hug, he begrudgingly returned it. But then he didn’t let go, and she didn’t either, turning the whole thing into an unseemly display. Regulus, judging as he often did, rolled his eyes until Mrs. Potter suddenly locked eyes with him. Her golden-brown gaze met his cool grey, and for a moment, he felt something he couldn’t quite place.
He had never felt so exposed, so... noticed. Suddenly, an uncomfortable heat rushed through him. His heart skipped, flatlined, and then restarted at an unnervingly rapid pace. He tried to calm himself, but he hadn’t realized Sirius had released Mrs. Potter until a hand landed firmly on his shoulder.
“This is my baby brother, Regulus. He looks mean, but he’s not so bad either.”
The frightening woman crouched down to meet his eyes again, her voice almost sing-song as she said, “Well hello, Regulus, brother of infamous Sirius Black.”
She stretched out her arms once more, and Regulus jerked backward so violently, he nearly tripped over his feet. What is with her?
Her face faltered for just a moment before she recovered with an overly bright smile, pulling her arms back towards herself.
Regulus didn’t want to stick around to find out. He pivoted sharply on his heel; anything was better than this. He was smart. He could figure out the train on his own. Why had he stayed so long with Sirius anyway?
As he whipped around, he collided headfirst into a boy with scars on his face, standing next to a plump one.
Great, more people.
His mind shot out a quick judgment, Ew. Why is everyone here so… Regulus cut the thought short, silently turning away to escape the awkwardness. He pushed around the two with as much force as his exhausted body could handle and ignored the way Sirius had begun to call after him. Regulus was sick of his brother and all his weird friends with their irregularities.
His parents were beautiful, and that was important—perhaps the most important thing. To keep a level face, one that didn’t crease. To avoid any scars. To ensure your clothing was impeccable and your hair always neat.
Maybe that’s why the Potters weren’t purebloods. But no, they were purebloods.
And perhaps the plump boy too. Maybe they had been cursed for being blood traitors… He'd have to look that up when he had some time.
Regulus frowned at the thought.
As he stormed toward the entrance of the train, Regulus tried to control his heart rate.
Chin up, just like his mother had taught him. When he finally looked up, he spotted Narcissa standing alone. She seemed to notice him at once, giving him a subtle wave and beckoning him forward.
“Regulus.”
“Narcissa.”
They both nodded at each other.
“You look paler than usual, chérie,” she remarked as they began walking together.
“Not much sun in London.”
“I heard your family was in France for a month. When I was there, it was plenty sunny. Maybe you’re the problem; the sun doesn’t like you much.”
“Maybe.”
As Regulus walked through the train’s chaotic corridors, the noise was overwhelming: voices clashing, footsteps echoing, and food smells mixing with the train’s metallic scent. It felt too loud, too close. He fought the urge to cover his ears, trying to focus on Narcissa’s steady presence beside him.
He missed the quiet of his garden, the peaceful hum of nature, where everything felt simple and still. Here, everything was too much.
“Would you like to sit with us on the train?” Narcissa asked, breaking through his thoughts.
“Yeah,” he muttered, glad for a moment of quiet ahead.
When they reached the compartment, Lucius and Rabastan were already seated. Regulus recalled them from the numerous dinner parties he had to attend. They were much older now, and Sirius had always been the one to speak for him in those situations.
Lucius lounged back casually, looking more pompous than ever. Regulus never understood why Narcissa had been betrothed to him—he wasn’t up to par with the Black family name. Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Hey, baby Black. Excited for your first year?”
“...”
“Not much of a talker, is he, Narcissa?”
“No, but it adds to his mystique. He is a perfect fit for a Slytherin. He’ll do so well,” she said, pinching his cheek lightly.
Regulus rolled his eyes, trying to hide the flush creeping up his neck. He hated being spoken about like he wasn’t even there. It happened often. For a moment, his thoughts flickered to Sirius, but he quickly shoved them away, especially when his weird friends came to mind.
Once the attention was off of him, he sat down and let his eyes drift shut, the exhaustion from the night before catching up with him.