potion mishaps
Regulus prided himself on many things—his skill in Quidditch, his impeccable academic record, and, most importantly, his ability to keep his emotions in check. He couldn't think of one time he had lost clutch of his emotions.
Which was why the fact that his hands were shaking irritated him more than the actual pain. It was painful but he refused to acknowledge it out loud, glaring deadly at Mulciber who's being taunted by Barty for hurting him. It was unnecessary but Regulus knew better than to stop Barty.
He looked down at his sleeve. It was stained with a thin streak of red, the cut along his forearm throbbing dully. The injury wasn’t serious—Slughorn had already healed most of it—but the faint sting remained, a reminder of his own mistake.
A mistake, of course, that wasn’t his fault.
The explosion had been a result of Mulciber’s incompetence—too much acid green in the Draught of Peace, sending their cauldron into chaos. Regulus had been unfortunate enough to be caught in the blast, earning himself a gash along his arm and a thoroughly ruined uniform.
It was fine. He could handle it.
Which was why he was entirely unprepared when James Potter appeared out of nowhere, standing in the doorway of the Slytherin common room, looking annoyed.
Regulus froze. “What in the name of Merlin are you doing here?”
Potter ignored the question, stepping forward and—Merlin, no, that was too close—grabbing Regulus’s wrist.
Regulus yanked back immediately as if the touch was the acid that had hit him earlier, but not before Potter’s gaze locked onto the bloodstained sleeve. His jaw tightened.
“What happened?”
Regulus scowled, his response immediate. “None of your business.”
Potter didn’t move, his jaw tensed and clenching. “Regulus.”
Regulus hated the way Potter said his name, like it was something soft. Something important. Like a glass that's in the corner and one wrong move would cause the glass to fall and break.
“It’s nothing. The blood had already stopped-”
Potter’s eyes flickered over him, assessing. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”
Regulus crossed his arms, wincing slightly when the motion pulled at the wound. “How did you even know about it?”
Potter smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I have my ways.”
"Potter." Regulus narrowed his eyes. “That’s not an answer.”
Potter shrugged. “You’re not the only one with people who talk.”
“Of course," Regulus scowled, shaking his head. “I should have known the James Potter Information Network would get wind of a minor injury.”
Potter’s suddenly expression darkened, a rarely occurrence—at least for Regulus. “Don’t do that,” James huffed.
Regulus raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”
“Act like it doesn’t matter.”
Regulus blinked. He hadn’t expected that. But then again, he had witness how caring James is. Even when it shouldn't concerned him. Regulus couldn't help but thought that maybe James just sees him as just another someone who needs help—no, no. Regulus isn't stupid enough and so is James. Barging into a class after knowing a minor injury, it's not something James would do to some random students.
The thought made Regulus grimace. That's not good.
“It doesn’t,” he said, unsure why his voice sounded less certain than usual. “It’s just a scratch.”
Potter’s gaze flickered to his arm again before meeting Regulus’s eyes. “Still. You should be careful.”
Regulus scoffed. “What, suddenly you care about my well-being?”
Potter rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t sound so scandalized, Black. I’m allowed to care.”
Regulus opened his mouth to retort—except he didn’t have one.
Because Potter did care.
He cared in a way that was different from everyone else.
Regulus had spent years surrounded by people who saw him as a Black first and a person second. Everything had been about expectation—his name, his legacy, what he should be.
Potter didn’t see any of that.
Potter just saw him.
And Regulus hated it.
Hated the way his chest felt too tight, the way his heart seemed to stutter in a way that had nothing to do with his injury.
He needed to end this conversation. Now.
“I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself,” Regulus said stiffly, taking a deliberate step back.
Potter studied him for a moment before exhaling. “Yeah. I know.”
Regulus clenched his jaw. “Then there’s no reason for you to be here.”
Potter hesitated. For a brief, terrifying moment, it looked like he might say something Regulus wasn’t ready to hear.
But then he smirked. “Fair enough. See you around, Black.”
And with that, he turned and walked away.
Regulus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
His pulse was still too fast.
His thoughts were still too much.
He turned sharply and strode into the common room, ignoring the way his skin still burned where Potter had touched him.
“What the hell was that?” Evan murmured to Barty, who was looking at Regulus’s figure and to the spot where Potter had been standing.