Regulus
The first week of classes was harder than Regulus had anticipated. Though his schedule lacked many academic courses, he hadn’t anticipated how tiring a full course schedule would be. A schedule full of dance classes, no less.
“My legs feel like they’re filled with cement,” Dorcas groaned as the two climbed the stairs to the dining hall.
Regulus nodded emphatically in response. He’d never known a statement so true.
The thing about being a dance major is that the curriculum doesn’t give a damn what your body is used to. Students of all different dance backgrounds converged in the Hogwarts Dance Department on day one, and they’d been dancing together like they’d done so for years quick as a dart.
Regulus, unfortunately, had not danced every moment of the summer; His body ached at every movement to prove it.
They reached the top of the stairs, and The Great Hall in all its glory came into view. Food court style, 4 different types of food stations were set up in a row with bright, cheery signs shouting about the delicious food sold there while students in rumpled uniforms with lifeless eyes stood behind the counters taking orders and preparing food.
He scowled. “I’m sick of this place.”
“It’s only day 4,” Dorcas said, although Regulus thought she shared a similar expression of disdain.
“Exactly.”
15 minutes later, armed with a sad-looking bowl of pasta and a bottle of water, he found Dorcas and Lily at a table.
Regulus thought that if he wasn’t gay, Lily Evans would be the exact sort of girl he’d fall in love with. She was beautiful, with big green eyes that shone in the light when she tossed her head back in laughter. Her copper hair hung in shiny sheets just below her shoulders, perfectly framing her face.
She spotted Regulus as he approached, eyes catching his and lighting up.
“Regulus! What did you get? It smells so good,” she gushed.
He rolled his eyes. “It smells like burnt.”
“It really does,” Dorcas said, mouth full.
Lily and Dorcas were roommates, which Regulus found to be the weirdest combination and at the same time it made perfect sense. Lily was a sophomore, but for some reason that he couldn’t quite grasp, she decided to live on campus for a second year. He, having only spent a week in his dorm, already had plans to live in the Slytherin apartments next year if he could afford it.
He tuned back in, realizing he’d just been picking at the pasta in front of him and ignoring his friends.
“-and get this, Dr. Flitwick, my Shakespeare professor was telling us today that Shakespeare’s first 100 sonnets were written to a man. So basically, it’s completely irrefutable that Shakespeare was gay or at the very least bi!” She said emphatically, like this was the most riveting information in the world.
“Oh, that’s very interesting, Lils,” Dorcas replied politely.
“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” She said in her most dramatic voice. “Written to a man!”
“I thought you were a creative writing major,” Regulus mused aloud.
“Yeah, I am,” Lily said, clearly delighted he’d taken an interest. “We have to take literature classes too. It’s like a requirement for the major.”
The rest of their meal continued in a similar design of small talk and getting to know one another.
Regulus fell into this pattern in his first few weeks at Hogwarts University. Go to class, eat meals with people he didn’t really know, try desperately to keep all his assignments in order and get them done on time, and try to massage his body into submission after class upon class of rigorous movement.
College surprised Regulus in a lot of ways, but most of all in the setup of the dance department. Upon arrival, he quickly realized that the environment was incredibly supportive and uplifting.
This was absolutely unheard of.
Coming from a background of classical ballet at a rich, snobby studio, Regulus had walked across campus prepared for demanded silence and perfection in his first class and was completely thrown off-kilter when the professor asked the class to sit in a circle and do a round of introductions. This process was repeated in each of his subsequent dance classes that week, each time softening Regulus a bit more until he felt more or less comfortable with the others in the space.
Though his guard was never truly down, for the first time Regulus found that he had friends. Real friends. Not just people who spoke to him because they were obligated or because they were afraid of him.
It was strange, but he felt oddly warm? He wasn’t quite sure how to place the feeling, actually.
***
On the third week of classes, Regulus awoke to the sound of his roommate, Pandora, punching the wall with vigor. She was grumbling something about “turning that off” which he assumed was directed at their neighbor’s alarm, blaring so loud they could hear it in their room.
Regulus took this as his cue to get ready for class. He was up now, anyways. No sense lying in bed listening to Pandora wage war on the drywall. He checked his phone for emails before grabbing a pair of black tights, a fitted white t-shirt, and a pair of sweatpants and trudging into the bathroom. Although Regulus could not deny his utter love for his classes, he did not particularly enjoy the routine of waking up for 8am Ballet.
As he tugged on his tights, he decided he rather despised it.
His walk to class was marginally improved as he headed inside the Student Center to order coffee and found Dorcas already in line.
“Morning, Reg,” she said, nodding to him. She looked just as exhausted as Regulus.
“Morning,” he mumbled back. “Rough night?”
“My lovely neighbors go at it every day, Regulus. It doesn’t matter if it’s 3pm on a Tuesday or 3am on a Sunday. The bed is always slamming into the wall.”
Regulus stifled a laugh. “Good for them, I guess.”
“I’m losing my mind slowly every day,” she said, monotone.
Yes, the rest of the morning became much more tolerable with Dorcas there to endure it alongside him.
Regulus’ course schedule did not permit much time between classes and the rest of the day passed in a blur of movement and exhaustion. By the time he reached his last class of the day, Performance Techniques, Regulus was absolutely dead on his feet. He wished this class didn’t happen so late in the day. Each time he arrived he felt like he was forcing his eyes to stay open.
Today, rather than leading the class in a meditative warmup, Professor Sprout asked everyone to gather in a circle as they had done on the first day.
“Good to see everyone looking well,” she said pleasantly, making a point to look each student in the eye. She made a habit of doing this; It unnerved Regulus to no end, like she could see into his soul. “We’ve been focusing on different elements of performance so far this semester, tapping into specifics like connection to music and movement dynamics. Now it is time for you to put it to good use.”
The entire class tittered.
Professor Sprout continued, “I know you’ve only been training here at Hogwarts for a few weeks, but it is my pleasure to inform you that we will have a guest artist joining us in the coming weeks to develop an original work. Freshman students are not typically offered this type of opportunity, but as a faculty we have decided that you have all shown much potential,” she paused to look at them meaningfully. “Do not blow it.”
“Professor Sprout?” an overconfident girl with a large nose piped up. “Will we get details on the guest before they arrive?”
“Yes, Ms. Partridge. Today’s class will be focused on preparing for the audition which will be held at 5pm next Monday in Scamander Auditorium. The guest who will be joining us is Ms. Bathilda Bagshot of Bagshot Arts. For today’s class, we will watch some videos of her work and complete some exercises in her movement aesthetic. If there’s no other questions, we will begin.”
Professor Sprout played the videos first. Regulus was positively enraptured. The movement was gorgeous. He watched as the dancers connected and disconnected, moving through the space not as dancers but as an immovable force filling the stage with a palpable energy. They shifted to moving in the space and Professor Sprout led them in choreography, which was difficult and tiring.
Once Regulus found the ebb and flow of it, he carved out the space with movements strong and languid all at once. It felt innate to him, his body flushed with joy and release as he danced.
Professor Sprout worked them until the end of the period, always keen for perfection but encouraging all the same. She dismissed them with the praise of good work and Regulus surged forward with the rest of his peers to thank her for class. Dorcas was already at his side, excitedly jabbering in his ear about the audition when a voice sliced through the crowd.
“Mr. Black.”
Regulus turned around sharply. “Yes, Professor Sprout?”
“Can I talk to you for a moment?”
Regulus looked at Dorcas, meeting questioning eyes, and gave a slight shrug before moving back into the studio. Professor Sprout was walking over to her computer where it was plugged into the sound system in the back corner of the room, and he walked quickly to join her there.
In the privacy of the corner, she turned to face him. “Mr. Black, there is something I did not share with the rest of the class about Ms. Bagshot’s upcoming residency. Bathilda is looking to create work surrounding themes of identity and humanity, and for more reasons than one, I believe you are exactly what she’s looking for.”
Regulus was at a loss for words.
“Thank you,” he managed to say.
Professor Sprout smiled. “There’s nothing to thank me for, you’re the one doing incredible work. I see you showing up to class every day, Regulus. And not just showing up physically. I mean being present in class, soaking up everything you can.”
“I’m only trying my best.” He’d been trained for this sort of moment all his life.
You’re a Black. You achieve greatness. You play the game. You win.
“Regulus, you are a very talented dancer and although you may not recognize it yourself, I am inclined to believe that Ms. Bagshot will. I would not be doing my job if I did not urge you to audition for this residency. I know it may be intimidating as a freshman, but I think you’re an excellent candidate for this work.”
He nodded and thanked her once again before turning on his heel and exiting the room quickly. His heart leapt to his throat as he contended with the idea that he might actually have a chance of working with Bathilda Bagshot.
Work about identity, though. His identity. That was completely uncharted water. Water that Regulus could drown in if he wasn’t careful. He was still contending with this notion when he met Dorcas at his backpack, finding that she was waiting for him. He did his best to shake it off and snap out of it.
Professor Sprout thought he was a strong candidate for a work produced by Bathilda Bagshot. Focus on that.
“So?” she said, impatience and excitement spilling all over her words.
“Long story. Lunch at Three Broomsticks?”
***
“Your number is 37, please pin this to the front of your body somewhere clearly visible.”
Regulus, to put it as elegantly as he could, was shitting bricks. He stood outside the largest dance studio in Scamander Auditorium surrounded by the most talented dancers at Hogwarts. He looked around the crowded hallway, scanning the faces of his peers. Some of them looked nervous, but the vast majority were bright with excitement. Many stood with friends or chattered away as if it were any old day of classes and not 10 minutes before and audition with a very prominent name in the dance industry.
Some freshmen were there as well, Regulus noted, although it appeared that many had crumbled under the advisement of Professor Sprout to not blow their shot at this opportunity. He spotted snobby Zara Partridge, who Regulus thought was probably 75% ego and 25% talent. He instantly picked up the familiar scent of superiority and self-importance and made notes to steer clear.
Dorcas was auditioning as well, although she was further down the hall stretching in solitude to calm her nerves. He spotted a few more sprinkled through the crowd, but didn’t pay much mind.
Before he knew it, the door was opened, and the dancers were ushered inside to begin the audition. Once it began, he made a silent promise to thank Professor Sprout. Many of the exercises they were given during the audition were the same as what Professor Sprout had taught them in Performance Techniques. He found the rhythm of the movement easily, slotting back into the pocket of the movement and feeling that same joy wash over him again.
The audition passed in 3 main sections. They warmed up first with a series of exercises in Ms. Bagshot’s movement aesthetic, then transitioned to quick, dynamic traveling patterns done across the floor. Finally, they were taught an excerpt from one of Ms. Bagshot’s previous works.
Different from what Professor Sprout had worked on in class, this excerpt was much slower and very stylized, hitting accents in the music and extending through mellow, oozing moments. Regulus found purchase in this with more confidence than he’d been expecting. He picked up the choreography quickly, focusing a razor-sharp attention to the details of the dance.
After some time learning, Ms. Bagshot deemed them competent enough and exiled everyone to the sides of the room. She called out group after group in chronological order of the numbers they wore. The longer Regulus stood and watched, the more he felt like he was going to throw up.
Every single person in the room was dancing beautifully.
Regulus’ attention was caught when he saw Dorcas run to the center with the rest of the group. He watched as she hit every movement perfectly in tune with the music. She looked stunning. Regulus had never seen her so in her element, dark skin shining with sweat but her entire body breathing with the music making her look lighter than air. He bloomed with pride for his friend. As Dorcas finished, she spotted him on the side and jogged over to him, able to break out of her focused solitude now that she’d danced.
“Good?” she whispered between ragged breaths.
Regulus’ face broke into a smile. “Absolutely amazing, Cas.”
“Next group!” Ms. Bagshot called out. The room fell completely silent. “36, 37, 38, 39, and 40, please take the floor.”
Regulus’ legs felt jittery and unsteady.
“You got this!” Dorcas whispered.
He ran out to the center and found his own pocket of space, shaking out his limbs a bit to calm his nerves. This didn’t prove necessary however, because as soon as the music started, Regulus transformed.
No longer a dark-haired boy with anxiety pulsing through him, Regulus was a creature of darkness and light all at once. He became the movement, and the music settled into his bones. That same wash of release and freedom filled his body, and he danced with such confidence and fullness that he wasn’t even aware of the audition any longer. The room fell away and there was only the dance.
The phrase came to an end, and Regulus joined Dorcas on the side of the room again. She looked like she might explode, ticking with anxiety. As the audition drew to a close, it was as if the entire room remembered at once that Ms. Bagshot was only taking 8 students for this work and 40 of them stood waiting.
She deliberated for a long time, speaking in hushed tones with her assistant from Bagshot Arts and Professor Sprout who organized the residency. Regulus knew it did not do well to get his hopes up. The odds were absolutely stacked against him. This did not stop a jolt of hope and anxiety from bursting through him as Ms. Bagshot turned to face the room once again.
“I’ve come to a decision. If I call your number, please come stand in the center of the room.”
All the air was sucked out of the room.
“3,” she called out, followed by, “7, 15, 22, 25, 32.”
Regulus watched as Dorcas looked down at her number and back up again, disbelief painted across her features. Regulus locked eyes with her and smiled, as if affirming that her number really was called. She ran to join the others.
“The dancers I’ve called forward will be the main cast of the piece,” Ms. Bagshot stated.
Everyone looked at one another. That was only 6 dancers.
“The dancer who will be the featured soloist and lead is number 37.”
Regulus clapped, waiting for someone to run forward, but nobody was moving. Someone nudged Regulus. “Dude that’s you.”
He looked down at himself, utterly baffled.
No, it wasn’t. It couldn’t be him.
Sure enough, the little square of paper pinned to his front read 37 in bold text. He joined the others in the center.
This could not be happening.
“And finally,” Ms. Bagshot began speaking again, “the understudy for the piece will be number 13. Thank you all for your time. Those who were cast, stay in the room. The rest of you are dismissed.”
Regulus Black was the soloist. This could not possibly be real life.