The Black Legacy
Regulus Black stood at the edge of Platform 9¾, the steam from the Hogwarts Express curling into the cold September air, a constant reminder of what awaited him. He gripped his suitcase handle tighter, the leather digging into his palm. His parents had stood beside him earlier, giving him last-minute instructions, reminding him of his duties as the Black family heir. “Don’t forget who you are, Regulus,” his mother had said with a pointed look, her sharp, cold eyes boring into him like she was carving his identity into his skin.
“I won’t,” he had replied, but the words felt too hollow even as they left his mouth.
He was the perfect heir to the Black family, they said. The perfect pureblood. He had been groomed for this role since the moment he was born—taught that everything he did, every move he made, would be a reflection of his family. His life had been mapped out for him from the start, but here, now, in this moment, on the verge of stepping into the unknown—Hogwarts—he couldn’t help but feel that weight pressing down on him, suffocating him.
Sirius had already gone ahead, already chosen his side. The betrayal burned in Regulus’s chest every time he thought about it. He could still hear his brother’s words echoing in his mind: “I don’t want this life, Reggie.” As if being born into it was a choice, as if Sirius had been given the option to turn his back on the Black family and walk away.
“Well, I don’t have that choice, do I?” Regulus muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the noise of the bustling platform. His parents hadn’t given him a choice, and he was sure they weren’t pleased to learn that Sirius had thrown it all away during his first year at Hogwarts. But it didn’t matter. Sirius was no longer a part of his world. Regulus had been left to pick up the pieces of a broken legacy, one that he had to carry forward, one that weighed heavily on his shoulders.
He shoved his suitcase onto the trolley and forced his legs to move, heading toward the train. He didn’t look around at the families bidding their children goodbye. He couldn’t—he didn’t belong in that world. There was nothing to say to anyone. He wasn’t like them. He wasn’t like Sirius, who had always been able to laugh and joke around, make friends with ease. Regulus was different. The difference was glaring. It was the way his family looked at him when he was alone. It was the way they held him to a higher standard than anyone else. He was expected to be perfect.
As he climbed aboard the train, the noise of students talking and laughing filled the air, but Regulus felt distant, separated from it all. He walked down the narrow corridor, searching for an empty compartment. Of course, that’s when he saw them. James Potter, Sirius’s oldest friend, was sitting at the front of the compartment with his loud, boisterous group. Regulus could hear their laughter before he even saw them.
James was as obnoxious as Regulus had remembered. His hair was messy, his glasses crooked, and his grin—wide and confident—was directed at anyone who looked his way. He was a Gryffindor, which was bad enough. But he was also already popular, which made Regulus’s stomach churn in a way he didn’t want to examine too closely.
James’s voice rang out from within the compartment, and Regulus’s eyes narrowed instinctively. “Mate, you won’t believe what happened last night. Snivellus—”
Regulus winced at the name. Snivellus. Severus Snape had been a thorn in his side for as long as he could remember. But there was something about James, something about the way he carried himself, that made Regulus dislike him even more. James didn’t care. He didn’t have to care. He was the golden boy. The one everyone loved. The one who could do no wrong. The one whose name was whispered with respect in every corner of the school.
But what did that make Regulus? The lesser? The one who had to prove himself every single day? What would it be like to be like James, to be carefree, to not feel the weight of his family’s expectations hanging over him?
Regulus hated himself for even thinking it.
“Oi, Reg!” James called out, noticing him standing in the hallway. “You’re not going to stand there looking like you’ve just swallowed a wand, are you?”
Regulus’s eyes flicked up. James had that infuriating grin on his face, as if he were expecting Regulus to smile back. But Regulus wasn’t like Sirius. He didn’t laugh at these things. He didn’t let people in. Not anymore.
“Not interested,” Regulus said flatly, turning on his heel and walking away before James could say anything else.
The compartment he chose was further down the train. It was far from the noise, the laughter, the camaraderie of Gryffindor. It was just him, alone with his thoughts. He was used to being alone, wasn’t he? It wasn’t like Sirius was here to welcome him to Hogwarts. It wasn’t like he had anyone else.
He sat by the window, staring out at the passing countryside, but his mind was elsewhere. What did it mean to be a Black? What did it mean to carry the legacy of that name? Was it all just a façade, a front to hide the fact that the family had fallen apart?
Sirius had thrown it all away. James was the hero everyone wanted him to be. And Regulus—Regulus was left here, trying to pick up the pieces of something that felt irreparably broken.
“Who am I supposed to be?” he whispered to himself, the question hanging in the air. No one had ever told him that. No one had ever told him what it meant to be Regulus Black, the son of Walburga and Orion. All they ever told him was what he had to do. What he had to achieve. What he had to become.
And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He wasn’t sure anymore if he was capable of becoming it.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Regulus didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge whoever it was. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this.
The door opened anyway.
“Don’t be such a loner, Reggie,” Sirius’s voice came, and Regulus closed his eyes for a brief moment, his jaw clenching. “Come sit with us, Reg. You don’t have to sulk alone.”
Regulus didn’t answer, but his heart rate picked up, and the knot in his stomach tightened. Why was Sirius being so persistent?
He glanced at Sirius through the doorframe, his heart beating a little too loudly in his chest. And for a second—just a second—he almost wished he could let go. Let go of the Black legacy. Let go of the weight. Let go of all of it.
But then the moment passed. And Regulus didn’t say anything.
He just closed the door right in Sirius’s face.
Regulus made his way to the Great Hall, feeling the weight of the moment settle into his bones. The start of his first year at Hogwarts. The year he’d been told to expect great things, to step into a legacy. But all he could do was focus on the one thing he couldn’t escape—his brother.
Sirius was already here, already making his presence known. The minute Regulus walked through the grand doors, he caught sight of his brother’s dark hair, the same as his, except it looked much better on Sirius—tousled but somehow still perfect. He stood surrounded by people. Not just any people. His Best Friends.
James Potter was there, of course, with his usual bravado. Regulus could hear the obnoxious laughter from across the room, even above the din of the other students. Sirius was laughing too, but it was a different laugh—one that carried the kind of carefree attitude Regulus had never been able to replicate. Sirius didn’t care about anything. He just… existed. And the world seemed to adore him for it.
It was always like this, wasn’t it? Regulus fumed inwardly. Everyone gravitated toward Sirius like moths to a flame. And James… well, James was the sun in that equation, wasn’t he? Bright, shining, impossible to ignore.
He could hear snippets of conversation as he passed by groups of students who whispered behind their hands.
“Did you hear about their first year? They caused chaos all over the school.”
“Yeah, James Potter. He’s like some kind of Gryffindor Good Samaritan. Never seen a kid with that much… charisma.”
“Do you think Regulus Black will be the same? He’s a Black, after all, right?”
Regulus’s breath caught at the mention of his name. They were comparing him to Sirius. His blood boiled in his veins.
Of course they would. They didn’t even know who he was, but it didn’t matter. They didn’t have to. They’d already picked the side they wanted. Sirius was the Gryffindor with the daring adventures, the golden boy. And Regulus was—well, Regulus was just another Black in a long line of them, destined to toe the family line.
Why is it always about Sirius? Regulus thought bitterly. Why does he get all the attention?
He could feel the heat of their gazes on him as he passed them by, the whispers suddenly quieting as if they were wondering what the younger Black brother was like. Regulus didn’t care what they thought. He didn’t care what anyone thought.
But still, a knot twisted in his chest as he made his way to the Slytherin table knowing where he belonged before even being sorted. He kept his head down, pretending not to hear the whispering. But it was impossible to ignore.
Why can’t I just be left alone?
As he sat down at the Slytherin table, the familiar coldness of it washed over him. The stone walls, the darker atmosphere, the quiet murmurs from his soon to be housemates—it was the only place where he felt like he didn’t have to pretend. He didn’t have to wear the mask here. But he still hated it. Hated how it felt so… forced. How everything in Slytherin felt like it had been arranged in some twisted game where he had no say.
“Regulus.” A voice pulled him from his thoughts. It was one of the older Slytherins, Lucius Malfoy—Regulus had met him a few times at the Black Manor if regulus remembered correctly he should be a year seven—, who was looking at him with an expression that suggested some sort of approval. “First day, hmm? Ready to make your mark?”
Regulus forced a tight smile and nodded, though inside he felt nothing but frustration. He didn’t care about making his mark here. He didn’t care about impressing anyone. And yet, Lucius’s gaze seemed to linger on him in that calculating way that made Regulus feel like an object to be studied rather than a person. But that was all anyone ever saw him as, wasn’t it?
“Lucius, I don’t think I’ll be causing any trouble.” Regulus’s voice came out colder than he’d meant it to.
Lucius raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t press the matter further, turning back to his conversation with the others at the table.
Regulus let out a quiet sigh, feeling the growing tension in his chest. His eyes flitted once more toward the Gryffindor table, where Sirius was still holding court with his new friends, and James was making some sort of dramatic gesture with his arms, earning another round of laughter.
The sound of it grated on Regulus’s nerves. He hated that laugh, hated how it was so effortless for James, how it came so naturally. It reminded him of everything he could never have. Everything his brother had wanted in him.
Why is everything so easy for him? Regulus fumed silently, his fingers curling into fists beneath the table.
He tried to look away, but it was like his eyes were drawn back to James, to the way he smiled and commanded attention without even trying. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Sirius had chosen him, that he had always chosen his friends over Regulus. What had Regulus ever done to deserve being abandoned for someone like that?
Sirius had left him. And now he was flourishing, a shining example of everything Regulus couldn’t be. And James… James was part of that world now, too.
I’ll show them all, Regulus thought bitterly. I’ll show them what it means to be a Black.
But the truth was, Regulus wasn’t sure what that meant anymore. What did it mean to be a part of this legacy? To wear the name Black like a cloak, heavy and suffocating? He didn’t want this. Not really. He didn’t want to be a part of the constant battle, the constant expectation.
And yet, here he was. Stuck.
He was so tired of pretending. So tired of feeling like the world was conspiring against him. Tired of being compared to his brother, of seeing everyone adore him while Regulus was left to shrink into the background.
The start of his first year was supposed to be a new beginning, a fresh start. But it felt like he was already losing.
He turned away from the Gryffindor table, forcing himself to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth. There was no use in wasting any more time thinking about Sirius or James. They didn’t matter. Not in the grand scheme of things. Regulus wasn’t here to be a part of their world. He was here to create his own.
The moment the Sorting Hat was placed on Regulus’ head, everything went silent. It wasn’t that the noise of the Great Hall ceased, but it felt as though the world around him melted away. The whispers, the giggles, even the murmurs of the professors faded into a distant hum. All that remained was the suffocating blackness beneath the brim of the Hat, pressing down on him like a weight too heavy for someone his age to bear.
Regulus closed his eyes, barely aware of the nervous energy swirling in the room. He couldn’t help but feel as though every eye was on him, watching and waiting. The pressure to live up to the Black name, the expectation to be perfect in every way, was unbearable. But as the Hat’s thoughts invaded his mind, the world outside grew irrelevant.
He clenched his fists at his sides. Just breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. But it didn’t help. His pulse was already quickening, the walls of the room closing in on him. The Hat felt impossibly large on his head, as though it were swallowing him whole.
“Ah,” the voice of the Hat suddenly echoed in his mind. It was old, wise, and oddly comforting, but Regulus could feel a strange tinge of judgment in its tone. “A Black, are you? Yes, yes, I can see it… the ambition, the cunning, the desire for power. A perfect fit for Slytherin…”
Regulus’ chest tightened. It felt as though someone was squeezing the air from his lungs, each breath coming harder than the last. No. Don’t panic. Don’t let it get to you. But it was like his body was betraying him, an avalanche of thoughts and emotions crashing through his mind, too fast for him to stop.
Why is it taking so long?
His mind was a mess of chaotic noise—his family’s expectations, the weight of the Black name, his mother’s sharp words, his father’s constant disapproval. What if I’m not enough? What if I don’t belong here? What if I’m not cut out for this?
“Are you sure?” The Hat’s voice was soft, almost gentle, as if sensing Regulus’ growing anxiety. “You could fit well in Ravenclaw. Intelligent, sharp… but you hide your thoughts, don’t you? There’s something more you wish to protect.”
Regulus swallowed thickly, trying desperately to steady his breath. Ravenclaw. The idea was laughable, wasn’t it? He could feel the weight of his family’s gaze, the ghosts of his ancestors watching him with expectant eyes. Slytherin. Slytherin is where I’m supposed to be.
He couldn’t afford to disappoint them, couldn’t afford to show weakness. His thoughts spiraled. The walls of the room were closing in, and suddenly, the weight of the Hat on his head felt like an anvil. Why won’t it just choose already?
“Relax, child,” the Hat’s voice murmured. “You are caught between two paths. The ambition and desire of Slytherin, and the intellect and curiosity of Ravenclaw. You fear the expectations placed on you, yes? The pressure to follow in your brother’s footsteps, to live up to what you think you must be… but do not forget, it is your choice, not theirs.”
Regulus felt his breath catch in his throat. The Hat’s words echoed in his mind, crashing into him like a tidal wave. My choice? How could he have a choice? He was a Black. He had a place to fill, a role to play. He had no room for anything else.
But the more the Hat pressed, the more it dug into him, the more he realized that perhaps there was something deeper than the fear and the pressure. Something that whispered to him, buried deep down where he had pushed it away for years. Something that was his own.
The Hat chuckled softly, a deep, knowing sound. “Ah, I see it now. A soul trapped in a web of expectations, yes. But there is something else here… a fire, a strength of will, hidden beneath the surface. Yes, Slytherin is where you belong, Regulus Black.”
The Hat made its final decision, and Regulus was jolted from his spiraling thoughts. The world around him seemed to snap back into place, the noise returning in an instant. The pressure lifted, and he could breathe again. The Hat’s final words, now echoing through the Great Hall, were almost drowned out by the applause, but they still reverberated in his ears, like a quiet warning.
“Slytherin!”
The cheers from the Slytherin table felt like a weight landing on his chest. He barely registered it as he stood and made his way to the table. His vision blurred, his mind still reeling from the experience. Slytherin. Slytherin. The word repeated in his mind, but it felt hollow, like he was trying to convince himself of something that didn’t feel entirely real.
The Slytherin table parted for him as he walked, their applause louder now, but all he could focus on was the seat at the end, where his brother Sirius sat with that sneer on his face. Regulus didn’t dare to look up at him, though. He couldn’t bear it.
As he sat down, the feeling of being trapped in his own skin crept back. Slytherin. Slytherin. Slytherin.
Across the room, Sirius’ eyes met his for a fleeting moment, and Regulus felt something sharp and bitter coil in his stomach. His brother’s gaze was full of contempt, like he was trying to erase Regulus from his memory entirely. Like Regulus was nothing but a shadow, nothing but a disappointment.
The tension in Regulus’ chest tightened again, and he did everything he could to not react, to not show how much his brother’s disdain was cutting through him. He’d been through this before—this constant feeling of not being good enough. But this time, it was different. The pressure was heavier now, suffocating him with every breath.
Regulus clenched his fists under the table, trying to keep his composure. The Hat had chosen for him. Slytherin, it had said. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps it was more than just a House. That maybe it was more than just his family’s expectations. Maybe, just maybe, there was a part of him that didn’t want this.
A part of him that didn’t belong here at all.
I will prove them wrong, Regulus thought bitterly, his gaze now locked on the table in front of him. I’ll make it through this. I’ll survive.
But even as he looked up to the Slytherin table, where students were already congratulating him, Regulus couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that something deep inside him had been broken—that, perhaps, he had just signed his soul away without ever truly realizing it.
Regulus sat stiffly at the Slytherin table with the realization, eyes trained on his plate, trying not to look too interested in the Gryffindor table. But it was hard not to notice them—the Marauders—already etched into Hogwarts’ mythology, their names whispered like a curse that held some kind of strange, magnetic pull.
James Potter was the loudest of them all, his obnoxious laughter carrying across the room like an invitation. It was hard to miss, even if Regulus had wanted to. Which, at this point, he didn’t. Not really.
The way the Gryffindor table gathered around him, like some kind of adoring worshippers, was hard to ignore. They leaned in to listen, hung on his every word, and hungered for his approval. They laughed when he laughed, and Regulus could practically feel the way the room shifted when James Potter’s name was spoken.
And then there was Sirius. Sirius Black. His own flesh and blood. Sitting across from James, laughing and leaning in as if there weren’t an ocean between them. As if he hadn’t just discarded everything Regulus had ever believed in. His brother, once the object of his admiration, now seemed like just another link in the chain of a much larger, much louder existence.
Remus Lupin, sitting quietly beside Sirius, was the calm in the storm of the Marauders. He didn’t need to command attention the way James did, and yet, there was a quiet intensity to him that drew people in. His eyes, soft yet thoughtful, seemed to be constantly observing everything around him. There was a warmth to him, a kindness that felt almost out of place among the chaos. Regulus couldn’t quite figure Remus out, but one thing was clear: Remus was the glue that held the rest of them together. He didn’t laugh as loudly or draw as much attention to himself, but when he spoke, everyone listened—his words carrying a weight that even James couldn’t rival.
And then there was Peter Pettigrew. Unlike the others, Peter didn’t stand out in the same way. His presence seemed almost… insignificant, hidden beneath the shadows of his friends. Regulus often found himself glancing over at Peter, trying to understand why someone like him was a part of this group. There was something furtive about him, as if he were always just a little unsure of his place among the more confident Marauders. He laughed too, but there was a nervous edge to it, a desperation to be included, to belong. Regulus couldn’t decide if he pitied Peter or just found him… weak. But there he was, always lingering at the edges, tethered to James, Sirius, and Remus in ways Regulus couldn’t quite grasp.
Regulus felt the stirrings of something deep in his chest, a deep ache that had no name. He was supposed to be used to this by now—the fact that Sirius had left the family, that he had cast off everything that Regulus had been raised to value. But the reality of it still stung, even as he tried desperately to keep it at bay. Even now, in the shadow of this new chapter of his life, Sirius was there.
The whispers in the room weren’t about Regulus—they were about his brother. About the Marauders. About James Potter, whose very name had already become synonymous with bravado and cocky confidence. Regulus had to admit, it was impressive. The way James commanded attention, the way people gravitated to him. But it was also infuriating. How could someone be so… so blissfully unaware of the chaos they caused? Regulus could never afford such carelessness.
“You alright, Regulus?” A voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to reality.
Regulus blinked, realizing too late that he’d been staring across the room at the Gryffindor table. A dark-haired boy from his own house, a Slytherin who had a reputation for being just as indifferent as Regulus himself, was watching him with raised eyebrows.
“Fine,” Regulus muttered, quickly looking down at his plate, hoping that the flush creeping up his neck wasn’t noticeable.
It didn’t matter anyway. It wasn’t about them. It was about him. About what he was going to do in this new world, surrounded by people who didn’t care about bloodlines or legacy or the weight of family expectations. Or, at least, they didn’t seem to. They had all the freedom in the world. The Marauders, Sirius included, got to be themselves without anyone telling them how to act or what to say. They didn’t have to worry about living up to anyone’s expectations. They got to make their own rules.
Regulus hated them for it. He hated how easy they made it look. How simple it was for them to just… be.
James was an explosion of light and sound, everything Regulus had been taught to avoid. He was everything Regulus was told was dangerous. Loud, brash, fearless, and unafraid to let his feelings show. And yet, the more he observed James, the more something twisted in Regulus’s gut. The realization gnawed at him—that part of him wanted to be like James. He wanted to feel free in the way James did. To be accepted without question, to be adored for nothing more than being himself.
But he wasn’t James. He wasn’t a Gryffindor, full of unbridled confidence and shining determination. He was a Slytherin, raised to be calculating, strategic, and controlled. James had what Regulus could never have—the ease of being so utterly confident in his place in the world.
And Sirius… Sirius made it worse. He was the very embodiment of all the things Regulus wasn’t allowed to be. He was reckless, impulsive, and utterly free. And it was all Regulus could do to keep from screaming when he saw the way Sirius so effortlessly stepped into his own skin.
The Marauders’ reputation had already spread throughout Hogwarts, far beyond what Regulus had expected. It wasn’t just James’ bravado or Sirius’ defection from the family that made them notorious. It was their bond, the strength of their friendship. Remus Lupin, quiet and studious, was the calm in the storm. Peter Pettigrew, who seemed so… ordinary compared to the rest, was just as much a part of the dynamic. They were a unit. A force. And no one dared mess with them.
Regulus watched as the Marauders exchanged looks and inside jokes, their camaraderie undeniable. Every so often, he caught James’ loud voice echoing across the room, followed by a burst of laughter. His presence was so magnetic, it made Regulus want to bury his head in his hands and disappear into the shadows.
He wasn’t supposed to care. Not about James. Not about Sirius. But he did. And that made it worse.
They didn’t care about him—not really. To them, Regulus Black was just another name on the family tree, something to be dismissed and ignored. So why did it matter? Why did his heart feel like it was twisting in his chest every time he saw them laughing together, so easily, so carelessly?
“Regulus,” a voice said sharply. He turned to find a fellow Slytherin, a girl with dark eyes and an impatient frown. “Stop staring at them.”
Regulus blinked, his face flushing. He hadn’t even realized he was still watching the Marauders.
“I wasn’t staring,” he muttered, turning his attention back to his half-eaten plate. “Just—thinking.”
“Thinking about Sirius, aren’t you?”
Regulus didn’t respond, knowing that any answer would just fuel her mockery.
The girl snorted and moved away, leaving him alone with his thoughts again. And he hated it. The way the Marauders—James especially—seemed to have this effortless way of living their lives, without the constant looming pressure of family expectations. He hated how much he wanted to be a part of their world, even though he knew that, deep down, he couldn’t afford to be. He couldn’t be like them. Not when everything he was, everything he had ever known, was tied to a legacy that demanded perfection.
But James—James Potter didn’t care about any of that.
And that, Regulus realized bitterly, was the most frustrating thing of all.