Good News!

As they stepped inside, the bright, welcoming light of the Great Hall seemed to ease the tension a little, but Evan couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that lingered in his chest. Barty kept his head slightly down, as though trying to avoid anyone’s gaze, while Peter moved ahead with a wide grin, oblivious to the discomfort hanging in the air.

Padfoot, ever the confident leader, took his place at the center of the room, his hands gesturing widely as he laughed with Peter. As the rest of the students continued to filter in, the whispers and smiles and laughs followed, Padfoot bringing the entire hall together.

Minerva McGonagall, headmistress of Hogwarts, then took to her podium.

"Welcome to Hogwarts University of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

The crowd burst into cheers and whistles. McGonagall smiled tightly.

"Thank you, thank you. Faculty introductions will take place soon, but first... let us sort our newest class into their respective houses."

The students cheer even louder, and Sirius smiles in anticipation. He was going to be a Gryffindor. He already knew he was going to be a Gryffindor.

The Sorting Hat ceremony began, and the hall fell into a hushed anticipation. The Sorting Hat, perched atop its old stool, began singing its annual song, the words swirling around the room in a mix of ancient magic and tradition. It spoke of bravery, empathy, wisdom, and ambition, the traits that each house valued, setting the stage for the students about to be sorted.

Padfoot sat with his usual air of confidence, eyes gleaming as he glanced around the room, still riding the high from earlier. Peter, beside him, practically bounced in his seat, grinning from ear to ear, eager to find out where he would end up. The students in the hall murmured excitedly, their attention focused on the long line of freshmen standing in front of the podium.

“Sirius Black,” McGonagall called after some time, her voice cutting through the room like a sharp breeze.

Padfoot laughed and turned to the hall, announcing, "It's Padfoot, actually!"

The whole hall laughed and many students cheered at this. McGonagall rolled her eyes, but nonetheless, corrected herself, saying, "My apologies... Padfoot. It is your turn to be sorted."

With a grin, Padfoot rose to his feet, his cloak swishing dramatically behind him as he made his way to the Sorting Hat. He plopped it onto his head with a casual flick, leaning forward slightly as the Hat deliberated for a moment. The students watched in silence.

“Ah, I see great potential here… Boldness… Courage…” The Sorting Hat muttered, "Yes, definitely… Gryffindor!”

The hall erupted into cheers, the sound so loud it seemed to shake the very foundation of the castle. Padfoot stood tall, basking in the adoration, a wide grin on his face as he made his way to the Gryffindor table.

"Padfoot the Brave! Padfoot the Brave! Padfoot the Brave!" cheered the students in unison.

Padfoot soaked in the cheer, owning his spotlight. And if Regulus was in the back of the crowd scowling... well, that meant nothing to Padfoot. Absolutely nothing.

Peter's name was called next, and he hurried to the Sorting Hat with excitement practically radiating off of him. He sat down, barely able to contain his enthusiasm. The Sorting Hat took incredibly long to decide.

After almost ten minutes, and to Sirius's immense surprise, the hat shouted, “Gryffindor!”

The applause that followed was no where near as loud as it had been for Padfoot, but present nonetheless. Peter rushed to join him at the Gryffindor table. He couldn’t stop grinning as he flopped down beside his newfound friend, giving him an excited pat on the back.

“Together, mate!” Peter exclaimed.

Padfoot laughed, though he was beyond surprised that the hat saw Gryffindor within Peter.

The Sorting continued, and soon, it was Regulus’ turn. His name was called, and he walked forward with the same air of cool detachment he always carried. But as he sat beneath the Sorting Hat, something shifted. The Hat hesitated for a moment longer than it had with Padfoot, considering its choice. Furthermore, the hat deliberated in complete silence. Finally, it settled.

“Slytherin,” the Sorting Hat declared in a voice that echoed through the hall.

The silence that followed was thick with tension. Regulus barely flinched as he walked to the Slytherin table, but the atmosphere in the hall was electric, and not in a good way. Murmurs ran through the crowd like wildfire, and then, as if on cue, a low chorus of boos broke out. Some students even jeered, eyes filled with disdain as Regulus took his seat, his face stony and unreadable.

Padfoot’s grip on the edge of his seat tightened, his jaw clenched. His heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to stay still. It was all too much, too fast. Regulus was clearly an outsider... but... booing?

Padfoot was desperate to allow himself to stop the crowd. He had all the power and means in the world to. And yet... he found himself laughing alongside Peter.

As Regulus settled into his seat, Evan and Barty were called. Evan’s sorting was quick, and the Hat declared him for Slytherin without hesitation. He took his seat beside Regulus with a curt nod, the buzz of the room fading as students quickly lost interest. Next, it was Barty’s turn, and much to no one’s surprise, he too was sorted into Slytherin.

Peter, unable to contain his excitement, waved enthusiastically across the hall. He caught Evan and Barty’s eyes, and they waved back, a quick, almost imperceptible gesture that carried the faintest hint of something deeper, something more complicated.

Regulus, his expression still impassive, glanced toward the Gryffindor table. He tried to catch Padfoot’s eye, but the crowd’s whispers and the lingering coldness from the earlier encounter seemed to push the distance between them further.

Regulus kept his gaze down, focusing on the food in front of him, trying to ignore the prying eyes and hushed whispers of the other students. Despite being surrounded by his best friends, he felt utterly alone. And, as the Sorting ceremony drew to a close and the dinner feast began, he could feel the weight of every unspoken word and unacknowledged glance pressing in on him.

Padfoot, meanwhile, was basking in the attention from the Gryffindor table, his every movement exaggerated for the admiring eyes of his peers.

McGonagall clapped twice, attempting to gather the hall's attention; this attempt was not successful.

Padfoot, noticing, clapped his own hands together and yelled, "All eyes on McGonagall!"

The hall went silent and turned to the headmistress with rapt attention.

McGonagall blinked and stuttered out, "I... thank you... Mr. Padfoot. Thank you. Alright. Now! Students! It is my honor to introduce the humble staff of Hogwarts!"

McGonagall went on to have each professor stand and say a few words of wisdom. The hall mostly paid attention, though Padfoot was in his own world, charming students.

He stilled, however, when the history professor took to the podium.

Padfoot’s gaze snapped to the front, and his breath hitched. Professor Remus Lupin stepped forward, tall and with a casual grace that immediately drew attention. His young face looked out over the room with an easy smile, and there was something about the way he carried himself; confident, yet approachable, that made Padfoot’s heart skip a beat.

Shit, James was right. Padfoot did like them older.

Remus Lupin was incredibly handsome. There was no denying it. The warm brown eyes, the disheveled brown hair that looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed but somehow made it work, and a posture that was effortlessly at ease, even before the crowd of students.

Padfoot sat up straighter, his attention fully on the professor. Lupin cleared his throat, beginning his speech.

"Good evening, students,” he said, his voice warm but firm, a striking contrast to the rest of the faculty members, “I’ll keep this brief. I know most of you are eager to dig into the year’s lessons, and I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time for that. But before we start… I just want to take a moment to address something that has always been dear to me. Justice for werewolves.”

There was a soft murmur from the students. The mention of werewolves was met with mixed reactions. Some were of curiosity, others of discomfort, but Padfoot didn’t care. Lupin’s words had an intensity to them, something real, something he could feel in his gut.

“The truth about werewolves,” Lupin continued, “is that we are not beasts. We are people. We deserve respect, understanding, and a fair chance to live without fear. The stigma surrounding our kind has gone on long enough. I intend to—”

But before he could finish, a sharp, cold voice interrupted him.

"Professor Lupin, if I may,” Severus Snape’s voice rang out from the head table, the dark eyes of the Defense Against the Dark Arts master cutting through the hall like a blade.

“While your personal crusades are, I’m sure, admirable, I would suggest you save them for another time.”

Lupin, to Padfoot’s surprise, didn’t falter. He gave a nod, his expression still calm but his eyes narrowing slightly in that way that made Padfoot realize just how formidable Lupin was. He was not intimidated by Snape’s interruption.

"Of course, Professor Snape,” he said coolly. “I’ll leave my thoughts for another time. Thank you.”

Lupin stepped back from the podium, and though the speech had been cut short, the air in the hall still vibrated with the weight of what he had said. The room was full of whispers, but Padfoot didn’t join in.

As sad as Padfoot was to see Lupin go, he honed his attention in onto the new, dark, figure. Severus Snape. The professor that would help Padfoot achieve greatness.

It was hard to deny the intensity in Snape’s eyes as he surveyed the students. His gaze swept over them, piercing and calculating, before he finally spoke in a voice that was both hypnotic and cold.

“Power,” Snape began, his voice lingering in the air like smoke, “is not a gift. It is a responsibility. It is not given freely; it must be earned, carved from the very fabric of the world around you.”

His voice dropped lower, quieter, and the room leaned in closer.

"Power is the ability to command, to shape the world to your will. It is not the pursuit of mere strength, but the mastery of the forces that shape our very existence. It is a privilege; a privilege to control fate itself.”

The students sat in rapt attention. Regulus was specifically entranced. He could feel the weight of Snape’s words, the assurance in his tone, the conviction in every word. Snape paused for a moment, letting the words settle in the hall before continuing.

"And I expect nothing less than the highest levels of discipline and respect from all of you in my classroom. Those who lack it will find themselves… left behind.”

The silence that followed was thick with anticipation. Snape’s eyes now narrowed as they swept over the students once again, settling briefly on a few. Padfoot couldn’t help but notice that his gaze lingered for a second too long on him and then, to his surprise, on Regulus.

There was something unspoken that passed between Snape and Regulus, something dark and intense. Regulus, sitting at the Slytherin table, didn’t flinch, but Padfoot noticed the slight way his posture shifted; his shoulders slightly squared, his gaze unwavering.

Then, as if the moment snapped back to reality, Snape turned to the crowd.

"We will see how many of you are truly worthy of the power that you seek. Very few will come to my class. And those who will shall not disappoint me.”

There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the faint rustle of robes as students shifted in their seats. Then, as if by some unspoken cue, Padfoot was the first to stand. His palms were already beginning to itch from the anticipation, but he didn’t hesitate. With a loud, sharp clap, he began to applaud, his claps echoing through the hall.

He wasn't alone though.

At the exact same time, Regulus stood from the Slytherin table, his hands poised to clap. Padfoot’s eyes flickered over to him, and for a moment, their gazes met across the crowded hall. It was a brief, almost imperceptible moment, but it felt like something passed between them.

Something deeper than just the words spoken in Snape’s speech. It was as if, in that instant, they both recognized that they were more alike than they had ever thought.

And then the moment was over, and the rest of the hall was clapping along too.

The applause died down and the feast finished.

Padfoot excused himself from Peter, and made his way to the staff table. His eyes were set on only Snape and he walked with confidence and clear direction.

He began to plan what he was going to say when-

"Ow! Hey watch i-"

Padfoot stopped himself. There was Remus Lupin.

"My apologies Mr. Sirius Black. Are you alright?" Asked the professor, reaching his hand out.

Padfoot blinked.

Sweet. Merlin.

He wanted to absolutely drown in this man's eyes.

"I- uh.. you.. it's Padfoot," he responds, flustered.

Mr. Lupin smirks, and pulls Padfoot to his feet, "My apologies."

Padfoot hadn't let go of his hand.

"I... uh-"

"Why aren't you with the students?"

"Oh uhm... Snape... need- talk... to him..." Padfoot stutters.

Merlin... this had never ever happened to Padfoot before. He had never played it less cool in his entire life.

"I see. Welcome to Hogwarts Mr. Sirius Black," Mr. Lupin says with a smile.

"I- thank you!" Padfoot says, running away.

He doesn't even realize that he's been called Sirius.

Low and behold, Padfoot runs right into Mr. Snape.

His flustered state only worsens.

"Professor!" he exclaims.

Snape looks down at the boy with an utterly unamused expression.

"Mr... Padfoot?"

"I- heh, yes. You know my name!"

"You did make quite the show out of ensuring this entire facility does."

"I... oh yes that is true. Tell me..." Padfoot's words die as his eyes catch Regulus talking with Mr. Lupin.

Say... how old was the history professor?

"Only twenty-three," says Snape.

Padfoot turns red.

"I- did I say that out-"

"Yes, Mr. Padfoot, you did. Now please, what has pushed you to infringe upon my personal time and space-"

"Yes! I was wondering, sir, if you had received my application to your Defense Against The Dark Arts program?! It's no where in my schedule and-"

"Yes I have. Any further questions?"

Padfoot is still.

"Uh... yes. What... uh, were your thoughts?"

Snape’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at Padfoot, who was still standing in the teacher's booth, awkwardly fiddling with the hem of his robe. The DADA professor didn’t respond immediately, instead taking a long, almost exasperated moment to examine the boy before him.

“Mr. Padfoot,” Snape began, his voice colder than before, “I find it… amusing that you would think you could waltz into my personal time and space with such a frivolous request. You’re not my responsibility, and clearly, neither is your eagerness. If you were truly serious about your request, you would have shown more discipline, and less of whatever that display was.”

Padfoot blinked, stung by the harsh words. It wasn’t exactly a rejection yet, but Snape’s words weren’t a good sign. Still, he pushed forward.

“I… I just wanted to know if I could-"

“I’ve received your application, and frankly, Mr. Padfoot, I’m not sure you have the focus needed for my class. Perhaps a bit more… humility will be required before I take you seriously.”

Snape’s voice was laced with resolution, but it was clear he wasn’t done.

"You should learn when to stay in your lane, Mr. Padfoot."

With that, Snape turned sharply, his cloak swirling around him as he made his way toward the Slytherin table. Padfoot stood frozen for a moment, the sting of rejection sinking in like a cold dagger.

Just as he was about to turn and retreat, Snape’s voice rang out again, this time directed at Regulus, who had been standing nearby, quietly observing the conversation. Snape’s tone shifted slightly, though there was still an edge of formality.

“Regulus Arcturus,” Snape called, motioning for him to join him, "come here.”

Regulus hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking over to Padfoot, but he didn’t say anything. He simply walked over to Snape, his face still as unreadable as ever. Snape didn’t waste any time once Regulus was standing next to him.

“Earlier today,” Snape began, his voice lowered so only Regulus could hear, “I saw your interaction with the Death Eaters in the courtyard. I was… impressed.”

Regulus’s brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing, his eyes scanning Snape’s face carefully.

“You have the potential to be far more than what you’re allowing yourself to be,” Snape continued, "I can help you tap into your true power. The way you handled yourself, all calm and controlled, shows you have a level of ambition and restraint most others lack.”

Regulus’s gaze flickered to Padfoot slightly, though his expression remained stoic.

“I have no interest in becoming like those others,” Regulus said quietly, the words laced with targeted bitterness at Padfoot.

Snape smiled thinly, his eyes gleaming with something calculating.

"That’s exactly why I’m interested in you. You’re not like them. You have the potential to rise far above them. I will help you reach your full capabilities. But you must choose wisely, Regulus. This path; my path; isn’t for the faint of heart.”

Regulus remained silent for a long moment, but his gaze never wavered. Finally, he nodded once, a sharp, subtle gesture of agreement.

“I understand, Professor,” Regulus said, his voice steady and firm.

Snape gave a final, approving nod, then turned his attention back to Padfoot, whose eyes were now wide with confusion and a hint of disbelief. It seemed he had heard the conversation, but what did it mean for Regulus? What path was Snape offering him?

“You, Padfoot,” Snape said, his tone cold again, “should learn to wait your turn. Patience is a virtue. And I suggest you work on yours.”

McGonagall appeared behind the two and said, "I fear, boys, as you two have remained in the hall whilst your other students have gone to claim dormitories... that only one room remains."

Regulus and Padfoot's eyes widen in unison.

McGonagall hands the keys to Padfoot, who looks like he's about to faint.

McGonagall walks away and Snape sneers at Padfoot.

"Go unlock you and Mr. Arcturus's room, Mr. Padfoot. He and I are to have a discussion that must be held privately," Snape says.

Padfoot feels his heart stop but he nods. He leaves the staff booth and walks off to his dormitory, his brain not yet processing that he is about to room with Regulus Arcturus.

Regulus himself, turns back to Snape, and says, "Sir?"

Snape smiles incredibly tightly, and motions for Regulus to follow him.

Snape led Regulus out of the Great Hall and into the darkened courtyard, the cool evening air brushing past them. The castle was quiet now, the echo of student chatter long gone, leaving only the faint rustling of leaves and the distant call of an owl. It was oddly peaceful, and Regulus found himself curious about what Snape wanted.

They walked side by side, the silence stretching between them, though it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. After a few moments, Snape spoke, his tone lighter than before, though still tinged with his usual sharpness.

“You seem to have a knack for avoiding attention when you choose to,” Snape began, glancing sideways at Regulus, "though tonight, you appear to be something of a riddle to everyone. Including me.”

Regulus allowed himself a faint smile, “I didn’t realize I’d left such an impression, sir.”

Snape gave a soft, humorless chuckle, "Impressions can be a dangerous thing, Mr. Regulus Arcturus. Particularly in a place like this.”

They reached the center of the courtyard, where the moonlight cast long shadows across the cobblestones. Snape stopped and turned to face Regulus fully, his expression unreadable.

“You seem to know Mr. Barty Crouch Jr. and Mr. Evan Rosier quite well,” Snape said, folding his arms, "how did that come about?”

Regulus’s gaze faltered for a moment, his usual composure wavering slightly as he thought about gis friends... and how they came to be his friends.

"The Rosiers and the Crouches took me in after…” he hesitated, the words catching in his throat before he forced them out, "after my parents were killed.”

Snape’s expression didn’t soften, but there was a flicker of understanding in his dark eyes. He inclined his head slightly.

"I see. And yet, despite such loyalty from their families, your friends seem… ashamed of you. Why do you think that is?”

The question struck a nerve. Regulus’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his eyes focusing on the far end of the courtyard.

"I’ve been wondering the same thing for the last hour, sir,” he admitted quietly. There was no bitterness in his tone, just a quiet resignation that made Snape’s brow furrow.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Snape took a step closer, his voice lowering, losing some of its usual sharpness.

"I know what it’s like to be an outsider, Regulus. To feel like you don’t quite belong anywhere. People often fear or reject what they don’t understand.”

Regulus looked up at him, surprised by the admission. Snape’s expression was still guarded, but there was a hint of something genuine beneath the surface.

“You have potential, Mr. Arcturus,” Snape continued, his tone growing firmer, "but potential means nothing without the will to act on it. I can help you, if you’re willing.”

Regulus’s gaze searched Snape’s face, looking for any hint of insincerity, but he found none. Slowly, he nodded.

"I am willing, Professor. I am more than willing.”

Snape’s lips curled into a thin smile.

"Good. Then you’ll join my Defense Against the Dark Arts course. You’ve already proven yourself capable of handling more than most, and I believe you’ll find it… illuminating.”

Regulus’s heart lifted at the words, though he kept his expression carefully neutral. He inclined his head respectfully.

"Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”

Snape’s smile faded slightly, but his tone held a hint of approval.

"See that you don’t. There’s more at stake here than you realize... Mr. Regulus Arcturus... with time and discipline, you may get to meet Dumbledore someday. Few are granted such an opportunity, but with the right power… anything is possible.”

Regulus’s chest swelled with an unfamiliar warmth, a flicker of hope igniting within him. The thought of meeting Dumbledore, of proving himself worthy of such an honor, filled him with a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt in years... maybe ever.

“Thank you, Professor,” he said again, his voice steadier now, filled with true, unwavering gratitude.

Snape nodded once, then gestured for Regulus to follow him back toward the castle. The walk back was quiet, but Regulus’s mind was anything but. The thought of meeting Dumbledore, of rising above the doubts and judgments of others, consumed him. For the first time in a long while, he felt like he had a direction, a path forward.

As they reached the entrance to the dormitories, Snape stopped and turned to him.

"Remember, Regulus. Strength comes not from seeking approval, but from mastering yourself. Do not forget that.”

Regulus nodded solemnly, the weight of Snape’s words settling over him.

"I won’t, sir.”

Snape walked off and Regulus Arcturus smiled. Smiled.

If... no. When.

When he met Dumbledore... he would be seen for who he truly is, not who the world told him he was.

And just then... Regulus could've sworn he had a vision... almost like a prophecy.

Though crazy... and a bit hazy... he could swear...

Someday there will be a celebration throughout the land all to do with him.

Yes.

Someday.

Someday, people would scream when they saw Regulus Arcturus.

Regulus smiles one last time as he opens the door to his dormitory.

His future was unlimited.