Good News!

As soon as Regulus enters the dorm he's met with the blaring sound of an electric guitar.

"What in the name of Merlin?!" he exclaims, shouting loudly.

Padfoot sits on his bed, fingering the strings of his instrument at an absurd pace. Colorful lights dance along the walls and ceiling, and a mirrorball hangs in the middle of the room.

The room, which, has been decked out in band posters, rhinestones, and leather.

Regulus may just throw up.

He spots the speaker in the corner, and promptly pulls the wire. The music and lights stop abruptly, and Padfoot looks up from his bed.

"Hey!"

Quickly though, the boy gains his bearings, flashing a charming, false smile.

"I mean hey! What's up roomie!"

Regulus sighs, "Yeah we're not doing this."

Padfoot raises an eyebrow, leaning back on his bed and resting his arms behind his head. The faux charm hasn’t faltered; if anything, it’s doubled down.

“Not doing what, Regulus?” Padfoot says, emphasizing his name like he’s testing how much it will annoy him.

Regulus glares, his tone clipped.

"Listen Padfoot, this..." he gestures dramatically around the room, at the disco ball, the posters, the rhinestones that seem to have appeared out of thin air, “...is not happening. I don’t know where you got the idea that this is a concert venue, but I will not be living in it.”

Padfoot swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands, saying, "Oh, come on. It’s got character! Personality! I thought you Slytherins liked a bit of flair.”

He picks up a stray rhinestone from his nightstand and tosses it toward Regulus, who dodges it like it’s cursed.

“I like subtle flair,” Regulus retorts, his voice rising slightly, “not whatever this is. Merlin’s beard, is that a clothes rack of only leather jackets? Are you trying to summon the spirit of some muggle rock star?”

“Hey, don’t knock it!” Padfoot replies, feigning offense, "those jackets are vintage! And the spirit of rock and roll would make this place infinitely cooler, thank you very much.”

Regulus groans and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I am not dealing with this nonsense. We’re redecorating. Immediately.”

Padfoot crosses his arms, the smirk turning into a full-blown grin now.

"Oh? And what exactly is your vision, Mr. Arcturus? Black silk curtains and a skull-shaped chandelier? Maybe a snake pit in the corner? Very on-brand.”

Regulus narrows his eyes. He groans, trying not to let it show that yes, actually, a room decorated like that would be very on-brand.

"Anything is better than this," Regulus says, "I don’t care if we have to hex this room back to its original state, but we are not living in your… your tacky little teenage rebellion fantasy.”

Padfoot gasps dramatically, clutching his chest like he’s been mortally wounded.

"Tacky? Tacky? I’ll have you know this is art.”

“It’s a cry for help,” Regulus mutters under his breath, though Padfoot hears it and laughs.

“Fine, fine,” Padfoot says, throwing his hands up in mock surrender, "we'll make a compromise. You can have one corner of the room for your brooding and existential despair. The rest stays as is.”

“There is no compromise,” Regulus snaps, "the rhinestones, the posters, the disco ball! All of it goes. Non-negotiable.”

Padfoot frowns, but the twinkle of mischief in his eyes doesn’t dim.

"First of all! That is a mirrorball-"

"Says who?"

"Says both Taylor Alison Swift and Alexander David Turner! And second of all! You really are no fun, you know that?”

“And you’re insufferable,” Regulus shoots back, walking over to the mirrorball and inspecting it like he’s deciding how best to destroy it.

Padfoot, catching Regulus’s calculating look at the mirrorball, suddenly darts forward like he’s guarding a prized possession.

“Ah-ah! Don’t even think about it!” he exclaims, sliding between Regulus and the glittering orb.

Regulus glares up at him, unamused, "It’s an affront to magic itself.”

“It’s aesthetic,” Padfoot argues, arms spread wide as if shielding it with his whole body.

Regulus pulls out his wand, pointing it at the disco ball with the intent to banish it immediately, but Padfoot reacts faster, whipping out his own wand and shouting, “Protego!”

The shield charm springs to life, deflecting Regulus’s spell and sending it ricocheting off the wall, where it narrowly misses the poster of some long-haired, eyeliner-wearing muggle guitarist.

Regulus’s jaw tightens.

“Are you seriously going to duel me over this?”

“Damn right I am,” Padfoot says, leaning casually against the wall, but his wand stays at the ready, twirling lazily in his hand, "You’ve declared war on my artistic freedom, Regulus. I can’t just let that slide.”

Regulus glares at him, debating whether or not to actually engage in a full-on magical battle over the decor of their dorm. He lowers his wand slightly, attempting reason one last time.

“I’m not going to duel you over something as ridiculous as this.”

Padfoot smirks.

"Because you know you’ll lose?”

“Because it’s beneath me.”

“Oh Merlin, you sound like Snape-"

"You wish you could sound like Snape. Too bad you can't manage to hold his attention for longer than-"

"Stupefy!"

"Tarantallegra!"

The two boys engage in a chaotic flurry of spells, hexes, and counter-spells. The mirrorball begins spinning wildly, reflecting flashes of light around the room as spells ricochet off it. Posters crumple or catch fire, rhinestones are blown off walls, and the leather jacket somehow ends up animated, stomping around the room and looking highly offended.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of chaos, the door bursts open, and a third figure stands in the doorway.

“What in Merlin’s name is going on here?” comes the exasperated voice of Professor Remus Lupin, looking thoroughly unimpressed as he surveys the mess.

Both Regulus and Padfoot freeze mid-duel, panting slightly as they turn to look at him. The room is in shambles; books scattered, pillows exploded, and the mirrorball now hanging precariously by a single thread.

Padfoot turns beet red and grins sheepishly, "Pr-Professor! Hey! Uh... how much did you hear?"

Mr. Lupin scoffs, "Everything Mr. Sirius Black. My room is down the hall."

"I-It's Padfoot..." Padfoot corrects, his face absolutely on fire after learning how close Mr. Lupin's room is to his own.

Regulus pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath about needing a new roommate.

“Clean. This. Up,” Mr. Lupin says firmly, pointing his wand at the two of them, "or I’ll report both of you to McGonagall. And don’t think I won’t.”

Grudgingly, they both begin picking up the pieces, muttering under their breaths about whose fault it was.

As he sets the rhinestone-covered pillow back on the bed, Padfoot glances at Regulus and glares.

Regulus, who has finally found his bed, (it was hidden behind Padfoot's leather jacket clothing rack) picks up his fallen books and glares right back at Padfoot.

The room falls into a tense silence, when Regulus hears the sound of a pen and paper, as well as Padfoot whispering to himself.

"Dear Prongs... there's been some confusion over rooming here at Hogwarts.... but of course I'll rise above it, as I always do..."

Regulus rolls his eyes so far back into his head that his skull may pop.

"Yes... you see James, my roommate is unusually and exceedingly peculiar and overall quite impossible to descri-"

"Okay and you're a twink."
______________________________________________

Suffice to say, when Regulus awoke the next morning, his pillow had been intricately covered in rhinestones.
_____________________________________________

The news spread through the Hogwarts halls faster than a Firebolt in a Quidditch match: Regulus Arcturus and Padfoot were roommates.

It began innocently enough. During breakfast, a group of Gryffindors snickered loudly as Regulus walked into the Great Hall, his gait as poised as ever, though there was an undeniable tension to his movements.

Whispers followed him like a shadow, and several pairs of eyes flicked between him and the Gryffindor table, where Padfoot was gleefully recounting some wildly exaggerated version of their first night as roommates.

“And then,” Padfoot declared, grinning as he perched himself on the bench like he was on a stage, “Regulus tried to hex my mirrorball! Can you imagine? A freak like him, attempting to desecrate art!”

Peter howled with laughter, smacking the table, "You’re joking!"

“I swear on Bowie,” Sirius replied solemnly, though the twinkle in his eyes betrayed the sheer delight he took in the dramatics of it all.

Regulus, seated primly at the Slytherin table, stabbed at his breakfast with unnecessary force. Barty, seated beside him, raised an eyebrow.

“How is it living with Pads?” Barty asked, his tone laced with... god, was that jealousy?

"Oh it's Pads to you now, is it?" Regulus sneers.

Barty goes silent, while Evan says, "I heard him yelling something about rhinestones this morning.”

Regulus didn’t dignify that with a response, opting instead to sip his tea with an air of practiced indifference. But his grip on the cup was tighter than usual, and anyone who looked closely could see the faint twitch in his jaw.

The voices followed Regulus all throughout his first month at Hogwarts.

“Did you hear? Padfoot and Regulus? Sharing a room!"

"I give it one more week before one of them ends up in the hospital wing.”

"He's too good! Sharing a room with that freak!"

The whispers only grew louder as the days went by, taking on a life of their own. By the end of the second month, Padfoot had ascended to a near-mythical status among the Hogwarts student body. His mischief, charm, and good looks already held him high in the ranks, but his supposed suffering at the hands of Regulus Arcturus declared him number one.

“Oh, you poor thing,” one Hufflepuff girl said, clutching Padfoot’s arm as he leaned casually against the wall between classes. Her wide, sympathetic eyes seemed to shimmer with admiration, "It must be so hard living with him.”

Padfoot let out a long, theatrical sigh, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that screamed tormented hero.

"Well, these things are sent to try us,” he said with a dramatic shrug, his tone tinged with just the right amount of weariness.

A group of Ravenclaw girls and boys nearby nodded solemnly, as though Padfoot had just delivered a profound bit of wisdom.

The girls awed and the guys clapped. One boy even muttered, “Such strength,” under his breath, as though Padfoot were single-handedly carrying the weight of the wizarding world.

At lunchtime, the Gryffindor table was practically always abuzz with Padfoot’s tales of woe.

“I’ve tried, you know,” Padfoot said once, his voice dripping with faux sincerity as he spoke to his audience of adoring Gryffindors, "I’ve tried to bond with him. I even offered to let him pick one poster to hang up on his side of the room! But no. He just sneered at me, like he was some kind of… of Wicked Lord in training.”

“Honestly, mate, you’re too good for him,” Peter said, shaking his head as he bit into an apple, "you're doing Merlin’s work.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” a girl added, looking genuinely impressed, "if it were me, I’d have hexed him into next week by now.”

Padfoot leaned back in his seat, arms stretched casually over the bench behind him.

"It’s not easy,” he said, feigning a look of quiet resolve, "but I just remind myself that he’s probably never known the kind of love and warmth we have, you know? He’s like… a little lost snake. Hissing at the world because he doesn’t know how to ask for help.”

“Oh, that’s so selfless of you,” a girl said, gasping as she held back tears.

This sacrifice of Padfoot's sent the whole table into solemn shakes of head, admiring Padfoot's bravery once again.

Across the hall, Regulus could feel the weight of every glance, every whisper directed his way. He kept his chin held high, his expression a perfect mask of indifference, but inside, he was seething.

“I swear, if I hear one more person pitying him for rooming with me, I’m going to—”

“To what? Hex the whole school?” Barty said with a smirk, clearly enjoying Regulus’s misery far too much.

“I might,” Regulus snapped, stabbing his fork into a piece of toast, "I’ll start with him, then work my way down.”

“Oh, lighten up, Reggie,” Evan said, grinning as he leaned across the table, "think of it this way: at least Padfoot is keeping people entertained. He’s like… Hogwarts’ own tragic hero.”

Regulus’s glare could have melted steel.

"He’s tragic? He’s the hero?”

“Well, he does look pretty heroic,” Evan admitted, snickering, "the whole school thinks he’s practically a martyr for putting up with you.”

Regulus’s fingers tightened around his goblet, "I am this close to committing murder.”

But it wasn’t just the students who seemed to be enamored with Padfoot’s supposed martyrdom. Even some of the professors seemed to be in on it. During Transfiguration, McGonagall gave Padfoot an approving nod as she passed his desk.

“I’ve been hearing about your… efforts to get along with your roommate,” she said primly, though there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes, "very commendable, Mr. Padfoot.”

“Oh, thank you, Professor,” Padfoot replied, flashing her a dazzling smile, "I just do my best, you know. It’s not easy, but I believe in the power of patience.”

Regulus, seated a few desks away, looked like he was about to implode.

Power of patience, his ass.

The only person on Regulus side, it seemed, was Professor Snape. Even Barty and Evan wavered between him and Padfoot, but Snape was undoubtedly standing with Regulus.

And if Regulus felt smug every time Padfoot caught him working on one of his DADA assignments from Snape? Well, he had every right to.

Regulus had no time for Sirius Orion Black. He had no time for Padfoot. Or Barty or Evan. All he cared about were his DADA studies and meeting the wizard.

Friends would come and go, roommates were temporary... but power was eternal. Almost as eternal for the simple utter loathing he felt for a certain black-haired, grey-eyed boy.
______________________________________________

Regulus stood behind the dormitory door, just waiting.

The door opened, and a charming, classy, British voice rang out saying, "Bye Pete! See you tomorrow! Try the pants I lended you!"

And just as Padfoot entered... Regulus jumped out with a, "Boo!"

"AH!"