Something Bad
The one thing that Padfoot and Regulus had in common was their love for history class.
Granted, Regulus loved the subject. Padfoot loved... other things about the class.
“Now, can anyone tell me what led to the Goblin Rebellions of 1612?” Professor Lupin asked, his calm voice cutting through the low buzz of chatter in the classroom. He leaned casually against his desk, arms crossed, the worn cuffs of his robes brushing the edge of the surface.
Regulus, ever the model student, raised his hand. Without waiting to be called on, he answered, “A combination of exploitation by wizards, the denial of goblin-crafted wand usage, and punitive taxation policies. It was a rebellion born of systemic disenfranchisement.”
“Precisely, Mr. Arcturus,” Lupin said, nodding approvingly. Regulus’s chest swelled with quiet pride, though he kept his expression cool.
"The Goblin Rebellions serve as an important reminder of what happens when those in power exploit and ostracize others. A society built on exclusion will always find itself on unstable ground.”
Padfoot, sitting two rows behind Regulus, wasn’t paying attention to the lesson. Not entirely, anyway. His quill twirled lazily in his fingers as he watched Professor Lupin speak, his eyes tracing the sharp lines of Lupin’s jaw and the way his tawny hair caught the light from the enchanted windows.
“Mr. Sirius Black?”
Padfoot blinked, snapping out of his reverie. Lupin’s piercing gaze was fixed on him now, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Would you care to share your thoughts on the Goblin Rebellions?”
Padfoot straightened in his seat, his usual bravado kicking in, "Er- well, obviously, it’s like… rebellion-y. Goblins weren’t treated right. Lots of pitchforks. Blood everywhere. Very metal. Love your shirt today Professor. Brings out your eyes."
A ripple of laughter swept through the classroom, but Lupin didn’t indulge it. Instead, he raised an eyebrow, his expression somewhere between amused and unimpressed.
“Insightful as ever, Mr. Black,” Lupin said dryly, "Eyes on the board instead of my eyes now, alright?"
Padfoot winked, unfazed. Lupin shook his head and turned back to the board. The class carried on, Lupin moving seamlessly through topics with a kind of calm authority that had even the rowdiest Gryffindors hanging on his every word. He had a way of weaving history into a broader narrative; showing how the events of the past shaped the prejudices and tensions of the present.
And the present, as Lupin often reminded them, was far from perfect.
“We see echoes of these patterns even today,” Lupin said, his voice soft but firm, "consider the treatment of house-elves. Generations of servitude, justified by a culture that claims they’re ‘happy’ to serve. But have any of us ever truly asked them what they want? Or cared enough to listen?”
Regulus’s quill paused mid-note. He glanced around the room, noting the uneasy looks exchanged by his classmates. Regulus thought of Kreacher. His truest friend in the world. His ultimate inspiration. Kreacher, who gave up everything to care for and raise Regulus.
“And what of werewolves?” Lupin continued, his voice sharpening ever so slightly, "Stripped of their rights, forced into hiding, treated as less than human. Why? Because of fear. Because it’s easier to other them than to understand them.”
Padfoot, who had been doodling on the edge of his parchment, stopped. He frowned, his usual nonchalance faltering.
“Well, it’s not like werewolves are lining up to join society, are they?” a Ravenclaw in the back piped up, her tone defensive, "They're dangerous!”
Lupin’s gaze turned steely, though his tone remained calm, "Are they? Or have we made them so by giving them no other choice?”
The weight of his words hung heavy in the room, and for once, Padfoot wasn’t sure what to say.
Regulus, however, was paying close attention. It wasn’t lost on him how Lupin’s voice tightened when he spoke of werewolves. He wasn’t just giving a lecture; this was personal to him.
When the bell rang, signaling the end of class, students filed out quickly, eager to escape the uncomfortable truths Lupin had laid bare. Padfoot lingered behind, though, hovering near Lupin’s desk with a faux air of casualness.
“Professor,” he said, leaning on the desk and flashing a grin.
Lupin didn’t look up from the stack of parchment he was sorting as he responded, "Yes, Mr. Black?”
“Padfoot,” he corrected.
Lupin sighed, setting down the parchment and fixing him with a tired look, "Sirius Black, I’ve told you before-"
“Yeah, yeah, you’re very professional, blah blah blah,” Padfoot interrupted, waving a hand dismissively, "but it’s Padfoot now. Everyone calls me that, even McGonagall and Snape and-"
“I’m not everyone,” Lupin replied evenly.
Padfoot opened his mouth to argue, but something in Lupin’s expression stopped him. For the first time, he noticed the faint shadows under Lupin’s eyes, the lines of tension around his mouth. Lupin wasn’t just being stubborn or pedantic... there was something else going on, something heavier than a mere name.
But before Padfoot could press further, Lupin picked up his stack of parchment and turned back to his desk, effectively ending the conversation.
“Class dismissed, Mr. Black,” Lupin said, his tone polite but firm.
"I... I apologize professor-"
"It's alright. Just... just please go Mr. Bl- Padfoot. Please go Padfoot."
Padfoot huffed, shoving his hands into his pockets as he left the room. He found himself missing the name 'Sirius' on his professor's lips.
Regulus caught up to Padfoot in the hallway, falling into step beside him.
“Let me guess,” Regulus said dryly, "you stayed behind to flirt with Lupin again.”
“It’s not flirting,” Padfoot snapped, though his cheeks turned pink, "it's educational! I’m expanding my knowledge.”
“By insisting he calls you Padfoot?”
“Shut up, Regulus.”
"He's so old-"
"He is two years older than me! I'm done!"
Padfoot stomped down the hall, away from his roommate.
Regulus smirked but said nothing. His mind, however, was still on Lupin’s lecture. The house-elves, the werewolves... he saw the parallels, even if Padfoot didn’t. The cracks in wizarding society were widening, and it wouldn’t be long before something... or someone... fell through.
Regulus turned around, and knocked on his professor's classroom door, which was slightly ajar.
Lupin looked up, and sighed.
"Go away Mr. Black!"
"It's... it's Regulus, sir."
Lupin's eyes widen and he mutters, "Oh... my apologies Mr. Arcturus. Come on in."
Regulus walks into the class and sits down gently.
"I never noticed how strikingly similar you and Mr. Black look to one another, Mr. Arcturus. Of course, he has a broader nose and a-"
Lupin clears his throat.
"What are you doing here?"
"Just uh... just wanted to talk. Not for the same reasons my dear roommate with a broader nose did, though."
Regulus can't help but smirk as he talks. He may give Padfoot shit for his crush on Lupin, but anyone with decent awareness could see that it was definitely reciprocated.
And Lupin knew that Regulus knew. Lupin also knew that Regulus knew his other secret.
Regulus leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands together in a way that seemed both casual and calculating. He had no intention of saying what he knew outright. Not yet. This was a delicate game, after all.
“You’re quite passionate about werewolf rights, Professor,” Regulus said, his tone smooth but inquisitive.
Lupin stiffened almost imperceptibly, though his expression remained neutral.
“I’m passionate about the rights of all marginalized beings, Mr. Arcturus,” he said evenly, "it's a matter of principle.”
“Of course,” Regulus replied, tilting his head slightly, "but you seemed… particularly invested today."
Lupin’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, Regulus thought he might have pushed too far. But Lupin was quick to school his expression, leaning back against the desk and crossing his arms.
“Everyone has their reasons for caring about the causes they choose to champion,” Lupin said carefully.
Regulus nods softly, "That they do Professor. It's a shame most people don’t, though. Champion a cause, I mean. Wizards, goblins, house-elves, werewolves… we all just want to be seen as equals. To be treated with dignity," he paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "even if some of us have to hide what we are to survive.”
Lupin’s eyes sharpened, his calm demeanor faltering for just a heartbeat. Regulus met his gaze steadily, the hint of a challenge in his own.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, Lupin exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
“You’re remarkably perceptive for someone your age,” Lupin said, his voice soft.
Regulus shrugged, "I have to be."
There was a trace of bitterness in his tone, and Lupin caught it. He studied Regulus for a moment, as if trying to decide how much to say.
“I suppose you would understand,” Lupin said finally, “what it feels like to be defined by something beyond your control.”
Regulus’s smile was faint but knowing, "More than you realize, sir.”
Lupin nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. For a brief moment, they weren’t teacher and student, but two people who understood the weight of secrets and the burden of expectations.
“Thank you for staying behind, Mr. Arcturus,” Lupin said eventually.
Regulus stood, smoothing the front of his robes, "Of course, Professor. I appreciated the discussion. I hope you did as well. Even if I'm not my broader-nosed counterpart."
Lupin flashes a smile, "Very funny Mr. Arcturus."
Regulus smirks and sighs, "I... I hate the guy. But he's... he's smarter than he lets on."
Lupin nods, "He is... he really is."
Regulus sighs, "Professor. I... just... I think he genuinely likes you. No matter how wrong that may be-"
"I am only two years older than him!" Lupin rushes out, clearly fearing for his job.
Regulus snorts, quite uncharacteristically, "You sound like him."
Lupin sighs and lets out a relieved laugh.
"Do I?"
"Mhm."
Lupin sighs. Regulus speaks up.
"I don't blame you. There's a certain allurement to him," Regulus says.
Lupin sighs again, "Perhaps. I more so admire Mr. Black's hidden intelligence. His lack of social awareness though-"
"Actually, I would argue he’s one of the most socially aware people I’ve ever met," Regulus interjects.
Lupin blinked in surprise.
"Mr. Black? You can’t be serious.”
Regulus leans forward, his expression suddenly amused, "I'm being as serious as that name he refuses to go by."
This gets a laugh out of Lupin, and Regulus goes on.
"Padfoot sees more than anyone gives him credit for. He may not always know how to act on it, but he has a way of reading people, reading situations, in a way that’s uncanny... and he uses it to his advantage, too."
Lupin’s amusement faltered, his thoughtful gaze lingering on Regulus for a moment before he replies, “I see your point. He is more observant than he lets on.”
Regulus gave a small shrug, as if the matter was of little consequence, "You'd be surprised at how much people like Padfoot hide behind their bravado. It’s all a façade.”
“I suppose we all wear masks,” Lupin said after a moment.
Regulus tilted his head thoughtfully, "True. But some masks are heavier than others.”
Lupin nodded quietly, his expression softening as if he was speaking more to himself than to Regulus, "Indeed.”
The room is silent. Completely silent.
"Something bad is happening... isn't it, Mr. Lupin?" asks Regulus, finally.
Lupin doesn't respond.
It's all the confirmation Regulus needs.