BLOOSOMING FEELINGS
The dormitory was bathed in the soft glow of the late evening. Rosier lounged on his bed, flipping lazily through a textbook, while Barty leaned against the bedpost, a sly grin plastered across his face as he studied Regulus, who sat cross-legged on his own bed, absentmindedly fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve.
“You’re telling me,” Barty began, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “that you don’t remember your first snog? Not even a little spark of memory?”
Regulus rolled his eyes. “No, Barty, I don’t. And it’s not exactly my top priority to figure it out.”
“Well,” Barty said, pushing himself off the bedpost and sauntering toward Regulus, his voice dropping into a teasing drawl, “what if we make some new memories, hmm? I could help you out. For purely educational purposes, of course.”
Rosier burst out laughing, tossing his book onto the mattress. “Merlin, Crouch, you’re unbelievable. He’s barely been back a week, and you’re already trying to corrupt him.”
“It’s a service, really,” Barty replied, completely unabashed. He perched on the edge of Regulus’s bed and leaned in slightly, his grin widening. “Think about it, Reg. You could say you snogged the most handsome bloke in Slytherin. Who wouldn’t want that on their resume?”
Regulus picked up the nearest pillow and smacked Barty square in the face with it. “In your dreams, Crouch.”
Barty laughed, catching the pillow and tossing it back at Regulus with mock indignation. “Fine, fine. But don’t come crying to me when you realize you missed your chance.”
“Chance for what? Contracting whatever delusions you’ve got?” Regulus shot back, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Rosier nearly doubled over with laughter, clutching his sides. “This is the best entertainment I’ve had all term. Please, keep going.”
“You’re enjoying this far too much,” Regulus said, shaking his head at Rosier. Despite his words, a small smile played on his lips. There was a lightness in the air, an ease he wasn’t used to when it came to Barty and Rosier.
In his memories, his old memories from his old life, Evan and Barty had been different. They’d always carried a certain edge, a heaviness born from their shared ideology and the looming expectations of their families. Back then, they had been calculating and guarded, their laughter rare and tinged with bitterness.
But now? Now they seemed... free. Evan was sprawled out like he didn’t have a care in the world, and Barty, well, Barty was still a flirt, but it was playful, not the sharp, cutting game it had once been. They seemed genuinely happy, as if there was finally something worth smiling about.
“You’re awfully quiet, Reg,” Rosier noted, his tone shifting to something softer. “What’s going on in that overly complicated brain of yours?”
Regulus hesitated, then shrugged. “Just... thinking.”
“Oh no,” Barty groaned dramatically, flopping backward onto Regulus’s bed. “He’s thinking. This can only end badly.”
Regulus swatted him again with the pillow, unable to suppress a laugh this time. “Shut up, Crouch.”
Rosier grinned, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his gaze. “Thinking about what?”
Regulus glanced between the two of them, the words hovering on the tip of his tongue. But how could he explain the weight of his comparisons without giving away everything he knew? Instead, he simply said, “Just that... you two are idiots.”
“And proud of it,” Barty declared, throwing his arms behind his head like he owned the place.
Rosier chuckled, shaking his head. “Idiots, maybe. But we’re fun idiots.”
Regulus allowed himself to relax into the moment, the banter pulling him away from the darker thoughts that often lingered in the back of his mind. For now, he could simply enjoy this new dynamic, this lighter version of his friends. For now, that was enough.
...
Regulus sat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, sipping his tea as the owls swooped in, dropping copies of the Daily Prophet into eager hands. He unfolded his own paper cautiously, half-expecting the grim headlines he had grown accustomed to in his previous timeline. But as he scanned the front page, he found himself breathing easier.
“Cauldron Craze: Are Self-Stirring Models Worth the Galleons?” read the headline in bold, accompanied by a picture of a smug-looking wizard demonstrating a cauldron that swirled itself.
"Honestly," Rosier said from beside him, leaning over to glance at the paper. "They’ll write about anything these days."
Regulus smirked. “Better this than ‘Ten Dead in Diagon Alley Attack.’ I’ll take cauldron gossip.”
Rosier snorted. “Fair point. What’s this one about?” He pointed at another headline: “Exploding Snap Championship Ends in Tie: Chaos Erupts in Closing Ceremony.”
Barty, munching on toast, leaned over with a grin. “I’d read that. Imagine the level of drama.”
Regulus shook his head, flipping to the next page. A smaller article caught his eye: “Minister of Magic Attends Frog Choir Performance.”
"Riveting stuff," he muttered, folding the paper and pushing it aside.
Evan chuckled. “I’m telling you, Reg, we’re living in the golden age of mediocre journalism.”
...
As the Great Hall began to empty for morning classes, Regulus made his way toward the greenhouses for Herbology, keeping a careful eye on his path. He always made sure to avoid the corridor near the second-floor girls’ bathroom. The sight of the plaque that now adorned the wall there—In Memory of Tom Marvolo Riddle, a Beloved Prefect —was a stark reminder of the truth he was trying to bury.
He hadn’t spoken to Dumbledore about Riddle since their first conversation. It was an unspoken agreement between them: some things were better left unsaid. He preferred it that way.
Later that day, Regulus found himself in the library, seated across from a blonde girl who was meticulously arranging her notes into precise columns. Pandora, with her ever-curious eyes and quiet brilliance, had quickly become one of the few people he genuinely enjoyed spending time with.
“Why do you always do that?” Regulus asked, gesturing to her notes.
Pandora didn’t look up, simply continued aligning her parchment. “Do what?”
“Color-code everything,” he replied, watching as she underlined a heading in bright purple ink. “It’s not like the potions will brew themselves just because your notes look pretty.”
She finally looked up, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “It’s about clarity. Organized notes lead to organized thoughts. Besides,” she added, tapping her quill against the table, “it’s nice to look at, don’t you think?”
Regulus chuckled. “I suppose. But it seems like a lot of effort.”
“You’d be surprised how much time it saves later,” Pandora said. Then, tilting her head thoughtfully, she added, “I imagine you’re the type who likes to figure things out as he goes.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” she said with a shrug. “Just a different approach. Though I do wonder how you keep all your thoughts straight without some kind of system.”
Regulus smirked. “Who says I do?”
Pandora laughed, a soft, melodic sound that lightened the air around them. “Fair enough. But if you ever decide to try it my way, let me know. I’d be happy to share some tips.”
As they returned to their respective work, Regulus found himself genuinely smiling. Pandora’s easygoing demeanor and sharp mind were a breath of fresh air in a world he was still trying to navigate.
Later that night as Regulus sat at his desk in the Slytherin dormitory, parchment scattered across the surface in what could only be described as organized chaos. A new set of colored inks sat beside him—red, blue, green, and gold—each ready for a specific purpose. He stared at his notes, quill in hand, contemplating how to even begin.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself.
But despite his skeptical thoughts, Pandora’s methods had intrigued him. If organizing his thoughts on parchment could somehow help him make sense of his jumbled reality, maybe it was worth a try.
He picked up the red ink first, deciding it would be for important information—things he couldn’t afford to forget. Blue would mark questions or uncertainties, green would be for observations, and gold for anything personal or significant to him.
He dipped his quill into the red ink and wrote at the top of his parchment:
"Things I Know for Sure."
Underneath, he listed:
Sirius is my brother, and we’re apparently on good terms.
I live in a world where Voldemort doesn’t exist.
I’m still in love with James Potter, and it’s absolutely infuriating.
“Great start,” he muttered, rolling his eyes at himself. But as he continued, the act of writing felt strangely therapeutic. He moved on to a second parchment, marking it in green: "Observations About My New Life."
Rosier and Barty are much happier than they were before.
The Marauders’ obnoxious energy is somehow contagious.
Pandora is unreasonably clever for someone who doodles in her margins.
By the time he finished, the parchment was a colorful mosaic of his thoughts. For the first time in a while, he felt like he was taking control of something, even if it was just his notes. He felt like he was making progress—finding small anchors in this unfamiliar timeline to ground him. And while he couldn’t forget the past he carried, moments like this reminded him that perhaps he didn’t have to carry it alone.
...
Regulus spent the next week honing his new talent: the art of avoidance. Whenever James entered the room, Regulus found a reason to leave. If James sat beside him at lunch, Regulus suddenly remembered he had an essay due. And during study sessions in the library with the rest of the group, Regulus expertly placed himself as far from James as possible, usually near Pandora, who was too absorbed in her color-coded charts to notice anything amiss.
Regulus sat stiffly at the edge of the couch in the Gryffindor common room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Around him, Sirius and James were engaged in a heated discussion about Quidditch tactics, with Peter chiming in occasionally and Remus offering his usual wry remarks. Lily sat beside James, leaning into his side as she laughed at something clever he said, her hand casually resting on his knee. They looked like they belonged together, golden and perfect, the picture of a storybook couple.
Regulus forced a polite smile, though his stomach churned. He wasn’t sure why he kept putting himself through this. Every time he joined Sirius and the others, James and Lily were there, wrapped up in each other, a constant reminder of how unattainable James was.
It wasn’t like he could simply not spend time with them; avoiding Sirius would only raise questions, and avoiding James altogether was already proving impossible. Still, every moment in their presence felt like he was dragging himself across broken glass.
“Reg?” Lily’s voice broke into his thoughts, warm and kind. She smiled at him, a little uncertain. “You okay? You’ve been awfully quiet tonight.”
He forced himself to look at her and nodded. “Just tired,” he said shortly.
“That’s new,” Sirius teased, tossing a pillow at him. “You’re usually full of snark. Are we boring you, little brother?”
Regulus caught the pillow and tossed it back half-heartedly. “I’m perfectly entertained, thank you,” he drawled, his tone flat despite the sarcasm.
James leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied Regulus. “You sure? You’ve been off all week. If something’s bothering you—”
“I’m fine,” Regulus cut him off quickly, his chest tightening at James's sudden attention. He couldn’t stand the way James's concern made his heart ache. "Really."
James didn’t seem convinced but didn’t press further. Instead, he turned back to Sirius, and the two resumed their banter about Quidditch.
Regulus exhaled slowly and leaned back against the couch, his gaze flicking between the fireplace and the couple sitting across from him. He envied how easy it all seemed for them, the way James could lean down and whisper something to Lily that made her giggle, the way she would glance up at him with such fondness.
It was suffocating.
Eventually, Regulus couldn’t take it anymore. He stood abruptly, drawing a few surprised looks from the group. “I need some air,” he muttered, already heading for the portrait hole.
“Reg—” Sirius called, but Regulus was gone before he could stop him.
He wandered aimlessly through the castle corridors, his footsteps echoing in the quiet. The cold air in the empty halls felt like a balm against his overheated skin. His heart still pounded in his chest, and his hands were clenched tightly into fists.
Why did he keep doing this to himself? Why did he keep forcing himself into situations where he had to watch James and Lily together, pretending it didn’t rip him apart inside?
He stopped in front of a window and stared out at the grounds below. The moonlight reflected on the lake’s surface, calm and undisturbed, the opposite of how he felt.
He leaned his forehead against the cool glass, closing his eyes. Get a grip, Regulus. This isn’t your life anymore. It probably never was.
But the thought didn’t make it hurt any less.
The sound of approaching footsteps pulled Regulus out of his spiraling thoughts. He straightened and turned, ready to snap at whoever was coming, only to see Remus standing a few feet away with his hands casually tucked into his pockets.
“What do you want?” Regulus asked, his tone sharper than he intended.
Remus raised an eyebrow but didn’t look fazed. “Your brother is looking for you,” he said simply.
Regulus sighed, turning back to the window. “I’m fine. Tell him to leave me alone. I’m going to my dorm.”
Remus watched him quietly for a moment, his eyes soft but unreadable. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he said, “Before you do that, there’s something I want to show you. Come on. Follow me before Sirius finds us.”
Regulus shot him a skeptical look. “He won’t find us."
Remus smirked faintly. “He will. He’s annoyingly good at it— I can smell him coming.”
“What?” Regulus asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.
Remus shook his head, the smirk lingering. “Don’t worry about it. Just come on.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and started walking.
Curiosity, or perhaps sheer exhaustion, got the better of Regulus, and he followed.
The Astronomy Tower was quiet and bathed in moonlight, the night air cool against Regulus’s skin. Remus led him to a spot where they could sit side by side on the stone floor, overlooking the stars. The silence between them was surprisingly comfortable at first, the kind that didn’t demand filling.
After a while, though, Regulus’s impatience won out. “What do you want, Lupin?”
Remus leaned back on his hands, his eyes fixed on the sky. “I was thinking about Sirius and me,” he said after a pause, his voice low but thoughtful. “Did I ever tell you how we got together?”
Regulus frowned. “You might have mentioned it, but it’s not like I’d remember.”
Remus chuckled softly. “Fair enough. I’ll tell you anyway.”
Regulus sighed but didn’t argue, curious despite himself.
“It was third year when I realized I liked him,” Remus began, a nostalgic smile tugging at his lips. “Sirius, I mean. At first, I thought it was just admiration. He was... well, you know what he’s like. Loud, reckless, infuriating, but somehow still magnetic.”
Regulus nodded slightly, his expression neutral but his interest piqued.
“I didn’t know what to do with those feelings. So, naturally, I tried to bury them and pull away from him.” Remus shook his head at his younger self. “But Sirius doesn’t let people pull away. He has this way of pulling you right back in, whether you want him to or not.”
Remus’s gaze grew distant, his voice tinged with humor and pain. “Then came the day I walked in on him kissing Mary Macdonald.”
Regulus blinked, startled. “Mary Macdonald?”
“Yeah.” Remus gave a wry smile. “It was like getting hit with a bludger. I felt... miserable. And then, instead of dealing with my feelings like a mature person, I started picking fights with him. Over everything. Just to have his attention on me, I suppose, I know it sounds stupity, but I wanted him to look at me even if it was for the wrong reasons.”
“That’s idiotic,” Regulus said flatly, though his lips twitched in something close to amusement.
“Absolutely,” Remus agreed with a small laugh. “James and Peter thought so too. They got so sick of it that one day, they locked Sirius and me in a cupboard.”
Regulus raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. “Go on.”
“We were yelling at each other, of course, blaming them and then blaming each other. It was like every fight we’d had rolled into one. And then... I don’t know.” Remus’s smile softened. “I couldn’t stop myself. I kissed him. Right there in the middle of all that yelling.”
Regulus tilted his head, intrigued. “And?”
“And he kissed me back,” Remus said, his eyes glinting with quiet joy. “Then he told me he’d been in love with me since he could remember. Said he thought I hated him because I always looked away when he caught me staring.”
Regulus rolled his eyes. “That sounds like him.”
Remus laughed. “It really does.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the story lingering in the air.
Finally, Regulus broke it. “Why are you telling me this now?”
Remus studied him, his expression unreadable. “Because I wish I’d told him sooner. I could’ve saved us both a lot of unnecessary misery.”
Regulus frowned, puzzled by the weight in Remus’s words.
Remus stood abruptly, dusting off his hands. “It’s late. I should get back to Sirius.”
Regulus didn’t respond, still mulling over Remus’s story and the strange undertone of his words.
“Goodnight, Regulus,” Remus said softly before leaving him alone with the stars.
As Regulus walked back to his dorm, his thoughts were a mess of tangled emotions. Remus’s words echoed in his mind, heavy with meaning he wasn’t sure he wanted to unpack.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and quickened his pace, trying to escape the nagging sense that there was more to Remus’s story than he had let on, and that it had something to do with Regulus himself.