Genesis.
There were four of them, in total – two boys, two girls – and, at a glance, there was nothing especially peculiar about any of them.
One of the boys was shorter than the other, with hair the colour of coal. His eyes were shrewd, and it seemed to be in his profound interest to regard everyone he saw with the same chill distaste. Regulus had approached him once but had quickly discovered that he had no, genuine, desire to do so again. Bartemius, their professor had called him. Honourable son. But there was nothing honourable about him, if whispers were to be believed. When Regulus had conceded to his curiosity and asked his other classmates about him, he had been given feasts of contradictory information. To some, Bartemius was a genius. To others, a problem. He was from the north, or the west; he had been expelled from a prestigious preparatory school after assaulting a professor; his father was a court justice who accepted bribes; he lived, breathed, corruption. Regardless of what – or who – he was, the general consensus appeared to remain the same: he was not the sort of person Regulus had any business associating with.
The other boy, taller – though not by much – was Evan Rosier. He was a boy of soft outlines; eyes a shade of green so vibrant that they seemed snatched from the palettes of Monet, himself. His clothes seemed tailor-made, all bespoke trousers and dark tennis jumpers that only deepened the paleness of his hair and complexion. To Regulus’ mind, there was something about Evan that was decidedly familiar. He had spent long enough holidaying with his family in Marseilles to recognise the faint accent that hung from the boy’s lips as he spoke in class. It was a soft roundness, a warmth, that clung to his every breath like a benediction. Regulus found himself hearing its echo in corridors, in empty classrooms. He would come to miss that sound in the years that followed Evan’s death.
The girl that clung to Evan’s arm, Regulus soon discovered, was the elder of the Rosier siblings. Pandora. Though she was eighteen months his elder, Pandora and Evan were an inseparable set: both identical and completely different in their own ways. Where Evan was reserved, clinging to the polite constraints of neutral colours and neat tailoring, Pandora was a cacophony of noise and sound. She wore bracelets that clattered when she walked and clothing that Regulus could have sworn he’d seen during evening wanderings past local charity shops. Her laugh was loud, and tinkling, and echoed through the crevices of every room she walked into. There was something unsavoury about her openness; her joy to exist. It was unnerving. Other people felt it too, as though they were all waiting for reality to reach down and wrench her laughter away, bottling it and tossing it into a tide that would never come in again. To his credit, her brother seemed intent on preventing that from happening; wherever Pandora traipsed, he was not long behind, and never far behind him was Barty.
The fourth member of their troupe, one Dorcas Meadowes, was an enigma; she seemed intent to keep it that way. She was a year older, Regulus soon discovered, and had an abnormal habit of excelling in every class he shared with her despite being regularly absent. On the few occasions where she did attend, however, Pandora – with abundant joy – would seize her arm and take it upon herself to gossip, at the auditory expense of anyone in her general vicinity. Dorcas appeared to humour her, more than anyone else; her smiles were always tinted with the same polite boredom of one finding common ground with their cousin at a family reunion neither wanted to attend.
Despite his fascination with their strange group, Regulus had always kept his distance. He observed them in his periphery as though they were curated exhibits at a museum, unable – ever – to look away entirely. He wondered if they were aware of it – the effect they had on everyone else. Perhaps they revelled in it. Whether it was a performance, or not, Regulus had grown quite comfortable in his art of quiet observation. From his quiet corner of the library, or the shadowed alcoves of the courtyard, he could watch them – this strange, mismatched, quartet – without getting too close. He felt safer that way: distant enough to remain unseen, unwanted, but still near enough to gather all their, curious, mannerisms. He wasn’t the only one who watched, of course. Crouch, alone, was enough to garner the interest of half of their year. But where others whispered in distain, Regulus found himself drawn in – as though they possessed some secret that he alone might understand.
When his mother and father had abandoned him to the cold halls of St. Salazar’s, they had made him swear an oath to avoid distraction. At the time, Regulus had understood that to mean he should avoid his brother: the elder son who had left home for the summer term, with nothing but a suitcase, and never returned. Sirius had made friends, in the hallowed halls of St. Godric’s, and – as far as Regulus could tell – had never seen fit to return to the darkness of the Black family after that. Their mother had been inflamed, calling every service she could, until it arose that Sirius was legally old enough to move away. As though trying to seize his agency, his success at escaping, she had disowned him swiftly – claiming that it had been in the works for some time. Regulus had never seen a summer so cold as that one. In honouring his parents’ request, Regulus had closed himself off not only to his brother’s continual knocking against the door but also the opportunity of truly knowing anyone else in his college. The cold halls of St. Salazar’s held a bitter kind of isolation, but it was one he had come to accept; there was a quiet comfort in the solitude, in the soft rustling of old parchment, and in the way the shadows curled against the arches that bound together the roof of the library. He had come to realise that he had no desire to form alliances; listening in on conversations, on lives well-lived, was enough to sate the desire to join his classmates in their newfound explorations of freedom. His life was silent, controlled – until it wasn’t.
It was a crisp afternoon – one day in December – when the familiar cadence of Pandora’s laugh shattered the calm stillness of the library. Regulus glanced up from his copy of Antigone and was startled by the sight of not one, but two, Rosiers gazing at him from the aisle between the bookshelves. He’d seen them many times before, but never this close. From where he was sat, he could see the specks of gold in the girl’s eyes; the sheepish smile that pulled at her brother’s features as she drew ever closer to the desk.
“Regulus Black, isn’t it?” Pandora’s voice rang out, the cadence edged with an interest that caught him immediately off guard. He nodded in response, finding his mouth suddenly dry and unable to form words. The girl seemed unconcerned as she stepped closer, bracelets clinking, “I’m Pandora; this is my brother, Evan.” The boy in question made a soft sound of acknowledgement. He had taken to leaning his back to the shelves, hands tucked casually into his pockets. When Regulus’ eyes flitted to his face, he offered a smile. Despite the warmth in the gesture, there was something akin to scrutiny in the accompanying green eyes that set Regulus’ nerves on edge.
“Charmed,” he swallowed, mind reeling from its fractured solitude.
“Evan and I were just talking –”
“ –by which she means I was listening,” the boy interjected.
Pandora was undeterred, “We were talking about throwing a party for the end of term... you know, since it’s our first year. It’ll only be small – just our class and some drinks. But we thought you should come.”
Regulus blinked, caught off guard by the invitation. A party? The thought felt foreign, and slightly terrifying: conjuring images of chaos that seemed too vibrant for the greyness of his life. He opened his mouth to respond, but words eluded him, leaving only the thrumming of an anxious heartbeat in his ears.
“It’ll be fun,” she pressed on. “We need to celebrate finishing our exams somehow, right?”
“I’m not sure I’m the ‘party’ type.” He tried his best to sound apologetic, acutely aware of her gaze on him and how heavy it weighed against his mind. Pandora seemed entirely unaware of his plight, her eyes wide and expectant as she tapped her fingers against her satchel. Only Evan seemed to recognise his discomfort; he cleared his throat to interrupt.
“Neither am I, usually.” He chimed in, straightening from his slump against the shelves. “But Dora’s promised to keep things intimate. Plus, it’ll be nice to get to know each other. We’re stuck with this class for three years, after all.”
It would be easy to say no, Regulus reminded himself; to retreat back into the shadows and hide until their curiosity passed. But, as he glanced up to Pandora and saw the glimmer of excitement in her eyes, he found his trepidation dissipating. What harm could one night do, after all? A few hours of celebration before he returned home to the coldness of that house and the people that lived within it.
“All right,” he spoke, surprising even himself, “I’ll be there.”
Both Evan and Pandora seemed appeased by that; the latter visibly brightened as she clapped her hands together, “Perfect! It’s on Saturday – seven o’clock; don’t be late!”
With a flurry, the girl disappeared almost as swiftly as she’d appeared, leaving only Regulus and Evan in her wake. They exchanged a brief glance of shared amusement at her animation before the blond took a book from a shelf and tucked it under his arm.
“Well, I should get going. Parties to plan,” he chuckled as he tucked the book into his bag, offering Regulus another of those confusing smiles. This time, Regulus allowed his own sober expression to soften and – despite an initial blink of surprise – shook Evan’s hand when it was extended to him.
“I’ll see you around, Regulus.”
As the boy disappeared down the aisle, Regulus tried to return to his book. The words blurred before him. Instead of the familiar comfort of focus, and solitude, he found his mind led astray by the unfamiliar stirrings of anticipation. Joining his classmates – actually knowing them – was both thrilling and terrifying. For the first time in weeks, Regulus allowed himself to smile.
Perhaps this year wouldn’t be so lonely, after all.