Defeated by a Staircase
Of all the ways Regulus could have been outed to the entire Slytherin dorm, being swept down a spiral staircase that suddenly transformed itself into a slide was not what he had imagined.
Frankly, he hadn’t imagined it much at all. He’d planned to keep his head down and give people no reason to question any aspect of his existence. But here he was, flat on his back at the feet of several unimpressed upperclassman.
A seventh year—Rowle, if Regulus remembered correctly—rolled his eyes. “Black. Why on earth didn’t you tell anyone they had the wrong name and dormitory?”
Regulus blinked. After Walburga’s vitriol towards those born in the wrong bodies, he’d expected a far nastier reaction, but the faces around him seemed mostly irritated by his lack of initiative. He noted those the faces that twisted in something closer to disgust or disdain—Mulciber, Avery, Malfoy.
He pushed himself up as gracefully as possible, grateful his default expression was one of cultivated blankness. “I intended to rectify the situation in the morning. I was unaware of the castle’s defenses.”
Rowle rolled his eyes. “Well, you’ll be rooming with Rosier and Crouch then.” His eyes narrowed. “See Pomfrey—the school nurse—in the morning to update your records and make any other…adjustments necessary.”
Regulus didn’t let his face change, not the sudden awareness of the developing softness on his chest or his soft, high voice, undeniably feminine despite its cool reserve. He merely inclined his head, long black locks falling forward and concealing any cracks in his mask.
Rowle tched, jerking his head. “Get to bed. You’ve held everyone up long enough.”
Recognizing the dismissal, the onlookers dispersed, leaving Regulus to slowly walk up the stairs to the boy’s dormitory, a strange lightness in his chest and a stinging in his eyes.
Crouch and Rosier looked up from where they’d been unpacking when he entered the room.
“Black,” Rosier said with a raised eyebrow. “What are you doing here?”
Well, there was no going back now. “Someone with the barest hint of intelligence might deduce that my presence in the boy’s dormitory would be because I am, in fact, a boy.”
The two stared at him blankly for a moment before a wicked smirk spread across Crouch’s face. “Well, well. It bites. I thought you were just going to wander around with that vacant expression for the next seven years.”
Regulus’s nostrils flared before he forcibly smoothed out his face. Nothing to be gained by getting riled now.
Rosier just watched them with a raised eyebrow. “Well, we’re a small batch this year, so there are still two beds to choose from,” he said nodding to the empty beds on opposite sides of the room, one closest to the door, the other backed against the wall.
With only the barest hesitation and a glare at Crouch’s smirking face, Regulus claimed the one backed in a corner. Not the best option if he had to flee, but he’d never be able to sleep with his back exposed. He dropped his outer robes on the bed and winced when he remembered the formal black silk skirt and dress shirt he had on underneath—his mother’s choice, of course.
He refused to let his shoulders round as he felt eyes on the back of his head, instead continuing like nothing was wrong. The house elves had certainly sent his belongings to the girl’s dorm, so he’d have to wait until tomorrow to retrieve them. In the meantime, he dug in the pocket of his robes, already outfitted with an extension charm, and pulled out his runes kit. Still ignoring the other residents of the room, he used a brush and rune potion to painstakingly stack rune circles around his bed.
1st years didn’t have a lot of magical power, regardless of any training prior to entering the school. Their magical cores simply weren’t developed enough. But runes were primarily knowledge-based, meaning that his independent studies and numerous tutors gave him the knowledge to ward his bed with enough protection to keep out most unwelcome guests. At the very least, any attempt to breach them would wake him up in time to grab his wand.
He had to crawl almost under the bed to finish some of his lines, conscious every moment of that Merlin-damned skirt—
Something soft hit him in the back, startling him enough that he whacked his head on the bed frame.
He whipped around, grabbing the thing laying across his back. His eyes darted between the nondescript pajama pants and the boys who were chatting amiably on the other side of the room. Rosier glanced over and raised a blond eyebrow, seemingly in challenge.
Regulus scowled out of habit before yanking his curtains shut and, after whispering the few detection spells he knew and turning up nothing, yanked the pants on in an unpleasant mixture of aggravation, shame, and gratitude. He ignored how ridiculous they looked with the silk button down and way they fell far below his ankles, and he finished his rune circles.
By the time he was done, the other two were about to go to sleep. He stepped out of his protected ring, arms crossed and jaw set. Rosier and Crouch paused, sensing the change in the room.
“I’m Regulus,” he said abruptly, feeling his cheeks color. He’d never introduced himself by that name before.
“Barty,” Crouch said, shoving his straw-colored hair back. “Never, ever Bartemius.”
“Evan Rosier.” The blond inclined his head.
Regulus nodded sharply. “Well, good night.”
Without any more fanfare, he stepped back and snapped the curtains shut. He climbed into bed, hearing the shuffling and creaking beds that indicated the others were doing the same.
It took a long time to fall asleep.
…
Regulus slipped out of the dormitory before the others were awake. Only a couple dedicated upperclassmen were moving around the common room at 5:45 in the morning, and they gave him no more than a passing glance.
Regulus normally woke early—rising before the sun was the only way to exist outside of his room in his house without Walburga and Orion looming—but today he had a purpose.
He was going to see Pomfrey.
A mixture of excitement and nerves squirmed in his belly at the idea of actually telling an adult that he was a boy. There was no getting around it though, not if Hogwarts itself had decided to barricade him from female spaces. The attitudes of his housemates led him to believe that this was just another way that his family was backwards, but the anxiety crawling up his throat wouldn’t be soothed.
He studied the map of Hogwarts the prefects had given them before being sent to bed. Glancing at the doors in front of him, Regulus was almost certain he’d managed to find the hospital wing. Hopefully she was awake.
He knocked and jumped when the door swung inward without any further prompting. Regulus swallowed, holding the map in front of him like a shield. He heard the clinking of glass bottles in some back room, hidden by rows of cots with stiffly starched linen and curtains that seemed to sway slightly in a nonexistent breeze.
Hogwarts reminded him of Black Manor a little, not in any visible way, but how the ancestral homes of pureblood families took on a certain near-sentience, a personality and a bit of will. Hogwarts seemed to have an abundance of will.
“Yes?”
Regulus jumped, nearly dropping his map at the appearance of the middle-aged matron wearing a crisp white apron and a no-nonsense expression.
“Madame Pomfrey?” he ventured.
She eyed him. “Indeed. First year? What’ve you done already?”
His nerves doubled, but it only increased his cool reserve as he tucked the map into his robes and raised his chin. “A prefect in my house recommended last night that I see you. The girls’ dormitory barred my entry, see. Apparently, there is documentation I need to submit to…adjust to these circumstances?”
“Ah,” she said, nodding. “I see, yes I will alert your professors to the change. I should be able to alter your name on their documents before your classes start. Excellent work coming early. What is your name, dear?”
Even through his reserve, Regulus couldn’t help the shock of her compassionate, yet casual attitude, as though this were an unexpected but commonplace event.
“R-regulus Black,” he said, cursing himself for the slight stutter.
Sharp eyes caught on him at the sound of his last name, evaluating the stiff posture and wide eyes at odds with the attempt at cool disdain.
Pomfrey nodded to herself. “Very well, I will alert your professors and make sure your bags are put in your proper dormitory. I’m assuming Mr. Rowle or Ms. Travers got you sorted in the boys’ dorm?”
“They did.”
“As for any physical transfiguration,” she continued, “I am qualified to perform such medical procedures. I will just need a parent or guardian’s consent.”
Regulus’s heart froze in his chest. Of course they would need consent for that. Of course.
He swallowed, fighting to keep the disappointment of something he hadn’t even known he longed for off his face. “That’s not possible at this time. I suppose as long as the staff has what they need, I’ll be on my way.”
“Wait a moment, young man,” Madame Pomfrey said, halting his efforts to flee. “If you would like, there are a few things we can do to make your features…less feminine without complete transfiguration.”
He couldn’t help how his eyes fixed on her with his full, unfiltered attention, how his fists clenched at his sides. “How?”
She smiled at him. “A quick haircut for one. The long hair must be such a pain. For another,” she turned and rifled through a cabinet before pulling out what she was looking for with a pleased huff. “We keep a stock of these for students who fluctuate in their presentation and don’t want to bother or can’t complete the transfiguration each time. It’s self-adjusting and should grow with you. Be sure to wear it no longer than 8 hours at a time though, for it can begin to restrict breathing and damage the lungs.”
He studied what she’d handed him. It had the appearance of half a vest made of a thin but stiff material. His brow furrowed. “It looks a little small.”
She chuckled. “It is intended to…smooth what one might want to go unnoticed, so it is smaller and tighter than an average shirt. Remember to moderate its use however,” she said pointing a stern finger at him. “I don’t want you coming back here with bruised ribs and trouble breathing.”
He nodded. “I understand.” He tucked the thing into his extendable pockets. “And, my hair?”
“Oh!” she exclaimed pulling out a stack of magazines. “Flip through those until you find what you’re looking for. I’ll just be in the back room.”
He nodded, glancing at the moving pictures of fashionable men with all manner of hairstyles and cuts. Regulus was beginning to get overwhelmed when his eyes snagged on a man with darker skin and a soft bowl of curls that hung around his face. His hair type looked close to Regulus’s own, and the effect was soft and appealing. He could still hide behind it if the occasion demanded.
He walked to the back room, footsteps barely audible. “Madame Pomfrey?”
She glanced up. “Found one?”
“Yes.” He showed her the picture.
A genuine smile tugged at her mouth. “Lovely. Hold still just a moment…” she said whipping out her wand and with a brief moment of concentration, she sliced it through the air.
His heart leapt into action at the sight of an adult pointing a wand at him, and he barely restrained himself from drawing his own when he felt a sudden lightness around his head.
Madame Pomfrey held up her other hand where one long, dark lock remained. “It really was lovely, if impractical. I thought you might like a token.”
He took it from her slowly, staring at the ringlet. His hair. How did it look?
“Can I see?” His voice came out hushed.
She pulled out a large handheld mirror and gave it to him.
Regulus stared at the image it reflected back at him. Wide grey eyes and an aristocratic nose, soft, thin lips parted in half a gasp, a sharp, stubborn little chin with cheeks still round with youth. All of it framed by a halo of dark curls that looked so soft that he reached up almost unconsciously to run his fingers through them.
It was only because he was staring that he noticed the small quiver that ran through his bottom lip before he controlled himself.
“Thank you,” he said, coughing slightly to rid his voice of an unintentional rasp.
Madame Pomfrey watched him with shrewd eyes. “Of course, dear. If you’re ever ready to proceed with the transfiguration process, you just let me know.” She paused and added, “My door is always open.”
He set the mirror down with a decided click and nodded.
…
It was still early when he left Pomfrey’s. The deserted corridors let him relax minutely, taking the opportunity to study his surroundings with a curiosity he didn’t dare display around other people. Even growing up surrounded by manors and pureblood estates hadn’t prepared him for the enormity of Hogwarts, the way the very stones were drenched in generations of magic. He fancied he could taste the electricity in the air. The walls were covered in art that he especially enjoyed studying. He avoided the portraits—it was awkward to scrutinize someone who was scrutinizing you back, and one never knew who they reported to—but he lingered over the landscapes and still lifes.
Raucous laughter and the sound of teenagers shoving each other around alerted him to the arrival of other students, but he didn’t know the castle well enough to hide before they rounded the corner.
The laughter died as they spotted him, malicious grins taking its place. “Ooh what have we here, a ickle snake out of its den?” the shortest of the three Griffindors cooed. All three wore mud-splattered quidditch robes and stupid expressions. He’d guess they were third or fourth years.
He surreptitiously dropped his wand from its forearm holster into his palm. “I’m just going to the Great Hall. Could you point me in the right direction?” he asked politely, aiming his inquiry at the girl of the group, hoping she would be the most sensible.
The way her grin widened did not give him hope for a non-violent outcome.
“Aw is the baby snake lost?” she said, elbowing the boys flanking her with a grin. “Well baby snake let us be the first to introduce you to the Hogwarts,” she drew her wand with surprising deftness for an ogre. “And as your first lessen, snakes” she hissed rather like one herself, “are at the bottom of the food chain.”
He didn’t wait for her to begin her hex before dropping into a defensive stance and shooting off his own.
“Engorgio Skullus,” he spat, jumping immediately to the most debilitating spells in his meager arsenal. “Densaugeo, Engorgio Skullus!”
The other two didn’t even manage to draw their wands before grabbing at their faces, either to hold up their ballooning skulls or the rapidly growing teeth preventing them from retaliating. He hit the one with the teeth with a knee reversal too since he was the only one left who could physically attack.
Regulus swayed under the sudden expenditure of magical energy, but he held himself together enough to shove the short ringleader to the ground. He loomed over the fallen teen, kicking his wand across the hall and pulling out his penknife, he swiftly dropped to one knee and stabbed the blade through the hand scrabbling at his boot. The boy screamed.
Regulus needed to speed this up.
He swept his gaze over the fallen Griffindors, one crying around a mouthful of teeth and unable to stand, the other two crumpled under the weight of their enlarged heads, more than enough to damage their spines if they attempted to stand.
“Spread the word,” he breathed. “You don’t fuck with the Blacks. And if any of you breathe a word of this to the teachers, I will come after you and this will seem like a pillow fight. Understood?”
He took the sobbing as acceptance and stood, wiping his penknife off on the stabbed boy’s robes. Regulus turned on his heel, pretending he wasn’t about to collapse as he rounded the corner out of their site.
He sagged against the wall, a sheen of sweat coating his face. When he opened his eyes, he nearly screamed at the two faces grinning at him.
“Merlin,” he hissed, attempting to straighten himself out and nearly falling over in the attempt. “How long have you two been there?”
“Long enough to know we need to keep moving,” Rosier said practically, a dark smile still tugging at his mouth.
Regulus didn’t even fight when Crouch jammed a shoulder into his armpit, taking some of his weight and taking off, presumably to the Great Hall.
“And what are you going to do about it?” Regulus asked suspiciously.
“Aw, baby Black,” Crouch snickered. “So sheltered. Neither of us cares that you gave the Griffindors a beating. In fact,” he shrugged, and Regulus winced as a taller, bony shoulder dug into him, “it makes you far more interesting.”
“We should practice the beginner charms over breakfast,” Rosier said, eyeing Regulus’s wand. “Teacher’s like to…check on that sort of thing.”
Translation: if the Griffindors snitched, then Regulus wanted his wand to only show nice, beginner level charms.
Regulus was feeling steady enough to shove Crouch away. The three came to a stilted pause outside the Great Hall. It was still barely 6:30, but more students were beginning to wander out.
“Our parents have…an alliance,” he said carefully, eying Rosier.
The blond shrugged. “I do not associate with everyone my parents prefer. I ally where I believe I will most profit.”
Regulus could understand that.
He looked to Crouch who bared his teeth. “My father can go to hell.”
Another relatable sentiment. It would be easier to go through school with people to watch his back. “I can teach you the wards around my bed,” he offered.
Rosier smirked. “I know better hexes.”
They eyed Crouch who laughed bitterly. “My family is light which means our library is drier than the Sahara. But I’m batshit insane and a certified genius.”
Regulus raised an eyebrow but let that go unchallenged. “Alright then. First names, no wands raised against each other, mutual aid. Anything else?”
“That’ll do for now,” Evan agreed, more used to these negotiations than Barty who was rolling his eyes so hard they were nearly lost in his skull.
“Whatever, sure, food.”
Regulus surprised himself by snickering and following his new allies into the Great Hall.
…
Thus far, Regulus had managed to avoid obsessing over his brother’s presence (lies, he had managed to convince himself that they were true) but it was hard not to notice the way Sirius tumbled into the Great Hall in a pile of teenage limbs. The group of four seemed inextricably intertwined, even at a moment's glance, a tall, scarred boy with prominent facial scars, a smaller boy, plump and smiling, one with a mop of dark hair and circular glasses, and finally. Sirius.
His brother looked…happy. His robes were casually disheveled, his grin seemed like a permanent fixture on his face—fuller than it had been last time Regulus had seen it.
He’d not caught a glimpse at the sorting, had in fact avoided searching the Griffindor table for any sign of the brother who’d abandoned him, but now here Sirius was with seemingly no inclination to search the Slytherin table for any hint of the brother he’d abandoned.
Rosier—Evan—nudged him with an elbow. “Don’t give him the satisfaction,” he murmured.
At this, Regulus realized he’d stopped eating in favor of staring at his brother, fork clenched tight in his fist. He also became aware of the evaluating gazes of the older Slytherins, waiting to see what he’d do at the sight of his blood-traitor sibling. He forced himself to keep eating, even picking up the class schedule that had been handed out earlier and pretending to scan it.
Sirius was already the reason his home life was such utter shit. Regulus refused to let him ruin Hogwarts too.