Chapter Four
Iris POV
I heard the bell of someone entering the store and seeing as Ms Sandra was in the back, launched into my pre-rehearsed spiel while finishing counting the stacks of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them and checking them off the order form in front of me. "Welcome to Flourish and Blotts Half Price, can I help you find anything?"
I glanced up and am surprised to see my fellow prefect standing in front of me. "Oh! Hey, Regulus."
"Ten feet of standard parchment and two medium ink pots," he said by way of greeting, all of his original cold formality back in place. He had seemed to warm to me towards the end of our first shift though, (and by warm, I mean not seem willing to murdering me in cold blood) so I attempted friendly conversation.
"So what do you think of the rest of your prefect partners?"
“I think the bar was so low it wasn’t very hard to beat. I was correct.” Ouch. That stung more than I cared to admit. I swallowed it. It was not like we were friends or even got along. I changed the subject.
“I’m surprised your parents didn’t just send you this stuff,” I said, bagging the items.
“What my parents do or do not send me is none of your concern. They are more respectable than you’ll ever be and you would do well to remember it. Then again, maybe you were just born with the incivil desire to pry into other people's affairs. Not surprising given your heritage, mudblood,” he said, cruelly. And with a sweep of his arm and swish of his robes, he had taken his items and was out the door into the cool September night.
I stood there for a moment, stunned. Then, I pulled myself up to my full height and went back to sorting inventory.
***
The next day in Potions class I felt a stab of annoyance, and I’d admit it, pain, when I saw Regulus sitting at one of the tables with a few Slytherins. So far, we hadn’t had any classes together, but it was just my luck to have to face him first thing in the morning. Oh well, better get it out of the way I supposed. The first interaction after any attack was always the most stressful.
He wasn’t looking at me but I walked up to his table so that he was forced to meet my eyes. His were unreadable. I smiled brightly and said, “I know you were low on school supplies and we had extra shipments at Flourish and Blotts Half Price so I thought you’d like them.”
I set the neatly wrapped packages on the table in front of him. “If you need anything else, I can get a discount for you. For any of you, actually,” I said, addressing the other Slytherins at the table. They looked amused, like vultures figuring out the best way to devour their prey.
“Anyway, good luck in class today. I hope we get to learn how to brew Draught of Living Death at some point,” and with a cheerful wave, I waltzed over to fellow Hufflepuff Liam Darrow.
I could hear them murmuring and opening up the packages, probably in search of some booby trap or jinx put on the supplies. They wouldn’t find anything, though. I learned right from my first week at Hogwarts that being a Hufflepuff and a muggle born made me a double target.
I could still remember vividly the first time someone called me a mudblood. I felt like I had been slapped in the face. I wasn't sure whether to cry or run but since both were humiliating I spat out the first thing I could think of: “I’d take being a Hufflepuff over a Slytherin any day, and even if my parents can’t do magic they’re still worth ten of you.”
I had meant what I said; I loved being a Hufflepuff and how could a person’s value be determined by whether or not they were born with a certain ability? But I had felt sick to my stomach the rest of the day. I was ashamed; mortified, but not because of what I had been called. Because of how I had responded. How was I any better than them if I acted the same way they did?
I spilled my guts to Danya and Mel that night and we had agreed that from then on we would be better than our enemies. When they were cruel, we would be kind. We knew our value and it didn’t matter who else did. And when we forgot, we would remind each other. We would be a team, and we had kept that promise.
So when Regulus Black had insulted me it had hurt, it always did, but I had recovered just as practiced and packed up his gift not five minutes later. Seeing their startled faces was always sort of pleasing. They never expected kindness. When we met for prefect duty the next day, I greeted him in my friendly manner and offered to help him in Potions if he ever needed it. He snapped back about staying in line, but I merely laughed and warned that sometimes those ingredient equations could look misleadingly easy.
Lyla POV
I usually don’t resort to violence. I’m a firm believer in communication and words. Wondrous words that can solve almost any problem. However, when sisters are involved, rules inevitably bend.
I am fully aware that Iris is bullied. I too have been on the receiving end of hateful comments about my parents. Iris only gets it worse because she’s a Hufflepuff. Every house has their own stupid reputation. If professors emphasized how each of the houses’ characters often led to certain types of learning (visual, hands-on, lecture, etc.) and integrated that into their teaching instead of promoting rivalry with house points, the school would be very different.
Despite the hate she receives, Iris always handles herself with grace, dignity, and kindness just like she does in everything else. I sometimes tell the people bullying to back off and grow up, but usually I find not reacting and completely demolishing them in class with superior wit and wisdom to be equally satisfying and effective.
When Iris told me how Regulus Black, a Slytherin sixth year, said some very rude things to her, I decided to make an exception to my own rules. After all, who’s job is it to look after my sister but myself?
I spotted the boy in the Entrance Hall in front of the doors to the Great Hall. Marching up to him, I tossed my bag, bulging with books, over my shoulder, getting my hands free. I was almost upon him when he turned. He was smirking at Evan Rosier, a fellow Slytherin and who many students suspected was a Death Eater. Rosier brushed past Black up the staircases two at a time, disappearing from sight.
I hardly noticed. The fear I had felt reading the Daily Prophet in the Grey Lady’s Corridor was back. What if Black teamed up with Rosier? What if they, now knowing Iris is a muggleborn, attack her?
I had originally planned on using my wand to frighten off Black, I knew countless harmless spells, but I worried it wouldn’t be enough. It was best to make him know without a doubt that if he wanted to come at my sister, he’d have to go through me. And I wouldn’t break easily.
Black had noticed my approach and was examining me, bored. Once I was close enough, I drew back my right hand.
And slapped him.
Being the first time I’d ever hit someone, I hadn’t expected the flash of pain that was traveling up my palm. Black looked stunned, a red mark shaped like my hand across his cheek. It didn’t look like it hurt him too much which was good because I was definitely starting to regret my decision.
Oh well. The deed was done and I might as well follow through.
“How dare you call my sister that!” I shouted, shooting him my very best glare, tucking my stinging hand in the folds of my robes. I whispered a silent thank you that there was no one to witness the event.
A flash of recognition passed through Black’s eyes even though the rest of him was frozen, his mouth shaped in an ‘O’, slightly resembling a goldfish.
“And…and if you ever do anything like that again, you’ll have worse than just a sore cheek.” If it's sore at all. I turned on my heel and marched, head high, into the Great Hall. That went well, I thought, albeit unexpectedly.
I saw Amanda wave at me from the Ravenclaw table and slipped in between her and her brother, reaching for a strawberry pastry.
“Really?” Bryant asked. “Dessert before lunch?”
“I have a good reason,” I responded, shoving half the pastry in my mouth. Adrenaline was still coursing through my veins, fueled by my growing anxiety. “I slapped someone for the first time a few moments ago.”
Bryant dropped his sandwich back on his plate, and Amanda gasped. Their dark eyes met over my head before darting back to me.
“What happened?” Amanda asked. She wrapped an arm around me, rubbing my back slowly. I groaned and dropped my head onto the table.
“I lost my temper,” I mumbled. “I told you Regulus Black called my sister a—well, you know. I wanted him to know it wouldn’t be easy to hurt Iris. I was just so…scared. And angry. What is wrong with me? Why am I like this?”
“Nothings wrong with you,” Bryant frowned. “I’ve known you for four years now, and I have no information proving there is something not right with you.”
“Bryant’s right, in a sense,” Amanda lowered her head on the table too so that I was forced to look at her. “There is a war going on. That is scary. There are people that hate you for something that isn’t wrong. That is scary. Your family is in danger. That is scary. Your feelings are perfectly understandable. I’m angry too, and I’m a halfblood. Hitting Black was defense. You acted to protect. We understand. Next time though, talk to us first.” Amanda smiled teasingly at me.
“Yeah,” Bryant agreed. “We’d help you come up with much better ways to scare him than that.” I giggled softly and sat up to throw my arms around them.
“You’re the best friends in the whole world,” I whispered.
“All in a day's work.” I could hear the smile in Amanda’s tone and couldn’t help but copy her.
Regulus POV
I couldn’t for the life of me figure Iris out. My initial reaction was that it was ignorance. Maybe she was incredibly non observant and didn’t realize that I despised her. Then I assumed that she was being passive aggressive, but everything in her tone and manners was polite and cheerful. There was no sarcastic edge, no cruel gaze, nothing. And of course my roommates found nothing in the ink pots, quills, and vials she had delivered, but I hadn’t really expected her to sabotage me.
So why was she being so… nice? Lulling me into a false sense of security and then catching me blind sighted? She didn’t really seem like the calculating type, though. I wished she would just hate me and then I would be free to forget about her. If only she’d stop trying to chat all the time. If she had to give a suspicious gift, fine. But the constant friendly banter? It was enough to make me scream.
Her sister though, I could understand. Blind hatred, threats, and violence were more what I was used to. When she had hit me, I was surprised to find that the first emotion that flashed through me, besides annoyance, was respect. She had no problem standing up for her sister and that was something I respected, even if she was a mudblood.
This was quickly followed by a sharp pang of envy that I immediately shoved deep, deep down in my soul. I had no interest in dissecting why, after so many months had passed, I still couldn’t help thinking about him almost daily.
Unfortunately I wasn’t quick, or strong enough to stop the wave of memories that crashed through my brain before I could repress them: Sirius constantly getting into trouble and blaming me because our parents were far less severe on me than him. Sirius and I being shut away from the sunlight to be tutored at Grimmauld Place every day from dawn until dusk and taken to the nearby quidditch pitch on weekends so we were out of our parents' hair. How our tutor always liked Sirius more because of how charismatic he was even though I was an exemplary, and far more disciplined, student. How our father would go on and on about tradition and legacy and how it would all be ours someday.
“But will you be ready for it?” He had asked. Sirius had rolled his eyes and despised the idea of being cooped up in the same routine day after day. But I had nodded my head eagerly and said, “Yes, father.” The occasional stuffy dinners with our parents in the formal dining room where I would get in trouble for laughing at the faces Sirius made at me. Then him making it up to me later that night by telling me harrowing adventure tales before bed. Those were earlier memories from what felt like a lifetime ago. Before Hogwarts. Before everything went up in flames.
I could easily recall the day Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor. When my parents got the news they were both horrified and disappointed in equal measures. I remembered the weeks after where at every dinner party they would have to deal with their friends' backhanded comments and our relatives going on and on about the shame on the Black House.
I had accidentally walked in on Mother crying about Sirius and when she saw me, instead of scolding she said, “Don't disappoint me Regulus. You’re our only hope.” I had taken that straight to heart and from then on did everything I possibly could to obey them and make them proud. Back then I didn’t mind the isolation so much and was content to be independent because I knew that I had my brother and his parents' love, even if they rarely showed it.
Sirius had his first big fight with our parents the summer after his first year. I would hide up at the top of the staircase with Kreature for company and listen to the fight. That way I could know how it ended and how I would have to act later. In the early days I was never sure who’s side to take.
When I got into Slytherin my parents were so proud and would constantly rub it in Sirius’s nose. Sirius had snapped once or twice and I had asked him, “Are you mad at me?”
He would snarkily say, “How can I be mad at someone who’s perfect?” Then he would sigh and say, “No Regulus, you’re doing everything right.”
Unlike Sirius, I was proud of my heritage. Every time family would come over they would comment on my height or marks or quidditch skill and say, “You’re a true Black.” And I would stand a little taller and it would feel like I was in the club. Now I wasn’t even sure if the club was something I wanted to be in, or something I could even escape at this point.
As I watched that mudblood’s sister stomp toward the great hall in a cobalt swirl of self righteous fury, I hated them both for having what I didn’t.