Chapter 3
Although Regulus knew what to expect, it didn’t make it anymore bearable. Classes are slow, boring, and strict. Only three classes into the day and the amount of homework he already has in sinful. On the Brightside, it gives him a reasonable excuse as to why he won’t socialise, ‘too much homework.’ The French teacher was truly astounded by Regulus knowledge of the language, though it makes sense considering the Black family is originally French. The trig teacher makes Regulus question whether murder is truly as morally wrong as it made out to be. So far, Regulus is truly unimpressed and ready to sleep away the day. The next class up is English, and Regulus is not sure whether he is dreading it or is looking forward. All he knows is he needs to find a seat well away from Sirius and his mates…especially James. Maybe not especially James, Regulus can’t tell. Regulus merges with the group of second year boys as the wander towards his English classroom. The boys are just as rowdy as always, as Regulus finds himself searching for James, before cursing himself for doing so. He finds him though. Again, with the other three. Regulus swears they’re codependent. He rarely sees them apart. Peter seems to be complaining rather passionately about something to James who is agreeing with every word, while Sirius is trying to put miniscule braids into Remus’s curls as they walk. Regulus notes its not working. Soon enough the class room is reached, and all the boys make their way inside.
At this point, Regulus is almost sure the world has it out for him, because he finds his desk is position across and next to James’s. James seems all together too pleased about this and offers Regulus a grin that makes him stomach turn before he quickly looks away and the wonders if he should’ve smiled back. He turns his head back to James but he’s already tossing bits of paper towards the back of the class at Sirius. The students eventually quieten down as Mr Dumbledore, the headmaster’s brother, walks into the classroom, with a book under his arm, whistling a vaguely familiar tune. All the do-gooders in the class room quickly open their books, and await further instruction from the teacher, though Dumbledore just continues to whistle and walk up and down the rows of the class. Not a word said. He then, to Regulus surprise, exits the class once again through the back door, still whistling. The classroom is dead silent, as all the boys whip their heads around, looking incredulously at each other. Each one more confused than the next. Regulus finds himself meeting James’s eyes, who has he frow burrowed and mouth slightly ajar. Regulus only offers a small shrug in return, because….to be honest, Regulus has no clue what do either. Before anyone can speak a word, Mr Dumbledore pokes his head through the back door and speaks for the first time; “Well, come on then!”, before quickly disappearing again. While no one says a word, the class room is filled with the sounds of rustling papers and wooden chairs scraping across the floor, as the boys stood and made their way to follow the teacher. Regulus is startled by a voice whispering in his ear, “What do you think this guy is on?” Regulus whips his head around to see James behind him, looking just as confused as before. Again, Regulus just shrugs and heads out the door.
The class finds their English teacher standing in front a glass cabinet that displays trophies and photos of past Hogwarts students, the photos grainy and withered from time. Regulus finds himself entranced in these old photos as he finds they remind himself of just how small he is in comparison of the universe and wonders if any of the boys in those photos felt the same. The thought neither comforts nor disturbs him. Its just a thought. James nudges Regulus and he realised his teacher has begun to talk. “Oh captain, my captain,” Mr Dumbledore begins, “who knows where that comes from?” He poses the question to no one in particular and gets no answer. The teacher continues, “No clue? It's from a poem by Walt Whitman about Mr. Abraham Lincoln.” Regulus knew that. “Now in this class you can call me Mr Dumbledore. Or, if you're slightly more daring, Oh Captain, My Captain.” This remark earns a quiet chuckle from a few of the boys in the class, as if the rest of them felt too awkward or confused to say anything else. Mr Dumbledore doesn’t seem fazed at this in slightest and continues with his tangent, “Now before anything else, let me dispel a few rumours that some of you may have heard. Number one, yes, I am indeed Headmaster Dumbledores younger brother, I will speak no more on that matter.” He paused to breathe. Regulus notes that there must be some trouble there. Regulus knows all about brotherly issues, and he casts his gaze over to Sirius who he is surprised is already looking at him, the expression on his face identical to that of Regulus’s. They both quickly turn away. The teacher speaks again.
“It is true, I did attend and survive this hellhole known as Hogwarts Academy, and despite what you might think, I was not the mental giant you see before you at that time. I would go to the nearest beach and people would kick sand on my copies of Byron and in my face.” This causes most of the class to laugh, though a few still look so lost. While his classmates laugh, Regulus watches his teacher look down onto the piece of paper he now has in his hand. “Mr Pettigrew, that’s a rather odd name, Mr Pettigrew where are you?”, Dumbledore asks. Peter sticks his hand directly in the air upon being called upon. The teacher asks a follow up question, “Mr Pettigrew, would you open up your hymnal to page 364 and read the first line out for the class?” Peter does exactly as he’s told and clears his throat before reading “To the virgins, to make much of time?” as he looks up to the teacher to make sure he does indeed have the write poem. Dumbledore only nods in response and gestures for Peter to continue, which he does quickly, “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, old time is still a flying, and this same flower that smiles today, tomorrow will be dying.” Peter then stops, and the classes attention turns back to the teacher. Dumbledore speaks again, “Thankyou Mr Pettigrew, you may close your book now. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, the Latin term for such sentiment is Carpe Diem, can anyone here tell me what that translates to?” Remus doesn’t even wait for person to speak before bursting out with, “Seize the day, Carpe Diem means seize the day” The English teacher nods his head, “Yes thankyou Mr…”, trailing off as he waits for Remus to fill in the gap. “Lupin”. The teacher starts again “Mr Lupin, thank you, you are quite correct. Seize the day, gather ye rosebuds, why does the author use these lines?”, once again posing the question to the class. This time it’s Regulus’s brother that answers, “Because he’s in a hurry?”, Sirius jokes. Mr Dumbledore slams his hand down on an imaginary buzzer as he says, “No, ding! Thank you for playing anyways.” Sirius just grins in return. “No, the author uses these lines because we are food for worms’ boys, because no matter how alive you feel right now, each and every one of you will reach the day where death knocks upon your door, and you will stop breathing and turn cold.”, the teacher turns to the cabinet. “Look closely boys, I’m sure you’ve walked past these photos many times but never really stopped and looked.” The boys close in around the glass, eyes locked onto the old photos. Dumbledore continues his soliloquy, “They're not so different from you, are they? Similar haircuts as you. Full of hormones just like you. Invincible, just as you feel. The world is just waiting for them. The believe they are destined for great things, just like many of you believe, their eyes full of hope. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable? Because you see gentlemen, these boys are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in.” The boys entertain the teacher and lean in so close their faces are almost pushed against the glass. Mr Dumbledore leans over Regulus’s shoulder and whispers in a gruff voice, that seems strained and pained, “Carpe…Carpe Diem. Seize the day boys, seize the day. Make your lives extraordinary.” Everyone in the class stays silent, as they look at the faces of what could possibly be their past selves. Regulus decides he likes English class.