Chapter 7
When Harry first started attending Hogwarts, he and Regulus had come to an agreement.
As a professor, Regulus couldn’t afford to give Harry any special treatment just because he happened to be his son. Besides, the last thing Regulus wanted to do was ruin Harry’s years at Hogwarts by being overbearing and having an overt preference for him. That really wouldn’t do his social life any good.
Before he started his first year, Regulus had explained this to him, and Harry – being the bright little boy he was – had been very understanding about it. He knew that his father’s love for him was unconditional, and that nothing could ever change that.
So they’ve had this unspoken rule for years now, where at Hogwarts, Regulus is not dad but professor Black. He isn’t exactly happy to distance himself from his son, but it’s a necessary evil. And sometimes, when he is sure no one’s watching, he’s able to ruffle Harry’s wild curls or gently pull on his ear, which is usually met with a scrunched nose or eye-roll.
Now that Harry’s older, the entire thing has become much easier. During his first year, Regulus had been able to tell how conflicting it was for him to be taught by his dad. And honestly, it had been uncomfortable for him too. But now, neither of them cringes anymore when Harry calls him professor.
Regulus is in the middle of grading his fourth years’ essays, humming disapprovingly every now and again and scribbling notes on the parchment in red ink, when suddenly there’s a knock on the door to his personal quarters. He frowns. It’s past curfew, and he isn’t expecting anyone. Regulus pushes himself out of his chair and heads over to the door, and when he opens it, he’s startled to find Harry standing outside of it.
He's holding onto his Invisibility Cloak, and Regulus can’t help but inwardly curse James. He’d told him not to give it to the boy, well aware of the rebellious streak he’d inherited from him, but James had insisted it was ‘part of the Hogwarts experience’.
“Harry.” Regulus tries hard to sound stern. “It’s past curfew.”
“I know.” Harry says, and Regulus immediately realises something’s off. “Look, don’t be angry with me, okay? Can I just… Can I come in?”
Regulus stares at him. Harry knows his quarters are off limits to students – including him. But as he stares at the teen’s face, he can tell something is bothering him. His eyes are red-rimmed and he’s visibly upset. He knows he shouldn’t allow him to enter, but he can’t stop his parental instincts from kicking in.
“Fine…” He takes a step back and Harry lets out a relieved noise.
As soon as he’s let him inside and the door is closed again, Harry launches himself at Regulus, wrapping his arms around him and hiding his face into his father’s chest. Regulus is taken aback by it, but easily reciprocates the hug.
“What’s wrong, love?” He whispers, running his fingers through Harry’s messy hair.
“Nothing…”
He can hear the tears in his son’s voice, and his heart breaks a little. He hums and hugs him tighter. It’s been a very long time since he was a teenager himself, but he can definitely recall the angst and overwhelming emotions that came with being one. Whatever it is that’s bothering Harry right now, it probably feels like the end of the world to him.
“I see…” Regulus leans back a little, just enough to be able to look at his son’s face. Harry sniffles, and leans into his touch when he wipes his cheeks dry.
“What about I put on the kettle?” Regulus offers. “Then we can talk about it… Or not, whatever you prefer.”
Harry nods sheepishly. Regulus directs him a gentle smile before ushering him to the sofa.
If there’s anything he's learned during his years as a professor and a father, it’s that a good cup of tea is hardly ever not part of the solution.