something in the orange (tells me we're not done)

And I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t

'Cause if I say I miss you I know that you won’t

But I miss you in the mornings when I see the sun

Something in the orange tells me we’re not done

To you I’m just man, to me you’re all I am

Where the hell am I supposed to go?

I poisoned myself again

Something in the orange tells me you’re never coming home

1

When he was growing up, the favourite part of Regulus’ day was the nighttime.

He always found it peaceful, almost protective and safe. He liked to believe it was a cherished time where he was the only person in the world awake and it was his own. Maybe it was because daytimes in the Noble House of Black were always spent with his shoulders set straight, his chin held high and fear tight in his spine. Nighttime is the only time Regulus got to spend alone, away from his parents spying eyes and cruel hands. His mother wasn’t there when he slept, sneering down at him and barking at his every move. His father wasn’t there, with his huge hands and lips curled back in an animalistic growl. There was no expectations, no punishments, no shouting or fighting. There was nothing apart from the peaceful silence, the stars glowing in the sky above them.

It gave Regulus a sense of freedom he never got during the day.

Despite the serenity, from as old as the day he could walk, Regulus would spend almost every night sneaking into Sirius’ bedroom, never being deterred when Sirius would stress the consequences of what might happen if they got caught. Regulus didn’t care about his mother’s punishment, he just wanted to be close to his brother, to feel safe when he slept by his brothers side.

Despite always originally attempting to coax Regulus to go back to his own bed, Sirius would welcome him with open arms, allowing Regulus to curl into his chest like he was seeking comfort and safety there. He’d tell Regulus stories, he would rub Regulus’ back and stroke his hair. He’d make jokes and tell Regulus to hush when his giggling got too loud. They’d sneak downstairs together and steal grapes from the kitchen, or maybe something more if they’d been denied dinner the hours before.

Their punishments were different when they were young.

Sirius’ punishments were always harsh and brash. Physical slaps and hits. They made him bleed, because they wanted to make him learn his place. Sirius’ mind was strong, he was already mentally made in his ways, and the only way to control him was splitting skin and making him scared of physical pain.

They were different with Regulus. They learned hitting him only made him fear them more than he already did. Regulus was more easy to mould, more easy to manipulate. They knew that Regulus’ solace was Sirius, so the easiest thing to do was deny Regulus of him. They’d lock Regulus in tiny cupboards, deny him food or drink or daylight, and most importantly, they’d deny him of Sirius. They’d shout at him until his chest was tight and his breath was stolen, then his mother would stun him with a unforgivable curse and lock him away so all he could hear was the sound of his own cries and laboured breathing. They made Regulus feel alone.

Regulus stopped fighting back long before Sirius did.

When Sirius left for Hogwarts, Regulus learnt the pecking order of the house quick enough to know he was bottom of the food chain and no amount of fighting back was going to help. He tried to fight for Sirius when he came home, but he found he only made it worse. The only comfort he could bring Sirius was look after him after his mother was tired of punishing him. He could patch and heal his wounds, feed him water and food so he’d get strong again.

Regulus was no match for his parents, but he knows Sirius wished he would be.

Sirius left Regulus once before, and that was when Regulus learnt that no amount of adapting would ever keep him safe inside the walls of Grimmauld Place.

Regulus can’t remember when they started to drift apart. Something happened in the year Sirius was away at Hogwarts and Regulus was home. Something changed in Sirius, and maybe something changed in Regulus too. Sirius came back stronger, but they all know he wasn’t met with a stronger Regulus to match.

It’s been a long summer between fifth and sixth year, and somehow it managed to be worse than the summer before with the infamous showdown of Sirius vs Walburga. Regulus never imagined life could get worse after his brothers departure, not that he ever imagined living in that house without his big brother anyways. He always thought it would be them in it together, until the end when either they both moved out or their parents died and they’d finally live in freedom. Regulus should have stopped dreaming of a happy ending for himself the moment he started Hogwarts and got sorted into Slytherin. It was the beginning of the end the moment the stupid hat shouted 'SLYTHERIN!' for all the Great Hall to hear, Regulus just didn’t know it at the time. He didn’t know it long after either, even when Sirius refused to look at him in school when he put on the green and silver embroidered robes, or when he shut Regulus out as if he never existed liked he hadn't introduced Regulus to his friends on the Hogwarts Express with the excitement of a puppy dog hours before. Even when Regulus was involved in the repercussions of the nasty pranks Sirius and his friends played on the Slytherins, or Sirius called him nasty words in the corridor when he wasn’t giving him the cold shoulder, Regulus still held onto the hope that him and his brother would get their happy ending together.

When Sirius ran away in the summer between the end of Regulus’ fourth year and before the beginning of fifth year, it didn’t come to a shock to Regulus as much as he thought it would have. Perhaps in the back of his mind, he’d known it was a long time coming without him realising. He’d seen in the way Sirius was provoking his mother more and more in the days leading up to it. Always challenging her and arguing against her, taking his punishments and as soon as he could speak again, he’d be riling her up again. Regulus should have seen the signs when they were at Hogwarts, at how close Sirius was to James Potter and spending all the Christmas and Easter holidays with the Potter family instead of his own. Regulus knows Sirius told mother and father he was staying at Hogwarts, otherwise they would have never allowed it.

Sirius had managed to find a way out of Grimmauld Place like they'd always dreamed of, but he left Regulus to rot inside it alone.

Sirius never looked back, and while Regulus doesn’t blame him for it, it still hurts.

The night before he’s due to travel to Kings Cross to get the train, Regulus goes to bed with bruises covering every inch of his chest and back and the aftereffects of his mothers crucio making him feel like someone is plucking and using his nerves and muscle fibres as guitar strings. He barely scrapes two hours of broken sleep before he throws in the metaphorical towel as the sun is rising and decides the attempts at more rest is futile. He reads some more of the book Pandora gave him until there's a knock at the door.

Stuffing the book under his pillow, though he doesn't know why he's bothering as he's charmed it to look like a Astronomy textbook instead revealing it's true cover as a muggle novel, Regulus gets out of bed and goes to the door.

Kreacher is standing on the others side, looking up at him.

"Morning, Kreacher," Regulus says, though it comes out as a grating rasp instead of a formal greeting. Hours is screaming yesterday under his mothers wand and lack of use over the night despite being awake has left his voice croaky enough to make him sound like Kreacher himself.

"Good morning, Master Regulus," Kreacher greets, nodding his head. "Mistress has requested that Kreacher makes sure Master Regulus gets ready for his departure today and then Kreacher will accompany Master Regulus to the train station."

Regulus doesn't dwell on the fact that for the first time, his parents aren't going to be the ones taking him to the platform. It's easier if they're not there, as they haven't accompanied him since last summer after Sirius ran away. It was an awful moment, when they were on the platform and Sirius was a little way down with the Potter's. Regulus remembers being frozen in fear, his mothers hand like a clawed talon gripping his shoulder with bruising grip as she stared down at the family. Regulus was terrified she'd do something, curse them or make a scene, that she'd hurt them or hurt Sirius again. Regulus remembers thinking afterwards, when he'd boarded the train and his parents had departed without a hitch, that Sirius looked healthy. Within a month of being with the Potter's, he looked like a whole new person. He looked happy, carefree, and the Potter's had hugged him.

Regulus has never been hugged goodbye from his parents.

Regulus has never been hugged at all by his parents for anything.

"Thank you, Kreacher," Regulus replies. "Where are my parents?"

"They are at Malfoy Manor, Master Regulus. They said they won't be back until late this evening."

That's good, Regulus decides. He doesn't fancy another round off with his mother if he can avoid it.

"I'll be down for breakfast in a few minutes."

"Master Regulus must actually eat what Kreacher provides for him this morning," Kreacher chides.

Regulus smiles tiredly, "Of course. Thank you."

He takes his time having a shower and getting dressed. The aches and pains in his body barely dissipate from the warm water cascading over him. His chest and back are watercolours of blacks and purples, but he knows better than to concern Kreacher with it. If he gets help from Kreacher and then his mother asks the elf later, she'll hurt Kreacher for helping him. Regulus learnt this the hard way, and refrains from ever asking Kreacher for pain potions and bruise salves anymore. It's okay though, because he's going back to Hogwarts today which means he'll be able to find Snape and the older boys wonderful collection of potions like he always does.

Regulus manages to choke down a slice of toast downstairs, followed by two cups off coffee helps wash them down and then he snatches an apple off the side and assures Kreacher he's going to eat it while he finishes packing.

They both know it's a lie, because Regulus has no plans of eating it and he's been fully packed since the afternoon before, but neither of them say anything.

Kreacher apparates them to Kings Cross. Regulus is reminded once more of the silver lining that his mother and father are busy round the Malfoy Manor today and doing Merlin knows what.

Kreacher does just fine being his sole company, and Regulus always feels like he can breathe just a little easier boarding the train when he doesn’t have to worry about his mother watching his retreating back.

The platform is packed, as it always is. It’s overcrowded with students and parents, from the giddy older years that tower over their parents and cringe when their mothers force them to accept fleeting kisses on the cheeks all the way to the tiny first years that are changing from scared to excited to nervous faster than their parents can possibly process. The train sits on the platform, all the doors open and steam and smoke blooming in thick puffs from the chimney. It’s loud, with the sound of trunks being led and wheeled, shrieks and laughs of reuniting students, the odd sniffle and cry breaking through from the odd anxious first year. There are students already on the train, leaning out the windows and waving exaggeratedly at family and friends still standing on the platform.

Regulus once loved the Hogwarts platform. It has a kind of atmosphere that can’t be replaced anywhere else. It’s more than just a feeling of travelling away from home, more than the exhilaration of starting the first day of the new school year at the infamous and magical Hogwarts. The air is thick with promise, anticipation, elation at the following months to come.

Now, Regulus finds it suffocating, like a thick clawed hand wrapping around his neck and squeezing tighter and tighter. He finds most things suffocating recently, though, so perhaps he just needs to learn how to breathe with the hand strangling him. Adapt, after all. That’s all he’s ever good at anymore: survive and adapt. He wouldn’t have lasted this long if he hadn’t manage to perfect that skill.

Regulus supposes he should be excited for sixth year. His O.W.L.S are over, and he passed with flying colours as expected by everyone who matters, so now it’s on with the N.E.W.T.S. It should be exciting, Regulus should be feeling ambitious and ready for the final two years of his school life.

Except, he’s not.

The only relief about going back to Hogwarts is not having to spend the days with his parents, and Regulus is just too tired to care about anything else. It’s a different kind of tired from missing a few hours sleep. It’s a kind of tired Regulus has felt for years, for so long and so heavy it’s an integrated part of his bones and muscles nowadays. It's the kind of tired that weighs him down like lead slugs through his veins and arteries instead of blood.

Perhaps it’s the unhinged amount of time Regulus has spent underneath the Imperious and Cruciatus curses this summer that has left the permanently exhausted weight on Regulus’ body and mind. Or maybe it’s the constant feeling of treading water and trying not to drown in his own head that’s done it.

"Is Master Regulus ready?"

Regulus barely manages to contain the jolt of surprise at the voice coming from beneath him. Looking down, he see’s Kreacher looking up at him.

"Yes," Regulus says, and it comes out as a dry croak. He swallows around a lump in his throat, clearly it and saying again, this time without the emotional shake, "Yes, thank you, Kreacher. You can go now."

"Kreacher must stay to watch Master Regulus board the train," Kreacher argues. "Mistress demanded Kreacher not to leave until he witnessed Master Regulus physically step onto the Hogwarts Express."

"Of course she did," Regulus mutters.

Truly, he’s not surprised at that. She clearly doesn’t trust Regulus to not runaway at the first chance he gets like Sirius. Guess that’s the point of a spare, Regulus supposes. His parents have always had a backup plan, and now they’re being forced to use him. Thats all Regulus’ purpose has been, ever since before he was born, to be Sirius’ replacement if and when needed.

He used to be called Sirius’ shadow growing up, and Regulus used to think nothing was more worse and humiliating.

He was wrong, because being someones replacement is far, far worse.

Grinding his teeth, Regulus lets out a heavy breath.

"Okay. Well, I’ll go now and then you can be getting back," he says, eyes scanning the platform again. "Thank you again, Kreacher. I’ll see you soon."

"Will Master Regulus be back for Yule?"

"I don’t know. I’m not sure if I’ll be staying at Hogwarts or not."

"Kreacher has heard Mistress has plans for Master Regulus over Yule."

Fantastic, Regulus thinks grimly, but manages to keep the wince and reaction from his expression and Kreacher’s words sink in like a cold brick settling in his stomach. Nothing good has ever come from his mother demanding him return home for a holiday. He managed to get away with it last year over Christmas and Easter, writing to her to say he wanted to stay at school to pursue in his studies over the holiday.

It sounds like she won’t be so lenient this year, and Regulus has an uncomfortable feeling that he knows why.

"Well, we’ll see," Regulus says, feigning nonchalance.

"Will Master Regulus find the Potions Man on the train?" Kreacher asks.

"I’ll try," Regulus replies, already knowing he doesn’t think he has the energy to bother searching the carriages in search for Snape once he boards the train. There’s too many people Regulus is at risk of bumping into, and he’d much rather find a quiet carriage and sleep off the remaining pain of his mothers temper. "If not, I’ll find him at Hogwarts."

"Master Regulus must find the Potions Man as soon as possible," Kreacher says, his tone edged. Regulus always hates it when the house elf’s tone is washed with concern and urgency instead of the clipped, resigned croak it normally is. "Master Regulus needs to get his wounds seen too."

Regulus forces a smile. "I know. Thank you, Kreacher. Look after yourself, okay?"

Kreacher bristles at that, and Regulus’ smile turns genuine. He doesn’t give Kreacher time to argue, and instead grabs the handle of his trunk and begins to weave through the slowly dispersing crowd surrounding the train. He doesn't glance up until he's almost at the step onto the train, and he intends to turn around to nod a final goodbye to Kreacher, only his eye catches something further down the platform line.

He knows it shouldn’t be a surprise to see Sirius with the Potters, James’ mothers arm around his shoulder hugging him tight into her side. It hurt last year, seeing it the first time was worse and sharper than the time his mother threw a wine glass at his head when he was six. It hurts again now, sharp and stabbing right in Regulus’ chest. He wants to look away, but he can’t. He feels frozen as his eyes refuse to leave the happy family, laughing and hugging each other. Even through the noise of the train and everyone else on the platform, Regulus can hear Sirius’ laugh from where he’s standing. He still sounds so happy, more happy than he ever was with Regulus.

Regulus catches the movement of James’ head turning, face moving towards Regulus’ direction. It’s like someone has released the brakes and Regulus moves almost like a flinch, so sudden so he doesn’t catch to see if James is about to look towards him. Regulus is on the train in two steps, wincing when his ribs twinge and ache as he lugs his trunk behind him.

Regulus doesn’t walk far to find an empty carriage. He’s grateful for levitation charms so he doesn’t have to try and lift his trunk above his head to the racks.

Resisting the urge to collapse onto the seats, he sits slowly to not aggravate his already aching body anymore. Refusing to look out the window at the still overcrowded platform, he pulls out his book, the covers still disguised as a astronomy textbook incase someone walks past.

He barely gets 10 minutes of peace before the carriage door opens again. He lifts his head, ready to tell whoever it is that's disturbing him to back off and out before he hexes them into next year, but he barely gets an eye full of long white blonde hair before someone is shouting.

"Regulus!" Barty cheers, popping up behind Pandora.

"We've been looking for you for ages, Black," Evan adds as they all clamber in.

Pandora levitates her trunk up to the shelf before dropping down beside Regulus, her blue eyes trained on him like a rabid dog in the corner.

"Bloody hell, Black, you look fucking awful!" Barty curses, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Thanks, Crouch," Regulus grumbles, closing his book with a loud slap. "You still look quite sore on the eyes yourself."

"Regulus," Pandora frowns deeply, "You really do look. . ."

"Fucked, I think is the word we're all looking for," Evan says, sitting down on the opposite seat. When Barty collapses heavily next to him, instantly leaning into Evan's shoulder, and the blonde bats him away with a quick slap.

Then all three sets of eyes are trained on Regulus.

"I'm fine."

"Yeah," Barty scoffs, "and I'm my fathers pride and joy."

"We're they horrible this summer?" Pandora asks.

"No worse than normal," Regulus says stiffly. If he didn't feel like a walking bruise, he'd squirm under all of their watchful gazes. They're starting to make him feel like a sick animal at the zoo with the way they're gawking at him.

"You look worse than normal," Evan says. "Seriously, mate."

"It’s fine," Regulus insists, sighing heavily. "I’ll go find Snape as soon as we get there, like I always do. Then he’ll heal me up, like he always does, and then we can go back to our normal lives and you can all stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like something you need to pity," Regulus snaps, practically spitting the word out like dirt in his mouth.

"We’re not—"

"You are, so fucking stop it," he hisses. "If you want to talk, all talk about your own summers. I’m sure you all did absolutely riveting things."

For a moment, the carriage is silent.

Then, Barty nods. "Yeah, he’s fine. He’s still acting like a raccoon crawled up his ass and died."

"Barty!" Pandora scolds.

"Tell me I’m wrong!" Barty laughs. "A mean Regulus is a normal Regulus."

"As long as you go and find Snape as soon as we get to Hogwarts, we’ll lay off," Evan says.

Regulus glares. He ignores the water pouring in the windows and flooding the floors, covering his feet, threatening to rise and drown him.

Survive and adapt.

Survive and adapt.

Adapt. Adapt. Adapt—

"I’ve already said I will."

They all finally back off with the promise.

The water doesn’t recede.

The sorting of first years drags as it always does. It wasn’t exciting for Regulus the first time, mostly because he was split with fear over going into Slytherin. The destiny of his Hogwarts house was going to upset someone - either Sirius by going into Slytherin, or his mother and father by going anywhere else. Turns out, keeping his mother happy sealed the deal of his big brother hating him.

Regulus barely pays attention to the atmosphere around him. He’s vaguely aware of claps and cheers as first years are sorted into their houses, but it’s all background noise. Chin cradled in the palm of his hand, Regulus allows the minute to blur past until Dumbledore finishes his notorious annual welcoming speech, and then suddenly food is popping up in front of everyone and the hall is erupting with noise.

His hands are still trembling from the remnants of his mothers wrath and curses yesterday, so the idea of eating in front of everyone when he’s not even sure if he can hold a spoon without it falling from his fingers adds to the already swimming nausea he’s feeling.

He puts some soup and vegetables in front of him and generously fills a mug with coffee, shoves a pathetic fork-full of vegetables in his mouth before dropping the utensil down on his plate.

He tries to zone in on the conversation Barty and Evan are having, but he feels as detached from the room as the ghosts that float around above them.

His friends allow him to zone out, helped by Pandora sitting at her own table, probably welcoming the new first year Ravenclaws with kind eyes and soft words.

She’s always been good with people, heart too soft and too large for her own good. She’s the polar opposite of him, Barty and Evan, and it’s always been a wonder why they all get along so well.

It’s because of people like Pandora that Regulus believes in the term opposites attract. Though sometimes he does truly wonder why she puts up with all of them.

He blinks back into the present to the sound of Evan arguing with a fourth year about Quidditch. The small amount of food he’s eaten sits like a brick in his stomach. Appetite nonexistent and body aching like he’s gone five rounds with a Hungarian Horntail, Regulus pushes his plate away and drinks his coffee.

Water is covering his feet again. He shivers, coldness consuming his body like a blanket of ice has replaced his skin. His head is pounding, worsened by the activity of the Great Hall.

He doesn’t want to be here.

Breathing feels harder, like the water constantly lipping at his feet has made its way into his lungs. The feeling of drowning is becoming a constant symptom of his everlasting bad luck.

Standing quickly but silently, Regulus climbs out from the benches of the table. Barty glances at him, but Regulus just gives him a silent nod. He hopes it translates enough, and when Barty doesn’t move to follow but nods back, he knows it has.

He makes his exit swift, eyes on the doors of the Great Hall. He knows eyes follow him out, and the tightness in his chest tenfolds with every step he takes.

He doesn’t feel like he can truly breathe until he’s out the doors and in the brisk air of the courtyard.

Panting like he’s run a mile yet he only walked, he stumbles on weak legs to one of the alcoves in the stone walls and collapses down. The water has disappeared, the cold Scotland air flooding every inch of his lungs and his head spins for a moment when the oxygen finally reaches his blood. Exhaustion bites at his muscles, and he drops the glamour he’d put on since they’d arrived at Hogsmede station. Its dark enough and quiet here that he doesn’t need to worry about someone seeing the marks on his skin and the dead look in his face before he can get a glamour back on.

With shaking hands that never seem to cease trembling anymore, he pulls out the box of cigarettes.

He first smoked with Evan and Barty back in third year, when Barty got them from a muggle boy he met over summer and brought them to Hogwarts. The following summer, he brought more and introduced them to cannabis. Pandora quickly jumped on the activity, and they often share joints in the greenhouse. Pandora doesn’t bother with cigarettes, but Regulus smokes like a chimney whenever he gets the chance at Hogwarts. The ridiculous and forbiddingly muggle act seems to be the only thing sometimes that gets his heart to stop hammering like a rabbits under prey.

Knees to his chest and back pressed against the cold stone wall, Regulus uses the feeling of the solid expanse of the pillar to ground him as he smokes his way through his first cigarette.

He’s on his third when he hears footsteps shatter the relaxing silence of the courtyard. It’s too cold to see anything beyond the walls, Hogwarts grounds draped in darkness and the small sliver of the moon above providing no glimmers of light. Regulus didn’t realise he was staring aimlessly into the darkness until he tears his eyes away.

Snape approaches slowly. He’s walking normally, so either his father went easy on him this summer too or the older wizard has already healed himself. Regulus hopes it’s the first, but he knows it’s probably the latter.

Its the thing that brought Regulus close to Snape the first time they interacted during Regulus’ second term in first year. Snape noticed he favoured his wrist after his time at home that Christmas. His mother had grabbed him hard enough to bruise and grind the bones of his wrist together like twigs, but he didn’t have time to ask Kreacher to heal it before they departed again for Hogwarts and he was too scared to ask Sirius after the older boy had practically avoided him the whole of the Yule holiday.

Snape had noticed though, and he pulled Regulus aside to ask what happened. Even when Regulus refused to give him an answer, Snape healed it with a flick of his wand, some salve for the bruise and a potion for the pain.

Regulus knows Snape has known his home conditions since that moment, but it wasn’t till Regulus was in third year that they spoke about it.

Not in detail, of course, and not to the extent that someone would believe they’d grown to care about each other as friends, but enough that they both left with the understanding that their families suck and Snape would always supply him with potions to help.

"You look horrendous, Black," Snape greets, and Regulus doesn’t bother trying to resist the bitter scoff that falls from his mouth.

"Not the first time someone has said that to me today."

"Not surprised," Snape replies, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. He looks at Regulus, eyes moving up and down as if he’s taking in the damage he can see to try and work out the damage hidden beneath his clothing. "I’m more surprised a professor hasn’t pulled you up on it yet."

"They’re distracted with the firsties, they always are on the welcoming feast," Regulus shrugs, taking a greedy drag of the dying cigarette. "I didn’t sit in the hall like this. I kept a glamour on."

Snape hums. A moment of silence passes between them. "How bad was she?"

"Same as usual," Regulus replies shortly. They don’t normally do this on the first day. This song and dance normally comes after Christmas break when Regulus has remembered how to act like a human being again and not someone trying to survive Grimmauld Place. "You going to give me some potions or not?"

Snape scoffs, shaking his head. "You know, some genuine politeness wouldn’t hurt considering this is not the first time I’m healing your scrawny ass."

"My sincerest apologies."

"Merlin, you’re insufferable."

"Hilarious, I think the same about you on a daily basis."

Snape rolls his eyes. "What do you need?"

"Aside from the will to live?" Regulus flicks the dead butt of the cigarette over the ledge, watching as it disappears into the dark abyss. He rolls his head lazily, smirking at Snape’s exasperated expression. "Bruise salve and pain potions. And if you’ve got anything for nerve pain in those pockets, that’d be nice too."

"Any cuts?"

"Thankfully no, none of the bones broke the skin when she tried to shatter them."

"How lucky," Snape drawls, handing him a familiar small cork bottle of green liquid.

Regulus has downed it before Snape even has time to pass him the small pot of bruise salve. Instantly, the aches and sharp pains manipulating Regulus’ body drains out of him, and he can’t help but slump slightly against the stone. He feels pain free for the first time in eight weeks.

He blinks when he see’s Snape holding another two bottles. He recognises the turquoise blue one, as unsurprisingly, he’s become familiar with calming draughts over the years, but the purple one catches his curiosity. 

"It should help with the effects of the Cruciatus," Snape explains. "It’s a modified pain potion specifically for nerve regeneration and pain."

"Is it safe?"

"Have you ever cared about putting safe potions in your body?" Snape asks. "You smoke cigarettes like a chimney, take more potions than an addict and can drink Barty under the table every other weekend. If you start believing your body is a temple then I’m afraid you’ve already destroyed it faster than Trelawney became a lunatic." 

Regulus narrows his eyes. He then promptly snatches the two bottles.

"Touché," he mutters, downing them both too. He doesn’t feel as panicked as he was when he practically ran out of the hall half an hour ago, but realistically, Regulus can’t remember the last time he ever felt remotely calm.

Probably the last time Snape gave him a potion last year.

"Better?" Snape asks.

Regulus closes his eyes and nods. "Much. Thank you."

"My pleasure," Snape replies. "I best be off now. Don’t stay out here too long, you might get caught or worse, get hypothermia and die, and then I’ve just wasted three perfectly good potions."

"Didn’t realised you cared so much."

"Only about the values of my hard work," Snape drawls. "Don’t forget to be generous with the bruise paste. Judging on what I’ve seen the last few years, I imagine you need all of it considering the way you were holding yourself earlier."

"Stop being so observant."

"Stop being a brat."

"Va te faire foutre (Kiss my ass)."

"Don’t insult me in French, Black," Snape growls. "Oh, and by the way, you’re lack of presence at the Prefect meeting on the train unsurprisingly did not go unnoticed, so I should warn you that Potter and Lily are going to be tracking you down over the next couple of days."

"Lucky me."

"Indeed. Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you."

"Appreciated," Regulus sighs. "Did I miss anything important?"

"Nothing more than the usual. Potter is even more insufferable than he was last year."

"I don’t doubt it."

"See you around, Black."

"Merci, Severus."

"Thanking me in French still means you’re thanking me."

"Putain (Whore)."

"I know that one. You call Barty that all the time."

Regulus hums as he pulls out another cigarette. "You should feel special then."

"Yes, because you have marvellous ways of making people feel special."

Regulus clicks his tongue while he places a cigarette between his lips and lights it. Taking the first drag is so much easier without the pain in his chest.

When morning comes, Regulus manages to dodge breakfast in the Great Hall. He tells Evan and Barty he needs to go to the owlery to post something, and doesn’t comment on the fact he has no intensions of joining later when Evan promises to try and save him a seat.

Thankfully, the library is practically empty when Regulus arrives as all the students are having breakfast. He goes to the back, where there are comfier seats and high standing bookcases that make Regulus feel like he finally has some privacy in the large and busy castle.

He barely gets half an hour of peace reading the book Pandora gave him on the train, another novel written by a muggle that he’s disguised to looked like a textbook, before someone is standing over him.

"It’s shocking how badly your shoes need a decent polish," he says, not looking up from the book.

He prays with every fragment of his being that the interrupter goes away nice and quickly.

He isn’t in the mood to talk today. More so than usual.

"It's shocking how badly your attitude is in the morning."

Regulus looks up. "Bold of you to assume it's not like this all the time."

"I don't wish to spend enough time with you to find out your moods across the day, Black," Snape replies. "I'm only here because Slughorn is looking for you."

Regulus frowns. "What?"

"Slughorn has requested to see you before class," Snape explains. "He was looking for you in the Great Hall during breakfast, but unsurprisingly your attendance wasn't there so he requested I find you and let you know that he wants to see you in his office before first lesson."

Regulus frowns harder. He can't think of a single positive reason why Slughorn wants to have a meeting with him, let alone already so early in the year. The only times Slughorn has wanted to see him in private has been to discuss if Regulus his silly little Slug Club that Regulus was begrudgingly dragged to by Snape last year. It was less than enjoyable, even more so after Lupin and Evan's were invited and resulted in Snape spending the entire time whispering his own grief and disgust in Regulus' ear.

"Brilliant," Regulus mutters. "Well, excuse me while I go see what our abysmal excuse of a Head of House wants with me."

"I'll be impressed if you've managed to disappoint him already."

"Don't doubt my ability to disappoint, Snape," Regulus says as he snaps his book closed and raises to his feet, pointedly brushing off his clothes. He looks up at Snape and smirks unkindly, "It's a natural gift in consequence of the Black gene."

"I knew that the moment I met your poor excuse of a brother."

"Yes, well, we can't choose our family, can we?"

Snape's scowl sobers at that. The simple statement is like the motto of both their lives. It's something both of them have come to learn in a short amount of time that family has a lot of different personalities.

"Yes. I suppose so." 

Regulus hums in reply, already moving past the seventh year and exiting the library. 

The hallways are still empty apart from the odd student making their way to or from the Great Hall, but soon Regulus is ducking down into the dungeons once more. 

Outside the door, Regulus knocks twice and waits, book tucked under his arm and mind going a mile a minute as to what Slughorn might want.

Is it to do with the prefects?

Is he going to remove Regulus because he's a Black and the rise of Voldemort is nearing?

Is this about Voldemort and everyone's no doubt assumptions with who his followers are going to be?

Is Regulus in trouble?

Have his parents contacted about something?

Is—

"Enter!"

Sucking a breath into his aching lungs, Regulus opens the door and walks in with the same false sense of confidence he's used since he started Hogwarts years ago.

Slughorn is behind his desk, and his face breaks out in the same clueless smile it always does when he notices who's walked into his office.

"Regulus! My boy!" He greets, putting down the papers he was previously reading. "I see Severus found you."

Unfortunately.

"Yes," Regulus replies. "He said you wished to see me?"

"Indeed, my boy. Have a seat, don't stand and waste the energy you'll need for today. I noticed you weren't at breakfast this morning."

"I went down early. I needed to return some books to the library that I borrowed over summer, so I must have left by the time you arrived."

"Ah yes, the early bird gets the worm," Slughorn smiles. "Now, onto more important matters. I am sure you and your family were upmost impressed with your O.W.L scores you received this summer, yes?"

"Oh," Regulus blinks in surprise. Impressed is not the term Regulus would use to describe his parents reaction to his O.W.L results. Expected, yes, but not impressed. It was more than assumed and premeditated that Regulus was going to pass his O.W.L's with nothing less than the best. Regulus doesn't think his parents batted an eyelid at his successful results, as soon as they saw he didn't fail them like they'd potentially feared then they didn't say anymore. Regulus wasn't impressed either, he was just grateful he passed for his own sanity. Results came out in the middle of summer, and if he'd achieved anything less than the best, it would have been a gruelling result of the holidays. Or at least, worse than normal. "Yes," he adds flatly.

"I was certainly impressed," Slughorn says. "You passed with flying colours, my boy. The best in the year, in fact. You have particularly excelled and showed excellence in potions and transfiguration."

Regulus refused the urge to shift uncomfortably. This is the first time someone has raved about his results. It feels weird, but the recognition is nice for once.

"Thank you, Professor."

"Which, brings me to the topic of today. Did you do any of the summer reading I recommended?"

Regulus nods. Before the end of last year, Slughorn had come to him with some content to read over summer after he'd realised Regulus was already looking into sixth year transfigutation and potions curriculum. He was bored of fifth year, having solidified the stuff he'd been taught with his current peers and needed new stuff to learn.

"Of course, Professor."

"Wonderful!" Slughorn cheers. "Are you confident in it?"

"I like to think so."

"Splendid!" Slughorn nods. "Well, I've discussed it with Professor Dumbledore and we've come to the agreement that you are to attend seventh year transfiguration and potions this year in preparation for taking the N.E.W.T exams at the end of the year."

Regulus frowns. "N.E.W.T exams are for the end of seventh year, Professor. Why would I need to be studying for them now?"

"Because, my boy, you are clearly achieving above and beyond your classmates abilities and you've already covered sixth year content in your own time," Slughorn explains. "I believe it would be a waste of skill for you to not take seventh year potions and transfiguration early and attend the N.E.W.T exams in the summer. Don't you agree?"

No, Regulus wants to scream.

Seventh year with the Slytherins means seventh year with the Gryffindors, and with seventh year Gryffindors, come the four people Regulus tries to avoid more than Mulciber and Avery. He knows this because Snape is always moaning about his brother and merry band of nuisance followers in his potion and transfiguration classes.

The last thing Regulus needs on top of this year is to spend two of his classes in the same room as Sirius.

Absolutely not.

No way.

"I'm not sure, Professor," he begins wearily, heart pounding like a jackhammer in his suddenly tight chest. "Missing a whole year of properly taught classes will only set me up for failure—"

"Nonsense, Mr Black!" Slughorn interrupts, scoffing disbelievingly. "You're my star student, and despite only just starting sixth year, you're already better than the majority of my seventh years. I think you should see this as an honourable opportunity to impress and succeed instead of a set up to miserably fail. Dumbledore agrees that you have potential, and it seems to be futile to make you sit through sixth year classes when you've already proven you are far above your current peers learning levels."

Regulus won't deny that he knows he's a prodigy in the making when it comes to transfiguration and potions. They're the only two subjects he enjoys attending. Granted, all of his results were O's and E's in everything, but transfiguration and potions are the two he excels in the most.

When Slughorn caught him studying sixth year content last year and offered him some reading to do and practice over the summer, Regulus had never imagined it was to bump him up a year and shove him in with those taking their N.E.W.T's.

Regulus shakes his head. He can't do this. He doesn't care how much of a disappointment he'll be to Slughorn and Dumbledore, and even more to his parents when they find out he declined the chance to make the Black name look somehow more impressive. He can't be in a class with the seventh year Gryffindors.

He can't.

He can't be with Sirius.

Surely his parents would disapprove of that more?

Right?

"There's no need to be nervous, my boy. Mr Snape is in that class, and he has already taken you under his wing in the dorms, I don't doubt he'll be a friend in the classroom too."

No.

No.

Sirius will be there.

Sirius will be there.

Sirius will—

Sirius—

"Mr Black," Slughorn says. "You're very intelligent, and proven yourself to be an incredible student and learner amongst all classes. I appreciate your family's situation and potential. . . alliances may sway your judgment and influence, but I must ask that you try to see a future for yourself. You have the potential to go very far in life if you don't allow some. . . misguided people influence you along the way."

Regulus narrows his eyes. He feels like his skin is covered in thousands of ants. 

Is Slughorn implying what Regulus thinks he is?

Regulus wants to be angry, wants to snap at the man for daring to talk ill of his parents and family, but he can’t find it in himself to be anything other than numb. Slughorn knows Regulus’ family isn’t on the path to do beautiful and kind things. With Voldemort on the rise, Slughorn already knows Regulus is destined to follow in the footsteps on his mad cousins and uncles.

Bellatrix’ laugh flashes in his mind suddenly. Once so fun and daring, now mad and vicious in everything she does. There’s a wildness in her eyes, and cruelty in her words and a hunger for permanent violence and harm. She used to be the wild horse of the family, always a little too rough and intimidating but knew how to make a boring formal family dinner fun. Now, she’s just as crazy as the monsters locked in Azkaban.

Regulus shakes away the thought, mostly because he can feel the mask on his face slipping and he'll be damned if he's going to let someone like Slughorn know he's caught Regulus off guard.

"Okay."

Slughorn beams. "Okay? You'll join the seventh year transfiguration and potions?"

"Yes," Regulus agrees, voice cracking hoarsely. His palms feel sweaty where they're clasped around the book in his arms.

"Wonderful!" Slughorn’s face lights up like the Christmas tree in the Great Hall in December. "Oh, I’m so pleased, Mr Black. You will flourished, I’m certain of it. You know, I believe you will have a fine and successful career in transfiguration or potions if you choose to study it after Hogwarts."

Regulus gives him a tight lipped smiled. He hardly has a choice what happens to him after Hogwarts, but he doesn’t choose to tell Slughorn that. The man probably already knows Regulus’ fate was sealed the moment he came out of his mothers womb.

Regulus never gets to choose. 

"Perhaps, Professor," he replies. "Do you need me for anything else? I believe classes will be starting soon and—"

"Of course, of course. My apologises, I don’t wish to make you late for classes. I just wanted to talk to you about transfiguration and potions," Slughorn nods. Then, he seems to sober dramatically from his excitement of Regulus’ O.W.L results. "How was your summer, Mr Black?"

Regulus’ back stiffens.

Isn’t that a million dollar question?

"Fine," Regulus replies. "Quiet. My parents were away a lot. Gave me plenty of time to read and study."

"I sure hope you had some downtime too, Mr Black. It was your time off from Hogwarts."

"Of course, Professor."

"Your parents well?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Good. Good. That’s. . . good," Slughorn murmurs. "I. . ."

The tension in Regulus’ shoulders is becoming painful. He wants out, and he wants out now. He doesn’t need Slughorn pressing about his family, or asking if he’s okay at home. The old man is only doing it because of Sirius, because his brother ran away and left his little brother behind and no one outside of Gryffindor knows why.

Has someone told Slughorn to keep an eye on him?

Regulus doesn’t need help.

He’s fine. He can handle his parents, like Sirius couldn’t.

He doesn’t care how unfair he sounds. Sirius got out and left him behind to burn, he can be as fucking bitter as he wants.

"I’m fine, Professor," Regulus says, voice as calm and passive as always. Show no weakness, show no emotion. "Thank you for asking, but I really must go and get my timetable now."

"Of course," Slughorn murmurs. "See you in class, Mr Black."

Regulus can’t get out of the room faster, but he manages to not allow his legs to run him out like they’re twitching too. It’s only after the door is shut behind him and he checks the corridor to be empty that he allows himself to collapse against the wall.

Classes with Sirius and Potter?

Slughorn taking a sudden interest in his family and his home life?

It’s going to be a long year.

— tbc.