this burden came to me
2
Regulus has never understood when people say that breakfast is the best meal of the day. He doesn’t understand how people can wake up with a craving for sloppy porridge or slices of toast that taste like ash disintegrating inside his mouth.
Getting up in the morning is hard enough itself, let alone knowing you then have to spend the next hour sitting in a hall filled with people trying to make pointless conversation with you while you choke down some scrambled eggs that make you feel instantly sick to your stomach.
Yes, Regulus really hates breakfast.
He hates it even more at Hogwarts. The hall is loud, the students are unnecessarily boisterous and the wafts of food make Regulus feel more sick than the feeling of the walls closing in.
Every year he seems to come back after summer hating it more. Ever since that first time he stepped into the hall, so naive and excited to finally be at the infamous Hogwarts that Sirius raved about over the summer. Then the hat put him in Slytherin, and one glance over across the hall at the Gryffindor table where Sirius looked disappointed had the world Regulus was so excited to be in came crashing down.
He’ll never get the look of disgust out of his mind, or the feeling of suffocating fear when Sirius ran away from him outside the hall that first evening. The Great Hall never quite felt the same, considering it was the room where Regulus first began to recognise the feeling of rotting on the inside.
Regulus stopped looking for Sirius since his third year, and ever since he makes sure to sit with his back to the Gryffindor table to avoid any chance of eye contact. He doesn’t want to know what he’ll be able to see in Sirius’ eyes if he ever had to see them again.
Except it doesn’t matter. The feeble attempts at avoiding more mental deconstruction in the Great Hall is pointless as Regulus is now going to have to spend two classrooms with Sirius and his merry band of followers.
A weight suddenly drops down beside Regulus making him jump and drop the slice of toast he was loosely holding. It clatters on the plate with a smack, crumbs flying off and coating the table top.
Glancing to the side, he see’s Snape adjusting himself on the bench, looking at Regulus with a clipped raised eyebrow.
"Morning," Regulus sighs, missing the energy to snap at the older student for making him jump. He ignores the abandoned toast on the plate, it’s cold now anyways, and picks up his mug of coffee instead.
"Morning, Black," Snape replies. "I’m getting really sick of being your personal messenger."
Regulus raises an eyebrow. "Then don't relay the message."
"It’s about the prefect meeting you missed last night," Snape explains. "The second one this term you’ve managed to forget and fail to show yourself at. Perhaps you should treat yourself to a diary or calendar so you don’t keep forgetting your attendance to the meetings is a requirement for wearing that badge."
I’d happily give it back, Regulus thinks. He never wanted to be prefect anyways. He knows he got it because of Slughorn’s good word, but Regulus hardly wants anymore reason to be under the radar at Hogwarts. It’s hard enough being invisible at home, and being prefect makes it much harder to stay invisible at Hogwarts.
Plus, he doesn’t have the energy anymore to snark the other house prefects that look at him like a pureblood maniac.
"My apologises," Regulus mutters into his mug. "Please, do share the news you have immediately. I can’t wait any longer to find out what exciting things must have happened."
Snape scoffs next to him. "You’re a right bastard in the mornings, you know that?"
"Bold of you to assume I’m not a bastard all the time."
"You’re paired with Greenwood from Ravenclaw for rounds," Snape says, pouring himself a coffee. "Your rounds are on Tuesday’s and Wednesday’s. Apparently those days won’t interfere with Quidditch practice."
"Fantastic," Regulus replies.
"Did you say Greenwood?" Barty suddenly pipes in. "The beater from Ravenclaw?"
"Do you know another Greenwood from Ravenclaw that’s old enough to be a prefect?" Snape drawls.
Barty barks a laugh, tossing a grape across the table that entirely misses Regulus and rolls somewhere on the floor behind him. "Sucks to be you, Black. That Greenwood is a right cunt."
"Shame. I’m sure he’d say the same about you, Crouch," Regulus muses, only because he can’t be bothered to enable Barty’s attitude before 10AM.
"Fuck off," Barty grumbles. "You’re just being an ass because you’ve got your special classes today. Karma for being a fucking swot and a try-hard, getting to spend two subjects a week with your precious blood-traitor for a brother."
"That’s enough, Crouch," Snape says. "It’s far to early in the morning for your whining and jealousy."
"Jealous? Of Regulus?"
"Of course," Snape shrugs. "Pureblood. Sacred 28. Heir to the House of Black. Doesn’t look like a scavenging rat with a crooked tie."
Barty scowls, lip curling up like a snarling grim. "Fuck you, Snape."
Snape just smiles, eyebrow twitching up smugly as he takes a sip of his coffee. "Jealousy is an ugly emotion, Crouch."
"Will you two stop it?" Evan snaps. "It’s too early for your bickering. Just shut the fuck up and eat or piss off and go somewhere else."
For the first time in his life, Regulus agrees with Evan.
Unsurprisingly, the rest of breakfast is carried out in silence. Barty glares at them all with looks that could kill, but thankfully he doesn’t open his mouth again.
Regulus manages to choke down a slice of toast to keep Evan and Snape happy, but when time ticks enough that everyone left starts leaving for classes, he can’t tell if he’s grateful it’s over or wanting to drown himself in the black lake because now it’s time for year seven potions.
Barty was right - this is karma at it’s cruelest.
"Have you told you parents?" Evan asks as they’re walking out the hall.
"Not yet," Regulus replies. "I’ll do it tonight."
"What do you think they’re going to say?"
"Who knows with them."
Regulus knows the only thing he can do to make them truly proud is randomly decide to murder a hundred muggles and take the Dark Lord’s mark like it’s a handshake from the royal monarch. They won’t be proud about him being smart enough to move up a year in two subjects, and they are impressed in any fragment or sort, they will only turn it into something twisted and bitter about how it shows his success as the rightful Heir.
Regulus doesn’t want to know what their opinion will be about him being in class with Sirius. They’ll probably be disappointed to find out if Regulus doesn’t hex him on the spot in the middle of class.
"They’ve got to be proud about it, right?" Evan says. "Ignoring Barty’s comments, is it rather impressive."
"Yeah," Regulus mumbles. "Maybe."
"Don’t leave it too long to tell them. They won’t be happy to hear about it from someone else."
Like I don’t bloody know that, Regulus thinks grimly.
"I’ll do it at lunch."
"Okay," Evan smiles. "Good luck today. Don’t listen to a thing them Gryffindor’s say. Actually, don’t even look at them. Just stick with Snape, yeah?"
Regulus just nods. He was already planning on pretending the rest of the class don’t exist outside of him and Snape.
"I’ve got a free period before lunch. Meet in the Quidditch stands?"
Regulus nods again, throat feeling too tight to speak.
"Black," Snape says behind them. "Come on. We’re going to be late."
Evan smiles at him before turning and catching up with Barty down the hall.
Regulus feels like he’s walking with bricks of cement in his shoes as he follows Snape to the potions classroom. He thanks his years of having to hide the true way he’s feeling by using a thick mask, meaning that everyone around him is unaware of the way his chest feels like a hippogriff is using it as a trampoline. His hands are trembling around the books clutched to his chest, every inch of his body crying out for him to stop moving and run away.
Adapt.
Adapt.
Adapt.
Snape sits at the back. Regulus doesn’t hesitate to drop down beside him. He manages to control his muscles in his trembling legs enough to not allow himself to simply collapse into the chair, but instead sit down steady and controlled. Crossing his arms and tucking his hands into his sides, he leans back to try and conceal the way his entire body feels like it’s vibrating.
Other students continue to flow in. The seats filling up like a flood of water consuming the room.
"Black?"
Regulus manages to stop himself from jumping a foot in the air at the sudden snap of his name. Instead, he juts up his chin as Avery comes to stand in front of his desk, looking down at him.
"What are you doing in here? You are aware this is seventh year, or did mummy and daddy scramble your brain up so much over summer that you’ve forgotten your own age?"
Stopping himself from rolling his eyes, Regulus replies in the most bored tone he can muster, "Sorry to ruin your pride, Avery, but our darling Slughorn has informed me that my intelligence runs higher than peers my own age and now I’m being subjected to attending classes with the likes of you. Don’t worry, though, I’ll stay nice and quiet so he doesn’t realise I’m more impressive than people your age too."
Avery laughs. "Typical. Mummy and daddy must be so proud."
"They’re ecstatic. Simply, they’re practically killing themselves with pride."
"Isn’t it about time you took your seat, Avery?" Snape interjects. "Unless you’re planning on fawning over our desk like a desperate housewife, I suggest you find a seat soon before the last ones left are with the Gryffindors."
Avery looks between the two of them, seemingly wanting to say more, but decides better of it and turns around with a huff.
"Why did I take the bait when Slughorn asked me to do extra work over summer?"
"Because you’re an overachieving heir of a pureblood family that wanted to be more preoccupied with school work than wanting to kill yourself for eight weeks thinking about miserable your sad little life is?"
Regulus blinks. Well, he thinks. Hit the nail on the fucking head with that one.
"Charming, Snape."
Severus shrugs. "I’d like to see you come up with another reason."
Regulus bristles and refuses to give into the urge to slouch in the chair. The room becomes alive with noise suddenly, and even without looking at the door, he knows exactly who has walked in.
Heart racing like it’s climbing up his throat, he refuses to look at the door. Eyes trained on the front, he listens to the bustling noise and shouts suddenly cut out, and knows he’s got four pairs of eyes trained on him and Snape sitting at the desk. Hushed whispers follow, but Regulus doesn’t allow himself to look.
Years of self training to be able to ignore the instincts to lash out, to meet the eyes of people he’s not allowed to meet eyes with, to ignore the commotion of noise on the other side of the room, are finally paying off.
Evan’s voice rings in his head.
Don’t even look at them.
His mothers voice rings in his head.
Your traitor brother is dead to us, Regulus. You won’t have anything to do with him anymore.
His fathers voice overpowers them all.
Make us proud. Be the Heir your pathetic brother couldn’t.
Adapt.
Adapt.
Adapt.
Slughorn enters then, bursting through the door like a circus act, fumbling with his glasses sliding off his nose and robes billowing around him like an untameable curtain caught in the wind.
"Hello, students!" He cheers, dropping his papers on the desk and turning to face them all. "I hope you had restful summers and are prepared to begin your last year at Hogwarts. I’m sure you all noticed, and though this young man needs no introduction, I’d like us all to welcome the young Regulus Black to our class this year. His exceptional achievements in his studies last year have enabled him to surpass his own fellow students and required him to attend this curriculum. Mr Black, welcome!"
Heads turn towards him suddenly like they’re ogling a strange animal at the zoo. Regulus is torn between snarling at them or hiding under the desk. He wants to curse Slughorn into oblivion for calling him out like that, but he knows he should have expected it. Slughorn has never been one for subtly, and the chance to show off an excelling Slytherin student was too good for the old man to pass up.
Even if it was at Regulus’ expense.
Regulus doesn’t react. He can’t allow himself to even twitch a reply. He pulls up the guard, ignoring the feeling of freezing water suddenly lapping at his feet and threatening to rise and drown him. Eyes fleeting across the room, they stumble to the far corner and see none other than Sirius and his friends looking back.
Four sets of piercing eyes. A mixture of confusion, anger and resentment in all of them.
Inwardly sighing, Regulus decides this is going to be the longest year of his life.
Regulus knew Evan Rosier before they started Hogwarts. The Rosier’s are highly respectable pure-bloods, so it’s unsurprising that they attended all the same parties and balls that the Black family did. Regulus first met Evan when he was eight, and truthfully, he hated him to begin with. Regulus supposes it doesn’t matter who it was, as he hated anyone growing up that was Sirius. It was nice at least, when starting Hogwarts, Evan was a familiar face in the huge school of unknown.
When Sirius started drifting away from Regulus because he was sorted into Slytherin, Regulus found solace in Evan. Two apples that have fallen from similar trees and grown up in similar environments, it was nice to have someone who understood the pressures and skeletons in the closet in surviving in pureblood households.
Regulus has never really clicked with Barty. They opposite in every way apart from their ability to ruin any atmosphere when they walk into a room. Barty is too loud for Regulus, too proud and too desperate to fit in. Barty was born with a gift of not being instantly thrusted into the world of dark magic and reputation. Sure, Barty was disadvantaged with the sorting into Slytherin and the teasing of his father being the Minister, but Barty could have used it as an excuse to fly under the radar like Regulus has always dreamed of. He could have used it to make himself invisible, used it as a way to rebel against the Slytherin reputation of dark wizards and unforgivable curses.
Instead, Barty has done everything in his power to separate himself from his fathers reigns and become what everyone believes Slytherin are.
Regulus kind of resents him for that.
Evan is alone when Regulus finds him. They started meeting round the back of the Quidditch stands to smoke in-between classes when they couldn’t go the greenhouse. It became a bit of a thing between the two of them when Regulus needed to start having time away from Barty during the day. Sure, Regulus likes Barty as much as one can like a friend, but between sharing a dorm room, classes and all meal times, Regulus needs a break from his loud and overbearing friend. Evan joining him confirms to Regulus he isn’t the only one.
"How was potions?" Evan asks as Regulus drops down on the grass next to him and fishes out his box of cigarettes.
Regulus doesn’t answer he’s taken one and lit it, taking a long drag while Evan takes his own.
"Riveting," he replies. "Truly, best thing that’s ever happened to me. I rather enjoyed being under the spotlight of my brother and his merry band of followers. Have I got a hole in the side of my head from all their staring?"
Evan laughs, shaking his head. "Regretting being a smart arse yet?"
"Always. Even if it was fun showing Mulciber up at a simple question Slughorn asked," Regulus muses.
"How was it being in class with your brother?"
"Pretended he wasn’t there. Like the shoe is on the other foot, as he’s been pretending I don’t exist for the last two years."
"Feeling okay?"
Can’t remember the last time I felt okay.
"Of course."
"You don’t have to lie to me, you know."
"Lying to you means I can lie to myself," Regulus shrugs. "Therefore, it makes it easier."
"Fair enough," Evan nods.
Silence passes between them. The only sounds to be heard are distant shouts at the castle grounds and the crackle of the paper and tobacco between their lips.
Regulus feels exhausted. It’s only 11am. He’s only done one class but between the awkward breakfast and then spending an hour and a half sitting in the same classroom with his estranged brother and his protective army of Gryffindors has left him feeling more drained than a meal with his parents. He didn’t get anywhere near enough sleep last night, or in the last year, to feel energised enough to deal with this stuff today.
"He is jealous, you know."
Regulus’ eyes snap open. "What?"
"Barty," Evan says, eyes on the castle in front of them. "He’s jealous of you. Always has been."
Regulus scoffs harshly. "What in Merlin’s beard could he be jealous of?"
"Regulus, you were the Prince of Slytherin before you were even old enough to go here," Evan says, looking at him with a don’t be daft type of expression. "You’re a pureblood, you’re a Black, you’re a fucking Heir. You don’t even have to ask or earn respect, just your name and status give it to you automatically. You’re entire life has been written out, and anything you ask for can be handed to you at the drop of a hat on a silver platter."
Regulus knows his jaw is dropped. He feels like he’s gotten whiplash and his brain is no longer connected to his spine and body.
"Have we all forgotten that my parents use me as target practice?"
Evan sighs, shaking his head.
"In Barty’s eyes, his dad is a cunt too."
The laugh that is punched out of Regulus’ chest is cold and nasty. He tosses his head cigarette at their feet and gets another one out.
"I don’t recall Barty ever needing to practically overdose on nerve healers and pain potions just to be able to sit straight in the Great Hall."
"He doesn’t see that," Evan counters, shrugging. "All he sees is the way people move out of your way when you walk down the hall and how none of the Slytherins mess with you because you’re the Heir to the House of Black."
"I’d trade places with him at the drop of a heartbeat."
"I know that, but he doesn’t."
"Well he should," Regulus snarls. "Is he that blinded by hunger for power and fucking respect that he can’t see how much I hate the life I’ve been handed?"
"Maybe. Or maybe he just thinks you’re blind to the entitlements you’ve been handed whereas he’s had to work and grovel for the minuscule amount of respect he’s managed to gain over six years."
Regulus can’t quite believe it. Barty is jealous of him?
Sure, Regulus walks around the corridors and the Great Hall with his chin high enough to look down his nose at anyone and anything despite being shorter than most of his peers. He keeps his shoulders back, his spine straight and his robes tidy and neat, but that’s only because he has to. He doesn’t even want to know the consequences he’d receive if his parents received word that he was being sloppy or anything less than the pureblood royalty they believe they are. Behind closed doors, Regulus knows the mask of a pureblood slips from his face. Evan and Barty have seen it. They’ve seen the mask fall and his shoulders drop, they’ve seen the scars on his skin and the blood oozing from his wounds his parents leave. They’ve seen the bags under his eyes and the tremble in his hands.
Its all an act for everyone else, but it never has been for Evan and Barty.
So how the hell has Barty decided he’s jealous of Regulus?
"He’s a fool if he’s jealous of me," Regulus decides. "I’m fine with everyone else thinking I’m royalty and wishing they had my life, but not you or him. He’s seen the behind the scenes to the life of Regulus Black. If he still wants it, he’s delusional."
"I never said his jealousy was valid," Evan shrugs. "He loves you."
"Loves the idea of me, more like."
"Well, you are a bit of a cunt to him."
"He’s a bit of a cunt to me."
"Clearly that’s both your love languages."
"Sometimes I can’t tell who I want to kill more. Myself or him."
"Don’t leave me with him," Evan whines. "If you’ve ever had any respect for me, you won’t leave me with that twat."
Regulus laughs. He can’t help it. It eases the tension in his chest at what Evan revealed that piled on top of the already shit morning he’s had.
"Has Snape healed you up?"
"Mostly," Regulus murmurs. "What needed to be healed has been dealt with."
"And what hasn’t?"
Regulus doesn’t reply. He takes a drag of his cigarette instead. What Snape hasn’t healed are wounds his potions can’t touch. There isn’t a lot to take to silence the tornado inside Regulus’ mind, or the way he feels like he’s permanently treading through sinking sand, or the way he can feel and hear water no one else notices pouring down the walls and lapping at his legs and feet.
Evan talks some more about his summer. He talks about his classes. He talks about the gossip going around that he heard at the balls and parties he attended with his parents. He talks about what he knows about the rising Dark Lord and the people his father told him are certifying their alliance against Dumbledore and the ministry.
Regulus doesn’t listen that hard. He lets Evan’s voice become white noise after he starts talking about the Dark Lord and his followers. He doesn’t want to listen, he knows enough and doesn’t want to think about the impending milestone in his life when his parents force him to kneel for a madman.
Suddenly, an elbow is jabbing into his arm. He looks sharply at Evan, tuning back into the world.
"Want to come to lunch?" Evan asks. By the looks of his face, he’s asked once already when Regulus wasn’t listening.
Regulus shakes his head. "I’m going to write a letter to my parents. I’ll meet you there after."
"Alright," Evan nods, standing up and brushing off his robes. "Cheers for the smokes. See you in a bit, yeah?"
Regulus nods, despite having no intentions of going to lunch. If anyone asks, he can pretend it took an hour to write to his parents.
After watching Evan’s retreating back, he pulls out some parchment and a quill from his bag.
Mother and father,
Apologies for not writing immediately after arriving at Hogwarts yesterday. I was busy with Prefect meetings and discussing plans for this year with Professor Slughorn.
I have been paired with a Ravenclaw for prefect rounds. I do not know of their blood status but I will be sure to find out and act accordingly if they are not sufficient enough to prioritise my time with.
Professor Slughorn was impressed by my summer work and has offered an opportunity to take my potions and transfiguration NEWT’s this year. I accepted the offer, as it is a great opportunity to excel in my studies and further promote the family name.
Toujours pur,
Regulus Arcturus Black.
Regulus wants to burn the parchment as soon as he’s written it. He debates adding about being in classes with Sirius, but he decides if his parents put the dots together and ask, he’ll be honest about it then. He’s not going to make it easier for them to make this year harder on him.
Trekking up the owlery, the letter burns a whole in his pocket. He spends the rest of lunch up in the owlery. Despite it smelling damp and of birds, he sits on the steps outside and reads some more of Pandora’s book. She wore on her lasting years when she gave it to Regulus the day before that Withering Heights is her all time favourite book and that there was no way Regulus would not enjoy it.
He can’t tell yet if it’s worth his time, but it’s working as a distraction from the shitstorm that he calls life.
When it’s 10 minutes left of lunch, Regulus makes his way back to the castle. He’s got enough time to dip into the Great Hall and grab an apple to eat on his way to class, then at least if Severus see’s him eating then Regulus can use him as confirmation when Evan frets later about him missing lunch.
"Regulus!"
Looking up from where his eyes had been transfixed on the grass in front of him, Regulus slows to a stop at the call of his name. The perpetrator is instantly recognised.
Regulus has hated James Potter since the first time Sirius said his name when he got back from his first year at Hogwarts. James Potter was the sole person who drove a wedge between Regulus and Sirius, who tore his older brother from his bare hands by merely being everything Regulus couldn’t.
The first time they met was on the train to Hogwarts in Regulus’ first year. Sirius insisted on him sitting in the carriage with his friends. James Potter was everything you’d want him a person. Kind, bold, funny, slightly naive and so so pretty. Regulus had been transfixed, and instantly understood why Sirius was so besotted by his best friend.
Then Regulus got sorted into Slytherin. James started to look at him with sympathy, with pity, and as Regulus and Sirius began to drift, he started to look at Regulus with defiance, as if daring him to come over and upset Sirius just so James could have the opportunity to rip him limb from limb.
James always matched Sirius’ resentment. It was like they were one person, one emotion and one judgement. Whatever Sirius said to James, he drank every word and took it as his own vendetta.
When Sirius ran away last summer. There was a small moment when James looked at him, almost desperate to come over and speak, but he never did. He very quickly went back to glaring like the rest of them.
Regulus hates him, but he’s also been in love with him since he can remember. He realised it fully in third year, when James came into the hall and brought Lily Evan’s a bouquet of flowers, and Regulus was punched with the realisation that he wanted that.
Regulus doesn’t know if he hates James or himself more.
"You’re a hard man to find, Black," James says, slightly breathless from clearly bolting across of the green.
"Perhaps you’re not looking hard enough," Regulus replies.
"True," James nods. "Shame speaking to you isn’t the thing that gets me up every morning."
"The feeling is mutual," Regulus says dryly. "What do you want?"
"We need to talk about the prefect meeting—"
"No need. I’m paired with Greenwood on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Thankfully, as I am already aware of the arrangements, there is no need for this to carry out any longer than it needs to."
James frowns. "You missed the meeting—"
"I hardly think it was necessary to attend as I have been prefect already for a year, Potter. Apart from assigning the rounds, there was hardly anything new to discuss. Unless, the meeting was purely to celebrate your new unearned title as Head Boy, to which I do not doubt would have caused me more pain than necessary."
James huffs, a mix between a sigh and a laugh. He runs his hand through his ridiculously messy hair.
"Do you always talk like you’ve stepped out of the 1920’s royal family?"
"Do you always look like you’ve got one-on-one with a hippogriff and lost?"
This time, James definitely sighs. "The next meeting is in two weeks."
"I’ll be sure to add it to my diary."
"Was that sarcasm?" The Gryffindor grins. "You’re very difficult to speak to, you know?"
"Good. I hope it’s put you off attempting to speak to me in the future," Regulus says, turning to keep making his way to the castle.
"Wait!"
Regulus stops and looks over his shoulder. "What?"
"H-how was your summer?"
"Excuse me?"
The boyish grin from Potter’s face is gone. Now, he suddenly looks nervous.
"Your summer?" James says. Regulus suddenly realises that James’ eyes are tracking him up and down. Regulus barely contains the urge to squirm and tell him to stop. "How are you?"
Regulus swallows down his panic and uses all of his control to keep his shoulders back and straight. "And why, do tell, do you think you have a right to ask?"
"Well, I just— I thought— I wanted to check—"
"Stop sputtering like an idiot, Potter. What you are asking is none of your business, so don’t ask again."
"But—"
"Are you deaf as well as stupid?"
"Sorry," James says. "I— sorry."
"Prongs?" Someone shouts. "Where are you, mate?"
At the sound of his brothers voice, Regulus’ lungs collapse like a clamp has closed over them. He’s turning on his heel before James can even turn to the call, practically running down the corridor away from him and his incoming followers.
Rounding the corner and collapsing into the bathrooms, Regulus can barely keep the strength in his knees to stop him from collapsing in a heap on the dirty floor.
What was James playing at?
Why was he asking those things?
Was he doing it for Sirius? No— Sirius doesn’t care.
He probably wants to hear about all the times Regulus was treated like a king and prince that never happened.
There’s water rushing into the room. It’s flowing under the closed door, seeping down the walls and pooling on the floor. It’s in his shoes, ice cold and biting. Waves of water are crashing against his shins, soaking his trousers. His lungs are full of water, refusing to fully expand and he can taste the salt on his tongue. There’s no air in the room, he can’t see his feet anymore beneath the water that’s rising and rising and rising—
Scrambling with hands shaking worse than after a round with his mother, he digs into his pockets desperately. Water is soaking up his robes. He can feel it on his back now, chilling his skin and down to the bone. His fingers brush against the cold glass in his robe pocket, and he snatches with shaky hands, bringing the bottle out. The cork tumbles from his fingers once he gets it free, but he doesn’t hear it splash in the water below as he’s throwing it back like a double shot.
The liquid of the calming draught slicks to the sides of his throat like car oil, thick and smooth and disgusting. The taste is gone on his tongue. He doesn’t taste it, doesn’t hear his own wheezing and the water crashing against the doors of the toilet cubicles.
Suddenly, as quick as it came, the water recedes. Gone like it was never there, his clothes and the floor dry. His lungs feel released, expanding and filling with air.
Dizziness consumes him like a blanket. His legs finally give way beneath him and he goes sliding down the wall to the floor.
His head and chest ache. His lungs feel tired like he’s run a marathon and the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears makes him feel sick. He grabs a pain potion from his bag, drinking it quickly like he did the calming draught. Within seconds, the aches are gone and replaced by the settling numbness.
Stupid James Potter.
Stupid, stupid—
Regulus is five minutes late for transfiguration. He has to spend a few minutes altering his glamour to hide the red puffy eyes and pallor his skin. The pain and calming potions swim in his veins still, just enough to feel like he’s not going to overflow onto the castle floor. He pointedly ignores the Gryffindors as he walks in, more importantly, he does not even glance to the side he thinks James might be. He finds Severus instantly, making a beeline for the empty spot beside him and apologising to McGonagall.
The professor seems to let it go with a tut, introducing him to the class as Slughorn did. This time, Regulus can’t find the energy to feel uncomfortable about. He wants to sink into the seat, to slump so low people can only see the top of his hair.
But he can’t.
He’s a Black, after all. Straight back, high chin and solid shoulders. He can not be anything less.
Regulus tunes out the majority of the lesson. He doesn’t mean too, but his mind decides replaying the events with Potter is far more important than whatever Professor McGonagall is going to teach them. He can catch up later anyway - it’ll be an excuse to hide in the library from everyone.
"Are you even listening?" Snape suddenly says, hushed and low.
"Of course."
"You haven’t written anything down."
Regulus looks down at his plain parchment. Oh.
"I’ll go over it later and make notes," Regulus argues.
"She’s talking about us doing paired projects now," Severus explains.
Regulus sighs. "Wonderful."
Project? He wonders. What project?
"Cross your fingers you aren’t with someone distasteful."
Like Sirius?
Or James?
Glancing at Severus’ notes, he spots that he’s made notes on turning a tortoise to a trumpet, so he jots that down as McGonagall begins to read names out, vaguely listening for his own name.
"Mr Lupin and Miss Meadows. Miss Evans and Mr Black," there is a sudden onslaught of cheers, "Mr Avery and— Oh, my apologies, I meant the younger Mr Black."
That gets Regulus’ attention. His head snaps up, and finds McGonagall looking to the other side of the room where he imagines his brother may be sitting after getting excited about working with Evans.
"What?" He blurts, the word tumbling from his mouth before he can even fathom gathering his suddenly shredded composure.
Professor McGonagall’s head turns to his. "Is that going to be a problem, Mr Black?"
Yes.
Yes, it’s going to be a problem you stupid, blind, mad fucking woman!
Of course it’s a problem, because Evans is a muggleborn witch from Gryffindor and my parents will probably kill us both when they find out we’re working together!
"If it’s not a problem, Mr Black, please move to sit with Miss Evans," she says, looking at his pointedly. "If it is a problem, then I suggest you either speak now or see me after class."
Regulus doesn’t speak. He doesn’t think he can, even if he wanted to. He can’t argue because his throat has closed up, his lungs aren’t working and there’s a sudden ringing in his ears threatening to smash his head onto the desk top.
He can hear his mother in his head. Can imagine her reaction, her disgust that Regulus has been paired with someone less than a Slytherin pureblood. If he thought her reaction to him being in classes with Sirius was going to be bad, this just might be the cherry on top.
Regulus has to focus on keeping his breathing steady for the rest of class. He stares at the parchment in front of him like he’s trying to burn a hole in it. Before he knows it, the class has been dismissed and people are standing up. Regulus feels like he can’t find the strength in his legs to do so.
He doesn’t even know what this project is going to be about. He hasn’t been able to focus on the relevant things today other than keeping himself from falling apart.
He’s hardly had a chance to stand up when someone is standing next to him.
"Hello, boys," they say. "Severus, good to see you."
"Evans," Severus replies flatly. "Excited for your project?"
"Of course," Lily smiles. She looks at Regulus, face devoid of anything he’s familiar with. If anything, she looks friendly. Has she forgotten who is he? "You must be impressive at this class to be pushed forward a year. I haven’t heard of anyone mastering that."
Regulus just nods. He hears Severus mutter a goodbye before he’s walking off and Regulus is left alone with Lily.
"Do you want to get started on this today?" Lily asks. "I appreciate that it’s a bit early on, and we’ve only just started the term, but I wanted to get on with it as soon as possible so we can explore ideas and not rush it later."
"Today is fine."
"Perfect," she smiles. "After dinner?"
"Sure."
She doesn’t falter at his stoney tone. "I’ll meet you in the library, okay?"
Great. Nice and public for everyone to see. Or maybe public enough so she’s not worried about him trying to kill her when no one can see.
Regulus just nods.
Coming out of the classroom, Regulus manages to avoid everyone. More importantly, he manages to avoid the Gryffindors hanging around likely to make sure Regulus didn’t start a duel with their Gryffindor princess.
Severus is waiting for Regulus, eyeing him but not even bothering with the futile words of encouragement.
It’s when they’re back at the corridor leading to the Slytherin common room that he speaks.
"What’s the project about?"
"To come up with a transfiguration spell one might use in an emergency situation for survival."
Regulus rolls his eyes. "Fantastic."
"You need to be careful working with Evans," he says.
"Don’t you think I know that?" Regulus bites. "I’m fully aware of the catastrophic damage this is going to do, Snape."
"McGonagall has shone a spotlight on you and Lily both," Snape says. "You have now got both Gryffindor and Slytherin targets on your back, and she has Slytherin’s."
"Yes, I know."
"She’ll be in her office about now," Snape says. "You could always ask to swap. Tell her it won’t be smart to put you with someone not Slytherin."
"I hate to break it to you, but if it’s not you or Meadows, there is no one in that classroom I would be 'smart' to work it," Regulus snaps. He stops walking, taking a heavy breath. He concedes, "Fine. I’ll go speak to her now."
"It will be best for you and Lily," Snape nods. "Both of you could get hurt."
"Don’t protect my feelings by making it seem like you’re not just worried about Evans in this scenario," Regulus mutters as he turns back around.
True to Snape’s assumption, Professor McGonagall is in her office.
"Ah, Mr Black," she says when he steps inside. "I was wondering if I was going to see you again today."
"Apologies, Professor," he replies, "but I—"
"Sit down, Mr Black," she interrupts. "Do you like tea?"
"Uh, yes," he swallows. "Yes. Black, no sugar."
Sitting down in the large chair on the other side of the desk, Regulus almost disappears into the cushions with how deep and plush it is. Regulus is sure if he stayed for long enough, he could easily fall asleep.
"Have a biscuit," she offers, motioning to the floating biscuit pot. He plucks one out slowly, taking a small bite of the dry but sweet treat. A moment later, she’s passing him a cup of tea she poured from a pot.
"Thank you," he mutters, wrapping his hands around the warm mug.
"So, what can I do for you today, Mr Black?" She asks, settling with her own mug.
Regulus doesn’t believe for a moment that the woman doesn’t already know why he’s come to see her in her office.
"I believe it is unwise for me and Evans to work together for this transfiguration project," he says.
If McGonagall is unimpressed, she doesn’t show it. "Why is that, Mr Black?"
"Do I really need to explain why, Professor?" He asks tiredly. "There are a number of people in this castle that will not take it lightly that we are working together."
"Violence is not condoned in Hogwarts, Mr Black," McGonagall replies slowly. "There will be no malevolent behaviour towards you or Miss Evans for simply working together on a project."
The Slytherins will attack us both.
The Gryffindors will attack me at the closest chance.
My parents will lose their tempers when I go home.
Evans’ family might be in danger.
Regulus wants to list it all, but he doesn’t think she’ll listen to it. She won’t understand. The animosity between the two houses seems to be turned a blind eye by Dumbledore and McGonagall unless their precious Gryffindor’s are hurt.
"My parents won’t be happy about the arrangements," Regulus admits.
"Your parents are not here, Mr Black," Professor McGonagall counters. "How do you propose they are to find out?"
"They have their ways."
"And would it be so detrimental for them to find out you are working with a successful student, whom is top of their class and also Head Girl?"
Yes.
They won’t care about any of that, all they will care about is that Lily Evans is a muggle-born and a Gryffindor. She could be a decent of Merlin himself, and they would still only focus on her blood status and Hogwarts house.
"Is there no one else I can work with?" Regulus asks. "A Slytherin, perhaps?"
"House unity is something that we like to encourage at Hogwarts, Mr Black," she says. "I believe it wouldn’t do you any harm to work with someone from another house, and Miss Evans is the best choice."
Regulus wants to laugh in her face. Her indifference to the situation makes him both want to laugh and throw up. How can she not see? How can she pretend to not understand the dangers she is putting both Regulus and Evans in? His parents might not be here in the flesh, but the walls of Hogwarts have eyes and ears, and something will leak it back to them in no time.
"If you are worried about the consequences once word gets back to your parents, Mr Black, then perhaps we should be discussing a perhaps more difficult matter at hand," she adds.
No.
No.
No.
No—
"It has not slipped my notice that your older brother no longer lives at home," she continues, voice becoming disturbingly soft. "Has everything been alright since he left?"
Regulus makes sure he doesn’t show the panic on his face. He is not Sirius, he is not telling everyone what happens at home.
"Of course."
"My door is always open, Mr Black, if you ever need to talk or somewhere to feel safe."
"I’m safe at home," he replies, managing to keep his voice even.
"Of course," she nods, almost sadly. "Well, I’m afraid I would like for you and Evans to try this project first. If problems begin to arise, I will have no problems considering alternative partners."
The weight of the situation and finality of Professor McGonagall's decision sinks in his stomach like a heavy, crushing brick. The woman has made up her mind, and to stop her from getting anymore curious about Regulus' home life, he decides the easiest thing is to drop it.
He squares his shoulders, despite the desperation to slouch them and disappear, and nods stiffly.
"Very well," Regulus says, standing up and placing down his unfinished tea and biscuit. "Thank you for your time, Professor."
When he’s at the door, McGonagall speaks again.
"Don’t forget, Mr Black," she says. "My door is always open. I may not be Slytherin head of house, but you are always welcome to come here."
If Regulus didn’t feel so deflated, he would have laughed in her face at the prospect of him coming to her.
He doesn’t. Instead, he just gets up and leaves as silently as he came. What’s done is done, now he just has to balance the consequences.
Regulus doesn’t go to dinner. After his meeting with McGonagall, he grabs his books from his room and heads to the library. He knows he’s far earlier than agreed with Lily, but he can’t stomach the idea of food or the noise of the Great Hall, so he hides in there.
He can’t focus properly. He’s half way through a poorly written charms essay that he is sure he’s going to have to rip up and do again when someone sits down at the table.
He jolts so hard he almost spills his ink, and looks up with wide eyes at Lily sitting across from him.
"Hi," she smiles. "Sorry, didn’t mean to make you jump."
"It’s fine," he mutters, righting his parchments and willing the burning blush of embarrassment in his cheeks to stop. He looks down at his work, continuing to write to try and hide it.
She laughs softly, and he has to remind him that she isn’t laughing at him. He has no reason to get defensive.
"You’re here early," she says as she starts getting her books and parchment out of her bag. "Did you go to dinner?"
"Wasn’t hungry," he replies, not looking up.
"Consistent meals are important," she argues. "You can’t study properly without sufficient fuel from food."
Regulus rolls his eyes. He changes the subject, "Do you have any ideas for this project?"
"A few," she replies, seeming to accept the change without complaint. "I was thinking perhaps a transfiguration charm to turn a blanket into a shield, or transfiguring an apple into a broom to fly with."
Regulus nods, half surprised they’re not bad ideas.
"They’re only rough ideas, of course," she smiles. "I just thought of them over dinner. I’m not sure if either would work, or if either would actually be useful in an emergency situation. Do you have any ideas?"
Regulus thinks for a moment. He thinks back to the times when his mother was hexing him or his father was beating him with his cane, and he tries to remember all the things he wished he could do to defend himself.
"Transfiguring a person into a slug?"
"Excuse me?"
"It would be useful for survival if in a duel," Regulus explains, shrugging. "Turn your opponent into a slug and then you can stomp on them."
"Right," Lily murmurs hesitantly. "Perhaps something less violent?"
Regulus barely misses a beat before he suggests, "Transfiguring someone’s blood into mud."
Lily inclines her head, expression turning more bleak.
"Less violent than that, please."
"Transfiguring bone marrow into lead?"
"Oh my god," Lily laughs, shaking her head. "Is every idea of yours going to involve hurting someone?"
"McGonagall said it has to be used in an emergency situation for survival," Regulus shrugs, "I guess my idea of a situation I would need to survive is likely when someone is trying to hurt or kill me."
Lily stares at him, eyes wide and expression border lining sad. Regulus hates that. He can see the sympathy bleeding into her shock and disbelief.
"What other ideas do you have?" He asks, voice coming out tight and slightly hoarse.
"Lets write all our ideas down, even yours," she smiles kindly. "They’re not bad ideas, I promise. I actually think they’re very good, once I get past the slightly horrifying outcome of them."
Regulus nods, getting out a fresh sheet of parchment.
"You must be very impressed to be in seventh year transfiguration," Lily says.
"Ecstatic," Regulus sighs.
"It’s an incredible accomplishment," she goes on, and Regulus barely manages to bite his tongue before snapping at her to stop. "Transfiguration is a hard curriculum to get ahead in. Most people find it a challenge to get good marks in their own years, and yet you’ve managed to be so good that you’ve been pushed ahead."
"Surprised I’ve excelled at something that isn’t the Dark Arts?" Regulus asks coldly.
"No! Of course not!" Lily gasps. "I…"
Regulus raises an eyebrow at her. He doesn’t need to hear her excuses. She may be known to be a lovely, generous, positive person, and Regulus knows he’s heard enough praise from Snape alone to have a fairly good perspective of the Gryffindor princess, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t already have an opinion of him.
After all, she’s in the same house as Sirius and his cronies.
Lily sighs, shaking her head.
"What about transfiguring a hair into snakes?" She asks, seeming happy to drop the topic of Regulus’ success in transfiguration.
"Is that not too violent for you?"
"Well, it could be useful, in a duel especially. Do you think it should be a spell to transfigure hair on someones hair or individual strands of hair? Or— oh."
Regulus grunts in question, and when Lily doesn’t answer, he looks up. She’s looking at something across the library, so Regulus follows her line of vision.
His stomach drops.
Sirius and Marlene McKinnon are striding across the library towards them, jaws clenched and eyes hard. They’re both staring at him like they’ve got a vendetta to complete, though Regulus wouldn’t be surprised if that was true.
"Hey, guys," Lily smiles at them, either oblivious to the sudden tension and animosity in the air now, or she simply chooses to ignore it. "What are you doing here? You do realise this is a library, right?"
Despite the attempt at a joke, no one laughs.
The teasing is lost when Marlene's eyes flick to Regulus. "We're just here to make sure you're alright, Lily."
The red-haired smile drops. She raises an eyebrow at them. "And why wouldn't I be?"
Regulus sighs, looking down at his parchment again and finishing the line of notes he was writing. Perhaps if he doesn’t engage they’ll piss off.
It's Sirius who answers this time.
"Because of the little snake you've been partnered with."
For a moment, it goes so silent that the sound of a pin dropping could be heard.
Regulus tenses, hand squeezing around his quill. He looks up, eyes instantly meeting Sirius’. He’s torn between the sudden urge to either stand up so him and Sirius are at the same height, eliminating any disadvantages he has with sitting down, or collapsing on the floor and hoping the ground swallows him whole.
He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to fight with Sirius. Yet, it was his older brother who sought him out, it would be rude not to give him back as he gives.
After all, Regulus doesn’t claim to be a good person.
No point starting it now.
"Guys—" Lily starts, but Regulus interrupts her.
"Bold of you to assume Evans wouldn't be able to defend herself," he says, and feels a sense of pride when he see’s Marlene and Sirius' jaws twitch in sync. "Better yet, to assume the two of you would be able to be of any assistance. Surely your egos aren't so suffocatingly enlarged that you've convinced yourselves you'd be any sort of help in a duel with a Slytherin?"
"Fuck you, Black," Marlene snaps.
"Marlene!" Lily cries, but the violent response from the blonde only makes Regulus chuckle.
"Thank you for gracing me with your civilised response, McKinnon," Regulus drawls, smiling coldly. "You’ve been a pleasure, as always."
"You really are a nasty piece of work, Regulus," Sirius snarls, lip curling over his teeth as he speaks like a feral animal.
Regulus would be insulted by his brother looking at him like he’s nothing less than a dirty flea on the carpet, but he’s used to it by now. He can’t remember the last time his brother didn’t look at him like he hated him.
"You know what they say about people in glass houses, Sirius?" Regulus asks.
"Coming from the person who tortures people for fun!"
Regulus rolls his eyes. "Please," he says, motioning around the library, "point out some helpless soul I’ve tortured."
"It’s in your nature, the lot of you! Slytherins, Blacks, Death Eaters," Sirius spits the word like he burned his mouth. "You’re all a bunch of homicidal psychos who enjoy hurting people for fun. You think you’re all so high and mighty, but you’re not worth the shit on the bottom of a giants shoe!"
Regulus’ eyes narrow. His heart is pounding in his chest but he refuses to show Sirius that this entire conversation is making him feel like he’s been doused in acid.
"Have you forgotten where you come from, Sirius?" Regulus asks. "You may like to think because you got burned off the tapestry that you’re no longer part of the family, but through and through, you still came from the House of Black. You can’t change your DNA, Sirius."
"I am nothing like you," Sirius hisses, eyes burning.
"Shame. It’s clear, really. If you were anything like me then perhaps you would be able to retain an ounce of self respect and knowledge," Regulus deadpans. "Perhaps if you’d had enough spine to stay with the family a little bit longer there would have been hope for your courtesy to improve."
Regulus knows he’s shot a low blow. Sirius isn’t spineless for running away, and Regulus would be the first to vouch for it if anyone other than the Gryffindor’s asked. However, Sirius came into the library already spewing insults and looking for a fight. Clearly there is no bridges to be repaired between the two of them, so if Regulus is proud his brother made it out of that god-forsaken house, he’ll keep that to his bloody self.
"At least I have enough spine to be my own person," Sirius replies cruelly.
"That’s enough," Lily interjects. Regulus almost finds it amusing that despite Lily being the only one at the table not been targeted, she looks the most uncomfortable.
"No, please, keep going," Regulus urges, nodding at Sirius. He leans back in his chair, feigning indifference despite feeling like his chest is about to explode with the force his heart is racing. "Your insults are getting more creative. Hopefully soon they’ll actually be worth listening to."
"Fuck you, Regulus!" Sirius snaps. "You going to run back to mother and cry into her fucking gown?"
"Long way to go just for a cry," Regulus shrugs. "It’d be much easier just to go to my dorm and cry into my pillow. Really, I think I might have to now. I’m just so heartbroken right now that you think I’m a 'dirty little snake'. I think I’m going to need to see a mind healer to cope with the trauma of this conversation."
"Merlin, you really are a waste of space?" Marlene growls.
"Enough!" Lily shouts, slapping the table with a sharp whack of her hand. She’s glaring at them with such heat that Regulus is convinced it could match Walburga’s after a few glasses of wine. "You’re all acting like bloody children! Marlene, Sirius, I am fine. You did not need to come here and start an argument. Me and Regulus are partners in this transfiguration project. It doesn’t even involve the two of you, so back off! Regulus isn’t going to do anything, and if he did, I can bloody handle myself!"
Regulus smirks at the way that Marlene and Sirius seem to shrink under Lily’s rant. The red-head seems to notice, and then her glare turns to him.
"Don’t you dare antagonise them, Regulus Black!" She snaps.
Antagonise them? Regulus thinks darkly. They came to him! They came at him, unprovoked! He wants to scoff, but he doesn’t. The adrenaline from arguing with Sirius has worn off, and now he just feels exhausted and sick. Marlene and Sirius are still standing over them, daunting and intimidating.
He doesn’t want to be here anymore.
"I think we’re done for tonight," he says, packing up his papers quickly, practically stuffing them in his bag so no one notices the violent shaking of his hands.
"Wait, Regulus, we haven’t—"
"I’ll think of some ideas and we can discuss them next time," Regulus interrupts, meeting Lily’s eyes and mentally begging, screaming at her to let him go.
Lily stares at him, green eyes wide. Then, her expression softens.
"Okay," she nods. "Tomorrow?"
"Fine," Regulus nods curtly. He stands up, putting his bag over his shoulder. He looks at Sirius and Marlene, the two of them still glaring at him. "McKinnon, Sirius, always a fucking pleasure."
Sirius’ eyes widen, and Regulus doesn’t know if it’s from the way he spits the curse word at them, or something else. Either way, Regulus doesn’t stick around to find out.
He turns and marches out of the library. His knees barely hold out enough to get him down the corridor before he turns to jelly, body trembling so violently he’s sure he’s resembling someone suffering cruciatus aftershocks. He slides down the stone wall, gasping. His chest suddenly feels like it’s got a ton bag of bricks on it.
His bag falls from his shoulder as he digs around in it, scrambling until he feels his fingers brush the familiar small, glass bottle. He pulls it out, barely having the grip to rip the cork out the top and down the contents of the calming draught.
Within seconds, the weight on his chest eases, the shaking stops, and he slumps boneless against the wall.
He closes his eyes with an exhausted sigh.
Good to know Sirius still hates him, he thinks grimly.
— tbc.