Warm

James Potter loved Quidditch.

This was a well-known fact amongst the student body of Hogwarts and even beyond.

But more than that, James Potter was good at Quidditch. Really good.

He was so good, in fact, that Emmeline swore she saw a few of the Montrose Magpies chatting up Potter and his parents after a game during the Summer holiday. And Evan heard through the grapevine that Frank Longbottom, Potter’s old Quidditch Team Captain, had been talking him up to his post-Hogwarts team, Puddlemere United.

Ever since Potter had joined his team in his second year, Gryffindor had had a perfect winning streak. And from his first goal only ten minutes into his very first official game, he had become Hogwarts’s beloved Golden Boy and Quidditch star.

This infuriated Regulus.

Not because Potter didn’t deserve his acclaim, but because he was insufferable about it.

He strutted around the school like he owned it, grinning that disgustingly sunny smile of his that lit up every room he stepped into. He bragged about his wins at every turn, a smug smirk on his gorgeous face. And worst of all, he made a habit of playfully winking right at Regulus before every game they played against each other.

It was aggravatingly effective in distracting him.

In general, James Potter was an enigma in Regulus’s life. There were a lot of mixed feelings involved there. Regulus thought Potter was kind. He thought he was a prick. He thought he shone as bright as the sun. He thought he outshone Regulus even in his own brother’s eyes. He loved him for saving his brother. He hated him for saving his brother. It was all very confusing.

And it didn’t bloody help that he was as beautiful as he was talented.

Regulus couldn’t help himself. He somehow developed a hate crush on his brother’s best friend back in Third Year and he hadn’t managed to shake it since.

All of this led to Regulus trudging with Dorcas and Emmeline down to the Quidditch pitch at 5 AM on a Saturday morning. Because Evan heard from Boot, who heard from Prewett, that Potter always practiced for a few hours before the Gryffindor team’s Saturday morning practice.

Regulus stifled a groan just thinking about it. It wasn’t that he wasn’t a morning person himself, but Quidditch at 5am on a weekend was a bit much even for him. The September air was crisp and cold, nipping at him even on the ground – Regulus could only imagine how sharp it was going to be when flying. And he could already sense how achy and sore he was going to be after such an early morning practice.

At the very least, Dorcas and Emmeline looked just as miserable. They were both on the Slytherin Quidditch team with him and normally, they were quite eager to get to the pitch. But neither of them were anywhere close to being morning people; Emmeline tended to roll out of bed as late as she could get away with and Dorcas much preferred her beauty sleep over an early morning.

“Why did we agree to this again?” Emmeline whined.

“Because we are supportive of our friend’s elaborate revenge plot, because we love quidditch, and because it’s been too long since Regulus got laid.” Dorcas listed monotonously, as though she was trying to convince herself.

“To get Regulus laid, right.” Emmeline nodded to herself, adjusting her grip on her broom.

“I hate you both.”

“We’ll just head back to the castle then, shall we?” Dorcas shot back.

Regulus sent her a small glare. “Touché.”

He couldn’t quite believe he was planning to talk to Potter, let alone seduce him, but his friends seemed quite sure he would succeed. That either meant they woefully overestimated Regulus’s ability to flirt, or that they simply thought Potter was easy. Regulus wasn’t sure which one he preferred.

In any case, they reached the Quidditch pitch too soon for Regulus’ liking, only to find Potter already in full swing.

The first sign of Potter was a bag dumped carelessly by the stands closest to the entrance; a water bottle and a thick muggle jumper with a hood were strewn out beside it.

The second sign was an open case of quidditch balls over by the store cupboard.

The third sign was Potter himself. It was a sight to see, Potter flying, and against his better judgement, Regulus found himself momentarily transfixed as he watched the older boy practically dance through the air.

Potter gracefully swept across the pitch at a truly impressive speed, darting this way and that. His movement patterns were irregular and unpredictable, making Regulus feel as though he couldn’t blink, lest he miss something. Regulus recognised the sharp direction changes to be evasive manoeuvres, commonly used to avoid bludgers.

And sure enough, Regulus’s gaze quickly zoned in on a bludger intensely chasing after Potter. Regulus’s breath caught in his throat as it lobbed itself straight at the boy’s head, but Potter swiftly rolled out of the ball’s way in an advanced move that Regulus recognised as a signature from professional Quidditch star, Anthony Twitch, of the Montrose Magpies. Looked like Emmeline was right after all.

Letting out a breath of relief, Regulus forced himself to tear his eyes away from the flying boy. The Slytherins put down their belongings a few feet away from Potter’s and readied themselves on their brooms.

The sight of other students preparing to take to the sky must have caught the Gryffindor’s attention. He seamlessly pulled up, urging his broom upwards and flipping back in an elegant arc that placed him behind the bludger instead of in front of it, and then, just as quick, he shot forward to pluck the ball out of the air. It wrestled and struggled in his grip even as he made his way over to them, flying freehand.

“Morning.” Potter greeted; his normally dazzling grin was muted only slightly to his version of a polite smile. It was still overly sunny. Now that the boy was close enough, Regulus noticed his brown eyes seemed warm and inviting in the cold Autumn air. The bludger continued to writhe in his grip but Potter paid it no mind. Regulus, on the other hand, was finding it extremely difficult not to focus on how his muscles were straining against the angry ball or how the tightness of Potter’s quidditch uniform framed said muscles sinfully. “Planning to get some early morning practice in?”

There was a small pause as no-one answered. That is, until Regulus suddenly realised that Dorcas and Emmeline were silently urging him to respond.

“Yes.” Regulus managed.

Luckily, Potter did not seem deterred. He ran a hand through his eternally tousled hair, a few wind-tossed locks falling back into his eyes the second he let go. “In that case, I’ll put this little bugger back and claim the South hoops and a quaffle for myself – get some shooting practice in. That way you guys can take the North half of the pitch. Sound alright?”

Since Regulus was supposed to be seducing Potter, this was probably the part where he was supposed to agree lightly and make some sort of joke.

That was not what he did.

Instead, he said, “There’s three of us and one of you, how is it fair that you get half the pitch?”

Miraculously, this did not seem to put Potter off either. In fact, it actually seemed to intrigue him. The Gryffindor’s eyes lit up with interest and his perfect grin got a little more genuine and lopsided as amusement crept into his features.

“It’s not fair. But I didn’t say anything about fairness, now did I?” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “And I did get here first.”

“Spoken like a fucking firstie. ‘I got here first.’” Regulus mocked derisively before he could stop himself.

Potter’s smile got impossibly wider. Regulus felt like he was staring straight at the sun. He didn’t want to look away.

“Got a better idea, Black?” Potter tilted his head to the side. Regulus detested how endearing it was.

“You can have the South hoops and a quarter of the pitch. Dorcas and I will be using the centre while Emmeline takes the North hoops.” Regulus decided.

Potter nodded easily. “That sounds fair.” He emphasised the last word as if it were an inside joke between them. “Happy practicing Black,” he shot a dazzling grin past Regulus at the girls, “and friends.” Straightening up, he turned to go. “Oh, and in case you didn’t know, Gryffindor have a practice session scheduled for nine, so you’ll need to be out of here by then.”

“I’ll leave when I bloody well want to.” Regulus snapped back before he could stop himself.

Potter turned back towards Regulus for a second, looking bemused, then he tossed his head back and laughed, the sound clear and bright.

“I guess I’ll have to hope that’s before nine.”

And then he was off.

*

“‘I’ll leave when I bloody well want to’?” Evan repeated incredulously. “Did you also slap him and call him a prick, or did you manage to restrain yourself?”

Regulus pursed his lips and glared at him but didn’t dignify that with an answer.

“The weird part,” Emmeline sighed, looking bemused, “is that it might just have worked.”

“Slapping and insulting him?” Pandora asked, with an equally incredulous expression.

Dorcas smirked amused. “He was into Reg arguing with him – it’s not that far off.”

“He was not into it.” Regulus denied, a little weakly even to his own ears.

Dorcas raised an eyebrow. “You called him a ‘fucking firstie’ and mocked him to his face. And in response he smiled more.”

“He laughed when you snapped at him, Reg.” Emmeline added emphatically, leaning forward. “He. Laughed.”

“You’ve made people cry with a single eyebrow raise and he just laughed in your face.” Barty cackled in amusement. “Looks like our little Reg has met his match.”

Evan had his face in his hands. “I don’t know what’s getting to me more. The fact that you argued with him instead of flirting, or the fact that it worked.”

Regulus leaned back against his headboard, arms crossed, glaring at the wall. “I despise you all.”

Pandora rubbed his arm in a manner that was probably supposed to be soothing. Regulus generously allowed the contact as he often did with the Ravenclaw. “Well, at least we know you can’t fuck this one up. Potter’s easier than expected and your apparently abysmal flirting skills do not seem to be an obstacle.”

Barty looked delighted. “This is the best thing that possibly could have happened. I absolutely have to be there next time.”

“You know what? Me too. I have to see this.” Evan agreed, leaning his head on Barty’s shoulder.

Regulus let his head fall back and hit his headboard with a thud.

Maybe it was a good thing he was plotting to steal his brother’s friends. It looked like he was going to need some new ones after all.

*

A few weeks passed in this manner. Regulus inserting himself, quietly but noticeably into each of his victim’s lives. He hijacked Potter’s Thursday night flying practices in addition to his Saturday morning ones. He met up with Evan and Pettigrew at least once a week to spill some gossip that Evan had carefully procured for him. And he took to joining Lupin in the library at random occasions, multiple times a week. And yes, it earned him a few odd looks even from members of his own house, but Regulus would not let himself be deterred by the pathetic sneers of a greasy loser like Snape or the utterly boorish jeers of a lumbering imbecile like Avery.

Potter seemed simultaneously the most and least bothered of the lot at Regulus’s newfound presence – he seemed completely at ease with Regulus being around but they also had the most tumultuous interactions. He greeted the Slytherin and his friends every time without fail, meeting Regulus blow for blow whenever they bantered or Regulus picked an argument with him. Potter was even flirting playfully with him, which his friends were endlessly entertained by.

Lupin was far more relaxed and seemed to be slowly warming up to Regulus. For the most part the younger boy tried to stay out of his way, but occasionally, using information he got from Evan and Dorcas, Regulus braved interrupting Lupin to offer a book recommendation or something. Their interactions stayed almost purely academic but Regulus could tell that Lupin was starting to appreciate his presence. Definite progress there.

Pettigrew, on the other hand…

“Oi! Baby Black! Get over here!”

…seemed to have taken to this new friendship like a duck to water.

“Don’t call me that.” Regulus shot back, stilling in his tracks.

“Come oooooon.” The Gryffindor called impatiently as he waved Regulus over to a patch of grass in the otherwise empty Eastern Courtyard. He was not alone.

Another Sixth-Year Gryffindor sat beside him – Regulus thought her name began with some sort of Mc/Mac variant. McDoogan? MacKinley? Mckinnon? No that was the Quidditch player. MacDonald, perhaps? That sounded right.

The girl in question looked mildly surprised then wary at Pettigrew’s invitation as she tried to school her features to some semblance of neutrality. She was doing a piss poor job of it – Regulus could read her like a book. Though, he supposed he could only expect so much from Gryffindors.

Regulus made his way over somewhat cautiously.

“Mare-bear, this is Baby Black.”

“Don’t call me that.” Regulus said again, though surprisingly, the girl said it too at the exact same time.

“Baby-Black, Mare-Bear.” Pettigrew continued to introduce, ignoring them both and looking completely at ease.

Regulus decided to go for the friendly approach – it was quite unlike him but it seemed like the sort of thing that would appeal to Gryffindors. Regulus gracefully dropped to the ground beside them, inwardly grimacing at the how dirty his robes would be from this. He then held a cordial hand out to the girl – not a traditional Pureblood greeting but rather the common handshake he expected her to be familiar with.

“I’m Regulus Black.” It pained him not to introduce himself properly. ‘Gryffindor-Friendly.’ He reminded himself. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“God, you really are a Pureblood aren’t you.” She commented like she couldn’t help herself. Regulus forced himself not to take offence – if she thought that was a Pureblood introduction, she was sorely mistaken. Nevertheless, she took his hand and shook it firmly. “I’m Mary Macdonald, not Mare-Bear – Pete’s just a prick.”

“I was already aware of that.” Regulus responded with a small but well-placed conspiratorial smirk.

It did the trick. The girl smirked back easily, relaxing a bit. “Hmm. Makes me wonder what I keep him around for.”

“Probably my devilishly good-looks and all-around sex appeal.” Pettigrew cut in, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“No.” MacDonald said in fake thought. “That’s definitely not it.”

The boy pouted faux-dramatically. “What about my sparkling personality?”

“Not that either.” Regulus pitched in.

Pettigrew gasped performatively. “Not you too! I’m used to such abuse from my dearest Mare-Bear, but now you, Baby Black?”

“Don’t call me that.” Regulus said once more.

“You might have to give that fight up.” Macdonald sighed with the air of a woman with first-hand experience. “I’ve been trying to stop Petey-Pie here from calling me Mare-Bear since First-Year. He’s relentless.”

Pettigrew put a hand to his heart. “You say the sweetest things, Snookums.”

Regulus made a mental note never to let Barty and Pettigrew be friends. They would be thrice as insufferable together as they were apart.

Regulus rolled his eyes. “There a reason you called me over, Pettigrew?”

“Yes, actually!” The Gryffindor dropped the dramatics and grinned at him. “I was just filling Mary in on the Aaron Smith-Daisy Greengrass drama from a few weeks ago. Thought you could give some more details.”

Now, not that Regulus would ever admit it, but entirely separate from his plans to butter up Pettigrew, he had found himself bizarrely interested in following along with the aforementioned pair’s secret affair. So, as it happens, Regulus did, in fact, know all about this particular strand of gossip.

What? It was intriguing. Like reading one of Dorcas’ romance novels.

Regulus smirked. “Greengrass got engaged on Monday. To Alexander Parkinson.”

Pettigrew gasped for real this time. “No way! But isn’t Alexander Parkinson around 10 years older than her? And what about Aaron? Oh Merlin, they must both be devastated!”

“What?” Macdonald cut in frantically. “What? I’m so lost! You have to start from the beginning!”

So Regulus did.

And the Gryffindors hung onto his every word.

*

“Is this going to be a thing?” Lupin asked.

They had been amicably studying in silence a few seats away from each other for a couple of hours already. In that time, Lupin had looked up at Regulus exactly twelve times, but they hadn’t spoken a word to each other just yet.

Feigning exasperation, Regulus lifted his head from his Potions textbook to meet the Gryffindor’s gaze. “I bloody hope not.”

“Vance again?” Lupin’s expression looked torn between sympathy and amusement.

Regulus shook his head in fake annoyance. “Crouch this time.”

Lupin raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask who Barty was with. Instead, he asked the question that he must have been itching to ask since Regulus began sitting with him sporadically a few weeks back.

“And out of the whole library, you chose to sit here because…”

Regulus shrugged. “I was not about to sit with any of the Ravenclaws.” Lupin shuddered accordingly at the thought. Studying with Ravenclaws was always a manic time. Unfortunately, you could find them spread throughout the library like a fungus. “And I come here to get away from my housemates.”

Lupin nodded in commiseration. “Which basically leaves me or the entrance.” They both grimaced slightly; the library entrance was always drafty and filled with loud part-time library-goers. “Unless you could find another secluded corner no-one was using to make out in.”

“You were the safer bet.” Regulus said in faux admittance. “And from your little study group, it appears you do not take issue to people from other houses accompanying you.”

Lupin looked a little surprised at this. “You know about my study group?”

“Anyone who cares about academics knows about your study group.” Regulus scoffed, not having to fake a thing. “You’re considered elite if you get an invite.”

“I– what?” Lupin spluttered.

Regulus rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his book. “Don’t worry about it.”

A few minutes passed, enough for Regulus to get lost once again in the nitty gritty of flora-based potions over fauna-based ones, when a small cough drew his attention.

Reluctantly, Regulus drew his gaze up to Lupin, mildly irritated because he had just been getting into the rhythm of things, but undeniably curious because it was quite unusual for Lupin to interrupt him. He raised an eyebrow in question.

“You should come this Saturday.” Lupin offered, his expression hesitant. “If you want to, that is.”

For a second, Regulus was dumbfounded.

He could almost count the number of times he had spoken to Lupin this term on his hands. They barely knew each other at all. Regulus and his friends had a whole plan mapped out – they had worked out what Lupin would be studying this term and created a list of books for Regulus to recommend as necessary. They had plotted how to slowly gain Lupin’s attention, even planning out safe conversation topics after the Potter debacle. All with the aim of getting an invite to Lupin’s study group.

And here the bloody Gryffindor was just offering it to him.

What was it with these people?

Hurriedly, Regulus collected himself and plastered on an appropriately pleased look. “I’ll be there.”

Lupin nodded, relaxing a little. “We start at nine so you have plenty of time to clean up after your quidditch practice with James.”

What?

That gave Regulus major pause. What had Potter told his friends? How much had he said? Did Sirius know? Did Lupin tell them about Regulus’s new study habits? Did they know that Regulus had been gossiping with Evan and Pettigrew several times over the past few weeks? The uncertainty was unsettling.

Unsettling enough for Regulus to respond on autopilot. “I don’t practice with Potter.”

Lupin adopted a mildly amused expression. “Right, you practice simultaneously at separate ends of the pitch, multiple times a week, for the past three weeks.”

That… was technically true. But Regulus didn’t like his tone – it was knowing? Perhaps, sarcastic? He couldn’t be sure.

“Precisely.” Regulus said sharply. He pointedly turned his attention back to his book, effectively cutting off the conversation. Thankfully, Lupin got the message and turned back to his own work, but not without shooting the Slytherin one last look of amusement.

For a few moments, Regulus stared unseeingly at the pages of his textbook. He did not like Lupin’s amused and knowing demeanour. His eyes had seemed too aware and Regulus wondered if he had sniffed out his crush. Or worse, his plan.

No, he admonished himself harshly. If Lupin knew about the revenge plot, he certainly wouldn’t be so amused. But perhaps he had gotten wind of Regulus’s unfortunate attraction to Potter.

The thought filled him with panic. How did Lupin find out? Was Regulus that obvious? If so, how many people knew? He was fine with his friends knowing – they would take his secrets to the grave – but if such information became public, it would get back to his parents.

Perhaps he should abort the seduction and go back to the original plan. Perhaps he should abort the plan wholly. He was taking large and unnecessary risks here. Ones that put him in danger.

You’re pathetic.

Regulus was accustomed to those words from his parents and from himself, but the voice echoing through his skull this time was his brother’s. The image of Sirius’s sneering face came to mind and ice flooded his veins.

No, he would continue this plan; Sirius had to pay the price for his venom. Regulus would just have to be more careful. Be smarter. The timeline of events was going exponentially faster than initially anticipated due to the general unpredictability of overly trusting Gryffindors, and Regulus would have to adjust accordingly.

One way or another, Sirius was going down.

*

It was with this mentality that Regulus approached Lupin’s study group the following Saturday.

He went to the Quidditch pitch at the normal obscenely early time, only Dorcas accompanying him on this occasion as Emmeline simply couldn’t be bothered. And as had become the new normal, Regulus argued, or perhaps bantered (Regulus wasn’t entirely sure), with Potter throughout the duration of the practice.

At around 8 AM, Regulus and Dorcas tiredly trudged their way back to the castle dungeons. It was still baffling to Regulus that the older boy would do four whole hours of solo practice before he had actual practice with his team – because surely only an insane person would commit themselves to seven straight hours of Quidditch practice before lunch – but he had decided not to question it. It gave Regulus the perfect opportunity to insert himself in Potter’s life, so he shouldn’t complain really.

He showered, changed, grabbed his books and other supplies, and stopped by the Great Hall for some breakfast before heading in the direction of the library.

Upon arrival at Lupin’s regular haunt, Regulus paused to survey the scene. About fifteen students were dotted around the area, half of them set up camp on the large central table that Lupin, and now Regulus, frequented so often, while the other half had spread themselves out on the surrounding tables in small groups. A large silencing ward was cast around the area, allowing them to speak freely without enraging the Librarian. The age range of the students seemed to go from Fourth-Years to Seventh-Years, and students from different houses seemed to mingle casually. Regulus appeared to be the only Slytherin.

“Black!” Lupin called from where he was hunched over at the main table, discussing something with the red-headed Evans girl as a handful of Fourth and Fifth-Year students watched the two with rapt attention. As soon as Lupin called his name, a number of heads turned in his direction, their expressions varying from confused to quietly hostile.

Lupin waved him over. “Budge up a bit, would you Chris? Here, take this seat Black. I’ll give you a quick rundown of what’s going on.”

Cautiously, Regulus took the now-open seat beside Lupin, dropping his bag at his feet as Lupin began to explain.

“We tend to assign a table per subject every week and rotate which subject gets this big table here. This week it’s Potions that we’re covering here because you Fifth-Years have your mock exam with Slughorn coming up, don’t you?”

Regulus knew this was just supposed to be a way of getting closer to Lupin, but that actually sounded remarkably useful. He nodded in answer.

“Lily is our resident Potions genius, so she agreed to take the lead here.” He said, gesturing to the girl beside him. She regarded him neutrally with a slight nod and a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. He returned it.

Regulus didn’t particularly blame her for her reticence; they were acquainted due to both being in the Slug Club but generally speaking, they stayed out of each other’s way. He didn’t have anything against her personally (well, besides the burning jealousy he felt whenever Potter flirted with her), he just wasn’t supposed to associate with Muggleborns. Equally, Evans seemed to be steering clear of Slytherins and Purebloods ever since her dramatic falling out with Snape at the end of last year.

“You’re top of your class at Potions too, aren’t you?” Lupin continued, not at all subtly. A few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs at the table regarded him with interest at that, while the sole Gryffindor Fifth-Year, Christopher Hedgewick, clenched his jaw a little. The Gryffindor and Slytherin Fifth-Years shared a Potions class and so they knew each other somewhat. Regulus got the distinct impression that Hedgewick didn’t like him, largely due to the fact that Regulus continuously outperformed him in class. It wouldn’t do to aggravate Hedgewick now, so Regulus searched for an appropriate response.

“Yes. It’s my favourite subject.”

There, that should do; truthful but with the implication that his success came from passion and hard work rather than talent alone. Just humble and personal enough to appeal to non-Slytherins.

It seemed to do the trick. Hedgewick leaned back in his chair slightly, regarding Regulus with fresh eyes and a spark of genuine interest flickered in Evans’s expression. Gryffindors. Too easy.

Lupin raised an interested eyebrow. “And here I thought it would be Astronomy.” He joked.

“Says the boy who shares a name with a moon.”

“Touché.” Lupin smirked at him. “You can join us here if you want. The other tables are covering Ancient Runes, Charms, History of Magic, and Arithmancy right now if you’d prefer to jump to one of those.” He continued, pointing at each table as he spoke.

Regulus shook his head, reaching down to his bag and beginning to unpack his things. “No, you’re right, I could do with some Potions revision before Monday.” ‘And also, I’m technically here to befriend you.’ He thought. “Where did you get to?”

“We were just discussing the merits of using the Billywig Method for brewing healing potions versus the Antwerp Method.”

“Antwerp, of course.” Regulus replied unthinkingly as he opened his textbook to the relevant page.

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Evans burst out victoriously, waving an arm in Regulus’s direction as if to say: ‘See’.

Lupin sighed tiredly. “Take the bone-strengthening potion, for instance. You can’t stir counter-clockwise for six minutes. You just can’t.”

“You can if you decrease the speed of your stirring and wait thirty extra seconds before adding the lacewings a few steps later.” Regulus argued, frowning as he pulled out his copy of ‘Potions Methods for Potions Masters: A Guide to the Greats’. It wasn’t on the curriculum, but Regulus had found it particularly helpful this past year. He flipped to the right page and pushed it forward for the others to see. Instantly, the other table occupants crowded around the book, staring at it intensely.

After a few seconds, Evans sat back and looked at Regulus appraisingly. “Impressive, Black. I can see why you invited him, Rem.”

Lupin sat back too. “That was kind of genius – applying Antwerp’s approach to pain-relief potions into this context.”

Getting into the rhythm of things, Regulus waved the praise away. “It works with Skelegrow too, you know.”

A Fourth-Year Ravenclaw gasped suddenly. “That’s why Slughorn said that thing about stirring speed the other day!”

The Hufflepuff boy beside her nodded. “You’re right! Because we were working so slow, we had to stabilise the potion by reducing rotation speed too.”

Lupin smiled encouragingly at them. “Tell me more about that.”

And so the study session went. A few more students arrived after Regulus, only one joining the Potions table initially. Students swapped seats frequently, jumping from table to table as much as they wanted. Lupin and Evans both got pulled to other tables every now and again, Lupin mostly, but Regulus stayed on the Potions table for the entire duration. There was even one point in which both Lupin and Evans were gone and Regulus somehow ended up leading the discussion. He managed okay but was quite relieved when Evans returned.

All in all, it was an extremely productive few hours for Regulus. He felt remarkably more prepared for his test on Monday and Lupin seemed to warm up to Regulus considerably as the time passed. Evans and Hedgewick too, baffling enough.

By the time lunch rolled around, Regulus’s mind was swimming a bit after being pulled in so many directions, but he was pleasantly surprised by how much he had liked the challenge of going toe to toe with the top students at the school.

It’s not that his friends weren’t smart. Barty was incredibly intelligent – he got near perfect marks in each of the obscene number of subjects he was taking, he just barely ever studied and when he did, it was incredibly chaotic. Dorcas, Evan and Emmeline were all smart too but their primary interests lay outside of academics. And Pandora, for all he loved her, cared far less for the curriculum than whatever interesting subject she was focusing on at the time.

He was still planning to study with them, of course, but this study group provided a new and exciting avenue for Regulus to explore. He hadn’t expected to like it quite so much.

It all came crashing down when Regulus was packing up to meet his friends for lunch.

“Moony!” A bone-chillingly familiar voice called out.

Sirius came sauntering over, Potter and Pettigrew in tow. He strutted right up to Lupin and smacked a big kiss on the boy’s cheek. “Ready to head for–” He did a double take as he noticed Regulus. “What’s he doing here?”

Regulus’s good mood evaporated in an instant.

“I invited him.” Lupin explained, a warning in his voice. Incredibly, the warning was directed at his boyfriend, not Regulus.

“You invited him?” Sirius repeated incredulously. “Why?”

Regulus opened his mouth thoughtlessly, ready to spit venom at his brother, but someone else got in first.

“Does it matter?” Potter cut in smoothly, his usual easy grin perfectly in place. “It’s Moony’s group, he can do what he wants. Now come on, I haven’t eaten since yesterday and I’m starving.”

It was absolutely the wrong thing to focus on, but Regulus’ brain latched onto that last part.

“When did you wake up?” Regulus asked before he could stop himself. “That’s got to have been at least seven hours ago.”

The group visibly paused. Evans and a few other students were blatantly watching them with interest.

“How did you know that?” Sirius gritted out.

Collecting himself swiftly, Potter tossed an arm over his friend’s shoulder. The action seemed to immediately soothe Sirius. Likely just as Potter had intended. Interesting. He was peacemaking.

“Sometimes Black here gets in some Quidditch practice before Gryffindor take over the pitch. He got there a bit after me this morning.” He said with that casual grin and nonchalant tone as unwavering as usual. He then turned to Regulus seamlessly, making the Slytherin’s out-of-the-blue question seem completely normal and acceptable. “And to answer your question, about four.”

Against his better judgement, Regulus spoke again. “You haven’t eaten despite being awake since four? And you’ve been exercising.”

“Technically speaking, I had a sugar quill shortly after I woke up.” Potter corrected, his lopsided grin unshakable.

Regulus frowned at him. “Surely you could take a break between your solo practice and Gryffindor practice to eat something. That’s when I ate.”

“That’s a good point actually.” Lupin said, thoughtfully. “You should be doing that.”

Pettigrew looked between Potter and Regulus calculatedly for a second before a smirk slowly slid onto his face. Oh no.

“You know what? You guys should get breakfast together next week!” The little rat suggested. “That way Prongs will remember to eat something and Baby Black can get some food in him before Moony wrings his brain!”

Sod him.

Lupin’s eyes rapidly flicked between Pettigrew, Potter and Regulus before a matching smirk crept onto his face. “That’s a great idea, Pete!”

Oh, sod him too.

“What is going on here?” Sirius stage whispered to himself in confusion.

“I have no idea.” Evans whispered back, regarding the scene curiously.

“Quick summary,” Pettigrew said cheerfully. Regulus glared at him warningly, but the arse paid him no mind. “Prongsie-Poo and Baby Black are Quidditch buddies, Moony-Moo and Baby Black are study buddies, and me and Baby Black are gossip buddies.”

Lupin’s eyebrows shot up. “You too?”

“This is brilliant.” Evans breathed.

“Gossip buddies?” The vein on Sirius’ forehead was throbbing prominently. Regulus bit back a smile.

“Mhm,” Pettigrew confirmed. “We actually have him to thank for the Goose Prank last week. Baby Black is the one who told me the Slytherin Fourth-Years like to hang out in the West Courtyard.”

“Are you telling me that Regulus is friends with all of you?” Sirius asked in a strangled voice.

Oh, this was going swimmingly. Much better than he had anticipated the first confrontation to go, no matter how unexpectedly early it was.

“Friends is a strong word.” Regulus protested to throw them off the scent a little.

Pettigrew gasped dramatically, placing a hand on his chest in faux hurt. This seemed to be a pattern of his. The little shit. “And here I thought we had something, Baby Black. I’m devastated, truly.”

“What a shame.” Regulus deadpanned. “And don’t call me that.”

“Am I having a stroke?” Sirius asked. He looked like he was one step away from an existential crisis. It was delicious.

“Salazar, you’re dramatic.” Regulus rolled his eyes. “We’re not friends, we just have similar hobbies, and consequently, I tolerate their presence.”

“Tolerate?” Pettigrew raised a hand to his forehead like a fainting damsel and fell back so that Potter scrambled to catch him. Because of course Potter caught him. “Godric, you’re cold.”

“Exactly!” Sirius was practically yelling at this point, and if the remaining study group members hadn’t been watching before, they certainly were now. “Why are you friends?!”

Pettigrew stood up properly, relieving Potter of his weight. “He’s not actually that bad.”

“Gee thanks. What a glowing description of my character.”

Evidently ignoring that comment, Potter nodded in agreement. “He’s quite funny.”

“Regulus?” Sirius shrieked. “Funny?!”

“You do all realise I’m right here?”

At that, Potter smiled sheepishly at Regulus, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right, sorry.” He looked Regulus right in the eye. “You’re quite funny.”

Evans choked in the background. Regulus knew the feeling.

How in the ever-loving fuck was he supposed to respond to that? You can’t just look someone in the eye and compliment them! Who the fuck does that?

“Okay, that’s enough of that. I’m going now.” Regulus said, forcefully pulling his bag onto his shoulder. He turned to Lupin. “I presume I’m invited to come back next week?”

“We’re happy to have you – come back any time.” Lupin confirmed with a lazy salute as he tried and failed to suppress his obvious amusement.

Regulus nodded once and then turned tail, his heart pounding in his chest.

“You better be back!” Evans called after him. “I need my new Potions buddy!”

A strangled “Not you too, Evans!” was the last thing Regulus heard before he crossed the silencing ward.