The train was bustling with students hurrying into unoccupied compartments, slamming doors shut and giggling or speaking in hushed tones. It was Miles’ second year, so, as most everyone besides the first years, he was quite acquainted with the Marauders. He stuck his head into the ‘official’ Marauders compartment. “All right?” He spoke at a volume loud enough to be heard over what seemed to be an increasingly heated argument about quidditch between Sirius Black and James Potter— with the occasional cut-in from Peter Pettigrew, who claimed he wasn’t taking sides but quite obviously was favoring Sirius. Despite his efforts, the only one who picked up on his greeting was Remus, tucked into the farthest corner with his nose and eyes peeking out from behind a book. “Sit?” He offered in return, jerking his head to the semi-empty seat beside him— semi-empty because Sirius was rather melodramatic in his movements and would throw himself against the empty space and flail his arms around from minute to minute. “Nah, I’ve got a compartment a couple down.” The truth was, he wanted to be alone. There was no particular reason, no daunting epiphanies to tend to. Just a feeling. And he was incredibly tired, having not slept well the previous night— and unless you were Sirius, it was impossible to sleep with the Marauders on the rampage. Remus nodded, sending the boy across the way a lopsided grin. “Oh but I shall miss you so.” Miles rolled his eyes and blew Remus a kiss. “I’ll be in your heart. Wanker.” He backed out of the compartment to James’ dismay (as he’d finally picked up on his presence) and closed the door to a desperate, “Wait—“
He sauntered back down towards his compartment, dodging a couple of first years chasing each other down the aisle. The train sounded its horn as a way of warning any stragglers that the departure was up and coming, and those same first years came thundering back down the walkway. Luckily, by then, he’d slipped back into his own compartment and collapsed onto the seat that left his back towards the Marauders, cheek pressed up against the window. His breath fogged up against the glass and he flicked his gaze across the people still lingering on the platform.
A family composed of a short, rather pale, round faced blonde mother and her two young sons were speaking in a rushed manner, it was obvious in the way she looked rapidly from one set of eyes to the other, brushing loose strands of hair from their faces— probably uttering last minute goodbyes and shedding last minute tears. For being so short her children were quite gangly, easily two or three inches taller than her.
The next face he spotted was far more intense. It belonged to a stern looking woman with an inky bun as severe as her expression, not a stray hair in sight. She seemed as though she’d sneer at the mere thought of one. Her speaking pace was rather calm for a mother, he presumed, speaking to her son. Miles couldn’t see the boy’s face, but his hair was as sleek and prim as hers, hands clasped behind his back. He didn’t talk much, just nodding when appropriate, Miles was able to tell by the way his posture stayed stiff, not animating in the slightest. He watched them silently interact for a short while, just until a second warning horn went off and his mother grasped his shoulder, blank faced apart from the movement of her lips before turning swiftly on her heel and promptly distancing herself from the train. The boy idled for only a beat longer, briskly striding in the direction of the main car, and Miles followed his beeline until he was out of his range of vision.
What he did not expect was for him to knock, once, with his right hand against the compartment door with pursed lips. As strange as it was, a loose lock of hair fell onto his forehead and he brushed it back almost on reflex alone, giving the already seated student a once over. Miles assumed that he’d been deemed worthy of conversation when his lips finally parted. “May I sit?” Was all he asked, and a nod was all Miles answered.
They fell into companionable, but not entirely pleasant silence, and he kept his cheek pressed against the chilled glass, watching the colors slowly began to drag by as the train picked up speed and left the station. He watched the same blonde woman from early waving teary-eyed at the train, and if he listened hard enough, heard the boys’ sniffling from a compartment or two over. “You got a name?” Miles finally breached the silence, letting his head tilt towards the brunet, watching his blue-grey eyes flick over to his own. “Naturally.” ‘Well that’s rich’ Miles thought with a snort. “Well, ‘naturally,’ what is it?” There was a pause, like he was gauging whether or not it was worth even answering this question. “Regulus. Black.” That was interesting. “Sirius’ brother?” Miles asked through a sudden yawn. “You’re one of his friends.” It sounded like it should’ve been a question, but the speaker decided otherwise upon actually voicing it. A thing that resembled faint disgust crossed— or rather marred Regulus’ features (for he did look quite fair when he wasn’t scowling), ripples in a pond before smoothing out in the following moments. “You don’t look the type.” He added, studying his face all over as if he hadn’t seen it a few minutes prior. “I’m Miles.” Regulus quirked a brow. “Miles what?” Miles dragged his bottom lip between his teeth. “Thornsnap.” Regulus doesn’t react, and it’s suggests he’s never heard of the Thornsnap family. This is not a shock. They’re all dead. “Pureblood?”
“Does it matter?”
Miles saw a muscle in Regulus’ jaw twitch. He smoothed it over.
“What house are you in, then? You don’t exude Gryffindor the way they do.” There’s a hint of a sneer behind the words, but Miles looks past it. “Does that really matter either?”
“Look, if you’re avoiding my questions because of the things my brother has said about me and our family just spit it out.”
At that Miles does truly give a start, raising his eyebrows.
“I’m not one to believe all things people say about others unless I myself have met them firsthand, Regulus.” It was a rather long name, he thought, with lots of loops in his mind.
Regulus recoiled, an indecipherable expression skittering across his face.
“So.. he does speak of me, then.” Composure regained.
“Sometimes. He tries not to.” Regulus nods, suddenly rendered silent.
“I’ve heard of the pain your family has, supposedly, caused both you and Sirius. And I find this easier to believe than another thing he has told me. That you do not care about him, that you only care about saving yourself, and that you’re just like them.” Miles doesn’t see a point in keeping it all a secret. If anything, Regulus deserves to know. “..So what if I’m ‘evil?’ What’s it got to do with him? Will he riot if I’m sorted into Slytherin simply because I happen to fit in with the grand majority of our family line?” He retorted.
“That’s the thing, Regulus. You’re not evil. Nor is your family. I do not justify their actions, their behavior towards their children and the world, but they are not evil. Nor is Slytherin.
“We’ve constructed a narrative of light versus dark and we seem to be clinging to it like a baby, but it is jarringly untrue. People tend to put their faith in others when they’ve put their faith in someone truly good. I suppose this is where I differ from most. Because we’re not evenly split. There’s no pie chart that splits the population into good and bad. We are human. Good and bad combined, some parts evil, others virtuous.
“The world is not black and white. People are not good or bad. We are nuanced. And so it is unfair of us to shove others into boxes.”
“..nuanced.”
They did not speak for the rest of their ride to Hogwarts.