Something is terribly wrong
The funny thing about Regulus is that in the spring of his first year of Hogwarts, he nearly let his guard down. The mountains looming outside of his window slowly peppered themselves with green as the days grew longer and the sun shone warmer, and Regulus, for the first time in his life, felt happy. He continued to see James every week, eventually moving their classes outside when the weather was too fine to stay in. The two of them would sit beneath a towering beech tree and go over adjectives, conjugations and endless attempts to roll the vowels in just the right way. Regulus became familiar with the way James’s eyes screwed up in concentration behind his glasses, and the clunky accent he spoke his broken French in. The color of the sunlight dappling his black hair became what Regulus saw when he closed his eyes. Sitting in the dining hall with Barty and Evan, Regulus could recognize the sound of James’s laugh even across the room.
Regulus found he could tell James anything, and the other boy would listen with eyes free of judgment. Secrets spilled from his lips, whispered over the rustling sounds of the leaves of the beech trees on warm, april afternoons. Secrets, but only the ones farthest from his heart. Regulus still kept this boy far enough to run if he needed to. The words James had said to Sirius still rang in his ears from time to time.
This pocket of serenity, Regulus figured, this perfect breath of peace in the days between winter and summer, was the reason it all hit him so hard. Hogwarts had folded out in front of him, splaying out in days of sweet smelling books, and the wind rushing past him tens of feet high on a broomstick. The glimmer in Pandora’s eyes as she told him a riddle and the mirth in Evan’s roaring laugh. The world of Grimmauld place had become fainter and fainter, like a nightmare that he could forget during the long hours of the day. The life around him had become so real, he had forgotten it was merely colored clouds and dawnlit illusions. A dream he could walk in but could not have.
Before everything fell apart one May morning, Regulus was suspended midair on the Quidditch pitch at eleven o’clock at night.
“Again!” roared a familiar voice. Rudolphus’s figure was barely visible under the starlit sky, but the anger in his words was unmistakable. Regulus winced, forcing his sore body to nudge his broom to the goalposts yet again.
“3, 2, 1, go!” Rudolphus yelled. All at once, the Slytherin Quidditch team that was lined up at the goalposts flew forward in a sprint. Regulus panted, squinting at the goalpost on the opposite end of the field as it drew nearer. Around him, his teammates were bent over their brooms, hurtling towards the goalposts as fast as they could. Wind whistled around them, disguising the ragged breaths torn from all of their mouths as they pushed themselves a little faster.
“Come on!” Rudolphus shouted. “Faster!”
Regulus let out a grunt and lurched forward, gaining a lead and pushing even harder. The team started to lag around him, their brooms slowly failing and their faces twisting in effort.
“Almost there…” Regulus muttered to himself. The white poles were shining eerily in the darkness, and drawing nearer and nearer…
“aaaand stop!” Rudolphus called. The team slowed to a halt at the other end of the field, all red faced and panting. Regulus heard several people let out a sigh of relief.
“Mulciber, you were last. Twenty push-ups after practice.”
Mulciber’s already crimson face deepened to a red, but he didn't say anything.
“That was okay” Rudolphus said, coasting over to where the team was huddled. “I want more speed, more aggression. Especially from you, Dolohov. You have to look like you want the Quaffle.”
Dolohov let out a grunt of acknowledgement, still too winded to speak.
“The House Cup is only three weeks away, team. If we want to win we have to work for it. I don't care if you’re tired, if you signed up for this team that means you signed up to do the work as well.”
“We’ve been doing ‘the work’ for four hours,” someone behind Regulus muttered. Several people snickered, but Rudolphus stilled.
“Do you have a problem?” he said loudly. “Who said that? Come forward.”
The entire team was silent as Alecto Carrow pushed her way to the front of the group. Her dark hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat, yet her black eyes still shone with a mixture of fear and defiance.
“Is there an issue with the practices?” Rudolphus asked her, pinning her with his fierce stare. Alecto shifted uncomfortably.
“It's stupid to have us out here at eleven at night” she said defensively. “We’ve been practicing all day, every day. Give it a rest, Rudolph.”
That, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. Around Regulus, everyone watched Rudolphus with apprehensive looks. Rudolphus’s face grew red with anger, swelling till he looked rather like a bursting tomato. His meaty fist clenched and unclenched, Regulus imagined he was envisioning Alecto on the other end of it.
“If you don't like the practice schedule.” Rudolphus said slowly, his words clipped and clear. “Then you can leave the team. I have a host of Slytherin’s dying for your position, and I wouldn't be too sorry to give it to them.”
“That's not what I--”
“Thirty push-ups after practice.” Rudolphus said dismissively, turning away from the protesting Alecto. “Anyone else have any questions?”
Silence reigned over the pitch. Regulus couldn't help but notice how different it looked at night, with the stands deserted and ghostly in the moonlight. The forest loomed in the distance, and when Regulus looked down he could see the shadow of the tree he and James sat beneath just that day. The white bark almost shone under the starlit sky.
“Okay, team. That's practice for today. Everyone go and get some sleep, we’re back out here six AM tomorrow.”
Regulus fought back a groan, envisioning his warm, soft bed and the mounds of homework he’ll have to do instead. He’d sleep maybe four hours that night if he’s lucky, which was more than he had been getting this week. Rudolphus had been acting rather like a madman with the House Cup approaching so quickly, and had the team practicing twice a day for at least three hours. Regulus had noticed the other members of the team stumbling through their classes with dark shadows under their eyes as well; he had felt a particular surge of pity for the fifth year students also facing their OWL exams in only a couple months. Still somehow, Regulus had managed to find time to sit by the lake with James and lazily teach him adverbs and pronouns.
“ll mange vite” he had said. James had given him his wide eyed, clueless look. “He…eats…speed?”
“Vite. quickly.” Regulus had laughed, exasperated.
He grinned at the memory.
“You're back late.” Barty said as Regulus stumbled into the dorm fifteen minutes later.
“I know,” Regulus mumbled, stripping off his robes and collapsing into bed. “I think Lestrange has actually lost his mind.”
Barty glanced up from the essay he was writing.
“Must be hard,” he drawled. “To be so talented at Quidditch”
“It's a burden, honestly.” Regulus said dramatically, crumpling up a sock and throwing it at his friend. It hit him square in the nose, causing him to knock over his ink bottle and spill it all over his essay.
“Oi!”
“Sorry, Bart.” Regulus chuckled. “I guess it's my natural Quidditch talent--I never miss”
“You're a bloody bastard.” Barty muttered darkly, siphoning the ink of his paper with his wand. “McGonagall’s going to flip when I turn in this essay half completed tomorrow. How am I supposed to know the difference between vanishing and disappearing? That bat, I swear she tries to fail me.”
“What, you? With your charming personality and courteousness?” Regulus rolled over, snickering at his friend. Barty rolled his eyes.
“You bloody moron.”
“Here,” Regulus said, climbing painfully off his bed and over to Barty. “I just wrote it this morning. I'll finish it off for you, it won't take long.”
“Maybe you’re not such a moron after all, Black.” Barty said, yawning. Regulus noticed for the first time the dark circles under Barty’s eyes. He looked nearly as tired as Regulus did. “I owe you, really.”
“You can pay me back by finishing off the star chart professor Castor gave us monday. I still haven't done it, I've been so busy.”
“Easy,” said Barty, standing up and stretching. “I did it yesterday, it was light.”
“Thanks, mate.”
Barty didn't respond, walking over to Regulus’s bag and rifling through his books until he found the chart. The two boys sprawled on their beds together, writing in silence. Warmth wafted up from downstairs, filling Regulus with a delightful, sleepy feeling. The sound of the pens scratching on paper formed a lullaby in his head. Regulus blinked at the essay, the parchment almost completely full but for a bit of spare space at the bottom. He scrawled a few sentences, hoping to round it off nicely, albeit sounding a little too similar to what he had written on his own. He put his head down and watched Barty write with a look of concentration on his face. The blond boy’s hair was the exact same shade as the candle flame, he noted hazily. The blankets felt wonderful against his tired cheeks, and Regulus felt the room swim before his eyes. He was so very tired…
He faintly remembered Barty gently taking the essay from his hands, muttering something about finishing it later. A large, soft blanket settled over him; Regulus sighed, perfectly warm.
“I finished the essay-” he yawned to Barty, who grunted his thanks. His friend sounded nearly as exhausted as he was. There was a rustling of covers, and then the single candle lighting the room flickered out, plunging Regulus into pleasant darkness. The last thing he thought of was how unpleasant Barty would find it when he awoke at five the next morning, before he slipped off to sleep.
Two weeks away from the House Cup, Regulus for the second time in his life encountered Remus Lupin. The sandy haired boy seemed to be perpetually in the library, even when Regulus knew James and Sirius were off caravanting elsewhere. He was constantly bent over a book, or scribbling furiously on a long piece of parchment, ink usually smeared on his nose and freckled cheeks. Regulus mentioned him to Pandora one day, when they were sitting in the library attempting to get some homework done before Regulus’s three hour Quidditch practice that night.
“I wonder why that skinny bloke, Sirius’s friend, is always in the library” he had said casually. Pandora had barely even looked up from the astrology chart she was filling in.
“Remus Lupin?” she asked.
“Yeah”
“I suppose he has homework to do, like you.”
“Yeah…” Regulus had responded absent mindedly, watching Remus look back and forth between a textbook and his notes with the highest concentration. Nobody, he reckoned, not even Remus, could be that entranced by their homework. It was the dullest rubbish imaginable, and he had grown up forced to memorize centuries of Black family trees.
“What do you think he’s doing?” Regulus said again a few minutes later. Pandora sniffed, looking up at Regulus with vague annoyance.
“Why does it matter?” she said, a little sharply. Regulus knew to drop the matter. He couldn't help himself from glancing up every twenty minutes or so, to check if the strange, lanky boy was still there and wonder what he was working at so intently. Finally, after nearly two hours spent struggling through his Herbology homework with copious amounts of help from Pandora--not helped by the fact that Regulus’s concentration was continually broken by curious thoughts at what could draw Remus to the library every day--the bell sounded for dinner.
“The Mimblulus Mimbletonia doesn't have spikes, Reg” Pandora said exasperatedly, scribbling out again the sentence that he had written.
“How am I supposed to know that,” Regulus said indignantly. “My family never deemed Herbology as a necessary subject, and I frankly agree with them.”
“That can't stop you from paying attention in class though, can it.”
“I have better things to do.” said Regulus in a dignified voice.
“Like what?” Pandora snorted. “Daydream about James Potter?”
“What?” Regulus spurted, looking at Pandora aghast. “Wha--no--why would you think that? Huh?”
Pandora smirked, looking innocently back down at his Herbology assignment.
“No reason, just a joke. Why are you so worked up, Reg?”
Regulus felt his face warm, and he tried to school his expression into indifference.
“I'm not.” he said passionately, “it's just that it was such a stupid thing to say, like totally out of nowhere. I was just taken off guard. Because it makes no sense. I don't daydream about Potter.” his words tumbled out, broken and stuttering, and he wanted to curse his own mouth shut.
“Whatever you say,” Pandora said airly, the corners of her mouth tilted up.
“Wha--don't you--ugh” Regulus glared at her. “We have to go now, anyway.”
“Ooh, I'm absolutely starving. I hope they have Treacle Tart again.”
Regulus didn't reply, giving her the dirtiest look he could with his still flustered face. He glanced up. Remus Lupin was walking out the door, his book bag slung over his shoulder, and the book he had been reading was lying open on the table.
“Pandora” Regulus whispered, stilling. “C’mere”
“What are you--Regulus, no--” But Regulus had already walked over to where Lupin had been studying, checking over his shoulder to make sure the blonde boy had left.
“Advanced Healing Potions” he muttered, lifting the book off the desk and inspecting the cover. “What would Remus want with this?”
“I don't know,” hissed Pandora. “And I suspect he doesn't want us to either. Let's just go…”
“Chapter sixteen,” Regulus continued. “Permanent curses, look, this was the page he was looking at.”
Pandora, despite her protests, leaned over to see. The book was old and crumbling, most of the ink faded, but the chapter that Remus had been reading so intently was written as if in fresh ink. The page was creased and dog eared, likely by Lupin, and at the top read: Vitalizing Counter-potion: A draught to induce sickness and loss of magical ability.
“Ya think Lupin's trying to poison someone?” Regulus mused, bewildered. “Maybe someone he really hates?”
“Symptoms include vomiting, fainting, memory loss, loss of magical ability, long term comas, or death” Pandora read. “Why on earth would he want to brew something like that? Maybe he was looking at the other page?”
“Nah,” Regulus said, checking the inscription on the page next to it. “It's a potion for wolfsbane, I'm pretty sure that's the stuff werewolves use. Why would he need it?”
“Yeah…” Pandora said thoughtfully. “I just can't imagine why he would want to make someone so sick they can't even do magic. He always seems so nice.”
Regulus shrugged. “We don't know for sure, maybe he was looking at it for a school assignment.”
“You saw him,” said Pandora. “He was writing down practically half this page, taking notes for almost an hour. Even he wouldn't go that far for homework. Besides, no potions class would assign a potion like this. This seems almost… evil.”
Regulus closed the book, suddenly feeling less curious and filled with a strong desire to leave the library. Something about the book, and the concentration of Lupin's face as he read, sent a chill down his spine.
“It doesn't matter,” he said to Pandora. She looked nearly as uneasy as he did. “Let's just go to dinner.”
Pandora nodded, casting one more glance at the book. She had a familiar expression on her face, as if she was calculating something that only she could understand.
“Yeah,” she said distantly. “Let's go.”
The hallways were eerily quiet as they walked to dinner, their footsteps echoing against the stone floor. Outside the windows, the grounds were cold and empty. Despite the spring weather, Regulus thought he saw frost shimmering on the grass. The portraits on the wall watched them pass, and it seemed to Regulus that even they knew that something was terribly wrong.