the first day - regulus
the first day
Sometimes Regulus feels ready to stab a fork through Barty’s waving, arrogant hands. How a teenage boy has that much energy at this early hour will never cease to amaze him. Even if that energy is wasted on fruitless complaining. Regulus had the boys tuned out, their voices blending into the rest of the muffled chatter in the Great Hall. Everybody was always so damn loud. Especially the first years, bright-eyed and an eager look upon their faces.
He rubbed his neck with one hand lazily, feeling for the ridges of the fresh scar.
I cast the glamour this morning , he reminded himself firmly.
Nobody could see anything. Barty and Evan would have mentioned something, surely, if they could. Still, glancing around cautiously at the students nearby him, with his eyes half squinted and eyebrows furrowed, he felt like there was a spotlight shining down on him. Singling him out. He was just waiting for students to point and laugh. How weak he had become.
Merlin, it was a fucking sea of green at the Slytherin table. He used to love it. He had thought it looked so much more elegant than the blaring yellow, blue, and red. He used to despise red. Honestly, he still does. But recently, he was so much more sick of green.
Regulus could only make out fragments of conversation here and there.
“Give me my pumpkin juice, you twat –”
“I have potions first, does Merlin hate me or something?”
“Well if you’d done the summer homework then –”
His head throbbed and the Great Hall blurred before his eyes. He closed them to block it all out.
Green. It glowed so faintly that there was barely enough light to make out anything else in the room. Was it a room? There was a… pedestal, of sorts. Where the light came from.
Every time he tried to get closer it slipped from his hands once again. The image would blur. It would feel like he was falling into some deep, cavernous abyss and just as he hit the water he’d wake up with panic in his chest. A crow stuck inside his lungs, each beat of its wings desperate claws of escape ripping apart the organ, letting it fill with more blood.
His nails tightened slightly around his neck, putting a sharp pressure on his scar. Regulus jolted out of his memories. God, it was almost worse than his other dreams. No, he changed his mind, there was nothing worse than those. Opening his eyes he saw Barty and Evan looking at him with matching faces of vague concern and amusement.
Regulus always suffered his worst headaches after a dream - a nightmare - like this. The chatter and liveliness of the Great Hall certainly wasn’t helping him improve. It wasn’t merely the dull but persistent throbbing in his skull that he was used to after hours and hours of studying in the library. It was sharper, irregular, and it would appear in intense flares of pain that left him resisting the urge to clutch his head and hide in the darkness. The light would bother him for hours after he woke up.
Evan never missed a chance to pester him since they started last year, convinced he’d somehow snuck in firewhiskey and drank it all by himself in the dead of night, locked behind his charmed curtains.
“C’mon Reg,” he would croon, “you look like death, why are you hiding it from us?”
“We’re mates aren’t we?” Barty would chime in before Regulus eventually told them to piss off and sent a lazy hex their way, secretly discomforted by the leering grin that looked a tad bit too familiar.
The boys didn’t bother with that this morning though, after catching the glare Regulus sent their way. They were too caught up in checking their new timetables to worry much about him anyway, moping about the fact that they had Potions and Astronomy right after each other on Monday and Wednesday.
“They’re seven bloody floors apart on opposite ends of the castle, I’m gonna die going up all those stairs in just ten minutes, it ain’t right!”
Barty smacked Evan across the back of his head – “ oi! ”
“You dimwit, think about it like this!” His eyes had widened and grown bright, a smirk lifting itself upon his lips, “we have a built in excuse to miss the beginning of astronomy every damn theory lesson!”
He pitched his voice higher and added an unconvincing breathiness to his voice, “I’m sorry Professor, it’s just I’m coming all the way from the dungeons, I really try to get here as fast as I can!”
Evan’s mouth fell into an ‘o’ shape before he finally straightened up, looking at his timetable with a newly invigorated interest.
“Merlin we’re saved!” He exclaimed joyously.
Idiots , Regulus thought almost fondly. The boys could always provide a welcome distraction.
A smaller part of him was irritated in an irrational way. His head flared up again in pain and he grimaced. Sue him for being irritated with his life at the moment. Good luck to the bastard that tried, he was a Black. He’d bury them, he thought snidely. Merlin, he’s certainly going mad. He’d often slip between delirium and lucidity the mornings after a particularly vivid dream. He knew it wasn’t normal. But he’d be dead before he was caught going to Promfrey for a sleeping draught, no matter the bliss that a state of dreamlessness would provide.
Astronomy was his favourite subject. It wasn’t impossible to get between the Potions classroom to Astronomy right after each other, but he’d definitely have to rush and push through the hordes of students. However, his friends would probably be pissed if Regulus conveniently always arrived on time when coming from the same class as them. As far as he was aware, they were the only Slytherin fifth years continuing Astronomy. Most purebloods thought it was all wish-wash and dropped it the second they could, not wanting to bother with it for Owls, but Regulus secretly thinks he might have roped Evan and Barty into loving it too.
It’s probably because so many centaurs have contributed to astronomy theory. Purebloods, especially the Sacred Twenty-Eight, tend to avoid that makes them feel inferior and less intelligent than halfbreeds. He winced instantly at this thought, subtly glancing to the Gryffindor table where his brother and that lovestruck fool of his resided. He had no idea what Lupin saw in his brother. Still, halfbreed might have been a cruel way to say it. But… they weren’t exactly human , he contemplated hesitantly. His head throbbed painfully again and he suppressed his wince, deciding to shove this topic aside for another day when he didn’t feel like death reincarnated.
Merlin, he sighed inwardly, shifting his thoughts back to his friends, they were going to pull him into their class skipping shenanigans again. Contrary to what seemed to be popular belief based on the stories students tell him about, Regulus was not simply an aloof, arrogant genius. He actually needed to attend class to receive the results he did, something his dimwit friends didn’t understand as they endlessly bemoaned the unfairness of his natural gifts. It was fifth year. There was nothing that was going to stand in his way of getting all Owls.
“It’s an elective, you twats, you could’ve dropped it if you hate it so much,” Regulus spoke with a bit more of a bite than he originally intended, especially knowing that they likely continued it because of him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to bother to apologise. His voice was on the borderline of hoarse and he cleared his throat uncomfortably after he realised so. He looked over at the two, still pushing food around his plate with his fork mindlessly. He didn’t have the stomach for any food at the moment, not even a simple breakfast scramble. When he looked closely at his friend he could see the slight stain of pumpkin juice along the rim of Evan’s lips. He wondered if Barty would tell him. Regulus had no plan to.
Barty, twisting on the bench to face him and raised his arm as if to smack Regulus on the back of the head too. Embarrassingly, he couldn’t help the tiny jolt that escaped his body when he saw this. He kept his face passive. Blank. Staring down his friend like it was a challenge.
Barty narrowed his eyes, harrowingly dark even in the too-bright light of the hall, “you’re damn lucky you have that bloody headache again, otherwise…” he let it hang in the air, but the threat felt lifeless, and Barty and Evan returned, albeit a smidge quieter, to their griping about inconveniences in the timetable.
The boys grew uncomfortable whenever they noticed certain… signs , shall we say, about him. He couldn’t blame them. Regulus thinks Evan had simply never known to flinch back, but Barty likely recognised too much of himself when he looked at the slightly younger boy.
He huffed quietly, that odd feeling of living on the outskirts returning and settling uncomfortably in his chest. He heard an obnoxiously loud guffaw. He knew, even without looking, that it was Sirius. Ever the attention seeker, his brother was. He and his little group couldn’t go a damn day without being noticed by the entire Great Hall.
He glanced up. Pettigrew was bright red and sputtering, his hair an even more vivid shade of purple. Potter and his brother were losing it, attracting the attention of the professors. He noted with vague amusement that McGonagall had begun striding over to where they sat. Lupin had a stern look on his scarred face as he tried to settle Pettigrew, but Regulus swore he could see his lips twitching. He resisted the urge to wince as he recalled his thoughts earlier… Lupin was different though. He was kind. He’d always been so welcoming to Regulus. His monthly affliction mattered naught to him. (Of course he knew about his lycanthropy, Regulus made it his business to observe. Quite frankly, it was shocking he'd been the only student to discover it apart from Remus' friends.) He'd already grown too close to the older boy, realising that wizards must have been lying when they talked about how dangerous werewolves could be even in their human form, because he'd never met a more gentle soul than the tall boy with painful-looking scars adorning his body.
In his first year Remus Lupin had caught Regulus in his weakest moment at Hogwarts. He was still ashamed when he thought back to it. Seemingly coming back from a late night at the library, Lupin caught little eleven-year-old Regulus in tears outside the Fat Lady’s portrait, begging to be let in to see Sirius. It had been his second week. He’d gotten a letter from mother with a brief congratulations about becoming a Slytherin. They both knew that was what had been expected of him, though. No, the letter was more about Rodolphus staying with them for the winter holidays to tutor him in legilimency and… he’d just broken down. He'd wanted his big brother. Instead he’d gotten one Remus Lupin, wearing tattered robes that Regulus would have turned his nose up at had he been able to see past his tears. The boy had been exceedingly gentle, shushing him and sitting down next to him with an arm wrapped around his shoulder. They’d spoken for at least half an hour before Regulus realised with horror what he had done. Sobbing like a child to see his blood-traitor brother. Because he was a blood-traitor, he had to remind himself shakily. He’d thanked Remus quietly and ran off to the dungeons as quickly as he could, ignoring the baffled look at his sudden departure.
Regulus doesn’t know if Remus ever told Sirius about that night, but Sirius never looked for him to find out what happened. He didn't know what to make of that, to be honest. He had formed a tentative bond with Remus though, often studying together in the library, with Lily Evans eventually joining them in his third year. It was the year Regulus stopped mudblood from slipping from his tongue, and he'd been awfully shocked at the power behind Lily Evans spells and the knowledge she held. He never felt comfortable enough to ask Evans more about muggles, blood purity and muggleborns, though. He already had felt like he was playing a dangerous game just being near the two of them, a werewolf and a muggleborn, so akin to the blend of guilt and curiosity he had felt when he first snuck out to see the muggles around Grimmauld when he was a child.
Sorry, Remus, he thought glumly. I’m trying.
Trying had never been enough for him.
Potions
He stirred it… clockwise twice, anticlockwise five times, added in the ginger roots, let it simmer.
There was something cathartic about potions. Something soothing in the rhythm and consistency. It would never change. Not the ingredients, not the method, not the outcome. Potions was a close second to his favourite subject merely for this reason.
The relative darkness of the room was soothing to his headache, letting him work in peace. However the class was stuffy as always. The heat wafting out of each student’s cauldron makes it almost difficult to breathe comfortably. The bitter tang of the wit-sharpening potion - a review from last year, "to get your brains back in gear!” – hung in the air. Everybody’s hair was growing damp with the humidity and beads of sweat appeared over most of their faces. Hair became frizzier, students fanned their faces… he couldn’t wait until winter when the warmth would be a reprieve in the frosty dungeons.
Barty and Evan had paired off together, at the desk in front of him. He could hear them hissing curses and trying to sabotage each other’s potion. He had been paired with Nora Bramble, a muggleborn from Ireland, he'd discovered years ago from her accent. He almost wanted to chuckle at the state of her hair. It was unfortunate, really. Such thick and curly hair didn’t bode well in these circumstances.
Now, he focused, seeing his potion turn to a deep crimson after it had simmered long enough. It was time to grind the scarab beetles. Where had he put his mortar?
He looked around the table, swearing it had just been to his right. The beetles, the little bottle of armadillo bile, he noted each ingredient in it’s assigned place… he peered behind his cauldron, it wasn’t there either.
“Sorry, Reg, I thought we could just share,” her voice snapped him out of his search, she held out his mortar, holding remnants of her own beetles she must have crushed without him noticing. He eyed the dark-skinned girl with surprise, not expecting her to speak, let alone have taken his equipment without asking. She was a muggleborn. There was certainly no Bramble wizard family name that he was aware of (and he was sharply aware of them all, his ancestry studies as a child had assured this).
“Of course, and it’s Regulus,” he reminded her. He ignored her snort. She likely thought he was a snob. Perhaps he was. He may have been bothered if they had any extra ingredients that needed to be grinded, but it was a fairly simple and barebones potion. It was only the beetles that had to be used in the mortar, so he reasoned that there wouldn’t be any contamination to screw his potion up. It was less to watch in the backroom sinks later, anyway.
He continued on with his methods, the two of them returning to peaceful silence. If there was one thing he liked about Nora Bramble, it’s that she never bothered to make needless conversation. They spoke only out of necessity.
“Wait, Reg – no, Regulus, sorry,” Nora started, her hand shot out to cover his potion, blocking him from pouring in the beetle dust he’d finished grinding. “You have to return the potion to a boil, otherwise it’ll turn blue.”
Oh great, now the muggleborn thinks she knows better than he does. He rolled his eyes.
“No,” he said slowly, “the potion needs to simmer for the entire rest of the process…” he looked up at the board as he spoke, where Slughorn had written out the instructions. He’d been ready to point out the specific step. Quite frankly he had ignored the writing on the board. He’d studied all summer, revising and preparing for this year. He could remember a simple potion –
Fuck. She was right.
Carefully grind three scarab beetles to a fine dust. Before adding them to the potion, take your cauldron off simmer and raise the heat until it’s bubbling. Add the beetles and stir clockwise until the potion turns a vivid green. Return to simmer.
Nora raised her eyebrows at him, expectant. He ground out a muttered thank you through his teeth and muttered a quick intensifying spell at the flames, waiting with a sour expression on his face for the liquid to bubble.
Nora turned back to her own potion with a flick of her hair. Adding in her ground scarab beetles as her potion had already begun to boil.
Bitterly, Regulus remembered that she had been his only rival the last year in potions. The two of them had been neck and neck, always a percentage, a single mark, away from one another. It’s why Slughorn tended to have them paired, despite being in different houses. They never talked much. He found it humbling to have to ask her any questions. His mother’s voice would whisper crudely in his ear. She was a damn brilliant witch, though. That was undeniable. The average student was miles behind Regulus in most classes. Slughorn had almost cried out of joy when he realised just how talented he was at potions. She was the only one who came close. So he would ignore the scathing voice in his ear, because it had to be absolute bullshit that muggleborns couldn’t be as capable as purebloods. He just... couldn't exactly see them as equals yet. How noble of you, he scorned himself.
Part of him always felt guilty for never talking to her, because he knew deep down that he didn’t just because of her parents. He was a hypocrite and it would keep him up at night, but he would be bloody crucified by the other Slytherin boys if they saw he was getting too warm with a mudblood .
So he hadn’t exactly ever been an outright arse to her… but he likely hadn’t been very welcoming, either.
Merlin, this pureblood-muggleborn discourse would be the death of him. He didn’t even know what to think about it all. Eyeing Evan though, and remembering the sketch on his arm… Regulus didn’t understand how the hatred could ever go that far.
***
The rest of the class ended without fanfare. Regulus was ready to try and convince Barty and Evan to take at least a quick stroll up to astronomy so they weren’t obnoxiously late, but Professor Slughorn called him back to wait just as he’d been about to walk out the door.
“Now, I’ve had a talk with Professor McGonagall, and there’s a student in desperate need of potions tutoring.” He began once all of the other students had shuffled out of the classroom.
“He did quite poorly last year, he was only allowed to continue potions in my class this year as a special favour for McGonagall. The boy sorely wants to become an auror, and he’s going to need a significant improvement in his potion abilities to continue that dream…” Slughorn explained with wildly waving hands. The man was often very animated, something that led to a lot of quiet snickering in class when he became overzealous.
“I don’t want to put this kind of pressure on a Newt student, they don’t have nearly enough time, and quite frankly my boy, I think you’re far more brilliant than most of the sixth years I’ve got!” Slughorn said this all jovially, as if expecting Regulus to perk up and agree eagerly. His cheery smile dissipated as he noted Regulus’ continuing frown.
“You want me to tutor somebody?” He asked for confirmation, but continued before Slughorn could even answer, “you haven’t even taught the sixth years yet, it’s the first day, how could you possibly know that I’m better than them?” Regulus knew that he was better, of course he was. But he could lead Slughorn to believe that he wasn’t in order to get out of this duty.
“Well they can’t have miraculously gotten that much better over summer, now can they?” He spoke as if it was the most obvious fact in the world. “Besides, you’re gifted at this Regulus, I think it would be a wonderful opportunity!”
“I don’t know –” he started uncomfortably. Tutoring honestly sounded like hell. He didn’t want to be stuck with some dimwit sixth year each week. It would just take up his own study time.
“I know you passed over your prefect badge, Mr. Black,” Slughorn peered curiously down at him, looking through his rectangular glasses that were perched precariously upon his nose. Couldn’t he see that Regulus just wanted to leave? He was going to be so late to astronomy… Hardly the impression he wanted to make on the first day of lessons.
“You’ve plenty of free time! I was quite disappointed to hear that you won’t be joining the quidditch team this year, either…” Merlin, Slughorn could ramble, “indeed, we’ve just lost one of the best seekers Slytherin has ever seen, a pity, a true pity…”
He grit his teeth. That hadn’t exactly been his choice.
“Really, Professor, I don’t think that this will suit me –”
“You’ll get extra credit!” He pointed out in a rush, as though the thought had only just returned to him. “Yes, extra credit! It will boost you up even further in potions, perhaps above the Bramble girl,” he spoke with a knowing glint in his eye.
It was embarrassing how quickly this made Regulus want to agree. He hoped Slughorn couldn’t notice the change in his demeanour, but from the looks of his brimming grin he knew he had caught Regulus in the web he had spun.
“Wonderful,” he confirmed without waiting for an actual response from him. They both knew that he was hungry for anything to boost his grade. He had to be perfect. For his Owl year… he would gladly tutor the most idiotic, painful person to be around if it meant guaranteed extra credit. He could hear other students starting to line up outside the potions classroom. From the loudness and excitement attached to the chatter, he imagined it must have been a group of first years. He hid a smile as he thought back to his own fearful excitement for the first potions lesson, it had been the class he’d most looked forward to.
“Meet in this classroom on Thursday, at six o’clock sharp. I’ll introduce the two of you and leave you to get to work.” He smiled warmly at Regulus and clapped him on the shoulder, “Good to have you back in my class, my boy. Give me a moment, I’ll write a letter to your next teacher explaining your tardiness, who am I addressing it to?”
“Professor Killiard, sir.”
“Ah astronomy, the study of the sky, what a delightful subject.”
“Indeed, sir.”
“Here you are then, off you go!” He handed him the quickly scrawled note and clapped him on the back once in farewell and walked Regulus to the door. He readjusted his messenger bag and made off towards the exit of the dungeons. He could hear Slughorn’s booming voice even as he strolled through the twisting corridors, “Welcome! Welcome Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors! Come quickly, have a seat, get ready to enter the delightful world of potions –”
Regulus wondered if that magical feeling of entering his first potions class, something he’d usually been numb to having grown up in the wizarding world, was something that ever left muggleborns. He realised that with Evans now likely to ignore him, he didn’t have anybody to ask.
Thursday Evening, 6 o’clock sharp.
The week had passed by in a blur, as it always does for the first lessons back. It's merely a blend of new schedules, bumping into lost first years, and the chaos of getting back into the rhythm of school and classes and homework. He was rushing down the winding dungeon corridor, knowing that he was already a little bit late after being caught up in a stiff conversation with Mulciber about his little meetings he planned on having. He'd suddenly been incredibly glad to have tutoring as an excuse to evade the topic, and hopefully to evade the meetings overall. He pushed open the classroom door with an apology on the tip of his tongue, but he was stopped in his tracks by the sight before him.
“Oh this – now this is brilliant. Hello there, Baby Black.”
“No,” Regulus said immediately, walking right back out the door he’d entered through.
Because right there, the boy he was supposed to tutor, who had been leaning against the desk and chatting casually with Slughorn (now looking remarkably confused), was James fucking Potter.