To Find a Home

Regulus is about 95% sure it’s been fifteen minutes since school ended—though that remaining 5% nags at him, telling him it could’ve been less. He glances around, trying to reason it out. There are still plenty of kids milling about, but most of them seem to be waiting for the bus.

What’s worse is the sheer number of students crowding the area, making it impossible to spot James in the throng. The heat doesn’t help either. The sun beats down relentlessly, making Regulus’ uniform stick uncomfortably to his back, his hair damp against his forehead. He swipes at it distractedly, his breathing quickening as his mind begins to spiral.

What if James forgot about him? What if James left without him?

It’s a ridiculous thought, but it digs into his brain and takes root, feeding on memories he doesn’t want to think about. The idea of being abandoned again gnaws at him.

He blinks, and suddenly he’s back in the cold, fluorescent-lit police station.

Sirius’ voice is sharp in his memory. “It’s better this way, Reg. You’ll see. You’re better off without them. We both are.”

He remembers the weight in Sirius’ tone, the way his brother’s eyes wouldn’t quite meet his own. He remembers trying to argue, trying to understand, but Sirius had brushed him off like it was nothing. Like it didn’t matter. Like he didn’t matter.

The memory twists deeper. The police officer’s neutral expression. The scrape of the chair against the floor. The sound of the social worker’s voice—calm, almost rehearsed. “I know this must be a lot for you right now, but I’m here to help.”

The car ride. The temporary home. The realization that Sirius wasn’t coming back. 

Regulus squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head as if that might stop the rush of memories. James isn’t Sirius, he tells himself. Over and over, like a mantra. James isn’t Sirius.

And yet, his breathing becomes more shallow, more erratic. His chest feels tight, like he’s trapped in some invisible cage. His thoughts twist further, dragging him down into a sea of panic. He barely knows James, after all. Maybe James has already decided he’s too much trouble. Maybe James doesn’t want him around either.

“Regulus!”

The sound of his name snaps him back. He blinks, realizing he’s been staring blankly at the pavement. His hands are clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms.

James is rushing toward him, his face flushed—not from the heat, but from something else. Embarrassment? Guilt? Regulus can’t tell, and he doesn’t have the energy to figure it out.

“I’m so sorry,” James blurts, stopping in front of him. “I didn’t mean to forget you! I just—I got distracted talking to my friends, and I’m not used to picking someone up with me. I’m really sorry, I swear it won’t happen again.”

Regulus doesn’t say anything. He just nods, though the tightness in his chest hasn’t completely eased. James looks genuinely apologetic, but the lingering sting of his earlier thoughts refuses to let go.

They head to the car together, James still rambling apologies as they go. Regulus stays silent, his thoughts a jumble of hurt, relief, and the faint remnants of panic.

When they get to the car, Regulus slides into the back seat, placing his bag on his lap. Mrs. Potter glances over her shoulder from the driver’s seat, giving them both a warm smile. James hops into the front passenger seat, still muttering apologies under his breath, but Regulus barely registers them.

The moment the car starts moving, Regulus reaches into his bag and pulls out his black dog—the painful reminder, yet, ever so comforting. He hugs it tightly to his chest, its familiar texture grounding him, even as his emotions threaten to boil over again.

He stares out the window, watching the scenery blur as they drive. Mrs. Potter and James chat occasionally, their voices light and casual, but Regulus tunes it all out.

James didn’t mean to forget him. Regulus knows that. James came back. But Sirius… Sirius chose to leave.

No matter how hard he tries to shove that thought away, it stays with him, heavy and unrelenting, as he clutches his black dog and keeps his gaze on the passing world outside.

***

To be honest, James is quite annoying, in Regulus’ opinion.

It doesn’t start that way—not exactly. When Regulus first arrives at the Potters’ home, he’s too exhausted to form any real opinions about James. He’s consumed by his own swirling emotions—upset over being kicked out, angry at himself for letting it happen, and overwhelmed by everything that happened at the shops. His mind keeps replaying the moment when Sirius left him behind, and the way Mrs. McAllister gently explained what was going to happen next. There’s too much noise in his head to care about the boy who smiles too much and talks too loudly.

But once the sting of being forgotten at school begins to fade, it’s replaced by something sharper: anger. How hard could it be to remember? Regulus doesn’t know James well, but James was supposed to look out for him. Wasn’t that the whole point?

The irritation festers, growing worse later that afternoon when they sit down at the kitchen table to do homework. Regulus tries to focus on his math problems, but James makes it nearly impossible. He can’t seem to sit still, constantly tapping his pencil against the table or bouncing his leg under it.

At one point, James leans back so far in his chair that Regulus swears he’s about to topple over, only for James to snap forward again and start drumming his fingers against the wood. The steady rhythm feels like nails on a chalkboard, grating against Regulus’ already frayed nerves.

He shoots James a glare, his pencil pausing mid-problem.

“What?” James asks, blinking at him with wide, innocent eyes as though he has no idea why Regulus is glaring. How could he not understand? Is he that dumb?

Regulus doesn’t answer. He tightens his grip on his pencil, shaking his head slightly, and returns to his work. But the tapping continues, and the bouncing, and the fidgeting—each movement scraping against Regulus’ nerves like sandpaper. Why couldn’t James just sit still? What was his problem?

By the time dinner rolls around, Regulus is already on edge. He doesn’t know how much more of James he can take, and it doesn’t help when James bumps into him on the way to the table. The collision knocks Regulus’ elbow just enough to spill water from his glass onto the floor.

“Sorry!” James says quickly, grabbing a napkin to clean it up. His voice is light and carefree, as though it’s no big deal.

Regulus presses his lips into a thin line, saying nothing as he sits down. He tries to focus on his plate, but the irritation simmers beneath the surface, hot and relentless. He doesn’t even care. He doesn’t even help clean up the mess he caused. How careless could he be?

The final straw comes this morning, as they’re leaving for school. Regulus trips over a pair of sneakers left haphazardly in the hallway. His bag hits the floor with a thud, and he has to catch himself against the wall to avoid falling entirely.

James pokes his head out of the kitchen, a piece of toast in his hand. “Oh, my bad. Those are mine,” he says casually, as though it’s nothing to be concerned about.

Regulus freezes, his jaw tightening as he kneels to pick up his bag. He doesn’t even look at James, keeping his head down as he follows Mrs. Potter out to the car.

The memory fades as the car slows, pulling up in front of the school. Mrs. Potter glances over her shoulder with a kind smile.

“Don’t forget, you have assembly this morning,” she says to James. “Make sure Regulus knows where the auditorium is.”

“Yes, Mum,” James replies, grinning sheepishly. “I won’t forget this time.”

Regulus huffs quietly, pushing open the car door. He waves a small, polite goodbye to Mrs. Potter before slinging his bag over his shoulder and stepping onto the pavement.

“Come on,” James says, already striding ahead.

Regulus follows, his gaze fixed on the ground as they walk toward the school. James chatters away, his voice as loud and energetic as ever, but Regulus doesn’t respond. He’s too busy trying to focus on the day ahead and not the irritating boy in front of him.

They enter the bustling hallway, the sound of lockers slamming and voices bouncing off the walls making Regulus’ head ache. James navigates the chaos easily, weaving through the crowd with a confidence that annoys Regulus even further.

“First stop, my locker,” James announces, glancing back at him. “Then to yours.”

Regulus doesn’t reply, simply trailing after him.

When they reach James’ locker, a boy is already there, leaning casually against the neighbouring locker. He’s taller than James, with honey-coloured skin, hazel eyes, and light brown hair that falls slightly over his forehead. He straightens a little as they approach.

“James,” the boy says with a small smile, “did you want to—” He stops mid-sentence, his gaze flickering to Regulus.

“Sorry, Remus,” James cuts in quickly, fumbling with the lock on his locker. “Not this morning. I have to show Regulus here where the auditorium is.”

The boy—Remus—nods, his expression warm and understanding. “That’s alright. See you after assembly in first period?”

“Yeah,” James mutters, his voice quieter now. He pulls his locker open and shoves a few books inside, grabbing a folder and a crumpled piece of paper before slamming it shut.

Regulus watches the exchange silently, his gaze darting between James and Remus. The boy seems… calm, unlike James, and there’s something almost reassuring about the way he stands there, unbothered by the noise and chaos around them. But Regulus doesn’t linger on the thought.

James turns to him. “Alright, let’s go.”

Remus gives James a small wave before heading down the hall, disappearing into the crowd. Regulus doesn’t say a word as he leads James to his own locker.

“This one’s yours?” James questions, gesturing to the locker Regulus is standing in front of. Regulus nods as he fiddles with the combination lock, his hands steady despite the unease still curling in his chest.

Regulus opens the locker and carefully places his bag inside. He grabs the books he needs for first period, double-checking to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything.

“Ready?” James asks, leaning against the neighbouring locker.

Regulus nods without looking at him, closing the locker door with a quiet click.

They walk toward the auditorium in silence. James doesn’t try to fill the quiet this time, and Regulus is grateful for it. He keeps his gaze focused on the polished floor tiles, the sound of their footsteps blending into the background hum of the school.

The anxiety from earlier still lingers, but it’s dulled now, replaced by a vague uneasiness about the day ahead. He grips the edges of his notebooks tightly, his knuckles whitening, as he follows James through the maze of hallways and people. 

When they reach the auditorium doors, James stops and glances at him. “This is it,” he says, his tone softer than before, as if he’s trying to smooth things over. 

Regulus nods again, still avoiding his eyes. 

“I’ll see you after school,” James adds, hesitating for a moment before stepping inside ahead of him. 

Regulus takes a deep breath and steps in after James, the doors to the auditorium already open. As he steps inside, his eyes dart around, quickly taking in the room. Students are scattered across the rows, chatting in low voices or settling into seats. It’s clear the assembly hasn’t started yet—there are still more students filtering in through the double doors behind him.

The room feels vast and imposing, with rows of seats stretching out in every direction. Regulus’ postures stiffens, his chest tightening with the familiar pang of discomfort that always seems to come with crowds.

He scans the room for his form teacher, Mr. Hale. It would be easier to sit near him, maybe even at the edge of a row, where he wouldn’t feel trapped. But Mr. Hale is nowhere in sight. Regulus swallows, his stomach twisting uneasily.

As his eyes sweep across the rows again, they land on a familiar head of long platinum blonde hair near the middle of the room. Pandora. She’s seated by herself, her posture relaxed as she flips through a notebook in her lap.

Regulus hesitates. His first instinct is to find somewhere else to sit, somewhere far away from everyone, where he can blend into the background. But then he remembers Pandora’s kind smile from yesterday, the way she’d spoken to him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

For a moment, he wavers, his feet rooted to the spot. What if she doesn’t want him to sit with her? What if he’s just bothering her? But then he forces himself to take a step forward, then another. He can’t avoid everyone forever.

By the time he reaches her row, his heart is pounding in his chest. Pandora looks up, noticing him, and to his surprise, her face lights up with a warm smile.

“Good morning, Regulus,” she says brightly, closing her notebook.

He nods, unsure what else to do. His voice feels caught in his throat, so he simply gestures toward the seat next to her, a silent question.

“Of course,” she says, shifting her belongings off the seat so he can sit down.

He lowers himself into the chair carefully, his shoulders tense as he sets his books down on his lap. For a moment, he keeps his gaze fixed on the stage, unsure how to navigate this interaction.

“How was your first day?” Pandora asks, her tone light and genuinely curious.

Regulus glances at her, then quickly looks away, giving a small nod. It’s easier than trying to find the words.

She doesn’t seem deterred by his silence. “Did you get to all your classes okay?”

Another nod.

“Meet anyone interesting?”

This time, Regulus pauses, his fingers curling into the fabric of his trousers. He shakes his head slightly, unsure if he’s answering the question or trying to end it.

Pandora hums thoughtfully, but her tone remains kind. “Well, that’s okay. It’s only the first week. These things take time.”

Regulus glances at her again, just briefly, and finds her smiling at him—not the forced, awkward smile he’s used to from people trying too hard, but something genuine and unassuming.

And for the first time since he arrived, he thinks that maybe—just maybe—he could get used to her kindness.

***

Whatever was said during assembly goes completely over Regulus’ head. The headteacher’s voice drones on, the words blending into an endless string of noise that feels impossible to hold on to. Why do they even bother with these assemblies? Twenty minutes of vague announcements and empty speeches that no one’s paying attention to—it’s pointless.

He shifts in his seat, his fingers brushing the edges of his notebook in steady, repetitive strokes. The motion is soothing, something to anchor himself while he waits for it all to end.

But then the assembly finishes, and the room erupts into chaos.

Chairs scrape against the floor, overlapping voices spill into the air, and the echo of laughter bounces off the walls. It’s like a tidal wave of sound, crashing down all at once, pressing against his skull. Regulus freezes, his chest tightening as the noise grows louder and sharper, stabbing into him from every direction.

His fingers dig into the edge of the seat, his body stiff and rigid. Without thinking, he starts to rock—just a little, forward and back, the movement barely noticeable to anyone else but enough to ground him.

A sudden burst of laughter behind him makes him flinch. His hands dart up, covering his ears. The pressure of his palms muffles the noise, dulling it just enough for him to take a shaky breath. He stays like that for a moment, his shoulders curled in, blocking out the world until the overwhelming buzz of the room begins to fade.

When he finally lowers his hands, the sounds have softened—not gone, but bearable. He risks a glance to his side and sees Pandora, her expression calm and unbothered as she surveys the noisy room. Her dark hazel eyes meet his briefly, and she offers him a small, understanding smile.

That smile feels… steadying.

The noise thins out as students start to shuffle toward the exits, and Pandora leans closer, speaking just loud enough for him to hear. “Your Geography class is next, right?”

Regulus hesitates, then nods once.

“Great. It’s right next to mine. I’ll walk you there.”

Her offer catches him off guard. He doesn’t want to accept—he doesn’t want to feel like someone who needs help. But the thought of navigating the crowded hallways alone makes his stomach churn. After a moment’s hesitation, he nods again.

Pandora leads the way out of the assembly hall, weaving through the crowd with ease. Regulus follows a step behind, keeping his eyes on the floor, his bag clutched tightly to his side. The din of voices around him is still loud, but with Pandora ahead of him, it feels a little easier to bear.

When they reach the Geography classroom, Pandora stops and turns to him.

“Oh, right,” she says suddenly, as if remembering something. “You’ll be in the same class as Evan.”

Regulus blinks at her, unsure if he’s supposed to know who Evan is.

“My twin brother,” she explains, and almost on cue, a boy steps out of the classroom. He’s nearly identical to Pandora—same platinum wavy blonde hair, same dark hazel eyes—but where Pandora’s expression is calm and reserved, his is bright and open.

“Pandora,” the boy greets her, his grin easy and playful. His eyes flick to Regulus. “And who’s this?”

“This is Regulus,” Pandora says simply. “He’s new. Be nice, Evan.”

Evan raises his hands in mock offense. “Me? I’m always nice.”

Pandora snorts, rolling her eyes. “Sure you are. Anyway, Regulus, Evan’s in this class with you. And History with Mrs. Steveson, right?” She glances at Regulus, who nods stiffly.

“Perfect. Evan can take you to History after this class, seeing as he also has History with Ms. Andrews.” She flashes Regulus another small smile. “See you later, Regulus.”

Before Regulus can respond—if he even could—Pandora is already walking across the hall, into her own classroom.

Evan chuckles softly, shaking his head. “She loves making me sound like an idiot.”

Regulus shifts his weight uncomfortably, unsure what to say—or if he even should say anything at all.

“Come on,” Evan says, motioning to the classroom. “Let’s grab a seat before Grayson decides we’re late.”

Regulus follows him into the classroom, relieved to see an empty desk near the edge of the room. He slips into the seat quickly, keeping his head down and his focus on his notebook as he sets it on the desk.

Evan takes the seat beside him, dropping his books onto the desk with a thud. Throughout the lesson, Evan whispers quiet jokes under his breath—something about how Mr. Grayson’s monotone voice could put a hyperactive dog to sleep, or how the map of Europe on the wall looks like it was drawn by a five-year-old with a crayon. 

Regulus doesn’t laugh, but there’s something oddly comforting about the sound of Evan’s voice. It’s easygoing, light, and not directed at him.

When the class ends, Evan is quick to pack up his things. “History next, right? Come on, I’ll show you where it is.”

Regulus hesitates, then follows, staying a step behind as they navigate the busy hallway. The noise is still overwhelming, but Evan doesn’t seem to notice.

Regulus keeps his gaze fixed on the floor, his arms crossed tightly over his notebooks encasing them against his chest, his pencil case clutched in one hand. The cacophony of voices and slamming lockers presses against him, making his head feel foggy and his skin prickle uncomfortably. He’s so focused on enduring the noise that he doesn’t notice the two boys coming straight toward him until they crash into him.

The force knocks him backward, and he stumbles, landing hard on the polished tile floor. His pencil case slips from his grasp, spilling pens and pencils everywhere.

“Watch where you’re going,” one of the boys says with a sharp laugh.

Regulus doesn’t respond. He sits there for a moment, stunned, then leans forward to start gathering his scattered things.

“Look at this,” the second boy sneers. “Not even going to say sorry? Oh, wait, he’s probably too weird to talk.”

“Yeah,” the first boy adds. “Or maybe he’s just a freak.”

The words slice through Regulus like paper cuts—sharp and stinging, leaving invisible wounds. He lowers his head, focusing on the pens in front of him. If he just ignores them, maybe they’ll get bored and go away.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Too much of a loser to stand up for yourself?”

“Leave him alone, Colin.”

The voice is calm but firm, cutting through the noise with the kind of confidence that doesn’t need to shout. Regulus freezes, glancing up to see Evan standing a few feet away. His expression is casual, almost lazy, but there’s an unmistakable edge in his tone.

The boys exchange uneasy looks. “We were just messing around,” Colin mumbles, shuffling back a step.

“Yeah, well, don’t,” Evan replies smoothly. “Go mess around somewhere else.”

The two boys mutter something under their breaths and hurry off, shooting one last glance at Evan before disappearing into the crowd.

Evan watches them go, then turns back to Regulus and crouches down. “You alright?”

Regulus doesn’t say anything, just grabs a few pens near his knees. His hands are trembling, and he feels a prickling behind his eyes that he stubbornly pushes down.

“Here, let me.” Evan starts picking up the remaining pens and pencils, his movements unhurried.

Regulus watches him out of the corner of his eye, unsure what to make of him. There’s something different about Evan—something easy and warm, like sunlight filtering through leaves. It’s strange and unfamiliar, and Regulus doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

Once Evan has gathered the last pen, he places it neatly on top of Regulus’s small pile and stands. He offers Regulus a hand, waiting patiently.

Regulus stares at the hand for a long moment before finally taking it. Evan pulls him up with a firm but gentle grip, releasing him as soon as he’s steady on his feet.

“Those guys are idiots,” Evan says lightly, brushing his hands off. “Don’t pay attention to them.”

Regulus shifts his weight, clutching the pens and pencils close to his chest. He doesn’t look at Evan, but his lips press together in what might be the start of a hesitant smile.

Evan doesn’t seem to mind the silence. “Come on,” he says, tilting his head toward the hallway ahead. “History’s not going to wait for us.”

Regulus hesitates, then follows, staying a step behind as they navigate the busy hallway.

After a moment, Evan glances back at him. “You’re pretty quiet, huh?”

Regulus keeps his eyes down, clutching the edge of his pencil case tighter.

“Can you talk?” Evan asks, his voice curious but gentle.

Regulus nods slightly.

“You just don’t want to?” Evan’s tone is calm, not prying.

Regulus shrugs, then nods.

“That’s cool,” Evan says easily. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

Regulus glances up at him, surprised. There’s no judgment in Evan’s voice, no awkwardness, just simple acceptance. A tiny, hesitant smile tugs at the corner of Regulus’s lips.

Evan catches the smile and grins back, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he pushes open the door to the History classroom. “Here we are. Let’s grab a seat.”

Inside, Evan takes the desk next to Regulus, still chatting about something Regulus only half-processes. But it doesn’t feel overwhelming anymore.

***

History is a fascinating subject. If you asked Regulus what his favorite subject is, he’d say history. Not just because it’s about the past—though he does like the way old stories and events piece together—but because it feels safe, predictable. Everything has already happened. There’s nothing surprising about facts printed in textbooks.

Mrs. Stevenson, his history teacher, seems to like history as much as Regulus does. She talks about it with this calm, steady enthusiasm that makes the class almost bearable. Today, they’re learning about the Industrial Revolution, and while the other students look bored, Regulus takes notes with neat precision, his handwriting small and tidy.

He finds himself drawn to the idea of inventions transforming the world, how one small idea could ripple outward and change everything. It’s a comforting thought, in a way—that change can start small.

When the bell rings, signaling the end of class, Regulus gathers his things quickly. The familiar feeling of relief washes over him; one more class done, one step closer to getting through the day.

As he steps into the hallway, Evan is waiting by the door, grinning. “Break time. Want me to show you where your next class is?”

Regulus hesitates, then nods, holding out his timetable again. He’s grateful, though he doesn’t say so.

“Alright, let’s stop at your locker first,” Evan says, leading the way. Regulus trails behind, his usual step behind him, keeping his gaze on the floor and tuning out the background chatter of the hallway.

At his locker, Regulus quickly swaps out his books, and as they turn to leave, a boy steps into their path. He has ivory skin, dark blue eyes, and jet-black hair that falls slightly into his face.

“Barty!” Evan greets him easily, giving him a light punch on the arm.

“Hey,” Barty says, his sharp eyes flicking to Regulus. “Who’s this?”

“This is Regulus,” Evan says, gesturing toward him. “I’m showing him to his French class. Regulus, this is Barty, one of my mates.”

Regulus doesn’t respond, just glances at Barty briefly before looking away again.

“French, huh?” Barty says, tilting his head. “Who’s your teacher?”

Evan pulls the timetable from Regulus’s hand and scans it. “Ms. Ellsworth.”

Barty’s expression shifts slightly. “Oh, you’re in my class, then. I can take him if you want.”

Evan looks at Regulus, who feels a flicker of unease but doesn’t object. He doesn’t know where his French class is, and he doesn’t want to get lost. Evan hands the timetable back.

“Perfect. Thanks, Barty,” Evan says with a grin. “See you later, Regulus.”

Regulus nods slightly, his fingers gripping his pencil case tightly as he follows Barty through the crowd. They walk in silence, which only heightens Regulus’s discomfort. He keeps his head down, focusing on his feet, while Barty walks just a little too close for his liking.

When they reach the French classroom, they stop outside the door, where a few other students are milling around. Barty leans against the wall, his eyes narrowing as he stares at Regulus, as if trying to figure something out.

“You’re the new kid in computing,” Barty says suddenly, his tone thoughtful.

Regulus’s stomach drops. He knows exactly what Barty is talking about and feels a wave of shame wash over him. He nods sheepishly, his cheeks burning.

“You’re the one who got kicked out of class for ‘being rude,’ right?”

Regulus clenches his jaw, looking down at the floor. He doesn’t want to think about that incident.

Barty’s expression softens a bit. “Don’t worry about it. That teacher’s a nightmare. He likes bullying his students. Honestly, you’re better off not dealing with him.”

Regulus looks up, surprised. He wasn’t expecting that. He hesitates, then nods a quiet “thanks.”

Barty shrugs, offering a small, lopsided smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

The silence stretches out again, but this time, it’s not quite as suffocating. Regulus still feels uneasy, but there’s a small flicker of relief in knowing someone understands.

The bell rings, jolting them both. Barty straightens up and gestures toward the door. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

Regulus nods and follows him into the classroom.

What some people don’t know about Regulus is the fact that French just happens to be his first language. Which, some find odd—he can’t blame them. Why have your first language be French if you were born and raised in England?

He can’t fault anyone for being confused, or curious. But when taking French as his language subject, it provides him with some… benefits, to say the least.

Like just now, when the French teacher, Ms. Ellsworth, handed out a pop quiz and told him, “It’s okay for you to fail.” The memory of her words makes his grip on his pencil tighten slightly. Condescending. Patronizing. She doesn’t know anything about him, and yet she assumes he’s going to fail.

The moment she moves away, Regulus glances down at the quiz in front of him. A small smirk tugs at his lips. I’ll show her.

The questions are simple, almost laughably so. The first ten questions of the quiz asks students to translate French sentences into English.

Translate to English:

[1] Le chat est sur la table. 

His pencil moves swiftly across the page. The cat is on the table. 

[4] Il fait beau aujourd'hui.

The weather is lovely today.

[10] Je m'appelle Pierre et j'habite à Paris.

My name is Pierre, and I live in Paris.

The second half flips it, asking them to translate ten questions from English into French. 

Translate to French:

[12] The boy is going to school.

Le garçon va à l'école.

[16] Where is the train station?

Où est la gare?

[20] I would like some coffee, please. 

Je voudrais du café, s'il vous plaît.

Regulus answers with ease, not hesitating once. He even takes a moment to carefully adjust his handwriting to make it neat and presentable. With every answer, his confidence builds.

When he finishes, he leans back in his chair, the faint smirk still on his face. The rest of the class is still scribbling away, some students groaning under their breath as they struggle with the questions.

After a while, Ms. Ellsworth claps her hands sharply. “Time’s up! Pass your papers to the person next to you for grading. Answers are on the board. Be honest—no cheating.”

Regulus exchanges his paper with Barty, who raises an eyebrow as he takes it.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” Barty mutters, scanning Regulus’s answers. It doesn’t take long for his eyes to widen, and he glances over at Regulus, stunned.

“Holy crap, dude,” Barty whispers, leaning closer. “How are you this good at French?”

Regulus doesn’t answer. He just smirks, pulling his pencil case closer. Then, on the top of his quiz paper, he writes in neat letters: French is my first language.

As he slides the paper back toward Barty, Ms. Ellsworth starts making her way down the rows, collecting the graded quizzes. When she stops at their desk, her gaze falls on Regulus’s paper. Her lips tighten when she sees the words he’s written at the top.

Her expression falters as she glances at the perfect score on his paper, and Regulus doesn’t bother hiding his satisfaction.

“Impressive,” she says stiffly, her tone clipped. “I suppose we’ll have to find ways to challenge you more, won’t we?”

Regulus doesn’t respond, but the faint curl of his lips speaks volumes. That’ll teach her to not underestimate me again.

As Ms. Ellsworth moves on, Barty leans closer again, still staring at Regulus in amazement.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” he says, shaking his head with a grin.

Regulus just shrugs, his smirk lingering. For the first time all day, he feels a little more in control.

***

The rest of French goes by particularly smoothly… up until just before the bell rings, that is.

Ms. Ellsworth claps her hands together, a faint smile playing on her lips as she surveys the class. “Before you go,” she begins, her tone almost too cheerful, “since we’ve been focusing on conversational texts in French, I’ve decided your term assignment will be to hold a conversation with a partner for three to five minutes entirely in French.”

Regulus freezes.

She continues, as if she hasn’t just dropped a bomb on him. “You’ll also need to write a script for your conversation, but,” she emphasizes, “you are strongly encouraged not to rely on it during your presentation. The goal is fluency and confidence, not reading from a page.”

Regulus’s chest tightens. His fingers grip the edge of his desk as the words echo in his head: fluency and confidence. Speaking aloud. In front of people. For minutes. The panic starts to rise.

It’s not that he can’t do well with this assignment, he knows he can, but it’s the fact that he has to perform infront of the entire class. That’s terrifying.  

His breathing becomes shallow, quickening as though there’s not enough air in the room. His hands twitch involuntarily before he begins flapping them slightly, trying to ground himself. He stares down at his desk, willing himself to calm down, but it’s no use.

“Hey,” Barty’s voice cuts through the growing fog in Regulus’s mind. Regulus doesn’t look at him but feels the weight of Barty’s gaze. “Do you, uh, want to be partners?”

Regulus nods once, barely moving his head. His eyes stay fixed on the desk.

“You okay?” Barty asks, softer this time, leaning in just slightly.

Regulus lets out a tiny, involuntary whiny sound, too soft for anyone but Barty to hear.

“Okay,” Barty says simply. There’s no judgment in his tone, just calm acceptance.

The bell rings, sharp and loud, and Regulus flinches at the sound. Before he can even process the movement, Barty grabs his books and pencil case off his desk. “I’ve got these,” he says matter-of-factly.

Regulus doesn’t respond, but he follows Barty out of the classroom. His breathing slows a little, but his hands are still flapping slightly at his sides as they step into the hallway, where the noise and chaos of students switching classes hits him like a wave.

It’s overwhelming. The voices, the footsteps, the lockers slamming—it’s too much. Regulus feels like he’s on the verge of spiraling again when an idea flickers in his mind.

Without saying a word, he veers off toward his locker. Barty notices immediately, adjusting his pace to stay beside him without complaint.

Regulus fumbles with the lock before yanking the door open. Inside, tucked neatly on the top shelf, is his small black stuffed dog. He grabs it and shuts the locker in one smooth motion, clutching the soft toy tightly in his hand.

Barty doesn’t comment, just resumes walking beside him toward English class. Regulus starts petting the dog’s ears with his thumb, the familiar texture helping to calm him. The noise in the hallway is still overwhelming, but the simple motion steadies him enough to keep moving.

When they reach English, Regulus spots Pandora at her usual spot and heads straight for her. He sinks into the chair next to her, his breathing more even now as he continues stroking the stuffed dog.

Barty places Regulus’s things on the desk, then turns to Pandora. He says something to her—Regulus isn’t paying attention enough to catch the words—and then gives a quick goodbye before walking out of the classroom.

Pandora leans closer, her gaze flicking from the stuffed dog to Regulus’s face. She doesn’t ask any questions, though. Instead, she offers him a warm, understanding smile, which Regulus finds oddly comforting.

“I see you’ve met Barty,” she simply says, opening up her notebook and flipping to a blank page. Her tone is soft, like she’s talking to him and no one else. “He can be a little… intense at first, but once you get to know him, he’s actually really nice. He acts all whatever,”—she waves a hand as if to mimic his aloofness—“but deep down, he’s a sweet and protective friend.”

Regulus glances at her, feeling a bit of the tension ease from his chest. There’s something soothing about her voice, and the way she says it makes it sound like she genuinely means it. He nods slowly, still running his fingers over the stuffed dog’s soft fur.

Pandora looks like she’s about to say something else when their English teacher, Mr. Andrews, approaches their desk. He crouches down so he’s at Regulus’s eye level, his face kind but serious.

“Regulus,” Mr. Andrews says gently, his voice quiet enough not to draw attention from the rest of the class. “How are you settling in? Are you feeling okay?”

Regulus pauses, his fingers stilling on the dog for a moment. He nods, but his gaze stays fixed on his desk.

Mr. Andrews doesn’t rush him, waiting for a beat before continuing. “I know being in a new school can be a lot, and sometimes the noise or the pace of things can feel overwhelming. I want you to know that it’s okay if you need a break. If you ever feel like things are too much, you don’t have to ask permission—just step outside and take a moment to breathe. Alright?”

Regulus glances up at him briefly, surprised by the offer. He hadn’t expected that.

“And,” Mr. Andrews adds, his tone still gentle, “if you ever need a longer break, you’re welcome to head to the guidance counselor’s office. It’s a quiet space, and it’s there for exactly that reason. Pandora can go with you if that would help.”

Pandora nods encouragingly, her supportive smile returning.

Mr. Andrews continues, his gaze steady but kind. “It’s also okay if you don’t want to talk. If there’s anything you need, you can write it down or even let Pandora or one of your other classmates speak up for you. No pressure, though. I just want to make sure you know you’re supported, Regulus.”

Regulus looks up at him again, this time holding his gaze a little longer before nodding.

“Good.” Mr. Andrews offers him a warm smile as he straightens up. “You’ve got this, alright? Just take it one step at a time.” He places a hand briefly on the back of Regulus’s chair—a light, reassuring gesture—before heading back to the front of the room to start the lesson.

Regulus sits back in his chair, his breathing more even now. Pandora leans closer, her voice low and kind. “See? He’s one of the good ones. You’ll be fine.”

Regulus glances at her, then back down at the dog in his hands. He gives a slight nod, feeling a bit more grounded as the lesson begins.

***

The bell rings, signaling the end of English, and Regulus begins packing up his things. His movements are slow and deliberate, his mind still processing the lesson while the hum of students leaving the classroom fills the air. As he closes his notebook, he hears Pandora’s gentle voice beside him.

“Hey, Regulus,” she says, gathering the last of her items into her arms. “Would you like to go to the library during lunch? It’s quieter there.”

Regulus pauses, glancing at her. The idea of a quiet space away from the chaos of the cafeteria appeals to him, and after a moment, he nods.

Pandora smiles. “Great. Come on, I’ll show you the spot we usually go to.”

The hallway is bustling with noise as they make their way toward the library. Regulus keeps his gaze fixed ahead, focusing on Pandora’s steady presence beside him. The noise is overwhelming, but the thought of getting to a quieter space keeps him moving forward.

When they enter the library, the atmosphere shifts. The sounds of shuffling books and hushed whispers replace the chaotic din of the hallway. Regulus breathes a little easier, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“This way,” Pandora says, leading him past rows of shelves and toward a corner tucked away from the main section of the library.

As they turn a corner, Regulus notices a small group already seated at a table. Barty and Evan are there, chatting animatedly, but what catches Regulus’s attention is the unfamiliar girl sitting with them. She has dark brown curly hair that grazes her shoulders, cacao-coloured skin, and eyes as dark as polished onyx. Her posture is relaxed, and she’s laughing softly at something Evan said.

“Hey, guys,” Pandora says as they approach the table.

“Pandora!” Evan exclaims, looking up with a grin. His gaze shifts to Regulus, and he waves. “Hey, mate! Didn’t think we’d see you here.”

Regulus offers a small nod in response, standing a step behind Pandora. 

Barty smirks. “Thought you’d be hiding in the corner somewhere.” His tone is teasing but not unkind.

Pandora rolls her eyes. “He’s not hiding, Barty. Anyway, Regulus, this is Dorcas Meadowes, she’s in Year 8.” She gestures toward the unfamiliar girl. 

Dorcas leans forward slightly, her gaze warm and curious. “Hi, Regulus. Nice to meet you.”

Regulus hesitates for a moment before nodding in acknowledgment. He doesn’t meet her eyes, instead focusing on the edge of the table as he shifts slightly closer to Pandora.

Pandora pulls out a chair and sits down, gesturing for Regulus to do the same. He takes the seat beside her, his movements small and deliberate as he slides into the seat. He keeps his hands tucked neatly in his lap, his gaze flicking briefly over the others at the table before resting on the edge of the table.

Barty, lounging in his chair as though he owns the place, grins like he’s about to share the juiciest secret of the day. “So,” he starts, his tone dripping with exaggerated mystery, “you’re never gonna guess who completely decimated French today.” 

Evan raises an eyebrow, leaning forward with a curious smirk. “Who?”

Dorcas tilts her head, intrigued, her dark eyes glinting with interest. Even Pandora turns toward Barty, though she already seems to know where this is going.

Barty chuckles, drawing out the moment for dramatic effect before jerking a thumb in Regulus’s direction. “Regulus.”

Three heads swivel toward Regulus in unison, their expressions varying shades of surprised.

“Really?!” Evan exclaims, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Dorcas’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wow, seriously? How?”

Pandora gives Regulus a small, encouraging smile, but it doesn’t do much to ease the heat creeping up his neck. He ducks his head slightly, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. The attention feels like a spotlight, and he isn’t sure what to do with it.

Barty, however, doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he does and just doesn’t care. He’s grinning from ear to ear as he leans forward, propping his elbows on the table. “Okay, get this. The teacher—Ms. Ellsworth—tells him it’s fine if he fails the pop quiz. She basically expects him to fail.” He gestures dramatically, his voice dripping with indignation on Regulus’s behalf. “And then, this genius”—he points at Regulus—“goes and smirks like it’s no big deal and gets a full 100%. Perfect score.”

Evan lets out a low whistle, impressed. “No way.”

“Way,” Barty insists, his grin widening. “And it gets better. When the teacher was coming around, I asked him how he did it. You know what he says?” He pauses for effect, looking around the table before turning back to Regulus.

Regulus shifts uncomfortably in his seat, already knowing what’s coming.

Barty’s grin is practically a beam now. “He writes, ‘French is my first language,’ and you should’ve seen the teacher’s face. Priceless. Absolutely priceless.” He leans back, shaking his head like he’s replaying the memory.

Dorcas laughs softly, her expression amused. “Oh my gosh, that’s amazing.”

Pandora chuckles too, glancing at Regulus. “I can’t imagine what she was thinking.”

Barty doesn’t stop there, of course. “And you know what I bet Regulus was thinking? ‘That should teach her.’ Right?” He raises an eyebrow at Regulus, waiting for confirmation.

Regulus hesitates for a moment, but Barty’s teasing grin is impossible to avoid. Slowly, he nods, his face still warm with embarrassment.

“Ha!” Barty exclaims, pointing at him like he’s just won a bet. “I knew it. That’s what I would’ve thought too. Nobody should underestimate anyone just because they’re new, right?”

Regulus nods again, this time with a bit more conviction. It was what he was thinking, after all.

“Exactly,” Barty says, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin.

Evan shakes his head, still impressed. “Man, I wish I’d seen that. Bet Ms. Ellsworth didn’t know what hit her.”

“Serves her right for assuming,” Pandora adds, her tone light but firm. She glances at Regulus, her smile softening. “That’s seriously cool, though. And it’s pretty awesome that French is your first language. I’ve always wanted to learn, instead Evan and I have to take Spanish.”

Regulus glances at her briefly, offering a small nod in acknowledgment. There’s still a flicker of embarrassment simmering under his skin, but there’s also something else—something faint but warm. Pride.

Dorcas tilts her head slightly, studying Regulus with curious but gentle eyes. “So, are you French? Or is your family French?”

The question hangs in the air, and Regulus feels the familiar knot of hesitation tightening in his chest. He doesn’t like to talk about his family very often—it’s gotten worse, even after everything has happened. 

He shifts in his seat, his fingers twitching slightly against the edge of the table. The attention is back on him, and he doesn’t know how to answer. Attention has never really been Regulus’ forte, if he had to admit. It was just something that never came naturally to him. 

Pandora, ever attuned to his discomfort, reaches into her notebook and pulls out a small stack of lose blank paper. She places it on the table in front of him, along with a pen, her movements calm and unhurried. “Here,” she says softly.

Regulus glances at her, catching the understanding in her expression, and something in him eases. He offers her a small, grateful smile—just a flicker of one, but it’s enough to say thank you.

Carefully, he picks up the pen and begins writing in his neat, deliberate handwriting. The sound of the pen scratching against the paper is quiet, almost soothing amidst the background hum of the library.

When he finishes, he slides the paper toward Dorcas, avoiding eye contact as he folds his hands neatly in his lap.

Dorcas picks it up and reads aloud, her tone thoughtful. “‘I was born and raised here in England, but our family comes from France.’” She looks up at him, her smile warm and genuine. “That’s really interesting. It must’ve been nice growing up bilingual.”

Regulus shrugs slightly, unsure how to respond to that. The thing was, it was fun to speak another language, especially when he needed to have an important conversation with his brother, that he didn’t want others to overhear. Sometimes, it was like a curse, being able to understand others when walking around the home, overhearing the horrible filth that came out of his family member’s mouths. He glances at Pandora, who gives him an encouraging nod, as if to say it’s okay not to answer.

Evan leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “So, does that mean your parents speak French too? Or is it just something you picked up?”

Regulus stiffens. His parents. He tries not to think about them too often. If he does think about them, it results in him having to think about his brother—the worst parts of him. 

Regulus hesitates again, his hand slightly shaking brushes against the paper, but Pandora steps in smoothly. “It’s probably just part of their family culture,” she says, her tone casual but kind. “Right, Regulus?”

He nods once, relieved that she’s helped steer the conversation without pressing him further.

“That’s so cool,” Dorcas says, still smiling. “I’ve been trying to teach myself a little French for ages, but it’s not easy. You’re lucky to have grown up with it.”

Regulus glances down, unsure how to respond to the praise. His fingers fidget slightly with the cuff of his sleeve, and he risks a quick look at Dorcas. She seems sincere, not teasing or mocking, and that small, warm flicker of pride returns.

“Alright, alright,” Barty says, clapping his hands together lightly to shift the focus. “Let’s not overwhelm him with a million questions. We already know he’s a genius, no need to rub it in.”

Dorcas laughs softly, and even Evan cracks a grin. “Fair enough,” Dorcas says, leaning back in her chair. “But still, I think it’s awesome. And if you ever feel like teaching me a thing or two, Regulus, I’d be happy to learn.”

Regulus’s cheeks warm slightly, but he doesn’t look up. Instead, he offers a small nod, his way of acknowledging her without inviting more questions.

“Alright, alright,” Evan says, “Pandora, anything new happen in Geography with little miss stuck-up princess?.” 

Regulus’s fingers brush against the edge of the table as Evan’s words hang in the air, tinged with mockery and humor. He glances at Pandora, curious despite himself.

Pandora sighs dramatically, tilting her head back as if Evan’s question has physically exhausted her. “Oh, don’t even get me started,” she says, though the twinkle in her eye betrays her amusement. Then, she turns to Regulus. “Remember that girl with the straight brown hair in our art class? The one who refused to tie it up, even though Mrs. Reed told her like five times?”

Regulus’s stomach twists slightly at the memory, and he nods, his movements small and deliberate. Of course, he remembers her. She was the same girl who had sneered at him when he tried to reach for a pencil during class. “Watch where you’re going,” she’d snapped, like he wasn’t even worth the air he breathed.

“That’s the one,” Pandora confirms, her tone laced with disdain. “Daisy Hookum.”

Regulus glances at Pandora briefly, his lips pressing into a thin line. He’s not surprised.

Pandora continues, leaning slightly forward. “She’s always complaining, always whining, and somehow, everyone still worships her because her dad’s loaded. She’s got this little group of snobby brats who follow her everywhere, probably out of fear she’ll turn on them.”

Evan snickers. “Sounds about right.”

Dorcas quirks an eyebrow. “What did she do this time?”

Pandora lets out a huff. “Oh, she decided to go toe-to-toe with Mr. Lowell during Geography today. He was trying to explain something about how all the continents were once together and that’s how people and animals migrated, and she kept interrupting, saying he was wrong, and that he didn’t know what he was talking about.”

Evan leans in, clearly invested now. “No way. What did he do?”

“Oh, he tried to stay calm, bless him,” Pandora says, shaking her head. “But Daisy just wouldn’t let it go. She kept going, all ‘Well, my dad says,’ this and ‘My dad knows,’ that. Then—get this—she actually threatened to fire him.”

Regulus blinks, his eyebrows knitting together slightly.

“Fire him?” Dorcas echoes, her voice rising in disbelief. “She can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but she was,” Pandora says, rolling her eyes. “She said her dad knows the school board and that if Mr. Lowell didn’t ‘learn how to teach,’ he’d be out of a job.”

Evan bursts out laughing. “Oh, that’s rich. What did Mr. Lowell say?”

Pandora smirks. “He just stared at her for a moment and then said, ‘Well, Miss Hookum, when you’ve got your own degree in geography, feel free to let me know how to do my job.’”

Evan howls with laughter, slapping the table. Even Dorcas chuckles, shaking her head.

Regulus doesn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward briefly. Mr. Lowell’s response is exactly the kind of thing Daisy Hookum deserves.

“She was fuming,” Pandora adds, grinning. “I think her face went as red as a tomato. She stayed quiet after that, though. For once.”

“That’s a miracle,” Evan says, still grinning.

“Honestly,” Dorcas agrees. “She sounds like a nightmare.”

“She is,” Pandora says with a sigh, leaning back in her chair. Then she turns to Regulus, her tone softening slightly. “I’m sure you already know, though. She wasn’t exactly kind to you in art class.”

Regulus nods slightly, his gaze dropping to the table.

“She’s not worth your time,” Pandora says firmly, her voice filled with quiet conviction.

Barty, who’s been quiet for a moment, chimes in with a smirk. “I bet if Regulus gave her the cold shoulder in French, she’d melt like a snowflake. She couldn’t handle being ignored by someone smarter than her.”

Regulus’s cheeks warm again, but this time there’s a flicker of amusement mingled with the embarrassment. He doesn’t dare look up, but the image of Daisy Hookum sputtering and flustered in French class does bring a faint sense of satisfaction.

The rest of lunch passes in a comfortable blur. The steady hum of conversation surrounds Regulus, blending with the soft rustle of pages from nearby library-goers and the occasional distant thud of a closing book. It’s a stark contrast to the lonely, silent lunches he’s grown accustomed to, and while part of him feels out of place—an outsider peering in on something he doesn’t fully understand—another part of him is starting to believe he might belong.

Pandora laughs at something Evan says, her melodic giggle pulling Regulus out of his thoughts. Barty is leaning back in his chair, smirking as he retells a dramatic reenactment of an argument he overheard between two Year 7s over whose turn it was to be the main lead in drama. Dorcas chimes in with her own quips, her sharp wit earning chuckles from everyone.

Regulus doesn’t contribute to the conversation. He’s still not sure how to. But no one seems to mind. Every now and then, Pandora or Barty will glance his way, offering a small smile or a passing comment that includes him, like they want him to know he’s part of this, too.

It’s… strange. Good strange.

Regulus’s gaze drifts to his hands, resting on the table. He traces the grain of the wood with his fingertips, his thoughts wandering. He’s never really had anyone to sit with during lunch before. Never had a group of people who wanted to spend time with him just because. This is new. Different. A nice change.

He risks a glance around the table. Evan is gesturing wildly as he explains some half-baked plan to build a model volcano just for fun, complete with real lava (or something close to it, he insists). Dorcas is laughing softly, shaking her head in amused disbelief, while Pandora leans her chin on her hand, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. Barty, as usual, looks entirely unimpressed, though the corners of his mouth twitch in what might be the beginnings of a smile.

Regulus catches Pandora’s eye, and she gives him an encouraging smile. He doesn’t return it outright, but he dips his head slightly in acknowledgment.

And for a fleeting moment, he wonders—if he hadn’t sat next to Pandora during form yesterday, would he still be eating alone today? Would he even know these people?

The thought sticks with him, weaving itself into the quiet corners of his mind. How one small decision—choosing a seat in a room full of strangers—led to this. The snowball effect, he thinks. One thing leading to another, changing everything.

It’s almost too much to think about, the idea of things being different. The possibility that maybe, just maybe, things aren’t so bad after all. That maybe, he has a real shot at having friends.

The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. Chairs scrape against the floor as everyone gathers their things, the chatter picking up again as they prepare to head to their next classes. Pandora turns to Regulus, her expression soft and warm.

“Ready for art?” she asks, tilting her head slightly.

Regulus nods, clutching the black stuffed dog as he stands.

“Great,” she says, her smile widening.

The group begins to disperse, heading toward the library doors. Pandora lingers for a moment, waiting for Regulus to walk with her. He falls into step beside her, keeping his gaze ahead as they reenter the bustling hallway.

For the first time in a long time, the noise and chaos of the school don’t feel quite as overwhelming.

What a thought, isn’t it? The snowball effect.