Work Text:
Regulus Black remembers the first time eleven-year-old Harry Potter entered his potions classroom as clear as day. He was in the middle of organizing the large pile of textbooks in preparation for his new class of first years, when the heavy oak door had abruptly swung open, revealing a short girl with bushy brown hair and an eager smile on her face, brown eyes bright in excitement. Students like these were secretly his favourite. Pupils who just emitted enthusiasm, who came into his class in the same exuberant manner Regulus had first in 1971 and then everyday for the seven years following. The anticipation settling in young students like these, handing over their delicate minds for him to mould into something great, were the reason Regulus wanted to teach at all.
He peered to the clock hanging on the stone wall, giving the witch a bemused smile. “Hello there. Class doesn’t start for another five minutes, you know?”
“Oh, I know,” The girl replied easily, stepping forward and offering a formal hand, which he shook with another smile. “I just thought I’d get here early to give you this before we start.”
With the hand she just shook Regulus’s with, she reached into her bag and produced a long roll of parchment, with tiny, splotchy writing covering both sides of it. Regulus carefully took it from her and ran his eyes over it curiously.
“An essay on the effects of bezoar,” he murmured, reading off the title written in cursive script that was surprisingly neat considering this girl could be no more than twelve years old. He read the name at the top corner of the page, lips curling into a smile. “Tell me, Hermione.” He put the paper down so he could look at her. “How is it you already know about this term’s curriculum?”
Hermione shone a proud smile, standing up a little straighter. “First year potions have had the same order of lessons for at least three decades now. I read all about it in Hogwarts: A History.”
“Is that right?”
She nodded. “It is. I didn’t want to come to class unprepared so I did some research last night. Fascinating things, bezoars. They have the ability to cure you from most severe poisons if ingested, did you know?”
“I did.” He eyed her red and gold tie. “Gryffindor, eh? I’m half-surprised you’re not a Raven with a mind as sharp as that.”
She blushed slightly at the compliment. “The Hat did take a while to decide...” She admitted bashfully.
Regulus sighed. “Very well, I suppose I’ll have to award ten points to Gryffindor, then.”
She chuckled lightly. “Let me guess, you were a Slytherin?”
“That I was. Proud of it, too. All the Gryffindors I knew during my school time were utter buffoons...” He trailed off, his words nearing too close to painful truths, as they often tended to do. Shaking his head to rid his mind of thoughts of curly hair and round glasses, he cleared his throat. “Clearly, their standards have improved.”
Hermione didn’t have time to say anything more, however, because at that point other students started to trickle in, all chattering to each other in groups, some appearing to be buzzing with excitement at the prospect of their first ever potions lessons, others already looking forlorn as they eyed the various cauldrons and scales sceptically. Hermione quickly rushed to her seat as Regulus slowly made his way to the front of the room, placing Hermione’s essay down on his desk.
“Uncle Reggie!” He heard a voice call, and he sighed inwardly.
“Draco, it’s Professor Black,” He reprimanded, but the blonde boy just smirked.
“He’s my uncle,” He told the people sitting around him smugly – none of them seemed to be particularly interested, but Draco was characteristically unperturbed.
He rolled his eyes fondly, looking out at his first ever official class of students, desperately trying to dispel the nerves making themselves known in his stomach as he peered at their expectant faces.
“Welcome,” he started, “to your first ever potions lesson of the year. Now, I can tell just because of some of your expressions that you may be worried about the difficulty of this subject, but I advise you not to fret. We’re going to be starting off small, today looking at the effects of--”
The door opened once again, and the whole class turned to stare at the two boys that came tumbling through it, hissing at each other in hushed tones. The ginger boy looked up at him anxiously. “Sorry we’re late, Sir. We got lost.”
Regulus waved the freckled boy off. “That’s quite alright, just don’t make a habit of it, okay?”
The boy nodded hastily and strode over to one of the only empty seats remaining, revealing his slightly shorter friend who was stood behind him. Regulus felt the air get trapped in his lungs as he took in his round spectacles and unruly brunette hair, and for a pathetic moment, his heart stopped.
“James.”
The green-eyed boy frowned. “Erm, no... I’m Harry."
Harry.
Not James, just a kid who resembled him so much it’s uncanny. Though, now that Regulus looked closer, he did spot some differences. The eyes were obviously different, where James’s shone a warm honey-brown that was constantly verging on hazel, this boy’s eyes were so green they looked like emeralds behind the frames of his spectacles. Harry was a bit shorter than James was as a boy, skinnier too, and his bronze skin was a few shades lighter than the rich tones of James's was. But that perplexed crease in his brow, the tug of his lips and his crooked nose - that’s all unmistakably James.
Regulus forced himself to breathe and cleared his throat. “I... apologise, Harry. Please take your seat.”
Harry did not look any less confused, but complied with his teacher’s request as he sat next to his red-haired friend, whose blue eyes darted between them both curiously as he whispered something in Harry’s ear, but he just shook his head with a shrug.
Taking some deep breaths as he did, Regulus sat down at his desk, maybe just to steady himself. He took the register book from one of the drawers and tried to focus on the names of his students. When he called Hermione’s name, he suddenly didn’t have the energy to return her cheerful smile, when he called Draco’s name, he didn’t bother correcting him when he yelled out, “here, uncle Reggie!” And when the alphabetical list went down to P, his theory was confirmed true as he called out “Harry Potter,” to which James’s son responded he was present.
James’s son. Living proof that James had made a life for himself after Regulus left – and a happy one at that. Harry Potter was breathing evidence that James didn’t need him the same way Regulus needed James. Regulus had always thought the faded mark on his arm had destroyed James the same way it destroyed him, based on the tears the older boy shed when he first saw it, but evidently not. He had gone off and married his high school sweetheart, as he liked to call her, even though James’s scorching kisses that Regulus could still feel if he concentrated enough showed that this was not accurate. Lily Evans. Of all people. Lily was staring back at him now, reflected in the green hues of her son’s eyes, judging him even from beyond the grave. Regulus knew he deserved it, knew his thoughtless decisions were what ultimately aided in James and Lily’s demise, all because the wake-up call he’d needed took the form of Regulus’s former lover’s dead body strewn across the stairs, and his current lover’s just on the floor above, his hand still outstretched and motionless, as if he was still trying to reach her – even when it was clearly futile and hopeless. Nowadays, Regulus knew the feeling. It’s all he knew. All he breathed. James invaded his heart and his lungs long ago and made it very clear he wasn’t planning on vacating anytime soon, even in death.
The rest of the hour passed in a strange haze for Regulus. He desperately tried to avoid Harry’s gaze all lesson, for the few times he did, all he saw was Lily. Lily, unmoving on the nursery floor, still situated in front of her son in a way so motherly and protective it left Regulus choking. He had never known a mother to be like that. His own cold mother was certainly not, and though James and Sirius had talked about her a lot, it seems as though Euphemia was never given the chance to prove the lengths she’d go for her two sons before death took her too, but if their positive words are anything to go off, it was very far.
When the bell eventually rang, his pupils wasted no time in hastily packing up their stuff, all filing out into the corridor as Regulus half-heartedly reminded them about the homework he was probably going to give them an extension on anyway. Swallowing and sighing wearily, Regulus collapsed into his chair and placed his head in his hands as he tried to will the wave of nausea away.
“Um... Sir?” Regulus’s heart sunk at the same time he glanced up to find Harry’s apprehensive face staring back at him.
“Harry, hello. I’m sorry about earlier,” he said weakly. “You just... you reminded me of someone.”
“My dad,” Harry finished with a small smile. He shrugged, “it’s okay, I get mistaken for him a lot.”
"I must say, you're the spitting image of your parents, Harry." Regulus admitted. "You've certainly got your--"
"My mother's eyes?" Harry guessed.
Regulus cleared his throat, slightly taken aback. "N-No... No, I was just going to say you've got your dad's smile..."
Harry's expression softened at this, eyes growing slightly wider in surprise, suddenly scarily reminiscent of James whenever Regulus relayed countless astrology facts to him without taking a breath. That sort of unfiltered awe that shines so plainly during youth, when you have no reason to subdue it. "Did you know them? My parents, I mean.” He asked eventually.
Regulus exhaled through his nose, hoping his expression didn’t flicker. “I did. I admit, I knew your father better...” Well, that was one word for it.
Harry swallowed, obviously nervous as he fiddled with the strap of his tatty bag. “Draco said... he said you hated my father.”
For fuck’s sake. Draco and that signature Malfoy mouth. Narcissa really needed to stop gossiping to him, it did no-one any favours. “I didn’t hate him.” He said quickly. “Your father was... he was a very big character at school, some called him arrogant.”
“Did you?” Harry wondered.
“At first, yes,” Regulus confessed, “then I had the pleasure of getting to know him, and I realized most of it wasn’t true. Your father was kind, Harry. He cared about almost everyone he ever met.”
“So... were you two...”
Regulus felt heat crawling up into his cheeks, unreasonably nervous at the implication. “What? Me and him? N-No, it wasn’t like that. We didn’t love each other or anything.” It was more of a case of couldn’t rather than didn’t, in the end. Regulus knew this, but even after ten years, he still lacked the nerve to say it, especially to the boy who might’ve had a loving father if Regulus had only got his act together sooner than he did.
“Erm, no... I didn’t mean that,” Harry murmured as Regulus felt himself pale. “I was just going to ask if you were friends.”
“O-Oh...” Regulus stammered sheepishly. He swallowed, “yes, for a while, I think we were. He knew me better than most people.”
“What happened?” Oh, Merlin. Wasn’t there just so many horrible answers Regulus could give to that simple question? Part of him wanted to just come clean and say: Me. I happened, Harry. I took your beloved father’s trust and I crushed it so I could appease parents I never even loved. But one thing that hadn’t changed in the last decade was Regulus’s cowardice. So, of course, he said none of those things, choosing instead to opt for,
“We grew apart.” Which he knew wasn’t exactly true. They didn’t grow apart over time, none of their last moments together were gradual. One day they were kissing each other softly and giggling into each other’s mouths, and the next James was slamming a door for a final time as Regulus’s forearm burned with a heavy burden he didn’t want yet sacrificed everything for. James was his everything. His world. His own personal sun, one that burnt out as soon as he found a star he couldn’t warm, staring at him coldly as he dared him to walk away. Surprisingly, James did. And he never came back. Regulus had been cold ever since, the hot sting of the dark mark was nothing like James’s comforting warmth. One aims to hurt, while the other just wants to love. Regulus had always been his own inevitable downfall, a recipe for self-destruction, so it surprised nobody when he finally made his choice between the two.
Harry swallowed, processing this. Regulus offered him a tentative smile. “I’m Regulus.”
After a beat, Harry mirrored his expression. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too, Harry.” Regulus didn’t know if he meant it yet, but he knew he wanted the time to figure it out. He already fucked up with one Potter boy, so there was no way in Hell he was going to let this one slip through his fingers too. “You’d better get to class, or you’ll be late.”
Harry jolted, his eyes darting to the watch on his wrist as he cursed quietly. “I-I gotta go. Thanks for the talk, Professor Black!”
“Anytime,” Regulus replied shakily, seeing the difference in mannerisms between James and Harry more clearly than ever. This side of him, the side that was eager to learn, this was undeniably Lily. He called out just before Harry left. “Harry?”
The boy turned back to him. “Yeah?”
Regulus swallowed. “If you ever need anything, anything at all, you can come to me. Okay?”
Harry smiled at this, the lopsided grin taking Regulus back in time to a train in 1971 all over again, unlocking a memory from a tomb he thought he had securely hidden away.
“Hi, you must be Reggie!”
“It’s Regulus.”
“My, my, Sirius wasn’t kidding, you are snarky.”
“I-I am not!”
“You kind of are. But it’s fine, mean people are funny to me, y’know?”
“You’re weird. And an idiot.”
“Merlin, it’s like you want me to fall in love with you.”
“In your dreams.”
“You’ll see, Black. One day, you’ll never be able to get enough of me.”
“That’s absurd. We only just met.”
“Oh I know. I’ve just got a feeling.”
“... Whatever you say, Potter.”
By the time the memory faded, Harry was gone and the door had clicked shut. Regulus sighed heavily, sitting back as tears pricked at his grey eyes. He glanced over to the spot Harry had been only moments before.
“I’m going to protect him,” Regulus promised in a whisper, as though it was his greatest secret. Regulus had never been good at loving loudly like James had. “I’m going to be there for him, just like you would’ve. I’m going to do right by you, James. I swear it.”
And he did.