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The first thing Regulus notices - no - doesn't notice is the hair. Jet black and in a state of eternal disarray - not that Regulus is paying attention. And he is definitely not watching him out of the corner of his eye. Definitely not hurting at the familiarity of the man he detested, the man he could never be, gazing at him in eager adoration. Definitely not noticing that his eyes are the same shade as hers, that his glasses are just as round as his. That he has James’ grin and Lily’s awed gaze. Definitely not.
It is all so achingly familiar that Regulus almost wants to cry. There is a lump in his throat but he continues taking the register anyway.
“Pansy Parkinson.”
“Here, sir.”
“H-Harry Potter.” Regulus curses himself but no one seems to notice his stumble.
“Here, Professor,” Harry says brightly, and oh, he’s Lily. He might look like James besides Lily’s eyes but he is all Lily. In the years after his escape when Regulus had almost become obsessively observant of his brother’s friends, he had watched and despite their loyalty to his brother, had found it easy to hate them all, most especially James - his supposed real brother -
- what a load of shit that turned out to be - he turned James over and ended up following Mother and Father’s plan after all, the evil git -
- except he couldn’t hate Lily. Peter was cowardly, Remus was easily angered, Marlene was obnoxious, Mary was just a lot and Emmeline was dependent. But Lily was perfect. She was all politeness and understanding and compassion and have you eaten today, Remus? and well we never know what they’re going through and at the end of the day you’re more important than any exam and are you lost sweetheart? to first years and the second last time he had seen her she had searched his face and nodded, seeming satisfied that he was going to be alright. And the last time he had seen her she had been pointing her wand at him fiercely, auburn hair billowing around her like flames and blood seeping out of a shallow cut on her face -
- she was the only woman he had ever thought was beautiful, but Lily Evans had always held some sort of divine graceful beauty - even Regulus, who is gayer than Remus Lupin’s wonky left sock, couldn’t resist that -
- and Regulus had stopped - he couldn’t hurt her - and she had turned and gone, somehow knowing that it wasn’t what he wanted, that he never wanted to hurt her. She was a purer soul than he had ever seen. And here was a carbon copy of James Potter of all people with the heart and soul of Lily Evans and what is Regulus supposed to do with that?
“Sir?”
Regulus looks up, startled, to find the class staring at him. The wild-haired girl who had spoken has her lips pursed and is looking shrewdly between Regulus and Harry.
“Apologies,” he says hastily. “Lost in thought for a moment there.”
He clears his throat and continues as if nothing has happened. As he absentmindedly carries out the register his eyes can’t help but stray to Harry. He is whispering excitedly to his ginger tablemate and he has all the enthusiasm of his father. While Regulus would expect a surge of hatred at such imitation of a man he hated, instead there comes a fond warmth through him. Of course, he had grown to respect the boy who had opened his home to his brother - curse him - and of course, he couldn’t help but feel a furious pity when he had heard of the Potters’ deaths, but could it be possible that by and by, through it all, Regulus Black has actually found some affection for James Potter? Merlin forbid. But perhaps he no longer holds the most hated position within Regulus’ mindscape - he is sixth - seventh - no - on the list actually, if Regulus really thinks about it. Merlin, if he had ever told that to his Hogwarts-aged self, young Regulus might have actually puked.
“Blaise Zabini.” Regulus mentally shakes himself out of his thoughts as he concludes the register.
“Here, Sir.”
“Very well then.” Regulus lays down the register and stands, moving to the front and centre of the room. Every eye is on him, including a pair of uncertain green ones. “I have several rules in this classroom which I expect to be obeyed unquestionably and consistently. Firstly, your wands are not to come out unless you are specifically instructed by myself to use them. Is that clear?”
“Yes Professor,” they chorus.
“Secondly, there is a time and place for potioneering experimentation and my class is not it, I expect you to follow my instructions as precisely as you can. While there is room for error, I have no room in my class for foolishness, understood?”
“Yes Professor.”
“And lastly, I assume by now you have all heard the rumours about myself. That I used to be a Death Eater, that my brother is in Azkaban et cetera, et cetera. I inform all of you now that my personal business is not any concern of yours. Any questions about my private life in this classroom will be gravely unappreciated and prying will result in points being taken. As I’m sure this has piqued all of your curiosities, I will get a few things out of the way, and then will speak on the subject no longer. It is firstly true that I used to be a Death Eater, but many years ago I turned over to the side of those fighting against the Dark Lord, and I have never since regretted the decision, only regretted my actions while under the Dark Lord’s servitude. Secondly, yes, my brother is in Azkaban for several crimes too reprehensible to discuss, but no, I do not speak with him, I do not plan to break him out or any of the other ridiculous rumours floating around. I have never approved of my brother’s actions and I hold no affection for him anymore. That is all I will ever say on the matter and I expect you to respect that. Is that clear?”
“Yes professor.” They are all gazing at him in various shades of wonder, admiration and distrust - the usual medley. Harry only looks quietly thoughtful. Regulus forces himself to tear his eyes away from the boy.
He begins his lesson. “Now, I’m not going to spew nonsense at you about how wonderful the art of potion-making is, since I’m sure there are only a select few of you who have any brewing experience and thus any grounds to appreciate what I would say.”
Little Draco Malfoy sits up a bit straighter, sending a vain smirk to the hulking boys on either side of him. Regulus barely restrains a wince at such a mimicry of his own younger-self’s arrogance. He quickly continues -
“I find that the best way to learn is by practice, so I will provide you with instructions.” Regulus waves his wand and parchment slips appear on each student’s desk. His students eagerly examine their parchments. “For any Muggleborn students unfamiliar with such instructions, consider this a recipe of sorts. Each ingredient in the storeroom at the back of the class is labelled. If you are confused or forget which ingredient is which please do not hesitate to ask questions, my priority is your learning and comprehension, and I would much prefer you clarify the same ingredient with me ten times than accidentally make a mistake and risk harm to yourself or others. You may begin.”
His students surge from their seats with varied levels of enthusiasm. The wild-haired girl - Miss Granger, he remembers - practically sprints to the back of the classroom. Harry and his ginger friend - who has the complexion and hair of a Weasley but the lanky form of a Prewett so surely must be Molly and Arthur’s next child - get up almost as eagerly and chatter to each other on the way to the storeroom. The first years begin brewing their simple Cure for Boils solutions. Regulus wanders around, observing and correcting where necessary.
“Mr Thomas, wait one moment.” Regulus halts Dean’s hand before he adds the snake fangs. Dean looks up at him nervously, face flushing already. He glances around at several other classmates who have looked up from their own cauldrons, and bites his lip anxiously.
“Can you read Step Two for me Mr Thomas?” Regulus says gently. Dean looks down at his parchment.
“Once you have retrieved the snake fangs, slice and crush them…” his voice falters off. Flushing further, Dean puts his sliced snake fangs in his mortar and pestle and begins crushing them.
“It’s alright, everyone makes mistakes,” Regulus says, smiling briefly. “In my first potions class I think I singed my benchmate’s eyebrows off.”
Dean and his benchmate (Miss Granger) chuckle -
- an icy pain slices through Regulus’ chest as he purposely avoids thinking about the owner of said eyebrows and how his laugh at the incident had sparked fireworks in Regulus’ mind, how the warmth of his grin in that moment had burrowed deep into Regulus’ very soul - avoiding thinking about him, he reminds himself firmly, heart aching -
- Ironically, it is at that moment that there is a pained cry, a loud hissing and the harsh scraping of several stools from the bench behind Regulus. He turns and takes a hasty step back. One boy is looking devastated at the mess that is in front of him, while the other sits whimpering in pain. The cauldron has been melted and the decidedly-not-a-Cure-for Boils potion is spreading over the desk as green smoke billows upward from the wreckage. Half the class is soon standing on their stools and making distressed sounds. Regulus quickly vanishes the potion and smoke, before surging toward the whimpering boy.
“Did the potion land on you?” he says urgently, running his eyes over the holes in the boy’s shirt. He nods, clearly holding back a sob - Regulus ignores Draco Malfoy snickering at his bench across the classroom.
“What’s your name?” he asks gently.
“Neville,” he says thickly. “Neville Longbottom.” -
- Impressions flash across Regulus’ mind - he quickly fails avoiding thought of him -
- smashed green porcelain on the kitchen floor -
- “you have to believe me, reg!” -
- sobbing into a ravenclaw sweater -
- “thought we were on the same side” -
- ‘breaking news, aurors frank and alice longbottom tortured by a band of death eaters’ -
- “father, regulus, please! i’m innocent!” -
- ‘death eater bartemius crouch junior dies in captivity’ -
- ripping in two the very first letter signed ‘love barty’ -
- “i’m innocent! I’M INNOCENT!” -
- Regulus blinks and he is back in the present moment, eyes full. He makes a great effort to level his voice. “Alright, Neville. I assume you forgot to take the cauldron off the fire before adding the porcupine quills?”
Neville nods, tears welling.
Regulus puts a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Mr Finnigan, why don’t you escort Neville to the hospital wing. Are you hurt?”
The Finnigan boy shakes his head firmly and puts an arm around Neville, pulling him out of the dungeon. Regulus’ gaze snaps to Harry and his friend on the adjacent bench and he attempts to keep the desperation in his soul out of his eyes.
“Are you hurt?” he tries to keep his voice steady. Both boys shake their heads. Regulus’ eyes linger on Harry for a split-second longer, before turning to the rest of the class. “Is anyone else hurt?”
They all shake their heads or mutter variations of ‘no’, sitting back down on their stools and quieting down. Regulus’ posture sinks slightly. He returns to his observation and occasional correction.
“Miss Patil, make sure to stir your potion clockwise three times, not just two.”
“Miss Greengrass, I would suggest stirring slightly slower so as to avoid losing any of your potion.”
“Mr Zabini, do be sure to - ”
“Done!” comes a smug voice. Regulus takes a moment to compose himself before turning to Draco, whose tablemate - Crabbe? - looks extremely bored. Regulus sees Miss Granger slump disappointedly out of the corner of his eye as he walks to Draco’s desk. He looks down in his cauldron which is almost the correct shade of red. For a first year, it is quite impressive. But it’s also obvious that he rushed in an attempt to gain Regulus’ favour - and bias perhaps.
“Well done, Mr Malfoy. Five points to Slytherin.” Regulus pointedly does not stiffen his voice.
“Thank you Uncle Regulus,” Draco heightens his volume and posture with the address. Several students turn to gape at him, including Harry. Regulus resists the urge to roll his eyes. Harry and his friend exchange a dark look, obviously thinking along the lines of ‘only someone as horrid as Malfoy could be related to him’.
“It’s Professor Black at school, Draco,” Regulus says sharply. Draco shrinks back slightly in surprise. “Being my relative won’t grant you special treatment, nor does it mean you should show me any less respect than the rest of your professors. Is that clear?”
“Yes sir,” Draco mumbles, flushing. Regulus feels slight guilt for such a harsh reprimand - he is still an eleven year old, annoying or not.
“If you give it an extra half-stir next time it’ll be just the right shade of red, Mr Malfoy.”
Draco smiles weakly. “Thanks Sir.”
Regulus returns his smile and resumes his wandering of the classroom. He stops Lavender Brown from adding too many porcupine quills and awards Hermione Granger five points to Gryffindor for an even better potion than Draco, before vanishing the potions and dismissing his class, instructing them to read up on Forgetfulness Potions before their next lesson.
“The excuse that you forgot will not be one I find very amusing.”
The class chuckles as they pack up their things. The bell rings and they all race out of the room, babbling away excitedly to each other.
Harry and Ron are some of the last to leave as Harry chatters excitedly about something to do with potions and muggle chemistry. Ron is practically bouncing on his feet as he engages in Harry’s conversation, his bag almost swinging on his shoulders as he waits for Harry to pack his.
“Thanks, Professor!” Harry says brightly as he finally exits.
“Thanks Professor,” Ron mimics weakly as he follows him, before immediately continuing their conversation. Ron seems quite invested in what Harry has to say and gestures for him to continue.
“No problem,” Regulus says belatedly to an empty room, before mentally slapping himself. He had been so distracted by the easy camaraderie between the two that he had forgotten to answer Harry. It seems that even within the first few days at Hogwarts, Harry has found Ron as James had found him - no - as Regulus had found Evan - no - Barty - no as Lily had found Mary and Marlene. Sure
Regulus collapses wearily into the seat behind his desk. He hasn't thought about so many lost people in a long time. It hurts a lot to dredge up all this pain he had shoved so far down he had almost forgotten it - almost). As his third years come filing noisily into the classroom, Regulus turns in his chair to face the wall rather than his students. He gulps in a breath, facing the ceiling and attempting to stop the tears leaking from his eyes, his vision blurring in moments. Closing his eyes and letting out a shuddering breath, a single tear trickles down Regulus’ cheek. He steels himself, blanks his expression and spins in his chair, standing.
“Now who did the summer reading?”
There is a chorus of students calling out and several raise their hands. Regulus tries not to die a little bit inside as he puts on a faux-bright smile.
Perhaps it is useless to try to stop it - Regulus Black began dying a long time ago.