Chapter Text
It started on a Friday, in the art department. The problem with being in the art department on a Friday is that there are only seventeen desks. Older students swear that in the early days of Hogwarts there used to be thirty, but due to a few unfortunate potions related incidents that number dwindled quickly.
Whatever the reason was, the truth was that there were nowhere near enough desks for the fifty or so very stressed students who were regretting choosing art as their subcategory of Muggle Studies. That didn’t matter to Regulus though, he decided. It just meant he’d have to be fast, and you didn't survive sixteen years in the Black household without learning how to be fast.
Smiling slightly at the thought, he placed his carefully sorted pile of papers and materials on the side of a desk. As he did so, it seemed as if a whirlwind with golden hair and glasses struck the room, knocking Regulus’ papers to the ground and sitting down in the seat he was about to sit in.
Regulus blinked in shock. He cleared his throat and, next to him, a few students turned their chairs around and nudged each other, preparing to watch what could be quite a good show.
There was no reaction, so Regulus cleared his throat louder. Nothing happened for a few seconds, until the whirlwind looked up with an unmistakably friendly grin. Now that he was sitting still, Regulus could clearly see the brown eyes, freckles and chaotic smile so typical of James Potter. That James Potter, as in, Sirius’ best friend. Shit.
“Hey Regulus! James ran a hand through his permanently messy hair and smiled at Regulus while spinning a pencil between his fingers. Despite the exams being in a month, he was the picture of relaxed and Regulus couldn’t help but feel annoyed at how cheerful he seemed.
“I- Do you know who I am?” Regulus spluttered with rage.
How dare James invade the peace and quiet of the Art Department, one of the only places he felt safe, steal his desk and then embarrass him? There was a snigger from someone near James and Regulus spun to glare at them until they stopped. James, however, seemed unperturbed.
“Of course I know who you are! You’re Reggie, Sirius’ brother!” He beamed at Regulus again and turned back to the desk, rummaging in his pencil case and emptying out half the known universe before eventually emerging with a battered rubber that looked as if it was once supposed to be a dinosaur.
Regulus slammed his hand down on the table.
“No I’m not!”
Maybe it wasn’t a smart move, but he was angry and, if he was honest with himself, tired. He was tired of being known just as just Sirius’ brother, tired of having to follow in his brother’s footsteps. His brother who was better at flying, better at socialising, better at making friends. James was just someone else who thought that Sirius was the best thing in the world since chocolate frogs.
Regulus returned his attention to the present to see James frowning, bemused.
“You’re not Reggie?” He asked, without a hint of sarcasm. “Or you’re not Sirius’ brother?”
James was infuriating, but didn’t even seem to be trying to wind him up. It probably came naturally to him, Regulus thought angrily, along with Quidditch and flying and, apparently, Art.
“I’m not Reggie.” Regulus said finally. Sorius used to call him Reggie, but that seemed a world away now. Sirius hadn’t called him that in a long time, not since he’d left. Reggie felt like a different person to Regulus, a boy who died the day that Sirius ran away. But the last thing he wanted to do was talk about his brother. “Only my friends call me Reggie,” he said.
There was a pause as James reached behind himself, picking up a chair and placing it by the desk, next to his own.
“Well I think that’s a sign that we’re going to be friends then, Reggie.” He was still smiling, but this time it was slightly teasing. Before Regulus could even open his mouth to object James had continued.
“Anyway, I assume you weren’t here to talk to me. You can share my desk if you want.”
Regulus stared, open mouthed. He looked at the chair as if it was a Howler and stepped forward, resisting the urge to slap James by instead shouting at him.
“Your desk! This isn’t your desk! I’ve done my art homework at this desk every Monday, Tuesday and Saturday since the beginning of the year, and now I come here on a Friday to try and work on a piece that will mean 20% of my grade and I find some irritating nuisance sitting here, smirking and telling me it’s his desk!”
James raised an eyebrow and stopped smirking long enough to turn his chair to face Regulus.
“One: just because you sit here every week doesn’t mean you have the right to kick other people out.” He ticked the points of on his fingers, with the smile on his face suggesting that he was treating this more as a friendly debate than an argument.
“Two: I also have to finish 20% of my grade, which I haven’t been able to work on for the past few minutes because some irritating nuisance has been arguing with me and-:” He continued quickly, not giving Regulus a chance to disagree.
“Three: I use this desk Wednesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. I’ve got just as much a right to it as you have, so would you like to share the desk with me or would you like to keep arguing?”
Regulus swallowed and eventually sat down, glaring fixedly at the ground for a few minutes before pulling his art supplies closer to him.
“Sorry,” he muttered eventually.
James grinned at him as if Regulus hadn’t just been a dickhead for the past ten minutes. “It’s okay! Does that mean we’re friends now?”
Regulus rolled his eyes. “Not a chance,” he shook his head, but he was smiling slightly. They worked in companionable silence, a word Regulus would not usually use to describe James, but he seemed absorbed in sketching the outline of the Shrieking Shack. His eyebrows were furrowed and he stuck his tongue out in concentration, almost making Regulus laugh before he realised he should also be working too. Flipping his sketchbook to the right page, he immersed himself in drawing and didn’t look up until the dinner bell rang.
He jumped at the sound, dropping his pencil on the floor, and bent down awkwardly to pick. As he sat up again, he noticed James looking at him, stifling a laugh.
“What?” Regulus narrowed his eyes, although his tone lacked the sharpness it usually had.
“Nothing, nothing.” James was outright laughing now, although that wasn’t exactly rare for him. “It was nice working with you Mr. Black.”
He bowed slightly as he said the words in a mock serious tone. As with most of what James said, he meant it as a joke. Regulus knew that but still he flinched. Even here, it felt as if his family still had its claws into him. If James, of all people, saw him as just another Black, what hope did he have of being any different from the rest.
He stared angrily at James, his nails digging into the palm of his hands.
“My name is Regulus! God - are you stupid?”
James looked taken aback and immediately Regulus regretted shouting, but he couldn’t take the words back so instead stormed out of the room. His anger took him to the greenhouse before it ebbed away, leaving him pacing up and down the rows of flowerbeds and wanting to cry.
“Are you trying to wear a hole in the floor?”
Regulus looked up. His best friend, Barty, was sitting on the rim of a truly giant flower pot. As he watched, Barty gestured with his hand and Regulus scrambled up to join him, dangling his feet off the edge and poking suspiciously at whatever plant was wriggling inside the pot.
“Who’s got your knickers in a twist today?” Barty said at last. “Even you aren’t normally this grumpy on a Friday and unless you’re auditioning for World’s Biggest Emo then something’s wrong.
Regulus fixed Barty with a stare that would kill a small insect or a particularly anxious squirrel. Unfortunately, Barty seemed unfazed, so Regulus sighed and eventually answered.
“I just shouted at someone and it was completely my fault and now I’m annoyed at them because of it,” he grumbled, drawing circles in the soil next to him. When he phrased it like that, it sounded ridiculous, but Barty didn’t laugh.
“The infamous Regulus Black, worried that someone doesn’t like him!” He raised an eyebrow and looked at Regulus.
“Most people don’t like me and I don’t care” Regulus said without emotion. “That’s why it’s odd that this bothers me.” He tapped his nails on the edge of the flower pot in a regular rhythm that helped him think.
Barty laughed, seeming a lot less concerned than Regulus was. “Maybe you’re just going soft?”
Lightning fast, Regulus had his wand to Barty’s throat. “Are you sure about that?”
They both laughed and jumped down, preparing to go to dinner. As they walked, Barty looked seriously at Regulus.
“If someone’s bothering you, I’ll kill them.”
Regulus nodded and, after a second, so did Barty, satisfied. He was joking, probably, but it was still safer to be careful. Barty had a slightly questionable grasp on the whole concept of good or bad, but Regulus was his friend and he would defend him to the death. To someone’s death.
As they entered the Great Hall, Regulus scanned the room, wondering why he couldn’t see James anywhere. Then he caught himself staring and wondered why he cared.
It had been a strange day.