Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Regulus hated mornings.

He especially hated the first days of classes in the mornings.  He despised the ones where the air felt like it was coated in anxiety and new beginnings.  Especially since everyone suddenly decided to walk twice as slow because they needed to ‘soak in campus life.’

Bullshit, that’s what Regulus thought.

Campus life could soak itself for all he cared.  He had things to do and these people with no regard to their surroundings could just fail all of their classes that semester.

He shifted the strap of his satchel higher on his shoulder and adjusted his sunglasses against the blinding sun.  The quad was crowded with the usual chaos of the first week: upperclassmen yelling names across the lawn, new students clutching their maps like lifelines, and someone skateboarding directly into a trash can.

They fell over, obviously.

“Regulus Black, gracing the peasants with his presence,” came a familiar voice from somewhere behind him.

He didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was.  “Barty,” Regulus said flatly.  He decided to ignore the fact that a corner of his mouth betrayed him by twitching upward.  “I see you survived summer break.  Unfortunate.  Does that mean you and Evan are finally going to return to the apartment you pay rent for?  Been unbearably quiet without you two.”

“Barely survived,” Barty Crouch Jr. announced, jogging up to fall in step beside him.  His backpack was half unzipped, and a coffee cup sloshed precariously in his hand.  “I was this close—” he pinched his fingers together, “—to killing some bloke when me and Ev went to the states.  My poor Evan was being flirted with constantly, must’ve been exhausting.”

“And you’re a horrifying troll that nobody notices,” Regulus said dryly.  “Not surprised people tried though, you are such a beacon of discipline.”

Barty grinned, sharp and too bright for this early in the morning.  “Exactly!  That’s why the first bloke got a black eye before I realized how it was all going to be.”

They wove through the crowd, Barty occasionally nudging Regulus toward patches of shade when the sun got too direct.  It wasn’t really for Regulus’s comfort.  Barty just didn’t like direct sunlight.  Said it made him ‘feel mortal.’  Whatever the fuck that meant.

“Anyway,” Barty continued, “what ungodly hour are you suffering through this morning?”

“Ten o’clock,” Regulus said.

“Must be nice.”

“It’s English Composition I.”

Barty groaned dramatically.  “Oh, that’s what you’re doing with your morning.  How thrilling.  Maybe you’ll learn how to write proper essays instead of those cryptic philosophical nightmares you turn in for everything.”

“They’re concise.”

“They’re terrifying,” Barty said.  He kicked at a leaf.  “Who’d you get stuck with for it?  Please say McGonagall, I want to hear about your suffering firsthand.”

Regulus shrugged, pulling his phone from his pocket to double-check the schedule that he’d memorized anyway.  “Says here…Lupin, I think?  Couldn’t find him on any of the faculty listings though.”

Barty gave a low whistle.  “Mysterious.  Maybe he’s new.”

“Or maybe the university decided I’ve caused enough trouble and assigned me an imaginary professor,” Regulus said, tucking the phone away again.

“An imaginary professor who teaches English?”  Barty grinned.  “What’s next, invisible classmates?  The ghost of Shakespeare handing out syllabi?”

“Wouldn’t be the worst instructor I’ve had.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m realistic.”

They reached the English building.  It was one of the older ones on campus, all ivy and crumbling stone and windows that looked like they hadn’t been cleaned since the seventies.  Barty eyed it as if it might collapse under the weight of its own Gothic pretension.  “Still going for that old-world scholar aesthetic, huh?” he muttered.

“It’s tradition,” Regulus replied.  He knew that was exactly the kind of thing that would annoy Barty.

“Tradition is just peer pressure from dead people.”

Regulus snorted.  “You should embroider that on a pillow.”

“Maybe I will.  You’ll get one for Christmas.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Barty stopped at the steps, squinting up at the faded sign over the entrance.  “So this is where I abandon you to your literary doom.”

Regulus gave a mock salute.  “I’ll try to survive.”

“Do that.  I’ve got Political Theory in ten minutes and a professor who hates me for breathing too loudly, so we’ll see who makes it out alive.”

Regulus smirked.  “My money’s on me.”

“Always is.”  Barty pointed a finger-gun at him, the coffee nearly spilling again.  “Don’t fall asleep in class.  Or do.  I expect chaos either way.”

Regulus rolled his eyes and turned toward the door.  “Go to class, Barty.”

“Already regretting it,” Barty called as he walked off, waving over his shoulder.

The noise of the campus dimmed as Regulus stepped into the building, the thick stone walls swallowing the sound.  It smelled faintly of dust and old books.  It was not unpleasant, just familiar.  He found the classroom listed on his schedule, room 203.  He paused outside the door.

The hallway was nearly empty.  A few students scrolled through their phones or double-checked schedules.  The door to 203 was slightly ajar, and through the crack he could see someone setting up a laptop at the front desk.

Regulus hesitated.  Lupin.  The name didn’t ring any bells.  Most of the English professors were permanent fixtures.  They were people who’d been there long enough for their portraits to probably hang in the hallways if the department had the budget.  A new one was rare.

He slipped inside quietly and took a seat near the window.

The classroom was small, maybe twenty desks arranged in loose rows.  The sunlight filtered through old blinds, casting pale stripes across the floor.  The man at the front looked to be around his thirties, with slightly rumpled brown hair and a worn button-up that had probably been ironed once.  But it was sometime last week.  Leaning on his desk was a cane.  But Lupin wasn’t using it at the moment.

He was fiddling with the projector cord, muttering under his breath about technology.

“Are you Lupin?”  Regulus asked before he could stop himself.

The man looked up, startled.  Then he smiled, faint and tired but genuine.  It made Regulus squirm.  “That’s me.  You’re early.”

“I prefer it that way,” Regulus said.

“Good habit,” Lupin said.  “Means you’ll actually get the good seats before the rest of the class wanders in.”  Regulus wasn’t sure any of the seats qualified as good but he nodded anyway.

Lupin went back to adjusting the cables.  “First day jitters?” he asked casually.

“Not really.”

“That makes one of us,” Lupin murmured, mostly to himself.  Then, he said louder, “well, glad you’re here, Mister…”

“Black,” Regulus said.  “Regulus Black.”

“Right.  Well, Mister Black, welcome to English Composition.”  Lupin gave the cable a final tug, and the projector flickered to life.  “Let’s see if this thing wants to cooperate for the rest of the semester.”

Regulus couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips.  At least the man seemed human.  Well, more so than most of the professors he’d had.  He still seemed like an odd demi-god that decided to grace the mortal plane with his presence.

Regulus was not blind.

The room began to fill as other students trickled in.  It was full of chatter, the squeak of chairs, and the crinkle of paper bags with first-day pastries.  Regulus sat quietly, watching Lupin greet each person with the same soft politeness.

There was something unassuming about him.  About the way he didn’t try too hard to command attention.  About the way he smiled like he was in on a joke no one else knew.

When the clock hit ten, Lupin closed the door and faced the class.

“All right, everyone,” he said.  “Welcome to English Composition I.  I’m Professor Lupin—though honestly, if you call me ‘Professor,’ I might look behind me to see who you’re talking to.  ‘Mr. Lupin’ or ‘Lupin’ works fine.”

A few students laughed.

“This class,” Lupin continued, “is mostly about learning to think critically about writing—yours and others’.  We’ll be reading, writing, editing, and probably complaining in equal measure.”

That earned a louder laugh.  Regulus’s pen hovered over his notebook.  Idle.  He wasn’t sure what to make of him yet.  But there was something…familiar about Lupin’s voice.  Something oddly warm.

And for the first time that morning, Regulus didn’t feel like he was just enduring another day.  No.  He was curious.

Lupin turned toward the projector again.  It was as if he was determined to win the battle through sheer persistence.  The machine gave a soft whir, flickered blue for a second.  Then it immediately went black.

He sighed.  Not dramatically.  No, just a quiet exhale of someone who had fought this fight before and never won.  “All right,” he muttered under his breath, “you win this round.”

The class snickered.

Regulus leaned back in his chair, watching as Lupin crouched beside the desk to fiddle with the cord.  The man looked absurdly out of place down there, kneeling on the scuffed tile floor.  He tugged at cables like he could reason with them.

“Sorry, everyone,” Lupin said, pushing a hand through his hair.  “Apparently this projector and I aren’t on speaking terms yet.  If anyone here happens to be fluent in ancient technology, feel free to intervene.”

There were a few chuckles, but no one moved.  Regulus sighed and stood.  “I’ll take a look.”

Lupin glanced up, surprised.  “You’re volunteering?  Brave soul.”

“I can usually fix them,” Regulus said simply.  He crossed to the front of the room.

“Well, have at it, Mister Black.  I was about ready to start drawing on the whiteboard like it’s 1993.”

Regulus crouched beside the desk, brushing past Lupin as he reached for the cable.  Their sleeves brushed.  It was just the faintest graze of fabric.  But it startled him more than he expected.  Lupin smelled faintly of coffee and something earthy.  Almost like cedarwood soap.

Regulus focused on the task instead.  “You’ve got the HDMI plugged into the input port instead of the output,” he said after a moment, switching the cord deftly.  “That’s why you’re getting a blue screen.”

Lupin blinked, leaning to see.  “There’s an input and an output port?  When did they start doing that?”

“Several years ago,” Regulus said dryly, clicking the laptop’s display settings.  “You’re lucky this one even has both.”

The projector hummed again.  This time it flared to life with the pale glow of a PowerPoint slide.  “There.”

The class actually applauded, which made Lupin laugh.  It was a quiet, self-deprecating sound that softened the edges of his voice.  “All right, everyone, new rule: Mister Black is now my official technology advisor.  Thank you for saving me from certain humiliation.”

Regulus stood, dusting off his hands.  “You’re welcome.”

As he sat back down, Lupin straightened.  He stretched his back slightly, a few cracks audible from where Regulus was standing.  The motion pulled his shirt a little tighter across Lupin’s chest.  For the first time, Regulus noticed the faint scattering of scars along the side of his neck.  They were thin and silvery lines.  Half-faded but unmistakable.

He hadn’t seen them before.  The classroom light hadn’t hit right until now.  There was another, fainter one along his jaw.  It disappeared into stubble.

It wasn’t the scars themselves that caught Regulus off guard.  It was how normal Lupin looked with them.  It was as if they belonged there.  That they were simply quiet punctuation marks in a story he hadn’t told.

He looked older than Regulus had expected, too.  He thought thirties as more of a maximum, but Regulus was sure of it now.  But not in a tired, beaten-down way.  No, more in that quietly enduring way that came from too many late nights and not enough rest.

Lupin smiled again, shaking off the projector debacle.  “All right then.  Let’s try that again, shall we?”

He clicked the remote, and a title slide appeared: ‘The Art of Composition: Why Writing Is Organized Chaos.’

“Sounds promising,” someone in the back muttered.

“Promise might be generous,” Lupin said.  “But we’ll aim for organized chaos by the end of the semester, at least.”

The room relaxed into the rhythm of a first class.  Lupin talked about the syllabus.  He was not reading from it line by line, thankfully.  But he did explain it in a way that felt conversational.  He spoke softly, yet somehow everyone could hear him.  His voice carried.  All smooth but a little rough around the edges.  It was like the crackle of an old vinyl record.

Regulus found himself listening more than he expected to.  Not just hearing—listening.

Most professors loved the sound of their own authority.  Lupin didn’t.  He spoke like he wanted them to understand, not obey.  “…I don’t care if you’ve written a dozen papers or none,” Lupin was saying.  “We’ll start from the beginning.  Writing isn’t a talent, it’s a process.  And it’s messy.  Sometimes the best thing you can do is make peace with that.”

He smiled again.  It was this faint and crooked thing that was unforced.  Regulus noticed that his smile reached his eyes in a way few people’s did.  He shouldn’t have been looking this much.  He knew that.  But there was something magnetic about him.  The kind of quiet presence that didn’t demand attention but still drew it.

Lupin gestured vaguely at the whiteboard with the marker.  “All right, let’s do introductions.  Just your name, major, and the last book you actually liked.  And I don’t mean the one you think you’re supposed to like.”

Groans followed.

Regulus smirked faintly.  Lupin laughed, unbothered.  “I promise I won’t judge.  Unless you say Twilight, then I’ll have questions.”

Someone near the back muttered, “no promises.”

Names went around the room.  Benjy, Emma, Theodore, Bruce—a mix of familiar and new faces.  When it reached Regulus, he didn’t hesitate.

“Regulus Black,” he said.  “English.  Last book I liked was The Picture of Dorian Gray.”

Lupin’s head tilted, considering.  “Good choice.  Bit on the nose for a first class, though.”

“I have good taste,” Regulus said simply.

A quiet murmur of laughter.  Lupin smiled again.  “Noted.”

The introductions finished, and Lupin launched into a brief overview of their first assignment.  An essay analyzing a personal experience through narrative structure.  Most of the class groaned again, but Regulus only jotted the details down neatly in his notebook.

Halfway through, the projector flickered.

“Don’t you dare,” Lupin muttered at it.

It went black again.

Laughter rippled across the room.

Regulus couldn’t help it.  He smiled.

Lupin put the remote down, resigned.  “All right, clearly technology and I have some unresolved tension.  We’ll finish this the old-fashioned way.”

He turned to the whiteboard and began to write, his handwriting surprisingly elegant.  It was all slanted, deliberate, and a little old-world.  The marker squeaked against the surface, outlining ‘Narrative = Change.’

Regulus found himself watching the movement of his hands.  The easy roll of his sleeves.  The way the morning light caught in his hair.  He tried to focus on the words, but his eyes kept drifting back to the small scar above Lupin’s wrist.  It was another pale slash, almost hidden by the cuff of his shirt.

He looked…composed.  Not pristine.  Not polished.  Steady.  As if he’d been through something and learned how to carry it quietly.

Regulus wondered what kind of story left marks like that.

When the clock finally hit eleven-fifteen, Lupin capped the marker and turned back to them.  “All right, that’s it for today.  I’ll post the assignment instructions on the course page.  Try to think about your topic before next class.  And if the projector decides to forgive me by then, we might even use slides.”

Chairs scraped and bags rustled.

Regulus slipped his notebook into his satchel, but didn’t immediately stand.  Lupin was still erasing the board, back to the class.  His sleeves were rolled to the elbows.  There was something quietly self-contained about him.  It was the kind of calm that felt rare in someone new to teaching.

As students trickled out, Lupin turned slightly.  “Thanks again for the rescue, Mister Black.”

Regulus met his gaze.  Up close again, Lupin’s eyes were hazel.  They were flecked with gold and green.  Extremely tired but kind.  “It wasn’t difficult,” he said.

“Maybe not for you.”  Lupin’s smile deepened, soft and fleeting.  “But, I owe you one.”

Regulus shrugged.  “You can pay me back by learning which port is which.”

Lupin laughed.  It was quiet but genuine.  “Fair enough.  I’ll study up.”

Regulus nodded once, shouldered his bag, and left before he could think too much about why his chest felt oddly warm.  Outside, the air was brighter and noisier.  There were students everywhere again, their voices overlapping.  He scanned the quad automatically.

Barty was leaning against a tree, eating a muffin and waving the wrapper like a flag.

“Well?” he called.  “Was he real, or did you hallucinate an instructor?”

Regulus adjusted his sunglasses, trying to look unimpressed.  “He’s real.”

“And?”

Regulus hesitated.  “He’s…competent.  Mostly.”

“Mostly?”  Barty grinned.  “You already judging your poor professor?”

Regulus started walking again.  “He couldn’t work the projector.”

“Ah, tragic.  Handsome at least?”

Regulus didn’t answer.

Barty smirked, jogging to catch up.  “That’s a yes.”

Regulus ignored him.  But he didn’t deny it either.

They cut across the quad toward the student center.  The late morning sun slanted between trees.  The air was sticky with the promise of another too-hot afternoon.  Barty was talking the entire time.  As usual.

“So,” Barty said, skipping a step to match Regulus’s pace, “you still haven’t told me what this Lupin guy’s deal is.  You’ve been suspiciously quiet.  Which, coming from you, means something.”

“I told you,” Regulus said.  “He’s new.  English professor.  End of story.”

“That’s not an end, that’s a sentence fragment.”

“Not in this context.”

Barty gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense.  “Oh my god, you’re defending him already.”

Regulus rolled his eyes.  “You’re impossible.”

“I’m perceptive,” Barty said while grinning.  “So, what’s he like?  Young?  Old?  Soul-sucking academic vampire?  Actually undead?  You can tell me.”

“He’s not undead,” Regulus muttered.

“Ah, so you looked long enough to confirm that.  Interesting.”

Regulus stopped walking for a second, staring at him flatly.  “You’re going to keep pestering me until I give you something, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Barty said brightly.

Regulus sighed.  “Fine.  He’s hot.  Is that what you wanted me to say?”

Barty’s entire face lit up like a sparkler.  “I knew it!  I could hear it in your voice.  The way you said ‘he’s real’ earlier?  That was your ‘I’m pretending not to be attracted’ tone.”

“I don’t have a tone,” Regulus said.

“Oh, you do.  You get all clipped and polite like you’re trying to distance yourself from your own emotions.  It’s adorable.”

“It’s infuriating,” Regulus corrected.

“Only for you,” Barty said, looping his arm through Regulus’s.  “So spill it.  How hot are we talking?  Like, library-professor hot?  Or tragic-literary-hero hot?”

Regulus refused to engage.  “Neither.”

“So…both?”

Regulus exhaled through his nose, resigned.  “He looks…older.  Thirties, maybe.  Messy hair.  Scars.”

“Scars?”  Barty perked up instantly.  “Oh, that’s cinematic. What kind of scars?”

“Not the kind you ask about,” Regulus said firmly.

“Even better.  A mystery man with a dark past and a soft smile.”  Barty spun dramatically on his heel. “Regulus, you’re living in a romance novel and didn’t even tell me.  And he’s just your type!  You needed someone better than Tom.”

Neither of them decided to clarify about Tom.  That was an embarrassing point in Regulus’ life.  “I’m living in a comp class, not Pride and Prejudice.”

“Same thing,” Barty said.  “There’s always a brooding professor and too much eye contact.”

Regulus muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like unbelievable.  They reached the courtyard steps just as someone called out from across the lawn, “oi!  Barty!”

Evan Rosier appeared, walking toward them with a coffee in one hand and his backpack slung over one shoulder.  His hair was perfect, as usual.  Styled like he’d stepped straight out of an old film.

Barty immediately perked up like a dog spotting its favorite person.  “Ev!”

He bounded forward, nearly colliding with him.  Evan caught him easily, the coffee somehow surviving the impact.  “God, you’re energetic this morning,” Evan said, laughing as Barty looped an arm around his waist.  “What’s gotten into you?”

“Regulus!”  Barty said dramatically.  “He’s caught feelings for his professor.”

“I have not,” Regulus said flatly from a few feet away.

Evan raised an eyebrow.  “Already?  It’s the first day.  You don’t need a repeat of Tom.”

“Tom was my boss, not a professor.”

“Still…power dynamics.”

“I was already talking about it with him,” Barty said gleefully, diverting the conversation.  He was bouncing slightly as if the gossip itself powered him.  “He walked into class, fixed the guy’s projector—hero moment, mind you—and now he’s all ‘He’s hot, is that what you wanted me to say?’”

Regulus groaned.  “You’re insufferable.”

Evan smirked, clearly amused.  “Wait, wait.  Back up.  You fixed his projector?”

Regulus crossed his arms.  “He plugged it into the wrong port.”

“Classic move,” Evan said.  “So this Professor—”

“Don’t start,” Regulus warned.

“—is hot, according to you?”

Regulus glared.  “I didn’t say that.  I said he is.  Objectively.  You’d agree if you saw him.”

Barty gasped.  “Oh my god, he’s defending him again.”

Evan laughed.  “I haven’t even seen the guy yet, and I already like him.  He’s got you cornered.”

Regulus refused to take the bait.  He chose instead to adjust the strap of his satchel and start up the steps toward the student center.  “You’re both children.”

“That’s not a denial!”  Barty sang after him.

Evan followed, still chuckling.  “You know, Reg, if you ever get bored of being mysterious and brooding, you should let Barty set you up with someone.  He lives for it.”

“I live for chaos,” Barty corrected, catching up to them and sliding his hand into Evan’s without missing a beat.  “And this—” he gestured between them, “—is delicious chaos.  Academic, forbidden, tragic.  It’s got all the makings of a modern classic.”

“Nothing’s forbidden,” Regulus said.  “He’s just a professor.”

“That teaches your class,” Barty said, poking him in the shoulder.  “Instant tragedy.”

“You’re dramatizing again.”

“That’s my major,” Barty said cheerfully.

They reached a cluster of picnic tables under the trees and claimed one.  Evan sat gracefully, setting his coffee down.  Barty half-climbed onto the bench beside him, still buzzing with energy.

“So what’s your next move?”  Barty asked, grinning like the devil.  “Are you going to sit in the front row next class?  Pretend to need help with your thesis statement?”

“I’m going to attend class and mind my own business,” Regulus said.  He pulled out his water bottle.

“Boring,” Barty said.

“Responsible,” Regulus countered.

Evan sipped his coffee, amused.  “I’ll give it a week before you start editing your essays twice just so he’ll notice.”

Regulus gave him a look.  “You’re worse than him.”

“I’m just honest,” Evan said with a shrug.  “You’ve got a thing for competence.  Always have.”

“Competence?” Barty snorted.  “You mean repressed emotional disaster cases.  That’s his type.”

Regulus tilted his head.  “That’s rich coming from you.”

Evan barked out a laugh, and Barty clutched his heart like he’d been mortally wounded.  “How dare you.”

“Easily,” Regulus said.  He finally cracked a faint smile.

Barty leaned over, head dropping to Evan’s shoulder.  “He mocks me, and yet I help him with his love life.  This is true friendship.”

“I didn’t ask for help,” Regulus said.

“That’s what makes it fun,” Barty replied, twining his fingers through Evan’s and grinning up at him.  “Besides, you clearly like him.  You got that look.”

“What look?”

“The one where you stare into the distance like you’re in a French film and someone just read you poetry.”

Evan laughed into his coffee.  “He’s not wrong.”

Regulus stared at both of them for a long moment.  He then said, perfectly evenly, “you two deserve each other.”

“We do,” Barty said proudly, tightening his arm around Evan’s waist.

Evan smirked, leaning down to kiss his temple.  “You’re lucky I’m immune to your dramatics.”

“You love my dramatics,” Barty said, nuzzling against him.

Regulus rolled his eyes again, though he didn’t actually mind.  They were ridiculous, but in a way that made everything else a little lighter.

Barty looked up suddenly.  His grin was wicked.  “Hey, maybe Lupin’s got office hours today.”

Regulus gave him a warning look.  “Don’t.”

“Just saying!  You could drop by, ask about the syllabus, and then—”

“Barty.”

“Fine, fine,” Barty said, laughing.  “I’ll behave.  For now.”

Evan smirked, tugging gently at his hand.  “You never behave.”

“Exactly,” Barty said, standing and tugging Evan up with him.  “Come on, I’ve got ten minutes to walk you to class and dramatically pine after you in the hallway.”

Evan smiled.  “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.”

They started toward the Humanities building, Barty’s hand still looped around Evan’s arm.  He was bouncing with every step.

Regulus watched them go, shaking his head but smiling despite himself.  The world felt loud again.  With laughter, conversation, and someone’s music bleeding faintly from a nearby bench.

He sat back for a moment, watching sunlight flash across the brick buildings.  He thought of the way Lupin had smiled after the projector finally worked.

Not polished.  Not forced.

Just real.

And for the first time all morning, Regulus let himself grin.

__________

The supermarket was too bright.

Regulus always thought grocery stores were designed by sadists.  With aisles flooded with artificial light, music that sounded like it was written by someone who hated sound, and people who had absolutely no sense of spatial awareness.  And the music repeated.  That’s the worst thing.  Regulus had no problems with Taylor Swift but he could only hear the same song so many times...

“This is hell,” Barty announced, pushing the shopping cart like it was a weapon.

Dorcas Meadowes gave him a look over her shoulder.  “It’s a grocery store, Barty.  Calm down.”

“Same thing,” he said, maneuvering the cart into the produce section.  “There’s too much fruit.  No one needs this many grapes.”

Regulus followed them quietly, basket in hand.  He didn’t really need much.  A few basics, some coffee, cereal.  But Dorcas had insisted he come along, claiming that he “always forgets to buy real food.”

Dorcas was efficient in that way.  Tall, composed, and dressed in a jean jacket that made her look effortlessly put together.  She moved through the aisles with precision, tossing vegetables into the cart while Barty trailed after her.  He was still narrating dramatically.

“Do we really need lettuce?” he asked.

“Yes,” Dorcas said.

“Why?”

“So we don’t die of scurvy.”

“I thought that was from oranges.”

Dorcas sighed.  “Barty.”

“Fine, fine.”  He threw in a pack of strawberries and winked at Regulus.  “See?  I’m contributing.”

“Barely,” Regulus said, picking up a carton of oat milk and examining the label.  “You’re mostly being loud.”

“I’m bringing the vibe,” Barty said.  “Someone’s gotta keep morale up.”

Dorcas glanced back at Regulus with a knowing smile.  “You two sound like an old married couple.”

Regulus made a face.  “Don’t say that.  He’s like an annoying little brother.”

“Why not?” she teased.  “It’s true.  You bicker, he complains, you roll your eyes.  Domestic bliss.  I’m sure Evan wouldn’t be appalled...”

Barty gasped.  “Oh my god, Dorcas, take it back.  He’s going to think we’re a cliché.  Setting back the queer movement or something like that.”

Regulus didn’t dignify that with a response.

Dorcas smirked and steered them toward the next aisle.  “So,” she said casually, “how’s your first week going?  Settling into classes?”

“Fine,” Regulus said automatically.

“Fine,” Barty echoed dramatically.  “Translation: he’s been staring into the distance thinking about his hot English professor.”

Dorcas raised an eyebrow, interested.  “Hot English professor?”

Regulus shot Barty a look that could curdle milk.  “You’re insufferable.”

Barty ignored him, gleefully turning to Dorcas.  “His name’s Lupin.  He’s new.  Regulus fixed his projector and fell in love instantly.”

“I didn’t.”

Dorcas leaned on the cart handle, smirking.  “Professor Lupin, huh?  What’s he like?”

“Middle-aged,” Regulus said.  “And perpetually tired.”

“Hot though?” she asked.

Regulus hesitated, which was all the answer she needed.  Dorcas grinned.  “That’s a yes.”

“You’re both exhausting,” Regulus muttered.  He dropped a bag of pasta into the basket.

Barty leaned over the cart, sing-songing, “Reggie’s got a crush, Reggie’s got a crush—”

Regulus turned sharply.  “I will abandon you here.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

Dorcas laughed.  “Don’t tease him too much, Barty.  You’ll scare him off before anything even happens.”

“Nothing is going to happen,” Regulus said.

“That’s what people always say before it does,” Barty replied.

“Or before they develop an unhealthy fixation,” Dorcas added, mostly to herself.

Regulus groaned.  “Why do I even come out with you two?”

“Because we’re fun,” Barty said immediately.

Dorcas handed him a loaf of bread.  “And because you’d starve otherwise.”

“That too,” Regulus admitted.

They continued down the aisle. Dorcas examined tomatoes with the seriousness of someone defusing a bomb.  All while Barty tossed random snacks into the cart when she wasn’t looking.  Cereal, gummy worms, and a suspicious number of energy drinks.

Regulus trailed a few steps behind, idly scanning the shelves.  His mind wasn’t on the groceries, though.  It drifted, unhelpfully, back to Lupin.

That morning’s class had been better.  Lupin had actually managed to keep the projector working, though Regulus suspected it was only because he’d preemptively tested it before students arrived.  He’d caught Regulus’s eye when it flickered on.  He smiled a little as if to say look, I did it.

Regulus had nodded back, pretending not to find it endearing.

“Reg?”  Dorcas’s voice cut through his thoughts.

He blinked.  “What?”

“You spaced out,” she said, arching an eyebrow.  “Thinking about Lupin?”

Regulus shot her a flat look.  “I was thinking about cereal.”

“Sure you were,” Barty said, grinning as he tossed a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch into Regulus’s basket.  “For your tragic breakfasts alone while you write love poems about your professor.”

“I don’t write poems.”

“You would if you were in love.”

“Actually, I think I feel one coming on.  Tell me Barty, what rhymes with insufferably annoying?”

Dorcas laughed.  “He’s going to hit you with that basket in about three seconds.”

“Worth it,” Barty said cheerfully.

Regulus exhaled, setting the basket down.  “You know, it’s amazing how you both manage to make grocery shopping feel like a psychological experiment.”

“That’s friendship,” Dorcas said, picking out apples.  “We keep you humble.”

“I’m perfectly humble.”

Barty snorted.  “You’re literally named Regulus.”

“Named because my mother decided that I deserved a horribly feminine name.  So I had to change it,” Regulus said.  “Blame her, not me.”

Dorcas smiled.  “Oh, we do.  Constantly.”

They reached the frozen foods aisle, the air conditioning blasting cold enough to make Barty yelp.  “Bloody hell, it’s like Antarctica in here.”

Dorcas ignored him, opening the freezer to grab frozen peas.  “Do you need anything, Reg?”

He shook his head, but then paused.  “Actually, coffee.  I’m almost out.”

“Finally, something normal,” Barty said.  “Let’s get out of the tundra and find your caffeine.”

They made their way toward the coffee aisle, which was quieter.  The hum of refrigerators faded, replaced by the faint clink of glass jars.

Regulus crouched to grab his usual brand, but his hand hesitated when he saw a new one on the shelf.  Wolf Moon Coffee.  The label showed a minimalist moon against a dark sky.

Barty leaned over his shoulder.  “Wolf Moon?  Subtle.”

Regulus stared at him.  “What are you implying?”

“Nothing,” Barty said innocently.  “Just that your subconscious might be writing fanfiction already.”

Dorcas snorted.  “Buy it. If nothing else, it’ll make a good story.”

Regulus groaned but tossed it into the basket anyway.  “You’re both the worst.  Makes me want to move out.”

“That’s why you love us,” Dorcas said.

Regulus didn’t respond, but his faint smile betrayed him.

The frozen foods aisle was the worst part of any grocery store, Regulus decided.  They had finally returned.  It was like walking into a freezer full of indecision.  People stood in front of open doors for ages as they contemplated frozen pizza flavors as if their lives depended on it.  Spoiler alert; all options were terrible, they could’ve picked one five minutes prior.

Dorcas was comparing brands of dumplings, her cart wedged diagonally across the aisle.  Barty had already declared that “cold air is oppression” and was standing dramatically on tiptoe to reach a tub of ice cream on the top shelf.

Regulus trailed behind, rubbing his arms against the chill.  He was about to tell Barty that the double chocolate fudge didn’t need saving when his eyes caught on something…or rather, someone…a few doors down.

Remus Lupin.

Regulus froze.

There he was, in the wild.  In a store of all places.  He stood in front of the frozen vegetables like it was the most natural thing in the world.  A shopping basket hung from his arm, half-filled with the bare essentials: bread, eggs, a carton of milk, and a small jar of jam.  He was dressed casually in a faded gray jumper and jeans.  His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows.  His hair was slightly messy.  It was like he’d run his hand through it one too many times.

And up close—or as close as Regulus dared to look without being obvious—he noticed things he hadn’t before.  Lupin’s face wasn’t just older; it was tired in a deeply human way.  The kind of face that looked like it had lived….like, really lived…and wasn’t afraid to show it.

Regulus’s stomach did something unsettling.

Barty’s voice jolted him back.  “Reg?  You look like you just saw a ghost.”

He blinked rapidly, stepping half behind the open freezer door.  “Nothing.  Just…cold.”

Barty tilted his head.  “You’re literally blushing.  What did you see—”  He followed Regulus’s line of sight.  He then gasped theatrically.  “No way.”

“Don’t,” Regulus hissed.

Barty grinned, the kind of grin that spelled trouble.  “That’s him, isn’t it?  The professor.”

Dorcas turned, dumplings still in hand.  “Who?”

“Lupin,” Barty whispered, far too loudly.

Regulus elbowed him hard.  “Shut up.”

But Barty was already craning his neck.  His eyes were wide.  “He’s—oh, wow.  Okay. I get it now.  You undersold him.”

Dorcas peered discreetly (or as discreetly as one could when holding a bag of frozen dumplings).  “Oh,” she said, voice softening in surprise.  “He’s…kind of handsome, actually.”

Barty smirked.  “Kind of?  He looks like he reads poetry and knows how to fix a leaky sink.”

“What he got was high praise from me, Barty.”

“Stop talking,” Regulus said through gritted teeth.  “He’s going to hear you.”

“Then go say hi!”

“Absolutely not.”

Dorcas leaned her elbow on the cart, amused.  “He’s your professor, not a wild animal.  He’s not going to bite.”

“You don’t know that,” Regulus muttered.

Barty looked delighted.  “Oh my god, you’re scared of him.  That’s adorable.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Then prove it.”

“Barty.”

“Reg.”

Dorcas sighed.  “You two are ridiculous.  Just—act normal.  If he sees you, he sees you.  No one cares.”

“I care,” Regulus whispered.

But the universe, as always, had a cruel sense of humor.  Because at that exact moment, Lupin looked up.

Their eyes met.

It was brief.  A flicker.  A spark of recognition.  But it was enough to make Regulus’s pulse jump.  Lupin’s expression softened into polite surprise.  Then into something warmer.  Familiar.

“Oh,” Barty whispered gleefully.  “He saw you.”

Regulus barely heard him.  Lupin was already walking over, pushing his basket.  His gait was easy and unhurried.

“Mr. Black,” Lupin said with a faint smile when he reached them.  “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Regulus blinked, caught between wanting the ground to swallow him whole and the absurd urge to stand a little straighter.  “Professor Lupin,” he managed, voice steady enough to pass for calm.  “Hi.”

Dorcas gave him a sideways glance, clearly fighting a grin.

Lupin nodded politely to both her and Barty.  “Friends of yours?”

“Yes,” Regulus said quickly.  “Dorcas Meadowes, Barty Crouch Jr.  This is—uh—Professor Lupin.”

Dorcas smiled with that effortless charm of hers.  “Nice to meet you.”

Barty, predictably, looked like he’d just been handed the best gossip of his life.  “Pleasure,” he said, eyes flicking between them.  “We’ve heard so much about you.”

Regulus kicked his ankle under the cart.

Lupin chuckled softly, the sound low and genuine.  “All good things, I hope.”

Barty winced dramatically.  “Mostly.”

Dorcas elbowed him.  “Ignore him.  He’s like this with everyone.”

“That’s all right,” Lupin said, clearly amused.  “I was a student once too.”

There was an awkward pause.  The hum of the freezer filled it, buzzing faintly.  Lupin adjusted the basket in his arm.  “First week treating you all right?”

“Yes,” Regulus said.  “Class has been…good.”

“Glad to hear it. I know it’s still early days.”  His eyes crinkled slightly when he smiled.  “And thank you again for your help with the projector on our first day.  I’d have been hopeless without you.”

Regulus felt heat creep up his neck.  “It was nothing.”

“I don’t think it was ‘nothing,’ considering how long I wrestled with that thing before you arrived,” Lupin said wryly.  “I owe you one.”

“You don’t—” Regulus began, but Lupin’s phone buzzed.

He glanced down at the screen, frowning.  “Ah.  Excuse me. I’d better take this.”

“Of course,” Regulus said quickly.

Lupin gave a small wave to Dorcas and Barty. “Lovely to meet you both.”  Then, to Regulus, with a polite nod that lingered a fraction too long, “see you Monday, Mr. Black.”

And then he was gone, disappearing down the aisle.  His phone was pressed to his ear.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Barty exhaled a delighted gasp.  “He knows your name.”

“He’s my professor,” Regulus said weakly.

“Yeah, but he remembers it.  Like, personally.  With eye contact and everything.”

Dorcas smiled over the cart handle.  “You’re blushing again.”

“I’m cold,” Regulus said automatically.

“Sure you are.”

Barty leaned against the freezer.  He grinned like the cat that got the cream.  “Oh, this is so good.  The tension.  The coincidence.  The fact that you’re buying ‘Wolf Moon’ coffee while he’s standing five feet away—”

Regulus groaned.  “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re smitten,” Barty shot back.

Dorcas plopped her bag of dumplings into the cart, effectively ending the argument.  “Let’s check out before you two freeze solid.”

They started toward the registers, but Regulus’s mind stayed stubbornly behind.  It lingered in that aisle.  On the way Lupin’s voice had sounded up close.  The faint rasp to it.  The small smile like he was in on some secret joke.

And for the rest of the shopping trip, every time Barty nudged him or Dorcas laughed, Regulus found himself smiling too.  A quiet and unwilling sort of smile.  By the time they made it through the checkout line and out into the fresh air, Regulus was almost convinced he’d escaped the teasing.

Almost.

They loaded the bags into the trunk of Dorcas’s car, and Regulus was just about to slide into the passenger seat when Barty leaned across the top of the car door and said in a singsong voice:

“See you Monday, Mister Black.”

Regulus shut the door.  Hard.

Dorcas stifled a laugh as she slid behind the wheel.  Evan, who had been sitting in the backseat all this time with a book propped on his knee, glanced up with mild confusion.  “What’s happening now?” he asked, closing the book with one finger inside to keep his place.

“Nothing,” Regulus said quickly.

“Regulus’ professor just serenaded him in the frozen foods aisle,” Barty said before the car had even started.

Regulus turned in his seat to glare at him.  “He did not—”

“—‘See you Monday, Mister Black,’” Barty echoed, dramatically deepening his voice.  “You should’ve seen it, Ev.  He might as well have dipped him and kissed his hand.”

Dorcas snorted as she pulled out of the parking space.

Evan raised a brow at Regulus.  “Your professor?” he asked carefully, tone hovering somewhere between real curiosity and amused disbelief.

“Yes,” Regulus muttered. “English comp.  The one Barty wouldn’t shut up about on Monday.”

“And he called you ‘Mister Black’?” Evan repeated, leaning forward slightly to peer at Regulus through the gap between the seats.  “That’s rather…formal.”

“That’s because we know each other in a classroom setting,” Regulus snapped.  “It’s not weird.”

“It’s a bit weird,” Barty said.  “It’s weird in a Victorian rivals-to-lovers way.”

“Please crash the car,” Regulus said to Dorcas.

“Can’t,” she said lightly.  “I haven’t tried my frozen dumplings yet.”

Barty fanned himself dramatically.  “Honestly, Reg, I didn’t know you were only into silver foxes.”

Regulus groaned.  “He’s not a silver fox.”

“I agree, way too young for that,” Dorcas added.  “But those scars?  The sweater?  The tragic eyes?”

Evan blinked.  “Wait.  He has scars?”

“Ohhhh yeah,” Barty said, gesturing vaguely.  “Like, across his face.  All very ’I brooded in exile for ten years and studied the sword but also literature.’”

Evan’s expression shifted to barely concealed intrigue.  “Huh.”

Regulus pressed his forehead to the window.  “Kill me.  Please, whatever god exists, just kill me now.”

Barty made a theatrical gasp.  “Oh my god!  This is perfect.  Regulus Black, the perfectly pressed, buttoned-up royal of the English department…has a thing for trenchcoat-wearing, soulful-eyed professors who look like they wrestle their inner demons between lectures.”

Dorcas nodded slowly.  “A deeply artistic professor-student slowburn.”

Evan cracked a tiny smile.  “That does sound like something you’d write, Reg.”

Regulus shot upright and pointed at him accusingly.  “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am,” Evan said.  “I’m just…observant.”

“Can’t believe we left you alone in a car and you’re still the one who’s ruining my life.”

Evan shrugged.  Completely unbothered.  “You set yourself up for it.”

Barty kicked his feet up on the backseat.  “Seriously though.  What if he’s trying to befriend you?  Professors absolutely have favorites.”

“He was being polite,” Regulus said.  “That’s all.”

“Polite in a way that involved remembering your name after having met you once?”  Evan asked slyly.

“And thanking you for helping him,” Dorcas added.  “That’s not generic professor behavior.”

“It’s literally week one,” Regulus said, his voice hitting a pitch of desperation.  “Can we please talk about anything else?”

Barty pursed his lips.  “No.”

Dorcas grinned.  “Sorry, love.  You’re too much fun right now.”

Evan leaned back with his book.  “I’ll change the subject…once I hear about what he looks like.  I want all the details.”

Regulus let out an almost-feral sound of frustration and stared out the window, determined to ignore them.  Which, of course, only lasted another fifteen seconds.

“He has this stupid voice,” Regulus found himself saying suddenly.  “Like—like it’s half tired and half warm.  Like he’s saying everything with a shrug but also like he means it.”

There was silence.

Regulus blinked. “…I hate all of you.”

Barty looked delighted.  “That was beautiful, babe.”

Dorcas sighed.  “He’s gone.”

“What?”  Regulus frowned.

“Your cool, detached exterior,” she said, tapping the steering wheel twice.  “It’s somewhere back by the peas.”

Evan leaned forward again, resting an elbow on the backrest.  “So you are into him,” he said, voice low and knowing, not a question but a quiet acknowledgment.

Regulus didn’t answer at first.  He stared out the window at the passing houses.  He watched the late summer leaves blur into soft yellow and green.

Then he let out a breath.  “…He’s hot.  Is that what you all wanted to hear?”

Barty clapped once, loudly.  “YES.  Vindication!”

Dorcas grinned.  “It’s a start.”

Evan leaned back again, satisfied.  “Well.  That explains the blushing when you got back to the car.”

Regulus shoved his hands in his pockets and sank back into the seat.  He was quietly mortified but also relieved.  Because at least it was out in the open now.  The crushing intrigue.  The distracting pulse of it.  He hated that his roommates had something else on him though.

“I’m not doing anything about it,” he said firmly.

“No one said you had to,” Dorcas said, signaling as she turned onto the street their apartment is on.  “But it’s fun to have something to swoon over.  Especially someone who looks like they own a cabin in the woods and has a brooding past.”

Barty sighed dreamily.  “Like, he probably makes tea in a big ceramic mug and stares out the window while listening to classical music.”

Evan added, “and then writes sappy poetry that he never shows anyone.”

Regulus rolled his eyes.  “You’re all insane.  And for the last time, I don’t write poetry.”

But he didn’t disagree about how bad he got when he found a new guy to obsess over.

By the time they pulled up in front of the building, the teasing had softened into warm chatter.  They helped each other carry the bags up.  Dorcas hummed brightly.  Barty talked about some play he wanted them all to see.  And the whole way up the stairs, Regulus thought about how unexpectedly strange the day had been.

How English Composition I wasn’t just a class anymore.

How Remus Lupin’s voice was still echoing in his head—quiet, gentle, and lingering.

How maybe “Mister Black” wasn’t such a terrible thing to be called after all.