Chapter Text
September at Hogwarts was always messy. And not the academic kind of messy, that would’ve made too much sense for the most chaotic wizarding school in the world. No, Hogwarts drama had a very specific flavour today. Evan Rosier screaming about Quidditch revenge against Ravenclaw, Barty Crouch Jr. cooking up conspiracy theories with the commitment of a Ministry informant, and Theodore Nott sketching formation diagrams like he was managing bloody Grindelwald.
All of this, naturally, happening in the Slytherin common room before anyone had even unpacked properly.
Outside, the air was crisp and indecisive. The castle couldn’t make up its mind between lingering summer warmth and full autumn chill. Leaves half-turned, skies silver-blue, rumours travelled through corridors quicker than Peeves with stolen ink.
“Ravenclaw cheated last year, I swear on Salazar’s bloody basilisk!” Evan was practically howling, balanced dramatically on a stone wall in their common room.
“Babe,” Barty drawled, lazily peeling an apple with his wand, “you’re acting like Madam Hooch declared a blood feud with your family. Chill.”
“Chill?” Evan spluttered, nearly toppling off the bench. “We lost! To Ravenclaw! They’re not even good. They just—”
“Had a better player than you?” Theo muttered without looking up from his parchment, still scrawling tactical arrows like he was planning an invasion.
Regulus sighed from his usual corner, book balanced neatly on his lap. Familiar. Far too familiar. This cycle of shouting, plotting, drama, Hogwarts on repeat.
He snapped his book shut with a crisp little thwack. “Honestly. It’s just casual game Evan. First match isn’t till October.”
“Details,” Evan waved him off like it was irrelevant.
“You’re dramatic,” Regulus deadpanned, standing to smooth his dark green robes with calculated elegance.
“Unlike the rest of you, I have plans. Some of us care about productivity.”
Barty’s eyebrow arched, smirk curling slow and sharp. “Productivity… or Lupin?”
Regulus’ glare could’ve killed a lesser wizard. “Shut up, Crouch.”
Evan gasped, hand to chest like Regulus had committed treason. “You’re ditching us? For a Gryffindor?”
“It’s called tutoring,” Regulus said flatly. “Some of us don’t want to fail classes.”
Theo finally looked up, squinting. “Wait, tutoring? Do you care about Lupin? The one who’s basically glued to your brother?”
Regulus only sniffed, already gathering his things. Inside, though, his chest was… tighter than he’d admit. Yes, that Lupin. The one with infuriatingly good quill-grip hands. The one who managed to be clever, oblivious, and unreasonably kind all in the same breath.
Not that he was about to announce it. Instead, he waved them off with exaggerated hands and stalked out.
The classroom he and Lupin had claimed was tucked away at the far end of the third-floor corridor, long forgotten, windows climbing high with moss, dust that never truly left despite endless Scourgifies. Perfect. Private. Shelves stacked with old potion supplies that were still usable, if you knew how to pick them.
The man was already there when he slipped inside. Sandy brown hair an art piece of chaos, brow furrowed like he’d just lost an argument with Peeves.
The cauldron in front of him was… well. Let’s just say if there’d been a prize for “most violently disgusting potion in Hogwarts history,” Remus would’ve walked away undefeated.
“Bloody hell,” Regulus said as the stench hit him. “Did you just attempt mass poisoning, or…?”
Remus slumped into a chair, groaning. “It’s supposed to be a simple Calming Draught. Slughorn wants me to present it in two days. Two, Regulus. I can’t even stop the thing from turning swamp green.”
Regulus set down his book, rolled up his sleeves, and leaned over the cauldron with clinical disdain. “You’ve managed something that smells like wet socks and looks like vomit,” he observed. “Groundbreaking. Very avant-garde.”
“Thanks. Very encouraging.”
“A pleasure.”
Three hours later, the classroom looked like a war zone, empty bottles everywhere, crushed ingredients scattered across the floor, and two teenage boys on the verge of breakdowns in very different ways.
Remus was a wreck. Hair even messier than usual, hands stained with moonstone dust, expression torn between despair and homicide.
Regulus, of course, remained outwardly immaculate, Black composure personified, but inside? Screaming. Salazar’s saggy pants, how could someone so clever be this catastrophically awful at Potions?
He stole glances from the corner of his eye. The crease of Remus’s brow. The way he bit his bottom lip when he concentrated. The little sighs that escaped when he thought no one was listening. Distracting. Too distracting.
And Regulus had known. For five months now, he’d known. Ever since that afternoon in the library when Remus, without a word, slid him a cup of tea. Since he’d heard that rare, quiet laugh and thought, that oh Salazar, bollocks. I’m doomed.
Now, watching Remus botch yet another attempt, the feeling only tightened its grip.
“Maybe I should just give up,” Remus muttered, tossing down his stirring rod. “Slughorn’s going to roast me alive anyway.”
Regulus sniffed. “Pathetic. Gryffindor, giving up? Scandalous.”
Remus shot him a tired glare, too drained to manage proper sarcasm.
Regulus leaned in, voice dropping low, still sharp, but laced with something softer. “You’re not giving up. Not while I’m wasting my ingredients on you.”
It was meant to sting, but beneath it was something else. Fondness. Dangerous, suffocating fondness.
Finally, after more explosions than anyone should reasonably endure, Remus managed a potion that was, well, not perfect. But at least it didn’t combust. He slumped back, face alight with relief. “Merlin, finally. I need a break.”
“Fair enough,” Regulus allowed, snapping his book shut.
They ended up sitting close, closer than either of them probably should. Without really thinking, he tipped his head, letting it fall lightly against Remus’s shoulder. He never did that with anyone else. Touchy. Only with him. Always him.
Remus went stiff, then slowly relaxed. A warm hand skimmed Regulus’s back. Brief, careful, impossibly gentle. And Regulus nearly forgot how to breathe. Not because of the potion fumes fogging the air, or the lingering sharpness of moonstone dust. No.
Because Remus bloody Lupin had just touched him like it was the most natural thing in the world. It lasted seconds. Barely anything. But to Regulus? Monumental. Catastrophic. His heart lunged into his throat while his face stayed cool, all Black poise and I’m above this nonsense. Outward elegance, inner chaos.
Desperate for distraction, he blurted, “Quidditch season starts next month.”
“Don’t start,” Remus groaned, voice hoarse.
“What? It’s thrilling. Tradition.”
“Tradition?” Remus snorted, shooting him a look of pure disdain. “It’s lunatics throwing themselves off broomsticks for a glorified golf ball. Complete waste of time.”
Regulus laughed. Low, unguarded. A rare sound. “You hate it so much it’s practically your whole brand.”
“Because it’s stupid.”
“And yet you look very endearing when you rant about it.”
Remus’s head snapped towards him, eyebrows raised. “Did you just—”
Regulus clamped his mouth shut, smirk threatening to betray him. Too close. Careful, Black. One slip and you’re finished.
Silence settled, broken only by the creak of the window against the wind. Outside, the sky melted into gold, autumn creeping in.
“So,” Regulus drawled, cutting the quiet. “How’s life with your little circus?”
“Circus?”
"Yes. Evans pining after Fortescue at full volume. Sirius bickering with McKinnon every other day because he can’t remember dates. And Merlin knows what else.”
Remus chuckled, warm and effortless. The sound went straight to his ribs. “You really do pay attention. And, yeah, James and Peter fighting over socks. Again. Like toddlers.”
“Tragic,” Regulus muttered. “Hard not to notice when your lot are the castle’s constant background noise.”
“It is nice though,” Remus admitted, rubbing his temples. “Even when sometimes I feel like more of a babysitter.”
“Babysitter? Don’t flatter them. Zookeeper’s more accurate.”
That earned him another laugh, freer this time. And with each laugh, Regulus fell harder.
“Oh, speaking of James,” Remus said suddenly, hesitant. “I ran into him earlier. He, uh… sends his ‘hi’ with flying kisses.”
Regulus’s mood nosedived. “Remus Lupin,” he said firmly. “I don’t want to hear about Potter. Ever.”
Remus held his gaze, then nodded once. “Alright.”
Simple. But the way he said it, steady, sincere, lit something warm and terrifying in Regulus’s chest. So he leaned back against him again, more deliberate this time. And Remus didn’t move away. Just rested his hand briefly at his back, quiet reassurance in the gesture to tell, I get it. I’ve got you.
“Anyway,” Remus said, eyes flicking to the book in Regulus’s lap. “Still reading that?”
Regulus held up the battered copy of Pride and Prejudice. “Yours. Thought I’d see the appeal.”
Remus arched a brow, lips twitching. “And?”
“Darcy’s an arrogant prat. The Bennets are insufferable. And yet,” he paused, studying the page as if too invested, “I can’t seem to put it down.”
Remus laughed. “Says the boy with the biggest ego in Slytherin.”
Regulus swivelled his head with mock offence. “Uncalled for. Outrageous slander.”
“Accurate,” Remus grinned, shoulders shaking with laughter.
Regulus, for all his dry remarks, couldn’t tear his eyes away. That laugh, rare and real, had a way of stopping the world.
The classroom door creaked open. “Oi, there you are, Regulus!” Pandora Rosier breezed in, silver hair swinging, Ravenclaw robes flaring. “Evan and Barty are losing their minds again.”
“They always are,” Regulus sighed.
Pandora’s gaze flicked to Remus, brightening. “Oh my, Remus! You promised to braid my hair for the Ravenclaw party. Don’t you dare wriggle out of it.”
Remus smiled, already packing his bag. “Didn’t forget.”
Regulus, meanwhile, felt the sharp sting of something ugly. Everyone wanted Remus’s hands, his care, his attention. And Regulus hated it.
“Tomorrow, after lunch, library again?” Remus asked, turning back to him. “Don’t ditch me.”
Regulus kept his face smooth, only the faintest curve betraying him. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll bring the tea.”
Pandora’s knowing smirk could’ve lit the whole room. She clocked everything. Regulus shot her a look that promised murder. She only giggled, dragging Remus out with her.
The room fell quiet again, smoke still curling lazily from their failed attempts. Regulus leaned back, closing his eyes.
Hopeless, he thought. Absolutely bloody hopeless. Out of everyone in this castle, it had to be him.