Chapter Text
Chapter One: Observations.
It had all started when he left Hogwarts.
Well- that’s a lie…a white one anyway.
Everything fell apart starting long before then, or maybe this is a tale of how it ended. It’s impossible to say.
Someone might be of the opinion that this story started long before then, perhaps it was all over for him when Regulus stopped speaking to his best friends, or, when Sirius stopped looking at him in the halls; maybe it all actually started before Hogwarts, when they were just children. Maybe their story was written long before either brother had been born, and fate had already been decided for them.
For most of Regulus’ life, it had been safer to watch than to take part.
Sirius had never understood that, always reckless, always in motion, always acting as though hesitation was a weakness rather than survival. Even as children, it had been what set them apart.
Regulus knew better- someone had to.
It had served Regulus well growing up. Sirius was always the first to attract their mother's wrath.
When Sirius had been caught sneaking Muggle books into the house, Walburga had spent hours berating him in the drawing room. Regulus had listened from the staircase, clutching one of the confiscated books beneath his jumper while Sirius took the blame for both of them.
He had left that room with a wink and a purple bloom blossoming on his right cheek.
Hogwarts had given Sirius exactly what he wanted.
An audience.
He and his friends seemed to occupy every corner of the castle at once, drawing attention with every badly disguised prank or stupid scheme. Regulus often wondered if Sirius even realised how much space he took up.
And then there was Potter.
Potter, who was practically glued to his size, who seemed to understand Sirius in ways Regulus never seemed capable of.
It wasn’t long before Regulus was squeezed out of Sirius’ world- when he had been sorted into Slytherin it had practically sealed the deal, in Sirius’ mind Regulus was just like the rest of them, there wasn’t much to suggest the contrary.
It was that thought he had in mind when Regulus found himself watching the Gryffindor captain himself, more than the match unfolding above him.
The frigid October wind whipped harshly against his face as the crowd jeered around him. Blue and bronze, and red and gold banners slapped violently in the air. Somewhere below an enthusiastic commentator was shouting aggressively into the microphone, though Regulus had long since stopped listening.
“And Potter does it again! Another 10 points to Gryffindor!”
The points counter flipped over with a clunk. Ravenclaw 50 - 120 Gryffindor.
Potter flies over to the opposing stands, goading them with a smug pose, his gold cape flashing in the autumn sun, before swooping down to Sirius to give him a firm clap on the back, laughing widely about something which Regulus couldn’t hear.
Regulus looked down to his note book, tracing his quill in the shape of Potter’s flying pattern, read to revise and memorise before his next game.
James Potter flew like he thought the world belonged to him, all careless laughter and sharp turns which would throw any other witch or wizard off of their broom, yet somehow James always made it look easy.
James was flawed in a way which only Regulus was aware of. James always followed the same patterns, his movements practiced- brilliant yet repeatable, something which would be obvious if anyone paid attention. Which of course no one did.
“If you keep staring at Potter like that,” Barty murmured beside him, “someone might start getting ideas.”
Regulus snapped his notebook shut and tore his gaze away from Potter and back towards the pitch.
“I was watching the match.”
Barty snorted softly. “Right.”
“I was preparing. Gryffindor can’t beat Slytherin to the cup again.” It was true, yet somehow it felt like a lie.
Barty gave him a discerning stare, as if he could read all of Regulus’ thoughts, and nodded.
“Sure” he’d accept Regulus’ denial for now.
It wasn’t long after that the snitch was caught and the game was over. Gryffindor had won by a landslide, extending their lead in the standings and putting them within reach of the Quidditch Cup if results continued to fall their way. Potter, Sirius and the Gryffinor team whooped and hollered in celebration, Potter showing off with a skilled flip and his trademark arrogant smirk.
Beside him, Barty made a quiet sound of amusement.
“Try not to look too pleased,” he said.
Regulus ignored him.
–
By the time they returned to the Slytherin dormitories, the castle had settled into its usual evening rhythm.
The floating green hues of the black lake on the stone walls, tall misshapenned candles standing high, and the hum of students chattering and studying in the common room, allowed Regulus to relax, if only slightly.
In their room Evan Rosier was already sprawled across Regulus’ bed when they entered, looking thoroughly at home there.
“Where have you two been?” Evan asked, rolling onto his back. “I’ve been looking for hours.”
The movement tugged his shirt up slightly, exposing a small handpoked snack tattoo on the slither of pale skin above the waistband of his trousers.
Barty noticed immediately, his eyes tracking that one spot.
It had been Barty’s idea in the first place, the year before last when Barty had excitably suggested the idea to the three of them. A drunken declaration of eternal friendship made during one hazy night after drinking multiple bottles of stolen mulled mead from the kitchens, the three of them had decided matching tattoos were an excellent plan.
Regulus had woken the next morning with a slightly lopsided snake wrapped around his ankle. Barty's matching one disappeared beneath the top of his shirt along his collarbone,, while Evan's sat just below his bellybutton.
“Can’t have looked too hard,” he said. “Everyone was at the match.”
Regulus eyed Barty’s hungry stare and rolled his eyes. He walked over to the end of his bed and carefully placed his notebook at the bottom of his trunk.
“Off”
“Make me Black," Evan grinned devilishly.
“Evan, stop,” Barty sighed dramatically. “You’ll make me jealous.”
He threw himself onto the bed beside him, earning an offended noise as Evan nearly got elbowed in the ribs.
“I don’t particularly care what the two of you get up to,” Regulus said coolly, “so long as it isn’t on my bed.”
“Tetchy tetchy Black” Barty grinned, with a raised eyebrow. Yet got up and pulled Evan with him towards his own bed.
“You missed Mulciber hexing a third year,” Evan said lazily, toying with a strand of Barty’s hair.
“Tragic.”
Barty looked up towards Regulus “Since when do you not want to hear all the gory details?” Regulus shrugged.
“You’ve been miserable since term started,” Barty continued.
Regulus stiffened slightly.
Since Sirius left was left unsaid.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Evan observed.
“He’s always quiet,” Barty replied.
“Not this quiet.”
Regulus ignored them both.
His mother’s letter, still awaiting a reply, was sitting unopened beside his bed. She had become more insistent recently, demanding updates on what he was doing, with who, when. It was starting to feel as if she had her eyes on him, even here.
She was becoming increasingly impatient, she was keen for Regulus to join the dark lord soon. He wouldn’t be given a choice of course, he would join when asked, though he had always managed to insist he wanted to finish his studies first. Ever since Sirius had left, or been thrown out, depending on who was telling the story- that felt more and more unlikely.
Yet that would not excuse the drop in Regulus’ grade either way, he must remain at the very top of all his classes- no exceptions. He had to overshadow Sirius’ behaviour to make up for his misgivings.
Since Sirius was gone, all of his mothers attention, that he had spent sixteen years avoiding, had settled squarely onto Regulus’ shoulders instead.
Over the tail end of the summer holidays there had been nothing but dinner invitations with ancient pureblood families and endless reminders that he was now the only son left worth investing in. Conversations which had once been hushed, abruptly became casual supper time topics. What the dark lord's plans were with mud-bloods and blood-traitors, who was connected to them and how best to deal with them.
Most of the time he managed to stay silent, only offering words of agreement when conversation was directed to him, met with an approving nod from his mother, and disinterest from his father. His father, often quiet during these dinners too, watched him across the dinner table as though trying to determine whether he would disappoint them as well.
–
Soon Evan and Barty grew tired of trying to involve him in their chatter, both of them mumbling quietly in Evan’s bed with the curtains pulled around them.
It was late into the night, or more correctly early morning when Regulus found himself staring upwards towards the ceiling of his four poster bed, his mind both empty and racing at the same time.
Finding it a waste of time to keep lying still, and becoming restless, he pulled himself out of bed, his pale bare feet touching the cold stone cautiously. Pulling his robe around him and taking the candle by his bedside for light, he began his usual route around the castle.
Sleep was often hard to find and so many of Regulus’ nights were spent in the quiet of the castle, at night it seemed almost an entirely different place, where he could make up stories about where he was or who he was. Often lost in own imagination, he was a brave knight, a runaway prince, or a boy with a future that did not already feel decided for him.
His fingers traced the parchment in his pocket, his mother's letter weighing heavily against his thigh.
As his feet began to grow tired he found himself in the place where he frequented, the Hogwarts library.
Just as he was browsing his book for the night, along the magical history section, a sudden voice made him jump out of his skin.
“Do you ever sleep?”
Regulus nearly dropped his book.
Potter was sitting at one of the study tables beside a window, quill abandoned beside him, dark circles visible beneath his eyes in the low light.
Regulus frowned slightly.
“Do you?” He slid the book in his hands back onto the correct place on the shelf.
Potter hummed softly. “Fair point.”
Something about him looked strangely subdued tonight, gone was the loud and arrogant boy from the Quidditch pitch. His posture was less loud somehow. Less performative.
It unsettled Regulus more than the arrogance usually did.
“What are you doing here?” Regulus said. “I didn’t think you even knew that we had a library.”
“Harsh Black, you wound me” Potter smirked, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.
Regulus stared him down unmoving, gripping the edges of his robe so tightly it felt as if his fingers would break.
Potter grinned faintly, pushing himself to sit upright. “Couldn’t sleep.” Regulus scoffed.
“Plus Professor Crowe is a right shit when it comes to handing in essays in on time” Regulus looked towards the large, still unopened potions book sat beside him.
He couldn’t say why he did it, and years later that question would still lay unanswered. Regulus pulled out the chair across from Potter, and sat down, opening one of his own books in front of him.
For a moment Potter just stared at him dumbfounded, before opening up his book, taking his own quill and beginning to write, every so often glancing up at Regulus as if disbelieving he was still there.
Each time he felt Potter’s stare Regulus and regarded him with little interest despite his heart which hammered heavily in his chest.
They stayed like that until the sun began to tip in through the large library windows, at some point James had slumped over his book and fallen asleep, drool spilling onto his half written essay.
Regulus quietly gathered his books, eager to get back to his room before the castle woke.
Potter appeared surprisingly peaceful in his sleep, and Regulus considered leaving him there. But before he could dwell on it too much, he gave Potter's shin a firm kick.
“Ow” Potter grumbled, his face lifting up, ink from his writing plastered to the side of his cheek.
“It’s morning.” Regulus muttered, barely sparing him a look before hurrying away.
It was an interaction which meant nothing really, barely anything of note and yet the thought of Potter sleeping peacefully opposite him had lit a warm feeling in his chest as he walked down the stone corridors back to the Slytherin dorms.
They hadn’t really spoken, not even more than a few words, but Potter hadn’t shunned him and sent him away. And if Potter had looked at him strangely for lingering in the library at impossible hours, he’d at least had the decency not to say it aloud.
Regulus found, rather irritatingly, that he was already wondering whether Potter would appear there again tomorrow night.