Chapter Text
Regulus Black was eleven years old when he first met Remus Lupin. Eleven, and standing on the precipice of something full of life he did not yet understand.
He was used to certainty - specific lines of expectation drawn out for him long before he had even learned to walk. But here, in the flickering candlelight of the Great Hall, surrounded by voices that did not hush themselves into obedience, Regulus felt unsteady. As if he were stepping into a world that had already decided his place in it, long before he had the chance to choose for himself.
He had spent his whole life watching Sirius - Sirius, who fought against the tide while Regulus let it carry him; Sirius, who burned too brightly for the cold and quiet corners of Grimmauld Place. But the boy standing across the hall from him was not the brother he knew. This Sirius was something else entirely - wild and unburdened, laughing too loudly, moving too freely, surrounded by people who did not seem to mind that he took up so much space.
Regulus met them all the night he was sorted into Slytherin: James, Peter, Remus, and this new, unfamiliar version of his brother. He had been proud of himself. He had done what Sirius could not - upheld the legacy Sirius had tossed aside. Bellatrix smiled in triumph, Narcissa gave a slow, approving nod, and for a brief moment, Regulus felt like he really belonged there.
And then he met Sirius’ eyes.
Instead of pride there were something unreadable, something that made Regulus’ stomach twist uncomfortably. As if, instead of succeeding, he had lost something precious without ever realizing it had been his to begin with.
So he observed. And he tried to understand.
James Potter was the easiest for that. He was everything a golden, Gryffndor boy was meant to be - charming, confident, untouchable in his certainty. He was the kind of person who took up space without asking permission. He took and took and took - admiration, attention, loyalty - but he gave just as easily - affection, warmth, devotion. He threw an arm around his friends as if it were second nature, shared everything he had without hesitation, and helped others not out of arrogance, but simply because he could.
And Sirius was always there with him, in this weird, effortless sync. Laughing before James’ jokes were even finished, making them even funnier. A presence that was both magnetic and reckless, looking like he had finally found a place for himself.
Peter, on another hand, was a puzzle. Not because he was difficult to read, but because no one quite understood why he was there. He was not extraordinary, not particularly remarkable, and yet he had carved out a space for himself within this untouchable quartet and held onto it with determination. He was not bold, not the kind to stand atop the tables in the Great Hall just to make a statement. But he was funny, in a way that went unnoticed unless someone cared enough to listen. And without the others - without the Marauders - Regulus wondered if anyone truly would.
And then there was Remus.
Remus, who did not need to demand attention but somehow held it anyway. He was not loud like James, not reckless like Sirius, not desperate to prove himself like Peter. At the first look, was steady and grounded, but there was an edge to him, something sharp beneath the surface. Intelligence woven into every word he spoke, a quiet wit that came and went like a flicker of candlelight, leaving those around him either breathless or completely unaware they had just been outmatched.
He was different.
Not in the way Sirius was, not in the way James shone or Peter lingered on the edges. He existed in a way that felt both effortless and entirely deliberate. And maybe that was what intrigued Regulus the most.
Or maybe it was the scars.
Thin white lines, mapping his skin in a way that should have been grotesque but wasn’t. They were everywhere, stark against tanned flesh, a quiet reminder that there was something beneath the surface, something he did not speak about. They should be ugly but they weren’t. They were beautiful in a way Regulus could not quite explain.
Pandora would say they were like constellations - patterns in the night sky, turning something already breathtaking into something extraordinary. Regulus thought she might be right.
Years passed, and Regulus carved out a place for himself within the vast, winding halls of the castle. It wasn’t the same as Sirius’ world - his friends weren’t reckless or loud, weren’t larger than life the way the Marauders were - but they were his; a family of his own making.
He still watched, sometimes. Between classes, over meals, in the quiet moments when no one would notice. But the bitterness had faded. He had Pandora’s boundless curiosity, Barty’s unwavering loyalty, Evan’s sharp wit. He had acceptance, and he told himself it was enough. More than enough.
Let Sirius fight. Let him rage against their parents, let him burn bridges until there was nothing left but ash. It wasn’t Regulus’ concern. No one had ever asked him to care. So he didn’t. He focused on school, on excelling, on becoming the perfect Slytherin, the perfect son. He surrounded himself with the right people, built a life that made sense.
And then Christmas of his 5th year happened.
And everything changed.
Because Sirius was gone.
Vanished into the night before the first day of the holidays. And everyone knew exactly where he had gone.
Their mother burned Sirius’ face from the family tree with a cold, practiced hand, the scent of scorched parchment curling through the air. She didn’t hesitate; she simply turned away and said it didn’t matter, she had only ever had one son. One son that counted.
Regulus.
The Black heir.
Going back to Hogwarts after that was worse. Much worse.
The train compartment felt stifling, though the window was cracked open, letting in the crisp September air. Regulus sat with Barty and the Rosier twins, as usual, evn though nothing about this was usual.
Barty wasn’t smirking, wasn’t leaning back with that lazy arrogance, wasn’t making some terrible joke about his father that only the four of them would dare laugh at. He was sitting still, tense, staring at his hands. Pandora, ever perceptive, kept her gaze fixed on Regulus, and he knew she was reading him like an open book, peeling back layers he hadn’t even admitted to himself. Evan, normally indifferent, was doing the exact opposite - his sharp, knowing eyes were avoiding Regulus entirely, flickering to the window, to his own hands, anywhere but him.
They all knew.
Regulus had never felt such shame.
He gritted his teeth, letting his nails press half-moons into the fabric of his robes. His mother’s voice echoed in his mind, cold and cutting, her disappointment a weight on his shoulders. Weak, ungrateful, reckless.
“Say something,” Pandora finally broke the silence, her voice softer than usual.
Regulus clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to talk about it - about Sirius leaving, about the fact that his brother had abandoned him, had abandoned their family, had left.
“There’s nothing to say,” he responded. His voice sharper than he intended. “I’m the heir now.”
Evan exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “That’s the problem, Reg. You shouldn’t have to be.”
Regulus bristled. “It’s not a matter of should. It’s done.”
Pandora studied him, tilting her head. “But do you want it?”
Regulus let out a cold, humorless laugh. “What I want doesn’t matter. It never has.”
Barty scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Oh, don’t give us that martyr nonsense. You’re angry. Just admit it.”
Regulus clenched his jaw. “I’m not angry.”
Evan let out a sharp breath. “You’re furious.”
Regulus turned his glare on him. “No,” he said, voice low, clipped. “I just don’t care. Sirius is a coward. He abandoned everything, left me to deal with the mess, and for what? To play house with the Potters? To pretend he isn’t who he is?” His voice was rising now. “He’s not my brother anymore. If he ever was.”
A heavy silence followed. Even Barty - who always had something to say - remained quiet. Regulus breathed hard through his nose, forcing himself to calm down, to shove everything back into its neat little box where it belonged.
The Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, steam curling in the cool evening air. Students poured from the train, voices loud and excited as they reunited with friends, laughter and chatter filling the platform. Regulus followed his friends through the throng of students, keeping his head high, his expression carefully blank. If he pretended long enough, maybe he could make himself believe it. That he was fine. That he didn’t care. That none of this mattered.
That Sirius leaving had not carved a hollow space inside him.
They boarded the carriages, the castle looming ahead, golden light spilling from its windows. Hogwarts had always been a reprieve, even if it was never quite a home. As they rolled up the path, Regulus found himself glancing toward the Gryffindors against his will, his gaze snagging on a familiar figure.
Sirius.
Laughing at something James Potter said, his head thrown back, looking every bit as free as he had claimed to want to be.
Regulus clenched his fists, looking away. His stomach twisted with something bitter. He had never hated his brother more.
“Come on,” Evan murmured, his voice unreadable.
Regulus stepped out of the carriage, straightened his robes, and walked into the castle.