Chapter Text
Barty
Barty thinks that the boy he just met ought to loosen up a bit. What eleven-year-old in the room isn’t the most excited they’ve ever been in their entire life? A cursory glance around the grand dining hall affirms that yes, every first year is practically vibrating in their seats that they’ve taken at any of the four tables. It’s just his luck that the one Barty chose to be his friend is the only one looking absolutely miserable.
He looks at his other new friend, Evan, whom he’d met on the train and subsequently clung to and has yet to let go of. He is a small boy with dark skin and light hair, which Barty finds kind of funny since it’s almost the opposite of his own features. The boy didn’t really want to talk to him on the train until the sweets trolley came around, and they both asked for chocolate frogs. The older witch had laughed, and the boys looked at each other, sheepishly, cheeks burning.
Now, Evan scarfs down his food like it’s the last thing he’ll eat. Barty’s been really hungry before, like so hungry he thought he might die, but he thinks Evan’s even hungrier.
He tries to lighten the mood and hopefully make his new friends laugh.
“Slow down, Evan, it’s not gonna be taken from you,” he says, nudging the boy with an elbow, perhaps a little too hard.
Regulus rolls his eyes and looks away, to the farthest table, the loud one covered in red.
Anyway.
Evan looks cowed and slowly sets down his fork to reach for his water. Which is half empty before a bubbling noise can be heard, and the goblet magically refills itself. Evan sets the goblet back down with wide eyes, water sloshing over the sides. Barty snickers to himself.
After Headmaster Dumbledore gave his big, boring speech that Barty didn’t care to pay any attention to, the Heads of each house spoke to their individual tables.
Slytherin’s being Horace Slughorn- Barty would have a laugh about that later- told them about the house’s principles and expectations, he specifically expects from the first years.
After his snooze-worthy spiel, he followed the head boy and girl of Slytherin house, Emma Vanity and Davey Gudgeon. Barty hovered close behind Regulus, and his mouth didn’t stop moving the whole walk down to the dungeon.
Quite frankly, he thought the dungeon was disgusting and smelled, and he told Evan and Regulus as much. Evan nodded and jumped away from the wall he was closest to, bumping into Barty in the process. Evan’s shoulder was so bony it poked Barty’s through all the layers they wore; he really is a small boy. A closer look confirms Barty’s suspicions that a spider was the reason for Evan’s fright. Regulus only hummed in response to Barty’s initial statement.
“So, Reg,” Evan shot Barty a panicked look, but he kept talking, “why’d you keep looking at the Gryffindor table? Got a girlfriend or something? Were you separated?”
Regulus moved between one blink and the next. Barty’s back hit the stone wall, and all breath was knocked from his lungs. The boy’s forearm rested on his chest, applying pressure. Barty looked in his eyes, and hidden behind the veil of anger was something Barty couldn’t identify.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, so just- just shut up!” Regulus shoved away from him and ran a hand over his hair. “And don’t call me that. My name is Regulus.”
Regulus
Regulus might become a murderer at eleven. Somehow, the most annoying eleven-year-old in the school has become attached to his hip and will not shut up. Bartimus Crouch, Regulus thought, would be giving him many headaches to come. Especially now that they’ve found out they are to be sharing a room, along with Evan Rosier. He at least knows what it is to be quiet.
Even shoving him into the nearest wall has done nothing to keep the nuisance at bay. Regulus half-expected him to flee him and demand a room-change. But no, of course not, the boy chooses the bed exactly beside Regulus, in fact. The Rosier boy chose the one across the room from Crouch.
He then starts to poke around his bed, lifting the sheets at the footboard and stooping to sniff at the material, wrinkling his nose slightly. Regulus didn’t know what he was hoping to achieve by messing up the neat bed the house-elves made for him, but he left the boy be in favor of going through his trunk. After ensuring everything he packed was in there, he sat on top of the comforter on his bed and flopped back onto the pillows.
Crouch swung his body around one of the posts of his bed and immediately launched into a story his father told him about Hogwarts from when he had attended, and how it seemed as though nothing changed. Regulus eventually tuned him out, a throbbing in the base of his skill, made that all the easier.
Regulus desperately wanted to shove back his chair and all but run to his room and lock the door behind himself.
A dinner of any kind in the Black house had the chance to implode at any moment. Especially if the eldest Black sibling decided to poke and prod at that day’s random tolerance level of their parents.
Regulus tried to catch his brother’s eye, to silently plead with him to stop before it was too late, so that they could sit and eat in the awkward and heavy silence instead. No such luck, however, Sirius seemed intent on getting a reaction out of their parents for whatever reason. Regulus could never figure it out.
He got one.
“Mother, how do you think I’d look with longer hair? Maybe to about here?” Sirius asked and held a hand vaguely around his shoulder. “Very handsome, I think.”
“You would look like a scoundrel, is what you would look like. A dirty scoundrel,” their mother said, icily. “You know how that would make our family look.”
“And you know how much I could give a toss about what our family looks like,” Sirius threw back.
Regulus swallowed and set his fork down. He reached for his glass and took a few nervous sips, watching his mother’s face. It contorted in anger, and she reached over and grabbed Sirius by the wrist. He hadn’t yet learned to keep his arms tucked close to his body. He tried to yank his arm back, but their mother held fast.
“I could always make you care,” she said and reached for her wand pocket. “Would you rather do this the hard way, or apologize?”
Their father stayed silent in his seat at the head of the table.
Regulus finally caught his brother’s eye and silently begged him to take the easy way out. He could see the silent war Sirius had with himself, the decision between safety and whatever his end goal of all of this is.
Eventually, Sirius lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry, maman,” he said. He tensed, waiting for the strike, but one didn’t come.
Their mother loosened her white-knuckled grip and dug her thumbnail into his wrist slightly. “That’s better. I know it’s those friends you hang out with at school, putting these thoughts in your head. Perhaps you would be better off making new ones, hmm?”
Sirius
“Perhaps you would be better off making new ones,” Sirius scoffed. “Who does she think she is, telling me to get new friends?”
He looked at James, who was sitting next to him on the latter’s bed. He moved his gaze around the room, taking in the reactions of his friends.
James looked sympathetic and a little bit like he might march himself over to Griswald Place and tell Walburga off himself. Remus looked angry in that silent way he sometimes does; his eyebrow twitched and gave him away. Peter just looked sad, sitting on the end of his bed with his hands clasped in front of his lap, his bag of candy from the train sitting forgotten next to him.
“Sorry, mate, that’s rubbish,” James said, shaking his head. He laid a hand on Sirius’s back. “Who says something like that to their kid?”
“A bad person from the sound of it,” Remus said simply. He walked over to Sirius and dropped the rest of his candy bar in his lap.
Warmth spread through Sirius’s chest. “Thanks, Remus.” He smiled at his friend, who shrugged.
“You need it more than I do.”
“Alright, gang, I do believe it is getting a bit late, and we have the first day of classes tomorrow, so off you get.” James pushed his glasses up on his nose and made a shooing motion at Sirius.
The room went silent, and the other three boys froze in favor of looking at James as if he had suddenly grown another head.
“Mate, are you serious?” Peter asked incredulously. Sirius only barely remembered to open his mouth when James’s face broke into a huge grin.
“Of course not! Come, we have a fantastic first prank to plan?” James spread his hands as his friends burst into laughter. “Ideas? I’m thinking something to do with Filch’s cat?”