Chapter Text
The fire in the Slytherin common room burned low, throwing long shadows that rippled like serpents across the green-draped walls. Regulus Black sat with his friends—if they could be called that—in their usual corner, each of them arranged like actors on a stage, forever playing their parts.
Barty Crouch Jr. sprawled sideways across an armchair, ink stains on his cuffs, restless energy in every twitch of his leg. Evan Rosier leaned languidly against the mantel, his smirk sharp enough to draw blood. Pandora Rosier sat cross-legged on the rug, parchment scattered around her like discarded spells, her pale hair falling into her eyes. Meadow Dorcas had claimed the other armchair, still in her mud-smeared Quidditch boots, arms crossed, chin dipped as though she might drift off at any moment.
Regulus himself had taken the seat beside Dorcas but angled away, the way he always did—close enough to belong, distant enough not to.
“Slughorn invited me personally,” Evan was saying, swirling firewhisky in a glass he definitely hadn’t gotten legally. “He practically begged me to attend.”
Barty snorted. “He begged you because you bring contraband and flattery in equal measure. Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Crouch,” Evan fired back smoothly.
“I’m not jealous. I just have better things to do than preen in Slughorn’s mirror.”
Pandora’s quill scratched across her parchment. She didn’t look up. “You mean blow up toilets.”
Barty’s grin was wicked. “Effective art form. You should try it.”
“I prefer less… aromatic mediums,” Pandora murmured. She tilted her head, studying her sketch as if none of them existed.
Meadow groaned, not opening her eyes. “If any of you blow up another toilet, I’m telling the prefects. I’m sick of walking to the third floor just to take a piss.”
That earned a laugh—sharp, genuine, cutting through the smoke-laden air.
“You’d rat on us?” Barty asked, feigning betrayal.
“On you, yes,” Meadow replied without hesitation. She cracked an eye open, smirking. “You deserve it.”
Regulus listened in silence, as he always did. The words slid around him like water—banter with edges, every quip barbed but affectionate in its own way. He catalogued it quietly: Barty’s manic glee, Evan’s self-importance, Pandora’s cryptic bite, Dorcas’s blunt honesty.
He was good at listening. Too good.
Evan flicked his gaze toward him suddenly, sharp as a thrown knife. “And what about you, Black? You’ve been brooding all evening. Don’t tell me you’re writing another love letter to Slughorn.”
Pandora actually looked up at that, interest flickering in her pale eyes.
Regulus gave the faintest smile. “If I were, it would be better written than anything you’ve ever produced.”
“Oh, touché,” Barty said, clapping mockingly. “The silent prince speaks.”
“Silent because he’s too busy judging us,” Evan muttered, though his smirk widened, as if he enjoyed the jab.
Pandora tilted her head, considering him. “Not judging. Watching. He always watches.”
Her words settled over the group like dust. For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Barty laughed again, sharp and bright, and the tension shattered. “Well, someone has to keep notes on our brilliance.”
Regulus leaned back in his chair, letting the firelight catch on his profile, giving them nothing more. He’d learned long ago that stillness was its own kind of weapon. Let them fill the silence with their chatter. He would remain the pause between their words, the shadow in their spotlight.
But tonight, something in him itched. The shadows of the Black Lake pressed at the windows, calling him out, away, elsewhere.
When their conversation turned back to Slughorn’s dinner, Regulus rose quietly. No one stopped him. They were used to his vanishings, his silences.
He slipped through the stone arch and into the corridors above, the laughter fading behind him.
And in the stillness, he thought of the one way he can get freedom and it turned him into something freer.
The castle above was restless tonight. Regulus’s paws made no sound on the flagstones as he prowled, tail low, eyes bright in the torchlight. He liked it this way—the freedom, the quiet. In this form, he was more shadow than boy, more instinct than duty.
But the quiet shattered before he reached the fourth-floor landing.
“…I swear to Merlin, if this doesn’t work, I’m blaming you,” a girl’s voice hissed, sharp but tinged with laughter.
Another voice answered, low and smooth. “Relax, Marls. It’ll work. My pranks always work.”
Sirius.
Regulus's older brother.
Regulus froze, fur bristling. He slunk into the darker edge of the stairwell, ears twitching forward.
“Always work?” Remus Lupin’s dry tone cut through. “What about last week, when you tried to dye Slughorn’s robes and ended up turning your own hair pink?”
Sirius snorted. “Worth it. I looked fantastic.”
A laugh—bright, careless, warm—spilled into the corridor next. Not Sirius. This one was distinctly hers.
Jamie Potter.
Regulus’s claws dug into the stone floor as he listened.
“Remus is right, Pads. You’re a disaster with spellwork. I should’ve charmed it.” Jamie’s voice was lighter than her brother figure’s, but equally confident, dripping with mischief.
“Please,” Sirius drawled. “You’d have blown it sky-high. And besides, you owe me after last week. My hair still smells like peppermint oil because of your exploding cauldron stunt.”
“That was brilliant, and you know it,” Jamie shot back.
Marlene groaned. “Honestly, you two are insufferable. Just set the bloody thing already before Filch comes sniffing around.”
Peter Pettigrew, fudging with his fingers. "Guys, this is not a good idea."
A pause, then Sirius again, wicked glee in every syllable. “And… done.”
Regulus’s ears flicked. He crept closer, keeping to the shadows, peering down the corridor where the four Gryffindors crouched in a huddle. They’d set some kind of contraption near the end of the hall—a bucket teetering on the edge of a floating charm, shimmering faintly. Whatever was inside sloshed thickly, catching the light.
Slime. He could smell it from here.
“Filch will lose his mind when this drops on him,” Sirius muttered gleefully.
Jamie grinned, her glasses sliding down her nose. “Slime of eternal stickiness. He’ll reek for weeks.”
Regulus almost scoffed aloud. Eternal stickiness? The level of immaturity was staggering. And yet their laughter carried warmth he couldn’t ignore. Easy, reckless, free. A kind of freedom his own friends never allowed.
“Shh,” Remus warned suddenly, holding up a hand. “Someone’s coming.”
The four of them stilled, tense and eager.
And that was when Regulus—curious despite himself—took one step too far. His tail flicked, brushing the edge of the spell.
The bucket tipped.
There was no time to leap away. Viscous green slime cascaded down in a grotesque waterfall, drenching him from head to paw. It was freezing, foul-smelling, clinging to his fur like tar.
The Gryffindors gasped.
“Oh, no—” Jamie scrambled forward, wand raised, as the black cat tumbled out from under the mess, mewling in indignation.
Marlene slapped a hand over her mouth. “That wasn’t Filch.”
"I knew this was a bad Idea." Peter murmured to himself.
Sirius blinked once, twice, then burst into laughter so loud it echoed down the corridor. “Oh, brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! A cat! Our grand slime trap, wasted on some mangy corridor prowler—”
“Shut up, Pads!” Jamie snapped, darting closer. “It’s just a cat, and look at it! It’s shivering.” She crouched, reaching out.
Regulus backed up a step, fur plastered flat, tail heavy with slime. Humiliation burned hotter than the slime stung. This was intolerable. He should bolt, vanish into the shadows, lick himself clean in private—
But Jamie Potter’s hands were gentle as they hovered, her voice softening. “Easy, little one. We didn’t mean that. Poor thing.”
Something in her tone froze him.
Behind her, Remus frowned. “We should clean it. That slime isn’t safe for animals. It’s laced with a sticking hex.”
Jamie glanced back at him. “You’ve got Finite, right? It’s tangled with that permanent charm Sirius bragged about.”
Remus sighed, raising his wand. “Merlin help us all.”
Sirius was still chuckling, though quieter now. “Of all the creatures in this castle, it had to be a cat.” He tilted his head. “Looks familiar, doesn’t it?”
Regulus stiffened.
Jamie didn’t notice—she was too busy carefully lifting him against her chest despite the slime. Her robes smeared instantly, but she didn’t flinch. “There. You’re safe now.”
Warmth pressed around him—her warmth, her scent, something unguarded in the way she held him.
And for the first time, Regulus Black—the boy who lived in stillness—didn’t move.