September first. Sunlight sliced through the heavy curtains of the dining room at Grimmauld Place, falling in pale strips across the long table.
When Regulus walked in, Sirius was already seated.
That was unusual.
Since returning from Germany, Regulus had kept no fixed schedule. Bedroom, library, training room. His days were packed tight enough that meals rarely brought him to the dining table.
Kreacher would carry trays to his room instead.
Sirius also avoided the dining room, though for different reasons. The house was suffocating. He didn't want to share a table with Walburga. He'd rather scrounge in the kitchen than sit in this room.
But today was the first day of term.
No dodging that.
Regulus sat across from him and took a quick look.
Thinner, but sharp-eyed. The restless energy that had crackled off him at the start of summer had faded, replaced by something steadier, more grounded.
Walburga entered and took her seat to one side. Orion followed, settled into the head chair, and picked up the newspaper.
Kreacher brought breakfast. Bacon, fried eggs, toast, pumpkin Juice.
Walburga's gaze landed on Regulus first.
"Regulus, eat more." She pushed the bacon platter toward him. "You won't get this kind of care at school. Professor Slughorn is nice enough, but he's not family."
Regulus nodded and took a slice.
"Remember to write," she continued. "Bella wrote asking about you. She says the Dark Lord is paying close attention to your progress. Do well at school. Don't disgrace the House of Black."
Another nod. He knew what Voldemort's attention meant. The Dark Awakening.
"Glory!" Walburga's voice sharpened. "The glory of the House of Black. Keep that in mind at all times. What you've been doing at school is right. Keep it up."
Her gaze swept across Sirius's face as she finished.
"Some people think leaving home means escaping the family. They're dreaming."
Sirius didn't react. Head down, cutting his egg with precise strokes, face blank.
The old Sirius would have detonated. Thrown down his fork, sneered, spat something about Pure-blood rubbish, then stormed out and slammed the door.
Now, nothing. And Regulus could tell it wasn't restraint. He genuinely didn't care anymore.
Walburga glanced at him occasionally, open disgust in her eyes.
Sirius ate, drank, wiped his mouth, then stood and walked out without a word.
Regulus finished his breakfast.
Orion hadn't spoken once, quietly turning pages, taking the occasional sip of Pumpkin Juice.
After the meal, Walburga repeated her usual litany.
Regulus listened to his mother's instructions and agreed to each one.
Orion came over and clapped him on the shoulder. "Off you go."
Regulus nodded, then turned to Walburga. "I'm leaving, Mother."
She smiled and nodded, eyes filled with nothing but him.
He walked to the front hall. Kreacher waited by the door.
The house-elf shot Sirius a look, carrying that particular disdain a loyal servant reserved for the family's black sheep. But Sirius was still a master. Kreacher held his tongue.
A blink later, Grimmauld Place was gone. When his eyes opened, the two of them stood near the entrance to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at King's Cross Station.
Sirius looked at him. Something complicated moved behind his eyes, neither hostile nor warm. Something harder to name.
"Goodbye, Regulus."
It didn't sound like "see you later." It sounded like farewell. Then he turned and walked away without hesitation.
Not far off, the Potters were waiting. Mr. and Mrs. Potter stood to one side, and James spotted Sirius the moment he appeared, breaking into a wide grin, waving hard.
Sirius picked up his pace. By the time he reached James, he was a different person. The smile on his face was one that had never once appeared inside 12 Grimmauld Place. Easy. Open.
James slung an arm around his shoulders, and the two disappeared into the platform entrance, laughing.
Regulus looked away. He was about to head in when a figure caught the edge of his vision.
Barty Crouch.
Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry of Magic. The face of the hardline faction. Zero tolerance for Voldemort and his followers.
Beside him stood a small boy, around ten, neatly dressed, expression serious, motionless at his father's side.
Barty Crouch Jr.
The boy who would one day spend an entire year at Hogwarts disguised as Mad-Eye Moody under Polyjuice Potion, right under Dumbledore's nose.
Who would maintain a strict potion schedule with Snape prowling the corridors. Who would execute Voldemort's plan under the full weight of Dumbledore's presence. Who would stay loyal when the Dark Lord was at his weakest.
And who would, in the end, cast the Killing Curse on his own father.
In terms of ability, willpower, and the sheer obsessive quality of his devotion, the boy had much to recommend him.
Voldemort had trusted him with the most critical mission, and he'd delivered.
In Barty Jr.'s mind, Voldemort was less a master to serve than the father he'd always wanted.
As for Mr. Crouch?
Who was that, again?
Regulus's face gave nothing away, but a thought drifted through. Barty Crouch Jr. Come be my son.
What kind of future is there with Voldemort?
All you need is a father worth looking up to.
He approached Mr. Crouch and inclined his head slightly. "Mr. Crouch."
Crouch looked down at him. Cold eyes, appraising, the gaze of someone examining a suspect.
He knew who this was. The Black family heir. Slytherin's rising star. A person of interest on Voldemort's side.
The Ministry's intelligence apparatus didn't miss things like that.
But he didn't say anything unpleasant. A short nod. "Black."
Regulus wasn't bothered by the reception. The Ministry's war faction and Voldemort's camp were openly hostile at this point. As the Black heir, he belonged to the other side in Crouch's calculus. Getting any acknowledgment at all meant the man wasn't taking his frustrations out on children.
He turned to leave when a voice rang out behind him.
"Regulus!"
He turned. Cuthbert stood nearby, waving.
Regulus nodded to him, then scanned the other direction. Alex was there too.
He stood beside a middle-aged couple. The man was refined, the woman gentle-faced with a warm smile. Alex was pointing at Regulus, telling them something.
The man looked over, then walked toward him.
"Mr. Black." He extended his hand, formal and measured. "I'm Alex's father. He talks about you constantly."
Regulus shook it. "Mr. Rosier."
The exchange drew glances from a few young wizards nearby.
They watched Regulus interact with an adult the way another adult would: composed handshake, natural conversation. There was curiosity in their eyes, and something else.
The sense that he was different from them.
Regulus paid it no mind. A few brief words with Mr. Rosier, who expressed gratitude for Regulus looking after his son. Regulus replied politely, saying Alex worked hard on his own.
Then he headed for the platform entrance. Cuthbert was waiting at the door of a carriage, and when he spotted them, waved them over.
Alex said goodbye to his parents, jogged over, and the three boarded together, finding an empty compartment.
Cuthbert dropped into his seat and let out a breath. "Finally, back to school. How were your holidays?"
Without waiting for an answer, he launched into his own.
"Spent a month in France. Our family estate, you know the one? Down in Provence. Vineyards, lavender fields, and a whole greenhouse for magical plants. My mum says the climate's perfect for breeding some kind of butterfly, and she spent the entire time dragging me around trying to teach me how to raise them..."
Alex waited for him to finish, then jumped in. "I went to Germany. The magical zoo. Have you ever seen a sixteen-legged lizard? And these birds that change color mid-flight, red to blue, just like that. If you didn't know better, you'd think it was two different birds."
His eyes were bright, words tumbling over each other.
Regulus listened, nodding here and there, offering the occasional "mm," but his mind wandered.
He'd been to Germany too.
Same country. Entirely different worlds. Entirely different things on his mind.
He kept that to himself and let Cuthbert and Alex talk.
Outside the window, the platform was filling up. Departure was close. Two figures passed the compartment door in the corridor.
Lily and Snape, walking together but a step apart.
Lily's expression carried a trace of unhappiness. Snape's lips were pressed thin, his gaze fixed ahead, not looking at her.
When they reached the end of the corridor, Lily seemed about to catch his arm, to say something. But Snape was already moving into another carriage.
She watched his retreating back. Stood for a moment.
Then she turned and walked the other way.
Regulus watched the scene unfold.
The friendship between Snape and Lily couldn't be displayed openly at school. She was Gryffindor; he was Slytherin. That alone was enough to set tongues wagging.
Factor in Snape's growing circle of future Death Eaters, and the strain was inevitable. Lily disapproved. Snape wouldn't change.
Over the summer, Snape had almost certainly begun studying Dark magic in earnest. Regulus could guess his reasoning.
Dark magic gave him power. Power meant he'd never again be cornered by Potter and his friends. It meant he could claw his way from the margins of Slytherin into the inner circle.
It meant he'd stop being the shabby kid from Knockturn Alley.
And Lily was a sharp witch. She'd likely sensed the shift already.
In her mind, Dark magic was wrong and evil. Something you didn't touch.
Two convictions, head-on. Neither would bend.
The friendship was still there. But the crack had appeared.
Regulus looked away. None of his business. Snape's path was his own, and Lily's stance was hers.
But in the instant he turned, Lily glanced back.
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