Chapter Text
The door to the library slams open with a familiar bang and Regulus sighs. He doesn’t look up when Sirius jumps onto the couch, even though it’s not going to deter his nuisance of a brother from distracting him.
“You’ll never believe what James told me in his last letter,” Sirius proclaims, and Regulus sighs again before marking his place on the page and finally looking up.
“You say that every single time you get a letter.”
As much as Regulus wants to get back to his reading and not hear any more nonsense about James Potter of all people, he can’t bring himself to tell Sirius to get lost. Letters from Hogwarts had come less and less frequently over the course of Sirius’ first year; he’d never admit it out loud, but he’s glad that Sirius has been searching him out nearly every day since he came back.
If that means that he has to listen to—frankly absurd—stories about Sirius’ Gryffindor friends, he can at least try to keep his exasperation to levels that won’t make Sirius stop.
“Apparently, a boy turned up on their doorstep two days ago. He’s clearly a Potter although his father is the son or grandson of a squib and his mother is a Muggle. But the boy got his Hogwarts letter this summer and his parents sent a note with him, saying they don’t want to deal with a child with magic. So, they gave him some money, told the Potters to take care of him, and to not contact them again.”
Sirius rushes all of it out at a ridiculously fast pace, and it takes Regulus a few seconds to parse through what, exactly, he’s saying.
“Why wouldn’t they want to deal with a wizarding child?” he finally asks, shaking his head. “It’s only the other way around that it makes sense.”
“It’s not supposed to be like this either way, Reg. I told you that our parents are full of shit.”
Regulus bites his tongue and doesn’t answer, but his eyes flicker towards the door to make sure that it’s still safely closed.
The number of fights Sirius has got himself into over the summer is truly too high to keep track of, but none of them have ended well.
Regulus isn’t sure what he’s supposed to think. On the one hand, Sirius’ newfound opinions are everything they’ve been taught are wrong, and his father’s claims about how Sirius is letting himself be influenced by his housemates do make sense.
On the other hand—Sirius is one of the smartest people Regulus knows, as well as one of the most honest. If he says that there are Muggleborns who are smarter and better at magic than some Purebloods, Regulus can’t help but believe him.
It’s all very confusing, and Sirius’ continued insistence that Regulus doesn’t have to go to Slytherin either isn’t helping.
The thing is—Regulus doesn’t know where else he’s supposed to go or if he even wants to. He’s not as brave as Sirius and it has never particularly bothered him. Neither does he fancy facing the rage which Sirius was met with when he returned for Yule.
That being said, Sirius’ vehemence makes him wonder what he'll do if Regulus does get sorted into Slytherin, and it has kept him up so many nights that it’s becoming embarrassing.
“Anyway,” Sirius says, reminding Regulus that he’s still there and has probably been waiting for an answer. “He’s also starting Hogwarts, so if you’re not sorted into Slytherin, I’m sure you two could become friends. You’d have your own Potter, I’m sure it would do you some good. James said that he’s really cool and his parents basically adopted him immediately.”
Ah, there’s the queasy feeling in his stomach again. He forces a smile.
Sirius doesn’t seem to notice the strain or at least doesn’t mention it.
“I guess,” Regulus says, flicking his eyes back down to the book he’d been reading.
Sirius jumps up, the amount of time he’s able to sit still having clearly run out, and he ruffles Regulus’ hair. “Aw, don’t worry, Reg. The hat will take your wishes into consideration, and I’m sure we could make a decent Gryffindor out of you in no time.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer before bouncing out of the library. Regulus glares after him long after the door has slammed close. Merlin, but what is it about this family that no one ever stops to ask what he actually wants?
Hogwarts’ Great Hall takes his breath away regardless of how many tales he's heard about it before. He could probably admire it better if his heart wasn’t thundering against his ribs, his palms sweaty. If he didn’t feel Sirius’ eyes boring into his neck.
It’s a blessing and a curse to be called up as one of the firsts, and he keeps his chin held high and his shoulders straight as he approaches the rickety chair.
Professor McGonagall offers him an encouraging smile that he couldn’t return if he wanted to, and then the hat drops onto his head and all the noise fades away.
‘Ah, another Black. I’ve had a few of you over the last years.’
Regulus doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say to that. He swallows, his fingers curling around the edge of the chair.
‘Well, for most of you it was quite easy, although your brother was rather the surprise last year.’
‘Not only for you,’ Regulus thinks, wondering if the hat is able to pick up on his petulance.
‘So, what about you? Do you want to be a surprise as well, or follow the tradition of your family?’
‘I was led to believe that you make that decision, not me.’
‘Of course, I do. But you, young Black, seem very conflicted, and you could do well in more than one house. Slytherin would suit you well, there is no doubt. But you also have a curious mind, and loyalty in-bounds.’
Regulus huffs, and his fingers start hurting from how tightly they’re clenched. ‘So basically, anywhere but Gryffindor.’
‘That’s what I said, isn’t it?’
He spares a thought for how ridiculous it is that they let a hat make this decision and winces at how very much it makes him sound like his mother. Thinks how, ultimately, he can only lose in this whole mess. His mother had made sure to remind him of how much hangs on his sorting, of how he was not to displease her as well.
Thinks how Sirius will be disappointed either way and how Regulus doesn’t even want to go to Gryffindor. He might be able to arrange himself with Ravenclaw, but really, what a stupid idea to alienate his parents and Sirius both.
‘Ah, I see you’ve come to a decision, young Regulus. I do hope it will serve you well. Better be SLYTHERIN!’
Regulus winces at the sudden volume, but he manages to blank his face over just before McGonagall lifts the hat. Her smile seems a little more strained but maybe he’s imagining things.
He does not look in the direction of the Gryffindor table as he gets up, does not meet any of his cousin’s eyes as he sits down either. Instead, he stares down at the worn wood and focuses on his breathing until his heart has calmed down to a less frantic rhythm.
When he can finally bring himself to lift his head and search out Sirius, all his effort goes to waste again. Sirius has turned his back towards the sorting, and Regulus can only make out his profile. He’s staring stubbornly ahead while James Potter is talking to him, and to most people, he might appear to be merely listening.
Regulus knows him though, knows him better than anyone else, and he has no trouble seeing the strain to his shoulders, the way his back is just a little too rigid.
Regulus does not process any of the remaining sorting and barely touches his food when it appears. Keeps his eyes stubbornly fixed on Sirius, stomach tying itself into knots further and further with every second Sirius purposefully ignores his existence.
Wonders if it really takes nothing more for his brother to turn his back on him, to make him believe that Regulus is as disposable as he considers the rest of their family to be. If all Regulus has done whenever Sirius got himself into trouble—smuggling him food and finding loopholes in their mothers’ orders to Kreacher and sitting at the other side of Sirius’ door, reading him stories—means nothing in the face of the colour of his tie.
Wonders how it’s fair that he’s supposed to choose at all, and his eyes are burning, his throat too tight. If he starts crying on his first night, he’ll find a book on hexes first thing tomorrow and make sure to try out each and every one on Sirius.
“Hey, you’re Regulus Black, aren’t you?”
The boy he’s met with is not familiar. His hair is an atrocious mop of black curls, his tie is askew, and his shirt is rumpled. His eyes are a startling green though, and he’s smiling at Regulus as if there’s nothing he would rather do.
“I’m Harry Potter. What do you think, want to prank the Gryffindors tomorrow?”
It’s a good thing Regulus hasn’t touched his food yet; he’s pretty sure he would’ve choked, caught somewhere between indignation and the desperate urge to laugh.
“You’re the new Potter boy?” he finally gets out, and immediately bites his tongue. As much as he couldn’t care less about this son of a squib that has only turned up this summer, it will probably do him no good to alienate the people he’s going to share a dorm with for seven years.
Weirdly enough, the boys’ grin only widens. “That would be me, yes. I’m going to take a guess and say Sirius told you about me, then?”
“How would you know my brother? Come to think of it, how do you know who I am?”
“James wouldn’t shut up about Sirius and mentioned that he has a brother. After seeing them joined at the hip for the whole train ride, it wasn’t that hard to put the pieces together with how similar you two look,” he says, his eyes straying towards the Gryffindor table before settling back on Regulus.
The movement shifts his hair, and Regulus’ eyes catch on a thin, spidery scar that runs over his forehead and trails down the left side of his face. Somehow, Regulus manages to find at least some of his manners and doesn’t stare.
“Still doesn’t explain why you’d pick me of all people to rope into whatever you’re planning.”
Harry hums, looking at the Gryffindors again. Leaning closer, his grin turns mischievous, and Regulus gets the distinct impression that it really wouldn’t do him any good to get on his bad side.
Part of him wants to scoff; wants to recite his mothers’ and his tutors’ lectures about how those without pure ancestry will never have a chance to best any of them. Another has learned through growing up with Sirius to always trust his gut as long as it doesn’t tell him to do something stupid.
“Well, it looks to me like your brother and James are getting up on their high horses about our sorting. While I could certainly ignore it or write home about it if James decides to turn too obnoxious, I’m not all too fond of either of those options. Gryffindor is all about chivalrousness, isn’t it? They might need a reminder.”
Regulus swallows, the few moments of distraction not nearly enough to numb the effect of how Sirius is already showing him the cold shoulder. He lets his gaze stray towards his brother, head still carefully, purposefully averted; lets his thoughts stray back to Grimmauld's, and how his parents will not thank him for doing what they consider his duty.
Looks at this weird boy sitting next to him, grinning, while the rest of their housemates are trying their best to look as regal and detached as all their parents do at every social function they were ever forced to attend. Takes it all in and thinks, to hell with it.
“So, what did you have in mind?”
As it turns out, Harry knows surprisingly much for a first-year who has not grown up in the wizarding world. He has to prove that long before they ever get around to planning that prank.
They share their dorm with three others, all of whom Regulus knows by name. That’s about the extent of it though; regardless of how obviously he shows his distaste for it, Sirius is the one who’s expected to socialise with the important heirs, and Regulus is usually left to his own devices.
More often than not, that meant he had the freedom to floo back home after an hour of whatever social function their parents had dragged them to. He always considered it one of the advantages of being the younger child, holing up in the library until his parents came back and he snuck off to his room.
So it doesn’t come as much of a surprise that they don’t offer him much more than a perfunctory nod and a few words. They’re not nearly as accepting of Harry’s presence and Regulus startles at the impulse to put himself between them.
Sirius must’ve rubbed off on him more than he thought.
“My, a Potter in Slytherin,” Avery drawls, and the smirk on his face is such a poor attempt to mirror his fathers’ that Regulus doesn’t bother biting down on his snort.
“I wasn’t aware James Potter has a brother,” Nott adds, and the two of them stand shoulder to shoulder in front of Harry, clearly trying to be imposing.
Maybe they would be if Harry didn’t seem so utterly unconcerned. Regulus would think that he truly has no idea what—or where—he’s got himself into, but for one, he doubts that the Potters let him set foot into Hogwarts without the slightest bit of preparation, and for the other—well.
Harry’s grinning, head tilted to one side, and it would look guileless if not for the gleam in his eyes. “What, you mean like it’s uncommon for Half-bloods to be sorted into Slytherin?”
“It’s not uncommon,” Avery sneers, puffing his chest out. “It’s simply not done. You don’t belong here.”
“Are you saying that you know better than the sorting hat? An artefact actually created by the founders and thus, by Salazar Slytherin himself?” Harry asks, his fingers drumming slowly against his crossed arms. “Because it was rather insistent that I should go to Slytherin, this—that I belonged here. I’m not sure about you, but I’m not going to argue with a magical object that’s several centuries old.”
Avery splutters, and Nott’s face is turning an alarming shade of red. Selwyn seems to have lost something of the utmost importance in his trunk for how he’s not resurfaced from it once since they entered the room.
“Just you wait, your pathetic squib-magic will not get you far here. You should be careful to watch your mouth,” Nott spits, and mentally, Regulus is listing off all the ways he could’ve made this so much more intimidating.
“Oh well, that merely reminds me that I should probably cast some wards.”
Harry doesn’t seem to direct it at anyone in particular, and yet they’re all watching in disbelief as he casts basic privacy charms on his bed and possessions.
“I’d not touch any of that if I were you,” he says to Avery and Nott before turning to Regulus. “Want to see that book I was talking about?”
Regulus only hesitates for a fraction of a second; looks from Avery and Nott’s enraged faces to Harry’s unconcerned grin, and realises that it’s barely a choice at all. His parents might end up displeased, but he’s already followed their expectations about which house to pick, so they can cut him some slack, for once.
It’s not like he’s agreeing to a life-long friendship anyway, right? Right.
He regrets his decision the next morning when he finds himself crouched down in an alcove behind a tapestry, not far from where Harry claims the Gryffindor common room is located.
“Are you sure—”
“Shh,” Harry shushes him, just as the sound of voices wafts down the corridor.
Regulus’ heart is racing in his chest, and he curses his mother and all the tutors she paraded that none of them ever taught him how to say No to half-brained plans of strange boys with convincing words and books on hexes.
It’s an oversight on her part if he’s ever seen one; Sirius should’ve been proof enough of that.
“Alright, remember the incantation?” Harry whispers, and his eyes are gleaming with mirth even in the dim light.
Damn him, but Regulus does, and when he recognises Sirius’ voice boasting about one thing or another, he swallows down his nerves and steels himself.
It’s a simple spell, as far as spells for first-years who have yet to have their first actual lesson go; he’s had some practice already, though he wonders how Harry’s going to fare. For all his confidence, he can’t have had much time to learn anything practical about magic.
Then again, he cast wards last night that not even Regulus would be able to do, so really, who is he to say.
As it turns out, neither of them struggles with the spell as Sirius and his friends are at the level of where they’re hiding, their casting easily drowned out by the ruckus the Gryffindors are making.
They both stay frozen to their spots, listening with bated breath until—
“What the hell?” Sirius’ voice sounds down the corridor, and Harry’s whole face lights up in a grin.
“Your tie—”
“Yours too!
“It wasn’t me!”
“It’s green! Remus did you—”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, of course not.”
The sheer horror in James’ and Sirius’ voices makes up a hundred times for not being able to see their faces, and it’s almost impossible to swallow down the laughter that’s bubbling up Regulus’ throat.
“We have to go change—”
“James, you’ll be late—”
“We can’t walk into the Great Hall like that!”
“It’s only your tie—”
The voices get farther and farther away, and Harry collapses against the wall of the small alcove, his whole body shaking with silent laughter. Regulus isn’t much better off, but he uses every little ounce of self-control to calm himself down and nudge Harry with his knee.
“We need to go as well; we can’t be late on our first day.”
It takes another few, long moments until Harry has calmed down enough to stop biting into his knuckles. “I also want to be there when they arrive, come on.”
They slip out of their hiding spot, and Regulus raises a brow at him. “You’re aware that they have a headstart on us, yeah? We definitely won’t make it there first.”
Harry grins again, and Regulus is beginning to think that it’s an expression he should become wary of, and quickly.
“I think I know a shortcut.”
“How would you know a shortcut? We’ve been here for twelve hours.”
It’s a very reasonable objection, as far as Regulus is concerned, but Harry merely shrugs and grabs his sleeve, dragging him off into the opposite direction of where Regulus thinks they have to go.
Seeing that he’s not all that sure and that Harry’s the one who got them here in the first place, he doesn’t have much of a choice but to follow. He does have a choice to keep asking how Harry could possibly know any of this, but it’s about as fruitful as the first hundred times. Harry smiles, and shrugs, and occasionally claims that James’ parents told him.
Regulus doesn’t really believe him, but then again, he has no idea how else he would know, so he doesn’t let it bother him too much. Especially not when they do, in fact, make it to the Great Hall before Sirius and his friends, though he will maintain that there’s a high chance that they simply got waylaid by their attempts to change their ties back.
If that’s true or not, he’ll probably never know—Sirius and James try so desperately to disappear behind their two friends that it inevitably draws attention. Their ties are still an unmistakeable Slytherin green that clashes horribly with the red of their faces.
Regulus is immeasurably thankful for Harry’s insistence to sit with their backs facing the hall because he has to duck low over the table to hide his laughter all over again. Harry’s hand around his forearm is tight as he tries doing the same, and it’s a relief when students across all tables start breaking out in laughter and murmurs.
“See, that was a good idea, wasn’t it?” Harry says when they leave breakfast for their first class, and Regulus couldn’t disagree if he wanted to. Harry smiles, and they walk in silence until they reach the Transfiguration classroom.
Just as McGonagall is about to start the class, Harry turns towards him and says, “Well, then I’m sure you’ll have no problem accompanying me when I meet with James later, will you?”
Harry doesn’t wait for an answer before turning back to the front. Not that Regulus could’ve given him one while it costs him every little ounce of self-restraint to not outright gape at him in disbelief.
He has, quite frankly, no idea how Harry ultimately convinced him to come along. There had been a lot of talking involved until, suddenly, he was standing outside of the castle, watching the entrance for Sirius, and wondering what the hell had happened.
At least it solves the slight mystery of how Harry got sorted into Slytherin, even if Regulus is currently cursing the damned hat six ways to Sunday for settling him with—this.
“Stop looking so morose, it’ll be fine,” Harry says, nudging him with his shoulder.
Regulus wants to believe him, he really does; but while he doesn’t know James Potter, he’s rather sure that there’s no possible way he’d exceed Sirius in terms of stubbornness.
Seeing that Harry has no way of knowing just how much of an idiot Sirius is, Regulus can’t bring himself to put all that much trust into his reassurances.
He doesn’t get the chance to contemplate the merits of making a run for it any further when a group of four students stumbles out of the castle, their voices carrying easily towards where he and Harry are waiting.
“—don’t know why I’m supposed to—”
“Will you shut up? Just come on, you prick!”
“Remus—”
“Listen to James, Sirius.”
They finally notice that they’re not alone, and it would be comical how all of them shut up immediately if not for how badly Regulus’ gut is churning. He glances at Harry and is slightly taken aback by catching the grimace flashing across his face.
“You came! I’m so honoured!” he exclaims a moment later as if it had never been there. Regulus could nearly convince himself that he imagined it if not for the way Harry’s hands are clenched tightly behind his back.
“Well, I can hardly refuse, can I?” James replies, and he sounds so very sulky that Regulus can’t bite back his snort in time.
“Something funny?” Sirius asks, immediately zoning in on him where he firmly ignored him ever since last night.
“Well yes,” Harry says, tilting his head. “One would think that a bunch of second-years would be more mature than the first-years but clearly there isn’t enough age difference yet, is there?”
“Why don’t we introduce ourselves?” the third boy—Remus, Regulus thinks—says, a note of exasperation in his tone as he looks at James and Sirius expectantly. Regulus rather likes him.
“I’m Remus and—”
“Nice to meet you, Remus,” Harry interrupts, something strangely fond to his smile. “I’m Harry, James’ long-lost cousin. As I’m sure he’s already told you and then whined about, seeing that I ended up in the wrong house and brought dishonour to his sparkling reputation.”
Regulus bites down on his tongue and Remus’ lips twitch as James sputters.
Sirius’ eyes narrow though and he pushes to the front. “I’m Sirius, and—”
“And this is Peter,” Remus cuts in again, the way he nudges Sirius in the back not subtle at all.
Still, Regulus barely notices, his eyes catching on how Harry’s shoulders stiffen. His face goes blank as he turns to the smallest, quietest boy in the group. If it wasn’t such a foreign notion—regardless of how short a time they’ve known each other, it looks plain wrong on him—Regulus would call the expression he’s wearing nothing but contempt.
“So I’ve heard,” Harry says, and even his voice sounds cold, so much of a sudden difference that unease falls over their whole group.
Peter is staring wide-eyed and clearly uncomfortable, and James’ gaze is flicking between them with a frown knitting his brows together. It pushes his glasses up his nose, and the resemblance between him and Harry is so striking that they could easily be brothers if not for their eyes.
“Well, and as you probably all know, I’m Regulus,” he speaks up when the tension threatens to become stifling, and no one’s more surprised about it than he is.
Harry seems to snap out of whatever his problem is though, and he turns back to James. “So, are you going to be a pain about this? Because if you are, I’m not going to write home, but a bunch of green ties is going to be the least of your worries.”
Regulus chokes, but it’s completely drowned out by James’ and Sirius’ sputtering through exclamations of disbelief and outrage both. Remus has turned away, and Regulus wants to believe that it’s for the sake of hiding laughter, but he’s too focused on keeping a close watch to not miss any wands being drawn.
All the while, Harry grins, completely unconcerned.
“Oh come on, you told me that you’ve done much worse,” Harry finally says with a roll of his eyes. “And both of you were the embodiment of utter wanker after Regulus’ and my sorting. It was only fair.”
James shifts, shuffling his feet. Sirius only tilts his chin up, his eyes heavy on Regulus.
“It’s Slytherin,” James finally says, a grimace twisting his face, and Harry huffs.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, look—you liked me over the summer, didn’t you? We got along well enough, and I’d risk a guess and say you, Sirius, probably got on with your brother well enough too. As well as siblings ever get along anyway.”
It at least gets Sirius to look away from Regulus, though he isn’t sure if the pinched expression is much better. James is chewing on his bottom lip, his gaze straying to Remus and Peter who are both watching silently.
None of them answers, and Harry huffs again, shaking his head. “We’re still the same damn people. Slytherin is nothing but a house—granted, one with a worrying number of dicks in it, but you can find them in every house. In fact, you’re just behaving like ones.”
“Oi—” Sirius interrupts, but Harry doesn’t let him get far.
“Come on, alright, maybe your parents suck. So do a lot of parents. Does the rest of your family too? All your cousins, aunts, and uncles? Your grandaunt, who’s somehow also James’ aunt? Do you think every single person who has ever been in Slytherin turned evil the moment the colour of their tie changed? I truly expected you to be smarter than that.”
It’s Remus who eventually breaks the following silence. “So, what do you suggest?”
Harry shrugs, the corner of his mouth curling up. “I mostly don’t want there to be any bad blood. I don’t need to be part of your little gang or anything, but you two—” he points from Regulus to Sirius, “—are brothers, and James and I are—well. Something.”
“Well, mum would kill me if I were mean to you,” James mutters, scrunching up his nose before he sighs.
“If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” Harry shoots back, but he’s grinning, and—
“He’s exactly like them though!” Sirius explodes, throwing his hands up and glaring at Regulus through narrowed eyes.
He wants to shrink away from it. At the same time, resentment is burning through his chest, curling around his ribs and making him want to snarl that he couldn’t care less what Sirius thinks of him. Wants to snarl that between the two of them, Sirius is the one betraying everything that matters, is betraying the promises they made to each other as children. How he would’ve been willing to listen and try, but if Sirius wants to be an arse about it, Regulus sure as hell can be, too.
He never gets the chance, and he can’t decide if he should be thankful or mad about it.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake! None of us is anything but a miserable ball of impending teenage angst and excessive worries about things that don’t matter in the long run. We’re eleven-year-old children who have just about learned how to hold a bloody wand.”
“Well aren’t you an optimistic fellow,” Remus says after a beat and Regulus is inclined to agree.
“It’s part of my charm,” Harry deadpans, and somehow, it breaks the tension.
Someone elbows Sirius in the ribs, and he gives a long-suffering sigh and rolls his eyes at Regulus, but Sirius has always expressed his yielding and affection in strange ways. Regulus doesn’t dare to get his hopes up, but he offers a shrug in return and watches as James pulls Harry into a headlock, ruffling his hair.
He’s not exactly sure what happened—again—but he can’t bring himself to regret getting dragged along either.
Now that Harry had fixed things with James, Regulus nearly expected to not see much of him anymore.
For some reason, Harry sticks around. They spend a lot of time exploring the school during which Harry keeps showing an uncanny ability to know his way around, do their homework together, play rounds of chess that Regulus wins every single time, and pull a few more harmless pranks.
Harry gets Regulus’ sarcasm and gives as good as he gets, and they’ve been called on by their teachers to pay attention more than once while they were bickering. Regulus is sure his mother would have a lot to say about the whole matter, but he can’t really bring himself to care.
He never thought he’d get to have being sorted into Slytherin without ending up more or less miserable, but somehow it happened and he’s not going to give this up for his parents back in London.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t cause them or their influence to disappear.
It’s close to Halloween when he comes into the dorm after getting a few books from the library and finds Harry stretched out on his bed, nose buried in a book.
“What are you reading?”
Harry startles but smiles as soon as he sees Regulus. “Terry Pratchett. It’s a Muggle author who writes fantasy, and—”
Regulus’ lips curl in distaste before he made a conscious decision to do so, and Harry stills. His eyes narrow, grip on his book tightening, and they stare at each other in silence for long moments.
“I didn’t—I don’t mean—” Regulus finally starts when it becomes too uncomfortable, but he doesn’t really know where he’s going with this. While he’s beginning to see that Sirius has a point about how some Half-bloods and Muggleborn are able to keep up with the Purebloods effortlessly, he can’t really bring himself to believe that Muggles, in general, aren’t inferior.
Can’t really bring himself to believe that everything he was taught has been wrong. He’s been careful to avoid the topic around Harry, but it would figure that he’d mess this up eventually.
Harry sighs, dropping his book and getting up. “You’re lucky that you simply don’t know any better,” he mutters as he kicks open his trunk.
The spiteful part of Regulus wants to protest, but it gets stuck in his throat when Harry starts pulling books out and arranging them into a pile.
There are nearly ten different books, varying in size and how old they seem to be when Harry looks up and pins him with a look. “Let’s make a deal. You’re going to read all of these—Muggle books, on their history and science and cultures—and if you still think they’re stupid and inferior once you’re done, I’ll never again complain about your and your parents’ beliefs. But if you don’t, you’ll inform yourself more and start questioning what they’ve taught you.”
Regulus’ very first instinct is to find the catch. The second is what almost got him sorted into Ravenclaw—namely curiosity. For all that he’s heard endlessly about how Muggles are underdeveloped and practically helpless, he’s never actually learned anything about them.
The third, and maybe the most deciding factor even if he’d never admit it, is that he doesn’t want to lose whatever friendship the two of them are building. Harry’s not the kind of person to try and trick him; if Regulus reads all of this and finds his opinions confirmed, he’s pretty certain that Harry will stay true to his word.
That being said, he doubts Harry would offer if he wasn’t convinced that Regulus will change his mind, but it only heightens his curiosity.
“Alright,” he says, and Harry smiles as if he had just received a monumental gift.
“I didn’t know you could draw,” Harry’s voice sounds from behind him, and Regulus instinctively snaps the book shut.
He releases the tension that has shot into his shoulders with a measured breath when Harry plops down on the couch next to him.
“I didn’t know you could turn off your innate clumsiness for long enough to sneak up on someone, and yet here we are,” he shoots back, smirking, a sense of accomplishment washing through him when Harry laughs.
“Seems like we’re both just full of surprises. Seriously though, that looked good. I take it you started on the book on art?”
“Oh yeah, I’ve just reached the section on the Renaissance, although I had to look up a lot of references in the history book. The sole thing we ever learned about Christianity was of the witch-burnings, but there’s so much more to it! The art of the time is amazing though, I can’t wrap my head around how Michelangelo would’ve been able to do some of those sculptures without magic.”
Harry laughs again, but it sounds fond, his eyes not leaving Regulus. “To be fair, Christianity and religion, in general, is truly one of the topics that Muggles should be less than proud of, but I’m glad you find it interesting.”
Interesting is an understatement if Regulus ever heard one, but the Slytherin common room isn’t the best place to start rambling about all the fascinating stuff he’s learned over the last few weeks.
It’s not like Harry doesn’t know, anyway. Regulus might’ve gone into the whole deal with a healthy dose of scepticism, but it lasted for about the first fifty pages into the book on the history of Ancient Greece.
“Can I see what you were drawing?”
Regulus hesitates. It’s not like he’s particularly self-conscious but drawing has always been something he only does for himself. Sirius doesn’t really care for anything that requires him to sit still for longer than fifteen minutes, and in his parents’ eyes, it’s not something boys are supposed to occupy themselves with.
He always found it calming though; a way to catch small moments on paper or create better ones. Something that’s not about being good at but just for the fun of it. He’s never shown anyone, has made sure that no one really caught on except for the occasional mindless doodle in his notes.
Weirdly enough, he finds that he doesn’t really mind the idea of showing Harry. Pulling the sheet of parchment out of the book, he hands it over, watching Harry’s face as he takes in the lines of his quill.
“That’s amazing,” Harry says after long moments, lifting his head to look at Regulus. His eyes are bright and slightly awed, and Regulus has to flick his gaze away to keep himself from blushing.
“It’s only the chapel, it’s not like I repainted the ceiling.”
“You’re a first-year, I’d be genuinely worried if you managed to copy Michelangelo perfectly.”
“Are you underestimating me?”
Harry laughs again, eyes straying back down to the drawing before handing it back. “I’m serious though, this is good. My talent ends at stick-figures and I’m thankful when my handwriting is remotely legible.”
“You do realise that puts the bar very low, right?”
Harry lightly kicks his ankle, which prompts Regulus to shove him, and the topic is all but forgotten.
Or at least he thinks so until on Yule, an owl arrives late at Regulus’ window, bearing a small parcel. He unpacks it carefully, having no idea who could’ve possibly sent it, and finds a sketchbook, another book on Muggle art, and an array of pencils he’s seen Harry use before.
His heart is beating harshly against his ribs, and his fingers tremble when he pulls out the note tucked into the pages of the sketchbook.
‘At the risk of you not being able to read my horrible scrawl, oh great artist; I thought this might serve you better than loose sheets of parchment and annoying quills. The pencils are specifically for drawing, and when we’re back at school, I can show you a spell that will ensure only you can see the contents of the book if you like.
Happy Yule,
Harry.’
He reads it three more times, the grin on his face so wide that he’s glad no one can see him, and it’s easily the best gift he’s ever got.
Well, maybe after meeting Harry in the first place.
As he falls asleep that night, he finally understands how it had been so very easy for Sirius to turn his back on the things their parents tried to instil in them. They might hold up in the secluded walls of Grimmauld Place or Slytherin, but met with a stubborn Potter and a whole lot of new knowledge, it never stood a chance.