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Chapter Five
Regulus stared at the chessboard, pondering his next move.
Across him at the small table in the Slytherin common room, Augustus Nott mimicked him, the perfect curls of his chestnut hair skewed across his forehead in an uncharacteristic display of dishevelment, an unfortunate result of having run his hands through his hair in concentration one too many times. Regulus could see the cogs turning behind his light brown eyes (amber, the girls called it when they swooned over the handsome boy), considering Regulus's potential moves while calculating his own countermoves.
Though Regulus would never admit it aloud, he relished these games with Nott. His acquaintance and one of his roommates for the past six years, Nott had been the only boy in their dormitory willingly interested in wizard's chess, and the only Slytherin able to hold a steady match against Regulus. Their matches had become a favorite pastime of Regulus's, and it was because of this longstanding tradition that Regulus considered Nott to be the closest thing he had to a friend.
"C'mon, Reggie," Nott taunted. His eyes were amused when he studied Regulus's intense frown. "Are you waiting for house-elf liberation before you make your next move? Hurry up."
"I've told you a hundred times not to call me that," Regulus murmured, not bothering to glance up from scouring the board.
Nott smirked. "And has it worked yet?"
Regulus made a noncommittal noise and steepled his fingers under his chin, continuing to contemplate.
Nott sighed. "Get on with it, Black. I'd like to go to dinner sometime in the near future."
"Patience is a rare gift," Regulus said. "Not many wizards have an affinity for it. How could they? With a wave of their wand, their wants and needs are cared for instantaneously. Now—" He directed his knight to move. The chess piece obeyed him and settled near the edge of the board, where a large collection of both black and white pieces rested, limp and battered from wreaking havoc on each other.
Nott grinned. "Nice speech. But patience won't save you from my queen."
Nott commanded his queen to take Regulus's knight. The queen dragged Regulus's black knight kicking off the board and added him to the pile of discarded pieces.
"No, it won't," Regulus said, "but it did just let my bishop take down your king. Checkmate."
Nott watched, stunned, as his king threw down its little white crown before Regulus's bishop, thus ensuring his defeat. Regulus sat back, satisfied, as the chess pieces righted themselves and resumed their neutral places on the board once more, ready for their next game.
"You're smart, Nott," said Regulus, "but you allow impulse to rule you. It hinders you from seeing the bigger picture."
Nott slumped in his own seat, brushing his hair back from his face to resume its impeccable quiff. "And I suppose you always see the bigger picture?"
Regulus allowed himself a small smile. "More or less."
If it were anyone else, Regulus's words would have made them bristle in anger. Instead, Nott just grinned back and drummed his fingers on the green fabric of his armchair.
"Any progress with Slughorn?" he asked.
Regulus shot him a warning look. He glanced around, but they were the only ones in their section of the common room. Only a table of fourth-years remained; everyone else was at dinner.
"You could try to be more discreet," Regulus said to the other boy.
Nott raised his eyebrows. "And you could try lightening up. You used to be fun. What changed?"
Regulus scowled at the chessboard. "My blood traitor brother deserting us and dragging the Black name through filth."
"Ah." Nott tapped his fingers. "There is that." When Regulus made no more comments, he went on. "Back to my original question, though. Slughorn?"
"Nothing. Old git refuses to even be alone in a room with me anymore."
Nott studied him carefully. The imperious look reminded him of his father, and for some reason, this bothered him greatly. "You've been chosen specifically for this task, Black. He needs results."
Regulus betrayed nothing on his face, but the muscle in his jaw twitched at the condescending tone. "I know. I'm working on it."
"And Potions? How's your half-blood tutor doing?"
Regulus's scowl deepened at the mention of Diana Fairchild. He'd only been working with the Hufflepuff for three weeks, but the rumors of his need to be tutored had traveled in only half that time. It was infuriating, having to pretend to be horrid at Potions, but if it got him closer to Slughorn…
"We only speak when necessary," Regulus said.
Nott nodded. "Good. I commend you for even deigning to be in the same room as her." He snorted. "A Hufflepuff, and a half-blood to boot…Merlin, this place has gone to the dogs…"
Regulus let Nott continue his dark mutterings without interference. The mention of his mission had sent a sharp stake into his gut, but he shrugged it off. It was for the cause, he reminded himself. He could do it.
He would have to if he wanted to save his family from any further disgrace.
Diana spit a piece of hair from her mouth in frustration, the scent of dragon dung mingling with her own sweat as she tilled the greenhouse soil by hand.
Professor Sprout had asked Diana to stay behind after that day's lesson to make up half her marks for improperly pruning her screechsnap, which had expressed its discontent by slapping Diana soundly across the face with one of its tendrils. The sting of the punishment was almost as bad as the welt on her cheek, but if it got her a halfway decent grade, then she would grudgingly do the work.
When the door opened, letting in a blast of crisp autumn air that temporarily relieved her of the humid confines of the greenhouse, Diana sat back on her heels, expecting Professor Sprout to tell her she was done. Instead, she looked up and briefly thought that Regulus Black had entered, but the proportions and features were all wrong. This version of Regulus was taller, leaner, and exceptionally handsomer (not that she thought Regulus Black, of all people, was handsome—but she couldn't deny that the children of the pure-blood aristocracy were all unfairly attractive in their own ways), and it took her a few moments to register that this was his older brother Sirius, the seventh-year Gryffindor part of the infamous pranksters colloquially known as the Marauders.
"Hey," said Sirius, flashing her a charming smile that sent butterflies ricocheting through her stomach. "Diana Fairchild, right?"
Diana became acutely aware of the sweat slicking her face and the overwhelming smell of dragon dung that was undoubtedly stuck to her robes and hair, but she forced herself to nod. "That's right."
"I'm Sirius," he said, stepping deeper into the greenhouse. He walked with a sort of arrogant slouch, his feet dragging and his hands in his pockets. It was so different from the straight-backed elegance of Regulus that it was jarring. "Sirius Black."
"I know who you are," she said without thinking, and her face flushed when he grinned.
"Ah, so my reputation precedes me," he said humorously. "I'm flattered, darling, truly."
Diana realized she was still kneeling in the dirt and quickly got to her feet, peeling off her dragonhide gloves. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but have we… I mean, how do you…?"
She trailed off. Sirius Black was one of the most popular blokes in school, a year above her, and in a completely different House. He was inaccessible, but yet here he was. Talking to her. Sweaty and alone in Greenhouse Six.
"How do I know you?" he answered for her. She nodded, biting her lip. He leaned against one of the worktables and tossed his hair out of his eyes. It was longer and shaggier than Regulus's, brushing the tops of his shoulders, but it was the same shade of raven-black as his brother's. "To be completely honest, I didn't know who you were until a few days ago. But then I discovered that you and I have a mutual friend."
"Your brother," she said. The tension left her shoulders when he nodded. For some reason, she'd thought she was about to be the victim of one of his pranks with his friends. They'd had many unsuspecting victims over the years, so it was second nature to be wary. "Yes, I'm tutoring him in Potions."
"So I heard." His eyes tracked over her, from her dirt-encrusted shoes to the wand keeping her damp hair out of her shiny pink face. His eyes were grey like his brother's also, but brighter, silver like the moonlight on the lake. "What I want to know is why."
Diana blinked. "Sorry?"
"Why are you tutoring him?"
She was baffled. "Because Slughorn asked Sprout, and then Sprout asked me?"
He seemed disappointed in her answer. "Interesting."
She threw her gloves into her bag and then shouldered it, staring at him all the while. "I'm sorry, but why do you want to know?"
Sirius studied her carefully. "Is he any good? At Potions?"
"He's…" She thought back to her most recent lessons with the younger Black. He hung on to her every word intently, and his brewing had seemed to change overnight after they'd come to their agreement. She shook her head. "He's quite good, actually. Making steady progress. He seems to know what he's doing; he just needs a little help to get there."
"Interesting," he repeated, sounding troubled. He huffed out a laugh. "Did you know that our mother started teaching us how to brew potions from the time we could walk?"
She frowned. "No, I didn't."
"She was always a sharp potioneer, my mother." His face soured as if recalling some foul memory. "She was good at a lot of things—at least, things to do with the Dark Arts. She was a knowledgeable witch, and she passed on that knowledge to me and my brother. So you can imagine my surprise when I learned that my brother needed a tutor for Potions, of all things, when he could brew a Draught of Living Death in his sleep by the time he was twelve."
Diana stared. "Are you saying that he's faking being bad at Potions? Why? Why would he do that?"
He shrugged. "I'm not saying anything. I just wanted to pass a message along."
"What message?"
He fixed her with those moonlit eyes, and she suddenly understood how all the girls of Hogwarts were drawn to him like moths to flame. "If my brother gives you any trouble, or if you suspect anything off about him, I ask that you come to me. Please, Diana."
The use of her name startled her, but she nodded. "Okay. I will…Sirius."
In an instant, his grim demeanor changed, and he was back to flashing that heartbreaking smile. He winked at her. "Good. See you around, Diana."
He left the greenhouse. Diana stood there for so long that a spiky tendril of the deadly Devil's Snare hidden in the corner began to wrap around her ankle, but with one good "Lumos" the plant retreated from the light.
She just wished that all of her problems could be solved so easily.
Three days after her conversation with Sirius Black, Diana trooped to the dungeons for her session with his brother.
She'd stewed in her thoughts for the last few days, trying to connect Sirius's words to Regulus's actions. She'd thought Regulus had become better at potion-making under her tutelage, but what if Sirius was right, and Regulus was a lot better than he was letting on? But then why would Regulus fake something as trivial as potion-making? What would he gain from it? It certainly had nothing to do with her. He couldn't possibly have known that Slughorn would choose her to be his tutor.
So what was Regulus Black hiding?
When she entered the dungeon classroom, Regulus was already there, setting up their cauldron. He looked up and bestowed a quick nod to her before prodding the bottom of the cauldron to heat.
"Evening," he said pleasantly as she slid onto the stool next to his. "What's in your lesson plan today, tutor?"
She turned to him hesitantly. "Remember when we did a Draught of Living Death our first session?"
"Yes." His mouth quirked. "I specifically recall botching it, but yes."
"I think we should give it another shot."
His eyebrows lifted. "If you think that's wise."
"Well, practice makes perfect, right?"
"Very well." He reached for his copy of Advanced Potion-Making, but she grabbed his sleeve.
"Don't worry about your book," she said quickly. "We can just share mine if you need it. I'm more than okay with reading you the instructions out loud."
He shrugged. "All right."
He looked down at his sleeve, and Diana realized her hand was still on his arm. She retracted it swiftly. "Sorry."
He shrugged again, and she took that to mean it was no big deal. Relieved, she brought out her own copy of the Potions book and thumbed to the right page. Regulus consulted the ingredients list for a moment before going into the storeroom. Diana sat, antsy, as she remembered Sirius's words: "So you can imagine my surprise when I learned that my brother needed a tutor for Potions, of all things, when he could brew a Draught of Living Death in his sleep by the time he was twelve."
Regulus came back with the ingredients and sat down again. "All right. First step?"
"Add the Infusion of Wormwood," Diana said.
He did so. "Next?"
"Add the powdered root of asphodel."
"Next?"
"Stir twice counterclockwise."
She held her breath. The instructions called for two stirs clockwise, and if he knew that, he might question her.
He frowned, but to her disappointment, he stirred twice counterclockwise.
"All right. What's next?"
"Add the sloth brain."
He did. The potion simmered, fizzing like those sugary drinks she saw Muggles drinking sometimes when she was out in London. A bubble popped, and she jumped.
Regulus's mouth curled upward at her reaction. "You well, Fairchild?"
"Yes," she said, too quickly. She cleared her throat and forced herself to sound more relaxed. "Why?"
He shrugged. "You seem jumpy today." He peered more closely at her, but she avoided his eyes under the pretense of reading from her book. "You're also quiet."
She frowned. "I'm always quiet."
"Not necessarily." He checked the still-bubbling cauldron. "Last week we had a nice conversation about your sister and my cousin. This week you've hardly said a word to me."
"I was under the impression that you weren't interested in talking to me," she said truthfully, glancing up from her book.
He kept his gaze on the potion. "I wasn't, at first." His fingers drummed on the table, long and slender. "But I've come to realize that you're much different from any of my Housemates. You don't know about pure-blood politics, so you don't engage in them. It's…refreshing."
She was surprised by this admission, but she only said, "Add the Sopophorous bean's juice."
He brought out his silver dagger and crushed the beans with the flat of his blade. She stared, and he paused. "You said to crush them last time, right? It saves more of the juice, you said."
She nodded. "That's right."
They stayed silent while he worked and added the juice to the cauldron. The potion flared, but otherwise continued to simmer peacefully. Regulus wiped off his dagger and his hands. "Seven counterclockwise stirs next, yes?"
She swallowed. "Er, clockwise."
He frowned. "I'm certain it's counterclockwise."
She watched his face carefully. "Clockwise."
He gestured to her book. "Let me see that."
She hesitated. She couldn't very well deny him from looking at the instructions, could she? But she could stall.
"Why did you request a tutor?" she blurted out.
"It's obvious, isn't it?" He gestured to the cauldron. "I'm rubbish at Potions."
"No, you're not," she said. "I've met adult wizards worse than you. You know what you're doing."
"Maybe because I have a good tutor," he said mildly, but his eyes were searching her face suspiciously. "What's this about, Fairchild?"
"Why did you request a tutor?" she repeated.
He huffed, irritated. "I didn't. I requested Slughorn's help, but he thought another student would be better. So I got you instead."
She bit her lip. He'd requested Slughorn initially? But why would he do that, even if he didn't want a tutor? Maybe Sirius had been wrong. Maybe she had just let him make her paranoid over Regulus's true intentions.
She relented her grip on her book. "Okay. Here."
Regulus was eyeing her warily, but she didn't meet his gaze. She cursed herself for questioning his motives based off the words of a brother he had very publicly fallen out with a year earlier. What reason did she have to trust Sirius? But by that logic, what reason did she have to trust Regulus either?
Regulus cleared his throat. "Fairchild—"
The potion had sat for too long. Without stirring, it had risen higher and higher in the cauldron, until it suddenly seeped onto their table like a bright orange mudslide. Diana and Regulus leapt back from the table, but Regulus hissed when some of the potion got on his left sleeve, eating away at the fabric with surprising speed.
Diana reached for his corroded sleeve, yanking her wand from her hair. "Here, let me—"
"No!" he snarled, snatching his arm away.
Diana reached for him again, undeterred. "It can't get on your skin!"
He pulled out of her reach. "No, I got it!"
She made a noise of frustration. "Black—"
He grabbed her wrist with his other hand so hard that her fingers spasmed and dropped her wand. He was so close she could see her reflection, meek and frightened, in his storm-cloud eyes. "I said no!"
For a moment, the intensity in his gaze snatched her breath away. He seemed to realize how hard his hand was clamped on her wrist at the same time she did, for he dropped his hand and moved several paces back. The potion was still eating at his sleeve, but he kept his arm cradled to his chest, as if he didn't want her to see it.
"I'm sorry," he said, before he rushed out of the room, the door banging on the wall after him.
Reggie, Reggie, what are you hiding?
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