Ellis Selwyn loved her mother. For the first week of classes during their first year at Hogwarts, she would come up for breakfast close to tears because the food wasn't what she had at home, the sheets were different from her own, the castle smelled weird, and her mother wasn't there to help her find her way.
She loved her father too. He would write her weekly, lengthy letters with stories of her brother or the little messes that he dealt with at work. He sent her gifts at random, seeming to say that he passed by a shop and thought she might like something inside.
And, when Edmund Selwyn, started Hogwarts, they learned that she loved, despite. Despite the fact that Ned was a Gryffindor. Despite the fact that he befriended muggleborns and took offense to any insult paid their way. Despite the fact that Ned was loud, bumbling, and quick to fight.
Ellis was good at loving.
She had even loved Regulus at one point. He still ached for the laughter and lightness that followed him his third and fourth year when he, Barty, and Evan were all friends—real friends—when they played chess in the common room with Helena and Ellis until they were all engaged in a loud argument over each and every move, when he'd gotten Christmas presents and birthday presents and even a cake that they asked the house elves to make just from him, when Ellis would write him on the break and do the same as her father did, sending little gifts every so often because 'your quills are hideous' or 'this book looks properly dull like you.' Regulus missed it every day.
Evan was the first to break away. They might have become friends again now, two boys trapped in a cage together, waiting to see which would die first. Barty…he can't say what happened to Barty other than he had been a boy one day and something else the next. Now, Regulus' stomach rolled when he talked to Barty and he looked into his mad eyes, eager for a kind of cruelty that Regulus was not built for and wondered if it had been him who failed to notice how lost he was, if there was something he could have done to prevent it.
They cut Helena and Ellis off cleanly in their own ways—violently, brutally, heartlessly. Evan learned to hate what he once loved. Barty…well, Barty never learned. Didn't understand it, really. Still thought everything was the same, except better because the cruel words they exchange are no longer teasing. They're knives twisting into flesh.
Regulus learned that he didn't know how to let go. Not fully. He tried. He made himself as cold as possible, chased after a night's heat without regards to who the girl was so long as she was pureblooded, avoided being alone, sunk into the promises that the Dark Lord made about the world changing for him, for all of them. And it almost worked.
Almost.
How could he have let go when Ellis wouldn't? She still fought Sirius for him as if his existence was a personal affront. She made excuses for every wrong he committed. She looked at him as if she could see all his flaws laid bare and didn't mind any of them. And what could he do in the face of that? Nothing. Nothing, but act like a dog whenever she was near, wagging his tail eagerly waiting for her acknowledgment. He never imagined he would get it, but now, he's almost deluded himself into believing that he had a chance.
Of course, his little delusion was not complete without it utterly crashing down around him. It happened suddenly on a late November afternoon that reminded them winter was soon upon them. He was being good this year—attending all his classes, doing his homework, ensuring that he remained in his teacher's good graces after his descent into despair last year. He made sure to never skip his patrols. Not after what Helena and Ellis had told him.
His blood still warmed in a maddening rush whenever he thought of Mulciber. He understood Bellatrix's bloodlust better than ever—maybe, if he boxed that feeling, imagined Mulciber every time he had to fight, he'd be half as good as she was.
"I need a boyfriend," she announced as their Alchemy class came to an end. Professor Dumbledore twiddled his thumbs and sighed, muttering something like 'young love' into his silvery beard.
"A boyfriend?"
Ellis was stupid, he decided. Absolutely dimwitted.
"Your brother and his friends keep annoying me—Filch took something of theirs and they want me to get it back. Not to mention Davey Gudgeon's going around saying I beat him black and blue for asking me out—I did, but that's beside the point. If I don't address this now, it'll spiral out of control."
"How does having a…" He didn't even want to say the word. How plebian it was. How common. "…boyfriend…solve your problems?"
"It's like having a dog, no? You say bite, he bites. Bark, he barks."
"Get a dog," ordered Regulus. He really was going to kill himself. Better than living as he was now. St. Mungo's healers wouldn't even know what to do with him if he showed up there and explained it.
"You think I can't do it," said Ellis, nodding her head as if she expected this of him. "I love when people underestimate me. Proving them wrong feels like winning the Tri-Wizard Tournament."
He'd rather she won that. He'd rather she did anything but this.
"I'll make them stop bothering you," he said.
"That's nice, but it'd require you to talk to your brother and his friends. I'd rather not be responsible for what happens if—"
"I'll talk to Sirius if you're desperate enough to go sell yourself off, Selwyn. Besides, I enjoy having a monopoly on your affection."
She smiled, leaning forward with a smile he hadn't seen before. Coy and teasing, "Affection? Didn't I hex you yesterday?"
"Was that what you were trying to do? I thought you just wanted my attention."
"You're at the top of the list of people who won't leave me alone."
"And I'll be the only one left soon enough, else you'll have to deal with some bollock slobbering all over you."
"…Black…"
"Hmm?"
"You realize that I've had a boyfriend before? And kissed him too? It's never me whose suffering in those situations."
"A boyfriend like the one Carrow had? The one who never wrote and didn't exist?"
She smiled at that as he knew she would. Ellis loved nothing more than throwing a stray ball at the Carrows. But her amusement lasted for a moment and then she said, "You met him before. Last year."
"Did I?"
Though they were going the same way, Ellis didn't wait for him and skipped out of the classroom to go find Helena before their potions class. He was still sat there frowning, trying to untangle the logical failures in her plan.
Potter and his friends were clearly, blatantly, and pathetically trying to recruit her for their little resistance organization. Dumbledore had certainly put them up to it, already identifying her magical talent as a threat if she were to join the Dark Lord. They could have quit weeks ago, because Ellis would never join the Dark Lord. It only took one conversation with her to know that. But it seemed that the Gryffindors' interest had turned genuine, and Ellis' annoyance had taken on a more amused air as the days went by, but they were loud, and Regulus knew best when to stop bothering her. They did not.
A boyfriend would change nothing about that. She'd need to go into hiding under a Fidelus Charm if she truly wanted to be left alone.
Dirk Cresswell, the muggleborn who seemed to have nothing better to do than eavesdrop on all their conversations, snorted loudly. "You'll get there one day, Black. Hopefully, before we're all in a grave."
"I don't recall asking for your opinion, Cresswell."
Dirk hoisted his bag onto his shoulder and gave him a long look. "It was Prewett, mate. Gideon Prewett."
He nearly said, 'thank you,' but caught himself at the last moment. Disturbed by that, Regulus quickly made his way down to the dungeons. There was no reason for a muggleborn to aid him and Regulus had never done anything to make himself seem approachable to them.
Gideon Prewett? A pureblood, but a bloodtraitor. His aunt, Lucretia, was married to a Prewett too. She was mild mannered and quick to smile—the one and only time that Regulus met her, she'd filled his and Sirius' pockets with sweets. His mother tried to burn her off the family tree for her marriage. It was the one and only time that he'd heard his father raise his voice. Orion took him and Sirius out of Grimmauld Place after and they'd gone to a park in the middle of London. His father sat on the bench for hours, while he and Sirius amused themselves by hunting and catching beetles.
For a moment, Regulus imagined what might have happened if Orion chose to do the same when Sirius had been burned off. He shook away the thought. What would it matter? Sirius was still a bloodtraitor.
He shifted his thoughts back to Gideon Prewett. Purposefully, because he didn't want to think of home or the world outside Hogwarts. He couldn't recall what Gideon Prewett looked like exactly, but he'd been tall with red hair and a fondness for trouble. Always in detention. Regulus could imagine that was how he and Ellis crossed paths and kept crossing paths.
He couldn't muster any jealously, because whatever had happened, it was over now. But he was curious, a kind of curious that drove him mad.
He felt stupid for suggesting that she'd never had a boyfriend. She had likely gone to have a good, big laugh about it with Helena afterwards. He could imagine them sitting together, heads bent low, whispering furiously about it.
The thought lingered, turning over and over in his mind until it soured. He thought about it too long. Couldn't remember his Potions class. Barely noticed lunch. Lucinda's screeching during Quidditch practice faded into nothing.
Somehow, he ended up in the library. And there Ellis was. There she was.
He didn't approach her, for once. Didn't interrupt with some sharp remark or self-indulgent excuse. Instead, he sat down, cracked open a book, and stared at the same page for ten minutes.
Sometimes, he regretted ever speaking to her at all. It always felt like he was intruding—like he had forced himself into a world that would have gone on just fine without him.
Evan Rosier blocked his view of her. His silhouette cut sharply against the candlelit glow and hid Ellis from view. She wasn't doing anything important, just sitting perched high on the library ladder, settled between the shelves with the kind of casual ease that suggested she belonged there more than anywhere else. Her dark green robes draped over the wooden rung, one leg tucked beneath her, the other dangling absently.
"You really don't know when to quit," Evan said, his voice a quiet rasp, settling into the chair beside him.
Regulus grinned. "Do any of us?"
Evan sighed, a reluctant concession.
"I met your uncle," said Regulus with a mocking tilt, knowing they would upset him further.
Evan's jaw tensed, but he didn't immediately react. "For the last time, Ellis' mother is my father's second-cousin. We're not related that closely."
Regulus leaned back, tapping his fingers idly against the table, his smile widening into something teasing, almost cruel. "You act like I don't have your entire family tree memorized."
"For illicit reasons."
Another grin, "Worried we'll end up on the same branch?"
Evan's expression twisted, his upper lip curling in mild disgust. "Marriage? Is that what you're thinking of?"
"Can't I think about the future?"
Evan scoffed, shaking his head. "Not when you already gave yours away."
Regulus shrugged. "We both know I'm a coward," he said lightly, though the words scraped like glass against his throat. His fingers curled slightly, digging into the fabric of his robes. "I'll never act on it."
Evan studied him for a moment, something like disappointment flickering behind his sharp gaze. "Ellis would, if she loved you. I don't think you realize how much you upset her sometimes."
He did realize it. He still thought about how mean and cruel he'd been when she sat beside him that first alchemy class. How he'd used Avery's insults against her because he had been so angry with himself for a thousand things and thought it best to earn her hatred.
But she'd told him—plainly, clearly—that he hurt her feelings, and he gave up. Gave up trying to make her hate him. Gave up the idea of pushing her away. Instead, he had stayed close.
"I don't know how to act around her," he admitted, rubbing his temple with two fingers to ease the ever-present tension pressing against his skull.
Evan stretched his legs out, tipping his chair back, arms crossed as he watched him with a knowing look. "We all have to bear witness to that."
Her gaze flicked up, catching his for a brief, lingering moment before skimming past him to Evan. He saw the way her shoulders stiffened, the tension in the line of her jaw. She closed her book with careful deliberation, almost too quiet, too composed. It was only because he was watching her so closely that he caught it—the way her fingers lingered against the spine for half a second longer than necessary. As if reluctant to leave.
And then she was gone.
She descended the ladder without a word. Regulus resisted the impulse to call after her, to say something—anything—but the moment passed before he could decide what words would even leave his mouth.
Evan followed his gaze with a slow, knowing smirk.
Regulus ignored him. Instead, his eyes caught on the book she had left behind, abandoned on the shelf where she had been perched. He pushed himself up from his seat, stepping forward before he could think better of it. The title was embossed in silver, curling script: An Ancient Study of Parseltongue.
Something cold curled in his stomach.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, flipping the book open. The pages were thick, the text written in dense, winding strokes—some in English, but much of it in a strange, curling language that twisted unnaturally across the parchment. Parseltongue.
Why was she reading that? Asking after the Gaunts? Investigating the Dark Lord?
"What is it?" Evan asked, tipping his chair forward so he could glance at the book.
Regulus snapped it shut before he could get a proper look. "Nothing," he murmured, tucking it under his arm.
He turned back towards the aisle Ellis had disappeared down, frowning slightly.
It wasn't nothing, though.
Evan watched him with a lazy smirk. "Gonna give it back to her?"
Regulus scoffed, tucking the book under his arm as he turned back toward their table. "It's called courtesy, Evan. I'd explain the concept, but I'd hate to strain your brain."
Evan grinned, stretching his arms behind his head. "Alright, alright, you're already in a mood." His smirk deepened. "I heard you had it in with Karkaroff the other day."
Regulus rolled his eyes, sinking back into his seat. "It's a defense class. I'd rather learn something than waste my time watching him pick off muggleborns like it's a sport."
Evan arched a brow, watching him carefully. "Didn't think you cared."
Regulus didn't react. He knew Evan was testing him, prodding at the edges of something that had started to fray. He waved a hand dismissively. "I don't. It's just a waste of time."
Evan hummed, unconvinced. "Yeah? And what about you? Improving, are we?"
Regulus smirked slightly, rolling his wand between his fingers. "You tell me. You haven't landed a single hex on me in weeks."
Evan's expression flickered, something amused but also calculating in his gaze. "True," he admitted, leaning forward. He squinted. "I noticed that. You've gotten better."
He shrugged.
Evan narrowed his eyes, but before he could push the subject further, a commotion near the entrance of the library caught their attention.
Regulus turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing.
Michael Ainsley.
The first-year muggleborn was pressed against one of the bookshelves, his arms folded tightly over his chest as three third-year Slytherins loomed over him, their expressions twisted with condescending amusement. One of them, a boy with slicked-back blond hair—Yaxley's younger cousin, if Regulus recalled correctly—was flicking his wand lazily, causing Michael's satchel to hover just out of his reach.
"Come on, Ainsley," Yaxley drawled. "Let's play fetch."
Michael set his jaw, glaring up at them, but Regulus noted that he didn't seem to be very bothered by the bullying. He was outnumbered, though.
Evan sighed, stretching his legs out under the table. "This is getting tiresome," he muttered. "What's the bet that Yaxley's going to get overconfident and get himself hexed?"
Regulus didn't answer. Instead, he rose to his feet and moved toward them. Evan watched him go, brow raising, but said nothing. Regulus approached as if he had all the time in the world. He didn't look at Michael. Didn't acknowledge him at all.
"Yaxley," Regulus drawled, voice cool and unimpressed. "Is your life really so uneventful that you've resorted to bullying first-years for entertainment?"
Yaxley froze. The others hesitated as well, their posturing faltering slightly under the weight of Regulus' gaze.
"Just having some fun, Black," Yaxley replied, his grin still in place but less certain now.
Regulus tilted his head, as if considering. Then, with a lazy flick of his wand, Yaxley's own robes yanked themselves up over his head, tangling around his arms like they had a mind of their own. Yaxley yelped, nearly tripping over his own feet as he struggled to free himself.
Regulus let the moment stretch out just long enough before he waved his wand again, releasing the spell. Yaxley stumbled, his face burning red, his expression twisted in humiliated fury.
The other two boys snickered, poorly concealing their amusement.
"Do something more useful with your time," he said flatly.
Yaxley glowered, his fists tightening, but he wasn't stupid enough to push the issue. Not with a prefect. He muttered something under his breath before turning sharply, stalking away with the others trailing behind him. Regulus didn't spare them another glance. Instead, he turned on his heel and made his way back to the table, passing Michael without looking at him.
He didn't need to.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Michael pick up his satchel, holding it loosely. The tip of his wand, Regulus noticed, was hidden against his palm. He had no doubt that the boy would have hexed them had he not intervened.
"I didn't need your help," Michael said, just barely audible.
Regulus ignored him. Instead, he sat back down beside Evan, as if nothing had happened.
Evan, however, was watching him with something almost like amusement. "You're getting soft, Reg."
Regulus didn't rise to the bait. He merely leaned back in his chair, feigning boredom. "Hardly," he said. "They can mess around in the Common Room—we don't need Dumbledore hovering around because of a mudblood."
Evan cut him off, shaking his head. "Whatever you say, mate."
Evan tapped his fingers against the edge of the table, watching Regulus with a contemplative expression. He wasn't smirking anymore, wasn't teasing, just quiet. "How was Ellis' father?" he asked after a beat.
Regulus didn't answer right away.
Edward Selwyn had not been what he expected.
He assumed that Edward Selwyn would be cold, detached—a man of politics, calculations, and power. A relic of the old ways, much like his own father, like all the pureblood patriarchs who wielded influence like a sharpened blade.
Instead, he had met a man who was sharp, yes—but sharp in the way of a well-forged sword, not a dagger in the dark. Selwyn was someone to fear, but there was warmth there, too. A quiet but undeniable strength that had nothing to do with the weight of his last name.
"Different," he admitted finally. "Very different from what I expected the Chair of the Wizengamot to be like."
Evan huffed a quiet laugh, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah," he murmured, his gaze growing distant, as if caught somewhere between memory and the present. "He's great."
There was something in his tone that made Regulus glance up.
Evan's expression had shifted—not his usual smirk, not the easy arrogance he carried so well. Instead, there was something softer, something almost nostalgic flickering in his eyes.
"You know," Evan said, voice quieter now, "when I was younger, before my mother died, we used to spend summers with them. My father would be off on Ministry business, and my mother—" He hesitated, something unreadable crossing his face before he pushed on. "She and Odette were close. So, I spent a lot of time with Ellis."
Regulus did know that, but he had never heard Evan speak about it.
Evan glanced at him, as if sensing his thoughts, and let out a short, wry laugh. "I remember one summer—must've been six or seven—Ellis wanted to show me how to cast a proper shield charm. She stole her father's wand. We were out on the cliffs, and she kept bossing me around, saying I was doing it wrong. I got fed up and told her I'd hex her if she kept being a nightmare about it."
Regulus could picture it perfectly. Ellis, with her sharp, imperious little frown, arms crossed as she criticized Evan's technique.
"She told me to go ahead and try," Evan continued, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "So, I did. And I failed, obviously. And the hex knocked me flat on my arse."
Regulus let out a quiet chuckle despite himself.
Evan smirked but it faded into something more thoughtful. "I thought Ellis would laugh, but she didn't. She just frowned and said, 'You should try again, properly this time.' And before I could argue, her father was there."
Regulus tilted his head.
Evan nodded. "He'd been watching the whole time. I expected him to scold me for trying to hex his daughter—or worse, tell my father. But he didn't. He just knelt next to me and asked, 'Do you know what you did wrong?'" Evan ran a hand through his hair. "And then he taught me, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like I was his own son." He let out a breath and murmured, almost absently, "I wish he were my father."
Regulus froze.
He had nothing to say to that. Because Evan's father was a ruthless man. A man who believed in power above all else. He wasn't the sort of father who softened for his son, who encouraged him, who taught him how to stand up again after falling.
Orion Black wasn't much different.
And yet—Regulus knew, in some quiet, unspoken way, that his father had loved him. It was not warm, not gentle, but there had been moments. A hand on his shoulder. A careful lesson. The quiet, watchful way Orion had always expected him to succeed, because he believed he would.
His father had never been cruel. He had simply been… distant. Cold.
What was worse? A father who didn't love you at all? Or one who did, but only from a distance, too far to ever reach?
Regulus swallowed hard, pushing the thought away. Instead, he settled for saying, "He offered me a job."
Evan blinked, snapping out of his own thoughts. "He what?"
Regulus smiled slightly. "In his office. He said I should consider it after Hogwarts."
Evan stared at him. "You'd be a fool not to take it."
"You think?"
"I know," Evan said firmly. "Whatever you're planning, whatever you think your future looks like—it'd be better if you took it."
Regulus didn't answer.
Because he didn't know what his future looked like anymore.
Not really.
As the evening deepened into night, the library grew quieter, the distant murmur of students dwindling as they packed up their books and drifted back to their dorms. Evan left an hour ago, muttering something about needing to "have a word" with Barty before he did something "irredeemably stupid." Regulus barely looked up from his Arithmancy essay as he left, too focused on completing the last few equations scrawled across his parchment.
Now, the library was nearly empty. Madam Pince was making her final rounds, casting sharp glances at the few remaining students as she prepared to close for the night. Regulus exhaled through his nose, stretching out his fingers as he rolled up his parchment. His knuckles ached slightly from writing for so long, and his mind felt like fog.
He gathered his things, tucking Ellis's book into his bag without thinking, and made his way out of the library, stepping into the cool, dimly lit corridors of the castle. The walk to the dungeons was silent, the only sounds the occasional rustle of a ghost drifting through the air.
Halfway down the final staircase, a sharp, searing pain lanced up his left arm.
Regulus inhaled sharply, his grip tightening around the strap of his bag as the burning sensation spread through the Dark Mark. It was unlike the usual dull ache that lingered beneath his skin—it was sharper, demanding, as if an invisible claw were digging into his flesh, carving the mark deeper into his veins.
He clenched his jaw, exhaling slowly through his nose. Not now. Not here.
By the time he reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, the pain had increased exponentially. He muttered the password under his breath, and the wall slid open, revealing the dimly lit expanse of the Slytherin common room.
The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting long shadows across the stone walls. Most of the chairs were empty, save for a few abandoned books and half-finished chess games. The only other person still awake was seated in the corner, legs stretched out in front of her, one arm slung lazily over the armrest.
Ellis.
She had changed into her nightclothes, a dress and robe that had unicorns dancing along the hem. Her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, as if she'd been running her fingers through it absentmindedly.
Regulus hesitated for a moment before giving in.
She made a startled sound as he lay his head in her lap. He waited a few agonizing seconds to be thrown off, but Ellis did not do that.
Her hand came to rest against his forehead, frighteningly cold. He couldn't help but wonder what she'd feel like everywhere else, but if he delved too deep into those thoughts, he'd have a different problem on his hands. He wanted to turn and bury his face against the soft, plushness of her waist, to hold himself tight against her, and just rest for a single moment. He didn't. Push too far and she'd run off.
Her hand trailed into his hair, nails dragging lightly against his scalp. "Are you alright?"
The Dark Mark burned. It burned and burned and burned. He wanted to claw his own skin off, but part of him feared that it would still be there underneath it all, down to his bone.
"Tired."
He reached for her other hand, holding it in his. Cold too. He pressed it against his chest, laying his hand over it to keep it warm. The Daily Prophet would reveal whatever happened, but the excitement he once had over the Dark Lord's exploits had dimmed. He didn't want to think of any of it.
He felt her lean forward, the ends of her hair skimming his face. He wished he could bottle her scent. Spring, full of light and flowers. A warm, spring day somewhere in France, which she seemed to love more than England, with green fields and wildflowers. He hoped that she disappeared there. That what Evan told him of her parents shipping her off to Beauxbatons for her final year was true. He wanted her far from the war. As far as she could go.
"I signed you up for the Yule Ball planning committee," said Ellis, lightly.
"Why?"
"Because I'm doing it, and I didn't want to be the only Slytherin there."
"You didn't go to the ball last year."
"I was sick, but you all enjoyed it because of my very thorough planning—mine and Amelia's. We're the only competent people in this school. Helena too, but she can't be bothered to lend her services to the public."
Amelia Bones—the Ravenclaw girl that Ellis sat with in DADA. They partnered up frequently in the Dueling Club as well. Regulus didn't know much about her, but he could imagine Ellis and Amelia putting together a plan, taking over the whole planning committee from the Head Boy and Girl. Had Ellis wanted to go? Had she worked herself up with excitement, only to fall ill and end up alone for the night?
He had asked Helena where she was, he remembered. She'd been surprised by the question and hadn't answered it, telling him that it was none of his business when he had a date on his arm. If anyone asked him who he'd gone with, Regulus wouldn't know the answer.
He was drifting along, trying to distract himself with the feel of her hand in his hair, the way she threaded his hair between her fingers and tugged it a little, before returning to her strokes. There was nothing remotely sexual about it and he realizes that it's a rare thing for him to be touched in such a gentle manner. A rare thing for him to be touched at all.
"Do you not want to sleep in your own bed?"
"I'm fine here."
"Are you fighting with Evan and Barty? Do you want to bunk with me?"
He managed a smile, though it took all his effort. "The day we end up in bed together, I assure you that neither of us will be sleeping, Selwyn."
She laughed, "Promises, promises."
He shifted, the movement sending a fresh wave of nausea rolling through him. His stomach twisted, bile clawing at his throat, but he forced himself to swallow it down. The burning sensation had dulled somewhat, but a lingering, smoldering ache remained. It gnawed at him, deep and insistent.
And then, beneath the pain, he felt something else. Something slipping in like a cool tide. Ellis' magic.
It crept into him, threading through the rawness inside him. He had always thought of her magic as fire—warm, flickering, unpredictable. But now it shifted, cooling, soothing, adjusting to him. It did not erase the pain entirely, but it softened the sharp edges, dulled the worst of it, held him together where he might have otherwise unraveled.
His fingers curled around hers, holding tight, anchoring himself to the sensation. He wanted to lift her hand to his lips, to press a kiss against her knuckles, to let her feel what he could not say.
He almost did.
Regulus loved her.
He cannot stop loving her.
Despite this love, despite how desperately he wanted not to hurt her or lose her, it would happen anyway. As it always did.
Love had never saved anyone.
Not in his world.
Regulus set about saving himself the next morning.
Cold feet, Sirius would say, but cold feet were better than dead feet.
"Edward Selwyn?" asked Professor Slughorn, eyeing him curiously when he stormed into his office the next morning. A green look crossed Slughorn's face. "I suppose he does leave an impression, but do you really…would you really consider going into the law, Regulus? You've never shown any interest in it."
Slughorn's office, as ever, was lined with photographs of past students. Many of them waved, some looking up from books, others mid-conversation. It was an overwhelming collection of success stories—proof that Slughorn's network stretched across the wizarding world in all its highest places.
Regulus inclined his head respectfully before sitting, folding his hands in his lap, "Why not? My grandfather received the Order of Merlin for services to the Ministry."
"So, he did. Yes, well, I suppose the best resource for this would be Ellis Selwyn—yes, I'm sure she'll have no trouble…"
"I'd like to get in by my own merits, Professor." Regulus hesitated. "I wouldn't want to burden her with this."
Slughorn's brows rose slightly, though his smile never faltered, "Burden Ellis? Oh, no, between you and I, Regulus, she'd be pleased to pass her father's attention to someone else. I can't see her taking that role very seriously at all—just last year I had to issue her an official warning for taking points off every boy who upset the girls in her dorm. We may be doing the Ministry a great service by relieving her of the duty."
Slughorn chuckled, "Besides, such a job would only stifle her ambition. I'll talk to Ellis and get her on board." Slughorn mused, tapping his fingertips together "I'm very pleased by this. I'm sure your parents will be thrilled as well—a Wizengamot member in the House of Black. It just sounds right."
Regulus was hoping to buy some time to discuss it with Ellis' father before she found out, but Slughorn, not listening to any of his concerns, found the time to tell Ellis on his own. To say she was furious was putting it lightly.
Regulus was dragged out of his seat in the middle of his Arithmancy class—one of the few classes that he and Ellis didn't share—and into an empty classroom. He trotted along with hurried steps, torn between amusement and anticipation, wishing for all the world that her white-knuckled grip on his tie had come about for an entirely different reason. There was something thrilling about her rage, something that made his blood rush in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
"Did the Dark Lord order you to spy on my father?"
"No."
"It feels awfully suspicious after everything I told you that you, a Death Eater, suddenly decide to get closer to my father."
It was the first time either of them truly acknowledged what he was. Regulus had expected them to skirt around it forever, to bury it beneath carefully chosen words and unspoken understanding. But there was a sweet relief in having the truth laid bare.
Still, justified or not, the accusation stung. He bristled at the idea of being seen as so low, so dishonorable as to stoop to spying. "Your uncle is a Death Eater," he said coolly. "He's close to your father too. Closer than I am."
"He's my uncle. You're nothing to me."
He wet his lips, trying to ease the sting of that. She was angry, but beneath the razor edge of her words, he could hear her fear. He did not want to be something she feared.
"I don't understand what benefit you'd get out of it, and if it's not to your benefit, then it must be for the Dark Lord. I am not going to put my family in danger for you. I won't do that." A crack slipped into Ellis' words, a plea she failed to swallow. "Don't ask me to do that."
"Your father made the offer," he said, quietly, leaning in just enough to make her breath hitch. His tone was softer now, measured. "I'm doing this for me. Not the Dark Lord. Not my family. For me."
For a flicker of a moment, her grip faltered. He knew she could feel it, the desperation just beneath his skin. He was trying—trying so damn hard to crawl his way out of the pit he had dug himself into. Trying to find a path that wasn't soaked in blood and lies. Ellis narrowed her eyes, but he saw the hesitation creep in, saw the conflict in the set of her jaw. He held his breath, waiting.
Her grip on his tie tightened, yanking him closer until their noses nearly brushed. "I'll kill you myself if it's anything else."
"I wouldn't want to die any other way," he murmured.
Regulus could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin, the space between them so thin it might as well have vanished. His pulse pounded against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat urging him forward and warning him back in equal measure.
For a fleeting moment, neither of them moved. His hands, which had remained rigid at his sides, flexed with the impulse to pull her closer her.
Her eyes flicked down, just briefly, to his mouth.
Regulus wasn't sure if he inhaled sharply or if the sound was hers, but it filled the small space between them. His own gaze betrayed him, tracing the curve of her jaw, the way her lips parted slightly as if she were about to say something but had lost the words. The room felt smaller, the air charged.
"Ellis," he murmured, barely more than a breath.
She didn't pull away.
His fingers found her wrist, hesitant at first, then firm, a silent question in his touch. She didn't shake him off. Instead, she let out a noise that sent a shiver down his spine.
Regulus leaned in. Just slightly.
He felt her stiffen for a fraction of a second, and for that heartbeat, he thought she might push him away—might laugh and call him a fool, might remind him exactly why he never let himself hope for this.
But she didn't.
Instead, her grip loosened, her hand sliding up to brush against his collarbone. His breath hitched, his resolve cracking like thin ice beneath too much weight.
Their noses nearly touched.
It would be so easy, he thought, to close the last bit of space. To finally, finally taste the fire that burned between them.
His hand drifted up, fingers barely grazing her jaw—
The door creaked open.
Ellis yanked back as if burned, her hand leaving his tie so quickly it felt like the loss of something vital. Regulus turned sharply, eyes flashing with frustration as he spotted his own brother standing in the doorway, arms crossed, brow raised.
"Oh, don't stop on my account," Sirius drawled, a smirk tugging at his lips. "By all means, continue."
Regulus clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
Too close. And yet—yet.
Regulus' teeth clenched, his breath uneven, hands still suspended between them as if he could will her back into place. He turned toward the door, slowly, expression livid. Sirius watched them with pure, unabashed delight spread across his face.
Ellis left. Just like that. No parting shot, no drawn-out excuse. Just a single glance at Regulus, before she walked past Sirius without another word. Sirius, caught off guard, actually moved aside to let her pass. He blinked after her, the door swinging slightly from the force of her exit.
Sirius let out a low whistle, turning back to him, grey eyes bright with intrigue. "And here I was, thinking you were destined to pine tragically forever, Reg."
Regulus scowled, running a hand through his hair, still standing stiffly in the exact spot Ellis had left him. "Shut up."
"I'm glad you've got her on your side," Sirius said at last, taking a seat on one of the empty desks. He tapped his fingers against its surface in an unsteady beat.
Regulus swallowed, the knot in his throat painful. A fury he had been nursing for years threatened to burst free. "She's not on anyone's side," he replied, his voice dangerously tight. "You should make that clear to your group, too."
Sirius's expression twisted with pain. "I don't mean in this war, Reg. I meant you—your side. Your other friends are…they're absolute rubbish, so I'm glad you've got someone willing to fight for you."
A bitter laugh escaped Regulus's throat. "Looking to alleviate your guilt? Let me stop you right there. Our family suffered long enough with you in it. Now that you're gone, I'm quite happy to set our name back on the right path."
Sirius's eyes flickered with an emotion Regulus refused to name—regret, perhaps, or sorrow.
"No, that's not—that's not what I mean. I didn't know Selwyn, not really. I hated her for being an uppity bitch. Her brother was always raging on about her and that little shit told her everything, so we never got off on the right foot." Sirius looked away. "When I told mum about your letters and her, it wasn't about you…it was about me. I was just angry. With everything."
Regulus's voice was a razor's edge now. He could almost taste his own fury, thick like bile in the back of his throat. "It's no fault of yours," he said, dryly. "I made the mistake of believing my personal effects would be safe in my own room."
"I didn't know how much it meant, Reg." Sirius rubbed the back of his neck. "I thought it was—"
"I didn't ask for an explanation, nor do I want one."
"I'm giving you one anyway. I told Selwyn about why you couldn't write her. I don't know if that fixes things for you." Sirius forged on, unaware of Regulus' rising anger, "I may have fibbed a bit about my involvement, but she was already itching to hex me, and—let's be honest—I still don't like her much."
His confession stirred an even colder rage in Regulus. His fingernails dug into his palms until crescents of pain shot up his arms.
"You told Ellis," Regulus repeated, voice dropping to a hiss.
Sirius froze at his tone, lines of guilt etched across his face. For once, he looked like the child Regulus remembered—defiant but desperate for approval. That only made Regulus's anger swell.
Even the memory of their mother's shrill voice and the heavy, stifling presence of her expectations seemed to hover between them, ghostly reproaches fueling Regulus's venom. "Even in mother's cruelty," he said, his tone shaking with the effort to stay calm, "I can understand why she is the way she is because she wants us to survive. There is no other way in this family. But you—" He spat the word. "You ran because you weren't strong enough to wait it out. I don't blame you for that."
The deeper well of resentment bubbled up, unstoppable now. "But do you want to know something? Even to this day, knowing what I know about you and how you feel about that half-breed, I have never uttered a word about it. I never will."
Sirius shifted his weight uncomfortably. Regulus reveled in that flash of discomfort. "Reg—"
"Don't interrupt." Regulus's voice was low. "You've always been cruel to those you think below you—it made no difference if it were me or Kreacher or Snape. And when you know someone's weakness, you'll always use it against them. Exactly like Mother. In that sense, you'll always be a Black."
Sirius's mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Regulus made a curt, dismissive gesture, as if brushing off an insect. "Are we done here, or did you have another noble explanation to waste my time with?"
Sirius's jaw tensed, and he sucked in a breath, but whatever he intended to say stayed locked behind his clenched teeth. He blinked, swallowed, and let his hands fall to his sides. In that gesture, Regulus saw something that might have been defeat. "You were always a better brother than me."
"No," disagreed Regulus, "I never had a brother to begin with."
To say he was furious would have been an understatement, but he nursed his anger with Sirius all his life. Now, it was little more than apathy. It was the same detachment that settled over him when he looked at the Dark Mark on his arm or listened to Walburga Black's endless rants about the filth corrupting the Wizarding World. Sometimes, he and his father would accidentally meet each other's gaze, and Regulus would feel the sickening realization that there was nothing behind his eyes—no warmth, no hatred, not even disappointment. Just indifference.
His parents didn't love each other. That was a fact of life. His father fulfilled his duty with a clinical precision, then removed himself entirely, never bothering with the pretense of being a devoted husband. He lived in a world of his own, consumed by his position at the Ministry and his study within Grimmauld Place, obsessing over wards and layering the house with protective charms.
Walburga birthed them out of obligation and raised them out of pride. She was older than her husband, and Regulus imagined that marrying Orion had been the safest option—but also the worst. Orion Black was someone she could control; someone she could shape in her image. And yet, the shame of marrying her own blood drove her to double down, to become the Black family's most zealous defender of purity, shielding herself from humiliation with fanaticism. Both victim and perpetrator.
Sirius acted as though none of it mattered, but it did. Of course, it did. He was effortlessly talented, prideful, strong—the very pinnacle of the Black legacy, the best of their House, yet he claimed he wanted nothing of it. Sirius, who had been closest to Bellatrix but named Andromeda his favorite, even though she had left when he was still a child. Sirius, who was everything Regulus wished he could be—brave and defiant—but everything he hated too, because he couldn't forget the cruelty Sirius showed Kreacher, the way he spent Regulus' first year at Hogwarts pretending he didn't exist, too ashamed to acknowledge a Slytherin brother. The way he claimed that the Potters loved him more than anyone else when Regulus was there and had always been there.
He didn't blame Sirius for it. He didn't believe Sirius was responsible for the choices he himself made. But sometimes, he wished they had fought about it—really fought.
Regulus returned to Arithmancy. The equations on the board remained unchanged from when he had left, and Professor Digit was mid-stride, adjusting his spectacles as he turned.
"Fifteen points from—"
"The Head Boy sent her to discuss a change in the patrol schedule, Professor," Regulus smoothly interjected before the deduction could be finalized. "It won't happen again."
Professor Digit narrowed his eyes for a fraction of a second, scrutinizing him for any sign of deception. Regulus merely met his gaze.
"I suppose that might be important," he relented, straightening his robes. "Do tell Ms. Selwyn to be more mindful of disruptions in the future."
Regulus inclined his head in acknowledgment but said nothing more.
Barty spent all of lunch yapping in his ear. Evan was quiet as a mouse, stabbing at the steak on his plate with such ferocity that the poor cow died a second death. Regulus nearly snapped at him to stop it.
"What's wrong with you?"
"He's angry about the mistletoe," said Barty, pointing at Evan with his fork. "I think he'll throw a fit, Reg."
"Don't do it here," interjected Helena Greengrass. Her manners were impeccable, and the iron hold she had her knife as she listened to Althea Nott gossip suggested she was seconds away from using it on the girl.
"I'm not angry," said Evan, very clearly angry. "But Potter's put it everywhere. You can't walk without getting harassed into a kiss. It's not even Christmas, yet."
Regulus cast a look to Barty, lips twitching into the barest hint of a smile. "No," he drawled, "You're not angry at all, but maybe spare the silverware—"
The table shook as his knife and fork slammed against his plate, "You all think it's funny, but when you're stuck under it with some bint like Alecto Carrow, I'll be the one laughing."
"Are you speaking from experience?"
"Are you?" crowed Barty. "Salazar, tell me that happened. It'll make my day, Evan. I didn't get a chance to see you romancing—"
"It didn't!"
"The lady doth protest too much," drawled Regulus.
Barty burst into laughter as Regulus shot out of his seat to avoid Evan's fork landing in his eye. His temper was a frightening thing but snuffed as quickly as it rose. The Bloody Baron floated across the table and clicked his tongue in disapproval. Regulus frowned.
"You're fucking lucky I like you," snarled Evan and then looked over at the squabbling first-years nearby. "Don't fight at the table," barked Evan, startling the first-years. One of them, surprisingly not Michael, had tears springing in his eyes. "Are you animals?"
"S—sorry," hiccupped the boys.
"I told you to shut up," hissed one of the first-year girls. "Look what you did."
"Merlin," said Helena, eyes wide. "Evan, don't scare them!"
"Sorry," he muttered, looking chagrined.
The clatter of cutlery and the hum of conversation gradually faded as lunch ended. Regulus finished the last bite of his meal, setting down his goblet as students began rising from their seats, drifting toward the doors in twos and threes. Across the table, Evan was still muttering about the mistletoe infestation while Barty egged him on, barely containing his laughter. Helena shot them both an unimpressed look before gathering her books, already heading off.
Regulus had some time before his tutoring session with Ainsley, and the crisp air of the courtyard might clear his head. He pushed back from the table, adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder, and slipped out of the Great Hall. The halls were still busy, students filtering in different directions, but the noise thinned as he stepped outside. It was peaceful—until the sharp sound of shouting broke through the quiet.
Regulus stumbled upon the fight just as Avery was thrown against the cold stone wall of the courtyard. The sharp crack of impact echoed through the air, and Regulus' stomach twisted as he took in the scene unfolding before him.
Amycus Carrow stood next to Avery, wand drawn at Ned Selwyn, his face twisted with cruel amusement. Ned, though bloodied and breathing heavily, still had his wand clutched tight in his fingers, knuckles white. He was glaring at them with unyielding defiance, the stubborn sort of rage that only a Gryffindor could manage in the face of being outnumbered.
He reacted before he could think better of it. "Expelliarmus."
Amycus' wand flew from his hand, clattering onto the stone floor.
Silence stretched between them as all three turned toward him, surprise flickering across their faces before it soured. Regulus stepped forward, schooling his features into an expression of cold indifference.
"Having fun?" he drawled.
Amycus' lip curled. "Piss off, Black. This doesn't concern you."
Regulus tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking to Ned. Blood trickled from a split lip, but he wiped it away with the back of his sleeve, looking more irritated than actually hurt.
"You're making a habit of embarrassing yourself in public, Carrow," Regulus said lazily. "Maybe pick a fight you can actually win next time."
Carrow's face twisted with fury, "Oh, so you're the noble one now, Black? Come to save the day?"
"Do you truly want to see how low I can sink?"
Carrow frowned, glancing at Avery, but Avery sneered. "You think we're scared of you, Black?"
"You should be," Regulus said simply.
Something in his expression must have unsettled them, because after a tense pause, Carrow grabbed his wand from the ground and muttered something under his breath before stalking off. Avery lingered a moment longer, but eventually followed, though not before spitting at the ground near Ned's feet.
Once Avery and Carrow were gone, Regulus was left to deal with the remaining issue of Edmund Selwyn. The fifth year was blowing his nose heavily, shooting clumps of blood out. There's a swelling on his cheek the size of his fist, gluing one of his eyes shut. Despite it, he seemed to have the better outcome.
Regulus sighed, wondering what the hell Gryffindors were made from that they all ended up being bloody nuisances. He guided the boy to the bathroom, drowning out his chatter about what he'd do to Carrow the next time he saw him. If he knew better, he'd tell his sister and let her scare the life out of them.
"Let me see," said Regulus, tilting the boy's head back. He was reminded of Sirius and all the times he showed up in his room with one hex or another because he'd tested their mother's temper. It was because of that that he knew the spells to set Ned's face back to normal. After a moment of groaning, Ned was well enough to wash the blood off. He did it roughly, scrubbing and splashing water everywhere without a hint of grace.
When he finished, he turned to Regulus, hair dripping down his neck and said, "Don't tell my sister."
"She'll find out anyway."
"But, if she finds out from me, she won't be as mad." Ned' eyes hardened and the look that crossed his face was stark and full of fury. "It's my business anyway."
"What business is that?" asked Regulus, softly. The boy was all fire. "Fighting with your upperclassmen?"
"Yeah, if I have to."
"Was it stupidity or bravery that put you in that house?"
Ned smiled at that, all teeth, "Both."
Regulus smiled a bit at that. He was an idiot, but at the very least, he seemed to know that. Idiots were lucky in life, blissfully ignorant, and unweighted by anything.
"Oi, are you taking anyone to the Yule Ball?"
"It's not for weeks."
"Right," muttered Ned. "Whatever you do, don't take Septima Blott."
"I don't know who that is, Selwyn."
"Just call me Ned, everyone does. Not Edmund, never Edmund—bad enough I have to share a name with that Turkish-delight, rat-bastard."
"What?"
"The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe?" Ned blinked, tilting his head in surprise. "It's muggle book, my favorite. I'll lend it to you."
"No need."
"It's good. Ells loves it too—we've got a closet back home that's exactly like Narnia. Ells and I used to get lost in there for hours when we were kids. I still can't get over a good expansion charm. Top class magic, there."
He got the feeling that whatever he said would be disregarded. But he realized that he'd never really spoken to Ned, and it felt rather important to stay in his good graces. "Why are you concerned about who I'm going to the Yule Ball with?"
"I don't want my sister to be upset."
A pause. Regulus let the information sink in and tried not to smile.
"I don't think you're meant to tell me that," said Regulus, quietly. "In fact, I'd rather you not tell me what your sister told you in confidence. I'm certain she would have warned you against doing so as well."
A smile came onto Ned's face, but it faltered a moment later. "You know Sirius talked about you a bit and when he did, he always say that you were a pure-blood maniac like his parents—I get that's necessary where you are and at home, but—" He broke off struggling to articulate what was on his mind.
How curious. He'd always seen Ned Selwyn as a loud, fool who only cared about Quidditch and liked picking fights to cure his boredom. But it seemed that he knew a lot more than he let on.
"She was really upset last summer, you know," Ned said, frowning. "Ellis, I mean. She asked our father to go check on you himself."
Regulus felt something tighten in his chest, but his face remained neutral. "Your father couldn't have done anything."
"You don't know our father," Ned said. "He didn't like seeing Ells like that. Neither do I."
Regulus looked away, jaw tightening.
Ned, as if sensing that he'd gone too far, backpedaled. "Look, I just mean—don't be an arse to her. If you don't like her, don't string her along. And if you do, then—I dunno. Just don't be like your parents."
Regulus turned back to him, giving him a sharp look. "You say that like it's easy."
"Maybe it is," Ned said, a glint in his eye. "Maybe it isn't. I've got a great set-up at home, so can't help you there, mate."
Regulus exhaled through his nose, his gaze lingering on the boy who had, somehow, through blood and bruises, managed to talk to him in a way that few others ever had. He had no response to give, so instead, he simply said, "Get to class and don't start any fights on the way there."
Ned grinned, reckless and bold. "No promises."
He tried to push Ned Selwyn's revelation from his mind, but it clung like smoke in his lungs as he climbed up to the seventh floor. Ellis would be upset if he took someone else to the Yule Ball? Had she been provoking him into asking her?
The thought of Ellis liking him—actually liking him—was difficult to grasp. Not because he thought her incapable of it, but because he had never let himself consider the possibility. Ellis Selwyn was not the type to play games, not the type to feign interest for amusement or social maneuvering.
Regulus clenched his jaw, shoving the thought down before it could unravel him any further.
The door to the Room of Lost Things appeared after he paced a bit, and he stepped inside. The space was as vast and chaotic as ever—piles of forgotten relics, rusting armor, discarded books with pages curling at the edges. Michael Ainsley sat hunched over a desk, already scowling at his parchment, but Regulus's eyes weren't on him.
They were on Ellis.
She was further back in the room, moving between the clutter, trailing her fingers along a long-forgotten piano with half its keys missing. The soft light filtering through the room caught in her dark hair, and for a moment, he simply watched her. She had brought them here weeks ago—revealing a secret that even Sirius failed to uncover.
"You're early," Michael muttered without looking up.
Regulus didn't turn to him immediately. He lingered a moment longer, watching as Ellis tilted her head, examining something unseen behind a towering bookshelf. Then, schooling his expression into something sharp and unreadable, he strode toward the desk and dropped into the chair opposite Ainsley.
"And you're still incompetent," he drawled. "Tragic, really."
Michael glared, because the accusation was untrue. The muggleborn was top of this class. Regulus might have found it a source of pride to be the reason behind his genius, but the fact was that Michael had very little need for their tutoring sessions. He picked up spells with ease and knew enough Latin from playing choir-boy that Regulus' lessons were simply supplemental material.
"I don't see why you're even helping me if you're just going to be a prat about it."
Regulus arched a brow, reaching for the textbook between them. "Because, Ainsley, despite my many talents, I haven't yet mastered the art of making imbeciles less idiotic by sheer will alone. That requires effort." He flipped open the book with a lazy sort of grace, scanning the page before pushing it toward the first-year. "Start reading."
Michael scowled but didn't argue, which was rare. The first-year had an irritating habit of talking back, and Regulus had an irritating habit of not tolerating it. But for once, the boy only muttered something under his breath and turned back to his parchment, where his notes on casting theory were scrawled in cramped, ink-stained letters.
Regulus sighed and leaned forward, tapping a finger against the mess of words. "This is useless," he said.
Michael's brow furrowed. "But shouldn't breaking it down into steps help?"
Regulus opened his mouth to scoff but then hesitated. It was a logical approach—an annoyingly precise, methodical way of looking at magic, and for a moment, he wondered if that was how Muggleborns saw the world. Did they need explanations like this? Steps, patterns, calculations? Magic had always been second nature to him, something instinctive.
Regulus clicked his tongue and leaned back. "Intent first. Theory second." He flicked his wand at the quill on the table.Accio. It zipped straight into his hand. "You must mean it before you cast it. The spell works because you will it to."
Michael was watching him, eyes sharp and a little too knowing for an eleven-year-old. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be tutoring me, you're not very good at explaining things."
"If you wanted someone to coddle you, you should've asked for your mother," Regulus replied. "If you wanted to actually learn something, well. Here we are."
"One day, I'm going to get better than you, and you'll regret all of this."
Regulus scoffed, leaning back in his chair with a lazy sort of arrogance. "That's a bold dream for someone who still trips over his own robes."
Michael huffed. "That happened once."
"Twice," Regulus corrected smoothly. "And the second time, you took down half the Slytherin table with you. Quite the spectacle, really. Some say we're still finding bits of treacle tart in the dungeon corners."
Michael groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"
Regulus smirked. "Oh, certainly not. Infamy is a privilege, Ainsley. You should be honored."
He glanced toward the back of the room, where Ellis had disappeared among the clutter. He caught a glimpse of her between an overturned wardrobe and a pile of tarnished goblets—head tilted in quiet curiosity as she examined something just out of sight.
Michael muttered something under his breath that Regulus chose to ignore. Instead, he turned back and tapped the parchment in front of the boy with the tip of his wand again. "We need to address your absolute lack of understanding when it comes to jinxes, hexes, and curses, because if I see you mix them up one more time, I might actually hex you myself."
Michael blinked. "There's a difference?"
"There's a difference." He leaned forward, steepling his fingers as if this conversation required great patience. "Jinxes are the weakest. They're meant to be annoying—like the Trip Jinx or the Tongue-Tying Jinx. A nuisance, but nothing dangerous."
Michael nodded along.
"Hexes are a step up," Regulus continued. "More harmful, harder to reverse, and usually designed to hinder or cause discomfort. Selwyn is rather fond of those—mostly because she likes to invent her own. She's got a nasty one that makes your skin itch so badly you think you're being eaten alive by Doxy eggs."
"And then there are curses. They're the worst of the lot. Designed to cause lasting damage, difficult to reverse, and usually—though not always—Dark in nature. The Cruciatus Curse is an obvious example, but there are plenty of others that don't require an Unforgivable classification to ruin your day."
There was a beat of silence as Michael turned back to his notes, but Regulus was still watching him, fingers idly tapping against the desk. He had been taught his whole life that Muggleborns were lesser. That they lacked the instincts, the understanding, the connection to magic that came naturally to purebloods. And yet…
Michael was good. Annoyingly good.
Regulus would never admit it, but the boy's spellwork was better than most second-years he knew. Magic seemed to come to him easily. The moment he got past the technicalities, he could shape magic to his will without overthinking it. Regulus wasn't sure what unsettled him more—the fact that everything he had been told about Muggleborns was clearly, demonstrably wrong, or the fact that he was beginning to feel a vague shame for having thought it in the first place.
Regulus had spent years accepting the world as it was presented to him. But now, he felt the slow stirrings of doubt.
And doubt was a dangerous thing.
Instead, he exhaled and flicked his wand toward Michael's parchment, neatly rearranging his scattered notes into something vaguely readable. "If you're done gaping like a stunned fish, we should actually practice."