Chapter Text
You are filled with greed. Hunger, racing up the cage of your ribs. Churning. Something old, something ravenous. It loops through your organs, staining your insides.
You want to be great. Great is not something that comprehends anything else. It is not hungry, it is not reaching, it just is. It exists beyond the human touch; greedy fingers straining to make a mark. To hold, to have, to achieve.
But you want to be great. You think of it as…
As…
As—
Regulus leaned back, the wood of his straight-backed chair creaking as he did so.
As what?
As attainable? As unattainable? As a hunger—
No, he used the word hunger one time too many times already and it felt cheap to throw in another synonym.
Regulus wanted to be great. He wanted to make something great. Something bigger than him, something that would transcend him.
This… was not that.
How did he write about feeling alive when Regulus wasn’t even sure he was most days? Was hunger what it felt like to be alive? He wondered if a starving man, moments from his death still felt hunger pangs. Most likely not.
Regulus was hungry, in every sense of the word. So surely, he was alive. Not a ghost. Not a spirit drifting through the empty halls, sinking into the shadows. Nothing more notable than the spill of light and the corners it left hidden in the dark.
Huffing a sigh, Regulus blinked at the words blurring on his screen.
It felt out of place in this old house. At the foot of the long dining room table, stretching the length of the long dining room. The summer bugs sang outside. Regulus had left the doors open, the world humming beyond the vast walls of Grimmauld Place. He tilted his head back, watching the length of the table through the slits of his eyes.
It was empty. Grand, made to fit at least twenty people, but empty.
Except for Regulus, who sat alone at the head of the table, laptop set in front of him along with wired earbuds and a packet of cigarettes.
He wondered why the great writers he admired so much never mentioned how much time was spent just staring. Staring at the page, willing the words to appear in the right order. A great order. One that hadn’t been done before. But there were only so many words in the English language, and they all seemed to sit, uncomfortably over his skin. He reached out, slamming his laptop shut. The bang echoed through the empty house.
Regulus wanted to be great, but here he was, nobody. Nothing more than his family name, a trust fund, and a slew of words that were never quite good enough.
The Blacks were great, Regulus Black, was nothing.
He reached for the cigarettes and his silver lighter. He watched the flame dance for a moment, flickering in the late-summer breeze coming through the open doors. The flame sparked no inspiration, and after a pause, he lit a cigarette, bringing it to his lips.
There was no one to catch him, to tell him not to smoke.
Why shouldn’t he?
Regulus could throw a party if he wanted. Burn this fucking place to the ground. He would not, but he could, so instead, he smoked.
He took a long drag, savoring the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling. He watched the smoke billow in front of him, slowly dissipating into the air.
Summer was ending, but the muggy Tennessee weather hadn’t gotten the memo.
Regulus’ phone buzzed on the table and he reached for it.
[Barty]
School tomorrow fucker
Happy last first day ;)
Regulus’ stomach didn’t churn at the thought. He wasn’t nervous about finishing school, leaving the hellhole that was his home. He was nervous that he hadn’t yet made his mark and any attempts would be futile.
Barty said Regulus needed to experience something.
“Get a muse, that’s what all the best artists do.”
Regulus’ muse was the desire to be better, more. But Barty was right, desire could only do so much. Regulus needed passion. He needed to feel something, but there weren’t a lot of things that could make him feel.
He ought to find something, but he couldn’t imagine anything breaking through the hard cinderblock walls around his insides.
He didn’t bother replying to Barty. Instead, he opened up his laptop again, staring at what he’d written.
No more words came. It was missing something, that passion.
Regulus didn’t bother shutting his laptop again as he stood. He left it there on the table, words gleaming on the page. Let the ghosts have at it. Maybe they had better words than Regulus.
Or maybe, they were just screaming.
That was okay, Regulus sometimes felt like screaming too.
__
“Hey, Reg.”
Regulus ignored Barty, even as he slung an arm around Regulus’ shoulder.
“What do you have first?” he asked as they walked towards the large school. An iron gate framed the entrance, sharp spindles stretching up to puncture the sky. The perimeter was lined by large brick walls, once so new and grand to Regulus. Now, they were just brick.
“I’m an honors student, and you scrape by on Daddy’s money. I assure you, whatever class I have you are not in it.”
Barty wasn’t offended by Regulus’ sharp words. Rather, he just grinned, wide smile splitting his face.
“We have lunch together.”
“Lunch is not a class.”
“Astute observation from our future valedictorian, what would this school ever do without your brilliance?”
“I can’t speak for the school, you, however, would be dead. Or in jail. Maybe both.”
Barty quirked an eyebrow. “How can I be dead and in jail at the same time?”
“Jail, then death. Maybe you’ll hang yourself in there when you realize you’re not cut out for prison life.”
“Nah, I’d make prison my bitch, don’t ya’ think?”
“I think those are bold words from a sheltered, spoiled, trust fund baby,” Regulus deadpanned.
“From one trust fund baby to another, go fuck yourself.”
“At least I’m smart.”
“You’re school smart, I’m street smart,” Barty scoffed.
“You’ve never even seen the streets,” Regulus rolled his eyes.
“Well, I’m resourceful. Just watch. I’m going to seduce Ms. Warwick into passing me in chemistry this year.”
“Aren’t you gay?”
“I said I was going to seduce her not marry her. Jesus Christ on a stick, live a little, Regulus.”
“I’m living just fine.”
“Hmhm,” Barty said knowingly. “Tell that to your writer’s block.”
“I don’t have writer’s block.”
It was true. Regulus could write plenty, the problem wasn’t getting the words out, it was that none of them were good enough.
“Whatever you say.”
Regulus grabbed Barty’s arm, pushing his friend off of him. “Goodbye,” he said simply, heading in the opposite direction as they entered the school doors.
“See you at lunch!” Barty called after Regulus, unbothered by his sudden departure.
Regulus resisted the urge to tell Barty to kill himself.
He found his first classroom, letting himself inside.
Regulus was early, most people milled around at their lockers and socialized first. Not Regulus, he preferred to get the best seat and set up his things before his annoying classmates came in and disrupted things.
The classroom was quiet and empty except for the teacher leaning over his desk as he sorted through a stack of papers.
He didn’t seem to notice Regulus’ entrance, head bobbing to some imaginary song.
It would be polite of Regulus to greet him. That was good manners.
He did not sigh as he started across the room, finding a perfect seat. The teacher didn’t look up until Regulus set his books down on his desk with a quiet thud.
His head jerked up at the noise, and suddenly brown eyes were on Regulus, warm and unfamiliar behind his glasses. Regulus hadn’t realized there would be a new teacher this year.
“Oh,” the teacher said in surprise, the timbre of his voice low and easy as he straightened. “You’re a bit early.”
“I know,” Regulus said simply. “I like a head start.”
“Ah, good practice, it’ll get you far in life,” the teacher mused. Regulus couldn’t help but notice his voice lacked a Tennessee drawl. Clearly, he wasn’t from around.
Regulus sat, arranging his books and things on his desk. The teacher was still watching, probably wanting to make polite small talk. Regulus loathed small talk, he wasn’t very good at it. He knew how. The manners and niceties had been drilled into him, but each word would drill through his skull. What an inconvenient, meaningless, waste of words.
“What’s your name?” the teacher asked.
“Regulus.”
“Like the star?”
“Unless you know of anything else called Regulus.” It came out a little too sharp for a teacher, and Regulus instantly wished he could reel it back, but the man just smiled.
He looked down at what Regulus presumed was his attendance sheet. “Regulus… Black, I’d wager a guess,” he said, dropping the paper on his desk and straightening.
“That’s me.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you Regulus, I’m Mr. Potter. You know, your other teachers have a great deal of good things to say about you.”
“My reputation proceeds me.”
Mr. Potter smiled yet again. He seemed to do that a lot, and Regulus wasn’t sure he liked it. “That it does. How’d you find the summer reading?”
“It was good,” Regulus nodded, threading his fingers together on his desk. He’d actually been surprised that the reading list had been artfully crafted. Usually, most of the books they were assigned, Regulus had already read.
“Which two books did you choose?”
“I read them all.”
Mr. Potter paused, eyebrows shooting up. “All twelve?” he asked in disbelief.
Regulus shrugged. “I have a lot of free time.”
Mr. Potter laughed at that, the sound easy and free, like he’d never worried about stifling a laugh a day in his life.
“Well, Regulus. I’m excited to have you in my class, it’s rare to meet such a driven student. I think you’ll get a lot out of it.”
“I hope so,” Regulus said simply.
He just barely dared to hope that Mr. Potter might actually know a thing or two. It was an advanced class, and he clearly had good literary tastes based on the reading list.
The door opened, and other students began pouring in. Regulus looked away from Mr. Potter, focusing instead on organizing his belongings in perfect rows on his desk.
There were whispers, and a few students tried to talk to Regulus, but he kept them at bay with some nods and a few clipped words.
A lot of people were very interested by Regulus. Just as many students hated him as well, jealousy, Regulus was sure. They wanted to be the best, on top, and Regulus beat them all by a landslide.
He didn’t need love and adoration. He didn’t need to be liked. One day Regulus would be great, and these people would matter even less than they did now.
__
James was sorting through his lesson plan for his next class as students spilled out of the classroom. He was surprised, when the door shut and silence fell, to hear the scuffle of feet.
James looked up. Regulus, the incredibly ambitious student, was standing in front of James’ desk, hands clasped together.
“Regulus,” James greeted. “Something I can do for you?” Normally, it took James a while to remember his students’ names, but Regulus’ name was a pretty hard one to forget. Named for a star, born to shine. His parents must have had very high hopes for him. It seemed they’d been right to. In all his years of teaching, he’d never had a student quite like this boy. That much was clear, even from just one class.
Regulus was quiet, but he paid attention. He didn’t raise his hand or take chances to show off, but when James had called him, he’d answered the question perfectly, with more eloquence than even James possessed.
“I was wondering,” Regulus said, a faint Tennessee drawl painting his perfectly enunciated words. “If you were going to assign us more reading?”
“I am, eventually. It’s only the first day,” James quirked his eyebrow. “Are you already looking for homework?”
Regulus just blinked. His expression was so smooth and unfeeling, it unsettled James a little. He’d never met a teenager so put together and so… stoic. “I liked the summer reading list,” Regulus said. He never seemed to use more words than were necessary. “I wanted to know if you’d give us more.”
Ah, the thirst to read, to absorb, to know more. James remembered being young and hungry.
“I have some more books for you all throughout the year. If you already read all twelve books off the summer reading list, however, I’d guess that won’t be good enough for you. I can compile a list if you’d like? Not for school, just recommendations if you’re looking for more to read.”
“I would appreciate that.” So straightforward, polite, right to the point. This was one interesting kid. It was strange. There was youth in the black curls falling around his ears and the reserved manner with which he held himself. His eyes were big, dark, framed by long lashes. They looked almost innocent, angelic on first glance, but there was something in the depths of his irises. A thirst, a darkness. Something far too old for someone his age. How old was he even, seventeen? Eighteen? He was obviously in his last year of school, but the iron rod of his spine looked too old on him.
“Perfect, it’s rare I get a student who loves books as much as I do, I may be abusing that. It’s a joy to have someone who’s not just fighting sleep during my lecturing,” James told the boy. “I’ll compile some recommendations, tonight, you can collect them from me in class tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Mr. Potter.”
“Of course, Regulus. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You too.”
The door opened as Regulus was leaving, and Peter Pettigrew stepped back to let him through with a small smile.
Regulus just nodded in greeting before he disappeared down the hall. Peter watched after him for a moment before stepping inside James’ classroom.
“First class,” he remarked, joining James at his desk. “How’d it go?”
“You know what?” James smiled. “Not bad at all.”
“Told you you’d like it here,” Peter winked. “These kids are smart, not all of them are driven, but a few are. Just enough to make it feel like you’re not teaching to an empty room.”
“Hm,” James said, gaze lingering on the door Regulus had just disappeared through. “Like him? Regulus?”
“Ah… Regulus Black,” Peter shook his head. “Yeah, that’s an interesting kid. Fucking brilliant, I’m telling you he’s going places, but… interesting.”
James looked away from the door to frown at Peter. “What do you mean?”
Peter glanced around to make sure no one was in earshot, before leaning closer. “Well—and you can’t tell anyone I told you this—but Alice keeps a close eye on him.” James frowned, he knew what the guidance counselor keeping an eye on Regulus insinuated. “His parents are never home, brother stopped coming around when Regulus was very little. I think he’s some hotshot now, but no one really knows, he got as far as possible from here. He left Regulus alone, and he’s pretty much always alone. I mean, he’s eighteen now, so there’s nothing to be done about it, but living in Grimmauld Place, completely isolated, when he's still a teenager? Can’t be good for him.”
“He lives in Grimmauld Place?” James asked in surprise. “I didn’t think anyone lived there. Heard rumors it was haunted.”
“Eh, I think that Blacks spread that rumor a hundred years ago to keep people away from their property. But it’s a big house, he’s a small kid. Walks to school through the woods every morning too. He doesn’t have anyone looking out for him, so us teachers try our best to guide him.”
James frowned, trying to imagine delicate, reserved Regulus Black wandering the halls of the massive mansion James had only caught sight of a few times. Strangely, James thought it actually suited him, to be the only bright, glowing piece of life in that place.
“I can do that too,” James said decisively. “Guide him, keep an eye out. He’s a bright kid.”
“Good, I was actually hoping you would,” Peter nodded. “He’s a good student all-around, but he has a specific love for writing and literature. I think you could be a positive authority figure in his life. He’s said he wanted to be a writer since he was fourteen.”
James felt a larger interest ignite at that. James had been fourteen once, scribbling lines in notebooks, in the back of books, anything within reach. Hungry for more, to spill every thought down onto paper. To make the way he saw the world something real, tangible. He’d never had the chance to mentor a young writer, and he hoped that Regulus’ writing was good. He did have that spark in him. The spark of someone made to create.
“Sounds a bit like me at that age,” James smiled. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good,” Peter clapped James on the shoulder. “Now, let me tell you about the other kids, the troublemakers, first of all…”
__
Lily was on the phone when James got home. He wasn’t surprised.
The first day of classes she’d waited up to hear about how it all went, but working as a teacher, things only varied so much, and she didn’t have an interest in hearing the repetition of his workdays again.
As James dropped his things at the table, pausing to kiss Lily on the cheek, she barely acknowledged him with a brief smile before her attention was back on her phone conversation. She was arguing, probably with her agent as she so often did.
James resisted the urge to sigh. She’d get off the phone eventually and they could have dinner. In the meantime, James changed into comfier clothes and then sat down in his office, dropping a stack of papers in front of him.
For the first assignment, James only required his students to submit a sample of any sort of their own writing they liked. He knew this meant he’d surely have to sift through a few boring essays they’d written for other classes, but there were sure to be a few interesting pieces in there.
James just wanted to see how they wrote, any weak points, strengths, and things he could incorporate into his lessons.
He began sorting through the papers, making markups and suggestions on them, but giving them all full marks. The grade was only for participation.
As was expected, there was a wide range of skills. To slightly clumsy, stilted writing, to natural but lacking any imagination to—
James paused.
Regulus A. Black
The A was curved, the name written in flowing script. James had the strangest urge to reach out and touch the ink. He did not. Instead, he briefly wondered what Regulus’ middle name was, before forcing himself to look away.
He wasn’t sure what he expected when he began to read. He’d expected something decent but… it was more than decent.
There is a spider in the corner. Many beady eyes watching, trailing, following the ghost as she pads down the hall. Her footsteps don’t disturb the dust, doesn’t touch the plane of the living, but the spider’s web shivers anyway. Like the ghost might reach into the mortal plane and pluck him from his web.
The spider holds tight, legs planted firmly. He stays impossibly still. Still to the point where he fears he quivers with the exertion of it.
He only dares to move when the ghost passes through the hall, entering the next room. The spider peers through the doorway.
In the wide expanse of the living room, there is another girl. This one bright, young, eyes glittering in the firelight. She is spread out on the floor, a ball to her chest which she bounces above her every so often.
She is humming, oblivious to the many eyes on her.
The ball goes up, she catches it. Up, up, up. Clasped between her fingers. Up, up, up—
The spider thinks the ghost might hurt this little girl, but she does not.
When the ghost speaks, it is not to the vibrant human little girl, but to him.
“You are trapped,” she whispers, eyes finding his corner, exposing him raw and defenseless. “You are trapped in your own web.”
The little girl is humming, the ball goes up and then down.
Out of the two of them—the ghost and the spider—one of them is alive, one is dead, but neither of them exists to the little girl.
The spider cannot speak. It has been a long time since he could, so he only thinks the words, hoping the ghost can reach them.
Yes, but we are all trapped here together.
James blinks.
Now… what the fuck?
He skims over the story, reading it again with more critical eyes this time. There are a few changes Regulus could make, things to be honed and sharpened. James can tell through this alone that Regulus must be listless, searching for something of meaning, to properly capture whatever pain lurks behind those words. Because that is what hit James like a sucker punch to the gut. The imagery, the hopelessness, combined with the heavy darkness in Regulus’ eyes. This was a boy who felt lost. James knew the feeling.
James did not leave any markups on Regulus’ paper. Instead, he put his red pen to the page and scrawled a quick note.
Come see me after class.
__
Mr. Potter dropped Regulus’ assignment on his desk as he passed, shooting him a small smile. Regulus did not smile back, just flipped over the paper, eyeing the grade. There was a crisp ‘100’ written on the top and…
And shit.
Come see me after class.
Regulus felt his heart drop. Had he done something? Was it complete and utter shit?
Barely daring to glance around, Regulus tried to sneak a peek at his classmates’ papers. Most of them seemed to have corrections and multiple scribbled notes on the page. Regulus had nothing, not even a crossed-out word or comma. He knew his grammar couldn’t be completely perfect. Surely, Mr. Potter would have changed something? But he hadn’t. He hadn’t touched the page at all except for the grade and the note.
Come see me after class.
Regulus wanted to sink into the floor, he wanted to bang his head on his desk. Instead, he sat perfectly still trying his best to focus for the rest of class.
When the bell rang and everyone else stood, Regulus lingered, waiting for the last student to leave before he approached Mr. Potter’s desk.
“You want to see me?” Regulus asked quietly.
“Oh, yes, yes—” Mr. Potter looked up to meet Regulus’ eyes, breaking off instantly. “Oh, Regulus,” he said, eyes flicking over Regulus’ face. His voice was gentle, almost… caring? “Hey, kid, I’m sorry you’re not in trouble or anything. Don’t look so scared.”
“Oh,” Regulus swallowed. He hadn’t meant to let any of his fear show, he was good at that— hiding himself away from people. How had Mr. Potter seen right through him?
Mr. Potter stood beckoning to a sofa and set of chairs in the corner of his massive classroom. “Come on,” he said kindly. “I wanted to talk to you for a good reason, or at the very least I hope you’ll think it good as well.”
“Okay,” Regulus said sitting down stiffly, clasping his hands in his lap.
Mr. Potter’s eyes followed his movement as he sat as well. “Pretty rings,” he nodded to Regulus’ fingers.
“Thank you, they’re family heirlooms,” Regulus told him quietly.
Mr. Potter smiled, eyes lingering on Regulus’ hands for a moment longer before looking up. “So, I’m sorry for scaring you, in retrospect, I should have added a smiley face or something next to my note.”
“I would have thought that passive-aggressive,” Regulus said, tilting his head to the side as he met Mr. Potter’s eyes.
“Hm, what’s not passive-aggressive? A landscape, some trees, and clouds?”
“Not passive-aggressive, but confusing when a student opens their homework to find their teacher used it to draw a landscape.”
Mr. Potter laughed at that, eyes glinting. “Oh, you’re funny, you know that Regulus?”
“I don’t try to be.”
“Hm, part of your charm I suppose.”
“I don’t have charm.”
He didn’t. Not like Mr. Potter with his warm eyes and perfect smile. The way he always looked people in the eye and made you feel like you were the only person in the room. Regulus wasn’t an idiot, he knew Mr. Potter gave the same attentiveness to all of his students, but it sent a strange feeling zipping up Regulus’ spine. Unease, probably. Regulus didn’t like to be seen, and Mr. Potter seemed to look right through him.
“Not the traditional kind, maybe. Not one for niceties?”
Maybe that was an obvious conclusion, but still, Regulus found himself shifting at Mr. Potter knowing things about him. He paid attention. He had no reason to, he had plenty of students to worry about, but he seemed to find it important to make a connection with them all. Regulus had already witnessed Mr. Potter, playing along with student’s games with a knowing smile, making friendly conversation, listening, and building trust. Everyone liked him. Regulus… well, he didn’t know what he thought.
“Not really,” was all Regulus said.
“Well, whatever you might think, all the staff has great things to say about you, Regulus. So that’s some sort of charm.” He shot Regulus an amiable little smile before continuing. “That aside, I wanted to talk to you because I read your work. It was…” Mr. Potter paused searching for the words, and Regulus’ heart leaped into his throat. It was what? Terrible? Meaningless? cheap? “Beautiful.”
Oh. Regulus blinked. “Really?” he questioned. Hesitant, leaning forward without meaning to.
“Yes. You do a wonderful job of painting a scene, putting the reader in the moment. I see—and please forgive my language—a shit ton of potential in you, Regulus.”
Regulus didn’t know what to do with the compliment and he just nodded stiltedly. “Thank you,” he said, unable to make himself look Mr. Potter in the eye even though it was rude not to.
“I’m only being honest, no need to thank me,” Mr. Potter murmured. “I don’t think the curriculum we’re covering this year is going to be as helpful to you as some other students. It won’t push you. Now, you can say no, if you’re just looking for an easy A, I won’t blame you. But, if you do want to be challenged, I think some of the work could be changed to meet you at your level and help you grow.”
“Help me grow?” Regulus repeated.
“Yes, don’t get me wrong, you’re incredibly talented. I’m basing this only on the piece you shared with me, but I think you’re lacking direction a bit. I can just feel in your writing that you may not be so happy with it. That you need something to hone in on.”
“I don’t have writer’s block,” Regulus said instantly. “I can write.”
“I’m sure you can. But?” Mr. Potter prompted.
“But…” Regulus swallowed. “There’s no spark to it. I don’t want to write about the things I write about. They’re all old news.”
“Hm, see that’s what I thought. Tell me about this story you submitted.”
“I- it’s… it’s about being trapped I suppose.”
“Is it?” Mr. Potter was not lying about wanting to push Regulus.
Regulus shook his head. This was fine, it was just writing discussion, and who better to talk about it with than Mr. Potter? “Not entirely… I guess it’s more about… being unseen. The girl, the little one, she is the ghost. The spider is trapped with a memory of her, a version of her that doesn’t exist. The little girl doesn’t even know, she can’t touch this version of herself, and she could touch the spider, but she never will. She will never see him, and even if she did, she would fear him, hate him.”
“That’s why you chose the spider? Not a mouse or any other sort of creature that might be lurking in a house unseen and unnoticed?”
“Yes. Revulsion,” Regulus said simply. “When most people see a spider, that feeling creeps up their spine. There’s a gut reaction to it.” He had a feeling Mr. Potter already knew all this, but he wanted Regulus to explain, to work his way through his thought process. “The spider is no freer to move around the mortal world than the ghost is.”
“But?” Mr. Potter prompted again.
“But…” Regulus sighed. “It’s like the start of a bad joke. A spider, a ghost, and a little girl walk into a bar.”
Mr. Potter laughed, grin splitting his face into something warm. “You are such an interesting kid, Regulus. Teaching you is going to be a pleasure,” he said leaning forward to catch Regulus’ gaze. Normally people said interesting like it was a bad thing, but Mr. Potter spoke like he just wanted… more. “So, I see it. You’re talented, but unhappy, unsatisfied with your work.”
Regulus bit at his cheek, trying not to let his mouth twist in frustration.
“May I ask, this ghost, this little girl, does she signify someone in your life?” Mr. Potter asked.
Regulus froze. “She’s not a girl at all.” No, the girl… she was Sirius. A symbol of their innocence, their childhood. Regulus, young, wide-eyed, watching a teenaged Sirius tossing a ball at the ceiling.
“I’ll be eighteen soon, when I am, I’ll leave. I’ll take you with me, you’re basically my baby anyway. I’ll give you a real home, Reggie.”
Regulus probably should have been too young to remember this, but he did remember. And somewhere in the back of his mind, Sirius was trapped, forever tossing that ball. Separate, from the real Sirius who was probably out there somewhere. He’d be old by now. Thirties, probably married with kids. And Regulus was here. Sometimes he wondered if Sirius even knew Regulus remembered him. He’d been gone for most of Regulus’ life.
“She’s not a girl?” Mr. Potter questioned.
Regulus just shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“That’s fine, Regulus. You don’t need to, but maybe that’s part of the problem. You need to find something, some spark, something new to write about.”
“A muse?” Regulus asked.
Mr. Potter smiled, eyes sparking behind his wire glasses. “Indeed, a muse.”
“Easier said than done,” Regulus muttered.
“Just pay attention,” Mr. Potter urged. “Take some time, take in the world, watch it pass. Watch people and nature and everyday life. Inspiration can come from the smallest little things. You might find it somewhere you don’t expect. The best thing a writer can do is pay attention to how the world works. Internalize it, people, relationships, emotions. Let it all come out.”
“Alright…”
“Good, keep those things in mind on the next assignment. Challenge yourself. Does that sound okay—”
“I read your book.” Regulus didn’t mean to blurt it out, he wasn’t sure what came over him. He had to stop himself from visibly wincing as the words fell from his lips.
Mr. Potter paused. “My book. You mean the…”
“Yeah,” Regulus admitted, his mouth dry. The book had been a work of art… it’d also admittedly been half porn, and Regulus shouldn’t have been telling his teacher that he’d read his book full of sex scenes.
“Ah…” Mr. Potter blinked. “I- uh, wouldn’t usually recommend that book to students…”
“I am eighteen,” Regulus pointed out.
“And I have no delusions about what kids your age get up to. However, seeing as it’s well… my book.”
“Right. Sorry—”
“No, no, no,” Mr. Potter said quickly. “I mean, I would have recommended against it if I’d known. But you’ve already read it, so a bit too late for that. Did you like it at least?” It was strange, Mr. Potter seemed almost nervous. Like he cared about Regulus’ opinion on his book.
“It was beautiful,” he said instantly. “I- the way you write relationships, the intensity. How they were so twisted up in each other. Violent, bloody, cannibalistic. How did you write like that? I want to do that. Do you need to feel it?”
“Love?” Mr. Potter questioned. “No, I didn’t pull any of that from something that existed inside of me.”
“You’ve never loved someone like that?”
“No,” Mr. Potter said instantly. It seemed like the word escaped him without his consent because he looked instantly regretful. “Uh, sorry, don’t tell me wife that,” he said, clearly trying to play it off. “But… that kind of vicious love isn’t necessarily real, it’s not something that needs to be aspired to in real life. In fact, I am absolutely certain you had the literacy skills to pull out all the nuances pointing to the twisted future of their relationship. So you should probably steer very clear of love like that. But it’s fiction, Regulus. Yes, writing is a wonderful tool to get the things you carry off your chest, but it doesn’t have to be real or lived experiences. Don’t limit yourself.”
“Okay, okay.”
“Good.” Mr. Potter stood. “Now I’ve been taking up far too much of your time. You best be off to your next class. Hold on, let me write you a note so you don’t get in trouble for being late.”
Regulus nodded, rising as Mr. Potter headed toward his desk. Regulus took a moment to study him as he bent over. His dark hair was messy, skin smooth and dark, jaw chiseled. He wore a collared shirt, and Regulus could see the strength of his back and shoulders even through the button-up.
Regulus was quick to look away as soon as Mr. Potter straightened.
“Here,” he handed Regulus the slip. His hand was warm as their fingers brushed, but Mr. Potter didn’t seem affected by the heat like Regulus was. “Let me know if you have any questions. You’re free to come by my class whenever you want.”
“I do have one question.”
Mr. Potter paused, head cocking. “What’s that?”
“J. F. Potter,” Regulus said. “What does it stand for? Are those your actual initials, or is it made up?”
Mr. Potter seemed amused by the question. His lips were curved in a small smile. “James Fleamont Potter, my full name.” He didn’t seem to find the question stupid, much to Regulus’ relief.
“That’s your name? James?”
“Hm, it is. But it’s Mr. Potter to you,” the teacher reminded him, but there was no actual sternness in his voice.
“Right, I’m only saying I think it suits you,” Regulus said softly.
“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment? Thank you, though I didn’t really have much to do with picking out my name.”
Regulus couldn’t help but smile faintly at that, and it was worth it when Mr. Potter’s own smile widened, like he was proud that he’d amused Regulus.
“What about you? What does the A stand for? Regulus A. Black?”
“Oh.” So incredibly strangely, Regulus wanted to blush. “Arcturus.”
Mr. Potter didn’t respond for a long second, and Regulus wished he could tell what this man was thinking. “Regulus Arcturus Black,” Mr. Potter said slowly, like he was testing out Regulus’ name, rolling it between his lips. “Pretty name.”
“Pretentious.”
“Not always a bad thing.”
“You’re only saying that because I am pretentious,” Regulus remarked, raising an eyebrow.
“All writers are. If you don’t simultaneously have a god complex while hating everything you write, are you really a writer?”
Something about Mr. Potter referring to Regulus as a writer had a pleased feeling blooming warmly in his chest. Regulus was a writer. Mr. Potter thought Regulus was a writer. A man who taught writing for a living. Who had a very successful book, though he’d never published anything else after that. Regulus knew because he’d scraped the internet looking for more of his writing to devour after finishing the book. There was nothing aside from a few short pieces published in magazines and a school newspaper from the college he’d gone to in New York. Regulus was curious. He wondered if Mr. Potter didn’t write anymore, or if he just didn’t publish it.
Because… not publishing Regulus could understand. The publishing world was cutthroat and difficult to navigate from what Regulus knew. It was probably stressful, and some writers would rather just never traditionally publish. But if he didn’t write at all? What a waste of skill and talent. Regulus knew good writing, and Mr. Potter was chock full of it. Regulus was shocked to find the way he was leaning on the edge of his seat as he read. How the sex scenes, which Regulus usually skipped over managed to make him feel a little hot in the face. Mr. Potter just had a way of weaving emotion into everything he wrote. A skill that Regulus could only dream to manage a fraction of. Mr. Potter’s characters felt real, like Regulus could reach through the pages and touch them. The intensity of everything they felt mirrored the intensity of the heavy emotions that doubled Regulus over sometimes. And that love? Well, Regulus had never considered himself a romantic, but god, he found himself yearning for it. To be seen. To be torn apart, ribs cracked open, chest torn into shreds to reveal his beating heart. It was a terrifyingly vulnerable thing, and Regulus had never wanted to be seen before, but he found himself wondering what it’d feel like to be known and wanted like that.
Regulus always preferred to blend into the shadows, let his achievements speak for him. But… it might be nice, to be seen and loved anyway. Not in spite of the twisting darkness that writhed inside his chest, but alongside it. Alongside every bad, terrible thing (because there were a lot of them). Regulus wanted to be seen, and not have someone turn away in horror.
That was an outlandish, childish thought, however. That didn’t exist in real life, Mr. Potter had said so himself. Even he had never felt whatever it was he wrote. Maybe he, like Regulus—wanted it too. Maybe his wife, whoever she was, didn’t see him, or didn’t love him for all of his dark and ugly bits.
Looking at Mr. Potter, with his kind brown eyes and perpetual grin, Regulus wasn’t sure what kind of dark and ugly a man like that could possibly have, but who knew? Everyone had something hidden inside them, even the men with the warmest eyes and widest smiles.
“I should be off, I’ll get in trouble,” Regulus murmured.
“Ah, yes, I shouldn’t have kept you so long. Hurry along, Regulus. If your teacher gives you any trouble send them my way.”
“Yes, sir, thank you.”
Clutching the note in his hand, Regulus turned his back on Mr. Potter. For the first time in a while, he had a burning aching urge to write. To get words on a page, watch them spill out and never stop.
He still didn’t know what he was going to write, but Mr. Potter was probably right. Regulus needed to notice things, pay attention to the world. He was used to keeping his head down, eyes averted. It was a terrifying thought to imagine looking up. He’d made it this far by staying quiet and out of trouble, but sometimes, Regulus yearned to make a mark.
If he made a mark with his writing, if he paid attention… that was a crime removed from him, wasn’t it?
__
“So…” Barty said, turning sideways in his seat to kick his feet into Regulus’ lap. “I have bad news.”
“Barty,” Regulus said in warning, though whatever he was scolding against, Regulus had a feeling it’d already happened.
“I got detention.”
“We’re in the first week of school?”
“Yep!” Barty grinned, like this was an achievement. “And I will now be spending the next three weeks eating lunch in the art classroom as my penance for being unable to conduct myself properly during lunch.”
“You were in the cafeteria without me for a full ten minutes, how did you already manage to get detention?”
“Skill,” Barty said proudly.
Regulus wanted to slap him.
“I have no pity for you, but did you even think about me? Am I supposed to eat lunch alone for the next few weeks?”
“You’ll live. You won’t be alone, plenty of people want to eat with you.”
“Yeah,” Regulus scoffed. “That’s the fucking problem.”
“Well tough luck. You can accompany me in the art room.”
“No, I dislike Ms. Macdonald,” Regulus wrinkled his nose. “She talks too much.”
“Then you’re on your own,” Barty shrugged. “Or go find somewhere else to eat.”
“I wanted to eat here in the cafeteria with my best friend as we were supposed to. This is one of the only things we have together, but fuck me I guess.”
“You know what you should do?”
“What?” Regulus asked suspiciously, because he could sense an abrupt shift on topic, and he did not like the look on Barty’s face.
“Get fucked!” Barty said far too loudly.
This time Regulus did slap him.
Barty yelped, rubbing at his arm. “Jesus, Reg! I’m only saying, you’re far too stiff. Might do you some good.”
“I’m not interested in sleeping with a single person in this school.”
“There are other people.”
“Really where?”
“Outside of this place?”
“Okay, that’s great. Except we’re here, this is the dating pool and I am not interested.”
“You don’t need to date anyone just—”
Regulus put a hand over Barty’s mouth. “Shut the fuck up, I will strangle you.”
Barty said something (probably vulgar) but it was muffled by Regulus’ hand.
“You know what? You deserve detention, have fun. I will eat my lunch in the bathroom or something.”
“No you won’t.” That one Regulus could make out despite his hand pressed to Barty’s mouth. He felt something wet on his palm and immediately let go of Barty, wiping his hands on a napkin with a grimace.
“You don’t get to lick me,” Regulus glared. “You’re the one being a menace to society. Behave yourself for just a minute please I’m begging you.”
“No can do, I’ve got a daddy to disappoint.”
Regulus groaned, Jesus fucking Christ. “I’m leaving you, don’t blow anything up,” Regulus told his friend, swinging a leg over the bench and standing.
“You barely ate!” Barty called after him.
“I can’t eat with you annoying me to death,” Regulus said over his shoulder.
Regulus and Barty were very, very different people. Regulus was convinced they were only friends because they were both raised in the same circles. Both old money, part of founding families that had been here since the beginnings of Tennessee. They were the only two kids the same age and against all odds, they’d banded together. They didn’t have much in common, aside from the sharp edges and biting sarcasm. Barty, however, would turn his on anyone who’d look his way. Regulus kept his to himself, it was impolite after all. There were very few people who fell victim to Regulus’ sharp tongue. Barty was one of them. But he gave as good as he got, so Regulus never had to worry much about such shallow things as politeness.
Aside from that, Regulus was the perfect child. He played the part; he did everything he was supposed to do. He made his parents proud. Barty lived breathed and died to piss off his father. He adored his mother, but she supported him no matter what he did. His father however cared way too much about everything Barty did and didn’t seem to have much love for his son. So it didn’t take much to piss him off. However, Barty made it his mission to do his worst.
He was actually brilliant and could be top of their grade alongside Regulus if he ever bothered. Every piece of work Barty turned in was perfect, if he actually did as he was told. The problem was he fucked around in class, rarely turned in homework, and when he did half the time, he wouldn’t do the assignment right on purpose.
Barty got detention constantly, he’d even been suspended once for starting a fight. He spent more time smoking behind the bleachers and getting high wherever he could than learning. Regulus did not partake in any of his slacker activities, in fact, it frustrated him a bit that someone as smart as Barty could care so little.
He didn’t have to worry. He had his trust fund, and because of his mother’s adoration, no matter what he did, he wouldn’t lose it. He was set for life. Not like Regulus. Regulus had money, he had a trust fund, he had everything. But his parents didn’t give two shits about him. If they even bothered to spend a second in the same state as him, all they ever did was tear him to little pieces. It’d been months since they were home last, and Regulus was glad for it. He wasn’t sure they’d even come back this year and that was fine. It gave Regulus time.
Time to become the best he could be. To be not just the Black heir but Regulus Black. He had a plan. Regulus was going to get as far from Tennessee as possible, go to a big-name school, an Ivy League where his parents couldn’t protest. All he had to do, was become better.
Right now, he was just a run-of-the-mill valedictorian with straight A’s. Any student could be at the top, any student could do well in school, but they couldn’t all be great. Regulus needed something to set him apart, something bigger than his family name. He just didn’t know what that was yet. He didn’t feel like he had a single achievement he’d actually earned. All of it was because of his family name. It was because of the money Regulus had no part in making.
He got to his next class early, and he sat in the quiet room, staring out the window.
There were words looping through his head. Greatness, and hunger and… and another kind of hunger. The kind that Mr. Potter had written about. A love so strong that it cannibalized your heart. The thought that you could have it all, let it kill you, and still yearn for more.
Regulus didn’t imagine he’d get that. He had a very clear life trajectory. He’d set it all out for himself, and nowhere in there, had he included any kind of violent soul-crushing love. Love would just get in the way. Love might ruin his plans but…
Call it intellectual curiosity. Regulus wanted to know what it felt like. He wanted to know how to fit that into his writing. He’d never really written about love before. It was always loss and pain. It was always distance, the spider in the corner, never seen, never loved, never anything but a pest or worse, something disgusting.
“Ah, Mr. Black.” The door opened, his history teacher was standing in the doorway, smiling in greeting. “You’re early.”
“I often am.”
Mr. Potter always called Regulus by his name. Just Regulus.
He wondered if that meant something. Probably not. Mr. Potter was just like that. Some teachers were more formal, but clearly, Mr. Potter was not that type. He liked to get to know them, to go out of his way to help. He didn’t have to make the curriculum more challenging for Regulus. Regulus hadn’t even asked him to. He’d just done that of his own accord.
He was a good sort of man. Regulus had been unsure of him at first, but the teacher was growing on him, Regulus could admit. He was kind and funny. He thought of Regulus as a writer. A real, actual writer.
Writing was not a career the Blacks wanted for their son.
He was supposed to go into law or business, anything of that sort. It didn’t matter much, just as long as he could carry on the family name with pride. A writer, no matter how successful was not something a Black became.
That was what Walburga and Orion Black told themselves, it was not technically true. Because Sirius had been a writer.
Not like Regulus. He was uncontained, scribbling his words across pages. Black ink staining through, tearing the paper, sometimes shifting, drafting over lines. He was messy and thoughtless.
Regulus wished he could read something Sirius had written. He was too young to read back then, though he remembered Sirius reading the writings to him, his voice low and comforting. But none of the words stuck in Regulus’ head. All he remembered was the ebb and flow of his brother’s voice, the lilt of his accent.
Wherever he was now, it was probably far from Tennessee. Maybe his accent had faded, maybe he didn’t write anymore. Maybe it’d been a passing teenage fancy. Either way, the Sirius in Regulus’ head—the one stuck in time, forever a young teen with wide eyes and wild hair—was a writer.
Regulus held onto that.
Look, I still remember you. Look, you are in everything that I do. Look, you linger. You linger and I cannot shake you off.
He wasn’t sure why Sirius weighed so heavily on his mind so often. He clearly didn’t give a fuck about Regulus. It’d been years since Sirius disappeared and Regulus had become an only child. No one mentioned Sirius, it was like Regulus was the only son Walburga and Orion ever had. He knew that surely, the teachers and townsfolk remembered Sirius, but it was an unspoken rule that he was not to be brought up.
Everyone else forgot. Everyone else moved on, but not Regulus. He was still there. He was still a young child, Sirius’ hand on his as he helped him write his initials.
“R.A.B. That’s you, Reggie. Regulus Arcturus Black. It’s a big name, an important name. You’re going to be brilliant, wonderful… great.”
It didn’t matter that Sirius probably didn’t think that anymore. That he probably never thought about Regulus at all. Because the living Sirius, the adult Sirius did not matter to Regulus. He was not someone Regulus Black knew. What mattered, was that as a young child, Sirius thought Regulus would be great.
He might be disappointed to see him now.
Regulus was not special; he was not great.
And yes, he could admit, as much of his dreams were fueled by the need to escape, to be someone bigger than the Black name but… some of it was spite as well.
Regulus wanted to print his initials on a book.
He wanted Sirius to walk past a bookstore, to glance in the window. And there Regulus would be. R.A.B, in print, real, a reminder of Sirius’ crimes. Of the brother he’d left behind. Then, even if Sirius had forgotten Regulus, he’d be forced to remember.
Maybe he’d be out with a wife or children. Maybe he’d pause at the display, eyes darkening, heart cracking open. Maybe, it’d sit like a jagged blade in his chest. Even if just for a moment, a moment was enough for Regulus.
He’d remember teaching Regulus how to write those letters.
“Hold on,” he’d tell his wife, stepping into the bookstore and making a beeline for the display.
He’d grab the book, flipping it open, checking the flap of the back cover.
There Regulus would be. Undeniable, untouchable. Proof that he was great. That he hadn’t needed Sirius for any of it.
“Mr. Black?”
“Sorry, what was that?” Regulus blinked. He was in the sunlit classroom; his teacher was standing over him.
Sirius didn’t know who Regulus was. There were no reminders of him, nothing to touch him. Sirius could live his entire life and never think about Regulus again. He’d never made a mark, or anything tangible. Not yet.
“I was asking how you were finding the work so far. Up to your speed?”
Regulus found it funny that no one ever asked if he was handling his schoolwork, but rather, if it was hard enough for him.
“Yes, it’s fine,” Regulus told her. “I’ve found it interesting.”
The teacher shot him a knowing look. “You know, based on the information in your recent essay, I’d wager that none of this is new information to you. Especially considering you included things we most definitely did not discuss in class.”
“I did outside research?”
She laughed, clearly not buying it. “Well, I appreciate your drive, Mr. Black.”
Regulus was saved from having to make small talk as a group of girls spilled in, taking seats behind him. They were chattering excitedly, voices in low whispers. The teacher retreated to her desk, where she probably couldn’t hear the girls’ conversation. Regulus who was sitting right in front of them, however, could make out every word.
“…I’m just saying, he’s hot.”
“He’s a teacher, Penny!”
“And? Teachers can be hot too!” Penny protested. “Have some imagination, Jo.”
“He’s like… forty!” Jo scoffed.
“He’s definitely not, he can’t be more than like, late thirties.”
“Late thirties is not that different than forty,” Jo hissed, her voice a whisper.
“Well, I didn’t say I was going to seduce him, did I? I just said he’d hot. Don’t tell me you disagree, Jo. I don’t believe it. It’s not really deniable.”
“Okay, fine,” Jo conceded, her voice tight. “He’s hot, but don’t be stupid! If you try to do the lip bite hair twirl thing I will absolutely laugh in your face.”
“I’m not! I know he’d never go for me. Plus, he’s married. And he doesn’t seem like the sort to even humor students in that.”
“Yeah, cause he’s a good guy, Pen. What a concept.”
“I know! But that’s what makes him hotter! We’ve never had a teacher so attractive, not even that one that taught calc when Mrs. White was out on maternity leave.”
“Cause he was nerdier than Mr. Potter.”
“I know! Mr. Potter is a little nerdy, but he’s also like… athletic,” Penny sighed dreamily. “And like super nice, I swear he looks you in the eye so hard when you have a conversation.”
“It’s his charm,” Jo huffed. “Ten bucks every single student in this school falls in love with him. “The whole smiley, hot, good guy thing is already stirring everyone up.”
“I know,” Penny lamented. “What a shame he’s so old and our teacher. I’m telling you if he were our age, I would date him so hard. Man of my dreams right there.”
Regulus’ stomach twisted, as the girls’ conversation continued, turning to the attractive qualities of their other teachers. He didn’t like thinking about all the other students who were apparently falling head over heels for their teacher. They didn’t get it. Mr. Potter wasn’t just hot, he was brilliant. He was an amazing writer, something Regulus aspired to be. He was full of this bright burning spark.
As more students took their seats, the teacher called them to attention and Regulus banished all thoughts of Mr. Potter from his mind. It didn’t matter if they were all fawning over the man. The girls were right. Mr. Potter didn’t seem like the type to go for young girls. That was a good thing. Regulus couldn’t explain the bitter feeling that filled his chest.
__
“I heard a rumor,” Barty said, draping himself over Regulus’ bed dramatically.
“Hm?” Regulus asked, barely looking up from his laptop. “What’s that?”
“Okay, it’s actually not a rumor yet. I was going to make it one.”
That caused Regulus to pause, looking down to arch his eyebrows at his friend. “What?”
“Well…” Barty sat up suddenly. “See, I was lurking behind the bleachers and I heard Mr. Pettigrew and Mr. Potter talking.”
“Okay?” Regulus acted uninterested, but the truth was his attention was entirely pulled from his laptop screen at the mention of Mr. Potter’s name.
“And, you know what they were talking about?”
“Evidently, I don’t. Are you ever going to spit it out?”
Barty rolled his eyes, sighing loudly. “They were talking about Mr. Potter’s ex… A man.”
Regulus blinked. “Wait, what?”
“Yeah!” Barty said excitedly. “He’s gay.” A pause. “Or maybe not gay, because he has a wife, but he’s something.”
“You can’t spread that around,” Regulus said instantly. People weren’t so accepting around these parts.
Barty sighed loudly, but he didn’t protest. Of course, he knew that. He was gay. It was something he rubbed in his father’s face, but he didn’t go around yelling it publicly.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Fine. But I told you, so technically it counts as a rumor.”
“I don’t think you know the definition of a rumor.”
“Whatever,” Barty waved Regulus off with a careless hand. “But isn’t it cool? Another person, a teacher who isn’t straight.”
Cool did not explain the feeling this discovery pulled tight in Regulus’ gut.
He wondered if Mr. Potter would ever write about two men? Secretly, Regulus wanted him to.
He was also scared, because if the straight sex scenes had made him feel flushed, he was afraid of what Mr. Potter writing gay porn would do.
He thought about it, images flashing through his head.
Suddenly, he wasn’t imagining a fictional porn scene at all.
Regulus was pressed back against Mr. Potter’s desk, there was a hand on his chin. Mr. Potter looking down with hunger in his eyes. Like he wanted to undress Regulus and then take off his skin too. Like he wanted to crack Regulus open and lick up his insides, blood running down his chin. Like—
“Reg?”
Regulus shook his head. “I need to write,” he said suddenly, rising from his bed and bringing his laptop with him. Barty watched with raised eyebrows, and eventually, Regulus heard him rising to follow Regulus down the stairs.
“Did you find a muse?” Barty questioned as Regulus sat at the head of the table, lighting a cigarette as he positioned himself in front of his laptop.
“Maybe.”
“What? Mr. Potter being queer?”
Regulus’ gaze flashed up to Barty before quickly looking away.
“Have you heard all the girls talking?” Barty asked paying no mind to the fact that Regulus clearly intended to write and Barty ought to leave him alone. “They all want to seduce Mr. Potter. But you know what I think? I think there are more options open than they realize.”
“Do not try to seduce Mr. Potter,” Regulus deadpanned, looking back to his screen.
“No, I don’t think I should. I think you should.”
Regulus froze. A beat passed, Regulus didn’t move, he didn’t look over at Barty. He heard a chair creak as Barty sat down next to him, leaning over the table.
“You like him, don’t you?” Barty breathed in surprise.
“No,” Regulus said abruptly, daring to look Barty in the eye. If he didn’t Barty would surely know Regulus was lying.
He seemed to know anyway. “Liar. You are into him. I’m telling you, you should try it. It’d be fun, give you something new to write about. That’s your muse, isn’t it? Get some real experience, Reg.”
“It’ll never work.”
“It doesn’t have to work,” Barty scoffed. “I don’t expect you to jump into bed with him. He seems way to good guy to ever let that happen. But it’d be fun. Something interesting. Fuck, maybe you could even get special treatment, guarantee your spot as valedictorian.”
“My spot is already guaranteed,” Regulus shook his head. “I’m not worried about it, no one is even close to me.”
“Okay, okay, fine… but it’ll give you something to write about,” Barty urged again.
“Why does it even matter to you? Why do you want me to do it?”
“Fun?” Barty said with a shrug. Of course, why did he do anything? “And because you’ve been agonizing about being directionless for ages, and clearly, he’s inspiring you. Why not capitalize on it? Achieve something. Say you had your high school teacher wrapped around your finger. Fuck, if you can get him to touch you in any sort of non-professional way, I’ll give you a hundred bucks.”
“I don’t need money.”
“Nah, but you need something to win, to accomplish.” Barty grinned. “You’ve already decided you’re going to do it, haven’t you?”
It was a terrible awful, very, very bad idea.
Regulus shouldn’t. Mr. Potter didn’t like him like that anyway, and couldn’t the consequences be terrible?
Mr. Potter was a good guy. He was nice, kind, a genuinely good teacher and—
And fuck him, Regulus wanted to break him. Mr. Potter. James Potter.
That was probably indicative of something deeply wrong with Regulus, but he could never turn down a challenge and Barty knew it.
Regulus wanted to get under Mr. Potter’s skin. To make him feel, make Regulus himself feel something.
He was always fighting that. The line between feeling too much and being numb. Not good for a writer. He couldn’t even sort through his own twisted brain, how could he get the words to sit right on a page?
“Yes,” Regulus said his voice hoarse. “I’ll do it.”
Barty laughed, grinning excitedly. “Game on.”