Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Remus Lupin was the first to notice Regulus.

He sensed the dangerous presence almost instantly, turned, and spotted Regulus standing motionless at the far end of the corridor. His face shifted. He immediately nudged the still-chattering James with an elbow.

Regulus raised an eyebrow slightly. 'The beast's instinct?'

James followed Lupin's gaze and the grin froze on his face. He gripped his wand reflexively, a flash of alarm and forced hostility in his eyes.

Peter yelped and ducked behind Lupin.

Sirius looked over as well.

When the two pairs of grey eyes met, the devil-may-care smile slowly drained from Sirius's face.

Brothers, separated by a dozen feet, locked in silent eye contact down a corridor still hanging with malicious laughter.

Sirius's thoughts drifted.

He remembered James boasting about going to teach Regulus a lesson on his behalf — and coming back looking as though his soul had been ripped out. He remembered Lupin's hushed account of a fight that was brief to the point of despair.

He thought of childhood — the younger brother who always trailed quietly behind their mother, yet could effortlessly accomplish what Sirius strained to manage.

He recalled the countless times since term began — in the library, in corridors, on the way to class — when he'd glimpsed Regulus alone, thick stacks of books in hand, hurrying past.

He seemed to... always be studying, or on his way to study.

The thought surfaced unbidden.

It was nothing like his own life with James — all Quidditch, pranks, and exploring the castle's secrets.

Before, he had called it dull, rigid, the mark of someone shackled by family expectations.

But now — in light of James's experience, and the formless pressure Regulus exerted simply by standing there — a different thought finally took shape.

Had the gap truly grown this wide without his noticing?

Not merely the suffocating disparity in magical ability, but a difference in... the choice of path and the depth of commitment to it.

"Seen enough?" Sirius's voice was drier than usual, yet laced with his characteristic stubborn refusal to back down.

But his gaze no longer met Regulus's head-on. It slid to the wall beside him.

Only then did Regulus begin walking forward. His footsteps rang clearly off the flagstones.

He did not look at James. He did not look at Snape or anyone else. He stopped midway between the two groups, eyes settling on Sirius.

"Ganging up on someone alone — is this how you prove your courage and find your fun?" Regulus's voice was level. "If so, then Gryffindor's courage is rather cheap."

James wanted to retort, but the memory of last time — and Regulus's ice-cold warning — wedged the words in his throat.

'Not yet,' he told himself. 'I'm not ready!'

Regulus continued looking at Sirius, his tone devoid of any particular weight: "Wasting your time and energy on this sort of thing does you no good.

This world is about to run out of room for jokes and games.

If you don't want to find yourself one day unable to protect yourself — or the people you want to protect — you'd better start thinking seriously about what your magic is actually for.

And how to make it genuinely useful."

Sirius did not hear a lecture in Regulus's words. It sounded more like a statement of fact — a reminder. He could even sense something complex underneath.

'For the sake of shared blood, a word of advice.'

Something tugged at Sirius's heart.

He wanted to fire back — to say he didn't need sermons from a Slytherin, from a traitor of a brother. That he lived free and happy and would protect the people who mattered in his own way.

But the things Regulus had alluded to dropped like chunks of ice into a brain heated by defiance and camaraderie.

He thought of the mounting tension at home. Of the guarded mentions in his parents' letters. Of Cousin Bella's escalating madness.

Perhaps Regulus was right.

But that only made him more agitated, more rebellious.

"My business — none of yours!" Sirius bit out, then wheeled to face James and the others. "Let's go. I'm bored."

James seemed to have more to say, but Lupin pulled his sleeve lightly.

They followed Sirius, hurrying away down the corridor, their retreating figures looking somewhat harried.

After the Marauders left, only Regulus and a battered-looking Snape remained.

Snape was hastily Scourgifying the muck off his robes and straightening his damp hair, face still stormy.

The look he turned on Regulus brimmed with suspicion and wariness, plus a thread of shame at having been seen in such a state.

"I don't need your help, Black." Snape's voice was raw, the resistance plain. "I don't need charity from any pure-blood princeling."

Regulus was unsurprised by the reaction.

Severus Snape — brilliant, prodigiously gifted in Potions and the Dark Arts, but also hypersensitive, deeply insecure, his inner life a tangle of pride and resentment knotted by circumstance and origin.

He craved power, recognition, acceptance into the pure-blood fold — yet met every approach from its core members with instinctive suspicion and defensiveness.

In Regulus's estimation, Snape was a potential collaborator of extraordinary value — a premium asset, even.

A future Potions master. Profoundly versed in the Dark Arts. Methodical. Patient.

If the connection could be forged correctly, his worth would far exceed Avery's, even Hermes's.

"Charity?" Regulus echoed the word, tone unchanged. "You think I was standing here to enjoy the spectacle of your humiliation, or to bask in the feeling of rescuing you?"

Snape pressed his lips together and said nothing, but his eyes said yes.

"You're wrong." Regulus said. "I merely happened to pass through. They were blocking my way. As for you..."

He gave Snape a quick, appraising look. "Your Potions talent has drawn praise even from Professor Slughorn.

Your insight into Defense Against the Dark Arts — or rather, into certain specialized magical disciplines — is far ahead of your peers. What you possess is worth considerably more than the pedigree charts many people can do nothing but brandish."

Snape's body went taut. Regulus's words had struck the most conflicted spot inside him — the place where hatred of pure-blood arrogance coexisted with a desperate longing for his own abilities to be recognized by that same circle.

"However," Regulus's tone shifted, "if you keep spending your energy on petty skirmishes with Potter and his lot, or settle for what the school textbook offers, you will be stuck absorbing beatings forever — and your talent will be buried.

True power won't come from the public stacks of the Hogwarts library or from teaching yourself out of scattered Dark Arts notes."

Shock and a deeper wariness flashed in Snape's eyes. "You... what do you mean?"

"It's simple." Regulus stepped closer, voice dropping to ensure only they could hear. "Accepting help is nothing to be ashamed of, Snape.

No one makes it alone — especially not when you want to acquire the kind of knowledge and power that certain people have monopolized.

I can offer certain channels — opportunities to read books you might otherwise never access — or, at the very least, limited exchanges in certain fields.

In return, I may occasionally need your perspective on Potions, or on certain obscure magical research."

The terms Regulus laid out were deliberately vague — and immensely tempting.

"Take your time thinking it over." Regulus said nothing more. He turned and made to leave.

He knew that with someone as suspicious and proud as Snape, pushing too hard would only backfire.

Regulus's figure vanished around the corner. Snape stood alone, a hurricane in his chest.

Regulus Black's words circled in his head like a spell.

The humiliation lingered, but stronger still was the impact of what had been said.

Black had seen his talent — might even know about his private study of Dark Magic!

The opportunity offered... was it real? Or a trap?

To recruit him?

Or simply to exploit his Potions skills?

But the undeniable truth was: Black was right.

Tangling with Potter and his gang yielded nothing but humiliation and wasted time.

What the school taught was nowhere near enough to give him real power — not enough to escape his situation — not enough to make himself worthy of... Lily!