Chapter 33: Poor Potter
Thursday afternoon. After History of Magic.
Regulus walked alone along a quiet corridor toward the library, books in hand.
Professor Binns's soporific drone still lingered in his mind. He was mulling over the records of seventeenth-century goblin metalwork combined with magical runic inscription.
Suddenly, three figures stepped from around the corner ahead and blocked his path.
James Potter stood in the center, wearing that grin that sat halfway between mischief and malice.
Remus Lupin flanked him slightly behind and to the side, brow furrowed. Peter Pettigrew cowered at the rear, eyes darting.
"Well, well — look who it is. Slytherin's little Head." James drawled the words out. "All alone? Where's the Head's entourage?"
Regulus stopped. His calm gaze swept across the three, lingering a fraction longer on Lupin.
The brown-haired boy's brow was creased, his stance carrying an almost imperceptible stiffness. He lacked James's aggression and Peter's trembling; he was more like a reluctant bystander.