Chapter 257: The Black Brothers
Regulus raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised.
His first instinct was that Sirius had done something wrong, gotten caught, and was in the middle of being dressed down.
He looked him over, scanning for the telltale signs: tension in the shoulders, defensive posture, the deflated look of someone who'd just had their ear chewed off.
The way he sat. His expression. Where his hands were.
But Sirius wasn't here for a scolding. He'd actually been coming to McGonagall's office regularly.
Ever since that Transfiguration lesson where the professor had kept him after class, told him he had an instinct for form, and given him that copy of Advanced Transfiguration, he'd gone back and read it properly.
The deeper he went, the more it hooked him. Whatever he couldn't make sense of, he'd bring to McGonagall. She'd explain it, he'd go away and practice, and when he cracked it, he'd come back with more questions. It had become a rhythm.
James knew. Lupin knew. They both said he'd changed lately, that he was quieter.
Sirius couldn't explain it himself. He'd opened the book and something had grabbed hold, a curiosity he couldn't push down. He wanted to practice, wanted to understand, so he did.