Chapter 33: Poor Potter
Thursday afternoon, after History of Magic.
Regulus walked alone through a quieter corridor that led towards the Library, his books held neatly against his chest.
Professor Binns's droning voice still clung to the edges of his thoughts as he reviewed what he had just read about the marriage of seventeenth century goblin metalwork and rune craft. The subject was, at least, more awake than the ghost who taught it.
He had almost reached the next turning when three figures stepped out from around the corner and blocked the passage.
James Potter stood in the centre, wearing a mischievous smirk that looked practised in front of a mirror.
Remus Lupin lingered a little behind and to the side, brow furrowed. Peter Pettigrew hovered at the very back, shoulders hunched, eyes flicking about as if he expected the corridor to bite.
"Oi, look who it is," James drawled, loud enough to make the moment feel like a performance. "Slytherin's little Chief. Alone, are you? Where are your lackeys?"
Regulus stopped without haste. His gaze moved across all three, then paused a fraction longer on Lupin.
Lupin's posture held a slight stiffness, almost imperceptible unless you were looking for it. He was not aggressive like James, nor did he shrink like Pettigrew. He looked like a reluctant participant who had been pushed into the wrong scene and had not found an exit yet.
More than that, he felt wrong.
Regulus let his perception brush over him, quietly and precisely. Beneath Lupin's restrained surface sat a restless presence, caged by force but never fully asleep. It was non human, primitive, threaded with the chill of blood and moonlight, dormant only because it was compelled to be.
A werewolf.
A faintly absurd thought crossed Regulus's mind. Why did it have to be a werewolf? Why not a pig man, a dog man, a sheep man? On the full moon, they could trot into the Forbidden Forest and root around in the mud, chase their own tails, or quietly graze. It would be far more civilised.
The thought passed as quickly as it came.
Lupin's secret meant little to him. A werewolf was a werewolf. Dangerous, unfortunate, real. Not a novelty, and not a weakness worth advertising. Regulus had no interest in exposing it. If Gryffindor wished to play a game called friendship with hidden knives and hidden curses, it was their choice.
Sirius was not with them.
Regulus understood that too, and found it mildly amusing in the way one might be amused by children who could not commit to their own mischief. They wanted to throw stones, but not with their own hands.
"Potter," Regulus said, voice flat, "if your intellect is as barren as your magic, I suggest you go straight to the Hospital Wing instead of wasting what little you have left on unoriginal provocation."
James's face flushed. "You"
"I what?" Regulus cut in, not raising his voice, only sharpening it. "Do you think this is a game for the brave? Pick a fight, throw a jinx, prove you are better, then congratulate yourself for being righteous."
His eyes stayed on James, calm and cutting.
"Is your life really so simple that Quidditch, pranks, and these childish tricks are all you have to cling to?"
James looked like he might explode on the spot.
To Regulus, it was almost clinical. There was courage there, undeniable. But it was crude courage, idealised and careless, as if the world ran on a single rule that good people should beat bad people. It was optimism grown in warmth and praised for existing, not tested by anything that did not play fair.
James's humiliation tipped into anger.
He yanked out his wand.
"Rictusempra. Locomotor Mortis."
Two spells, one aimed high and one low, flew at once. He had practised, that much was obvious. The casting was quick for someone his age.
It was still slow.
Regulus did not move his feet. He traced a small semicircle with his wand.
"Protego."
A solid silver barrier snapped into place.
Both spells struck it and burst into light, scattering harmlessly. The shield did not so much as tremble.
"What?" James blurted, stunned.
In that heartbeat of disbelief, Regulus lifted his wand.
"Expelliarmus."
James moved quickly, true to the athletic reputation that clung to him like a badge. He tried to roll away.
It did not matter. Regulus had already read the intent.
A thick red jet struck James squarely in the chest.
James cried out and stumbled back, pain twisting his features. His wand flew from his hand, and in the same motion Regulus caught it with a Levitation Charm, drawing it smoothly into his grasp.
Lupin shifted, as if to step in.
Regulus's third spell flowed without pause.
"Petrificus Totalus."
It hit Lupin on the shoulder a fraction before he moved properly.
Lupin froze mid step, body rigid, eyes wide with shock, unable to do anything but breathe.
Peter Pettigrew made a thin, frightened sound and bolted without even drawing his wand.
"Incarcerous."
Regulus did not look at him when he cast. Ropes snapped into place in front of Peter and cinched around him, pinning him where he stood. Peter let out a terrified whimper and stopped struggling the moment he realised it was pointless.
Less than ten seconds had passed.
Silence settled over the corridor.
James clutched his chest, breathing hard. Lupin stood petrified against the wall. Peter strained against the ropes with the energy of someone who had already accepted he was doomed.
Regulus walked to James and looked down at him. James's face was warped by pain and disbelief, as if his mind refused to accept that the world had not rewarded his confidence.
"Is your certainty built on tricks this fragile?" Regulus asked.
He tossed James's wand back into his arms with a careless flick, as though returning an item that had been dropped.
"Go and read more books, Potter. Or look at what the people around you are doing. You might learn something, if you stop insisting on being the loudest person in every room."
Regulus turned, ready to leave.
Hurried footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor.
He paused, then lifted the spells on Lupin and Peter.
Lupin stumbled, catching himself against the stone. Peter collapsed to the floor, panting as though he had just run the length of the castle.
"James Potter, what have you done now?" Lily Evans came running into view, out of breath, red hair flying, green eyes blazing with anger.
She had heard the rumours and arrived in time to stop a fight.
Instead, she found Regulus untouched and composed, books still in his arms, while James looked as though he had been thrown down a staircase, Lupin steadied himself against the wall, and Peter lay on the floor like a frightened animal.
Lily's expression blanked for a moment.
"It seems you are late, Miss Evans," Regulus said, giving her a small nod. His tone was flat, not unkind.
Then he looked down at James again. His grey eyes held no triumph, only indifference.
"This is the last time, Potter," Regulus said quietly. "I do not care about your childish games, and I have no interest in feeding your pride."
His voice remained level, which only made it colder.
"This is the second time you have chosen to provoke me. It will also be the last. I will not give you a third chance."
James jerked his head up. Fury blazed in his eyes. He wanted to spit something back, something sharp and heroic.
But the pain in his chest, and the memory of being dismantled in seconds, sealed his throat.
He understood the warning. He understood it far more clearly than he wanted to.
Regulus stopped looking at him. He turned to Lily, who still looked caught between anger and confusion.
"I was heading to the Library to check a few Potions materials," Regulus said. "Would you like to join me?"
Lily glanced at James. He stood defiant, but the defiance was brittle now. Then she looked at Regulus, calm as if nothing of note had happened at all.
She hesitated, then nodded.
"All right," she said. "I have a Potions essay to finish anyway."
They walked side by side towards the Library, leaving James behind.
James watched their backs retreat. His face shifted between pale and flushed, the first full, thorough taste of defeat settling like something bitter on his tongue.
Lupin leaned against the wall, eyes following the direction Regulus had gone. Something tight moved in his chest, tangled with guilt.
Twice now, they had been the ones to start it.
And Regulus Black, for all that he was unmistakably Slytherin, did not have a reputation for picking on weaker students or relying on cheap tricks.
They did.
James in particular.
They relied on numbers and on the fact that, compared to most children their age, they were good. Good enough to humiliate someone, then laugh about it later as if that laughter made it harmless.
Lupin stepped forward and hauled James upright.
Peter scrambled to his feet on his own, still wide eyed with fear, clearly shaken by how quickly they had been handled.
James's expression was vicious, as if someone had died. He gripped his wand so hard his knuckles whitened.
His mind replayed the sequence in broken flashes. His spells blocked. His wand torn away. Remus petrified. Peter bound.
He had taken Regulus's warning to heart.
And yet, the humiliation still burned.
He needed revenge. He needed to scrub today out of his bones.
But that would require something more than charging in head first. A better plan. Greater strength. Better timing.
At the very least, he could not afford another reckless confrontation like this one.
The thought made him feel even worse.
"Let's go," James finally forced out, shaking off Lupin's supporting hand.
He stalked towards Gryffindor Tower without looking back, steps heavy and fast.
Lupin and Peter exchanged a glance, then hurried after him.