REGULUS BLACK

Regulus had initially disliked Pandora Lestrange. Looking back on it now, it seemed utterly ridiculous to him. Pandora, with her daring theories about magic, her revolutionary ideas about potions, and her endearing nature that touched even him—how could he have been so blind? Of course, back then, he hadn't truly known her. And they had only been eight years old.

It had been a warm summer day, although any day that Sirius and he spent away from Grimmauld Place 12 could be called warm. That house had an unshakable coldness about it, regardless of the season. But on this particular day, they were visiting family friends, the Lestranges. Their mother had repeatedly emphasized, particularly to Sirius, that the Lestranges were one of the most influential families in magical society, and it was imperative to make a good impression. So what? Sirius had sneered, as though unimpressed by their status. We're the heirs of the noble and ancient House of Black. Their mother had struck him for that comment. Afterward, Sirius said nothing, and they remained silent on their way to the Lestrange manor.

When they arrived at the grand estate, both Regulus and Sirius instinctively hunched their shoulders. The villa was an imposing structure with black marble columns flanking the entrance and tall, narrow windows that stared blankly at the surroundings, like empty eyes. The entire property exuded a sinister brilliance that seemed otherworldly.

The Lestranges—Mr. and Mrs. Lestrange—greeted them with a coldness that reminded Regulus of the halls of Grimmauld Place. The children were introduced with a formal rigidity: Rodolphus, the eldest; Rabastan, the middle child; and finally, Pandora, the youngest.

Rodolphus and Rabastan were mirrors of their father—dark-haired, sharp-featured, with eyes that seemed to pierce through anything they looked at. Pandora, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. She bore such an uncanny resemblance to her mother that Regulus had briefly thought he was seeing a ghost. Both had snow-white hair that shimmered like silver in the light, porcelain-pale skin, and gray eyes that weren't cold but simply... empty.

Dinner was just as unpleasant as Regulus had feared. The adults engaged in stiff conversations about politics, pure-blood ideals, and the growing threat of Muggles. Rodolphus and Rabastan eagerly chimed in, reciting phrases that sounded rehearsed. Mrs. Lestrange, however, remained silent throughout the meal. She sat at the head of the table, barely touching her food, moving only enough to catch the light on her cutlery, like a shadow brought to life.

Pandora didn't say a word, either. Instead, she spent most of the meal staring at Regulus. It wasn't a hostile gaze, not even curious, but it was piercing enough to make him uncomfortable. It felt as though she could see right through him, read his thoughts, sense his doubts.

By the end of the meal, Regulus was relieved when they were finally allowed to leave the dining room and move to the parlor. Sirius was quickly whisked away by Rodolphus and Rabastan, who were excitedly talking about Hogwarts. The eldest had just received his acceptance letter and boasted about how he was certain he would be sorted into Slytherin. Like all true Lestranges, he added, casting a pointed look at Sirius, who said nothing.

Regulus was left alone in the parlor until he heard a soft cough behind him. Turning around, he saw Pandora holding a book with her small, pale hands. Without a word, she handed it to him. It was an old, dusty volume with golden letters on the cover: The Secrets of Ancient Magic.

This is my favorite book she said at last, her voice soft and melodic, as if she had practiced how words should sound. You look like you'd like it.

Regulus stared at her, surprised that she spoke and even more surprised by her sincerity. Thanks, he muttered, before gathering himself. I... I like books about magic. Pandora smiled. They didn't speak further but simply sat together.

From that evening on, they spent more time together. Their parents often sent them off, needing privacy for important discussions. Sirius and Rabastan would usually wander off, leaving Regulus and Pandora alone.

On one quiet afternoon in the Lestrange garden, Regulus sat on an old stone with his knees drawn up, while Pandora stood barefoot on the grass, drawing circles in the soft earth with a stick.

Have you ever wondered why we need wands to do magic? she asked suddenly, not looking up.

Regulus frowned. Well... to cast spells, obviously.

Pandora dropped the stick and looked at him as if he'd just said something absurd. But what if we don't need them at all?

Of course we do! Every book says so! Regulus crossed his arms, as if that settled the matter.

But Pandora wasn't so easily deterred. Maybe the books say that because no one's tried it any other way.

That's nonsense. Regulus shook his head. How would that even work? Just... like this? He waved his hand through the air as though casting a spell.

Maybe. Pandora grinned mischievously. Have you ever tried it?

No, of course not! Nobody does that!

Well, I have, she said, sitting cross-legged in the grass before him. Her pale eyes sparkled with curiosity. Sometimes, if I'm really still and close my eyes, I can feel something. It's like... a tingling breeze in my fingers. Maybe that's magic.

Regulus stared at her, unsure whether to be impressed or skeptical. You mean you can do magic without a wand?

Maybe. She hugged her knees and rested her chin on them. Or maybe just a little. But I think if someone truly knew how, they could do a lot more. Magic is everywhere, Regulus. You just have to find it.

He remained silent for a moment, looking at the stick she'd discarded. That sounds... strange.

Strange is good! Pandora leapt to her feet and twirled, her pale hair flying in the wind. All the best things start out strange!

Their conversations often followed this pattern. Sometimes, Pandora would share a brilliant theory that Regulus couldn't believe, and other times, he'd tell her something he'd read in one of his many books, only for her to challenge him.

He had expected them to be best friends at Hogwarts. However, Pandora quickly became close with Priscilla Nott, her dormmate, who—for reasons beyond Regulus—seemed to dislike him. Pandora had apologized profusely, explaining that Priscilla didn't want anything to do with him but that she still wanted to be her friend.

She has no one else, Reggie.

Regulus had told her it was okay; after all, he had Barty. They had met on the Hogwarts Express and hoped to be sorted into Slytherin together. Barty was a bit strange, he constantly talked about magical creatures and knew names Regulus had never heard before. However, Regulus found it incredibly fascinating to learn new things, and that led to Barty and him spending hours talking about various topics. Barty told him about a creature called an Occamy that looked like a mix between a snake and a bird and was known for being choranaptyxic.

"What does choranaptyxic mean?" Regulus had asked. Barty shrugged, and they decided to look it up in the Hogwarts library as soon as possible.

In exchange, Regulus told Barty about the stars and how his entire family was united in the night sky. That's how they became friends—best friends.

"Have you ever thought that our wands might know more about us than we do ourselves?" Pandora held her wand in front of her, staring at it intently.

They were sitting together on Pandora's bed, ostensibly to do their homework. As usual, Regulus's attention span had lasted a bit longer than hers.

"I mean, every wizarding child knows that a wizard can only reach their full potential if their wand is in harmony with them and that different materials favor different wizards. So, shouldn't wands have some sort of insight into our souls?" She continued to observe her wand as if searching for answers there, but Regulus knew she was waiting for him to respond.

"I don't think it's a conscious process," Regulus replied. "I believe it's more that they sense things—like whether a wizard's aura is darker or lighter."

Pandora seemed satisfied with the answer, as she set her wand aside and returned to her Divination essay. They had spent the past two days like this, studying together, either in the library or Pandora's dormitory, depending on whether Nott was around. Nott still didn't like Regulus, but lately, she seemed to be getting along well with Avery, which meant she was spending less time with Pandora. If that bothered Pandora, she didn't show it. Regulus didn't want to push her to talk about it; he was quite content to avoid such discussions.

He was glad Pandora didn't pressure him to talk about what was on his mind, though he could feel her gaze on him when they were studying. She was waiting for him to break the silence. She wanted him to talk about what had happened—about why he was ignoring Barty. Why he wasn't trying to fix whatever had come between them. But Regulus was determined not to bring it up.

The "argument," if you could even call it that, had started on Friday. Since then, he hadn't said a word to Barty. He had simply ignored him as if he didn't exist. Barty, however, didn't seem to care. Instead, he spent every spare moment with Rosier. The two of them had been practically inseparable over the past few days.

Regulus couldn't deny how much that hurt. For months, he had worried that Pandora and Barty might get along too well, that they'd become friends and leave him out. He'd gone out of his way to prevent that, almost making a fool of himself in his jealousy. Yet, in the end, it had all been for nothing. Barty had chosen someone else—someone apparently more interesting or simply better than him. The worst part was, Regulus had known it would happen. He'd seen the look on Barty's face on the first day of school when they met Rosier for the first time. But instead of trusting his head, as he should have, he'd followed his heart and hoped it wouldn't change anything.

That realization stung, but Regulus refused to show it. His words were cold, his expression blank, his demeanor distant. He was a Black, and showing weakness wasn't an option. Yet Pandora saw right through him—she always did. It was as if she had a special ability to see past his masks and uncover the truth behind them.

A soft knock came at the door before it opened cautiously. Regulus looked up and immediately recognized the person entering: Dorcas Meadowes. She was a Chaser on the Slytherin Quidditch team and a year above him. She was also Muggle-born—a fact that often sparked hostility in their house, though Meadowes never let it faze her.

The Slytherin stepped into the room, her gaze calmly sweeping over its occupants. Her posture, as always, was impeccable. Regulus had noticed before that it was nearly impossible to read Dorcas Meadowes. Her expression betrayed nothing—not the cold mask Regulus often wore, but rather a serene enigma, as if she knew something others didn't.

Pandora, however, hadn't noticed Meadowes yet. She was deeply engrossed in a book, and Regulus had to nudge her gently to get her attention. He nodded toward Meadowes, and Pandora followed his gaze. For a moment, she looked confused, but then a broad smile lit up her face.

"Dorcas! Hi!" she called out cheerfully, waving her over. Without hesitation, Pandora scooted over to make room on the bed. It was getting quite cramped, but Pandora didn't seem to mind in the least.

"Sorry, I completely lost track of time," Pandora said, offering a slightly embarrassed smile as Meadowes took the seat beside her.

"No problem," Meadowes replied calmly. Her voice was low and carried a quiet authority that Regulus found unexpectedly impressive. It was the first time he'd heard her speak. Although she was a close friend of Vanity, one of the boisterous Slytherin Beaters, Meadowes often stayed in the background. She rarely spoke, but Regulus knew that this made her no less formidable.

"What do you need help with?" Meadowes asked, turning her full attention to Pandora. Regulus's unspoken question about why Meadowes was here was promptly answered. He couldn't recall seeing them together before, and Pandora had never mentioned being friends with her. But a few days ago, Pandora had casually mentioned asking an older student for help in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Regulus could have helped her, of course, but they both knew he wasn't the most patient teacher.

As Pandora began describing the spells she struggled with, Meadowes listened intently. Regulus noted the seriousness with which Meadowes treated Pandora's concerns, and it became clear to him that his presence was no longer needed. He didn't want to interrupt, so he decided to leave.

"I'm heading to the library to return some books," he said finally, standing and gathering his things.

"Could you take my book with you?" Pandora handed him the volume she'd borrowed the day before. "I forgot I'd already read it."

"Sure." Regulus took the book and nodded briefly to Meadowes. "Meadowes."

"Black," she replied evenly, her voice as composed as ever.

With that, Regulus left the room. As he descended the stairs, he could already hear laughter coming from the common room below. He immediately recognized the voices, and the fact that he'd just left a girls' dormitory would undoubtedly fuel the rumor mill. Not that he cared. Rumors were nothing but empty words, powerless unless one allowed them to matter. Regulus had no intention of doing so.

Avery, Wilkes, Mulciber, and Rosier were sprawled as usual on the sofas in the Slytherin common room. Nott was there as well, half perched on Avery's lap and engaged in a lively conversation with Rosier—the older one, not Evan. Evan wasn't present, a detail Regulus noticed without much thought.

It was Mulciber who noticed him first. His eyes locked onto Regulus, a crooked grin spreading across his face, but he said nothing. Even Mulciber was smart enough not to provoke Regulus. Regulus had made it clear in their first year that he wasn't to be trifled with. Back then, they had tried to win his respect and friendship—because he was a Black, and the name Black carried weight.

Those days were long gone. They didn't respect him anymore, but at least they left him alone. None of them said a word as he passed by, though he could hear their murmured comments as he ascended the stairs to his dormitory.

He knew there was a good chance he'd run into Barty and Rosier, but he had to return the books on his desk. His suspicions were confirmed as soon as he opened the door. Barty and Rosier were sitting together on Barty's bed, each absorbed in their respective books. It was a familiar sight—just like the past two days. Whenever Regulus saw them, they were hunched over their books, occasionally breaking into animated discussions about topics he neither knew nor cared to know.

Regulus carefully ignored the pang of jealousy that flared in his chest. He'd made his decision. He masked his feelings and approached his desk, aware of the weight of their gazes on him. But he didn't look at them. It was easier that way.

He grabbed the books he needed and left the dormitory as quickly as he'd entered. He couldn't avoid Barty forever, and he knew it. Eventually—probably within a week—Barty would confront him, demanding an explanation. That was how it had always been. But this time, Regulus wasn't sure what he wanted.

Did he want Barty to leave him alone, to accept the silence and let Regulus avoid the pain? Or did he want Barty to force a confrontation, proof that he still cared enough to fight for their friendship? Regulus didn't know how he felt—worse, he didn't know how he wanted to feel.