• Regulus Black •

„It's time to write a new story."

Regulus slept better in Hogwarts' beds than in his own. He had found this out many times, but never why it was so. He had a few theories about it, but none so satisfactory that he believed them.

As usual, the young Black was the first to slip out of his bedchamber. He deftly walked his bony feet around the surrounding objects that Alaric and Evan had dumped into the room the night before. One would think that, judging by their noble names, they could at least keep things tidy. Yet both of them were often messier than Sirius, and that was saying something.

His own things were still neatly stacked in his trunk, from which he now pulled out a fresh pair of his school uniform and began to get ready for the day ahead. Regulus had already finished when his roommates also saw the light of morning, arguing and tripping over objects in the ensuing flurry of activity around the bathroom. Just one reason why Regulus preferred to get up before all the others.

"Jeez, Reg, next time you can wake us up," Evan grumbled, almost falling down trying to put on a sock while standing.

The boy addressed raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You mean like that one time when you tried to curse me while half asleep because you weren't ready to get up?"

"Just like that one time," his friend grinned in amusement, hammering impatiently on the door of the bathroom from which an annoyed Alaric stepped out. His reddish-brown hair hung dripping in his face as he held a toothbrush in his mouth and mumbled, "The only thing you'd have done to Reg would have been blind his eye when you nearly poked him with your wand."

"Well, don't wake me up in future," he grumbled, admitting defeat and pushing past him, even though his friend looked far from finished. Regulus could only shake his head at the two of them and continued to twiddle his thumbs until they could finally leave for breakfast.

The first lesson of the new school year was to be Potions for the fifth years of Slytherin House. While it may not have been Regulus' favourite subject, it was probably definitely taught by his favourite teacher; Horace Slughorn.

"Evan, if you brew that potion according to these instructions, it's about to blow up in your face," Regulus muttered after glancing at his seatmate's recipe out of the corner of his eye, adding, "And mine, because I'm sitting right next to you."

His friend groaned in frustration and began crossing out some of his ingredients and instructions and replacing them with others. Evan never liked to deal with theoretical approaches and Regulus knew that the dark-haired boy would have preferred to have already set about brewing the potion, the name of which Professor Slughorn had written curved on the blackboard.

After Regulus had gathered the ingredients for himself and started mixing them together in his cauldron according to the recipe, the young Black found that he himself had a little trouble with its complexity. But even though he had trouble getting the potion to work as it should, he didn't get as flustered as many of his classmates. He rarely did. In fact, most of the time he seemed rather calm and in control, as if he were in complete purity with himself.

But what was going on inside him was probably not suspected by anyone around him. Nor where his thoughts often took him. But that was just fine with Regulus, no one should know what was going on in his head. Especially not that he couldn't get Camille Malfoy's face out of his mind that day. And not because she was only sitting a few tables away at that moment.

He didn't know what had made her suddenly speak to him again, let alone what he should make of it. Hadn't she condemned him long ago? Perhaps he had been a little too harsh the previous evening, but he had not been able to help saying what was so obvious and had been on the tip of his tongue. But he had been rude and had been taught to keep his opinion to himself most of the time. He now knew why. The truth had a destructive nature.

"Regulus, my boy!" The deep voice snapped the Slytherin out of his mundane daydreams. "The holidays seem to have done you good."

"Of course, Professor," replied the addressed still a little caught off guard, taking a few seconds to return to the material world. "Still, I can't wait to make my house, and of course my Head of House, proud by lifting the Quidditch trophy this year."

"I'm glad to hear that you'll be joining us again this year. As usual as a Seeker I presume? Your performances were truly outstanding last year. Miss Vanity should probably look out for her captaincy status, shouldn't she?" The teacher laughed out and gave Emma an amused look, who was at that moment feverishly stirring her cauldron. "Just a bit of fun, of course. On the contrary, the young lady seems to know exactly what she's doing. If Mr Potter hadn't changed strategy at the last game at short notice, the cup would probably have been ours last year."

Regulus nodded and tried to add emphasis to his voice. "It'll definitely work out this year."

"Good, good my boy." With a satisfied smile, Slughorn turned away and looked at Evan, who was hacking away at his root. With a piqued expression, he fixed the young Black again. "And keep an eye on Mr Rosier. Not that the whole room is about to go underwater with the amount of flubberworm slime he's dumped into his cauldron," he muttered, shaking his head, and now turned his back on their table for good.

By now, the classroom, shrouded in vapours, was pretty quiet. Almost everyone hung intently over their cauldrons; some were pleased that their contents had turned the desired colour and others were distressed that this had not happened or that their brew smelled strange and was getting thicker and thicker.

Regulus had meanwhile got to grips with his problems, as a result of which his potion had finally become as transparent as water and earned him a fat praise from his teacher at the end of the lesson.

Even before the next lesson rang in, he had made a decision; he would apologise to Camille for his rather dismissive behaviour. Under normal circumstances, he might not have cared what one of his classmates thought about him. Why it was not so now, he could not say. Perhaps because he was interested in her opinion? To make it clear that he was actually quite different from what she now thought?

In the transformation wing, he caught the blonde before she could even enter the room. "Camille?" he asked in a broken voice, clearing his throat before making another attempt to get the girl's attention. "Camille, can I talk to you for a moment?"

Her expression was impossible to interpret as she finally turned with a smile as fake as his mother's friends. "Knock yourself out."

"I'm sorry I snapped so quickly yesterday," he replied after collecting himself for a moment. Her eyebrows drew together in offence, which made him quickly add, "A-and for snapping at you like that, I had no right."

"Don't worry about it," she said merely, waving away the little argument between them with a wave of her hand. If he wasn't mistaken, her smile now reached her turquoise eyes. Part of them, at least. "It's forgotten already."

Already forgotten. Her bell-like voice echoed in Regulus' head, even after its owner had already disappeared behind the door. How much else had she forgotten? That they had once been friends? That her parents thought him and this part of the Black family unworthy? Actually, he didn't care. New beginnings could be beautiful. New beginnings could change lives. For the better, but also for the worse.