Harry Potter: Reborn as Regulus Black

Chapter 285 285: Sirius and the Potters [bonus]

The Hogwarts Express pulled into King's Cross Station and settled to a halt. Steam erupted from the engine and swallowed the platform in white fog.

Doors banged open. Young witches and wizards poured out, trunks scraping across flagstones, owls flapping in their cages, voices and laughter crashing together from every direction.

Parents waved from the far end of the platform, calling names over one another, pulling children into hugs, clapping shoulders, crouching down to cup small faces in their hands.

Regulus stepped off the train into the crush. He sidestepped the main current and found a pocket of space.

Cuthbert, Alex, and Hermes followed him down. The three stood beside him. Only Alex had luggage.

"See you at the Christmas banquet." Cuthbert's eyes were bright, his voice threaded with an excitement he couldn't quite contain.

He'd never understood what those banquets were about before. Family gatherings. Food, wine, adults talking while children sat and listened. Tedious.

This term had changed that.

Working alongside Regulus, he'd come to see something he hadn't before.

Those banquets weren't dinners. They were the political stage of the Pure-blood world.

The adults used them to trade information, declare allegiances, draw allies closer or push rivals to arm's length.

What was on the plates didn't matter. Who sat where did.

The more he understood, the more he wanted in. This was the real business.

The heir of the Avery family belonged at a table like that.

Hermes drifted up from behind. His father, Abros Mulciber, was waiting at the other end of the platform.

He glanced in that direction, then turned back. "Our family's attending this year too."

His tone was as casual as commenting on the weather.

Regulus looked at the pair of them. Cuthbert was a flame already lit. Hermes was a coal that hadn't caught.

The Averys had always been open about where they stood. Voldemort's circle, chosen long ago. Cuthbert following that path was a given.

The Mulcibers had picked their side too, but their tradition was to keep their heads down and focus on dark magic. No grandstanding.

This year's Christmas banquet would be their formal debut, which meant Hermes had to attend.

Regulus shifted his gaze to Alex.

Alex stood at the edge of the group, trunk at his feet, scarf pulled up over the lower half of his face so only his eyes showed.

His parents waited at the outermost edge of the platform. His mother was short, dark-haired, wrapped in a thick wool shawl, rising on tiptoe to peer into the crowd. His father stood beside her holding a folded copy of the Daily Prophet he hadn't opened.

The Rosier branch family wouldn't be at any banquet. They wanted to live quietly, and they stayed out of everything.

Their logic was straightforward: Voldemort, Dumbledore, none of it concerned a small household like theirs.

Close the door, mind your own life, and that beat anything.

Alex had grown up in that thinking, and he believed his parents were right.

If you could avoid the mess outside, you avoided it. If you could keep your hands clean, you kept them clean.

But he knew, clearly, that from the moment he'd joined Regulus against Rabastan, that line was already behind him.

More would come. Bigger things. Choosing sides, clashes, maybe war.

He was ready.

His parents, though. He didn't want the ripples reaching them. They were ordinary witches and wizards who wanted an ordinary life.

Regulus looked at Alex, then at the couple standing near the platform's edge.

This was the true face of most people in the wizarding world.

When the day came that war burned its way to their doorstep, running or standing firm would be their only options, and they were built for neither.

"Get some rest over the holiday." Regulus looked at Alex, same tone as always. "See you when term starts."

Cuthbert slapped Alex on the arm, harder than necessary. Alex staggered sideways and turned to glare.

Cuthbert grinned. "Let's go, let's go. Family's waiting."

"See you at the banquet," he added, turning back to Regulus one more time.

Hermes gave a single nod, his version of goodbye, and walked toward his father.

Regulus stood where he was, watching the three of them merge into the crowd and scatter in different directions.

Steam still lingered. White fog drifted overhead. Noise pressed in from every angle.

He turned, threaded through the crowd, skirted a pack of Hufflepuff first-years careening around with their trunks, and made his way to a corner at the far end of the platform.

Kreacher was waiting.

The house-elf wore a spotless tea towel folded into an apron, edges tucked in neatly.

When he spotted Regulus, his entire body folded into a bow so deep his nose nearly touched the ground, long ears drooping on either side.

"Young Master is back. Kreacher is here to take Young Master home."

A bony finger extended toward Regulus's trouser leg.

"Wait," Regulus said.

The finger froze in midair, then withdrew obediently. Kreacher stepped aside, hands hanging, head bowed, and waited.

Regulus stood there, gaze traveling over the crowd to the Gryffindor group on the other side of the platform.

Sirius stood among them, facing James Potter and his parents.

James hadn't stopped talking since they'd gotten off the train.

"You're actually going back?" He had Sirius by the arm, words tumbling out. "I don't get it. What did he say to you?"

He leaned in closer, voice sharper. "The Black house, that place..."

What followed wasn't chosen for tact. He used the ugliest words he could find.

Before, Sirius would have joined in. He'd have cursed louder than anyone, and they'd have laughed together when they ran out of steam, then started again.

Calling Sirius's brother a little Slytherin snake. Sirius had never joined that particular refrain, but he'd never stopped it either.

Lately, though, things were different.

James had noticed the shift about three weeks ago, after Sirius walked through the Great Hall doors with his brother.

When James went after the Black family now, Sirius didn't chime in. Didn't argue back, didn't get angry. He went quiet, waited for James to finish, and changed the subject.

But when James went after Regulus specifically, something unhappy surfaced on Sirius's face. Every line of it said drop it.

That worried James.

Sirius was still Sirius.

At Hogwarts they raised hell together, got into trouble together, pulled pranks together, snuck into the Forbidden Forest together, lost points from McGonagall together.

Nothing had changed.

Except something had, and he couldn't name what it was, only feel it.

Two and a half years sharing a dormitory. He noticed every shift in his best mate, even the ones he couldn't explain.

He didn't know the cause, so he fell back on the old playbook.

Trash the Blacks. Trash Slytherin. Trash the little snake.

As though that could keep Sirius exactly where he'd always been.

But Sirius wasn't playing along anymore, and the panic was settling in.

Mr. Potter stood behind his son, hair grey-white, wearing a pair of square-framed glasses that looked nothing like James's round ones, though the bridge of the nose was identical.

When James's mouth ran past the point of decency, Mr. Potter placed a hand on his son's shoulder.

James turned. His mouth was still open, the second half of his sentence caught between his teeth.

Mr. Potter wasn't looking at him. He was looking at Sirius, and his gaze carried the quiet gravity of an elder who meant what he said. "Sirius. You know the Potters' door is always open to you."

A pause. "Anytime."

Mrs. Potter stepped out from behind her husband. She was short, her hair white.

She didn't say a word. She walked up to Sirius and pulled him into her arms.

Her hand rested on his back, patting twice, gently, the way you'd comfort your own child.

She knew this boy was walking back into a house that would grind him down, look by look, word by word, and she wanted to give him something warm to carry before he went.

Sirius's body stiffened. Heat prickled behind his eyes.

It passed quickly. He drew a breath and pushed the heat down, pressed it deep into his chest, and didn't let it surface.

She released him, stepped back half a pace, looked up at him, and said nothing. She smiled.

Sirius looked into her eyes. His throat moved once. Then he split into that trademark grin.

Bold, easy, as though nothing in the world could touch him.

"I'm going back for a look, that's all." His voice was loose, carrying that particular brand of nonchalance that belonged only to him. "Don't make it sound like I'm marching off to die."

He lifted a hand and thumped his own chest. "I'm a Black too, remember? It's my house. I'm going home. What's the worst that could happen?"

The words surprised him as they left his mouth.

Before, every syllable about the Black house had come barbed, burning, laced with the urge to strike a match and watch the whole place go up.

Now, the venom was gone.

The house was still that house. He still didn't like it, and probably never would.

But he wanted to go back and see it. With his own eyes. Without the hatred, without the defiance. To look.

He turned to James, reached out, and slapped him square across the back. The crack was loud, the force real.

James lurched forward a step, glasses nearly flying off. He shoved them back into place, wincing, and wheeled around. "You..."

Sirius hit him again, this time on the shoulder, even louder.

"Yeah." Teeth showing, grinning wide. "Don't think just because I'm going back means I'm not coming out. I'm going home to practice magic. Transfiguration. When term starts, you and me, let's see who's better."

James rubbed his shoulder, glared a moment longer, then laughed. "You think the Potters don't have a trick or two? Don't come crying."

Lupin walked over from the side. He looked better today. The last full moon had passed not long ago and his body was still recovering, but his spirits seemed decent.

Sirius looked at him, one corner of his mouth ticking up. "Remus. Nice moon?"

Lupin blinked, then a mild smile settled on his face and he shook his head. "Average."

Peter hung at the back, shoulders hunched. Sirius's glance swept over him. Peter scrambled to put on a smile and gave a small wave.

Sirius tipped his chin at the group, turned, and walked toward the other end of the platform.

He'd spotted him a while ago. Regulus, over in that far corner, leaning against the wall, waiting in perfect stillness.

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