Chapter Text
There’s a fine, fine line that exists between existing and living.
To live, for Harry, means to get on his broom and have a game of Quidditch—to feel the snitch vibrate ever so slightly in the palm of his hand. To live means to sit by the fireplace in the common room and talk about everything and nothing at all with Ron and Hermione. To live means to receive jumpers and chocolate eggs from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. To live means to sneak under the protection of his father’s invisibility cloak and have tea with Hagrid.
It means to visit Hogsmeade and taste cold snow on the tip of his tongue, which warms up thanks to the mugs of butterbeer Fred and George end up buying for him. It means to hang-out in Professor Lupin’s office and rant about his schoolwork, which Remus makes better by giving him chocolate. It means to hug from Sirius Black, and to receive the best hugs in return.
To live means going home to Moony and Padfoot’s homemade meals, where Harry watches Sirius pull Remus to the kitchen to dance, and he laughs at the ridiculousness of it all, until laughter sizzles out to the warmth of a good night’s sleep.
Living is love.
Existing is not.
To exist means to wake up early for class, to study, to sit in boring lectures, to escape from the terrifying Mrs. Norris and her much more terrifying owner, to endure Snape, to endure torture, and to endure very much everything else that doesn’t sound very happy to him . And Harry isn’t really ready for all of that. He doubts he’ll ever be.
Unfortunately, life has other plans. Plans like your best friend absolutely shoving you off your bed in hopes of waking you up.
“Sorry!” Ron squeaks, looking genuinely sorry, as Harry falls on the floor with a yelp. “My trousers no longer fit me and I might’ve accidentally kicked you off in hopes of pulling them up my legs.”
“Stop your limbs from growing , then.” Harry hisses, throwing Ron a rather sleepy glare. Unfortunately, the subtle amusement evident in Ron’s face shows that Harry probably just looks like an angry kitten instead of a mad beast. “Ask Snape for shrinking potions, or something.”
Ron snorts, finally succeeding in pulling his trousers up. “You and I both know I would rather die than talk one-on-one with him, mate.”
“Ask Hermione, then.”
“You and I both know she would rather die than participate in our chaos. Or worse— expelled .”
“Where did you even get that logic? She’s literally the reason why we come out of chaos alive. ”
“Oh, I know.” Ron sighs, flopping back on his bed in a starfish position. Harry hears the fondness in that sigh, and he holds back a knowing grin by turning around in search for his glasses. Then, as if struck with a sudden distant thought, he asks “D’you, uhm, reckon she’ll…er—” He sits up, tsks, and shakes his head. “Never mind. Go get ready. I’m starving.”
Harry does, and by the time he and Ron go down to the Great Hall, most of the tables are already occupied, buzzing with early morning energy and easy-going chatter. It takes them a while to spot Hermione, seeing as she wasn’t in their usual seats. Instead, she’s in the far corner of the Gryffindor table, nose buried in what looks like a memo she tore off the bulletin board. She looks curious , because of course she does, but Harry sees a hint of uncertainty as well.
He exchanged looks with Ron, who only shrugged as they took their seats in front of her.
“I have no idea if this is supposed to be good news or bad news. I reckon it’s a bit of both.” Hermione says, even before Ron and Harry are given the opportunity to ask. She then slides the memo towards them, sighing exasperatedly. “See, apparently—even if we’re halfway through the semester—there’s a new Potions teacher.”
“A what ?!” Both Ron and Harry exclaim, snatching the memo from her and immediately digging in to read its contents. Harry was able to read the words ‘Severus Snape’ and ‘Retirement’ before he perked his head up to look at the faculty’s table, and sure enough, the Potions teacher who taught them the past four years no longer sits beside Professor Mcgonall. An empty seat presents itself, instead.
Harry scans further down and catches Professor Lupin’s concerned eyes, which asks ‘What’s wrong?’ and ‘Do you need anything, kid?’ at the same time. Harry shakes his head and gives him a small smile. The professor nods, smiles back at him, and returns to his conversation with Dumbledore.
“Blimey! And I thought that old man would give detention even at the age of a hundred!” Ron says, now laughing, as he takes a victorious sip of hot chocolate. How he didn’t burn his mouth, Harry has no idea. “This is great news! Brilliant, even!”
“Who’s the new teacher, then?” Harry asks, belatedly realizing that students left and right are whispering and talking to each other in a mixture of confusion, relief, and shock as well. Several heads are turned to look at the faculty table, but Harry’s too caught up with a major feeling of weight being lifted from his shoulders to even care about the frowns and disbelief that are sketched in the faces of some Slytherins.
“That’s the thing,” Hermione answers, taking a bite of buttered toast. “Professor Dumbledore’s yet to announce it.”
As if on cue, the Great Hall falls to a quiet hush as the Headmaster stands from his seat. Long white beard falls on his lower torso as he makes his way to the podium, eyes calm behind half-moon spectacles.
“A very pleasant morning to everyone,” Dumbledore warmly greets, voice loud and clear. “Ah, this announcement shan’t take long, as I, and assuming most of you, are starving.”
As some students chuckled, Ron’s stomach audibly growled. Hermione threw him a harmless glare. Harry coughed to stop himself from laughing.
“As many of you have read, Professor Severus Snape retires at the age of thirty-six due to personal reasons.” The Headmaster continues, “I assure you, however, that he is well and happy, and that he has found a new purpose in life other than teaching. It was in his will to take this retirement quietly, rather than have it announced before the day itself. All his efforts and dedication in the service of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry shall always be remembered and smiled upon.”
“More like frowned upon, honestly.” Hermione quietly mutters under her breath, and this time, both Harry and Ron didn’t even bother to hide their snickers. The only thing that shuts them up is Professor Mcgonagall sharply turning in their direction and flashing them a warning with widened eyes. Hermione flashes her a gesture of apology in return.
“With that said,” Dumbledore carries on, entwining his fingers together with a grateful smile, “I am pleased to announce to you our new Potions teacher—”
Harry takes a sip of hot chocolate—
“—Professor Regulus Arcturus Black.”
Harry spits out his hot chocolate.
“Professor Black? Like, related to Sirius Black?!” Ron incredulously asks, voicing out the thoughts from Harry’s own mind as students come to loudly applaud the man walking up the staff table. “Merlin, Harry, you didn’t know about this?”
“No.” Harry chokes out, still coughing, as Hermione hurriedly hands him some napkins which he gratefully takes. Ron winces and eases him by patting his back. “No, I—er, I don’t.”
Harry, for the life of him, doesn’t even remember the last time he heard about Regulus Black. He only encountered him once, as a kid. That was when he saw the man’s name on the tapestry back in 12 Grimmauld Place, so he does not have the slightest idea about him except for the fact that he was Sirius’ younger brother, and that he, too, was considered a disgrace to the noble family of Black. He was not mentioned, nor was brought up, ever , in the entirety of Harry’s life.
Some people are just meant to be like that , as Sirius once answered on that same day of little Harry’s discovery, when he asked where Regulus was. Some people just vanish into thin air. Like the northwind, they are meant to be traveling to the ends of the earth, and some day, they’ll be circling right back.
Harry vaguely remembers how Sirius sounded when he said that. It was fondness, maybe, or the nostalgic hiraeth that comes with remembering a loved one. Either way, Harry never brought it up again, in fear of seeing his uncle’s face be contorted with something remotely close to grief.
And this face was shockingly similar to that of Regulus Black, standing before them now with his head held high and his hands behind his back. He has raven hair similar to what Sirius has; one that handsomely framed the high cheekbones of his face, and half of it’s tied back to a loose bun. His eyes, though with aged lines on the edges of it, remain sharp, as if it alone could cut through steel. He looks like a man of hardened grace and extortionate beauty, and if Harry had never seen Sirius laugh, he would’ve thought that Regulus Black’s line-pressed mouth doesn’t have the capability to smile.
“I like the way he dressed himself.” Hermione quietly comments, tilting her head to the side as she takes in their new professor’s appearance. “At least he makes black look interesting.”
Ron huffs. “Well, he is a Black, so that’s already a given.”
“I’m talking about his clothes , Ron.” Hermione says, still studying Regulus Black, even as he starts to make his way to the seat reserved for him. “It’s all so…intricately symmetrical.”
“What?”
“Balanced, Ron. It’s all balanced .”
Harry, however, found it hard to balance his thoughts and emotions. Part of him wanted to hide. The other had so many questions all at once. Quite predictably, when he looks at Professor Lupin, he finds that his uncle’s already looking at him. It’s the calmness of Remus’ expression and the thought that once breakfast is over, he could immediately head to his office to talk, that calms him down.
He also quite pridefully remembers that he wasn’t placed in Gryffindor to act cowardly, so he turns and tries to look at Professor Black.
As if sensing this, Professor Black looks up from his plate and stares right back at him, face stoic.
“I’ve got to go,” Harry quickly whispers, shoving his remaining breakfast—an entire waffle, mind you—in his mouth as he stands. Swallowing it down with a mug of milk, he adds, “I have so many questions and I’m afraid I might piss myself if they don’t get answered at once.”
“Oi, Potter! Don’t talk about your piss right in front of my apple juice!” Shouts someone from the Slytherin table, causing a bit of an uproar of laughter. It was the last thing Harry hears before he exits the Great Hall.
___
“Harry, calm down.”
“I am calm.”
“You’re pacing back and forth in my office, kid. Why don’t you sit down?”
“Can’t. My butt hurts .”
Remus blinks, amused. Slowly, he regards Harry from head to toe, then he sighs. “You really are your father’s son, aren’t you?”
With this, Harry finally comes to a halt and throws Remus a frown, one hand unconsciously flying up to fix his hair. “Is that supposed to be a compliment, or…?”
“I don’t know where you got your sarcasm, though.” Remus fondly adds, straightening the papers on his desk. “Your father would've blamed it on me, but I know for a fact that I wasn’t number one on the sarcastic list.”
Now this— this is what gets Harry to finally sit down, interest caught and steady in the professor’s hands. “The sarcastic what?”
“Never mind, Harry. That wasn’t the reason you came here, right?” Remus says, now looking at him as he places his hands together on his desk. “Is there anything bothering you? How’s the semester so far?”
Harry slouches down his seat, arms crossed over his chest. In moments like these, it’s easy to feel like he’s a kid again, sitting on the couch back at home as Remus sits on the sofa. They talk about nothing at particular, then everything all at once. Harry thinks Moony has the insane ability to take your negative thoughts out of your heart, purify them, and get them to pump cleansed blood back into your system. If Harry had anything to cry or rant about, it’s always Remus he comes to. It just seems like he has the answer to everything.
Clearing his throat, Harry begins to ask, “Can I be the one to ask questions this time?”
“Of course, Harry.” Remus answers, eyes softening. “Go on. I’m listening.”
“I haven’t checked up on anyone due to my busy schedule, but—” Harry purses his lips, gazes up the ceiling, and traces the floating candles in the shape of a chandelier with his eyes. “How’s Padfoot? I mean, because, well ….There’s what happened at breakfast. With Professor Black.” Harry pauses, feeling weirded out by saying that out loud. “Well, anyway, he looks scary, you know. But—er, good looking, because of course he is, he’s quite literally Sirius’ younger brother. It’s in their blood, isn’t it? Being beautiful, I mean. And scary. Not in a bad way. But I—well, I just….” He sighs, and he slouches even lower in his seat. “I’d be lying if I told you I’m no longer in a state of shock, because I still very much am.”
For a moment, all that Harry receives is silence. The peaceful kind. One that holds a weight of pondering, and it gives him time to catch himself and to slow down his breathing.
Then, when Harry regains the ability to let it all out again, Remus beats him to it by speaking up.
“He’s alright. I just talked to him a while ago, you know.” Remus answers, slowly at first, and Harry suspects it’s because Remus thinks Harry won’t understand if he talks fast. Which, quite coincidentally, is true. “A black owl came barging through the windows as soon as I woke up, actually. Didn’t even give me a head start before the Howler exploded right at my face.”
“Wait, really?” Harry’s brows shot up, “What’d he say? And why’s it a Howler instead of normal mail?”
“He gets too excited sometimes.” said Remus in a pained voice, shaking his head as he laughs quietly. “Anyway, aside from his usual enthusiastic greetings of calling me all the possible nicknames you could imagine would fit the word ‘ moon’ , he also mentioned to pass a good luck to you from him, and should you have anything you want to tell him, don’t hesitate to use the floo network to talk with him.”
Harry frowns, suddenly feeling bitter. “Why can’t he just send me an owl as well?”
Remus gives a little shrug. “I’m afraid Dusk’s growing old, Harry. As much as Padfoot would love to send her back and forth to continuously talk to you, it’s better to make sure she doesn’t tire out.” Then, with encouragement, he adds, “Don’t worry. The Holiday’s just a week ahead, anyway. We’ll see him soon and pretty much spend every day with him.”
This, at least, was true. It feels nice to be reminded about the break, giving Harry at least something to look forward to in the middle of endless homework and the stress of the upcoming O.W.L.s.
However, his mind wasn’t there just yet. Something’s still bothering him.
“How, or rather, who is—err, Professor Regulus Arcturus Black?” Harry asks, voice growing small as an emotion he can’t place a name to cross Remus’ face upon mentioning the former man. “Aside from being Sirius’ brother, of course. Does Sirius know that he’s gonna teach at Hogwarts now?”
“He does,” Remus plainly answers. “I have a feeling Regulus visited back at home last night before he showed up just this morning.”
“How’d you know?”
“I don’t, Harry. It’s just a feeling. I mentioned that a black owl came to me this morning, yeah? Well, Regulus and Sirius both have black owls; Dusk and Dawn. It’s just that the owl left as soon as it arrived before I got to recognize who it was. All I know is that Dusk isn’t as fast as Dawn, and the owl smelled differently from what I remember. Knowing him, your Uncle Padfoot probably sent Dawn unknowingly.”
Harry’s mouth fell open. “They have matching owls?!”
“You’d be surprised to know they’re very much alike, even beyond the fact that they’re siblings.” Remus earnestly answers. “The last time I saw Regulus was back when he was just your age. Quite the intelligent one, he is. His ranking in academics was so high that his older brother tripled his studying hours just to spite him. James, having neck-to-neck competition with Sirius in literally everything, realized that the younger Black might gain higher grades than both of them, but he didn’t seem to mind.”
“Aren’t you guys older than him by a year?”
Mischief glints in Remus’ eyes. “Oh, we are. Sirius was just being a brat.”
“That’s…” Harry exhales through his nose. “I feel like there’s a lot that I don’t know that you know that I don’t know if I’m allowed to know but I know that I’m still going to know them soon, just so you know.”
Remus huffs out a fond laugh at this, standing and reaching forward to ruffle Harry’s hair. Ah, that never grows old. Harry thinks that even if he’ll be an old eighty-year-old man one day, Remus can and would still find a way to ruffle his hair. Never mind if he grows old and bald. Remus will just ruffle his eyebrows, then.
“You know what I know?” Remus adds teasingly, eyes darting up the grandfather clock. “You’re late for class.”
Harry jolts and clumsily stumbles out of his seat. “Oh shit—”
“Language, Harry.”
“Sorry! Bye!” Harry shouts behind him, giving Remus a wave of goodbye as he busts the door open and starts to run. Remus hears ascending five steps in total, a pause, then three descending ones as Harry re-appears in the doorway. “Sorry, I forgot to say I love you.” He pants. He straightens up. His hair is a mess. “‘Love you!”
Remus smiles, warmth engulfing his chest. He nods. “Love you too, Bambi. Good luck.”
The bell rings, and this time, Harry sprints.