𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 | 𝐑.𝐀.𝐁

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 0

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If Violet Potter took a moment to reflect on it all, she'd find that at least a fraction of her mind had been dedicated to the youngest Black brother since the moment she'd laid her eyes on him.

She first caught him lost in the scrambling mass of overly anxious and excited first years, waiting outside the Great Hall to be sorted into their houses. She recognized him immediately. The deep gray eyes and well-kept black curls–so different from her own which were haphazardly thrown up into a bun, tangled ringlets falling into her eyes and tickling the back of her neck. He was one of the taller boys in their year already and held his back so straight–she was sure some of the other stuck-up purebloods were jealous of his "perfect posture"–that surely it added to his already towering height. Violet could've sworn that if she squinted, she might even be able to catch a plywood board strapped to his back–because surely no one would stand like that on purpose. He wore a clean, pressed, white dress shirt and slacks, a cloak draped over his shoulders with not a wrinkle or imperfection to behold. He fit the description she'd slowly gathered across several conversation fragments with Sirius.

This, was his long-lost little brother.

The boy her brother's friend spoke of with a soft voice and regret behind his eyes. The little boy he used to chase around his childhood home. The little boy he used to pretend he didn't notice watching him from behind corners. The little boy who used to be his best friend.

The little boy who grew up into someone Sirius could no longer recognize.

From the way Sirius spoke, she didn't know what to make of him. In some conversations, he seemed like the sweetest, and most pure kid she'd ever heard of... while in others he seemed more villain than man.

She didn't know what to expect, but she knew it wasn't what she ended up seeing.

Once the large wooden doors opened, the calm attitude he'd held in the antechamber dissolved, rapidly replaced with a heavy air of anxiety that hovered over him in a thick, suffocating fog. He was nervous, that much was obvious.

His eyes would trail from the hat, to the ground, to the table of green and silver, and quickly to the red and gold banners, before returning to his polished shoes once more.

His hands at first glance, were held neatly before him–poised and calm, just as he was supposed to. But, if you looked closer, you'd catch him fiddling with the cuffs of his button down, or squeezing his hands together so tight, that his knuckles turned a strained white.

Regulus Black wasn't nervous–he was absolutely terrified–but the boy hid it so well no one seemed to notice. Not a professor, prefect, adult, or student had noticed his strange behavior, shaking hands, or sickly pale face.

No one noticed his pain or fear, concerning themselves instead with the happy and energetic among them. The worst part is, he seemed used to it. Completely and utterly unphased that no one seemed to care or notice his panic. To notice him at all.

That was the first time Violet Potter had laid eyes on Regulus Black.

That was the first time she felt her heart ache for the boy.

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The brunette girl did everything she could after the ceremony to try and befriend the boy. It couldn't be that hard, right? After all, their older brothers were best friends.

However, Regulus quickly proved to be nothing like Sirius. He wasn't as carefree or charismatic as Sirius. Instead, he was quiet, stubborn, stuck up, and everything else a pureblood Slytherin was expected to be.