Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Regulus Black liked control.

He liked knowing exactly what would happen next, knowing the rules of a room before entering it, and never being caught off guard. Perhaps it was a consequence of growing up in the Black household, where a poorly chosen word during dinner could lead to hours or days of very creative punishments. Or perhaps it was simply part of who he was.

In any case, control was important.

That was precisely why conversations with his mother could be so exhausting.

The green flames of the Slytherin dormitory fireplace had died down a few minutes ago, but Walburga Black's voice still seemed to echo through the rooms. Regulus sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees and fingers interlaced in front of his face, staring blankly as he tried to dissipate the irritation that was accumulating beneath his skin.

The conversation hadn't even been an argument. Walburga Black rarely argued with Regulus.

Not because she was particularly patient, but because she didn't need to. His mother possessed the extraordinary talent of transforming criticism into displays of affection, so that any discomfort seemed to stem from a flaw in the receiver, not the giver.

That day, everything had begun perfectly normally. She had asked about his classes, his grades, and some of his teachers. Regulus had answered as he always did: politely, without offering too many details.

Then his mother mentioned Sirius.

It wasn't unusual. Sirius remained a constant presence in the family, even after his escape from home. Perhaps even more so than before.

"Sometimes you remind me of your brother."

The phrase hit him so quickly that he couldn't even hide his surprise.

Walburga had noticed, of course she had noticed.

"Oh, not in that way," she added immediately, with a small laugh. "You're much more responsible than Sirius ever was."

Regulus didn't answer. Years of living together had taught him that praise in the Black household rarely came alone.

And, as expected, came the continuation.

"But you both have this tendency to believe you know more than the people who are trying to help you."

His mother had spoken the sentence softly, almost affectionately. As if she were sharing a sincere concern. As if she weren't reminding him, in a perfectly calculated way, of what happened to children who decided to follow their own paths.

Regulus could still hear her voice.

"I just wouldn't want to see you make the same mistakes."

It was always like this, at least it had always been with him. Direct threats or cutting insults weren't necessary. Just carefully constructed observations, designed to sound like advice from a worried mother, were enough to plant that seed of insecurity deep in Regulus's mind every time.

He knew it was manipulation, he knew all of Walburga Black's tricks, but he kept falling for it like dominoes every time.

Regulus let out a long sigh.

Around him, the dormitory was empty. His colleagues were still scattered around the castle, enjoying the last hours of Saturday afternoon, and the silence should have been pleasant. Instead, it just felt heavy.

For a moment, he considered opening a book. There was a pile of them on his bedside table, some related to his classes and others of his own interest. On another day, perhaps the idea would work, but not today.

Today he needed air. He needed distance from it all, just a few minutes of no one expecting anything from him.

Fortunately, he knew a rather efficient way to achieve this.

Getting out of bed, Regulus checked to see if he was alone one last time. The habit had become automatic. It had become impossible to spend months studying advanced magic, rare ingredients, and obscure theories without developing a certain paranoia.

Satisfied, he closed his eyes. The transformation no longer required as much effort, not as before.

There had been a time when each attempt seemed to demand absolute concentration and left his body aching for hours, almost like the first time he transformed. Now, however, the magic flowed as naturally as breathing.

In a few seconds, where there had once been a Hogwarts student, there was an elegant black cat.

Regulus stretched. He hated to admit it, but he loved the mannerisms of a cat, and he loved performing them when he became one.

The transformation always made everything simpler.

 Regulus wandered the corridors of Hogwarts unhurriedly, dodging distracted students and enchanted suits of armor with the ease he had acquired after years of exploring the castle in that way. There was something comforting about how the world changed when he ceased to be Regulus Black. People didn't watch him, didn't judge him, didn't expect anything from him.

He was just a cat.

A particularly beautiful cat, he admitted, but still just a cat.

The afternoon stretched slowly, tinging the corridors with gold through the tall stone windows. The castle was quieter than usual, filled only by the distant echo of conversations and the occasional sound of hurried footsteps. Regulus walked aimlessly, savoring the rare opportunity to exist without greater worries than deciding which corridor to explore next.

That was why he didn't notice the Marauders immediately.

The sound came first. Laughter, too loud for that almost empty corridor.

Regulus would recognize those voices anywhere.

Merlin, they're always everywhere!

His tail wagged in irritation even before he saw them.

Sirius Black.

James Potter.

Remus Lupin.

And Peter Pettigrew.

The damned Marauders.

As he turned the corner, he could see the group approaching down the opposite corridor. Potter walked ahead, gesturing energetically as he told some story, which Sirius seemed torn between laughing and interrupting. Lupin maintained that resigned expression of someone who had given up trying to control his friends long ago, while Pettigrew followed the conversation with evident fascination.

Regulus stopped immediately.

The four hadn't yet noticed his presence, which was great, because all he had to do was turn around and go another way. It was a simple, elegant, and above all, sensible solution.

So, without hesitation, Regulus turned and began walking in the opposite direction. He didn't run, because running would draw attention.

He only discreetly quickened his pace, like any perfectly normal cat who happened not to want to encounter four particularly annoying Gryffindors.

For a few seconds, he believed his plan would work, but then he heard a voice behind him.

"Wait."

Regulus closed his eyes, slowing his pace slightly, wishing he could merge with the ground.

"Did you see that cat?"

Damn it.

He kept walking. Perhaps, if he ignored the situation, it would disappear on its own.

Unfortunately, James Potter didn't seem to share that philosophy.

"Which cat?" Sirius asked.

"That one over there," James pointed to it.

"Ah..." There was a brief pause. "It's a cat, Prongs."

"I can see that."

"I'm glad."

Regulus continued advancing down the corridor, trying to maintain a steady pace, but he could hear the group's footsteps following his right behind him.

"0I've never seen this one before."

"Because it's a cat, not a new student."

"Perhaps it belongs to someone" Peter suggested.

"That's a reasonable possibility" Remus agreed.

"I don't think it belongs to anyone."

"Based on what?"

"I'm a prefect, I know everyone at Hogwarts, and consequently I know their pets."

"What a blatant lie, James" Remus accused him, but a laugh accompanied his voice.

Regulus was beginning to feel optimistic. Maybe the others would convince Potter to go ahead and there would still be hope for him that late afternoon.

If only he were on a floor closer to the ground floor, he could jump out the window...

"He looks elegant" declared James.

Regulus stopped walking.

"Elegant?" repeated Sirius.

"Elegant."

"You described a cat as elegant?"

"Because he is" James retorted, with a hint of indignation.

"I honestly don't know what to do with that information."

Regulus resumed his pace. A few more meters and there would be a magical staircase and he could lose the group.

A few more meters and he could forget that conversation ever happened.

"Look at him."

Instinctively, Regulus turned his head toward the group.

Sirius looked at him.

Peter looked at him.

Remus looked at him.

And, for an utterly shameful second, Regulus also looked at his own paws.

Then he realized what he had done.

Shit.

"Did you see that?" James asked immediately.

Regulus's heart froze.

"What?"

"He looked! He looked at himself!"

"Of course he looked. You're talking about him" Remus argued.

"No, but he looked when I told him to."

"Do you think the cat understands English?" Peter asked with a laugh.

"Maybe."

"That's the most absurd theory I've heard today."

"Thanks."

"That wasn't a compliment."

Regulus started walking again. This time, walking fast, very fast.

"He seems to be trying to leave" Peter commented.

"He is indeed" Remus agreed.

"Maybe because four teenagers are staring at him in the middle of the hallway."

"That's fair."

Regulus approved of that observation. Finally, someone was showing some common sense.

"I think he doesn't like you," said Sirius.

"Based on what?"

"Based on the fact that he's running away from us."

"He's not running away!"

"Prongs."

"He's... walking around... with determination."

Remus chuckled.

"That's a creative way to describe running away."

"You're all misinterpreting things!"

"Oh, sure, that's certainly it, James," Remus said ironically.

"He just has places to be."

"Obviously."

"Exactly!"

"And those places happen to be getting further and further away from you."

James ignored Sirius's comment.

Regulus, on the other hand, felt a pang of satisfaction. For the first time in a long time, Sirius Black was saying something intelligent.

Unfortunately, it was at that exact moment that his paw encountered an unevenness between two paving stones.

And suddenly, his small feline face hit the ground and his body followed, causing him to somersault forward.

"Did you see that?!" exclaimed James. "He tripped! My God, he tripped and fell in a somersault!"

"So what?"

James smiled. A genuine, involuntary, and dangerously enchanted smile.

"That was adorable!"

Regulus felt a horrible premonition.

Behind him, he could hear footsteps. Quick, decisive footsteps, of someone who had clearly just made a decision.

And, considering that someone was James Potter, Regulus was almost certain that his afternoon was about to get considerably worse.

Then again, behind him, the footsteps quickened.

"James," said Remus, in a tone that suggested he was anticipating trouble.

"I'm just going to say hi."

"You're chasing a cat."

"Exactly."

Regulus didn't need to look back to know Potter was approaching. The sound of footsteps was enough. Faster now, he continued down the corridor, maintaining as much dignity as possible.

It was just a corridor.

Potter was just a teenager.

And he was a fully trained Animagus.

There was no reason to worry.

Then, a hand appeared in his field of vision, and Regulus easily dodged, and James's arm passed where he had been a moment before, touching only the air.

"Hey!"

The black cat continued walking in the same direction down the corridor, as if nothing concerned him. Regulus tried to appear calm, and even harder not to let on how much he found the situation amusing.

Behind him, he heard Sirius chuckle.

"You just missed a cat."

"I didn't miss it."

"James."

"I was being kind to him."

"Oh, of course."

Regulus allowed himself a small satisfaction.

Potter might be good at Quidditch. He might be the best Seeker in the school. But catching a flying ball and catching an experienced Animagus were very different things.

A few seconds later, the second attempt came. This time, James approached from the side, moving more carefully, and Regulus waited until the last second to simply pass between the legs of a suit of armor.

Potter had to brake abruptly to avoid colliding with the metal.

"That's humiliating," Sirius observed.

"He's doing it on purpose," James muttered.

"I sincerely hope so."

"No, seriously, look at him!"

Regulus this time policed ​​himself better and didn't look at himself, but was extremely pleased to know that his superiority was being recognized.

"Maybe he just doesn't want to get caught," Peter suggested.

"I refuse to accept that."

"You refuse to accept that a cat doesn't want a stranger chasing him?"

"Exactly."

"Fascinating."

Regulus advanced a few more meters.

Potter continued behind him. Persistently irritating and inexplicably determined. Regulus began to understand why Lily Evans seemed so tired all the time.

When the third attempt came, he was already prepared. James lunged forward, trying to surround him, but Regulus dodged to the left. Then Potter changed direction, but again, Regulus spun to the right.

For a few seconds, it ceased to look like a normal interaction between a student and a cat and began to resemble a particularly ridiculous match of Quidditch without brooms.

"Merlin," murmured Remus, suppressing a laugh.

"I can't believe I'm seeing this."

"The cat is winning," replied Sirius.

"Oh, the cat is absolutely winning." Peter agreed.

"Shut up!" said James, offended.

Regulus almost purred with satisfaction at the compliments directed at him, especially since they were at the expense of James Potter.

But unfortunately, it was at this moment that the boy decided to take the situation seriously. The change was subtle, but Regulus noticed.

The movements became much more precise, even more calculated. As irritating as it was to admit, James Potter was an excellent athlete. Years of chasing a golden snitch had developed absurd reflexes. And, even worse, he seemed to be enjoying it all.

"I'll manage it."

"James, it's a cat." Remus sighed.

"You don't understand."

"No, I understand perfectly."

"You really don't."

"Then enlighten my mind, Jamie."

"We've already created a connection."

Sirius let out such a loud laugh that he had to lean against the wall.

Regulus took advantage of the general distraction to maneuver around another suit of armor, but that was a mistake.

Because, this time, James anticipated the movement. Before he could change direction again, two hands gripped him tightly.

And suddenly, his paws were no longer touching the ground.

No.

No.

No!

Indignation struck Regulus with the force of an explosive spell.

Immediately, he began to struggle. He let out a sharp growl, tried to writhe and push against James's arms. His claws even appeared in an automatic reflex as he gave the Gryffindor the most menacing look he could muster.

James just widened his eyes.

"He's amazing."

Amazing?!

Regulus showed more of his claws.

Potter should have been terrified, or at least worried about being scratched at any moment. But instead, the son of a bitch seemed enchanted.

"Look at that face!"

"That face is promising you death in all seven of his lives," Sirius observed. 

"I know."

"And that doesn't worry you?" Peter asked with a low laugh.

"Not at all" James smiled.

Regulus growled again. This was unbearable and humiliating to absurd levels.

The worst part was that, despite all his efforts, escaping wasn't easy. Potter's arms were firm, supporting him with an almost irritating security. Regulus tried to propel himself away once more and failed miserably.

Quidditch.

It had to be Quidditch.

Years of carrying brooms, training, and flying had transformed Potter into someone much stronger than he seemed at first glance.

An observation Regulus had made before.

Very much against his will.

Very secretly.

And which was definitely not relevant at that moment.

Absolutely irrelevant.

Completely irrelevant.

Potter tightened his grip as he tried to escape again, careful not to hurt him with the force, just firm enough to prevent any escape.

"Calm down, little friend."

Regulus stared at him; if he were in his human form, he would probably be raising an eyebrow, in his best display of indignation and displeasure.

As a cat, all he could do was stare right into James Potter's eyes.

"I don't think he'll calm down," Peter commented.

"I disagree."

"On what basis?"

James observed the black cat for a moment. Then, with all the confidence of someone who had clearly lost his mind, he began to absentmindedly scratch behind one of his ears.

Regulus froze.

The entire corridor seemed to freeze along with him.

To Regulus Black's utter horror, it was... pleasant. Very pleasant, especially for a cat. Heavens, that was the perfect spot for petting, he could purr.

Damn it! He was in fact purring! Traitor! His own body was a traitor!

He was watching his dignity, his pride, and probably centuries of Black House tradition die in particularly humiliating ways, and he couldn't do anything to counteract his own movements.

The caress behind his ear continued, and his body leaned brazenly toward the hand.

When he finally managed to regain control of himself, Regulus immediately stopped the movement.

James noticed, and the smile on his face became unbearable.

"Ahhh"

That was all he said. That simple "ah" carried a level of satisfaction that should be considered illegal.

"Don't make that face," Sirius pleaded.

"What face?"

"That face."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You make that face when you think you've won something."

"Maybe I did."

"James, you didn't win a contest. You made friends with a cat."

"Exactly."

"That's not normal."

"It seems perfectly normal to me."

Regulus struggled again, trying to regain his dignity and defend his principles, but unfortunately, the attempt lost some credibility when James simply adjusted his position against his chest and continued stroking his head.

It was revolting.

Deeply revolting.

And... warm.

The Slytherin dormitories weren't exactly cold, but there was a considerable difference between a centuries-old Scottish dungeon and a living human being.

Potter radiated heat, a lot of heat. Summer was over and soon the autumn chill would intensify, but James Potter was as warm as a good cup of tea fresh from the fire.

This was utterly hateful!

"Alright," declared James, as if making an important decision, "We need to give him a name."

Regulus froze. No, there was absolutely no need for a name, the only need there was to release Regulus and let him go his own way, for Merlin's sake!

"Oh, no..." said Remus immediately.

"Ah, yes."

"James."

"Ah, yes."

"You found this cat five minutes ago."

"Ten."

"That doesn't improve your situation" Peter pointed out.

"I feel like we've known each other for a long time."

"You're projecting."

"I'm bonding."

"You're projecting your needy feelings onto a cat!"

Sirius was practically doubled over with laughter.

"Merlin, it's just like Evans."

"It's not just like Evans."

"We're having the exact same conversation, and you're using the exact same arguments."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"Evans never let me hold her."

Remus choked, and Peter let out such a loud laugh that he had to cover his mouth.

Even Sirius was silent for two seconds as his eyes almost welled up to contain a fit of laughter.

"That was, without a doubt, the worst sentence you've ever said!" He screamed.

"I meant—"

"We know what you meant" Peter said.

"And it didn't help" Remus added.

"Not at all."

James's face flushed red. Regulus would have appreciated the situation more if he hadn't been held captive in his arms.

"We need a name," James insisted.

"We don't."

"Yes, we do."

"He probably already has a name."

"Maybe."

"Then why are you choosing another one?"

"Because I don't know what it is."

The logic seemed absurd, and worse still, it seemed to work in Potter's head.

"How about Merlin?" Peter suggested.

"He doesn't look like Merlin."

"What exactly does a Merlin look like?" Remus asked.

"Not like this."

"Excellent point."

James observed Regulus intently, and he returned the most murderous look he could muster, but the boy seemed even more charmed.

"He looks aristocratic."

Regulus didn't like where this was going.

"Aristocratic?" repeated Sirius.

"Yes."

"Do you think the cat looks rich?"

"I think he seems to judge everyone, and that's clearly aristocratic."

"Oh." Sirius looked at Regulus, and Regulus looked back. "Actually, I can see that."

"Right?" said James, satisfied.

"It's disturbing."

"I like him."

"That's disturbing too."

James ignored the comment and continued staring at Regulus for a few more seconds before breaking into a determined smile.

A smile that immediately awakened a deep despair in the young Black feline.

"I know!"

"Here it comes..."

"His name is Prince."

The entire corridor fell silent, and Regulus felt a very strong urge to bite someone.

"Prince?" asked Sirius.

"Prince."

"You named the killer cat Prince."

"Look at him."

Everyone looked. Including Regulus, staring at his own body, again.

Damn it.

"He looks like a prince."

"He looks like he's going to kill you in your sleep" Peter commented.

"A prince can do that."

"I think you're confusing prince with tyrant" This time the comment came from Remus.

"Details."

James looked back at the cat in his arms.

"Don't worry, Prince."

Regulus hated that name.

"We'll take care of you."

Regulus hated that phrase.

"You can stay with us."

Regulus opened his mouth to hiss, but no human sound came out, since he was a cat.

"I bet the Gryffindor dormitories are better than anywhere you're living now."

Regulus's indignation was immediate, almost instantaneous. Because that was absurd, an arrogant, affronting, and extremely offensive assumption.

...

But an assumption that, unfortunately, might be correct.

The Gryffindor dormitories were near a huge fireplace in the center of the common room. They were known for being warm practically all year round, not surprisingly, most parties were held there.

James interpreted his brief silence as agreement.

"See?"

"James, the cat didn't answer."

"Yes, he did."

"He didn't answer."

"I felt his energy."

"His energy is telling you to seek psychiatric help, damn it, James," Remus grumbled.

But it was too late; the decision had been made.

James Potter adjusted Regulus against his chest with all the naturalness in the world and began walking down the corridor as if he weren't carrying the kidnapped heir of the House of Black in feline form.

"Come on, Prince."

 Regulus stared at his friends, trying to force his eyes to scream the plea for help he couldn't utter in that form.

Remus looked resigned.

Peter looked amused.

Sirius was on the verge of another fit of laughter.

And none of them did absolutely anything.

Traitors. All damned traitors.

And, to his growing horror, as he was carried towards Gryffindor Tower, Regulus Black realized he had totally lost control of the situation.

Chapter Text

If someone had told Regulus Black that morning that he would end the day being carried into Gryffindor Tower by James Potter, he would have laughed, a very loud laugh indeed.

If the same person had added that the Marauders would spend the next hour preparing a space for him to live in their dormitory, he probably would have suggested a medical check-up.

Unfortunately, reality once again demonstrated a worrying lack of respect for any logic, and especially for his person.

The portrait of the Fat Lady opened to let the Gryffindors through, and Regulus had to endure the additional humiliation of being watched by half the common room. Several students looked up from their books, chess games, or conversations to stare at James entering with a black cat in his arms.

"James, did you steal a cat?" a girl with curly hair tied back with a red ribbon, Mary, he thinks, asked.

"He adopted me," James replied immediately.

Regulus tried to bite his wrist, but failed when James raised his arm to pet his head.

It was gonna be a long night until he returned to his own dormitory...

They crossed the common room under a mixture of curious glances and amused comments, until they finally reached the fifth-year dormitory, and as soon as the door closed behind them, James carefully placed Regulus on his own bed.

Regulus remained seated for a few seconds.

The bed was soft, irritatingly soft, and smelled of James Potter. Which was completely useless information, because Regulus had no idea how to describe it.

There was a smell of grass, yes. And fireplace smoke. And apples, for some reason.

But there was also something reminiscent of Quidditch afternoons seen from afar from the stands, the cool wind and the autumn sun. The smell of someone who spent more time outdoors than inside castles.

It was irritatingly pleasant.

James Potter smelled like a huge, endless apple orchard.

“Okay" declared James, rubbing his hands together "We have work to do.”

Regulus immediately disliked the tone.

“What exactly does that mean?” asked Remus.

“It means we need to make the room suitable for a cat.”

“James.”

“What?”

“It’s a cat.”

“Exactly.”

“He doesn’t need a remodeled room, he... he's small.”

“Of course he does.”

“Not that much.”

“Yes, he does.”

While the two were arguing, Peter already seemed genuinely interested in the idea.

"Maybe we need a bowl.”

“See? Peter understands.”

“A bowl makes sense" admitted Sirius "The rest doesn’t.”

“Not yet.”

“What does ‘yet’ mean?”

“Nothing.”

“James.”

“Nothing!”

Regulus watched everything from his bed, beginning to suspect he had been captured by dangerously incompetent people.

The next forty minutes only confirmed this theory.

Peter was tasked with finding containers for water and food. Sirius disappeared for a few minutes and returned carrying some old blankets which he claimed were "a perfectly respectable bed". James tried to transfigure a pillow into something resembling a cat bed, but the result looked like a writhing sea creature.

"This is awful," Sirius informed him.

"He'll like it."

"It looks like it's suffering."

"You're being negative."

"I'm stating the facts, James, it looks like a deformed Loch Ness Monster."

Remus, who had assumed the role of the only functional person in the dormitory, ended up correcting the transfiguration, making the pillow in fact a great cat bed, which actually looked comfortable, only the big flaw of being red and yellow.

"Much better," declared James.

"Because I redid everything."

"Teamwork."

"Sure, whatever gets you to sleep at night, Prongs."

Meanwhile, Regulus watched the growing pile of objects destined for his new and completely involuntary existence.

The blanket was acceptable.

The bowls were acceptable.

The bed was perfectly tolerable.

Everything for a cat. Not for a Black heir.

But then James began to transfigure toys. First came a small ball of colorful fabric, then something that looked like a mouse, but that was soon undone because, for some reason, the toy deeply offended the boy Pettigrew. Finally, he transfigured a sort of colorful bird attached to a string.

The four boys looked at the toys.

Then at the cat Prince.

Then at the toys again.

Regulus stared at the entire collection with the same expression he usually reserved for particularly stupid articles about blood purity that his mother showed him on vacation.

That is to say, an extremely judgmental look.

"He hates them all," Sirius concluded.

"He hasn't even touched them."

"Because they're ridiculous."

"They're cat toys."

"But he didn't like them."

James seemed genuinely offended.

"You haven't even tried them."

Regulus gave him such utter contempt that even Remus had to stifle a laugh.

"I'm starting to think this cat is more arrogant than you, Sirius," Remus commented.

"That's impossible."

"Are you looking at him?"

"Yes."

"Then you know he isn't."

Regulus approved of this observation.

 Around him, the Marauders continued arguing about bowls, blankets, toys, and alternative names for cats, and for the first time since entering the dormitory, he allowed himself to observe everything without planning an escape route.

It was noisy, messy, and completely chaotic. Nothing seemed to be exactly where it should be. There were clothes scattered about, books precariously stacked, abandoned scrolls, and an alarming number of objects whose purpose Regulus couldn't identify.

It was, in practically every possible way, the opposite of a Slytherin dormitory.

And yet...

When James sat beside him on the bed while debating with Sirius his dislike of the name "Prince," Peter began distractedly playing with one of the transfigurations, and Remus resumed reading his book while only half-participating in the conversation, something in the atmosphere seemed strangely comfortable.

Not that Regulus would admit it, even to himself.

Never.

But, for the first time that day, her mother's voice finally stopped echoing in her head.

The excitement caused by the new member of the dormitory took some time to subside, but eventually even the Marauders had to give in as the night wore on.

The scrolls scattered around the room were gradually gathered up. The books ended up piled on bedside tables and desks. And the conversation, which for much of the night had jumped chaotically between Quidditch, teachers, homework, and absurd theories about the origin of an unknown black cat, began to lose momentum as fatigue set in.

Regulus watched everything from his makeshift blanket, nestled beside James's bed.

Initially, his intention had simply been to wait. Sooner or later, the four would fall asleep, and when that happened, he could escape without difficulty, return to the dungeons, and pretend that the entire afternoon had never happened.

It was a perfectly reasonable plan.

The only problem was that, as the hours passed, he found himself increasingly distracted by the conversations.

Perhaps it was because the Marauders seemed incapable of remaining silent for more than a few minutes. Perhaps it was because none of them seemed particularly concerned with hiding what they were thinking. Or maybe it was simply because that dynamic was so different from anything Regulus knew that it became difficult not to notice.

At one point, Sirius and James had started a completely pointless argument about which of the two would survive longer lost in the Forbidden Forest. Peter sided with Sirius, while Remus, without even lifting his eyes from his book, stated that both would die in less than three days.

The argument continued for almost twenty minutes. Regulus wasn't sure if it said more about the stubbornness of those involved or about the lack of proper supervision within Gryffindor.

When the subject finally died down, the dormitory plunged into a gradual and comfortable silence.

Peter was the first to succumb to sleep. Shortly after, Sirius abandoned any attempt to continue the conversation and sank under the covers. Remus insisted on reading a few more pages before finally closing the book and turning off the small magical light that illuminated his bed. James was the last to remain awake. Sitting against the headboard of his bed, he observed the room for a few moments before turning his gaze to the cat Prince.

Regulus pretended not to notice, but unfortunately, pretending never worked with James Potter.

"I think he's enjoying it here."

The low voice broke the silence of the dormitory. On the other side of the room, Remus let out a tired sigh.

"James."

"What?"

"Go to sleep."

"I will."

"Then stop talking to the cat."

There was a short pause.

"Do you think he prefers fish or chicken?"

Remus's book was thrown at James, but thanks to his reflexes, it missed him and flew straight to the floor on the other side of the bed.

Sirius let out a sleepy laugh from somewhere under the covers, and Peter made a noise that could have been a laugh or just a yawn.

James, completely satisfied with himself, finally settled down to sleep.

Then, little by little, the dormitory grew silent. And Regulus waited for the minutes to pass, listening attentively until the breaths became slower and deeper.

About half an hour later, the entire castle seemed asleep.

Perfect. It was time to leave.

He raised his head and observed the room one last time, no one was awake. He only had to cross the dormitory, leave the Gryffindor Tower, and return to the dungeons before anyone noticed his absence.

It was simple. Exactly what he intended to do.

But Regulus remained motionless.

Then he continued to remain motionless.

And after a few more minutes, he was still exactly where he was.

The reason? Well, it was very cold. Not unbearably cold, nor cold enough to justify any humiliating behavior. But cold enough to make it inconvenient to move away from his new blanket.

Regulus adjusted his position on it, trying to curl up more and more, but nothing changed. He tried to sink into the soft, sinking cushion under his weight, tried to wrap himself up as much as he could.

It was still cold.

He cast a resentful glance at the dormitory windows. Gryffindor Tower was warmer than the dungeons practically all the time. That night, however, the Scottish wind seemed to find creative ways to remind everyone of its existence and the arrival of autumn.

With a silent sigh, he tried to ignore the discomfort and get out of the bunk, focused on walking quickly and silently to the crack in the dormitory door and finally running to his common room.

It worked for about thirty seconds.

The cold wind whistled through the window and he felt every hair on his tiny body stand on end.

It was then that his gaze landed on James's bed. More specifically, on the mountain of blankets in which the Gryffindor was buried.

Regulus immediately looked away.

No.

Absolutely not.

It was a ridiculous idea.

Besides, he was a human being perfectly capable of enduring a slightly cold night for a few minutes. The fact that he currently had four legs was irrelevant.

But a few seconds later, when he returned to the bunk next to the Gryffindor's bed, he was still thinking the same thing.

Maybe it was the fault of his feline instincts.

Yes.

It was definitely their fault.

Instincts were difficult to control and didn't reflect conscious decisions.

Instincts weren't his fault either.

Comforted by this extremely convenient logic, Regulus rose once more from the blanket, crossed the small space between the beds with silent steps, and jumped onto James's mattress.

At first, he intended to remain only at the foot of the bed. A respectable and decent distance.

But then he felt the heat.

Merlin, that was simply ridiculous, and scientifically impossible in Regulus's humble opinion.

The boy radiated heat like a human fireplace!

Regulus settled against the covers, planning to remain there for only a few minutes before regaining his senses.

Unfortunately, those few minutes turned into several more.

And then several more.

And without realizing it, he ended up snuggling a little more against the blanket. The warmth there was comfortable, and the blankets were much softer than his own throw and even his very expensive cashmere blankets.

And, to his irritation, this was probably the most comfortable bed he had slept in during all his school years.

The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was the absolute certainty that he would leave the bed before dawn.

Regulus awoke slowly.

For a brief, precious moment, he remained motionless, still trapped in that pleasant haze between sleep and wakefulness. He was warm, and strangely relaxed.

Then he opened his eyes, and reality hit him with the force of a bludger.

James Potter was sleeping just inches from his snout.

Regulus simply froze.

For a few seconds, he merely stared at the Gryffindor, as if the sheer force of his indignation could alter the events of the last twelve hours.

It didn't work, unfortunately.

James was still there in front of him, and worse still, one of the boy's arms was partially resting on him, pinning him unconscious against the covers.

Regulus felt a sudden and extremely reasonable urge to bite someone.

The situation was unacceptable, humiliating, and deeply offensive. Fuck it that the warmth of James's body combined with the softness of the blankets was extremely comfortable, and the weight of the Gryffindor's arm seemed perfectly placed so that he could simply ignore all his human and Slytherin survival instincts and go back to sleep there.

With extreme care, he raised his head to observe the rest of the dormitory.

The soft light of dawn streamed through the tower windows, tinging the room with gold, and outside, the trees surrounding Hogwarts were already beginning to take on the characteristic colors of autumn. The castle was still silent, suspended in that rare interval between night and the students' awakening.

Peter remained fast asleep, Remus had abandoned the book on the bedside table before going to sleep, and Sirius slept across the bed in a way that seemed to defy several laws of anatomy.

Nothing new under the sun.

Or almost nothing.

Because, as much as he hated to admit it, this was probably the quietest morning he'd had in weeks.

No letters from family.

No expectations.

No demands.

No voices constantly reminding him of who he should be.

Just the comfortable silence of a still-sleeping bedroom.

But before he could think much about it, James began to wake up, letting out an incomprehensible groan and burying his face even deeper into the pillow.

Then his fingers moved.

Regulus sensed the danger even before he understood what was happening.

His fingers found his fur, and slowly gave him a distracted caress, a caress that was actually quite good. But James's eyes were still closed, he didn't even seem awake, he was simply petting the cat out of pure reflex.

Regulus was horrified, this boy was crazy.

A few minutes later, James finally opened one eye. He blinked, looked at Prince, and then smiled. It was a sleepy, crooked, and genuinely happy smile.

"Good morning, Prince."

 Regulus stared at him, and James interpreted that as an answer.

"I'm glad to see you too."

Regulus seriously considered committing murder, but luckily for James Potter, the opening of one of the bed curtains interrupted his plans.

Peter was the first to wake up.

He sat up slowly on the mattress, still sleepy, his hair sticking out in random directions. It took him a few seconds to process what he was seeing when his eyes landed on James's bed. More specifically, on the black cat curled up beside him.

A friendly, sleepy smile immediately appeared on his face.

"Ah."

James raised his head.

"Good morning."

"He stayed."

Regulus didn't like the satisfied tone of that.

"Of course he stayed."

"I thought he was going to leave."

"I told him he wouldn't."

Peter looked at the cat.

"You told him that?"

"Yes."

"And he answered?"

"Not exactly."

"But he stayed anyway, it seems."

"Exactly."

"Well, one more for the room."

Peter nodded as if that settled the matter.

Which, to his surprise, seemed to.

A few minutes later, Remus also woke up, and unlike the others, he seemed fully conscious the instant he opened his eyes.

His gaze swept across the dormitory once before stopping at James's bed, where he stared at the cat, then observed James, and then looked back at the cat.

"Well."

"Well what?" asked James.

"I guess you won."

"I wasn't competing."

"Of course not."

"You really weren't."

"James."

"Right, maybe a little."

Remus chuckled softly.

"I admit I'm surprised."

"Me too," said Peter.

"You two are being very strange."

"The cat slept in your bed."

"So what?"

"Yesterday he was trying to escape from you."

"People change."

"He's a cat."

"Cats change too."

Regulus was beginning to understand why Remus complained of headaches during monitor rounds.

The dormitory was relatively quiet again for a few minutes, only until Sirius woke up too, or rather, woke up dramatically, as he did with practically everything in life.

He emerged from the covers with the expression of someone who had just survived a personal tragedy, ran a hand through his hair and yawned deeply. Then he looked at James's bed, and simply froze in a frown of indignation.

"No."

James smiled immediately.

"Good morning to you too."

"No."

"What?"

"No!"

Peter started laughing before Sirius even finished the sentence.

"I knew it."

"That's ridiculous!"

Remus closed the book he had just opened.

"What exactly is ridiculous?"

Sirius pointed dramatically at the bed.

"This."

Regulus felt he didn't like the direction this conversation was taking.

"What?"

"The cat."

"The cat has a name."

"The cat."

"Prince."

"I'm not going to call him that."

"Yes, you are."

"Never!"

James just smiled, and that smile made everything worse.

"He slept with you."

"He did."

"By his own choice."

"Obviously."

"That doesn't make sense."

Peter was already laughing without any attempt to disguise it, and even Remus seemed dangerously close to doing the same.

"I think you're taking this personally" he commented.

"I'm taking it personally because I'm clearly the most interesting one here."

"Obviously not."

"Yes, I am!"

"Sirius" said James, sitting up in bed. "The cat chose."

"He chose wrong!"

Regulus watched the discussion with growing satisfaction. Perhaps this was the first good thing that had happened since he was kidnapped.

"I don't believe it."

"Accept your defeat."

"I refuse."

"The Prince has good taste."

"I hate you all."

"You're jealous of a cat."

"I'm not jealous."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I. Am. Not."

"You are."

"Moony!" He tried searching for help.

"You are."

Sirius fell back onto the bed with a groan of suffering, while Peter practically laughed at that point.

Regulus considered the morning an absolute personal success for him.

The matter only died down when hunger finally overcame everyone's pride, so a few minutes later, the four began to get ready for breakfast. Since it was Sunday, there was no rush. The castle seemed quieter on weekends; the students woke up late, the teachers became slightly more lenient, and even some of the rules seemed to relax.

It was precisely this flexibility that allowed James to make a decision that Regulus should have foreseen.

"Alright."

Regulus immediately became suspicious.

"Let's have breakfast."

The suspicion grew.

"And you're coming with us."

No.

Absolutely not.

Before he could even consider fleeing, James had already approached.

Regulus prepared to protest, to resist, to demonstrate his indignation in any way possible. But unfortunately, James had already learned how to handle him, so, with irritating ease, he lifted him in his arms.

"Come on, Prince."

 Regulus gave him a menacing look, but James just smiled.

"He's threatening me again."

"You say that like it's cute," Remus commented.

"Because it is."

"One day he'll rip off one of your fingers."

"If that happens, it'll be worth every little finger."

"You're impossible."

When they reached the dormitory door, James changed his position. With all the naturalness in the world, he settled the cat onto his own shoulders.

Regulus stood motionless in pure shock.

The position was ridiculous, he looked like a living scarf there, it was humiliating... but surprisingly comfortable. Again. Again, a humiliation for Regulus Black was ridiculously comfortable for the cat Prince.

From there, he could observe the entire corridor, the top of the stairs, the paintings, and the students passing by. Besides, James was tall, so the field of vision was excellent.

Merlin.

Now he understood why so many cats accepted this kind of ridiculous thing.

"Look at that," Sirius commented as they left the dormitory. "It's already starting to look like his place."

"Of course it is."

"It's been less than a day."

"Some friendships happen quickly."

"You met the cat yesterday."

"So?"

Sirius gave a dramatic look at the ceiling.

"I'm going to lose to a cat."

"You already have," Remus replied, his amusement evident in his voice, much to Sirius's horror.

As the five descended towards the Great Hall bathed in the golden light of an autumn morning, Regulus realized something deeply inconvenient.

For the first time in the last few extremely chaotic hours, he wasn't thinking about going back to the dungeons.

And that was a problem.

A huge problem, actually. But a problem he intended to ignore completely until after breakfast.

The Great Hall was already relatively full when the Marauders arrived.

Sundays at Hogwarts had their own rhythm. There was none of the usual rush of school mornings, nor the constant tension of students trying to get to their classrooms before the bells rang. Conversations were longer, breakfasts more leisurely, and even the teachers seemed a little less inclined to hand out detentions.

From atop James's shoulders, Regulus observed everything as they crossed the hall. It was a ridiculously advantageous position; he could see practically everything from up there. The sea of ​​uniforms, the owls entering through the windows, the students scattered across the four tables, and the first golden leaves of autumn swirling outside the enormous enchanted windows.

It was also a ridiculously humiliating position considering that beneath that shiny, soft black fur, he was a decent human being, but that was a secondary problem.

"Look who decided to show up."

The voice came from the far end of the Gryffindor table. Lily Evans sat between Mary Macdonald and Marlene McKinnon, holding a mug of tea as she watched the group approach, and her eyes immediately met the cat.

"Ah, so the rumors were true."

"Rumors?" asked Remus.

"I've heard three different versions of the story before breakfast."

"Impressive."

"In one, James saved a cat from an acromantula."

"I like that version," James commented.

"Regulus hated that version."

"In another, the cat followed you to the tower all by itself."

"That's a good one too."

"Maybe that's an even bigger odyssey."

"And in the third, Sirius was rejected by a cat."

Sirius pointed at Lily.

"That's defamatory and extremely offensive propaganda!"

"So it happened?"

"That's not the point!"

Marlene started laughing, and Mary almost spilled her drink. Regulus already liked them, much more than he liked the Marauders. In fact, infinitely more.

The three made room at the table while the boys settled in. James sat down next to Lily and immediately placed Regulus beside her.

The mistake was his.

Because, the instant the three girls could observe the cat more closely, the situation completely spiraled out of control for the poor Marauders.

"He's beautiful," declared Mary.

"I know," replied James.

"I was talking to the cat, Jamie."

"Fuck off Mary"

Marlene extended one hand.

"May I?"

Regulus considered the matter, and then allowed it. Since he was already there, there wasn't much else to do besides accept it and be a cat.

The petting was excellent, delicate and respectful. There was no attempt to lift him into the air and no mention of cat clothes. It was almost therapeutic.

"He's so soft," Mary commented.

"I know."

"James."

"What?"

"Stop answering like you own him."

"But I do."

Regulus turned his head slowly, questioning that statement, and Lily just watched the scene with amusement.

"You really believe that?"

"Of course."

"Interesting."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing."

"Evans."

"Absolutely nothing."

Her smile said exactly the opposite.

Regulus approved. Even as a human, he harbored a very sincere fondness for Lily Evans.

Perhaps because Lily possessed an extraordinary talent for leaving James Potter speechless.

Perhaps because her scent was pleasant, reminiscent of flowers and new parchment.

Or perhaps because she was the only person at that table capable of defeating James in an argument.

Probably a combination of the three.

“So this is the famous Prince?” asked a new voice.

Frank Longbottom had just approached the table, accompanied by Alice and the Prewett twins.

“Ah, now I understand,” Fabian said, observing the black cat.

“He really does look like a prince,” Gideon agreed.

“Finally, someone with common sense,” declared James.

“He judges you all quite a bit, doesn’t he?” replied Fabian.

“And who doesn’t?” added Gideon.

Regulus had to agree, apparently, his opinion wasn’t uncommon.

“You won’t believe it,” said Alice. “I heard a third-year student swearing that this cat is some kind of guardian spirit of Hogwarts, because since his first year, he and other classmates have seen it wandering the corridors and surroundings of the castle, but they’ve never found anyone who had a cat that fits that description.”

“Excellent,” commented Sirius. “Let’s spread this story.”

“We won’t.”

“Yes, we will.”

"No."

"I've already started."

Regulus ignored the conversation, especially since, at that very moment, Lily had discreetly placed a small cup of warm milk near him.

His feline heart almost stopped.

Milk. She was offering him milk!

Heavens, even as a human Regulus would never resist a good cup of warm milk with sugar, let alone as a cat.

And this without chasing him down a hallway, without grabbing him against his will or calling him Prince every five seconds. Just milk being offered to him calmly and with refined politeness, as a normal person with their mental faculties in perfect working order would do with an unknown cat.

Regulus stared at the cup.

Then he stared at Lily, and she smiled at him.

"You seem more polite than your owners" She said softly to him, and Regulus inclined his head in agreement almost automatically.

But they weren't his owners. Regulus Alphard Black has no owners.

"Hey!" James protested.

"I said what I said."

Regulus made a decision.

An extremely rational and well-founded decision. Based exclusively on objective criteria, such as his genuine desire to irritate James Potter, and some remnants of feline instincts present in his Animagus body.

After delicately drinking some of the milk offered to him, with all the dignity available to a black cat, he slowly stood up, stretching and showing off to everyone there, so they could see exactly what he was doing.

And then, he left the place next to James.

And walked directly to Lily's lap.

And the silence that followed was glorious.

James blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

"No."

Lily lowered her eyes to the cat now comfortably settled in her lap.

"It seems so."

"No."

"James."

"I fed him."

"Yesterday."

"I gave him a bed."

"Yesterday."

"I saved him."

"You chased him down a whole corridor."

"HE'S MINE!"

Marlene almost fell out of her chair laughing, and Mary was already hiding her face in her hands. Even Frank, the always serious and responsible Head Boy of Gryffindor, seemed to be fighting back a smile.

Sirius watched everything with the satisfied expression of someone witnessing divine justice.

"Oh, that's wonderful."

"It's not wonderful."

"It's absolutely wonderful!"

"Sirius!"

"First Evans."

"No."

"For the thousandth time, Sirius, I didn't trade him, I just—"

"Now the cat."

"Shut up, Pads."

"You were traded for both of them!"

Remus had to hide a laugh behind his mug, but Peter wasn't so lucky, laughing loudly without any restraint.

Regulus settled more comfortably in Lily's lap, and she immediately began to pet him behind the ears, while lifting the cup of warm milk for him to drink without bothering to get up.

It was perfect, absolutely perfect.

Any cat with the slightest bit of common sense would choose Lily Evans.

On the other side of the table, James watched the scene as if he had just suffered a personal betrayal, while Sirius seemed ready to celebrate as if his favorite Quidditch team had won the world cup.

But after a few minutes, James's indignation began to turn into resignation. Not complete resignation, of course. After all, James Potter would never accept defeat with dignity when there was the possibility of complaining about it until the very end.

Still, he eventually turned his attention back to his breakfast, though he continued to cast offended glances at Lily at regular intervals.

Lily, to his satisfaction, ignored them all, and Regulus considered that an admirable quality.

Comfortably settled in his lap, he observed the activity in the Great Hall as conversations at the table went in several directions at once. It was a curious dynamic. While in Slytherin discussions usually took place in smaller, more reserved groups, the Gryffindors seemed perfectly comfortable transforming a single conversation into five different ones simultaneously.

For this reason, it took Regulus a few minutes to realize something important: people talked a lot.

Merlin.

They talked too much.

 “I still can’t believe you blew up half that room,” Marlene commented to the Prewett twins.

“Technically, it was a quarter of the room.”

“Technically, it was still a room.”

“The professor didn’t seem too bothered.”

“Fabian.”

“What?”

“He gave you three detentions.”

Next to them, Frank was commenting on something about Quidditch practice while Alice listened with impressive patience. Further on, Mary was recounting a disagreement between two Ravenclaw students that had apparently been going on for weeks.

Regulus didn’t know either of the girls involved, but he was finally beginning to understand why gossip columns sold so well.

During breakfast, James tried to offer him some food. He had accepted the Italian bread, but when the boy offered him a slice of bacon, Regulus refused.

He still had standards to maintain.

That decision sparked a surprisingly long discussion about which foods cats preferred.

"I'm saying he clearly has refined tastes."

"You're saying that because he rejected the bacon."

"Exactly."

"James, he's a cat, not a dog, obviously he's going to refuse bacon."

"What do you have against dogs, Moony?" Sirius questioned.

"Don't start, Pads."

"My cousin's cat will eat even instant noodles if you lose sight of him" Fabian said, trying to contribute to James's point.

"I'm not going to discuss cats' eating habits anymore before I finish my breakfast" Remus exclaimed, announcing the end of the subject.

Meanwhile, Regulus had discovered a second advantage to remaining motionless in Lily's lap; over time, people completely forgot his presence.

Perhaps because he was a cat, or perhaps because Lily was reading a book and seemed equally distracted. But whatever the reason, the result was fascinating: the information simply appeared. Useful information, useless information, and some absurdly specific information as well.

It was extraordinary, nobody was taking any care. Nobody lowered their voice, nor did they seem the least bit concerned about who was listening.

Regulus felt like a spy infiltrated behind enemy lines.

A very comfortable spy.

A spy receiving a pat behind the ears.

A spy who might have been purring.

No.

Definitely not.

After a few more minutes of gossip and food, the process of deciding what to do after breakfast proved to be as time-consuming as the coffee itself.

Not because there was a lack of options, but because a group composed of Marauders, two Prewetts, Alice Fortescue, and Marlene McKinnon was structurally incapable of making any simple decision without turning it into a collective argument.

After fifteen minutes of suggestions, objections, and digressions, the solution came from Lily.

"I know a place."

That, surprisingly, ended the debate.

Regulus quickly discovered that Lily Evans' word carried considerable weight within that group. Perhaps because she was one of the few people capable of making the Marauders behave like minimally functional human beings. Perhaps because, unlike them, she generally had good ideas.

Or perhaps because everyone had already learned not to argue when she used that tone.

The destination turned out to be a small inner garden on the first floor of the castle. Regulus didn't even know the place existed. Hidden behind a little-used corridor, the space seemed almost a secret. A glass ceiling let sunlight stream through, warming the light-colored stone floor. Climbing plants covered parts of the walls, and small trees with golden leaves were beginning to take on autumn colors.

It was quiet, pleasant, and, most importantly, away from most of the students.

"How did you find this?" Remus asked, observing the place.

"Professional secret," Marlene replied.

"What profession?"

"Girl."

"That's not a profession."

"I disagree, it requires a lot of effort."

The groups spread out naturally across the garden. Frank and Alice occupied a nearby bench, the Prewett twins disappeared almost immediately to investigate something behind one of the trees, Remus opened a book, and Peter found a spot in the sun.

James ended up sitting on the grass.

Regulus, who had been sitting on Lily's lap since breakfast, didn't move. And James clearly noticed.

"Traitor."

Lily looked up from her book.

"Are you still on this?"

"He slept with me."

"That sentence sounds much worse out of context."

"Evans."

"Potter."

The conversation could have ended there, but unfortunately for James, his friends existed.

"I admit it's strange," Alice commented, resting her chin on her hand. "You've changed very quickly."

"You have," Frank agreed.

"Especially since last year," Mary added.

"Right, you're being extremely vague."

"We're being extremely specific," Marlene replied.

James narrowed his eyes.

"I didn't like the tone."

"That's because you know exactly what we're talking about."

Regulus watched everything from Lily's lap. Something about that conversation immediately caught his attention. Perhaps because the others seemed to be sharing an inside joke, or because James seemed uncomfortable. Either option was interesting.

"Honestly," Alice continued, "I'm still impressed."

"Impressed by what?"

"By the speed."

"Oh, me too," Mary agreed.

"It was almost instantaneous."

James was already beginning to look worried.

"I don't like where this is going."

"Nobody asked for your opinion."

"Marlene!"

"James."

Lily closed the book. The smile on her face made Regulus immediately suspect ill intentions.

"I think it's perfectly reasonable."

James turned to her.

"No."

"What?"

"No."

"I haven't even finished the sentence yet."

"It doesn't matter."

"It does matter."

"No."

"You've changed."

"Of course I've changed."

"You've changed a lot."

"Because I'm not a maniac."

The comment provoked some laughter.

"I mean, you needed to change," Lily said, resting her chin on her hand.

"Thank you."

"After all, after I came out, it would be strange to keep insisting."

Come out? What?

"Exactly."

"Then you found someone else to bother."

Silence fell immediately, and James simply froze in place.

Frank brought his hand to his mouth, and Alice looked away to hide a smile.

Regulus perked up an ear. This was extremely interesting.

"Evans."

"What?"

"No."

"Oh, please."

"Evans."

"You talk about him all the time."

"I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"I don't."

"You do."

"No."

"James."

"Lily."

"James."

"Lily."

"James."

"Lily!"

"You literally asked yesterday if I thought he hated you."

The garden erupted in laughter.

James made a sound vaguely reminiscent of someone being executed.

"I DIDN'T—"

"Asked."

"I DIDN'T ASK."

"Yes you did" Sirius confirmed immediately.

"TRAITOR!"

"You asked twice."

"REMUS."

"Three times, actually."

"REMUS!"

"I was there."

Regulus watched everything in absolute silence, because there was far more important information hidden in the middle of that conversation, which he couldn't grasp.

And he needed to find out what it was.

At the end of the day, Regulus had discovered absolutely nothing, and this fact irritated him far more than it should have.

Throughout the rest of the morning and all afternoon, he discreetly tried to listen to conversations whenever James became the subject. He tried to overhear Sirius's offhand comments. He observed Lily's expressions when his name came up. He even followed some particularly boring discussions about Quidditch in the hope that someone would let slip some useful information.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

It was as if everyone present had made a collective agreement to reveal just enough to pique his curiosity and then refuse to elaborate.

Worse still, James seemed to notice every time the conversation got dangerously close to the subject. More than once, Regulus saw the Gryffindor interrupt someone with an abrupt change of topic or start some absurd argument to distract the others.

And it worked, which was deeply irritating.

Despite this, the garden proved to be an effective distraction.

The group practically took over the space for the entire day. Lunch was brought from the kitchens by some younger student who knew the Prewett twins. After that came blankets, books, playing cards, and even an impromptu game of wizard's chess.

No one seemed to be in a hurry to be anywhere else, nor particularly concerned with productivity.

It was a way of existing that Regulus had never experienced before. At home, even moments of rest had some purpose. There was always something to learn, someone to impress, or some expectation to fulfill. The very concept of spending entire hours doing nothing specific would have been considered a waste.

Here, however, no one seemed to think that way.

Remus spent a good part of the afternoon reading.

Peter dozed under a tree for almost an hour.

Frank and Alice remained talking quietly on a bench until Regulus began to suspect that they were capable of spending the rest of their lives doing exactly that.

Sirius disappeared twice and returned without any plausible explanation of where he had been.

James alternated between chatting, playing with his friends, teasing Lily, and trying to convince Prince Regulus to play with a particularly interesting leaf he'd found on the ground.

Regulus didn't play with the leaf, on principle, even though it was, in fact, a surprisingly interesting leaf.

The strangest thing, however, was that nobody demanded anything of him.

As the hours passed, that realization became increasingly difficult to ignore.

Nobody wanted him to be intelligent.

Nobody expected perfection.

Nobody observed his mistakes.

Nobody seemed interested in molding him into some idealized version of themselves.

In fact, the only expectation that existed was that he remain a cat, and even in that the demands were very low. Apparently, sleeping in the sun and accepting affection occasionally was enough.

It was ridiculous, and completely incompatible with everything he had learned in his life.

And yet, as the sun began to disappear behind the towers of Hogwarts, Regulus noticed something deeply unsettling.

He liked it.

Very much.

When the group finally left the garden to head towards dinner, a strange feeling of reluctance settled in his chest.

The day had passed quickly, too quickly.

When they arrived, the Great Hall was already illuminated by the golden glow of hundreds of candles. The tables gradually filled with students returning from their own weekend activities, and the murmur of conversations echoed under the enchanted ceiling, where the first stars were beginning to appear.

Regulus ended up taking his usual place beside the Marauders. Or rather, on the bench next to them. A position that allowed him to observe everything while pretending not to be interested in anything.

"He's tired," Peter commented.

"We've spent the whole day doing nothing," Sirius replied.

"Doing nothing is tiring."

"I completely agree."

James, who was sitting next to him, reached out to take a piece of chicken from his own plate.

Regulus watched the movement.

Then he watched the chicken.

Then he watched James.

The Gryffindor raised an eyebrow.

"Are you judging me?"

Regulus maintained the most dignified expression a cat could produce.

"Because I'm willing to share."

Regulus continued staring, so James sighed dramatically.

"Alright. I deserved that."

Even so, he placed the piece of chicken before him, and Regulus accepted it, because it was an excellent piece of chicken.

Around them, the conversation continued as usual.

The Prewetts were discussing some bet.

Marlene was laughing at some story involving a Ravenclaw prefect.

Lily was correcting Mary's homework while pretending not to correct Mary's homework.

Remus was patiently explaining something to Peter.

Sirius was complaining about a rule that didn't even exist yet.

And James continued offering occasional pieces of his dinner to a cat that, according to him, clearly hated him.

It was an absurdly common and insignificant scene for anyone observing. And perhaps that was precisely why Regulus couldn't stop watching it.

Because nothing was happening.

Being a Prince was easy.

Being Regulus Black demanded constant attention. It demanded calculation, care with every word, every choice, and every expression. There were expectations associated with the name and duties associated with the surname.

Prince, on the other hand, simply needed to exist.

Regulus accepted another piece of chicken, and beside him, James smiled without even realizing he had just won a battle he didn't even know he was participating in.

For the first time since transforming into a cat to escape his responsibilities, Regulus seriously considered the possibility that he wasn't just running away from something.

Perhaps he was finding something, too.

Chapter Text

The castle was still asleep when Regulus decided it was time to leave.

Gryffindor Tower was shrouded in the bluish darkness that preceded dawn. Not even the portraits seemed particularly inclined to converse at that hour.

Regulus moved silently across the wooden floor in his feline form, his paws absorbing any sound against the creaking boards.

No one had woken up yet, it was the end of the night, and that was exactly how it should be.

Still, before reaching the dormitory door, he hesitated. Just for a moment, letting his gaze sweep the room one last time.

Peter slept soundly, partially buried under his own blankets.

Remus continued with an open book on his chest, as if he had simply fallen asleep mid-sentence.

Sirius occupied, once again, an amount of space physically impossible for a single human being, as he had always done since he was little.

And James...

Regulus immediately looked away.

There was absolutely nothing interesting about James Potter sleeping. His arm still lay stretched over the spot where Regulus had spent much of the night, and he looked younger as he slept serenely, but none of that mattered.

Regulus was a cat.

Cats were solitary, and eventually they always left.

The journey to the dungeons was silent. Hogwarts had a completely different personality during those hours; without students running through the corridors, ghosts crawling through walls screaming, or teachers handing out warnings, the castle seemed even older, and even lonelier. Regulus knew those corridors better than practically any student in the school, but still, that morning, something felt strange. He didn't quite know why; perhaps it was just tiredness.

Upon reaching the entrance to Slytherin, he uttered the password and crossed the passage before any student could see him. Only then did he allow the transformation to take place.

The cat disappeared, and in its place appeared a thin boy with dark hair and sad gray eyes.

Regulus ran a hand over his face.

Merlin.

He needed to stop thinking about that day, the situation was getting out of control.

He crossed his dormitory in silence. Unlike Gryffindor, Slytherin looked exactly as it should, always impeccably tidy and heavily silent. The dark green curtains remained closed around the beds, the bedside tables were neatly arranged, there were no clothes left on the floor, and no parchment was forgotten on the desks.

Everything in its proper place.

Regulus observed his sleeping classmates.

On the other side of the dormitory, Evan Rosier slept on his side, his light hair spread across the pillow. There was an open book on his nightstand and a feather lying on the floor beside the bed, and on the other side, Barty Crouch Jr. was completely buried under the covers, so that only a part of his brown hair remained visible.

Regulus felt the corner of his mouth twitch; this was a familiar sight. They were his friends, his true friends whom he had known for five years.

Those who knew his name.

Those who knew who he was.

Those who would still be there when Hogwarts ended.

So why did that strange feeling linger in his chest?

Regulus ignored the question, because there was no answer. Or perhaps there was, but he had no interest in examining it, so he simply walked to his own bed.

Regulus lay down, pulled the covers up to his neck, and closed his eyes, but a few minutes later, he realized he was cold. He opened one eye, extremely irritated. This was ridiculous; the dungeons had never been a problem for him before.

Muttering softly, he pulled up another blanket, then another, but he was still cold. Regulus tossed and turned, trying to fluff the pillow, but nothing worked. Because perhaps the problem wasn't the bed, and perhaps it wasn't even the temperature.

And it definitely had nothing to do with the fact that, last night, he had been sleeping next to a sort of human fireplace disguised as a Quidditch player.

James Potter radiated heat in a frankly offensive way.

That was all.

Regulus buried his face in his pillow, but it didn't smell of grass, or fireplace smoke, much less apples.

Excellent.

Exactly as it should be.

Regulus closed his eyes again, but it took him much longer than it should have to fall asleep.

Regulus arrived at the Great Hall almost at the end of breakfast.

The delay was unusual.

In fact, punctuality was one of the few qualities Walburga Black had never needed to demand of him. Regulus usually woke up early, organized his materials in advance, and arrived at meals before most of the Slytherin students.

That Monday, however, he had lingered too long staring at the ceiling of his dormitory after waking up. Perhaps because he had slept poorly, or maybe because his mind insisted on returning to certain inconvenient memories involving a tower far from the dungeons. In any case, when he finally crossed the doors of the Great Hall, the Slytherin benches were already almost full, and his friends were clearly waiting for him.

"Look who decided to reappear," said Evan Rosier immediately.

Regulus had barely sat down when a piece of toast was thrown in his direction.

He automatically caught it in mid-air.

"Good reflexes," commented Barty.

"Thanks."

"Now answer."

"Answer what?"

"Where the hell have you been?"

Regulus started buttering his toast as if the question didn't exist.

"Hogwarts is a very big castle."

"Regulus."

"Barty."

"Don't do that."

"What?"

"You disappeared for two days."

"That's an exaggeration."

"A day and a half."

"That's still an exaggeration."

"You disappeared right after that call from your mother."

That made the mood at the table change a little. Dorcas, who until then had been observing the conversation in silence, rested her elbows on the table.

"Did she say a lot of nonsense?"

The question came simply and without judgment. Her friends knew the Black family well. They knew pure-blood families in general well, after all, they were also descended from them, their family problems were quite similar.

The Blacks just had a bit more creativity for some things, especially cruel things.

Regulus stared at his tea for a few seconds. Because the honest answer was yes, Walburga always talked a lot of crap.

About Sirius.

About the family name.

About expectations.

About disappointments.

About duties.

About everything.

But verbalizing it aloud made things strangely more real.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," he finally replied.

The four exchanged glances; that was more than enough for them. They had all known him for years, and they knew exactly what "nothing out of the ordinary" meant.

"Right," Pandora said calmly, "So she talked a lot of crap."

"Pandora," Evan, her brother, tried to reprimand her.

"Am I wrong?"

"No," Regulus shrugged.

"That's what I thought."

Barty pushed a mug of tea toward him.

"You could have warned us."

"I didn't disappear."

"Yes, you did."

"I didn't disappear."

"Regulus" said Evan "We literally looked for you."

That made him look up.

"You did?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

The four stared at him as if the answer were obvious.

"Because you're our friend, idiot" replied Barty.

Regulus remained silent. The answer seemed so simple and natural, but for some reason, it tightened something inside him.

"Besides" continued Evan "I was starting to think you had killed someone and hidden the body."

"That would have been more interesting."

"I knew it!" exclaimed Barty, pointing at him "I told you he was planning murder."

"You say that every week."

"And one day I'll be right."

"Statistically, yes."

Pandora chuckled, Dorcas just rolled her eyes, amused by the situation, and the conversation naturally drifted on, migrating to teachers, homework, and complaints about the absurd amount of work October seemed to produce every year.

Regulus only participated halfway, because his attention had been unintentionally diverted to the Gryffindor table.

"I'm saying he wouldn't have left for no reason," he could hear James speaking loudly at the table, as if he were already tired of repeating the same thing.

"James, he's a cat," Remus replied, probably for the third or fifth time.

"Exactly, cats do that," Mary agreed, trying to comfort her friend.

"But he wouldn't do it so soon, geez."

"Maybe he found better food," Marlene suggested, trying to joke about the situation.

"Maybe he found less annoying people," Lily commented without lifting her eyes from her book.

"Evans!" James shouted.

"Speak quieter, Potter."

"That was cruel!"

Lily put down her book, turning her eyes back to her friends.

"Sorry, I'm worried about him too, it stresses me out."

"Maybe he'll show up after class," Peter said, trying to lighten the mood.

"I hope he does," James rested his chin on his hand. "I didn't even get to say goodbye."

Something about that sentence made Regulus feel a strange pang in his chest, and it was uncomfortable, and completely unnecessary.

Because it was ridiculous.

He was Regulus Black, not a stray cat.

He didn't need to say goodbye to anyone.

Even so, his eyes remained on the table for a few more seconds, because James seemed genuinely worried.

And then, as if sensing the gaze, the boy raised his head, and his brown eyes met the gray ones on the other side of the hall, for just an instant.

Then the Gryffindor smiled. That easy, irritatingly carefree smile.

 Regulus immediately looked away.

"What was that?" asked Barty.

"What?"

"You were staring at the Gryffindor table."

"I wasn't."

"Yes, you were."

"No."

"You were."

"I wasn't!"

"Regulus."

"Shut up, Crouch."

"You're acting very strange."

"I agree," said Evan.

"I agree too," added Pandora.

"Definitely strange," concluded Dorcas.

Regulus took a sip of tea.

"You guys are unbearable."

"We love you too," replied Barty.

And, to his own irritation, that brought an involuntary smile to his lips.

Meanwhile, across the hall, James continued seriously discussing strategies for finding a missing cat. For the first time since returning to the dungeons, Regulus realized a profoundly inconvenient truth.

He missed them too.

Not that he intended to admit it.

Never.

The first lesson of the morning proved particularly difficult. Not because the content was complicated; in fact, Charms was usually among Regulus's favorite subjects. There was something comforting in the precision of well-executed magic, in the logic of wand movements, and in the quiet satisfaction of performing an enchantment perfectly on the first try.

The problem was that his concentration seemed to have lingered somewhere between Gryffindor Tower and the dungeons.

While the students worked on practical exercises after the professor's explanation, Regulus tried to focus on the correct wand movement in front of him. He really tried. But his friends seemed determined to prevent any effort in that direction. Sitting close to each other, they talked in hushed voices while performing the enchantments, as they did in practically every class that didn't require absolute attention.

"I still think that cat is a spy," declared Barty, observing his own parchment as if the theory were related to the exercise.

"A spy for whom?" asked Dorcas without raising her eyes.

"I haven't figured it out yet."

"So it's not a theory, it's paranoia."

"Every good theory starts as paranoia."

"That sentence explains a lot about you."

Regulus ignored the discussion, concentrating on making the cup in front of him change from its green color to a bright red, and then back to its original color.

Beside him, Pandora seemed much more interested in the conversation than in the lesson.

"I like the guardian theory better."

Barty immediately abandoned his own line of reasoning.

"Oh no."

"Oh yes."

"What theory is that?" asked Evan.

Pandora rested her chin on her hand, looking distractedly out the window as she spoke.

"Some people say he protects Hogwarts."

"Who says that?"

"A lot of people."

"That doesn't answer the question."

"Younger students, mainly."

"So, kids."

 “Kids are people too, Evan.”

Dorcas chuckled.

“Go on.”

Pandora smiled, pleased to have an audience.

“They say he’s been appearing for years. Always the same black cat. Some people swear they’ve seen him since their first year.”

“Maybe they’re different cats.”

“Maybe, but it’s nice to think of a guardian in the form of a kitten, isn’t it?”

Regulus kept his eyes fixed on the exercise in front of him. Not because he was particularly interested in the floating feather, but because he knew exactly which cat was being discussed.

“But explain better, what do you mean by a guardian?” Dorcas asked.

“That he’s some kind of guardian spirit of the castle.”

“That sounds like something out of a children’s story.”

“The whole of Hogwarts sounds like something out of a children’s story.”

Unfortunately, that was a difficult argument to refute.

Pandora twirled her own feather between her fingers.

“I’ve seen him a few times.”

Regulus felt an involuntary pang of attention.

"Did you really see him?" Evan asked.

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Hallways, gardens, near the Black Lake once."

She seemed to reflect for a few seconds.

"I always thought he was strange."

"Strange how?"

"I don't know."

The answer made Barty roll her eyes.

"Excellent explanation."

"I'm thinking about how to explain it."

She stared at some distant point in the room while trying to organize her thoughts.

"It's his gaze."

Regulus felt something unpleasant tighten in his stomach.

"What about his gaze?" Dorcas asked.

"It seems familiar."

"Familiar how?"

"As if I'd seen it before."

Barty let out a dramatic sigh.

"We're getting into the esoteric part of the conversation."

"Shut up, Barty."

"Your brother can shut up if he wants."

"Barty, for Merlin's sake," Evan murmured, hiding his face in his hands on the table.

Pandora continued thinking, and then, at some point, her eyes met Regulus's, and she smiled slightly.

As if she understood something.

Or worse, as if she knew something.

"Actually, now that I've stopped to think about it... His eyes remind me of yours."

Evan and Dorcas blinked in perplexity, trying to get a better look at Regulus's gray eyes, and then looking back at Pandora. Barty even stopped the movement of his wand mid-air.

"What?" he asked.

"The eyes."

"The cat's eyes?"

"Yes."

"Similar to Regulus's?"

"Yes." Pandora shrugged as if commenting on the weather "The same expression."

Regulus felt every muscle in his back tense. Not outwardly, of course; outwardly he remained perfectly calm, the long years of living with Walburga Black made any other reaction impossible. Inwardly, however, he was seriously reconsidering the existence of prophecies and divinations, because that observation had come uncomfortably close to the truth.

"That's the most random thing you've ever said" Barty concluded.

"It isn't."

"It's easily in the top five."

"I'm right."

"You literally have no way of knowing that."

"Yes, I do."

"How?"

Pandora tilted her head.

"Intuition."

"Oh, great."

"What?"

"Intuition returned."

"My intuition is usually right."

 "That's what crazy people say, Pandora, you're almost there."

"Look who's talking!"

Dorcas laughed, and Evan immediately agreed. The conversation moved on a few seconds later, shifting to completely different topics, but Regulus remained staring at his own exercise for longer than necessary.

Because someone had gotten too close.

Pandora had no idea why, probably not even she herself could explain what she had noticed. But she had noticed something, and that meant that from then on he would need to be very careful.

Especially with Pandora.

The Slytherin dormitory slowly sank into the characteristic silence of the early morning hours. The curtains were already drawn, conversations had vanished hours ago, and even the distant sound of the lake, filtered through the stone walls of the dungeons, seemed softer at this time of night.

Regulus remained awake.

Lying on his own covers, he observed the dark ceiling above his bed while trying to ignore the restlessness that had accompanied him since the beginning of the day. Around him, everything was familiar. The room was exactly as it should be, the beds perfectly aligned, the suitcases stored under the mattresses, and the uniforms neatly folded. The entire environment conveyed the organized and controlled feeling that had always defined Slytherin.

It was the place where he belonged.

Or at least it should be.

On the other side of the dormitory, Evan was already fast asleep, one arm dangling awkwardly off the bed, and Barty looked even more sprawled out, stretched across the sheets in a position that would probably give him back pain in the morning. The mere sight of the two of them brought a small, involuntary smile to Regulus's face.

They were his friends.

Real friends.

Not political allies chosen by their families. Not colleagues carefully selected for social convenience. Friends.

Evan was irritating, dramatic, and had extremely strong opinions on utterly irrelevant matters. Barty was impulsive, chaotic, and would probably die young if he continued making decisions with the same lack of prudence he demonstrated daily.

Regulus liked them nonetheless.

He liked Pandora with her absurd theories. He liked Dorcas and her brutal honesty. He loved that whole group.

That had never been the problem.

Because the issue had never been within Slytherin.

The problem began when he left the classroom.

It began in the stares of the other students. In the silent expectations associated with the Black surname. In the letters that arrived during meals. In the obligations that seemed to constantly arise to remind him of who he was, what he represented, and what he should become.

It was exhausting.

Not because he hated being Regulus Black.

But because it seemed that no one allowed him to simply be Regulus.

There was always some additional layer superimposed on his existence. The heir. The youngest son. The pride of the family. The brother who couldn't make the same mistakes as Sirius. The future representative of the Blacks.

None of these roles were necessarily false; the problem was that they never ended. There was never a moment when he could simply exist without carrying them all at once.

Perhaps that was precisely why those two days had affected him so deeply.

Because, while he was a Prince, none of that existed.

No one expected perfection from a cat.

No one sent letters to a cat.

No one discussed a cat's future or tried to transform it into something specific.

The Prince didn't need to impress anyone. He didn't need to represent a lineage or think carefully before speaking. He didn't even need to speak.

All that was required of him was to exist.

And Merlin's help, but that had been wonderful.

Regulus closed his eyes for a few seconds. Perhaps that was precisely what bothered him, because it wasn't a real choice. There was no world where he could abandon his life to live permanently as a cat.

He loved his friends.

He loved Hogwarts.

He loved certain parts of himself that only existed while he was human.

He didn't want to stop being Regulus, but he also didn't want to give up that other version of his existence that he had discovered by accident.

For the first time in his life, he had found a place where no one seemed to want anything from him. Where he could simply observe everything he wanted, listen without being pressured, and simply rest without any disturbance.

And, profoundly inconveniently, this place included a group of completely crazy Gryffindors.

His gaze slid to the dormitory window.

Outside, darkness enveloped the castle, and somewhere above those stones and corridors, there was a tower warmed by fireplaces, excessively soft blankets, and a boy radiating body heat in a quantity that probably violated several laws of nature.

Regulus immediately dismissed that thought.

The fact that James Potter's bed was absurdly comfortable was irrelevant.

The fact that he had slept better that night than in the last few weeks was irrelevant.

The fact that he had missed that feeling upon waking that morning was also irrelevant.

All of that was completely irrelevant.

He remained motionless for a few more minutes, maintaining that lie only to himself. Then he sighed, perhaps he was thinking the wrong way.

Perhaps the question wasn't about choosing between one life or another.

He didn't need to abandon his friends to visit Gryffindor, he didn't need to stop being Regulus to continue being a Prince. The two could coexist; after all, one existed during the day, and the other during the night.

One belonged to the world of expectations, and the other to the world of freedom.

For the first time since all this had begun, the idea seemed strangely simple.

It wasn't a definitive choice.

It wasn't a revolution.

It wasn't even a particularly courageous decision.

It was just a small choice.

His choice.

Before he could change his mind, Regulus threw back the covers and got out of bed. The dormitory remained silent, Barty continued sleeping, and Evan didn't even move.

A few minutes later, a small black cat glided through the corridors of Hogwarts towards Gryffindor Tower.

The corridors were almost deserted at that hour; only a few sleepy portraits watched the little black cat's passage with curious glances before returning to their own naps. The entire castle seemed suspended in that peculiar state between the deep night and the distant dawn, when even Hogwarts seemed to breathe more slowly.

Regulus reached the seventh-floor corridor and stopped before the portrait of the Fat Lady.

For a moment, he stood motionless.

The choice had already been made.

Yet, there was something strangely symbolic about being there again. Because this time he wasn't running away, he wasn't hiding, nor was he looking for a place to spend a few hours before returning to his real life.

He was there because he wanted to be.

With a silent sigh, he settled before the portrait and waited. He didn't know exactly how much time passed, perhaps ten or fifteen minutes. The corridor remained empty, illuminated only by the soft glow of torches, but then, without warning, the portrait began to move.

Regulus raised his head immediately.

The Fat Lady muttered something about senseless students who didn't know how to sleep at decent hours before turning to the side.

The passage opened.

And James Potter appeared on the other side.

For a few seconds, they both simply froze.

James was clearly in his pajamas, his hair was even more disheveled than usual, his glasses were slightly crooked, and there were pillow marks on one cheek. He looked like he had just gotten out of bed.

His gaze fell on the black cat sitting before the entrance.

And then his shoulders relaxed.

It was such an immediate reaction that Regulus noticed it before he even understood it.

Worry. James was worried, truly worried. He had been worried all day, perhaps even longer.

"Prince..." The word came out so low it almost sounded like a sigh.

Regulus felt a strange tightening in his chest. Because, suddenly, he remembered the glances cast down the corridors that day, the conversations interrupted when the subject came up, the times James seemed distracted during meals.

He remembered the dark-haired boy watching him across the Great Hall while holding a letter that spoke of arranged marriages and family expectations.

He remembered his expression.

But then, he remembered that the concern was for the cat Prince, not for Regulus. That look in the hall meant nothing, it was just a mere fraction of a second, a reflection of the damned Gryffindor spirit of wanting to save everyone at any cost, the spirit that James carried within him.

But his concern was directed at Prince, and that was that.

The Gryffindor took a few steps forward, slowly, like someone approaching a frightened animal.

"You're back."

That sentence was even more inconvenient because there was genuine joy in it. Not the exaggerated satisfaction that usually accompanied his jokes, or the dramatic excitement he displayed over practically anything.

It was something simpler, and more sincere. As if he were genuinely happy just to see him there.

Regulus remained seated, and James crouched before him.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then the boy reached out his hand to him.

Without trying to grasp it.

Without advancing.

Without deciding for him.

Just waiting for the Prince, or rather, Regulus, to decide what he wanted.

And, for the first time since all this had begun, Regulus felt no urge to retreat, because that choice was his. He was there because he wanted to be, because he had chosen to return.

And, strange as it was to admit, that changed everything.

Then, without any protest, he took a step forward and allowed James to pick him up. The smile that immediately appeared on the Gryffindor's face was so absurdly happy that it was almost embarrassing.

"I knew it."

Regulus had no idea what exactly he claimed to know. Probably nothing; James rarely let reality interfere with his conclusions.

Still, he didn't try to escape, not even when he was nestled against the boy's chest, or when he felt the familiar warmth of the blankets and pajamas.

Not even when James started walking back into the tower.

Because, in a deeply irritating way, it was comfortable, not just physically, there was something different about that feeling now, something that hadn't existed the night before.

But he couldn't identify what it was.

James rested a hand on his back as he crossed the silent common room.

"You scared me, you know?"

Regulus listened to the complaint without any guilt.

"I thought you'd left."

No guilt at all.

"Sirius said you were probably living a double life as an international spy."

That sounded exactly like something Sirius would say.

"Remus said you were just a cat."

A much less amusing assessment.

"But I thought you'd come back."

Regulus raised his head. James smiled at him, that same simple smile, without ulterior motives like the ones he'd seen him give Lily Evans for years. Without the expectations that his teachers' faces always carried. Without the demands conveyed by his mother's sweetly venomous words.

Just happiness.

And perhaps that was precisely why Regulus didn't look away; at that moment, James Potter wasn't looking at the Black heir. He wasn't observing someone who needed to meet family expectations, or analyzing his mistakes and decisions. He was simply happy because a cat had returned to him.

When they reached the dormitory, James didn't even try to put him in his red and gold bed. He merely lifted one of the blankets from his own bed, and Regulus observed the open space for just a few seconds, then looked at James, and then looked back at the blankets.

It was ridiculous, completely ridiculous.

But he was also tired.

And it was cold.

And, above all, it was his choice.

So he jumped into the bed on his own, and saw James's smile widen even further.

"Good choice, Prince."

Regulus ignored the comment, simply settling between the blankets and feeling the immediate warmth. This time, he allowed himself to enjoy it.

It wasn't instinct.

It wasn't an accident.

It wasn't an inevitable consequence of circumstances.

It was something he wanted.

He truly wanted it.

So then, he simply fell asleep without thinking about anything else.

Regulus awoke slowly, enveloped in warmth.

For a few seconds, he remained exactly where he was, motionless under the covers, trapped in that pleasant state between sleep and consciousness. The mattress sank comfortably beneath his small feline body, the morning air still carried the freshness of early October, and around him, the dormitory remained immersed in the tranquil silence that precedes the awakening at Hogwarts.

Then he opened his eyes.

James Potter was sleeping just inches from him.

Regulus sighed.

Right.

This was becoming a worrying habit.

The previous night, after spending hours staring at the dark green ceiling of his Slytherin dormitory and engaging in an exhausting internal debate with himself, he had made a decision. Not an impulsive decision, or one caused by circumstances. Not a consequence of being chased through the corridors or kidnapped by overly sociable Gryffindors.

He had returned because he wanted to.

And the most inconvenient part of all was that he didn't regret it one bit.

The soft light of dawn streamed through the tower windows, scattering golden hues over the red fabric of the curtains. The rest of the dormitory was still asleep. Peter was practically disappeared under the covers. Sirius occupied a physically impossible amount of space on his bed. Remus remained motionless, although Regulus suspected he was already awake.

Beside him, James continued sleeping.

It was strange to observe him like that.

For years, James Potter had existed for him as a collection of distant impressions. The arrogant Gryffindor Chaser, the popular boy, the brilliant student who constantly received detentions, the name constantly mentioned in conversations about Quidditch, mischief, or trouble. Sirius's best friend.

Now, however, he was beginning to know the little things.

The things that didn't appear in the corridors.

He knew that James had a habit of sleeping completely crooked in bed. He knew his glasses always ended up abandoned somewhere dangerous during the night. He knew his hair was just as impossible when he woke up as it was during the rest of the day, maybe even worse. He knew he mumbled nonsensical phrases when he was sleepy.

He also knew that, when he slept, all that almost irritating confidence disappeared.

Without the easy smiles, without the quick answers, and without the constant energy that seemed to follow him everywhere, James seemed just a boy.

Just a sixteen-year-old boy.

For some reason, that discovery left him strangely thoughtful.

But he ignored it as soon as the first sign that the dormitory was beginning to wake up came, when James stirred beside him. First a grumble, then a failed attempt to hide even deeper in the pillow. And then the brown eyes slowly opened; for a few seconds, James seemed too confused to understand what he was seeing.

Then he realized.

And he smiled, again, he smiled, Merlin save him, Regulus would go crazy with that.

It wasn't that wide, confident smile he wore during the day. It was something smaller and much simpler, exactly like the one from the night before.

"You really came back, didn't you?"

Regulus watched the Gryffindor in silence.

James didn't try to pick him up. Didn't try to put him on his lap. Didn't immediately start talking nonstop, as he usually did.

He just seemed... happy.

Genuinely happy.

"I thought it was a dream."

That provoked a strange feeling in Regulus's chest.

Not uncomfortable, just strange.

Before he could think much about it, a movement on the bed next to him caught his attention.

Remus opened his eyes, blinked a few times, and then looked at James's bed.

His gaze met the cat.

Then it met James.

And a small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"So he's back."

"He's back" James replied immediately.

There was such evident satisfaction in his voice that Regulus almost rolled his eyes.

Shortly after, it was Peter's turn to wake up. His reaction was a little more animated.

"Ah! Prince!"

As if that explained everything, and perhaps it did.

Even Sirius, when he finally woke up and noticed the cat's presence on James's bed, merely raised an eyebrow.

"Look at that."

"I told you he'd be back," James replied.

"You said that about fifteen times."

"And I was right."

"One occurrence doesn't constitute statistical proof."

"Yes, it does."

"No, it doesn't."

"Yes, it does."

Regulus was beginning to understand why those conversations could last for hours.

The next hour passed in a curiously pleasant way.

While the four prepared for class, Regulus remained observing from the top of the bed. There was something fascinating about their daily routine. Perhaps because it was so different from what he had imagined for years.

He expected disorganization, and there was indeed plenty of it. But there was also a lot of familiarity there.

Remus reminding Peter to take a parchment he had forgotten.

Sirius throwing a tie in James's direction without even looking.

James complaining about the existence of Tuesdays.

Small interactions so natural that they clearly repeated themselves every day for years.

It wasn't just friendship, it was years of shared experiences, the kind of intimacy built over time. And, observing this from the outside, Regulus realized something he had never considered before.

He had always imagined the Marauders as an indivisible unit, a chaotic force that swept through Hogwarts causing trouble. But there, on that ordinary morning, they seemed like just four boys who genuinely liked each other.

When they finally finished getting ready and began to leave the dormitory, James was the last to leave.

Before crossing the door, however, he stopped and looked at the Prince.

"You'll be here when I get back, won't you?"

Regulus stared at him.

James seemed to accept that as a perfectly valid answer.

"Okay."

Then he left.

The dormitory was empty.

And for a few seconds, Regulus remained motionless on the bed.

There was a strange lightness within him that morning, a tranquility that didn't come from running away from something. Perhaps that was why, when he finally jumped out of bed and ran out of the tower, he felt no guilt.

No anxiety.

No constant tightness that had accompanied him since childhood.

Just a silent calm.

A few minutes later, human again, Regulus walked through the corridors towards the Great Hall. Breakfast was beginning, students were slowly filling the tables of their respective houses, owls crossed the enchanted ceiling, and teachers chatted amongst themselves. The routine of a new week was coming to life before him.

His eyes found the Slytherin table almost instinctively.

Evan was the first to notice him.

Then Barty.

Pandora soon after.

And Dorcas last.

Four familiar faces, people who had been a part of his life long before a cat named Prince existed.

And as he walked toward them, Regulus noticed a small smile creeping onto his face.

Nothing flashy, nothing most people would even notice. Just a gentle curve at the corner of his lips, a peaceful smile.

Because that morning demanded nothing of him yet.

Because his friends were there.

Because, for the first time in a long time, the prospect of that day didn't feel like a burden.

And because, when night fell again, there would be a red tower waiting for a black cat beginning to find his place between two worlds.