Chapter Text
The chill of an early autumn morning swept across the Hogwarts grounds, sending shivers through the students huddled in the stands of the Quidditch pitch. Despite the cold, excitement buzzed in the air as Gryffindor and Slytherin prepared for the first match of the season. The rivalry between these two houses was legendary, and this year, it promised to be more intense than ever.
Regulus Black stood apart from his teammates, his eyes fixed on the opposite end of the pitch where the Gryffindor team was gathering. He tightened his grip on his broomstick, his knuckles turning white. This year, he was determined to win the Quidditch Cup, not just for Slytherin, but to prove to everyone, especially his brother and James Potter, that he was the best.
James Potter. The name alone made Regulus's blood boil. The Gryffindor captain was everything Regulus despised: cocky, reckless, and insufferably charming. And worst of all, James seemed to find endless amusement in tormenting him. Every glance, every infuriating grin, only fueled Regulus’s determination to beat him.
“Ready, Black?” called the Slytherin team captain, snapping Regulus out of his thoughts.
Regulus nodded, casting one last glare in James’s direction. “More than ready.”
As Madam Hooch blew her whistle, signaling the start of the match, Regulus kicked off the ground with a force that left an impression in the dirt. The wind whipped through his hair, and for a moment, everything else faded away. Up here, it was just him, his broom, and the game.
He spotted the Snitch almost immediately, a glint of gold near the Gryffindor goalposts. Leaning forward, he shot towards it, his heart pounding in his chest. But before he could get close, a flash of red and gold streaked past him.
“Not today, mini Black!” Potter shouted over his shoulder, his laughter carried away by the wind.
Regulus clenched his teeth, refusing to let Potter's taunt distract him. He pushed his broom harder, matching James's speed. The two of them raced neck and neck, weaving between players and dodging Bludgers. The crowd's cheers and gasps blended into a distant roar, all but drowned out by the rush of blood in Regulus's ears.
For a moment, it seemed like James might reach the Snitch first, but a well-timed maneuver put Regulus back in the lead. He extended his arm, fingers grazing the Snitch’s wings. Just as he was about to close his hand around it, a Bludger, sent his way by a Gryffindor Beater, forced him to swerve sharply.
James took advantage of the distraction, diving for the Snitch with a triumphant shout. Regulus watched in frustration as Potter’s fingers closed around the tiny golden ball. The Gryffindor stands erupted in cheers.
“Nice game, Reggie,” Potter said, flying up beside him with a grin that made Regulus want to punch him. “Better luck next time.” He winked at him, going down to meet with the rest of his teammates to celebrate with them.
Regulus didn’t reply. He didn’t trust himself to speak without lashing out. Instead, he turned sharply and flew back to the Slytherin end, ignoring the disappointed murmurs from his own house. Close to the changing room were his friends waiting for him, ready to meet his anger, knowing how strongly he felt about winning and the Gryffindor quidditch captain.
“It’s just the first game,” Barty said, trying to sound optimistic. “We’ll get them next time.”
Pandora was besides him, smiling while giving Regulus the thumbs up.
But Regulus wasn’t listening. All he could think about was James Potter’s smug face and the sound of the Gryffindor’s cheers. Losing to James was unbearable, and he knew he couldn’t let it happen again. He would train harder, fly faster, and push himself to the limit. Whatever it took, he would win the next match.
As he left his friends to go to the changing room, he glanced back at the pitch getting empty as more people were leaving to go back to the Castle. There's still time until the Quidditch season ends, and winning the Cup was still within reach. He wasn’t going to let anyone, especially James Potter, stand in his way.
Let the games begin!
...
The next morning, Regulus was up before dawn. The castle was quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of his robes as he made his way to the Quidditch pitch. The early morning light cast long shadows across the field, and for a moment, he felt a sense of peace.
Mounting his broom, Regulus took to the sky, the cool air waking him fully. He practiced for hours, refining his techniques, pushing himself to fly faster, turn sharper, react quicker. By the time the rest of the school was stirring, Regulus had already completed a full training session.
His determination didn’t go unnoticed. During breakfast in the Great Hall, he could feel the curious and sometimes wary glances from other students. Even his own housemates seemed unsure how to approach him. But Regulus didn’t care. He was focused, driven by a singular goal.
"You're not listening to anything, are you?" Dorcas waves one of her hands in front of his face while rolling her eyes.
Regulus pulls himself out of his thoughts and shoots an annoyed look at his friends because he really isn't in the mood for talking.
"No," he replies curtly.
Barty snickers while glancing at Dorcas. "Told you so."
"We were asking if you're going to practice today or if you want to join us behind the greenhouses," Dorcas says, raising an eyebrow, visibly annoyed because she already knows his answer.
Regulus stands and adjusts his robe. "Can't today, got some new tactics to try."
With that, he leaves the table, noticing Dorcas nodding and whispering to Evan and Barty as he walks away.
“Regulus,” a voice called, breaking his concentration. He looked up to see James Potter standing outside of the Great Hall, a playful smirk on his face.
“What do you want, Potter?” Regulus asked, keeping his voice cool.
“Just thought I’d congratulate you on a good match yesterday,” Potter said, leaning casually against the wall. “You gave us a real run for our money.”
Regulus narrowed his eyes. “If you’re trying to be funny, Potter, it’s not working.”
James raised an eyebrow, his smirk softening into something that almost resembled sincerity. “I’m not joking, Regulus. You’re a great Seeker. It was a close match.”
For a moment, Regulus didn’t know how to respond. He had expected more taunts, more gloating. But Potter’s tone was genuine, and it threw him off balance.
“Thanks,” Regulus said stiffly, not sure what else to say.
James nodded, his smirk widening again. “But don’t think I’m going easy on you next time. Gryffindor’s keeping that cup.”
“We’ll see about that,” Regulus replied, feeling a spark of his competitive spirit reignite.
As James walked away, he threw a wink over his shoulder. “Looking forward to it, Black.”
Regulus couldn’t help but roll his eyes, though he felt an unfamiliar warmth in his chest. James was infuriating, but there was something about his confidence, his cheekiness, that was almost... endearing.
Later that day, during Slytherin’s practice session, Regulus’s mind kept drifting back to his conversation with James. It was disconcerting, this unexpected moment of camaraderie with his rival. He found himself wondering what drove Potter, what made him so determined to win.
As he executed a series of tight maneuvers, his thoughts wandered. Perhaps James felt the same pressure to prove himself, to live up to expectations. Maybe their rivalry was less about personal animosity and more about their shared desire to be the best.
“Focus, Black!” Oliver Hawthorne's voice, one of the chasers, cut through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present.
Regulus nodded, pushing aside his musings. There would be time to analyze later. For now, he needed to concentrate on the task at hand. He couldn’t afford any distractions if he wanted to beat Potter and Gryffindor.
As the weeks passed, Regulus’s routine became even more rigorous. He spent hours on the pitch, often practicing alone in the early morning or late into the night. His determination was relentless, and his skills improved with each passing day.
But despite his grueling training, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. His obsession with winning had isolated him from his teammates and friends, who looked at him with growing concern each day, leaving him feeling increasingly lonely. The more he focused on defeating Potter, the more he felt like he was losing himself.
One evening, as he was leaving the pitch after another exhausting practice, he heard a familiar voice call out to him.
“Black! Wait up!”
Regulus turned to see James jogging towards him, his broom slung over his shoulder. He sighed, not in the mood for another confrontation.
“What do you want, Potter?” he asked, his tone weary.
James slowed to a stop, his expression surprisingly serious. “I just wanted to talk.”
Regulus raised an eyebrow. “About what?”
“About this,” James said, gesturing between them. “This rivalry. It’s intense, and I get it. We both want to win. But it doesn’t have to be so… personal.”
Regulus stared at him, unsure how to respond. James’s words echoed his own thoughts from earlier, and it was unsettling to hear them spoken aloud.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Regulus said finally, though he knew it was a lie.
James sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “Look, I know you don’t like me. But maybe we could try to understand each other. At least a little.”
Regulus frowned, his mind racing. The idea was both appealing and terrifying. He had spent so long defining himself by this internal rivalry with Potter that he wasn’t sure who he would be without it.
“Why do you care?” Regulus asked, his voice quieter than he intended.
James shrugged, his expression softening. “Because I think there’s more to you. And maybe there’s more to me than just the guy you want to beat.”
Regulus looked away, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and doubt. Was he really having a civilized talk with James Potter?
“Besides,” James added with a cheeky grin, “you’re kind of fun to be around when you’re not trying to kill me.”
Regulus’s eyes snapped back to James, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
James laughed, a sound that was surprisingly infectious. “Take it however you want, Regulus. I’m just saying we could try to be… not enemies. Maybe even friends.”
Regulus shook his head and raised his eyebrow. “You’re impossible, Potter. Are you out of friends now that Lupin and Sirius don't seem to be talking to each other?". Everyone at Hogwarts noticed the sudden animosity between his brother and Remus Lupin. One day, they were fine, and the next, Lupin was running away from his best friends while Sirius watched him with pain in his eyes. It seemed the "Marauders" (stupidest name ever, if you asked Regulus) were going through a rough patch, and James Potter was caught in the middle of it. James let his smile falter for a moment, but quickly regained his composure and brushed off Regulus's question. “And you’re stubborn. Seems like we’re a perfect match, Reggie” Potter said with a wink, before turning and heading back towards the castle.
"My name is Regulus!"
As Regulus watched him go, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of hope, though he quickly shut it down, making his way to the dungeons.