“Because you’re nothing.” — Regulus Black, lounging on Voldemort’s back like a chaise longue
✂︎═══════════════════༺♛༻══════════════════✂︎
The rain had long stopped falling, but the smell of it still lingered — a metallic, rotting tang that clung to the stones and soil of the ruined manor. Thick mist wove between the trees, hugging the broken earth like breathless whispers.
Beneath the glamour charms, eleven figures crouched in brittle silence. Drenched in Invisibility Cloaks, shielded by ancient magic and newer spells alike, the Gryffindors watched from the shadow-drenched rafters of what had once been the Rosier estate.
Sirius shifted. James nudged him, hissing quietly through gritted teeth.
“Stop fucking twitching.”
“Can’t help it,” Sirius hissed back. “My arse is numb and Barty Crouch Jr. just said the word ‘rectify’ for the eighth time.”
“Shh!” Lily whispered, eyes sharp on the circle of masked Death Eaters below. They were gathered around the long-decayed dining table, their black robes pooling like blood. Voldemort stood at the head — young, still beautiful in a serpentine way, not yet fully transformed into myth. His face was pale, gaunt, eyes glinting red under the glamour of human normalcy.
The meeting had been dull as sin. No new targets. No sudden plans. No changes in tactics. Just more preening and back-patting.
Then—
As the gathered Death Eaters dispersed into swirls of smoke and crackling Disapparition, the Dark Lord raised a hand.
“Black. Stay.”
And there it was. That name. That voice. That—
“Oh, shit,” Marlene breathed, nearly choking on her own tongue.
“Wait—Regulus?!” Alice whispered. “That’s— That’s Regulus?”
Sirius’s eyes had gone wide. Unmoving. Face drained.
They hadn’t seen him in the crowd. Hadn’t noticed him at all. Not until now.
A slim, shadow-draped figure lingered near the base of the table. Unmasked. Eighteen, no older. His dark hair tucked behind his ears, his eyes glittering in the lowlight, Regulus Arcturus Black turned towards the Dark Lord with an expression no one expected. Not fear. Not awe.
He smiled.
Not just smiled. Smirked. Coy and cruel and knowing.
And cooed.
“Sounds like you really could do…” he sang softly, lacing the words with silken mockery, “with a little reminder of who you're talking to.”
The Order agents froze in place, every heart stuttering in unison.
“…what the fuck,” Peter whispered, trembling.
“I— Is he singing?” Gideon muttered.
Frank blinked rapidly. “He's jazz singing.”
Tom Riddle’s lip curled. “Do not test me tonight, boy.”
Regulus tilted his head, ever the perfect feline. “An honest man,” he murmured with syrupy sweetness, “Always there to lend an ear.”
Voldemort growled low, but made no move. Regulus twirled once. His wand lifted slightly. A shimmering magical record formed in the air, spinning.
“I dealt with you fairly,” he sang, circling the taller man, “been patient, it’s true… but remember, my dear—”
He stopped just in front of him.
“You’re in my zoo.”
“WHAT.” James was clawing at his own cloak. “What the FUCK does that mean—”
“Don’t you forget,” Regulus purred, “You are my pet~”
Sirius choked on nothing. “He’s lost his fucking mind—he’s—”
“I say when to sit and stay… Roll over, or go fetch!”
Regulus snapped his fingers. Voldemort flinched. Flinched. Remus’s mouth fell open. “This… this isn’t happening.”
“Don’t you forget—”
Regulus danced backward, spinning light on his toes.
“There’s no way out!”
He stomped, and a wave of gold magic rolled over the room.
“You're a debtor 'til the day you settle your account!”
Voldemort inhaled through his nose. Calm. Seething. His voice cut low through the theatrics.
“I've served your family faithfully for many years,” he snarled. “Obeyed demands. Contained my rage. Went off the radar for years on your behalf.”
Regulus batted his lashes. “I know! And you're so kind!”
James physically gagged. “I’m gonna be sick.”
Tom took a step forward, voice dripping acid.
“And since you made me disappear, my name inspires much less fear.”
His jaw twitched. “The least that you can do is fix my wand.”
Regulus tsked, grinning like a devil. “In due time~”
He grabbed Riddle’s hand with mock tenderness. “Come along, dear, you know how this works!”
Then—dear Merlin—music flooded the chamber. A soft, jazzy melody from the record spinning overhead.
And they danced.
Waltz turned to foxtrot. Regulus was gliding. Tom was leading, but barely — there was something jagged, awkward, restrained about his movements, like he was resisting invisible strings. Regulus, meanwhile, was fluid. Liquid. In control.
They swept across the cracked marble. Voldemort dipped Regulus low — and Regulus grinned up at him, smug, teeth sharp.
“Don't you forget~”
Tom exhaled, jaw clenched. “I won’t forget…”
“You are my pet!”
Tom muttered, “Yours since we met…”
“I say when to sit and stay…”
“Play ball…” Voldemort’s voice was quieter.
“Or just play dead!” Regulus sang sweetly.
“Don’t you forget—”
“I’m in your net…”
“The coop can’t be flown!”
“At least, not yet…” Tom muttered darkly.
Regulus smacked him across the head.
The sound echoed. The Gryffindors screamed.
“WHAT THE FUCK,” Marlene gasped. “DID HE JUST—DID HE JUST HIT VOLDEMORT?”
“He hit him like a dog,” Peter whimpered.
“I'm hallucinating,” Lily whispered. “This is a glamour. It’s a dream.”
Back on the floor, Regulus yanked something golden from thin air — a faint shimmer of light revealed a glowing, runic chain wound around Voldemort’s throat.
He tugged.
Tom bent. Forced down until their noses brushed. Regulus tilted his head, eyes gleaming.
“The moves you make are mine and mine alone~”
He let go, and Tom stumbled back, breath short.
“Looks like you'll have to do this on your own,” Regulus sang, sauntering away.
Tom stood trembling. Then:
“Looks like I'll have to do this on my own,” he repeated through gritted teeth.
A pause.
“Fine!”
The music ended.
The spell broke like glass — the record cracked and vanished, the golden chain evaporating. Silence fell.
Tom Riddle stood still, chest heaving faintly, wand still unfixed in his hand. His mouth twitched.
“Get. It. Done.”
He Disapparated.
Regulus was alone.
No. Not quite.
Above, eleven cloaked Order agents stared down like witnesses to divine heresy. No one moved. No one breathed.
Then—
“Oh my god,” James whispered. “He’s in charge.”
Lily sat down on the beam. “Regulus Black is the most powerful person I’ve ever seen and I’m going to throw up.”
Sirius made a soft strangled sound. “He trained Voldemort like a poodle.”
Remus blinked. “He made him dance.”
Frank wiped his face. “He hit him with jazz hands.”
Fabian muttered, “Do we… do we tell someone?”
“No one will believe us,” Gideon said, deadpan.
“They shouldn’t,” Mary whispered. “They can’t.”
Down below, Regulus finally turned. His eyes flicked upward — directly to the rafters where they crouched.
And he smiled.
A slow, knowing, radiant thing.
He winked.
Then walked away.
Sirius clutched his heart.
“Oh, I am not ready to unpack this.”
The moment Regulus disappeared into the shadows, his long coat fluttering behind him like the train of a crowned prince, the silence left behind was deafening.
Then—
Chaos. An explosion of voices. Magic flared wild and unrefined as Invisibility Cloaks were ripped away, Disillusionment Charms cancelled mid-panic, and three separate people screamed aloud at once.
“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!”
“I NEED A MINUTE—NO I NEED A YEAR—”
“IS HE POSSESSING VOLDEMORT OR DATING HIM OR WHAT?”
James was flailing. Like, physically flailing. “HE MADE HIM FOXTROT, LILS.”
“HE MADE HIM WALTZ,” Lily shrieked. “AND OBEY!”
Frank was pacing in furious circles, dragging his hands down his face. “That wasn’t a power imbalance, that was a power OVERHAUL. We’ve been fighting this bastard for years and apparently the entire time he’s been somebody’s pet?”
“Regulus’s pet,” Alice said blankly, eyes wide and glassy. “Regulus Black. Eighteen. Fresh out of Hogwarts. That one.” She pointed at the air where Regulus had just stood like she was pointing at God descending in thigh-high boots.
Peter was crying.
No, seriously.
There were actual tears tracking down his face. “He hit him like a misbehaving mutt, and the Dark Lord just… took it?!”
“I think I peed,” Marlene muttered faintly.
“You did,” Mary confirmed. “You absolutely did.”
Sirius stood stock-still in the center of it all, grey eyes huge and unblinking.
“That was… my brother.”
“Your brother,” Remus echoed, stunned. “Is apparently the unofficial owner of Voldemort.”
“Is officially leasing the Dark Lord,” Fabian corrected grimly.
“Is renter and goddamn landlord of evil incarnate,” Gideon muttered, staring up at the ceiling like it held answers.
Lily sat down hard on a shattered bit of banister. “The chain. The gold chain. It was real, wasn’t it?”
“Magic-binding,” Remus said quietly. “That wasn’t just symbolic. That was oath magic. Ancient, probably family-bound. Regulus said, ‘You're a debtor ‘til the day you settle your account.’ That’s not metaphor. That’s a contract.”
James looked physically ill. “He has Tom fucking Riddle under contract.”
“Since they met,” Peter whispered. “He said that. ‘Yours since we met.’”
“He cooed it,” Sirius croaked.
No one spoke for a moment. Then Lily stood up, hands shaking, eyes sharp again.
“Okay. Okay. Let’s think.”
“There’s no thinking,” Frank said. “There’s just sobbing.”
“No. This changes everything.” Lily looked around, trying to steady her breathing. “He didn’t know we were here. That means we saw something no one else has. We just watched the Dark Lord bow to a teenage Black. And not because he was afraid of the Blacks as a family—because he was afraid of Regulus.”
“He obeyed every lyric,” Gideon added, still pale. “Like—verbatim. Regulus sang ‘sit,’ and Riddle’s stance shifted. Regulus sang ‘play dead,’ and he flinched. That wasn’t a performance. That was compulsion.”
Sirius finally moved. He sank down onto a cracked bit of stone, like someone had just deflated him.
“All these years… I thought he was just a little idiot Death Eater in training. A dumb pureblood playing with fire.”
“And instead,” Remus said slowly, “he’s been holding the leash.”
They all paused. That sentence made the air go thick.
“Oh my God,” Alice whispered. “Does Voldemort even know he’s on a leash?”
“Did anyone know?” James asked. “Because this? This changes the whole fucking war.”
“If Regulus is calling the shots,” Lily breathed, “we need him. On our side. Not on Riddle’s.”
“But he is on Riddle’s,” Sirius snapped. “He’s in meetings, Lily. He’s working with him.”
“Or playing him,” Marlene countered. “Did you see his face? That smirk? That was not someone who respects his boss. That was someone who owns him. Who’s toying with him.”
Peter clapped a hand over his mouth. “What if this whole time Regulus has been… infiltrating? Like… reverse spy shit?”
“That was not spy shit,” Frank muttered. “That was Shakespearean dominatrix shit.”
“He started a musical number!” Fabian shrieked. “He made it into a tap-dance war negotiation!”
“And Voldemort danced!” Mary gasped. “He dipped him like a bride!”
“And Regulus smacked him for getting lippy!” Gideon added.
Sirius leaned forward, elbows on knees, fingers in his hair.
“I thought I knew him. I should’ve known him.”
“No one knew this, Pads,” Remus said softly. “No one could’ve imagined this.”
“We were watching Riddle command people around for an hour,” Alice said. “And then Regulus speaks, and suddenly he’s the one giving orders.”
Lily nodded slowly. “This isn’t a pawn. This is a king in disguise. And no one — not the Death Eaters, not the Order — has any idea what side he’s on.”
“What do we do?” Peter asked, eyes wide.
“We find him,” Lily said. “We talk to him. We figure out what the hell’s going on.”
“And if he’s against us?” James asked quietly.
Lily hesitated.
“…Then we pray to whatever gods are left,” she whispered, “that he never sings our names.”
✂︎═══════════════════༺♛༻══════════════════✂︎
“I knew this day would come,” Sirius groaned, dragging his hands down his face, “I knew one day we’d have to break into my cursed childhood home to stalk my little brother, and yet somehow I’m still surprised.”
“You say that like it’s a normal Tuesday,” Remus muttered, already rechecking his wand.
“Well, it is a Tuesday,” James pointed out.
“Great,” Marlene sighed. “Let’s add Burgling Grimmauld Place to today’s agenda. Right after Crisis: Regulus Has the Dark Lord on a Leash.”
“Does anyone else feel gross about this?” Peter whispered. “Like… he’s literally a teenager. We’re grown-ass adults. And we’re sneaking into his house.”
“We’re not sneaking,” Lily corrected. “We’re strategically investigating.”
“Yeah,” Alice added grimly. “Strategically investigating the kid who used Voldemort’s spine as a fucking dancing pole.”
Sirius snorted, bitter. “He’s not just a kid. Not anymore. Not after that.”
They reached the steps of Number Twelve, and to everyone’s surprise, the wards still let Sirius in.
“You’d think Mother would’ve kicked me out of the protections by now,” he muttered. “Guess I’m still technically heir. Good for us. Terrible for my soul.”
The door creaked open, cold air curling out like a warning. The house was quiet. Too quiet.
“Is it always this creepy?” Frank asked as they stepped inside.
“Welcome to Casa de Trauma,” Sirius whispered. “Don’t touch anything. Everything either bites or curses.”
They moved carefully, the eleven of them sweeping through halls wrapped in moth-bitten velvet and ancestral gloom. No Walburga shrieking from portraits. No Orion scowling from armchairs.
Lucky.
Still, they were lost in their own hesitation. This felt wrong. They were intruding. Trespassing on something personal. But how else were they supposed to find out the truth?
“Alright,” James breathed, “He’s gotta be here. Somewhere. Let’s just… see what we’re dealing wi—”
A noise.
Laughter.
Actual, genuine teenage laughter — light and careless — drifted down the hall.
It was… cozy. There was warm light. Fire in the grate. Tea set out on the table. Plates of lemon tarts and chocolate-dipped strawberries. Kreacher was seated beside a low armchair, chattering away happily.
And Regulus?
Sprawled sideways across a plush settee like an idle cat, snacking on a strawberry.
With his booted feet resting squarely atop one Tom Marvolo Riddle, who was on his knees, blank-faced and obedient, allowing himself to be used as a human footstool.
The Gryffindors lost it.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!”
“OH MY GOD—”
“WE ARE NOT SEEING THIS—”
“NOPE—NOPE—NOPE—”
“ARE WE IN A SICK LITTLE DREAM?!”
Kreacher squeaked. Riddle tensed. Regulus just smirked, unbothered.
He took another bite of strawberry, chewed slowly, swallowed. Then pulled a slim, silver knife from his sleeve and began casually flipping it between his fingers.
“Ah,” he cooed, “Finally. Took you long enough.”
The blade twirled gracefully. Not a threat. A reminder.
They were not in control here.
“Regulus,” Lily gasped, eyes wide. “What the fuck is going on.”
“Language, Evans,” Regulus sang, flicking his knife. “There’s a house-elf present.”
Kreacher giggled.
James pointed, sputtering. “You’re—he’s—you’re using VOLDEMORT AS A FOOTSTOOL?!”
“Technically, he’s on footstool duty,” Regulus hummed. “We rotate. Sometimes he’s a chair. Sometimes a coat rack. Depends on my mood.”
Riddle didn’t move. But his eye twitched.
Mary grabbed Sirius’s arm. “Say something. SAY SOMETHING.”
Sirius, in shock: “I think I’m having a stroke.”
Regulus sighed and finally removed his boots from Riddle’s back. “You may speak, Tom.”
Riddle stood slowly. Graceful. Controlled.
“Young master,” he said coolly, voice like warm glass, “shall I pour more tea?”
“No need, jagiya,” Regulus cooed, eyes still on the Gryffindors. “We have guests.”
Jagiya?! James actually staggered.
Tom Riddle — the Dark Lord, feared across continents — picked up a tray of lemon tarts and offered them silently to Regulus, head bowed.
Regulus took one and fed himself. Without saying thank you.
“Oh my god,” Remus whispered. “He’s… he’s Sebastian-ing.”
“What?” Peter whispered.
“Nothing,” Remus muttered. “Nevermind. Continue panicking.”
Frank shouted, “WHY IS HE YOUR SERVANT?”
Alice screamed, “HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON?”
Fabian blurted, “IS THIS SEXUAL OR STRATEGIC OR BOTH?”
Riddle shifted slightly, voice calm. “If I may, my lord. They are… loud.”
Regulus mock pouted. “Aw, are they hurting your feelings? Poor baby.” He patted Riddle’s cheek. Then backhanded him lightly. “Sit.”
Riddle immediately dropped to his knees.
Obeyed.
The room screamed again.
“WHY IS HE OBEYING YOU?!”
“MAKE IT MAKE SENSE.”
“I NEED A NEW BRAIN.”
Regulus yawned. “There’s a contract. Family magic. Goes way back.”
He popped another strawberry in his mouth. “The House of Black and the entity now known as Voldemort entered an ancient service pact nearly twenty years ago. He was meant to be… an asset. A weapon. A partner.”
He rolled his eyes. “My parents were boring about it. Wanted power. Connections. All very dry.”
He flipped the knife again. “Then I inherited the contract. And I had… different goals.”
Riddle growled faintly. “I would never bow to—”
Regulus yanked a shimmering gold leash out of the air and pulled. Hard.
Riddle immediately shut up.
“That’s a good boy,” Regulus sang sweetly.
“You’re making him do tricks,” Lily hissed.
“Oh, not yet,” Regulus purred. “But since you asked~”
He snapped.
“Sit.”
Riddle sat.
“Roll over.”
Riddle obeyed.
“Play dead.”
Riddle flopped backward, still in his pristine robes, arms sprawled.
The Order was feral.
Regulus stood and stretched, lazily climbing onto Tom’s back and sitting cross-legged.
“Giddyup~” he crooned.
Tom crawled forward on all fours.
Regulus tugged the leash.
The Gryffindors howled.
“I CAN’T TAKE THIS—”
“HE’S RIDING HIM LIKE A FUCKING POKÉMON—”
“HE SAID ‘GIDDYUP’ TO VOLDEMORT—”
“WE’RE IN HELL, WE’RE ACTUALLY IN HELL—”
Sirius, slumped on the floor: “I want to go home. I want a drink. I want to die.”
Regulus smiled down at them like a prince at court jesters.
“You came here for answers,” he said softly. “Here they are. I own the Dark Lord. I choose what he does. What he doesn’t do. I’ve had him biding his time for years.”
He tilted his head. “He doesn't move unless I say so. He doesn’t kill unless I let him. I’ve rerouted entire war plans. Delayed attacks. Saved lives. And I did it all by making him heel.”
Silence.
Not awe. Not fear.
Reverence.
And then Lily whispered:
“…You could end this war.”
Regulus smiled.
“I am ending it.”
"Okay," James muttered, staring at the very real, very corporeal Dark Lord crawling on the carpet like a particularly well-trained Doberman. "Okay, okay, okay, okay—"
"You're malfunctioning," Marlene said. "You're stuck in a loop."
"HE'S USING HIM AS A MOUNT, MARLENE."
Regulus, perched regally on Tom's back with a cup of tea in hand like some posh, Victorian princess-warlock, gave a soft hum of approval. "He moves quite smoothly, doesn't he? Like butter on stone."
Tom Marvolo Riddle, Dark Lord, heir of Slytherin, scourge of nations, made no sound. His knuckles were white against the floorboards.
Remus stared for a long beat. Then:
"I think I need to go scream into a bucket."
“I have a bucket,” Peter offered. “I’ve been holding it since the lemon tart scene.”
Regulus swung one leg daintily over Tom’s shoulder, hopping off like he was dismounting a horse. He straightened his robes, handed his empty teacup to Tom with a cheeky “thank you, pet,” and flopped onto the settee with a content sigh.
"Now," he said, folding his hands, "since you're all here and clearly not leaving until I explain things like a proper drama queen... shall we talk plans?"
The Gryffindors, still dazed, pulled themselves into seats, arms crossed, wands clenched just in case.
Lily cleared her throat. “Let’s. Start from the top.”
Regulus cocked a brow, then smiled. “You already know about the contract. What you don’t know,” he said, “is the legal end of things. Because believe it or not—” he gestured gracefully to himself “—I’m a law-abiding citizen.”
“Law-what?” Frank choked.
“I don’t have the Mark,” Regulus explained, flicking his fingers. “Never took it. Never went on raids. Never tortured anyone. All my dealings are through magical contract and Ministry-sanctioned policy. Technically, I'm in the clear.”
James blinked. “But you’re working with Voldemort.”
“I’m working with my servant,” Regulus corrected. “Tom here is bound under a Class V Family Contract, sanctioned under ancient magical law, which—brace yourselves—predates the fucking Ministry. Since he obeys me, and I haven’t broken any laws…” He gave a wide, disarming smile. “Well. They can’t actually do anything.”
“And after the war?” Gideon asked. “You think the Wizengamot will just ignore all of this?”
“I won’t give them a choice.” Regulus yawned. “I’ve already taken over my family’s Ministry seat. I’ve charmed my way through half the judicial wing. Dolores practically creams herself when I enter the room.”
“I hate how much that tracks,” Mary muttered.
“They’ll want to punish him,” Alice said, jerking her chin toward Tom. “They’ll want a public execution.”
Regulus smirked. “Then they can try to arrest him. Without me. Without my leash. And see how far that gets them.”
Tom’s mouth curved in a razor-thin smile. “It would be entertaining.”
Regulus snapped his fingers. “Heel.”
Tom shut up.
Frank was rubbing his temples like he was praying for death. “So what, they just put you both in containment and call it a day?”
“Exactly,” Regulus said brightly. “Private magical containment. Ministry-monitored. All very legal and very tidy. I’ll live in a nice manor. He’ll tend the garden. Carry my books. Do my taxes. It’ll be lovely.”
“You’re planning to leash the devil and retire him to domestic bliss,” Remus said flatly.
“He’s very good at folding laundry,” Regulus mused. “You should see the corners he gets.”
And then:
Tom returned with the tea set, placed it neatly down, and kneeled at Regulus’s feet once more without a word.
But this time, there was something tense in the air.
The look Tom gave Regulus wasn’t blank submission.
It was want. Want and restraint and something raw and bitter beneath it.
“Young master,” he said, low. “Shall I entertain the guests? Or would you prefer I fetch your slippers and act the dog a while longer?”
Regulus tilted his head, cheek resting on his knuckles. “Mmm… dog’s funnier.”
Tom’s eyes darkened. “So you using me as a human doll, parading me around like your favourite riding toy, and leaving me unsatisfied is… nothing to you?”
The room imploded.
“OH MY GOD.”
“WHAT THE FUCK.”
“IS THAT A SEX METAPHOR?!”
“ARE YOU—”
“ARE YOU—”
“—FUCKING?” Marlene shrieked.
Regulus giggled. Actually giggled. “Exactly,” he purred, “it’s nothing, darling.”
He reached down and tugged the leash. Hard. “Because you’re nothing.”
Tom exhaled slowly. A strangled sound caught behind his teeth. He lowered his eyes, teeth bared in a twisted grin.
“As my lord commands.”
Everyone stared.
Gideon was gripping his own thigh. “I think I understand death now.”
Peter was crying again. “Why does this have layers?!”
James was just whispering “they’re in love” like a mantra.
“They’re not in love,” Sirius groaned.
“They’re in hate.”
“They’re in horny hate,” Lily hissed.
Tom suddenly stood, sweeping Regulus off the couch and lifting him into his arms in one smooth motion. Bridal style. Effortless. Regulus didn’t even blink.
“Getting bold,” Regulus said with a grin.
“You’re light,” Tom murmured, eyes hooded. “Like silk. Or smoke.”
Regulus leaned in, their noses brushing. “Like arsenic.”
Tom smirked.
Sirius stood up, hands raised. “Okay, I’m done. I’m tapping out. I draw the line at romantic murder ballet.”
“They haven’t kissed,” Mary said. “But they’ve done something.”
“They’ve done everything but,” Alice whispered.
Regulus stretched lazily in Tom’s arms. “If you’re all quite done theorising about my deeply fulfilling and completely unreciprocated romantic life…”
He turned to the group with a feline grin.
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Regulus Black works as a lifeguard at a busy local waterpark in this chaotic, soft, and painfully hot muggle AU. When Sirius drags all eleven of their mutual friends to crash the place under the guise of a “harmless day out,” they’re met with the unexpected: Regulus in full lifeguard uniform, looking gorgeous, scolding children, and saving lives like it’s just another Tuesday.
From chaos in the rapids to thirst in the wave pool, things take a turn when disaster strikes—and Regulus dives into the deep end to rescue a drowning child. Shaken, soaked, and too exhausted to argue, Regulus finds himself surrounded by the most feral, loyal, ride-or-die group of idiots imaginable, including one big brother who refuses to leave his side.
A story about sun-warmed pavement, adrenaline crashes, juice pouches, protective siblings, gentle heroism, and eleven soaking wet teenagers who love their lifeguard a little too much.
Sirius Black:
“Let’s go out. Everyone. Tomorrow. Don’t be late. Bring a towel.”
That was it. No further context. Just a cryptic, mildly threatening message in the Gryffindor group chat at 1:26 a.m., and no follow-up explanation.
James:
“Towel??”
Remus:
“I swear to god if this is some prank involving literal mud again—”
Marlene:
“Sirius what the actual hell do you mean bring a towel”
Peter:
“Is this a euphemism. Should I be scared.”
Lily:
“I just bought a new outfit and I’m not bringing a towel anywhere near it.”
Fabian:
“If this is a park trip and we’re drinking again count me in. If this is another haunted place I’m out.”
Gideon:
“Depends. Are we going to die this time or just almost die.”
Sirius:
“Just show up. I promise it’ll be fun. I have a plan. 😏”
So, the next morning, running on questionable trust and caffeine alone, eleven teenagers piled into two cars—James’s beat-up minivan that groaned every time he changed gears, and Fabian’s mum’s SUV that still smelled like new leather and slightly less weed.
It was sunny as hell. Not a cloud in the sky. Sweat stuck to fabric by the time they were fifteen minutes into the drive. The music was too loud, windows rolled down, arms outstretched, sunglasses askew, and someone—probably Frank—already halfway through a box of doughnuts he’d bought for “car morale.”
“Where are we going again?” Lily shouted over the wind.
“Mystery trip!” Sirius yelled back from the passenger seat, grinning like a lunatic.
They didn’t realise where they were until the signs started popping up. Giant blue billboards with cartoon dolphins and speed slides. AQUAZONE SPLASH COMPLEX – JUST 2 MILES AHEAD.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Remus said, leaning forward to squint through the windshield.
“No,” Alice whispered, already visibly regretting her eyeliner.
“He brought us to a waterpark,” Mary said flatly.
“In November,” Gideon added.
“It’s heated!” Sirius said brightly, bouncing in his seat. “Indoor. Massive. Full slides. Wave pool. Lazy river. Rapids. Regulus works here.”
That last part earned him six overlapping voices of chaos and protest.
“What.”
“Wait, what the fuck does that mean?”
“You brought us to your brother’s job?”
“Is this just a long con to bully him at work?”
“How is he employed anywhere with customer service?”
“And also who the hell lets Regulus Black near children?”
“Relax, babes,” Sirius smirked. “I have a plan.”
The ticket desk was all white tile and plastic smiles. Sirius leaned against the counter like he owned the place. The bored teen behind the register barely looked up.
“Hi. Sirius Black. My brother works here. Regulus Black. I’d like to use the family employee discount.”
The guy squinted. “Uh. Hold on.”
He typed something in. Then blinked. “Oh shit. Yeah, Reg’s got the premium pass. Friends and family included. Seventy percent off for the day.”
Everyone froze.
Peter physically choked.
Lily whispered, “What the fuck,” like she was seeing god.
“Wait, Regulus has that kind of discount?” Frank said, jaw unhinging.
“Doesn’t he work in like... the gift shop?” James asked.
“No idea,” Sirius said cheerfully. “I honestly thought he just scrubbed the floors or made nachos or something. Who cares? We’re in.”
The locker rooms were a blur of shouts and slamming doors and someone yelling “WHY IS THIS SWIMSUIT SEE-THROUGH” before they finally regrouped, half-soaked from shower mist and half-lost.
Alice emerged in a full vintage red one-piece like she was about to perform in a 60s lifeguard calendar.
Marlene had denim cutoffs over her bikini bottoms and sunglasses she refused to take off indoors.
Sirius wore tiny black swim trunks that left nothing to the imagination and an obnoxious pineapple-print towel.
Remus was already questioning his life choices in navy blue board shorts.
James had a neon rash guard and an energy drink. He did not stop vibrating.
Gideon and Fabian were in matching swim trunks they swore was accidental.
Peter had arm floaties.
Frank had goggles.
Mary and Lily were both in stylish two-pieces and judging everyone silently.
They did everything.
The slides. The tunnels. The whirlpools. The bubble chairs. The lazy river where James floated off and they lost him for forty minutes. They screamed themselves hoarse on the drop slide and nearly got kicked out of the wave pool for trying to surf the waves on a pizza floatie.
But one thing kept itching at them.
“Has anyone seen Reg yet?” Lily asked, brushing hair off her face.
“Nope,” said Mary. “Weird, right? Thought he’d be in food court or something.”
“Maybe he called in sick,” Remus offered.
“No, the guy at the gate said he’s here,” Sirius grinned. “Actively working.”
They asked an employee. A tall guy in soaked shorts with a lanyard and a fake tan.
“Hey,” James called. “You know where Regulus Black is?”
The guy’s face lit up.
“Oh, Reg? Cute little piece of ass, that one. He’s on lifeguard duty today. Rapids shift, I think.”
Silence.
“...Excuse me?” said Remus.
“Little—what?” said Lily.
“Did you just call Regulus a—” Sirius started, but he was already laughing.
The guy gestured lazily. “Rapids are that way. Tell him Joel says hi.”
The rapids were no joke.
One giant circular pool that spun you around in a loop, with jets underneath and a fake island in the middle. It was loud as hell. Slapping water, squealing kids, echoing whistles.
And there he was.
Regulus Black.
On duty.
Sitting cross-legged at the edge of the island with a whistle in his mouth, wet hair tied back in a little ponytail, red lifeguard tank top slightly damp and clinging to him. He had a waterproof clipboard and a wristwatch timer. He was scowling, concentrating, lips pursed.
They watched him scold a pack of middle school boys trying to climb the island rock.
“Hey! No climbing! You’ll get pulled under if you fall. Get back to the rails.”
He didn’t even raise his voice, but they scrambled like kicked puppies.
They saw him help a kid who got stuck, guiding them by the arm and pulling them to the edge.
He blew his whistle again when a teen girl tried to push past her turn. “Back in line. Wait for the green light.”
A pair of teenage girls giggled as they floated by him, trying to flirt. Regulus didn’t even blink.
“Move along. Arms inside the ring, please.”
“He’s... good at this,” said Remus slowly.
“He’s kinda hot,” Peter blurted.
James shoved him.
“He is hot,” said Mary. “When did that happen?”
“I don’t like this,” Sirius muttered. “I came here to embarrass him. Not have an identity crisis.”
They waited. Until the rapids cleared. The next group hadn’t been let in yet.
“Hey!” James called across the pool.
Regulus turned slowly, mid-sip from a water bottle.
He blinked. His expression passed from neutral to confused to full-on alarm in three seconds flat.
He stood.
He pointed at them.
“What the fuck are you all doing here?”
Sirius beamed. “Hey, baby brother!”
Regulus looked like he might jump into the water just to escape.
“REGGGGYYYYYY!”
“OH MY GOD—HEY, HOT STUFF!!”
“REGULUS BLACK, LIFEGUARD SUPREME, LOOK AT YOUUU!”
“WORK IT, BABE!”
“BLOW THAT WHISTLE FOR ME, DADDY!”
It was a chorus of chaos. Eleven teenagers—sunburned, half-drenched, and absolutely unhinged—pressed up against the edge of the rapids entry gate, waving their arms, catcalling like it was their full-time job. Remus was leaning dramatically against the railing. Marlene was fanning herself with her flip-flop. Fabian was howling like a wolf. Sirius had both hands cupped around his mouth, screaming.
Regulus stared at them like they were a hallucination sent by dehydration and trauma.
Then—ignoring all of them—he turned back around, pointed his whistle in the air, and called out, “Next group, wait for the green light. Three at a time. Inner tubes only. No horseplay.”
It was like they hadn’t spoken at all.
“HE’S IGNORING US,” Lily yelled. “RUDE!”
“HE’S AT WORK,” Remus said, mock offended. “WHAT, ARE WE NOT MORE IMPORTANT THAN SAFETY?”
The next group of guests filtered into the rapids with minimal drama, mostly young kids and a few nervous-looking parents. Regulus dropped back into his lifeguard perch, legs crossed, eyes sharp. He counted heads, checked his clipboard, made a note of the time, and barely moved except to lean in when a toddler got stuck on the jets, reaching down with practiced hands to lift them onto a float.
A small child in frog goggles waved at him as they passed. Regulus gave a tiny, involuntary smile.
James clutched his chest. “I see the vision. I see it so clearly. This man is the moment.”
“James,” Peter whispered. “James, I think I’m pregnant.”
Sirius leaned over and snapped, “Stop falling for my brother! That’s illegal.”
“You brought us here!” Mary shouted.
Regulus didn’t turn around once.
It took a solid fifteen minutes for the rapids cycle to finish. The group emptied out, and the current slowed, the pumps quieting to a soft hiss. Regulus finally stood, blew his whistle twice, and signaled to the ride operator across the pool that the cycle was clear.
Then—slowly—he turned to face them.
Pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head.
Wiped sweat off his face with the bottom of his red uniform tank.
Abs. Defined. Glowing. Flexing slightly as he moved.
Half the group screamed.
Regulus looked bored. And furious.
“The fuck are you all doing here?” he said flatly.
Sirius threw his arms wide. “Family bonding!”
“Fuck off.”
“You work here,” James beamed. “This is so fucking cute. Look at your little outfit!”
“Don’t call it an outfit.” Regulus scowled. “It’s uniform regulation. And you’re not supposed to be on this side of the barrier—get back.”
He pointed his whistle at them threateningly.
They all grinned like demons.
“Reg,” Lily cooed, “you didn’t tell us you were a professional hero now.”
“Look at you, saving lives and breaking hearts,” Alice added.
“Joel thinks so,” Fabian said casually.
Regulus blinked.
“What?”
“Joel,” Marlene purred. “You know. Tall. Tan. ‘Cute little piece of ass’ Joel.”
Regulus made a sound like a dying kettle.
“Oh my god.”
“He said it with his whole chest,” Gideon confirmed. “So much admiration.”
“You’re, like, famous,” Mary smirked. “You’re his favourite employee.”
“I hate it here.”
“Joel told us to tell you hi,” Remus added with a wicked grin.
“I will drown myself in this chlorinated hellhole,” Regulus muttered.
“Honestly, we all kinda want to watch you two flirt now,” Peter added. “For science.”
“There is no flirting,” Regulus snapped. “He’s just annoying.”
“So... just your type,” James said sweetly.
Regulus blew his whistle at them.
“Back off the fucking railing or I will kick you out,” he said, stone cold. “I’m not kidding. Guests have been removed for less.”
“Oooh, he’s serious,” Marlene said, eyes wide.
Sirius crossed his arms. “Are you going to report your own brother?”
Regulus didn’t blink. “Try me.”
They took a half-step back.
“I will get the manager. And I will call security. And you will all be on a banned list. For life.”
Lily put her hands up. “Alright, alright! Jesus, power trip much?”
Regulus exhaled, dragging his hand down his face.
He pulled his tank top back into place and muttered something under his breath that might’ve been, “I should’ve taken my break ten minutes ago.”
Then, reluctantly, he turned back to them and sighed.
“You have ten minutes before the next group. Say whatever the hell you came here to say. Then piss off.”
They absolutely were not going to do that.
But Reg didn’t know that yet.
“You are so fucking hot right now,” Marlene declared, chin resting on her folded arms over the railing.
“Like lifeguard Regulus is doing things to me,” Lily agreed, squinting dramatically against the pool lights. “My therapist will hear about this.”
“You’re all deranged,” Regulus muttered.
“Do the whistle again,” Peter begged, eyes wide.
“Absolutely not.”
“C’mon,” James drawled, leaning far enough over the barrier that one good push could send him toppling. “Just once. I’ll bark.”
“Don’t bark,” Regulus said without looking.
James barked anyway.
“Stop encouraging him,” Remus groaned, smacking James in the chest.
“You're kind of scary like this,” Fabian observed. “In a sexy way.”
“He’s got that stern public authority vibe,” Gideon added. “Very ‘I’ll drag you out of the pool by your ankle if you break the rules’ energy.”
“I will drag you out of the pool by your ankle,” Regulus deadpanned.
“Oh my god,” Mary whispered. “Promise?”
Sirius made a gagging sound. “I didn’t bring you all here to get feral over my brother.”
“You literally did,” Alice pointed out.
Sirius paused. “...Fair.”
Regulus sighed again. A long-suffering, heavy exhale that probably lowered the pool temperature by three degrees.
“Okay but, like,” James said, eyes narrowing, “how the fuck did you get this job?”
“Yeah,” Lily said. “You hate people.”
“You glare at children,” Peter chimed in.
“Did you seduce the manager?” Mary asked hopefully.
“I passed the interview,” Regulus snapped, offended. “And the physical assessment. And the online course. And the two weeks of shadow training. And the exam. And the CPR recertification. And the deep dive test.”
The entire group went silent.
“What the fuck?” Marlene blinked. “That’s, like... effort.”
“You had to train?”
“You did a test?”
“Is this a real job?”
“You’re certified in CPR?” Alice gasped. “Do me. Right now.”
“No,” Regulus said flatly.
“Dude, I can barely pass a maths quiz,” Peter muttered.
Remus looked genuinely stunned. “Wait, this is actually impressive.”
“I thought you just handed out floaties,” Gideon said faintly.
“Okay, no, I definitely couldn’t do this job,” Fabian muttered. “I’d forget a kid and they’d end up in the vents or something.”
“You do not get to judge me,” Regulus muttered, scribbling something onto his clipboard. “Half of you still can’t be trusted near hot stoves.”
“That’s fair,” Sirius admitted.
James squinted at him. “Why are you even working here though? Like, seriously? You chose this?”
Regulus shrugged. “I like the place. It’s clean. Not boring. Plus the benefits are decent.”
“Benefits?” Lily asked, suspicious.
“Free gym. Free food. I get discounts. First dibs on events. Flexible schedule during school.”
“And you get to wear the hot uniform,” Remus added.
“And—” Regulus lifted a finger, “—I get a massive hourly wage.”
That got their attention.
Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Define ‘massive.’”
Regulus raised an eyebrow. “Twenty-one an hour.”
Dead silence.
“TWENTY-ONE?” screamed James.
“AN HOUR?” Lily yelled.
“Are you a manager?” Marlene gasped.
“WHAT THE FUCK,” Peter shrieked.
Remus’s jaw dropped. “I worked an entire shift last week for, like, twelve quid and a pizza voucher.”
“Why the fuck am I even in school,” Fabian mumbled, horrified.
Gideon was pacing. “No one told me capitalism had options.”
“I knew Regulus had money,” Alice whispered. “He walks like his wallet is thick with undeserved wealth.”
“It’s not undeserved,” Regulus said stiffly. “I work.”
James reached over the rail and tried to grab his shirt. “Teach me your ways, sensei.”
Regulus slapped his hand away with the clipboard.
“Get off the damn railing, Potter.”
Suddenly, the PA system dinged overhead. A robotic voice: “Rapids intake resuming. Group Twelve, please prepare for entry.”
Regulus clicked his pen. “And that is your cue to fuck off.”
“Nooo,” Lily groaned.
“Coward!” Fabian cried.
“Traitor!” Marlene shouted.
“I hate all of you,” Regulus muttered, stepping back into position and grabbing his whistle.
They stayed anyway, crowded along the railing like overenthusiastic groupies, hissing and whispering and pointing every time he moved.
He didn't look at them again.
But the tips of his ears were bright pink.
They did not leave.
Even after Regulus blew his whistle at them five separate times. Even after he pointedly ignored their every cry of “HEY SEXY” and “DO CPR ON ME”. Even after he told a very confused mum with a toddler that no, those screaming teenagers were not part of a school trip—just emotionally stunted.
They still. Did not. Leave.
Instead, the Gryffindor Eleven remained perched along the viewing platform like a lineup of scandalous gargoyles. Coaxing. Teasing. Catcalling. Gossiping.
“OH MY GOD, HE BENT DOWN—LOOK AT THAT ASS,” screeched Fabian, grabbing Gideon’s forearm like they were watching a royal wedding.
“His arms, his hands, his fucking voice,” Lily moaned, pulling her hair off her neck. “He keeps saying ‘please keep your arms inside the tube,’ and it’s ruining my life.”
“He said ‘no running’ and I heard wedding bells,” Mary added, fanning herself with a plastic wristband.
“Do you think he’d, like… roleplay the uniform for fun?” Marlene asked seriously.
Remus snorted into his drink. “He is the roleplay.”
James just barked again.
Meanwhile, Sirius had taken up a new hobby: accosting strangers.
“Hey! Hey, yeah, you—see that guy? That lifeguard?” he said, pointing dramatically to the island where Regulus stood like a water-themed demigod. “That’s my baby brother. He’s younger than me by two minutes and he still looks like that. Genes, man.”
The stranger, a dad of three in flip-flops, blinked. “Cool?”
Sirius grinned. “Who’s hotter though—me or him?”
“...Him,” the dad said, walking off.
A child passed. Sirius tried again. “Hey kid. Me or him?”
The seven-year-old didn’t hesitate. “You look like a wet sock.”
Sirius gasped, hand over heart. “You little bitch—”
“You’re losing this war, Pads,” Remus said, biting his straw.
Things hit critical levels when a pair of teenage girls sidled up to the railing.
They were new. Not part of the group. No clue who Regulus was.
Just two sun-soaked, lip-glossed strangers watching the same boy in red uniform flick water off his clipboard and glare like it was an Olympic sport.
“Oh my god,” one whispered. “That lifeguard is so hot.”
“I know,” the other agreed. “Do you think he’s single?”
The Gryffindor Eleven froze.
Mary and Lily turned in unison.
“Actually,” Mary said sweetly, “he’s a massive asshole.”
“Right,” Lily chimed in, “like, rude, antisocial, and hates everyone. Definitely not your type.”
The girls blinked. “Okay… we were just saying he was cute?”
Mary’s smile sharpened. “Yeah. So stop looking.”
The second girl raised an eyebrow. “Who the hell are you, his mum?”
“I could be your mum if I fought your mum,” Lily snapped.
“Oh bitch—”
It was on.
Screeching. Hair flipping. Vicious glittered insults. One girl threw water from her bottle like a holy weapon. Mary threatened to drown someone in the shallow end. Lily reached for her earrings.
And then—whistle. Long. Loud. Final.
Regulus was there.
Like a judgmental lifeguard angel descended from chlorine heaven.
He marched up, muscles tensed, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched.
“Enough,” he barked.
All four girls fell silent.
“Back off the barrier. You’re obstructing the entrance. And you—” he pointed at Lily, then at Mary, then at the two strangers “—are violating the no-harassment policy. You want to flirt, do it legally. Or leave.”
He grabbed each of their wrists—firm, controlled—and dragged them apart, gently but undeniably strong. One hand per arm. Bodily maneuvering them a full foot apart.
Four girls. One man. Direct physical contact.
Every single one of them blushed so hard it looked medically concerning.
Mary wobbled. Lily sighed dreamily. One of the strangers actually whispered, “I’d commit war crimes for him.” The other just nodded, dazed.
And just like that, new allegiances were formed.
The girls who had been at each other's throats seconds ago were now arm-in-arm, forming a united front of dazed thirst. Lily handed one a lip gloss. Mary complimented the other’s sandals. The four of them giggled and whispered and took turns blowing kisses to Regulus as he stomped away, clipboard clutched in one hand like a weapon of war.
The rest of the group? Unhinged.
“He manhandled them,” James said, stunned. “He lifted them. With his arms.”
“I blacked out for a second,” Peter admitted.
“That’s it,” Alice said, grabbing her phone. “I’m writing fanfiction.”
“I want him to yell at me next,” Marlene whispered.
Sirius had given up on dignity entirely. “THAT'S MY BROTHER!” he shouted to a nearby mum with a baby. “My actual brother! Didn’t even pay for those cheekbones!”
The mum did not care. Her baby, however, gave Sirius a dirty look.
Back in the center of the rapids, Regulus continued to do his job.
Stern. Sharp. Controlled.
Blowing his whistle. Monitoring the tubes. Writing time logs. Checking the current strength with a test paddle.
But when toddlers waddled up to him in arm floaties with questions?
He was a different person.
“Hi there, superstar,” he said softly to one girl with a unicorn ring. “Are you ready for the rapids?”
The girl beamed. “I’m a mermaid!”
“You look like one,” he said, crouching to tie her float tighter. “Can you show me your mermaid arms? That’s it. Strong. Perfect.”
Another little boy asked if Regulus was a “pirate guard.” Regulus nodded solemnly. “Only on Tuesdays.”
One baby on a dad’s hip reached for him and babbled. Regulus touched the baby’s hand and said, “You want to ride the waves too, captain?” and the baby shrieked with joy.
He was soft. Warm. Gentle. Full of silly nicknames and kind words and tiny jokes. His voice lower, smoother, smiling a little now.
The group watched from the rail, slowly melting into hormonal soup.
“Okay,” Remus said. “That’s it. I’m in love.”
“He’s perfect,” Alice whispered.
“He’s gonna make me feral,” said Marlene.
Lily was crying. “He helped a baby. A baby. And the baby laughed.”
It had been over an hour since the Gryffindor Eleven first stumbled into Regulus Black’s chlorinated kingdom. Since then, they had done precisely nothing except orbit the Rapids zone like worshippers before a shrine.
Because Regulus, soaked in fluorescent pool light and duty, was putting on a masterclass in hot competence.
He scolded a group of teens for splashing too hard near a toddler. "You're in a shared space—cool it, or you're out," he barked, one hand on his hip, the other gripping his whistle with menacing flair.
He helped a frazzled granddad load three floaties onto squirming triplets, gently repeating instructions three times for clarity. “If she leans too far left, tilt her arm float—no, the other—yeah, that one. Perfect, sir.”
He directed lost adults with the firm patience of a GPS come to life. He explained how the Rapids schedule worked to a group of French tourists. He pointed out exits, bathrooms, vending machines. With zero attitude.
And the kids?
Forget it.
They came to him like he was Moses parting chlorinated seas.
One little boy—maybe six, maybe small for his age—got caught in the current too long. The tube flipped. He wasn’t hurt, just panicking, crying, flapping little arms against the rushing water.
Regulus didn’t hesitate.
He jumped.
Right off his post, sleek dive into the water like something out of a movie. Not dramatic—just efficient, clean. Cut through the current like it was nothing.
“Hey, champ,” Regulus said, voice low, calm, treading next to the boy. “Wanna take a break? Or you good to keep going?”
The boy hiccuped. “D-don’t know.”
“Too loud?”
The boy nodded.
Regulus pulled him close. “Alright. Let’s hang out over here a bit, yeah?”
He floated the kid over to the island and hoisted him up with ease, sat beside him, legs in the water, talking softly. Eventually the boy leaned his head against Reg’s shoulder. They sat like that for a minute. Maybe three.
Then Regulus pointed something out across the pool—probably some distraction technique—and the boy snorted a tiny laugh.
The entire Gryffindor group sobbed in sync.
“I can’t take this,” Marlene whispered. “He’s so good with kids.”
“He’s not even faking it,” Alice said, voice raw with disbelief.
“Motherfucker meant it when he said ‘champ,’” Peter whimpered. “That’s not a word you can fake.”
It didn’t stop.
One little girl in heart-shaped sunglasses demanded he watch her spin in a circle in the shallows. She shrieked with delight when he clapped and said, “You’re like a water tornado, princess. Ten out of ten.”
Another kid solemnly handed him a stuffed hippo—Princess Wiggles—before getting into the rapids. Reg held it gently in one arm like a relay baton, even patted its head once and said, “Don’t worry. I got her.”
A little boy wandered over sobbing and shaking, dripping wet with no floatie in sight. Regulus knelt immediately.
“Hey, hey—what’s your name?”
No answer. Just hiccupping.
“You with your mum? Or dad?”
Nothing but snot.
Regulus wrapped his arm around the kid’s back, pulled him in, pressed his walkie to his mouth. “Lost child, male, about five. Brown hair, red swim trunks with sharks. Found near Rapids Island. I'm holding him with me now.”
The kid clung to his waist like a koala, little fists balled in Reg’s shirt. Regulus crouched there, murmuring calming nonsense, hand rubbing the boy’s back.
By the time the mum came sprinting across the tiles, sobbing, Reg handed the kid back like it was sacred.
“You found him,” she gasped.
“Always do,” he said softly.
Then a girl—maybe eight, a glitter sticker still stuck to her forehead—slipped on the wet tile and skinned her knee. She burst into tears.
Reg was there in seconds.
“Hey, that looks mean. Want me to patch it up?”
She nodded tearfully.
He sat her gently on a lifeguard chair. Fished out a tiny first aid pouch. Wiped her knee, blew softly on it, applied a plaster with cartoon dolphins.
“See? Battle scar,” he said.
She blinked up at him.
Then he picked her up. Bridal-style. Full carry. Walked her over to the shaded bench with a towel.
The girl giggled and clutched his shirt, clearly convinced this was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to her.
When he set her down, she beamed and whispered something to her friend—clearly mouthing “He likes me.”
Lily had to sit down.
Then came the baby.
A toddler, really—fussy, red-cheeked, and squirming like a worm as their poor mother tried to wrestle a floatie onto their older sibling.
Regulus appeared like a guardian angel.
“Want me to hold him a sec?” he asked gently.
“Oh god, yes—thank you—he’s heavy—”
Reg picked the baby up with practiced ease, bounced him on one hip like he’d done it a hundred times, murmuring little words. The baby quieted instantly. Grabbed at Reg’s whistle.
“Nope,” Reg said, smile lazy. “That’s mine.”
The baby shrieked with laughter and shoved his wet fingers in Reg’s mouth.
He just snorted and moved them gently away, cradling the kid like it was no big deal.
Across the barrier, Sirius was crumpling into Remus’s arms like a man defeated.
“I’ve lost,” he whispered. “He’s prettier than me.”
“You never stood a chance,” Remus replied solemnly.
Then—just when they thought they’d emotionally recovered—Regulus tipped his head back, fished out his hair tie, and ruffled his fingers through his damp curls.
He held his sunglasses between his teeth by the temples, jaw flexing slightly as he redid his ponytail, lips parting, eyes squinting toward the lights.
Every single teenager watching died.
Right there on the tiles.
He tugged the tie snug, slid the glasses back up, wiped his neck with the back of his hand, and then—clipboard in hand—returned to his post like none of it had happened.
“Oh my god,” Peter whispered hoarsely.
“He’s not real,” Marlene said.
“I feel like I’ve been touched by an angel,” Lily murmured.
“I’m going to propose,” Mary said, eyes shining.
“I’ve seen God,” Fabian whispered.
“And He wears a red tank top,” Gideon agreed.
James had tears running down his face. “Regulus Black is the hottest man in the United Kingdom.”
“Correction,” Sirius said darkly. “The world. And I say that as his genetic match.”
Regulus did not glance at them once.
But his ears?
Just the tiniest bit pink.
It was bound to happen.
The kind of boys who haunted every public pool, skate park, fast food joint, and school hallway. The kind of boys who spoke in grunts and slurs and thought laughing loudly was the same as being funny.
There were five of them.
Taller than Regulus—everyone was taller than Regulus—but these ones were built like they knew it. Broad shoulders. Snapbacks. Swim trunks slung low like it was a flex. Loud voices that filled the Rapids zone before they'd even gotten near the water.
They shoved past the crowd barrier like they owned it, two of them already knocking into floaties, one of them sending a younger kid stumbling with a splash. Regulus blew his whistle once. Sharp. Immediate.
“Back behind the line. Wait your turn,” he barked, standing up straight, arms folded.
One of them snorted. “Chill out, bro. We’re just havin’ fun.”
Another smirked. “Didn’t know lifeguards came in pocket size.”
“Do you even lift, bro?”
“Bet you can't even touch the bottom of the pool without a ladder.”
All of them laughed. Fake. Loud. Grating.
Regulus didn’t blink. “You’re disrupting the rotation. Get back. Now.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be mad,” said the one with the red swim trunks, leaning in with mock-pouty lips. “What, no smile for me? You’re hotter when you smile.”
“Aw, look, he's blushing,” another cackled.
“He’s like a little angry cat—someone pet him before he explodes.”
They were loud, disruptive, cocky. Splashing. Grabbing at floats that weren’t theirs. Throwing water into the eyes of other guests. One pushed the limit and tried to run onto the island ledge. Regulus shoved back immediately, hard and fast and not gentle.
“I said: back. off.”
But through all the chaos, there was one.
One boy who didn’t join in.
Tall. Tan. Quiet.
He hovered at the back of the group, not laughing. Face tight. Eyes flicking between Regulus and the other boys, clearly mortified.
“Guys, stop—seriously,” he muttered, low. “You're gonna get us kicked out—come on—”
They ignored him.
Regulus had seen enough.
He grabbed his walkie, pressed the button, voice calm and professional:
“Unit Seven at Rapids Island requesting parental contact and security. Five male teens, safety violation, harassment, and disruption of scheduled intake.”
That sobered them.
“What the fuck?”
“Dude, chill—are you serious?”
“You can’t just call our parents—”
But Regulus didn’t engage. He stepped forward, yanked the floaties from under one’s arm, threw it back in the bin. Physically blocked the ride entrance with his body, arms out.
“You’re not welcome here. You’ve been reported. You’re done.”
“Bro, c’mon, it was a joke—”
“You’re a liability.”
A security guard was already approaching in the distance. A frazzled parent with a clipboard. The troublemakers went pale, stumbling back, stammering half-hearted excuses. The only one left not being dragged away was the quiet one, who hadn’t said a word and had actively tried to stop them.
Regulus turned to him. Lifted his sunglasses to rest on his forehead. Nodded once.
“Thanks.”
The boy froze.
Eyes wide.
His ears went bright red.
Up close, Regulus was devastating.
Sharp cheekbones. Smooth skin. Long lashes. Wet curls pulled into a messy ponytail that was still drying from earlier. Slim shoulders. Tan lines. Tank top clinging to his ribs. Whistle on a cord. His voice was low and steady. His lips were full.
The boy swallowed. “Uh—I—yeah—n-no problem,” he stammered.
Regulus squinted up at him. He was so much shorter, which somehow made the other boy even more nervous.
“I didn’t know they were gonna act like that,” the boy rushed. “I—I told them to stop—like, I—I’m sorry—”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Regulus said.
“Oh. Uh. Cool.”
“Relax,” Regulus said, a small smirk playing at his mouth. “You’re not getting banned.”
The boy nodded too fast. “Cool. Yeah. That’s—that’s good.”
There was a beat. The boy scratched his neck.
“I—I’m Levi,” he offered suddenly. “Sorry. I’m Levi.”
Regulus tilted his head. “Regulus.”
“Oh,” Levi breathed. “That’s—wow. That’s—uh. Cool. That’s a cool name.”
Regulus smiled a little.
“You’re... uh, like, my age?” Levi asked, voice cracking just slightly. “Like sixteen?”
“Yeah.”
“Seriously?”
Regulus arched an eyebrow.
“I mean—you just—you act older. You seem, like... really professional. And confident. And—like, wow.”
“I get that a lot.”
Levi smiled, then caught himself smiling, then looked away fast. “I think we go to the same college? Like—I’ve seen you in the canteen.”
“Probably. I’m there Monday to Wednesday.”
Levi beamed like it was Christmas.
“Oh. Oh cool. I’m there Tuesdays and Thursdays. Maybe I’ll see you next week. If you’re—if you’re not, like—busy being a lifeguard god or whatever.”
Regulus looked at him. Then down at his clipboard.
He scribbled something fast. Tore a corner of the paper. Folded it once. Then walked over, handed it to Levi without fanfare.
Levi blinked at it. “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
He did.
Inside, scrawled in clean, sharp handwriting:
Regulus — 0774*-****
Text me.
Levi went scarlet.
Like full-body red. Jaw dropped. Eyes wide. Heart exploding.
He looked up to see Regulus smirking at him, head tilted slightly, sunglasses pushed lazily up onto his wet curls again.
“See you around,” Regulus said casually, already turning back toward the pool.
Levi made a high-pitched noise.
Then muttered, “Holy fuck,”
Then turned and sprinted off, nearly tripping over his own feet, clutching the note like a sacred scroll.
“Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck, he gave me his number—oh my god, I knew being nice paid off—he’s so hot—holy fuck—”
Regulus didn’t even turn around.
Just sighed.
And smiled.
The moment Levi sprinted off, flushed and glowing and clutching the piece of paper like it was a Willy Wonka golden ticket, the dam broke.
From the other side of the barrier, the Gryffindor Eleven exploded like someone had set off a firework under their flip-flops.
“OH MY GODDDDDD—”
“HE GAVE HIM HIS NUMBER!”
“THAT BOY IS IN LOVE—”
“DID YOU SEE HIS FACE?”
“HE'S GONNA WRITE POETRY—”
“REGULUS BLACK, YOU FLIRTY LITTLE BITCH!!”
It was a cacophony.
Marlene was stomping her feet on the tiles. Lily physically fell to the ground. Fabian dropped his drink. Sirius screamed into his towel like he was at a boy band concert. James was doubled over with laughter, slapping Remus’s chest with every breathless howl.
Regulus? He flushed. Instantly.
Ears pink. Cheeks dusted in rose. Lips pressed together in a tight, betrayed little line. But still—still—he refused to acknowledge them.
He simply looked down at his clipboard and clicked his pen with the mechanical precision of a man trying to remember his training in breathing techniques.
He turned. Checked his watch. Sighed.
That’s when another lifeguard approached—tall, freckled, probably a uni student, with a lazy stride and a half-eaten protein bar in his hand.
“Black? Time’s up. I’m taking over. You’re on Wave now.”
Regulus nodded once, relief flickering across his face. He clipped his whistle back to the neck cord, passed off the clipboard, adjusted the strap of his tank.
The Gryffindors blinked.
“Wait, wait—what?” Sirius said, trailing him as Regulus stepped off the island.
“Where are you going now?” Alice asked.
Regulus didn’t look at them. “Rotation. Standard policy.”
“Rotation to where?” Mary demanded, jogging to keep pace.
“Wave pool.”
“The giant one?” James asked. “The one with the tsunami button?”
“Yes.”
“You get to push the tsunami button?” Peter gasped, reverent.
“Sometimes,” Regulus said.
“You’re just leaving us?” Lily accused. “Abandoning us?”
Regulus turned, one brow raised. “You know you don’t have to follow me, right? There’s, like, twenty other rides.”
He waved vaguely toward the slides and food court. “Go do something else. I’m not your tour guide.”
“Absolutely not,” Remus said firmly.
“You think we’re gonna miss the wave pool version of you?” Gideon huffed.
“You’re hotter than all the attractions combined,” Fabian added, twirling a towel dramatically.
Sirius shrugged. “We’re with you till the end now. You’re stuck with us.”
Regulus exhaled through his nose. “You’re all insane.”
“Regulus, baby, we’re in too deep,” Marlene cooed.
“Get it?” Peter added, grinning. “Too deep? Wave pool?”
Everyone groaned. Even Regulus rolled his eyes.
But he kept walking.
And they kept following.
One perfect little line of chaos behind him, through the lifeguard access tunnel, past the splash zones, heading straight for the loudest, most popular attraction in the park.
The wave pool.
Regulus in front, wet curls bouncing slightly, tank still clinging to his shoulder blades.
The Eleven trailing him like ducks. Horny, feral, emotionally unstable ducks.
They were completely, unapologetically feral for the hottest boy in the building.
And Regulus?
He didn’t look back once.
But the corners of his mouth were twitching.
Just a little.
The wave pool was the crown jewel of Aquazone.
It stretched wide and glittered under the overhead dome, light reflecting like broken glass across the rippling surface. Warning signs lined the far wall in every language imaginable. A massive grated panel loomed at the back—the source. That’s where the waves burst out in timed cycles, powerful enough to knock the wind out of you if you weren’t careful.
Which is why they posted the best lifeguards here.
And right now?
That was Regulus Black.
He stood above the water on the elevated platform, taller than everyone but still somehow the shortest in sight. A red rescue can—those bright, buoyant, torpedo-shaped floatation devices—was slung across his chest like a sash, resting in the crook of his arm like it belonged there.
He wasn’t sitting. He wasn’t lounging.
He was scanning.
Constant motion. Eyes darting back and forth. Clockwork discipline.
Every couple seconds he blew his whistle—not to punish, just to adjust.
"Off the grate!"
"No shirts in the deep zone!"
"Keep floaties in the shallow end!"
"Hey—no dunking! One warning, next time you're out!"
"Back to the rail, sweetheart. Too far for those water wings."
He pointed. He gestured. He moved with purpose, sharp and effective.
His body was tense, not in a panicked way—just ready. Every second was on. He was fully locked in.
Meanwhile, the Gryffindors were losing their fucking minds in the shallows.
They had scattered across the pool, half-drenched and clinging to pool noodles or plastic tubes, splashing each other, making comments they swore were subtle.
“LOOK AT HIM,” Marlene hissed to Lily, floating beside her. “He’s holding that red thing like a weapon.”
“He looks like he’s about to command a naval fleet,” Lily breathed.
“He’s so tense,” Remus murmured, bobbing in a ring. “Like he’s waiting for disaster.”
“Disaster’s already here,” Alice muttered, gesturing to them all.
Fabian was drifting in circles. “I want him to rescue me.”
“Same,” Gideon said, sipping pool water like it was champagne. “If I started drowning, that man would swan dive in slow motion.”
Sirius was floating on his back, sunglasses on, arms spread wide like a martyr. “I’m so proud. Look at my little brother, being all hyper-competent. Doesn’t it just make you wanna scream?”
“I am screaming,” James said, spitting water. “Inside.”
Regulus, up on his post, had clocked all eleven of them instantly.
He just… didn’t react.
He watched them splash around like overexcited golden retrievers and did exactly nothing about it. They weren’t breaking the rules—yet—and that was all he cared about.
Because the wave pool? It wasn’t like the Rapids.
It wasn’t a joke.
The tides rolled out in timed, violent pulses, and it only took one poorly timed dive or one struggling kid too far in to ruin someone’s day—or worse.
He wasn’t about to let that happen.
A pair of ten-year-olds started to wrestle near the center.
Whistle. “Cut it out. No horseplay.”
A man in his twenties tried to wade into the deep zone in a soaked t-shirt.
Whistle. “Hey—shirts off past the marker. Safety policy.”
A dad holding a baby got too close to the wall jets.
Whistle. “Sir! Back five feet. It’s not safe there.”
One kid, maybe seven, paddled a little too far out.
Regulus was already on the move.
He jogged down the platform steps, rescue can in hand, sharp and focused.
“Hey, bud,” he said gently. “That’s the drop-off point—you’re better off in the shallow. Wanna grab the bar over there for a second?”
The kid nodded nervously. Regulus walked him back, steady, never touching but always nearby, returning only when the kid was firmly back in safe territory.
All the while, the Gryffindors kept swimming, watching him like he was David in a Botticelli fresco.
They were wet, exhausted, and in awe.
Because this wasn’t flirty Regulus. Or sassy Regulus. Or even scowly little brother Regulus.
This was in-control Regulus.
He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t miss a thing. He was a lifeguard in his element.
Every move was calculated. Every callout was earned.
He was still pretty as hell—hair slicked back with water, sunglasses perched on his head again, tank top clinging to his ribs, board shorts riding low on his hips from the weight of the rescue gear—but now he was commanding.
It was driving them insane.
At one point, the wave cycle began.
A mechanical hum filled the air. The warning bell sounded.
Kids screamed with excitement. People rushed to get their floats. The whole pool shifted like a tide about to turn.
Regulus raised both hands above his head, fingers splayed, and shouted—
“Everyone behind the white line! Waves in thirty seconds!”
And like that? Everyone listened.
Even adults. Even tourists. Even rowdy teens.
He had presence.
Control.
Power.
And somehow, he made it sexy.
When the waves crashed forward—first soft, then stronger, then thundering—the Gryffindors let themselves be thrown around like rag dolls, all while screaming and gasping and flailing with absolutely no dignity.
Lily lost her top for a moment. Fabian kicked James in the face. Peter swallowed half the pool. Sirius tried to surf the current and face-planted.
And through it all, Regulus watched. Monitored. Adjusted his position to follow the tide. One hand on the whistle, the other resting on his hip beside the rescue can. His body tilted slightly forward, watching the water like it might whisper secrets.
Unbothered.
Unmoving.
Untouchable.
“Okay,” Marlene gasped, clinging to the edge of the pool. “I’m gonna fake a fainting spell. Do you think he’ll carry me out bridal style?”
“If you do it, I’ll fake a head wound,” Mary said.
“We can be matching trauma victims,” Lily added brightly.
“I’m just gonna drown for real,” Peter mumbled.
Remus nodded solemnly. “At least you’d die beautiful. Under his watch.”
Regulus, still on his post, didn’t look down once.
But from where they floated?
They could see the tiniest smile tug at the corner of his mouth.
At first, nothing seemed wrong.
The waves were still rolling—giant, frothy crests crashing over a sea of laughter and floating bodies. Kids shrieked with delight, parents clung to the edge, lifeguards watched from their perches. It looked like any other cycle, chaos contained in chlorinated rhythm.
But Regulus Black—poised on the upper platform, red rescue can in his arms, eyes slicing through the water like radar—noticed.
Just a flicker.
A gap in movement. A flailing arm. A tube bobbing with no rider. The wrong kind of splash.
His whistle screeched across the dome.
It cut through the noise like a blade.
“CLEAR THE DEEP ZONE!” Regulus shouted, voice amplified by sheer urgency.
Heads turned. Confused.
“What’s going on—?”
“Is that part of the show?”
“Why’d the waves stop—?”
Because yes, in that moment, he was already moving.
Whistle still swinging around his neck, he slammed the emergency override with his palm—waves disengaged. Water dropped instantly, churning into an unnatural stillness.
And then—he dived.
Off the platform. Over the barrier. Into the deep end with a splash that cracked like thunder.
The Eleven froze mid-laugh, mid-joke, half-submerged and blinking.
“What the fuck?” Sirius breathed.
“Is that—?” Remus started.
“Something’s wrong,” Lily said sharply.
Beneath the surface, Regulus kicked hard, sleek and sure.
A child. No older than seven. Tiny. Panicking. Struggling underwater in a whirl of bubbles and limbs. Caught by the current just seconds before the wave override kicked in. His float had slipped away—no flotation, no control, lungs burning.
Reg’s arms wrapped around the boy in one smooth motion.
“Got you,” he muttered, voice more desperate than he meant it to be. “I got you. You're okay. You're okay.”
The kid was still thrashing.
He held tight, angled them up, broke the surface with a gasp.
The crowd saw the child first.
Then saw the panic.
Gasps. Shouts. Someone screamed.
“He’s got a kid!”
“Oh my god, he dove in!”
“Is the boy okay?”
“He’s not moving—”
Regulus kicked hard, dragging the boy toward the edge with one arm, holding his head above water with the other.
“Out of the way!” he barked.
A lifeguard was already sprinting over. Together, they hauled the boy out. Regulus climbed out behind him, soaking wet, eyes wide, shaking.
The kid wasn’t breathing.
“Fuck.”
He dropped to his knees beside him. Shoved his hair back. Checked the pulse. Chest wasn’t rising.
“No, no—don’t you fucking dare—come on.”
His hands shook as he aligned them on the kid’s chest.
Two fingers for a child. Sharp, practiced, desperate.
“One, two, three—breathe—one, two—come on, sweetheart—”
The Eleven were silent now.
No jokes. No flirting. Just still, horrified silence as Regulus, trembling and drenched, performed CPR on a child in front of an entire crowd.
He muttered the whole time.
“Come on, come on—breathe, just breathe—you’re alright—”
The kid choked.
Water spilled from his mouth.
And then—a cough. A real, spluttering, panicked sob of a cough.
Regulus let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. Scooped the boy into his arms. Cradled him, rocking slightly. The boy sobbed into his chest, clutching at Reg’s soaked tank top.
“You’re okay,” Reg whispered, forehead pressed to the boy’s wet hair. “You’re okay. I've got you.”
The boy nodded, crying harder.
A scream from the crowd—“That’s my son!”
Two parents pushed through, frantic, wide-eyed. Regulus gently passed the child over, murmuring something soft and reassuring as the kid sobbed into his mum’s shoulder, still hiccuping and coughing but alive.
Everyone stood stunned.
Staff rushed in. One manager. Two security guards. A girl from first aid with a neon orange bag.
They swarmed Regulus and the family, taking over. Asking questions. Writing things down.
Regulus sat back, legs folded under him, hands trembling.
His face was white.
He dropped his head back against the edge of the pool.
Closed his eyes.
Rubbed both hands down his face, slow and shaky. He was breathing hard. His tank was clinging to his ribs. His curls were plastered to his face. Every inch of him dripping, every muscle tense and exhausted.
Still breathing. Still alive. Still processing.
The Eleven stood on the edge of the pool, unmoving.
Watching him.
Staring at the boy who had just saved a life and then collapsed like a drained battery.
And none of them knew what to say.
The pool was still buzzing with the aftershock.
The waves remained off. Parents clutched their kids tighter. Staff moved in controlled bursts, speaking into radios, guiding people away from the deep end, whispering in clipped voices.
But the epicenter—Regulus Black, still dripping and ghost-pale—was crouched near the edge, chest heaving in slow, shuddery inhales, soaked to the bone and blinking like he’d just been snapped out of a dream.
His hands were splayed on the wet tiles. Knees bent. Shoulders curled in. Head low.
The first aid staff tried to approach.
“Black, are you alright?”
Regulus nodded, slow but firm. “I’m fine. Focus on the kid.”
“Protocol says we check both parties—”
“I said I’m fine,” he insisted, voice cracked from panic, jaw tight. “Just—give me a minute.”
His coworker Joel (yes, that Joel—the one who called Reg a “cute little piece of ass”) showed up beside him a second later, crouching down and resting a hand lightly on his shoulder.
“C’mon, man. Come breathe somewhere that doesn’t smell like chlorine and trauma,” Joel murmured. “Let’s go get you a slushie or some shit.”
Regulus didn’t fight it.
Didn’t say much at all.
He let himself be led—half-dragged, honestly—by Joel and another lifeguard off the platform, towel shoved around his shoulders, sandals squelching as they guided him through the safety gate and across the path toward the open-air food court.
He was seated at a picnic table by the time his supervisor showed up—a tall, sharp-featured woman with a clipboard, a neon windbreaker, and the aura of someone who had seen things.
She knelt by the bench with a bottle of water and a kind look.
“You did everything by the book,” she said softly. “Perfect response time. You should be proud.”
Regulus didn’t answer at first.
He just sipped from the bottle slowly. Stared at the floor. One hand pressed flat against the table, fingers trembling faintly. He was still soaked. His tank top clung to his back like seaweed. His breathing was slowing, but not steady yet. Not calm.
“I messed up,” he said eventually.
His supervisor frowned. “How?”
“I should’ve noticed sooner.”
“You noticed before anyone else. You cut the waves. You got to him. You saved him, Regulus. Don’t argue facts.”
He didn’t look up, but he nodded.
That’s when the storm hit.
The Gryffindor Eleven came running.
Sirius was in front, soaked to the knees, towel forgotten, eyes wild.
James right behind him, shirtless and panting.
Remus, Peter, Lily, Alice, Mary, Marlene, Frank, Fabian, Gideon—all of them drenched and sun-flushed and breathless, voices overlapping as they skidded to a stop around the picnic bench.
“REG—”
“Are you okay—”
“Fucking hell, we thought—”
“You saved that kid, you—”
“Oh my god, you dived like some kind of—”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Reg—”
Sirius dropped to a crouch in front of him, hands on Regulus’s knees, panic written all over his face. “Hey. Look at me. Reg, look at me.”
Regulus blinked up at him, dazed.
He looked even smaller than usual like that—barefoot, pale, hunched over with damp hair sticking to his cheeks, rescue whistle still tangled around his neck.
“I’m fine,” he rasped.
“Bullshit,” Sirius snapped. “You stopped a drowning. You were doing fucking chest compressions—you nearly collapsed—”
“I said I’m fine.”
His voice was sharper now. Reflexive. Defensive. But his hands were still shaking. And Sirius saw right through it.
“Okay,” Sirius said quietly, adjusting. Softer now. “Okay. Just—breathe. Alright? You’re alright. You did it.”
Regulus closed his eyes.
Breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth.
Again. Again.
James stepped up behind Sirius and ruffled Reg’s wet hair with a trembling laugh.
“You’re a fucking hero, mate.”
Remus offered a juice pouch from god-knows-where. “Sugar. For shock.”
Peter awkwardly laid a towel over Reg’s lap. “You’re freezing.”
Lily crouched beside him and squeezed his hand. “You saved a life. No one else saw it but you. You were amazing.”
Regulus opened his eyes again. The praise made him squirm. He didn’t know what to do with it. His throat tightened and for a moment he looked like he might cry. Or scream. Or throw up.
“I just did my job,” he mumbled.
“No, Reg,” Marlene said gently. “You did more.”
They all stood there. Quiet now. Surrounding him. Warm. Solid. Present.
His little kingdom of chaos.
Fabian passed him a packet of crisps. Gideon opened a Fanta. Frank offered a half-eaten sandwich. Alice rubbed his back.
And Sirius?
Sirius didn’t move from his spot in front of him.
He stayed crouched. Eyes locked on Reg’s. Voice low and certain.
“You scared the fuck out of me,” he whispered.
Regulus looked down.
“I know.”
“But you’re okay,” Sirius said.
Regulus nodded, finally. A breath escaped his lungs.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m okay.”
And for the first time since the water swallowed them whole,
Sirius smiled.
Because Regulus meant it.
They didn’t leave him.
Not for a second.
Regulus sat at the picnic bench, towel draped over his shoulders, fingers curled loosely around a juice pouch, breathing slow but still a little shaky. His curls were beginning to dry in messy waves around his face. His lips were pale. His tank top clung to his collarbones and ribs, cold against his skin.
And around him, the world had quieted.
The food court buzzed with background noise—frying chips, chattering guests, the hum of slushie machines—but the bench he sat at felt like a bubble. Soft. Tucked in. Anchored by the presence of them.
Sirius hadn’t moved from his side since they got there.
He sat on the bench beside Reg, arm stretched behind him on the backrest, hovering like he couldn’t decide whether to touch his little brother or build a fortress around him with his body.
Regulus, exhausted, finally gave in. He leaned. Just a little.
Head pressed to Sirius’s shoulder.
The shift was silent, instinctive. And Sirius… stilled. Like he couldn’t breathe.
Then he adjusted slowly, wrapping the arm fully around Reg’s back. Holding him there.
He said nothing.
Just held him.
James had sat on the table itself, legs dangling, watching people go by but not leaving earshot. Remus was now kneeling by Reg’s side, keeping watch with his chin on his arm like a guard dog in soft boy form. Mary and Lily sat on the other side of the table, watching him quietly, handing him snacks when he looked like he might need them. Peter and Fabian were pulling chairs up, sitting backwards, bouncing knees. Alice and Marlene flanked the bench like emotional security. Gideon leaned over Sirius's other shoulder, stealing fries and mumbling comforting commentary.
No one pressured him. No one forced him to talk.
They were just there. Waiting.
“Black?”
His supervisor again—clipboard in hand, voice level but kind. She knelt by the bench, not crouching over him but beside him.
Regulus blinked and sat up a bit. Still leaning on Sirius. Not ready to let go yet.
“You alright now?” she asked gently.
“I think so.”
“You were pretty out of it. I wanted to check back in. If you're feeling like you need to go home, we can get someone to cover. You’ll still get full pay. You're cleared for it.”
Regulus hesitated.
“I don’t… know yet.”
“That’s fine.” She nodded, jotting something down. “I’m putting you on extended break. You can take the rest of the hour. Go sit somewhere quiet. Or not. Up to you. If you’re still rattled, we’ll sign you out early. Deal?”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
“Joel said he’s gonna sit with you for a bit.”
As if on cue, Joel reappeared—back in uniform but clearly on break himself, holding two bottled waters and a bag of crisps. He dropped them on the table and flopped down beside Reg like he’d been invited. He hadn’t. He didn’t need to be.
He threw an arm casually over Reg’s shoulders and tugged him in, clinking the water bottles together.
“Hey, champ,” he muttered. “Still breathing?”
Regulus gave him a look but didn’t move.
“Barely.”
Joel gave him a gentle squeeze. “You scared the fuck out of me, man.”
“I scared me.”
“You saved that kid’s life.”
Regulus said nothing.
Joel didn’t push. He just stayed close, head resting lightly against Reg’s, like the older brother Regulus had maybe wanted Sirius to be growing up.
Sirius, meanwhile, was still there—tense, protectively bristling, but grounding. He hadn’t moved his arm. He hadn’t stopped watching Reg’s every microexpression.
Joel glanced at him.
“Yo. You alright if I steal your brother for emotional support cuddles?”
Sirius didn’t even flinch. “You touch him wrong and I will drag you under a wave generator and end you.”
Joel nodded sagely. “Noted.”
Regulus snorted—quiet, weak—but it was a laugh.
Sirius relaxed a bit at the sound. And ruffled his damp curls gently.
“I’m not leaving,” he said, low and sure, meant only for Reg’s ears.
Regulus closed his eyes and leaned heavier into him.
“I know.”
They stayed like that.
As long as Reg needed.
And maybe longer.
Regulus didn’t say a word when his break ended.
He just sat there, hunched forward, fidgeting with the hem of his now-dry tank top, blinking slow and heavy like he’d been underwater for hours instead of minutes.
His supervisor came back, crouched beside him again.
“You sure you want to keep going?”
Regulus hesitated. Then shook his head. Just once. Small.
“No. I’m done today.”
“Alright.” She sighed, stood up, and ruffled his curls softly. “You saved someone’s life. You’ve earned the rest of the week off if you want it. Go home. Rest. We’ll clock you out early—full pay. I’ll sign it in.”
Regulus nodded, barely whispering, “Thanks.”
Joel gave him one last squeeze and a gentle smack to the back of the head. “Drink some Gatorade, cry into a pillow, and text me if you want me to kick any douchebags in the shins, yeah?”
Regulus didn’t roll his eyes. Not even a little. He just gave a tired, grateful glance.
By the time the rest of the Eleven found out he was officially done for the day, they were already throwing their shit together.
“Not leaving you alone,” Sirius said immediately.
“Obviously,” Lily added.
“You’re coming with us,” Frank said firmly.
“Somebody’s mum is gonna make soup,” Mary declared.
“And hot chocolate,” said Peter.
“I’ll bring my heated blanket,” Alice added solemnly.
“I’ll text my dad to clear the couch,” said Gideon.
“We’re kidnapping you for your own good,” said James.
“And for ours,” Remus shrugged. “We can’t relax until you do.”
No one argued.
Especially not Reg.
The staff even let them all into the employee changing rooms—probably out of shock, maybe out of awe, or possibly just to get the feral horde of beautiful crying teenagers out of the building.
They were in and out fast.
Regulus took the longest, showering off chlorine and adrenaline in silence, before emerging in one of his comfy outfits—loose grey joggers, soft oversized crewneck with a tiny embroidery of a cat curled on a book, towel still around his shoulders. His curls were half-dried and fluffy. His sneakers were untied. His face looked young.
When he walked into the front reception, all eleven of them turned like sunflowers.
And he went straight to Sirius.
Didn’t speak.
Just walked straight into him, leaned his head into Sirius’s shoulder, and stood there.
Sirius blinked.
Then immediately wrapped both arms around him and nodded like yes, this is happening now.
“Okay,” Sirius said softly. “Let’s go home.”
They split between two cars.
James drove the minivan—Reg, Sirius, Remus, Peter, and Lily crammed in with pillows and bags.
Frank drove the other—Alice, Mary, Marlene, Gideon, Fabian.
They kept the windows cracked and the music low. No one was in the mood for screaming pop lyrics or fast food debates. It was quiet. Gentle. Soft.
Sirius sat with Regulus curled into his side, arm slung around his shoulders, fingers occasionally brushing through his curls. Reg didn’t say much. He didn’t have to. Every few minutes he blinked slowly, then leaned more heavily into his brother’s chest.
By the time they pulled into Sirius and James’s parents’ house, Regulus was already half-asleep.
Inside, the living room became a nest.
Blankets. Pillows. Cups of tea and hot chocolate.
Someone brought snacks. Someone else grabbed tissues.
Frank turned the lamp on to its dimmest setting.
Alice lit a lavender candle and said it was “for trauma healing.”
No one argued.
Sirius sat down first, sprawled on the couch. Regulus followed without a word. He climbed onto the sofa like it was instinct, curled up across Sirius’s chest, face tucked under his brother’s jaw, legs draped along the cushions, arm resting across Sirius’s ribs.
Sirius adjusted the blanket over him.
Regulus let out a soft breath. And then another. And then—quietly, finally—he slept.
None of them left.
They all stayed.
Every single one.
Lily sat cross-legged on the floor next to the sofa, one hand on Reg’s ankle under the blanket. James and Remus flanked the sides of the couch, quiet and alert. Peter sat beside the fireplace, fiddling with his phone but never leaving the room. Fabian curled up against the armchair, head resting on Gideon’s thigh. Mary was brushing Marlene’s hair on the carpet. Frank brought in extra blankets. Alice made tea for the fifth time.
No one filled the silence.
They didn’t need to.
About an hour later, the sound of keys in the door. Footsteps.
“Boys? We saw the cars—”
Mrs. Potter appeared in the doorway first, then Mr. Potter just behind her.
They took in the scene slowly—twelve teenagers packed into the living room like a den of foxes, quiet and still, all curled protectively around a sleeping boy with wet hair and faint bruises under his eyes.
Regulus shifted faintly in his sleep. Sighed. Then stilled.
Mrs. Potter walked over quietly, laid a gentle hand on his blanket-covered shoulder, then looked at Sirius.
“Is he alright?” she whispered.
Sirius nodded, lips pressed to Reg’s curls.
“He’s okay now.”
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Regulus Black is sixteen years old, a full-time zoo program coordinator, and somehow the most terrifyingly adorable person alive. When Sirius invites the Gryffindors on what they expect to be a chaotic hangout, they’re shocked to discover his little brother is the star zookeeper at Bramblewick Zoo—beloved by animals, coworkers, and literal crowds of screaming children. What follows is a full day of educational chaos, soaking wet seal shows, penguin musicals, toddler-led career assessments, unexpected flirting, and one of the most legendary school field trips ever recorded in local history.
By the end of it, Regulus has earned the official title of Zoo Dad, has adopted eleven new chaotic siblings, and gets a cheek kiss from a coworker while still covered in fish water. And he still has to catch the tram home.
This is a story about found family, penguin choreography, and the kind of quiet magic that lives in being really, really good at what you love.
───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────
The group chat had been quiet for all of four hours before Sirius Black blew it up.
Sirius [16:02]
We’re going out. Tomorrow. No excuses. I’m bored and you lot are ugly.
James [16:03]
rude. but fair. what are we doing
Marlene [16:03]
if this is another "drink until frank cries" situation count me out
Frank [16:04]
it was ONE TIME. and I had hayfever
Sirius [16:04]
you sobbed over the curve of a plastic pint cup don’t start
Lily [16:04]
what are we doing, Sirius?
Sirius [16:05]
zoo.
Remus [16:06]
is that a euphemism for something?
Sirius [16:06]
no. actual zoo. animals. children screaming. overpriced slushies. the whole chaotic circus.
Peter [16:06]
you’re paying right
Sirius [16:07]
sort of
Alice [16:07]
wtf does “sort of” mean?
Sirius [16:07]
you’ll see xoxo
—
They were not sure why they all went along with it. No one had the money for a zoo trip. Half of them hadn’t even known there was a zoo within reach of their shitty cluster of town. But somehow, at exactly 10:23am the next morning, they were all crammed into two borrowed cars—Frank’s dented Vauxhall and Sirius’s vaguely stolen cousin’s Fiat—on their way to the Bramblewick Animal and Conservation Centre.
“I’m just saying,” said Marlene from the passenger seat of the Fiat, legs kicked up on the dash like the lawless gay she was, “if we get there and this is some sort of elaborate trick and he takes us to a garden centre with three pigeons, I’m setting something on fire.”
“You threaten arson a lot,” Remus pointed out from the back, nose already back in his book.
“She follows through like thirty percent of the time though,” James added with pride, elbowing Peter as if this were a stat to be proud of. “You remember the picnic bench at camp?”
“I still have the burn mark,” Peter muttered.
—
The zoo was real.
Actual animals. Actual screaming kids. A queue at the gates and everything. A sun-faded sign with peeling letters and a statue of a giraffe whose head had clearly been reattached with cement and hope.
“What the fuck,” said Mary, squinting up at the giraffe’s neck seam. “Is that—”
“Don’t look too closely,” Sirius cut in, leading the way past the rows of families with pushchairs and mums with sunglasses and silent dads carrying heavy backpacks.
“Mate, we’re not paying for this,” Frank said, pulling out his wallet and showing them the fiver and two train stubs rattling inside.
“I said sort of,” Sirius replied, grinning like he knew exactly what he was doing—which, frankly, was always a terrifying expression on Sirius Black. “Don’t worry. I have… connections.”
“You have what now?” Lily asked, looking about three seconds from smacking him with her ponytail.
But Sirius didn’t answer. He just strolled up to the ticket booth like he owned the entire zoo, slapped his hand on the counter and said, “Family discount. Regulus Black. Employee ID number... something.”
The woman behind the counter blinked at him. “You’re his brother?”
“Unfortunately,” Sirius said, and then smiled brightly. “But I’m using that today.”
The woman gave him a once-over, then slowly turned to her register. “You get 60% off with his staff ID.”
“Which I totally know,” Sirius lied. “But I’m so charming I bet you’ll look it up for me.”
She sighed, pulled up the record, and motioned them all through after getting his name and pretending not to notice that Sirius had written Sirius ‘Definitely Related’ Black on the little slip.
—
“Regulus works here?” James said, stunned, as they passed the map and Sirius waved them toward the meerkat trail.
“Yeah, I dunno,” Sirius said. “Something about endangered species and credits and work experience and saving the planet. I stopped listening after he said internship.”
“I bet he works in the gift shop,” said Gideon, who was eating cotton candy he’d somehow acquired within the first four minutes of entry.
“Or one of the food carts,” Fabian said. “He seems like the type to hand out overpriced popcorn and judge everyone for ordering the wrong size.”
“Or maybe the butterfly house,” Peter added thoughtfully. “All silent and ethereal and ‘don’t touch the wings or I’ll break your fingers’ vibes.”
“I’m just surprised he’s not holed up in some secret underground library being paid in melancholy,” Remus said.
Sirius didn’t reply. He was busy texting.
—
They didn’t see Regulus for the first two hours.
They wandered the zoo like any other group of semi-feral teenagers: shouting at goats, pointing at flamingos, taking selfies with glass-eyed lemurs, and collectively having a spiritual awakening when a tapir took a shit directly in front of them.
It was Frank who finally asked a nearby employee, a tall guy with a buzzcut and sunburnt arms, if Regulus Black was working that day.
“Oh yeah,” the guy grinned. “Cutie should be down near the penguins. Or was it the seals? Either way, he's on show duty soon. Starts in like ten minutes. Tell him Kieran says hi.”
The entire group froze.
“Show?” said Marlene slowly.
“What show?” asked Remus.
“Kieran thinks Regulus is a cutie?” James said, scandalised.
They took off toward the penguin area.
—
The show had already begun loading in when they arrived. They filed into a small amphitheatre, half-moon seating around a bright blue tank and a painted arctic backdrop. Dozens of kids were already screaming and bouncing in their seats, parents trying to wrangle snacks and sun hats and strollers into order.
They found a row near the back. James elbowed Sirius. “What the fuck kind of show is this?”
But Sirius just looked smug. “Wait for it.”
And then the announcer’s voice echoed through the speakers:
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls—welcome to our daily Penguin Pals Parade! Starring your favourite tuxedoed troublemakers—and of course, your host, Regulus Black!”
The lights came up. The side door opened.
And out stepped Regulus.
Wearing a ridiculous little uniform: navy blue shorts, a matching vest, zoo logo stitched over the chest. His sleeves were rolled, cheeks flushed, hair pulled back with a little clip, holding a whistle in one hand and a bucket in the other.
He looked bright. Cheerful. Smiling.
“Hello, everyone!” he beamed, waving at the audience. “Are you ready to meet some penguins?!”
The crowd of kids screamed. Screamed like it was the second coming of Christ in feathered form.
Sirius’s mouth fell open.
“Is he…” said Remus.
“Doing a fucking skit,” James whispered.
Regulus had begun his routine. He called out the names of each penguin—Professor Waddles, Captain Snowbean, Miss Wiggle-Toes—and gave them treats for waddling across platforms and diving into the pool on cue. He teased the crowd, made bad puns, splashed a few parents accidentally-on-purpose with a grin that made the entire front row giggle.
He was good.
No—he was amazing.
Engaging, funny, quick on his feet, and sweet with the kids who got chosen to come up and throw fish or wave flags. He mock-scolded the penguins when they stole from each other, then turned to the crowd and said, “You know, just like siblings. Steal your lunch and pretend they didn’t.” He winked at a kid in the third row and continued.
Sirius was stunned.
“Who the fuck is that,” Marlene whispered. “That’s not your brother.”
“He’s like…” Lily blinked. “He’s like a… like a Disney prince with a biology degree.”
Frank was crying again. “They’re so small,” he whispered, watching the penguins.
Mary was filming the whole thing on her phone. “I’m never letting him live this down. Never.”
Regulus still hadn’t noticed them.
—
The show ended to roaring applause and more screaming. The crowd started filing out. Regulus gave a final bow alongside a waddling penguin and vanished behind the tank entrance, waving as he went.
The group sat frozen.
James finally said, “I feel like I’ve just seen God. And he was holding a fish bucket.”
Sirius stood. “I’m gonna get him.”
“No, I’m gonna get him,” said Marlene. “I need to interrogate that bitch.”
Sirius rolled his eyes and flagged down another employee, a girl in pigtails and neon sunglasses. “Hey, I’m related to the penguin guy. Can we see him?”
“You’re related to Reggie?” she asked. “Huh. You’re taller than I thought. Gimme a sec, I’ll go grab him.”
She vanished.
They waited.
And then, from around the corner—
“What the fuck are you all doing here,” came Regulus’s voice.
Regulus stepped out from behind the side door, one hand tugging at the strap of his vest, the other cradling a single fluffy baby penguin to his chest.
And behind him—like clockwork, like magic, like he had strings tied around their little webbed feet—marched a parade of penguins.
A proper, waddling little battalion. Ten of them, all marching in a line, one of them pausing every now and then to peck at the floor or attempt mutiny by veering toward a bucket.
Regulus barely glanced down. Just gave a little click of his tongue and shifted the baby in his arms, who blinked up at him like he was the sun. The rest corrected course.
The group—his group, the idiots—absolutely lost their shit.
“Oh my God,” whispered Lily.
“He’s holding it like a newborn,” Alice said, both hands over her mouth.
“Are they following him?” said Peter. “Like—like ducklings?”
Remus snorted. “They are ducklings. Sea ducklings. Arctic ducklings.”
James stood with both hands on the railing, mouth open like a man witnessing the birth of a star. “I take it back. This isn’t God. This is God’s favourite. This is the chosen one.”
Regulus finally looked up.
His eyes narrowed as he took in the lot of them clustered in the back row like they were auditioning for a sitcom.
“What the fuck are you all doing here?”
Immediately, the betrayal began.
“It was Sirius,” Mary said, not missing a beat.
“Said you’d get us in free,” Frank added helpfully.
“I was told there’d be slushies,” Remus said, pointing to his empty hand. “I’ve been misled.”
“Don’t look at us,” Marlene said, waving her phone. “We’re just here to appreciate the cultural phenomenon that is Regulus Black, Penguin Daddy Extraordinaire.”
“Nice outfit, by the way,” Gideon grinned. “You look like a children’s TV presenter from the future.”
“Or a bisexual zookeeper in a cartoon,” Fabian chimed in.
“You dragged them here?” Regulus said to Sirius, whose hands were up in mock innocence. The baby penguin in Reg’s arms peeped softly.
“What, I can’t support my little brother's blossoming career in aquatic animal showbiz?” Sirius said, leaning against the railing with his best charmingly annoying expression.
Regulus huffed, adjusting the penguin. “You’re all idiots.”
“And you’re adorable,” James cooed. “Regulus Black, you are singlehandedly carrying the youth entertainment industry on your back.”
“Is that Kieran?” Lily asked suddenly, nodding toward the same buzzcut employee who’d pointed them to the show earlier. He waved when he saw Regulus.
Regulus flushed. “Don’t. Just—don’t.”
“Oh my God,” Marlene said, eyes widening. “Is he into you?”
“He’s been asking me out since I started,” Regulus muttered, still pink in the ears. “Keeps saying he likes a man with ‘penguin energy’. I don’t even know what that means.”
“He’s not wrong,” Sirius said, smug. “You do waddle like you’re hiding secrets.”
Regulus shot him a death glare.
“And besides,” James added, “you’ve got penguin rizz. They follow you.”
“Because I feed them,” Regulus snapped. “They literally depend on me for survival. It’s not mystical. It’s biology.”
“That sounds like penguin rizz to me,” Peter whispered, awestruck.
Lily leaned over the railing, still watching the penguins fussing around Regulus's boots. “So wait, is this, like, your actual job? What do you do here?”
Regulus glanced over at them all, clearly torn between telling them to fuck off and doing what he always did: take the bait, because they wouldn’t leave until he did.
“My job title’s technically Animal Caregiver and Program Coordinator,” he said with a sigh, like it wasn’t the coolest title they’d ever heard.
“Ooooh,” said Mary, twirling a strand of her hair. “Fancy.”
“I handle the penguins and the seals,” Regulus continued, ignoring them. “I’m their main carer, so I don’t get rotated through other enclosures like the junior staff do. I’m in charge of feedings, behavioural enrichment, basic health monitoring, sanitation, enclosure maintenance, staff training, and I coordinate the outreach and education programs.”
James blinked. “That’s, like… real work.”
“University-level work,” Regulus corrected, now fully in his zone. “This is part of my degree. I got early admission into the Zoology and Conservation Law program.”
“You’re sixteen,” Alice said, dumbfounded.
“Yeah, well.” Regulus shrugged. “I passed my exams. Applied early. Interviewed. Got in. It’s not that hard when you know what you’re doing.”
“And what exactly do you do with the animals? Aside from making them your devoted penguin cult?” Sirius asked, motioning at the ever-present group still huddled around Regulus’s feet.
“I do everything,” Regulus said, adjusting the baby penguin who was now nuzzling his chin like it wanted to be part of the conversation. “I hand-raise the chicks if their parents reject them, I design their enrichment activities, I log their behaviour changes, and I run the educational shows like the one you just saw. Also, I’m one of the social media liaisons, so I manage their TikTok and Instagram content when I’m on shift.”
Everyone stared at him.
“You’re telling me,” said Remus, slowly, “that you are the reason I keep getting penguin videos on my For You page?”
“The one with the seal trying to steal your clipboard—” Lily said.
“That’s mine,” Regulus said proudly.
“Holy shit,” James said, stunned. “You’re an influencer.”
“I’m a zoologist.”
“You’re a zoologist with a fanbase,” Marlene said, already back on her phone.
“No one tell Kieran,” Regulus muttered under his breath.
“What made you pick this job?” Peter asked, still watching the penguin at Regulus’s feet attempt to chew on his shoelace. “Like… how do you even get started in this?”
“I volunteered at a rescue centre when I was fourteen,” Regulus replied, calming the baby in his arms. “They had marine mammals. I liked the routine. Liked the quiet. Liked that they didn’t care what I looked like or sounded like. If I was late. If I was weird. They just… wanted food and kindness. It made sense. More than people did.”
Everyone went quiet for a moment.
“…Alright, but this one’s chewing on your ankle,” Sirius said.
Regulus looked down.
“Captain Snowbean!” he snapped. “Not the bootlaces. We’ve talked about this.”
The penguin stared at him.
Regulus stared back.
Eventually, the penguin backed off.
The group collectively gasped.
“He’s a penguin whisperer,” said Fabian.
“No, he’s a penguin daddy,” corrected James. “That’s your new name. Regulus Black, Penguin Daddy.”
“I hate all of you,” Regulus said.
But he didn’t hand over the baby penguin.
He just held it closer.
They didn’t mean to peer pressure him.
Well. Maybe some of them meant it.
“I’m on break,” Regulus had grumbled, still cradling the baby penguin as they all circled him like overexcited toddlers in a candy aisle. “I have to prep for the next show. I can’t babysit eleven grown morons.”
“You could though,” Sirius said, arm slung dramatically across Reg’s shoulders. “As a favour to your incredibly charming and genetically superior older brother.”
“You threw me into a bush when we were six.”
“You were being annoying.”
“I was crying.”
Sirius blinked. “Okay, maybe not genetically superior.”
“Come on, Reg,” Lily said, clasping her hands together. “We’ll behave. I swear. Just show us where the penguins sleep. I need to see them in their little pyjamas.”
“They don’t wear pyjamas—”
“Please,” Alice chimed in. “I’ll cry.”
“You always cry.”
“I’ll cry louder.”
Regulus stared at the sea of pleading, feral eyes. One of the penguins at his feet made a tiny noise, as if joining the argument.
He sighed. “Fine. But only because Captain Snowbean is on your side.”
A cheer erupted.
—
Backstage, as it turned out, was cold. Bone-deep, wind-in-your-marrow, who-pissed-off-Elsa cold.
The penguin habitat's internal section looked like a cross between a biology lab and an arctic bunker: stainless steel floors, huge climate-controlled tanks, scattered enrichment toys shaped like fish and snowballs, buckets, rubber mats, stacks of labelled crates, and a very large industrial freezer humming ominously in the corner.
Regulus didn’t seem to notice the temperature. While the others were already shivering, he was calmly tugging off his vest and changing into what could only be described as Peak Zookeeper Chic: dark navy wellingtons, reinforced trousers, a heavy black jumper, and a pair of bright blue sanitary gloves.
“Shoes,” he ordered, nodding toward a box of disposable plastic covers. “Gloves, too. Sanitation protocol. Do not touch anything without asking me first.”
They obeyed, if only because Regulus now sounded terrifyingly like an exhausted schoolteacher on their fourth class of the day.
“What happens if we do touch something without permission?” Peter asked.
“Depends,” Regulus said, flipping his clipboard open. “Best case? You contaminate their water supply and give the penguins diarrhea. Worst case? They imprint on you and never leave.”
Sirius laughed. Then saw Regulus was not joking.
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” Regulus said, ticking something off on his list. “Don’t fuck around.”
—
As they followed Regulus deeper into the habitat, they realised just how vast his little kingdom was. The public exhibit outside was barely a quarter of the actual facility. There were internal pools, incubation areas, cold storage for fish, medical equipment, and huge whiteboards covered in penguin names, health stats, and feeding schedules.
And all throughout, the penguins followed him.
Sliding behind him on their bellies. Waddling up to nudge at his boots. Performing little hops and spins like they were trying to impress him. One even brought him a soggy blue fish plushie and dropped it by his foot like a cat presenting a kill.
Regulus barely reacted. Just reached down, scratched behind its head, and said, “Good girl, Wiggle-Toes.”
Marlene made a noise. A feral, possessed, choking-on-your-own-emotions noise.
“I’m going to fucking explode,” she whispered.
“Do they all follow you like that?” Remus asked, watching the parade in stunned silence.
“Yeah,” Regulus muttered, making a note on his clipboard. “It’s the food. And because I raised most of them. They’re like dogs, but colder and more dramatic.”
He gestured to one with a particularly grumpy expression. “That’s Professor Waddles. He hates loud noises. Bites anyone who sings off-key. So, James—don’t.”
James pouted. “That was one time.”
They moved through the rest of the area, Regulus stopping to refill food bins and double-check cleaning rotas as he explained more about his course.
“I’m doing a dual programme,” he said, scratching a penguin under the chin. “Zoology with Conservational Law. The idea is to get into animal welfare legislation. Policy-making. Conservation projects. I do fieldwork during term, and I work here to keep up with the hands-on experience.”
“Wait,” Lily blinked. “You do fieldwork? As in… outside?”
“In Scotland,” Regulus said grimly. “Rain. Mud. Sheep. My lecturer once fell in a bog.”
“Sexy,” Sirius muttered.
“I’d like to fall in a bog,” Frank said, looking dead inside from the cold.
“Don’t tempt me,” Regulus replied.
—
The seal area was quieter. Warmer, too, with higher humidity and softer lighting. The enclosure was massive: a half-pool, half-land setup with padded rocks, ramps, floating toys, and a slide.
The seals were napping when they entered. That changed fast.
“Here we go,” Regulus sighed.
One of them—massive, sleek, and completely shameless—perked up immediately at the sound of his voice and flopped off its rock like a sack of wet flour.
“Don’t,” Regulus warned.
The seal let out a delighted bark and launched itself across the enclosure, dragging its hefty body with impressive speed.
“No, Duke, I have things to do—nope—”
The seal flopped right into him.
Regulus barely budged, like he was used to it. “This is Duke. He’s got attachment issues. Thinks he’s a lap dog.”
“He is a lap dog,” said Mary. “A six-foot, three-hundred-pound sea dog.”
Regulus gave up and let the seal drape across his legs, flippers wrapped loosely around his waist like a clingy toddler. He scratched behind its ears and patted its stomach with surprising gentleness.
“You’re ridiculous,” he cooed at the beast. “You just want attention. That’s what this is.”
The seal honked in agreement.
“Oh my God,” whispered James. “I want to be him. I want to be the seal.”
“No,” Remus said flatly. “You are the seal.”
Regulus finally wrestled free and continued his rounds, clipboard in one hand, pen in the other, rattling off temperatures, feeding times, and medication schedules like it was second nature. The seals watched him go like forlorn lovers.
—
By the time they’d made a full circle back to the prep area, the group was shivering, overwhelmed, and completely obsessed.
Regulus checked his watch.
“Alright,” he said. “I’ve got twenty minutes before the next show. I need to prep feed buckets.”
He glanced back at them, a wicked spark in his eye.
“You lot still want to help?”
“YES,” they all said in unison.
“Alright,” he said, the smirk curling across his lips, clipboard under his arm. “Put on those smocks. Over there. Gloves. Waterproofs. Goggles if you’re squeamish.”
“Why—?” Sirius began.
“You’ll see,” Regulus said sweetly. “And remember—you asked for this.”
They didn’t notice the evil glint in his eyes until it was far, far too late.
At first, they were excited. Giddy, even. Like kids at a birthday party. Like idiots at a fish-scented rave.
They tugged on waterproofs and aprons and wobbly boot-covers, giggling as they tried to pull the latex gloves on properly without snapping each other's fingers off. Goggles were passed around with dramatically loud complaints. Someone—Peter, probably—put theirs on upside down and declared himself an underwater welder.
The bins of fish were… less delightful.
“Oh my God,” Lily gagged, leaning back as Regulus dragged a crate over and opened the lid with a rubbery squelch. “That’s—that’s what we’re touching?”
“Yep,” Regulus said, grinning like a devil. “Atlantic herring, capelin, sardines, a few mackerel. All pre-approved for optimal protein retention and gut flora consistency. Some still have eyeballs.”
“OH MY GOD,” said Mary, actually retching.
“Don’t throw up in the penguin bin,” Regulus barked, smacking her lightly on the shoulder with a towel. “They will eat it.”
He was already tossing fish into various buckets with practiced ease, humming as he did. With his sleeves rolled and hair tied back, smock smeared with water and fish guts, Regulus looked a little like a boy band member doing an aesthetic photoshoot themed ‘The Arctic Fisherman's Son’. Unfortunately for everyone involved, it worked.
“Right,” Regulus said, hands on hips. “You lot wanted to help. Congratulations. I’m making you earn it.”
“Why does that sound ominous,” James muttered.
Sirius groaned. “It’s the smirk. He’s got the evil little smirk.”
“Correct,” Regulus said brightly, and then clapped once. “Let’s go traumatise some interns.”
—
The moment they stepped back into the penguin enclosure, the chaos began.
Regulus didn’t feed the penguins like a normal person. No, Regulus orchestrated it. Like some sort of feral fish ballet. The penguins—who moments ago had seemed adorable and dignified—became monsters.
Sliding. Leaping. Nipping at gloves and thighs and sleeves.
“GET IT AWAY FROM ME—” screamed Gideon, as Professor Waddles launched himself three feet through the air and headbutted him in the crotch.
“They bite! They fucking bite!” Frank shouted, holding his hand above his head while one penguin hung off the glove like a demonic keychain.
“Stop running, you’re making it worse!” Regulus called helpfully from the other side of the enclosure, tossing a fish with one hand and writing on his clipboard with the other.
Remus was cornered by two penguins doing a weird mirror waddle like they were about to perform a ritual.
“I think these two are forming a union,” he said.
Peter had slipped and was now being nibbled on by three different penguins.
Fabian tripped over a fish bucket, and the penguins cheered.
“You planned this,” Sirius yelled at his brother, trying to dodge a penguin with wild eyes and vengeance in its soul.
Regulus cackled. Full, sharp, wicked laughter. It echoed across the enclosure like a war horn. “You wanted to help! This is what helping looks like!”
“YOU’RE EVIL,” Lily screamed, flinging a fish like it was a grenade.
Regulus just whistled, and half the penguins swerved immediately to follow his sound, suddenly calm and orderly again.
“HOW,” James shrieked. “How did you do that—”
Regulus shrugged and made another note on his clipboard. “Penguin rizz.”
—
Once everyone had either given up or been left emotionally destroyed by the penguin horde, Regulus herded them all into the warmer prep area, tossed them clean towels, and started talking through the next tasks like a proper handler.
They, meanwhile, lay sprawled over benches and coolers, wheezing.
“That was,” said Sirius, “the best and worst experience of my life.”
“You’re welcome,” Regulus replied sweetly.
“…Do the seals do that too?” Alice asked, peeling a fish scale off her cheek.
Regulus glanced at her, and his grin sharpened. “Not… usually.”
Marlene gasped. “You’re holding back the final boss, aren’t you.”
“I knew he was evil,” Peter muttered.
“So,” Remus said, sitting up and stretching, “you said you study conservation law too, right? Is that… is that as intense as it sounds?”
Regulus nodded, wiping off his clipboard and pulling up a digital file on the tablet attached to the wall. “It’s both science and legislation. I split my time between the animal studies modules and law courses—wildlife protection, environmental ethics, policy drafting, the whole lot.”
“And the fieldwork in Scotland?” Lily asked, pulling off her gloves now that her hands had stopped trembling.
“I’m stationed at a marine reserve up there once every couple months,” Regulus said, flicking through his notes. “We track grey seal populations, tag migratory birds, take soil and water samples, monitor pollution levels. It’s muddy and cold and exhausting and I love it.”
“Jesus Christ,” James muttered, stunned.
“I’m also working on my thesis,” Regulus added, too casually.
“You’re sixteen,” Mary said again, like a broken record.
“I know.”
“What’s it on?” Frank asked, genuinely curious now.
“Adaptive enrichment strategies for captive-born aquatic mammals versus rescues,” Regulus replied. “How behavioural patterns shift based on socialisation, feeding structure, and interspecies bonding. If I finish early, I’ll be published before I turn seventeen.”
Everyone just stared at him.
“Oh,” Regulus added, like he’d just remembered, “I’m also shortlisted for the Kaplan-Sanderson grant.”
“What’s that?” Sirius asked, rubbing fish slime off his shoulder.
“International conservation initiative. Research funding and placement with the Oceania Marine Preservation Agency. If I get it, I’ll be on paid sabbatical for six months. I’d train a replacement for my job here, take the leave, then come back after.”
“Reg,” Lily said softly. “That’s… huge.”
Regulus shrugged again, suddenly bashful. “My course sponsor’s covering all my tuition and accommodation already. I don’t need the money. I’d just like to do the work.”
“Wait, wait—sponsor?” Gideon said, blinking. “Like, some guy pays for you?”
“Government scholarship. Sponsored by a wildlife policy advisor. Old family friend. I get full coverage for tuition, housing, and books. I still work full-time here, though. I like having my own income. Most of it goes toward groceries, lab equipment, and I’m saving for a car.”
“A car?” James wheezed.
“Yeah. I want something small and electric. Once I pass my test.”
Peter whined. “You have your life together. I cried trying to apply to college. I wrote my email in the ‘first name’ box and then had a breakdown.”
Marlene looked genuinely offended. “You pay your own groceries?”
“I make a budget,” Regulus said mildly. “And I shop with vouchers. It’s not that hard.”
“You have a budget. You have a plan. You have grant shortlists.”
“You also have fish guts in your hair,” Regulus said, flicking a piece at her.
“I hate how hot you are while doing this,” Marlene hissed.
“Your laugh is so cute it makes me want to scream,” said Lily, folding her arms.
“I will actually perish here,” whispered Mary.
“You really weren’t supposed to see all this,” Regulus muttered, cheeks faintly red as he turned back to the tablet.
“Wait,” James squinted. “What do you mean ‘all this’? What didn’t we see?”
Regulus froze.
“No,” Sirius said slowly. “No, no, no, what did we miss—?”
Regulus sighed, not meeting their eyes. “Nothing. Just… the other shows.”
“What other shows,” Remus said, narrowing his eyes.
Regulus mumbled something under his breath and tried to walk away.
James bolted forward. “What did you say?”
“Nothing—”
“What. Shows.”
Regulus paused. Looked like he considered running. Then gave in with a defeated groan.
“…Sometimes I do themed shows. For birthdays. And schools. And special events.”
“So?” Sirius said.
“…They’re musical recreations.”
The room fell silent.
Regulus refused to look up.
“…You do musical theatre. With penguins,” Lily said slowly.
“It’s not like that—”
“WHAT MUSICALS,” screamed Marlene.
“I swear to God,” Regulus muttered, turning around and slamming his clipboard down. “If you bring this up ever again—”
“DO YOU DANCE?”
“DO THE PENGUINS DANCE?”
“DO YOU SING, REGULUS?”
“I WILL FEED YOU TO DUKE.”
They were already screaming. Dying. Falling over each other. Shaking Regulus by the shoulders.
“You were almost free!” James howled. “You could’ve gotten away with just being the hot fish boy with the evil penguins! And then you HAD to be a theatre kid on top of it!”
“WE’RE SEEING A SHOW. WE’RE BOOKING A SHOW.”
“I will call the front desk right now,” Sirius threatened.
“I WILL BURN THIS ZOO TO THE GROUND,” Regulus roared.
He was red to his ears. The seals barked in support. The penguins slid dramatically in formation behind him like they knew exactly what was happening.
And despite everything—despite the humiliation and fish slime and personal betrayals—
Regulus laughed.
A real laugh. A sharp, flustered, honest thing. High and bright and exasperated, curling out of his chest like warm smoke in the frozen air.
James watched him. Stunned silent.
God help him, the theatre penguins had nothing on that laugh.
They were still reeling from the revelation of the penguin musicals—Sirius had started humming “Defying Gravity” every time Regulus walked past, and Marlene was trying to find out if she could bribe a staff member to let her into the next show—when Regulus called out, “I’m feeding the seals now. If you’re going to follow me like ducklings on crack, you might as well be useful.”
He didn’t wait for an answer, just turned on his heel and marched off, clipboard in hand, penguins trailing after him with military precision.
The Gryffindors followed like they were bewitched. Hypnotised. Cursed. Whatever it was, Regulus had them now. They were his. Victims of the Penguin Prince. The Seal Whisperer. The Zoologist Prodigy with a clipboard and a bone to pick.
—
Feeding the seals was marginally less violent than the penguins. But only marginally.
Regulus tossed fish with expert aim, calling out names with military command: “Duke—behave. Bella—no, you’ve had yours. That’s Bella’s, Pike, you little gremlin. If you eat it, you’re skipping lunch. Yes, I mean it.”
Duke tried to flop into his arms again. Regulus shoved him gently with a boot and sighed, scratching his head like a worn-out single dad.
The others watched from behind the splash-guard rail like stunned tourists.
“This is mental,” said Frank.
“I’m in love,” said Lily.
“I want to come back every day and just watch him do this,” said Peter. “Like a reality show.”
“You say that like I’m not standing right here,” Regulus deadpanned.
“You are, which is why we’re saying it,” Remus said, leaning on the rail. “Hey, while you’re wrangling Floppy the Menace over there—what kind of lectures do you actually have to go to? Is it all penguin-based, or is there a class where you learn to talk to seals?”
Regulus huffed out a breath, tossed another fish into the air (caught mid-flight by a show-off named Pike), and leaned against the cooler.
“I have five core modules this semester. Wildlife Behavioural Psychology, Environmental Policy and Legislation, Marine Mammal Biology, Conservation Communications, and Statistical Ecology. Plus my thesis, independent study hours, two internships, and the fieldwork stuff in Scotland.”
“Jesus,” said Marlene, clearly recalculating her entire life.
James blinked. “I go to business college. I had a guest speaker last week who gave us a talk about branding yourself on TikTok.”
“My plumbing apprenticeship just started using PowerPoints,” said Fabian.
“I made a pasta salad for a GCSE resit project,” Peter added quietly.
“Do your parents ever ask about this?” Lily asked suddenly. “Like—don’t they notice you’re basically running a miniature Arctic kingdom out here while doing a full degree?”
Regulus didn’t answer right away.
He looked at the seals. Then at the floor. Then tossed the last sardine into the water and said, flatly: “They don’t know.”
The silence was immediate.
“What?” Mary said.
“They don’t know,” Regulus repeated. “About uni. Or the job.”
“What the fuck do you mean,” Sirius said, pushing forward. “How do they not—how do they not notice? You leave the house every day. You’re never home.”
Regulus shrugged. “I don’t live there.”
And just like that, another bomb dropped.
“Come again?” James said, voice cracking.
“I have my own flat,” Regulus said, still focused on rinsing his gloves and checking his clipboard. “Student accommodation. Fully funded. One-bed, en-suite, kitchen. Bills included. Free travel pass. Gym, laundry, student lounge, the works.”
Everyone stared.
“I—how long?” Alice asked.
“Since last autumn,” Regulus said. “As soon as I got accepted. My sponsor arranged everything.”
“That same government guy?” Remus asked.
Regulus nodded. “Policy advisor for wildlife legislation. Knew me from when I volunteered with one of his research groups. He pulled strings, got me full scholarship and housing. Everything else I pay for myself.”
“You’re sixteen,” Mary whispered.
“I know,” Regulus muttered.
“What about travelling?” Frank asked. “Like, to work and uni and all that?”
“Travel pass covers most of it. Trains and trams. It’s not far,” Regulus said. “Still, I’d rather drive. I’m almost finished with my lessons. I’ve got a second-hand car waiting on reserve. Just need to pass my test.”
Sirius looked like someone had just slapped him. “You’re sixteen,” he said, again, weakly.
Regulus smirked. “Catch up.”
Lily threw her hands up. “Do your parents think you’re dead?!”
“Doubt it,” Regulus said, sounding bored. “I left a note.”
“A note?!”
Regulus kept talking over their screeching. “Anyway, it’s better. Quiet. Clean. Mine. I cook for myself. I clean up after myself. I don’t have to listen to them talk about bloodlines and politicians over dinner. It’s—good.”
There was a pause. A quiet one. Even Sirius didn’t say anything.
Then, Regulus—clearly trying to deflect—held up his clipboard and snapped, “Anyway. Benefits. You wanted to know about those too.”
They nodded dumbly.
“So. Zoo staff perks,” he continued, more animated now. “I’m on full salary. Not a stipend, actual wage. Taxed, but still decent. I get paid holiday leave, sick pay, pension contributions, and private healthcare through the zoo’s partnership with the conservation board. Mental health included. Free meals when I’m on long shifts. Uniforms and kit are provided and replaced every quarter. Discount on travel passes.”
“Do you get fun benefits?” Marlene asked faintly, like she wasn’t sure she could take more.
Regulus grinned. “Yeah. Free entry to all partner zoos and aquariums. Discount at the gift shops. I get to go to conservation galas and policy mixers. There’s a staff boat trip once a year to the sea lion sanctuary.”
“Oh my God,” Lily breathed.
“I want to kiss you,” Peter blurted.
“No,” Regulus said flatly.
“I get it,” Peter muttered.
“And you still want to do this job long-term?” Remus asked.
Regulus looked down at the seals again, who had begun flopping lazily in the water now that feeding was over. Duke was floating upside down, flippers spread, belly to the ceiling, eyes closed in bliss. Regulus tossed him a final fish, which he caught without moving a single muscle.
“I do,” Regulus said softly. “This is what I want. Not just the animals. The science. The law. Being able to do something. To protect something.”
He looked back at them then, arms crossed over his clipboard, eyes sharper than any of them expected.
“This job, this degree—it’s the first thing that made me feel like I could actually exist. Not just survive, but—be. So yeah. I want it.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty.
It was filled with awe.
Awe, and the smell of fish.
And one soft voice—James, possibly, though he’d deny it to his dying breath—whispered:
“He’s so fucking adorable.”
Regulus groaned. Like a deep, tortured, soul-rattling groan. The kind of groan you make when you trip over your own dignity and land face-first in the glittering pit of public humiliation.
He flushed—violently—and ducked behind his clipboard like it could shield him from the emotional carnage.
They all cooed.
“Awwwwww,” Lily said first, hands over her heart.
“He’s shy,” Mary whispered.
“Look at the ears,” Fabian gasped. “So red.”
“Is this how the seals feel when they’re told ‘no second breakfast’?” asked James. “Because I feel attacked by how cute he is.”
“STOP,” Regulus snapped from behind his clipboard. “I will put you in a freezer.”
“I’d be honoured,” Peter murmured.
Regulus didn’t lower the clipboard.
—
Final checks were done in record time. Reg ticked and scribbled his way down the clipboard, pausing to glance into tanks, check enrichment toys, refill water dispensers, and throw a final sardine to Duke, who made a noise like a happy inflatable raft.
Once satisfied, Regulus dropped the fish bucket off in the prep room, peeled off his apron and boots, and washed his hands with quiet precision.
“Right,” he said, not quite looking at them. “I’m heading to the canteen for lunch. You can come, if you’re not going to embarrass me in front of other people too.”
The others perked up like meerkats on Red Bull.
“You have lunch here?” said Sirius. “Like a real one? With tables and chairs and everything?”
“No,” Regulus said. “We eat standing in the rain like cavemen. Yes, it’s a canteen. You’re not feral tourists. Behave.”
He tugged his jumper sleeves down and grabbed his clipboard again—his ever-present shield—and a walkie-talkie off the charging dock.
“Wait, why do you still have that?” Alice asked, pointing at the clipboard and radio.
“You’re not on shift anymore, right?” said Frank.
“I’m on site,” Regulus said. “So I’m still on call. If something happens, they’ll page me. Lost child, animal escape, cleanup. I’m technically always working until I clock out. I have my next show in an hour.”
“So you’re still in uniform,” Lily said slowly, “because you’re working.”
“Ding ding,” Regulus said. “Gold star, Evans.”
—
The walk from the enclosures to the staff building was unlike anything they expected.
The zoo was alive.
Not just the animals, but the people. The energy. And Regulus walked through it like he belonged there. Not as a visitor, or even an employee—but like the place bent around him slightly. Like it made room.
They trailed behind him like oversized ducklings, watching as person after person approached.
It started with a family—a frantic mum with two toddlers and a juice-soaked stroller. She rushed up, panic in her eyes.
“Excuse me! You’re the penguin keeper, aren’t you? Our daughter’s obsessed with them—Elsie, come on, come here, darling—she recognised you from the TikTok! You’re the one with the glasses the seal stole!”
Regulus smiled, crouched down to toddler level, and said, “That’s right. He was trying to eat them. Never trust a seal with fashion sense.”
Elsie giggled. The mum looked ready to cry from gratitude. Regulus gave her a little sticker from his pocket—penguin-shaped—and directed them to the show schedule.
A few steps later, a group of teens approached, half-embarrassed, half-thrilled.
“Um—can we get a selfie with you?” one asked. “My friend follows the zoo account. She loves your animal facts.”
“Sure,” Regulus said easily. “Smile. Or squawk.”
He posed with a peace sign and a blank expression. They screamed.
Five metres later, a group of school kids spotted him. A whole class. One yelled, “IT’S THE PENGUIN GUY!” and suddenly Regulus was mobbed by a sea of excited ten-year-olds.
They were asking everything:
“How many penguins are there?”
“Do seals have teeth?”
“Do the animals watch you sleep?”
“Are you married?”
“Are you a robot programmed to love penguins?!”
Regulus answered them all with good humour and speed.
“I have 19 penguins, 7 seals, and at least 3 coworkers who bite.”
“Seals have 34 teeth on average. Don’t put your hand in their mouth.”
“No, but the owls do judge my fashion choices.”
“God, no.”
“…Not that I know of.”
He even taught a few of them the penguin dance—a dumb little routine with flappy arms, bouncy knees, and exaggerated waddling. The kids copied him instantly. Half the class joined. A grandma even joined in.
By the time the schoolteacher caught up—bright-eyed and breathless—Regulus was giving sticker prizes for the best penguin impersonation.
“Excuse me, are you Regulus Black?” the teacher asked, starstruck.
“Depends,” he said. “Am I in trouble?”
“Quite the opposite. You’re… incredible. Would you consider doing a guided tour for our students later? Not just the penguins—if we meet you at the seals after the next show, could you walk us round the whole zoo? Maybe a few educational talks at each exhibit?”
Regulus blinked.
Then smiled, slow and genuine. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d love that.”
The teacher practically fainted.
—
By the time they reached the staff building, the Gryffindors were staring at Regulus like he’d just parted the Red Sea using penguin footprints.
The canteen was clean, sleek, and smelled like heaven. Actual hot meals. Multiple counters. Fresh-baked bread. Roasted vegetables. Curry. Pasta. Even a salad bar that didn’t look like it had been abandoned in a bunker since 1997.
And every employee they passed grinned and waved at Regulus.
“Hey, Cutie!”
“Afternoon, Cutie!”
“Where’s your fan club headed, Cutie?”
“Cutie?” Sirius repeated, stunned. “Are they calling you—”
“It started as a joke,” Regulus muttered, flushed again. “I tripped during my first week and knocked over a bucket of fish in front of the director. She called me ‘Cutie’ to cheer me up and it just—stuck.”
“Oh my God,” Lily said. “That’s canon now. That’s lore.”
“CUTIE,” came another voice. A tall woman with bright pink streaks in her hair and tattoos of birds down both arms. “Your penguins staged another mutiny. That toy you gave them? It’s in pieces.”
“I told you not to give it to Bean,” Regulus sighed.
“You told me after I gave it to Bean.”
She looked over the group, eyes glinting. “These your friends?”
“Unfortunately,” Regulus said.
“Well,” she grinned, sticking out her hand to Sirius, “you’re the brother, yeah? We love Reggie here. Boy’s a ray of sunshine.”
Regulus visibly winced.
They were ushered into the food line like royalty.
And then the food itself—real food. Delicious food. Food with seasoning and warmth and options. Everyone piled their plates like they were expecting a famine.
Regulus picked his way through the salad bar, filled a tray with spiced lentils, roasted sweet potato, couscous, greens, and topped it with tahini and lime.
Everyone else paused mid-scooping to stare.
“You eat like a goddess,” Mary whispered.
“You’re not getting meat?” James asked.
“I’m vegan,” Regulus said, shrugging.
“Since when?!” Sirius barked.
“Since I turned fifteen.”
“BUT YOU EAT LIKE IT’S A MICHELIN STAR,” Lily gasped. “I thought vegans lived on lettuce and despair.”
“I cook, Evans.”
“Hot. That’s hot,” Marlene muttered.
Once they’d all got their trays, Regulus led them to a big table in the corner—clearly his spot—and sat down, immediately checking his walkie for updates and scribbling notes on his clipboard with his food half-eaten beside him.
The others watched him. Ate in silence for a moment.
Then—
“I want to be you when I grow up,” Peter said.
“I’m younger than you,” Regulus replied without looking up.
“And still,” Peter whispered. “Still.”
They all nodded.
Cutie, clipboard and all, didn’t notice.
He just took another bite of lentils and started drawing up enrichment plans for the seals like the most casually intimidating teen genius to ever grace a zoo lunch table.
The lunch table descended into noisy chaos about five bites into their meal.
Regulus had almost managed a moment of peace—head down, food half-finished, clipboard angled just right to hide behind—when one of his coworkers flopped into the seat beside him with all the grace of a hyperactive Labrador.
“Well well well,” said Pink-Streaks (her lanyard said Tasha), grinning wide. “So these are the infamous Mystery Friends.”
“We’re not mysteries,” Sirius said around a mouthful of whatever the hell he’d piled on his tray. “We’re the main characters.”
“Main characters in a sitcom called ‘Poor Regulus Gets Roasted by Everyone He Knows’,” Tasha said sweetly.
Regulus groaned and dropped his fork. “Please leave.”
“Nope,” said another coworker—a tall bloke with bleached curls and a permanent sunburn, whose nametag read Harvey. “Not until we tell them the stories.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
“What stories?” Lily asked instantly, eyes sparkling with curiosity and violence.
“Oh, you know,” Harvey drawled, sliding into a chair next to Remus, “like the time Cutie dropped a full tray of fish guts down the front of his waterproofs his second day on the job.”
“I smelled like corpse sushi for two days,” Regulus muttered.
“Or when one of the penguins stole his walkie and we could hear him panicking on all channels while chasing it around the indoor enclosure.”
“Captain Snowbean has no remorse,” Regulus said through clenched teeth.
“What about the enrichment day where he tried to make a floating obstacle course for the seals?” Tasha grinned. “And Duke decided that meant jump kick the caretaker.”
“It was enrichment for them,” Regulus said. “Not for me to enrich the pool floor with my spleen.”
“He bounced,” Harvey said. “Like a pool noodle.”
Sirius was crying with laughter. James had leaned so far back in his chair that only Marlene’s hand on his collar was keeping him from toppling backwards.
“And don’t forget last Halloween,” another coworker—short girl, big earrings, name tag said Nina—cut in. “When Reggie wore a penguin onesie to the show and the actual penguins mobbed him. They thought he was their long-lost God.”
“They tried to nest in his hood,” Harvey wheezed.
“I WAS IN CHARACTER,” Regulus shouted, red to the ears.
“CUTIE THE CHOSEN ONE,” Sirius bellowed.
“And then—oh my God—last Friday,” Tasha said, voice pitch-perfect for storytelling, “Kieran.”
Regulus froze.
“Who the fuck is Kieran?” Marlene asked.
“Oh,” said Harvey, waggling his eyebrows. “The one who told you lot where to find Reggie earlier.”
“He’s obsessed,” Nina whispered.
“Unfortunately,” Regulus muttered, face going redder.
“Reg’s been hiding from him all day,” Tasha said, nodding solemnly. “Ever since the Great Seal Dunking Incident.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Regulus said.
“Please do,” Lily begged. “Immediately.”
Tasha leaned forward like she’d waited her whole life for this moment. “So last Friday, during seal show practice, Kieran was standing too close to the ledge. He’s the worst for ignoring the tape line. And Duke—God bless that blubbery king—launches straight into him. Full body slam. Right into the tank.”
“Oh my God,” Peter whispered.
“Kieran panics. Flailing. Drama. Screaming. Everyone’s running. Regulus dives in like a fucking lifeguard. Drags him out, no hesitation, full adrenaline.”
“I had to!” Regulus shouted. “I thought he was unconscious!”
“Oh, he was not.” Nina was shaking with laughter. “The second Reggie started doing CPR—”
“Proper CPR,” Regulus snapped. “It was certified!”
“—Kieran pretended to stay unconscious just to keep it going,” Harvey said, nearly crying.
“He moaned,” Tasha said. “I swear on my life. Full-on moaned.”
“Reg didn’t even notice,” Nina said. “He was so stressed. Kept yelling ‘BREATHE, YOU DUMB BASTARD!’ and Kieran was lying there like he’d died and gone to horny heaven.”
“I hate all of you,” Regulus said into his hands.
“So,” James said, coughing to contain his laughter, “do we get to meet Kieran?”
Regulus shot him a look of such pure warning that even Sirius flinched. “No.”
“Anyway,” Tasha said, turning cheerfully to the group, “you lot are adorable. Chaos gremlins, but adorable. You staying long?”
“We’re following Cutie to his next show,” Lily said sweetly.
“And begging to come on the school tour,” Marlene added.
Regulus looked like he wanted to crawl into a seal’s mouth and disappear.
“I guess,” he sighed. “But you have to stick to the back. No yelling. No stupid jokes. Safeguarding rules.”
“Deal,” said James.
“Absolutely,” said Remus.
“Can I wear a badge that says ‘Penguin Dad’s Groupie’?” asked Fabian.
“No,” Regulus said instantly.
But he was smiling.
And they saw it.
And that was the worst part.
Because now they knew:
Regulus Black wasn’t just brilliant. He wasn’t just terrifyingly accomplished, or obscenely good with animals, or secretly the sweetheart of an entire zoo staff.
He was adorable.
And doomed.
Because the Gryffindors were never letting this go.
They followed him like enchanted ducklings.
Back out of the staff canteen, through the winding pathways of the zoo, past the gift shops and food stalls and a bubble machine some intern had accidentally turned on too early. Regulus led the way, clipboard under one arm, walkie clipped to his belt, radio crackling faintly. He was back in work mode—chin high, shoulders squared, expression calm and focused.
The rest of them, however, were feral.
James kept humming the Titanic theme. Sirius was theorising what would happen if he smuggled one of the penguins home in Marlene’s oversized tote bag. Peter was still too emotionally compromised by the vegan lasagna to function, and Lily hadn’t stopped whispering, “He’s so fucking cute,” under her breath like a mantra.
When they reached the amphitheatre, the place was already bustling.
Kids in bucket hats. Parents loaded with snacks and regrets. Teachers with lanyards and those little clipboard folders all teachers seem to own. The class from earlier had already gathered in a cluster by the gates, waving madly when they saw Regulus.
“Cutie!” one of the other keepers at the entrance called. “You good to go?”
Regulus nodded. “Give me fifteen to prep and I’ll radio you for the music cues.”
The Gryffindors watched as he ducked past the barriers and vanished through the side door behind the stage, a flurry of penguins already waddling toward him with anticipation.
“Do you think he has a little dressing room back there?” Marlene asked. “Like with a light-up mirror and everything?”
“Do you think the seals get a green room?” Fabian added.
“What if they demand fresh grapes before every performance?” Peter whispered.
They didn’t have time to theorise further—because the gates opened and the line moved forward.
They took seats near the back, just out of reach of the enormous red letters that read “SPLASH ZONE: YOU WILL GET WET. NO REFUNDS.” Sirius had to be dragged back three separate times from trying to sit directly in the front row on purpose.
Finally, the crowd settled. Children bounced in their seats. An old man unfolded a camcorder the size of a lunchbox. The lights dimmed, the speakers crackled—and then, from the side stage:
🎶 “WHO’S READY TO MAKE A SPLASH?” 🎶
Cue screaming.
Literal, high-pitched, childlike war screams.
The music blared—some peppy, brass-heavy theme—and the stage lit up with bright lights and bubble machines and a dramatic cloud of fog that did absolutely nothing except excite the hell out of the children.
And then—
Regulus appeared.
Still in uniform, sleeves rolled, hair tied back in a little bun, a waterproof mic hooked over one ear. He looked like a zookeeper-slash-popstar, and walked with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly how ridiculous the job was and leaned in.
“Good afternoon, Bramblewick Zoo!” he called, raising his arms.
The crowd cheered.
“Are you ready… for some chaos?”
More cheering. Screaming. Applause. One penguin barked in support from backstage.
Regulus smirked. “I hope you packed a towel.”
—
The show started with a high-energy seal intro—Duke flopped dramatically out first and waved one flipper at the crowd before sliding across the stage and into the main pool with an enormous splash that soaked the first three rows. Children shrieked in delight.
Then came Bella and Pike, diving in synchronised arcs and spinning like sleek torpedoes.
Regulus narrated the entire thing like a wildlife documentary filtered through a stand-up routine.
“And here we see Bella,” he intoned seriously, “doing her best impression of a fish rocket. And now Pike, whose talent lies in eating three fish at once and still judging your life choices. And this—this is Duke. He’s big, he’s bold, he once tackled a coworker into the tank. You know who you are.”
The Gryffindors howled with laughter.
He ran the crowd through their names, then through some tricks—wave, spin, jump, splash. With each command, Regulus made a dramatic motion—finger pointing up like a conductor—and the seal obeyed. On the final splash cue, four seals launched water at once, and the front rows erupted in screams and soaked clothes.
Regulus turned to the audience, mock-horrified.
“Oh no,” he gasped. “They got you! I specifically told them not to do that.”
The seals honked.
He mock-scolded them.
“Bella! We talked about this. That’s no way to treat guests. What do we say when we ruin someone’s hairstyle?”
Bella flopped once and splashed again.
Regulus sighed. “Apologies in seal, apparently, involve direct eye contact and another gallon of water.”
—
Then came the audience interaction segment.
“Now,” Regulus said with a mischievous gleam in his eyes, “I’m going to need some brave volunteers.”
Hands shot up. Children vibrated in place. Parents gestured wildly.
Regulus picked four victims—two kids, one teenage girl in a hoodie, and a dad who very much did not want to be chosen.
He brought them to the edge of the splash zone, handed them laminated “fish” cut-outs, and told them to hold still.
“Now remember,” he warned, grinning, “don’t move a muscle. The seals are trained to gently splash you.”
Every one of them got absolutely drenched.
He cackled onstage as the dad stood blinking with water dripping down his nose. “Congratulations, sir. You’ve been baptised by sea dog. That means you’re officially part of the team.”
—
By the time the penguins made their cameo—led out with tiny ribbons on their flippers and waddling in a neat line—the entire amphitheatre was on the verge of combusting.
Regulus did improv comedy skits with them.
He gave one a tiny top hat and made it “sneak” fish from the bucket when his back was turned. He dramatically gasped and played detective. He staged a trial. He made the audience “vote” on whether the penguin was guilty. (The penguin was not guilty. Obviously. She got extra fish and applause.)
It was dumb. It was brilliant.
And the kids ate it up.
—
From the back, the Gryffindors sat slack-jawed, soaked in secondhand glitter and penguin magic.
“I can’t believe he choreographed this,” Lily whispered.
“I can’t believe he improvised all that crowd work,” said Remus.
“I can’t believe I used to bully him,” Sirius muttered. “I feel like I owe him a fruit basket or something.”
James was frozen in place. “He’s like… if David Attenborough and a circus ringmaster had a hot baby.”
Marlene wiped a tear. “I’d give up oxygen for him.”
—
The show ended with a final seal splash so massive the first five rows had to retreat. Regulus bowed dramatically, hands raised, and the crowd went wild.
“Thank you for visiting Bramblewick Zoo!” he called over the noise. “Stay hydrated! Don’t feed your siblings to the penguins! We’ll see you next time!”
He blew a kiss—ironically, sarcastically—and vanished through the side door.
The seals waved flippers behind him.
The children cheered.
The Gryffindors rose to their feet like they’d just witnessed history.
Peter whispered, with reverence:
“That was better than Hamilton.”
The seal show ended in chaos—cheering, splashing, children high on adrenaline and wet socks—and by the time Regulus emerged backstage, towel slung over his shoulder, the school group was already gathering near the exit gates, chaperones flapping around like panicked birds.
Regulus approached the teacher—Ms. Hadley, her lanyard read—and they exchanged a few quiet words. The Gryffindors hung back a few paces, watching as she nodded enthusiastically and gestured for the students to assemble.
“She says you can follow,” Regulus told them without looking directly at them. “You stay at the back. No chaos. No stealing any of the kids. She’s watching you.”
Ms. Hadley, a fifty-something woman with a clipboard and battlefield-weary eyes, gave them a warning smile. “You’ll behave, yes?”
“Of course,” Remus said politely.
“We’re very responsible,” Lily added.
Peter immediately tripped over his shoelaces.
—
Regulus turned on his Show Voice.
“Alright, explorers!” he shouted, striding to the front of the pack. “How’s everyone doing?!”
Screams. Excited screams.
“Did we all have a good lunch?!”
More screaming.
“Did we enjoy the seal show?!”
Absolute mayhem. Children bouncing in place. One girl screamed, “I LOVE DUKE!” so loud she startled a pigeon off a bench.
“Good!” Regulus grinned. “Because I’m your guide for the afternoon—and we’re about to see everything. Every animal, every zone, every bug, bird, beast, and banana-loving monkey. You ready?!”
They roared.
And with that, he led the parade.
—
Butterfly Garden
Regulus ushered them into the steamy greenhouse, where jewel-coloured butterflies fluttered like slow confetti.
He crouched to show them how to hold still so one might land on their fingers. He pointed out rare species, told them how they taste with their feet, and even helped one boy who got nervous after one landed on his nose.
“Don’t worry, she thinks you smell nice,” Regulus said. “Take it as a compliment.”
—
Avian Enclosure
Bright birds darted overhead. Regulus identified each one, mimicked a few calls, and dodged impressively when a cockatoo decided he was a landing strip.
One unfortunate boy got pooped on.
“It’s very good luck,” Regulus told him. “Which means I am extremely lucky. My hair’s been a bullseye since I was fifteen.”
—
Reptile House
Dark, cool, and full of scales. Regulus let them touch a python’s shed skin and explained the difference between venomous and non-venomous snakes.
He ended the talk by letting a small corn snake curl around his arm.
“Her name’s Ginger. She’s shy but loves cuddles.”
—
Insect Pavilion
The kids screamed and cooed in equal measure. Regulus let a tarantula crawl across his hands and up his forearm.
“She’s fuzzy like a peach,” he said, stroking the spider’s leg. “And she’s got better table manners than most people I know.”
Even the bravest students backed away.
—
Bat Tunnel
Dim lights. Fluttering wings.
Regulus pointed out echolocation demos and explained how important bats were to the ecosystem. He whispered eerie facts that made the kids huddle close together, then snapped on a glow bracelet with a grin.
Hyenas: Sound challenge—kids had to laugh like a hyena to “earn” stickers.
—
Dinosaur Exhibit
The final stop.
Loud, dark, full of fog and towering animatronics.
Regulus dropped the act and became a full-blown cryptozoologist.
“These are real,” he said with a deadpan face.
“You mean animatronics, right?” a kid asked.
“No,” Regulus replied solemnly. “That’s Brian. He’s a teenager. If you see him move, make yourself look bigger.”
They believed him.
Screaming. Running. Ducking from roaring T-Rex animatronics.
Regulus stood beside a fossil sandpit like a mad scientist. “You want to survive the dino invasion?” he said. “You dig. Find the truth.”
The kids dug like their lives depended on it.
—
Afterwards, Regulus gathered the muddy, giggling, overstimulated group and handed out their final reward.
From his clipboard pouch, he took out a stack of laminated “Junior Zoo Explorer” certificates. He signed each one in his curly scrawl, added a penguin sticker, and handed them out with a proud smile.
As if that wasn’t enough—he marched them all to the gift shop.
“Everyone,” he said, “pick one small toy. I’ve got it covered.”
They screamed.
He also got them each an ice cream, full-priced, extra sprinkles. Paid for it all with his staff discount and his own card, like it was nothing.
The teacher tried to argue. Regulus waved her off.
“It’s fine,” he said, soft but firm. “Let them have something to remember it by.”
And they would.
They’d remember everything.
Because Regulus Black didn’t just run a zoo show.
He ran a fucking kingdom.
The final stretch of the tour led them back toward the Bramblewick Zoo Education Centre, a bright, airy building just beyond the giraffe enclosure, painted with animals on the outside walls and giant paw prints leading to the front door.
Regulus held it open as the thirty-something kids barreled through in chaotic waves—still hyped on sugar, adrenaline, facts, and love for the man they now loudly referred to as “Zoo Dad.”
“Back to base, Night Explorers,” Regulus called after them, still wearing his penguin whistle and radio, clipboard tucked under one arm like a war general leading his troops into one final mission. “We’ve got one last challenge. You ready?”
“YEAH!!” came the war cry.
Inside, the education centre was all bright posters and animal skull replicas and sensory boards. There were long workbenches and beanbags, terrariums and glass displays, and a mini smartboard hooked up at the front of the room.
The Gryffindors were already seated at the back, crammed onto the benches beside Ms. Hadley, who looked about as dishevelled as a person could get while still retaining her sanity.
They were all whispering—loudly—about everything they'd just witnessed.
“Did you see the lemur race?” James whispered.
“He let a tarantula climb him,” Peter said, traumatized and starry-eyed.
“He’s insane,” Remus murmured. “And incredible.”
“I’ve never had that much fun in my entire life,” Sirius said. “And I’m not even legally allowed near half these animals.”
“We’re not the main characters anymore,” Lily muttered. “It’s him. He’s the chosen one.”
Regulus ignored them and clapped his hands once to bring order to the chaos.
“Alright!” he said brightly. “Who’s ready for a QUIZ?”
The kids erupted.
“I’ll be asking questions based on everything we saw today,” Regulus continued. “Get them right, you get a sticker. Get enough stickers, you get a shiny star on your certificate. Get the most stars, and you win… the coveted title of Honorary Head Zookeeper Assistant to Duke the Seal.”
Gasps.
“A noble title,” Regulus said solemnly, “but one that comes with immense responsibility. Are you brave enough?”
“YESSSS!!”
He grinned. “Good.”
And the quiz began.
—
The questions ranged from easy…
“What do flamingos eat that turns them pink?”
“How many teeth does a seal have?”
“What does a capybara vibe check mean?”
…to absolute chaos:
“Which penguin committed snack theft during the show?”
“How many kids were splashed into the Splash Zone and lived to tell the tale?”
“True or false: Regulus Black is actually a penguin in disguise.”
(The answer was true. Regulus confirmed it with a suspicious “Waddle waddle.”)
—
The stickers came fast. The certificates were updated with shiny stars. The giggling wouldn’t stop.
Then came The Career Test.
“Now,” Regulus said, holding up a stack of colour-coded laminated cards, “it's time to find out what your job would be at the zoo.”
Screams again.
Each card had a cartoon title—Snack Distribution Officer, Penguin Trick Specialist, Sloth Babysitter, Giraffe Hat Designer, Rhino Mood Analyst, Otter Gymnastics Coach, Head of Warthog Management, etc.—with a short explanation and a tiny drawing of the kid who matched it.
He called each child up individually, made a huge show of “assessing” them, and dramatically flipped their card around before the audience cheered them into legend.
“You,” he said to one giggling boy. “Have the chaos, the power, the snack-pocket capability of a Penguin Treat Technician.”
He gave him a sticker shaped like a fish.
One little girl got “Tarantula Ambassador to the Queen”. Another, “Baby Elephant Nap Monitor.” A very serious boy received “Zebra Footprint Analyst.”
By the end, every kid had a job.
Every kid had a sticker.
Every kid was glowing.
—
Then came the Q&A.
“Alright,” Regulus said, sitting on the edge of the desk and swinging his legs like a normal teenager for once. “You’ve been amazing. You’ve been explorers, researchers, penguins, zookeepers, artists. Now’s your chance to ask me anything. Any zoo questions, big or small.”
“What’s the smelliest animal?”
“Hyenas, hands down.”
“Do seals have birthdays?”
“Yes. Duke’s is in June. He demands cake.”
“Is your name actually Regulus or did the penguins name you?”
“…Let’s say yes to both.”
Then one girl raised her hand, not bouncing like the others.
She looked thoughtful.
“How did you learn to do all this?” she asked. “Like, how do I be like you?”
Regulus blinked.
“Well,” he said slowly, “I go to a very big-kid school. University. I study zoology, which is all about animals. And I also study something called conservation law, which is about protecting animals and their homes.”
He looked around the room, speaking now like a mentor—not just a performer.
“I take lots of notes. I go to lectures. I do science experiments, and I go to real wildlife sites to study animals in their natural places. And when I’m not doing that, I’m here. Working with the penguins and the seals, making sure they’re happy and healthy and loved.”
The girl’s eyes lit up. “I want to do that too!”
Regulus smiled. “Then you absolutely can.”
—
“Zoo Dad, how old are you?” a boy asked, narrowing his eyes. “Are you, like… fifty?”
Regulus gasped, mock offended. “EXCUSE ME?!”
Another girl chimed in: “My brother’s seventeen and useless and you’re, like, a real adult.”
“I’ll have you know,” Regulus said, hands on hips, “I am sixteen years old. Barely! I still get ID’d for glue sticks.”
Dead silence.
Then a collective scream: “WHATTT?!”
Even Ms. Hadley stood up, stunned. “You’re sixteen? I thought you were at least in your twenties!”
Regulus put a hand to his heart. “I’m emotionally in my eighties.”
They howled.
—
Then came the hugs.
One by one, every kid lined up to hug Regulus. They buried their faces in his jumper, clung to his waist, high-fived him, whispered thank-yous, called him Zoo Dad and Sir Seal and King of the Penguins.
He handed out final stickers.
He posed for selfies.
They made him crouch in the middle of the group for a massive photo—Ms. Hadley clicking away like a proud aunt—and then insisted she take one with him.
She laughed nervously, brushing back her fringe. “Oh, I don’t know…”
“DO IT,” the kids chanted.
“Kiss himmmmmm,” one kid whispered, and the others screamed.
Regulus, never one to waste a bit, grinned wickedly.
“Ms. Hadley,” he said dramatically, holding out his hand. “May I have this photo?”
She laughed. “Why yes, Mr. Black.”
He dipped her. Full-on, romantic, exaggerated theatre dip.
The kids lost their damn minds.
Screaming. Cackling. Stomping. Ms. Hadley snorted and clutched her lanyard, wheezing as she laughed.
They both posed, cheek to cheek, as the camera snapped again.
—
By the time the buses arrived and the kids were piling back into their seats, waving out the windows and yelling goodbyes, Regulus was leaning against the Education Centre wall, cheeks pink, arms folded, eyes soft.
Sirius came up beside him, speechless for once.
“You’re a rock star,” he said finally.
“I’m a zookeeper,” Regulus replied.
“Same thing,” Remus said.
“You’re a legend,” Lily said.
“You’re a menace,” said Marlene. “I want to be you.”
Regulus shrugged, eyes still on the bus pulling away.
“They called me Zoo Dad.”
“And you loved it,” James added.
“…Yeah,” Regulus whispered. “I kinda did.”
Even after a full day of screaming children, soaking wet seals, an impromptu penguin courtroom drama, a dino-based reality breakdown, and thirty-five kids now believing him to be their eternal Zoo Dad—Regulus still had chores.
The sun was dipping low, the zoo slowly draining of its visitors, staff locking up the outer enclosures and switching off music in the gift shops. Overhead, the speakers played a soft “thank you for visiting” message on loop, the air smelling of popcorn and damp stone.
Regulus was making his final rounds—checking tank filters, refilling vitamin bins, logging enrichment activity notes, gently nudging a sulky Bella back into her holding pen, and giving Duke his final evening fish with a stern: “Don’t eat the thermometer again.”
The others—his others now, apparently—trailed after him like oversized goslings with crushes.
“That show was actually the best thing I’ve ever seen,” Peter said, his voice still hoarse from all the cheering.
“The bats!” said Lily. “The bracelets! The dinosaur gaslighting!”
“You dipped the teacher,” Remus whispered. “You Disney prince’d her.”
“You created a full-blown career simulation game for literal children,” James said, swinging an arm over Reg’s shoulder. “You dressed them for success.”
“You are no longer allowed to say you’re boring ever again,” Marlene announced, pointing dramatically.
Regulus huffed, cheeks warm, trying not to grin.
“I’m just doing my job.”
“Your job involves a tarantula, two dozen penguins, a rapping lemur, and public CPR,” Fabian said. “That’s not just a job. That’s a lifestyle.”
Regulus giggled. Actually giggled, ducking his head behind his clipboard again.
They all cooed.
“You guys are so embarrassing,” Reg grumbled.
“And you love it,” Mary teased.
“Maybe,” Regulus muttered.
—
He finally made it to the staff building, ducking into the locker room to peel off his jumper and gloves, ditch his radio and lanyard, and emerge a few minutes later in soft, oversized clothes: a vintage band tee tucked into slightly cropped black jeans, chunky boots, and a navy zip-up hoodie with a tiny embroidered penguin on the chest.
It was somehow cuter than the uniform.
The eleven of them stared.
“What,” Reg said flatly.
“You’re just,” Sirius said.
“Really,” Remus said.
“Fucking,” James added.
“Adorable,” Lily finished.
“Don’t look at me,” Regulus groaned, blushing again.
He went to clock out—signed the sheet, punched his card, scribbled a few notes—when Kieran rounded the corner.
Regulus froze like a deer in headlights.
“Shit,” he hissed, ducking behind Sirius. “He saw me.”
Regulus peeked out from behind Sirius, straightened his shirt, tried to appear totally chill.
“Hey,” he said, voice two octaves higher than normal.
Kieran smiled and scratched the back of his neck. “You… uh… still mad about the CPR thing?”
“I’m— I wasn’t—” Regulus started, dying internally. “You could’ve drowned.”
“I floated, babe.”
“Don’t call me—”
“I was gonna ask earlier, but you were mid seal-dip and child mob,” Kieran said, stepping closer. “But I, uh… I wanted to know if you maybe wanna go out sometime? Like… an actual date. With no CPR. Or maybe with. You know. If it comes up.”
Regulus looked like he was about to faint.
Sirius, grinning with too many teeth, answered for him.
“He’d love to.”
Kieran whooped. Actually whooped. Then grinned and leaned in to kiss Regulus’s cheek—quick, warm, a little smug—and wrapped him in a hug so sudden Regulus flailed in surprise.
“I’ll text you, alright? Later, Zoo Dad.”
And with a wink, he jogged off into the sunset.
Regulus was frozen.
Still. Red. Quiet.
Then he turned to the group, absolutely shellshocked.
“I think I just got flirted with,” he said faintly.
“You did, baby penguin,” Lily said gently. “You did.”
—
As the sky dimmed and the last few lights in the zoo blinked off, they all walked toward the lot in lazy steps, still high on everything.
But when they neared the gates, Regulus slowed.
“Alright,” he said, pausing near the staff exit. “This is where I split. I’ve got to catch the bus to the tram station. Should get me home by ten if I time it right.”
They all stopped.
“Bus?” James echoed.
“Tram?” said Remus.
“You don’t drive yet?” Sirius asked.
“I live in the city,” Reg shrugged. “My flat’s not far from the station. I’m saving up for my car. I’ve got a test in a few weeks.”
“Wait wait wait,” Marlene blinked. “You’re just gonna… go alone?”
Regulus tilted his head. “Yeah? I do it every day?”
“Absolutely not,” Frank said. “Get in the car.”
“There’s like… twelve of us,” Regulus said.
“Eleven,” Gideon corrected.
“Still. That’s two cars. I’m five feet tall, someone’s gonna try to lap me.”
“Oh,” Sirius said, eyes glinting. “We’re fighting over who gets the lap.”
“I’ll do it!” Peter shouted.
“No, I will,” said James, puffing up.
“He’s riding with me,” Lily insisted.
“I’ll hold him like a princess,” Alice declared.
“QUIET,” Reg said, holding up a hand, grinning now.
They all stopped and stared. He laughed.
Just a little.
Soft and sincere.
And they froze in awe.
“That’s not fair,” Remus whispered. “He giggles and I feel it in my bones.”
“I’ll ride with you,” Regulus said finally. “But only if we go through a drive-thru.”
“YESSS,” James shouted. “He eats!”
“I’m starving,” Reg said, deadpan. “You try running a penguin musical and wrangling children for seven hours.”
“What are you craving?” Sirius asked, unlocking the car.
The dungeon was buzzing with the usual low hum of teenage nonsense, a muffled chorus of sighs, quill scratches, and whispered insults. Professor Slughorn hadn’t even started class yet—he was still fumbling with the lock on his ingredients cabinet and humming some dreadful melody under his breath—and already, chaos simmered beneath the surface like a potion set to boil over.
Which, of course, meant Barty Crouch Jr. was being a little shit.
"Oi, Reg," came the first kick. Sharp, intentional. Right against the leg of Regulus Black’s chair.
Regulus didn’t flinch. He never flinched.
Barty grinned. Feral. Unrepentant. Slouched low in his chair behind Regulus, robes rumpled and collar twisted, like he’d either slept in a field or started a fight in one. His tie wasn’t even done up. It was dangling from his neck like a leash he refused to wear properly.
"Regulusss," Barty drawled, poking the back of his shoulder now, finger jabbing through the fabric of his robes with theatrical annoyance. "Hey. Princess. You ignoring me?"
Regulus didn't respond.
Another kick. Harder this time. A scrape of wood on stone.
Pandora Rosier looked up lazily from her notes two seats down, already smirking.
"Oh no," she said under her breath. “He’s poking the bear again.”
“I give him thirty seconds,” said Evan from beside her, calmly grinding up dried aconite. “Then he folds like wet parchment.”
Dorcas was biting her knuckle, shaking with suppressed laughter.
Another jab to the chair leg. Barty leaned forward now, all teeth and no self-preservation, and said loud enough for the first few Gryffindors to hear—
"I'm talking to you, princess."
Silence.
An actual, real, physical silence dropped over the table like someone had cast a Silencing Charm on the whole damn class.
Even Sirius stopped halfway through mocking Fabian Prewett’s handwriting and turned around from the Gryffindor bench, eyebrows raised.
Regulus turned his head. Slowly. The kind of slow that said you have made a choice, and it was the wrong one.
He looked over his shoulder with the expression of a king staring down a court jester who'd dared to speak out of turn.
“Excuse me?” he said, voice flat and cold. “Fix it.”
And then.
Something happened that no one—not a single soul—had ever seen before.
Barty Crouch Jr., Hogwarts’ resident unhinged gremlin, the boy who once hexed a professor’s toupee mid-lecture and then called it “self-expression,” went silent.
Not annoyed. Not smug.
Silent.
Then pale.
Then very, very still.
Evan’s pestle froze mid-grind.
Pandora’s smirk cracked into a grin of disbelief.
Dorcas exhaled sharply. “No fucking way.”
“Reg,” Barty said, voice cracking at the edges, “I—I didn’t mean—fuck, I didn’t mean it like that, I swear—”
Regulus had already turned back around, elegant and dismissive, as though Barty had ceased to exist. He flipped a page in his textbook. Picked up his quill. Didn't say a word.
The silence was louder than the chaos that usually surrounded Barty.
Barty leaned forward, desperation blooming across his face like a disease. His hands were twitching. One reached out instinctively like he might tug on Regulus’ sleeve, then stopped, hovering in the air pathetically.
"Regulus. Come on. Don’t do that—don’t ignore me, I was just fucking around—"
Still no response.
“Oh my God,” Mary Macdonald hissed from the Gryffindor bench, nudging Lily Evans, “he’s apologising.”
“He’s what?” Lily whispered back, craning her neck. “Wait—wait, is he blushing?”
“Not blushing,” Marlene muttered. “He looks like he’s about to cry.”
“Barty?” James Potter leaned around Remus to confirm it for himself. “Barty Crouch Jr? The menace gremlin?”
“Holy shit,” Sirius breathed. “He’s been fucking tamed.”
“Shut up!” Barty snapped at them automatically, still focused on Regulus. “Mind your fucking business, all of you—Reg, I swear, I wasn’t trying to be a dick, I thought you’d think it was funny—”
Regulus reached for a bottle of fluxweed without even glancing back.
Barty looked like he was dying.
“Don’t ignore me,” he said again, but it came out more like a plea. His hand landed on Reg’s shoulder. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry, alright? I won’t do it again. I didn’t mean to piss you off, I swear on my fucking life—”
“Fifteen seconds,” Evan murmured to Pandora, who had pulled out her wand and was now recording the whole thing in the magical equivalent of shorthand.
Dorcas snorted. “He’s gonna start sobbing in three… two…”
“Regulus,” Barty practically whimpered. “Talk to me. Please. Say something.”
“C’mere, bitch-boy,” Sirius stage-whispered from across the aisle. “You need a cuddle?”
James was howling. “Do you want us to write him a poem? A bouquet, maybe?”
Barty flipped them both off with a vicious snarl but didn’t even glance their way. His entire universe had narrowed to the curve of Regulus’ back and the slope of his shoulders refusing to turn his way.
“Look, I called you princess because you are one,” Barty tried, voice frantic and spiralling. “But like in a good way. Like, a terrifying ancient royal who could have me beheaded and I’d say thank you—not like a weak one, obviously. Not that you’re weak. You’re not. You’re literally the scariest person I know—fuck, this is coming out wrong—”
“Still going,” Pandora observed.
“Yup,” Dorcas said, smug. “He’s so far gone it’s tragic.”
“He does this every time,” Evan said, now casually sharpening his quill with a practiced flick. “Thinks he’s big and bad, then Regulus hits him with one line and suddenly he’s crawling.”
“You’re joking,” Remus said, blinking at the Slytherin table like he’d just discovered a new species.
“Do I look like I’m joking?” Dorcas cackled. “This is the third time this week.”
“We’ve taken to calling it the Domino Effect,” Pandora offered helpfully. “One push. And down he goes.”
“Regulussssss,” Barty tried again, dragging out the name like it might gain sympathy if he made it into a song. “Please. I’ll buy you chocolate. I’ll do your Potions essay. I’ll throw myself into the lake. I love the lake.”
“Drown in it,” Regulus muttered.
“Oh my God,” Peter squeaked.
“C’mon,” Barty begged, “just look at me. You can hex me if you want. Curse me. Rip out my spleen—anything is better than the silent treatment, I’m fucking dying—”
“You’re so fucking dramatic,” Regulus finally said, not even turning, but letting the words drop like knives.
Barty straightened. Visibly perked up. The light of divine forgiveness danced in his wide, feral eyes.
“You spoke to me.”
“I regretted it instantly.”
“Still counts.”
“Get off my chair before I hex your dick into an endangered species.”
Barty grinned.
And sat back. Relaxed. Smug.
Like he hadn’t just suffered a public breakdown.
Like he hadn’t just had to crawl across metaphorical glass for one goddamn word.
Pandora clapped mockingly. “Bravo, Crouch. Your suffering nourishes me.”
“I recorded the whole thing,” Evan said blandly. “Might print it. Frame it.”
Dorcas elbowed Barty. “You know he’s gonna ignore you again tomorrow just to keep you in line.”
“I welcome it,” Barty declared. “He can break me. I’ll say thank you.”
From the Gryffindor bench, Sirius Black’s voice rang out, loud and full of venomous glee:
“Oi, Crouch! How’s it feel being Regulus’ bitch?”
Barty didn’t even blink.
“Feels like ecstasy, Black,” he shouted back. “I’d die for him.”
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Then Regulus turned slightly. Just slightly. Enough for one cold, withering glance over his shoulder.
“Don’t be fucking gross,” he snapped.
Barty melted in his seat. Visibly preened under the insult. Sighed like he’d been kissed.
“Oh, we are never recovering from this,” Lily muttered, scandalised and delighted.
The class erupted into chaos.
And Barty Crouch Jr. just sat there, smirking like the feral little menace he was—finally tamed, at least for now, by the sharp tongue and frozen fire of one Regulus Arcturus Black.
