—

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.

“Now you’re officially Night Explorers.”

—

Monkeys & Apes

Swinging capuchins. Grumpy orangutans. Mischievous macaques.

Regulus led a game of “Spot the Monkey Mood” where kids guessed the emotions based on body language.

He gave bonus points when someone correctly guessed “That one’s judging me.”

—

Bears

As they passed the viewing tunnel, a sleepy brown bear lifted its head.

“That’s Mr. Bumble,” Regulus said. “He once stole a keeper’s radio and played Beyoncé through the entire habitat.”

—

Lions & Big Cats

“They’re lazy now,” Regulus said, as the lions lounged in the sun, “but wait until feeding time.”

He explained pride hierarchy, sleeping patterns, and made everyone roar like a lion before moving on.

The kids nearly passed out from excitement.

—

Elephants

Regulus led a sensory station—touching pieces of trunk-cast, smelling scratch-and-sniff bark samples, even trying on replica tusks on a headband.

He spoke about conservation, how elephants mourn, and one girl cried quietly.

He handed her a penguin sticker.

—

Hippos

“NEVER let their cuteness fool you,” Regulus warned. “They can run faster than you.”

The kids shrieked as the hippo yawned. “That’s not sleepy,” he said. “That’s ‘I could crush you like a crisp packet.’”

—

Flamingos

Fun fact: they’re pink from what they eat.

Regulus passed around beak molds and ran a “Flamingo Fashion Show” where kids had to balance on one leg while he gave them sassy commentary.

—

Giraffes

He had kids try to guess tongue length (18 inches), then showed them a real tongue replica and let them feed leaves through the fence.

They lost their minds.

—

Lemurs

He handed out toy binoculars for a lemur scavenger hunt, complete with animal “spy cards” to mark sightings.

“I saw three jumping!” one screamed.

“Then you’re my new assistant,” Regulus said solemnly.

—

Giant Tortoises

He let the kids touch their shells gently and told them how each pattern is unique like fingerprints.

“These guys could outlive your grandparents,” he said. “And definitely outsass them.”

—

Tigers

They watched one pacing.

Regulus explained body language and territory marking.

A teen asked what would happen if the tiger escaped.

“Well,” Regulus said seriously, “I hope you’ve been practicing your penguin waddle run.”

—

Gorillas

The silverback watched them with mild interest.

Regulus held up a mirror and explained social bonding and hand signals.

“Apes are closer to us than some of you lot are to a proper bedtime,” he teased.

—

Zebras

Kids did a quick-stripe puzzle and guessed which patterns matched which animal.

“I got mine right!” a kid yelled.

“Congratulations. You are now Zebra Certified,” Regulus said, stamping her hand.

—

Rhinos

He explained the poaching crisis gently, spoke about horn conservation efforts, and let them see how tough rhino skin really was.

They all touched a sample and whispered “Whoa.”

—

Sloth

It was sleeping. It hadn’t moved in two hours.

Regulus whispered, “Shh… that’s what perfect peace looks like. Aspire to it.”

—

Komodo Dragons

He explained venom, diet, island ecosystems.

Then asked, “Would you rather fight one Komodo dragon or twenty angry penguins?”

It started a debate that lasted five exhibits.

—

Kangaroos

Kids hopped races to compare their jumps.

Regulus wore a kangaroo tail for a demo and won the race.

One kid called him “Hop Daddy.” He ignored it.

—

Sea Otters

Floating, playing, cracking shells.

Regulus mimicked their hand motions and taught the kids a “Secret Otter Greeting” handshake.

It became a code for the rest of the day.

—

Capybaras

Absolute chaos. The capybaras were chill gods, unbothered and majestic.

Regulus told them they’re the “ultimate vibe animals” and had the kids rank themselves on the “Capybara to Chimp” mood scale.

—

Snakes (Again)

They circled back so Regulus could show them a feeding.

Children screamed. Parents turned green. Regulus didn’t flinch.

He was, in a word, thriving.

—

Armadillos, Warthogs, Camels, Ostriches, Alligators, Hyenas

Each one got a tailored activity:

Armadillo: Rolling races with yoga balls.

Warthogs: Snort impressions.

Camels: Water-carry relay.

Ostrich: Tallest stance contest.

Alligators: Bite pressure demos with watermelons.

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.

Sirius, James, Remus, Peter, Lily, Alice, Mary, Marlene, Frank, Fabian, and Gideon.

Eleven of them.

All chattering, cooing, and half in awe.

“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.”

“Too late,” Gideon sang. “He’s beelining.”

“Hey!” Kieran called, grinning, breathless, waving awkwardly. “Reg!”

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.

“Anything hot and greasy and requires no dishes.”

“Say less,” Marlene said. “Drive-thru. Grease. Couch.”

“Sleepover?” Lily added hopefully.

Regulus blinked. “You guys want to come over?”

“Absolutely,” said Frank.

“Blankets?” Mary asked.

“Snacks?” Peter gasped.

Regulus sighed. “Fine. But no one’s allowed to touch the penguin plushies on my bed.”

They screamed.

Tonight, Zoo Dad was off duty.

But somehow, the animals had only just begun to follow him home.