The Marauders - Order of the Phoenix - Part One

The Man in the Painting

Outside the high windows of the Transfiguration classroom, Regulus could see the far away forms of thestrals circling over the forest, the sunlight reflecting off their leathery smooth hides. His chin rested in his palm as he stared, watching the creatures, barely sparing a moment's listening to Professor McGonagall.

Regulus wished he could better see which of the thestrals he was watching, he knew them all by name. Professor Kettleburn had taken to allowing Regulus to feed the thestrals every other afternoon during a block of free time on his schedule, and Regulus loved the thestrals as dearly as he loved the house elves. But then, Regulus had yet to find a creature he did not love.

One day, he thought, watching the bony, leathery wings of the thestrals flying to and fro out the window, he would be a magizoologist, like Professor Kettleburn. Or perhaps more like Mr. Scamander, and he would travel all over the world, studying and collecting creatures of his very own. He would give them all names, and feed them the best of the food their species liked to eat, and he'd live in a great big castle, hundreds of miles from anyone. No one would come there to bother him - least of all anyone evil, only people he liked. Sirius, for one, and James Potter and...

"Mr. Black!"

The sharp bark of the Scottish accent roused him and he looked up in surprise. "Huh?"

Laughter rippled through the classroom.

Professor McGonagall had a very cross expression on her face.

"Sorry, Professor," Regulus said, "My mind wandered."

More laughs trilled through the room.

"That is quite evident, Mr. Black." McGonagall fixed him with The Look and said, "'The minds of the young are far too small to be left unattended, particularly during a lesson'. Do you know who said that, Mr. Black?"

Regulus thought a moment. "Some bloke who didn't have much of an imagination?"

More laughter about the room. McGonagall's lips pressed a hard line and she raised an eyebrow. "No. I did. Just a few moments ago, in my numerous attempts to rouse you from what was clearly a very far-wandering vacation of the mind. However, I must ask you to please -- Pay Attention."

Regulus nodded and McGonagall looked down at her class notes to get herself back on track, and Regulus muttered, "It isn't my fault Transfiguration is boring."

He thought he's said it quietly enough that only Barty Crouch, who was seated right next to him, would hear. But McGonagall, whose hearing was much keener than anyone should have expected given her age, looked up from the desk. "Is Transfiguration more boring than a detention, Mr. Black?"

"No ma'm," Regulus said quickly.

"But how can you be sure unless we do a bit of comparison? My office, tomorrow evening at 7:00."

"Yes ma'm." His face burned with frustration.

When McGonagall had turned again back to her notes, Regulus felt a nudge at his elbow. He looked to see Barty holding out a note. Regulus quickly took it and unfurled it, laying it out on the desk before him. It was a drawing - a drawing of Regulus and McGonagall, and in it, McGonagall lay twitching upon the floor as Regulus administered the cruciatus curse on her. The drawing of McGonagall convulsed and writhed and little lightning bolts and fluttered across the page.

Regulus could only barely register it as Barty chuckled beside him, grinning and seeking Regulus's approval. Regulus forced himself to smile and chuckle, too. He forced on a smug expression, forced his mouth to curve with amusement as he folded the page and shoved it into the pocket of his uniform. Regulus turned his attention to McGonagall as she resumed talking, trying desperately to ignore the note, which now seemed to be burning in his pocket.