Genetics • Sirius Black

Chapter Fifty Nine: Righteous School Spirit.

I do wonder what it must be like to assume you are the hero of every story in a world painted in black and white. With a world so simple, one would think they would have enough time to get their head out of their arse once in a while.

To the untrained eye, Regulus Black was desperately head over heels in love with Freya Grey. After all, what other reason would a boy be so caring, protective, and attached to a young woman if it were not the biological need to protect one's mate? An interesting theory; however, it falls short when one considers the fact Regulus Black, unfortunately, liked men. 

It was a disappointment to himself.

Truthfully, he did love Freya dearly. He simply was not in love with Freya. Though he did try, he convinced himself of it for a while. That he lusted for her, and he was desperate for her kiss. It worked for a time— Regulus Black professional non-practicing heterosexual.

It felt short during his third year in the Slytherin changing room when he caught sight of a chaser's back and suddenly felt like he'd fallen ill.

Only one person officially knew he fancied men, and that was his older cousin, Narcissa Black. And that was more of an accident than anything. Thankfully, Narcissa did not burn him at a stake like he thought she would and instead informed him that it was perfectly natural, though for his safety and the safety of their family, the line needed to continue as if he liked women.

He figured that it would be more complicated than it had been, but then he realized his entire life had been built on his ability to lie and repress his emotions, so it was not that hard to fake. Depressing? Always. Hard? Never.

Needless to say, Regulus Black was not in the cheeriest of moods when he was forced into the Great Hall for some school meeting over the recent bigoted attack on the tea shop.

As always, Freya Grey sat beside him with a less than warm gaze towards their Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, and he imaged that was the same look most of the Slytherin students had that had been at Hogwarts long enough to be more irritated than spooked by Dumbledore's little speeches.

Regulus found that despite Dumbledore's wispy voice and long beard most of what he said was not new, making them all sound relatively the same to the Black heir.

People are dying, BUT the school is safe.

Gryffindors are amazing.

Slytherins are death eaters.

And Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff sat between the two houses as buffers, neither idealized nor damned. Slouching heavily, Regulus let his hands take the weight of his head as he watched Freya. She smelled strange.

A touch of a bitter odor to her usual citrus scent, and he tried not to let himself wonder what she'd been hiding the past few months since oftentimes it was never something to worry about. Sometimes it was elves or practicing defensive magic... other times it was less pleasant. Hardly ever malicious, though.

But, based on the slight narrowing of her eyes and the fire glint behind them while their Headmaster finished his sentence, her next plan may be slitting an old man's throat.

***

"He's senile. How is he even still Headmaster?" Harsh and barely whispered, Freya's words made Regulus's lips curl up. Chatter of their fellow Slytherins filled the air around them as they returned to the dungeon. "Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous." Out of the corner of her eye, she seemed to catch his amusement. "What?"

"Nothing."

"He's infringing on our rights."

"Our rights? My goodness, Freya. Which rights exactly protect us from limited visits to Hogsmeade?"