Regulus Black the Potions Master

Chapter 22

Something that Regulus would have loved to ignore, but unfortunately was all too present around him, was Lockhart's existence.

He tried, it was rather easy since he stayed more in the dungeons and didn't always dine in the Great Hall, too busy with papers to correct and Potter and Weasley's detention to supervise. But there were times when he still had to be in the same presence as the blond and had to listen to silly, tedious stories.

Black wasn't the least bit shocked when his slytherins came in whining about being attacked by imps during their DCAT lesson. That shouldn't have happened, after all, imps were still dangerous if people didn't know how to deal with them, especially in any quantity together.

And Lockhart just let several loose on a class of twelve-year-olds.
It was Pansy Parkinson who told him that Lockhart only said what magic to use after releasing the creatures, without even teaching wand movement first.

The idiot even managed to have his wand stolen by one of the imps, who threw it out of the window.

Impressive, Regulus had to admit, it wasn't often that someone could pull this kind of stunt after the age of eighteen.

At least after that first lesson, he never brought another living creature into the room, at least that's what Black noticed as the days went by.

One thing he will never admit out loud is his disappointment with some of his students. He can forgive the younger ones for being impressed by Lockhart's so-called achievements, however Regulus doubts every one of his supposed conquests and discoveries.

How could anyone believe all the nonsense he spouts, the stories and the feats aren't impossible, Regulus knows that, but someone capable of doing what he says he can and still talks as much nonsense as he does. The scales don't balance.
To his chagrin, he had to listen to several of the students praising the man, not only for his achievements but also for his looks and style. As if Lockhart knew what it meant to be stylish, strutting down the corridors like a colorful Greater lophorina.

The younger man dared to offer Regulus fashion advice.
At dinner on the first Saturday, Regulus was sitting in his usual place with a vacant chair to his left when the blond man sat down next to him all smiles.

Regulus tried to be polite, it was very similar to all the pure-blood
parties he was forced to attend as a teenager. It was torture for his brain and intelligence, but he'd endured worse.

Then he began to completely ignore what the man was saying, only making occasional evasive sounds. That's when Lockhart said:

"I could help him get better."

Regulus, who wasn't even looking at the man, let alone paying attention to what he was saying, turned to face him, frowning and very confused by whatever the blond man was talking about, deeply offended that someone would think he needed help to get better.

"Excuse me, what is it?"

"There's no need for modesty Black," Lockhart said with a smile.

Modest me? That man is mad. Regulus thought.

"I could help you update your wardrobe," Gilderoy continued

"There's nothing wrong with the way I dress or my style in general."

"Of course not" Lockhart's tone was condescending and Regulus felt a vein popping in his forehead "Your 1920s style is certainly unique. Rather old fashioned."

Regulus's blood boiled at the thought of it. The only reason he didn't jinx the idiot was because Flitwick showed up to talk to them. It distracted him for an hour, long enough for Lockhart to focus on someone else and leave.

[...]

Regulus was sitting at his desk correcting some of his last class's homework. Sixth-year Slytherins and Corvinals.

Enjoying the tenuous peace he had before the Quidditch season began for good.

Regulus loves Quidditch, both watching and playing. Flying is still one of his favorite things to do, although he doesn't do it as often as he would like. But he still takes his broom and makes an hour-long flight over the Black Lake on quieter nights.

That said, the competitiveness between the houses when it comes to this particular game has not diminished, even over the years. And Gryffindor had a particular gift for creating lunatics addicted to Quidditch.

Minerva McGonagall, the strict Transfiguration teacher is one of them, she was captain in her student days, and to this day is a die-hard fan who wants to see her house team win, or just destroy Slytherin. The four years in a row that Slytherin won the house Quidditch tournament showed everyone how much the teacher hated the snakes winning.

After her we have James Potter, although Regulus only met the brunette when he was playing against him, Black knows from his older brother's complaints - at the time Sirius was still talking to him - that Potter was just as obsessed with winning as McGonagall.

And then came Charles Weasley, Arthur and Molly's second son, a close friend of his niece Nymphadora. The time when the games began was a terrible time for any teacher trying to teach him, as he was so focused only on game ploys.

Like an adopted son, raised and nurtured with the same ideals, the same fanaticism, and the same obsession with winning as Weasley, came Oliver Wood. Capable of getting a bunch of kids and teenagers out of bed on a Saturday or national holiday at seven in the morning to train out of sheer force of will.

Sometimes Regulus thinks the team is driven by pure hatred.

Marcus Flint, the captain and top scorer of the Slytherin team, wasn't exactly better than Wood on this subject, but he knows better than to disrupt his class because of it. That's why Black is still in a good mood today, which may change at some point.

His next lesson will be with second-year Gryffindor and Slytherin, and then sixth-year Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. These people had much less respect for the rule of no Quidditch in their class.

Regulus raised his head at the sound of the door opening and saw the dark-haired boy standing in the doorway. He still had about five more minutes before the students started arriving en masse.

Neville Longbottom entered the classroom.

"Good morning, Professor," said Neville, taking a seat at his desk.

"Good morning, Neville," replied Regulus, looking at him, "How are you feeling today?"

" I'm fine, thanks," said Neville. "I have a question about the healing potion we learned about in the last lesson."

"Of course, ask whatever you want," said Regulus, nodding.

"I was thinking, if someone could add other ingredients to the potion, could it be even more effective? Perhaps some mandrake?" Neville asked.

Regulus smiled.

"You have a point, Neville. It's always good to think of ways to improve potions. But in the case of the healing potion, there's no need to add more ingredients. Less is more in this case. The recipe is simple but very effective.

"I see, Professor," said Neville, nodding in agreement. "Thanks for the explanation."

" You're welcome, Neville," replied Regulus. "Never stop questioning and thinking of new ideas. That's what makes a good wizard."

Regulus smiled at the boy, happy with the initiative of the boy who last year, besides being terrible at potions, was scared, fumbling, and quiet most of the time.

A knock on the door caught Regulus' attention again. Marcus Flint rushed in.

"Excuse me, Professor" - the black-haired boy with the protruding teeth came up to the desk with a piece of parchment in his hands "Can you sign the authorization for the use of the pitch?"
"Didn't you have a training session two days ago, Flint?" Regulus took the paper and signed the authorization.

"We have to train the new catcher," he replied in a whisper, glancing at Longbottom.

Regulus returned the paper with a nod. He would have liked to be a more evolved person, but he still wanted another victory for the house tournament. Regulus could deal with McGonagall's wrath when he had won all the games at the end of the year.