Regulus Black the Potions Master

Chapter 25

Harry Potter

After how quickly the school got wind of and involved in the silly dispute - which was named Who's the Most Fabulous? - involving Professors Black or Lockhart, Harry shouldn't have been so surprised that in the early hours of the morning, practically the whole school was talking about this Heir and the Chamber of Secrets.

He didn't want to get involved, although since it was he and his friends who had found Madame Nor-r-ra, he kind of already was.

It was almost as if trouble was just lurking around the corner ready to fall on Harry. Still, he continued his life as normally as possible over the next few days, especially when people started calling him - not as discreetly as they thought - the Heir.

Harry had no idea what that meant, and even Ron who grew up in the wizarding world wasn't sure what or who the Heir was other than a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, but about that secret chamber? Nothing.

Perhaps it was because the victim was Filch's bad cat, or because the Quidditch season was in full swing and the first match was coming up, but the buzz quickly died down, especially with Professor Black's assurance that he could make a potion to help the cat.

Harry let himself concentrate only on his classes and training, which was getting more and more intense the closer he got to Gryffindor's first match. Wood gave a long and rather tedious speech about all the strategies he had created over the summer, and as much as Harry admired and respected the older boy, and loved playing Quidditch, he wasn't that obsessed. Of course, he wants to win, but he doesn't spend so much time thinking about how to win.

The Saturday of the game came as quickly and as long as it had last year, the euphoria of finally playing mixed with the anxiety that comes from the uncertainty of whether he'll be able to get the pommel or not. Harry spent some time in his bed after waking up, these feelings churning in his stomach until his gut felt like it was knotting up.

It only got worse when he found out that his first opponent was Slytherin. He spent all breakfast ignoring the insults that the houses exchanged whenever there was a match and the more cruel and personal insults that Draco and the two boys who were always around him hurled at him. His stomach churned enough without caring about the blond's nonsense. He wanted to win, not just for his house, and to avoid whatever Oliver might say to them if they lost, but above all he wanted to show Malfoy and everyone else that it didn't matter what brand your broomstick was, it was your talent and determination that made the difference. And Harry was determined to take away the affected smile that Malfoy was flashing across the Great Hall.

However, he couldn't help laughing when an older Slytherin girl pulled Malfoy onto the bench just as he was leaning over to say something offensive. He fell back, his face turning red - from embarrassment or anger - as he stared back at her. That ended the part of the blond who just sat and ate his breakfast leaving the rest in relative peace.

Not that Harry was feeling any peace, with or without Malfoy's voice talking nonsense, but he still felt like he was going to throw up every few bites of whatever he tried to eat.

Around eleven in the morning, the students began to make their way to the Quidditch pitch. It was a dull day with vague signs of a thunderstorm in the air, electricity coursing through the room for better or worse.

Ron and Hermione wished him good luck before they parted, the two of them going to their places at the top of the bleacher tower, and he going to the changing room to get ready and join the rest of the team.

In the time before they took the field, Harry got dressed and sat between Fred and George while Wood made a speech.

Oliver got carried away, as usual, in his motivational speech, turning to Harry with his chest heaving with emotion.