Hogwarts, 1976 | Sixth Year Corridors | Late October
The castle smelled of rain, wet stone, and trouble.
It was the sixth year for Gryffindor, the fifth for Slytherin and Ravenclaw, and the corridor between Transfiguration and the dungeons was a powder keg.
James Potter had one foot on a suit of armor, wand in hand, trying to make it tap dance, while Sirius Black leaned against the wall, laughing like a hyena. Remus Lupin muttered "No, James" through gritted teeth, but with a mischievous smile, and Peter Pettigrew checked the corridor every two seconds. Lily Evans had her arms crossed, glaring at James as if she were about to hex him. Marlene McKinnon was leaning against Mary Macdonald, dying of laughter, and Alice Fortescue was fixing Frank Longbottom's tie, who stood there with red ears and a look of affection.
The Gryffindors occupied the entire hallway. They always did.
On the other side: Slytherin.
Regulus Black walked in front, pale, with impeccable posture and his gaze fixed straight ahead, as if the Gryffindors didn't exist. Evan Rosier and Barty Crouch Jr. flanked him, smirking at the noise. Dorcas Meadowes brought up the rear, arms crossed, impassive and threatening.
James recognized them immediately. "Look who it is. The 'Little Black' fan club."
Sirius's smile faded. He stood still. "Regulus."
Regulus didn't look at him. Not even once. He clenched his jaw and picked up his pace. The last year had done that to them. Now they were brothers in name only.
"Black," Sirius repeated, louder.
Regulus kept walking.
Evan locked eyes with Sirius and his smile turned malicious. "Careful, Black. I wouldn't want your brother to hex you in the corridor."
"Shut up, Rosier," Remus snapped, stepping between them.
At that moment, Xenophilius Lovegood floated by, a fifth-year Ravenclaw, sketchbook in hand, muttering about Nargles on the ceiling. He didn't even notice the confrontation.
And by the window: you.