Chapter 21: None of Them Are Good People
Lily lifted her stack of books again, hesitated, then set them back down with a quiet thump.
"Actually," she said, lowering her voice as if the shelves themselves might gossip, "I am looking for material for a Potions essay. Professor Slughorn assigned a review on the principles of how moonstone works in the Draught of Peace. He wants at least three primary source citations."
She glanced at the titles piled in front of her, frustration written plainly across her face.
"But I do not know how to organise it. These books all say more or less the same thing, yet they are not exactly the same."
Regulus studied her for a moment. Young witches and wizards were expected to write essays as if they had been taught how, and then scolded when they wrote like children copying lines.
He asked, "How do you usually write your essays?"
Lily's cheeks coloured slightly. "Well. Copy from the books and add my own understanding?" She sounded as if she could already hear McGonagall's disapproval.
Regulus took a seat at the table and gestured for her to do the same.
"Muggle universities have a systematic method for writing papers," he said.
At the words Muggle university, Lily's eyes lit up so quickly it was almost comical.
Regulus continued, "First, do not start writing immediately. Skim all your material. Note every useful point, and mark the source at the same time."
Lily blinked, then leaned forward, listening as if he had just handed her a wand.
Regulus pulled a blank piece of parchment from his notebook and tore it into several small strips.
"For example," he said, writing neatly, "Moonstone's lunar magic can neutralise the restless residue of dreamgrass. See Moonlight and Potions, page 147."
He wrote Reference 1 in the corner of the strip.
"Now you have one independent piece of information. When you have enough, you categorise. Which points are about properties, which are about preparation, which are about side effects."
Lily's eyes widened. "And then?"
"Then you find the connections between viewpoints."
Regulus gave a light tap with his wand. The strips of parchment lifted into the air and hovered in a neat line, obedient as if they had been waiting for instructions their entire lives.
"For instance, Book A says moonstone should be powdered. Book B says it should be sliced. Book C says it should be soaked whole." He shifted the slips, grouping them, separating them. "Now you ask why. Different recipe? Different school of thought? Or did the authors study moonstone from different sources, with different purity, different exposure to lunar cycles?"
The parchment slips rearranged themselves again, forming a small constellation of notes above the table.
"Once you identify the reason for the differences," Regulus said, "your essay has depth. Then you string the fragments together with your own logic."
He spoke as if reciting a clean formula.
"Considering factor X, viewpoint A is more applicable to situation Y, while method B is superior under condition Z. Therefore the comprehensive suggestion is."
Lily looked as if someone had just unlocked a door she never knew existed.
She snatched out her own parchment and quill and began scribbling furiously.
"Skim, record, mark sources, categorise, find links, then build logic," she murmured, writing faster. "This is. This is so useful."
She looked up abruptly. "Can I tell others? My friends are worrying about their essays too."
Regulus nodded. "You can. But do not say I taught you."
Lily's quill paused mid stroke. "Why?"
"Because I am a Slytherin and you are a Gryffindor," Regulus said evenly. "Some boundaries do not need to be crossed on purpose. There is no need to provoke people for the sake of it."
"If your friends ask," he added, "say it is a method you found in a Muggle library."
A Slytherin sharing a Muggle method was not a harmless quirk in pure blood circles, not in the current climate. Even useful ideas became ammunition if the wrong people decided they should.
Regulus believed Lily would keep the secret. She understood rules, even when she disliked them.
At the same time, it was a test. Not of her intelligence, but of her restraint.
That mattered.
Lily stared at her notes for a moment, then understanding settled into place. Regulus was a pure blood Slytherin. He could not be seen publicly advocating Muggle approaches, even if they helped everyone.
She nodded quickly. "I understand. Thank you, Black."
"You are welcome."
Lily gathered her books and turned to leave. At the end of the aisle she stopped and looked back, her expression unexpectedly serious.
"You know," she said, "if you were in Gryffindor, we might have become very good friends."
Regulus lifted his gaze to meet hers.
His voice softened. "Friends are not divided by houses, Miss Evans."
Lily smiled, bright as sunlight slipping through cloud.
"Then," she said, and her tone shifted as if she had made a decision, "goodbye, Regulus."
"Goodbye, Lily."
The red haired girl disappeared between the shelves.
Regulus stayed seated. He did not look after her for long.
He knew someone would come.
Five minutes later, a cold voice rose from the shadow between two bookcases.
"Stay away from her."
Severus Snape stepped out from the darkness between the rows, his black robes blending so thoroughly with the shadows that he looked like he had been poured out of them. His face was paler than usual, lips pressed into a thin line, and anger churned behind his dark eyes as if he had been holding it down by force.
Regulus set his quill aside and looked at him calmly.
"Snape," he said. "Is something the matter?"
"I said, stay away from Lily." Snape's voice was low and sharp, like a hiss. "Your tricks, I see them. Pretending to be gentle. Pretending to be different. It is all to gain trust, and then."
"And then what?" Regulus cut in, voice still controlled. "Exploit her? Hurt her?"
Snape took a step forward, fingers tightening at his sleeve. "You think you are cleverer than them? You think I do not know what you are planning?"
Regulus exhaled once, quiet and almost tired.
"Snape," he said, "you have been watching from over there the entire time, have you not? You watched Lily speak to me. You watched her smile. You watched her leave. Then you came out to warn me."
He met Snape's eyes without flinching.
"Do you think this is protecting her? Or can you simply not stand the idea of her being kind to someone other than you?"
Snape's expression twisted. "You"
"Let me finish." Regulus raised one hand slightly, a small stopping gesture.
"You are not angry because I might hurt Lily," Regulus said. "You know very well I will not. At least not now."
He leaned back a fraction in the chair, voice turning sharper in a way that felt almost clinical.
"You are angry because Lily spoke to me first. Because she smiled at me. Because she seems willing to trust a Slytherin who is not you."
Snape's breathing grew heavier. The fingers at his sleeve trembled, faintly, like a wand arm fighting not to move.
"And you want to be the only one she trusts," Regulus went on. "The special person. The one who understands everything about her."
Snape stood rigid, as if he had been struck by something far more precise than a hex.
Regulus shook his head, the warmth leaving his tone entirely.
"Today she can speak to me," he said. "Tomorrow she might brew Potions with James Potter."
At the name Potter, Snape's pupils contracted. His hand jerked, almost hooking around his wand as if the word itself had threatened him.
Regulus watched the reaction without surprise.
"See," he said quietly. "One name, and you lose control."
He held Snape's gaze.
"I will give you advice, Snape. If you truly care about Lily, do not try to control who she speaks to, or who she befriends. You will only push her further away."
"You should let her choose to stay by your side because she wants to," Regulus said, voice steady. "Not because you drove everyone else off the board."
Snape's jaw tightened.
After a few seconds he spoke, his words clipped with bitterness. "What do you know? How could a pure blood young master like you understand."
"I understand more than you imagine," Regulus replied at once.
He looked directly into Snape's eyes, not cruelly, but without softness either.
"I understand pure blood arrogance," he said. "I understand the struggle of half blood wizards. I understand the isolation of Muggle borns."
He paused just long enough for it to land.
"None of it excuses this."
Regulus stood, pushed his chair in quietly, and walked straight past Snape.
"Warning me," he said, not quite a question and not quite an accusation.
He said nothing more.
He picked up Astral Meditation and headed for Madam Pince's desk, leaving Snape alone in the shadowed aisle.
As he walked, Regulus's thoughts steadied into order.
Snape was a contradiction made flesh. Brilliant, and trapped in inferiority. Dangerous talent, chained to possessiveness. Craving power, and leaning toward darkness as if it might finally make him feel safe.
In the original story, he did not truly wake until he lost Lily. By then, there was no way back.
He might not listen today. If he was smart enough, he would reflect. If not, at least he now understood one thing.
Regulus was not his enemy.
Interestingly, Snape's obsession with Lily was also his greatest weakness. Lord Voldemort would exploit it one day. Dumbledore would too.
Perhaps when everyone else squeezed that weakness for leverage, someone who did not would gain something unexpected in return.
And speaking of Snape meant speaking of James Potter.
In Regulus's eyes, this so called destined match for Lily was not a romantic hero. He was an expendable figure who happened to survive long enough to be mourned properly.
A school bully. Was he meant to be celebrated as a hero simply because he later chose the "right" side?
Did one late burst of conscience erase arrogance, cruelty, humiliation for sport?
Did it entitle him to love, friendship, family, and posthumous honour?
The world was ironic that way. The line between hero and villain often depended less on what someone did, and more on where they ended up standing when the dust settled.
Snape was no good person.
Potter was even less so.
From a certain angle, Potter was worse.
Regulus clipped the thought short. The world recognised prodigal sons. He did not need to waste time arguing with a culture that preferred comforting stories to accurate ones.
At Madam Pince's desk, the librarian checked the book with a disapproving frown, as if obscure reading were a personal offence.
"Astral Meditation," she said. "An obscure book. Loan period is two weeks."
"That is enough," Regulus replied.
He signed his name.
When he left the library, torches had already been lit along the corridors. Their flickering light threw long shadows across the stone, stretching and shrinking as he walked, like the castle itself was breathing around him.