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Regulus Black was ready to jump out of a window.
It was, in fact, the only remaining option that did not involve permanent exile to another continent. That, or he needed a way to commit homicide very fast and very quickly.
Because there was no recovery, no radical political party, no icy composure, no ancestral dignity, to salvage the fact that he was stark naked on James Potter’s lap while Potter enthusiastically searched for his testicles like had unearthed buried treasure.
“Oh, it’s okay, kitty,” Potter cooed, entirely too pleased with himself. “You can’t stay here alone! Madam Nora is out there, and she's single. Can you imagine what’s going to happen when she sees a pretty boy like you around? Imagine being Mr. Filtch's son-in-law? We can’t let that happen to a pretty boy like you.”
Regulus hissed.
Yes, hissed.
Because he had been catastrophically, monumentally stupid enough to attempt the final phase of the Animagus transformation in a supposedly abandoned classroom in a supposedly deserted corridor.
It was not deserted. It was, apparently, Potter-infested.
Which makes sense, he should know that Potter needs to be a stone in his shoe in every aspect of his life. He was that inconvenient.
Before Regulus could bolt, and before he could even retract his little cat tongue and gather what remained of his pride, because of course it was out while his new instincts made him lick his own paw, Potter had crossed the room in two strides and scooped him up.
Long fingers wrapped around his small feline torso. Firm. Warm. Big.
Regulus froze. James Potter was centimeters away from him. Big hazel eyes painted with little gold dots and adorned with long, long brown lashes and tanned skin.
For a second, all Regulus could think of was that James would look pretty in gold.
His paws were still clamped to his head in mortified disbelief as he was deposited onto Potter’s lap like a rescued stray. His tongue still lolled slightly out of his mouth. If he had a single functioning brain cell at that moment, it had vacated the premises.
“A black cat is a sign of good luck for a wizard,” Potter announced cheerfully. “I can’t believe I found you all alone like that! Do you have a name, Blacky?”
Regulus tried to claw him.
Tried.
But Potter only laughed, entirely unfazed, his grip adjusting with unconscious gentleness. Not restraining, just steady. Secure. Safe.
That was the problem. Regulus' cat instincts were traitorous things. They registered warmth. Steady heartbeat. No immediate threat. No cruelty in the hands holding him.
Meanwhile, his human mind was screaming bloody murder.
Get away from him. That’s James Potter. Enemy. Gryffindor. Insufferable. Sirius’s James! Golden boy!
“You look adorable,” Potter murmured, getting even closer to Regulus.
His hand slid down Regulus’s spine, fingers pressing through soft fur with a careful, testing pressure. Regulus arched before he could stop himself.
Humiliation detonated in his skull. He was spiritually blushing.
“Oh?” Potter’s voice dipped, amused and delighted. “You like that? What about this one?”
And then…
Oh.
Oh, no.
Potter’s fingers found the precise spot beneath his chin, scratching lightly at his throat.
And it was over.
Regulus’s feline brain short-circuited entirely.
A deep, vibrating purr tore out of him.
Loud.
Unmistakable.
Potter went still for half a heartbeat. And then he beamed.
“You’re the cutest thing, Blacky. My mum is going to love you so much! She loves cats!”
It should have registered. It should have rung alarm bells so loud they'd shattered the castle windows. The tiny comment about his mom should have made him wake up.
But Regulus was drowning in the sensation of fingers stroking his neck, scratching behind his ears, dragging lazily down his back in slow, indulgent passes. His eyes slipped half-shut against his will. His tail flicked in traitorous contentment.
He purred louder.
It was, without question, the greatest mistake of his life.
Because Potter adjusted his grip.
And stood up.
“Right,” he declared brightly. “Can’t leave you here. Someone might nick you. Or worse, Filch might try to feed you something tragic. Or worse, Madan Nora can fall in love with you.”
Regulus’s eyes snapped open.
No.
“Well, we need to get you nucked someday in the future, I’m sorry Blacky, but it’s safer for you that way, we can’t have you procreating. Don’t worry tho, it’s painless! It’s what we must do with house cats. Your days of streets end today, my son.”
Potter tucked him against his chest with alarming familiarity and strode toward the door.
The corridor outside was blissfully empty.
Regulus’s mind raced.
He could transform back; he absolutely could.
But that would mean…
Explaining everything. Or possibly dying on the spot from mortification.
He hesitated.
That was mistake number two.
Potter hummed as he walked. Actually hummed. He was caring Regulus like a baby, and Regulus was letting him. His cat brain must have being malfunctioning.
“Blacky Potter,” he mused aloud. “No, that’s confusing. Maybe just Blacky. Mum’ll think I’ve rescued you from certain doom.”
Regulus’s entire soul left his body. He dug his claws lightly into Potter’s shirt in panic.
“Aw,” Potter cooed, like he thought Regulus was happy to hear that. “Don’t worry. You’ll like her. She spoils everything she adopts.”
Adopts.
Regulus felt his blood run cold.
They were descending the stairs.
If he waited any longer, he would be carried through half of Hogwarts like a common pet.
He could not allow that. He would not allow that.
Just as Potter adjusted his hold again, one hand sliding under his belly… Regulus shifted.
It was abrupt, violent. Magic snapped. Fur vanished. Paws became hands. Tail disappeared.
And in less than a second, James Potter found himself no longer carrying a small black cat…
…but a very, very furious, very human Regulus Black.
There was a beat of absolute silence.
Potter stopped walking.
Regulus was still in his arms.
They stared at each other.
Potter blinked once. Twice.
“…Huh,” he said faintly.
Regulus, who had never in his life known true humiliation until this exact moment, became acutely aware of a very important fact:
He was straddling Potter’s arms like a bride because of the way he’d been held mid-transformation.
They both looked down.
Potter’s hand jerked away like he’d been burned.
“Oh,” he said intelligently. “Those are… Right. Okay. Not a cat.”
Regulus slid out of his arms immediately and landed barefoot on the stone floor.
He stood ramrod straight.
Murderous. Being angry was the only thing that saved him from the mortification of it all.
“If,” Regulus said with lethal calm, “you utter a single word about this to another living soul, I will ensure that you never recover from it.”
Potter, to his credit, had gone very, very red.
“I… You… That was… ” He scrubbed a hand over his face. After a pause, he said the worst thing he could possibly say to Regulus at the moment, “You were purring.”
Regulus closed his eyes briefly. He reconsidered murder. Maybe murder suicide. Or maybe he could kill himself in a gruesome way and put the blame on James, that would also be satisfying. Or maybe he could turn that thing all around.
When he opened them again, they were icy.
“You were… fondling me,” Regulus said.
“You were a cat!” James gasped, horrified.
“You were fondling me.” Regulus, ironically, hissed.
Potter made a strangled noise. “I was checking if you were a boy! I never… I would never… That’s not!”
Regulus’s eye twitched.
There were footsteps echoing faintly from somewhere down the corridor.
Time was up.
With a final glare that promised generational vengeance, Regulus stepped backward…
…and promptly disapparated.
The corridor fell silent.
James stared at the empty space where he had been.
After a long moment, he muttered to himself:
“…Still adorable.”
***
And somewhere, several floors below, Regulus Black reappeared in an abandoned alcove, pressed his burning face into his hands, and decided that, next time, he was absolutely jumping out the window.