Reborn as Petunia Evans with a System-Chapter 59 - 57

"Oh, how poetic," Sirius replied. "Been practicing insults in the mirror again? Or are you just naturally this unpleasant?"

"You might be on it," Sirius added, "but you're definitely a twig."

"And you're the rotten branch," Severus fired back, eyes narrowing.

Lily, who had been sipping pumpkin punch behind Petunia, burst out laughing.

"Oh Merlin, you two are insufferable. "

Before Sirius could come up with a scathing retort, a smaller, quieter figure approached: a boy with neatly combed black hair, steel-grey eyes, and a composed expression that looked almost too old for his age.

A voice broke through the tension. "Sirius."

We turned to see a boy walking toward us, dark-haired and neatly put together, a smaller, tidier version of Sirius. His grey eyes were cooler, more careful, and his posture was immaculate. Regulus Arcturus Black. Younger brother, and already radiating the polished chill of their mother.

"Father's looking for you," he said, voice crisp.

Sirius groaned dramatically. "Of course he is. Probably wants to remind me how I'm embarrassing the family name just by breathing."

Regulus ignored that. His gaze moved to Severus. "You must be Severus."

Severus blinked at the sudden attention, but recovered quickly, stepping forward with surprising grace. "Yes. It's a pleasure." He extended his hand.

Regulus shook it, nodding. "Regulus Black."

"Regulus," Sirius said, in a long-suffering tone. "What do you want?"

Regulus turned to his brother. "father want to introduce you to some people. They're near the refreshments."

Sirius made a face. "No, I thank you," Sirius said, eyes twinkling with insincere politeness. "Why don't you do it? You're far better at grovelling for Father's approval."

Regulus narrowed his eyes. "Because you're the one they asked about."

"And I'm the one who doesn't care."

"You could at least try to be civil."

"And you could stop being a miniature version of Father."

Before it could escalate into a full-blown Black family drama, I quickly pointed toward the dance floor. "Look!" I said brightly. "People are dancing."

Sirius turned, annoyed, but before he could retort, I grabbed his hand. "Come on. Let's dance."

His eyes widened, like I'd handed him an early Christmas gift. "Wait—you want to dance? With me?"

"Yes, before you and your brother start hexing each other in front of the pudding."

Severus and Lily both looked startled, but I ignored them, dragging Sirius out onto the dance floor. He followed like someone in a daze.

When we stopped, he hesitated, looking unsure of what to do with his arms. "Er..."

I raised an eyebrow. "Put your hand on my waist."

His eyes widened a fraction. "Right. Okay. "

I gently grabbed his hand and guided it there. "Now just sway to the music. That's all."

He nodded, face slightly pink. He was tall enough that I had to tilt my head a bit to meet his eyes. His hair was soft and wild, like it never listened to him, and for once, he wasn't trying to say something clever. He just looked at me.

"You've never danced before, have you?" I asked.

"Not unless being dragged around by my mother counts," he muttered. "I always hated the pure-blood balls."

I smiled. "Didn't think you were the waltzing type."

He looked down at me, and suddenly his expression softened. "You look really pretty tonight."

I blinked. "Just tonight?"

"But it's true," he teased, leaning in slightly.

Of course he was flirting. It was Sirius. I dismissed it with a quiet laugh and a shake of my head.

Then—

"May I cut in?" came Severus's voice, polite but firm.

I turned, smiling. "Of course."

Sirius scowled. "Oh brilliant. Ruin the moment, why don't you?"

I glared at him. "Sirius."

"Fine, fine," he mumbled, stepping aside.

Severus took my hand and slipped his other hand onto my waist. He wasn't much of a dancer either, but he followed my lead with more confidence than Sirius had.

"How do you feel right now?" I asked him quietly.

He looked at me, eyes dark and thoughtful. "Happy," he said, almost surprised by the word. "Really happy."

"I'm glad," I said. "Your happiness matters."

He opened his mouth, then hesitated—like there were too many things to say and not enough words. "There's a lot to tell you," he said. "So much has happened in just... a few weeks. Things feel like they're changing."

"I want to hear it all," I told him.

He nodded, looking grateful. The song ended, and we drifted back toward the edge of the room.

When we returned from the dance floor, I caught sight of Lily near the refreshment table, chatting with someone in her usual cheerful, open-hearted way. At first, I assumed it was another classmate or one of the wedding guests but then I saw the familiar sleek dark hair and careful posture. Regulus.

Lily, ever friendly, was trying her best to warm him up with questions about school, Quidditch, even asking about the Black family's owl, which she remembered from a care package Sirius had once opened dramatically in the common room.

Regulus answered each question with textbook politeness short replies, formal tone, barely a flicker of expression on his face. He wasn't rude, but he was guarded. Too stiff for a thirteen-year-old at a party, like every word he gave Lily was measured against some invisible standard. He didn't laugh, didn't smile. Just that cool mask of pure-blood composure.

I could tell why.

Lily and I were Muggle-borns Mudbloods, as people like Walburga Black would say with pride and venom. Regulus didn't say the word, but he didn't have to. He'd grown up in it. The way his spine stayed straight and his eyes didn't quite meet Lily's, the way his answers stayed on the safe, neutral surface of things it was all learned behavior.

Because while Sirius might fight his upbringing with every breath he took, Regulus still wore it like a starched collar.

Regulus had been raised in the same cold house of ancestral portraits and bloodline lectures. Same mother who made her children recite family trees like scripture. Same father who believed shaking hands with a Muggle-born was akin to catching a disease. Sirius fought against all of that—but he was still from it. It clung to him sometimes. In his arrogance. In his quick temper. In the way he strutted through a room like he owned it, even when he didn't.

Sirius was a rebel. But he was still a Black.

And Regulus... he was what a Black was meant to be.

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Sirius noticed Lily and Regulus, too. He narrowed his eyes slightly, watching them from across the room, his arms crossed. For all his teasing and defiance, I knew there was a wound there—deep and old. Something about watching his brother toe the family line so perfectly, while he himself had been cast as the disappointment.

"I think he's afraid to talk to her properly," I murmured.

"Who?" Sirius asked, looking over.

"Your brother. He's polite, but... it's like he's worried what your ancestor would say if he smiled at a Muggle-born."

Sirius let out a humorless laugh. "He is. That's exactly it."

I looked at him. "Do you blame him?"

There was a pause. Then Sirius muttered, "No. But I don't admire it either."

We stood together for a moment, watching Lily's unshaken optimism meet Regulus's practiced reserve. She didn't seem hurt, just curious probably trying to figure out how anyone so young could already be so... walled off.

I wondered if Regulus had ever had the chance to be anything else.

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