How many students can manage to get hurt during their first day of school? Apparently, a lot. Darya had estimated the number to be something around forty. And at least ten of them had come from the Quidditch pitch, where Regulus was teaching first-years to fly ― and somehow, all ten were part of the Slytherin house.

Darya knew people spoke badly about her Hogwarts house. The ambition was for some reason connected to evil. Was it because of the Death Eaters? There was a possibility, but the students of the house had gotten mean comments thrown their way many decades before Tom had been born. Maybe it was because of the founder of the house, Salazar Slytherin. He had such a dubious reputation.

She thought these ten students and Regulus represented Slytherin well today. They used their ambitions to perfect their skills in flying. Bruises were part of the game. They didn't care about them, as long as they got to the top of the class. Regulus Black had always been like that. At least, that was the impression Darya had of him. Gold was all that mattered to him. With every broken bone, collapsing lung, and beating heart, Regulus reached for the gold. Like a true Slytherin.

He had spent half of his years at Hogwarts on the Quidditch Pitch. She had lost count of all the times he had woken her and the rest of her house's members, coming back to the Slytherin dorms in the middle of the night after training for many, many hours.

There was not a day with rest or a night without high hopes. Every morning, he kissed his bruised knuckles and began again. A world without pumping adrenaline and applause was not a world for him.

She tried to imagine what his life would have looked like if he had gone on to become a Quidditch star instead of a Death Eater after school ended. She imagined teams all over Europe would have fought for him. They would have fought for his attention desperately. He truly was that good.

The teams would have fallen to their knees and offered him everything he wanted, had he told them he could play for them. But it was clear that Regulus didn't wish for that. Regulus cared about traditions. More specifically, his family's old blood-mania traditions.

"What do you think of him?"

Marina froze. What did she think of him?

"He's really annoying," she said quickly.

"Just annoying?"

"Just annoying." Darya nodded.

Darya and Poppy were watching the flying lessons from the hospital wing's large windows. Regulus was helping a few children with mounting their brooms. She felt like she was back in school again, watching the infamous Black on the pitch.

He wasn't exactly bad-looking. In fact, she thought he was handsome. The Blacks were known for their good looks, and she could remember having a small crush on him when they were younger. Those feelings, however, quickly disappeared when he started to care and talk about blood purity.

"I imagine you are close," Poppy said, "after sharing houses for so many years. Do you want to have a talk with him and tell him he's training those poor kids too hard?"

Darya tried to turn to look at Poppy, but her eyes were locked on Regulus. "What do you mean?"

"Darling, you are an excellent healer, but you can't help a hundred kids every day. Get down on the pitch and stop him."

"Can't you do it?" Darya tried. Poppy rolled her eyes. "Fine...."

She reached up to rub her neck - it had been a long day, with too many children to heal at once, as Poppy said. She started making her way down to the pitch. But Poppy knew well: Darya didn't like talking to Regulus. He truly did annoy her. Sirius was the only member of the Black family that she liked, that being because he disliked the bloodline and their mania himself.

It was a beautiful day, such a day when laughter should have danced on the breeze. Instead, Darya could only hear her own feet hitting the grass under her, angry and loud, and the panting of twenty tired children being trained by Regulus. Their faces were red not from the sun's warmth, but because of embarrassment and tiredness. They looked at her curiously as she approached their teacher, calling him by his last name. She tried to smile and keep cool but ended up as red as them.

"Miss Swan," Regulus said without looking at her. "To what do we owe this pleasure?" He was busy assisting a first-year with his broom, kneeling on the grass beside him.

"Madam Pomfrey and I wanted you to consider ending today's flying lessons," Darya answered softly. She was struggling to find her words, but she still cared deeply for the children and wanted him to know it. "It seems like the students... need rest..."

Regulus gave her a side-eye. She could see his jaw tightening, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. "And what do you know about teaching flying, Darya? You're a healer, not an instructor."

The children's heads turned from Darya to Regulus, then back to Darya. They turned so quickly she could almost hear a whoosh.

"I might not be an instructor, but..." Darya stopped herself from continuing. Her stomach was hurting, now. "Sir, maybe we could continue this conversation somewhere else?"

His eyes flashed with anger. "I know what I'm doing," he snapped. "I won't coddle them like you want me to! They need to toughen up if they want to succeed in the real world!"

"This isn't about toughening up, Sir. It's about teaching them safely. Let them go to dinner, now."

"Dinner sounds wonderful," a student sounded silently from the crowd.

"Don't make me laugh, Miss Swan," Regulus snickered. "I'll teach how I see fit. The Wizarding World isn't safe. You should know that, especially after-"

Before he could finish his sentence, someone roared from the hill behind them: "Regulus, let them go now." Darya turned. Her eyes landed on Headmaster Dumbledore. "Miss Swan is offering you some excellent advice here."

Regulus recoiled at the roar, as a lamb might cower before the mighty lion. With his head bowed, he let the children drop their brooms on the ground and run to the castle again with Dumbledore.

The Black's stubbornness was like a brick wall. She hoped that despite his snappy comments and ignorance, her words hadn't fallen on deaf ears. He had so much anger in him, she could feel it. He was pouring the red, hot anger on his own students and pushing them to the brink of injury. Now he stood rooted in place, his shoulders tense with suppressed fury.

The air crackled with tension. Darya took a step closer once she was sure the others were so far away they couldn't hear her voice. "Black," she began, her tone a gentle plea, "please, listen. These children are your responsibility. You owe it to them to protect and care for them. I've healed so many students today, that I've lost count."

He took a step closer to her, as well. She looked up at him. The setting sun reached his lips as he spoke, "Why don't you understand? This world isn't a safe place." He looked at her arm - her mark. "We need to prepare them for the horrors that lie ahead."

What a tragic boy he was. She shook her head. Her heart was heavy with disappointment. "I understand more than you think, Black: you're letting your anger cloud your judgment, and it's putting these fragile children at risk."

"I... I don't know how to teach any other way," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

And the sun set, casting a long shadow of Regulus' figure across the Quidditch Pitch. The shadow was trembling. Darya put her arm behind her so that he couldn't look at her mark. "Regulus... what's going on?"

For a moment, he seemed lost in the depths of his own thoughts. Then, with a heavy sigh, he finally met her gaze.

"You think you understand me," he snapped, "but you don't. You don't know anything about me. You don't know what it's like to carry the weight of a name that condemns you before you're even born."

"I don't?" Darya answered quickly, still speaking gently when his words were as sharp as blades. He must have forgotten her last name. She had been cursed long before her birth.

"You don't," he said, and she flinched, stung by the force of his anger.

"I want to," she whispered.

Without hesitance, Regulus grabbed her hand, intertwining their fingers. "Come," he simply said.