This story was written for the 11th Round of the Seventh Season of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. I'm writing as Chaser 3 for The Tutshill Tornados.

Name of Round: Love Them or Hate Them

My task this round is as follows: A character never had any powers to begin with (squib!AU, muggle!AU, any other reasons you can think of)

These are the prompts I'm using to as a chaser to score some extra points:

1. (song) Fire by Ohio Players

3. (quote) My gran could do better! And she's dead! - Gordon Ramsey

7. (dialogue) "Sometimes even the wrong train takes us to the right station"

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Harry Potter.

Thanks to all my betas!

Title: Regular Regulus

Words: 2930 (GoogleDocs)

/End of Author's Notes/

Jemma shot a wary glance around the corner of Diagon Alley. There were throngs of people milling about, and barely a soul among them was dressed properly. There were one or two bright jumpers, big belts, or jackets with pins on them, but they were few and far between. Too many of them were wearing their mum's curtains and looking like a right load of pillocks.

"Jemma Stanton," said the man to her side. He'd just picked her up, and she didn't like the look of him. He looked like the kind of bloke who'd drive through a puddle just to watch the commoners run for cover. That's how her dad would've described him, anyway. "We have a lot of work to do today. A lot of supplies to gather. We won't be able to manage much if you stand there gawking."

"You wha'?" Jemma turned on her heel, and her neon skirt fluttered. The goosebumps on her legs told her she should have worn tights, but it was too late for that now. "I'm just lookin', alright? Bunch of nobs dressed like…" She peered around the corner again.

"Dressed like?" The man leaned down to look with her.

"Nobs."

"Well, that's not surprising. There's a reason you never hear the phrase 'a sheep in sheep's clothing'."

Jemma furrowed her brow. That felt like she was being made fun of. And if there was one thing her dad said, it was to never let that happen. "Who're you anyway, Mister?" She drew herself up to her full height, which was about his waist.

"I'm Regulus," the man said. "I'm the librarian at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and your guide through Diagon Alley and beyond."

Jemma snickered. "Pull the other one! I heard you talkin' to me mum, and you're the co-librarian."

Regulus ran a hand through his hair, made only darker by the overcast sky. "Proudly so."

Jemma opened her mouth, but she couldn't think of a way to stay on top. "So get to guiding, Mister Regulus." She made sure to say his name in the sickliest way possible. That'd show him.

"Just Regulus," Regulus said, then gestured onto the street proper. The motion filled Jemma's nostrils with the scent of leather and dust. Her mind was filled with memories of the local library and the dreary bollocks they made her sit through.

"What, you don't have a last name?" Jemma frowned.

"Not at the moment."

Jemma glanced up at him, at his austere gaze and his impassive expression. She narrowed her eyes. "My dad says they do that to nonces. Take their names, I mean."

"No, you didn't." It didn't even break Regulus' stride.

"Piss off! You don't know what I didn't hear, you divvy berk!" Jemma huffed, her cheeks quickly growing red.

Regulus glanced down. "You're as common as muck, aren't you, Jemma?" he asked, as calm as you like.

Jemma's jaw hung open. She'd never been insulted like that before, not by her friends, not by her parent's friends, and especially not by anyone like a teacher. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and she searched her memories for all of the things she'd heard her dad say to the prats who spat on him. "I..."

Regulus raised an eyebrow at Jemma.

"I'll… I'll do you, mate!" Jemma's triumphant declaration was cut short by the chuckle that escaped the man's lips. "Oi!" she barked at him, as his chuckle continued. "Oi! Stop it!" She punched him on the shoulder, and he regained his composure with a few titters. "Laughing's rude…," she muttered.

"You're right. Forgive me." Regulus dabbed the corner of his eyes. "You can't help but push, can you?" He was asking a question, but Jemma felt like it wasn't one she ought to answer. "You've got a fire in you, Jemma Stanton."

"Um… Wha'?" That was something she'd never heard before. But then, she'd never punched anyone before. Especially not a teacher, and the fact of that was just beginning to settle in. What if he told her parents? What if he didn't take her to the school to learn about magic? She'd go home looking a right tit because she'd lost her temper.

"Most Muggle-borns I've guided have greeted me with common decency," Regulus explained. "And not by accusing me of being a..."

"Nonce," Jemma offered softly.

"Yes, that." Regulus bobbed his head. "And having met your parents, it seems like you come from a family with a healthy distaste for people who think they're better than you. Am I right?"

"We're the working class 'cause we're the only ones who do." Jemma puffed up her chest.

"I don't doubt it."

"Are you makin' fun of me?" Jemma eyed him warily. She'd fallen for that trap in the past. Sarcasm, her mum called it.

"No, not at all." Regulus shook his head. "I'm sure I sound like a nob to you, but it's been…years since I was treated like an equal by most people I meet. Are you familiar with the word 'patronizing'?"

"Kinda," Jemma said. "It means someone acting nice when they think you're stupid."

"Correct." Regulus nodded. "Aside from a select few, that's the treatment I get. I can't do magic, you see, and magic makes the wizarding world go round. I've had to work very hard, and rely on kindness more than a few times, to get where I am today."

"Where's that?" Jemma asked. She knew the answer wasn't Diagon Alley, at least.

"Being a man with a great deal of knowledge." Regulus held up a finger. "I have no doubt I know more about magic than half the professors at Hogwarts, double that for dark magic. But I have no way to use it, not unless I can find someone with the right kind of passion." His finger fell to point at Jemma. "And, young woman, you've got a lot."

Jemma stared at his perfectly-manicured finger, then at the man himself. "You wanna give me lessons on magic?"

"In as many words, yes."

It was tempting to agree then and there. She'd been excited about magic ever since she accidentally shrunk a car that was headed straight for her and her mum. More magic couldn't hurt, especially not if she was the only one who was getting it. But… "Nothing's free."

"True," Regulus said. "I'll expect a favor at some point. But it will come after, and if you don't like it… You'll already have learned all I have to teach, so you can just say no and scam me out of it." He extended a hand. "So, I teach you, and you either repay me or don't seven years from now. Deal?"

Jemma had often heard it said that a man was only as good as his word. She wasn't a man, but it probably applied to her, too. That was why her hand trembled a little as she grabbed Regulus' and shook it. "Deal."

"My gran could do better" Regulus snapped. "And she's dead!"

Jemma clutched her wand so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She spun away from the glass ball at the center of the room and faced the man. It was getting easier and easier with each passing year. By the time she finished school, she'd probably see eye-to-eye with him, and then who'd be laughing?

Probably still Kreacher, the hook-nosed house elf that was perched in the corner of the abandoned classroom. His cackle was more familiar than her breathing, ever since she accidentally got caught in her own body-binding curse.

"Get that bloody elf to stop laughing at me, then," Jemma muttered through gritted teeth. "It's distracting me, and I've already got to deal with you yapping my ear off all evening."

"Will your enemies stay their tongues or will they find a weapon in their words?" Regulus asked, crossing his arms.

"Will your enemies give you a pity punch, you squibby prat?" Jemma put her hands on her hips as her anger flared.

Regulus barely even flinched at the word. "Will you ever get a girlfriend, you arse-faced berk?" Regulus retorted. Jemma's lip twitched. How dare he used her own words against her?

"Berk!" Kreacher howled. "Berk! She's a berk! Excellent, witty master!"

"You shut your pie-hole right now, you little gobshite!" Jemma hollered back at the elf, who went goggle-eyed for just a second before Regulus' voice rang out.

"Confringo!"

Jemma's wand leaped in her hand, her head snapped to the target that had been set up in the center of the room, and she repeated Regulus' incantation. The air rippled around the end of her wand, and a great crack echoed through the room as the glass ball shattered into a thousand scattered pieces. The wooden pole it had sat on stood perfectly still.

"Wonderful." Regulus clapped as Jemma let her shoulders slump and a smile spread across her cheeks. Kreacher reluctantly joined in. "Just wonderful, Jemma. How do you feel?"

"Good." Jemma inhaled deeply. "Glad I did it. Great stuff." She ran a hand through her hair and smoothed out her robe. "Tad cheesed you called me arse-faced."

"I can't help it that you learn better when you're angry," Regulus said as he patted his student on the shoulder. "And your facial features are perfectly pleasant. Aren't they, Kreacher?"

"For a Mudblood." Kreacher nodded eagerly, as he shuffled over to a broom leaning against the wall and started to gather the broken glass. Jemma shot a look at Regulus and he shrugged helplessly.

"I can feel my next curse coming on already," Jemma muttered.

"He'll be summoned back home before you know it." Regulus sat down on one of the nearby chairs with a creak. "Come, sit. You can enjoy a rest before you get to your homework."

"Why?" Jemma huffed as she took a seat beside Regulus and tucked her wand away. "I'm already better than any witch in my year, even the stuck-up prats in Slytherin." She wasn't allowed to actually kick their arses, but she knew that she could, and that was almost as good.

"Because exploding things doesn't teach you a thing about magical history," Regulus said. "Or potions, or magical creatures, or any number of things."

"But you know 'em," Jemma said. "You spend all your time reading books. Why can't you teach me?"

"Because there are only so many hours in a day. I can't afford a time turner, and you'd grow tired of me before the week is out. You might find me acceptable in these small doses, but every day, for hours on end?" He shook his head. "Your friends are much more engaging company, and you'll need them once I'm done teaching you."

"Yeah..." Jemma planted her feet on the edge of her chair. "And then I'll find out what favor you want."

"Correct."

"Better not be anything pervy."

"Hilarious." Regulus rolled his eyes. "If you're going to resort to teenage banter, go back to your friends and have it with them."

"Fine, I will." Jemma rose to her feet and headed to the door. "Same time tomorrow, Regulus?"

"Just so." Regulus nodded and pulled a book off of the nearest table. She heard him open the book, turn a few dusty pages, and almost closed the door. Then she pushed it open again and peered inside. He glanced up at her as the hinges creaked. "Yes?"

"You didn't mean it, did you?" Jemma's voice was soft and her mind niggling with worries.

"Mean what?" Regulus arched an eyebrow, like a nob. She could never manage to do it without looking surprised.

"That I won't ever… Y'know… Get a girlfriend?" He'd be the best judge, after all. He probably knew her better than anyone outside her family.

"I'm sure you will." Regulus smiled. It was oddly reassuring. "And she'll be so charming even your parents won't mind."

"Thanks, Regulus." Jemma closed the door gently and strolled off with a spring in her step.

"You foul creature," came the near-shriek of Walburga Black from across the chamber. It was a simple thing, with a domed ceiling that had been thrice-warded, a wide wooden floor, and a set of raised benches were "You miserable wretch!"

"And that, Jemma, is my mother." Regulus gestured across the dueling room. The woman approached at a rapid pace, her black robes billowing about her, and her eyes set upon the pair.

"That seems right." Jemma nodded. She'd decided to show up in the latest Muggle fashions, with a too-big shirt, pants, and a jacket covered in buttons that made it pop. Psychological warfare was a big part of dueling, after all.

"Who's this rodent whose filth you're carrying with you?" Walburga demanded as she arrived in front of the pair, a parchment-skinned finger jabbed in Jemma's direction.

"Oi oi, me old mucker!" Jemma grinned at her.

"Don't… Don't do that," Regulus patted her on the shoulder. "Mother, this is—"

"I am not your mother," Walburga spat.

"Mrs. Black," Regulus began again. "This is my second, Jemma Stanton. I'm unable to duel you, on account of being a squib." Just saying the word made Walburga shudder in revulsion. "So she will be doing it in my place."

"A Mudblood." Jemma had never heard so much revulsion put into those words, and she'd heard them more than a few times. But they didn't matter. She was here for Regulus, and the woman was bonkers regardless.

"A Muggle-born," Regulus corrected, "who'll be working with a squib, to earn a place back in the Black family with all the rights that entails." He looked as calm as Jemma had ever seen him, and there was steel in his voice.

"Fine!" Walburga shrieked. "Once she's dealt with, the two of you can scurry back to the filthy pits with the rest of your wretched kind." She spun on her heel and marched to the other side of the chamber.

"Are we ready to begin?" asked one of three judges who sat to the side, all three of whom were experts at selective deafness.

"Too right." Jemma nodded as she marched over to her spot. Regulus walked over to the benches.

"On with it!" Walburga snapped. The judge rang his bell, and Jemma didn't even get a chance to bow before the first curse was slung. It was a roaring, lung-burning kind of heat accompanied by a gout of flame with the head of a dragon. A fearsome thing made of Fiendfyre, one that ought to have left Jemma trembling in her shoes.

But she'd been taught by Regulus, and he'd been waiting a long time for this day.

Jemma caught the first thread of fire on the tip of her wand. The stream followed it, claws of flame attempting to tear at her clothes, at her flesh, but she held its nose and wrapped it around herself. A swing, a curl, a twist of her wrist to control the flow of the fire. Whether she was sweating with the heat or the effort, she couldn't tell, but she kept weaving, weaving, weaving…

The fire that surrounded Jemma had been shrunk down to a tiny ball of white-hot flame at the end of her wand. The judges' eyes were fixated on her. Walburga's nostrils flared. Regulus smirked.

Jemma blew out the fire, then slung a hex of her own. It was just a tickling hex, to test the old woman's defenses. It was redirected to the wall, so she followed it up with another, then another. Walburga was getting the flow, the rhythm of her casting, and she was throwing them back with her own hexes mixed in. Jemma danced out of the way of them and kept up her assault until the tempo was set.

Then she replaced the tickling hex with a disarming charm, and Walburga caught it with her wand. It bounced off of the wall and soared across the air into Jemma's outstretched hand.

The silence stretched out. The judges shared a few words, then rang the bell as Walburga fell to her knees.

"Jemma Stanton has won the duel in Regulus' name," the middle judge announced. "The result will be forwarded to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement immediately."

"No..." Walburga whimpered where she knelt.

"Thank you." Regulus crossed the floor from the benches and seized Jemma in a hug that might well have squeezed the air from her lungs. "Thank you, Jemma."

"Thanks for all the lessons," Jemma laughed. But she stopped herself when she saw the tears that had formed in the corners of Regulus' eyes. She let him hug it out for as long as he needed.

"No!" Walburga shrieked.

"Enough, mother!" Regulus snapped across the chamber. "You have lost. I am a Black again. There is nothing you can do about it."

"You're no Black!" Walburga's screeches were ear-raking. "You're a squib, a worthless nothing! This is wrong! This is wrong!"

"Perhaps." Regulus shrugged. "But sometimes even the wrong train takes us to the right station. And mine is as head of the Black household." He turned his back to her and gestured to Jemma. "Would you like to see my home? It's quite a dismal place, and Kreacher's there..."

"Sounds shite."

"But," Regulus held up a finger. "I need you to get rid of any curses or hexes or whatever other nasty magical trickery my mother has left lying around there."

"That makes it sound no better," Jemma said.

"True. But I did give you seven years of tutoring for a five minute duel."

"Yeah, fair enough."