Hit the slopes

Perturbed. No longer fully himself, Regulus was struggling to function properly. His eyes, wide as those of a deer caught in the headlights, darted around frantically. Since that fateful encounter a week earlier, he hadn't dared step out of the chalet—venturing only briefly to ski for a few hours, fully bundled up to ensure a shred of anonymity. Simply panicked—not mortified—at the thought of running into him.

The one he never expected to see again.

The one who had taken everything from him and hadn’t even acknowledged it.

The one who had once been a sporty teenager, the star of their school with dimples and a childlike expression, was now tall, imposing, infuriatingly majestic. Regulus couldn’t recall those shoulders being so broad, those dark locks so unruly, or those teeth so white. Nothing had prepared him for this. Nothing had braced him for the avalanche of hatred, shyness, and confusion that washed over him.

And, a confusion so great that the only thing unchanged about James Potter were the round glasses, still crooked on the bridge of his nose. It had been Regulus who had bent them once, in another life, in another body, when he had sat on them during their first meeting. Why did it irritate him so much that James had been carrying this little piece of him all these years? Why did he have to know? Why did he have to see?

Plus James had dared to say he was happy to meet him. Happy. James Potter did not make him happy; no, he threw him into a whirlwind of emotions, drowning him in feelings he refused to name. Feelings he didn’t dare acknowledge. His mind was a mess, his vision blurred for days now, and once again, the cause of all his troubles had skin like tempting light chocolate, amber eyes that commanded attention he never wanted to relinquish, and yet, James was the scapegoat for all his miseries. James was to blame—and always would be.

Only now, it was a James who didn’t know him, a James who had just learned his name for the first time. A James so far removed from the barely sixteen-year-old boy who had shown up on the Blacks’ doorstep the day after Sirius's escape, ready to face the wrath of their parents. Orion’s fist had left him with a black eye and a broken nose. He had blamed them for failing to see their son’s worth before it was too late. And in doing so, James left no doubt where Sirius was now living. He had come to collect his friend’s belongings, a task Walburga allowed only to ensure that Sirius saw the consequences of leaving—what his actions had wrought upon his closest friend, battered and bruised. But James didn’t care. He marched up the stairs, grabbed a few clothes, nothing essential, and then turned to Regulus.

“This was just an excuse,” he said, his voice raw. “I came to get you. Run away with me. Sirius is waiting for you.” There was a depth in those brown eyes, a desperate plea. "You don’t have to suffer alone. They don’t deserve you either."

And for the second time in twenty-four hours, Regulus’s younger self had said no when he meant to say yes. He had turned away, locking himself in his room, abandoning before he could be abandoned. It was easier for someone to watch you leave than to beg someone to turn back. Adding, just before closing the door on a brighter, different future, “Who said this was only suffering? Perhaps it’s Sirius who didn’t deserve us.”

Because the night before, his parents had uttered the words he had never dared to hope for—they had finally accepted him for who he was. For selfish reasons, certainly, but still. Wasn’t that proof of love? The love he had been searching for in his parents since he was old enough to understand the visceral ache of its absence?

Only now he knew. That love had never existed. It had never been something he should have sought or begged for. And no, being recognized as a boy by them hadn’t ended his suffering. It had only added to it.

His mind had betrayed him again, spiraling once more into the endless vortex of his thoughts. He brought a hand to his mouth, gnawing furiously at the edge of already battered nails. An old habit he refused to give up—or that refused to let him go. A few years earlier, he might have heard his mother’s voice scolding him, instructing him to behave like a proper young lady and stop biting. Now it was just a faint, uncertain buzz in the back of his head, a prickling reminder with nowhere left to sting.

The egg yolks broke in the pan, prompting him to curse under his breath before a hand snatched the spatula from him, relieving him of the burden of cooking breakfast.

Evan took over, and Regulus overheard Draco daring to quip, “See? Evan’s a better chef than Uncle Reg.” The traitor. But it had to be said that in their peculiar little family, Regulus was far from taking on the role of cook—a responsibility that fell to Evan, the only one who could light an oven without blowing up the house. And he never missed an opportunity to brag about it.

If Pandora were there, she would surely have taken his side, simply for the joy of allying against her twin. Those two shared an interesting bond: both their staunchest allies and worst enemies. A dynamic Regulus understood all too well, even if it had been years since he’d had an ally—or a rival—of that caliber, and he never would again.

It was easy to think of James because the only thing he allowed himself to feel for him was hate. But when he thought of the other person tying him to his past, it was hatred toward himself that choked him, leaving him to drown in his own regrets, as dark and viscous as his soul.

“Uncle Reg?” His nephew’s high-pitched voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

He glanced up to meet the heartbreaking sight of wide, questioning eyes staring at his now bloodied fingertips. Caught under the boy’s innocent gaze, he quickly hid his hand behind his back and used the other to muss Draco’s meticulously combed blond hair.

The boy squealed, leapt off his stool, and ran to check himself in the mirror, horrified.

Despite his efforts and his deep desire to protect him from everything, Regulus had more than once witnessed the obsessive behavior of his nephew, who couldn’t bear things being even slightly out of place. It was hardly surprising, given what Narcissa had confided about her ex-husband—the man who had often beaten Draco for the smallest mistake.

“One day, you’re going to traumatize that kid,” Evan remarked with a raised brow—the same look Pandora always gave when reprimanding someone. Perhaps he had picked it up because she was the only one in their household who’d ever cared enough to chide him.

Regulus chose not to argue with him, nonetheless. Here and now, he wished he could help Draco understand that nothing bad would happen to him if he allowed himself to simply be human, to make mistakes. But the first—and only—time Regulus had dared to take away Draco's comb, preventing him from perfecting the precise alignment of his hair parting, the boy’s reaction had been devastating. The sobbing, the screams, the sheer magnitude of his terror—it had all been overwhelming.

The image of that small, curled-up body, shaking with tears, begging for mercy from some imagined tormentor who never seemed to relent, was etched permanently into Regulus’s mind. That day, the shadow of Lucius Malfoy’s cruelty had loomed so large over Draco that even the gentlest attempts at intervention felt like reopening old wounds. It was a memory Regulus could never shake—a failure that haunted him as much as it spurred him to do better.

“It’s a family tradition,” Regulus replied with a shrug. "And I include you in this family as well."

“Whatever you want, Pandora traumatized me after all. I can’t even bring myself to wear my hair long anymore, or get too close to a skirt.” He paused, flipping the egg in the pan. “Are you ready though?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“I’m always ready. You forget—I’m Perfect-Evan.”

The nickname had started as a joke, bestowed by Pandora and Regulus for his relentless perfectionism—a habit ingrained by the pressures of their parents. It had left its mark on him, even years after their escape. This drove Pandora absolutely mad. In her case, she made imperfection her trademark, embracing every bit of her imagination and creativity, and even celebrating it. When the two stood side by side, they seemed like two completely different sides of the same coin—one in stark black and white, the other bursting with a thousand vibrant colors.

“What I mean is, are you ready to stop wearing a hood just to take three steps outside and risk running into Ja—”

“Don’t say his name.”

“Saying it won’t summon him, and not saying it won’t make him disappear. You’re running away from your problems again.”

“You’re pulling a Pandora,” Regulus muttered dully, lazily waving his fork over the scrambled eggs Evan had just served him, carefully seasoned with salt and pepper, just the way he liked.

“Twin thing. Sometimes she speaks through me, and those are the only moments when I sound somewhat kind. Enjoy it.”

“I prefer you mean, anyway.”

“It's surprisingly sweet of you, Reg.” Evan concluded, tying back his mid-length hair in a small bun, the rest shaved close to the scalp by none other than Remus, who had taken to cutting his own hair.

Speaking of Remus, Regulus was supposed to meet him before his first class and Remus’s patrol shift. Over coffee, no doubt, the rescue worker would grumble—still, even a week later—about the tourist who’d urinated on the mountaintop and somehow managed to glue his thing to the equipment. It had both delighted and disgusted Regulus, who had put on his best revolted face. People could be savages, he had concluded, and Lupin, in all his antisocial glory, had heartily agreed.

No one could quite fathom how the station’s two most standoffish individuals had become friends, but it had been nearly four years since Remus’s arrival. Best friends, though? Regulus would never say so—not aloud. But in his heart, he knew they were.

Not in the way Evan or Pandora were; they were his saviors, his family—both his present and his reluctant ties to the past. No, Remus was wholly his. His new friend, one who knew nothing of his former self, who had only ever met this Regulus and wanted nothing more.

“What time are you meeting the grump?” Evan called over his shoulder as he rinsed the plates, with Draco clutching his leg, entranced by the soap bubbles spilling from the sink. The child had likely never witnessed anyone cooking or cleaning up close, pampered as he had been in his early years.

“The grump suits him, yeah. Even though I know for a fact that you like him deep down, cut the act.” Regulus mused aloud. Not that he minded; he preferred the compartments of his life to stay separate. He needed that division.

“It’s instinctive. Sometimes he reminds me too much of you—and dealing with one of you is already enough.”

“If you want, I can make sure you never have to deal with me again. It’s pretty easy just–”

"No suicidal jokes before ten, Regulus, those are Pandora’s rules."

"She’s not here."

"Twin thing, remember?" He tapped his temple. "She can hear you, so watch out." R

egulus didn’t answer, simply finishing his plate, mentally preparing for the day ahead. When he lifted his eyes, they landed on Evan’s haircut, and a mischievous smile crept across his face.

“You let Remus cut your hair, though.”

“The most terrifying minutes of my entire life. I thought he was going to slit my throat, not my hair.”

“Good. I’ll be sure to ask him to do me that favor next time.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Evan retorted, his tone resolute, a clear expression of survival instincts etched onto his face as he hoisted Draco onto his shoulder, eliciting squeals of laughter from the boy. Despite his cold exterior, Evan had a natural knack with children, which was why he worked with the youngest skiers at the ESI. “I’ll get this one showered and dressed for his first ski lesson.” At that, Draco clapped his hands excitedly, his joy contagious.

“Alright, I’m off to meet Remus. Don’t kill a kid today, Rosier—save that for tomorrow.” Regulus hopped off the stool he’d perched on, ruffling his nephew’s round, rosy cheeks with a tender touch. Smiling softly, he added, “And you, listen closely to your ski instructor, alright?”

“But that’s you!” Draco replied, his voice full of innocent candor.

“Exactly.”

As he headed to the entrance to grab his jacket, hat, and gloves, Regulus heard Evan muttering something about him being a dictator. Draco’s laughter rang out in response, and an absentminded smile curved Regulus’s lips as he stepped outside. Fishing his phone from his pocket, he sent Remus a quick message to let him know he was on his way, leaving the cozy warmth of the house the twins’ grandmother had once left them.

Thinking of her was a trial in itself. During their runaway years, the Rosier twins had dragged her with them to Norway, where their paternal grandmother spent her final days in peaceful exile, far removed from the family she had once deemed to be white supremacists and racists. Having long since been estranged, she had taken them under her grumpy, less-than-friendly wing—still, in the end, warmer than anything Regulus had ever known.

But just like everyone who got too close, it seemed that they were destined to leave him behind if he didn’t keep control of everything. Félicie Rosier had, in fact, been suffering from Alzheimer’s, something she had kept hidden for years until the day came when she could no longer find words, move as she pleased, and began mixing up Pandora with her daughter-in-law and Evan with the postman. Yet, she never forgot to cook at the same time every day, as if it were a ritual written deep into her bones.

Over time, she lost connection with reality, speaking less, mostly parroting their words as she shrank into herself like a melting wax statue. The last time she came out of her mental fog, her eyes wide as though perpetually drifting in a dream, she told the children to leave immediately, to go to her French Alps chalet without delay.

She claimed she “wanted to spend her final days free from her two sparrows and their raven, before the vultures arrived”. The ornithologist, even after losing all memories of her beloved birds, still expressed herself with the same odd affection.

The twins had left, those migratory birds now exiled, and four days later, Félicie was dead, shattering the fragile group. It wasn’t long before they discovered that the "vultures" she feared were the Rosiers, who had spent years searching for the rightful heirs to all her wealth... those sparrows and their raven. She had safeguarded their secret to the very end. And since her death, Regulus hadn’t been able to see much beyond the aching image of her back, despite all his prayers.

A bitter taste spread in his throat, as it always did when he thought of her. Isn't that what mourning is? Never forgetting those who mattered, even when it's the most painful.

“Nearly there,” came Remus’s reply—terse and to the point, as always. Regulus liked that about him, the unvarnished honesty, the refusal to sugarcoat or conceal the truth. Remus was, without a doubt, the most straightforward person Regulus had ever met, and perhaps that was why he trusted him so completely.

Regulus took his time making his way to the café near the slopes. The ‘Slytherin’ wasn’t everyone’s favorite spot, but the dark-haired man found solace there, comforted by the blackest coffee in the entire resort. Slughorn, the café’s eccentric owner, had a penchant for creating odd mixtures—beverages he proudly dubbed “potions”—and he delighted in either lending a listening ear or spreading gossip, depending on what the moment called for. Early on, however, he had learned that Regulus had no tantalizing secrets to share. The only thing Regulus offered was his unshakeable loyalty as a customer, religiously spending money each morning on his bitter nectar that no one but him seemed to appreciate.

Remus had eventually picked up the habit, and now he, too, stopped by the shop every morning to get a croissant and an Americano with a pinch of cinnamon. Like clockwork, he would devour the croissant in nearly one bite before slowly sipping his coffee, savoring every drop. That particular morning, Regulus spotted him at one of the back tables, staring out the window as snowflakes gently fell, watching the station slowly wake up. People were already bustling about—the shopkeepers unlocking their doors, ski patrols mounting their snowmobiles. Regulus settled at the table across from Remus, who was engrossed in his reading.

“What are we reading?” he asked, startling Remus slightly.

Believe it or not, it had taken Regulus nearly two and a half years to learn that the bastard was hard of hearing. Not completely deaf, but not entirely attuned to the world, either. When Remus had finally confessed, he’d made one thing clear: “Don’t you dare treat me any differently.” And so, Regulus hadn’t.

“To Kill a Mockingbird,” Remus replied, smoothly closing the book. “I was just trying to find a quote but ended up reading the whole thing again.”

“Which quote?”

It was then that Slughorn, having evidently noticed Regulus enter, deposited a cup of jet-black coffee in front of him. A small nod from the old owner accompanied the delivery, and before he had the chance to start one of his long-winded conversations, which only ended when he decided it was time, Regulus firmly said "thank you," gesturing for him to return to his counter. Luckily for the three of them, at that exact moment, the bell on the entrance door rang with the arrival of customers.

Slughorn walked over to them with a deep sigh and a look of a beaten dog. It had to be said, Regulus was by far one of his favorite clients. And Regulus still couldn't understand why.

"You should be a bit nicer to him. After all, he makes your hellish drink every day." Remus comments over his book.

"It’s as black as I am, are you implying I come from hell?"

"And what if I am?"

"I hope you’ll come burn there with me, then. Wouldn’t miss it, not with a big fag like you.” He then took a sip of his drink, unfazed by the sight of Remus scratching his nose with his middle finger in his direction.

“So which quote ?"

“I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It’s when you know you’re licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what,” murmured Remus.

"It’s not courage, it’s foolishness." Regulus generally appreciated Harper Lee, but that kind of optimism disgusted him. If the glass is already touched, it’s neither half-empty nor half-full, just tainted by someone else’s saliva. Regulus preferred not to drink at all, or maybe just drown in the glass. 

"You think so? I believe, on the contrary, that you have to keep moving forward no matter what’s under your feet—broken glass, quicksand, or a cliff at the end of the path. If you don’t keep moving, you’ll never find out anyway, and staying in the same place out of fear of making a mistake or losing control is simply resigning yourself to death before it arrives."

The tone Remus used was always low, as he feared disturbing anyone unknowingly with a volume he couldn’t control, but this time, he took the risk of raising his voice a bit.

"Not that I endorse taking pointless risks; you have a life, protect it. But don’t be afraid to live it—that’s all."

"What made you so optimistic all of a sudden?"

"Depression, obviously."

Closing his book, he lifted his eyes to meet Regulus’s. In that instant, the smaller of the two felt utterly exposed, as though his skin and bones had been peeled away to reveal the tangled mass of emotions he usually kept hidden. Remus could see it all. And, as always, he spoke nothing but the truth when he set his mug down after a long sip.

“You look like shit. What’s going on?”

If Evan understood the weight of Regulus’s recent encounter with James —because he had spent entire nights listening to him talk about that "no" that would haunt him for the rest of his life, and about James's fault in all of this, who was just too perfect not to have everything in life —Remus, on the other hand, knew nothing. He never had. Even after four years, there were still secrets, piling up on both sides. Neither had summoned the courage nor the desire to disturb the fragile détente that governed their friendship: an unspoken agreement to tread carefully around boundaries while pretending they didn’t exist.

Once, Remus had mentioned his friend's surname and his English background, believing him to be French. Regulus had smashed a glass near his head, and Remus never brought it up again. Similarly, the one time Regulus asked if the scars marring Remus’s face, neck, and arms had anything to do with his partial hearing loss, Remus had stood and walked out without a word. He returned three days later, still silent.

Regulus never asked again.

Because trust did not always rely on knowledge, it could simply come from the fact that, despite the secrets, the mysteries, the gaps, neither of the two young men had ever let the other down, nor had they expressed the desire to leave.

Somewhere, Regulus still believed that if Evan and Pandora tolerated him, it was only because he knew their secrets and could very well reveal the deception that was their death to their parents. This Damocles' sword hanging over their heads, protecting them from leaving Regulus. But with Remus, there was nothing holding him back. Nothing forcing him to stay, and maybe that’s what made him so special.

"Are we curious, Lupin?" Regulus said, a teasing edge to his voice. "Maybe you'd like a full account of every change in my life up until now?"

"Why not," Remus cut in, his tone calm, savoring his tea with a detached ease. He had long since gotten used to Regulus’s passive-aggressive quips. "Something important happened, didn’t it? For you to be so ironically funny. Not that you’re usually kinder, just less funny, and more sarcastic." he added, with a sly smile.

"The day you decide to analyze me, I suggest you clean up in front of your own door first." Regulus’s voice turned cool, but it held a hidden sharpness beneath his casual tone. "Also, I'm funny in my way. Still obsessed with the guy with the glued-on cock?"

A subtle frown curved Remus’s features. He put his empty cup down a little too forcefully, then stretched his neck with a cracking sound before slouching back in his chair. After a brief pause, he answered, his tone flat and careful. "I’m not obsessed. Just... vaguely concerned with the wildlife around here." He said it without elaboration, the hint of an uncomfortable smile lingering on his lips.

Before Regulus could respond, Remus nervously cleared his throat, glancing down at his now-empty cup, and avoided looking at his friend’s intense gaze. "Look... you know you can tell me anything, right? I might not be the best source of comfort, but I’ll listen without judgment."

Regulus eyed him for a moment, and then scoffed, his lip curling. "Oh, look at you, all concerned for me. Can you stop stinking of roses? It makes me sick. Keep your friendship. It's disgusting."

Remus didn't react at first, focusing on his lips to read them. Instead, he stared, not sure if Regulus was actually joking or being sincere, but after a moment, a quiet smile tugged at his lips.

"Liar. I'm your best friend. That really says a lot about your social skills, doesn't it?"

Regulus shot him a glare but didn’t reply right away. He had expected the usual jabs from Remus, but what came next caught him off guard. Remus—despite the teasing—wasn't pushing him away. Something in that last sentence held a weight, and Regulus, ever careful, let it hover between them without addressing it directly.

"Speak for yourself," Regulus finally retorted, though his tone softened just slightly. He didn’t deny it. Because in the silence that followed, neither of them wanted to face the truth at the heart of their unspoken bond.

They slipped easily into one of their usual animated discussions, as lively and engaging as during their first encounters. Their conversation drifted to the book they were reading together, much like high school girls or grandmothers in a book club, only their readings were far darker. A case in point being their shared reading of Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky, which stirred something curiously harsh in Remus. When Regulus had first suggested the book, Remus had seemed absent for a few minutes, almost detached, before he quietly accepted.

"I felt orphaned finishing the book."

"Aren't you already? Remind me?" Regulus teased, earning a crisp response from Remus telling him to get lost.

"Shouldn’t you be going? You know, your class where you pretend to be a normal human with emotions and the ability to handle children?"

"And you? Shouldn’t you go save little kittens from trees and untangle dead bodies while skiing, strutting around with your snowmobile thingy?"

No goodbyes or hugs. They simply parted ways after paying for their drinks, enduring a few minutes of conversation with Slughorn, who was adamant about discussing the latest celebrity in town or some popular YouTuber passing through. Regulus genuinely wondered how, with so few clients in his shop, Slughorn still managed to gather so much information.

Remus vanished without a word, the rude and antisocial bastard had somehow convinced Slughorn that he was entirely deaf—a perfect excuse to dodge social interaction. More than once, Regulus had seen Remus reject a call under the pretext of his aggravated disability, while Regulus himself had to endure long phone calls with his bank or doctor. After barely giving Slughorn any attention, catching only a few words through the fog of his thoughts, like "padz" and "Monty," nothing remotely interesting, Regulus quickly slipped out.

His class was about to start in less than thirty minutes, and he still hadn’t put on his ski boots or collected his full equipment from his designated locker at the ESI.

Regulus didn’t much care for socializing with the seasonal instructors. He stayed year-round, and yet had yet to find anyone interesting enough to break the thick wall of his indifference. Others had tried, of course, but Regulus wasn’t exactly a warm and welcoming person; it was, in part, a result of his abusive upbringing, one that hadn’t equipped him for the ease of casual conversation or fleeting friendships. He didn’t like the social interactions that came with being unprepared. Lacking control over any situation was risky—without control, things could easily spiral, leaving him once more as a helpless spectator in the wake of chaos that could tear apart the fragile stability he had painstakingly built over time.

That was why he preferred to stay within the familiar bounds of his own circle—small and carefully chosen. It was safer that way. He liked that Minerva didn’t push him to socialize beyond his comfort zone. As long as his work was well done, that’s all she cared about. And right now, that was his priority—being on time. He rushed to get ready, his boots clicking against the floor as he hurried out the door, his destination clear: the gathering point for the "Premières Étoiles" group at the ESI, located near the Serre-Thibault ski lift.

"Premières Étoiles, this way," he called out, his voice firm and authoritative, projecting across the area to catch the attention of the scattered children and the hovering, nervous parents who were about to entrust their children’s well-being into the hands of an unfamiliar instructor.

Regulus didn't find the need to force a smile, but he did attempt the best one he could muster under the circumstances, a thin, tight smile that he’d perfected over the years. Smiling on command wasn't something he did naturally, but it was part of the job now—he could do it, had learned to do it, just as he’d learned to put on a mask of control.

One of the first children to approach him was Draco, proudly wearing his ESI bib, a large star emblazoned on his back, his name printed in bold letters across his chest. The boy appeared focused, as if trying to prove to everyone that he didn't even need lessons. Regulus couldn’t help but feel proud of him for that.

But he wasn’t allowed to show any favoritism. The children were crowding in his direction, and a little girl, perfectly equipped with labels all over her belongings, almost got knocked over by a small redhead struggling to put one of his skis back on, which looked like it had already seen better days.

Regulus wanted to step forward to help when without warning, disaster struck. He heard the distinctive crunch of boots in the snow, and before the voice even reached him, Regulus recognized the familiar scent of eucalyptus. It was unmistakable, just like the sunglasses—some things simply didn’t change.

"Nice smile, very commercial," came the voice, and Regulus's stomach tightened as James Potter appeared in his line of sight, grinning widely. “Glad to see you again, Regulus. You kind of… strangely disappeared this week.”

It was the sort of smile that couldn't help but brighten everything around him. And, as usual, James’s infectious energy seemed to light up the space, making everything seem just a little bit more chaotic than it needed to be. In his arms was a boy, small and hesitant, mirroring his father’s smile in a quieter, more timid manner. The child looked around nervously, clearly unsure about his new environment.

His kid released a quiet sigh, and immediately, James's face softened with concern. He lowered the child to the ground, helping him into his skis before pressing a reassuring hand to his head and crouching down, their foreheads meeting in a brief moment of connection. Regulus turned away, feeling like an intruder in their private space.

The scene made his heart ache. James, so effortlessly good with children. It hit harder than it should have—because James had a child, and because he was so naturally, profoundly good at being a father.

"Don’t lose him on the mountain, I trust you, Regulus," James said, a slight tension in his voice as he placed Harry into the line of children behind Regulus. Regulus glared at him, the words striking him like a sharp jab. Who had given him the right to say that?

With another parent, he would have surely responded more abruptly, but there was something unsettling about seeing James's carefreeness melt away like snow under the sun when it came to his son.

"You can," Regulus answered after a long pause, his voice measured, carefully neutral, though James’s concern was evident. The way his shoulders remained tense, how his eyes darted nervously between Regulus and his son.

"Alright, good lesson? See you later Harry, have fun. Make some friends ?" James asked, his voice trying to sound casual, but his eyes held an intensity that didn’t escape Regulus. “I'll see you later too, Regulus, I can't wait."

Regulus didn’t respond, spinning on his skis to face the children who had lined up obediently behind him. Their eager faces gazed up at him, full of curiosity and innocence, their wide-eyed stares free of anything cruel, regretful, or painful. There was only innocence in the way they looked at him. Children were untouched by the complexities of life, by the kind of darkness that weighed on adults, forcing them to hide it behind facades. They were, in a way, still empty vessels—waiting to be filled with kindness, with care.

"Alright, all in a line, pairs, follow me, we’re taking the lift," he called out, his voice steady, as he began leading them toward the lift. The children fell into line behind him, and, predictably, Draco ended up paired with the last child Regulus would’ve hoped for: Harry Potter. The child extended his hand shyly, offering to walk alongside Regulus.

And Draco took it without much hesitation. The traitor, again.