Amateurs
Sirius was saying something to him—probably some quip meant to lighten the mood—but Regulus wasn’t listening. His gaze was glued to the sleek black car that had just pulled up, the unmistakable curve of Barty’s Mustang. And stepping out of the passenger seat? Evan Rosier.
Regulus’s jaw tightened. That seat was his. It had always been his. Reserved for late-night races, impulsive joyrides, and the silent moments where Barty let him in—moments that were supposed to mean something. But now, there was Evan Rosier, climbing out of that space with a casual smirk as if he belonged there.
A prickling unease twisted in his chest, sharp and unwelcome. He knew it was hypocritical, knew he had no claim, especially when mere hours ago, James Potter had taken him apart with a heat that left him breathless. James, who was a storm of intensity, who could unravel his composure and make him feel raw, exposed. James could change everything, and perhaps already had.
But Evan Rosier? Rosier was a placeholder, unremarkable in the way that fleeting connections were, a face that would fade by the next morning. Barty had every right to mess around, to bring along whomever he pleased, and yet… And yet, seeing Evan slide so casually into a role he’d thought was reserved for him felt like a knife twisted too deep, leaving an ache he couldn't ignore.
And as much as he tried to brush it off, that unwelcome bitterness lingered, sharper than he cared to admit.
Instead of heading toward Barty, Regulus stayed rooted, letting Barty come to him. He kept a watchful eye on Sirius, masking his tension as he observed Barty's casual approach. There was that familiar, easy grin on Barty’s face, the kind that always had a way of slipping past his defenses for a heartbeat.
But standing beside Barty, practically buzzing with excitement, was Rosier. Evan's wide-eyed gaze swept over the chaotic stretch of road and the crowd, his awe almost palpable. It was strange to see someone like Rosier looking so taken by the spectacle, as if he’d stumbled into another world. There was an innocence to his expression that felt out of place here, something that made Regulus’ stomach twist, though he couldn’t say why. It almost felt like Evan was intruding on something sacred, crossing a line into territory Regulus had always thought of as his own.
"Are you even listening?" Sirius asked, waving a hand in front of Regulus’ face.
Regulus blinked, jolted from his thoughts. "What?" he mumbled, his mind still tangled in the scene unfolding in front of him.
But before Sirius could respond, Barty had closed the distance, his hand sliding around Regulus’ waist as he pulled him into a kiss. It was sudden, brazen—and in any other moment, it might have made Regulus’ heart skip. But all he could feel now was the sharp weight of James' gaze burning into them, his expression hardening as he stood just a few feet away, bags of snacks in hand. The moment felt like it stretched on, each second thick with tension. Regulus’ pulse raced, caught between Barty’s bold kiss and James' silent, piercing stare that lingered, speaking volumes neither of them dared to acknowledge.
Evan shifted uncomfortably, his gaze landing on Barty and Regulus, locked in a kiss that felt just a bit too public, a bit too deliberate. He knew, logically, that Barty could kiss whoever he pleased—there was nothing between them that gave Evan any real claim. But as he watched, a dull ache settled in his chest, a strange sting he couldn’t quite shake or understand. It was as if a faint thread had been pulled tight, snapping just out of reach. He forced himself to look away, yet his eyes wandered back, catching glimpses he wished he could ignore.
Because, sure, there wasn’t anything official between them. But they had slept together, and that had meant something to Evan, whether he wanted to admit it or not. It all felt like it should matter. But now, watching Barty with someone else, that connection felt as fragile as smoke. Didn’t it mean anything to Barty?
Sirius reached over, grabbing Regulus by the arm and pulling him out of Barty's grasp with a smirk. "Ease up, Crouch," he said, half-amused, half-irritated. "That’s my little brother you're snogging."
He shot Barty a playful but pointed look, as if to remind him of the line he was toeing. Regulus gave Sirius an annoyed glare, shrugging his arm free, but even he seemed a little rattled, the remnants of the kiss lingering in the slight flush of his cheeks. Barty just grinned, unbothered, hands sliding into his pockets as if he'd done nothing at all. "Just a friendly hello, Black. No need to get territorial."
“Oh yeah?” James suddenly cut in, voice laced with a biting edge. “Do you kiss all your friends like that, Crouch?”
His gaze bore into Barty, disdain flickering in his eyes as he crossed his arms, one brow raised in challenge. Barty, unfazed, just smirked, as though he found James's reaction amusing rather than intimidating.
“Only the special ones,” Barty replied smoothly, eyes darting between Regulus and James with a glint of mischief. He leaned back casually, hands still in his pockets, as if daring James to press further.
James clenched his jaw, feeling the heat of irritation rising in him. The casualness in Barty’s tone—the way he acted like Regulus was just another conquest—set something off in him. Regulus, too, felt the tension, shifting slightly closer to James, his gaze dropping for a moment as if to avoid the brewing confrontation.
“You’re a real slut, you know that?” Sirius chimed in, trying to ease the rising tension with a grin. He nudged Barty lightly, hoping to make the situation feel more like a joke than whatever strange protectiveness was brewing between James and Regulus.
James, however, barely cracked a smile, his eyes still on Barty, sharp and unwavering. Sirius noted the look, something almost possessive, and wondered for a split second why James seemed so… defensive over Regulus. Sure, Regulus was his best friend’s younger brother, and sure, they all had history, but this—this was something else.
“Yeah?” Barty shot back, a half-smirk tugging at his lips as he returned Sirius’s nudge with a playful shove of his own. “Takes one to know one, Black.” He shrugged, nonchalant, as if the comment couldn’t faze him less.
Sirius chuckled, though he could sense the current shifting around them. He leaned in closer to Regulus, as if to remind both Barty and James of his place beside his brother.
Out of nowhere, Barty threw his hands up, feigning shock. "Oh god—where are my manners?" he exclaimed, draping a casual arm around Evan and nudging him forward toward the group. "Everyone, this is Evan Rosier. Play nice," he added with a mischievous grin.
Evan shifted uncomfortably under the sudden attention, trying to mask his nerves with a small nod.
Barty pointed toward Regulus first. "You already know Regulus, obviously," he said, to which Evan gave a tight smile, eyes flicking to Regulus, who merely nodded back, unreadable.
Moving to Sirius, Barty smirked. "This is Black—Regulus's older brother. He's got a name, but I can't remember it at the moment."
“Hilarious,” Sirius muttered, rolling his eyes, though a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Finally, Barty's gaze landed on James, and a slight smirk crossed his face. "And that's Potter," he said, almost dismissively. "Not much to say about him, really."
James’s jaw tightened, but he was determined not to let Barty get under his skin. Rosier wasn’t at fault for Barty being... well, Barty. Taking a steady breath, James extended his hand, putting on a polite, if slightly strained, smile.
“The name’s James,” he said, looking directly at Evan with an open, genuine gaze. “Nice to meet you, Rosier.”
Evan blinked, a bit surprised, before accepting the handshake, his grip firm but slightly hesitant. “Evan,” he replied, nodding, visibly relaxing under James’s welcoming demeanor.
Barty gave a mock pout, smirking as he watched the two. “Aw, look at that—Potter’s playing nice.”
Ignoring him, James held Evan’s gaze a second longer, the silent message clear: Not everyone here is an ass.
Sirius leaned in, his tone light but protective, his eyes flicking between James and Barty. “What do you mean?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “James is always nice.”
There was a slight teasing edge to his voice, but the way he stood slightly in front of James made it clear he wasn’t about to let Barty take another shot.
James gave Sirius a quick, appreciative glance, but it didn’t take long for his attention to return to Evan. He wasn’t going to let the tension simmer for too long—he’d learned long ago that sometimes, a little politeness went a long way.
Barty snorted, leaning back against the hood of his car. “Oh, sure. The Golden Boy.” His eyes flicked to Evan, the smirk still lingering on his lips. "You should be careful, Rosier. Potter's charm can be a bit contagious."
James smirked, leaning in just a little, his eyes sharp. "You think I'm charming?" he asked, not missing the opportunity to get under Barty's skin. His voice was casual, but the challenge hung between them like an electric charge.
Barty's gaze flickered to Regulus for the briefest moment, eyes narrowing as if searching for something in his unreadable expression. Regulus shook his head ever so slightly, a silent warning—one Barty understood.
"Hm," Barty muttered, turning back to James with a sly grin. "We should ask Evans about that... but, oh wait..." His voice dripped with mock sympathy. "She dumped you."
The moment Barty's words left his mouth, the air seemed to freeze. Everyone's faces morphed into pure shock. Regulus quickly turned away, his face a mask of discomfort, as if trying to sink into the shadows. Sirius, on the other hand, looked as if he might throw a punch right there, his jaw clenched, his fists twitching at his sides. Evan seemed genuinely confused, his brow furrowed, unsure of the tension that had suddenly escalated. But James—James looked as if he was about to erupt. His eyes narrowed, lips parted, a snarl ready to spill from him.
For a split second, the world seemed to hang still. James opened his mouth, likely about to curse Barty out, maybe start something they’d all regret. Barty stood there with a cocky grin, relishing the rising tension, clearly expecting an explosion.
But before anything could happen, the commentator's voice rang out, cutting through the charged silence. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the—" the voice blared, completely interrupting the simmering moment. It was like a lifeline thrown to save everyone from what could’ve easily spiraled into chaos.
"Oh, would you look at that!" Barty pressed, unable to resist rubbing it in. "Saved by the bell," he concluded, his grin widening with smug satisfaction.
James didn’t waste another second. “Whatever,” he muttered under his breath, and with a sharp turn on his heel, he was gone—Sirius trailing right behind him, matching his pace without a word.
As soon as the tension between them had cleared, leaving only the three of them, Regulus shot Barty a harsh, irritated look. “You can’t do that,” he said, his tone sharp, laced with a hint of disbelief.
Barty shrugged, his grin never faltering. “Why not?” he asked, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “He dumped you, ghosted you for some girl who tossed him aside. He deserves every bit of hurt.”
The words hit harder than Regulus would admit, but there was a familiar bitterness in them that made him bite back a retort. Instead, he exhaled, resigned, like it was an old wound he didn’t feel like reopening.
Evan, quietly standing off to the side, watched the exchange with mounting realization. The pieces began to fall into place in his head. The ex that Barty had casually mentioned before—Potter. The one who had shattered Regulus’ heart all those years ago. Evan felt a pang of awkwardness, realizing he was caught in the middle of a deeply personal issue. He had no place in this. But he was already here, wasn’t he?
“Yeah, Bee,” Regulus sighed, his voice a mix of exasperation and something softer. “I know, okay? It doesn’t matter anymore. I appreciate you being protective, but I can take care of myself, alright? You don’t always have to—”
“I want to,” Barty interrupted, his tone suddenly quiet but firm, almost intense. He wasn’t backing down, not now.
Regulus, caught off guard by the intensity in Barty’s voice, blinked for a moment before offering a half-smile. “Okay, bugger off. Go get ready for the race.” He waved Barty off lightly, his attempt at casual dismissal failing to hide the tension still lingering between them.
Barty hesitated for just a beat, his eyes lingering on Regulus before he finally nodded, turning to leave.
“My apologies,” Regulus said, his voice soft but sincere once it was just the two of them. His gaze flickered to Evan, offering him a look that was far more composed than the chaos that had just unfolded.
Despite everything, Regulus didn’t forget his manners. After all, he had been raised in France, where etiquette was second nature. He might not have been particularly fond of Rosier, but that didn’t mean he was about to let whatever had just happened end without some semblance of decency.
"That was... something," Evan reflected, his voice low.
"It’s just- well, it’s complicated," Regulus admitted, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Potter and I, we used to—" He faltered, the words dying in his throat. Why was he even telling this guy, the one his best friend and fuck buddy—who had once been a half lover of sorts—was either screwing or had screwed, about his tangled past?
Evan noticed the hesitation, sensing there was more to the story. Whatever was going on between him and Barty, if there was even anything there, Regulus was likely going to be around more often than not. And Evan didn’t really know him—hell, he didn’t really know anyone. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try and befriend him. Maybe.
“I’m not—” Evan started, pausing for a moment, then continuing, “You know, I’m not going to use it against you. Whatever you were going to say... I’m not the type to put people down because of their past.” He glanced at Regulus, offering a soft, understanding smile. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but you can... if you want.”
Regulus furrowed his brows, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. For someone who didn’t trust easily, hearing those words was… oddly comforting. But old habits were hard to break. He quickly shut down the warmth, leaning into his usual defense. “You screwed him, didn’t you?” he shot out, his voice sharp, eyes cold as he tried to mask the vulnerability beneath.
Evan swallowed, his gaze dropping to the floor. There was no point in lying when confronted like that. “Once,” he admitted quietly. “Just once. I figured he would’ve told you by now—”
“He did,” Regulus cut him off, his voice flat. “I just wanted to see if you’d lie to me.”
“Was this... a test?” Evan asked, his nose scrunching slightly in confusion. The gesture gave him an almost bunny-like appearance, and despite himself, Regulus found it oddly endearing.
“Indeed it was,” Regulus confirmed, his tone sharp and deliberate. Before Evan could respond, he continued, his expression hardening. “Look, I don’t—Barty can do as he pleases, alright? What we have going on... it’s everything and nothing at the same time. I don’t know if you understand,” he admitted, a flicker of frustration crossing his face as he wrinkled his nose.
“If he wants to screw you, I’m not going to stand in the way. But trust is important. Loyalty matters,” he said firmly, his voice lowering to emphasize the weight of his words. “So, if you’re going to start lingering in both his life and mine, that’s all I ask of you. Be honest. Always. You lie even once—to me or to him—and I’ll make sure you regret it.”
Evan felt the hairs on his arms stand on end, the sheer intensity of Regulus’s gaze cutting through him like a blade. Those sharp, calculating eyes seemed to pierce his very soul, leaving no room for misinterpretation. Regulus wasn’t bluffing; every word carried the weight of absolute certainty.
“I won’t—” Evan stammered, his voice firm but slightly shaky. “I’m not here to lie. But just so you know, I’m not—like, I’m a nobody. I won’t linger in your lives because I don’t—”
“You do matter,” Regulus interrupted, his voice softer now but still resolute, the shift catching Evan off guard. “Even if neither of you realizes it yet, there’s something about you. That’s why you’re here,” he admitted, his gaze unwavering but less threatening. “Barty never brings anyone besides me to the races.”
“Does that—” Evan started hesitantly, unsure of how to frame the question. “Does that bother you?”
It did bother him—to an extent. Maybe more than he cared to admit. But the sting of it was dulled by James. Evan had something captivating enough to hold Barty’s attention, just as James did with Regulus. They were both looking elsewhere, away from each other, and it hurt. Yet, it was also the truth. If Regulus was slipping away, then so could Barty.
Regulus shrugged, his expression unreadable, like a calm mask hiding something deeper. “Like I said,” he continued, his tone steady but firm. “All I need from you is honesty, and we’re good.”
“I can do that,” Evan reassured, his tone steady. “I will.”
Regulus extended his hand, his gaze unwavering. “Friends?” he asked, a hint of challenge in his voice.
Evan couldn’t help but smile, the subtle warmth of the gesture catching him off guard. “Friends,” he agreed, shaking Regulus’ hand with the firm grip of a deal being sealed. Perhaps it was.
“May the best man win,” Regulus taunted, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
And there, just there, there was an understanding between them - a spark in Evan´s eyes that claimed victory and a lack of one in Regulus´ eyes that claimed defeat. It was a pivotal moment, and though they both knew it, they said nothing more of it because untangling past lives, the knots of it, was one hell of a ride.
Regulus watched as both his brother and Barty climbed into their cars, the engines roaring to life like beasts preparing for battle. Around them, nearly twenty other contestants readied themselves, but Regulus knew the truth: the race would inevitably come down to just two. Sirius and Barty. No one else had their skill or drive—or so he believed.
Sirius had been racing since he was about nineteen, maybe twenty. Either way, he’d been at it for a while now, considering he was twenty-three. He’d picked it up effortlessly, though not here in London. His beginnings were scattered across the globe—two years in Spain while attending university and then another year in France. That was where he and James had parted ways for a time, Sirius heading to France, and James remaining in Spain to finish his studies.
Now, though, things had shifted. Sirius and James were both back in England, taking a break from academia and chasing the thrill of the underground racing scene. It wasn’t just about the races for Sirius, though. A part of him was here for Regulus.
Sirius had initially transferred to France partly to check on his younger brother. He’d assumed Regulus would be living with their parents, who had returned to France after Regulus graduated from Hogwarts. But when Sirius knocked on their door, expecting to find his brother sulking in their cold, oppressive manor, he was surprised to learn that Regulus wasn’t there. He had stayed behind in England.
It was an odd decision, Sirius thought. Regulus had always been a mama’s boy, tied to their mother despite her frosty demeanor. Sirius couldn’t picture him choosing independence over the familiar, no matter how suffocating it was. And yet, here he was—rooted in England, living a life Sirius couldn’t quite piece together.
It had been a long, solitary year wandering France without James or his brother. Sirius had endured it, swallowing the loneliness, because he knew that once the year was over, it would all be worth it. He’d find himself exactly where he was now: back in England, with James by his side and his brother within reach.
And to top it off, he was gearing up to compete in another race—a thrill he could never resist. A grin tugged at the corner of his lips.
Even so, Sirius couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Ever since he and James had reconnected with Regulus, the air had been heavy with an unspoken tension. First, there was the fight between Barty and James during that initial race, then Regulus’s sharp, passive-aggressive remarks toward James—though, to be fair, Regulus had always had a knack for cutting barbs.
There was something simmering beneath the surface, and Sirius couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe it had to do with him leaving for university and taking James with him. Perhaps Regulus felt replaced in some way. The thought nagged at Sirius, though he couldn’t quite understand why his brother would think that. Sure, James was his best friend, but Regulus was family—his blood.
No matter how distant they had grown over the past few years, nothing would change that. Regulus would always be his brother.
"Hey, Black!" Barty's voice rang out from the car idling beside Sirius's, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Last race was just beginner’s luck, so don’t get too cocky this time."
Sirius turned to glare at him, the corner of his mouth twitching in annoyance. Beginner’s luck? As if. He had won fair and square, and Barty knew it.
"Yeah, right!" Sirius shot back, his tone sharp and defiant. "Let’s see you call it that after I wipe the floor with you again tonight."
Barty rolled his eyes with theatrical exasperation before leaning back to hit the button, his car window sliding up with a soft mechanical hum. It was a clear dismissal, a metaphorical wall thrown up between them, cutting Sirius off as if Barty couldn’t be bothered to exchange another word—or another glare.
Sirius bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself not to snap. Barty had a way of worming under people's skin like a leech, thriving off the chaos he stirred. It wasn’t just that he enjoyed getting a reaction—it was like he lived for it. But Sirius wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction, not yet anyway.
His attention shifted as another car pulled up beside him. It wasn’t one he recognized from the last race. Unlike the other vehicles, with their sleek, flashy designs screaming for attention, this one was understated—ordinary, even. The dull paint job and unassuming frame made it look out of place among the polished chrome and roaring engines.
Sirius tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at the darkened windows. He couldn’t make out the driver at all. His curiosity prickled, and he frowned, scrunching his nose slightly in irritation. Who the hell was this? He had no clue, and the mystery of it itched at him. Whoever was inside, they were an enigma wrapped in tinted glass, and Sirius wasn’t sure if the car—or its driver—had any business being here at all.
He almost felt bad for whoever was behind the wheel—amateurs. Sirius had seen plenty of them during his racing days. The thing about illegal racing was that it was open to anyone with the guts to try. No formal qualifications, no rigorous vetting—just nerve and a vehicle. The rules were simple: once you were out, you stayed out. If you didn’t make it to the next round, that was it for you in that race. But newcomers could join at any point in the competition if they had the audacity.
This open-door policy meant amateurs often threw themselves into the fray, despite the risks. Sirius couldn’t understand why. They always came in last, and worse, they made the already-dangerous roads even more treacherous. As if these races needed an extra layer of chaos. Still, it wasn’t up to him to decide who could or couldn’t participate. All he could do was grit his teeth, keep his focus, and hope they stayed out of his way.
Last time, he walked away loaded, and he could only hope for the same outcome this time. The crowd buzzed with gamblers placing their bets on the racers, and the higher the stakes, the bigger the payout. Sirius had carved out a reputation in this dangerous game—a name that carried weight—and he had every intention of keeping it that way.
They were on the outskirts of town, in an abandoned construction site where half-finished houses loomed like skeletons and cracked pavement bled into stretches of dirt roads. It was the perfect setting for chaos, a playground for reckless speed junkies like Sirius. Rules didn’t exist here—there was only one objective: win.
As soon as the flag dropped, Sirius slammed the pedal to the floor. His car roared to life, tires screeching against the uneven ground as it shot forward. But to his surprise, the amateur behind him wasn’t eating dust as expected. Instead, the guy was right on his tail.
Sirius gritted his teeth, refusing to let anyone pass. He maneuvered his car with precision, swerving side to side to block any openings. The curves of the course required finesse, and Sirius handled them with sharp drifts, the back end of his car sliding smoothly before snapping back into line.
The soundtrack to his adrenaline was blasting through the speakers—Ratt’s “Lay It Down”. For Sirius, music wasn’t optional. Races without it felt hollow, like running without air. He’d probably lose his edge if the radio were off.
Up ahead, a sharp curve loomed, and Sirius caught the amateur struggling to stay on course in his rearview mirror. The guy’s car veered slightly off into the dirt, and a smirk tugged at Sirius’s lips. Amateurs. But his confidence flickered when the opponent recovered effortlessly, pulling back onto the track like it was nothing.
The guy was persistent, and Sirius had to admit, annoyingly good. Another curve was approaching, and Sirius took it with ease, hugging the inside lane. What he didn’t expect, though, was the amateur taking a parallel route—a dirt road running alongside the main one.
“Okay, smartass,” Sirius muttered under his breath, glancing to his right. They were neck and neck now, only a street apart. At least Sirius had the advantage of pavement while the other idiot kicked up clouds of dust.
Determined to shake him off, Sirius pushed the pedal to the floor, his car surging forward at full throttle. He was sure he’d lose the guy this time—until he saw something that made his jaw drop.
The amateur’s car barreled straight through the skeletal frame of an unfinished house, smashing through wooden beams and drywall like a wrecking ball. Sirius’s eyes went wide as the lunatic’s car landed right behind him, still in the race.
“What the hell?” Sirius hissed, glancing in the rearview. This guy was insane.
The amateur was closing in fast, and Sirius’s grip on the wheel tightened. The car appeared beside him now, the two of them side by side, engines roaring in a mechanical symphony of destruction. No way in hell was Sirius letting this newbie take the win.
The finish line was within sight, and Sirius made a split-second decision. He yanked the wheel, slamming his car into the amateur’s, hoping to send him spinning off the track. But the other car held steady, bouncing back like a rubber ball.
“Stubborn little—” Sirius growled, slamming into him again.
The two cars were now locked in a brutal, metallic dance, bumping and grinding as they raced toward the line. The amateur wouldn’t back down, and it was driving Sirius insane.
“Let it go already!” Sirius shouted, his heart pounding. But even as the finish line loomed closer, one thing was clear: this guy wasn’t going down without a fight.
And then—bam! A sudden jolt from behind rattled his car, almost sending him off balance. Sirius cursed under his breath, realizing he’d been so focused on the car beside him that he’d completely forgotten about the one tailing him.
The car behind wasted no time capitalizing on the chaos. It zipped past Sirius in a blur, the driver’s laughter echoing as he flipped him off through the open window. “Sucker!” Barty shouted, his voice dripping with mockery as he sped ahead, claiming first place with ease.
Sirius’s grip on the wheel tightened, his teeth grinding as he fought to regain control. His frustration boiled over, but there was no time to dwell on it—because the amateur, of all people, surged ahead too.
By the time Sirius crossed the finish line, the damage was done. Barty had taken first place, the damn stranger had snagged second, and Sirius, for the first time in what felt like ages, was stuck in third.
His jaw clenched as he stared at the finish line, the humiliation sinking in. Third. To Barty and some nobody? This wasn’t just a loss—it was an insult.
Sirius barely had one foot out of his car when the stranger stormed up to him and shoved him back against the door.
“What the fuck was that?!” the man demanded, his voice sharp with anger.
Sirius bristled, ready to fire back with some snark about amateurs not knowing their place. But then he looked up—and his retort died in his throat.
Oh. Well, hello there.
The so-called amateur had the most striking eyes Sirius had ever seen, a vivid shade that cut through his frustration like a slap. His face was scarred, faint lines weaving a story Sirius didn’t know but suddenly wanted to, softened by freckles that peeked through beneath the fall of light brown hair. Who the hell is this guy? Sirius thought, caught off guard by how stunningly mismatched anger and beauty could be.
“I asked you a question,” the stranger snapped, shoving him again. The fire in his expression burned hotter, his jaw clenched as his words practically hissed through his teeth.
“I—” Sirius started, fumbling over his words. “Uh, sorry—what’s your name?”
“My name?!” the man echoed, looking at Sirius like he’d just suggested the most ridiculous thing in the world. “You nearly killed me out there, wrecked my car, and you’re asking for my name?!”
Sirius swallowed hard, glancing over at the stranger’s car. The sight wasn’t pretty—dented doors, cracked glass, and scratches that could rival a battlefield. Guilt nudged its way in, though he tried not to let it show.
“I’ll, uh…I’ll buy you a new one,” Sirius said, his voice almost casual, as if buying a car was no big deal. “It’s only fair.”
The stranger stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You’ll—what?”
“Your car,” Sirius clarified, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll buy you a new one. Problem solved, right?”
“Fuck you, man,” the stranger seethed, shaking his head as he turned on his heel and stalked off, his frustration palpable.
“Okay—” Sirius called after him, his jaw dropping slightly. “Rude much?”
The stranger didn’t even glance back, flipping Sirius off with a dismissive wave as he walked away.
Sirius sighed, leaning against his car. “Well, that went great,” he muttered. And just when he thought things couldn’t get worse—
“Well, well,” came Barty’s obnoxious drawl from behind him. “Who’s the loser now, Black?”
Sirius groaned, rolling his eyes so hard it almost hurt. “Ugh, piss off, Crouch.”
But the smirk on Barty’s face only widened, his laughter trailing Sirius as he turned away, still trying to shake the image of those eyes—and that disastrous first impression.
"What?" Barty taunted, stepping closer with a smug grin plastered across his face. "Not so chatty now that you've lost, huh?"
Sirius scowled, his pride stinging worse than the loss. "You only won because I was distracted," he shot back, folding his arms defensively.
Barty barked out a laugh, his amusement echoing through the makeshift racecourse. "Oh, that’s rich," he sneered. "Distracted? That’s the lamest excuse I’ve heard from you yet, Black. Face it—you choked."
Sirius’s jaw clenched, his glare burning a hole into Barty’s infuriatingly smug expression. "Don’t push me, Crouch."
"Or what?" Barty teased, cocking his head with a devilish smirk. "You’ll lose again? Honestly, I’m almost looking forward to it."
“We’ll see about that in the next race,” Sirius said, tilting his chin up with a cocky smirk. “I’ll have you kissing dirt.”
Barty raised a brow, clearly unimpressed, but Sirius didn’t care. He’d show him. By the next race, Barty would be just another name on the list of people left eating dust.
Barty opened his mouth, ready with some snarky retort, but Sirius’s attention wavered, his sharp eyes catching sight of something—or rather, someone. His stranger.
And there he was, talking to…his brother?
What. The. Fuck.
“Can’t talk right now,” Sirius said abruptly, already brushing past Barty without a second thought.
“Wait—seriously?!” Barty called after him, but Sirius was laser-focused, his strides purposeful as he closed the distance.
The stranger’s attention shifted just as Sirius approached, and before he could even get close, the guy turned and walked off. Sirius’s steps faltered, frustration bubbling in his chest.
“Who was that?” Sirius asked, his voice tighter than he intended as he turned to his brother.
Regulus looked at him, lips pressing into a thin line, an eyebrow arching in disbelief. “Really?” he drawled. “You’re so hung up on losing that you need to track down the guy who beat you? What, planning to stalk him now? Don’t be a sore loser, Sirius.”
“Reggie,” Sirius interrupted, his tone sharp and unwavering. “His name.”
Regulus exhaled, clearly irritated, rolling his eyes like only a younger brother could. “God, you’re insufferable.” He turned to leave, muttering over his shoulder, “Figure it out yourself.”
Sirius stood there, jaw tightening as he watched Regulus walk away. His gaze drifted back to where the stranger had disappeared, his frustration only deepening. Sirius chased after Regulus.
“Wait—” Sirius called out, his voice laced with urgency. “What do you want?”
Regulus paused, turning halfway, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. “Desperate much?” he teased.
“Don’t be a little shit,” Sirius snapped, his frustration bubbling over.
“Oh yeah,” Regulus shot back, his voice dripping with mockery. “Call me a little shit—because that’s definitely helping your case.”
Sirius exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “Alright, alright,” he relented, stepping forward and grabbing Regulus’s arm to make him turn fully. “I’m sorry, okay? What do you want?”
Regulus raised a brow, clearly enjoying his older brother’s rare display of humility. “Why do you care so much about his name anyway?”
“I just do,” Sirius said, his tone clipped, though the hint of exasperation betrayed him. “How do you even know him?”
“He goes to the same library as me,” Regulus replied with a casual shrug.
Sirius blinked, momentarily thrown. “You go to the library? Like… voluntarily?”
“Piss off,” Regulus snapped, his expression hardening.
“Alright, alright, sorry!” Sirius said quickly, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Please, Reg. I’ll give you anything you want. Just tell me.”
Regulus tilted his head, a sly grin forming on his lips. “Anything, huh?”
Sirius groaned, already regretting his desperation. “Yes, anything. Just spill.”
Regulus tilted his head, savoring the rare moment of power over his older brother. He hesitated, dragging it out for dramatic effect. “Alright, fine,” he said at last, a wicked glint in his eye. “But you’ll owe me for this.”
“Yeah, yeah—whatever,” Sirius said, waving a hand impatiently. “Just give me the name.”
Regulus smirked, clearly enjoying his brother’s torment. “Remus Lupin.”
Sirius blinked, the name rolling through his mind. “Remus Lupin,” he repeated under his breath, testing how it felt on his tongue. It was annoyingly perfect.