Meetings
September 1982
Regulus was awakened by a ringing sound. He grunted and buried his head in a nearby pillow. The soft scent of lavender from the green pillowcase filled his nostrils. His head throbbed with a monotonous, heavy rhythm, and every small movement sent sharp waves of pain through his skull. He just wanted to disappear under the duvet and never get up again until the world started making sense. Barty and Evan had convinced him to go out yesterday, and it wasn't that he had drunk so much, but enough that the combination of morning fatigue and a mild hangover gave him an irritating headache. As he lay there, his head buried deep in the bed, it was easy to forget the rining sound. It could have been the wind or the sound of rain. It was September, and autumn had truly arrived. If only he concentrated, he could fall back into the sweet sleep and—
The ringing sound again, this time unmistakably from the doorbell. Honestly, who dared ring Regulus Arcturus Black's door this early? He groaned and pulled the warm duvet higher over his ears, trying to disappear into the thick fabric. Its warmth was reassuring, enveloping him like the sun's rays on a summer's day. Whoever it was, they could forget about getting in.
It was probably Dorcas, who had come back from Marlene's. She had a key and even knew where the spare key was. She also knew the rule; she couldn't wake him before 10 a.m. So, Regulus wasn't going to open the door for her—
And then it hit him: Dorcas wouldn’t be home until about 9.
It wasn't Dorcas.
Dorcas had filming to do for her upcoming movie at night (or 5 a.m., but that was practically still night for Regulus). It couldn't be her. With that thought in his head, he swung his legs over the bed and took a quick look around the dark room. The only light came from a narrow strip of daylight sneaking through a gap between the heavy curtains. With a deep sigh, he rose, needing to grab hold of the edge of the bed to avoid collapsing. The more he thought about it, the more crazy it made him. He clenched his fists until they were white, and his breathing quickened. Regulus wasn’t a morning person, and this was not making him any happier. He would explain to the person outside the door that ringing was not a good idea. He looked down at himself to see how bad he looked. Striped pyjama trousers and an old T-shirt, it could easily pass for casual wear if he swapped the T-shirt for a sweater. He looked around the room and saw James' sweater neatly folded on the dresser. With light steps, he staggered over to the dresser and picked it up. As he pulled the red sweater over his head, he glanced at the mirror hanging above the dresser.
The large sweater hung loosely and heavily on his body, but it felt comforting and protective, almost like a barrier between him and the rest of the world. He looked presentable.
With brisk steps, he strolled down the hall. The house was designed to be dark and intimidating, so Regulus stepped out of darkness and into another. This was a relief because Regulus wasn’t really ready to face the daylight—or the nightlight. He was, however, aware that when he opened the front door to bash a pan into the visitor’s head, he would be greeted by an overwhelming light.
It was actually a good idea… the pan one.
If he was lucky, he could knock the person out with a single blow and crawl back into his still-warm bed. The floor creaked protestingly under his bare feet, and he muttered something about how everything in this house was falling apart, including his patience. He walked carefully down the hall, completely alone, with the only sounds being the cars outside and his own breathing.
When he reached the stairs, he looked up at the large grandfather clock, which stood beside and took up space. Regulus clenched his hands and felt how his anger turned into almost a comforting energy. The clock read 07:11.
07:11!
Whoever was standing outside the door would get a lovely welcome (if they were into shouting and screaming). Regulus practically flew down the stairs, eager to reach the door. His feet tripped over each other, slowing him down.
On his way to the front door, the doorbell rang again. A screeching sound filled the room, worsening Regulus' headache. He was seized by an overwhelming rage. It was well past eight, and still someone was foolish enough to ring the bell. Regulus’ sleep had been disturbed, and there was only one way to solve this.
"Ah, yes, I’ve definitely got murder on my mind!" Regulus muttered, unlocking the door with eager fingers.
Oh.
He had been right about one thing. When Regulus opened the front door, he was blinded by light. However, it didn’t happen quite the way he expected. He stood in full shadow because the light that blinded him covered the sun. Stole the sun’s light. It was James. Tall, beautiful, radiant, irritating James. He stood there in Regulus’ doorway, and all the anger evaporated. It was as if it was blown away on the still breeze that drifted through the air. James was like the sun, not only illuminating but swallowing everything around him, and Regulus couldn’t help but surrender to the inevitable light that was James. The anger vanished and was replaced by pure bliss, something Regulus didn’t like. He couldn’t help but look at James with eudaimonia in his eyes, taking in all of James, desperately needing to see more. James seemed to feel the same way, scanning Regulus and—
Shit!
Regulus was wearing James' sweater. Oh, how embarrassing! If James even made a comment about it, Regulus would run straight into the kitchen and fetch those aforementioned pans. But no, James was an angel and didn’t make a stupid comment. He actually looked quite nervous: one hand behind his back, shifting his weight from leg to leg, avoiding Regulus' gaze. James was nervous as hell.
"Good morning, Lucy. I hope I didn’t wake you—did you sleep well?" he asked, scratching the back of his neck; a movement that could not describe James better. And then there was the nickname Lucy. Regulus hated it. Why would James give him such a nickname? It was so ugly... okay, he loved it.
"I slept fine until you woke me," he muttered, glaring up at the absurdly taller man. One day, he would find a ladder tall enough for the purpose of smashing something very heavy into that annoyingly pretty head. Very pretty head. No matter how cold Regulus sounded, he was about to explode on the inside. James stood very, very close to him, and it was hard to focus.
"Oh," James said in surprise. "I figured you’d get up early, you know, you seem like a morning person. Sirius isn’t, but you probably know all about that. If you wake him too early, you're most likely getting something smashed in your face," James said quickly, looking down at the ground. When did he become so nervous? James was usually so confident—annoyingly—and wasn’t easily embarrassed. Or it happened, but not often.
Regulus snorted. "What’s you been hit with?" He was actually curious. Sirius had never been a morning person, and Regulus himself had been shoved out of bed a few times. James seemed to think for a moment, which was also rare.
"Mm, it depends on what’s closest to him. I’ve once been hit with a pan—don’t ask why it was near him—but otherwise, it’s usually pillows," James said so quickly that Regulus had to concentrate hard to understand what the tall boy was saying.
Regulus grunted. "It must run in the family; I considered grabbing a pan and hitting whoever dared wake me before 10," he said slowly, looking James directly in the eyes, which made James look away. Again. What was with him?
"Well, what do you want? I’d much rather go back alone to my warm bed and sleep," Regulus said. He didn’t really want to go back to bed alone. Yes, he wanted to, but not alone. He wanted James with him, but that wasn’t possible. The guy didn’t even like blokes!
James looked down at the ground and pressed his lips together into a thin line. He looked up carefully, seeming to make a decision, as his gaze filled with determination. He had been resting one hand on the doorframe, but now he pulled his other hand from behind his back. Regulus shouldn’t have been surprised when he saw a large bouquet of quite respectable flowers.
"Regulus, I… I brought flowers," James said, trying to catch Regulus’ gaze, which seemed to have gone blurry. Regulus was in full panic mode, and in a manic state, he slammed the door shut, or tried to at least; James let out a heart-wrenching wail, and Regulus froze at the sound. It was as if his ribs were tightening around his heart, making it harder to breathe. What had made James wail? What had caused the always self-satisfied, cheerful James Potter to let out such a wailing sound that it tugged at Regulus’ cold heart? And then, all at once, it dawned on Regulus: he had slammed the door on James' hand. Regulus had slammed the door with such force that it felt like he had been trying to close a metal gate.
It had hurt James’ fine hands.
Big hands, not quite right, but still fine. Regulus carefully opened the door and poked his head out, searching for James' hand with his eyes. James had pressed it to his chest, and Regulus' gaze seemed glued to the spot where James' hand met his chest. He had hurt James, again. What was wrong with him? He couldn't look away from the hand, and James must have clearly noticed by then. It was pretty hard not to notice when Regulus was standing there staring so intently, as if he could make the pain disappear if he just wished hard enough, which he certainly did.
James chuckled self-satisfied as Regulus opened the door further for a better view.
"I get that you'd rather stay in bed and dream sweetly about, um... cauldron attacks, but could you bring the flowers?" James no longer sounded so pathetic, as if he had gathered some of his self-worth back, or maybe he had sensed Regulus’ non-rejection. Or perhaps he'd simply realised that Regulus had been concerned about his hand.
"Fine," Regulus said, finally looking away from James' injured hand and instead down at the unhurt one holding the flowers. James extended them with a slightly trembling hand, and Regulus took them with determination. James sent him a wide grin, which he tried to hide with his injured hand, but it didn’t quite work. Regulus could feel his cheeks growing warm, and he definitely didn’t like it. He shouldn’t be blushing at James' grin. He shook his head. This wasn’t going well. If he kept talking to James, he would embarrass himself in so many possible ways. He needed to do something. Regulus looked up at James' grinning face and forced himself to gently kick James' foot out of the doorway. Regulus sighed, but then said: "Come back later. After 10," and with those words, he finally slammed the door in a very surprised James' face. His heart, which had been lodged in his throat for the past five minutes, settled back into place, and Regulus immediately collapsed onto the floor. The flowers in his hand were lilies, not his favourite. Never his favourite. Not when the name was so close to Lily, James' old love. First love. But the thought that James had given him flowers again wiped away all traces of jealousy.
Regulus sat there on the floor in the hallway, staring at the lilies, and could barely breathe. Lilies. James Potter had just given him flowers. Him. Regulus Arcturus Black. He couldn’t get the thought out of his head, nor the crooked grin James had given him just before he closed the door. There was something in the way James had looked at him—something insistent, and yet... tender? Regulus shook his head, as though he could shake the thought away.
He looked down at the lilies in his hand. James’ hand had trembled slightly when he gave them to him, and Regulus could feel a strange, stupid sensation in his chest as he thought about it. How could he let himself be affected like this? It was just... it was just flowers.
He could feel the nausea spreading like a heavy wave in his stomach. He stared at the lilies, his fingers gripping so tightly around the stems that they began to crack. The air suddenly felt too thick, too close. That grin. Those eyes. And those bloody lilies.
Everything was spinning. His heart pounded so hard that he could hear it in his ears, and the heat flooding his face was suffocating. He tried to breathe steadily, but each breath tasted of nervousness and panic, and his stomach twisted. James’ grin reappeared in his mind’s eye, the way his eyes had glowed, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to Regulus—what he meant to him.
Regulus dropped the flowers, and he staggered toward the bathroom. He barely made it before he threw himself forward, his stomach churning and emptying. It was as though he was trying to force all those feelings out of himself—panic, embarrassment, his pulse, everything. But no matter how much he tried, they just kept hanging on. He leaned his hands on the edge of the toilet, staring into the cold porcelain, trying to breathe deeply. He could still smell the lilies, and the scent sent another wave of nausea through him. This is completely ridiculous, he thought. I’m letting him do this to me – letting a bouquet of flowers and a smile make me... He forced the thoughts to silence, forcing his breathing to calm.
But he knew he couldn’t stay away, no matter what his stomach was telling him.
Regulus looked down at his bowl of porridge. He was sitting and having breakfast with Dorcas, who had finally returned from the filming of The Wicked Lady, a film set to release in April. After he had recovered from his encounter with James, Regulus had discarded James' shirt and crawled back into bed, where he fell into a deep sleep, undisturbed by the ringing sounds. He had woken up at a quarter to 10, when Dorcas started making coffee. Regulus really should get a new coffee machine that wasn't so noisy. He slowly stirred his porridge, trying to ignore the constant hum from the coffee machine Dorcas had set running. It was her second cup. How much coffee did this woman need? She was sitting on the other side of the kitchen island, looking at him with a small smile, as if waiting for him to say something. He didn't.
"So, how was your night?" she asked, taking a sip of her coffee.
Regulus shrugged, as though he was still waking up. "Nothing much. Same old."
"You look like you've got something on your mind," she said, with a smile so gentle it almost seemed like a challenge. He knew it was a challenge. Dorcas was poking at him, hoping he would open up more about his life.
He shook his head without looking up. "No, not really. Just tired."
"Tired?" She raised an eyebrow and put her coffee down. "Isn't it a bit early in the day to be tired?" Dorcas, the clever witch.
Regulus shrugged again. "I could have slept longer. I was woken up early."
Dorcas looked at him with a glint in her eye, as if she had already figured him out. She was damn good at digging for things, and he was too good at giving in. "Woken up early? Should I be worried?"
He looked up at her, and a small smile appeared at the thought of why he had been woken up early. "James came to see me last night, as usual. At 7:11 AM! It's absolutely illegal. Dorcas, anything before 10 is unacceptable, you know that! I don't understand how he can wake up so early."
Dorcas chuckled softly, leaning back in her chair, clearly pleased with what she had uncovered. "Sounds like something that could turn into a novel. 'Regulus and His Endless Visitor'."
Regulus rolled his eyes. "Yeah, let's not start with that genre."
"Okay, let's stick to reality," she said with a laugh. "What did he want?"
Regulus took a spoonful of porridge to buy himself some time. "I don't really know, I sent him home again," he said finally with a shrug.
"You sent him home?" Dorcas asked, panic in her voice as she stared at him, shocked. "I often wonder why he still hangs around when you turn him down over and over—even though you obviously want to shag him—you really need to do something about it yourself!" Dorcas reached for an apple from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table.
Dorcas raised an eyebrow and let the apple rest in her hand for a moment before continuing, her eyes mischievous. "Oh, bravo, Regulus. How long do you plan on playing the mysterious, unapproachable type? Until he finds someone who can actually show him interest?"
Regulus frowned and took another spoonful of porridge without answering.
"I'm serious," Dorcas continued, her tone sharpening. "It's almost embarrassing. He keeps coming to see you, practically begging for your attention, and you—you're sitting there, playing it so cool, when we all know you're burning up inside. If you just admitted it, you might actually get something out of it, instead of acting like some tragic hero in that bad novel we talked about before."
She took a bite of the apple, chewing deliberately, then leaned forward towards him.
"But hey," she said with a teasing tone, "if you really prefer to be alone for the rest of your life and sit there gazing longingly at him in secret—be my guest. It's almost entertaining to watch."
Before Regulus could reply, the doorbell rang, reminding him of his words to James earlier come back: after 10 o'clock. It was past 10 now.
He sighed. He knew there was no choice; he had to answer the door for James. Regulus walked into the hallway. It was dark, even though it was still early in the day. Yes, it must have been about 10:30. As he approached the door, there was a knock—not a ring. Regulus sighed and braced himself for the flood of light that would come in as soon as he opened the door. James.
He slowly unlatched the door and pulled down the handle.
As expected, James was standing there, smiling, and before Regulus even realised it, he was smiling back. It was before he noticed the plaster on James' finger. When Regulus saw it, his smile faded, and a sickening feeling rose in his stomach. He had hurt James, again. Regulus didn’t even know how this kept happening—he wasn’t a particularly violent person. Or was he… but not physically; he hurt them more with his thoughts. Regulus couldn’t help but stare at the little plaster. He hadn't hurt James badly, he was well aware of that, but he had still done it. Regulus was hit with a brief surge of anger; it wasn’t aimed at James, but at himself. James shouldn’t keep showing up; Regulus would just hurt him again, most likely mentally. He wasn’t good enough for James, not sweet enough. James deserved better, someone kinder, more loving; and this was not something Regulus could offer. So, he looked up and met James' gaze directly, with such a cold, hard stare that it was a wonder James didn’t look away instantly.
“James, this isn’t so good—”
“It’s after 10, I’m allowed, you said so yourself!”
Wow. James wasn’t nervous anymore. No, it seemed as if he had gathered enough confidence to stand in the middle of the square and give a speech on the importance of sorting gummy bears by colour.
He could probably come up with that. Regulus' coldness slowly melted as he stared at the tall man before him.
“Well, Dorcas is here, so it might be a bit tricky,” Regulus said half-heartedly; he had given up on sending James home again.
And as if Dorcas had been summoned by his words, she appeared in the doorway behind Regulus. She smiled widely and pushed past him, wrapping her arms around James in a big bear hug. She squealed as James lifted her off the ground. When he set her back down, she stood beside him, smiling up at him.
“James, it’s so good to see you. You should come by Marlene more, I really miss you! And look, Regulus invited you over, how fantastic!” Dorcas glanced back at Regulus, who rolled his eyes at her. “He talks about you all the time, and he's so lonely, your visits really—ow!” Dorcas stopped abruptly and rubbed her shin where Regulus had just kicked her hard.
“Occupied. You certainly keep me occupied—”
“Am I occupying you much?” James interrupted.
“—when you act like a baby, it requires someone to keep an eye on you all the time.” Regulus finished, looking pointedly at James, who only looked happier at the comment. Didn’t he realise that Regulus was being insulting?
“James, what are you here for?”
James looked at him with a glint in his eye and leaned casually against the doorframe, as if he had all the time in the world. “A cup of coffee! I think we both know it’ll end up being at least two, but I want one cup.”
Regulus rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t quite hide the faint blush creeping up his cheeks. Of course, he saw it as a challenge, Regulus thought, trying to keep up his cool expression.
Regulus raised an eyebrow. “Coffee? What time… what time is it? Half past ten? Have you hit your head or is that the plan for later?”
“I’ve already had two cups,” Dorcas said cheerfully, watching the scene unfold before her with a gleam of amusement in her eyes.
Regulus chose to ignore her, which James currently agreed with.
James took a calm step forward, hands in his pockets, still with that mix of confidence and genuine interest in his eyes. “So, half eleven or not—what do you say? I’m pretty sure you won’t get any peace if you stay here alone,” he said, adding a smile with a glint in his eye.
“I’m here too!” Dorcas said, almost covering her laugh with her hand, excited and satisfied to witness the small, cautious steps they were taking toward each other.
Regulus threw a quick glance to the side and noticed her standing there, watching them. He rolled his eyes, but the faint colour in his cheeks betrayed him.
“Is there something you want to share with the rest of us, Dorcas?” he asked coolly, even though he knew she’d figured it all out long ago.
Dorcas raised her hands in an innocent gesture and smiled widely. “Oh, nothing—I'm just enjoying the show. Please, continue,” she replied, before sending James a quick wink.
James let out a laugh and shook his head, but met her gaze with a thankful smile before turning back to Regulus.
Regulus looked at him for a moment, forced to hide a slight tremor in his hands. “Fine,” he said finally, a little more defeated than he had intended. “but just one cup. And without any of your annoying comments."
James sent him a broad smile and nodded. "I'll try. But I promise nothing," he replied, stepping aside, ready to follow Regulus wherever the coffee might take them. In this case, it was the kitchen. Together, they strolled back into the hallway, where James shed all his outerwear, and made their way into the kitchen, where Regulus’ oats were still waiting. Dorcas took a seat at the table, her smile still wide, as though she’d already written the entire story in her head. Regulus ignored her, but it was hard, especially when she looked as though she was holding a secret that only made her more annoying.
James confidently made his way towards the coffee machine and glanced back at Regulus.
"Do you want a coffee too?" he asked, his eyes soft. Regulus really wanted a coffee, but saying yes would mean losing to James; he wouldn’t do that.
"James, I told you before, it’s too early for coffee. You and Dorcas are crazy!" He glared at James, trying to look threatening, but it didn’t work as James burst out laughing. Oh. That laugh was beautiful and should be forbidden to protect people from falling head over heels for James.
James carried on to the coffee machine with an easy confidence, as if he were at home, and started rummaging for cups. Eventually, he found a black coffee mug. "You actually have good taste in coffee, Lucy," he remarked with a twinkle in his eye while studying the coffee bean jar. When he found the right one, he started brewing the coffee.
Regulus tried to ignore James’ comment, but the way he said Lucy – almost like it was an inside joke between them – made his cheeks flush slightly. He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest, as if to protect himself from James’ eternal charm.
"It’s not taste," he replied in a deliberately cold tone, which he didn’t quite pull off. "It’s standard. There’s a difference."
James threw a quick look over his shoulder with a small, mischievous smile while pouring water into the coffee machine. "If it’s standard, then why have I never seen anyone else with such good coffee beans? Maybe you’re trying to impress someone after all?"
Regulus rolled his eyes and tried to come up with a suitable retort to cut through James’ ever-flirtatious tone. "Impress someone? Like you? That’s the last thing I’m worried about," he said, his voice a little higher-pitched than he’d intended.
James half-turned, still occupied with the coffee machine, letting his gaze slide up and down Regulus, as though he was analysing every detail. "Mmh. Do you really think you can scare me off with that attitude? If I were going to be scared, it would have happened a long time ago."
Regulus opened his mouth to respond, but James’ gaze and tone knocked the wind out of him. Instead, he quickly shut his mouth again and looked away, feeling the warmth rise up his neck and into his cheeks. He tried to say something sharp, but the only words that came out were, "Your coffee’s going to burn."
James laughed softly and shook his head as he turned back to the coffee machine. "I appreciate your concern, but I’ve got it under control, Reg. But thanks, really – it means a lot to me."
Regulus stared at him, this time a mix of confusion and irritation, as he tried to control the blushing warmth that still refused to leave his face. "I’m not concerned," he snapped, pulling his arms tighter around himself. "I just don’t want you making a fuss when you complain about bad coffee afterwards."
James didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he poured coffee into two cups and handed one over to Regulus. "Here. Just so you know what good coffee tastes like. You deserve it, seeing as you care so much about standards."
Regulus hesitated, but took the cup with a quick, crooked movement. His fingers brushed against James’, and though he quickly pulled his hand back, he could still feel the warmth long after. "Thanks," he mumbled, staring down into the cup as if it suddenly became the most interesting thing in the world. Had it been that obvious that he wanted coffee?
James sat down beside Regulus with his own cup. Dorcas sat on the other side of the table, smiling triumphantly at them.
James took a large sip of his coffee and leaned back in his chair, as though he were the most relaxed man in the world, though his crooked smile revealed that he was fully aware of the effect he was having on Regulus. Regulus still tried, in vain, to maintain his cool exterior, but now he stared so intently at his coffee as if it were the sole cause of the entire situation. Honestly, he was pathetic when near James – a complete storm of mixed emotions.
Dorcas, who was clearly enjoying herself far more than anyone had a right to, let her gaze wander over James and settle on the plaster on his finger. She leaned forward slightly, raising a curious eyebrow. "James, why do you have a plaster on your finger?"
Regulus quickly looked up from his cup. She wasn’t supposed to ask that! He shot James a warning look, but James’ smile only grew wider. "Oh, that? It’s from earlier today. Regulus slammed a door on it," he said cheerfully, as though it were the most normal thing in the world. How could he sound so cheerful when Regulus could practically have severed his finger?
Dorcas’ eyes widened in surprise before she burst out laughing. "He slammed a door on your finger? Reg, really?" she asked, looking at him with a mix of shock and amusement. She was clearly enjoying this far too much!
Regulus sighed deeply and rolled his eyes. "He stuck his hand in the way. It’s not my fault he doesn’t know how doors work," he said, taking another sip of his coffee as if the conversation wasn’t worth participating in.
"That’s exactly the energy I expected from you," said James, letting his eyes roam over Regulus with an expression that was interested in a way that made Regulus shrink back. "Luckily, I’ve got ten fingers, so I can manage without one."
Dorcas shook her head and took another sip of her own coffee, but her smile didn’t fade. "Okay, but this isn’t the first time you’ve injured James, Reg," she suddenly said, sending a sly look at Regulus. "You also slammed a book into his head. What’s with you and hurting James Fleamont Potter?"
Regulus groaned and slammed his head down on the table with enough force to make the cups rattle. "How do you know that?" he mumbled into the table.
Dorcas let her laughter grow, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Evan told me," she replied, leaning back in her chair, satisfied.
Regulus sighed heavily and lifted his head again, clearly irritated. "Of course he did. He never shuts up."
James, clearly enjoying every second of this, raised his coffee in a mock toast and winked at Regulus. "If you were aiming to knock me out and save yourself from my charm, it was almost impressive."
"I only regret not hitting harder," Regulus mumbled, but his cheeks had a faint blush, revealing that he wasn’t as untouchable as he liked to appear.
Dorcas burst into another laugh and shook her head. "You two are really a sight to behold," she said, taking another sip of her coffee.
James chuckled and glanced at Regulus, who couldn’t help but blush a little more under his gaze. This time, they held eye contact.
"Well, it turns out you just have a... unique way of getting my attention. If I’d known that a book to the head was your flirting technique, I’d have let you choose a thicker one."
Regulus didn’t think, he just threw words out in the hope of provoking James. "Flirt? James, you’re a boy. I don’t flirt with boys!" As soon as Regulus had said it, he froze.
Fuck!
What had he just said? He glanced over at James, who was frozen with his coffee cup in hand. Dorcas was also staring at him wide-eyed, and the silence stretched. No one ever tells you how loud silence is. In that moment, Regulus felt as if he could hear everything and nothing at once.
"Yeah, but you’ve never hesitated to flirt with Barty. Evan said—" Dorcas was cut off by Regulus.
"Evan says so much, Dorcas. Barty and I have always been… friends."
He glanced over at James, who was looking between the two friends, sceptical. As if he was wondering whether Dorcas was the only queer one here. James surely couldn’t be. It wasn’t something people talked openly about. So, the fact that he had accepted Marlene and Dorcas was a big deal. Right, James was a loving person, so he’d probably find a way to live with it, no matter what, but that didn’t mean he’d accept Regulus. Regulus’ friends might be a bit scary, but they knew what it was like to feel unloved – unwanted. Not everyone would understand the pain of being attracted to the same sex, and James was clearly one of those who didn’t understand it.
Regulus shivered in the cold. He had taken a walk in the chilly September air and was beginning to regret his choice of outerwear. He had naively hoped the weather would be better and simply thrown a sweater over his head—certainly not James’. Now, he wandered aimlessly around his favourite park, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. He hadn't seen James in a week, so he’d had some time to calm down. Every time Regulus came close to that ridiculously kind boy, he felt completely stirred up. James awoke so many emotions in Regulus that he thought had been buried for years. But when James showed up again in July, all the suppressed feelings returned. James had barged his way into Regulus' heart, demanded space, and refused to move even an inch.
Regulus sighed and kicked a small brown stone on the ground. Though it was cold, he didn’t feel like going home just yet. There was something about the park that soothed him in a heartwarming way. The thick trunks of the trees, the bumps in the earth, the chirping of birds, and the gleaming surface of the lakes always filled his heart with a carefree peace. He loved the place beyond words and had come here since he was a small boy. When he was younger, he used to come here in the summer and simply write poems. Whether they were about his life or his surroundings didn’t matter. Many of them he had forgotten, others burned, but one poem remained; the one about this very park. The Whispering Haven, he had called it.
In the heart of a city’s hurried breath,
Lies a cradle of calm, untouched by death.
A sanctuary where time unwinds,
This park, my solace, my spirit finds.
Paths wind like rivers of ancient prose,
Whispering tales where the silence grows.
Each stone, a sentinel to years gone by,
Each tree, a monument to the boundless sky.
The grass, a velvet ocean of green,
Sways in rhythm, soft, serene.
Each blade a note in nature’s song,
A hymn of peace where hearts belong.
The trees stand tall, their arms outstretched,
Veins of the earth in bark enmeshed.
Their leaves, a thousand emerald eyes,
Blink with wonder at azure skies.
The lake mirrors clouds with trembling grace,
A still, silver mirror where dreams find a face.
Lilies like lanterns afloat in the dark,
Their petals are whispers that soften the park.
And oh, the birds! Their symphony bright,
Daybreak’s chorus, twilight’s light.
Songs that weave through the weft of the air,
Threads of gold in the park’s calm lair.
The breeze carries secrets only it knows,
Breath of the earth, where tranquility flows.
It plays with my hair like a lover unseen,
A ghost of peace, gentle, serene.
Children’s laughter, a fleeting delight,
Gleams like fireflies in the approaching night.
Their joy, ephemeral, free and pure,
Reminds me of a world that still can endure.
Benches like sentinels carved from stone,
Invite the weary, the wandering, alone.
Their silence speaks of stories untold,
Of lovers, of dreamers, of hands grown cold.
Yet here, I am whole, I am unbound,
Rooted and free, in solace found.
The worries of life dissolve, depart,
As the park cradles my restless heart.
Its heart beats with mine in a rhythm divine,
Its stillness, a whisper: "You’ll be fine."
In its embrace, the chaos ebbs,
Calm in its weave, peace in its threads.
So here, in this haven, I anchor my soul,
A harbor of green where I am whole.
This park, a cathedral of sky and stone,
Will always be my heart’s true home.
It was a long poem, but every word felt as though it were tattooed in his mind. It was one of the happier poems, a rare specimen. But perhaps that was exactly why Regulus remembered it so vividly. He had written it at the age of fourteen. Now, at twenty-one, and turning twenty-two in December, the fact that it was still etched in his mind spoke volumes. Maybe it was stubbornness, maybe it was something else.
Regulus sighed again and looked up at the sky, where the autumn sun was struggling to break through the heavy grey clouds. Although the calendar still read September, the air was already cool, and the wind carried with it the unmistakable scent of wet leaves and earth. The trees in the park had begun to change colour, and the first golden and copper-red leaves slowly fell to the ground, like little greetings from the season.
He kicked another stone, this time a slightly larger one, which rolled a short distance away and landed in the tall grass. There was a melancholy to September, he thought, as if the year was slowly bidding farewell. It was a transitional time, where the world was neither filled with the light of summer nor the cold of winter. It felt like a place in between—just like him.
He took a deep breath and felt the cool air fill his lungs. There was something almost soothing about the way the park changed in September. The birds' chirping had become more subdued, and there was a special calmness to the place. The grass was still green, but the clouds above him were heavy, threatening rain. Everything was so calm—
Hands landed on his shoulders.
Regulus screamed in shock, and maybe a little in fear. Who the hell had grabbed his shoulders? What was he supposed to do? Was it possible to strike them out with a good punch between the eyes, so he—
“Jesus, relax. It’s just me, Lucy. James. Tall, brown-haired, glasses, sweet, beautiful, sexy—”
“I know what you look like, James!” Regulus interrupted. He was afraid that if James continued describing himself further, he might start blushing.
“Can I sit down?” James asked, gesturing toward the bench with the hand that was visible to Regulus. Regulus nodded weakly, but James still saw it; he saw Regulus.
James sat quietly on the bench beside Regulus, not too close, not too far. Just as it should be. Regulus nervously looked down at the ground, afraid to meet James’ gaze. It was as if, if he met it, all the poems he had once written about James on that very same bench would come to life. It had never been safe to write poems about James; Walburga might well have gone through his books. So he kept them hidden in the hollow of his piano. They were still there. So now, with James sitting next to him, it felt like opening up and letting him see the poetic side of him, not the cold one. Regulus didn’t want to be cold, not always. It was mostly necessary to protect, for example, James, but he didn’t want that. He wanted to show James that there was also a soft side of him, that he was kind.
“James?” Regulus asked gently, looking up. “What are you doing here?”
James smiled widely and met Regulus' gaze. “I’ve been out looking at a flat with my parents,” he said, turning on the bench but letting out a small laugh. “Yeah, they’re actually still over there next to the red car.” James pointed towards an elderly couple standing by a red Mercedes outside the park. The woman, with beautiful light brown skin and colourful clothing, must have been Euphemia Potter, Sirius had spoken highly of her. Regulus let his gaze slide over to her husband, and he… okay, James had a very handsome father. The man must have been in his early sixties, with silver-grey streaks in his hair and beard. He wore round glasses just like James, and had the same beautiful skin tone. Regulus’ mouth opened slightly in shock. It made sense that James looked like that with the parents he had.
“Is that your father?” Regulus asked, his voice carrying a slight air of disbelief. It was painfully obvious what was going through his mind, but James seemed to overlook it.
“Yeah?” James asked, looking at Regulus in confusion. “Do you feel like you’ve seen him before? He invented a hair product, so you might have seen him in a magazine or on TV.”
Regulus blinked at this new information. Hair product? Regulus had never seen him in an advert. Still, he nodded and smiled back at James. “Yeah, I’ve probably seen him there.”
James winked at him and turned back to look at his parents. Regulus copied his movement, only to see the elderly couple glancing in their direction. James waved energetically, and the joy on his face was enchanting. A grown man who still loved his parents, as if he were five. James' father, Fleamont Potter, pointed in the direction of the car and shrugged; a gesture aimed at James.
“No, no, you go on home! I’ll stay here with Regulus for a bit, but I’ll be home for dinner.” With those words and a small wave, he turned back around on the bench to face Regulus.
James had said he would stay with Regulus in such a casual way, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if he weren’t Sirius’ brother. As if they already knew everything about him. Had James told his parents about him? Regulus could imagine it.
“Why are you looking for somewhere to live? Have your parents kicked you out?” Regulus asked, breaking the silence that had settled over them. He looked at James’ face, which had carefully settled into gentle folds—as if nothing could touch him here.
“No, I’m actually allowed to stay, but it might be time to move out. I’ll be 23 in March, and my parents could do with some peace and quiet. I’m always running in and out with my friends, throwing parties, or practising for concerts; they deserve some relaxation.” James said, looking more mature than Regulus had ever seen him. James wasn’t just a playful guy with fire in his belly, but also a thoughtful and rational person.
“What about Si… Sirius?” Regulus’ voice cracked halfway through his brother’s name, but he managed to get it out anyway. Regulus was slightly surprised that he had brought up his brother. It was a bit of an unwritten rule between them that Sirius wasn’t to be mentioned.
James chuckled softly and shook his head. “I’m hoping he’ll move in with me. I haven’t suggested it to him yet, but he’ll probably want to, if I ask at the right time. Besides, Remus and Peter’s flat isn’t far from here, so that’s probably a bonus.” James smiled crookedly at Regulus. “Some of my parents’ friends’ kids were getting rid of their flat, so when I had the chance to see it, I jumped on it. It was really nice, not too big, not too small.”
Regulus nodded; it made sense. But where was he getting the money from? He’d dropped out of his studies to focus 100% on music and had no other job. Euphemia and Fleamont could hardly be footing the bill, so where was he getting the money from? If he could, he would offer James to stay with him, to share the house. No matter how much he would pretend to hate it, he would love it. Love how he would be woken by the sound of James making coffee, how he would read with the sound of James humming in the background, how they would have dinner at the same table and sleep under the same roof. Regulus would love all of it, but that would never be an option for him. James would never say yes, and if he did, what would he tell Sirius?
Regulus shook his head and decided to save the fantasies for later.
“So, was it nice?” Regulus asked dumbly. What were you supposed to ask in situations like these?
James chuckled again and turned his face toward Regulus. His eyes glinted with amusement. “Regulus, why are you being so sweet all of a sudden? Do you have a fever or something?” James teased, poking Regulus in the side. Regulus squealed and swatted his hand away, though he would have much preferred James’ hand to stay right where it was; on his waist.
“I can be sweet when I want to!” Regulus said firmly. He could, right?
James laughed, and his smile grew wider when he saw Regulus’ furrowed brows. “What do I have to do for you to stay sweet today?” James asked, still with a smile on his lips, but his tone was more serious now. He was asking Regulus what would make him happy. Regulus didn’t need to think long before he knew the answer.
“Buy me an ice cream,” he said, dead serious, looking James directly in the eyes.
James collapsed into laughter. “You—what?” It really sounded like James was struggling to breathe. He shook with laughter. “You want ice cream at this time of year?”
Regulus nodded. “You wanted coffee at half eleven, I want ice cream in September. So, am I going to stay sweet, or am I going to have to scold you for disturbing my beauty sleep?” He looked at James, who was finally getting a hold of himself. He smoothed his always-ruffled hair with one hand and then looked at Regulus with a warm smile.
“You don’t need beauty sleep, Lucy. You’re beautiful as you are.”
Regulus could feel the warmth spreading from his cheeks down his neck, and he didn’t even try to hide it. James had seen it.
"I am the way I am because I get beauty sleep, James," he said, looking at James in a challenging manner. "And if I don’t get my ice cream soon, I’ll honestly get really angry!"
James laughed and raised his hands in surrender. "Well, let’s get going then," he said, getting up from the cold bench. He extended his hand to Regulus, who took it. For most, it would have been an innocent gesture, but for Regulus, it meant a lot. It took a great deal for him to take James’s hand. It was a sign that he trusted James. He allowed James to help him, showing him his weak sides. He trusted James.
With James’s help, Regulus stood up. He had expected James to let go of his hand the moment Regulus was on his feet, but no, James held on.
"Jesus, Regulus, your hands are freezing!" James exclaimed in surprise, tightening his grip around the small fingers.
"Well, James, it’s because I’m dead inside. But thanks for noticing the outward symptom first," Regulus replied.
James shook his head, laughing. "Drama Queen," he muttered, but still began rubbing Regulus’s hands to warm them.
James had large, warm hands, and Regulus’s hand seemed to disappear in his. It felt like an anchor, keeping him grounded. Regulus wasn’t sure if he would remain conscious if James didn’t hold on to him. They began walking towards the exit, and Regulus could feel his heart pounding quickly, almost in panic, as if his body was trying to decide whether to fight or surrender to the feeling of safety.
"So, I don’t know where an ice cream shop is. Do you?" James asked after they had walked for a while. Regulus simply nodded and pulled on James’s hand to indicate he knew which way to go. As they walked, Regulus couldn’t help but glance down at their intertwined fingers. Boys didn’t hold hands, so why were they? James could just be kind and try to help keep Regulus’s hands warm, but whatever the reason, it meant something different to Regulus. It always would. This thought, however, shifted Regulus’s mood, ice cream or not. It wasn’t pleasant to realize that he meant something different to James. It felt like Regulus was about to explode into flames, and God knew, he wasn’t even the slightest bit afraid of burning. James was a fire he was willing to burn for, even if it would eventually consume him. Which it would.
James didn’t say anything, but his gaze rested heavily on Regulus, as if he was trying to read the thousand thoughts racing through his mind.
"Are you okay?" James finally asked, his voice soft but firm. His thumb absentmindedly brushed over Regulus’s knuckles, as if trying to reassure him that he was still there.
"I..." Regulus hesitated. His gaze flickered, first to the ground, then back up. It was as though he was struggling to find an answer that wouldn’t reveal too much. "I’m fine. It... it was just a moment of dizziness."
"A moment?" James raised an eyebrow and pulled him a little closer, almost as if challenging him to be honest. "Reg, I know you well enough to know you never admit when something’s wrong. So don’t try that on me."
Regulus shook his head, a small, crooked smile forming on his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "And when did you become an expert on me?"
James chuckled softly, but still didn’t let go of his hand. "Maybe since I started noticing the little things. Like how you always take a step back when someone gets too close. Or how you only really smile when you’re surrounded by the right people." He stopped himself, as if unsure how far he could go without scaring Regulus away.
Regulus stared at him, overwhelmed. There was something frightening about being seen so clearly, but also something alluring about it. No one had ever held on to him the way James did now – neither physically nor in any other way. He didn’t know how to react.
"I..." he began, but the words trailed off. Instead, he gave James’s hand a small squeeze, as if trying to express everything he couldn’t find words for. Gratitude. Fear. Something more.
James smiled warmly and slowly let go of his hand, but not before letting his fingers graze Regulus’s one last time.
"I’m just glad you’re here," Regulus admitted quietly. It wasn’t the whole truth, but he was good at lying, so James would buy it without hesitation. He looked up through his long lashes and smiled at James crookedly. It worked exactly as he had hoped; James’s gaze flickered, and his skin darkened slightly; he blushed.
James, as always, happy to help others, but never receiving enough praise.
They had left the park and were now walking down quiet streets. It had been a long time since he’d been here, but Regulus had come here often as a child, mostly with Sirius. They would come here in the summer and gorge themselves on ice cream. So, when Regulus reached a street corner, he clearly remembered the shortcut they used to take. Through the green gate, over the red fence, and then they would be in the backyard of the ice cream shop. Regulus shook his head, he was too old for that now. So they continued straight ahead.
When they reached the ice cream shop, Regulus stopped and released James’s warm hand. He looked up at the older boy with a smile and nodded towards the shop.
"We’re here, Lava Boy," Regulus said with a teasing smile on his lips.
James looked at him, confused, furrowing his brow. "Lava Boy?" he asked, laughing. "Did you just call me Lava Boy?" he asked again.
Regulus nodded, struggling to maintain a serious expression. "Yes, you’re hot. Lava is too!" he said, looking James in the eyes.
James just furrowed his brow and was about to say something, but Regulus spoke first.
Regulus shrugged and pretended to think deeply. "It was either that or Radiator. But I thought Radiator sounded too old-fashioned. And you’re more dramatic than that, so... Lava Boy it is."
James crossed his arms and gave Regulus a sideways glance. "So, because I’m hot, I get a name that sounds like something from a bad superhero movie? Should I be worried about what you’ll call me next?"
Regulus raised an eyebrow with an innocent smile. "It depends on whether you stop asking questions or keep complaining. The choice is yours, Lava Boy."
James did neither, but kept walking straight ahead. He glanced back at Regulus with his big brown eyes. "Are you coming, Ice Prince? I’ve got an ice cream to buy."
With those words, James entered the shop, and Regulus had to jog after him.
The shop was warm and not very busy. An old lady sat alone in a corner, licking on an ice cream, but other than her, they were alone. James was already at the counter, looking at the flavors. Regulus stood next to him; he knew exactly what he wanted.
"Do you know what you’re having?" Regulus asked after they had been standing there for ten minutes. In his mind, Regulus added another detail to his description of James Fleamont Potter: indecisive.
James looked up at Regulus with big, lost eyes. "There’s too much to choose from. How can you be sure you’ve made the right choice?"
Regulus chuckled while looking at James unimpressed. "I’ve been coming here since I was a little kid. I’ve tasted everything and know what to avoid and what to get," he smiled apologetically at James. "And that white chocolate ice cream you’ve been staring at for the last 5 minutes is definitely one to avoid."
James just stared at him as if he were an alien from outer space. And suddenly, his eyes lit up. "Then you can choose for me! I clearly have no taste in ice cream, as you so kindly pointed out, so you can pick for me!" James said, as if it were the best idea he had ever had. He looked so genuinely happy that Regulus didn’t have the heart to point out that he had no idea what kind of ice cream James liked. So instead of refusing, he called over a server and ordered two bowls of watermelon ice cream. Once James had paid, they sat down at a table and began eating their ice cream.
"I don’t understand why you choose to have your ice cream in a bowl! Everyone knows waffle cones are much better, who wants to eat out of a paper cup?"
Regulus scoffed at James’s stupidity. "Look, if you want melted ice cream all over and end up eating a soggy, limp cone at the end, be my guest. Some of us prefer to enjoy the ice cream without fighting gravity."
James laughed loudly. What was it with the man? Every time Regulus insulted him, he laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
"Fair fair, if you say so. But why watermelon ice cream?" James asked now.
And how was Regulus supposed to explain that watermelon wasn’t just a flavor to him? It was... a feeling.
Regulus hesitated for a moment, as if considering whether he should really share it. It was a strange thing to explain, and he knew that James would probably make fun of him. But there was something in James’s gaze – a curiosity that seemed genuine – that made him sigh and give in.
He leaned back slightly, as if gathering his thoughts.