cold feet

Across mythology and religion, a swan has stood as a symbol for many different ideas, emotions, or experiences.

Regulus has never believed in any of that—or at least, he hasn’t for a long time. But over time, he’s developed his own meaning for the swan. One that he comes back to time and time again, one that he clings onto when he has nothing else left.

Over the years, he’s skated to many different songs, choreographed many different programs. Sometimes he only uses a program once and doesn’t ever use it again; others he will use for a few months before eventually dropping them at the end of the season. Either way, nearly every program he has ever done has ended up being scrapped at one point or another as he’s passed different levels of testing and learned what components and elements win him the most medals.

Only one song he’s ever skated to has stuck with him to this day. A song that stays the same, no matter how drastically the choreography has changed.

He hardly ever uses it for competitions anymore. But he still revisits the routine time and time again, if not to listen to a song that’s always been there whenever he’s needed it the most. He’s grown up skating to it, and though the notes haven’t changed, the song has grown with him.

Today, when he goes up to the music panel and swipes his key card, he doesn’t hesitate when choosing the song he wants to play. He’s supposed to be training for regionals in a couple of months, but that program can wait. For now, he skates out to center ice, standing up straighter as he awaits the music.

A few seconds pass in silence, the only noise coming from the crunch of other skaters’s blades on the ice. It doesn’t matter, though. None of the rest of them matter, and will not for the next two minutes. Right now, it’s just Regulus and the music, and everything is as it should be.

Finally, the piano introduction to The Swan begins to play through the speakers, echoing throughout the rink. Regulus doesn’t miss a beat, gliding forward and raising his arms out in front of him like he’s done ever since he was little.

Andromeda was the one who’d shown it to him years ago, when he was preparing for his first ever competition at the preliminary level. They’d been listening to a CD of all of her old competition music when it had begun to play, and he’d immediately been drawn in by the interlude.

“What’s this one?” asked six-year-old Regulus, turning to glance over at his sixteen-year-old cousin.

She offered him a smile as she answered. “It’s called ‘The Swan’. From Saint-Saëns’ ‘Carnival of the Animals’. Why, do you like it?”

“I like swans,” Regulus had declared, which caused Andromeda to laugh for a good few seconds.

“You do?” she asked through her laughter. Regulus hadn’t been sure why the statement had been so funny, but he responded anyway.

“They’re my favorite animal,” he’d said proudly, even though he hadn’t really decided on that until just then.

“Ah, I see,” she replied before pressing her lips together, as if deep in thought. She still seemed incredibly amused. After a moment, she looked back down to him. “Tell you what, then. I’ll help you make a program to this song, if you wanna use it.”

“Really?” Regulus had said, perking up just at the idea. He imagined himself out on the ice in all-white, a spotlight on him as he soared from end to end with this music accompanying him.

It was a nice thought. Andromeda had nodded without hesitation. “Yeah, of course, Reggie.” She’d reached out a hand and used it to ruffle his hair, which had made him beam from ear to ear. “What do you say we start right now?”

From there they’d almost immediately jumped into her car, Andromeda driving them over to the rink while The Swan accompanied them in the background. They spent the car ride talking about where they could put jumps and turns in the song, throwing ideas back and forth even as she pulled into the parking lot. The pair had practically sprinted into the rink and onto the ice, where Andromeda had turned the volume on the boombox she'd brought along all the way up to play the music as they spent the entirety of that freestyle session trying to block out the routine.

Andromeda had always been his favorite cousin. Even more so when he’d taken that routine to his first preliminary competition half a year later and walked away with a gold medal.

He wonders how she’d feel if she knew that he still skated this program, wonders if she knew when she’d choreographed it just how long it would stick with him. He hopes she does. At 26, she’s been moved away for quite some time now. She trains in Colorado Springs now and has taken on the last name of her ice dancing partner—Ted Tonks—and Regulus hasn’t seen her in a couple of years. He misses her.

He lets that emotion guide him as he leans on his edges and turns so that he is now crossing over backwards, navigating the curve at the end of the ice. And just like he did at age six, he closes his eyes and imagines himself in all-white, imagines himself flying as the music carries him.

To Regulus, the swan is a creature that remains graceful no matter what. A swan is balanced and peaceful, stoic even when nothing else around it is. A swan lets music flow through them, gliding across the water and always keeping their head up high. And above all, swans are confident and prideful. They are aware of their beauty, aware of their elegance, and they let others know it too.

Some also believe that swans represent love. He thinks that’s bullshit.

Still, when Regulus skates, he thinks it is the closest he will ever get to becoming a swan himself. For a moment in time, all of his other emotions are tossed to the side, forgotten, as he glides across frozen water and keeps his head up high. He allows himself to be beautiful, allows himself to take pride in his gracefulness. His entire world could be falling apart, but it wouldn’t matter. He is still here, and he is still flying.

Off of the ice, he feels everything. Off the ice, he watches as everything he’s known falls apart before him. But on the ice, he feels nothing except freedom.

On the ice, Regulus Black is the swan.

So he enjoys it. He enjoys every single jump, every single bit of footwork, every single spin. And he lets that same vision he had so many years ago be the same one to carry him through to the end.

The program is over too fast—it always is. The couple of minutes he’s had are gone, and the image of the swan that he so desperately clings onto loosens from his grasp and flies away from him.

He allows himself to stay in his final pose for a moment longer, chest rising up and back down as he attempts to catch his breath. Soon another song for one of the other skaters begins, but Regulus stands right there.

Until he feels a pair of eyes on him.

Years of competitions have taught him that trick. It’s always so easy to tell when the judges are actually paying attention, or when they’ve grown tired of you and have started thinking about what they are going to have for lunch instead. The difference is stark, and Regulus is feeling it now.

He turns around to face the left side of the rink, where the bleachers and benches are. He tries to scan the crowd, tries to see who it is, but all he sees is the parents of the younger skaters—all incredibly disinterested in him.

Whoever it was, they’re now gone. But it doesn’t matter—Regulus knows he’s felt it.

With a deep breath, he swivels back around and continues skating.

❅ ❅ ❅

James ends up being five minutes late to dry land, which naturally means that Coach Hooch yells at him to do twice as many push-ups as everyone else is doing. He supposes that he definitely deserves it, and doesn’t dare to complain when she extends that to every other exercise as well. But by the time dry land is over, he already feels ready to collapse onto the ground. And they’re just getting started—he still has to survive on-ice practice.

But despite the wave of exhaustion that hits him the second Hooch tells them to go to the locker rooms, he still manages to be the first one on the ice. He’s always been the first one, ever since he started playing at five years old—and he’s not going to stop now.

He manages to take a few laps around before anyone else even emerges from the locker room, leaning into every single edge and feeling out every crevice beneath him as he zips across the ice. The freezing wind whips sharply across the exposed parts of his face, providing coolness as he presses onto his blades and pivots around so that he is now gliding backwards. His stick sits comfortably within his hands, not currently in use but hovering right above the ice and ready for action. And as he crosses his legs over to go around the backside of the rink, he finds himself drifting off, lost in thought. Humming a familiar tune…

He’s just finishing his fifth lap around the rink when someone suddenly and abruptly slams into him, sending him into the boards. He lets out a yelp of surprise as he tumbles to the ground, but quickly realizes the perpetrator of the crime is standing above him and laughing. When he looks up, Marlene Mackinnon is offering him her hand, a shit-eating grin decorating her face that spreads from ear to ear. “You should’ve seen the look on your face,” she says, to which James immediately grumbles.

“Shut up,” he mutters, though he reluctantly takes her hand and hoists himself up. She didn’t slam into him hard enough for it to actually hurt anything except his pride—yet damaged it is. It isn’t like she hasn’t taken runs at him before, either. But today, he has to admit that he didn’t see it coming. He had no clue she was even on the ice. “I wasn’t looking.”

Her eyes scrunch up as she clicks her tongue, examining him thoroughly to a point where he’s nearly uncomfortable. “Well, I’d tell you to keep your head up,” she begins, “but I don’t even think you brought your head with you today. What’s going on?”

He can feel his eyebrows furrowing as he attempts to think, a clear reason not coming to mind. “I don’t know,” he eventually says, because he doesn’t think they have enough time to go over all of it before Hooch is out on the ice with them.

“Oh, okay, so you were late to dry land just because you felt like it?” Marlene is quick to shake her head, clearly not buying his story and instead tapping his foot with her stick. As more players get on the ice, the pair begins to skate laps around the rink together. And it’s as they’re skating that she turns to him, giving him another nudge. “Come on, tell me what’s up.”

James sighs. He and Marlene have played on the same team since they were 7—he should’ve expected this. She knows him too well. “This is my first practice without Sirius in six years,” he admits, glancing over at her. “It doesn’t feel right.”

She nods, an immediate sense of understanding forming as her eyes soften. “I get it,” she replies as they turn the corner together. “So you miss him?”

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t,” James says, frowning. “He’s way better off over there than he is here.”

“True, but you guys have also been attached at the hip since you first bumped into each other. Literally,” she adds, which gets a laugh out of James. “You’re allowed to miss him.” How could he forget their first meeting? It’s something of legend amongst those at this rink, solely because James and Sirius are something of legend. Or they will be—with Sirius being sent to play in Canadian juniors at age 16 while James is already committed to play hockey for University of Minnesota in a couple of years, they’re both undeniably destined for greatness. So many times James has been asked if he’s planning on playing in the show, and to that he always gives the same answer: that it’s all he’s ever wanted. He’s practically counting down the days until he reaches eighteen, June a month always on his mind. Though he and Sirius have never discussed the possibility of playing in the show together, they both think about it. And they know that the other thinks about it too.

Still, the warm summer’s day they are waiting for won’t come for another couple of years—so for now, James must focus on trying harder to impress than he ever has before. And on the fact that Sirius isn’t here for that very reason. “I shouldn’t, though,” he argues with Marlene. “He’s getting the best shot he’ll ever get up there. And he needed the time away anyways.”

He knows this because Sirius told him himself. Except his wording was a little less kind, and mentioned something about the fact that he might actually commit murder if he had to be stuck in his insane asylum of a home any longer.

“Okay, and you don’t think he misses you?” she asks, which causes him to pause. He briefly reflects on the final minutes they’d spent together before Sirius had to move away, reflects on how tightly Sirius had hugged him—like he’d never wanted to let go.

They’d just come back from spending the entire day together, driving around to every single landmark their little town had to offer. Admittedly, James was surprised at how many places he was discovering he’d cared about. They spent an hour in the biggest hockey store around, trying on the authentic jerseys they knew they couldn’t afford and admiring the newest and shiniest CCM sticks.

“Remember your first visit?” James had asked Sirius, because he couldn’t help it. And Sirius had simply grinned, shaking his head.

“How could I forget?” Sirius responded, and it was evident from the way his voice quivered that he was trying not to laugh. Or cry. Maybe both. “I felt like a fish out of water in here.”

When the time came, James and his parents had been the ones to bring Sirius here. They basically had no other choice: when Sirius had first brought up the possibility of playing hockey to his own parents, they’d immediately detested it. They refused to partake in his fantasy, refused to even entertain the idea. The Blacks were first and foremost a figure skating family, so how could he go and pull this act of betrayal on them? He’d been on figure skates since he was three—James knows because he was there. In his earliest memories of being at public skates, Sirius was always present too.

He’d been watching Sirius long before their first meeting, more intrigued by him than anything else. Though he was on figure skates, his stride had never seemed quite right, had never been particularly graceful. And this kid was fast; every time his coach instructed him to take a warm-up lap around the rink, he would zoom around so fast James nearly missed it. He was tough, too—if he felt pain every time he fell over, it never showed. One time, he’d wiped out while doing one of his warm-up laps around the rink, and had gone into the boards so hard that James was sure he’d at least dislocated something.

But no, Sirius hadn’t even cried. Instead, he’d gotten up, brushed off the snow that had clung to his jacket and pants, and skated back over to his coach like nothing was wrong. He hadn’t even been wearing a helmet, and he’d taken the impact so much better than James would’ve with a full set of equipment on.

Seriously, how could you look at that kid and see anything but a hockey player?

When they’d finally met, James had been trying to work up the courage to talk to him for a while. But he knew who the boy’s family was, knew how they’d take it if he’d approached him in the middle of a coaching session to try to steer him away from them. And he’d very much prefer to keep his head if he could help it.

So maybe it was by chance that he’d been right in Sirius’s path and had been wiped out by him, or—okay, maybe James had seen that he was about to jump and had planted himself there on purpose. So what? It ended up working out nicely for both of them, because soon they were up signing up for spring league together and James’s parents were taking Sirius to get a brand new set of equipment. The rest is history. James doesn’t regret it, even if it hurt like an absolute bitch in the moment.

“You looked like a fish out of water,” James responded, unable to forget the look on Sirius’s face that day if he’d tried. Poor baby Sirius, his eyes wide and glistening wetly as James’s parents desperately tried to figure out what shoulder pads would fit him best, what skates he’d do best on, where they’d have to cut down his first stick to.

Anyone else would’ve called his family insane for buying an entirely new set of hockey equipment, meant for a kid that wasn’t their own. But generosity was in the very nature of a Potter, and by then James’s old equipment wasn’t cutting it for Sirius anymore. Besides, they knew the equipment wouldn’t go to waste—Sirius had been playing for a few months at that point, and James had never known that he could look so happy.

Sirius wasn’t meant to play hockey. Hockey was meant for him.

After Sirius had decided that he should really just ignore the very, very nice $200 Sidney Crosby sweater on display in front of the store, the pair had moved on. Gone to other landmarks. The Taco Bell that the Marauders went to after every home game. The bakery across the street from the rink, where the owner liked them and would even give them free donuts (if they’d won, that is). The parking lot a couple of blocks down, where they’d spent many nights hanging out after practice and just talking. The park right by James’s house, where there was still a seesaw and a tire swing. The pond that was a ten minute walk away from Sirius’s house, the same pond that froze over in winter and allowed James and Sirius to skate on top.

There really isn’t that much to do here. But what James and Sirius do have in this town, they cherish.

It didn’t matter how much time they’d spent together on that final day—it hadn’t been enough. Soon, James was dropping Sirius off at his house to finish up his packing and prepare for his flight the next day, and there was nothing else he could do. He wasn’t sure how long they’d spent on his front porch, James clinging onto Sirius and Sirius clinging on twice as hard. James could feel his face buried into his shoulder, feel the tears spilling that dampened his shirt, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Sirius didn’t acknowledge James’s shoulders trembling uncontrollably against his body either.

“You’re going to fucking crush it up there,” James had reassured him, keeping his voice steady as they hugged. “They’re not going to know what hit ‘em.”

It was the closest James would get to reassuring him that he was doing the right thing.

At some point they must’ve let go, because then Sirius’s front door was closing and James was left to drive home by himself. He didn’t dare to think about the fact that they might never play for the same team again, that this past May might’ve been the last time they ever saw the ice together. That wasn’t right. They’d find each other again, no matter how long it took.

Which led them to now, to Marlene’s question. And James knows she’s right. He almost sighs; she may have the most wicked sense of humor he’s ever encountered, but she always seems to know what to say. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess he does.”

Marlene seems to be fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “God, hockey boys. You’re all equally stupid.” Before he can fight her on that, a whistle blows that can only mean one thing—Coach Hooch is out on the ice, and they all have to gather together immediately. Marlene and James don’t hesitate as they begin their trip over to where she stands, right by the benches with a whiteboard in hand. But as they skate, James taps her shoulder. It’s only for a second, but they both know what it means: a thank you from him to her, a gesture of appreciation.

Soon they’re all kneeling around Hooch, who seems very keen to get started. She’s already begun talking before they’re even settled in, and James only catches the tail end of her sentence. “…can’t believe I’m looking at the state high school playoff champions right now.” That earns stick taps from all of them, who bang their sticks hard against the ice as they hoot and holler. It’s true that at the end of last season, they were able to beat every other high school team in Minnesota and move onto nationals. James barely taps his stick—he feels like he’s the only one out of all of them who remembers what happened after that.

It’s probably better that the rest of them don’t. He still feels nauseous every time he recalls it.

“You all should be very proud. I’m very proud,” she says, which nearly stuns James to his core. Coach Hooch admitting that she was proud of them? Had she been kidnapped and replaced by an alien? “But I’m not letting you off the hook that easy. Were your efforts enough to win it all?”

Ah. There it is. Coach Hooch’s bluntness, the reminder that they had flubbed their chance at nationals. The world is right again. He nearly grimaces, but he has to admit it—it’s her honesty and her toughness that leads them to do so well in the first place.

Today’s practice is only with the kids from last season, the ones who were there. When the new players join them next week, she likely won’t be this harsh. They’ll have at least a couple of practices before they realize just how Coach Hooch’s team always manages to stay at the top of the standings.

“I thought not.” She pauses as she surveys all of them, likely examining their reactions. James tries not to let any of his emotions show through, even though he’s replaying it all in his head.

Thankfully, she soon gives the team something else to focus on. “Come on,” she says, picking up the bucket of pucks in front of her and placing it on the bench behind her. James can practically hear the groans that rise from the entire team; no pucks on the ice can only mean one thing. “You’re skating ladders, each and every one of you, and I will make you go the entire practice if I need to. Let’s get going!”

James doesn’t need to hear any more than that, quickly peeling off to the right side of the ice. The entire team follows suit, forming a single file line that covers up the red goal line entirely. And they all immediately set their sights on the same line at the other end of the ice. The harder they skate, the quicker this is over with. So they might as well give it their all.

“You all had better skate like you mean it,” Hooch instructs as she stands by the home bench, one hand on her hip and the other holding a silver whistle near her mouth. That damn silver whistle.

She holds it up to her lips, closes her mouth around it, and…

WHOOOOOOOO!

James is off immediately, reaching the other goal line about a second before the rest of them do and braking even quicker. Years of trying to keep up with Sirius’s speed has led him to become the second fastest on the team, and as he sprints back through center ice he quickly brushes the thought off that now he’s the fastest on the team.

They have about ten seconds of rest before Coach Hooch tells them all to go again and sounds her whistle, but it never feels like enough time. Before they know it they’re off again, and James has secretly always thought that the second time skating ladders is the hardest. It’s the point where you have to accept that this is the point of no return, this is your fate, this is your life for the next half hour or however long Coach makes you go. You have so many more of these ahead, and you’re just getting started. But today, the second time feels like nothing to James. Probably because he has so many other things to focus on right now, so many other thoughts buzzing through his mind, that he barely even notices how hard he’s skating.

He finds himself considering what Marlene said earlier, considering the fact that he’s allowed to miss Sirius because Sirius certainly misses him. He has no idea why it doesn’t feel that way. But he lets the memory of them saying goodbye run through his head again as he skates end to end for the fifth (or sixth?) time, and this time a detail at the very end of it surfaces.

When James had gotten back to his car, he’d taken one final look back at Sirius’s house and taken comfort in the fact that Sirius would not grieve this place. Sure, he’d have to come back when the off-season came around, but that was months away from now.

But until spring of next year, this house wouldn’t hurt him again.

It was just as that thought crossed his mind as he noticed a sudden shift in the air, a change so small that he might’ve missed it if he hadn’t been taught to look for it. He’d been taught from an early age in hockey where to look when passing the puck, how to meet the eyes of other players quickly and send it right to their stick without ever having to say a word. He knows when others are looking—and furthermore, when they want the look to be returned.

He looked up immediately, and his gaze landed on a window that sat to the right on the second story. And sure enough, he locked eyes with the person standing there, the person who was willing him to look.

Regulus Black was there, staring right back.

James couldn’t read the expression on his face, couldn’t read the hollow gaze he was offering or the downward curve of his mouth. He’s never been able to read Regulus the way he can read Sirius, and it’s a part of the reason why they’ve never quite gotten along. At best, they tolerate each other’s presence. At worst, Regulus hates him. James likes to think that maybe that isn’t the case, but that’s probably a bit too hopeful. He knows how he’d feel if he was in Regulus’s position.

But in that moment, as he’d examined Regulus’s face closer, he realized that the bright red on his cheeks and nose was too fresh to have been from the cold rink air. His eyes were adorned by dark purple circles underneath, and James had quickly realized what was going on. He wondered how long Regulus had been crying for by that point, and felt a twinge of guilt in his chest.

He’d never noticed Regulus before, never given a second thought to him the way that he was now. He knew that Sirius and Regulus haven’t ever had the best relationship, and so it had never crossed his mind that Regulus would be losing his brother for eight months. That couldn’t be easy for either of them. What little bond they might’ve had left will likely fully be gone by the time Sirius returns.

With all of that in mind, every other piece of logic in James’s head flew out the door. Before he could second guess what he was doing, he took a step back towards the house, towards Regulus, and went to mouth his name.

Apparently that step had been too far over the invisible line that they’d drawn, because Regulus was quick to pull the shutters closed. And that had been it. The most they’d done to acknowledge each other in years, and it had likely lasted all of five seconds.

Like he’s been doing since it happened, James thinks about that moment again now, skating down the ice for the tenth time. He supposes that’s why he tried to talk to him earlier today, why he thought maybe Regulus would react differently to him. It hadn’t worked, of course, because Regulus isn't the slightest bit like Sirius and James doesn’t have the faintest clue what he’s supposed to do with that.

He’d supposed that Regulus had maybe, just maybe… needed someone? It sounds stupid now that James is thinking about it more, because even if that is the case, there’s no way that someone is or will ever be him. Everything James knows about him comes from Sirius, who is no longer here. Sirius is the one he needs, and he’s thousands of miles away in a different country.

He tried to tell himself that. He really had. But then Regulus walked away, and every instinct in his brain was screaming to follow him. Which would’ve been idiotic, and which James physically couldn’t do. So he did the next best thing.

He sprinted to drop his bag off in the locker room, and returned to Rink A to watch.

Regulus would kill him if he knew that he’d been there—he’s pretty sure Regulus plans on killing him anyways. Yet that hadn’t stopped him as he’d stood behind the bleachers, just watching. Watching as Regulus skated to center ice and waited for his program to start, watching as the music picked up and Regulus glided around the ice, watching as Regulus lost himself in the feeling that he was flying. James knows what that feeling is like.

And for the first time, he’d thought to himself that figure skating really was beautiful.

Regulus had noticed him watching once the routine ended, and he’d quickly whipped around to look back. But it didn’t matter—James had already taken off like a shot. This time, it was him who turned away first.

He wonders now if Regulus saw him, wonders what Regulus would make of it if he had. Would Regulus actually murder him? James doesn’t doubt it.

Then he wonders about Sirius, wonders how he’s doing right now. Is the family he's staying with nice? Is he getting used to the city? Does he miss this place, or is he glad he got out?

He hopes he’s glad.

As James dashes towards the goal line for the twentieth time, his mind goes back to Regulus, back to that night at Sirius’s house and their conversation today and James watching as he skated like nothing else mattered.

And without good reason to, James finds himself hoping that they might look each other’s way again. Just by accident, if nothing else. And this time, if one of them happened to look, maybe the other wouldn’t turn away.

It’s wishful thinking, he knows that. Yet, he can’t help wondering…

“Potter!” yells the voice of Coach Hooch, interrupting any and all other thoughts he may have had. “I hope you plan on joining us sometime today!”

One look around tells him that he’s fallen far behind everyone else. And he doesn’t need to hear it twice.

Knowing that his time for daydreaming is up, he sprints to catch up with the other players and falls back into sync with everyone else. Rushing down the ice, over and over again, everything else except the sound of blades repeatedly hitting the surface fading into the background.

What else is hockey for?