cold feet

Without fail, Remus is always the first one in the locker room.

He doesn’t really remember when that started happening. But either way, he doesn’t mind. He used to hate it when his teammates would come in and start laughing at him already being there, asking things like “Did you sleep in here or something?” He doesn’t care anymore. More and more often lately, he’s finding that he needs those moments of stillness, the few seconds of tranquility. It gives him time to get his head in the right place, time to get over his never ending exhaustion before jumping out onto the ice. Once, he would’ve tried to suck it up and play through the fatigue anyways. But the problem is only getting worse, and the last thing he needs is another head injury as a result of his recklessness.

It didn’t used to be this way. He’s been playing hockey since the age of four, and once upon a time he loved the commotion of the locker room. But that was before everything changed. Now, he couldn’t prefer the silence more. And the time before dry land is always the best for it.

As he sits on the bench in the corner furthest from the door, he takes a moment to rub his eyes as hard as he can. Come on, Remus, he tells himself, hoping that his vision will clear up in the next couple of minutes. He knows he only has a short amount of time left before the others on the Marauders show up and drop off their equipment bags, and he’d rather they don’t see him like this. None of them know about his sleep disorder, and he doesn’t intend on telling them. Not even Coach Hooch knows; Remus hasn’t said a thing. He already knows what would happen if she did—she’d immediately take pity on him, and would stop seeing him for his talents on the ice. She’d only see him as the poor little boy who doesn’t sleep normally, and she’d make him sit out of games if he seemed even the slightest bit tired. He doesn’t need that. He can function just fine during games, and he doesn’t want any pity. This is simply just a part of his life, just something he has to live with. Nothing more.

Not to mention that the Marauders’s first tournament of the entire season is coming up this weekend, and the last thing Remus needs is to miss his first game back in months.

When he’s finished rubbing his eyes, he attempts to pull his hands away and look around the room. Only the lights overhead are far too bright, and he ends up burying his head in his hands all over again within a matter of seconds. Jesus.

This is fine. He’s just got to give himself a couple more seconds enshrouded in the darkness of his hands, and then he’ll be ready to go. At least it’s still quiet. He thinks his head might burst open if anyone else was in here right now.

“Remus!” a voice suddenly exclaims from the door.

Of course.

When Remus draws his fingers away from his eyes and looks up, James Potter is there with the biggest grin on his face. And it doesn’t take a genius to guess what he’s ecstatic about.

Remus manages as best of a smile as he can, his hands coming down to his sides now. “Hey, James.”

James takes a moment to put his bag down right beside Remus’s before turning right over to him, his expression never faltering. “Did you see it yet? Please tell me you saw it.”

”Hard to ignore it when it was all over Twitter,” Remus says, laughing. “I couldn’t go more than two posts without seeing Sirius’s goal.” Not that he’s complaining, or anything. It was probably the sickest goal Remus has ever seen, and he’d be stupid to say otherwise. Every time the clip has resurfaced on his feed, he’s stopped everything he’s doing to watch it again. And every time, he is equally as impressed.

James puts his hand on Remus’s shoulder, and Remus can’t get over the way he’s bearing the look of a proud mother on his face. “Was it not the best thing you’ve ever seen?” he exclaims, practically shouting. Remus has to fight not to flinch away from him—God, his head hurts right now.

He tries his best not to let it show, nodding in response. “Oh, it was fucking incredible,” he confirms. “He’s great.”

”He’s an absolute fucking star,” James says, and he begins to stand up from the bench. Remus gets up with him, though it only makes his head throb more. “The Blazers are lucky to have him.”

“They really are,” Remus agrees as they start their walk to the gym area. The second they leave the locker room, the cold air of the ice rink hits, and he has to fight the urge not to shiver. Dry land in the freezing cold is never fun.

When Remus glances over to see if James is hating the drop in temperature as much as he is, he’s surprised to find that James’s expression has disappeared completely. Instead, he’s staring off into space, like he’s trying to place something but failing to figure out what it is.

Remus’s mouth acts faster than his mind. “You miss him?”

James doesn’t look over—he just swallows hard and then nods. “Every day, yeah,” he says. “He’ll be back, though.”

”Doesn’t mean you can’t miss him,” Remus replies. James shakes his head.

”You’re the second person to tell me that,” he states. “Marlene said the same thing.”

”Wise girl,” Remus says, the corners of his lips turning upwards. He hasn’t still hasn’t talked to Marlene much, but he wants to. She seems like the type of person he’d get along great with, if she wasn’t so fucking terrifying. Once he gets over his fear of her, he’ll try to befriend her. “You should listen to us.”

James opens his mouth, like he’s about to argue, but instead he closes it and looks down at the ground instead. “Yeah, okay. Fair point.” And Remus thinks that’s the end of it.

In a moment of stupidity, he’s forgotten that he is talking with James Potter, who never ends a conversation until he’s gotten every single thought out. “Just—I don’t know. He’s doing great up there, I don’t want to make him feel any worse about leaving.”

“I get that,” Remus says, though he truly doesn’t. Since the whole sleep disorder thing started, he finds that making friends is absolutely exhausting. It took him years to become close with the other kids on the Wolves—and then in just one moment, it had all come crumbling down. Now he’s making friends on the Marauders, but he still has to have his guard up. He has to watch every single thing he says, watch his every move. He can’t fuck up like that again. He doesn’t have someone like Sirius to turn to in case he does.

He shouldn’t be saying this—it’s too personal, it will reveal too much about him and then James will know far more than he should in the matter of a month. But he can’t help it—James needs to hear. “Look,” Remus begins, “I’ll say this. I don’t think you two realize how lucky you are to have each other. Like, I literally want to throw up every time you start talking about him.”

”Thanks?” James says, and Remus doesn’t miss the confused fashion in which he raises an eyebrow. But he swears he has a point with this.

”Yeah, anytime,” Remus responds before continuing. “Anyways, just. Don’t take that for granted? Be grateful that you have someone to miss that bad.”

Remus can practically sense the beginning of James’s protest, his insistence that he shouldn’t miss his best friend (which is seriously so fucking stupid). “Nope, nope,” he says. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

It’s silent for a second or two. Then, James sighs. “Okay,” he finally says. “I got it.”

Good, Remus thinks. As much as he likes James so far, he doesn’t think he nor his pounding head could stand another second of his whining over Sirius. You’d think he’s the gay one here, Remus jokes to himself, resisting the urge to laugh. Not me.

Then in the blink of an eye, everything shifts and James is back to normal. “God, I wish you’d been on the team last year,” he says as they finally reach the gym area. Remus nearly winces. Me too. “Sirius was fucking unreal.”

It’s probably the millionth time in the past month that James has told him that, yet Remus doesn’t mind.

”I believe it,” Remus nods, though he’s become completely distracted by the amount of weights that are set up on the floor. Coach Hooch is going to put them through hell for the hour, isn’t she?

He only snaps back into the conversation when James speaks up again. “In the least weird way possible, I told him about you,” he says, which quickly causes Remus to turn his head. Before Remus can point out that there is literally nothing that could make that statement not weird, James continues. “Sorry, that sounded weird anyways. Just, I think you two would get along. Is all.”

Remus doesn’t even have it in himself to be surprised at the statement—James might be the funniest person he has ever met, even when he isn’t intentionally trying to be. Instead, he just crosses his arms, resisting the urge to smile. “Okay?” he questions. “What’d you say?”

”Oh, nothing too crazy,” James replies. “I made the mistake of telling him about your bright pink sweater though—I think he wants to steal it when he gets back.”

”Oh, shut up!” Remus exclaims, putting a hand on James’s shoulder and giving him a light shove. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

”Nah,” James simply says, “I still think it’s great. You should rock it for our tournament this weekend.”

”In your fucking dreams,” Remus answers, though he’s started laughing in spite of himself.

”Come on!” James exclaims. “Make Sirius and I proud.”

”No,” Remus states, and that is his final answer. “He can take that jersey, for all I care.”

”Wait, can he actua—“

”Yes, James!” replies Remus. He wouldn’t have offered if he hadn’t meant it, would he? Besides, he’s been meaning to get rid of it for a while—it’s one of the only keepsakes he has left from his time on the Wolves, and he’d rather not be reminded of when his teammates all actually liked him and didn’t think he was the grossest human being alive. “Tell him it’s all his.”

”Oh, he’s going to love you forever,” James tells him. Remus just rolls his eyes, though he has to fight not to let his expression falter as the familiarity of the statement sinks in. “Trust me.”

It takes some hesitation—but eventually, Remus brings himself to answer. “Whatever you say.”

He doesn’t trust James. Remus wishes he could. But he’d once been told the same thing by the Wolves, and look how that had ended up.

He wants to like Sirius as badly as James tells him that he would. And really, he’s flattered every single time James claims that Sirius would love him, or that they’d play really well together. He will gladly take the compliment. But something he’s learned time and time over again is that it doesn’t matter how different they might seem—hockey boys are all the same. And Sirius wouldn’t like him any more than the rest of his teammates on the Wolves would if he knew the truth about Remus. Neither would James. And while he’s glad that James has made friends with him, it doesn’t hurt any less to know how quickly it all could vanish. It hurts to know he has to hide in order to keep things the way they are, hurts to know the pure impermanence of the entire situation.

He could come clean, of course. Someday. But he’s already made that mistake once, and he will never do it again. Not for as long as he continues to lace up his skates.

Sirius Black is free to love him forever, like James claims he will. But Remus knows that with boys like him, forever is only conditional.

❅ ❅ ❅

Regulus shouldn’t be surprised by his mother’s response, but he hates hearing it all the same.

“Again!”

Almost immediately, he drops his landing position, his feet coming together and his arms falling to his sides. When he turns to face the stands, he finds his mother there nearly immediately, standing right at the edge of the railing. And as hard as he tries, there’s no concealing his facial expression—he’s pissed, and he’s certain it shows.

“Seriously?” he asks, pushing towards her with only his toe picks. But his mom is unwavering, and however irritable Regulus may be she is a million times more resolute. Nevermind the fact that he’s been here since eight in the morning, and it’s now almost 6:30 at night. Nevermind the fact that he’s been running through his programs all day, or the fact that he can no longer feel his feet. None of it matters when she’s here. All that matters to her is perfection, and she will stop at nothing until she gets it.

”You think I’m joking?” she retorts, gesturing wildly towards him. “Do it again!”

He wants to fight back more than anything. She’s been having him jump triple axels for probably half an hour now, and it’s beginning to wear down on him. While a good portion of his attempts have been successful, there have also been twice as many that were not. And his entire body is beginning to ache. His right knee seems as though it may give out at any second, and his pants are soaking wet from the amount of falls he’s taken. It’s taking everything in him right now simply to push forward, and he doesn’t understand how he’s expected to complete three and a half rotations in the air when he can barely skate.

But he knows better than to push back against his mother. They’ve played this game many times before, and he already knows what she’d say if he refused. “Do you even want this?” she’d ask. “Why are you giving up? What’s the matter with you?” He’s heard it all before, and then some.

So instead, he pivots so that he is skating backwards and begins to glide right back on the triple axel pattern, taking a few crossovers around the edges of the ice. When he figures that he has enough speed, he lifts up his left leg, holding his arms out in front of him as he prepares for the forward takeoff. He inhales sharply, telling himself to make this the best one yet so he can at last be done with this.

And then he steps forward onto his left leg, swinging his arms behind him and using the momentum to propel himself up into the air.

He snaps his arms into position, kicking his right leg forward and crossing his left leg over as tightly as he possibly can. He’s already covered the half rotation that makes the triple axel particularly difficult—now he just has to get around three more times.

He gets around once, then twice, and right when he thinks he isn’t going to be able to rotate enough…

His right skate touches down onto the ground as he finishes the third rotation, and he finds himself standing completely opposite to where he started. As he raises his arms into the air and checks out of the jump, he quickly looks down at the ice to see the amount of distance he’s just covered. And instantly, he knows—this was it. This was good as it’s going to get the entire day, and he’s sure his mom will see that too.

He turns back to her, already scanning her face for her reaction. And the little smile that’s formed on his face quickly falls.

Her expression has not changed one bit, her lips pursed together and her arms crossed as she stares back. When she responds, she shows no sign of pride, not the slightest bit of approval. “Do it again.”

He doesn’t want to retaliate. He should just shut up and do it—but he can’t help himself. “That was the best one I’ve done all day, Mom.”

He’s quick to regret it. “That’s the best you can do? Seriously?” She scoffs as she questions it, and Regulus can feel his face heating up even in the freezing cold. It wasn’t enough—he was stupid to think it would be. “Do it again.” She’s almost daring him to challenge her, taking pride in the fact that he absolutely will not.

And she’s right. He hates that she is. As he begins to skate backwards again, gliding around the corners of the rink, he just tells himself that he has to be better. He has no idea how he can achieve that—but he knows the consequences will be dire if he doesn’t.

This time when he sets himself up for the axel, he attempts to recall every single tip he has ever been given on how to land this godforsaken jump. Check your arms, keep your right side behind you. Make sure your follow through and snap into the position are strong. Jump as high as you possibly can.

As he swings his arms so that they are now behind him, guiding him into the jump, he exhales. I can do this. He has to do this. He kicks his right knee up in front of him and jumps—and immediately, everything he has just told himself completely leaves his brain.

Something goes wrong. He doesn’t know what it is, but something tells him the second he is up in the air that he won’t be able to land this, that he’ll injure himself the same way his mother did. The ice is now significantly more terrifying, and he has no idea why.

So instead of getting into the proper air position, he freezes in midair and does what a figure skater is absolutely never supposed to do—he pops the jump. He isn’t even sure if he gets one rotation before he lands back on the ground, and he stumbles to the ice nearly the second his skates touch down.

For a moment, he just sits there. For a moment, it is totally still as he sits there, contemplating his absolute failure.

His mom will want him to do it again, he knows she will. But he doesn’t think he can keep going. Regulus has never been one to pop jumps—either he lands on his feet, or he goes down trying. But he always tries to stick to the rotation, from start to finish. Popping is an awful habit to have, and he knows that if he lets himself continue to do it he won’t be able to stop himself.

Preparing himself for what he might see, Regulus finally brings himself to look at her face. He’s expecting her to do the same gesture she always does, rotating her pointer finger around and around the way she always does when she wants him to try an element again.

Instead, she just rolls her eyes. “Alright,” she says, “that’s enough.”

Has Regulus actually heard her correctly? Or did he just imagine what she’s said?

He opens his mouth, about to confirm that he wasn’t dreaming, but she gets to her point first. “You very clearly have given up. So let’s go home.”

He isn’t sure whether his chest or his feet ache more. She’s just given up on him completely, has stopped showing any hope that he’ll actually be able to get this in competition. Despite the dozens of times that he’s just done the jump for her, she hasn’t once told him if any of the attempts were good. Which means she still isn’t happy with him. And she’ll be leaving the rink that way.

His mouth is quick to open as she begins to walk towards the stairs, following her from the ice. “Maman—“ he starts, but she’s faster.

“I’ll be in the car,” she states, and she’s still shaking her head as she makes her way down.

Then she is gone, and Regulus is left with a pit of dread in his stomach.

❅ ❅ ❅

When at last Walburga walks out the doors of Rink A and into the lobby, there is no sense of relief for anyone. Everything feels on edge, and the tension that she’s fabricated throughout the entire rink remains.

No one speaks. They wouldn’t dare to—not the other parents present in the stands, nor the coaches on the ice, nor the fellow skaters on the session.

And most importantly, Barty especially will not dare to say a word.

It’s not like this place hasn’t dealt with Walburga their entire lives. For as long as Barty can remember, she’s been like this, yelling at Regulus from the stands every time she doesn’t deem his skating good enough. But it doesn’t make it any less infuriating every time it happens, and no one knows how to deal with her. Barty can’t believe Slughorn hasn’t banned her from the premises completely—every time she’s here, she makes life a living hell for every single person who dares to skate at the same time she’s in the building. And if Barty’s miserable every time she’s here, he cannot even imagine how awful it is for Regulus. He hates her. He hates her so much.

Yet, Regulus puts up with all of it. And Barty doesn’t know why. It’s like he’s said for years—Regulus Black is an absolute mystery, and he is no exception.

He wishes he was. He wishes that Regulus would tell him these things, even though he knows it’s a selfish ask. And he’s tried desperately to make peace with the fact that it is not going to happen. But the realization stings every time something like this occurs.

It’s with all of this in mind that he’s looking at Regulus right now, who is completely frozen in his tracks as he stares at where his mother just was. And he doesn’t know what to do.

He thinks he ought to say something. It’s what any good friend is supposed to do, right? Only Barty has no idea where he can even go from here. Nothing he says will change the fact that Walburga Black is still his mother, and he is her son.

At last, he speaks. “Are you o—“

But before he can even finish his question, Regulus interrupts. “Don’t.”

So Barty doesn’t. If that’s what Regulus wants, who is he to convince him otherwise?

He attempts to scan Regulus’s face for any sort of emotion—anger, sadness, despair, something.

But there is nothing there, and his blank stare resembles that of the mother he detests.

❅ ❅ ❅

It takes Regulus far more time than it should to get out of his skates, and when he does at last pull them off he isn’t surprised to see the pool of blood that’s formed in his right boot.

Not that he’s about to start crying over it, or something stupid like that. He’s been dealing with the pain that skates entail for years, and after a while you just get used to it. Either way, thank God his skates are black—he doesn’t imagine the judges would appreciate a blood-stained boot very much in competition.

Still, he’s almost relieved that it happened. It buys him more time away from his mother as he grabs a bandage roll out of his bag and wraps it around his foot, making sure that he does so as slowly as possible. Anything that he can do to push back that dreaded moment when he will get in the car, he will.

He fights back a grimace as he finishes wrapping his foot, telling himself that he’ll take care of it properly when he’s home. But as he puts his skates in his bag and trades them for sneakers instead, his feet continue to throb, a pulse going through his heels that makes him wince as he stands up.

And with aching knees and shaking ankles, he begins to walk.

Soon he makes it to the lobby, pushing the door open and stepping back into the warmth.

The second he does, he is greeted with the sound of howling laughter.

It takes him a minute to figure out where it’s coming from—but when he glances over at the double doors that stand underneath the sign with a large “B” painted on, he quickly finds the offenders. And he nearly slams his head into the wall. As if his evening couldn’t get any worse…

James Potter is there, completely enthralled by whatever he and his other two friends who accompany him are talking about. As he listens to them, he’s able to catch onto snippets of what they are saying…

“—dead fucking serious, that’s how they talk up there!”

“…Are you talking about Newfoundland?”

”It’s all Canada, isn’t it?”

“Sirius is in British Columbia. That is literally the other side of the country. Jesus Christ.”

The mention of Sirius is enough to make him want to tune out instantly, to stop listening and run to the parking lot as fast as he can. But then he remembers his mom is out there, and he is undoubtedly awaiting some sort of lecture on how he’s giving up and how he will waste his entire career if this is the way he wants to train.

So, he doesn’t leave just yet. He stays, and instead takes the moment to observe James and his friends. He is admittedly curious about them…

One looks vaguely familiar, like someone Regulus might’ve known years ago; the other one, he’s never seen up until last month. Regardless, he isn’t surprised to see the three of them together. He’s found them hanging out in the lobby like this after almost every single Marauders practice, and it’s only natural that James would befriend the new members of the team so quickly. That’s just the kind of person he is—welcoming to everyone, exclusionary to none. And Regulus despises him for it.

Truthfully, he knows he has no real reason to hate James. James is kind, he’s funny, and forever amicable. And he’s always been a shoulder for Sirius to fall back on—something that Regulus failed to be. He was there when Sirius needed him the most, and he’s more family to Sirius than their despicable mother or absent-minded father will ever be. Regulus can admit that, if he can’t admit anything else.

And he could just talk to him. Really, he could. If Regulus went up to him right now and asked how Sirius was doing, James wouldn’t pay any mind to the resentment Regulus has shown him. He’d drop it all, forget like it had ever happened, and he would tell him in an instant. They could talk like they’d been close for years, like that had been the case all along, and eventually, they could even be friends. They wouldn’t be friends in the way James and Sirius are, of course. But still—things could be different.

Except they aren’t. And every single reason for why Regulus should just get over himself and end his hatred for James is a justification for why it continues, for why it’s gone on for so long.

It sounds stupid when he admits it, and it probably is stupid. But it’s just—James is so selfless, so goddamn ungrudging in his never ending goodwill, that it hurts to be around him. He has a family who loves and cares for him, a best friend who will be there for him until the end of time, a group of people whom he can confide in without worrying about if they’ll use it against him. Every single quality of his is just a reminder of what Regulus is not.

They couldn’t be any less alike. Regulus is bitter, and he’s angry, and he’s so full of hate that it consumes his every waking thought. He hates everything because it’s far less scary than to love. Yet somehow, despite the fear that comes with it, James chooses to love. Like it comes naturally, like it is the easiest thing in the world, and he never asks for anything in return.

It isn’t. It shouldn’t be that simple, but for James it is. To put it simply, James is just so good, he’s so pure and so perfect that it drives Regulus absolutely fucking crazy.

One day, he will love too much, and it will end up being his downfall. That’s what Regulus has to tell himself to keep from spiraling, to keep from wondering if he’s wasted his years hating James.

But that’s exactly it, isn’t it? He has wasted his years, and he feels every single bit of regret that comes with it. And of course, that regret turns to detestment, because Regulus doesn’t feel something without everything following it.

Regulus hates James. He hates him because he can’t hate him.

And at the end of the day, Regulus doesn’t blame Sirius for choosing James over him. He would too.

With one last look at James and his friends, Regulus takes in a shaky breath and turns to leave.