Chapter 19
As Regulus re-enters Rink B and steps once more onto the ice, the world around him seems to settle just for a moment.
When he was younger, every second spent on the ice was like that. Nowadays, that feeling is too rare and far too fleeting. Not knowing when he’ll experience this again, Regulus takes advantage of the feeling—as he flies around the rink, one of only three skaters on the ice, he holds his arms out and lets the harsh and frigid air soak into his clothes and skin. It first hits his cheeks, already bright red from the several hours of skating he’s done, and then travels down to his arms and legs. Despite what others may think, he doesn’t mind the sensation; as a matter of fact, he welcomes it. And so he continues to skate, taking lap after lap. Eventually, that sensation is lost on him. Boiling heat meets unforgiving chill as his body grows warm, and that’s how he knows it’s time to get to work.
He wastes no time in stopping by the boards, unzipping his jacket and ignoring the bite that the breeze leaves on his skin as he tosses it off. The t-shirt he wears underneath is thin, but he knows that once he runs his program the material will feel all too suffocating. He just needs to get through it one time, just to stay on top of it, then he can wear his jacket for the rest of the session and not think about it again.
Unless he has a poor run. Then, he’ll need to do it again until it’s perfect. And god, does it need to be right now. Never before has Regulus had a stronger desire to get it right, but he supposes that is bound to happen when everything around him is falling apart. If this is the one thing he has control over, the one thing he can make any sense of, then so be it. He will do everything not to let that go to waste.
To say that he’s had an… interesting past couple of days would be somewhat of an understatement. And once again, to no one’s surprise, James Potter is to blame for it all. Just like where this all began, a couple of weeks ago with the stupid fucking bandage roll, Regulus has spent every waking moment since Tuesday regretting his decision. Regretting his choice to tell James of the reasons behind his hatred. He doesn’t quite have a justification as to why he did it. All he knows is that one moment, he was so keen on not saying a word to James, on not daring to give him even a glimpse into his mind, and the next moment he was spilling his guts out about the torment James has put him through for the last six years. Because really, it is torment watching your older brother sprint ahead of you, the same one who always swore it was going to be the two of you for the rest of your lives, to catch up to another boy and to know why he’s doing it. To not even try to run after him, because you know any effort at all will be useless.
And now James knows of it. He hopes he feels at least a little remorse over the entire situation; Regulus suspects that’s probably what he wanted from him. Which is so, so incredibly childlike for him to even wish; what is he expecting James to do? Apologize for being completely and indisputably perfect? Regulus doesn’t think his demands could get much dumber than that if he tried.
On the contrary, maybe he just wanted James to know that he wasn’t ever to blame; that Regulus’s feelings towards him as a person are actually quite twisted and complicated, and yet they manifested themselves into hatred because of his incapability to live without turning everything sour and sullen.
He isn’t sure which line of reasoning would be more humiliating, but they both lead to the same conclusion—there is nothing wrong with James, and everything wrong with him.
It does make perfect sense, really. Except for one thing.
Regulus has one thing left, one thing of his that he hasn’t managed to taint and ruin with his resentment yet—and that is skating.
When he skates, he feels nothing. There is nothing there, except for him and his blades on the ground, the sound of colorful and bright music accompanying him for a few minutes in time. When he skates, he is not as rigid, not as spiteful, and he doesn’t have to think about anything except for the perfect execution of his next move. When he skates, he is free of his mind, grounded only by his muscle memory. His body serves as nothing more than a vessel, one that jumps and spins and glides, and all he has to do is lend himself to its service. If he can’t do anything else in his lifetime, he knows that he can skate. And he intends on doing so until every bone in his body gives out.
And so over the past couple of days, that is all Regulus has done, even more than usual. He finds it’s the only thing he can do when his mind is in complete disarray, that it’s the only way he can speak without saying anything at all, and so he does it. Now as he prepares to do the same thing again, swiping his key tag against the screen and selecting his music, he tells himself to just forget everything else. Just do the program, one time, and let it all go away.
It’s easier said than done, but Regulus will do everything in his power to make it happen.
He skates away from the glass now, taking his starting position for his free program at center ice. He tilts his head down to the ground, bringing his right hand across to his left shoulder and crossing his other arm over his hip. Closed off, concealed, just as Narcissa had told him. Don’t just give them your story; make them earn it.
The speaker overhead rings, announcing his name in the same robotic voice that it has ever since he was a child; Regulus Black. For a moment, it is completely silent in the rink. Then the music starts, a few simple notes on a music box, and Regulus slowly lifts his head up.
Looking out towards the audience, he begins to reveal his story.
❅ ❅ ❅
After what had happened previously, James hadn’t meant to be back here again. Regulus had made his message to him loud and clear a month ago: don’t watch me skate. James really meant to stick to that. When he’d followed Regulus into the rink, he wasn’t thinking about what would happen once Regulus was on the ice. And he hadn’t at all intended to be hiding behind the bleachers once more, watching Regulus skate from afar.
He’d tried to get to Regulus before he’d even stepped onto the ice, but unfortunately Regulus was far faster. By the time James had made it into the rink, Regulus was already flying down the ice, and there was something about the look on his face… the way that, for once in his life, he seemed entirely at peace. No semblance of worry, or anger, or anything else written into his expression. How rude would it be of James to disrupt that?
And, okay, he very well remembers what happened the last time he’d been in this situation. But he’s already here anyway, so what the hell? Against his better judgment, James had decided to settle into a corner behind the bleachers and to watch once more.
That is where he’s stayed as Regulus continues to skate, not a care in the world. James has only seen this side of him once before, and he admittedly likes it much better than the side he usually gets. Maybe that’s why he’s here again, even though every bone in his body is screaming at him to run before it’s too late. Because Regulus really does skate beautifully, and now that James has another chance to watch he’s not going to turn it down. Not even if the threat of death is imminent.
Eventually Regulus comes to a stop by the boards on the other side of the rink, closing his eyes and breathing in and out sharply. His usually-pale face is flushed with color, and James doesn’t know why he finds that amusing. Then Regulus fiddles with the zipper of his jacket, ripping it off and tossing it aside in an instant. It reminds him of something Sirius once said, back when he first started playing hockey.
”God,” Sirius had wailed after a shift, pulling off his caged helmet, “I’m so hot right now. Why do you guys have to wear so much gear?”
James nearly chuckles at the memory before he realizes that he’s still staring right at Regulus, whose bare arms are now on display as he takes a sip of water and tilts his head back. Embarrassed despite the lack of spectators, James turns away, like he’s just witnessed something he shouldn’t.
You’re in here watching him skate, and that’s what made you look away? James questions himself as he stares down at the ground instead. He really just does continue to humiliate himself.
But it also dawns on him that he’s rarely seen Regulus without a jacket on, has really never seen all of him so out in the open like this. He’s always so closed off, so hesitant, that to see him moving so freely and with no hesitation feels entirely unnatural. It’s like he doesn’t intend for others to witness it, like it is something that only he and the other kids out on the ice right now get access to. That’s probably why James is so uncomfortable; he knows he’s not meant to see any of this. But his feet are stuck to the ground, and he couldn’t bring himself to move if he tried. He doesn’t want to move.
And as Regulus skates to the other end of the ice, swiping something along the screen that lies there, James realizes all too well what he’s about to watch. Sure enough, a few seconds later the robotic voice overhead speaks, announcing his program music to his currently non-existent audience of one.
His last chances to run are fleeting as Regulus takes center ice, crossing both of his arms over his body and waiting for his music to start. And James can’t do it. Just like Regulus is frozen in place on the ice, the only movement coming from his shoulders as he breathes in and out, James is frozen and holding to the ground just feet away from him.
If James didn’t want to move before, he especially doesn’t want to move now. And so he stays, the words Regulus said to him just days ago echoing in his mind as he does.
The silence that fills the rink has never been more protruding, and as James waits for it to be broken, he finds that his heartbeat has never been louder. Surely Regulus must hear; if he does, he shows no signs of it. For the next few minutes in time, he won’t care about anything except him and the ice beneath him. James knows because that’s how he is too. They may not be much alike, but their love for the ice gives them at least one thing in common.
Regulus’s music starts up—a gentle, cascading series of notes on a music box. Almost immediately Regulus begins to move, one of his hands coming across and covering half of his face for just a moment. As his hand passes by his head, he spins around himself a couple of times, and then he begins to glide backwards. His legs never stop working, first as he takes crossovers around the corner and then as he extends his left leg so that it is above his head, holding it there for several seconds.
James doesn’t recognize the song that is playing, but it is beautiful already—reminiscent of a lullaby he might’ve heard as a child. Over the speakers, a soft male voice begins to croon.
”Masquerade, paper faces on parade, masquerade… hide your face so the world will never find you.”
Suddenly Regulus’s hand movements make much more sense, his arms constantly moving to cover his face as he makes his way down the surface of the rink. Then he drops his arms completely, inhaling deeply; somehow, James already knows what’s coming. As Regulus pulls both arms around so that they are now in front of him, his suspicions are only confirmed—Regulus is setting up for a jump.
Gaining speed, he takes off so quickly that James might’ve missed it if he wasn’t paying attention. He thinks it’s a triple, though Regulus is spinning so fast it’s impossible to tell.
Regulus lands, but he’s not done yet—James’s mouth practically drops open as Regulus suddenly leaps up into the air yet again, his legs crossed together tightly as he comes back down. And then he jumps once more, his left leg swinging around as he digs his toe pick into the ice and uses his momentum to launch himself once more.
After the third jump he at last stays on the ground, his right arm extending out while his left leg stretches behind him. And as he comes back to earth, energy seems to flow throughout each and every bone in his body, spreading all the way to the ends of his fingers. James can almost feel the electricity his performance is producing, his skin singed from yards away.
The music suddenly swells and changes, high notes blaring out on a trumpet as Regulus swivels around himself and comes to a stop. Then, he closes his eyes and breathes, every movement a sharp and distinct part of his choreography. A different tune now begins, the same voice from before beginning to sing yet again. Regulus begins to skate down the ice once more, his hands reaching out with such precise intricacy that James can almost see the intangible object he is grasping at.
”Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation…”
Regulus begins to accelerate once more, and James somehow knows what that means; another jump. As Regulus swings his arms so that they are now behind him and steps forward onto his left foot, James feels a surge of pride; he knows exactly what jump this is. He might not know anything about figure skating, but over his years at the rink an axel has become easy enough to recognize. It’s the only jump with a forward takeoff, and the jump that Sirius told him was the worst one by far.
So as Regulus propels himself up into the air and gets around himself several times James can’t help but smile as Regulus lands it perfectly, just like before. And he doesn’t miss how Regulus’s eyes widen for just a second, like he’s shocked at even himself. Must be a hard jump for him too, then. Maybe he’s more like his brother than James thinks.
”Darkness stirs and wakes imagination.”
Before James even realizes what is happening, Regulus is tossing himself up into the air again, this time with his arms over his head. As he touches onto the ground again, he stays gliding backwards.
”Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind in this darkness that you know you cannot fight.”
Regulus brings his hands to his head and carries them out, his face brightening as he does so. Then he turns forward, and brings his leg up past his head as his chest becomes parallel to the ground. It takes him a second, but James soon recognizes that he is spinning. And honestly, he’s going so fast that the different positions he’s hitting all go entirely over James’s head, the pure flexibility and strength it must take to execute these completely awing him. James may be able to fly around the ice, but it is nothing like this. Regulus’s every gesture, every move, every single turn, are done with a precision that James could only dream of. Not to mention the pure emotion that Regulus is putting into just a practice run, so strong and expressive that it hits James right in his chest like a bullet. James can tell that Regulus connects deeply to the music playing, and that he uses that attachment to drive him. It’s all so impressive, so stunning, and, to put it simply, beautiful. Regulus’s skating is beautiful, which James has always known. He hopes Regulus does too.
“The darkness of the music of the night.”
When he exits the spin, James is almost dizzy just from watching him. But if Regulus is sick from the motion, he shows no signs, skating into his next jump nearly instantly. James really wishes he knew more about what they were called—except for the axel, each one has looked the same, but he’s aware that they’re vastly different. If Regulus didn’t seem so keen on shutting him out in every single aspect of his life, maybe James would ask.
As Regulus lands on the ground, his leg swings out behind him, and James quickly puts two and two together that he’s going to jump again. And sure enough, he digs his toe pick into the ice once more, accomplishing three more rotations before he lands the jump and checks out. And right as he lands, the music begins to swell and pick up once more, breathtaking strings in the background accompanying Regulus’s expressions. Somehow, his skating has only gotten bigger, growing and changing as the score does too.
”Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world, leave all thoughts of the world you knew before…”
Regulus covers the entire surface of the ice as he sets up for his next jump, flying around so quickly that the poor other skaters on the ice have to sprint to the boards to get out of his way. But it doesn’t stop him as he turns around and around and around himself—three turns, James realizes—eventually using only his right leg to get himself several feet up into the air. And as he lands, he pivots so that he is skating forward.
He doesn’t stick to a singular direction for long—as he continues to skate down the ice, he pushes his chest down yet again and brings his right leg up and around himself, pushing his toe pick into the ground over and over before he suddenly leaps up. James doesn’t know how he isn’t absolutely terrified as both of his legs pass over his chest, and only his right lands on the ground, the momentum propelling him into another spin. And as the music becomes louder, more intense, his spin only grows faster.
”Let your soul take you where you long to be!”
Regulus brings his body down for several rotations, his legs almost touching the ice—a sit spin, James thinks they’re called. But before he can feel too accomplished about knowing the name, Regulus is grabbing at his left leg and standing up yet again, using both of his arms to pull his skate over his head. James’s jaw drops—he tries to imagine himself in the same position, and simply cannot. He doesn’t think what Regulus is doing out there is physically possible. Yet somehow, it must be, because Regulus is executing it right now with perfect preciseness.
“Only then can you belong to me..”
As Regulus steps out of the spin and comes to a stop yet again, a new emotion decorates his face in the silence. His mouth slightly open, his eyes full of dreams, James realizes what it must be: longing. James wonders what he longs for, though he knows his speculation is pointless—Regulus would not dare to tell him.
“Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in to the power of the music that I write…”
Then he skates forward once more, turning into another jump. When he lands it this time, he brings both of his arms in front of him, and steps right into an axel. James doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more incredible as he yet again lands it perfectly, his left foot crossing underneath as though he’s just done nothing particularly impressive. Regulus glides backwards now, and something in his face flashes for just a moment as he sets up for another jump. But whatever it is, he quickly wipes it away, taking in a deep breath as he lifts his right foot and keeps only his left on the ice.
”The power of the music of the night.”
As the instruments crescendo, strings and winds coming together, Regulus jumps once more, probably his highest jump yet. One of his hands flies above his head, and the moment is all too perfect, with his choreography and the grand instruments coming together to create a perfect climax of the entire program. But as he lands back on the ground, something happens—he comes down too hard, snow spraying up around him as he lands on his right foot. He nearly falls over, and can only save himself by stepping out of the jump with his left leg, his chest and head too low as he attempts to regain his balance. James is holding his breath as he watches, and can only feel relief when Regulus fully stands up again. For just a moment, the illusion he’s built up is broken, the frustration in his body clear as he rolls his eyes. But then he is skating off again, like nothing ever happened. God, James admires that about figure skaters. It’s hard enough to fall in full equipment and a helmet, but to do it without any of that and have to carry on all while acting as though it didn’t even phase you? He couldn’t imagine.
As Regulus continues through his choreography, it no longer seems like choreography at all. Regulus is putting everything he has into the final seconds of his music, lunging forward as his hair and fingers touch the ice for just a few moments. As he comes up, he’s quick to bend backwards, gliding down the ice and embracing the liberating emotion that comes from just getting to skate. Though James recognizes nearly nothing about what Regulus is doing, he can recognize that. He’s never witnessed Regulus look more at peace than he seems now, and just for a second he closes his eyes and soaks in the score that is blaring. It’s enough for James to forget that he even stumbled at all.
To put it simply, Regulus Black looks free.
Suddenly he steps out of his backbend, rotating around himself several times as he continues to travel down the ice. And then, for the last time, the voice that James has become familiar with over the past few minutes sings.
”You alone can make my song take flight… help me make the music of the night.”
He holds out the last vowel for quite some time, and that is when Regulus begins to spin once more, his leg flying up into the air as he bends back down into a sit spin. This time, his free leg is bent towards the side, his arms reaching up into the air as he rotates around and around and around. At some point, he steps onto his other foot, tucking his free leg underneath him as he gains more and more speed. And James watches him as he grabs his free leg and rises up, holding his foot over his head as the music comes to an end.
Regulus gets into his final pose—both hands reaching outwards to the audience, like he still hasn’t gotten what he’s wanted—and somehow, James knows that feeling. He knows what it is like to want what cannot come true, to long for the impossible because to want is easier than to accept.
The rink grows silent, and for once, James isn’t just catching a brief glimpse of Regulus. For the first time, he is truly seeing him.
Then Regulus drops his arms, and James immediately sees the frustration from earlier return to his face as he takes shallow breaths in and out, his lips pursing together. Though James never would’ve guessed it while Regulus was skating, his exhaustion now is palpable.
James watches as Regulus takes a lap around the rink, glad that he brought his water bottle in here with him. The air is dry, and now his throat is beginning to burn. He holds his water bottle up to his lips as he steps from out of the shadows that the bleachers provide, trying to rack his mind for how he can approach Regulus about this.
It’s stupid, because there is no way he can approach this that will not result in disaster. He shouldn’t have even come in here in the first place, what the hell was he thinking? He can try to act like he didn’t just watch Regulus skate all he wants, but Regulus will know. He knew last time, and this time will surely be no different. James makes a decision—he’s going to leave now, before it’s too late, and pray that he is not spotted. For once, he is making the wise decision, and he actually finds that he’s proud of that.
But as he begins to step away, his water bottle suddenly slips out of his fingers.
Time seems to slow as James watches it fall to the ground, his life flashing before his eyes. And as it hits the floor, hard metal meeting cold rubber, the sound is practically explosive.
It rings throughout the entire rink as the water bottle clatters, and to add insult to injury, it bounces around several times before it comes to a stop. However fast James bends down to grab it, he is not anywhere near fast enough, and he can’t hold back the grimace on his face as he stands back up, James keeps his eyes on the ground—there is no way everyone in the rink didn’t hear what just happened. So much for being inconspicuous.
When at last he musters the courage to avert his eyes from the ground, he finds himself standing face to face with Regulus Black.
Yeah, James thinks, I’m dead.
It’s been a good sixteen years.