THE DEATH EATERS
CHAPTER 2: THE DEATH EATERS
The moment the lights go out, the entire room seems to go with them. The pulsing echoes of the crowd, the damp heat in the air, all of it seems to vanish along with the sight of Regulus looking down at him. Frozen in place, James tries to find something: something to do, something to focus on, something that will make him stop replaying the look on Regulus’s face.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, FUCK.
He knew he should’ve never come. He knew all of that business with the note and the alley and the pub was the start of something dangerous. What was it he said before? “An opportunity to branch out and broaden his horizons”? Christ, he’s thick.
Now he has to get the fuck out of here before things can get any worse. He’d be lucky to even speak to Regulus again after tonight, and God knows every extra minute he spends here raises his chances of leaving The Hog’s Head in a body bag. Knowing this place, there has to be a few lying around.
The room finally lurches back into motion around him. The sound of movement and groans of complaint fills up the silence left behind by the band. James looks around frantically. With his eyes adjusting to the darkness, he can almost make out the faces of the people next to him.
“Pads?” he tries, standing up on his toes and doing his best to scan over the crowd.
Suddenly, James feels two hands grip the front of his shoulders, coming face to face with a familiar mop of curly hair. “Can you believe that, Prongsy?! Little Reggie in a rock band!” Even in the dark, James can see the glow of Sirius’s teeth as he smiles. “No wonder he’s been disappearing so much! I just thought he and Rosier finally got to shagging—you think they’ll let me get a t-shirt?”
James holds back a comment on Sirius’s choice of the word finally. “I think we better leave before Reg sets the place on fire,” he replies sardonically. His eyes keep flashing back up to the stage. How long has it been since the lights went off? He can’t say for sure, but he two of them likely only have a matter of seconds before they’re caught red-handed. Again.
“What do you mean?” Sirius asked, his expression hard to read in the dark. “You can’t tell me you actuallywant to leave. This is the discovery of a lifetime!”
“Sirius, he saw me,” James replies. “He didn’t look particularly chuffed about it either.”
“You’re joking,” Sirius says, throwing his head back to let out a groan. “My whole plan is ruined now! I was going to go to the merch table after the show and scare the shit out of him.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” James protested.
“–Yeah, well if you weren’t so bloody dashing all the time, maybe you wouldn’t attract so much light. Ever think of that, Prongs?”
Though Sirius likely can’t see him, James still rolls his eyes. “Can we just get out of here, mate?” James tries, pleading. “I’d rather not be left in the blast zone when the lights come back on.”
He can see the vague outlines of Sirius’s features as his head whips around, searching the room for something. As he turns in the direction of the bar, another gleaming set of teeth appear under a devious smile.
“I have an idea. Follow me!”
Without waiting for approval, Sirius grabs at James’s hand and starts tugging the two of them away from the stage. With half-hearted mumbles of apologies, he shoves through the overshadowed bodies of the crowd in their way.
“Pads, I swear to God, if this is just a ploy to get another lemon drop–”
“–Patience, James! The Christians say it’s a virtue!”
“The closest you’ve been to Christianity was shagging a youth pastor.”
Sirius let out a bark of laughter as they finally reach the back of the club.
The moment their hands touch the knotted wood of the bar, the stage lights flicker back to life with a loud shutter, bathing The Death Eaters in a yellow glow. With matching shrieks, James and Sirius hunch down simultaneously, less than gracefully ducking back into the crowd.
As James peeks through gaps between heads, he sees someone new on stage. Dressed in all black and looking vehemently uncomfortable, he stands in front of the microphone with his hands twitching at his sides. James guesses he’s probably from the sound crew.
“Sorry for the interruption, folks,” his voice echoes out of the speakers. He speaks cautiously, his focus continuously shooting back to Regulus standing at his side. With each word that comes out of his mouth, he seems to be asking for both permission and validation. You’d think Reg had a knife on the poor man with the way he seems to stutter through his script. “Just some–um…technical difficulties. The band will be back in just a few moments.”
James looks over to see Regulus’s face completely drained of colour. The flush that dotted his cheeks at the end of the last song has all but evaporated, leaving that same cold look that haunted his features at the start of the set. At his spot next to the crew member, his eyes dart quickly across the crowd, scanning for something.
Shit.
Sirius pulls him back down from his vantage point, leaving the two of them at eye level with the bar. “Get down or you’ll ruin my plan!”
“What exactly is your plan, Padfoot?”
Sirius doesn’t answer. Instead, he just stares up past the lip of the bar. Following his eyes, James sees Scabior looking back down at them, fixing them with a look of wary disapproval.
“...What ‘yew two doin’ down there?”
“Scabior,” Sirius asserted, “we need full, unmitigated access to your lost and found. It’s an emergency.”
He hesitates. “...And another lemon drop, if you have the time.”
James smacks him roughly on the arm, earning a surprised yelp.
“Excuse me for multitasking!” He protests as he rubs the sore spot.
Scabior seems to think it over for a second, staring off somewhere above their heads. After a moment, he gives a small shrug.
“...I’ll do it foh’ a tennah.”
Sirius quickly fumbles for his wallet. Without another word, he reaches up to the bar and slams twenty quid on the counter. “Thank you for your candour, you beautiful bastard.”
Scabior slides the twenty into his pocket. Letting out a huff of amusement, he turns his back to them and ducks out of sight behind the bar.
Left to their own devices, James takes the opportunity to catch another glimpse of The Death Eaters. Peeking just barely over the shoulder of the shaggy-haired man in front of him, it comes as no surprise to see that not only is Regulus still looking for James, but Evan Rosier has somehow caught on as well. The two of them seem to pass over each face in the crowd with purposeful consideration, their instruments hanging forgotten around their shoulders.
It seems like James is never going to get a break tonight.
He slumps back down in defeat, crouching next to Sirius in front of the bar. With some of the lights back on, James starts to realise just how close they are to the floor, specifically to the worrisome piles of cans and used napkins that rest against the legs of each stool.
“Still think this place is charming?” Sirius asks.
“...Decidedly less, now.”
Scabior eventually comes back carting a large cardboard box. As he drops it down on top of the bar, it seems to sag under its own weight. Dotted with holes and oil stains, it stands above them quite menacingly.
Sirius doesn’t wait another second before he jumps up and starts tearing through the contents of the box. Intermittently, he tosses random articles of clothing down to James, instructing him to put them on quickly. First it’s a black bowler hat, then a set of sunglasses. It’s only when James is handed a bright orange boa that he starts asking questions.
“Isn’t the point of this to not draw attention?”
“No time to argue, James!”
Somewhere in the midst of rummaging through other people’s belongings, the sound of retuning guitars and checking microphones echoes through the bar. The voices in the crowd all begin to settle as the band starts getting ready to play again.
“Alright, that should do it.” Sirius declares, finally removing himself from the lost and found. He stands back to admire his work.
As far as James can gather, he looks like a Bond villain at a bachelorette party. Forced to relinquish his flannel to the lost and found (his favourite one, might he add), he was fitted with a grey suit vest, the hat, the sunglasses, an oversized cross necklace, and a single clip-on earring to match the boa. The glasses made everything too dark, the boa scratched at his neck, and without the flannel The Hog’s Head grew increasingly cold. But, going off the look on Sirius’s face, he’s properly disguised.
Sirius, however proud he looks at the moment, was not dressed much better. After having tucked all of his hair into a baseball cap, he fit himself with a black peacoat and a crimson scarf to top it all off. He’s somehow managed to make himself look more suspicious than before.
Sirius beams at him. “We look perfect!”
“If you say so, Pads. Let’s just keep our heads down, yeah?”
Sirius gives him a nod and they finally take their seats at the bar.
Scabior, who hasn’t said a word since he took out the lost and found, grabs the box to throw it back down somewhere out of sight. In the space where the box used to be lies a single plastic cup of some kind of cloudy yellow liquid, the rim of the glass lined with sugar crystals.
Sirius lets out a gasp of excitement. “Scabior, you absolute scoundrel! Should I be touched?”
“Yew can be wha’eva yew like, ‘long as yew pay fer it,” Scabior replied, giving them another shrug of indifference.
“You can’t fool me, you old sweetheart!” Sirius points an accusing finger at the bartender, a smug look fixed to his face. “We’re becoming friends, aren’t we?”
Scabior lets out a scoff and goes to wipe down the other side of the bar.
After another minute of remaining very loudly inconspicuous at the bar, the speakers on stage roar to life once again, the harsh strum of a guitar reverberating across the room. Like a calling card, everyone in the crowd looks back up to the stage at once.
James feels his stomach drop at the sound. His eyes catch on Regulus instinctively. It looks like his nerves have dulled a bit, if only slightly. The overhead lights cut into the hollows of his cheeks, casting pale shadows down his face once more. And though his search for James may have come to an end, tension still clings to him. His grip is tighter around the neck of the guitar, his jaw set in a harsh line as he leans into the microphone once again.
“Just because the lights went out doesn’t mean we didn’t see one of you fuckers with your phone out at the end. Turn yourselves in at the merch booth after the show and maybe Barty won’t have to hunt you down.”
He throws a thumb over his shoulder. “And he bites when provoked.”
Behind him, Barty grins wickedly from behind the drum set. James could almost swear his teeth have gotten sharper since the lights went out. James hunches a little lower behind the heads in front of him.
He’s going to need another drink.
He signals for Scabior at the other end of the bar, his boa getting caught around his wrist in the process. “Double tequila soda when you have a sec, mate.”
Scabior gives James a hesitant nod, staring pointedly as he watches him try to untangle himself from his poorly-maintained disguise. “Not that I really give a piss, but innit a bit much to be playin’ dress up?” As he talks, he begins pouring tequila into a fresh plastic cup, not stopping until it almost reaches the top. He then grabs a can of club soda and tips in about a thimble full before dropping in a lime wedge.
His face sours as he passes James his drink. “You lot aren’t hidin’ from the cops, are you?”
James scoffs. “Think I’d prefer the cops, at this point.” He takes a long pull from his drink, trying his hardest not to cringe as it burns its way down his throat.
“I don’t know why you two can’t get along,” Sirius protests, finally pulling his eyes off the stage. “I mean, I know he’s a little git half the time, but you’d think my brother and my best mate would at least be civil every once and a while.” He gives a teasing smile, not quite as bright as usual, and takes another sip of his lemon drop.
James laughs to himself a bit.
Padfoot, you have no idea.
Regulus’s voice cuts through the speakers and James’s knuckles almost crush the cup in his hand.
“This next song’s for someone who shouldn’t be here.”
Sirius lurches forward in an effort not to spit out his drink, shooting James a panicked look as he manages to swallow it down.
His free hand around the microphone, Regulus’s eyes scan nervously over the crowd one last time. As his gaze reaches the bar, James and Sirius curl into themselves simultaneously, Sirius flagging down Scabior for another drink in the process.
Without another word, Barty strikes his drumsticks together to set the tempo, launching The Death Eaters into their next song. All dressed up with nowhere to go, James and Sirius settle more into their seats at the bar, watching the band from their vantage point at the back of the undulating crowd.
***
Two tequila sodas later, the band is on their fourth song of the night: yet another ode to being angry and confused. James reckons they’re far too busy playing by now to worry about Sirius and him. Barring any more interruptions, he’s starting to think they just might be able to stick around without being spotted.
Having struck a deal with the blokes in front of them to act as human curtains, they can drink and watch the show in a state of relative peace, which is worlds better than before. If James didn’t know any better, he might even think that he’s glad they were able to stick around.
The music, though not surprising, is actually quite good. It’s angry, it’s charged, but all of them seem to have a hidden tenderness, like an exposed underbelly saying everything they won’t admit. It’s wanting someone so much that you hate them, staying home out of the fear that things will change while you’re out. Every time a song ends, he wishes they would just play it again, wishes he could hear Regulus sing about the loss and the want for just a bit longer.
But, before they know it, the show is over. The band lets out a reluctant thank you for coming before they step off stage, the lights of the bar then quickly blaze back to life, highlighting every discarded cup or gelatinous pool that lines the floor.
With The Death Eaters heading backstage, James and Sirius are free to shed their disguises and make for the door. Thank God for that, too, because the plastic feathers of his boa were really starting to dig into his neck.
But just as they’re about to get up, a huge wall of a man in a black Hog’s Head t-shirt comes to stand in between them and the door. “They want to see you backstage,” he says, flat and expressionless.
James and Sirius stare wide-eyed up at the security guard, frozen in place.
Sirius is the first to thaw. “...and whom exactly are they?” he asks loftily, readjusting the scarf around his neck. From the way he’s standing, James can’t tell if he’s feigning ignorance or just really getting into character.
The unusually large man doesn’t answer. Instead, he nudges his head towards the back of the bar, turning that direction without waiting for them to follow.
Let it be known that James would rather do literally anything else than follow him right now, like put his hand in a hornet's nest or eat marmite. But, he reckons they don’t have much of a choice in the matter with The Terminator here as a security guard, so he gets up from his seat and wordlessly trails behind.
Sirius, letting out a huff, grabs his drink and tags along.
“So much for the disguises,” he mutters.
As they head closer to the stage, James sees a door at the far end of the platform. Everything down to the handle is painted a matte black, making it only visible in the overbearing glare of the house lights. With every step they take towards the door, the more nerves bubble up in James’s throat. Though he has no idea what’s behind it, the one thing he does know is that it’s going to be an absolute shit show.
Stepping up onto the platform, Wreck-It-Ralph opens the door and beckons them to enter, his face as hard and lifeless as ever.
“Um… Pleasure meeting you, sir,” James murmurs.
He takes a deep breath, if only to prolong the inevitable, and steps into the threshold of backstage with Sirius in tow.
Calling the backstage area a “room” would be fairly generous. It looks about the size of a walk-in closet, fit with two couches crammed against opposite sides. The walls, painted white in a past life, are now covered on almost every inch with tattered posters, graffitied band names, and polaroids. The only light in the room is a single lightbulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling, whose beaded pull-cord flicks James in the forehead as he passes under it.
Sitting on either couch are none other than Barty Crouch Jr. and Evan Rosier. They ooze boredom from where they sit, looking like they’ve been sitting aimlessly for the whole day instead of literally playing a show. Before James’ presence is registered, Evan has his bass strewn across his lap, fiddling at a lazy bassline while he stares at the ceiling. Barty, his face scrunched in concentration, is carving something into one of his drumsticks with a pocket knife, his knees tucked into his chin.
The two boys seem to fall out of their concentrated haze as their eyes flick up to catch on their new guests. They sit up straight in unison with a newfound sense of purpose.
“Wow, Barty,” Evan exclaims, feigning to swoon over the arm of the couch. “It seems we have visitors!”
“Alright, Rosier?” James asks politely. He nods towards the other boy. “Barty.”
“Can’t complain, really,” Evan muses, checking his nails as he carries on. “Better, seeing as we had some surprise guests at the show tonight.” Giving James a grin, he points to the door behind him excitedly. “Regulus just popped to the toilet for a minute. He’s just about dying to see you two.”
“Choking, even!” Barty adds with a snicker. He’s almost vibrating in his seat, the drumstick still clenched in his fist. Scary fucker.
“Alright, cut the shit, you two,” Sirius cuts in, moving in to squeeze beside James in the space between the couches. “Which one of you tossers sent the note?”
Evan adopts a disingenuous look, his eyebrows knitting together as he tilts his head to the side. He scratches at his temple thoughtfully. “Note? I don’t know anything about a note. I was just–”
“–Evan, if you finished my drink while I was in the loo, I swear to–” Regulus walks out from the bathroom and bumps right into James. Taking a step back, he stands there dumbstruck, their faces only inches apart. They can do nothing but stare at each other, everyone else in the room silent as they wait for one of them to break.
James wants to say something. Maybe hi or you sounded great or I’m so sorry please don’t call the cops, but every word dies in his throat the longer he looks at Regulus. Small strands of hair stick to the spots of sweat still dotted on his forehead. His stare is hardened to a point by the eyeliner still smudged under his lashes. The sharp lines of his collarbone lay exposed underneath the opened buttons of his shirt.
James is so awestruck that for a moment he forgets that he’s not supposed to be there.
“Hey, Reg–”
“What are you doing here?” Regulus asks coldly, his eyes narrowing at James.
“...Well, the kind, 3 metre tall security guard told us–”
“I’m not talking about backstage, I mean here!” He snaps. His cheeks start to flare up with soft spots of pink. “How did you even find out about this place?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sirius protests. “I know cool places!”
“Stay out of this, Sirius.” Regulus replies.
James can feel his ears heat up, embarrassment entangling in the small spike of irritation lining his stomach. “We got a note this morning telling us to be here. I promise, Regulus, we had no idea you would even–”
“A note from whom?” He asks impatiently.
“We don’t know, Reg. Wasn’t exactly signed with hearts dotting the i’s.” James starts to press his nails into the line of his palm, his hands resting in fists at his sides.
“Well, it certainly wasn’t me who told you to come.” His voice gets colder by the second. He crosses his arms in front of him like a wall pushing James even farther away.
Sirius steps out from James’s side to put some more distance between the two of them. “Alright, Reggie, calm your proverbial tits for just a moment.”
“I said stay out of this!”
“That’s a little hard when the room’s the size of a broom cupboard!”
Evan lets out a muffled giggle into the palm of his hand. Having thrown his bass to the other cushion, he watches them all bicker from his seat on the couch, drinking in the action with undivided attention.
Regulus pins him down with a deathly glare. As they make eye contact, something in his expression shifts and realisation ghosts over his face.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Regulus asks, but the eerie calm of his voice suggests he already knows the answer.
Evan gives a noncommittal shrug in return. All of a sudden fascinated with a poster on the opposite wall, he picks up his bass again and goes back to plucking at the strings.
Regulus grits his teeth. “Rosier, you bastard!” He lunges for the bass player, his fingers reaching out like talons.
James jumps right after Regulus, ripping him away with a bit of a struggle. Evan lets out a mocking gasp as Regulus is pulled off of him. “He’s really got you hot and bothered, hasn’t he? Oh, this is rich!”
“Shut up!” Regulus thrashes against James’s grip. “Get off me, Potter!”
James holds tighter against his struggle. “I’m not letting you tear someone’s eyes out tonight, Reg.”
“Yeah, listen to your boyfriend, Reggie!”
Sirius begins to shout over the chaos. “Jesus Christ, you lot are acting like teenagers! And not even the cool ones that smoke fags!”
James cranes his neck back to avoid a stray swing of Regulus’s head.
“Your brother has a point, Reg.” Barty mutters, picking absently at the end of his drumstick. “You’ve only been whinging about him for–”
“Say another word and it’ll be your last,” Regulus growls out.
James looks over to see Barty’s eyes darken. He glares back at Regulus as he slowly rises from the couch. The venom that spreads between them is almost visible, bouncing back and forth with each passing second. With their eyes locked, Barty gives Regulus a wicked smirk, his fingers twitching like they’re reaching out for something sharp.
“Maybe you like speaking through the crack in the wall. Ever think of that?”
Regulus stills in James’s grasp, his breath suddenly shallow.
“You write all of these songs about him, screaming and crying about how much it hurts, but you know what I think?” He comes eye to eye with Regulus until their noses almost touch. Regulus’s stare drips with resentment.
When Barty begins to speak again, he bites on each word with malicious pleasure. “I think you love that there’s a wall. That means he can’t see what a child you really are.”
He slips between James and Sirius and slams the door behind him.
Regulus clenches his fists at his side, eyes cast down at the ground. His voice comes out strained.
“Get out, Potter.”
James’s stomach drops. “...Regulus–”
“I said get out!” His eyes finally come to meet James’s, scarlet creeping up on his cheeks.
“Christ, Reggie,” Sirius interrupts, again stepping forward to put himself between Regulus and his target. “I get we weren’t invited, but–”
“Why did you stay, then?” Regulus cuts him off while his eyes continue to lock onto James’s. “You saw me on that stage, you had to have known that I didn’t want you here, that you were the last people I’d ever want at my show. Why didn’t you leave?”
James stares back in silence. There’s not one thing he could say that Regulus would want to hear. He could say he’s sorry, he could ask why Regulus kept it a secret in the first place, he could ask what made him unworthy of seeing this part of him. He couldn’t tell which would be worse, Regulus’s silence or his answer.
The last people he’d ever want at his show. James knows that it’s true, yet the words still draw blood when he hears them. They echo in his head and something in him snaps. He hears himself say it before he even realises that he’s speaking.
“I’m not sorry,” he mutters.
Regulus’s look of frustration falters. “What?”
“I said I’m not sorry,” James repeats, louder this time. “I know I’m just a nuisance, or whatever I am to you, but I’m not sorry I stayed.”
He surprises himself the longer he speaks. He doesn’t even consider the consequences of what he’s saying. All he can think about is the sound of Regulus’s voice as he sang, the look in his eyes when he realised James had seen him like this. “The Regulus I saw on that stage tonight, the one I’ve known for half my life, I haven’t seen him in years. Yeah, you’ve got your seedy friends and your ‘fuck you’ attitude, but tonight I saw you–really saw you–for the first time in ages, and I wouldn’t want to give that up just because it made you upset.”
Regulus is silent for a moment, knuckles turned white at his sides. “How dare you?”
His voice turns icier than James has ever heard it. “How dare you come in here and tell me that I’m the problem, that I’vechanged?” He gets louder as he continues, reaching just short of shouting. “You miss how I used to be? We aren’t children anymore, James! I don’t need you to hold my hand or walk me home from school, and I certainly don’t need you here right now.”
James lets out a scoff. “So this is growing up for you? Keeping all of this from your friends? Your family? You act plenty tough, but you’ve been hiding from us for God knows how long!”
“Who said you deserved to know about any of this in the first place?”
“Because I care about you! Because you’ve been all but radio silent since we were eighteen, and now I find this whole new Regulus I’ve never seen before?!”
“–Alright, that’s enough, Prongs,” Sirius asserts, grabbing him by the shoulder.
James shakes him off. “No! If I don’t say this now, then God knows if I ever will.”
“Say what, Potter?” Regulus asks spitefully. “What else could you possibly have to say?”
James can see it forming in his head, the one thing he’s kept under lock and key for so long he can feel it about ready to burst from his chest.
“Oh my God,” Sirius cuts in, realisation creeping into his voice. “James, you can’t be serious.”
James ignores him, afraid he’ll lose his momentum if he answers. He takes a breath and continues in spite of every bone in his body telling him not to. “I’m not sorry I stayed, but I hated it. I hated seeing you up on that stage, I hated having to stand there and watch you sing about someone else. It was torture for me. But still, I’m here. Even though you clearly don’t want me to be, I’m here.
“And if that Pyramus guy is anything like you said, maybe he should be too.”
James stares determinedly at the boy across from him. With each breath, the anger he had felt so fully seems to drip off his fingertips and onto the carpet at their feet, leaving him in the wake of everything he just said.
Regulus looks back at him stunned. The scowl he had fixed to his face has long since shattered, his expression now nothing more than glassy eyes and his mouth left agape.
He clears his throat, his hands twitching at his sides. “I have to go.”
Panic quickly rises in James’s throat. “Regulus, wait–”
James reaches out for him, but by the time the words leave his mouth, Regulus has already swung open the door and walked out. It slams behind him, and the sound echoes throughout a room that now feels far too empty.