Chanson d'Hiver

A roaring fire was blazing in the hearth of the lodge’s stone fireplace in the resort’s main quarters. Regulus sat there with his battered copy of Anna Karenina, enjoying the remains of the pastry he’d had for dinner in lieu of spending any extended time with his parents and their dull friends.

The snow was falling in soft flurries against the starlit sky, and Regulus settled deeper into the plush chair to gaze out the floor-to-ceiling windows at nature’s display, relishing in the crackle of the fire. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but these quiet, stolen moments made him feel like perhaps there really was more to life than he’d been allowing himself to imagine.

He narrowed his eyes as a black-clad figure traipsed down the hill from their chalet—Sirius, followed moments later by a tall, gangling someone. Remus. He was, Regulus supposed, attractive, in a quiet, unassuming way. Anyone with eyes could see that he and Sirius were going on a date, and Regulus rolled his eyes at the thought.

Sirius was never subtle about his rebellion towards their parents, but he also knew full well how bloody homophobic they were—especially their mother. Regulus could only hope, for his brother’s sake, that the idiot didn’t flaunt his feelings about too much and incur their mother’s wrath. Even after all of these years, Walburga Black still had power over her sons in a way that was fear-inducing at best.  

Shaking his head, he smoothed the hem of his favorite black turtleneck sweater—a cashmere so soft that it could have been spun from the wispy clouds now circling the moon—and returned to his book. He was just getting to the point where Anna was about to dance with Vronsky when he sensed someone approach.

“Hello, Reg.”

Regulus looked up, eyes narrowing instantly at the nickname.

“It’s Regulus,” he seethed.

“Regulus,” James said. To his credit, he raised his brows at Regulus’s tone but refrained from commenting.

Regulus raised a brow, assessing James coolly.

James had dark hair that flipped and curled slightly at the ends, sticking up at the back of his head as if it had never seen a comb. His hands were in the pockets of his coat and he wore dark jeans that emphasized his long, long legs. He was, inexplicably, smiling at Regulus, hazel eyes crinkling at the corners behind slightly crooked glasses.

For some reason, looking into his eyes made Regulus feel as though he’d missed a step going downstairs.

“I was just passing by to walk a bit and saw you sitting in here by yourself,” James said.

“Yes, I was,” Regulus emphasized.

“Thought you might fancy a cup of cocoa,” James said. His eyes twinkled. “My treat.”

Regulus adjusted in his seat, sighing so heavily through his aristocratic nose that he felt his nostrils flare. He looked to the exposed beams in the ceiling, noting the flurries falling against the skylight windows. It would be nice to walk through the wonderland outside.

“Oh, all right then,” he said, marking his place in his book and putting it into the worn leather messenger bag he had brought.

“Brilliant,” James smiled, warming the lodge with his sunny disposition, as if Regulus agreeing to get cocoa was the most wonderful occurrence.

Regulus wound his scarf (also black cashmere) around his neck and tucked the ends into his pea coat (black, of course) to keep them from flapping about in the wind. Things seemed much less serene out of doors—people were traipsing around, laughing and shouting to one another. He was very nearly overwhelmed by the stimulation of it all on top of the music blaring and the snow falling and the presence of a very muscular and tall someone beside him.

They approached the Bavarian-style cocoa stand that was selling sipping chocolate and soft pretzels with a variety of mustards. The entire menu, by contrast, was written in French.

“What would you like?” James prompted.

“Deuxchocolatschauds, s’ilvousplait,” Regulus said to the vendor, ignoring James. “Etajoutezdelacannelle.”

“Crèmefouettee?”

“Oui, quelgenredequestionidioteest-ce?!” Regulus snapped.

James gaped at him.

“Dixeuros, s’il vous plait,” the old man said pointedly, face reddening beneath his silvery beard.

“He needs ten euros,” Regulus said to James.

James handed the money over, still gaping at Regulus.

“Did you call that guy an idiot?” he whispered.

“What?” Regulus said. “No. I ordered you a drink. He asked if we wanted whipped cream and I told him that was an idiotic question, because it was.”

The vendor brought over two cups of steaming cocoa and exaggerated dollops of whipped cream. Regulus was certain the intention was cheek, but it worked out to his advantage. Regulus didn’t let many know it, but he had a bit of a sweet tooth. James thanked the vendor before turning his attention towards the drink in hand.

“Is there cinnamon in this?” James asked, taking a sip. “That’s delicious!”

“Yes,” Regulus said. “I requested it that way—as if there is any other way to have cocoa.”

“I might have to steal this idea for the café—this is seriously incredible!”

Regulus felt the corner of his mouth lift in something akin to a smile—it was nice, seeing someone so enthused about something so simple. James had a bit of whipped cream on the end of his nose, and rather than finding it off-putting, Regulus found it somewhat endearing. James Potter was bloody charming, he’d give him that. It was hard not to like him.

“You have whipped cream on your nose,” Regulus drawled.

James hastily brushed it away, blushing slightly.

“So,” James began.

It took Regulus an incredible amount of effort to keep from asking “so what?” and rolling his eyes into the back of his skull. He settled for taking a sip of his cocoa—it really was delicious, and it warmed every part of Regulus’s cold little soul. He had a sudden, unwanted image of curling up in front of the large stone fireplace with his cocoa and a book, James beside him on the hearth and running a hand through Regulus’s curls. He shook his head slightly as if to dispel the thought.

“Do you think that Remus and Sirius fancy one another?” James asked, unaware of Regulus’s absurd and unwarranted fantasy.

Regulus sputtered and choked on his hot cocoa, sloshing melting whipped cream over the sides of the cup and down his hand.

“Merde,” he muttered.

“Are you all right?” James asked, eyebrows drawn into the center in a caricature-ish expression of concern.

“I’m fine,” Regulus said, waving a hand dismissively. He released a deep breath. “Now what on earth gave you that idea?”

“It doesn’t really seem too far off base, mate,” James said.

Mate.

“Sirius fancies everyone with a pulse,” Regulus said.

“Not really,” James said, sounding affronted on his best friend’s behalf. “He’s a good looking bloke so he attracts a lot of attention, but I don’t know when I’ve seen him so… sparkly around someone. I thought as his brother you might’ve noticed as well.”

The tips of his ears were red, as though he were in a bit of a temper, and Regulus found that somewhat attractive. It added a bit more depth to this image of James Potter that he had in his head—this jock with absurdly defined arms and pectoral muscles and an air of never having had to worry about anything in his life. Seeing that he could be upset on someone else’s behalf showed compassion and a fierce loyalty that intrigued Regulus more than he wanted to admit.

Sparkly? Had Sirius been sparkly around Remus? Perhaps he needed to pay better attention…

“You hadn’t noticed.” James stated this rather than asking.

“To be perfectly honest, I haven’t paid much notice to anyone since we’ve been up here, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Regulus said somewhat coldly.

“I had noticed, actually. It would be nice to see a bit more of you over the next week and a half. You don’t have to hide yourself away, you know,” James said, turning to face Regulus. His eyes were alight with this incredible sincerity that made Regulus’s heart skip a beat.

“I—” Regulus began. He was rarely at a loss for words; he was always quick to conjure a biting comment or a withering glare.

“This is you, yeah? I’ll see you around, Regulus,” James gave him a half smile and turned to leave.

Regulus hadn’t even realized they were already back to the lodge, as engrossed in his thoughts as he had been.

“Thank you for the cocoa!” Regulus blurted to James’s retreating form.

James turned, walking backwards in a way that looked far cooler than it should have, and gave Regulus that same crooked little smile before retreating.

Regulus stood staring after him until he could see him no longer, oblivious to the wind that swirled the flurries and lifted his curls.

*****

Regulus Black was not pleased.

Whilst he had managed to avoid Sirius, Remus, and James for the past three days, he had been unable to stop thinking about James fucking Potter. It wasn’t bloody fair, was it? He’d tried not to think about him, hadn’t he? But try as he might, he couldn’t stop thinking of James, walking backwards down that hill, half-smiling at Regulus as he did. The way the wind pulled at his hair and tousled it as if he were some sort of ruddy super model. It really wasn’t fair for anyone to look that effortlessly good in a coat and jeans.

He thanked the stars above that his mother, whilst possessing an uncanny ability to predict what he and Sirius were thinking, could not actually read his mind. He shuddered to think about how she would react to his “impure” thoughts about James—or any man, for that matter. Regulus could hear her now, “Toujours Pur!”

Regulus had been able to avoid any further encounters by largely remaining locked in his room, perched on the little balcony and wrapped in a blanket, clutching a mug of the angry vendor’s impeccable cocoa and lost in a book. He had moved on to Wuthering Heights, an old favorite.

Regulus had caught up with Barty and Evan at last, and he had been content to go along with those two idiots as long as they left him out of their ambitious schemes and their ploys to talk to every attractive woman who passed by.

It had caused him considerable distress, then, when his darling brother had waltzed into his room in the middle of the morning and insisted that he come with them down to the hot tub to relax and “have some bloody human interaction.”

Sirius was stubborn—even, perhaps, more so than Regulus was, and so unsurprisingly Regulus found himself down in the lodge’s pool and hot tub area. The wooden beams held up a ceiling comprised otherwise entirely of skylights, and the entire room apart from the area connected to the rest of the lodge was floor-to-ceiling glass. The effect was lovely, Regulus had to admit.

The dim sunlight sparkled against the snow and filtered through the ceiling to reflect off of the pool, casting the entire room in a soft glow… a glow that was reflected, unfairly, off of the golden undertones of James Potter’s otherwise-very-English-complexion. Remus carried a bit of color as well, set off by freckles and scars (what the bloody hell had happened to him?! Regulus was alarmed), but Sirius and Regulus had the skin of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Everyone was remarkably similar in appearance—grey-green eyes and black hair and creamy white skin that Regulus had always felt made him look sickly. James Potter, of course, looked like he had swallowed the damn sun and it was glowing from within, giving him warm undertones. Suddenly Regulus found himself fantasizing about gold jewelry…

Sirius pulled off his Led Zeppelin t-shirt and leapt into the pool, gripping his knees cannonball-style and splashing Remus, who was sitting on the side of the pool with his feet dangling. When Sirius emerged, flipping his sopping hair to one side, Remus smiled, throat bobbing as he struggled to swallow. Regulus narrowed his eyes shrewdly. Perhaps James was on to something with those two.

Speaking of James… merde.

James stood at the edge of the pool, pulling his rugby shirt over his head at what was clearly an obscenely slow pace.

Holy fucking shit on toast.

His body was that of Adonis. It was everything that Regulus had imagined it to be, and he could not tear his eyes away. The sheer definition of the muscles rippling in his chest and arms, the washboard abs that Regulus wanted to run his tongue over…

Toujours pur! His mother’s voice popped into his head.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

And so he sat on the side of the pool, perusing James Potter and His Fucking Abs under the guise of reading his book. And he was unhappy, because he wouldn’t even be in this fucking situation if his brother could just leave well enough the fuck alone, but of course he wouldn’t. And now, because of Sirius’s insistence on refusing to allow Regulus to just be a hermit as he wanted to be, he would forever have the image of James Potter removing his shirt seared into his mind’s eye.

Regulus was thankful that he was sitting down, because James chose that precise moment to hoist himself out of the side of the pool by his glorious fucking arms (and of course Regulus imagined those arms holding him up over Regulus, which was not helpful at all). He shook his hair out of his face and Regulus shifted in his seat.

“Reggie, come join us!” Sirius called. “We’re heading to the hot tub—you know, it’ll be warm in there,” he winked, alluding to Regulus’s refusal to go swimming in subzero temperatures.

“Yes, come,” James said, smiling at Regulus.

“Very well then,” Regulus said aloofly.

Remus and Sirius walked over to the hot tub, sitting down shoulder to shoulder, which clearly told Regulus that they were coupled up—or at the very least hoping to be—because otherwise they wouldn’t be sitting like the last two cigarettes in the carton while the whole hot tub was otherwise empty.

Regulus rose, marking his place in his book.

James still had not joined the others but hovered expectantly.

Regulus slid off his silver rings so that they would not tarnish in the chlorinated water. He nimbly removed them from his slender fingers and set each one down beside his book. James stared at him the entire time, as if his hands were somehow fascinating, and Regulus felt his cheeks warm under the intensity of his gaze.

“Your hands are lovely,” James said.

Regulus arranged his features into a neutral expression and nodded once, accepting the compliment.

“I’m glad you came today,” James said. “I was hoping you would.”

“Why?” Regulus blurted. This had to be some sort of cruel prank. There was no other way that James would want to spend time with Regulus.

“I enjoyed spending time with you the other night,” James responded simply. He shrugged one shoulder. “Coming?”

Regulus nodded again, feeling his heart tattooing an erratic pattern against the inside of his chest. He followed James over to the hot tub and slid in between James and Sirius, trying his best not to touch any of them because he was certain that if James were to touch him, he would implode.

How in the buggery fuck did he get himself into this situation?

To distract himself, he observed the way that Sirius interacted with Remus. He was, indeed, sparkly with Remus, and Regulus wondered if he had acted on it yet. If they’d had a normal relationship and not been raised to repel any sort of human emotion, he could have asked his brother for advice, maybe even admitted that he was having feelings for a certain messy haired, bespectacled someone. As it was, he would just sit against the wall of the hot tub, listening to his brother and Remus flirt, to James tease, to the three of them laugh and interact as if it were so bloody easy to just open up to other people.

He watched James as much as he was able to, feeling a burning sensation in his gut that he eventually identified as desire. At that point, he was ready to just drown in the depths of the swimming pool to evade the realization that he was in too deep—head over heels infatuated with his brother’s best friend.