Chapter 2
The Hogwarts library was humming with quiet chatter and flipping pages, quills scratching on parchment, and footsteps of students walking along the aisles and aisles of books. It was a welcoming environment and one that Regulus found himself in reasonably often.
Regulus flips the page of his potions notes, sighing as he scribbles down definitions and simplified explanations. Pandora, who was sitting next to him while reading her astronomy text and effortlessly braiding a strand of her hair, stands up. “I’ll be on my way now. Evan’s been begging for my History of Magic notes,” she says, and Regulus nods mutely, giving her a small smile in acknowledgment. Without warning, she reaches for Regulus’s arm and bites it–not hard, though–then stands up, ruffles his hair, and leaves. Regulus only smiled again and let her leave, enjoying the newfound loneliness.
Pandora was weird like that. Regulus suspected that she just didn’t know how to show affection towards her friends, so she did odd things like randomly biting them and Pandora’s personal favorite–coming up behind them and squeezing their sides. Regulus hated this; he was scared every time. Although, if he was being honest, he didn’t really care what she did. It made her happy, so it made him happy.
Loud laughing was coming from the entrance to the library, and Regulus frowned. He was a bit of a goody-two-shoes when it came to shutting up so other people could read or study, and he was ready to tell whoever it was off when he looked up and locked eyes with James fucking Potter.
Regulus had been in love with James for the better part of three years, after seeing him in the beginning of the third year and thinking only of how infuriatingly attractive he was. This was a part of himself he kept well-hidden, away from prying eyes and ears, hidden in the back of his mind and in the ink from his quill on the pages of his journals. He thought about James more often than he’d like to admit, but where most people felt giddy with serotonin, Regulus only felt a sharp stinging sensation in the back of his throat, like knives clawing their way out through his mouth.
James was the sun. He was bright and carefree, and so obviously soaring above the rest of the world that it hurt sometimes. He was excitement and freedom and honesty, all folded up and ready to be neatly put in a box, then scattered around messily, hanging on the nooks, crannies, and edges of his soul. He was the most genuine person Regulus had ever met in his life.
He tore his gaze away from James’s. Better to hate him, like he did Sirius because if he didn’t, he’d snap. He knew it.
Instead, he focused in on Sirius, refraining from speaking, but he sent a glare that could kill in his direction. Sirius stared at him for a moment, unblinkingly. Then, he finally spoke. “What do you want, Reg?”
Regulus lifted his chin. “I told you to stop calling me that.” He had. Three weeks after Sirius had left, he’d tried to convince Regulus to come with him that summer instead of going back to their mother. It hadn’t worked.
Sirius bristled. “I don’t care. Why are you staring at us?”
Regulus arched a brow, and eyed the group, forcibly ripping his gaze off James and away from his face, which had an expression Regulus couldn’t decipher after he’d stared too long. He looked back at Sirius. “You’re loud. Shut up.”
A muscle in Sirius’s jaw ticked, and Regulus smirked. Even if they weren’t exactly friendly anymore, it was always fun to piss off your older brother. He turned back to his notes and pressed the tip of his quill onto the parchment when he heard Sirius mutter, “You’d know something about shutting up.”
Regulus blinked and then felt the rage surge in, bubbling in his chest. He set down his quill calmly, refusing to let any sign of annoyance or fury slip into his features. “Excuse me?” He asked, and he could have sworn Sirius went paler, but he stood his ground.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Regulus.” Behind him, James made an oh-shit face. Regulus understood.
Because he remembered. Of course, he did.
Christmas Eve, 1976, His mother had tried to convince Sirius to get the dark mark. When he’d refused and refused, and refused, they’d used the cruicatus curse on him. Regulus could still picture Sirius’s writhing body, tensing and flinching on the floor of the living room. He could hear his screams. He had been right there.
Right fucking there, and he did nothing.
It would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Regulus calmly stood up, Picking up his quill and ink bottle, capping it, and putting it in his book bag alongside his notes and his textbooks. He gave Sirius a long, almost empty sort of look, and then said, “I see why mother is disappointed in you.”
After that, he left.
He knew it was extremely unreasonable, and horrid of him, to say something like that. He almost laughed at himself.
At least I know I’m a bad person.
🟄
James found his feet moving in a very wrong direction.
Sirius had run off somewhere, presumably to be pissed and blow things up, and so Remus followed after, with a distracted ‘Be right back, lads.’ Peter stood still where he had been standing for the last minute, and James patted him on the shoulder, giving him a halfhearted smile.
“You wait here for them, Wormy. I’ll be right back.” Peter nodded silently and sat himself down at the table Regulus had been at previously, and with that, James walked away from the direction Sirius went and his stupid bloody legs walked him directly to Regulus.
He had walked down to the lake, and James could see him in the distance, leaning against a tree and sliding down, James was worried he would start crying. He, of course, wouldn’t mind, as he had taken care of plenty of his friends while they were having a moment. But for some reason, this was different.
He had never really had any boundaries with his friends before, at least none that were expressed. He learned not to touch Remus’s sides, not to hug Peter when he was going off, and not to press Sirius when it came to his family. He knew those things. He didn’t know any of Regulus’s boundaries. He had figured out over the years that he wasn’t one for physical contact, but he had no idea what to say and what not to.
Oh well. James had never been one for thinking before he acted anyway.
Cautiously, he approached, not daring to make a sound, and when he was decidedly close enough, he said, quietly, “Regulus?”
He whipped his head around, grey eyes piercing through James’s skin as the tip of a wand pressed into the side of his neck. James felt a surge of fear in his stomach, but he only took a few steps back, slamming gently onto a tree.
“What are you doing here?” Regulus hissed, eyes narrowing, and James felt his stomach flip like a pancake. He was so fucked.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” James said, raising his hands palms-up to show he meant no harm. His heart was pounding. Regulus was far too close for James’s homosexual comfort.
“Why would you care if I’m okay? You’re my brother's friend. Not mine.” Regulus bit out, and James frowned. Did Regulus think he didn’t care about him? If that was the case, he was very, very wrong.
“I’m not a Slytherin, I have empathy.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. He saw Regulus’s jaw tick, and his eyes flicked around James’s face, studying him for… something. James wasn’t quite sure. Regulus had always been confusing.
“Not If I asked you to leave me alone,” Regulus seethed, tilting his head, “Can Gryffindors not follow simple instructions? Is that too complicated for your simple brain?”
“I’m not stupid, contrary to popular thought,” James mumbled, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to come up with things to say back because he kept wondering when the freckle on his jaw had appeared. He didn’t remember it from before, but maybe he just hadn’t been looking hard enough. James resolved to look at Regulus more, now, so that he could catch up on all the small details he missed.
“I wonder why…” He drawled, rolling his steel grey eyes. The proximity between him and James was too close and he knew he was going to say something dumb if he stayed like this for any longer. Maybe Regulus had the same thought, because he pocketed his wand and stepped back, folding his arms across his chest. He turned to make his leave, his boots grinding into the soft soil of the ground. James immediately wanted him to turn back and look at him again.
“Wait-” James blurted out. He reached out and grabbed hold of Regulus’s forearm, an impulsive move made just because he wanted another look at those silver plated eyes.
Regulus’s expression flickered to something of a wince, and James could practically see him wither. Regulus gritted his teeth together, not obviously trying to keep tears at bay. “Get off of me, you filthy Mudblood lover!” He yanked his arm out of James’s grasp, tearing the delicate skin that had been healing.
James stared at him for a moment, processing his words and noting the visible pain on Regulus’s face. “Regulus- hold on!” Regulus ignored James as he took the stone stairs that were built into the dirt two at a time.
James began to race up the same steps, and Regulus whipped around, eyes narrowed, any trace of expression aside from fury wiped from his face. “If you follow me, I will personally stab your eyes out with my wand and feed them to you like kebabs. Fuck off,” He said, and fled.
James stood at the base of the steps, dumbfounded, and confused, and more than anything concerned. He knew what Walpurga’s punishments looked like, the neat and orderly slits all along Sirius’s calves still clear in his mind from the time in fourth year when Sirius showed him how bad it really was. He’d never had cuts on his arms or wrists, and certainly not in the spot he had touched Regulus. His body felt like static, still ringing from being under Regulus’s sea storm gray eyes. James blinked, and shook his head. What am I even doing?
He decided that the next time he followed the prettiest boy he’d ever seen, he would have a better explanation prepared, and he would come with offerings and careful questions. Everyone liked Honeydukes, right?
🟄
Regulus’s arm burned with white-hot pain, the agony of the night before searing through his veins like wildfire. He gripped his arm to his chest, feeling the beginning of blood seeping through the soft fabric of his school robes as he sprinted to the slytherin common room, past the students giving him odd looks and into his dorm. He could feel the searing sting of the places he’d cut himself, and he grit his teeth as he rushed to the bathroom. Luckily, there was no one in the dorm, so Regulus was able to cry.
He ripped off the small band aids covering his forearm and stuffed a wad of tissues onto it after ripping a bunch out of the box sitting on the small table next to the sink. His vision was beginning to blur, and he let out a small cry of pain as he pressed a bit too hard on the wounds.
Slowly, he let the tears begin to fall, staining his shirt with droplets, twisting his stomach into endless knots. Why did it have to be James? It could have been anyone. It would have been so much easier if it had been Barty, or Dorcas, or someone else, anyone else, anyone else, anyone, anyone, anyone anyoneanyoneanyone.
Because now, James would ask. James would have questions, ones that Regulus couldn’t answer without fucking everything up. Every. Single. Thing.
James would be worried, because that's who James was. That was him, front to back and back to front; a worrier, a lover. Regulus would have to think of some sort of way to distract him or make him forget or something, because he didn’t need this. He didn’t need anyone ever knowing about this, but here he was, with the person he had been in love with for years–unrequited, might I add– knew he had cut his arms to shreds the night before.
Marvelous.
Regulus turned on the shower, setting the water to the coldest setting he could, undressed himself carefully and sat himself down under the water, curling over his arm and staring at the white tile in front of him, and let his brain leave him, the cold water rushing through his curls and onto his eyes as he let them shut.
“Sit up straight, Rhea. Don’t embarrass us.”
“Yes, mother.”
“And fix your hair. It looks boyish again.”
“Yes, mother.”
Regulus snapped his eyes open, and curled tighter into himself, looking down at his arm. The cuts weren’t bleeding anymore, just red and fresh. He turned off the water and stood up, slipping his underclothes and pants back on but leaving his bloody shirt. He tossed it in their laundry bin and figured he’d figure out how to deal with that later. He hid the sleeve at the bottom of the pile so it was hard to see, and then stepped out of the bathroom, making a beeline for his closet, grabbing the first sweater he could see and slipping it on over his head.
He then stumbled slightly over to his bed, collapsing with a pained groan, and took a deep breath. He reminded himself of his list.
- He hated his brother.
- He loved his brother.
- He hated himself.
- He wished he’d left when he could.
- He loved James Potter.
You’re real. You’re real. Regulus is real.
Sometimes, he wished he wasn’t.