You never had a chance
Regulus has literally never had less time for anything in his entire life. He’s this close to lighting a bloody cigarette and going to get changed.
He’s been attempting his team’s first quidditch practice of the season, but it seems the masses of Durmstrang tourists in the stands all have far better critiques and opinions on quidditch and coaching than he does. If one of them heckles a single Slytherin player one more time, Regulus is forgetting the ‘spirit of cooperation and friendship’ and hexing them into the hospital wing.
“Who is the captain of this shit show?” a Russian accent wants to know. “Is it you? Little Seeker boy! How are you planning on beating anyone with these namby-pamby moves? You are too soft.”
“Yeah? That’s not what your dad said last night, Durmstrang. You wanna shut it perhaps?”
Regulus has no problem identifying that voice, but it makes him no less willing to tolerate spectators. At this rate, the Slytherin team is practising after midnight, just to get a moment’s peace.
“You want to pick fight with me, Hogwarts?” the Durmstrang boy squares up to James Potter, who is the same height, but significantly leaner.
“Doubt it’ll be much of a fight. Now, run along and go pull the wings off bats, or whatever it is you bunch of meat slabs do, and let our teams practise. One word from me and your lot won’t be allowed to spectate anything at all this year,” Potter threatens, not even a little intimidated.
There’s a tense moment where it looks as though the Russian boy may deck Potter – his beefy clenched fists sure look ready enough – but then he’s barking commands over his shoulder and a large chunk of the hecklers rise and follow him off the stands.
For the rest of their allotted pitch time, the Slytherin team gets through every last one of Regulus’ plays. They run smoothly and he can even spot places where improvements can be made. Looks like he owes his brother’s friend a ‘thank you’.
When they all finally touch down and head for the locker rooms, however, Regulus can’t see Potter in the stands anymore. Well, he’ll probably see the boy somewhere around the castle at some point.
“Oi, Regulus!”
Potter comes walking up to him, hands in his pockets and face downturned as though he has something to feel guilty about. Regulus doesn’t know what this is, but he knows he’s not going to like it.
“How are you?” he’s asked in the stiffest intonation he’s ever heard.
Regulus sighs deeply, before deadpanning, “Spectacular.”
“Arsehole Durmstrang, eh? Prancing around as though we should be so lucky to have them,” Potter mutters, trying for annoyance and landing on awkward, gaze avoiding Regulus the entire time.
“Have I missed something?” Regulus stares him down. “Since when do we chat?”
Potter scrubs a hand down his face, breathing something that sounds distinctly like ‘bollocks’, but then he finally at least looks at Regulus.
“Do you…perhaps… Or would you consider possibly…”
Regulus groans internally. “I’m leaving.”
But as he turns to go, Potter’s hand shoots out to lay over his shoulder, stopping him.
“Go out with me sometime.”
It’s not a request and Regulus doesn’t have time for games. He turns back to stare Potter down again.
“Would this Friday suit you? Evan can bunk with the Ravenclaws. Don’t bother with dinner or snacks; you can just eat me.”
All things considered, Potter had been looking quite hopeful up until the end there, eyes flicking from Regulus’ face to his outstretched middle finger. Regulus would feel sorry for him, if he felt sorry for anyone. Instead, he turns, planning on storing his broom and going to shower in his dorm.
“I’ll do whatever you want!” Potter pushes, literally running after him.
“Drop dead!” Regulus calls back.
“Merlin…” Only the absolute shock in Potter’s voice brings even the slightest hint of a smile to Regulus’ face.
* * *
“You don’t know that he didn’t mean it, Reggie,” Pandora reasons, arranging his curls delicately while he leans against her legs.
“Vraiment?” Dorcas gives her a sideways frown. “Non. He’s never shown interest before, and he’s your bitchy brother’s best friend? I smell trouble.”
Evan leans around her to be heard above the over-full Ravenclaw common room. “Besides, it’s Potter. You know what he thinks of us. This is some kind of sick lark. You mark my words.”
Pandora sighs, stopping with Regulus’ hair. He nudges her knee with his head and she lets her dainty fingers run lightly over his scalp, smirking.
“You are all forgetting a single, cardinal point,” she says, tilting Regulus’ head back to meet his eyes.
He smiles at her adoringly and she graces him with a soft one of her own.
“Then, enlighten us, Lovegood,” Barty gives her a superiorly interested look. “Share with us your mystical knowledge of the human psyche, goddess among mortals.”
Pandora swipes at his face, but there’s no malice in her gesture.
“Being with Regulus is suicide to James’ reputation. Whether his justification for asking is pure or not, Reg will have the upper hand. It could, at least, be interesting to see where this is going.”
She looks from face to face, cheeks growing rosier by the second as she realises all eyes are on her.
“That’s downright devious, Dora,” Regulus breaks the silence.
“We’ve finally rubbed off on her,” Evan nods, meeting Regulus’ eyes.
“You’re cute, but evil,” Dorcas decides. “I like you.”
“Oh, you’re all naive if you think I’m not holding out for Reggie to meet a nice boy and be happy,” Pandora counters before leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Regulus’ head.
“Well, then, he’s shit out of luck with James Potter. Man’s a menace,” Barty assesses.
Regulus is inclined to agree with him.
* * *
James resents having to meet in the girls’ bathroom, but it’s not as though private spots are abundant throughout the castle, especially with all the new guests – especially with tension building before the first Triwizard task.
“I’m telling you, he didn’t even remotely go for it,” James vents. “I told him I would do whatever he wanted and he told me to drop dead.”
Lupin flinches at that. “General consensus is that he’s a nasty piece of work. What I don’t understand, though, is why? He and Sirius are brothers, a year apart – how is Regulus the unholiest of beasts and Sirius is a literal angel?”
James quirks an eyebrow at him. “You’d be surprised at how little of an angel Sirius can be.”
This grabs Lupin’s attention. “Promise?”
“I’m not having this conversation with you.” James pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I need a crash course on alchemy for Transfiguration. What are we going to do about Regulus?”
“Merlin, have you never asked out anyone before?” Lupin throws back, going to lean against the tiled wall.
“Girls, yes,” James responds, “which I think differs a great deal from the actual spawn of Satan.”
“So, is that it? You’re straight?” Lupin squints at him disbelievingly.
James has a right mind to say yes and be done with this, but he really needs the academic help, and so far Lupin has been true to his word.
“No. I just don’t know how to appeal to him. I mean, he likes books, I guess. He’s also super into social justice – like, last year, the password to the dungeons was a slur and he and Evan Rosier spent a week sleeping in the corridor because they refused to say it.”
James remembers it so clearly. Sirius had gone to get his leather jacket from Regulus, only to find his brother and his friend setting up their things in the corridor. They’d looked into conjuring quite comfortable beds and summoned all their personal effects to create an extremely convincing replica of their dorm room outside. Slughorn had not been happy and had been trying to get them back in the dormitory for several days, but they’d refused until the password had been changed. Usually, passwords run on a month-long cycle, so it’d taken some complex magic to change it after only a week into the new month, but they’d gotten their wish.
“Oi, Potter,” Lupin breaks through James’ reverie.
James finds himself smiling at the memory, but wipes it off his face immediately at Lupin’s smug expression.
“Does Hogsmeade have any muggle bookshops?” he asks James.
“James Potter?”
Oh, Merlin. James so does not have the energy for this right now.
“Myrtle,” he addresses the ghostly girl appearing right beside Lupin.
“Fuckin’ hell!”
Moaning Myrtle gives him a reproachful look. “Now, is that any way to address a lady?”
But Lupin is scrambling to put James between himself and the ghost, eyes wide and terrified.
“Stop scaring the man,” James grins at Myrtle. “Is there something you need, love?”
Myrtle twirls one of her pigtails around a finger, blushing. “I was attending bath time in the Prefects’ bathroom when I thought I heard your voice in my humble abode. What a pleasure it is to see you again.”
“You have ghosts in the castle?” Lupin whimpers near James’ ear.
James turns on him, frowning. “You don’t?”
Lupin spits on the floor at Myrtle’s feet. “We don’t make it a habit of entertaining the dead, no.”
“James, your handsome friend is very rude. I understand private conversations, but if he’s going to disrespect me in my own place of expiration—”
James holds up a gentle halting hand. “Say no more, Myrtle. I’ll have him out of here promptly. My apologies.”
Bundling Lupin towards the door, James keeps his voice low as he presses on with their initial conversation. “It’s one of the only all-magic towns in Britain, but if I need to send for something, my mum can mail it to me?”
Out in the corridor, pale and drawn, Lupin tugs his ostentatious furs back into place and runs a hand through his flawless hair. “I have a few ideas about some books the younger Black may find interesting. Next time, though, we hide in a broom cupboard or something. You may have effectively doomed my chances for the first task this weekend, taking me in there.”
James snorts. “Are all your Durmstrang lot so superstitious?”
“I mean it, Potter. If I lose, I’m feeding you to one of our dragons,” Lupin threatens, deadly serious.
* * *
Not even in their anticipation can they find solidarity. Lupin wants to scoff at old Gandalf’s generous notions of ‘international magical cooperation’. Instead, he chooses to replay Karkaroff’s words in his head.
“I found out the first task is very simple,” he’d explained in Russian, so as not to be understood by the other champions, a sickening hand on Remus’ shoulder. “A cage filled with sand and a clue stuck to the top. You only have to get the clue and get out. It should be no match for you, hey? You’re strong and intelligent – the pride of Durmstrang. But the one from Hogwarts is also clever, according to her teachers, and the one from Beauxbatons is cunning. Don’t underestimate them. You do your best to be as fast and efficient as possible, yes?”
“Wolf boy,” the French girl says, immediately icing Remus’ veins over and causing his heart to sputter in his chest. “Remus Lupin.”
She pronounces it “Reh-moo Loo-pah”, making Remus have to fight back a nervous laugh.
“Did you know your name, ‘Remus Lupin’, means ‘Wolf Wolf’?” Dorcas Meadowes asks him, coming to stand in front of him.
Her periwinkle and silver tracksuit with matching gloves and trainers look tailored, compared to Marlene McKinnon’s, which looks like old, worn-in quidditch robes. Is British school funding really that bad?
“I actually didn’t,” Remus answers, voice shockingly level considering his heartbeat is beyond erratic. “Hence ‘wolf boy’?”
“Oui,” she answers, smirking and not putting Remus’ nerves to rest in the slightest, “but I also recognise your scars. We have un loup-garou at Beauxbatons, too. She is…new? Not comfortable yet?”
Remus nods, so anxious now he fears his heart might just give in altogether. This becomes even more likely when Marlene wanders over, obviously listening in.
“But you appear strong. ‘Pride of Durmstrang’,” Dorcas teases, looking him up and down.
“You speak Russian?” Remus is bowled over.
“Et vous parlé français,” she responds, raising a smug eyebrow.
“Only a little bit,” Remus finds himself smiling back.
“Yeah, so do I,” Marlene interjects, looking far more pissed off than either of them, “and you’re a werewolf.”
It’s like a gut punch, that accusation. She’s right, of course, but Remus had really hoped to keep this personal tidbit to himself. It’s why his father signed him up for Durmstrang instead of Hogwarts – the Serbians, and Europe in general, are far more progressive about magical creatures. Especially ones who didn’t choose their fate.
“So, you are afraid of un petit concours?” Dorcas asks her, frowning. “This is a friendly tournament, not a place for hatred and intolerance. He cannot help what he is, but you can choose to be a bigot.”
“A bigot? He’s a dangerous animal that should not be allowed amongst the general populace, nevermind children,” Marlene shouts at her, getting heated.
“That’s enough, Miss McKinnon. One more remark like that and you will be disqualified from the tournament,” Dumbledore scolds, having appeared in the doorway to the Champions Tent. It’s the first time Remus has heard him sound anything but maddeningly pleasant.
He makes eye contact with the headmaster and nods once in thanks.
When Dumbledore goes on to tell them to gather around him, Marlene makes a point of standing as far from Remus as she possibly can.
* * *
James physically feels Sirius perk up in anticipation beside him when Lupin steps into the stadium. He can’t even blame him, because Lupin is wearing all-black and his kit is well-fit.
Hogwarts had gone first and Marlene had been spectacular, summoning a poultice from her room of her own invention to numb herself up enough so she can climb the rocky outcroppings and then the bars of the top of the enclosure to the clue she needed to collect. So well the poultice worked that she had no problem cutting down and managing Venomous Tentacula vines swiping at her from the sandy depths of the quickly filling stadium. The sand is super fine, like sea sand, and if she’d fallen, it would certainly have meant her death. But she’d clung on spectacularly, grabbed her clue, and used a Non-Corporeality Charm on the bars to swing up and out.
Dorcas Meadowes from Beauxbatons had done something similar, except she’d begun by levitating herself directly upward to the clue – a near-impossible feat requiring endless finesse and control. Her schoolmates hadn’t appeared at all surprised by her stunning talent, only cheering when she’d escaped with her clue in record time.
Now, Durmstrang is up and Lupin seems to be going for a very different approach. He slips out of his jumper and ties it round his waist, stowing his wand in his pocket before he does this. Quite a few gasps go round the stadium, Sirius’ being one of them, at seeing Lupin in a skintight black vest.
Pathetic, James thinks, wondering if he could look like that if he just worked out more.
At Lupin’s feet, the stadium has already begun to fill with sand, quickly burying his trainers. That seems to be of very little concern to the Durmstrang, however, when he takes a run-up and leaps at the rock-covered stadium wall. As soon as his foot touches the solid surface, he kicks himself upward, actively running up the uneven surface in three massive strides.
The bars above his head prove no obstacle for him as he swings himself to slip his hands and feet into the spaces between the iron. Then, he gets going, moving upside-down, on all fours, towards his clue.
The Durmstrang stands go utterly mad, cheering him on in unison with some kind of Serbian phrase. Throughout the mayhem, Lupin remains singularly focused.
“Jamie, this is absolute bollocks,” Sirius insists, next to James. “You are introducing me tonight – my parents’ weird dating ban be damned.”
“Oh, he’d love to hear you say th—” James is cut off by another gasp, this one surely the combined efforts of every spectator in the stadium.
Lupin has reached his clue, having gotten there so fast, the Venomous Tentacula has only just sent its first vines his way. Instead of pulling out his wand for some clever spell work, however, he’s pocketed his clue and begun bending at the bars. The most unbelievable part of all of this is the bars are giving way. As the Tentacula vines wage their assault on him, he merely grabs them in a gloved hand and rips at them, sending the half-sentient plant cowering away in obvious pain. Soon, he’s managed to wedge an opening wide enough to fit through in the iron and leveraged himself out.
“That concludes the first task of the tournament!” Dumbledore’s voice echoes through the stadium. “This task tested innovation and calm under pressure, which was clearly displayed by all three the champions today. For this reason, scoring was particularly challenging, but we have decided to put Hogwarts and Durmstrang in collective first place with a nine out of ten, leaving Beauxbatons in second place with an eight-point-five!
“It is now up to each champion to decipher their clue and begin preparations for the second task that will take place after Christmas. May the remainder of your weekend be pleasant, and may school spirit continue to run high in anticipation for the next task!”
“I am in love with him,” Sirius decides, looking utterly dumbstruck. “I want to have his adopted babies.”
James frowns, stretching. “It’s only Dumbledore. Isn’t he also a bit old for you?”
“Continue being an idiot and the next older man I shag is Monty,” Sirius threatens, turning to lead the way out.
They inch their way out of the stands and onto the steps leading down to the ground, Sirius never once shutting up about Remus Lupin. Had James not predicted this exact outcome? Now, he’ll have to have a serious talk with the Durmstrang about hurting his friend, and James hardly wants to threaten the bloke single-handedly responsible for catching and keeping James up to date with his schoolwork. Blast it all.
“…imb that Durmstrang like a tree…” come blowing back to them on the icy autumn breeze.
James looks up to see Evan Rosier chatting with Pandora Lovegood, Barty Crouch, two Beaxbatons students and Regulus Black. Pandora catches sight of James and Sirius heading past them and elbows Regulus in the side, nodding to them. To build the relationship he’d promised Lupin he’d build, James opens his mouth to call a greeting. Before he has the chance, however, Regulus has rolled his eyes and turned to focus back on Evan.
James only nods to himself, reasoning it’s about time he sends the package he’s made up for the youngest Black.