Rule #13

There’s a fraction of Regulus’s conscience that feels something bad for Remus. That’s indisputable. It’s mostly pity, but like an unbound variable in a Lambda calculus, something with the guise of illimity perches on his head, the angel to his devil. 

That angel grows obnoxious as Regulus stands on the top of the slope to the dining area, watching Sirius serenade Remus outside the Nurse’s Cabin. They’re singing one of her many records inspired by Moony himself, as a part of the prize that Regulus’ cabin won in the Camp Game the night before. 

You were so hard on Remus last night, the angel scolds. 

Regulus ignores the voice—he did what he had to. Even if Remus is a decent coworker, perhaps a friend, Regulus is not going to stand by and let Sirius fall apart all over again. 

But you could have been nicer about it? 

Rolling his shoulders, Regulus shoves the angel away and turns to his campers. “Alright, show’s over, you five head to the dining area, Lily will be with you shortly.” 

As they shuffle to the tables, Regulus turns to Lily who stares at the Activity Board with a smiling Mary at her side. 

“I’m going to take off,” Regulus tells them. 

“Finally.” Mary scoffs. “Your break started twelve hours ago.”

Lily gives Regulus a secret smile. “He was waiting for someone else to start their break.”

“And I had to use the camp tech.”

“What, that ancient computer in Lily’s office?”

“I can work with any computer, even artifacts.” Regulus shrugs. 

Lily’s computer had been only half the reason Regulus stayed up, somewhat stoned, scouring another side of the web for information on Harry’s family and situation, as well as a dash of hacking for…other purposes. He also needed to call Narcissa and update her on Draco. 

It had gone something like this: 

“He knew? This whole time?”

“Yes, Narcissa.”

She had taken a beat, then laughed. “Perhaps I should have expected this. My son is observant.”

“I apologize if that is not what you had planned, Sirius and I were true to our word…Draco seems to have figured it out himself.”

“Yes. It’s no matter, I was going to inform him of our relations when he returned.”

“You were?”

“I had intended to invite you both to my new apartment before you leave for MIT, and Sirius to LA.”

Regulus had kept his voice even, despite his stomach lurching. “Does that offer still stand?”

“Yes.”

“We look forward to it.”

Then they had both hung up without a goodbye and certainly without any more pleasantries; that three-minute conversation had been pleasant enough. 

Regulus still can’t quite wrap his head around Narcissa being back in their lives. He had long since burned her off the tapestry in his mind that held all those he cared about. Now he’s stitching her back onto the wool, her portrait slowly taking root in the warp and weft, albeit with shaky hands. 

“I hope you have a nice day together,” Lily says to Regulus in a low voice. “I know James has been looking forward to spending some time with you outside of camp. This—uhm, this upcoming week is a hard one for us both.”

Not just because it’s the last week of camp, Regulus knows. The birthday of the child Lily and James gave up for adoption is a few days away. 

Mary’s hand presses into Lily’s shoulder, an innocent squeeze in appearance, but Regulus expects it to mean something more. Lily has neglected to give any more details besides, “we’re figuring things out”, but Regulus can tell something has settled between the two of them. Now, when Lily and Mary bicker, they’re smiling. 

“I’ll take care of James,” Regulus says. 

Mary winks. “I’m sure you will.”

“Mary.”

“What?” Mary scoffs at Lily’s tone. “I didn’t say anything incriminating.”

“Our campers are well aware of sexual innuendos.”

“You’re the one making it sexual, Red.”

“As if.” Lily’s facing Mary completely, their faces sloped towards each other in the usual fashion, much closer than professional. 

Regulus smirks. “Don’t forget you’re supposed to be watching my cabin, Lily,” he says in goodbye. 

He finds his way back to his cabin, tells them he’s leaving for his twenty-four hours, for real this time, and shares another perplexing glance with Draco. Now that he’s stopped pretending to like Regulus, Draco’s expressions are often a mix of distrust and dread. 

It’s not unlike the look Regulus wears when he’s calculating the time complexity of an algorithm—expecting the worst-case, and wary when it actually works out. Regulus isn’t sure Draco will ever truly trust him and Sirius; their family knows how to hold a grudge. 

But Regulus will try regardless. 

“I’ll see you soon, Draco.” 

Draco sniffs. “Whatever.”

The rest of the camp begins to file in for breakfast, and Regulus is halfway gone when Harry calls out for him. 

“Reggie?” 

Regulus stops. Harry’s adopted all the nicknames James uses, including “Reggie”, and Regulus can’t help but worry that someday soon he’ll pick up James’ othernames for him, of the more sentimental variety. 

“Hi, love,” James whispers into Regulus’ ear. 

Case in point. 

With admirable restraint, Regulus ignores James standing at his shoulder and turns to look at Harry, standing on his tip-toes, green eyes big and desperate. 

“Yes, Harry? Everything okay?”

“Do you think that Padfoot and Moony will…” Harry’s mouth twists as he looks back in the direction of the Nurse’s Cabin, where Remus and Sirius are probably still flirting. 

Remus better figure his shit out soon. 

“I just want them to be happy,” Harry finishes. 

Regulus steps forward, careful to keep his voice low so none of the other campers hear. “Harry, we talked about this. It’s nice of you to care so deeply about Sirius and Remus—”

“And you and Prongs,” Harry interrupts with a glance at James behind Regulus. 

“Right. But it’s also not appropriate for you to try and set any of us up, okay? We’re all good friends and no one is dating anyone.”

This time, Harry’s eyes dart to Draco, who’s talking with Hermione at their table, Theo and Pansy on the other end still laughing about Sirius’ dramatics. 

Harry whispers, “I know why you have to lie, Reggie. Sometimes I have to lie too.”

Regulus sees the opportunity and takes it: “What do you have to lie about, Harry?”

Harry blinks, sitting back on his heels, and with a glance at James, says, “You know, like how Ron’s feet don’t smell or that Draco’s hair looks good in the morning. Best not to tell Draco how really crazyyyy his bedhead is!”

There it is, another impressive evasion. If Regulus weren’t so worried about what exactly Harry is hiding, he’d be proud. 

“You know that you can trust me with anything,” Regulus says seriously. “It won’t change my opinion of you. We all have secrets.”

“My secret’s not very nice,” Harry mumbles. “But yours is. It’s really really really nice.”

He grins and Regulus wants to groan—they were so close to something, but of course, they’ve somehow managed to return to the topic of Jegulus, Harry’s ‘favorite ship’. 

Now it’s Regulus’ turn to evade: “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Harry, but I’ll see you when I get back, yeah? And maybe we can continue our conversation then?”

Only Harry’s not listening, he’s making faces at James and looking between the two of them like he knows what they’re about to do—which he definitely shouldn’t know. Regulus has been careful not to clue any of the campers in on his recent romantic developments. 

As for James? Well, subtlety has never been his strong suit. 

“I’ll see you soon, buddy.” James presses into Regulus' side, a firm line of warmth from his hip to this shoulder, their fingers knocking between them. 

Harry doesn’t miss the touch. “Yeah,” he giggles. “See you, Prongs!”

After Harry runs off to his cabin, after he sits next to Draco and whispers god knows what in his ear, after Regulus sighs, twice, and after Sirius walks into the dining area, starting another serenade, this time one of Alanis Morissette’s for Dorcas, Regulus finally turns to James. 

There’s a reason he waited to look. 

Despite an entire summer of looking, despite the fact that he gets to do much more than look now, Regulus can’t face James without relinquishing all civility, his capacity for decorum, language, and reason shriveling inside him, making room for a racing heart wanting only JamesJamesJames. 

It’s the epitome of chaos, the feeling not the theory, and Regulus would be embarrassed by it if he weren’t so obsessed with the high; no one else makes him feel so, fuck, delirious. 

Honestly, Regulus is sick of sanity. He wants to feel this unhinged forever. 

“You ready?” James says. His hair’s still a little wet from his morning shower, and Regulus doesn’t miss the green he’s wearing, on his Converse laces and shirt. 

Green reminds James of Regulus, apparently. 

God, this man. 

“Yes. I’m ready.”

They’re not touching anymore, but James’ expression, and surely, Regulus’ own lovesick smile, is much too obvious for such a crowded area. 

So with the round of applause at Sirius’ song, Regulus turns on his heel and walks to the parking lot, skin tingling with the feeling of James just a step behind, tracking his every movement with an attention that should be impossible for someone so easily distracted. 

The two of them walk to James’ car, a black pickup truck covered in mud, and file into the seats, James the driver. 

When the doors shut, they turn to each other at once. James gives Regulus a slow smile and he’s done for. 

There’s nothing now besides this, him, them. 

“Come here,” Regulus says, meeting James in the middle. 

They kiss, god, they kiss, the center console digging into their stomachs but Regulus only leans farther into the ache, lifting out of his seat and pressing closer until James’ head thuds on the car’s window and Regulus is practically straddling his lap. 

“We’re—still—at camp—” James pants when Regulus latches onto his neck. 

Regulus groans and pulls back, but only a little. “Why don’t you have tinted windows?”

“Didn’t have a need for it before.” 

James’ hair is a mess, his bottom lip a shade darker than the top thanks to Regulus’ teeth. 

“Well, now you do.” Regulus kisses him again, this time cradling his jaw between his hands, holding James’ head still as their tongues meet in a slow waltz, an echo of all those dances together. 

Regulus had wanted to kiss James so badly that day—it had been a cruel torture being held in James’ arms and gaze, just to hear him laugh at the thought of them dating. 

But James has since come to the impossible, improbable realization that he does love Regulus the way he loves James. 

The edges of that truth are blurred as if Regulus is caught in a dream—and maybe it is, in fact, the probabilities are high that this is all one long lucid dream because how the hell did Regulus work up the courage to stomp into James’ space and kiss him? Admit he loves him? And why on earth would James say he loves Regulus too?

“I didn’t know it could be like this,” James had said. “Peaceful.”

Regulus doesn’t believe any of it, really—he’s sure as fuck not a peaceful person—so he keeps kissing James, sure that each time will be the last. 

He’ll wake up soon.

Regulus’ hands find their way back to James’ hair, and James is moaning into Regulus’ mouth, their hips rocking in search of each other, greedy for more. 

“Not here,” James breathes. “We can do this on an actual bed, Reggie.”

Regulus keeps his lips on James’ jaw, and says, “What do you mean?”

“My hotel room for my twenty-four hours? I requested an early check-in.”

That grabs Regulus' attention, and he sits up, looking down at a disheveled, grinning James. 

“Sometimes you trade idiocy for ingenuity.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmmhm.” Regulus leans forward but James is adamant. 

“Regulus, I’m not going to fuck you on campgrounds. In my car.”

“Oh my god,” Regulus almost wheezes from the command in James’ voice. “Yes. Right. Fucking drive then.”

He clambers off of James and back into his seat, looking out the window to hide his flush. Even without looking, Regulus can feel James’ satisfied smile. 

The car engine starts, and James takes Regulus’ hand, lacing their fingers together. “But first lunch, baby.”

Regulus turns to look at James as he pulls them out of the parking lot, driving underneath the Hogwarts arch. “I don’t need food, James, I want to eat you.”

James’ hand squeezes the steering wheel, and he blows out a breath. “Fuck me.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do, yes. Though I think I’d prefer it the other way around.”

With a laugh, James pulls their interlocked hands to his mouth, kissing the back of Regulus’. “Obviously, I’m looking forward to that. Of course. But I have a day planned for us first.”

That stuns Regulus. 

“You do?”

“This is our first date.”

“It is?”

James glances at Regulus. “Yeah, love, ‘course it is.”

He seems to understand that Regulus needs some time to recover from that, so he plugs his phone into the aux and starts a playlist called “PADFOOT’S JAMZ”, a collection of all the records Sirius worked on. 

James and Regulus pass the drive talking about their favorites of Sirius’, James laughing about all the references to Remus while Regulus tries not to grimace. He’s not going to ruin their first date—-their first date!—by telling James about the ultimatum he gave to Remus the night before. 

Like his obnoxious angel, Regulus is sure James will pity Remus, say that Regulus should talk to him again, make him feel more seen and heard. Regulus can even imagine the earnest frown James would wear as he said it. 

Remus is grieving, he’s confused. He needs friends more than ever. 

Regulus turns up Phoebe Bridgers’ “Moon Song”, blocking out that angelic voice that’s starting to sound more and more like James. Instead, he kisses the real James on the cheek, teasing him for his teary eyes. 

“It’s sad!” James defends himself. 

Regulus hums. “Sad songs are always the best songs.”

When they turn off the freeway half an hour later, James says, much too casually, “Our lunch reservation is at the hotel restaurant.”

“But there isn’t a restaurant at the hotel…” Regulus trails off as they pull into a graveled parking lot, staff dressed in deep burgundy polos waving kindly at them. James, unsurprisingly, waves back. 

“This isn’t the hotel.” Regulus squints at the wooden lodge leaning over a cliffside, the long windows and dark brown wood screaming wealth and luxury. 

“Yep, this is ours!”

James turns off the engine and gets out of the car, running over to the other side to open the door for Regulus. 

The counselors are all given rooms at a rundown hotel in the closest town to Hogwarts for their twenty-four-hour breaks, a chance to breathe in precious solitude, though admittedly, not in the finest lodgings. Lily does her best with the budget she’s given, Regulus is well aware. 

“Why are we here?” Regulus gets out of the car and accepts James’ hand. 

“I booked it for us, of course.”

Of course. Of course. Of course. James keeps saying that as if any of this makes sense. Regulus tries to embrace the strange, however, accepts all his delusions while he can, and follows James up the shiny steps. 

They’re greeted by a beaming hostess, her hair slicked back in a perfect French twist, then a waiter who pulls out their chairs and lists off the specials with the hint of a French accent. 

Regulus looks at the spotless white tablecloth, at the three-figure prices on the menu, then the long windows with a view of a sprawling redwood forest, probably a sibling to the Wayward Woods. The other patrons sitting by soft candlelight are dressed in business casual, some not so casual, and Regulus’ head reels from another life, when these kinds of venues meant holiday meals, stiff and formal, the food extraordinarily expensive and strange. 

One of those outings was the last time Regulus and Sirius saw Narcissa, actually. 

“Is this all okay?” James says from across the table. 

Silently, Regulus picks up the napkin on the table and drops it on the ground. Five seconds—that’s how long it takes for a waiter to come rushing to them, a new napkin in hand. 

James smiles in confusion once the waiter leaves. 

“That’s one of the tests,” Regulus explains. “For the Michelin Star.”

It was Bellatrix who taught him that, ironically. She liked to test the waiting staff throughout the meal as some form of cruel amusement given the dry conversation of her parents, and Uncle Alphard’s brittle restraint. Only Regulus had ever noticed her little games, Sirius and Andromeda too caught up with whispering to each other, and Narcissa, well, Narcissa actually enjoyed talking to the adults. 

“Oh! Yeah, this place has some stars,” James informs Regulus with an easy smile. 

“James. You’re on a high school coach’s salary.”

“I have savings,” James says with a shrug. 

“That you should not be wasting on me.”

There’s a long silence, then James stands up and moves his chair to right beside Regulus so that their shoulders are touching. 

While it seems to relax James, it makes Regulus itch with want. He has to grip the sides of his chair so as not to lean over and restart what they barely began in the car. 

Part of the novelty of loving James, openly, are these innocent touches. Both because James didn’t use to touch Regulus without specific prompting, and because Regulus isn’t used to touching anyone at all. Only Sirius got to so much as sit near him, and now he has James pressed against his side, his spit likely still in Regulus’ mouth, fingerprints all over his face. 

It’s euphoric, being so thoroughly touched.

“I think you’re underestimating how much I adore you,” James enunciates every word. “None of this is a waste. I’d spend everything last dollar in my bank for you and it wouldn’t be enough.”

And that, well, that touches Regulus in an entirely different way. 

It should be cheesy and ridiculous, downright stupid, but the way James says it with total sincerity, looking at Regulus like nothing else matters…it’s convincing. Regulus can almost believe all of this to be reality. 

“If you want to go to a diner, and order a shake and a burger, I’m happy to do that too. I just want to spoil you.”

Regulus swallows. “We can stay if we split the check. Unlike you, I’m compensated fairly.”

“The advantage of higher-ed, huh?” James nudges Regulus. 

“And a generous dead uncle.”

They share a meal together, ordering the chef’s selection of French fusion, and Regulus tries and fails not to laugh at James’ adorable mispronunciations, tries and fails not to blush when James’ foot finds his under the table. 

The waiting staff are much too attentive at places like these not to notice, but Regulus doesn’t tell James to stop. No, why would he do that?

Nothing’s really different, their conversation is as aberrant and endearing as ever, jumping from Peter’s latest knitting hobby to James’ next plans to visit Pakistan to the worst dissertation Regulus ever read to a thrilling debate over the horror genre, both books and films, that makes James squirm. Eventually, Regulus’ hand in James on the table squeezes, and he asks: 

“How can I help you get through this week?”

James tilts his head. “Well, it’ll be hard for you too, of course, all of us will be upset to see the campers go.”

“Jamie. I mean the anniversary.” The birthday, really, but Regulus doesn’t think calling it that is appropriate. It’s not celebratory, not for James and Lily. 

Or perhaps it is in some small way; Regulus has seen the two of them grieve over the years, but he’s never known them to regret giving the baby up. 

James looks at their clasped hands and nods. “If I’m being honest, all of this mess with Harry helps. I know that’s sort of cruel to say—”

“You don’t have to worry about that with me.”

“Right.” James smiles sadly. “I guess I’m just glad Lils and I have a kid to worry and care about, and even if Harry doesn’t end up in her care, he’ll be a part of our lives now, beyond camp. He’s Firefly’s nephew so that means he’s all of ours.”

“Draco too,” Regulus says. “I think both of those boys will be staying in our lives.”

James throws his head back and laughs. “He reminds me so much of you, I know I keep saying that but, god, just so clever and vicious, but in a cute way.”

Regulus gives him a flat look, which he fears is a lot like the expression Draco often gives him and Sirius. 

James just sips his water with a secret smile. 

When they finish, James pulls Regulus’ chair out and takes his hand, the feeling of their fingers sliding together second nature. 

“We have to pay.”

James smiles sheepishly. “My uhm, my card might already be on file?”

Regulus lifts his chin and lets out a small sigh. “Then I’m planning the next date. And I’m topping all this exorbitance.”

The promise is a nod to the nebulous future that neither of them has discussed, not explicitly. In two weeks, James and Regulus will take off for other sides of the country, both chained by academic calendars and needy students. 

Perhaps James is thinking about that too because his face falls slightly and he kisses the top of Regulus’ head. “Let’s go somewhere private, yeah?”

After this summer, Regulus has never wanted privacy more. 

The room is nice, the warm-brown wood of the walls cozy, and there’s another stunning view of the forest on the balcony, plus a private hot tub. Regulus stands by the bed, admiring the hospital corners, making a mental note to leave a generous tip for the housekeeping staff. 

One of his friends from the Whitemore group home works as a room attendant in a hotel in the south, and every time Regulus calls she complains about the shit pay. 

Jessie’s one of the few he’s kept in touch with from the system. 

“Reg?”

Regulus blinks and finds James standing on the balcony, hand stretched out to him. 

“Sorry.” Regulus rushes over, slotting into James' arms with perhaps too much alacrity. 

James presses Regulus to his chest, his russet-brown arms wrapping around his stomach, thumbs fiddling with the hem of his shirt. They soak up the tall, thick canopies, the redwoods more pointed than full, creating an army of sharp crowns reaching up to the heavens. 

It’s safe, here in James’ arms. Serene too. 

Maybe James’ ‘peaceful’ description was right then, Regulus thinks with a smile. 

“Thank you for this,” Regulus breathes in the crisp air, tinged with something earthy and sweet. 

“I’ve got a reputation for trying to impress my dates.”

Regulus shifts so he can look up at James, still tucked in his arms. “You don’t have to impress me. I’m absolutely besotted with who you are, unfortunately.”

James laughs. “It’s nice, that.”

“What is?”

“You already know me so well. I take you on an extravagant date not so I appear a certain way to you, but so I can spoil you. I can make you happy and be myself at the same time.”

Regulus turns back to the forest, and whispers, “You make me happy, James. I don’t need anything else.”

James tucks his face in the side of Regulus' head, his laughter tickling Regulus’ neck. “You make me happy too, always have. Since the first letter.”

“I lied, you know,” Regulus finds the valor to say. “When you asked if I have all your letters? Of course, I do, James, I’ve saved every single one. They’re in my locksafe.”

“That seems unnecessary.” James smiles on Regulus’ cheek. 

“Locksafes are for valuables, and those letters are the most precious thing I own.”

That locksafe doesn’t have much in it besides those letters, actually—some of Alphard’s earrings, a one-of-a-kind polaroid of Sirius and Regulus as toddlers, and a scrap of paper with Walburga’s writing. It’s a piece of her Regulus can’t bear to either look at or throw away. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you kept the letters?” James asks, voice fond.  

“I was trying not to overwhelm you. I wanted to woo you, not scare you off.”

James pauses, then presses a hand to Regulus’ shoulder and turns him around. “What do you mean you wanted to woo me?”

Regulus realizes with a start then that James doesn’t know. He doesn’t know the extent to which Regulus planned and connived this hopeless dream, a futile endeavor full of thirteen steps, that from the get-go, Regulus knew would end in only one way. 

Maybe that’s why standing next to James on this balcony is so fuzzy and dreamlike. 

Regulus is still waiting for the real ending, the one he planned for. All of this was an experiment with a grand hypothesis that was more than just an educated guess, but a calculated outcome: James would return to romance, flattered by Regulus’ pursuit and nothing more. 

And James did return to romance, that part Regulus got right—but with him? It has to be a false positive, a temporary lapse in judgment, an error in the code, that with a few keystrokes, will be fixed. 

Regulus is good at correcting algorithms. It’s what he does best. 

So he lays all of his cards down, all thirteen of them, a last minute addendum to his master plan. 

“I overheard you talking to Peter at New Year's,” Regulus begins to state the facts. “You expressed your dismay at persistent heartbreak, and generally giving more in relationships, which, in your perception, seemed to push your partners away.”

James doesn’t so much as breathe, his expression completely still. 

“You were worried that you were too much, that—that the way you loved was supererogatory and ultimately, undesirable, and that was a complete misperception, one that I took upon myself to rectify.” Regulus lifts his chin. “So I crafted a plan with thirteen steps that would show you how a romantic partner should treat you, should adore you, to inspire you to continue dating—to—to not give up just because your exes were inferior and unsagacious.”

Something delicate rips in Regulus’ chest when James steps back. 

“This was just a scheme for you?”

“I do everything with strategy, James, you should know that.”

Regulus’ honesty seems only to make things worse, but that’s good, James is starting to understand now how all of this is meant to go. He’s coming to the conclusion that he should have. 

“Were you pretending to love me?”

It’s not what Regulus expected, and the tremor in James’ voice rips another truth out of Regulus’ throat: “Absolutely not. I’m in love with you. This plan had nothing to do with that.”

“What do you mean—” James throws his hands up, creating more distance between them. The floorboards of the balcony squeak with his weight. “What was the plan for then?!”

“For you, obviously.”

“And what about you?”

“That’s not relevant.”

James scowls. “Yes, Regulus. It fucking is. You don’t get to put my needs and wants over yours.”

“I—” Regulus blows out a breath. He’s not sure how to handle an angry James, and his racing heart isn’t helping his coherency. “I’ve not struggled with the same things you have, James. Where you’re selfless, I’m selfish. Where you care about everyone and everything, I don’t.”

“That’s not true—-”

“Please,” Regulus says. “Let me finish this.”

James nods, chewing on the inside of his cheek. 

“There are many reasons I’ve never dated. 1) There is a limited amount of people, including you, Lily, and Sirius, that I will do anything and everything for; I don’t need to care for or be cared for by anyone else. 2) I generally hate socializing with strangers, and dating requires just that. 3) I’ve only ever been attracted, in all senses of that word, to one person.”

James gives it a few moments as if making sure Regulus doesn’t have anything more to say. “So when you said you wanted to date, you meant…”

“You. I’ve only ever wanted to date you.”

“How long?”

“From the first letter, though seeing you in person all those years ago really did me in too.”

James staggers back, turning to the woods, his eyes skipping over the trees like he’s searching for something specific. An answer, maybe. 

Regulus can give him that at least. 

“I came into this with one goal, James. Perhaps the journey there was self-serving, I certainly enjoyed parts of the seduction, but I didn’t expect you to choose me. I still don’t.”

“So if I didn’t give up on dating, you never would have tried to date me?”

“That’s correct.”

“And I was too thick to realize that I loved you, so we never would have figured it out.”

“Given the odds, I’d say so.”

James turns back to Regulus, stepping back into his space with urgency. “But we did figure it out.”

Regulus stays frozen as James’s hand brushes his cheek, the touch feather-light and reverent, like a curator would a Monet. 

“I don’t want anyone else, Reggie.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did. That was my design.”

“Well, consider me thwarting your plans.” James’ other hand joins the other, cupping Regulus' cheeks. 

“I love you—I’m in love with you. Please, let me love you.”

It’s not what Regulus pictured, no, it’s a daydream come to life, the inversion of the facts of existence. He depends on order and strategy, he loathes anything unexpected, but this can be his exception. 

This is his exception.

James is, after all, the only one. 

“Fine.” Regulus means to sound disappointed, but his smile betrays him.

This time, the edges of Regulus do not blur—nothing about this kiss is fuzzy, it’s sharp and heavy, loaded with years of wanting and James’ candor. What was impossible turns tangible underneath Regulus’s fingers and lips, and he can feel the dream dispel with every second longer they kiss, with every gasp, every moan. 

“Bed,” Regulus demands. 

James picks Regulus up with ease, and he instinctively wraps his legs around James’s torso, their mouths unwilling to part as they fumble back inside. 

Regulus grins when James drops him to the mattress, trapping him to the sheets with arms covered in veins and a light scattering of hair, with just the right amount of muscle for Regulus to grip, and more importantly, to squirm beneath James’ grip. 

Despite his inexperience, Regulus finds it all simple, moving with and against James, a game of domination that neither particularly cares to win. They’re halfway to where Regulus wants to be when James stops, fingers brushing Regulus’ chest scars gently. 

“How do you like it, love?” 

Luckily, Regulus doesn’t have to walk James through what he has and doesn’t have, since James helped Regulus through his transition; James’ letters had been the reassuring voice Regulus needed, especially since Sirius wasn’t able to be there for him. In the end, top surgery and hormone therapy, Regulus decided, was what he wanted. 

“I don’t know what exactly I like yet but I intend to figure it out soon.” Regulus arches up to kiss James, but his furrowed brow gets in the way. 

“I didn’t put that together,” he says sheepishly. “I’ll be your first?”

“Do not give me any shit about virginity, James—”

“That’s not what I mean!” James laughs. He fiddles with a piece of Regulus’ hair, his own messy curls flopping down with gravity. “I just want this to be good for you, and it might hurt, so you have to talk to me, yeah?”

“Yes, yes, now fuck me.”

“Well you have a track record of putting me before yourself so—”

“Shut up.”

With James hanging over Regulus’ head, eyes fond and lips swollen, Regulus doesn’t have room to feel anything apart from desire. He never wanted this with anyone else, didn’t bother imagining it with anyone else, so the two of them naked, James mumbling sweet praise as he takes apart Regulus gently, slowly, is everything.

It’s absolutely, undoubtedly real. 

******

When the traitorous clock screws them over, and Regulus pulls himself out of bed, away from a very naked, and even more enthusiastic James, he tries with all his might not to be a cliche. 

He tries not to smile and giggle. He tries not to glow, goddamn it. 

But James is a walking cliche—he really brings out the worst in Regulus. 

“Wow,” Barty says with a slow clap when he walks into the kitchens. “Wow wow wow.”

Regulus had hoped that by the time James dropped him off and he tucked in his cabin for the night, his expression wouldn’t look so obviously, well, pleased. Evidently not. 

Barty swings an arm across Evan’s shoulders, who promptly shrugs him off, too focused on measuring something into teaspoons. 

“Hey!” Barty tsks. “Look at our Reggie. He’s positively glowing!”

“I’m not.” Regulus crosses his arms and leans against the counter, his focus on the twist of Evan’s wrist as he stirs a bowl of dough. 

“You look thoroughly fucked, and it’s only right that you shared the details since we’re so generous with the specifics of our sex lives—”

“I never asked for that,” Regulus interrupts. 

Barty turns to Evan, hands raised in offense, but his fiancee’s still preoccupied with baking. 

“Come on, Reg, give us something.” 

Regulus looks at his shoes, which he recently scrubbed free of mud. He expects by tomorrow’s lunch they’ll be coated again. 

“James has a tattoo.”

“Oh?”

Regulus continues, “It’s on his upper thigh. I’ve been dying to know what it is for an eternity.”

“An eternity, huh? Well, what is it?!” 

Barty’s much too close to Regulus and after a firm look, he steps back. 

“It’s stag antlers,” Regulus admits. 

Evan finally looks away from his dough. “Oh wow, Reg is glowing.”

“See!” Barty grins. 

Regulus doesn’t bother correcting them this time, what with it two against one. And, in truth, he knows that they’re right. 

He gets why all the literature compares dying to sex, why the French call it a little death—after fucking Jamie, Regulus feels like he’s died. In fact, by the third orgasm, he was certain he found religion in the heavens or the hells, floating out of his body in a way that rivals divinity. 

Regulus feels his cheeks flame from the sheer melodrama of his thoughts. 

“Alright, where’s the cookies?” Dorcas stops in the kitchen entryway, glancing over Regulus with a knowing eye. “You enjoy your twenty-four hours off?”

Regulus smirks in response. 

“I haven’t put them in the oven yet, Dork,” Evan says, back to his mixing. 

“It’s fine, I’ll wait,” Dorcas says with a dramatic groan. They hop on the counter Regulus is leaning against and nudge him. 

In an unfortunate turn of events, Dorcas had become another addition to the ever-growing list of coworkers turned friends. Regulus is exhausted by so much amity, but he persists given how strangely akin he and Dorcas are, both perfectionists with a skill for shutting down. 

They complement each other well.

And so, Regulus runs Dorcas through all that happened, offering them a few more dirty details, much to Barty’s offense. Though Drocas’ relationship with Marlene has somewhat fallen apart, she manages to look happy for Regulus. Perhaps it’s even genuine. 

“Is it intimidating?” they ask. “I mean, all of these are firsts for you, but not for James.”

Regulus smiles, trying to tamper it into something small. When James dropped him off, he said that it all felt like a first for him too. Regulus had retorted with a detailed list of the names of every person James had dated as evidence that was not, in fact, the case, which luckily, only seemed to amuse James. 

Then he kissed Regulus on the cheek and said, “You’re the only person I’ve dated that makes me feel like me. I would say that’s a big first no?”

“I’m the only thing that intimidating in our relationship,” Regulus offers Dorcas a vague answer, unwilling to concede anything more. 

Those details are meant for him and James only. 

“And what about after camp? Will you two do long distance?” Dorcas asks. 

Regulus treads carefully here, he knows that distance is largely what’s keeping Marlene and Dorcas apart. But he doesn’t need to be next to James to love him—he loved him in letters for years. “We’re going to start with long distance, yes.”

“But one of you will end up moving for the other.”

As if only just realizing their sharp tone, Dorcas winces. “Sorry, I’m being a bitch.”

“If you are, I don’t care,” Regulus says honestly. “And yes, I’m planning to move to LA. I’ve been thinking about that for a while because of Sirius only I’ve yet to get a job offer that’s compelling.”

“Nothing’s going to beat MIT, so maybe lower your expectations?”

Regulus levels Evan with a look. “No.”

“I’m just glad James fucking finally saw the light.” Barty stretches his arms, popping his back and neck. 

“God, yes,” Dorcas agrees. “You know, sometimes James would watch you on the silks and I felt like I had to cover the campers’ eyes because his expression was so…”

“Indecent?” Barty offers and Dorcas laughs. 

Evan giggles too. “I’m sure it didn’t help that Regulus had his legs open in a split up there.”

“Yeah, how did you learn aerial silks?” Dorcas asks. “Your thing is computer science, no?”

“After Sirius’ first summer at Hogwarts, she demanded that Alphard set up aerial silks in the backyard, and that was just crazy enough for our uncle to agree. Sirius gave up a couple of weeks in, but I kept at it, wanted to outdo my sibling and all that.”

“Mission accomplished,” Barty quips. 

“Careful,” a voice says from the other side of the swinging door. “If Sirius hears you you’re done for.”

Regulus tenses when Remus walks into the kitchen, that ridiculous angel popping up on his shoulder. 

“Who else did you invite, Evan?” Dorcas laughs. 

“Only my favorites.” He rolls the last ball of dough between his palms and places it on the baking tray. 

“Hey,” Remus greets them all but his gaze lingers on Regulus, wary and tired. 

It feels like a betrayal of his duties as a brother to smile, but Regulus gives Remus a firm nod. An acknowledgment of existence. 

That’s it, really? The angel sighs.

When Regulus set out to fix things between Remus and Sirius, he certainly didn’t imagine threatening Remus on a canoe to figure out his feelings. But what was the alternative? They have less than a week together, and if they don’t actually talk, if they leave each other with questions unanswered, they’re both going to suffer. 

Ignorance is not bliss—-knowledge is power—whatever the aphorism, the point is that certainty is better than guesswork. 

That perspective got Regulus through Alphard’s death and the foster system, it got him to this exclusive career, it got him James. 

So all of this would be worth it, Regulus told himself as well as the angel. 

But he felt guilt stretch over his bones as they all talked in the kitchen, the smells of chocolate chip cookies wafting from the ovens. Remus has become a critical part of Regulus’ routine; a person he looks forward to being next to, even, especially in silence. A friend.

Did Regulus throw that all away last night?

It’s that fear that convinces Regulus to say something when Evan and Barty shuffle off to bed, Dorcas not far behind. 

“Remus?” 

He stops by the wide sink, turning back to look at Regulus with a tight expression. 

“I meant what I said.”

Remus’ head dips. “Yeah.”

“But I also—” Regulus pauses. “I realize that I phrased it in a way that, perhaps, gave the impression that I don’t care about you and what you’re going through.”

Regulus waits for something, anything from Remus, but he stands there looking lost. 

“I do care about you,” Regulus presses. “I want this to work out not just for Sirius, but because I think you’re lonely, you’ve been lonely ever since Ty died, and you’re getting in your own way of being happy.”

“You can’t tell me how to grieve, Regulus.”

“I’m not. But I’ve grieved quite a bit myself, and I have to say, doing it alone never fucking works.”

Try again? the angel whispers. 

“You don’t have to do this alone, Remus,” Regulus amends. “You have those five and me. You have me, yeah?”

Remus’ shoulders slump. “Until we all leave for separate places.”

“If you think distance is going to stop Sirus and James, you don’t them at all.” 

“I don’t really know them, do I? I don’t know any of you, so I can’t let myself—” Remus pauses, breathes, and looks away.

Regulus summons the words that James would say, summons the comforting presence of someone like Sirius or Lily. “You do know us, Remus, but I understand what you’re trying to say. They have the time and the memories that you don’t. But take it from someone you’ve only met this summer the first time?”

Remus sighs and turns back to face him. “What?”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“And what if Sirius and I don’t work out?” 

“Even then.”

“Sure.”

Regulus opens his mouth to say more, but Remus is already walking away. 

******

Lily’s office is somehow stuffy and freezing, a purgatory of senses that Regulus avidly ignores as he checks on his project. It’s not the only thing he ignores, he’s also avoiding the anxiety gnawing on his chest, Remus’ tight expression burned into his mind. 

He will force himself to bed soon, but this is too time-sensitive to wait. 

The computer, which is, indeed, ancient, took all day to finish setting up the program, but Regulus knew his patience would be worth it.

He settles himself in the chair as the files pop open, each taking at least a minute to appear, and begins to skim the contents one by one. It’s not until the sun slips through the blinds that he finishes. “So much for sleeping,” he mutters as he clicks print. 

Armed with his evidence, he flings Lily’s office door open and sets off for Dumbledore. 

“Reggie!” James greets him on the woodchips, back from his twenty-four hours.

Partially because the campers are still asleep, and partially because Regulus got no sleep himself, he runs up to James and kisses him soundly. “I’ve got to go blackmail Dumbledore, but I’ll see you soon.”

Then he’s off, leaving a sputtering James behind him. 

Since it’s a Sunday, Regulus knows that Dumbledore will be taking a stroll with Zemlya, his favorite of Peter’s pit bulls, so he walks briskly through the trails that run past ancient weaponry and archery, curving around to the stables. 

Dumbledore’s there, petting a brown mare, Zemlya sitting at his heels. 

Generally, Regulus doesn’t trust horses, but a few weeks ago Lily led a Cabin Adventure and forced him onto a saddle, which, with the help of Pansy and Hermione’s instructions, he found surprisingly decent, though unnecessarily uncomfortable in the crotch. 

He walks up to Betty White, as the campers call the horse, and greets her with a nod. 

Dumbledore looks over his shoulder, hand pausing on Betty’s snout. “Good morning, Regulus.” 

“You’re planning to sell the camp,” he says by way of greeting. 

Dumbledore’s smile promptly falls. “How—”

“I won’t get into the logistics, just know that I’ve got all the facts in my hand.” Regulus raises the papers. “I’m here to see if you might reconsider.”

Dumbledore looks back at Betty, pats her fur, and turns to face Regulus. “I’ve considered all the options carefully, Regulus. It was never my desire to sell Hogwarts, but given our financial circumstances, I have no other option.”

“Given your financial irresponsibility, you mean.” Regulus flips through the printed pages. 

“We can debate how Hogwarts got into this position, but the point still stands. There is no viable way to keep the camp running.” Dumbledore shakes his head. “I truly am sorry, Regulus. I plan to inform the staff once the campers depart so I don’t spoil our final days together.”

“They’re going to knock all of this down, you realize. None of your buyers are interested in preserving the decades of history here.” 

“I have no other option.”

“You do,” Regulus retorts. “Of course you do.”

Dumbledore pauses, his hand gesturing forward in invitation. “I’m all ears.”

“Sell it to me.”

“That’s—” Dumbledore's lips twitch into a smile, a real one. “Even if the sale wasn’t already finalized, I’m certain you can’t match the price.”

“No, I can only match half,” Regulus concedes. “Thanks to a very generous and a very dead uncle of mine, I invested a part of my inheritance many years ago, and it seems, unlike you, the market treats me right.”

It’s a misrepresentation, of course, because as with everything he does, Regulus has been meticulous and strict with all of his investments. Luck has nothing to do with it. 

“Well, unfortunately, I’m not able to lower the price, Regulus.”

“Yes, you are. To pay off the camp debts, that number would be more than satisfactory. Your cut would have to change, but we all have to make sacrifices for the good of the camp, didn’t you tell us that during training?”

Something flickers in Dumbledore’s eyes. “The answer’s no.”

Regulus smirks slowly. “Oh, but I wasn’t asking, Albus.”

As if sensing Dumbledore’s unease, Zemlya stands up, pushing her nose against Regulus’ leg like she’s rooting for him, for all of the people he’s doing this for—the hundreds of campers and counselors that have come and gone, that cherish these campgrounds and the summer sanctuary of Hogwarts. 

Even Regulus—skeptical, sardonic Regulus, understands. There is something magical about this camp. 

But it has nothing to do with Albus Dumbledore. 

Regulus reaches down to stroke Zemlya’s head as he explains, “The email you received yesterday from an interested donor, you know, the one with the attachment?” Regulus tsks. “You should know better than to click on those links.”

“What did you—”

“It took a while, I must say, our technology is one of the first things I’ll recommend to Lily that we update, but eventually, I successfully installed malware on your personal computer. It’s a daemon, of course, so unless you were tracking your CPU, you would have been entirely unaware that I’d hacked into your system.” Regulus pauses. “I’m guessing you didn’t know?”

Dumbledore doesn’t answer. 

“Right. In short, I discovered more than just the camp’s financial records. You’ve got quite a fascinating history, Albus.”

Still, Dumbledore stays silent, his face stripped clean of every artifice, exposing the shame and regret that’s always been just beneath. 

“While I’m not interested in disappointing our campers, I will bring to light everything I found if you don’t comply with my reasonable demand.”

“What exactly did you find, Regulus?”

“Everyone makes mistakes when they’re young,” Regulus answers, voice low and accusing. “From the looks of it, you still feel horrible about yours. Is that why you set up this camp all those years ago? Repentance?”

“How did you—”

“This isn’t my first time hacking someone. Might I ask you to stop underestimating me?” Regulus isn’t sure what’s more satisfying: interrupting the duplicitous man, or inciting his terror. 

“What do you want?” Dumbledore’s words are clipped.

“I’ve already told you, sell the camp to me at half the price. If you do that, I will keep your secrets.” Regulus means it—for the sake of his friends, he has no interest in ruining Dumbledore’s legacy. The man might annoy them, but he’s also their childhood hero. 

Regulus is under no such illusions. 

Dumbledore’s gaze falls to the ground, and Regulus is sure he has him, sure that he’s prevented the grand finale of Dumbledore’s mistakes, when he says: 

“I’m not the only one with things in their past they wish to hide.”

Regulus’ stomach drops.

Dumbledore continues, “Sirius, for example, has a troubled history, one that the parents would not be pleased to hear about.”

Regulus had imagined Dumbledore capable of playing dirty, but roping Sirius into this? One of his favorite former campers and staff? 

Perhaps he’s bluffing, Regulus can’t help but hope for Sirius’ sake. 

Regardless, Dumbledore has to be checked. 

“Do not play this game with me, Albus,” Regulus speaks through gritted teeth. “Because you will fucking lose.”

He holds up the papers like a trophy. “You have twenty-four hours to make your decision.”

Another ultimatum, only this one, Regulus has no regrets about. Indeed, there’s not a peep from the angel on his shoulder when he says, “For the sake of your reputation, I hope you choose wisely.”

Regulus walks away, Zemlya at his heels. Just when he turns onto the trail through the forest, Dumbledore calls out: 

“What will you do with Hogwarts?”

Regulus stops to look back. “Give it to Lily, of course.”