Speak Now

“REGULUS ARCTURUS BLACK, FUCK YOU!!”

Regulus ducks, covering his head with hands and diving under the nearest desk, which happens to belong to Barty and Pandora, as a candelabra shoots across the Charms classroom aimed at his face.  On the other end of the flying object is none other than James Fleamont Potter, who is red-faced and heaving on the opposite side of the room.

Regulus dares a peak up at the mayhem above his head and instantly regrets it.  The room is silent, eyes flying between the Gryffindor and the Slytherin.

It’s his turn, and Regulus knows it.  He grabs his wand and mutters, “Accio inkwell!”  The small object flies into his hand, which he promptly chucks across the room at the older boy.

It hits Potter squarely in the chest and bursts open, flinging black ink all over the room—any students within ten feet of Potter are drenched, and only those cowering under desks like himself at the outburst are spared.

A high-pitched scream consisting of every female student in the room tramps out the sound of their tiny professor Flitwick shouting, “THAT IS ENOUGH—”

Regulus realizes his mistake immediately when Remus Lupin jumps up onto his desk, face covered in tiny ink spots and clothes irreparably stained black.  Covered in scars and 6.2, Lupin, draws his wand and yanks Potter’s away from him, aiming a wand at each James and Regulus, who has stood up, without a trace of ink on him.

“Back. Off. James,” Lupin says testily.

Potter looks like he’s about to leap across the room and throttle Regulus, wand or none, but Regulus doesn’t flinch, smirking.  “He fucking—”

“Let it go,” Lupin mutters, glancing at Lily Evans, who happens to be the object of Potter’s righteous wrath.

“James,” Lily shouts, stepping up behind him and placing an ivory hand on his shoulder, “it’s okay.”

Potter gestures helplessly to the Slytherin, who is now being flanked by Barty Crouch Jr. and Dorcas Meadows, both looking torn between being irritated with Potter for provoking their friend and angry with Regulus for spraying them in ink.  It looks like the first is slowly winning.

Dorcas whips out their wand, training it on Lupin’s head.

A collective gasp draws from the crowd of students around the offending parties as they all attempt to meld with the walls.  Professor Flitwick is standing between them, hands outstretched to the two boys, but his head barely meets either boy’s waist, so this does practically nothing.

James gives one more helpless glance at Lily and then Lupin, then pins Regulus with his deadliest stare.  His eyes are a beautiful green—not beautiful—and his jaw flexes angrily.  Then his body physically relaxes as he backs down.  Lupin jumps off the desk, and Sirius is instantly at his side.

Regulus sends a disdainful glance at his brother, who’s eyes are too busy undressing Lupin to notice.

Regulus’s eyes travel back to James, whom he discovers is, horrifically, already staring at him.  He looks away instantaneously, staring at the floor a little too hard.

All their fellow students are filing out of the room, but without even being told, Potter, Lupin, and Sirius linger behind, alongside Regulus and Dorcas.  Regulus strongly suspects that Evan and Barty are waiting outside for them.

“—most absurd behavior I’ve ever—” Professor Flitwick is saying, but Regulus tunes him out, staring outside.  Cloudy gray weather and icy rain awaits outside, November’s dreary season fully upon them.  All-in-all, the weather makes it most unpleasant to show face outside the warm confines of the castle, but that’s exactly how Regulus likes it.  He knows no one will be in the courtyard at this hour, and he longs to slip outside with nothing but a book and tuck himself away in some hidden alcove to read until Barty or Dora comes to find him.

“REGULUS!” someone all but shouts, snapping their fingers in front of his face.  It’s Dorcas, and they look annoyed.  He must have spaced out again, and he’s not sure for how long he was gone.  Sirius rolls his eyes, and when Regulus chances a look at James, he’s staring at him with an odd expression on his soft features.  Not soft, just features, Regulus reminds himself, tearing his eyes away and focusing on a very annoyed Professor Flitwick.

The tiny man is scowling unpleasantly.  “Mr. Black, repeat back to me what I just said,” he demands in a voice equally small.

Regulus works his jaw, heat rushing into his ears, suddenly very conscious of his surroundings.  Every noise feels like a gong.  But he plays it off by retorting, rather foolishly considering that the professor is already so riled up, “’What I just said.’”

This draws a chortle out of James, who promptly schools his face when he earns a glare from each of his friends and Professor Flitwick.  He tries to play it off with a cough, but Flitwick already heard.  Something awful is brewing behind his tiny, dwarfish eyes, and Dorcas is playing with their tie.

“Absolutely unacceptable behavior from BOTH of you!” he exclaims, drawing up to his full height, which puts him at almost three feet.  The only ones who appear calm are Regulus and Lupin.  “Mr. Lupin, five points to Gryffindor for meritorious behavior.  Mr. Black—Sirius that is—if you would both go.”

Lupin raises his eyebrows at James—a silent, we’ll be just outside—and retreats, the door thumping gently behind them.

Flitwick turns to Dorcas, who squares their shoulders, always ready for a fight.  “Two points from Slytherin, Mrs. Meadows,” he says.  Dorcas instantly shrinks in on themself, and Regulus sends them what he hopes is a sympathetic smile.

Dorcas hates the gender they were assigned at birth but has uncharacteristically not quite had the nerve to come out to the school yet, unlike Regulus, who was outed by his parents after they found out as a punishment for what he was.  Only Barty, Dora, Evan, and their girlfriend, Marlene McKinnon, know the truth.  They’ve all tried to reason with Dorcas, but they’re adamant.  Regulus suspects it has something to do with the way their family responded to the news, and he can’t say he blames them for being timid after that reaction.

It was bad enough that Dorcas hadn’t left their dorm, which they shared with Dora, for a week.  Barty had brough them all their homework, but Regulus had done it all for them.  Marlene had visited every day, skipping classes and sleeping over to keep her partner company, and that helped some.  Eventually, Dorcas emerged, eyes rimmed red for the next few days.  During those tense hours, they and Marlene were attached at the hip, eating together, studying, sleeping.

Slowly, Dorcas had come back to themself.  Slowly, things had begun to heal.  None of Slytherins pushed Dorcas to tell them what their parents had said and done, but they caught on pretty quick when they remained at Hogwarts over last Christmas break.  Dorcas had spent the summer with the McKinnons after that, feeling properly bad about themself no matter how many kisses Marlene dished out and how many times she cooed, “You are not a burden, Love,” into her lover’s ear.

But now that Dorcas is back for a new year, things are getting better.

Regulus caught Dorcas by their wrist, murmuring, “Find Marls?” before they pulled away, looking as dangerously close to tears as Dorcas ever did.

Unwillingly, Regulus turned back to the minute professor, only he and James left standing before the verdict of the flustered man.

“Never have I seen such illicit and unacceptable behaviors in the classroom setting!” he squeals.  James and Regulus glance at one another, a smirk tugging up on the corner of James’ soft looking—no, god, what the actual fuck is he thinking—lips.

The incident had begun quite innocently, if Regulus said so.  Flitwick had paired students together to practice their delusionment charms, and he’d paired them by opposite house, which, Regulus thinks he should have seen was asking for trouble off the bat.  Therefore, he’d been unfortunately buddied with none other than Lily Evans.

Regulus and Lily were equally matched for skill, and soon, the assignment became more absurd.  Lily made an offhand comment about the irony that a, quote, “mudblood is just as talented as a pureblood snob,” and of course, Regulus took it on himself to vindicate the statement before anyone got off thinking the Blacks were anything but the best.

Somewhere in the scuffle, the word “mublood,” escaped Regulus’s mouth without meaning too, and apparently too loudly, as the almighty and heroic James Potter heard it and elected to avenge his heroine, who is impressionably capable on her own, Regulus thinks.  But he’d never say that out loud.  He even tried not to think it too loudly, for fear someone might think him anything but a cold-hearted monster.

“You’re both to go straight to Dumbledore.  Potter, you’ll take this,” Flitwick said, scrawling something down on a piece of paper he pulled off his knee-high desk.  “Dismissed.  And walk together!” he adds as the boys step out the door.  They both sigh.

Sure enough, Bary and Evan are outside, having an intense staring competition with Lupin and Sirius, evidently trying to set one another on fire with only their eyes.

“So?” Sirius prompts, and Regulus stares ahead as James mutters something like, “Headmaster.”  Sirius and Lupin nod solemnly, and the latter says something about finding Peter.  Barty raises an eyebrow at Regulus, who shakes his head.

“Maybe go find Cassie?  They’re—”

“Yep,” Barty agrees, darting in the opposite direction to check up on Dorcas and Marls.  James and Regulus start down the hallway, Evan trailing behind them.  Sometimes, Regulus thinks the Slytherin’s are a little more loyal than even the Hufflepuffs.

James shoves his hands in his pockets, and Regulus glances over at his face, which is still blackened with ink.

In moments, they’re standing before the stone gargoyle protecting the staircase to the headmaster’s office.  James murmurs, “Cockroach Cluster,” and the statue leaps aside.  Evan makes himself comfortable against the wall, and it’s clear he’s intending to wait for his friend.

The gentleman he is, Regulus waves James up the stairs in front of him, climbing in silence.  Meekly, James knocks a knuckle against the wooden door at the top of the steps.

“Come in,” comes Dumbledore’s calm voice from within.

The boys step inside.

Regulus has only been in this office a handful of times, but each time has been accompanied by a tightening in his stomach, the familiar feeling of claustrophobia.  He has to physically concentrate on breathing, in and out, in and out, and work not to turn and dart out the door, gasping for the fresh relief of free, crisp outdoor air.

James looks completely at ease, having no such trauma response.  Typical of him, Regulus thinks.

“Good evening,” Dumbledore slurs, blue eyes twinkling and sending a nasty feeling down Regulus’ spine.  Get away, get away, get away from me—

“What do you have there, Mr. Potter?” the headmaster asks, and James promptly hands over the slip.  Regulus has no idea what it says.  When Dumbledore looks up, he’s smiling.  “I see.  Another incident?”

Another is accurate.  Spats between James and Regulus are a common occurrence, though they don’t usually result in an entire classroom of students covered in ink.

Dumbledore is staring, blinking placidly at them.  “This must cease,” he mumbles after a beat.  Regulus fights the urge to roll his eyes.  James looks perplexed.  “And it seems as though several of our teachers have presented me with this same issue—that’s you two,” he clarifies, and Regulus can’t help it—he rolls his eyes for real and lets out an exasperated sigh.  He wishes Dumbledore would get on with it.

Something is swelling in the pit of his stomach—something like a beat of fear that he pushes back down.  Then—Dumbledore reaches his hand into his robes—wraps his long, white fingers around something—pulls out his wand—

It’s like a bomb goes off, and Regulus realizes too late that he can’t take it back.  He flinches, complete with half a step back toward the door, torso tight and breath suspended in his lungs.  Almost instantly, he forces his face back into a neutral position, shoulders relaxing.

Dumbledore ignores him, but when Regulus glances over at James—the older boy is giving him an odd look.  For a bit too long, they stare at one another, Regulus refusing to be the weak man and look away first.  Thankfully, Potter succumbs to his challenge, tearing his eyes away from Regulus’s.

A plink brings them back as Dumbledore places his wand on the desk before him.  “Several teachers have helped me come up with this plan,” Dumbledore says, speaking more to himself than anyone, “and, I’ll admit, it took a bit of negotiation to make it fit with the school guidelines…” the old man trails off.

Regulus and James share a look, almost concerned with the old man’s ramblings.  Finally, Dumbledore grins something awful, and Regulus is hit with a new bout of panic.  “You’ll both be serving a number of detentions with one another.  Report to Professor McGonagall’s office at 6 p.m. sharp, every weekday.  On top of this, you will be spending class hours together—”

What?!  What the actual fuck—this couldn’t be legal—James groans and Regulus scowls at their professor.  He just keeps going.

“—connected by a magical tethering charm.”

“WHAT?!” both boys exclaim at the same time.  Regulus is seething and a little embarrassed by the high pitch of his voice.  When he looks over at James, the boy seems offput to say the least.  Good.

“Professor Dumbledore, my father works for the Ministry—” James tries while Regulus stutters,

“I want to see the law that says you can do that to two minors—”

Dumbledore holds up an old, withered hand and they both promptly shut up.  “I’ve spoken to the Ministry.  If you’ll be so kind as to remember that I happen to work for them, too.”

Regulus’s mouth snaps shut.  James makes an angry noise in the back of his throat.

Dumbledore has the nerve to smile—smile—at them as he stands and grips his wand.  “This shall continue until you both have cooled your tempers and learned how to work out your differences in a civil, adult manner.  Professor Flitwick has offered to perform the charm on you two in the Great Hall, beginning on Monday.  That is all, Sir and Miss.  Please, enjoy your evening.”

Regulus blanches, tears pooling in his eyes that he really, really doesn’t want there.  James looks like he’s been slapped in the face.  He looks down at the floor, the dysphoria hitting him like a bat to the back of the head.  He’s going to let it slide… he is.  He steps toward the door to go, go back to the safety of his friends that have become family—

“Sirs,” James suddenly blurts out, anger collecting somewhere inside him as he death-stares Dumbledore.  “We’re both boys,” he states.

Something like fondness settles in Regulus’s chest, and he manages to send James a very small smile—just a twitch of his lips.

Dumbledore only smiles, not caring about the tears in Regulus’s eyes.  “My bad.  That is all, boys.  Go.”

Regulus can’t bring himself to look at James again.