Thesterals
James Potter spends the entire weekend trying to forget about his doomed, quickly approaching week. He plays endless rounds of chess with Pete, and even attends some of the Hogwarts Chess Club meetings with him, and on Saturday and Sunday evening, this is exactly where he finds himself.
The group meets in an unused Arithmancy classroom with windows facing the Black Lake and a homy feel about the walls. There are only seven or eight students who show up regularly; the most elite group of absolute nerds at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But they’re all exceptionally like James. He wonders how he’s never spoken to any of them before.
There’s no order or lecture, unlike in Remus’s study group, where, on the rare occasion that James has attended, it seems that Remus can’t stop lecturing. Instead, everyone simply pairs off—partners are first come first serve.
Unfortunately, James and Peter are among the last to arrive tonight—this is due to Remus and Sirius, who had gotten into another row over nothing, leaving James and Peter to peace keep. A Hufflepuff friend of Peter’s promptly waves him over to where she’s been saving him a spot, leaving James alone awkwardly, searching for a partner.
He does find one, though he’s not entirely sure how he feels about it. She’s the only person left without an opponent, so he picks around the scattered desks of ongoing chess matches. She doesn’t smile when he sits down, her blonde dreads piled on top of her head, held there by her wand stuck messily through the base of the bun, but simply rotates the board so white is on James’s side; an offer for him to go first.
He does, advancing a pawn. As he listens to the gentle chatter of people around him and watches Pandora’s moves, he accepts that he is most certainly going to lose.
After twenty minutes of this same routine, he can’t take it anymore. “How are you?” he asks.
Pandora’s head snaps up, a lock of hair falling into her face. “What?”
James moves a knight, capturing another of her pawns. “I said how are you. You know, it’s kinda just polite chit chat…” he trails off, finding her eyes, which are a strikingly deep brown. Nothing like Regulus’s, he finds himself thinking.
“I…” she moves her bishop. “Fine. How… how are you?”
“Good. Great.”
“Oh. Okay. Good, then.”
He skirts his king away from a threatening black rook. “God, this is the most awkward conversation ever,” he breathes with a slight chuckle, lips tucking up in the corners.
This draws a laugh out of her, and he looks up again. “Is Dorcas doing alright? Marls talks about her all the time.”
“What?” Pandora snaps, and James doesn’t know what he’s said wrong.
“I just—Marlene told me some stuff happened with Dorcas’s family, and I just wondered…” The look on Pandora’s face tells him to shut up. “Never mind.”
Pandora smirks at his apprehensive posture and captures his queen in a move he didn’t even see. “Dorcas is fine. Doing better.” He looks down. There’re not many more white pieces on the board. “Potter?”
When he looks up, her face is considerably softer, something gentle in her eyes. “Potter?” she says again. “I… thank you.” She clears her throat, like it was physically taxing to get out the words she just uttered. James doesn’t need to ask what the thanks was for, visions of Regulus and Dumbledore and the echo of the word ‘miss’ filling his mind.
Suddenly, the harsh Slytherin girl before him seems so kind, and James wonders how he never saw it before.
“It’s—it’s decent,” James stutters, quickly changing the subject. “Unlike what you just did there.”
She finally surrounds his king with a last move, and James uses the tip of his wand to knock his king over. Pandora grins.
***
Monday morning comes far too quickly, and because of this simple fact, Regulus drags himself though the monotonous motions of getting out of bed, brushing his teeth and combing his short curly hair, and fitting his binder over his frustrating chest.
One-and-a-half more years before I can get these god-awful things off for good, he reminds himself. Technically, St. Mungos is willing to perform the surgery to anyone over 14 with a parental signature, but Regulus has already tried to have that conversation with his parents, and it didn’t end well. So, he decided he’d have to settle for when he came of age.
Evan and Barty left half an hour ago, and Regulus knows he’ll be cutting it close, so he throws his tie across his shoulders, not bothering to tie it properly, and bullets out the door. His feet carry him a little faster than he wants to go, but when he reaches the Great Hall, it’s nearly empty.
In the front of the hall, leaning lazily against the teacher’s table like he has all the time in the world, along with an annoyed looking Flitwick, is James.
“About time, Mr. Black,” Flitwick says, sounding very much like he’s in a hurry. He pulls his wand from his robes. “Now, stand right here—close together—just like that—”
Regulus’s skin crawls with the closeness of James, and when he glances at the older boy, James looks just as uncomfortable, squirming with nerves. Very unlike James. Flitwick mutters something complicated under his breath, and Regulus, expecting pain, expecting something that isn’t the nothing that follows is left standing with his lips parted.
He doesn’t look over at James, trying only to focus on whatever nonsense Flitwick is spewing. “You won’t be able to move farther than about 8 feet apart. The spell will wear off at dinner, but for now, you do everything together: eat, go to classes, use the bathroom—am I clear, boys?”
They both nod. Flitwick smiles too warmly for the situation, then holds out a thin sheet of parchment, which Regulus snatches immediately. “Here’s a new timetable that’s been made up to fit both of your schedules. I really must be off now, have a lovely day, boys.”
And Flitwick hurries away. Regulus glances down at the parchment, then up at James, who’s trying to peer over his shoulder. They have Care of Magical Creatures first, with the Hufflepuffs. One of James’s classes.
“Lovely,” he hears James mutter, rubbing his hands together, then stepping back. Regulus turns to face the Gryffindor, and something crosses his features—the same something on Regulus’s mind: what if they—
They step away from one another in unison, and instantly feel the same thing—it’s an odd feeling. It’s not what he was expecting, though if he’s honest, he’s not sure what he was expecting. It’s like a rope around his middle, yanking him, urging him, closer to the other boy. The farther apart they step, the tighter and more suffocating it gets, and the harder it pulls until it’s almost painful—
James gasps and all but springs forward, a flush creeping up his neck. Regulus can’t tell if he’s embarrassed or angry.
Instead of nagging, as Regulus almost expected James to do, they both turn silently and march hesitantly out of the Great Hall, remaining at as comfortable a distance as they can.
Normally, the COMC class meets inside, but today, the students gather by the greenhouses, all whispering and chattering excitedly about what sort of lesson might have brought them out here.
Nearing Greenhouse 1, Regulus sees what it is immediately.
In a large, portable pasture beside the greenhouses are three massive, black, scaly-looking horses. They have wings on their backs and flaring red nostrils, with beady black eyes that stare into an abyss.
Regulus’s breath leaves him as he slows at the gruesome sight, eyes widening, but James just keeps walking, and seconds later—
“Mph!” James grunts as the line runs out and Regulus is yanked forward into the dirt while James is pulled back, stumbling. James is staring at him with an annoyed look, but Regulus is still staring at the horses.
They’re on a hill about thirty feet from the rest of the class, and James slowly approaches the younger boy, offering a hand, which Regulus carefully ignores, hoisting himself up and brushing mud off his pristine robes.
“What the fuck are you staring at?” James mutters incredulously, and Regulus manages to tear his blown eyes away from the nasty horse things.
They don’t appear hostile, grazing in the grass, but not a single one of the other students is acting the least bit alarmed by their appearance, which has managed to crack even Regulus’s mask a tiny bit.
“Wh—” he gestures helplessly to the pasture, confusion all over him as they approach. The rest of the students are looking just as confused at him, murmuring things like, “why’s the pasture empty?” and “what about the animals?”
“Can you not see them?” Regulus’s voice cracks as they push around the outside of the crowd and James leans against the wooden fence, staring at Regulus like he’s gone insane.
He looks into the pasture. “There’s nothing in there, Black. Cut it out.”
“No! There’s—can’t you see—”
“Oi, Lily, Moons!” James cuts in, waving the two of his friends who take this class to their side. Lily smiles at Regulus, red hair billowing in the wind, notebooks clutched to her chest, and Lupin ignores him. The tall, scared boy is staring at the pasture, a faraway look on his face. He must be able to see them, too, Regulus reasons.
“Good morning, my dears!” Professor Sprout interrupts in an annoying drawl, her curly blonde hair bouncing in short waves around her jaw. Her clothes are already smudged in dirt and grime. She pulls off a pair of gardening gloves at the obvious confusion among the students, smiling serenely.
“Where’s Ferox?!” someone shouts, and Sprout turns.
“Raise your hand, Jenkens, and he won’t be here today. But no need to fret!” she hurries, then swooshes her hands about in the air. “Back up, don’t want to spook them! That’s it, everyone, ten paces back from the fence—”
So, there is something in there.
Once she’s made her way to the front of the students, back pressed against the corral, she’s not smiling so brightly anymore. “These, my dears, are the next animal that you’ll be studying.”
Regulus skims the crowd. Everyone is staring at the pasture, looking like a bucket of ice has just been chucked at their faces except—he makes eye-contact with a small Hufflepuff girl, probably in his year. She can see them, too, he thinks. She stares back at him, smiling uncertainly.
“Professor Ferox has asked me to introduce you to them, as he can’t see them, and I… well, I can.”
Regulus gives James an, I told you so, look. The other boy is staring into the distance, blank stare on his face, so Regulus turns back to Professor Sprout.
Sprout hops over the fence, surprisingly agile, and strides toward one of the creatures, bending down on one knee and holding out a calloused hand. “This,” she says, voice low, “is a Thestral.”
Regulus watches the Thestral take a step forward, then two, then three, until its nose is in the professor’s hand. Everyone else still looks totally bewildered.
Sprout straightens, tossing a loose rope over the Thestral’s neck. To anyone who couldn’t see them, which Regulus suspects is most of the class for some reason, it would appear that the professor was walking an invisible cow. She leads it to the side of the pasture.
James is suddenly alert again. “Thestrals are very interesting creatures,” Professor Sprout continues. “I’d be willing to be that almost all of you cannot see them.” The class nods eagerly and the Herbology professor grins. “Thestrals are invisible to the human eyes,” she says, “unless.”
The class is holding its collective breath, and she knows it. “Unless the human eyes have seen death.”
Oh.
Regulus doesn’t have time to dwell on this or the sickening way his father had shouted “Avada Kadavara!” that night when she tramps, “It won’t be mandatory for anyone to reveal themselves, but if someone here can see them, would they like to come over and try to explain what they look like to the rest of the class?”
Slowly, Lupin’s hand goes up, and Professor Sprout looks like she is about to cry. So does Lily. James just looks concerned, glancing between his friend and Regulus.
But Regulus isn’t paying attention. He doesn’t hear a single word for the rest of the class, and he doesn’t see James staring at him in the most concerned way that an enemy can, and he doesn’t hear Sprout dismiss them.
James has to put a hand on his shoulder, and Regulus jumps violently. James stumbles. “What?” Regulus snaps, pulling his mask back into place. “Fuck off.”
“Class is over,” James says after a moment, jaw working tightly.
All Regulus can think as they tramp back toward the castle is don’t talk to me, I don’t want to talk about this, not with you, not with anyone, don’t talk to me—
But, of course, James has to.
On their way to the second class of the day, Transfiguration, which they have with the Slytherins, thank god. James is wringing his hands. “Black?” he asks eventually, shifting his bookbag over his shoulder.
Regulus grits his teeth, refusing to answer. “Black?” James tries again, pretending Regulus didn’t hear him the first time. James sighs heavily. “You could see them?”
“Fuck off,” Regulus repeats, but James doesn’t know when to stop, apparently. Regulus’s heart is racing, palms getting sweaty. Shit. Not another attack.
James glances at his blank face. “Are you alright?”
“Fuck. Off.”
“Rather hard to do when we’re literally chained together,” James smiles cheekily, then tugs Regulus into a nearby lavatory.
“Besides,” the older boy starts, “Remus has too, and I think that little Hufflepuff girl, by the look on her face,” he says. “And—”
“Shut the fuck up, Potter!” he snaps, and James promptly closed his mouth. Regulus looks livid, he realizes, and James glances down. He stands like that for a moment, just thinking. Hurt. Then he nods and slips into a stall.
Avada Ka—
Regulus lets his guard down immediately, giving in to his silent panic attack. He fumbles onto the counter, sitting back against the mirror, and pulling his legs up to his chest.
Suddenly, he’s 13 again, and Mother and Father are staring down at him, eyes glowing with anger and fire.
“Revati, you are doing so well. One more,” his mother whispered, her voice cold like ice blowing into his ear as she rested her sharp chin on his shoulder.
He’s already so tired, he didn’t have the energy to correct her or tell her how much it hurt that she’d call him that. He stared down at the floor, tears welling in his eyes. But he must keep them in. It’s only been a week since Sirius ran off to live with the Potters, and Regulus is already paying the price.
On the floor before them was a small, whimpering man. First, they made him use the Imperious. That was the easy one. He thought that’s all they’d want him to do, but of course not. Of course, they’d want more.
No matter how he tried, he couldn’t get the Curcio curse, so his father spent half an hour “teaching” him, as his mother looked on at the screaming subject. At some point, Regulus had broken down listening to the innocent Ministry man howl in agony, and he eventually plucked up the courage to lunge at his father and yank his wand away from him, screaming unintelligible bits of, “Stop it, Daddy, please, stop it!”
That was the wrong choice.
His mother was livid. Walburga reached out and struck him, throwing him to the hardened floorboards. His father’s wand fell from his grasp as he heard her shout, “CRUCIO!” staring right at him.
And oh.
Never.
Pain.
Never so much before—
Then it was over. It left, and Orion yanked Regulus to his feet, shoving a wand into his hand and roughly pivoting the boy to face the whimpering Ministry official. “Kill him.”
“No,” Regulus whined, and Orion clenched his fist in Regulus’s hair, yanking his head back.
“Kill. Him.”
“I can’t—” Regulus sobbed, knees weak and shaking, breath ragged and labored. He hurt all over, he hurt—
Orion jabbed his pointed wand into the nape of Regulus’s neck. “Crucio.” He didn’t yell, he whispered.
But the pain didn’t change one fucking bit.
Regulus heard someone screaming, felt something hot on his face, then felt himself falling. He hit the floor with that thud and didn’t move.
He could hear his parents talking above him. Then he made the mistake of opening his eyes. His parents were leaving the room. He made eye contact with the ministry official across the room.
“Avada Kadavara!” his father shouted in one last-ditch breath, and the life drained from the official’s eyes.
The study door slammed shut, and Regulus stayed there for hours, sobbing.
His binder is too tight for his quick breathing and heart palpitations, blackness creeping into the edges of his vision.
In, out. In and out. In, in in… no, in and out. Out, out—fucking hell—
He can’t breathe, he can’t move, he can’t speak, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe—the blackness is filling the middle of his vision now, sparking lights dancing on the walls. Breathe, breathe— he presses his palms to his eyes, rubbing hard until it hurts.
God, I wish Dora was here—
“Black?” He starts at the soft voice, crisp and cool in a storm. “Hey?” James is standing in front of him, head bowed. Slowly, James inches forward, Regulus sniffing, tears clinging to his black eyelashes. “Look at me?”
Regulus shakes his head, palms still pressed over his face. James frowns, gently wrapping his long, warm fingers around Regulus’s wrists, pulling his hands away from his eyes. Regulus turns his cheek away, still hyperventilating.
“Can you do something for me, Black?” James murmurs. Regulus wants to push him away, to hide again. He doesn’t want him seeing him like this. He doesn’t want anyone to see him like this. Ever.
“Go away,” bubbles up his throat, but his body betrays him. He nods, only slightly.
“I'm not leaving,” James says. “Can you tell me five things you can see right now? Look at me, Black.”
Regulus lets out a breath that sounds too close to a sob and pulls at James’s grasp at his wrists. The older boy doesn’t let go. “You, sink, mirror, floor, door,” he whispers.
James smiles and Regulus cries again, tears brimming, but he pushes them down. “Good job, that was good! How about four things you can feel?”
Regulus’s shoulders shake. “Your hands, counter, wet face, um… my shirt?”
“Perfect!” James assures him. Embarrassment coils in Regulus’s stomach, and he squirms against James. His breathing has evened out substantially, though the occasional hiccup finds its way into his throat. James senses his discomfort and steps back, allowing Regulus to dangle his legs over the edge of the counter.
“Hey,” James whispers after a beat. “It’s alright. Sirius gets them, too.”
“Sirius,” Regulus murmurs. Sirius gets them. Of course he does.
James doesn’t speak, allowing Regulus a moment to collect himself, washing his face, drying his shirt, and smoothing his curly hair down. He can’t bring himself to look at the older boy. They walk to Transfiguration in silence.