it would have been so easy
It was finally Regulus’ turn to receive a letter from his parents, his mother more specifically, Orion likely couldn’t stay sober long enough to hold a quill upright.
Regulus didn’t receive letters often but his heart stopped and stuttered on the few occasions their large eagle owl came soaring into the room. His feathers were midnight black with only a few spots of brown or grey peeking out among the fray. His orange eyes were sharp, always pinning Regulus to spot when he spotted him and soared over to land on the table right in front of him.
Regulus couldn’t help but think Walburga had calculated it so that all of her letters showed up during Breakfast- everything was a public affair for her.
When they first got this owl, Regulus was only five years old and had taken an instant liking to the small beast. He named him Midnight, a rather unoriginal name, but he would often sneak out to his cage and take him off the perch within, instead choosing to set him on his shoulder and run out into the garden with him.
Walburga didn’t like the idea of their newest servant becoming Regulus’ friend and so she forbade him from ever taking him out of his cage, even going so far as to electrocute the bars of his cage so that he did not attempt to escape either.
It didn’t take long before the creature began to see Regulus as the enemy.
He tried to look into the owl’s eyes, wondering if he remembered the late evenings in which Regulus would quietly feed him treats once Walburga fell asleep or when Regulus would tie a piece of scribbled parchment to his leg, run to another part of the house, and see if the owl would still deliver it.
There wasn’t a single sign of recognition and so that was the first time Regulus understood what it was like to lose someone.
In any case, he untied the letter from his leg, ignoring the questioning looks from his friends and apprehensively tearing the green wax seal and unfolding the envelope. He schooled his expression into one of pleasant neutrality.
Walburga always wrote her letters with blood-red ink and with a distinct lack of the graceful calligraphy all purebloods were trained in. Her letters were sharp, stilted, as she dug the quill into the parchment with each word as if to emphasise her words and it caused the ink to run, threading through the thick cloth of the parchment and blur.
It was clear from the first few words that she was furious at him though that wasn’t particularly new.
It appears Mulciber’s father came over, mad at Regulus for having told on his son and gotten him suspended over a bit of fun.
She was just mad at him having soured their ‘business’ relationships and giving them a bad name. She said that she was ashamed of him and that if he ever fought with them again, or more specifically lost to them again, she would be forced to ‘discipline’ him.
Had anyone else read the letter, they would think Walburga to be particularly strict, a bit heavy handed, but not unlike any other parent but Regulus saw the threat clearly masked behind each word, knew that her choice of words were deliberate and meant for only him to understand.
The owl remained on the table and Regulus just stared right back at him.
The owl scratched at the table for one, two more seconds before flying away through the open window once more. Right behind him was Sirius, at his own table, facing him, an intrigued expression about him. He turned away once the owl-barrier disappeared.
He was taken back to his first year at the sight, when the owl first dropped by the morning after the ceremony. Walburga didn’t have anything else to say about him being in Slytherin, only told him to do well in his classes and to not bring shame onto their family like Sirius. There were no niceties, no encouraging words or praise, nothing more than stone cold letters written onto a piece of parchment.
He calmly folded up the parchment and tuned back into the conversation of his friends, nodding along or laughing when necessary. “Nothing, just the usual,” was all he said when they asked what was in the letter and it wasn’t even really a lie.
Once the meal was over, he looked down and noticed the parchment was now torn to shreds in a small pile in front of him. He hadn’t even realised he was doing that and he just vanished the mess before following his friends out of the Hall where they eventually broke up to go to their respective classes.
He spent the rest of the day thinking about the letter, ruminating over it, seeing the wine-red letters dancing across his vision as Binns droned on in the background or when Evan was going into a particularly detailed story about what he found in his shoe that morning.
It wasn’t as though there was anything new in the letter, anything that he hadn’t already expected, but it was just so easy to forget about his family when he was at Hogwarts, secure within the stone walls that when he received letters from home, his little illusion was completely shattered.
It all came to a halt just before dinner
After classes, he spent the rest of the day in the Library, catching up on assignments and making outlines for the OWLs that only he seemed to remember were this year.
It was only when the sharp black nails of Madam Pince rapped on the edge of his table that he looked up and saw that he was the only one left in the Library. She had told him to pack up and go to dinner before walking away, the clicking of her heels muffled by the carpeted floor.
A quick look up at the clock hung in the centre of the room from an invisible string had told him that dinner was already almost over so he hurriedly packed his things and left, only now aware of the rumbling in his stomach after missing Lunch as well.
When he made his way to the Great Hall, he had passed by Dumbledore’s office in which three boys were currently exiting, stepping off the platform and onto the floor right in front of Regulus
It was exactly who he had expected.
Mulciber, Avery, and Snape.
The three of them glared daggers at him but he only continued walking, not even hesitating for a moment’s wait, refusing to allow himself to be caught just like he had on that first day.
The boys followed right behind him, barely a step behind so that he felt the tip of one of their shoes repeatedly step on the back of his, causing his steps to be awkward and uneven.
“You deserved to die,” Avery seethed, right behind his ear, his breath hot and fuming.
“You’ll pay for this Black,” Mulciber spoke in his gravelly voice, the promise of pain clear with each syllable.
He turned and entered into the Great Hall, immediately sitting in between Barty and Dorcas at the table. Mulciber and Avery sat across from him just a few seats down and they stared at him as though he was on the menu for tonight.
Regulus didn’t, couldn’t, participate in conversation because he couldn’t help but feel like they would fulfil their promise of pain soon despite the fact that it was Yaxley’s fault anyone had even found out in the first place.
He hadn’t taken a single bite of his food, couldn’t stop the roaring in his head as anticipation caused his stomach to turn and he bit the inside of his cheek so hard that the taste of iron coated his mouth and dripped down his throat.
The two boys however, looked positively gleeful as they whispered to each other, downing large portions of food and laughing loudly, their voices echoing across the table.
Regulus didn’t necessarily have a reason to be scared but seeing them again, already knowing what they were capable of and more, had his heart pounding. A residual emotion from their first attack rearing up, sharp and ugly, within him.
“I can’t believe they’re back already,” Dorcas hissed.
“They’re lucky if I don’t suffocate them in their sleep tonight,” Barty responded over Regulus’ shoulder.
He remained quiet despite the storm raging deep in his mind and only spoke when Evan asked why he wasn't eating anything.“I had a big lunch,” he lied easily.
He nodded, not wanting to push, and they stayed there until dinner had come to a close and students filtered out as one large group.
He was forever grateful for Pandora, who had stayed behind as well and immediately swooped in once they stood up.
A glance over his shoulder showed Mulciber and Avery standing up when they did, ready to tail them but a fork in the corridor had them separating, Regulus being led up to Ravenclaw tower while they just made way to the Slytherin dungeons, turning over their shoulders to stare at him with anger and confusion writ onto their faces.
“Thanks,” Regulus whispered, holding onto Pandora’s arm tightly.
“For?” she asked lightly, choosing to look outside the windows that lined the wall around the curved staircase up to their tower.
Regulus was about to open his mouth when suddenly a barrage of images floated into his mind- Pandora sleepily offering her bed up to Regulus when he had shown up that morning, her offering him her last quill when his had unexpectedly broken in class despite them never having spoken before, for feeding their plant in Herbology when it had been known to bite, for helping him whenever he asked.
“Everything,” he whispered into the dim.
_____
James had asked to meet four days after that via a note left in his left trouser pocket and that was precisely when the Slytherins were given the perfect opportunity to confront him as he had only shown up to classes and made himself scarce the rest of the time, taking to reading or painting in the Ravenclaw common room instead.
He didn’t necessarily know why he had even decided to do it in the first place considering his lack of talent for art but he walked in one evening to a group of first years painting idly on some canvas, a wireless humming a twiny song in Spanish between them.
They extended an invitation for him to join and he had said yes, not quite thinking of the consequences.
The consequences being that he was left with a canvas that was painted entirely a pale blue colour.
That’s it.
He hadn’t done anything else to the painting the second time he revisited it and instead decided to paint the corners and sides of the canvas in the same colour before leaving it to the side, saying that he’d come back to it once the paint was dry.
He hadn’t gone back because he didn’t know where he wanted to go with it, as if the canvas would animate itself and laugh at him for being so clueless.
One day, he promised himself.
It was getting rather tiring, this cycle in which he changed his clothes and tucked into bed with Pandora, idly chatting about what their plans for the next day were before bidding each other goodnight, only for him to get up again, change, and meet James outside for another one of their confusing interactions. He had sent up a ‘thank you’ to whoever was listening for Pandora being an extremely deep sleeper.
He had come to the conclusion that he would just have to be a bit more agreeable if he ever wanted this nightmare to end as it was clear neither James nor McGonagall would let him free himself from this torment.
And so he did the unimaginable last weekend when they went to Hogsmeade- he had gone to the shop and bought a swimming top.
Never in his life did he think he’d be doing that but he saw the clothes shop out of the corner of his eye, all the way by the edge of the shopping area, and told his friends he was in dire need of ink pots once they had made it to the Three Broomsticks. He had timed it as such because clearly none of them would ask to join him on the most mundane activity when the promise of warm butterbeer was so close.
He walked in, the chime above the door slightly too loud, and an older gentleman waved at him from behind the till. He strode past rows of flared denim and ruffle tops until he came to the section piled with athletic wear in various colours and he picked the simplest option in his size.
A navy blue top with half sleeves made of a mesh-like material that was smooth under his fingers.
He smiled wryly at the man behind the counter while checking out and immediately pocketed the shirt and left to head to the Stationary shop that was on the complete opposite end of the street to buy said inkpots.
And so tonight, he donned the black shorts James had given him and the navy top before throwing his regular school robes on top, spelling the hem on either side shut. He felt like he was completely naked under them despite the fact that he could feel the soft fabric rub audibly against his skin with each step.
He had never really felt the breeze in these specific areas until then.
His calm was disturbed once Mulciber appeared, alone, stepping out of a secluded alcove, a girl rushing out of it behind him. He had a satisfied smile as he fixed his trousers and Regulus couldn’t help the sour taste in his mouth at the sight.
“Black, just the man I’ve been waiting to see,” he said, clearly still riding high as he smiled and stretched his arms out in a grandiose gesture. His round face was still red and the stubble on his cheek was patchy and unkempt, the smile only highlighting it and causing his skin to wrinkle.
He didn’t respond but grasped his wand tightly in his pocket as he walked.
“Oi, I’m talking to you,” he shouted and Regulus only kept walking faster, putting distance between them.
He wasn’t necessarily scared now as he was during their last encounter. Should it come to blows, he was sure he could defend himself now out of sheer spite but that also meant that they would both end up in the Infirmary and then Dumbledore’s office this time. He couldn’t imagine Walburga’s reaction if he showed up on Grimmauld’s doorstep now, having been suspended for the exact thing she commanded him not to do.
He couldn’t go back to the dorms, Slytherin or Ravenclaw, with Mulciber behind him so he kept going to his destination- James. Hoping, hoping for…something.
He made an immediate turn, deviating from his worn path and cutting across the grass to make it to the Lake. It was convoluted but slightly quicker and so he took it, watching the ground beneath him to ensure he wouldn’t fall on his face on the way out.
Mulciber, who had yet to cast hexes, only verbally taunting Regulus in a low voice lest they get caught, seemed to tire from it and shouted loudly into the night, “Am I going to have to Imperio you just to fight you again?”
The words rang loudly in his ears and annoyed Regulus to no end. The way he spoke about the Unforgivable curse like it was nothing, a mere hex and some part of his brain fired, his voice of reason suddenly quiet against the static that filled his ears, burning at his fingertips.
He spun around then and before he could think better of it, abruptly cast. A rope of electricity, pure blue energy sparking out from the thick body burst out of his wand and hit Mulciber right in the arm, his robes singing at the spot and the smell of flesh filled the air. Regulus could feel the heat of it against his own face and the all-too familiar scent of sulphur wafted up to his nose.
The spell had come out much stronger than he had intended. It wasn’t an Unforgivable but it might as well have been. If he had moved his arm just slightly, it would’ve hit Mulciber in his core and the damage would have been unimaginable.
It was meant to be a rope of sorts, an extension of his arm really to aim at Mulciber, hurting him but not wounding him so seriously. They had learned it in Defense Against the Dark Arts only recently but this was something else.
Mulciber took hold of his shock, fury written across his features as he straightened and a look of madness in his eyes as he raised his wand arm, casting loudly. Regulus only had a moment to react, unable to quite make out what he was even saying and he hastily threw up a shield charm. Whatever he had cast had obliterated his shield charm and the green curse flew right at him and he felt warm liquid drip down his abdomen as a large gash tore at him, pain radiating from it.
While this should have slowed him, stopped him, it only served to further infuriate him.
Mulciber’s angry face morphed into Walburga’s to Sirius’ and suddenly Regulus didn’t know who he was fighting anymore, only that the pleasant feeling that seeped into his bloodstream after casting that initial spell was addicting, and he wanted to chase that high.
Regulus cast the same spell at him that Snape had done unto him, glueing Mulciber’s legs and he took it a step further by silencing him.
“Say, now seems like a good time to practise some spells,” Regulus echoed, voice low in the night and it sounded far away, as if he was watching someone else speak, someone else circle Mulciber like prey, relishing in the wide-eyed look he gave to Regulus.
“You never knew how to leave well enough alone did you?” he asked angrily, voice acrid as it rose against his will. “What if I Imperio’d you? Drowned you in the lake and left you to die?”
He was shouting now, the last word spoken with such force, he could see it physically land on Mulciber as he visibly flinched, face scrunching up as he waited for it, for Regulus’ retribution.
It would be so easy, so easy to make him feel how he felt. Make him suffer like he did so that he may never hurt anyone else again, never make them feel small and vulnerable again.
It would have been so easy had James not shown up with a “Regulus?” placing a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“Go away Potter,” he ground out, shaking his hand off and turning to Mulciber.
“Reg I-” he began.
Mulciber was eyeing the two of them, his large brown eyes darting quickly between the two of them and suddenly Regulus could only interpret it as a threat- he wanted to blind him.
He raised his wand, the spell Bellatrix had taught him last summer dancing on the tip of his tongue, the words aching to be spoken until Mulciber’s face was quickly replaced with James’. His tongue dried up instantly and the words disappeared, leaving behind faint traces of disappointment.
“Reg,” he whispered.
His eyes were wide behind his wire-rimmed glasses, pleading with Regulus, begging him to listen to him. His lips were wet and slightly parted as he held out a single hand, hovering close enough to Regulus’ chest that he could feel the warmth radiating off of him onto him, warming the blood that was still steadily leaking from the wound.
While Mulciber was scared, James wasn’t, despite standing directly in front of his wand, the tip just grazing the front of his top.
It would have been so easy he thought, but the vibrant red that had been clouding his vision cleared and he just whispered, “Finite Incantatem.”
James heaved a slightly relieved breath, as if he almost hadn’t been expecting Regulus to do that but he sharply inhaled again, turning on the spot towards Mulciber who was spluttering nonsense, rearing up to fight again.
“Get the fuck out of here. If I ever even see you breathing in his direction again, I swear to Merlin I will not hesitate to end you- to cast the spells he didn’t tonight.” James’ voice was as hard and cold as ice whereas Regulus spoke hotly and angrily, with pure fire. It was almost more terrifying to hear him speak in such a manner, to look so serious, when he so often took everything as a jest.
Mulciber just threw one last look at them before stomping back to the castle, clearly seeing that this was not a fight he could win.
Regulus had forgotten James was even there when faced with Mulciber but was entirely shocked when James threatened Mulciber himself, as if he was as angry as Regulus was but surely he wasn’t.
James turned back to him once Mulciber was out of sight and began roving his eyes over Regulus, “Are you okay?” he asked, voice breathless.
Regulus only stood frozen as he tried to reason with himself and came to terms with what he had done. His hand trembled violently against his side but it was nothing compared to the unsteady thrum his heart was doing, beating painfully against his ribs.
James cast a Lumos then, the blue light emitting from his wand cast his features into sharp clarity, making him seem like he was carved from marble and all Regulus wanted to do was reach out and touch him, run his fingers over the arch of cheekbone, to feel the delicate bone beneath soft skin.
James’ sharp inhale caused him to look down at himself, as if his head had become detached from his body and he slowly registered the sharp sting of pain that radiated from his centre.
He absently raised a hand to it and it came away bloody, his fingertips looking like he had dipped them into Walburga’s inkpot.
“Merlin Reg, we have to go to Madam Pomfrey,” James spoke, already grabbing Regulus’ arm but he refused to move, refusing to go to the Infirmary.
“No,” a command.
“Reg we-,” James began, speaking urgently, stress marring his sharp features.
“Potter, no, I’m fine,” he urged, wiping his hands hastily against his robes.
James huffed, torn, before he grabbed Regulus’ arm and dragged him back to the castle. His hand was a loose cuff on his arm as he led Regulus up, not holding him enough to hurt, but enough to force him to move his feet after him.
Regulus protested but one sharp look from James had the fight draining from him. It reminded him so much of Sirius the first time Walburga had taken to punishing him instead of Sirius that he leant into the memory, allowing him to take him.
The words he had spoken with such anger to Mulciber just a few minutes prior began seeping back into the forefront of his mind slowly and horror took over him. The words he had said so cruelly in a tone that was completely alien to him.
It had only proven what he knew deep down, what he had tried to deny so vehemently- he was a Black.
Not in the literal sense but in the fact that he was savage and wicked and would not hesitate to hurt anyone who hurt him to exact revenge. He wondered if the face he so often hated to see on Sirius’, the face that was scarily close to Walburga’s was what he had looked like tonight.
James led him to the restroom on the first floor, kicking the door open before shutting it behind them and locking it.
“What were you thinking,” James muttered to himself, head swivelling back and forth.
He looked around before huffing exasperatedly, setting Regulus down on the floor to lean back against the door of the first stall.
James sat across from him and quickly leant over to Regulus, hands settling on the collar of his robes and they had both snapped out of the dazes they had landed themselves in at that moment.
James’ large eyes flitted up to him in question.
Regulus eyed James’ adam's apple bob as he swallowed before looking back up to James.
James was trying to help but did he even deserve his help? He knew the answer was no, not really, but when he put his hand over James’, meaning to remove it, he only found his hand tightening over James’- keeping it there.
“Can I?” James asked, voice quiet despite the secluded space they were in. Regulus was surprised to see a flush form on his cheek and creep up his jaw, a nervous sort of reaction but his own skin heated at the thought and he was grateful for the lack of light.
Light filtered in through the glass windows at the top of the high-ceilinged room, reflecting off the tiles and mirrors and casting odd shadows around the room, adding to the surreal feeling he felt, like he was still in a dream where reality clashed uncomfortably with his mind. The only noise was their breaths mingling and the distant creaking of pipes as the school settled.
“I don’t-” Regulus broke off.
James’ face was so open, so good, that he wondered if he should lean into the Black side of him- the selfish side of him. If he should relish the feeling of James so close to him for one moment longer, allow him to help him this once, before James inevitably abandoned him because why wouldn’t he? Not after he had just cursed Mulciber so cruelly on school grounds without remorse and especially because he knew deep down that he would have done it again.
That perhaps the electricity that laced the rope wasn’t entirely an accident.
He didn’t know when he had stopped hating the boy but it was so quick that he couldn’t even try to deny it, to reason with himself. He didn’t know where he was now but he knew that in this moment, James’ presence was not an annoyance but a lifeline to grasp to.
Regulus hadn’t realised he agreed until James pulled the hems of the robes apart, breaking past the already-weakened glueing charm Regulus had cast just an hour before.
Once James had done so, he saw the shirt Regulus was wearing underneath, the swimming top, and he looked up at Regulus again with surprise, his lips parting and eyes wide, turning up just slightly at the edges with a sad sort of smile.
“I bought a swimming top,” Regulus whispered sadly, the words coming out pained and weak.
“You-” James didn’t finish, instead biting the corner of his lip and pushing the robes off of his shoulders causing it to pool against Regulus’ hips. Regulus ached to hear what he was going to say before he thought better of it, ached for the return of their usual off-beat repartee.
He concentrated on the torn material, moving it slightly to get a better view of the wound and Regulus hissed when James prodded the frayed skin with a finger.
James, quick thinker he is, pulled off his robes hastily, revealing the usual thin shirt he wore to swim, and duplicated them cheaply, the second pair looking rather worse for wear, thinner and greyer, and Regulus watched in confusion until James grabbed the second pair and began ripping it apart with ease.
He watched in awe at James’ casual strength as the individual threads pulled and snapped until he was left with long uneven strips of material.
He turned back to Regulus, “I have to take your shirt off.”
His brain well and truly short circuited then.
No one had ever seen him topless before and something about James Potter being the first made him feel horrible.
Everything about this was wrong and yet, he was still here when he could have just as easily run away, away from James and up to Pandora who would surely help him without question.
He was about to protest but he shifted and the skin pulled painfully, proving answer enough as James reached for the material sitting across his hips before slowly pulling it upwards, up and over his head, removing it completely.
Regulus turned his head away in shame, not daring to see James' reaction to him, only shutting his eyes and focusing on his breathing.
James cast some sterilisation spells on the wounds, surprisingly adept in medical magic, before casting an Aguamenti on one of the strips of the cloth, raising it to wipe across his abdomen, wiping away the blood that had clung and dried onto his skin. His touch was light, a barely-there pressure of the cloth dragging across his midsection.
When James put the cloth down, the water that ran off onto the tiles below was pink and Regulus was brought back to the sight of Mulciber's arm, to the black skin with blood dripping off it. He must have gone to the infirmary for that.
“Do you-” Regulus spoke, voice sounding overly loud in the room, “Do you think I’m a bad person?” His eyes were still shut while the rest of his senses went into overdrive, the scent of James in the heat of the room, the slick tiles under his fingers and legs, the hitch in James’ breath at the question.
It was a broad question and entirely inappropriate to ask James, someone who barely knew him but perhaps it was better that way. He knew none of his friends would think so but at the same time, would James see this through his lenses? Understand the complexities about why he acted the way he did instead of looking at the just the facts?
Perhaps that was the problem then.
He was already trying to rationalise his actions when he shouldn’t be. He was wrong in this situation, he never should’ve struck Mulciber or taunted him after, and he especially shouldn’t have stooped so low as to use the threat of Imperius against him. He was a bad person and tonight was just a reminder of-
“No I don’t,” James answered, pausing his ministrations for a long moment.
The thoughts that had been rolling in his mind stopped like a vinyl reaching its end, demanding to be flipped over. Regulus’ eyes flew open again and the sight of James was overwhelming.
James looked like he wanted to say more before reaching for the cloth, leaning in close.
“Hold this,” he whispered and Regulus followed his directions, catching sight of his injury in the process.
The cut was angry, clean with only a few jagged lines branching outwards, the skin around it was burnt and angry but clean, clear of any running blood. It was sure to leave behind a scar but when he remembered all the ones he already had littering his body, he found he wasn’t too concerned with adding one more to the litany.
James began encircling his arms around Regulus, the scent of Jasmine wafting up to his nose once more and Regulus inhaled deeply, savouring the scent. James’ hair tickled just under Regulus’ raised chin and it was soft, softer than he had ever thought it would be.
When James had made one full turn and tightened the wrap, Regulus hissed in pain, grasping the nearest thing closest to him and squeezing. It would turn out that the ‘nearest thing closest to him’ was James’ arm, his bicep strong and unforgiving under his hand. He could feel the heat of his skin through the thin material of the shirt and he just gripped harder, the shirt a trying barrier between their skin.
James continued speaking then as he worked, “You stopped. You didn’t want to but you still did. That’s what matters.”
“You stopped me,” Regulus responded after a moments’ pause. Had James not been there, he wasn’t sure where they would have ended.
“But I didn’t know you would, you could have easily hexed me as well,” James answered. “Even if you had done what you wanted with Mulciber, I don’t think you’re a bad person, not truly.”
James’ honesty struck Regulus sharply and the heightened emotions of the situation made him want to cry angry tears of frustration at everything. He hated himself, he hated Mulciber, and he hated James’ light fingers and caring looks.
James sighed heavily, sitting back on his haunches after having finished wrapping Regulus’ midsection in the dark cloth.
The heavy warmth of the bathroom began to show its effects on James who seemed to always be hot as his hair curled and stuck to the side of his sweat-coated neck.
James reached up to fix a folded edge of cloth but let his hand linger there long after it had been fixed, his index and middle finger burning against the bare skin on his waist, just under his ribs.
James seemed entranced by the skin there, completely and utterly focused on it while Regulus stared back at him, at the hint of tanned skin that was revealed on his hip where his shirt had ridden up.
Their eyes snapped together at once, as if they had realised who and where they were in tandem. James immediately pulled back from Regulus as if burned but Regulus could still feel the phantom weight of his fingers, the tips curling in just slightly.
The other boy turned to the torn shirt and pulled it into his lap, aiming his wand at it and mending the large cut across it and Regulus was entranced by the display of magic.
“For our next lesson,” James whispered, holding it out to Regulus.
“You still want to? Have lessons?” Regulus said astounded, remembering thinking that this would be it for James, that he had crossed some inexplicable line.
“Of course,” he spoke earnestly, then added, “Regulus I don’t know what you think about me but I hope you know that I don’t blame you. Not for this.”
The words had multiple meanings and Regulus didn’t quite know how he wanted to interpret them.
“You don’t blame me for being a Black?” because that’s exactly how he had acted tonight, that all he was truly, just ‘Walburga’s little pet’ as Sirius had called him.
“I hope that one day you begin to start thinking of yourself as Regulus, not just whatever anyone else tries to call you.”
Regulus felt like all the air had been sucked out of him at the words as James just stood up, fixing his clothes and extending a hand to Regulus.
Regulus ignored it and pushed himself up off the ground and when he went to grab his robes, he saw James had already bent down and gathered the material.
“You’re more than what they say you are,” James whispered, handing the robes back to Regulus, his fingers brushing past Regulus’, before turning away towards the door, unlocking it and stepping out.
Regulus quietly followed him and when he stood across from James in the corridor, he couldn’t help but marvel at the boy as everything his mother wrote, everything Mulciber said slipped from his mind leaving it blissfully empty. His mind instead choosing to focus on the sparkle in his eye, the column of his throat shining in the low light.
James nodded when Regulus didn’t speak but as he turned, it was now Regulus’ turn to reach out, to finally make the move to grasp James first, to wrap his fingers around James’ wrist.
James looked at it in surprise before flicking his eyes up, “Thank you James,” he said as openly and honestly as he could. His name sounded foreign on his lips, the word he had said so often in his mind now coming out awkward and new on his lips but not entirely wrong.
“Goodnight Reg,” he whispered.
While James went off in the direction of Gryffindor Tower, Regulus had gone back outside without thinking, taking his known path once more all the way down to the Lake.
He shucked off his shoes and robes and stepped up to the water and without any more thought beyond James, stepped in, drawing on his confidence and energy and using it to fuel him.
James’ words revitalised him, flipped his entire perspective of the world in a single night and it was that imbalance that had pushed him into the water that night alone, pushing him until he was knee-deep in the water, the cold pulling all the pain from his body and providing him with sweet numbing relief.
There he stood, staring out across the water, his mind silent in the dark night, when he cried.
The tears fell from his eyes and heavy drops, down his cheeks, before gathering at his chin and falling into the Lake around him- an offering. He cried and cried until the cold air cooled the salted tracks on his face and he couldn’t feel his feet anymore.
He watched the sun rise the following day, watched the sky morph from a harsh black to watery grey to light orange as the sun began to peek out over the crest of the mountains, enveloping the world in its light, promising them all one more day.
Each step was calculated as he gathered himself, or whatever was left of him, up and walked up to Ravenclaw tonight.
“What is always coming but never arrives?” The eagle knocker asks Regulus.
“Tomorrow.”
“Welcome to Ravenclaw Tower,” it announced, morphing and swinging open for him.
Everything was much the same when he entered, the portrait of a meadow slowly coming to life on the floor at his feet. Everything was as it should be, everything except him.