The Quidditch Pitch
Two weeks later
Regulus Black can't sleep. He’s pretty much tried everything at this point: taking a sleeping potion, writing about anything and everything on his mind, finishing the book he was reading. He’s driven himself to the edge of sleep just to lie down and have his body betray him.
The early morning sun shining through his curtains is just another reminder of his failed efforts. He’s been mindlessly doing things for hours and yet his body still itches to move around. To stop aimlessly staring at the ceiling and actually do something. He’s managed to ignore it for the past few hours but that’s becoming increasingly hard to do. It’s constantly poking at him, telling him to actually do something with the free time he’s just wasting away. I didn’t choose to have all this free time he wants to remind it even though it’s no use; he’ll just eventually give in.
He does, huffing out a frustrated breath of air. He begrudgingly slips out of bed and puts his shoes on, grabbing his broomstick on the way to the door. Regulus doesn’t exactly need practice-he’d practiced all summer quite obsessively to keep his mind busy-but well, it’s either that or stay in bed and drive himself crazy. He prefers the former rather than the latter.
It’s still early in the morning so the summer heat isn’t as unbearable as it usually is, which Regulus grows increasingly grateful for on his walk to the quidditch pitch. It’s on the far end of the school, farthest away from the Slytherin dorms than any of the others. Regulus finds himself not minding the walk though. It lets him clear his head and smother the voice that was telling him he needed to do something.
He’s halfway to the quidditch pitch when he hears it: the faint sound of something being repeatedly hit. The closer he gets the louder the noise becomes. It sounds almost violent in the way the object is repeatedly being hit, like whoever’s doing it has something personal against it.
He becomes all too aware of what the object is because he walks into the quidditch pitch and almost gets knocked in the face by it; a black bludger which zooms around without much care. He moves out of the way fast enough for it to miss his head and then a few seconds later, the ball drops to the grassy floor.
The soft crunch of dried grass makes Regulus’ head turn the side to see James Potter all-too-casually picking the bludger up off of the ground. “Hey,” he says when he stands back up.
“Hey?” Regulus asks rather incredulously. He almost got his head bashed in by a bludger and all he says is ‘hey’?
“Sorry about the bludger. It was charmed to continuously keep coming back to me and I didn’t hear you coming.”
“No, of course not. I imagine that would be hard to do over the sound of you repeatedly hitting the ball.”
James must not hear the sarcasm in his voice or maybe just doesn’t care because he says, “Exactly. Glad you understand.”
This, for some reason, makes Regulus mad. James never talks to Regulus like this; clipped and void of any emotion but calm disposition. No, James is always just James. Through everything, he’s managed to come out unscathed and entirely himself. Regulus knows that because he’s seen it. Seen James carry on being himself after everything that happened. Seen him continue to laugh and smile and love.
Regulus resents him for it.
He did then and he does now.
“Why are you even practicing hitting the bludger? You’re not a Beater.”
James gives a nonchalant shrug. “I wanted to so I did.”
And Regulus doesn't know what to say to that. James has never once in his life been nonchalant-to Regulus at least-and he doesn't know what to do with that. They haven’t talked in a year-except for that night soon to be three months ago when James was drunk, which hardly counts as an actual conversation-and he didn’t expect it to be like this. He didn’t really expect to talk to James at all. But here he is, talking to him. Well, kind of.
Regulus had spent a year not talking to James but wanting to (despite his best efforts not to) and now that he has the chance he doesn’t know what to say.
He doesn’t understand how James can just be so…indifferent. Or maybe nonchalant is the word for it. It’s unfair, he thinks, how after everything he gets to be the one to be nonchalant and indifferent. That he gets to be the one able to just move on. That he can stand to make small talk with Regulus after everything that they used to be. That he can just be fine.
Regulus is angry because James isn’t angry. He’s fine. He’s fine and Regulus gets stuck with the shit end of the stick. He’s filled with so much anger he doesn’t know what to do with it. He’s angry and no one else seems to be angry. Why does he have to be angry when everyone else is fine?
They’re fine.
James is fine.
Okay, not like that.
Well…
↣
James doesn’t want to look at Regulus right now. He remembers that night over two months ago when all he wanted to do was take Regulus in because he didn’t know when he would next get the chance to. Well, here he is, here's the chance. And…he doesn’t want it. He just wants him to leave. To stop standing there saying nothing and just go. He wants nothing more than to be left alone right now. To go back to hitting the iron ball and forgetting everything else. He finds it’s the only way to be able to bear any of this anymore: to forget. Frankly, he’s tired of the pain and he looks at Regulus and that’s all he sees.
It’s confusing, really, because some days all James wants is Regulus. He wants the boy he was so close to having. He wants him back. He doesn’t understand how he lost him. He doesn’t understand when he went from almost having him to losing him. He doesn’t understand and it gnaws away at his brain. But he would give away knowing anything ever again if he could just have Regulus back.
And then some days he can’t bear the thought of him. Of what he almost had. Of what he somehow lost. On those days, he would rather understand more than anything. He’s tired of not understanding. Tired of just having to be okay with that. On those days, he’s angry. Angry at Regulus. Angry at himself. Angry at this whole fucking situation.
He’s not angry today, just tired. It’s hard to be the one who cares when you’re so fucking exhausted. So he doesn’t care, right now he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that Regulus is here. He doesn’t care that Regulus is acknowledging his existence. He doesn’t care that his bludger almost hit him in the face. He doesn’t care.
He doesn’t care and he always cares too much.
He’s tired of being the one that cares too much.
Regulus is still standing there, still saying nothing. He’s tired of that too, of being the one that has to say something, but mostly of being the one that has so much that they want to say. A part of him hates Regulus for it. For not having anything to say. Or not wanting to. They’re the same thing really, James thinks.
“Are you here to practice too or?” he says. He hates that he was the first to break. Hates that he gave in first. But a part of him knows that that’s just who he is; always the first to break, always the one to try.
Regulus is looking at James intently. He didn’t notice it before but he does now. It makes him self-conscious in a way because he’s never quite had a read on Regulus. He can never tell what he’s thinking and Regulus never goes out of his way to tell him.
It’s like Regulus finally registers James’ words because he blinks quickly and looks away from James, finding the wilting grass incredibly interesting suddenly. “No,” he replies, all too quick to lie. It’s sad, really, that that’s his first instinct anymore. Lie. Lie. Lie.
James lets out a breathy laugh. He’s grateful to have something to make him laugh on days like these where it feels impossible. “No? You just brought your broom to do a light sweeping of the field?”
Regulus cheeks ting red almost immediately. “I-uhh. I…” he trails off, finding it particularly hard to form a coherent sentence under James’ gaze.
“Would you like me to leave you to it? I wouldn’t want to be the reason you get behind on your sweeping duties,” James teases further, a wide grin on his face.
Regulus scowls which just makes James laugh again. And then Regulus rolls his eyes and James is done for. He’s instantly doubled over, hands on his knees, laughing his ass off. He’s laughing so hard his entire body shakes and his stomach hurts. The type of laughing where all you can do is take wheezing breaths in and laugh some more. It feels good to laugh, he thinks, really good.
When he finally does stop he’s breathless and clutching his sides. He heaves his body upright again and sucks in a deep breath of air. Regulus-who has found none of this funny and just entirely embarrassing- gives him an unamused look before saying, “Suffocate.”
James starts laughing again, tears brimming at his eyes. His sides hurt from laughing so much and yet, he finds himself not wanting to stop. He hasn’t laughed like this in a while and it feels…good. Painful but good.
“You’re ridiculous,” Regulus says, turning to leave because frankly, he’s embarrassed. He actually wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole right now.
James’ laugh dies in his throat instantly at the motion and he’s surging forward to stop Regulus. “Wait. Wait. Don’t leave. I don’t want you to leave.”
Regulus’ heart practically beats out of his chest at the words. The last time James spoke them he was drunk and Regulus thought, no knew he couldn’t have meant them. But here he is now saying them again; sober and more innately himself than Regulus realizes.
His eyes close, just for a brief second, before opening again. He wills himself to turn around. “I don’t really feel like almost getting hit in the face by a bludger again.”
“I’ll-I’ll leave. I was pretty much done anyway. And I’m sorry about the bludger. Really,” James says in a rushed tone, like he’s afraid the boy in front of him might just walk away mid-sentence. It would be very on cue for Regulus, to be fair.
Regulus internally rolls his eyes for what he’s about to say. But James is smiling and laughing because of him and well, Regulus feels an annoying sense of pride because of this. “You can stay I’ll lea-”
But James is already walking away before he can even finish his sentence. Regulus is, well he’s confused, or shocked, or both all at once. And for a moment, he just stands there, mouth agape and eyebrows furrowed. He honestly can’t understand what just happened or anything that’s happened in the last five minutes, really.
He almost got hit by a bludger because of James, who then sent him spiraling in his own mind and then in the boy’s eyes, then made him laugh, just for him to just…leave. He shouldn’t find it as confusing as he does because he’s done it to James several times now but well, he’s never been on the receiving end.
Eventually, he snaps out of the confusion and does what he came here to do in the first place-fly. Well technically he’s not really flying but he likes to think he is. That he’s just floating around in the air, free from anything going on below. He likes to pretend that he can do that-just rid himself of all of his problems because he’s not down on earth to experience or confront them. This only lasts for a short while though because he can’t fly forever.
He always feels like he could though, up there in the air he feels like he could.
He can’t.
↣
James smiles all the way back to his dorm.
He wants to berate himself for ever wishing that Regulus hadn’t come to the field. If he hadn’t James would probably still be out there hitting that bludger over and over again. He initially thought it would make him feel better and well, it did for a short period of time, and then it…didn’t. He was still stuck with that cloud of sadness lingering and weighing down his body. And then Regulus came, and it was still there-but then he made him laugh and he felt it lift a little. Just a little. And that was enough for him. Those few moments of pure breathless laughter were enough for him. Enough to make an unrelenting smile etch itself onto his face. Enough to change the trajectory of his day. Because it felt normal. He felt normal like that; laughing because of Regulus. It felt normal even though it was something he hadn’t done in a while.
He felt normal and well, he hadn’t felt like that for a long time.