Chapter 3
The boiling water overflows from the ceramic cup on the table, the plate filled with pancakes and jam right next to it. A gorgeous smell thins throughout the large room, and it almost tastes like cinnamon and burnt sugar. Regulus loves it, it reminds him of his home, his safe haven. Not Grimmauld Place, but… someone from there, though Regulus would die before admitting who.
Evan arrived a few minutes earlier at Slytherin's table, sat down and started eating, waiting for Black to start talking. Regulus, however, is not really going to say anything. He has a knotted stomach and a dry throat since last night, to be honest. And the -sometimes intrigued, sometimes sharp- look that students in all the other houses, and his own, have been turning to him for about thirty minutes now does not contribute to his attempt to calm down.
‘So, are you going to explain all that or...?’ Rosier question, cautious. He is careful, of course he is. Regulus for a moment had abandoned Evan's measured attention to the bottom of his brain, but as soon as he speaks it comes to mind. ‘Excuse me?’ Black asks and the other gives him an eloquent look. His eyes are shouting, “Don't lie to me, I know you too well,” . Regulus ignores them, because he is a coward.
'Explain to me what all this antics is. Why is everyone staring at us like we've suddenly become celebrities? I'm not a stoner, Reggie." Evan uses that nickname on purpose, laughing as soon as the raven-haired boy beside him releases a subdued puff with rosy lips.
‘I don't want to talk about it.’ Regulus replied sharply as he began to slice the perfectly round pancakes he had diligently selected from the high pile . into equal parts. Evan echos him and Regulus snorts again.
‘Regulus,’ Rosier says harshly after a handful of seconds.
‘Evan’ reciprocates Black, purposely ignoring the boy's murderous look in front of him.
'Explain everything to me now. I hate all these looks on me. You know." The boy squeezes the glass of milk so tightly in his hands that Regulus for a moment thinks he could break it into a thousand pieces -or break it in his face, there's no big difference.-
Black snorts resignedly, but finally speaks, ‘James offered me to be his fake boyfriend.’ he murmurs, pretending it doesn't have any effect on him. To show himself even more casual, he decides to take a sip of the now cooled tea, which has already been lying next to the pancake plate for a couple of minutes.
"Are we talking about Potter himself? The one in love with Lily Evans from the first day she saw her? Why would he ever want to do something like that?" Evan asks, glancing at him in shock.
Regulus shrugs his shoulders, his eyes wobble: ‘He wants to prove to Evans that he’s gotten over her, or at least that's what he told me.’
‘And gracefully, why did you agree to participate in this ridiculous antics?’ Rosier runs a hand through his hair, exasperated; Black snorts.
‘Lower your voice.’ He intimates him, his eyes sharp as he decides to taste the delight that lies on his plate. Then he continues, "I just guess... I don't know, Evan, okay? I...”
The boy interrupts him with a quick hand gesture, reflecting aloud: "You have a crush on Potter, yes yes, we all already know it here. But why did you accept?" Regulus is sure he will end up sewing Evan’s mouth sooner or later.
‘Ouch!’ Evan screams like a little girl when the well-seiled kick gets exactly to the centre of his stomach. Regulus smiles as he sees him bend more towards the table, due to the pain.
‘Fuck you.’ Rosier says with gritted teeth, getting up from the table and heading for class, still holding a handful of cookies that Regulus assumes are chocolate.
‘It's always a pleasure for me too, honey.’ he says and Evan theatrically raises his third finger in his direction. Regulus laughs and everyone is watching him.
Shit, what kind of trouble did he ever get into?
-Regulus enters the classroom and it only takes a second to regret it. Why the fuck are the sixth-year Gryman boys in his class?
"Oh, good morning Regulus. The class hasn’t started yet, but I was just explaining to your classmates that Professor McGonagall had a sudden malaise, and that as a result some sixth graders will be with us for the following two classes.” Says Professor Lumacorno and, really, it is not possible.
‘Come on, sit next to Potter, so we can finally get started.’ The man continues, when Regulus does not seem intent on moving from the door jamb.
Black doesn't apologise to him. In fact, internally he curses her, while she takes her place. James' hazel eyes are immediately on him, invasive and warm.
‘Hello, Regulus.’ the Gryffindor whispers in silence. The words fall like flower petals from his lips and Black is intent on letting them wither.
Slugmonk begins to explain the preparation of a potion of which Regulus did not take the name, and then begins to form the pairs. Black, given his great, great fortune, ends up with Potter.
‘Well, now, we all agree that this potion is of an advanced level, but since the sixth grade boys have already prepared it, I expect great results from each of you.’ Says the professor, then heading to the chair. The wrinkles on the sides of his mouth are hollowed out by the morning light, giving him a more resolute look. Which Slytherin finds somewhat ridiculous, given the subject.
‘So, what do you think you'll smell?’ James touches the back of his hand and Regulus wastes no time retracting, scalded by a contact that didn't even happen.
‘Excuse me?’ He asks and the tone comes out sharp like the blade of a knife. His confusion is overshadowed by this and Black is grateful for it.
James happily starts his crow, "Well, in the amortentia. You know I still don't know exactly who the various smells belonged to when I was the one who smelled it and I was wondering if you already had an id-»
‘Wait...’ Regulus inhales from his nose, his eyelids clened as he continues, ‘Are we preparing the amortemntia?’
‘Yes, since when are you not paying attention, huh, little Black?’ James laughs and then oh fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
‘Maybe I was too distracted by you tempting me with attention like a fucking little girl, Potter.’ James laughs again and Regulus would like to punch him on the nose. Even kissing him wouldn't be a bad idea, in fact...
‘Well, let's start.’ The Gryffindor claps his hands, starting to read the list of ingredients on the potion book and telling Regulus where to get each of them. Regulus ignores the curious look James turns at him when he gets up without too much fuss and heads to the shelf. Did he really think it was so stupid that he didn't know where the moonwater was?
After ten minutes they are finally sitting on their own chairs again and are starting with the preparation.
‘So... do you have an idea of what you're going to smell in the amortentia?’ James asks, as he meticulously shreds what appear to be rose petals.
‘Yes.’ Short cut, not wanting to go into too much detail. Despite this, James doesn't seem intent on surrendering. ‘Oh... so you already know who it would be?’ Question, adjusting his glasses on his nose. Regulus snorts, raven curls bounce on his pale forehead.
‘Why should I tell you?’
‘I don't know... -James scratches his boss- Why am I... um, curious?’ He asks without confidence, a good-natured smile that splits his cheeks in two.
"I don't care about your curiosity. Now, I would be grateful if you focussed on work." Regulus is forced to repress the smile that is already blooming on his lips when James laughs. His laugh is hot, hot as the sun. And oh, the light his eyes give off now. Slytherin is tempted to bottle it, keep it with him and take it on his darkest days.
‘I love when you're mean to me.’ James sling his hair with one hand, looking at Regulus as if he were the brightest star in the sky. And -maybe- for Potter a bit it is.
'What is this? Masochism at an advanced level, mhm?" Black asks, hiding behind her hair. Because James is too handsome and he -really- how can he resist him?
'No, just... it's cute. It's like it's our own thing." The Gryffindor extends his hand forward again and Regulus does not retract this time. His touch is gentle, almost a nod of a caress, and the raven melts like snow in the sun.
‘If you think this is a special treat, Potter, I don't know what idea to make of you.’
James crosses his legs before speaking, his pants now a little tighter around his thighs: "No, no. Let Regulus Black never pay any attention to anyone. It's just... it's just that no one treats me like that." The boy's thumb gently swings back and forth on the back of his hand, almost following a melody. Regulus shudders.
‘how?’ he asks in a whisper, his eyes stranded in James's.
«Like... as if I were a person and not just ‘James Potter, the Quidditch prodigy who has all the girls at his feet.’ Says the Gryffindor, the voice stained with melancholy.
The raven frowns and the other rushes to talk: "Don't get me wrong, I love my friends, but sometimes they treat me like I'm... I don't know, a kind of machine that can't do anything wrong. No emotions or problems. You understand what I mean, don't you?"
Regulus is surprised. He never expected such a confidence from Griffidor Tower's casanova.
‘Why are you telling me this?’ He asks, and James' hand freezes for a moment, just one, then starts again in his slow imaginary path.
‘I don't know... I feel like I can trust you.
-
There are times in life, when anxiety makes you twist your stomach, as if you were about to vomit.
The first time you introduce yourself to someone, the minutes before taking an exam, the night before an appointment...
On behalf of Regulus, most of these moments belong to James Potter.
He remembers all too well the first time Sirius talked to him about his best friend. He spent -with great chances- a whole hour praeling him: explaining how all his jokes made him laugh and how his jokes were the funniest. Regulus felt forgotten, crumpled like a meagre sheet of paper and thrown into a corner. That's where I started to hate James Potter.
At the tender age of eleven, when he first took the Hogwarts Express, his only goal was to find a sweet spot in the boy, to prove to his brother that he was far better than him.
When, however, he entered the Malandrini's compartment -so he called them Sirius-, his brother's hand still resting behind his back, Regulus felt himself dying. Suddenly, all his good intentions withered like rose petals left too long in the sun. James Potter was perfect. It was then, at the tender age of eleven, that Regulus fell in love with it.
Brown curls fell messy right under his ears, his skin was light, but not pale, like the moon in its peak days. Two beautiful dimples dig his chubby cheeks, framing his lips as red as cherries. And his eyes, oh, his eyes were pure warmth, as if the sky had decided to embed the sun between his eyelids. Hot, hot iris.
When James smiled at him, shredding his hair jokingly, Regulus almost bent in two. His heart had decided to play a bad joke on him.
With his cheeks almost as red as the Gryffindor's lips, Black escaped out of the compartment.
At fifteen, Regulus can reluctantly say that James still has the same effect on him. So when Slughorn asks him what he feels in the amortentia, his throat dries up. He is no longer a child and luckily he can control himself. From the outside, he is sure to appear impassive, no matter the hurricane he feels expanding in his chest, second after second.
‘I... I'm not sure, professor.’ He says shy, his legs already frantic to return to their place under the bench.
"Wow, my boy, you'll have to distinguish some smells. Come on!” Slughorn winks at him and Regulus is certain he would prefer to see him with a black eye. She doesn't let herself be broken down, though: "As I told you, I'm not sure. I can't distinguish odours well." She claims, her high chin, trying in vain to ignore the hot look she feels nailed to her face. James, his brain screams.
'Do you want a good grade, Black? Then move and tell us what you feel.” The impatient old man tells him. Regulus stares at him with disgust, but he forces himself to continue: "I feel... grass cut, professor and... -the man ants him to continue- butterbeer, maybe. And maybe even... hair conditioner. Vanilla balm.” She hopes this isn't too obvious, because she didn't have time to come up with something better.
Slughorn sighs, the wrinkles around the eyes accentuated: ‘Well, instead, Black.’ Regulus is surprised that the man didn't make one of his usual questionable jokes. He silently thanks anyone who decided to give him that moment of respite.
As the boy heads into his place, the whole class is watching him (including James). It is at the exact moment he sits, that his safety withers, leaving room for pure terror.
‘My balm is vanilla.’ It's the whisper that slips out of James' lips like a secret, the eyes peering at him carefully.
At first he doesn't understand, he looks at Potter strange and almost mocks him and then, oh.
Oh fuck.
Regulus crystallises.