my partner?

Regulus ties the laces meticulously over and over again until he’s satisfied and sprays them stiff with hair spray. Moving over to the mirror he’s met with his usual glare and applies thick black eyeliner to the under eyes. finally running his eyes around his reflection the usual glare softens in pleasure. He looks dangerous. He looks ready.

Nerves were not something Regulus Black experienced. Ever. So now right before his free skate of the olympics was no different. He knew his routine was impressive and could perform it flawlessly in his sleep. There’s no doubt in mind he’s not going to win gold, even the competition knew this. He had a Russian for fucks sake, he had Grindewald.

Out of the corner of his eyes he notices Walburga Black entering the scene with a scowl etched onto her features, “Regulus, you were meant to be out two minutes ago.” His mother, much to his distaste, had a certain quality he actually liked, punctuality. Though, that was the only thing she had to offer in terms of likability.

Regulus nods in response and turns from the figure in the mirror to follow his mother out. Being detached from oneself was an unfortunate byproduct of the sport, five hours before he even stepped on the ice he would become someone else. Someone better.

As Regulus followed his mother out he noticed the score board next to him, going last had some advantages after all.

Not only did he get easily remembered, but he could scope out others mistakes. With a 110.28 in the short program he was already a threat. Unfortunately, Japans skater had managed to get an overall score of 329.88. How.

219.60 points wasn’t too impossible to achieve, that does not mean it’s going to be easy. A coil starts wrapping itself in Regulus’ stomach, no one had prepared him for this. The aspect that he could loose. He’s never scored higher than a 209.93 in his free skate before.

He was the best in Europe, why not the world? That’s what they told him. Filled him with hope. But never filled him with the harsh realities that is an non-guaranteed gold medal. Not only that, he couldn’t afford to fail. Years of training, to become the best, to finally be respected by his family.

“There he is.” Dumbledore grinned, the prick, “We’ve spoken to the judges and we got the go ahead to change all of the triples to quads.” They did what. Regulus was all for winning, no matter what it took. But he would quite literally rather murder his competition than change something in his routine.

“All of the triples? Even the two Axel jumps?” Is all that find it’s way out of his mouth, rather than the urge to yell at the absolute idiot before him. What had they bribed the ISU with to manage this? Grindelwald and Albus were respected, famous even. But no one’s famous enough for the ISU.

“Yes even the Axels.” Dumbledore replied a fake grin still plastered on his face, given away by the coldness to his eyes daring Regulus to disagree. They knew this would throw him off, training someone since they were six meant knowing all of that persons strengths and weaknesses. The reinforcement of people being exposed to his weaknesses only made the coil in his gut grow tighter.

Regulus could do quadruple jumps with ease, landing his quad lutz at the age of fifteen, making history. But now only 6 months away from seventeen, he’s still unsure on the axel. It was an extra one-hundred and eighty degrees but took too much power from the body and so much control.

“I can do it.” He nods. Who was he to disappoint? Who was he to prove his family right.

With little time to prepare he went through the motions of his skate. The upcoming four minute routine was going to be absolute hell on his body. But yet as he stood on the ice no less than five minutes since the announcement of a change, he was confident.

Was it false? Right now, for the first time ever on the ice. It was.

The rink was usually his safe place, somewhere were everyone’s eyes were on him and for the right reasons. Regulus was a marvel, a spectacle of what people dreamed they could be. But as of right now the eyes burned into him. A sensation of dread pulsed around his veins.

Regulus would kill to look into the audience and just once be met with a glimpse of familiarity. Always investigating the stands for his brother, then before he could even finish his debrief with the audience, the notes start to his number.

—

5.03 points. Those numbers had lead to his placement. Those numbers would go down in history for his downfall.

He didn’t do it.

after all of this.

He’d lost?

An odd choking noise left Regulus’ mouth. Similar to a dying cat. Maybe he was dying, no that would be too kind. He’d failed. Regulus Black and failure did not belong in the same sentence. But here he was. Stuck to the stool in shock. Staring back at the numbers in disbelief.

He’d lost. He’d lost everything. Not only his title and his pride, but everything to get here.

His friends were made out to be enemies by Dumbledore, only wanting to distract him from the end goal. Like a fool, Regulus obliged to his demands and left them. And Sirius. He’s not even here to reassure Regulus that, that what? He hadn’t failed? Regulus isn’t sure even Sirius could comfort the state he’s in.

A tear rolled down his cheek landing on the scars of his palms. Scars earned from the blades currently weighing his feet down. He had the sudden urge to pull them off and slice them directly into the throats of the very same people who had lied to him through those same throats for years. Praising him for his greatness, his discipline.

Now looking to his side he’s met with a hard, unreadable look from Grindewald. This wasn’t good, that’s obvious. Regulus never let Dumbledore or Grindewald down, practically their prized toy among useless clutter. This was the first time. Looking past Grindewald to Dumbledore, he realised it would be his last.

Many of his peers had warned him of this. Once you loose with these coaches, you’ve lost the coaches. Was his career over? At sixteen?

“We’re done here.” Apparently it is.

—

Regulus stands on the podium looking upwards towards the winner. The fucker is beaming at the cameras. That should be him. Instead of grin he would glare and smirk at his glory, like a true winner.

Like a Black.

The thought drifted him back to his parents, who hadn’t spoken a word to him since the results. Orion had patted his shoulder like a finality, a you tried? now this silly ambitions over.

your a failure, we always knew it.

Regulus couldn’t even blame them. As he took off his silver medal and placed it as his feet for the pictures.

He knew it full well.

He was a waste of space. A spec in the stars.

—

It’s been a week since they got back and his parents hadn’t mentioned training once. Actually, Walburga and Orion Black had resorted to ignoring his existence entirely and usually this would be a blessing.

But it’s a curse.

He’s cursed.

This is adamantly clear when he steps down to the dining room for supper only to be met with the cold eyes of his former coaches. Or current coaches? Regulus isn’t sure, he’s also not sure which option is worse.

“Sit down my boy.” Dumbledore gestures with the classic smile, that never does reach his eyes.

Regulus tries his hardest not to roll his eyes at ‘my boy’, Dumbledore had made it quite clear to everyone that Regulus was simply a pawn to him getting a “gold medal athlete” in the olympic aftermath. It was all caught on live television for gods sake.

But he did as he was told. Always did what he was told.

“Now, me and Albus have spoken. Unfortunately, we will be unable to continue with you next season. We are quite sure that you are at your prime now and it would be a waste to keep delving our energy into you.” Grindewald says, never one to beat around the bush.

As he was talking the food was brought in by the butler, Kreacher. Walburga stares at Regulus’ portion of the plain chicken and sautéed green beans.

So before he can even wallow in his own failure of losing his coaches, his mother must share her opinion.

“You don’t think that’s a bit big of a portion? Considering he’s not even training anymore?” She shares a pointed look with Grindewald, who was in charge of his dietary needs.

“You’re quite righ-“ He starts only to be cut off by Regulus.

“What do you mean i’m not training?” He shouldn’t interject, it’s not proper. Not tojours pur. He still caries on, “I’m not quitting skating.”

Orion raises a menacing hand at his outburst, but what blows harder is his mothers next words.

“We’ve banned you from the men’s singles. After all, you are only going to embarrass the Black name more by reentering only to fail again.”

Banned?

They actually banned him because he lost once?

Still feeling a sting to his cheek he shoots his glare towards Dumbledore. Who lightly nods in agreement and carries on sipping his wine.

Did this cunt just nod.

Like it was nothing.

Before Regulus can even comprehend his actions a fork is in his hands, then out of his hands. Then directly towards Dumbledores nose, he blinks. It’s lodged in and bleeding.

Oh shit.

His mothers cries of disgust towards him are drowned out by his foot steps as they race towards his room. What the fuck was he doing? No time to think of that right now as his fathers unmistakable foot steps are catching up to him.

I’m going to die this time.

He pushes back the thought. Regulus Black will not die at sixteen. Certainly not to the hands of his father. He’ll die on his own accord. Although the possibility pulls him into a full out sprint to his bedroom door. Once inside he lodges his desk chair between the handle.

“You’re dead to this family, disgracing us and attacking a guest. Dead Regulus.” The yell only confirms his previous thoughts. Oh shit shit. Fuck. Shit.

Pack. He needs to Pack, get off the grounds.

and go where? you’ve got no one left.

Fuck his annoying always correct conscience. But as his father starts to bash against the door Regulus really couldn’t care where he is as long as it’s not here.

Trying not to scream at the fact his beloved mahogany desk chair was currently being obliterated, he throws whatever he deems a necessity into a back pack.

Ice skates. Skating clothes, obviously. That record Sirius got me. Journal and pen, favourite jumper, a secret history (you cant leave a book not fully read).

What’s he missing? Oh yeah, his wash stuff. The chairs not going to hold up for much longer, but he didn’t spend four years finding the perfect hair routine at twelve to not pack it.

Just as Orion barges into the room, Grindewald hot on his heels. The window shuts to a close.

he got out.

—

Regulus checks the time.

It’s only five pm the bank closes at seven. Two hours, get a place to stay. Lay low.

The plan seemed simple in Regulus’ head, until he got to the front gates and Kreachers voice came from behind him.

“Master Regulus! Master Regulus wait!” Kreacher came to a halt infront of him a palm laid flat on Regulus’ chest. He weighs up his options, run or hear him out. The butler always was a friend of his, so once a few seconds pass he gives in.

“Kreacher?” he questions.

“Master Regulus, let me help, like how I helped your brother not too long ago.”

To this Regulus tries his hardest not to flinch. No one dares to speak to him about the night Sirius left. No one in the house seemed to care except for him and, apparently, Kreacher. Sirius was probably too out of it to even remember the exact turn of events.

After a moment he responds, “And how would you do that?”

Kreacher simply grabs some keys out of his pocket. Not any keys. Car keys. Regulus looks up from them to the small man before him and an unexpected smirk is etched onto the butlers face. The same man who cleaned his wounds as a child and helped him drag Sirius’ almost lifeless body into a private ambulance. Did he know this man at all?

“Master Regulus if you’re done looking amazed, as much as I appreciate it, your father is out for blood and your mother is destroying the dining room. So we should really get going sir.” Kreacher says speaking so quickly and, well, informally that Regulus is surprised that he doesn’t start choking on his own shock.

Nevertheless they make their way to the garage and into the car. Then off the grounds.

Am I actually going insane? Is this real?

He pinches himself just to double check. It was. This was all too much alike to when Sirius left two years prior, they tried to stay in touch of course. But when everything you do is being monitored, it poses quite the challenge.

Could he go back to Sirius now? Was it too late? Was his radio silence mistook for something else? Sirius would never leave him, he knew that.

But he did. He never came back. The voice in his head reminds him. Regulus then decides the drive to the bank is far too quiet if he’s able to hear his own thoughts. Wait.

“Kreacher where exactly are you taking me?” He speaks from the passenger seat, somewhere he wasn’t allowed to sit for unknown reasons his mother had. All the more reason to sit there now.

“Master Regulus I’m just trying to get as much distance between us and Grimauld House I can.” Kreacher responds matter of factly.

“Take me to the bank, please.” He murmurs back while trying to connect his phone to the car, another thing his mother disapproved of. Then started playing unclassical music, Walburga Black would have a stroke if she saw him right now.

Good.

You don’t mean that, you’ll always love her.

Turning up the system to drown out his thoughts he catches on to the familiar lyrics of one of his deepest darkest secrets. Regulus Black was an absolute sucker for Lana Del Rey.

It’s more deep than hearing a song, he admired being able to feel a song, she could do that. That’s how you know you’re listening to an artist. The whisty voice surrounds the car.

I watched the guys getting high as they fight For the things they hold dear

Regulus is going to not only survive without his parents, but become the best figure skater in history. Out of spite? Of course, everything Regulus did was mainly out of spite. He’d had all of two minutes to research the ISU regulations and in a year and six months the ban they placed on him will be lifted, he’ll be eighteen and able to do whatever he deems fit with his career.

To forget the things they fear, This is how, to disappear

He then took in this next line of the song and his breath got caught in his throat. Regulus cannot believe he’s about to take advice from a song, but he’s never really had the option to make his own conscious decisions before, has he?

Disappear, that’s what he will have to do. It’s only eighteen months. Plus, no one should miss him that much and he doubts his parents care enough now to scramble after him on a cat and mouse chase.

Yes, he should be reborn. Regulus Black, he was destined for greatness, being the heart of a lion and everything. These months are an opportunity to improve himself, so he wins. He’ll never loose again.

Never be second to someone again.

—

He walks into the bank with purpose, Kreacher outside with the engine running. Just in case things go side ways.

“I’d like to access the trust fund of Regulus Black.” He states impatiently, he never did like meaningless social interactions. They took too much effort, making sure he was blinking, keeping eye contact, but not too much. These next months, if anything, would be a god send due to his lack of sociability.

“ID?” The person behind the desk enquires.

He grabs the learner drivers out of the back of his phone case, why did he never buy a wallet? No one’s going to take him seriously if he keeps doing this. In his defence he’d never had to deal with physical money before.

“Ah yes, Mr Black, you are aware that though you have full access to this bank account, that your parents do still have full authority to withdraw and freeze it until you reach twenty-one?” They say, not missing a beat.

“Yes, I am.” He nods curtly slipping the ID back into his case.

“Very well, how much would you like to withdraw from the Black Heir Fund?”

“How much is there?” He questions. If he can take it all, he will.

“Rounding up to eighty-two million, but you can only transfer two-hundred thousand at a time.” They reply, looking quite aghast. Yes, he was something of a nepotism baby. But having rich tastes comes with, well, being rich?

Regulus doesn’t care too much for money anyways, just the occasional things it can buy. Some things you truly want can’t be bought with money, since he had realised that he rendered greed and materialism quite worthless. Though his reaction to a mahogany chair, he auctioned four grand on, being destroyed might disagree with that belief.

“I’ll take the two-hundred thousand then.” he says forcing a smile, that in reality, probably looked like he was holding in a quite painful fart.

Put on the ice face, you can perform well on the ice.

Well this isn’t the ice is it, it’s bloody gringotts you twat.

Inwardly groaning at his own painfully depreciating monologue, the worker returns back with a (rather large) envelope.

“Thank you, Mr Black. Also I wanted to congratulate you for the Olympics last week, a podium place is truly remarkable!”

At the mention of his Olympic performance, Regulus dropped the false ‘nothing wrong just getting a lot of money’ smile and simply glared at the woman across from him as he snatched the envelope off the counter.

“Yes, I’m sure you wouldn’t understand how it feels to even get second.” He sneers then walks out of the bank, slamming the door behind him.

Honestly, did these people not see him up there only a week ago? He quite literally put the meddle at his feet in an act of symbolism, and some may say he was being dramatic. Some people had said he’d been dramatic actually. But if they were in his position, they would’ve done the same.

“Where to now Master Regulus?” Kreacher says pulling out of the bus lane, how he somehow never got fined blows Regulus’ mind. Probably something to do with his parents no doubt.

“I need an apartment, to buy, or even rent.”

“I know some flats round the cor-“ Kreacher starts only to pause as Regulus scoffs, “Anything the matter, sir?”

“I will not just get any old flat I want a nice apartment, nothing too flashy that raises suspicion, but acceptable enough for a Black.” He exasperates, hands moving a mile a minute.

“I think I have a place in mind sir.” Kreacher hums. Please let this actually be good, Kreacher has never let Regulus down before but, his tastes in interior design are quite particular.

In record time, again how did Kreacher not have any driving tickets, they step out onto the curb.

“This is the one.” Kreacher confirms walking round the bonnet and nodding at the building ahead of them. It truly was a sight for London. It had Parisian accents, with tall white windows and wiry black balconies. He should’ve never doubted Kreacher and only hoped the inside was just as acceptable.

A faint smile etched onto Regulus’ face once he stepped into the lobby, the tiled floor was pristine and had black lines etched in a quatrefoil pattern. Oh, Kreacher new him.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” A woman, he can only assume is the land lord, smiles to them. If she doesn’t own the building, she must own something despite looking relatively young.

“Master Regulus Black is wondering if the penthouse is still for rent?” Kreacher replies back.

The woman’s eyes gleam with something along to recognition at his name. “It is, would you like to see it?” She says with a more prideful smile.

“If you would, miss?” Regulus’ voice trails off.

“Zabini. Evelyn Zabini. I would be your landlord if you decided to rent.” She moves into the lift and presses the top button. So a penthouse in Kensington wouldn’t exactly be low profile, but it would be far from Grimauld House.

“I’m sorry about your placement in the olympics, it was daylight robbery. They had you spinning like a ballerina in a jukebox on that ice.” She carries on as they move upwards. Regulus then decided even if the apartment was the equivalent of a demolishment site he would move in just to have a landlord with common sense.

“I’ll just get gold next time.” She turns to him with a raised chin of approval at his statement.

The lift dings and they walk into a foyer matching the lobby, except it has various oil paintings on the adjacent walls. Regulus took in what he knew to be Cezanne paintings.

“Are these originals?” He questions, there’s absolutely no way. No matter how impressive this woman was, there’s no way. His paintings were worth up to millions.

“Of course, I don’t look cheap do I?” She smirks unlocking one of the double doors. They all walk in and Regulus genuinely can’t tell if it was him or Kreacher who gasps. Probably him.

It’s marvellous. This is just the living and kitchen area? He’s not even properly furnished the place yet. The oven and hob is a deep blue and has white curving stone wrapped around it, it just looks expensive.

“It’s 3,500 square feet, 2 bedroom, one bathroom and has an open floor plan upstairs.” Ms Zabini explains strolling down into a corridor and Regulus can’t help but follow her like a lost puppy.

As expected, the bathroom is double the largest one back at his parents home and the smaller room puts any to envy, except for the larger room, his room.

There’s a door to a balcony matching the one connected to the living room and a walk in wardrobe that automatically lights up from the ground when you step in. It’s so. So him.

Once he’s lead back into the main room, Kreacher comes rushing down the stairs and looks more excited than Regulus has ever seen him.

“Sir you must see this!” He exclaims, “You’re going to love it.” Regulus runs up after him, losing all decorum at his friend slash butlers excitement.

He’s glad he did, because going another second without seeing the space before him would’ve been a federal crime. It’s got dark wooden floors and natural light floods in from the windows.

The open space would be perfect for training. The high ceiling paired with the outstretched wall that would be perfect for full body mirrors. What god made this apartment perfectly designed for him?

He hears Miss Zabini walking up the stairs and whips round, “How much do I have to pay for this to be mine?”

“Most people are put off by the open plan,” She laughs, “But it can be yours for two-hundred and seventy-thousand a month.”

“I’ll take it.”

—

Once he’d filled out all the paper work, syncing his trust fund to the payments. He’d said his goodbyes to Kreacher, who swore to keep his living area a secret and promised to drive him anywhere he needed.

Now Regulus is online shopping in order to get some furniture into his new apartment. This is one time he’s allowed to feel it, pride. He’d got out just like Sirius wanted and now he’s going to make Dumbledore and Grindewald pay.

In four years time he’ll get gold without them.