Omnia vincit amor

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/37284820.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationships: Regulus Black/James Potter, Regulus Black & Pandora Lovegood,
Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Regulus Black & Bartemius Crouch Jr.,
Regulus Black & Evan Rosier, Regulus Black & Narcissa Black Malfoy
Characters: Regulus Black, James Potter, Pandora Lovegood, Lily Evans Potter,
Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Evan Rosier, Bartemius
Crouch Jr., Marlene McKinnon, Mary Macdonald, Original Characters,
Dorcas Meadowes, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Bellatrix Black Lestrange,
Rabastan Lestrange, Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Additional Tags: Jegulus Endgame, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Marauders
Era (Harry Potter), Sirius Black is a good older brother, Regulus Black
Never Becomes a Death Eater, Regulus Black-centric, Queer Regulus
Black, Queer James Potter, Internalized Homophobia, Slytherin Dorcas
Meadowes, Desi James Potter, Gay Barty Crouch Jr., Past Regulus
Black/Bartemius Crouch Jr., Unreliable Narrator, Period Typical
Attitudes, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child
Abuse, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Is Gay,
Minor Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Minor Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas
Meadowes, Minor Barty Crouch Jr/Original Male Character, occasional
different POVs, Fluff, Angst
Language: English
Series: Part 2 of Per aspera ad astra
Collections: completed, read, Magnolia's Favourite Fics, Love these stuff UwU
Stats: Published: 2022-02-21 Completed: 2022-12-05 Words: 317,330
Chapters: 23/23
 Omnia vincit amor
by aureusprongs

Summary

Regulus decides he's had enough of people making decision for him. By people, he means
mostly his parents. He finds out that life can be quite enjoyable if he does what he wants to.
Consequences are to be expected.

(This work is going through editing. Chapters edited: 4/23)

Notes

Hello, hello everyone! A few premises!

English isn't my first language, so if you notice grammar mistakes, please make sure to notify
me. I hope the characters sound british enough.
Since this is a VERY long story, characters start at a place and end up in some others. They
don't stay the same through the whole series, they make mistakes, they grow, they settle.
Takes time but everyone gets there.
Here's a playlist for the fic

Content warnings: homophobic behaviour/language (towards the end)

See the end of the work for more notes

 Harpies & Cannons

12 November, 1972

The day Regulus makes his first friend, it happens by accident.

Hogwarts has only brought him grievances so far, but today surpasses any other bad day he
had: Professor Flitwick gave him detention for not handing in an assignment (which Regulus
has tried to complete in time, but got distracted); Sirius noticed he was sulking, and even
asked why, which led Regulus to say: “since when do you care?”. He didn’t mean to snap and
ended up running to the library in search of solace.

It’s raining outside, and the words on his paper, namely the assignment he failed to complete,
keep blurring together; he hasn’t shed a tear since the start of the year, but now his eyes have
wet, and there seems to be no way to bring them back to normal.

Someone nudges gently at his shoulder, so Regulus turns and meets Pandora Fawley’s blue
eyes. He has never talked to her, even if they have class together every day. Mother said
Fawley is a blood-traitor surname.

“Hi,” she says, tilting her head to the side. Her long blonde hair follows the movement. “You
should take a break, it’s no use to work like that.”

Words get stuck in his throat and tears come instead. Pandora walks him out, and he pulls the
hood of his cloak over his head, not wanting to be seen. There’s an empty bench outside.
Pandora makes him sit and simply offers a tissue. She swings her legs when she sits: not
prying nor trying to make small talk. She’s just there, and for that, Regulus begins to like her.

It only takes a minute or two to calm down. He dries his tears, blows his nose, and offers her
a tight smile. “Sorry. Had a rough start.”

“You don’t need to apologise,” she says cheerfully. “Crying is okay, my mam always says it.
Do you feel a little better?”

Despite not being entirely sure, he nods and holds out his hand. “I’m Regulus,” he says,
“Regulus Black.”

Pandora laughs, but she shakes his hand firmly. “I know who you are, Regulus. We went to
class together for two months!” She says with a big grin. “I’m Pandora.”

From that day on, she simply glues to his side, until they start walking to class with their
arms joined, talking about whatever gossip they’ve heard about their older peers, or
mythology (Regulus likes Greek one, but Pandora is more into Norse mythology).

He would have never guessed that a girl would be his first friend, let alone his first best
friend, but he wouldn’t change her for anybody else. She reminds him of spring and daisies,
ukuleles, walking barefoot on grass, fresh water during dry, summery days.

Maman might not like her, but Regulus doesn’t care: being her friend is a drop of freedom on
the tip of his tongue, and Regulus is thirsty for it.

Narcissa graduates, and in his third year, Regulus replaces her as Seeker in the Slytherin
team. He’s given a jumper with his name and number, which he gives to Pandora before
matches: a lucky charm. She wears it with pride.

Barty (to whom he didn’t talk for two months of their first year because his accent was hard
to understand) and Evan (who was too unpredictable) also became his friends. They claim he
fancies her, but Regulus knows it's friendship. A bond that doesn’t necessarily require
physicality or kissing; a bond for the sake of being in the other’s company.

He decides friendship is the most valuable form of love.

The Greeks would say it is ϕιλία, the art of loving someone as your friend, the art of being
friends. Maman says Greek is the language of the fools; Regulus knows better than listening
to her now.

1 September, 1976

Over the years, they had a few small fights, though none of those lasted very long; in fact,
they only grew to be closer. Regulus is extremely relieved to share with her the absolute
welcomed burden of being a prefect. It's not like he's particularly thrilled at the idea of seeing
Barty and Evan again; as of last year, he and Barty got into a big fight, and Evan is too much
into purism for Regulus to be able to stomach him anyway.

This year, the headboy is none other than Frank Longbottom, captain and keeper of the
Gryffindor Quidditch team; the headgirl is Alice Prewett, his girlfriend, one of the brightest
witches in the entire school: she won the duel tournament that was held last year.

They're chatting with Lily Evans and Remus Lupin, when Regulus and Pandora enter the
prefect carriage. Just for a moment, Regulus lets his eyes linger on Lupin's figure, wondering
if it'd be inappropriate to ask about Sirius: he knows they fought at the end of last year.

“It certainly cannot hurt to try,” Pandora says, as if she’s reading his mind.

“We agreed that they fought,” Regulus replies, skimming through the faces in the room.

He spots a series of people he knows: Cory Silva, the other Ravenclaw prefect, drumming his
fingers on the table while he talks to Shinji Fujiwara and Sophia Allen, the Hufflepuff
prefects.
Regulus doesn’t get along with Hufflepuffs. He doesn’t know why, but they usually end up
butting heads. Pandora says it’s because they antagonise him on purpose, still convinced
Regulus is a firm believer of purism. If that’s true, it’s hard to blame them, given Regulus has
done very little to advertise his change of mind.

“Lily seems really nice.” Pandora tells him, while they sit down.

Regulus doesn’t think Lily Evans seems nice: nothing against her, but she looks
confrontational and fierce. Not that fierce people can’t be nice. Nice simply isn’t the first
adjective he’d use. But then again, Pandora thinks he is nice.

“Prewett and Longbottom will probably pair up together. Remus is friends with your brother,
so he can’t be that bad.” Regulus would love to argue with her, but he doesn’t have the
energy to contradict her now. “If we’re paired up with any of them, we’re lucky. Gryffindors
are a safe space!”

“I want to be paired up with you,” he says, leaning on the palm of his hand. “Gryffindors
always think I’m scheming. Or they say ‘wow, you really look like your brother!’. Yeah,
thickie, that’s how families work.”

Pandora snorts. “But Elias adores you.” Pandora says, brushing his hair -longer than last
year- out of his face. “You’re gonna be fine. Us purebloods grow up with optimal masking
methods.”

“Yay us.”

And with that said, he crosses his arms on the table and rests his head on top of them, closing
his eyes. If Father were here, he’d be extremely bothered with it, which makes Regulus proud
of himself. Pandora keeps touching his hair soothingly.

“I wouldn’t mind being paired up with Elias,” he tells Pandora. “Not sure about the others,
though.”

There’s only two Gryffindors in his year: Elias and Jules, both made prefects. Elias became
his friend in the middle of his third year, after a fight. No one was expecting it: least of all
Regulus himself: Elias is a muggleborn. Last year, he became seeker as well, and a good one
too; Regulus had the time of his life playing against him and he’s itching to do it again.

Even more, they sit together during DADA and Ancient Runes, and always work together
during potions; it improved Regulus’s grades, because Elias is a wizard of particular talent
(one of the many reasons why Barty doesn’t like him is that they have been academic rivals
since the second year). And since Barty and Evan aren’t in his graces anymore, he supposes
they’ll spend even more time together now.

“Everyone likes them,” Pandora says. “They can’t be that bad, can they?”

Pandora’s face is all about softness: round face, delicate features, fair blue eyes, blonde hair.
She’s the colours of winter and the embodiment of summer. Regulus, instead, is all harsh
lines, from the slant of his eyes to the straight slope of his nose to the pointy chin. He looks
exactly like what he is: an aristocrat.

Pandora makes a beeping noise, then grins: “Snape alert,” she says.

“Uh-uh.”

Regulus straightens up when Snape enters the carriage with the other two Slytherin prefects,
Lucas Nott and Vivienne Bulstrode. He nods at them, even if doesn’t like Severus, never
bothered with Lucas, and has cut ties with Vivienne.

Snape doesn’t try to talk to Lily: when he looks at her, she glares at him. If a gaze could set
someone on fire, it would be Lily’s.

“Told you they wouldn’t be friends ever again,” he whispers to Pandora. “She’s doing herself
a favour by having him out of her life. He’s awful.”

And while he says that, Elias comes into the carriage and takes off his sunglasses, as if
someone would ever need those in England. He flashes a smile at Regulus and waves his
hand.

He’s tanned, his hair was cut short and it’s curling up at the tips, brown and a bit messy. His
face is freckled and has a freshness to it, a look of relaxation and new starts. Regulus has
always thought he looks ethereal, like he just came out of one of those music magazines
Sirius likes so much.

“Had a good summer?” Regulus asks, once he comes close. Now he notices that Elias really
grew over the past two months: he must be about the same height as Barty now.

“I missed Quidditch. But aside from that, it was great, yeah. A lot of music, snogging and
days at the beach. Did you have a good summer?”

Regulus manages to keep his face neutral, though his heart drops to his heels. “The norm,” he
says, holding Elias’s firm gaze.

“Eli!” Jules calls him, from the other side of the carriage. “I’ve got us seats!”

Elias turns to glance at her, then back at Regulus. “We’ll talk about it more,” he tells Regulus,
before turning away and walking to Jules.

On that note, the meeting begins.

Fate doesn’t like Regulus, and today she shows it brilliantly. He was paired up with one of his
brother’s best mates, of course.

To say the least, he’s embarrassed; to tell the tale as it is, he’s uncomfortable.
Remus Lupin is tall, with broad shoulders and a scar across his nose, one slitting his eyebrow,
one over his bottom lip, a fading line showing only because his skin is tanned from the
summer. His hair is light brown, curly and grown a bit too long, and even if it’s still warm, he
wears long sleeves. He’s quiet, which Regulus usually doesn’t mind, if he wasn’t aching to
ask a question.

He finally gives in after they’ve checked the sixth compartment.

“How is Sirius?” He asks, controlled tone and composure over his entire posture and
expression.

“Why do you ask?” Remus’s voice is smoky, but his tone is neutral.

“Take a wild guess,” he says, sharper than he meant.

Lupin raises his eyebrows, then straightens his back. “He’s doing better.” Remus says, more
quietly. “James is taking care of him.”

The mention of James puts Regulus on edge. He knew he was putting James in a tough
position, back in May, when he asked him if he would take Sirius in, even though they
fought.

The day he sent Sirius away, Regulus sent an especially small letter:

Take care of him for me.

R.A.B.

To which James responded a bit frantically:

If you’re in danger, please send a note, I’ll get you out of there as well. My mother is
worried and Sirius won’t stop asking about you.

J.

But Regulus hadn’t even considered the possibility, and only wrote to James again in a
moment of discomfort.

Hi.

I hope Sirius is fine. He should be resting after what happened, please don’t let him
stress over anything. He tends to get caught in his head if he’s left alone for too long.
Tell him to have a good summer on my behalf.

R.A.B.

James, of course, replied this time as well:

I didn’t know your birthday was in summer. Could have sworn you were a Capricorn,
but I’m shite at astrology. Happy belated birthday! I hope today is a good day!
 Please let us know if you’re fine, Sirius is worried. I’m still offering to take you in. We’d
have loads of fun, you could play Quidditch all day long.

J.

Regulus had rolled his eyes at the letter, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips: he has a
little infatuation for James Potter. He finds him fascinating, and at that time, he had thought it
was cute that James wanted to play Quidditch with him; they did that before, just the two of
them.

My rising sign is Capricorn. Destroy my brother at Quidditch for me. See you at
Hogwarts.

R.A.B.

“I’m glad,” Regulus says, with a small nod.

Fancying James doesn’t mean he’s not mad that he had to resort to giving up his own brother.

For a second, an awkward silence stretches between them. Then Lupin clears his throat.

“You can say hi, you know,” he says, stopping in front of a carriage.

Inside the carriage, Sirius is viciously tickling James’s stomach, making him laugh with his
head thrown back. Peter Pettigrew is taking a picture of them, sitting on the other side of the
carriage with Marlene McKinnon -Gryffindor chaser, along with Mary Macdonald and James
Potter- by his side.

“I really don’t want to ruin the moment.”

But even then, his eyes greedily take in the curve of Sirius’s smile, then the way James looks
when he laughs, eyes closed and lips parted, not even trying to move Sirius’s hands away
from his belly.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sirius will be happy to see you,” Lupin says, already opening the
carriage.

Lupin goes in first, while Regulus lingers outside. He was hoping Remus would hide him
from the view, but James spotted him already, and his smile has gotten a little wider. Regulus
pretends his throat doesn’t feel dry and looks away.

Sirius has caught one of Remus’s hands and he’s watching him with tender fondness in his
eyes; Regulus has never seen him like that.

“Moony,” Sirius says, sounding like he’s about to giggle. The nickname is weird and it makes
Regulus frown. “Are you ditching your prefect duties for me?”

“I said I’d take this seriously, haven’t I? I’ve actually brought someone.”

He looks at Regulus, who, at this point, can’t do anything but step inside.
Sirius’s gaze is full of curiosity at first. It turns to surprise and mild concern as he gets up and
almost tackles Regulus into a hug. It’s been years since they last hugged and as when his
arms close around his brother’s middle, a lump forms in his throat.

“You’re such an idiot sometimes,” Sirius whispers, but he clings. “Such an idiot. Are you
okay?”

“Don’t fuss over me. I’m fine.”

He’s the one to let go and step back. Sirius’s eyes linger on him for a moment, then he takes
his seat again, looking far more pensive than he did before. Regulus balls his hands into fists,
at least until he notices Potter is watching him. They lock eyes, which makes Regulus feel
pinned to the floor, forever destined to stay in that same place.

“Hi” James says in a breathy tone that makes Regulus’ heart flutter in his chest.

“Hi, Potter.”

Pettigrew and McKinnon seem a little surprised to see him, Lupin looks mostly chuffed, as if
getting Regulus here was a personal goal of his. He clears his throat and meets Lupin’s eyes.

“Let’s go, shall we?” He asks, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

Lupin nods at him. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” He looks at Sirius once more, before
they leave the carriage.

“Thanks,” Regulus says, a few minutes later.

Lupin smiles at him, small and sincere. “Anytime”

After dinner, he goes straight to his dorm. He doesn’t want to talk to Barty or Evan, or have
to discuss anything with Avery, Snape or Mulciber.

Curtains closed and uniform taken off in favour of a cosy hoodie and his boxers, he starts to
journal. He does it quite often, especially before bed. Nightmares are least likely to happen if
he writes down his thoughts: the good and the bad.

01/09/1976, Hogwarts

§1: I saw S. today; his friend (more than friend?) L. encouraged me to do so. I didn’t
expect S. to hug me. While I do miss him, I hope he’s found peace where he is now.

§2: Since they disowned him, I’m the heir. I wonder if Mother will write to me now. I
don’t think I want her to. I haven’t wrapped my mind around the meaning of my new role
yet, I haven’t embraced it. There’s too much at stake: the mark, an arranged marriage
(for sure), bonding with Lestrange & Malfoy (which I hope I avoid).
§3: I don’t want to think about the war and I know it’s a selfish desire; I keep hoping
that it’ll end before I’m done with Hogwarts, but judging from my mother’s words the
war will likely go on for years after I’m of age. It’s disheartening. It’s hard to enjoy the
positive things, the fleeting happy moments when the world outside is as it is. It’s
difficult to enjoy Quidditch when I know that going pro won’t be an option if my parents
force me to take the mark.

§4: Some say that love lights up these dark times, but does it? What if you’re forced to
fight against love? What if loving someone will only make it hurt more? Everytime I look
at her, I think about the pain I’ll cause her if the worst thing happens. I should cut off
the friendship but it feels like the only thing keeping me human, grounded. Happiness is
wherever she’s at.

§5: And then there’s him, God forbid. For now, it’s just attraction, but what if it becomes
more? What if I do something reckless? The hat did say that there’s some reckless bones
in my body. Looking at him makes me discover that those still exist, no matter how much
my family tries to break them. I should’ve never looked at him: that was the first
mistake. Thinking about him now is also a mistake.

§6: Sometimes I’m scared: there’s a part of me that desperately wants my parents to be
proud of me, to love me. I’m sure S. feels the same way. I do acknowledge that I want
them to be proud of me as the person I am and not as the purist, obsessed persona that
they want me to be. It still hurts that they only love the idea of the sons they might have
had, instead of loving the actual people. S. and I do well in school, we could have bright
futures in front of us, if the war wasn’t there to make everything so uncertain. I wish my
parents were proud of us for being gifted wizards.

§7: Sometimes I wonder how his parents are. Probably lovely people. I know his mother
was in Slytherin, his father in Gryffindor. I only know because S. told me. He said
they’re adorable parents, that they spend time with their son, things like that. I suppose
normal parents do that. I don’t know how S. doesn’t feel weirded out by it. I would be
rather uncomfortable with adults fussing over me like Madame Pomfrey does when I’m
injured. Calling me “dear” and such. I think I have every right to assume that I’d be
uncomfortable because I’m not used to it and it scares me, but I wish to be wrong.

§8: I don’t know what “loved by parents” looks like on me and I’m afraid of the rage I’d
feel if I discovered it. I already blame my parents for the on and off relationship I have
with my brother. A part of me dreams to discover what a safe household looks like: a
place where everyone is loved despite the differences, where there’s no war or ethics that
pull us apart. I suppose that’s what his household looks like: a home, perhaps, is a much
better word to describe it.

§9: P. says that a home isn’t necessarily a place, sometimes it’s just a time (a time where
you’re loved) or a person. I was skittish when we talked about it, because I know -now
with certainty- that my future doesn’t include a home (whether it is a place, a time or a
person, or all three even). It’s a realisation that leaves me emptier than it found me. I
struggle with seeing happiness in the present, when it means that the future will take it
all away.
He closes the diary and points his wand at it.

“Celio!”

Nothing really changes, except that now it’s hidden to everyone’s eyes but his own. That way,
Evan won’t try to read it again.

6 September, 1976

He sits with Elias at Ancient Runes, ignoring the comments Barty and Evan make about it.
Barty has made particularly nasty comments since the lessons started; he might just be
jealous: in that case, let him be. Regulus hopes he rots in his jealousy.

The professor is late; it figures, considering the classroom is on the fifth floor and the stairs
are particularly moody today. But it’s bad luck for Regulus, because it gives Elias the chance
to talk about a topic Regulus has been avoiding.

“Why did you stay?”

Regulus shrugs: he’s not going to tell, not even under torture (which is, actually, very true).
“Someone had to and it couldn’t be Sirius.”

“Someone had to!” Elias hisses, turning to look at him.

Elias has heterochromia; one of his eyes is blue, the other is green. Everyone notes that
there’s a discrepancy, but the difference is only clear in well lit rooms or under the sun-light.
It makes his eyes more expressive, which must be why Regulus feels especially touched by
his gaze and his worked up tone.

“Do you hear yourself?” Elias questions. Regulus realises he hasn’t spoken. “Your parents are
barking mad, you can’t just stay there!”

He opens his book and gives Elias an unbothered look. “It’s not like I had many options. And
it’s useless to talk about it.”

“He’s worried sick,” Elias continues, going back to the skeleton doodle at the edge of the
parchment. “You should at least talk to him. He thinks he ruined your life.”

Now, that could be true, but Regulus is working on it. He’ll find a way to prove Sirius that he
doesn’t need to be saved: in fact, he can fool his parents, if he finds the missing piece. His
future prospects aren’t looking up right now, but a lot of things start poorly and end greatly.
Maybe he can spin his life around like that.

Still, he’ll talk to Sirius.

Right after Runes, he wanders in the castle, fully intending to talk to Sirius, but not quite
knowing where to go.

He is running when he crashes into James Potter. They fall on the ground with a loud thud.
Regulus is pretty sure he’ll have a big bruise on his left knee tonight.

“Oops, sorry,” he says, awkward and breathless.

James has his back on the ground, his golden rimmed glasses askew and his brown eyes are
wide in surprise. He hasn’t spoken a single word: did he hit his head?

“Sorry,” he says again.

Until now, he didn’t have the pleasure to discover James was hiding long, pretty lashes
behind the frames of his glasses, or that he had a scar on the cheek.

“It’s alright,” James says. The corners of his lips curl up. “Should we….?”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” Regulus says for the third time, and he gets back to his feet. He holds out
his hand. “I didn’t see you. Are you okay?”

James takes his hand and props himself up. His palm is rough from Quidditch and the red
shirt he’s wearing hugs his entire torso perfectly. Regulus feels himself blush and moves his
gaze to James’s eyes.

“I’m alright, yes.” He says, cocking his head to the side, a little amused smirk adorning his
face. “I don’t think prefects are supposed to run in the hallways.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “I was in a hurry.” He lies, crossing his arms.

Running in the hallways is arguably one of his favourite activities at Hogwarts, though James
doesn’t need to know that.

“Where were you going?” James asks, looking around. The corridor is practically empty:
most people are outside, taking advantage of the warm weather, or in a lecture.

“None of your business.” Regulus says, before biting his lip. He probably imagines it, but
James's eyes flicker briefly to his mouth, registering the movement. “But perhaps you know
where Sirius is?”

“Oh!” James goes, his face lightening up in yet another smile. “Sure, of course. He’s in our
dorms. I’ll take you, yeah? No one will say shite if you’re with me.”

Regulus nods, and he follows James down the hallways. The silence lasts about two seconds:
James seems uncomfortable in it.

“What’s your favourite Quidditch team?” He asks, while going down some stairs.

“The Harpies, obviously.”

“The Harpies?!” James makes a strangled noise, he almost looks offended. “I thought
Slytherins preferred the Bats!”

Regulus brushes his hair out of his face. “Yes, sure, because I’m a walking stereotype. Next
thing, I’m going to start speaking parseltongue.”

James laughs. “Wanker.” He looks at him briefly, then licks his lips. “I prefer the Cannons!”

“Of course you prefer the Cannons.” Regulus jumps off the last step.

“What does that even mean?” James starts walking backwards to look at him while they
speak, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans.

“You look like the type of person that cheers for the second choice.” Regulus says, walking a
bit faster to catch up with James.

“I’d play for the Cannons,” James says, turning again. Their shoulders are brushing. James’s
body is so warm Regulus is sure it must be unnatural. “They’re stellar, even if they don’t
always win. And their uniforms have gold in them!”

“Such a shame, to wear the colour of victory and never win a tournament,” Regulus teasess,
lifting an eyebrow.

“Ugh, that was such a Slytherin come back.” James says, making a disgusted noise. “We’d be
good rivals, though, if you played for the Harpies and I played for the Cannons. It’d be fun to
see Sirius having to pick who to root for.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Regulus says, looking straight ahead. “He’d obviously cheer for you.”

“Don’t say that.” James says, frowning. “He loves watching you playing Quidditch, he’s just
bad at expressing his feelings.”

He thinks about Sirius, laughing with James in the carriage, about the way he smiled softly
when he saw Lupin; he thinks about Sirius when he’s mad and his eyes are full of tears and
his mouth is of harsh words. Then again, maybe, just like him, Sirius is afraid to love openly,
especially if it’s loving a member of his family. He doesn’t blame him.

“Not bad at expressing his feelings,” Regulus corrects him. “He’s scared to do so, it’s
different.”

James considers it for a second, before nodding. “That is, yes.” He stays silent for another
minute, walking through a desert hallway. “Remus told me you’re friends with Pandora
Fawley.”

“I am,” He confirms, looking at James’s curious expression. “She’s my best friend.”

James hums, nodding. “She seems really nice.” He bites at his lip, now looking over at
Regulus shyly. “Do you fancy her? Sirius reckons you’d look good together…”
Regulus sighs, shocking his head. “No, I don’t fancy her. I wish people would stop
assuming…” He stops and reconsiders. “I wish people would start minding their own
business.”

James stops, looking intently at him. “Are you saying you don’t care about Sirius's romantic
life?”

“How’s that related to this…” James still looks determined, so he goes on: “I care that Sirius
is happy, but if by caring you mean ‘assuming things about his love life’, then no, I don’t.”

That’s not necessarily true: he assumes that his brother is, as well, queer, but he hasn’t figured
out whether he fancies Remus Lupin or not. It’s hard to tell with Sirius.

“You look happy with Pandora, though,” James says, walking a couple of metres ahead.

“You look happy with your friends too, Potter.” He retorts, stopping where James had
stopped.

There’s a painting with a fat lady in it. She recognizes them both, which is a bummer:
Regulus hoped she’d think he was Sirius, and let them in easily.

“He’s not allowed to be in the Gryffindor common room!” She says.

James smirks at Regulus, before turning towards the painted lady with a saccharine smile.
“Pretty please? He’s here for his brother.”

“I don’t care, mr. Potter, you’re breaking the rules.”

“That’s what I’m the best at, honestly. I’m fine with having detention, but can you let us in?
Please? I’ll say the password?”

The fat lady, somehow, gives in, and they enter the passage. The Gryffindor common room is
warm and cosy, colours like red, burgundy, brown, orange, yellow and gold can be found in
every corner of the room. It seems to be the theme behind the choice of the paintings as well.
Just like his own common room, this one is big, with high ceilings and tons of armchairs,
sofas, tables: small common areas. It looks nice, he thinks. He can see why Sirius likes it so
much.

“Potter.” They turn at the same time, to find Frank Longbottom looking at them. “You know
Slytherins can’t be here.”

“Frank!” James says, cheerfully, patting the head boy on the shoulder. “He’s here to talk to
Sirius, he won’t get out of the dorm. Do you think you can let that slide?”

Franks looks at Regulus for a second, then he shrugs and nods.

“Great, thanks!” James runs to the stairs of the dorm and Regulus is quick to follow.

The dorm room is big, and enlightened by a couple of big windows. There’s four beds. Sirius
is lying down on the one on the left, close to the window; Lupin is sitting on the mattress,
back towards the door. Regulus guesses the other one on the left is James's, because of the
Cannon’ moving poster over it.

“Hi, lads,” James says, announcing his entry.

“Hi, James,” Sirius says casually, turning his head towards the door. He immediately sits up
when he sees Regulus.

“We’ll leave you guys alone,” Lupin says as he gets up from the bed.

He’s pale and he looks like he’s hurting, physically, but Regulus can’t really tell why. He
feels bad that he has to get out of his room just to let them sort things out.

He mumbles an apology, and then James and Lupin aren’t there anymore. The door closes
behind his back with a dull thud.

“I wanted to talk to you.” Regulus says, stuck where he is, twisting his rings.

“Come sit next to me, at least. I don’t bite.”

Sirius pats the mattress, so Regulus nods and sits on the bed, mirroring his brother’s position.
Their knees are touching: physical contact, even a meaningless one, helps him feel grounded.

“Elias said you’re worried about me.” He starts, meeting his brother’s eyes.

Sirius pouts, grabbing Regulus's prefect badge. “He’s right.” He clenches his jaw. “I don’t
like thinking about you alone in that house. I know how they are. I know what they want you
to be.” Regulus looks down at his hands, leaning against the bed poster. “We have to get you
out of there, Regulus. I don’t…the war is bad enough without finding you on the other side.”

Exactly my thoughts, Regulus thinks. “I’ll try not to go back home for Christmas. Then this
summer, I’ll try to convince them that taking the mark is not a good idea if I want to work in
the ministry. I’ll tell them I ought to wait or something…”

“Regulus-”

“They have to listen. They haven’t taken the mark, they can’t force me to take it, right? I can
make up a plausible excuse for not wanting to take it…Besides, I’m pretty sure Voldemort
isn’t stupid enough to let just anyone take the mark…”

“Regulus-”

“I’ll have to agree to the arranged marriage, or they’ll start wondering…”

“Regulus!”

He looks up, this time, trying not to think about how badly his hands are shaking.

“Jeez, you’re way too young to think about marriage. Don’t let Cissy get to you. We can
figure out something sooner,” Sirius says, meeting his eyes. “Effie and Monty would take
you in right away, believe me. I don’t want you worrying about going home this summer.”

Regulus frowns and crosses his arms. “There is no way we can avoid that,” he says with
certainty. “I’ll have to come back this summer. Mother told me I’ll have a…mission, most
likely. I’m not sure what kind of mission she’s talking about, but she’ll do anything to have
me there. So this summer is out of the question.”

“So what, are you going to comply?” Sirius sounds a bit angry, hurt: Regulus is painfully
familiar with this tone and it makes him sigh and look away. “Are you just going to do
whatever they tell you?”

Regulus glowers at him. “Yes, sure, of course. Since you’re so clever, why are you not in
Ravenclaw, uh?” Sirius pouts at him. “I’m going to get whatever opportunity I have to screw
them up.”

“What do you mean?” Sirius is looking at him more carefully now, with slight concern.

Regulus shrugs, closing his arms tighter around himself. “I wouldn’t be able to explain it to
you, but I know what I’m doing.” He looks at his brother and he awkwardly pats his knee. “I
need you to relax, Sirius. You can’t go around looking so gloomy. I’m not in danger.”

Sirius laughs, bending his head slightly. “You’re the worrier out of us,” he says, looking
down. “Please don’t do anything stupid, Reg.”

“You’re the idiot brother, not me.” He rolls his eyes, then fixes Sirius's hair, gently. “Can we
talk about something normal brothers talk about? I’m sick of this conversation.”

Sirius arches a brow. “What do normal brothers talk about?”

“Er…Quidditch?”

They both laugh, to release the tension at least. “No, thanks, I already share the dorm with
Potter.” Sirius says fondly. Then he frowns. “You were with him when you got here?”

“Yes. We had an accident in a corridor, I ran right into him, and when he asked me where I
was going I said I was looking for you.”

“I bet he didn’t shut up for one second.” Sirius says, going back to lying on the bed. He taps
Regulus's badge with his wand, muttering words he can’t quite catch, then gives it back.

“He asked me if Pandora was my girlfriend,” Regulus says in a grave tone as he fixes the
badge on his cloak.

“Well?” Sirius tries to hide his curiosity, but he’s failing greatly.

“She’s not, obviously. Boys and girls are allowed to be best friends.” Regulus says, flicking at
Sirius's arm.

“She’s pretty.”
“Of course she is.” Regulus says, allowing himself to sound fond. “That doesn’t mean I’m
supposed to fancy her.”

Sirius hums. “No, I guess it doesn’t.” They stay silent for a second, before Sirius says: “I
fancy blokes. Only blokes.”

Regulus looks at him for a second, considering what to do and say next. But if Sirius is queer
as well, this can’t go badly. So far, only three people know: one because he trusts her; one
because he trusted him first, and raised the question; one because they have a past history.
Sirius doesn’t need to know all that; he doesn’t need to know anything. But Regulus wants to
tell him.

“I figured,” he says, slowly. “Me too. Only blokes. I think. I’m not that sure. But I like
blokes.”

With a fast movement, Sirius is sitting again, eyes wide. “Who!” He demands.

“Who what?”

“Who made you realise? How did you know?”

“Promise you won’t get mad,” Sirius nods, eagerly. “Elias. It was Elias.”

Barty. It was Barty. But Elias was a part of the process.

“Oh, of course it’d be him. He’s pretty,” Sirius almost says it as an insult, so Regulus rolls his
eyes.

“It was Lupin, for you, wasn’t it?” He asks, flicking at Sirius’s knee.

Sirius pouts, nodding. “Yes, it was. He’s the only one for me.” He lies down again, staring at
the ceiling. “I didn’t think you’d be…”

Regulus looks away. “No one does. Not like I can be public about it, can I?”

“That’s fucked up, Reg,” he says, clearly touched by it.

“You think I don’t know?” He retorts, furious at himself for sounding mad. “I’m sorry, I
didn’t mean that. Sore topic.”

“It’s fine.” Sirius touches his knee lightly and Regulus is grateful, even if he doesn’t state it.
“We’ll get you out of there and you’ll live the romance of your life, I promise, Reg.”

Regulus nods, giving him a small smile. It’s fake, but Sirius won’t be able to tell. “Tell me
about you and Lupin?”

Sirius -to Regulus's surprise- blushes. “Oh…well, there’s not much to tell, honestly. Last year
was a bit of a mess for us. I was trying to deny I liked him because it felt like too much. Too
many feelings, I was jealous, and overprotective, but I couldn’t get words out. And then we
got into a big fight. We’ve started working it out this summer, though I’m not sure where we
stand. We need time, I think. But he’s starting to talk to me the way he used to, so…”

Regulus smiles, patting his brother’s hand. “I’m glad.” He looks at the door, then at the clock
on Sirius’s nightstand. “I’ve got to meet with Pandora, so…”

“At least say goodbye to James and Remus,” Sirius says, pointing at them with his chin.
They’re playing chess, sitting by one of the tables.

Regulus agrees, just because he wants to hear James’s voice again. He doubts they’ll talk
again anytime soon, so he’ll take his chance. Sirius is the one to cheerfully tap on James’s
shoulders, though his eyes fall immediately on Remus.

“You’re leaving?” James asks Regulus, looking at him through the lenses of his glasses. He
looks pretty, even if he definitely messed up his hair while he was thinking. It’s endearing
that he’d do something like that (or maybe, Regulus is just whipped).

“Yes, I’ve got to meet with my secret girlfriend,” he deadpans.

James gapes at him for a second, before laughing. “I made an assumption once.”

“I’m sorry, I think I’ll keep reminding you until the day I die. Pray I don’t meet you at
Pandora’s wedding.”

“You’re a menace.” Sirius says, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Are sure you have to
go?”

“Yep, sorry.” He says, slightly uncomfortable. “Where’s Pettigrew? I thought he was always
with you guys.”

“He’s breaking up with his girlfriend.” Sirius says, waving his hand in the air.

Regulus nods. “Ouch,” he says, though he doesn’t care that much. “I’ll go. See you when I
see you.” He pats his brother back, before stepping away from him. “Goodbye.”

Pandora waits for him outside the Ravenclaw common room, she always does. She even
showed Regulus how to get in, though he never bursted in. Honestly, he thinks it’s a little
stupid to have a riddle as your password: anyone can solve a riddle, but a password is
personally ended and secured, especially a changing password like the Slytherin one.

“Hiya!” He says, with a small smile.

“Hello, you!”

She smiles back and tugs him into a hug. All the exhaustion melts off his shoulders, and
that’s when Regulus realises he was so tired in the first place. Pandora smells very sweet, her
shampoo is strawberry flavoured, and she’s dipping her fingers in his hair again. No one else
is allowed to do that. He clings to her.

“Bad day?” She asks, gently, without letting go.

“Rather intense,” Regulus mumbles. His knee feels like it should be far better. Last year, he
got hit by a bludger, straight on the knee, and had to spend one week in the hospital wing; it
has been sensitive ever since. “I came out to Sirius.”

“Oh dear.” Pandora lets him go for a second, sliding a hand on his cheek. “I’m proud of you,
you know?”

He looks at her, a bit stunned, round eyes and hands falling around his hips. He hasn’t heard
that in so long. He blinks harshly.

“Sorry.” He says, stepping back and fixing his shirt and tie, just to keep his head bent. He
knows his face is red. “Sorry, I’m…”

“It’s okay, Reg. So, tell me!” She says, cheerfully, as they begin to make their way to the
Great Hall, which is indeed a bit far from the Ravenclaw Tower. “Did it go well?”

Regulus nods, hands in his pockets. “Yes, he was okay with it. I mean, it’s Sirius. He’s too
righteous to not be okay with this stuff. How are you?”

Pandora smiles, linking her arm to his. “I’m very, very okay.” She says, locking eyes with
him. “I took a walk with Xeno in the afternoon…”

Regulus is confused for a solid second, before he realises what she’s actually telling him. “He
didn’t!”

“Yes he did!” She giggles, cheeks red and eyes sparkling. “And he finally confessed! And
then we kissed! He wears cherry lip balm. That has to be a win on my part.”

“Is he a good kisser?”

“Better than my other boyfriend, for sure.” She says, shoving one hand in the pocket of her
trousers. Regulus fakes a gag at the mention. “I guided him a little. He said I was his first. He
was nice, though. Really nice. He kept blushing. I got to tuck in his hair.”

Regulus smiles at her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “He’d better keep being nice.
Or he can say goodbye to his precious long hair.”

“You’re a big softie,” she says, elbowing him the ribs slightly, before pulling him into another
quick hug. It’s almost as if he didn’t threaten to hurt someone. “I’ll have to introduce you
two.”

“I’ll pretend I know nothing about him or how soft his lips are, or that he wears cherry lip
balm,” he teases, getting a laugh out of her.
While taking the stairs, his knee protests. It’s starting to hurt more, which makes him
grimace.

“You’re limping.” Pandora frowns, putting an arm around his waist to steady him. “What
happened?”

“I fell right on it.” Regulus says, clenching his jaw. He starts rolling his trousers up, wanting
to take a look at the bruise. “I was running in the hallways and I crashed into James Potter,
my knee just hit the floor really hard.”

Pandora bites her lip, shaking her head. “That’s such a cliché way of meeting your crush. You
should stop running in the hallways, it’s a bad habit.” She says quietly, looking at the red
bruise on his knee. “You’ll need a healing spell, that doesn’t look like it’s going to heal
soon.”

“Do you know any?” He asks, grabbing his wand. “Do you think Episkey is too strong?”

“Well, you’re limping, so it must be a little worse than the minor bruise on the knee.” She
says, biting her lip. “Should we try?”

“I’ll do it.” Suddenly, he remembers a spell Sirius used once, back at home. “Oh! Never
mind, I’ve got it.” He points the wand at his knee, where the bruise stands, blue and black.
“Livor sanor!” He says, tapping the bruise.

A weird, soothing and warm sensation spreads on his knee, before it disappears, leaving no
sign. He unrolls his trousers and takes a step. He feels a little unstable, but there’s no pain.

“It worked!” He says, looking up to Pandora, who nods enthusiastically.

“I didn’t know that spell.” She says, as they start walking again. “Who taught you?”

The memory of Sirius, curled up on his bed with no shirt on, healing awful purple bruises on
his shoulder comes to his mind.

“Sirius did,” he murmurs.

“Oh.” Pandora’s face goes pale for a second, probably figuring out what the context was.
“I’m sorry, I should have known.”

“No, it’s okay.” He smiles at her, though it’s a bit fake. “Did you know Potter likes the
Cannons?”

Pandora rolls her eyes, jumping off the last step. “That’s such a Gryffindor thing.”

“That’s what I said!”

15 September, 1976
Journaling isn’t his favourite way to start the day, but he wakes up early and he strangely
feels like it, so he takes his diary, under a shrinking spell, from the pocket of his hoodie. He
taps it with his wand and watches it become its normal size. Elias was the one who
introduced him to pens, and he has never been the same ever since: he uses one to write in the
diary, in fact. Quills and ink get messy.

15/09/1976, Hogwarts

§10: I haven’t talked to him in days, but things have been…weird. I see him more often
than I did before. For example, on Monday, he was in the library and we kept locking
eyes. Not like I’ve looked at him often, I was doing homework, but every time I looked at
him, he was looking back.

§11: Seeing other people kiss in the hallways makes me mad. It shouldn’t: they’re
allowed to do it. But it’ll never be like that for me. I could never kiss him in the hallway;
if I could ever kiss him at all, that is. I only ever kissed boys in tucked away spots of the
castle. I’ve only ever been someone’s secret. I wonder how it’d feel to be loved en plein
jour.

§12: His eyes are incredibly pretty. It feels both like a crime and a blessing that he
wears glasses: a crime, because his eyes are so beautiful; a blessing, because glasses
make it harder to notice little details of his face.

§13: Looking at these thoughts, the only thing I can think is that I woke up feeling
romantic. What a terrible place to start. Blacks are not supposed to be romantic or
wonder about love. Least of all the heir.

§14: But sometimes I think we’re possible, that we could happen; it’s the way he looks at
me, I think. It gives me hope. But I shouldn’t think about it so often: it’s a distraction and
I’m pretty sure I’m making it up. This infatuation is getting out of hand.

§15: I don’t know what I’d do if I knew that I could have him. I’m weak to love.

§16: Love is often described as an emotion that brings out the best in you. I wonder
what the best in him looks like, if there’s an expression that looks better than happiness
on him.

He puts down the pen, massaging his temples. Whatever is going on with him, it needs to
stop. These thoughts are not okay; he can’t indulge himself into getting his heart broken
again. He places the pen under the pillow again, before hiding the diary.

Waking up early means he gets to shower first. Once he’s done, he brushes his teeth and he
gets out of the bathroom in his boxers, wondering what to wear. Uniforms aren’t mandatory
for fifth years and older.

“Nice arse.” Barty says, his voice rough from sleep.

Regulus rolls his eyes, drying his bathrobe with a spell and throwing it on the bed. “Find a
girlfriend, Barty,” he says, bitterly.
“Only if her arse is nicer than yours.” The guy retorts, getting out of the bed. “You didn’t
leave a mess in there, did you?” He asks, messing out his hair. He’s wearing flannel pyjamas
that look too small for him.

“Of course.” Regulus says, grabbing a dark green sweater. “I’m not a monster.”

“Good thing you’re not Evan, I can barely stand one.” Barty mutters.

“Isn’t it too early to be mean?” Evan says. Regulus glances at him: he’s hugging his pillow,
his eyes are still closed. He never closes the curtains around his bed.

“Never too early to be mean.” Regulus says, putting on a pair of black slacks. “Especially
with the way you snore.”

“I don’t snore.” Evan whines, his arms hugging his pillow tighter.

“You do.”

“Don’t.”

“Do too.”

“Don’t.”

“Do too.”

“Sod off, Reg, It’s too early for this. And put a shirt on!” Evan pouts, throwing the pillow at
Regulus, who catches it easily before throwing it back.

“Why?”

“It’s too early to see your nipples!” Evan complains, rolling on his side.

“Goodness, with you it’s always too early for everything.” Regulus smirks, putting on a
simple white t-shirt before slipping on the sweater he picked.

“Wonder if he says that during sex too.” Barty says, emerging from the bathroom. He’s
putting toothpaste on his toothbrush. “Don’t you think it’s weird that your brother and his
arse-lickers haven’t pranked anyone yet? I bet they’re preparing a big one.”

Regulus does his best not to look annoyed. Barty wasn’t this annoying last year. “They did
pull some pranks, though. They flooded the third floor and charmed some paintings to sing
muggle songs.”

“They also hexed Snape or something like that, his hair was pink for two days.” Evan adds,
sitting up with his legs crossed. Regulus doesn’t think it’s the marauders who cursed Snape: it
didn’t even look like a curse. He and Pandora think it was Lily Evans. “And the Gryffindor
seeker transfigured Avery’s shoes into knee-high boots, with heels and everything. He hurt
his ankle trying to walk in those!”
Regulus snorts. Elias's talent at transfiguration has never been so amusing.

Barty gives him a dirty look. “Why are you laughing?”

“I’m sorry, is it too early for laughing?” He retorts, cocking his head to the side.

“Oh, fuck off, Reg. Do you think they’re funny now?” Barty asks, glaring at him.

“I think Avery is a dick and that was harmless magic.” He says, getting his wand out from the
pocket of his grey hoodie. “If he can’t even transfigure a pair of shoes, what is he going to do
out there? It’s embarrassing that he calls himself a wizard.”

“He has a point, you know.” Evan says, watching Barty as he walks back into the bathroom,
stroking his teeth with too much force. “Don’t ignore the conversation just because you’re
not right!”

Regulus rolls his eyes, grabbing the books he needs for the day and throwing them in his bag
with spare parchment and quills. He’s checking he has everything he needs when he catches
Evan looking at him intently.

“What?” He asks, grabbing his cloak.

“Nothing, it’s just…” Evan waves his hand in the air, then runs it through his hair.
“Whatever, don’t mind me, I’m still half asleep. See you at breakfast?”

“Maybe. Might eat with Pandora.”

“Damn ladies man.” He hears Evan mumble before he closes the door behind his back.

Pandora is sitting at Gryffindor's table, next to Lily Evans. Elias is sitting in front of her, his
expression focused as he prepares his toast. Regulus breathes deeply, before he sits down
next to him.

“Morning,” He says confidently.

They all turn to look at him: Pandora, a half eaten apple in her hand; Elias, a stunned
expression on his sleepy face; Evans, who looks like she just saw a ghost; McKinnon with
her eyebrows raised. His cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“He’s friends with Pandora and me.” Elias says, quiet and collected, in a way that’s so out of
character for him that it has Regulus worried.

“Oh!” Lily goes, before giving Regulus a kind smile. “I think I missed that.”

Pandora wrinkles her nose, then meets eyes with him. “Did I forget we had to meet?”

“No, I just wanted to eat with you.” He simply says, grabbing a vanilla muffin and pouring
coffee into a mug.
“Oh.” Pandora smiles. “No Crouch and Rosier?”

“Ugh.” Regulus goes, putting his muffin on the table. “No, they’re more insufferable than
usual.”

“Oh, joy. Are they trying to set a world record or something?” Elias asks, sarcastically.

Evans snorts. “They’re Slytherin, what did you expect?” She jokes, then looks at Regulus, a
little embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like-”

“Why? It’s true that most of us are insufferable,” Regulus says, raising an eyebrow. “We take
pride in it.”

Pandora and Elias both laugh, which is a personal win to Regulus. He’s only recently
discovered he can be funny if he tries a little.

Elias sets down his toast and flutters his hand in the air. “See, Regulus is an exception. But
Crouch is an arrogant brat who thinks the world should spin around for him only, and Rosier
is nice until he wakes up wrong and decides to curse people straight to the hospital wing. And
he’s so deranged he laughed at a joke I made the other day. It spooked the shit of me.”

“Evan laughs at everything he finds even remotely funny,” Regulus says, adding milk to his
coffee. “You don’t know how many times he laughed at jokes he made while no one else was
laughing.”

“Loser.” Elias says, before licking his knife clean.

“Did you just lick the knife?” McKinnon goes, looking a little shocked. “You’re fucking
barmy. I’m doing that too next time I make a toast.”

Elias laughs, putting the knife on a clean napkin. “I’m such a trend setter.”

“Reg?” Sirius's voice goes, coming behind him. His long hair is tied up in a messy bun and
he’s wearing a jumper that might actually be Lupin’s, considering it’s completely out of
Sirius’s style.

“Morning. I was here with Pandora and Elias,” he says, as an explanation of his presence.

“Oh!” Sirius goes, nodding as he sits down next to him. “You should come around more
often.”

Sirius’s friends are next to enter the Great Hall. James is half asleep, wearing his uniform, but
without his tie: he sits next to Pandora; Pettigrew sits next to James. Lupin sits down next to
Sirius, a book in his hand. Regulus doesn’t manage to read the title, but it must be interesting
if Lupin was reading as he walked.

“Jules!” Elias goes, disappointed. Regulus turns, just to watch Jules setting down Elias toast.
A big bite has been taken.

“You’re so obsessed with it, now I understand why,” she says, smiling in an angelic way.
“You’re terrible.” Elias complains, as he steals a bit of her breakfast.

And, perhaps, Regulus still has some chaos hidden somewhere in his body, because the next
thing he does is take one of the potatoes Sirius put in his dish and eat it, staring at his
brother’s stunned expression.

“I don’t know how you have a salty breakfast.” Regulus says, casually, before taking a sip
from his own cup of coffee. He can see James is gaping at him while he mixes some peanut
butter into his porridge. Then chaos unravels: McKinnon steals some of Evans’ cereals,
Lupin quietly takes a chocolate pastry from Pettigrew’s dish, Sirius steals some of James's
porridge.

In the middle of it, he locks eyes with Pandora, and they’re laughing until there’s tears in
their eyes.

“I’m such a trend setter,” he hears Jules tell Elias.

“Literally fuck off, you’re chaos with legs.”

It only makes him laugh harder, so much he doesn’t notice that James stole his muffin until
he sees him biting it.

After lunch, he has DADA. The new teacher is a guy in his forties who is, for some reason,
obsessed with the dress code. Regulus couldn’t give two shits about it, mostly because he
never broke the rules. So when he walks into the classroom and finds Elias and Jules with
swamped uniforms, he wants to laugh and cry at the same time.

Barty blushes, then grimaces; Evan looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh.

“You’re bent too, now, Greco?” Barty asks, grimacing.

Elias flips him the bird with a grin. “No, looking at your face makes me like women.”

Regulus bites his lip to avoid laughing, and he goes to sit next to Pandora.

“Will you take part in their little revolution?” He asks, while he watches Shinji Fujiwara
transfigure his trousers into a skirt.

“Depends, can you do make up?” Pandora asks, loosening her hair.

“Err…not really.” Regulus says, putting his book and his wand on the table. “I could try.”

“Can I do your eyeliner?” Pandora asks, spinning her wand over her fingers and catching it,
just before it falls.

“Oh yes, maybe give him your skirt and a bra as well, why don’t you?” Barty asks, dropping
his bag on the table behind them.
Regulus rolls his eyes. “You’re doing a lot of talking for someone that compliments my arse
at any given occasion.” He says, watching Barty blush again, as Evan burst into laughter.

“I don’t know why you’re so upset over this, honestly,” Evan says as he takes the seat next to
Barty. “I don’t have any problem with homosexuals, as long as they get married. I mean, if
you’re a pureblood, you should know that you ought to reproduce, right?”

“Wrong.” Pandora says, frowning. “That’s a horrible thing to say. What lives would those
children have?”

Regulus stays quiet, because he has to be safe and because he can’t talk about this stuff with
Evan and Barty. The last time he talked to Barty about queer topics, it ended up badly.
Regulus doesn’t want to come close to living something like that again.

“What’s happening here?” Ask a booming voice. They all turn to watch professor Khelben,
who just entered the classroom. He’s looking at his desk, where Elias stands, arms crossed to
his chest.

He looks good, objectively speaking, the skit shows off the lean muscle of his legs. Shinji is
standing next to him, looking a little nervous, but not less determined.

“I think the dress code is overrated,” Elias says, grinning from ear to ear.
 Distractions & Doodles
Chapter Notes

CWs: homophobia (internalised/referenced); CA.

19 September, 1976

For that silly, defiant skirt trick, Elias got detention, along with Shinji Fujiwara, the
Hufflepuff who stood up with him. In the past three days, Hogwarts was hit by a wave of
rebellion against gender norms, particularly within the boys. Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had
been the loudest about it, but a great deal of Ravenclaws also decided to break the dress code,
including Xenophilius, Pandora's boyfriend, who was never gender conforming to begin
with.

Regulus knows that his brother and his friend took part in it, but he has only seen Sirius in the
past few days, and Lupin, who showed up at patrolling wearing his usual corduroys and
claimed that he got cold easily. Regulus thinks he would have rocked a long skirt, but never
voiced that.

So by Sunday, pretty much everyone is used to seeing at least a couple of boys wearing skirts
and tights. Regulus doesn’t care, though he won’t wear a skirt out of the -maybe irrational,
nonetheless present- fear that someone will tell his parents.

“I hope they quit it soon.” Barty complains as he puts some scrambled eggs on his plate. “No
one wants to see men wearing skirts during breakfast.”

“Right, it’s better around dinner time,” Evan jokes, putting some scones on his plate.

“You know what I mean.” Barty rolls his eyes: no one is indulging him in his complaints.
“What do you think about it, Reg? Isn't it ridiculous?” He kicks his leg under the table as he
asks.

Regulus has been pretending to be too absorbed in his book to pay attention to the
conversation.

“Sorry, what?” He utters, lifting his cup of tea and finally looking at Barty.

“What do you think of this whole act?” Barty asks again, staring at him closely.

Regulus sighs, pushing his hair back. “I don’t care,” he says, his eyes back on his book. “I
think there's more important stuff to think about than men wearing skirts. Besides, you're
Scottish, so I don't get how you can be so bothered.”
“Kilts are different. This is disgusting propaganda against the wizarding community!”

Regulus scoffs. “Yeah, right. Skirts are so threatening.” He says sarcastically whilst stealing a
scone from Evan’s plate. “It’s just skirts, Barty. A piece of cloth. It's baffling that you care so
much.”

“Because it’s homosexual behaviour,” Evan states, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “And
Barty is so against it.”

“Homosexual behaviour means liking the same gender.” Regulus rolls his eyes and closes his
book. “Wearing a skirt doesn’t mean liking men.”

“It sure as hell does,” Barty mumbles, before filling his mouth with eggs.

“Then try to put one on and see if you start fancying me. If you do, I'll believe you.” Regulus
says sharply; he takes pride in the way Barty's cheeks paint red so quickly. “You're such a
prude.”

“Fuck off, Black.” Barty kicks him lightly under the table again. “I would never fancy you,
even if you were a girl. Not even then. I would never fancy you.”

Regulus pretends it doesn't still sting, even if his feelings for Barty are gone. His expression
stays unchanged, sharp and collected, like a proper heir.

Evan chuckles. “Sure, Barty. Keep telling yourself that, love.” Evan says, in a saccharine
tone. “We both know that if Reg was a girl, he’d have us in a chokehold.”

“I’m flattered,” Regulus says flatly as he attempts to steal another scone. He gets promptly
stopped by Evan.

“Get your own, prat,” Evan says, letting go of his wrist.

“If I get them from you, I piss you off and get a scone, so it's a double win.” Regulus offers
Evan a charming smile. “Can we share, please?”

Evan considers it, then puts a scone in his hand. “Just because you're pretty. You wouldn't
getting away with it otherwise.”

Barty rolls his eyes at the scene. “My point still stands.”

“Your point stands on nothing, Barty.”

And right when he’s about to bite his scone, James Potter enters the Great Hall with Marlene
McKinnon. There’s nothing wrong with the top of James’s outfit: usual school shirt and his
tie. What’s wrong with him is that he’s wearing a criminally short skirt, showing off his legs,
his thighs in particular. Regulus can’t stop staring. It’s unfair. Potter did not need a skirt to
show off his legs. There’s Quidditch trousers for that. To maintain a speck of decency,
Regulus is forced to take his bag and move it over his lap, covering his crotch.
“Ew, for fuck’s sake, didn’t Potter like that filthy mud…” Barty receives a glare from Snape,
which is enough to make scowl. “Well, the point is that girl isn’t going to like him if he wears
skirts.”

Such a wrong statement has never been voiced before. Regulus doesn’t know if Lily is going
to like James after this, but he knows it’s better to flee the room before Potter decides to
stride closer to the Slytherin table.

He quickly finishes his tea. “Have fun speculating Potter’ sexuality.”

He’s not breathing the way he should, he notes. Puberty is an awful thing to go through when
your crush looks like the space between his thighs is better than heaven. James didn’t need to
be this righteous. He didn’t need to show off his legs, even if it’s for a good cause. Good
causes aren’t an excuse to ruin Sunday morning with his spectacular legs.

Once he’s in the dorm, he drops his bag and the transfiguration book on the bed and heads to
the bathroom. Cold water always helps: Regulus splashes his face a few times for good
measure and grips at the sink, breathing in deeply. The sound of the door opening startles
him.

“Reg?”

Of course it’s Evan. Why would Barty come and apologise for being prick? He scoffs softly
and comes out of the bathroom.

“Here I am,” he says, sarcastically, staring at his friend. “Do you need anything?”

“Just worried about you.” Evan sits on his own bed and opens the tissue he carried with him,
revealing the scones he didn’t get to finish at breakfast. “Why did you run away like that?”

Regulus leans next to the window, unaware of the scowl on his face. A couple of jellyfish
pass by. “I finished my breakfast.”

“I finished my breakfast,” Evan mocks him in a high pitched voice. “C’mon, mate, you were
all freaky deaky. Tell your Evan what happened. I’m listening. I even brought you scones!”

“Nothing happened,” Regulus says, “Don’t you think Barty is talking a bit too much shit
lately?”

Evan shrugs. “Nihil sub sole novum. It’s just Barty being Barty.”

“Oh, is it?” Regulus crosses his arms to his chest. It’s true, it’s not the first time Barty acts
like this, but something about it feels forced: like he’s trying to get attention through it. “He
hasn’t shut up with this skirt shite since it happened.”

Evan bites his lip and frowns, looking away. Great, Regulus thinks, he knows something I
don’t know.

“I think he’s just upset with you,” he says, after a moment of silence.
“That doesn’t make any sense. I don’t have anything to do with this.”

His scowl deepens painfully: it’s crazy to even assume Barty would be upset with him when
he’s the one who drove them apart in the first place.

“No, but he manages to get your attention, so it’s something.” Evan waves his hand in the air,
as if he said something incredibly obvious.

“Then tell me, why the hell would he be upset with me?” Regulus throws his arms in the air.

“Because you’ve been ditching us to be with a mudblood and a blood-traitor! You sit with
them in class, too, and you barely talk to us after supper! It’s like we’re not even friends
anymore, of course Barty is upset!” Evan grabs a scone and he throws it in his mouth,
chewing angrily. “You don’t even sound like you anymore.”

“First of all, that was gross beyond limit. Don’t talk while you eat,” Regulus says, wrinkling
his nose in disgust. “Second, maybe I’d hang out with you more if you talked about anything
that isn’t girls or hating being here because there’s muggleborns in it!”

Evan frowns, cleaning his fingertips on the tissue. “What do you want to talk about? Our
feelings, maybe? Do you have heart-to-heart conversations with Fawley, or with Greco,
maybe? Well, isn’t that cute…”

Regulus’s expression hardens all at once. He doesn’t want to hex Evan, but this only proves
how much they’ve been driven apart. “Well, at least they know how to act like friends,” he
says, sharply. “You didn’t even ask how I was and you know my summer has been terrible.”

“Oh come on, Regulus, you just became the heir of one of the richest wizarding families of
England, don’t start acting like you’re the victim now,” Evan says, standing up from the bed,
where he abandoned a couple of half-eaten scones. “They haven’t stolen your precious
future; if anything, they gave you one.”

“I never wanted to be the heir, Rosier, those people are mad crazy! I’m sorry if it’s not my
dream to become a murderer and marry a distant cousin!” He snaps, grabbing his book and
throwing it in his bag. “Maybe that’s what you want for yourself, but I don’t. Neither did I
want my brother forced out of his home.”

“Oh you must be joking right now, truly,” Evan laughs, something manic in his eyes. It’s
almost as if Regulus actually made a joke; his blood turns cold. “Your brother forced himself
out, with all that mudblood lover shite, defending half-breeds and improper companies. If he
wanted to stay, he would have. Now don’t cry because your brother isn’t there to protect you
anymore.”

Regulus stares at him for a long moment; it’s hard to keep his bearing together when Evan is
hitting all the right spots. He is like this sometimes: harmful and only caring about having the
upper hand in the argument. He can also be kind, and that’s why Regulus used to like him.
Not so much anymore.
“I see,” he says, slowly, as he puts his bag over his shoulder. “There goes our friendship,
Evan.”

5 July, 1976

Sirius has been pressing on their Mother’s buttons since the minute they stepped foot in the
house. The first days were a blur of scolding and punishments, mostly directed to Sirius,
because of his companies and because of the letters their parents have received for the
number of pranks Sirius has pulled during the year.

As for Regulus, he always gets punished for the same things: being friends with Pandora, not
being the best in his year (which is really hard, considering the amount of swots in his
courses) and for being on friendly terms with muggleborns. Regulus still doesn’t know who
is telling on him, but the day he gets his hands on that prick, he might be arrested.

Family dinners and family parties have always been tense. This summer, it seems particularly
bad; Sirius is usually quiet at home, not seen or heard unless it’s time to eat. But Sirius came
back in a bad mood, and he keeps pranking during important events, such as pureblood balls
and family dinner. Last week he hid a couple of dung bombs under the pillows of couches
and armchairs. Regulus found it honestly funny, but he tried not to show it: encouraging his
brother in his mission of pissing off their mother is not in his plans.

One afternoon, Sirius bursts into his room, excitedly, just to show him how he hung a few
posters of muggle girls in bikinis on the ceiling and over his bed. Regulus sighs, running a
hand over his face.

“Sirius, she’s going to kill you. You know she’s a prude!” He whispers in exasperation, only
feeling discomforted at the sight of his brother’s excited grin. “Please tell me you didn’t
permanently stick them on the walls.”

“I don’t see what the fun would be if I didn’t, Reggie.” Sirius stretches, then sits on the edge
of the bed, hands diggling between his knees. “Not my fault if she hates both muggles and
nudity.”

“It is your fault if you continue to get on her nerves! Was this seriously necessary?” He sighs
again; his stomach lurches painfully at the sight of the posters. Maybe another boy his age
would think those posters are hot stuff; maybe Sirius thinks so. Regulus can’t. “You nicked
your wand, didn’t you? It was a bad idea, Mother will-”

“I nicked yours too. Mother will do what mother always does.” Sirius says, stretching so he
can get Regulus’ wand from under the pillow. “Here it is, thank me later. Now you can send
letters, at least.”

“Cheers,” he says, gloomy, as he takes the wand. “It’s no use to try to take them off, innit?”
“Indeed.” Sirius lays on the bed with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on the
posters. “D’you reckon having tits is uncomfortable? I don’t think I’d enjoy it. They’d be in
the middle of everything.”

“And you’re asking me because I’m clearly an expert at having tits...” Regulus says, looking
down at his chest. He barely has pecs. “Take those off, Sirius. She’ll get mad. It’s not worth
it.”

“She’s always mad no matter what I do,” Sirius says absent-mindedly, covering his eyes with
his arms. “James would have found it funny.”

“No, I think he’d be concerned, Sirius. You need to stop prioritising your attitude over your
safety. I expect you to take those off before Bella and Cissy visit, or we won’t hear the end of
it.”

Sirius doesn’t take off the posters, and Mother gets mad, reaching a peak she hasn’t yet
reached this summer. They both suffer a harsh punishment for having nicked their wands: she
can’t stand to let them control their magic. Regulus suspects she’s scared they will actually
run away, if they have the means: Sirius threatened to do it many times. Sirius has it worse,
because of the posters.

Her attempts to take them off fail and after a week of trying, she orders that Aunt Druella and
Uncle Cygnus should not see Sirius’ room once they visit: it had been bad enough when
Sirius hung the Gryffindor ornaments.

15 July, 1976

Bella and Cissy are curious and Sirius is eager to cause a fight tonight, much to Regulus’s
dismay, so he ends up showing them the posters. Regulus drags his feet as he walks through
the hallway, following them to Sirius’s room.

The Lestranges haven’t been around much: Regulus hasn’t seen Rabastan in a year, and he
wonders if something happened. Rodolphus still shows up occasionally, given he married
Bella when Regulus was a second year. Rabastan isn’t even engaged, from what Regulus
remembers, but he never visits these days.

Bella laughs, arms around her tum. “Do you get off that? Ew, right on the ceiling. Honestly,
Sirius, how do you sleep with that…”

Sirius grimaces, giving her a look that makes Regulus wonder whether he’s finally regretting
this or not. “‘Course I don’t.” He crosses his arms to his chest, looking pensively at the girls.
“Is any of them your type, Regulus?”

“No.” Regulus is leaning against Sirius’ door frame, checking that no one is coming up.
“He probably has better taste than you,” Narcissa says, giving Regulus a small smile. “He’ll
marry a nice pureblood girl and make his parents proud, won’t you, Regulus?”

“Affirmative,” he mumbles, though he doesn’t mean it the slightest. He is newly fifteen,

thinking about marriage made him a little sick. “Can we get out of here? Mother will be
furious if she knows.”

“You spoil all the fun, Reggie,” Bella pouts, marching out of the bedroom. “At least Sirius
does something interesting. And I think you can do better than Sirius does.”

Regulus rolls his eyes at her, while Cissy gets out of the room as well. “C’mon, Sirius. Can’t
be late for dinner, can we?”

Dinner turns into a disaster as soon as the conversation shifts from how Regulus and Sirius
are doing in school to politics.

Regulus knows Sirius is trying to keep quiet, at least at first. He grows worryingly pale when
Bellatrix shows them her Mark. Regulus thinks it looks ugly if not sickening: his parents will
want him to mutilate his arm like that as well. He prays he’s not paling the way Sirius is.

“Your dedication to the cause is marvellous, Bellatrix. You truly make your parents proud.
This is how one should use their talent for magic. Instead, my son wastes it with childish
pranks,” Mother says, a glass of wine in her hand and a hint of madness in her eyes. “I
wonder when Sirius will start following the right path as well.”

“The right path.” Sirius repeats, staring at his empty plate, disgust written in every inch of his
face. “I’m sorry, the right path of murder and madness?”

“It’s purification, not murder,” Bella says, pouring red wine in her glass. Regulus has to
remind himself that it’s not blood. “I don’t see how murder for a good cause would be such a
horrendous thing.”

Her words turn Sirius’ disgust into rage. “For a good cause? What good cause kills innocents
and children? No one in their right mind would agree with you. Muggleborns are essential to
our community, they keep us alive, they-” He laughs, but it comes out breathless, small and
nervous. Regulus winces. “Shall I remind you that Andromeda is married to…”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t bring that woman into this, young man.” Uncle Cygnus
interrupted, waving his hand. “It is so unpleasant to think about all the sacrifices we’ve done
for her, just to see her becoming a blood-traitor. And having a half-blood child!”

“Truly a tragedy,” Sirius mutters, setting down his knife. He must still be upset because he
hasn’t met Andromeda’s child.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Sirius did such a thing,” Mother says, her eyes now focused on
Sirius, who stills. Regulus feels his brother’s breathing cut off and fasten, and all he wants is
for their mother to leave him alone. “Perhaps it is time to choose a spouse that will show you
how to be a proper man, Sirius.”

Sirius clicks his tongue in defiance. Regulus shoots a questioning glance at his father, who
avoids his gaze. “You will not make such a decision for me,” Sirius says; under the table, his
hands are balled into fists. “I’m the owner of my life, I get to choose who to marry and
when.”

“Regulus, stop slouching on your chair, it is disgraceful.” Orion says, exchanging a look with
Aunt Druella. Regulus mutters an apology and sits up straight, rolling back his shoulder.
“Sirius, you have to understand that being the heir means that you have to dedicate your life
to this family, whether you like it or not. Duties are not up for discussion.”

“They are if I want to discuss them!” Sirius is raising his voice, so Regulus slightly taps his
foot against Sirius’ chair, giving him a warning to quiet down. “Don’t put it past me to say no
at the altar.”

“Why are you so opposed, Sirius?” Bella sing-songs. Her lips are red from the wine and it
makes her face look even whiter, paler and surreal. Her eyes are black as the night, as her
name; she terrifies Regulus. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with someone you
shouldn’t.” Sirius pales even more and Regulus’ heart begins slamming against his chest.
This is bad; his mother will not tolerate that, if it were the truth. “At least Andromeda was
good at hiding it.” She mumbles, her gaze everting as boredom settles on her face.

Regulus watches Mother’s gaze settling on Sirius’ terrified expression and something heavy
settles in his chest, clawing at it: panic. Mother just smiles, though not a sincere, pleasant
smile.

“We’ll see about that, Bellatrix.”

Walburga Black never breaks her promises, so Regulus is nervous the entire evening. She
drank quite a lot of wine and firewhiskey, so father actually convinces her to go rest after
Aunt Druella and Uncle Cygnus leave with their daughters. Sirius is still pale and scared,
Regulus still twitchy and panicky, when they say goodnight.

Sleep comes, but its quality is poor and he keeps waking up. It’s three in the morning when
he hears shuffling and low voices. The hairs in his arms raise immediately and he sits up,
watching the shadow of Sirius on the wall right outside his door.

“Let me go,” Sirius hisses, somewhere in the corridor. His voice is still drowsy. Mother must
have woken him up. His hands curl into fists. “Have you finally gone mental? I was sleeping!
Where’s father?”

“I need to know who it is, Sirius. You will show me who’s this mudblood that’s keeping you
from making the right choices. I need to know who is tainting you. I want my son back,” his
mother’s voice is sharp and desperate. She still sounds drunk.
Regulus shivers, quietly getting out of bed and closer to his bedroom’s door.

“Merlin, you’re drunk. Go to sleep mother, we’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Sirius is distressed,
as Regulus gathers from the ring at the end of his speech. There was a hiss and dull thud.
“You’re digging your nails into my arm, let me go! You’re drunk! You need to go back to
sleep!”

Father won’t hear them. Their parents’ bedroom is on the floor below.

“I can’t rest until I know, Sirius. Show me! Show me who it is! There’s a lot of good looking
pureblood girls, you’ll change your mind...” The sound of Sirius sobbing breaks Regulus’s
heart, but it’s like he’s stuck in place. He can’t move. “You’re my son, you’re the heir of this
family, you need to start acting like it, do you understand? You need to do it for your mother.
To show you love me like I love you.”

“Love me!?” Sirius laughs, probably amidst tears. “You don’t love me, you’re not even my
mother.” Walburga is the one to sob this time. Regulus thinks he can hear her ask for
forgiveness. “You’re a monster, that’s what you are. Worse than any half-breed you hate,
that’s for sure. You only love your reputation. You don’t even love your husband, because
he’s your cousin. And I- I’m supposed to trust you with my life? You’ve screwed up yours!
I’m not handing you my life. Let me go!”

“Fine.” Regulus’s eyes grow wide. His hands are shaking. He heard the switch in her voice.
He needs to act fast. He can’t move. “I’ve had enough of your disrespect. You’re the heir, you
need to conform. Perhaps you’ll be a bit more willing to tell if I-”

“Maman-”

Regulus hears the plead in Sirius’s voice before it turns into a gut-wrenching scream. It
makes him snap out of it, of the freeze state.

“I will see who made you such a bad son, coûte que coûte.”

Sirius mutters something that sounds terribly like “you made me this way”, before his mother
uses another spell: Regulus’s ears are ringing too much to be able to hear the incantation.

But he realises: if he doesn’t act now, he might lose Sirius irreversibly. And Regulus can’t
live with that: even if Sirius broke his heart many many times, Regulus loves him. At very
least, he wants him to be alive. He wants him to be close, too, but that’s a quest for another
day. If he wants to be close to Sirius again, he needs to save him first.

His legs are steady when he comes out of the room. His mother’s gaze snaps up to him.
Regulus holds his chin high even if he’s scared to death. Her hair is a mess, her chest is rising
and falling quickly, her hands shake visibly, and there’s blood on her gown and skin. Sirius’s.

Sirius is sitting by the wall, there’s so much blood on the floor and his trousers. The smell of
it is nauseating. But Regulus keeps going.

“Go to sleep,” he says, firmly, staring her in the eye.

“Go back to your room,” Mother replies, just as firmly.

Regulus doesn’t buckle. He keeps staring at her when he helps Sirius to his feet, one arm
around his waist, completely supporting his body and trying to shield him with his own. He’s
scared Mother will curse him again.

“Go to sleep, mother. You’ll wake father if you keep this up.” Regulus says, breathing hard.
Sirius’s scream keeps echoing in his mind. The light of the hallway is flickering. “You’re
delirious. You need to get some rest and get back into your right mind.”

His mother’s eyes turn very cold: icy, cold enough that Regulus feels it in his bones and
shivers. She raises her wand. “Go to your room. Sirius is the heir, you don’t understand the
importance of-”

Regulus’s breathing only gets worse. Sirius is sobbing by his side. It’s too hot and too cold at
the same time. He needs fresh air. The sight of his mother is making him sick. He’s angry like
he’s never been before.

And he doesn’t mean to shout. He does anyway.

“Go back to sleep!” He bellows. The light bulb explodes. Regulus shields Sirius as an
instinct, but no glass hits him. He can feel dark magic surrounding them, almost as a
protection. Mother is very pale, staring at him in shock. “Go,” he tells her. “Go away.”

She leaves. Regulus stops and breathes, blinking in the darkness. “Sirius,” he says, hushing
his brother to his room. “You need to leave. You need to leave immediately.”

“She’s going to hurt you.” Sirius is still sobbing. He’s pale, shaking, dirty with blood.
Regulus realises his own pyjamas are stained too. “You shouldn’t have done this, Reg, are
you insane? I can’t go, I can’t leave- I can’t leave you with her after this-”

“Shut up. Kreacher?” The elf appears with a pop that makes Sirius wince. “Kreacher, I need
the floo powder, please. And for you to take Sirius’s truck to the library.”

“As master Regulus wishes.” The elf disappears again.

“Your truck is still packed, right? Mother was having a fit about it this morning,” he says,
sitting Sirius down. “You need to go to the Potters. Can you travel with that leg?”

“What are you talking about?” Sirius’ eyes are wide and wet with tears. Regulus shivers, but
doesn’t look at him for longer than a couple of seconds: he grabs the only things Sirius has
laying around and puts them tidily into the truck. “Regulus, what are you doing?”

“I’m sending you away. You can’t stay here. You’ll be much safer elsewhere.”

“I can’t go away without you,” Sirius whimpers, trying to get on his feet and wincing. “I
can’t, she’s going to hurt you. If I go, you have to come with me. I don’t take no for an
answer.”
“Ask me if I care,” Regulus rolls his eyes, glancing nervously in the hallway. “You’ve got to
go, Sirius. I’m sorry, but you have to. I’ll nick your wand and send Kreacher over with it. But
you have to go now and without me.”

Finally, Kreacher appears in the room again: he holds the pot of floor powder in his hands.
Regulus thanks him and offers to take it to free his hands, but Kreacher shakes his head and
disapparates with Sirius’s truck.

“Come on, I’ll help you get to the library,” Regulus sayd, holding out a hand; he’s still
shaking.

“No.” Sirius shakes his head and keeps his hands folded in his lap. “Not without you.”

“Sirius, don’t be silly. You know she’s not going to leave you alone about this. You were
lucky enough that she made the mistake of acting while tired.” He gently takes his brother’s
arm, helping him to his feet. “I’ll manage, but you need to leave. What will happen to this
person you love if Mother discovers their identity?” Sirius paled visibly. “Exactly. You need
to go.”

“But you…I also love you, Reg, I can’t…” Sirius’ lips tremble, as tears roll down his face.
“It’s unfair.”

Regulus grimaces. “Come on now. I’ll be alright.”

Sirius finally agrees to move to the library, where Kreacher is waiting with Sirius’s truck.
Sirius limps into the floo and Regulus helps him fit his truck next to him. “You can still
come. Please come with me, Reg.”

Regulus smiles softly at him and shakes his head. “Someone needs to stay. Bon voyage,
Sirius.”

The Fat Lady won’t let him in the Gryffindor Common Room, but Regulus really needs to
see Elias. That’s when Lupin saves the day. He’s wrapped up in a beige jumper that makes
him look strangely soft. His eyes blink at Regulus in mild surprise.

“What are you doing here?” He asks. “Do you need Sirius? He’s with James in an empty
classroom, I can call him if you need?”

“I need to talk to Elias.” Regulus says, running a hand through his hair. “Can you maybe call
him for me? Please? She won’t let me in.”

“Yeah, sure,” Lupin seems quite unbothered by his request.

He disappears behind the painting and, a minute later, Elias emerges from the hole behind it,
a quizzical look on his face.
“Come and Go Room,” Regulus says, before he starts walking towards the stairs.

Regulus likes their room: it's big and spacey; the white walls are decorated with muggle neo-
classicism paintings; a window on the outer side lights up the entire room. The bed is cosy,
soft, king size, with plenty of pillows and blankets. Even if they don't use it much, a red
couch appears every time they come in here. The room is kept warm by a fireplace and,
lastly, there is a table, where two mugs and a kettle rest.

A lot of their things are here: some of Elias’ vinyls and his record player, Regulus’ collection
of muggle books, some clothes even, and he’s pretty sure that the red blanket on the bed is
Elias’. They don't always come here together, but they've agreed to share everything that's in
this room, as if they're brothers and not just friends.

“I’ll make us a cuppa, yeah? You look like you could use one,” he says, going directly at the
table.

Elias levitates the kettle over a little floating flame, and Regulus is the one who settles it
there, so Elias can look for the tea bags. He hears giggles after one drawer is opened.

“Guess where I put the tea bags.”

“In the same drawer as the condoms?” Regulus guesses, wrinkling his nose. “Only you,
Greco.”

Elias giggles again. “Not like anyone is using those, uh?”

“Definitely not me,” Regulus says, looking at the floating kettle. Maybe the room should give
them a cooking hob next time.

“Me neither.” Elias sets two tea bags inside their mugs. “Though it would be funny if, in the
middle of a shagging, we grabbed a tea bag instead of a condom.”

Regulus chuckles. “Tea break,” he sing-songs. “Too bad we don't have any milk, right?”

He says it sarcastically, because Elias is Italian and he thinks putting milk in tea is a brit
sleaze.

Five minutes later, they're lounging on the bed with fuming hot tea in their hands. Regulus
sips his drink while it's still so warm.

“I was worried about you,” Elias begins to say. They're shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip,
Elias's body radiates a comforting warmth. “I didn’t want to force you to talk about what
happened this summer, so I just waited for you to come to me. I know that you probably
don’t want to talk about it and I don’t particularly expect you to, but you have to know you
can always talk to me, okay? I know I was rude when I told you about Sirius, and I didn’t
mean that.”
“I know you didn’t,” Regulus says easily, meeting his gaze. Elias is rarely rude on purpose;
he's a very kind person, but he's passionate and sometimes the two overlap, making him come
off as aggressive. “I don’t really know how to talk about feelings.”

Writing them down is easy; speaking them, even reading them, makes him feel lightheaded.
They'll become real and tangible if they're spoken. And Regulus was taught that parents are
the greatest authority and all they do, they do out of love. Believing that now would be naïve,
but he still feels ungrateful for disliking them and wishing they were different.

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Elias reassures him with a kind smile. “As I said, you don’t have to
tell me anything. I just want you to know you can reach out if you feel like trying.”

Regulus likes Elias for many reasons: one is that Elias knows what it means to pretend to be
fine, to act stronger than you are. So if there is anyone that can understand him, that's Elias.

They might fight, sometimes, but they usually don’t stay mad at each other for a long time,
which builds a sense of security: if Regulus slips, Elias is not going to stop being his friend.
They can work through their mistakes and learn to be better friends.

Regulus trusts him so much that Elias was the first boy he ever kissed: to try, they said,
because none of them enjoyed kissing girls all that much. Being good secret keepers, it stays
between them to this day. Elias never used it against him.

So Elias is kind, caring, and Regulus likes that, because Evan and Barty often forget what it
means to be kind. It's usually not an issue, because Regulus is rude too; it becomes an issue
when someone's feelings are hurt. Hence why Regulus avoids them like plague now.

Lastly, Elias's family situation is also bad. He never talks about it: Regulus pieced together
what Elias told him so far. His grandfather was a wizard, his mother is not. His father is
violent and Elias hates him. He may or may not have siblings: Regulus didn't understand that
bit yet.

“I had a fight with Evan.” He decides to start, ducking under Elias's open arm. The other boy
squeezes him lightly for a second. “I was originally upset because of Barty, but then Evan
said that I shouldn’t act like a victim since I became the heir of a noble household, which is
just stupid. Evan visited this summer, he knows I wasn’t doing okay, he knows my parents.
He said my brother forced himself out of the house by standing against family values.”

“So basically he doesn't understand shit,” Elias mutters.

“He could if he wanted. Evan isn't stupid, he's just pissed I've changed my mind and it's
obvious I did. He thinks I shouldn't have, he trusts that his parents are right about everything.
And Barty indulges him to get on my nerves. They think it'd be safer for me if I conformed to
my Mother's ideals. Evan’s parents adore him; he has no idea of what Sirius and I went
through. His parents disapprove of my parents' parenting methods.” He sighs, resting his
head against Elias’ shoulder. “Being the heir is not a good thing. It means that my parents
will try to make me what they want me to be.”
“You can’t be anything other than what you are,” Elias says, gently stroking his hair. “Which
means that as much as they try to taint you, they’ll never get to the core. Not you. I don’t
think they can get to you.”

Regulus let out a dry laugh. Yielding terrifies him: the possibility of having that ugly,
sickening mark on his arm, of being the cause of grief and deaths; he can’t stomach it. The
pressure of being the heir and not wanting to be can push someone to their knees very
quickly.

“You can’t know that, Elias. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to protect my ‘core’.”

Elias frowns and licks his lips, tilting his head to the side. “See, I don’t think it’s a matter of
strength at all, though. I don’t know if you realise this, but you’re already resisting them in
many ways. Being with me, for example! Your mother would detest me, I’m sure. And you
being my friend means that they haven’t managed to make you a purist, if anything. They
can’t make you what they want you to be, you made yourself. It’s too late.”

“I don’t see how that would change things.” Regulus says, perplexed, as he looks up.
“They’ll still order me to be something else.”

“Maybe they will, yes, but I don’t think you’d obey them. I don’t know if you’ve noticed,
Reg, but you hate being bossed around. My point is that if your mindset is different than
theirs, then you can still fight and you can still move out. You don’t have to stay.”

“I have to, or they’ll try to get Sirius back in. Besides, I don’t know where I’d move out
safely. Pandora? They’d know. Evan’s parents sympathise for the cause. Barty’s father would
go insane if he brought me over.” He stops and reconsiders. “Evan and Barty aren’t even
options. So I don’t know how I’d do that.”

“Er, hello, Reg, your brother would help you,” Elias says, pinching at his arm softly.

Regulus frowns. “I didn’t even consider Sirius.” He proceeds to shake his head. “No, it’s not
good. My parents might suspect it.”

“Maybe you should fake your death,” Elias proposes. “Imagine this: we get out of school and
you pretend to drop dead a couple of months later, and we hide you until the war is over.”

“Oh, yes, and then we go play quidditch, but we’re riding unicorns instead of brooms.”
Regulus crosses his arms to his chest and gives Elias an exasperated look. Gryffindors have
no sense of preservation. They think everything is possible. “How would I even fake my
death?”

“I don’t know, but where there’s a will there’s a way. Not like you need to think about it
now…you’re not even out of school, it’d be crazy of them to have you take the mark.”

“You’re thinking too much like a decent person. I’m my parents’ only chance to appeal to the
Dark Lord. They didn’t take the mark, because it would be a political statement, and they
work in the ministry. They’d have me marked now if it was up to them.”
“But you’re still in school! They can’t just do that to you!” Elias says, outraged. “Especially
since they didn’t get the mark themselves. Crazy people!”

Regulus waves his hand in the air. “My plan is to try to convince them to wait until I have a
stable job in the ministry, and pray that day comes fashionably late. But I don’t know, Elias.
They started hosting these…meetings. My mother has introduced me to him, and I swear, he
barely sounds human. I bet his soul is slimy and dirty.” He shivers at the memory.

Elias clenches his jaw, his hand firm on Regulus’ shoulder. “We’ll get you out of there when
it’s time, Reg.” He sets his mug down on the nightstand. “You can talk to Sirius. I’ll try to ask
vague questions to Frank. His mother’s very respected, I’m sure he knows what can be done
to help you. I’ll come and help you myself if it’s needed.”

Regulus shivers, terror flowing in his veins alongside blood. “You can’t do that,” he hisses,
glowering at him. “It’s dangerous, you’ll get yourself killed or severely hurt.”

“There’s a war out there, Reg! We’ll get severely hurt anyway! I prefer getting hurt and
having you than giving up on you!” Elias snaps, eyes flaring with determination. “You can’t
change my mind, Reg, if they try to force you onto something, we’ll get you out, end of
story.”

Regulus clenches his jaw, but he doesn’t argue anymore. It’s pointless with Elias; like Sirius,
he’s stubborn and righteous, and he won’t change his mind.

He presses his forehead to Elias’s shoulder and breathes in deeply. The decision to change the
topic of the conversation comes right after.

“Well, we talked about really sad things,” he says. “I could tell you about something more
cheerful.”

“I didn’t know you knew how to do that,” Elias teases, but there’s no sharpness in his tone.

“I think I might have an infatuation for Potter.”

Elias stays silent for a second, lips pressed together. Regulus doesn’t understand at first, then
Elias starts chuckling. “Oh my God, Reg, an infatuation?” He wheezes, covering his face
with his hands. He peeks at Regulus through his fingers, eyes lit up with mirth. “Are you
living in the fifteenth century?”

Regulus rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, kicking Elias’s thigh lightly. “Stay on topic,
please.”

“What can I say? I can’t blame you.” Elias cracks his back, making Regulus wince, before he
goes back to laying down with his hands laced together on his chest. “He’s pretty handsome.
And he’s kind and smart. Yeah, I can see why you like him. But do you even know him?”

“Nah,” he says, quietly. “I only talked to him a couple of times.”

“You should do something about it.” Elias looks intrigued.

“Not in a million years. I refuse to make a fool out of myself,” Regulus says, warily. He
already tried to do this once, and he was left heartbroken. “He likes Lily Evans, doesn’t he?
What are the chances that James Potter likes boys?”

“Heard him tell Sirius he’s done chasing after Lily, actually. And this was April of last year.
And you can’t just assume he’s straight! Based on my radar, he might like boys. And I’m an
expert.”

“Doesn’t mean he’d like me.”

Elias’s face saddens and he tilts his head to the side. “Why not? You’re kind, handsome,
smart, you like Quidditch. For all we know, you might be his soulmate.”

Regulus snorts, shaking his head. “Yes, yes, and puffskeins can do anything other than being
cute.”

“I heard they eat boogers.” Elias scrunches his nose and takes Regulus’s hand gently. “I don’t
think James is as unreachable as you think he is. We’ve been seeing him around more,
haven’t we? Like that day in the library, he kept looking at you. And I saw you two talk
before your Quidditch practice, the other day.”

“That was just a Quidditch talk,” Regulus says. “He was complimenting my Wronski Feint.”

“Traitor!” Elias goes, pouting. “Complimenting another seeker!”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “He doesn’t even know me.” And in his thoughts he adds: he wouldn’t
like me if he did.

“You don’t have to know someone to want to snog them,” Elias points out. “For example, I’d
totally snog Shinji, but do I know him? Fuck no, we talk like once a year, because I always
panic and make a fool out of myself!”

Regulus laughs again. “That’s because you have awful social skills.” He says, looking fondly
at his friend. “Even if he liked me, we wouldn’t be able to date publicly.”

“That’d be a boundary you two would set,” Elias replies, sitting up again and grabbing his
cup.

Regulus pouts as he watches Elias cast a warming spell on the tea.

“I think you just need to get used to the idea.” Elias says, leaving his wand on the mattress.

“What idea?” Regulus mumbles, eyes fixated on the ceiling.

“The idea that someone can want you and love you for you. For who you are.” He pauses,
eyebrows drawn together as he looks at his tea. “You’re not a horrible person, Reg. People
can be interested in knowing you and, hell, they can be attracted to you.”

Regulus sighs and looks away, twisting his rings. “You’re too nice to me.”
Elias looks at him, some hints of fondness in his eyes. “Of course, we’re friends. That’s what
friends are supposed to do. Especially considering you’re never nice to yourself.”

They stay silent for a while, simply enjoying each other’s company. They read a bit and at
some point Elias starts a vinyl (“This is James’ favourite band, Queen, so you’d better pay
attention”) and begins tidying up the room.

“Do you really think I have a chance?” Regulus asks, lifting his eyes from the book he has
been reading. Say no, he begs, silently. I don’t know what I’d do if I could have him.

“Why not? I say suck it and see.” Elias shrugs and an evil smirk starts blossoming on his
face. “Did you run away from the Great Hall because you popped a boner?”

“Elias!” Regulus scolds him as blushes, looking elsewhere. “That’s none of your business!”

“Ahah,” Elias sticks his tongue out at him. “You popped a boner in the Great Hall!”

“So funny. Master of comedies. You know how to make someone have a right laugh. Truly a
lovely joke, yours is.”

“It is a little funny though,” Elias says. “Admit it.”

Regulus smiles despite himself and shakes his head.

They spent the entire morning together, then went to the library with Pandora in the
afternoon, tucked away in a secluded angle of the library. Regulus spotted Barty a couple of
times, but Barty didn’t seem aware that he was there.

Barty had already left the library when Regulus made his way back, so it’s silly to be
surprised to be alone in the dorm with him now.

The other boy is lounging on his bed, hair wet from a shower and wearing casual clothing.
He’s reading from his Charms book, or maybe just pretending to read: he seems bored and
Barty rarely appears so when he studies. Academics are his thing.

“Hi,” Regulus says, before closing himself in the bathroom.

He washes his hands and his face and paces around a while. It’s been a while since he’s been
alone with Barty. Based on what Evan said, he’ll want to talk.

As soon as he comes out of the bathroom, Barty looks up at him. “Where were you?” Barty
asks, frowning at him. “Evan said you stormed out when he tried to talk to you.”

“He was being a prick,” Regulus says, sitting on his bed. “I was in the library.”

“Ah,” Barty says. His entire face relaxes. “Curious. I didn’t see you there.” He shakes his
head and lifts the book to show Regulus the cover. “Did you do Charms yet?”
“No, I did DADA and Transfiguration.”

“Study with me?” Barty asks, making room for Regulus in his bed.

Regulus doesn’t know how to say no, and he misses Barty. So he caves and says yes.

It’s hard not to focus on how warm Barty’s body is. Regulus forgot about it: he tried to forget
everything so he’d move on faster. But they’ve been studying like this for years: sitting
together on one of the beds or close at the desk, heads hovering together over the page of a
book.

But Barty seems to have forgotten about what they had. It’s the first time they have a long
conversation this year. But at the start of the fourth year, they spent the first night telling each
other about the summer. They used to be so close.

Regulus quickly realises he’s mourning instead of studying. So he sighs.

“Did you change your body soap?” Barty asks, at that point.

Regulus frowns. “No.”

Barty blinks at him. “You smell like cologne.”

Elias wears cologne. Regulus smells his jumper and rolls his eyes. His perfume clings to
Regulus’s clothes. “Whatever.”

“Did you shag someone?”

The question is so sudden and misplaced it makes him laugh. Part of it is the shock.

“I wouldn’t shag someone who wears cologne,” he says. Barty raises an eyebrow, looking at
him sceptically. “What?”

Barty moves the book aside and he licks his lips before running a hand in his hair. “You have
secrets,” he says, marvelled. “You never kept secrets from me! Why are you…?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. How can someone be so clever and so oblivious at the same time? “I
promise you, I haven’t shagged anybody. I don’t know why you’re fixating on this,” he says,
avoiding Barty’s nonsensical question.

“Because it would explain why you’re so fucking weird recently! You’re so- you’re always
running off with someone else! With Pandora and that mudblood…” Regulus glares at him
and puts space between them. “I can’t believe you’re spending time with Elias Greco of all
people.”

“Are you jealous, Barty?” He teases sharply, crossing his arms and closing them around his
body.

Barty turns rapidly and stares at Regulus. “You know what, Reg?” Barty says in a low voice.
“I am. I am jealous.”
There’s an honesty in his answer that takes Regulus by surprise. He starts twisting his rings
around his fingers almost frantically. “They have been my friends for as long as you, you
know? I’m allowed to spend time with them if I want to.”

“They’re not like us. You shouldn’t hang out with them,” he says. Regulus can only see his
hands: he’s tearing apart a piece of parchment in small lines. “You’re leaving Evan and I
behind. What would your mother do if she knew you were best mates with blood traitors and
mudbloods?”

Regulus grimaces; Barty knows better than using words like that. But he keeps doing it, and
it’s making Regulus want to stop talking to him. “You know my mother,” Regulus replies,
quietly, staring at the family ring on his finger. Family: or the mockery of one. “Probably
torture me until I pass out. You can’t tell her, Barty.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone shite,” Barty says, bumping his knee with Regulus’s. “I know
you think I’m a dickhead, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

Regulus nods, staring at the place where their knees meet.

“I just don’t like that you spend more time with them than you do with m…us,” Barty says
softly. “Please, look at me.” Regulus does, meeting Barty’s vibrant green eyes. “I feel like
I’m losing you.”

Oh.

Regulus looks away now, still playing with his rings, still not knowing how to get what he
wants. Being friends with Barty and Evan sounds good in theory, but Regulus struggles to do
it with clear conscience. Because their way of thinking cost him a brother. It probably ruined
Elias’s years at Hogwarts.

He was told mindsets could kill. And it’s the exact reason why Regulus can’t pretend
anymore.

“I’m not going anywhere, Barty,” he says, staring at his hands again. “I just don’t think you
would understand what happened with Sirius.”

“He’s a prick for leaving,” Barty says with firmness.

Regulus smiles slightly, but it’s not a happy one. “No, he’s not. He wasn’t going to make it
out of the summer alive. I’m the one who told him to leave. I wanted him to leave. It doesn’t
mean I liked it.”

“What?!”

Regulus takes one look at Barty’s mouth, parted in surprise, and looks away again, running a
hand through his hair. “I wasn’t really thinking about the consequences. I just thought that I
wanted him to be alive. And now I’m the heir.”

“Shouldn’t you be happy about that?” Barty shrugs, playing with his ring. He only wears one:
the one Regulus gifted him last year, a simple silver band.
“I never wanted to be the heir,” Regulus confesses for the second time today, staring at his
bed. “It’s a hassle. It ruins your dreams. It ruins everything actually.”

And he didn’t want to be alone with his parents. Since Sirius left, Regulus has been more on
edge. He snapped at his parents and he was punished for it. He didn’t act like a proper heir
(no one ever taught him to) and he was punished.

But being in that house is the ultimate punishment itself.

“What sort of dreams do you have?” Barty asks, lifting an eyebrow.

“Just dreams. Everyone has dreams. I dream of freedom.”

From everyone and everything, but from the war first and foremost.

“Everyone does,” Barty replies, something shaky in his voice. “Everyone dreams of freedom.
Dreams aren't the same as ambitions. They’re not meant to come true. We’re too old to
dream.”

“Well, then being the heir ruins your ambitions,” Regulus states, finally leaving his rings
alone. “Maybe I wanted to be a professional seeker. And if my parents force me to take the
mark, I can’t do that.”

Barty reaches out and takes Regulus’s hand. Regulus holds his breath as Barty runs his
fingers on his palm, caressing it softly. It’s a little ticklish. It’s almost as if Barty’s touch is
carving his palm, shaping it, loving it somehow.

Barty ends up lacing their fingers together. Regulus lets him. Even if he doesn’t love Barty
like that anymore. Maybe he lets him do it because it’s comforting and grounding.

“Force you,” Barty repeats, keeping his voice down, soft and quiet. “So you don’t want to
take the mark? Is that why you avoid Evan and I?”

“Yes,” he lies. “That’s why.”

Barty takes a sharp breath, before he nods, squeezing Regulus’s hand. “Okay,” he says,
slowly. “I don’t want it either then.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Regulus says, a little sharply, letting go of the other boy’s hand. “You can’t
buy my friendship with that, Barty.”

“Buy your friendship?” Barty says, stunned. “We’ve been friends since the first year!”

Regulus clenches his jaw, getting out of Barty’s bed. “Yes, we have. Then you decided I
disgust you and my friends are inferior because of their blood.”

“You know I don’t really think that.” Barty says, getting up as well.

Regulus crosses his arms, leaning against one of the posters of his bed. “And acting like it is
too much to ask, isn’t it?”
Barty gets close again. Regulus doesn’t understand him.

“What do you mean?” He asks, cupping Regulus’s elbow. “You know I-”

“I know you spent the past three days saying homophobic shite as if you don’t know I-”

Barty looks at him, eyes wide and scared, as if something about this conversation frightens
him. But they don’t finish talking. Evan bursts the door open and Regulus takes it as an
opportunity to run away again and wander until dinner.

19/09/1976, Hogwarts

§17: I thought about that night again today. Luckily my mind didn’t get past S.
disappearing in the flames of the floo powder. I’m afraid it’ll be a bad night, this one. I
know I’ll remember more. If things were the same as last year, I would be calling B., but
I feel like our friendship has shifted in some ways. It feels like he’s fading constantly into
this person I don’t really know, which is terribly scary, considering I thought he was one
of my closest friends.

§18: Sometimes I catch him looking at me and he doesn’t even look like the B. I know.
He looks like a softer version of himself, completely different from the person he shows
he is to others. I don’t really know what to do with that. I think Ev. knows something
about it, though I’m not sure if I want to hear what he knows. But it doesn’t matter. It’s
never going to be the same. I feel like I’ll miss them forever, but what other choice do I
have?

§19: I miss him. Oh, how I miss him. B. and I used to be so close. We could have had
everything. Today, I even thought I wasn’t the only one mourning. For just a second, it
almost looked like Barty was also…but I don’t think he was. I saw what I wanted to see.

§20: He took my hand. And he held it. He laced our fingers together. But homosexuals
disgust him, and my companies are deplorable to his eyes. I just wish he’d make up his
mind.

§21: Maybe by reading this page of my diary, someone will say I still have feelings for
him. But I know I don’t. I know we’re over. I’ve already made up my mind and I’m fine
with it mostly. I just want my friends back. Is it too much to ask? I want back what we
had in the third year. But I lost them. I keep losing people to a war I’m not even fighting
yet. But oh, if I had the means. If I had the means to fight this war, I would end it
tomorrow. I would tear Voldemort apart for all he’s taken from me: my parents, my
brother, my friends. He needs to pray that I’ll never get my hands on him.

21 September, 1976
Pandora has Divination in the afternoon, so at 4pm, Regulus goes to the Library. He doesn’t
like going alone, but it’s much better than the common room, especially when he’s trying to
avoid Evan.

It’s not a good day. He had a nightmare that woke him up too early and he has been restless
since, in need of comfort, which he struggles asking. As the day went by, he sulked more, but
he acted unbothered, even smiled at Pandora. He’s good at faking it, most people can’t tell.
Regulus has made sure they wouldn’t.

At first, he just walks between the shelves. Back home, the magic of the library responds to
him, which makes it more fun. Between the library shelves, he looks for a distraction. Yes,
he’ll do his homework, but maybe he’ll get himself a book too, a little treat, a story to keep
his mind off before he goes to sleep (he remembers, with saddened eyes, that father used to
read bedtime tales to him and Sirius).

He shakes his head, clearing out his expression from any residual emotions, and starts to
make his way to his favourite table, when someone grabs him by the wrist, causing him to
yelp. Sirius’s grinning face comes into view.

“Can’t you just use your words like a normal person?” Regulus hisses, freeing himself from
his grip.

“Normal n’est pas français, Reggie.” His brother smirks, then he points at a table, where
Marlene McKinnon is sitting with a book and parchment in front of her. “Study with us, will
you? Or are you waiting for someone?”

Regulus shrugs. “Pandora’s in class at the moment.”

“Stellar.” Sirius goes back to browsing the shelf.

Regulus rolls back his shoulders, fixes his hair and makes his way towards the table. He nods
at Marlene, since he doesn’t know her at all, except for the fact she’s a terrific chaser. She
smiles at him: there’s a little dimple appearing on her face when she does that. It makes
Regulus want to smile back.

He sits down on one of the chairs around the table and grabs his DADA book from the bag,
immediately starting to work on his essay and tuning everything else out: his blue thoughts,
the noises, people coming and going, Barty and Evan, the heaviness of playing pretend.

Professor Khelben, the new DADA teacher, is actually a good one. He wanted them to write
the essay on boggarts so they would review them: it’s a frequently asked question in O.W.L.s
and hasn’t popped up in two years, so he’s positive reviewing them will be a good shot. But
since he’s just reviewing, he finishes quicker than he expected and stretches his hands.

“You were quite focused,” James says, next to him.

Regulus doesn’t startle, he simply lets out a small breath in surprise. He didn’t even notice
James sat next to him! To avoid looking at James, he starts looking for the Hex Deflection
chapter.
“Focus is required for a good study,” he says, looking at the paper.

James hums. “You looked a little sad, actually. You stopped a couple of times to think and
your eyes did this thing…” Regulus has no idea what he’s talking about, but he’s irritated that
someone noticed. No one is supposed to notice. “Can I cheer you up?”

“I don’t need to be cheered up, Potter.” Regulus says, briefly meeting his eyes. “I’m perfectly
alright.”

“Do you like cats?”

Regulus sighs. He can feel Madam Pince staring at them. “What sort of monster doesn’t like
cats?”

“I’ll draw you a cat, then! While you do your reading. Cats are good at cheering people up.”

“If you say so.” Regulus says, and tries not to think about the fact he begged his parents to
get him a cat instead of an owl.

He got stuck with the Owl: a tawny, tiny thing that always picks at his rings when Regulus
tries to pet it. Needless to say, they’re on business terms only for that reason. If he wanted a
bird to pick at his rings, he would have gotten a crow.

Next to him, James draws quietly with a black pen; so Regulus settles back into his reading,
arms crossed to his chest and the book firm between his body and the table. Words begin to
blur together.

James’s gesture is kind, but the kindest thing he’s done, even if Regulus wants to hate him for
it, is that he noticed he was sad. Sirius didn’t, Pandora didn’t, and he constantly runs away
from Barty and Evan.

He checks that James isn’t looking, then finally looks up at Sirius. He’s sharing a book with
Lupin. They’re sitting close enough that their entire sides seem to be glued together, and their
faces are too close. Sirius’s cheeks are flushed. Lupin tells him something, Sirius frowns, so
Lupin tucks his hair behind his ear, which apparently makes Sirius’s brain melt.

Regulus swallows down jealousy and sinks farther down on his chair, eyes on his reading.
He’s jealous. He tried to have that too -with a best friend, ironically-, and failed. Two friends
were lost to his pathetic attempt to love.

“Hey, Reg,” James says, softly.

James is standing right into the soft light of a late afternoon sunray, and he looks breath-
taking. His brown skin glows under the warmth, his eyes gain so much depth Regulus is
tempted to take off his glasses, and his lips are curled up in a kind smile.

He pushes the drawing towards him. Regulus tries not to think about the fact that James’s
hands are perfectly manicured, that he’s wearing burgundy nail polish which compliments his
skin and golden jewellery in the most perfect way. He looks at the drawing instead.
It’s clear that James not only has talent, but he practises: Regulus can tell he already
developed a drawing style. The strokes of the pen are gentle, as if James uses the pen like a
brush, and he likes to focus on details: the fur, the whiskers, the shape of the eye, the paws
and the small claws, the stripes over the back.

“What’s his name?” James asks in a whisper. “You get to choose.”

“Cleos,” Regulus says, raising his eyes to meet James’s. “Do you know what it means?”

James smiles and writes the name just some centimetres above the cat’s head. His
handwriting is nice, easily readable, yet very elegant. “I like Cleos, but I don’t know what it
means.”

“It’s one of the Greek words for Glory,” Regulus says. “Cleopatra’s name means Glory of the
Father, just like Patroclus.”

There’s a fascination on James’s face that makes Regulus’s heart flutter in pride. “I didn’t
know you knew Greek.”

Regulus almost smiles, the corners of his lips twitching up slightly. “I don’t, really, I only
know some things. I barely know anything about Greek,” he says, playing with the pages of
his book. “I haven’t really studied it, Latin is my area of expertise.”

“Mine too,” James says, scooting just a little closer. Their knees bump under the table.
“Ancient cultures are fascinating, aren’t they? Filled with magic.”

Regulus is obsessed with the way his voice sounds. He could hear him speak forever. Just as
he’s about to agree, though, their little atmosphere is broken.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Sirius asks. James and Regulus turn at the same time.
“What? You looked close for a second.”

“I draw Regulus a cat,” James says, showing it to Sirius. “It’s a present.”

Sirius smiles at him and ruffles his hair, then turns to look at Regulus. “Jamie is an artist.”

James shakes his head slightly in disagreement.

“I think you’re right,” Regulus tells Sirius, taking the drawing gently. “He’s rather talented.”

Next time Regulus looks up, James is beaming at him like the sun, a summery sky. For a
moment, Regulus’s blues come to a stop.

Marlene approaches him once he’s out of the library, a muggle book in his hands. He wasn’t
expecting her, so when she stops in front of him, panting because she ran, he just blinks at
her, unsure what to say.
“Hey,” she says, still breathless. “This is going to sound so weird but I actually need your
help.”

Regulus makes one of his rings spin around his finger. “How can I help you?”.

“Do you know Dorcas Meadowes?”

“Sure I do,” Regulus says, even if he doesn’t really know Dorcas all that well. “Want me to
introduce you two?”

Marlene beams at him and nods. Her cheeks are flushing. “That would be amazing, actually.”
Her smile doesn’t falter, which makes Regulus’ chest feel warm.

“No problem, then.” Regulus gives her a little smile. “Consider it done.”

The word that Regulus Black sat with Gryffindors in the library spreads quickly. Some
people, almost exclusively people he dislikes, are eyeing him suspiciously now, which makes
him nervous to eat here.

“I’ve been told you were sitting with Potter in the library.” Snape says as Regulus fills his
plate with chicken wings and courgettes.

Barty makes a disgusted noise, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I was sitting with my brother, Severus,” Regulus says, rolling his eyes. “I don’t have to
explain myself to you, do I?”

“Eh, you’re behaving like a blood traitor.” Avery talks with his mouth full, which makes
Regulus cringe. He can’t stand the chewing noises.

“You’re behaving like a peasant muggle. Finish chewing before you speak. Your parents
surely have taught you table manners.”

“You little…” Avery starts saying, but Snape interrupts him: “Don’t talk with your mouthful,
Avery, it’s disgusting.”

“Were you really in the library with your brother and all of his lot?” Barty asks him, pressing
his thigh against Regulus’.

“Would have been alone otherwise,” Regulus shrugs. “I was just studying, I don’t get why
everyone is so concerned about it.”

“I’m just saying that you haven’t been choosing your company wisely, Black,” Snape says,
not touching his food just yet. “You ought to know better than to be affiliated with the
enemy.”

“Merlin, bold words from someone who was friends with Lily Evans until last year,” Regulus
snaps back. “Even if I decided to be friends with my brother and his lot, it would not be any
of your business. You don’t decide my friendships for me, Severus.”

“I do not, indeed.” Snape says, breaking down one of the chicken wings. “Maybe you don’t
want your mother to know, though.”

Regulus feels panic rise in his chest, but he shoves it down.

Before he can speak, though, Barty does it for him: “Don’t you dare blackmail him, you
greasy git.”

He’s holding a chicken bone between his thumb and his index finger, and Regulus wouldn’t
put it past Barty to throw it right into Snape’s eye.

“Are you his bodyguard now?” Avery inquires sarcastically. “Did you get yourself a
boyfriend, Black?”

Barty throws the bone, catching Avery square on the temple. The older boy groans in pain.
“People who haven’t gotten past the second year level of transfiguration don’t get to talk to
us, Avery.”

Regulus snorts, sharing a grin with Barty. His chest is filled with a warm sensation: for a
moment, it’s almost like they’ve been thrown back to last year.

The conversation doesn’t continue farther. Regulus has no doubt that it will be used against
him, but until he can fight back, until he has someone to fight with, it doesn’t sound like too
much of a threat.

Regulus knows Dorcas just a little: provocative, troublemaker, ambitious, strives for change
and revolution and is vocal about it. They’ve never been close friends, even if Regulus can’t
pinpoint a reason why.

At the moment, she’s lounging by the couch with the other two girls in their year, Vivienne
and Leonie. Regulus doesn’t like them a lot when they’re all together: Vivienne antagonises
him and Dorcas and Leonie usually let her.

He takes a deep breath and shoves his hands in his pockets before approaching the small
group.

Vivienne looks at him up and down as soon as he comes close. “What the hell do you want,
Black?”

“You’re so nice, has anybody told you that?” Regulus tells her, then he turns to Dorcas. “I
need to talk to you.”

Dorcas grins at him, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees. For the first time, Regulus
thinks she looks like fun. “Alone?” She asks, with a hint of amusement.

“Yes, please.” He says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Dorcas gets up and she follows him to a secluded spot in the common room. They both lean
against the wall with their shoulders. Regulus rests his temple against the wall. She re-
braided her hair and added little golden jewellery to her braids, which keep grabbing
Regulus’s attention.

“So, I’m assuming you’re not asking me on a date.”

If Dorcas doesn’t know he’s gay, she suspects him at least, which is fine, because Dorcas has
been out as a lesbian since last year. Regulus doesn’t think she’d put him in danger. Still, he
doesn’t react to her words in any way.

“I like the way you braid your hair,” he says instead, “I like the golden jewellery details.”

Dorcas’s brown eyes grow large in surprise. “Why, thank you,” she says, touching her hair.
“Longer hair suits you.”

Regulus shrugs. As long as it doesn’t get in his face it’s fine, he supposes. “I know someone
fancies you.”

“A girl, I hope.” Dorcas raises an eyebrow, and Regulus nods, twisting his family ring around
his finger. “Oh thank God! You have no idea how many people cannot get a hint! Who’s the
girl? I’m kind of into someone, so...”

“Oh.” Regulus worries his lower lip. “She’s in Gryffindor. My brother’s year, a little shorter
than you, blonde…”

Dorcas’s eyes glint in recognition and she clears her throat, straightening up. “I might be
interested…” She says, casually, twirling one of her braids around her finger.

Regulus almost sighs in relief on Marlene’s behalf. “Come with me at Gryffindor’s Quidditch
practice,” he says, with a softer smile. “See you tomorrow at the pitch.”

21/09/1976, Hogwarts

§22: [James’ drawing stuck on the pages].

§23: J. is adorable. Not just good looking, not just with his heart in the right place, he’s
also adorable. And kind. And sweet. And Merlin, I want to know him better. He has a
nice smile, one of his canines is slightly crooked, which must be why his smile makes
him look approachable. I also noticed he has a little mole near the right eye.

§24: S. didn’t look upset about us talking, which is weirdly comforting. Maybe I could be
friends with J. He’ll be different from all of my friends. But would I be able to keep my
feelings at bay? I feel like getting to know him would only make my crush grow larger.

§25: On a more upsetting note, Sn. threatened to tell Mother about my friendships. I
doubt he actually will, but knowing that he knows how to hurt me and what to use
against me is, I have to admit, slightly scary. I wish people knew less about my family
situation. I don’t like that people feel so free to use it against me.

§26: B. keeps being weird around me. Not necessarily in a bad way, but it’s unexpected
and unpredictable. He was nice to me at dinner, even if I hung out with my brother in the
afternoon. Sometimes I even get the impression he might be on my side after all. But
something doesn’t add up. Ev. doesn’t seem to notice anything is wrong, which makes me
wonder again what he knows that I don’t know of. We never say things the way we
should: that’s our problem.
 Peppermint chamomile & Cinnamon Rolls
Chapter Notes

CWs: mentions of war (end and beginning in bold).

22 September, 1976

He often wakes up in a cold sweat, shaking lightly. It's nightmares: he can't always
remember, but he wakes up scared enough to simply know.

So for a moment, he lingers in bed, listening to Evan's snoring and to Barty's soft breathing.
It calms him down. They used to sleep over in just one bed when they were smaller, when
ideals and differences didn't get between them. It's curious that something about them is still
comforting: even if it's just background noise.

Gryffindors will not start practise for another hour and a half, so Regulus has time to read a
little before he showers. Just like writing, reading is soothing: an easy and quick way to slip
away and ignore reality for a little while.

After reading for half an hour, he takes a shower and gets dressed in his uniform, before he
starts packing his bag for the day, since he won’t be back in the dorm until after lunch.

“Regulus?” Barty’s voice calls. “What are you doing?”

“Quidditch practice,” Regulus lies easily. “I’ll see you in Transfiguration.”

Breakfast had already been served when Regulus and Dorcas came out of the common room,
so they grabbed food and went out to the Quidditch Pitch right after.

The air is chilly, just how he likes it; there’s no fog and the wind is very light, barely a breeze,
but there’s grey clouds in the distance. Still, since the weather is still nice, McKinnon can
unknowingly show off, and Regulus gets to watch Gryffindor practice without the hassle of
fog or cold gusts.

The two Slytherins sit by the bleachers, munching on their breakfast silently; they’re still
sleepy, and Regulus isn’t very social in the morning, not until he’s done eating.

“How come your brother’s not on the team this year?” Dorcas asks, cleaning her hands on a
napkin.

“Must have passed the number of detentions he could get.”

“Potter has loads of detention too.”

“Sirius overdid it last year. He likes getting on people’s nerves.”

Sirius was unbearable last year: getting in trouble every day just for the sake of it, until he
overdid it. He hurt someone, and that’s probably why he’s not on the team anymore. Sirius
knew he fucked up: he spent May and June in absolute dismay. Regulus had to encourage
him to eat and study, push him into conversation, distract him so he wouldn’t slip into his
mind. But he still has a very vague idea of what happened.

Dorcas hums, starting to fix her rings onto her fingers. She doesn’t say anything else, so
Regulus focuses on what’s happening on the pitch.

He finds James first: he flies graciously, smooths movements and feinting easily. His reflexes
are really good, but his strong suit is scoring: he’s strong and he makes the quaffle spin and
turn however he likes. But he’s also very well supported: McKinnon and Macdonald are
awesome players themselves. Good fliers, synchronised, taking advantage of good technique
and strategies to score more. The three of them all play very differently, which is ultimately
what makes them a good trio of chasers; it’s hard for the beaters to get used to them when
they all play so differently.

He moves his gaze to Elias, who is watching the pitch from a high point in the sky, before he
dives quickly towards the snitch. Regulus didn’t see it until Elias started chasing it, but he
sees the snitch move away as soon as Elias gets close, forcing the boy to change courses.

“So, how come a Gryffindor girl told you she was interested in me?” Dorcas asks, grabbing
Regulus’s attention.

“Gryffindors have a thing for me,” Regulus replies, still watching Elias in his quest to catch
the snitch.

“Pity?”

Regulus gives her a dirty look and almost rolls his eyes when he sees her smirk. “You don’t
want to make jokes like that with your matchmaker, Meadowes.”

She sticks her tongue at him, but the conversation dies out again. Gryffindor has a solid team
this year; Slytherin has some strong players, but given that their strongest chaser graduated,
they lack the stability Gryffindor has. It puts Regulus on edge, but it also fills him with
excitement: they’re the underdogs, and they could win because of him.

“You know, I heard an interesting rumour, yesterday,” Dorcas says, breaking the silence yet
again. “You were in the library with a load of Gryffindors, and you were acting lovey-dovey
with James Potter. I thought you hated him!”

Regulus crosses his arms with a frown. “I wasn’t lovey-dovey with James Potter. And I don’t
hate him. Hate is a strong word.”
When he was smaller, he thought he hated James: it was easy to blame him for Sirius’s
detachment, much easier than admitting that he was left behind.

“So what I’m hearing is that you fell for his charm.”

“Oh, the Slytherin urge to lead conversations where we want.” Regulus says, solemnly. “I’m
not falling for it, Meadowes. Try harder. Be straightforward. I hate mind games.”

Dorcas’s eyebrows shoot up and she smiles at him innocently. Regulus knows better than
trusting her smile. “All I’m saying is that if I liked men, I’d be head over heels over James
Potter. Golden boy, good at Quidditch, clever, funny. Don’t tell me he doesn’t spark your
interest.”

His hands ball into fists in the pockets of his cloak. Maybe Dorcas noticed something. Which
is bad, because Regulus is not supposed to let his feelings show.

“I don’t see why he would spark my interest.”

But he thinks again of James, the way he looked like in the sunlight, about his small gesture
of kindness and how their knees were touching under the table. It’s pathetic to pine over
someone for these reasons, yet here Regulus is. His cheeks heat up, so he turns away.

“It would be fine if he did.”

Regulus looks at her, surly, and tightens his hands around his arms. He won’t fall for it. He
won’t believe her. It would be silly of him.

“Watch out!”

Now, Regulus knows how to be around a Quidditch Pitch. There’s a simple rule: always keep
an eye on the balls if you want to survive. But Regulus wasn’t looking. So his first reflex is to
protect his face with his arms, but he quickly realises there’s no need for it: James caught the
Quaffle that was flying his way. He holds it with just one hand, which is sort of mortifying to
notice and to like.

“What are you doing here?” James cocks his head to the side, his hair following the
movement. It’s all messy from flying, sticking out in every direction. Regulus wants to tangle
his hands in it and see how much more damage he can cause.

“Spying on you.” He replies, crossing his legs and relaxing his posture.

“No you’re not.” James frowns and a little grin spreads on his face as he studies Regulus’s.
“Are you here because you missed me?” He asks, with a charming smile that makes
Regulus’s heart trip on his arteries.

(Funny things happen to his body when James Potter is around. He hates it.)

“You sound hopeful, Potter. Do you want me to miss you?”

He tilts his head to the side and smiles a little. Girls like it when he does that, and he can tell
James does too, because he’s staring.

“Potter!” Frank Longbottom screams from the other end of the pitch. James startles like he’s
been woken up from a daydream and he turns to look at Frank. “What the hell are you doing?
Get back in the game!”

James looks at Regulus again, then blinks. “Coming!” He shouts, before he sprints off and
throws the quaffle into McKinnon’s hands.

“Well, well, well, wasn’t that so interesting?” Dorcas says, a smirk on her face. Regulus
uncrosses his legs and looks away stubbornly. “He was flirting with you. And you definitely
flirted back!”

“Please, quit the jive-talking.”

He focuses on the beaters, so he doesn’t have to watch James. One of the beaters is a seventh
year, Chester Roc; he’s fit and tall, definitely the most troublesome strength wise. That being
said, their new beater is this blonde kid that knows exactly what he’s doing: he sends
Bludgers in all the right spots.

“I know what I saw.” Dorcas leans in, closer to Regulus. He’s not sure why she’s acting like
they’re friends. “Your brother’s best friend, Black? That’s a reckless move. Are you sure
you’re not a Gryffindor?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Quit it, I’m serious.”

“No, your brother is.” Regulus looks at her now; she’s grinning, her dark eyes gaining even
more depth under the sun.

“That wasn’t the joke you thought it was, Meadowes.” He says, keeping himself from
smiling.

“Wasn’t it? I think it was, but you probably heard it before.”

“Barty used to make it all the time during our first year; I eventually gave up on saying that
word while he was around.” Regulus watches McKinnon score a goal, and flickers his gaze
towards Dorcas, who looks impressed. He’s happy for her, honestly. She’s a nice girl, close
with Sirius, he doesn’t mind helping her out. “So, tell me, how long have you been fancying
McKinnon?”

Dorcas avoids his gaze, crossing her arms to her chest. “How long have you been fancying
Potter?”

“I don’t fancy him. I’ve never fancied Potter.”

He needs it to be true. This year already took a lot from him: a brother, any of the trust his
parents had in him, a heartbreak, two friends. He can’t afford to fancy someone who is not
going to fancy him back.
But even if his feelings were reciprocated and James tried to get close, the problem stands,
because his family is still the way it is and he still craves revenge like a starving man craves
food. Fancying James is, on principle, a bad idea. It doesn’t even matter if they could happen
or not, because the problem is Regulus himself: Regulus and the fact that he’d grab any
opportunity he sees to ruin his parents. And James has already offered to take him in. He’s
already offered help, which is exactly what Regulus doesn’t need. Merlin knows what he
would do if someone offered an helping hand.

Regulus is weak to love. Weak to being loved and to love back, to the possibility of having an
almost normal life, with stable, healthy bonds.

Pandora was the first person he surrendered to, the first person (aside from Sirius) who loved
him so dearly. And he let her, because he was eleven and lonely and fascinated by this girl
with blonde hair, rosy cheeks and a toothy smile. She was so different from everyone he’d
seen before, and so much kinder.

Even Barty and Evan, despite everything, are people he surrendered to, people he let in in a
way or another. Barty more than Evan: Barty is probably the closest thing to a boyfriend
Regulus has ever had, though Barty would be disgusted at the idea.

Then Elias, who understood him on levels that Pandora couldn’t reach, possibly because he’s
suffered from similar things as Regulus.

But none of it had been romantic love; not the idea Regulus had of it anyway. All he had with
Barty was a secret to be kept and hidden, feelings that were never supposed to be voiced.

And it’s not like Regulus doesn’t know that being out is not a possibility for him. He doesn’t
care to show others. But he wants to at least be able to admit how he feels to the person he
loves, he wants to voice it, make it obvious to at least that one person, so they can never
doubt that they’re loved, like Regulus did many times before.

And Regulus is not stupid: he knows James has some kind of interest in him. Something
shifted at the end of last year, and James looked for him more. He still does. But letting in
James would mean reaching a new shade of foolishness; James is brave and loving and
Regulus craves success and approval, and he doesn’t think a bond between two people like
that can be wise during a war.

He’s aware of how greedy he is, of the fact that there’s a part of him, locked and guarded, that
wants power and knowledge, a part of him that shouldn’t be encouraged, because, again, of
the phantom reckless bones he has in his body. James would spark something in him that he’s
desperately trying to keep down; because there’s a war, and Regulus has almost lost Sirius
because of it, and he’d rather lose himself to his greed for power than lose someone else.

“You’re spacing out.” Dorcas’ voice says, making him jolt. She gives him a look, before
shaking her head, a little smile on her lips. “And you’re nutters. Good to know.”

“Shush,” Regulus scowls, uncrossing his legs.

“Practice’s almost over, I think,” Dorcas says, getting up. “Let’s get down, yeah?”
Regulus nods, stiffly, before he gets up, shooting a glance at James, who’s leaning forward on
his broom, gaining speed as McKinnon throws the Quaffle at him. He sighs, before he
follows Dorcas down the stands. It’s quite a walk; by the time they arrive down the pitch,
Longbottom is briefing with his teammates.

James has his arms around McKinnon and Macdonald’s shoulders and he’s flushed and
smiling.

Elias seems to only be half listening: he’s mostly teasing one of the beaters, the boy with
curly blonde hair, who’s teasing him back. It doesn’t surprise him when Longbottom
nonchalantly puts himself between them, an arm over Elias’ shoulder, who scowls at first, but
begins to listen more attentively.

“Elias looks like a little devil outside the classroom.” Dorcas grins, crossing her arms to her
chest.

“He has spent too much time with my brother and his lot.”

“You’ve got a thing for trouble-makers, don’t you?” Dorcas elbows him in the ribs jokingly.

Regulus is beginning to take a liking to her, but he still scowls. “I don’t.”

“No one believes you, sweetheart.”

At that moment, Longbottom dismisses them, but Elias wraps his arms around the captain’s
middle, claiming a hug. He’s surprised that Longbottom hugs him back, with the way he
ruffles his hair.

It reminds him of the way Sirius treated him when they were younger. His stomach lurches
and his hands hitch, and he’s not surprised to discover he’s a little mad, after all: that he’s still
upset for losing Sirius. Admittedly, they patched up their relationship a little since his fourth
year, but that casual affection, the bond they had when they were kids, is never coming back.
And Regulus knows who to blame.

He’s so focused on this, he almost forgets that he’s here to introduce Dorcas to McKinnon.

“McKinnon!” He calls, waving his hand.

She looks at him, confused for a second, then she sees Dorcas and she blushes and grins
widely. Next to Regulus, Dorcas smiles broadly.

“Go slobber over Potter, Regulus,” Dorcas says, stepping forward. “ And I’ll go talk to her.”

“Thank me later.”

Dorcas goes towards the pitch, Regulus starts making his way back to the school.

“Regulus!” James’ voice comes loud and clear.

When Regulus turns, James stands in front of him: his Quidditch jersey clings to his chest
and shoulders, a picture Regulus will have a hard time forgetting, if he’s even going to try at
all. He still has his broom in his hand, flushed and sweaty, his hair is yet to be fixed.

“Why were you here, really?” James asks, staring at him.

“Doing a favour to somebody.” Regulus stares back, right into James’s brown eyes. “Nice
save earlier.”

James smiles, charming as ever. “Shall I come watch you practise, too?” He asks, hopeful, as
if this is going to be a thing.

“Absolutely not, thank you. I wasn’t watching you.” Regulus shoves his hands in his pockets
looking away. He was definitely watching James, even if he didn’t come here for that. “Can I
go now?”

James nods, a mischievous grin on his face. “See you in the halls, then. Mind you, you can’t
physically stop me from spying the enemy, if it’s for Quidditch purposes.”

Regulus smiles at his warning. “If you think that’ll help you win…” He takes a step back.
“See you.”

This time, he gets to the door before James calls him again.

“Regulus!” His voice is so cheerful Regulus can’t help but turn: at least to check if he’s
smiling again. “I saw you looking at me.”

“For Quidditch purposes, Potter,” He says, before disappearing behind the door.

“Here you are!” Pandora says, when he joins her in the hallway.

Regulus smiles at her like everything is fine and links their arms together. “Good morning.”

“Did you eat? You weren’t at breakfast.”

She sounds cheerful, even more than usual. He wonders if something good happened or if it’s
just because it’s a sunny day, and she loves sunny days.

“I ate a muffin, though I’m not sure I’ll survive Arithmancy without some tea.”

His hair has grown too long, he decides. It keeps getting in his face. He pushes it back with
his hand and as he does, he catches Barty’s eye. The other boy straightens up all of a sudden
and stares back, before he turns back to Evan.

“I’ve got sugar quills, how does that sound?” Pandora asks, completely clueless of Regulus’s
emotional turmoil, as they enter the classroom.
“Precious,” Regulus smiles at her, linking their pinkies together. They used to do it all the
time when they were kids.

Professor McGonagall is already in the class, reading a piece of parchment with a frown on
her face.

“Can we not sit with Crouch and Rosier?” Pandora asks, fixing a strand of her hair behind
her ear.

“I don’t mind,” Regulus says. So they sit behind Elias and Jules, who are playing a muggle
game on Elias’ notebook. “Potter is onto something.”

“He’s always onto something. That’s his lot’s thing. Music classroom, later?”

Regulus nods. On the other side of the room, Barty is frowning at him as he drops his bag to
the desk. Regulus shrugs at him, which only deepens his frown.

“What’s his problem?” Pandora asks. “He won’t stop staring at you.”

Regulus turns to look at her: her eyebrows are furrowed, her eyes focused, her lips slightly
parted. She looks like this when she’s trying to figure out a spell, or, more rarely, a person.

“I don’t know, he’s being weird lately,” Regulus says, quietly, before sitting down and
crossing his arms on the desk.

“In what way?” She asks, laying her essay on the table.

He does the same. “He’s clingy,” he says, though the word choice leaves him feeling
strangely guilty.

Pandora hums, watching professor McGonagall collect their papers with a silent spell. “Can
you say more?”

Regulus shakes his head as he opens his notebook; it’s not exactly like a muggle one, it looks
more like a diary, but it’s more practical for notes; he’s always losing parchment, and he
prefers to have good transfiguration notes, since it’s useful.

“Okay.” She’s frowning, dipping her quill into her ink to write the day over the parchment.
“Later, then?”

Regulus nods again and begins to brace himself for the conversation that awaits him.

After History of Magic, he and Pandora leave their bags in their respective dorm and meet
again on the fifth floor.

The music classroom is not exactly popular between Hogwarts students. Having both played
piano in their youth, Pandora and Regulus like to hang out here and play music together,
though most times they just use it to talk: Pandora will smoke a cigarette most times, or strum
a ukulele mindlessly.

“I think you need to talk to Crouch.” Pandora says, sitting on one of the stalls.

The room is filled with those: for the drums and the piano and the guitars, which have no
straps. Regulus grabs one of the stalls and sits next to her, watching her light up a muggle
cigarette. He doesn’t like them. They smell; he smoked joints before, but cigarettes are a no,
even if they’re quite liked.

“You’re probably right,” he says, with a sigh. “But it’s hard to talk to him without…feelings
being in the way. It doesn’t help that we probably both had awful summers. I mean, look at
how he behaves…clearly something happened. But he prefers to be a dick about it, so…”

“Maybe you should start with that.” Pandora grabs one of the ukuleles hanging from the wall
and begins tuning it. “You can’t stand fighting. And you share a dorm after all. It can’t be like
this forever. It’ll just hurt and hurt…”

“It’s more Evan who I’m fighting with. But it feels like he’s doing it for Barty,” he says,
running a hand behind his neck.

“Why?” Pandora looks up at him, fingers pressing a couple of strings against the frets and
strumming it. The sound is still wonky.

“It’s like Barty is mad at me, but he doesn’t want to tell me. Something like that. And I’m
mad at him for being mad at me because…well, if we’re in this situation, it’s his fault, not
mine. Evan says he’s trying to get my attention by getting on my nerves, Barty said he thinks
I’m being distant. But Evan knows something I don't know about the reason why Barty is
acting so strangely. So I think Barty told Evan that he’s mad at me.”

“Can I be honest?” Regulus nods as Pandora sets the ukulele on her legs. “I think Barty
looked hurt this morning. At first, I thought he was just being weird, but he kept glancing at
you, and he looked hurt. Or sad. Maybe you should try to approach him with honesty.”
Regulus freezes all over at that: the last time he was honest it hurt more than benefit him.
Being honest with Barty doesn’t sound like a good idea. “It’s wrong to avoid considering
how he might feel about you pushing him away, when you used to be close.”

“But it’s his fault.” Regulus states, staring at the tips of his black boots. “I haven’t been the
greatest friend to him since I came back, fine, I get that. But he hurt me, he hurts me every
day and he knows. He didn’t even apologise. Why should I be the one to approach him at all?
I don’t even know how to be friends with someone that has different views than me. I don’t
want to come back to the dorm and feel like I’m intruding. But I don’t want to be friends with
blood-purists either, even if I miss Barty and Evan.”

Pandora sighs heavily, lacing her fingers over the ukulele. “I don't know about Rosier, but
Barty might listen to you. You can try to explain yourself, if you want to, and see what
happens. Avoiding them isn’t a smart choice, though. They can’t read your mind, Regulus,
they can't know what goes on in your head.”
“But I’m someone they’d hex in a hallway, Dora. If I was in Ravenclaw, I’d be just another
blood traitor to make fun of. It’s only because I’m in Slytherin and a Black that they’re trying
to be civil.”

“So use it to your advantage.” Regulus’s head snaps up. Sometimes, Pandora says stuff that
makes her sound like a Slytherin. Perhaps that’s why they get alone. “You’re a Slytherin, a
Black, and you’re their friend. Use it to your advantage. Besides, they like you more than you
think they do.” Regulus scoffs. “Don’t do that. Far from me to defend them, but Barty has
always adored you, and Rosier defends you when anyone calls you a blood traitor. My point
is that you shouldn’t assume they don’t love you or that they can’t change. You changed your
views even if it was dangerous for you, I don’t see why they can’t change theirs.”

“But what if they don’t?”

“Then you tried. But you can’t predict the outcome of actions you haven’t committed yet.”
Pandora grabs the ukulele and she gets up. She offers him her free hand to take and smiles
sweetly. “I think we should try to rearrange Blackbird, a song by the Beatles! My mam loves
it and it reminds me of you! Go to the piano, c’mon.”

Regulus smiles at her and he gets up. They play music for a while and it’s nice. Regulus likes
to listen to Pandora singing and he loves to play the piano for her.

She’s all the sunny days he gets to see in Scotland; bright coloured like the converse shoes
she wears; sweet as the sound of C and F on ukulele strings; daisies and books with
annotations, music sheets full of notes, the chirping of birds in the morning of a spring day.

Regulus loves her even when she rains, when she’s mad, when she’s so absorbed in reading
that she won’t talk to you, when she’s forgiving of people she should never forgive, when she
sees the good in people who were never good. He loves her when the strings of her heart need
to be replaced or tuned, because she loved him when he was a dusty piano no one had ever
played the right way and his keys sounded awful.

Ukuleles are the best instruments to represent her, he thinks as he watches her pick at the
strings. It’s the way the instrument sounds, how versatile it is, and how delicate the notes are,
reminding him of her nose, her voice, the uneven freckles on her cheeks. It’s a creative
instrument for creative people, the same way Pandora is a creative person that only other
creative people would be able to understand and love as she deserves.

“Dora, I’ve got something to tell you.” He says, at some point, moving his hands from the
piano keys to his lap. She hums, raising her head from the strings. “I think I might actually
fancy James Potter. Like, actually, properly fancy him.”

She blinks at him in confusion. “You already fancied James Potter, Reggie. You’ve been
fancying him since last year. You wouldn’t shut up about him when you went on your little
Quidditch night trips.”

He blushes and fists his hands. “He drew a cat for me in the library yesterday. I named it
Cleos.” He runs a hand on his face and sighs. “He looked so cute, Dora, he’s got this smile
when he does things…”
Pandora laughs lightly, shaking her head. “So what? He smiled at you and your feeling grew
larger?” She gets up and sits next to him on the piano stool. “Tell me more.”

So Regulus does. It feels nice to get something off his chest.

At the end of the day, he’s happy and flushed. But once he’s tucked in bed and remembers
what is happening in the outside world, he feels guilty for laughing or allowing himself to be
excited about the boy he likes showing interest.

It’s hard not to think about how many people are losing their loved ones or their own life to
this war. It’s even worse because he knows people in his family are doing the dirty work,
getting their hands stained with blood. One day, this will be his problem, and all the childish,
teenage things he was giggling about in the afternoon won’t serve him.

22/09/1976, Hogwarts

§27: There’s too much hate in the world right now to love without guilt; but there’s too
much hatred to avoid loving at all. I don’t know where I stand, but knowing were my
family stands makes me want to forget my origins and start over again: perhaps leave
for good.

§28: Sometimes it feels unfair to be happy at times like this; even if the war gave me
many reasons to grieve. There’s a sense of guilt in the pit of my stomach accompanied
with the constant reminder that happiness is a fleeting experience. It never lasts; it is
never meant to last. And I’m terrified that I’ll be the reason why someone’s happiness is
fleeting.

§29: How can I dare to love them when we learn everyday that love is being used
against people in this world? How can I hazard a thought of love when my cousin lost
all of her family due to that?

§30: I do laugh about the fact that both S. and my parents would agree that me dating
the person I fancy isn’t a good idea. Funny how it took me, the person who drove them
apart, to be united under the same idea for the first time. Because I’m sure that S. will
oppose this, I’m sure he’d hate it. I think it must be a peculiar trait of mine to let my
brother down. First, I wanted my parents to love me and I chose them over him, because
I was a silly kid who thought his parents were capable of such a delicate feeling. Now, I
go and fancy his best friend. I wouldn’t blame him if he hated me; I think I hate myself
as well.

23/09/1976, Hogwarts

§31: Have I been a bad friend? I’m not sure. I’ve tried my best to come to terms with the
fact we have different beliefs. But how could I look away when it directly affects other
 friends of mine? Besides, B. made it clear that he wants nothing to do with homosexual.
So I wouldn’t know why he's upset with me being distant.

§32: The thing is, B. and Ev. aren’t meant to be temporary. They weren’t, for sure. We
used to be best friends.We were meant to stick together, we swore we would before I
knew that I didn’t want this life: the life that purebloods preach is so good and not at all
violent.

§33: When we were thirteen, B. told me he hated his father and he couldn’t wait to live
on his own. I told him living alone sounded very sad, because it reminded me of summer
at Grimmauld Place, the way Sirius becomes withdrawn and snappy and doesn’t want to
talk to me. So B. said we were going to live together and explore the world if we wanted
to. He said we could have a cat and I could name it. We promised each other a life
together. Now we can’t stand to be in the same room.

§34: Isn’t it wrong to miss someone who you know to be a bad person? I know B. is not
a good person to most people. But he was good to me for some time. Before the accident.
It’s hard to think that the boy who’d smile at me and mess up my hair is the same boy
who snaps at people who breathe too close to him. Is it bad to miss the moments we had
together? The nights where we’d charm the ceiling to look like the starry sky and we’d
talk for hours? We used to be best friends. Best friends shouldn’t walk on eggshells
around each other. We shouldn’t hurt each other.

§35: I’m also worried about Ev., who is clearly mad at me, though I’m not sure what the
reason might be. He says things to hurt when he’s upset, though I’m not sure how much
of it he meant. I wish we just talked about these things and were honest with each other.
But we can’t be. Because last time I tried honesty, I made the first step into losing them.

24 September, 1976

Reading those thoughts again, he decides that he’ll talk to them both, possibly together. He’ll
try to fix it. Is it even possible? There’s no certainty it is; it’ll probably hurt to try, but he
ought to show them that he didn’t break the promises he made.

With a sigh, he conceals his diary and draws the curtains of the bed open.

Barty is awake already, half dressed: with his trousers and his shirt, trying to do his tie and
failing. Regulus licks his lips, hesitating, then he gets up, still in his pyjamas, which this time
consists of running shorts and a muggle hoodie he must have gotten from Sirius.

Barty looks up at the subtle noise of Regulus stepping out of his bed and stills. His eyes
linger on Regulus’s features for a second, then he tries to do his tie again, frantically. The
knot comes out wonky.
“I’ll do it. You’re messing it up.” Regulus says, and he walks up to him, taking his tie
between his fingers.

Barty stays very still, not saying anything, not really breathing. His hands are closed into fists
by his sides. Regulus wonders if he should step back a little, but he resolves it by hastily
doing Barty’s tie right. When he tries to step back, Barty takes his hand.

His hand is burning hot, and Regulus’s skin is cold, there are goosebumps on his legs,
shivering from the cold. They finally look at each other’s face. Pain and something like
nostalgia clouds over Barty’s expression.

“You did it on the first day, too,” he says, softly, without moving his gaze. Barty’s voice is
sweet, has always been, whether it’s the tone or simply the sound of it. It doesn’t suit his
attitude or his disinterest for most human contact, but it’s there, a touch of honey in his
otherwise steel cold attire. “I couldn’t do my tie. My father never taught me. You rolled your
eyes at me and did it for me.”

“Seems like nothing has changed.” Regulus says, sarcastic and slightly bitter, as he smooths
Barty’s tie over his chest. The other boy is tense like a guitar string under his palm. Quickly,
he draws his hand away. “You still can’t do your tie.”

“I’m just tired.” Barty glances at Evan, who’s still sleeping, then back at Regulus. “Reg, I-
can we just go back to-”

Regulus winces slightly and looks at Evan with a wobbly, fake smile. “We should wake up
Evan.”

“Can’t we at least talk?” Barty asks, and it sounds like a plea.

Regulus doesn’t fall for it. Sparing one last glance at Barty, he goes up to Evan’s bed and
shakes him.

“Wakey-wakey,” he says, watching Evan’s nose wrinkle in dismay.

“No,” Evan mumbles, “go away.”

“If we’re late to Herbology, mrs. Sprout will give us detention, and you’ll have to take care of
the Mandrakes.”

Evan sits up in a swift movement, glaring at Regulus. “You’re not forgiven just because you
saved my arse from detention,” he announces, striding out of his bed.

Regulus’s face splits in a fake grin. “Fine.” But then he clears his throat and, caught in the
guilt of having ignored Barty, he says: “But we’ll talk tonight, okay?”

“About time.” Barty mumbles, pulling a cardigan over his shirt.

He still looks hopeless, and Regulus’s chest still feels like an archaeology site: being dug up
and exposed in all his secrets.
Friday is the most tiring day of the week, given that he has all double hours and just one free
period after lunch. The last hour of Potions is the worst: Elias checks his movements to make
sure he’s not getting anything wrong. Normally, Regulus would snap at him, but this time he
doesn’t trust himself either. Having slept less than 4 hours and with a full school day resting
on his shoulders, he actually expects to fuck up their Skele-Gro. Luckily enough, he doesn’t,
and Elias and Regulus get ten points each.

“Oh, Mr. Black, please stop by just for a minute before leaving the class, I’ve got something
I’d like to discuss with you.” Professor Slughorn gives him a polite smile and Regulus nods
at him, trying to smile back.

“You’re dead on your feet,” Elias whispers, once Slughorn is out of earreach.

“I’d pay an insane amount of money to sleep for an entire day.” He rests his forehead against
Elias’ shoulder and the boy rubs his hand on his back comfortingly.

It’s been an awful day. Regulus wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and try to cry a
little. He was happy to be busy at first, but now it just feels draining.

“Can’t you just nap when you’re back?”

“No. I’ll have tea.” Separating himself from Elias takes him an insane amount of strong will,
but he does anyway, as he starts to put his books in his bag. “Library tomorrow? I think I
want to do some Arithmancy research.”

“Maybe we can go after lunch. I wanted to work on Ancient Runes.”

Regulus hums, shooting a glance at Barty, who’s drawing something on Evan’s book while
he’s not looking. “I meant to do it on Sunday, after the match. Mind postponing it?”

“Not at all.” Elias shrugs, sitting down on the stall, five fingers up. “Five, four, three, two,
one…”

“You can go. Good job today! Remember your essays are due on Tuesday!” Slughorn says,
jovial. Elias jolts up from the stall and packs his bag at record speed. Regulus briefly wonders
if he’s busy with someone important.

As the other students start to leave the room, Regulus greets Elias and gets closer to
Slughorn’s desk. “You wanted to speak to me, professor.”

“Mister Black!” The professor smiles at him, gesturing towards the chair next to his desk.
Regulus sits down. “I postponed the brewing of Amortentia for my sixth year class, in favour
of a reviewing project. The class happens to have an odd number, and I thought I’d have you
brewing it as well, since you’re one of my best students. I prefer to have students working in
pairs when it comes to difficult potions. And you’re the one that stands out the most in my
class. Are you interested?”
The prospect of brewing Amortentia isn’t particularly brilliant, given that it is a pretty useless
potion; however, it requires a good brewing technique and a good knowledge of the
ingredients, which might be useful for his O.W.L.s.

“I am, sir. When would the lesson be?”

“Around the middle of November, I’d say. I’ll remind you a week before and write a note to
your professors in case you need to skip any class. You can go now, mister Black. Your
friends are waiting for you.”

Regulus turns to see Barty and Evan, waiting outside the class. “Thank you, professor,” he
says, getting up again. “See you at supper.”

Barty and Evan agree to make a cup of tea and talk over that rather than just sit down and
talk. Regulus is grateful for at least that, considering how knackered he is.

They all sit together on Regulus’s bed, a cup of tea in their hands. For a hot minute, no one
says anything. Regulus resents them a little for forcing him to be the first one to speak.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus says, staring at his steaming hot tea. “I didn’t mean to…leave you guys
behind.” He forces himself to look at them. Barty nods briefly, as if he’s trying to encourage
him. “A lot of the things you say remind me of my parents, like when you scold me about my
friendships or the way you talk about Elias, and the last thing I want right now is to feel like
I’m still in that house.”

Barty looks at him intently, the haze of the hot tea messing up is facial features. “I didn’t
realise you were sensitive to that,” he says, before drinking.

Regulus knows he’s lying and it’s a real struggle not to react. Even Evan gives Barty a side
glance for that.

“I’m sorry I set your feelings aside. I should have known better than to bring your family into
this.” He gestures between them.

Barty licks his lips, looking at Regulus almost sheepishly. “So you were avoiding us because
of your family? No other reason?”

“Yeah, well…” Regulus scratches his cheek lightly, then shrugs. “Pandora and Elias are my
friends, and I don’t share the dorm with them so…why are you looking at me like that?” He
asks Barty, who looks mildly offended.

“Well, I’m a little horrified to know you call him by his first name now,” he says, with a
childish pout. “And you were acting all gooey with him during Potions. Just how close are
you with him? He’s a homosexual, you shouldn’t-”

“For real, Barty?” Evan nudges with his foot and smiles at Regulus apologetically, before
scolding Barty: “Don’t bring that into this.”
“Don’t give me orders, you dirty bugger.” Barty said, pushing his foot hard against Evan’s
thigh. Evan raises his hand, which is holding his cup, over his head.

“Oi, stop doing that, I don’t want spilled tea on my bed,” Regulus says, weary, glaring at
them both.

“Why? It’d be such an occasion to sleep with me.” Evan smiles sweetly. “You’d live the
dream of half Hogwarts, dear.”

“I’ll actually throw you off the bed if you don’t stop being a prat.” Barty says, scowling,
before taking a sip of his tea. “I’m just saying I really don’t like that guy. He’s a bad
influence.”

“I agree, actually. Reg, you should pledge your loyalty to Barty by snogging him senseless.”
Evan proposes, grinning. “Only then he would believe you’re not leaving his side!”

Barty blushes to the tip of his ears, Regulus wants to throw himself in the Black Lake and
drown. He did not sacrifice a nice pre-supper nap for these two berks to argue like a married
couple on his bed. Even more, Evan’s suggestion upsets him: he very well knows that
snogging Barty senseless won’t get him anywhere near a solution.

“I won’t snog anyone.” Regulus says, rolling his eyes. “We were having a serious
conversation. Stay focused.”

“Oh, right.” Evan sits, more composed now, a pureblood born and bred, straight back and
attentive eyes. “You were saying?”

“Just that I want to hang out with Elias and Pandora as well and I don’t think I require your
permission to do that.” He shoots a glance at Barty. “And yes, Elias and I are on good terms
and I would appreciate it if you stopped pretending his sexuality is insulting to you or anyone
else.”

“But why?” Barty asks, his gaze lowered. “Why did you need to be friends with him?”

Regulus sighs, utterly exasperated. “We get along, is that enough of an answer? You won’t
understand anyway because you don’t even try to see the good in him.”

Barty shakes his head, but Evan says: “It is…whatever. You do what you want, I guess.”

“Great.”

“What if he fancies you?” Barty asks, stretching his legs in front of him. Evan scowls at him.
Regulus’s mouth drops open in surprise. “I mean, it wouldn't be surprising if he did.”

“Why? Do you find me attractive?” The question is meant to be provocative. Evan’s eyes go
wide and Barty starts coughing, blushing to the very tips of his ears. “Elias doesn’t fancy me.
I can be friends with a queer man without him being attracted to me. And I’ve already asked
you to stop bringing his sexuality into this.”
“But how can you be so sure of it?” Barty insists, though Evan keeps shooting him puzzled
looks.

“Because I…Because we’re friends, for fuck’s sake!” Regulus bites his tongue, but it’s no
use: he has all of their attention now. Fuck. “Because I talked to him and I know he fancies
someone else!”

“Who?” Barty inquires, holding his mug tight. “Cause I've never seen him with another
bloke.”

“Since when do you pay attention to him?” Regulus retorts, raising an eyebrow. “And it’s
none of your business, so stop pretending it is!”

“Seems to be yours though,” Barty bites back, looking away as he sips his tea.

Evan comes to the rescue: “I think Barty meant that he’s a little jealous that he’s with you so
often.”

“I’m not.”

Though that is an obvious lie, because Barty has already admitted to being jealous.

“Then why do you care so much?”

“Because!” Barty sputters, before frowning. He doesn’t seem to know how to continue his
sentence.

“Eloquent, expressive, passionate, well-spoken, even.” Evan’s tone is so sardonic, Regulus

struggles to hold back laughter.

“I’ll bloody be the death of you, just wait, Rosier.” Barty looks inside his mug. He looks
disappointed, as he always does when he finishes his tea. “I already said that I don’t like him.
That’s all.”

“You don’t even know him,” Regulus remarks. “And he’s my friend, not yours. You don’t
have to like him, you just have to respect him.”

“I don’t like the way he fusses over you and he’s an arrogant bastard, so he can bugger off
away from you.”

“He doesn’t fuss over me. He acts like a friend. Seriously, what’s up with you?”

Evan gets up from the bed with an awkward smile and glances at the door, shuffling towards
it. “You know, I’ll leave you guys alone,” he says, “don’t kill each other while I’m not here.”

So Evan leaves, and Regulus quickly sets his mug on the nightstand and gets up, running his
hands in his hair. Barty quickly gets up as well, leaving his mug on the floor.

“Regulus, please, I- I get that he’s your friend, but-”

“But what?” Regulus asks, digging his nails into his palms. “Do you think you can get away
with insulting my friends just because you’re jealous? Just because we kissed sometimes?”

Barty shuts his mouth close, hands behind his back like a scolded child. “You’re not…kissing
him, are you?”

Regulus tries to hold back a disappointed scoff, but he fails. “That’s all you care about? If I’m
kissing him or not? Why would I tell you? It’s not a you thing to be kind to people who are
different about it-”

“No, I-” Barty steps forward. “I wouldn’t love you any less if you were…like that.”

“I don’t believe you,” Regulus says, sharply. “Because you don’t even care that our
friendship is falling apart. All you care about is getting things the way you want them.”

“I care about you,” Barty says, grabbing his hand. Regulus is quick to free himself from that
touch. “Reg-”

“No,” Regulus says. “You need to learn to hold yourself accountable for your actions and
your words, Barty. We’re not kids anymore.”

And then he leaves, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head.

Evan sees him trying to get out of the common room and grabs his wrist lightly. “Hey. What
happened?” Regulus looks at him, stunned. Evan’s eyes grow big and round. “Are you
crying? What happened?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Leave me alone,” he mutters, then quickly leaves the common room.

He dines with the Ravenclaws and goes to bed right after.

27 September, 1976

Regulus hates waking up early, but he loves training in the morning, especially when the
weather is nice.

This morning specifically, he does a few warm-up laps around the pitch to make time for the
snitch, then he starts looking for it, making sure to watch his teammates as well. The chasers
are working on team plays; Regulus hopes they manage to sort out themselves before their
game with Gryffindor, which should be in November.

Their first game is against Hufflepuff: Regulus isn’t too worried, he’s positive he’ll catch the
snitch, but it’s an important game to see how the new chasers and the new beater act during a
match.
Looking for the snitch means paying attention to the lights, so he always starts with that.
And, just to have a little fun, he flies around and in the loops as he chases after the snitch,
trying to keep up with its fast pace.

He catches it three times before Veronica calls the end of practice. James Potter and Marlene
McKinnon were on the stands, and no matter how much Regulus tried to avoid thinking
about it, his mind kept circling back to it. So maybe he showed off a little just because the
boy he fancies is here; it didn’t kill anyone, besides his dignity.

“I’m positive that we’ll defeat Hufflepuff.” Veronica says, crossing her arms to her chest.

Regulus has always thought Veronica was one of the coolest girls who ever existed. She’s a
sixth year student and she wears her hair short in a boyish cut that makes her cheekbones
look sharp. She puts people in their place and doesn’t mind standing up for what she thinks is
right -which makes her get along with Gryffindors.

“However, I don’t want you to walk on the pitch on Sunday thinking that we already won the
game. The game isn’t over ‘til it’s over and all that. Mulciber, I want you to be more careful
with those Bludgers, you’re going to injure someone if you keep swinging your bat like that.”
Mulciber nods. He never dares talk back to Veronica, even if he doesn’t really listen to her.
“As for the chasers, you’re doing great, just stick to the strategies we settled on. On
Wednesday we’ll practise some more, but you’re doing great.” The new kids bump fists with
each other, grinning widely. “Regulus, I’ve kept an eye on you, I trust that you’ll catch the
Snitch at the right moment.”

“That will be my duty, yes.”

“Great. You’re all dismissed,” Veronica says with a clap of her hands.

Regulus watches the chasers race each other to the showers as he starts to head towards those
himself, Veronica by his side.

“Regulus!” James exclaims, waving his hand in the air.

Regulus tightens his hold on the snitch, straightening his back. He didn’t think they’d stop by
to talk.

“What the hell do you want from my seeker, Potter?” Veronica inquires, glaring at James.

Regulus knows it’s all a play. James and Veronica are friends, Snape said, that’s why he
doesn’t talk to her. Definitely not because she’s a lesbian and she had a crush on Lily Evans
for so long that she bonded with James Potter over it.

“Just saying good morning,” James says, smiling innocently. “Definitely not spying on him.”

Marlene rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “He’s actually with me,” she says, before looking
at Regulus. “I wanted to thank you.”

Veronica grins, before patting Regulus’s shoulder. “Don’t take too long,” she says, before
walking away.
Regulus turns to look at Marlene and rubs the smooth surface of the snitch with his gloved
hand. “You really don’t need to thank me.”

“I think I do,” Marlene says, smiling. “The date went really well.”

Regulus smiles at her out of politeness. “I’m glad,” he says sincerely, even if he’s a little
jealous.

He’ll never get to go on a date with a boy, he’ll never experience the thrill of waiting for a
Hogsmeade weekend just to go on a date. It’s an awful reminder to have at eight in the
morning.

“They were so cute.” James says, throwing his arm around Marlene’s shoulders casually.
“You should have seen them, all courting and things like that. Saying things to impress…”
Marlene elbows him in the ribs.

“You were spying on them, Potter?”

“Of course! Marlene is one of my mates, I had to make sure Dorcas was nice to her.” James
says with a chuffed grin and sparkling eyes. Marlene glares at him, but a smile is creeping at
her lips. “I’m kidding, I was with my loves at the Three Broomsticks and she was there too.”

“You ought to stop calling your friends your loves.” Marlene says, shaking her head.

“But that’s what they are!”

“Next thing you know, he starts dating all of them.” Marlene says, smiling at Regulus. “Shall
we walk together to breakfast?”

“That’d be quite a statement,” Regulus says, shaking his head. “You should go, I’ve got to
shower.”

“Aww, bad luck,” James says, and he genuinely looks a little upset. “Will we see you again?”

Regulus cocks his head to the side. “I’m starting to think you fancy me, Potter,” he says as he
hands him the snitch. “Here, enjoy being a show-off.”

James’s eyes grow big with surprise: he looks marvelled, like he just received the most
precious present. Regulus wants to see this look more. A smile naturally surges to his lips as
he sees James take the snitch with a toothy smile.

“Thanks! This is the best way to start the day!” He waves the snitch in front of Marlene’s
face. “Look what Regulus gave me!”

“Ugh, why did you do that…” Marlene messages her temples. “He’ll never let it go.”

“Sounds like your problem, McKinnon,” he says, smiling charmingly. “I told you not to
thank me.” He says, before walking away.
His heart is about to beat right out of his chest. James’s smile lights up his mood the entire
day.

1st October, 1976

Evan didn’t come back to the dorm after dinner; so Regulus fled as well, not wanting to be
alone with Barty again. Handling a conversation with him, about their past, is too much. It
brings back too many unresolved feelings and tonight is not a good night to deal with them.

So he came to the Quidditch pitch. It’s perfect for stargazing and there are no couples
snogging.

He starts making his way to the centre, when he notices someone else is laying there, and
they must be crying or have a bad cold, because he can hear sniffling. He gets closer,
carefully, until he starts to recognise the profile: there’s a pair of spectacles on the person’s
nose.

“Potter?” He asks, surprised.

“Regulus?” His voice is thin and breathy, which has Regulus immediately worried.

“That’s me.” He sits down, legs crossed, next to James. It’s not the first time they meet in the
Quidditch pitch at night, but it’s the first time James is crying. “What happened?”

James removes his glasses and covers his eyes with an arm, letting out an embarrassed laugh.
“I fought with Evans.”

“Tell me about it?” He offers, then summons a tissue. “Here’s a tissue.” James lifts the arm
from his eyes and takes the tissue to blow his nose.

“You’d think it’s silly,” James says, sitting up. He hugs his knees and looks down to the
ground.

“You’re crying, it can’t be silly.”

Regulus hopes to sound convincing: Sirius had been the one to say those words to him, when
they were little. James looks at him, squinting a little, and more tears slip off his eyes. He
taps the tissue with his wand, whispering a cleaning spell, and gently takes it from James’
hand to dry his tears.

“Elias says that talking about what hurts can be really relieving and I think you could benefit
from this advice, Potter.”

James lets out a genuine laugh, this time. “You’re sweeter than you look.” He lowers his gaze
again. “And kinder. How is it that everytime I’m sad, I end up with you?”

“I promise you, I’m not sweet.” Regulus says, studying James’s looks. “Why are you crying
alone and not with my brother? I thought you guys were back at being friends”
James winces, looks away, then shrugs. “Because it’s silly.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Sirius would never think anything that hurts is silly, Potter. He would
declare war to anyone that makes you cry,” he states with certainty as he gives back the
tissue.

“I don’t think Evans likes me as a person.” James states, slowly, squeezing the tissue in his
fist. “I knew she didn’t fancy me and I was fine with that, I don’t fancy her anymore either.
And even if I did, I can handle a no. What I can’t handle is mixed signals. Sometimes we’re
friends, sometimes we’re not, because she thinks I’m arrogant, obnoxious and entitled. Once,
she even said that I’m a bad friend and I only think of myself.”

Regulus studies his expression: James’s furrowed eyebrows, the slant of his eyes, the curled
down lips. “You know that’s not true,” he says. James grabs his glasses and starts cleaning it
with the hem of his cloak. “You took in Sirius and you were ready to take me too, no matter
how dangerous that was. You’re everything but a bad friend.”

James shrugs, putting on his glasses. “But I’m arrogant and obnoxious,” he says, laying down
again. “And a bully, apparently.”

“Please, Snape is a dickhead.” Regulus waves his hand in the air, dismissing the issue.
“You’re allowed to have flaws, Potter. Flaws aren’t necessarily a bad thing, nor do they make
you unlovable. You’re sixteen, you can’t be perfect.” James pouts, tearing some grass from
the ground. “It would be boring, if you were perfect.”

“So you think I’m arrogant and obnoxious?” He asks, his voice small.

“I never said those are bad traits. You’re a little obnoxious, but not in a bad way.” He cocks
his head to the side, taking in James’s profile. “You’re a bit like a puppy in that sense-”

“Did you just call me adorable?” James asks immediately, interrupting him, as his face lights
up, like Regulus has just given him the compliment of the century.

“If you want to see it like that.” He offers James a small, but genuine smile. “Don’t let Evans
get under your skin, Potter. She probably doesn’t know you all that well. And you can’t get
along with everyone, that’s just a matter of fact.”

James sits up again, close enough that their shoulders brush, this time. His heartbeat speeds
up. “It’s not about that. I really wish that we could just be normal friends, you know?
Sometimes she acts as if we are, some other times she’s just really mad at me. It’s the hot and
cold behaviour that upsets me. I would respect it if she didn’t want to be friends, but she
needs to come clear about it.”

“Why don’t you just ask her?” He looks at James’s hand next to his.

His skin is darker, his fingers long and his nails well cared for and neatly cut. He wears a
golden ring, which suits his skin tone. Regulus wants to compare hand sizes: he’s sure James’
hands are larger than his, but he wants proof, he wants to see all the contrasts, how easily
their hands might intertwin.
“You don’t know Evans, Regulus,” James says, solemnly. “She might look like an angel, but
she’s hot headed and has the tendency to shut you up before you get to explain yourself.”

Sirius, Regulus thinks with a bitter smile. “Then perhaps you should just ask her to let you
speak.”

James hums, brushing his pinky over Regulus’s. A slight touch that sounds like an invitation.
Regulus softly blows out air. Thanks Merlin, it’s dark and James won’t see he’s blushing.

“She scares me a little. A tiny, tiny bit. Because she’s so fiery.”

“Thought you fancied her,” Regulus says, not daring to raise his gaze. “Why would you like
someone who scares you?”

“She doesn’t scare me all the time, just sometimes.” James’ voice is nice, Regulus decides.
He likes the way he puts emphasis into the words. “And I don’t fancy her anymore. I haven’t
fancied her in months.”

“Is that why you stopped the melodramatic romantic gestures?” He asks, now looking at
James, who’s looking right back at him.

“Ugh, don’t remind me, I was such a bellend,” he grimaces, but he’s smiling right after,
almost as if he’s proud of himself. “Did you keep the drawing I made for you?”

“I put it in my diary, of course. I’m not throwing away Cleos, I’m not heartless. And I like the
way you draw,” Regulus says, one hundred percent serious. It drags laughter out of James,
which is nice, because at least he seems to be feeling a little better.

“Do you like animals more than people?”

“Of course. Have you ever seen a cat blabbering bollocks?” James shakes his head. “Neither
did I.”

“I get that you like cats.” James lays down again, tugs at Regulus’s pinky. “Lay down with
me.”

Regulus obliges and his eyes are met with the sight of a million stars. It takes his breath away
every time: nothing ever impresses him as much as the night sky.

“Which one is your star?”

Regulus lets go of James’ hand and points at the constellation of the Lion, tracing it with his
index finger. “Can you see the lion?”

“It looks more like a mouse.” James says, frowning. It earns him a glare. “Okay, sorry, yes. I
see the mighty lion in the sky. Where are you?”

“The brightest one, the one in the corner.” Regulus lets his arm fall on his chest. “They say
it’s the heart of the lion, according to the Arab name. My parents gave me the latin one,
though, so I always valued the latin meaning more.”
“Little king.” James says, sounding absolutely amazed. “It suits you so well. You are royal.
What’s the Greek name?”

“Basiliscos. Sounds like a proper Slytherin, eh? I think I still prefer Regulus.”

“I think my mum told me it was called Maghā, the Mighty, in India. Not sure about which
language, though,” James turns to look at him. Their shoulders are pressed against each other,
they’re close enough that Regulus can almost feel James’ breath on his cheek. “You’re
wasted in Slytherin, with a name like that.”

Regulus hums, dropping his hand close to James’ again. “I don’t know about that,” he says,
slowly. “I don’t think I’m driven by bravery. I’m very ambition driven.”

James frowns. “But to achieve your ambition, don’t you need to be brave?”

“That’s not always the case, I’d say. Though bravery is needed in most cases, our sorting
depends on what drives you. For me, I’d say it is ambition and knowledge, before bravery.”

James nods, the back of his hand is brushing Regulus’s. Hold it, Regulus chants in his mind.
Hold it, hold it, hold my hand. Just hold it.

“The sorting hat told me I would have made a good Hufflepuff, if I wanted to.” Regulus
raises an eyebrow. It sounds a bit like a lie. “But I’ve always loved Gryffindor’s colours, and
I like to think that I’m courageous.”

“I think you don’t fit Hufflepuff because you’re a Quidditch maniac and most of them barely
care about the matches,” Regulus says, voicing his doubts.

“Aha!” James props himself up on his elbow and obscures half of the stars in the sky. Rude,
Regulus thinks, cheeky and ever so adorable. “Slytherins only care slightly more than
Hufflepuffs! So what are you doing in Slytherin, Regulus?”

“Stealing the Quidditch cup from you, Potter.” He grins, watching James light up at the
challenge.

“We’ll see about that.” James says, his gaze dropping to Regulus’s lips. “You didn’t tell me
what you were doing here.”

“I usually come here for stargazing,” Regulus says, eyes still focused on James.

It’s not a lie. It’s just not the truth right now. But James doesn’t need to know Regulus is
facing similar issues as he is. No one is allowed to know Regulus has problems; those are his
and his only.

“I’m stargazing right now,” James smirks proudly as Regulus rolls his eyes.

“That was a terrible joke, Potter.”

“James, please. I feel like I’m being lectured by Minnie, if you call me Potter.”
He only knows who Minnie is thanks to Sirius, and he’s glad he doesn’t have to ask.

Regulus grins, cheeky and provocative. “Make me.”

“Make you what?” James furrows his eyebrows. He looks adorable when he’s confused.

“Make me call you by your name.”

James gapes for a second, before grinning. “Are you challenging me, Regulus?” He asks,
sounding a little breathless. “Because I love challenges, and I love winning.”

“That’s what I’m doing.” Regulus is unable to stop smiling and James’ eyes keep dropping to
his lips every time he does.

“What’s your favourite Honeydukes’ sweet?” James lies down again,

“Sugar Quills. They’re the best during History of Magic. I wouldn’t be able to listen to half a
word Professor Binns says without those. What’s yours?”

James laughs. “Peppermint Toads! You don’t feel the little jumps in the stomach once you’re
used to them.”

“Potter!” Regulus laughs as well, rolling on his side. “How do you not throw up at the
thought?”

“Believe it or not, when I was a kid one of my older cousins made me believe I ate a real toad
and I threw up. That’s why I overall prefer muggle sweets.” Regulus scrunches his nose; he’s
never tried muggle sweets. “But I really like peppermint! The houselves in the kitchen have
this amazing peppermint chamomile, it makes me sleep well and it tastes good.”

“I’ve never been to the kitchens,” Regulus says, as James rolls on his side as well. “Where
are they?”

James’ eyes go wide and he shakes his head. “No way. I’m taking you to the kitchens right
now, get up!” He says, as he scrambles to get up.

“Make me!”

James rolls his eyes, offering Regulus both of his hands. “Come on, you lazy git.” Regulus
laughs, grabbing James’ hands and letting him pull him up. Once he’s on his feet, he’s so
close to James he can smell his cologne and, faintly, the grass of the Quidditch Pitch. “You
don’t strike me as lazy,” James says, licking his lips. Regulus’s eyes track the movement.

“Maybe I just wanted to bother you.” Regulus replies, eyeing James’ lips once again, briefly
before he steps back, letting go of his hands. “What’s the plan, Potter?”

James grabs a cloak from the ground. “We put this on and we walk to the kitchens very
quietly.”
“Don’t you think it would be suspicious if we walked through the corridors with a starry
cloak on?” Regulus frowns.

“A starry cloak, he says!” James laughs, shaking his head. “This is the Invisibility Cloak. A
family heirloom. We’ll have to stay close. Is that fine?”

Regulus smiles genuinely, before nodding. “Yes, Potter, it’s fine.” He looks at the cloak
again. “So that is the reason why you get away with so many pranks, umh?”

“I’ve got many reasons.” James winks, before putting the cloak on his shoulders. Regulus’s
heart skips a beat when he watches James’ body vanish under it. “Come on here!”

Regulus hesitates for a second, then ducks under the cloak with James. They have to stay
quiet, technically, but James keeps giggling and he has a contagious laughter, so it takes them
a while to actually get to the kitchen, and they piss off a lot of paintings with their laughter.
By the time they get there, they’re both flushed and a little embarrassed.

James takes off the cloak and walks towards a painting. “It’s here!”

Regulus raises his eyebrows, following suit. The painting is a simple still life, raffiguring
various fruits.

“Tickle the pear, Regulus.” James says, a daring smirk on his lips.

“Are you pranking me?” Regulus crosses his arms to his chest, eyeing him suspiciously.

“What? No, why would you think that?” James offers him an innocent smile, which makes
Regulus roll his eyes. “Okay, okay, I’m a bit of a prankster, but you wouldn’t know if I was
pranking you. Tickle the pear!”

Regulus rolls his eyes, but at this point, he’s curious, so he tickles the pear, which -to his
surprise- starts to giggle, before it turns into a green door handle. “Merlin,” he says, before
opening the door.

The kitchen has a really high ceiling and the same five long tables you find in the Great Hall.
It’s tidy and there’s a nice smell of cake, which must be in the ovens.

“Mister Potter has come to visit with a guest!” A tiny elf says, his ears moving up and down.
He looks happy, the same way Kreacher looks miserable. It makes Regulus’s heart drop to his
stomach.

“Hello, Krafty!” James lets the elf wrap his tiny hand around two of his fingers. “This is
Regulus Black.”

“Pleasured to meet you, Mister Black!” Krafty says, with a tiny headbow.

“Just Regulus is fine, Krafty, thank you,” Regulus says, with a little smile.

“We were wondering if we could have two mugs of peppermint chamomile, and perhaps a
cinnamon roll to share?” James asks politely, his eyes focused on Krafty.
“Sure thing, sirs! Sit by the tables, I'll be right back!” The elf says, before leaving them.

James guides him to one of the tables and they sit in front of each other. It’s nice to see him
again in a good light, to finally be able to notice that James keeps smiling as if he can’t help
it, just like Regulus, though he makes sure to hide it with his hand.

“How did you find out about this place?” He asks, laying his hands on the table.

“Oh…I think Peter found it, actually. Remus was having a really tough day. He likes sweets
when he’s in those moods, but it can’t be too good for him if he stress-eats chocolate frogs, so
Sirius and I sent Pete to see if he could find a piece of cake or apple pie. We couldn’t believe
it when he came back with a whole apple pie! So we started visiting more often. I come here
every so often, when I can’t sleep or I have late night cravings. I don’t really love the lights,
but you know…”

James runs a hand through his hair. Regulus looks away, realising he never parted his eyes
from James’ as he was speaking. He looks at the lights instead, inspecting them.

“What about the lights?”

“I’m short-sighted, so I’m sensitive to light changes and some lights in general. These lights,
for example, are cold and too bright, so they make my eyes hurt a little.” James explains,
fixing his glasses on the bridge of his nose. Regulus doesn’t know why he finds it an
attractive gesture. “Warmer lights are better, but long exposure still gives me bad headaches.
That’s why I love summer! Tons of natural light!”

Regulus is unable to keep his smile from spreading on his face. “You would hate it in the
Slytherin common room. We don’t know what natural light is.”

James laughs. “It can’t be good for you either, though! I would get sad if I didn’t see the Sun
every morning. That’s why I love early Quidditch practice! You get to see the sunrise…”

“Oh my God, you’re a morning person, aren’t you?” Regulus smirks, but he doesn’t miss that
James’ hand is closer to his, now.

Why won’t he just take it? Does he know he’s driving Regulus insane with it?

“So and So. I like waking up early, but by breakfast time I need a strong tea, or I’ll sleep
through all of my classes.” Krafty appears again, carrying a platter with their mugs and the
cinnamon roll. “Thanks, Krafty.”

“Thank you.” Regulus says too, smiling at the elf, who moves his ears up and down.

“Enjoy your drinks, sirs!” He says, before running away again.

“They’re so cute when they’re happy.” James says, a satisfied smile on his face. He grabs the
red mug just as Regulus grabs the golden one. “You have a house elf, right?”

“Kreacher,” he says. The chamomile has a really nice, warm scent, Regulus can’t wait to take
a sip. “Sirius doesn’t like him very much, but he’s nice to me and he has been a really good
friend to me since Sirius left; listens to me rambling about books and stuff. Helps me
navigate the house.”

James nods, as Regulus takes a sip of the chamomile: it tastes better than it smells, which is a
surprise, considering it smelled really good. “How have you been? Since he left, I mean.”

Regulus shrugs, looking away. “Ups and downs,” he says, quietly. “I hope it wasn’t too hard
on you.”

James shakes his head. “It absolutely wasn’t. And I know I already said this, but you can
always come to my place, okay?” James breaks the cinnamon roll into two. “My mum would
love to have you, I’m sure.” He offers half of the cinnamon roll to Regulus, who takes it
hesitantly. “It’s really good! I noticed you have a bit of a sweet tooth, you might like it.”
James winks at him, before biting his own piece.

“I don’t have a sweet tooth.” Regulus replies grumply, taking a bit out of the pastry. He might
prefer it over muffins, all things considered. “It’s good.”

“Why do you say that as if it’s a bad thing?” James laughs; amusement lingers on his face
when he stops. “It’s cute that you like sweets so much, you know? I always thought you’d be
the type of person to drink black coffee with no sugar and hate chocolate.”

“Blimey.” Regulus pouts, now looking at James again. “Do I look that miserable?”

James shrugs. “I wouldn’t blame you if you were. I don’t trust your parents to keep you
happy.” He takes a sip of chamomile, breaking eye contact.

“I’ve got friends to keep me happy.” Regulus says, eyes on the table. “I don’t need my
parents. Besides, they’re not here, so…”

“You mentioned Elias earlier. How long have you been friends?” James finishes the
cinnamon roll and cleans the tips of his finger on a tissue.

Mentally, Regulus thanks James for changing the subject. He hates to think about his parents;
even more than he did before, these days.

“Since my third year.” Regulus takes a sip of chamomile, trying not to focus on how intently
James is looking at him. It makes his heart flutter. “He shouted at me during potions and told
me I was a bigot, I hexed him, we got detention together, we fought again, and we became
sort of friends after that. I had never been friends with a muggleborn before, but at the time,
Pandora told me that I might benefit from being proven wrong, and it turned out to be true.”

“The origins of your ‘fuck my parents’ political party’ era.” James smiles proudly and laces
his fingers together. “What made you change your mind?”

Regulus thinks about it for a second. “He’s a very gifted wizard. I’d say he has a better
understanding of magic than some of the purebloods I know. At first I thought it was
annoying how confident he was about it, now I think it’s endearing. But it’s not just that. He
manages to merge the wizarding world and the muggle world together in the best ways. He
was the concrete example that family name and blood status have nothing to do with a
wizard’s ability, and I thought I shall research about it, so me and Pandora started researching
the origins of magic. Turns out, every important wizard family was born out of a muggleborn.
Magic sparks in some blood lines and dies in some others naturally; there’s no stealing
involved. I was very mad at my parents for being stupid enough to believe someone could
just steal magic.”

James hums. He looks genuinely impressed and amused, and for some reason that makes
Regulus’s cheek feel warm. “You know, I always thought the term muggleborn was
deceiving. They’re not born muggles, they’re raised muggles, but they’re born wizards and
witches, I don’t see why that would be so much better than the other word. Shouldn’t blood
status only matter, to a certain extent, education wise? Like, of course, a wizard or a witch
that was raised with muggles should have resources that would help them obtain knowledge
about the wizarding world before they start experiencing it, but I don’t see why it should
matter anywhere else.”

Regulus considers while he takes a sip from his mug. “I think you’re right. At the end of the
day, our magic isn’t that different. Though, I’d say, I’ve seen loads of purebloods being more
ignorant about magic than muggleborns. Avery, for example, barely passed his O.W.L.s, and
it’s because he knows he will work at the ministry anyway just because of his name.”

James snorts as Regulus takes another bite from the cinnamon roll. The next will be the last,
which is a little saddening. “Please, Avery is terrible. He melted a cauldron during potions a
few days ago just ten minutes after Slughorn said to lower the flame! Now, I’m not that good
at potions, but he never pays attention to what he’s doing, it’s terrible. And Sirius thinks it’s
funny to distract him even more, which makes History of Magic a particularly tense time.”
Regulus raises an eyebrow, taking a sip out of his chamomile. James smiles. “Avery behaves
like we’re in the fifties or something, sexwise, so Sirius once sent him a paper plane with tits
and cocks drawn on them during History of Magic. Professor Binns caught one once and
gave Sirius detention for two weeks.” Regulus laughs, he wants to say something, but he
keeps laughing, because that’s exactly something that his brother would do when he’s bored.
“I mean, if Avery is so scared of drawn tits, what do you think he’ll do when he sees real
ones?”

Regulus snorts. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder. Some of the Slytherin boys are so
obsessed with heterosexuality, you’d think they’re faking it. Like they pretend they love
women, but you never see them talking to a girl like she's a person they could be interested
in. It’s obviously not true for everyone, but Avery is definitely one of that sort. Snape is
becoming one, which makes him even more unpleasant.”

James makes a disgusted noise, before taking a big sip out of his mug and setting it on the
table. Regulus finishes his cinnamon roll. “Snape has always been like that. Or, I don’t
know.” He watches James scrunch his nose as he cleans his fingers on a clean tissue. “I never
liked the way he treated Evans, but she said that his family was shite, and I’ve seen what a
crappy family does to the way you form relationships, so I don’t want to say he’s always been
a dick. I don’t think being in Slytherin helped him overcome whatever his issues were, but
now he feels entitled to treat girls poorly, and that upsets me so much.”
“I didn’t expect you to be so mature about it.” Regulus says, cocking his head to the side.

“I’m not a knobhead.” James crosses his arms on the table and rests his head on them. “Sirius
has problems forming and maintaining relationships too, you know? And I’d hex anyone that
says bollocks about it, but I’ll tell him that those issues aren’t a justification to hurt people,
and he needs to work on them, because the last thing I want is Sirius being hurt because he
lost an important friendship or relationship. But the thing is, Sirius grew and he’s working on
himself. Snape has never once considered the thought of changing his views.”

Something clicks in Regulus’s mind. “Sirius hurt Lupin before the summer. That’s why you
fought, isn’t it?”

James startles, straightening up to look at him. “Why do you ask?”

Regulus raises an eyebrow at him. “You told me you guys fought. And Sirius was lonely and
mad at himself. He didn’t get in trouble once for receiving letters. He fought with Lupin and
you were mad at him.”

James nods, frowning. He looks upset, his lips pressed together and his gaze pointed towards
the table. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to Remus, though. Last year was a
tough one for us.”

“I won’t mention it to anyone,” Regulus promises, “I’m sorry I brought it up,” he adds, a
little uncomfortable. James is still frowning, there’s something sad in his expression; Regulus
wants to make it better, to smooth the lines between his eyebrows.

“No, it’s okay.” He breathes in, then runs a hand through his hair, recollecting himself.
“Never had a fight with Pandora?”

Regulus shrugs. “Yeah, sometimes. But small things. We never had a big fight.” That being
said, he finishes his chamomile. “Let’s go back to the common rooms, okay?”

James looks at him. He still looks sad, but his eyes look so sweet. Regulus wants to wrap him
up in a nice, warm blanket and give him a goodnight kiss. He shakes his head slightly,
pushing the thought back.

“I’ll walk you to your common room.” James says, standing up.

Regulus gives him a little smile; he’s only happy about it because it means they get to be
together a little longer.

They say goodbye to the elves and get out of the kitchens. Once they’re out, they get under
the cloak again. James is quiet during the walk back, not a good kind of quiet. Regulus can
almost hear him thinking too much, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes his hand,
making eye contact to make sure James is fine with that, and he guides him to the right
direction.

“It’s here,” Regulus says, quietly, turning right from the Entrance Hall.
James nods, but doesn’t let go of his hand. “You were really nice with me today. I appreciate
it.”

He sounds too polite. Regulus would rather him saying something silly or crack a joke.

“I didn’t do anything.” Regulus watches James shake his head as he takes off the cloak. “Do
you…” Getting the words out is hard, for some reason. “Do you need a hug?”

James looks startled for a solid second, before he nods.

“You could have asked, you know? Keep it in mind, next time, Potter.”

So he steps forward and pulls James in, wrapping his arms around his torso. James hesitates
at first, then he hugs back, gradually adding a little force. Regulus focuses on James’s soft
breathing, on the frantic beating of his heart. Then, slowly, he moves his hand and dips it in
James’s hair, stroking it gently. James makes a soft noise of approval and holds him tighter. It
feels intimate: almost as if it’s building up to something.

Just the thought makes Regulus want to do reckless things. Like kiss James here and now.

“Thank you,” James whispers, “I really needed it.”

“Tell Sirius when you feel hurt, okay?” Regulus says, softly. His lips accidentally brush
James’ cheek as he speaks. “I’m not saying you can’t talk to me, if that’s what you want, but
you shouldn’t feel bad about telling Sirius. He loves you, I’m sure he’ll do everything in his
power to help.”

“Why are you so nice?” James murmurs. Regulus can almost feel the words on his cheek.
He’s going to go crazy. And kiss James Potter until they both forget their names.

“Something tells me that it’s not genetics.” Regulus jokes, pleased to be able to drag a small
laughter out of James.

They stay hugged for another few seconds, before James breaks the hug. Regulus shivers at
the loss of contact. Is it too much to ask for this to happen again? James isn’t the only one
who needed a hug, and his body was so warm, so solid under his hands. Regulus wants to
crawl back into his arms, maybe even fall asleep in there.

“Will you be okay?” He asks instead.

“I’ll sleep like a baby,” James nods, smiling slightly. He bites his lip right after, looking
conflicted. “You’re not going to act all cold once I see you tomorrow, right?”

Regulus shakes his head. “No. But I can’t promise you we’ll be friends in the Great Hall,
since I sleep in a pit of snakes.”

James laughs a little, a smile lingering on his lips. “Okay, then.” He puts the cloak on his
shoulders again. “Good night, Reg.”

“Good night, Potter.”

 Furtunate Meetings & Interruptions
Chapter Notes

CWs: CA; brief mentions of war; queer themes and implied homophobia; recreational
drug use (weed).

17 May, 1975

As a child, Regulus liked to hide in small spaces, such as wardrobes and empty cupboards.
He loved the adrenaline climbing gave him and the scratches he would get after it. Scars and
wounds fascinated him, and somehow he felt like he was discovering his own body. He found
healing potions and ointments repelling, and would put up fights with his parents instead of
just taking whatever they were giving him.

Walburga and Orion were not happy with the fascination he had for danger and climbing. It
didn’t fit with what he had to be: a well-behaved pureblood child that doesn’t sneak out of
meals to climb the trees in the garden. Sometimes Sirius would join him, because Regulus
wanted to show him stuff; then Sirius would be blamed for the entire thing, because he was
older and he was the heir and he had to know better.

It was unfair, though Regulus never had the chance to say that, because Walburga was in
charge of punishing who did wrong, and Orion was in charge of soothing the other to
calmness (or put him to sleep, eventually). His father never managed to erase the guilt that
would come from knowing Sirius got hurt for something Regulus did and, eventually, guilt
became an everyday thing.

Though Regulus wasn’t always lucky enough to escape his mother’s aim. Very soon, Regulus
knew how to pretend he was a random object of the room, witnessing a scene instead of
living it. Pain was a background sensation and the constant reminder that actions have
consequences, and freedom never lasts forever: something his parents told him very often.

Before Hogwarts, pain and guilt was something Regulus expected to feel, especially after
Sirius basically cut him off for his sorting. Rage also came into the picture after that. Barty
and Pandora were the first to make him question whether or not his parents had the right to
do what they did, whether or not he deserved Sirius’s anger.

Barty was attentive enough that when Regulus came back to school in January 1973, he knew
right away something had happened back home, and didn’t take well Regulus’s explanation
about actions having consequences, about freedom not lasting forever. He also said that it
was stupid of Sirius to be mad at him for being a Slytherin. Regulus claimed Barty couldn’t
understand, even though part of him agreed.
Pandora was more straightforward, and simply chose to give him an entire speech on
disciplinary techniques and how children don’t need to be hurt to be educated. It caused a
small quarrel between them: Regulus really wanted to believe that was how all purebloods
were raised and his parents were not ill intentioned. Because if they were, if they wanted to
hurt him, and if Sirius wanted to leave him behind, then Regulus would have no family at
all.

Rabastan Lestrange, in his seventh year, told Regulus Sirius will come to his senses, and if he
doesn’t he’s an idiot, not as different from his mother as he claims to be. He stated it exactly
like this.

At thirteen (almost fourteen, as he likes to point out), Regulus still likes to hide in small
places and fears the day he’ll be too big for it. Wounds and scars still look cool, but he
doesn’t admit it to anyone and doesn’t actively put himself in the position to be harmed;
wounds and scars make people look tough and no one messes with tough people.

Barty -arguably the person he listens to the most- says wounds and scars simply make you
look like you’ve been hurt. Regulus calls him delicate when he says that, and pretends
Barty’s words make sense.

“The body”, he often says, after doing push ups, “is a temple and should be taken care of.
What is the point of training for Quidditch if you mistreat your body off the pitch?”

It took Regulus about three years, but when he finally told Barty some of the things that
happened at home, the other boy didn’t call him weak. He said his father did that too, and
people like that should be in jail, it sucks that they’re not just because they have a name. So
Barty didn’t just hate his father, but he started hating Regulus’s parents too.

And as June approaches, Barty’s concern for Regulus’s safety is at its peak. He rants about
how Dumbledore would be a much better person if he let kids stay at Hogwarts for the
summer holidays, to protect them.

“Do you realise you do not deserve that?” He asks. “Do you realise it’s wrong? Because I
certainly do, and I detest that you tell me not to worry when there’s clearly something to be
worried about.”

At the moment, Barty is upset because Regulus is leaving for a weekend home, to buy a new
wand.

His hands curl into fists as he speaks.Barty's hands have often been the object of his attention,
lately. His palms are soft, because he never played quidditch. His fingers are long and his
nails always filed, because quills get uncomfortable otherwise. His forearms and the back of
his hands have prominent veins. Regulus often finds himself staring at him, enchanted.

Barty is so pleasant to look at, with his fair hair and the green eyes. He loves the slope of his
nose and the way his cheeks look when he smiles. And on top of that, his voice is so sweet it
sounds like the gurgling water of a brook.
The details of him are so defined he could be a statue from Michelangelo. He has been
thinking about that since Evan showed them some muggle postcards he got on a trip to
Florence.

“Are you listening to me?” Barty waves his hand in front of Regulus’s eyes, making him
blink. “You can’t just accept that they treat you like that!”

“They take my wand,” Regulus replies, meeting Barty’s eyes. “My mum takes my wand.”
Maman, mother, mum. He calls her many ways, though he can’t remember the last time she
was a proper mother to him. Pandora’s mother behaves very differently, and writes to her
daughter diligently. “Or, well, she would if I didn’t snap it. They’ll be mad at me. It was a
family heirloom. And I know you’re concerned, but it doesn’t solve anything. You have to
quit fussing.”

“I won’t,” Barty says.

He takes Regulus’s hand, but he doesn’t lace their fingers together, like some older boys and
girls do in the hallways. Still, in the privacy of their dorm, hand holding is frequent and
welcomed, and Regulus will miss it over the summer, though he doesn't dare to say that.

“I’ll always worry about you, because I care about you,” Barty adds. His free hand slays over
Regulus’s ribs, pulling him into a hug.

Regulus breathes in sharply, letting go of Barty’s hand to loop one arm around his shoulders.
“I wish we had a tree house just for us.” He says, as he rests his forehead against his shoulder.

Barty hums, urging Regulus into a tighter embrace. He likes when Barty does that and it’s
somehow different from the sensation he gets when Pandora hugs him, though he can’t
pinpoint the reason.

“I wish I could visit you, so you’d be less lonely.”

“It’s just a weekend.”

And no one’s presence in the house would stop his parents from punishing him; he
disrespected his ancestors, the ones who granted him magic and a strong legacy. Nothing will
save him from his mother’s rage.

It’s the first time he’s keeping a secret from Barty, but it has been going smoothly so far. No
one noticed.

Elias Greco, who they had decided to hate on their very first day of class, has officially
become his friend. That happened, even if he is cheeky, his speech isn’t polite and his tone is
always a bit too sharp.

In all honesty, Regulus didn’t expect to become Elias’s friend or to like him, nor he had seen
coming forgiveness. Elias had been strangely kind to him after the conflict had died down,
and he became pleasant to spend time with. Barty shall not know any of it: he was already
upset that Slughorn paired Elias and Regulus together. The professor thought the challenge
was going to benefit both of them; Barty claimed it would lower Regulus's grades.

Though the new friendship had sparked rage into Regulus: he was mad at his parents for
lying to him, and mad at Sirius for keeping him at arm's length, like he was someone to be
ashamed of. He understands Sirius has been avoiding him because of the person Regulus was
until two months ago, but it doesn’t make him any less mad. If only Sirius had pushed him
more to believe the right things, who knows what his life would have looked like now.
Maybe he would have shared the dorm with Elias and listened to all the muggle music he
likes so much.

Reality, though, is very different from the parallel universe he’s making up in his mind, so
Regulus keeps his mouth shut about Elias. That’s, obviously, not the easiest thing to do: not
when you wish you could just meet in the courtyard like anyone else and visit Hogsmeade
together without getting odd looks. It’s not easy because Barty is one of his best friends, and
Regulus can’t tell him about the new friend he made, even if he’s dying to do that.

“Barty,” Regulus calls. “What happens when you lie?”

Barty shrugs and runs a hand through Regulus's hair. “Nothing, if you’re good at it,” he says
with a grin.

2 October, 1976

Regulus is nervous; his hands keep shaking and he feels lightheaded, like he’ll faint at any
moment, or the floor is going to start crumbling if he doesn’t keep his eyes on it. It’s a match
day, and he wants to win; but the first match of the season is always the most nerve
wracking.

Veronica wants the team to have breakfast together, so they enter the Great Hall together, all
dressed in their uniform.

Regulus wears the number 2 and he’s in charge of keeping their fourth year chasers in place,
because they keep racing each other in the corridors and Veronica doesn’t want to babysit.
One of them is named Hector, and he’s the calmest one, though he’s not calm at all. He’s got
ginger hair and dark brown eyes. The other, Nathaniel, is the one that starts all the races: he’s
got dark brown hair and blue eyes and he acts like all girls will fall to his feet if he bats his
eyelashes, which is terribly insufferable, but he supposes he was like that as well in his fourth
year, so he doesn’t get to comment.

Whilst he eats, he passively listens to Veronica rambling about how much alcohol and pot
they managed to bring to the common room. Veronica says that a party must happen after a
Quidditch match whether you win or not: it’s an opportunity to meet people and have fun.
Regulus finds it extremely boring. Last year, he used to celebrate by smoking a joint with
Barty in the dorm. He has no idea what he’ll do this year.
He’s so absorbed in his thoughts that he barely reacts to Barty’s hands when they settle on his
shoulders, firm and warm.

“You’re so tense,” Barty says whilst he presses his thumbs in the knot of his muscles.
Regulus almost sighs with relief. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Yes,” He leans back, until he’s only centimetres away from pressing against him. “I stop
being nervous once I’m on the pitch.”

Barty hums and continues to massage his shoulders. It’s a rare gesture of kindness, and
Regulus isn’t feeling like putting up a fight this morning. They’re both taking all they can get
from each other, and it’s sad to think this was the norm, once.

It only lasts so long, because Mulciber glares at them.

“Something up your arse?” Barty asks, slightly aggressive.

“More like something is up yours, Crouch.” Mulciber replies, stone cold.

Regulus rolls his eyes, but he breaks contact with Barty, who slides next to him, ressigned.
“Ever heard of minding your own business, Mulciber? Even you could benefit from it.”

Mulciber scowls at him. “No one wants to see you getting a message over breakfast.”

“Oh, fuck off, you act like you don’t snog girls during meals all the goddamn time-”

“Is that a cinnamon roll?” Barty asks, eyebrows quirked up in surprise. “ I can’t believe it,
you’ve changed a habit!”

“What’s wrong with me changing a habit? I’m not a routine maniac.”

“You are.” Veronica says, swinging the spoon in her hand like a wand. “You’ve got weird
rituals. Like before a match, you always give your jumper to that girl…”

Regulus widens his eyes, getting out of his seat. “Thanks for the reminder!”

He can’t believe he almost forgot! Giving Pandora his Quidditch Jumper is his lucky charm!

He yanks his jumper off as he walks towards the Gryffindor table, where Pandora is sitting
with Xenophilius, his brother and James. He pretends he doesn’t notice James watching him
while he fixes his shirt, which almost came off with the jumper. It’s best to act like he didn’t
see it, because the last thing he needs right now is to panic over his feelings for James, and
whether or not he wants James to watch him when he takes off his clothes.

“Hello.” He smiles at Xenophilius politely, before handing his jumper to Pandora.

“Hello, friend,” He says, watching Pandora putting on the jumper. “Is this some kind of
ritual?”
“Sort of.” Regulus says, dropping down next to Sirius. He’d steal a piece of his bacon, if he
wasn’t so nervous. “It’s a good luck charm.”

“Regulus believes that the universe will be on his side if he performs weird routines,”
Pandora explains, mixing honey in her tea. “I think I helped a bit with that.”

“No, he was like this as a kid too,” Sirius says, cutting his bacon. He’s the only person
Regulus knows that does that. “Before starting to read a book, he would always write a note
to his ‘pre-book’ self, and after reading it, he would write a note to his ‘post-book’ self.”
Regulus blushes, elbowing Sirius in the ribs. “What? It’s not like you stopped doing that.”

“And how would you know?” Regulus mumbles, sneaking a glance at James, who’s hiding a
smile behind his raised mug.

“Please, you detest change. You’re a creature of habit and commitment.” Sirius rolls his eyes,
then gestures to the food. “Have you eaten? You can’t play if you don’t eat plenty.”

“I’ll throw up if I eat plenty.” Regulus argues, getting himself a glass of water. “I ate,
though.”

“Should I go ask Veronica?” Pandora prompts.

She’s got one of her hands over Xenophilius’, fingers curled together, and the other one on
her mug. She looks content, not happy, because happiness is a fleeting feeling; content is for
the people who have found some sort of stability in their life, between sadness and happiness,
between the outside world and their mind.

“No, but you two should stop stewing over my diet,” he says, with a hint of fondness.

In all truth, he just doesn’t want to be in the spotlight like this; he’s only staying because he
doesn’t want to come back and face Barty. Mixed signals don’t do well with Regulus; and
Barty seems to be hinting at things, lately, things Regulus can’t give him anymore. And if he
could, he wouldn’t. One time hurts enough for a lifetime.

“No, no, they’re right to worry,” James’s voice snaps him out of his daze. His hair is still
messy, and he’s wearing a red crewneck. “Breakfast is the meal of the champions.”

“You’re such a jock.”

Sirius grins, shaking his head, while James rolls his eyes and flips him the bird. Regulus
assumes this is a regular bickering.

“Where’s Lupin and Pettigrew?” He asks, eyeing Sirius’ jumper.

He’s pretty sure he has seen Lupin wear it before. He wonders if they snogged yet; Sirius
probably handles romance better than him. But then again, their lot behaves in a weird way,
so Sirius wearing Lupin’s jumper might mean nothing or everything.

“Moony is feeling a little under the weather, but he wants to watch the match, so we’ll bring
him breakfast in bed.” James explains, a soft smile on his lips. “Pete is playing chess with
him, to distract him.”

Regulus hums, glancing at Sirius. “I thought that’d be your job.”

Sirius nods, scooping up some beans with a spoon. “It is, normally, but you have a match
today…”

“He wanted to make sure you’d eat.” James says, amused.

Pandora hides a giggle with her hand. Regulus knows that Sirius and James won’t notice, but
he does. He rolls his eyes at her, which makes her hide her face on Xenophilius’ shoulder.
The poor bloke doesn’t know what he stumbled into, judging by the confused look on his
face.

Sirius shows James the finger. “He’s right, though.” He says, turning towards Regulus. “I’m
not sure you’re eating properly.”

“Oh, I am.” Regulus smiles, tickling his brother’s side until he giggles. “But aren’t you a
sweet brother?”

“I hope you fall off your bloody broom.” Sirius says, between laughter.

The first thing he notices while he warms up is the weather. Cloudy, which is unfortunate,
because it makes it harder to see the snitch, but it’s not raining and it doesn’t seem like it’s
going to start, which is comforting. There’s a slight breeze that tastes like winter, but it’s not
too strong or too cold to be a problem. Not perfect conditions, but good conditions.

Once the match starts, nervousness seems to melt off of his shoulders. He finds a high point
over the pitch where he won’t be in the way and takes a look. The hufflepuff seeker seems to
be doing a lap over the field, but Regulus knows she hasn’t seen the snitch yet. He does see
the snitch, though, hovering over one of the stands. So he starts chasing it. One of the
hufflepuff beaters must have seen him, because a bludger comes his way, forcing him to
change courses and making him lose sight of the snitch. This happens a couple of times more,
which has Regulus irritated enough that he yells at Mulciber to start actually playing. Luckily
enough, he doesn’t have to repeat himself, and once Mulciber covers his back, he can finally
start looking for the snitch again.

The count is 90-60 for Slytherin, when he notices the snitch as it hovers behind the hufflepuff
keeper. What an annoying spot.

He speeds up, leaning down on his broom as he flies inside one of the hoops. The snitch
moves downwards, forcing Regulus to do the same. For a second, he worries about the speed
he’s gaining, but he manages to earn control over the broom again. He almost doesn’t see the
hufflepuff seeker speed up in his direction. His eyes go wide as he stretches his arm out,
grabbing the snitch and then swerving to the side, almost losing balance, but able to avoid
colliding with the other player.
They look at each other for a moment, before the girl shrugs and the crowd starts to roar. He
steals a glance towards the stands, where he can see Sirius and James straddling each other
and Pandora raising her fist in the air, smiling in his direction.

When he steps out the pitch, Evan and Barty are immediately on him. Were they cheering for
him? They used to; Regulus didn’t think they would this time. However, expectations aside,
Barty messes up his hair and Evan throws an arm around his shoulders, and it’s almost like
they’re friends again. Regulus decides to let himself feel it: so he grins, throwing his arms
around their shoulders.

“How was it? Exciting?”

“Bloody brilliant! You were awesome!” Barty exclaims looking him in the eye. Only now
Regulus realises how close their faces are. “I could kiss you!”

That’s when Regulus’s expression hardens, and he pulls away a little. Easy for Barty to say
when he wasn’t the one to get his feelings hurt.

“Please, wait ‘til I’m not here if you want to snog,” Evan says, having not noticed the change
of mood. “You’re the star of the day! Well, you’re always a star, since you have your name
and everything…”

Regulus pulls away, but he still makes the effort to smile a little. “I think our chasers deserve
some more recognition. They were deadly, especially if you consider this was their first
game,” he says, beginning to divert their attention. “Anyhow, I’ve got to go greet Pandora, so
I’ll see you later.”

“Oh. Do you really?” Barty asks, as a frown casts down on his face. He still steps back, but
he looks upset.

“See you at lunch, then?” Evan asks, sounding hopeful.

“Sure.”

As he walks away, he breathes again, blowing off the rising tension that came from Barty’s
innuendo. Then he spots Pandora, waves his hand, and before he knows, she’s in his arms,
she touches his hair, her breath tickles his ear.

“You were amazing, Reg, you really were! You should have seen Potter and your brother! I
don’t think Gryffindor has ever cheered on Slytherin so much!” She steps back, still cradling
his face lovingly. “Though that last move gave me a heart attack, I thought you were about to
fall!”

“Yeah, me too! That’s the fun part!” Regulus says with a grin, then hugs her again, briefly.

And that’s when he sees Elias coming towards them, so his grin stretches wider. They slap
their hands together first, then Elias pulls him into a brief, yet tight hug.
“I don’t know how you survived that last move! You’re absolutely crazy! I loved that! I wish
I pulled that!”

His excitement makes Regulus laugh in delight. Elias is always like this about Quidditch and
music, very different from his usual quiet, reserved persona.

“Don’t laugh, I mean it! Sirius is definitely going to come tell you, too!”

“Oh, Merlin. I better go up to him. See you later!”

Sirius and his friends are just now coming down from the bleachers. James’s hair is messed
up, and he’s talking to Mary about something, but he seems quite impressed. On the other
hand, Sirius leaves a pale looking Lupin behind to come and squeeze Regulus’s shoulder. It’s
painfully awkward.

“You played well!” Sirius says, which causes Regulus to raise his eyebrows. “Don’t look so
offended, I meant it! But what was that last move?”

Regulus shrugs, crossing his arms and rocking back on his heels. “A move, I guess. I thought
I was going to crash right into the hufflepuff’s seeker.”

“I don’t know how you play such a sport,” Lupin says, fixing his scarf on his neck. “It’s
dangerous.”

“That’s what makes it fun, Moony!” James says, voicing Regulus’s thoughts (weird nickname
aside). “It’s fun! What’s life without a little risk?”

“I’ve never heard Prongs say truer words,” Sirius nods, grinning. He ruffles Regulus’ hair
and glances at Remus and James. “Did you see how good he was? He turned me into a
Slytherin fan for a second…”

Lupin coughs, but once he stops, there’s a teasing smile on his lips. “I guess miracles do
happen. But this feels a bit like betrayal, doesn’t it, Prongs?”

“You’re so spot on, Moony.” James presses a hand on his chest, as if he’s been painfully
offended. “I thought you’d always cheer for me.”

This, the teasing, the competition, Regulus can manage a lot better than awkward praise. So
he joins right in, grinning arrogantly.

“So sorry, Potter, you can’t compete with the real thing. Sirius will cheer for me.”

Something similar to recognition flickers in James’s eyes for a moment; perhaps, he knows
Regulus doesn’t mean this: that this is nothing but a mere act of confidence. If he knows,
though, he doesn’t say anything about it.

“He’s my best friend, though,” James says, crossing his arms as well. “Best friends are
supposed to cheer for each other.”

“Brothers come first,” Regulus objects.

Sirius looks between James and Regulus, sending glares left and right. “Whatever this is, I
don’t like it,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “You’re teaming up. You’re trying to make me
choose. You’re basically allies against me!”

“Allies?” James sputters, pretending to be offended. “We go by rivals, please. And you
should definitely cheer for me, ‘cause Gryffindor is going to win the tournament this year.”

Regulus lifts an eyebrow, studying him up and down: which is just an excuse to admire him,
but no one has to know. “Don’t get cocky, Potter,” he says, as cheeky as he can be. “I’ll take
you down in less than an hour.”

James runs a hand through his hair, a grin spreading on his lips. There’s a glint in his eyes
that makes Regulus want to drag him to the pitch and play against him.

“Who’s getting cocky now?” James teases.

Regulus should find him annoying, he really should, but he finds him pretty, charming, sweet
and daring, which only makes him wanna kiss him. Yes, obviously, destroy him in Quidditch,
but kiss him right after.

“Okay, enough with the rivalry,” Sirius says, pinching James’ side. “You promised you
wouldn’t fight him!”

“We’re not fighting,” Regulus corrects, eyes still on James. “I’m stating facts while he tells
me about his dreams.”

James opens his mouth to reply, but Lupin covers his mouth and starts coughing, this time
rather violently.

“Good heavens. See, this is why you take pepper up!” Remus looks at him surly and
frowning. “I have some in the dorm, come on.I shall take Moony to the infirmary. Are you
going to stay?”

“Yeah. Waiting for the girls, since Evans left with Pete.” James nods, glancing at Regulus
once again.

“Great.” Sirius wraps his arm around Lupin’s waist. “Go shower Reg, you stink!”

Regulus scowls and flips him the bird.

“You were amazing,” James says, grabbing his attention, once Sirius is out of reach. James’
voice is low, and there's a smile tugging at his lips. Regulus is a little obsessed with it, to be
honest. “Sent shivers down my spine, truly! I missed watching you fly.”

They’ve flown together before, even talked after those flying sessions. But there’s something
exciting about the fact James is bringing it up. Regulus’s heart flutters and flutters, as if it’s
ready to start flying again.

“That sounds like it’s going to give you trouble during the tournament,” he says, as his gaze
drops to James’ lips. “You shouldn’t get too distracted watching me. You’ll suck if you do.”
James’s mouth parts in surprise, but as he begins to smile, Veronica shouts Regulus’s name
from the locker room.

“I have to go!” Regulus says, stepping back. “Take care!”

Slytherin parties aren’t usually very funny: they remind Regulus of the pubs some muggles
describe in books, with the haze of the smoke filling the air as well as the stench of cigarettes
and alcohol. The latter is Regulus’s biggest issue: it quickly reminds him of his mother’s
nasty habit, completely turning him off from drinking.

But tonight, Dorcas approaches him. She opens up a couple of beers with the heel of her foot
and grins at him: so Regulus invites her into the dorm, so they can drink and chat in peace.
She smokes, but he doesn’t mind.

Barty joins them after thirty minutes. He offers them to smoke a couple of joints with him, so
they do. Slowly, his brain sinks into a soft daze. Barty begins to look more like he did last
year: soft and vulnerable. But it only affects him at first, because as Barty and Dorcas make
conversation, Regulus’s mind tracks back to James: to the fact he was watching him today,
the fact he misses flying together, the night they spent, talking and watching the stars…

“How did you two become friends, again?”

Barty’s voice snaps him out of his daydream. Regulus blinks at him, then glances at Dorcas,
who breaks into a lazy grin that looks like trouble.

“Oh you know…” She says, flicking her wrist.

Barty frowns, looking at her hand. “I don’t know, otherwise I wouldn’t ask.” His eyes snap
back up, and meet Regulus’s. “Cat got your tongue? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

Regulus hardens his expression and crosses his arms. “I got Dorcas a date with a very pretty
girl. That’s how we’ve become friends.”

“You date girls? Really?” Barty raises his eyebrow, but lets Regulus steal the spliff from his
hands.

“You seem surprised. I came out almost a year ago, remember? But yes, girls exclusively. Do
you?” Dorcas replies, snarky.

She’s watching Barty carefully. Regulus blows out smoke, eyes flickering to Barty, who
looks a little upset: in fact, he’s scowling and has started rolling his family ring between his
fingers. Regulus decides to just sit back and watch.

“I don’t like anybody, so I don’t date anybody,” Barty settles on saying, but his eyes find
Regulus, who raises his eyebrow at him, as if he’s oblivious.

“Is that so? Is that why I’ve never seen you snog a girl.” Dorcas remarks, before gazing at
Regulus. “And I can’t believe you dated Vivienne.”
Regulus passes the joint back to Barty, so he can finish it. “I reckon she’s still mad at me for
breaking up with her.”

He figures that’s not going to be too revealing about the reason why he broke up with
Vivienne: a reason, this one, that is in this very room right now, with his auburn hair and his
green eyes, as he curls his lips around a joint.

“She holds grudges,” Drocas admits, bringing one of her knees to her chest. “You were rude,
though. You should apologise.”

Surprisingly, it makes Barty smile and shake his head. “He was always rude last year,” he
says, fondly, “he’s still rude.”

“We should play a game. Truth or Dare!” Dorcas says, all of a sudden. “Actually, there’s not
enough people.”

“I don’t like to play that game,” Regulus says.

Dorcas knows something; and whatever it is, it might make Regulus and Barty fight again,
which Regulus doesn’t fancy: he had a nice day, he doesn’t want to spoil it.

“You only say that because your golden boy isn’t here,” Dorcas mutters.

“Your golden boy?” Barty inquires, dismayed and glaring.

It takes courage to look right into Barty’s eyes and not waver at the pain within his frown.
Still, Regulus is not a little boy anymore, and he grew to be quite courageous. His eyes will
speak the words he can’t utter.

“She’s baked,” he says, waving his hand in the air. “I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

Barty’s face goes pale. Message delivered successfully.

“Besides, you have a girlfriend, Dorcas, so I don’t see why you’d be interested in this sort of
game anyway. What would Marlene say?”

“Awww, you say her name in the french way,” Dorcas says, tilting her head to the side. “The
plan was not to make me snog somebody, but to see if Crouch is able to snog people.”

Yes, he is, Regulus thinks. And he’s also capable of breaking their hearts and acting as if he
didn’t do it.

“Fuck off,” Barty says, flipping her the bird. “I’ve snogged before. Many, many times…”

“Yeah, sure.” Dorcas laughs, shaking her head. “And who did you snog?”

“Why would I tell you?” Barty scoffs, crossing his arms. “It’s none of your business, that is.”

Dorcas twists her body and tugs at Regulus’s sleeve. “Why is he so defensive?” She asks;
Regulus just shrugs, even if he perfectly knows why. “I swear lads never talk about the
people they fancy. I had to listen to Vivienne talk about you for ages.”

Barty cackles, somehow proud. “Regulus never talked about her.”

It’s stupid for Barty to be proud of this: because the reason why Regulus never talked about
Vivienne is that he wanted to kiss and date Barty, not her. And Barty knows, but still broke
them off. So why would be so proud? Regulus closes his arms around his body, leaning
against the wall.

Dorcas sighs, looking up at the stone ceiling. “I don’t get why girls like you so much, you’re
the worst.”

“I pride myself on it,” Regulus replies, as the door opens.

It’s Evan who enters; and he’s too busy snogging one of Dorcas’s friends, Leonie, who he has
fancied for the past three years, to notice the room is not empty. She has messed up his hair
and opened his shirt, which makes Regulus raise his eyebrows. On the other hand, Barty
looks absolutely disgusted by the act.

At least act like you’d want something like this, Regulus thinks, indeed a little cruel.

“Rosier, for fuck’s sake,” Barty swears in a grumpy mutter, putting on his hood. “I hate
people.”

“Uh-uh,” Dorcas giggles, resting her chin on Regulus’ shoulder. “I think we have to leave”

Evan turns to look at Barty, lifts an eyebrow. He looks unbothered, but he drops his hands on
Leonie’s shoulders. She’s blushing now, and smiling awkwardly as she tries to fix her hair.

“What are you waiting for? Get out, you bunch of voyeurists,” Evan says.

Regulus rolls his eyes, but he gets up. “C’mon, let’s go to the common room.”

Evan smiles at him, while Dorcas and Barty get up. “I love you, Reg. You’re my hero.”

They end up in the girls’ dorm, since none of them is in the mood to be in the common room.
A disillusionment charm works perfectly to sneak in.

They sit next to the window again, and it’s almost as if they didn’t change location at all.
Regulus pretends not to notice how Barty is leaning against him: shoulder to shoulder, hip to
hip. It’s hard to ignore.

Dorcas begins to look for her cigarettes, leaving them alone.

“So, you introduced Dorcas to her…er…girlfriend?” Barty asks, glancing at Dorcas as he

speaks. “You don’t have a problem with that kind of thing?”

“I don’t see while you assume I would,” Regulus replies, meeting eyes with him.
Barty clenches his jaw and stays silent for a few seconds. “Right,” he looks at Dorcas and
clears his throat. “So, who’s your girlfriend?”

“Marlene McKinnon,” Dorcas says with a chuffed smile. “Gryffindor chaser, the blonde
one!”

“Ugh,” Barty grimaces, covering his face with his hands. “A Gryffindor, really? That’s a
terrible choice, they’re unbearable.”

“I think they’re fun,” Dorcas says, cheerfully. “Don’t you agree, Regulus?”

“Oh yeah. I think they’re super fun, especially after you destroy them at Quidditch.”

“Sports maniac.” Barty mumbles, running a hand through his hair. “I’d never date a
Gryffindor.”

Dorcas rolls her eyes. “Who would you date then? Seems like you have a specific type in
mind.”

“Incredibly specific, yeah.” Barty says, throwing his arms in the air. “How is ‘not-gryffindor’
specific?”

“Well, I think,” Regulus says, leaning back against the wall, “that there’s a lot of pretty
people in Gryffindor.”

“The fact that they’re in Gryffindor makes them ugly.” Barty glares at him, but underneath it,
Regulus can feel his silent prayer. “Don’t start dating a Gryffindor too.”

Dorcas giggles, meeting eyes with Regulus briefly. “Why? A Gryffindor would be perfect for
Regulus. They’d bring up all that innate mischievous energy!”

“I don’t have mischievous energy,” Regulus replies drily, “I’m not my brother.”

“Thanks fuck.” Barty adds, tugging at the laces of his hoodie.

“I don’t agree. You’d be such a troublemaker if you stopped being so worried about your
family. All of your friends are professional menaces. Look at Elias!”

“Ugh, why did you have to mention him.” Barty sighs heavily, slumping against the wall. “I
hate that guy!”

“Aww, why so?”

“Because he’s an arrogant prick.”

Regulus shakes his head and scoffs. “He’s really not. You only say that because you’re
jealous.”

Barty grimaces. And maybe it’s childish, but Regulus would feel a little better if Barty was
jealous. Because it’d mean that he still cares.
6 October, 1976

James, Regulus decides, is as beautiful as libraries with high ceilings and wide windows.
He’s ancient books with frail, golden pages; baroque churches whose ceilings might fall on
you at any time. James is a sunrise watched by the shore, the water turning from dark blue to
warm orange; he’s a new beginning, foolish hope, the conceited thought that tomorrow will
be better and no sorrow will be felt.

Perhaps, the best image to describe him is the first page of a book you wanted to read for a
very long time, the sheer excitement of that first sentence, which holds so many values and
expectations, as well as hope. On the other hand, for how comforting he is, he might also be
your favourite quote from your favourite book, the one you never get tired of reading, the one
that is always the same and never quite like the first time.

Regulus isn’t sure that manages to incorporate the beauty within, not sure it is enough to
illustrate the glow of James’ eyes. The situation is rather uncomfortable, since they just ended
up in a broom cupboard together, but he still has to place a hand over his mouth to avoid
bursting into laughter.

James had looked for him in the morning and pulled him aside for an excuse, just to tell him
that they needed help with the prank and he could help them, if he wanted to. Regulus said
yes, in a rush of recklessness that he realised he was missing.

The goal was to make every desk and chair of the castle incredibly soft and squeaky. It’s
funny, but it’s pretty much a cry for getting caught. Mrs. Norris heard squeaky noises all
around the castle, and was going crazy with it. She happened to be on the same floor as
James and Regulus, hence why they’re hiding now.

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this,” James whispers, hands casually shoved in his
pockets. “I thought you were a goody-goody.”

“I’m rather offended by such a statement.” Regulus keeps his expression neutral, which earns
a laugh from James. “I can’t believe you almost got us caught, seeing that I was under the
impression you had many ways to avoid that from happening.”

It was funny, though: James thought it was a good idea to jump on one of the squeaky desks.
They had tears in their eyes with how much they were laughing, at least until they heard a
meow from the door.

“Apologies, milord, for not satisfying thy expectations,” James says, with fake reverence and
an even posher accent. “How shall I reconcile our souls?”

Perhaps my lips should reconcile with yours , Regulus thinks, multiple times.

“Depends, who am I speaking to?” He asks, instead.

“Messer Prongs, milord,” James says, with a mischievous grin. “Delighted to serve you.”
“That name is ridiculous.” Regulus retorts, raising an eyebrow. “You can’t talk with the
poshest accent of the world and then call yourself Prongs of all things. It lacks class.”

“I’ll make up for that!”

Gently, he takes Regulus’s hand, keeping eye contact. His fingers are hot, yet Regulus still
shivers: it’s the way James is looking at him, as if he could undress him with his eyes only.
But he does nothing of that sort. Instead, he presses a soft kiss over Regulus’s knuckles,
causing him to blush.

Perhaps the antics his family likes to celebrate aren’t all that bad. Perhaps kissing someone’s
hand doesn’t always have to do with niceties and bearing. Right now, Regulus can tell there’s
a sentiment to it: he’s feeling all kinds of things, from excitement to mild nervousness,
coming from being stuck in such little space with the boy he fancies.

“Do I still lack class?” James asks, and it seems like his voice has gone down an octave.

“You forgot the milord,” Regulus replies, trying to keep his own class and reverence.

Regulus has only loved someone romantically once, and it hurts him to this day. He promised
himself he wouldn’t make the same mistake, but he’s here, in a broom cupboard, staring into
James’s eyes and forcing himself to not let his gaze travel to his mouth.

Regulus promised himself the next person he kissed, he’d be sure they wouldn’t do him dirty.
He’s had enough of that: of losing people, whether it’s family or friends. A relationship right
now, in the situation he is in, is crazy to ask.

But James looks at him like he could swallow him whole, and his lips look so soft. Talking to
him is pleasant enough. The potential is all there. If he could just reach out and grab this
opportunity for himself, if James wants this too, then…would it be possible to not be hurt by
this choice?

“You got lost in your thoughts, star boy,” James sing-songs.

They’re still holding hands. James hasn’t let go. Is his mouth as warm as his hand?

“Happens quite often,” Regulus replies, mindlessly, before he frowns. “Don’t call me star
boy, Potter.”

James shakes his head, a toothy grin making its way on his face. “If you call me Potter, I’ll
call you star boy,” he says.

Then he takes the half-step he needed to take to come into Regulu’s personal-space. His
breath caresses Regulus’s cheek. He wants to close his eyes, let himself feel this: in the
slowest way.

“You’re infuriating, has anybody told you that?” He asks, but he squeezes his hand.

“A load of people,” James replies, “I was hoping you’d call me something more…
memorable.”
“Like what?”

As James leans even closer, placing his free hand on the wall, Regulus realises that James is
leading the situation, so he steps forward. James didn’t probably expect it, because he yelps
and stumbles backwards, ending up being the one with his back against the wall, and Regulus
is the one leaning close, hands on the wall and a grin on his face.

It seems to do it for James, whose expression is a mixture of surprise and amusement.

“Does absolute minger do it for you?”

James fixes his glasses on his nose, which is annoyingly attractive and collected on his part.
“Only because you don’t mean it the slightest.”

And having said that, he slowly and carefully sets his hand on Regulus’ neck, brushing the
line of his jaw. His hand is so warm, Regulus almost leans into his touch.

“How would you know what I mean?”

“Contrary to popular beliefs, I’m not an idiot.”

“It takes an idiot to think of you as one, Potter.”

“If you don’t stop calling me Potter, I’ll snog your lips off.” James threatens, dragging
laughter out of Regulus.

He’s laughing right on James’s cheek, so close James can probably feel it on his face, just
like James is feeling it. His laughter cuts off when James fists at the collar of his shirt,
bringing him so close their noses bump together and Regulus can’t help but cup James’s hand
with his face.

Invite him in, kiss him, have him. Consequences will come. Maybe they’ll be beautiful.
Regulus doesn’t remember a recent time in which laughter felt so easy and he felt so
comfortable being close to someone.

“You’re so charming,” Regulus whispers, closing his eyes. “Do you keep promises, Potter?”

“Absolutely,” James murmurs back. Regulus would give all he has to feel his mouth move
against his own: he’s jealous of the air around it. “I always do.”

James’s breath caresses his lips, his fingers graze his neck and make shivers run down his
back. They could kiss. They’re pressed together already, their lips are close enough. And
they’re happy. It’s hilarious. They’ve been happy the entire evening. Wrapping it up with a
kiss sounds more than brilliant. After all, it’s almost like a date.

And just as Regulus makes that decision, just as he tilts his head, just as he prepares to go for
it, someone loudly knocks at the door.

James clings to him, so Regulus doesn’t move either. He stares at the door as if James isn’t
driving him crazy with the way he’s playing with his hair and his lips graze his jaw.
“James? Are you in there?” Sirius’ voice calls. “I’m not opening the door because me and
Wormie have already found two couples snogging. If it’s someone snogging, sorry! Pretend
you didn’t hear us!”

Regulus looks at James, whose grip on his collar has grown loose. James meets his eyes, and
offers a small smile.

“Can I see you again soon?” He asks in a whisper, smoothing Regulus’s shirt where he
crumpled it.

Regulus steps back and nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. Then he opens the door and
raises his eyebrows at his brother, who takes one look at him, then points his finger at James.

“If you snogged my brother, I’ll hex your bollocks off!” Sirius says, though he’s throwing an
arm around James’s shoulder in a friendly way. “Reggie, tell me if I have to commit
murder.”

“Oh, absolutely,.” Regulus says, tilting his head to the side. “The poor sod couldn’t take his
hands off of me.”

“Hey, Pete, have you got the map?” James asks, casually.

“Remus and Lily have it,” Peter says, frantically looking left and right. “Which is why we
should get back to them.”

“Coming?” Sirius asks, making eye contact with Regulus.

Regulus thinks about it, then shakes his head. “No, I think I’ve had enough of it. But count
me in next time, if you please. Good night.”

A round of goodnights, then Regulus turns the corner and slides against the wall, covering his
face with his hands.

He must have gone out of his mind, he must have! All that inner monologue about self-
control and self-awareness flew right out the window when James came close, with his flirty
lines and his unholy lips.

Regulus knows how this ends. He’s been through this already. And how can he trust that
James isn’t just experimenting, like Barty was?

It’s so stupid, to be so trusting. But Regulus has always been a bit of a fool in disguise. And
Pandora always sings a song that goes:

Wise men say only fools rush in,

But I can't help falling in love with you…

 07/10/1976, Hogwarts

§36: My shirt smells like his cologne and I’m ready to bet his own smells like mine. I
couldn’t help but smile when I dressed up this morning. It’s bad. It’s really bad. I almost
couldn’t sleep with how much I wanted to find him again and kiss him. Not just his lips,
his entire face. I wanted to find him and spend the night with him. Not that way. Maybe
that way. But I would have been happy just kissing him.

§37: Classes were cancelled, obviously, because all of the classrooms were considered
not suitable for education, given the squeaky noises and people being silly because of
the squeaky noises. J. smiled at me when he saw me in the hallways. He was talking with
his friends, saw me walking past, and flashed a smile at him. When I looked back, he
was still looking at me. I had to keep myself from grabbing Pandora’s arm and smile like
an idiot. I’ve never had such a hard time keeping a straight face. It was almost
physically painful.

§38: I almost miss him. But it’s only been a day. Not even 24 hours. He asked me to meet
him again soon. How soon is now?

09/10/1976, Hogwarts

§39: Still haven’t seen him again. Smiles at me all the time. I think I’m going crazy.

§40: I’ve been dreaming of kissing him. I’ve been dreaming about kissing him in all
sorts of scenarios. He’s haunting me. I wish he would just let me know when he wants to
meet me. I’d meet him anywhere at any time. I don’t think I’ve ever been this desperate
for a kiss. Perhaps I’m going mad. Perhaps that’s what it is. Insanity has finally
wrapped her arms around me.

11 October, 1976

“Are you okay?” Pandora asks, while he collects his notebook and his textbook. The pot on
his desk seems to be glaring at him, daring him to destroy it. “You have been distracted the
entire morning.”

“It’s just…” He frowns, then shakes his head, closing his ink bottle. “I’m fine. It’s whatever.”

“Well, it’s clearly not whatever.” Pandora replies, throwing her backpack on her shoulder.
“I’ve never seen you fail a transfiguration assignment.”

Regulus scowls, closing his backpack before he turns to look at her. “I hate that as humans
we’re destined to have feelings sooner or later. I think it sucks and it’s not convenient and it’s
dangerous. Yes, it’s dangerous. It’s dangerous because magic is very powerful, and I could
seriously injure myself if I keep having feelings during class. Feelings are a bummer!” He
shoves the backpack on his shoulder and moves his hair away from his face. “The stars are
against me.”

“That was all very dramatic. Unnecessarily so,” Pandora says and grins, linking their arms
together. “We already knew your family was against you, didn’t we, love?”

Regulus sighs as they start to leave the class. “We did,” he agrees. “I don’t like fancying
people. It’s disgraceful. It brings out my cancer sun.”

“Finally, I’d say.” Pandora quickly ties her hair in a bun. “I’d worry about your taurus venus.
You should blame that.”

Regulus scowls. “No, I’m not blaming that; I’m repressing it.”

“You can’t repress a planet,” Pandora says, rolling her eyes.

“I can and I will.”

“Careful, your superiority complex is showing.” Pandora elbows him in the ribs, giggling.
“It’s not a bad placement, you just have to be careful with the way you love people.”

“Ugh.” He covers his face with his hands briefly. “Please, let’s not talk about feelings, they
make me queasy.”

“I get that something happened with…uh…” Pandora stops to think. “Your sugar quill.”

Regulus glares at her, shocked, before they both burst into laughter. “Let’s not call him that,”
he says, when they eventually stop laughing. “Ugh, the images you put in my mind.”

Pandora giggles, her cheeks gaining a faint red colour. “What do you want to call him,
then?”

“He’ll be Quaffle, obviously,” Regulus says, waving his hand in the air. “And to answer your
not so questioning-almost question, yes, something happened. Or well. Ugh.”

“That is an awful load of ‘ugh’ for just one morning. I’m starting to think fancying people
actually makes you sick.” While they go downstairs, they squish together; Regulus bends
down a little, so she can whisper in his ear: “you’re lovesick, Reggie.”

“Oi, don’t call me Reggie. I’ll start throwing up for real, and you’ll have to live with the guilt
of ruining my lunch,” he says, while they walk to the Great Hall. “And I’m not in love.”

“What a pity. I think love would look handsome on you.” She unlocks their arms and throws
her back, beginning to gather it. “Will you sit with me? Xeno has Care of Magical
Creatures.”

“Kill me if I ever say no to that question,” Regulus says with a grin. “How’s it going with
him?”
“Oh, it’s going well, thanks!” Pandora grins as she finishes fixing her hair. “He’s nice! We
went on a date and he brought me flowers... and we do a lot of reading races. It’s nice, quiet.
Feels right.”

“Relationship goals,” Regulus chants, trying not to wonder which kinds of books James
reads. “Do you exchange annotated books and everything?”

“We do! His handwriting is really neat, calligraphy, even. I’m sorry he got stuck with my
illegible scribbles,” she doesn’t sound sorry at all. “He doesn’t annotate as much, but his
notes are interesting. Sometimes he mentions how ‘this protagonist’s mind is full of nargles’.
I think it’s his way of saying ‘this kid is barmy’.”

Regulus huffs a laugh.The Great hall is, as usual, filled with people, and yet Regulus can’t
resist five seconds to look for a specific one. James is at Gryffindor table, wearing a cosy red
jumper and talking to Marlene McKinnon and Mary Macdonald; it might be Quidditch.
Regulus sighs: he wants to know.

“Look who’s doting,” Pandora teases, as they sit at the Ravenclaw table. “So, what’s up with
him, uh? How does one make the Great Regulus Black pine?”

“Nothing’s going on, really,” Regulus says, filling a glass with water. “That would be the
problem.”

“I’m going to need you to elaborate on that.” Pandora raises her eyebrow, as she fills her
plate with various vegetables and rice. “Eat your veggies, Reg. Or Ravenclaw will wreck you
at Quidditch.”

“Yes, mum, of course.” He rolls his eyes, but he does put some vegetables on his plate, along
with a couple of chicken wings. “We almost snogged in a broom cupboard.”

“Romantic,” Pandora comments, “why almost? You should snog him.”

Regulus chokes on his water and coughs a couple of times. “Dora, what the hell,” he scowls.
“You can’t just say things like that while I’m drinking!”

“You needed to hear it.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s a bad idea to snog him. I don’t do relationships.”

“I thought your scrubber era had ended.”

“It did end!”

“Look, it’s normal to be scared of relationships at our age, that’s why I said you should snog
him. But since you mentioned relationships, I’m guessing you want more, don’t you? You
really fancy him.”

Regulus sets his cutlery down and sighs. “Bummer,” he mumbles. “Why were you with him
the day of the match?”
Pandora cackles. “Keeping in check my best friend’s future boyfriend, obviously,” she says,
nonchalantly, as Regulus rolls his eyes. “I pretended I wanted to talk to them about
Quidditch, though. They fell for it, obviously.”

James is casual and nonchalant as anyone who’s heard about the pranks he pulls would
expect him to be. Regulus isn’t even sure he’s on the fourth floor to meet him; but James
makes sure to make eye contact when he sees Regulus outside Ancient Runes class, so
Regulus makes up an excuse for Elias and another for Barty and Evan, before he runs after
him.

“I thought you weren’t coming, for a second,” James says with a grin, hands shoved in his
pockets as they enter an empty classroom.

“Where did you disappear to? You were all off, you and your lot. I thought you changed your
mind.”

James tilts his head to the side. “A true gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” he moves a hand in
the air, like he’s presenting something. “But to stop your wondering, I didn’t change my
mind. I was just busy. Did you miss me?”

“Terribly,” Regulus says, drily, dropping his bag on one of the tables. “I don’t know what the
hell we’re doing, honestly.”

“We’re getting to know each other, that’s what we’re doing!” James leans against the
teacher’s desk, arms crossed to his chest.

Regulus sits on the table just in front of him. “Why would you bother?”

He looks up. The lights are shut off. The ceiling has a couple of webs on it. He wonders when
was the last time this class has seen a lesson.

Regulus didn’t want to meet James and start talking about insecurities, hinting at what’s
happened in the past. But he needs to know if he can trust him.

“Well, I bother, because I think you’re really handsome, and really clever, and I really wanted
to kiss you. I still want to kiss you, but I also want to talk to you. So, what’s your favourite
colour?”

Regulus looks at him, making sure he doesn’t gape, though it’s hard to. “I like green, all
shades.”

“My favourites are red and gold.” James says, pushing his glasses on the edge of his nose.

“Full of surprise, aren’t you?” Regulus snickers. James flips him the bird. “Sea or
mountain?”

“Hard one.” James runs a hand through his hair, like he’s making a difficult choice. “Maybe
the sea. I do like mountains though! The ideal is a place where you can have both.”
“I love the sea, but mountains feel safer,” Regulus says, scrunching his nose.

“Why? Afraid of water?” James teases, but his eyes go wide when Regulus glares at him.
“You’re not!”

“I can’t see what’s under my feet, it makes me sick. The beach is a nice place to read, though.
Nicer than woods…”

“Nothing screams peace of soul as much as reading at the beach in the late afternoon…I’m
scared of the dark.” Regulus raises his eyebrow at him. “Shadows become very scary things
when you’re shortsighted! I used to get frightened when I was a kid!”

Regulus’ expression softens: suddenly he can empathise. “When did you start wearing
glasses?”

“I was around eight.” James says as he comes to sit next to Regulus. He presses their thighs
together too. “My mum noticed I struggled to read street signs and anything that was a little
far from my face. I assumed everyone was like me. But before I started wearing glasses,
shadows would get really scary. I freaked out a lot, and it kind of stuck with me, you know? I
panic without glasses.”

Regulus hums, studying James’ face: from the messy hair that falls on his forehead in
strands to the slope of his nose, his deep brown eyes, those beautiful lips of his. Glasses add
an element of reality to his face: like you wouldn’t believe someone this beautiful walks on
earth if there wasn’t an external object to settle his charm into worldliness.

“They suit you,” he states, after a brief silence. “It’s kind of cute, actually.”

“That I wear glasses?”

Regulus nods, reaching out to brush James’s hair out of his face, barely grazing his skin with
the very tip of his fingers. “You look more approachable,” he explains, letting his hand fall
back again. “Besides, gold jewellery looks amazing with your skintone.”

James smiles, genuine and sweet. It shows his crooked canine, which Regulus can’t seem to
let go. It’s such an earthy smile: it nourishes the growing feelings in Regulus’s heart.

“Favourite book. Muggle and not.”

Regulus gives him a funny look, before he looks away. “Ovidio’s Metamorphosis, for muggle
books. For more modern books, though, I’d say The Master and Margarita.” He swings his
legs a little, the soles of his shoes brush the floor as he does. “Not muggle is a hard one. I like
mediaeval esoteric magic books, the Quadripartitum, for example.”

“Esoteric magic,” James repeats, “like what?”

“Esoteric magic is really vast. There used to be communities, but they weren’t accessible to
everybody, and to master this sort of magic is very hard: one would have to go through
rituals, training…you could say it’s this kind of magic that probably gave birth to blood
purity. It’s usually dark magic. Take Pythagoras, for example. That’s an example of esoteric
magic, because it’s a cult, and there’s things you should do before you can access magic. And
Pythagoras is also the one who invented numerology and studied harmonies, so he basically
invented our arithmancy. Some kinds of esoteric magic were even practised by muggles, who
thought they could invoke demons. Some wizards in the historical field believed that they
were actually in the presence of boggarts and saw demons, since most of these people were
really catholic. Religions tend to come into play a lot with this sort of magic.”

“Woah.” James goes, head tilted to the side. “So you like reading about the origins of magic,
I get. Why?”

“Well, it started because I was bored; you know, when Sirius first left for Hogwarts, I used to
read a lot. The library back at home is not appropriate for kids, but I was curious about how
magic truly worked, if there was a theory behind it all. We grow up with it, we tend to take it
for granted and not question it. I think it’s worth being questioned. Have you ever wondered
what’s the principle of magic?” Regulus asks, looking at James intently.

“Well, yeah, of course. Imagination, I’d say.” James scratches his cheek, humming. “Well,
not as a beginning. But it is required for any basic spell making; ideation is the very first step
to magic. If I had to pick a beginning, it would be the soul. The soul as an organic force we
share with the world.”

“Do you know what pneuma is?”

“Halitus vitae.” James nods, with a smile. “A lot of muggle philosophers thought the world
possessed a soul and I…you know, we don’t have any real scientific theory about why magic
exists and how, we just know it does. Over the centuries lots of people made their claims, but
at the end of the day, magic is a form of art, it’s one of the many ways to sculpt and
manipulate matter. I personally believe it’s only possible because there’s something bigger
tying us to earth.”

Regulus can’t help but smile.“I don’t think I’m as interested in beginnings as I was when I
was little. But I think your way of seeing it’s powerful. To manipulate the matter means that
you can still, in some ways, manipulate your reality, and I think that’s powerful. It means
until you’re alive, you can potentially change your life and shape it to your liking.”

“Do you want to change the world through magic?”

Regulus considers it, twisting his family ring around his finger. “Not necessarily the world.
Maybe just my own. It’s very easy to feel caged in my own desires and thoughts,” he says,
but, feeling vulnerable, he quickly asks: “What kind of music do you like? Any favourite
songs or pieces?”

“My favourite song…” James leans back on the table, looking up at the ceiling. “Ah, I don’t
know, you know? I really like anything by Queen, I struggle to pick a favourite though. I like
Love of My Life, but I also like The prophet’s song and ‘39. And Killer Queen! I adore Some
Kinds of love by The Velvet Underground, too. I like the Beatles a lot, and Samuel &
Garfunkel…as for classical, I like Satie, Ravel and Tchaikovsky, as well as Stravinskij.”
“Satie was my favourite growing up. I loved to play his pieces. My mother didn’t like it very
much, but Uncle Alphard appreciated it. We always had similar tastes in books and music,
and he’s the one who taught me how to play.”

“I’d love to listen to you play,” James says, meeting his eyes. “I played the violin, growing
up. Still love to play when I get the chance, but I’m not as good as I was.”

“We could play together if you wanted to,” Regulus says as his lips curl into a smile. “There’s
a music classroom.”

“I know. We played chess there once, remember? You were falling asleep and winning, and I
collected all your pieces.”

“You’re such a sore loser. I could have won in my sleep, by the way. And it was rude to
collect my pieces just before my victory.”

James looks at him, stunned, then he begins to laugh. “I get it, you like to win,” he says,
bumping shoulders with him. “What about you? What music do you like?”

“Well, I recently listened to that band you were talking about, Queen, and I like The Beatles
too. All I know about muggle music is from Elias and Pandora. “As for the pieces, I have
favourites: I like la Gymnopédies, les Danses gothiques, le Piccadilly and la plage de
Méduse. My favourite to play was La Sonatine bureaucratique, though.”

James hums, looking at him through the finger-stained lenses of his glasses. “I didn’t know
you liked muggle music,” he says, straightening up.

“I don’t have vinyls of my own, or a record player.” Regulus shrugs. “Elias told me since the
‘60s muggle music has been reaching very high levels because of the Rock and Roll thing, so
I wanted to give it a try. I think his favourite band is Led Zeppelin? Yeah. He’s got a shirt and
everything. I enjoy what I heard, but it’s not a lot.”

“That has to be fixed!” James proclaims, jumping off the table. He turns to Regulus and
flashes him a charming grin.

“Tell me, how would you fix it?”

James wiggles his eyebrows and sets his hands on Regulus’s knees. “Well, I own a lot of
vinyls. And I happen to have a record player in my room…”

“Oh, yes, that is a very wise choice,” Regulus deadpans. “First: flirting in the quidditch pitch;
then almost snogging in a room cupboard, and next? Possibly, your bed, so my brother can
get a proper heart attack.”

James laughs, hides his hands behind his back like he’s somehow flattered. “It’s not my fault
if you’re lacking musical knowledge, darling. All I’m saying is I can help.”

Regulus rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but he can’t help the smile forming on his lips.
“You just want me in your room, you slag. Do you do this to every pureblood boy you meet?”
James shakes his head. “Only you, darling, only you. And it’s for musical purposes!”

“I don’t believe you. But it sounds like the perfect prank to pull on my brother.”

James puckers his lips and drums his fingers on Regulus’s knee, gazing at him sheepishly.
“You have to admit it’s fun to prank your brother.”

Regulus huffs a laugh and brushes James’s hair out of his face again, letting his hand linger
on the other boy’s jaw. “You only want me to prank my brother.”

“Nooo,” James says, leaning into Regulus’s touch. “I want you and I want to prank your
brother; in this sense, I’m a crazy potioneer, mixing up two explosive substances to get the
results I want, which is Sirius pranked, and you in my room.”

Regulus snorts, then laughs, unable to contain it. “You’re completely mental, Potter. Sirius
would make an entire Shakespearean drama out of it!”

“That’s why it’s fun!” James says, covering Regulus’s hand with his own.

And there again: those tender feelings from five days ago arise as their eyes meet. James licks
his lips, his hand is gently stroking Regulus’s leg, they’re close enough. All it’d take would
be to lean in and close his eyes, and he’d have those lips on his own, he’d know what James
tastes like, if he’s a good kisser…

“Reg?”

“Hm?”

The door opens abruptly, and they break apart right away, blushing like they’ve been caught
fully snogging and getting handsy, and not just gazing at each other and thinking of doing it.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Remus Lupin asks, frowning at the pair of them.

“Pranking Sirius,” James and Regulus both say, reminiscing of their previous joke.

Lupin doesn’t believe them, and Regulus can tell. But he just looks between them
mistrustingly, then meets eyes with James.

“Come on, then. Mary was looking for you.”

James smiles at Regulus apologetically, so Regulus waves at him. “See you when I see you.”

Regulus gives him a small nod, watches them leave and covers his face with both his hands.

11/10/1976, Hogwarts

§41: I feel like I’m splitting on two different people driven by different desires. It’s a
rather scary experience to find yourself needing safety, and still desperately to look for
 the thrill of the unknown, desperately trying to hope for something to happen.

§42: One part of me really wants to be with him. To give up to him and let him bring
some sunshine into my life (and hopefully bring some into his myself). The other part is
terrified of potentially hurting him. I have fun spending time with him, obviously, but I’m
pretty sure J. doesn’t just want fun, and I’m uncertain on what I can give him. After all,
for us, there’s not much other than secrecy. And the war is getting increasingly more
violent everyday, which might easily get between us.

§43: I don’t want to hurt him. He deserves to be happy and live the life he dreams for
himself. The question would be whether or not I can give that to him. What if mother
discovers about him and hurts him? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, knowing that
someone else got hurt because they loved me.

§44: I feel stupid for writing all of this down and then proceed to ignore the risks of the
situation the second he’s near. He’s just so easy to talk to. I feel like nothing can touch
me when I’m beside him, and even if I keep getting proven wrong, that doesn’t stop the
feeling. L. already suspects something and we didn’t even kiss.

§45: It feels inevitable to love him and inevitable to get someone hurt in the process. I
might as well be the protagonist of a Greek tragedy, doomed from the start and not
knowing it.

§46: Maybe I was right to think that the world went wrong the minute I started
breathing.

14 October, 1976

Free period is usually a good occasion to catch up with homework or to nap, but Regulus
doesn’t feel like doing any of that. He wanders around the castle instead. It was a habit of his
during his first and second year, when he was small enough to get through any potential
secret passage he could find. Nowadays he rarely gives in to his desire for adventure. It’s nice
to see the halls when they’re half empty, hearing snippets of lessons that he has already
heard. It makes him feel like he’s walking in the halls of his childhood, a visitor of his own
mind.

That, of course, doesn’t last long, because James Potter enters the same hallway, messy hair
and untidy uniform, with parchment in his hands.

“Potter,” he calls, raising an eyebrow. “Are you skiving off?”

“Not quite,” James says slowly, lowering the parchment. “Got free period. Are you skiving
off?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “No, I’m not. It's a free period for me as well.”

“Jammy!” James exclaims, cheerfully. “Let’s find an empty classroom, then.”

Regulus hums, glancing at James’ parchment. “What’s that?”

“A secret.” He hugs it to his chest, like a child would do with their favourite toy. Regulus
looks at it quizzically, wondering why on earth James would be so attached to a piece of
parchment. “Won’t tell you what it is until you start calling me by my name.”

“I’ll discover, eventually,” he says. “Is it a Zonko's product? Evan likes those.”

“Oh, no, it wouldn’t be nearly as dangerous. This is more powerful than Zonko’s product, and
much harder to figure out,” James says with a grin. “But I only tell this piece of information
to people taller than 170cm.”

“That’s just discriminatory towards short people,” Regulus says, frowning. “I’ll kick your
shins until you’re shorter than me.”

“Violence is not the answer to your questions, Regulus.”

Regulus scowls. “Did Lupin really believe us?”

“No.” James’ expression darkens slightly. “I…umh, I haven’t told them that I like blokes too.
I tried to convince him that we’re on semi-friendly terms, but I don’t think he truly believed
me, you know? I think he suspects I might be…queer.”

“I see. I don’t think Lupin will mind.”

“That I like blokes?” Regulus nods, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I don’t think he’d
mind either. It’s just…I don’t know how to tell them. It’s too new. I can’t lie to Sirius, you
know? I’ll crumble if he asks the right question, that’s what scares me. And if I come out
right now, Moony will definitely know that…” He gestures between them. “Very frustrating
situation, this is.”

“At least it wasn’t Sirius.” Regulus says, looking at the windows. He can see the forbidden
forest. It’s a sight that always calmed him down. During his first year, he used to dream about
meeting the centaurs a lot, and they would tell him all sorts of prophecies. “Do you think
Lupin will keep it a secret?”

“You need to stop calling your brother’s best friends by their surname,” James says. “Moony
told us you’re not rude to him when you patrol together, I thought you’d be friends or
something!”

“So…he’ll keep it a secret?” Regulus asks, stopping in front of a classroom. The paper at the
entrance says:

Class occupied on: Monday (3pm-5pm), Tuesday (9am-11am) and Friday (10am-12pm).

“It’s our lucky day!” James says, as they enter. “Yes, he’ll keep the secret, I think.”

“It’s not like he caught us snogging, anyway.” He says, sitting on the first table available.
James sits next to him. “No, but you kind of have the reputation of a proper arsehole and
heartbreaker, and Moony thinks I should be handled with care, so there’s that. You don’t look
like the type of person to just be kind to people, least of all me…”

“I can be kind,” Regulus retorts, feeling a little offended. “And what does ‘least of all me’
mean?”

“Well, you hated me.” James pouts adorably, meeting his eyes.

Regulus sighs, shaking his head. “I was a stupid kid, James. I needed someone to blame for
my brother leaving me behind and you were there. I know better now.”

“So you don’t hate me?”

“That’s rather obvious, isn’t it?” Regulus asks, though he doesn’t move his gaze from his
hands. “You’re still infuriating though.”

James laughs softly, wrapping his arm around Regulus’ shoulders. “And you’re still very
cute.” He says, nuzzling at his cheek. Shivers go down his spine when he feels James’ breath
on his jaw.

“Fuck off, I’m not cute.” He punches James’ knee lightly.

“Pretty, then?” James tries again.

“I changed my mind, I do hate you.” Regulus says, slippin off James’ one armed hug. He
grabs the chalk from the teacher’s desk and points at the blackboard. “Let’s draw
something.”

“What do you want to draw?” James asks, jumping off the table and grabbing another piece
of chalk.

“I don’t know, you’re the artist between us.”

James cackles. “Let’s draw a stag!”

“The beetle? Didn’t strike me as an insect lover, Potter,” Regulus says, giving him a look.

“No, not the beetle, the adult male deer!” James says, as he starts to draw antlers on the
blackboard.

“I don’t know how to draw that.” He says, so he just sits on the teacher’s desk, leaving the
chalk aside to watch James as he draws.

“I’m taking muggle studies, and our teacher makes us do muggle art sometimes.” James
starts telling him, as he sketches the silhouette of the stag’s body. “I used to draw a lot as a
kid, but I sort of…er…lost the habit, once I was at Hogwarts. When I started doing muggle
studies, I didn’t think it would be the reason why I’d start drawing again, but it was. I tried
painting too, but I got paint everywhere, so I settled on pen drawings.” That explains why his
hand was so light on the first strokes, and why he doesn’t exactly sketch, but rather outlines
whatever he’s drawing. Regulus had already noticed in the library, but he’s noticing it even
more now, as James draws the hoofs of the animal. “Sometimes I use charcoal pencils, too. I
like the look, but it’s a real struggle. Pen are comfier.”

“Why not pencils?” Regulus asks, watching James move to draw the eyes of the animal.

“Pencils easily make a mess. For me, at least. Pen ink dries much faster, so I don’t get ink all
over my hands or my paper. Quill ink is terrible, though.” He steps back from the blackboard,
taking a look at his piece, before he starts detailing the snout. “One time, I snogged a girl
after Muggle Studies, and everyone knew because she had ink on her shirt! It was a little
embarrassing, to be honest. I spent two months learning how to not get ink all over my hands,
after that.”

Regulus laughs, throwing his head back. It’s too funny to even be jealous of that girl. “I wish
I saw it, so I could make fun of you.”

“You’re terrible,” James says, but he’s laughing too.

“Oh, I am, thanks for acknowledging that.” Regulus smiles, charmingly. “Seems like you get
caught quite often, for such a clever prankster.”

“Oh, shut it. It happened twice.” James rolls his eyes. “No, wait, it…You know what, I’m not
going to tell you.”

“You’re not going to tell me, Potter? Why so?” Regulus asks, teasingly.

James abandons his chalk and his drawing all together, turning to look at him. “Didn’t I say
something about calling me Potter?”

Regulus leans back on the desk, resting his weight on his elbows. “Did you, now? I don’t
remember.”

“Don’t play dumb, now, we both know you aren’t.” James says, walking towards him.

He looks stunning in the midday light, the way the sun hits his skin and the half-serious look
he has. Regulus wants to paint him in his own memories, and visit his picture like a museum.

“I made a promise, didn’t I?”

“And I bet you keep your promises, don’t you?” Regulus smirks, as if he’s daring James to
get closer.

“Wouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t.”

James stops in front of the desk, not quite between Regulus’s knees, but almost, his hands on
each end of the table. Regulus is itching to touch him: itching to get his hands in his hair and
snog him silly.

“You’re no gentleman,” Regulus says, straightening up and grabbing James’ tie.

“In my defence, you make it really hard to be a gentleman.” James mumbles, as Regulus
lightly tugs at James’ tie to bring him closer.

Maybe they’re skipping a few steps. It doesn’t make it any less endearing. What matters now
is that James is close again and his lips are still pretty and Regulus does know a few more
things about him. Still not enough, because Regulus likes details, but it’s not important, is it?
He read the first few chapters of the book and he’s liking it so far. Might as well start
showing that he does.

Regulus hums, as James’ hands lightly touch his thighs, making him shiver, before they get to
his sides. Regulus’ lips ghost his cheek, before he kisses it lightly, and moves slightly,
pressing his lips on James’ jaw, before he whispers: “Don’t you want me to call you by your
name?”

“I don’t just want it.” James replies, as Regulus slides his free hand in his hair. “I crave it.”

“You should show me how much.”

James brings him closer, hands skimming through his back before going back to squeeze his
side. This time, he can actually feel James’ lips brush against his own, before someone tries
to open the door. The sounds startles them, and James pulls away abruptly. Regulus misses
him immediately. A moment later, a kid, probably a first year, opens the door.

“Uh…sorry…wrong classroom.” She says, blushing as she looks at them, before she runs
away.

Regulus breathes heavily, before lying on the desk. “It’s a sign of the universe.”

“Fuck the universe.” James says, before he groans in frustration.

The universe must be offended, clearly, because the bell rings, and James has class with
professor McGonagall.

He should be happy.

James is a nice person, his heart is in all the right places, and he doesn’t bore Regulus to
death, but actively challenges him to explore new things, to get out of his comfort zone.
There’s light-hearted teasing, but also clear affection and desire to get to know each other, to
listen.

He should be happy, but he can’t stop thinking about all the things that could go wrong.

14/10/1976, Hogwarts

§47: I’m so bloody stupid. I don’t know what I’m doing. I swear, I don’t. I don’t even
know how to love, do I? What do people who are in love do? I don’t know anything
about it. I get it, we’ve got feelings for each other. What are we supposed to do with it?
Snog it out? Until he realises I’m fucked up and he doesn’t want me anymore? I already
know how that goes.

§48: I’d talk about it with someone but I’m not ready to be this vulnerable, I’m not
ready to know that people expect me to be an awful lover because of my parents.
Because this is what it is, isn’t it? He knows exactly what to do, and I don’t. My parents
didn’t teach me love, acceptance nor what to do with them.

§49: What does he even want from me? We can’t even go on dates. We’d have to hide
and it’ll make him miserable, I know it will. And goodness’ sake, I don’t want to be the
reason why J. is miserable. I just want him to be happy, but I don’t know how to keep
him happy. I can kiss him, if he wants me to. I’m good at that. But what else?
Relationships scare me. I don't know anything about relationships. Sure, I’ve read
books, but books are books, reality is reality.

§50: I’ve never wanted someone like this. Not even B…I don’t want to be childish and
throw a fit because I can’t have him, but I’m drawn to him. It’s almost as if I’m a moth
and he’s the brightest light I’ve ever seen. When I’m with him everything seems so easy,
but the moment we’re not together I start thinking about everything I did, and how I
should not be doing any of it.
 First kisses & Detention
Chapter Notes

CWs: queer themes and internalised homophobia; outing (safety is not compromised);
violence (none graphic).

15 October, 1975

Before they became friends, it had never occurred to Regulus how little Elias was willing to
share with the world. Sure he was confident and smug in a way that was almost charming,
and that made him look frank and gregarious, but he came to realise that Elias, much like
him, was an actor. When they were alone, he rarely spoke, though he talked a lot through his
expression, through his body. He had some sort of mysterious aura to him that made Regulus
want to dig his hands into his ribs and draw out information.

Another thing he’d noticed was that Elias often had his hands occupied with something: a
book, a pencil—which he usually had tucked behind his ear, if he didn’t carry it in his hands
—his guitar, his wand. He was always fidgeting with something as he observed the world in
front of him unravel.

Regulus didn’t completely understand why he would stay back and observe, but it felt
intrusive to ask why his eyebrows were always furrowed or why he constantly looked so
pensive. It felt unnatural for a kid to be so withdrawn, especially someone who could be so
loud. It reminded Regulus of the obstinate silence that would catch Sirius during the summer,
and he didn’t like it one bit.

By the start of their fourth year, despite being friends for months, Elias is still a mystery.
Regulus often wonders if he’s so quiet around his friend Jules, too. He rarely sees him
hanging out with other people, so he assumes Jules and Regulus are his only friends, though
it feels wrong to come to that conclusion.

It is a day in the middle of October, still warm enough to avoid closed spaces, thus they are
hanging out in the Astronomy Tower. Elias has been oddly elusive for days, even for him,
barely talking when consulted. They are side by side, swinging their feet over the ledge.

“Do you like snogging girls, Reg?” Elias asks, eyes focused on the clear sky.

Regulus considers it, confused on why Elias would ask such a thing: he’s a lad, and lads
enjoy kissing girls, according to all men in his life, so the logical conclusion he has come to
is that every man likes women, and the so-called queers don’t exist in the wizarding world, as
they are an invention of the muggles (he heard his father say that, once).
Kissing girls feels like an obligation to maintain his status; girls want to kiss him, therefore,
he shouldn’t oppose, because that would be weird, right? He doesn’t particularly crave it, and
he finds himself getting bored of it pretty quickly. There is always a sensation of wrongness
that lingers, even after the kisses stop. He blames it on being uncomfortable being touched,
though that is another lie, as he has never felt like that with Barty, Evan, or Elias touching
him.

“It’s okay, I guess,” he says as rubs his hand on the back of his neck. “It's a bit
uncomfortable, to be honest.”

“Do you think kissing a bloke could feel better?”

Regulus blinks at him. The change of verb, in this moment, feels significant to him. With
girls, it’s snogging; with blokes, it's kissing. He has never thought about kissing a bloke
before, didn’t know it was an option. Mother has always said he should have a wife , not a
husband.

He trusts that Elias can’t possibly be queer, because he is a wizard, a brilliant one, and it
would make no sense for him to conform to muggle traditions.

“I don’t know if we can kiss blokes, Elias,” he replied, carefully, licking his lips. “We’re
supposed to have wives, not husbands. Besides, only muggles can be queer.”

“Did your mother tell you that?” Elias gives him a look, before Regulus nods—it doesn’t
really make a difference if it is mother or father that utter the words. “I don’t really care about
what we’re supposed to do. Kissing girls makes me uneasy.”

Regulus blushes. He thinks about it some more, finding out his opinion on kissing girls isn’t
much different, in the end. He always feels quite ill after it, and guilty, though he doesn’t
understand why those sensations emerge. “How would kissing blokes be better?”

Elias shrugs. “They’re not girls.” There is a faint blush on his cheeks. “My dad says it’s
wrong for blokes to kiss blokes, but what does a man have to do, when he doesn’t like kissing
women?”

Regulus feels sad, for some reason. Maybe it is because Elias looks sad. He wishes Pandora
was there; she is the best at cheering people up.

“I didn’t know there were men who wanted to kiss men, in our world,” Regulus says, slowly.
Breathing becomes hard, though he can’t pinpoint why. “You…we can’t have this
conversation! It’s putting things in my mind and mother will be mad at me if she finds out!”

Elias gives him a heavyhearted look. Seeing Elias like this is new, and it pains him
profoundly.“I’m sorry,” he says, simply.

“No,” Regulus replies, immediately. “I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. Can we change the
subject? It’s making me jittery.”
Two months later, Regulus hasn’t stopped thinking about the questions Elias has asked him.
He keeps snogging girls, more often than before, trying desperately to tell himself that it feels
good and kissing girls is amazing, except it isn’t. He is starting to feel miserable. Getting in a
relationship with Vivienne is possibly the worst idea that could have come to his mind, and
the relationship still exists.

“Kissing girls makes me melancholic,” Regulus says, on one Saturday afternoon, laying next
to Elias.

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Elias stares at the ceiling, eyes lost in the white ceiling, like he’s
figuring out a particularly difficult translation of ancient runes.

“I think we should kiss,” Regulus says, suddenly, sitting up. “To see if kissing blokes is
better.”

Elias gives him a long look. “I’m down with it. But only if you swear it’s not going to ruin
our friendship,” he says, offering his pinky.

“What’s with the pinky?” Regulus frowns, hesitating.

“It’s a pinky promise, you can’t break it if you shake my pinky. Let’s promise that it’s not
going to change anything.” Elias sits up as well, looking him in the eye.

Regulus shakes his pinky with his, though he thinks it’s a weird practice. “I swear everything
will stay the same.”

“Alright.”

Elias reaches out, almost touching Regulus's cheek, but he draws his hand back, uncertain.
His eyebrows crease and he tilts his head to the side. Conflicted would be a good word to
describe the way he looks right now; though it wouldn’t be wrong to assume he’s simply
hesitating or dilly-dallying.

“You can touch me,” Regulus says, surprised to hear how desirous he sounds.

Elias nods. “Okay,” he murmurs, before cupping Regulus's cheek, seemingly more confident
now. He leans forward, but he doesn’t kiss him yet. “Close your eyes, Reg.”

He does as instructed; his lips meet Elias's just a few seconds later. Something warm pools in
his belly, as he registers Elias's soft, plump lips moving against his ever-so-slightly. He
breathes sharply as he shivers, and Elias moves back.

“Bad?” he asks, unsure. Regulus shakes his head as he comes closer to Elias, hand on his
shoulders.

“More,” he demands, though he’s the one who moves in to kiss him again.

It is fun, if a bit awkward. He has to constantly tell himself that it isn't Elias that he’s kissing,
or the whole thing turns uncomfortable, but besides that, it is quite pleasant.
After that one snogging session, they decide not to kiss again; they don’t fancy each other,
and it is pathetic to cling to each other just because no one else is around. Nevertheless, it is
comforting to know he’s not alone in whatever he’s feeling.

It only takes him a couple of weeks to make his own life a mess again through a realisation:
the one he wants to kiss is, in fact, Barty.

17 October, 1976

They meet in the same empty classroom they visited a couple of days ago. The stag has been
promptly erased from the blackboard, which is a pity: it was a very beautiful drawing, though
unfinished. There hasn’t been an agreement on where to meet or when. They just keep
coming to the same places, always at night. He’s getting used to the fact that James looks
stunning even under the faint light of a candle, which Regulus brings, since they can’t turn
the lights on and James is scared of the dark. He likes the way James smiles when he watches
him light the first candle he brought, so he keeps bringing them.

James gets there earlier than usual. When Regulus arrives, he finds James sitting on the
teacher’s desk, legs crossed and a book placed on them, his wand pointed towards the pages,
lightened up by lumos. Two steaming cups stand next to him.

“Hey,” Regulus says, smiling softly.

James lifts his eyes from the book and he smiles so spontaneously Regulus feels his heart
tripping over his ribs to jump out and throw itself into James's hands. Crazy. “Hullo.”

He sits next to James and takes a candle from his pocket, lighting it and putting it on one end
of the desk. “What are you reading?”

“The seventh year transfiguration textbook,” James says, passing him one of the mugs. He
recognizes the smell right away and smiles, taking a sip. “Minnie said I could teach
transfiguration when I’m older, if I wanted to.”

Regulus scoffs at the thought of James Potter, resident marauder, teaching, but when he
thinks more about it, he can picture it. “Do you want to teach? I reckon you’d be a great
teacher.”

“Arh Arh,” James goes, setting his book aside and grabbing his own mug.

“I actually mean it.” Regulus says, watching James as he takes a sip. “You’d be the cool
teacher everyone adores.”

James blinks at him. “Do you adore me?”

Regulus scowls at him. “You’re fishing for compliments.” he says, though he does adore
James a little. It’s impossible not to, when he has such a sweet smile and a charming aura,
and so many secrets, so many things to discover. A library, full of books he’s never even
heard of before, with big shelves that sunrays caress: that’s James Potter.

James giggles, bumping shoulders with him. “I want to be an auror.”

Regulus lets that sink in, sipping his chamomile while he thinks about it. “That’s a rather
dangerous job.”

“Yeah,” James says, looking in front of him. “But it helps people, and that’s what I want to
do.”

Regulus smiles softly at him, but resists the urge to run his hand through James's curls. “It
suits you.”

“Yeah?” James asks, his voice small. “You mean it?”

“I do.” Regulus smiles. “You can always be a teacher when you’re thirty and old.”

James laughs, his shoulders shaking as he does. “Thirty isn’t old, Reg.”

Regulus snorts. “Seems old to me.” But, to be fair, even twenty feels old to him.

“If thirty is old, what does that make of Dumbledore?” James asks, before he takes a long sip
from his mug.

“Ancient,” Regulus replies, as if it’s obvious. “He probably was there when it was discovered
that earth rotates around the sun.”

James snorts, before he actually starts laughing. “I can’t wait until you are thirty and I can
remind you that fifteen-year-old you thought thirty was old.”

“You’re insufferable,” Regulus says, rolling his eyes. “Wait, do you want me in your life
when you’re thirty?”

James nods, smiling. “I want to see if you can become grumpier than you already are.”

“Fuck off, I’m not grumpy, you absolute unit.” Regulus pouts, slapping James's knee lightly,
which is just an excuse to leave his hand there. “That’s fifteen years from now, Potter. A
really long time.”

James hums, eyes on Regulus's hand, which still rests on his knee. “It is a long time, but I
only start things I intend to keep for the long term. It’s no use, otherwise.”

“That’s…” Regulus tries to imagine it, but he finds out it’s difficult to, given he doesn’t even
know what kind of relationship they have, and he can’t bring himself to believe James would
want to keep him around, after getting to know him. “What if I disappoint you?”

James puts his hand over Regulus's. “I think that can happen with anyone. You don’t like
doing things half-arsed, though, so I don’t think you’ll ever disappoint me.”
“That’s some high standards you’re setting.” Regulus says, though the fact that James thinks
highly of him makes his chest feel warm, like summer blooming in his lungs and ribcage.

“You set high standards for yourself, it would be inappropriate for me to set the bar lower,
because I believe you can achieve your dreams,” James says, squeezing his hand. “Mr. Great
Ambitions.”

Regulus laughs, turning to look at James and finding the boy looking at him with fondness.
“You’re so optimistic,” he says, crowding closer and resting his head against James's
shoulder. “What if my parents don’t let me?”

“If that was enough to stop you, it would have stopped you by now,” James says, kissing the
top of his head. Regulus feels hot all over. “I believe you already chose the better path, and
evil people have nothing but deserts inside of them, so they’ll never be able to stop you.”

“You shouldn’t think so highly of me, James,” Regulus says, a bit ashamed of how small his
voice sounds. “I don’t know if I can live up to that.”

“You’re brilliant, Reg,” James says, squeezing his hand again. “You said you’re driven by
ambition and I believe you. I don’t think your parents or anyone else can take that from you.
You’re a lot stronger than you think you are, that’s why I think highly of you.”

“I feel weak sometimes,” he confesses. His mouth feels dry when he says that. “Like I’m
bound to break.”

James lets go of his hand, just to wrap his arm around his shoulders. “That just means you’re
human. I feel like that too, sometimes. That’s when our loved ones come in.”

Regulus lifts his head, finding James's kind eyes on him. “Yeah?”

“I promise,” James kisses his forehead. “If you felt strong all the time, then you wouldn’t be
able to know when you’re weak or in danger, and that’s what makes someone weak.”

Regulus nods and offers James a small smile. “That’s a jolly nice thing to say.”

“The truth can be nice sometimes,” James admits, smiling as well.

Regulus lowers his gaze. “See? You’d be a perfect teacher, you can reassure people. Kids
would love you.”

James laughs, his hand carefully caressing Regulus's hair. “You’d be a good teacher too. A bit
scary, but clever kids would look up to you and think they’d wanna be you.”

“What would I teach?” Regulus asks, meeting James's gaze.

“Potions.” James has a little smile on his lips, a dreamy one, in Regulus’s eyes. “So you’d be
the head of Slytherin, and I’d be the head of Gryffindor. And Minnie would be the
headmaster, going mad because a Black and a Potter managed to become teachers, which
means mischief entered in education.”
Regulus laughs, resting his forehead against James's and closing his eyes. “You’d tell kids
you’re Godric Gryffindor, wouldn’t you?”

“It’d just be so much fun!” James protests, though Regulus can hear the smile in his voice.
“I’d tell them you’re Salazar Slytherin and you only pretend to hate me because you’re
actually really in love with me.”

“My brother would go insane,” Regulus says, causing James to giggle. “He’d teach Charms.
He has always been good at charms.”

James hums, as Regulus opens his eyes and places a kiss on the top of his nose, making him
smile. “Do you like charms?”

“It’s my favourite subject.” James's eyes go wide, then he smiles. “You thought it was
potions?”

“I thought it was DADA,” James says, his fingertips brushing Regulus's cheekbones.
“Because you like Dark Arts, but you don’t like them like that, you know?”

Regulus hums, leaning into James's touch. “I think they’re as interesting as they are
revolting,” he says, not leaving James's eyes. “It’s horrible to devote your soul to something
that will inevitably butcher it.”

“I’m sensing a but.”

“But I don't think they teach us enough.” He looks away, now, straightening up, though he
misses James's gentle touch. “You don’t teach people to defend themselves by hiding what
dark magic actually looks like, or skipping over the origins of purism in History of Magic,
hiding all the fucked up shit wizards and witches did. You teach people to defend themselves
by telling them everything they need to know, and you prevent them from using that
knowledge in a bad way by teaching them the consequences of one’s actions and respect for
one another,” he says, looking at the tip of his shoes. “This school doesn’t teach us enough,
and it is unbelievably concerning that with a war going on the desk of DADA keeps
changing. That should be the one subject everyone is good at!”

James nods. “I think our programs are outdated, too.” he says, uncrossing his legs. “We don’t
learn anything about muggle history and culture unless we want to, and those classes barely
scratch the surface, a lot of it has to be done on your own. And the fact that we’re not taught
anything about sex and our bodies is also…concerning. The girls had to go ask older girls
what to do with their periods. I remember Marley coming into our room crying because her
period happened to arrive during Care of Magical Creatures and people made fun of her.”

“Merlin.” Regulus remembers hearing it from Avery, though he never laughed at her for it,
because Pandora had gotten her period during her second year and lamented a lot of pain and,
for reasons Regulus couldn’t understand, shame.

“Yeah, Sirius punched Avery for that.” James swings his legs. “But the point is that we’re
human people with human bodies before being wizards and witches. Muggles are much more
ahead of us in this matter, sexual liberation started in 1960s, people at least talk about it. I
don’t mean just…you know, sex education for sex purposes, but even just to know how your
body works, that would be something.”

“Maybe we should start our own revolution.” Regulus says, snapping his head up. “Starting a
sex education club.”

James looks intrigued. “You’d do that?”

Regulus shrugs. “I think it’s important. Sirius and I are lucky to be born male, I doubt our
mother would have bothered to explain to us what periods were.”

James grimaces. “No, she sounds like she would have been horrible about it,” he says,
lowering his gaze. “I always wanted a little sister.”

“Really?” Regulus looks at him, eager to know more. Only children always have an
interesting view of sibling dynamics.

“I like the idea of being someone’s older brother,” James says, fiddling with his hands. “I was
a very lonely kid, before Hogwarts, so I really craved the idea of someone to share my space
with, or to teach things to. I was very happy when Elias and Jules arrived and they were
like… these two kids, with completely opposite personalities and backgrounds. Frank and I
immediately started treating them like they were our hidden gems. Elias is still really close
with Frank and Alice. You should see him!”

“I did see him,” Regulus says, tilting his head to the side. “When I came to watch your
practice with Dorcas, I saw the way Longbottom and Elias treat each other. I didn’t know he
was close with Prewett, too.”

“He is. Alice says that if she ever has a kid, Elias will be their godfather, that’s how close
they are. Like me and Sirius.”

Regulus hums. He has never really thought about kids, or picking godparents. “Do you want
kids?”

James scratches his cheek. “I’m not sure. I love kids, but you know, I’m still a kid myself,
and with the war going on…I don’t know. Maybe when I’m thirty and old. Do you want
kids?”

“No,” Regulus says, immediately. “I’d be an awful father. But Pandora wants kids, so I’ll be
happy to be their uncle.”

James snorts. “Sirius says the exact same thing.”

He should’ve bet on that one, really, because he’s sure that their parents' awful parenting
stuck with Regulus and Sirius a lot more than any of them is willing to admit. It’s not like
Regulus wouldn’t try and be a great father, because he would: If he ever has a kid, his or not,
he’d try to make sure he doesn’t make his parents’ mistakes. But he knows there are many
ways to fuck up a kid, and he doesn’t want to discover what he might do.
“You said you were a lonely kid,” he says, frowning. It doesn’t suit the image he has of
James, the same James that gives affection and love so freely and selflessly to all of his
friends, who’s always touching somebody, smiling at somebody, being the embodiment of the
perfect friend everyone would want.

“I was,” James sighs, like the topic tires him out.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Regulus says, quickly, wishing he could go back and avoid
asking. Damn him and his insatiable curiosity.

“No, I…” James shakes his head. “I have never told anyone about it.”

The revelation takes Regulus by surprise. “Not even Sirius?”

“He knows a little,” James says, quietly. He doesn’t look at Regulus. “There are worse things
than a lonely childhood.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt you,” Regulus says, firmly. “You compare yourself to others
an awful lot, you know?”

James laughs, but it lacks joy, and it makes Regulus's heart shrink. “I know.”

Regulus takes his hand. “You can talk to me about it.”

James looks at him, then he shakes his head. “You already have your problems.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, squeezing his hand. “My problems do not erase yours, and I want to
know you,” he says, determined. “I want to know every part of you, even the ones that hurt
and the ones you hide.”

James considers it and his gaze moves to their hands. “You can,” he murmurs, lacing their
fingers together. “But only if you let me know you, too.”

“Deal,” Regulus says, carefully, squeezing his hand. “It’s worth it, knowing you.”

James blinks at him, surprised. “What?”

“You heard me. I don’t know why you think it’s not, but it is. So stop thinking it’s not.”
Regulus knows he sounds childish, but he doesn’t know how to say it in a more articulate,
compassionate way.

James breathes in sharply, letting go of Regulus's hand to cover his face with his own.
“You’re a very intense person. And it’s affecting my lung capacity.”

Regulus rolls his eyes and jumps off of the desk, coming to face James. “Look at me?”

James shakes his head. “I’ll start crying.”

“I already saw you crying, didn’t I?” Regulus says, softly. “Pandora always says it’s okay to
cry.”
“Do you believe her?” James asks, his voice small.

“Sometimes,” Regulus admits, resting his hand on James's knee. “She also says hugs have a
calming effect, if you want to give it a go to that.”

James's hands slip away from his face, before he hops off the desk and pulls Regulus into a
tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispers, nuzzling at his cheek. “You’re so precious.”

That takes him by surprise, but it also makes him hug James tighter, hands firmly on his
strong back, trying to be as reassuring as possible. James's cologne has a light ambrosial
scent that Regulus tries to memorise as he holds the other boy close. “You’re precious too.”

“You smell good,” James adds, his lips brushing Regulus's neck and making him shiver. “So
good.”

He feels the air around them thicken, making his lungs tight, making it hard to breathe.
“James,” he calls, his hands sliding on James's chest.The other boy distances himself slightly,
his hands lingering on Regulus's side.

“Regulus.” He sounds breathless— tender. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

“Do it,” he replies, his fingers tracing lines on James's collarbone, which Regulus can only
feel through his hoodie. “Or do you want me to do it?”

James looks conflicted, concern drawing lines between his eyebrows. “I’m…” He stops, like
getting the words out is a painful process. “Fuck, I just…I can’t believe you’d let me kiss
you.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“No one I fancied ever fancied me back,” James looks down. “I don’t get why you would.
And I’m scared you’ll run away as soon as I get close, and I really don’t want you to do that
because…because you’re so precious and so dear to me, and I used to detest autumn, but
you’re making it lovely.”

Regulus finds himself a little speechless, and a little comforted that he’s not the only one
who’s afraid of the feelings he’s experiencing. “I won’t run away,” he says. “I’ll stay, I
promise. I…I fancy you, too.”

James nods. They look at each other for a moment, before James cups his face with his hands
and kisses him. Regulus stumbles backwards, sliding his hands on James's side as he sucks
his lower lip into his mouth. There’s something so desperate about it, like they’ve been
waiting for this to happen since the moment they met. James kisses him, like he’s trying to
drown in it, wants to submerge his soul into the feeling. He nips at his lips as if air won’t
reach his lungs unless there’s more contact.

And perhaps Regulus should find it overwhelming instead of devastatingly beautiful. He has
never been kissed like this, but he’s eager, so eager, he keeps him as close as he can, and
when they part ways, panting, he moves to kiss his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his lips.
“Reg,” James calls, before bringing their lips together once again, tugging slightly at
Regulus's hair and drawing a small noise out of him. “Fuck.”

Regulus huffs a laugh, presses his fingers against the skin on James's sides. “Like it?”

“I won’t think about anything but this for years,” James says, kissing him again, just a light
peck. “I’ve been wanting this for ages.”

“Umh?” Regulus goes, as he kisses James right under the ear, taking pride in the way he
shivers, the way he holds him just slightly tighter every time Regulus kisses him.

“I’ve liked you for quite a bit,” James clarifies, wrapping his arms around Regulus's middle
as he looks intently at him. “Since April, I think.”

“But…” Regulus frowns, tilting his head to the side.

“I know, I know, I was in denial. Like really, really in denial. I tried to convince myself I still
liked Lily, but with the summer approaching it had become increasingly obvious that I was
interested in you. I don’t even know why, I just…I kept seeing you around and thinking I
wanted to listen to you talk, and make you laugh, and it made me mad because all I knew
about you was that you were clever and you were obsessed with Quidditch.”

Regulus is unable to keep himself from smiling. “I don’t think you could date someone who
doesn’t like Quidditch, James. You breathe Quidditch.”

James laughs, stealing another kiss, this time slow and sweet. “I guess I do, don’t I? The
Quidditch rivalry just makes it better.”

“I’d love to kick your arse on the pitch and kiss you right after,” Regulus says, going for
another kiss, obsessed with the way James's lips taste and the way he looks gobsmacked
everytime they part, like every kiss they share makes him question his existence and gives
him answers all together.

“What.”

Regulus is quick to grab James's wand from the pocket of his jeans and point it towards the
voice. Then he realises it is Filch who is looking at them, a hint of disgust on his face.

The world goes still for a moment, Regulus's ears start to ring. He holds the wand tighter, a
part of him hopes it’ll accidentally shoot a memory charm, but nothing comes out of it.
Regulus finds it extremely frustrating, he wants to cry over it, because it had been a nice
evening, with such nice moments, and it was supposed to be special, to stay there, only for
them.

“Reg,” James's voice calls out, thin and small and wrong. “Lower that wand. We’ve got to go
with him, he’s going to call…”

“Fuck.” He gives James his wand back, swallowing back the tears that gather in his eyes, and
they follow Filch towards his office.
Professor McGonagall and Professor Slughorn weren’t happy to be woken up by Filch in the
middle of the night, just to find out that two students were using an empty classroom to make
out. Regulus feels sick as he listens to Flinch telling everything to the professors, and James
looks tense, but furious. Regulus’ head keeps spinning, and there’s growing nausea in the pit
of his stomach, making him feel weak, frail.

“I hope you know it was wrong to out us.” He hears James hiss towards Filch.

“You were breaking the rules, Potter, for very inappropriate activities.”

“Two wrongs don’t make one right.”

“Mr. Potter, I need you to calm down.” Professor McGonagall says, her tone severe as usual.
“Mr. Black?” Regulus’ head snaps up, meeting the professor's gaze. He expected her to look
as severe as she sounded, but she looks kind, compassionate. “Good to have your attention.”

Regulus mumbles an apology.

“Mr. Black, you’re a prefect.” Professor Slughorn says. “You of all people should know and
respect the curfew. You were assigned this role to set an example.”

“Yes, sir.” Regulus says, curling his hands into fists. “Can you not tell my parents?” He
mumbles out, before he can stop himself. Slughorn gives him a confused look. “Just…lie to
them or something, please. Say I was with a girl, I don’t know. My parents can’t know about
this, professor. They’ll get me out of school.”

The professors exchange a look, before professor Slughorn nods. “Of course, young man,
that won’t be an issue.”

“Thank you.” Regulus says, feeling relief wash over him like a cold shower.

“Mr. Potter…” Professor McGonagall calls, fixing a couple of parchment rolls on Filch’s
table.

“My parents don’t know about me.” James says, quickly. “I want to be the one to tell them.”

Her gaze softens, as she nods. “Very well, then. We’ll keep the letters to your parents as
vague as possible. But this sort of behaviour can’t go unnoticed.” Regulus lowers his gaze.
“We’ll take 20 points from each of you, and you’ll serve detention with mr. Filch for a
week.”

They’re left alone to come back to their dorms, which Regulus finds tactful, even if rage boils
in his veins. James seems to be just as upset, and they don’t really talk until they reach the
Gryffindor Tower.

“Reg?” James calls, his fingertips skimming through his wrist.

“I’m sorry.” He says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, I’m…so mad right now.”
“I know.” James comes closer and Regulus wraps his arms around him, burying his face
against his neck. He doesn’t cry, though he wants to, he just holds James until they greet each
other goodnight.

When he comes back to his room, he feels like his bones have been frozen over. He pads his
way into the bathroom and changes into his warmest pyjamas, before he goes to bed and
opens his diary. His handwriting on the paper makes him wonder. Sometimes it is hard to
write in here just as much as it is hard to speak on what hurts, what doesn’t and everything in
between. He thinks the ink drying on the paper is similar to pain and shame drying on his
skin and carving their way to his bones. He knows he’s lucky, he knows his secret is safe with
two professors who really have no interest in hurting him. But he’s still conscious that he
should be more careful, and maybe start to think twice before he does reckless things like
inviting people into his life like it's a wonderland and not the site of the terrible incident his
family has always been.

At times like this, he misses Sirius. He misses being little enough to be cuddled when he’s
sad, misses the older brother who acted like a parent, reading to him children books that
Andromeda and Narcissa had bought for them. He misses Sirius playing board games with
him when they couldn’t sleep and sleeping in each other’s beds, stealing blankets and
comforting each other from a nightmare. He wishes they were sorted in the same house so he
could go and look for Sirius and share something -tea, chocolate, maybe even a cigarette,
though he hates those- until he’s well enough to go back to sleep.

Only Sirius would be able to understand this: the wearying experience of doing something
out of your parents’ eyes, and still feeling watched and judged. He would know the way
Filch’s face briefly transformed into Father’s, how the weight of his repulsed gaze felt like
the weight of the sky on Regulus’ shoulders. And he knows that tomorrow, this won’t worry
him, because his parents still won’t know the truth, they won’t know that Regulus is being a
bad son. James is still going to be there and hopefully hold him and smile and make
everything glow even when it's dark, because no shadow stands under James Potter’s gaze;
that’s how bright he is. A divine creature.

He knows, deep in his heart, that he’ll forget about this. That he’ll laugh about this, even. But
right now, it hurts, because he wanted desperately to have this moment saved for just James
and him, he didn’t want a witness. And he aches because Sirius would be mad if he found
out. And some small voice in his mind tells him that he should be thankful that it wasn’t
Sirius who walked through that door.

He ends up writing nothing in the diary. He doesn’t want the paper to know. He doesn’t want
this shame he feels to be sucked in the paper and stay there forever. He’s being a horrible
brother for doing this and he never wanted to be a bad brother other than being a bad son. But
James isn’t just a childlike whim; Regulus wants to love him, to actually fall in love with him
and his secrets, his mischief, his heart, too good to be true. Maybe it doesn’t make him less of
a bad brother to have good intentions, because Fate has probably laid out her cards already
and they don’t look good. Even then, he hopes that Sirius will understand, if he finds out.
19 October, 1976

Sirius is waiting for him outside the Defence Against Dark Arts classroom, his uniform
messy and his hair tied up in a bun. It feels like two worlds crushing: Regulus, coming out of
Defence Against Dark Arts with Barty, who has one arm thrown around his shoulders, and
Sirius, eyebrows furrowed as he eyes Barty like he’s some kind of awful creature wrapped all
over his brother.

“I sense that he might be here for me.” Regulus says, as a thunder strikes outside the window.
He thinks, briefly, that the weather resembles his mood, and it’s nice that it does.

Barty rolls his eyes. “Come back to the common room later?”

Regulus shakes his head, meeting Barty’s hopeful gaze. “I’ve got detention ‘til supper. I’ll
see you then.”

Barty wrinkles his nose, before he nods, letting him go and joining Evan and the Slytherin
girls instead. Regulus watches Barty and Dorcas pretend to fight each other, before he heads
towards Sirius, who’s still leaning against the wall.

“I really don’t like that friend of yours.” Is the first thing Sirius says to him, crossing his arms
to his chest.

Regulus remembers saying those exact words to Sirius during his first year, about James.
“He’s not that bad.” He says, rolling his eyes. “Why are you here?”

“Care of magical creatures got cancelled because it’s bucketing down, and we haven’t really
talked properly yet, so…” Sirius moves his hand in the air, eloquently. “I saw the family owl
this morning.”

Regulus clenches his jaw. He was hoping Sirius wouldn’t notice, so he didn’t have to explain,
but here we are. “I got detention, mother wasn’t happy is all.”

Sirius frowns, two lines forming between his eyebrows like little waves. “You’re too much of
a goody-two-shoes to get detention.”

“You’re forgetting I helped you with your prank just two weeks ago.” Regulus points out,
watching a pack of third years enter the DADA classroom. “Mind changing place? It’s too
crowded here.”

Sirius ends up taking him to his common room and then his dorm, which is currently empty.
According to Sirius, Jame and Peter are at Divination, while Remus is studying in the library
with the girls. Regulus takes off his shoes and jumps on Sirius's bed, sitting with his legs
crossed on it, while Sirius turns on his record player and lowers the volume to make it barely
audible, a background sound. Regulus has no idea of what he’s playing, but the guitar base is
nice.

“Fancy a fag?” Sirius asks, pulling a cigarette case from his back pocket.
“I don’t really smoke those.” Regulus says, watching his brother nod and light up the
cigarette. “I got detention because I was caught snogging a bloke at night, in an empty
classroom.”

“You’re kidding. That bitch would have you back in the house right away.” Sirius says,
grimacing, before taking a drag.

Regulus doesn’t know how he manages to look so old and so young at the same time. He has
this wise expression and downturned eyes that make him look like he’s lived a thousand
years, but his skin looks so childlike and his hair so silky; there’s no signs of beard around his
cheeks and jaw. It’s weird to see his brother in a setting where he’s so comfortable, when his
muscles aren’t tense and his jaw isn’t clenched.

He tears his eyes away, looks at James's bed instead, at how neatly it has been made, and the
posters over his bed, the little quaffle clock on his nightstand and the salt lamp.

“I asked Slughorn to say I was with a girl.” Regulus shrugs, his eyes unmoving. “He’d never
put in danger one of his favourite students on purpose.”

Sirius nods, but he still looks a little frustrated. “So she sent you a letter.” He grimaces. “I bet
my left arse cheek it was a dreadful reading to do.”

“Yeah. Pity I don’t have it with me, you would have taken a piss at it.” Regulus says, looking
at his hands now, at the ring he wears. “She said I have to save myself for marriage and that
it’s such a disgrace for the Black heir to go around being a slag. She used the term slag. Can
you believe it? I thought she was beyond saying words like that.”

Sirius huffs a laugh, ticking the cigarette’s ash in an ashtray he had close. “Will you reply?”

“No.” Maybe he should drop the snake-shaped ring. Pretend he lost it. “Discovered in your
first year she doesn’t read letters you sent, doubt she’ll read mine.”

“She’s such a twat, Merlin’s balls. So, who was this bloke then? Not Crouch, I hope.” Sirius
says, one eyebrow raised.

“Why, he’s good-looking, isn’t he?” Regulus says, with a smirk. Sirius gives him a look.
“Wasn’t he, no. I can’t tell you who it is, he’s closeted.”

“Tough luck. I really fancied taking a swing at somebody.” Sirius digs the cigarette in the
ashtray, before he hops on the bed, opposite to Regulus. “Was it just a snog?”

Regulus considers it, before he shakes his head. “No, it’s more serious than that.” He says,
before looking at his brother. “Snogged Lupin yet? You were wearing his jumper a couple of
weeks ago.”

Sirius groans, untying his hair. “No.” He presses his lips into a thin line. “I reckon it’ll take a
while, but that’s okay. At least he talks to me. He gives me his jumpers sometimes, but James
wears them too, and Peter, sometimes, so it’s not anything that special. To him, I mean. I love
his jumpers and I love that he gives them to me.”
Regulus frowns. “Was it that bad? The fight?” He makes the mental note to give James one
of his big hoodies to sleep in, because he likes the idea of James wearing his clothes.

Sirius grimaces. “It’s not just that. It’s…a lot of things, and we need to work them out before
we start dating, you know? Last thing I want is starting to date my best friend and fucking it
up because we don’t trust each other.”

“Yeah, I’d skip that phase if I were you.” Regulus says, mindlessly, playing with a rebel
string of fabric that is coming out of his sock.

Sirius stills. “You’ve been through it already?”

Regulus looks up, realising what he said, before he shrugs. “I had a thing going on with Barty
last year. It’s still weird to be around him. We haven’t talked about it yet.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me anything.” Sirius says, pouting.

Regulus gives him a look, to which Sirius responds with genuine confusion. “Last year, you
and your friends had quite a reputation for hexing anyone who breathed at you wrong, so
forgive me if I haven’t told you about my love life.”

“I would have totally punched him.” Sirius runs a hand through his hair, which is much
straighter than Regulus's, less unruly, and yet messier.

Sirius was never messy, because Mother couldn’t stand it and she would simply go insane
over the tiniest things being misplaced. Maybe he got messier when he started school, like
Regulus did, or maybe he just likes his hair messy. Regulus doesn’t know, and he hates it a
little. It makes him want to pry on Sirius's wardrobe and drawers to see.

“Thanks, I can punch people on my own.” He says, after a pause. “I did before.”

“That I know for sure. Didn’t you get into a fight last year?” Sirius asks, amused.

“With Mulciber.” Regulus nods. “He dated Pandora for a couple of months. I didn’t like the
way he treated her and told her to break up with him, since he’s an idiot and an arsehole, but
she didn’t listen at first, and said I was judging him too harshly. Then he made her cry, and
that was my last straw. He really hacked me off, I still detest him.”

What Sirius doesn’t know is that Regulus managed to leave a bruise on Mulciber’ face, but
the other guy broke his nose and sent him to the hospital wing. Veronica was furious when
she found out, she punched Mulciber a couple of times and threatened to get him off the team
if he ever touched Regulus again.

“Figures. They’re all a bunch of dickheads anyway.” Sirius grimaces. “If I was sorted into
Slytherin, I would have shared the bloody dorm with them.” He pretends to gag. “Disgusting.
How do you live with Rosier and Crouch?”

“They’re not as bad.” Regulus says, shrugging. “Evan hangs out with the older douche-bags a
lot though, so he can be really insufferable, especially when he brings them to the dorm. But
he’s dating a girl now and he looks like he really likes her. I'm hoping love will knock some
sense into his head.”

“As if…and Crouch?”

“Please, Barty hates people, there’s no bloody way he’ll hang out with them voluntarily. He
has always preferred being with me, otherwise he stays aside, usually.” Regulus explains.
“He hates Avery with burning passion, though he never told me the reason why.”

“Do you even need a reason why?”

“Touché.”

Sirius snorts, kicks his ankle lightly. “So you decided to act on it?”

It takes him a second to remember what Sirius is referring to. He shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m
confused. I want him, but I’m scared our family is going to ruin everything, that I’m going to
be the one that ruins everything.” He says, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t bring
myself to say no to him, because I don’t want to say no. It’s like I forget about everything that
is happening when he’s around.”

“You’re down bad.” Sirius comments, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe it’s a good
thing.”

“It can’t be a good thing.” Regulus says, frowning. “I’m the heir, I have responsibilities-”

“Shit ones, if I’m honest. Loving someone is a better responsibility to have.” Sirius looks at
him, his blue eyes have a sad glittering in them. Not quite the same as their mother, which is
just so reassuring. “You don’t need to do what they want you to do, Reg. You can be who you
want to be and do what you want to do, and maybe that will give you better responsibilities to
have. As long as our parents don’t know what you’re up to, you’re safe. And then, when
you’ll be seventeen, you can go away.”

“They’ll never let me.” Regulus says, rolling his eyes. “And I still feel guilty. I shouldn’t
have let him in at all. He deserves so much better than a trainwreck.”

Sirius shakes his head, crawling closer to squeeze Regulus's shoulder. “No, listen to me. This
bloke makes you happy, and you deserve that, so you were right to let him in. It’s okay to
want this, Reg. Don’t make the same mistake I made. It’ll drive you crazy, I promise. I have
been there. The pain isn’t worth it.” He worries his lower lip. “Maybe this will give you an
easier way out.”

Regulus doesn’t stop frowning, even if he wants to believe Sirius. “I’m just so scared that it’s
going to go wrong because of me. He’s so earnest, and I’m…well, I’m me.”

“You’re okay to be you. Just communicate, yeah? As long as you don’t bottle up things,
you’ll be okay.” Regulus nods, though he’s still not convinced. “Have this conversation with
him, maybe.”

“It’s too soon.” Regulus says, quickly. “It just started, I don’t want to freak him out.”
He knows James probably won’t freak out, because he already knows about Regulus's family,
and he already knows Regulus enough to know that he’s terrified of failure and
disappointment, of doing things poorly. So James is probably conscious that Regulus is going
through it, right now, but that doesn’t mean much, because he should still say it, shouldn’t
he? Better safe than sorry, even words are hard to utter.

The thud of the door opening startles him out of his thoughts, and he watches as James and
Peter enter the room, shortly followed by Remus, who has an amused expression. James is
flushed and smiling, and Pettigrew has a mischievous look on his face, his hand lightly
touching James's back.

“Our Prongsie found his soulmate!” He announces, as James glaces curiously at Regulus,
who raises his eyebrows at him.

“I’m right here, Jamie!” Sirius calls, with a high pitched voice, before he turns to Peter with a
grin. “Who’s his soulmate, Wormie? Other than us, obviously.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Padfoot?” James teases, removing his tie as he glances at
Regulus again. “Hello, rival.”

“Cheers, Regulus.” Remus says, as he drops his bag at the feet of his bed, Regulus nods at
them both. “I’m curious too.” Remus adds, giving a quick look at Sirius, who smiles at him
softly.

“That’s a mystery I haven’t worked out yet.” Peter says, sardonic, throwing his jumper over
his truck. “But his tarot reading today was very clear: the empress, the emperor, and the
lovers.”

“Damn, Prongs.” Sirius tuts, getting up to go tickle James, who immediately suppresses a
giggle, hiding his lips behind his hand. Regulus watches, amused. “Did Evans finally say
yes?”

“Oh, fuck off, Pads.” James runs a hand through his hair and meets Regulus's gaze for just a
second. “I haven’t asked her out in months, I told you I moved on.”

“Interesting.” Remus says, unwrapping a chocolate frog. “And who made you move on?”

James smirks, his arm around Sirius's shoulders. “A true gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.” He
says, waving his hand in the air, a movement he probably picked up from Sirius. The quote
though…it must be one of his favourite things to say, Regulus thinks.

“Ugh, why are you all so secretive…” Sirius pouts, before pointing at Regulus with his
thumb. “That one even got detention for snogging someone at night and he won’t tell me
who.”

“Is it the time to ask paintings for gossip again?” Pettigrew goes, as he takes the chocolate
card that Remus had been offering him.
“I think so, Pete. We’re running out of drama.” Sirius says, rolling his eyes. “Even Prongsie
has a secret girlfriend now!”

Regulus huffs a laugh, sharing a glance with James. “Welcome to the club, Potter.”

“Is this about Pandora again?” James asks, with a grin.

“Of course it is.” Regulus says, licking his lips.

“Quit teasing him, Reggie, he’ll catch feelings and fuck up his soulmate thingie.” Sirius says,
casually, marching towards Remus and going to sit on the edge of his bed. “Where do you
think James snogs his new bird?”

“Is this your new obsession, now?” James asks, while Remus says: “Probably empty
classrooms.” Which sounds like a shot at James and Regulus, in all honesty.

“Pete?” Sirius asks, while James scowls.

“Broom cupboard, James likes the classics.” Peter says, smirking.

“Oh, it’s totally broom cupboards.” Regulus says, nodding solemnly. He locks eyes with
James and smiles at him with complicity. “We made furious love there, didn’t we, Potter?”

James watches Sirius's scandalised expression, before he smirks. “Your brother is a real
stallion, Sirius. Rocked my whole world in seven minutes.”

Remus laughs, as Sirius says: “I need a mindhealer for the image you two heathens just put in
my mind.”

Regulus snickers, before he catches sight of the hour: 5:05pm. “Fuck, we’re late.” He says,
jumping off of Sirius's bed and putting on his shoes.

“We?” Sirius asks, raising an eyebrow as James grabs his jumper. “You too!?”

“Yes, Filch apparently needs help cleaning loads of shite, so they put us in detention
together.” James says, vaguely, while Regulus finishes tying his shoes. “See you guys after
detention!”

“Bye!” Regulus says, already half out the door with James right behind him.

“Don’t kill each other!” He hears Sirius scream. “And don’t shag!”

Once they’re in the corridor, walking towards Filch’s office, they start teasing each other,
something Regulus is used to at this point, because they’re both so physical, always tackling
each other and tickling each other’s sides until they’re laughing against each other and then
hugging, kissing messily, laughing on each other’s mouth. When the hallways are a little
more crowded, they keep it at a couple of shoves, digging their fingers in the other’s ribs,
running after each other. When they arrive at Filch's office, they’re blushing and looking far
too happy to be in detention.

After a week of writing ridiculous lines with professor McGonagall, they’ve been requested
to polish trophies without magic, which is a bummer, because there’s a lot of trophies. The
good news is that they’re alone, so they can kiss and talk as much as they like.

Regulus is polishing a trophy given to a certain Tom Riddle for special services to the school,
in 1943. “Hey, James.” He hears James hum, so he proceeds: “What do you think are special
services to the school?”

“Dunno.” James comes behind him and kisses his cheek, before glancing at the trophy.
“That’s a terrible name, that is.”

“I’ve heard it before.” Regulus says, wrinkling his nose. “I just don’t remember where.”

“Maybe in Hogwarts: A History?”

Regulus hums. “Perhaps.” He used to read it with Sirius, curled up in his room together, just
before his first year at Hogwarts. “Kiss?” James smiles, kissing him chastly on the lips.

“I could ask my parents if they know something, if you’d like.” Regulus nods, smiling
slightly.

“I think my mother graduated in 1943.” Regulus says, resting his head against James's
shoulder. “Though I don’t think she ever mentioned this guy.”

“Maybe he was in Gryffindor.” James says, as Regulus sets the trophy aside. “Do your
parents have any trophies?”

“Haven’t found any.” Not that he expects otherwise, if he has to be honest. “Father liked
Quidditch, but he wasn’t good at it. Do your parents have any trophies?”

“Mum was a seeker! Best seeker in her last year, I think.” James eyes the trophies with a
thoughtful frown. “Though I don’t remember where I put it.”

Regulus snorts, shaking his head. “If we finish up in the next fifteen minutes, we’ve got
fifteen minutes to snog.”

“That’s the motivation I needed!”

It takes him a little effort to wipe the smile off of his face before he enters the common room,
and even then, he fears that he might look like he has been properly kissed. He just hopes it
won’t show enough for people to notice.

Evan is sitting on the couch, talking quietly to Snape, Avery and Mulciber, which makes
Regulus roll his eyes. Who really catches his attention, though, is Barty, who’s sitting on one
of the armchair like it’s a throne, legs crossed and a smirk on his face, all of his attention
devoted to Dorcas, who is sitting on a chair, chest against the back of it as she talks to Barty,
gesturing with one hand. He watches them for a second, before approaching them.

Barty notices him first, giving him an up-and-down look. He frowns slightly, like there’s
something off about him. “Alright, Reg?”

“I’m fine.” Regulus says, shoving his hands in the pockets.

Dorcas scoffs. “Was detention fun?”

“As if.” Regulus rolls his eyes. “What have you been up to?”

“Just having a natter.” Barty says, slowly. “Did Filch snog you? Or was detention just another
lie of yours?” There’s an unexpected bite in his voice.

“What…” He says, initially. “I was at detention, Barty.”

Barty presses his lips in a straight line. “Whatever.”

“So…” Dorcas claps her hands, looking between them. “Supper?”

Barty gets up, nodding. “Yeah, let’s go. Coming, Reg?”

Regulus nods, though he still feels uneasy. “Sure.”

22 October, 1976

On Friday nights, he’s always knackered, though today has been especially rough. He had
detention until dinner, so he didn’t have time to rest until now. Evan disappeared somewhere
with Leonie right after dinner, while Barty silently followed him back to their dorms. He’s in
a state of placid tiredness. Detention with James was as nice as it could have been; James was
quick to understand that Regulus was shattered from the long day and didn’t attempt a
conversation, but they finished early and shared a long hug and some lazy kisses that had
Regulus feeling strangely well-cared for.

He’s taking off his tie, his memory lingering on the way James ran his fingers on it before
kissing him, when Barty talks.

“Found a girlfriend?” There’s something wrong in his voice, though Regulus can’t figure out
what exactly. He sounds mean, something Barty never really manages, no matter how hard he
tries.

“I don’t do girlfriends.” Regulus replies as he rolls his tie around his hand.

“Right.” Barty scoffs. “But you’re clearly snogging someone.”

“Is it any of your business?” Regulus replies, sharp, as he undoes the buttons of his shirt. “I
can snog a girl if I want to.”
“And since when do you like snogging girls?” Regulus stops moving abruptly at the
harshness of his voice, and he turns to look at him.

Barty is flushed, and he’s clenching his fists in his pockets. His expression is sour and his
eyebrows are pinched together. Regulus feels like air has been knocked out of his lungs. It’s
the second time this week that someone confronts him on his sexuality and, frankly, he’s not
dying to talk about it. He’s still trying to get over the fact that two professors know he has
been with James, it feels too soon to discuss it with Barty.

“You can lie to Evan and Dorcas as much as you like, but I know you better than they ever
will and…you know, I’m offended that you thought I wouldn’t notice when you barely try to
hide it.” Barty goes on. Regulus stares at him, pressing his lips in a thin line, but he doesn’t
say anything. “Nothing to say?”

“Yes.” Regulus says, going back to unbuttoning his shirt. “Mind your own goddamn
business.”

“That’s my business too, and you’re aware of it, Regulus.” Regulus can’t see it, but he knows
Barty is probably clenching his jaw. He always does that when he’s upset. “It is my business,
because you left me and now you’re avoiding me-”

“Avoiding you? For fuck’s sake, I don’t have to spend all of my time with you, Barty.”
Regulus says, taking his shirt off with a sharp movement. “I’ve been trying to spend more
time with you like I promised I would, but I have a life outside of you. No one is stopping
you from making other friends but your own bloody prejudice.”

“But you keep lying to me.” Barty says, ignoring the last part of Regulus’ speech. “You
would have never done that last year.”

“Dwell on the past as much as you like.” Regulus says, grabbing a jumper. “It was you who
screwed things up.”

“Don’t act like you knew better.” Barty’s eyes become wet and he shies away, like he didn’t
predict that the tears would come. “I never meant to hurt you. I apologised.”

“And I forgave you.” Regulus replies, looking down at the jumper between his hands. “But
that doesn’t mean we can go back to last year, or that I’m going to tell you about the people I
kiss.”

Barty sits down on his bed, clasps his hands over his head. “I came back to school willing to
give you an explanation, to make it up to you. And you moved on. You forgot me in the span
of one bloody summer.” He says, his breath coming out shaky and unsteady. “I tried to tell
you so many times that I missed you, that I wanted to talk to you, but you’re always so busy
with something else.”

Regulus puts on his jumper. It’s a good excuse to stop looking at Barty, because he has never,
in five years, seen him this vulnerable, and it’s breaking his heart a little. “You said you
didn’t love me.” He reminds him. “You pushed me away, I wasn’t going to leave. I never
wanted to. This is your fault, Barty.”
“I know it is my fault!” Barty says, snapping his head up. Merlin, he’s crying. Regulus finds
it hard to breathe -nothing like the nice tension between him and James, when he knows
they’re about to kiss. This is plain pain, piercing through his lungs, his stomach, his hands.
“And I wanted to be better, I wanted to be good, because I…” He stops, tries to take a deep
breath that sounds wrong, like he forgot how to properly inhale. “I love you. I said I didn’t
because I was scared. I was terrified, Regulus, you have to believe me, I never meant any of
the words that hurt you. I was scared of being…you know, and I still am. But I wanted to be
better for you, and as soon as I was ready to approach this, you already had someone else.”

Regulus turns away, covering his mouth with his hand and swallowing back tears. Oh, how
he had hoped Barty would say those things, at the end of last year, when his crush for James
was nothing but casual attraction, and he wouldn’t have thought twice about it.

“This doesn’t solve anything, Barty.” He says, trying to keep his voice steady. “I don’t love
you like that anymore. I was a piece of your journey and I’m glad you’re coming to terms
with who you are, but this doesn’t change things. I can still be your friend, but I can’t…you
can’t ask me to be anything more.”

“You say that we can be friends, but you’re always…shying away from me, never telling me
things. You lie to me all the time. You used to trust me.” Barty’s voice is so thin, Regulus
wants him to stop speaking. To never speak again like that. He wants him to go back to the
Barty he knows, the Barty with a sweet voice, a mean streak and the soft hoodies. “Is he
better than me?”

Regulus breathes in sharply and sits down, clenching and unclenching his fists because his
hands ache and he reckons he’ll throw up if they keep this up. “Who says it is a he?”

“Oh, Reg.” Regulus doesn’t dare to look at him. “It has never been girls for us anyway.”

“You can’t tell Evan.” Regulus says, clenching his fists.

“He knows about me.”

He snaps his head up, meeting Barty’s eyes. “What?”

“I told him at the end of last year.” He croaks out, as a couple of tears stream down his
cheeks. “I needed someone to know. I was miserable.”

“So you told Evan?” Regulus pinches the bridge of his nose. “For fuck’s sake, Barty. Evan
thinks all purebloods should get married, why would you say something like that to him?
Doesn’t it hurt more, to know that your friend values his ideals more than your happiness?”

Barty looks down. “He never said those things to me. He told me things would work out, that
it didn’t matter.”

Regulus sighs, running a hand through his hair. “He still won’t fight by your side, Barty. He
still won’t think that we deserve to marry who the hell we want or…heck, even marry at all.
And what was all that homophobia at the beginning of this year?”
“I was trying to get your attention!” Barty says, nostrils flaring. “I was hoping you’d be mad
at me enough to confront me, but Evan beat me on time, I…”

“Asking me to talk in private was too hard, I guess. Better to fake hatred towards me, right?
Because it’s clear that you knew it would upset me, and you did it anyway.” Regulus leans
forward, pressing his palms against his forehead. “Yes, he’s better than you. He doesn’t try to
hurt me, at least. He can admit to liking me.”

Barty inhales sharply. “Good.” He says, though he sounds conflicted. “You deserve that.”

Regulus gets up and walks towards the door. “I bloody do.” He says, before walking out.

23 October, 1976

On Saturday night, after dinner and after detention, Regulus meets James on the seventh
floor, opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He still feels sick from last night, and he
hasn’t slept well, but seeing James makes him feel better. The promise of an evening spent
cuddled up with him seems to be enough to soothe him.

“So…” James twirls in his spot, looking around. “That’s a great tapestry we’ve got there.” He
says, his hands between his back. “Are we going to snog on it?”

It drags a laugh out of Regulus, who doesn’t resist the urge to step forward and kiss him
briefly. “That’s a horrible tapestry, so no, we won’t snog on it. I’ll show you something.”

“Okay.” James beams at him, waiting in his spot, as he curiously eyes Regulus, who starts
walking in front of an empty wall, as he mumbles to himself. Now, that probably looks crazy
to James, but what must look crazier is the door that suddenly appears on the wall.

“Wow, what the…?” James raises an eyebrow, taking the hand Regulus offers him and
getting inside with him. “How did you find this?”

“I didn’t, Pandora did. She showed it to me in my second year.” He says, looking around the
room.

It’s pretty big, with plenty of space, a high ceiling and a big window. A king sized bed is
placed against one of the walls: it has loads of pillows and one nightstands on each side, but
there’s also a couch and a coffee table, standing in front of a fireplace, and a library with
some books. He finds that he likes it, and fits their personalities well enough.

“What do you think?” He asks James, who looks particularly in awe.

“It’s amazing.” The boy says, turning to look at Regulus. “Can we be found?”

“No, not unless we want to.” Regulus smiles at him, squeezing his hand. “I thought…you
know, after what happened, it would be wise to start using it. I would have shown you before,
but it’s not like we were able to see each other much, because of detention, so…” He shrugs.
“I love it.” James says as a radiant smile lightens up his face. “We can just come here and…
be together without anyone interrupting us. No more empty classrooms or people walking in
on us.”

“Right? Besides, that bed looks really comfortable.” Regulus is only half-joking: he knows,
for experience, that snogging on a bed is a lot more comfortable than snogging on a desk.

“Do you want me in your bed, Regulus?” James smirks, pulling him close.

Regulus slips his index fingers in the belt loops of his trousers and keeps him close, smirking
back. “For musical purposes.”

James laughs, cupping his face with his hands and kissing him shortly. “I think we need to do
some kissing-catch up. The sneaky kisses at detention were nice, but I’d like to kiss you
without fearing an old man will see us.”

Regulus snorts and kisses him again, bringing one hand on James’ neck. “That would be
lovely.” He says, wrapping his arms around James’ waist. He presses a kiss on the corner of
his mouth.

James hums, running a hand through Regulus’ hair so gently he might start crying.
“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” He asks, his voice sweet and soothing.

“I…” Regulus sighs, hiding his face in the crook of James’ neck. “It’s been a long week.”

“I can go grab us two mugs of hot cocoa, and then we can cuddle in bed, how does that
sound?”

“Just cuddling is perfect.” He says, holding James tighter. He doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t
want to see James walking away from the door right now. He just wants to be with him, to let
his scent and his warmth soothe him.

“Alright.” James kisses his forehead. “I can carry you to bed, darling.” He says, teasingly.

Regulus snorts and pinches his side lightly. “I can walk fine on my own, Potter.” He distances
himself from James. “Not a princess.”

“You’re pretty enough you could be a princess.” James protests, as they take off their shoes.
“Race you to bed!” He says, before sprinting.

“False start!” Regulus objects as he runs after him. James arrives first, of course, the bloody
cheater, but it’s hard to stay mad at him when he’s sitting on the bed, charming smile on his
face and dimples on his cheeks. “Dirty cheater.” James snorts, but his expression turns sweet
when Regulus gently runs his hands in his hair. “I can’t stay mad at you when you look like
this.”

“Jammy.” James says, taking Regulus’ free hand in his. “Sing my praises a bit more?”

Regulus shakes his head, smirking. “I’m not going to fuel your ego, Potter.”
“Should I threaten to snog you again?” James jokes, tugging lightly at his hand.

“Maybe.” Regulus smiles, before bending down enough to catch James’ lips in a slow kiss
that has James cupping Regulus’ jaw with urgency. “This thing that you do…” Regulus says,
purposely staying close to James, to make him feel the words and not just hear them. “You
kiss like you’re hungry.”

James smiles. “Like it?” He asks, running his thumb on Regulus’ cheek.

“I’m not going to tell you.” Regulus smiles, before pushing his hand against James’ chest
lightly.

James gathers the message right aways and he moves from the edge of the bed to the centre
of it and waits for Regulus to sit close to him, before he puts his arm around his shoulders.
“So, what’s wrong?”

Regulus pouts, lying comfortably against the pillows. “I had a fight with Barty yesterday. So
that’s it.”

“Do you want to elaborate?” James asks, tucking a strand of Regulus’ hair behind his ear.

“I don’t know.” Regulus says, meeting James’ gaze. He’s all soft, in the ways Regulus never
expected him to be. Realising people are more complex than they appear has never been so
breathtaking. “Is that fine?”

“Sure it is.” James says, nodding. “We can talk about it whenever you feel like you can talk
about it. I don’t expect you to be vulnerable with me right away.”

I’m already vulnerable with you, Regulus thinks. He nods, before crowding even closer,
rejoicing of the way James holds him tighter. “I don’t really know how relationships work.
Are we even in a relationship?”

James hums. “I’d very much like to be your secret boyfriend.” He says, kissing the top of his
head. “Do you want to be mine?”

“Of course I do, but…” Regulus sighs, wrapping his arm around James’ waist. “I don’t know
how these things work, what if I fuck up?”

“There’s not really a rule on how relationships work, as long as there’s love and respect.
That’s what my mum would say.” James runs his fingers through Regulus’ hair. His touch
always makes him feel so safe, which is partially scary, because Regulus has never felt like
this with anyone, and he doesn’t know if he’s able to make James feel as safe and well-cared
for. He wants to do that for James, though. “We can figure it out step by step.”

“But aren’t you upset that we can’t be public about it? Or go on dates?” Regulus asks,
because it has been bothering him quite a bit.

“I am.” James says, sincerely. For some reason, that reassures Regulus. “But it’s too soon to
be public about it anyway, and besides…we could organise dates here, if we wanted to. As
long as we can spend time together, I think I’ll be okay. Then maybe one day I can take you
to the Three Broomsticks and buy you a butterbeer and make fun of you for having a foam
moustache.”

Regulus laughs, lifting his face to look at James, who is also smiling. “Maybe, when we’re
thirty and old.” He jokes, running his fingers on James’ side. “You’re going to tell me if the
secrecy gets too much for you, right?”

“I will.” James says firmly, nodding. “Won’t it be heavy for you, too?”

“I’m used to it.” Regulus says, shrugging. “Pandora will know, though. I haven’t seen her
much this week, but she’ll know. Knows me too well. Is that okay with you?”

James nods. “I think Remus suspects a jolly good amount as well. Sirius…I’m going to be
honest, I don’t think we can hide from him for a long time. He’ll figure it out, and I’d prefer
to tell him myself before he does.”

Regulus grimaces. “I agree.” He’s surprised that it doesn’t scare him how much James wants
to include him for the long term. “He’s unpredictable with these things.”

James hums, twirling one of Regulus’ curls around his finger. “He’s protective over the both
of us.” He frowns. “He’ll probably be very angry at me.”

“And you’re okay with that?” James shakes his head. “Then…”

“I’ll prove to him that…I’ll prove to him that I can be your boyfriend and his best friend at
the same time.” He says, determined. “I want both of you to be in my life.”

Regulus feels like he’s been burnt. “Do you think you know me well enough to say that?”

James looks at him, surprised. “You said it’s worth knowing me.” He says, slowly. “I think
it’s worth knowing you, too. And when I see you, I don’t see a bad person, I don’t see a
future death eater, I see someone that can do great, beautiful things. I don’t see you as my
best mate’s brother, I just see you. Maybe it’s reckless and naive of me to say I want you in
my life now, but I’d regret not trying to be with you. So I want to think it’s a good thing that
we’re trying, despite the odds, in spite of them. Does it make sense?”

Regulus nods, though he has to swallow back the tears that threaten to get out of his eyes.
“I’ll do my best.”
 Fate & Parties
Chapter Notes

Cws: underage drinking; mentions of war.

30 October, 1976

The Black Lake is shaken by a harsh wind: dark waves of cold water splash on the shore and
hit his skin, making him shiver. He hears the whispers of the tree branches in the Forbidden
Forest, calling his name with a deep voice he knows but can’t associate with any face. He
turns, feeling like someone is staring at his back, and as he does, he finds himself in the
water, being swallowed by the cold waves.

He can feel himself shaking, like an earthquake possessed him to his core. His heartbeat and
the blood rushing through his veins are the only sounds he can hear, along with a scream in
the distance. Maybe he’s imagining it.

He tries to swim up, but there’s a weight on his legs that just won’t let go of him. Kicking
harder is useless, so he looks down, desperate, just to see his parents: his mother, with her
nails digging in his calf, and his father, holding tightly on his other legs. There’s Cissy and
Bella too, swimming up to hold his arms firm. He can’t move, can’t breathe, he’s going to
drown. Oh, God, he’s going to drown. He tries to call for Sirius, Kreacher, James, Pandora,
anyone. No one comes.

He wakes up in a cold sweat, a hand on his chest. His breath comes out terribly uneven and
thin, and his throat hurts, which makes him wonder if he actually screamt. Oh, Merlin, what
if he did? He tries to sit, but his head spins so violently he’s forced to lay down again.

The clock on his nightstand kindly informs him that it is 3am. Going back to sleep is out of
the question, but he’s shaking too hard to get out of bed, so he just lays there until the tremor
passes. He thinks about James, closes his eyes and pretends that he’s in the Come and Go
room with him, and he’s being held and James is kissing his cheek in that spontaneous way of
his, and he does feel a little better at the memory, though he wishes he had the real thing.

He feels steadier, so he grabs his diary and a pen, dresses in comfortable clothes and goes
down in the empty common room to write.

30/10/1976, Hogwarts

§51: As the nightmare gently reminded me, drowning is still my worst fear, but the fact that
my family was there makes me wonder. I still recall the way my mother’s nails dug in my calf.
Perhaps I dreamt this because I haven’t been writing down my thoughts. It’s just that I don’t
want those considerations to see the light. It would be far too easy to hold myself accountable
if the sentences appeared on this paper. It would be real.

§52: I came back to school thinking I would be strong enough to resist the urge to live the life
I wanted, but as I get older, I get weaker. If my parents don’t see it, then I didn’t do it. Out of
sight, out of mind. But I wonder where this kind of reckless logic will take me. S. was strong
enough to rebel against them and I wasn’t, and I reckon it is too late for me. Is it? What if I’m
getting stronger, instead of getting weaker? This doesn’t make any sense.

§53: Elections are due in the middle of November and people keep disappearing. I try to
avoid reading The Daily Prophet, which I know is wrong, because I’m turning my head. I just
don’t know if I’d be able to hold the facade when I read those dreadful news. I know they will
take the ministry; people in my family will be there to threaten people who just want peace or
equal rights and living a life that doesn’t recognise fear as a daily emotion. People in my
family. Be. has the mark. She’ll be there to ruin people’s life and the Order will let her
because they’re not strong enough.

§54: What has the Order been doing, anyway? They’re not preventing anything. I want to go
to Dumbledore’s office and shake him until his brains go back in place. And to think J. and S.
will be involved with that lot…I don’t know what to think. I know it’s supposed to be the good
side, but sometimes I struggle to understand what their goal is when all of this ends. He was
able to gain followers for a reason, which if you ask me is lack of education and proper
inclusion in the wizarding community, but does anyone else realise it? Slytherins are bound
to become bad because of the environment they’re in.

§55: I snapped out of it because I had someone to challenge my beliefs. But what about Ev.
and B.? What about all the others who are slowly rotting? Where are the teachers when
change is needed, when support needs to be provided? Everyone seemed to only have pity for
S. and I when we came back from winter or summer break with bruises and wounds. Why did
nobody try to take us out when it was so evident what we were going through?

§56: I don’t want to join the order because I believe they’re fundamentally just as bad. Maybe
they don’t kill innocents and they don’t treat muggleborns differently, but isn’t that the bare
minimum? Why don’t they push for better education, for teaching respect? Why does nobody
talk about this bloody war inside this castle? Nobody attempts to make a change and they
make me sick.

§57: Talking with J. is refreshing because he gets it. He makes me feel less alone in my
thoughts, which is probably a weird thing to say about someone I’ve known properly for such
a little time, but it’s true. J., P. and E. feel different from the Order, because they know what’s
wrong, where the evil starts spreading, which is why I don’t get why they’d join the Order or
work for the ministry. I’d never do it because I don’t think they do enough.

§58: It’s been so hard to pay attention in class since his lips touched mine. I want to spend
more time with him, listen to his silly childhood stories, watch him open up slowly, because
for some reason he’s terrified of revealing himself, like he’s a dark creature and not an angel
who stepped on earth by accident. Actually I didn’t write that. Please ignore that. I’m going
to stop writing.
Merlin, he feels his cheek burn. He doesn’t know why he gets so soppy when he writes about
James. It just feels so easy to compare him to every beautiful, sweet thing on the planet. Even
if he’s infuriating and a little annoying sometimes. He’s the type to get on your nerves on
purpose, but Regulus just can’t stay mad at him. So he gets on his nerves too, until the slight
annoyance turns into tension and they start teasing each other until one of them decides he’s
had enough and kisses the other to shut him up. He sighs, closing the diary, and runs a hand
through his hair. He nods to himself, gets up and goes back to his dorm, to hide the diary and
the pen.

After a quick shower, he puts on some warm clothes and gets out of the common room all
together.

The initial plan was to take a walk around the castle, maybe stop by the kitchens, but when he
notices the doors of the main entrance half open, he walks out. Normally, he would not
approach the Forbidden Forest. It is forbidden for a reason, after all. He runs down the hill
until his breathing becomes panting and he enters the forest with his chin held high and his
eyes sharp, like he’s entering Grimmauld Place.

He’s not scared of losing the path, he thinks, as he walks in the dark, just a lumos to light up
the road in front of him. Actually, he hopes to lose it. He hopes he’ll meet some magic
creature and have an eye-opening conversation with them.

There’s small noises and Regulus feels stared at, just like he felt stared at when his mother
pushed him in front of fifty death eaters and a man with the eyes of a snake and hands so
glacial Regulus thought he didn’t have a soul. Or conscience. Nothing; Voldemort exists but
he’s a bag of evil and his soul is probably butchered and small, a piece of meat that has been
beaten so much it doesn’t even look like meat anymore.

The wind passing through the trees sings like a choir, tousling their leaves and branches,
though it won’t get to Regulus’ curls, because the thick curtain of trees keeps it from doing
so. It’s a nice feeling of protection, something you wouldn’t expect to feel in a forest. But
perhaps Regulus is used to feeling protected even when he shouldn’t, because every little
thing that offers him a frail shield seems to be better than having no shield at all. What a
concept: the frail protection that your own darkness can give you. The knowledge you could
do worse if you want to, with your sharp mouth and your big emotions and resentment that
builds up so slowly you don’t even feel it growing in you. Using your title to decide for just
how long your life is going to be yours.

“Regulus Arcturus Black.” He turns, suddenly, in the direction of the deep voice that seemed
to be partially carried from the wind. A centaur. He’s got long brown hair, sharp cheekbones
and deep green eyes. He looks familiar in a breathtaking way, ethereal. How could Regulus
ever be against such a regal being? How could he ever not be curious about the secrets he
holds? “The boy who changed his fate.”

Regulus raises his eyebrows at him, not daring to step forward. “I’m not sure I’ve done that.”
He says, trying to control his voice to sound deeper, more mature. Maybe he manages, but he
still feels small.
“I know you’ve done that.” The centaur comes closer, walking so elegantly Regulus thinks
his mother would call him polite. “I’ve seen it in the stars.”

“The irony of that.” Regulus smiles, though sadness pinches his chest. He doesn’t look up,
because he knows his eyes won’t meet the night sky, the only place in this whole universe
where his relatives aren’t insane. “My family…”

“Your brother watches over you. Isn't that family enough?” That sentence alone makes him
want to fall on his knees and cry all of his tears. “I used to visit you in your dreams.”

Regulus snaps his head up, meeting the centaur’s gaze. He recognises him now: he dreamed
about him through all of his first and second year, and a couple of times in the years later.
“Damastus.” He says, a little choked, because he can’t quite believe it. “I remember you.”

Damastus nods, crossing his strong arms to his chest. “It’s a good thing that you do.” He
looks at the path Regulus came from. “I’m glad your path has changed. You’ll be a much
better person. Perhaps more martial, but I’ve never seen that as a bad trait.”

“Martial.” Regulus frowns, not quite understanding.

“Mars has a lot of influence on you, my boy.” Damastus says. “And Saturn, as well.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“You don’t need to. Life is more about acting than understanding.” Damastus says, coming
closer again. His touch is light against Regulus’ shoulder. “I’ll walk you back.”

Regulus manages to hold his curiosity for just a couple of minutes. “Would I have been good,
if I didn’t change my path?”

“Mayhaps, towards the end. But nobody would have known.” It’s a creepy thought. Regulus
has never thought about himself as the tragic hero, though it sounds like he would have died
embodying that. “You’ve got great responsibilities, Regulus. Much bigger than you think.
Possibly not this year, but next year, you’ll realise just how big.”

Regulus nods, bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself grounded. “Why did you stop
visiting my dreams?”

“You didn’t need me anymore.” Damastus says, simply. “With your old wand broken and a
greater awareness, your path has changed. It was useless to keep visiting your dreams.” He
stops, for a second, as they turn towards a more enlightened trail. “Though I dare to say, you
surprised me with your choices.” Regulus looks at him, confused. “You’ll see what I mean.”

“Can I come look for you again?” He blurts out, because he’s curious. He wants to know
more -no, it’s not just wanting. He needs to know more.

“Meetings like ours only happen when Fate wants them to happen. Saepe ne utile quidem est
scire quid futurum sit.” Damastus says, stepping back. He points with his index at the track
that stands right in front of Regulus. “Keep walking down the same path.”
And then, he’s gone.

The sun shines beautifully today, but it’s still quite cold. He’s walking to Hogsmeade with
Pandora, arms linked, she’s smoking a cigarette. They don’t speak much. Regulus is so tired
he could fall asleep as he walks. Or maybe not. He’s that kind of tired that has you turning on
your bed because your body is tired but your mind won’t shut up.

“I met a centaur.” He tells her, once they’re sitting in a booth at the Three Broomsticks. He
knows James and Sirius won’t be here, because James has a match this afternoon and he’s
training. “I met a centaur.”

Pandora raises an eyebrow; she's moving her fingers on her pint like she’s playing an
invisible piano. “You met a centaur.”

Regulus nods, brushing his hair back. He likes it, but it gets on his face a lot. Maybe he
should start tying it up, like Sirius does. “I met a centaur that told me I changed my fate.” He
says, looking at his pint with a frown. “And he talked about greater awareness and my old
wand being broken. He said I have big responsibilities. And the worst part is that it doesn’t
scare me.”

“I think I’m missing pieces of this story.” Pandora says, before taking a sip of her butterbeer.
“Where did you even meet the centaur?”

“In the Forbidden Forest.”

Pandora’s eyes go wide. “Have you gone mental? That place is dangerous. Tell me that you
didn’t go alone at night.” Regulus looks away. “Regulus!”

“It was 4am, okay? Not properly night, so don’t lecture me about safety.” He says, pouting.
“So, the whole story is that I had an awful nightmare, so I could go back to sleep and I
decided to take a walk.”

“In the forbidden forest.” Pandora adds, like it’s relevant.

“Yes, and then I met Damastus.” Regulus explains, tightening his fingers around his pint. “I
used to dream about him so I never thought he was real, but he is. And then he said all those
things I told you. What do you think it means?”

Pandora considers it for a second, twisting the ring she has on her index finger. “I don’t
know. It probably means trouble, if he said you have big responsibilities.” She says slowly.
“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing.” He says. She crosses her arms. “Don’t look at me like that. He said…” He
swallows. “He said I was going to be evil, if I didn’t change my fate. Maybe good towards
the end. But no one would have known.”

“You were never evil to begin with.” Pandora says, in a sweet voice, reaching out to grab his
hand over the table. “You’re a kid who got brainwashed, Reg.”
“Yeah. But I was thirteen when my old wand broke.” He says, squeezing her hand. “Maybe if
I made different choices I would have become a bad person. The stereotypical slytherin who
can’t look past his nose.”

“I don’t think that would have ever been you.” Pandora says, firmly. “You always care so
much about people, you wouldn’t…I can’t imagine a world when you’re a genuinely bad
person. You think too much to be bad.”

Regulus nods, though he’s not convinced. “We’ll still be friends after school, right?”

Pandora grins, squeezing his hand. “We’ll always be friends, Reg. You can’t get rid of me.”

Regulus licks his lips and nods. “That’s great, ‘cause I don’t want to.”

“Tell me about Quaffle then.” Pandora says, with a sheepish smile. “Something totally
happened, I see him sneaking glances at you at every bloody meal. Xeno noticed too. He
asked me if you have an affair.”

Regulus, who was sipping his butterbeer, chokes. “An affair.” He repeats, before he starts
laughing. “Yeah it’s…we’re together now, I guess.” He smiles, rubbing his free hand on the
back of his neck. “It’s a secret, though. I knew you’d figure it out, so I didn’t keep it from
you.”

Pandora hums, eyeing him curiously. “I can’t believe you’re in a relationship after all the fuss
at the end of last year.”

Pandora only knows so much about what happened with Barty, but it’s fine, he guesses. He
doesn’t want to face it all again anyway. “It’s a little hard. Not wanting to be in a relationship
with him, I mean.” Regulus tells her, playing with one of his rings. “He’s not the type of
person you can say goodbye to after kissing him once. And he talks a lot. Which is great I
guess, since I talk a lot too. He’s opinionated and he wants to know my opinions.”

He can’t really explain to Pandora why it is such a nice feeling. The best way to describe it is
a little brutal, but it would sound like: I wasn’t allowed to speak my opinions growing up, thus
having someone I like who wants to listen to me makes me happy.

“Did you give him speeches about how outdated the school system is?” Pandora asks, with a
slight smile.

Regulus nods. “Absolutely, and I’ll do it again.”

Pandora laughs, running a hand through her hair. “He looks fond of you.” She says, sweetly.
“I don’t know how your brother hasn’t figured it out yet.”

Regulus looks away. “He’ll hate me when he discovers, won’t he?”

He already knows the answer, just like James knows it: Sirius will be jealous. And Regulus
knows, because he feels it too, that Black jealousy, that family heirloom, which tends to be a
little destructive, a little selfish. Maybe a bit unhealthy, too. James was Sirius’ before he was
Regulus’, and that is an information Sirius will most definitely use against them, against him
.

“Hate you? No, maybe he’ll be mad at you for a while, but that’s it.” Pandora says, waving
her hand in the air. “He loves you both. At the end of the day, he will probably just want you
guys to be happy, and it can't be that bad, if two important people in his life are happy
together, right?”

Ah, the only child reasoning. He trusts Pandora, but not with this; she tends to see the good in
people but she’s forgetting that Regulus and Sirius are still Blacks. “I don’t know, honestly.”
He slicks his hair back. “Will you be in the stands with me today?”

She hums. “That’s alright for me. Are you staying with the Gryffindors?”

“Probably, yeah. With Sirius and his lot.” He raises his gaze and meets her, with a small
smile. “Speaking of Sirius, will you go with me to get his birthday present?”

“I’d love to.” She winks at him, smiling back.

So when they finish their pints, they enter one of Regulus’ favourite shops in Hogsmeade. It’s
a small business, opened just three years ago; he never misses the chance to visit it. Sirius
would love it, if he knew about it, but he doubts that’s an option. He only ever sees Sirius
visiting Honeydukes and Zonko’s. But that’s alright: it means Regulus still has something to
offer to him.

Despite it being a sunny day, it’s rather windy, so flying requires more control than usual and
a spell has been placed on the stands to prevent the Bludgers from ending up there. Regulus
reckons the wind isn’t strong enough to do that, but better safe than sorry, he guesses. He
arrives early, right after lunch, and meets Sirius, Remus, Peter and Lily on the stands. Sirius
tucks him under his arm immediately, eyes on the pitch where he was supposed to be.
Regulus tries his best not to look at James too much, though he’s rather distracting in tight
white pants and red and gold jersey.

“Who’ll catch the snitch?” Sirius asks, tying his hair up in a bun, a few strands of it hanging
loosely on his face.

“That’s a tough question.” Regulus replies, glancing at Ravenclaw’s players. He still hasn’t
played against them, and despite all the jokes with James, he doubts Slytherin will win this
year. It’ll probably be Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, as they’re the strongest this year. “Depends
on who gets to 80 first.”

“Why 80?”

“During the game with Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw’s seeker feinted until the score got to 80, and
caught the snitch once they were over 100 points. I’m guessing it’s their strategy, but they
might change that up against Gryffindor, since their chasers are the best in the tournament.”
He stops for a second and smirks at Sirius. “Don’t tell Potter I’ve said that.”
“Don’t tell me what now!” James’s voice says. Regulus turns, just to find James a couple of
metres from them, leaning back on his broom. His hair is properly messed up, his cheeks are
red and his eyes vivacious.

“That you’ll fall off the broom if you keep sitting on it like it’s a comfortable armchair.”
Regulus says, rolling his eyes.

“Reggie just complimented you.” Sirius says, cocking an eyebrow. "He was singing your
praises as the best chaser of the year."

James beams, running a hand through his hair. “Then I have to win.” He winks at Regulus.
"Kiss me good luck?"

“You would like that, wouldn't you, Potter?” Regulus teases, leaning forwards, his forearms
on the stands. “Your hair looks ridiculous.”

“It’s the bloody wind!” James says, at the same time as Sirius says: “It’s the bloody genes.”

Regulus looks between them, amused. “You should go back to your captain, Potter. The game
is about to start.”

James glares at him, one of the fake glares James gives when he’s amused and he can’t show
it. “And who are you to give me orders?”

“Regulus Arcturus Black.” He replies simply, as Sirius rolls his eyes. "Best seeker available."

“Potter!” Frank Longbottom shouts, somewhere on the pitch. “Get your arse here!”

“Go, mate. He might have a stroke if you’re not in his personal space in the next five
seconds.” Sirius says, one hand shoved in his pocket.

James grins and looks at them one more time, before he puts a hand on the broom and
casually turns towards Frank Longbottom, gaining speed so rapidly Regulus fears they might
crash.

“Isn’t your lover boy jealous that you flirt with James?” Sirius says, his eyebrows pinched in
a frown.

“I flirt with everyone.” Regulus says, unfazed. “Besides, if that is flirting, it is no surprise
you haven’t snogged your lover boy yet.”

Sirius scowls at him. “I don’t like this complicity between the two of you.” He mumbles,
crossing his arms to his chest. “You used to hate him.”

“C’mon, I was a child.” He says, as they sit down on their seats. The game is going to start in
minutes, so it’s getting pretty crowded. Lily Evans sits beside Regulus, while Sirius sits
between his brother and Remus, who’s seated between Peter. “Why on earth would it be a
good thing for me to hate him?”

“I still don’t like it.” Sirius pouts.

“Well, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” Regulus says, looking for Pandora, who’s arriving
with Xenophilius. He waves his hand at her. “I’m taken, so it’s all a stupid joke.”

Sirius scoffs, but he doesn’t say more, though he casually leans against Remus, who slips an
arm around his shoulders.

“Hey, Reg!” Pandora smiles at him, as she takes her seat behind Regulus. “Alright?”

“Fine.” He says, nodding at Xenophilius. He’d make a polite attempt at conversation, but
Madam Hooch whistles, signing that the game is starting.

As predicted, the game is a tough one. For the first twenty minutes, both teams barely score,
keeping the plays at an exceptional level. Ravenclaw’s seeker doesn’t bother feinting with
Elias: he’s known for never following feints.

The real game between the seekers will start once both the teams surpass 50, Regulus tells
Lily Evans, who seems just as passionate about Quidditch as Regulus is. Lily bets that
Gryffindor will surpass 50 first, and she’s right, so Regulus hands her a Galleon, trying to
hide his smirk. He likes Lily, even if he expected to hate her or be jealous of her. She’s
undoubtedly beautiful, with curly red hair, a soft jawline and jade green eyes that shine under
the afternoon sunlight. She’s clever and a bit mischievous, but that doesn’t stop her from
being nice. Even so, even when she’s so gorgeous and kind, Regulus is the one who gets to be
with James, he's the one that James sneaks off to kiss after supper.

When the score hits 90-70 for Gryffindor, something interesting happens: Elias feints.
Regulus didn’t see that coming, so he frowned immediately, just to realise he’d actually seen
the snitch, casually flying behind Ravenclaw’s seeker. So Elias pulls a Wronski feint that is
so unpolished it hurts, but it works, and when he spikes upwards, he ends up catching the
snitch. Behind Regulus, the stands start to roar. He makes eye contact with James, who
smirks at him as he holds a fist in the air. They’re both unaware of who’s watching them
when they lock eyes.

They don’t manage to see each other after the victory, but James is able to pull him aside one
moment, when Regulus is done talking to Elias, and tells him they can meet after dinner, but
he needs time, one hour or two. Regulus doesn’t mind. He reads while he waits for James and
when he gets bored with the silence, he puts on the vinyl James left in the room, A Night at
the Opera. As he listens, he folds the hoodie he brought for James, smoothing the material,
looks in the drawers of their nightstands to see if the room kept something of his old room
with Elias and finds out it kept the condoms, ironically, and some old homework papers that
they must have forgotten.

He finds himself unable to read if he’s listening to Queen, mesmerised with the sounds, with
the lyrics, he laughs at I’m in love with my Car, but You’re my best friend leaves him warm,
and ‘39 makes him think. Seaside Rendezvous might be one of his favourites, it puts him in a
good mood, makes him wish he was dancing with James in this very room. The prophet’s
song makes him shiver and gives him the idea of the man he wants to become: a seer, a
prophet, someone who just knows what the future holds and how to handle it.

When James arrives, dressed in his Gryffindor jumper and a pair of jeans with a flower
embroidered on the left front pocket, Love of My Life starts playing. They stare at each other,
a little gobsmacked, before they both start laughing.

“Is this how weddings work for us?” Regulus asks, as James approaches him.

“You may now kiss the groom.” James replies, before they kiss each other, sweetly, Regulus’
hands quickly finding James’ waist, while James cups his jaw. He half-expected James to
come here being a little tipsy, because he’s sure Gryffindor threw a party for their win, but he
doesn’t taste or smell like alcohol.

“I was so delighted when I saw you, seated with Sirius during the match.” James says,
kissing his cheek. “Motivated me a ton.”

Regulus smiles, meeting James’ kind, warm eyes. “I was happy to watch you.” He says,
running his fingers through his soft hair. “I didn’t even realise I was cheering for you until
you scored the first goal and I felt like yelling with the rest of your housemates.”

James smiles, sweetly. “Regulus Black? Cheering for Gryffindor?” He cocks an eyebrow.
“I’ll send an owl to The Daily Prophet to let them know change is happening.”

Regulus laughs, pushes James lightly on the chest only to kiss him right after. “Did you have
fun at the party?” He asks after he’s hopped on the bed.

James is taking off his left shoes, when he nods. “Danced with Mary a little, pretended to be
her boyfriend ‘cause our beater can’t get a fucking hint to save his life, then I danced with
Sirius, because we always dance together, and then I had a very interesting spliff
conversation with Moony.”

“Why was it interesting?” He asks, while James sits next to him and presses his back against
the pillow, eyeing the hoodie at the feet of the bed curiously.

“Uh…” James goes, looking up at the ceiling. “Merlin, can we charm it with something? The
white of it is killing me of boredom.”

Regulus grins and points his wand at it. “Sidereus caelum.” He says. He watches the ceiling
becoming deep blue, and then the stars appear over them, and the moon, halfway full. “Two
things awe me most: the starry sky above me, the moral law within me.”

James smiles at him and kisses him chastly, just a peck on the lips (which still makes
Regulus’ heart flutter). “I wish everyone knew how much of a nerd you actually are, quoting
Immanuel Kant while you have Hogwarts’ Golden Boy in bed with you.”

Regulus sticks his tongue at him. “You wouldn’t like it any other way.”

“Nothing truer has ever been stated in human history.” James says, pulling Regulus in a one-
armed hug. “I think my Moony is falling back in love.”
“Your Moony.” Regulus says, wrinkling his nose.

“Jealous much?” Regulus shakes his head, but he presses a kiss on the corner of James’ lips.

“So he’s falling in love.”

“It’s just a guess. He was getting all soppy.” James says, eyes on Regulus as his fingers skim
over his cheek. “I just hope it'll be great this time, you know? It’s a fear of mine, seeing the
people I love getting hurt by people who should help them heal.”

Merlin, why did he phrase it like that. Pandora’s crying face flashes before his eyes. “I’m sure
Remus knows better than that.”

James rests his forehead against Regulus’s, eyes closed. Surely James can't have missed that
Sirius is in love with Remus. But Remus and Sirius fought, Regulus considers. So maybe
James is just worried they'll fight again.

“I’m not sure he does. Sometimes, I…I feel like he might be looking in the wrong places to
find love, or comfort.” He says, thoughtfully, before he opens his eyes again. It's not about
Sirius. Someone else, then. Maybe something else. “I just want my best friends to be loved
right, ‘cause they’ve been through a lot.” For some reason, Regulus is able to pick up what
James left unsaid: and nobody can do that better than me. A conversation for later, he
guesses.

“When I was eleven, I thought Sirius and you were going to date when you were older.” He
blurts out and blushes at James’ stunned expression. “You were close, okay? It made sense in
my head!”

James starts laughing and he doesn’t stop until he’s got tears in his eyes and Regulus is
puffing his cheeks in embarrassment. “Reg, I love Sirius to death, but dating him would be so
bloody weird.”

“No, care to explain why?” Regulus asks, sarcastically. “It stopped making sense soon
enough, for your information.”

James giggles again and kisses him on the cheek. “That’s good, ‘cause I definitely choose
which of the Black Brothers I want to date.”

Regulus tickles his side, making him squirm. Cheeky as he is, he deserved it. “Sirius thinks I
flirt with you too much.”

James rolls his eyes, grabbing both of Regulus’s hands and intertwining their fingers. “He
told me to stop trying to deflower his little brother and think about my poor secret girlfriend’s
feelings when I do such things.” He says, with a little smirk. “He’s so cute, isn’t he?”

“Did he really use the word deflower?” James nods. Regulus would facepalm if he had any
free hands. “Merlin’s crap.”

“I told him that while we were in the detention, we agreed to prank him by flirting with each
other, and he said he’s going to flirt with Evans to get his revenge. And he did it.” James tells
him, straddling Regulus as he speaks. “It was terribly fun to watch, Lily became all red and
glared at him and they spent twenty minutes bickering because Sirius took it personally.”

Regulus wheezes, as James bends down to kiss his cheek and forehead and the bridge of his
nose. “And then you danced with him.”

“And then I danced with him!” James says, letting go of his hands to support himself. “He
stopped being mad at me after that.”

“I don’t think Sirius will ever be able to stay mad at you for a long time.” Regulus says,
cupping James’ cheek. “Sirius never stays mad at people he loves.”

James tilts his head to the side. “He does, though.”

Regulus shakes his head. “No, he gets mad, and then he mops around and refuses to
apologise because he’s a proud prince and he wants to be the one to receive the apologies, but
he never stays mad for a long time. He doesn’t like it.”

Sirius had told him this, last year, in a moment of vulnerability that had Regulus a little
panicked because it was the first time he saw his brother so emotionally vulnerable. He
doesn’t doubt Sirius meant it, because it fits the image he had of Sirius and some of the things
he remembers about him.

“It’s different.” James states, as he lets himself fall next to Regulus again. “It’s different,
being Sirius’ blood brother. From what I am to him.”

Regulus tangles their legs together, his gaze focused on the point where their thighs touch. “It
is. But it’s not a bad thing, right?” He says, looking at James again. “He has both of us.”

James smiles, tucking a strand of Regulus’ hair behind his ear. “Tell me a nice childhood
memory with him?”

“We used to play merpeople when we were younger.” Regulus starts to tell him, a fond smile
forming against his will. “There was a pool in the manor in Nice. There’s the sea too, there,
but we didn’t go much. Too many muggles, though Cissy and Andy took us sometimes. Me
and Sirius used to spend a lot of afternoons by the pool, and he taught me how to hold my
breath under water and how to dive and all those things. Sometimes we’d hide little toys in
the pool or close to it and we pretended we were on a quest to get them out.”

“Were you scared of water already?” James asks, and he looks so soft, so sweet, so tender,
Regulus wants to have him close forever.

“Not with Sirius there.”

For some reason, that's just about enough for his to fill with tears, though he can't explain
himself the reason for it, or why exactly this conversation signed the breaking point.

He sits up, trying to get a grip. Crying in front of James was not part of his plans. But Sirius's
birthday party coming up, along with the lacking invitation to it, makes him rather
emotional.
“Reg?” James sits up next to him.

“Sirius didn’t invite me to his birthday party.” He replies, like it’s the right answer to James’
question. “He never does. But I thought…I thought this year I was being good enough to
deserve to celebrate with him. He’ll be of age, and I won’t be there.” He sniffles, feeling the
tickling of the tears on his cheeks. James looks a little startled. “I wanted him to want me
there.”

“I’ll bring you there.” James says, slowly. “I’ll bring you there, okay?”

Regulus nods, then he shakes his head. “I wanted him to want me there.” He repeats,
dropping his forehead on James’ shoulder. “Why didn’t he invite me?”

“Because he’s a proud dickhead and I wish I could scold him properly.” James mutters. “He
said you don’t invite him to your birthday either.”

“I haven’t celebrated my birthday in years.” Regulus replies, playing with the sleeve of
James’ jumper. “Never had many people to celebrate with.”

He usually celebrated with Pandora, Barty and Evan. By "celebrated", he meas they spent
time together in the garden, making the effort to all get along, and Pandora would bring him a
chocolate muffin and put a little candle on it for him to blow. But Sirius gets huge birthday
parties and it seems like everyone has been there except him.

“I’ll talk to him.” James says. “And I’ll tell him to get his shit together, okay? I promise he
wants you there he’s just…scared that you might not come, if he invites you to parties and
such.”

Regulus sniffles, before distancing himself from James just enough to meet his gaze. “D’you
think he’ll be happy if I come? I don’t wanna ruin it.”

James nods eagerly. “I think you’d be his favourite gift.” He says, with a reassuring smile.
“It’ll be alright, okay?”

Regulus nods, taking James’ hand. “I’m sorry I cried.”

“It’s okay to cry.” James says, lacing their fingers together. “So don’t apologise.”

“But you were having a good day.” Regulus says, meeting James’ gaze again.

James leans forward, with a questioning gaze. Regulus nods and closes his eyes when James’
lips press against his forehead. “I’m glad you told me what was hurting you.” He says,
cupping Regulus’ cheeks with his hands. “What we said last week about knowing each other
even when we hurt and when we hide…I want that too, Reg. Hiding what hurts us does more
harm than good.”

“You’re so nice about everything.” Regulus mumbles. “I need to find you a nickname.”

“A nickname?” James cocks his eyebrow. “Like love or darling?”

Regulus shakes his head, grinning a little, even if there’s tears stuck to his eyelashes,
threatening to fall. “You call me Reg. I want to call you something too.”

James beams; his smile is so precious, he can’t help but kiss it. What was supposed to be a
chaste kiss turns into something a little more heated, that has Regulus crawling into James’
lap, hands in his hair and then his shoulders, neck, face, drawing small whimpers out of
James, who’s got his hands moving soothingly on Regulus’ back.

Kissing James feels almost like a miracle: something that wasn't supposed to happen, maybe,
but it’s marvellous that it did. Breathtaking. Everything with James is always so breathtaking
and fascinating. Being reckless with him makes him feel invincible for the sole reason that
James is there with him and Regulus doesn’t believe for a single second there’s something
more stunning than him in the whole world. Knowledge, ambition, power seem so dull when
he kisses James. Maybe he was put in this earth with the purpose of loving and cherishing
James.

“Jaz.” Regulus tries, when they part, marvelled with the redness of James’ cheeks and lips.

“Like the music genre?” James asks, his arms wrapping around Regulus’ waist.

“The music genre?” Regulus kisses the corner of James’ mouth.

“Yeah, like Jazz and Blues. I can be Jazz and you’ll be Blues.” James is smiling, so Regulus
kisses his lips again, just to smile right after, like happiness is a contagious flu that you get by
kissing somebody who’s already happy.

“Do you like that?” Regulus asks, running his fingers through James’ hair.

“Kissing you? Yeah.” James replies with an adoring smile.

Regulus giggles, kissing him again. “I meant Jaz. Do you like it?”

“Oh.” James laughs, before kissing Regulus’ cheek and then his lips. “I like whatever you’d
like to call me.”

Merlin, this man. “There’s Jamie, too.” Regulus says, nipping at his own bottom lip. “What
about that?”

“Sounds sweet when you say it.”

But he doesn’t say more, because the next second he’s kissing Regulus silly, sucking his
bottom lip into his mouth while his hand fiddles with the hem of Regulus’ jumper and oh…
he almost forgot. But it can wait, it can wait because James’ hand is cold on his side and his
lips are soft and his mouth is hot and it’s all Regulus can think about. James’ glasses dig into
his cheek, so they take them off. Regulus is a little caught off guard by the way James looks
even better without his glasses on, and he hopes James knows he’s so dazzling, he hopes
kissing him is enough for now, because Regulus isn’t able to tell him how beautiful he is yet.

“I will never focus on History of Magic again.” James says, later, while they lay side by side
on the bed. “Your kisses will haunt me in all of my lessons and I’ll never be able to recover.
My grades will suffer and Minnie will give up on her dream of making me a teacher. I’ll
never become an auror because I’ll spend all the hours of my life thinking about how pretty
you are and how your lips feel under mine-”

Regulus snorts, sitting up to grab the hoodie he brought. “Honestly, Potter, that was just a
snog.” He says, grinning widely.

“A jolly nice one.” James says. “What’s with the hoodie?”

“‘S for you.” Regulus replies, hoping he’s not blushing. “Sirius told me you wear Lupin’s
jumpers sometimes, so…” He offers James’ the hoodie, avoiding his eyes because he feels
like he’s going to resemble a tomato if he does. “It should fit you.”

James takes off his Gryffindor jumper eagerly, immediately trying the hoodie on, and God,
it’s a little tight on him, especially on his chest and shoulders. Perhaps this was a mistake. He
can’t look away now. “It smells like you a lot.” James says, covering his nose with it. “New
favourite hoodie.”

Regulus breaks into a smile. “It looks good on you.” He says, a bit shyly, because he’s never
told James that he thinks he’s beautiful, the sort of way poetry and art are beautiful. “You look
good.”

James smiles, toothy and crooked and Regulus thinks he’s got the sweetest smile in the
world. “Put on my jumper!” He says. “Wanna see you in it.”

Regulus feels his face grow hot, but he takes his own jumper -a black one, pretty plain, but
it’s soft and warm, so he wears it often- just to put on James’ one. It’s a little big, the sleeves
cover his hands partially, but it’s snuggly and it smells like James. “Like what you see?” He
asks James, raising his gaze, just to find James looking at him so softly he might crumble.

“I do. I really bloody do.” James says, licking his lips. “C’mere.”

Regulus moves his black jumper to the feet of the bed, then he gets closer to James, wrapping
his arms around him. He peppers his face with kisses and lets James do the same, until
they’re both cosy and flushed.

Nightmares don’t get the best of him, that night.

2 November, 1976

The next few days time picks up pace, like it’s itching to get to the big day, and Regulus feels
anxious more often than not. He’s hyper aware of the movements around him and keeps
everyone at a safe distance, even James, who he doesn’t manage to see, because he’s packed
with homework and assignments -they both are- and Quidditch practice has been brutal since
the game between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.
Being busy with school and sports gives him very little time to spend in the common room,
which is great, or maybe it’s not, because on Halloween night he grabs as many copies of The
Daily Prophets as he can from the stack under his bed and an unused diary and he goes to the
fifth floor, where he spends most of his night cutting out articles about Death eaters and
attacks and studying them, like actively studying them, with notes on everything he notices,
everything he thinks hasn’t been mentioned by whichever arselicker journalist wrote the
goddamn article. He counts the victims, writes down the attacks, the strategies, the recurring
patterns, he asks himself if there’s someone in the order who does the same exact thing.
Bellatrix is mentioned by six articles, Lucius in four, the Lestranges in eight. We’ll put them
in Azkaban before the elections, the prime minister says. Regulus thinks it’s more likely for
the Death Eaters to conquer Azkaban before Christmas. Oh God, they’re stark raving mad,
completely unhinged, insane, and they have power . He feels so revolted and frail at the same
time.

Lily Evans, on patrol that night, finds him sitting on the floor of the music room, paper sheets
all around him and with his hands stained with ink that turns into blood the second he looks
away. He’s running a fever, which is why he’s being taken to the infirmary to get some
pepper up, and he accidentally tells Madam Pomfrey that he thinks his family’s murderous
desires are staining him. It makes sense to tell her that, maybe because she’s been more of a
mother figure than Walburga ever was (will ever be), she sat with him so many times when
he was injured for Quidditch or duelling in the hallways or just simply ill or his anaemia was
kicking his ass.

He’s feeling better on the 2nd, feels stronger, though he’s still anxious enough for his hands
to tremble lightly. He has dinner early with the lot of his yearmates, passively listening to the
conversation, and when he comes back to his dorm he showers quickly, finding the warmth of
the water soothing, and changes outfit three times before he goes back to his original choice.

“What’s up?” Barty asks him.

He’s sitting on his bed with his legs crossed, wearing a hoodie, running shorts and mid calf
white socks: such an ordinary look makes him look so young and innocent and nice, Regulus
struggles to remember why they haven’t been speaking lately. At least Barty looks better than
he did five days ago, when he roamed around the common room all gloomy and ghosty, with
bags under his eyes and his hair messy and a little too long.

“Just nervous. Haven’t been to his birthday in years.” Regulus says, adjusting his green
turtleneck into the black slacks and checking himself in the mirror. He thinks he looks unreal,
not in a good way, but that’s how he always looks when nervousness gets the best of him.
“Do I look okay?”

“You look like a handsome Victorian rich dude.” Barty comments, passing him his rings and
a locket necklace. “Someone you’re trying to impress?”

“Oh, you know Regulus.” Evan says, sprawled on his own bed with his legs obscenely parted
and his arms crossed on his chest. “He wants to impress everyone.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, fixing his rings on his fingers. “I’m not that much of an attention
seeker.” He says, swinging the locket in his index finger. He decides not to wear it, so he
drops it in his truck. “Plus Sirius will make sure to have everyone’s eyes on him.”

There’s a knock on the door, before Dorcas enters the room. “Jesus, Barty, aren’t you cold?
Those shorts are obscene.” She says, fixing her blazer. She’s wearing a white shirt underneath
it and black slacks.

“Are you going to a wedding or a birthday party?” Barty asks, eyeing her outfit.

“Are you going for a run or to bed?” Dorcas replies, as she approaches Regulus. “Eye Pencil,
now.”

“Eye Pencil now.” Regulus obliges, sitting down on his bed while she summons it.

“Barty hates running, by the way.” Evan says. “He only owns running shorts to spite the real
athletes.”

Dorcas holds Regulus’ chin with two fingers as she does his make up. “Barty only lives to
spite.” She corrects him.

“You’re both wrong, I only live to spite my father .”

“The eye-pencil is uncomfortable.” Regulus states, when she’s finished with the first eye.

“Shut it, it makes your eyes pop so much more. If I had eyes like yours, I’d want everyone to
be obsessed with them.” Dorcas says. She’s probably grinning, though Regulus can’t see if
that’s true because he’s busy looking up at the ceiling.

“I can’t believe you’re doing his makeup.” Barty says, sounding very much like he’s pouting.
Regulus wants to roll his eyes at him.

“Shut it, Crouch, or I’ll draw the biggest cock you’ve ever seen on your face.” She threatens,
blending the eyeliner at the corner of his eyes with the tip of her index finger. “There you go,
you’re totally gonna snog tonight. Thank me tomorrow morning.”

Regulus smiles at her, because for some reason that felt comforting. Maybe it’s the way she
treats him like they’re mates that makes him feel reassured. “Shall we go?”

“Have fun!” Evan says. Regulus turns to look at him, and finds him in the same position as
he was some minutes ago, but he’s grinning now. “I hope you get snogged thoroughly.”

Barty rolls his eyes. “Don’t smoke too much without me.” He says, grabbing a book from his
nightstand.

“Cheerio.” Dorcas says, as Regulus opens the door for her. She gets out and Regulus nods in
acknowledgement at his friends, before he exits the room too. He checks his pockets quickly,
making sure he’s grabbed Sirius’ present, before they make their way outside the common
room, where James should be waiting for them.

Predictably, they find him having a verbal fight with Snape.

“You’re nothing without your little friends.” Snape is hissing.

“You are nothing in general.” Regulus says, coolly, before James can reply. “Sod off,
Severus.”

“You’re really becoming a filthy blood traitor.” Snape snaps at him. “Just like your brother. I
pity your poor mother.”

I pity yours, Regulus thinks, giving Severus an up-and-down look.

“You really want to talk about filth with that greasy hair of yours, Snivellus?” James retorts,
with a smirk. “At least Regulus knows what shampoo is.”

“Just go.” Dorcas tells Severus, putting a hand on Regulus’ shoulder. “He’s not here to fight
anyway.”

Snape scowls at her, but he does what she said.

“What a pain in the arse.” James mumbles, before he smiles at them. “Ready? You’re looking
so classy!”

“Thanks.” Dorcas says, while Regulus says: “You aren't.”

James tucks them both under his arms, like they’re friends, housemates, and damn Regulus
hasn’t seen him in days and he’s so so warm, he just wants to stop in his tracks and tackle
James into a hug that probably smells like peppermint and cinnamon rolls and his cologne.
But he doesn’t because Dorcas is next to them and because there’s some people in the
hallways, and he’s not sure he’d be able to stop hugging James if he started.

“So, here’s the plan.” James says, as they stop in front of the fat lady portrait. “Marley is
waiting for you in the common room, so you can go up with the girls while they get ready,
‘cause the party starts at 10pm-ish, but I grabbed you before because of the curfew.
Ravenclaws are pissed that we didn’t invite all of them, so we risk detention.” He turns to
look at Regulus. “You’re going to come up with me and hide in my bed.”

“Yuppie.” Regulus cheers, with a controlled plain expression. “Gifting my brother a

premature heart attack for his coming of age. How very Black of me.”

James snickers and ruffles his hair affectionately, before he steps forward. “Corleonis!” He
tells the fat lady, who glares at him.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, Potter.” She says.

Regulus knows James will smile at that.

“I’m always up to no good, madam.” He says, before they all get in.

Marlene and Dorcas hug each other affectionately, and kiss chastly, maybe because there’s
first and second years doing their homework and looking absolutely gobsmacked. The two of
them make their way upstairs, holding hands, not daunted.
James approaches some first years and quietly tells them to ditch their homework and have
some fun tonight, then does the same with some second years, who are a lot more eager to
listen to his advice. Eventually, they listen to him and get to their dorms to get ready.

“You’re such a bad influence.” Regulus teases, as they make their way to his dorm.

“Bad influence? Excuse me, I just made their night a hundredth time better.” He says, with a
smirk. They look around for a second, before Regulus has him pressed against the wall and
his lips moving slowly on his. James slips his arms around his shoulders, parting up for him
so nicely Regulus thinks he’ll melt in a poodle on the spot.

“Missed you.” James whispers when they part.

“Me too.” Regulus replies, kissing him again briefly.

James’ dorm is empty, when they get there. “Where’s everyone?” Regulus asks, frowning
slightly.

“Moony and Wormie are grabbing food supplies.” James says, sitting on his bed and inviting
Regulus to do the same. “Sirius has been promptly stolen by Evans and Mary, they’re getting
him ready.”

Regulus nods, swinging his knee over James’. “So we’re alone in your room.”

James smiles at him mischievously. “What are you thinking about, Regulus?” He asks,
leaning in, a hand placed carefully on Regulus’ leg, just above the knee.

Regulus grabs his chin between his index and his thumb and smiles. “I’m thinking about
snogging you senseless.”

“Pretty please.” James whispers, before they’re kissing, a bit messily, fighting for dominance
a little, pushing the other against the mattress teasingly until James finally manages to
straddle Regulus.

“Unfair.” Regulus claims, rising up to kiss James. “It’s hard to win if I have to be careful
about not stepping on your bed with my shoes.”

James giggles, rolling on his side. “Then let’s take them off and see who wins.”

They do, but what was supposed to be a fight turns into a slightly more heated snogging
session that probably smears his eye pencil a little, probably, but he doesn’t really care,
because he manages to pin James on the mattress and get him to whine slightly on his lips
when he kisses and bites at his neck. He’s obsessed with the way James sighs in his mouth
when their lips meet again, and he’s not really thinking about anything, neither Sirius’
reaction to his presence at the party nor the fact someone could walk in at any second.

“Reg.” James breathes out, cupping his face with his warm, warm hands. “If we don’t stop,
I’m going to have inappropriate body reactions for just a snog-”
“Are you popping a boner, Potter?” Regulus teases, but puts some distance between their
bodies. The last thing he wants is to make James uncomfortable.

“Listen, have you seen yourself? It’s not my fault you’re…” James runs a hand on his face,
before he gestures at Regulus. “You look like that.”

Regulus laughs, raising up on his knees and running a hand in his hair, to get it to be a little
less messy. “D’you like how I look?”

James’ expression softens. “Yes, especially that pretty face of yours.” He says, before he
surges up again to wrap his arms around Regulus in a hug. “I’m sorry we didn’t see each
other after Saturday. Was busy with this massive Magical Creatures assignment, and
Halloween makes me so melancholy.”

Regulus kisses him on the top of the head, holding him close. “Why?”

“Dunno.” He says, tightening his grip. “But I kept wishing I was with you during the night. I
considered sending you my owl with a note.”

“You could have. I wouldn’t have minded.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” James kisses him again, sweetly and shortly. “‘S better to stop
hugging before Moony and Wormie walk in on us.”

Regulus groans, but he agrees, so he kisses James one last time before they put some distance
between each other. Only a couple of minutes later, they hear Sirius’ laugh echo in the
corridor.

“I’m going to close the curtains!” James says, before he does so.

Regulus can hear the door opening and James’ laugh.

“Hiding something in your bed, Prongsie?” Sirius asks playfully.

“Probably his secret girlfriend.” This must be Peter, Regulus thinks.

“Maybe I’m hiding a prank.” James says, with his fakely innocent tone, that he always has
when he wants to show you something but the time isn’t right yet.

“On Sirius’ birthday?” Remus sounds amused.

“He just knows me so well!”

“Aww, man.” Peter coos. “Missed opportunity. It could have been a thing.”

“Pranking on birthdays?”

Remus hoots. “Reckon it would have driven good old Minerva mad.”
“Remember the talk she gave us at the end of our second year?” Sirius asks, sounding
dreamy.

“I remember swearing I would never prank again.”

“What a liar you are, Potter.” Peter giggles.

“I know, right?”

“Is my birthday present in there?”

“You could say that.”

Regulus shifts, nervously, and runs a hand through his hair.

“Show me, then!”

“What’s the magic phrase, Pads?”

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

The curtains open, and Regulus finds himself staring at his brother dressed in red silky high-
waisted trousers, with a shirt that reads “Bowie” with the picture of a man singing, and
perfect eyeliner that makes his eyes look a little sweeter. His hair has been styled too and it
frames his face beautifully.

“Reggie!” He says, beaming.

Relief hits Regulus like a tornado, lifting all his anxiety from his chest and taking it away.
“Hey, Siri.” He replies, with a grin, before he jumps off James’ bed. “Looking very much like
Mother would disown you again.”

“You have a way with words.” Sirius jokes, pressing his hand on his chest. “You know how
to make a man proud.”

Regulus snickers, before he waves at Remus and Peter. “Alright?”

“First Gryffindor party, innit?” Peter asks, sitting at the feet of Remus’ bed. He’s rocking a
beige jumper and a pair of light coloured jeans. “You’ll have fun, everyone is friendly.”

“Oh, they’re going to love him. Especially the Quidditch team.” James says, crossing his
arms to his chest.

As if he’s been summoned, Elias opens the door, wearing just a pair of ripped black jeans and
booter boots. “Frank asked if…” He stops when he sees Regulus and grins at him. “I’m going
to get you so drunk you’ll forget what composure is.” Regulus rolls his eyes at him, before
Elias turns towards Remus. “Frank is asking about the dress code.”

“The dress code is hot people's clothes.” Sirius replies, waving his hand in the air eloquently.
“Muggle clothing is better though. More party-like.”
“Roger.” Elias smiles at them, waves at Regulus, and closes the door again.

“Who the hell is Roger?” Regulus asks, accidentally looking at James, before he moves his
gaze towards Sirius.

“A thing muggles say.” Remus replies, with an amused smile. “It means ‘understood’.”

Regulus grins. “Wicked.” He looks at the door again.

“Is it just me or does Elias never wear a shirt?” Peter asks, his head tilted to the side.

“He thinks they’re uncomfortable.” Regulus explains, sitting on James’ bed again.

The door opens again, but it’s Lily this time. “Are you all ready?” She asks.

She’s wearing a green shirt with the first bottoms left open and a black skirt, and on her ears
shines a pair of earrings shaped like a crescent moon. She looks amazing. He half expects
James to be looking at her, but when he turns to look at him, he meets James’ kind gaze and
his sweet smile, and he feels relief for the second time this evening.

“All ready, Evans.” James turns to look at her, his voice calm and steady. It makes Regulus
want to crawl in his arms and never stop hugging him. “We’ll be down in a few.”

Lily smiles at him. “Great, see you then.” She closes the door.

“Oh my God, you’re actually over her.” Sirius says, covering his mouth with his hand. “Mate,
you’re so over her.”

“I can’t believe this day has come.” Peter says, batting his eyes.

“The end of the world is near.” Remus announces, as he meets Regulus’ gaze.

“Arh arh.” James rolls his eyes, fixing his jumper. “Told ya I fancy someone else.”

“Aww, man.” Sirius pulls James into a hug. “I was sort of hoping you two’d get together one
day.”

James looks at Regulus from over Sirius’ shoulder and smiles. “You’ll grow out of it.” He
says. “I did, so you can, too.”

The party is fun. Definitely better than the Slytherin ones, but maybe it’s the people. Elias
tackles him as soon as the party starts and they have some firewhiskey, before they go
dancing together, to some muggle music Regulus hasn’t heard before. At some point, Alice
Prewett claims Elias, but that’s not really a problem, because the moment he sits by the couch
with Peter Pettigrew, Marlene and Dorcas drag them back in the middle of the common room,
where Regulus ends up dancing with Mary, who swings him around, messes up his hair a
little and says that his makeup is “slammin’”.
When he gets away, a little overwhelmed, he finds Sirius staring gloomly at Remus, who’s on
the other side of the common room, sitting by the window with Chester Roc, who seems to
be flirting with him.

“What are you doing?” Regulus asks, leaning on the wall next to him. “Go talk to him.”

“He’s clearly busy with someone else.” Sirius glares at the two, before he downs his
firewhiskey.

“You’re the birthday boy. Just go get him, yeah? Dance with him. I dunno, bring him upstairs
and snog him senseless.”

Sirius breaks into a smile. “You think I can just do that?”

“I think you should do that.” Regulus says, before he winks at him. “Go get your man.”

Sirius licks his lips, before he nods at himself and makes his way towards Remus.

“That was nice of you.” Lily says, appearing by his side. “He needed a little confidence.”

“We all do.” Regulus replies, with a relaxed smile. “You’re looking fantastic, by the way.”

Lily smiles at him. “You’re a charmer, you are.” She says, leaning on the wall next to him.
“Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you.” He says, politely. “I get stress fevers.”

“Ouch, sounds tough. Are you one of those people who gets a fever after exams?”

“That’s absolutely the type of person I am, yes.” He looks at James, who’s dancing with
Mary and Marlene on a table, a butterbeer in his hand. “Does he do that every time?”

Lily giggles. “Yes, he does. Actually, they do. They’re the show-offs of the Gryffindor
tower.”

Cute, Regulus thinks with a little smile.

The next time he sees Sirius, he’s in the dorm, sitting with his back against the wall. He’s
having fun, but the people are a little overwhelming. Sirius came to use the bathroom,
initially, but after he did that, he came and sat by his side.

“I got you a present.” Regulus says, grabbing a little box from his pocket. “‘S not much, but I
thought it was nice.”

“You shouldn’t have gotten me a present.” Sirius says, but he looks content, so Regulus
shrugs it off. “I’m sorry I didn’t invite you. It’s just…I would have hated for the party to
happen, if you said you weren’t coming. It felt risky to ask.”

“It’s okay. I understand.” Regulus says, putting the box in Sirius’ lap. “I would never not
come to your party.”
“I’m glad.” Sirius says, with a small smile. “Can I open it?”

“No.” Regulus replies.

Sirius sticks his tongue at him and opens the box. There’s two rings in it, made out of old
broomstick wood. It has the word frère written inside, with their birth years in roman
numbers.

“I noticed you didn’t wear your family ring anymore.” Regulus explains, picking Sirius’ one
and putting it in his open palm. “I thought we could have our own family rings, just you and
me. Since we’re still family.”

Sirius stays so silent Regulus is afraid he said something wrong, but when he looks at his
brother, he sees that he’s holding back tears. “You’ve always been thoughtful. And I hated it,
even when we were younger, because you would always make me cry. And look at you now.
Haven’t changed the slightest.” They share a brief hug, before Regulus puts on his ring as
well.

“Let’s go dancing.” He says, offering one hand to Sirius, who gets up, his other hand still
holding the box.

Sirius shakes his head. He lets go of Regulus’ hand and puts the box on his nightstand, before
he hugs Regulus properly. “I thought I was going to lose you when you got sorted into
Slytherin.” He says, when Regulus holds him back. “Thought mother and father were going
to take you away from me. And you came back. I’m so so sorry for all the times I called you
a coward.”

“I was a coward.” Regulus mumbles back. “I let them dictate my thinking for three years,
Sirius. You were right.” It doesn’t mean Regulus didn’t hurt, or that it’ll stop hurting starting
tomorrow, but he’s glad they’re mending their relationship, glad they have each other again
and happy memories with Sirius won’t just be a rare memory from his childhood, a brother
he used to have. “It’s almost midnight.”

They part and get back to the common room, where Sirius is met with the roar of people
doing a countdown, like it’s the new years, and at midnight, Sirius is given a lot of hugs,
there’s a couple of people taking poli-roid pictures and people making toasts and already
going around with pieces of mince pie.

At three in the morning, the party died down. Most people went to sleep, cause it’s school
day, but Regulus and Dorcas stayed. The common room is a mess. Peter fell asleep on one of
the couches and James laid a soft blanket on him, before sinking down on the armchair next
to Regulus, his arm slipping casually around his shoulders.

“How was the party?” He asks the survivors: Dorcas and Marlene, cuddled up on the other
armchair; Lily and Mary sitting with their backs towards the fireplace; Sirius and Remus on
the couch, holding hands, probably thinking they’re being sneaky, probably.

“Bleeding deadly.” Sirius says, dropping his head on Remus’ shoulder. He glares (or tries to)
at James and Regulus. “Stop being so cuddly and cute.”
“They do look cute!” Mary says, with a bright smile. Regulus likes her a lot, she reminds him
of freshly baked cookies with chocolate chips and vin brulé. He can’t really explain why, he
thinks it’s just the energy she has. She could probably get Barty to dance, if she wanted to. A
contagious sort of vivacity.

“Shhh, Mary, don’t encourage them, they’re both taken.” Sirius says, then he starts to giggle.

“Are you?” Lily asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“Dunno ‘bout Reg, but I am.” James says, with a charming smile.

“Awww, when are you going to introduce us, Jem?” Marlene asks. She has Dorcas cuddled
up on her chest, with her shirt out of her trousers. “Tell her I was here first.”

“Hell nah, I was there first.” Mary says, flipping her the bird. “I can’t believe I wasn’t
informed. What happened to being best mates, Potter?”

Before James can answer, Sirius says: “Oi, wotcher, he’s my best mate.”

Remus snickers. “In your dreams, Black.”

Dorcas locks eyes with Regulus and smirks. “You guys keep arguing, Regulus will silently
steal him from you all.”

Regulus smiles sheepishly. “Two dogs strive for a bone, the third runs away with it.” He
simply says, resting his head against James’s shoulder. “Isn’t it true, Jamie?”

“Absolutely, darling.” James strokes his hair, and it feels nice, even if it’s a play pretend.
“Have I ever told you guys about the passionate intercourses Regulus and I had in all the
broom cupboards at Hogwarts?”

“I’ll throw up and it’s not the firewhiskey.” Sirius says, pouting.

“All the broom cupboards?” Lily considers it. “I sort of feel like I should congratulate you.”

Mary giggles, she tries to say something, but she starts laughing, and her laugh is so
contagious they’re all laughing before she manages to stop.

“My old pals.” James says, catching his breath. “Think it’s time to go to sleep if we want to
survive Charms tomorrow.”

“Sleepover!” Lily says, jumping up on her feet. “Sleepover!”

Sirius smirks, getting up and stretching. “The queen has spoken.” He says, helping Remus on
his feet. “I’d say we leave Wormie to rest on that couch and open up this one?”

“Yeah,” James says, getting up. “I’ll grab some blankets.”

“Bring four,” Remus says, as he and Sirius open up the sofa-bed (Regulus didn’t know it was
a thing at Hogwarts). “Four people on the couch, another four on the two armchairs, yeah?”
There’s a mumble in agreeing.

“I think Prongs might be able to turn armchairs into single beds.” Sirius says, tying up his
hair.

“I’ll do it!” Dorcas says as she pulls out her wand. She manages to turn both the armchairs by
the time James gets back with a pile of neatly folded blankets. He got changed, too, and he’s
wearing the hoodie Regulus gave him now, with some flannel pyjama bottoms.

“Perhaps getting changed is a wise choice.” Remus says, eyeing his jeans.

“I’ll give you some clothes.” Sirius says, nodding at Regulus.

So they split from the girls, James trails after the other three boys. Sirius rummages in his
truck until he finds some blue pyjama trousers.

“Mate, if you can’t find a shirt, I’ll just give him one of mine.” James says, casually.

“Marley has half of my wardrobe, I swear.” Sirius says, getting up. “Sorry, Reg, didn’t
predict the lack of shirts.”

“Don’t really mind.” Regulus says, with a grin, as he takes the pyjama Sirius is offering him.

“I’ve got the most comfortable shirts.” James says, opening his truck. “What colour?”

“Umh…grey.” Regulus chooses, eyeing James’ truck curiously. He’s really tidy, everything is
folded neatly and put away in what seems to be an order Regulus can’t quite catch. He
notices James has a lot of band shirts, though.

“The ABBA one then.” James says, with a smirk. “Treat it with care.”

Regulus nods, with a little smile, as Remus gets out of the bathroom. He’s wearing muggle
clothing, the kind Regulus saw at the park near the house during winter: jumpsuits, he
believes they’re called. His mother says it’s a shabby way of dressing, Regulus reckons it is
much better than robes, at least because it’s comfortable.

“Go change in the bathroom, I’ll just change here.” Sirius says, before he takes off his shirt.

Regulus gathers his toothbrush with a summoning spell, then he brushes his teeth and gets
changed. James’ shirt looks big on him, but he likes to think this is just a momentary thing,
and he’ll be as tall as James one day. He leaves his toothbrush next to all the others and gets
out of the bathroom.

“Sirius and Remus went downstairs.” James says, from the edge of the bed. “I thought I
could sneak a goodnight kiss, if I pretended to look for something.”

Regulus smiles at him. “It’s the first time we sleep together.” He notes, stopping in front of
James.
“Can’t believe Sirius is letting it happen.” James says, closing his eyes when Regulus runs his
fingers through his hair.

“Where do you want your goodnight kiss?” Regulus asks, smiling fondly: James looks so
dotey even when he’s tired.

“Forehead and lips, thank you.” James says, breaking into a little smile.

Regulus obliges and bends down slightly to kiss him on the forehead, before catching James’
chin with his fingers and pressing a kiss on his lips. “Happy?”

“Very much so.” James says, getting up. “My turn now.” He pulls Regulus into his arms and
kisses the crown of his hair, and then just between his eyebrows.

Regulus hums, content, holding James a little longer, before they part and go downstairs
again.

“Thought you were going to be in there forever.” Sirius says, as Lily and Mary hopp on the
couch next to him. “What were you doing?”

“Had a quickie before bed.” James smiles charmingly.

“You just sleep better after sex.” Regulus adds, with a wink.

“I’ve changed my mind, you two can’t sleep together.” Sirius says, puffing his cheeks.

“I gathered that they already did?” Lily asks, teasingly. Mary, next to her, laughs.

“The broom cupboards have seen things that humankind isn’t yet ready to discover.” Remus
says, wisely, as James and Regulus sit on the free bed.

“I hate you all.” Sirius mumbles, before he lays down. “Keep your hands in your pockets,
boys.”

“James’ pockets are right there though.” Regulus complains, making Dorcas giggle.

“C’mon now.” Remus turns the lights off. “Goodnight, lads and gals.”

There’s a “good night” chant and then some shuffling of blankets moving and people trying
to get in the right position to sleep. James and Regulus simply lay on their side, standing
close, their legs tangled together. They don’t speak or dare to kiss, though James eventually
slips his arm around Regulus’ waist, bringing him close until they’re chest to chest. He falls
asleep easily, lulled by the small sounds of James’ breathing and the faint one of his
heartbeat.

Happiness can be found in the bare things that keep us alive, he thinks.
 Promises & Love Potions
Chapter Notes

CWs: homophobia (internalised and implied); discussions of coming out; recreational

drug use; queer themes; implied childhood trauma.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

3 November, 1976

Regulus should probably thank every existing deity for having a biological clock. Otherwise,
he wouldn’t be trying to focus on understanding where the snitch is, he would just be dead,
because he was almost late to practice. Now, Regulus has never been late to practice, it’s just
not his thing, he’s usually early. Except that Quidditch practice was the last thing that came to
his mind, yesterday, when he fell asleep next to James and contemplated the beauty of the
bare things that keep one person alive -like breathing, which James makes sound so poetic
and lovely, when it’s just ordinary for everyone else.

Anyway, he woke up in a cold sweat because he realised he was going to be late and ran
through the castle wearing the improvised pyjamas and his boots. What a sight it must have
been. Luckily enough, no one was up at 5:15am in the morning. He made it on time, but he’s
so bloody tired. The snitch isn’t as interesting as trying to discover if sleeping on your broom
is worth the fatal fate that comes with it. Keeping his eyes open is a struggle, but he tries,
since the last thing he needs to deal with today is a quidditch related injury.

“Black!” Veronica calls, from the hoops, drawing his attention away from the lack of sleep.
Regulus reckons she’s upset because she wasn’t invited to Sirius’ party, which would have
been the perfect opportunity to try and make a good impression with Lily Evans. “Stop
slacking off! Catch the bloody snitch!”

He groans, cursing Sirius in his thoughts for not inviting her. Mind you, if she had been
invited, Regulus wouldn’t be suffering her displeasure. “On it!” He yells back. Oh, well. He
might as well try to practice decently.

By the time practice ends, he has caught the snitch three times and done feint drills. He’ll
need them when they play against Ravenclaw, as he was reminded about ten times in the past
two hours.

After briefing, he’s knackered. Pulling a sickie and sleeping through classes are particularly
tempting activities, but that would mean admitting his defeat to hangover and lack of sleep,
which Regulus refuses to do. So he goes back to his dorm, showers before Barty and Evan
are even up, and when he’s done, he curls up in bed and tries to sleep. It doesn’t matter if he
won’t, just resting on his bed is nice.
“Oi, Rosier, look who’s hungover.” Barty says, somewhere close to his bed.

“Gryffindors tired him out, innit?” He hears Evan giggle. “Reggieee…”

“Fuck off, Rosier.” Regulus slurs, without even moving. “I’m on two hours of sleep, don’t
put it past me to kill you with my bare hands. They’ll never find your body.”

“He’s so lovely when he’s tired.”

“A real sweetheart.”

“Marriage material.” Evan adds, sitting on Regulus’ bed. “Coming for breakfast?”

Regulus doesn’t want to get up, but his stomach disagrees. “Fine.” He gets up from the bed,
pleased to see that he’s not unstable on his feet like he thought he would be. Still, the urge to
slouch is very persistent. “I feel like I won’t survive any class.”

Evan chuckles. “That’s what you get for partying in the middle of the school week, you
stupid sod.” Regulus glares at him.

“You need coffee.” Barty says, clapping a hand on his shoulder. The print of the sheets on his
cheek makes him look soft and sweet, like he forgot to stop dreaming when he woke up.

“Hail coffee.” Regulus mumbles, grabbing his bag and putting the books he needs and spare
parchment in it. The folded clothes James and Sirius gave him seem to be staring at him. He
bets the ABBA shirt still smells like James.

“Did you have fun?” Evan asks. “I’ve always been curious about Gryffindor’s parties. They
look like they know how to have fun, the bastards. If it wasn’t full of…” Regulus gives him a
dirty look, and Evan wrinkles his nose. “If it wasn’t for the people, I’d try to sneak in.”

“They’re bloody mental, they are. I think Elias drank Frank Longbottom under the table.”

Elias. Crazy git. He wanted to get Regulus drunk, but he disappeared with some Ravenclaw
bloke into his dorm right after the bet with Frank.

“There was lots of muggle music, and a lot of food and drinks. There were some people from
Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw too, it was pretty fly. It went on until 3am.”

“But you didn’t come back.” Barty says, as Regulus grabs James’ shirt. It, indeed, still smells
like James. He mulls over whether to wear it or not, but he quickly settles on wearing it. If
anything, it will bring him comfort throughout the day.

“Did you sleepover?” Evan asks, as Regulus takes off his jumper and the shirt he was
wearing underneath.

He almost never wears his uniform or robes, nowadays. Robes are stuffy and uncomfortable,
even the finest one, while the uniform is too plain. Sometimes, he wishes he could just cut the
shirt and reinvent the whole uniform look. Honestly, fuck the dresscode. The only ones that
actually care about it are usually Purebloods, and Regulus wants to differentiate himself from
that sort.

“Yeah.” He says, putting on the ABBA shirt. “Dorcas too, reckon she’s still there.”

“She slept over with her girlfriend?” Barty asks, almost sounding alarmed.

Regulus smirks at him, feeling the urge to tease him for the way his eyes went round. “What
is going through your mind, Crouch?” He asks, whimsically, before putting his jumper back
on.

“Hold on, they haven’t…” Evan makes a vulgar gesture, his cheeks sporting a rosy colour.
“Have they?”

“Is that any of our business?” Regulus asks. Barty and Evan both give him their best
impression of puppy eyes. “Bloody leeches you are.” He says, his eyes darting between them.
“I don’t have any idea, but we slept over in the common room, so I’m guessing it’s a no.” He
looks at Evan and crosses his arms to his chest. “Do you have some fun tales for us?

“Uuuuh.” Barty giggles, shooting Evan, who’s blushing, an amused glare.

“I’m not going to answer that question.” Evan mumbles, looking down and then away.

Barty and Regulus exchange a knowing glare. “It’s a yes.”

“It’s a yes!” Barty giggles again. “C’mon, let’s go for breakfast, I have a feeling that Vivi will
eat all the biscuits if we leave her alone.”

“That would be you, actually.” Evan puts his arm around Barty’s shoulders, despite Barty
being a little taller than he is. “You have such a sweet tooth.”

Regulus wasn’t ready for how loud the Great Hall was going to be; but, of course, there’s a
lot of gossip to do after Gryffindor throws a party, so there’s that. Vivienne and Leonie sit
next to him at breakfast and try to get information about who snogged who and who cheated
on who, information Regulus doesn’t really have because his attention was elsewhere (on
James, most of the night, but in his friends too, since they all seemed to be interested in
getting to know him). Evan and Barty look amused.

“Is it true that Greco shagged Andrew Macmillan?” Leonie asks, cutting an apple. She’s
sharing it with Evan, which is weirdly domestic, and makes Regulus think about summer in
Nice, when Sirius would cut up fruit for the both of them and they’d sit by the pool together
to eat it, their feet dipped in the water.

“How would I know?” He asks, eyeing James and Lily, who just entered the Great Hall.

“C’mon, you’re friends with him.” Vivienne says, eloquently, clicking her ring against her
cup. “It’s a pity, Macmillan is so attractive. And he plays Quidditch, so…”

“Why would you care about who Greco shagged?” Barty asks, dipping a cookie in his tea.
“And how did you already know who he shagged? It’s impressive how fast you get these
gossips.”

Vivienne waves off the second question. “I want to know who’s on the market.” She replies,
as Regulus realises that James and Lily are coming over to the Slytherin table. Fuck. Fuck,
Fuck, Fuck. He definitely forgot something.

“Bisexual guys exist, Vivienne.” He says, trying to keep his cool. “Maybe he’s still on the
market. Elias doesn’t date anyway.”

“Slag.” Barty mumbles. Regulus scowls at him.

“Regulus Black.” James says, appearing behind Regulus. “You left your clothes and your
rings on my bed last night.” He says it playfully, winking at him.

Regulus blinks at him. So that’s what he forgot. He’s so tired he forgot about his rings.
Salazar’s bollocks. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“You didn’t even say goodbye! After we slept together!” James goes on, with a fakely
offended expression, before he grabs the clothes from his backpack and hands them over.
“I’ve got your rings too.” He says, as Regulus grabs the clothes and stuffs them in his bag,
carefully, because James has been a true sweetheart and folded his clothes.

“Do you want me to wake you up at 5:10am next time?” Regulus asks as James drops his
rings on his open palm.

“You woke me up anyway, running away like that.” James complains. “You were all freaked
out!”

“Hey Reg!” Lily interrupts, waving her hand at him. He smiles at her. “Alright?”

“No, absolutely dreadful.” He sighs. “I got two hours of sleep and practice was brutal.”

“You need brutal practice though, you’ve got no chance against Gryffindor.” James says, with
a smug smile.

“You need brutal singing practice, Potter. It was all cloudy this morning, and it’s definitely
your fault.” Regulus scoffs, flipping him the bird, before he turns to Leonie. “Make sure you
tell everyone Potter performed three love songs at the top of his lungs last night. While
dancing on a table and using a vodka bottle as a microphone.” Evan snorts. “What was that
song…Honey, honey, how you thrill me…”

James crosses his arms to his chest, turning to Leonie as well. “I was good though, don’t
listen to him. I’m very good at singing ABBA songs. I could perform right here if you want
proof.”

“Please spare us.” Lily says, messaging one of her temples. Leonie looks a little shocked that
James Potter just approached her like that. It’s hard for Regulus not to snort. “Last night was
embarrassing enough.”
“Potter’s just good at showing off.” Regulus says, feeling the urge to pinch James’ side and
make him squirm. “Aren’t you?” James shows him two fingers.

“Aha, Regulus is right though.” Lily says, grabbing a biscuit. Barty glares at her, making
Evan choke on his sconne. What a couple of idiots.

“He’s not! I’m charming, not a show-off, it’s different.” James says, waving his hand in the
air. “I didn’t fail to charm you, Regulus.”

Barty frowns. “The fuck does that mean, Potter?” He asks, roughly. He has been awfully
quiet since James showed up. With growing horror, Regulus is hit by the realisation that
Barty was probably observing him. “Stay away from him.”

“He’s just making a stupid joke, Barty.” Regulus rolls his eyes, picking at his breakfast. “We
had to share the bed, that’s all.”

“I can’t believe you’re throwing away my love this fast.” James says, pressing a hand on his
chest, his family ring flickering on his middle finger. “I could have sang honey honey for
you.”

“Your idiot brother let you do that ?” Barty hisses, before Regulus can reply. His eyebrows
pinched and his mouth curled down in an angry scowl. “You slept with James Potter!?”

“Hey! I’m a gentleman. It’s called love-making.” James says, clearly teasing. He probably
picked up that Barty is annoyed by the situation.

Lily laughs, Barty doesn’t. “Cut the joke, Potter. You’re acting like a fucking pervert.” He
sputters, giving James a dirty look. “Stay away from Regulus.”

“Why? Are you jealous?” James sing-songs, not intimidated. “I could be closer to him, if I
wanted to-”

“James.” Regulus looks at him and shakes his head. James rolls his eyes, but he takes a step
back.

“What, now you’re on a first name basis with him?” Barty scowls, getting up. “Honestly,
Reg, what the fuck.”

“What the hell is your problem, Crouch?” Irritation colours James’ voice now.

“C’mon, he’s his brother’s best friend.” Lily tries to argue.

“I don’t fucking care of who he is.” Barty gives Regulus a severe look. “I don’t know what
the fuck is up with you lately, but you need to snap out of it.” And then he walks away.

“Loony git.” Evan sighs, watching him go away; then he looks at James. “Sorry, he gets like
that sometimes.”

“Whatever.” James mutters. He looks at Regulus, giving him a confused look. “See you
around, Black.”
Regulus doesn’t look at him as he goes away, but his breakfast is significantly less cheerful
after that.

The rest of the day is a bit hazy, not just because of exhaustion, but also because conflict
scares him. There it goes, the awaited confession: fighting makes him feel all sorts of wrong
things, from sick to frail, from frail to broken. Maybe it reminds him of his childhood, maybe
because of the inevitable consequences of making someone upset. So he’s nervous. He’s
hypersensitive, too, which is why he’s avoiding physical contact with everyone. Even then,
he finds that he wouldn’t mind if it was James, because that would mean he’s not upset with
him. Or at least not upset enough.

There’s also the fact that, rationally speaking, he’s conscious he’s overthinking this: Barty
fought with James, Regulus didn’t technically do anything. He still thinks that it’s
responsibility, though. James looked upset.

He sighs, burying his face in his arms. History of Magic started ten minutes ago and
professor Binns’ voice is already lulling him into sleep.

“Barty is upset with you.” Pandora murmurs, next to him. “I saw him fight with Quaffle at
Breakfast. What happened?”

“He made a joke about us sleeping together, and then they both got upset.” Regulus says,
crossing his arms on the table and laying his head on them. “I reckon Quaffle is mad at me.
Didn’t tell him about Barty.”

“Well, you haven’t been together for a long time, I don’t see why you would have said it right
away.” Pandora says, scribbling something on her parchment. “I’m guessing he didn’t tell
you about his past either.”

“No, but I didn’t have any of his past lovers to treat me like shit, so there’s that.” He sighs
again, sneaking a glance at Barty, who’s dozing off on the desk, his bag serving as a pillow..
“Barty will be mad, too. Ugh.”

“Is he still…?”

Regulus shrugs. “I guess, yeah. I don’t know how to handle him. He gets so jealous, and I
don’t know how to explain to him that what I do with other people isn’t any of his business,
he thinks it is.”

Pandora wrinkles her nose. “He needs to fall for someone else.”

“He does.” Regulus says, playing with the angle of Pandora’s parchment. “I’m worried about
Quaffle. Do you think he’ll understand?”

“That your ex-sort-of-boyfriend is still jealous? Yeah, it doesn't seem out of this world, if you
ask me.” Regulus nods. “You can sleep, Reg.” She adds, with a little smile. “I’ll take notes.”

Regulus thanks her, before he forces himself to surrender to exhaustion.

He makes sure to meet James’ eyes before he leaves the Great Hall, and he hopes that’s
enough for James to realise he wants to meet him. He stops by his dorm to brush his teeth and
change into a warmer jumper, since the halls are going to be cold by the time he gets back,
then he heads to the Come and Go room. James isn’t there when he arrives, so he spends
some time rearranging the room. He finds out that their cupboard is filled with mugs and
different types of tea and cha, other than two packages of peppermint chamomile.

“Why did I get so obsessed with this…” He sighs, but he starts preparing a couple of mugs of
chamomile, the way Elias does it.

Elias. He needs to see him again. He really needs to see him again, because he misses him.
He’ll kidnap him and force him to grab a butterbeer at hogsmeade for some catch up. He sets
the mugs on the table by the window, once the chamomile is ready, and paces around the
room a little. He’s starting to wonder whether he should go look for James, when the door
springs open.

James is panting, his cheeks are red from running, but a little grin flutters on his lips.
“Dropped a couple of dung bombs on my way here, Snivellus was following me, the little
creep.” He says, starting to close the distance between them. “Should have seen his face
when the dung bomb dropped just a couple of centimetres from his feet.”

Regulus grins back, a bit shy, while James pulls him in close. It’s weird, really: he thought he
was going to feel uncomfortable, but he finds himself embracing James back. “Think he
learnt his lesson?”

“Does he ever?” James asks, before pressing a kiss on Regulus’ cheek. “You’re pale. Did
something happen?”

“I’m…” Regulus nods, breathing in. “I thought you wanted to talk about this morning. Barty
wasn’t nice to you.”

James looks away. “‘S fine. I was being a dickhead anyway.” He mumbles.

“James, you’re minimising the issue.” Regulus says, gently, smoothing the lines that formed
between James’ eyebrows. “I know you were pissed. It’s fine, if you were.”

James looks at him, for a moment, then he lowers his eyes again. “He’s in love with you, isn’t
he?” He tightens his hold on Regulus. “I don’t like it. I want to rub it in his face. Even if I
know it’s wrong.”

There’s a lot left unsaid. He’s getting pretty good at telling when James leaves out parts of his
sentences, though he’s not as good at being able to tell what he meant to say.

“Yes.” He says, after a moment of silence. “He’s in love with me, but he’ll get over it.”

James presses his lips into a thin light. “I don’t get him.” James frowns, stepping back from
Regulus to sit at the table. He shivers at the loss of his warmth, but he imitates him. “He’s a
wanna-be-death eater, but he’s in love with you. You hate all of those bollocks your parents
say, and you’ve studied to be better than them, but you still go around with Crouch and
Rosier like they’re not- like they’re not the same as your parents. Why?”

Regulus nods, breathes in. “See, I don’t think Barty really wants to be a death eater.” James
gives him a disilluded look, scowling ever so little. “Don’t look at me like that. You don’t
know him, you really don’t. He hates their guts. But it’s…he wants his father to know he
doesn’t own him, and the best way to show it, according to Barty, is doing everything his
father hates. And I don’t know what happened this summer, but something happened, and
Barty is hurting. We’ve been fighting. But I know I can pull him out of it, because he’s a
good person.” He says, firmly. James looks away. “Evan is more complicated, I haven’t
figured it out yet.”

“Crouch calls people slurs all the time. Are you okay with that? With him spitting
homophobic and purist shit left and right?” James asks, wrapping his hands around his cup of
chamomile.

“Of course I’m not, who did you take me for?” Regulus looks at him, offended.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it.” James mumbles, lowering his gaze.

“I know he hurts people and I know he was mean to you, and Elias, and a lot of other people.
I’m not justifying him.” Regulus clarifies. “But it’s more complicated than this. He needs
help, James, and he was there for me when I had no one. So I’m going to be there for him
now, regardless of how much we fight or the fact that he’s in love with me.” It feels weird to
say it out loud, but he wants James to know. “Fights and Feelings: those things are temporary.
Barty and I aren’t, okay? He’s my best friend, and I’m going to help him. I’m going to try.”

“I get that he’s trying to disappoint his father.” James says, as Regulus drinks some of his
chamomile. “But this is such an awful way to do it. Does he think Death Eaters will let
anyone be queer under their watch? He’s setting himself up for an awful life!”

Regulus lets out a bitter laugh. “Neither side wants us, James. Not the Order nor the Death
Eaters.” He says, harshly. “Barty’s father is on the Order’s side, but he’s still homophobic and
he still hasn’t done anything concrete to help any minority in need. He’s not different from
any death eater. He refrains from hurting people publicly, but he still hurts Barty behind
closed doors, and he’s still a conservative. The fact that he’s less conservative than death
eaters doesn’t mean he’s a good person, it just means he’s closer to doing the bare minimum.”
James nods, setting his cup down. “And for some queer people, it would be easier to choose
the side that hurts the most, because they’ve been hurt and they can’t cope. They let themself
rot to insanity because they had no one. And I understand it must be upsetting for you to see
me being friends with ‘wanna-be-death-eaters’, but Barty is my best friend and he’s only
fifteen, so I’m not going to give him up to murderers.” He feels queasy, but he goes on. “If I
didn’t know Elias, if Elias didn’t push me, I would be the same as Barty.”

“I understand that.” James says, with a more relaxed expression. He reaches out and takes
Regulus’ hand gently. “I didn’t like that he felt like he had a saying on what’s going on
between us. How he got mad at the very moment it was implied that you might have been
close to me. It rubbed me off the wrong way.” Again, Regulus is left to wish James would
just finish his sentences.

“That’s understandable.” Regulus says, licking his lips. “Barty tends to be very protective
over me. I’m…I’m definitely going to address the issue with him, but I don’t exactly blame
him.” James raises his eyes, a confused look flashing on his face. “Remember how I told you
that I used to hate you because I blamed you for losing Sirius?”

“Yes.” James brings his cup to his lips, taking a big gulp.

“I used to tell Barty about it. I felt lost, and I wanted my brother, and I felt like you were
taking him away from me. Barty shows his support by…I don’t know, shouldering whatever
you’re feeling with you. So if I hated you, Barty had to hate you as well. I grew out of it,
Barty didn’t, because he thinks you’ve hurt me.”

James grimaces, but he nods. “I’m sorry that I made you feel like that.”

“Don’t be silly.” Regulus squeezes his hand. “It wasn’t your fault. Sirius and I used to be
terrible to each other, you were a mere scapegoat. I’m sorry for blaming you. I’ll talk to
Barty. But you have nothing to worry about, okay?”

James bites his lip, but he nods. “Can I ask a question?”

“Of course you can.”

“Did you and Barty…uh…date?” James sounds shy, but he holds Regulus’ gaze firmly, while
he asks.

“We didn’t really date. But I’ve been with him for about four months, last year.” Regulus
says, feeling himself blush. “We’ve had a bad fight around the end of April, I think. He’s still
getting over it, but I’ve…well, I’ve clearly moved on.”

James gives him a little smile, and scoots closer. “Do you feel comfortable telling me more
about it?”

“Hmm…” Regulus smiles at him, watching him ruffle his own hair. “There’s not much to
say. I guess he was my first crush, and I was his. He initiated the first kiss, and we kept
snogging under the promise we were both very straight and simply practising. Until I
dropped an ‘I love you’ by mistake, and he got upset, so we got into a big fight. I won’t go
into details, ‘cause I don’t like talking about it, but it was a little brutal. He apologised, by the
way. That’s pretty much it.”

“That sounds harsh. I’m sorry.”

“I guess.” Regulus shrugs, giving James a little smile. “It’s fine, now.”

James nods and leans in to kiss his temple. “Thanks for telling me. And if you ever want to
tell me more, you know…I’ll listen.”
Regulus nods. “Thank you. I reckon it’s best that these things don’t go unsaid.” He says,
running his free hand through James’ hair. “Please don’t tease Barty about this. I know he
doesn’t look like it, but he really is hurting, and I don’t want him to hurt more.”

James nods. “I’m not a dickhead.” He says, lacing his fingers with Regulus’. “I could tell you
about my first boy crush, too, if you want. So we’re on the same level.”

“I feel like you had several.” Regulus says, cocking his eyebrows.

James tuts. “Shut it.” He says, playfully. “So, my first boy crush was my first Quidditch
captain.” Regulus can’t help it: he snorts. “Oi! I’m trying to tell you a story!”

“I’m sorry, it was just so…you.” Regulus says, giggling. “Go on, go on, I won’t laugh
anymore.”

James glares at him, but he smiles right after. “As I was saying, before someone very rude
interrupted me, my first boy crush was my first Quidditch captain. Then, it was Remus.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, feeling jealousy bubble up on his chest. “Of course it was Remus.”

“Don’t be jealous, love.” James giggles. “It was just a small crush. You and Remus are more
similar than you think you are.” Regulus scowls. “It’s a compliment! You both read a lot and
dress nicely, and you’re clever and sarcastic. And you tease me.”

“Do you like being teased, Jamie?” Regulus asks, letting go of James’ hand to tickle his side.

“Heathen.” James presses his lips into a thin line when Regulus’ fingers find the most
sensitive spot. “Maybe I do, okay?” Regulus sticks his tongue at him. “He was my first
kiss.”

“Don’t tell Sirius.” Regulus jokes, winking at James.

“Oh, he already knows. He was fuming when he found out. It was quite funny, honestly.”
James says, with a small giggle. “So yeah. But we didn’t really date, and my crush faded, so
yeah. You get jealous easily, don’t you?”

“You’re not wearing Remus’ jumpers again.” Regulus declares, as a response, getting up just
to sit on James’ lap. “I’ll give you all of my big jumpers.”

James hums, wrapping his arms around Regulus and hiding his face on his neck. “I like your
jumpers. They smell nice.”

“Good. I also smell nice.” Regulus runs his hand through James’ hair. “Kiss me?”

James smiles against his neck. He doesn’t nod: instead, he starts kissing Regulus’ neck,
slowly, making his way up to his jaw, his chin, his cheek, the tip of his nose, the corner of his
lips. And it’s weird, really, because underneath the impatience, Regulus feels warm and
adored. He likes the way James kisses him, always taking his time, treating each kiss like a
treasure he worked hard to get.
“James.” Regulus mumbles, stilling his hand on James' nape. “Can you kiss me properly?”

James smiles again. “You didn’t say please.” He says, but he kisses him anyway, sweet and
passionate, bringing Regulus impossibly closer and laughing on his lips when Regulus has to
readjust to straddle James, his thighs brushing James's and making both of them feel too hot
too soon.

“I’m just saying it’s really hard for me when things get heated.” James says, once they sit on
the couch with their chamomile.

“You set yourself up for chaos and then try to make it look like you don’t.” Regulus retorts,
though he’s grinning.

“I didn’t choose to fall for Hogwarts’ prettiest boy.” James says, with an enigmatic smile.

“True, that was me.” Regulus replies, putting his hand on James’ leg, a little above the knee.

“I feel like I’m being seduced.” James complains. “And I’m not even getting a kiss.”

Needless to say, the chamomile ends up forgotten on the coffee table, but it’s worth it, when it
gives Regulus the possibility to slide his hands under James’ shirt and discover a little more
about him, like that his hands are often cold, but the rest of his body really isn’t; or that he
has a little birthmark under his ear that is vaguely shaped like a hoof and that he’s sensitive
on his neck, gripping tighter on Regulus’ hips everytime he bites or kisses him there.

8 November, 1976

James is waiting for him outside the Ancient Runes classroom, his eyes red and puffy and his
expression sour, like he just had a fight. His arms are crossed to his chest and he looks
unapproachable -something so rare for James-. It makes hair rise on Regulus’ arm.

Elias looks equally confused. “Why’s he here?” He asks, undoing his tie.

“Dunno.” Regulus makes eye contact with James, who, promptly, looks away and starts to
make his way up on the first ramp of stairs.

“Weird.” Elias runs a hand through his curls as Barty and Evan pass them. “I think I’ll go
take a nap. Are you going back to your dorm?”

Regulus shakes his head. “Library. See you around?”

“Library.” Elias repeats, before he sighs. “You’re such a lunatic. Yes, yes, you’ll see me
around.” He waves, before he turns and goes away.

James is pacing around the room when Regulus arrives. His breath is heavy from running on
the stairs. He shuts the door behind himself.
“Jamie? What happened?”

“I fucked up.” He turns, tears threatening to leave his eyes again. He’s shaking a little, too.
He looks like he had a horrible day, honestly, Regulus just wants to wrap him up in a blanket
and solve all of his problems. “Regulus, I fucked up, I’m so sorry-”

Regulus counts to ten while he tries to calm down the anxiety those words give him, and sits
down on the couch with James, taking his hand. “I’m not going to be mad, just tell me what
happened, please?”

James nods, swallowing, his leg bouncing up and down. “So I…I was talking to Remus while
keeping him company because he was a little ill again and I don’t know, I fucked up, I got the
pronouns wrong when talking about my ‘secret girlfriend’, so I guess I came out to him,
though I didn’t really want to, I wasn’t ready, and…” He takes a deep breath, shutting his
eyes close. “I got the feeling he was going to ask me something, but then Sirius and Peter
came back from breakfast, so it was just awkward.”

He stops and Regulus tangles their fingers together, rubs his thumb on the back of James’
hand. Physical contact grounds James, he noticed.

“This morning, I had free period just before lunch, so I was hanging out with Moony and Lily
in my dorm, catching up with some charms spell work…anyway, Lily said she wanted to ask
me something, and there was this weird complicity between Remus and her so I felt a little
trapped, and then she asked me if I was seeing you, and I- I kind of panicked, I think, I didn’t
want to tell her, but my reaction was enough of an answer, I guess.” He looks at Regulus,
tears slipping from his eyes. “I’m sorry, I really am, I shouldn’t have-”

Regulus shakes his head, squeezing his hand. He’s upset, but not with James, not really. How
could he be mad at him when he looks so genuinely shocked by what happened?

“You were upset.” He tries to rationalise. “It’s not your fault, James. I’m pretty sure that if
they gathered we were seeing each other, they knew before they confronted you about it.”
James lowers his gaze. “I’m sorry it went that way. We should have been more careful.”

James squeezes his hand, looking somewhere on the floor. “I’m the one who fucked up. I
approached you in public, I started contact, I started the stupid Sirius prank story. I set myself
up for it. It was idiotic of me to think that Moony wouldn’t figure it out.” He presses his free
hand against his forehead. “I’m such an idiot sometimes, but this is…I don’t get why you’re
not mad at me, I could have put you in danger, Regulus. If the wrong person noticed-”

“I played along with you.” Regulus reminds him. “We’re equally at fault, James. You didn’t
put me in danger, I played the jokes along with you and we got caught. And I don’t want you
beating yourself up for it.” He tries to meet James’ eyes, but he’s looking away.

“It’s just…” James stops, breathes in.

Regulus lets go of his hand and scoots closer, rubbing his hand on James’ back as the other
boy puts his hand on Regulus’ thigh, like he’s afraid Regulus will leave at any second.
“When I see you, it’s like my brain refuses to think. I know we’re a secret, I know I don’t
want people to know just yet, but at the same time, I want everyone to know, I want you to
know that I’m with you, and I act all stupid.” Tears roll down his cheeks. Regulus dries them
gently, keeping James from wiping them angrily. “It’s like when I see you, all I want to do is
make sure you know I’m there and my attention is on you, and I want your attention on me,
and I say stupid things, and obviously people are going to figure out if I act like a bloody
imbecile.”

“You don’t act like an imbecile.” James shakes his head. “You don’t, James. Lily and Remus
were paying attention, we can’t know what gave it away. It might be anything. Regardless,
experientia docet. We’ll be more careful from now on.” He squeezes James’ shoulder. “Did
their reaction upset you? Did they say something that hurt you? I’m more worried about that,
honestly. You look like you’re hurting.”

James shakes his head, but a second after that, he nods. “I…sort of fought with Moony. Lily
took it pretty lightly, honestly, she just lectured me, but when she left, Moony was furious.”
He frowns, his lower lip trembling slightly. “I think I disappointed him.”

It feels a bit like a punch in the gut, if Regulus is honest. He knew, when they started this,
that it was unlikely that people were going to look at them and support them, for way too
many reasons. But it hurts to know that Remus would be disappointed in James for this.

“He doesn’t trust you.” James says, quietly. Regulus grimaces and proceeds to pretend it
doesn't affect him. “And it angered me, that he doesn’t, because he doesn’t even know you,
he’s just judging you out of prejudice. I accused him of projection and we ended up fighting.
We apologised right away, but it still stuck with me. Were you not Sirius's brother, I think he
wouldn't take an issues to it. Maybe he thinks I'm a bad friend, I don't know...”

Regulus has to suppress the built up rage that surges up in his chest. What’s with people and
calling James a bad friend? It’s the second time this year. “Well, he’s wrong.” He says,
roughly. “I don’t think what we’re doing is wrong.”

“Doesn’t feel wrong.” James rests his head on Regulus’ shoulder. “I’m happy when I’m with
you. I wish I could let Moony understand that.”

“Pretty hard to trust a Black with loving your best mate.” Regulus says, grimacing. He
pretends he can’t feel his insecurities crawl inside his ribcage, like a lung disease. “I don’t
know if I trust myself with your heart either.”

“What do you mean?” James looks up now, finally meeting his gaze.

“Nothing, it’s just…” He takes a big breath. “You know my parents are really fucked up. I’m
sure Sirius has told you what it was like for him, but for me, it was different. My childhood
is…scattered between the good and the bad moments. I was allowed more emotional freedom
than Sirius, even if it wasn’t a lot.” He looks away, focusing on the black pavement. “Sirius
was always my parents’ favourite child. And I know it seems weird, but he was brave, clever,
charming, and talented. I’m not saying they loved him right, or that they loved him at all. I
don’t think my parents are able to love anything but their reputation. But they never
underestimated Sirius. He had the perfect personality to be their heir, his ideals were just too
pure. They should have known since he was little, always standing up for me.” He runs his
free hand through his hair. “They never expected much for me. I was the replacement in case
something happened to Sirius. My mother always thought I was too weak, too soft,
sometimes I would listen to her talking to aunt Druella about me and…She was always so
proud of Sirius for having the spine to be, the same way she was always disgusted with the
way I would try not to get to her bad side. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I didn’t really
know what it felt like to be appreciated by someone who wasn’t Sirius or Cissy, but theirs
always felt…undeserved. And now I’m…I don’t understand where I stand, when things like
love come into play, because my opinion of myself is so divided between my
accomplishments and what my parents think of me.” He stops, considering his next words.
“You feel safe. I always feel so cared for around you, because you pay attention to me, and
you want me to pay attention to you, because you think I’m good, that I’m clever, or things
like that. And I want to trust you so bad, but there’s my mother’s voice in my head that tells
me that I’m weak and untalented and so unlovable, and I’m terrified she’s going to get to me
before you get to me. And that would hurt you, even if I don’t mean any harm to you, ever.”
He looks at James, feeling slightly anxious. “The point is, I don’t trust myself with you,
sometimes, because I’m scared I’ll end up hurting you.”

“Your mother is a right dickhead.” James sputters, his hand tightening on Regulus’ thigh. He
looks a bit better, less pale. “I don’t want to promise you everything will be alright, because I
can’t know that. But I do feel cherished when I’m with you.” Their eyes meet for a second,
before Regulus looks down, nodding. “My mum always said I love very hard. And I think
she’s right. I was always scared I’d fall for someone who wouldn’t love me just as hard. Then
you came into my path, and even if you don’t believe it, you’re a very caring person. Which
isn’t to say that all the things your parents did and said to you haven’t hurt you. But I think
you do love in the way you wish to be loved, because you’re caring and thoughtful and you
would never let someone important to you feel the way you felt. And maybe it’s naive of me,
but I’m firm in my belief.”

Regulus nods again; he feels like there’s something stuck in his throat, but he’ll probably cry
if James keeps speaking. “You’re a little naive.” He allows. “I really do want you to feel
loved, James.” He rests his forehead against his. “But I’m going to fuck up sometimes, and I
need you to know this in advance. We slipped once and it’s going to happen again. Lily and
Remus won’t be the only ones to figure out, this won’t be the only issue we have. You need
to know this.”

“I know.” James says. “I guess I can’t ask you to come live at mine.”

“You’re being naive, now.” Regulus says, smiling despite the odds. “I can’t leave my family
now, James. I wish I could, but my parents- they can’t lose another kid, James. They would
put you and your family in danger, and I prefer to be the one to handle them, if I’m honest.”

“Okay.” James grimaces, distancing himself a little to breathe. “Are you going back for
winter holidays?”

“My mother hasn’t reached out yet.” Regulus says, letting his hands fall between his knees.
“I’ll probably stay at Hogwarts, realistically speaking.”

“I can stay, too.” James offers. “I don’t want you to spend the holidays alone-”
“Nonsense.” Regulus smiles at him. “You go back and enjoy some family time.” He looks
away. “Remus and Lily won’t tell anyone, will they?”

“They won’t.” James says, firmly. “Remus was mad, but he’d never out me. We’re still safe.”
His voice cracks, and suddenly he’s bending forward a little, hands pressed against his
temples. “I wish I had had more time to figure myself out. I…I joke about it, but it terrifies
me. Being queer, I mean.” That takes Regulus by surprise. “I’m not ashamed of it, I never
was, but I’m…” He gets up, runs a hand through his hair, pacing in front of the fireplace.
“I’m terrified of how my family will react when I tell them. There’s a lot of stigma about it,
and my parents only came around queerness after the first Pride in London. And in the
workplace…” He laughs, though it sounds wrong. “I’ve never been afraid to love. And it
makes me so sick how scared I am to love you in a world that won’t look at us in the face
once before condemning us.”

Regulus gets up as well, coming closer to James. They embrace each other, and it’s intimate
in a sad way. Like James is mourning the life they could have had if things were different. He
kisses James’ temple, holding him like he’s cradling him, while James clings to him, his face
buried against Regulus’ shoulder. And while he holds him, whispers to him, calms him down,
he thinks: I’ll make things better for you. I’ll make this world a place where you can love and
smile and no one will judge you. I’ll make it better for you. I’ll protect you. Realistically, he
can’t. Doesn’t mean he won’t try.

“Jamie.” He calls, his hand moving soothingly on his back. “My love.” James makes a small
noise that sounds like a whimper. “I promise I’ll love you so proudly and unapologetically
that no one will utter a word about it.”

10 November, 1976

The relief of someone else knowing is something he didn’t predict. Obviously, it’s scary, but
he knows neither Remus nor Lily are going to reach out to Walburga and put him or James in
danger. That’s one thing. It’s also reassuring to know this thing he shares with James is
happening not only in his reality, but in everyone else’s. There’s other people who see
fondness in the way they look at each other, who look at them and can tell that they kiss
sometimes, and they bring comfort and happiness to each other. And even if it should feel
scarier than this, it makes him feel fuzzy. He’s still trying to understand it completely, but it
doesn’t mean it’s less nice.

One thing he avoids thinking about is the fact that Remus doesn’t like him being with James.
During patrolling, he never speaks too much, doesn’t bother to put up a conversation. He
can’t bring himself to do it just yet. If Remus minds, he doesn’t say it. It hurts more than he
thought it would. He had been gathering the courage to ask Remus about the books he liked,
and he regrets it now.

He shoves those thoughts aside. It doesn’t matter what Remus thinks. He’ll prove him wrong.
But you still need to get married. You’re the heir, now. You’re expected to fulfil your duty , his
mother’s voice says, somewhere in his mind. He shuts her up.
Evan left a little after supper to go to the older boy’s room, which had both Barty and
Regulus rolling their eyes. So now they’re sitting next to each other, on the floor, at the feet
of Barty’s bed, sharing a spliff.

“How are you?” Regulus swipes his hand back, before he hands the joint to Barty.

“Fuck, do I know?” Barty huffs a laugh, the way he does when he’s nervous. “I told my
father I’m queer, in the summer. Dunno what I was thinking. Maybe I wasn’t thinking at all.
He didn’t like it, of course.” He takes a long drag out of the joint, blowing smoke in the air
just a second after.

“I’m sorry.” Regulus says softly, turning to look at him properly. Barty’s looking at the spliff
between his index and his middle finger with a neutral expression, but Regulus can tell he’s
hurting because he’s slouching, and Barty never slouches. “Must have been hell.”

“He wouldn’t even look at me.” Barty speaks in a whisper. “It’s like I didn’t even exist. I
wanted to yell at him to look at me so many times, but I didn’t want to hurt mam. She didn’t
mind, she even asked if there was any special boy, when dad wasn’t home.” He sniffles, now
laying back against the bed. “I always tell you you’re a shit liar, but I’m so much worse than
you. I can’t even pretend that I want to kiss a girl. You…you tried, at least, but I already
knew, when you were trying to like girls, that I had no chance to succeed in that. And I don’t
believe mam when she says it’s fine that I’m this way.”

“Would you believe me, if I told you it was okay?” Regulus asks, resting his cheek against
the mattress. “I think we’re okay. There have been so many people like us in history, like
Alexander the Great and Hephaestion. And they were great, strong people, perhaps some of
the most impressive people who ever existed. We’re no different.”

“You’ve always been obsessed with Alexander the Great.” Barty says, with a small smirk, but
keeping his gaze up to the ceiling. “Do you think they really loved each other?”

“Yes.” Regulus says, with no hesitation. “Alexander used to say that Hephaestion too was
Alexander. Aristotles used to say they were one in body and soul. They wanted their ashes
mixed together, like Achilles and Patroclus.” He watches Barty grind the spliff in their
ashtray. “I think they loved each other more than Achilles and Patroclus.”

“Really?” Barty blinks. “I always thought Achilles and Patroclus loved each other like no one
else did.”

“But Achilles let him die anyway.” Regulus fidgets with the sleeves of the jumper he’s
wearing. It’s James’, so it’s too long on his arms, though he doesn’t mind that it covers his
hands. “Alexander knew, maybe that’s why he kept Hephaestion so close for all of his life.
‘Till his last breath, Alexander was always there. He learnt from Achilles’ mistake.”

Barty hums, crossing his arms to his chest, his fingers moving on his ribs like he’s trying to
fit them between his bones. “Even if there were people like Alexander and Hephaestion. I
can’t- I feel like the world has no space for us. They were forced to marry women they
supposedly didn’t love, just like we’ll be. How can I be fine with it, if I can’t be? I can’t go
and kiss a boy I fancy, because my father- he needs to keep his reputation high, and I’m
obviously the one who has to make sure I don’t ruin his image.”

“Your father can fuck off.” Regulus slurs, bringing one knee to his chest. “He’s a dickhead
with a ugly moustache and premature balding, he ruins his own reputation by being a toerag
in elegant robes.” Barty giggles, a fond look in his eyes. Regulus wonders if he remembers
the nights they spent calling Mr. Crouch horrible things, just to make Barty feel better. “Your
life is your own. Our lives are ours. We can’t surrender to the people who are trying to make
our lives miserable. People like your father don’t deserve to be in power, Barty. But we? We
do, because if we start to be okay with ourselves, maybe we can get more people on our side.
We need to be the ones in power, one day. ‘Cause people like your father are arseholes and
they’re everywhere, and they’re underestimating us.”

“You’re talking so big.” Barty says, his eyebrows drawn together in a sad, disilluded
expression. “We’re kids, Regulus. We can’t overpower them. No matter how much we’d like
that.”

“But we have to try.” Regulus insists. “We deserve better lives.” He swallows. “We’re worth
fighting for. We’re so worth fighting for.” He takes Barty’s hand, squeezing it. “We need to
be the change, because no one else will do it for us.”

“I don’t know how to do it.” Barty says, biting his lower lip. “I don’t know how to do it,
Regulus. I can’t think about it without feeling all this hatred for myself-”

“I know.” Regulus squeezes his hand tighter. “We’re going to change that, okay?” Barty
breathes in, nodding. “Some day, you’ll love someone so much it’s going to overcome the
hatred you feel. You’re going to have each other’s backs and fight by each other’s side,
because you’re going to think that you deserve to be whoever you are without being sorry.
And you’re going to feel good, too.”

Barty nods, before he looks away. “Is that how he makes you feel?”

Regulus didn’t expect Barty to ask that. “Yeah.” He says, slowly, thinking about James’
careless smile, about the way he smirks, fixing his glasses on his nose, when he says
something particularly clever, and about the way he kisses his forehead, for some reason.
“Sometimes, I look at him and I think I want to give him the whole universe, because the
world isn’t enough.”

Barty nods, staring at their hands. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but I’m happy for you, Reg.
And I hope you can get out of that shit house you’re in and live at your fullest. Play all the
Quidditch you want, change the law, make the world a better place…whatever it is, I hope
you do it.” He squeezes his hand. “And I hope I’ll be there.”

“Of course you’ll be there, Barty.” He smiles at him, hoping to sound reassuring enough. “No
matter how much we fight, we’re forever.”

Barty smiles, genuinely, his eyes sparkling with the rise of his cheeks. “We’re forever.” He
repeats. “I feel a little better.”
Regulus smiles, bumping shoulders with him. “Me too.” He lets go of Barty’s hand and cuffs
the sleeves of his jumper. “I didn’t like how you treated James, on my brother’s birthday.”

“He was being a stupid sod.” Barty replies, stubbornly. “All teasing you and shite…you used
to hate him.” His eyes skim through Regulus’ face, carefully.

“He saved Sirius.” Regulus utters. “I can’t hate him. And I don’t want you hating on him as
well. Or, well, I can’t stop you from hating him, but I will be mad if you treat him poorly.”

Barty gives him a strange look, but he nods. “Fine. As long as you’re happy. He was still a
right git.”

“Maybe.” Regulus smirks at him, and Barty mirrors him. “I’m glad we talked.”

“Don’t give me the cold shoulder again. I wouldn’t be able to handle it.” Regulus nods,
glancing at Barty’s serious expression, and his bloodshot eyes. “If something is wrong, then
we talk. Okay, Reg?”

“Yeah. I promise.” He says, holding out his hand.

Barty shakes it. “Good.”

16 November, 1976

On Tuesday, he has Potions both in the morning, with the rest of the fifth years, and in the
afternoon, with the sixth years. James was immediately fired up, when Regulus told him. He
swooped Regulus in his arms, forcing Regulus to hold on his shoulders for balance.

“You!” He said, beaming. “You’re such a genius and I’m going to have you in my class! I
feel like I’ll fuck up my amortentia!”

Regulus had laughed at that, because James said it like it was a good thing. It had been a
happy evening, James smiled and laughed a lot, which put Regulus at ease. He often caught
himself feeling fine , around James. There was something about him that just made Regulus
comfortable. He still didn’t know if their relationship was considered normal, but they spent a
lot of time together, and Regulus found out silence -despite being rare- didn’t bother him with
James. They could be quiet, if they wanted to, simply enjoying the other one being around.

Slughorn had them paired up together, a little smirk on his old face, like he’d wanted to do
that since he had discovered their little affair. James and Regulus had shared a glance when
he did that, probably thinking the same thing.

“How do you usually work?” James asks, laying his book in front of the both of them. He
rolled up his sleeves a few minutes earlier, and Regulus finds it distracting. Maybe it was the
veins on James’ arm, maybe it’s the moles he has, which formed a wonky triangle.
“Elias and I number the tasks and I do the odd numbers.” Regulus says, as he rolls up his
sleeve as well. Fuck James, honestly. “Does that work for you?”

“Yes, Dr. Black.” James jokes, as he starts numbering the tasks. “Anything else?”

“I don’t follow the book.” He says, raising his eyebrows. “Some of the instructions are
wrong, or don’t work with each other. So the next thing we’re going to do is check the
instructions and check if they’re correct.”

James looks at him, amused. “Reg, this is a book written by a potioneer.”

“I forgot to care.” Regulus replies, rolling his eyes. “It’s old and full of mistakes. I’m young
and smarter than a thousand year old potioneer.”

James giggles, even when Regulus glares at him, but he lets Regulus correct the instructions.
“Do you do this every time?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Regulus says, as he corrects the last tasks. “I’m going to cut the valerian
roots.”

James nods. “I’ll get the liquids started.”

Regulus is pretty content to notice that they work really well together. It’s not the same as
working with Elias, who is usually pretty quiet. James chatters a lot as he works. Regulus
doesn’t mind at all: it makes potion prepping more fun. He snorts when James tells him about
the time, in his third year, where he accidentally blew up a potion because he forgot his
glasses and used the wrong ingredient.

Watching James in class is also interesting. He thought he’d be louder, or trying to catch
Sirius’ eyes more often, but he doesn’t. Despite the chattering, he’s focused and precise, a
good student. It’s not a surprise, since James is indeed a very skiller wizard. Regulus just has
never considered how much effort he puts into things.

“Smelling me yet?” James whispers, at some point, while Regulus squashes the sopophorous
bean into a little phial.

“No, unless you smell of beans.” Regulus says, clicking his tongue. “That book is fucking
useless. Look how much juice you get if you squash instead of cutting it! How incompetent.”

James giggles, standing just behind Regulus. With someone else, he would mind, but he’s
already used to having James in his personal space, so he barely notices. “How many more
beans do you need?”

“Just another one, I reckon. What colour is the potion?” Regulus asks, squashing another
bean.

“Bluish-purple.” James says, moving to sneak a glance of the cauldron. “Think it’s going to
turn the right colour when you add the beans.”

“Here you go.” Regulus says, passing him the phial.

“Thanks, Dr. Black.” James smirks, before pouring the juice into the potion. “Now stir
counterclockwise seven times, then one time clockwise…Are you sure, Regulus?” He
mumbles to himself, as he stirs. “It’s lilac!”

Snape turns to glare at them. Ironically enough, they both raise their middle fingers at the
same time, causing Lily to hide laughter behind Sirius’ back. Not that Sirius is holding back
any laugh. He guffaws, causing Slughorn to tell him to quiet down, though with no bite.

“Stir until it looks pinkish.” Regulus says, his hand finding the small of James’ back as he
stirs. “We might be the first to finish, and I really want to rub it on Snape’s face.”

James smirks. “Queers for the win.” He whispers, making Regulus laugh as he steps back to
tidy up their work space.

They do finish first, but Sirius and Lily finish right after them. Snape and Avery finish third,
and Snape looks quite pissed at his partner, while he scribbles things on his notebook. He
thinks he catches a glimpse of concern on Sirius’ expression, when he looks at him, but it
disappears so fast he blames it in imagination.

“I smell you.” James whispers to him, as Slughorn starts passing by the tables to check their
potions. “Peppermint, books, ink.”

“I smell your cologne.” Regulus beams. He likes James’ cologne, likes the way it clings to
his clothes when he comes back to his dorm. A sweet reminder of how close they were. “And
your strawberry shampoo, and cinnamon.” He looks at the potion curiously, then at James.
“What wood is your wand made of? It’s fairer than most wands.”

James hums, tilting his head to the side. “Ivy. Ollivander said it wasn’t a very common wand
wood, but I’ve always liked it.”

Regulus laughs quietly. “Mine is black poplar.” Regulus says, watching Slughorn as he
compliments Lily and Sirius on their potion. “Phoenix feather core.”

“Phoenix feather!?” James raises his eyebrow, looking amused. “I thought it was unicorn
hair. Mine’s dragon heartstring.”

“Of course yours is dragon heartstring.” Regulus says, putting his hands behind his back as
he sees Slughorn approaching them.

“Perhaps even better than Sirius and Lily did.” Slughorn says, jovial. “Good work, lads, good
work. Truly impressive, Mr. Black. Considering the career of a potioneer?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure.” Regulus says, tilting his head to the side. “It’s a bit soon to decide.”

“Sure, sure, I’m positive you’ll have a much clearer idea after your O.W.L.s.” He says, before
turning to James. “Working well with new partners is an important skill for an auror, Mr.
Potter. What did you think about this new experience?”

James fixes his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Regulus is quite bossy, but I think he’s the
reason why we managed to brew the potions correctly. Only a Slytherin would correct a
potions book.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “It’s called knowing what you’re doing, Potter.”

“The book can’t argue back.”

“Because it has no valid arguments.” Regulus replies, crossing his arms to his chest. “I was
obviously right, so the book was wrong, and I won.”

James giggles. “Is he like this with the fifth years too?”

Slughorn gives him a little smile. “He’s the best in the class, much like Lily Evans in your
year. His word is law.” He says, before he walks away to check on Marlene and Veronica’s
potion.

“You’re bossy.” James says, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Non ducor, duco.” Regulus replies, with a smirk.

Sirius blocks him before he can sneak away in the Slytherin’s dorm. “Can I talk to you?” He
asks, seeming a little uncomfortable and maybe a little pale. Regulus raises his brow. “Please,
please, it’s important. Astronomy Tower?”

Regulus slouches, sighing. “Why?” He complains. “All those bloody stairs! After such a long
day!”

“Lazy git.” Sirius rolls his eyes. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“Fuck no.” Regulus elbows him. “You’re going to suffer with me: I’ll race you.”

Sirius gapes at him. “No, no, we’re not kids, we’re not doing that.”

“Someone is lacking stamina.”

Regulus sticks his tongue at him, and then, he’s running. Sirius takes off after him, but never
quite reaches him. Regulus wins the race, but he’s pretty exhausted when he arrives, and so is
Sirius.

“Fucking heathen. We’re not brothers today. We’re third degree cousins who see each other
once a year and hate each other’s guts.” Sirius pants, sitting down on the floor, where
Regulus is laying on his back, and he would laugh, if he had any air left in his lungs.

“Did you lie to me? About having a boyfriend?” He asks, once his breathing has even out.

“No.” Regulus says, frowning, though his heart starts to beat rapidly. “Why would I lie about
it? It’s not like you know him, anyway.” Sirius sneaks a glance at him, biting his lower lip.
“C’mon, spit it out.”
Sirius shakes his head. “Are you sure you didn't lie?”

Regulus sits up in front of him, their knees touching. Trying to look like he’s not nervous is
difficult when his hands are shaking, so he covers them with the sleeves of his Quidditch
crewneck. “Why do you think that I did?”

Sirius looks down, a few strands of his hair covering his eyes. “It’s just…you and James
looked really close, today. You looked, er…how do I say this kindly? You looked like you
might have a little crush on him.” He claps his hands and looks up, meeting Regulus’
horrified expression. “Do you fancy him?”

Regulus stares at Sirius for a solid second, his mind blank. He’s concentrating on breathing
properly, hoping Sirius won’t notice if the colour drains from his face. “No.” He says, a little
too late.

Sirius gapes at him, before he laughs, incredulous. “You just lied to me!” His expression
drops to a slightly repelled one. “Oh God, you fancy James.”

“I don’t.” Regulus hardens his expression, sharpens his voice. “I don’t fancy Potter.”

“You put your hand on his back, I saw that. You were smiling when he talked to you.” Sirius
sighs, untying his hair. “Look, it’s fine if you have a crush on him, a lot of people do. Just say
it, okay? It makes me uncomfortable, but like…it’s a crush, it’ll go away. James-”

“I don’t fancy James Potter.” Regulus repeats, loudly, folding his arms. “You’re making shit
up. Maybe I’m just a touchy person.”

“You…” Sirius lifts his index finger up. “Even if you were a touchy person, you didn’t touch
him like a friend, Regulus. You looked at him like you adored him. Don’t lie to me, Regulus,
I know you.”

“Oh, now you know me?” Regulus clicks his tongue. “You’ve never seen me being in love,
you don’t know how I look when I’m ‘adoring’ someone. You spent the last four years
ignoring me, you don’t know shit about-”

Sirius shakes his head, a small pout curling his lips downwards. He looks like Walburga
when he does that. Shivers run through Regulus’ spine, forcing him to sit up straighter.
“You’re being a little shit. Why are you being so difficult? James is fit, he’s nice, he’s clever,
it would make sense if you fancied him. As long as you don’t try stupid things like kissing
him, I don’t see what the problem is.”

A bit too late for that. “I don’t fancy him. End of the story. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Liar! Liar! Look at you, lying like a snake!” Sirius gets up, Regulus does the same. They
stare at each other, until Regulus gives him a dirty look and averts his gaze. “Just admit it,
okay? I’ve seen the way you look at him, and you don’t look at anybody else like that. It’s
obvious you fancy him. Is it because you slept together? I know he’s a little clingy-”
“Oh yeah, and we also shagged and declared each other undying love.” Regulus jokes, coolly.
“Do you hear yourself? I don’t fancy him, thank you very much. I’ve got better taste than
that. And I don’t randomly start liking people because I share the bed with them once.”

“Oh, c’mon.” Sirius grumbles, throwing his arms in the air. “You looked fond of him, okay?
You looked comfortable, around him, even. And the night of the party? You didn’t bat an eye,
you were nice to him.”

“I was nice to all of your friends!” Regulus retorts, folding his arms. “Look, I don’t hate him,
okay? It doesn’t mean that I fancy him.”

“There’s a big difference between not hating and fancying, Reg, and you’re blurring the
lines.” Sirius states, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t be convinced that you don’t
fancy him.”

“Then why are we even talking about this?” Regulus asks, moving his hand in the air. “I
already told you I don’t like him that way, you’re insisting and it’s…why don’t you believe
me?”

Sirius’ expression softens slightly. “Because you never look like that with anyone else.” He
says, sounding slightly calmer. Regulus feels his muscle relax for a second, before he tenses
up again. “I’ve been trying to figure out who this boy of yours was, and, frankly, you don’t
look fond of anyone but James.”

“I’m not…Look.” Regulus breathes in. “I can’t be mean to James, because he’s the one that
saved your life. If he wasn’t there, you would have been in great trouble for all the summer.
So I can’t really be mean to him, can I?”

Sirius frowns. “I understand that, Reg, I do.” He says, fiddling with his ring. “But it didn’t
look like you were just trying not to be mean to him, it looked like you genuinely appreciated
being around him. You were in each other’s personal space all the time-”

“Sirius.” Regulus bites his lip. He wants so desperately to keep calm, but he feels like he’s
going to snap. “I promise I don’t fancy James.”

Sirius shakes his head. “You can say whatever you want, Reg, but you sure didn’t act like it.”
He says, gloomly. “Look, I won’t be mad at you if you fancy him, okay?”

“Like hell you won’t.” Regulus mumbles. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t going to be
mad.”

“So you do? Fancy him?” Sirius asks, putting a hand on his shoulder.

It takes all of Regulus’ body control not to flinch. He looks at Sirius and shrugs. It’s no use to
lie anyway, is it? Because he fucked up, already. Sirius is asking simply because he wants the
pleasure to be right. “He’s cute, I guess.”

“You guess.” Sirius laughs, though it’s a fake laugh, and it rubs him the wrong way. “What
would eleven year old Regulus say?”
“Err…bugger.” Regulus says, frowning. “Definitely bugger or bummer.”

“What a classy posh bloke you are.” Regulus flips him the bird. “What about that boy of
yours?”

Regulus shrugs again. “I lied, I guess. Are we done?”

Sirius sighs, moves his hand away from Regulus’ shoulder. “I’m sorry, Reg.” He says, and he
does look genuinely sorry.

“No, you’re not.” Regulus snaps, eyebrows squeezed together. “You wouldn’t want me to be
with him anyway, because you’re bloody selfish and jealous.”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Because it would be weird, Regulus, he’s my best mate. I’m allowed to
be selfish and jealous of him.” He says, sharply. “Plus he’s straight, so there’s that.”

Oh, you don’t know how "straight" he acts with me. “Whatever you say.”

“Oi!” Sirius points at him, scowling. “What’s that supposed to mean? He has a girlfriend,
Reg, don’t try anything.”

“Why are you so worried?” Regulus snaps back. “He’s straight, you said it yourself.”

Sirius goes silent, for a moment. “Look, Reg, I’m sure there’s a hundred of guys who're
willing to date you, I don’t see you’d go for James of all people.” He says. “He’s my best
mate, I can’t be okay with him dating you. One thing is the shagging jokes, one thing is the
real thing.”

“Right.” Regulus rolls his eyes. He’s starting to get antsy again, to feel the need to get out of
the tower now . “Keep your mouth shut about this, Sirius. I’m off.”

“No, wait!” Sirius grabs his wrist. “Why are you so upset?”

“What the fuck do you mean?” Regulus snaps, slipping off of Sirius’ grip. “What if I told you
I don’t want you to date Remus because…I don’t know, because it pisses me off that you do?
I think you’d be pretty upset, too.”

“Don’t.” Sirius says, harshly. “You and James will never have what me and Remus have,
don’t you dare comparing-”

“See!” Regulus steps back again, towards the door. “You think I wouldn’t be able to love him
properly. You think I’m like mother and father. You…act like you’ve forgiven me and you
want me around, but you don’t. You don’t even trust me to not ruin your best mate’s
relationship because you think I’m…I don’t know, some jealous prick ready to ruin people’s
lives.” Sirius’ eyes widen, his lips part. Fuck, he’s right. Oh God. “Fuck off, Sirius. Really,
fuck off. Go back at ignoring me.”

His hands find the handle of the door and he pushes it open, not sparing one look at Sirius’
face, before he runs out of the Astronomy tower.
 16/10/1976, Hogwarts

§59: It’s stupid to be mad about it, really. I thought S. trusted me or…I don’t know, thought
better things of me. Both L. and S. don’t like the idea of me and J. I know I shouldn’t care
what they think, but it hurts to know that people wouldn’t trust me to love anyone the right
way. I know my parents fucked up, I know, but does that mean I am also fated to be awful?
And why is that my fate, and not Sirius’? We grew up in the same house, with the same
parents.

§60: J. said I make him feel loved, he said he’s happy with me. I should listen to him, I know,
but it still hurts that people look at me and think I’m unable to love properly. I do think that
about myself too, occasionally, but isn’t it good enough that I’m trying? My own brother
doesn’t trust me to love anybody.

§61: I’m feeling a little like I did when I was in third year. Like I’m faulted, so deeply flawed
no redemption is available. It’s. I hate it. I wish I was different. I’m making myself feel
nauseous. After his birthday, I think things were going to be alright again. He’ll probably go
back to avoiding me in the hallways. No, fuck, I’ll avoid him. I don’t want to see him.

He can’t really bring himself to write more. But he doesn’t cry. Instead, he works up the
courage to ask Barty for a hug and lets his best friend hold him until he breathes right again.

Chapter End Notes

Experientia docet: Experience teaches.

Non ducor, duco: I am not lead, I lead.
 Unexpected Victory & Loss
Chapter Notes

The idea of the Dick Mark is taken from I want to be good by mightyd0lphin

CWs: Child abuse (mentions of blood and violence); underage drinking; implied
homophobia

See the end of the chapter for more notes

26 December, 1971

The door handle of the library burnt his palm. He has been trying to open it for the past hour,
but Mother must have placed a spell on it. Tears started strolling down his cheeks out of
frustration, at one point, around the same time he started kicking at the door. It doesn’t work,
he knows it won’t work, but he has to try, or stay there at least, because Sirius is there, and
he’s screaming, and Kreacher won’t help because Mother ordered him not to. He doesn’t
have a clear understanding of what is going on: he gathered that Sirius was sorted into
Gryffindor, because Mother made a whole dramatic act out of it, she even cried, saying she
had been betrayed by her own son. It’s all Regulus knows, really, because Sirius hasn’t
written to him once, which hurts. Still, being angry at his brother won’t stop him from
banging on the door and trying to get in and get Sirius out of it. His screaming echoes into
Regulus’ mind.

It is Orion who drags him away from the door, lifting him from the ground like he’s a fallen
leaf. No matter how much Regulus kicks him and strains and tries to slip from his arms and
go back where he was, his father doesn't let go, just tells him to calm down a couple of times.
Orion is also the one who forces him to drink a potion -Dreamless Sleep.

When he wakes, his palm has stopped burning, and his face feels a little sticky with dried
tears. His hand has been properly healed; Regulus suspects it was Kreacher. He can smell
dittany essence in the room: he remembers reading it is a good solution for all kinds of
magical wounds, being an effective pain reliever even for Werewolf scratches. He takes a
deep breath, looking at the clock on his nightstand. It’s one am. The house is quiet, except for
some sniffling and light whimpers: Sirius.

Regulus pads his way to the bathroom, looking for the essence of dittany, which he finds
hidden behind some hygiene products Mother uses. The door of Sirius’ room hasn’t been
locked, but when he sees Sirius’ conditions, he briefly wishes it had been. The smell of blood
is strong in the room, and it’s making Regulus feel like throwing up. He closes the door, and
that’s when Sirius notices him. His face is stained with tears, and he has dried blood in some
parts of his face.
“Why didn’t you stop her?” He hisses, breaking into a pained sob.

“I tried! She put a spell on the door handle, it burnt me.” Regulus says, frowning slightly. He
feels like crying, but that won’t be of any help. And tears don’t come out anyway. “I’ll heal
you.”

“You shouldn’t be here.” Sirius says, but he lets Regulus climb up in his bed. It’s not like he’s
in the right state to put up a fight anyway. “If she finds out, she’s going to be mad.”

“I can’t leave you here like this.” Regulus says, as he scoops up some of the dittany essence
with two fingers. “Why was she mad?”

Sirius sighs in relief when Regulus spreads the dittany essence on the cuts on his chest.
“Lucius told her I’m friends with half-bloods and muggleborns. I told her to fuck off when
she told me to fix my priorities and find better friends. She says I’m ruining my family's
reputation.” His voice sounds steadier now that the biggest wound is starting to heal. “Our
parents are liars, Reg. Everything they tell us- it’s wrong.”

“Sirius.” He gives him a severe look, taking some more dittany essence and rubbing it on a
wound on Sirius’ forearm. “You can’t say that- what if the paintings hear you?”

“Fuck the paintings. It’s not normal that she spies on us. Or that she does this.” He points at
his healing wounds. “James’ mum would never do this to him. She writes to him every two
days, and she sends him biscuits and indian sweets, mawa-bati, and they’re so delicious-”

“Good for James.” Regulus cuts him off, feeling jealousy prickle in his chest. He knows
Sirius tried to write to Mother, and he knows she bothered to read the first one, where Sirius
tried to apologise for being sorted into Gryffindor, but never read all the others. “You didn’t
write to me once.”

“I did write to you!” Sirius replies, grabbing Regulus’ wrist. His fingers are cold enough to
make Regulus shiver. “You didn’t get my letters, did you?”

Regulus feels his eyes fill with tears, shaking his head. “I sort of hate them sometimes. Our
parents.” He knows it must his mother who have kept the letters. He doesn’t tell Sirius how
much he missed him, what a nightmare it was to have to live alone with Mother and Father,
how boring dinners were without Sirius chatting with him. How he wished he and Sirius were
twins, sometimes, so they could have left together.

He feels left behind, in a cold family and a cold house, and clings to memories of when
Walburga still smiled at them. She even hugged them, sometimes. He wonders where their
mother has gone, why she doesn’t swipe Regulus’ hair out of his forehead anymore, or hold
his hand when they go see other families. And Orion- he wonders if their father will ever go
back to reading french tales to them. He used to do that when they were little, especially after
really bad days. He wonders if it's someone's fault, if it is his fault.

“I know.” Sirius breaths out. His chest is healing quickly, the wound disappearing into a
silvery scar, a precise cut. Regulus feels sick. “But at least we’ve got each other, right? And
next year, you’ll be at Hogwarts with me, and we’ll only see Mother and Father during
holidays. You’ve got me, and I’ve got you.”

“Promise?” Regulus says, rubbing some left over dittany essence on smaller cuts. “You’ll
introduce me to your friends?”

“Yup.” Sirius smiles, despite the odds, despite the pain. “You’re going to love them. Remus
likes reading, just like you; Peter likes chess, crystals and Quidditch statistics. James would
be your favourite: he likes languages and quidditch and he knows how to use some muggle
technology, like record players and microwaves. And muggle music! There’s this man, called
David Bowie, he makes the best music.” Sirius says, his eyes sparkling. “Remus is the one
who introduced him to me. I wrote the lyrics of one of his songs in a letter I sent to you, I
thought it reminded me of you.”

“Really?” Regulus sits with his legs crossed, eager to finally listen to his brother’s tales and
thoughts. “Why?”

“It’s called Quicksand.” Sirius says, as Regulus fixes the pillows under his head. Even if
dittany helps, he lost enough blood for Regulus to pamper him a little. “Well, it’s not like it
reminded me of you as a person, it’s more like I thought you might like it. I wish you could
listen to it.” He sighs.

“Tell me more about your friends?” Regulus asks, eager, after a moment of silence.

“Sure.” Sirius licks his lips. “Remus really likes chocolate. He likes muggle ones best, his
mum sends those to him. He has a bit of a welsh accent, and when he’s mad it gets more
noticeable. He taught me tons of curse words. He even made fun of me and James for not
swearing! Imagine that!”

“He sounds like a tough guy.” Regulus says, bewildered, making Sirius laugh.

“He is! He’s got these scars- he just looks really cool, you know? But he wears corduroys and
soft jumpers with earthy colours. He’s like…a bar of chocolate that is only 75% dark.” Sirius
is smiling, softly, his eyes impossibly sweet: Regulus has never seen him like this. “James is
my best mate. He’s a bit arrogant, but I think it’s bloody cool of him, you know? I met him
on the train and I instantly knew he was going to be my best mate. He’s the best at
transfiguration and he’s a mess with girls, except for Mary. He’s always hanging out with her
if he’s not with me.”

“He’s friends with girls?” Regulus wrinkles his nose. He doesn’t know many girls, except for
his cousins. He’s curious, but he also doesn’t know what to expect.

“He tries. It comes easily with Mary, I dunno why. They study together a lot, and he got her
into quidditch. They want to try to get into the team together, next year, and he wants to buy
her a broom for her birthday.” Sirius explains. “I think he fancies her, but he swears he
doesn’t.”

“Isn’t it a bit soon for fancying?” Regulus asks, shyly. “I mean, Mother and Father always
say it’s an adult thing.”
“Nah.” Sirius says, shrugging. “To fancy someone is a feeling, anyone can feel it. I
personally don’t fancy anyone, but like, it’d be okay if I did.” Regulus nods, firmly. “There’s
also Lily Evans. She’s a muggleborn, like Mary, and they know lots of cool stuff. Did you
know that it’s not common for muggles to learn latin?”

“That’s sad.” Regulus says, with a slight pout. “Latin is fun.”

“You need hobbies.” Sirius says, with a smirk. “Don’t tell Mother and Father, but I have a
new hobbie.” He adds, in a whisper.

“What is it?” Regulus whispers back, with a smile.

“Pranking! In September, it was just James and I showing off, but then Remus and Peter put
their minds to it, and now we try to pull a prank at least once a week! Well, some of them are
kind of involuntary pranks. Remus is dreadful at potions, in a sort of amusing way. During
one of the first lessons, he made his pepper up to a very bright pink, and then it started to fly
around the classroom in bubbles.” Sirius giggles. “Even Slughorn was surprised!”

They stay up until late night, talking side by side, and Regulus comes to three very important
conclusions: one, even if Sirius swears James is his best mate, he has a soft spot for this
Remus of his, who he mentions the most; second, Gryffindor sounds very loud, but not
displeasing, sort of like Sirius; three, Regulus won’t be sorted into Gryffindor.

17 September, 1972

Sirius’ promise about having each other turned out to be a lie. Regulus got sorted into
Slytherin with Rosier and Crouch, and Sirius didn’t even look at him when he walked to the
table. Nor does he look at him in the hallways. He’s too busy getting into trouble with James
Potter, Remus and Peter. Regulus should have known, really. His first days at Hogwarts are
spent trying to catch Sirius in the hallways, to talk to him, but Sirius changes paths everytime
he sees Regulus.

It makes him absolutely uneasy. Sirius has never avoided him like this. Surely, like all
brothers, they had a lot of fights growing up, but they always forgave each other. This
distance between them is something Regulus has never quite experienced yet. He sees Sirius
around and he can’t speak to him. But Sirius appears to be fine. He laughs with Potter, goes
to his classes, shows up at every meal. He walks in the hallways with one arm around
Pettigrew or Lupin’s shoulders, with a grin that suggests that he has never been happier.

It’s bittersweet. He wants his brother to be happy, of course, but sometimes he wishes he
didn’t look so happy while they weren’t speaking. It’s just like last year: Regulus waiting for
Sirius to show up, to talk to him, but never having that happening. After two weeks, it’s
really starting to get under his skin. He feels himself tear up when he finds a spell hard or
when the readings of DADA are hard to do. He feels hollow. He hasn’t really started any
friendship yet, too busy being sad over his brother. Hogwarts has been a bummer so far, like
one of the muggle-borns in his year would say.
Evan finds him crying in their bathroom, and it’s embarrassing, really. But he doesn’t flinch.
“Your brother is sort of an arsehole.” He says, putting emphasis on the cuss word, which he
probably heard from Bartemius -no, not Bartemius, Barty. He doesn’t like his full name. “He
doesn’t really deserve all those tears, does he?”

“How would you know?” Regulus replies, attempting to sound mean and sounding choked
instead. “You don’t know anything about-”

“If I had a little brother, I wouldn’t treat him like that.” Evan says, simply, sitting on the floor,
next to Regulus. “Is it because you’re in different houses?”

“He thinks I’m like our parents.” He replies, wiping dry his cheeks with the sleeve of his
robes.

“What’s wrong with your parents?”

Regulus stills, then he shakes his head. “Nothing. He just doesn’t like them very much.” He
lies.

“That sucks.” Evan says, playing with his family ring, which he has in a necklace. “I love my
parents, I can’t imagine disliking them.” He looks at Regulus for a moment, before smiling at
him. “You don’t need him, you know? There’s me and Barty! You could be friends with us.
Gryffindors are bonkers anyway, you wouldn’t like them.”

Regulus nods, forcing himself to smile back. He doesn’t tell Evan that as much as he wants
friends, he misses his brother everyday. That he sees other brothers and sisters in the hallways
chatting up and teasing each other, being a family, and wishes Sirius would do that with him.
Or do their homework together. Every time Sirius pulls a stupid prank with his friends, he
wishes Sirius would have asked him to partecipate. But that’s not going to happen.

“Let’s be friends, then.” He says, with another smile.

Evan beams at him. “Safe.”

27 November, 1976

He has been avoiding Sirius for eleven days when the fateful day of the match between
Ravenclaw and Slytherin arrives. Most of his time was spent studying, researching, or
training. The research mostly concerns Voldemort and the death eaters. As Regulus
suspected, the days before and after the elections were brutal. The most conservative party
won most seats in the Wizengamot and the new prime minister has probably been
imperioused: that’s what Regulus has gathered from the pictures. The vacant look of the eyes
appears clearly on his face: he’s a puppet of Death and Corruption. There have been several
homicides as well and, although there’s no confirmed information, he knows it must have
been someone in the high ranks of death eaters, because they were clear executions. Any
protest has been shut down, and some activists for civil rights are being held in Azkaban.
In the meantime, he understood that there’s two kinds of operations, and two kinds of
servants. He named the first operations “Ineffables”, since they seem to be conducted by
people who are never really proven guilty (Bellatrix, Lucius and the Lestrange Brothers are
often mentioned as suspects for leading these attacks). They target known political enemies
and run all of the illicit affairs inside the ministry, including the usage of the Imperius curse
and Crucio curse on ministry employees. These are people Voldemort trusts to not be found
guilty, only suspected, and people who have a trustworthy persona inside the ministry.

The second kind of operations are trickier. He calls them “strikes”, and he’s almost a hundred
percent sure that they’re not conducted by death eaters, or they’re conducted by new recruits.
These are not organised by Voldemort himself, but seem to be an offer to him, a pledge of
loyalty. These usually target muggleborns, half bloods, halfbreeds, and a few of the worse
ones were at the damage of muggle families with children who manifested magical abilities.

This is important information, because it means being a death eater is something you earn,
something you have to prove to be worthy of. And Regulus, who has always been overlooked
and underestimated, hopes, for once, to maintain his reputation as weak inside of Grimmauld
Place. But it’s not the only useful thing he learnt: Death Eaters and Voldemort act like a cult.
There’s a rigid ranking structure, some sorts of rituals and what seems to be a visceral
veneration for Voldemort, a veneration, this one, that is worn and proved. Initially, he thought
they were the same as the totalitarian governments that took place in Europe and Russia at
the start of the century, but he’s reconsidering this: they’re also similar to a religious cult.
Which brings Regulus to another question: what does Voldemort truly seek for himself?
Because he wouldn’t put it past him to try and find the secret to become immortal, who has
been sought by wizards and witches for centuries now.

Aside from these conclusions, he doesn’t have much more. No one at school seems to have
seriously valuable information, so he can only make guesses based on what’s written in The
Daily Prophet, which isn’t much, since most information is filtered or soaked into purism
ideology.

As for Sirius, well. Regulus has been avoiding him, but he can’t avoid James, or Remus, for
that matter. When James noticed, a little less than a week after it happened, they had a small
fight.

“You said it yourself that he doesn’t stay mad for a long time with people he loves.” James
said, looking at Regulus, who was pacing up and down in front of the bed, counting his
breaths on his fingers.

“He’s not mad at me.” Regulus said, without even looking at James. “He just doesn’t trust me
enough to be around his friends and not to do something despicable.”

“But he was happy to have you at his party.” James’ frown was probably deepening, though
Regulus didn't dare to look.

“I guess he changed his mind as soon as he saw the possibility of you and me being involved
in anything deeper than Quidditch rivalry.” Regulus said, his voice filled with sarcasm. “He
thinks I believe my parents. That I’m only being good because it’s not my time to…to go to
war yet.”
“I’m sure-”

“Don’t try to reassure me.” He snapped, and regretted it right away, because James flinched
at the tone in his voice, and his lower lip trembled. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to
take it out on you.” He said, immediately.

James shook his head, rubbing his arm. “What did you mean?”

“I meant that reassuring me is a bit…umh…I don’t want to say useless.” Regulus said, sitting
down next to him. “But I struggle to believe he has any faith in me after what he said.”

“Maybe you should talk to him.” James said, taking his hand gently.

Regulus laced their fingers together, feeling more grounded, more real. “I don’t want to talk
to him right now.” He stated, running his thumb on the back of James’ hand. “Can we talk
about something else, please?”

“As you wish.” James said, after a sigh.

With Remus, it was a radically different interaction. He knew Regulus fought with Sirius and
why, and they didn’t really discuss. They spent the patrol being mostly silent, keeping a
respectful distance, but the silence puts Regulus in a bad mood, and he notices he’s more
eager to give detention and take house points than he usually is.

So, needless to say, the day of the match he’s pissed, and tired, and he has a lot of bottled up
feelings. Not to mention that, in the middle of the warm-up, it started raining. Regulus hates
playing in the rain, but there’s not much he can do. After Hufflepuff was beaten by
Gryffindor, two weeks ago, it officially hit the last place in the tournament. Regulus reckons
Slytherin might get to second place, if they win against Ravenclaw with a one hundred fifty
points advantage. Pretty unrealistic, but that’s what they’re aiming to try today.

Regulus spends the entirety of the first half of the game distracting the Ravenclaw’s seeker,
who seems in a hurry. Regulus reckons it is because Nathaniel and Hector get better as they
play, especially during matches, and Slytherin might actually win if they figure out the best
way to score. By the time Andrew Macmillan, beater and captain, calls the first time out, both
the teams have reached one hundred points, and they’re all soaked.

“We’re doing good.” Veronica says, running a hand through her wet hair. “Their chasers are
starting to lose precision in aiming. We have to be aggressive now. Score a lot, do feints,
force them to leave the quaffle. Man mark them as much as you can, make sure they don’t get
even close to the hoops. Make them hopeless and desperate to score.” Their chasers nod,
Nathaniel and Hector sharing a complicit grin. “Regulus, I want you to never lose sight of
their seeker. Give him shit. Feint. Make him believe you want to catch the snitch no matter
what. Hell, if you see the snitch, pretend you want to grab it. Distract him from his main
objective.” Regulus nods, squeezing water out of his shirt. “Beaters, I want you focusing on
giving the chasers a hard time. Don’t hit them, but make them think you might.”

Mulciber and Nott nod, and they’re all off the pitch again. As promised, Regulus targets the
seeker, but he watches the game as well. Nathaniel and Hector have taken into a pattern: steal
the quaffle, make some dangerous move, feint a pass to one another, and then pass it to Flint,
who’s usually the one to score. Ravenclaw chasers try to score again, but Veronica seems
fired up, catching the quaffle at every turn and throwing it hard to the first chasers available.
Eventually, the score goes up to 200-170 for Slytherin, which is unexpected. The crowd has
stopped cheering, everyone seems to be holding their breath. That’s when Regulus sees the
snitch, flying over a poodle. He dives without a second thought, which might not be a good
idea, but he gets there fastly, grabbing the snitch before he’s forced off of his broom by the
speed he gained. He doesn’t fall, but he does get dirty with mud on pretty much all of his
uniform because of how hard his feet hit the ground.

Drinking has never been his thing. He tried it, of course, last year, but he’s never liked it.
Being stoned relaxes him, inspires him sometimes, and doesn’t remind him of his mother’s
glares. However, when Barty bursts into their room with Pandora and finds him on his bed,
contemplating the cracks on the ceiling, he’s quick to propose to nick one of the firewhiskey
bottles for the three of them.

So this is how he ends up cuddled with Pandora as she plays exploding snaps with Barty. He
flinches at the sound of the snaps, sometimes, but Pandora soothes him back to his half-
asleep state pretty quickly. He’s tucked under her arm, cheek squished to her shoulder and
eyes on her card, but every once in a while he catches a glimpse of Barty, eyebrows pinched
in a focused and mildly irritated expression. Their ankles are tangled together: they always sit
like this, in beds. One in front of the other, ankles caught together, like they want to be laced
together.

“I give up.” Barty says, sounding resigned, dropping his cards to his lap. “You’re too good at
this game.”

“You’re just not thinking enough.” Pandora says, rolling her eyes, but she collects the cards.
Patient, she is. Always been. She’d be a great older sister. “Wish we could play some
Fleetwood Mac.”

“What game is that?” Regulus asks, slurring his words.

Pandora laughs, her nose wrinkling. “It’s an american band!”

“Ugh.” Regulus rolls on his back, pressing the heels of his hands on his forehead. “I hate
firewhiskey. Makes my brain so hazy.”

“Lightweight.” Barty is probably rolling his eyes while he says that. “Why were you hiding
up here?”

“Ugh.”

“When he says ‘ugh’, it means he’s particularly conflicted.” Pandora states smugly. She
always likes to show off her knowledge of Regulus, like he’s a textbook she studied
meticulously.
“I know.” Barty says, sounding annoyed to some extent. It makes Regulus giggle. “Why are
you laughing now, you tosspot?”

“You’re playing the ‘who’s got the biggest cock’ contest.” Regulus says, giggling again.

“I would win that.”

“How do you know, Crouch?” Pandora says and she’s probably raising her eyebrows, like she
does when she challenges people. Oh, she’s such a gem, Regulus thinks, with a swell of
affection growing in his chest.

“Shh, Dora, you’ll make him blush.” Regulus says, sitting up, still giggling.

“Whatever.” Barty says, rolling his eyes. “What’s wrong with you, umh?”

Regulus turns to look at him, blinking once. “Dunno. Everything?” He tries, watching Barty
scowl as he hears that. “Save your breath.”

“Shut up.” Barty says, rolling his eyes. “That’s not true and you know it.”

“Why do you think everything’s wrong with you?” Pandora asks, her hand settling on his
back.

“Well, my parents were screwed up. So I’m probably screwed up too. Does that make sense?
It makes sense to me. It can’t be that those two produced two good sons.” He says, waving
his hand in the air. “Sirius is the good one and I’m the bad one, obviously.”

“It doesn’t work like that. You can both be good.” She says, rubbing his back. “I think you’re
good.”

“I think you’re a wanker.” Barty says, bluntly, but he tugs at his ankle lightly. “But a good
one. Heart of gold and all of that.”

“Pity. I can’t pull off gold, can I?” Regulus says, with a pout. “Only silver.”

“White gold exists.” Pandora points out. “Did someone tell you something?”

Regulus shrugs, covering his eyes with his arms before sinking down on the soft pillows of
his bed. “Just had a fight with Sirius is all.” He says. “I don’t want to fight with him, I miss
him.”

He hears Barty hiss a Scottish insult (dobber?) under his breath. “What did the idiot say?”

Regulus opens his mouth to speak, but the door of the room unlocks, letting in Evan and
Sirius. Regulus’ eyes go wide. No. He can’t handle Sirius while drunk. Fuck. He closes his
arms around his body, glaring at the two of them.

“Sorry, Reg, he won’t-” Evan tries to say, freeing himself from Sirius, who was previously
gripping tightly at the back of his shirt.
“We need to talk.” Sirius cuts him out, looking at Regulus. “C’mon.”

“I fucking hate you.” Regulus mumbles under his breath, before he looks at his friends. “Can
you guys leave us alone, please?”

Barty and Pandora give him a concerned look, but they nod. Once they’re all out, Sirius sits
on Regulus’ bed, where Barty was sitting earlier, his arms folded and his eyes filled with
concern and the tiniest hint of severity.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He says sternly.

“I’ve been trying to make it up to you for more than one year, and you still think I’m a huge
Slytherin dickhead who’s unable to behave civilly.” Regulus replies, making sure to stay at
proper distance from him, his legs crossed.

“You misunderstood me and didn’t give me time to explain.” Sirius argues back, whirling his
hand in the air. He does that a lot. “I don’t think you’re like mother and father, nor do I want
you to stay away from me. Quite the opposite. I wish we could have you for Christmas, at the
Potters.” Regulus rolls his eyes at him. “I really do, Reg.”

“Oh, yes, especially with…” Regulus frowns, shakes his head. “I was under the impression
you wanted me as far as one can be from your best mate.”

“This isn’t about you, Regulus.” Sirius says, shuffling close enough for their knees to touch.
Regulus still refuses to meet his eyes. “James has been…fairly unwell, last year. He’s happy
now, he’s got a girlfriend, you can’t…flirt with him or build up hopes about something
happening between you two. You have to let him go.”

Regulus wants to laugh at his face, because really, Sirius was clever enough to notice
Regulus, but not to notice James. “I haven’t tried anything, and I won’t. I’m not a dickhead.
But let’s not pretend that it is your egoism speaking.”

“My egoism…” Sirius frowns, then he sighs. “Look, I might be jealous of James, but I’d
never let that be in the way of his happiness. Which is why I’m talking to you, now. If it was
Remus who had a girlfriend- he never dated, before me, not that I know of, but I would have
gotten in the way. And I just want to make sure you don’t do that with James is all.” He says,
playing with a bracelet he has. “I don’t know why you thought I thought you don’t love
properly. But I don’t, okay? You’re thoughtful, and I know you’re loving. You were with me
when we were kids, and you are with Pandora, and all of your friends.” He waves his hand in
the air yet again. “I don’t want you to hurt over James either.”

Regulus nods. He has a hard time not trusting Sirius with this, partially because he really
wants to believe that Sirius loves him. He clings to the idea they’re still brothers, because
he’s the only family he has left, and even if family might not be blood, like some people say,
Regulus still wants to belong. He doesn’t want to live a life without Sirius in it, even if Sirius
can be annoying, stubborn, and spiteful. And he forgives him, because that’s the easiest way
to go back to how things were before.

“Reg, are you crying?” Sirius asks. Regulus shakes his head. “You are.”
“Shut up.” Regulus dries the tear that slipped. “It’s unfair that you think you can come here
and give me speeches when I’m drunk. Plus it was just one tear. It doesn’t count as crying.”

“So.” Sirius claps his hands, looking around. “I don’t know how you survive here, it’s rather
gloomy. Do you…er…want to talk about James?”

Regulus shakes his head, because he’s definitely too drunk to play pretend. “No. It’s fine, I’ll
get over it.” He looks down at his ring. He’s happy to see that Sirius is wearing his own. “So
you don’t think I’m a bad person?”

“No, no, not at all, I promise.” Sirius says, putting his hand on Regulus’ shoulder. “I was
harsh on you last time we talked, and I’m sorry. I- I was a little freaked out, and I didn’t think
about what I was saying.”

“Okay.” Regulus says, slowly, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry too, I guess.”

“For what?”

“Uh…for wanting to snog your best mate?” Regulus says, smirking lightly.

“Oh piss off.” Sirius says, with a chuckle. “If everyone that fancies James apologised to me,
I’d never hear the end of it.” Goodness, I have to start leaving hickeys, he thinks, glaring.
“Look who’s jealous.” Sirius laughs.

Regulus glares at him. “I’m not jealous.”

“You are.”

“Am not.”

“Are too!”

“I’m not!”

“Yes you are!” Sirius laughs, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve got it bad, don’t
you?”

“Ugh, shut it.” Regulus says, pinching his calf. “Go away. I was having such a pleasant
time.”

“Oh, yes, I can imagine how one can have a pleasant time with Crouch.”

“Sod off, he’s my best mate. I had pleasant times with him.” Regulus says, rolling his eyes.
“How did you even get Evan?”

“Found him snogging a gal just outside your common room.” Sirius smirks. “You should
have seen how frightened he was when I yelled his name.”

Regulus shakes his head, letting out a chuckle. “We really are Blacks, aren’t we?”
“Oh, you know.” Sirius shrugs. “It has its perks sometimes.”

Regulus tries to believe that.

3 December, 1976

“We happen to have a boggart.” Professor Khelben says, raising up from his seat. “I was
satisfied with the essays on boggarts you’ve written in September, but I’d like to see you in
action, as being able to actually fight a boggart is more important than any knowledge you
have of the creature. So, what we’ll do today is levitate those desks out of the way, and then
practise.”

With everyone’s help, it doesn’t take long to put all the desks piled up against the wall. Soon
enough, he’s in line with Elias in front of him, and realises Elias might have never faced a
boggart before.

“Are you nervous?” He asks, watching Vivienne as she faces the corpse of someone in her
family.

“Not really.” Elias says, unfazed. “Whatever comes out of that wardrobe, it’s not real. And if
it’s not real, I’m going to take a piss at it. Are you nervous?”

“I’ve seen boggarts before.” Regulus says, shrugging. “Can’t be that bad, can it?”

Elias goes right after Dorcas, whose boggart was her older brother, bleeding uncontrollably.
She managed to make it be a prank, but she’s still very pale, and gives Barty a brief hug
before she goes at the back of the line again.

Elias’ boggart is a man who looks very much like him. The same curly hair, if brizzled, the
same shape of the mouth, though a crooked nose, and he’s holding a belt in his hands.
Regulus frowns: he can only guess that Elias is intimidated because his hand trembles ever-
so-slightly.

“Riddikulus!” He says, and the man is suddenly wearing a maid outfit, exaggerated makeup,
and instead of a belt, he’s holding a body pillow. Elias barks out a laugh, along with some
other people in the class, before he walks to the end of the line.

Regulus expects the boggart to transform into something water related, or into Sirius’ corpse,
or Sirius walking on him and James, not the dark mark. It’s big, and ugly, and the snake
coming out of the skull’s mouth is starting to make its way towards Regulus. The eyes of the
snake make him shiver: it looks human. He’s seen it somewhere; where, is the real question.
He breathes in, hardening his expression.

“Riddikulus!” He says, loudly, pointing his wand towards the boggart.

And then, he’s a little mortified, because the class goes silent, as the boggart transforms itself
into a skull giving a blowjob, jaw slack and everything.
Oh no.

Oh.

He thought about it. He didn’t think that it would just do it, which is a little silly of him. He
covers his mouth with one hand, wondering if it’s okay to laugh, but then his classmates start
laughing, and Regulus decides to let it out as well because, c’mon, it is a little funny. He kind
of wants to show it to his mother.

“Very well, Mr. Black.” Professor Khelben says, cocking one eyebrow. “Vulgar, but effective.
Good job.”

Regulus nods, biting the inside of his cheek, but he starts laughing again as he makes it to the
end of the line.

Elias highfives him with a bright smile. “Good job!”

“You too!” Regulus says, smiling back.

A few students later, it is Pandora’s turn. He hears Elias’ breath hitch, before his own does,
too. Oh. Her boggart is Regulus. No, it’s Regulus’ corpse, for fuck’s sake, and he has the
mark on his arm. Fucking god. Oh, she loves him so much. He wants to run there and hug
her. Shield her from the bloody boggart and promise her he’ll make it out of his house. Fuck.
But then. She says the spell with a firm voice and the mark disappears from his arm and
there’s Pandora and Barty drawing stupid things on his face, while he makes a small noise of
complaint.

When she comes back towards the end of the line, Regulus shifts slightly to the side, and they
cling to each other five seconds too long.

After class, he quickly rushes to her, and they don’t really need to say anything before they’re
hugging tightly, holding on to each other like they’re scared the other one will slip away at
any second. He murmurs apologies and she tells him to shut up, sounding a little bossy when
she does.

“I won’t have it.” Regulus says, not letting her go just yet. “You don’t have to worry about
me.”

“It terrifies me. The thought of you in such a dark place, with dark people.” She whispers,
holding close. “But I know you won’t let them. You’re worth ten of them. A hundred of
them.”

“I promise I’ll be good.” Regulus whispers, clinging to her a little longer. “We’ll be on the
same side.”

“I know.” She steps back, caressing his cheek. “But thank you for saying that.”

Regulus nods, but he feels a little unsteady for the rest of the day, like the floor will turn into
water and he’ll get pulled under, if he’s not alert enough.
Before supper, he takes his diary and carves a quote on the leather of the cover with a spell:
Historia Calamitatum Mearum. Barty is in the common room with the girls, which is new but
definitely not bad: they all get along and he’s usually pretty happy to listen to what they have
to say. He’s closer with Dorcas than he is with Vivienne and Leonie, and Regulus guesses it is
because Dorcas fits his personality well, because she’s confident, and social and helps him be
a little more like that.

He expected Evan to stay with the sixth years, as he usually does, but he followed Regulus
into the dorm. He did seem a bit uncomfortable, at first, and sighed when Regulus pulled out
his diary, though he hasn’t thought too much about it.

“Reg.” Evan says, breaking the silence. Regulus just now notices that he got up from the bed,
where he was reading his herbology book. He’s always been good at herbology. He’s
nurturing, he keeps plants and flowers and studies their meanings. A father of plants,
carefully observing his pots every morning to see if anything changed, if his plants grew a
little. “I was sort of hoping we could talk, if that’s alright with you.”

Regulus blinks at him, unsure on why he’d be opposed to it, but he gestures to the feet of his
bed. Evan’s lips curl up in a nervous smile, before he sits.

“Barty told me he came out to you.” Evan starts saying, his hands joined together, the tip of
his fingers digging into the soft blankets. “I figured you’d be alright with it, so…”

“I am.” Regulus confirms, straightening his back as he puts his diary onto his lap.

“Right.” Evan says, nodding gingerly. “And, you know, I don’t want to sound invasive, I
know you like your own space, and having all these secrets, but umh…I figured that you
might be…gay, I guess, as well.” He looks up at Regulus, expectantly.

“Evan-” He stops, takes a deep breath. He thought he’d be so good at lying, at being lowkey;
that’s what he deserves for not considering that people might be paying attention to him.
Ahah. Maybe he doesn’t consider that because no one has ever paid attention to him when he
was a child. “If I tell you the truth, would you swear this won’t get out?”

“I…” Evan frowns, almost looking offended. “Obviously it wouldn’t get out, Reg. I just- you
know, I want you to know that I’m your friend regardless.”

Regulus grimaces, looking down. “If I remember correctly, you think every pureblood should
get married and procreate.” He says, biting at his lower lip.

“Right, but then…well, Pandora said it was a terrible thing to say, and it made me think.”
Evan says, running a hand through those shaggy blonde hair of his. “Ironically, I thought of
Barty last year. He looked sad, for so long, and I couldn’t figure out why. And now I know
it’s because there’s no life for you guys outside of the secretive, adultery one.” He frowns.
“It’s a bit unfair, I think. I’m happy with Leonie. I don’t see why that would be different from
you and Barty being happy together. Like you des-”
“Barty and I being happy together?” Regulus says, a little scandalised, cutting him off. “Hold
on, you think Barty and I are dating?”

Evan looks at him like Regulus might be kidding him, then he realises he’s serious. “Oh,
bugger.” He laughs, covering his face with his hands. “I thought you two had been dating
since like…last year.” He peeks from his fingers. “But you’re dating someone. You had
hickeys.”

“Er…yes, I am dating someone. But that’s all I can say.” Regulus says, a little amused. “So
you don’t think I have to marry?”

Evan shrugs. “I mean, I don’t want to see my best mates being fucking miserable.” He says,
letting his hands fall on his lap. “I don’t really get it. I’m a little confused, if I’m being
honest.”

“Why are you confused?” Regulus asks, fully intending to bring Evan to his side, now.

“Because you weren’t raised to be like this.” Evan says, with a frown. “Not you, not Barty,
and it feels like you’re rebelling even if it makes no sense. Why would you rebel to things
that play in your favour? As purebloods, we have irrevocable duties. I get…you know,
wanting to live romance and things like that, but it’s just for when we’re boys, right?
Eventually, we’ll become men, and men have things to accomplish. Like having children
who’ll carry on our bloodlines.”

Regulus presses his lips into a thin line. “I’m sorry, I can’t agree with you, Evan.” He says,
struggling a little to get the words out. “You surely have seen my boggart.”

“I know you don’t like it, Reg.” Evan says, immediately. “The ways of the Dark Lord might
be a little brutal but he’s doing what needs to be done. We need to be a part of it.”

“Who’s we?” Regulus snaps, folding his arms. “I’d rather die than serve anyone. Are you a
Slytherin because you’re ambitious or because you want people dead based on fairytales like
purism?” Evan is taken aback, but Regulus isn’t done. “Open a bloody book, Evan. Think for
yourself. I don’t know what bollocks those toerags you hang with have been telling you, but
it’s not what the truth you think it is. For example: how does one steal magic? And if magic
depends on blood, then how is it that blood transfusions do not make a muggle a wizard?”

Regulus has known about that experiment for about two years now. It was listed in an
academic book with the purpose of debunking purism on a biological level, though the
intentions of the wizard who had conducted the experiment were not at all pure. And yet, it is
the brutal truth: magic is something you possess at birth, and it doesn’t depend on blood
enough to be passed on or stolen through blood transfusions. So blood shouldn’t be the
determinator at all.

“But you have to admit that mudbloods are dangerous.” Evan says, crossing his arms. “Look
at Greco, for example. He hexed Mulciber so many times-”

“Don’t you dare.” Regulus says, glaring at him. “Don’t you dare, Evan. Elias has been
brought to this world he didn’t even know and was immediately subject to attacks because of
his blood status. Mulciber has been consistently making muggleborns’ lives a nightmare
since the day he walked into this school. He’s an instigator and they have every right to get
back at him.”

“I don’t understand why you act like this! Why do you defend them?” Evan says, throwing
his arms in the air with an exasperated sigh. “You could have everything you wanted if you
just-”

“Who says that?! I don’t want any of this, Evan!” He yells, slamming his diary on to the bed.
“I want to be free from my parents’ expectations and from the delirious folly of a man who
thinks he’s some sort of deity! I think it’s fucking pathetic that to feel validated in your power
you need to bully eleven years old!” Evan’s eyebrows are pinched in a livid expression.
“What if some muggles birth wizards and witches? Are you so bored and so unentertained
with your life that you have to go and screw up other people’s? Look at the people you’ve
surrounded yourself with! Snape is a pathetic loner who thinks he’s superior because he can
create dark magic spells and for you baboons to use on fucking children. Avery is so stupid
he’d drink a lethal dose of draught of living death if you told him it was firewhiskey.
Mulciber doesn’t even see other people as people.” He feels like something is stuck in his
throat. Pain, perhaps. “And you! You dare to come here and tell me you’re alright with me
being gay when you think I should force myself into marriage and sexual intercourses
because your ego is hurt that muggleborns can do magic? You call yourself my friend?”

Evan swallows, then looks away. “Certainly, if you put it like this-”

“I’m not putting it in anyway. This is the reality of the situation, Evan.” Regulus says, his
chest moving up and down frantically. “I…How is it, that you can be so fucking sweet and
nurturing, and then you turn and hurt people like you have any right to?”

“Don’t act like you’re better than me, now.” Evan says, his hands tight around his arms. “You
used to think exactly like me.”

“Yes, when I was twelve.” Regulus retorts. “We’re not children anymore, Evan. We can think
for ourselves. You should know better than joining a cult of blood thirsty sheep.”

“Muggles have hunted us for centuries!” Evan says, nails digging in his arms.

“Have you done your fourth year history readings, Evan?” Regulus asks, with a
condescending tone. “Pureblood wizards and witches thought it was amusing. They didn’t
give a single fucking shit. You know who was in real danger? Muggleborns who had no
fucking idea on how to control their magic. How is Voldemort any different than muggles?
They hurt the same people. Maybe he should look for their support, I hear he’s desperate to
have werewolves and vampires on his side.”

Evan wrinkles his nose, as Regulus gets up from his bed. “Snape is right. You are turning into
a blood traitor.”

“Make sure you put proud and registered in front of it.” Regulus replies, shoving his diary
into his school bag. “If any of your friends makes one innuendo about my sexuality, I’ll come
for you. And I won’t show mercy just because you’ve tried to console me once.”
Regulus doesn’t go to dinner. He goes to the Come and Go room, instead, and collapses on
the bed almost immediately. He supposes crying might be adequate, but he stubbornly refuses
to let any of the tears that threaten to come out. Evan’s face keeps popping up in his mind,
with the fair shaggy hair and the dark eyes, the mole just above his upper lip. Painful
reminder. He knows why he’s upset: because he thought he could get him out. But no, no,
Evan made his choice already, far too soon, far too impulsively, but he made it. And well, if
Barty is ready to give up on the ideals he’s been raised on because he’s always had a deep
dislike for authority and his support to purism was only a play-pretend to spite his father,
Evan is the product of the sick mindset he grew up in. Fuck. He wants to throw up. That’s
what he was supposed to be. Not was: that’s what he’s supposed to be. His whole family still
expects him to be that.

He curls under the covers, hugging a pillow to his chest as he squeezes his eyes shut. He
wants to go look for Damastus and ask him to change Evan’s fate.

When the door opens, he flinches, he can feel his muscles tense up, and for a moment, he
thinks he sees the walls change and suddenly he’s in his room at Grimmauld place. Except
that James’ steps aren’t nearly as threatening as Walburga, and neither is his voice.

“Regulus?” James asks, softly. Bless him, he’s not even sitting on the bed. Six years of being
around Sirius must have taught him something about how the Black Brothers react to pain.
“Is everything alright, jaan?”

“No.” Regulus breathes out, looking up at James. Oh, he looks so beautiful and gentle. A ray
of warm sunshine on a cold spring day. He’s the first daisy to bloom in an otherwise grassy
field. The hope, the nuntius of warmer days. He’s much better than the blankets on any bed,
much warmer, heavier and grounding.

“Can I help?”

“Can you stay with me?” Regulus asks, moving the pillow to the side to welcome James, who
doesn’t really need to be asked twice.

James’ scent is comforting, as well as the strength of his arms and the kind touch of his hand.
And maybe it is the comfort that breaks Regulus. Maybe it is that he feels safe next to James,
so he gives up to the tears, and he hears himself blabbering to James that Evan is a bloody
lost cause and Regulus hurts, because he wishes things were different. Words just flow out of
his mouth, scattered and nonsensical. Maybe he wasn’t as close with Evan as he was with
Barty. He still has fun with Evan, sometimes, when he’s not busy being an awful person.

James doesn’t say he’s sorry and Regulus is thankful that he doesn’t; instead, he holds
Regulus close, sometimes kisses his temple or his forehead, until Regulus’ breath evens out.

“I’m sorry.” Regulus says, his voice still cracking, as he curls his hands on James’ jumper.

“I can’t stress how okay it is for you to cry.” James says, distancing himself just enough to
look at Regulus as he strokes his cheek. “He chose this for himself. You can’t ask yourself to
be everyone’s saviour and educator.”

“Is it really a choice if he was bullied into it since his childhood?” Regulus wonders, playing
with the hem of James’ sweater, where the seams are beginning to break.

“Yes. The resources to be better are at hand-reach, he’s choosing to be the person he is and
he’s giving you shit reasons for it.” James’ voice is gentle, but there’s still firmness in his
words. “You did nothing wrong.”

Regulus tries to smile at him, but he ends up giving up on that, and sits up instead. He takes
some deep breaths, looks around the room, counting in his head until something sparks in his
mind. “You called me something earlier.” He says, turning to look at James.

He’s smiling, one of those soft smiles of his that he seems to offer to Regulus only. A gift,
perhaps, the way those lips curl in a million different ways to express the variety of the
emotions James Potter feels. He’s wind and Regulus is the Ocean, shaken by his strong blows
and yet caressed by the breeze. He’s the wind that brings a stormy night and makes a rainbow
possible. He’s poetry (Tu contiens dans ton œil le couchant et l'aurore; / Tu répands des
parfums comme un soir orageux; / Tes baisers sont un philtre et ta bouche une amphore / Qui
font le héros lâche et l'enfant courageux ).

“You got lost in your thoughts, star boy.” James teases, his smile stretching wider.

Regulus scowls at him, though it doesn’t last. It could never last. “Don’t call me star boy.”

James giggles, fixing some pillows behind his back. “You were looking at me, completely
lost in your mind, even talking to you couldn’t get you out.” He says, amused. “I said I called
you ‘ jaan ’.”

“What does it mean?” Regulus asks, scooting close to James.

“It’s a term of endearment.” James says, toying with Regulus’ fingers. “My mum and my dad
use it with each other. Sometimes with me, too.”

Regulus smiles, hooking his index and middle finger to James’. “I like it.” He says, looking
up to meet James’ gaze. “You know I’ll do a lot of research on its etymology, right?”

James laughs, then places a kiss on his temple. “No need, I can tell you about it, if it makes
you happy.”

“It does.”

“It’s borrowed from ancient Persian for ‘soul’. However, in hindi, it has different meanings,
like life or soul, but also mean spirit, stamina, vitality. So it’s similar to the word Pneuma, in
ancient Greek, from that point of view. It can mean darling, too. It mostly means that.” James
is now looking at their hands. “I’ve always liked the idea of calling someone jaan. But you
were the first person I called that.”

Regulus feels his cheeks burn, but he smiles. “I really like it.” He says, leaning forward until
he can feel James’ breath caress his lips. “Meus amor, mea voluptas.”
“You’re such a latin lover.” James deadpans, with a breathy laugh, before their lips meet.

It’s a salty kiss, Regulus tastes his own tears on James’ mouth, but the memory of it feels far.
Not when James’ cold fingers pad at the skin of Regulus’ hip, where his shirt raised a little.
He barely thinks about it when he straddles James’ hips, hands on the other side of James’
head.

“Bossy.” James whispers, when Regulus bites at his neck, sucks at his skin, hoping to leave a
mark.

“You like it.” Regulus replies, roughly, kissing him again, a hand delicately holding James’
chin to keep him where he wants him.

“What’s another term of endearment you like in hindi?” Regulus asks when they part, as he
stroking James’ cheek with his thumb.

“Jaan-e-man.” James says, hooping his arms around Regulus’ waist. “My beloved, my heart,
my soul.”

Regulus never thought he’d like to be called something like that. Pandora called him love to
tease him sometimes, Barty never really called him anything but his name. He thought he
hated terms like dear, love, darling. And yet, James went and changed that. Or maybe he
didn’t, maybe he just allowed Regulus to step farther into knowing himself. He didn’t know
words could make you feel warm inside, that words could make you feel loved in the same
way kissing and hugging does. But it’s not just the word, is it? It is the sweet sound of James’
voice when he pronounces those very words, the softness of his eyes when he looks up at
Regulus and calls him that.

“You.” Regulus says, pressing a brief kiss on James’ lips. “We haven’t even been dating for
two complete months and you go and make me wish I could scoop up the stars from the sky
and gift them to you because nothing in the sublunary world is enough.”

“I disagree.” James says, his lips brushing Regulus’ as he speaks. Sweet, sweet love. “I
already have the star I want. The ones in the sky don’t compare to you. Not even the sun, not
even a whole galaxy.”

Regulus trembles a little, at that. It’s crazy how his body reacts to James. “I think the stars
shine for you.”

“You're wonderful. So, so wonderful. I'm-” Regulus kisses him before he can say it, savours
the words on his lips, on his tongue, feels them in the fingertips that press on his waist. He
hears it in the delicate sound James makes when Regulus nibbles at his lower lip.

“You, James.” He says, between the kisses, sliding his fingers into James's hair (he's obsessed
with it, the softness of it, it's like sinking your fingers into a blanket and it's Christmas and
you're having a hot chocolate). “You, you, you. You’re the one that spins this world ‘round,
aren’t you?”
“I never thought you'd be such a sweetheart.” James says, sweeping Regulus's hair off his
face in a kind gesture that makes Regulus feel like he’s burning from the inside. “You always
look so cold in the hallways. So stuck-up. But I see you. I see the real you, when you run
after me and you laugh and you're flushed and you look like you're made of dreams and
stardust. You're like a purple rose: I feel like I've found a treasure.”

Regulus grimaces, but he still kisses James' forehead. “I am no treasure, James. You know
I'm not.”

“I…” James frowns, as his hands come up to cradle Regulus' cheeks. “Why would you say
that?”

Regulus shrugs, closing his eyes, cause that's the only way not to look at James. “Everything
my family does I…I feel it on my skin. I look at myself in the mirror and I look like them.
Unmistakably a member of The Ancient and Noble house of Black. A bunch of criminal
degenerates with high cheekbones and steel grey eyes. I can't be a treasure. I'm barely decent
between the bad." He swallows. "Salazar Slytherin, the cunt, has claimed me as one of his
and I'm…I’m supposed to think it's a good thing to be in the house of the evil. Most of my
housemates' great ambition is to become convicted murderers. I was friends with Evan for so
long and he-”

“Regulus.” James strokes his cheeks, so gently. “Look at me, please?” Regulus opens his
eyes, meeting James' warm, brown gaze. “There you are. Hi.”

“Hello.”

“You're not your family. You're not your housemates. You're not whatever bad thing you
think you are. You're brilliant, brave, and so talented. Whatever bad thing they say about you,
it's wrong. You learnt from your mistakes and you want to do good, to be better, and that's
what matters, okay? There's no problem with no solution, and we'll find yours.”

“But I feel so guilty. Like I'm fundamentally, substantially, innately flawed, like I was born
with blood on my hands. And I want to make up for it but I don't have the means.” He fixes
James’ glasses on his nose. “I’m scared they’ll drag me into their madness.”

“They won’t.” James says, determined. “You’ve got me, alright? And Sirius, and a bunch of
other people that will fight with you. We’ll take you out, Reg. No one is born with faults.”

Regulus nods, breathing in and out, before he sinks into James’s lap, burying his face on his
neck. James tenderly runs his hand on his back. “Let’s have a picnic next weekend.” He
proposes, after minutes of silence.

“A picnic?”

“Yeah. We’ll rearrange the room and have a picnic in the afternoon. We’ll lay a blanket on
the floor and grab food from the kitchens and talk about things that make us happy. And I can
bring some new vinyls, too!” Regulus smiles, before he drops off of James’ lap and sits next
to him. “We can have meals together too, sometimes, if you want to.”
“Won’t that be suspicious? Sirius knows I fancy you. It would be weird if we went missing
from meals together.” Regulus points out. “Let’s start with the picnic, umh? We’ll see what to
do for other meals.”

James nods, linking his pinky to Regulus’. “I’m thinking about telling Sirius, during winter
break.” He says, softly. “Do you reckon telling him I like blokes too will be enough? I feel
bad they’re all assuming I’m dating a girl.”

“You should say what you’re comfortable saying.” Regulus says. “If you’re comfortable
saying you like blokes too, then that will do it, I think. You don’t owe anyone big definitions,
James.”

James gives him a small smile. “Will you come to mine, if your mother doesn’t reach out? I’d
love to have you for the holidays. I reckon you’d love it, too.”

Regulus bits the inside of his cheek. “Are you sure that would be safe?” He asks, meeting
James’ eyes. “I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to intrude on family time.”

“You won’t be.” James reassures him. “It would be safe. Our house is protected. Just think
about it, okay? You have time.”

Regulus kisses his cheek. “Alright.”

5 December, 1976

He hasn’t been with Elias alone in way-too-many-weeks, so, naturally, when Sunday comes,
he’s buzzing with excitement. The rush of adrenaline has him eating a full salty breakfast
(with loads of beans, because he was feeling lightheaded yesterday) and chatting merrily with
Dorcas about astrology and Marlene’s big three. Barty listens to them, half asleep, spreading
butter on a sandwich twice, because he probably forgot he already did once. It’s a nice
morning, and it gets nicer, because he notices it is snowing, which he couldn’t really see
given that the Slytherin’s common room is literally under water.

His cheeks hurt from smiling even before he sees Elias. He likes to think of him as one of
those friends who make everything brighter, despite him not being bright at all. Or, well.
Elias looks a bit like the brunet version of Apollo. The carrier of the sun, the god of medicine
and poetry as well as the god of prophecies and epidemics. But he never fails to make
Regulus happy. Perhaps because Elias doesn’t care the slightest about him being the Black
heir. He doesn’t have any concern on addressing him politely or keeping distance. No, he gets
into Regulus’ space, plays with him like a brother, jokes with him like a best mate. What a
blessing it is, really, that they’ve found their way into each other’s life.

Maybe it is to prove a point Elias didn’t know he was making, but on their way to the Three
Broomsticks, he casually starts a snowball fight that has the two of them mercilessly and
gracelessly throwing snow at each other like they’re five and not fifteen. He doesn’t even
know how they end up being close, since that is not even the point of a snowball fight, but at
some point they’re just laughing and pressing their cold fingers on the other’s neck and
cheeks just to spite him. And it’s nice. It’s what Regulus wants from his friendships: this
contact that isn’t even supposed to be affectionate and yet requires a good amount of
affection to be possible.

Regulus insists on paying the two butterbeers and Elias lets him, bouncing on the heels of his
feet as Regulus makes the order and sending sweet smiles to all the staff, because Elias loves
the Three Broomsticks and he always strikes as less shy in this place, like he feels at home.

“I love snow.” Elias says, with a content smile, when they sit at one of the booths with their
butterbeer. “And I love covering you in it.”

“I love buying you butterbeer afterwards.” Regulus replies, watching Elias sip his pint. “I
think we’ve got a lot to catch up with you. Rumour has it that you’ve been with Andrew
Macmillan.”

Elias smirks. “Just snogged him. But he chilled with me and KISS, a muggle band,
afterwards, it was nice. He never paid attention to muggle music, the tosser. Can’t believe
I’ve snogged a barbarian.” He says, rolling his eyes. “What’s life without music?”

“Lacking Harmony.” Regulus replies, failing to hold back a smile. “I think my summers
would be living hell if I didn’t have a piano.”

Elias nods, fiercely. “That’s how I feel without my guitar, my fine friend. The dorm gets
really lonely without music.”

Regulus hums. “Must suck a little to be alone in there.”

Elias wiggles his hand in a so-so gesture. “You get privacy, so that’s nice. I could literally
bring anyone in at any moment. I can play the guitar and sing all I want, no one will bother
me. If I get bored, I usually crush in with the marauders or the seventh year.” He says,
nonchalantly. “Or kidnap Jules, she gets lonely too.”

“Wait.” Regulus holds his hand up. “Did you just call my brother and his lot the
marauders?”

“Everyone calls them that.” Elias says, sounding amused. “Did you not know?”

“No!” Regulus giggles. “That’s a bit ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Oh, I’m not the one who has an infatuation over one of them.” Elias teases, before taking a
sip of his pint. “Any development in the Potter affair?”

“Nah.” Regulus says, shrugging. He feels bad about lying to Elias, especially because he
would bring the secret to his grave. However, he hasn’t discussed this with James and he
knows how much distress it would cause James.

“Liar, liar.” Elias winks at him. “Jules told me that Mary thinks you looked cuddly the night
of Sirius’ birthday. That has to be a development.”
Regulus blushes, and looks away. “Can’t believe the way you wiggle yourself out of
conversations, Greco.” He says, shaking his head. “You don’t fancy MacMillan, do you?”

“Exactly.” Elias stretches his arms over his head. “I mean, he’s handsome and all that stuff,
but not really my type. Don’t feel the thrill with him.”

“The thrill?”

“I want a love story that makes me feel all of the adrenaline.” Elias explains, with a smirk. “I
want to feel big things and do reckless ones. Ravenclaws are way too cautious. They like
plans and organisation. I like living in the moment, you know?”

Regulus humms. He knows a thing or two about the beauty of the bold. Audentes fortuna
iuvat. “Who’s on your mind?”

“No one.” Elias replies, sincerely. “I mean, still deeply into fancying Shinji, but I’ve got the
feeling that it’s not mutual, so I’m not really doing anything about it.”

Regulus nods, taking a good look at Elias, the long lashes and the unruly curls, the freckles
on his nose and cheeks, the full red lips. He’s always been beautiful, reminding Regulus of
ancient Greece and tragic heroes. “I think Barty would like you.” He blurts out.

Elias, who was sipping his pint, chokes, and coughs a few times before he’s able to speak
again: “What?”

Regulus frowns. “So, I didn’t mean to say that.” He says, watching Elias let out an
exasperated laugh. “But I’m pretty serious.”

“You’re pretty Regulus.”

Regulus tries not to laugh, but it’s a useless effort. “Fuck off, I’m trying to articulate my
thought here.”

“That was a really random thought.” Elias says, still smirking.

“But I mean it!” Regulus says, rolling his eyes. “You two are always competing to be the best
in some classes, and you’re always bickering when you talk to each other.”

“Thought he hated me.” Elias says, playing with his necklace.

“I don’t think he does. He would miss you, if you weren’t there.” Regulus says, sincerely.
“You have to admit he’s good looking.”

“Oh, I’ve never said he’s not.” Elias says, looking up at the ceiling. “I just think it would
never work.”

Regulus shrugs. “It would be nice to see you in love.” He says.

“Nah. I’d probably become a mess, you wouldn’t like it. I hate feelings.” Elias says. “Well,
not hate-hate, obviously. It’s just not a good time, is it? Big feelings come with big
responsibilities.”

“Yeah, I know.” Regulus says, slowly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really, no.” He sits straighter, more composed. “Mary said you and James shared the
bed.”

“Yeah. A single one, too. We were basically glued to each other.” Regulus says, with a little
smile. “I reckon he hated it, since I woke up super early just to go to practice.”

Elias giggles. “Can’t believe it’s already been a month since Sirius’ birthday. Twenty days
and it’ll be Christmas.”

Regulus hums. “Are you going back home?”

Elias makes a conflicted expression. “Dunno. Probably, yeah. Alice and Frank want to
introduce me to their parents, because apparently I appear in most of their letters and in some
of the pictures, so their families are eager to meet me.” He says, shrugging. “Alice has a big
family, I’m kind of nervous. I don’t want to make a bad impression, especially on her
brothers, but wizards are so bizzare.”

“Are we?”

“Yes!” Elias says, crossing his arms. “Most of you wouldn’t survive a day in the muggle
world. I bet half my arse of the purebloods in here wouldn’t be able to turn on a stove without
burning themselves.”

Regulus laughs. “Yeah, I don’t know how to cook anything, if I’m honest. Kreacher does
everything in the kitchen.”

“Sad.” Elias says, leaning against his seat. “I love cooking, you know? Sometimes at home
it’s just me and my siblings, in the summer, and I like cooking for them. They always like it
so much.”

Regulus blinks at him. “You have siblings?”

Elias’s eyes go wide. “Haven’t told you, have I? I have a brother who's eight years older than
me, and two other siblings, a brother two years younger than me, and a sister four years
younger.”

“Your brother’s a muggle.” Regulus says, tilting his head.

“Yeah…” He rubs the back of his neck. “We’re all half siblings. My dad gets around a lot is
all. Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure, sorry.” Regulus says, clearing his throat. He has a feeling that Elias’ boggart might be
his father, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Elias seems to be pretty uncomfortable with
the matter. “I think I might be at the Potter’s for Christmas.”
Elias smiles, seemingly content. “How will you survive being around your infatuation
twenty-four seven?” He asks, teasing. “That’s a lot of wanking, that is.”

Regulus laughs again, covering his face with his hands. “Oh, Merlin, I hate you when you say
those things.”

“You hate me because I only speak the truth.” Elias says. “Poor you. Something will certainly
be hard.” Regulus laughs again. “I will send you letters full of dick jokes.”

“Oh, great.” Regulus smiles. “I will not respond.”

“Booo.” Elias replies, his thumb pointing downwards. “Dick jokes are the backbone of the
world.”

“You’re such a stunner, you are.” Regulus says, kicking him lightly under the table.
“Snowball fight at the Shrieking Shack?”

Elias smirks. “They’ll call you Regulus White once I’m done with you.”

They finish their butterbeers and run through Hogsmeade like they’re thirteen again, zig
zagging through groups of people as laughter escapes their lips. Regulus feels like himself.
Like he’s free. Just another kid making a mess in the village with his friend.

05/12/1976, Hogwarts

§62: I felt so alive running with him through a village. Nothing couldn’t touch me, I was
invincible. He’s always been able to make me laugh so much, but today felt like a dream. We
were Euryalus and Nisus before death could take them. I wish I had more moments like this
with him. For someone so bright, he sure knows how to make himself unknown. But it’s so
lovely to be aware of him.

§63: I’m pretty sure we’ll both have a bad cold tomorrow, but we have pepper-up stored, so
that’s not a problem, is it? It was still one of the greatest days I had so far. I feel so free with
him. It is the sort of friendship that makes you think life is so worth living. I look at him and I
think about all the things I was depriving myself of. The beauty of a friendship no one wanted
me to have.

§64: I’m starting to think all the things my parents didn’t want for me are the things I actually
needed: friends who are so different from me they challenge me to think critically about the
things I’ve been taught; someone who loves me even when I cry; knowledge that they hid
from me; entire cultures.

§65: Who would I be, if E. didn’t exist? If P. didn’t console me that day at the library? If B.
never gathered the courage to kiss me? If J. didn’t bother to try and have me? I don’t want to
know.
Chapter End Notes

Audentes fortuna iuvat: Luck favours the bold/the brave.

Meus amor, mea voluptas: my love, my joy (this one i have a personal attachment to,
Marco Aurelio used to address one of his masters [mind you, they were probably around
the same age] in his letters, and I think is so sweet)
The poetry bit is a poem by Bauldelaire (Les Fleur Du Mal), here ( Hymn to Beauty)
you can find the whole poem and various translations.
 Letters & Picnics
Chapter Notes

content warnings: panic attack.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

8 December, 1976

Regulus doesn’t get many letters; his parents don’t bother writing to him, and he stopped
writing regularly with Cissy and Bella during his third year. When the family Owl drops the
letters on his lap, he frowns. His heartbeat speeds up a little and his throat feels tight. Then he
remembers he has been waiting for a letter from his mother: to know whether or not he’s
going to be at home for Christmas.

“Thanks.”

The word comes out sounding choked. He forces himself to get his mind off of it and gives
the owl some bacon, before letting it fly away.

His gaze then moves to the letters: one is from Cissy, the other one from Mother. After a
resigned sigh, he decides to read Cissy’s first. He doesn’t have the courage to read his
mother’s just yet. Fantasising about spending the winter break at the Potter’s is the only thing
that is keeping him from losing sleep. Though that sometimes makes him nervous as well,
when he remembers he’ll be under Sirius’ attentive scrutiny and he’ll meet his boyfriend’s
parents.

Oh God.

“Alright? You went all pale.” Barty drops a handful of biscuits in his dish. “S’not bad news,
is it?”

Barty is drinking coffee today, the smell of it is strong and somewhat calming. Regulus
knows he’s not sleeping too well: he can hear him turning, tossing his covers and taking deep
breaths. Many times he has considered just getting up and trying to talk to him, but he never
got up, mostly out of fear that he’ll discover he’s the reason for all that distress.

“Can you read my mother’s letter and tell me if I have to go home?” He asks, handing him
the letter.

Barty nods as he takes the letter gingerly. “Who wrote you the other one?”

“Cissy.” Regulus tears open the wax seal.

“Cissy?” Evan says, from the other side of the table. His mouth shuts close when Regulus
lifts his eyes from the letter to look at him. They’re still fighting, mind you.

In the dorm, they avoid each other, both determined to have a civilised approach to the fight
for Barty’s sake. He certainly does not need to worry about the two of them as well. That
being said, Regulus feels too on edge today to be bothered with being nice to Evan.

“Yes.” He replies, coolly, taking the two sheets out of the envelope. Cissy’s neat handwriting
greets him as he unfolds the paper.

Dear Regulus,

How are you? It’s been a while since you last wrote to me. I imagine school has been tough,
as it always is around November and December. I visited your parents yesterday and saw
your grades. Auntie wasn’t happy about those two Es, but I think it’s impressive. Don’t let it
get to your head.

I’ve been well. Lucius and I will likely get married in the summer, so expect a wedding
invitation coming soon. I know our marriage was mostly arranged, but I feel like I’m actually
falling in love with him sometimes. He’s such a gentleman!

Regulus rolls his eyes. It’s not that he doesn’t like Lucius…it’s just that he despises him
profoundly. It was him who got Sirius in trouble with their parents, when he was still in
school, and he supports and practices corruption. Gentleman? He wishes Cissy knew any
better.

Will you bring a special someone to my wedding? You’re allowed a plus one. I think your
parents would be happy to see you bring a girl. Give it a thought, maybe? I know there’s
some pretty girls in your year. Why don’t you take one of them? If you don’t want to, then I
suppose it is fine to bring a friend. I know your parents want to get you married soon after
you graduate; it would be better to find your own spouse, rather than an arranged marriage.
It’s no use looking for misery when you could be with someone you love, right?

Anyhow, Lucius and I will attend your match against Gryffindor. I’m cheering for you.

Love,

Narcissa Black

“What did Mother say?” He asks, looking at his mother’s letter over Barty’s shoulder.

“You’re not required to go home. But she wants you to get your Es to Os.” He says, giving
back the letter.

“Is Cissy coming for the match?” Evan asks, his voice sounding small, like he knows he’s
going to get his head bitten off.

“Yes.” Regulus replies, after glaring at him.

“Can you stop being so icy?” Evan presses his hands on the table, his face red and his
eyebrows creased.

“That depends. Can you stop being a tit?”

“You’re the tit.” Evan replies, crossing his arms.

“Then you’re two tits. Different sizes and all.”

“Take it back.” Evan says, leaning forward on the table.

“No. Tits, tits, tits-” Regulus chants, mirroring him.

“Salazar’s sake.” Barty looks between the two of them. “Are you going to argue like two
barking mad birds at eight o’clock?”

Evan glares at him, then he leaves the table without another word.

“What in the bloody hell happened? He won’t tell me.” Barty says, looking at the untouched
scones on Evan’s plate.

“Later.” Regulus eyes the Marauders, who are sitting down for breakfast. “You can go after
him, if you want to. I need to speak to Potter and my brother.” He puts the letters in his bag.

“Why Potter?” Barty asks, as Dorcas sits down, taking Evan’s place. “Hi, Cass.”

“Hi, Arse.” She replies, without a trace of bite. “Hi, Reg.”

“Hi.” Regulus smiles at her. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

He reads his Mother’s letter as he walks to the Gryffindor table.

Dear Regulus,

You’re not required to come home for Christmas. Your father and I will be with your uncle
Cygnus and Druella at a manor in Nice, but it’s unlikely for your cousins to be there. It would
be a rather boring Christmas for you. Best to stay at Hogwarts, I know Rosier's son will be
staying over the break.

We’ve seen the report of your grades so far. You should work on taking those E in Arithmancy
and Ancient Runes to an O. Those are important subjects for those who wish to pursue Dark
Arts, Regulus. I hear Eileen Prince’s son is very good at both. Perhaps you should ask him
for some help.

Best Regards,

Walburga Black

“Some poor excuse of a Mother you are.” Regulus mutters, before he drops next to Sirius at
the Gryffindor table and sets the letter on the table. “Mornin’.”
The lot of them murmurs a greeting back. James looks soft and sleepy, with his hair messed
up and the lines of the sheets on his cheek. Regulus smiles softly at him, trying not to look
too affected by the letter. He doesn’t want to admit to James (or show him) that he still has
some sort of attachment to his parents, an attachment he can’t quite explain.

“Stone cold bitch.” Sirius says, as he finishes reading the letter. “We’ve seen the report of
your grades so far. You should work on taking those Es in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes to
Os. Those are important subjects for those who wish to pursue Dark Arts, Regulus. I hear
Eileen Prince’s son is very good at both. Perhaps you should ask him for some help.” He
reads out loud, mocking their Mother’s posh accent and her strained voice.

“I can’t believe she wants you to ask Snivellus for help.” James mumbles, his voice raspy as
he spreads some butter on a toast.

“I would rather die.” Regulus nicks one of Sirius’ potatoes.

“Prongs, can we ask your parents if he can join us for the winter break?” Sirius asks, giving
the letter back to Regulus.

“Sure. They’ll say yes anyway.” James shrugs, grabbing a jar of dense, red jam. “Mum will
probably throw a party.”

Peter chuckles. “You’ll have fun.” He tells Regulus, with a small smile. His cheeks are
always rosy, Regulus notices. He looks kind, like a cherubin. “Christmas at the Potter is the
best thing ever. We should include him in the Secret Santa!”

Remus hums, his cup of tea fuming in his hands. “Come to our dorm later today, maybe.
We’re picking the names.”

Regulus blinks at him. “Sure. Alright.” He says, slightly confused. He didn’t expect Remus to
be nice to him. Or to want him at the Potters.

“Happy?” Sirius asks, flicking at his knee.

Regulus flicks him back. “Yeah.” He says, slowly. “Is it something like Christmas was in
Little Women?”

“Oh, you read Little Women!” Peter smiles, his head tilted to the side. “I loved that book!”

Regulus smiles. “I loved Laurie.”

“Of course you loved Laurie.” Remus says, rolling his eyes.

“I bet your favourite was Jo.” Regulus retorts, crossing his arms.

“Aha, he just clocked you, Moonshine.” Sirius says, winking at Remus.

“My favourite was Meg.” James spreads strawberry jam on his toast neatly, before taking a
bite.
“Can you tell he’s the responsible one in the group?” Sirius whispers to Regulus.

“Umhh, he’s the mom friend of your group, innit?” Regulus whispers back, smiling as he
watches James glancing at them with fake suspiciousness.

“Prongs wants to act tough, but he’ll scold us if we’re not wearing enough layers.” Peter tells
Regulus.

“Which reminds me.” James points at Sirius, crumbs of bread stuck to his lips. “That jumper
is too thin.”

“It’s a perfectly functioning jumper.” Sirius rolls his eyes, flipping him two fingers.

James looks completely impassive, like this is a recurrent scene. “You’ll get sick. Just grab
one of Moony’s.”

“Which one do you want?” Remus asks, before he takes a sip of his tea.

“The Christmas green one!” Sirius replies, with a grin.

“Honestly, stupid of you to ask, Moony.” Peter says, shrugging.

“He always asks for the same one.” James says, rolling his eyes.

“Shut up, you own like ten Gryffindor crewnecks, you can’t talk about repetitivity in outfits.”
Sirius says, waving his hand in the air. “Can you believe the nerve?”

“I sure can.” Regulus gets up, catching James’ eyes as he does. “I’ve got to meet up with
Barty, I’ll see you this afternoon?”

“Yup.” Sirius gives him the letter back, and Regulus throws it inside his bag.

“Five o’clock sharp.” James tells him, with a nod.

“Alright, lads. See you later.”

He finds Barty alone, by the Black Lake. He’s got his hands shoved in his pockets and he’s
kicking little rocks towards the shore. The rare scottish sun kisses his auburn hair, making
him look unreal. Sadness is sculpted in the slouch of his shoulders, on the minimal
movements. Regulus’ heart aches in his chest.

“Barty!” He calls, just before getting close.

“Thought you’d be with your brother.” Barty gives him a look. His eyes are a little wet,
shining beautifully under the natural light.

“I know you’re having trouble sleeping.” Regulus says, swallowing. “I figured we’d talk
about it.”
Barty sighs. “Yeah.” He sits on the ground, and Regulus follows his example, sitting on the
ground with his legs crossed. “Just thinking, I guess.”

“About what?”

“About change and forgiveness.” He takes a rock and swipes it clean with his thumb. “I’ve
been awful and I feel guilty. And yet, people forgive me. Like you and Dorcas.”

“What about her?” Regulus asks, eyes trained on Barty’s profile.

“She’s so nice to me, Reg. She’s helping me out so much with this whole queer thing.
Dorcas, and her girlfriend too, Marlene. She’s kind, Marlene is. Really cool gal.” Barty is
frowning, lips curled downwards. “I don’t think I deserve it. I’ve been unfair to them.”

“Everyone deserves a second chance. We’ve both been horrible, but we can learn how to be
better. Feeling bad is part of the process. It means you’re on the right path.” Regulus says,
putting a hand on his shoulder.

Barty shakes his head, not saying anything for a second too long, before he utters the
question: “You’re not going out with Greco, are you?”

“It’s interesting that you think I am.” Regulus says, with a smirk. “No, he’s as free as he can
be. Fancy him?”

Barty gives him a dirty look and shakes his head again, but more vigorously. “Never.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Okay.”

“You’re obsessed with romance now that you’re getting snogged regularly.” Barty says,
rolling his eyes. “Who’s this bloke anyway? He can’t be that dishy.”

“He is to me.” Regulus sticks his tongue at him. “I’ll tell you someday. And you’ll freak
out.”

“As long as it’s not one of those sixth years…” Barty rolls his eyes. “We’ve got to get Evan
back, mate. I’m scared he’ll start to be daft like them. They look like they’re plotting
something.”

His mind trails back at the beginning of the year, and Snape’s empty threat at Elias’ expenses.
“They want to bring the war inside of Hogwarts.”

“It’s already here, innit? Since last year, I reckon.” Barty sighs. “I don’t know how Evan
spends his time with those wazzocks.”

Regulus hums. “Well, Snape’s a prat, but he’s not a wazzock, is he? That’s what worries me
the most. He’s using his brains for all the awful stuff, and he lets the two baboons test his
shite.”

“I want Evan out of it, Reg.” Barty says, tugging at his sleeve, “I know you guys are fighting,
but we have to try to get some sense into him.”
Regulus nods, looks down. “D’you think he’ll listen?”

“I hope he will.” Barty runs a hand through his hair. “Anyhow. Your brother has calmed out
with pranks.”

“Nah.” Regulus waves his hand in the air. “He’s just doing them on a smaller scale. I know
he and Potter want to charm the paintings to sing their favourite songs.”

“Great, I love having headaches.” Barty mumbles, throwing the rock in the water. “I’m going
home for the winter break. Will you be okay staying here?”

“I’ll be at the Potter’s, probably.”

Barty’s eyes go round. “At the Potter’s?”

“Yeah. My mother won’t know, since she’s in France. I want to spend a normal holiday with
Sirius.” He explains. “Write to me?”

“Of course, Reg, of course. Will you be okay there?”

“I think so. Will you be okay, at home?”

Barty shrugs. “At least I see mam. I miss her, you know? I can make the sacrifice to be
around him, if she’s there. Maybe I can go out with Dorcas, too.”

“You really like her, don’t you?” Regulus elbows him in the ribs with a smile.

“She’s bloody cool, she is. She wants to try for beater next year, since Nott is graduating.”

Regulus considers it. “You know, I can see it. She’s attentive enough.”

Barty nods, a small smile now flashing on his lips. “Let’s go up, shall we? Don’t wanna be
late with McGonagall.”

James and Peter pick him up from History of Magic. Despite it being cold outside, James is
only wearing a crewneck, with his sleeves rolled up, while Peter is wearing what seems to be
a very cosy jumper. They live in two different ecosystems.

“What are you doing here?” Regulus asks them, once he’s close.

“Thought it was better to pick you up. Can’t leave the little king without his royal guards.”
James says as he puts his arms around his shoulders. “Had a good History nap?”

Regulus rolls his eyes at the nickname, but he doesn’t complain about it. “Some of us like to
take notes, Potter.” He hopes he doesn’t sound as fond as he thinks he does.

“Booo.” Peter says, shaking his head. “Sleeping through History is a must.”
“You sleep in all of your classes, Wormie.” James reminds him, half-teasing. “That’s why
you fall behind.”

“It’s not my fault if they don’t make classes interesting enough.” Peter says, rolling his eyes.
“If everything was as interesting as Divination, I’d be better at it.”

“I wish Rosier heard you. He hates it, and can only make predictions if he’s guessing, which
obviously makes him have a very little success rate.”

“He guesses predictions?” Peter looks and sounds baffled. “Obviously he hates it! He’s doing
it wrong!”

“That’s what I tell you about Arithmancy.” James rolls his eyes. “If you didn’t sleep through
it you’d think it’s cool.”

“Sorry, Peter, I’m with Potter on this one.” Regulus says, with a sly smile. He feels
comfortable next to Peter, given they’re about the same height. He feels surrounded by
giants, most times. James even gained centimetres since the beginning of the year, which is
puzzling, since he’s already tall.

“Hold on, why does he get called by his first name and I don’t?” James whines, leaning
closer.

“Peter is nice, you’re not.” Regulus sticks his tongue at him, tries to tell himself that it is
perfectly safe for them to be this close in a crowded hallway. “Anyway, where’s the rest of
you, umh?”

“Presumably trying to make their way out of Care of Magical Creatures.” Peter says, as they
go down the stairs that will take them to the Gryffindor’s tower.

“Sweet.” Regulus says, his hand finding James’ back and gripping at his jumper because
James goes down the stairs like he’s trying to break a speed record, but he has his shoelaces
untied. “Tie your shoes, you idiot. Before you die on these stairs.”

James rolls his eyes. “I was not going to fall.”

Regulus shakes his head. “You were so about to have your arse sliding down these stairs.”

“You don’t know how many times he made a fool out of himself falling from these exact
stairs.” Peter tells him. He’s mixing a deck of tarot cards now.

“You don’t have proof!” James says, scowling.

“I don’t need proof if Regulus just saved your arse.” Peter retorts, giving him the finger.
“C’mon, let’s go, I want chocolate.”

The Gryffindor common room is packed. Regulus waves his hand at Elias, who’s sitting on
one of the armchairs with a book on his knees and two younger kids listening attentively.
Sweet prat, Regulus didn’t know he was tutoring people.
He makes his way to the marauders’s dorm and kicks off his shoes as soon as he’s in. It
disgusts him to have his shoes indoors, specifically in rooms where people sleep.

“Are those cats on your socks?” Peter asks, his head tilted to the side.

“Yup, Sirius’ present.” Regulus says, going to sit leg crossed on James’ bed.

“My kingdom has been stolen.” James says, pressing a hand on his chest.

Peter chuckles. “You’ll never get it back.”

“What do I do?” James twirls around, before he sits down on the bed as well, looking at
Regulus with a fake pained expression. “I wanked in this bed, so it’s mine.”

Regulus fakes a gag. “You just lost all your rights on this bed. I’m going to steal all of your
pillows and blankets.” Regulus says, grabbing a pillow to prove a point.

“Oh, you don’t want to know what I did with that pillow.” James says, winking.

Regulus drops the pillow. “That’s sad and disgusting at the same time. Wow. Only you,
Potter.”

“I was about to say the same thing.” Peter says, looking at James strangely. He offers his tarot
deck to Regulus. “Pick a card.”

“It was a joke.” James says, poking at Regulus’ knee. “I didn’t dry hump the pillow.”

Regulus laughs, picking a card that was slightly sticking out. “I don’t know if I believe you.”

Peter looks at the card. “Very interesting.”

“Which one is it?” Regulus asks eagerly, looking at Peter.

“The Hierophant, reversed!” Peter gives him the card. It’s beautifully drawn and colourful.
“It means rebellion, new approaches.”

“Sounds about right.” James says, his chin digging on Regulus’ shoulder. “Can I pick a card
too?”

Peter nods, shuffling the card again. One falls on James’ lap. “It’s the star! I love this card!”

“Freedom is on her way, it seems.” Peter says, with a smile. “Planning something,
Prongsie?”

“You’ve got no idea.” James says, with a toothy smile. “Seems like we’ll have a good
Christmas.”

Regulus hums. “Maybe we will.”

They give the cards back to Peter.

“...and she was all cooing at you, the bastard. Of course I’m jealous!” They hear Sirius say, as
the door begins to open.

“I’m telling you there’s no need to be jealous, I barely know her.” Remus’s voice follows.
“You know how I feel about you.”

“Was that a confession?” Regulus whispers to James, who shrugs at him, a slight pout on his
lips.

“Oh, you’re already here.” Sirius says, entering the room. His cheeks are red and his hair is
tied up, kept together by a pencil. “James, let him breathe, for Godric’s sake. You’re basically
in his lap.”

“Maybe I like being in his lap.” James teases, but he puts some distance between them.

“What are you doing on James’ bed anyway, umh?” Sirius asks, squinting at him as he drops
his bag on the ground. Remus disappeared in the loo as soon as he entered the room, only
bothering to wave his hand at the lot of them.

“I’m stealing his space, his blankets and his pillow. Actually, this is my bed now.” Regulus
says, crossing his arms to his chest.

“I’m the victim here.” James says, giving Sirius puppy eyes. “Do I have the permission to
tickle him until he falls off the bed?”

“No, you don’t.” Regulus says, as he grabs James’ pillow again. “I’m armed.”

“Are you ready to spend winter break with those two?” Remus asks, coming out of the loo, as
Regulus lightly hits James’ back with the pillow..

“No, I hate them both already.” Sirius says, rolling his eyes. “It’ll get worse with Quidditch.”

James’s eyes go wide. “We have a match in three days!” He tells Regulus, blocking the
pillow with both his hands.

“It’ll feel so good to beat you.” Regulus says with a grin, trying to snatch back the pillow.
“I’ll give you a hard time.”

Something passes between them, a dick joke probably. “I can give you a hard time as well.”
James replies; it sounds vaguely threatening.

“Oi.” Sirius pokes at James’ cheek. “Stop being a prat. We need to pick out the names, chop
chop.”

“But you didn’t hug me yet.” James says, pouting as he lets go of the pillow to open his
arms.

Peter rolls his eyes, Remus groans, while James and Sirius hug each other like they’ve been
separated for two centuries.
“Are they always like this?” Regulus asks, wondering if he should throw them a pillow.

“You’ve got no idea, they act like they’re married.” Remus says. He’s writing their names on
a piece of parchment, using the wall as a flat surface.

“We are married.” Sirius says, letting go of James. “Platonically, obviously. My heart only
belongs to Moonbeam.”

Remus rolls his eyes at him, tearing the parchment. “Stupid sod.” He mumbles.

“He’s so romantic.” Sirius replies, sighing and letting himself fall on Peter, who barely
catches him.

“He just called you a stupid sod.” Peter shakes his head. “You dramatic twat.”

“Okay, everyone.” Remus has put the pieces of parchment into a beanie. “Come get a name
out of the hat.”

Regulus is the last one to get the name: James. He sighs in relief. At least he knows what he
wants to give him, though he wonders if he’ll have enough time to work on it.

“No one got his own name?” Sirius asks, tucking the piece of paper in his pocket.

“Nope.” James grins. “Lads, this will be a fun one, I know it will.”

08/12/1976, Hogwarts

Dear Diary,

It’s likely that I will be spending winter break at James’.

A part of me was hoping my mother would want me around. I’m not sure why. It must be the
picture I found this summer. We looked so happy, she looked so young. I wonder where she
went. She had to hold us at some point, make us stop crying. And now all she does is cause
harm. Though I suppose it can’t harm me to spend Christmas away, in some ways I will hurt.
James and his parents will definitely have a much better relationship than my family and I
ever did. Sirius doesn’t speak about the impact it had on him to see what a real family looks
like, but it’s clear that it impacted him. Families in books are very different from real life. I’m
curious, but on the other hand I know that I’ll be very sensitive.

I loved my parents when I was really little; I have sparse memories, but I remember father
playing with Sirius and I by the pool, in Nice. I remember mother feeding me ice cream one
time when I twisted my wrist falling from a tree (it wasn’t a very long fall, I was just bad at
landing). I remember them picking me and Sirius up from quidditch practice. There was a
small kids team in London where we used to train, it was fun. I wore number 10, Sirius had
number 8, which I now associate with him and him only (James is number 5 or 6). I don’t
remember when the change happened, I just remember being punished for breaking a vase (I
don’t remember how I did it), and from that memory on punishments just happened often.
Sometimes I have the urge to ask Bella or Cissy if they know something, but I always refrain.

So anyway. Now that there is a 99% possibility of me spending Christmas there, I’m getting
nervous. This is the list of reasons why:

I’m meeting my boyfriend’s parents, but they don’t know we’re dating;

My brother is in the same house as my boyfriend and I;

Sirius is James’ best friend;

I’m sensitive to parents;

I’m worried I’ll be harsh or say something rude by accident;

This is sort of the complete list. A no.6 could be “I’m worried my mother will realise what
I’m doing and come pick me up and then get me out of school”. But that’s irrational, right?
She’ll be spending a very nice time in Nice, and I’ll have a bloody good time snogging the
boy they told me to hate when I was 10.

I don’t know how to sign this off.

In a confused state,

R.A.B.

11 December, 1976

“Bloody hell.”

The wind clings his jersey to his torso violently as soon as he steps foot on the pitch. Not
only cloudy, but also windy. He feels like he’ll risk flying away if he doesn’t play his cards
right. A glimpse of the Gryffindor team, on the other half of the pitch, tells him they all look
pretty unfazed, but it might be the distance.

Veronica sighs. “Let’s warm up.”

The game starts thirty minutes later. The wind hasn’t calmed down and Regulus clings to his
broom, looking for a repaired spot to safeguard the game. Elias is kept at bay by their beaters,
which has anxiety setting Regulus off any second. It is hard to trust Mulciber with your
muggleborn friend who has the reputation of an arrogant prat.

He observes the match between the chasers. The quaffle is usually in the Gryffindor’s hands,
but after the first twenty minutes, Nathaniel started planning ambushes on their throws,
making it harder for them to keep scoring.
When Gryffindor hits fifty points, Regulus starts going after Elias, who has started looking
for the snitch, flying beautifully around the pitch and juggling between players like he’s air.
He decides to keep a safe distance, and to only follow when he reckons Elias is aiming for
the snitch and not just fooling around. A couple of times, they both risk getting hit by a
bludger, which hasn’t happened to Regulus yet this season, so he’s sort of expecting it.

Slytherin has only scored seventy points when Gryffindors hit one hundred. Honestly,
Regulus expected them to get there first, so he’s not surprised, but Nathaniel and Hector
appear a little hopeless, so he signals to Veronica to call a Time out.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, once they’re all on the ground.

“Ask the chasers.” Regulus replies, fixing his gloves.

Nathaniel rolls his eyes. “I can’t get the quaffle from them.” He says, his voice breaking as he
does. “They’ve realised my strategy and they’re flying closer now. Plus their beaters are
marking Hector up so I have less options. I don’t know what to do.”

“Well?” Veronica looks at Nott and Mulciber. “You heard him. Keep the beaters off of
Hector.”

“It’d be much easier if that blond kid stopped sending bludgers to space.” Nott growled,
running a hand through his hair. “It’s hard to keep the beaters off of him if the beaters are
sending us to the edges of the pitch!”

“Then think of a solution.” Regulus says, rolling his eyes. “They’re going to get even more
aggressive if we let them.”

“Easy to talk when your only job is to fly around like a bloody fairy.” Mulciber replies
hastily. “We’ll show them some good plays.”

And they do, actually. Gryffindor is just better. The score is two hundred seventy to ninety
when James starts to fire up. He steals the quaffle from a pass and scores from mid-pitch,
making the stands roar in excitement. He scores a few times in a row, a little smug smile on
his face every time the quaffle enters one of the loops, and Regulus wants to snog him right
there, not leaving him the time to even get off his broom.

Anyhow. Elias is on the other side of the pitch when Regulus sees the snitch, flying close to
James, who’s still for once. He speeds up.

“The hell are you doing here?” James asks, almost sounding pissed. He must be waiting for
the quaffle, then. Good to know. Regulus leans slightly to the side, his broom moving with
him. Just a little more forward.

“Distracting you with my good looks?” He tries, with a wink.

“Nothing can distract me from Quidditch.” James frowns, tearing his eyes away.

Interesting, Regulus thinks, leaning forward. He can see James’ eyes briefly tracking the
subtle movement of his hips. “You look stunning when you score.” He says, with a grin,
making sure James is looking at his eyes now. “If it was up to me, I’d snog you mid-air. I
wouldn’t even give you time to get off your broom, I’d just yank your shirt and kiss you right
here, in front of the whole school.”

James swallows, just as Regulus’ fingers close around the snitch. “Reg, I…Oh you sneaky
sod!” James swears, when he realises.

“Did Black just catch the snitch?” The commenter says, confused. Regulus raises his hand,
holding the snitch in the air. “He did! The game is over, lads and gals! Gryffindor wins the
first tournament, with a total score of eight hundred and seventy!”

Regulus flashes a smile at James, who rolls his eyes at him. “That was unfair!”

“There was nothing you could do anyway.” Regulus retorts, with a sly smile. “Cissy and her
boyfriend are here.” James pouts. “I know, no post-match snogging. I’ll give you the snitch,
umh?”

James smiles at him. “Deal. I’ll snog you tomorrow, anyway.”

Regulus laughs and hands him the snitch.

Narcissa is waiting for him just some metres away from the locker room, chatting with
Lucius with a hand on his arm. She’s wearing black robes that make her look like the
portrayal of what his mother thinks a pureblood should look like. White, blonde, refined,
cold.

Regulus has always thought of Cissy as a considerate person. She’s nurturing and sweet when
she wants to be, and she’ll probably be an amazing mother when the time comes. And yet.
Just like Evan, she’s still poisoned by those dreadful ideals that her parents injected into her
when she was a kid. He wants to shake some sense into her. Tell her to run away while she
still can, give the kids she wants a better life than this. He wishes he could tell her how much
he was hurt, how much he feels was taken from him.

He doesn’t. He just meets her eyes and goes to hug her tight, even if he’s sweaty. The sweet
smell of her perfume clouds his mind for a couple of seconds. He misses her, he truly does; or
maybe he misses the memories of her. She was always so kind to him. Mixed feelings again,
like with Evan, all over again. He lets her go.

“Good game. Why did you catch the snitch if you were losing?” Narcissa asks, tucking his
hair in. “Your hair got so long…”

“I don’t mind it long. It’s a bummer when it gets in my face, though.” He gives her a quick
smile. “I caught the snitch ‘cos we were losing anyway. It would have been harder on our
chasers if it kept going.”

Narcissa smiles at him. “I guess that’s also the job of a seeker. Gryffindor has a good team
this year, innit?”
“Bloody bastards. They’ll be even better next year, they’re only losing Longbottom.” He
sighs, then sneaks a glance at Lucius, who looks a bit out of place. Or maybe it’s just
Regulus’ impression. “Hey there, Lucy.”

Lucius rolls his eyes. “Are you perhaps falling into the same habit as your former brother?”

It takes all of Regulus’ good will not to stick his broom handle into Lucius’ eye. Twatter.
Sirius will always be his brother. “Just thought Lucius was too formal.”

“Speak more properly, maybe.” Lucius says, not breaking the serious expression.

“Oh, cut him some slacks, Lucius.” Narcissa pats Regulus’ arm. “He’s fifteen, after all.”

“He’s the heir.” Lucius crosses his arms. “He has to make good impressions even at school.”

Regulus wants to fight him so bad. Kick him in the guts and make him sterile. Brew a potion
that will make him go bald. “I can make perfectly good impressions, Lucius. I do not need
your advice. Besides, I’m talking to my cousin, not to the ministry of magic, so I don’t see
why proper speech form would be required.” He looks at him up and down. “Did you know
that tying your hair like that causes premature balding?”

Lucius’ mask drops for a second. “Very funny joke, Regulus.”

Narcissa rolls her eyes. “He’s working on learning how to get a joke.”

“He’s failing miserably.” Regulus tells her, nodding. “So, why are you actually here? I doubt
it is just for the match, since you’ve never bothered to come before.”

Narcissa worries her bottom lip, lowering her eyes. “I was just wondering how you were. You
didn’t write to me once, I was worried something had happened in school.”

Oh, sweet innocence, a lot happened while you weren’t looking. “I’m fine. I’ve been busy.”
He says, looking away.

James and Sirius, not far from him, are talking, toothy wide grins and hands moving in every
direction. Remus is leaning against the wall, watching them with a fond smile. Peter butts in
to say something, add a detail maybe. He makes James laugh, head thrown back. Darling boy,
he is. A true beauty.

“Are you sure? I know losing a sibling hurts.” Narcissa says, twirling her hair around her
finger. She does that when she’s nervous. “I know you and Sirius had a complicated
relationship, but he was still…”

“Look, I appreciate your concern, really.” He says, meeting her eyes. “I don’t wish to talk
about it, though. Sirius made his choice and he’s gone. I’m still alive and still breathing, it’s
fine.”

Narcissa sighs. “I won’t bother you about it, then. Will you write to me, though?”

Regulus nods. “I’ll write more often, but I can’t promise I’ll have something fun to say.”
“That’s alright. I just want to know that you’re well, Reg.” Narcissa brushes his arm one last
time, before she steps back. “I’ll come to your matches more often.”

Regulus forces himself to smile at her. “I’ll be looking for you in the stands.”

12 December, 1976

The ceiling of the Come and Go room has been charmed to look like the sky outside, which
is a dull grey, threatening snow or rain. There’s a tablecloth placed in the middle of the room
and some snacks, neatly set on a platter; not a picnic basket, but cute and appropriate.

James is beaming at him, when he enters, as beautiful as a prince.

“Did you do this?” Regulus gestures at the room, unable to contain his smile. “It looks nice.”

“I’m glad.” James says, giving a look at the sky. “Though I was sort of hoping it would be a
sunny day, you know?”

“It’s always a sunny day with you.” Regulus blurts out, before he can help it. James gapes at
him. “Anyhow.”

“Anyhow my glorious arse.” James says, beaming again. “Come here and snog me.”

Regulus laughs, but he obliges, coming near James and placing a kiss on his lips, content
with the way they embrace each other. “I thought we would grab food together and then get
here.” He says, dropping his hand to James’ shoulder.

“This is a date.” James places a kiss on the crown of his hair. “I wanted to do something nice
for you.”

Like existing, for example, Regulus thinks. “I appreciate it.” He says, before kissing James
again, soft and sweet. “But next time, I’ll do it.”

“Will you spoil me?” James asks, caressing his cheek.

“Maybe.” Regulus winks at him.

The picnic itself is nice. They have mince pie and hot chocolate, Regulus cuts an apple and
offers half of it to James, and even if there’s not much sunlight, it feels like a summer day.
After the picnic, they lay on the floor together, a pillow under their head.

“Ask me something.” James prompts.

“What do you think will happen if a werewolf goes to the moon?”

James snorts, then he starts laughing loudly, rolling on his side. “I meant something about me
.” He says, smiling brightly as his arm wraps around Regulus’ waist.
“Well, your thoughts are yours, aren’t they?” Regulus retorts, though he’s blushing.

James giggles. “It’s an interesting question, though.”

“Right? It deprived me of sleep last night.” Regulus puts his hand on James’ arm.

“Of course you stayed awake thinking about a question with no answer.” James says, fondly,
rolling his eyes. “Should’ve put you in Ravenclaw. What’s another question that keeps you
awake at night?”

“Is time finite or infinite?” He chooses. He has a lot of these. “If you think about it, time is
only a modus cogitandi. And there’s a difference between time and duration. If we’re finite
beings, then time can only be something we use as an organisation tool, so it’s duration,
rather than…you know, actual Time. I mean, time surely exists, but for finite and infinite
beings it means different things. Does time even exist for infinite beings? If there’s no
beginning and no end, then…how do you even exist? How do you define the existence of
something that was never born? And if time is infinite then it only exists as a concept, and
what we experience should be called duration.”

James stays silent for a second. “I think you should ask Dumbledore. He’s probably infinite.
Will outlive us all.”

“I’m serious, James!” Regulus says, turning to look at him.

James grins. “No, you’re Regulus.” He says before kissing him deeply. “Wouldn’t kiss you, if
you were Sirius.”

“Why does everyone keep making this joke…” Regulus sighs, turning on his side and sliding
his thigh between James’. “Answer my questions, please.”

“I’m a little distracted right now.” James says, his cheeks gaining colour as Regulus’ finger
tips brush against his hip. “I forgot the question, I think.”

Regulus smiles. “Does time exist for an infinite being?”

James licks his lips. “No, I don’t think so. If you’re infinite, you’re beyond time.” He says, as
Regulus’s hand comes up to carefully slide James’ glasses off his face. “Good enough?”

“Good enough.” Regulus repeats, setting the glasses aside. “You’re more than good enough.”
He says, before he kisses him, pressing close.

For once, he lets James take control of the kiss, letting him be the one to be on top. He likes
the way James’ body presses against him, warm and heavy; he can feel his heartbeat against
his chest, and it makes him melt more into James, hands slipping under his shirt to make sure
James won’t get far.

“Kissing you makes me feel infinite.” James presses an open-mouthed kiss on his neck. “Like
we’re beyond time. Beyond everything. Nothing else exists outside of us.”
Regulus’s stomach lurches at those words. There’s ringing in his ears and his mother’s face
pops up in his mind, looking severe and upright, like some Roman deity. The first time she
speaks, he doesn’t hear her. Then he does.

“I didn’t raise you to do this. Look at you, letting a blood traitor kiss you on the floor. A male
. Just let me get there.” He squeezes his eyes shut and waits. He can’t count past three. Did he
get caught? Is she coming to get him? Can she even get in here? No, she can’t.

Someone is calling his name. Not his mother. Not his father. Not Sirius, the voice is a little
too deep to be his. It’s definitely not Pandora, and it’s not Barty’s sweet sounding voice. It
has to be James.

“Reg? Breath with me, love.”

The first three are hard, he can’t get enough air into his lungs. It gets better after those.

“I’m sorry.” He says, covering his face with his hands. “It’s just- you can’t say that, James.
That’s exactly what is wrong with us: there's a world outside and it’s cruel and it’s- my house
and my parents are out there, James. If we have to hide, then we’re not infinite. We’re finite,
vulnerable creatures, and we’re putting ourselves in danger because we want each other.”

There’s a beat of silence. The room is still for a few seconds. Regulus is afraid to peek out of
his fingers and look at James.

“I mean. Strength can come from vulnerability.” James says, slowly, his index fingers
slipping under Regulus’, carefully lifting his hands from his face. “Maybe we’re fragile now.
But we won’t be like that forever. And your parents have already failed you.” It would have
been less painful if James dropped a heavy weight on his chest. “We’re already strong, aren’t
we? Remember what Virgilio said?”

“Improbe Amore, quid non mortalia pectora cogis?” James shakes his head. “Qui amant ipsi
sibi somnia fingunt?” Another no. “Sed fugit interea, fugit irreparabile tempus, singula dum
capti circumvectamur amore?”

“Reg. I can’t believe you memorised those quotes, but not the most famous one.” James says,
with an amused smile. “Omnia vincit amor, et nos cedamus amori.”

Regulus shakes his head. “But she leaves him, in the story. She runs away with someone
else.”

James traces a line on Regulus’ cheekbone. “I guess she surrendered to someone else’s love.”
He says, softly. “Maybe we should surrender to ours, is what I’m saying.”

“But we can’t think we’re untouchable, James. Look at what happened during the elections.”
He shakes his head, fingers intertwining with James’. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t surrender,
Jamie. I’m saying that we have to be realistic, and we have to be careful. We have to know
that something exists outside of us.” James has a little frown, but Regulus continues. “You
said it, remember? Having some weak spots is a good thing. We have to know that we could
be each other’s weak spots, otherwise we’ll end up like Icarus and Phaeton.”
“You’re right.” James murmurs, still looking a little sad. “Reg, what are you going to do
about the war? After school?”

Regulus blinks at him for a second, then sighs. “I’m not sure. I want to…I want to fight. I
have to figure out how to fight.”

“Do you wish to fight with the Order?” James asks, holding his hands tightly.

Regulus grimaces. “Yeah, no offence James, but no.” James lets go of his hands, looking like
he has been shocked. “No, I don’t mean…look, I just don’t think they’re fighting in the right
way. They’re not advocating for change. They want Voldemort to go, but they don’t want
purism to stop being a thing, they won’t advocate for minorities. When Voldemort is gone,
what do you think will actually change? Because my bet is on nothing.”

“My parents are in the Order.” James says, sitting beside Regulus.

Regulus sighs again and sits up as well. “I didn’t mean to say your parents aren’t doing things
in the right way.” He says, slowly. “The Order, as a whole, is fundamentally flawed is what I
mean. And I’ve got half the mind to blame Dumbledore for it.”

“Dumbledore!?” James looks baffled.

“Oh, James…” Regulus feels his lips curled downwards. “Why do you think he left me and
Sirius with our parents? I think it was pretty clear what my parents were up to. But he never
did anything. No one ever tried to take us out. And I know…I know Sirius snitched for
Dumbledore a few times.” James is looking at him strangely now. “You think Dumbledore
he’s good, but he’s just another entitled old wizard trying to gain power, he just does it
differently.”

“But you still want to fight?” James asks, a little uncertain.

“I want a world where I can love you and not be judged for it. I want good education,
equality and I want to seek the truth. But the Order? Let’s not be daft. Barty’s father is there,
and he’s perfectly okay with aurors using unforgivables against anyone they think is a threat
or with sending people to Azkaban without a trial. He would send Barty to Azkaban without
a second thought if he had the opportunity.”

“I see your point. But don’t you think that attempting communication would be useful?
Instead of just going your own way, I mean.”

Regulus shrugs. “I do things on my own. I suppose you can try to talk to them, if you want.
Don’t expect Dumbledore or his minions to listen to you, though.”

James frowns. “You’re fifteen. You can’t just do things on your own.” He says, firmly.
“You’ll get yourself killed.”

“Maybe not. If I play my cards carefully, maybe I won’t.” He says, straightening his back.
“I’ve lived with them all of my life, James. I know my enemy.”
“You’re nutters.” James says, a scowl curling those beautiful lips down. “Don’t do it on your
own.” He grabs Regulus’ hand. “If you fight, I’ll fight with you.”

“That’s years from now, James.” Damastus’ words ring in his head: You’ve got great
responsibilities, Regulus. Much bigger than you think. Possibly not this year, but next year,
you’ll realise just how big. “But I guess we could fight together.” He laces their fingers.
“Like Alexander and Hephaestion, me and you.”

James seems to relax. “Promise you won’t die first?”

“Promise.” He kisses James on the cheek. “I’m sorry. What you said, about feeling infinite, I
get it. I really do. And I wish we were beyond time and beyond things that happen outside of
this room.”

“But we can’t act like we are.” James agrees. He brings Regulus’ hand to his lips and kisses
it. “I want to ask a question.”

Regulus squeezes his hand. “Go for it, then.”

“I…The premise of this is that I really don’t want to pry.” James says, carefully. “But I’m
worried about you. Sirius told me about the letter your mother sent to you, and I saw your
cousin and her boyfriend yesterday.” Regulus feels the colour melt away from his face. “Do
you want to talk about it, maybe?”

“Why would I?” It’s a stupid question, he knows that it is. James wants to know because he
wants to understand Regulus better, and he needs to know why Regulus is sensitive about it.

“I want to know you, even the parts that hurt.” James says, determined and still soft. Like
he’s trying to reassure Regulus that he’s not dangerous. “I imagine it is rather complicated.
And I don’t expect you to tell me everything right away. I have seen Sirius through it, and
even if I haven’t felt it on my skin, I know how much it hurts.”

Regulus grimaces. “No, you’ve got no clue of how much it hurts. And that’s fine, Jamie. I
would never wish it on you to have that knowledge.” He looks at the ceiling, at the shades of
grey in the clouds. “My mother doesn’t like me. I told you a little about it. She doesn’t like
me because she thinks something is wrong with me. When Sirius left, she went silent for
some days. I burnt Sirius’ name off the family tree while she watched, and she didn’t say
anything. Then one day, everything was back to normal, like Sirius had never happened.” He
looks down at their hands, at the way their skins compliment each other, James’ bronze skin
with that little scar close to his thumb, and Regulus’ white skin, with the two moles going up
towards his middle finger. “When we were little, she was different. I found a picture of us- of
me and Mother. We were both smiling. She looked happy. My mother never looks happy,
hasn’t smiled so sincerely in years. And it makes me wonder, that’s all.”

James lets go of his hand and Regulus snaps his head up. James moves to wrap his arm
around his shoulders, making eye contact. Regulus nods, crowding closer. “I don’t know
what happened with your parents. And I can’t understand the pain it causes you.” He kisses
Regulus’ forehead. “I’m not sure which words will help you. I don’t think there’s anything
particularly wrong with you. You’re sort of amazing. And you don’t realise it, but you’re
charming and lovable. You’ve got a lovely smile. You don’t deserve any of the things that
happened to you.” Regulus sniffles. “Your parents are prats for not noticing how good you
are.”

“But it still hurts. It hurts that they’re prats or arseholes or whatever unflattering word you
want to call them. So many other people got to have parents who love them. Evan rolls his
eyes when his mother hugs him before he leaves, he acts all annoyed when she calls him
love. And I want to punch him for it, sometimes. I wish my mother did any of that, or that she
meant any affection towards me. Other people have parents to joke with, and my parents are
dull dimwits obsessed with the idea of them being the only people who deserve to exist.” He
tugs at the lace of James’ hoodie. “I don’t want to envy them. Envy is a bad feeling that
makes people do terrible things and I don’t want to do terrible things.”

“That’s perfectly understandable, Regulus.” James keeps him close, he rubs his hand on his
arm. Regulus wonders if he happened to notice just how much Regulus needs touch to feel
comforted. “When I get mad, I do push-ups.”

“Umh?” Regulus looks at him, a little confused. “Good for your tits.”

James blinks at him, before he laughs. “No I…” He laughs again, covering his eyes with his
free hands. “I meant that you could do push-ups, when you feel like that. It helps.”

“Are you saying I’m not beefy enough for you?” Regulus teases, feeling like smiling. Bless
James Potter and his laugh.

“Are you beefy?” James squints at him. “Let me check.”

“What, you don’t trust me?” Regulus tickles James’ side, turning his body towards James’.
“I’m fit, too.”

“I know you are.” James smiles, pulling him close. “You wouldn’t be such an amazing seeker
if you weren’t.”

“It’s nice that you think I’m amazing.” Regulus kisses him, cupping his cheek with his hand.
“Thank you. For listening.”

“Don’t mention it.” James kisses him on the corner of his lips. “If it helps, I think you’re
more than amazing. I told you, didn’t I? You’re wonderful, jaan.”

Regulus shakes his head, folding his arms around James’ shoulders. “I’m sorry that we have
these moments.” He says, nuzzling at James’ jaw. “I wish I could make you happier.”

James holds him tight, presses a kiss on his neck. “I’m grateful for them, to be frank. It’s
okay to be vulnerable. I don’t know your story, you don’t know mine. We have to go past the
tears, sometimes.” He kisses his jaw, now. “It doesn’t matter, because I also get to see you
smiling a lot. Like when you raise your head from the book you’re reading and smile at me.
Or when you start a match of ‘you’ve got it’ and we run after each other around the room. Or
when you sing Queen’s songs with me. You don’t know how happy you make me, Reg. I
smile in class when I think about you. I can’t wait to have you in my house and see you every
day and talk to you everyday without having to hold back as much.”

Regulus isn’t sure why his eyes are wet, but he stubbornly swallows back the tears. “I’ve
been thinking about it since you mentioned it.” His voice comes out thick, he’s not sure if it’s
because he’s about to cry or because of how tight they’re gripping at each other. “I think
about us in your house having silly conversations at night. And you’d fall asleep with your
glasses on while we talk because you’d be too polite to tell me you’re tired. I think about
Sirius and I bickering and you looking at us fondly. About having breakfast with you.”

“I didn’t know having breakfast with me was on anyone’s mind.” James says, kissing the
space between his neck and his shoulder, the spot his jumper doesn’t cover.

“It’s just…It’s something so ordinary, but we never got to do it together without having to
pretend we didn’t have an excuse to talk. It won’t be like this anymore and it feels nice.”
Regulus says, kissing James’s temple. “I want to do a lot of ordinary things with you.”

“Like watching the telly and drinking hot cocoa.” James agrees, sounding impossibly sweet.

“What’s the telly?” Regulus asks, frowning.

“It’s this muggle electronic box where you can watch different stuff on things called
channels.” James explains, one of his hands moving soothingly on Regulus’ back. “My
parents bought it once they retired, they were always curious about muggle inventions. We
have a lot of those at home! I’ll show you, they’re so cool. The telly is the nicest one, because
you can watch movies or sitcoms, as they call them. It’s nice! And we watch muggle news
too, you know, to keep updated.”

“I’m really curious about muggle news.” Regulus says, in a serious tone, resting his forehead
against James’. “Any other surprises?”

“Yes.” James smiles. “But you won’t hear anything about those, I want to show them to
you.”

“I’m sure I’ll love those too.” Regulus tilts his head to the side, taking James’ chin between
his index and his thumb, and he leans in to press a kiss on those beautiful lips of his. “I’m a
little nervous to meet your parents.”

“They’ll love you.” James says, his lips brushing against Regulus’ as he speaks. “Mum will
ask a lot of questions. I might have rambled about you a couple of times in my letters.”

“Really?” Regulus laughs, kisses James again briefly. “What did you tell her?”

“Secret! Mostly about how good you are at Quidditch. It felt safe to say, you know? But I
want to tell her during winter break. She’ll clock me anyway.” He drops a kiss on Regulus’
cheek. “I think I’ve got it written all over my face every time I look at you.”

Regulus hums, his fingers sinking into James’ hair. “I like that about you. How expressive
you are. You’re an open book, but it’s open in the middle, so most readers struggle to see how
you became the person you are.” He kisses the tip of James’ nose. “But someone told me bits
and pieces of your story, enough for me to understand where we are and want to continue
reading you.”

James giggles. “You’re a book written in ancient Greek, snapped close, with tight binding
keeping the pages together. It’s a book about the dualities of heroes, which most people
would misunderstand, but I don’t, because I’m a duality myself.” He replies, eyes sparkling
of warm brown under a single ray of sunshine.

Regulus looks at him, a little speechless, and yet he understands what James is saying. Their
conversations haven’t reached the point to explore those dualities and the points where their
depths touch, but they know it’s a matter of time; or at least, that’s what Regulus thinks. He
feels a sense of profound understanding in the way they cling to each other and it’s new and
unexpected, because he never thought a boy like James Potter could see him and arrive at the
right conclusion, or even comprehend him.

“You know, I’ve never…” Regulus frowns, looks up the charmed ceiling as he seeks the right
words. “I’ve always thought we were too different to be close. But I feel like you have an
ability to understand people that is unusually acute. And at the same time, I feel like there’s
some parts of us that are just…well, they don’t mirror each other, they’re just very similar.
And I’ve never felt like this with anybody.”

James’ hands ghost his waist, before he’s holding him tight again. “I feel like I can be
vulnerable with you.” He whispers. “Without you walking away. I can tell you when I’m hurt
and you’ll embrace me instead of just…I don’t know, disappear somewhere and keep me
waiting. I don’t like being vulnerable, but you make me feel safe enough to step out of my
comfort zone. It’s a little scary, innit?”

“It is scary.” Regulus sweeps his hair out of his face and kisses his forehead. “But everything
new is scary at first. Starting things always implies the awkward first stage where you’re
required to justify yourself and explain yourself and try to get other people to see you. That’s
just momentary, though. Eventually, you don’t have to explain yourself anymore, and maybe
your comfort zone expands, and you grow into it.”

James smiles at him, tiny and shy, like he feels actually reassured. “You like knowing
things.”

“I do.”

James nods. “I think it’s lovely.” He says, beaming. “And I think you’re lovely, too, even if
yesterday you tried to flirt me into distraction.”

Regulus laughs. “I’d do it again. You were so focused, it was cute.”

“Oh, bugger off.” James tickles his side, making him giggle. “You’re a menace. Quidditch is
a serious matter! You can’t flirt on the pitch!”

“I can flirt on the pitch and catch the snitch at the same time.” Regulus sticks his tongue out,
holding onto James’ shoulders. “Not my fault if you can’t.”
 “Not my fault if you can’t.” James mocks him, before he’s pressing him onto the ground.
“I’m going to snog you. Do you consent?”

Regulus giggles, rolling his eyes. “Just kiss me, you stupid sod.”

It’s a nice afternoon. There’s kissing and laughter. At some point, they decide to play Sheer
Heart Attack, which Regulus hasn’t listened to yet. He likes A Night at the Opera better, but
doesn’t mind this one either. The calmness of having James in the same room as him,
humming tunes he already knows and singing some lyrics with a grin on his face is exactly
what he needed today.

12/12/1976, Hogwarts

Dear diary,

I think I might have fallen in love with him. Is it possible? What does it really imply? I’ll
come back and answer this when I know. I hope it’s nothing too bad.

R.A.B.

Chapter End Notes

Latin translations:
Improbe Amore, quid non mortalia pectora cogis?=cruel love, what is there to which
you do not drive mortal hearts?
Qui amant ipsi sibi somnia fingunt?=They who love themselves imagine dreams (this
should be correct)
Sed fugit interea, fugit inreparabile tempus, singula dum capti circumvectamur amore?
=But meanwhile it flees: time flees irretrievably, while we wander around, prisoners of
our love of detail.
Omnia vincit amor, et nos cedamus amori.=Love conquers all, and we surrender to love
 You take my breath away
Chapter Notes

CWs: Internalised homophobia; mentions of war; discussion of queer identities; coming

out.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Look into my eyes and you'll see

I'm the only one

You've captured my love

Stolen my heart

Changed my life

Every time you make a move

You destroy my mind

And the way you touch

I lose control and shiver deep inside

You take my breath away

You can reduce me to tears

With a single sigh

(Please don't cry anymore)

Every breath that you take

Any sound that you make

Is a whisper in my ear

I could give up all my life for just one kiss

I would surely die

If you dismiss me from your love

You take my breath away.

1 September, 1972

The whistle of the train always makes a chill run through James’ body, like he’s been struck
by a thunder. Today specifically: it has been exactly two months since he has last seen Sirius
Black, and he is quite worried about his friend’s health and safety. Not to mention Remus,
who has periodically been getting sick since the beginning of his first year. Despite having
talked to them through letters and having met with Remus once during the summer, he still
wants proof that they’re fine, intact. He’s not as worried for Peter, given that they live in the
same neighbourhood, and have been meeting up almost every day until Peter left with his
family to go to France, in the last two weeks of August.

He already said his goodbyes (after promising his parents he’ll try to behave properly this
term) and he’s just getting on the train, dragging his truck behind him lazily. The carriage
they picked last year is empty, so James enters it quickly, hoping his friends will remember.
He settles the truck in the specific upper shelf, struggling a little because of the height, then
plops down in one of the seats next to the window.

Leaving made him jittery last year, but it’s nothing compared to the nervousness he’s feeling
now; he knows it has something to do with the war that started a couple of years ago. He
suspects his parents are fighting, but they’re trying to keep it hidden from James. Not
knowing what is going on has been sending him into a spiral. He hopes he’ll find some
distractions at school, Quidditch and pranks specifically.

Remus is the first to arrive; the sound of the door opening cuts off James’ trail of thoughts.
His friend’s hair has been cut neatly and he’s taller than he was the last time they saw each
other. There’s no hugging, but they do slap their hands together, something muggles do as a
greeting, according to the welsh boy. They chat for just two minutes, exchanging niceties,
before Peter arrives, blonde hair messy and cheeks red, like he was in a hurry.

“Hi, Pete.” Remus says, amused, making room for him on the seat. “Did you run here, you
nutter?”

Peter scowls at him, settling his truck next to Remus’. “I couldn’t see any of you, I thought
you were already discussing details of the summer.”

“Nah. Sirius isn’t even here yet.” James interjects, fixing his glasses on his nose. They keep
sliding off, too big for his face. It’s a bother, really. “Do you think his brother will sit with
us?”

Remus shrugs. “Probably, yeah.”

Speak of the devil. It is Sirius who opens the carriage. He’s a little pale, and his hair, which
grew longer over the course of last year, is cut short, making him look a lot less like himself.
He’s wearing a set of robes he hates, James notices. But he has a small smirk and there’s light
in those blue eyes of his, so James’ muscles relax. He’s fine. Sirius is fine. Thanks Godric.

Just behind him, there’s another kid. And James doesn’t know why, but he makes him feel on
edge. The boy has rosy cheeks, freckled, a turned up straight nose, big grey eyes and long
dark eyelashes. He’s not smiling, but he’s not frowning either. His curly hair is cut properly,
curling up around his forehead like a crown. The train ticket is being tortured between his
fingers. Their eyes meet. James feels pierced down, examined. The boy, Regulus, takes in his
school uniform, his messy hair, the glasses, the dirty red converse. There’s a pinch between
his eyebrows that might suggest a mean streak, though James isn’t sure why Regulus would
be upset with him, since they didn’t even speak yet.

“This is Regulus.” Sirius says, pointing at his brother with his thumb. His voice cracks,
James notices. It sounds slightly deeper than he remembers it to be. “I’ll settle our trucks, you
just sit down.”

“I can do it myself.” Regulus mumbles, but he sits down with a scowl when Sirius rolls his
eyes at him.

“I’m James.” The words come before he can stop them, and his hand is already out, waiting
to be shaken. “I’ll be the best chaser in the Quidditch team this year.”

Remus snorts, and Sirius giggles as well, but Regulus keeps a perfect straight face. “I’m
Regulus.” He says, politely, giving James’ hand a firm shake. “If you win the Quidditch cup
this year, it will be only because I’m not allowed to play yet.”

And it is very funny, how James’ heart flutters at those words, like Regulus said something
sweet instead of something arrogant and lightly insulting. He likes the kid. He secretly hopes
he’ll be in Gryffindor, like his brother, so they can play Quidditch together.

“Why are you so sure we’re going to be rivals?” James asks, with a pout. “You haven’t been
sorted yet!”

“It is exceedingly obvious that I’m going to be sorted into Slytherin.” Regulus rolls his eyes,
letting go of James’ hand.

“Don’t be like that, Reg.” Sirius carelessly drops an arm around his shoulders. “You’re more
likely to be a Ravenclaw. Don’t give up just yet!”

Regulus gives him a long look. “Sure.” Then he looks down and starts tearing his train ticket
into pieces.

15 March, 1974

James Potter is a liar; he’s a fake, a doll, a toy. His existence is only valuable when other
people find it amusing; his purpose is nothing but entertainment. Lily Evans is honesty; she’s
the truth, the law, and ethics. Her existence is always valuable, even when other people don’t
find it amusing; her purpose is nothing but soul control. They are utter opposites: James with
his brown hair, with his dark eyes, with his bronze skin and his distorted vision, and Lily with
her fair ginger hair, the lively green eyes, the white freckled skin and her perfect eyesight,
which will probably never give her a reason to squint.

She sends him to a full blown crisis just some days before he’s fourteen. He stands in front of
the mirror of the bathroom, door locked, and stares at his figure. Sirius’ insistent knocks
don’t distract him from his mission of finding out what the hell is wrong with him.

Is it the glasses or the hair? He wants to explain to Lily that he doesn’t mess his hair up
because he wants to look cooler in front of girls, he just gets too nervous and starts fidgeting.
His hair is the victim of his never dying social awkwardness; he never expected popularity,
and he panics in the spotlight. He does stupid things.

On top of that, Snivellus gets on his nerves like no one else, hissing insults under his breath
when Lily isn’t listening. James feels like an idiot for reacting, but he’s never been good at
managing anger; he never had a reason to feel so angry anyway. Finding solutions isn’t easy,
and now that he’s older, he feels like he needs to make sure people like Snape know they
can’t just be mean and get away with it. He needs to protect people. Lily doesn’t get it,
because she doesn’t seem to realise how vicious her friend is with anyone who isn’t her. The
things he says about Remus…

“James, for fuck’s sake!” Sirius shrieks, outside the bathroom. “Open the door!”

James rolls his eyes, stubbornly sitting on the ground and staring at the door now. Telling
Sirius that he’s beating himself down because a girl hurt his feelings is at the bottom of the
list of things he wants to do today. Well, “a girl hurt his feelings” is an understatement. He’d
be okay with Lily saying no to being his friend for a good reason, Snivellus is simply not one.
He’s no good for her.

Why does she even like him, anyway? Can’t she see that he’s a manipulating racist little prat
with greasy hair and a mouthful of hatred? Why does she like him better?

“I can’t be worse than him.” James says, frowning, staring at his fingers. He still can’t wear
his family ring yet; it would slide out of his ring finger just like his glasses kept sliding off his
nose during his second year.

“James, please.” Sirius bangs his hand against the door again. “You can’t shut off every time
something doesn’t go like you planned. You have to let people help you.”

James grimaces, bringing his knees to his chest. Being vulnerable just isn’t his thing, and
least of all when it comes to Lily Evans.

“Who am I kidding.” He lays on the floor and stares at the white ceiling.

He likes to think that he won’t let anyone bring him down, because he’s a liar to everyone,
himself included. If someone, even a stranger, offered to bring him down, James would
comply, because he’s a people pleaser. He’s nothing when he can’t please someone, when he
can’t be useful, when he can’t make people laugh. What makes him sad shall never be
named.

So when he gets out of the bathroom, he doesn’t bother to tell Sirius why he stayed in there
for more than twenty minutes. He jokingly tells him he was wanking and brushes off his
concerned look. When Mary asks him if he’s alright, after dinner, he gives her an easy smile
and tells her everything’s alright, what about you, Mary Rose?

Because James Potter is a liar. He’s a doll. And he doesn’t believe there’s one soul in this
world that can bring his lips to speak the truth.

22 December, 1976

James slept through most of the train journey. The last days at Hogwarts had been stressful,
full of assignments, but rather uneventful. He didn’t manage to see Regulus much in the past
week either, so he spent the first two hours in the train hoping Regulus would find an excuse
to come speak to him. That didn’t happen, so he ended up sleeping with his head against
Peter’s shoulder.

He was still sleepy when his mother apparited to the Potter’s manor. Regulus had been the
first to go, with his father. The house hasn’t been decorated yet, which means his parents
have probably been busy with Order business. It makes him scowl, but he quickly moves his
gaze towards Regulus, who is fixing his jumper with a slight frown, as he looks around.

“Alright?” James rubs his eyes as he looks around for Catty, his 10 years old black cat. He
hears her come more than he sees her. She’s going down the stairs. For a split second,
Regulus winces at the sound of her collar, then relaxes again.

“Yup.” Regulus’ voice comes out cracked, so James pats his shoulder. He’s nervous, poor
soul.

“My cat is coming, so you can cuddle your nervousness off.” He says, trying to sound
reassuring.

Regulus blinks at him, his hand curling around Jame’s arm. “You’ve got a cat? Why didn’t
you tell me?”

“It was a surprise, silly.” James sticks his tongue at him, just as Sirius arrives with his mum.
Regulus’ hand slips away from his arm. “Here she comes! Look at her!”

That does it, actually. Regulus spends a fantastic ten minutes on the floor with Catty rubbing
on his clothes, his face and purring at everything he does. Of course cats like Regulus.

Before dinner, Sirius and James show Regulus around. The first floor is mostly unused, so
they don’t bother showing him that. They pass by his room first, so he can put down his truck
and the backpack he had with him. His mum had picked one of the biggest guest rooms; the
bed is double sized, like the ones you’ll find in the Hogwarts’ dorm. Regulus is quite happy
with the soft green of the walls and the studying desk placed right in front of the window.

“Your house looks the way Christmas is described in muggle books.” Regulus tells him,
while they walk through a corridor of empty rooms. “All the red walls, and the paintings, and
the tapestry. And the old wooden furniture!”

“We haven’t even decorated yet!” James says, cocking an eyebrow. “You’ll see tomorrow,
it’ll look amazing, it always does. There’ll be more red, green and white. And we have a
synthetic Christmas tree which is massive! Dad learnt how to put muggle Christmas lights
on, so it’s going to be amazing.”

“I think it looks amazing already.” Regulus says, the back of his hand brushing against
James’.

All of his worries about Regulus and Indian food disappear half-way through dinner. He’s on
his second serving of vegan biryani and he’s chatting politely with his parents, answering
their questions with long, thoughtful replies, and asking questions back. Sirius looks baffled
that Regulus is eating “spicy” food without batting an eyelash.

“I asked mum to make biryani, I thought he never had it before.” James whispers to Sirius,
stealing some rice from his plate.

“Eat your own, wanker.” Sirius steals some of his rice as a revenge. “Regulus has never had
Indian food, I promise you.”

“Then he’s just handling it much better than you did.” James says, amused, watching Regulus
as he laughs at a joke his dad made.

“Biryani isn’t even that spicy!” Sirius argues, sending him a sideways look.

“The first time you tried it, your face went red and you reached for water while trying to say
it was really good.” James reminds him, with an amused grin. “Regulus is very polite. Look
at him. Straight back and perfect table manners.”

“Don’t let him fool you.” Sirius says, gloomly. “He’s a menace to society, he’ll destroy your
TV and steal your cat.”

An hour after dinner, it is only him and his mum who stay up. So she makes some milk,
honey and cinnamon to drink together. She’s aged while he was away, or maybe she aged in
the summer and he didn’t notice; there’s more wrinkles on her, more tiredness in her eyes and
in the way she carries her body. James blames it on the war rather than on the fact that she’s
nearing the sixty five years of age.

“Has the war gotten any better?” He demands. His voice comes out wrong, too thick.

“You’re a little too young to be worried about that, darling.” His mother’s voice is soothing.
She fills two mugs with hot milk.
James rolls his eyes. He thinks he has very good reasons to worry about the war. Regulus, for
example, and if he should worry about his boyfriend coming back from summer holidays
with a disgusting tattoo on his left arm. “I’ll take it as a no.”

“It’s complicated.” She passes him a red mug filled with warm milk. “We’ll take care of it.
Trust your parents.”

“Isn’t ignorance a weakness?” James asks, tilting his head. “What’s the point of not telling
me about it if I’ll be fighting it anyway? I should be informed before I start fighting.”

“That’s a very good point.” She sweeps her hair back. It’s turning greyer and greyer every
year, but it hasn’t started to thin out. She still keeps it in a bob cut, like she did for the past
ten years. “You’re only sixteen, James. We have very little information to give you, anyway.”
She seats at the table and looks up at him. “We’ve got something else to talk about.”

James stands straighter, tightening his hold on the mug. “Like what?” He mumbles, trying to
look unaffected. Not that his mum sounded threatening, he’s just on edge. He knows she
knows and it’s a scary experience. He tells himself he’s being properly brave, though.

“Your well being.” She starts listing. “And the fact that you were making heart eyes at
Regulus the whole dinner.”

James gapes at her for just a second, then he snaps his mouth close and frowns. “I was not
making heart eyes at Regulus.”

His mother gives him a disillusioned look, before she shakes her head. “You talked about him
in your letters too.” She says, casually. “I suppose Sirius doesn’t know.”

“He doesn’t.” James confirms, with a slight pout. “Was it really that obvious?”

“It flew over your dad’s and Sirius’ head, so no. I was looking into it more.” James gives her
a questioning look. “After last year, I was worried about how you’d be at Hogwarts. But it
seems like Regulus puts you at peace.”

James sets his mug on the counter and runs a hand through his hair. He’s tired, and he misses
Regulus, and he really wants to tell someone about it without getting a concerned look. But
he’s also so scared that his mother can see it so easily, that she knows. Part of him feels guilty
for doing this to her; part of him wishes things were fair, and he didn’t have to feel this way
just because he’s in love with a man, instead of being in love with a woman. He knows his
parents expected him to marry someday. A vicious voice in his mind tells him his mum
doesn’t look so troubled because she doesn’t think it will last. He shuts it up, and forces
himself to reply.

“He does. He puts me at peace.” He says, fumbling with the sleeves of his jumper. If Regulus
was here, he’d cuff his sleeves and take his hand. “Is it a bad thing?”

“No, dear. Why would it be a bad thing?” His mother rubs her hand on his arm. “If it helps,
he looks just as smitten.”
Why would it be a bad thing? James can’t really explain it to her. He needs time. Time, and
for Regulus to hold him while he figures it out. He wants to tell her that the reason why he’s
not going pro with quidditch isn’t just the war, but also the lack of queer players. James
looked it up. There’s no one who has ever come out: if queer people were there, they were
carefully hidden.

“Do you like him?” He asks, instead of rambling; instead of asking her if she’s ashamed of
having a queer kid, or if she wants him to keep it a secret from the rest of the family, which
James doesn’t expect will be as accepting.

His mum hums, passing him the mug again. James takes a big gulp, because his mouth feels
dry. “He’s a very sweet boy, isn’t he? Very curious, too.”

“Oh, you don’t know half of it. He loves knowledge more than anything else. He used to be
bad at school, you know? Studying was a chore for him during his first two years.” Regulus
had told him this. “Then he started studying because his world had been turned upside down,
and now he loves it.”

“Then you should show him the library.” His mum is grinning. “With some men, it’s all about
food. Perhaps the way to Regulus’ heart is the library.”

James thinks about it. He thinks about the piano in the library, all the books about the middle
ages, the ones about vikings, the ones about theoretical magic, the philosophy ones that
James is scared to approach and the literature ones he hasn't read yet. “He’d spend all his
time there.” He says with a frown.

“Maybe you can teach him a bit of hindi, why don’t you?” She suggests, with a little grin.

James breaks into a smile as well. “He would love it, I think. He really likes languages, and
memorising quotes. I suspect he keeps a diary just for his favourite book quotes.”

“Sounds like he’d get along with Remus.” His mum observes, innocently. She's testing the
waters, indirectly asking him who knows and who doesn't.

James can feel the smile come off his face. “That’s not the case. Not from Regulus’ side- I
think Regulus is rather curious about him. Remus doesn’t like him much is all.”

His mother stays silent for a moment. “You and Remus both had a hard time last year. And I
think Remus might be having trouble trusting people again, after what happened.”

“Regulus would never-” Then he stops. He never asked Regulus’ opinion on werewolves,
strangely enough. They just never talked about it. “I have to investigate.”

“You do that, sweetheart.” His mother gives him an encouraging smile; more wrinkles form
around her eyes. “Maybe try tomorrow, though. You look a little tired.”

James says he will, he finishes his milk and leaves his mum to watch a sitcom on the telly.
His only stop is the bathroom, to brush his teeth, before he goes to Regulus’ room, which is
in the same corridor as his and Sirius’. The door is slightly open, so he peeks.
Regulus is sitting on the bed, one leg bent and a book in his hand, eyes trained on the lines
he’s reading under the light of the abat-jour. There's an invested expression painted in the
slight pinch of his eyebrows, even if the book looks like it has been barely started. James
wonders if he has written a note at the beginning already. There’s probably a pencil
somewhere in the bed sheets.

“Can I come in?” He asks, as he tries to ignore the way his head starts to spin when he
notices that Regulus is only wearing a hoodie and some boxers. He quickly moves his gaze
from Regulus’ legs to his face.

Regulus lifts his eyes and breaks into a soft smile, just for a second. “It’s your house.” He
says, cocking an eyebrow. “Of course you can come in.”

James enters and closes the door behind him, as Regulus puts his book face down on the bed.
He watches him from the side of the bed, not sure of what to do. The way the light hits the
side of his face is pretty, it makes his eyes look even more unreal. God, he missed Regulus;
and particularly the way those grey eyes of his look at him like they can scrutinise his soul.

A smile forms on Regulus’ lips, who opens his arms wide. “Come on here, then.”

James beams at him and basically throws himself on Regulus. He wraps his arms around his
waist and rests his head against his chest. Regulus starts playing with his hair almost
immediately. He’s always telling James how he needs a better curls routine so he can stop
looking like he has a bowl of overnight cold spaghetti on his head, but James likes to think
that Regulus likes his hair. Plus, his hair isn’t even curly, it’s wavy, thank you very much.

“Missed you.” James says, pressing closer.

“Missed you too.” Regulus replies, softly. “Everything alright?”

“Mum knows. She says we look quite smitten.” He presses a kiss on Regulus’ chest, not
minding that there’s a hoodie between his lips and Regulus’ skin. “Can I ask you a
question?”

“You know I love questions.” Regulus places a kiss on the top of his head.

“What do you think of werewolves?” He hopes his heart isn’t beating too fast, but it probably
is.

“I’m not sure where the question comes from or if I know enough about them to form an
opinion.” Regulus replies, after a second of consideration. “I mean, I know what has been
written in our school books, but when I think back about it, I find it quite insulting. I mean,
werewolves are only dangerous one night per month, and we’re absolutely able to know
which night, too. Bothering a werewolves during a full moon sounds kind of like a suicidal
plan. You’re kind of asking to be attacked.”

James agrees. It’s cute the way Regulus says he doesn’t know enough to form an opinion and
then proceeds to give one. It’d be less cute if he didn’t think as much as he does.
“I also think there’s not enough research.” Regulus adds. “I mean, if we did more research
about lycanthropy, maybe we could find solutions to make the transformations less painful.
Ask people what helps them and what not. And I don’t think they should be banned from
working; I think it’s important to have different people in all workplaces, that’s the only way
society can work.”

“Do you think we should have more diversity in our teachers, too? I think that would be
important. I mean, it’s weird that our education treats half-breeds more like creatures than
people. A werewolf is a person during most of their life, it’s weird that books consider them
only as wolves. They can’t even turn on their own accord!”

Regulus nods firmly. “Back then, I didn’t think much of it, now it kind of disgusts me, you
know? I hate that the ministry is putting more laws to exclude them more from society -them
and vampires too. Obviously, if you criminalise an identity, that’s going to affect people who
own that identity negatively. The law is basically confirming prejudices.”

Oh. Oh. Nobody has ever put it into words like that before. “Did you read this somewhere?”

“No, it’s more about- So, I was reading De Profundis, by Oscar Wilde. And it got me
thinking about how the criminalisation of someone’s identity can affect one’s mental health.
If you tell someone that being a criminal is a fundamental part of their identity and you
exclude them from society, what reason do they have to side with you? Or to try to enter
society? You can think about The Sorrows of Young Werther, he makes a really good point
about this.”

“I haven’t read it.” James says, looking up at Regulus. “Should I?”

“Yes, yes, yes, please read it!” Regulus says, eyes sparkling as he does. “I can’t stress enough
how much that book shaped me as a person.”

James laughs, places a hand on the mattress to push forward and kiss Regulus’ cheek. “I
think we have it in the library. I’ll read it for you.”

Regulus looks at him, surprised, before cupping his face to kiss him. “You’re a sweetheart.”
He says, when he parts. “The point is, in the first book, Werther talks about how stealing is
considered a sin, but if a person needs stealing to feed themselves or their family, then how
can that be a sin? And it made me think! If someone is pushed to the very corners of society,
it’s unlikely for them to be able to find a job, which means that they’ll be considered
criminals if they steal to feed themselves, and they’ll face consequences for it, most likely.
But I don’t think it’s fair that society punishes someone for its own mistakes; if there’s poor
people, it’s because society doesn’t guarantee a job or place in society for everybody.”

“And it goes harder for minorities, because they’re criminalised, or looked at like criminals.”
James knows this in the worst ways one can know it: by experience, mostly. He never forgot
the way he got looked at by some people in school because of the colour of his skin; or the
way Mary was treated for being a black girl, what they said about her hair or her second-hand
books. “Fuck, the ministry is shit.”
“Yeah, it is.” Regulus cards his fingers through James’ hair. “There was an article in the daily
prophet a couple of weeks ago, about how werewolves seem to be siding with Voldemort,
because he promised them a better place in society. Obviously he won’t, because he’s a knob,
but what alternatives does the ministry truly give? Being registered would mean you can’t try
for most jobs, like healer school or auror academy, but they don’t give retirement benefits to
half-breeds, so obviously they’re going to become criminals, form packs and grab the first
chance they have to get back at the ministry.”

James thinks about Remus, and his unspoken dream of being a professor. He thinks about the
many times he looked up at Moony, because he’s a genius, truly one of the most clever
people he knows. Maybe becoming an animagus for him wasn’t enough. Maybe James
shouldn’t be an auror, maybe he should go to wizard law school, become a politician or a
lawyer and start advocating for equal rights.

“I’ve never put so much thought into it. I thought- you know, my parents are really as
progressive as they can be. They have always told me that half-breeds are people who
deserve respect like everyone else, and I think they went to rallies for them as well. But the
most I’ve ever done was refusing to write an assignment on how to kill a werewolf that was
assigned to us in the third year. I never thought about bigger changes, or why some things are
the way they are.” He frowns, curles the laces of Regulus’ hoodie around his index finger.
“How did you come to this conclusion?”

“I had a fight with Snape about werewolves last year.” Regulus says. James hopes he doesn’t
notice the way he tenses up, though he probably does, because he starts stroking his hair
again. “He was always saying bollocks about them, acting like he was in actual danger. One
day, we were in my dorm, and he started spitting bollocks, and we got into a heated argument.
For one, because I have the moral obligation to disagree with everything Snape says;
secondly, the more he spoke, the more I realised his points didn’t make actual sense. Saying
that a werewolf is dangerous is a stupid statement, innit? Because they’re dangerous at a
specific time and place. If you look at it one way, other people are more dangerous, because
you can’t guess when or how they’re going to hurt you. And surely, you can argue that there
are werewolves like Greyback, who is objectively bad, but that’s one person.”

James nods. “Plus it’s not like Snape can talk about what’s dangerous and what not, he’s
literally one of the worst creeps I’ve ever met. He threatened to camp outside the Gryffindor
Tower last year because Lily didn’t want to speak to him, and he kept following her around
like a bloody stalker. Remus has gone as far as punching him, once, because he wouldn’t stop
grabbing her by the wrist. And he has the nerve to speak on other people...”

“And don’t forget he actually works on his own little dark spells.” Regulus rolls his eyes.

James touches the thin scar on his cheek. He knows Regulus noticed it, but he has never
asked anything about it. He kisses it all the time, though, which is nice. “He gave me this
scar.” He ends up saying. “Last year.”

Regulus is silent for a moment. “I kind of want to punch him in the face right now.” He says,
quietly, like he’s plotting murder. “When was it?”
“After DADA’s O.W.L.s” James cuddles closer to Regulus, nuzzling at his chest. “Not my
proudest moment either, but I was really mad at him.”

“Go on.” Regulus demands, his fingers moving in James’s hair.

“Sirius and I were bored, so we went for him. I guess it was a little unfair, because it was two
against one, but it’s not like he and his friends never cornered us while we were alone. They
did that quite a lot, actually. I was mad at him because I knew he had tried a silent spell on
one of our first years. Poppy doesn’t know what it was, but it was bad, the kid’s arm kept
bleeding. So, anyway, I wanted to show him a lesson. Then he called Lily a slur, and I saw
red. Next thing I knew, I was in McGonagall’s office, getting detention until the end of the
term, they owled my parents and everything…”

“Hypocrites.” Regulus mumbles. “What did your parents say?”

“Uh…” James lets out a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it.”

Regulus kisses his forehead. “That’s fine, Jamie.”

“Is it?” James pushes on the mattress again, forcing himself up so he can look at Regulus
properly. “I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you or-”

“It’s really okay.” Regulus caresses his cheek. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” He looks
down for just a moment, before he looks up at James’ eyes again. “Sirius told me last year
was a bad one for you, that you were unwell. So I can only assume you’re still recovering
from it.” His hand slides away from James’ cheek and falls on Regulus’ chest. “I just want
you to know I’ll listen, when you’re ready to talk about it. You’re not the only one who has to
do the listening.”

James frowns. “But you do the listening as well.” He says. “You do listen to me, you know
that? I don’t think I’m doing the listening more than you do it.” He sits down, legs crossed.
Regulus eyes him curiously. “I think the fact that Sirius and I are best mates helps you open
up, because I already know half of it.” Regulus nods. “For me, being vulnerable is something
I can’t quite master yet. The words just don’t come out when I want to say things. And I’m
afraid people will walk away if they know more about me.”

Even saying this is hard. But he worked on it with his mind-healer. He went there all summer,
and he still writes to him sometimes, when he needs advice or answers. Mr. Carrey had told
him many times that he’s allowed sadness as much as his friends are. And no matter how
much his parents love him and spoil him now, he did spend an awful load of time alone as a
kid, and that has affected him. He’s still trying to elaborate everything, and it’s quite
exhausting. He’s worried about not being enough or being too much, and he’s worried that if
he doesn’t say things about himself Regulus will think there’s too much imbalance.

Instead, Regulus takes his hand and kisses the back of it. “I understand that.” He says, softly.
“And I agree that it is easier for me, because you already know a lot. I’m fine with whatever
communication method you choose -I don’t think you necessarily need to say things.
Sometimes, when I’m too shy or too scared to say things, I write them down, for example.
That’s still communicating.” He says, as James laces their fingers together. “That being said,
we’ve only been dating for two months, and I don’t expect you to come here and share
everything you’ve done or felt in the past. It’s okay if you need time: as I said, I’m not going
anywhere, so don’t rush it, okay?”

James wants to say “yes, okay”, but he kisses him instead. Because words are a little too
much right now and he feels like he might cry from relief. He melts into the way Regulus
slightly tugs him forward until James is pressing him against the mattress, and his brain just
stops thinking when Regulus’ tongues scrapes the roof of his mouth and his hands grab his
hips just after he's pushed James' glasses up, so they won't get in the way. Regulus is
everywhere and his lips cancel the universe around them. They're just two bodies floating in
empty space, clinging to each other. Regulus bites his lip, makes him whine, and that's
enough to get to feel a tiny smirk forming against his lips.

“You can’t kiss me like that, I'll stop thinking if you do.” He complains, his voice coming out
a bit rough and breathy.

“It's really not my fault if your lips are this pretty.” He says, as his thumb brushes against
James' lower lip. “Besides, I've stopped thinking when you put your hand on my thigh.”
Regulus replies, rolling his eyes.

James is about to reply that he’s not touching his thigh, but, well, when he looks down, he
realises he’s indeed touching Regulus’ thigh. Regulus’ naked thigh. Ahah. Oh Godric. “I’m
sorry.” He says, tearing away his hand.

“I didn’t exactly mind.” Regulus says, with a grin. “I was about to go to bed when you came
in.”

“I didn’t know you slept in your boxers!” James feels his cheeks go red and he hides his face
on Regulus’ neck. “My head spinned when I noticed, then I got distracted, and then you
kissed me-”

Regulus laughs, his arms wrapping around James’ shoulders. “How do you sleep?”

“Usually some random pyjama bottoms, without shirts.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss on
Regulus’ neck. He considers biting.

“Together, we’d make one decent outfit.” Regulus says, causing James to laugh.

“I want to sleep with you again.” James says, feeling bold, surging up to look at Regulus as
he goes red.

“Do you think that would be okay?” He asks, fiddling with the hem of James’ shirt.

“I mean, I was thinking about going running in the early morning, so no one will find me in
your room anyway, and I can mess up my bed just before going running, so it won’t raise any
questions.” He says. “What do you think?”

Regulus bites his lip, then he nods. “Let’s sleep together, then.” He says, with a shy smile.
“I’ll come running with you.”
“Sweet.” James kisses him briefly, before taking off his jumper and the shirt he’s wearing
underneath. When he resurfaces, Regulus is staring a little, his cheeks red. It only lasts a
second, because then he covers his eyes with his hands.

“Give a warning, Potter!” He says, sounding choked.

“I did give one! I told you I sleep without a shirt on!” James replies, before he kisses his
cheek. “Does it do something for you?”

“Oh Salazar, shut up.”

“Hey, don’t call other men while we’re in bed together.” James teases, folding his clothes and
setting them under the pillow he’ll claim as his.

Regulus peeks from his fingers. “Seriously, Potter?”

“I should bite you every time you call me Potter.” James says, rolling his eyes. “Scoot over,
I’m going to get cold if we don’t get under the covers.”

“Maybe you should be cold.” Regulus bites back, but he moves and opens the covers.

They lay side by side under the covers for a couple of seconds, before they start laughing.

“Shhh, we have to keep quiet!” James whispers, pressing a finger to Regulus’ lips.

Regulus rolls his eyes. “It’s your fault.” He props himself on his elbow and slides James’
glasses off of his face. “Let’s just sleep, umh?” He asks, as he puts the glasses on his
nightstand.

“Can I hug you?” James asks, as Regulus turns on his side.

“Umh, sure. How, though?”

“We’ll spoon! I’ll be the big spoon, ‘cause I’m taller.”

“I don’t want to be a little spoon. It’s insulting to my personality.” Regulus says, with his
usual confounded complacency.

James rolls his eyes. “Only you would get petty about being a little spoon.” He turns his back
at Regulus. “I’ll be the little one then.”

“Much better.” Regulus wraps his arm around James’ waist, kisses his naked shoulder as he
presses his chest against James’ back. “Goodnight, Jamie.”

“Night, love.”

24 December, 1976
In the picture, Regulus is smiling broadly at James, who is lifting him off the ground while he
laughs. Sirius was the one who took it, in the morning, while they thought they were alone on
the Quidditch pitch. James was swinging him around, initially. Sirius had managed to take the
picture in the very moment James stilled.

That very same photograph is also the reason why James is being lectured in Sirius’ room
right now. The room is much tidier than James’ is, and it appears brighter because Sirius
didn’t want his walls to be red, choosing white instead. It had been a thoughtful choice: the
lightning is much better here than in James’ room. He hasn’t been here much in the summer,
mostly because he was still mad at Sirius. And even when he was here, the room had been
quite messy. He likes the Gryffindor hangings, and the wall of polaroid pictures, which Sirius
only made yesterday, with Regulus’ help, as they listened to David Bowie. Regulus was
humming Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide during breakfast, so he must have liked Bowie…

“James?” Sirius calls, exasperated. “Mate, please stop looking at the walls and listen to me.”

James turns to face him, embarrassed. “Sorry, you were saying?”

Sirius sighs. “What’s up with you lately?” He asks, running a hand through his long hair.
“You’re always distracted, even in class.”

“I’m not! I’m just…I think I’ve fallen in love.” He blurts out, in a burst of honesty, as he
plops down on Sirius’ bed.

The rising sun comes to his mind, he thinks about Regulus turning to look at him, the only
person in the street this morning, and the deep orange of the dawn behind his back. He thinks
about the beauty of Regulus’ thoughts, and his hands, his hair, his mouth, his laugh, the way
he speaks, always giving more details than he needs (not that James minds); the hidden
mischievousness and boldness of him that have him wondering if he can ask Regulus to
organise a proper prank with him, just the two of them, like a date.

“That secret girl of yours?” Sirius inquires, cocking an eyebrow. It’s an expression very
similar to Regulus’, it puts him at ease.

James takes a deep breath in, chanting words of encouragement in his head. He can do this.
It’s not like he hasn’t dropped hints. He kissed Remus and Sirius knows, so. It shouldn't come
as a surprise. Maybe Sirius suspects already. He finds out that a part of him really wants
Sirius to do so.

“About that,” he starts, briefly making eye contact, “it’s not a secret girlfriend.” Sirius tilts
his head to the side. “It’s a…a bloke, Pads, I’m seeing another bloke.”

Okay. He said it. Sirius doesn’t look upset. He sits down next to him instead, presses their
thighs together, like they used to do during meals at Hogwarts when Sirius was having a bad
day.

Sirius blinks a couple of times, his hand finding James’ back. He looks like he’s trying to find
the right words, which is quite amusing, since Sirius is queer himself. “Nice. Why didn’t you
say it right away?”
James shrugs. “I wasn’t ready to talk about it.” He rubs a hand on his arm. “I haven’t figured
stuff out yet. Moony and Lily know too, but that’s just because they’ve found out. I…just,
you know, to clarify. I like women too, I just happened to get serious with a bloke.”

Sirius nods. “Like Moony, then” He tries. James nods, making the mental note to ask Remus
about it more. “Who’s this bloke? Do I know him?”

James looks at him for a moment, before he shakes his head. “No, you don’t.”

“It’s got to be another Quidditch player…” Sirius says, his index finger on his chin.

“Can we talk about his identity another time?” James says, quickly. “You wanted to tell me
something.”

“Oh…right.” Sirius runs a hand through his hair. It looks like it might be bothering him. “It’s
not really my place to say this, but I feel like if I don't, a big mess will explode before the end
of the holidays.” James nods. “Regulus fancies you.”

James gapes at him. It’s more the surprise of Sirius actually telling him than anything else;
Regulus had told him Sirius knew about him. “Oh.”

“Yeah. And I know you get physical and affectionate with everyone, but he won’t get over
you if you keep being a charming prince around him, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” He frowns. God, why didn’t he think about this sooner? “What should I
do?”

“What do you mean?” Sirius shakes his head. “Just give him space.”

“Wouldn’t it be rude to treat him differently? I want him to feel included. Besides, I’m not the
only one that gets physical, you know. He bothers me an equal amount. This morning, he
tackled me! Threw me to the ground like a doll!”

Sirius laughs. Actually laughs, the bastard. “Yes, I know. Regulus has always been like that.”

“Was he?” James asks, eager.

“Oh, you have no idea.” Sirius lays against the pillows. “He used to throw me in the pool all
the time. Obviously, I did the same, and then Narcissa would scold me and tell me he was just
a kid and I had to be patient.” He rolls his eyes. “He was always physical, Regulus. And he
likes to bother people. Between the ages of four and six, he would ask the reason behind
everything. Once, he stole my father’s watch and cracked it open to see how it worked.”

James wheezes. “I feel like he would do it again. Maybe we should protect the telly and the
microwave. I’ve seen him staring at them with a murderous gaze.”

Sirius nods firmly, with a small smile. “But he’s also sensitive, you know? He’d never admit
it, so I’m admitting it for him. You have to be careful, cause if you hurt him, then I have to
fight you.”
“I won’t hurt him, promise.” He says, a hand on his heart. “But I also want him to feel at
home, so…you know, if he bothers me, I bother back.”

Sirius nods. “Alright, then. I hope your bloke isn’t jealous.”

“Oh…I mean, it’s not like I’m snogging Regulus or something.” James says, getting up from
the bed. “Where is he, anyway? Moony and Wormy will be here at any second.”

“He’s probably playing with Catty.” Sirius says, getting up as well. “Or in the library.”

James hums. They find Regulus on the sofa of the living room of the second floor. He took
the laces of his hoodie off the hood and he’s using it to play with Catty. There’s a blanket
wrapped around his shoulders and a genuine smile on his face, his curls are tucked between
his ears. He looks adorable, like he was made to look like this: cuddly, sweet and at ease. It’s
quite an emotion to see him in a room with a Christmas tree and lots of presents. It feels
domestic in a way that’s almost painful.

James is brought back at yesterday’s afternoon, when he and Sirius had put some Christmas
lights on Regulus’ shoulders and turned them on. Regulus had rolled his eyes at them, only to
smile fondly right after.

“Reg, you might want to get ready.” Sirius says, leaning on the back of the sofa with his
forearms. “Guests will start to arrive soon.”

Regulus nods, without looking up. He seems rather happy with the way Catty’s eyes are
following the lace he’s moving. “How do I have to dress?”

“Just changing to something slightly more elegant is fine. There’s not many guests this year.”
James says. “Catty likes you.”

Regulus looks up at him with a little smirk. “Of course she does.” He says, before putting the
lace into Sirius’ hand. “Play with her, I’ll go get dressed.”

And then he’s off.

“Reckon I should go as well.” James says, looking at the pyjama trousers he has been
wearing all afternoon.

“Yup. Wouldn’t want Minnie to see you in those.” Sirius says, with a giggle.

James rolls his eyes at him. “I’m not the one with the mummy issues, am I?”

“Oi!” Sirius moves closer to tickle him, but James grabs his wrists. “Stupid sod.”

James sticks his tongue at him. “I’ll go get dressed.”

“I’ll fix your hair when you’re ready.” Sirius says, as James leaves his wrists.

“There’s nothing wrong with my hair!” James says, rolling his eyes before he disappears into
the corridor.
He changes into a pair of red robes and messes up his hair a little, standing in front of the
mirror in his room. He looks at himself in the mirror a few times, turns on the light to make
sure, once again, that his clothes do him justice. They’re a little tighter than the last time he
wore them, and the sleeves cut before his wrist, which is a pain in the arse. He should have
gotten new ones, but he couldn’t be bothered. He doesn’t love robes very much, finding them
too stiff. Muggle clothes, baggy jeans specifically, are much better.

Regulus peeks from the half closed door. James sees his face pop up in the mirror.

“Hey.” He smiles, turning. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah.” He looks away though, so James knows something’s up. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” James waits for him to come in and close the door, taking some time to get a proper
look of Regulus.

His robes are black with silver details adorning his chest and shoulder area. It must have been
tailored for him, because the silver details are actually the leo constellation, and the colours
make his features pop. Usually, robes would have a high neck, though that isn’t the case for
these ones. James is quite happy about it: Regulus has three moles on his neck that he really
likes, and he’s happy they’re not hidden under some cloth. He also appreciates the puff
sleeves, which he thinks suit Regulus better than a normal sleeve cut.

“You look good.” He hopes he doesn’t sound terribly smitten. “You…Your robes are very
beautiful. You’re also very beautiful.”

“Am I?” Regulus meets his gaze, unsure, as he looks down at the robes. “Is this good enough,
then?”

“Of course it is.” James takes his hand and lightly helps him make his way in front of the
mirror. He points at Regulus’ reflection. “See? You look amazing.” He says, as he wraps his
arms around his waist and gives in to the urge to place a kiss on one of the moles on his neck.
“You’ll put all of us to shame.”

“We look good together.” Regulus says, with a slight frown. “I never thought about it.
Whether we’d look good or not. But we do, don’t we?”

James looks at their images on the mirror and nods, as Regulus’ hands cover his. “We do.
We’re doing a favour to all the other couples at Hogwarts. We’d outshine them, if we were
public about it.” He murmurs, holding him close. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” Regulus smiles and turns just enough for them to kiss briefly. “We should go down
stairs.”

James groans, and tightens his hold. “No. Stay here.”

“Some proper house owner you are.” Regulus laughs, his head dropping against James’
shoulders. “Don’t you want to greet Remus and Peter?”
“But I also want to kiss you!” James complains and places a kiss on the corner of Regulus’
lips, to make a point, that is. He’s about to ask again, when he hears Sirius calling their
names. “Fine, universe, you win this time.”

It's a quieter dinner than it was last year. It doesn’t bother James much though: Regulus
would have been overwhelmed if the Prewetts and the Weasleys were here as well, he
reckons. This year, it is just the Potters, the Lupins, Peter’s mum and Minnie, obviously.
Regulus’ gaping face when he saw her arrive through the floo was unforgettable. The adults
are on the table right next to theirs. His mum thought it would be better to split, James thinks
it's because the conversation might get political. He doesn't approve the way his parents try to
protect him from politics, but he understands why they do.

It’s nice, though, because Peter’s and Remus’ parents agreed to let them sleepover, while
they’ll come back for Christmas’ lunch. James thinks it’s funny that they’re celebrating
Christmas, when no one actually celebrates Christmas. It’s all an opportunity to stay together
and forget about the war.

“...Regulus was a biter.” Sirius is saying, at some point, a slight smile on his lips that he
shares with Peter, since they’re the only ones old enough to drink wine.

Regulus, next to James, rolls his eyes and folds his arms to his chest. “That makes me cool.
You, on the other hand, rolled yourself in mud multiple times.”

“How is that not cool?” Sirius argues, glaring at James when he snorts. “Something to say?”

“Yes.” He leans closer to Sirius and whispers in his ear: “Your animagus is really on point.”

Sirius gapes, between offended and surprised, then he turns to Remus. “Prongs is being mean
to me.”

Remus cocks his eyebrow, one arm around the back of Sirius’ chair. He does it with the
nonchalance James wishes he had. “If I guessed right, then he’s not being mean, he’s just
telling the truth.”

“I hope you said what I think you said.” Peter says, with a slight smile. James shares a
complicit grin with him.

“So we’re just going to ignore the way James’ hair is absolutely spot on?” Sirius asks, an
eyebrow raised and smug smile. “He looks like he has tiny antlers.”

“My antlers are bloody massive, thank you very much.” James replies, sending him an
annoyed look. “At least I’m elegant.”

He catches Regulus giving him a confused look, to which he replies with a secretive smirk
that has Regulus looking at him suspiciously. It’s almost as if they’re sharing an entire
conversation.
“All hail, Bambi.” Remus says, raising Sirius’ glass of wine. “Cheers, yeah?” He says, before
taking a sip.

“That was my wine, you massive twatter.” Sirius hisses.

“Do you want him to spit it back into your mouth?” Regulus teases, flipping the stopper of a
beer that was opened earlier.

Sirius blushes a deep red, causing James to chuckle, before he actually starts laughing, a fully
belly laugh. Peter joins in, and even Remus breaks into a tiny smile.

“I can’t believe you, you’re laughing at my pain!” Sirius takes the glass of wine from Remus’
hand and finishes it.

“Indirect kiss.” Peter chants, with a wink.

“What are you, twelve?” Sirius rolls his eyes at him.

“No, I got way past indirect kisses, unlike you.” Peter jokes, making Regulus snort.

“They’re taking a piss at me.” Sirius says, pressing close to Remus. “Shouldn’t you say
something?”

“Good job, lads.” Remus says, making the four of them laugh.

“That was a good comeback.” James stretches, pretends it’s completely natural for him to put
his arm around the back of Regulus’ chair.

Remus’ soft chuckle tells him he hasn’t been subtle at all, which makes him blush. Sirius
eyes him distrustingly.

“What?” James mumbles, knocking his knee against his friend’s.

“Sirius is being pissy because I’ve stolen you with my charm and good looks.” Regulus
replies, before Sirius can.

“I’m sorry, how did we go from you and James hating each other to you and Sirius competing
to have James’ attention?” Peter asks, an amused smile on his lips. James can tell he’s tipsy
by the look in his eyes.

“We’re not competing.” Sirius says, rolling his eyes.

“Right, because Sirius doesn’t stand a chance.” Regulus sticks his tongue out at Sirius, who
flips him the bird.

“Sirius.” Minnie’s voice booms from the other table. “Was that a rude gesture I saw?”

“No! I was about to make a heart with my fingers, I promise, look.” Sirius improvises. He
bends his index fingers and makes the very tips of his middle fingers touch. “See! A heart!
For my lovely brother.”
James presses his lips into a thin line and bows his head, because he’s going to laugh at any
second. He just can’t with Sirius’ bollocks.

“Years of pranks and lies, and now we’re at a Christmas table with Sirius trying to get out of
trouble because his brother backchatted him.” Remus says, amused. “It really is Christmas.”

“Right…” Sirius smiles, relaxed, before he frowns. “I didn’t get backchatted by Regulus.”

“You totally did.” James says, rubbing his hand on Regulus’ arm. “He really takes after
you.”

“I’m only letting him win because he’s younger.” Sirius says, waving his hand in the air. “He
wouldn’t stand a chance if I actually tried.”

“Sure, love.” Remus says, sounding very condescending.

“Excuse you?”

“Sirius, I patrol with Regulus once a week, you have no idea of how cruel that lad can be.”

“I’m right here.” Regulus sounds chuffed. “I only give detention when it’s fair to do so.”

“You always think it’s fair to do so.” Remus rolls his eyes. “You see a couple snogging and
immediately go for detention.”

“I’m giving them more time to snog.” Regulus says, shrugging. “That’s what James and I
did.”

Sirius chokes on his water. “The joke is getting old.”

“Who said it was a joke?” Peter inquired. “You have to admit that being Quidditch rivals
must have its perks.”

“Does that do it for you, Pete?” Remus asks, with a small smile, while Regulus carefully
leans closer to James.

Peter winks at Remus. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.” He says, mysteriously, before he
takes a sip of his wine.

Regulus looks up at James, amusement in his eyes.

“What?” He asks, feeling the smile in his own voice.

“Nothing, you just say that a lot as well.” Regulus replies, shrugging.

“And how would you know?” Sirius mumbles, as he eyes the bottle of wine on the other side
of the table. Lyall is pouring some wine in his cup while he listens, apparently really focused,
to something Peter’s mum is saying.
“Detention together. That was his reply to every question I asked.” Regulus sounds vaguely
annoyed. He’s good at faking it, but he can’t fool James when they’re this close.

“You guys really spent time bonding during that detention.” Remus observes.

“Do you know who I met in detention?” Sirius asks, his expression now very focused. He’s
about to spill some gossip. “Emmeline Vance. Who, listen closely, fancies James.”

“Oh, does she? I haven’t noticed.” Peter replies, sarcastically.

James can feel Regulus tense up next to him. “I don’t like her back. Are you sure she fancies
me? I’m not sure I ever actually spoke to her. Like seriously.”

“She does make eyes at you.” Remus confirms. Well, if Remus says so, then it must be true.
Remus is good at telling who fancies who, but he’s not as good as telling when someone
fancies him. Hence, Sirius and Remus are still being pining idiots. James cursed himself
many times for having walked in on them accidentally. “And it’s cute that you think you
have to talk to girls for them to fancy you.”

“Whatever, I don’t fancy her back.” James shrugs. “And Mary doesn’t like her, so.”

“Oh, if Mary doesn’t like someone then you don’t consider them?” Sirius says, cocking an
eyebrow. “So the person you’re shagging is Mary approved, noted.”

Peter and Remus roll their eyes simultaneously.

“I can’t believe you brought this to Christmas talk.” Peter says, sighing. “You know James
can shag whoever he wants, right? It’s okay if he doesn’t want to tell us.”

“I’m sorry, who is James shagging?” His dad, who was passing by, asks.

His dad. Oh Godric. Praise be. He wants to bang his head against the table and never look up
again. “That was a hyperbole, dad. I’m not shagging anyone, I promise. Just very innocent,
occasional snogging.”

“We can confirm.” Remus says, offering the kind smile he always has for parents. Prick.
Parents always think he’s the sensible one because of this. “He has been properly tucked in
his bed every day since September.”

His dad chuckles, sending James a knowing look. “If Remus says so…” He says,
mysteriously, walking back towards his seat. He’s holding two bottles of wine in his hand.

“I think I need some fresh air.” Regulus says, abruptly, then looks at James. “Would it be rude
if I…?”

“No, goodness, no.” James removes his arm from the back of the chair and sends him a
concerned look. “Everything alright?”

Regulus nods, before he gets up from the table and exits the room.
“I’d better check on him.” Sirius says, moving to get up as well.

“I’ll do it.” James says, getting up faster.

“Why?” Sirius asks, frowning.

“Just…stay here with Remus, yeah?” James waves his hand in the air, before following the
same paths Regulus took. He hopes Remus will distract Sirius well enough.

Finding Regulus isn't at all hard: he's in the backyard, leaning against the wall. He has a hard
expression on his face, jaw clenched and eyebrows pinched together, and he’s looking at the
sky. He often scowls when he looks up. It’s not that he doesn’t like the stars, he loves them,
really; sometimes he’s just upset with them.

“Hi.” James says, to make himself known.

“Sorry.” Regulus says, without moving his eyes. “I didn’t like the direction the conversation
was taking.”

That has at least 10 alarms going off in James’ mind. “Did I say something wrong?”

Now, Regulus looks at him, eyes wide. He shakes his head. “No, no, I was just…reminded of
a bad event in my life, that’s all.” He says, running a hand through his hair. “Has Sirius ever
told you about the night he escaped?”

“A little.” James says, slowly getting closer to Regulus, until he’s also leaning against the
wall. “Did it…?”

“We had dinner with Aunt Druella and Uncle Cygnus that evening. Somehow, the
conversation went to Sirius’ marriage options, and he started arguing, obviously. Not that he
wasn’t right to do so, it’s just…it wasn’t a smart move. After Andromeda got disowned, my
parents had become particularly obsessed with us marrying, and specifically marrying a
pureblood girl with the same ideals as them. Except that Bellatrix is obviously too clever for
Sirius’ well-being, so she understood right away that Sirius didn’t want to get married
because he already had someone in his mind. During the night, I think Mother woke up Sirius
while trying to use legilimens on him, she wanted to see who this person was. I knew neither
of them were going to let things go, so I had to send Sirius away while Mother was too weak
to do big damage.”

James’ chest feels tight. “That kind of conversation would have been very dangerous in your
house.” He concludes for Regulus, who nods. “I’m sorry. I can tell the others not to…”

Regulus shakes his head. “It’s fine.” He says, reaching out to take James’ hand. “Just needed
some fresh air.”

“And a hug, perhaps?” He offers.

Regulus considers it for a second, before he’s embracing James, his head resting on his
shoulders. James kisses the top of his head and holds him tight. They stay silent for a while,
hugging under the starry sky. Silence isn’t heavy with Regulus; they do talk a lot, most of the
time, to the point James would say Regulus isn’t just his boyfriend, but a close friend, too.
Despite being talkative, Regulus has moments of silence that he seems to cherish. James
simply found out that being silent with Regulus in his arms isn’t all that bad.

“I came out to Sirius, just before dinner.” He says, playing with Regulus’ curls. He likes how
bouncy they are, and he never gets tired of seeing Regulus run his hands through it.

“Did you?” Regulus looks up, his hand settling on James’ hips.

“Yeah.” He gives him a shy smile. “I’m…still not very sure of my identity, sexuality wise,
but I thought it’d be good for him to know. I told him I’m dating a bloke, but I still like girls
as well.” Regulus nods. “Remus is like this as well, so I think I’ll ask him more about it.
What do you think?”

“I think that’s lovely.” Regulus says, with a soft smile. “I’m very proud of you.”

Oh. Well. No one has said this before, about his identity specifically. For some reason, it
makes James want to tear his heart out of his chest and offer it to Regulus, bloody hands and
all. He hugs him tight instead, squeezing his eyes shut to prevent the tears to come.

“I’m proud of you, too.” He croaks out, comforted by the way Regulus is hugging him back.

“I’m not sure of where I stand either.” Regulus whispers, like it’s a secret. “I’ve only ever
fancied boys, but I put way too much pressure on myself when I was trying to like girls. I- I
do think girls are attractive, though, sometimes.” James presses a kiss on his cheek. “But I
like you best.”

James smiles, parting just enough to cup Regulus’ cheek and kiss him. “I like you best, too.”
He says, his lips brushing Regulus ever so slightly as he speaks. “Do you feel like going back
inside?”

“Yeah.” Regulus smiles at him, definitely more relaxed. “Let’s go back.”

It’s 2am when they sit in the living room to open the presents. The guests had left after
opening theirs, so now it’s just…well, family, if you ask James.

“Which one shall we open first? Secret Santa?” Peter asks. He’s sitting next to the fireplaces
with his legs crossed.

“It’s a nice opening pile.” His mum says, with a nod. “Go for that one, boys.”

Sirius takes the first one, which is indeed the present James bought, so he knows the name
that’s going to be called is: “Remus!” Sirius says, cheerfully, handing him the present.

Remus makes a face that James has learnt to recognise as ‘I want to smile but I won’t’, the
eyes going bigger and the eyebrows going up, while his mouth stays nearly still. “This is
James’ handwriting.” He says, amused.
“You didn’t even look at the present yet!” James protests.

He’s sitting on one of the armchairs, who he’s sharing with Regulus. Sirius had rolled his
eyes at them, but didn’t say anything. Though he still looks like he might throw the first sharp
object at James if his hands move too close to Regulus.

Remus chuckles. “I’ll open it, I’ll open it.” He says, tearing the scotch from the wrapping and
then taking out the shoe box in it. “This is most definitely James.” He says, before he takes
out the Bowie shirt, to show it to everyone, and then the book James chose, with his Brothers
Karamazov , by Dostoejevsky. “Thanks.” He says, with a smile. “It was you, wasn’t it.”

James winks at him. “You know me too well, darling.” He says, with a slight smile. “I
thought you could benefit from some Russian literature, after all those French novels.”

“Next is Peter!” Sirius says, happily grabbing two presents from the Secret Santa pile. “Your
Santa has been particularly generous this year.”

Peter laughs, grabbing the presents with a grateful smile. “Has he? Let’s see.” He opens the
small one first, finding a necklace with a clear quartz pendant. “Woah!” He puts it on, then
takes the small crystal between his index and his thumb. “Clear quartz. I love it!” He smiles,
before he goes to open the second gift, which is a Beatles vinyl: Abbey Road. “I’ve always
wanted this one!” He eyes the four of them, before his eyes settle on Sirius. “It has to be
you.”

“Guilty as charged.” Sirius says, with a nod. “Next is Reg!”

Regulus shifts gingerly, straightening his back at the mention of his name. The wrapping
looks like it might be a couple of books, and the handwriting on the note is definitely
Remus’. He hopes the wrapping without tearing it and takes out the books one by one. He
starts smiling the moment he realises it’s books and doesn’t stop when he sees the titles. “I
think it’s Remus.” He says, lifting his eyes from the books. Remus nods, with the small smile
he gives people when he’s done something he’s proud of. “Thanks!”

“You’re welcome.” Remus says, tilting his head to the side. “I really liked Maurice, but I
didn’t like Madame Bovary. It’s a book you should read though. Even if you might not like
it.”

Regulus hums. “Pandora liked it.” He says, running the tips of his fingers over the cover. “I’ll
let you know what I think.”

Remus smiles in a friendly way. “Sure.”

James briefly makes eye contact with his mum, who is looking at him with a knowing smile.
She winks at him.

“Next is Prongs!” Sirius says, cheerfully, dropping the present on his lap.

He doesn’t recognize the handwriting on the paper, but it’s similar to Sirius’, so much he’d
think it’s Sirius trying to disguise himself, if he didn’t know he was Peter’s Santa. He touches
the present, testing it with his fingertips. “It feels like it might be a jumper.” He says, arching
an eyebrow. He opens the wrapping, and laughs. “Oh, Christ.” The jumper is red and it has a
reindeer knitted on it, inside a circle. He lifts it up to show it to the lads. “What do we think,
lads?”

“It looks like you.” Peter says, thoughtfully.

“It looks like someone knitted it.” James’s father says, fixing his glasses on his nose.

James takes another look at it, then turns glances at the inside. It does, infact, look like the
reindeer was knitted on it. “Fingertips test.” He says, turning towards Regulus.

“Absolutely not.” Regulus says, hiding his hand in the robes.

“Pretty please.” James gives him puppy eyes. “I’ll bake you cinnamon rolls.”

“Can you even bake?” Regulus lifts an eyebrow, but he shows him his hands. There are tiny
red points on his left hand fingers.

“It was Regulus!” James says, cheerfully. “I can’t believe you knitted me a jumper!” He says,
wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “It was very cute of you.”

“Bugger off.” Regulus says and he viciously tickles James’ ribs, causing him to giggle. “Do
you like it?”

“I think it’s very spot on. I’ll wear it right now!” And he does. “Oh my God, it’s so warm.”

“I put a warming charm on it.” Regulus says, with a small smile. “It should last!”

“Well, that was thoughtful.” Remus says, his eyes darting between them. “Sirius, you’re
last.”

Sirius sits down next to the tree and takes his gift. “Let’s see what Pete has in store for me.”
He tears the wrapping and then slaps a hand on his mouth. “I’m never taking it off.” He
shows the leather jacket to everybody, then gets up and tries it on.

“It suits you.” Remus says, his eyes checking Sirius up and down. James shares a knowing
look with both Regulus and Peter.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Sirius fixes the jacket on his chest. “Do I look like Rock ‘n’ Roll,
Moony? Like I listen to The Rolling Stones and have a super cool motorcycle?”

“What’s that?” Regulus asks, leaning forward.

“It’s a thing muggles use as a transportation tool.” James explains. “It’s like a broom, but
louder and with wheels.”

Regulus wrinkles his nose. “Sounds like a pain.”

Sirius rolls his eyes at him. “You’re the pain.” He says, before moving to catch Peter in a
tight hug. “Thanks, Wormy!”

The rest of the presents are nice as well: his parents got him the new Queen album vinyl, A
Day At the Races, which has all of them buzzing in excitement, though they haven't put it on
just yet. They’ll have it playing tomorrow during breakfast. Exchanging gifts is fun, and it’s
nice to see Sirius and Regulus sitting next to each other by the tree, at the end of the night,
looking at a photo album that Regulus made with all the pictures he managed to get from
Grimmauld Place. James’ favourite is a picture of the two of them bouncing on a bed: it was
taken with a magic camera, so the figure of Regulus and Sirius never stop jumping or
smiling.

“We took it ourselves.” Sirius says. “It took so long before we could get the right shot, but it
was worth it.”

Regulus’ favourite turns out to be a picture Narcissa took. It features Regulus and Sirius
sitting by the pool. Regulus is splashing water at Sirius, who’s covering his face with his
hands. Menace.

At four in the morning, they’re sent to sleep, but James sneaks into Regulus’ room five
minutes after everyone has retired for bed. They don’t say anything, as they’re both
knackered, but they’re pretty happy lying together. James goes to sleep thinking it has been
the best Christmas of his life.

25 December, 1976

When Remus says he’s going out for a smoke, James offers to keep him company. It’s the
best excuse he can find to have a heart to heart conversation with him. Christmas lunch has
been much longer than dinner, and much louder too. It gave James a faint headache, and he
was happy to be dismissed from the table at three in the afternoon, to play some quidditch.
After Regulus and Sirius managed to beat him and Peter for the third time, they had retired to
James' room. It's a bit after five and the sun has already set, when Remus and James go out.

“Can I ask you something?” James asks, as Remus takes a drag.

“Sure.” Remus looks at him pensively. “Is something bothering you?”

James nods, leaning against the wall. “You know, Regulus and I are…” He gestures in the air,
and Remus nods, cigarette between his fingers and smoke coming out of his mouth. He looks
cool, like a singer. “But I also like women. But I’ve liked men before too. Is that like…a
thing?”

“Bisexuality is very much a thing, yeah.” Remus nods firmly.

“Alright.” James says, frowning.

“You don’t need to call it anything, Prongs.” Remus says, a bit more softly. “It takes time to
figure yourself out.” He pauses. “Regulus didn’t pressure you…”

“What?” He snaps his head up. “No, he would never do that. He’s pretty much in the same
confused state as me.” He sighs, ruffles his hair. “It’s just that it would be easier to explain if
there was a word for it.”

Remus nods sympathetically. “Take your time, though. There’s no need to rush it.”

James licks his lips. “Do you not like Regulus?” He asks, after hesitating.

“It’s not that I don’t like him.” Remus stabs the cigarette in the portable ashtray. “I’m just
concerned about your well-being. Regulus and Sirius both have ups and downs. They can be
as sweet as they’re cruel, and…well, Regulus is still living with his parents, which means he
will be under their guidance. Not only that, but Sirius will probably be mad when he finds
out. It will hurt you, this thing between the two of you.”

James looks down. He knows Remus is speaking from experience. “Do you think he’d
forgive me?” He asks, feeling his voice tremble a little. “I know that it’s selfish, but I want
them both. And I think I can handle Regulus. I think…if we have Sirius’ support, then maybe
we can get him out, too.”

“I think Sirius will forgive you. But you have to be honest with him, James. If you keep this a
secret for too long, he’ll have every right to be upset. The sooner he knows, the less he’ll be
upset.” Remus runs a hand through his hair, looking up at the bright blue sky.

“Alright.” James says, nodding. He’ll talk about this with Regulus, when they’re back at
Hogwarts. “Regulus doesn’t think badly of werewolves. I wouldn’t date someone that does.”

Remus looks at him, surprise flashing on his face for just a second, before he pulls James
close. He doesn’t say anything, but James hugs him tight. “You’re my best friend too, Moony.
I wouldn’t be with someone who thinks poorly of you.”

“It means a lot.” Remus’ voice comes out small. “You’re my best friend too.”

James hums happily and smiles. “Thanks for the talk.”

Remus parts and rolls his eyes. “As if you would have to thank me.” He says, with a smile.
“C’mon, Regulus and Sirius will eat all the cake my mam made if we don’t go back in.”

Regulus had come calling for him a few hours after dinner, and refused to tell James the exact
reason why he did. He simply blindfolded him and led him through his own house, padding
through the corridors and waking up portraits with the feeble light of his lumos. When the
blindfold came off, James found himself in the library.

It had always been his favourite room in the house, when he was younger. He can see why
now that he’s older: lots of stairs to climb and worlds to explore. He spent days at the desk
near the second window, reading and reading until his eyes and his head hurt with the strain.
It probably worsened his eye-sight, though that’s not enough for James to regret it. He has
never minded the glasses either: he thinks he looks classier with a couple of lenses putting a
veil through him and the rest of the world. A protection screen, if you must name it.

Even before his mum mentioned it, he knew Regulus would like the library: the high wooden
shelves, the large windows, the piano placed right in the middle, the decorated floor, the
ancient desks who carry carvings in them. Some James knows to be a creation of Fleamont,
back in the day. It’s not just that: their library is incredibly well-furnished with both
wizarding and muggle literature, which James thinks Regulus appreciates.

So he’s not particularly surprised to have been brought here.

“This is how it works.” Regulus says, moving to stand in front of him. There’s an envelope in
his hands. “You’re going to sit by one of the desks around here, and read this letter. And once
you’re done, you’re going to come looking for me, which I admit, will not be hard.”

James nods, eyeing the envelope curiously. “I feel like I’m in a Triwizard tournament, having
to fulfil a particularly arduous task.”

Regulus winks at him. “I can guarantee it’s way better.” He says, before handing him the
letter. “Go read. I need you to be looking at the paper before I go.”

James rolls his eyes, but he takes the envelope and drops a kiss on Regulus’ lips. “Bossy.” He
says, before he sits by one of the desks and tears the seam open. He hears Regulus’ light
footstep as he disappears in the library, and he begins to read:

Dear James,

You should know how thankful I am to be spending Christmas with you and your loved ones. I
had never liked Christmas before, as it was a tedious event and a circus of racist relatives
with weird expectations. Before you came in, Christmas was a tense period in which I had to
look out for Sirius and simultaneously perform an act of perfect behaviour.

You’re the one who truly showed me Christmas’ magic. Obviously, your parents and Sirius
also contributed to it. Your mum is really nice. I was with her in the kitchen as she prepared
lunch with Hope, and had a great time chatting with them. I thought I’d never enjoy the
company of adult women (other than Poppy), but I’ve learnt to be glad to be proven wrong.
Your dad is more cryptic. I can’t tell if he likes me or not, but I’ll try to charm him before the
break ends.

It is rather painful to avoid kissing you when you smile and I can see that crooked canine of
yours, the one that gives you such a careless appearance. It is painful to keep you at arm
length when all I want to do is keep you close (between us, I think I’m doing an awful job at
doing so). And despite that, I'm happy. Happy because you're closer than you were last year
and I get to hold you in quiet moments that feel sacred, because wherever I turn, in this
house, I see you, I feel you. And that is more than enough to keep me happy. I like those
secretive smiles you share with me at dinner and perhaps I'm a little crazy to think that
there's something so beautiful about the secrets we share, the things others don't know about.
Writing this letter is just another way to say thanks, the same way every time I kiss you I say
"thanks". Maybe not particularly to you. Maybe to the universe, for allowing my lips to press
on yours and let us be as close as we could possibly be. I don't think I'll ever say thanks
enough, therefore, I don't think I kiss you enough. I'm down to fix that at any moment.

But I'm also writing this letter because scripta manent. You more than anyone know that I
struggle to get words out, to show authentically how much I'm feeling, but writing has never
been an issue. And I want these words to stick, to stay. I wish I could carve them somewhere
where you can always read them.

I want you to know that you're lovely. Sweet, kind, selfless, adorable. I adore you every day
more than the first one (most definitely). You're never too much; I can't get enough of you. I
wish I could bottle up your laughter and listen to it when the world feels like it’s lacking
energy or good will. I wish I had a vinyl filled with all the songs you like to sing. I wish you
could look at yourself through my eyes and love yourself more, because you deserve it more
than anyone.

I promise that one day I'll be good enough to tell you all of these things; maybe I'll record a
muggle CD listing all the things I love about you. I do hope, though, that for now you can
settle with this letter.

Yours,

R.A.B.

James isn’t sure when he started crying; maybe it’s when Love of my life started playing on
the piano. Regulus has no idea of the storm he causes in James’ chest with the things he does.
The conviction that he can’t love properly is so utterly wrong. James has never felt this cared
for by someone other than his friends. He has never received such a lovely letter. The safety
he feels when he’s held by Regulus is a complete new feeling; a sense of trust and truth that
is healing.

He dries his tears and cleans the lenses of his glasses from the smudge, before he gets up and
moves towards the piano, where Regulus is playing with a small smile on his face.

“You are one of the loveliest people I’ve ever met.” James says, sitting next to him. “I just…I
really want to say something, but I don’t want to scare you away.”

“You wouldn’t scare me away even if you were a werewolf.” Regulus says, one of his hands
coming to take James’ into his. He wants to kiss all of his knuckles one by one and connect
the moles on his arms and shoulders to form new constellations; Regulus will be his universe,
his starry sky, his sun, the grey clouds heavy with rain.

“I…” James starts, squeezing Regulus’ hand. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you. And I
know two months are an incredibly short amount of time to say this, but I feel it everyday.
You’re stuck in my head like a song with a catchy tune, and I don’t even mind. I think I like
it, even. I know things are not the best for us, but it still feels…it feels beautiful, to be with
you. And I have fun. And I really, really love you.”
 He finally looks up at Regulus, finding the boy staring back at him with a badly hidden
surprise on his face. “I love you too.” He says, softly, his fingers curling around James’.

“Yeah?” James asks, beaming at him.

“Of course. You’re lovely, James. Incredibly lovely.” He cups James’ jaw with his free hand
and leans in to kiss him delicately. “Did you like the letter?”

“I did. I liked the piano, too.” He says. “You’re romantic. I kind of want to tell everyone at
this very moment.”

“No one would believe you.” Regulus laughs, kisses him again. James wishes he’d stop being
so delicate with the kisses.

“Kiss me properly, coward.” James mumbles, pouting slightly.

Regulus laughs again. “Snogging in the library feels illegal.”

“I love breaking the rules.” James says, with a little smile. “Break the rules with me?”

Regulus bites at his lip, before he nods. “Yeah.” He says, before cupping James’ face and
finally adding more depths to their kisses.

It is definitely the best Christmas of his life.

Chapter End Notes

James isn't refusing bisexuality, he's simply still questioning and still a bit in the closet,
give him sometime <3. The reason why the label pansexual isn't proposed is the
historical context: I don't think James or Remus had enough queer resources to know
what that was.
 The Prettiest Star
Chapter Notes

Content warnings: implied/referenced CA.

Cold fire, you've got everything but cold fire

You will be my rest and peace child

I moved up to take a place near you

So tired, it's the sky that makes you feel tired

It's a trick to make you see wide

It can all but break your heart in pieces

Staying back in your memory

Are the movies in the past

How you moved is all it takes

To sing a song of when I loved

The prettiest star

One day though it might as well be someday

You and I will rise up all the way

All because of what you are

The prettiest star

Staying back in your memory

Are the movies in the past

How you moved is all it takes

To sing a song of when I loved

The prettiest star

One day though it might as well be someday

You and I will rise up all the way

All because of what you are

The prettiest star

8 October, 1975

The afternoon light coming from the window lights up Remus's face like he was always
meant to be under the sun, kissed by his rays. His brown eyes gain depth and vivacity and his
hair looks almost blonde. He licks his lips as he turns the pages of the charms book he’s
consulting, and they seem to shine by the way the light hits them. Sirius thinks it would be
incredibly easy to just lift himself up and kiss him, just press their lips together until he’s got
Remus's lower lip between his own lips.

Wait.

What was that?

Kiss Remus? What a silly idea. He glances at Remus's lips again, and his face heats up. He
gets up from the bed and locks himself in the bathroom, under three confused pairs of eyes.
His reflection gazes at him from the mirror, judging his burning cheeks and his incredulous
eyes. For once, all the lessons about bearing and looking proper are useful. He calms down,
straightens his back and comes out from the bathroom.

“Alright, mate?” James asks, sounding worried.

“Yes, I’ll go see Marlene.” He grabs his wand from the bed and tucks it in his pocket.

“You can’t just leave in the middle of marauders business.” Remus says, frowning at him.
“You didn’t even tell us you needed to see Marlene.”

“Well, I need to see her now. See you at supper.” And he leaves, runs to the common room.

Marlene is splayed on the couch, a bag of crisps on her chest. She cut her hair just before
school started and she’s rocking the new bangs. It’s interesting that she wears her school
uniform even if they finished their lessons an hour ago. Sirius has already changed in muggle
clothes, since this is his new way to spite his parents.
“Marley!” He shouts, hoping to be loud enough to get her attention. “I’ve got gossip!”

She immediately sits up and turns to look at him. “Come share, then!” She yells back.

“Private!”

She rolls her eyes, but she gives her crisps to Alice and jumps off the couch. “Did you
disillusion yourself?”

Sirius groans and points his wand to his temple, mumbling the spell, before going up with
her. The girls’ dorm is basically the same as the boys’, but it smells more of makeup and
there’s only three beds.

“Where are Mary and Lily?” He asks, sitting down on Marlene’s bed.

“Dunno.” She shrugs. “Library, I think.”

“Swots.” Sirius says, as Marlene sits beside him.

“So. Gossip.” She says, with a grin.

“I lied. I came here because I had a scary thought.” He says, flopping down on his back.
“Well, not exactly scary. More like…unexpected. I’m trying to convince myself it didn’t
happen, but it high-key happened. And I don’t know how to feel. And maybe I only thought
about it because I really want to disappoint my parents and this will get me disowned before
you blink.”

“Woah, slow down, shooting star.” Marlene turns her face towards him, so he does the same.
“What happened?”

“So we were prank plotting.” Marlene grins at him, already looking excited. “We were on my
bed, all four of us. Remus was sitting in front of me, with a charms book in his hands, and he
looked good, okay. He wasn’t reading, he was thinking, so like…I don’t know, the sun hit his
eyes, and he had these slight creases between his eyebrows, and then he licked his lips and I
wanted to kiss him. On the mouth. I wanted to kiss a lad on the mouth.”

Marlene blinks at him. “I had the same thought about Mary just two days ago.”

Sirius gapes at her. “No way.” He looks up at the ceiling again. “Fuck. Fuck, Marley, are
these okay thoughts? My parents would detest them, so they probably are. Oh, fuck.” He sits
up again and takes his face in his hands. “Am I a homosexual?”

“I don’t think heterosexual people want to kiss their best friends.” Marlene says, gloomly.
“Well, I mean, not the same gender one anyway.”

“I don’t know how to feel.”

The image of Remus's fingers comes to his mind, the casio watch on his wrist, the scars on
his arms. He thinks about how easily Remus makes him laugh and about all the things they
have in common, from pranking to difficult family dynamics to being David Bowie
enthusiasts. He recalls the way Remus was twirling him around as Prettiest star played in the
dorm: the way Remus had smiled, the curl of his fingers around Sirius's, the sweet brown
eyes of his, the witty comebacks and the old books with yellow pages and muggle post its
with scribbled thoughts and lyrics.

“What if I fancy him, Marley? He’s my best friend? I’m completely fucked.” He turns to look
at his friend, who’s lying with her hands on her stomach.

“Yeah.” She presses her lips into a thin line. “I hate that these things just…happen, you
know? One day you’re doing your thing and then you realise you want to snog your best
friend. It sucks. I don’t even know what to do.”

“Right.” Sirius lays down again, mostly because his head is spinning a little. “I’ve always
thought he was so cool. I never thought I’d fancy him.” He turns to look at Marlene. “Maybe
I’ll wake up tomorrow and I won’t want it anymore.”

Marlene lets out a small, unhappy laugh. “It won’t happen. It doesn’t happen. If anything, it’s
harder, because now you’re aware.”

“I wonder how the lads will react…” Sirius sighs. He can’t lose any of them, honestly.
They’re everything he has. “It’s too much.”

“At least we’ve got each other.” Marlene says, bumping her fist against his chest. “Your
friends adore you, Sirius. I’m sure they won’t stop because you fancy blokes. Potter will give
you the whole school if you ask for it.”

Sirius laughs, as James's smiling face pops up in his face. “He’s such a cupcake.”

Marlene burst into a laugh. “I can’t believe you just called Potter a cupcake.” She says,
shaking her head. “Didn’t he tell Snape to drown in his Potion, just this morning?”

“He deserved it. He was talking bollocks about Remus yet again.” Sirius rolls his eyes. “He’s
lucky James forgot his wand in the dorm before first period, otherwise he would have gotten
properly hexed.”

“I don’t know why Lily spends time with him.” Marlene sighs. “He icks me. Sometimes I
feel like just telling him to just piss off. He’s so awful to everyone who isn’t her, and he tries
to keep her from spending time with us because he’s obviously scared that she’ll realise she
can do so much better than him.”

“I wish she treated James a bit better.” Sirius says, looking up at the ceiling. “I know he can
be an obnoxious arse, but he’s genuine, and he tries his best, and sometimes she’s mean to
him just because he’s James. He feels bad about it.”

“Mary told her too.” Not surprising. Mary and James are close enough that half the school
thinks they’re dating, no matter how many longing stares James has for Lily. “I understand
Lily thinks James is a bully, but Snape is so awful to him! I swear he does some manipulation
games on her, otherwise she’d never hang out with such a hypocrite.”
“He’s been bothering my brother.” Sirius says, quietly. “I see him on the map. It’s the third
time since September I’ve seen him cornering Regulus. It’s starting to get to me.”

“How are things with Regulus now?” Marlene pokes at his shoulder. “I heard from Jules that
he's been hanging out with Elias, sitting with him in class and stuff. It’s an improvement,
innit?”

“Better, I guess. We fight a lot. I think he felt abandoned, because of the past years. I mean,
he’s sort of right, but I thought he was a blood purist! He says I’ve replaced him with James.”
Not that it’s not true. He has to bite his tongue every time he’s about to call James his brother.
“I want to fix things, but he makes it so hard. He’s still friends with Crouch and Rosier, for
one.”

“Crouch is pretty low-key.” Marlene observes. “Apart from Elias, he doesn’t seem to bother
anyone else. And it’s gotten less intense since last year.”

Sirius snorts. “Of course. We raised Elias, Marley. Crouch should fear him. He’s so good at
stinging hexes.”

“Jules says they have a rivalry more than anything.” Marlene stretches her arms up. “They’re
competing for the best in their year.”

“Can’t believe we raised a swot.”

“We didn’t. That was all Frank and Alice, telling him empowerment comes from knowledge
and all. They thought he was a shy, poor soul.”

“Let me guess, you don’t think he is.” Sirius giggles, completely turning on his side.

Marlene mirrors him. “I think he’s just introverted and highly critical. He’s not shy. He talks
back to teachers and he’s ruthless with older peers. Specifically Slytherins. Did you know he
told Nott to blow him just the other day? Fucking wild. He definitely didn’t learn that from
Alice and Frank.”

“No, he probably learnt it from Remus, bless him.” Sirius chuckles at the memory of how
rough Remus could be during his first and second year. “I can’t believe Reg befriended him.”
Sirius sighs, then turns to look at Marlene. “Marley. Do you think Regulus will hate me if
I’m…you know…?”

Marlene shakes her head. “I don’t know, Sirius. Brothers are weird. You should wait to tell
him. Step by step, yeah? You only ever wanted to kiss Remus once. There’s no need to rush
things.”

13 April, 1976

In fifteen years, Sirius has felt a great variety of heartbreaks. Whether pain should harden
your skin or not doesn’t concern him, still, he’s never prepared when another heartbreak
comes into play. He never expects it, that’s the problem. Coming back from the library with a
couple of books about tracking spells to improve the map, he didn’t suspect pain was around
the corner; and when he opened the door of their room and was greeted with the lovely sight
of James and Remus kissing- well. Dropping the books wasn’t his purpose: if anything, he
wanted to grip tighter, but he also wanted to be loud without yelling, so there, he dropped the
books, under their shocked gazes. Then he left, running down the stairs and hoping James
wouldn’t follow like he’d usually do.

Fate has never been good at listening to his prayers, though. Somewhere around the sixth
floor, James catches up with him, grabs his wrist as he pants. They stare at each other:
Sirius's blue eyes, full of hatred, and James's dark one, expressing concern and confusion of
equal quantities.

Sirius frees himself from James's grip and pushes hard at his chest, jaw clenched. “What the
fuck was that, Potter?” James opens his mouth to reply, but Sirius doesn’t let him. “Of all the
people in this sodding school, you had to go and snog Moony? Moony, for Godric’s sake.”

James frowns, staring at him with a deep focus. “Sirius, I…I’m struggling to understand why
that bothers you so much. Is it because he’s a lad? I’m not…”

Sirius laughs, shaking his head. James's frown deepens. “You’re so bloody oblivious.” He
says, fists clenching. “I’ve turned down so many people in the past months, why do you think
that is? I’ve never looked at a girl the way you look at Lily.”

“Do you like blokes?” James asks, then, like he already knows the answer. “That’s alright
with me, mate. I don’t judge. I’m just not…”

Sirius groans in frustration. James can be so smart, but he can also be so oblivious, and
infuriating, and Sirius is so mad at him right now. He’s so jealous it hurts him and he’s about
to go back to the Gryffindor Tower and kiss Remus to get every memory of James's kiss out
of his mind.

“I fancy Remus, you daft knobhead.” He says, gripping at the material of James's shirt now.
“I’m in love with him. And you, you stupid sod, kissed him. You snogged Moony and I really
want to punch you in the face right now. If you do that again I will resolve to violence.” He
drops his forehead on James's forehead. “Fuck, James, why did you do that? Couldn’t you go
and kiss Evans?”

“Sirius, Evans would murder me on the spot if I attempted something like that, don’t be a
dimwit. She’d probably be right to do it, too.” James puts his hand on Sirius's back and pulls
him into a hug. “I’m sorry. I was just…curious.”

“James, no offence, but couldn’t you satisfy your curiosity about kissing with literally
anybody else? Did it have to be Moony?” He asks, pressing his knuckles against his chest.

“Well.” James starts stroking his back like Sirius didn’t threaten to punch him in the face, like
he’s not trying to dig his hand in his chest and take his heart out. “I had to confess I was
curious about kissing a bloke, so obviously I had to ask someone I trusted, and Moony was
there, so…”
“That’s all it took you?” Sirius snaps his head up. He frowns at James, trying very hard not to
burst into tears. “I feel like my brain is dripping out of my ears every time I talk to him. I
want to be the only one he looks at. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

Understanding crosses over James's face. “I know.” He says, pulling him close. “I know, you
should talk to him, Pads.”

“Like you talk to Evans.” Sirius rolls his eyes as he puts his arms around James's waist.
“Why are we such a mess with love? We’re pretty and we’re funny. It should be easy.”

“Mum says that love is never easy. It’s something you put effort into because it’s worth it.”
He nuzzles at Sirius's cheek. “I think it’s easy to put effort in things we do for our loved
ones.”

“But it’s so scary.” Sirius says, in a whisper. “I’m so scared of losing him, Prongs. He’s only
starting to believe how much we love him now. And what if he’s not…I mean, you kissed
him and you’re…you like girls, what if it’s the same for him?”

“I don’t know.” James admits, but he holds tighter. He always does. “We’ll try to find out,
yeah? I’m sorry. For kissing him.”

“I’m sorry for lashing out on you.” Sirius replies. “I’m sorry I haven’t told you sooner. I was
scared you wouldn’t…well, do this, anymore.”

“What, holding you?”

“Yes.” He breathes the smell of James's cologne, and his shampoo. “I can’t be without you,
James. You’re part of me. I knew you wouldn’t back away, you’re too loyal for that. But I
was still scared you’d walk away, because that’s…that’s my worst fear, James. My life
without you.”

James breathes deeply, then knocks their foreheads together. “I’ll always be with you.” He
says, firmly. “When you shook my hand in the Hogwarts express, we became brothers, and
we’ll always be together. Soulmates and all. You’ll never lose me. We’re one.”

Sirius smiles at him. “Soppy git.” He murmurs, though he’s happy. “Never kiss Remus again
or you ’ll lose me.”

“So Remus is our dealbreaker?” James grins. “Deal. I can’t wait to tell him, actually.”

“You can’t tell him, he’ll take a piss at us!” Sirius says, pushing at his chest. James lets him
go, and they start making their way back at the Gryffindor tower.

“Do you think Evans will ever go out with me?” James asks him, shoving his hands in his
pockets. “Should I change my target?”

Sirius laughs at the expression. “Maybe when we’re a bit older and she stops being bitter
about you bullying her taken fascist friend.”

James grimaces. “I want to put dungbombs in the Slytherin common room.”

Sirius smirks, putting his arm around James's shoulder. “Let’s do it then. During dinner?”

“You’re my favourite person ever.” James says, fondly.

27 December, 1976

Effie and Monty are good parents, Sirius wouldn’t trade them for anyone else. Even then, he
wishes they’d say more about those missions they go to. Especially for James's sake: since
his fourth year, his anxiety about his parents’ lives has worsened, to the point he will freak
out if he doesn’t hear from them at least twice a week. Sirius knows there’s some underlying
issue, but James refuses to talk about it, or even admit that it exists, so there’s not much he
can do, other than be there, physically: in moments like this, James craves touching. He
wants to be held, the warmth, the care of it.

Normally, Sirius would be the one doing it. Normally. What is interesting about this situation
is that James looks for Regulus without even realising he’s doing it. Sirius is trying not to be
jealous or upset, because that’s the absolute last thing James needs right now. He admits that
it’s hard to stay calm when Regulus is taking care of one of the people Sirius had claimed as
his.

He watches his brother as he goes and makes tea (and questions whether he would do the
same if Sirius was in James's place) and he barely keeps it together when Regulus takes a
blanket and puts it on James's shoulders.

“Better?” Regulus asks, hands on James's shoulders as he speaks.

“Yes. Thank you.” James gives him a weak smile which is barely a resemblance of what his
real smile looks like, but Regulus smiles back anyway before he leaves for the kitchen again.

“They’ll be fine, Prongs.” Sirius says, uncertain on how to move in this new pattern.

He’s also a bit concerned that Regulus intends to take a platter with their tea from the kitchen
to the living room, given how many glasses, bottles and mugs he broke between the ages of
six and fourteen. He also broke a vase. He’s not clumsy, he’s just shit at being aware of his
surroundings sometimes.

“I know.” James frowns, looking down at his hands. “I know, but I’m worried. Mum looks so
old now, doesn’t she? All the grey hair, and the wrinkles. She looks like she’s aged ten years
since last summer. And dad is even older than her. What if they consider them as easy targets
and…?”

“They’re not alone, and magic doesn’t fade with old age.” He reminds him, as Regulus enters
the living room walking slowly, with a focused expression.

Apparently, Regulus's new discovered fear of breaking ceramics is funny enough to James
that he chuckles. Regulus glares at him like he’s been insulted.

“What are you laughing about, Potter?” He asks, with the usual stern tone that makes him
sound much older than he actually is.
“You’re such a noble little king, you can’t even carry a platter without worrying about
making a fool out of yourself.” James says, fondly, as Regulus places the platter on a coffee
table. “Why didn’t you levitate it?”

“I can’t use magic for simple tasks.” Regulus says, frowning. “I’ve got hands, too.”

“He wanted to see if he’s still a master of breaking beverage holders.” Sirius says, rolling his
eyes as he reaches for the kettle and fills the mugs. “You forgot milk and sugar.”

“Sounds like a you problem.” Regulus says, moving to sit down next to James.

“I wanted milk.” James fiddles with the blanket.

Regulus sighs and looks up at the ceiling like he’s praying for help from above. “I’ll get it.”
And he’s out again, sprinting because peace and quiet were never an option, apparently.

“You’re lucky he fancies you.” Sirius grumbles.

“You’re just jealous that he didn’t get milk for you.”

“If he comes back without the sugar, I’m revoking his brother privileges.”

Regulus comes back with both milk and sugar though, so Sirius has nothing to complain
about (much to his dislike). Or, well, he can’t complain about the milk, but he wants to
complain about the fact that James and Regulus keep being too close for comfort (his comfort
specifically). James needs this, he tells himself. So I’ll have to wait until Remus is here to go
and talk shit about the situation.

His eyes don’t miss the way Regulus's hand brushes James's, nor the fact that they start
holding pinkies right after. Well, if Effie and Monty are on Order mission, Sirius is on a Gay
Mission: the one of finding out when exactly James and Regulus got so close, and when they
started acting like a couple, and when exactly James has started needing Regulus around.

“Do you need anything in particular?” Regulus asks, as James pours milk into his cup.

James hums. “This is okay, I guess.”

Liar, Sirius thinks, rolling his eyes. “Look, if you need anything, we’ll get it for you.” Sirius
does his best to sound soft. “There’s no need to play the tough guy.”

James nods, like he’s received some hard truth. “Then, maybe, we can call Remus and Peter
and see if they can come over?”

Sirius smiles at him and finishes his tea in a big gulp. “I’ll go and call them.” He says as he
gets up.

“Thank you.” James says, with a tiny smile that is a little more sincere.

Sirius ruffles James's hair, then gets out of the living room, to Monty’s office. It’s not a room
he visits much, but it’s beautiful. There’s a big desk and a comfy office chair, tons of books
about potions and advanced magic set in two big wooden libraries. Most of these books are
really old. Sirius and James have never looked much into them, but when Regulus mentioned
that he was considering being a potioneer, Monty brought him to his office to show him some
of his books, and they stayed there for hours.

He sits on the chair and lifts the handset of the phone and starts composing Remus's number,
which he memorised, just like Peter’s, Mary’s and Lily’s.

“Hullo.” Hope says, on the other side. “Who’s calling?”

“Hope! Hello, it’s Sirius.” He says, cheerfully. “I was wondering if I could speak to Remus?”

“Sure, honey. I’ll call him, wait a second.”

The second feels a bit too long, but then he finally hears from Remus. “Hi, Pads.”

“Hello, moonbeam.” He says, softly, before he can help it. “James is in a mood. Mind coming
over?”

“I’ll ask my parents, though I don’t think it’d be a problem.” He pauses. “Are you okay? You
sounded weird.”

“Yeah, I’m…I’m going to say something weird.”

“Alright.” Remus sounds amused.

“Do you happen to know why James and Regulus act like a couple?” On the other line,
Remus chuckles. “Remus, I’m serious.”

“Yes, Sirius, I know who you are.”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Look, I can’t be the only stupid sod who sees the way they act all
coupley. And they’re always touching! I feel like I’m about to go mad!” He breathes in,
hands tightening around the phone. “I can take a joke, okay? It stopped feeling like a joke,
it’s starting to feel like it’s very real and present. You know James and his moods…he wants
to be touched and all of that. So, obviously, I thought I’d do it. No! He looks for Regulus.
Yes, you heard correctly. And Regulus? He made him tea and wrapped him up in a blanket.”

“Oh, Padfoot. Are you jealous?”

“Of course I am!” Sirius pouts, wishing Remus would be here. “You know, when I met
James, I knew they were going to like each other, same passions and all, fitting personalities.
I’m fine with them liking each other, them fancying each other though…I think I draw the
line at that.”

“Why?” Remus inquires. “Say they’re together and happy. Are you sure you’d be opposed?”

Sirius shakes his head. “I don’t know, Moonlight.” He murmurs. “What if James forgets
about me?”
“Yes, and lycanthropy is healed through crystals and meditation.” He can sense Remus is
rolling his eyes. “Sirius, you’re everything to James, he will never forget about you.”

“Then why did he turn to Regulus when he needed comfort?” Sirius asks, once more.
“Normally, it would have been me.”

“Maybe he fancies him.” Remus says, casually.

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.” It’s not like Sirius hasn’t considered it. It’s just that he
doesn’t want it to be true. “Merlin, Moony, what if they do? What if they fancy each other?
James is taken , for Christ’s sake. Unless he’s lying.” He pauses. “No, he had hickeys. Oh
God, what if Regulus gave him those hickeys? What if they shagged?”

“Sirius, I need you to calm down and stop picturing…weird things in your head. For all we
know, James might have gotten hickeys from anyone. It’s not the first time this has happened,
remember?”

“But what if…”

“Pads, I’ll go get dressed and I’ll be there in five, alright? Give Peter a ring. We’ll talk more
about it once I’m there.”

“Alright. Bye, Moony.” He hangs up and waits just a couple of seconds, before he composes
Peter’s number.

“Hi. Who’s there?” Peter’s voice greets him, polite like he always is to strangers.

“Hi, Wormy. James is sulking. Want to come over?”

“Be there after lunch. Don’t want to leave mum all alone for meals.” Sirius hears some
shuffling. “Should I take some sweets with me when I come? We were going to bake some
biscuits.”

“I think he’d appreciate it.”

“Great! See you later, then!”

“No, no, wait! I have a question!”

“Go on then.”

“Has James told you anything about the person he’s seeing? Do you have any suspects?”

There’s silence on the other line for a second. “Yes, I have a couple. I’m not going to tell you,
though, I think we should wait for James to come to us.”

Sirius sighs. Fair enough, then. “Alright. See you later, Pete.”

He lingers in the office, with the intention of overthinking the situation for another five
minutes. The thought of Regulus fancying James had never crossed his mind, partially
because he never suspected Regulus would be queer in the first place. He’s not sure what to
make of it. Part of him is genuinely worried about James's poor boyfriend, the other part
whispers that James would never act like this if he was in a committed relationship. That
makes him question if James lied to him, if Regulus is the boy he’s fallen in love with. It
feels real in some moments. And he doesn’t know what to make of it, again. He’s jealous; not
completely opposed, just jealous or scared. One of those, still hasn’t figured out which one.
Maybe both.

He’s not daft, he knows that James would have very valid reasons to fall for Regulus. He
doesn’t need to ask why. Regulus is obsessed with quidditch, languages, books, even music.
He seems to love every artist they put in the record player, and even sings to himself
sometimes. It’s not just that: Regulus has become the kind of person to question anything and
have thoughts of everything, which James has always found endearing. Sirius knows
perfectly this could happen, he just never thought it would, he thought they were going to be
good friends.

“I really don’t want to be right.” He tells his empty cup of tea. “But they do look happy.”

Anyway. Better not get ahead. He’ll keep them under a careful, quiet observation. And ask
Moony and Wormy what they think, like an in-depth analysis of the situation. And then curse
himself at least four times because New Years is approaching and he still hasn’t told Moony
he’s in love with him. Admittedly, he’s partially hoping James and Regulus will be means of
distraction from his own love situation.

Taking it slow was fine at the beginning of the year, now it’s just unbearable. He aches to
touch him, kiss him, openly love him, dance with him, steal all his clothes and play his
records; he wants his eyes to always follow him in the room, and he wants to stay with him
for the rest of his life, and maybe even after.

“Nope, no getting soppy.” He leaves the empty cup on his desk and goes back to the living
room. James has now put the blanket over his head as well, and he’s letting Regulus try to
convince him that he has eleven fingers.

“I don’t have eleven fingers.” James says, blinking. “It’s five and five, so it’s ten.”

“But I just showed you it’s eleven.” Regulus giggles, and he counts again. “See, eleven.”

“No.” James breaks into a tiny smile. “You’re lying.”

“You’re not accepting of the truth.”

“But it’s not the truth.”

“It is the truth, look.” Regulus counts his finger yet again. “Eleven. See?”

“No, I don’t see it.” James laughs.

Well, fuck. Good game, Regulus. See? How can he get mad when Regulus manages to make
James laugh at moments like this? He wishes to be more upset, but he can’t get himself to
wish anything bad for James.

“Remus will be here soon. Peter is coming after lunch.” Sirius says, after clearing his throat.
James and Regulus put some distance between each other immediately. Interesting. “Were
you trying to convince him he had eleven fingers like Grandfather did?”

Regulus nods, his face is a bit unreadable. Sirius thinks, with envy, that he barely looks like
their mother: Regulus only looks like himself. He doesn’t have Orion’s steel grey eyes or his
crooked nose, nor does he have Walburga’s lips. His eyes are a greenish grey and his lips are
almost exactly the same as Uncle Alphrad’s. He probably looks more like their Grandmother.
He heard Uncle Cygnus say that once, though he has no idea whether that’s true or not. He’s
never seen a picture of his Grandmother, because Walburga had some fucked up relationship
with her and kept her a complete secret.

“How long will it take him?” Regulus asks, lifting his tea cup.

“A matter of minutes.” Sirius says, as he takes Aladdin Sane from the shelves. James keeps
most records in the living room, along with the record player, mostly because his parents like
muggle music too, so he likes to leave it available when he’s at home. “Do we have to go
grocery shopping?”

James shrugs. “There’s Poha in the fridge. We could heat it up.” He fiddles with the edge of
his blanket. “I’m not really hungry. Though I’m not sure there’s enough for everyone.”

“Can we go grocery shopping?” Regulus asks, sounding unbelievably excited about it. “I’ve
never done it before, it sounds thrilling.”

And since James is an arsehole and Sirius is trying to forget how poor of normal experiences
their childhood was, they both laugh.

“I’ll bring you grocery shopping.” James says, as Sirius puts the record on the record player
and sets it up. “Like a date.”

What perfect timing for Watch that Man to start playing. Sirius turns with a spin and glares at
James. “Did you just ask my little brother on a date?”

“I’m not little. I’ll be taller than you someday!” Regulus says, sticking his tongue out.

“Aww, the fool hopes.” Sirius teases. “James, I don’t blame Evans for turning you down if
your idea of a date is grocery shopping.”

“Sirius, I don’t blame Remus for snogging you yet, if your idea of a date is longing stares and
being jealous of girls for daring to walk the same hallway as Remus.” James retorts.

“I’ll bloody snog him as soon as he’s here.” Sirius threatens, though he knows damn well he
won’t.

Promptly, Remus appears in the fireplace. “Who will you snog?”

James claps his hand over Regulus's mouth. “Nobody.” He glares at Regulus. “Stop biting my
fingers.” Then, he blushes and retires his hand. “That was not an invitation to lick me!”

“Goodness gracious.” Remus says, eyes darting from the pair of James and Regulus to
Sirius.

Sirius pouts, before he gets up from the armchair and pulls Remus into a hug. He’s always
loved the way Remus hugs him, even the brief hugs, because he holds tight , similar to
James, though there’s a different shade of affection that plays as a game changer. They’re
apart in a matter of seconds, though Sirius wouldn’t mind being glued to Remus for the rest
of the day: he suddenly feels very grateful that James wants to take Regulus grocery
shopping.

“I’m going to take Regulus on a trip in the muggle world.” James says, seemingly more
positive than he was before.

“Like what?” Remus sits in the armchair Sirius was sitting on before. He folds his arms as an
amused smile crosses his face.

“Grocery shop.” James says.

Sirius catches Regulus's eyes, who is looking at him with a little grin. Sirius scowls at him,
which only makes Regulus grin wider.

“Let me guess, you want me to pick your outfit.” Remus sounds amused. Sirius would be lost
sending longing glares at him, if he wasn’t busy having a silent fight with Regulus.

“Pretty please!”

“Fine. Let’s go, then.” They move towards the rooms. Remus and James lead the way, Sirius
and Regulus stay behind.

“What’s your plan, you little devil?” Sirius asks, tucking him under his arm.

“Leaving you and Remus alone so you can finally snog.” Regulus replies, elbowing him in
the ribs. “Please, Sirius, you’re becoming stupid with how much you like him.”

“I’m not becoming stupid with how much I like him.” Sirius denies, though Regulus is
probably right. “It’s none of your business anyway.”

“Sirius, you look at him like he’s the starry sky and you’ve just discovered stars. You need to
snog him. Do it for James and Peter. I don’t know how they manage to survive, putting up
with your pining.”

Sirius glares at him. “No one puts up with my pining. You just want an excuse to go out with
James alone.”

“I know a good opportunity when I see one.” Regulus replies, waving his hand in the air.

“Regulus, he’s taken.” Sirius reminds him. “This is going to hurt you if you keep it up.”
Regulus rolls his eyes. “Yes, buying vegetables with the bloke I fancy will definitely hurt me
in the long run.”

“Yes, go ahead, keep missing the point, see where that takes you.”

“Well, maybe it’ll take me farther than you, since I actually have the stones to make a move.”
Regulus frees himself from his grip.

“I’m not making a move for a reason.” Sirius hisses. “It’s none of your business.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Salazar, Sirius. Is it really that bad to stay alone with him?”

“No! I’m just...whatever.” He drops the conversation, entering in James's room, where Remus
is picking muggle clothes for both James and Regulus.

“Are you going to give him your clothes?” Sirius inquires, coming close to James, who wraps
an arm around his waist with ease.

“Yup. He didn’t pack his muggle clothes.” James points at a pair of blue jeans he used to
wear all the time in his fourth year. “He’ll wear those, and then I’ll just give him one of my
coats.”

“Hmm.” Sirius glances up at Regulus, who has a slight frown. Sirius would bet his arse that
he’s jealous. “I wish Mother could see you now.”

“It’s rude to wish death upon people who have done nothing to you.” Regulus replies right
away, as he could guess what Sirius was thinking just a moment before.

“Did Effie and Monty leave you some money?” Sirius asks, poking at James's chest.

“Yup, we always have spare muggle money.” James messes up his hair, watching Remus as
he looks in James's closet.

“Just how many Gryffindor jumpers do you own!” He asks, reemerging with a deep green
hoodie on his arm.

“Just a few.” James's reply is evasive. “Why a Slytherin colour?!”

“Oi, Potter, watch your mouth.” Regulus says, flipping him off. “Deep green is a beautiful
colour.”

“I agree, James is just biassed.” Remus hands Regulus the jeans. “Done. Now you’ll look like
muggles.”

After James and Regulus leave, Remus and Sirius take the record player to Sirius's bedroom
and start the record again, before laying on the bed next to each other. They’re barely
touching, and yet Sirius feels like he’s burning up. He wants to take his hand and intertwine
their fingers, like they did on his birthday, but he doesn’t dare.
“What are you thinking about?” Remus asks, nudging at his hand.

“Just…James and Regulus.” Sirius lies, turning to look at Remus. He’s so striking in the soft
light that comes from the window, Sirius wants to remember him like this forever. “Has
James shown you his sketchbook, lately? He hasn’t been drawing much, has he?”

Remus hums in agreement. “I’m not sure though. What does he do during muggle studies?”

“He draws. He still draws, don’t get me wrong, but I haven’t seen a portrait in ages. I figured
that he’d be drawing the person he’s dating a lot.” Sirius says, casually.

“It really bothers you that you don’t know who it is, doesn’t it?” Remus sighs. “I never
thought James would be the one to keep such a secret.”

“Right!” Sirius turns on his side completely. “We used to tell each other everything.” He
adds, melancholy making its appearance in his voice.

“Yeah, but we were kids, Pads. It’s not the same anymore.” Remus replies, as he hooks his
index to Sirius's. “Things are more complicated now, don’t you think?”

“I wish it wasn’t like that.” Sirius says, looking at their fingers. “James just…has so many
secrets, and I didn’t even realise until this summer. It’s making me question whether I know
him or not, sometimes. I always thought he was open with his emotions.”

“He is open with his emotions.” Remus replies, frowning. “He’s not as open with his
experiences, I’d say.”

“Do you really think he would be happy with Regulus? I really don’t want to be a killjoy, but
I’m worried, Moony. Regulus is getting away with it now, but things are getting more intense.
The Prophet tries to hide it, but Effie and Monty have gone to so many missions since
September. I’m worried my parents will have Regulus marked by the start of his sixth year.
And there’s also the fact that with Andromeda and I being disowned because of…love issues,
my parents will probably start looking for pureblood girls to have him married.” He nibbles
at his lower lip. “I don’t want James to get attached, if this is a possibility.”

Remus gives him a long look, before he nods. “Do you think it’s Regulus who he’s dating,
then?”

“I’m not sure.” Sirius makes the very bold move to shift slightly closer. “They seem to get
along, don’t they? And I haven’t seen James being close with anyone else. Even during my
birthday, he stayed with Regulus a lot, when he wasn’t with Marlene or Mary. Didn’t bother
Lily once, I think she missed him a little.”

Remus snorts. “She did miss him a little, I believe. But she doesn’t fancy him, and she said
she’s glad he’s moved on. Apparently, the girls are playing bets on who he’s dating.”

“I can’t believe Marlene never told me about it!” Sirius says indignantly.

“That’s because Mary is betting on Regulus.” Remus reveals, eyes scanning Sirius's gaping
face.
“Buggering fuck.” Sirius drops his head to Remus's shoulder. “So I’m not the only one who
sees it?”

“Yeah…about that.” Remus is holding two of his fingers now. It’s progress, if you ask Sirius.
“I don’t think they act like friends.”

“Fuck.” Sirius sits up, legs crossed. “Fuck, Remus, I don’t know what to think. James had
hickeys. We’ve all seen them. If Regulus did that, I’m going to bang my head against the
wall, because it’s too much detail and- is it bad that I’m jealous?” His voice drops, he goes
from loud to quiet in a matter of seconds. “I don’t want Regulus to date James. He’s my best
friend. I could accept Evans, but I don’t think I want to share James with him.”

Remus takes his hand properly now. “Is this about what happened in the morning?”

“I guess.” Sirius frowns. “James always felt like a part of my life my family could not reach.
He was mine to deal with, mine to comfort, and now he’s…he’s got someone else. It’s hard to
watch the way Regulus just…fits him. It makes me wonder if…if Regulus and I had been in
the same year…”

“But you’re not.” Remus interrupts him. Sirius looks up to him, and he’s glad to find
understanding in Remus's face. He sits up as well, their knees touching and their hands still,
luckly, together. “Do you really think James would ever leave you?” He asks, softly.

Sirius opens his mouth to reply, but he snaps it shut as he feels his eyes become wet. “I…”
He frowns, and a tear drops from his eyelashes. “I’m scared of not being good enough for
him. I don’t want Regulus to give him things I can’t give him, but if they’re dating, then he’s
doing that, objectively. And…I know James would need to date someone who is like…not
just a lover, you know, but a friend, too. He wants a relationship the way his parents have it,
so Regulus would become a very important part of his life.” Remus dries a couple of tears
with the sleeve of his jumper. “Also, I don’t want Regulus to ask James for help when he
could ask me for help. I don’t want them looking for each other when they should be looking
for me. I feel left out of their lives. And I hate that James is keeping secrets and then goes on
to call me his soulmate.”

Remus nods, gives his hand a squeeze. “I don’t think James keeping secrets has anything to
do with you.” He says, firmly. “I know you think of James as a very open person, but he’s
never once been vulnerable around us. It’s easy, for us, to think that he’d be okay with it,
because his life seems perfect.” He takes a deep breath. “My mum told me he was seeing a
mind healer this summer. James's reluctance to be vulnerable has probably nothing to do with
us.” Sirius feels a pang of guilt stabbing his chest. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for it.”

“But I mucked up everyone’s summer.” Sirius replies, feeling nauseous. “I screwed yours,
Regulus's, James's, Peter’s. Shit, maybe I deserve it if they didn’t tell me.” He wouldn’t feel
safe telling himself his own secrets, after what he did before the summer. “I’m a shit friend.”

“We all are.” Remus reassures him. “We’re making bets over who’s seeing James in secret.
My point is that you tend to blame yourself for everything people do, and you always think
that the consequences of it will be people leaving you. While I understand why you do that, I
also think there’s no reason for you to do it in this case.”
“They’re both so important to me.” He murmurs. “I want them to be happy, but I also want to
be there when they are.” He sniffles, looking at Remus again. “I think I got scared this
morning, when James sought contact with Regulus rather than just coming to hug me or
something.”

Then it hits him that this is how Regulus must have felt seeing him doing silly things in the
hallways with James. Regulus, who had so much hatred for James in the past years, was
perhaps just jealous like Sirius is being now.

“I’ve been a shit brother.” He says, letting go of Remus's hand to cover his face. “I refused to
be there for him when he was struggling just because I thought he was bad. I chose James
over him so many times and now I’m complaining that he doesn’t trust me to know if there’s
something going on between them.”

Remus sighs. “You were a child, Sirius. Taking care of Regulus wasn’t your responsibility.”
He says, patiently. “He seems pretty happy to be here with you. You said you did bonding
activities.”

Sirius shakes his head. “I feel like shit.”

“You’re getting caught up in your head.” Remus rationalises, because he always does. “Focus
on the music?”

“Umh?” Sirius drops his hands, turns towards the record player. In the silence, Bowie sings:

Your park was real dreamless

Perhaps you're smiling now

Smiling through this darkness

But all I had to give was guilt for dreaming

“Better?” Remus asks, his warm hand placed on Sirius's knee.

“The next is The Prettiest Star.” Sirius says, turning to look at Remus again.

“Do you want to dance?” There’s a smile creeping at the corner of Remus's mouth, in the
light of his eyes. Oh, Sirius wants to kiss him so bad. He wants to kiss him everyday, in every
room he’s ever been in, he wants to kiss him in his dreams, and when he’s wide awake.

“You’re so beautiful.” He says, instead of saying ‘yes, I want to dance with you, I’ll always
want to dance with you’. “You’ve got no idea of how lovely you are.”

Remus blinks at him, as he blushes to the points of his ears. “You’ve got such a way to say
yes.” He murmurs, embarrassed. “Come on, you.” He gets up from the bed and offers his
hand to Sirius, who takes it delicately.

And as Bowie starts singing, they swing together, until they're simply hugging, and Sirius's
head is resting on Remus's shoulder. It’d be such a good moment to tell him how much he
loves him. But he loves the quiet, loves to pretend David Bowie is singing just for them, to
pretend Remus already knows the lengths Sirius would travel for him. So he closes his eyes
and holds on to him, hoping that soon enough he’ll have enough courage to pour his heart out
to him.

That evening, Sirius visits James's room. Or at least, that’s the intention. He never actually
gets in, because he hears voices coming from it.

“I am proud of my heart alone, it is the sole source of everything, all our strength, happiness
and misery. All the knowledge I possess everyone else can acquire, but my heart is all my
own.” James is reading. “I read this quote something like three times just to let it sink in. I
think it’s one of my favourites. I relate to it. But also this one: It's true that nothing in this
world makes us so necessary to others as the affection we have for them.”

“I love that one too,” Regulus sounds so fond, talks in a way Sirius has never heard before.
“It reminds me of Aristotle. Sociality is the primal instinct of men; humanity isn’t made for
loneliness. Isn’t it refreshing to know that everybody needs somebody?”

“It’s reassuring.” James admits. “Do heroes need people?”

“Of course they do. Maybe they need people more than anyone else. You can’t be a hero if
you don’t have anyone worth fighting for. But also, you’re going to be your own villain if
you don’t let yourself be as human as possible. And to be as human as possible is to need
friends, or lovers, or family. Without those, there’s a road that leads to madness.”

It’s not hard for Sirius to know that he’s talking about their family. Or whatever that is,
actually. A family without anything but cruelty and feelings shoved in dark corners with
spider webs and dust.

“One of my favourite quotes…” Regulus is talking again, probably worried about James
coming to the same conclusion as Sirius. “Witness, Heaven, how often I lie down in my bed
with a wish, and even a hope, that I may never awaken again! And in the morning, when I
open my eyes, I behold the sun once more, and am wretched. If I were whimsical, I might
blame the weather, or an acquaintance, or some personal disappointment, for my
discontented mind; and then this insupportable load of trouble would not rest entirely upon
myself. But, alas! I feel it too sadly; I am alone the cause of my own woe, am I not? The
whole paragraph, actually. It resonated with me when I first read the book…”

Sirius just has to walk away at that, because tears come to his eyes for the second time today.
Once more, Guilt squeezed his ribs into his lungs. He walks silently to the bathroom and
stays there until tears disappear, then goes to the empty kitchen and pours himself a glass of
water.

“I’ve heard you walking.” Remus says, in a quiet voice, appearing at the doorstep. He stayed
the night because Sirius asked him to. He bites the inside of his cheek. “Didn’t talk to James,
did you?”
“He’s with Regulus.” Sirius manages to get out. “They’re doing an absolutely innocent book
analysis. Goethe, I think. I haven’t read it.”

“If it’s The sorrows of Young Werther, it was about time James read it.” Remus says, getting
close. Sirius leaves the empty glass on the counter and moves closer, embracing him, hiding
his face in his neck. “Alright?”

“No.” He whispers, clinging to him.

Remus kisses his forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” He pretends he’s saying it to Regulus.

Even if Remus's words about blaming himself for everything that happens around him echo
his mind, he knows that for that the sadness Regulus was talking about has something to do
with him. When he got sorted into Slytherin, Sirius had felt betrayed. Why did he choose his
parents? Regulus could have been in Gryffindor. He could have chosen him. So he decided to
pretend he didn’t exist. He had been so cruel to him, and even if Regulus always bit back, he
still feels so guilty for the pain he’s caused. He wishes things didn’t get so complicated with
everyone.

“Moonshine.” He croaks out, lips brushing Remus's neck.

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

He can feel Remus tense up, relax, though his heartbeat isn’t as steady anymore. “I love you
too.”

Not yet. Sirius thinks, when none of them makes a move to kiss. Not yet, but maybe soon.

31 December, 1976

Although Sirius is reluctant to admit it, he likes that James and Regulus train in the morning,
because when he wakes up, they’re usually starting to have breakfast, and they can have
breakfast all together. It makes him wish they could have Regulus for the summer too, have
him eating fruit for breakfast and lazing around in the library the whole day. These days, he
sort of pretends that Regulus followed him the night he escaped, and they’re both safe under
each other’s watch.

On the last day of the year, Sirius wakes up later than usual. His hair is a mess and his face is
puffy and he really just wants to lounge on his bed, but he also wants tea. After having forced
himself to get out of bed, he spends a good ten minutes brushing his hair, cursing himself for
having forgotten to tie it up, and then fixes it up in a messy bun. Sometimes he thinks about
cutting it off, though he hasn’t really tried.

He shakes his head and walks out of his room, running through the corridor and then the
living room, which he finds empty. From the kitchen arrives the beautiful sound of Freddie
Mercury’s voice, The Millionaire’s Waltz. It is from the new album, which Sirius actually
appreciated a lot. James listens to it three times a day, trying to memorise all lyrics like the
true maniac he is. There’s also the pleasant smell of cinnamon rolls; he’s pretty sure James
baked them, since Monty is a disaster at baking and Effie is probably off visiting Minnie.

He’s not sure what he was expecting to find once he opened the door. Maybe James with his
face dirty of flour and a bright smile on his face. He was not expecting James and Regulus,
dressed up in comfortable clothes, waltzing. Luckily for him, the door opening startles them,
so he doesn’t have to try and break them apart like he really wanted to do. He’s pretty amused
with the blush on their faces, though.

“Good morning, Padfoot.” James says, smoothly grabbing a mug from the cupboard. “Would
you like some tea?”

Regulus mutters some curse in French to himself.

“I can’t believe you were actually waltzing in the kitchen.” Sirius says, making eye contact
with James. “I was under the impression that you were in a committed relationship. What
was that?”

James looks even more embarrassed now, and he tears his eyes away to pour some tea in the
mug. “We got carried away.” He mumbles, the way James does when he’s been caught doing
something he shouldn’t.

“I see.” Sirius replies, sitting at the counter. James pushes the mug towards him, then gets out
of the kitchen.

Regulus glares at him. “Did you have to be so rude?”

“Do you have to flirt with him every second you spend here?” Sirius retorts, hand tight
around his tea. “You’re being delusional.”

“You’re being mean.” Regulus crosses his arms, giving him the harsh look that they learnt
from their mother. “So what if we were dancing? Are you jealous that you and Remus don’t
do that?” Sirius scowls. “Yes, yes, frown all you want, we both know you’re so invested in
my personal life because you’re failing to make your own interesting.”

“At least I don’t want to shag my brother’s best friend.” Sirius says, hastily, still glaring at
him.

“No, but it’s pretty much the same thing, isn’t it? Remus is one of James’ best friends, and
you go around telling everyone he’s your brother, anyway.” Regulus points out, hands on the
counter. “See, we…”

“Can you stop fighting?” James asks, back in the room. Regulus steps back, but he doesn’t
stop sending harsh looks towards Sirius.

“I’ll stop fighting him when you guys stop acting like you’re getting married tomorrow.”
Sirius replies, snatching his mug from the counter and getting out of the kitchen. Fuck them,
then. It’s too early to deal with it anyway.

Needless to say, things get resolved before lunch, thanks to Effie’s communication skills and
the fact that none of them are really in the mood to fight, though Regulus seems nervous.
He’s been moving more than usual, fidgeting with everything that ended up in his hands, and
he broke a glass while they were clearing the table. That set Sirius's mood off, because
Regulus had been so afraid of anyone snapping at him or pointing a wand at him for it, that
he flinched when Monty repaired the glass with a spell. Regulus's eyes were vacant for a
couple of hours after that, and Sirius was too on edge to say anything to James when he saw
him wrap one arm around Regulus's waist and murmur something to him as Regulus curled
his fingers around the laces of his hoodie.

Seeing them like that had made him miss Remus; so much that when he finally arrives,
around 5pm, he doesn’t even think before he is hugging him, arms around his shoulders and
face hidden in his neck, inhaling the sweet smell of him.

“Hey.” Remus says, holding him close.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” The kiss Remus presses on his temple is so brief and light that Sirius
thinks he has imagined it. Nevertheless, he wants it to happen again.

One of his favourite parts of the evening is when Frank Longbottom arrives, with his mother,
Alice, and Elias, who has been staying with Alice during the holidays. Regulus's face lights
up when he sees Elias, and rapidly enough they’re hugging, tickling each other, whispering
something in the corner of the room. James's face is also hilarious: his smile drops into a deep
frown, eyeing the way Elias's wrists rest on Regulus's shoulders and the way Regulus leans
into him to tell him something in a quiet voice that is lost in the middle of the general
greeting.

“Jealous, Potter?” Sirius inquires and pinches lightly at James's waist.

“No.” James lies, though he’s still frowning. “Why are they standing so close?” He turns to
Sirius, looking almost concerned. “Why are you not upset? Look at how close they’re
standing. If that was me, you’d be going insane. Why are you being so quiet about it? You
should tell them something. That’s not okay. They’re in each other’s personal space.”

“Oh my…James.” Remus chuckles, shakes his head. “You’re totally jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.” James snaps, folding his arms to his chest. “I’m concerned with…”

“Why would he be jealous?” Elias says, suddenly in front of them, with a flushed Regulus
glued to his side.

“Yeah, why would you be jealous, James?” Regulus prompts, cocking an eyebrow.
“Sod off.” James rolls his eyes, but Regulus seems pretty unfazed by it, exchanging a look
with Elias that Sirius can’t quite interpret.

1 January, 1977

The dinner is nice, and around midnight, the youth hides in the library with the firewhiskey
Alice and Frank sneaked in. Sirius doesn’t drink, because he doesn’t trust himself to not go
and spill his heart out to Remus in front of everyone or have a go at James for flirting with
Regulus yet again. Elias challenges Regulus to drink faster than him, and they end up being
the first to be plastered. When Regulus goes up to James and tugs at his tie with a smirk on
his face, Sirius does himself the favour of going outside for a smoke. Remus, who has been
quiet and has avoided drinking just like him, follows him outside.

“Did you see them?” Sirius asks, gloomly, passing the cigarette to Remus, who puts it
between his lips.

Smoke blows in the air, anticipating Remus's reply. “Yeah.”

They stay silent after that. Sirius observes the moon, almost full, and decides he’s done
waiting. “Let’s go to my room.” He says, firmly, and doesn’t wait for Remus's reply before
he’s already going back inside.

Once they’re alone in his room, courage almost leaves him. His knees go weak and the pit of
his stomach burns with agitation. But he’s done it, he called Remus aside without a reason.
There’s no backing up option. Time moves forward, Sirius wants to move with it. And in
order to do so, he needs to speak his truth.

“Something wrong?” Remus asks as he closes the door behind his back. He’s striking, the
most beautiful man Sirius has ever seen.

He’s obsessed with every little detail: the scars on his fingers, the uneven freckles on his
cheeks, the mole on the side of his lips, the sweet brown of his eyes, the way he’ll put on a
record when they’re alone and offer his hand, asking him to dance.

“Yes.” Sirius says, licking his lips. “Do you remember when you kissed James?”

“That was ages ago.” Remus frowns, head tilted to the side.

“Yes. And when I saw you kissing him, I ran away. Because I was jealous.”

He clenches his fists. Looking at Remus while he speaks is so hard. But he wants to spell it
out. He wants to be dramatic: who would Sirius Black be if he didn’t have the graveness of a
Greek tragedy? Oh, he’s not his mother’s child! Sophocles wrote him, perfected him in the
green grass of Elysium and then put him into his mother’s arms, watched his tragedy unravel,
from the day he started walking to the one he learnt to fly.
“I…” His eyebrows pinch together. “I adore everything you do.” His voice comes out
breathless. “I like seeing you at breakfast when you drink your tea with a book in your hand
no matter how much chaos there is around you, I like seeing you in the library with those
earthy jumpers of yours, and think that you fit in perfectly. You fit in this world of books,
fantasies, charms, magic, imagination; only imagination would be able to create someone as
beautiful as you are. I…I look at the night sky and there’s you and me, always together. The
star and the moon, the dog and the wolf. Like we were meant to be and our souls were sewn
together by Venus herself. Everything about you is magic, space and earth. Whenever I look
around, I see you. You’re a never ending thought in my head.” He swallows, squeezes his
eyes shut, braces for the impact. “You make me feel like a shooting star. Everything you do,
makes me fall more. I can’t take it anymore. I thought I could be patient, I thought I could
wait…I can’t do that anymore, Remus.” He finally looks up, studies the surprise on Remus's
face, the way his fist clench and unclench, the way he does when he’s itching to do
something. “I love you. I love you every day, even when you can’t love yourself. I’ll love you
for all the other people that don’t, just- please let me. Let me love you. I’ll do my best.”

Remus's eyes are wet, his mouth slightly parted, but his eyes are in the right place: fixated on
Sirius. “Yes.” He says, simply. “I’ll let you.”

Sirius lets himself breathe, allows the air into his lungs and his muscles to relax. “I feel be-”
He’s cut off by Remus's mouth on his. He melts into the way Remus cradles his face, closes
his eyes as his fingers find his chest and then his back. They part almost immediately, Remus
stares at him for a solid second, before kissing him again, pulling him close.

It’s better than Sirius expected it to be. Remus's lips are slightly chapped, but his mouth is hot
and welcoming, and there’s the faint taste of the chocolate cake Hope made on his tongue. He
trembles as he puts his hands on Remus's face, strokes his cheeks with his thumb, but he’s not
temptative, he doesn’t feel intimidated. He asks for more, because that’s what he always
does, and Remus seems happy to oblige, pushing him towards the bed until they both fall on
it.

“Eager.” Sirius murmurs, when he finds himself laying with his back against the mattress,
Remus straddling at his hips.

“You’ve got no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” Remus doesn’t give him time to
ask questions, he just kisses him again, sending shivers down his spine when his tongue runs
on the roof of his mouth and when he sucks at his lower lip.

“I love you too.” Remus says, once they part, leaving Sirius lightheaded. “I didn’t say it back
right away. But I love you.”

Sirius bites at his lip, not knowing exactly why tears prickle at his eyes. “Really?” He
whispers, caressing his cheek.

“Of course I do.” Remus kisses his forehead. “It’s hard not to.”

“Even after…” Sirius lets his words hang in the air.

“I forgave you. And I love you.” Remus kisses his lips this time. “Even at your worst.”
Sirius didn’t mean to let any tears slip, but they do anyway. “Thanks.” He says, before
wrapping his arms around Remus's shoulders to pull him to a hug. “Thank you, thank you,
thank you. I love you. Always and Forever. I promise.”

“Me too.” Remus holds him tight, presses a kiss on his jaw. “Me too.”

It’s past two in the morning when they get out of the room, giggling and holding pinkies.
Remus's lips are a bit swollen from all the kissing, and Sirius is positive it’s the same for him.
They come down to the living room, where they find Alice, Frank, Elias, Peter, James and
Regulus. Alice and Frank are squished together in an armchair, limbs tangled together and
eyes sleepy. Elias and Peter are playing a muggle game that consists of making words out of
seven letters you pick from a small bag of cloth. The board is full of words. Regulus is passed
out on James's shoulder, the both of them wrapped in the same red blanket. James doesn’t
seem to be aware that Sirius and Remus have entered the room, and he keeps playing with
Regulus's curls like it depends on his health.

Sirius clears his throat. “What are you doing to my little brother?” He inquires, careful to
keep his voice low. Regulus is grumpy when he wakes up, and he doesn’t want to deal with
that.

James doesn’t jump from the surprise, but he winces slightly. “Nothing.” He says, dropping
his hand on Regulus's shoulder.

Elias rolls his eyes and puts a couple of letters on the board. “I also want to do nothing the
way James does.” He says, nonchalantly. “With a pretty boy asleep on my shoulder, playing
with his bouncy curls...”

“You say that” Franks observers “but make no effort to get yourself a relationship.”

“Relationships are a hassle. All the responsibilities and everything, all the feelings and the
commitment…” He yawns. “I think I’ll leave that to you guys. I just said that I wanted
someone pretty to give my attention to.”

“The day he falls for somebody, I’ll laugh.” Alice says, as Sirius and Remus sit on the free
spot on the couch. “And then throw a party because the miracle happened.”

“As if that’s an option.” Elias rolls his eyes. “Miracles are contradictions.” He yawns,
covering his mouth with his hand. “If God is perfect, why would he need a miracle?
Technically speaking, one of the characteristics of God is immutability, so miracles just have
no business existing.”

Peter sighs. “I don’t think we can go on much longer.” He admits, looking at the board and
brushing his hair out of his face. “One of us has already given up.” He points at Regulus.
“And I’ve got no more words.”

“I admire his ability to sleep with music on and people chatting.” James says, his hand
moving back to Regulus's hair.
Sirius rolls his eyes. “We did it all the time at family weddings. We’d use two chairs, steal
pillows from a couch, and sleep there until we had to go. I lost my ability to do it.”

“That’s a lie, you’re absolutely able to fall asleep anywhere, if tired enough.” Peter replies,
then his eyes dart between Remus and James. “Remember all the times he fell asleep on his
breakfast? Face first into his beans.”

Sirius feels himself blush. “That happened to you and James too!” He protests. “It still
happens to James.”

“I have practice at 5am, you can’t blame me for being tired.” James flips him the bird.

“Well, Frank and I do too, so…” Elias shrugs. “I feel like falling asleep on the Scribbles
board right now.”

Peter promptly removes it from in front of him and starts putting it back in place, with a flick
of his wand. “We’re becoming old, being tired at two am during New Year’s.”

“You passed out at one am during my birthday.” Sirius reminds him. “You’re only up because
James stopped you from drinking too much.”

“I have to admit it’s really hard not to nap right now.” Alice says, her head now resting
against Frank’s chest.

“You’re in the perfect position to say that.” Elias replies, with a hint of envy in his voice.

“You’re too loud.” Regulus croaks out, snuggling closer to James.

“Look who’s up!” Elias says, cheerfully. “I thought you’d be asleep until sunrise.”

“That was the plan.” Regulus complains, clinging closer to James.

“You’re using James as a body pillow.” Sirius points out, hoping that will put some space
between them. Remus chuckles.

“Zip your lips.” Regulus replies, not moving an inch. “He’s very comfortable.”

Elias snorts, eyebrows wrinkling. His eyes meet Alice’s, and that’s enough for them to start
laughing. Sirius is not sure of how they all start laughing: he blames it on the fact that most of
them have really funny laughs. He’s happy, though. Happier than he’s been in a while: 1977
feels like a good year, even if it has barely just started.

3 January, 1977

Walburga’s hands had once been kind. It’s a thought Sirius struggles to process. In the same
way, the memory of Orion reading bedtime tales to him and Regulus feels like a fever dream.
A sickening feeling catches him and makes him dizzy when he remembers that he was, once,
cherished, wanted by his own parents.
Most people assume either of these two things: that Sirius had never gotten along with his
parents; that things got bad after he got sorted into Gryffindor. Both are incorrect. Sirius
remembers his mother actually smiling at him often until he was six or seven: he liked to
draw in the library, swinging his legs as he drew and coloured whatever animal he had
decided to be his favourite, and remembers the soft smile she would give him when he raised
his eyes from his paper. Now the memory hurts, makes him unbelievably mad.

Things started getting bad during a summer in Nice. Sirius and Regulus had thought it would
be such a good idea to sneak out of the Manor and try to make some friends. They had been
reading Little Women, which Uncle Alphrad gifted to them; that probably inspired their little
mission. They did make friends, some other muggle boys who were playing a card game.
Sirius doesn’t recall much of it, but he remembers when they got back to the Manor, giggling,
and found their parents mad. That was the first time Walburga had resorted to pointing her
wands at them. That was the day his mother started turning into a monster.

Her feelings about it were…well, a mess. Sirius remembers the horror he felt when she kept
crying and apologising. He remembers Orion getting her away from his sons, not to protect
them, but to protect her. With time, she stopped crying and started to assume she just had the
right to punish them for the littlest things.

When he was nine, and punishments just kept happening, he thought desperately that he
couldn’t wait until he was old enough to leave. While he is relieved to have left, he’s not
happy about it: Regulus is still there, and some parts of him misses the parents he once had.

There’s also the fact that he is, indeed, older now. The more he grows, the more she slips into
his features. He’s been damned to look like his mother, to possess the very same blue eyes,
the same mouth, the sharp cheekbones, even the hair is similar. That’s why growing it out
was a mistake: he looks like her.

He rolls the scissors in his hands, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He’ll cut it something
that has nothing to do with her. Something shaggy and uneven, that she would never get.
He’ll start training again, so that the slight curve of his waist looks less like hers. He’ll get
tattoos and piercings, he’ll dress like a muggle. Whatever it takes to be less like her, he will
do it.

“Sirius?” Regulus's voice calls. He turns, catching his brother peeking from the door. “Are
you alright?”

Sirius gives him a look that lasts slightly too long. “Can you cut my hair?”

Regulus raises his eyebrow, but he nods. “Can you cut mine?”

Sirius puts his war against Regulus and James aside. Cutting each other’s hair in an
artificially lighted bathroom at night brings him back to their childhood, and taking care of
each other when their parents weren’t there. He likes to listen to Regulus chat about his
newest book, Dracula by Bram Stoker, which was a gift from Pandora, as he watches his
image transfiguring in the mirror: he starts to look more like himself, and he can finally
recognise his face when Regulus is done shaving his sides. It’s shaggy, like Sirius wanted it
to be, but it’s not short, not for a boy, anyway. He loves it.
“How do I cut yours?” Sirius asks, before vanishing the cut hair with a flick of his wand.

“Really short on the side, but don’t shave it as high as yours, do it lower.” Regulus shows him
the height of it with his index. “And short on the top, too.”

“Jesus, Reg.” Sirius sighs, taking the scissors. “That’s a lot of hair. Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Regulus doesn’t go running in the morning. They get out of their rooms at the same time and
smile at each other and go down stairs, preparing for the reactions of the Potters. The three of
them are having breakfast in the kitchen. Effie and Monty are sitting close, looking at the
Daily Prophet. Monty has coffee fuming in a mug and Effie is eating toast with marmalade.
James has his back turned towards them, looking for his favourite cup in the cupboard.

“Good morning!” Sirius says, cheerfully.

“Good morning, darling.” Effie says, raising her eyes with a spontaneous smile. Her attention
goes back to the newspaper, before she looks up again with wide eyes. “Oh, goodness. You
both look very handsome, though.”

Monty hums in agreement. “Let me see more closely.”

“What are you-” James turns, a cup in his hands -not his favourite-, which he drops to the
ground as his eyes lay on Regulus. A soft "Oh" leaves his lips and he tries to look elsewhere,
but fails. His hands curled into fists, then he lets go and looks at the shattered cup, then up at
Regulus again, and this time he seems a bit incredulous.

He’s open about his emotions. Remus had said. He’s not as open about his experiences. If
Sirius didn’t agree before, he does now, because James looks absolutely gobsmacked and
enamoured, at the same time.

“Sorry!” He says, loudly, once he regains the use of his tongue. He pats his pyjama bottoms,
looking for his wand. “Shit, uh, no, bugger…” He lets out a nervous laughter. “I forgot it in
my room.”

Effie gives him an understanding smile and waves her own, casting a silent repairing charm
on the broken cup. “Here you go, dear.”

“I got that James liked your haircut, Regulus.” Monty observes, with a little smirk, as he eyes
Regulus from behind his glasses.

“Dad!” James sounds scandalised, as he carefully pours chai in his cup.

Regulus giggles, though, coming closer to James just to grab his own cup. He messes James's
hair a little, making him slightly more nervous (Sirius can tell by how tightly he holds the
damned mug). “I like his haircut, too.” He says, turning towards Monty with a sincere smile.
Sirius wants to oppose this so much. But in the end, if they give him enough time, maybe he
can learn to accept it or even appreciate it. If they’re happy, if there’s the possibility of them
staying happy, then he’ll trust this. Though there’s still a lot to be said, and a lot to discuss,
Sirius avoids it at the moment. Instead, he sits at the dining table with the rest of his family.

Maybe he likes tragedies, and maybe he thought he was one, too. It’s hard to think so badly
of his life when he has almost all of his loved ones this close.

Let me have this, he thinks, praying to whatever entity might be above them, or even to the
stars themselves, let me have this forever.
 A birthday & A study group
Chapter Notes

content warning: discussion of body types and negative feelings, mentions of illness in
an old person, recreative drug use.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

23/12/1976, Potter’s Manor

Dear diary,

James’s house is much bigger than Grimmauld Place, and much brighter and warmer. The
first floor has only two rooms, one is basically a dining room, but James told me they host
Order meetings in there sometimes. The other room is the room where they keep family
heirlooms and very old portraits. The second floor is the one they use most of the time: it has
almost all of the bedrooms, two bathrooms, the kitchen, another dining room and the living
room. Upstairs, there’s two offices and a room for potion making, plus a couple of potion
equipment cupboards and a bathroom. It’s a very big house, it makes me wonder whether
James’ parents ever feel lonely living here by themselves. I hope they have someone who
visits often while James and Sirius are away.

Muggle music is amazing. I spent the afternoon helping Sirius rearrange his room, and we
put Bowie on. His favourite from the album we picked (The rise and fall of Ziggy Star ndust
and the spiders from Mars) is Lady Stardust; I can definitely see why, but my favourite is
Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide. I love the lyrics, and the way he sang actually brought tears to my
eyes, and I had to swallow it down. It was a little embarrassing, truth be told. I already know
I’ll miss music once I’m back at Hogwarts. James said I’d love The Who, so I can’t wait to
give them a listen.

In the morning I helped the Potters with the Christmas decorations; James explained to me
that it’s a tradition to decorate with Mango leaves, as they’re sacred. We also put a little
lantern on the roof, and James had a mistletoe hidden in his pocket, so we just had to kiss,
obviously. I’m not complaining. Some of his relatives have called through floo network. He
didn’t say it, but he seemed to miss his cousins very much. At times like this, it is unsafe for
them to travel. Euphemia told him they might visit during the summer, and I hope they do, if it
makes James happy.

Pandora’s Grandma got really sick with dragon pox. She sounded very sad in her letter. They
had to go to Norway, and won’t be back until the start of school; she said her mum might
need to stay in Norway, because of paperworks and her Grandfather. I can’t imagine how
tiring it is, I really hope everything works out well.
Until Next time,

R.A.B.

26/12/1976, Potter’s Manor

Dear diary,

I reluctantly admit that I tend to be a bit of an idiot sometimes. I’ve given him the letter, with
all the “oh there’s things I can’t say yet” bollocks, and then I went and told him I love him.
Which I do, to be clear. But isn’t it too soon to say it? I mean, it has been two months and
like…ten days? Yeah. Not that I’ve counted them. So anyway. We snogged on the piano. The
proximity is not helping, really, we’re only getting bolder. I think he has a thing for my legs?
His hands always end up there. Not that I’m complaining.

I think Sirius will start suspecting something soon. Sometimes he squints at me like he’s
trying to make me spill all my secrets on the spot. It’s not working, but it makes me want to
remind him he has his own business to deal with. I appreciate him being so concerned about
me since he wasn’t for a long time, but there’s two issues:

I think this is more about James than it is about me, which is not a very nice feeling;

He might be using us to distract himself from the fact that he doesn’t have the balls to
tell Lupin how he feels. Kind of pathetic if you think about it.

So there’s that.

James’ parents are so nice. I can’t quite figure out his father yet, but his mother is amazing,
like truly amazing. I was afraid to approach her at first, but it sort of melted away. I thought
I’d be bothered by pet names, but I’ve found out I don’t mind them, as long as they’re not
used against me. You think I would have realised this sooner, since James is always throwing
terms of endearment left and right, but I was oblivious.

I love James’s cat. She’s my new reason to live and she loves me. She follows me in every
room and lets me cuddle her a lot. I want ten cats when I get out of Grimmauld Place, I’ve
already told James. He didn’t seem to mind. I thought he was a dog person but he’s really
fond of cats. - The man of my dreams, umh?

That’s my cue to go to sleep.

Until next time,

R.A.B.
30/12/1976, Potter’s Manor

Dear Diary,

Euphemia and Fleamont are back from the mission. They were supposed to come back on the
29th, so James was pissed. I’ve never seen him like that. He asked his parents if they could
talk and had a go at them for not keeping in touch. I think he cried: his eyes were red when
he came into my room, and he sounded very tired. He fell asleep very soon after.

I stayed awake. I think I may have idealised James’s relationship with his parents. Now, don’t
get me wrong, they love each other very much and it’s very obvious, but there’s an unspoken
issue or something like that. James is clearly terrified of the thought of losing them, which
makes me question if something serious happened in the past, but it’s not just that. In these
months, I have had the pleasure of being close to James on many occasions, and he’s quite
insecure. I think someone pointed it out before, or he realised soon, because he’s very good at
hiding it or distracting people from it. I never thought someone else’s pain could hurt, but
James’s pain is an aching wound in my chest. He should love himself the way he loves others,
but I believe that doesn’t come as easily as it seems. It’ll come with time, but I’ll try to remind
him how much he deserves through the journey.

Things that help Jamie when he’s feeling bad:

Physical contact: hugs, hand holding, forehead kisses, being held in general;

Terms of endearment (he likes “love” and “darling” best);

Hot drinks and soft blankets;

Music;

Company (he just wants you to be around, where he can see you);

That’s everything I’ve noticed to help him. He doesn’t want to be offered solutions, he just
wants to feel bad until he doesn’t. It’s important to acknowledge that he’s feeling bad before
he does; if you don’t make it known, he will pretend nothing's happening, which leads to
outbursts or very deep silences.

On another note, it’s quite hard to study the Prophet’s pieces of information here. Sirius
watches me too closely, and I don’t have the base information I usually get from Mulciber or
Nott, so there’s that. I think I’ll just go back to studying at Hogwarts, see if I can figure out if
they have changed their strategy. I’m pretty sure a law is being proposed against aborting
potions. I haven’t heard much, but I am worried. I’ll see if I manage to snatch more
information when I get back.
Until next time,

R.A.B.

05/01/1976, Potter’s Manor

Dear diary,

Sirius seems to have found some peace of mind. I’m guessing that he snogged Lupin, but
confirmation hasn’t reached me yet. Two days until we’re back at Hogwarts. Part of me wants
to stay here longer. Is it weird that I’ll miss Euphemia and Fleamont? They’re lovely people,
and I felt very welcomed. I don’t know when I'll see them again and it’s a bit unsettling.
Euphemia even taught me some basics of cooking, which I found to be very relaxing. I don’t
think I’ll want a house elf for myself when I grow up. If I leave Grimmauld Place, I’ll
obviously try to get Kreacher out, but I think I’ll just have him resting, the poor thing
deserves peace and quiet and whatever he wants. I want to experiment with cooking, though,
it seems fun. Euphemia told me James can cook a little, but he needs someone to keep him
company, otherwise he risks burning the whole thing because he gets distracted. I may have
blurted out that I thought it was cute. Yeah. That’s how bad things are getting.

I’m happy to go back to Hogwarts, though; I miss Pandora and I’m really worried about her.
Barty has been awfully quiet and reserved through his letters, except for the two days he
spent with Dorcas, so I’m worried about him too. Evan has sent letters, but I haven’t replied.
I can’t figure out how to make things work with him or if I want things to work with him. I
love him, but I don’t think it’s okay to love someone with such a conflicting point of view. He
sounded sorry in his letters though, so I’ll try to speak to him again once I’m back. I don’t
think letters help this kind of conversation.

I’m glad that I spent time here because it has allowed me to know James better. For example,
he never told me that he suffers from really strong headaches. This morning, he slept in late,
and I was a little worried because he usually wakes up really early, so I asked Euphemia if
she knew if he was alright, and she told me he would be in a couple of hours, and he needed
rest. He told me the details later, and explained to me what to do if we were alone through
this (under my request).

Sleeping with him (in a larger bed) is also a lovely experience, though I would have never
guessed it. I’m jealous of my space so I thought sharing the bed would be uncomfortable. We
never woke up in the same position we fell asleep in, but we’re usually still very close when
we wake up. There have been some…incidents of biological nature which have embarrassed
both of us, but we laughed about it. I felt strangely comfortable with him despite the
embarrassment.

I think we also learnt to appreciate spending time together without necessarily speaking.
Sometimes we simply read together or study (Sirius joins in, but complains about us being
swots as if I don’t have O.W.L.s to worry about). It’s really nice, I like to sneak glances at him
when he’s working: he’s incredibly beautiful, I hope he knows. I still can’t say it, for some
reason, but I also can’t wait to tell him. He left me a note between the pages of Dracula which
said that I’m really pretty and he likes the way I annotate books, which had me hiding my
face in a pillow because I got so red.

That’s enough sharing for tonight,

Until next time,

R.A.B.

7 January, 1977

Is it weird to miss someone you just greeted goodbye two hours ago? The question bounces
left and right in his brain. He feels like sneaking out with James in an empty carriage and
snog him silly: mess his hair, bite his lips, leave red marks on his neck, slip his hands in his
shirt and hear the sigh James will let out at the feeling of Regulus’ cold hands on his hips.

“Completely gone.” Barty says, arms folded, as he looks at him.

Regulus rolls his eyes at him. The carriage they picked is one of the very last. Pandora, who
looked pale since the moment she arrived at the station, is sleeping, curled on the seat with
her head resting on her bag. She fell asleep almost immediately. Dorcas and Barty had then
joined them, or well, joined Regulus, who has been reading since Pandora fell asleep. Their
reaction to his new haircut was pretty comical: Barty’s jaw fell open, then he gave him a
better look and nodded; Dorcas liked it right away, affirming that “It made him look ever
meaner”, whatever that means.

“What the hell happened to you during Christmas?” Dorcas asks, with a sly smile. “You look
dreamy, like you’re having interesting thoughts.”

Regulus straightens up. “Nothing happened during Christmas,” he says. “And I don’t look
dreamy.”

“Oh, you do.” Dorcas leans forward, still smiling. “Spill it, Black.”

The door of the carriage slides open to reveal James in his uniform. Comical, honestly. An
answer from the universe. “Hi. Uh…you forgot something.” He tells Regulus, then he pats
his pockets. His eyebrows are pinched together. “Er…I left it in the carriage.”

Regulus looks at him for a second more, before he gets up. “I’ll come get it with you, then.”
He says, before he turns to Barty and Dorcas. “Watch over Pandora, please? She needs rest.”

“Sure.” Dorcas winks at him.

Regulus feels himself blushing, so he turns again and gets out of the carriage with James.
James takes his hand, lacing their fingers together, and they enter the first free carriage.

“Obfuscate.” Regulus says, pointing at the glass on the sliding door. “Mind telling me what I
forgot?” He asks, with a cocky smile, crowding James to the window of the carriage.
James smiles at him, index finger hooking to his belt hoops. “To kiss me goodbye,” he says,
lips curled in a cocky smile.

“Well, if we're here, it's not a goodbye kiss.” Regulus says, hands on James’ chest and a
smirk on his lips.

James presses closer, eyes fixated on Regulus’ eyes at first and dropping to Regulus’ lips the
very next second. “You know what I mean, Reg.”

“Say please?” He teases, as he slides James’ glasses out of his face and sets them on his shirt,
so they won’t be in the way while they kiss. James looks good with glasses, but even better
without, when Regulus can see his pretty lashes, clearly make out the colour of his eyes and
the sharp line of the scar on his cheek, a piece of which is usually hidden by the frame of the
glasses.

James rolls his eyes, but a smile tugs at his lips. “Can I kiss you, please?” He asks then, arms
placed around Regulus’s shoulders. He must have noticed Regulus likes that.

“Wrong question, James.” Regulus’s lips ghost James’s throat as his hands move from
James’s chest to his hips.

“Wrong answer, Regulus.” James replies, hand curling delicately on Regulus’s nape.

"Ask me again," Regulus prompts, kissing James’s jaw.

"Can you kiss me?” James asks, then, and well, that’s exactly the question Regulus wanted,
so he kisses his way to James’s mouth, finding him eager.

Nethertheless, the kiss is slow. James always likes to start slow, then he starts to nip at
Regulus’ lower lip, like he’s doing now, just to make him sigh. It’s blissful and it has
Regulus’s hands working on untucking James’s shirt and sliding his hands under it, bringing
him closer. When they part to breathe, Regulus refuses to stay put, going back to kissing the
line of James’s jaw and his neck as he lets his hands run on James’ back. James lets out a
quiet sound, hands squeezing Regulus’ shoulder.

“Reg.” He says, urgently, hands now finding his face. “Back here.”

Regulus doesn’t need to be told twice: he meets James’ lips again, pressing closer and
struggling to hold back a groan when James’s hand slides in his hair. Regulus could go crazy
with the way their whole bodies let go of the tension they had been holding, leaning against
each other, chest to chest, mouth to mouth. James’ hands give up on his hair and slide to his
lower back while Regulus presses his fingers around James’ ribs, like he’s playing piano on
James’s bones and skin, creating symphonies with the sighs and the whines that come out of
his mouth.

It’s only when James moans into his mouth, his thigh sliding between Regulus’s, that Regulus
remembers where they are. “We’re on the train.” He reminds James, stepping back, though
displeased.
His mouth goes dry when he sees how messed up James looks, with red lips and red cheeks,
his shirt half undone and his chest heaving. “Yeah. I forgot.” James says, swallowing. He
looks at Regulus up and down, like he’s the only element in the room. “It’s a little hard to be
aware of my surroundings when you’re all over me.”

Regulus nods, understanding: he feels the same way, after all. “You should go back to your
carriage.” He steps back into James’ space, fixes his shirt and his tie.

“I want to kiss you more.” James whines, wrapping his arms around his waist. “When can we
meet?”

“Not sure.” Regulus presses a kiss to James’ cheek, holding him tight. “I don’t think I can
make it tonight, I’ve got to talk to Evan.”

“Ugh.” James drops his forehead to Regulus’ shoulder. “Alright.” He steps back, just to
cradle Regulus’s face into his warm hands and press a sweet kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

Regulus grins bringing him closer for another kiss. “I love you, too.”

Evan jumps on his feet as soon as Regulus and Barty enter their room. Barty is still giving
Regulus questioning looks about whatever happened on the train, and even asked again:
“what the hell did you forget, Reg? You were away for thirty bloody minutes, for Heaven’s
sake”.

“I’m sorry,” Evan says, loudly. He walks up to Regulus, getting closer, but not touching him.
“I’m so sorry, Reg, I’m serious, please forgive me.” He joins his hand in a praying motion.
He licks his lips, then tilts his head to the side. “What happened to your hair?” He whispers.

Barty rolls his eyes and goes to put his truck in its place. “Do you want an alone moment?”

“No.” Evan’s eyes dart between the two of them, fingers gripping at the hem of his hoodie.
“Can we please talk? All the three of us? I’m sick of us not being friends. I want to go back
to how things were before.”

Regulus exchanges a quick glance with Barty. “Alright.”

So they sit on Regulus’ bed: Evan on one of the edges, Barty on the other, with his legs laid
in front of him and his arms folded.

“So…speak?” Barty asks, looking at Evan. “I don’t even know why you two had a go at each
other.”

Evan nods gingerly. “I figured that Regulus was gay, so I talked to him, and it turns out that
I’m not as supportive as I thought I was being,” he says, with a slight frown. “Though I’m
not really sure why.”

“You think we should get married because we’re purebloods.” Regulus reminds him, crossing
his arms.
“About that, I…” Evan runs his hand through his hair, clearly stressed. “I don’t wish to turn
this into another fight, but I don’t get why you’re suddenly against your family, Reg.”

“Maybe it’s because they’re dicks,” Barty proposes. “Do you seriously think muggleborns
have less magic than us?” Evan opens his mouth, but Barty lifts his hand up. “Just in our
year, there’s Greco and Silva, and some other muggleborns that are really good at what they
do. I have spent years competing with Greco to be the best in our year, and he’s still better
than me in some subjects. I don’t see why his magic would be less than mine.”

“But why would our parents lie to us?” Evan looks between them, conflicted. “My parents
love me. They would never lie to me about something so important. And…and the others,
too; they believe those things, it makes no sense that they would believe such a lie, right? I
mean, they must be inferior to us in some way, if people have these beliefs-”

“Oh, Evan.” Regulus sighs and stands straighter. “Our parents were brought up with these
same ideals, they didn’t want to lie to you. They simply think they’re right. But we have the
sources to do better than them, and that’s what we should focus on doing. Our parents grew
up when purism was spreading around like plagues, there was propaganda everywhere, and
muggleborns weren’t even allowed in some schools. But magic isn’t something that can
simply die from the world; it’s in everything and even if we don’t procreate ourselves, it’ll
keep happening. Hunting down muggleborns just slows down the process. Anyone who has
read about theoretical magic would know this.”

Evan frowns. “Well, I’m sure Severus read theoretical magic-”

“And he’s a dickhead.” Barty rolls his eyes. “He takes what he needs from magic, it’s not like
he seriously cares about the theory behind it, the origins. If he did, he would know that the
biggest works of theoretical magic and potion making actually comes from wizards and
witches we know to be muggleborns, like Giordano Bruno and Marsilio Ficino.” Regulus
gives him an impressed look. “What? I’ve done some reading, alright? I promised you I
would do better.”

Regulus beams at him. “Great! You can lend that book to Evan now!”

“I have to do readings?” Evan sighs, apparently devastated at the idea. “Fine, I’ll do the
readings. I have some other questions.”

“Go ahead then.” Barty nods, bringing his knees to his chest.

“How do you only fancy blokes?” Evan bites his lip. “Like, I get it, some of them are fit, but
you can choose to like girls, right? So you’re just choosing to like blokes, and it’s kind of-”

“Hold on.” Regulus stops him, leaning forward. “Choose? Do you choose to like girls?”

“Yes, obviously.” Evan rolls his eyes. “You don’t think you’re special because you like
blokes, do you? Everyone likes both, they just choose the opposite sex. People are straight
because they want kids and they pick the opposite gender, obviously.”
The funniest part, really, is that Evan says this with confidence. “Oh, Evan.” Barty giggles, a
hand hiding his mouth. “Oh, this is fucking precious. I can’t believe it.”

“Barty, don’t laugh, it’s insensitive.” Regulus scolds him and slaps his calf. “Evan, there is no
easy way to say this. You’re bisexual. Or something along the lines.”

“I’m confused.” Evan’s eyebrows go up, and he slaps Barty’s arm lightly, to get him to stop
laughing. “I thought everyone fancied both. Like, c’mon, we all have eyes.”

“Oh, Evan, who have you been looking at? You have a girlfriend, mate.” Barty giggles,
leaning into Evan’s space. “Was Reggie also your queer awakening? He was sure as hell
mine.”

Regulus glares at him. “It’s not funny, Ba…Evan, are you blushing? Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Evan shrugs. “It’s not my fault you look good!” He says, folding his arms to his chest. “Fuck,
I don’t get how people can only fancy one gender.”

“I don’t get how you like tits,” Barty retorts. “They give me anxiety.”

“Tits give you anxiety?” Regulus asks, blinking. “I’m neutral to tits.”

“How are you neutral to tits?” Evan throws his arms in the air, looking baffled. “Women are a
work of art.”

Barty shrugs. “But blokes, mate. Blokes with sturdy muscles.”

“How was Regulus your queer awakening if you like sturdy muscles?”

“I’m sorry, did you just insult my muscles?” Regulus asks, glaring at Evan. “You’ll see. I’ll
get super fit. At least I can do sports.”

“You’re not the only queer guy who knows how to ride a broom.” Barty reminds him, rolling
his eyes. Evan and Regulus stare at him, astounded. “Why are you looking at me like that?
Oh- fuck, oh fuck, sorry, I…” He starts laughing, like he can’t help it. “I didn’t mean it in a
sexual way at all, I just meant that Quidditch is full of queer dudes.”

“Then maybe you should join the team.” Regulus suggests, waving his hand in the air.

“You know what? Maybe next year.” Barty gets up from the bed and stretches. “Can we go to
dinner? I’m bloody starving.”

10 January, 1977

Dorcas came out as a proud lesbian in March of last year. Regulus learned from Vivienne that
her family already knew and was supportive of their daughter.
As for Vivienne and Leonie both, they didn’t care much. Vivienne went so far to say, “I think
girls are attractive too, sometimes.”

Acceptance didn’t come easily from everyone, though the teachers had been particularly
attentive, asking the prefects to be more careful in the hallways to prevent the worst from
happening. Dorcas had been able to stand her ground, though, and became very popular in
the span of two months.

It had been a huge thing for pretty much everyone at school, but she inspired a lot of people
to come out—Veronica being one of them.

At the time, Regulus was still struggling to admit he fancied other boys, and his affair with
Barty had already started: kisses hidden behind the curtains of his bed and no conversation of
whatsoever about their identity, aside from the initial “I’m not queer,”despite the truth being
under their noses, in the kisses they had shared.

Talking to Dorcas was something he looked forward to doing as soon as he realised that
being queer was going to be a part of his life forever. But he never gained the courage to
approach her, and most times she was surrounded by other people— as a way to keep her
safe.

Thus, until Marlene asked him about Dorcas, Regulus didn’t try to talk to her. And even after
that, she had bonded much more with Barty than she did with him, which was fair. He wasn’t
mad about it; he got along very well with Dorcas, they simply never had the occasion to form
an actual friendship yet.

The desire to know her is part of the reason why he decides to include her in his plan to get
Elias and Barty to know each other. Therefore, after they come out of charms, he falls into
step with her.

“Hello!” She says, cheerfully. “Had a nice time with those locomotion charms, didn’t you?”

“Oh, a bloody good one.” He had accidentally slammed the damn book against the wall, too
wide wand work, he figured. At least he managed to get a laugh out of Pandora, which was
nice, and had him getting the spell wrong on purpose another couple of times, to make her
smile more. “You got it good right away.”

“It’s basically a more controlled Wingardium Leviosa.” She explains, closing her bag. “Barty
told me you spent Christmas at James’s.”

“Yeah. It was really nice.” His mind trails back to the morning they made pancakes with
Euphemia, who had allowed him to try flipping. He managed to flip the pancake, and earned
a very spontaneous hug from James. “Did you have a nice Christmas?”

“I had an awesome time. My brother got drafted to play with the Cannons!” Dorcas beams at
him and a dimple forms on her cheek. He never noticed it before. “I can’t wait to go see him,
we’re getting free tickets!”
Regulus’s eyes go wide. “That’s brilliant!” He says, sharing an excited grin with her. “What
position does he play?”

“He’s a beater. He has been training me, so I can try out for the team next year.” She winks at
him. “I’m trying to get Barty to try with me, I reckon we’d be unstoppable as beaters. Plus,
it’s Mars’s last year, so I want to give her memorable quidditch matches.”

“It’d be so nice if you and Barty took Mulciber’s place. He’s fucking nasty, I’m always on
edge, I’m scared he’s going to hit muggleborn on purpose.” It happened a few times already
and Regulus doesn’t believe for a second it was an accident. “Speaking of Barty…”

“Oh, joy, you’ve discovered your mischievous side. Did Potter snog you to pass it on to you,
or was it passing too much time with your brother? Oh, you’re blushing, must be the first one
then.” She smirks, putting her arm around his shoulders. “Say, was it nice? Did his glasses
dig into your cheek?”

“Oh, shut it, Meadowes.” He says, covering his face with his hand. “I’m not here to chinwag,
I’m here to play Cupid.”

“Play Cupid?” Pandora asks, appearing on his side. She’s got purple marks under her eyes
and her hair is tied up in a bun, which she never does. “What are you planning, you crazy
thing?”

Regulus grins at her. “The couple of century, that’s what I’m planning, Dora. We need Evan.”

The plan is rapidly created on the stairs. They whisper to each other and Barty doesn’t
suspect a thing, too busy discussing something with Cory Silva, the ravenclaw prefect, who
looks absolutely astounded by the fact Barty is actually having a conversation with him.
Elias, on the other hand, is fighting Jules about something, so he’s also distracted.

So when Barty and Elias end up in class, with only one desk free, there’s a minute of silence
in the classroom. The two of them glare at each other, dropping their bags on the floor at the
same time. Professor Khelben eyes them curiously, and Regulus thinks he sees a smirk
forming on his lips for a second.

“Take your seats, gentlemen.” He says, before he turns and writes Lacarnum inflamari on the
blackboard.

Barty scowls, but he sits; Elias glares at Regulus, who shrugs at him, before he takes a seat as
well. It sort of reminds Regulus of that time, during second year, when professor McGonagall
had forced them to sit together. Elias traces a glowing red light between each other with his
wand, just like Barty had done three years prior. They even sit at the very edges of the desk,
arms folded. Regulus can perfectly picture the pout of Barty’s lips and the frown that creases
Elias’ eyebrows, his mouth curled down.

“Now, before we start with that lovely spell you see on the blackboard, I’d like to say a few
things.” The professor says, leaning on his desk. He always wears the same simple
blackrobes, but he looks lighter, like the holidays served him good.
After the conflict that arose at the beginning of the year, they’d actually taken a liking to the
professor, who had resolved his issues with the dressing code after talking to them. Even
Elias had grown to appreciate him.

“You’re a very skilled class, and since your year was not lucky number wise, you have the
opportunity to bond despite your house. It’s important to learn from each other, and I’m
happy to see that some of you have actually picked different deskmates, as we are going to
work in pairs for the term. Now, duelling is surely not in the fifth year’s ministry program,
but I find that it’s a skill that takes time to develop, so we’ll dedicate one hour a week to
that.” Regulus and Dorcas smile at each other, already excited for the prospect. “Your desk
mate will be your partner, and I won’t be changing that.” He eyes Barty and Elias, who must
look quite horrified. “Let’s start with the lesson, shall we?”

“Why would you do that to me?” Barty asks them, with a whiny voice, as soon as they sit at
lunch. The three of them -Dorcas, Evan and Regulus- shrug. “Thanks for the exhaustive
answer. Be like that during O.W.L.s, see where that takes you.”

“Oh, he’s starting with the subtle threats.” Dorcas laughs, bumping shoulders with him.
“Elias can’t be that bad, Regulus likes him.”

“Yeah, you say that, because you’ve never been hexed by him, me on the other hand…” He
serves some eggs on his plate.

“You gave him a fair amount of good reasons to hex you,” Regulus says. “If you tried to
apologise and maybe get to know him…”

“And then maybe also get along with my father, since we’re talking about miracles.” Barty
retorts, rolling his eyes. “We’ll never get along, surrender to the truth.”

“We’ll see.” Dorcas says as she shares a look with Regulus. “I bet my arse you’ll get a big fat
crush on him.”

Evan snorts, then bites his lip to avoid a laugh when Barty glares at him. “Sorry, mate, it
would just be such a cliché.”

“I hate you all.” Barty sputters, pinching his food.

“We need a studying group,” Regulus says to change the subject. “It’s better to work in
groups, for the O.W.Ls. James and Sirius said so, and they aced theirs, so.”

Barty pouts at him. “ We don’t need a study group.” He squints at Regulus. “Why is he James
now?”

“Maybe you don’t need a study group.” Evan mumbles, piercing his pasta with his lips curled
down. “I’ll fail Ancient Runes at this rate. My translations never make sense.”

“We could ask the ravenclaws, and maybe Elias and Juliet.” Dorcas proposes.
Regulus nods. “Elias is the best at Ancient Runes, if he agrees, maybe you’ll pass it,” He tells
Evan.

“We don’t need him, you’re good at Ancient Runes too.” Barty says, rolling his eyes. “I don’t
see why you want to include him so much, he’s a pain in the arse.”

“Because he’s one of the best in our year, and he’s funny, two birds with a stone.” Evan nods
to what Dorcas just said. “He’s also good-looking, maybe you can bless your eyes.”

“Fuck off.” Barty replies, immediately. “You know nothing about male beauty.”

“That’s homophobic.” Dorcas replies, bumping shoulders with him again.

“Not to take anyone’s parts, but he’s objectively good looking.” Evan says, twirling his hand
in the air.

“Who?” Vivienne asks, as she and Leonie drop at the table, in front of each other. Leonie
kisses Evan on the cheek.

“Greco.” Barty replies, rolling his eyes.

“He’s good looking.” Vivienne confirms. “I would make a move on him, if he wasn’t gay.”

“You all have terrible taste in men and I despise you.” Barty says, before stuffing his mouth
with eggs.

After Ancient Runes, Regulus and Pandora stop to talk with Elias and Jules about the study
group. Jules smiles at Pandora with the shadow of embarrassment pricking at her face; Elias,
instead, looks suspicious.

“So we sort of formed this study group and we wanted you in it…” Regulus starts, making
eye contact with Elias, who raises his eyebrow at him. “With Evan, Barty…”

“With Crouch?” Elias asks, looking stunned. “Sorry, but you’re smarter than this. It would
never work, we’d fight all the time.”

“And believe me, Elias gets mean when he’s pissed, and he starts speaking italian.” Jules
adds, crossing her arms. “Saying cuss words left and right.”

“Please.” Regulus asks, joining his hands together. “I can’t do this without you. I’ve seen you
tutoring younger kids in your house, you could definitely handle a bit of Barty. He’ll be on
his best behaviour, I promise.”

“If he bothers you, he’ll just leave the study group.” Pandora proposes. “He didn’t even want
to be in it at first, it won’t be that much of a loss.”

“Eh, I don’t know, he’s better at transfiguration and potions than Elias.” Jules says, after a
second of reflecting.
Elias rolls his eyes. “Shut it, Jules. No one asked for humbling facts about me.” He mutters.
“Look, I don’t know. Where will we study, anyway?”

“Library, or someone’s dorms. Even outside, when it gets hotter.” Pandora shrugs. “We can
arrange something, I’m sure.”

“So? Are you in?” Regulus asks, hopeful.

Elias sighs, then he nods. “Yes, fine.”

“His dorm is available to study.” Jules adds. “It’s just him anyway, and Gryffindors are more
friendly than Slytherins, so your dorm is unavailable.” She says, pointing at Regulus with her
chin.

“Great!” Regulus and Pandora smile at each other.

“Solo pe’ te, Stellina.” Elias says, as they get out of the classroom. “Who’s in, anyway?”

“Well, Barty and Evan, obviously. Dorcas too, and I think Vivienne and Leonie might drop
by sometimes. And Cory Silva, from Ravenclaw.” Elias nods, looking slightly more
interested. “I tried to ask Shinji, but he said the Hufflepuffs are doing it on their own, with the
remaining Ravenclaws.”

“Pity.” Elias sighs. “I think he’s straight. Shinji, I mean. Just really supportive. I heard his
older brother is gay, so…yeah, I guess it makes sense.”

Regulus claps his hand on his back. “Cheer up. There’s a lot of opportunities, you know.”

Elias rolls his eyes. “Since we’re talking about it.” He throws his arm around Regulus’s
shoulders. “You and James looked really close during New Years.”

“Woah, did we?” Regulus asks, nervously, feeling his cheeks grow hot. “I don’t
remember…”

“No, no, you were both plastered. You did almost snog in front of everyone, though. I had to
break you two apart, since there were other people around, and I had to give James a whole
speech while Peter talked you into staying still on your chair and listening to the Beach Boys,
which you really liked,” Elias says, amused. “You’re totally dating James Potter, aren’t
you?”

“No.” Regulus pushes slightly at his chest and Elias’s arm slips away from his shoulder. “I’m
just attracted to him.”

“Oh, sure. That infatuation of yours, of course. No feelings at all,” Elias says, casually.

“Now, I didn’t say that…” Regulus corrects, watching the way Jules is blushing at something
Pandora said. “Oh, Merlin’s bollocks.” He drags Elias a bit lower. The bastard grew taller
since the start of the school. “Does she fancy Pandora?”

“Yeah.” Elias whispers back. “I told her it’s a lost cause.”

“Fuck.” Regulus says, letting go of Elias’ shirt. “Pandora must have not realised yet.”

“What a way you have to get yourself out of conversation.” Elias rolls his eyes. “We’ll talk
more about it, I’m going to bring Jules back before she does something stupid.”

They catch up with Pandora and Jules, who Elias drags away with an excuse.

With a joint hidden in his left sleeve and Pandora tugging at his arm, they sneak into the
Astronomy Tower, which they know to be empty: Pandora asked Frank and Alice if she could
check the school’s timetable. They sit on the floor with a portable ashtray between them.
Pandora lights the joint with her wand, her blue eyes lost in the sky above them.

“I know she’s going to die.” She says, quietly, after the first drag, as she passes him the joint.
“She’s old, wrinkled and so ill, Regulus, you have no idea, she’s just…so ready to go. I didn’t
even know what to say to her when I visited. I just kept thinking ‘Why are you leaving?
Where are you going? You used to look so young’. So I told her about Xeno; I knew she’d be
happy to know I have a nice boyfriend who treats me well and makes me happy. She was
disappointed when I told her he’s not a brunette. Fucking weird, right? You’re bloody dying,
and you have the cheek to tell me you’re disappointed because my boyfriend is a blonde.”
She rants, as Regulus blows smoke in the air. “She was probably joking, you know, but in the
moment, it rubbed me off the wrong way, because it was the only time I could visit and I
wanted her to say something nice to remember. I don’t think she’ll be…you know, alive this
summer. And of course I can visit on the weekends, but my mum doesn’t fancy the idea very
much, worried I'll get sick and all. ”

“I’d be upset, too,” Regulus says, hoping to sound sympathetic. He watches her as her lips
curl around the spliff.

“No, you wouldn’t.” Pandora says, very seriously, grinding lightly the joint in the ashtray.
“Your boyfriend has very dark hair.”

Regulus frowns at her, because it’s a weird thing to say, and in fact, Pandora bursts into tears
after that. He moves the ashtray and shifts closer, embracing her with one arm.

“I’m on period so it’s even worse, I can’t stop crying,” she sobs. “I snapped at Xeno six times
since I came back and I feel like shit even if he was very understanding. I want my mam to be
back home because I’m worried she’ll get sick too and I’ve only got her, and I want…I want
everything to be fixed, and this stupid war to be fucking over.” She sniffles, gripping at his
shirt. “Have you seen the fucking abortion law that they want to pass? What the fuck is that?
Isn’t that so dangerous and so fucking…conservatory? I can’t believe they actually wrote
that. They’re fucking pigs.”

“I know. We’ll make them pay, Dora, I promise.” He kisses the top of her head. “It’s unfair,
and it’s okay to be upset.”

Pandora nods, sniffles again, so Regulus takes a tissue from his bag and gives it to her, so she
can blow her nose. “I’m so fucking insecure,” She continues. “And I can’t get words out of
my mouth. I want…I want to progress in my relationship with Xeno, and I can’t, and I hate it.
I don’t want to be insecure about my body but it’s so easy to be. I don’t say it because I don’t
want to sound vain but is it really vain to care about wanting to look beautiful?” She blows
her nose again. “Sometimes I just wish that bodies weren’t bodies, you know? That they’d
stop looking like flesh and they’d start looking like marble. I hate that my body is soft.”

Tears roll down her cheeks, and Regulus dries them with his sleeve, gently. “You’re the most
beautiful girl that I’ve ever seen.” He says, firmly, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

“You only say that to comfort me.” Pandora says, sniffling. “Narcissa Black is literally you’re
cousin and there is no way you think I’m more beautiful than her, she’s fucking majestic, she
makes me wishes I dated girls instead of being a fucking mess at talking to them. Being
bisexual is such a struggle, I can flirt with any guy, but I’d be damned if I tried with a girl, it’s
so terrifying, why is it terrifying? They’re so pretty, my mouth goes dry and my tongue
doesn’t seem to work, and obviously I love Xeno and I wouldn’t trade him for any girl, but
sometimes I wish I had been bolder with girls instead of just running away like a coward
everytime I had an opportunity.”

“Oh, Dora…” He holds her tighter. “I promise you, I really think you’re the most beautiful
girl I’ve ever seen, and your body is fine the way it is. Being soft doesn’t mean there’s no
beauty in you. In fact, I think you look like Venus? You those roman statues of Venus, yeah?
She’s the goddess of love and beauty, and she looks just like you. You’ve got nothing to
worry about, and I’m sure Xenophilius will be even more enthusiastic in telling you this. It’s
normal to be insecure.” Regulus says, rubbing his hand on her arm. “I am too, James is.
We’re growing, it’s normal to feel a bit unsettled. And as for the girls, it takes time.”

“Didn’t take you time to go and snog James.” She replies, gloomly, still gripping at his
jumper.

“To be fair, it didn’t take me time, because I was being stupid. I wanted to snog him so bad I
thought I’d be going insane if I didn’t. Do you remember that lovely detention I had in
October? That was because I got caught snogging him in an empty classroom at night. That’s
how stupid he made me.” He confesses. Pandora laughs a little. “But James isn’t my first. It
took me months to admit to myself I wanted to kiss boys, and it took me even more time to
admit I could only ever feel romantic things for people of the same gender.” He gives her a
reassuring smile. “If it helps, girls terrify me too. I saw Vivienne do her eyeliner in less than
one minute on both eyes.”

“Her eyeliner always looks so good.” Pandora pouts. “I can’t do make up to save my life and
I’m too proud to ask for help.”

“Oh, man, I feel that. I had to ask James to teach me how to do push ups correctly, I felt so
embarrassed.” He tells her. “He had to explain it to me a couple of times; the first time he
showed me, I got lost in the flex of his muscles, if I have to be honest.”

Pandora laughs, genuinely, loudly, with a little snort, like she usually does. “You’re so lost on
him.”
“Yeah, but he found it cute.” Regulus says, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Sometimes,
when you ask for help, people don’t think you’re weak, they only think you need help.
Maybe it hurts your pride, but you know…it’s going to hurt anyway at some point, so not
taking risks won’t save it.” He stops to consider. “Not that you need makeup to be pretty,
obviously, but if it’s something you want to have, you can always ask the girls in your
dorm.”

“We’re not really friends.” Pandora says as she releases his jumper and soothes it. “We used
to fight a lot when I started being friends with you, and even if they forgive me now, we
never got close.”

“Then you could ask Vivienne! She wouldn’t do it for me, but she’s got nothing against
you.”

Pandora gives him a sceptical look. “I don’t know.”

“Then we could ask Dorcas,” Regulus proposes.

She thinks about it, before she nods. “Alright, we can ask Dorcas.”

Regulus smiles at her and presses a kiss on her forehead. “As for anything else, I’ve recently
learnt that sometimes communication really helps, so if you’re insecure about something, just
tell Xeno, alright? I don’t know him much, but he seems like a very chill bloke. And if he
dares to give you shit, I’ll hex his bollocks off.”

“I can do that myself, but thank you. It’s nice to know that you’ll have my back.” She sounds
slightly more cheerful, and that’s enough for Regulus.

“Don’t bottle up things.” He tells her, meeting her eyes. “If something’s wrong, if you’re
hurting, I want to be there and help you. We can write whatever we don’t like about ourselves
on a rock and throw it in the Black Lake.”

“That works for me.” Pandora says, with a smile.

“And please, don’t let me talk your brains off,” he adds. “I know I’m really talkative, but you
shouldn’t use that to avoid talking about yourself.”

“Hmm.” Pandora laughs again, arms wrapping around his middle. “I thought you wouldn’t
notice.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Of course I noticed, I just didn’t want to force you to talk about it.”

“Alright.” She closes her eyes, cheek squished against his chest. “You’re my best friend,
Reg.”

Regulus smiles again, kisses her on the forehead. “You too.”

15 January, 1977
The preparation for Barty’s birthday was planned a couple of days ago, but it goes smoothly.
Evan and Regulus wake up early and get ready, careful to not wake him up. The door is left
unlocked, to let Dorcas, Marlene and Pandora come in without knocking. Marlene and
Pandora are in charge of the food, which they lay on Evan’s desk, while Barty’s presents are
put at the feet of his bed. It’s just two presents, but Barty never liked many presents, and
Dorcas seemed very sure on what to get.

At eight in the morning, they wake up Barty by yelling happy birthday, which earns them a
“fuck off, it’s early”, though Barty does roll out of bed when Marlene tells him she got him
biscuits. Breakfast is pleasant, if a bit quiet, and right after it there's presents.

Barty sits legs crossed on the floor, one of his blankets still around his shoulders and his hair
messy, but not less content. A smile tugs at his lips every time someone says something
funny. Regulus too is still half asleep, eating his cinnamon roll slowly, like it’s to be
cherished.

Once they’re done having breakfast (and fully awake), Dorcas jumps on her feet. “Ladies and
Gentlemen, it is now time for gift giving!”

They all cheer, as Barty mumbles: “You shouldn’t have. This was more than enough.”

“Oh, piss off Crouch.” Marlene says, giving him the first gift.

It’s rectangle shaped, with light blue wrapping and a ribbon on top. Barty hums, looking at it
for a second, before he lifts his eyes from the gift and looks at Marlene: “Should I be
worried? Is it alive? I was joking about wanting a ferret.”

Marlene laughs, then shakes her head. “Nah. You’ll love it,” she says. “And it’s not alive, I
promise.”

“You will love it.” Dorcas joins in. She takes another present, with the same wrapping and
shape, but thinner. “It actually goes with this one.”

“Okay…” Barty squints, then tears the present open. “Oh, fuck.”

Regulus already knows what it is, as his gift is related to what Dorcas and Marlene got him,
but he fakes curiosity. “What is it, Barty?

“A record player.” Barty says, softly, glancing between Dorcas and Marlene. “You really
shouldn’t have, this thing is expensive.”

Dorcas rolls her eyes. “Don’t you want to know what records we got you? You’ve got three.”

Barty licks his lips, then he nods. “Yes, I’m curious.”

Dorcas passes him the gift, which he opens, as Evan says: “Show us, Barty! I don’t know shit
about muggle music!”

Barty laughs. “The first is Ramones, by Ramones.” Regulus smirks: it was his gift. “The
White Album, by the Beatles.” This one is, unsurprisingly, from Pandora. “And last one is
Kinks, by the Kinks…honestly, they need to get more creative with Album titles.”

Dorcas smiles, a dimple forming on her cheek. “And now you guess which record Regulus
got you, then Pandora and Evan, too.”

“Hmm…” Barty turns one of the recordings and reads the titles of the song. “Regulus is
always singing Black Bird, so it’s him.”

“Wrong,” Regulus says with a smirk. “Try again.”

“What do you mean wrong? It’s my birthday, you dickhead.” Barty flips in the bird. “Then
the Ramones one.”

“Bingo!” Regulus smiles at him. “You’ll love it, I’m sure.”

Barty squints at him, but he smiles right after. “White Album is from Pandora, then.” She
smiles, nodding. “Only Evan would buy a record from The Kinks.”

Evan rolls his eyes. “Stop being a prude, embrace art.”

“Ante Pudor, quam te violo aut tua iura resolvo.” Regulus says, in agreement.

“Who quotes the Eneid just like that?!” Marlene asks, shocked. “Not even Remus is that
much of a literature freak.”

“Maybe you’re a literature freak, too, if you recognised it.” Barty points out.

“Or maybe she had a crush on Dido. I would, personally.” Pandora interjects, hand waving in
the air.

They all laugh as Evan shakes her hand and compliments her taste in fictional women, then
Dorcas gets up and sets her hands on her hips. “Next stop, Hogsmeade!”

It’s a beautiful day: it doesn’t rain, though it’s cold and it looks like it might snow. Regulus
hopes it will, so he can cover Evan with snow before they get back, though he doesn’t think
the weather will be so nice with him.

They decide to have butterbeer at the three broomsticks. Barty sits next to Dorcas and
Marlene, at the very end of the booth, with his back half leaned against the wall; Regulus sits
squished between Pandora and Evan.

“I actually support the idea of you sitting with Elias during DADA,” Marlene tells Barty, with
a grin on her face. “If you heard him singing, you’d fall in love. I would bet anything on it.”

“Bollocks.” Barty shakes his head as his hand curls around the pint. “I bet he sounds like a
dying cat.”
“So elegant, Barty.” Pandora rolls her eyes, flicking a crumble of mince pie at him. They had
the pie earlier. “Why are you single? With such a way with words, you could be a poet. Like
Catullus.”

“Oh shut it, Fawley. Like Greco is elegant! He spends half of his time making dick jokes!”
Barty waves a hand in the air. “How charming would that be?”

“You’re not in any position to talk about dick jokes, Barty,” Regulus says

He shares a look with Evan, who leans forward, towards Marlene and Dorcas. “He said that
Regulus isn’t the queer guy who knows how to ride a broom.” He says, making Marlene
laugh with her head thrown back.

“Stop laughing!” Barty tells her, as his face flushes a deep red. “I didn’t mean it like that!”
Dorcas presses her lips into a thin line, but her shoulders are shaking too, and Pandora is
giggling with her face hidden against Regulus’s neck. “You all have a very dirty mind. I have
pure thoughts that your tainted minds can’t understand. That’s why I’m single, unlike you
bastards.”

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t have a dirty mind, Crouch.” Marlene says, patting his arm.
“With all those daddy issues, you like it dirty, at least.”

“Marlene!” Barty blushes, but a smile threatens his lips. “It’s funny but you can’t say that.”

“Why not? I have daddy issues too, cheers.” She raises her pint and Pandora does the same,
and they both drink to that.

Barty rolls his eyes, but he shares a small, honest smile with Regulus, before he notices
something, or well, someone, coming up to them.

“Lupus in fabula.” Regulus says, when he sees Elias enter the pub with Jules and Cory.

“Go, ride his broom, Barty.” Marlene says, still chuckling.

Barty simply glares at her. “He won’t even talk to us, he never wished me happy birthday in
five years, he won’t now.”

“Aww, do you want him to wish you a happy birthday?” Regulus teases.

“Sing you a little birthday song?” Evan joins in.

Barty flips them two fingers. “It’s my birthday and you woke me up just to be mean to me.”

“Oh, poor you.” Evan sticks his tongue at him. “It’s fun to tease your friends about their love
life.”

“Then why don’t you tease Regulus about his love life?” Barty retorts.

Regulus glares at him. “ Because there’s nothing to tease me about.”

“Uh-uh?” Marlene cocks an eyebrow, her attention back to the conversation. She was
previously busy whispering to Dorcas. “Does the baby black have a love life to discuss?”

“I don’t.” Regulus says, grabbing his pint to get down a bit of butterbeer.

“He actually does.” Barty says. “He had detention, but he always came back with a soppy
look on his face, remember? That’s when it started. Then there were hickeys and oversized
jumpers and hoodies that are definitely not his.”

“Interesting.” Marlene grins. “So who’s the lucky person, umh? I have a bet running with
Mary, so don’t disappoint me. Don’t say it’s James.”

Regulus frowns at her: the conversation moving to his love life makes him jittery. James isn’t
yet open about his sexuality, and the last thing he wants is people speculating about it. Not
only that, but Regulus himself isn’t ready to tell Evan and Barty. Evan, because he would
take a piss at him for months because he’s dating his brother’s best friend; Barty, because it
feels too soon to talk to him about this.

“What?” Dorcas interferes, before Regulus replies. “No, babe! We agreed that they’d look
cute together.”

“But I can’t lose a bet to Mary.” Marlene moans, tipping her head back.

“You don’t mean James Potter, do you?” Barty looks at the two of them. “He’s clearly
straight.”

Marlene blinks at him. “Barty, did someone steal your common sense?” Barty gives her an
annoyed look. “Admittedly, I do forget that straight people exist. But James has an unhealthy
obsession with Roger Taylor, so-”

“It’s not our place to speculate his sexuality,” Regulus interrupts. “It makes me
uncomfortable, sorry.” And who the fuck is Roger Taylor, I have to hunt him down.

“Oh, sure.” Marlene’s expression becomes serious all of sudden. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s fine.” Regulus says, as Pandora presses her thigh against his.

“So he’s off topic.” Barty nods, seemingly relieved. “You’re not dating Cory.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “I barely talked to Cory in these five years.”

“Pity, he’s really nice,” Pandora says. “He’s a drummer. He got his older sister to shrink his
drum set and he’s got it in his dorm. He made me play them once.”

“I’ve always wanted to play the drums!” Marlene says, eyes darting between Pandora and
Dorcas. “Do you reckon I’d be a good drummer?”

“Yes, you’re loud and annoying enough.” Barty answers, before the girls can.

Evan snorts. “Barty is such a piano,” he says. “I’d be something cool like a bass.”
“You’d be something pathetic, like a triangle.” Barty replies. “I like pianos. Though I can
only play the Clarinet. And if I hear a gay joke about it I’ll leave the table.”

Elias, passing by with two butterbeers, nods at Regulus as a greeting. “Happy birthday,
Crouch.” He stops, eyeing Barty with a bored expression.

Barty shifts in his seat, looking back at Elias. “Cheers.”

Elias nods again, then walks at the table.

Marlene and Dorcas exchange a gaze, before Marlene turns to Barty. “He wished you a happy
birthday!” She whispers, somehow loudly, hands on Barty’s shoulders.

“That was so weird.” Barty blinks a couple of times, then shakes his head.

“He just wished you a happy birthday.” Pandora rolls her eyes. “It can’t be a big deal.”

“But he has never done it before,” Evan says, excited. “Barty, if you fall in love with him, I’ll
laugh at you for two months straight.”

“I’ll laugh at you for three months gay.” Dorcas says, with a reassuring tone.

“As if I’d fall in love with the first guy who wishes me a happy birthday. He didn’t even flash
me a smile.”

Barty almost sounds disappointed, so Regulus says: “Did you want him to flash you a
smile?”

“Did you?” Pandora presses.

“Of course no, for fuck’s sake.” He rolls his eyes. “Look, I’m going to spell it out: I hate him.
I despise him. I cannot stand him.”

“I’m not convinced.” Dorcas says, squinting at Barty.

“Why would I have to like him?” Barty crosses his arms. “Give me one reason.”

“Just one?” Evan asks. Barty nods. “He’s very shaggable.”

“Eh.” Marlene wiggles her hand in the air. “I think you’re one of the only people he would
hesitate to snog.”

“Wow, nice way to say he’s got bad taste.” Barty retorts, making Evan laugh.

“It’s probably because he thinks you hate him.” Regulus replies. “Maybe if you apologised
for being a dick, he would snog you.”

“And Salazar knows how much you need a snog,” Evan adds.

Barty grimaces. “Not from him,” he says, seriously. “And I apologised, actually, on
thursday.”
 “Did you, really?” Regulus leans forward, interested. “What did he say?”

Barty blushes and leans back, like he’s trying to get as far as he can. “Not your business.”

“Why are you blushing?” Evan presses.

“Not your business.” Barty says again, looking away. Whatever he’s hiding, it must not be
pleasing, because his lips are bowed down in a scowl.

Dorcas rolls her eyes, then winks at Regulus and Evan, safely hidden by Marlene. “Got your
eyes on anyone, then?”

“Nah. I believe in a sweet single sixteen.” Barty says, before finishing his butterbeer. “I want
to go play exploding snaps. Shall we go back?”

Chapter End Notes

Solo pe' te, Stellina=Only for you, little star (sounds cringe, but it's actually used
commonly)
Ante Pudor, quam te violo aut te iura resolvo=before, Prude, I violate you or break your
laws.
Lupus in fabula=The wolf in the fable (it is a latin saying to indicate that someone you
were just talking about walked in the room)
 Honest words & Sharp mouths
Chapter Notes

Content warnings: a bit of discussion around sex and intrusive thoughts, discussion of
abortion, a straight character using the word queer.

17 January, 1977

Regulus groans, putting down the quill to message his temples. The promise he made to
Narcissa still stands, though he has no bloody idea of what to tell her. The initial idea was to
craft a story for her, but he dropped it because he knew he wouldn’t survive a quiz on his fake
life without starting to add sarcasm into it. So now he’s looking for safe things he can tell
her.

“You look troubled,” James says, making Regulus jolt. He didn’t hear him coming in.

In the soft light of the room, James looks tired: he’s slouching and his gaze seems unfocused.
His voice too came out oddly, now that he thinks about it.

“I was trying to write a letter for Cissy, but I can’t be arsed.” Regulus gets up from the chair
and gives a good look at James. “What’s up with you?”

James runs a hand on his face and his glasses go askew. “Can I get a hug before I tell you? ”

Regulus doesn’t need to be asked twice: he loops his arms around James, bringing him close,
until he’s safely tucked into Regulus’ embrace, face hidden in his neck. He gently strokes his
hair, until he feels James relax.

“Please, never change your body soap,” James murmurs, lips brushing Regulus’s neck.

Regulus smiles, then presses a kiss on his temple. “I won’t, I’m very attached to it. But I’m
glad you like it, love.”

“It’s just so comforting,” James pauses, holding tighter for a second. “You’re so sweet. Why
are you so sweet?”

“Because your perception of sweetness is completely screwed up,” Regulus says with a
laugh, before he kisses the line of his jaw. “You should ask anyone in my year or even just
Barty and Evan. I’m not sweet.”

“You’re sweet with me.” James points out, cradling Regulus’s face in his hands. Their eyes
meet so naturally and spontaneously that Regulus’s heart trips over itself, collapsing against
his chest cavity. “It makes me feel oddly special.”
“You’re very special,” Regulus says with a smile. James smiles, though there’s a hint of
sadness in his eyes, which are still a bit unfocused. “What happened?” He whispers, then,
bringing him closer, until James’s hands slip off his face and his wrists are resting on
Regulus’s shoulders.

“I’m just tired,” James says, “I need to talk to you, but I want to start with the easy things.”

He kisses Regulus’s forehead, then steps back, though it looks like it pains him to do so.
Anxiety has his heartbeat speeding up. It’s absolutely irrational to think James is going to
break up with him, so why is he so anxious?

“We should sit down,” James says, interrupting his thoughts. “Are you okay? You’re quite
pale.”

Regulus blinks at him. “Yes, I’m fine.”

Hiding his nervousness behind apparent calmness, he follows James to the round wooden
table. James sits with his back facing the window, and immediately starts fidgeting with the
sleeve of his jumper.

“Do you want me to hold your hand?” Regulus asks, after he sat down.

James looks at him, startled, but he nods with a feeble smile. The light is too soft for Regulus
to understand whether he’s blushing or not, but he probably is. He takes his hand delicately
and runs his thumb on the back of it soothingly. The contact is incredibly reassuring to
Regulus as well, who feels part of his nervousness slipping away.

“So, first thing. I was going through my notebook and I found a list of things I needed to do,
and I realised I forgot to talk to you about Tom Riddle,” James says. That immediately has
Regulus’s attention. He had put it aside in his mind, but his curiosity is revived at the
mention. “There’s not a lot to say. Mum wasn’t in school when Tom Riddle was there. She
started school in 1923, dad started in 1921, so none of them were there during his first year.”
James rubs his hand on the back of his neck. Then his eyes go wide, he frowns and pushes up
his glasses on his nose. “Actually, don’t take that as valuable information. I think they
avoided the question.”

“Why would they avoid the question though?” Regulus inquires, now frowning himself. “I
mean, he was given a cup for services to the school. Wait, I’m not following. If your mum
went to school in 1923, she graduated around 1930, why would she know about something
that happened in 1943?”

“My mum taught transfiguration here,” James says, with a small proud smile. “That’s why
I’m so good at it. I was very clingy as a child, so she used to have me in her lap while she did
some reading. She stopped teaching in 1944, but never stopped reading articles and books of
research about transfiguration and new theories, like the Cohen box theory? It is shaped after
the Schrödinger cat theory. I think it’s the perfect way to explain transfiguration,” he says,
“but anyway, she must have had him as her student. I’m going to press further.”
“You really don’t need to,” Regulus is quick to say, squeezing James’ hand. “We could just
ask Slughorn.”

“Yeah, but…” James frowns again. “I want my mum to tell me.”

James and the truth: two worlds that must always be together. He can’t stand a lie -even white
lies, Regulus suspects. He wants to be told the truth, by everyone, but specifically by his
loved ones. It makes him wonder, really. It’s quite clear to Regulus that James’s relationship
with his parents isn’t as perfect as it seems. Perhaps they have lied to him before. He doesn’t
ask, though, wanting to proceed the investigation on his own.

Regulus nods, though he can’t really empathise: he stopped trusting his parents’ words long
ago. “Alright. But if we don’t find out anything, I’m going to ask Slughorn.”

“Deal,” the smile on James’s lips twitches then it falls. Regulus’s heartbeat speeds up again.
“On to more serious matters, I’ve…noticed we’ve got bolder with kisses and…the way we
touch each other.” He says, squeezing Regulus’s hand. “And I like it. But I’ve noticed I tend
to have intrusive thoughts about it.”

“Like what?” Regulus asks, concerned.

“I think I feel guilty.” James licks his lips, eyes down, fixated on the table, on the veining of
the wood. “And I feel bad about feeling guilty. My parents have been so great about it, they
didn’t bat an eyelash. They just wanted me to be happy, genuinely so. And I am, obviously.
But I…I sort of expected them to be a little disappointed. I’m not sure why.” He stops, jaw
clenched until Regulus squeezes his hand. “When I was little, I was told a lot by aunties and
uncles that I’d get married one day, and have a lot of kids, like they did. I know that there
wasn’t a malicious intention, but I think it stuck with me. I feel like I have to get married and
have kids or I’ll disappoint everyone. And whenever we try to take a step further to
something a bit more heated than kissing, I’m reminded about it and it’s like being hit by a
freezing charm.” He takes off his glasses and messages the bridge of his nose. “I love to love
you, but I think I need more time.”

“That’s fine, James.” Regulus says, scooting closer. “If it helps, I’m not ready either. And we
don’t really have to do anything you don’t want to. I’m just happy to be with you, okay? But
I want to help you. Can I help you?”

James bites his lower lip, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I need. But I owled my healer
about it, hopefully she can give me some insight.” He turns to look at Regulus, and squeezes
his hand. “This has nothing to do with you.”

Regulus nods. “I know. But is there something you want me to stop doing?”

James shakes his head. “No, I simply assumed you wanted to do a bit more than kissing,
because I found condoms in the drawer,” James says, a little embarrassed. “My parents tell
each other everything,” he adds, “and I want to tell you everything. My mum once told me
that love comes with the risk of being vulnerable. So even though it scares me, I want to give
it a try. I want things between us to be as smooth as possible, and I want you to know what
goes through my head. Does that make sense?”
Regulus smiles at him, then nods. “I’m very glad you told me,” he says, slowly. “When you
first started opening up, there were a lot of things you kept for yourself. I could tell. I’m glad
you decided to reach out about it.”

James smiles, glances at the bed, right behind Regulus’s back. “I feel a bit better, actually,”
he says, straightening his back. “So…how did condoms end up there?”

Regulus giggles. “You’re not going to like it.” He gets up, tugging slightly at James’s hand to
encourage him to do the same. “You’re going to be jealous.”

“I’m not a jealous person.” James mumbles, though he’s frowning, all wary and cute. He gets
up and wraps his arms around Regulus’s middle. “I don’t know why you think that.”

“Oh, so you weren’t jealous of Elias during New Years?” Regulus teases.

“I was absolutely not jealous.” James says, immediately, tightening his hold around Regulus
and causing him to giggle. “I wasn’t!”

“You were!” Regulus says, shaking his head in disbelief. “You totally were, I know you were.
Elias did it because he knew you’d be jealous.”

“Oh, that little prick.” James rolls his eyes. “He was in your personal space!”

“Elias is constantly in my personal space.” Regulus waves a hand in the air, before setting it
on James’s chest. “He’s like that. But the condoms are here because of him.”

James’s jaw falls slack for a second, making Regulus laugh again. “Stop laughing at me!
What do you mean?”

“When we discovered we were queer, he sent a letter to a friend of his in Italy, Nevio, to ask
him some questions, one of which was ‘what should we know about sex?’ So Nevio told us
that the first thing we should know is that we should always use condoms, and sent us a
package. He also told us we’re a bit too young to worry about it, which is true, but it felt nice
to have information that was genuinely educational. We tried to put a condom on a banana to
see how it worked, but that was it.” Regulus explains. “I’m not sure where Nevio got that
information, though.”

James tilts his head to the side. “I know embarrassingly little about sex between two men,” he
says, frowning. “But when I was 14, mum told me about condoms and how to use them, and
she gave me some books about biology, which then I passed onto Sirius, Remus and Peter.
It’s a bit embarrassing that we were never taught any of that in this school. Like I get it,
magic is important, but I’m not sure why our own bodies were never taken into
consideration.”

Regulus nods firmly. “We’re humans before we’re wizards, has anybody told Dumbledore
that? I’m convinced he’s a celibate, sex is such a taboo in the wizarding community.”

“Oh, but they have no problem telling you you need to have kids just because you’re
pureblood.” James rolls his eyes. “Did you fix things with Rosier?”
“Eh, sort of.” Regulus says, stepping back from James’s hug to grab a vinyl. He chooses
Beach Boys and puts music on. “He’s trying to be more flexible. He agreed to have a record
player in our dorm, and I’m quizzing him on some readings on how to unlearn purism. He
even came to the music shop with the rest of my friends, Marlene was there too. I think he
was a little freaked out, but I’m trying to have faith in him.” He sighs, looking down at his
hands.

“Jules told me you guys organised a study group.” James says, messing up his hair as he sits
on the edge of the bed. “Is that part of it?”

Regulus gives him a look, then shrugs. “I want to ace my O.W.L.s to have as much freedom
in future jobs as possible, so everyone’s help is well accepted. But I’ve also realised that I
don’t have many friends, so I thought a study group might help that too. And Evan detests
studying, I’m not sure why, but he needs company through it. It’s a solution that helps
everyone. Plus, I’m trying to get Barty and Elias to be friends, so.”

“Have Elias and Barty agreed to that?” James inquires.

“No.” Regulus says, feeling a bit guilty. “But to my defence, it’s not like I’m forcing them.
Maybe they’ll be friends, maybe they won’t. I’m just trying to give them the opportunity to
be. I don’t want my friends hating each other.”

James nods, though he still looks a bit sceptical. He stretches his arms out. “I demand
attention.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, but he smiles and comes closer, letting James embrace him while he
slides his hands in his hair. “Your cheeks look very biteable at the moment.”

“You wouldn’t.” James says, giving him a severe look.

“I will come for your cheeks when you least expect it,” Regulus threatens. “You should just
let me bite you, honestly. Surrender to me.”

“I don’t trust someone who liked Dracula as much as you to bite me.” James teases. “What if
you’re a vampire?”

“Arh, arh. My pale complexion is to be blamed on my anaemia, you dickhead,” he says,

pinching James’s cheek lightly. “I would make a shit vampire.”

“You lose scary points because you can’t get up rapidly,” James says, with a little smile.
“And you have to eat spinach and beans nearly everyday so you don’t feel lightheaded.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Well, you lose scary points because you get headaches too often.”

“Wayyy too often,” James complains. He lets go of him and lays with his back flat against the
mattress. Regulus decides to imitate him, which, for some reason, makes James laugh.

“Why are you laughing now?” Regulus asks, frowning.

“I’m not sure,” James says, all serious all of a sudden. “I have something more to tell you.”
“Go then,” Regulus rolls to the side and looks at him, at his profile. “I’m listening.”

“I think we need to tell Sirius.” James turns to meet his eyes. “I think he knows, actually. I
haven’t been the best at hiding it, admittedly. I think winter break gave us away. I don’t seem
to be able to pretend I’m just your friend. Even with him around.”

“You didn’t do that by yourself, James,” Regulus reminds him, fingers curling around his
wrist, before their hands find each other. “I wasn’t good at hiding it either. It’s hard to keep
secrets when you’re around.”

“But he already knew you fancied me. He didn’t know I fancied you back, or what we were
doing anyway,” James sighs. “I don’t think he’s opposed. He hasn’t addressed it, but he had a
pop at me before I came here. Asked me if I was going to see you. I said no, obviously, but I
was startled. As I made my way here, though, I thought back at how we acted during the
holidays, and it’s clear that we didn’t act like friends, or Quidditch rivals, for that matter.”

“So you think he already knows,” Regulus says, though he wonders whether that’s true or
not.

“I would have never acted like that with you if I fancied someone else,” James explains.
“Least of all if I was taken. And Sirius knows that. What really surprises me is that he didn’t
try to talk to me about it yet. I think he’s waiting for us to tell him. I suspect Remus or Peter
might have suggested that.”

“Alright,” Regulus says carefully.

If Sirius didn’t snap at James, there’s the possibility that he’s not as opposed as Regulus
originally thought he would be. Telling him as soon as possible is probably the wisest choice:
Sirius feeds off being trusted.

“How should we do it?” He asks, then.

“I’m not sure,” James looks up at the charmed ceiling again. “I think we should sit down with
him and tell him, obviously. Letters and things like that won’t work. I can’t figure out if it’s
best for Remus and Peter to be there.”

“Does Peter know about us?” Regulus asks, sitting up with his legs crossed, but still holding
James’s hand.

“He hinted at it. Right after the holidays. We were alone in the dorm, and he asked if I was
happy with you,” he glances at Regulus again, biting his lips. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you
earlier.”

“That’s fine,” Regulus reassures, with a slight frown. “What did you tell him?”

“I might have accidentally ranted to him about how much I like you,” James says, looking
away. Regulus takes his wand and flicks it towards the abat-jour, just to see if James is
blushing; he is. “Accidentally. And said that I’m going to cherish the jumper you gave me
forever.”
Regulus’s frown melts into a soft smile and he bends down to chastely kiss James on the lips.
“You’re wonderful,” he murmurs, with a smile, before backing away. “What does he think of
it?”

“He likes you,” James says, playing with Regulus’s fingers. He tends to do that a lot. “And I
think he doesn’t mind that we’re dating.”

“I’m glad. Is Remus still opposed?”

“I don’t think he is,” James says, with a smile. “I think he’s just worried. And I think that’s
what Sirius might think as well.”

“Because of my parents?” Regulus inquires, squeezing his hand.

“Yes,” James looks at him. “But we’re going to find a solution to that as well. I’ll talk to my
parents and-”

Regulus shakes his head. “No, James. Remember what I told you; I can’t leave now. I’ll
figure out my own breakout. Let’s go back to Sirius now.”

James gives him a conflicted look, but he nods. “Do you want to plan what to tell him? I
think you’re better at planning than I am.”

“Oh, am I now?” Regulus teases, tickling James’ stomach and making him twitch and giggle,
before he catches his hand. “You’re a marauder, James.”

“Yeah,” James looks up to him with fondness. “But you’re kind of a genius, so.”

Regulus shakes his head, though he struggles to hide his smile. “You’re trying to charm me,”
he says. “I think Sirius is also jealous of you.”

“Jealous of me?” James blinks at him. “I guess you’re right. I never actually thought about it.
But I think there’s enough space in my heart for the both of you.”

Regulus smiles, though he’s not sure if the smile reaches his eyes. “But he was there first. I
think he’s going to need you to reassure him that you’re not going to leave him for me. He
needs to know you’re still James and Sirius.”

“Yeah,” James squeezes his hands. “But, Reg, you have to consider that one of the problems
is you staying with your parents-”

Regulus sighs, then looks away, frowning. “I already said what I think about it. I’m not going
to change my mind.”

James sits up now, eyes a bit sharper than they were before. “What happens if you take the
mark, then?”

“I can’t just take the mark,” Regulus looks at their joint hands. “Getting the mark is a
privilege, you have to understand that. I haven’t done anything to prove that I’m trustworthy
or on his side. Mother might have told Voldemort that I’m a natural occlumens, but-”
“You’re a natural occlumens?!” James asks, bewildered.

“We discovered it when I was six. I don’t remember, actually, but it seems like it.” Regulus
feels his body tense up. “I don’t quite believe it. Sirius used to say I was so lucky, because
Mother could never read my mind, but I never trusted it. I’m scared she’ll do it anyway.”

“I’m sorry.” James says, but he brings one of Regulus’s hands to his mouth and presses a kiss
on his knuckles. “It seems like a lot to deal with.”

Regulus shrugs. “The point is that I can’t just take the mark like that. I need to prove myself
to him, which I have no intention of doing. To his eyes, I’ll probably just be wasted talent.
I’m just fifteen, what could he ever have in store for me? I’m not even able to cast a patronus,
and my duel is really just basics, because I can’t do wordless magic yet. I’m not exactly
someone who will be useful on his lines. Which is why it is safe for me to come back.”

“But your parents aren’t simply dangerous because of the mark, Reg.” James says, his voice
joyless. “You need a safer environment in general. I’m worried about what could happen to
you there, and I’m sure Sirius is too.”

“I’m not going to turn to their side,” Regulus says, offended.

“I never suggested that,” James frowns. Regulus glares at him then looks away. “I never
suggested that, Regulus. I wouldn’t date you if I thought you were bad. You’re good,
genuinely good, and kind, if you can believe it.”

“Then why are you putting on such an act about me going back home?” Regulus demands.
“It’s ages away, and I’m not bad. So what is it?”

“You’re ambitious,” James says, looking him in the eye. “And it scares me. I’m scared you’ll
put yourself in danger, because you think you can do anything on your own-”

“Are you calling me arrogant?”

James sighs, leaving his hands to press the heels of his hands on his forehead. “You said it
yourself: it would be boring if we were perfect. You’re confident and ambitious: that’s good
qualities. But in a situation like yours, it risks becoming very dangerous, and I’m simply
worried about your safety. I’m not implying anything but that you’re in an unsafe position.”

Regulus pouts, though he can’t bring himself to keep the fight on. It tires him right away. “I’ll
be careful,” he promises, his voice coming out a grump. “But you have to trust me.”

“I do trust you,” James lets his hands fall and meets his eyes. “I just really don’t ever want to
lose you.”

Regulus nods, then climbs on James’s lap, looping his arms around his shoulders and hiding
his face in his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” James murmurs, holding him tight, locking him in. “Why did you think I’d think
you’d turn bad?”
“I don’t know,” his voice comes out choked. “I’m terrified of that happening. I don’t want to
be bad or evil.”

“You’re not,” James reassures, one of his hands moving soothingly on his back. “You’re
good, Reg. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

Regulus hums, but holds tighter. There’s nothing safer than James’s arms at the moment. He’s
comforting and steady; at times, it feels like he’s the one keeping Regulus together. It’s not an
exaggeration: they’ve been spending so much time together, sharing so much, James could be
one of his closest friends, not simply a boyfriend. Sometimes, the closeness gets scary: losing
James would be so hard on him.

“James,” he hums in response. “I love you. And I think you’re gorgeous.” He backs off a
little, cradles James’s face in his hand. He looks surprised, like he didn’t expect this to
happen. “I love your eyes.”

“They’re very common eyes,” James replies, raising an eyebrow.

“Wrong. So wrong,” he kisses his forehead. “It’s your eyes and I love them. I like dark eyes.
And your eyebrows, the shape of them. And your eyelashes.”

“My eyelashes are quite pretty,” James admits, with a tiny smile. Regulus can’t help but
smile back.

“Then I love your mouth. I love your lips, your crooked canine, your voice, your laugh,” he
lists. “And I love the scar on your cheek, even if I hate that someone hurt you. I love kissing
it. And I like the way you speak, the fact that you have catch phrases, and the way you fiddle
with your sleeve when you’re nervous.”

“Reg,” James says, and his smile is so genuine Regulus hears it in his voice. “This is what I
meant when I said you were sweet. Look at you.”

Heat spreads on his face, along with a smile. “Oh, shut it.” For some reason, though, his
emerald ring catches his attention. “Do you want one of my rings?”

James blinks at him, surprised. “One of your rings?”

“Yes.” Regulus takes off the emerald ring, then grabs James’s left hand, carefully. “It should
fit you, your fingers are quite thin.”

James hums. “Why are you giving it to me?”

“I’m not sure,” Regulus says, sliding the ring on James’s ring finger. “Well, this green looks
good on you. And I want you to have it. It’s a ring I really like, Cissy gave it to me.”

“Wouldn’t she be mad that you’re giving it to someone else?” James asks, eyes on his hand,
checking the way the ring looks.

“Maybe. I don’t really care,” Regulus shrugs. “Did you know that Alexander used to say
Hephaestion was Alexander too?” He asks, with a small smile.
James laughs, cradles his face to pull him in a kiss that doesn’t last, because they’re smiling
too much. “You’re such a nerd,” he whispers on his lips. “I love you so much.”

“I like to hear you saying that,” Regulus says, crinkling his nose. “You make me so happy.”

James smiles again, then kisses him, a bit more seriously, slowly. These are the types of
kisses Regulus loves the most: the gentleness of James’s hands in his hair and the sweetness
of James’s lips. “I’m so glad you bumped into me in September. That Sirius saw you that day
in the library and unknowingly brought you to me. I can’t explain how much you made my
days brighter.”

“James,” Regulus whispers.

“I feel like the dark can’t touch me as long as I’m with you,” James says, his forehead resting
against Regulus’s.

“If I cry about this, it’s going to be your problem,” Regulus warns.

“I love the idea of you being my problem,” James says, with a smile.

Regulus can’t deny the kisses that come after that.

17/01/1977, Hogwarts

As a poet once said: I’m completely fucked. There is absolutely no coming back from this; the
universe shifted, planets are aligned. If next year I try out the patronus charm and it ends up
being whatever the fuck James’s patronus is, I’m going to leave Hogwarts. Fuck education
for embarrassing me, honestly.

Anyway, Tom Riddle . I need to research more about this name. I can already sense it’s going
to be dreadful, but James flicked my interest again. So rude of him, honestly. I’m thinking
about asking Slughorn, he’s the only one who’s got to be old enough to have taught when this
guy was in school. I might ask the ghosts as well. Pandora says Moaning Myrtle is always up
for a chat, so who knows? There’s too many rumours on her death anyway. Actually, now I’m
curious about her story. I’m going to ask her as soon as I can.

That’s it for today,

Until next time,

R.A.B.

20 January, 1977

Elias’s dorm is not as small as Regulus imagined it to be. Not once had walked into his dorm,
mostly because breaking the rules so visibly was new to him. Elias’s friendship with Frank
Longbottom and Alice Prewett is fairly convenient: he can sneak in whoever he likes. Hence,
Regulus was going to spend his free period with Elias.
His bed is undone and a bit messy, but otherwise the room is tidy, everything carefully put
away. His desk seems organised, if a bit muggle looking for the lack of quills and ink, and his
books are ordered for author or subject. There’s two guitars hanging on the wall: one is
electric, red and looks more expensive and has quite a lot of stickers put on it; the other one is
a simple acoustic guitar. Though being able to distinguish them easily, he can’t play them. He
was only taught to play the piano, and some violin, but guitars were considered a muggle
instrument to play muggle music. Not even in the music room he let curiosity win.

Still standing close to the guitars, his gaze moves to Elias’s bedside, where a moka stands,
completely out of place and almost funny looking.

“Why do you have a moka on your bedside?” Regulus asks, touching the electric guitar with
his index finger and retiring it right away, like he has been bitten. It’s definitely different
from every other chord instrument he has ever tried.

“The guitar doesn’t bite, magic boy, relax.” Elias rolls his eyes, then takes the guitar and
plays a couple of notes. “See? Perfectly functioning and harmless.” He sets the guitar back. “I
have a moka on my bedside because you British dickheads can’t make coffee to save a life.”

“You drink tea with no milk,” Regulus reminds him.

“You started doing that too,” Elias drops on his bed, eyeing Regulus. “Plus tea and honey it’s
just better.”

“My brother would have a heart attack if he heard you,” Regulus says, giggling. “I tried
Masala Chai at the Potter’s, regular tea will never be the same.”

“Here lies Regulus Black’s love for green tea,” Elias says, gravely. “With grief, I announce
that his passion for green tea has faded like his love for vanilla muffin.”

“Cinnamon rolls are superior.” Regulus says, waving a hand in the air. “And I still like green
tea, stop being dramatic.”

“You have no business calling anyone dramatic, Regulus.”

“Oh shut it, you can be even more dramatic than me, you’re literally Italian.” Regulus says,
flipping him off.

“You’re literally French, the only talent you have is being dramatic,” Elias retorts. “With all
your revolutions and the problematic rich families, dark magic, poets shooting each other in
the street…that’s drama, if you ask me. France is the Queen of it.”

Regulus gapes, fakely offended, as he sits next to him. “Take it back.”

“Make me,” Elias dares.

His fingers find their way to the other boy’s hip, and that’s how they start that tickling war
that has them falling off the bed a couple of minutes later. The thud of it startles Regulus
more than the fall itself.
“Porca puttana,” Elias curses, but he starts laughing right after. “I hit my back. Oh, Christ, I
detest you.”

“I fell on my bad knee,” Regulus says, rolling to the side. “Why did we even think that was a
good idea?”

“Why did you throw me off the bed!” Elias laughs, sitting up. His hair has grown longer, and
it falls on his eyes messily. He sweeps it back, still grinning. “You are the biggest heathen I
have ever encountered, I despise you and all French people.”

“Here he goes with his prejudice against French people again…” Regulus rolls his eyes, but
he smiles as he looks at Elias’s side profile.

“As an Italian, my job is to hate French people. And as a French person, your job is to hate
Germans and Brits,” Elias says, meeting his eye. “Nothing personal.”

“Who says that?” Regulus asks, sitting up as he massages his knee.

“Literally anyone in Europe. Wake up, Regulus,” Elias giggles, jumping back on the bed.
“You haven’t told me about you and James, should I be offended? I was there, you know,
saving your arse. I think I deserve to know.”

“Well, you didn’t tell me Barty talked to you, so you have no right being offended,” Regulus
says, staring at his eyes. He watches Elias’s smile turn into a scowl.

“I’ve got nothing to say about him.” He says, coolly, crossing his arms to his chest.

“You’re lying! J’accuse!” Regulus protests, getting up on his feet. “What did he tell you?”
Then, he remembers Barty’s saddened expression during his birthday. “Actually, what did
you tell him? That’s a more interesting question.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so invested in it. Your friends don’t all need to be friends.”
Elias says, laying down on his back now, arms slayed on the side at shoulder height.

“Of course they don’t. But you two not getting along is a crime against humanity,” Regulus
says, sitting down next to him. “Why don’t you give him a chance?”

“He only apologised to appeal to you.” Elias says, bitterly, rolling to the side. “He sure as hell
didn’t do it because he’s sorry.”

“To appeal to me?” Regulus repeats, astounded. He’s not sure if the surprise comes from
Elias knowing Barty fancied (fancies?) Regulus, or for the thought process behind it.

“Yes, Regulus, good morning, Crouch is in love with you,” Elias mumbles. “He’s only doing
it so he can seem like a better person to your eyes. And fuck me if I let him, honestly.”

“That’s absurd. Barty is…I’m quite confident he is over me,” Regulus says, feeling panic as
it starts to ramble in his chest.
“Fucking bollocks,” Elias replies, not bothering to look at him. “Even if he did, he’d still be
doing it for you.”

“That’s just you being scared of change,” Regulus accuses, feeling his tone grow colder.
“Can’t you just accept that he might have changed? People do that, you know.”

“Yeah, sure,” Elias says, condescending. “He changed, so maybe you’ll stop wanting to snog
James and snog him instead.”

It takes a fair amount of patience to sigh instead of snapping. “Please tell me you didn’t
mention me.” Regulus says, a hand on Elias’s shoulder. Elias turns to look at him, then
shrugs. “Elias!”

“Oh, I love it when you say my name like that...” he groans, rolling on his back again.

“You need to tell me exactly what you told him,” Regulus urges, looking at him seriously.

“I told him that wanting to shag you makes him do the impossible.” Elias says, a stoic
expression painted on every inch of his face. “And I’m right.”

Regulus sucks in a deep breath, as guilt mixes up with panic. “You can’t say that to people,
Elias,” he says, trying to keep cool. “And I can assure you: you’ve never been more wrong.”

“He said horrible shit to me through the years, I have every right to say horrible shit about
him.” Elias replies, sparing a glance at Regulus’s face. “He did look a bit mortified, though.”

Regulus lets out a curse, massaging the bridge of his nose as he regrets his life choices. “I
hate to say this, but you need to apologise to him.”

“Fuck no,” Elias frowns.

Regulus will never stop saying how much Elias looks the way he had imagined Apollo to be;
but that’s a terrifying thought to have when he’s mad. The way his eyes glisten, his frown
deepens, and he starts to look older than he is. It’s almost scary. Who would ever doubt there
is magic in him, when his face transfigures like that?

“You can’t say that to someone who is genuinely sorry!” Regulus says, throwing his arms in
the air. “You hurt him! He didn’t do it for me. I’m not denying that I asked him to apologise
many times, but he did it on his own, he didn’t even tell me before Evan and I pressed his
buttons.”

“Probably embarrassed by what I said. He’s not genuinely sorry, he’s just…desperate to get
to you,” Elias says, averting his eyes. “I don’t get why you want us to be friends so much.”

“Because I think you’d appreciate each other’s company if you stopped pretending you hate
each other!” Regulus says, exasperated. “You forgave me, why can’t you forgive him?”

“Because we’re rivals. We’re supposed to hate each other, not be friends. And I don’t trust
him, end of story.”
“You’re being childish.” Regulus says, now scowling.

“You’re being nosy.” Elias retorts, not even looking at him.

“You detest change, that’s the only reason why you’re so opposed. If you were rational about
the situation-”

“Rationality?” Elias sits up, eyebrows creased. “You want to talk about rationality? Then it’s
not rational to date your brother’s best friend!”

“ You said to ‘suck it and see’!” Regulus reminds him, now truly furious. “You don’t even
know the whole story, who are you to judge?”

“Why, do you know everything that happened between me and Crouch?” Elias snaps back,
raising up. His hand grips at the sheets. “Certainly, you don’t. Whatever the fuck you and
your friends thought you were doing when you paired us up, that’s…that is fucking annoying,
it is. I don’t want to be his friend, Regulus. I don’t want him around at all.”

“You don’t even know him!” Regulus replies, exasperated. “I’m helping them, Evan and
Barty, to switch to the right side. Why can’t you be a little more understanding?”

“That’s fucking selfish,” Elias says, coolly, tilting his head to the side. “I don’t need to
forgive anyone, Regulus. They were bellends to me for no reason, I have every right to stay
mad at them. And you’re not going to stop me. I decide when to forgive them, if I want to
forgive them at all.”

“Fine.” Regulus says, getting up. Though he moves a bit too fast, and his vision blurs out
enough that he has to sit down again. “What happened between you guys that made you hate
him so much?”

“You’re not seriously asking this question,” Elias replies, sounding so incredulous Regulus
just has to turn to look at him.

“He never meant any of the things he said to you,” Regulus says, meeting his eyes again. “He
was just trying to get my attention.”

“Well, that’s fucking nice of him. I should probably go suck his cock, to say thank you, you
know?” Elias says, sardonic. “Using my feelings as a way to get to you…I can’t imagine how
stupid he must feel.”

“Do you think I wasn’t mad?” Regulus snaps, as Elias averts his eyes. “At least look at me! I
didn’t like it one bit either.”

“Good for you,” Elias says, getting up from the bed. “I haven’t seen you exactly being mad at
him.”

“For fuck’s sake, your trust issues are even worse than mine.” Elias scoffs at that. “I do
believe he is genuinely sorry.”

“Well, I don’t,” Elias replies.

“Good.”

“Great.”

Silence falls between them, as it usually does after a fight. Between the two of them,
arguments aren’t as rare as one might think. Regulus’s friendships had almost always been
the reason for it, and this time makes no exception. That being said, it’s true that he doesn’t
know their whole story; he didn’t know there was a story at all, aside from the academic
rivalry between the two of them. He tries to remember occasions in which he had actually
seen them fighting, but he can’t recall any.

“Is rivalry really enough of a reason to hate someone the way you hate him?” Regulus asks,
as he realises Elias had been playing the guitar; he needs to stop tuning out sounds when he
thinks.

“No,” Elias says, as the music stops.

“Then what is it?”

Silence again. The sweet sound of the acoustic guitar plays a song Regulus doesn’t know.
Elias doesn’t sing, but he doesn’t reply either. Fine, then.

“I’m gonna go.”

He gets up slowly this time. The hope that Elias will stop him dies in the moment he turns
and looks at the boy, busy pressing his fingers on the chords, not even looking up. “Bye,” he
says, simply.

Regulus rolls his eyes, but then he simply leaves.

The whole class notices they’ve fallen out during potions. They still work together pretty
well, but they snap at each other a couple of times, making heads turn their way. Professor
Slughorn even asked if they wanted to change partners, which was more embarrassing than
anything else. He meets Barty and Evan’s concerned gazes a couple of times, but shakes his
head at them, and as he takes some ingredients, Pandora stops him to ask him if he’s okay.

After Potions, he normally would have Astronomy, but he decides to skive off, both for the
embarrassment and the grief, that only really settles in once Elias leaves without saying
goodbye. He doesn’t expect to be followed by Barty and Evan, so he is startled when they
enter the common room with him.

“What?” He asks, giving them a dirty look as he climbs the stairs to the dorm.

“What happened?” Evan asks, weirdly concerned, as they enter the room.

“What, you don’t understand it by yourself?” Regulus sits on his bed and takes off his shoes
quickly. “Do you want a drawing?”
“Calm your tits.” Barty says, throwing his bag on his bed. “We’re skiving off to help you, be
nice at least.”

“No one asked you to.” Regulus mumbles, undoing his tie. “Have you considered that I don't
want to talk about it?”

“Quit being difficult. What happened?” Evan drops on the bed, right next to Regulus. He puts
his arm around his shoulders, bringing him in. “Tell old Evan.”

“Barty is the oldest,” Regulus corrects him, eyes averted towards the bathroom door. “And I
don’t want to tell you.”

“Oh, come on, Reg,” Barty says as he sits with his legs crossed in front of him. “Do we have
to hex him?”

“He would send you to the hospital wing before you get your wand out,” Regulus mumbles.
He raises his eyes and meets Barty’s: the look on his face is oddly relaxed, like he’s got
nothing to hide. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Evan says, pinching lightly at Regulus’s arm. “You two need to start giving
me explanations, I don’t have gay telepathy.”

“Gay telepathy isn’t a thing,” Regulus says, annoyed. “And if it was, you’d have it.”

“But I’m not gay, Regulus,” Evan says, with a little grin.

“You do have it,” Regulus replies, fingers finding Evan’s hip to tickle him. “It’s contagious.”

Barty rolls his eyes as soon as Evan starts giggling, then snaps his fingers to get their
attention. “Remember what I told you before we left for the summer, last year?” He asks, his
gaze focused on Evan’s, like he’s trying to communicate something specific.

“How does that have anything to do with this?” Evan asks.

Regulus looks at him as he frowns, then looks at Barty and kicks his shit lightly. “What did
you tell him?”

Barty shrugs, looking down. For a few seconds, words don’t leave his mouth, but when they
do, he drops them like he’s been holding them for a while. “That I was in love with you.”

“Was?” Regulus asks, hopeful, leaning forward. “You’re not anymore?”

Barty swallows and their eyes meet again. “I don’t know.”

Regulus slumps against Evan, head resting on his shoulder. If anything, this puts him in a
worse mood than he was before. Pandora, James, and now even Elias: everyone picked that
up before him, and he was the one snogging Barty not even a year ago. It makes him feel
stupid.

“Okay,” Evan says, carefully. “What does this have to do with Greco?”
“He told you,” Barty realises, blush spreading on his face.

“I asked him,” Regulus snaps, now standing with his back straight. “Why didn’t you tell me?
It’s not okay that he treated you like that. You should have told me, I would have done
something sooner.”

Evan sighs, sounding exasperated. “Like what? What did he do? Can you guys stop assuming
I know what you’re talking about?”

“When I apologised to Greco, he told me that I only did it to shag Regulus.” Barty says,
looking down at the blanket that he’s pinching between his index finger and his thumb. “I
probably deserved it.”

“No, mate, you didn’t.” Evan says, leaning forward to rub his hand on Barty’s arm. “That’s
fucked up, how did he even know?”

“That’s what I asked. It’s obvious, apparently.”

Barty sounds choked up, and it’s making Regulus feel nauseous. The urge to flee the room
makes its way in his ribs, climbing them one by one, and making his chest feel tight.

“Look, I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve been a dickhead to him, I don’t know why I even
tried,” Barty says, backing away. Evan’s hand falls from his arm.

“It’s my fault.” Regulus wishes he could just sink to the mattress or melt on it. “I shouldn’t
have told you to approach him.” God, James tried to warn me about this . “I asked him what
happened because I know he can be really harsh sometimes, and you looked displeased…
fuck.”

“It’s not your fault, Reg.” Barty tries to reassure him. “I…”

“I don’t give a fuck of whatever excuse you’re trying to come up with.” Regulus snaps,
looking at him again. Barty closes his mouth. “I caused this.”

“Fine, is that what you want to hear? You caused this,” Barty says, folding his arms. “But it
already happened, you can’t go back in time and fix shit. It’s stupid that you even had a fight
with him about it.”

“I think it’s a very good reason to fight about.” Evan says, eyes darting between them.

Barty scoffs. “Then why are you friends with that sixth year lot, uh? Because they’re fucking
awful, and I know they talked shit about Regulus and me.”

Evan’s eyes go round. “Not around me! Are you kidding? I would have thrown hexes and
jinxes left and right!”

Barty nods, pressing his mouth into a thin line. “So you weren’t upset about Regulus and I
keeping secrets from you?”
Evan’s face turns so cold it could be stone or ice, something rare for him. Regulus can’t
exactly make sense out of it. “I didn’t say that. But I didn’t talk shit with them, nor was I
present when they did. Of course I was upset.”

“Why would you be upset?” Regulus asks, turning to look at Evan.

Barty sighs as Evan looks at him, stunned. “You excluded me for months last year! And then
you started avoiding Barty and I as if we had dragon pox or something.”

Regulus scowls, then turns to look at Barty, who nods. “We were…sort of together,” he tells
Evan. “Being alone in the room meant we could snog. Which I now understand must not
have been nice. Then we broke up, and I was trying to avoid Barty.”

Comprehension falls on Evan’s expression. He gets visibly more relaxed. “Okay,” he says
softly, sounding relieved. He looks at Barty for a moment. “I think we’re done with secrets.”

“Yeah.” Barty says, eyes fixated on Regulus. “So now do tell: who are you dating? Must be
pretty serious, going on since October.”

“I can’t tell you.” Regulus says rapidly, looking down. “Anything else, but not this. This I
really can’t talk about.”

“Why not?” Evan asks, bumping shoulders with him. “We can keep a secret, you know. This
bloke can’t be that bad.”

“I know you can keep a secret.”

It’s not rational to date your brother’s best friend, he hears again. He knows Elias didn’t
mean it the slightest: the encouragement came from him. Not only that, but during New
Years, he seemed pretty happy to try to get a reaction out of James by making him jealous.
Maybe it is that the words had tickled Regulus’s fear for Sirius’s reaction. The confession
seems now closer and more real than it has ever done before, and Regulus isn’t ready to deal
with that.

“I don’t have his permission and I can assure you, you won’t like it,” he adds, breaking the
silence that briefly fell between the three of them.

“I don’t see why.” Barty says, sounding a bit bitter. “Are you snogging someone you
shouldn’t? Or is it Elias?”

Regulus rolls his eyes at him. “It’s not Elias,” he says, coolly, as he gets up from the bed.
“But since you’re so obsessed with him, maybe you should know I did snog him. And he was
the first boy I kissed, not you.”

Barty’s mouth opens for a second, before he snaps it closed and frowns. Evan looks equally
as shocked, eyes darting between them like he’s sensing the fight coming.

“And you had the balls to tell me I should not worry about him?” Barty asks, getting on his
feet as well. “Took you almost a year to tell me there was something between you guys. So
what, were you lying now? Are you dating him?”
Regulus meets Evan’s gaze behind Barty’s shoulder and watches him shake his head. “I
already said I’m not,” he says, defensively. “This is none of your business.”

“That’s a lame excuse. I wouldn’t hide it from you if I was dating someone,” Barty says,
coming closer. “We just said we’d quit with lies!”

The height difference between them doesn’t intimidate Regulus, though. He holds Barty’s
gaze with pride and firmness, like he was taught to do. “I think you’re just jealous and you
want to know who to blame,” he hisses, watching Barty’s frown fall for a second. “When you
know exactly it is you.”

“Alright.” Evan puts each one of his hands on their chest and pushes them away from each
other. “I think you’ve said enough.”

“I think you’re getting too caught up in things that do not concern you,” Barty snaps, but he
steps back.

“You’re being dickheads to each other for no reason,” Evan crosses his arms to his chest, then
looks at Regulus. “So?”

“My answer doesn’t change. I won’t say anything.”

Barty gives him a pained look, then he shrugs and closes himself in the bathroom, shutting
the door behind him with a dull sound.

25 January, 1977

Before Potions starts, on Monday morning, Elias’s fingers wrap around his wrist. All the
anger he lulled in his arms dissolves when he meets his pleading gaze, which is why he
silently agrees on talking to him, even with the risk of being late to class. They walk some
metres away from their classmates, but Regulus can still feel Barty’s gaze following them.

“I’m sorry,” Elias says, meeting his gaze briefly, before looking down. “I didn’t mean to take
it out on you.”

Regulus shakes his head, curling the tip of his tie around his finger. “I should have asked you
before doing anything. I was daft to assume you wanted his apologies anyway,” he bites his
lower lip. “Though I still think you’ve been unnecessarily mean to him.”

“I know,” Elias shrugs, but he looks guilty. “But I don’t have a clue on how to talk to him,
honestly. It makes me nervous to be alone with him. I never know what to expect.”

“Fair enough,” Regulus says, letting his hands fall in line with his hips. “You’re simply not
used to him. I think you’d like each other if you stopped living in the past.”

Elias scowls, his eyes moving from Regulus’s face to the rest of the fifth year. Barty’s not
looking at them anymore; he’s simply talking to Dorcas, hands shoved in his pockets.
“Yeah, no,” Elias swallows, looking down again. “I think you can give up on that.”

“You fool,” Regulus says, with a small smile. “I never give up. I will keep trying until you
start getting along just to make me shut up.”

Elias gives him an exasperated look. “Fine, then. As long as I can keep you around,” he gives
in, with a little grin.

Regulus’s smile grows. “So we’re good?”

“We’re good, yeah.” Elias hesitates, before he steps into his space and pulls him into a tight
hug. “Let’s not fight like that again.”

Regulus runs one of his hands on Elias’s back soothingly. “I’ve got no intention to.”

Still, Elias’s words about him and Barty crowd his mind: what did Elias mean when he said
he doesn’t know their whole story? What secrets are they keeping from him?

“Oh Godric, what a coincidence to meet you here,” James says, as if he’s not leaning on the
wall, close to the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

The patrolling with Remus had been nice enough: they talked a bit more today than they
usually do. Remus appears to be feeling better than he did before Christmas, which makes
Regulus wonder if something happened between him and Sirius. He puts that idea aside:
surely, James or Sirius would have told him if that was the case.

He grins at James, stepping closer. “Can you believe this is my first time here?” he asks,
looking around to make sure they’re alone in the hallway. “To what do I owe the pleasure of
your visit?”

“I’ve come to kiss you, sweet and twenty?” James says, tentatively, with a proud grin.

“Romancing me with Shakespeare…” Regulus takes his hands, coming closer. “Then come
kiss me, sweet and twenty.”

Their forehead touch and their fingers lace together. “There’s another quote, from Romeo and
Juliet this time,” he murmurs, “Can you guess it?”

Regulus smiles. “I think I can,” he says, “shall I say it?”

Romeo and Juliet isn’t a love story, to Regulus: it’s a tragedy dictated by desire, a sin
consumed between two reckless people. He doesn’t mind being that with James, though, as
long as they don’t end up as just another tragedy.

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: my lips, two
blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss,” James quotes,
as a response.
“I don’t remember the next line,” Regulus says, now annoyed at his past self for never
bothering to memorise it. “But I remember that we should let the lips do what the lips do.”

He kisses James, soft and quick, feeling him smile the second before he parts.

“Thus from my lips, thine, my sin is purged,” he recites, meeting James’s eyes.

“Then have my lips the sin that they took,” James says back.

Regulus frowns, acts stern for a second: “Sin from thy lips?” he says, incredulous, “O
trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin back!”

It feels reckless to kiss James in the hallway like this; they’ve never done it, not even outside
the come and go room, and yet, Regulus can’t bring himself to care enough. There’s some
kind of thrill in the boldness of the action: his reckless bones must be singing in pleasure.
James lets go of his hands to wrap his arms around his waist: not that Regulus minds. Infact,
his hands find James’s shoulders, and he stays close when they part.

“Mind blowing, isn’t it?” James asks.

“Kissing you certainly is,” Regulus replies, caressing James’s cheek sweetly. “Though I have
to say it is quite fascinating to kiss you where everyone can see.”

“I’ve been thinking about it since our last game,” James says, eyes darting left and right, to
check the hallways once again; not that anyone should be here at this hour. “One day.”

“One day,” Regulus agrees, pressing another soft kiss on his lips, “promise?”

“Promise,” James smiles, before he lets go. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

“We’ll see each other tomorrow,” Regulus says, as James sweeps his hair back. “Is something
wrong?”

James shakes his head, with a shy smile. “No, it’s just that since Christmas it’s been a bit
harder to not see you everyday,” he nibbles at his lip. “I guess I miss you more than I used
to?”

“What will you do when I have to study for O.W.L.s?” Regulus teases, lacing his fingers with
James’s again.

“Fakely tutor you to get kisses?” James guesses, making Regulus laugh. “I’ll find a way,” he
looks up, wondering, before he says: “Oh, I’ve got it! I’ll test you and you’ll get a kiss for
everything you get right.”

Regulus considers it, then he shakes his head. “We’d end up kissing everytime I speak.”

“Merlin, and I’m supposed to be the arrogant one?” James presses his free hand to his chest.

“I’m not arrogant,” Regulus denies, frowning. “I’m confident.”

“I used to say the same thing, you know?” James giggles, “pot, meet kettle.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “You should be arrogant more often.”

“Like it?”

“Yes,” Regulus smirks, “though we’d probably end up butting heads.”

“Oh, I’m perfectly okay with butting heads, as long as it is a synecdoche for kissing,” James
says, casually, mimicking Regulus’s smirk. “You know, the type of kisses where teeth
collide…”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Regulus says, all innocent. “Why don’t you show me?”

James laughs, shaking his head. “We’d definitely get caught,” he says, as a faint blush
spreads on his cheeks. “But I love the idea.”

Regulus smiles at him and squeezes his hand one last time, before letting go. “See you
tomorrow?”

James winks at him. “See you tomorrow, darling.”

Needless to say, happiness blooms in his chest as he makes his way towards the common
room. His smile falters, though, when he hears heated talking:

“...and what do you give us? You give us a bloody anti-abortion law and a prize for ‘mothers
with numerous families’!” Veronica is saying, while he enters.

She sits on the armchair by the fire, anger deepening the frown on her face, making her eyes
sharp. On the couch sit Mulciber and Snape, while Abraham Yaxley sits on the other
armchair. Dorcas and Vivienne stay next to the fireplace, arms crossed and eyebrows
creased.

“You have to understand that this law gives women a way to participate in the greatness of
the race,” Mulciber says, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “Women are fundamental for
our rise to power.”

“You want to treat us like baby making machines,” Vivienne says, disgusted.

During winter break, she dyed her hair blonde and cut it into a layered cut, very similar to
Sirius’s. It makes her features pop; she looks a bit like a rock and roller. Right now, she’s
glaring daggers at Mulciber.

“Save manipulative bollocks for those who are daft enough to listen to you,” she goes on,
“women aren’t only useful when they can give you children.”

“No,” Yaxley says, amused, “they’re only useful when they can give you pureblood
children.”
“You’ve got such a way with ladies, Yaxley,” Regulus says, walking in. “Remind me while
your girlfriend dumped you, please?”

“It’s probably because of his tiny shrimp,” Vivienne grins, “are you sure you can make a
woman pregnant with that?”

“So mature to resort to offences when someone disagrees with you,” Snape rolls his eyes,
eyeing Regulus suspiciously.

“No, better to just go for blood, right?” Regulus asks, sarcastically, as he straddles one of the
chairs by the table. Snape squints at him once more, so he decides to change the subject: “Do
you think the law will pass?”

“It’s unlikely,” Dorcas says, meeting Regulus’s eyes. “The Wizengamot is opposing it; it’s
crazy to ask something like that, especially since it only targets pureblood women.”

“But it should pass,” Mulciber insists, looking at Regulus. “The birth rate is too low, magic
will die in a hundred years if we keep ignoring our responsibilities.”

“That’s factually incorrect,” Regulus replies, “magic can’t die, it’s not born either. People are
born with magic; magic itself cannot die. Or live, for that matter. There is no such a thing as a
responsibility to have kids.”

“And abortion isn’t something people have for fun,” Dorcas says, rolling her eyes. “You do it
because you have a good reason to interrupt the pregnancy. If the mother loses her life, then
there’s just as many purebloods as there were before.”

“I’m pretty confident you can’t even have an abortion without a ‘valid reason’, at Saint
Mungo,” Regulus adds. “It’s such a stupid law to pass, honestly. It would only do damage.”

“You’re becoming too left leaning,” Mulciber says, squinting at him. “What does your sweet
mother think about that?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “I’d appreciate it if you minded your business.”

“I don’t see why you two are so concerned about it,” Yaxleys says, pointing at Dorcas and
Veronica. “Aren’t you queer or something?”

“Who said you can use the word queer?” Veronica asks, glaring at him. “How long do you
think it will take for them to target pureblood women who aren’t married?”

“As if we’re not already a target…” Vivienne clenches her jaw. “My parents keep bothering
me about marriage.”

“Yeah, same,” Regulus grumbles, “we’re not even of age.”

“Who wants kids anyway?” Vivienne adds, throwing her arms in the air. “That seems like a
bloody hassle.”

“I want kids,” Mulciber says, leaning against the back of the couch.
“Good to know,” Veronica says, “I pray to every existing deity that you’ll never have kids,
you’d be an awful father.”

Mulciber flips her the bird. “You’d be an awful mother.”

“Nobody said I want kids,” Veronica says, rolling her eyes. “Looks like we were right,
Meadowes. When are you joining the team? I want that gorilla out,” she adds, as she points at
Mulciber.

“You wouldn’t last one game without me,” Mulciber points out, waving a hand in the air.
“Meadowes is too scrawny for a beater anyway.”

“Your dick is scrawny,” Dorcas replies, showing him two fingers. “I’d be better than you.
Next year, you’ll dream about Quidditch, Mulciber. And I’ll be making history.”

“I don’t know why you even bother,” Snape says, sounding bored. “Quidditch is for who has
time to waste anyway.”

“You’re just upset that you couldn’t make it to the team,” Regulus says, crossing his ankles.
“What is it that you wanted to be? A chaser?”

Snape makes a gagging sound. “No, thank you.”

“Oh, that he wanted,” Veronica joins in. “Still upset ‘cause Potter made it to the team right
from the get to go.”

“Potter simply got lucky,” Snape mutters.

“No he didn’t,” Regulus says, with a proud grin. “He’s definitely the best chaser in the
school.”

“Oi, watch your mouth,” Dorcas says, squinting at him, “my girlfriend is clearly the best.”

“She can have the second place,” Regulus allows. “But Potter stays first.”

“It’s such a shame that he speaks like this,” Veronica says, aggravated, pressing a hand on her
chest as if she’s in pain. “He’s such a good seeker, and I have to kick him out of the team.”

Even Mulciber snorts at that, which is probably the most mortifying thing. “You’re dead
without me,” Regulus says, defensively. “I’m the best seeker at Hogwarts.”

“Ouchie, I thought you and Elias were friends,” Dorcas says, an eyebrow going up.

“You’re friends with the muggleborn!?” Mulciber says, turning to look at him. Yaxley makes
a disgusted expression, Snape simply shrugs. “Why?”

“Is it any of your business? Why do you suddenly care that much?” Regulus frowns, though
his hand squeezes the back of the chair. “Snape here was friends with Evans for bloody
years.”
“Yeah, but he flipped back to the good side,” Mulciber crosses his arms, eyes going up and
down Regulus’s figure. “You’d better do the same.”

“And for the record,” Yaxley adds, “everyone cares, since you’re the heir, now.”

Regulus goes still for a moment; he forgets about it, sometimes. Hiding behind Sirius’s shield
of rebelliousness had worked so far, but things changed. Things changed, and Regulus keeps
forgetting that he needs to keep a low profile.

“I don’t need advice from people beneath me,” he says, getting up. Back straight and eyes
sharp, he gives a look to all the people in the room, before he leaves for his room.

“You set him on edge, you bloody idiot,” he hears Mulciber saying, as he starts going up
stairs. “This is not the way to get him back to our side.”

“It’s not my fault if he’s so sensitive, for fuck’s sake!”

Regulus grits his teeth, resisting the urge to turn back and hex both of them, then speeds up
his pace. He’s almost at his door when he hears Dorcas saying: “I’m sorry!”

He turns, softens his expression. “It’s really not your fault,” he says, trying to sound kind. “I
should have been more careful.”

“You shouldn’t have to be,” she says, catching up to him. Her lips are curled down in a sad
expression and her hand is hot on Regulus’s arm. “I think it’s awesome that you’re friends
with Elias. It’s not easy to do what you did.”

“I did the bare minimum,” Regulus says, looking down. “There’s still a lot I need to work on,
if they still think they can have me back in their lines.”

Dorcas rubs her hand on his arm. “You’ll be fine,” she says, with a reassuring smile, “you
know, Barty looks up to you a lot, even if he thinks you’re a bit barmy.”

“He thinks I’m barmy?” Regulus gapes at her, making her laugh as she nods. “Why?”

“Well, you have to admit you dream big,” she says, with a grin. “I do too, so that’s fine with
me.”

“I guess I do dream big…” Regulus pouts. “Barty should dream big too.”

“He will,” Dorcas winks at him. “So, what was that eulogy of Potter earlier, umh?”

“Ugh, shut up,” he covers his face with his hand. “You can’t deny he’s the best.”

“And you can’t deny you have a growing crush on him,” Dorcas teases. “C’mon, tell me. Did
he charm you during Christmas or has it been going on for a while? Who do you think he’s
dating? I can help you get rid of the body.”

Regulus gives her a confused look, before he grins, smugly. “Oh, I don’t know. Who do you
think he’s dating, Meadowes?”
Dorcas gapes, before she slaps her hand on her mouth. “Mary was right?” she asks, a bit
louder.

“Shh,” Regulus goes, giggling, as he puts his index finger over his lips. “She was, but I don’t
think James told her.”

“Fuck, Reg,” Dorcas glances at the door of his room. “Have you thought about telling Barty
and Evan? Oh, jeez, have you told your brother?”

“No, to both questions,” he licks his lips. “I’ll tell Sirius soon, I just need a bit more time…”

“Oh, Reg,” Dorcas takes a deep breath in, “it’s not good to wait in this situation.”

“I know,” he replies, annoyed. “I know, it’s just that…we can’t figure out how to tell him,
you know? He’s hard to figure out, you never know how he might react. And Barty already
doesn’t like him…”

“He’ll have to know at some point,” Dorcas says, crossing her arms to her chest.

He’s about to reply, when he hears footsteps coming. He exchanges a gaze with Dorcas,
before they nod at each other. “Good night,” he tells her, stepping closer to the door, a hand
already on the handle.

“Good night, Reg,” she says. As she walks away, Snape and Mulciber appear in the hallway.

The way Snape stares at him, as he walks through the corridor, leaves him wishing he had
been more careful with his word choice.
 The Clock Tower & The Fool
Chapter Notes

Content warnings for the chapter: mentions of distant parents and CA, recreative drug
use (weed) and mentions of underage drinking.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

28 January, 1977

“So, I’ve decided where to spend my birthday,” Pandora says, undoing Regulus’s tie right
outside of the Astronomy classroom. “And I’m going to bring you there, blind folded.”

“Amazing, thank you,” Regulus replies, sarcastically, “I’m not wearing that tie as a blind
fold, it would…”

“Ruin your hair,” Pandora finishes for him, “I don’t care about your hair. Let me have a bit of
fun. I’m almost sixteen, you should listen to your elders.”

“I don’t want to listen to the elders,” Regulus complains, but he lets Pandora blind fold him:
after all, he already gave up to the fact that he would do anything in his power to make her
happy.

“If you make me bump into somebody, I will never forgive you,” Regulus threatens, as she
starts leading him through the corridor. “When do you want to party, by the way? Your
birthday is on Friday, so no Hogsmeade.”

It’s a bummer, honestly. He should ask James if he knows how they can sneak out: he
probably does. No one would believe he doesn’t, especially Regulus, who hears him saying
“I’m busy with my other loves” sometimes, as if they have secret councils every now and
then. Regulus tends to assume it is a marauding night, but if he’s honest, he just wishes James
would tell him what he gets up to when they don’t meet or when he’s missing at breakfast or
especially tired looking. It wouldn't be a surprise to discover they sneak into Hogsmeade to
have a night out.

“My birthday will happen on Friday, just like it’s supposed to be,” Pandora says, and she
must be rolling her eyes. “We’ll just have it at night.”

Regulus stops on his tracks, turning around and clumsily grabbing her hand. “That will get us
in trouble,” he hisses.

Pandora giggles, squeezing his hand as she gets closer. “You’re dating the king of trouble,
Reggie,” she whispers in his ear, making him want to smile and be grumpy at the same time.
“We’ll be fine as long as we don’t get caught,” she steps away now. “I’ve got everything
covered, now move.”

“When did you get so bossy?” He complains, letting her guide him again.

Five minutes later, they must have gotten out of the Astronomy Tower, because Regulus can
hear people chatting and giggling.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Be patient, Regulus. I’m sure there is a latin saying about patience, you could use a bit of
that,” Pandora teases.

She’s right, there is: Patientia comes est sapientiae.

Regulus feels a tickle on his left side: Pandora’s icy cold fingers, he tries to grab her hand
blindly, but misses, and she finds an even better spot to tickle, causing him to move away, all
the way to the right, with a soft yelt. He bumps into someone, obviously: usual luck.

“I’m sorry,” he says, annoyed, not sure if he should peek from the improvised blindfold to see
who he bumped into.

“Oh, sorry won’t do it,” James replies, making his voice deeper. It sounds funny, and it never
fails to make Regulus chuckle. “How about you tell me why on earth you’re walking around
blind folded?”

“That would be my idea,” Pandora says, proudly.

“Aww, look at Regulus letting his girlfriend boss him around,” Sirius says, with a mocking
voice. His hand catches Regulus’s cheek, which earns him a good slap on the back of it. “She
should have handcuffed you. You’re a danger to society.”

“And your hair is ugly and lacks volume,” Regulus replies after dragging the tie down to his
neck, just to glare at Sirius. “What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” James inquires, amused. “Did you lose a bet? Sirius always makes me
do embarrassing shite when I lose a bet.”

“Not a bet, just a surprise,” Regulus replies, taking a good look at the way James’s sweater
fits his torso, before averting his eyes. “Doesn’t Gryffindor train at this hour? Elias ran to
practise right after class.”

“They do,” Sirius gives him an odd look, to which Regulus frowns. “I’m taking James
there.”

“He’s my guard dog,” James says, with a smirk, “but I let him sleep on a bed.”

Sirius smirks as well. “Well, James, aren’t you such a deer?”

“A dear,” Regulus corrects him, frowning again.

“No, a deer,” James says, amused. “Have a good time figuring it out!”

A second later, he’s sprinting in the hallways; Regulus would call him a freak if he didn’t
know that Quidditch captains and late comers never work well together. He gives Sirius a
questioning look, but he simply shrugs and takes off after James, waving his hand as a
greeting.

“Weird pair,” Pandora comments, fixing the blindfold on his eyes again.

“Maybe they were talking about their patroni,” Regulus wonders, as Pandora starts guiding
him through the crowd again. “It would make sense if James was a deer. Though he’d be
more elegant if he did his hair right. He keeps saying he has wavy hair, but he doesn’t, okay?
I know a curl pattern when I see one.”

“He’s totally curly. He would look much cuter if he took care of his hair properly,” Pandora
agrees, “less boyish.”

“Not necessarily. But he would definitely look cuter, I have to convince him to let me do his
hair.”

“You should have him losing a bet,” Pandora proposes, as they turn.

“You’re a devil in disguise, Dora,” Regulus says, smirking, “I will have him losing a bet. Or
do his hair for his birthday.”

“I can’t wait to hear about it,” she replies, cheerfully.

It takes them another fifteen minutes to arrive at the location, then Pandora finally frees him
from the blind fold.

“The Clock Tower!” Regulus turns to smile at Pandora, who grins at him. “What’s the plan?”

“Well, the plan starts with the guests, obviously,” she says, theatrically, walking into the room
with her arms open. “So you, Cory, Jules, Elias, Dorcas, and Crouch and Rosier, I suppose.
Maybe Xeno.”

“Why maybe?” Regulus asks, looking around.

“He’s shy, I don’t want him to feel out of place, you know? We tend to be turbulent, as a
group, he would be uncomfortable, though he would never admit it,” she says, her hands now
behind her back. “Want to know what I’m planning?”

“Please enlighten me on how we’re going to break the rules and not be caught.”

“Welcome, gentleman and ghosts in the walls, to How to get away with trouble and fraud,”
Pandora says, with a smirk. “We’ll start off with the easy ones; the ones of us who are
prefects, are all on patrol that night. We’ll simply come here after patrolling. We’ll set a few
distractions for Flinch and Ms. Norris, which will allow Dorcas, Evan and Barty to sneak in
here.”
Regulus hums. “Okay, what else? We’ll need food, and booze, maybe?”

Pandora winks at him. “Well, Barty always has weed, so we’ll get that from him. That’ll do, I
think. I can go with no booze, and I don’t know how we’d get it. Jules and Elias will sneak
into the kitchens and bring food, I already talked to her and she agreed. Cory has already
confirmed he’ll be there, and he’s going to bring a muggle game called Monopoly. It
normally has four players, but I think it will be fun to play in teams of two.”

Regulus smirks, nodding. “I like the sound of it. We’re placing charms on this room, though.
Do you think we can make it unplottable, or nearly so, just for a night? Jamie taught…why
are you smiling like that?”

“Jamie,” she mocks him, all doe-eyed.

“Ah, I see, someone is in the mood to be a dickhead today,” Regulus says, crossing his arms.

“You’re so touchy, does Jamie know that?”

Regulus flips her the bird. “Yes, he knows, and he tickles me when I’m being particularly
touchy, which is very childish and disrespectful.”

Pandora chuckles. “Christ, Reg, I’ve never seen you so smitten,” she says, a bit more softly.
“So, what did he teach you?”

“He taught me how to time spells, at the beginning of the year. Technically, it’s N.E.W.T.s
levels, but I pulled it off,” he says, looking around the room.

“So modest.”

“Shh,” he sticks his tongue out. “I’ll teach you how to do it. Elias and Jules can do it too, if I
reckon correctly, we should be able to cover the entire room, at least with silencing charms.
But how do we make it unplottable?”

“Doesn’t your boyfriend have some life-saver spell?”

“We could do research in the library tomorrow,” Regulus shrugs his shoulders.

Pandora rolls her eyes, though she has a little smile on her lips. “Proud creature,” she says,
“typical capricorn rising,” she hums, then shrugs her shoulders. “So, this is it. What do you
think?”

“I think it’s a brilliant idea and very needed, considering how crushing February is going to
be school wise,” Regulus says, stretching his arms above his head.

“You finished your homework, right?” Pandora asks, as she starts making her way outside
The Clock Tower.

“Yup,” Regulus catches up to her. “Some other things I should see?”

Pandora hands him his tie, which he does carelessly as they walk. “I mean, it’s not raining or
snowing, surprisingly enough, so we could go and watch Gryffindor practice?”

Regulus grins at her, then nods. “We could tell Elias about the party right after practice. Do
you think he’ll come? He always complains about doing things with Barty.”

Pandora shrugs, moving her hair past her shoulders. “I don’t know, but they seem to be able
to stand each other better, since the forced proximity.”

Regulus hums in agreement. “But Elias still finds him unpleasant, so there’s a long way to
go. I’m confident they’ll find a balance soon enough.”

As they make their way to the Quidditch pitch, they find Barty in a corridor, seemingly
annoyed: he’s frowning as he looks around, and his lips are curled down.

“What happened?” Regulus asks, as he and Pandora appear by his sides, respectfully left and
right.

Barty jolts, and almost gives them a dirty look, before he realises who they are; then he
relaxes his face. “Stairs hate me today. Five bloody years in this school and they still manage
to confuse me enough to get lost.”

Pandora chuckles. “There should be a map.”

“A moving map,” Regulus agrees. “So you can see when the stairs are changing, and not get
lost.”

“Imagine what a hassle it would be to create such a thing,” Barty rolls his eyes, but he walks
with them, not even asking where they’re headed. “Though useful, if you think about it.”

“I bet your brother has something like that,” Pandora tells Regulus, with a little smirk. “The
marauders seem clever enough to craft something like that.”

“Since when?” Barty cocks an eyebrow. “They’re not smart, they’re just idiots who like
pranks.”

“Oi,” Regulus elbows Barty in the ribs, “it’s my brother you’re talking about.”

Barty groans and rolls his eyes. “Well, at least they’re not as insufferable as they were last
year.”

“What do you mean?” Regulus asks, as Pandora eyes Barty curiously.

“Haven’t you noticed that they calmed down with the pranks? They attempted something at
the beginning of the year, but that was it. Even the pranks they did, they were…plain,
compared to what they’ve done before,” Barty explains. “Seems like they’ve been busy with
something else.”
Regulus doesn’t remember Sirius being particularly busy with anything else, other than music
and his friends. “I wonder.”

“You should investigate,” Pandora prompts, as she ties her hair up in a bun. “Have you guys
thought about which classes to drop or add next year? I hope they keep the alchemy course.”

“Jeez, you picked already,” Barty runs a hand through his hair, “I don’t know, honestly. I
think I’ll drop Astronomy and Divination, given that I suck at both.”

“I want to drop Herbology,” Regulus says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers.
“It’s a bloody hassle.”

“So, no healer Regulus Black around here?” Barty teases, poking his cheek.

Regulus glares at him, catching his finger in his hand. “I don’t think I’ll function well as a
healer.”

“He would probably use people as his little experiments,” Pandora chuckles, “I’d do the
same, that’s why healer course isn’t in my plan as well.”

“What do you want to be?” Barty wiggles himself free from Regulus’s hand, and looks at
Pandora.

“I want to be an inventor,” she says, flashing him a proud grin. “I’ll invent powerful spells
against dark magic.”

“Woah, okay, slow down, Merlin,” Barty teases. “I think I’ll go to law school.”

“Ah, J-” Regulus stops, blinking, making Barty and Pandora stop in their tracks as well.
“Sorry, nothing. Someone I know is also considering law school.”

Barty shrugs his shoulders. “I think it’d make my dad too proud, though. Maybe I should
train to be Unspeakable.”

“Ugh, that sounds tough,” Regulus says.

He’s already worried about James still considering Auror Academy in the middle of a war, he
doesn’t want to worry about Barty training to be an Unspeakable. It’s even worse if he starts
to think about the dangers of being an inventor.

“Too many career options,” Barty sighs, as they step outside, on the Quidditch pitch. “Wait,
what are we doing here?”

“Watching Gryffindor’s practice,” Regulus replies, with a smirk.

“I’m going back inside,” Barty announces, just to be promptly blocked by Pandora and
Regulus. “Salazar’s balls. What have I done to you to deserve this?”

“C’mon, you watch my practice, you can watch theirs as well,” Regulus says, as they climb
up to the bleachers.
Surprisingly (or maybe not), Sirius and Lily Evans are also on the bleachers, chatting quietly,
but still paying attention.

“Siri!” Regulus calls, teasingly, as the three of them make their way to their seats.

Sirius turns, surprised, but he still smiles when he sees Regulus. “Look who decided to make
an appearance,” he says, eyes going up and down Regulus’s figure. “I thought I was going to
have to wait until the end of your O.W.L.s to see you again.”

“I’m not that much of a swot,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You could make an appearance
too.”

“Nah, you’re the hard worker between us,” Sirius says, folding his arms.

“Hi, Lily!” Pandora says, cheerfully, leaning down to kiss Lily’s cheek. “Having a good
time?”

“Yeah, I love Quidditch,” she smiles sweetly at Pandora, who smiles back, her cheeks red.
“Marlene and Mary will act dramatically if I don’t show up, so there’s that too.”

Barty goes closer to the pitch, not sitting, just watching with his arms folded.

“Is he always so serious?” Sirius asks, tilting his head to the side.

“No, that would be you,” Regulus replies, knowing he’ll get an eyeroll out of Sirius with
such a joke. “He’s not. He’s quite calm, actually. Well, a bit unhinged, but calm in his own
way.”

“Woah, you’re shit at explaining your friends,” Sirius laughs.

Regulus hums, trying to think about a comeback, though he fails, too busy looking for James.
There he is, on the right side of the field, with his hair messy, waving his hand at Macdonald
to get the ball, and speeding up the second he has it. He scores a wonderful goal, so,
naturally, Sirius, Lily and Regulus cheer. Pandora joins in. And even if Regulus can’t see
him, he’s sure Barty is rolling his eyes at the moment.

“He’s the best chaser at Hogwarts,” he says, unable to hold back his smile as he says that.
“Isn’t he?”

Lily chuckles, giving Regulus a curious look. “Who would have guessed the Slytherin’s
seeker would have a soft spot for James Potter of all people?”

“Ugh,” Regulus covers his face with his hands, then runs them through his hair. “I don’t have
a soft spot for James.”

“Liar,” Sirius says, easily, only sounding slightly annoyed. “Listen to this, Lils. While
James’s parents were on a mission, Regulus made him tea, and even fetched him milk and
sugar when he asked for those.”
Lily and Pandora giggle. Lily gives him a side-eyed look, with a curious smirk, like he’s a
mystery she’s trying to figure out. He averts his eyes.

“It’s despicable how you use my good actions against me, Sirius,” he says, jokingly,
following James’s figure as he flies around the pitch, covering the action Macdonald and
Marlene are making.

“I guess you couldn’t be immune to James’s charm,” Sirius says, casually. “After all, he is
Hogwarts’ Golden boy.”

Mine, Regulus thinks. My Golden boy. But as he thinks that, something happens just in front
of him: he catches the glitter of the snitch, just next to Barty, who extends his hand and takes
it, just as Elias lays his fingers on it as well.

“Oi, Crouch!” Sirius yells, immediately alarmed.

“Give it back,” he hears Elias says, assertively.

The angle isn’t a good one, but he can tell Elias isn’t giving Barty one of his kind looks; he’s
probably giving him the dirtiest look he can manage, glaring as he usually does when it
comes to Barty.

“No,” Barty says, tugging at the snitch, and bringing Elias closer as a consequence, because
he’s not letting go either. “I took it, so it’s mine.”

“Yeah?” Elias asks, sarcastically. “Last time I checked, Crouch, you don’t play Quidditch,
and even if you would, this isn’t your team. The snitch is mine.”

“I took it first,” Barty replies, now turning enough for Regulus to see that he’s smiling.

It doesn’t last long: Frank Longbottom flies down next to Elias and gives Barty a severe look.
“Give him the snitch back, Crouch. I’m not kidding. You’re disturbing practice.”

Reluctantly, Barty lets the snitch go and takes a step back. “You Gryffindors are no fun,”
Regulus hears him say, before he makes his way towards Regulus and Pandora.

“What the hell was that, Barty?” Regulus asks right away, coming close to him.

“Relax, Reg, it was just a joke. I would have given it back,” Barty rolls his eyes and sits on
one of the plastic stools. Regulus squints at him. “Would you calm down? It was a joke.”

“It’d better stay a joke, Crouch,” Sirius says, glaring at Barty. “Don’t mess with him.”

Barty rolls his eyes, but he stays quiet after that. They stay until the end of practice, when
Regulus is greeted, surprisingly, by Mary Macdonald. He’s not even sure why they both go
for a hug when they see each other, but they do, which makes Regulus giggle.

“Hi, Mary,” he whispers, feeling the smile grow on his face.

“Hi, Regulus,” she whispers back. “I think you’ve stolen my best friend’s heart. I could see
him glancing at you.”

“Are you sure he could see me? He’s a bit short-sighted, after all.”

Mary laughs, then lets him go, but still keeps a hand on his shoulder. “Sirius, I’m keeping
your brother!”

Sirius throws his arms in the air. “Get your own!”

“Mine is boring!”

“Hey,” James frowns at both of them. “I already claimed Reggie, you can’t have him.”

Sirius folds his arms, squinting at James. “Sure, James. Tell me, which one do you prefer,
Regulus or your bollocks?”

They all laugh, though James just shrugs. For just a moment, their eyes meet, and Regulus
sees the way James’s face relaxes and eases into a soft smile. It fills him with hope and
expectations: he can’t wait to see him, after dinner, and have him in his arms.

Elias arrives at that moment, frowning and sweaty: his hair is a mess and his cheeks are red.
His chest rises and falls quickly, still catching his breath. Regulus gazes at Barty, next to him,
and watches him as he runs his eyes up and down Elias’s figure, then tilts his head to the
side.

“What are you laughing about?” Elias asks.

Barty snaps back to reality and catches Regulus’s eye, then raises his eyebrows. Regulus
shrugs lightly, like he’s not going to over-analyse those details later.

“Just Sirius being overprotective,” Regulus says, now grinning at Elias. “We’re here for you
actually.”

“Joy,” Elias looks up at the sky, almost like a silent prayer. “Secret council, then.”

“You get it, comrade,” Pandora smirks at him, giving him a thumbs up. “C’mon, we’ve got to
talk.”

So Elias follows them away from the rest of the crowd, and Regulus makes sure Barty does
the same; he’s walking gingerly, like he knows Regulus is watching him.

“Why am I being dragged here?” Barty asks, eyes darting between Regulus and Pandora. “Oh
my God, this is one of your shitty ideas.”

“Your ideas are shitty,” Elias replies, giving him a dirty look. “So, what happened?”

“As you know, it’s my birthday, next Friday,” Pandora says, with a smirk. “So me and
Regulus came up with a plan on how to have a great time on Friday night.”
“We’re all going to have detention,” Barty runs his hand through his hair, taking a deep
breath.

“Relax, mr. Perfect Record,” Elias rolls his eyes at him. “Breaking rules is a good way to piss
off fathers.”

“You’re so much of help, thank you,” Barty mumbles, looking down. “Do you have a plan?”

“We do,” Pandora nods, with a smirk. “We took care of everything, we won’t get in trouble.”

“I’m in,” Elias says.

Barty glances at him. “I’m not losing to Greco,” he says. “I’m in too.”

30 January, 1977

Sundays are meant to be good days. Days to lie in bed, have breakfast late, laze around the
castle with your friends; sneak into Hogsmeade, because everyone does it anyway, meet your
boyfriend in a quiet, hidden spot, and share secret kisses.

The last Sunday of January is not like that at all. It starts normally, as any Sunday would, but
everything goes wrong at breakfast, when he gets a letter from Euphemia Potter. The
excitement he thought he’d feel in receiving a letter from her is nowhere to be found and the
upset feeling weighing down his stomach catches him off guard. In a matter of seconds, the
distress turns his hunger into dust; he leaves the Great Hall quickly, mumbling something
about being busy, and tucks the letter in the pocket of his trousers. The only safe place he can
think of is the Come and Go room.

Some minutes later, after drying some stray tears as he walked through the corridors, he’s
sitting in front of the fireplace of the room, back against the couch and a blanket wrapped
around his shoulders. The tears don’t come again, even if he feels like crying, like something
is stuck in his throat.

Euphemia isn’t the issue here: Walburga is. The last time she wrote to him, it was to scold
him, even daring to talk about his grades. Surely, Euphemia’s letter will be filled with nice
words and wishes, nothing like his mother could achieve, but that’s exactly the problem. The
issue grows larger when Regulus thinks about the picture he had found in the summer: the
one with his mother lifting him up to place him on her knees, both of them smiling widely.
He remembers, vaguely, how sweet she used to be with him and Sirius when they were still
children, and he keeps obsessing over it, attached to that piece of motherhood, like it’ll
disappear if he lets go.

As a child, he used to get bored with things to do in the house really quickly, but one thing he
enjoyed was spending time with his family.

With his mother, he liked to sit on her lap while she knitted, and remembers the way she
would let him put his hands on the sticks, teaching him how to knit.
With his father, he liked reading. He was allowed to pick books and sit next to him, to read
together. To be fair, Orion never really stopped being that kind of father. Regulus and Sirius
had always been welcome to spend time with him, especially if it was about books or magic,
but they grew resentful over the years. It didn’t matter that Orion could be such a sweet father
when they were alone: he still never stopped their mother from hurting them and he still gave
them those terrible sleeping potions to calm them down when he couldn’t manage them.

That’s what really upsets him, truth be told: that his parents used to be proper parents, and
then turned into strangers. To this day, he still doesn’t know what happened, what made them
so different; he never asked anyone, though with Narcissa proposing that they’d write to each
other…well, he’s curious. He wants to ask, wants to know if Mother ever asks her if she
knows how they’re doing, if she’s interested.

He sniffles, drying a couple of tears that escaped his eyes with the blanket, then going back to
staring at the fire. A part of him, a rather childish one, wants to write to Mother instead, tell
her Euphemia Potter wrote him a letter, and ask her why she doesn't do the same. He won’t,
though: the thing about Walburga, Regulus knows, is that she would reply, and he can’t take
that.

The sudden noise of the door opening makes him jump on his feet, but it’s just James.
Regulus frowns, for a second, looking around the room like it has betrayed him. He didn’t
know he wanted James around, so why did the room let him in?

“What are you doing here?” Regulus asks, arms crossed to his chest and hands gripping
tightly at the blanket, to make sure it doesn’t slip from his shoulders.

“I saw you getting out of the Great Hall,” James says, eyes going up and down Regulus’s
figure. “You never do that, breakfast is sacred to you, I thought something must be wrong.”

Regulus shrugs, feeling his chest grow tight again. He sits on the couch, hands between his
knees. “Yeah,” he says, quietly.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Eyes still on the fire, Regulus nods. “I don’t mind if you do.”

Just a few seconds later, James sits close to him. “Do you want to talk?”

Regulus shakes his head.

“Do you want me to hold your hand?”

This time, he nods, and watches the way James easily takes his hand, gently lacing their
fingers together. That’s when he feels more tears coming in, and suddenly he’s crying, trying
and failing to dry his face with his free hand.

“Oh, jaan.”

James lets go of his hand, just to wrap his arm around Regulus’s shoulders, bringing him
closer. But it’s Regulus that moves, climbing into James’s lap and looping his arms around
his shoulder, getting James inside the blanket that was previously warming up Regulus only.

“It’s okay,” James says, bringing him into a comforting hug, “it’s going to be alright,
sweetheart.”

Regulus sniffles, holding tighter. “It’s a bad day,” he says, despising the way his voice comes
out sounding nasal. “And I hate that it’s a bad day, Sunday mornings are supposed to be
wholesome.”

“It’s okay to have bad days, love,” James murmurs, with that warm voice of his. “I’m here,
umh? I can fetch you anything. I can go and grab you a hot cocoa. I brought you a sugar quill
and some muggle chocolate, actually.”

“Oh, I detest you, you’re always so perfect,” Regulus sobs, making James chuckle, despite
the situation. “I never even had muggle chocolate.”

“It cheers you up right away,” James says, his hand gently brushing Regulus’s hip.

“But you’re not muggle chocolate and yet you still cheer me up,” Regulus says, blinking. His
eyelashes feel sticky. “Your hugs are nice.”

James hums, reaching out to dry Regulus’s cheek with the sleeve of his jumper, which,
Regulus notices, is the one he gave him for Christmas. “You like hugs when you’re sad,” he
says, simply, “wait until you try chocolate, music and me,” that makes Regulus smile. “I saw
a smile, jaan.”

“I was laughing at you,” Regulus replies; he wants to laugh, but he sobs again, more tears
coming out. “Fuck’s sake, how do I stop?”

“You probably needed to cry, Reg,” James says, patiently. “It’s okay, really.”

Regulus pulls a face at him, then climbs off his lap. “Getting water,” he says, pulling the
blanket over his head as he goes towards the cabinet. His favourite mug, the green one, is still
intact, thankfully, so he picks that one and taps it with his wand, muttering: “Aguamenti.”

“What are you doing with that blanket over your head, hm?” James asks, suddenly next to
him again. “Copying me?”

“My ears get cold easily,” Regulus replies, grumpily, after downing the water. “Do you think
the water we produce with aguamenti is new or taken from somewhere? And why is it always
drinkable? Actually, that’s a stupid question, it’s drinkable because I want it to be drinkable.
But where do I take it from?”

“Oh, you’re back,” James says, with a teasing smile. “Unfortunately, I lack the resources to
answer that question.”

“Bad boyfriend,” Regulus replies, then, making James laugh.

“I do have a question you might answer, though,” James says, getting closer. He taps
Regulus’s pocket with two fingers. “Does this have anything to do with you being sad?”
Regulus pouts, setting the mug down. “I’m very annoyed at you at this moment,” he says.

James rolls his eyes, “I know, I can feel that. Did you seriously think I wouldn’t notice?”

“More like I was hoping you wouldn’t,” Regulus replies, waving his hand in the air. “It’s a
letter from your mum.”

James looks at him for a solid second, probably trying to decide if it’s a joke or if Regulus
means it. “Okay,” he says, slowly. “Did she say something to upset you?”

“I didn’t read it,” Regulus says, quietly, looking down at their feet. James’s socks are
unmatched, two different colours and patterns: he must have done it on purpose, because
house elves never lose socks or mess them up. “I…am struggling,” he adds, frowning, “to
explain to you why I’m feeling the way I am.”

“It’s okay,” James says, gently, his hand gently cupping Regulus’s cheek, forcing him to look
up and meet James’s eyes. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

Regulus wraps his fingers around James’s wrist, his thumb stroking the smooth skin of his
hand. “I know. I’m just…I’m feeling a lot right now, and I wasn’t prepared. It ruined my
day.”

“Alright,” James says, bringing him closer to kiss his forehead. “Then we have to make it
better, what do you think?”

“What are you planning?”

“Surprise?” James gives him a mischievous smile, a smile Regulus will never say no to.

The one-eyed witch statue on the third floor, Gunhilda of Gorsemoor, is actually a secret
passage to Hogsmeade. With a flick of the wand, a mischievous grin and a “dissendium”
spoken in a hushed voice, anyone can sneak into the passage. The discovery leaves Regulus
wide-eyed, with his mouth slightly opened, for just a second. For half of the walk inside the
passage, he’s actually silent and frowned. Then, suddenly, he tugs at James’s sleeve, making
him jolt.

“Alright?” James asks, eyes darting left and right, like he’s trying to find clues that something
might be wrong. His lumos flickers slightly.

“I want a present for our four months together thing,” Regulus says, in a very serious tone,
that gets James to nod. “I want you to show me all the damned things you know about
Hogwarts, I’m annoyed I don’t know.”

James lets out a full belly laugh, head thrown back and the splendid sound of his joy echoing
in the passage.

Regulus pouts, arms crossed to his chest. “I was being ser- I wasn’t joking.”
James grins at him, though his eyes are sweet and his fingers catch Regulus’s so softly, their
hands lacing together without a second thought. “I love the way you avoid saying you’re
being serious because you don’t want people to reply that you’re being Regulus,” James says,
placing a kiss on the crown of his hair. “I’ll organise you a tour of mischief.”

Regulus smiles, as his free hand finds James’s waist easily, and he leans in to kiss him slowly,
savouring the moment. “Good,” he says, smiling against his lips. “I like the sound of that.”

They end up at Honeydukes, where Regulus buys frizzle bees. They levitate the package and
snack on the candies as they walk through Hogsmeade, which is calm and oddly domestic
when there’s not too many students around.

Not oddly, but he's actually levitating from the ground as well, an effect of the candies. Both
he and James manage to keep it down, but it makes them giggle sometimes. They also
shouldn't be eating so much candy, but it's good, and it's fun.

Besides that, Regulus has never really stopped to appreciate the view of Hogsmeade when it's
clouded by a mass of people; it looks ancient in all the good ways, in those ways that have
you sighing and thinking about how many people have walked the same roads you’re
walking now, leaving imprints in the snow that fell in the morning. He likes the sloping roofs
of the houses, the wooden windows, the lights that hang in front of the porch. Maybe, one
day, one of these houses will belong to him and James.

“You’re smiling,” James’s hand, Regulus notices, is trembling a little, “liking it?”

“I like that it’s quiet,” Regulus says, looking at James up and down, before tapping his
shoulder with the tip of his wand: “Tepefacio,” he murmurs, and watches James as he smiles
at him. “Like I was saying, I like that it’s quiet and there’s not many people around. I always
focus on how loud and full it is when I come here, I never thought I’d be so pleasant when
it’s not…you know, packed with noisy people.”

James chuckles, taking a frizzle bee from the flying package. “It kind of feels like a date,” he
says, with a smile. “We could even go somewhere quiet and snog.”

“You mean we will, right?” Regulus jokes, taking a frizzle bee as well.

“I’m a bad influence,” James says, gravely. “I had you in a prank once, and now you’re
starting to sound like a marauder: sneaking out of school, snogging in public…”

Regulus bumps shoulders with him, though he’s grinning from ear to ear. “I’m the man of
your dreams, Potter.”

“I don’t know, you’re a bit short…” James jokes.

“At least I’m not short sighted,” Regulus jokes back, sliding James’s glasses off his face just
to put them on himself. “Goodness gracious, definitely not shortsighted,” he says, before
giving them back.
“One of us had to have working eyes,” James pushes the glasses on the slope of his nose.
“You’ve only got one frizzle bee left.”

“We do?!” Regulus takes the package and pouts at it. “I took the last one, so this one is
yours.”

“You can have it,” James says, smiling softly again.

“I want you to have it,” he replies, taking the frizzle bee between his index and his thumb.

“Are you going to hand feed me?” James asks, amused.

“Yeah, like I’d do with a deer.”

James chuckles. “Figured it out yet?”

“Is it your patronus?” Regulus asks, tilting his head to the side. “It would make sense, you
know, with the antlers joke Sirius made during Christmas…”

“You remember that?!” James runs his hands through his hair. “I don’t know what I expected
from someone who can quote latin authors like it’s nothing…” he sighs, “yes, it’s my
patronus.”

“Sirius’s must be a dog, then,” Regulus says, nearing the frizzle bee to James’s mouth, then
placing it between his lips when he parts them. “It’s kind of funny, you know, because Sirius
is in the dog constellation.”

James chuckles. “What do you think your patronus will be? It’d be pretty funny if it was a
lion, don’t you think?”

Regulus shivers at the thought. “God no, no, no, and even more no.”

James laughs so hard he actually snorts, and when he stops, laughter is still audible in his
voice: “But the lion is the king of the jungle, and you have to admit you are a bit of a little
king.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “So, first of all, I am not a little king, nor a prince, which is actually a
very poor translation of my name. Only Sallustio’s works allow that kind of translation and
it’s disparaging. Regulus in Latin is actually the name of the king of a small state; regius
iuvenis is closer to prince, if we want to be correct.”

James laughs again. “You’re quite touchy; it’s cute. Though, I have to remind you, you’re the
one who said non ducor, duco, and that’s kind of a little king behaviour, if you ask me. Plus,
you always walk through the corridors like you own Hogwarts or you’re about to go to war,
so…”

“I don’t walk like that!” Regulus protests, crossing his arms to his chest. “I look perfectly
normal, thank you very much.”
James shakes his head, chuckling. “You look intimidating, but that’s okay. It fits you, and I
think it’s hot.”

“Oh, win-win for me then,” Regulus pouts, though it’s rather hard to keep that on when
James’s arm loops around his shoulder, bringing him close. “Do you really like it?”

“Of course I do,” James’s smile is easy and steady as he says that. “You look confident and I
think it makes you look good. Who said being a little king is a bad thing anyway? In another
universe, I might be your knight, and you’d fall head over heels for me.”

“No, you’d definitely fall first,” Regulus teases, looking around.

But no one is really looking at them, because no one is around at all. They ended up being
quite close to the other side of the Forbidden Forest. Snow is untouched, besides their
footsteps, though Regulus spots a guest, who tries to hide behind a tree.

“There’s a fox,” he tells James, in a low tone, as he points at the tree. The fox, obviously,
retreats in the woods after that, but he’s mesmerised with the sight.

“There’s quite a few, actually,” James whispers back, “Do you like foxes?”

“They’re cute,” Regulus replies, with an easy smile. “I wanted one when I was a kid, so
Cissy convinced my uncles to gift me a fox plushie.”

James smiles fondly, kisses the top of his head. “What did you name it?”

“Renard,” Regulus says, “I wasn’t particularly creative with names when I was five, so when
I saw the fox, I just screamed ‘Renard!’ and that was the name, apparently.”

“I’m guessing it means fox in french,” James says, cocking his eyebrows. “I can’t really
comment on creativity with names, since I named my cat ‘Catty’.”

“I miss Catty,” Regulus says, sighing, as he pulls James into a hug. “I miss sleeping with you,
too.”

“Oh, I don’t miss sleeping with you at all, you blanket thief.”

“I’m the only blanket you need,” Regulus argues, getting on his tippy toes to press a kiss on
James’s cheek. “And you talk in your sleep, by the way.”

“What?!” James’s cheeks grow red, as he meets Regulus’s eyes. “Please, tell me it’s a joke of
yours.”

Regulus shakes his head, giggling. “You do.”

“What did you hear?” James inquires, resting his forehead against Regulus’s.

“I’m not going to tell you,” Regulus giggles again, hands coming up to cradle James’s face
and pull him into a kiss.
There’s a new, discovered freedom in the action of kissing him in such a public space: no one
can see, because no one has a reason to come here, but it’s not the same as hiding, as having
to love each other only behind closed doors. He’s starting to think they’re not made to love in
secret, anyway.

The confirmation comes when they part, and Regulus is greeted with the sight of James: his
cheeks are red, just like the tip of his nose, and his pretty lips are parted and shiny. There’s
snow in his hair.

“It’s snowing,” Regulus says, looking up for a second. “Have you ever eaten a snowflake?”

“You can’t eat snowflakes,” James rolls his eyes. “They just melt in your mouth.”

Regulus grins at him, then steps back, opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out, until he
feels a snowflake falling on it. “I ate a snowflake.”

James, who is now hiding something behind his back, chuckles. “You did?”

“What are you doing with those hands, Potter?”

Regulus steps back, grabbing a handful of snow and shaping it into a ball as he watches
James grin at him.

“Fights between couples happen,” James says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Even snowball fights,” Regulus agrees, then he throws.

It goes on for an indefinite amount of time between ten and thirty minutes, until their clothes
are soaking wet and their hands red from the cold.

“We’re gonna catch a fever,” James says, laughing, “I can’t believe you faint throwing at my
face, I have glasses!”

“It’s not my problem if you thought I was actually going to do that,” Regulus says, taking his
wand out and pointing it at James, for the second time today: “Detergeo.”

James’s clothes dry out slowly, as Regulus does the same spell on himself.

“I could have done that for you,” James says, with a small pout. “You’re good at domestic
spells.”

Regulus hums, putting his wand back in the pocket of his trousers. “I find that they’re really
easy. You just…imagine the effect and there you are. You know what I can’t stand? Motion
charms. It takes me a lot of control to avoid crushing things left and right.”

“Ah, that explains it,” James nods to himself.

“That explains what, exactly?”

James laughs, then runs a hand through Regulus’s hair. “It explains why you were so careful
with your wand work the day of the prank, and why you didn’t levitate the platter at my
house,” he says, with a fond smile. “I think it’s cute.”

“Ugh,” Regulus stares at the snow for a second, contemplating the idea of throwing himself
in it. “I’m just so good at breaking things, it’s annoying. Even my knee!”

“Your knee,” James blinks a couple of times. “Was it last year that you got hit twice?”

“Yes. Now it makes funny noises sometimes and it bruises easily,” Regulus rolls his eyes,
then lets himself fall into James’s arms, rejoicing at the way James catches him so easily. “I
don’t want to walk back.”

“I’ve got the perfect idea, then,” James says, with a mischievous smirk. “What if I summon
my broom and we fly back?”

“You want to fly back in this weather?!”

“I’ve done it before,” James shrugs his shoulders. “I promise it’ll be alright!”

And, for the second time today, Regulus can’t really bring himself to say no.

Loving James is exactly like he predicted it would be: bold and hopelessly full of surprises,
constantly adding up to Regulus’s already questionable sense of preservation.

Flying back in that weather was not a good idea, indeed. First of all, once they’re back at
Hogwarts, it’s clear that they were out in a storm. Their hair is frizzy and puffed up, and their
clothes soaked wet. The worse, though, is that Regulus feels like he’s starting to run a fever
and James doesn’t look much better.

“You know,” James says, as they walk to the Slytherin common room, “maybe it wasn’t a
good idea at all. Maybe we should have walked here.”

Regulus sneezes into his elbows a couple of times. “No, really?” He asks, glaring at James. “I
promise it’ll be alright, you said. Liar.”

“I thought it was going to be alright!” James says, but his voice goes all messed up mid
sentence, and he starts coughing the moment he stops speaking.

“Barty will force me to take Pepperup,” Regulus complains, dragging his feet as he walks,
just because his parents aren’t there to scold him.

“What’s so bad about Pepperup?” James asks, so innocently.

“I just don’t like drinking potions,” Regulus says, as elusive as he can be. “I don’t feel like
having lunch.”

“I feel like sleeping for like…” James swallows, with a pained expression, “twelve hours.”
“And having soup for dinner.”

“And listening to Moony lecturing me like the proud dad friend he is!”

“And telling Barty to fuck off when he tells me to take Pepperup,” Regulus adds, satisfied.

“Maybe don’t do that,” James ruffles his hair, as they stop in front of the Slytherin Common
Room. “Take the Pepperup and rest.”

“You too,” Regulus says, “you look quite ill.”

“You haven’t seen yourself,” James laughs, but it turns into a cough. “If it wasn’t for the red
cheeks, I’d say you were a vampire.”

Regulus throws his arms in the air. “I am not a vampire!”

James folds his arms to his chest. “I’m sorry, mate, it just sounds like something a vampire
would say.”

“Don’t mate at me,” Regulus warns, squinting at him.

James laughs again, then reaches out with his arms open, inviting Regulus into a hug he
accepts happily. “It’s the first time we get sick together.”

“Relationship goals,” Regulus replies, pressing a kiss on James’s neck. “You should go.”

“Don’t want to,” James says, as he lets go reluctantly. He looks left and right, then gives
Regulus one of his pleading gazes. “Goodbye kiss?”

“I’m spoiling you,” Regulus says, but after glancing at the empty hallway again, he kisses
James briefly.

The dream is confusing. He’s kneeling down in front of someone who’s wearing a set of dark
robes. Whoever they are, they’re barefoot. Regulus struggles, trying to get on his feet, but
somebody else is holding him still.

Said someone leans close to his ear, long hair brushing Regulus’s shoulders and back. “Stay
still, Reggie,” Bellatrix whispers, “it’ll be over soon.”

His breath speeds up, as he turns to face her. “What?” He asks, feeling the familiar crawl of
panic in his chest. “What will be over soon?”

Bellatrix laughs, but her hand caresses his left forearm, still bare. “The marking.”

Then the dream changes; he’s in a cave, this time, with Kreacher. There’s a crushing
sensation of loneliness, but also determination. He thinks he’ll get out of there, but suddenly
the dream changes again, and he’s being dragged under water.
He wakes up in a cold sweat, breathing hard, and almost doesn’t notice Evan and Barty,
staring at him, wide-eyed. He swallows, then lowers his gaze, trying to calm down, though
his hands won’t stop shaking.

Evan rushes to his side first and his hand presses on Regulus’s forehead. “You’re burning
up,” he says, as his eyebrows crease.

“I’m fine,” Regulus says, though his throat hurts as he speaks.

Evan rolls his eyes, then looks at Barty. “Get a couple of phials of Pepperup, will you?”

Barty goes to the bathroom immediately, just as Regulus says: “I don’t want Pepperup.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Reg,” Evan says, as he caresses his hair lightly. “You’re obviously sick,
you need to get the fever down.”

“I don’t want it,” Regulus says again, raising his voice. “And stop touching my hair!”

Then he lies down again, back to Evan and eyebrows furrowed, though he can feel his eyes
wet.

“Reg, what happened?” Evan asks.

“I’ve got the Pepperup,” Barty says, kneeling in front of Regulus. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying!” Regulus says, then he sighs loudly, annoyed that he’s being fussed over.
“I’ll sleep and I’ll feel better, I don’t need a stupid potion.”

Barty frowns, looking up, probably to Evan. “Look, I don’t know why you’re being so
difficult,” he says, back at Regulus, “but I promise Pepperup is the tamest potion you could
take.”

“Come on, Reg,” Evan encourages, resting his hand on Regulus’s arm. “You’ll feel better.”

“I don’t like drinking potions,” Regulus states, hiding his face in the pillow.

“You’ve done more dangerous things, Reg,” Evan says, rubbing his hand on his arms.
Though admitting it is out of the question, Regulus finds the contact reassuring. “It’s just
Pepperup. You don’t want to keep this ugly fever for days, do you?”

“Twenty minutes, and you’re done with it,” Barty adds, “you’ll get it down in two seconds.”

“I’ll have smoke coming out of my ears,” Regulus complains, but he sits up, eyeing the red
potion suspiciously.

“I already warmed it up,” Barty says, with one of his sweet smiles.

“Thank you,” Regulus mumbles, taking one of the phials. “I’ll only take one.”

“Fine,” Evan says, rolling his eyes. “Come on, then.”

Taking a deep breath in, Regulus opens the phial and downs the potion as fast as he can. The
taste is overly sweet, but the most annoying thing is the sensation of the smoke coming off
his ears, which makes him wince.

“Merlin, I hate this so bad,” he says, angrily, getting up to throw away the phial.

“No, really?” Evan asks, sarcastically.

“I didn’t notice,” Barty adds, nodding. “We didn’t even have to convince you.”

“Fuck off,” Regulus replies, getting back to bed. “I hope there’s soup for dinner.”

“Aww, you really are sick,” Evan says, pinching his cheek. “Do you want us to read you
bedtime tales?”

“A good night kiss, perhaps?” Barty adds, with a smirk.

“I need a reminder of why we’re friends, actually.”

“Would you have prefered Elias to take care of you?” Evan asks, snuggling close.

“Evan, I’m sweaty as hell,” Regulus frowns at him.

“I care so much, you can’t even imagine,” Evan replies, pulling him into a one-armed hug.

“You can’t snuggle without me!” Barty jumps on the bed as well, cuddling close as well.

“I wouldn’t have prefered Elias,” Regulus confesses, surrendering to the fact he won’t be
alone anytime soon. “He doesn’t do well with complaints.”

Evan laughs. “Pandora, then.”

“She’s nice,” Regulus agrees, with a soft smile.

“Bet my arse you wouldn’t have thrown a temper tantrum if it was her handing you the
potion,” Barty says, resting his head right next to Regulus, so close that he can feel his breath
caressing his cheek. “What about your boyfriend?”

“Yeah, what about him?” Evan prompts

“He’s sick too,” Regulus says, pouting. “But he probably took Pepperup right away,” he adds,
with a point of annoyance in his voice. “He would have gotten me to drink it right away
too.”

“Why are you saying it like it's such a bad thing?” Evan smirks, tapping the tip of Regulus’s
nose. “He seems like a good guy.”

“I’m not telling you who he is, Evan,” Regulus says and taps the tip of Evan’s nose as well,
just to get revenge.
“Shame,” Evan says, rolling his eyes, “hey, genius,” he's looking at Barty, “tell me your
guesses.”

“No,” Barty says, “I’m jealous of my guesses, get your own.”

“But I have none!”

“Do I look like I care?”

“You never look like you care!”

“Good thing the appearance reflects the soul,” Barty says then, and Regulus turns just to
watch him smirk. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing, I just find it interesting that you have guesses,” Regulus says, looking away.

“So, did you go to your boyfriend this morning?” Evan asks, tapping his fingers on Regulus’s
chest. “You got that letter and looked all freaked out.”

“I didn’t go to him,” Regulus says, closing his eyes. “I went into a secret room and he found
me. And then we sneaked into Hogsmeade and had a snowball fight. And we flew back, it
was nice, if you don’t count the warming spell wearing off.”

“You- what?” He feels Barty shift on his side. “Who the hell are you dating…” he sighs
heavily. “He’s not a good influence.”

“Eh,” Evan says, “they just had a bit of fun.”

“And it got them sick!”

“We’ve been together for four months,” Regulus says, opening his eyes. “And it’s the first
time we do something even remotely reckless.”

“Yeah, but you have no sense of measure, and he doesn’t seem to be much better,” Barty
says. “Are you dating a Gryffindor?”

“No,” Regulus rolls his eyes. “You know that houses do not determine your whole
personality, right?”

“Of course I know, but…”

“He kind of sounds like a Gryffindor,” Evan completes for him.

“Anyway,” Regulus says, taking a deep breath in. “I feel much better, I’m going to take a
shower.”

Barty lets him go, giving him space to sit up, so Regulus gets out of bed.

He can’t help but think Barty gave him an odd look when he turned to look at him, just a
moment before he closed the bathroom door.
4 February, 1977

Elias rubs his temples for what must be the fifth time tonight. “Bankrupt,” he says, staring at
the Monopoly board. “You made us lose, you stupid sod.”

“So we’re going to pretend it’s my fault?” Barty crosses his arms, looking Elias up and down,
heavily judging him. “You threw the dice when we had to pay for Regulus’s bloody hotel.”

“It’s also my hotel,” Pandora reminds him, as she counts the money they’ve made from Elias
and Barty going bankrupt.

“I fucking detest you,” Elias hisses, folding his arms as well.

“The feeling is mutual. And it’s your fault if they’re going to win now,” Barty insists,
removing their piece and putting it in the box of the game.

“It’s not my fault, because you threw the dice when we landed on Cory and Evan’s Hotel,”
Elias rolls his eyes. “ And when we stepped on Dorcas and Jules’s property. And you’re the
one who wanted all the crazy purchases.”

“Well, you allowed the purchases, so it’s your fault as well.”

Regulus exchanges a look with Pandora, and they both cover their mouths to prevent
laughing as the quarrel goes on.

“I thought you had a plan!”

Barty smiles, cocky as he gets when he thinks he’s winning a fight. “Are you implying you
think I’m clever enough to have an economical plan?”

Elias cringes at the mention of that, then he pretends to gag. “You’re not clever, you’re just so
bonkers it almost looks like it’s planned.”

Barty’s smile falls, and he frowns. “We played a good game until you decided to…”

“The quarrels of lovers are the renewal of love,” Dorcas says, cheerfully, looking at the two
of them.

Regulus chuckles. “Amantium irae amoris integratio est,” he translates, for good measure

Barty and Elias turn to look at them, disgusted. It’s cute how similar their expressions are,
and how the only thing they seem to agree on is that they absolutely despise one another.

“Oh you two think you’re so funny,” Barty says, sending glares left and right. “So comical, I
am dying of laughter, send a patronus to St. Mungo.”

“Not only am I funny,” Regulus says, picking up the money Pandora left between them. “I
am also rich.”
“Here lies my friendship with Regulus Black…” Elias recites, dramatically.

“Oh, good, the game ended,” Cory butts in, with a little smirk. “Can’t have a game of
monopoly without a friendship ending.”

“Wait it can’t end, I haven’t won yet,” Regulus says, frowning, then looking at the board.
“Can we keep going?”

“Personally, I want weed,” Pandora says, looking at him with a soft smile. “Please, stop the
fire and let me get wasted.”

“I second that,” Evan and Dorcas say, at the same time.

“I don’t want to watch you guys destroy each other over a board game,” Cory agrees, taking
away the pieces of the game. “It was fun though; we learnt that Regulus is a merciless player
of board games, Pandora is a mastermind, and Barty and Elias fight like a married couple.”

“Ew,” Barty and Elias go, at the same time.

“You can’t say shit like that, mate,” Elias says.

“It’s making me feel sick,” Barty agrees.

“Oh, look Cory, you made them agree on something. It’s a first for them,” Pandora teases, as
she fist-bumps Cory.

“Can we get the weed now?” Evan says, tugging at Barty’s sweater. “Please!”

“Wow,” Barty looks at Evan up and down, like he’s never seen him before. “I can’t believe
that out of all the things in this world, a joint is the one making you say please.”

“You’re a dickhead,” Evan says, now pinching Barty’s arm.

“Dickhead,” Elias repeats, then presses his lips into a thin line, like he’s about to burst into
laughter.

Barty sighs, almost angrily, as he takes a metallic cigarette case from his pocket. “It feels so
nice to know that we’re back to being twelve years old laughing because of the word
dickhead.”

To give them credit, Evan and Elias try to hold back from laughing, they simply fail.

“I’m not giving them weed,” Barty says, with a seemingly calm expression, “You do realise
we won’t hear the end of it if they smoke a joint, right?”

Pandora shrugs. “It’s weed. What harm can it do?”

Famous last words: twenty minutes later, Elias and Evan decide they’re done with the group
and they go sit together by the wooden stairs, all whispering and standing close, though
Regulus doubts they’re sharing an enlightened conversation. He heard them discuss socks
colours just five minutes ago.

“He stole Evan,” he tells the rest of the group. “Elias stole Evan.”

“Or,” Dorcas says, playing with one of her rings, “Evan stole Elias.”

Regulus gasps, turning to look at Pandora, who starts laughing. So he turns to Dorcas again.
“Evan wouldn’t.”

“God, you’re such a lightweight…” Barty rolls his eyes.

“Guys,” Jules says, sitting up. “Imagine seeing the sky right now. I feel like the stars would
blink at me.”

“Imagine,” Cory specifies. “Why imagine it when we could see it?”

“Yeah!” Dorcas gets up, looking around with shiny eyes and a grin. “We should go to the
garden!”

“Are you crazy?” Barty asks, getting up as well and placing his hand on Dorcas’s shoulder.
“We can’t go outside, it’s too cold.”

“Booo!” Jules yells, pointing down with her thumb. “Warming charms exist!”

“And outside it’s pretty!” Cory says, sharing a glance with Regulus who nods. “And there’s
not the noise of the bloody clock,” he adds, wrinkling his nose.

Regulus looks up to the big clock, or well, the back of it, and shivers. The chiming of it is
painfully similar to the one that his mother keeps in the living room of Grimmauld Place; it
has been bothering him since the start, but he was too distracted by Monopoly to pay
attention to it. Now, though, with weed enhancing his senses and making him hyper-aware of
noises and colours, that clock is turning into a nightmare.

Elias also seemed to be thrown off by it, which might be the reason why he and Evan went as
far as possible from the clock, on the stairs. And it’s probably why they’re standing so close
to each other as they speak, perhaps trying to distract one another from the unpleasant sound.

“I could take you guys to Hogsmeade,” Regulus proposes, mischievously, with a smirk.

“You can?!” Dorcas asks, wiggling out of Barty’s touch to kneel in front of Regulus and take
his hands. “You’ll bring us to Hogsmeade?”

“It’s so pretty when it’s not…stuffed,” Regulus says, giggling. “We should go. It’s probably
quiet and cute.”

“No,” Pandora says, flicking Regulus on the shoulder. “We can’t. We just smoked, Reg. It’d
be a mess.”

Regulus sighs, then meets Dorcas’s eyes. “They’re being boring.”

“I wish we were with your brother and his friends,” Dorcas says, “I could snog Marlene, and
you could…”

Regulus puts his hands on her mouth before she can complete the sentence. “Shhh!” He says,
pressing his index finger on his lips. “It’s a secret, Dorcas.”

Dorcas moves his hand away. “I like secrets.”

“Okay, you know what?” Barty says. “We’ll play a game, so you rebellious prats don’t get
bored. I’m calling the lovebirds.”

“The lovebirds?!” Regulus and Dorcas turn to look at Barty at the same time, eyes wide and
curious.

Barty sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Evan and Elias. I’m calling Evan and Elias.”

“But they can’t be lovebirds,” Jules says, blinking at Barty. “You and Elias are the
lovebirds.”

Barty throws his arms in the air, then walks away.

Regulus giggles. “He didn’t deny.”

“Will they date?” Cory asks, excited. “I like enemies to lovers.”

Pandora rolls her eyes. “Okay, gossip freaks. Is spin the bottle a good game?”

They yell in agreement, so when Barty comes back with Elias and Evan, they all sit in a
circle, with a bottle in the middle. Regulus is thankful for the distraction.

“So, this is how it’s going to work. Since we’re all high and most of us are taken, we’ll play
truth or dare. If you don’t feel like answering a question or if a dare feels too risky, calling it
quits is okay,” Pandora says. “Barty and I will stop any dare that can be actually dangerous.”

“Maybe it’s better to just go without daring,” Cory says, rubbing his eyes. “We don’t know
each other very well anyway, so asking questions doesn’t seem too boring.”

“I agree,” Elias says. He’s been playing with his necklace non-stop.

“Good, then.” Barty meets Regulus’s eyes briefly. “Who spins first?”

“The birthday girl, obviously,” Regulus says, turning to smile at Pandora.

“Lucky me,” she says, raising her eyebrows, before she spins the bottle that lands on Dorcas.
“How did you know you fancied girls?”

Dorcas giggles. “You know Lita Ford? From The Runaways? She’s…” Dorcas smiles, then
shakes her head, “out of this world man.”

“She has a thing for blondes,” Barty says, as Dorcas spins the bottle.
This time, it lands on Evan, who looks at it surprised, like he didn’t expect it to ever land on
him. “It spun,” he says, blinking a couple of times. “Cool.”

Regulus hides a laugh behind his hand.

“Yeah,” Dorcas says, tilting her head, “very cool indeed. Do you actually have feelings for
Leonie or do I have to kick you in the bollocks?”

“Oh, he does,” Barty and Regulus say, before Evan can answer.

“He can talk about her non-stop,” Regulus says.

“He will sneak into my bed while I read just to tell me more about her,” Barty adds.

“I…” Evan straightens his back, “I do have very strong feelings for Leonie. Does she have
any doubt? I can clear it out now. I can go talk to her.”

Elias puts his hand on Evan’s shoulder, keeping him sat as Dorcas says: “No, no, you’re
good. Just looking out for a friend. Spin the bottle, Rosier.”

So Evan does, and it points at Elias this time.

“So,” Evan says, looking Elias in the eye, “wow, your eyelashes are distracting.” It makes
everyone laugh, Evan included. “You’re italian.”

“Ma non mi dire,” Elias replies, still smiling.

Evan blushes and looks away, so, naturally, Regulus seeks Barty’s eyes. He looks surprised
and quite bothered, too.

“So I was saying,” Evan keeps going, this time looking at the floor, “You’re Italian and I
want to know from where exactly.”

“Oh, lord,” Elias pulls a face. “Do you want an exhaustive answer?”

“Yes, please.”

“Stop being polite, it’s freaking me out,” Elias says, then fixes his shirt. “So the story is quite
complicated, because my mum was born in Veneto, but if you’re talking ethnically speaking,
she’s Sardinian, and then you have my father, who I believe was born in Rome, but he’s like,
second generation? His grand-grandparents moved from Veneto to Latium during the
fascism, a big mess. I can speak both dialects, from Rome and Veneto. But I’ve lived in
Rome until I was like…seven or eight.”

“Cool,” Evan licks his lips, as he nods, “I’ve been to Florence.”

“Cool,” Elias replies, with a smile that Regulus registers as ‘I really want to laugh but I
can’t’. “My turn to spin the bottle, innit?”
The bottle lands on Regulus this time, so Elias takes a sweet amount of time deciding his
question.

“Greco, we don’t have all day,” Barty says, rolling his eyes, “be quick or be gone.”

“I think I’m going to take even longer,” Elias replies, unfazed. “Oh, I’ve got it, I’ve got it!
Have you ever done anything sexual?”

Regulus blinks at him a couple of times, feeling his face heating up. “No,” he says, pouting,
“you’d know, I would have told you.”

“Aww, alright. Spin the bottle, Reggie.”

“Don’t call me Reggie,” he mumbles, then spins the bottle, which lands on Jules. “Uhm…do
you believe in aliens?”

“What’s aliens?” Barty asks, leaning forward.

“Dude,” Elias and Cory say, almost at the same time, both frowning.

“How do you not know what aliens are?” Cory asks, raising an eyebrow.

Barty shrugs. “Never heard of them.”

“I do believe in aliens,” Jules says, then she turns to Barty, “aliens are forms of life that come
from other planets, muggles are obsessed with them. I think it’s arrogant to presume our
planet is the only one able to develop life, and I also find it a bit constricting to limitate life to
what humanity considers life.”

Regulus nods. “I agree, yeah. Totally.”

Jules smiles at him, toothy and nice. “Safe,” she says, then she spins the bottle that lands on
Barty. “This one’s easy. If you had to pick one of us to snog, who would it be?”

Silence falls between the group. Regulus exchanges a glare with Pandora, concerned, then
they both sign an “x” to Barty with their fingers.

“I…” Barty frowns, then shakes his head slightly. “I don’t think I want to answer the
question.”

“Woah, alright, I’m sorry,” Jules says, with a slight frown. “I didn’t know it was a…sensitive
topic.”

“It’s not,” Barty says, though his expression is all hard lines, “it really is not.”

“Oh,” Jules seems confused, “alright, then.”

“I think we could use some air,” Cory says, getting up. “Why don’t we go for a walk?”

“In the castle?” Dorcas asks, while Pandora says: “At this hour?”
“We can sneak to Hogsmeade safely,” Regulus says. “If everyone’s alright with it.”

Twenty minutes later, they’re walking through the tunnel that leads to Honeydukes. When
Cory asked how he even knew about this, Regulus just shrugged and said: “a true gentleman
doesn’t kiss and tell”.

For the first five minutes, he proceeded alone, ahead of everyone, taking some time to calm
down, since the chiming of the clock seems to be glued onto him, and keeps replaying in his
mind. After that, though, Evan and Barty caught up with him, so he ended up walking
between them.

“What the fuck was that with Greco?” Barty asks Evan, after a few moments of silence.

“Nothing, okay? It was nothing,” Evan says, folding his arms.

“Nothing? You blushed. You blushed to the tips of your ears, Rosier!” Barty accuses.

“Look, discovering I could like both messed with my head a little, okay?” Evan says,
defensively. “I see blokes in a whole new light and I have to say…I have no idea on how you
guys stay calm around him.”

“I think you were so high he got dishy,” Barty clicks his tongue. “Look, I completely support
you liking blokes, but Elias is just a bad choice.”

“I don’t fancy him, Barty,” Evan says, then he sighs heavily. “I’m very in love with Leonie,
actually. I was just taken aback because…because he’s good looking, and it made me shy,
alright? And you should stop feeling betrayed over me or Reg being friends with him.”

“Oh, so now you’re friends with him?” Barty inquires, giving Evan a dirty look, “and I don’t
feel betrayed!”

“You do,” Regulus interjects. “You think people have to pick you or they don’t love you.”

“I don’t…think that,” Barty says, and Regulus only turns to confirm he is, indeed, frowning.
“Stop looking at me like that. You always get so critical when you’re high.”

“I’m not being critical, I’m just saying you’re a very jealous person and that applies to your
friends as well. You should probably work on that,” he says, shrugging. “You’re making a big
deal out of Evan finding someone attractive.”

“I was just asking,” Barty mumbles, folding his arms.

“Rudely,” Evan says, and from his voice, Regulus can tell he’s pouting a little. “He’s kind of
easy going if you actually try.”

“Why are you guys always assuming that I haven’t tried? Maybe I did and he wasn’t easy
going with me!” Barty says, rolling his eyes, “hey, is that Honeydukes?”
“Yup,” Regulus jumps off the last step and signals to Dorcas, who then wiggles her own
lighted wand to Elias and Cory, who stayed behind.

“We can’t stay for long,” Dorcas says, as they get out of Honeydukes. “It’s probably going to
rain and I don’t fancy that.”

“Me neither,” Regulus says, as they step outside.

As they walk, shyly, into the empty streets, shivers take over him. He feels like he’s being
watched, like something bad’s about to happen. It’s nothing like last Sunday, when he went
with James. Perhaps, it was the fact that people, adults, were actually around last time he was
here; maybe it’s the fact that he smoked.

Usually, he finds weed relaxing, but it feels sort of draining right now; he’s aware that what
he’s doing right now isn’t ideal, but the chiming of the clock finally left him alone. Even
then, now it’s the darkness that sticks with him, as lurks in the angles the street lights don't
reach. His stomach sinks down to his heels, and it’s almost like he’s expecting Bellatrix or
death eaters to suddenly appear from the shadows.

“Are you okay?” Elias asks, suddenly next to him, settling his hand between his shoulder
blades.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Regulus says, after giving a thoughtful look to Elias, “do you also feel a bit
anxious?”

“To be frank, this place is giving me creeps, but it’s better if you stay with the group,” Elias
says, gently, stopping in the middle of the road to wait for the others, who stayed behind,
conversing. “It’s probably pot. I don’t like the dark, nor the night, so it was predictable that
I’d be scared, you know?”

“Then why did you say yes?” Regulus asks, meeting his eyes again.

Elias shrugs. “I don’t think you’re one to put us in danger. But I guess I’m a little freaked out
that everything is closed already. It’s just 2am.”

“I mean, it is a small town,” Regulus says, tapping his chin with his index finger, “most
people who come here to drink or, I don’t know, stay in pubs, probably don’t even live here.”

“Ex-Hogwarts students,” Elias says, nodding. “Do you think we’ll hang out here, when we’re
older?”

Regulus raises his eyebrows, considering. “I don’t know,” he says, suddenly shivering again.
“It’s not easy to picture the future in these conditions, is it?”

“It’s really not,” Elias sighs.

A second later, they’re putting on a happy facade, because the group is compact again, and
Regulus finds himself hugging Pandora closely while Dorcas takes a polaroid picture of
them. Pandora offers to take pictures of everyone, so they can look back at those one day,
“when we’re gloomy and old”, like Elias said.
Predictably, Regulus ends up making a rank list of his favourite pictures as they come back to
the Clock Tower. His absolute favourite is the one where he hugs Pandora, partly because it’s
the first picture he has with her; the second place goes to the picture that portrays Barty and
Elias under the street light. Barty stares at Elias with his arms folded, while Elias has his
hands thrown in the air. It’s kind of cute, and it looks staged.

“One day, they’re gonna look back at this picture and think about what idiots they were back
in high school,” Regulus tells Dorcas, who is looking at the pictures with him.

“They’re going to complain over having wasted so much time arguing instead of snogging,”
Dorcas agrees, “and then we can say: ah, told you! We knew you loved each other!”

“Honestly,” Regulus rolls his eyes, “What a couple of pillocks.”

“Do you think they’ll actually be a thing?” Cory asks, popping up on Regulus’s right side. “I
mean, they’ve hated each other for years now.”

Regulus hums. “I mean, they don’t need to be a thing, but…” he raises his eyes from the
pictures and gives an up and down look at Barty and Elias, a couple of metres away,
discussing something heatedly. “You put them together with an excuse and they don’t let each
other go.”

Cory tilts his head to the side. “So you think they’re just shy?”

“No, I just think they’re full of prejudice about one another. If they stopped being so…
defensive about their hatred, they’d realise they were wrong the entire time, about each
other,” Regulus says.

“That will take a whole lot of time,” Dorcas says.

Regulus changes pictures and looks at the one Pandora took of Elias and Evan, posing with
their cheeks pressed together and wide, toothy smiles. “On another note, I think a friendship
bloomed because of pot.”

“Remarkable,” Cory says, looking at the picture.

“Indeed,” Dorcas says, smiling herself, “I think Evan is finally starting to pull away from all
the dumb shit he filled his head with.”

“Who knew pot had similar such an ability,” Cory sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“I’m so hungry.”

Regulus groans, putting the picture away, in the wide pocket of his cloak. “I could eat
anything right now.”

“I’m so glad we have food back in the tower,” Dorcas says, linking her arm to Regulus’s. “Do
you think Flinch will find us if we fall asleep there?”

Regulus and Cory laugh.

“We’d be in big trouble if he did, wouldn’t we?” Cory says, then he winks at Dorcas. “I think
we can make it back to our common rooms after eating.”

“Presents first!” Regulus says, turning to face Cory properly. “We can’t forget the presents.”

Regulus doesn’t remember much of what happened after coming back to the tower; part of it
must be exhaustion. He remembers them eating something sweet, and Dorcas taking out the
firewhiskey to take one shot each. There’s also the vivid image of Pandora hugging him and
kissing his cheek after opening the present Regulus gave her: earrings, because he knew she
liked having options when it came to jewellery. These ones are special, because Regulus
made them himself, back at the Potters, with a little help from Euphemia, who thought it was
very sweet of him to make hand made gifts.

There’s also the memory of running back to the Slytherin Common Room with Barty, Evan
and Dorcas; it must have been mr. Norris who saw them, because he has no idea of why else
they should be running in a hallway at night, like a bunch of freaks.

But there’s not more than that.

6 February, 1977

He hasn’t seen James in days; between the preparation for Pandora’s party, the party itself,
lessons, quidditch and being terribly tired, he didn’t have much time to go to the Come and
Go room. Obviously, he still saw James in the hallways, sometimes while leaving class, but
that hasn’t been enough in months; he also came to him and Pandora to wish her happy
birthday on friday, which was really cute. Regulus remembers having wanted to kiss his
cheek, simply because he found him cute.

On Sunday morning, he wakes up early to post a letter to Narcissa before breakfast.

Dear Cissa,

I apologise if it took me so long to write you this letter; I know I promised I’d write to you
more often, I just got caught up with homework and quidditch. I hope this letter finds you
well! Please don’t worry about me, I’m fine, if a little tired.

School has been a lot more bearable recently. I think it’s because of my friends: we formed a
study group and even though we haven’t really started hanging out because of it, it’ll happen
soon and I’m really excited. Between us, I think Evan feels relieved because of the study
group; studying stresses him out so easily, I think the company will help him through it.

What else? I know you asked me about girls for your wedding, but I don’t think anyone meets
my eye yet. Though a romantic spirit, I’m finding it quite hard to get interested in people. Not
sure why. Is it okay if I bring Barty instead? I’d feel bad if he wasn’t there, since Evan and I
will be. Rest assured, Evan will bring his girlfriend, Leonie. He never shuts up about her;
sometimes I’m reading and he comes to chat my ears off with details about his love life. I love
him, truly, but I think I’m learning to tune him out. Too much detail is never good.
Will you come to the first Quidditch game? It’s Gryffindor vs Slytherin again, in March. It’s
gonna be hell, Veronica is super stressed about it and she’s training us to failure. The chasers
are starting to look a lot better. Pressure broke them last time, but I believe they’ll do well in
this much. Though Nathaniel is looking a bit odd, I think I should have a conversation with
him.

Anyway, I wouldn’t mind if you visited sooner. You could come during next Hogsmeade
weekend! It’s the 12/13 of February. If you come, please don’t bring Lucius. It’s been a while
since we were alone together and I miss talking to you without him around.

Love always,

R.A.B.

The library isn’t as full as Regulus expected it to be. A lot of people prefer to study in their
common rooms, but Evan wanted to try and see if studying in the library helped him stay
focused, so Regulus offered to go with him. Barty was still sleeping when they left.

The real issue is that James is also in the library, in the table just in front of the one Regulus
and Evan picked. And for the past hour and a half, Regulus has barely been focused on his
Herbology assignment, too busy meeting James’s eyes or paying attention to the way he
smirks when Regulus catches him looking. He keeps thinking about leaving the library and
meeting James outside: hide somewhere, tag at the knot of his tie, kiss him silly.

Everytime James looks up to him with his pen between his lips, Regulus has to make sure
he’s not looking too affected, because Evan hasn’t noticed anything yet, and it needs to be
kept that way.

Clearing his throat, looks down at his herbology assignment, poorly written and only halfway
done.

Dittany is a powerful healing plant; it was firstly used by the wizarding community of Crete,
who made it into the very first healing potion. It wasn’t nearly as developed as it is now.

It’s bad: he knows it’s bad. His attention simply is elsewhere.

“Reg,” Evan whispers, kicking him under the table.

Regulus curses under his breath, then turns to look at him. “What?”

“You’re not studying! You wrote like four sentences, mate. Are you feeling feverish again?”

Regulus rolls his eyes: since he had a bit of a fever during last weekend, Barty and Evan keep
checking his health. “I’m okay, I think I just need a breather.”

“Do you want me to go out with you?”

Regulus glances at Evan’s homework. He has been working well, sectioning the paragraphs
and writing neatly on his parchment.

“No, don’t worry,” he smiles at his friend, then gets up. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

Evan holds his pinky out, with a small grin. “Do you pinky promise?”

“God, did Elias teach you that?”

Evan nods, with a smirk. Regulus smiles back at him, then holds his pinky out as well. They
shake pinkies like it’s a handshake, suppressing laughter when their eyes meet.

“Be back soon,” Regulus says, as he leaves Evan’s pinky.

“Bye-bye,” Evan replies, cheerfully, grabbing his quill again.

Regulus leaves the library, making sure to make eye contact with James as he does, to get
him the message. He waits for James at the end of the corridor, then, when he sees him
approaching, he gets into one of the empty classrooms, which has tons of maps hung on the
walls.

“Did I muck up your attention span?” James asks, with a smirk, as he enters the room.

The door closes behind his back with a faint noise.

“Yes,” Regulus says, coming closer, until his index finger is hooked on James’s tie. “I think
you should apologise.”

James smiles again and sets his hands on Regulus’s waist, bringing him close. “I think you’re
at fault as well.”

“I’m an angel,” Regulus grins at him. “Well? Are you not going to kiss me after all that show
you put on?”

“I’ve missed you,” James says and he doesn’t give Regulus the chance to reply, because
they’re kissing right after that.

It’s different than usual; from a certain perspective, you could say it is similar to the first kiss
they shared: the very same eagerness to kiss the other, to have him as close as possible. But
their first kiss still had some shyness to it and that’s what’s lacking here. These kisses they’re
sharing are audacious and daring; their hands are everywhere, messing up hair, untucking
sweaters or undoing buttons, in James’s case.

James sighs on his lips when Regulus slides his hands under his shirt and runs his hands on
the smooth skin of his back. Perhaps, it would be thoughtful to stop James when he sucks
marks on his neck, because Evan will definitely notice, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“There was a girl who kept staring at you,” James says, now resting his forehead against
Regulus’s, his hand holding his jaw. “I think I can be a little jealous sometimes.”
Regulus chuckles, settling his hands on James’s hips. “At last, he admits to his faults,” he
says, then nibbles at James’s lower lip. “Want to know what really mucked my attention?”

“Please, enlighten me.”

“The way you laid your pen on your lips,” Regulus whispers and kisses James briefly right
after. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I just want to kiss you. I barely wrote anything.”

“I have no idea of what I was reading,” James says, with a soft laugh, “kept thinking about
how much I missed kissing you.”

Regulus kisses him again, then pushes him towards the teachers’ desk until he’s got James
right where he wants him, and when James parts, out of breath and with his cheeks red,
Regulus moves to kiss his face, his jaw, his neck.

“Reg- Oh buggering shit.”

Evan’s voice gets him out of it immediately, like a freezing charm hit him in the back, when
he was least expecting it.

One second, he’s sucking a red mark on James’s neck, the second he’s three steps away from
James, who stands open-eyed, pale as a sheet, staring at Evan, whose eyes are darting
between the two of them.

Evan stops there, at the entrance of the door, so displeased it is painful to see. He’s clenching
his fists, and he seems to not be able to decide what to do exactly.

“I can ex-” Regulus starts saying, weakly, but Evan seems to miss that.

“I’m going to leave,” he says, “but just so you know, I’m not sorry about interrupting you,
because whatever you think you’re doing should have stopped much sooner.”

With that, he leaves, shutting the door loudly. Regulus’s mouth feels incredibly dry, and his
ribcage too small.

James meets his eyes; he’s still pale, seemingly shocked. “Will…will he talk? Will he get you
in trouble? Reg, I’m so sorry-”

“No,” Regulus interrupts him, tucking in his sweater again. “He won’t talk. Go back to the
library. Or your dorm. Stay with your friends, I’m going to go talk to him,” James doesn’t
move, still staring at the door. “James.”

“Yeah,” he swallows, frowning, then moves towards the door.

“We’ll be fine,” Regulus promises, though his voice comes out thick. “Evan is my friend, he
won’t tell on us.”

James nods, then leans in to press a chaste kiss on Regulus’s lips. “Talk to me.”
“As soon as I work this out, I promise. I’ll see you in our room tonight,” Regulus nods at
him. “I’ll go out first, alright?”

James nods, then Regulus leaves. He runs to the library, where he gathers his things messily,
and he manages to catch up with Evan enough to see him entering the Slytherin common
room and runs after him, finally managing to grab his wrist once they’re in front of the
common room. Evan turns, watches him with those angry brown eyes, his eyebrows
furrowed and his mouth curled down.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He asks, freeing himself from Regulus’s grip.
His left hand is on the door handle. “Are you brain-dead? Have you gone completely
insane?”

“Let me explain!” Regulus says, as Evan opens the door.

“Yeah, because there’s an explanation for putting yourself in danger like that,” Evan says, as
they both come into the room. It is Regulus who shuts the door this time.

Barty isn’t in his bed.

“I’m not putting myself in danger,” Regulus says, though his voice shakes. “You’re judging
without even knowing.”

“Without even knowing?” Evan clenches his fists, then looks away. “I don’t give a single shit
that you want to date blokes, Reg, but what the fuck are you doing with him ? Last time I
checked, you hated him; and also, what if you break up and-”

“We won’t,” Regulus says, firmly. “We won’t break up.”

“You can’t possibly believe that!” Evan’s voice is raising, as it always does when he’s angry.
“You’re fifteen, Regulus, if you think you’ve found the love of your life, you’re not thinking
at all. This is dangerous, do you hear me? If your parents catch you, you’re as good as
dead.”

“They won’t catch me,” he can feel anger in his own voice, his hands shaking so hard he has
to clench his fists as well. “This isn’t any of your business.”

“It’s my business because you’re my best friend and you’re choosing to throw your life to
shit for the first handsome bloke who kisses you! Does your brother even know about this?”

Regulus looks away, swallowing down guilt. “Not really,” he says, hating how his voice
comes out small.

Evan laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Unbelievable. Un-sodding-believable,” he

looks at Regulus again. “So what’s your plan? Send everything to shit to get a good snog?”

“I’m not sending anything to shit,” Regulus replies, exasperated. “You don’t know anything
about us, you can’t go and assume things!”
 “You left safety and for what?” Evan shouts, his face going red. “You left Barty to go after
him? Do you understand that if this gets out, your life goes down the drain? If the wrong
person notices this, you’re dead, Regulus. Dead. Your parents will never let you live that
down. You need to break up with him.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” Regulus shouts back, throwing his bag on his bed. “I
do whatever I want with my life, and you don’t get to come here and tell me what you think I
should be doing.”

“I get to do that if you’re stupid enough to put your life in danger!” Evan messages his
temples, looking around the room. “You need to tell Barty.”

Regulus feels the warmth fall off his face, suddenly feeling weak. “No.”

The door of the bathroom opens, and Barty gazes at him as he leans on the frame of the door,
eyebrows creased and arms folded to his chest.

“I don’t think you have much choice,” he says, looking Regulus in the eye. “I heard
everything.”

Chapter End Notes

Patientia comes est sapientia: patience is the companion of wisdom/knowledge.

Ma non mi dire: it's a way to say "no, really?" sarcastically, a literal translation wouldn't
really make sense.
 Closure & Family Line
Chapter Notes

Premise for this chapter: I don't view Barty as "Regulus's toxic ex" as it might appear.
No one sees him like that in the fic.

CWs: internalised homophobia; hints at homophobic behaviour (nothing happens, it's

narrated).

See the end of the chapter for more notes

12 January, 1976

Love had never been a subject he knew much of. If it was a school subject, he’d probably be
failing. What he knows about love, he knows from his parents: love is fleeting, wavering, a
small boat at the mercy of a very angry sea. And it always knows an end, sometimes without
a proper explanation.

It should be comforting: things either end or change. Either way, you’re not stuck, you can’t
be stuck if you’re alive, you just haven’t figured a way out of it yet. It should be comforting,
but it feels miserable instead, to know that someday any friendship, relationship, close bond,
passion you have might end. It feels like closure is constantly lurking, a spider in a web,
patiently waiting for a victim.

In his experience, love works out with friends, while family always threatens to leave.
Pandora will always be a part of him in an intimate way that is comforting because it doesn’t
make him feel like he’s constantly losing his breath. Evan is a social butterfly, a mediator, the
kind of boy with blonde curls and brown eyes that everyone trusts; and his appearance is
deceiving, a merciless trick, since he can be quite cruel (Janus, the god with two heads). Elias
is a figure in the background, all attentive gazes and fidgeting, yet so precious, sometimes, so
heartening even with his secrecy; he’s everything you wouldn’t expect him to be, a pleasant
surprise, a Christmas present in mid-August.

Love won’t work with Barty. It won’t work because Barty is so pleasant to look at and his
voice sounds like Erik Satie composed him. Green eyes, like envy and woods, and fair hair, a
sprinkle of freckles, permanently studying, deciding, evaluating the world around him. He’d
be a mastermind, if he wanted to, but he likes his place of mysteriousness, he does okay in
the dark, observing rather than acting, though it might just be a preparation ritual. He doesn’t
let anyone really know him, except Regulus, who he let in, surprisingly, and maybe Evan, in
a different way.
And he now understands that he has loved Barty for at least eight months; eight months of
running his eyes on his best friend’s figure, wondering what made him so different from
everyone else. Eight bleeding months of thinking everyone felt like this about their best
friend.

And two sad months of pretending he fancies Vivienne, of holding her hand in the hallways
(like he holds Barty’s hand, sometimes), of hugging her (when he wishes he was in someone
else’s arms), of kissing her (as if that’s something he ever wanted to do).

Guilt pinches at his skin annoyingly, like a needle, like a stinging spell, but he can’t break up.
It’s a facade and it’s something he needs to soothe the feeling of guilt that grabs his stomach
at night. He needs to know that he’s dating a girl, but he knows there is one -just one, single
way- that will make him give up that comfort. But Vivienne keeps him safe now, somehow,
someway. It cages him, but the cage is for his own good. His mother would probably agree
on the last point, though she wouldn’t agree on him dating. He knows he’s not supposed to.

Love itself, though, isn’t what books told him it’d be. It’s not a tragedy, not a comedy. It’s
incredibly mundane and natural to love Barty, just another daily action, like breakfast and
brushing your teeth. What distinguishes it from other everyday things it’s the sinking
sensation that catches his breath every time Barty does something that blurs the lines between
friendship and something more; something dangerous, probably.

“Reg,” Barty’s voice calls, next to him.

They’re laying on Barty’s bed, shoulders pressed together and hands gripping at each other; it
should be embarrassing for two boys of their age to hold hands so frequently, to grab so
desperately to one another. It’s really not. Though Regulus can’t figure out why they hold
hands so often; why Barty, of all people, is the one to need it so much.

“Reg.” Barty snaps his fingers. “You’re getting lost in your thoughts.”

“I’m sorry,” Regulus says, sighing. “Long week, innit?”

“It’s Monday evening,” Barty says, before they both start laughing. “Long week indeed.”

Regulus falls silent again, but Barty doesn’t let it slide. He lets go of his hand and turns on his
side, embracing Regulus with one arm.

“What’s making you think so much?” He asks, when Regulus finally turns to meet his eyes.

Their foreheads are almost touching, and their lips are so close it would take nothing for
Regulus to lean in and just kiss him, just finally kiss him and put an end to this pathetic
shitshow of pining and crying himself to sleep.

“Just…” He shakes his head slightly. “You know all the things they tell you about kissing?
That you’ll feel a spark, that you’ll never want to stop?”

“What about it?” Barty asks, caressing Regulus’s side soothingly.

“It’s all bollocks,” Regulus says, clenching his jaw. “Kissing is a bummer. Relationships are a
bummer.”

“Then why do you,” Barty wrinkles his nose, “keep doing them?”

“I want that spark,” Regulus says, in a voice that sounds too childlike, too whiny. “I want to
feel things like everyone else does, I feel like I’m missing out.”

“I’ve never kissed anybody,” Barty says.

He licks his lips, and Regulus can’t stop himself from tracking the movement. From wanting
to tell him that he wants to be the first, he wants to kiss him everyday, in any place, at
whatever time, from today to whenever his end will come.

“Reg?” Barty giggles, actually giggles. “You got lost in your thoughts again.”

“I wasn't lost,” Regulus replies, turning to the side as well.

The tip of their noses touch now, and Regulus feels so comfortable, because this is Barty, and
he’s always meant to be close; but he also feels so nervous, because this is Barty, and even if
he’s meant to be close, he’s going to give Regulus arrhythmia.

“So I was thinking,” Barty says, in a whisper, “that I could practise kissing with you. Maybe
you’ll start feeling the spark if you practise more.”

Regulus’s eyes go wide, and he retreets a little. “Are you taking the piss?”

“I’m not,” Barty says, drawing him back in. “I mean, what difference would it make if we
kissed sometimes? It’s not like we’re bent or anything.”

Processing that quote is like swallowing a brick, but still, for the sake of his safety, Regulus
keeps a straight face. He always pretends it doesn’t hurt him to hear Barty or Evan say things
like that, throw hurtful words around like it’s nothing.

Barty’s offer is appealing, though. In a way, at least, he could have Barty, and he could have
him in almost a boyfriend way, which is exciting. On the other hand, he has a terrible feeling
about this.

“Are you sure you want your first kiss to be with me?” Regulus asks, meeting Barty’s eyes.
“I’m a bloke, Barty.”

Barty shrugs. “Lips are still lips, innit?”

He doesn’t give Regulus time to reply. Instead, he leans in, catching Regulus’s mouth into a
tentative, brief kiss. Despite the inexperience and the clumsiness, it still makes his heart skip
a beat.

“I want to do this,” Barty says, after he has pulled away.

Regulus knows this can’t be good, that this is never a good premise. That this can’t be a good
premise for a relationship, that this is going to hurt. But he doesn’t see any better alternative,
and Barty already kissed him once. Alea iacta est .

“Alright,” Regulus says, cupping Barty’s face in his hand.

Barty smirks. “It’ll be our secret.”

And, after all, Regulus should have known that being someone’s secret can’t be much better
than being his mother’s trophee child.

24 April, 1976

He could describe the feeling as being plunged into a deep, dark sea, with cold water and no
sign of life around him. A sea so dark that when he closes his eyes, nothing really changes,
except being more aware of the deafening silence. He’s not drowning; somehow, in these
waters, he breathes, but he never knows which breath will be the last, when the spell that has
been placed upon him will wear out entirely. And if he tries to swim up to the surface and ask
for help, there will be no ship, just the judging eyes of a million stars.

That’s what being with Barty is like. There’s no certainty, no reassurance; the only thing
Regulus knows -and tries to keep in mind- is that they’re not boyfriends. They’re not in a
relationship, in fact Barty sometimes tries to nudge him into going back to kissing girls too,
no matter how much Regulus tries to say he’s not interested. It’s also incoherent on his
behalf: Barty never, ever seeks girls' attention. Even at parties, they usually take advantage of
Evan being busy trying to impress Leonie to get some alone time and snog.

Most of the time, Regulus likes to pretend that he’s happy with how things are, and this is
enough for him, but at night he often lies awake, wondering if keeping up with whatever they
have is really benefiting him, after all.

Surely, snogging Barty and getting his hands under his shirt and knowing he’s the only one
who has ever done that are all positive things; and Barty isn’t always cold or closed off.
Sometimes, he takes himself a bit less seriously, allowing a bit of romanticism, which
Regulus likes. But that is rare, and more often than not, the moment they hear Evan coming
back, Regulus gets the cold shoulder, even at dinner.

He tries to talk to Elias about it, playing it out like he’s asking random questions and claiming
he’s in need of relationship advice for “when the time comes”. Elias looks at him weirdly a
couple of times -worried, maybe-, then says that if he finds himself dating someone who
can’t bring themselves to even admit they’re queer, then it’s probably time to have a serious
discussion about it, because that’s not “a very okay thought”.

But when Regulus tries to set the conversation, it upsets Barty, and they don’t kiss for a
couple of days, until Barty finally apologises. He still refuses to talk about it though, and in
the desperate attempt to save what he thinks are the crumbs of their relationship, Regulus also
drops the question.
All these thoughts and these bad feelings seem far away from their reality when they get back
to their dorm together, during a victory party. Slytherin won against Ravenclaw today, and
Regulus feels sore all over. There’s nothing that soothes him like Barty’s hands on the side of
his face as he brings him close for a deep, slow kiss.

“Evan’s busy,” Barty says, casually, while he pushes Regulus towards his bed. “We’ve got at
least thirty minutes.”

“Lucky us,” Regulus says, with a smirk.

Barty seems to be particularly on edge today, sighing when Regulus slips his hand under his
shirt and when he moves to kiss his neck.

“No hickeys,” Barty reminds him, carding his fingers through Regulus’s hair.

“I know,” Regulus says, quietly, pressing a kiss on the line of his jaw. “I’ll be careful, I
promise.”

Barty claims his lips again just a few seconds later, brings their hips together in a movement
that has Regulus seeing black for a second.

“Like it?” Barty whispers, flipping them, so he has Regulus pinned against the mattress.
“Feeling the spark yet?”

Regulus laughs, setting his hands on Barty’s waist. “Lips are lips,” he says, quoting what
Barty had said to him in January.

“Bastard.”

Then Barty bends down to kiss him again, and Regulus swears it, this kiss is nothing like
what they shared so far. Barty seems impossibly more sweet, so much so that Regulus finds
himself having to stop the kiss, because he’s smiling too much.

“What’s that smile for, uh?” Barty asks.

He lays on his side next to Regulus, who wastes no time to tangle their legs together and get
close.

“Nothing, it’s just…” Regulus stops, and brings his hand to Barty’s face, caressing his cheek.
“I do feel the spark, with you.”

Barty smirks. “That means I’m a good kisser,” he says, confidently.

“Yeah,” Regulus says, with a small smile. “You’re a good kisser.”

“I sense a but.” Barty puts his hand on Regulus’s waist and urges him closer. Their chests
come together with each breath. “What’s the matter?”

“Barty, I don’t just feel the spark because you’re a good kisser,” Regulus says, dropping his
hand.
Barty leans in and presses a soft kiss on his lips. It’s that small gesture that convinces
Regulus to be honest, to tell him what he really thinks.

“I feel the spark because I love you,” he says, slowly.

Barty goes stiff beside him, eyes wide with shock for a second, before he frowns, sitting up.

“Barty?” Regulus calls, allarmed, sitting up as well.

“We are not boyfriends, Regulus. Being ‘boyfriends’ at all should not be a concept,” he says,
coolly, getting up from the bed. “What you said it’s wrong.”

“Why is it wrong?” Regulus challenges, getting up as well.

It’s no use: for every step forward he takes, Barty takes one back, looking at him warily.

“We’re not supposed to love each other,” Barty says, firmly. “It would be wrong, if we loved
each other. Against nature, and against our values. Did I make myself clear?”

Regulus feels tears sting his eyes, but he doesn’t back down. “No, but you did make yourself
look like an utter fool,” he says, clenching his fists. “Do you think you’re not queer just
because you said you’re not?”

“I’m not a fucking queer!” Barty says, loudly, stepping forward. “I’m not, and you’re not
either. We’re wizards, not bloody muggles.”

“You don’t get to tell me whether I’m queer or not just to make yourself feel better,” Regulus
says, as a tear drops from his eyes. “You might not be queer, but you are a coward. A puppet,
even.”

Barty scowls at him and gives him a dirty look, then puts some distance between them.
“Maybe I’m a coward, but at least I’m not reprehensible.”

Regulus gapes at him, but makes sure to snap his mouth close right after. “Reprehensible,” he
repeats. “You said we were going to be friends forever, no matter what happened, but if I’m
queer, that goes to shit, and you call me reprehensible? You sound like sodding Avery!”

“Well, are you?” Barty challenges, coming close. “Are you queer, Regulus?”

Regulus turns his face, hoping to prevent Barty from seeing his eyes as they get wet again.
“No, I’m not.”

Barty scoffs; there’s a noise, the curtains of his bed shuffling as they get closed. “Then I don’t
see why this discussion should go on.”

The next day, Regulus wakes up early, grabs his broom, a book and only stops to the Great
Hall to get breakfast, then leaves to the Quidditch pitch.
He missed the dawn by at least thirty minutes, but it’s not that bad. Gryffindor is practising,
at this hour, and Regulus is content to just watch the team, though he keeps his hood on, not
wanting Sirius to spot him and come talk to him. He’d end up telling him everything, and that
can’t happen, because Regulus still feels the shame of having thought that Barty could
possibly love him.

Patiently, he waits for their practice to end. He eats his muffin, observing when James Potter
does a dangerous spin as he takes the quaffle that was passed to him by Mary Macdonald,
and briefly wonders if he’d be practising with them, right now, if just his life had been a little
different. The thought only makes him sad, so he starts reading instead. He took Narcissus
and Goldmund with him; not his current read, but a comfort one for sure.

He’s so engrossed in his reading that he doesn’t notice it when practice ends, nor when
someone sits next to him.

“You know,” James Potter says, making him jolt, “it’s curious how people can be so focused
on something that they don’t even notice when someone sits next to them.”

Regulus glares at him, snapping his book shut. “It’s also curious how people invented
greetings to prevent other people from giving them a fright.”

James laughs, then runs a hand through his hair. Repressing the urge of eye rolling is hard:
he’s seen Potter do this gesture half a million times in the hallways, when he winks at girls,
like he thinks he’s the only bloke in the world with good looks and a charming personality.

“Sirius didn’t notice you here,” James says, when he stops laughing. “And I didn’t tell him,
because if you were here for him, you certainly wouldn’t be wearing that hood. I also think it
is really odd to have someone watch our morning practice, since it’s Sunday, basically at the
crack of the dawn,” he says, almost all in one breath. He stops, gives Regulus an awkward
smile. “So, what are you doing here?”

“Regretting my life choices,” Regulus says, blinking. “Do you usually ask invasive questions
to strangers?”

Potter runs a hand through his hair again and ruffles it, as if the wind didn’t do the job
already. “You’re not really a stranger, are you? You’re my best mate’s brother, and you look
kind of sad. Lonely. I thought you could use some company. Someone to talk to.”

Regulus looks up, letting out a laugh in disbelief. “What makes you think I’d be talking to
you if I was sad or lonely?”

James shrugs his shoulders and shows him around with his hand. “There’s no one else
around.”

“Touché,” Regulus says, with a sigh. “Look, I appreciate the thought, but I really don’t want
to talk, so you can go back and have a shower and never think about this again.”

“Okay, you don’t want to talk,” James says, tapping his chin with his index. “What if we do
something else instead?”
Regulus glances at his broom, then looks at James. “You were a seeker in your second year,
weren’t you?”

James winks at him, then grins. “We can nick a snitch.”

The next forty-five minutes are spent flying around the pitch; he thought he’d be bothered
with how close James gets to him, but it hypes him up instead. James must be used to playing
as a chaser by now, and he man-marks Regulus as such, getting shoulder to shoulder with
him until Regulus speeds up enough to get away.

It’s nice, and James makes silly moves just to make Regulus laugh sometimes, but as he’s
distracted doing that, Regulus catches the snitch that was flying just next to James’s broom
handle.

“That was bloody thrilling!” James says, when they hit the ground. “I haven't had this much
fun in ages , we should totally do it again!”

“You didn’t even catch the snitch, Potter,” Regulus says, with a small smile.

He likes him a little better now. Not that he has never minded loud or cheerful people: Evan
being the best example of that. Potter seems to be genuinely enjoying himself; he keeps
smiling when he meets Regulus’s eyes and there’s a small dimple that forms on his cheek
every time he does that.

He’s beautiful, even if his hair looks a bit mistreated. His eyes look painfully deep under the
morning sun, and his skin glows beautifully, like he was made to be under the light at all
times, where darkness and shadows can never touch him. He’s used to Barty’s beauty, to his
beautiful green eyes and his fair hair, the grin and the sweet voice. James is another type of
beauty entirely; nonetheless, it’s hard not to stare.

Barty is a kind of beauty that lacks elegance, though he seeks it; James, instead, moves and
looks like a prince, in a striking way. Older peers are constantly complaining about the fact
that James acts like Hogwarts is his, though Regulus wouldn’t struggle to believe that. A
prince, obviously, needs a castle; why would James be any different?

It makes Regulus a bit wary of him, but that feeling disappears when James puts his arm
around his shoulders.

“I don’t know what made you sad today,” James says, as Regulus releases the snitch, letting it
fly around them. “But if you ever want to talk about it, you can reach out, you know?”

Regulus catches the snitch again and gives James a good look. “I know. I’ll talk about it to a
friend of mine when I’m ready,” he promises. “It was just too recent.”

“Quidditch is a nice way to get your feelings out,” James smiles. “And whatever made you
sad, it’ll be alright, I believe. Sometimes things go the wrong way, but…it’s a bad day. It says
nothing about the future.”
Regulus smiles so spontaneously he almost thinks his lips were charmed while he wasn’t
looking. “Who knew James Potter was a wise bloke?”

James presses his hand on his chest, offended. “Excuse me, I am very wise; you’re just
surprised because I shaved my massive white beard.”

Regulus laughs, letting go of the snitch again. “Catch it, Potter.”

“What?” James looks a little lost.

“Catch the snitch,” Regulus says again, with a smile.

James grabs the snitch, then tilts his head to the side, watching Regulus with clear confusion
in his eyes.

“Happy belated birthday,” Regulus says, wiggling out of James’s one-armed hug. “You’ve
got yourself a nice stress-relief,” he explains, “for your O.W.L.s.”

“Wicked,” James smiles at him. “Thank you!”

Regulus rolls his eyes, but he reciprocates the smile one last time. “Bye-bye, Potter.”

6 February, 1977

To regret one’s own experiences is to arrest one’s own development. To deny one’s own
experiences is to put a lie into the lips of one’s own life. It is no less than a denial of the soul.

“I heard everything.”

Stillness takes over the room. Evan’s ragged breath eventually goes back at its usual pace,
while Barty and Regulus simply stare at each other across the room, like strangers would.

“So, speak,” Barty urges, in one of those theatrical ways of his. “What does your brother
have to do with all this?”

Regulus opens his mouth, then settles on snapping it shut. Evan sits down on the edge of his
bed, bouncing his leg up and down as his eyes dart between the two of them. He thinks he
knows what is going to happen, but he’s wrong.

“Tell him,” he says, squeezing his hands together. “Maybe you’ll listen to him.”

There’s bitterness in his voice when he says that, implying that Regulus won’t actually listen
to Evan, or, even worse, that he’ll take any advice about leaving James, or how to handle his
own relationship.

“I’m not here to take advice,” he replies, coolly, before he turns to look at Barty. “I’ll tell you
everything, but your opinion is not requested. My love life is not any of your business, and I
can handle my family on my own.”
Evan scoffs, hastily, picking at the white bracelet around his wrist. “Then stop being a
coward and spell things out,” he says. His head is bent down and he stares at the floor like it’s
the most interesting thing in the room. “I’m not an idiot for being worried.”

“Nobody said you were!” Regulus says, throwing his arms in the air, before he folds them to
his chest. “I’m just saying that I’m in control of the situation.”

“No, that’s you underestimating how serious this is!” Evan’s head snaps up. “Do you think
rumours didn’t travel on the reason why your brother left? It was all people could talk about
for at least two weeks, in pureblood circles! Your mother was so furious when she talked to
my mum about it, I have every right to be worried! I thought you’d be dating someone more
lowkey!”

“Well, I’m sorry you deluded yourself, it sounds like your problem!” Regulus says, then.

Barty bangs his hand on the wall. The noise isn’t all that loud, really, but it gathers their
attention just like it was meant to. “Who’s this person?” He asks, glancing at Regulus with a
suspicious expression. “It’s not Potter, is it? You’re more clever than that.”

“Well, apparently, he’s not,” Evan says.

Barty glances at him, raises his eyebrows, then looks at Regulus again, and there’s some
hatred hidden behind the green shades of his eyes.

“Congratulations, Rosier, you really know how to keep a secret,” Regulus hisses at him.

“You’re dating Potter,” Barty says, claiming his attention again. “Of all the people in this
school, it just had to be him. You always have to bite more than you can chew.”

“Oh, he was certainly biting him,” Evan grumbles.

“I will actually place a silencing charm on you if you don’t stop being spiteful!” Regulus
says, gripping at his wand.

“Yeah, go ahead!” Evan challenges, getting up. “You’re becoming just like your brother and
his group of friends! Pointing your wand at whoever doesn’t agree with you!”

Regulus grips at his wand tighter. “There’s a difference between not agreeing and being a
raging purist who makes kids’ life living hell!”

“Oh, so now you justify them?”

“For fuck’s sake!” Barty curses, loudly. He steps closer to Evan and pushes him back on his
bed. “Either shut up or behave! And you,” he turns to Regulus, “you’ve got some explaining
to do. Did he catch you snogging!?”

Regulus groans, rolling his eyes. “He wasn’t supposed to, we forgot to lock the door.”

Barty gives him a fake smile. “That just makes it so much better! Why don’t you send your
mother a picture of you guys going at it, since you’re being so careful?”
“Fuck off,” Regulus says, gritting his teeth. “It was a mistake and it’s not going to happen
again.”

Barty shakes his head. “You’ve always had a flair for danger, and he worsened this. Does he
not know how dangerous it is for you if you get caught? Did your brother not-”

“He perfectly knows, thank you very much!” Regulus interrupts him. “Just because we made
a mistake once doesn’t mean our whole relationship is ruled by the complete absence of
communication. This would happen if I had any relationship!”

“Don’t be naive now,” Evan sounds slightly calmer. “If it was a girl, like Vivienne, no one
would tell on you. They wouldn’t even consider it a problem in the first place. But you date a
boy and things change, Reg. You have to realise that.”

“Thank you for your words of wisdom, Evan. I hadn’t realised homophobia was a thing,”
Regulus deadpans. “The point is we slipped, and we know, and it’s not going to happen
again.”

“It’s still not a healthy relationship,” Barty objects.

“I don’t take healthy relationship advice from you,” Regulus says, coolly. “We’re doing our
best and I will not hear any of you two speak against my relationship. If you don’t like it,
good, just don’t tell anyone and don’t give me lectures.”

Evan shakes his head, pressing his lips into a thin line. Just like Barty, he stays silent, so
Regulus moves to get on his bed, where he plans to spend the next few hours, possibly
reading and sketching ways on how to tell James his friends don’t like him without making
him feel bad.

“I just think you could do better,” Evan says. Regulus rolls his eyes. “Why him and not-”

“Don’t,” Barty stops him. “He didn’t leave me for Potter. You don’t know the story.”

“See, this is the problem with you two!” Evan says, angrily. “I’m supposed to understand you
even if you don’t explain shit to me! What even happened between you two, then?”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Barty says, defensively. “And I don’t have to, by the way.”

“But it would be nice to know what happened since I took care of you when you were feeling
like shit last year,” Evan retorts. “You could barely admit you fancied blokes-”

“Then put two and two together!” Barty snaps. “Do you think I could admit I fancied
Regulus if I could barely say I fancied blokes at all?”

Evan lets out a soft “oh,” then looks down.

“Why do you even like Potter?” Barty meets his eyes and Regulus makes sure to stand with
his back straight as he faces him. “He’s arrogant and superficial and he’s always messing up
his hair because he thinks having a bird nest on your head makes you look cool.”
“You don’t know him,” Regulus says, firmly. “Your judgement is based solely on what
you’ve heard from lads in his year, and I can assure you they’re wrong about him. He might
be a bit arrogant but he’s surely far from being superficial, and he makes me feel loved and
cared for even if we can’t date publicly. I’m happy and I’m not going to break up with him
simply because you feel like judging him when you don’t even know him.”

Barty makes a weird expression, then closes himself in the bathroom.

Evan hesitates, glances towards the door and then to Regulus, who rubs his arm. “Reg,” he
says, softly, getting up.

“It’s fine,” Regulus says, looking away.

“It’s not,” he sets his hands on Regulus’s shoulders, then pulls him into a tight hug. “I
overreacted.”

“You did,” Regulus agrees, putting his hands on Evan’s back; at first, delicately, like he’s
scared Evan will pull away at any second, then with more strength. “I really like him. I love
him, even.”

“That’s alright,” Evan says, codiscendigly. “Makes Quidditch a lot better, I imagine.”

He puts a little space between them and takes Regulus’s face in his hands, then kisses his
forehead, which is the last thing Regulus expected him to do.

“I love you with my entire soul,” he says. “And I worry about you all the time because
you’ve been…on a journey that separates you from your family everyday. I want you to be
happy, but I need you to be safe as you do so. At least until you’re out of that house, I need
you to be careful.”

“I will be,” Regulus says, meeting Evan’s eyes. “I’m usually careful.”

“Good, okay,” Evan steps back, giving Regulus’s shoulder a nice squeeze. “I’ll leave Barty to
you, you guys probably need to talk.”

When he opens the bathroom door, he finds Barty sitting with his back against the wall,
staring at the sink. There’s a tear rolling down his cheek, slow, almost controlled, like he’s
trying his best not to cry.

It’s not the first time this year that Regulus thinks Barty looks lonely. He’s not, really;
actually, Barty never had so many people around, but he still looks like there’s something
he’s missing. To admit that something in his life is lacking, though, it’s not a Barty move.
That must be why he simply started occupying his days: going around the castle, reading,
even music, since they gifted him a record player.

“Is Evan gone?”

“Yes,” Regulus says, slowly. “Can I sit next to you?”

Barty shrugs his shoulders: an answer like that, in this situation, might as well be a yes, so
Regulus takes a seat next to his friend and folds his hands on his lap.

“Do you remember what you told me last year?”

“I told you a lot of things last year,” Regulus says, turning to look at Barty. Their gazes still
don’t meet, as Barty’s too busy staring everywhere else: the sink, his hands, the shower head.

“You said I made myself look like a fool, and you called me a coward,” he says.

“I was mad, Barty, I didn’t mean it.”

“You were right,” Barty’s voice wavers slightly. “I wish I could go back in time and slap
myself on the face for what I told you, for the way I acted. I was parroting the things I heard.
‘It’s against nature, against our values, our duties’...it’s all a ton of bollocks. But I believed it
and you didn’t.”

“I was like that too,” Regulus says, bumping shoulders with Barty. “I just had more time to
reflect on it before we kissed, and it turned out to make a difference. It doesn’t make you a
bad person.”

Barty shakes his head. “I hurt you, and I hurt others too, simply because I was hurting. And I
don’t think there’s any apology that would even make it up for the pain I’ve caused,” he
wipes his face angrily with the sleeves of his jumper. “I’ve always known I was this way.
Since I was little. Kids blabber all sorts of stuff, I used to tell my mam I wanted to learn how
to cook for my boyfriends,” he laughs, though a couple of tears slip out of his eyes again.
“Dad hated it. And then I began to hate it too, but I didn’t have it in me to even try to date a
girl. The thought I’d see you get married one day made me so sick. I wanted to have you and
the only way I could conceive doing such a thing was by never saying what I was feeling. Or
even say the opposite to what I wanted to say. I never thought that would mean things were
going to end. But, eventually…” He sighs, resting his head against the wall, eyes fixed on the
ceiling. “I kissed you for the last time and I didn’t even know.”

“Barty…” Regulus reaches out, wraps his hand around his wrist.

“I spent the whole summer wondering how to fix us. What to say, what to do, I thought
distance might have you missing me, or only remembering the good parts of what we had. I
told my mam I wanted to read a story where the protagonist was just like me, and we found
Maurice, by Forster. It was published posthumously and at first I didn’t think there was a
reason, or at least not one I could find in the book. I kept routing for Maurice and Clive. I
saw us in them, and then…Clive left,” Barty’s face is all scrunched up in a pained expression,
and his voice also comes out broken. “And he got married. I had to put the book down, but
curiosity won. I picked it up again and finished it and it was such an emotional whiplash
because it has a happy ending. Just not the way you expected it. It's a happy ending for
Maurice but Clive…Clive is still married. I kept wondering which one of us would be Clive,
who’d be Maurice. Who’d have the courage to be Maurice. And it turned out to be you.”

“Well,” Regulus runs his thumb over the soft skin of Barty’s forearm. “Thanks for the
Maurice spoiler,” he earns a little laugh out of Barty, who whispers an apology. “But life isn’t
fiction. And you can still…learn from this, you know? If you don’t want to be Clive, you
don’t have to be. There’s a whole world out there and so many years ahead of us. You’re not
alone,” he makes sure to spell out every word, and looks into Barty’s eyes as he does. “Can’t
you see it? You’ve already made so much progress since last year! You have a book to come
back to, music, and friends. We all love you and, to be honest, I’m happy you’re the way you
are.”

“Happy?” Barty repeats, sort of in disbelief.

“Yes,” Regulus confirms. “Happy. We’ve got each other. We’ve got Evan, who’ll probably
have a lot of kids we’ll have to spoil, and we’ve got Dorcas who is an amazing person. We’ve
got a future where we can live your life and our parents will not be able to interfere. We’re
not as stuck as we think we are,” he takes Barty’s hand. “I know you said you don’t think
there’s any apology to make up for the pain you’ve caused, but I think you’re wrong. Some
people will need time, but they can surprise you, and I think you should let them. You don’t
want to give up, do you?”

Barty shakes his head. “No. Would make my father happy,” he says, “and I don’t want to
make him happy.”

“That’s the spirit,” Regulus says, with a smile.

“Are we still forever even if you have James?” Barty asks, gripping at his hands.

“Is the sky still blue?” Regulus asks back, with a grin. “Of course we are. I know you don’t
know James. But he gives people a lot of chances, and he’s queer too. He knows what the
world is like and he’s happy that I have friends. We’re best friends, and we’re forever. That’s
never going to change, alright?”

Barty nods. “And he treats you right?”

“Yes, he does,” Regulus assures. “One day, you and Evan will meet him properly, and you’ll
discover there’s much more to him than what he shows and what people say about him.”

“Okay,” Barty lets go of his hand. “But you’ll still be careful, right?”

“Pinky promise,” Regulus says, holding out his pinky.

“What’s that?” Barty tilts his head to the side.

“If you shake my pinky, I can’t break the promise that I’ll be careful.”

Barty shakes his pinky immediately. “If I catch you being reckless again, I’ll force you to do
my herbology homework.”

“God, no,” Regulus gets up and holds his hand out for Barty. “I hate herbology.”

Barty laughs, takes his hand and he’s back on his feet, looking a bit happier than he was when
all this started.
Dinner falls as early as it can for both James and Regulus. They lock eyes across the Great
Hall a couple of times. James leaves first, but Regulus lingers until the rest of the marauders
leave as well, then he excuses himself.

The stairs are in a playful mood today, and they keep changing while he runs on the steps,
risking falling a couple of times. Filch eyes him suspiciously in the corridor of the fourth
floor, but Regulus flashes him the prefect badge and walks past him, mentally thanking
Dumbledore and Slughorn for handing him the privilege of sneaking around the castle
without suffering the consequences.

When he finally arrives in the room, James is sitting at the table by the window. He’s
levitating a paper plane with his wand, leaning back on the chair.

“Hi,” he says, softly, letting the plane land softly on the wooden table. “Took you a while.”

“The stairs kept changing and made me walk twice as much,” Regulus explains, getting close
to him.

James doesn’t get up from the chair, but he turns his whole body towards Regulus and
embraces him as soon as he’s close, resting his head on Regulus’s sternum. He runs his hand
through his hair, combing it with his fingers, and the room is silent for a couple of minutes.
Only the crackling noise of the fireplace and James’s soft breathing fill up his ears, and it’s
even more grounding if he closes his eyes.

One year ago, he was looking for a spark, desperately clutching at every little sign of
affection he could get, no matter how much it hurt when that affection was taken away in the
name of fear and reputation. Without that hurt, it would have been impossible to learn to
communicate his needs, his desires, what worried him and what scared him; without that
hurt, the relationship with James would have been less manageable.

He doesn’t chase a spark anymore, but this steady crackling, like a magic fire that never goes
out. In the silent, dreadful dark sea bathed him one year ago, James is a light or a ship that
brings him back to safety, and maybe teaches him how to not fall again, to stay afloat and not
let himself be pulled under.

This isn’t a feeling he can explain to Evan: so far, his life experience was more than
satisfying. He has a family that loves him and he loves them too. He can’t explain it to Barty,
because he’s trapped somewhere else: maybe a forest or some scary place like that. He could
try to explain it to Pandora, but he doesn’t need to, because she’s lived in a similar situation
before. He would explain it to James, if only he knew how to explain how dark life felt until
October, when things really started looking up, ever so slowly.

“You’re quiet,” James pulls away, grabbing his hand softly. “Was Rosier really that mad?”

Regulus shakes his head, looking at their joint hands, at the emerald ring shining on James’s
ring finger. “Evan had built a whole story in his mind because he was missing pieces, and he
was worried more than he was angry. I don’t blame him, he knows what went down in my
house, what happened with Sirius…” He frowns. “Barty is another story, I think he needed
closure. But he was equally as worried. We’ve always looked out for each other, so it was
naïve of me to think they wouldn’t worry. They’re okay, though. As long as we’re careful not
to get caught.”

“So they weren’t mean to you?” James asks, running his thumb over Regulus’s knuckles in a
loving gesture.

“A bit,” Regulus licks his lips, bites down at the lower one for a second. “It doesn’t really
matter, we’re constantly mean to each other.”

“And are you okay?”

Regulus finally looks at James. In the soft light of the room, his eyes aren’t as deep as they
are in the sun, and it’s a pity. Regulus aches, waiting for spring, waiting to look at James in
the sun, sitting by some tree in the courtyard, next to blooming flowers and under the warm
light of the afternoon.

“Yeah,” he says, cupping James’s jaw. He bends down to catch his lips in a slow, soft kiss.
“I’m okay. Are you okay?”

“I was worried, but I’m better now,” James says, with a tiny smile. “I can tell that you’re
thinking something.”

Regulus stands straight again, bites the inside of his cheek, then turns and grabs the other
chair, bringing it closer. He sits down, not quite in front of James. Their hands are still
tangled together, and Regulus feels like he can be honest, and says what he has been thinking
since the fight with Evan and Barty boiled down.

“I think hiding this,” he gestures between them, pointing at his chest, then James’s, “from our
friends was a mistake. Not that we did it consciously, I’m just…”

“Looking back at it, it wasn’t the greatest idea,” James agrees. “I told Mary and Marlene.”

Regulus smiles at him, squeezing his hand. “Mary knew. She told me.”

James pouts. “She told you ?” He asks, petulantly. “I can’t believe you’re stealing my best
friend.”

“You stole my brother, so we’re fair,” Regulus replies right away, sort of challenging him.
“But jokes aside, I think we should tell Sirius, and just call it quits from hiding from our
friends. It’s not worth it, and they know us anyway. Sirius heavily suspects anyway, if he was
opposed, believe me, he wouldn’t have waited for us to come to him.”

James nods firmly. “After Valentine’s day. What do you think?”

“Yes,” Regulus intertwines their fingers, pressing his palm against James’s. “After
Valentine’s day.”
From there on, the night brightens up. It’s like taking a deep breath in or drinking cold water
on a hot August afternoon. They make peppermint chamomile on the stove that recently
appeared in the room, which, according to James, remembles a studio flat everyday more.
They chat a little, then somehow end up on the bed, legs tangled together, and Regulus reads
Dracula to James, who claims to be feeling under the weather. Regulus thinks it must be an
excuse to be cuddled a bit more, but he lets James get whatever he wants.

“You’re falling asleep, Jamie,” he says, when the clock on the nightstand sign eleven, setting
the book down. “We should go back.”

“I don’t want to,” James complains, tightening his hold around Regulus’s body. “Can’t we
just sleep here? There’s a bed for a reason, Reggie.”

Regulus rolls his eyes at the nickname. “It’s Sunday, I’ve got practice at dawn, so it wouldn’t
be as pleasant as you think.”

“Ah,” James clicks his tongue. “It would be just as pleasant because you’re here.”

“Very flattering,” Regulus says with a chuckle, sweeping back James’s hair. “But you’re
exhausted and I am too, frankly, so it’d be wise to make our way back.”

James sighs, but he agrees. They walk to the Slytherin Common room hidden beneath the
Invisibility Cloak.

“We should just sleep there on Saturdays or Fridays,” James grumbles, once they’re almost
arrived. “Once we tell Sirius, we can make it a thing. We should make it a thing, actually.”

Regulus chuckles, and he’s close enough to drop a kiss on James’s cheek. “We should
definitely make it a thing.”

“And you should let me be the big spoon for once,” James says, resting his hand on
Regulus’s waist. “It’s nice and I can’t give you a marauding tour if you haven’t tried it.”

Rolling his eyes, Regulus says, “fine, I’ll be the little spoon next time.”

James chuckles. “You’ll love it,” he says, sounding satisfied.

They kiss some more, bodies pressed together, just a few metres away from the entrance.
James is just as eager as he was in the morning, somehow, despite being tired; it’ll be evident
to everyone what Regulus was getting up to just five minutes before he went back to dorm.
But it’s okay, really: as long as they think it is a girl who messes his hair, bites at his neck,
untucks his sweater and fiddles with his belt hook, it’ll be okay.

Dear diary,

Today was a strange day.

It started horribly, when Evan caught me and James snogging in an empty classroom. I
thought things were going to go even more downhill when it turned out Barty heard us
fighting. Surprisingly, it didn’t, even if I really thought it would. After some stuff got
(accidentally) clarified, the fight died down.

To be honest, with the three of us it’s always constant bickering, but I wouldn’t like it any
other way. Evan was particularly sweet when he realised his mistake, but he tends to be like
that. He’s always the first to look for a compromise or to apologise, I don’t think I appreciate
it as much as it should be, but I’m learning.

Sometimes conflict brings happy endings; I’m learning that, too. I started the year thinking I
was going to lose them before O.W.L.s, but despite all the fighting, I think we’ve never been
closer. And now I can say there really are no secrets between the three of us. I believe I can
keep them; Evan spends less and less time with the older guys, and more with the girls of our
year and Barty. We’re really coming together. I can’t believe even Evan and Elias warmed up
to each other!

I know Barty and Elias will never admit it now, but I think they would really benefit from
each other’s company. They’re more similar than they think, and if there’s someone who can
understand Barty, that’s Elias. Dorcas agrees with me, even if she doesn’t know Elias like I
do. I think it’s just natural to assume so if you know them even a little. Obviously, we’re not
pushing farther, but I want to believe we’re not wrong. I want to see if Evan will agree with
me and Dorcas once he knows Elias a bit better.

I saw James too and we agreed to tell Sirius after San Valentine’s. I don’t think he’ll be that
upset about it. I know James is anxious, even if he refuses to admit it. I think something is
going on with his parents, but he won’t say anything about it either. He struggles opening up
a lot more than I do.

I still need to read Euphemia’s letter, which I left in the Come and Go room. I want to read it
with James, but I’ll wait until he feels better. I hope she doesn’t mind a late reply.

Last thing: last week I had a weird dream, and I’ve been wondering if it was Damastus trying
to reach me. I’ve had dreams like that before. I think I’ll try to sneak into the forest and meet
him if I keep dreaming something similar. I didn’t tell anyone about it, except the bits and
pieces I told Pandora. Everyone else would freak out so badly, especially James and Sirius. I
really don’t know what to do. I might call an emergency meeting with Pandora, maybe bring
her with me.

Until next time,

R.A.B.

12 February, 1977

To meet Narcissa, he initially thought he wasn’t going to wear robes, then quickly changed
his mind. He doesn’t want to give anyone in the family the impression that his views have
changed, even if Narcissa would never tell on him.
“Why are you wearing robes to Hogsmeade?” Evan asks, leaning against the door frame of
the bathroom.

There’s a strong smell of cologne that sort of makes Regulus want to roll his eyes. Evan
always wears too much cologne when he goes on dates; today, at least, he’s dressed nicely,
almost looking like someone who enjoys studying, with the white shirt collar showing under
the sweater.

“I’m meeting Cissy,” he says, giving up on buttoning the robes. “Sirius says muggles wear a
thing called “coats” and I’m starting to think that their fashion sense is light years ahead of
us. I mean look at this thing!” He points at his robes. “It hides everything! Why do I even
spend time wondering what to wear when robes cancel it out anyway!”

Evan chuckles, tilting his head to the side. “I don’t know, your robes are sort of fancy, you
definitely have it better than most people. You have constellation details and everything.”

“Which is really nice! But they’re so stuffy and…unpleasant to look at. Something shorter
would be much more comfortable. Why does it have to go down to the knees? It’s
unnecessary!”

Evan rolls his eyes. “Okay, whining done?” Regulus glares at him. “C’mon, decide what to
do with those robes, I have a date to attend!”

“You can always take the robes off at the Three Broomsticks,” Barty says, putting his book
face down on his chest. He always reads on weekends. “Just go so I can finally have some
alone time.”

“Is that what we’re calling wanking? Alone time?” Evan asks, teasingly. “Oh, stop glaring at
me, Crouch! You’re such a prude.”

“And you’re always thinking about sex just because your girlfriend let you touch her tits,”
Barty grumbles. “Take your romantic and sexual affairs out of this room.”

“You’re so grumpy,” Regulus says, rolling his eyes. He grabs his ring box from his truck and
looks in it thoughtfully.

“It’s because no one is snogging him. It’d fix that Victorian era attitude,” Evan says.

“I’m reserved,” Barty retorts. “Not everyone wants to know the details of their friends’s
sexual lives.”

“You only say that because you don’t have a sexual life to talk about,” Evan says.

Regulus picks the rings for his left hand: one is snake shaped, the other has a skull, and one is
a simple band. Now he needs another one for his right hand, where he already wears his
family ring and the wooden ring he shares with Sirius

“I’m sixteen, I’m not supposed to have this grand sexual life,” Barty argues. “Not my fault
you and Reg are getting shagged every other day.”
“I’m not getting shagged,” Regulus corrects him, absentmindedly.

“Do you do the shagging then?” Evan asks, curiously. “Wait, how does it work between
men?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “I’m not having sex in general,” he clarifies.

“Why not?” Barty and Evan inquire, at the same time.

Regulus closes the ring box and sets it aside. “I’m ready, shall we get going?”

“Booo!” Evan says, as he grabs his wand and wallet. “Another reserved person! Where will
this world end up going?”

Narcissa isn’t really all that different from the last time he saw her, except that she looks
more nervous. When he spots her, she’s playing with her ring and glancing around. She
smiles at him the very moment she sees him approach. Her smile is as warm as it always was:
despite the dyed blonde hair, the blue eyes and the pale complexion, she has always reminded
Regulus of summer, the house in Nice and, weirdly, strawberries.

They hug each other tightly, with an affection they wouldn’t dare showing if the rest of the
family wasn’t around. She’s still slightly taller than him, but it’s not a bother: he feels
cradled, like he’s a child again, nicking hugs and hair ruffles from older cousins.

“You cut your hair,” she says, running her fingers through his curls, eyes going up and down
his face like she’s searching for something.

“I wanted a change of style,” Regulus replies, with a grin, “and it kept getting in my face
during Quidditch.”

“You could have tied it up,” she glances at the door of the three broomsticks. “Are you sure
you want to go in? I saw Sirius entering a couple of minutes ago…”

“It’s fine, Cissy,” he reassures her, “I see him everyday at school, it really doesn’t bother
me.”

Narcissa sighs heavily; Regulus can tell she thinks he’s putting on a tough facade, but doesn’t
argue, so they go in. Taking advantage of the fact Narcissa is looking for a table, he turns
towards the marauders and offers them a little smile and an even smaller hand wave, and he’s
happy to see them wave back. Sirius raises his eyebrows, curious and Regulus mouths the
word “later” at him. He waits to see him nod, before going after Narcissa, who found a
secluded booth for them.

The waiter, a nice looking guy with a kind smile and a slit on his eyebrow, takes their order
of two butterbeers, then Narcissa focuses on Regulus.

“It’s fine if you bring your friend Barty to the wedding,” she says, though she already said
that in the reply letter he received some days ago. “After I got your letter, I realised your
mother wouldn’t be particularly pleased if you brought a girl of your choice. She’s quite old-
fashioned.”

“That’s one way to say it,” Regulus grumbles, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table.
“She thinks nothing must happen before the wedding, just because that’s what happened with
hers.”

“They’re a different generation,” Narcissa says, condescendingly, like she’s trying to give an
explanation of their behaviour. “I’m sure you’re not following her advice,” she adds, pointing
at the hickey on his neck.

James didn’t mean to leave marks, Regulus’s skin is simply that sensitive, he gets bruises
easily. He thought about covering them up with a spell before going out, but he was in a rush
and forgot to do so.

“Not exactly,” he moves his hands under the table, wishing he’d stop bouncing his leg,
though it’s an anxiety induced movement, and he can’t really do much about it. “You won’t
tell her, right?”

“Merlin, no,” Narcissa relaxes against the back of her chair and fixes her hair. “I know what
it is like to be a teenager, Regulus. I don’t blame you for it. If anything, I’m glad you’re
enjoying some freedom.”

Briefly, he wonders if Narcissa would be as glad if she discovered who’s getting busy with
Regulus, if she’d be so nice about it if she knew how much Regulus likes James and the
prospect of having him around for as long as he can.

“Did you have any illicit affair?” He asks, in a teasing tone that makes Narcissa chuckle,
though her smile dies out too soon, and her whole expression dims. “Cissy?”

“On parle pas de ça,” Narcissa says, locking eyes with him.

“Pourquoi?” Regulus asks, immediately mimicking the French, more as an instinct than
anything else.

“We just don’t,” Narcissa says, straightening her back. “There’s things that can’t be said.”

Little siblings, Regulus thinks, bitterly. This is why he always got along with her, even when
they were children. Narcissa had to make up for Bellatrix and Andromeda, be her parents’
perfect daughter: the one that they always knew was going to follow the rules while she was
in school, with the high grades and the prefect badge, the one who’d grow up to marry a
pureblood man and build a family with him. Regulus understands it, because as soon as
Sirius started breaking the rules, he was expected to follow them all. To his parents’ eyes, he
still does.

“Why?” He asks, again. “Because we’re our parents’ trophee children and we don’t get to be
anything else?”
Narcissa seems surprised by the bitterness of his voice, but it quickly gets washed away by a
stern expression that doesn’t suit her. “Regulus…”

“Can’t we just be cousins today?” He pleads. “Tell each other things like normal cousins?”

Narcissa opens her mouth to reply, but the waiter comes back with their pints. They thank
him, and Regulus doesn’t miss the dopey smile he gives Narcissa. He has to hide laughter
behind his hand until he’s out of ear reach.

“Weirdly cheered me up,” Narcissa says, before she takes a sip from her pint. She gets
serious again after that. “I’m not sure I get how conversations between ‘normal’ cousins
work.”

“We could just tell each other things regardless of what our parents would try to police the
conversation,” Regulus proposes, “I haven’t been following the rules.”

Narcissa a small smile wavers on her lips and creeps at the edge of her eyes. “I know,” she
says nonchalantly, “you’ve alway been more similar to Sirius than your parents like to admit.
I don’t know how they missed that with the way you two were growing up.” She gives a
quick look to the marauders’ table. “Tell me honestly, have you two been talking? I won’t tell
you parents, or anyone, really.”

“He’s my brother,” Regulus says as he shrugs his shoulders. “We don’t talk all that often,
we’re busy, we have different friend groups, but I’d never cut ties with him. I don’t see a
reason to.”

Narcissa nods. “I kept contact with Andy,” she says. “We don’t talk much, but we do
exchange letters sometimes. Besides, if Bellatrix knew…”

Regulus grimances, cold chills going down his spine. “I don't know how they could ever let
them go and act like they were never there. How can they ask us to act like they were never
there? After Sirius left I kept looking for him. Sometimes Kreacher would call for lunch and
I’d knock at his door just to remember he left.”

It’s a bitter memory, and he’s scared it’ll keep happening in the summer. Sirius would usually
be very quiet back at Grimmauld Place. Sometimes, Regulus heard him whispering at night,
and he’d always try to argue during meals if he was feeling alright, but otherwise, he wasn’t
heard or seen. Very far from the boisterous, happy bloke he appears to be at Hogwarts.

“I don’t know,” Narcissa says, while Regulus sips his butterbeer. “But you have to understand
that this is how they were raised. Family was the people who managed to stay in the family
tree, and they were everything.”

“They don’t even love each other,” his voice comes out bitter. “I don’t think they ever loved
us either.”

“They love us in their own way,” Narcissa says vaguely, though she doesn’t sound convinced
herself. “So, this…very jealous girl, apparently. Is she someone who can’t be at my
wedding?”
“You mean, aside from the fact my Mother would hide me in shame if I dared to say I’m
dating someone?” Regulus says, sarcastically. “I don’t think anyone would appreciate her
being there.”

“I would,” her lips quirk up, “I’d love to know whatever girl managed to grab your interest,
Regulus.”

It takes him quite a lot of strength to not turn and send James a longing gaze. He thinks of the
spring morning in which he first saw James, truly saw him; not the popular boy with the
golden glasses frame and the messy hair, but a person with great emotional intelligence and
eagerness to help others as much as he could.

“I don’t think you’d like the answer,” he says, watching the veining of the table, the way it
curls in some places. “On parle pas de ça,” he adds, with a small smile.

She raises her eyebrows, tilting her head to the side. For a moment, they just look at each
other. Regulus waits anxiously for Narcissa to come to whatever conclusion she’s coming to,
and a few seconds later, understanding flickers in her eyes.

“I…” she stops, reconsiders. Regulus drinks some of his butterbeer: to appear calm, but
mostly because his throat feels dry. “Do you remember Samira Shariq?”

Regulus does, of course he does. She was one of the most powerful beaters he’d ever seen,
and Quidditch captain. Quidditch matches had been his favourite part of his first year
partially because of her. At the end of her N.E.W.T.s, she was the one who stopped Regulus
in a corridor and told him to try out for seeker, since Narcissa was graduating. He hasn’t
talked to her since, but he could never forget her.

“How could I?” He asks, with a smile. “She was one of the kindest among the older peers.
Why?”

Narcissa looks down and she shrugs her shoulders, something so unlike her it has Regulus
immediately worried. “When I was sixteen, I felt untouchable. Maman and Papa were so far
away, almost more like figures than people. Bella had graduated, nobody was there to control
me or to remind me what I had to do. And Samira was there,” she looks away, to some
indefinite part of the floor. “With her beautiful long, black hair and her ability to always cheer
me up, for some reason. She used to say it was such a waste I had been sorted in Slytherin.
According to her, Ravenclaw would suit my eyes better. She was so different from what I was
used to and treated me so kindly,” she looks up at the ceiling now, where the light shimmers.
“When you’re sixteen you feel unstoppable and I was no exception. I gave in to her. It was
inevitable. She made me the happiest I’d ever been through Hogwarts. But school ends and
we all make choices. We had to get married, it wouldn’t last. My mother knew. She found her
letters,” her voice wavers. “It caused a big fight between us. She told me I could never talk
about it, especially to you and Sirius.”

“Because we were kids,” Regulus knows without her telling him. “Cissy…”

“It’s fine now. She’s coming to my marriage with her husband. I like to believe I’m
completely over her,” she sighs, runs a hand through her hair. “I didn’t want to leave her and I
think that stuck with me. A part of me just can’t let go. I love Lucius, I really do. And maybe
Samira and I wouldn’t have lasted that long anyway. But I wish our break up happened
according to our own will.”

He reaches out and grabs her hand delicately, the way James does with him sometimes. “I’m
so sorry,” his own voice wavers. “I wish you could have married her.”

Narcissa laughs, shaking her head. “It was nice while it lasted,” she grimaces. “But I knew it
was going to end. And I know Sirius is just like me,” she glances at him, across the room.
“You being so reluctant to talk about your love life reminds me of when I was in school.
Uncle Alphard knew about me. He tried to talk to me so many times when we were alone. I
regret having been so closed off sometimes.”

Regulus bites down at his lower lip. “I’m…” he puffs his cheeks, struggling to get the words
out. “I’m dating a boy,” he says, in a low voice, afraid of being heard, though their booth is
so far from everyone else’s.

“It’s not the Crouch kid, is it? You’re taking him to my wedding…” Narcissa looks at him
curiously.

“No, it’s not Barty,” he imagines his mother’s face if she saw him walking into Narcissa’s
wedding with his arm linked to James’s and it drags a laugh out of his throat. “Mother would
disown me on the spot if I took this boy to the wedding.”

“Aunt Walburga has always been a lovely woman,” Narcissa comments, sarcastically. “Does
he make you happy, Regulus?”

Regulus feels his lips curl up as he nods. “He’s the best,” he says, unable to stop himself.
“His laugh is contagious and he can be quite loud, but I don’t mind. He’s very charming and
does particularly well in transfiguration, it’s his favourite subject. He reads poetry books and
draws on them with muggle pens, his drawings are amazing, they bring poetry to life. And
he’s the best hugger in the world.”

Narcissa chuckles. “Does Sirius know him?”

Regulus feels his smile drop and his cheeks heat up. “It’s complicated…”

“Oh, no, Reg,” she squeezes his hand. “He’s not one of his friends, is he?” Regulus was never
good at lying to her, and his expression gives away the answer. “Merlin. What are you
planning to do?”

“Oh, we’re gonna tell Sirius soon, actually, after Vale…” Narcissa’s expression dims out
again. “I-I don’t want to leave him, Cissy. I don’t want to think about having to leave him.”

Narcissa appears conflicted, but she nods, she settles on dropping the subject completely and
asks: “Do you want to know more about the wedding?”

He lets go of her hand and nods eagearly. “Please.”

The rest of the conversation goes smoothly. Narcissa asks him opinions about colours,
flowers, even describes to him the dresses she has tried on. She tells him they’re probably
having the ceremony in Nice, like she always wanted, while they’ll spend their honeymoon
travelling around Europe. She’s more excited about the trip than the wedding itself, which
she fears will be boring. Regulus confesses he’s glad both Evan and Barty will be there, so he
doesn’t have to put up with intrusive distant relatives. Narcissa tells him the names of the
people she wishes won’t show up.

Once it’s time for her to go back, Regulus finds out he’s not ready to say goodbye, and he
must pout a little, because Narcissa kisses his cheek and promises she’ll come to each of his
Quidditch games. When she disapparates, he comes back in.

While he was outside, Sirius added another chair to the marauders’ booth and when he sees
him come back in, he gestures to him to come sit with them. It sort of reminds him of
Christmas. He’s not concerned with anyone seeing him with them: Slytherins don't hang at
the Three Broomsticks a lot.

“Why was she here?” Sirius asks, once Regulus has taken the seat.

“Woah, let him breathe,” James says, patting his hand on Sirius’s shoulder. “He just sat
down.”

“They’ve been dying to know,” Remus sounds amused. “We’ve been making theories for the
past two hours.”

“You must have been really bored,” Regulus comments, squeezing his hands together under
the table. “She was just here to check on me.”

“Like at the Quidditch final of the first term?”

Regulus nods. “I told you, she’s worried because she thinks it hurts me to see you around.
She’s worried about me feeling the way she felt when Andy left,” he explains. “Then we
talked about her wedding.”

“I can’t believe she’s marrying Malfoy,” Sirius says, shaking his head. “What happened to
good taste?”

“I know,” James says, dreamy. Regulus frowns at him and kicks him lightly under the table.
“Don’t swing your legs like that, Reggie dear.”

“I’m going to swing my legs right in your face if you don’t take that look off your face,
Potter,” he crosses his arms to his chest.

Remus chuckles, while Sirius’s eyes dart between James and Regulus like they just grew two
heads.

“Anyway,” Sirius says, so uncomfortable it’s almost impossible for Regulus not to laugh at
him. “What have you been up to lately?” he moves the collar of his shirt with two fingers,
observing the hickey, at least until Regulus doesn’t swot his hand away.

“None of your business,” Regulus says, with a scowl. “Just busy studying and with friends.”

“Ah,” Sirius clicks his tongue. “What friends? You don’t have any.”

“Don’t be mean,” James rolls his eyes. “I’m sure Regulus has plenty of friends.”

Sirius glares at James. “Are you taking his side now? Are you betraying me? My very best
friend is betraying me?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Well, I stole James, so I definitely have at least one friend.”

“You can’t steal James, it’s against the law of nature,” Sirius objects.

“Want to bet on it?” Regulus asks, teasingly. “I bet I can steal him before you bat your
eyelashes.”

“Heathen,” Sirius hisses back, squinting at him.

“He learnt it from you, Padfoot,” Peter reminds him, raising his eyebrows. “You dug your
own grave with this one.”

“It’s not true, he used to be such a sweet child!” Sirius protests.

“I tackled you and we both fell into a pool,” Regulus objects.

“He used to be such a sweet child,” Sirius repeats, ignoring him, “then Rosier and Crouch
tainted him.”

“That’s just not true,” he tries to argue, just to get ignored once again.

“And then Potter started making him even more of a nightmare.”

“Excuse me?” James pokes at Sirius’s arm. “How am I responsible for this? I haven’t done
anything for once.” But he turns and winks at Regulus, like no one else can see him. “Are we
playing ‘blame it on Potter?’”

“Oh, you know what I’m blaming you for?” Peter asks.

“The bloody 5am clock alarm,” Remus, Peter and Sirius say, at the same time. Even James
mutters it, like he’s been scolded for this multiple times.

“If you want Gryffindor to win, I need to practice,” James argues, his hand fluttering in the
air. The emerald ring glimmers under the light of the pub. “Hence why the alarm clock.”

“But why does it have to be collective suffering?” Sirius asks, in a whiny tone. “Why can’t it
just be you?”

“We’re a hive mind,” James answers, vaguely. “We’re a single parassite, split into four
people.”
“Disgusting,” Regulus says. Peter nods fervently. “Barty and Evan would rather lose the cup
than wake up with me at five in the morning.”

“See?” Peter says, satisfied. “Normal people.”

On the way back, James and Regulus manage to leave the other three behind, playing it out
as a race. But as soon as they’re out of sight, James puts his arm around his shoulder and rubs
his hand on his arm.

“Everything okay with Narcissa?” he asks, sottovoce.

“Fine,” he says. “She told me a sad story.”

“What’d she tell you?” James asks then, turning his head to meet his eyes. “I thought you
looked a bit sad.”

“She told me about her first love and I just…” Regulus shakes his head lightly. “I don’t know.
Everyone keeps telling me how my future’s going to be and it feels like this big weight on my
chest. It looks like things about my future are already set in stone for them.”

“Like what?” James asks, frowning.

“Like at the end of the day, no matter what I do or what I want, I’m going to get married to a
woman my parents choose and do whatever they want me to,” he hears the faint anger in his
voice. “Like aside my parents, there’s nothing for me. Everyone makes it seem like they
shaped my life and not only do I have to follow their rules, I also have to like them. Which is
sickening! I wish they had more faith in me.”

“I have faith in you,” James says. He stops walking and puts his hands on Regulus’s
shoulders, eyes locked in one another. “Nothing’s set in stone, Reg. A lot of people see the
universe as something that was determined from the very start, but the truth is that it’s not.
Things can change.”

Regulus sniffles, though he hasn’t been crying. “They will change,” he says. “They have to
change. I don’t want that future. I want you in my future. And Sirius, and Pandora, and all my
loved ones.”

“We’re going to be there,” James promises. “We’re going to break the cycle.”

14 February, 1977

To say the least, excitement runs in his veins like a river in its bed. It flows naturally and
beautifully, just the way it’s supposed to be. Throughout the whole day, it has been especially
hard to contain his happiness.

In the morning, he received a small box, with a chocolate frog, a couple of sugar quills and
two bars of muggle chocolate, plus a small note in which James had written:
 Da mi basia mille, deinde centum,

dein mille altera, dein secunda centum,

deinde usque altera mille, deinde centum.

dein, cum milia multa fecerimus,

conturbabimus illa, ne sciamus,

aut ne quis malus invidere possit,

cum tantum sciat esse basiorum.

Regulus recognised the poem right away, and glanced at the Gryffindor table across the hall,
knowing James had already received his letter and a peppermint toad.

Evan and Leonie had been disgustingly sweet with each other, but that was no surprise, as
they were that way everyday since they got together. What really amazed him -positively- is
that Barty had also received a letter, though he refused to tell Regulus and Evan the content
of it.

Dinner has been pleasant and quick, so he gets to their room early, sets it up with a couple of
candles shaped like wizard hats; he bought them in Hogsmeade just a couple of days ago, for
the occasion. He tidies up the room and spends a good fifteen minutes wondering which
music fits San Valentine best; half of those minutes are spent wondering what his parents’
reaction would be to see him now, excited about a muggle holiday, choosing which muggle
band to put on, about to kiss James Potter senseless for a couple of hours.

Regulus is just putting on A Day At The Races by Queen, James’s latest favourite, when he
arrives. It doesn’t take him much longer than a second to realise that something is off. Gone
is the sweet smile James gave him this morning across the hall, gone the usual softness of his
features, the usual easy-going attitude. He’s not really scowling, but his eyebrows are creased
and he ruffled his hair at least two times between closing the door and walking towards the
middle of the room.

What worries Regulus the most is that he doesn’t reach out; typically, when something upsets
James, he reaches out, looks for hugs, kisses, any kind of physical comfort. Not now, though;
now he looks for words, like he’s struggling to get that first sentence out. And, Regulus
realises, this feels oddly like James is upset with him.

His heartbeat speeds up, and he feels the rumble of the blood in his ears, like Catullus or
Sappho would say; except, they were talking about jealousy, while Regulus feels like his
world might crumple down, like the pavement is about to burst open under his feet and let
him fall.

“Umh…” James starts, running his hand behind the back of his neck a couple of times, “what
did you do for Pandora’s birthday, again?”

“We had a party in the Clocktower,” Regulus says, slowly. “Why?”

“And you stayed there?” James asks. He crosses his arms, now, and looks straight into
Regulus’s eye. “Did you stay there all night?”

Regulus frowns. “Why are you asking me that?”

James presses his lips into a thin line and for a good few seconds, he doesn’t speak. “Because
I overheard Alice and Frank scolding Elias about going to Hogsmeade at night, which is
absolutely impossible unless you use the passage I showed you. And I have a good reason to
believe you were there too, that night, because Elias said you said it would be safe to go out
in Hogsmeade.”

“Why wouldn’t it be safe?” Regulus asks, raising an eyebrow. “It’s Hogsmeade, James. It’s
not bloody Knocturnalley.”

James sighs heavily. “No, Regulus, it’s not just Hogsmeade, it is Hogsmeade at night in the
middle of a war, and it’s not as safe as you think it is. Last year, there were attacks here. Do
you understand? Attacks! It’s dangerous!”

Regulus raises an eyebrow. “Oh, is it?”

“Yes! It’s dangerous, Regulus! It was right after the full moon, did you know that there were
attacks from Greyback just at the beginning of the year? What did you think it would have
taken for you to be attacked? He bites and scratches people even when he’s not transformed,
he could have hurt you!” James says, throwing his arms in the air. “Why are you looking at
me like I’m wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Regulus shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe it’s because you and your friends
clearly go have fun at Hogsmeade at least once a month. Actually, on the 3rd, you told me
that we couldn’t meet because you had to go and spend time with your ‘other loves’, and then
you were mysteriously absent at breakfast and even when you showed up at lunch you had
bags under your eyes and you were clearly sleepy, and this isn’t even the first night it
happened because you and Sirius had to go out and see Remus all of a sudden one of the last
nights during winter break. Not to mention that time in October when…”

“You’ve got no proof we were going out of the castle!” James says, looking outraged. His
voice goes up by an octave when he’s upset. “Maybe we just spent all the night talking about
the universe and metaphysical theories! Maybe we plot pranks! Why are you even assuming
we’d be going out?”

“Oh, c’mon, James, plotting pranks? That’s bollocks! You haven’t pulled a prank since
October, you barely even get detention nowadays! The last time you had detention was in
December and it was because you set off dungbombs and got caught! Pranks? I don’t bloody
buy it!” Regulus says, stomping his foot. “And nothing happened that night! We took pictures
with Pandora’s polaroid and left, it must have taken forty-five minutes at maximum, no one
wanted to stay, we were all hungry because we smoked…” he trails off, seeing James’s
expression shift. “Anyway, we-”

“No, no, let me stop you there, you went to Hogsmeade, at night, in the middle of a war, and
you were high?” He steps closer, and Regulus makes sure not to budge. “No one was sober?”
Regulus nods, looking away. “Great sodding idea, Regulus! What is it, is this part of your
suicidal plan, along with staying with your parents? Night out so death eaters and Greyback
can hurt you whenever, and then summer in the Manor because for some unfathomable
reason you can’t leave?”

“You need to stop bringing this up!” Regulus says, now feeling anger starting to rise in his
chest. “I said I won’t leave and you have to respect my choice! It’s not a suicidal plan, it’s
what I have to do! You know nothing about what it is like to be in my family and be me, for
the record! You know Sirius’s experience, but that’s it! It’s not mine! I don’t have a back up,
James! Nor do your parents!”

“But you still decided it was a good idea to go out-”

“You want to know what?” Regulus asks, suddenly fed up. “Yes, I thought it was a good
choice, I want to have fun too! I wanted to have fun with my friends and I did, if you cared
enough to ask! Do you think you’re the only one who gets to have night outs with friends?”

“Stop twisting my words!” James’s frown deepens. “I haven’t said that at all, I’m glad you
have friends and you guys have fun together and break some rules, I honestly couldn’t be
happier! I would never want you to be lonely or to feel like you’re not allowed to have fun!
But you have to understand that safety comes before fun, alright? This would not be a
problem if you didn’t go out in Hogsmeade!”

Regulus groans in frustration and averts his eyes, shaking his head. “So what do you really do
with your friends? There was a full moon on the third, so you couldn’t possibly be sneaking
out, could you?”

“I don’t sneak out,” James says, firmly. “I don’t put my life in danger randomly for some
fun.”

“Well, I do, apparently,” Regulus says, hastily, “and you lie. You lie a lot, and sometimes you
don’t even say as much as you want, you’re constantly holding back, and it pisses me off!”

“I don’t lie!”

“But you bloody do!” Regulus says, meeting James’s eyes again. “You lie about being okay,
you lie about not being jealous or anxious, you hold back everytime we talk about your
friends or your family! You act like you can’t have problems or flaws, but then you come
here and you want to police me about safety! Well, James, safety also comes from being
honest about the way we feel!”

“I think you’re making up an argument because you know you’re wrong,” James says,
clenching his hands into fists.

Regulus shakes his head again, then snatches his wand from the bed and tucks it in his
pocket. “You know what, Potter? If I’m in the wrong, you’re in the wrong too. It’s obvious
that you’re keeping a secret, and I don’t think that is helping, so I’ll see you when you feel
like being honest.”
 Then he moves to get out the room, but James grabs his wrist. “Reg, please-”

“No!” Regulus snaps, freeing himself from James’s grip. “Please my arse, Potter. I don’t want
to continue the conversation!”

“Look, I can’t tell you why I go out with the others sometimes, it’s not my secret to tell-”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Whatever you want, James. I’ll see you when I see you.”

He gets out the door and runs away, to the Slytherin common room.

Chapter End Notes

Alea iacta est: the dice is cast. It's a quote attributed to Julius Ceasar, just before the civil
war begun, and a very popular latin saying.

The quote at the beginning of date 6th of February is taken from Oscar Wilde's De
Profundis (In Carcere et Vinculis).

the poem written by James in the letter to Regulus is Carmen 5 by Catullus, in the link
you can find both the complete text and the translation.
 A furry little problem & Dreamless sleep
Chapter Notes

CWs: mentions of war, coming out, crime/murder (the story of Moaning Myrtle), hints
that some characters are having sex/experimenting (none graphic at all, just dialogue in
which it is mentioned), nasty nightmare stuff, child neglect and underage drinking.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

15 February, 1977

Even under the roof of the bridge, some drops of rain, carried by a harsh wind, get on his
face. The feeling of the cold water biting at his skin isn’t as unpleasant as one might think.
It’s almost refreshing: it wakes him.

It has been an exhausting day; his sleep was little and poor, only four hours, and tainted with
nightmares and weird dreams. Being this close to the forest, he knows who to blame. And he
wonders if he’s making the right choices, after all: why else would Damastus ruin his sleep so
often in such a cruel way, if he was doing things right?

He wants to go, wants to be in the forest, so crammed with trees that rain will struggle to get
him. Most of all, there’s questions he aches to ask, things he needs to know. The desire of
doing all the right things, of being different from what family expects of him eats him alive,
and the dreams edge him. He doesn’t even dare annotating them, too scared that would make
them real. The thought of Bellatrix makes him sick and if he hears anyone speak about the
dark mark at dinner, he hopes to be as calm and collected as he should be, instead of throwing
hexes left and right.

“Great place to mop around,” her voice comes loud and clear. “You look like you’ve spent
your night looking for the answers to some Shakespearean dilemma.”

“Maybe I have,” he replies, turning to look at her.

Her hair is tied up, as it is usually, and her clothes are almost completely hidden by a thick
cloak. He can only make out the shape of her boots. He can gather way too much information
just from the way she stands: the fact that she slept as little as him, that she’s miffed and
worried, and that she hates this place. She’s scared of heights.

“It’s freezing here,” she notes, coming to stand next to him. She mimics his body language,
the way he leans on the bannister with his elbows.

“Then why did you follow me, dear Dora?”

“I followed you because when you get into a mood you get weird,” she says, rolling her eyes
as if the answer is obvious. “And do things you might regret. And maybe because I’m
worried about you.”

“And pissed with me,” Regulus says, tilting his head to the side.

“Yes, pissed with you. Just a wee bit though,” she takes a cigarette from her pocket. “I
thought we told each other everything.”

“I don’t like to admit when I’m in the wrong.” Regulus looks at the end of the Bridge, at the
short path that he’d need to walk if he wanted to get some clarity. “But I think I might be this
time.”

To be completely honest, he’s sure he is. If last night he missed all the signs of James’s
distress, he has been replaying them in his mind since yesterday: the way his breath came,
with his voice sounding all wrong, how he kept running his hands through his hair and his
eyes looked sort of hazy. He knows he handled it wrong, but in the jag of the moment, it felt
right to just protect himself.

“Another fight with Barty and Evan?” Pandora asks, as she lights her cigarette with her
wand.

“Will that last in this wind?” He asks, before waving his own wand in the air, creating a small
protection spell. “Not quite, no. James, this time.”

“Trouble in Paradise,” Pandora murmurs, after blowing smoke into the air. “Why did you
fight?”

“Because I’m an idiot, apparently,” Regulus says, running his fingers through his hair, which
now feels humid under his fingertips. “Yesterday was supposed to be an amazing evening,
but he came into the room and he was visibly upset and he basically started giving me a
lecture about going out of the castle at night in the middle of a war, saying it was dangerous.
And you know what? He’s right, he’s probably right. He probably has the bollocks to read the
Prophet. I organise it in stacks and tell myself I’ll look at it another day, because people I
grew up with are wanted murderers and I don’t want to read about that. But that makes me
unaware and apparently something must have happened if he was so upset about me going
out. And now I feel like an idiot because not only I was too proud to admit I made a bad
choice, I was also too much of an idiot to notice how worried he was and I couldn’t redirect
the fight to an actual discussion and now…I don’t know what to do now.”

He takes a deep breath in, looking down the bridge.

“As for what happened, the war has simply increased in cruelty, though it was expected after
the last elections. The law about forbidding abortion didn’t pass and it seemed to upset
various death eaters. Some people were murdered, others went missing. Tons of people at the
ministry are being imperiused, or at least that’s what is being said,” she looks at Regulus and
pulls a face. “James was right to worry. I mean, nothing happened to us, but it wasn’t a smart
idea. It would have been okay to just spend time in the Courtyard, much safer. But it’s no use
crying over spilled milk,” she takes a drag from her sigarette. “You should apologise.”
“I want to,” Regulus says, frowning. “I’m scared of screwing it up even more. You know
me…” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “What if I’m not emotionally capable
enough to be a good partner to him?”

Pandora frowns at him. “Don’t be silly, Reg, it doesn’t suit you,” she says, patting his arm.
“Besides, even if you weren’t, you could learn. It’s not this grand fight you think it is. You
just need to sit down and talk.”

“I don’t think it’s that easy,” Regulus watches the ash of the cigarette falling off the bridge
and disappearing, carried away from the wind. “I can’t handle how everyone is so concerned
about my safety. Since I came back to school, I’ve been given like a hundred lectures about
not getting myself killed by my parents, as if they even care about what the hell I’m getting
up to! I mean, my mother wrote me two letters this year. Talk about waste of paper,” he
scoffs. “They don’t think I have it in me to go against their rules. My father is as absent as he
can be and he blames it on the fact that he’s busy with work when we all know it’s because he
doesn’t give a single flying fuck. My mother only cared about Sirius, because he was her
perfect heir, not me, I’m the Replacement with a capital R. She probably won’t even
acknowledge me when her stupid Dark Lord gives me a bloody mission to accomplish.”

“What?” Pandora drops her cigarette by accident. “Bollocks to it,” she mutters, “What do you
mean gives you a mission?”

Regulus feels his soul leave his body, realising what slipped out. “Listen, before you panic-”

“I’m already panicking!” She says, setting her hands on her hips. “Where does that come
from, Regulus?”

“I promise you there’s nothing to be worried about!” He says, looking her in the eye. “My
parents told me it might happen but it probably won’t. Why would he give me a mission? I’m
still in school! What the hell could I do to serve him?”

“I don’t know, but something highly dangerous!” Pandora replies. “You don’t know how sick
these people can be!”

“I think I know since I’m their relative! I grew up with them!” He says, louder.

Pandora shuts her mouth and looks away. “Sorry,” she mumbles. “Shit, Reg. I’m guessing
James doesn’t know.”

“Merlin, no. But Sirius does,” again, he leans against the bridge barrier with his elbows.
“James can’t know, because he would drag me out of that house as fast as he can and I think
that might not be the wisest choice in the long run, aside from the fact that it would put his
family in danger. And I don’t want to be the cause of that, thank you. And I’m tired of
everyone assuming I can’t take care of myself! I’ve been in that house all my life, and I feel
like I’m stuck there again every time someone gives me a speech about my safety. I feel like
they’re low-key calling me weak or soft or shit like that.”

Pandora nods, kicking small rocks down the bridge. “You need a plan. A good plan.”
“I’ll figure it out once I’m there,” Regulus says, shaking his head. “Narcissa’s wedding is
going to be the focus of July anyway. And I’m in no restrictive order, I can still go out, you
know?”

“No,” she says, shoving her hands in the pockets of her cloak. “Not if the war gets even
worse. They’ve been threatening an attack on Diagon Alley.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Regulus tightens his hands into fists. “I don’t want to think about it now
anyway. It’s ages away, I just want to feel as far away as I can from my parents. I mean,
what’s the worst that could happen? Someone tells my mother that we’re still friends?” He
rolls his eyes. “They do it every year. I recognise that we made a stupid choice by going out
on the night of your birthday, but everything else I don’t understand. All this concern won’t
change anything now. I have to go back for the summer and I will. No amount of concern or
fights will change that.”

Pandora nods, with a small scowl. “Then you should talk to him about it.”

“I will,” he gives her another look. “Why do you look so tired?”

She blushes, her whole face becoming bright red. “Nothing,” she mumbles. “Couldn’t sleep
last night.”

Regulus folds his arms to his chest. “I didn’t know a side effect of insomnia was blushing so
hard you could be a tomato with blonde hair.”

“Oh, shut it, Black,” she nibbles at her lower lip. “Xeno and I did something…”

Regulus’s eyebrows shoot up, then he grins. “Wee bit cliché to do it over Valentine’s day,
aye?” He asks, imitating her accent and earning a playful slap on his shoulder. “How was
it?”

“We didn’t really shag-shag,” she says, fixing her turtleneck. “It was nice. A bit awkward,
though. I don’t know why I thought it wasn’t going to be awkward. We kept laughing too.”

Regulus nods, tilting his head to the side. “Why would you laugh?”

“To release tension. I was so nervous, I swear, my hands kept trembling, and he was so shy,”
she sighs. “I think it’ll be better next time. Have you and James…?”

“Nope,” Regulus runs a hand on the back of his neck. “But we’ll have to talk about this
again. I think. I don’t know.”

Pandora raises her eyebrow. “I think you should go and find him.”

“I won’t find him if he doesn’t want to be found!” Regulus protests, but Pandora has already
taken his hand, dragging him away from the very same Forest that was calling for him.

The fat lady isn’t pleased to see him: she never is, really. Too fixated on the rules.
“I’ve been here before!” he tells her, for the fourth time. “You saw me, I was here for parties
and multiple times to see my brother!”

“It goes against the rules of Hogwarts to let a student of another house in the Gryffindor
common room,” the fat lady replies, like a broken record, not even acknowledging Regulus.

“Bollocks to the rules!” He says, stomping his foot. “I’m a prefect and I require that you let
me in!”

“Jesus Christ, Reg,” Elias says, coming in his direction. “Are you throwing a temper tantrum
at a painting?”

“She won’t let me in!” Regulus whines, flaunting his best pout. “I need to see…”

“Sirius isn’t here,” Elias says, looking the painting up and down. “Unless you’re here for
your sugar boo, in that case, he has been sulking all day, I don’t think he wants to see…oh.”
He turns, with a grin. “Aw, did you guys have your first fight? My brother used to say it’s a
way to bless a relationship.”

“A lovely shag, he must be,” Regulus comments, gloomly, folding his arms to his chest.

“Okay, jeez, I guess James isn’t the only one in a funky mood,” Elias turns to the painting.
“Bona fide.”

“Your latin is annoyingly good,” Regulus mumbles, as they come in. He doesn’t see James
around in the common room, but he sees Peter, who looks surprised to see him.

“Italian privilege,” Elias sticks his tongue out, “I’ll leave you to Pete.”

Regulus sighs and comes closer to Peter, suddenly feeling a bit shy. The thing about Peter is
that he can be your best friend or your worst enemy, and you won’t know until he decides
you should.

“Hey,” Peter says, with his usual affability. “I suppose you’re looking for James.”

Regulus nods. “We had a little fight yesterday.”

“I know, mate, I know,” Peter gives him an evaluating look. “Have you come to apologise?”

“Yeah,” Regulus shifts his weight on his feet. He’s got nothing against Peter, but he’s getting
more and more nervous.

Peter grins. “In that case, you can find him upstairs. Sirius and Remus will be back in an
hour, an hour and a half, depending on how much it takes them to come back to the Castle.”

“Thank you so much!” Regulus says, now a bit more relaxed, like the weight of time has
been lifted off his shoulders.

“No biggie,” Peter waves his hand at him, Regulus does the same, then climbs up the stairs,
until he recognises the door of the Marauders’ door.
He knocks and waits patiently for a response that doesn’t come.

“James?” He calls, worried. “It’s…”

The door bursts open. “Regulus!”

Regulus nods, blinking at him. “I was just about to say.”

The joke strangely manages to get a smile out of James, small but sincere. “I didn’t think
you’d…” He stops, as if he regrets that wording. “I thought you were mad at me.”

“I thought you were mad at me,” Regulus replies, rubbing his arm. “Can we talk? I can’t stop
thinking about it.”

James runs a hand through his hair, then moves to let Regulus in. Once he’s settled in the
room and the door is closed behind James’s back, Regulus gets a good look of him: the
flannel pyjama bottoms, the hoodie he’s wearing, stained in a couple of spots, the hair, even
messier than it usual is, and the lack of colour in his face.

“Did you leave your room at all?” Regulus asks, worried. “Did you eat?”

“Sirius sneaked me some food,” James shrugged. “I had every intention to have a regular day,
or…I mean, as much as I could, I wasn’t feeling great, but I got a letter and I just needed
some rest.” Regulus raises his eyebrow, and James fumbles with the sleeves of his hoodie.
“Which is a way to say I had a really bad headache and stomach pain, so I spent the morning
at Poppy’s.”

“Is that what you call the hospital wing?” Regulus asks, more softly than he means to.

James shrugs again, looking at Regulus with that timid expression he has sometimes, when
he wants something but can’t quite make the step to grasp it.

“I just think it’s cuter to think I’m paying a visit to Poppy than spending my morning in the
infirmary.”

Regulus sighs and gets close. He takes James’s hand, gently, and folds his sleeve, then does
the same with the other one. “I think you’re unwell,” he says, looking in his eyes. “And we
need to talk about it.”

James presses his lips into a thin line. “I struggle to do that,” he says, averting his eyes. “I
don’t want to burden you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Regulus squeezes his hand. “I love you, and I need to know when
you’re not okay. It’s not a burden to me to listen to you or provide you comfort,” James
frowns. “I should have understood yesterday that you weren’t alright. I’m sorry for how I
handled it.”

“You shouldn’t be,” James says, sounding exhausted. “I acted impulsively and I didn’t stop to
consider how to talk to you about it or how to set the conversation. I was upset and my head
was a mess and…”
“It’s fine,” Regulus lets go of his hands. “I don’t need you to be perfect, James. I screwed up
and I was too proud to admit that you were right, but this,” he gestures between them, “also
proves I was right. You try too much to be fine when you’re not and that can’t do any good to
you.”

James’s lower lip trembles and he looks away, then shakes his head. “What if you think
poorly of me once I talk about it?”

“I could never think poorly of you,” he says, reaching out to caress James’s cheek. “We said
we wanted to know each other, even the parts that hurt and those we hide. I didn’t change my
mind and I certainly won’t just because you need comfort or to vent.”

James clenches his jaw, like he’s trying so hard not to cry. “Okay,” he murmurs, “but can I
get a hug, first?”

“You can get as many hugs as you wish,” Regulus says, as he steps in to wrap his arms
around James.

It’s comforting for him too, to have him like this, to be able to hold him and reach him when
he gets caught in his head. He smells the faint perfume of James’s body soap and the
detergent that the house elves use to wash their clothes. It feels like home, like they’re back at
the Potter’s Manor and James is whispering in his ear, calming him down after he broke a
glass.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “You’ve been so good to me, and I couldn’t help you yesterday. I
don’t know why I acted the way I did.”

“I chose the wrong approach,” James replies, still holding onto him.

“I should have known what to do, I’ll be ready next time!” He fists his hand around James’s
hoodie. “If there’s one.”

James puts some distance between them and cups his face, then presses a kiss on his
forehead.

“Couples do fight. It’ll happen again.” Regulus frowns at him. “Don’t look at me like that,
we can’t expect to spend years together and never fight.”

Regulus bites his lip and holds back a smile, but he fails. “You’re such a hopeless romantic,”
he says, stealing a kiss that leads into another and another. As nice as it is, Regulus knows
James enough now to know when he’s buying time. “We do need to talk, darling. You can’t
bribe me with kisses.”

James pouts, but he gives up. “Fine.”

They sit down, facing each other, their legs crossed and their knees touching. James rests his
back against some pillows; sickness must have clinged to him.

“I didn’t react like that out of the blue,” James starts to explain. “I don’t know if you’re
keeping up with the news, but horrible things are happening all over England, it’s basically a
civil war between the wizarding community at the moment, and my parents are in the front
lines. They tell me everything is fine and they’re doing little missions, but I know for a fact
that’s not true. They think they’re protecting me, but it’s just making me anxious. I struggle
sleeping and I keep having nightmares,” he runs his hands through his hair roughly, then
drops them to his lap. “You couldn’t possibly know that, because I didn’t tell you, but when I
heard Frank and Elias I was just…I can’t have you risking your life too, it’s too much.”

Regulus nods, and doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, considering. “I understand that,”
he says. “And I understand why you acted the way you did. What we did wasn’t the safest
thing we could do nor the smartest. We won’t be doing it again,” he makes eye contact with
James, who nods, seemingly reassured. “But I also detest this safety talk.”

“Why?” James asks, frowning.

“Because everyone keeps telling me to stay safe, and be careful, and to not do that thing or
that other thing, and I can stand it from one person, or, like in this case, because I did
something that could have hurt me. But lately everyone is telling me about how worried they
are about me, how concerned with my safety they are, because my parents are these terrifying
creatures,” he stops and takes a deep breath. “I struggle to understand why they care so much
when it’s plain obvious my parents couldn’t care less than they already do. I got two letters
from them since school started. It’s like they don’t even remember I exist unless they get a
letter because I got detention or about my grade report,” he looks down. “It’s like they were
only writing to me all those previous years because they wanted to know what Sirius was up
to. They would always ask. But, apparently, if Sirius doesn’t exist, I don’t either, so…I don’t
understand what everyone’s worried about.”

James seems speechless, and it takes him a moment to even cancel the surprise from his face.
“I thought…with Sirius, they would be so controlling, I don’t understand…I don’t
understand.”

Regulus scoffs. “Sirius got detention nearly every day for five years, James. They were
controlling because he gave them just the right soil to be so. They knew everything he was
doing, everyone he was seeing and they tried to control all those aspects of his life, and
failed, as it’s clear to everyone. But with me? Why bother?” He clenches his fists. “I was
praised in my first year for following a family tradition and for three years I was everything
they wanted me to be, except for my school performance and being friends with Pandora. I
was their little Slytherin pureblood son that they could use against Sirius.” No more than a
weapon. “Now Sirius is gone and I’m the replacement, except I’m just as ‘bad’ as Sirius used
to be, so maybe they should be worried. But they won’t. They don’t think I have it in me and
ironically, that’s exactly what keeps me safe right now.” He unclenches his fists and massages
his palm, trying to smooth the nail marks he accidentally left on his skin. “I don’t like people
fussing over me. I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” James’s hand comes between his own. Regulus looks up and meets his
gaze. “I know you can take care of yourself, but…Regulus, how they treat you is brutal. You
shouldn’t even think about going back there. They don’t deserve you.”

Regulus shakes his hand. “This is the thing James, life isn’t about what we deserve. It’s about
what we get, and I get Grimmauld Place. And I understand that you guys are worried about
me and how they treat me, but it’s temporary, and I know that it’s temporary, and I just have
to endure it a bit longer. I can’t go away now,” James frowns again. “James, please, we’ve
talked about this.”

“Yeah, but…” he groans, distressed, and leans back against the pillows again. “If they don’t
even bother with you, why should they have you close in the first place? Why can’t you just
come back home with Sirius and I? If they don’t think you have it in you to just run away,
then fuck them, and do it. It’ll be their fault if they underestimate you.”

Regulus shakes his head. “How long do you think it will take them to know I’m at yours?”
James clenches his jaw, looks away. “They’re still my parents, James. They know I’d follow
Sirius. This school is my bubble of protection, alright? As long as I’m far, I’m safe…if I
observe a rule or two and make sure to threaten people right so they don’t owl my mother
about the company I pick…” he lets the quote hang in the air. “But the point is that the safety
bubble pops the minute I arrive at King’s Cross. I can’t run away. They will know. My
mother might be awful but she’s smart and that’s why she should be feared. If I want to go
away, I need more time.”

James swallows, but he nods, and stays silent for a while. “I still don’t like it.”

“I don’t like it anymore than you do,” Regulus replies. “But it’s what I have to do, and I
won’t risk putting anyone in danger. And I need you to accept this and trust me. We can’t
keep arguing over it.”

“I’m sorry,” James says, running a hand in his hair. “Can we find a way to communicate
while you’re there? I don’t want it to be two months of complete silence.”

Regulus takes his hand again and nods. “I don’t want that either. How did you communicate
with Sirius?”

“Oh!” James lightens up, and moves to look for something in the second drawer of his
nightstand. “We did it through a mirror. Sirius left his piece at Grimmauld Place, but we can
ask him where he put it, so you can talk to us. It’s the perfect solution!”

Regulus smiles, and moves to sit next to him. James gives him the mirror and lets him inspect
it. “I reckon I can get away with this,” he looks up at James. “You know, I’m not really
grounded or anything, I can go out if I want to. We could find a way to meet.”

“Really?” James seems so relieved to know and it makes Regulus’s stomach lurch.

“I can tell them I’m over at Barty’s or Evan’s, and just come to yours. I don’t think they’d let
me for more than a couple of days, but…” he shrugs. “Better than nothing, right?”

James nods, and cups his face to kiss soft and sweet. “I know it’s not settled but I feel better
that we have options.”

Regulus smiles and kisses him again. “I’m glad, too,” he puts some distance between their
faces. “Will you ever tell me what you really do when you go away with your friends? I
know it’s none of my business but you always look so tired after that. It makes me wonder.”
James takes a deep breath. “I talked to the person who owns the biggest part of this secret,”
he says, carefully, locking eyes with Regulus. “And he gave me the permission to tell you
this, but it can’t get out, Reg. We could all get arrested.”

“Arrested?!” Regulus says, eyes going wide. “James, what the hell are you guys doing?”

James giggles, getting up from the bed. “I’ll show you, I’ll show you.”

“What is there to show me?” Regulus whines, eager to have his answers and worried sick
about the mess they might have gotten into; his mind is already playing the different options.

The last thing he expected was for James to turn into a stag, and a big one too: an animal that
looks completely out of place in the cosy dorm room they’re in. He blinks a couple of times,
then bursts into laughter when he notices James got one of his antlers stuck to his bed.

“You suck at being a stag,” he says, getting up to see how exactly he’s stuck and how he can
help.

Behind his back, the door opens, and James makes an abrupt movement in surprise, and ends
up freeing himself. He transforms back right after and messages his head, looking at Sirius,
who just opened the door.

He’s carrying two bags on his shoulder, and his eyes dart between them, a little wary.

“Did you…” he asks, looking at James.

“Remus said I could,” James says, shrugging his shoulders. Regulus can tell they’re both
tense and wonders if he should flee the room.

“But why?” Sirius’s eyes find Regulus, worried.

“I…” James looks at Regulus, who nods at him. “We need to talk to you.”

Sirius’s eyebrows shoot up, then he sighs and closes the door. He drops the bags on his bed,
carelessly, then folds his arms and gives them an examining look. “I’m all ears.”

“We’re dating,” Regulus says, quickly, breaking the ice. “Have been since October.”

Next to him, James looks like his soul is about to leave his body; Sirius, in front of them,
only lets surprise flash on his face for a second, before something else settles in, closer to
understanding or resignation.

“I can’t say it’s a surprise,” he says, untying his hair and running his hands through it to fix it.
“I mean, with the way you’ve acted on my birthday and then on Christmas and again just a
couple of days ago,” he presses his lips into a thin line, like he’s struggling to articulate his
thoughts. “I thought I’d know what to say but I don’t.”

“But are you okay with this?” James asks, stepping forward.
To Regulus, everything in his posture tells him how worried he is, how scared to lose his best
friend. And he knows how that feels, because he’s been through it just one week ago.

Sirius blinks at James. “Yeah,” he says, softly. “I mean, neither of you need my permission to
date, as Remus kindly reminded me when I started freaking out about this. But as I thought
about it, I realised it makes sense for you to like each other. I knew you’d be friends when we
were little, I just never considered this,” he points two fingers at them, “as an option. I guess
somehow I’m relieved.”

“Relieved,” James repeats.

Sirius shrugs. “I love you both,” he says, and Regulus almost smiles, though Sirius interrupts
the good moment to say: “Now I don’t have to worry that your partner might be annoying, I
just know he is.”

“Fuck off, Sirius,” Regulus replies, flipping him two fingers. “James, I don’t like your best
friend.”

“We can give him up for adoption,” James reassures him, putting his hand on Regulus’s
shoulder. “I think Hagrid would love him.”

“Excuse me!” Sirius says, an eyebrow raised. “First of all, safe distance, this is all new to
me,” Regulus rolls his eyes, “Second of all, you can’t give me out for adoption.”

A realisation hits him. “You don’t say…” he grins, looking at his brother. “Your animagus is
a dog!”

“I make a very good dog,” Sirius says proudly, sweeping his hair aside. "I guess my name
makes sense, after all..."

“He should make a permanent change,” James mumbles. “At least dogs don’t throw fits
because you used their shampoo by mistake.”

“You can use your own, you…dirty brother kisser,” Sirius says, squinting his eyes at James,
who sticks his tongue at him.

“No wonder his hair is a mess,” Regulus complains. “If he just admitted to having curly
hair…”

“I don’t have curly hair, it’s wavy!” James replies, stubbornly.

“That’s a curl pattern!” Regulus says, exasperated. “Look at how frizzy it is! It’s because you
don’t wash it with the right shampoo! You don’t dry it right!”

“I let it air dry!”

“That’s not the right way!”

The door bursts open again: enter Peter and Remus, both panting and worried looking.
“Oh, great,” Remus says, straightening his back. “No one’s killing each other. Great.”

“We realised we left the three of you alone,” Peter says, leaning against the door frame. “We
were worried the civil war was about to go down.”

“Not a civil war, but apparently James and Regulus have spectacular fights on James’s hair
type,” Sirius says, cheerfully. “You missed James getting his antlers stuck on his bed
hangings again.”

“Why do you always transform next to your bed, mate?” Peter asks, shaking his head.
“Obviously you’re going to get stuck with those things on your head…”

“Can you be more respectful to my antlers, please?” James says, actually offended. “It’s not
my fault if I have massive antlers.”

“I could name something massive Peter gets when he’s an animagus,” Sirius says, with a
grin, “his…”

James covers Regulus’s ears. “Not in front of Regulus, mate!”

“Oh, c’mon, Prongs, we’re all dudes, no need to worry about bollocks,” Remus says, waving
his hand in the air.

“You’re going to terrorise him!” James says, dropping his hands. “I’m sorry, they’re brutes.”

Regulus raises his eyebrow at James. “You made a dry humping joke about your pillow,
James.”

Peter bursts into laughter, while Sirius gets in between James and Regulus, hands on James’s
chest. “You made a what!”

“It was just a joke!” James whines, getting Sirius’s hands off of him. “He’s in a dormitory
with all boys, you know! Cock jokes are peak humour!”

Regulus rolls his eyes once again, then peeks curiously at Remus and Peter. “What’s your
animagi?”

Remus looks at him, disoriented, then moves his eyes towards James. “I thought you told
him.”

“I showed him my animagus first,” James says, then glances at Regulus for just a second.
“Do you want me to say it?” Remus shrugs. “Remus has a furry little problem.”

Peter sighs, shaking his head. “Yes, James, that’s the perfect way to say that.”

“I’m a werewolf,” Remus clarifies, staring at Regulus.

“Oh,” Regulus says, blinking. It all clicks: the scars, James missing the nights of the full
moons, and the way Remus sometimes looks sick. “Oh, that makes sense. I won’t tell anyone,
obviously.”
“Obviously,” Remus underlines, satisfied. He looks at Sirius, who’s a little gobsmacked.
“See? Didn’t bat an eyelash.”

“You thought I was going to have a problem with it?” Regulus asks, turning to look at Sirius.

“We never talked about it, I couldn’t assume anything,” Sirius says. “For Moony’s safety.”

“Alright,” Regulus says, though the frown doesn’t exactly leave his face. “Why did you all
become animagi?”

“Werewolves need company though the full moons,” Peter explains. “Remus kept getting
hurt because he was lonely.”

“But we couldn’t keep him company if we were humans, because werewolves tend to hurt
humans,” Sirius says, folding his arms to his chest. “So we thought the best solution was for
us to embrace the beast within us.”

“One theatrical way to say it, Padfoot,” James grins. “Becoming animagi was hell, everyone
was praising us for being silent, but we were actually trying the damned mandrake leaf thing.
Peter had the idea of becoming animagi!”

“Ahah, it was amazing,” Sirius says, looking at Peter with fondness. The two of them share a
smile. “It was the third year, and Minnie was showing us her animagus form, and suddenly
Peter said ‘Oh!’ very loudly. We looked like utter fools, getting all giggly between us, but it’s
such a nice memory.”

“Sirius was the first one to be able to transform, though,” Peter says, still smiling. “He was
such a cute puppy. We pranked Frank and told me we had become dog dads.”

“That prank was wonderful,” James says, fixing his glasses on the bridge of his nose. He
looks at Regulus and grins. “We had to stop because Mary started asking why we never saw
Sirius and the dog together.”

“We tried to convince her Sirius was allergic to dogs,” Remus says.

“She didn’t believe us. A nightmare, that one. Could always smell our lies,” Sirius says,
pouting.

“She’s brilliant,” James says, his grin turning into a fonder smile. “But anyway, that’s what I
do during full moons. Werewolf babysitting.”

“We agreed not to call it that,” Remus says, rolling his eyes. “Sorry, I steal your boyfriend
one night a month.”

Regulus laughs, his hand finding James’s easily. Their fingers intertwine; Sirius squints at
them, but doesn’t say anything. “Where do you go?”

“The Shrieking Shack,” the four of them reply, in unison.

“But we started exploring the forest too,” James says. “Had a couple of encounters with
centaurs and nymphs. We try to avoid disturbing them.”

“You’re basically an honorary marauder now!” Peter says, smiling at Regulus. “You know,
with you knowing all these things.”

James’s eyebrows quirk up. “There’s still one thing he doesn’t know!” He says. “Where is
it?”

“Sirius’s got it,” Remus says, tapping Sirius’s shoulder. “Get it.”

“I’m not your dog, Moonshine!” Sirius flips him the bird. “You could show a bit of
excitement every once in a while!”

“You know Moony shows excitement by bossing people around,” James says, rolling his
eyes.

Sirius grabs a big, old looking piece of parchment and shows it to Regulus. “This is our
proudest creation, though Moony did the biggest parts of the work. James was the one who
drew it, Peter found most of the spells. Moony and I worked on getting those spells to
work.”

“It’s blank,” Regulus says, as he lets go of James’s hand to get closer to his brother and look
at the parchment closely. “You charmed it properly.”

“Well, of course,” James says, clearly chaffed. “We wouldn’t be the marauders without
proper charm.”

Regulus doesn’t bother hiding a smile. “I’m convinced you stay up at night coming up with
those lines,” he tells him, before turning to Sirius. “What do I do?”

“Tap it with your wand.”

“It can’t be that easy,” Regulus says.

He takes out his wand and taps the paper with it. The spellwork is wonderfully done: the ink
spreads on the paper like an invisible artist is painting the letters on it with a secure, skilled
hand.

Mr. Moony greets Regulus Black, and kindly asks him to get his prefect hands far from this
innocent piece of parchment;

Mr. Prongs disagrees with Mr. Moony and asks Regulus Black to keep his perfect hands right
where they are;

Mr. Padfoot would love to kick Mr. Prongs out of the map at once;

Mr. Wormtail greets Regulus Black, and wonders if he can figure out how to open the map.
Fascination watches over Regulus as his fingers brush on the piece of parchment. Their
magic is all over the paper: Regulus can feel it, warm and buzzing, under his hand.

“I know,” Sirius says, taking pleasure in seeing Regulus so mesmerised. “An amazing piece
of magic, isn’t it?”

“Mr. Wormtail dares me to figure out how to open the map,” Regulus replies, glancing at
Peter, who seems surprised.

“Hmm, I wonder how one opens a marauder’s map,” Sirius hums, whimsically.

“By being up to no good, I suppose,” Regulus says. He taps the map with his wand. “I am up
to no good!”

Not as solemn as he should be, he reads on the map. The quote disappears, and another one
takes his place: not as committed as he should be.

“Committed?” Regulus raises an eyebrow. “I’m committed to trouble?”

“Why don’t you try again?” Remus encourages.

“And commit to it!” Peter adds.

Regulus frowns: he feels like he’s being tested, or challenged. Challenged is a better word,
actually. “I swear that I’m up to no good,” he says, almost in a question, tapping the map.

What happened to solemnity?

“For fuck’s sake,” Regulus rolls his eyes, then taps the map yet again. “I solemnly swear that
I’m up to no good!”

“He did it!” James says, rushing to Regulus’s side as the map starts drawing itself on the
paper. It’s impossible to look away from such an impressive display of magic. “What do you
think?”

“I think it’s brilliant,” Regulus says, “You tracked people!?”

“Yeah,” Sirius says, with a grin. “We can see where anyone is at all times.”

“Pranking needs,” Peter says, with a nostalgic sight. “It saved us from detention so many
times.”

“And let us know who Peter was snogging in secret,” Sirius adds. “He’s always interested in
other people’s gossip, but would never tell his own.”

“A true gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Peter says, theatrically.

Raising his eyes from the map, Sirius meets Remus’s gaze. Regulus observes them, unsure.
They look like they’re having an entire conversation just with an exchange of looks.
“You’ll forgive us, then,” Remus says slowly.

“Forgive you?” James asks, alarmed. “Forgive you for what?”

“Oh, you know, Prongs,” Sirius flashes him a cheeky grin, though his face is a bit red. “For
kissing and not telling?”

“Oh, you bastards,” Peter says, stomping his foot. “You tried to gaslight me into thinking I
imagined you-”

“Not in front of my brother!” Sirius hisses. “But yes, we did gaslight you. Family heirloom.”

“Amazing what a distant father can do,” Remus agrees.

Regulus turns to James, who hasn’t said anything. He’s looking between Remus and Sirius,
with his lips slightly parted.

“How long?” He asks.

Sirius looks into his eyes. “Since New Years’. During New Years’, actually,” he clears his
throat. “It’s technically your fault.”

“My fault?” James asks, frowning.

“No,” Sirius points at Regulus and James with two fingers. “Your fault. You spent the whole
night being all over each other. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I left, and Moony followed me,
obviously,” he smirks. “Wolves aren’t that different from dogs after all.”

“Too many furry jokes,” Regulus complains. “Get to the point, I want to hear about my
accomplishments.”

“Your accomplishments?!” Sirius asks, scandalised.

“Uh? Hello?” Regulus snaps his fingers at him. “Me flirting with James got you a snog, it’s
my accomplishment.”

“Why don’t you give him up for adoption, James?” Sirius asks. “Are you seeing how lippy
he’s being?”

“No, he’s right,” James says, with a grin. “Regulus and I got you together!”

Peter snorts, before he actually starts laughing. Sirius shakes his head in disbelief as James
and Regulus high-five each other, and he looks for Remus’s support, but he only shrugs his
shoulders.

“There’s still one thing I don’t know,” Regulus says, turning to look at Peter directly. “Your
animagi.”

“Oh, Petey’s a rat,” Sirius guffaws.

Peter rolls his eyes. “Rats are highly intelligent creatures, and cleaner than dogs, if you want
to know!”

“Padfoot is very clean!”

“Padfoot runs in the woods one night a month, he’s probably filthy,” Remus argues.

“Why do you call him Padfoot?” Regulus asks, but Sirius and James start to giggle. “I
changed my mind, I don’t want to know.”

“Wise choice,” Peter comments, stretching his arms above his head.

“Hey,” Sirius says, all of a sudden. “Why are you not surprised with the way James and
Regulus are acting?” He asks Peter.

“Because I have eyes.”

17 February, 1977

“We need to open your mum’s letter,” Regulus says, pulling away from James’s kiss. “It’s
already been more than two weeks, I don’t want the reply to come even later.”

Since they have gotten into the room, after dinner, they’ve been all over each other, kissing
and touching and even though their hands never go down waist level, Regulus knows
something has shifted: James’s kisses got -somehow- even more passionate, and he holds him
close in whole different ways. There’s affection, but that has always been there: there’s a new
farvour to it, impatience at times.

“Oh,” James runs his fingers through his hair, takes a second to recentre. “Sure, I forgot about
it,” he says, as Regulus comes off his lap.

If he’s honest, he partially needed the kiss to stop. The way James touches him puts him on
edge, it tugs at the bottom of his stomach and he’s well aware of what that means. He’ll wait
for James to bring up the matter again, but he can’t quite do it himself tonight: Euphemia’s
letter comes first.

He grabs the envelope from the drawer of the nightstand and sits next to James. The same
feeling from two weeks ago washes over him, but he tackles it now, taking a deep breath.

“You don’t have to open it now if it pains you,” James says, “it’s always there for you when
you feel better.”

“I don’t think it’s something I’ll ever feel better about,” Regulus replies, breaking the wax
seal. “Besides, I’ve been terribly curious.”

James hums, tilting his head to the side. “Are you sure you want me to be here while you
read?”
Regulus turns to look at him and nods, then leans in to kiss him briefly. “I would probably
tell you about it the second after, so…” he shrugs and takes out the sheets of paper inside the
envelope.

Dear Regulus,

How are you doing? I hope it’s okay for me to write this letter, that I’m not overstepping any
boundaries: if so, please make sure you tell me.

School must be quite stressful, since the O.W.L.s are approaching. Don’t overwork yourself,
and be sure to make the most of these days: it might seem heavy while you live it, but school
itself is something you’ll learn to miss, if you have the right company.

“It shows that she used to be a teacher,” he tells James, resting his cheek against his shoulder.
“Must have been a real good one.”

“Read after,” James says, urged. “It’s about Tom Riddle.”

James asked me again about Tom Riddle, mentioning that you boys discovered him together. I
have to say, Regulus, that I’m not the happiest to talk about him, and I don’t think learning
his story will do you any good, especially because I don’t have as much information as you
might think. However, after a thoughtful discussion with Fleamont, though, I have come to
the conclusion ignorance is not always a bliss. Feel free to let James read this letter as well,
or to tell him the story yourself.

“Why is she so leery about it?” Regulus frowns, straightening up. He lays down the letter. “I
mean, didn’t he receive a trophy for services to the school?”

“It’s weird,” James agrees, frowning himself. “Keep reading.”

Tom Riddle was a Slytherin student, a year younger than your mother. A lot of very talented
wizards and witches in that lot, actually; most of them came from ancient families and were
taught Hebrew and Latin, as well as runes, raised reading books of the renaissance’s magia
naturalis and to believe in purism. Many of them already were dark wizards or witches, or on
the road to become one. Dark magic was gaining more and more numbers by that time.

Tom did not fall in that last category, though it took him nothing to reach and even surpass
his peer’s levels. A very charming boy, despite being raised in a children’s home. It was clear
to everyone in the faculty that he would become someone important.

If you’ve read Hogwarts: a history I’m sure you know that there’s a rumour about Salazar
Slytherin leaving behind a room that only the true heir of his could open. The intentions
behind the creation of the room aren't as clear as we think they are, but historians are very
adamant in saying that it contains a monster that would haunt muggleborns. We have very
good reason to believe that is true, and that’s happened before. I’m sure you’ve heard about
Myrtle Warren, though she’s known as Moaning Myrtle now, as James tells me.

“I don’t like where this story is going,” Regulus says, feeling shivers, cold as ice, going down
his spine.
“Me neither,” James says.

Myrtle Warren was a young muggle-born girl, just fourteen by the time she died. During her
tenure at Hogwarts, she had been a victim of bullying for various reasons. The faculty was
aware of it, and we tried to step in many times. To this day, I still don’t know how she died,
given that the circumstances were deemed unclear, and Nigellus, at the time headmaster, did
his best to cover up what happened, to avoid closing the school. I didn’t agree with this
strategy, obviously, and couldn’t even bear to keep teaching after what happened.

Her death was blamed on Rubeus Hagrid, who was then made keeper of the keys and
grounds at Hogwarts, but I have always believed he was framed by Tom Riddle. Rubeus was
a quiet kid, interested in care of magical creature, not threatening at all. However, he's a
half-breed, and the forties were not a good time for half-breeds, as the far right had already
gained power: he was an easy target, to say the least. Tom changed after that, as professor
Slughorn told me in one of his letters. It was a subtle change, but still noticeable.

What some of the faculty members believe is that Tom has something to do with Myrtle's
death, especially with how the Slytherins behaved after her death. Albus and I believe the
Chamber of Secrets was involved; a couple of weeks prior her death, we had found a writing
on a wall that claimed the Chamber had been opened. We thought it was a joke: someone
entertaining themselves with a legend, it wouldn't have been the first time. But when Myrtle
died, we raised our concerns. Nigellus didn't agree with us: Tom Riddle was a half-bood, it
would have been a stretch to even believe he knew about the existence of the Chamber. Albus
and I stayed of the same opinion.

I’m not sure what he did after school, some say he’s in Germany, but some of his former
schoolmates disagree: they believe he joined the death eaters. I’m not sure where I stand, but
I don’t recommend going to look for him. His magic is powerful and if he really went down
the route of evil, as some say, he’s a dangerous individual. Don't go investigate.

I hope these informations satisfy your curiosity, and I hope to hear from you soon,

Love,

Effie

“Do you have your cloak?” Regulus asks, folding the sheets of paper and getting up from the
bed.

“Of course I do,” James frowns at him. “Mum said not to look for him.”

“I just want to talk to Myrtle! Aren’t you curious?” Regulus reaches his hand out and James
takes it hesitantly. “What’s the worst that could happen if we go?”

“That you go and try to find a potential murder to satisfy your thirst of knowledge,” James
replies, sitting by the edge of the bed. “Regulus, seriously, if my mum is worried about this,
there’s a reason.”
“What about the poor Myrtle?” Regulus asks. “Think about it, she died thirtyfour years ago
and no justice was done. No one even cares about how she died, who really killed her. Hagrid
wouldn’t do that…I mean, why would Dumbledore trust a potential murderer with kids? And
your mum talked about a chamber, ever heard about the Chamber of Secrets? If that’s a real
thing, then...what if we discover something important? We have to try, James.”

James considers it a few seconds more, then gets up, nodding. “Let’s do it, then.”

Thirty minutes later, they’re at the entrance of the girls’ bathroom on the second floor. His
heart hammers in his chest, both in excitement and fear.

“Do we need to disillusion ourselves?” Regulus asks.

“No, you just go in,” James whispers, taking the cloak off his shoulders. “She’ll probably
scream at us for being in the girls’ bathroom. She did that to me and Peter once, we were
hiding here to escape Filch.”

“Wonderful. Let’s go in, then.”

He pushes the door open. The bathroom is empty, as Regulus expects it to be: no one ever
comes here because of Myrtle. She has been haunting it for years now. This is the only
bathroom where you won’t find someone’s initial, bad rumours about someone’s sexual
habits written on walls or song lyrics carved. The walls are white and clean, there’s no bad
smell, not a single sign that an alive person stepped foot in here.

“Myrtle?” He calls, hopeful.

The high-pitched scream takes him by surprise, and he steps back: he would have fallen with
his arse on the floor if James wasn’t right behind him to keep him steady.

“Okay?” James asks, in a low voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Regulus says, watching the ghost of Myrtle come out of one of the
bathroom stalls.

“The last time a boy was here he caused a lot of trouble!” She says, in a whine. She looks
young even for a fourteen years old; the girls in the year right after Regulus’s look older than
her, most would be taller. “Now it’s two of you!” She stomps her foot in the air. “Go away!”

Regulus bites his tongue to avoid saying something rude. “We’re only here to talk to you.”

“Who says I want to talk?” Myrtle asks, squinting her eyes at him. “Who says I want to talk
to you specifically?”

“Regulus, let’s go away,” James urges, gripping at his hand.

“Why? What’s wrong with me?” Regulus asks Myrtle, ignoring James.
“Your name,” Myrtle says, tilting her head to the side. “Your name and your house.”

“What’s-”

His question is promptly interrupted by the door bursting open. Filch comes in, his cat in his
arms, and Regulus curses under his breath.

17 February, 1977. We got detention again. Five days, cleaning some other old shite, and
writing lines. I hope I find something about Tom Riddle, at least. They owled my parents. I
wish I kept my mouth shut about being offended about them not writing to me. I cursed
myself, and I couldn’t get anything out of Moaning Myrtle. She seemed really pissed at me,
not as much at James, though I never interacted with her, so I don’t know why she was so
miffed. We wrote a letter to Euphemia.

18 February, 1977. Mother was mad to say the least. I’m already grounded and I’m not even
close to stepping inside that house. Filch keeps being my worst enemy. One can’t even solve
mysteries in peace in this damned castle. Sent the letter to Euphemia.

20 February, 1977. Escaped detention with James to go on a marauder's tour. We got more
detention, but it was worth it.

21 February, 1977. Mother sent a howler. She called me a disgrace to the family, and for a
second I feared she was going to get me out of school for a couple of days. It didn’t happen,
luckily, but I’m clearly on thin ice. Nightmares keep happening; the recurring themes and
people: dark mark, Bellatrix, a snake, Damastus, the forest, drowning, inferi, the Slytherin
locket. Some of these never change. I had to ask Poppy for a dreamless sleep potion.

24 February, 1977. Duelling somehow worsened my nightmares. Now Mother appears often
as well. I often wake up in a cold sweat.

28 February, 1977. Quidditch season starts again in April, according to Veronica. Very late
this year, but apparently some teachers were busy. James reckons it’s the war. For the first
time in years, I woke up losing blood from my nose. Barty and Evan had to take me to the
hospital wing. Found out Sirius has been training to be a healer. He said it’s a side effect of
the dreamless sleep, and got upset for not telling him why I was taking it.

6 March, 1977. First study group session done. Everything seemed quite alright. Barty and
Elias didn’t kick the fuss we expected them to kick, Evan was happy to have company while
studying. Dorcas turned out to be an amazing tutor. We finished studying early and Elias put
some music on: Led Zeppelin, I think. He said it’s his favourite band. Barty looks at him in a
weird way. Evan and I can’t figure it out.

12 March, 1977. Got hit in the head by a bludger during practice. Poppy kept me in the
hospital wing for a couple of nights. Sirius is still upset with me for not telling him what is
going on with me.
18 March, 1977. Myrtle and Tom: aut viam inveniam aut faciam. Second study group session
went okay. Barty and Elias are even weirder, though Barty has been odd all week. He won’t
tell us what happened. The study group meets again this weekend.

19 March, 1977. I’m even more confused.

20 March, 1977. Got detention again: was caught trying to get into the forbidden section of
the library. Why some books are forbidden is beyond me. Slughorn seemed quite
disappointed, I actually felt bad. He said I’ll have to talk to the headmaster once he’s back. I
can’t wait to ask him all the questions that have been going through my head.

26 March, 1977

“It sucks that you’re not coming,” Regulus tells Evan for the third time.

“It’s not like James invited me,” Evan says, shrugging his shoulders. “Plus this is a lifetime
opportunity.”

“How is having sex with your girlfriend a lifetime opportunity?” Barty asks, fixing the collar
of his shirt.

Evan gives him a weirded out look. Regulus doesn’t blame him: Barty has been odd enough
recently without him dressing nicely for a party. He’s wearing a green shirt that shows off his
eyes, and a pair of black slacks that make his legs look even longer. He even wears a watch
and a ring, which is something he never does, because jewellery bothers him.

He turns to look at them, cheeks red, and sweeps his hair back: it grew, since the start of the
year, and it reaches his cheeks now. It frames his face nicely, though it makes him look
slightly older. “What?”

Evan shrugs again, tilting his head to the side. “Want to tell us who you’re trying to impress?
You’re wearing your nice shirt, slacks, even jewellery…and you’re actually going to a party!
So, who’s the lucky dude?”

Barty rolls his eyes. “Maybe I just wanted to dress nicely and have some fun. Regulus said
Gryffindors know how to have fun.”

“I love when he says bollocks like that and expects us to believe him,” Regulus says, with a
grin. “Open that shirt a little.”

Barty gives him a look, then follows his advice and undoes the first couple of buttons. “Isn’t
it showing too much skin?”

Evan frowns, then shakes his head. “Yeah, careful there, Barty.” He says, getting up to grab
one of his own necklaces. He fastens it around Barty’s neck and lets it fall nicely on his chest.
“The bloke might see a bit of ankle and cream his pants.”

Regulus snorts, putting on with his rings, then the cufflinks. “C’mon, tell us who it is!” He
encourages, smiling playfully. “Who’s gotten to your cold heart?”
“Literally no one,” Barty replies, but he sprays on cologne too. “I just thought I might have
some fun today and dress nice for the occasion.”

Evan shakes his head. “Can you believe this, Reg? Our Barty found someone who makes him
dress nicely!”

“I know,” Regulus says, grinning. “Was about time. Though I’d really love to know who the
bloke is.”

There’s a knock on the door, then it opens.

“I hope everyone is wearing pants,” Dorcas says, coming in with a hand over her eyes.

“We’re all dressed, just be careful, Barty is showing skin,” Evan says, sarcastically. “Might
make you straight, beware.”

Dorcas snorts, and takes the hand off her eyes, then gapes at Barty. “Oh my God! You’re
trying to impress someone!” She says, clapping her hands together. “Wonderful! Who is he?”

Pandora enters the door too, fixing the puffy sleeves of her pale blue dress. “Woah,” she says,
shamelessly checking out Barty. “I thought you didn’t fancy Elias…?”

Barty throws his arms in the air. “Can I just dress nicely for myself?”

“I mean, you could,” Pandora says, sitting down next to Regulus. “But you never do it, and
it’s sort of suspicious you’re doing it today for the first time. At a Gryffindor party, where
Elias is.”

“I’ll have you know, Elias hates crowds, he disappears after a couple of hours,” Regulus
says.

“Why would I care about what he does?” Barty replies, grumply, glancing at his image on the
mirror one last time.

Dorcas smiles, then rushes next to him to drag him into a hug. Barty’s still pouting, but he
looks a lot happier than he did one month ago; it’s all an act, all for the reputation.

“I can’t believe you’re finally taking part in a party!” Dorcas says, still hugging him. “I can’t
believe you’re all grown up!”

“Why are you talking like my mam?” Barty asks.

“Yeah, listen, all grown up Barty, if you shag, make sure you use the right protection,” Evan
says.

Barty glares at him, letting go of Dorcas to grab his pillow and go hit Evan with it. “You
make sure you use the right protection!” He says, as Evan laughs and grabs the pillow with
both hands. “I don’t want to become an uncle before I’m seventeen.”
Evan laughs again. “As if!” He says, carefully avoiding Dorcas’s eyes. “Do you think I could
get expelled if I got Leonie pregnant?”

“Well, technically, we’re not supposed to have sex at Hogwarts. The rules are very clear on
that,” Regulus says.

Dorcas and Evan exchange a look.

“Then what am I supposed to do when my girlfriend’s hot?” Dorcas asks, waving her hand in
the air.

“It sort of makes it hotter to know you’re not supposed to do it,” Evan adds.

Barty rolls his eyes. “Naughty,” he says, hitting Evan lightly. “Do you think someone ever
got caught shagging and got expelled?”

“Probably?” Pandora shrugs her shoulders. “They should have given them a trophy.”

Regulus raises his eyebrow. “For the most forbidden shag?”

Everyone laughs, then Evan crosses his arms to his chest. “C’mon, leave, I’m going to have a
forbidden shag in minutes and I prefer not to have a public.”

Regulus grabs James’s present and his cloak, while the others collect their things as well.

“Leave everything clean,” Barty tells Evan, squeezing his shoulder.

“And use a condom!” Regulus and Dorcas remind him.

“Yes to everyone, now leave, thank you!”

Sirius grabs them outside the Gryffindor common room and brushes off the fat lady, who’s
complaining about the lack of respect for any rule. It makes Dorcas and Pandora giggle. The
common room is filled with people, but James and his friends aren’t in sight: in fact, Sirius
goes upstairs right away, and the five of them -Veronica joined them too- follow suit. Pandora
looks around, always curious, while Barty is wary, and he proceeds with circumspect. Dorcas
rolls her eyes when she sees the way he’s proceeding.

“You’ve already been here, you don’t need to look like that everytime,” she says.

“It’s just too much red for my liking!” Barty protests, shoving his hands into the pockets of
his trousers. “Too red and too cheerful.”

“It’s a birthday party, not a damned funeral,” Sirius replies. “It’s supposed to be fun!”

Barty opens his mouth to reply, but Regulus interrupts him: “Stop being a grumpy arse.”

“Why did it have to be red?” Barty whines.

He lets Pandora handle Barty’s whining and catches up with Sirius, who glances at him with
a resentful expression.

“You can’t still be mad at me for the bloody potion,” Regulus grumbles.

“Well, I am,” Sirius stops on the last step. “Does James know about it? Pandora? Barty?
Anybody at all?”

Regulus looks away, guilty. “I didn’t want anyone to worry, it’s fine now.”

“It’s fine my arse, Poppy only took you off of it because it was doing you more harm than
good,” Sirius says, glancing nervously down stairs, where the others are coming. “I thought
you learnt your lesson about keeping secrets like this.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Regulus shakes his head and goes ahead.

He doesn’t bother knocking at the door, given that it’s already half opened, and just slips
inside. There’s not as many people as he thought there would be: just Peter, Remus, Lily and
Mary.

“Hey,” he says, smiling.

There’s a chorus of greetings and Lily waves her hand at him.

“Hi, Reg!” Mary says, smiling broadly at him. “Looking fancy!”

Regulus smiles at her. “You too!”

“James is in the bathroom,” Peter says, pointing at the door with his thumbs. “Guess what
he’s doing.”

“Panicking over his hair.” Regulus carefully places his present on James’s bed.

“It’s a constant,” Mary sighs. “Where’s the rest of the group? I was under the impression
there would be more people.”

“We’re here,” Sirius announces, waving his hand in the air as he enters with the others.

There’s a few loud greetings, some introductions that Regulus doesn’t follow.

“He’ll come out of that door, I promise,” Lily Evans tells him, glancing at him curiously.

“Oh, I know he will,” Regulus replies, with a small smile. “Unless his hair routine revolted
against him.”

Lily giggles. “He tells us you’re convinced he has curly hair.”

“He does!” Regulus says, turning to look at her. “Tell me he doesn’t, I dare you.”

“Oh no, we all agree with you,” Lily says, playing with the pendant of her necklace. She
glances at Veronica from time to time, watching her as she speaks to Sirius and Remus.
“Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

“He always does,” Regulus comments, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “It wouldn’t be
weird if I just…you know, knocked?”

Lily shakes her head with a smile. “No, go ahead.”

So he does. He expects James to open the door and come out of it, but he drags him in
instead.

He says something: his lips are moving, and he looks a bit freaked out, but Regulus is
distracted. He’s distracted by the beautiful red shirt he’s wearing, the beautiful golden details
and, particularly, by his hair. James listened to him, finally, took his advice on how to dry it,
and how to take proper care of it. The curl pattern turned out to be slightly looser than
Regulus expected, it looks like ringlets, and it’s so cute he can’t help but wrap one around his
finger, delicately.

“Oh, darling, oh joy, you’re not even listening to me,” James moans, squeezing his
shoulders.

“I like your hair,” Regulus replies, letting the curl unfold. He looks James in the eye and
smiles. “You look pretty.”

James’s tense expression melts into a smile, and he brings Regulus close, embracing him.
Regulus tightens his arms around him, dropping a kiss on his cheek.

“What were you worried about?”

“Not looking good,” James replies, “new hair’s weird.”

“That’s a silly concern,” Regulus pulls away just a little and runs his fingers through James’s
hair. “You always look wonderful.”

James’s eyes drop to his lips for what feels like a long moment, before returning to Regulus’s
eyes. “Yeah, I’ve noticed you staring at me.”

“You’re the one to talk,” Regulus brings him close, a hand on his nape and one on his chest.
“I saw you looking at my lips, Potter.”

“I did say something about snogging you when you called me that, didn’t I?”

Regulus chuckles, but he wastes no time, leaning in and catching James’s lips in a languid
kiss right after. It turns passionate in a matter of seconds: Regulus drops his hands to his
shoulder, then his chest, his back, and lets James push him towards the sink.

“What if someone opens the door?” Regulus asks, while James’s lips ghost his jaw and move
to his neck.

“Their problem,” he replies, kissing Regulus again.

James’s hands find the back of his thighs as he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, and a
gasp escapes his lips.

“Your hands,” Regulus murmurs, sliding his fingers into James’s hair.

“Too much?”

“No,” Regulus smiles, kisses him again, bringing their chests together, their whole bodies
close.

James’s hands leave his thighs to caress his back, but Regulus doesn’t mind, not really,
simply enjoying having James’s hands running all over his body. He flips their positions, just
to remind James he’s not the one in control, and his hands find the sink, caging him between
the sink and his body.

“Bossy,” James complains, but kisses him fervently once again, and keeps his hands on
Regulus’s waist to make sure he doesn’t step back. Regulus, on his behalf, decides to let his
hands run on James’s back slowly and moves away from his lips to kiss his cheek, go down
his jaw and trail kisses down his neck.

The shout Sirius lets out when he opens the door to call James it’s so comical that they both
have to step back, and none of them manages to hide their laugh.

“For fuck’s sake!” Sirius curses, all red in the face. “Too much! Too much! I’ve pressed
charges for way less than that!”

Behind his back, Peter, Remus and Mary are laughing too, holding their tums. Sirius whips
around with his usual graveness.

“Will you stop laughing? This is serious!” He says, scandalised.

“It always is with you,” James agrees, mirt still clinging at the corners of his eyes.

Sirius glares at him. “Get out. You’re not allowed to be alone together anymore.”

“Jeez, stricter than my mum,” James complains.

“Your mum wasn’t strict, we slept together nearly every day during Christmas,” Regulus
corrects him, in a whisper.

“No, see,” James puts his arm around his shoulder. “She’s strict, but I'm a marauder.”

There’s clapping and whistling when James goes downstairs. Remus flicks his wand at the
record player, letting Dancing Queen by ABBA fill the room. Elias provokes Barty by saying
he can do more firewhiskey shots, and Barty, miffed enough and feeling like his pride has
been hurt, takes the challenge and gets drunk after three shots. Dorcas laughs at him, but
she’s easily drunk too. It’s not even been thirty minutes, and they’re already completely out
of it.
“Merlin,” Pandora whispers to him. “Tell me I don’t look that drunk.”

“Are you that drunk though?” He inquires. “Barty doesn’t even look all that drunk.”

“No, he does,” Pandora fills her glass with some firewhiskey. “Look at him, his frown is way
too deep even for his standards.”

Regulus hums. “He’s only frowning because Elias is close,” he replies, “look, he forgets to
frown if Elias doesn’t look at him. And Elias knows, the tosser.”

Elias, perhaps feeling stared at, looks away from Barty and Dorcas and raises his eyebrows at
Regulus, who sticks his tongue out at him.

“Mate, Crouch is plastered,” he says, approaching Regulus, unaware of Barty and Dorcas
following him like lost puppies. “Like, super plastered.”

“I’m not plastic,” Barty replies, digging his index finger into Elias’s shoulder. “You’re
plastic.”

Pandora snorts, and sips some of her drink to avoid bursting into laughter.

“He can’t be plastic mate,” Dorcas argues with complacency. “Plastic doesn’t speak.”

“I regret pushing that dare on them,” Elias says, almost sounding ashamed. “I’ve never been
called plastic before and it’s hurting my feelings.”

“Good,” Barty replies, “you hurt mine, I hurt yours, it’s only fair.”

“Way to go,” Dorcas claps Barty on the back, looking proud. “Way to go, mate.”

“We need to get them to sober up a little,” Elias says. “Hey, Reg, can you look for some
water?”

Regulus gazes at Barty, unsure. “Why don’t you go?”

“C’mon, Reg,” Pandora hands her empty glass to Elias. “I’ll go with you.”

He lets Pandora drag him away, but he turns one more time to look at Barty. “You hurt mine,
I hurt yours?” He repeats to her. “What does that mean?”

“He’s probably miffed because Elias refuses to be his friend while being friends with you and
Evan,” she replies, shrugging her shoulders. “One time, I got drunk and cried because my
shoelaces were dirty. Feelings don’t always make sense when you’re drunk.”

“Not on a conscious level,” Regulus says, pouring some water in two different glasses. “But
maybe, on an unconscious level-”

“You’re overthinking it,” Pandora blinks at him. “He would have told you if he was hurting,
wouldn’t he? You guys are best friends.”
“Lads don’t share feelings like that,” Regulus objects.

“That’s dumb,” she pinches his hips and he almost drops the cork of the water bottle, making
her giggle. “C’mon, lad.”

“Why do you have water?” Marlene asks, cheerfully, joining them as they make their way to
the armchair Dorcas and Barty reclaimed as theirs. “It’s a party, you’re supposed to be
plastered!”

“It’s actually for those two wankers,” Regulus says, pointing at the drunken duo with his
chin. “Drunk too much, they’re being weird.”

Marlene giggles. “I’m gonna tell Dorcas I have a girlfriend.”

The idea turns out to be bad: Dorcas gets upset about it, she crosses her arms and glares at
Marlene when she tries to catch her eyes.

“C’mon babe, I was kidding, you ’re my girlfriend,” Marlene reassures her.

Dorcas sniffles, glaring at her. “I don’t want your pity, McKinnon, save it for someone else.”

“You tell her, Dorcas!” Barty cheers from the ground. “You don’t need a girlfriend, you
already have Marlene!”

“I want to die,” Regulus whispers to Pandora. “Those are top class students.”

Pandora snorts. “We got them water and they’re not even drinking it.”

“No, Barty has been pretending to sip it for the past five minutes,” Regulus adds. “Maybe
this is why he doesn’t like parties.”

“Because he gets drunk easily,” Pandora nods. “Would make sense. Oh! He’s actually
drinking water this time. Praise be.”

Regulus laughs, throwing his head back and finding James’s face hovering over his. “Oh, hi,
James.”

“Having fun?” James asks, fixing Regulus’s hair with his index finger.

“Barty’s wasted,” Regulus says, with a smile. “Dorcas too.”

“It’s only been an hour,” James replies, chuckling. “Amateurs.”

“Why are you not drunk?” Pandora asks, as James sits next to Regulus. “It’s your birthday!”

James glances around, then whispers: “Alcohol makes me sleepy.”

“Can’t miss midnight,” Regulus says, nodding. “Why was Dancing Queen the opening
song?”
“Remus likes to take the piss at me because I sing ABBA while I get ready,” James says, with
a small pout. “He says my music taste is shit even if I like Bowie.”

“What’s wrong with ABBA?” Pandora inquires. “I love them. You know who I love more?
Fleetwood Mac.”

“Hard agree!” James says, nodding fervently. “Though I’m more attached to ABBA,
honestly.”

Veronica sits next to them. “Hello, fellow sober people!” She says, setting her half-drunk
bottle of beer on the floor. She looks at Pandora and flashes her a charming grin. “You’re
Regulus’s pretty friend!”

Pandora blushes and looks away. “You think I’m pretty?”

Regulus leans close to James and whispers: “she’s not sober at all.”

James chuckles quietly. “I’ve noticed.”

Veronica smiles at Pandora. “Of course you are, darling,” she then turns her eyes towards
James and Regulus. “Don’t you two look like a lovely couple?”

Regulus tuts. “Couple? Us?”

“Yeah,” James adds, but his voice goes a bit high. “Us? Are you crazy, Vera?”

“Merlin’s balls, James,” she shakes her head. “You can’t lie for shit, is this why you get
detention so easily? C’mon, tell your lesbian mum how this happened.”

“Oh, you’re asking the forbidden question,” Pandora says, frowning at Regulus. “Did you
ever actually tell me how it happened?”

“No, I did not,” Regulus frowns, then looks at James, who shrugs his shoulders. “Our first
kiss would have been cuter if Filch didn’t catch us snogging.”

“Yeah, it’s embarrassing that the old man was the first to know,” James says, rubbing the
back of his neck. “But the kisses after that were really nice!”

“Did Sirius catch you snogging in the bathroom? I’m just thinking about the scream he let
out…” Veronica says, looking up, wondering.

“Yes, he did,” Regulus says, with a nod. “Still getting used to it.”

“He tells me to keep a metre of distance when I go see Regulus,” James says, amused. “Little
does he know…”

Veronica chuckles. “Does this mean I can finally have my shot with Evans?”

“Wait, finally?” Pandora butts in. “How long has it been?”

“Two excruciatingly long years,” Veronica says, gravely. “I just can’t speak to her! I’m not
even shy, she makes me that way!”

James nods, understanding. “I know. It’s so hard to be cool around them when you’re
friendly. Suddenly you become socially awkward and you forget how to speak like a proper
human being.”

Regulus thinks about it, then chuckles. “You used to speak so fast when we started talking!”

“I did!” James laughs. “And air just refused to get in my nose, so my voice was all breathy
and weird.” He groans and covers his face with his hands.

“Nice to know that even James Potter is human,” Veronica says, before taking a sip of her
beer. “I’m scared to talk to her.”

“I’ll be your wingman!” Pandora proposes, getting on her feet. “Or wingwoman, whatever!
Let’s go!”

Veronica smiles broadly at her, then gets up and follows Pandora in the middle of the crowd.

“How long till midnight?” James asks, peeking at Regulus’s watch. “Oh, a ton of time. I think
my dorm is empty!”

When they make their way out of the dorm, their shirts are all set in place, but their hair is a
mess and their lips are red and slightly puffy from the kissing and the biting.

“Think Sirius noticed?” Regulus asks, as they make their way downstairs.

The door of Elias’s dorm is slightly opened. Initially, he doesn’t even bother thinking about
what he saw, but when he realises, he steps back, glancing inside.

The world goes still for a second: Barty kisses Elias right on the mouth, hands fisting at the
collar of Elias’s shirt. He watches Elias stumble backwards while his hands curl around
Barty’s wrists. His brain relentlessly seeks a name for the feeling that blooms in his chest,
then he has it: betrayal, or maybe it’s the feeling of deserving this. He’s been doing this exact
thing behind people’s backs too; behind Barty's specifically.

“Regulus?” James, one step further from him, didn’t see anything, but he’s still whispering.
“C’mon, it’s almost midnight.”

“Yeah,” Regulus whispers back and looks at James. “Let’s go down, shall we?”

The rest of the evening goes relatively well, even when James gets drunk and cuddly,
refusing to leave his side and being as demanding as a spoiled prince would be. Most people
find their back and forth amusing, and it gets Regulus’s mind off of what he saw for a while.
“I want to do the presents in my room!” James declares, at one in the morning. There’s only a
few people left: Veronica had to go away, as she started feeling unwell, and Barty and
Pandora offered to make sure she got back safely, whilst some other people went to sleep.
The marauders and the girls in their year, plus Dorcas, Frank and Alice are all still awake, so
they all move to the dorm. Regulus and Sirius help James on the stairs.

“Are you okay?” Sirius mouths at him, when they get to the fifth floor and catches Regulus
glancing at Elias’s locked door.

Regulus nods stiffly. Sirius doesn’t believe him, not even for one second, but he doesn’t insist
further.

James lets go of both of them to get on his bed, then smiles expectantly at Regulus, who sighs
as he comes close.

“You’re a very clingy drunk person,” Regulus says, sitting next to him. He adjusts the collar
of James’s shirt.

“I didn’t expect you two to be close,” Frank Longbottom says. Regulus looks up at him, lost
for a minute, then understanding.

“Oh, we…”

“I snog him more than twice a week,” James says, cheeky and slurring. “He’s my boyfriend,
Frankie. Isn’t he so cute?”

Regulus catches the way Alice Prewett hides a smile behind her hand.

“Yes, James, he’s very cute,” Frank says, after a second of incredulity. He turns towards
Sirius. “I can’t believe he’s dating your brother.”

Sirius shrugs. “I can’t believe they’ve been all over each other all night and you needed a
drunken confession to piece it together, mr. Future Auror.”

Franks frowns at him. “I can give you detention until the end of the year, you know?”

“Oh, don’t be grumpy, Frank,” Alice says, pinching at his cheek. “I think it’s cute that you
needed James to say it.”

James giggles, watching the presents on his bed. “I think I need water,” he whispers to
Regulus. “I’m very drunk.”

“No, really?” Regulus asks, sarcastically.

James nods fervently. “So very drunk!”

Waving his wand in the air, he accios a mug and fills it with water a couple of times. After
drinking, James seems slightly more lucid, and Regulus makes sure to fill the cup again, just
in case he needs it again. He goes through a couple of presents -band shirts, because he
collects them-, then gets to one that makes him blush and giggle, and he hides it in the
wrapping.

“Sirius can’t see this,” he says, mischievously.

“Why on earth?” Sirius leans in, trying to catch a glimpse. “C’mon, Jamesy, what have you
got there?”

“Condoms,” James replies, with a straight face.

Sirius steps backwards again. “I didn’t want to know,” he says. “Who’s the mad person?”

The door opens, revealing Elias. Regulus has to look away from him, fearing his face will
give away that he knows something.

“Hey!” Elias says, cheerfully. “You opened my present!”

“You gave him condoms?!” Sirius asks, sounding offended.

“What?” Elias sits next to Frank, legs crossed and a little smile on his lips. “Safe sex is great!
Are you jealous I didn’t get you any?”

“You’ve become too cheeky,” Sirius grumbles.

“I liked the condoms,” James says, getting the package out of the wrapping. “Oh, a poster?”

“Open it!” Elias says, enthusiastically.

James does open the posters: it’s ABBA; Regulus eyes their faces curiously. Some
muggleborns in school wear the same haircut as the members of the group, some dress very
similarly. He’s disappointed that the picture doesn’t move.

“I’m going to hang it tomorrow!” James says, sounding thrilled. “Thank you, Eli!”

Frank and Alice gifted him Zonko’s supplies, and Regulus finds it quite funny, since they’re
headboy and girl, and they should know better than gifting James Potter pranking devices.

The marauders’ present is inside a small envelope. James eyes it curiously, then finally
decides to open it and lets out a soft gasp. “No.”

“Yes,” Remus, Sirius and Peter say, at the same time.

“Actually, Professor McGonagall contributed to that,” Sirius winks at James. “She made sure
no exams will be in that couple of days, and since we’re all of age…”

“Oh my God,” James scrambles on his feet and pulls the three of them into a messy hug.
Regulus takes advantage of the distraction to look at the present.

“Oh God,” Regulus says. “You’re going to a Queen Concert!”

“You are!?” Elias and Marlene, who was previously half asleep on Dorcas’s shoulder, get
closer to peek at the tickets.

“I’m going to a Queen Concert!” James screams, arms thrown around Peter’s shoulders. “Oh
my God, I’m going to a Queen Concert…I need time to process. I might actually faint.”

Sirius laughs and leans close to ruffle his hair. “We’re going to see Freddie Mercury live!”

“I’m going to cry,” James says, fanning his hand over his face.

“Do you need water?” Regulus says, offering him the cup.

“Thank you, love,” James says, easily, getting the cup and downing the water. “I haven’t
realised yet.”

“Ah, you don’t realise until you’re there,” Elias says, with a bright smile. “When my
Grandfather took me to see Led Zeppelin, I didn’t realise it was going to happen until I saw
them on stage.”

“You saw Led Zeppelin live?” Dorcas says, suddenly alive again. “When?!”

“18 May 1975, at Earls Court,” Elias grins. “My Grandfather convinced my mum to tell
McGonagall we had a family emergency. I even got the shirt!”

“Bloody lucky dude!” Dorcas says. “Bloody lucky…”

“I know,” Elias says, nodding. “Man, the Queen Concert is going to be so fun!”

“I can’t fucking wait!” James hops back on the bed, eyes full of marvel. “My brain isn’t
working anymore.”

Regulus laughs. “There’s still two presents there,” he reminds him, kindly, even if he’s
feeling shy about his present now.

“Yours will be last,” James decides, taking the box that has his parents’ names on it.

Regulus looks at the note, though he can’t read it, obviously, since it was written in hindi. He
recognises some characters, but he can’t remember the meaning, except for one character,
जान , jaan . James sniffles, leaning closer to Regulus.

“Guys, why do parents have to be so sappy?” He asks.

“Oh, shut it, Potter, you’re sappy too!” Mary says. She gifted him a set of very beautiful
Quidditch supplies. “Open those presents before I fall asleep on your floor!”

The others cheer as well, so James rolls his eyes and unwraps the present. It’s a box of a
beautiful burgundy colour. James opens it carefully. The watch inside is majestic, with golden
needles, numbers and frame.
“Mum said the inside is charmed to reflect the weather outside,” James says, watching the
dark blue backgrounds, with tiny silver points. “But it reflects the time of the day too.”

“Let us see!” Sirius says. It’s not James who moves, but the others who come closer to
observe. Everyone agrees it looks amazing, and Elias seems mesmerised by it, even if he
probably saw wizard watches before: Frank Longbottom wears one at his wrists, even if the
tradition wants wizards to have pocket watches, as a wrist watch might get in the way of
wandwork.

James sets the gift back inside its box and sets it carefully on the nightstand, then reaches for
the last present.

“It’s nothing special,” Regulus says, suddenly embarrassed. “Don’t expect too much.”

James shakes his head. “I’m sure it’s going to be amazing.”

He unwraps the box and his eyes go round for a second, as he takes out the photo album.
Regulus is quite proud of how the cover turned out: it was a simple photo album, gotten at a
small shop in Hogsmeade, but he decided to engrave, with a charm, the saying “Memento
vivere” on the cover, and traced a couple of antlers around the quote, to make it prettier.

On the first page, that James is inspecting right now, Regulus copied the carme 48 by
Catullus. James doesn’t say anything about it, but he runs his fingers on the words, before he
leaves the diary and takes the camera from the box.

“It’s a new model, it takes moving pictures and still pictures,” Regulus explains, pointing at
the respective buttons. “So you can take both kinds. It has different lenses. You can probably
use it during the Queen concert!”

James blinks a couple of times, then meets his eyes. “How could you say it’s not special? You
know I love photo albums.”

Yes, Regulus does know. It just seemed a bit hard to compete with the rest of the presents,
though he’s glad James seems just as happy.

“There’s a few camera rolls too, just in case,” Regulus says, pointing at those, which stayed
in the box.

James sets the camera aside and drags Regulus into a hug, that would have been a kiss if
there weren’t so many people around. “Thank you,” James whispers. “I love it.”

“I’m glad,” Regulus whispers back, before letting him go.

The party ends soon after that. There’s greeting, some more happy birthday wishes, some
hugging. Regulus takes advantage of the mess to talk to Elias.

“Did you see Barty?” He asks.

“Went back with Veronica and Pandora,” Elias says easily. “He’ll have a terrible hangover
tomorrow, I hope you’re ready for that.”
Regulus fakes a smile. “Yeah, I’ll be.”

Elias gives him an odd look, as if he can sense that something’s off. “Err…goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” Regulus murmurs, then watches him go away with the rest of the people.

He only gets one moment of peace in which he asks James if he can stay the night.

“Of course you’re staying,” James says, with an easy smile. “I’ll get you some clothes to
sleep in.”

But right after, Regulus feels a familiar double-tap on his shoulder, and he turns to see Sirius
staring at him.

“Regulus and I will be back in a few,” Sirius says, while James rummages in his truck.

Regulus sighs and gets up, rubbing his eyes.

“Where are you going?” James asks, looking up. “It’s a bit late for a walk.”

Sirius waves his hand. “We’re just going to talk downstairs.”

“See you in a few,” Regulus says, resignated that he can’t escape Sirius’s concern if they’re
this close.

The common room is as welcoming as it is empty. Sirius decides they’ll talk on the couch
and sits on it, all relaxed, while Regulus sits next to him gingerly, looking around to avoid
Sirius’s eyes.

“You’ve been having nightmares,” Sirius says, quietly. “No other reason to take dreamless
sleep. I’m just wondering how bad they must be if you decided to willingly ask for a potion.”

Regulus feels his muscles tense up and he clenches and unclenches his fists a couple of times,
not sure on how to answer.

“It’s a long story,” he settles on saying, after hesitating. “And I’m very tired.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, then sighs. “I’m not letting you go up there until you talk to me.”

Regulus sneaks a glance at him, then slowly tries to sit more comfortably on the couch.
“There’s a centaur that sends me dreams,” he finally says. “I think he’s showing me parts of
my future or what it would have been if I…made different choices. If my old wand wasn’t
snapped,” he clenches his fists again. “We started doing duels in class and it somehow made
it all worse. So I asked for dreamless sleep.”

Sirius looks at him, bewildered and clearly exhausted, but surely not wavering. “You’re being
sent dreams.”

Regulus nods a couple of times. “It’s a warning. To keep me in line. I have to know what to
do and what not to do.”
“Regulus, this is unacceptable,” Sirius says, leaning slightly closer. “You can’t just accept
that this is happening.”

“I need it to happen,” Regulus says, firmly. “I need to remember why I’m going down this
path and not the other one.”

Sirius inhales sharply and says nothing for a couple of seconds. The silence makes his ears
ring.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” he says. Regulus turns to meet his eyes, then shrugs his
shoulders slightly. “No, don’t shrug at me, this centaur is depriving you from sleeping, Reg.
It’s not okay.”

“I know it’s not,” Regulus says, then takes a deep breath. The conversation makes him feel
restless even if all he wants is to sleep. “I don’t know how to solve it. I can’t just go and talk
to him and tell him hey, you know what? Enough with the dreams, I know what to do now.
Because I have no idea. And maybe it’s not even him, maybe I’m blaming him but my mind
is actually the one making up all that…nasty stuff. Poppy said I can’t take dreamless sleep
again anyway, so…”

Sirius settles his hand between his shoulder blades. “Will you tell me about these dreams?”
Regulus gives him a look and judging by the way Sirius almost flinches, he must look quite
scared. “That bad?”

“I see my death,” Regulus says, slowly. “I drown. Well, not really, I get dragged down by
inferi. I’m trying to do something with a locket and I’m always in a hurry and Kreacher is
there. I know he makes it back but I don’t. I slip on a rock, then…” he stops, the voice gets
caught on his throat. “You know I hate potions. Because of father. But I-”

“You needed them,” Sirius concludes, rapidly. “We need to talk to this centaur.”

“We?”

“Yeah.” Sirius runs his hands through Regulus’s locks, something Father used to when they
were little. Always getting his hair away from his forehead. “I’ll come with you.”

It’s ironic, really. Damastus said it himself: your brother watches over you.

They make their way back in silence, still shaken by Regulus’s words, though he does feel
slightly better. James has folded some night clothes at the end of his bed and he’s reading a
Quidditch magazine, still awake when they come in.

“Hey,” he says. “Alright?”

Regulus nods, avoiding his eyes. “I’ll get changed,” he says, taking the clothes. He leans in to
give him a feathery kiss on the cheek, then rushes to the bathroom, not running, but walking
fast.

He washes his face multiple times, brushes his teeth and grips at the sink when he’s done,
feeling the water slip off his face. It takes him a couple of minutes to decide to undress, then
 he finally does, and James’s familiar smell lulls him like a hug. Once he gets out of the
bathroom, the curtains around Peter’s bed are closed, so are the ones around Remus’s bed.
Sirius’s bed is empty.

“Sirius sleeps with Moony,” James says, quietly, when he sees the way Regulus looks for
him. “Are you alright?”

Regulus nods, not feeling like saying much. He gets on James’s bed and curls close to him,
feeling his entire body relax when James embraces him.

“You can tell me if something isn’t right, you know?” James says, after pressing a kiss on his
forehead.

“Not today,” Regulus replies, sneaking his hands under James’s shirt to feel the warmth of his
skin. “Today is your birthday, and I’m happy, even if I’m knackered.” He looks up at James
and smiles at him. “I’m very happy you were born.”

James chuckles, running his hand through Regulus’s hair. “I’m happy you were here today.”

They kiss briefly, then decide to close the curtains and place a silencing spell in the bed.
Their shirts are off soon, but they don’t go further than that, really. It’s comforting to feel
James’s skin against his, to get his hands on his chest.

Lulled by James’s soft breathing noises and his warm hug, Regulus slips into the most
peaceful sleep he’s had in the entire past month.

Chapter End Notes

carmen 48 by Catullus in english and in latin

Memento vivere: remember to live

 The tale of the prince and the bard
Chapter Notes

This chapter is dedicated to Nott_et_ses_nuits_blanches_en_balade. Thank you for

being here since the start and always leaving such thoughtful comments <3.

There is also a playlist, The prince and the bard.

CW: domestic abuse (including implied CA), homophobia (homophobic relatives,

outing, internalised homophobia), drugs (weed) as a coping mechanism (only mentioned
a few times), underage drinking.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

23 October, 1976

It was a horrid day to go to the beach. A thick curtain of fog substituted the sun, the water
was grey and opaque, even the rocks appeared duller than usual. The sea was rough and the
sound of the waves hitting the shores filled his ears. Some droplets of water hit Barty’s
cheeks, when the waves were big enough. Even in the racket of the rough sea, his father’s
trench coat kept shifting noisily, wept around in the wind. The sound was irksome and took
up space. As his dad walked by that grey, dreary shore, he seemed to belong there.

Barty Crouch Sr. was a very boring, mouse grey type of person, with boring hobbies and
boring friends. He detested everything that made life joyful. Thus, his wife and his son were
condemned to an equally flat daily life.

“He makes everything so tedious,” Barty Crouch Jr. mumbled, kicking a rock.

At the time, he was nine and had already been brought to a ridiculous quantity of fancy
dinners. His father let him sit with old looking men in fancy clothes and sometimes he would
even complain about his son, when he thought he was asleep on the table.

The biggest issue he seemed to have was with how much his son craved love and company:
like a woman, his father used to say. He told his coworkers about the tale Barty had written:
about two princes, because no writer ever did that, and it was sort of bothering him to hear
about all these princesses and all these marriages.

He wouldn’t even care that his son was shooting glares at him as he spoke. Sure, he had
written a tale about two princes, but it never occurred to him that a story could be more
wrong than the things his father did behind closed doors: shout at mam, or hit her, to mention
a couple.
And yet, at fourteen, Barty had been so disgusted with himself: not only he craved love and
company, but he craved them from another lad, which his father would call reprehensible.
Obviously, it wasn’t his intention to listen or believe what his father said, but it seemed to be
a very common opinion. If you were like that, then your feelings were never just feelings, but
wrong feelings.

In his life, doing the wrong thing was a common practice: he knew purism was wrong and he
knew the things he said were wrong, but he was supported by the vast majority of his
housemates, and Barty needed to feel like he belonged, no matter how despicable the crowd
was or what they could have done to him if they discovered what he truly felt.

Wrong had never been enough to stop him from doing something, and yet for a good six
months, it prevented Barty from making a move on Regulus. Loving him was no simple
mistake: it was much more, it was a sin and it could only properly happen in his imagination.
But nothing pained him more than seeing Regulus take any opportunity he had to snog a
random girl, who didn’t know how lucky she was.

That’s when he started smoking weed, and discovered how much it kept his feelings at bay.
Parties were no longer his interest, and even though he stopped seeing Regulus kiss girls, his
best friend was still a constant thought in his head. Even when he was high, when he was
fine, when he was quiet, the images of Regulus kissing somebody else popped up in his
mind, and he would ask himself: Why not me?

And in November came the day in which Barty realised Regulus might not be that different
from him, after all, even if rumour had it that he fancied Vivienne. The day came in which
grey eyes locked onto his own green gaze and he knew Regulus was nothing but a dirty liar.

Barty, what happens when you lie?

Nothing, if you’re good at it, Barty had answered.

In December, Barty asked a similar question while they were high, laying side by side on the
bed with their feet resting against the wall.

“What happens when you sin?”

Regulus took a long second to answer. “Depends on what God is judging you.” Barty looked
at him funny, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, the concept of sin varies from person to person,
why should it be the same from every deity? If we wanted to place the concept of sin over the
Iliad, for example, then things would get really messy, I mean…” he trailed off, staring at a
blank point in the wall. “Paris had to pick the most beautiful goddess between Hera, Athena
and Aphrodite. If you asked Hera, it was a sin to say Athena and Aphrodite were more
beautiful than her, and the same concept could be placed on the other goddesses. You never
reach a compromise like that. But if a sin isn’t absolute, then is it a sin or just something I
don’t like?” Barty opened his mouth, willing to reply, but Regulus added: “I guess we decide
what our sins are. We’re our own deities.”

“Can you really be your own deity?” Barty asked. “What if it’s actually someone else?”
He thought of his father, who was not charming, who was dull, grey and ugly, but still acted
like some sort of deity into Barty’s life, dictating over his choices and his feelings.

“I don’t think anyone else should matter so much they decide what’s a sin,” Regulus said,
intertwining his fingers over his abdomen. “I think we should be the ones to judge what is
right or wrong for us at one particular moment, and do what makes us the happiest. You
know, carpe diem, in a sort of way. If something makes you happy, if something feels right,
why should it be a sin? As long as it’s not hurting anyone…”

And so Barty took his advice and just three weeks later, they shared their first kiss under the
false premise of it being practice, of not being queer. Then Regulus broke up with Vivienne,
and he was only Barty’s to love, except things didn’t feel right at all.

Smoking had been his anchor through those months. It was the only way to get his mind off
the horrible feeling of shame that pierced his skin. He felt like his father was watching him,
even if there wasn't a way he’d be there at Hogwarts. His imagination often liked to wander
off and create this scenario where his father complained to his coworkers about his good for
nothing son snogging purist heirs at Hogwarts. Good grades, surely, he would say, but good
grades don’t make a good son.

The fall out was bound to happen and still hit Barty hard in the chest: much worse than a
shove. It was his own hand that directed the sword that cut the wound on his chest. Not only
did he hurt himself, but he hurt Regulus in the process, and suddenly, he was barely a
presence in his life, and Barty saw him hanging out with Elias Greco more and more.

From what Barty knew, Greco had never officially confirmed the rumours on his sexuality
that had arouse in February, but it was clear to Barty that he was queer. That was when
jealousy became a daily feeling. He constantly wondered if Elias and Regulus ever snogged,
during all that time they spent together. And hatred towards Elias grew larger.

Nothing really changed from when he was a kid. Sixteen of age and still deeply unhappy,
only with the addition of shame and self-hatred. Even Regulus, who had always been able to
love him, eventually decided to leave and give up on him. Part of him knows it is unfair to
think about it this way: no love will ever grant you that it’ll last forever; but the other part
feels mercilessly abandoned. He wants him back and wants to do all the things he refused to
do last year, even take Regulus on dates, if that’s what he wants.

None of that can happen, because Regulus is busy with his new lover. Barty is alone in their
dorm most evenings: Evan spends time with Leonie in the common room, trying to gather the
courage to finally ask her out, while Regulus sneaks out somewhere to meet the new guy.

It’s a type of loneliness that would make him weep if he didn’t know how to put a stop to his
feelings and how to drift away almost safely. And even then, even when his mind is so far
away, he's still sad. Sorrow clinges to him like the smell of cigarettes, except that he can't
wash it away. It's a type of pain no potion can heal.

Last year, last November, Regulus only had eyes for him. Maybe they wouldn’t kiss, but they
were always together, telling each other secrets and holding hands on the best days, and Barty
misses it terribly.

The summer has been dreadful, with his father’s violent outbursts and his mother’s constant
crying, her greying hair despite the young age. It still haunts him.

He came back to school with the intention of making things better, though it seems only
harsh, wrong words will leave his lips. It sucks out energy from his body, yet he can’t stop, he
doesn’t know how to break the cycle, and no matter how much he looks around, he can’t find
something to grab on to stay afloat. The weight of his hatred pushes him into cold waters.

On Saturday night, he grabs the fake prefect badge he made by duplicating Regulus’s, nicks
the password to the prefect bathroom and goes there, unbothered, because if Flich sees him,
he won’t get in trouble.

The tub isn’t empty like Barty expected. Elias Greco is there, head resting on the board of the
tub. He’s waving his wand around lazily, tiny clouds wandering around him like he’s building
his own personal storm.

His chest is mostly hidden by soap bubbles, but his collarbones are wet and his skin glimmers
under the cold lights of the room. There’s a simple golden chain resting casually around his
neck, and it makes him look slightly more unreal, like he could turn into a Greek hero at any
time.

It must be the Mediterranean features, Barty thinks. Elias has always possessed a type of
natural elegance that makes him look and sound a bit self-centred; a part of him is conscious
that it’s something that’s natural to him, not something he does on purpose, but a quality he
was born with.

“Are you naked?” Barty asks, breaking the silence. He’s not sure how prefect bathrooms
work.

Elias raises his head and looks at him up and down. “Ah, the homophobic guy turns out to be
queer,” he grins, with a hint of malice. “No one is surprised.”

Barty rolls his eyes. “I just want to know if I have to get naked too.”

“No, please, keep your underwear,” Elias waves his hand in the air, but he still holds his
wand, so he causes a miniature wind storm in his cluster of clouds. “You know you’re not
supposed to be here, right? I can give you detention.”

“Go ahead,” Barty says, turning his back at him to undo the buttons of his shirt. “It’ll piss off
my father, so.”

The main purpose isn’t really to piss him off, but just to give him something real to complain
about. If he wants to complain about Barty, then he should be given actual reasons to do so.

“Ah, I was right,” Elias says, sounding pleased. “You do have problems with your dad.”
“Doesn’t take a sodding genius to realise that, Greco,” Barty says, letting his shirt fall off his
shoulders.

“I don’t blame you,” Elias says, while Barty undoes the button of his trousers. “He’s a
hypocrite.”

Barty tuts. “Got no idea of how much,” he says, getting into the tub.

It’s the first time he talks to Elias this much, especially about something serious, without one
of them throwing a hex at the other, though he’s quite wary, since Elias hasn’t put down his
wand yet. He seems quite busy with his storm, though, so perhaps he’s safe.

Partially, he’s even happy to see him here, because it really means that he’s not seeing
Regulus. Or perhaps Regulus is meeting Sirius tonight. One can never be too sure.

“He’s like: protect all magic people!” Elias says, in a deep voice. “Unless they’re queer,
witches who want rights, estranged purebloods or they want actual change in our world! In
that case, arrest them.”

Barty keeps himself from chuckling, because that’s an actually good imitation of his father.
“He should have never made it into politics.”

Elias tilts his head to the side and licks his lips. “But isn’t it a bit hypocritical of you to judge
him?”

Barty raises his eyes and blinks at him. “What?”

“I mean,” Elias folds his arms to his chest, “it’s not like you’re any better, you might even be
worse. You’re a purist and you throw slurs left and right, but then you’re friends with
Regulus, who is so far left he could be the next Karl Marx.” Barty raises his eyebrow at him.
“Oh, c’mon, ever heard about communism?”

“No,” Barty says, flatly. “And for your information, I don’t actually believe in all that purist
crap. I just pretend to, so I cheese off my father.”

Elias gapes at him for a second, like he has never heard something so stupid. “So you want to
show your father you disapprove of him by being worse than him?”

Barty opens his mouth to reply, but he finds out that he doesn’t really have an argument.
Regulus’s words come back to his mind: no one is stopping you from making new friends but
your own prejudice. And it’s interesting, it really is: at this moment Barty realises just how
much he let his father control him, even from so far away.

“Well, that’s another kind of fucked up, if you ask me,” Elias adds, sounding bored. “I mean,
you could be doing better, but you’re choosing to be worse. You’re choosing it. You’re
causing harm to others because your dad was a dickhead to you.”

Barty feels his hands begin to shake, so he shoves them under water. “Well, if you put it that
way, I do sound like a massive knob.”
“You are,” Elias states, lowering his wand.

He doesn’t lose his grip on it, and Barty is starting to wonder if he does that because he
doesn’t feel safe around him; he might not like Elias, but the idea of someone being scared to
be around him makes him physically sick.

“You shoved everyone aside for the egotistical need to piss off your father,” Elias spells out.
“No wonder Regulus can’t stand to be around you guys.”

Barty’s eyes meet Elias’s, alarmed. “Did he tell you that?” He asks, detesting how pained he
sounds. “He can’t stand to be around me?”

Elias raises his eyebrows. “Haven’t you noticed how he sits on the opposite side of the
classroom? How could he trust you and Rosier if you believe in the ideology that made his
life living hell? Do you realise he could have lost his brother in the name of blood purity?”

“I mean…” Barty frowns, struggling with his words. “I mean yes, sure, but…but he knows
why I do that. He knows. Why would he shy away if he knows?”

He clenches his hands into fists, trying to regulate his breathing. Normally, when things get
this bad, he’d smoke, but he didn’t take anything with him. Never expected this conversation
to happen, or to meet Elias and be confronted so fiercely.

“Look, I know your father hurt you, but you can’t hurt others and pretend they have the moral
obligation to forgive you just because they know your father is horseshit.”

Barty swallows and tips his head back. The cold lights of the bathroom blink at him, and it’s
almost as if he's staring directly at a star on the verge of exploding. “I never meant to hurt
anyone.”

But maybe that’s not as true as he wants it to be. It is possible that he hurt people because he
needed to take the pain somewhere else, let it wash over someone else like a cold shower.

Elias stays silent for a long few seconds. “You can’t expect other people to know the
intentions behind your actions, Crouch. Not all of us are legilimens, we can’t go through your
mind and connect the dots. If you agree or disagree with something you must show it
properly.”

“Is that why you keep grabbing at your wand?” Barty snaps, eyes darting from Elias’s face to
his hand. “Do you think I’m going to hurt you?”

Disbelief covers Elias’s face like a veil, only for a second. In a blink, his expression turns
neutral and he shrugs. “I mean, you’ve been calling me slurs even more than usual this year,
and never made me feel the most welcomed in this school, so forgive me for not trusting you
when we’re alone in a place where people barely spend their time,” he says, sarcastically. “I
don’t fancy becoming the male version of Moaning Myrtle.”

Barty feels his mouth go dry, his hands tremble so bad he has to hold them together. His
breathing is now unsteady. He faces the guilt like a child would face a boggart: with terrible,
dreading fear and panic rising in his chest.

“I would never…” his voice gets caught in his throat. “I would never kill you. I don’t want
you dead. Like, at all. That’s just crazy to believe.”

“Then I guess I’m crazy,” Elias says, painfully serious. “I prefer being crazy and safe that just
assume you mean any good. How would I believe you mean any good to me, Crouch? In case
you’ve forgotten, in the course of the last five years, you told me to go back to Italy countless
times, you accused me of stealing magic and that my good grades weren’t even my
achievements and said I was less of a wizard because I’m queer, which isn’t even something I
was willing to share, for your information. But your older peers were so nice they shared it
for me.”

“I’m sorry,” Barty says, in a thin voice. Saying more hurts, as if words are nails going
through his throat and tearing the walls apart. “I’m really sorry.”

“Great,” Elias smiles, but it feels very forced. “Change the way you behave, then.”

“What?”

“I said change the way you behave, Crouch. Stop being a dickhead. Maybe try to be better
than your father,” he gives him a long look. “I know you know what homophobia feels like.
Why do you perpetuate that onto others? Don’t you think the wizarding world has enough
issues without making kids feel bad about themselves? For something as natural as fancying
another person? No one should ever beat themselves up over that.”

“How would I know what homophobia feels like?” Barty asks, heart thundering in his chest.
“I’m not queer, Greco, I hope you’re not mak-”

“I know you’re in love with Regulus,” Elias interrupts him. “I’m his friend, you genius. You
thought I would miss that? You look at him constantly, you seek his approval, you want him
to have eyes for you only, and now you’re upset because he’s probably having fun with
someone else. But don’t you ever wonder if things would have been different, if you weren’t
crap to the people around you?”

Barty clenches his fists. “You have no idea of what you’re talking about, you don’t know
what this feels like,” he sneered. “You’re proud and confident, you’ve got no idea of what it’s
like to be me.”

“Proud?” Elias asks, bewildered. “I’m proud?” He laughs, but it’s joyless and dim, colder
than the lights of this place. “I’m trying not to let you and your stupid housemates drag me
down. Do you have any idea of what would happen to me if I lowered my guards? I’d end up
dead! Dead, do you hear me?” He gets out of the tub, glaring at Barty. Water drips from his
body and he grabs a towel angrily and wraps it around his waist. He speaks with his eyes
towards the floor. “You and your mates have made my life hell since I was eleven, for no
fucking reason and God forbid if I ever let any of you have the pleasure …the satisfaction of
making me sad!”
“Do you think they’d be any kinder to me?” Barty argues, getting out of the tub as well,
though he has to place his hand on the wall, because his vision wavers. “I sleep in the same
dorm as them! I’m an easy target!”

“You’re a pureblood!” Elias shouts. His voice goes back to a lower volume when he says:
“yes, maybe some dipshits are making fun of you because they noticed you fancy Regulus,
then what? Ever been hexed for it? Ever been ambushed for it? Attacked behind your back?
Is there a war actively being fought against you? You have a future once you’re out of here,
Crouch. My lucky chance is to die after I’m twenty, but always before twenty two.” Elias
folds his arms to his chest and locks his eyes into Barty’s again. “You want to act like the
victim, but you’ve been acting exactly like the people you detest! So yes, we’re different, and
I think the world is kinder to you than it is to me. Cry about it if you want. You put hatred in
this world and now you whine because Regulus won’t snog you.”

“Stop bringing Regulus into this,” Barty hisses, “you know nothing about what happened
between us.”

“He cried to me,” Elias says, now drying his chest roughly. His eyes don’t look for Barty’s
again, like he can’t bear to catch a glimpse of his figure. “He cried because some dipshit said
hurtful shit to him and don’t think I don’t know it was you. I know the way you hurt people,
Crouch. Regulus was naïve enough to believe I wouldn’t know.”

Barty takes a step back, feeling his chest grow tight. “You don’t get to judge me for it.”

“Maybe,” Elias agrees, grabbing his jumper. “But you stay the fuck away from him and you
let him move on. It’s pathetic that you even believe that he’d make the same mistake twice.”

I wish you were never born, his father said on a humid night in August. Such a disgrace to
have a son be like this…a mistake of nature.

“I’m not a mistake!” Barty shouts, feeling his nails dig into his hands. He’s trembling so
much he can almost feel his insides shaking. “Don’t you dare call me that.”

Something in Elias’s face shifts, and he gives Barty a thoughtful look, and doesn’t utter a
word until Barty’s breathing becomes even again.

“I didn’t mean that you’re a mistake,” he says, slowly, holding his jumper to his chest. “But if
you think that’s what I meant, I’m not surprised it didn’t work out between the two of you.”

“What?” Barty asks, taken aback.

There’s a hint of kindness in Elias’s usually scornful voice, and confusion takes over anger
and grief. He watches the boy in front of him like he’s a stranger, studies the mundane
movement of him putting on a sweater and wonders what changed so suddenly, what made
Elias suddenly sound kindhearted.

“Look, I don’t like you at all,” he says. “There’s a lot that’s wrong with you, but that has
nothing to do with you being queer. It’s useless to beat yourself up about it, it’s not going to
change who you fancy. It’s only making you feel bad, and as much as I detest you, I detest
seeing queer people feeling bad about it.” He grabs his jeans and belt from the ground. “If
you want to feel bad about something, feel bad about being a purist. Educate yourself. If you
want to stop feeling bad about being queer, ask for help. Trust me, you need it.” He puts on
his jeans and belt, and goes to stand in front of the nearest mirror to fix his hair. “It would be
more satisfying to say you’re better than your father ever was, than to say you’re worse than
him, you know?”

He leaves, after saying that. And Barty is left alone, under cold lights, with a tiny cluster of
clouds, trying to process what happened.

3 December, 1976

Somehow, maybe out of laziness or moved by inertia forces, life rolls around even without
Regulus. The awareness of needing help is present, yet he doesn’t move an inch to get it.
After all the harm he has caused, he feels like he doesn’t deserve it, like redemption and
forgiveness won’t be there for him if he tries to grasp them. Passively, he observes other
queer people he knows and lists the difference between them, wondering if he can change
something of himself to be more like them, and more deserving too.

Dorcas is miles away from him, so comfortable with herself and with a strength so ensured
she can even walk around the hallways holding Marlene’s hand. She even admitted she
forgets straight people exist, sometimes.

Elias keeps his proud facade on, but nothing really suggests whether or not he’s comfortable
with his queerness. Sure, there was the guy he snogged back in November, but how much can
that say about him? After all, he did say that coming out wasn’t his intention, and that must
have impacted him somehow.

Regulus seems to be perfectly okay with his queerness, keyword being seem: Barty knows
perfectly Regulus will still have to deal with his parents, and all they taught him about the
importance of family. It must hurt to be so happy in a safe bubble, then remember you go
home to a family who couldn’t care less of what makes you happy.

Marlene is perhaps the most similar to him, as both their dads are awful people. Her mother
is also not the best, but Marlene says she tries more, whilst her father doesn’t even bother
doing that. From what she told Barty, her father has been barely present in general.

One day, while they are coming back from the library, Marlene admits she feels bad about her
sexuality every once in a while. People make it sound so dirty or so wrong, as if loving
another woman is the worst thing she could ever do, and sometimes it gets to her head.

“You know what it is?” Marlene asks. “It’s that you grow up with all these stories about
princesses and princes, all heterosexual couples around you, and no one bothers to tell you
that’s not how life is for everybody, so you grow up thinking you have to fancy that certain
person. And like, as a kid I knew I fancied other girls, but you grow out of it and think it’s a
weird childhood phase until bam! It pops up again and you’re fancying your best friend, what
can you do?”
Barely knowing it, Marlene has described Barty’s life so far. The comfort that comes from
sharing that exact experience is completely new, even alienating at first. Then it sinks in and
helps Barty find a way into acceptance. That very same company his father despised so much
is now the one thing Barty holds onto in order to start feeling better: about himself and other
people too.

“But then…” Marlene adds, her voice softening. Her whole expression relaxes, her brown
eyes seem to get warmer, and her cheeks become red. “One day, you meet this new person
and they rock your world so much it changes shapes and colours. You look at them and you
think man, I am one lucky dickhead if that is my partner. When Dorcas talked to me for the
first time I could feel it, you know? I looked at her and I felt so lucky. Initially I thought the
feeling would fade, but if anything, it grows larger.”

Barty hums, sympathetically, though he hasn’t experienced such a thing yet. Regulus and
Marlene seem to agree on the fact that loving somebody makes being queer more bearable.

Doubt crawls into his skin every time his mind wanders towards that thought. He knows he
loved Regulus with all his might, at the time, but it wasn’t enough for them to be fine, to be
happy. It wasn’t even enough for them to talk about their feelings. If anything, loving
Regulus made Barty a thousand times more miserable; it made him feel like he was just as
bad as his father, so dull and empty he couldn’t give something as pure as love.

“Maybe I just didn’t love him enough,” he tells Dorcas, during one of the lonely nights in
which Regulus leaves to see his lover and Evan snogs Leonie in a corner of the common
room. “Maybe I did it wrong and he had more than one reason to leave.”

“Different experiences are normal,” Dorcas says, patiently. She’s very nurturing, in an old
sister way. “Maybe for Marlene and Regulus the beauty of their love is enough, for you it
wasn’t, it doesn’t mean your love is less…something, anything, I don’t know. Maybe you
need more time. I know you loved Regulus, but it’s also possible that someone else might suit
you better.”

Barty sighs heavily, laying back with his hands under his head. “But it’s so frustrating,” he
says. “And everyone says the world is full of people to date, but it’s so…sad to see everyone
doing it when you know you don’t even have the courage to approach someone you have
feelings for.”

“Oh, I know.” Dorcas pats his chest. “But I don’t think you need a relationship now. I think
that at the moment, what you need is to feel better with yourself: you need space. Loving
someone is a responsibility, you know? It’s a full time job, you have to know them, you have
to try and understand them, you need to give them some of your time and all the parts of you
you generally hide. And I don’t think you’re ready to put so much effort into it now. You
should just focus on yourself. When you’ll be ready, someone will come your way, and you
will be grateful for all the time you spent working on yourself.”

On the third of December, he meets his boggart for the first time after years. It’s a big dog
with sharp teeth; it snaps his jaw at him and barks loudly. His hand trembles when he grabs at
his wand, and he’s pale when he walks towards the end of the line.
When he was little, the mind healers said his phobia might have been the result of some kind
of trauma. At the time, his father told the doctors it was impossible that Barty had trauma: he
was so small, barely five! Now, though, Barty can think for himself, and he wonders if his
father ever raised his hands at him when he was too young to remember. Just the thought
makes him want to throw up.

What takes him by surprise, though, is Elias’s boggart: this man with a crooked nose and
greying hair that somehow manages to look like him and not like him at all. They have the
same features, but Elias’s expression is more gentle, cocky, yes, without being intimidating or
evil. Elias is just a boy with a bit of personality, but the man he sees looks like a bad one, the
type of man who yells and hits. Barty recognises them, because he lived with one. And the
man holds a belt.

His first attempt at a conversation, right after the lesson, fails right away, because Elias shies
away from everyone, even Juliet Rowle. During potions, he notices Elias is distracted:
Regulus redirects him with ease. He settles on talking to him after class, grabbing his wrist
with a gentle touch.

“What the hell?” Elias asks, holding his wand tight with his other hand. Barty lets him go at
once. “Yeah, I thought so.”

Wand held tight in his hand, he makes a move to go away. Barty catches up to him and blocks
his way; his cheeks grow warm when Elias glares at him, with a hint of confusion in his
expression.

“What are you doing?” He asks, annoyed.

“Can we talk?”

“No,” Elias replies, raising his eyebrow. “I don’t want to talk to you or anyone else. Now sod
off.”

Barty frowns at him and crosses his arms to his chest. “You’re just going to shoulder your
boggart by yourself?”

“Yes,” Elias sounds even more annoyed now. “Any problem with it?”

“Umh, yeah, quite a lot actually,” Barty replies, feeling his frown deepen. “Are you not going
to do anything to help you feel better? Not even some chocolate?”

“Why are you fussing over my health all of a sudden? It’s creeping me out,” Elias frowns at
him. “Have you ingested anything poisonous? It’s best to go to Pomfrey right away if that’s
the case.”

“Oh, shut up. I’m not poisoned or anything. I’m just…” Barty sighs and pinches at the bridge
of his nose, then looks up again, to Elias’s indecipherable expression. “I know what that
boggart meant. You gave me advice and I want to return the favour.”
“You don’t need to,” Elias says, warily. “You can go now. Dismissed,” he raises his
eyebrows, but Barty doesn’t move. “Oh, c’mon…we’re not even friends, Crouch. We don’t
even like each other. I just want to be left alone.” Again, Barty doesn’t move an inch. “Why
would I tell you about it?”

“Because I know what it is like to have problems with a parent and I want to help you,” Barty
attempts, rubbing his hand on his arm. “ And maybe I want to know you better?”

“Why?” Elias hisses, glaring at him like Barty just jinxed him. “For fuck’s sake…you know
what? Forget it. I don’t need to know, just…leave me alone, please.”

“But…well, then you need to promise me you will talk about this with somebody!” Barty
says, stomping his foot.

“I don’t need to do anything, Crouch,” Elias’s frown deepens, but even now he doesn’t look
like his father did in the boggart form. Barty wonders if he knows how different he looks
from his father. Someone ought to tell him, but he won’t listen to his rival. “And I don’t need
to talk about it or your advice.”

“But you did feel the need to tell me I needed help.” Barty glances around nervously: his
housemates might see him. “Why won’t you accept that you need help too? It can’t be good
to keep it for yourself. I mean, if I need help for what my father did, you surely do as well.
He wouldn’t be your boggart if-”

Elias is clearly offended, and he gapes for a second, though his frown settles again and he
interrupts Barty: “Maybe I haven’t made myself clear enough: I don’t want to talk about it!”

“Oh, you’re so…stubborn!” Barty says, exasperated. “Okay, you don’t want to talk about it
with me, fine, whatever, can you talk about it to someone else? I don’t like the thought of you
hurting.”

Elias raises his eyebrow. “That’s it, I’m calling Pomfrey,” he says, giving Barty an odd look.
“Did Regulus ask you to do this?” Barty shakes his head. “I don’t want to be your friend,
Crouch. Maybe our little talk meant something to you and I’m glad it gave you something to
reflect on, but I’d prefer it if you kept your distance. Especially about my father.”

“But I’ve been studying,” Barty says in a small voice, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
He’s embarrassed now: he thought Elias would have softened, now that he gave him space.
“I’ve been learning how to be better, I’m trying to take your advice. So why can’t you take
mine? Why can’t we try to be friends?”

“Because you’ve hurt me!” Elias says, exasperated, throwing his arms in the air. “You’ve hurt
me, and you say that you’ve been learning how to be better, but you never apologised to me
and don’t think I don’t know that you still resent me about Regulus. Who, by the way, is not
seeing me, so you can stop hating me for that, okay?”

“I-” Barty takes a step back, and reconsiders. “But I am sorry. For how I treated you.”
Elias shakes his head. “I don’t believe that’s heartfelt. I think you’re still very far from the
person you think you are. And I don’t want an apology just because I stated you owe me
one.”

Barty nods, uncomfortably. “Will you ever forgive me?”

“The right question is: will you ever make yourself forgivable?” Elias replies, cocking his
eyebrow. “I’ll see you around.”

26 January, 1977

Aside from the days he saw Dorcas and the days when his father had to work, Christmas had
been utter shit. The dinner with his grandparents was as embarrassing as it could have been:
his father cruelly let them know about his sexuality, something Barty was absolutely not
ready to disclose. Shame burnt him, and he felt so mortified he had to leave the table to hide
his tears. Then rage came and, in order to calm down and not explode something like it
happened in the summer, he ended up smoking pot in his room. His father was able to smell it
and that caused another fight. The windows ended up breaking.

As soon as he was on the train platform, he looked for Dorcas and got himself a proper hug.
His mood shifted again once Regulus disappeared in the train with Potter. It wasn’t easy to
stop the thoughts that kept telling him that Regulus and Potter were actually a thing, that it
had been Potter all along. It got even harder when Regulus came back to the train with his
hair a mess and his shirt buttoned wrong.

Suspiciousness grew larger when Regulus didn’t go meet his mysterious lover right after
dinner. But it felt nice, for once, to have Evan and Regulus fussing over him, asking about
Christmas and comforting him.

Just before his birthday, though, he tested Luck again, and once again ended up getting his
eyes filled with angry tears. On Thursday, after DADA, he stopped with Elias, pretending to
look for a piece of paper. Professor Khelben winked at him, maybe expecting what was going
to happen.

But things went very differently from what Barty imagined. In general, since class started
again, Elias seemed more restless and defensive.

“I’m sorry,” Barty said, trying to catch Elias’s eye. “I really am. I’ve been doing a lot of
research and reading a lot. And I know I was wrong, no matter the reason why I did it. The
things I’ve said are unforgivable-”

“Then why are you looking for forgiveness?” Elias asked, voice as sharp as a dagger. “Do
you think Regulus is going to shag you if he knows you’ve made up with me?” He clicked
his tongue. “Don’t bother.”

Then he grabbed his bag and left.

To say Barty was speechless is an understatement. It hurt so much he couldn’t even bear to
tell Regulus and Evan, until the truth eventually came out because Regulus got it out of
Elias.

After that, the thought of talking to Elias doesn’t even cross his mind: he keeps distance
during lectures and tries not to think about him or what he said.

The west wing of the fifth floor is pretty much abandoned. Barty finds a lot of old classrooms
there, one of which is the music room. It’s filled with musical instruments and generally
empty. If he remembers correctly, music was actually a subject at Hogwarts, years and years
ago. Purebloods must always learn to know music and simple mechanics of it, as a
preparation for magic. That is why most pureblood kids received musical education in their
early childhood.

Barty detested playing clarinet, and he would have preferred studying violin instead. His
father reckoned it was too difficult for him to learn an instrument like that, and never listened
to Barty’s complaints about hating clarinet lessons.

On Tuesday, thirty minutes after the last lesson ended, he heads there as usual: he has been
trying to not spend all of his free hours studying for O.W.L.s, because it makes him anxious.
He stops on the front of the door when he hears a melody.

Elias is playing the piano, singing in Italian, something Barty can’t quite recognise, but it
almost sounds like a childhood song until he stops singing and his piano playing gets more
complicated. After that, he rises from the piano bench, and in the process, he catches Barty
looking at him.

“I wasn’t watching you,” Barty says, quickly. “I liked the music! I promise! I used to play the
clarinet!”

Elias gapes at him for a second, then he starts laughing. “The clarinet!” He wheezes, holding
his tum with both his arms.

“I don’t want to hear-”

“That benefits you for sure, you know, being gay and everything,” Elias says, cheerfully,
grabbing an electric guitar from the wall. He gives it a strum, but it comes out sounding
awful. “Ew, old strings.”

“You can repair it with magic,” Barty says, grabbing his wand from the pocket of his robes.
Elias steps back, warily, and Barty raises his arms. “For the guitar.”

“No,” Elias says, as he puts the guitar back in its place. His eyes don’t leave Barty’s figure.
“They need an actual change, you can’t do everything with magic. Old strings need to be
changed, you can’t just…charm them. If you charm something, its core essence stays the
same, they will get ruined easily, and very soon.”
Barty shrugs, deciding to listen to him; not that what he said isn’t true, it’s just that the spell
would be a very sophisticated, well-thought mixture of charms and transfiguration, and Barty
isn’t sure he’d be able to get it right.

“You know, I’m not going to hex you,” Barty says, putting his wand away, out of Elias’s
sight. “I mean no harm. I meant what I said about being sorry. I really am. I wish I could go
back in time and stop myself from being so awful, but I can’t do it. And you don’t have to
forgive me, but you really don’t need to be scared of me.”

Elias folds his arms, giving him an evaluating look. He’s as tall as Barty, but his shoulders are
slightly broader, and it shows that he trains with much more discipline and technique. Seekers
are supposed to be smaller, like Regulus. Elias looks more like a beater, or the ideal beater, at
least.

“I don’t trust you,” Elias says, after a moment of silence. “But I’m sorry for what I said a
couple of weeks ago. I wasn’t feeling well and I took it out on you, it was unfair.”

This is unexpected: he never thought he’d get an apology, didn’t think he needed one.

“It’s fine,” he says, rubbing his arm. “I actually did study a lot. Dorcas and Regulus helped
me a lot. I took your word,” he meets Elias’s eyes. “I want to be good.”

Elias squints slightly, then sighs, letting his arms hang loose. “Fine, okay.”

Hope blooms in his chest, even in the cold of January. Elias actually looks more relaxed now,
his muscles less tense.

“Can we be friends, then?” He asks, stepping closer, almost like a reflex.

Elias shrugs, looking away. “I don’t think we’d get along,” he says, “We don’t have to be
friends, you know? We can simply co-exist.”

For some reason, the cluster of clouds Elias formed in October comes back to his mind. And
it rains on the flower of hope, only blooming to be killed.

“Why?” Barty asks, trying to avoid displaying disappointment. “You don’t know me, and I
don’t know you, can’t we just give this a chance? If we don’t get along, then at least we can
see that we tried!”

Please, give me a chance, he prays. You saved me, I need you.

“I just don’t see the point,” Elias says, scratching his ear. “We have nothing in common.”

“That’s not true! Why are you so stubborn?” Barty asks, folding his arms to his chest. “You
gave Reg a chance, give me one too! I won’t disappoint!”

“See, I don’t like that you think you have to prove something to me!” Elias sits on the piano
bench again. “Our…bond, whatever you want to call this, is still tainted by what happened in
the past. I can’t be friends with someone who needs to constantly prove to me that they
changed, it’s exhausting for both of us.”
Barty groans in frustration and paces around the room for a few seconds. “You know what?
You’re scared of change!” He accuses, stomping his foot. “You won’t give me a shot because
we’ve been rivals for too long! Now you’re scared you might like me if you get to know me
and you detest that!”

“Oh, sue me for it!” Elias says, so pissed it makes Barty laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“You don’t even try to deny it!” Barty says, still amused. “C’mon, I can tell you a little about
myself, and you can do the same!”

Elias bites at his lip, uncertain. “Okay, fine.”

Barty smiles spontaneously for the first time in a while and decides to sit next to Elias, still
grinning. “What were you playing?”

“A song from the Aristocats.”

There’s still an ounce of suspiciousness in Elias’s eyes, but it doesn’t matter all that much
when he’s giving him an opportunity to show just how much he grew in the last few months.
It’s the first time someone offers him the privilege of a second chance.

“The Aristocats,” Barty repeats, clasping his hands together and intertwining fingers with
each other.

“You haven’t seen the Aristocats!” Elias says, indignated. “Have you seen the Jungle Book at
least?”

Barty shakes his head. “Is it like theatre shows?”

“Movie theatre,” Elias corrects him with a slight frown. Barty shakes his head again, feeling
even more confused. “Oh, God, of course wizards don’t even have movies. You guys live in
the eighteenth century! What is art when you can wave around a wand!”

“Hey, now!” Barty flicks his finger at Elias’s knee. “Pay some respect!”

“I pay no respect to people who haven’t watched at least one Disney movie,” Elias mutters,
then flicks at Barty’s knee. “Now listen!” He gets up from the chair and grabs the acoustic
guitar. “Nonno Berto and I used to sing this all the time…it’s going to be in Italian, because
that’s the language I watched it in…”

Even though Barty can’t make out a single word, he still listens to Elias, mesmerised with
how his voice changes in italian. It must be rougher when he speaks, but it’s melodious when
he sings: almost a work of magic, but one can’t perform this with a simple wandwork. He’s
perfectly in tune, and plays guitar like his fingers were made to move on the strings. And
when he stops, he leaves Barty wishing he recorded this, somehow.

“See? This is what you were missing by not watching the Jungle Book!” Elias says, almost
hugging the guitar to his chest. “So, what do you think?”
“I think you’re a really good singer,” Barty says, honestly, before he can hold back. He feels
his face grow hot and the strong urge to hide somewhere. “I-I mean…!”

Elias chuckles, though his cheeks colour a faint red as well. “Ah, I wouldn’t have guessed
you were honest like that,” he says, scrutinising Barty thoughtfully. “Are you always that
honest?”

“No,” Barty says, sincerely. “I used to lie all the time.”

He learnt that from mam; honesty is never a good deal. A well thought out lie works better
than any truth. His mam forgot to tell him that lies hurt a lot more than truths, in the long run.
It’s a discovery that came to him recently, a new type of pain that Barty let sink into his skin.

The first hint had been Regulus. Elias, instead, never bothered with pleasantries, and threw
the truth at Barty’s without warning. It hurt at first, but it got much better in the span of
months. Despite the hard truth, there was an underlying tenderness which Barty couldn’t
ignore nor forget.

“But?”

“But?” Barty repeats. “There’s no but,” and as he says that, he realises there is one. “But I’m
sort of tired of lying.”

“There you go.” Elias gets up again and puts the guitar back in its place. “You really took my
word. Why?” He turns to look at Barty, with a solemnity that doesn’t fit a fifteen years old. “I
thought you’d never value my words.”

Barty swallows and drops his eyes to the floor. “You put me in front of the truth Regulus
refused to tell me,” his voice wavers slightly. “And you were kind, even if I didn’t deserve it.
It made me feel awful: I think I preferred your rage to your kindness. I’m used to you being
mad at me, I don’t even blame you for it, I was terrible. But you were still kind, and I
couldn’t avoid listening.” It feels good to finally say this outloud, to finally let Elias know the
impact he had. “In my life, people who were supposed to be kind or nurturing always failed;
you were supposed to be cruel to me, but you saw me struggling and settled for a softer tone.
It’s hard to forget that.”

Elias stays silent for a second. Barty doesn’t dare look at his face, but he can see him shuffle
his feet slightly, and he can tell he must be quite uncomfortable.

“I’m not kind,” Elias mutters. “You shouldn’t think that of me.”

Now Barty has to look at him: to glare at him, precisely. “What the hell?” Elias looks at him,
surprised. “I just said you were kind! You don’t get to act all embarrassed about it! I wasn’t
trying to compliment you or anything, you know! I just…” Elias raises his eyebrow, his
cheeks rosy. “I have to go!”
Marlene laughs, when he tells her the story, and says they’re both socially inept. Dorcas tries
her best not to do the same, but she keeps hiding her mouth behind her hand.

“Some friends you are!” Barty says, pacing around the room.

They always meet in the empty classroom on the third floor. It was used for art classes, Barty
believes. Now it’s function is to hold gay emergencies.

“I can’t believe you ran away!” Marlene wheezes. “You got him all flustered and ran away!”

“Yes, ahah, so funny!” Barty sits down on the floor and covers his face. “Oh, God, how will I
look him in the eye now…”

“Regulus and I are always right,” Dorcas says, proudly. “So, are you going to ask him out?”

“Maybe in a million years, when he learns not to run away when he’s having a
conversation…” Marlene says, teasingly. “Barty, you need to tell us more. Did he finally
accept your apology?”

“He agreed to give me a chance of becoming friends, but he makes me so nervous, I swear to
god. No, not even being nervous is enough: it’s nerve-wracking. He looks at me constantly
when we speak. Like, he rarely drops his gaze.”

“Yup,” Marlene grins, sitting on the teacher’s desk. “He’s like that, not much you can do
about it. With eyes like his, he makes people embarrassed easily.”

“He’s Medusa,” Barty says, hiding his face in his hands again.

“I think you have a crush,” Dorcas says, leaning close to tear his hands away from his face.
“Which is fine, he’s a good looking bloke and he was important to you.”

Barty swallows, and doesn’t fight the urge to pout. “But he’s Elias Greco,” he looks for
Marlene, who jumps off the desk and sits next to them. “I don’t want to fancy him.”

“You don’t really get to pick who to fancy,” Dorcas says. “Plus, he can confront you. You
know, that’s a good thing. You don’t have to act on it, but I don’t think it would be so bad for
you to try and get close with him.”

24 February, 1977

In November, Valentine’s Day seemed like the most dreary day that could come. While he
puts on his uniform, on that very same day, his opinion on it stays exactly like that. When he
sits at breakfast and sees the box Regulus received, he doesn’t think much, except that Potter
knows how to make his friend happy.

Then an envelope drops right in front of him, golden and old looking. It has been closed with
red wax and the sender, whoever it is, didn’t sign it.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Evan asks, before stuffing his mouth with a scone.

“Tonight,” Barty says. He has a feeling about it, though he can’t quite explain it.

That night, Regulus leaves looking like Christmas came early, and Evan disillusiones himself
and grabs a condom from his night stand -a new addition. Regulus was the one who told them
about condoms, and they bought a pack in Hogsmeade. Barty was sceptical about finding
condoms there. Needless to say, Evan made it his whole personality.

Barty grabs the envelope and sits on his bed, a pillow cuddled to his chest. The wax breaks
easily and the paper inside carries a handwriting Barty has seen many times before. His eyes
unfocus and for a second he thinks this is a cruel joke. Why would he send a letter for
Valentine’s Day?

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and starts to read:

Once upon a time, somewhere in the cold highlands of Scotland, a prince met a bard.

After having lived his whole life between the four cold walls of a tall Castle, the prince finally
let curiosity win, and left the building on his own, willing to explore the outside world. He
was mesmerised with how simple and happy life looked in the village, where people were
allowed to be different; in the village, bodies weren’t tense with bearing nor souls with
duties.

The gentle sound of a harp grabbed the prince’s attention: he turned to look at the bard. His
clothes were modest, even ruined, but his voice was the most noble melody the prince had
ever heard. It was hard to accept how such a rich soul could hide in poor flesh; so the prince
ran back to the nobility he knew: where the appearance was so wealthy and the souls so
empty.

Every prince needs a dragon to fight -even a metaphorical one- and this was his. How could
he ever live again in such a hollow place, when he discovered what the world could offer if
he was brave? The prince realised that what he called comfort for all his life was, in fact, no
more and no better than a jail. So he ran to the place where true happiness awaited.

The bard looked more beautiful now that the prince was free from his prejudice and nobility.
He breathed in the air of the free world and stepped towards the lonely bard, who was
picking at the string of his harp -the only companion he had for all of his life.

“Never in my life have I met a soul as pure as yours,” the prince said, “the sound of your
voice alone convinced me that I’ve never truly been rich one day in my life, despite what the
appearance might suggest. On the contrary, you, my bard, possess something I could never
buy: freedom and knowledge of the world around you.”

“And would you leave your wealthy life for green hills, brooks and lakes?” The bard
challenges, raising his eyes from the harp’s strings. “Would you leave it for the stars? For the
unknown?”
“I would leave it for a kiss,” the prince said, “I wish your soul could merge with mine when
our lips touch, and I wish to be with you when you sing your stories. I want to leave for the
unknown, and trust you’ll show me the pleasure of discovery.”

“I can show you the depths of freedom,” the bard said, as he took the prince’s hands in his
own. “‘Till now you’ve only known how to rule a reign; I’ll teach you how to be the king of a
free world.”

And the prince discovers how a kiss under the stars, in the lands of no one, can make one feel
much more powerful than sceptre and a throne.

His eyes are wet when he finishes reading. During all the past months, when he shared brief
yet meaningful conversation with Elias, he never once told him about the tale he wrote in his
childhood, never told him how much he needed a tale like this when he was a child. Yet,
without knowing such things, Elias brought him exactly what he wanted: a tale where two
men could love each other and have a happy ever after.

He glances at the letter, and wonders whether he should ask him to meet right away: go to the
Gryffindor tower and find an excuse to talk to him. It’s late, though, past ten, and Barty needs
more time to prepare a speech. Elias already made a move, and Barty wants to give him
proper words as well.

Elias wrote a tale, Barty wants to make it reality.

Courage finally sinks into him ten days later, after the astronomy lesson. After all, the tale
promised him a kiss under the stars: no better place than the Astronomy Tower to talk to Elias
about his feelings.

“Hey, can I look at your chart?” He asks Elias.

“It’s on the desk,” Elias says, mindlessly, as he puts away his ‘pencil case’.

Barty pretends to look at the chart as the rest of the class leaves. The professor follows suit as
it is the last lesson of the day. She tells them to hurry up sluggishly as she closes the door.

That’s when the moment comes. Breaking the silence, he says: “I know your handwriting.”
Elias stills immediately, but doesn’t look at Barty. “You thought I wouldn’t recognise it? I’ve
been looking at your assignments for years. We sit together during Defence. You sent that
letter.”

Elias meets his gaze gingerly: his cheeks are red, and Barty knows that if he touched them
right now, they would be burning hot under his fingertips. “I have to go,” he says, stepping
back. “I have to study. We’ve got O.W.L.s…”

Barty steps forward and grabs his wrist, then releases it at once, terrified of scaring Elias
away.
“Don’t leave. Please.”

He would have never guessed that one day, he would be begging Elias Greco not to leave a
room he’s in. And yet here is: heart hammering in his chest like drums in a rock song, blood
rushing in his veins so loudly his ears almost start to ring. The tingle in his stomach feels
different from when he’s nervous: this is desire, taking over his body.

Elias presses his lips into a thin line and slightly raises his shoulders, then settles for folding
his arms, almost closing around himself. “I don’t know why I wrote that letter,” he says,
looking away. “Did you…like it?”

“I did.” He smiles tenderly, like he hasn’t done in months. “I read it a lot of times.”

A faint smile wavers on Elias’s lips. “Good,” he looks up at Barty. “Do you need anything
else?”

“Well,” Barty licks his lips, unsure. Suddenly, the words he prepared don’t come. “I wanted
to thank you.” He looks up at the sky, already dark. “I believe there was a kiss under the stars,
in your story,” he says, pointing up with his index finger.

Elias’s lips part, and he looks soft for a moment. He squints at Barty the moment after,
suspicious. “I…” He laughs, nervously, avoiding Barty’s eyes. “I knew I should have
disguised my handwriting.”

“You tried,” Barty replies, taking a half step towards Elias. Their gazes meet. In the dark, he
can’t make out the exact colour of his eyes, but they’re equally as intense as they are in the
light. “Some of the letters are just very distinctive.”

With Regulus, it wasn’t like this. Elias is as tall as Barty, maybe even a couple of centimetres
taller. Barty feels safe, oddly enough. His gaze drops to his lips, pink and full and ever so
inviting.

“Barty,” he sounds breathless.

“Elias,” he replies, resting his hand on his arm. He feels the muscle tense up under his palm.
“Show me power?”

Elias meets his gaze again, a small frown between his brows. He tilts his head to the side and
hesitates. Perplexed, Barty moves his hand on his arm, caresses it.

“You don’t want to?” Barty asks, fear sinking into him.

Elias doesn’t reply. He raises his hand and rests it on Barty’s cheek, carefully. With the
smallest amount of pressure, he rubs his thumb against Barty’s cheek, then he finally leans in,
and their lips meet. Even with his eyes closed, he sees the starry sky. Freedom runs in his
veins instead of blood: this feels right. For the first time, a kiss doesn’t fill him with shame,
but with pleasure, like it’s supposed to.

Elias moves his hand to Barty’s nape, brings him closer, and Barty blindly reaches for Elias’s
waist, steps even closer, and he almost sighs when Elias sucks his lower lip into his mouth.
Everything is right, perfectly so, until the kiss stops having the sweet taste of Elias’s cherry
lip balm and it starts tasting salty. He opens his eyes and raises his hand to dry Elias’s cheek,
confused, but Elias steps back.

“What happened?” He asks, as his heart speeds up again, with anxiety this time.

“I can’t,” he murmurs, drying the tears with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry.”

As he brushes his teeth, the thoughts he has been pushing away the whole night hit him
square in the chest. He has just finished rinsing his mouth when he starts sobbing. He hasn’t
cried like this in months, maybe even years. His hands shake so much he has to hold to the
sink.

Before this, he was always to blame, and he knew. This time, he can’t tell if he scared Elias
away or if he pushed him away for some other unknown reason. There’s no way to fix this:
Elias could have smiled through the kiss, instead he cried. No one Barty can blame, no
solution to be found.

He almost doesn’t realise Regulus and Evan entered the bathroom. Startled, he looks at them,
and his lower lip quivers even more, tears stream down his face.

“What happened?” Regulus asks, rushing to his side.

Barty shakes his head, tries to dry his tears with the sleeve of his pyjama. All he can think is I
was so close.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t understand.”

Regulus glances at Evan, whilst his hand comes to rub circles on his back. “At your own
time,” he says, with his usual patience. “Do you want tea?”

“Mint tea,” Barty says: Elias likes it.

“I’ll go fetch it,” Evan says, sprinting out of the room.

“It’s going to be alright,” Regulus comes closer, and Barty moves to get into his arms. “If you
tell me what happened, we can find a solution together.”

“But there is no solution,” Barty says, clinging to Regulus’s body. He has grown, in the past
months, Quidditch is making him sturdier. “I wish there was.”

Before Evan came back, Regulus made Barty move to bed and wrapped a soft blanket around
his shoulders.

Now, Evan hands him the cup of tea, and the smell of it reminds him of Elias so much tears
come back to his eyes.

“Are you going to tell us what happened?” Evan asks, peeking at Regulus.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Barty says, after taking a sip. “I was so stupid,” he says. He
hates the sound of his voice, so small and broken. “I don’t understand why.”

“About what?” Regulus asks, scowling. “I can’t understand if you don’t speak.”

“Ahah, your gay telepathy broke,” Evan says, booping Regulus’s nose. Barty and Regulus
both glare at him. “I’m sorry.”

“You’d better be,” Barty replies, heatedly.

“Hey, don’t take it out on me now,” Evan says, slightly offended. “Did you fight with Greco
again?”

Barty almost chokes on his tea. “What?”

“You stopped to talk to him after Astronomy.” Evan shrugs, carelessly. Regulus, who’s
looking down at the blankets, frowns slightly.

“We didn’t fight, I just wanted to check his chart,” Barty says, looking at the half empty cup
of tea. “He has better grades in Astronomy, so…” he clears his throat. “I’m fine.”

“You’re still crying,” Regulus points out. “Did Elias say something mean to you again?”

“No, he didn’t,” Barty says, annoyed. “It’s not about Elias, okay?”

Evan looks at him, eyes wide. “Yes, fine,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Stop snapping at us
though, we’re trying to help.”

“I’m not snapping!”

“Yes, you are,” Regulus says, flatly. He rubs his eyes. “I’m going to go to the bathroom.”

As soon as he closes the door, Evan whispers: “Do you know what’s up with him lately? He
looks super tired, I caught him almost falling asleep during Transfiguration a couple of days
ago.”

Barty shakes his head. “If something happened, he didn’t say anything to me. Maybe he told
Potter.”

“Ah, you didn’t sound bitter,” Evan sits close to him, with a sly smile. “You fancy Elias,
don’t you? You don’t want to tell Reggie.” Barty stills, eyes going round. “Boom, I’m right!”

“No, you’re not!” Barty’s voice comes out high pitched.

“I am!” Evan says, sounding pleased with himself. “You and Regulus underestimate my
brain. I’m much better at social cues than you guys. So, what happened?”

Barty shakes his head. “Shut up, Rosier.”

Evan sighs. “You know, if you keep it for yourself, it’s going to blow out in your face, like a
broken wand,” he says, getting up from the bed. “You know where to find me if you change
your mind.”

“Change his mind about what?” Regulus asks. He seems paler than he was before he entered
the bathroom.

Evan turns around. “About not telling us a damn thing. Are you about to faint?”

Regulus glares at him. “I’m perfectly okay.” He looks at Barty. “Do you…?”

Barty waves his hand in the air. “Please, go to sleep. You look dead on your feet.” He lifts his
cup. “I’ve got tea. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

Regulus grimaces. “Wake me up if you need anything.”

“Same with me,” Evan turns again to wink at him, then shuts the lights off with a flick of his
wand.

6 March, 1977

After the kiss, things become awkward. Elias constantly avoids Barty’s eye, and he’s always
the first to leave the classroom, as if he’s scared Barty will stop him for information. That he
would do, if only he had the chance.

On the other side, Elias is not the only problem Barty has: Regulus has been odd, recently, in
a way that worries him terribly. It all started with nightmares, a bit more than a month ago.
Those got progressively worse. After a couple of nights in which Regulus woke up in a cold
sweat, he must have started taking Dreamless Sleep: Barty found the empty phials in the
bathroom of their room, and immediately called Evan.

Regulus always hated potions: he makes them just fine and even seems to enjoy the process,
but drinking is different. He becomes pale and starts kicking a fuss about taking them,
especially pain and sleep potions. If Regulus is taking Dreamless Sleep, the situation is more
serious than he initially thought it was.

Then one day, Regulus woke him up with a hand covering his nose. Blood was dripping
down his chin. Barty woke Evan up quickly and they ran to the hospital wing, when they
found Regulus’s brother, who blanched so much they worried he was going to faint. The two
brothers had a fight, but Regulus still refuses to talk about anything.

The study group is the reason why Barty finally manages to talk to Elias again. Regulus puts
them together to help Evan with Ancient Runes. Barty has never been more grateful for
Regulus's determination to do things his way.
It’s hard to not snap at Evan when he watches Elias with a dreamy look anytime he says
something clever or he leans close to point at something on Evan’s paper. It’s not like Elias is
doing anything to charm Evan. He’s just handsome enough to distract people with it, which is
terrible for Barty, who is easily jealous.

Dorcas and Regulus glance at him a couple of times, and everytime, Barty has to remind
himself to relax his expression.

“Mate?” Evan calls, while Barty is dilly-dallying on packing his things. “Aren’t you
coming?”

“I have to talk to Greco,” he says, making sure to keep his expression neutral. “You go, I’ll
see you later.”

“What do you have to talk to him about?” Dorcas butts in. Pandora peeks at him, blue eyes
inspecting him like he’s some interesting painting she has never seen before.

“It’s none of your business, shoo,” Barty says, moving his hands towards the door in a
waving motion.

“Why are you shooing them out of my room?” Elias asks, right in his ear.

Barty jolts and turns, wide eyes and all. “Don’t come behind me.” Elias grins. “Don’t make
jokes.”

“Want me to come on your face instead?” Elias still asks, moving away.

Evan and Dorcas laugh out loud, while Pandora and Regulus keep it to a chuckle. Cory and
Jules simply roll their eyes: they probably spent too much time with Elias to find his jokes
surprising. Still, a little smile tugs at Jules’s lips.

“Well, then,” Regulus says, setting his bag on his shoulder. “I declare our first study session
closed.”

Evan loops his arm around Regulus’s shoulder. “Are you going back to the common room or
are you stopping here?”

“I’m gonna greet James, sorry,” Regulus tells him, in a low voice, but still high enough for
Barty to hear him.

No longer interested, Barty turns to look at Elias, who meets his gaze and nods.

“C’mon, everyone out,” Elias says, fluttering his hand in the air.

Once everyone has left, Elias closes the door and looks at Barty. “You wanted to talk,” he
folds his arms. “In Rome, we say mo’ che hai sonato, canta.”

Barty tilts his head to the side. “What does that mean?”
Elias juts his lower lip, then shrugs. “Now that you’ve played your song, sing it?” He says,
raising his brows. “You created a situation, now you put an end to it.”

“To be fair, you started this,” Barty says, pouting. Elias gives him a confused look. “You
started us.”

“Me!?” Elias winces. “I didn’t do anything!”

“You kissed me!” Barty said, taking a few steps towards him. “You kissed me, and then you
cried and you never gave me an explanation.”

Elias slouches and looks away, then sits on his bed with his face between his hands. “You
have a wrong idea of me,” he says. “You really don’t know me, it would have been a bad idea
to pursue…whatever we were about to start.”

“I don’t know you because you don’t let me know you!” Barty protests, sitting down next to
him. “I’d like to know you.”

“No, you wouldn’t, that’s exactly the point!” Elias snaps, dropping his hands between his
knees. “Non s’ha da fare.”

“What?”

“It can’t happen!” Elias says, getting up. He walks around the room, chest raising and falling
rapidly. “You have to listen to me.”

“Quite the contrary, I don’t have to do anything,” Barty replies, watching him from the bed.
“Once again, you’re too scared of change.”

“This isn’t about that!” Elias hisses. “I told you, you don’t know me.”

Barty tuts. “Hard to know a bloke that mops around complaining about not being known!”
He says, getting up. “Do you know how hard it was for me to sit there” he points at the desk,
still engorged, “and watch Evan being a berk around you just because he thinks you have a
pretty face?!”

“Oh, I’m sorry your friend finds me pretty!” Elias says, folding his arms to his chest. “See?
You’re jealous. It would never work because I’m a free man.”

“I think you’re a free coward,” Barty says, marching towards Elias, who settles for not
moving from his spot. Yet he glares. “I think the hat didn’t consider that when it sorted you.
You’re brave enough to make a joke about coming on my face but not enough to tell me why
you cried when we kissed, to tell me why we can’t have each other-”

“It’s easier to joke than to tell the truth,” Elias replies.

“That’s something a coward says! Where’s the Elias who wrote me a tale about freedom, uh?
Are you the same bloke?”
Elias’s face turns to anger. “Of course it’s the same bloke, dickhead!” He says, stepping
closer.

There’s less than a metre between them, and it’s harder and harder to keep from bringing
Elias even closer.

“Then show it to me,” Barty says, locking eyes onto his. “Let me know you,” he drops his
gaze to Elias’s lips. “And kiss you, possibly.”

Elias gapes, then shakes his head. “You only want to kiss me!”

“It’s not true!” Barty is quick to say. “But it’s hard to focus if you look like that!”

Elias scoffs. “So Evan can’t think I have a pretty face but you can?”

“Yes,” Barty pouts, eyebrows creased. “He doesn’t get to look at you like I do.”

Elias looks him up and down. “You’re not my boyfriend.”

“I could be,” Barty says, fully conscious that it’s arrogant of him. “If you stopped being such
a coward.”

“Stop repeating that word!” Elias tuts, and steps back. “You’re stubborn.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

Elias throws his arms in the air. “Fuck you!”

“If you only had the courage to!” Barty says, exasperated. Elias gapes, taken aback. “What?
You can make cock jokes and I can’t?”

Elias shakes his head and steps closer again. “You’re unbelievably infuriating,” he says,
wrinkling his nose. “Why do you want me so much? Is it because I pushed you away? Seems
like problems with your dad affected you more than I expected.”

Barty frowns immediately. “You want to talk about problems with dads? Then let’s talk about
yours, Mr. you don’t know me!”

Fear flashes over Elias’s face. “I don’t talk about him,” he sneers. “And least of all with
you.”

“See?” Barty whispers. “You’re the one that is making this impossible. You kiss me, then you
cry because you won’t let me in. You’re doing it on your own. You told me to seek help and I
did, now it’s your turn.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Elias argues.

Barty shakes his head and makes his way towards the door. “I think you’re a coward and a
liar,” he says, before leaving.
When he comes back to the common room, Evan is laying on his bed, filing his nails.

“Hey, Rosier, where’s Regulus?” Barty asks, dropping his bag on his bed.

“Still with his babe.”

“Great,” Barty looks around. “Don’t flirt with Elias ever again.”

Evan looks up, an amused smile on his lips. “Did you finally lay your mitts on him?”

Barty flips him the bird and enters the bathroom, closing the door behind his back.

“It was a legitimate question!”

26 March, 1977

This time, Barty doesn’t let go. His thirst for knowledge almost got him sorted in Ravenclaw,
and it keeps Elias from becoming a memory. The meetings keep happening; firstly, Elias tries
to push him away again and even dares to say he’s not a good person to be around, then he
softens. Pouting and reluctant, he gives up to Barty’s obstinacy.

Empty classrooms, Elias’s dorm, the Black Lake, and even the Astronomy Tower sometimes,
all become places to meet. They never kiss again, but Elias finally lets out some information,
and maybe Barty prefers it: Elias definitely snogged a lot of people, but he probably can’t say
the same about opening up to them.

Elias Greco was born in Rome, and raised bilingual. He did primary school there and did
sports his whole life. His grandfather owns a house in South Sardinia, by the sea, and that’s
where Elias spends all of his summers, without exception. He swims well, likes to read, likes
to play music and write stories.

His favourite book is L’isola di Arturo by Elsa Morante, which he read in italian, just last
year. He went as far as showing him the copy of the book, which is highlighted and
underlined in nearly every page. Barty couldn’t understand a word, and yet felt like Elias
offering him a big piece of his soul.

As for his family, his parents were never married: they dated two years and parted two
months after Elias was born. He lived with his father, who already had another son, older by
eight years -he lives in America, now. In the years that followed, he had two other children, a
girl and a boy. They’re all muggles. When Elias was eight, they moved to Saint Ives.

His mother is a piano teacher, and never had custody of him, though Elias refuses to get into
details. He sees her when he visits his Grandfather, but she feels more like an aunt than a
mother, he says. Her name is Amelia and she was an only child, with deep green eyes and
brown hair, she had always been in tune with music, but never showed a sign of possessing
magic; a squib, as the wizarding world gently calls them.

Elias’s grandfather -Nonno Berto, as he always calls him- was a wizard, who entered school
in 1935. He went to the Italian school of magic, which Elias knows to be in Tuscany, near
Florence; his grandfather never told him the name.

Physical contact also sort of developed: they don’t hug and kiss, but sometimes, during
DADA theory lessons, Elias runs his fingers over Barty’s forearm, a movement so soothing it
could be a lullaby.

“And your eyes…” Barty inquires, one day, while they skip rocks by the Black lake. “I’ve
always been curious.”

“My eyes?” Elias asks, then he realises. “I was born with heterochromia, most likely. My
mother started noticing a discrepancy when I was around 9 months old. It was clear by the
time I was two, maybe three. I used to be picked on for it.”

A crease forms between Barty’s brows. “But they’re beautiful,” he says, and blushes as he
does. “Why would…?”

“Kids are cruel,” Elias’s rock skips three times, then sinks. “I started displaying signs of
magic when I was really young. Muggle children kept me at bay and my brother used to call
me a freak.” He straightens his back and looks Barty in the eye. “I like to think Medusa
blessed me. Same cut for the eye,” he says, pointing at the upward line of his eyes. “Nonno
Berto used to say I had eyes like a cats’.”

“Cats are traditionally related to magic,” Barty says, stepping close to Elias as he holds his
gaze. He takes his chin between his index and his thumb. “You do look like magic.”

The boy averts his eyes whilst a tiny smile curves his lips. “You used to say I was a magic
thief. You said my eyes were mismatched.”

“Mismatched…” Barty hides his face in his hands for a couple of seconds, pulling back. “I
was such a prat. But I still think you’re a thief.” He grins and drops his hands. “You stole me
from the death eaters. Smacked the truth into my face properly. Maybe you’re like that
muggle you told me about, Robin Hood. You steal to make things better.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, he turns to take a good look at Elias: at his broad shoulders; the
slope of his nose with the barely noticeable bump right on top; his brown hair, which was
ruffled by the wind; the freckles on his cheeks, less evident now than they were in September,
but still a prominent feature. Even at the end of winter, he’s sun kissed.

What is so dainty about him is that he might as well be the character of a song a Greek bard
might have sung in an Athenian square, hundreds of years ago. The looks of him make Barty
feel like he could walk through time as if it’s a castle, and touch the walls of centuries.
There’s a sense of eternity on this boy’s face that makes him look unreal.

His parents must be as beautiful as they are awful.

“You’re more Apollo’s than you’re Medusa’s,” he says, reaching out to tuck his hair behind
the ear, where a small golden circle flickers vivaciously at the sun. “I didn’t know you wore
earrings!”

“Umh?” Elias blinks at him. “Oh, yeah. Tradition. The earring was gifted to me when I was
born, I started wearing it last May. My friend Nevio can pierce ears, he came to Hogsmeade
just to pierce mine.”

“I think my dad would have thrown me out of the house for something like that,” Barty says,
shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “He thinks jewellery is for women only, and
that men who wear it are displaying weakness.”

“What do you think?” Elias asks, grabbing a rock from the ground. It skips five times.

“I don’t think it makes all that difference,” he says, kicking a rock towards the shore. “I
didn’t even notice you had an earring. What harm can it do? Plus Regulus wears jewellery all
the time. Most pureblood families have heirlooms like lockets, necklaces, rings, bracelets…
all sorts of jewels.”

Elias chuckles and Barty tears his eyes away from the pebbles to catch a glimpse of Elias’s
smile. “Wizards are all a bit queer,” he says, with a sly smile.

Affection swells in Barty’s chest as he looks at him, and he steps closer. “How will I ever
make up for everything you’ve done for me?”

“You won’t,” Elias says, teasingly.

Barty looks down, reaches tentevely for Elias’s waist, and waits to see if he will push him
away, but that doesn’t happen. Thus he hugs him delicately, and closes his eyes when Elias’s
arms wrap around him. He smells faintly like coffee and hand soap. His muscles relax and he
rests his head on Elias’s shoulder, feeling cradled despite the scarce difference between their
bodies.

This is how love must feel, Barty thinks: it must feel this tender, this sweet, this safe .

“Did you need a hug?” Elias asks in a whisper.

“I just wanted to hug you. Like, specifically,” Barty replies, surprised to hear how adoring
and relaxed he sounds. He runs his hands on Elias’s back, over the soft cloth of his cloak.
“I’ve never been to the sea. Like, properly. My father took my mam and me once, but it
wasn’t beautiful.”

However, with Elias blocking out the view of the lake, the landscape around them takes
another shape completely. The exiguity of the lake turns into the vast immensity of the ocean,
and the small sounds of the water hitting the rocks grows into the deafening sound of the
waves of a very rough sea.

“British sea sucks even worse than British coffee,” Elias’s breath caresses his cheek. “You
should see my shores.”
“Your shores?” Barty asks, unable to stop from smiling.

“Yes, mine. I belong there, Crouch, pay attention!” Elias taps his back twice with his index
fingers. “I already told you about Sardinia, were you listening? Or were my lips too
distracting?”

Barty pinches Elias’s hip. “First of all, I was listening. Secondly, your lips are not distracting.
And thirdly, I’m not Crouch, call me by my name. ”

“Bartemius,” Elias says then, solemnly, like he’s pronouncing a prince’s name.

“Barty,” he corrects, frowning. “Why can’t you just call me Barty?”

Elias shrugs his shoulders. “I never thought of you as Barty.” Barty pouts and Elias sighs.
“Fine, fine, Barty.”

“Good. You’d better remember that,” Barty says, folding his arms to his chest.

The night of James Potter’s birthday party seems the perfect occasion to impress Elias. He
chooses a shirt that brings out the green of his eyes, he puts on jewellery, the few things he
has, and sprays on cologne.

Once the feast starts, though, he gets anxious, and goes for alcohol, which turns out to be a
bad idea. After a while, Elias flees the common room, and Barty spends thirty minutes trying
to decide if he should go up to his dorm as well. Then settles on it, because he can’t stand the
noise.

Elias is on his bed, lazily plucking the strings of his guitar as he sings a song. Barty knows
this one: Amore che vieni, amore che vai, by Fabrizio De André, an italian singer and
songwriter Elias is crazy about.

For a moment, he just stops to listen: Venuto dal sole o da spiagge gelate / Perduto in
novembre o col vento d'estate / Io t'ho amato sempre, non t'ho amato mai / Amore che vieni,
amore che vai.

“Elias,” he calls, startling the boy, who turns with round eyes. He presses his fingers harder
on the frets of his guitar. “Can I stay here? The noise…is overwhelming.”

Elias leaves his guitar on the bed and gets up, coming closer. He grabs a hold of the door.

“Sure, come in.”

In his alcohol induced haze, Elias looks even better, ethereal. The desire he has been
harbouring within his soul finally escapes his control, and flows out: overflows, even.
Without a care, he takes the only step he needs, and presses his lips against Elias’s for the
second time.

“Bar-”
“Not now,” Barty says, laying his hands on Elias’s chest to gently push him inside the room.

Surprisingly, Elias lets him, and Barty doesn’t even turn to see if the door closes completely:
he grabs the collar of his shirt and kisses him again, pushes him towards the wall as Elias’s
fingers wrap delicately around his wrists.

His lips taste faintly like beer and he smells sweet, fruity; it must be the shampoo he uses.
The perfume makes Barty feel a little lightheaded and it gets worse when Elias moves his
hands from his wrists to his waist, bringing him closer. Barty finally gets the chance to sink
his fingers in the unruly curls of his, to bite his lips and press his chest against his.

When they part, they’re both panting hard. Barty drops his forehead to Elias’s shoulder and
thrust his hips to rub against Elias’s, making him gasp.

“You’re drunk,” Elias says, as his hands get between them.

“Aren’t you?” Barty asks, resisting Elias's strength.

A severe look makes Barty look away.

“We can’t,” Elias says, simply, pushing him back. “You can stay here, but keep your
distance.”

Barty leans against the wall, puffing his cheeks in annoyance, and for a solid five minutes, he
just listens to the weeps of the guitar.

“What am I doing wrong?” He asks abruptly, almost angry, turning to look at Elias. “I need to
know what I’m doing wrong,” his anger turns into something that sounds more like a whine.
“How do I get to kiss you?”

Elias’s fingers stop moving on the guitar strings, and his mouth makes a hard line.

“It’s not really about you,” Elias says, starting to play again, another song Barty knows: La
Guerra di Piero. “It’s about me, really.”

“That’s what people say when they’re breaking up!” Barty protests. Tears sting at the corner
of his eyes and he shuts them, repelled with the sensation of the droplets strolling down his
cheeks. “I don’t want to break up, I didn’t even get to date you. It’s unfair. You’re unfair! I’ve
done everything I could, I’ve listened to you…why won’t you just let me…why won't you
just love me back!”

He hears shuffling, the soft sound of Elias’s steps. His fingers could as well be fire on Barty’s
cheeks, but he can’t move away: he lets him dry the same cry he caused.

“Barty,” he says, ruefully. “Please don’t cry.”

“Then stop being unfair,” Barty says, grabbing Elias’s forearm feebly.

“It’s really not about you,” Elias says, and he sounds so pained, as if speaking is one of
Hercules’s labours. “It’s…”
He lets go of Barty and starts pacing around the room. Nervousness starts to stab through
Barty’s stomach. Finally, he takes a seat on the bed, head between his hands and elbows on
his knees.

“I did my best,” Barty says, petulantly, drying his face with the back of his hands. “I fixed
it.”

“No, you solved your problem,” Elias says, vehemently. “And I tried to solve mine because I
wanted to be good too, and then I failed! And I can’t fix it.”

Barty groans in frustration. “There’s nothing you need to fix, Elias! Except the fact you’re
not dating me right now! So start dating me!” Elias looks at him, speechless. Embarrassed,
Barty straightens his back and mumbles: “Please…sorry.” he frowns, running a hand behind
his neck. “What was I supposed to say?”

“Not that,” Elias says, quite seriously. “I’m not as good as you think I am.”

Barty looks at him for a few seconds. “I’m going to take off my shoe and throw it at your
head.”

“I’m serious.” Elias says and Barty drops on one knee and starts undoing the laces. “Are you
actually going to throw it at me?!”

Barty locks eyes onto his. “Are you going to make me?”

Elias sighs and shakes his head. “Will you please listen to me?”

Barty pouts, then nods and goes to sit next to him. “But make it quick, my concentration is
very low because of fire whiskey, and…well…you, so.”

For some reason, that makes a smile bloom on Elias’s lips. “You’re such an idiot.”

Barty scowls. “I’m no idiot, my senses are just inhibited. And my sixth sense is control, so.”

Elias shakes his head and his face becomes serious once again. “There’s a few things I
haven’t told you,” he starts.

Barty sees the way his hands wring at each other and decides to slip his own hand between.
Elias stays silent for a second, staring at Barty’s hand like it stopped time.

“My dad kicked me out during winter break,” Elias says, suddenly aloof. “It was sudden, I
didn’t expect it. I had to go over to Alice’s and make up an excuse so I could write to my
grandfather and have him pick me up. That’s why I was so wary in January,” he grips tightly
at Barty’s hand. “And it’s not true that I have never dated anybody.”

Barty startles at that, and looks at him, confused.

“It was a mistake. A misjudgment. A really bad one.” Elias looks like he might cry, and Barty
wants to cradle in his arms and protect him. “But when many bad things happen to you, you
start thinking you’re the problem. That you’re bad and that’s why…”
“No,” Barty says, struggling to speak as a heartache takes over his chest. “You’re not bad.”

Elias looks at him, briefly, and he’s frightened. “Then why…”

“Because other people are bad!” Barty says, almost desperate for him to see it, to understand.
“You’re kind…tenderhearted! Not bad. Bad people are not kind.”

Elias’s lower lip trembles. “I’m very confused.” He leaves Barty’s hand to hide his face once
again.

“You’ve shown kindness to me even if I didn’t deserve it the slightest,” Barty says, wrapping
his arm around Elias’s shoulders. “You’re so good it might even hurt you.”

A soft sob escapes Elias’s lips at that, and he swiftly gets on his feet and disappears in the
bathroom for a good two minutes. Barty knows better than leaving the room. When Elias
comes back, he jumps on his feet and moves to hold him close.

“I can’t date you right now,” Elias says with a wavering voice. “I’d hurt you. It’d hurt you so
much because I wouldn’t be able to believe you truly want me. I need time.”

Barty tightens his arms around him. “I will wait. And I’ll convince you that you're good. I
don’t want to move on from you,” he says and presses a kiss at Elias's temple. “I love you.”

Pain wakes him. It feels like someone is hammering nails in his temples. Veronica and
Pandora went back with him yesterday, after Barty had decided to leave Elias some space. On
his nightstand, there is a phial with a label that says “hangover”.

He groans and makes the effort of pulling himself up so he can drink the potion. Evan and
Regulus must be at breakfast already. Barty hurries to brush his teeth and put some clothes
on, then runs to the Great Hall. He’s not all that hungry, but he desperately wants tea and a
couple of biscuits. The headache starts to fade, and it is almost gone by the time Barty arrives
at breakfast.

“Hey,” Evan smiles at him. He looks quite content, and there’s a hickey that the collar of his
shirt doesn’t hide. “Did you take the potion? I made it in case you drank a bit too much.”

Barty ruffles his hair and sits down next to him and in front of Regulus, or what must be
Regulus’s seat. He looks for him in the Great Hall, and finds him at the Gryffindor Table, his
hands laying on Potter’s shoulder, who wears a small golden crown that flickers under the
lights.

“He went to wish him happy birthday again.” Evan whispers in his ear while Barty pours
milk in his tea. “They’re sort of cute, aren’t they?”

Barty looks at the two again, at Regulus who is smiling despite having spent a terrible month
and at James who looks equally as happy, surrounded by most of the people he loves.

“Yes,” Barty says, feeling slightly bitter.

“Any progress with…you know?”

Barty grimaces, stirring his tea lazily. “It’s complicated.”

Complicated certainly is one word for it. He wishes he had been sober when he talked to
Elias last night. In the condition he was, providing proper comfort was quite hard.

Regulus starts to make his way back to the table, a small smile still on his lips.

“He’s happy,” Barty whispers to Evan. “I’m starting to like Potter better. But if he hurts
Regulus…”

“We’ll have to kill him,” Evan agrees, nodding. “Noted.”

“You’ll have to kill who?” Regulus asks, sitting in front of Barty. He sips his tea right away.

“No one,” they say, at the same time, acting as vague as possible.

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Fine, keep your secrets then,” he nibbles his lips, gaze darting from
Barty to his untouched food.

“What?” Barty asks, starting to feel nervous.

Regulus raises his shoulders. “Did you manage to impress that person?”

“Why do you sound miffed?” Barty inquires. “And I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. I just
wanted to dress nicely for once.”

“Yeah, sure,” Regulus says, starting to play with crumbles that stand on the table.

Barty rolls his eyes. “I’m being sincere.”

Regulus raises his eyes from the table and locks eyes onto his. “I saw you.”

“What?”

His heart starts to pick up pace. Anxiety spins his head so fast he starts to feel lightheaded,
and he grabs the table to ground himself.

“C’mon, Barty,” Regulus sighs and takes a sip of tea. “The door wasn’t closed.”

“Emergency meeting!” Evan calls, quickly. “C’mon, dorm room.”

Barty is unstable on his feet as they goto the dorm room, and Regulus doesn’t utter a word
until the door is closed and a silencing spell has been casted.

“I saw you kissing him,” Regulus says. “And look, I know I hid a relationship from you, but I
did that because I thought you hated the idea of me being queer and least of all the idea of me
dating James. You knew you could trust me with this, I’m the first person who said you’d like
each other, and you still didn’t think about telling me anything! Of course, I had a feeling
 something was happening, but…” he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t like that
you didn’t tell me.”

“Look, I’m sorry, but it’s complicated,” Barty says, sitting down on the bed. “It’s a long story
and even if you saw us kissing, we’re not dating because Elias has some problems of his own
to work on. And I will be by his side, but it’s complicated.”

Evan shrugs. “Well, it’s Sunday,” he says, stretching his arms above his head. “We can fetch
tea in the common room and listen to the story.”

So with three cups of stimming hot tea, a soft blanket laid on the floor, a charm on the ceiling
and a good amount of patience, Barty tells his best friends the tale of the prince and the bard.

Chapter End Notes

The songs disney songs Elias sang: aristocats, the jungle book
 Shine On You Crazy Diamond
Chapter Notes

Cw: mentions of religion, sex (literally one paragraph and nothing graphic), mention of
homophobic behaviour (none graphic), mentions of crime and murder (Moaning Myrtle
again).

1 September, 1972

The day before she leaves, she sits with her dad and Isaac for a family meeting, a very small
one, hidden from her mother and her little brother, Micheal. The light of the kitchen has
never been so warm, yet they’re not here for anything beautiful.

This is a moment for honesty, a moment in which her age does not matter. It’s crucial to listen
to every word. Today’s lesson is all about safety, all about making sure Dorcas knows how to
stay safe when her dad and her brother aren’t around to protect her. Family is a group of
people that protects one another, and education is the means her parents choose for that.

Family loyalty was a conspicuous part of her father’s upbringing, but it was more about blind
faith than education; he was born a Zabini, second of three children, raised to be another
elitist pureblood who was going to work at the ministry and marry a distant cousin. Then he
met his wife, a muggle girl who loved music and was incredibly fascinated by magic.
Marrying her earned him the estrangement from his entire family, and Dorcas never got to
meet her aunt and uncle, not that she wants to. If they don’t like mum, they’re probably not
very clever people.

Her father knows what awaits Dorcas at Hogwarts: pureblood children brainwashed by their
parents, but not any less dangerous. Thus, they run through the list of pureblood families.
Avoid, at all costs, Black, Rosier, Mulciber, Avery, Yaxley, Bulstrode, Gaunt, if there’s any
still around.

“These people, Dorcas, most of them, will not be kind to a half blood.” He says, as he writes
down names of heirs and heiresses, and siblings of them. There are quite a few at Hogwarts,
right now. “Especially because they see me as a blood traitor. Strong blood goes through your
veins and they will be awful to you, they will tell you you’re a waste. You’re not, Dorcas, of
course you’re not. But these people are taunting and intrusive. You should learn to tune their
voices out. You’re a powerful witch, you’ve been raised as such. You have nothing to envy
them. You shouldn’t fear them, just stay away. Don’t fight them alone, as these people tend to
travel in packs…” He glances at Isaac.

“Most likely, they grew up together.” Isaac says and leans forward on the table, locking eyes
onto hers. “Except for the two Black brothers, maybe. From what I gathered from the oldest -
Sirius, he’s in Gryffindor, you can trust him-, their mother kept them away from other
children for a long time. They still participated in pureblood events, surely, but in a different
way than the others. Sirius’s little brother will be in your year. Watch yourself from the
elders, they pick on the younger kids, since they’re easy targets.”

He leans back and grabs a small notebook from the pocket of his jacket and hands it to her.
The cover is in leather and very unsuggestive, so discreet it could be anything. She opens it
gingerly. Drawings and words spread under her eyes in black, defined lines.

Isaac is much better at drawing than Dorcas is, but he lacks her creativity. His drawings aren’t
particularly distinctive, but they are beautiful, and they look so real it makes Dorcas want to
reach in the pages and take them out. Her own drawings are nothing like that: they’re creepy
and detailed and full of symbolism. She likes to represent whatever takes her breath away,
she sees beauty in things that make her quiver. Only when she can control them, though.

In the notebook, Isaac drew wand movements, and animated them, so that Dorcas would
have a visual representation of it. It’s smart, Dorcas thinks, considering she knows very little
about the art of charming and a lot less about the one of hexing and jinxing, which are
technically considered dark arts. But Dorcas already knows the magic shouldn’t be labelled
as bad or good, it’s something her father always says: magic is just magic, it doesn’t have any
moral connotation. What makes it good or bad is the wizard that uses it, and how they use it.

“You see the hand that holds the wand?” Dorcas nods, mesmerised, so much so she can’t
even get out a simple yes. “That is wand movement.” She rolls her eyes, but Isaac doesn’t
notice. “It is essential to the outcome of the spell. You must be firm in the movement and
firm in the pronunciation.”

“That won’t be hard,” Dorcas says, watching the little hand as it moves, the position of the
fingers on the handle.

When she was five, she began to study latin. First, just reading. Reading and reading and
reading, to get her pronunciation to be the best, then learning grammar and translation, from
simple quotes to entire walls of texts. Learn to feel the music in the words, her father would
say. She read, he played the harp. Dorcas can play it too. Another part of her education that
was meant for this moment. She was raised to be on the same level as a pureblood, to be even
better than them, perhaps.

She likes to think she might even be better than purebloods. Most of them abandon their
cultural and ethnical roots, because wizarding culture is the only one who should matter.
However, Dorcas’s mum is a muggle, she’s Jewish and Jamaican, and when Dorcas was six,
she asked her mum to be raised as such, because she already knew a lot about her father’s
culture, and she wanted to know more about her mother’s.

So she was taught cantillation and Hebrew, how to read it and how to write it. She read
Tanakh and was really happy when her mother brought her to a Kosher bakery and told her
about the sweets her grandma used to make when she was little. Her favourite part of Tanakh
is Ketuvim, because it contains Qohelet, which Dorcas had always found fascinating: if she
closed her eyes as her mum read, her mind filled with hundreds and thousands of different
images that she couldn’t capture quite yet.
And as her father talks to her about heiress and heirs and about families with deep roots in the
wizarding world, a passage from the very beginning of Qohelet comes to her mind:

One generation comes, another goes,

But the earth remains the same.

The sun rises and it sets-

And glides back to where it rises.

“I shan’t have to say that you must not use any of those spells at random, right?” Her father
asks, eyes studying her through the lens of his glasses.

Dorcas nods. “Only for personal defence,” she says, turning the pages with care. “You drew
this, didn’t you, Isaac?”

Her brother smiles. “One of my many talents.”

“Modesty sure isn’t one of them,” her father mumbles. He sets his quill down and hands
Dorcas the parchment. “Done.”

Dorcas looks at the names, and nibbles the inside of her cheeks. That, she thinks, is a lot of
people to watch your back from.

Even if tears come to her eyes as she greets the family goodbye, she’s very careful to not let
any drop fall until she has her back turned to them. Once she’s on the train, she dries her
cheek with the back of the hand and starts looking for a carriage.

Towards the end, there’s a carriage with three girls inside. One of them has blonde hair and
wears a Gryffindor sweater and she’s speaking animatedly to the other two; a girl with long
red hair that falls in waves on her shoulders, chest and back; and a black girl, who leans
forward with her elbows on her knees while she listens, a wide smile on her face.

Hesitation shakes her to her very core, but in the end, she chooses to be brave and knock on
the door, which she slides open a second later.

“I’m sorry,” Dorcas says, quite embarrassed, as she is interrupting what seemed to be a very
lively, interesting conversation. “May I sit here? Everywhere else is full…”

It’s not true, really, she hasn’t checked every carriage, but these girls look approachable and
that’s all she needs.

The black girl jumps on her feet and gifts her a smile that puts the sun to shame with its
brightness. “Of course you can sit here! I’m Mary Macdonald!”
She gives out her hand to shake and Dorcas takes it, shaking it strongly because her brother
said it makes a good impression on people.

“I’m Marlene,” The blonde girl says.

She’s pretty, her hair is in a braid and her cheeks are a bit sunburnt. Her smile is bold and sort
of mean, and she has a small cut wound on her cheek.

“I’m Dorcas Meadowes,” she says, smiling at the girl. She will be sitting next to her,
probably, considering that Lily and Mary are sitting together.

“Meadowes!?” The girl with the red hair sounds amazed, like she heard the name of a legend.
“You must be Isaac’s sister! I’m Lily Evans!”

Good, she thinks. None of these girls are someone to watch your back from. They must be
muggleborns or half bloods, like her.

Dorcas smiles at Lily as she fixes her truck on the specific shelf above the seats. “Yes, he’s
my brother. I hope to be in Gryffindor too.”

Mary smiles. She seems very excited, the kind of girl who smiles a lot. “You’d love it! Even
the boys in our year are cooler than the others! They call themselves the Marauders.” She
giggles, along with Marlene.

“They are right prats,” Lily says, with a pout. She’s got jade green eyes who glimmer fiercely
under the sunlight that comes from the window. Dorcas can easily make out the hatred she’s
feeling. “Especially Potter. He’s a bully, he is.”

“If they’re prats, what does that make of Snape?” Marlene asks, with malice. Her eyebrows
crease and a line forms between them. They must have talked about this a lot already. “Plus
James is nice, you only want to pout at him because that glimy git told you to.”

“That’s not true!” Lily raises her voice, crosses her arms, glares. She is obviously
outnumbered. “I can think for myself, and I’m doing that. Potter is a bully, he picks on Sev
because he’s less fortunate…”

Mary folds her arms to her chest. “James was very kind to me and I ’m less fortunate, Lils.
Severus is in Slytherin and he’s a halfblood, he’s in the privileged part. You have no idea of
what the first year was like for James and I,” she says, with a gloomy look.

Dorcas catches on immediately. Racism is a big, unspoken issue of the wizarding community,
starting off with the fact that they’re only allowed to learn magic in its European roots and
culture. Dorcas knows the Potters by name, and she overhead her father saying that even if
they’re a family of purebloods, they aren’t included in the sacred twenty eights, because their
family is Indian, they’re desi, and they have a strong cultural identity they don’t want to give
up, not even for magic, not even for reputation.

She grimaces, looking down at her hands. Last year, she would have been so happy to be
riding this train, now…not so much.
“Oh, Dorcas, don’t make that face!” Mary reaches out to take her hand. Her palms are very
soft, and there’s some scraped red nail polish on her fingernails. “You’ll be alright! It’s just
that starts can be rough!” Dorcas forces out a smile. “You know, you’ll have us, we’ll protect
you if anyone is mean to you!”

Dorcas straightens up and claims her pride back. She wasn’t raised to be fearsome, for
Christ’s sake. “Isaac taught me jinxes and hexes,” she says, in a very serious tone. “I hope
they come at me. I’ll make sure they learn their place is beneath us.”

Marlene lets out a small breath and when Dorcas turns to look at her, she sees amazement all
over her face. “You’re so bloody cool for a first year!”

11 December, 1974

Ambitious: that’s what the hat called her, three years ago. That’s why she’s in Slytherin,
despite the odds. She didn’t like it at first, thinking it would mean seven long years of
watching her back from the people she shared rooms and meals with. But Leonie Carrow is
nice and soft spoken, a goody goody who wants nothing but to be the first in the class, and
Vivienne Bulstrode is fierce, but mostly nice, and Dorcas has grown fond of them both.

Admittedly, she has taken a liking for each of the Slytherins of her year. All of them, except
Crouch, were people her father told her to stay away from; she couldn’t. To her eyes, they are
children who can’t answer for their parents’ beliefs. Purism still sits on their shoulders, thick
and heavy like a wool cape, but the story is much more complex; Dorcas knows none of them
-except maybe for Rosier- actually believes or even is aware of what they are doing. The vast
majority parrot their parents, and their problem is homework and winning the house cup,
rather than muggle-borns and politics.

Evan Rosier is the biggest exception. He’s much more aware and socially more skilled than
the rest of the purebloods in the class. His parents are loving and he does have a good
relationship with them, but Dorcas is not to be fooled. Every pureblood family has dirty little
secrets, and the Rosiers certainly can’t be an exception.

If the Rosiers aren’t worthy of her trust, Evan himself doesn’t either. He’s the most outgoing,
extraverted boy she’s ever seen. He always has a smile to offer, a joke to make, a laugh to
brighten the mood. But in a blink, that disappears to let out a cruel side of him that scares
Dorcas to her bones. Funny jokes become offensive, he digs into people’s souls and looks for
what hurts them the most. Then presses on it, relentlessly. He will casually spin his wand on
his fingers as he walks through the hallways, and nothing saves you from being hexed, except
being a pureblood.

Since the sorting, Evan has been particularly enchanted by two people: Leonie, who he has
known since he was seven and is hopelessly trying to charm, and Regulus, who is oblivious
to how much Evan likes him and doesn't seem interested in the prospect of a friendship.

Dorcas has plans to know more, obviously. That’s why one evening, she drops on the couch
of the common room with a sigh, sitting between Vivienne and Regulus, and meets Evan’s
brown eyes.

“So,” she says. “You’re all purebloods, you must have known each other since you were
really young.”

“Unfortunately,” Vivienne comments. She shoots Evan a glare. “Rosier was awful. He tried
to put a frog in my dress once.”

And to be completely honest, Vivienne was probably upset because she hates wearing dresses
and skirts, and she has made it very clear since the first year, on the very same day, when she
stayed in her dorm and learnt to transfigure a skirt into trousers. Detention didn’t make her
give up at all. Her uniform is still transfigured for her comfort. Dorcas thinks her persistence
and willingness to stay true to the person she is make her awesome.

“It was a gift.” Evan crosses his arms, jutting his lips slightly to pout. “Maybe if you kissed
the frog it would have turned into a princess.”

“Maybe you should kiss the frog, Evan,” Regulus replies, slyly. “Doubt a princess will kiss
you, though, so you’ll want to run as soon as she transforms.”

This is the thing about Regulus and Evan: Regulus is mean and sly to him and for some
reason Dorcas can’t fantom, Evan likes it. All kinds of attention from the little Black are
welcomed by Rosier like a gift.

“I don’t need a princess when I have you, Reggie.”

Then he leans into Regulus’s personal space to pinch his cheek. Regulus glares at him,
eyebrows furrowed and stormy eyes, then slaps his hand away.

“I know where you sleep,” he says, threatening.

“Are you going to climb into my bed with a knife?” Evan asks. A smile creeps around his
mouth and the edge of his eyes. “You don’t really need a knife with eyes that sharp, though.
Will you stop glaring at me?” Regulus folds his arms, straightens his back and glares at him
once more. “C’mon, I was complimenting you!”

Vivienne giggles, taking a good look at Regulus. “He is beautiful as a princess, though.”

Barty, who has been ignoring them since the conversation started, glares at Vivienne. Not a
word leaves his lips, but Dorcas finds it amusing anyway. Evan likes Regulus’s attention, but
Crouch craves it and he’s jealous of it, and no one should ever dare to speak ill of Regulus in
his presence.

Once again, Regulus is oblivious. The only times Dorcas has seen Regulus being delighted
with someone, it was Pandora. No one else seems to be even close to making their way into
Regulus’s heart. That, though, it’s probably just appearance, because Regulus and Barty
clearly have something going on.

“Shut up,” Regulus says, looking away.

“Regulus was very, very shy when he was little,” Evan says, crossing his legs.

“I wasn’t shy, I just didn’t like you,” Regulus replies, “or social events, for that matter.”

Evan stays unphased. “He always held Sirius’s hand and he would never leave his side, it was
cute. But he was still a menace. I remember this one time he got offended because Merlin
knew what and ran outside. It took us hours to find him!”

Barty meets Regulus’s eyes. “Where were you?”

“Hiding on a tree,” Regulus says, with a grin. Dorcas struggles not to grin herself, for a
whole other reason. It’s the first time Regulus lets himself relax into a resemblance of a
smile, and it’s obviously directed at Crouch. “I was always good at climbing.”

Vivienne shakes her head. “I don’t know how you do it, I’m terrified of heights.”

“Well, Reggie here is a Quidditch player, he probably likes heights.” Evan says, shrugging
his shoulders.

“Will you stop calling me Reggie?” Regulus moans, looking at Evan. “I never said you
could.”

“I’m sorry for not obeying your orders, Your Grace.” Evan presses a hand over his chest,
eyebrows furrowed. “I think I’ll keep calling you whatever I like. I’ve never been one for
Monarchy anyway, I prefer…”

Dorcas catches a glimpse of Barty again: rolling his eyes, this time. “Quit it, Rosier. He said
he doesn’t want to be called that.”

Dorcas chuckles, and leans forward, elbows on the knees and eyes on Barty. “How come you
don’t apply the same logic with muggleborns?”

Like a thunder, anger flashes in Barty’s green eyes. “That’s different, Meadowes. Don’t talk
like your blood-traitor father now.”

Vivienne throws a shoe at him, gracelessly. She’s always been a bit boyish; she likes to throw
things enough she could be a chaser, if she wasn’t so scared of heights. Barty catches the
shoe, but he seems even more upset when he gets up.

“Why did you do that?” He hisses, as Regulus gets up to take the shoe from him.

“You were being rude,” Vivienne says, sternly. “You don’t get to be rude to my friend, so you
get a shoe. I hope it stinks.”

Regulus gives her the shoe back, then turns to Barty. “Apologise,” he says, though he doesn’t
sound particularly interested.

There’s silence between the five of them for a few seconds, in which Regulus’s cold gaze
never leaves Barty’s face, a determination Dorcas has learnt to fear. Regulus never lets things
go: if he wants something, he’d prefer to pay with life rather than yielding.
“I’m sorry,” Barty says, finally giving up.

With a little satisfied smirk, Regulus sits back on the couch and crosses his leg over his knee,
elegant and delicate. Yes, Regulus Black is beautiful, but he’s beautiful in the petrifying way
in which thunderstorms are. It must be the genes, because his brother is just as striking. She
wonders if Regulus will preserve his beauty, when puberty hits.

A giggle breaks the tension, and they all turn to look at Evan, whose eyes shine with mirth.
“Barty’s such a good boy,” he says, teasingly, covering his mouth with his hand.

Barty glares at him -he’s always giving people dirty looks. He’s too serious, Dorcas thinks.
He never drops a smile, never takes a joke, and he’s constantly wary.

Dorcas chuckles as well, then wraps her arm around Regulus’s shoulders. “You’re still quite
shy,” she says. It’s not true, but she wants him to deny it.

Regulus studies her face, keeping his expression neutral. “I’m not shy. I don’t like people, it’s
different. They make me tired.”

“He’s a cat.” Evan grins, looking at Regulus fondly. Dorcas wishes he was looking back. “A
black cat that never purrs but always complains. He will hiss and scratch when you try to
show him affection and…”

“I will do worse than scratch you, if you don’t shut up,” Regulus says, with a deep frown. His
eyes are trained on the floor. “Really, cut it out. It’s not funny.”

Despite the optimistic deamour, Dorcas knows Regulus hurts Evan when he does this. She
doesn’t think he can help it, though; she heard rumours about his parents, about what they do
to him and his brother. The howlers his mother sent had been almost a constant during their
first two years. He doesn’t assume people might be joking with him out of fondness, and
Evan’s is too straightforward, too friendly.

“Fine then, stay grumpy.”

Evan sinks deeper into the armchair, crossing his arms and sending a longing stare in
Leonie’s direction. She’s braiding Veronica Greengrass’s hair, chatting quietly with her.
They’re cousins, grew up together and preserved their bond through school, which Dorcas
thinks it’s adorable: she hopes the same happens for her and Micheal, when the time comes.

They don’t stay much longer, but before Evan leaves, Dorcas stops him. Evan scowls and
raises an eyebrow at her.

“You’re choosing the wrong approach with Regulus.” She says and Evan pouts immediately,
looking down. “You’re too straightforward, he’s scared of that. You’ve got to be more
subtle.”

“How?” Evan asks, and he almost sounds like he could beg for advice.

“How does Barty do it?”

Evan shakes his head. “Barty’s different. Regulus likes him a lot, and they have things in
common. Me, on the other hand…” His eyes darken. “They always cut me out.”

“They’re not like us,” Dorcas says. “They don’t have loving homes. You’ve got to think of
them as strays.”

“That’s offensive,” Evan says, meeting her eye briefly.

“It’s a metaphor.” Dorcas rolls her eyes. “They’re not used to that, Rosier. If you tease them
too much, they’ll think you mean it and you’ll scare them away. You have to be kinder, if you
want their trust. Try to do what Pandora did!”

Evan’s eyes widen. “That’s…impossible! Regulus fancies her, it’s impossible to get to that
level! She probably gave him amortentia…or something.”

Dorcas laughs and shakes her head. “Regulus doesn’t fancy her the slightest, he’s just friends
with her. Really good friends nonetheless, but the way Regulus loves her is beyond romantic
love. That’s…a fleeting feeling, at this age. Well, for most people, anyway.” She shrugs and
locks eyes onto Evan’s. “Try to be less abrasive. They’ll love you, if you’re able to respect
their boundaries.”

Evan shifts in his place uncomfortably, then he nods. “I’ll let you know.”

22 November, 1975

Pandora reminds her of a ladybird, even though there’s nothing red or black about her; she’s
white and sky blue, the cold colours of a sunny day in winter. There is no reason at all for the
comparison, except maybe for the fact that when spring rolls around, Pandora finds ladybirds
everywhere. They climb on her fingers and rest on her rings and sit on her legs or her
shoulder.

Dorcas remembers getting out of Transfiguration, last semester, with her stomach lurching,
because Regulus and Pandora were laughing, and he was carefully walking a ladybird away
from her nose. There was a time in which their friendship never failed to put a smile on her
face; those times were gone, gone since the spring, and Dorcas fails to understand why.

Anyway. Slytherin just won against Hufflepuff, which everyone predicted, so there’s a party
in the common room, a rather loud one, and Dorcas is having a crisis because Leonie just told
her Regulus is sneaking in Pandora. She changed her dress twice, and questioned whether big
box braids are still as beautiful as last week; now she’s pacing around under Vivienne’s gaze.

Vivienne, Vivi, poor girl, she has been complaining for the past fifteen minutes, and Dorcas
wishes she would just shut up and break up with Regulus, because he clearly doesn’t fancy
her, and she only wants to be him, she doesn’t want to be with him. Honestly, if she actually
knew him, she wouldn’t have dated him in the first place.
“You get a boyfriend, you think he’s going to like you. News flash, he doesn’t, he’s too busy
with his best friend Dora, who is the woman of his life, and he barely fucking kisses you
because he’s so fucking busy, god fucking knows with what, he’s constantly running around
and finding excuses not to hang with me, but God forbid if we can have one bloody party
together. No, he just had to bring Pandora, so they’ll be glued to each other’s side all evening,
and I’m gonna be there being…the other woman…Dorcas?” Dorcas turns, startled. “Are you
listening to me?”

Vivienne is wearing a dark red shirt that makes her look even paler than usual, and it’s
basically all unbuttoned. The ends of it disappear into her trousers, and if Dorcas didn’t know
she was fourteen, she wouldn’t have been able to guess it. She looks a couple years older, and
she’s playing around with a red lipstick that would look gorgeous on her.

Her insides stir with anger and confusion. How does Regulus turn her down? How? Is he
stupid? Oh, he’s not stupid, he’s not, Dorcas knows, but how else does one turn Vivienne
down? How come she doesn’t have millions of guys throwing themselves at her feet, begging
her to even consider them? Men are stupid, Dorcas decides. They’re so stupid.

“Totally.” She nods and frowns. “Regulus is a right dickhead and you should break up with
him! Tonight, in front of everyone!”

Vivienne whimpers and lets the lipstick fall on the mattress, covering her face with her hands.
“But he’s pretty and he’s clever…”

“And he’s mean,” Leonie adds, getting out of the bathroom. She’s wearing a pink dress, the
slightest bit of makeup, and put her hair in an elaborated chignon. “Do you think Evan will
find me pretty?”

That’s it, Dorcas has enough.

“Will you stop revolving your life around stupid, filthy rich white boys, please? I’m having
an existential crisis.” She turns to Leonie. “You are pretty, if Evan doesn’t realise it then he
can fuck off, alright? And you!” She spins around and looks at Vivienne. “Break up with
Regulus if you’re so upset, he would choose Pandora over you without thinking twice, and
you knew that when he first kissed you as well as you do now!”

“Are you okay?” Leonie asks, blinking a couple of times. “You never lose your cool like
that.”

“Lose her cool?” Vivienne shakes her head. “No, she gained some. She’s right. Hey, do you
think Regulus’s brother would be interested?”

Leonie sighs at her, smoothing her dress. “I think you should button your shirt a little and
leave lads to their little brains…”

Dorcas sits down on her bed and nibbles at her lower lip, eyes darting between Leonie and
Vivienne.
“I don’t care about their brains. In fact, I prefer not to know their brains, I love to get intimate
with their lips though…”

Leonie frowns, a small change of expression, really. She never frowns deeply. Dorcas fears
the day she will actually get mad.

“You’re fourteen,” she says, sternly. “Quit it. Or I’ll tell your mother.”

“I don’t think Pandora and Regulus fancy each other,” Dorcas says, a bit petulantly, hands
grabbing at her knees. Vivienne and Leonie turn to look at her, confused. “They’re just
friends, right?”

Vivienne shrugs, with a slight scowl. How is it possible for her to be beautiful even when she
scowls? “They act like they fancy each other.”

“They don’t.”

“Do too.”

“Don’t.”

“Do too!”

“Don’t!”

Leonie waves her arms around and gets in between them. She squints at Dorcas, arms crossed
to her chest. She really, really looks like a princess. It’s the blue eyes and the rosy cheeks, the
soft shape of her face.

Fuck it, Dorcas hates women too. Well, she doesn’t, really. Right now, though, she can’t
handle finding everyone beautiful, so she drops her gaze. It might be a first, all things
considered.

“Why are you fretting about Regulus and Pandora?” She asks, wiggling her eyebrows.

There, checkmate. Dorcas feels the life draw out of her. Sucked away, actually, like a
dementor kissed her.

“I’m taking that to my grave.”

Yes, that’s it. Fantastic answer, Dorcas.

“You don’t fancy Regulus,” Vivienne says, carefully, sitting up. She pushes her hands on the
mattress, between her legs and leans forward slightly. “Oh, I know what this is.” Her face
opens in a grin and her dark eyes glimmer. Dorcas knows that she completely understood.
“You fancy the other one.”

Leonie frowns, blinks and turns around to look at Vivienne. “The other one?”
“Oh, Loni,” Vivienne giggles, getting up. She strides to Dorcas’s bed, tall and menacing, like
a goddess. “Give us a second.”

She kneels on the bed, next to Dorcas, and whispers the following question to her ear: “Do
you fancy Pandora, Cassie?”

Dorcas whips around and frowns at her. “Don’t call me Cassie,” she says, feeling her face
heat up. “And I don’t fancy Pandora, alright?”

“What?” Leonie asks.

Vivienne waves the question away and tilts her head to the side, mischief all over her face.
“Then you won’t mind if I ask Pandora to dance, right?”

She gets up, smirking like a fool, and starts to walk towards the door, backwards, with her
hands resting on her nape.

“You can’t do that!” Dorcas says, hastily, scumbling to her feet to reach the door first.

“I’m faster!” Vivienne shouts, bursting the door open and running to the common room.

“Fuck!”

Dorcas follows her out. Leonie runs after them, probably still confused, but Dorcas doesn’t
have time to worry about that. However, once she makes it to the common room, Vivienne
presses a hand to her eyes.

“You know what?” She asks, sounding slightly upset. “Let’s just go back where we came
from, this party isn’t fun anyway.”

“Are you barking mad?” Dorcas sneers, getting the hand out of her eyes.

It takes a second, and she wishes she listened to Vivienne. Pandora is kissing Mulciber, and
from the murderous look on Regulus’s face, he doesn’t like that one bit. Barty keeps a hand
on his lower back, fisting at his blouse, like he’s trying to keep him from getting in between
them.

It’s the first time that Dorcas is struck by the desire to repeatedly punch someone in the face,
and then possibly cry about it until she falls asleep. It’s not like she ever thought she was
going to have anything with Pandora, she barely admitted to herself she fancied her, but
seeing this sort of makes her want to hide in a corner.

“Bloody Mulciber? Seriously?” Dorcas hisses under her breath.

Leonie wraps her arm around Dorcas’s waist, bringing her close. “I’m not sure what’s
happening, but it’s okay, you’re going to be fine.”

So they get drunk. Dorcas is not sure how, but by two in the morning she’s sharing her
armchair with Barty Crouch, and they’re watching Regulus and Pandora as they slow dance.
As soon as the kiss ended, Regulus was stuck to Pandora’s hip, glaring at Mulciber every
time he tried to move towards them. Eventually, he gave up and retreated with the rest of his
peers, while Regulus and Pandora are still going at it, laughing and swinging in each other’s
arms.

“He never does that with me,” Barty blurts out, sounding mildly offended.

Dorcas looks at him, confused. “I’m sorry, I missed the part where you slow dancing with
Regulus makes sense. Plus he can’t swing you around like that, you’re too tall.”

Barty mocks her. Actively mocks her, and adds: “Oh you can’t ask Regulus to dance with
you, Barty, you’re too tall, bla bla bla, lots of non-sense, sod off, I’m wasted.”

Dorcas snorts, tries to keep the laugh to herself, but it bubbles up in her throat and mouth.
She laughs, and laughs, and Barty keeps his steady, upset frown, eyes trained on Regulus.

“You think it’s funny? Try to be me. Every bloody girl in this school wants to kiss him.” He
gestures awkwardly. “He has a brother, why don’t they go after him? Why do they have to go
after Regulus? I’m terribly jealous, it’s bad for my health. Nobody cares about my health. Oh,
but then Meadowes has to put her two sickles in and say I can’t slow dance with Regulus,
because apparently I’m not meeting the height limit for it. Shut up!”

She wheezes again, earning a glare and a vigorous headshake.

“Why don’t you ask him to dance? I’ll dance with Pandora, so she won’t be lonely.”

Barty blushes a red so deep it’s darker than his hair. “Oh, you see, I don’t meet the height
limit, I can’t dance with him…” He says, timidly, wringing his hands.

“Oh c’mon, there’s literally just us around!” Dorcas says, raising up from her seat to take a
look around the common room.

Evan and Leonie are in a corner of the room, beaming at each other as they talk; Vivienne is
sprawled on the couch with Veronica Greengrass, and they’re both about to doze off. Other
than that, no one else is around.

“C’mon, Crouch, it’s our chance!” She says, getting up. She offers Barty her hand. “Come
on, Vivienne is not even looking.”

Barty nibbles his lower lip, then nods and takes her hand to prop himself up. “If he turns me
down, Meadowes, I swear to God…”

“He won’t, I promise.”

It’s the perfect moment, because Pandora is switching the music, so Regulus is just waiting
next to her, and he catches sight of them. Next to Dorcas, Barty blushes again.

“That’s an odd couple, if I’ve seen one,” Regulus says, unkindly. He looks vaguely upset, his
gaze keeps trailing to their hands, and he’s squeezing his own biceps out of nervousness.

Barty blurts out something unintelligible and Regulus raises an eyebrow.

“He wants to dance with you,” Dorcas clarifies, pushing Barty towards Regulus.

Surprise paints over Regulus’s face, but he looks delighted at the chance and his cheeks
become a sweet pink. Interesting, all very interesting, but Dorcas leaves them to it right away,
only glancing at them once -he sees Barty hold on to Regulus’s arms, smiling and red on his
face, but looking the happiest Dorcas has ever seen him.

“Oh, are they going to dance together?” Pandora asks, sounding thrilled. “That’s…quite cute,
actually.”

“Isn’t it? I’ve never seen Barty that happy.” Dorcas smiles politely and holds out her hand.
“Perhaps you, umh…you would do me the honour…”

“I would love to dance with you!” Pandora says, cheerfully, taking her hand.

And as they dance, Dorcas realises she’s never going to date Pandora. Not because she kissed
Mulciber, but because Pandora doesn’t seem interested in doing anything other than dancing,
but she has it in her to be kind with Dorcas even if she clearly understood that she fancies
her.

Vivienne hugs her once Pandora is out of sight, and tells her it’s okay if she’s a little
heartbroken. Dorcas holds tight, and thinks Vivienne is the best friend she could ask for.

19 May, 1976

Vulnerability is a terrible beast for someone who is usually well-liked, but closed off. Dorcas
wishes someone had told her that exactly. Coming out liberates her from the questions about
boyfriends and unwanted male attention (for most part); it also makes her feel like she’s
going to start crumbling or contemplating homicide every time someone says something
mean right at her face, just to hurt her.

She doesn’t buckle, obviously, doesn’t let anyone see it when she’s in the corridors or during
meals. But she breaks down in the dorm and cries herself to sleep a bunch of times. Vivienne
and Leonie try to be supportive -they are, actually, they really are, they will throw hexes at
anyone who bothers her, just like she does. However, hexes and jinxes don’t break through
loneliness, and being the only girl who’s out at school isn’t just lonely: it’s frightening.
Everyone waits for her to break.

A couple of times, she lets Vivienne and Leonie comfort her, tells them how lonely it is, how
she wishes -selfishly- that she had someone to share this burden with. When Veronica comes
out, they become friends, but they’re in different years, and Veronica has a loudly supportive
Gryffindor friend group that gets into fussy fights with Slytherins and tells off some
muggleborns; homophobia is just as eradicated in muggle society, it seems.

Her family is extremely supportive, but they never assume anything about their children,
always spoke about partners, not boyfriend or girlfriends, and they never mentioned that
marriage was going to be on the table for them, if they didn’t want it to be. Dorcas doesn’t
tell them that people at school aren’t as supportive, though they probably already know and
that's why mum sounds so worried in her letters, and Isaac is suddenly asking if everyone is
being nice, and dad always reminds her to be extra careful.

In a couple of months, the novelty of it fades. There is new gossip, new people to bother, and
nobody pays her that much attention anyway. Pandora smiles at her sweetly and becomes
furious when someone is mean to her, but Dorcas knows she won’t say yes if she asked her
out; so she won’t.

Barty and Regulus are always together and they don’t stop to hang out in the common room
anymore, much to Evan’s distaste. Once again, they’re excluding him, and he’s tired and
stressed and of course he turns to the older arseholes. Dorcas wishes she had it in her to grab
Regulus and Barty by the shoulders and shake some sense into them.

Then, one day at the end of April, everything goes to utter shit. Dorcas isn’t sure what
happens, but Regulus seeks comfort from Pandora and Elias Greco, whilst Barty fumes in
rage and jealousy, stuck with Evan, who is happy that he got at least one friend back, but is
much less happy to see that Regulus completely ditched them.

Vivienne and Leonie talk about it a lot: mostly because Evan tells Leonie everything, and
Leonie refers to them. Dorcas is quiet during those times: she doesn’t like to pry. It is evident
by now, though, that Regulus’s ambition is not to become a death eater. It has consequences,
of course. It always does.

So Snape tailgates him, tries to get information, to manipulate him back into purism.
Regulus, though, is not one for following orders, and he makes sure to put Snape back in his
place every time, with sharp words and threats of violence. Mulciber, Avery and Yaxley are
too worried about their exams to be bothering Regulus. It reaches its peak when Regulus
headbutts Snape in the nose, breaking it, during one of the fancy dinners of the Slugclub. It
gets him a month of detention, a howler from his mother and a one year ban from the club.

With so much going on between her peers and the summer nearing -which is wonderful news,
she can’t wait to see her family again- Dorcas almost forgets that just a few months ago she
felt sad and lonely. It’s hard to remember when Vivienne wraps her arm around her shoulders
in a boyish style and Leonie rolls her eyes at Vivienne’s blatant defiance of her family’s
instructions on behaviour.

It’s a pity that Vivienne and Regulus completely stopped being friends after they broke up,
Dorcas thinks. Their personalities still fit, and it would be sort of cute to see them hang out
again. Maybe next year.

The class of Transfiguration of the fifth year and the sixth year’s DADA class are on the
same hallway of the fourth floor, which is always fun, honestly. Regulus and Elias have been
making a big deal out of it lately, attracting the marauders, and so all their yearmates, because
they’re popular boys and everyone pays attention to them.

Dorcas has been exchanging very deep, thoughtful gazes with Marlene McKinnon, but
refuses to make the first move. She has no romantic experience or whatsoever, she never
kissed anybody, never asked someone out, never held hands romantically. The best she had
was a late night dance with a girl who didn’t love her back.

To put it into words: Marlene scares her; Marlene and her amber eyes and her cheeky grin;
Marlene with her beige sleeveless jumper, the small gryffindor tie that disappear inside it, the
white shirt that always shows, a couple of centimetres longer than her jumper; Marlene and
the bold colour of her nails, Marlene who, for some reason, seems interested in her.

“Just talk to her!” Leonie snaps, all of a sudden, making Dorcas jolt. “Please, just talk to
her.”

Vivienne bursts into laughter, tipping her head back. “Oh, Cassie, you made Leonie snap.
That’s how you know you’re dilly-dallying!”

“That’s racist and homophobic,” Dorcas mumbles. Vivienne waves her hand in the air, used
to the accusation. “We’re in the phase of…lesbian staring. You’re straight and you wouldn’t
understand”

Leonie gives her an odd look. “Dorcas, I don’t believe that’s a thing. I’m sure lesbians do
something other than staring.”

“It definitely doesn’t exist,” Vivienne says, vehemently, with a grin. She makes eye contact
with Marlene, then swings her arms around Dorcas’s shoulders. “Make the lion jealous,
Cassie.”

Dorcas rolls her eyes, but she pulls her into a hug; she can’t be blamed for needing support.
“Please don’t refer to them as lions, it’s as ugly as when they call us snakes.”

Vivienne giggles, shoulders shaking as she clings to Dorcas, snuggling close. “Snakes are
majestic creatures,” she whispers. “D’you reckon someone in the school speaks
parseltongue? It’s as rare as hen’s teeth nowadays.”

“I think we’d know,” Dorcas says. Marlene pouts at her, crossing her arms and leaning
against Sirius Black, who’s distracted watching Regulus and Elias, but still holds her with
ease. “The lion’s upset now, Vivi, look what you’ve done.”

Vivienne lets her go, grins and winks, pushing back her hair. “I wanna dye it blonde, what do
you think?”

“I think it’d…” Leonie starts saying, as they start making their way to lunch. Two things
happen at the same time, and whatever she was talking about gets swallowed by a shriek of
delight.
Dorcas, though, doesn’t have time to turn and see what happened, because Avery bumped
into her, hard and with intention, making her stumble backwards. Her book slips off her hand,
and she grips at her wand, ready to strike him.

Marlene beats her to it. She waves her wand and shouts: “Oppugno!”

Avery, being the idiot he is, doesn’t manage to protect himself in time, and he’s left to the
care of Mulciber and Snape. Dorcas shakes her head, grimacing, and grabs her book from the
ground. It hadn’t happened in a while.

“Are you okay?” Marlene asks, glancing towards the end of the hallway.

Dorcas looks at Vivienne, who started a verbal fight with Avery. It’s sort of amusing, because
Vivienne is tall, as tall as most boys, and Avery can’t use his height against her, nor
manipulation abilities, because that would only fuel her anger.

Most boys tend to fear Vivienne, because of how fierce she is, but there’s some who seem to
be enamoured with her. It’s amusing to see her around the shy ones, she likes to make them
all flustered on purpose, then goes out with them a couple of times and leaves them in pieces.
She only loves her freedom, her beater boots, and niche muggle books that have really
complex titles.

“Yeah, fine,” Dorcas says, embarrassed, looking away. “You didn’t need to do that. I was
going to hex him anyway.”

“Maybe I didn’t need to,” Marlene says, playfully. “But God, did I want to? Avery’s a stupid
arse, I would hex him every day if detention wasn’t a thing.”

It gets a small laugh out of Dorcas, who raises her eyes to meet Marlene’s amber ones. She’s
very pretty: Dorcas knew that already, but she hasn’t seen her face this close since her first
years, and Marlene grew up in the meantime.

Her hair is still blonde, but she keeps it short now, not even reaching her shoulders. There’s a
mole just above her upper lip, a small scar that slits her left eyebrow at the end, and a tiny
diamond flickers on her nose: a piercing that is definitely against the dress code. Her eyes are
sweet and they twincker when Dorcas looks into them.

Her heart beats too fast, her face feels hot and her breathing unsteady. She wants to laugh, but
that would be weird, so she starts fidgeting with the pages of her book. Could Vivienne and
Leonie stop arguing with the sixth years and just come rescue her already? They know her
confidence leaves her body around pretty girls, why are they leaving her side now? Traitors,
that’s what they are.

“You keep glancing at your friends,” Marlene says, amused. “Don’t tell me Dorcas
Meadowes is shy now…”

She sounds flirty, and Dorcas doesn’t doubt she is, but it makes her mouth dry and her hands
sweaty. Being at the centre of someone’s attention is the last thing she wants; she doesn’t
mind being a wallflower, and yet Marlene is focusing on her like she’s a renaissance painting
set in some train compartment, out of place and still beautiful.

Dorcas looks away, to the end of the hallway, barely registering Regulus as he goes down the
stairs as if they’re a slide. “I’m not…” She says, feeling her face grow even hotter. Then she
remembers what she saw, and whips her head, blinking. “Are they using stairs as slides?!”

Marlene grins, fluttering her hand in the air. “That’s the marauders for you, darling.”

Darling, Dorcas thinks, feeling her legs go weak. “That’s dangerous.” She says, but what she
really wanted to say was “call me darling again”.

“It’s fun! Want to try it with me?” Marlene asks, with a slight smile.

“Sure,” Dorcas replies, before she can think it through.

Bad idea: Marlene grabs her hand. Dorcas’s brain might as well be frying at the moment.
Marlene’s palms are rough from Quidditch, but she holds her hand gently as they walk to the
slide, and it makes Dorcas feel all sorts of things. Her throat feels tight and her stomach
endless, like nervousness carved a hole in her tum.

“We gathered another Slytherin,” Elias sings-songs, pulling Regulus up from the slide, which
he was climbing, despite how steep it is.

“This is a bad idea,” Dorcas says, and instinctively looks for Marlene. “Someone could get
hurt.”

Their eyes meet, and she smiles sweetly. “I’ll lend you some of my bravery,” she says, with a
wink. “And I’ll hold your hand so you don’t get hurt. You could think of me as your knight in
shining armour, keeping you safe from that terrible slide while still allowing you fun and
laughter…”

She needs to stop winking, Dorcas thinks. It’ll give her a heart attack, sooner or later. She
needs to stop being loud and flirty, and so comical, with expressions like she’s a movie
actress, because Dorcas’s breath is stolen from it, from her. They don’t even know each other.

“Give me a second,” Dorcas says, squeezing Marlene’s hand.

She glances at Regulus, who is now laughing with a particularly flustered James Potter. It’s a
fun image: Regulus’s cheeks are red and despite the confident demeanour, he’s playing
nervously with the top button of his shirt. Potter, on the other hand, keeps rubbing the back of
his neck and seems to be talking really fast. Sirius Black is trying to convince Remus Lupin
to slide down with him, on their feet, but there’s something so flirty about the way they talk
to each other, the way Sirius’s hands rest on Remus’s chest.

There’s more queer people at Hogwarts than she realised, people she never suspected, like
Regulus, who just two years ago was so attached to family values he was willing to do the
impossible; or James Potter, who declared love to Lily Evans countless times, but now
appears unable to look away from Regulus, as he might disappear if he blinks. People like
Sirius Black, who could have any girl, but seems to have eyes only for his best friend, like
he’s all he ever needed and the most beautiful person that ever walked on earth.

In this picture of blooming love and teenage awkwardness, Dorcas feels safe, strangely less
shy, and the anxiety in her chest melts away. She turns to Marlene and smiles at her. “Shall
we, then?”

Marlene grins and laces their fingers together, then runs to the slide, and they go down
together, laughing and holding hands, and no one says a damned thing, even if it’s probably
obvious that they fancy each other.

This is freedom, she thinks. Real freedom: holding a girl’s hand while doing something
dangerous, surrounded by people who can’t give less of a fuck about the way they smile at
each other.

It’s a good day: she goes at lunch with a dopey smile that won’t leave her lips, and bothers
Vivienne and Leonie with her story, and how she wants to date Marlene, and she will ask her
out before the end of the year.

Plans never work out for Dorcas, though.

2 October, 1976

The end of last year was horrible, utterly horrible. Exams burnt her out, Vivienne was all
miffed because of her family, Regulus and Barty were not speaking, Evan got really
unpleasant and closed off. Dorcas and Leonie were left mourning the little group they used to
be, the time they used to spend sitting around in the common room, chatting and joking
around, quizzing each other.

“We used to be such good friends,” Leonie said, one night, curled up next to Dorcas. “Evan
used to be kind and goofy, he always smiled.”

Dorcas didn’t tell her that she thought Evan always had a hidden mean strike that shone in the
worst moments. It would have been rude, because Leonie wasn’t just sad because the boy she
fancied was rotting, she was sad because Evan used to be a best friend to her, a childhood
friend who bought her flowers and never failed to tell her how pretty she looked. For seven
years, they were friends; all that’s left is Leonie’s tears and Evan’s grimace.

“Do you think it’s my fault?” Leonie asked.

Dorcas startled and shook her head. “We couldn’t do anything about it, Loni. It’s about the
boys.”

She knew why. Regulus and Vivienne were the real heart of the group, the glue. Not Leonie
and Evan, despite all the love they held for each other, but Regulus and Vivienne’s strong
willed defiance to their families, their social status, Regulus’s power to wrap Barty around his
finger and Vivienne’s power to bring Regulus inside conversation. It was them who held
them together.

Marlene asked questions, of course, but she also looked so tired. There was a prank gone
wrong, she said, Sirius and Remus weren’t talking anymore, James was mad and kept crying,
Peter tried to get himself busy. Everyone was angry and sad, they snapped at each other, and
couldn't even stand being in the common room together. Meals were horrible.

Two friend groups, and they both fell apart, blown away like a castle of cards in the mercy of
a hurricane.

“I don’t think I would be able to date anyone right now,” Dorcas told her, at the end of May.

Marlene grimaced, nodding. “Yeah, no shit. Me neither.” She looked at Dorcas sadly. “I
really liked you, without even knowing you, is that weird? You thrill me.”

Dorcas gave away her first kiss in that moment, not sure what sparked into her. Marlene just
looked so sad, and it felt like they were saying goodbye. Her lips were a bit chapped, her
mouth tasted like toothpaste, and her fingers brushed against the side of Dorcas’s face. It was
brief, but a promise nonetheless.

“When things are fine, I’ll kiss you again,” Dorcas told her, fiercely, resting her forehead
against hers. “I didn’t spend months doing a stare contest with you to not date you.”

Marlene laughed and shifted to rub their noses together. She made Dorcas giggle even if she
wasn’t happy at all. “Then I’ll wait for you.”

When Regulus came to her and told her about someone who was interested in her, she was
taken aback. Firstly, because Marlene didn’t need a messenger, she could have just come to
Dorcas, at any moment. Secondly, because Regulus had been very neutral about her coming
out, and even if he seemed to like James Potter, Dorcas couldn’t assume he was supportive.

Marlene said she asked Regulus because it seemed like a new start: like they were doing
everything all over again, and she wanted to see if Regulus was as nice as he seemed, because
he seemed nice with James.

Dorcas bit her tongue to avoid saying that he seemed nice with James because he probably
fancied him. Instead, she asked Marlene on a date.

The first date was fun. They talked about music -they’re both fans of Pink Floyd-, books -
Marlene doesn’t like to read-, themselves, their friends, and at some point Marlene pointed
out how Dorcas is more willing to talk about her friends than about herself, and that made her
think a lot. So she told Marlene about being jewish, because she never told anyone, and about
her drawings, a topic she never, ever disclosed with anyone else, and possibly the softest part
she could expose.

It was a nerve-wracking experience. Portraits were never her thing, but she liked landscapes,
mythological creatures and whatever her imagination suggested. Landscapes were the first
thing she learnt; she was twelve, taking pictures of Hogwarts from the edge of the Forbidden
Forest with a camera her father gave her, so she could copy them into paper. The first
attempts were really bad and frustrating: she didn’t like pencils, but quills were just as
terrible.

Things changed when her mum sent a set of black pens with thin tips. Obviously, the pens
didn’t make her an artist, but she liked the stroke of them, and that was enough motivation.

The day before her third year, Isaac gave her an illustrated book about magic creatures. She
read it, she loved it, and by December she spent all of her time drawing Chimaeras, Dragons,
Acromantulas, Hippogriffs, Unicorns, and whatever creature looked fantastic enough to be
drawn.

More recently, she started letting her imagination take over, mixing what she learnt in the
past years and trying to let her emotions carry the lines she put on paper. So she listened to
Obscured By Clouds, and drew landscapes full of snow, with dying trees and lonely wolves.
Sometimes the wolves had small wings attached to their spine and eyes so yellow they could
be sunflower petals.

Little brooks with flowers growing on their side: loci amoeni, in the middle of nothing and
everything. A green grassy land with a complicated castle in the middle of it: to be the lords
of solitude, a sad person guarded by beauty and spring. The ocean, but the person who looked
at it was drowning, and sun rays blinked at them with a horrible joy. The inside of a forest,
with a couple of owls peeking at the ground, where a doe bent its head as it dug the ground
with its hoof.

Marlene listened as Dorcas explained, and at the end of the day the look in her eyes was
different, she was looking at Dorcas like she had authority in front of her. When Dorcas made
a joke about it, Marlene said: “You shouldn’t keep yourself hidden”, and that hit harder than
any song, painting, statue or piece of literature Dorcas ever came into contact with.

They didn’t kiss after the first date, but Marlene stood on her tippy toes to kiss her on the
cheek, hugged her tight and said: “I can’t wait to go on a date with you again”, which felt
better than any kiss, because it wasn’t a goodbye.

“Second dates are important.” Vivienne says. She’s still in bed, snuggling her pillow as she
talks to Dorcas. “Don’t screw it up this time, Cassie. Jeez, you were the only one who could
have had a nice end of the year, and you messed it all up.”

“I didn’t mess it up, Vivienne. It was a shit time, that’s all.” Dorcas fixes her jumper and
sighs. “Should I put my hair into a bun?”

“Nop,” Vivienne grins, Dorcas can see her from the mirror. “Look hotter when it’s down.”
“You’re not straight.” Dorcas says, now grinning herself.

“I’m not if the girl’s hot enough,” Vivienne agrees. “It’s just harder to know if a girl’s up.”

“I know,” Dorcas groans, covering her face with her hands. “And they make you so shy, it’s a
bloody nightmare, that is.”

Vivienne cocks her eyebrow. “No one makes me shy but the fear of prejudice. Plus Mulciber
tells my mother all the gossip about me, so. They’re not as mad about boys as they’d be about
a girl. I can’t afford it.” She sits up, picking at her fingers. “They want me to be their little
princess, but I think I’d rather be a knight. You know, cool, mighty and with people swooning
over him. With all the freedom that comes from not being tied to random family rules that
barely make any sense.”

“You could be.” Dorcas says, turning around to meet her eyes. “Move in with me. You can
bring home all the girls you want, and Marlene and I will high five you the morning after.”

Vivienne’s lips curl up in one of her rare, soft smiles. “She’s already in your future,
Meadowes? Is it the tits or does she have a really great personality?”

Dorcas shakes her head. “You talk like a sailor.” She sits down on the bed, next to Vivienne.
The clock marks 9:30am. “Are you okay?”

Vivienne shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders, looking down. “Well, I still haven’t dyed
my hair blonde,” she says. “And I’m still trying to figure out why the fuck I’m a prefect when
Leonie is right there. Or why skirts look pretty, but they’re uncomfortable, while slacks are
pretty and comfortable. I think I’m having that teenage crisis, you know. The one in which
you look in the mirror and you have no idea who you are and what your purpose is.”

“Well, I think you’re a prefect because people usually listen to you.” Dorcas says, hooking
her index finger to Vivienne’s. “Leonie is good at school and very kind, but she’s soft spoken
and takes things very personally. You’re assertive, you have good grades and you act like you
don’t care.”

“I actually don’t care about most things,” Vivienne mumbles. There’s a small pout on her
lips. “But I’m not the type of person you should want as a prefect. I’m disruptive and I hate
orders and I hate prefect rounds even more. And I’m expected to behave just because I’m a
prefect? Fuck that. I don’t want to conform to the rules, or be the rules. Regulus was also a
bad choice. Has Slughorn ever seen him? Regulus lives by his own rules, he couldn’t care
less of what he needs to do in school, it’s not like his parents are here…” She runs a hand
through her hair, letting out a sigh. “And this school is so fucking stuck in the nineteenth
century! Why do I have to wear a skirt? I want slacks, alright? I don’t give a fuck about
dresscodes.”

“Then don’t follow it,” Dorcas says, shrugging. “What are they going to do? They’ve done
nothing the past five years, I say fuck it. And prefects don’t have to conform to the rules,
Vivi. They made Remus Lupin a prefect.”
Vivienne raises her eyebrows, then sighs again. “I just hate that I have one more
responsibility. I gave my parents something to be proud of and I didn’t even want to. Plus I
miss our little group.”

Oh, Dorcas can definitely relate to that.

“Since April of last year it’s all been so…dull.” Vivienne continues, grabbing her brush from
her nightstand. She picks at the dents, like she’s trying to break them. “You’d think we’d be
mature enough to get over it. Regulus still avoids us. Like c’mon. And they’ve seen him
being all…cute and friendly with Gryffindors. No offence to Marlene, obviously, but has he
forgotten who was there for him every bloody evening when Sirius snubbed him? What an
ungrateful prick.” She meets Dorcas’s eyes. “Maybe I should date girls exclusively. Men are
stupid.”

“Yeah they are,” Dorcas says, with a laugh. “But you know, even if the group isn’t there
anymore, me and Leonie are still here.”

Vivienne scoffs. “Yes, Leonie who is going to date Evan and you, getting a girlfriend. I will
have to hang out with Barty. Which is basically talking to a wall. ‘Hey, Barty, how are you?’
‘Yes, please leave’.” Dorca laughs, shaking her head. “Don’t do that, that’s exactly what he
does! If he could be any more introverted he would die.”

“You’re so mean,” Dorcas says, pinching her cheek. “What about slack and skirts?”

Vivienne groans, setting the brush aside to cover her face. “I’ve got no idea. I just know
slacks are good and skirts are bad. Do you have any idea of how hard I had to fight my mum
to get slacks instead of skirts? I swear to Salazar she still mentions it in her letters. She says it
will be so hard to find me a husband if I’m so boyish. Like, hello, mum, you don’t have to.”

“Why is she so obsessed with it?” Dorcas sighs, laying on her back. “It’s the seventies, for
fuck’s sake.”

“I never wanted to get married.” Vivienne says, pouting. “I don’t even like romance. I mean,
I’ve dated way too many guys, and most of them bored me by the second date. I just want our
little group back, and Regulus to apologise.”

“He hasn’t!?” Dorcas asks, surprised.

“No, he hasn’t. I don’t think he even realises he’s got to apologise. But he has to, okay? I
won’t be nice to him until he does. And I want him to apologise because I need his books,
thank you very much.”

“Were the ones I bought you not enough?” Dorcas asks, pressing a hand on her chest. “You
wound me.”

“Oh, don’t do that, you know I love the books you buy me,” Vivienne says, waving a hand in
the air. “I just want someone to exchange books with.”

“What if I do that?” Dorcas proposes, sitting up again. “From tonight.”

“You would?” Vivienne asks, grabbing her hands. “That’d be amazing! Are you sure? It’s not
for everyone…”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Dorcas smiles at her, squeezing her hands. “You pick the book, I read it,
alright?”

Vivienne nods, then glances at the clock on her nightstand. “Can you wait ten minutes before
you go out? I’d fancy taking a walk.”

Dorcas nods. “Of course I can wait for you.”

They don’t say much on their trip to Hogsmeade, but Vivienne seems quite happy to be out of
the castle, and even if Dorcas is still worried, things seem a bit steadier than they were when
they left.

Marlene waits outside of the Three Broomsticks, wearing a red jacket and some light blue
jeans, dressed so much like a muggle that she gets stares.

Dorcas grins at her, waving her hand in the air. “D’you wanna meet her?” She asks Vivienne.

“Yeah,” she says, easily. “I’d love to.”

Marlene looks a little dumbstruck to see Vivienne, who quickly clarifies that she’s not
staying, just going for a walk. They seem to like each other, though, and Vivienne puts on a
nice demeanour, though she still intimidates Marlene for some reason.

“She’s really tall!” Marlene whispers to Dorcas, as they enter the pub, hand in hand. “She
could be a model.”

“God, yes,” Dorcas nods. “She is literally perfect for modelling, though she would never
believe that, or put up with the amount of restrictions those agencies have, anyway…”

Marlene scoffs. “Right.” She moves a chair at a free table and looks at Dorcas with a soft
smile. “Milady.”

Dorcas snorts and kisses her cheek. “Thank you,” she says, as she takes her seat.

Marlene grins widely, then sits in front of her, leaning forward on the table. “So, how was
your week? Do you have any other cool drawings to show me?”

“I do,” Dorcas says, nervously, reaching out inside the backpack. She takes her ring binder
and grabs the drawing on the first page, the most recent, then puts the binder away. “I want
you to keep this one because I would have never drawn this if it wasn’t for you.”

Marlene’s eyes grow round. “I’d be honoured, but are you sure you want to give it away?
You obviously love your drawing and I-”

“This one's for you,” Dorcas says, shaking her head. “It has a meaning, obviously.”
Marlene smiles, cheeks red as she eyes the paper curiously. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

Dorcas pushes the drawing on the table, in front of Marlene, and watches her as she studies
it.

The drawing is very simple: two women in a cave, holding hands as they look at each other.
Except that one of the two has snakes on her head instead of hair, and the other one’s eyes
look glassy. Medusa, with bluish skin and a vulnerable expression, scars on her neck where
Perseus cut her, and a blind woman, someone Medusa can’t petrify, someone who can love
her without dying because of it.

When Marlene doesn’t speak for a full minute, Dorcas asks: “Do you like it?”

There’s tears in Marlene’s eyes when she looks up, and the sight leaves Dorcas speechless for
a solid second.

“Don’t you dare apologise,” she says. Her voice wobbles slightly, and she blinks tears away.
“This is the most precious present I ever received, okay? And I want to know everything
about it.”

Dorcas relaxes, all of the tension melts away from her shoulder and she nods, leaning
forward on the table so she can point at the very same thing she drew. “It all started when you
said I shouldn’t hide myself away,” she says, not looking up. “There’s a lot of myself I hid
because I thought it wasn’t good enough and that it would have made me an outcast. I’m
already a wallflower, you know, just a person in the background. I’m good at school but I
don’t have any particular talent so…anyway. Medusa. She’s- well, she doesn’t have the best
fame, does she? But the point is that she can’t exactly control her power, it was something
she was born with. I mean, yes, some say she could control it to some degree, but it was her
emotions that controlled her power, and if you spend a lot of time alone or being told you’re
bad, you get upset easily. So I choose her, because she’s misrepresented, and I think she
deserves better than being this…sort of killer of demigods or whatever.”

“So the blind girl.”

Dorcas nods. “See, the blind girl is immune to her powers, so she can be around Medusa at
all times. I imagine Medusa would hate it at first, she’s not used to it, it scares her. But the
blind girl is nice, and has a lot to talk about, so eventually Medusa begins to like her more
and more. You see the crown on the blind girl’s head?” Marlene nods, and Dorcas points at
the wonky heart some clouds form, where she coloured her drawing. “The crown, the heart
and the joined hands are an old celtic symbol of love. The girl’s dress is fair pink, like a rose
quartz: another symbol of love.”

“And the lotus in the pond is another one,” Marlene says, pointing at it. “Oh my God, you
drew a little frog, I didn’t see that…”

Dorcas chuckles, gently grabbing Marlene’s hand. “Yes, to both.” She takes a deep breath in.
“Before you told me not to hide anymore, I didn’t even realise I was doing that. But it felt
freeing. And well, I guess this drawing is just a big metaphor for that. I felt like I had to
contain everything, just like Medusa, and then you came around and you reminded me I’m
allowed to…be.”

A couple of tears slip from Marlene’s eyes, and she sniffles. “You’re making me cry and we
haven’t even snogged properly yet,” she says, wiping her tears away. “Oh, fuck it, look, I
really want to kiss you, do you fancy a hot tea in my dorm? Mary and Lily are here in
Hogsmeade anyway.”

They don’t make it to the room. They kiss in the empty street that leads to Hogsmeade, as a
cold rain starts to wash over them. Despite the cold drops that hit their skin and get through
their clothes, they don’t stop kissing, not even for a protective charm. The wait was too long,
and the time they spent together already has a meaning.

“You’re starting to taste like rain,” Marlene says, with a grin. Her hair is all wet, and water
runs on her face, but her smile is wide and her eyes vivacious. “You’re as beautiful as a
rainstorm!”

Dorcas chuckles. “You think rainstorms are beautiful?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, they’re strong and disruptive, but I like the noise they make and they also
mean that it’s autumn, which is a superior season, honestly, so- and rain feels fresh! And
you’re refreshing, so it makes sense, right?” Marlene is as red as she could get and it makes
Dorcas giggle. “Why are you laughing? Did it not make sense to you? Oh, I’m making a fool
out of myself, haven’t I?”

Dorcas shakes her head and presses a chaste kiss on Marlene’s lips. “You’re terribly cute,
darling.”

“Oh, I like darling,” Marlene says, sweetly, smiling yet again. “So, what do you think,
darling? Me, you, steaming hot tea and some rock and roll?”

“You’re making it sound very dirty.”

“It can be dirty if you want.”

“Marlene, I’m kidding!”

Once they’re in the room with their tea, Marlene gives her some dry clothes to change to.
There’s no need, drying charms exist, but Dorcas loves the idea of wearing one of Marlene’s
jumpers. As she changes, she begins to hear the sound of an electric guitar and a drum.

Can't stay at home, can't stay at school

Old folks say, "You poor little fool"

Down the streets I'm the girl next door

I'm the fox you've been waiting for

“You can sing!?” Dorcas asks, maybe a bit too loudly, but she’s excited, because Marlene
didn’t say it.

“One of my many hidden talents,” Marlene winks at her, taking her hands as she keeps
singing: “Stone age love and strange sounds too / Come on, baby, let me get to you / Bad
nights causing teenage blues / Get down ladies, you've got nothin' to lose! ”

“I don’t even know this group,” Dorcas laughs, wrapping her arms around Marlene’s
shoulders. Their faces are close again, and Dorcas is enamoured with her freckles.

“This is their first album,” Marlene says, kissing her briefly. “The runaways.” She kisses her
again. “Found them by accident, but it’s all rock and roll ladies, so I thought it was cool and I
bought it.”

Dorcas smiles, tucking in Marlene’s humid hair. “Can I dry your hair before you get sick,
rock and roll lady?”

Marlene bites at her lower lip, red cheeks and embarrassed glances. “You think I’m rock and
roll?”

“I think you’re a dork,” Dorcas says.

Their lips meet one last time, before Dorcas drags Marlene to the bathroom and dries her hair.
Well, tries, because Marlene isn’t very good at standing still, and she keeps singing and
dancing around a little and then apologising for it.

“You know, I think it’s cute,” Dorcas says, as she brushes Marlene’s hair gently. “I’m a very
low energy person, I’ve always liked people like you. And I’ve laughed so much my cheeks
actually hurt.”

Marlene peeks at her from the mirror, puffing her cheeks. “Really? ‘Cause I think you have
an amazing laugh, so it’s important I know how to get it.”

Dorcas leans to kiss her cheek, setting the brush down. “You just be you, and I'll always have
a smile on my face.”

Marlene caresses her cheek, studying Dorcas’s face carefully. “I want to compliment you all
the time, is that weird?” She asks, softly. “You’re so beautiful I genuinely can’t wrap my head
around it. Not just your face and your body, you know. Your mind, too. You said you have no
particular talents earlier, but I think you underestimate yourself. Your art, Dorcas…it’s the
best I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been to a lot of museums. You’re sort of an angel, you know.
Actually, you’d look so good in a white dress-”

“Are you proposing?” Dorcas jokes, smiling again as she leans against Marlene’s touch. “I
don’t own any white dress, unfortunately.”

“No?” Marlene asks, coming closer. “Seems like I have to propose. Fastest way to solve the
problem. We’ll be the first lesbian couple to get married. I’ll wear a cool suit with a fun
papillon and then I’ll cry at the altar because you’re just so-”
Dorcas cuts her off with a kiss, resting her hands on Marlene’s waist as she sucks her lower
lip into her mouth, and Marlene whimpers, soft and sweet, and holds to her shoulders for
support.

“Look, I’ve never kissed anyone else, you’re blowing my mind here,” Marlene says, resting
her forehead against Dorcas’s.

Dorcas raises her eyebrows surprised. “I’ve never kissed anyone either!”

“Oh.” Marlene starts laughing, snuggling closer until she’s hiding her face in Dorcas’s neck.
“I love your perfume. Isn’t it cute that we’re each other’s first kiss?”

Running her fingers through her hair, Dorcas hums. “It’s very cute. Still up for that tea?”

The tea time doesn’t last very long. Dead end justice starts playing, and Marlene starts to
perform the whole song, seven minutes, until Dorcas is laughing so much she thinks she’ll
throw up. And a couple of minutes after the song ended, Lily and Mary come back from
Hogsmeade, and see Dorcas laying on Marlene’s bed and laughing, with tears of mirth in her
eyes, and Marlene sat beside her, holding her hands and laughing herself.

“I can’t decide if you guys are high or if Marlene did a Marlenesque.” Mary says, tilting her
head to the side as she removes her coat.

“Marlenesque,” Lily guesses. “There’s no smell of weed.”

“Oh, you are so mean, look what I have to deal with, Dorcas. It's unbelievable!” Marlene
grumbles, folding her arms, surly and pouting. “I thought we stopped using the word
Marlenesque!”

Mary shrugs with a smile and a wink. “So your date went well.”

“Yes!” Dorcas replies, squeezing Marlene’s hand.

“We kissed under the rain!” Marlene says, encouraged by Dorcas’s own enthusiasm. “It was
so romantic!”

“I didn’t know Marlene could sing!”

“Oh, you should see us at birthdays,” Mary says, setting her hands on her hips. “Marlene,
James and I are a little trio.”

“Potter is so off-key,” Lily shakes her head. “And Mary never gets the time right, so basically
your girlfriend is the only one that makes something decent.”

“Lils!”

“We’re girlfriends?!” Dorcas asks, looking Marlene in the eye.

Marlene blushes and nibbles at her lower lip. “If you want to be?”

“Of course I do!” Dorcas says, and she leans in to kiss her quickly.

Mary and Lily clap and cheer in the background.

Autumn is an incredible month to be in love.

29 March, 1977

Fifth year is full of novelties. Vivienne begins to grow fond of her role as a prefect, and now
has first years thinking she’s the coolest girl in the whole school, for reasons Dorcas still
doesn’t know, because every time she asks Vivienne rolls her eyes and says “Please”, as if it’s
obvious. Leonie has finally succeeded in her quest to become Evan’s girlfriend, and is
spending time trying to convince him to drop the sixth year, which is the source of their first
and second fight.

And then, there’s Barty. Dorcas never expected to find a friend in him: he’s closed off,
introverted and quite critical of everyone and everything; someone who is hard to get to
know and hard to like at first. The very little knowledge she had of him did not stop her
curiosity, especially when Barty became gloomier than usual.

One night, in which Dorcas struggled to sleep because the sheets felt caging and the bed too
hot and too cold at the same time, she decided to go read in the common room, guessing that
would tire her out. There, she found Barty sitting in front of the fire and hugging his knees,
which made him look a lot smaller than he was. When she took a seat next to him, she
noticed he was crying, silently, with tears strolling lazily on his cheeks.

It was perhaps the first time she realised Barty was more than he seemed, and even though he
had been remarkably a bad person, Dorcas felt like offering him a helping hand, to see if he
would take it.

Barty told her everything: about Regulus and their failed relationship, about the weed, about
needing a place and a group to belong to, about ‘not being able to love’, about the guilt he
felt for perpetuating purism and homophobia, about not being able to help himself. Dorcas
didn’t expect him to pour all that down, and struggled to hold back tears as she listened, ever
the empath.

The day after Barty apologised for several things, from snubbing her and for ranting, and
simply asked if she could not tell anyone what happened. Dorcas told him not to worry, and
that she could help him, if he wanted.

That marked the beginning of their friendship, which also caused the first fight with Marlene,
who was worried about her befriending someone like Barty Crouch Jr., who she thought was
friends with next-to-be-death eaters and over all awful people. So Dorcas introduced them:
Barty, timid and scared of Marlene’s judgement, and Marlene, wary and pouty. They ended
up getting along, even though Marlene decided to name Barty “silly boy” and called him that
for almost a month.

They don’t hang out much, but it’s nice when they do, and Dorcas feels oddly proud that
Barty trusts them enough to tell them about Elias.

Another novelty is sex. Dorcas didn’t expect it to happen so soon, but she doesn’t regret it
one bit. First of all, it doesn’t happen frequently, because the dorm is rarely empty for a good
amount of time, so every opportunity is to be cherished. The second thing that took her by
surprise was how loved she felt, just with the way Marlene touched her or kissed her. It’s a
new kind of vulnerability and trust, but it’s welcomed.

Marlene makes her happy in general, with their saturday dates, her rambles about this or that
album that is going to be a masterpiece, complaining about wanting to buy an electric guitar,
or a drum set, or a cool denim jacket so she can then buy pins to decorate it. They spend a lot
of time wandering around the castle, snogging in empty classrooms, and Marlene writes her
little notes and lets her owl deliver them at breakfast. They’re usually very short, but Dorcas
stores them inside a small box.

Dearest Dorcas,

Will you honour me with your presence today? I’ll await in the east hallway of the third
floor,

Your (very) mysterious lover

Or

My love, apple of my eye, light of my life,

Please return three of my jumpers, or I’ll freeze my tits off and you’ll grieve their loss,

Sincerely,

A frozen lesbian

Or

My darling, today we have History of Magic at the first two hours. Death would be less
painful. Please come give me a good luck kiss!

Marlene

Maybe the notes are part of the reason she ends up asking her mum if they can bring Marlene
on holiday with them, so her family can finally meet her, and they can spend five days
together. Five days in which Marlene will get sunburnt and take approximately a million of
pictures, memories they will cherish and treasure and look back at when they’re old and
grey.
Dorcas always hated the prospect of old age, of wrinkles, of the body slowly giving up, but
she doesn’t mind the idea of growing old with Marlene, which she knows is silly, but she
can’t help imagining it. And her friends are all with them, in those fantasies: Barty and Elias,
whose flat will be full of music magazines and books of any kind; Leonie and Evan, with
their children and a house in London; Regulus and James (Dorcas now knows they are, in
fact, dating), who will probably have an army of cats; Vivienne, who’ll be the cool,
intellectual single aunt who’ll find love in the thirties, or maybe she won’t, that would be
okay as well.

Not surprisingly, the study group is also a focal point, even if it just started. First of all,
Dorcas discovers she has quite a talent for teaching and clarifying concepts, which she’s very
proud of, and her grades also go up, because she gets to learn from her friends.

And after the study group, she usually goes to see Marlene, though sometimes she follows
Regulus to the boys dorm, because one thing about the Gryffindor sixth years is that their
group is really tight, and Marlene is often with the boys in the afternoon.

So Dorcas spends time with the older peers, with the famous marauders, and discovers
they’re a fun quartet, just like the girls are a fun trio. There’s teasing, laughing, board games
with David Bowie playing in the background, though sometimes it’s Queen or The Beach
Boys.

She notices Regulus goes there mostly for James and doesn’t speak much to his brother.
There’s a bit of tension between the two, and Regulus clings to his boyfriend like he wants to
be protected. James knows, of course he does, but he can’t do much about it, because
Regulus usually spends these afternoons listening to the music or the conversation as he drifts
off on James’s bed.

“What’s with him?” Marlene whispers to her ear, one day. “Is he okay?”

Dorcas frowns, worried, and shakes her head. “He’s been quite tired lately.”

Sirius watches his brother with a crease between his eyebrows and arms folded, and he must
know something more about his weariness, but probably not enough.

So, of course, Dorcas makes it her mission to dig into it.

The study group is one of her favourite things lately, though she has a couple of concerns.
The first is Barty, who has been suspiciously quiet and observing since James Potter’s
birthday, like he’s trying to discover something; the second one is Regulus, because he’s
exhausted, has been for a while. Despite the attempts not to show it, everyone knows by now,
which is why Dorcas proposed they all share their notes. She knows Regulus would be mad if
he was put on the spot, so she wanted to offer him help subtly.
One reason why she likes the study group so much is that she can visit Marlene right after.
They’ve been seeing each other a lot more since it started, and Dorcas always looks forward
to it. It’ll be an excuse to spend some time together before O.W.L.s, when they will definitely
not go on their usual Saturday date, at least not every Saturday, because Dorcas’s parents are
lovely, but they want her to have good grades and she’d hate to disappoint them.

“I’ve got to go to the library,” Regulus says, as he packs his bag.

Today was a heavy session, two hours, right after class, and they all had coffee -made by
Elias as they listened to Led Zeppelin- because no one was awake enough to go through
hours of studying. Evan was the most affected, restless and grumpy, but he still pulled
through, because he doesn’t mess with Elias and Barty. The three of them are sort of cute:
two swots boyfriends and their adopted popular, social friend that sucks at school a little.
Regulus would fit right into the picture if he wasn’t so tired: he usually sticks to Pandora,
listens to her going through concepts, and that seems to help him retain information.

“Bagsy,” Pandora calls, bumping shoulders with Regulus. Her hair swings with her as she
moves, and she grins at him. Regulus smiles back, nodding gingerly.

He doesn’t want company, and Dorcas knows a good opportunity when she sees one. Maybe
she’ll finally be able to work out why Regulus looks so tired. “I’m coming too,” she says. “I
want to grab a copy of Achievements in Charming, Flitwick mentioned it today.”

“Ah, yes,” Barty says, mindlessly. He waves his wand murmuring “decrescit” and watches
the table shrink back to its original size. “Pass it to me as well, if you find it. It’s going to be
useful for the O.W.L.s.”

“Just bring it ‘roud, please.” Elias says, as he and Evan move the desk under the window.
“Are you going too, Gioia?”

“Naw,” Barty says, barely reacting to the name.

Everyone else, though, looks at them. Then Evan breaks into a seemingly harmless smile and
he skips to Barty just to be by his side for a second, then glances at Elias, mischievous and
sharp.

“What is it that you called him, Elias?”

The boy’s cheeks become rosy, and he looks away, jutting his lower lip. “I called him an
idiot.”

Cory tuts and Regulus raises his eyebrows, the way he does when he hears someone lie so
outwardly.

“No, you called him Joy.” He says, blinking, then smirks. Elias shakes his head, but Regulus
nods, laughing. “You did, you dirty liar.” He puts his bag on his shoulder. “C’mon, people,
let’s leave the lovebirds to the love birding…”
“They need a couple names,” Jules suggests, clapping her hands together. She grins, moving
her hair back.

“We don’t need that,” Barty urges, red in the face.

“We’re not even a couple!” Elias protests, equally as embarrassed, looking so innocent and
young it makes Dorcas’s heart swell in affection.

It’s unlikely that he knows, but Elias has something to it that tugs at people’s guts. He’s a
quiet thing, but can be as disruptive as his older mates if the company allows it. However,
Dorcas sees him more as a book and music type of person, just someone that wants his space
rather than someone who wants attention. She started to like him more, perhaps because
Barty seems to have finally found peace now that Elias is willing to give him some of his
time, or maybe because Elias himself appears to be fond of her friend.

“Oh, but you did call him Joy,” Pandora says, grinning as she pushes her hair behind her
back. “They definitely need a couple name.”

“Balias!” Evan proposes, loudly.

“Elty!” Jules says, even louder.

“Elarty! Or Eliaty?” Pandora tilts her head to the side. “Regulus, your pick.”

“Barias,” Regulus says, thoughtfully. “It sounds like the name of a great warrior.”

“Hey, why does his name get to go first?” Elias asks, frowning deeply. “It should be Elty, I
made the first move.”

Barty rolls his eyes. “I kissed you first.”

“Aha! Don’t twist it around!” Elias flicks his arm. “I kissed you first!”

“Only because I made a move, so it doesn’t count.”

“You made a move, you didn’t kiss me, which makes you a coward.”

“Me? It’s you who doesn’t have the balls to kiss me again!”

“Now you’re being needy!”

“Very interesting,” Cory says, amused, fidgeting with the strap of his bag. “What was that
about not being a couple?”

They turned to face the rest of the group, embarrassed again, so red Dorcas wishes she could
take a picture to use against Barty. Before they can’t protest, she decides to put an end to their
suffering.

“I name you Baias,” she says, with a grin.

Jules burst into laughter. “We can say we are baiased now,” she says, snorting for how hard
she’s laughing.

“Congratulations, Jules, you just won the worst joke award,” Elias mumbles, with a pout.
“Why are we the only couple who gets a name? You didn’t name Dorcas and Marlene, or
Regulus and…” He snaps his mouth shut, almost hiding behind Barty. “Anyway, didn’t you
guys have to go to the library…”

“You’re actually dating someone?” Jules asks, falling from the sky. She looks at Regulus with
wide eyes, and Dorcas wonders how someone could miss who he’s dating after James’s
birthday. “I thought it was just a rumour. Like, you know, in the fourth year it was the same,
so…”

“Yeah, I also assumed…” Cory looks at him thoughtfully.

Regulus almost seems to shrink back, clearly not kin of having everyone’s attention on him.
“I had to go…” he says, making a move to open the door.

See, Fate is a funny thing. And it brings in James Potter, who just opened the door. Dorcas
likes him quite a lot: she talked to him several times, because he spends a lot of time in the
common room with his friends. Wary at first, she melted at his jokes and jovial attitude, and
is now quite fond of him.

“Hi!” He says, clearly not noticing the group is still there. His eyes only see Regulus. “I
thought you went back without greeting me!”

“Oh, shit,” Jules says, a bit too loudly.

Dorcas rolls her eyes; Jules is lovely, but she needs to learn how to be discreet or she’s going
to get someone into serious trouble. It must be why Regulus tries to avoid her.

James looks away from Regulus, to all the people in the room, and waves with a tight smile.
“Hi, late session, innit? Well, later than usual…” Regulus glares at him, then messages the
bridge of his nose. James glances at his watch. “Oh, look, time for me to shut up.” He laughs
nervously. “See you…”

“Just go…” Regulus says, slumping against the wall, hiding his eyes from the group. Once
James is gone, he raises his eyes and looks at Pandora briefly, then glances at Cory and Jules.
“Needless to say, it can’t get out. My parents…”

“Don’t worry!” Jules presses a hand on her chest. “It won’t. Your secret is safe.”

Cory fakes zipping his lips. “Not a word.”

“Good.” Regulus squints at them. “If it gets out…”

“You’ll murder us.” Jules completes for him, nodding.

“Yeah, that…” Regulus tries not to start laughing, then opens the door. He looks at Pandora
and Dorcas. “Give me five.”
Regulus takes more than five, though Pandora and Dorcas don’t really mind. Marlene makes
space for Dorcas in the armchair, and hugs her tight while Dorcas tells her about the study
session and the little Elias and Barty scene.

“Elias is right, you know,” Marlene says, eyebrows spriting up. “Elty sounds better. But now
I’m jealous because they have a couple name and we don’t! Like, imagine how cool it would
be to have a name that refers to both of us romantically. We deserve that, Dorcas.”

Dorcas giggles. “Do you want to ask the girls?”

“Yes,” Marlene replies, giving her a quick kiss. “Ladies!” She says, loudly, grabbing the
attention of Mary, Lily and Pandora. “Dorcas and I want a couple name, please make up
one.”

“Marcas,” Mary proposes.

“No, that’s horrible, Mary.” Marlene says, wrinkling her nose. “It’s like Maracas. It needs to
be cool.”

“Dorlene,” Lily proposes, as she finishes braiding Pandora’s hair. “It sounds sophisticated.”

“My name comes first,” Dorcas says, chuffed. “Thank you, Lily, I really like this contribution
of yours.”

Marlene shakes her head. “I can’t believe my own best friend betrayed me.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not betrayal,” Lily complains.

Dorcas spots Regulus and James coming down to the common room, holding hands, which
they stop doing almost as soon as they see that the common room is quite full.

“Hey, ready to go?” Regulus asks, fixing his hair with his fingers as James takes a seat on the
couch, next to Mary.

“Where are you going?” James asks, eyeing him curiously.

“Library,” Regulus replies, shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

James groans, rolling his eyes. “You’ve just finished studying, love. Can you take a pause?”

“I took one!” Regulus says, defensively. “What do you think we were doing?”

“You’re overworking yourself,” James retorts stubbornly, eyebrows creased and the corners
of his mouth curled down. “Can’t you just go tomorrow? It’s almost supper anyway.”

Regulus waves him away. “It’ll be quick, no need to fuss. Ready?”

“Ready,” Dorcas sighs. She kisses Marlene goodbye and gets up.
“James is right, you know,” Pandora says, while they walk to the library. “You’re exhausted,
you should have just stayed there and rested. The library doesn’t run.”

“Okay, but I do, I’m in a hurry,” Regulus replies, obstinately.

They’ve been going like this for the past ten minutes, and while it’s interesting to watch,
Dorcas wishes she didn’t feel how upset Pandora is with him.

“There’s literally no need for you to run. Plus he’ll see that you’re not at supper. I know that
face, you won’t be quick. Honestly, Regulus, you’re gonna pass O.W.L.s, there’s no need to
overdo it.”

“This isn’t about O.W.L.s.” Regulus says, waving his hand in the air.

“What is it about then?” Dorcas asks.

Regulus almost stops walking, then looks at her intently, like he has been challenged. “It’s
too long to explain.” He stops in front of the library. “Anyway, you two can go on and do
your thing without me, I’ll be in the archive section…”

“We’re coming with you, silly,” Pandora says, frowning at him. “I don’t need anything from
the library, we just studied.”

“Yeah, mine was an excuse.” Dorcas admits, a little uncomfortable. “I was sort of curious
about what you were going to do.”

Cursing under his breath, Regulus nods. “As long as you don’t tell James,” he says.

“Ah, so you are doing something you shouldn’t do,” Pandora says, glaring at him. “Good to
know.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Cut it out, will you? I’m just curious, I’m not doing anything
wrong.”

“We’ll see about that,” Pandora says, then enters the library, slouching slightly.

Interesting, Dorcas thinks. She didn’t know Pandora and Regulus fought like that, and she
didn’t expect Pandora to be so passive aggressive, or Regulus to be so dismissive of it.

“You should probably tell James about this,” Dorcas whispers to Regulus. “What good can it
do to hide it?”

Regulus pouts, brushing back his curls, eyes on the ground. “I don’t want to fight with him.
I’m tired. And if I don’t find anything, it’s useless to start an argument.”

“It’s not a good approach,” Pandora warns.

Regulus waves the whole subject away. Pandora tuts, and exchanges a look with Dorcas, who
pats her shoulder sympathetically.

In the meantime, Regulus started to look into the archive shelves, running his fingers on the
dark backs of big, dusty registers, looking attentively at the year labels.

“Why are you looking into that pile of dust?” Dorcas asks, wrinkling her nose.

“Piles of dust often hide interesting creatures,” Regulus replies, absolutely cryptic. He stops
in front of one of the books, reading its label, then says: “Aha!”

“I’m not going to lie, I have no idea of what you’re doing. I think you might have eaten
something bad.” Pandora says, clearly distressed. “What sort of illegal thing did you get
yourself into, Regulus?”

“Nothing illegal, not yet,” Regulus says, carefully placing the heavy book on the desk. He
sits down and starts to turn the pages.

Dorcas exchanges a look with Pandora, who sighs. They haunch behind Regulus. The register
is very detailed: date of birth of each students, the country and city they were born in, their
blood status, blood type, allergies, date of graduation or date they dropped out, O.W.L.s and
N.E.W.Ts averanges, professor reports, the house they were sorted into.

“So, what are you looking for?”

“Who was in school in 1943, and…” Regulus’s eyebrows shoot up. His eyes widen and he
grabs Pandora’s hand, saying: “Hagrid! Of course, he was in the letter! Christ, I really need
rest if I missed this…” He sets the book back in its place and grabs his cloak from his
backpack, wrapping it around his shoulders and closing it with a silver pin. “Would you guys
like to come with me? I’ve got to pay him a visit and we really don’t have much time.”

Once again, Dorcas and Pandora share another look, and Pandora gives their consent.

Thirty minutes later, Regulus knocks at Hagrid’s door. Madness runs into his family, but this
is the first time Dorcas really thinks Regulus has it in his veins as well. Being curious is a
curse, though it may appear as a blessing; she’s starting to understand why it kills cats.
Nervousness has been twisting her stomach since they set foot out of the school, and it only
keeps getting worse.

The door opens to reveal Hagrid, shaggy hair and beard and a confused frown that makes his
eyebrows crease together. Dorcas doesn’t blame him: she’s concerned as well; it’s actually
comforting that he’s also confused by their presence.

“Yeh shouldn’ be here,” he says, with a frown. “It’s almos’ supper.”

“We know, but this is an urgent matter,” Regulus says, politely, looking up to the keykeeper.
“I’ve got a question I think only you will answer sincerely.”
“I don’ like the look of yer face.” Hagrid states as his frown deepens. “Reminds me of
another boy. Yeh shall leave, go eat.”

Regulus smiles, all innocent and boyish, and it’s all an act. It’s not even close to his real
smile, but how would Hagrid know? Regulus is the portrait of innocent, timeless beauty, with
his fair skin and his freckles and his big, grey eyes, the curls that frame his face. But beauty
like that is nothing but danger, it is to be feared, because he will use it against you.

On her back, a shiver runs, giving her goose skin. Next to her, Pandora is staring intently at
Regulus: she must not be used to not knowing what his next move is.

“I’m afraid this cannot wait, sir,” Regulus’s tone keeps being disgustingly polite. Hagrid will
fall for it. “We can be quick. A school is a place for learning, and I believe we can learn from
everyone, but direct experience is best. We should listen to the people who have been
affected by certain events first hand.”

A sharp wind comes, unexpected, and Hagrid grimaces. “Come on inside, yeh. Make it quick,
I’ll give yeh something hot to drink.”

So they come in. Hagrid’s hut is cosy, but Dorcas still feels quite cold. Quite frankly, Regulus
has never looked this dangerous: sure he is determined, but he can be so nice and sweet, why
on earth would he try to manipulate Hagrid.

“Regulus Black.” Hagrid scratches under his beard, evaluating Regulus. “I hear yeh’ve bin
causing trouble.”

Regulus’s expression stays neutral: as still as a pond’s water. “It runs in my blood, sir.” He
says, folding his hand in his lap. “As well as curiosity and sense of justice.” He looks around,
slow and attentive. “Those brought me here.” Then he looks at Pandora and Dorcas. “I’m
sure you’re familiar with Moaning Myrtle. Her real name is Myrtle Warren, and she was
fourteen when she died. However, the circumstances of her death remain unclear.”

He gazes at Hagrid, who seems a little dumbstruck, and his frown is pained. Dorcas almost
gets up, tells the other to go. It feels like they’re intruding on something very personal.

“Myrtle,” Hagrid says, softly, looking at his hands. “She was a sweet girl.”

“I believe you were blamed for her death,” Regulus says.

“Reg!” Pandora hisses.

“However, I struggle to believe why Dumbledore would make a potential murderer a

keykeeper, and have him so close to children.” Regulus rises from his chair and looks up at
Hagrid, fierce, even if there’s so much height difference between them. “It was Tom Riddle,
wasn’t it?”

“How did yeh come to that conclusion?” Hagrid’s gaze sharpens. “A creature killed her.”

“What creature?” Regulus challenges. “Because hiding a creature in Hogwarts can only
suggest that it’s really small, or that you own a very big room. ”
Hagrid rests his hand on Regulus’s shoulder. “Myrtle’s case was closed, boy. I know the
headmaster wants to speak to yeh, and this conversation does you no good. Yeh’re already
standing on a dangerous ground.”

“What good can it do to leave Myrtles with no justice?” Regulus challenges again. “I want to
know her story, but I feel like it would not be easy to understand it if your part was missing.
Why were you even blamed for it? And how is Tom Riddle involved?”

“I’m not even sure where you got that name, boy.” Hagrid says, folding his arms.

“Trophee cleaning,” Regulus replies hastily. “Do I get my answers?”

“Yeh ge’ to go to supper.” The half-giant says, firmly. “Right now, or I’ll call the head of
your house and ge’ yeh detention until the end of the year.”

They leave, of course. Regulus can’t afford another detention, but it doesn’t mean he’s not
fuming.

“What did it cost him to just tell us?” He asks as they go uphill.

“Have you actually gone mental?” Pandora is very close to shouting, her face is red and her
eyes glimmer with tears. Regulus stops abruptly, and his whole expression changes, like he’s
only now realising that he hurt her. “Didn’t you see his face? He was obviously in pain! And
for Hagrid to tell you that you’re doing something dangerous! What the hell is this about,
Reg? Why do you care about Moaning Myrtle all of a sudden?”

“Look, I-'' Regulus frowns, then looks down. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone! I tried to ask
Moaning Myrtle what happened, but she wouldn’t tell me, and James’s mum said Hagrid was
blamed for a murder he didn’t commit-”

“So you thought it was a good idea to just go and ask him?”

“There are no books about this!” Regulus says, looking up and stomping his foot. “A girl was
murdered thirty years ago, an innocent was blamed, and I’m supposed to not be interested, to
not be mad? I need to know what happened!”

Pandora wipes her tears away, shaking her head. “You’re going to get properly in trouble for
this, aren’t you? Just for the sake…”

“Of knowledge? Yeah! This Tom Riddle was in school with my mother, same house, and I
have to believe that he helped solving the murder of muggleborn girl? I don’t buy it, Dora.
Why would Hagrid have anything to do with it? He’s Hagrid, for fuck’s sake! Don’t you
think this is all really weird? That there’s nothing they’re hiding?”

“Who cares!” Pandora asks, tears strolling down her face. “Were the nightmares not enough,
Reg? The letters from your mother, the summer approaching? Why do you keep putting more
stress on yourself?” Regulus falls silent, looking away. “Nothing to say?” Pandora presses.
“Do you think it’s easy to stand by you while you tear yourself apart?”
Regulus clenches his jaw and meets her eyes. “Nobody is forcing you to stay, if that’s how
you feel.” He says, cooly, then walks past her, rapidly.

Pandora’s mouth falls open in surprise, and she whips around. “Regulus!” She shouts. He
doesn’t turn. “Regulus!”

Dorcas clears her throat, coming close to Pandora. “Give him some time,” she says, trying to
be gentle. “Why don’t we go to supper, umh? And you can talk to him tomorrow.”

“I didn’t mean that I didn’t want to stay!” Pandora tells her, now crying harder. “I didn’t
mean that!”

Her chest feels tight and her throat dry. She’s never, ever seen Pandora like this, and it’s sort
of breaking her heart. “Hey, he knows you didn’t, okay? He said that because he’s an idiot.
He’ll apologise, okay? Everything will be fine.”

When she finally gets to supper, she’s exhausted, and the rest of her friends are almost done
eating.

“Where were you?” Barty asks. “You didn’t come from the library.”

“It’s a long story.” Dorcas says, tiredly, placing some potatoes on her plate.

“A long story?” Barty frowns. “Where’s Reg?”

“Had a fight with Pandora,” Dorcas says, pinching at her potatoes. “He’s furious, you
probably don’t want to talk to him right now.”

“Ah,” Vivienne says, bumping shoulders with Evan. “D’you think he finally snapped because
she has a boyfriend?”

Dorcas glares at her. “That’s not funny, Vivienne. Drop it.”

As she eats, she starts wondering if Regulus is right, after all. Hogwarts was never safe for
her, never a space where she could be unbothered, but maybe there’s more layers to it;
maybe, there’s lies.
 The fox & The spider
Chapter Notes

Cw: spiders (for those who suffer from aracnofobia; the first sentence is in bold as well
as the last and I will leave a summary in the end notes); discussion of sex + some fears
related to being queer; brief and non graphical mentions of CA.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

30 March, 1977

At one am, Regulus is still burning newspaper pages. He read some of the numbers he had in
his stack. Normally, burning them wouldn’t be an option, but seeing the paper shrink in the
fire calms down his upsetness, even if it doesn’t solve anything.

Heartbreak isn’t new to Regulus, but it feels such now that it comes from Pandora. They
never fought before, he never made her cry, never ignored her when she called his name, and
those are already too many first times for just one day.

Guilt is a sword going through his chest, as he asks himself if he ever does one thing right.

Maybe Pandora stands correct, and he shouldn’t have gotten interested in the first place,
maybe it was a bad idea to look for information about Myrtle's case. However, it felt (and still
feels) impossible to close his eyes before the truth, even if Myrtle dislikes him, even if
Euphemia says it’s dangerous.

And a part of him is aware that Pandora was simply concerned over his health, but Regulus
doesn’t want her to be, just like he doesn’t want James to be worried. The nightmares were
never something he was willing to talk about and if Sirius got it out of him, it was only
because Regulus was too tired that night.

Admitting to not be okay, to need help: that’s something he’s been struggling with, if
anything because the more he tries to push to be better, the more his mother’s voice echoes in
his head, trying to bring him down. She’s relentless about it, a broken record going on and
on, on how he is not enough, not the heir she wanted, and yet Regulus remembers he was
once loved, that perhaps if he had done things differently, his mother would still love him,
and he’d be enough for her.

The question, however, is whether the mother Regulus used to greet with two kisses on the
cheek still exists. And the answer, no matter how much he despises it, is still no, no, she’s
dead, poor woman, probably got lost somewhere between madness and reputation. And who
came out of that? A woman Regulus can barely recognise, so cold, so hollow, never satisfied,
driving the sons she once loved out of her house and out of her heart.
With that voice constantly shaming him for needing help comes a new trail of thoughts,
thoughts so desperate of wanting to be seen as strong and reliable to people in his life that it
refuses to even consider talking about nightmares and fear of the future. For the first time
since October, Regulus feels lonely and small. There’s a lot of pushing through struggles, like
managing to hand in assignments in time, and taking notes, and then studying with the group,
and then he meets James too, because those moments with James are a bubble of safety that
he can’t give up, not even to sleep.

The cherry on top is that he is terribly tired, but terrified of going to sleep. The ‘nightmares’
feel more like visions, because no nightmare is so detailed, so precise, so full of sense. Those
images he sees feel like scenes of his life, scenes that were once bound to happen, and it
terrifies him so deeply he can almost feel his bones shake when he wakes up and gasps for
air.

Of course, people noticed. Everyone in the friend group, and James’s friends, and Professor
McGonagall, who asked if he wanted to go to the Hospital Wing and get some rest. Regulus
had to swallow back tears as he shook his head, because his pride would be terribly hurt if he
did that.

With exhaustion came oversleeping and falling asleep in class, as well as lack of appetite that
sometimes makes his head spin; more than once he slept on James’s bed after studying with
the group, because the chatter of the rest of the people in the room made it seem safe, and
James was running his hand up and down his calf, lulling him to a warm, dreamless sleep.

He wants so much to be seen as reliable, yet here he is, clearly troubled and at the mercy of
everyone’s eyes. Maybe James is right, and Ambition will ruin him, and this whole plan
about fooling his parents will kill him. But even so, is there any better opportunity? He can’t
just run away like Sirius did. His mother would know where to look for him. She will always
find a way to make him miserable, it seems.

“Why the hell are you burning paper?” Vivienne asks, somewhere in the room, behind him.

He startles, and turns to glare at her, more out of a reflex. If there’s one thing he really can’t
stand is people sneaking behind him.

“I’m cold.” Regulus replies coolly, and throws in the fire yet another ball of paper, just to
spite her.

“You should be sleeping.”

“And you shouldn’t?”

“I don’t fall asleep in class, so technically I’m more entitled to staying up late.” She sits next
to Regulus, balls of paper between them. “Heard you fought with your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend, for fuck’s sake. And I’m bloody pleased the rumour is already
spreading around, that makes me feel so much better.” Regulus says sarcastically as he hugs
his knees to his chest.
“You still act like you fancy her. I mean, look at you.” She moves her hand up and down.
“That’s a break up look.”

Regulus shakes his head, and looks away, to an empty armchair, mouth curled in displeasure.
Vivienne has been jealous of Pandora for years now, teasing relentlessly about him fancying
her, making jokes in class if they were too close, and she had gotten particularly overbearing
when they dated. Blaming her entirely would be wrong, considering he did cheat on Vivienne
and never gave her proper attention, yet he can’t say that behaviour didn’t make him want to
drop their friendship completely.

And aside from that, he’s sick of people assuming he’s straight. More days go by and more
rumours arise on who James Potter is dating in such a secret, and who is shagging Regulus
Black behind closed doors. Just the other day, Mary and Pandora were complaining about
constantly being asked questions on the matter or being the object of rumours themselves.
Some even go as far as saying that James finally started dating Lily, which makes Regulus
even more upset.

He wants to be public about his relationship, wants everyone to know who he loves, just so
they would shut up, stop assuming, leave them the fuck alone, thank you.

“Look, I’m really sorry for last year, I’m sorry for breaking up without an explanation and
I’m sorry for disappearing from you. I was going through…stuff, and I wasn’t fine, and I
can’t tell you why I broke up with you, so if you want to hold the grudge forever, do it, just
don’t bother me.”

“That’s got to be one of the worst apologies I’ve ever heard,” Vivienne says, throwing a ball
of paper into the flames. “Why can’t you tell me why? Are you shagging a professor? Oh,
your mother would be so thrilled.”

“Can you just leave me alone, please?” He asks, turning to look at her. “I’m not willing to
talk.”

She shakes her head. “I left you alone for more than one year. You were not fair to me, you
know? We dated, alright, but I thought we were friends. Why didn’t you think the same?”

“We have different concepts of friendship, that’s all,” Regulus says, It’s not that it’s not true,
it’s just that it’s not entirely so, which makes it technically false, because truth must be
absolute. “I don’t believe one must have tons of friends. Giving so much trust to so many
people is irresponsible.”

“But we’ve known each other since we were six.” Vivienne says, and she sounds vulnerable,
as she rarely does, which makes Regulus listen to her. “What hurt would have done to trust
me, too? I’m a good secret keeper, you know? I’ve been keeping everything for Leonie and
Dorcas, I would have done the same for you. And for Evan, and for Barty, because we were
friends.”

“It’s not that simple and you know it,” Regulus says, watching flames curl around in the
fireplace. “I can’t do that. I don’t think there’s anybody who ever got the whole truth from
me. I’m not a good person to be friends with if you want to be trusted. I’m always going to be
wary, and you're always going to crave trust because you can’t give it out.” He meets her eye
and sighs. “We weren’t raised to be people who trust, Vivi.”

“Are you going to be who they raised you to be?” Vivienne asks then, grabbing a ball of
paper and starting to tear it in small pieces. “You don’t really act like it.”

“Which suggests that the answer is no, because it is.” Regulus replies, watching her finger
pick at the paper like the beak of a bird. “But I can’t even erase everything that happened to
me. And I don’t get why you pretend it doesn’t get to you.”

“Because you’re the only one that understands.” Vivienne says, raising her eyes to meet his.
“And you left.”

Regulus sighs and massages his temples, closing his eyes. “Vivienne…”

“You left without an apology, like we didn’t know each other since we were little, and look, I
know I was never your number one, okay? You had Sirius, then Pandora…but the point is,
when you were mad because Sirius was ignoring you, when you felt lonely and betrayed, I
was with you-” She stops, and Regulus forces himself to open his eyes and look at her. “And
you left like that never happened, and it really hurt, okay? So fuck it, whatever secret you’ve
got, I can keep it, but I need to understand it, because it’s been more than a year, and it still
hurts.”

Blowing air out, Regulus brings his knees to his chest and he takes a look at Vivienne, her
dyed blonde hair, the Slytherin crew neck and the dark eyes, staring back at him. “I’ve been a
dickhead to you,” he admits. “And I’m so sorry, Vivi, I am, but I couldn’t assume that…I
know you’re friends with Dorcas, but-”

“What does Dorcas have to do with it?” Vivienne frowns. Regulus sighs and presses his lips
into a thin line, staring at her, waiting for her to put two and two together. “No, you!?”

“There you go…” Regulus sighs again, resting his chin over his knees. “It was never about
you. And it was never about Pandora, either. She’s my best friend, and she’ll always be that-”
Words get stuck in his throat, forming an uncomfortable lump. “If she’s willing to take me
back.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous now,” Vivienne says. “Of course she will, Reg. Do you have any
idea of how many times I fought with Dorcas? Best friends fight with each other, then they
talk and forgiveness happens. You should know, you fought with Barty and now you’re back
at being friends.”

Regulus chuckles, shaking his head. “You really didn’t expect me to be queer, did you?”

“Oh, fuck!” Vivienne laughs and throws another ball of paper in the fire. “Fuck, Barty? How
did you manage that?”

“Genetics,” Regulus replies, with a small smirk. “Sorry about yours.”

Vivienne throws a ball of paper at his head, but Regulus catches it lazily, used to the quick
wings of the snitch.

“You’re such a dickhead. So tell me, who are you shagging now? ‘Cause it’s been a few
months of you sneaking out and you having hickies. I thought it was random girls.”

“Yeah, everyone thinks it’s random girls. There’s rumours all over the school, but no one is
able to look past their noses, which is why I’m, somehow, still safe.”

Safe, but not any less mad, because the only reason he needs safely is that someone decided
that wizards can’t be queer, and even if they are, it’s immoral because they have to
“contribute to the continuation of their bloodline”.

“You still haven’t told me who it is, prick.” Vivienne says, scotting closer. “C’mon, you owe
me, this is the first real conversation we have in a year.”

“You’d be so shocked,” Regulus says, grinning at himself. He gets up and dusts his clothes
with his hands. “You know what? I think I’m going to leave you to it.”

“Prick,” Vivienne says, as Regulus throws the remaining paper into the fire. “I’m going to
find out anyway.”

“Good luck.” Regulus replies, raising his eyebrows.

Practice can’t be handled when one skipped dinner and only got three hours of sleep. Which
is why Veronica stops him from getting on his broom after seeing him struggling with warm
up.

“I can train.” He says, holding tight the handle of the broom.

Veronica sighs and shakes her head. “I’m not taking that responsibility, Regulus, I’m sorry.
Your brother will never forgive me if you get hurt during a practice I’m supposed to watch,
so please just go get some rest.”

“I’m telling you I can-”

“Regulus,” Pandora’s voice comes from behind him.

He whips around, the way he didn’t yesterday, and seeing how red her eyes are makes him
drop his gaze quickly.

“Goodness, you really did fight. Problems in paradise, eh, Black?” Mulciber asks, elbowing
him in the ribs.

“We’re not friends, Mulciber.” Regulus says, coldly, moving away. He glances at Pandora
again. “What’s up?”
“Hospital wing.” Pandora says, and Regulus knows she won’t take a no for an answer, so he
looks at Veronica.

“Oh, I support your pretty friend. Go. Get some rest. I don’t want to see you around until
lunch minimum,” Veronica says. She then claps her hands. “For the rest of you, merciless
training.”

Pandora brings him away, hand wrapped around his arm. Once they’re inside, he allows
himself to pout.

“I really wanted to take part in the merciless training, you know?” Regulus says, still not
looking at her, though he can see the tips of her hair swinging around her back.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up, I wish I had it in me to slap some sense into you!” She stops
abruptly, and grabs him with both hands now. He’s surprised enough to meet her eyes. “Look,
I know what I said yesterday could be taken the wrong way, I shouldn’t have- the point is that
I chose the wrong approach.”

“No, Dora, it’s me, I’ve-”

“Shut up, I’m apologising first.” She says, firmly, as creases form on her forehead. “I didn’t
mean that it’s hard to stay and I will never mean that, okay? You’re my best friend, I love
you, and I hate to see you so exhausted. I miss my friend, alright, Reg? And you’re too tired,
you can’t start playing Sherlock Holmes-”

“Who’s Sherlock Holmes?” Regulus asks, blinking.

Pandora rolls her eyes, shakes her head, then rests her forehead against his collarbone. “A
muggle detective. Listen, Reg, I need you to stop pushing yourself. Not for me, for yourself,
okay? There’s no need to overwork, and you’re just a student, your life is already messy,
please-”

“I’ll step aside.” Regulus says, wrapping his arms around her, sinking his fingers into her
long, soft hair. “I promise, I’ll fix it.”

Pandora hugs him back, so tight it’s almost painful. “And never doubt me again, okay? And
tell me what this is about.”

“Nightmares.” He grimaces, then forces himself to say more. “Visions, actually. Bad ones
too. They don’t happen every night, or every time I sleep, but they’re recurrent and…well,
frequent, I’ve grown too anxious to go to sleep. Remember the centaur I told you about? I
think he’s sending them. I’ll speak to him, and I’ll fix this.”

“And have you told James? About the centaur?” Pandora asks, nuzzling at his neck. “He’s
worried about you. It shows.”

“I’m scared to lose him,” Regulus says, as a feeling of emptiness takes over his chest, and
makes him feel like the floor under him is liquid. “I’ll tell him. Once it’s fixed, I’ll tell him, I
promise.”
“I want you to listen to me very carefully.” Pandora says, distancing herself a little, just to
look at his eyes and make sure he’s looking back. “It’s okay to struggle. There’s a war going
on, there’s expectations placed on you, nobody expects you to be fine all the time, Reg. And
James loves you, he really does, I’ve seen him around you enough times to know that he’s
hopelessly smitten. I don’t think you can lose him, Reg.”

Regulus grimaces again, holding back tears. He looks away, up, down, desperately trying to
keep his eyes from wetting. “But if I told him about Damastus, I would have to tell him about
Sirius, and I don’t want him to think I’m bad because I thought poorly of his best friend.”

“Reg, that was years ago,” Pandora says, rubbing his arm. “I’m sure James knows there are
two sides to your stories. If you do this, you close communication, and it will only get harder.
You need to trust him.”

“But I don’t know how to.” Regulus whines, drying his cheeks. “Sirius has been his best
friend for years, I’ve only been his boyfriend for six months. What if he picks Sirius’s side?”

“James listening to you isn’t there to pick sides, Reg. He’s there to listen and understand, and
he will, because he’s a good boyfriend, right?”

“He’s annoyingly good,” Regulus admits. “But I’m annoyingly scared.”

“Okay,” Pandora says, still frowning slightly. “But isn’t it more frightening to lose him due to
miscommunication? To have him believing that you didn’t trust him?”

Regulus opens his mouth to reply, then snaps it close, because he doesn’t have much to say.
James, much like Sirius, thrives on trust, on being able to be a steady support, and while that
is a flaw sometimes, it’s also one of his greatest qualities. It would break his heart to know
Regulus can’t trust him and Regulus is so fond of James’s heart, it’s the most precious thing
that has ever been placed in his hands, and he doesn’t want to do it any harm. So he’s going
to try.

“You’re right,” he says, slowly. Then he hugs her again. “I’m so, so sorry about yesterday. I
love you, you’re my best friend, the woman of my life, and I will never make you cry again.”

“Silly,” Pandora says, holding him back. “I love you too.”

Regulus stays in the hospital wing until late afternoon, resting on Poppy’s order, and he’s
released just in time for dinner, which he eats quickly, under Barty and Evan’s concerned
gazes. He has plans for the night, naturally, because the moment Poppy left the infirmary to
grab some supplies, Regulus told Sirius they needed to go visit Damastus that same night.

So after dinner, Sirius meets him, and under James’s invisibility cloak, they sneak into the
Forbidden Forest. It shouldn’t be this easy to access something forbidden, but Regulus is
quickly learning that safety at Hogwarts is built over lies, and maybe it’s not that surprising
after all.
Once they’re in the forest, they take off the cloak and shiver at the cooling temperature.

“We need to be quick,” Sirius says, after placing a warming charm on both of them, while
Regulus lightens his wand. “Centaurs usually are towards the depth of the forest.”

“Damastus will know I’m here.” Regulus says, starting to make his way into the wood. “He
did the last time. He’ll meet us in the middle, you’ll see.”

Sirius hums and follows him, walking prudently and keeping his steps featherly light. “It’s
completely different when I’m a dog,” he says. “Less scary.”

“I think it’s beautiful and poetic.” Regulus retorts, rolling his eyes. “Where’s your bravery?”

“Beautiful and poetic, you say. You’d shit yourself if you heard a loud noise.” Sirius says,
elbowing his side. “What if I disappeared?”

“Let’s not disappear, how about that?” Regulus turns with a slight smile. “You know this
place is actually dangerous, so don’t play games.”

“You also said it’s beautiful and poetic, and everyone wants to get lost in places like that.
Like museums and churches with painted ceilings.”

“Danger has always been beautiful and poetic, what do you think the Iliad is about? Or the
Eneid, or Greek tragedies. They’re beautiful because they’re dangerous and unaccessible.
The Forbidden Forest is beautiful and dangerous because Nature is. Remember when Uncle
Alphard took us to the sea and always told us not to trust water because it’s as stunning as it’s
unsafe? That’s what he meant. There’s a lot of literature about it.”

Sirius tuts, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Is this that you told James to charm him?”

Regulus shoots a glare at him, then sighs, narrowing his eyes. “Why are you asking that? You
never cared about how I charmed him before.”

Sirius shrugs. “I always knew he was going to be your favourite, because I know him and I
know you, and I know this is the type of shit that makes him swoon.” He says, grumpily,
staring ahead. “I’m just wondering how it happened. You got in touch and I didn’t even
know. Why didn’t you tell me right away? I’m your brother, for fuck’s sake.”

Regulus glances at him briefly, catching a glimpse of Sirius’s furrowed brows and his sharp
eyes. “Maybe I didn’t tell you for the same reason you didn’t tell me about Remus.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s really not.” Regulus argues, as he starts to hear the sound of hoofs hitting the ground, at
a steady, yet fast pace. “You just don’t want to be wrong.”

The conversation ends there, because Damastus catches up to them. He’s not different from
the last time Regulus saw him, except for the creases in his forehead and his crossed arms.
Bracing himself for the lecture about to happen, Regulus lowers his wand. Next to him, Sirius
is all tensed up.
“Regulus Black,” the centaur begins, sharpening his gaze. “When I told you not to come find
me again, I meant it. This forest is full of dangers, especially at night, and I believe you have
enough in your hands already.”

“I’m here because of the visions.” Regulus says, staring back at Damastus.

Surprise paints over the centaur' face, and he comes closer. “What visions?”

Regulus turns to Sirius, unprepared, and Sirius lays his hands on his back, right between his
shoulder blades. “He’s been having really awful nightmares.”

Damastus moves his gaze from Regulus to Sirius. “Sirius Black,” he glances at Regulus
again. “Why are you here?”

“My brother needed help.” Sirius says, simply.

Regulus lowers his gaze and looks away, to the curtain of trees on the side of the path, and
just as he does that, he notices a fox looking directly at him, eyes yellow and fur so red it
doesn’t even look real.

“These nightmares…visions, they won’t let him sleep, and he told me you used to visit his
dreams, so we thought you might have something to do with those.”

He saw a fox the day the nightmares started, and he remembers it clearly: just before he and
James covered each other with snow, he saw a fox looking at him, a fox that ran away the
moment Regulus met its eyes.

“I’m afraid you’ve come to look in the wrong place,” Damastus says. “Or, perhaps, just in the
right one. But I might not be the one you’re looking for.”

As soon as the fox moves, Regulus does too, a natural reflex, and he bolts to follow it in the
deep of the woods, barely hearing Sirius calling his name, or Damastus, for that matter. It’s
only when a black dog catches up to him that Regulus first stumbles, then stops.

“Snuffles?!” He asks, shocked and panting. “Oh, Sirius, you are so dead once we’re done
with this, I swear to fucking Merlin.”

Sirius, however, being a dog, can only bark at him and then growl at the fox, who seems
unphased by the dog in an unnatural way.

“Not real,” Damastus says. “Do you know what a fetch is, Regulus Black?”

“It’s an omen of death,” Regulus says, heart in his throat and ears ringing. “But you- you said
I had big responsibilities for the next year-”

“Breathe in, Regulus. You’re safe,” Damastus says, coming next to him. “It could be a
Fylgja, not much different anyway. Have you ever seen a fox before?”

“Yes,” Regulus says, in a low voice. “The day the nightmares started, I saw a fox, then I got
sick and had a vision for the first time. But, Damastus, don’t they offer portents of events to
come? If those visions are what my future looks like, then I don’t have one.”

Sirius pushes his snoot against his leg, as if he’s trying to reassure him, like he did in the
summer, when Regulus found him for the first time.

It was late July and he was taking a walk to clear his mind, when the dog started following
him: dark fur, blue eyes, it looked like it belonged to someone, but it seemed to fixate on
Regulus. In his loneliness, a dog was a blessing, so naturally Regulus went out of his way to
buy dog treats, then proceeded to name the dog Snuffles. On bad days, he looked forward to
sneaking off from his window and taking a walk with it.

“I think you should follow it, Regulus,” Damastus says, claiming his wandering attention.
“I’ll come with you. Sometimes, these kinds of spirits just wish to help, and you should let
them.”

“Alright,” Regulus says. He glances at Sirius again and rolls his eyes. “I’m yelling at you
once we’re out of here. You’re the worst brother-dog ever, and I hate that I fell for your
stupid prank.”

At some point, spiders appear and Regulus has to take a deep breath in: he has always
detested bugs -with the exception of bees and butterflies. He turns to Damastus, curling his
hand into fists nervously.

“I really don’t like spiders,” he says, looking at crawling little monsters on the ground. “Can’t
we…delay this somehow?”

For the first time, Damastus smiles, but it looks like he’s teasing Regulus. “Life would be
much better if we could avoid each and every thing we find unpleasant, child,” he says.
“Keep walking. I’m fairly sure we’ll pay a visit to a friend of mine.”

“Are they eight-legged too? I’ll keep the nightmares, if that’s the case.” Regulus says,
shivering just at the thought. “I’m not kidding, Damastus, I might throw up.”

Sirius transforms back and starts to laugh loudly, holding his tum and curling forward. “Oh, I
can’t believe this, mr. Regulus Black, mr. I could have been sorted into Gryffindor, scared of
some tiny little spiders.”

Regulus glares at him. “Do you want to be tackled right into the spiders, Sirius? Mind you,
I’m terribly upset with you.”

He starts to walk again, arms folded. His stomach feels heavy with nervousness, and the
spiders aren’t helping: it looks like they’re getting bigger.

“Are you really upset with me?” Sirius asks, now walking right next to him. “I only wanted
to check on you safely, it wasn’t a prank. Just concerned about you being alone there and…
well, James and Remus weren’t talking to me, I missed you even more.”
Regulus looks away, mostly to hide the impact of Sirius’s words, and the mixed feelings they
arise. Something between “I missed you too” and “you only miss me when your friends don’t
miss you”.

“It’s fine,” he mumbles. “I can survive there, alright? It’s nothing I’ve never done before.”

“There’s a mirror in the second drawer of my nightstand,” Sirius says, softly. “James has the
other half. You can talk to us, alright? I need you to talk to us while you’re there. This
summer was hell, I got pimples from stress.”

“You got pimples because you're pubescent and you probably wash your face with shampoo,”
Regulus says, sharply. “I’ll grab the mirror.”

Sirius nods, and silence falls again, but not for long, because then Sirius speaks again.

“Didn’t you miss me?”

Sirius’s voice is sad, and it briefly sends Regulus back to the fights they had when they were
kids. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes they fought, and a couple of hours after the fight
one of them would apologise to the other with that same voice. A tone of guilt and regret, a
tone that suggested the necessity to keep the other close. They’ve always been the other’s
whole family.

“Can we not do this now?” He asks back. “Seriously, it’s not the best time, I’d rather get this
done first.”

“Fine,” Sirius says, and Regulus knows he’s miffed.

While he understands his rage, he can’t stop to take care of it: the spiders keep getting bigger,
and they’re leading them into a big tree where bigger spiders await, and when Regulus sees
the biggest one, he almost shouts. Some of his dignity is preserved though: he only claws at
Sirius’s arm, who hisses in pain.

“Reggie, stop, you’re hurting me,” Sirius says, pained.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.”

Regulus drops his hand and looks at Damastus, who rests his hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, Regulus,” Damastus says. “Nothing will hurt you. And look, your Fylgjia is
fading.”

Regulus looks over to the fox, which now looks translucent. “Is it a good thing?”

“It means its purpose has been accomplished. I believe you are here to meet Aragog.”
Damastus says, meeting his eye. Something in his expression, perhaps the wiseness, makes
Regulus feel at ease, so he nods, taking a deep breath in. “Don’t be scared, lads.”

Then he steps forward, and calls this Aragog, who happens to be very big, and very hairy. His
pincers are big, and Regulus instinctively gets closer to Sirius, holding his wand tight.
“Don’t be hostile,” Sirius whispers, sounding more fascinated than terrified. “They don’t
attack if they don’t feel threatened.”

“Damastus, have you bought these men here?” The spider asks, looking at the centaur, who
trots back to Regulus and gently lowers his arm. “Hagrid would be furious.”

“Hagrid?” Regulus asks, now intrigued more than he’s scared. “You know Hagrid? Key
keeper Hagrid, big man with a big beard?”

Aragog looks at him, then slowly walks closer. “How come you look so interested, boy?”

“Well, I-” Regulus clears his throat as his cheeks grow hot. He knows Sirius is probably
going to be mad at him for this. “I’ve come across the story of Myrtle Warren, a girl who has
been killed around thirty years ago, and I’ve been instantly curious because I know Hagrid
was blamed for it- or, well, a creature, and Hagrid was suspected of having brought it inside
the castle, I suppose. But the boy who snitched on Hagrid probably wasn’t a very good man,
so…maybe you can help me put this puzzle together, if it pleases you.”

Aragog glances at Damastus, who speaks immediately: “The boy won’t tell on Hagrid,
Aragog. He’s meant for great things, and perhaps, helping him will benefit you in the long
run.”

“Why would you assume I’m related to this story?” Aragog asks Regulus, then.

“Well…honestly just a gut feeling and the fact you mentioned Hagrid.” Regulus says,
embarrassed. “I’m not accusing you, of course, I’m just wondering if maybe you happened to
know something more.”

“I’m not the creature who killed the girl,” Aragog says, then. “I was very small when it
happened. Hagrid was taking care of me, feeding me with scraps and keeping me safe in a
cupboard of the castle. I remember being very scared, and Hagrid had grown particularly
scared too, after the girl died. He was then blamed, because they thought I, barely out of my
egg, had killed the girl.”

“So you’re saying something else killed her?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“Then Hagrid is innocent,” Regulus mumbles, more to himself. “This doesn’t make any
sense, why would Tom Riddle have any interest in killing a random girl?”

“What are you talking about?” Sirius asks. “If that’s all, Reg, we’ve got to go back.”

Regulus nods, then looks back at Aragog. “I won’t forget about this, Aragog. I will clean
your name.”

With that promise made, Damastus walks them out of the forest, and the two brothers are
silent through it. Sirius must still be upset over their unfinished conversation, while Regulus
is trying to put together the pieces he has of the story.
Tom Riddle is definitely guilty, and Hagrid was just a cover up, but why did the school need
a cover up so bad they expelled an innocent student?

“Regulus,” Damastus calls, stopping at the edge of the forest. He puts his hands on Regulus’s
shoulders and stares at him in the eye. “Answers will come to you at their own time. Focus
on the present.”

Regulus grimaces, but he nods. “Will I find you in my dreams this summer?”

Damastus’s hands fall from his shoulders, and he raises his eyebrows. “Perhaps, if you need
me. You’ve grown enough to rely on yourself. Goodbye.”

As the centaur disappears into the darkness of the forest, a lump forms in Regulus’s throat,
and he looks down, spinning a ring around his finger.

“C’mon,” Sirius says, pulling the cloak on their shoulders. “I’ll take you back to your
common room.”

On the way back, Sirius doesn’t mention Myrtle Warren or how Regulus avoided the
conversation surrounding his feelings, though Sirius was definitely trying to set one. Maybe
it was a bad idea to delay it; when the fight comes, it’ll hurt, perhaps more than the last four
years.

2 April, 1977

Sleep became peaceful again, not without fears. He’s still scared to fall asleep, but the
reassurance that comes from Fylgjia disappearing is better than none at all. A couple of days
and nights of rest and sleep made him calm enough to approach the conversation with James.
Complete trust is new for Regulus, but if there’s one person he can offer that to, it will be
James; step by step, he will get there.

Saturday night became a special, dear night to them, because they spend it together and they
stay the night. Regulus brings candles because he likes the atmosphere and he never forgets
to charm the ceiling.

Saturday nights are about doing domestic things like brushing their teeth in the bathroom and
pulling faces at each other in the mirror. Sometimes, James will tickle him while Regulus sets
his tooth brush away, and he will only stop when Regulus kisses him.

And, maybe, since they slept shirtless on the night of James’s birthday, they will do it again,
and Regulus will get to run his hands on his bare skin again, and feel James’s feathery touch
on his waist. It’s very new, but he likes it, nonetheless. It seems like he’s falling in love more
and more every day.

This evening in particular seems slightly different. James is silent, but stays very, very close,
and he watches the stars with fascination. Regulus, instead, watches him, his beautiful
profile, and wonders what made James so pensive.
“Are you okay?” He asks, nuzzling closer, hooking his leg to James’s.

James hums. “Just thinking.” He swivels his head and looks at Regulus now, thoughtful
brown eyes. “I’m afraid of the dark, but I really like the night. The stars. There’s something
so calming about the magnitude of the universe. Sometimes I feel like I have to do everything
or know everything. The thought of the immensity puts me back in place. Not in a bad way,
you know? Gently.”

“It’s reassuring,” Regulus agrees, glancing at the charmed ceiling. “But that’s not the
universe. It’s a lie. I made it up.”

James squints at him: maybe Regulus is some sort of physics formula to his eyes, a new one
that he’s trying to figure out. “Do you usually make up lies?”

“No,” Regulus says. His eyes flutter close for a solid second, while he tries to find the right
words. “But I tend to leave tales unfinished, and that creates lies.”

“So you make up lies.” James concludes, laying his hand over the one Regulus rests on his
chest. His touch is gentle and warm, his thumb smooths over the back of his hand. “You seem
yourself again.”

“I was always-” Regulus starts, then settles for taking a step back. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been far off,” James says, squeezing his hand ever so slightly. “You were tired and
sad. And scared. But you wouldn’t tell me why. I thought you were going to break up with
me or that I was the one making you sad.”

The words leave his mouth slowly, and each one hits Regulus square in the chest, because
this is exactly what Pandora warned him about.

He slips his hand away from James’s, climbs into his lap, straddling his hips, and takes his
face in his hands, forcing James to look at him. There’s tears in his eyes, and he looks away
after a few seconds holding Regulus’s gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he says. James sucks in a sharp breath as his eyes wet more. “James, James,
James, listen to me, it’s neither, okay? You haven’t done anything wrong and I don’t want to
break up with you. Ever. I want a home with you and cats and a miniature Quidditch pitch in
the backyard.” James frowns, laughs, and some tears escape his eyes. “Are you laughing or
crying?”

“I don’t know.” James says, as Regulus dries his face. “I can’t figure you out sometimes. I
don’t understand why you do so much, how you do it, but it scares me. You’ve got to let
yourself rest and…and I need you to tell me when you’re not alright, otherwise I start to think
I’m the problem, and you’re procrastinating on leaving me.”

“I’m sorry. You’re not the problem, James. You never were. I don’t want to leave you,”
Regulus says, softly. His heart is hammering in his chest and his breath feels funny, coming
out in short bursts. “I wanted to tell you.”
But I was scared to lose you. He wants to say it, he’s desperate to just release the words, but
they’re stuck in his throat. His ears ring, and his vision is off, as he can’t quite focus it.

“We’re a mess.” James wraps his arm around Regulus, bringing him in, hugging him to his
chest. “You look like you’re panicking.”

Cuddling close, as if he’s trying to fuse with James, to be a whole part of him, Regulus closes
his eyes. “I was,” he says, in a breathy voice. “I want to tell you everything, but I don’t want
to lose you. I don’t want you to think ill of me or to think I didn’t trust you.” He closes his
hand into a fist, stubbornly inhaling, even if his lungs don’t seem willing to take in any air.
“My issues with trust aren’t your issues. Will you promise you’ll keep that in mind? I always
want to tell you things, but I don’t because I’m scared that if I say those things, you won’t
love me anymore.”

James’s fingers start carding through his hair, as he says: “You know, I wouldn’t panic about
you wanting to break up with me, if I didn’t love you. I know you struggle, Reg. I never came
into this thinking you were perfect. I know you, I know vulnerability is scary, it is to me as
well. But we have to try. If we don’t say things now, that will be a problem later, and it will
be much bigger.”

“You won’t judge me?” He asks, in a small voice.

“No.” James kisses his forehead, still holding him close. “I’m here to listen and understand.”

“You make it sound like we’re in a lecture.” Regulus says, getting off James’s lap to sit with
his legs crossed right next to him. James rests his hand on his knee, looking up at him. His
lashes are still wet, and his eyes slightly red, and he sniffles, moving his thumb slowly on the
side of Regulus’s knee. “You have to promise me you won’t feel guilty either, okay? Because
Sirius has a lot to do with this, and I don’t want you to fault yourself for what he did.”

James frowns just for a second, then he nods and sits up. “I won’t, but..:” He breathes deeply.
“I hope you don’t feel pressured to talk about this, bec-”

“I do not,” Regulus interrupts him. “James, if you were upset because I didn’t tell you what
was happening, it would be fine, okay? I would understand. I should have told you.”

James looks away, grimacing. “But it’s your secret, you’ve got the right to decide when to tell
me things.”

“Yeah, but if something I’m doing makes you feel bad, you shouldn’t feel guilty about telling
me, love,” Regulus presses, laying his hand over James’s. “Besides, it was stupid of me to
keep it this long.”

“We’re always circling around the same problem,” James says, lacing their fingers together.
“Neither of us wants to admit when he’s not feeling well or why.”

“We’re trying,” Regulus says, quietly. “We’re trying and we’ll succeed, because we love each
other. And the reason why you’ve seen me tired in the past months is because I kept having
nightmares: though it’s best to call them visions, that’s what they are.”
“Visions?” James asks, frowning.

“Visions. Not very good ones, let me tell you. Three were the most recurrent: my death, me
taking the dark mark and my mother ambushing me.” It’s hard to get the words out, because
the images flash so vividly before his eyes. James squeezes his hand tighter, and even if
Regulus isn’t looking at him, he knows he’s frowning. “When I was a first year, I started
receiving visits in my dreams. It was a bad time for me.” His voice starts to waver, so he
stops, breathing in. “A centaur named Damastus was the one who visited. It started around
January, I think. He would just talk to me, like…I don’t know, like he was family. I was very
upset at Sirius, I used to talk about him all the time. I was…hurting.”

I was lonely, he wants to say. It’s not that Pandora and Barty being there wasn’t enough.
Narcissa was grieving for Samira, for the relationship she needed to end, but Regulus didn’t
know back then. Losing Sirius at that age didn’t mean just losing a brother, which already
hurt as it was: it meant losing his best friend, too, the person who got him through all his life
and stayed knowing all of Regulus’s quirks and flaws, and relentlessly loved him. It meant
losing the person Regulus loved the most in the entire world, and not understanding why.

First his parents, then Sirius, and it sent Regulus into a spiral, back then. Sure, he gained
friends in the meantime, but none of them was his brother, none of them could ever replace
him, while Sirius seemed to think the exact opposite.

It’s an admission that costs him a lot, but he still resents Sirius. All the harsh words, all the
times they screamed at each other and cried, all the times Regulus didn’t get an apology, all
the times Sirius doubted him and used it against him. The time Regulus shouted at him he
was nothing but a dirty traitor, finding himself new brothers, as if Regulus was dead.

All through their fourth year, they tried to fix it and Regulus attempted, in vain, to forgive
and forget. He often thinks Sirius doesn’t trust him, that he expects Regulus to follow their
parents’ path, and sometimes he reckons Sirius is right, and he’s not strong enough to fight
anyway.

It would be so easy to pretend they don’t see each other because they’re busy, because they
have different friend groups, but it wouldn’t make it any less of an act.

Regulus loves Sirius: but he hates him sometimes, and he resents him still, and maybe some
parts of him blame him for having left him alone, even if it’s all Regulus’s fault.

Sirius loves Regulus: but he doesn’t trust him, he still grimaces when James and Regulus act
slightly intimate with each other, he’s jealous, rotten jealous, and some parts of him probably
resent Regulus for sending him away, for not letting him be a martyr and a hero.

It will be years before they’re brothers again, but what they had before is never coming back.
Hugs will never be as comfortable, let alone cuddling. Sirius won’t tell him stories, Regulus
won’t be his best friend. They seek different people when they’re hurt, and hate each other
for it.

How does he explain James that? How could James ever understand to have Sirius, Sirius so
loyal his animagus is a dog, betraying you? Does James know how heavy Sirius’s words are,
how harsh, how harmful, how bitter? Does he know the pain of hearing the person you love
the most in the entire world telling you you’re not brothers anymore?

He doesn’t wish it on him. However, such emptiness can’t be put into words. It can’t be
understood, it has to be felt. And Regulus is the only one who carries that pain, hidden like a
shameful, hefty secret.

He blinks tears away, squeezing James’s hand. “Anyway, I…” His voice cracks. “I’m sorry,”
he says, clearing his throat. “I’ve never told this to anybody.”

Pandora was there to listen to his incoherent crying. Barty, Evan, Vivienne, Dorcas, they all
got his venom, his coldness, the mistrust. Yet he crawled back to Sirius every time, and every
time they talked it started with too much politeness and it ended with someone crying. They
weren’t raised to heal, they were raised to be evil, to be people who say things to hurt and
never apologise.

“Reg,” James’s hand cradles his cheek, makes him look up even if he doesn’t exactly want to.
“That was years ago, okay? You’ve got Sirius. He’s not going anywhere.”

Regulus shakes his head, biting hard at the inside of his cheek. “I still resent him, James.” He
says, looking down. “When we were little, I could only ever see him. He was my best friend,
my favourite person in the whole world and the only one I trusted not to leave me.” He
sniffles. “Then he went to school and Mother wouldn’t give me his letters. But when Sirius
told me he still thought of me, during Christmas break, I thought I wasn’t losing him after all.
And then I got sorted into Slytherin and he just…gave up on me. He wouldn’t even greet me
in the hallways, and it only occurred to him that it hurt me when I stopped making any effort
to see him. I can’t even put into words how badly it hurt.”

“Reg…”

“And you know, what makes it so much worse is that even after years we still haven’t found a
real peace. If we’re together for too long, we’re going to fight and then avoid each other until
one of us has enough. It’s all screwed up. And it wouldn’t have happened if I just- if I was
sorted in Gryffindor, he wouldn’t have done that.”

“This isn’t your fault,” James says firmly. Regulus shakes his head. “It isn’t, you know it’s
not. Sirius was a git, alright? We used to tell him to stop being such an arsehole, he’s just not
the type to listen. You need to talk to him.”

“But I don’t want to.” Regulus says, almost aggressively. The image of Sirius in that forest
comes back to his mind, and he clenches his jaw. “I don’t want to talk to him. He’s going to
be mean if I do, alright?”

“Why do you say that?” James asks, frowning. He’s so concerned, for both of them, trying so
hard to understand a dynamic that is unclear and difficult to grasp even for the Black
Brothers themselves.

“Haven’t you seen the way he looks at us?” Regulus asks, lowering his eyes. “I mean yeah,
he says he supports us and he wants us to be happy, but he’s so jealous. He doesn’t even like
me being there.”

On a rational level, he knows this isn’t true, that Sirius is glad Regulus has found his way into
Gryffindor. But it’s more complicated than that, and Sirius is annoyed, though Regulus can’t
understand why.

“He needs time,” James says, taking Regulus’s hand gently. “But I swear, he loves that you’re
around.”

Regulus shakes his head, then sighs. “Look, let’s drop this, I really don’t want to talk about
this. The point is, I was lonely and upset, and Damastus was the only adult figure I could
shit-talk Sirius with, so I did that, and Damastus began to question me. About my parents,
because as soon as I lost Sirius I started looking for their approval, and I know everything
they did was wrong, but I needed someone in my family to like me. So I kept fighting
Damastus. He would tell me my parents were in the wrong and I would tell him that he didn’t
understand and he was just a dream anyway.” He sighs. “Then I became friends with Elias
and I discovered that my old wand had runes that prevented muggleborns from grabbing it, so
I snapped it. It was a family heirloom, so Mother was livid.” He doesn’t remember a single
thing that happened the weekend he got his new wand, except for the trip to Ollivander and
the feeling of having a wand that finally suited him. “And after that, the dreams stopped. I
thought I simply grew up. But in November, I met him.”

“You met Damastus? He came to you?” James asks, clearly engrossed in the story. It makes
Regulus smile, despite everything. “Sorry, I just really like centaurs. I think they’re cool,
cryptic. They know lots about the stars and they experience the world in such a different way,
and the fact we could talk to them if we were less entitled…The wizarding world would
bloom, if we just accepted other cultures inside the wizarding world. I wish the wizarding
world was a magical world instead.”

Regulus stares at him with wide eyes. Of course, he had thoughts around this before, but no
one has ever said it like this. “Yeah,” he says, slightly breathless. He wants to drop the whole
honesty thing and just kiss James until he melts under his lips. “I agree, I…”

“You’re quite red, love.” James says, with a smug grin. “Should I put my good student side
on display more often?”

He lays his hand on Regulus’s chest, pushing him down on the mattress. Regulus lets himself
be pushed, grabbing a handful of James’s sweater to bring him down and let their lips crush.
He barely registers himself taking off James’s glasses, since it’s such a daily gesture now.

The kiss seems to be able to stop time, and there’s nothing more comforting than James’s
chest against his, of feeling the way his breath comes, the beating of his heart, his weight, as
it keeps Regulus pinned right where he wants him. He sinks his fingers into James’s soft
locks, keeps him close even when they part, wishes he didn’t have to breathe, whilst being
glad that their kisses are still breathtaking after they’ve shared a thousand.

“I feel like we got distracted,” James says, voice hoarse, as he rests his forehead against
Regulus’s. “My fault for being hot, right?”
“Oh, shut up.” Regulus flips them with a smooth thrust on his hips, and blocks James’s wrist
on the mattress. “You’re a menace. Stop looking so fascinated.” James doesn’t, of course. He
looks at Regulus with wide eyes, with his lips parted, his hair splayed on the covers, and he’s
so inviting. “James.”

“That was hot. The thing you did.” James says, blinking. “Oh God, it’s a whirlwind around
here.”

Regulus laughs, eyes still focused on James’s face. “Yeah.”

“Keep telling me the story.” James says, freeing his wrists of Regulus’s grip just to lace their
fingers together.

“Will you be able to focus?”

James rolls his eyes. “Of course I will, Reggie dear. One of the perks of sleep overs on
Saturday night is that I get to kiss you until late night, fall asleep next to you and then wake
up next to you on Sunday morning, and Krafty will bring us breakfast and-” He stops,
blinking.

“What did you say?” Regulus asks, intrigued.

“I didn’t say anything about tomorrow morning.” James says, looking away. “The point is
that I have a lot of time to kiss you, so please resume with your story.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Fine, but I expect you to spoil me with kisses after this.” He pouts.
“As I was saying, I met Damastus this year, and to cut a long story short, he said I changed
my faith and that next year I’m going to have big responsibilities, and I think he was talking
about the war. Anyway, I thought he was the one sending me the visions, I was wrong. I was
having visions because of Fylgjia.”

“That actually exist? I thought it was a Norse legend.”

“Me too, but apparently…whatever it was, it led me to an Aracnomantula named Aragog, and
here the story becomes tricky, so listen carefully. Remember what your mother said about
Myrtle Warren?” James nods obediently. His eyes are intense, focused on Regulus. “Aragog
was little when that story happened, but he told me that Myrtle was definitely killed by a
creature, one that lives inside the castle and that can go dormant, I assume, because there
aren’t many small creatures that kill without leaving a trail.”

“Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus.” James says, blinking. “What if it was a warning?”

“That’s exactly what I thought!” Regulus says, locking eyes into James’s. “But it’s hidden.
It’s hidden inside the castle, no one knows when, and apparently in 1943 it found a way to
strike. They blamed Hagrid because he was keeping baby Aragog safe, but the true story
must be much deeper. Which is why I believe Tom Riddle did it.”

“You just said a creature killed her.” James says, sitting up. Regulus doesn’t move from his
lap, letting his wrist rest on his shoulders instead. “What would Tom Riddle have anything to
do with this?”

“He’s suspicious. He was one year below my mum, a Slytherin, and he was given a trophy
for services to the school for snitching on Hagrid. Think about it, Jamie. A Slytherin in the
forties helping someone solve the murder of a muggleborn girl? Of course not all Slytherins
are the same, but maybe he had something to hide. Maybe he was hiding a creature as well,
and he snitched on Hagrid to misdirect the investigations.”

“Oh, God.” James meets his eyes again, fidgeting with the hem of Regulus’s sweater. “It
makes too much sense. Do you really think there is a creature hidden inside Hogwarts? Oh
my God, this is crazy, they would have had to close the school.” James’s eyes go wide and he
holds on Regulus tighter. “They blamed Hagrid to save their reputation.”

“Yeah.” Regulus tucks James’s hair behind his ear and sighs. “You know, I think that’s all.”

“Those visions you spoke about…” James looks at him, a slight crease between his
eyebrows. “Do you think they’ll come true?”

Regulus shakes his head. “I don’t know. I know I was supposed to die young while trying to
do something good, and I know I had the mark while I died.”

James winces at his words, pained. “I’ll do anything to keep you from that fate.”

“I think I’m off of it already.” Regulus says, curling a strand of James’s hair around his
forefinger. “The wand was snapped. I have a wand that matches me. I have my friends, I have
you and Sirius. I don’t see why I’d ever walk that path when my ambitions are somewhere
else. The opposite way entirely. Sure, they can try to force me, but if I play my cards right…”
He shakes his head. “I don’t want to think about it, but I won’t have the mark, alright? You
don’t need to worry about me.”

“You know I do.” James says, as Regulus wraps his arms around his shoulders. “You’re my
love, and there’s a war out there. Of course I worry.”

“I’m your love?” Regulus asks, trying to focus on the positive side.

“My one and only.” James says, leaning in to kiss him softly. “You know what you were
saying earlier? About wanting a home with me and cats?”

Pandora says that a home isn’t necessarily a place, sometimes it’s just a time (a time where
you’re loved) or a person. I was skittish when we talked about it, because I know -now with
certainty- that my future doesn’t include a home (whether it is a place, a time or a person, or
all three even).

He wrote that in his diary and read it countless times, but never stopped to think about the
way truth slipped out of those words.

“Yes,” he says, softly, caressing James’s cheek with the tip of his fingers. The brown of
James’s eyes, the warmth of his body, his strong, comforting hugs; or, to make it short: home.
“What about it?”
“I’m thinking we should have matching pyjamas. And a room with a big window, so there’s
always a lot of natural light to read. We’re going to give random names to the furniture.”
Regulus giggles. “Why are you laughing? There’ll be Maxine the Washing Machine, Kraus
the Couch, Lanny the Microwave…”

“Lanny and Microwave don’t even rhyme,” Regulus says, grinning from here to here. “I’m in
love with you.”

James smiles back, holding him close. “Really? Regulus Black is in love with me? What a
scandal!”

“I should tell my girlfriend about this,” Regulus agrees, as the tip of his nose brushes against
James’s.

“Shit, I thought you forgot about that,” James says grumpily. “Look, I had to test the waters
somehow, okay? You were being all cold.”

“I wasn’t.” Regulus denies, kissing the tip of James’s nose. “I melted right away. I still do.”

“Ah, it’s because I’m so hot,” James says, again smug. “If I knew how much I can turn you
on with my knowledge-”

“Your ego is so big I’m starting to think I’m hugging two people at once.”

James laughs, shoulders shaking as he leans against Regulus. “You’re really embarrassed
about it, aren’t you? Don’t worry, I find it cute you have a crush on me.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Maybe I should go back to my girlfriend.”

“Noooo,” James whines, bringing him closer and kissing his cheek. “You might not have
noticed, but I have a crush on you too.”

Regulus laughs, cuddling close, as James lulls him slightly into his arms. “For the first time
in a while, I feel at peace.”

“I’m glad,” James murmurs, catching his lips into a kiss. “I remember having plans about
kissing you until I was too tired to go on.”

“Oh, did you?” Regulus asks, with a smirk, tangling his fingers in James’s hair. “Who am I to
stop you?”

6 April, 1977

“You’re exaggerating the issue,” Evan tells Barty, raising his eyes from the Charms book.
“Now can you please quiz me on Charms? Flitwick is going to ask questions and we all know
he’s going to ask me things because my essay sucked.”
Regulus glances at Barty, busy glaring at Elias and Shinji, arms folded to his chest, checking
the way Shinji smiles at him and touches his arms.

“I think Charms' quiz is the last of his problems,” Regulus tells Evan.

“But it’s the first of mine,” Evan whines, glancing at Elias and Shinji. “Bartyyyyy, c’mon, we
all know he fancies you, why do you care? It’s not like everyone is suddenly gay, c’mon.”

Barty turns, just to glare at Evan. Regulus sighs and leans against the wall, knowing what’s
coming next.

“Okay, Rosier, first of all, you’re not in the position to say that since you drool all over him,”
Barty starts, eyebrows furrowed. Evan flips the pages of his book, wrinkling his lips.
“Secondly, that hufflepuff boy is touching his arm, so I have every reason to be jealous,
alright?”

“No,” Evan says, raising his eyes as he snaps the book closed. “Do you want me to smack
some sense into your head? Because I think jealousy is messing up with your rationality.”

“I’m not jealous,” Barty says, quickly.

“You just said you were.” Regulus says, exasperated. “Why would Elias bother with you if he
fancied Shinji? You’re looking too much into it.”

“So I'm crazy jealous, that’s what you’re saying.” Barty says, sounding offended, checking
them up and down, like they just assumed the worst of him.

“Good deduction!” Evan praises him, handing out his hand. “You must be the top class
student, I’m Evan Rosier.”

“Piss off,” Barty says as he slaps Evan’s hand away. Glancing again at Shinji and Elias, he
grimaces. “Why doesn’t he stay with us?”

“Oh my God,” Regulus whines. “Just let him be, okay? Shinji is his friend too.”

Barty pouts, looking down. “Yeah, but Elias is not even my boyfriend yet.”

“I wish second year Evan could hear you right now.” Evan sighs, tipping his head against the
wall. “So what if you don’t slap a name onto it? He made it quite clear that he likes you. If
you’re so jealous then go up to him and…I don’t know, do something coupley.”

“Are you crazy? What if someone starts assuming things?”

Regulus looks away, smiling slightly as he sees the sixth year Gryffindors coming their way.
James usually has Transfiguration on Wednesday, after lunch, and the classroom is just above
the fifth year Charms ones, so Regulus usually sees James at this time.

Except his good mood is ruined by a girl who looks at James a bit too fondly, and she’s
touching his arm.
“Oh, come on.” Regulus says, shoving his hands into his pockets as he tries to look more
closely. “Evan, who’s that?”

Evan seems happy to be distracted from Barty’s jealousy issue, and glances at the girl.
“Emmeline Vance.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Regulus groans. “C’mon, it’s been four months since December. He’s
taken. Is she dumb? He has my ring, mine.”

“You know, I did a lot of wrongs in my life but I don’t think I deserve this,” Evan says,
messaging the bridge of his nose. “The patience I have with you two, honestly-”

James turns to greet Regulus, as he always does, but his smile quickly turns into a smirk
when he sees Regulus’s frown. “Aww, are you mad at me, Reggie?”

Regulus rolls his eyes and folds his arms, squinting at James. “Potter.”

“What’s up with you?” Dorcas asks, once they’ve finished studying.

Regulus pouts, tearing apart a piece of paper. It’d be an awful hit to his pride to admit he’s
still annoyed because of Emmeline Vance.

“Nothing.”

“Oh, c’mon, you’ve been restless since we got out of Charms. What was that about?” Elias
teases.

“He’s jealous,” Pandora says, as she passes the cigarette she had been smoking to Jules.

Regulus quickly turns to her, frowning. “Dora!” She only shrugs her shoulders with a slight
grin, so he moves his gaze to Dorcas and Elias again. “Stop looking so eager, Merlin’s
balls.”

“C’mon, tell us all about it!” Dorcas says, leaning forward on the table. “Who made our
Reggie mad?”

“That nickname is getting out of hand,” Regulus says, crossing his arms to his chest.

“Aren’t you going to tell us what made you jealous?” Barty tips in, with a smirk. “C’mon,
Reggie.”

“Woah, okay, why don’t you tell us about your jealousy, uh?” Regulus snaps, glaring at him.

Elias leans back on his chair: one hand on the table, eyes on Barty and a smirk on his lips.
“Your jealousy?”

Barty blushes a deep red and Evan wheezes, shaking his head. “Oh, Elias, you should have
seen him, he was about to burst!”
“I wasn’t!” Barty says, trying to prevent his voice from getting too high. “I was just…you
know…I didn’t like how close he was to you.”

“He?” Elias asks, teasingly, getting up to face Barty, who stubbornly refuses to meet his gaze.
“Don’t make me call you your full name.”

“This is a private conversation,” Barty mumbles, pouting slightly. “And you’re a menace and
I hate you.”

“A true rollercoaster.” Jules says, raising her eyebrows. “I’m afraid it’s time to leave them
alone again.”

“Finally,” Regulus says, quickly grabbing his things and shoving them messily into his bag.
“See you at dinner.”

He then rushes out of the room and runs on the single flight of stairs he needs to reach James.
The door is half closed, and as soon as he’s close, he can hear the sound of James’s voice as
he sings to himself.

“Are you alone?” Regulus asks, peeking inside.

“Reggie!” James says, turning to beam at him. “Yes, I’m alone. Had a good studying
session?”

Regulus shrugs, dropping his bag on the floor to go kiss James, who immediately drops the
book he was holding to embrace him. Pressing closer, Regulus slips his hand into James’s
hair to guide the kiss. It doesn’t last very long, because soon enough James is laughing too
hard to keep kissing.

“What’s so funny now?” He asks, frowning.

“Nothing, love,” James says, but he doesn’t stop.

“Nothing, love,” Regulus mocks him, trying to get out of his embrace.

James tightens his hold around him. “I’m sorry, love, it’s just…are you jealous?” He asks it
with a smirk, as if there’s something funny about that. “Oh, stop pouting at me.”

“She was all over you,” Regulus replies, grumpily, holding James close and resting his head
on his shoulder. “I hated it. It’s bad enough to hear all the rumours about you dating this or
that girl without seeing them acting as if they have a chance.”

“But they don’t.” James says, stroking Regulus’s hair gently. “I didn’t think you’d be
jealous.”

“I’ve been keeping that for myself,” he grumbles.

“She tried to ask me on a date on Saturday.”

“Saturday is our day!” Regulus says, outraged. He looks up at James, scowling even more
when he sees his smirk. “You need to turn down this girl. I don’t like her. You know what?
I’m asking you on a date on Saturday, you’re busy. Tell her that.”

James laughs, shoulders shaking and a hand trying to come up and cover his smile. Regulus
catches it easily, preventing it. “You really don’t need to be this jealous, love.”

Regulus presses his lips into a thin line. “I don’t like that they think you’re dating someone
who isn’t me. Even if I know we can’t come out. It’s a bummer! And why do girls swoon
over you if the whole school knows you’re dating? That’s very anti-femminist.” James laughs
again, shaking his head as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “James! Stop laughing! It’s a
seri- an important topic.”

James chuckles again, lacing their fingers together. “I’m sorry for laughing,” he says, but he
doesn’t sound sorry at all. “It just feels good to know I’m not the only one who’s jealous.”

“Why would you be jealous?” Regulus asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Well, I…” James looks away, running a hand behind his neck. “I used to be terribly jealous
of Barty. I couldn’t bear to see him around you, it’s still…weird.” Now it’s Regulus’s turn to
laugh, and he does, under James’s confused gaze. “Why are you laughing? He’s in love with
you!”

Regulus shakes his head, with a bright smile. “No, he’s not. Not anymore. Apparently, while I
wasn’t looking, he and Elias became sort of a thing…but I’m not supposed to tell you! So
you can’t tell anyone.”

James sits down on the edge of his bed, looking strangely comforted. “Barty and Elias?” He
asks, gently taking Regulus’s hand and pressing a kiss on it. “I thought they hated each
other.”

Regulus shrugs, sitting down next to James. “Love can heal hate. I mean, I used to hate you,”
he says, intertwining their fingers. “I hated you when I was eleven, because Sirius loved you
more; I disliked you at fourteen because everyone told me you were rough and superficial.
Then, I got to know you, and I saw who you really were, and I began liking you more and
more, and look at me now.” He smiles and leans close to kiss his cheek. “Hopelessly yours,”
he whispers, lips brushing against James’s skin.

James smiles, and turns to kiss him, cupping his cheek and bringing him close. It’s slow,
almost as if James is trying to reassure Regulus through it, almost like he’s whispering:
you’re the only one, with every little movement. Regulus doesn’t move away when James
parts, and with their breath coming so close together, he could convince him their hearts also
beat as one.

Resting his hand on James’s thigh, he claims his lips again and again, until, at some point,
James is in his lap, and his arms are around Regulus’s shoulders. The position is new, but not
bad, not bad at all, because James lets out a delicious sigh when Regulus touches his legs,
and he presses closer when he moves his hands to his lower back.
“I think I might be enjoying this a bit too much,” James whispers against his lips.

“Do you want to stop?” Regulus asks, pulling away. “I- Well, frankly, I don’t have a clue of
what we’re doing, but we can stop-”

James frowns, seeming unsure, then drops his head to Regulus’s shoulder. “Reg, I’ve got no
idea of what I want,” he says, quietly. “I want you, but I’m scared to make a fool out of
myself.”

“You need to finish that thought, James.” Regulus says, holding him close, because it’s his
turn to provide comfort and he can’t succeed if James doesn’t open up.

“You’d think it’s stupid.” James says, but he sounds terribly vulnerable. “It’s so stupid, Reg,
I’m ashamed I’m even thinking of it, I shouldn’t-”

James pulls away, he gets up entirely and starts to pace in front of the bed, hands in his hair.
“I don’t even see it as a real problem.”

Regulus frowns, getting up as well. “Whatever it is, it’s hurting you,” he says. “And I could
never think that something that hurts you is stupid. It’s a real problem if it makes your mood
drop so suddenly. You have to stop shoving your emotions aside.”

“I’m not shov-”

“You are!” Regulus says, frowning deeply. “It’s not the first time you say something that
hurts you is stupid. You’ve been delaying this talk for too long. I told you my burden, you tell
me yours. Come on.”

James sighs, letting his hands fall along his sides, and he seems to deflate. “My cousin’s
getting married in July.” He says, grabbing an envelope from his nightstand. “You know my
parents. They’d rather die than admit they expected me to get married someday. They have to
be perfect about me being…bisexual, I guess, I don’t know.” He sits down, frowning at the
letter. “They didn’t know much about queer people before the first pride happened. It’s been
what, five years? They read their books, you know…educated themselves on the issue, but I
don’t think they ever thought I’d be queer.”

Regulus sits down next to James, looking at the envelope. “What is this about?”

James is slouching a little, and when he turns to look at Regulus, his lips are curled down in a
sad expression. “I never wanted to disappoint them.” He says, resting his head on Regulus’s
shoulder. “They will never tell anybody, but I know that in some way our relationship wasn’t
a pleasant surprise. I mean, I can’t tell my extended family that, because every time we see
each other they ask me if my mum found a match for me, if I’m getting married fresh out of
high school. And my mum has never even been one for arranged marriages! I mean, my
father had a divorce from an arranged marriage when he was twenty-seven. Why do they
expect my parents to plan a marriage for me?” He sighs, straightening his back again.

“I’m going to sound extremely ignorant,” Regulus says, folding his hands in his lap. “Is it
tradition to have arranged marriages in India?”
“Yeah. I mean, it sort of depends on your family, but family is a big thing, and when you
marry, you’re extending your family, so it’s a big event for everyone.” James sighs again,
ruffling his hair. “I know they don’t do it because they want to be mean or pressure me, but
it’s also a lot for me to go back to Jabalpur and watch my cousin get married when I know
that even if I wanted that, I could never have that with you, and even if I could, I’d have to
explain it to my extended family, and I know that’s off the table.”

“Do you want to tell them?” Regulus asks, as James starts to play with his rings, eyes trained
on them.

“Not now. I’m definitely not ready for such a big coming out,” James says. “But eventually,
yeah. I don’t like hiding. I don’t think I should hide, but at the same time…” He leans
forward, staring ahead. “At the same time, I feel like I’m disappointing my parents, but the
worst is that I can’t do anything to change that. I’m not going to stop being this way and I
don’t want to be miserable about it either.” He looks at Regulus and reaches out, to take his
hand. “When I talked about you with my mum the first time, I had a thought I’m not proud
about.”

Regulus squeezes his hand and nods. “You can tell me, if you want.”

“What if she only accepted it because she thinks it’s just teenage love?” James asks. The
question hits Regulus in the chest, and it makes his stomach drop to his heels, and he can’t
begin to imagine how James felt. “I know we’re very young. Especially to my mum, who
says she only fell in love once, and she was at least ten years older than us when it
happened.”

“So you think she accepted it because she thought it wouldn’t last?” Regulus asks, meeting
James’s eyes.

“I can’t be sure of it, and…well, my mind healer says I have a tendency to overthink and
assume the worst will happen, so I’m probably not a reliable source. I don’t want to talk to
them about this over letter, but I never cared for fleeting relationships.”

“But we didn’t really know each other when we started dating,” Regulus says, lifting his eyes
from their joined hands.

“But I still chose to know you instead of knowing anyone else, and I think that’s what
matters.” James says, turning slightly to face him better. “If I could choose anyone, I would
still pick you. I have fun, you make me laugh, but you also make me feel safe, and you know
so many things, there’s never a conversation that makes me want to say stop. You’re kind to
my friends, my dad loves you and you don’t think my obsession with Quidditch is childish.”

“James, we’re both obsessed with Quidditch,” Regulus says, with a soft smile. “But I agree
with you. And besides, we wouldn’t be the first to start a successful relationship in our teen
years.” He meets James’s eyes, and breathes in. “If your mum thought that, which I don’t
think she did, we’re just going to prove her wrong. Coming out later in our life is going to be
hard, probably. But we’re still going to have each other and our friends.” James nods,
lowering his gaze. “Not comforting?”
“It’s not that,” James says, quietly. “I just always imagined my life to be different than this
and I have no idea of how I should handle my feelings now. The future seems scary, and I
feel like I’m not being steady enough.”

“I’ll be steady enough,” Regulus jokes, cradling James’s face and smiling softly at the way he
leans into it. “You’re not alone, Jamie. We can handle it together and, you know, if taking our
relationship to a next level scares you, we don’t have to.”

“I’m so confused about that,” James murmurs. “I want you, but I’m so nervous about trying
it, and I’m scared you won’t like me.”

“Not like you?” Regulus asks, frowning. “James, frankly, if I liked you more, I would
combust.”

James gives him a small smile. “Really? Even if I have stretch marks?”

“That’s what you were worried about?” Regulus asks, surprised. “Honestly, I was too
distracted by your man tits and collar bone to notice, I’m sorry.”

“They’re not man tits, they’re called pectorals!” James laughs, though, and it makes Regulus
feel a bit better.

“Let me check again,” Regulus says, scooting closer. He cups James’s chest with one hand.
“This is a case of man tits.”

“You’re incorrigible,” James says, with a bright smile. “So it’s really fine? To go slow, I
mean.”

Regulus nods, smiling. “I’m very alright with it.” He leans in and presses a kiss on James’s
cheek. “I’m glad you trusted me with this. And make sure to tell that girl you’re busy every
Saturday of your life.”

“I’ve unleashed a beast,” James says, with a sigh.

12 April, 1977

“We’ll try with Expelliarmus today,” Professor Khelben says, with a jovial smile. “Now, I’m
sure everyone knows what it’s about. Let’s see…Elias, perhaps you wanna tell the class?”

Elias straightens his back, looking at the professor. “It’s meant to disarm your opponent.
However, since it’s usually done in situations of self-defence, most people get it wrong.”

Khelben hums. “Five points to Gryffindor,” his gaze moves lazily around the class, then lays
on Cory. “Cory, what’s the secret to a good Expelliarmus?”

Cory smirks, hands together behind his back, wand lightly held in the left one. “Cold blood
and precise wand work.” He shows the movement, without announcing the spell.
“Good, Cory. Five points to Ravenclaw.” Khelben smiles and fixes the tiny circle glasses on
his face. “We’ll learn more with practice, but before we move into that, I’d like to ask
Regulus how one prevents disarming.”

Regulus tilts his head to the side slightly. “Disarming charms have distinct wand work and
colours. One prevents disarming by studying their opponent and contrasting with a stronger
charm.”

“What makes a charm strong, Regulus?” Khelben presses.

“Determination and a sturdy duelling stance. A wand must be the continuation of one’s-”

He’s interrupted by the knock at the door, and he turns to see Flich there, with a disgusting
smile. Dumbledore must be back, then.

“Regulus Black is requested by the headmaster, professor.” Filch says, as Regulus presses his
lips into a thin line.

“Pity,” Khelben says. “You’re dismissed, Regulus.”

Regulus nods stiffly and grabs his back, waving at Dorcas with a tiny, sad smile; he looked
forward to practising with her.

The walk to Dumbledore’s office is silent and tense. Regulus is almost relieved when he
walks up the winding staircase.

Dumbledore waits at his desk, scribbling something on a paper with a fancy looking brown
quill. Regulus always thought Dumbledore was one of a kind, for the better or for the worse,
but he’s seeing him with whole new eyes now. Not just the headmaster of the school, but the
director of a war, creating strategies like symphonies. How long has this been going on for?
When did the war really start?

Before disturbing the professor, he takes a look around: the room is circular, full of objects
Regulus has seen in his father’s office as well. There’s a lot of silver around, he thinks,
wrinkling his nose. His mind immediately trails back to Remus, he thinks about how
inaccessible this school was made for him: the silver in the prefect badges, silver knives for
potions, silver jewellery on every pureblood, silver in the headmaster’s office. He clenches
his jaw, then his eyes find the shabby looking hat that was placed on him almost six years
ago.

There’s also an empty cage hanging. James once told him that Dumbledore has a Phoenix,
which left Regulus speechless, as it was very rare that a Phoenix would stay with a human a
long time.

“Professor,” he calls, after clearing his throat. He’s been procrastinating on this enough.

Dumbledore gazes at him from his half-moon spectacles and sets down his quill. There’s a
placidity to him that reminds Regulus of Elias and, consequently, water: what is calm on the
surface has a lot happening in its depths. Except that, just like Elias, Dumbledore is someone
Regulus can’t read well, and his calmness is threatening rather than being comforting. Still,
he won’t let himself feel intimidated; he straightens his back, sharpens his gaze, and looks
back.

“Mr. Black.” Dumbledore scrutinises him with a calm smile, then gestures elegantly to the
chair. “Take a seat, please. We have a very long discussion before us.”

Regulus walks across the office and sits down gingerly, hands in his lap and eyes on the
headmaster. “Is this about my detention record, sir?”

Dumbledore chuckles. “I have to say, Mr. Black, I thought you were quite different from your
brother. When Horace told me about your detentions with Mr. Potter, I was intrigued to say
the least. Has friendship blossomed between the two of you, perhaps? It would surely be an
inspiration for the rest of the students in the school. It’s not very common for Gryffindors and
Slytherins to get along.”

“I think that’s a stereotype.” Regulus says, resting against the back of the chair. “I have
several friends in Gryffindor, and I’m not the only one. House rivalry only makes friendships
better.”

Dumbledore smiles calmly at him. “It’s rumoured that Godric Gryffindor and Salazar
Slytherin were really good friends, before they split.”

“It’s rumoured they were lovers,” Regulus retorts. “I don’t think they loved each other
enough, though.” Dumbledore frowns for a split second. “One should always listen to their
loved ones.”

The professor gazes at the painting of Phineas Nigellus Black, dozing off in his frame. “Do
you, Mr. Black?”

Regulus looks at the painting of his distant relative, then shrugs. “I do.”

Dumbledore clears his throat, intertwining his long fingers together as he looks at Regulus.
“We’re not here for your detention record, though it has increased, compared to last year.
Hagrid told me you’ve paid him a visit.”

“So I did,” Regulus confirms, because he sees no use in lying. “I think truth is a value we
should never give up.”

“Do you place truth before safety and security, Mr. Black? Before comfort and peaceful
living?” Dumbledore asks.

“There is no peaceful living in a state ruled with lies.” Regulus replies, crossing his legs.
“You can live under the false pretences of safety and comfort. However, it’s known that once
truth comes, peace crumbles, and it will be years before it settles again.”

Dumbledore studies his face, then sighs. “When I was sixteen, I thought I knew everything
about the world. What rules it and what doesn’t. I thought I knew who to trust and to love,
and I craved power and success before all. When I was seventeen, I knew I fooled myself.
You’re fifteen, Mr. Black. Confidence surely is a good quality, but Ambition can ruin
people.”

Regulus raises his gaze. “It depends on the person.” He looks at the headmaster thoughtfully.
“I know you made Sirius spy on my family. My parents never found out, though they’ve
come really close. Tell me, professor, were you thinking about your ambitions when you let a
child run that risk? Certainly you were aware of the dangers he was in.” He sharpens his
gaze. “You tried to sacrifice my brother, supposedly for a greater good. What greater good is
it to end a war?”

“I had no malicious intentions with your brother. Information was needed, and he was willing
to give it to me,” Dumbledore says, absolutely resolute. “In war times, everyone is asked for
sacrifices.”

“You didn’t answer my question, professor.” Regulus curls his hands into fists. “What greater
good is it to end a war?”

“The answer’s in the question.”

“Quite frankly, professor, I thought you realised at seventeen that you were fooling yourself.”
Regulus says, bitterly. “Do you believe Voldemort caused the war? I believe the lack of
proper education caused the war. Purism won’t stop existing when Voldemort dies. Death
doesn’t increase tolerance. People don’t learn from tragedies, pain is no teacher.”

“My hands are tied, Mr. Black.” Dumbledore fiddles with the top of the quill he was using
earlier. “The minister will not update the programmes.”

“Seems like you only know how to use power inside this school.” Regulus shakes his head
and looks up to the Phoenix’s empty cage. “What am I here for, professor?”

“Since your brother escaped, we’ve had serious issues gathering information from
Voldemort’s circle.” Regulus doesn’t struggle to believe so, considering Bellatrix is there;
she’s crazy, stark-raving crazy, but she’s terribly clever and a brilliant witch, she’d never let
information escape. “I need a new spy. You would be greatly-”

Regulus feels his jaw fall open and his ears start to ring in rage. He jumps on his feat and
thumps his hands on Dumbledore’s desk. “You want me to take the dark mark for you,” he
says, angrily.

“Mr. Black, I know I’m asking for a lot-”

“You have no idea what you’re asking!” Regulus yells. “You’re asking me to pick my family
over all my friends, to leave Sirius and James behind, to be on the opposite side. You’re
asking me to give up everything and for what? For information? If you want you stupid
information, you…be clever and get it yourself, goddammit.”

“Mr. Black,” Dumbledore says, now sounding more threatening. “Please, go back to your
seat.” Regulus does, but only because he’s trembling so hard he doesn’t think his legs will
 support him much longer. “Sadly, this war has only two sides. I’m asking you to choose
mine.”

“You’re the same as him,” Regulus sneers, clawing at his own bicep. “The bloody same. Two
sides, you said?” He gets up again and grabs his bag from the ground. “I hope you’re
prepared for a third one.”

Chapter End Notes

Summary of the spiders scene: Regulus meets Aragog, who confirms that Hagrid is
innocent and Myrtle was killed by a creature inside Hogwarts.
 War & Peace
Chapter Notes

CW: CA (non graphical, but implied in more than one occasion); discussions of War;
homophobia (discussed, nothing graphical); a fight (it gets resolved!!!); discussion of
big coming outs but it's all hypothetical.

12 April, 1977 (Late afternoon)

Anger is a layered emotion, an umbrella under which sadness, envy and frustration hide.
Regulus would love to say that it never takes control or that it isn’t prominent in his life: that
would unchain him. However, that isn’t even close to his case: anger is soaked in every page
of the book of his life, a latent feeling that seems to guide the vast majority of his choices,
especially important ones. Anger flows in his veins alongside with blood, it enters his nostrils
as well as oxygen, it washes over him like water.

The more he digs into himself, the more anger he discovers; even the diary is full of it. Even
when there’s a lot to be happy about, Regulus finds a reason to be upset. Even happy
memories, if inspected with a fine tooth comb, will have anger jumping out of them, like
lice.

When he first got together with James, for example, he was constantly mad at himself for
being so weak, for starting something that could potentially hurt him in the future, and he
stayed up for hours with his stomach burning and his hands curled into fists.

When something goes right, Regulus is bound to be upset at himself, because if everything
goes right, he’s failing to find the loose string that, if tugged, will unravel the ball of yarn that
makes up his reality and create a proper mess.

Dumbledore simply gave him the perfect opportunity to pour out all the lurking anger. After
all, the headmaster isn’t much different from his parents: he puts his brother in danger in the
name of ideals and then asks Regulus to do the same, because Sirius isn’t going to do it
anymore. Dumbledore, his parents, perhaps even Voldemort: they all see him as a second
choice, a second place medal, the replacement for when Sirius refuses to be their toy.

Of course, one can be the second choice for a limited amount of time; then, someday, they
snap. Someday for Regulus was the twelfth of April nineteen-seventy seven, a couple of
hours before lunch. The sun rose and it will set, and Regulus will go to sleep with the
renewed purpose to prove to anybody and everybody he is not the replacement of his brother,
but an individual with his own ambitions and qualities.
Nonetheless, anger brings up a peculiar fear: the one of becoming like his mother, if not
worse. In fact, what assures him that his mother wasn’t just like him, when her problems
began to rise? What makes him different if he loses himself to anger in important moments, if
he can’t help but fight in the name of protection?

The answer doesn’t come. Being capable of caring for someone isn’t enough, he considers,
because his mother was also able to do that, and he remembers. When comfort doesn’t come,
and panic advents him in the middle of the final school hour of the day, he stays put, staring
at his unfinished Arithmancy exercise and mindlessly rubbing his hand on his side.

And if it didn’t sound like a tiresome day already, his head aches terribly, lights bother him,
noises make him irritable. Minutes are as long as days and the lecture doesn’t seem to know
an end, and when it finally reaches one, Regulus wishes it lasted longer, so he wouldn’t have
to deal with the rest of the day.

“I need coffee if we’re going to actually study.” Pandora says, as they get out of the
classroom. “Because otherwise I am knackered. Severely so.”

“Coffee is a must,” Elias agrees. “I’m not tutoring Evan without coffee.”

“Me neither,” Barty replies.

“You should, he’s your friend.” Elias points out, then his hand rests lightly on Regulus’s
back. The touch is comforting, so much a lump forms in Regulus’s throat. “Alright, Reg?
You’re quite pale.”

“I need to talk to my brother.” Regulus says, and proceeds to slump against Elias. That gets
him a brief, yet very helpful one armed hug. “But I don’t want to.”

“Oh, c’mon, it will be alright.” Elias reassures him, as they take the stairs. “What do you
need to talk about? Is it the Dumbledore thing?”

“Don’t mention that man,” Regulus hisses. “I hate him, I despise him to his core, I don’t want
to talk about him.”

Elias frowns, but doesn’t push farther, which Regulus is secretly grateful for. As Elias and
Barty engage in their usual banter, Regulus falls into steps with Pandora, who links their arms
together.

“Are you okay?” She asks, rubbing her thumb on his arm. “You seem really upset, and you
weren’t really there during Arithmancy.”

“I’m…yes, upset, I guess,” Regulus says, glancing down. “But I can’t talk about it now. I
need to get James and Sirius first.” He sighs and massages the bridge of his nose, an action
that makes his headache faint for a moment. “I keep messing up, I don’t know what’s wrong
with me.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Pandora says, squeezing his arm. “You just need a little rest. It’s
been quite rough lately, innit?”
“I mean, sure, but…” He sighs again. “It’s…well, everything is a little too off lately. And
Sirius is probably mad at me already, this isn’t going to help.”

“He’s mad at you?” Pandora asks, confused. “Why? Did you fight?”

“No, but it’s complicated. And we’re going to fight. And it’s going to be bad, we’re going to
go at it until we’re both crying and can’t stand each other’s faces.”

“Can’t you just talk to him?”

“We never just talk,” Regulus says, entering the Gryffindor common room, just behind Elias
and Barty.

James and Sirius are in the common room, playing a paper plane race that probably would
have ended with someone getting blinded if Regulus didn’t tell them he needs to talk to them.
James’s grin turns into a worried frown, while Sirius tilts his head to the side and raises an
eyebrow, surprised that he’s being included.

His legs are as heavy as lead when he goes up the stairs, and he starts to wonder if he should
have waited a couple of days before telling them about this. Frankly speaking, he’s not even
sure there’s a reason why he’s chosen to do this; perhaps, he only wants someone to share his
anger with.

“Did you have any visions again?” Sirius asks, when James wisely closes the door of their
dorm. “We could talk to Poppy, there are alternatives to dreamless sleep, if you-”

“No,,” he says, simply. He twists one of his rings around his forefinger and licks his lips. “I
spoke to Dumbledore today. He called me into his office.”

And it was planned, though he doesn’t tell James and Sirius that. Slughorn and Hagrid made
it very clear that the headmaster had been wanting to do that for at least a couple of months.

“Why would he want to speak to you?” James asks, confused and slightly suspicious. He’s
resting his back against one of the bed posters, arms crossed on his chest and a thoughtful
look in his eyes. “I mean, yeah, you had a few more detentions this year compared to the
previous ones, but c’mon, nothing too bad. That’s Sirius in less than five weeks.”

Regulus’s mouth forms a small smile that dies quickly. “It’s not about the detentions.” He
takes a deep breath in, focusing on the sensation of air going into his body, then gazes at
James and Sirius. “I need you to keep calm until I’m done speaking, alright? Because I have a
terrible headache and fussing won’t solve anything.”

“Did he ask you to spy on our parents?” Sirius asks, eyebrows drawn together. There’s a
sharpness to his expression that makes Regulus feel sort of reassured. A brief feeling of
comfort that disappears when Sirius adds: “because if that’s what he did, I’m going to his
office right now.”

“Spy on your parents?” James asks, eyebrows shooting up. “Why would he…” Then he stops
abruptly, blinks once, and looks at Sirius, who promptly avoids his eyes. “Is that why you
refused to leave? Because he made you spy on them?”

“James-” Sirius starts, stepping towards him.

James raises his hands, showing his palms, as if to keep distance. “Don’t ‘James’ at me right
now, why didn’t you tell me? Do my parents know? Have you told them? He’s asking kids to
do his job?”

“It’s more complicated than what it looks like, but-” Sirius tries again.

“It’s not complicated,” James reasons, dropping his hands to his side. “It’s absurd. It’s
inhuman, it’s sodding heartless. Fuck, how old were you? Twelve? Thirteen? For fuck’s sake,
it’s child ab-”

“Don’t,” Sirius says, slowly and severely, and eyes lit up with anger. “I chose to do it because
I wanted to help. I could have said no.”

“He shouldn’t have asked you in the first place,” James retorts, voice low and arms crossed to
his chest again. “You should have told me.”

Sirius looks away, stubbornly, lips pressed together. The room is still and static for a few
seconds, then James turns to Regulus, who meets his eyes.

“What did Dumbledore say?” He asks, voice melting into gentleness once more.

Regulus glances at Sirius, opening his mouth to reply. Words don’t leave his mouth at first, so
he clears his throat.

“He asked me to be his spy by taking the dark mark.”

James moves, but Regulus, already on edge, is faster. He points his wand at him, with no
intention of harming, of course, but with the intention to warn. There’s no getting out of the
room, especially to go to Dumbledore.

“I said I didn’t want fussing.”

James stares at him, dumbstruck, then at his wand. “Are you actually pointing your wand at
me?”

“I am.” Regulus says, taking half a step forward.

“I hope you agree that it’s an outraging request,” James says, eyeing the tip of Regulus’s
wand. “He can’t ask kids to do this. It’s…critical, he’s supposed to be the representative of
the good side and he’s putting children in danger! You can’t seriously think it’s okay for him
to do this.”

“I never said that.” Regulus says, carefully lowering his wand. James doesn’t make a move to
get past him, so he moves his eyes towards Sirius, who’s staring at an indefinite point of the
ground. “Sirius?”
“You didn’t accept, right?” Sirius asks, slowly raising his gaze. His expression seems calm,
but his chest heavens too hastily.

“I didn’t,” Regulus says.

Relief washes over Sirius and James both, and they seem to deflate, as if a weight was pulled
from their shoulders.

“It’s still not okay that he felt like asking in the first place,” James says, staring down.
“Taking the dark mark…is he aware of the dangers he would put you through? Death eaters
aren’t to be played with, people die everyday-”

“He knows perfectly,” Regulus says, grimacing.

“Unfortunately, the Order needs spies,” Sirius says, gloomly.

James glares at him. “That’s not a good reason to put your life in danger,” he says, lowering
his eyes again. “For fuck’s sake, you could have ended up killed. What’s the Order doing?”
His voice shakes with annoyance and he messes with his hair. “There must be other ways to
fight, this isn’t proper. It isn’t proper at all. If my parents knew-”

Sirius sighs and shakes his head. “If your parents knew, then what, Prongs? Will they stop
fighting for the only good side there is? Do you think talking to Dumbledore will stop him
from doing things his way? Let me tell you, it won’t. He’s stubborn and persuasive and-”

“And another round up of very bad things,” Regulus says, fluttering his hand in the air. “And
we all know by now. But here’s the thing, I snapped at him.”

James’s expression freezes in shock, and he slowly turns to Regulus. Sirius, on the other
hand, is amused enough to smile.

“You snapped at him,” James repeats. He sounds slightly cheered, but still mostly annoyed.
“At the headmaster, yeah?”

“Yes.” Regulus straightens his back. “And I told him I will fight for my side.”

“For your side,” Sirius says, nodding. He grins like he’s heard an insanity, which honestly
makes him look barmy. “Reggie, did you declare war on Dumbledore?”

Regulus gasps, almost offended; the scene plays again in his mind: one, two, three times.
“What a glorious bummer.”

“You declared war on Dumbledore,” James says, blinking. “Merlin, Reg.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Regulus whines, covering his face with his hands. “Bloody hell, I
declared war on the Order.”

“You know, this might actually be a good idea,” Sirius says. “There would be a third side,
one that is actually good. Or one that can do something better than whatever the Order is
doing anyway…”
“A good idea?” James asks, almost mocking. “Have you gone mental? First of all, plenty of
good wizards and witches are in the Order, and secondly, we’re still in school, how are we
supposed to fight?”

“I don’t know,” Sirius sounds like he’s pouting. “But we know where the death eaters are
wrong and where the Order is wrong, so…”

“We’re teeangers, and there’s only three of us. It would be a death sentence.”

“But we don’t have much choice, do we?” Regulus argues, folding his arms to his chest.
“And there’s not only three of us, we could…try to talk to more people, if we do end up
having a plan.”

“But even with all these hypothetical people, there’s still so little of us, especially compared
to the death eaters.” James’s eyes have something pleading in them when he looks at
Regulus. “Love, I admire your ambition, but this is too far.”

“What do you think will happen when you join the Order, James?” Regulus asks, meeting his
eyes. “They respond to attacks. Dumbledore has been away for this war for two months and
does the Order have any new information? I doubt it, otherwise he wouldn’t be asking
children to join the death eaters for him, don’t you think? The war has been going on for
years: people disappearing and dying, and what has the Order managed? They’re losing,
James. If this war ends, it won’t be because the Order found a way to end it. We need to
outsmart them. Both of them, the Order and the Death eaters.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” James asks, eyes locked onto Regulus’s as if to challenge
him. “How do you win this war, Reg?”

“I don’t know,” Regulus runs a hand through his hair. “Look, I haven’t thought this through,
but at the end of the day, was it really a mistake? I don’t want to join either of them, even if I
want to fight. And I don’t want you or any of my friends to be in the Order, because that is
the real death sentence, James.”

“If we all put our minds to it, we can find a way.” Sirius says, nodding to himself as if this
was a solution he needed for a long time. “We need to discuss it again. And we need Moony,
Pete and the girls. James?” James raises his eyes and looks at him, still seeming distressed.
“Are you in?”

“Of course I’m in,” James replies, gazing at his friend. His eyes dart to Regulus for a second,
then back to Sirius. “Can you leave us alone for a second, Pads?”

Sirius looks at them warily. “Sure, umh…I’ll be in the common room…when you’re done.”
He says, as he gets out of the room.

Regulus barely has time to watch the door close before he’s in James’s arms, almost being
lifted. He frowns, gingerly wrapping his arms around James. A soft breath leaves his lips as
he rests his cheek against James’s shoulder.

“I thought you’d be mad at me,” he says, tentatively.

It’s hard not to focus on how comforting this hug is, on how much he needed this today
specifically. James smells like cinnamon and faintly like his cologne, a smell very similar to
what Regulus smelled in his amortentia. It’s mildly intoxicating, but in a good way. If poison
tasted like this, he would contemplate drinking it.

“I’m worried about you, idiot,” James replies, almost snapping. But his embrace gets a bit
tighter and Regulus lets himself sink into it. Oddly akin to the sensation of finally laying in
bed after a long school day. “You had a shit day and it’s written all over your face.”

Fisting his hand on James’s shirt, he takes a deep breath in. “Yeah.”

“I’m so sorry, Dumbledore is a sodding idiot, he’s-”

“Can we not talk about him?” Regulus interrupts. “I appreciate the sentiment, but it brings up
unresolved feelings.”

“Like what?” James asks, softly, as Regulus clings to him.

“What if I become like my mother?” Regulus replies in a whisper, and he’s only able to get
the words out because his eyes are shut.

“Why on earth would you, jaan? You’re a sweetheart, your heart is in the right place.”
James’s answer is so easy, so simple, so not complex, but he sounds so sure. “There’s not one
inch of you that’s destined to be cruel, Reg. Not one inch. You’re too thoughtful for that.”

“But I’m so prone to anger. I’m always fighting something. I feel like…I feel like I’ll fail
everyone if I keep on like this. I’m afraid it’ll make me unlovable.”

His mind goes to Sirius, because of course it does. Of course Regulus wants his approval
before all, of course he wants to never fail him. Because lately, he has been so terrified of
losing his brother yet again.

“So you have flaws,” James says, slowly, “So you're not perfect. If love and support was only
for those who can achieve perfection, nobody would be loved and supported. Flaws are
natural and they can be smoothed. You know, my mother was a very fussy teen. My dad
always tells me. She was very good at hexing, apparently, and she could master non verbal
spells by her fourth year. Pissing her off was a brutal mistake to make. Doesn’t look very
angry now, does she?”

“Sometimes,” Regulus admits. “When she thinks someone she loves isn’t safe.”

James hums. “And one thing she always tells me is that anger is natural and positive.
Sometimes anger comes with the eagerness to find solutions, sometimes it’s assertiveness.
Sometimes being angry means you’re understanding a situation as well as you should be. It’s
not inherently bad. It’s just a feeling, and you’re allowed to have feelings even if your mother
is the way she is. What I’m saying, Reg, is that you’re not a bad person if you feel angry,
you’re just a person. And you will never, ever stop being loved for that.”
“I hate that you’re so wise when your hair looks ridiculous,” Regulus says, voice cracking
multiple times. He doesn’t even think James’s hair is ridiculous. “Thank you, thank you,
thank you.”

James kisses his cheek and, still holding him, he asks: “D’you want to stay here and
cuddle?”

“Yes, please.” He holds onto James’s shoulders and gives him a fleeble smile. “Do I get to be
carried to bed, since I’ve had a bad day?”

James chuckles in surprise and blinks at him. “Oh, you are such a little king. Anything else,
your majesty? Maybe some tea and biscuits, your grace?”

Regulus laughs, nodding. “That would be very sweet of you, James. Now shut up and spoil
me.”

“I expect the same kind of treatment.” James says, as he lifts him from the ground. “And I
want to be tucked in, too.”

“We’ll discuss the details of that later.”

“Bossy,” James comments, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Sooo lucky.” Regulus agrees, and he means it.

15/04/1977

Today at the study group, we talked about the war. It definitely was not a cheerful
conversation, everyone was tense and scared. We’re all quite sick of hearing about it. We've
had this war forced in our mouths and daily lives since we were children.

Dorcas thinks they’ll manage to bring it inside the castle. I hinted at the fact I don’t want to
fight for either side, which started another discussion entirely.

Barty says the Order isn’t good: he’s biassed, partially, because his father is in the Order and
he’s a pig. I don’t blame him. Dorcas thinks the Order moralises magic too much, and by
doing that, it precludes the possibility of new strategies, which they seem to be in badly need
of, considering they’re barely managing to avoid big damage. Evan reckons the death eaters
are following a plan, that the attacks are distractions, and there’s something more going on. I
don’t think he’s wrong. Elias didn’t speak, he pretended to be busy with the Ancient Runes
translation; he’s taking it harder than everyone, though he never talks about it. Pandora
didn’t say much, but she kept glancing at me. I know she doesn’t like this. She trusts
Dumbledore, she thinks Hogwarts is safe, even after Moaning Myrtle. She still needs to
accept the hard truth. But I’m quite sure she won’t say no to fighting alongside me if I ask.

I don’t think any of them are wrong, besides Pandora, for obvious reasons. Like I told James
and Sirius, we have to outsmart both sides. I think Evan and Dorcas’s suggestions should be
considered more, but I can’t seem to find anything that is even remotely close to what Evan
said. Concerning Dorcas, however…I have to talk to her.

I need to investigate further this summer. Maybe some books in the house will give me hints,
or maybe I can find a way to spy on the death eater meetings. I know he invites only the most
important ones: maybe he trusts them with the information I need. We’ll see. But the first step
is definitely working on developing our own strength. To put it simply: I have to talk to them
as soon as possible.

R.A.B.

17 April, 1977

The first game of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, has the whole school buzzing in
excitement. Quidditch is always a cheerful event, it takes people’s minds off what’s going on
outside Hogwarts and it’s an opportunity to meet up with friends or family that have come to
see the game.

The most surprising one is Barty: he never cared much about Quidditch. He came to every
game simply because Evan and Regulus did, but it wasn’t his interest, and he never cared for
the World Cup either.

“Okay, what the hell are you high on?” Evan asks.

They’re making their way to the dorms, where Regulus left his cleats and broom. It’s not a
habit for him to forget his Quidditch set, and it feels like bad luck.

“I’m not high on anything,” Barty says. He smiles though, and licks his lips. “But Elias gave
me his Quidditch jumper and said I can wear it on the stands. So I told Dorcas and Pandora
and we’re going to be in the Gryffindor stands.”

Evan looks at him, appalled, then his eyes dart to Regulus.

“Yeah, cheer for another seeker.” He says, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his trousers.
“You definitely have a type, Crouch.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually jealous,” Barty says, amused. “I’m not cheering for anybody,
you know? I’m just wearing his jumper. Which makes me even more his almost boyfriend.
And maybe I’ll get a kiss afterwards.”

Evan snorts. “Yeah, and a ring and a nice, big wedding and sooo many kids.”

“Do you want to die, Rosier?”

“I would pass all my exams honoris causa so yes, actually. Please kill me now and make it
short and painless.”
Regulus laughs, shaking his head. “I think Evan just means you’re making it sound like he’s
asking you to move in with him or something.”

Barty wrinkles his lips and shrugs. “But isn’t it sort of a statement? I mean, people will
definitely think we are up to something. Which means maybe they’ll stop flirting with him.
That’d be amazing.”

Regulus nods, then gives the password and they step into the common room.

“But aren’t you worried the wrong people will make the right assumption?” He asks, as they
walk through. “I mean, players might notice you. And Frank Longbottom is on the team, and
he’s Elias’s bestest friend.”

Barty shrugs again, pushing the door of the dorm open. “I’ll never come out if I think like
that.”

“Do you want to come out?” Evan asks, as Regulus takes off his rings and sets them on the
nightstand. He never wears them during Quidditch, too afraid they’ll slide off. Summoning
charms are easy, of course, but it’d be such a bother to try to summon all of those rings. “I
haven’t even told Leonie yet.”

“Really?” Regulus glances at Barty, who shares the same surprise as him. “But you tell her
everything.”

Evan shifts his weight uncomfortably. “Yeah, but…I’ve been wanting to date her for so long,
and now I finally am, and things are going so well. I don’t want her to break up with me just
because sometimes I think blokes are attractive. She’s the only one I want anyway.” He
waves his hand in the air. “I didn’t know you wanted to come out,” he adds, eyes on Barty.
“Don’t get me wrong, that’s certainly progress, but aren’t you scared?”

Barty shrugs and Regulus starts collecting his broom and looking for the cleats.

“I sort of...you know, if there’s a future in which I get to be with Elias, I don’t want it to be in
secret. I’m not saying I want to make an announcement or something like that, I just want to
hold his hand or kiss him if I want to. I’m pretty sure Mulciber already knows I’m gay
anyway. He made some snarky remarks more than once.”

“Oh, he’s such a prick, I hate him.” Regulus says whilst he shoves his cleats and shin guards
into his bag. “And he wants to be a father…sodding gross.”

“Avery is worse.” Evan comments. “Like much worse, he thinks they should take wands
away from queer wizards and witches.”

“They should take his wand,” Barty retorts, coolly, “he’s the one who can’t use it.”

“Right?” Evan rolls his eyes. “Got everything, Reg?”

“Yep. Did I give my jumper to Pandora? Yes, I did. Okay, we can go.”
It’s quite a warm day, sunny, with a slight breeze and very few clouds. The perfect day to
open up the tournament. He shakes hands with Elias, both promising they’ll win, and flashes
a grin at James as they take off.

Gryffindor, just like the previous tournament, has the best chasers, a tight trio that controls
the Quaffle movement for the first twenty minutes, scoring eighty points before Slytherin
gets to thirty. Nathaniel and Hector, however, have been training very hard, and once they’ve
warmed up to Gryffindor’s tactic, they start scoring as well. They’re good at passing, very
good actually, and Regulus can tell it pisses James off a bit at first.

Elias catches up to him as he laps around the pitch.

“You gave your jumper to Barty.” Regulus says, gazing at him. “He was really happy, he
wouldn't stop smiling.”

“Thought as much,” Elias says. “I hope he forgives me for the wait.”

“I don’t think he minds as much as you think.” Regulus says, dipping down. Elias follows
easily. “He’s really smitten.”

Elias glances at the bleachers, where Barty is peering over the field, squished between
Pandora and Dorcas. “He seems genuine,” he says, softly.

“He is,” Regulus says, gently. “Give him a kiss after you lose, why don’t you?”

Then he sprints forward, where he catches a glimpse of gold, but he’s blocked by a bludger
that misses him by a hair. The snitch is nowhere to be found, now, and he rolls his eyes, going
upwards to take a better look. Elias, from below, flips him the bird. Regulus does it back,
obviously.

The score is a hundred and twenty to eighty when Regulus sees the snitch again, and even if
attempts to grab it, he misses it again.

“Lost your sparkle, Black?” James asks teasingly, stopping by him to peer over the field.

“What are you doing here?” Regulus asks, moving away slightly.

“Hey, don’t go away now. I’m just letting Mary and Marlene have a bit of spotlight.” He
says, modest as always.

“Mary scored more than you today. You’re here because you can’t resist me.”

“Well, my love, you are riding a broom at the moment…”

Baffled, Regulus lets out a half-choked laugh. “Unbelievable, Potter. My cousin is in the
bleachers, you know?”

“Ah, you’re kicking me out.” James says, pained. “Me, your love, the light of your life, the
apple of your eye-”
“Go, or you’re not getting kisses tonight,” Regulus says, with a smirk. “You don’t want to be
kissless, do you?”

“I don’t like your methods, they’re harsh.” James holds forth, then dips down again.

Regulus starts looking for the snitch once more, dodging bludgers. He’s really proud of
himself: last year, he was hit five times, which is why Veronica made him do plenty of drills
that involved bludgers. His flying got better. She should be a trainer for a pro-team, Regulus
thinks. She’d make a terrific one.

The score goes up to two-hundred from Gryffindor and a hundred and fifty for Slytherin.
Regulus is scrutinising the pitch as he takes a lap around it, when Mulciber yells: “Black!”

He turns, just in time to see Elias grab the snitch and rise his fist in the air, eyes blown wild
and a toothy smile on his face, as if he didn’t expect this to happen. Normally, Regulus would
be upset, because he loves winning, but Elias seems very pleased with himself, and this might
get Barty a proper snog, so he’s not.

“Well, you still caught it four times in a row.” James says, as he passes by.

Regulus shrugs, and once he hits land, he immediately looks for Cissy, who’s coming down
the bleachers. Gryffindors cheer loudly as he makes his way towards his cousin, and he rolls
his eyes, trying to keep from smiling.

“Tough luck,” Narcissa says, as she pulls him into a hug. “You’ve grown.”

It’s true: he’s as tall as her, now. He’s quite chuffed about it, actually.

“I did.” He smiles. “No Lucius?”

“He was busy with some ministry stuff, and you don’t like him, so I didn’t press.” She takes a
good look at him and her lips curl up. “Have you been having a good time?”

“Yes, mostly,” he says. “I’ve been with my friends a lot, usually studying, but it’s still fun.”

“Cissy!” Evan shouts, coming off the bleachers. He’s with Leonie, hands held together. “Hi!
D’you want to meet my girlfriend? She’s brilliant, you should!”

Regulus giggles, swiping his hair back. “You will never hear the end of this.”

So Evan introduces Leonie and Narcissa, a wide grin on his face, and while Narcissa is
distracted with them, he looks at James.

He stands right outside the changing rooms with Marlene and Mary. His hair is frizzy from
the flight, and his glasses are slightly crooked. As he talks with Lily, Remus, Sirius and Peter,
he gestures a bit. Just like Elias, he seems particularly pleased with himself. When he notices
Regulus looking at him, he winks in his direction.

“Reg?” Evan calls, snapping his fingers.

“Yes.” Regulus says, absentmindedly. “Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts.”

You got lost in your thoughts, star boy, James would say, if he was here. Tonight won’t come
soon enough. Regulus can’t wait to be in his arms.

“Cissy said we can have butterbeers, the four of us.”

He smiles at his cousin. “Sure, why not?”

Barty is sprawled on the floor with a dopey smile and his hands laid on his chest, when Evan
and Regulus finally come back from Hogsmeade. It was pleasant, though Regulus didn’t talk
much: too busy daydreaming about tonight, about James’s mouth and his shirt, wondering if
he was going to take it off or not.

“Wow,” Regulus says, eyebrows shooting up as he gazes at Barty. “I get you snogged, then.”

“One hour and a half. I checked on my watch.” Barty says, turning to look at them. “I even
touched his abs. You should lose more often, Regulus. It benefits me.”

“Traitor.” Regulus comments, crossing his arms. He smiles right after. “Congrats, though.”

“And thanks for sweeping the floor!” Evan adds, chuckling.

The rivalry of the match is still there when they get to the Come and Go Room, and Regulus
is kissing James against the door before he knows it, pressing close and gripping at James’s
waist. It gets heated, but James doesn’t slow down the kisses, he doesn’t look for space, and
when Regulus tugs at his shirt and asks if he can take it off, James nods eagerly. And then
Regulus’s shirt is also off, lost somewhere on the floor.

“I’m obsessed with your moles.” James says, with a thoughtful expression, as his fingers
trace the lines of Regulus’s collarbones. He leans close, kisses the three moles on Regulus’s
cheeks and the others down his neck. “Pretty,” he adds, sounding particularly amused.

“Unbelievable,” Regulus says, wrinkling his nose. “This isn’t too much, right?”

James’s eyes lock onto his, and he shakes his head with a content smile. “It’s comfortable.
Well, new, but comfortable, you know? Safe.”

Regulus beams at him, which he doesn’t do very often, and only with James. “Safe,” he
repeats, happily. He rests his hand on James’s chest and decides it looks good, somehow.
James’s skin is warm compared to Regulus’s hand and initially, he shivered when Regulus
touched him.

“You look happy,” James says, swiping Regulus’s hair back.

“I am.” Regulus admits, raising his eyes to meet James’s.

He smiles and catches James’s lips in what turns to be a slow, soft kiss, with James’s hand
cradling his cheek and Regulus holding on to him, to his side, keeping him as close as he can.
There’s nothing better, he thinks. Nothing better than just this.

James’s hand eventually slips away from his cheek, his arms wrap around Regulus’s waist,
and suddenly he’s being lifted. He yelps, holding on to James’s shoulder.

“James!” He says, scolding.

James laughs. “Don’t worry, love, I’ve got you.”

“That’s the problem.” Regulus says, but he laughs too, especially when James drops him off
on the bed.

Satisfied, he fixes his glasses and folds his arms to his chest, nodding to himself. Regulus
rolls his eyes and shakes his head, propping himself up on his elbows.

“I’ve got you right where I want you,” James says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Idiot,” Regulus comments, flatly.

James tuts and shakes his head, index finger moving from left to right. “That behaviour needs
fixing, Regulus.”

“Does it now, Potter?”

James smiles, tugging his lower lip between his teeth. “It does. I’ll fix it.”

And then, they’re kissing again. James is all over him, one hand on Regulus’s cheek and the
other pressed against the mattress. Regulus lets him stay on top until they part. He tucks
James’s hair behind his ear and smiles as charmingly as he can, before he’s flipping them and
kissing James again, content with James’s gentle touches on his hips and back.

“You’re so bossy,” James pants. His chest brushes against Regulus’s with each breath he
takes.

“You like it,” Regulus retorts, bending down to kiss James’s cheek. “You think it’s hot. You
think I’m hot. You’ve got a crush on me, Potter.”

“That’s an understatement, love.” James says, softly. “You’re my very own starry sky, my
universe, the galaxy I belong with, the only air I breathe-”

Regulus laughs and kisses him briefly. “Big words.”

“D’you want to know what’s bigger?” James asks, wiggling his eyebrows again, just because
it makes Regulus laugh every time.

“Your ego.” Regulus guesses.

James gapes and presses a hand on his chest, offended. “I was about to say something very
romantic.”

“Oh yeah, I’d love to hear how dick jokes are romantic, please enlighten me, oh Wise one.”

“You’re mean, very mean,” James sighs, shaking his head slightly. “I make the effort to make
jokes for you and I get belittled instead.”

“Belittled,” Regulus repeats, eyebrows shooting up. “Someone is dramatic tonight.”

“Well, you’re…”

James’s voice trails off as Regulus props himself up and tips his head back to get his hair out
of his face. When he looks back down, James is staring at him, lips parted and cheeks a bit
darker.

“Don’t do that,” he says. His voice comes out rough. “My insides twisted very badly. I think I
strained my heart. Or my guts in general.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Regulus states, frowning. “What are you on about?”

“No, you…!” James sits up as well, wrapping his arms around Regulus’s torso. “You threw
your head back and…sort of rearranged your hair. Don’t do that. It’s bad for my health. And
you care about my health, obviously, because you’re my lovely, lovely boyfriend-”

Regulus grins and cuts him off with a kiss tangling his fingers into James’s hair. He’s always
quite content with the noises he can get out of James, tonight more than usual, because
James’s hand run on his bare skin, because Regulus can kiss farther down his neck, and even
if they do stop, because it gets too heated for comfort, it’s still nice, a step closer to a new sort
of intimacy; an intimacy, this one, that Regulus is learning to crave rather than fear.

They’re still hugging, though, and James takes it as an opportunity to start peppering
Regulus’s face with kisses; his hair tickles Regulus’s neck and cheeks, and he’s reduced to a
giggling mess soon enough, clinging to James’s shoulders and wrinkling his nose when
James smiles against his skin.

“I love it when you laugh like that.” James says, kissing his jaw, then his neck, right below
the ear.

“I’m happy,” Regulus says, pulling away ever so slightly, just to look at James’s face. “I
never thought I’d be this happy with someone else. You of all people, because I used to hate
you, and now you’re…well, sort of the person I feel closest to.”

James makes him feel bare in a way that doesn’t scare him. It’s a comfortable way to be seen.
He’s only bare because James listens to him, and he listens back; because they share things
from their daily lives and from the past they don’t want to look at. It’s a secure vulnerability
because Regulus knows James would only ever be nice to his softest part, and it’s easier to
expose them, even if slowly.
James looks at him pensively, half a smile on his face and eyes lively with placid joyfulness.
“I think you’re one of my best friends,” he says. His eyes never leave Regulus’s. “Do you
remember when we talked about being professors in the future? The night of our first kiss?”
Regulus nods, tilting his head to the side. “You were surprised that I wanted you in my life
when we were older. And obviously I didn’t know then how comfortable I would have been
with you, but…I feel like renovating my own words, you know? Because I feel that if I got
older without you, I would be sad. Regardless of what else happens, I would be sad, because
I can’t share it with you. When good things happen, I want you there, or happiness will be so
fleeting it won’t deserve a name.”

Regulus stares at him, absolutely gobsmacked, and enamoured, of course, but still absurdly
surprised. His heart rocks in his chest, frantic and emotional, and he has to lower his eyes and
get a full breath in.

“I don’t know what to make of my future without you,” Regulus says, shaking his head
slightly. “It feels silly. But when I was little, I really wanted a normal life with a normal
family. Or, well, to say it correctly, I wanted a normal life back. And then I convinced myself
that was always going to be off the table. And then you came into my life and blew new hope
into that dream. I think about it a lot. Obviously I have ambitions and dreams and things I
want to achieve, but…it’d just be so much better if you were there too.” He stops and
swallows, then raises his eyes. “You know, at the beginning of the year, I thought I had
nowhere and no one to call home. But now I think you’re home. That when I say I want to go
home, I mean that I want to be with you, whether we’ll just hug in silence or have a very long
talk about anything that comes into our minds. And I’m ridiculously grateful for that.”

He looks up, blinks a couple of times to get rid of the tears, and then sinks into James’s tight
hug.

“You’re my home, too,” James says, sounding a bit chocked. “I wish I could bring you home
with me.”

“James-”

“No, no, listen, I know you won’t, okay? And I trust that if you come back, it’s for good
reasons and not just stubbornness or ambition. But what I really want to stress is that you're
always going to be welcomed in my house, Reg. If I’m home, then…you’re always allowed
to come to me. So if half way through the summer you change your mind and you want to
come home, you’re welcome. Okay?”

“Okay,” Regulus whispers, pulling away slightly. “I sort of can’t believe you still think like
this after I’ve declared war on Dumbledore.”

James tuts and looks away. “I’ve always known you’re a very fiery, ambitious person.” He
says, now gazing into Regulus’s eyes. “And the more I think about this, the more I think that
you were probably right all along about not wanting to join the Order. My parents had no
choice, because that’s the only offer they had to fight for the side that wants a minimum of
equal rights. But maybe if adults and aurors are failing us, if the ministry is failing us, then
it’s best to find our own way of doing things. Especially after we’ve talked about Myrtle
Warren…”
“I just think they’re not digging into this as deep as they should into the matter,” Regulus
says, with a slight frown. “I don’t think they aren’t trying hard, I just think they’re wasting
energy by just defending.”

He jumps off James’s lap and goes to the little kitchen angle.

“Where are you going?”

“Chamomile!” Regulus replies, as he fills the kettle with water. “The point is that they should
be focusing on the origins of this war. Like, for example, who the heck is Voldemort? How
did he get like this, what-”

James’s chest presses against his back as he wraps his arms around Regulus and places a kiss
on his cheek. They’ve never done this before, not like this, but it’s nice. Gingerly, as if he’s
afraid to ruin the moment, Regulus relaxes against him and rests his hands over James’s.

“You were saying?” James goes, teasingly.

“Maybe I should declare war on you.” Regulus mutters, though a smile blooms on his face.

“Maybe you should,” James says, thoughtfully. “Make sure you only attack my lips, though.
Possibly with your lips, but hands are also okay-”

“Idiot,” Regulus says, chuckling and he turns his head to place a kiss on the line of James’s
jaw. “Hey. We’ve been dating for six months.”

“Do we get anything for it?” James whispers in his ear, then drops a kiss on Regulus’s cheek.

“Well, we could drop the chamomile and snog all night.” Regulus whispers back.

“Yup, bollocks to the sodding chamomile!”

Regulus laughs as he turns in James’s arms. He’s still smiling when they kiss.

21 April, 1977

“Didn’t you miss me?”

The question that Sirius uttered in the wrong moment, to which Regulus replied in his diary:

I always miss you. There’s a child in my mind that wonders where you’ve gone and when
you’ll be back. The truth is you won’t be back for a few years. And I never tell him, it’d break
his heart.

Missing you is not much different from being angry with you; it’s tiring and painful and I
never, ever wanted to do it.
I ’ll go back to Grimmauld Place and knock on your door when I miss your voice, and you’re
never going to open or knock back. You’ll never step foot in that room again. There’s no
space for you in that house. I’m glad. But I miss you, and I don’t know who you are.

On Thursday, Sirius waits for him outside the Astronomy classroom, and Regulus dismisses
all his friends, and meets his brother’s blue eyes, so similar to their mother’s, so full of pain
they might even be bluer than usual. Then he lowers his head and stares at the tips of his
boots, focusing on breathing.

“Hey.” Sirius says, watching the crowd of noisy students as they disappear into flights of
stairs. “Can we talk?”

Warily, Regulus nods. His back and shoulders are tense with nervousness; for the second time
in less than ten days he feels cornered.

They enter the now empty classroom, and Regulus sits on a desk, observing Sirius in silence.
His hair is loose on his shoulders and he keeps playing with the elastic band at his wrist,
snapping it against his skin.

“What did you want to talk about?” He asks, once he gathers the courage to talk.

Sirius raises his eyebrows, folding his arms to his chest. “Well, you seem upset with me, so I
thought we’d talk it out.”

Regulus’s narrow, and he gapes at Sirius for a second. “I’m upset with you?” He’s unable to
help the surprise in his voice. “I think it’s the opposite.”

“I’m not upset with you!” Sirius snaps; his eyebrows are knitted together and his mouth is
pressed into a thin line, forming a slight frown.

“You literally just snapped at me!” Regulus says, as he starts twisting his ring around his
finger. “Why are you mad?”

“I’m not mad!” Sirius repeats, but he looks away, dropping his arms. “I’m not,” he says, more
softly. “You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you one bit,” Regulus replies.

He jumps off the desk, but hesitates to come closer. Sirius stares at him, dubious, and he rubs
his neck. Then he shakes his head slightly and lets out a heavy breath. Regulus swallows,
preparing himself for whatever Sirius is about to say.

“Would you have come to visit me if you weren’t James’s boyfriend?” Sirius asks, his voice
thin and fragile. “Would you even have spent winter break with me if it wasn’t for James?”

Ironic, life is. Regulus spent three long years being jealous of James, jealous that he got to be
around Sirius and never fight with him, jealous that Sirius wanted to be his brother, jealous
that Sirius laughed with him, hugged him, had meals with him. He spent years wondering
when he’d give Sirius back.
And now here they are. Now Sirius has come complaining about Regulus being close to
James, about Regulus spending more time with him than he does with his brother. Ironic, but
not funny. Just sad. It feels like someone put a wall between the two of them, and no matter
how much they try to climb, they never manage.

“Sirius-” He starts. “Of course I would have, why would you even imply I wouldn’t?”

“Because it seems that you only care about seeing him,” Sirius continues, taunting and
accusing. “When I realised you were together, a part of me was so happy, simply because it
meant I would have seen you around more. At parties and such. And maybe James could
convince you to leave Grimmauld Place. We could be brothers again, actual brothers, seeing
each other a decent amount of time, for example. But every time you visit, you’re with him.
Glued to his side. Other people simply don’t exist, or they only exist as background noise.”

“No, Sirius, I- you’re completely off. First of all, I’m not leaving Grimmauld, and neither you
nor James are going to change that. Secondly, I come hang with everyone, I don’t just come
around for James.” Regulus says, faltering slightly.

“But you’re lying.” Sirius says, running a hand in his hair. “Regulus, you barely acknowledge
me. You say hello and say goodbye and the rest of the time you’re just…there. Or you’re
holding his hand and laughing at whatever he says to you, but the point is that you don’t
acknowledge anyone else, least of all me.”

“Well, it’s not like you make this grand effort to see me, is it?” Regulus retorts as a frown
forms between his eyebrows. Sirius raises his gaze, and Regulus sees the hurt spread on his
face, from his forehead to his mouth. “Don’t- You didn’t even invite me to your birthday,
Sirius. James did. If I didn’t tell James I was hurt that you didn’t invite me, I wouldn’t have
been there for your coming of age!”

“Yes, but when I know what you’re up to, I always try to come and see you!” Sirius says,
lower lip quivering as he speaks. “You never bloody do!”

Regulus looks away, jaw clenched. He never does; that’s true. But he has his reasons, like the
fact that Sirius used to ignore him when he did that.

“Feels bad, doesn’t it?” Regulus snaps, looking Sirius in the eye. “Try handling that for three
years.”

“Are you punishing me for that?” Sirius asks, swivelling his head to meet Regulus’s gaze. “Is
that what this is?”

Taking half a step back, Regulus curls his hands into tight fists. “I’m not. I’m not punishing
you, Sirius, I just- I don’t know you anymore. You cut ties with me for so long, I don’t know
how to be around you again, and I feel your judgement every time I’m slightly intimate with
James, and it’s…really annoying.”

“I judge you because you come into my dorm and spend all the time with him and it’s
extremely annoying!” Sirius says, arms falling along his hips. “It’s like I’m not even there!
Like you wouldn’t care if I weren’t there!”
“You have no right to say that,” Regulus says, folding his arms, staring back at Sirius. “You
acted like I never existed, you even had the nerve to call other people your brothers, you
shoved it to my face-”

“Okay, so I was a stupid kid, I can’t go back in time and change that!” Sirius shouts. His face
is red and his eyes are wet. “I understand I hurt you, alright? I do and I hate myself for it, but
if-” He stops and swallows hard. “If we keep letting the past between us, one day there’ll be
no us, do you understand?”

Regulus falls silent, eyes on the floor. “But this isn’t just about the past,” he says, slowly.
“You don’t like that I’m with James and you don’t like that I’m not leaving Grimmauld
Place.”

“I’m not mad that you’re with James, Reg, for fuck’s sake,” Sirius says, exasperated. “I can’t
think of anyone that would be a better partner for you. You’re obviously very in love, good,
great, I’m happy for you. You want to know what I don’t like? That you forget I also exist
and that James is the first person you look for when you need something.”

Regulus looks up at him, shaking his head slightly. “Sirius, you don’t look for me either. I
don’t even know who you are, you didn’t even tell me you wanted to be a healer or that
Poppy was training you. We don’t share things anymore.”

“But I want us to.” Sirius says, voice breaking as he steps closer.

“You’re asking me to trust you again.” Words can be so hard to push out, feelings so hard to
express. “But I’m not- I don’t know how to trust people, Sirius. I’m trying, but- James is
easier.”

Sirius’s mouth splits open in clear disbelief, then he looks away, shaking his head. “Of
course. James is so great, he’s so wonderful. He makes you so happy and I don’t. He gets
trust and I don’t. He gets to keep you and I-”

“Will you shut up?” Regulus pushes past him. “James bothered to get to know me, alright?
Twice as much as you have. You’re mad at him for your own mistakes.”

“I’m not mad at James!” Sirius snaps, turning around to face Regulus, who’s going towards
the door. “Don’t you dare leave in the middle of a conversation.”

“Why?” Regulus retorts, hand on the door handle. “You walked away from me so many
times.”

“You did first,” Sirius says, scathing. “You choose Mother and Father instead of me.”

“I didn’t choose anything!” Regulus says, tears in his eyes. “Merlin, Sirius, I was eleven, and
I was never as brave and defiant as you, okay? I was terrified. And besides, I am a Slytherin.
I can’t do anything about it, that’s my house just like Gryffindor is yours, and if house pride
still matters more than brotherhood, then you’re not much different from Mother!” He
sniffles, drying his cheeks. Sirius’s face is blank, pale, and his eyes are a bit vacant. “I didn’t
choose anything. You were the one who ignored me. You were everything to me, and I was
nothing to you, because of a stupid sodding hat!”

“Regulus, I don’t care about your house,” Sirius says, slowly.

“Then what is all this about?” Regulus asks. His grip on the door handle is so strong his
knuckles blanch. “Is this about not leaving for the summer or-”

“This is about you only caring about James!” Sirius says, loudly. His eyes are red where they
should be white, and his hands tremble when he uncurls his fists. “If you have a problem, he
knows before me! If you need reassurance, you go to him! When you come visit us after your
little study group, it’s only because James is there! He lends you clothes and lets you sleep in
his bed and makes you laugh and a bomb could be set off in the middle of the room, he’d still
be your only concern! If he wasn’t there, you wouldn’t even think of visiting.”

“Well, I’m sorry for having a relationship, Sirius. I didn’t realise your permission was
needed.” He sneers, taking half a step closer to the door. “You’re only mad because this is the
same thing you did to me!”

Silence falls, a curtain of distance between them. Once brothers, now chaos, a chaos Regulus
doesn’t know how to order. Neither of them will look at each other. Regulus’s words hang in
the air like spider webs, and the room is starting to feel too small.

“It feels like you don’t care.” Sirius says, slowly. He breaks the silence with this small, brittle
voice, and Regulus’s heart might branch off: one part wanting to run away and one wanting
to stay and fix this ugly row they’re having. “You don’t care about sharing things with me, or
spending time with me, you’re…it feels like you’re leaving me behind and I don’t want you
to. You’re never happy to be with me nowadays, you didn’t even miss me this summer-”

“I miss you all the bloody time.” Regulus says, then he sniffles, drying his cheek and
stubbornly looking away from his brother. “But you’re a completely different person. I don’t
know how to talk to you. We’re not…we used to be best friends, okay? You used to be
everything to me, and then you left, and it was so evident to everybody that you would have
hated me profoundly if I wasn’t your brother, and now you’re back and I don’t know what
spending time with you looks like.”

“But that won’t be solved if you’re always with James.” Sirius points out. “There is no fixing
us if you shy away from me. Reg, I’m so sorry, so bloody sorry for what I did. I know you
needed me, I know I’ve been a dickhead, I get it, okay? I can’t stand to think about how
much of a prick I was, but if you start avoiding me, it’ll…I don’t want to lose you. I want you
to want me around. I love you, Reg. And I was stupid to deny it in the past.”

Regulus lets go of the door handle and slides against the door, bringing his knees to his chest.
It’s hard not to cry, but he keeps his breath steady, head tipped against the hard surface of the
door. He wanted to hear this, of course; he even needed to. But he doesn’t know what to
make of it when he can’t say it back, doesn’t know what to make of it when he’s scared it’ll
get taken from him the second he turns.

“Reg,” Sirius whispers, sitting down next to him.

“I’m scared I’ll do something you don’t like and I’ll lose you again.” He murmurs, holding
his knees tight. “When I started seeing Damastus, I was so hurt. And every time I see him,
I’m reminded of that. And then the visions- Sirius, they marked me in the visions.”

“It’s not going to happen.” Sirius says, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. “Reg, I know
you felt alone for a long time, but you’re not alone anymore. I’m here, I'll do everything I can
to keep you safe.”

“But you can’t.” Regulus sniffles, raising his eyes to look at Sirius. “You can’t, get me? You
can’t put yourself in danger to protect me. I’m sick of that. And I kicked you out. The
responsibilities of the heir are mine now and I- I don’t need protection. I’ll go back home and
pretend I’m the perfect heir and you’ll be safe and far away. I don’t want you near
Grimmauld Place, not even as a dog-”

“I have to check on you and make sure you’re fine.” Sirius argues, with a thin pout.

“I’ve got the mirror.” Regulus says, stubbornly. “James told me about it, we can use that.”

“No, Reg- what the hell can I do with a mirror if you’re injured, uh? I can’t come and heal
you, I can’t grab food for you-”

“You can’t do that when you’re a dog either. And don’t think I would let you climb in. I don’t
want you to step foot in that house again, especially to protect me. I risked my life to get you
out, so you stay out.”

“But-”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Regulus says, irritated. “I burnt your name off the family tree,
you’re not welcome in that house anymore, Sirius. You go to the Potters and stay there. Have
I made myself clear?”

“But she’s going to hurt you,” Sirius says. There’s no doubt in his voice; Regulus doesn’t
question it either. His mother always has something to be unhappy about. “Reg, if anyone
wrote to her and told her about your companies, she’ll-”

“She would do it anyway.” Regulus says, coolly. “She probably knows I’m the one who got
you out. She hates me, Sirius. The only reason why I’m not disowned is that she doesn’t have
any other choice. She’s not going to kill me or leave permanent damage, so. Stay away,
alright? I’ll do what I have to and come back intact.”

“If you go back, I go back too.” Sirius says, stubbornly.

“If you try to get close, I’ll be the one cursing you.” Regulus replies, tense.

“I don’t want you in danger because of me,” Sirius says. He reaches out and rests his hand on
Regulus’s shoulder. “Please, Reg, at least consider the possibility of leaving.”

“Not now,” Regulus says, firmly. He gets up and takes a step back. “I’ve already said this at
the beginning of the year, Sirius. You need to calm down. I’ll make my way out of there
when it’s time.”
“You’ll make your way out when it’s too bad,” Sirius corrects him, standing up as well.
“Why, Reg? There’s no use in waiting, Mother and Father won’t get any kinder. There’s no
reason to come back to them. Just come back with James and I, alright?”

“No.” Regulus says again, firmly, arms crossed to his chest. “There’s no convincing me,
Sirius. I’ll stay and I don’t care if you like it or not, and you can’t come near that house, not
even in your animagus form. I want you away.”

“Starting early,” Sirius points out, with malice. He shakes his hand and opens the door. “You
know what, Regulus? Do whatever, I’ve tried.”

Then he leaves. The door shuts behind him and Regulus slides against it once more, knees to
his chest and arms around his legs.

Tears don’t come, anger doesn’t either. He feels hollow, he’s sure that if someone opened his
chest right now, they would find no flesh, no bones, no lungs, no hurt. Just empty space.

Eventually, he makes his way back to the dorm, hood to cover his face. The common room is
empty when he comes in: most people are probably having dinner. Evan and Barty are
missing either, which is good, because Regulus takes the opportunity to have a long shower,
then dresses in comfortable clothing. As he reaches for his diary, though, the door opens.

“Reg!” Evan exclaims. “What happened? We made you a toast!”

He proceeds to show him the sandwich, which makes Regulus smile slightly.

“Thanks,” he croaks out, carefully avoiding Barty’s narrowed eyes. “I, umh…”

“Had a fight with your brother?” Barty suggests whilst kicking off his shoes.

“Yeah.” Regulus gives up.

“You need to stop getting so beaten up after fights.” Evan says, sitting next to him and
offering him the sandwich. “Arguments are ugly, but they happen. You can apologise and
find a solution. But you shouldn’t be skipping meals because of it, you know? You’ll be all
dizzy if you go to bed without dinner.”

“What’d you fight about?” Barty asks, dropping down on Regulus’s other side. “I thought
you were getting along these days.”

Regulus shrugs. “Don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine.” Evan rolls his eyes, gets up and claps his hands. “Do you at least want company
while you eat? Because I have gossip from the fourth year, kindly handed out by Leonie.”

“Wow,” Regulus chuckles. “She’s tainting you with her gossip mania.”
“We’re all gossip girls, Regulus.” He smiles, opening his arms theatrically. “Welcome to the
show, gentlemen.”

23 April, 1977

Friday was packed until six in the afternoon. The lessons took his mind off the fight with
Sirius. Then, after dinner, he spent some time alone, reflecting.

He knows Sirius was genuine, that he meant everything he said, and that’s reassuring. It pulls
out Regulus from his spiral. Yet, he is worried they will not be able to reach a compromise,
especially surrounding the summer issue.

It’s flattering and heart-warming that James and Sirius are willing to walk such a long
distance to have him safe and sound, but it doesn’t make Regulus want them around the
house. In fact, he wants them as far as they can be. Mother can’t possibly know that Sirius is
an animagus, but it’s still risky to have him near. Besides, this summer will be the last he
spends at Grimmauld Place, thus he has some matters to take care of.

Surely, he’s not stupid enough to tell Sirius and James that. They wouldn’t understand, since
they place safety above everything else, something Regulus never managed. There are things
he needs to investigate: for example, why the door next to the bathroom was always
forbidden to him and Sirius. There’s secrets in the family, Regulus is aware, and if he wants
to understand both sides, to really see them, he has to dig his fingers in the dirt. And, since
this might be the last time he’s at Grimmauld Place, he wants to know what made his mother
so distant. Such closure is fundamental to him, and he refuses to ask Sirius or anyone else
about it.

The decision to stay isn’t even a lighthearted one. It’s complex and thorny. He’s not even sure
he understands it fully. Nonetheless, he has reasons to come back, and he’s not willing to give
in to the fear.

And yet, on Saturday morning, he enters the Great Hall and walks slowly towards the
Gryffindor table, hands shoved in his trousers and nervousness tying his stomach into knots
and pretty bows.

James raises his eyebrows at him, a small grin on his lips. Regulus smiles back, though
briefly, then shakes his head and taps two fingers on Sirius’s shoulder. He turns, surprised,
though he definitely recognised Regulus’s touch.

“Can I talk to you?” He asks.

It comes out sort of wobbly, and maybe that is the exact reason why Sirius nods rapidly and
leaves the table at once. They find an empty classroom, not trusting to have this conversation
in a hallway, and sit on the floor with their backs against the door.

They used to sit like that in Sirius’s room, at least until Mother discovered they closed the
door, which wasn’t allowed, for some god forsaken reason. It brings him back to days of his
childhood in which he and Sirius opened chocolate frogs (always bought by their cousins,
sometimes by father) and got excited over finding this or that famous wizard. Days in which
Dumbledore was just a face on a trading card and not a man to watch his back from.

“I didn’t think…” Sirius starts, picking at the skin of his finger. “I didn’t think you were
going to talk to me again.”

“As it turns out, I am getting softer as I age.” Regulus says, staring at the wooden ring on
Sirius’s right ring finger. “And I wanted to make things better. I’m tired of fighting.”

Anger comes with exhaustion, a tiredness that sinks into his muscles and makes him feel like
curling around himself, hug his knees and sleep for years; it’s worse when he’s angry with
people he loves, people he wants to get along with. Sirius is his brother, for fuck’s sake, and
he was holding out a hand, the possibility of them being close again. Regulus doesn’t want to
waste such an opportunity. Hence why he’s here, trying to take it. Even more now, with the
prospect of fighting a war, he wants to be able to enjoy the closeness, he wants to trust. He
started with James, which was relatively easy, and he wants to extend that.

It might be the most ambitious plan he’s ever had, and because of that, he’ll do anything to
succeed.

“Yeah, me too,” Sirius says, softly, raising his eyes to meet Regulus’s. “Am I forgiven,
then?”

“Only if you forgive me.”

Sirius looks at him, big blue eyes and a saddened frown. “Of course I forgive you, Reg.”

There’s something about it that plucks at Regulus’s chest, at his arteries, at his veins; a note
of ending sorrow that resonates through his whole body. It even hurts, like everything that’s
unexpected; it’s similar to the sting of Dittany essence when you spread it on an open wound.
And it doesn’t last. Because relief comes the second after.

“Okay,” Regulus says, gently. His shoulder brushes against Sirius’s. “I need to learn to trust
you again.” The fact that he’s speaking those words should make clear how much effort he’s
willing to put into this. “And it will take some time. I’m not very good at trusting people, but
I will do my best. If you trust me as well…”

“I do trust you.” Sirius says. Regulus looks at him, and watches his frown carefully. “I do.”

“Then I need to ask you to trust me this summer too. I’ll be fine and I need you to promise
me you won’t freak out about it.”

Sirius presses his lips into a thin line and looks away. Seconds after, he shakes his head. “It’s
not you I don’t trust. It’s mother. She’s mental, Reg. Especially about marriage. You know
she is, she’ll be so bloody miffed, I don’t want her anywhere near you. I can’t think of you
alone with her.”

“There’s still the mirror option. I think that’s enough.”

“But that’s not enough. I can’t stop her from hurting you with just that.” Sirius mirrors his
position, eyes clashing with Regulus’s. “You should have come with me from the start.”

Regulus shakes his head. “Sirius, it’s not that I don’t want to, it’s that I’m scared she’s going
to hurt you if I do try to escape. And I’ve had enough of her hurting you. I want you where
you’re safe, and I’ll deal with her. She has no replacements now, maybe she’ll be more
careful. I just have to pretend I’m her loyal son who will die for her reputation. We’ve been
doing that all our life.”

“But I don’t want you to be doing it any longer.” Sirius says, fidgeting with his ring. “I want
you to be free to do whatever you like, write to whoever you like, and spend time with
whoever you want. I want you at home with James and I, playing Quidditch and being
annoying.”

“I’m not annoying.” Regulus says, and he flicks Sirius’s shoulder for good measure. “You
are.”

“Yeah, but I don’t flirt with your best friend, which makes me significantly less annoying.”

“Pandora would laugh at you if you tried,” Regulus says, somewhat proud.

“I don’t flirt with girls,” Sirius says, gesturing with his hand.

“Ah, yes, try and flirt with Barty. I feel like you would hex each other in a matter of
seconds.” Regulus says, nodding. “Plus I don’t just flirt with your best friend.”

Sirius makes a gagging motion. “Gross.”

“Yeah, tell me I’m gross all you want, James told me you and Remus have forgotten a
silencing spell a couple of times.”

Sirius’s cheeks flush and he shoves him lightly, pouting. “It was a mistake and we fixed it
right away,” he hisses. “And where the hell do you and James go? I can’t even see you on the
damned map.”

Regulus giggles, swiping his hair back. “You’re not the only one who’s got secrets.” He says,
raising his eyebrows to add more emphasis. “But I’ll keep mine until the day I die.”

“Oh, c’mon, you’re just trying to spite me! You’re being safe, right?” Sirius asks, narrowing
his eyes. “Because that’s all that matters to me.”

“We don’t snog in public,” Regulus says. It’s a lie. They have snogged in public spaces, and
one time a painting asked them to high-five her. It was a lady on the fourth floor, Regulus
can’t remember the name. “I mean, I would, because at least people would stop thinking
he’s-”

Sirius interrupts with a brief laugh, and Regulus frowns at him. “That’s not what I meant. I
just noticed he sleeps elsewhere on Saturdays, so…”
Regulus wrinkles his nose and looks away. “We haven’t really…yeah. We just like to spend
time together and Saturdays are comfortable because Sunday morning is usually quite lazy,
so…”

“Oh.” Sirius’s cheeks gain colour again. “Well, that makes me feel better.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “James would have told you if we did anything. He tells you
everything.”

“You know, I don’t think he would have. He has a massive respect for your privacy.” Sirius
says, with a small smile. “He turned down Emmeline Vance, did you know? She thought he
was seeing someone casually, because she never saw him with anybody, then James
explained to her his partner was very reserved, but also jealous. It’s almost annoying how
much he likes you.”

“It’s not annoying, you’re just a grumpy old man,” Regulus says. Sirius glares at him.
“How’s it going with Lupin? You’re more private than I thought you’d be, considering you’re
disgustingly into each other.”

Sirius smiles, toothy and youthful, as happy as a child. “We were hesitant about telling
people at first. You know, because we’re in the same friend group, and we were scared that
we were going to fuck things over. But since we came out to you and James, it’s been a lot
better. We told the girls, and Frank and Alice know too. We’re thinking about coming out a
bit more publicly.”

“Really?” Regulus asks, resting his head against the door. “Like, a huge announcement or
just holding hands in the hallways?”

“I wanted a big, dramatic thing, like a huge Filibuster fireworks saying: I’m dating Remus
John Lupin, signed Sirius Black. But Moony said that was definitely unnecessary and too
theatrical. And your boyfriend -not my best friend, because my James would have supported
me- said he agreed. Can you believe it? They’re spoiling all the fun. Next thing you know,
James is actually going to study for his exams.”

“Ah, poor you, surrounded by people with common sense,” Regulus teases. “So, no dramatic
announcement. How are you going to do it?”

“Pete suggested we’d snog in front of one of the chattiest paintings and start a rumour, but I
don’t know if I trust a painting with that. We’ll think about it, I guess.” His eyes widen and he
taps his fingers on Regulus’s hand. “We talked to Moony and Pete about the third side.”

“It really needs a name,” Regulus sighs. “What did they say?”

“Well, needless to say, Moony is on our side. He doesn’t like the Order; he thinks ending a
war means nothing if you don’t push for actual progress. We obviously all agree. Pete also
agreed, but he’s worried because we don’t have a plan. So James suggested we wait to tell the
girls, though I think they’d rather fight with us than with the Order.”
“I haven't talked to my friends properly yet, but I’m working out a plan. Once I have it, we
can all meet and discuss it. I know we’re starting small, but I feel like this is a quest that we
won’t win unless we get to its roots.”

Sirius frowns slightly. “You think the Order is missing clues?”

“I think the Order is missing the point entirely. But I don’t know how they’re doing that. I
need…time. But I do think there’s a key, and once we have that…we can win.”

Sirius smiles, but it dies on his lips quickly. “You changed the subject, though. Reg, I need
you to promise me you won’t put yourself in danger. I know you, you’re not going to fool
me. Whatever you’re planning to do, don’t. If it puts you in danger, you don’t do it, alright?
Let time flow and keep yourself safe.”

“I’m not planning to do anything,” Regulus lies. “I’ll stay safe, Sirius, it’s fine.”

Sirius sighs, rolling his eyes. “You’ve always had a flair for danger.”

“Barty said the same thing.” Regulus tilts his head to the side. “He says I have no sense of
measure.”

“Glad to know your friend has common sense.” Sirius looks at him, scanning his face. “I
know you think you can fool them, but Mother isn’t an idiot, and you’re basically all alone
there. You need to put your safety first.”

“You never put your safety first,” Regulus reminds him, in a grumble.

“That’s different. I knew you’d be there for me if I did something very stupid. But you kicked
me out, I can’t be there for you, so I need you to listen to me now . Don’t take the bait, Reg.
Watch your back and let time flow. Talk to James and me.”

Regulus puffs his cheeks, then blows air out. “Fine. I promise. Nothing dangerous.”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Always a shit liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

“And I’m Merlin.”

“See, that’s not believable because you can’t actually grow a beard.”

“Fuck off, I’m only seventeen! And beards are a bother anyway.”

“Do you think Dumbledore has a beard routine?” He pauses. “Bleugh, I just pictured him in
the shower.”

“Ew, Reg, what the heck.”

“How do I delete it? Fuck, Sirius, it’s not going away.”

“I hate your brain.”

“Well, yours stinks.”

“That was offensive.” Sirius says, crossing his arms.

Their eyes meet again. The corner of Regulus’s lips curl up in a small smile. Sirius smiles
back.

“We’re not done with the safety talk.”

“Oh, God, Sirius, shut it.”

 The third side talk & the expulsion
Chapter Notes

CW: discussions of war; mentions of racism and homophobia; panic attack (from
outsider's perspective); mentions of someone trying (and failing!!) to use amortentia as a
rape drug; brief mentions of CA.

27 April, 1977

A lot of comfort and a renewed sense of security came with fixing things with Sirius: a
weight has been lifted from his shoulders. And with that gone, he’s able to think about his
project and the consequences of it: there’s people he needs to speak to as quickly as possible
to collect as many ideas as he can before school ends.

So on Wednesday, after Arithmancy (which was interesting but unendurable considering it

was a two hours lecture in the afternoon), Regulus asks Pandora if she fancies spending some
time together in the music room. They haven’t been alone in a while; Regulus misses her, but
he also has urgent matters to discuss with her.

Part of him is conscious that if she were mad at him for waiting two weeks to tell her such an
important thing, it would be more than justified. The thought alone makes him feel bad: she
deserves more trust than this.

Nevertheless, years were spent with the underlying thought that he would, one day, leave her
and he’s just now coming to terms with the fact he won’t. So much time was wasted being
careful not to say too much, not letting her in completely, and now that obligation is just…
gone. At the end, Dumbledore gave him one thing: the decision to finally stand up for
himself, find a way to get what he wanted. He can finally let Pandora in, because he’s not
going to take the mark, he’s never going to break her heart like he thought he would. And it
deserves a good conversation, and an apology.

“What the hell did Dumbledore tell you? You never told me.” She sounds mildly offended.

She’s not missing a second, Regulus considers. They’ve just entered the room, and here she
is, already questioning him. He swallows, twisting his ring around his finger.

“I know you think he’s a good person and I was trying to think about a proper way to tell you
he’s not.” Regulus replies, as he puts his hands behind his back, shyly raising his eyes to meet
hers. “He asked me to take the dark mark because he needs a spy.”

Pandora’s mouth drops open, then promptly shuts it close as her usually sweet expression
turns into a furious one. “How could he…! That’s outrageous, you’re not even of age! What
the hell is his problem?”

Repressing the urge to roll his eyes at this being pointed out once more, he says: “Well, his
problem would be the lack of resources. The Order’s losing, Dora.”

A frown forms on her face and she looks away, eyes narrowed. “But we're on the good side.
We should be winning. We must win, Regulus, the future of the wizarding kind depends on
it.”

“I’m afraid reality does not care much for the ethical purposes of this fight.” Regulus licks
his lips and clears his throat. “I didn’t accept his offer. I want to fight on my own; I want a
side that has ideals similar to mine, a side that goes for progress. I don’t believe this war is
the only problem our society has and I want to do my part in changing that.”

Pandora’s gaze flickers up, and she studies his face. “Do you want to rebel? Like, overthrow
the government?”

Regulus’s eyes widen and he raises his hands. “Wow, okay, I don’t know about the
government. I just…Don’t you think the Order is failing us? I mean, the war has been going
on for ages, it’s all that we’ve been talking about for years. They’re on the wrong path, they’ll
never win like this. We have to step in.”

Pandora tilts her head to the side, her long hair sliding all the way to the right as she moves.
“How? By solving murder mysteries in the school?” Her tone is full of sarcasm, and a little
bitter.

Regulus looks away, raising his shoulders. “Maybe, I don’t know! Fighting a war is not
just…fighting out there, it’s also strategies! It’s…preparation and ideas and wit. We’re going
to be dragged into this anyway, Dora. There’s no way to escape it. And if I can’t escape it,
then I want to do things my own way.”

I want to have control, is what he really means. I want what they took from me for so many
years. That’s the motive; that’s why he’s choosing this path over the so-called safe ones:
control. The ability to decide for himself and, if it comes to that, be the cause of his own
failure. He’s done with people deciding for him, done with people thinking they know what’s
best: he’ll know for himself.

“And what’s your own way?” Pandora asks, with a sigh. She runs her fingers on the keys of
the piano. “We haven’t even passed our O.W.L.s yet. We’re children. These are some of the
most skilled wizards and witches that ever existed. How are we supposed to fight them? And
from afar too!”

“David killed Goliath with wit. The Greeks were losing and they used a trick to win.
Alexander was only eighteen when he started conquering the world.” Regulus locks eyes
onto Pandora’s and he smiles. “Until we’re underestimated, we’re powerful. Until we’re
unknown, we’re powerful. We’re a new generation, Pandora. We’re the skilled wizards and
witches of our generation. We should be the ones who get a say on our future. I don’t want to
waste my life for any old man that asks.”
Pandora shakes her head and covers her face with her hands for a moment. “Regulus, you’re
a damned lunatic.” She says, staring ahead of them. She turns all at once and takes his hand;
their rings click together with a cheerful, light sound. “We’re lunatics.”

“You’d fight with me,” he says, surprised. “You’d fight with me.” He repeats whilst he
squeezes her hand. “Even if I have no defined plan?”

“We need more people, and strengthened training in Defence against the Dark Arts.” She
says, getting up. “This will take time, Reg. We’re not fighting tomorrow. Maybe in a year,
maybe in two, but let’s hope not. If we want a chance to do something concretely, we have to
be discreet. Nobody can notice.”

“The marauders will fight,” Regulus says, getting up as well. “They know something about
being discreet. And we could form a club. “All year revision program” or some bullshit, so
we get an empty classroom and we don’t even have to sneak in.”

“Who else is in?”

“I’ll talk to Dorcas.” Regulus says, sweeping his hair back. It’s beginning to get in his face
again. “Then we can talk to the rest of the group. James says he’ll talk to the girls in his year.
And then maybe you can talk to Xenophilius, and if Elias is in, he’ll talk to Frank
Longbottom and Alice Prewett, which gives us a shortcut to the seventh year.”

“Then what?”

“Then we find the missing key.” Regulus says. “Or me, I’ll find the missing key. I think we
need to figure out who Voldemort is if we want any chance against him. We’ll form a
temporary allyship with the Order, just to have more people fighting with us or backing us
up. I don’t care about death eaters. We need to find the key to Voldemort. Who is he, why
he’s doing this, when and how this started, what’s his name…everything we could use against
him. It’s an investigation.”

“So your strategy is to go right at the big boss.” Pandora crosses her arms, thoughtfully.

“I want to sneak behind his back. This is why we don’t need that many people, you know?
Because we're going to be…like rats or parasites. Before he knows it, we’ve got him. That’s
how I want it to be, that’s the safest option, I think. Obviously, though, it won’t go smoothly,
nothing ever does, so we have to prepare ourselves…” He sighs in frustration. “The problem
is, I don’t know where or how to attack, and it’s making me restless. My head’s full of ideas
and I can’t quite make sense of it right now. But what’s really crucial is that no one is
expecting us. If we’re careful enough not to raise concerns…”

“Reg, slow down. Do you want to know why you have no plan?” Pandora gets close and rests
her hand on his arm. “Because it’s not time yet. You shouldn’t hurry this. You need to…I
don’t know, relax a little. I know this means a lot to you, but stressing yourself out won’t give
you the answer you’re looking for.”

Regulus Arcturus Black, Damastus said. The boy who changed his fate. And then, just a
month ago, he added: Answers will come to you at their own time. Focus on the present. A
warning Regulus had a hard time considering, because he did not want to focus on the
present, with the summer looming over him like a dementor.

“I need to speak to Damastus.”

“You’ve got to stop trying to cheat on fate,” Pandora says, more seriously. Another warning
Regulus he doesn’t want to hear, so he scoffs. “Reg, this isn’t an adventure. This is
dangerous. You’re going to regret hurrying something like this. Exams are coming up, that’s
what you should be focusing on. You’ve got all summer to work this war thing out. Relax.”

Regulus nods, breathing out, but once again, he cannot trust her.

Grimmauld place is not a safe place to think in, and it’s definitely not a place Regulus feels
safe making plans for the future. It’s haunted with bad memories and the ghost of Sirius, the
soft murmuring on paintings and the creeping of the wooden floors. Perpetually cold and
stuck in time. Regulus shivers; he’d much rather spend his summer in the Shrieking Shack
than in his room.

Pandora can’t understand -will never understand- how soothing it is to think about the war
when fighting is the only option he has to never enter that house again. No one gets how
scary it will be to face his mother alone now that she’s had a whole year to come to the
conclusion that it was Regulus who kicked Sirius out.

He doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he takes Pandora’s hand in his again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, earnestly.

“What are you doing?” Pandora asks, somewhat worried. Her index finger goes right under
his chin and gently pushes his head up. “Earth to Regulus? What’s up?”

“Stop it,” he says sharply, looking away, towards the door. “I’m sorry if I didn’t trust you
enough. I thought-” He squeezes his eyes shut and carefully takes her hand away from his
face. “I thought I was doomed. My parents wanted Sirius and me to take the mark and follow
Voldemort and I thought that was going to be my fate. Especially when I realised Sirius was
going to leave some day. But ever since Sirius left I’ve been thinking about finding a new
way to fight, and then…well, James happened, and Barty and Evan chose me over all of their
past beliefs and…sodding Myrtle Warren came up, and then Dumbledore. I think I’m closer
to freedom than I’ve ever been and if that’s true, I need to apologise to you, because I thought
one day you’d leave me; no, correction: I thought one day, I’d leave you. Because I would
disappoint you.” He meets her eyes, taking in the surprise, the shock in her features. “And I
won’t. I won’t disappoint you, Pandora, I’m not letting them win. And I’m sorry I didn’t-”

Pandora shakes her head and pushes forward, arms around his shoulders, tugging him down
gently. “Shut up, shut up, shut up. Idiot.” She sniffles the second after his arms wrap around
her. “I know you . I know that if you ever took the mark it would have never been your
choice, I just- Reg, I was just scared they’d take happiness from you, and they’ve done that
enough, alright? You’re my best friend, you were always there for me and I couldn’t fantom
the thought of them…sinking their claws into you! And you didn’t need to put your life in
danger to show me that you won’t let them. I know they wouldn’t. You’re too good.”
“I’ve been an awful friend.” Regulus argues. “I haven’t even asked you about your
grandma.”

“She’s fine. Bloody stubborn, if you ask me,” Pandora says, dragging out the words. “I was
more concerned about you than her.” She parts slightly and stares into his eyes. “Don’t you
dare call yourself an awful friend.”

“But I-”

“I’m the one who gets to judge.” Pandora shushes him, with a slight scowl. “So stop it.
You’re too hard on yourself. Now, play the piano with me, won’t you? I’ll be lonely this
summer, playing it by myself.” She grins and ruffles his hair. “And you know my address. If
you want to escape, come to mine. Mam would love to finally meet you.”

After having parted ways with Pandora, Regulus decides to speak to Dorcas. He finds her in
the common room with Vivienne and Barty. Barty and Dorcas are playing chess while
Vivienne complains about her unfinished Herbology assignment. Regulus can relate
profoundly: herbology is the bane of his existence and he can’t wait to drop it, after his
O.W.L.s.

“Can I steal you for five minutes?”

Dorcas raises her eyes from the board and points at herself, eyes round. Regulus nods hastily.

“Sure,”she says, slightly astonished, “your dorm?”

“Yes, please.”

Dorcas follows him without other questions. When he glances back, Barty’s staring at him, a
question hanging from his raised eyebrows and thoughtful gaze. Regulus shakes his head at
him.

“Is this about Dumbledore?” Dorcas whispers, gathering his attention. “What took you so
long? I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this for ages.”

Regulus raises his eyebrows. “You did?”

Dorcas shakes her head and looks up, almost exasperated. “Of course, idiot. I’ve been
thinking about Myrtle’s story.” She looks around. “Grabbed my interest.”

“Bone chilling, innit?” Regulus says, quite bitterly. It still makes his blood boil. “A school
that should be keeping us safe...” He opens the door of the dorm and signs her to come in.
“Welcome to the realm.”

“It doesn’t smell like dirty socks.” Dorcas says, entering the room.

Regulus laughs. “Why, was it supposed to?”

Dorcas shrugs. “My brother’s room always smelled like dirty socks, even when he wasn’t
there. Got better as he aged. Now he’s into skin care and he sends me letters in which he
rambles about perfume choices.”

“What about your little brother?”

Dorcas’s eyebrows quirk up, as if she didn’t expect him to remember that, and she smiles.
“No, Mike is a lot better at keeping everything in order and clean. I can’t believe he’s going
to be at Hogwarts next year.”

“Where do you think he’ll be sorted?” Regulus asks. “You can sit wherever by the way, we
don’t mind.”

“Gryffindor, probably.” She says, taking a seat on Barty’s bed. “So, Dumbledore...”

Regulus sighs and sits on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees. “He wanted me to take
the dark mark and spy for him. My brother stole information before me, so…he’s probably
looking for a replacement.”

Dorcas doesn’t say anything for a solid second, then she grumbles, shaking her head. “I can’t
believe this man, honestly.”

Regulus’s eyes flicker at her, and he smiles apologetically. “This school sucks. But you’ve
probably known long before me.”

“It’s unsafe for so many reasons.” Dorcas says, shaking her head. “For students of colour
because there’s the unspoken racism issue of the wizarding community, queer students
because some idiot thinks you can’t be queer and possess magic, muggleborns…and now
they’re asking pureblood students to be spies!? Does it look like a game to them? To ruin
childhoods?”

“I know!” Regulus says, running his fingers through his hair. “And this is the good side!
We’re supposed to believe he’d keep us safe once we fight when he can’t even keep us safe in
a sodding school.” He clears his throat and meets Dorcas’ gaze. “James and I reckon the
creature that killed Myrtle is still around. Or even hidden in some room.”

“In the school, you mean.” Dorcas nods, twisting her rings around her fingers. “Yeah. They
blamed Hagrid. Convenient to blame the half-breed student, I guess.”

“Hagrid was feeding an Acromantula,” Regulus explains. “Too small and weak to cause
damage, I’m afraid, and scared of putting the hand that fed him in danger. But it was
obviously all very convenient. They expelled him and for what? They look like idiots now,
he’s working here.” He clears his throat again and cuffs his sleeves. “Whatever killed Myrtle
must be something else, something that can go dormant or nearly so. Or with a very small
appetite. But I promised Pandora to stay out of it, at least for now, so…” Nibbling at his
lower lip, he directs his gaze to the floor.

Regulus knows she’s not going to fight with the Order. Her father isn’t in the Order either, for
one; secondly, Dorcas, much like him, likes to do things in her own way.
“I didn’t accept Dumbledore’s proposal.” He says, leaning forward and meeting Dorcas’s
intense gaze. “I think we should have a side of our own. I think we should fight for what we
believe in and…go beyond this war.”

Dorcas smirks, mimicking his body language. “You mean change the world around us?”

“Make it a better place,” Regulus says, nodding. “Our childhood was shit for their mistakes. I
say we take back what’s ours. But first, the war.”

“What are you planning?” She asks. “We need a well-thought plan if we want to make it out
alive.”

“I think we should start by investigating Voldemort,” Regulus says. He intertwins his fingers
together and tucks his hands under his chin. “The more we know, the better. Who he is, how
he became the person he is today. We need to get to him. Sneak up to his back. It doesn’t
have to be a direct attack.”

“You want to cut off the head of the program.” Dorcas synthesises. “We don’t need many
people for that. We need to be clever.”

Regulus nods, smiling softly: Dorcas’s relentless determination makes him feel understood.
“We need to outsmart both sides, to be lowkey. The Order can’t get to him for some reason,
we have to discover why and tackle that.”

“But the death eater won’t let us.” Dorcas objects, and she’s right, of course. “What do we do
with the death eaters? We can try to be lowkey, but we need to be prepared in case we fail.
It’s easy to fail a plan like this.”

“We have to get better at defensive spells and hexes. We need a good, solid duelling base.”
He gets up and paces around the room. “But this is all theory. Until we find something
concrete to investigate and act on, we can’t do anything other than getting better at fighting.
Do you believe Dark Magic is as vast as our school program makes it out to be?”

“My dad says dark magic doesn’t truly exist,” she replies. “Moralising magic takes power
from it. It creates an Us and a Them, a good and bad. Magic is just magic. Some healers use
dark magic because it heals faster, better, with less scarring. Sometimes ‘dark magic’ protects
you. I don’t believe there’s a lot of spells that are actually evil, and sometimes even curses
serve as protection.”

Regulus turns to look at her and nods. “Skilled wizards and witches don’t make a distinction.
Obviously there is dark magic that is just…plain evil and dangerous to perform, like soul
splitting rituals and excessive use of unforgivables or legilimens.”

Dorcas nods. “There’s things we could learn, things we need to learn. We aren’t going to
learn them in school, but my dad still has a ton of books of magic and dark magic, and I bet
your family library is full of those too. And the school library, I checked, has a very valid
selection. We should start there, and we should start little.”
Regulus nods, biting at his lower lip. “Just our study group, and the Gryffindor sixth years for
now. We’ll decide whether we should tell Longbottom and Prewett as well - I know they’re
important to Elias and they’ll be graduating soon.”

Dorcas claps her hands together. “Wonderful, we could use some information from outside.
Are you sure you don’t want to tell Vivienne and Leonie? I think they’d be in.”

Regulus hums, unsure. “I think we need to settle things between the first group and then
figure it out, maybe.”

The door opens and they both turn towards it, watching Evan, Leonie, Barty and Vivienne
come in. They’re all giggling, except for Barty, who looks like he was dragged in here. He
makes eye contact with Regulus right away and raises his eyebrows at him, an unspoken
question.

“I was made aware a council was called without us?” Evan says, with a grin. “What are you
two plotting?”

Dorcas rolls her eyes, dropping her hands between her knees. “Nothing. Why are you all
here?”

“They want to spend time together,” Barty says, sounding pissed off and slightly whiny. He
sets his chess set on his shelf and turns to Dorcas with a pout. “Leonie and Vivienne are
torturing me. Save me.”

“We’re not torturing you, we just asked who is it that you’re shagging.” Vivienne says,
rolling her eyes. “Everyone noticed. You can tell us.”

“Oh, sure, I will tell you, the Queens of gossip, about my love affairs. What could go
wrong?” Barty asks, sarcastically.

“Love?” Leonie asks, intrigued. “Is it love, Barty?”

“Ooooh, is it?” Vivienne joins in, leaning close to pinch Barty’s cheek.

“I didn’t miss you the slightest. Reg.” Barty looks at him, pleading. “Be a mate and help me
out?”

“I don’t know, I am sort of curious,” Regulus jokes, not moving an inch. “Just kidding,
Vivienne, give him space before he faints. He needs oxygen.”

“Yeah, Barty doesn’t do well with closeness,” Evan says, with a sheepish smirk. Vivienne
swivels towards Evan, intrigued and grinning. “Last time, he was sprawled on the floor,
telling us about his snog…”

“Traitor!” Barty says, grabbing his pillow and throwing it hard at Evan. “Shut up!”

Evan giggled, pillow hugged to his chest. “He’s so easy to rile up.”
“Regulus has a secret lover too, by the way.” Barty says, pointing at Regulus. “Why don’t
you question him?”

“Excuse-” Regulus starts to say.

“I’m so happy you mentioned it,” Vivienne takes a chocolate frog from her pocket and walks
towards Regulus. “Now, Reg, if you tell me who you’re dating, I’ll give you a chocolate
frog.”

Even Regulus can’t help his laughter, and once it dies down, he shakes his head. “I can’t
believe you.”

30 April, 1977

“Reg,” someone calls, shaking his shoulder. “Reg, wake up, we’re busy.”

“Get off.” It’s his reply, as he tries to escape the hand that wakes him. “I don’t take orders.”

“I’m not ordering shite. C’mon, wake up.”

It’s Barty. Barty is trying to wake him up.

“Bastard,” Regulus mumbles, trying to cover his ears with his pillow.

“Reeeeg,” Barty slurs, squeezing his shoulder. “Come oooon.”

Regulus sits up at that, blinking twice because he can’t get Barty’s figure into focus. “What
the hell do you want?” He glances at the clock. “It’s seven in the morning! On Saturday! Sod
off, I want to sleep.” And he lays down again, burying his face in his pillow.

“I’ll tell Elias you don’t want to celebrate his birthday, then,” Barty says, with a sigh. “It’s a
pity, really, ‘cause he likes you so much…”

Regulus groans and whines, then he pushes away the covers and glares at Barty. “I’m mad at
you.”

“Why are you having a screaming match?” Evan mumbles, glancing at Regulus, who’s
looking for decent clothes. “Blimey, Reg. Nice arse.”

Regulus stills, then takes the first heavy object he finds in his truck. “Look away or I’ll smash
your head.”

“He’s always so grumpy in the morning.” Evan complains, but he turns away.

“No, Rosier, don’t you dare start sleeping again, it’s Elias’s birthday!”

“Yes, Elias’s birthday, not ‘no sleeping day’,” Evan points out. “He’s your boyfriend, not
mine. You wake up early to kiss his pretty face.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Barty sneers. “And you’re not allowed to call his face pretty, do
you hear me?”

Evan hums. “So jealous…I didn’t do anything.”

“You drool all over him!”

“He’s not even your boyfriend, you said it yourself,” Evan says, placidly.

Regulus glances at them. “Bagsy bathroom.” He says, before locking himself in the room.

“Bawbag!” Barty yells after him.

“You could have showered before waking me! Wanker!” Regulus yells back.

As it turns out, Barty has been awake for a couple of hours already, setting up an empty
classroom to be a comfortable room to hang out in. It actually looks pretty great: he
transfigured chairs and desks into soft, brown armchairs and sofas, and the teacher's desk
became a table that is now hosting a cake and some savoury alternatives to the cake.

There’s candles hanging in the air, making the room smell faintly like spun sugar, and he
wrote on the blackboard: “Happy Birthday, Elias!”

“You really put yourself to it,” Regulus says, looking around with wonder.

“It’s cosy!” Evan says, twirling before a sofa and then letting himself fall onto it.

“Thanks for showing me the kitchens, by the way.” Barty says, clapping his hand on
Regulus’s shoulder. “Do you think he’ll like it? I know he doesn’t like parties, but it’s just the
people from the study club.”

“Are you sure Longbottom and Prewett aren’t doing anything with him?”

“They’re taking him to Hogsmeade, but they’re doing it tonight.”

Regulus scoffs. “Oh sure, when they do it it’s cool, but when I do it it’s dangerous.”

Evan rolls his eyes. “So we’ve got the whole day to spend here?”

“Yeah…I mean, aside from the Quidditch match, but it’s Hufflepuff vs Ravenclaw, it'll
probably end early anyway.”

“Let’s hope,” Evan says, looking around the room again. The small flames of the candles
reflect in his eyes. “When are the others coming round?”

“Soon.” Barty shrugs. “Help me with the last touch ups, yeah?”
Dorcas and Pandora arrive around half an hour later, still looking sleepy. Cory won’t be here,
as he is training for the upcoming match. Regulus drops his duty as co-organiser to do
Pandora’s hair, first braiding it, then doing a chignon.

“Look at you two,” Dorcas grins, arms crossed on her chest. “Being cute and all.”

“You should braid his hair too, Pandora!” Evan suggests, smirking. “Just one tiny braid.”

“Can I?” Pandora asks, turning to look at Regulus. Her elbow digs into his thigh. She looks
thrilled, so he nods. “Great!”

She ends up doing one small braid on each side of his head, then taking a polaroid picture.
She hands it to him and says: “Give it to James.”

“Lovebirds.” Barty says, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, because you don’t see them when we hang out in his dorm,” Dorcas rolls her eyes. “I
think a single person would rather die than be around them.”

“Hey, that’s not true! We spend a lot of time with Peter!” Regulus objects. “Besides, we’re
not that much into PDA.”

Dorcas shakes her head. “One day you’ll realise how much you are into PDA and you’ll be
embarrassed about it.”

“I think they’re coming.” Barty says, at the sound of footsteps. “C’mon, we need to scream
happy birthday. He’s cute when he blushes.”

“Spare me,” Evan says, rolling his eyes. “You’re unbearable.”

Elias is pushed into the room by Jules, and his eyes become round as soon as he hears them
screaming “Happy birthday!” at the top of their lungs. His cheeks colour a dark red and he
turns towards Jules, almost checking in with her that this is, in fact, happening. Then he turns
back to the rest of the group and grins, head tilted slightly to the side.

“Thank you!” He says.

“Barty did most of it.” Regulus says, nudging Barty forward. “We only helped a little. He
even got you a cake.”

“I did!” Barty confirms, cheeks pink in embarrassment. “It’s on the table!”

Dorcas and Regulus exchange a glance, amused by Barty’s shyness .

“I transfigured the candles!” Evan says, with a proud grin.

“Shut up, Evan,” Barty says, glaring at him. “I woke up early to get all-”

Elias cuts him off by kissing him softly on the cheek, which seems to draw the ability to
speak right out of Barty’s body.
“Thank you,” Elias says, sweetly.

“You broke Barty.” Pandora says, flicking at Barty’s arm. “C’mon, organiser, won’t you cut
the first slice?”

“What?” Barty asks, then clears his voice. “No, no, Elias has to cut the first slice.”

“I can’t believe you’re not spoiling me during my birthday,” Elias says, shaking his head.

“I got you a cake!”

“Oh, you even wrote happy birthday, Elias on it!” Elias says, cooing. “How much do you like
me?”

“Won’t you shut up?”

“Hey, you have to cut the cake, c’mon,” Jules urges them. “We haven't had breakfast yet!”

Once the cake is cut, they sit together, in the armchairs and sofas, sipping tea and eating cake.
Regulus is squished between Pandora and Evan, but feels quite comfortable in his spot,
almost cuddled. The chattering is comfortable, though Regulus doesn’t take part in it all that
much, and at some point, his eyes feel watery.

He will miss these moments. He doesn’t even question if he would: the study group has been
so important to him since it was formed, and in the past months, he healed so many of his
relationships. It’s such a pity to have to leave so soon, just as he was starting to think he had
found his place. What reassures him, though, is that he knows for sure he will see Evan and
Barty at Cissy’s wedding.

He tries not to stop and think about how much he’ll miss Evan, and it almost feels like an
uncharted intuition. He never thought about it last year and never thought he’d consider this
at the start of the year. And yet, while Evan is just being his extraverted, loud self, laughing
with his head tipped back and clapping his hands, and sinking into the sofa while trying to
hold in a laugh, all Regulus can think about is that he, too, loves Evan with his entire soul.

So when Evan leans against Regulus casually, with his usual ease, Regulus doesn’t hesitate to
rest his head on his shoulder, though he would love to hug him, and smell his strawberry
flavoured shampoo.

“Reggie,” Evan whispers in his ear. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m comfortable.” Regulus mumbles back, snuggling closer to him.

“Great, then.” Evan says, and loops his arm around his shoulders, letting his hand loose over
Regulus’s chest. “Hey, why don’t we play a game?”

“We could play two truths and one lie!” Elias says, nodding. He’s been smiling a lot today.
“What do you think?” There’s a chorus of agreement, so then Elias taps Barty’s thigh with his
knuckle. “You start.”
“Why me? You should start, it’s your birthday.”

“Yeah, it’s my birthday, and I decide that you start.”

“Fine,” Barty mumbles. “But Regulus can’t answer.”

“What?” Regulus asks, raising his head. “Why?”

“Because it’s too easy for you.” Barty waves his hand in the air and crosses his legs.

Regulus rolls his eyes and rests against Evan again. “Fine.”

“So. I’m scared of dogs. I can’t handle spices. I’m good at drawing.”

“You’re shit at drawing,” Dorcas says, as soon as he’s done speaking. “Too easy.”

“Oh, okay, Missus too easy, then you go next!” Barty sticks his tongue at her.

“I’m Jewish. My favourite band is Pink Floyd. I love lentils.” Dorcas says, with a satisfied
grin.

Regulus reflects upon it, but Pandora beats him to it. “You don’t like lentils,” she says,
eyebrows shot up. “But you almost got me there.”

“You’re jewish?” Evan repeats, surprised. “You never told us!”

Dorcas rolls her eyes. “Wizards aren’t known to be the most accepting, you know? I’m
surprised you even know what being jewish means.”

“Well, cabala is a fundamental part of renaissance magic,” Regulus butts in. “And Hebrew is
essential for spell creation and strengthening.”

Dorcas nods, with a little smile. “Yeah, it is.”

“Pink Floyd is an amazing choice, by the way.” Elias says, leaning forward, eyes on Dorcas.
“Their latest albums are just…I feel like they put into music feelings I didn’t know existed.”

“The Dark Side of the Moon is…sensational. It’s an experience. It’ll go down in history.”
Dorcas agrees. “But I think one of my favourites might be Childhood’s End.”

“That song is so underrated.” Elias says, shaking his head.

Dorcas smiles at him, then looks at Pandora. “You go next!”

“Ah, so whoever guesses goes next, got it.” Pandora hums, tilting her head to the side. “Let’s
see: I never met my dad, I can’t understand latin and I’ve fancied Regulus.”

Evan and Jules gasp, Regulus rolls his eyes. “You don’t know latin and you definitely never
fancied me.” He then glares at Evan. “Why did you gasp?”
“It felt like a big revelation!” Evan says, with a pout. “I wanted it to be true! Third year me
was waiting for you guys to happen, you know?”

“Delusional.” Regulus comments. “My favourite latin poet is Ovid, I declared war on
Dumbledore, my favourite Quidditch player is Vincent Bane.”

Silence takes over the room; next to him, Pandora and Evan are tensed up. Barty looks like
he doesn’t know what to say and Elias is staring at him, eyes wide. Jules bites at her lower
lip, unsure.

“I think it’s a good thing,” Dorcas says, breaking the silence. Everyone turns to her. She
clears her throat and sits up straight and folds her hands in her lap. “Did you all want to fight
for the Order? Because personally…well, personally, I think that if they had a clue of what
they were doing, they would have ended the war already. There are some of the most famous
wizards and witches of different generations and they’re still struggling. It means they don’t
know how to fight.”

“And we do.” Elias says, sarcastically. “With the power of O.W.L.s knowledge and being
stuck in school…no, no, I see your plan, bloody thought through, if you ask me.”

“We don’t need a plan right away.” Pandora says, before Regulus can defend his own
position. “It’s not like we’d fight now.”

“Then I don’t see why it would make a difference.” Elias says, crossing his arms.

“Why did you declare war on him?” Barty asks, meeting Regulus’s gaze. “What were you
thinking?”

Regulus swallows and sits properly. Evan’s arm slides off his shoulders. “I wasn’t.” He
croaks out, then coughs to clear his voice. “I wasn’t thinking. He asked me to do something
for him and I refused. He gave me a choice between the Order and the Death Eaters and I
chose neither. Look, I’m not here to say I have a solution to offer, I’m just saying we could
try and find it. I’ll try to get information from my parents, maybe, I don’t know…”

Elias scoffs and Regulus looks up to him, surprised. “What? Shall I be happy you’re going
back home with some suicidal plan? Your brother isn’t there, Regulus. You need to lay low.”

“I can fight and lay low at the same time.” Regulus snaps back, crossing his arms to his
chest.

“No, you think you can, which is very different from being able to!” Elias replies, shooting
up to his feet. “You’re a kid! This isn’t supposed to be your problem!”

“My brother and my boyfriend are out of this school next year with the plan to fight and I’m
not letting them fight for a man who wouldn’t be able to protect them!” Regulus replies,
getting up as well. “I don’t want my friends under his watch and I’ll do whatever it takes to
keep his hands away from any of you.”

“He asked you to join the death eaters,” Evan says, interrupting the fight.
Dorcas looks down. “Look, Elias, I get that you’re worried-”

“No, you don’t.” Elias says, sinking back into his seat. “He’ll get himself in danger.”

“Thanks for trusting me.” Regulus replies, clicking his tongue.

“Let’s all take a deep breath.” Pandora says, as she takes Regulus’s hand and guides him back
on the couch. “Regulus made his choice.”

“I’m asking you to fight with me if it comes down to that.” Regulus says, looking down.
“This school is shit and it’s unsafe because he’s making it such- well, it would be stupid to
put all the blame on him, but he didn’t change things here, he will not change them in the real
world. We’re still scared to come out and the blatant racism and purism of the teaching
program and from some students isn’t addressed or punished. Even if he stopped the war,
then what? For us, it would still be awful. We need to step up and change things.” He raises
his eyes and glances at Elias and Barty, then at Dorcas. “I don’t want anyone else to feel the
way we did. We spend most of our youth here, I want a safe environment for everybody. But
a reshaping like that…we can only have that after the war.”

Elias lowers his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he says, softly. “But still- Reg, you can’t risk your life
over this.

“I’m not going to,” he argues. “I have a way to communicate with James and Sirius, if
something happens, I’ll ask for help.”

“I-” Evan clenches his hands into fists, eyes wide and fixated on his hands and knees. “I don’t
know if I can do this, Reg. If my family gets threatened-” His breath comes out ragged and
uneven. He speaks fast. “I’m the heir, Reg. I need to take a position. My sister is three years
old, I can’t- I can’t promise you I can fight. I want to, I do, I just- my family is everything to
me, my sister-”

Regulus takes his hand, untangling his fists, just as Dorcas comes next to Evan. “It’s alright.”
She says, meeting Regulus’s gaze.

“Evan, listen, even if we do this, no one will know.” He says, gently.

“We’ll lay low,” Elias promises, as he, Barty and Jules get up to come closer to Evan.
“Nothing will happen to your family.”

“If you do have to…I don’t know, take the mark, we’ll still stay by you.” Barty says, kneeling
in front of Evan. He rests his hands on his knees. “You certainly don’t have to worry about it
now.”

“We’ll figure out a spell to remove the mark, if you’re forced to take it.” Pandora says.

Evan nods hastily, leaning forward with his lips pressed into a thin line. “I want to help,” he
says, staggering. “I want to help but- Reg, how are you so sure you’ll make it out of your
house? For me that’s not- I don’t want to leave my family, but I don’t hold the same beliefs as
my parents either. I don’t know what to do.”
Regulus squeezes his hand. “You don’t need to know, Evan.”

“You need time, umh?” Dorcas runs her hands over his shoulders. “We’re not doing anything
right now. You don’t need to worry.”

Evan glances at Elias, then drops his gaze, lower lip trembling. “But I- I don’t think it’s fair
what you guys go through. I know it’s wrong, I don’t know what to do, my sister-”

“Hey.” Elias says, kneeling next to Barty. “I’m not mad at you, you know? I know you don’t
mean harm to me. I know you’re good.”

“But I’m not.” Evan says, breaking into a sob. “I’m not good, I’ve been awful for years.” He
looks at Elias. “I’m sorry.”

Elias frowns slightly. “I forgive you.” He says, narrowing his eyes. “Just relax, yeah? It’s my
birthday. I want to be happy.”

Evan looks away, and he nods. “Okay.”

Regulus squeezes his hand one last time, then lets go. Slowly, everyone comes back to their
seats, looking more thoughtful than they did before. Barty keeps glancing between Elias and
Evan, as if he’s trying to put together a puzzle.

Pandora pats Regulus’s thigh. “Ask them.”

Regulus licks his lips and takes a deep breath. “If we do end up having a plan to end this war,
if I manage to pick up clues to fight, will you fight with me?”

“Yes,” Elias says, staring back at him.

After his reply, the others agree as well. Regulus nods.

Gradually, happiness sinks back in. Evan doesn’t laugh as loud and he leans against Regulus,
looking for comfort, which Regulus is happy to provide.

“What was Evan apologising about?” Regulus asks Elias, in a hushed tone, as they walk to
the Quidditch Pitch. They’re ahead of the others.

“Being a purist,” Elias lies, looking ahead.

“Shit liar,” Regulus says, sharply. “Seriously, what was it about?”

“It’s between me and him, alright? It doesn’t concern you. You, or Barty, if you want it all.”

“You don’t trust me the slightest.” Regulus says, with a scowl.

“This isn’t about trusting you. I don’t want to talk about it, that’s it.” Elias shoves his hands
in the pockets of his trousers. “It would make me sad and I don’t want to be sad today,
alright?”

“Sorry.” Regulus says.

Silence falls between them again, and just as they’re about to enter, Regulus stops Elias by
softly wrapping his fingers around his wrist. Elias turns, eyebrows up in a question.

“I’m glad you were born. And that I met you. And that we’re friends.” He says, feeling his
face heating up. “I’m really happy about it.”

Elias smiles slightly and embraces him briefly. “Me too, Reg.”

4 May, 1977

When Regulus, Barty and Evan arrive at Breakfast, in the morning, something has happened:
they don’t manage to get any detail, just someone throwing punches at someone else.

They shrug their shoulders and eat their breakfast: Regulus reads Emma by Jane Austen
(because James loves it) and Evan reads his notes again, because all the teachers are making
rounds of questions and he’s never been the best student, though Regulus would argue Evan
is trying harder than anyone else this year.

He’s in a bad mood, Evan is. He had a fight with Leonie just yesterday night, barely wanting
to talk about it. After telling Barty and Regulus what happened, he closed the curtains around
his bed and didn’t come out until the morning. He’s still anxious now, tapping his fingers on
the paper and taking deep breaths every once in a while.

Less than twenty minutes into Charms and Dumbledore’s voice fills the classroom,
announcing lessons are suspended for the rest of the day and he requests the immediate
presence of every professor in the office. Flitwick frowns at the voice, but dismisses them
all.

“What the hell? Lessons suspended so close to O.W.L.s? What the fuck happened?” Barty
wonders as they leave the class, fixing the strap of his rucksack on his shoulder.

“Probably something serious. Hey, do you guys want to go outside? It’s a nice day, we can
use a nice day!” Evan says, cheerfully. It’s a facade. Regulus scowls: the positive demeanour
despite being sad reminds him of James, and it’s making his stomach lurch painfully. “After
all that time studying…”

“You’re way too happy classes have been suspended,” Pandora observes gloomily, tucking
her hair behind her ear. “Do you think it’s about the war?”

“They would have sent us to the Great Hall, were that the case,” Regulus objects.
“Remember that time in the fourth year when Death Eaters were seen in Hogsmeade? They
had us all together.”
“Something must have happened between students. Did you see the Great Hall this morning?
Everyone was whispering about something.” Dorcas says, stretching her arms up. “Such a
bummer though. I was looking forward to DADA.”

“Why are you all goody-goody swots?” Evan whines. “Can’t we just be happy that we
basically have a long weekend? That is good news.”

“Yeah, genius, how do you expect to pass Charms if we don’t have class?” Elias butts in.
“Besides, if Dumbledore suspended class, it means something big happened inside the
school. Don’t you want to go check what happened?”

Regulus turns to look at him, thoughtfully. He would love it, actually, because he has a
horrible feeling about this, especially since it was a full moon last night.

“Reg, no ,” Pandora objects, squeezing his arm. “It’s none of our business, and rumours will
spread like nothing. We’ll know right away.”

“But I want the truth, not rumours.” Regulus says, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t you curious?”

“Yes, but not that curious. Evan is right, let’s go outside.”

At lunch, every Gryffindor and Slytherin (except for the girls for the latter) in the sixth year
is missing. Regulus hasn’t seen them outside either. Elias wasn’t able to spot Longbottom and
Prewett, which means the head boy and the head girl must have gotten involved. They don’t
show up for lunch, none of them. Elias keeps glancing at the empty spots next to him and it’s
sort of sad.

“No, seriously, what the hell happened?” Barty asks.

Since they parted ways to eat, he’s been looking at Elias. Regulus doesn’t blame him: the
atmosphere at the Slytherin table is so tense it’s hard to breathe. Regulus would be worried
too, if his boyfriend was muggleborn. Actually, he’s terribly concerned, because his
boyfriend has been missing since the morning, and he’s been a target for years.

“I don’t know, but if they’re still missing, it means huge problems.” Dorcas says.

Regulus nods in agreement, but he keeps to himself, mostly because anxiety is making his
head spin. He does his best to finish all the food on his plate. James and Sirius are still
nowhere to be seen at the end of lunch, and so is the headmaster, so Regulus leaves the table,
fully intending to go to his office.

Dorcas ends up following him, something Regulus realises later, with how caught up he is in
his own thoughts.

“What are you doing?” Regulus hisses, voice low.

“You seem to know what you’re doing, and my girlfriend has been missing since breakfast.”
Dorcas raises her eyebrows at him. “You’re not the only one who’s worried.”
“I didn’t hear you coming.” Regulus says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

It’s actually James’s fleece jacket, and though he definitely doesn’t need such warm clothing
in May, he stubbornly decided to wear it in the morning. James’s cologne clings to it and it’s
reassuring.

“I silenced my steps,” Dorcas says, proudly. “I thought you’d be upset.”

“I get you.” Regulus says, looking down. “Why is it always them? Every time something
happens in this damned castle…”

“Is it them or Dumbledore?” Dorcas asks.

Them, Regulus thinks. “It doesn’t matter.”

Outside Dumbledore’s office there’s five people: Lily Evans, Marlene McKinnon, Remus
Lupin, then, much to Regulus’s distaste, Snape and Avery.

Dorcas and Regulus exchange a glance. Snape and Avery have their backs turned towards
them, thankfully, but Regulus still curses himself for not having considered they could be
here. Remus is the one who spots them first, and he’s quick to cancel any hint of surprise
from his face. Lily is the second, and she’s the one who makes up an excuse to come speak to
them.

The moment she moves, Regulus takes Dorcas’s hand and hides behind the wall with her,
heart hammering in his chest.

“What are you doing?” Dorcas whispers.

“I can’t be seen!” Regulus replies, hastily. “I don’t know what connections Snape might make
if he sees me here and-”

“Breathe!” Dorcas says, squeezing his hand. “Your brother’s in there, okay? You have every
right to be here without hiding.”

“But they don’t know I’m friends with his friends and they can’t tell my mother about it,”
Regulus says, just as Lily rounds the corner.

Dorcas gives him one last glance, squeezes his hand once more, then lets it go. Regulus feels
his cheeks grow warm, ashamed of the vulnerability he just showed.

Lily comes to them: she’s paler than Regulus has ever seen her and slouching slightly. Her
eyes seem dim, compared to the bright green he’s used to see, and she’s clearly wary and
tense.

“Hold on,” she says, before they can ask questions. She makes a small wand movement as
she says: “Muffliato.” She keeps her wand in her hand, glancing at the corner she turned to
come see them.
“A mess happened,” Lily says with a grimace. She moves her hair behind her shoulders and
looks down the hallway again. “It started at breakfast, Mulciber dropped some amortentia
drops into Mary’s tea.” Dorcas sucks in a harsh breath, and she starts twisting her family ring
around her finger. Regulus looks down, frowning. “We didn’t notice at first. The Great Hall is
chaotic in the morning and James was having a fight with Snape, don’t know about what, but
it was a mess and it drew attention. Then the Slytherins left, and Mary started acting really
weird. We noticed right away that she was drugged, of course, so we brought her to Poppy
while James ran to talk to professor McGonagall. Long story short, they called all of us,
along with Frank and Alice. James accused Snape of having brewed the potion.”

“Evan and Leonie…” Dorcas says, elbowing Regulus’s side gently.

Regulus doesn’t realise at first. Then it hits him.

“Fuck, I didn’t realise.” Regulus says, running a hand through his hair. “It’s- we could smell
it, but we didn’t think-. Evan and his girlfriend had a fight just yesterday because he could
smell her perfume all over the boys’ dorm.”

“Are you kidding me?” Lily says, almost aggressively. “How did you not notice!?”

“I was wearing James’s jacket and he always wears a lot of cologne!” Regulus sneers,
pointing at his jacket. “It’s not like I can predict how fucked in the head people are!”

“Sorry,” Lily says, slouching even more as she covers her face with her hands. “I’m sorry, it’s
been a stressful day.”

“It’s alright, Lily,” Dorcas says, gently. She rubs her hand on Lily’s arm reassuringly. “How’s
Mary?”

“She’s safe, resting in the hospital wing. Peter’s with her. She’s…shocked, obviously.
Professor McGonagall told us they might expel Mulciber.” Lily nibbles at her lips, still not
looking at him. “Sirius will probably get detention too. Not surprising, is it?”

Regulus groans, tipping his head back. Impulsive git, stupid impulsive git, that’s what he is.
But then again, maybe he did something great. “What did the idiot do?”

“Punched Snape on the face.” Yes, definitely something great, if you ask Regulus. “Remus
was in the hospital wing so- umh, there wasn’t exactly a rational mind there. I don’t know
what Snape said to make them this mad, but they were both very upset.”

Regulus clenches his jaw as he nods. He tries to look unbothered, but he’s scared Snape
might have seen him with James, or heard them kissing and talking outside the Slytherin
common room. Maybe they weren’t careful enough. Dorcas squeezes his arm, trying to be
comforting.

“Don’t think about it too much,” Lily says. She’s clearly making an effort to be gentle, but
she’s stressed and tired, so her tone is off. Regulus is still thankful for it. “You can always
talk to Sirius when they get out of the office, but don’t panic over it now.”
“They will want to go see Mary.” Regulus says, crossing his arms.

Dorcas glances at him, then asks: “Are you waiting for James and Sirius or does Dumbledore
want to talk to you?”

“He wants to talk to everybody, we’re just waiting for our turn here…Remus wasn’t there, so
he’s just here for moral support. Didn’t want me and Marlene to be alone with Avery and
Snape.” She stops. “It’s not like he thinks we can’t defend ourselves from them-”

“He’s here so that you’re not outnumbered.” Dorcas says, and Lily nods. “It’s okay, Lily,
relax, you don’t need to be in control of everything at once.”

“Snape definitely brewed the potion.” Regulus says, taking in a deep breath. “I was there
when we brewed Amortentia, I know Avery and Mulciber can’t brew it.”

“That’s what we all said.” Lily says, grimacing. It must be painful to know someone you
grew up with and trusted is the hand behind something like this. “They won’t expel him. I
know they won’t. They will just give him detention and pretend he didn’t do this.”

“Lily!” Marlene is coming towards them, messing with her hair. “They’re calling us in with
Snape and Avery.”

Dorcas whips around at the sound of her voice, and it seems natural for them to meet in the
middle of the hallway and hug each other. Dorcas quickly ensures Marlene is fine before
letting her go away with Lily.

Regulus and Dorcas stay put for a second, watching them round the corner. Dorcas’s
shoulders seem less tense now that she knows Marlene is okay. They stay hidden behind the
wall until they hear Sirius say: “They’re expelling him, Slughorn is taking him back to the
Slytherin common room. He’ll leave before supper.”

And just a moment later, Mulciber and Slughorn turn the corner. Mulciber’s face is sleek with
sweat and his hair looks dirty. His mouth is twisted in a displeased expression, and he’s
glaring left and right. Slughorn, on the other hand, looks even older than he usually does.
Tired and disappointed, his hands twitching, his eyes nervously darting around.

Regulus can’t begin to imagine the guilt he must feel.

“Meadowes, Black.” He glares at them, but particularly at him. Regulus knows he’s seeing
him as a blood traitor now, and he would lie if he said he’s not scared that this information
will reach his parents. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for my brother,” Regulus says. Mulciber mouths ‘former’ at him. Regulus
clenches his fist.

“Leave him alone, Mulciber,” Dorcas says, hand wrapping around Regulus’s arm and pulling
him away.

“Make it quick,” Slughorn says. “I don’t want any of my students wandering around at times
like this.”
He has never spoken like this, but he’s clearly mortified by what has happened. His students,
the students of his house, used potions against their peers. Must be hard to take in.

“Sure,” Regulus says, mellifluous. “It will only take a moment.”

Then he rounds the corner along with Dorcas, and finds the three of the marauders. They
moved from the previous location, just farther down the hallway. James is leaning against the
wall, gazing down; Sirius rests his hand on his arm and he’s talking to him; Remus butts in to
say something and James nods slowly. It doesn’t take a genius to know he’s in a mood.

“Alright?” Dorcas asks, as they walk towards them.

“Just worried.” Regulus replies.

The three marauders all turn towards him at once, and he stops on the spot, unsure. Dorcas is
a couple of steps ahead of him and she turns, raising her eyebrows at him.

“Should I leave?” He asks, taking half a step back.

“No, sorry, just surprised to see you.” Sirius says, blinking at him.

“C’mere.” James says, a small smile blossoming on his lips. “Hi, Dorcas.”

“Hey,” she says, hands in her pockets. “Are you all okay?”

“Just tired,” Sirius says. One of his hands rests on Remus’s back. “It was a long morning.”

“No shit,” Dorcas says, clicking her tongue.

Regulus studies James’s face carefully as he leans on the wall next to him, shoulder pressed
against his.

It was a full moon yesterday. Regulus marked all of those in his calendar. He doesn’t say
anything about it, but he knows James, Sirius and Remus are twice as tired as anyone else,
having been awake at night. He’s not surprised Sirius and James were more irritable than
usual.

Snape must know, Regulus reflects. He must have planned around this. Just the thought
upsets him.

“I can’t believe they thought we wouldn’t notice,” James says. His chest heavens with a deep
breath. “I can’t believe someone would be so out of their mind. Whenever you think they’ve
hit rock bottom, they fall lower.”

Dorcas crosses her arms to her chest, exchanging a look with Regulus.

“They had everything planned, the bastards.” Sirius says, crossing his arms.

“Lily said you punched Snape,” Dorcas says, now looking at Sirius. She addresses him with
ease, which makes sense, since one of his best friends is her girlfriend.
“He made some…empty threats and unpleasant remarks about James’s parents.” Remus says.

“Nobody dares to speak against Effie and Monty in my presence.” Sirius adds, head bent low.
Regulus looks down.

Next to him, James scoffs. “My mum would have him hanging from the ceiling like an ugly,
smelly chandelier. I would have him hanging from the ceiling, for fuck’s sake. How dare he,
how. He should be kissing the floor my mum walks on.”

“He was just trying to rile you up, as unpleasant as it is.” Remus says, shaking his head.

“The slimeball can try to get close to them and see what happens to him,” Sirius says,
glancing towards the door. “Do you think they’ll give him detention at least?”

“Well, Slughorn knows Mulciber isn’t the brightest at Potions, so…” James sighs. “Detention
isn’t enough with these people. They should take away his prefect badge, but even then, who
the hell could they nominate? Avery?” He tuts.

“Let’s go see Mary, yeah?” Sirius proposes. “Regulus, Dorcas, come along, I’m sure Mary
will be happy to see you.”

“What about Marlene and Lily?” Dorcas asks, glancing towards Dumbledore’s office.

“We’ll come get them later, it’s going to take a while.” James replies, with a gentle smile.

Dorcas falls into steps with Sirius and Remus. They’re talking about something, but Regulus
isn’t paying attention. Instead, he keeps glancing at James, unsure of what to do to reassure
him. The back of their hands brush together as they walk; at some point, Regulus curls his
index and middle finger around James's.

“I’m alright.” James whispers, intertwining their fingers properly.

“I don’t believe you.” Regulus replies, meeting his eye. There’s blue marks under James’s
eyes, a slight slouch around his shoulders, and he’s too quiet. Were James fine, he’d be
ranting about what happened non-stop. If he’s quiet, then it’s because he’s taking the matter
at heart. “What do you need? I’ll get it for you.”

James smiles a little: Regulus can tell it’s not sincere by the way the fact it doesn’t reach his
eyes at all. They stay dim, no small lines appearing at the corners. “Well, you’re here. So I
guess I feel a little better already.”

Regulus shakes his head, pressing his lips into a small line. “You should just tell me what you
need.”

James clenches his jaw and looks away, expression going from angry, to pained, to resigned.
“Nothing I can get now.”

“Say what,” Regulus insists, tugging at his hand. “I can make that happen, whatever it is.”

“Ah, so you’re a wizard.” James jokes, perhaps in an attempt to lighten up the situation.
“James.”

“A hug.” James whispers, at that point. “I want you to hug me.”

“We’re catching up to you in a second.” Regulus tells the rest of the group.

They all turn towards them; the attention makes Regulus straighten his back.

“Why?” Sirius asks, raising an eyebrow.

His eyes immediately find their joined hands. Regulus only holds tighter. Sirius will
understand.

“I need to tell James something in private.” Regulus says, straightening his back. “We’ll
catch up, go on.”

Sirius frowns at him, but Remus takes his hand gently and encourages him to go on without
them. Dorcas smiles at them before she nudges Sirius as well.

“Broom cupboard.” Regulus says, pointing at one door. James blinks at him, then looks at the
door. “Is that alright?”

“Yes,” James says, though there’s a crease between his eyebrows. “That’ll do.”

Once the door closes behind them, James takes off his glasses and embraces Regulus with
more strength than he was expecting, and hides his face in the crook of his neck, releasing a
shaky breath.

“It’s alright, baby,” Regulus says, softly, carding his fingers through James’s locks. His other
arm wraps around James’s middle, keeping him close. “Everything’s alright. Your parents are
safe. Mary is resting, and Mulciber won’t be here anymore.”

James’s tears begin to form a wet spot on Regulus’s jacket, and he has to close his eyes for a
moment, to recentre, and be the strong person James needs right now.

“What’s wrong?” Regulus asks, tucking in James’s hair.

James only comes closer, as if to bury himself in Regulus’s chest, and his hands grip at his
clothes, tugging and releasing and tugging again.

“They’re always targeting the people I love,” James says, voice shaky and wobbly, lips
grazing at Regulus’s skin as he speaks. “Remus, Sirius, now Mary, they tried to threaten my
parents.” He sucks in a deep breath, distancing himself enough to dry his face but not enough
to get out of Regulus’s embrace. His chest heaves irregularly. “And I know…I know my
parents are brilliant, but Mulciber will be out and…” He wilts and sobs, his shoulders shake
with the force of it. “The war is getting so much harsher and I miss my parents and I’m
scared someone will harm them and I won’t be there to help.”

“James.” Regulus leads him into his arms again and James loops his arms around his
shoulders, getting as close as he can. “Why don’t you ask professor McGonagall to send you
home for a couple of days? It’s a boarding school, not jail, James. If you want to see your
parents, you don’t have to wait until the summer. We can go talk to the professor after we
visit Mary, how does that sound?”

James opens his mouth, but a sob comes out instead, and he almost makes himself smaller,
hiding within Regulus once more.

“It’s alright, James,” he whispers. “It’s okay to miss the people you love, alright? You’ll see
them soon.”

“Thank you,” James mumbles, “thank you.”

“Don’t be silly.” Regulus kisses his forehead and cradles James’s cheek with one hand. “You
don’t need to be scared to ask for help.” James looks down and sniffles. “But I’ll be here to
help you when you do feel like that, alright? You don’t have to shoulder everything on your
own.”

James’s hand comes up to cup Regulus’s own, and their eyes meet. There’s a tear still
hanging from James’s bottom lashes, his eyes are red and his face is tear-stained. Regulus
doesn’t love him any less; if anything, he loves him more.

“You’re my angel.” James says, running his thumb on Regulus’s knuckles. “I don’t know
what I’ve done to deserve you, I-”

Regulus scoffs and shakes his head. “You’re the angel in here.”

It comes naturally: a step closer, and their mouths softly meet in the middle, a slow kiss that
serves as reassurance. James’s lips are soft and salty, his free hand gently cups Regulus’s hip,
and he lets out a soft, disappointed noise when they part.

He can’t help but think James has never been this vulnerable around him, not yet. He never
cried like this. And while James’s tears broke his heart, he’s still glad to be trusted, to be the
one who gives advice in this situation.

“You only deserve the best, Jamie,” Regulus murmurs, still close enough to feel James’s
breath against his lips.

“That’s why someone made sure you came into my life, then.” James says. He’s smiling:
Regulus can tell from his voice. “I’ve got to thank them everyday.”

“Sirius will be in the hospital wing.” Regulus jokes, and he rejoices at hearing James’s soft
chuckle. “Why are you laughing? It’s true.”

“No, I’m just…” James cups his face with his hands and kisses him again. “I guess even your
parents did something good, at some point. You and Sirius…I can’t imagine how painful my
life would be without you. Stay forever,” he says, “please.”

“Only if you stay too,” Regulus says, with a timid smile. “Do you feel a bit better?”
James nods, running his thumb along Regulus’s cheek before dropping his hands. “I love you
to Saturn and back.”

Regulus grins. “I love you to Neptune and back!”

The walk to the Hospital Wing is a bit more cheerful; James feels better at the prospect of
going home and being able to see his parents. It doesn’t fix all the issues, clearly, because
James still feels responsible for what happened to Mary, no matter how much Regulus tries to
tell him that it’s Mulciber’s fault, Mulciber and his stupid pureblood ideology.

Mary is sitting on a hospital bed with pillows behind her back. Peter sits on a plastic chair,
right beside her, hair messier than usual and eyes tired. Dorcas stands next to him, leaning
against the wall with her shoulder. Remus and Sirius stand on the other side of the bed, and
Sirius is resting his head on Remus’s shoulder.

“James!” Mary exclaims, when she sees them coming in. “Regulus! What are you doing
here?”

“Moral support,” Regulus replies, glancing at James. “How are you?”

Mary lowers her gaze, shrugging. “Well, I guess I do feel a little better, now that Mulciber is
expelled.” She says, lips curling down. “It’s just- well, I don’t know. I don’t know how to
describe it, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to!” Regulus hurries to say. “I mean, you can if you want to, but you don’t
have to.”

He looks up at James, pleading for help. James’s hand comes to rest at the small of his back.
“Can we do anything, Mary? Do you want something to eat or to drink?”

Mary considers it, then nibbles at her lower it. “Maybe something to eat? Savoury, though.”

“On it,” Sirius says, sweeping his hair back. “Come along, Reggie.”

Regulus’s eyes dart between the people in the room. Dorcas straightens her back and looks at
them, expectantly.

“Marlene,” she says. “And Lily.”

“We’ll take care of them, don’t worry.” Regulus says, then he nods at Sirius and follows him
out of the hospital wing.

“Sorry ‘bout earlier.” Regulus says, though he has to drag the words out. “James needed
support.”

“I know, I could see. What did you tell him?” Sirius asks, scrutinising him.
“To go home,” Regulus replies. Sirius nods, as if that’s the obvious answer. “I didn’t know
people could miss their parents in that way.”

In that way: because Regulus knows what it is like to miss parents. The difference is that
James has lovely parents to come back to, parents who will welcome him home with open
arms and probably serve him a cup of tea; Regulus has nothing to come back to. His parents,
his real parents, are dead, for what concerns him. They died when he was six, and the people
who wait for him at Grimmauld Place are sombre ghosts.

“I miss them too,” Sirius says, looking ahead. “Effie and Monty, I mean.”

“Of course,” Regulus replies.

He hopes he doesn’t sound as bitter as he feels. It’s not like he doesn’t miss Effie and Monty.
It’s that they will never be his parents. He loves them, he thinks they’re amazing, some of the
most beautiful people he has ever met.

“Look, Reg, I miss maman too.” Sirius says, and it clearly takes its toll for him to say. “But
she’s never going to be the same as she was. And father is a coward. You have to let go.
They’re not fit to love us. The mother you remember…she’s sold her soul to the devil,
alright? Move on.”

Regulus grits his teeth, clenching and unclenching his fists. “I know that. I don’t need you to
tell me.”

Silence falls between them as anger boils the pit of Regulus’s stomach, almost painfully.

“Why did she stop loving us?” Regulus finally asks, tugging Sirius’s sleeve. “Why, Siri? I
don’t remember it. I can’t- I’ve tried to remember, I can’t.”

Sirius’s eyes become round and wide, and he pulls Regulus in, acting instinctively more than
anything, Regulus considers. He drops his forehead on Sirius’s shoulder, even if he’s shorter
than James and the position is less comfortable.

“It’s okay.” Sirius says. He sounds scared. “It’s okay, Reg. Do you want me to tell you?”

“Please,” Regulus says.

“We befriended some muggle boys. During the summer in Nice. You were six. She didn’t like
it, of course.” Sirius’s hand cups Regulus’s nape gently. “Father might have taken your
memories. He did that sometimes.” Regulus squeezes his eyes shut and Sirius breathes in
deeply. “She was always like that, Regulus. We just didn’t let her down yet. She detests
muggles and muggleborns and everyone who is not…pure, according to her standards. We
were tainted the moment we talked to those boys. It would have happened anyway. You need
to let go.”

Regulus wants to ask why. He wants to shout, kick, cry, maybe throw some punches. This is
it. The stupid reason why he lost his parents, at the end, was something he knew all along:
even if he didn’t know the dynamics. Of course it had to be his mother’s obsession with
purity; the same obsession that made Regulus feel so dirty and panicked about things that he
wouldn’t have questioned, otherwise.

Purity. Toujours Pur, their house motto, and twelve years old Regulus scrubbing his body
from head to toes under cold water, just because he was growing up, and growing up meant
puberty and body reaction he couldn’t control. That same motto pops into his head when he
thinks about sex, when he thinks he wants sex, and it makes him take a step back.

“I hate them.” Regulus says, hand curling into a fist around Sirius’s shirt, crumpling it. “I
hate them so much, Sirius. But I never wanted to.”

“I know,” Sirius says, gently. “It’ll stop hurting. I promise it will.”

Regulus grimaces, then pushes away from Sirius, letting go of his shirt at last. He watches the
lines his grip left on the fabric, then decides to smooth it.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he lies. “It doesn’t.”

I won’t let them hurt me any longer, he chants in his mind, shivers creeping down his spine.

He hesitates, then hugs Sirius again, remembering Mulciber’s words about him only being his
former brother. As if anyone could actually stop them from being such. Still, after fighting so
much to go back to being a family, words like that hurt.

“You’re the only family I need,” he says, stubbornly, gritting his teeth.

Sirius embraces him slowly, but tightly. “And you mine. They can’t take that from us.”

Regulus tightens his hold on Sirius one last time, then steps back, face hot. It’s been years, so
hugging Sirius is still awkward, but it feels like Sirius crossed a bridge today by hugging him.
It won’t stop Regulus from being embarrassed, even if just a little.

“C’mon,” Sirius says. He wraps his arm around Regulus’s shoulder and rubs his hand on his
arm. “We’ll get Marlene and Lily, and then we’ll grab food, yeah? Do you want something to
eat?”

“I want a cinnamon roll.”

Snape and Avery come out of Dumbledore’s office looking in two very different ways. Snape
is pale, nervous and twitching, and he keeps his head bowed down; Avery still smiles,
looking pleased with himself, for some reason.

“What the hell are you doing here, Black?” Avery asks, looking him up and down.

“What, can’t you recognise brothers when you see a pair?” Regulus asks, coolly.

“Sod off, Avery,” Sirius says, glaring and gripping at his wand. “Unless you want us to go
back into that office. Maybe we can get you expelled.”
Avery sniggers. “They’d do me a favour. This school is scum anyway.”

“Yes, yes, it sucks, hey, why don’t you leave with your mate? Get a cottage and fuck off.”
Marlene says, dropping off the last step with Lily right behind her.

“As if I would take a mud-” Avery starts to say.

“Fuck off, didn’t you hear her?” Regulus asks, stepping forward. “Come on, go away.”

“Let’s go, Avery,” Snape says, pushing his friend towards the other end of the hallway.

“Listen to the slimeball, Avery, why don’t you?” Sirius guffaws.

Snape turns, whipping out his wand so fast Regulus doesn’t have time to grab his. Luckily,
Lily knew best: she’s the one to cast the protective spell. Her green eyes are as cold as a
winter morning in a moorland.

“Go away,” she says sharply.

Snape doesn’t say anything, but they do leave, in the end. Lily glares at them until they turn
the corner.

“Let’s go see Mary,” she says, and walks ahead of everyone else, hands in her pockets and
shoulders rounded.

They end up grabbing food for everyone, as they all skipped lunch, and eating together is
nicer than it should be. There’s a soft sense of community, somehow, even if Regulus doesn’t
feel like he belongs to this group. Nobody is wary of him, even if he’s a Slytherin, and Mary
seems quite happy to chat with him, actually. He makes her laugh a couple of times, which
earns him a gentle smile from James and even a hair ruffle from Sirius.

Marlene is the one who makes Mary laugh the most, making imitations of teachers and
students (the funniest, in Regulus’s opinion, is James’s). Peter makes her laugh the loudest,
and he seems quite proud of it.

“I think they fancy each other,” James whispers in his ear, while his fingers ghost around
Regulus’s waist. “Are you going to dinner? Or will you stay here?”

“I need to catch up with Barty and Evan.” Regulus says, looking up at him. “I’ll come back
right after and walk you to professor McGonagall’s office, alright? I want to say goodbye
properly.”

James chuckles, his arm cradling Regulus’s middle. “It’s just a couple of days.”

Regulus hums, unable to help the smile that surges on his lips when he meets James’s warm
gaze. “But I want to say goodbye properly.”
“Are you done flirting?” Lily asks. They look up to her just to see her grin. “Some of us are
single.”

“Yeah.” Peter agrees, crossing his arms to his chest. “Not nice at all.”

Mary shakes her head, falling into her pillows dramatically. “This is the second time someone
faults me today.”

“Ah, yes, because you don’t know what it’s like to be me.” Sirius complains, though he’s
snuggled against Remus. “That’s my little brother, that is.”

“He’s also my boyfriend.” James says, challenge in his voice.

“I’m also my own person, if anyone was wondering,” Regulus adds, with a tiny smirk.

It makes Mary laugh. She has a lovely smile. Regulus is happy to be able to bring it to her
lips and eyes, even on days like this, in which laughter would almost be seen as
inappropriate.

At times like these, it’s easy to be reminded they’re just teenagers, kids who need a good
laugh and a meal together. There’s a war outside, trying to make its way inside the bricks of
the castle, but it’s easy to use jokes and company as reinforced concrete: they smear it on the
walls and hope it will be enough to keep them safe. Everyone knows it won’t, of course. No
one would be so mad to think the opposite. But it’s also true that no one focuses on it. And
so, evil seeps through the walls like rainwater through a fragile roof.

He fills Barty and Evan with as much detail as he can in the fifteen minutes they spend
together before dinner. Evan is horrified to say the least, and guilt splashes over his face like
cold water. Regulus feels sorry for him: there was no way he could know, none of them
thought anyone would stand as low.

Amortentia, Regulus considers, could as well be poison, as any “love potion”. Even
purebloods turn up their noses at it. It’s to be smelled, never to be drunk. It’s not a potion one
brews with good intentions. There are recorded cases of Amortentia being used as a rape
drug. Regulus doesn’t doubt that was Mulciber’s intention.

Tainting drinks is common practice in the wizarding society, especially for purebloods.
Regulus’s parents, for example, never stay out of veritaserum. Regulus and Sirius were
victims themselves: being forced to drink sleep potions so they would quiet down, having to
chuck down truth serum if their parents felt like prying into their lives.

Magic allows humans to do almost everything; a statement that is as bright as it is dark.

Magic can save your life, end it, or make it miserable. In most cases, all three.

“As of today,” Dumbledore says, calmly. Quiet, still water. Impossible to tell what’s
underneath. “As of today, a student has been expelled for improper use of magic.” His eyes
run on the people in the hall: from the Gryffindor table to the Slytherin one. “With power and
skill comes responsibility. Everyone in this room was born with the gift of magic: a gift that
is to be handled with care and knowledge. A knowledge, this one, that shan’t be for the sole
purpose of showing skill. Your skill means nothing if awareness doesn’t come with it.” He
stops, eyes hard and heavy, looking directly at Severus Snape. “Magic might make flowers
bloom, it might make light burn brighter. But magic also kills. It makes lives duller. The
moment we forget the reach of magic, that’s the moment we turn into monsters.” Regulus
glances at Dorcas, who meets his eyes readily. “What happened today is unacceptable.”

“To say the least,” Regulus adds, under his breath.

“After a long discussion with the professor’s council and the prime minister, we’ve come to
the decision that the brewing of Amortentia will no longer be taught in the school. Supper
may now begin.”

Regulus watches him walk back to his usual seat and grimaces at the loud chattering that
spreads in the great hall. He clenches his jaw, looks at the food, and finds none of the
cheerfulness he was able to fill in the afternoon. Instead, the day sits on his shoulders, heavy
and painful.

“I’m not hungry.” Regulus says, getting up. Snape, a few seats away from him, glares in his
direction. Regulus holds his gaze. “Any problem?”

“Where are you going? Meeting up with your blood traitor brother?” Snape slurs, hair like
curtains around his face.

“And what does a halfblood know about blood loyalty?” Regulus asks, before leaving the
table.

It’s not a card he’s proud of using, not at all. But if he has to bring down someone in order to
be safe, he definitely prefers that someone to be Snape. It still takes him a second to feel
comfortable in his skin after saying something like that.

James is just going out of the infirmary, closing the door behind him, when Regulus arrives.

“Are you leaving?” He asks, tilting his head to the side.

James startles and looks up, blinking at him. “Everyone left. Like, five minutes ago, I haven’t
been alone here for long, I just thought I’d wait for you here. Did you even eat?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “I ate earlier. Besides, Evan and Barty always save something for me,
so don’t fret.” He smiles gently and catches up to James, offering his hand. “May I?”

James smiles and laces their fingers together. “Always, my love.” He presses a kiss on
Regulus’s knuckles. “Always.”

The walk to professor McGonagall’s office is a short one, and they spend it in silence. James
is tired, Regulus is thinking too hard to engage in an actual conversation.

“You know, I actually don’t want to say goodbye.” James says, once they’re there. “Even if
it’s just for two days.”
“It’ll be Saturday when you come back.” Regulus replies, with a soft smile. “We’ll spend the
day and the night together.”

James nods, bringing him in for a comfortable, warm hug. James plays with his hair, clearly
dilly-dallying, and Regulus lets him, because professor McGonagall is probably having
dinner at the moment anyway, so there’s no rush.

“Jamie,” Regulus says, not bothering to look up. “Talk to your parents, alright? About
everything. They love you. It’ll be fine.”

“I will.” James says, softly. “Thank you for today.”

“That’s a silly thing to say thank you for,” Regulus argues. “But I’m glad I was able to help.”

“That’s an understatement.” James says, as Regulus nuzzles at his neck, presses an open-
mouthed kiss on it. “Are you trying to wiggle yourself out of praise?” James asks, amused,
but slightly breathless.

Regulus stills and pouts, distancing to glare at James. “I don’t like that you noticed that.”

James rolls his eyes. “What’s up?”

“Nope,” Regulus says, hiding his face in the crook of James’s neck. “I don’t like that
question.”

James’s hand rests on the nape of his neck, exactly the way Sirius’s did in the afternoon.
“Okay. So you don’t want to talk about it now. What about we talk about it when I get
back?”

Regulus considers it, counting James’s breaths. He gets to five before he agrees.

“Okay.” James kisses his forehead, which makes Regulus hug him tighter. “Reg?”

“Hm?”

“Whatever it is that you’re worried about, it’ll be alright.” James says, gently. “And don’t
work too hard while I’m not here.”

“You really are your mother’s child,” Regulus murmurs. As I’m my mother’s, goes unsaid.

“That’s the biggest compliment you could make, you know?”

“I know.”

They stay like that, embracing and warming up each other, until they hear the sound of
footsteps. Regulus greets James goodbye with a kiss and a hair ruffle, then makes his way
back.
 O.W.L.s & The end of the fifth year
Chapter Notes

Content Warnings: mild violence (it's mostly off screen, but yk); a bad fight (gets
resolved); the prank (heavily narrated!); implied & referenced racism; homophobic
situations (in the past, completely off screen: pretended relationship and outing).

See the end of the chapter for more notes

8/5/1977, Hogwarts

Dear Diary,

James came back yesterday morning. He was visibly happier, more relaxed. He told me a bit
about it, though I suspect he left something unsaid (to me, not to his parents). I’m not sure
why, but I didn’t ask. He said his cousin is going to start living in the UK, after he gets
married. Effie and Monty offered to take him in, so in the summer James is going to work on
making the first floor habitable.

He talked to his parents about what was bothering him as well: about marriage and being
scared of disappointing them. Turns out he was overthinking: I’m glad they spoke. I can tell
he’s more comfortable with…physical matters, now. I thought I’d be, too, but apparently I
was wrong. It’s not like I didn’t know I had issues surrounding physical intimacy, I just
thought- actually, I don’t know what I expected.

Perhaps the prospect of going back home is making me more sensitive. I can already hear my
mother talk about family honour and the duties of an heir, or telling me I don’t have enough
spine for it. She’s always going to think I’m not good enough, because I’m not Sirius. I’m
trying not to think about her, but I’ve been having nightmares, too. Going back was always
scary, but Sirius being there made it more bearable. I’m going to be alone, this time. I don’t
like it. But I won’t yield to the fear, I’ve done that enough times already, and I don’t want to
prove her right.

I’m sad I won’t spend my birthday here. It only happened a couple of times, but still. I really
wanted to spend it with James, Sirius and my friends.

Anyway, this diary entry is making me sad. I think I’ll bother Barty and Evan for a while,

Until next time,

R.A.B.

P.S. Since Mulciber is expelled, Dorcas is now in the team as a beater! I’m so proud of her!
9/5/1977, Hogwarts

It took Mulciber five days. It was on the first page of the Prophet. A whole family. Veronica
cried, even I was shocked. It’s not like we didn’t know he was a bad person, it’s just that none
of us ever expected him to actually become a murderer. Naive, I know, but I played Quidditch
with him for four years. I kept staring at the paper, trying to make sense out of it and finding
none. This is simply pure madness in the shape of people.

R.A.B.

11 May, 1977

The exams are less than three weeks away, and all the fifth and seventh years are buzzing in
nervousness. Regulus has never spent so much time studying, and he’s convinced there’s
more caffeine in his bloodstreams than actual blood. Not a very pleasant thought, especially
because caffeine agitates him, but he’d fall asleep in the middle of class otherwise.

Evan’s situation is probably even worse. Just yesterday, he had a complete breakdown about
being tired of studying, and it took almost an hour to cheer him up, and they needed to call
Leonie. He’s doing better today, but Barty confiscated his wand to prevent him from trying to
transfigure his glass into a brown bunny.

“It’s easy for you, you’re the best at transfiguration,” Evan sneers, putting scones into his
dish. “I had to be skilled at Herbology! Herbology! You don’t even need a sodding wand for
that!”

“Look, Evan, you need to calm down,” Barty says stoically. “Magic requires a good amount
of emotional regulation, if you get mad or if you’re too nervous, you’re not going to make it.
If you focus on the thought you can’t do it, you won’t do it. You’re a wizard, you already
possess magic, it’s in your blood.” Barty glances at Regulus, urging him to add something
with a pleading gaze.

“Take some deep breaths,” Regulus says, moving his hair away from his face. “You’ve been
studying a lot, you just have to believe in yourself. What you need now isn’t to practise, but
to relax, alright? Nobody is good all the time, take it easy. I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

Evan puffs his cheeks and blows air out, then nods, but doesn’t say anything. Barty rubs his
hand on his back.

“Good morning!” Leonie chirps. She drops a kiss on Evan’s cheek and sits next to him, and
that alone gets a small smile out of Evan. “I saw your brother, Reg.”

Regulus raises an eyebrow, wondering about his breakfast: he’s not sure on what to eat, now
that cinnamon rolls are missing. “Oh, did you take the long way?”
“I needed to post a letter,” Leonie says, casually. “I didn’t know Sirius was gay. I think the
school will be mourning for a while.”

Regulus chokes on his tea and coughs several times, pressing a hand on his chest. This he
didn’t expect. He thought Sirius was going to tell him, once he made up his mind.

“Did he finally snog Potter?” Avery sneers, making Snape and Yaxley snicker. Regulus side-
eyes him, clamping his hand around the handle of his wand. “Was about time Potter gave up
on Evans…though I can’t see much improvement between a mudblood and a little que-”

“Silencio,” Regulus announces, wand pointed at Avery. He tries to speak, but no audible
words come out. The sixth year stares at him in utter shock; for good measure, Regulus
smiles at him politely and turns back to Leonie. “Hmm…much better. What were you saying,
Leonie?”

“Black. Make it stop,” Yaxley orders, standing up, hands pressed on the table. His expression
is undoubtedly serious, but Regulus isn’t willing to compromise on this matter either.

So he gets up as well and glares at Yaxley, gripping his wand with so much force that his
knuckles go white. “I’ll make it stop when he learns to shut his mouth about my family.”

“Your family?” Yaxley laughs, briefly meeting Snape’s eyes and then looking at Regulus
again. There’s an amused smile on his lips that makes Regulus’s skin itch in irritation. “He’s
not your brother anymore, he’s disowned.”

“Vermiculus!”

“Impedimenta!”

Both jinxes get their job done: Yaxley is turned into a tiny, pink, squirming worm, and
Regulus’s movements slow down. Snape grins, for just a second, before Barty grabs a
handful of his hair and forces his head against the table, tight grip and everything.

“Never raise your wand at Regulus again.” He scoffs, then points his wand at Regulus: “
Finite. ”

The spell breaks, Regulus’s hands fall along his hips, wand still held tight. Clearing his
throat, he pushes his shoulders back and looks at Snape with mild disgust.

“Look at you, defending a blood traitor. The Dark Lord won’t have you if you act like this,”
he grins, “Your actual family won’t have you if you act like this,” Snape says, struggling to
free himself from Barty’s grip. He gives Regulus a withering look. “Unless you betray him
like your silly brother.”

“Watch your mouth,” Regulus says, leaning over the table in front of Evan and Leonie’s
surprised eyes. “Potter isn’t the only one who can scourgify it. Except maybe I’ll let you
choke with it.”

Snape’s eyes get, if possible, even sharper, but they’re interrupted before he can reply.
“Mr. Crouch, release your housemate at once,” Slughorn says. Regulus turns towards him,
wide-eyed. Barty scowls, then lets go of Snape and cleans his hand on a napkin. “Good. Now,
will anybody tell me what happened here?”

“They were making fun of my brother,” Regulus says, crossing his arms to his chest.

Slughorn’s gaze falls towards the squirming worm on the bench. “Is that a student?”

Regulus presses his lips into a thin line, repressing the urge to grin proudly.

“You mean you don’t recognise Yaxley, professor?” Barty jests, with a charming smile.
Slughorn blanches slightly. “He’s quite recognisable, I’d say. ”

After freeing Avery from the silencing charm and turning Yaxley back into his usual form,
Slughorn takes Regulus and Barty to his office. It’s plain compared to Dumbledore’s and the
fireplace is out. On the walls, there’s pictures of his old students, of slug clubs that don’t exist
anymore, and trophies and medals. He likes to collect people, Regulus already knew that, but
it’s always an experience to walk into his office and find it like this. He wonders if he’ll be on
that wall someday.

“It was self-defence.” Regulus says, before even being questioned, once he sat down in one
of the armchairs of Slughorn’s office. “They were attacking my brother and me. The same
happened with Snape last year, during the Slug Club night. I can’t just let people talk poorly
about my family, professor. It goes against the values I grew up with. Family above all.”

Professor Slughorn messages the bridge of his nose and Barty raises his eyebrows at Regulus,
trying not to burst into laughter.

“It’s not funny, Mr. Crouch. Humanity was given the ability to speak, and we should use it to
resolve conflict.”

“You’ll forgive me, professor, I’m not really fluent in worm-tongue, that’s why I couldn’t
communicate with Yaxley.” Regulus says, with his most innocent tone. It makes Barty laugh,
and Regulus has to bite his tongue not to do the same.

“Mr. Black, this is not the place to joke, you will be given detention, and your parents must
be informed of this behaviour.” Regulus’s heart drops to his heels, but he keeps a straight
face. So be it, then. They would have complained about his behaviour either way. “If another
student bothers you, you should speak to a professor, not act on your own accord.
Transfiguration can have very damaging effects if not done properly, and human
transfiguration is particularly advanced magic. This could have ended badly.”

Regulus can’t help but be chuffed about it, even if he probably shouldn’t. He wants to shove
it into his mum’s face: that he’s a skilled wizard that can manage “particularly advanced
magic”.

“But we can do it properly, so I don’t see the issue,” Barty says, looking down.
“I’m sorry, professor, but nothing is done against people who use slurs against other students,
though I’m sure the faculty is well-aware of it happening. What would you do if I told you
my brother is being called a slur?” Regulus asks, crossing his arms. “If you don’t act, we
will.”

“Perhaps it’s time to take actual measures against the discriminations present in the school,
professor.” Barty says, raising an eyebrow. “Since you don’t want us to act on our own
accord.”

“Mr. Crouch, you’re risking being suspended, which I’m sure you don’t want to happen right
before your O.W.L.s.” That makes Barty shut his mouth, though his lips curl in an angry
scowl. “You’ll both serve detention for a week, and your parents will be informed. You’re
dismissed.”

Once they’re out, Regulus and Barty exchange a look. “If you end up being headboy, Reg,
which you will,” Barty says, “make sure we let them know who they’re fucking with. Sort of
tired of their hypocrisy.”

“I was thinking the same thing, Barty.”

The marauders are in the Great Hall once Barty and Regulus make their way back. Sirius
looks just fine, unharmed; in fact, he’s holding a mug while pointing at something to James,
who laughs, with his head tipped back.

“I’m heading their way, coming?” Regulus asks, sweeping his hair back.

“Umh…” Barty peers at Evan, but he seems just fine, talking to Leonie still. “Yeah, I’ll greet
Elias.”

Elias is half-asleep, when they arrive, but he still makes space for Barty to sit next to him,
eyeing with slight suspicion. Regulus watches them for a second, then shakes his head
quickly and taps two fingers on Sirius’s shoulder.

“Hey, Reggie,” Sirius says, taking in the annoyance in his face. “Heard you caused a scene.”

“I might have silenced Avery and turned Yaxley into a worm. Then Slughorn gave me and
Barty detention,” Regulus says, hands behind his back. His eyes dart towards Remus, then
back to Sirius. “Leonie saw you guys kissing.”

“And the arseholes had something to say about it, I bet.” James says, eyeing Regulus behind
the frames of his glasses. There’s pillow marks on his right cheek, and his curls are messy: he
looks like he just got out of bed. It fills Regulus with impossible fondness. “For the record,
my love, I got detention for turning Snivellus into a chicken once, and I think what you did is
really hot. Very complex transfiguration, I’m proud of you.”

Sirius sets his mug down with a loud noise and turns to look at James, probably narrow eyed.
“Stop flirting with my brother!”
“Okay.” James says, then looks at Regulus again and smirks, mischievous and charming. “I’ll
kiss him right away instead! On the mouth! With tongue!”

Sirius gasps and spreads his arms, blocking his way. “Don’t you dare!”

Remus starts laughing, and Peter hides his own mirth by drinking some tea.

“It’s fine, Sirius, I also want to kiss him on the mouth, with tongue.” Regulus says,
innocently. “He’s got pretty lips, doesn’t he? He deserves a kiss.”

Sirius turns around so fast Regulus fears he might snap his neck. “Do not encourage him,” he
says, while James makes kissing noises right behind him. This time, Sirius turns slowly.
“Potter, do you have a death wish?”

“Depends, is Reggie suffocating me with his lips? In that case, yes.” James says, then grins
when Sirius shoves him lightly. “You kiss Moony, I kiss Reggie, everyone is happy.”

“Not me!” Sirius whines, but makes space for Regulus to sit in between him and James. “I
don’t want to know that you kiss.”

“But you don’t just know that, you’ve seen them,” Peter reminds him, with a grin.

“I can still hear his scream,” Remus says, smirking. “You should scare him more often.”

“Moony!”

Regulus snickers, while James’s hand curls around his under the table. “He should learn to
knock, who knows what he might see next.”

Sirius makes a gagging noise. “Make them stop, Moony, make them stop.” That’s when he
sees their hands. “Oh my- Moony, they’re holding hands, save me. ”

“Is it just me or Sirius is being homophobic?” James asks, looking over at Peter and Remus.

“No, you’re right,” Peter says, shaking his head. “Remus, are you okay? Can you cope with
it?”

“I’m just…so shocked…” Remus says, pressing a hand to his chest. “I thought he loved me,
you know?”

“I do love you!” Sirius replies, reaching out to Remus and grabbing one of his hands. “I love
you, Moonbeam!”

“But you don’t love me,” Regulus says, putting effort into sounding brittle. “Your own
brother…you don’t love me for who I am…”

Sirius whines, covering his face with his hands. “I hate you all. Why did you have to fall in
love? I’m being teased relentlessly. This is bullying, this is.”
“You know, if you just let Reg and I snog, this wouldn’t have happened,” James says,
squeezing Regulus’s hand.

“Moony,” Sirius whines. “Defend me. They’re bullying me with their disgusting love!”

“I can’t believe my brother is homophobic,” Regulus tells James. “I thought I could trust
him.”

Sirius groans. “Fuck off, both of you. All of you, actually.”

16 May, 1977

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” James asks, as he puts on his shirt again.

It’s eleven pm: they should both be making their way back to the common rooms already. Not
the right time to ask a question like that, a question that awaits a longer conversation that
Regulus doesn’t want to have when he’s tired and, consequently, more vulnerable.

Regulus would love to tell James what exactly is bothering him, but it’s a weird medley of
stress related to the upcoming exams, anxiety about going back to Grimmauld Place in a
month, the overwhelming tension of the common room since Mulciber has been expelled, the
pressure he put on himself to find a solution to a war that is definitely bigger than him.

It’s not like he didn’t expect James to notice how he’s shutting down. There was a part of
him that wished desperately that James wouldn’t ask, because Regulus has no idea of how
he’s supposed to articulate the things he’s feeling: it’s too much, too many things catching up
to him at once.

“Definitely not today,” Regulus says, sweeping his hair off his face and going to the
bathroom to make sure it’s in order. James follows him and Regulus’s gaze flickers to his
figure in the mirror. James isn’t exactly frowning, but there’s a slight crease in his forehead
and his lips are curling down a little. “James, it’s late.”

“You promised you’d tell me once I got back.” James says, crossing his arms and leaning
against the wall. He bends his head, perhaps sensing it’s a lost cause. “It’s been ten days,
Reg.”

“I know.” Regulus says, looking down. “James, I- I don’t even know how to talk about it, so
forget it, okay?”

“Forget it?” James repeats, bewildered. “Reg, I can’t just forget about it when it makes you
absent and stressed.”

Regulus grumbles and pushes past him, going to look for his wand. He’s had enough of the
conversation already. May has been stressful enough already without discussions about
feelings.
“You said it’d be fine for me to be upset if you didn’t talk to me,” James says, following him
this time as well. “Which I’m not, okay? I’m not upset, I’m worried.”

“You don’t need to be, I’m fine.” Regulus grabs his wand from the night stand and shoves it
in the back pocket of his trousers. “Seriously, James, drop it.”

“Now you lie,” James scoffs, messing up the sheets of the bed.

“Your wand is on the table.” Regulus says, with a sigh. James nods, mindlessly, and goes to
get it. “James, it’s complicated and it’s late, we’ll talk about it some other day. Don’t stress
over it now.”

“You always say that! It’s always some other day, until there's no other day because you’re
going back home!” James snaps. Regulus turns to him at once, eyes wide, and James sighs.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…lash out. I’ve been stressing over it. I don’t know how to help
you.”

Regulus sighs and walks close, pulling James into a hug. It takes a second for James to hug
him back, but he still does, and they stay in silence for a minute.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus says, clinging to James. “I wish I knew how to talk about it, but I- I
don’t. I can barely conceive of it as a thought. I know I’ve been a bit absent lately, I’m just-”

“Is it because you need to come back home?” James asks, tangling his fingers to Regulus’s
hair.

“I’m not coming back home,” Regulus replies, harshly. “I’m coming back to that house, it’s
different. And before you say I don’t have to, I’ll have you know that’s not true. She’ll try to
hurt Sirius if I don’t come back, besides, she’ll be at the platform, so it’s- I can’t do it. I can’t
run away.”

“But you don’t want to go back either,” James concludes. The hand that’s not busy playing
with Regulus’s curls runs on his back, a warm touch that still makes Regulus shiver.

“I have to,” Regulus stresses, squeezing his eyes shut. “I never wanted to come back, James,
I swear. She’s already getting to my head and I’m not even there yet.”

“Reg-”

He pushes away from James and runs his hands through his hair. “She’s the problem, James.
It’s always like this before the summer, I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t even know if
I can do anything about it. I don’t like it anymore than you do. Do you think I like wasting
days I could spend…being happy with you?”

He sits on the edge of the bed and takes his head in his hands. Oh, how he’d love to be
carefree during this last month: he’d love to know going back home means happiness and not
misery, he’d love to go back home and know he can go out whenever he wants, with whoever
he wants. But his parents are the way they are, and there’s no genie Regulus can invoke to
change them, no way to fix them. Instead, he has to endure them.
“Jaan,” James says, kneeling in front of him. His hands stoke Regulus’s legs, warm and kind.
“I’m sorry I lashed out. I just want to help.”

“I know, I get it, but…I don’t know what I need.” Regulus whispers. “And I think people are
starting to realise I am a blood traitor. There’s…this thick tension in the common room since
Mulciber has been expelled, I quite literally wish I could change house. And the O.W.L.s are
also close, I can’t keep up with everything.”

“You’re stressed.” James rationalises, then gently and slowly takes his hands. “I get it, I can’t
do much about it, but…if you need a hug or if you want to rant about it, you know I’m here,
right?”

Regulus sniffles, turning his face towards the door. “I know.”

“And you don’t have to pretend you’re fine because I always love you, even when you’re not
fine, alright?” James says, still holding his hands.

Regulus presses his lips together and nods. “Then, can I have that hug you were talking
about?” He asks, in a small voice, after a beat of silence.

“You can have a million hugs.” James says, then gets up, still holding Regulus’s hands.
“Come on, then,” he says, gently tugging at Regulus’s hands.

Regulus frowns, but embraces James tightly, resting his head on his shoulder and closing his
eyes. He’s always warm, James is; his hugs feel like sunbathing in winter, when the sun won't
burn his skin, but gently skim over it, warming it up against the cold breeze. Days like that
are rare in Scotland, and perhaps that’s the reason why James Potter was born: to substitute
the sun in this land that barely knows it.

“Why did you put your shirt on again?” Regulus mumbles, turning his head to nuzzle at
James’s neck.

“Did you want me to walk out of here shirtless?” James asks, amused.

Regulus scoffs and dips his hands inside his shirt, running them over James’s back. “No. I
don’t want other people to look at you while you’re shirtless.” He says, puffing his cheeks.
“But I want to look at you while you’re shirtless.”

James laughs and presses a kiss on Regulus’s forehead, then on his temple. “You’re cute.”

“Nah-ah.”

“You are, face it,” James says, against his skin. “Am I cute?”

Regulus puts a small distance between them and removes his hands from under James’s shirt
to cradle his face. He runs his thumbs over James’s cheeks, then stands on his tippy toes to
kiss him briefly.

“The cutest, James.” He says, sincerely, sinking his fingers into his hair. “And the most
beautiful.”
“That’s you,” James replies, resting his forehead against Regulus’s, eyes closed. “I wish we
could sleep here every night.”

“It’s almost summer. We’d wake up all sweaty.”

“I don’t mind,” James says, quietly, securing his arms around Regulus’s waist. “You don’t
know how much I’d snog you right after a Quidditch game.”

Regulus giggles, tilting his head to meet James’s lips. “It’s the Quidditch uniform, not the
sweat.”

“The damned uniform! Damned tight white trousers. Oh, I hate that everyone gets to see you
in those.” James says, then lifts Regulus, who immediately moves his hands to James’s
shoulders to balance himself. “Up you go!”

“You need to stop doing this!” Regulus says, but he still cradles James’s face and kisses him
deeply.

“Are you sure?” James asks, after they part.

“No,” Regulus says, with a grin. “But expect the same treatment.”

James laughs, then puts him down and grabs the cloak from the couch. “Let’s go, menace.
Tomorrow’s a school day.”

When Regulus arrives, the common room is a mess: everyone’s talking, loudly or quietly, in
small groups. He barely recognises Avery sitting on the sofa in the middle of the room: one
of his eyes and his nose are swollen and there’s dried blood on his lips and jaw. Next to him,
Snape is frantically turning the pages of a big book, probably looking for any useful spells.
Regulus doubts Episkey can do much.

His first instinct is to look for familiar faces, but he doesn’t have enough time to find one,
because his presence suddenly gets the older boys’ attention.

“This is your friend’s doing.” Yaxley says, coming towards him, blonde hair tied up in a low
ponytail. He seems unharmed, not even a little cut or a drop of blood. Regulus grips at his
wand for good measure. “What the hell is up with you lately, uh? Have you forgotten where
your loyalties should lie?”

“And who are you to tell me where they should lie?” Regulus replies, furrowed brows.

“Let me get this straight, Black. Mulciber just took the mark, I’ll take it as soon as I’m out of
this freaking school, but you’re the heir of a very important house-”

“I know who I am, thank you.” Regulus says, harshly.

“Then maybe it’s time you reconsider your companies,” Yaxleys says, severely. “Hanging out
with a little queer like Crouch-”
“Keep my friends out of your mouth.” Regulus says, raising his wand. “You have no
authority to tell me who I should be hanging out with.”

“Oh, no. Maybe I don’t.” Yaxley smirks, crossing his arms. “But your mother does. And I
doubt she would be happy to hear what her only son gets up to when she can’t see.”

Now, it wouldn’t be the first time Regulus hexes someone for threatening to tell his mother
about his friends and companies, but this one would be a statement. Everyone is looking at
them: if Regulus was to attack, it wouldn’t be a simple hex, but an act of blatant defiance.

Having more common sense than him, Dorcas comes close and gently takes his wrist,
pushing it down. Regulus scowls at her, but she only looks at him austerely, which ultimately
convinces Regulus to lower his arm.

“You’re disgusting.” She tells Yaxley, pulling Regulus closer. There’s always something
protective about the way Dorcas treats people, with the typical demeanour of an older sibling.
“Go on with the empty threats, see what happens to you.”

“This doesn’t concern you, Meadowes. Someone should make Black aware of what the hell
he’s doing to his community.” He gives Dorcas an up and down look. “And you clearly aren’t
the one.”

“He’s doing nothing to his community, he’s not even of age. And watch your tongue, if you
don’t want me to stick it to your forehead,” Dorcas says, dark eyes blazing with rage. “Now,
if you will excuse us, we have other business to attend to.”

“See?” Yaxley says. “Always in the company of blood traitors…”

“Oh, what the hell!” Dorcas takes her wand and points it at him in a swift movement, then
says: “Bat bogey!”

Regulus coughs in the attempt of holding back laughter when Yaxley covers his face to
protect himself from the bogey bats. While he’s busy doing that, Dorcas drags Regulus away,
towards the dorm.

“First of all, you need to stop attacking people if you want to keep being safe, Reg. I
understand you’re anxious, we all are, but this isn’t helping you, it’s making things worse,”
she says, severely. “Secondly, Barty went crazy and did that to Avery, I’ve got no idea of
why, but then he got mad at Evan, they’re having a go at each other. Where the hell were you,
by the way?”

“What the hell happened?” Regulus asks, as they start to go towards the dorm. “I was with
James, I didn’t even know Barty was mad.”

“I know,” Dorcas sighs.

“Okay,” Regulus runs his hands through his hair. “I need to understand what’s going on
first.”
“You mean you’re going to eavesdrop.” Dorcas says, rolling her eyes. “Just walk in there, for
fuck’s sake!”

“I can’t just walk in there, have you ever seen Barty mad? I don’t want to be hexed!” Regulus
pouts, hands in his pocket. He casually stops in front of the door of their dorm, which is
locked, and rests his ear against the wood.

“How many times have you done this before?”

Regulus shrugs. “Did it all the time at my parents’,” he says, grabbing his wand. “They
placed a silencing spell.” Then he tips the door with his wand, muttering the counter-spell.

“So you knew,” Barty is saying. His voice is filled with rage. “You knew, and you let them do
that- that’s cruel, Evan! Next level cruel!”

“I didn’t know who they were targeting!” Evan sobs, and Regulus’s eyes go round: he’s never
heard Evan like this, never. He glances at Dorcas, but she has the same shocked look as him.
“I went along with it because…I didn’t want to lose any more friends! You and Regulus
ditched me, remember?”

“Ah, so it’s our fault now? There is no excuse for what you did! How do you expect me to
stay after this? You hurt him! You didn’t even think of telling me! All this time, you’ve
known-” Barty cuts off, breath heavy. “His perception of himself is all…messed up and you-
you didn’t need to know who they were targeting to oppose them, Evan, this is the point!
Imagine if Leonie did that to you! If anyone you trust did that to you-”

“I didn’t do it!” Evan is loud too, this time. “I didn’t do it, I roughly knew what their plan
was, I came to know what happened later on, it was already done! And I’m not blaming you
or Regulus, but it was bloody hard for me last year, if you really want to know! I wanted to
keep my shitty friends, alright? At least they didn’t dump me to snog each other. Try to
understand for once, Barty.”

“Why do you keep bringing that up?” Barty yells, and there’s a thud that suggests he
probably punched the wall. “How does it justify what Avery did to Elias, umh? The thoughts
you put into his head…that’s sick, Evan, that is so sick to even think to do something like that
to anyone.”

“How is it different from what you did to Regulus?” Regulus freezes at the mention. Evan’s
voice isn’t as shaky anymore, it falls cold and flat. “Come on, Barty. Tell me the difference.”

“Don’t you dare,” is Barty’s low reply. “That’s different- I was struggling, I never meant to
harm him.”

“But you did anyway. So what’s the difference?”

“I have to go in,” Regulus says to Dorcas, hastily. He barely sees her as she nods.

He puts away his wand and pushes the door open. Barty and Evan are in the middle of the
room: Barty looks like he cried, but isn’t crying now, his hair is ruffled and his expression is a
combination of shock and disgust; Evan, on the other hand, is still crying, with red, puffy
eyes, red cheeks, and he’s hugging himself tightly. When his gaze falls on Regulus, he
sniffles and looks away.

“What the hell is happening?” Regulus demands. Dorcas peers over his shoulder, unsure.

“Tell them.” Barty says, crossing his arms as he glares at Evan. “Come on, Evan.”

“Elias wouldn’t want me to,” Evan replies.

Barty scoffs. There’s a beat of silence, in which Regulus’s eyes dart between the two of them,
unsure, then Evan’s sob breaks the illusion, and he closes himself in the bathroom.

“Crocodile tears,” Barty says, harshly. He snatches his wand from his bed and stuffs it in his
back pocket as he makes his way towards the door. “I’m gonna go for a walk.”

“It’s past the curfew,” Dorcas and Regulus both remind him, as he leaves the room.

“I don’t care,” they hear him say.

Dorcas briefly rests her hand on Regulus’s arm. “I’m going to go after him, take care of
Evan,” then she leaves too.

Regulus takes a deep breath in, then closes the door of the room and knocks to the bathroom.
“Evan,” he says, softly. “Can you come out and talk to me, please? There’s no one else.”

“Barty hates me,” Evan says, from the otherside, without opening. “He hates me. I’ve lost
him again. He doesn’t want to be my friend anymore,” his voice wavers. “Why does it always
end up with one of us far from the others? Why can’t we always be good mates?”

“Because that’s not how friendship works, Evan,” Regulus replies. “You said it yourself. A
fight can happen with anyone, even the people we love the most. It doesn’t mean they hate
us.”

“People aren't Barty,” Evan argues. “He hates me. I’ve crossed the line.”

“He doesn’t hate you, Evan. He loves you, but he’s hurt. You know Barty when he’s hurt. He
says things, but he doesn’t mean them,” he stops, considering. “You’re that way too,” he
decides. “Blind, red rage. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Why are you not leaving?” Evan sniffles.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Silence. Then: “No. Give me a second?”

So Regulus moves and waits by the window, which shows a few jellyfish passing by, or
rather being hauled by the stream. When Evan comes out of the bathroom, his eyes are still
red and puffy, but his shoulders seem less tense. He approaches Regulus awkwardly, never
meeting his eyes for more than one short moment.
“Evan, I’m not mad at you.” Regulus says, with a sigh. “What happened? Did you hurt Elias?
Is this what he was forgiving you about?”

“Not really,” Evan says. “Someone else hurt him, and I didn’t stop them, which makes me
nearly as bad. Or just as bad. Matter of opinions, I guess.”

“Avery.”

Eva nods. “But- I sort of knew, but not completely, and I didn’t do anything to stop them. I
didn’t know it was him either. I knew it was stupid and I knew it was wrong, but I needed
company and you were never there. And when you were present, it was like you couldn’t
wait to get rid of me. As awful as they were, they were company and they seemed to like me.
I needed people to like me,” He sniffles, resting his temple against the window. “We talked
about it, the night of Pandora’s birthday. I asked him how he was. He wasn’t sincere, I could
tell- I- Regulus, I’m so sorry, I wish I could make things better, but the only thing I can do is
apologise.”

“What did they do?” Regulus asks, resting his hand on Evan’s shoulder.

Shaking his head, Evan says: “I can’t tell you. It’s not my secret, not my pain, and I don’t
think he’d want me to…expose his secrets like that. Barty figured it out on his own. But I’m
pretty sure Elias would tell you, if you asked- well, with this mess going down…I hope he’s
alright. He’s a good lad.”

“He is,” Regulus says, slowly. Reaching out, he takes Evan’s hand, eyes trained on their
fingers. Evan’s skin is slightly darker than his own, he wears no rings and he definitely
picked at his cuticles more than once. “And are you okay?”

Evan shakes his head, squeezing Regulus’s hand. “We talked about the war. During Elias’s
birthday,” he lets go of Regulus’s hand and runs his own in his hair. He turns and faces the
window with his back this time, head tipped against it and eyes closed. “It made me think. I
think- I think I’m starting to understand what you meant at the beginning of the year, and it’s
sort of- uh, messing with my head, I guess.” His chest heavens irregularly, and he’s rubbing
his hand on it, as if it hurts. “I think I discovered one too many things and it’s catching up
and- it’s like I've always had this floor under my feet and now it’s crumbling and I don’t
know where to hold on so I don’t fall.”

Regulus knows. It’s how he felt, too. It’s the horrid, frightening sensation of the once-held
beliefs revealing themselves as lies, mere opinions. One minute, the world has laws everyone
knows since birth, laws never questioned and deemed as universal; the next one, those laws
simply become part of a manipulation scheme. Truth doesn’t exist, and if it does, it’s out of
arm reach. Certainties disappear and the world becomes the most difficult question ever
asked.

That’s not even the worst part, considering trustworthy people turn into liars. Resentment
grows and grows, as tall as the sky, along with mixed feelings, loneliness, the creepy
sensation of being a stranger in your own life. Nothing makes sense anymore, as if the
universe was changed during the night.
Thirteen years old Regulus needed a hand to plug him out the waters he was drowning in, and
Elias reached out. Sixteen years old Evan needs the very same thing: it’s time for Regulus to
give back what he received from fate.

“Well. My hand is right there.” Regulus says, gently, looking at Evan, who stiffens, as if he
didn’t see that coming. “See, umh- the problem, when that happens, is that the floor is
trembling, so you obviously look at it. But obviously you can’t save yourself if you look for a
solution in something that’s falling down. You have to look up. And if you look up, then-
well, you’ll find my hand.”

Evan swallows and covers his eyes with his arms. “Do I deserve it? Do I deserve to grab it?”

Regulus feels this, too. The piercing guilt that wrings guts with the realisation of being
wrong, having been wrong all along; not only that: that mistake hurt people. That’s when the
mind gets hazy; that’s when the feeling of deserving pain sinks in, when it feels right to
wallow in sorrow, suffer more, pay for that mistake.

“I think everyone deserves a second chance,” Regulus says, slowly. “Elias forgave you.
Forgiveness: it gives you the opportunity to not make the same mistakes again. You need to
let yourself grasp that.”

Evan blows out air. He stays still for a few seconds, then he drops his arms and the second
later, he wraps them around Regulus. They don’t hug very often, not directly, it’s always an
arm around the shoulder or a couple of pats. This one is a proper embrace; Evan relaxes in his
arms, cries on his shoulder. Regulus tries to be like James is: reassuring and strong, and he
mutters to Evan the same words he wished to hear years ago.

It’s baffling how this ends up being comforting to both of them, almost as if by forgiving
Evan and offering him kindness, Regulus forgives the child he was, too. Almost as if the one
he’s holding is the confused, lonely kid who needed reassurance above everything else.

“Are you crying, too?” Evan asks, voice rough, but still laughing, because Evan always
laughs at everything, even at pain. But there’s comfort in his laughter.

“Shut up,” Regulus sniffles. “You cried first.”

“Oh, that makes it better, of course.” Evan says, still clinging. “Thank you for not leaving.”

“You’re not allowed to thank me for that.”

It takes two days to tell James about it. They’re in his dorm. Barty and Evan didn’t come to
the study group today. Seeing his friends fight is making him sad, and naturally he retreats to
James, when he’s in such a mood. James offers him a long, warm hug, a forehead kiss and he
dips his hands in his hair, carding through it.

“Barty and Evan are fighting,” Regulus says, surprised with the flatness of his tone.
James runs his hand on his back now, in a soothing gesture that has a lump forming in
Regulus’s throat. “Bad fight?”

“Evan did something bad,” Regulus mutters, pressing more into James.

James breathes deeply, and he sighs. “Yeah, I know what that’s like. The end of fifth year,
umh? Doesn’t get worse than that, if you ask me.”

“Sirius and Remus,” Regulus realises. He forgot about it. “You never told me what
happened.”

James laughs, no joy in it. There’s pain creeping at the corner of his eyes. “Well, it’s been a
little more than a year ago. And it sucked. I still- I still feel bad about it.” He says, taking off
his glasses. There’s a couple of tears in his eyes, and he dries them delicately with the sleeve
of his shirt. “I made my fair share of mistakes. I was mad all the time. I don’t think I even
had a bit of control over myself. It was awful. I never hated myself so much, and yet I
couldn’t- I didn’t manage to tell anyone about it. I was too caught up to take care of Sirius-”

“That’s not your job, James.” Regulus says, with a frown. “Sirius is in charge of taking care
of himself. You can help him, but it’s not your job.”

James laughs, still joyless, still with tears in his eyes. “No, I know- well, I don’t, because
Sirius is my best friend, and how dare I call myself that if I can’t help him when he’s hurting?
It all fell down on us. One day we were studying together, plotting pranks, laughing, and the
other we were fighting at the top of our lungs.” He sniffles and Regulus tightens his hold on
him, confused. James holds him close, one arm around his shoulders. “Remember when I told
you I went to a mind-healer, last summer?”

Regulus nods, rubbing his thumb on James’s side. “I do.”

“After coming back from school, I got into a big fight with my parents. I never talk about
them: I know I’m lucky. I know they’re good, but-” James stops, just to breathe, but his hold
on Regulus is firm. He needs the hug, Regulus knows. It grounds him. “But- ah, I’ve never
told anyone about this. But I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

Regulus cradles James’s face in his hands, sort of forcing him to meet his eyes. “I’ll listen,”
he says, staring into James’s eyes. “I’ll always listen. You know I don’t judge you.”

James looks at him for a long moment, then he wraps both his arms around him and kisses
him softly, though a bit desperately. “Thank you,” he says, once parted. “I need a moment,
first.”

So Regulus lets him go, and paces around the room while James is in the bathroom. The
water runs and runs, he hears the splashing sounds of James washing his face one too many
times. When he comes out of the bathroom, he’s wearing his glasses again, and his shoulders
stand broad and straight, but it feels like a facade, and those never last.

Still, James takes his hand and they sit in front of each other, knees touching and hands joint,
as they always sit when they have an important conversation. James flicks his wand at the
curtains and watches those as they close around the bed.

“Remember when I told you I had a lonely childhood?” He asks, looking down, with a fragile
tone in his voice.

“I do,” Regulus says. He also remembers asking about it, like a fool.

“I know my parents aren’t exactly at fault for it. They were working, they were busy, and
they- they needed me to be a bit older than I was. And proper. Sometimes they took me with
them to my dad’s conferences, and I had to be a charming little boy who didn’t embarrass his
parents, and in retrospect, that was not a good choice. I spent birthdays and holidays without
them, maybe with a cousin, sometimes with aunts or family friends. I blew the candles, and
they weren’t there. I opened presents, lit up candles, and the room felt empty because they
weren’t there.” He sighs, head still bent, hiding his eyes. “I never even had friends before I
came here. Meeting Sirius changed my life completely. One day, I was a lonely child, and the
other I had Sirius Black attached to my hip. I couldn’t be any happier, he was the friend I
always wanted. I didn’t even want to go home for Winter Break. I was mad at my parents for-
for not being with me when I needed them. Sirius could do it and he was twelve. Why
couldn’t they do it? They knew, of course. That I was mad. I told them everything. They
decided to stop working- not just for me, they were old, it was wearing them out, the war was
coming. People were disappearing.”

Regulus nods, running his thumbs over James’s knuckles, wanting nothing more than to kiss
each and everyone of them. Regulus gets this perfectly; Sirius saved him from loneliness,
too, at a different time.

“I needed them. This- umh, coming here, for the first time, as a desi person, as a brown
person, it was awful.” James states, almost flatly, but not quite. “Mary and I watched each
other’s backs. But people were still mean. Well, you can imagine who was the meanest,
because I notoriously have problems with him.”

“Snape,” Regulus says, because of course. Regulus has no doubt he’d be one of the
disgusting people who made James feel out of place. His fingers close around James’s.

“Lily always tried to play it out as if he was the victim, because she didn’t know what he was
telling me when she wasn’t listening, or what he said about Remus and his scars. He picked
on Sirius because he knew about your mother’s howlers: everyone did. Picked on Peter for
being chubby and not having grades as high as his. I can’t stand people like that, and I can
stand them less when they try to look like the victims. I harboured that rage for so many
years. And then I blamed on him everything that happened in the fifth year, because…
because it’s his fault. But I guess it’s partially our fault too, because we let him tear us down
for months. But I blamed myself, too, perhaps more than anyone else.”

“He was particularly nasty last year,” Regulus says. James snaps his head up, surprise
painting over his features. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. He tried to pick on me too. Bad
choice, I have to say, I was also full of rage.”

“Did you fight him?” James asks, mildly impressed.

“I tried to keep it to little things, like switching salt and sugar, or charming his things to move
away from him. But he said something particularly nasty during one Slug club meeting, and
I- well, I headbutted him on the nose. Now, I’m not usually one for violence, but-”

James shakes, squeezing his hands and then lifting one to press a kiss on his fingers. “Were I
there when that happened, my love, I would have snogged you on the spot.”

Regulus laughs, mostly out of surprise. He leans forward and kisses the corner of his mouth,
which makes James hum happily. “Go on, with your story, please.”

James’s face darkens again; it makes Regulus sad, but he has a feeling James needs to release
all the things he’s been hiding. It must be hard, Regulus thinks, to be the cheerful one all the
time, the one with no problems. Regulus knows that’s not James, simply because that’s not
even a person. James is a tangled mess of insecurities and made-up self-esteem, and while he
is a bit arrogant, smiles a lot and has a comforting presence, Regulus knows there’s a lot
more to him than what he wants people to notice.

“My parents didn’t know I had a problem with him. Dumbledore never took measures. But
last year- Godric, last year he was awful. To Remus first, hinting at the reasons why he might
be missing so many classes. Sirius was livid- you know Sirius. He never thought twice before
hexing him, and I- well, I didn’t find it wrong or dangerous, so I stood with him. Even when
Remus got angry at us because it was too much. Peter tried not to interfere- he had a hard
time saying no to Sirius and I, but I knew he didn’t approve much either.”

James rolls his shoulders backwards and lets out a big sigh. Regulus nods at him, as if to
encourage him to go on.

“Sirius snapped at him. Later on, I would come to know that Snape was often cornering him
and…saying nasty shit, he would pick at whatever he could find to piss him off. They duelled
a lot last year, because Sirius has no patience. However, it got worse towards the end of the
year. I think Snape knew Sirius was in love with Remus. He made remarks about it, how he
was going to get disowned, how his parents didn’t love him, how he was an embarrassment
for the wizarding community.”

“Dickhead,” Regulus mutters. “Stupid mophead.”

“Right? Either way, on may thirteenth, Snape cornered Sirius in the wrong moment. And
Sirius told him that if he really wanted to see what Remus got up to during full moons, then
he should have gone-” James stops, clears his throat, “to a certain place, and told him how
exactly to get there. I don’t think he expected Snape to do it. By that time, Snape was already
sure Remus was a werewolf. I don’t know how out of his mind one must be to choose to go
there, as if he was taking a walk by the Black lake! But then Sirius told me, and I had this bad
feeling, so I ran there, of course, because if Remus hurt Snape, he was going to be expelled. I
saved that bastard’s life, but the damage was done. Remus was hurt and angry with Sirius- we
all were. Protecting Remus was our thing, we swore on it, and Sirius risked blowing up
everything.”

Regulus tries not to judge, hardly so. It doesn’t seem like Sirius: he wonders just how fed up
Sirius had gotten to betray someone’s trust. But then again, Snape might be an awful person,
but Regulus never considered him to be this stupid.

“We were fighting nearly everyday- snapping at each other, spending less time in the dorm,
studying alone in some corner of the castle. I studied in the kitchens a lot. Poppy let Remus
study in the infirmary. I was- a mess. I thought it was over and it broke my heart. Those were
my best friends of all time, Sirius was the person I would have given my life to. I couldn’t
think of what happened.” He sighs, squeezing Regulus’s hands again. “I’m sure you’ve heard
about what happened after our DADA O.W.Ls.”

Regulus remembers bits and pieces, though his mind was definitely elsewhere. “Some stuff.”

“I didn’t take off his pants,” James says, letting go of one of Regulus’s hands to rub at his
scar. “I just wanted him to be scared, to feel at least a bit like I did. He took everything from
me. I wanted revenge. But I didn’t do it. I let him go and walked away, and told Sirius not to
follow me, because I pretended to be fine with him being around him for twenty minutes and
Sirius was desperate for things to be alright.”

Regulus knows this too, because Sirius was quiet around those days. He hugged his knees
and played chess with Regulus, but rarely talked. The company seemed enough, now Regulus
wonders if it really was.

“You know, what I regret the most is not having talked to Sirius before summer came around.
We needed each other. I was upset, I missed him, but I felt like I didn’t know him anymore.
Like the person I loved the most in the world simply- stopped existing. One day he was there,
the other he wasn’t, and I was supposed to deal with it.”

“It sounds like a shit time,” Regulus says, studying James’s expression, torn between anger
and sadness.

“It was.” James clears his throat and sighs. “Dumbledore sent a letter to my parents about
what happened with Snape, but I didn’t know. A bit after I came back home, they sat me
down and tried to talk about it. But I was mad and I had a go at them. And while I did, I
started sobbing, and I didn’t know how to stop anymore. It all fell down on me, the whole
end of the fifth year. I lost all my friends, I felt lonely again, I was mad, and I was- I was
trying so hard to come to terms with the fact I was queer too. Mostly with the fact that what I
was convinced my future would be like: a wife, kids…that wasn’t as sure anymore. My mum
suggested a mind-healer, and I went. When Sirius came to us…it was hard. We had good
days, we had bad days. We slept together if he had nightmares, but we wouldn’t talk to each
other in the morning.”

James’s voice, crumples and he covers his face with his hands, all of a sudden. Regulus leans
forward, hands around his wrists. His breath comes out ragged, in little hiccups.

“James, hey,” he says. “I’m here. Everything’s alright. That’s over, yeah? It was last year. It’s
not the same anymore.” James nods, slowly, but still seems to struggle. “Breathe with me,
come on. In and out.”

It takes a minute or two, then James seems calmer again.

“One day, Sirius asked me to stay, and I scoffed at him. He cried. I felt- I felt this pain in my
chest, I couldn’t stand it. I stayed. I felt like shit for…forgiving him before Remus did, but I
couldn’t keep it up anymore. I was tired, I missed my best friend, and he needed me, I needed
him. My mum helped us sort out things with Remus and Peter, in the end. Well, we did that
on our own, but she suggested we'd talk it out." James gives him an apologetic smile.
Regulus smiles back, holding his hands tight. “So that was the end of my fifth year. Hope you
don’t think I’m a horrible person now.”

Regulus shakes his head, then climbs into James’s lap, pulling him into a tight hug. “I don’t,”
he reassures, pressing a kiss on his temple. “I don’t, I’m glad you told me.”

Truth be told, Regulus doesn’t know what to think other than this is part of James, part of his
story, just like purism was a part of Regulus’s. Perhaps the blatant acceptance James shows
towards him is rubbing off on him, because he’s starting to stomach flaws, even and mostly
in the people he loves. They’re not perfect, no one is. It’s easy to love perfection, but perhaps
actual love only exists when flaws are accepted, just another thing about the person he loves.

James holds him tight, Regulus sinks into him, their cheeks slide against each other. “I told
you things I’ve never told anyone.”

“You refuse to be vulnerable with just anyone,” Regulus mumbles back. “No more of that,
alright, sweetheart. That’s what made you mad.”

“I know,” James says, breath hot against Regulus’s neck. “I’m learning. Thank you for
waiting for me.”

“Don’t be silly now,” Regulus whispers, playing with a couple of James’s curls. “You do it
for me all the time. You taught me this, you realise. I know it’s easy to- to feel bad and awful
for things we did in the past.”

“Yes,” James mumbles, tightening his arms around Regulus’s waist.

“But things need to be put into context. And- well, you know, I think not everything needs to
be passed with a moral compass. We can’t put ourselves on the cross for things we’ve done or
beliefs we don’t hold anymore. Some things just need to be understood or known.”

“So you don’t look at me any differently?” James asks, brittle, still needing reassurance.

Thus, Regulus pulls back, takes James’s face in his hands and studies the brown eyes he
adores and his soft lips. He presses a kiss just between his eyebrows.

“I love you,” he says, sweetly. “I don’t know how to look at you differently, James. You’re
the boy who cheered me up because you thought I looked sad on the Quidditch bleachers.
You’re the one who showed me the magic of Christmas and you’re the one who told me it
was okay to cry and be vulnerable. You held me through it. If Sirius and I are finding some
peace it’s because of you. You make life fun, hard things are easy with you. There’s no part
of me that could ever think of you as a bad person. You’re just James; and for that, I love
you.”
James sniffles and leans in to kiss him, glasses pressing into Regulus’s cheek. “Thank you,”
he says. “You didn’t tell me about Evan and Barty- ugh, sorry, I made this about me, I
didn’t-”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “That’s not nearly close,” he says, severely. “I’ll handle it. I think I’ve
figured out what to do, actually.”

19 May, 1977

Thursday means a free period after transfiguration. In the past months, he spent that time
with the study group, trying to make the most of those hours, especially because it was
morning, and everyone was more awake and ready to work.

Today, he decides to put more important things first. So when Elias tries to leave the
classroom unnoticed, Regulus follows him.

“What are you doing, now?” Elias asks, without turning.

“Trying to talk to you?” Regulus prompts, catching up to him.

Elias side-eyes him, then shrugs. “Not really talkative, these days.”

“Then I’ll just keep you company,” Regulus says, quite unbothered. “But you know, at the
beginning of the year, you said I could always talk to you. And the same goes for you.”

Elias slouches, giving him a little nod. They walk in silence for a while, in the quiet halls,
sometimes hearing half a quote of a lecture. Elias finally stops in the music room, which
Regulus thinks is a curious stop to make, but doesn’t comment on it.

“I used to come here all the time in my first year.” Elias says, walking into the centre of the
room and looking around.

“Pandora and I in our second. We played the piano together. She stole an ukulele and learnt
how to play it, I don’t think anyone noticed,” Regulus says, with half a smile.

“Barty and I made up here, too.” Elias walks up to an acoustic guitar and runs his fingers on
the strings. “I played him one of my favourite disney songs and he told me I was a good
singer. Then he complimented me and I didn’t accept it. And he ran away?” Elias wrinkles
his nose. “Weird guy, that Crouch.”

“Are you mad at him?” Regulus asks, sitting on the piano stall.

Elias shrugs, eyes still on the guitar. “I’m not sure. Some parts of me want to be angry at him,
even just for figuring it out. I guess it’s the downside of someone paying actual attention to
you, what you do and what you say. Some other parts are grateful, because at least he didn’t
say anything about me. Dorcas told me. He hexed him and punched him, but he never
mentioned me. But I guess I’m mostly embarrassed.”
Regulus blinks, honestly surprised. “Embarrassed?” He asks, fists clenched over his thighs. “I
don’t know what they did to you, but they’re the ones who should be embarrassed.”

Elias turns and crosses his arms. “I let them fool me,” he says. Then he walks over to the stall
and sits next to Regulus. Their thighs are pressed together. “It was January. I don’t know how
they did it, but Avery and Mulciber sort of…figured out I was queer. Or maybe they didn’t.
Maybe I looked like an easy target because I rarely walked around the castle with someone
else. Anyway, Avery started…courting me? I guess. I was very opposed, at first. Then he
started throwing a pity party. ‘I only pretend to believe those things, it’s because of my
family’, other bollocks he didn’t mean. I don’t know why or when, but I believed him at
some point. It was a very brief thing. Some kissing, not even actual snogging, I could tell he
was disgusted with it. But he only needed proof that I was queer.”

“Elias, that’s…that is so fucking horrible,” Regulus says, struggling to find the words. “Why
didn’t you tell me? I would have done something! Did you even-”

“I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t want to. I felt stupid, Reg, I felt so stupid for giving in,” Elias
cuts him off. “They started tormenting me with it. They threatened to tell everyone, I scoffed
at them, and the rumour started. And then I got the stares, the hexing, the invasive questions.
I wasn’t ready for any of it.” He leans forward and runs his hands over his face. “Someone
told Frank and Alice. And when Frank tried to talk to me about it, I ran away. And I cried in
this very room.” He says, looking up and around. “And then Shinji found me. Now, you don’t
know Shinji, but he’s quite sweet. He asked me why I was crying, and then I told him
everything because I need to get it off my chest. And he proclaimed himself my friend. And I
fancied him, of course, like an idiot, just because he was kind and didn’t judge me.”

“You weren’t an idiot for fancying him,” Regulus says, bumping his shoulder with Elias’s.
“He’s rather pretty, actually.”

Elias smiles at him fondly, then he looks down. “I talked to Frank after Shinji found me. He
had no problem with it, of course. Alice is bi, anyway, she’s all- she’s the coolest person ever.
And he knows and I know. I told them everything, too. And then a couple of days later, Avery
woke up in the middle of the Black Lake. I don’t think it was a coincidence. Frank still trips
him every time he sees him. I did that, too. At the beginning of the year, I transfigured his
shoes into high heels so many times. He kept fucking falling and twisting his ankles. Idiot.”
Elias grumbles, then sets his hand on Regulus’s knee. “I’m glad you were the first boy I’ve
ever kissed.”

Regulus looks at him, wide-eyed. “That wasn’t even romantic. We didn’t even like each
other. You deserved a better first kiss.”

Elias shakes his head. “I don’t care. You do like me, even if you don’t fancy me, and you’re
my friend. If I didn’t kiss you in October, my first boy-kiss would have been sodding Avery.
Goddamn, ew.”

Regulus laughs, despite everything. “I’m sorry Evan took part in it.”

“Oh, Evan…” Elias says, with a sigh. “He didn’t, really. It was the sixth year lot. I doubt he
even knew it was me until they started publicly going against me. And he’s sorry, and I don’t
even care that much anymore. I hate fighting, and…people grow. You all grew, actually, the
three of you.”

But as he says it, he looks down. Regulus rests his hand over Elias’s. “I think you do care,
though. And that’s alright, if you do. Because it hurts you.” he says. “Is that why you tried to
reject Barty?”

Elias nods after a few seconds, eyes a bit unfocused, like he’s somewhere else entirely. “I’m
not going to lie to you, Regulus. I don’t know how to trust someone that says they love me. I
wonder why, if I deserve it, if I’m actually good enough, and then my head gets messy. I like
Barty, okay? He’s sweet and he tries his best, but this is more about me than about him. I
know he cares. I tell myself he cares all the time, but I still haven’t learnt to trust him and I
don’t want to rush it.” He swallows, eyebrows drawing together. “Since I’ve stepped foot in
this school, a lot of awful things have happened to me, and Barty is one of the good ones.
Recent good ones, that is, but nonetheless. I don’t want to muck it up.”

Regulus runs his thumb over the back of Elias’s hand. “You won’t muck it up, though. I
promise you, he won’t judge you. He’s just upset they hurt you. But…but I think everyone
should do things at their own time.” Elias looks up at me, bright eyes, green and blue. “If
you’re not ready to put a label over it, it doesn’t mean you’re not…anything. I don’t think
love should be measured in labels, even partner or boyfriend, girlfriend. What really matters
is what’s inside, right?”

Elias nods and takes a deep breath in. “Alright,” he says, getting up. “Then I think it’s better
to gather Barty and Evan and help them make up.”

“Oh, I left Dorcas and Pandora to it.” Regulus says, cheerfully. He gets up and offers his
hands to Elias. “I haven’t hugged you in a while.”

Elias rolls his eyes, but he takes Regulus’s hands and goes for a hug right after he gets on his
feet. “James is a good influence on you, you know? Makes you sweeter.”

“Twat,” Regulus sputters, as if he’s not embracing him. “I’ve always been sweet, Potter has
nothing to do with it.”

“Oh, he does. He definitely does.” Elias distances himself a little and grins. His hand cups
Regulus’s jaw. “I’m glad we’re friends. So thank you for insulting me during potions.”

“Thank you for calling me a bigotted dickhead with ugly robes.” Regulus says, with a grin.
“Come on, then. Barty and Evan don’t know you’re going to be around. We’ll have fun at
their expense.”

“I love that.”

The day has, in fact, been a long one, but Regulus doesn’t care much, because Barty and
Evan are in the dorm, making up and apologising to each other, and Regulus is going over
Quidditch strategies for the upcoming game with Ravenclaw, along with Veronica and
Dorcas.

“MacMillan gets distracted with Bludgers, I think we should use that against him. Just…
smash them all around the field, and particularly close to the hoops, so Nathaniel and Hector
have more space for one of their plays,” Veronica says.

Regulus is about to add his two cents in, considering Bludgers are a problem for him, but
someone taps on his shoulders.

“Oh, hi Vivi.” Dorcas says, with a smile.

“Hi, Cassie,” Vivienne chirps, a smile flashing on her lips. “I’m going to borrow Regulus.”

“Borrow me for what?” He asks, but he gets up anyway, because he has a lot to redeem
himself for. “I’ll be back.”

“Need help with Charms.” She says, shoving her hands in her pockets. “No teasing, or they’ll
never find your body.”

“Ah, and let me guess, I need to grab my book,” Regulus says, as he starts making his way
towards the dorm.

Vivienne follows happily, hands behind her back. “So, who are you dating?” She asks, for
what must be the third time this month.

“Oh my- just drop it, I’m not going to tell you,” Regulus says, rolling his eyes. “Why don’t
you torture Barty?”

“Not as fun.” Vivienne turns and pouts at him. “C’mon, Regulus, I just want to know if he’s
hot, that’s important.”

“He’s hot, rest assured.”

“So, did you shag him?”

Regulus turns towards her, one hand on the door handle and lips pressed into a thin line.
“You’re having too much fun with it,” he scolds. “That’s none of your business, that is.”

Barty and Evan are hugging in the middle of the room, not an inch of space between them.
It’s a cute scene, really, cute the way Evan seems to hide in Barty’s shoulder, the way Barty is
running his fingers through his hair. Regulus feels the immediate urge to make fun of them,
of course. Maybe because he’s a little jealous, or perhaps because he’s not a good person at
all.

“Cute boyfriends,” Regulus says, teasingly, and makes kissing noises as he walks into the
room. Evan and Barty spring apart from each other, red faced and fumbling, trying to look as
if they weren’t in the middle of a mild cuddling session. “Oh, no, please keep hugging. It was
very cute.”
“The cutest!” Vivienne adds. “Have you guys picked a name for the baby yet? I’m so telling
Leonie about this. Her boyfriend has a boyfriend!”

“First of all, you’re a wanker,” Evan tells Regulus, pointing his finger. “And his boyfriend is
in Gryffindor, Vivienne.”

“Tosser!” Regulus says, dropping his charms book on the bed. “My boyfriend is not in
Gryffindor!”

Vivienne’s eyes dart between the two of them, then land on Barty, who smiles innocently,
hands behind his back.

“It’s true, he’s a Gryffindor.” Barty says, then sticks his tongue at Regulus. “And Evan isn’t
even close to my type.”

“Your loss,” Evan replies, with a scowl. “I don’t need you, Crouch, I have a girlfriend.”

Regulus snatches his book from the bed, feeling Vivienne’s surprised eyes on him, and
pretending his cheeks aren’t red. “Well, you want to know what, Vivienne? Barty’s boyfriend
is also in Gryffindor.”

“I don’t even have a boyfriend!” Barty says, loudly, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, right,” Evan scoffs, rolling his eyes. Regulus definitely understands his reaction.
“Why are you here, Vivienne?”

“I came for charms, I’m staying for the gossip.” Vivienne says, sitting at the feet of Regulus’s
bed. “Why is everyone dating Gryffindors now? Have you lost your minds?”

“Thank you!” Evan says, looking between Barty and Regulus. “I don’t know what’s up with
these two but it’s making me crazy.”

26/5/1977, Hogwarts

Dear Diary,

Today Remus and I spoke for the first time in months. We never really had the chance to
speak alone in a while; patrolling partners changed pretty much every other month this
semester, plus I’m not usually particularly talkative during rounds, and so is he.

It’s not like I didn’t want to get to know me, of course I want to, he’s Sirius’s boyfriend! But
he’s also quite intimidating, and initially, I felt like he didn’t like me very much. Turns out, the
feeling was mutual. James laughed at me when I told him about this.

Anyway, he was the one who started the conversation. He said he thinks the third side is the
only actual chance we have to change something, that he didn’t expect me to be the one to
start something like that. Frankly, I get it: I didn’t know I’d do it either. I think Dumbledore
didn’t give it much weight: with my detention record, this year, I could probably pass for a
rebellious teenager with attitude problems. It’s okay, though, I prefer him to not give it
weight.

For some reason, Remus’s validation was particularly nice to receive. He’s a clever one, so. I
feel like we could be friends if we were less awkward around each other. Perhaps next year.

R.A.B.

9/6/1977, Hogwarts

Dear Diary,

James stuck the pictures he took at the concert to the photo album I gifted him. He’s got quite
a few now. He stuck the picture of me Pandora took during Elias’s birthday, and another one
he took during one of my quidditch matches. There are a few with his friends too. The
pictures of the concert are all fun!

While he told me about the concert, I felt like I would have loved to be in one, then I realised
how many people must have been there. How did James survive it? I think I would have died
in such a crowd, even if the music was probably the most amazing thing ever. Freddie
Mercury looks charming, but I love Brian May’s hair.

We haven’t spent a lot of time together lately, James and I. We’re packed between exams and
different schedules. We study in our room sometimes, just to be with each other some more.
Once exams are done, we’ll spend as much time together as we can.

R.A.B.

14/7/1977, Hogwarts

Dear Diary,

Today was the last day of exams for everybody. James got his disapparting licence! He’s
smiling in the picture they took, he bought me a copy of it.

The picture is stuck to the diary, of course, so Regulus can look at it when he misses James
and find comfort in the line of his smile.

We’ll leave in four days. After the exam, Barty, Evan, Elias and I wrote our names in the
bathroom of the fourth floor. We properly signed and all, then Elias stuck it to the wall and
said: So everyone will know we were here. I can’t believe I did my O.W.L.s. I reckon I should
have Os in everything, perhaps an E in Herbology, but I really don’t like it. I don’t understand
how Evan finds it soothing to take care of plants that can potentially kill you or give you
severe skin problems! But then again, Evan is a bit out of his mind, I’ll blame it on that.
I’m trying not to think about having to go back home. It’ll be dreadful, but if I’m quiet
enough, no one will bother me, and that sounds good, actually, so that’ll be my plan.

R.A.B.

17 June, 1977

The last day, the last night at Hogwarts always makes Regulus sad, this time perhaps more
than any other year. First of all, even if one part of him is so glad Sirius won’t be going back
with him, another, smaller, part is terrified to walk in there without his older brother.
Secondly, there’s all his friends, new and old, people Regulus doesn’t want to say goodbye to,
people he will miss, even Dorcas, the newest person to enter Regulus’s circle of friends. Last
but not least, James. Dear, darling James, always making his days better even with a simple
smile.

In the morning, while he was coming back from the library, James stopped him. No one was
around: most people were outside, or packing their trucks, so they sneaked a kiss, talked for a
while, none of them was in a hurry. James asked if they could spend the night together,
Regulus said yes without thinking too much about it.

In retrospect, that was a good choice, because it occurs to him that this is the last night he
sleeps with James until September and that the kiss they’re sharing is one of their lasts, that
James won’t kiss him on his birthday. Had this hit him while he was in bed alone, it would
have hurt twice as bad.

Regulus doesn’t mean to sob in the kiss, nor did he mean to cry at all. James is startled,
rightfully so. He gives him space to breathe, and for some reason Regulus starts laughing as
tears run on his cheeks.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” he says, startled. James summons a tissue and dries his
tears, a little, adorable frown on his face. It makes Regulus sadder. “I didn’t realise this was
our last night together. I don’t want it to be.”

“Oh, Reg,” James whispers softly, pained. Regulus tries his best to not cry at that, but he feels
his face crumple. “No, no, don’t do that, love, please.” James drags him into his arms, one
hand on the back of his head, somewhat soothing, somewhat protective, as the kiss James
presses on his temple. “Reg, please, it’s not our last night, it’s just two months. Just two
months. We can do it. It’ll fly by and we’ll be together in no time.”

“I can’t kiss you on my birthday,” Regulus says, hating how petulant and whiny he sounds,
how small, how childlike. “I wanted to. And I wanted to see you in the yard, during the
summer. I wanted to- to cut fruit for you and complain that you’re too warm or something
stupid and irrelevant like that.”

“I know, love,” James says, pressing another kiss on his hair. “I know. Next summer,
promise.”
Regulus whimpers, though he’s comforted by James’s kind hand on his neck. “I’ll miss you.
I’ll miss you so much and I don’t want to ever, ever do that.”

“I know,” James says, softly. “I know, my love. But I’m always with you. I promise. You’re
taking a piece of my soul with you. I promise.”

It’s not fair, Regulus thinks, breathing sharply and shakily as he tries to just stop crying. This
year, tears came to his eyes a lot more than he’s willing to admit, which is stupid and ironic at
the same time, because he was happy, this year, really happy, the happiest he has been in
ages.

“You’re going to hurt your eyes,” James says, gently, catching Regulus’s wrist. He pats the
tissues under Regulus’s eyes, catching the droplets. “Come, you’ll wash your face and I’ll
make chamomile.”

He breaks off the hug, but laces his fingers with Regulus and brings him to the bathroom.
Regulus washes his face while James sets the kettle over the stove to warm the water. He’s
back in the bathroom while Regulus dries his face with a towel.

“I cried too much this year,” he says, frankly a little disgusted with himself. Part of it, he
thinks, it’s his mother already getting to him. Or maybe it’s years of swallowing down tears,
and when nobody was there to see and care, it was a lot easier.

“You let yourself feel more,” James retorts. Regulus sets the towel aside and shrugs, looking
down. “That’s good, Reg. It means you’re healing. And it’s wonderful that you are,” he adds,
while taking Regulus’s hand.

Regulus shakes his head, staring at their tangled fingers. “Healing, James? My parents are
going to muck it all up. They are already. I have to say goodbye to you and…and most
couples don’t have, most couples go out when school is over, I can’t do that. And it’s not
fair.”

“It’s the last time,” James promises, bringing Regulus’s hand to his mouth and kissing the
back of it. “Next Christmas, you’re coming home with me and you’re staying. You’re staying
as much as you like, you’ll come back for the summer and be annoyed at how warm I am or
that I’m always bothering you.”

Regulus sniffles, eyes running on James’s face. He shakes his head and loops his arms around
James’s body, clinging close. James runs his hands on his back, soothing.

“I’ll miss you too,” James says, kissing his cheek. His lips keep grazing at Regulus’s skin as
he says: “I’ll be watching the sky every night. And hey, we’ll meet up, yeah? You can still go
out.”

“They’ll ground me for at least two weeks,” Regulus grumbles. “For disgraceful behaviour.”

“Their loss. I love your disgraceful behaviour. It’s hot,” James says, smiling against
Regulus’s cheek. “They have no idea of how marvellous, how amazing you are. But I know,
all our friends know, and Sirius knows. Believe us, please?” He whispers, right in Regulus’s
ear.

“You’re going to make me cry again,” Regulus says, holding tighter.

“I don’t want you thinking they have anything on you. I- I have some presents that might
help, actually. And a plan for the night, if you can believe it,” James says, putting a slight
distance between them.

“I’ve got presents for you too, actually,” Regulus says, blinking in surprise. “It’s silly little
things. I just- I want you to remember that I love you, even when we’re apart.”

Truth is Regulus has a terrible feeling about the summer, and his gut feelings are rarely
wrong. He doesn’t tell James this, of course, but the presents are meant to make up for it. If
anything goes wrong, Regulus wants a back up plan, and a back up plan of the back up plan.

“Oh,” James says, softly, genuinely surprised. “Oh, fuck- that’s…oh, that made my heart
flutter.”

Regulus smiles, sincere this time, and leans in to kiss his cheek, but James turns and their
mouths meet halfway. Regulus doesn’t mind; how could he, when James’s hands are so
gentle, yet firm on his hips, when his mouth is hot and sweet, and his hair so soft, his
shoulders so strong. He bites down at James’s lower lip, content with the small whimper
James lets out, and dips in for another kiss, pushing his glasses up.

When their lips part, they stay close, breathing on each other’s lips. James’s eyes are still
closed, expression relaxed: dark, long lashes brushing his skin, lips slightly parted, though a
small smile creeps at the corners.

“You’re so pretty,” Regulus whispers, teasing James’s lower lip with his thumb. “So
beautiful.” James’s eyes open, slowly, meeting his own. He kisses Regulus’s finger pad,
teases it with his tongue slightly. “I’ll miss seeing you around.”

“I’ll miss you around the house too,” James says, gently rubbing the tip of his nose against
Regulus’s. “But I’m always with you. Even when you can’t see me,” he promises, pressing a
kiss right under Regulus’s eyes. “Those we love never leave us.”

Regulus smiles, sincere if a little sad. “You’ll cuddle Catty for me?”

“Of course. She’ll miss you,” James says, now smiling.

The sound of the kettle gets their attention, and James wiggles his eyebrows at Regulus,
making him laugh. James seems delighted at the sight, and decides to ignore the kettle twenty
seconds more, to pepper Regulus’s face with kisses.

“James, the kettle,” Regulus says, squishing James’s cheeks with his hand. “You’ll kiss me
after the presents. Or during. Or as a present.”

“All three,” James says, as Regulus drops his hand. “All three, please.”
“Needy,” Regulus argues.

They sit by the table with mugs full of chamomile and a pile of gifts to exchange, which
makes Regulus particularly ecstatic: they didn’t get to do this on Valentine’s day, and it feels
like they’re finally making up for that.

“Oh, this makes me so happy,” James says, rubbing his hands together, a little grin on his
face. “Oh, wait, I’m torn.”

Regulus’s eyes go round and he blinks at James. “What?”

“I’m not sure if I want you to open these on your birthday or now,” James says, tapping his
fingers on the table. “Are you going to have gifts? I don’t want you to not have presents to
open on your birthday.”

Regulus sinks into his chair, catching James’s ankle between his. “You’re too sweet. I don’t
know if I’m going to have presents, though my parents never really had a hard time giving us
things. Yours…your presents are different. You put thought into it.”

James nods, gazing at Regulus for a second longer than anyone else would. There’s
something endearing about it, it makes Regulus want to scoot closer, so James’s hands could
follow the same path as his eyes.

“We’ll do half and half,” James decides. He sets aside the book-shaped wrapping. “Don’t be
sad about it, you still get to open them. I know you were excited about the books,” and he
gives him a little smile, as he sets aside a stack of letters as well.

“You gave me books,” Regulus says, somewhat moved.

He’s the one who usually gives James books. He leaves them on his bed or hides them in his
backpack, a little note inside. James doesn’t read as much as Regulus does: he’s a slower,
calmer reader that likes to savour books, stopping to re-read the passages he likes the most.
It’s a side of James Regulus likes, because only the people closer to him will know he likes to
read, to underline quotes with pencils and draw little hearts next his favourite paragraphs.

“You love books. You’re not allowed to sneak muggle books into your house, so I got you a
couple. I made it so that you can change the cover…actually, maybe you should open one, so
I can show you how it’s done.”

Regulus grins, delights, and scoots closer with his chair. “I get to see one of the books,” he
says, looking at James as if he has given him the sky and the stars, the moon, the storms and
the sun.

“Oh, you’re cute. You’re killing my heart tonight,” James says, reaching out to caress
Regulus’s cheek. Regulus smiles at him fondly. “Can I-”

“Yes.” Regulus says, not even letting him finish before he leans in to capture his lips into a
kiss.
“You didn’t even let me finish,” James giggles, hand sliding away. “You’re distracting me,”
he says, before dropping one of the wrapped boxes on Regulus’s lap. “Here, open. And
please, don’t peek inside the book, I hate to spoil surprises. You’re only allowed to open it
during your birthday.”

“You’re making me too curious, James. My brain is going to burst.” Regulus says, as he
unwraps the present.

The book is old, Regulus can tell by its brown cover. The title looks carved into it, in golden
bold letters:

Marcus Aurelius Antoninus

To himself

Regulus knows about the existence of the book, of course. His mother thinks it’s a disgrace: a
Latin emperor, a man who should have been strong and unforgiving, writing philosophy in
the language of the fools, Greek. Regulus used to think she was right. However, as he runs
his fingers over the surprisingly soft cover, he finds that he doesn’t believe her at all. He was
an emperor and a philosopher, a writer, a man who thought and acted, like Julius Caesar was.
A man Alexander The Great probably would have appreciated: even he, the conqueror of the
conquerors, was interested in culture and language.

History smiles at Regulus through this book: to rule and to think, one would reckon two
brains are needed. Regulus considers otherwise, when he thinks of the great men in history.
He carries it in his name too. Oh, his name, originating from the word Rex, Regis, from the
verb rego.

“Is there a reason why you picked this book?” Regulus asks, turning it to run two fingers on
the binding.

“Well- a few, actually. I was in Hogsmeade with my friends and there was this old woman,
selling old books. Remus wanted to have a look, I went with him because I thought I’d find
something you would have liked too. I didn’t, at first. It’s not until Remus picked up his own
book that I saw it. I had this feeling-” He stops, clears his throat, and ruffles his hair. “I just
had to buy it. But I wanted to read it too. I wanted to see if in the pages I would find a reason
for the feeling I had. And the more I read, the more you came to my mind. I can’t quite
explain it- well, I could, but I think you can see it for yourself.”

Regulus isn’t sure why that warms him up inside: the fact that James finds him in books,
reads something and relates it to Regulus, as if a part of him lives in his mind and misses its
other half every time it isn’t tangible.

“I think this is one of my favourite presents ever,” Regulus says, setting the book on the table
so he won’t open it and peek at the pages to see what James hid there for him. He looks up at
him and takes his hands into his own briefly, just enough to bring them to his mouth and kiss
his knuckles. “Thank you.”
James smiles, fond and a little mesmerised. “It’s nothing,” he says, “do you wanna see the
other ones? I wrote you some letters through the year, not sure why, but I marked the date, I
thought- well, I thought you’d like to read them, when I can’t be there. I’ll be in Jabalpur for
a couple of weeks, for my cousin’s wedding, and Sirius will stay with us, of course, so I
won’t always be able to talk through the mirror. So the letters. And then- oh, this one is a
little cheesy. Can you close your eyes and turn your back to me, please? Or you could sit on
my lap, you know I don’t mind,” he says, with a little smirk.

A necklace, Regulus thinks, as he sits on James’s lap, holding back a smile. “Will you be
okay?”

James hums, as he gently tightens the necklace a little, so it doesn’t fall in the middle of
Regulus’s chest, but a bit higher. “I will,” James says, kissing Regulus’s cheek. “Mum and
Dad are there, and Sirius as well. Besides, I do miss Rayaan, you know? Haven’t seen him
since the war started.”

“Okay,” Regulus says softly, then makes a move to stand up, but James holds him on his lap.
“I think I’ll just stay here.”

James smiles, kissing him gently. “Good, right where I want. So, you see the little pendant-
stone?” Regulus nods, taking it between his index and his thumb. “It’s green, because you’re
a Slytherin. But, basically, what it does is that- if you hold it tight, I’ll feel it in my own stone,
and if I hold it too, it’s supposed to make you feel like you’re being hugged.”

Regulus tears his eyes away from the stone, gaping at James. “You’re joking.”

James grins, as chuffed as he could be. “I did a lot of research and believe me, it wasn’t easy.
I had to ask Frank to sneak me in the forbidden section of the library, but it was all worth it. It
should work, I made Sirius try it, but…by all means, we can try it as well now, if you wish.”

Regulus nods swiftly and springs on his feet, hand already around his stone.

James laughs, pure joy creeping in small lines at the corner of his eyes. “That was…wow,
you’re so eager.”

“Shut it, why aren’t you holding your stone?” Regulus inquires, pointing at his hands. “Come
on, James!”

“Close your eyes, it’ll feel better,” James suggests.

Regulus closes his eyes, nodding. A couple of seconds later, he’s filled with warmth. It’s not
exactly the same as being hugged, but it is reassuring.

“The real thing is better,” Regulus says, eyes still closed. “But it comes close enough. I love
it.”

“The real thing is better, you say?” Regulus nods, then feels it as James lets go of his stone.
He walks up to Regulus and embraces him.
“Definitely better,” Regulus confirms, nuzzling at James’s neck, then starting to kiss it,
slowly.

“Oh, that’s distracting- I have to show you the book thi-” Regulus bits at his neck and James
cuts off with a whimper. “Regulus.”

“James.”

“You’re a terror.”

James runs his hands through Regulus’s hair and Regulus follows the movement, tipping his
head back with a sigh. James kisses his lips, then trails down to his neck, hooking his finger
to the first button of his shirt and undoing it to get access to more skin.

“Really interested in that book thing, aren’t you?” Regulus teases, hand fisting James’s hair.

James nips at his skin, making him shiver. “I am. But you started this.”

“I can’t believe you’re blaming me ,” Regulus complains, hand falling along his hip. James
straightens, looking a bit disappointed. “I need to know the book thing. And I need to explain
to you my gifts.”

“You also need to kiss me after that.” James points out, making his way back to the table and
drawing out his wand. “So, it took me a bit to figure this out, but the book is essentially
hidden, sort of like the map, remember? So there’s a way to open it, and a way to close it. So,
to close it, you’ll say: occulta librum, really easy, nothing special.” The book turns into a
charms book, pretty harmless, the sort of book that can be found in any wizard’s bed room.
“To open it, though, I thought we’d use something only we know, hard to guess,” he points
his wand at the book again. “Peppermint Chamomile!”

The book turns again, and Regulus chuckles, wrapping his arms around James’s waist and
kissing his neck. “Thank you for thinking about everything,” he says, pressing his chest to
James’s back for another brief second, before stepping out. “I’ll show you mine?”

James nods, a soft smile on his lips. “Yes, I’m curious! I didn’t know I was getting
anything!”

“It’s nothing special,” Regulus says. “I just…” He sighs and sits down, taking two pieces of
parchment. He summons a pen. “I have a bad feeling. I don’t know exactly why, but I feel
like something might go wrong and if it does, I want to have a back up plan. Hence these
pieces of parchment. They’re connected,” he says, passing one to James.

“Something might go wrong?” James asks, as Regulus writes down: Hello, I love you on his
parchment. “Oh! Oh!” He exclaims in surprise, “I love you too!”

Regulus laughs at James’s reaction, shaking his head. “The messages don’t stick after you
reply, but it’s better than nothing, is it? I know it’s probably just…me being scared, but if I
can’t get the mirror for any reason, or if I can’t speak, this is a fast solution.”

James nods, grimacing. “I didn’t think we’d need a plan B.”

“It’s okay,” Regulus says, gently. “You didn’t have too. Now, I’m giving you my copy of
Dracula, so please store it with care. You can read it too if you’d like. I’d love to know your
thoughts on it. And I’ve written you some letters, too. Only five, though.” He grabs the small
box and shows it to James. “You can only open it when you’re at home, I’ll die of
embarrassment if you open it now.”

James laughs, shaking his head, but he eyes the box with fondness. “We’re doing great, aren’t
we? We’re a good couple.”

“We are,” Regulus says, softly, getting up from his seat and moving to claim his place on
James’s lap. “We’re doing our best.”

James flicks his wand at the record player, where the album A day at the Races starts playing
softly. He sets his wand down and rests his hands on Regulus’s thighs, eyes locked onto each
other. “I’m glad I found you,” he says, while Regulus slides his glasses off his nose.

When You take my breath away starts playing, James chuckles. “It’s our song,” he murmurs
lips brushing Regulus’s as he speaks. “You’ve captured my love, stolen my heart, changed
my life.”

“You’re hopeless,” Regulus replies, though he feels the same. When he first listened to the
song, all he could look at was James, sitting on his armchair, eyes closed, letting himself sink
into the melody.

“Not hopeless,” James kisses Regulus’s lips, just a second. “Hopelessly yours, though,” he
claims, quoting Regulus’s own words. “Always and forever.”

18 June, 1977

Regulus sleeps through half the train ride, head on James’s shoulder and one arm around his
waist, a knee over James’s own. It’s not a comfortable position: when they wake up, they
both have one asleep limb, and they laugh at each other, fondness in their eyes.

Regulus is nervous, can’t force himself to be talkative, so he simply sits back and listens to
the conversation between the marauders. James’s arm is around his shoulder, his fingers play
with Regulus’s curls, like he did on Christmas.

“Do you think professor Khelben will be back?” Peter asks, after throwing Sirius a packed
chocolate frog.

Sirius fiddles with the package. “Dunno,” he says, staring out the window. “It’s bad luck to
teach DADA, and since nothing happened to him now…it just makes me wonder what can
happen to him out there.”

“That’s gloomy, mate,” James says. Regulus doesn’t need to look at him to know he’s
frowning. “That’s just a saying. Of course professor Khelben will be back, he was a good
one.”
Remus sighs, sinking into his seat. “Perhaps we should avoid the war talk, right?” He looks at
James. “We’ll be meeting your cousin this summer, I get?”

“More like during Christmas,” James says, already sounding more cheerful. “We’re just
making the first floor habitable this summer. I’m actually glad they’re moving in the manor, I
don’t like that my parents are alone there. At least if something happens, someone is around.
And hey, I’m bringing Sirius to Jabalpur!”

“He promised he’ll take me around,” Sirius says, with half a smile. Regulus pretends he’s not
jealous, but he clings to James for good measure. “Ah, no need to be jealous, Reggie, James
will take lots of pictures.”

“I wanted to be there,” Regulus grumbles, with a slight pout.

“I’ll take you next summer,” James promises, kissing his forehead. “If you promise not to
dump me in the street to visit everything, that is.”

“Oh, he would,” Sirius says, then points at Remus with his thumb. Rightfully, Remus frowns
at him. “Like this one here. Knowledge freaks.”

Regulus just rolls his eyes, not taking the bait.

Peter seems to sense how tense Sirius gets when Regulus doesn’t reply, so he proposes
playing exploding snaps. Regulus doesn’t exactly play, but he ends up suggesting James what
to do, which should probably be considered cheating, but they’re cutting him some slacks
today, so he gets away with it. He’s happy, mostly, distracted from the time passing, until he
catches a glimpse of James’s watch. Thirty minutes and they’ll be at King’s Cross. His breath
itches.

“Reg?” Sirius calls him. “Are you alright?”

“We’re almost there,” Regulus says, pretending it doesn’t affect him. “I have to say
goodbye.”

They put away their things, then Regulus greets Peter and Remus. Sirius is harder to say
goodbye to, his hands shake despite his effort to keep them still. His brother tugs him into a
hug, arms strong and tight around his body. Regulus feels like a child, climbing in his older
brother’s bed because of a nightmare.

“If anything happens, you tell me, alright?” Sirius whispers in his ear. “I’ll come, if you call
me. I’ll be there. I’ll get you out.”

“I’ll be alright,” Regulus croaks out. “Nothing will happen.”

They both know it’s a lie, but it’s all they have. When Sirius lets him go, Regulus turns and
finds James looking at him. In the shimmering afternoon light that comes from the window,
his eyes are wet and shiny.

“We’ll leave you guys alone,” Remus says, opening the door of the compartment.
He makes eye contact with Regulus, almost encouraging him, and Regulus is reminded of the
first day of school, of the first patrol they did together, when Remus encouraged him to see
Sirius. Perhaps, he’s been his ally all along. He smiles at him, slightly, a glimpse of a smile,
really, then Peter and Sirius are out and Remus is slipping out as well, closing the door
behind him.

“It’s catching up to me now,” James says, lower lip trembling. He runs his hand behind his
neck. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Regulus says, arms open, “Come here, will you?”

So James embraces him, warm and solid, endlessly comforting. His breath is hot against
Regulus’s neck, and he doesn’t cry, he doesn’t bulge, even if he probably wants to. Regulus
cards his fingers through his hair, presses kisses where he can reach.

“They don’t deserve you,” James mumbles, “everything they say about you is not true.
You’re the strongest, most beautiful boy on earth. Don’t believe them, please. And don’t do
anything stupid.”

Regulus smiles, despite everything. “I won’t,” he lies, because he knows it’ll get to him. It
always does. “I’ll be alright, James. I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry.”

James sniffles. “But I do. I do worry, my love. I don’t want to leave you alone with people
who don’t love you. Not as they should, anyway.”

Regulus breathes in harshly. “I know. But I’ll be fine, okay? Will you be fine? Will you look
after yourself?”

James frowns slightly, a small pout on his lips. “I will.”

“James,” Regulus says, scolding. “Please. It’s a two-way deal.”

“I’ll be okay,” James says, like a promise. “Do we have time for a kiss? I-”

Regulus cuts him off, tasting chocolate in his lips.

He has fifteen minutes to greet the rest of his friends. He finds them in the same
compartment: Evan, Barty, Elias, Pandora and Dorcas. Just looking at them causes him a
sense of yearning and longing: he doesn’t want to greet them, to be away from them.

“Hey,” he says, probably looking a bit troubled, judging by their worried gazes. “Came to say
goodbye.”

It’s another round of tight hugs, of “stay safe, don’t do anything stupid, it will fly by”, of
Pandora crying and drying her tears because she thinks Regulus hasn’t seen her.

Finally, when the train stops, Regulus chants his favourite quote of the Eneid in his mind:
Macte nova virtute, puer, sic itur ad astra.
 It repeats itself in his mind as he drags his truck behind him, eyeing the cold figure of his
mother. A severe expression adorns her face, her hands are folded before her and she looks
around in disgust: too noisy, too full of “scum of the earth” as she calls them. She sees Sirius,
Regulus knows, because her face gets sharper. He doesn’t dare to turn and see what Sirius is
doing to earn that. Disownment doesn’t cancel out feelings, apparently.

“Mother,” he says, once he’s close.

His hands shake, his stomach hurts with agitation, and his legs seem to want nothing more
but to start running away. It would be nice to flee, leave her here and never look back; it
would be nice to hide himself in the comfort of the Potters’ manor, but what would be of
Sirius then? Would he be safe? Would James and his family be safe? He can’t risk their lives,
their well-being, for his own.

His duty, he decides, is to protect them, whatever happens. He’ll endure anything to make
sure they are safe.

His mother’s eyes run over his figure, studying him, evaluating him. “Your hair isn’t proper,”
she says, with a frown. “And neither are your clothes. Is this how you present yourself,
Regulus? Does your role mean nothing to you? Being the heir isn’t just a title, boy. You have
to look like it.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, flatly, looking away. He wants to scowl, to talk back, but he promised
not to do anything stupid. “I’ll do better.”

He tried to look proper: he wore his best robes, tried to style his hair so it would be neat. He
has a feeling that, unless he turned into a version of Sirius that she’d accept, she would never
consider him proper. Once again, he’s reminded he’s not the son she wanted. He’s a spare, a
replacement. He clenches his jaw and holds his head high.

“Let’s go home,” her fingers, cold as a corpse, wrap around his wrist.

As the world around blurs and the sounds fade, Regulus tries, once again, to convince himself
this is for the best.

Chapter End Notes

Macte nova virtute, puer, sic itur ad astra: persevere in virtue, boy, thus is the way to the
stars.
 How to train an enemy & How to make a friend
Chapter Notes

Content Warning: CA (a bit graphic, beginning and end in bold); violence (a bit
graphic); mentions of blood and vomiting; homophobia; death of a secondary character;
reference to pain as 'cleansing'.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

18 June, 1977

As soon as he lands in Grimmauld Place, he feels like throwing up. Having been used to
disapparition since his early childhood, he knows it’s not magic causing the sense of nausea.
It’s the star themed tapestry on the walls, the grey cupboard in the living room, the pale wood
of the table, the light that doesn’t seem to pass through the window despite the sun still being
up: it’s the haunted house he’s in.

Grimmauld Place is always cold, even in the summer, perhaps it’s Walburga’s dark magic
seeping through the walls and freezing the entire house. At least this time Walburga won’t
deprive Sirius of the pleasant summer heat. This time, Sirius is far away, tucked under the
Potters’ protective spells.

Regulus will serve as a shield. He’ll bear with Walburga, so Sirius doesn’t have to; he’ll act
for her, so Sirius doesn’t have to; he’ll pretend to serve her wishes, then ruin her. He’ll find a
way. Revenge runs in his blood as strongly as magic does. He’ll keep his back straight and
his eyes cold, turn his bones into steel and freeze his blood if needed.

One day, he thinks as he stares at her back, Revenge will wash her down. She’ll regret
everything she’s ever done and said, she’ll beg for forgiveness, beg for help, just like her sons
did, and no one will rescue her.

The sudden movement of her taking off her robes - she always wears those, even in summer,
crazy woman- makes him snap out of it. He rolls his shoulders and takes off his own robes in
one swift movement.

“Kreacher, serve us tea,” she says, walking inside the living room. The heel of her shoes
makes a dull noise everytime it hits the ground: tap, tap, tap. The sound of her steps makes
him shiver, he doesn’t buckle to uneasiness. He follows with forged poise, watching the light
of the chandelier sparkle when they walk in the living room.

Kreacher bends his head, glances at Regulus (who waves briefly at him), and snaps his
fingers. He’s gone the second later. Regulus stares at the empty spot, and proceeds to force
himself to look away.
“Sit down, Regulus. Hand me your wand.”

He moves his chair quietly, and watches his mother go through a few letters, then setting
three on the table. He wrinkles his nose and almost startles when the tea set appears right in
front of him, shoulder tense and hands wringing at each other under the table. The tea has
already been poured into the mug. At last, he sets his wand on the table and watches her hand
snatch it away from him.

“You can drink,” she says, placing Regulus’s wand in one of her pockets. She then sits down
in front of Regulus, piercing blue eyes examining him as he takes the mug. “How do you
reckon you did in your O.W.L.s?”

Regulus takes a sip of the tea and grimaces at the taste of dirty water. “I should have done
really well, actually. I’ve been studying with-” he stops, frowning. That’s not a piece of
information he’s willing to share with her. “I should have good grades.”

His mother taps her fingers on the table. “Good isn’t enough, Regulus.” Feeling his throat
dry, he drinks some more, emptying the mug. “As the heir of our household, you should
understand the importance of excellence. When you take the mark, do you think the Dark
Lord will be satisfied with just good?”

“I’m not going to take the mark,” he says, bluntly, then frowns. He didn’t mean to say that.
“You put veritaserum in my tea.”

“That’s what happens when you lie, Regulus.” She stops moving her fingers on the table.
“Who’s the wench you were caught with at the beginning of the year?”

“I haven’t been with any wench,” Regulus replies, glancing at the closed door. With his wand
taken and everyone out of reach, he doesn’t just feel caged, but doomed as well. It’s hard to
remind himself to be strong when even lies are taken from him.

His mother tilts her head to the side. “Are you defending her, Regulus? Are you in a
relationship with this girl?”

“I’m not.” It’s not a lie: he sort of wants to smile at his small victory. “I haven’t been with
any girl.”

“This is an official letter from the head of your house, Regulus. I don’t believe he lied to me,”
Walburga says, running her fingers on the yellow envelope. “You know very well I don’t
tolerate affairs of any kind. Your father and I are supposed to find a good wife for you, from a
pureblood family. It’s dishonourable and incredibly disrespectful to your family to entertain
yourself with another girl in the meantime.”

“It seems like anything I do is dishonourable to you. I’m a good for nothing and a liar in your
eyes-”

“In my eyes?” Walburga repeats, amused. “In my eyes, you’re a blood traitor and a craven.
Not even the shadow of who your brother was.” She spins her wand around her fingers, and
he claws at his own leg, keeping himself from flinching. He clenches his jaw, digging nails
into his skin. “You must have felt good to send Sirius away, choosing him before the people
who gave you life, a roof, food, good education. You ruined everything. However, that was
the last time you chose him, Regulus.” He clenches his jaw, grits his teeth together. “I know
perfectly where Sirius is and the moment you misbehave will be the moment in which he
comes back to this house.”

“You can’t do that.” Regulus says, in a low voice. “The Potters have full custody of him now.
They wouldn’t let you.” He grins, raising his eyes. “Besides, Sirius wouldn’t be able to give
you a nephew, mother. Haven’t you heard? He likes blokes, everyone knows at Hogwarts.”

He sees the green light of the spell and shuts his eyes at the acute pain in his cheek. He
touches it, and he’s not surprised to find blood staining his fingers. He blinks at it, and
tightens his hand into a fist. Blood smears on his skin.

“Tell me the name of the girl, Regulus.”

“How many more times do I have to tell you?” Regulus snaps, angrily, standing up. He grips
at the table, knuckles white. “There is no girl.”

Walburga presses her lips together, standing up as well. Instinctively, he steps back, slightly
bumping into the chair. “Very well, then. Who is the boy?”

Regulus’s jaw falls slack and he can feel his face lose colour at the question. With the
veritaserum, he struggles to lie; it’s a tricky potion. Omitting things is possible if the question
isn’t right, but there’s no way around it otherwise. What most people don’t know is how the
truth serum prompts people to tell things, to give away details: not just a blunt answer, but
everything needed to back it up. It makes one spill their guts to the person who’s asking; it’s a
complete violation of the mind.

He bites his tongue, staring back at her. He won’t tell: he’d rather bleed, he’d rather bite his
tongue off than let her any closer to the truth, any closer to James.

“Who is the boy?” She asks again, raising her wand. Again, Regulus feels like throwing up.
“Tell me. It’s a mudblood, isn’t it? They’re always tainting good kids.”

“Nobody tainted me but you,” Regulus says, and it’s an answer and the truth.

He already knew it would end like this: with him kneeling on the floor, trying not to scream
as the acute pain of the Cruciatus curse takes over his whole body. He can tell his mother is
yelling at him, but can’t make out the words with how loudly his ears are ringing. It stops,
then it goes again, and Regulus keeps a fist tight against the seat of a chair when tears fill his
eyes.

His mind goes back to his childhood. He must have been nine, maybe ten, he doesn’t
remember Sirius being there. He found a book on wandless magic in the library and read it in
a couple of days, enamoured with the possibility of doing magic before his wand ceremony.
The memory is filled with the deep desire to leave everyone with their jaw slack.
He didn’t manage it, at the time, but the first thing professor Flitwick taught them was to
visualise magic. Magic is where rationality doesn’t come first, he used to say, we’re creatures
of imagination. If you can’t imagine your magic, it’s all pointless wand movements and
meaningless incantations.

He raises his eyes. Mother is surprised, clearly, because for one second, the curse has no
effect on him. How beautiful it would be to be able to see her shocked expression, instead of
the blurry figure of a woman in a gown. But he doesn’t have time to ruminate on that.

Regulus has always pictured his magic like a light green thread that pulls at things, sews
them together, or ties around them and makes them pop away. Sew an image into another: the
glass is now a bunny, but really, the bunny was always there, right behind the glass. Pull at
the desk, it will move, don’t pull too hard or it will hurt you.

This time, the green thread slithers towards his mother. He stares and stares at her wrist,
despite the blinding red light of the cruciatus curse, and perhaps that’s what makes him go
amiss: the light. But as his magic starts to seep into the room, the window bangs, the floor
trembles, the shutters of the cupboard open dangerously, and the green thread pulls at his
mother’s wrist, not at her wand, like he originally planned. Her wand clatters to the floor, the
curse is broken, Regulus feels like he’ll throw up.

He wanted to disarm her, not break her wrist, and when she screams, Regulus is set free, but
he crawls towards the wall in horror, because this- well, this will definitely get his father’s
attention.

And here he comes, tall and broad, salt and pepper hair and beard and an aghast, repelled
expression on his face. Walburga screams and cries, and talks about how her son, her
disloyal, dishonourable, disrespectful son snapped her wrist. There's blood in her hands,
blood on the floor, blood on her sleeve.

“Go to your room,” his father says. Regulus stays unmoved, scared, nauseous, a deep aching
pain in his chest as he watches the delicacy of Orion’s touch on Walburga’s arm and hand,
evaluating the damage. “Regulus, to your room, now,” he repeats.

Regulus flees, naturally, but he doesn’t go to his room. The first stop is the bathroom, where
he throws up twice, has one panic attack and once that’s all gone, he takes a shower and
washes the dirt from his skin. Realistically, there’s not any, besides the blood. He showered in
the morning. Still, a sense of filth and contamination takes over him, and he showers. He
doesn’t know how long he stays under the water. When he comes out, the sun is still up. He
brushes his teeth more than once, lounges in the bathroom some more, then finally calls
Kreacher and asks him if he can, please, if he’d be so kind, bring him some clean clothes, the
cleanest he can find.

The clothes don’t quite fit him anymore. The trousers stop above his ankles, the shirt almost
shows skin, and Regulus isn’t sure he wants to show skin around the house. Kreacher
enlarges it before Regulus starts to panic again.

His parents are talking in the library, no silencing spell or whatsoever, discussing whether or
not he’s fit for the position of the heir. Once again, as if they didn’t discuss it enough the
whole summer of 1976, or when Regulus was at Hogwarts, putting shame in the name of the
family.

He pads to Sirius’s room with feather-light steps, delicately opens the door. There’s a pixie
swinging on the chandelier, and the entire room is dusty. Regulus closes the door and climbs
into the bed, just for five minutes, happy to notice Sirius’s smell clinged to the sheets. Then
he starts to look for the mirror, but as he does that, the door swings open. Regulus’s hands fall
into his lap and he stares at his father, hoping he doesn’t look guilty.

“This isn’t your room,” he says, frowning. “What are you doing here?”

“I was…” Regulus looks around, unsure. “I was looking for…”

“Trouble, that’s what you’re looking for. Go to your room, it’s the third time I've told you so
already.”

Regulus pouts, but he gets up and walks past his father, then to his room. He tries to close the
door, but the familiar “Door open, Regulus” comes before he manages.

He sighs, and it comes out shaky, as if he’s going to cry. The cruciatus curse always makes
him cry, it leaves him with pain in his muscles and shaky hands and a hazy head that makes
him make awful decisions. Not to mention the way his vision blurs. He opens his window
and sticks his head out, taking some fresh air.

Some muggle kids are playing a ball game, shouting happily, with a luck they don’t know
about glimmering over their heads like a small, golden crown. Regulus wants to be back at
Hogwarts. It might not be safe, it might not be perfect, but it’s filled with friends. Even
better- it would be even better if he was at the Potters, playing Quidditch with James and
Sirius in the yard and then setting the table for dinner. No one would be upset if he broke a
glass, and he would laugh, joke, be carefree like he was never allowed to be.

“Don’t unpack,” his father says.

Regulus turns, blinks at him to try and put him into focus. “Are we going to Nice?”

“No,” his father replies. Regulus frowns. “Bellatrix will be training you. You’re not in the
condition to prove yourself to the dark lord. No one better than Bellatrix to teach you how to
be-”

“A sodding servant,” Regulus sputters. “Heir of a noble and ancient house and you want me
to be a servant. What happened to your pride? You have no dignity. You wouldn’t know
honour if it slapped you in the face and stole you blind.”

His father ignores him. Of course he does. Coward. “She’ll be here tomorrow morning.
Kreacher will call for dinner.”

And then he leaves.

24 June, 1977

Regulus is pretty sure he’s in Northern Europe: perhaps Iceland, but there’s no way to be
sure. Nights are short, anyway. There’s hours and hours of daylight, and he’s still getting used
to it. His bedroom is supplied with thick, dark curtains to close whenever he wants to sleep, a
single bed and a desk, white walls and limited space. He doesn’t spend much time there.

Outside, the sun doesn’t burn, it doesn’t at all. Nothing like the hot summers in Nice, where
Regulus always got his cheeks tanned and freckled. Here, Summer feels like Autumn, but
without all the things that make Autumn so special: the orange leaves, getting to wear
jumpers again, school, library, friends, Hogwarts, in general.

Regulus turns sixteen in Iceland, or in Northern Europe; he turns sixteen in the cold and in
the dark. He wanted to turn sixteen in the warmth of the Potters’ manor, to spend the night
kissing James and running his fingers on his skin, trailing his lips down his neck and chest.
Instead, he gets this: disturbed sleep, no letters, no presents he can open right away, because
it’s a day like any other and he’ll be busy.

He’s slightly comforted to see that James wrote “Happy birthday, I love you!!” on their paper,
and Sirius wrote “Happy birthday, are you ok there??”

So the first thing he does once he wakes up, is draw the windows open, reply with vague
answers that state his well-being. Then he stuffs the paper between his clothes, dresses up,
grabs his wand and goes down stairs.

He shares the house with Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan. Bellatrix is the one he spends
most time with, but she makes him train with Rabastan and Rodolphus as well. The morning
is usually about physical training, which Regulus didn’t expect to get. They make him eat
lots, claiming it will help muscles grow bigger. Not one of them seems to suspect Regulus
wants nothing to do with death eaters, and for his safety, Regulus makes sure they won’t have
any reason to suspect that.

They’re normal until they’re not. They sneak behind his back, like predators; their touch is
rough and harsh, unloving and bruising; their words are soaked with the polite speech of
noble purebloods, but there’s a venom to it, a bite: they never stop trying to hurt people.

When he arrives in the living room, the three of them are already sitting at their place.
Bellatrix is curling her hair on her wand, like that’s not absolutely mental; Rodolphus reads
the paper, looking particularly quiet and normal, which baffles Regulus, who knows and tries
to keep in mind he’s a murderer; Rabastan reads, as he always does when they’re not
training.

Regulus can’t figure him out. Rabastan is not exactly a mystery to him: the Lestranges spent
a good amount of summers with the Blacks, at the manor in Nice. Rabastan is only four years
older than Regulus, and the time it made him so bloody cool: reason why Regulus always
listened to him. It was only when he was eight, and realised Rabastan always tried to rile him
up against Sirius, that Regulus stopped liking him. It was only natural: Regulus would have
picked his brother over anyone, and when he fought with Sirius because of Rabastan, he had
no doubts on who to leave behind.
He was a fourth year when Regulus was in his first, he wasn’t there to witness Regulus’s
change of mind, not the explicit one anyway. Regulus only remembers him dropping out of
the Quidditch team the same year Regulus joined. From then on, he remembers Rabastan
reading around the common room, always a bit grim, a bit sad actually. He seems quiet now,
not happy but resigned, faking cheerfulness and good character and looking angry and
sorrowful when he thinks nobody is looking at him.

Regulus secretly thinks it’s a pity. Rabastan is a beautiful man, he’d have a beautiful smile if
he meant it, even a cute one, because of the dimple on his left cheek. He could be kind, nice,
if he wanted to, if he let himself be so, but he doesn’t. And he’s a murderer, like the rest of
them; and if he never killed anyone, it’s also true he never stopped to prevent murders, it’s
true that he supports the cause.

Regulus walks on eggshells around them all, careful not to get attached, careful to only listen
to what he needs and leave out all the rest. He’s starting to truly understand how Jonathan
Harker felt in Dracula’s castle.

A part of him knows this is family, the other one is dazzled, because how could these
criminals be anyone’s family? It’s already messing with his mind, has been since the first
night, when he first laid awake in bed and the thought of living with killers first got to his
head.

“Ah, the birthday boy awoke,” Rabastan says, lifting his eyes from the book. Regulus stills,
stares at him like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Happy birthday,
Regulus.”

Bellatrix laughs and Regulus pretends not to hear the hint of madness in it. She gets up with
one swift movement. “Happy birthday, happy birthday!” She chants, while Regulus forces
himself to smile, as if he’s happy to be here. “Finally sixteen! Feel any different?”

“No,” Regulus says, bluntly, and makes his way to his usual seat, next to Rabastan. He moves
the chair -lifting it, because mother used to curse his hand if he dragged it- then sits down. “I
suppose it’s a day like any other.”

“It’s not,” Rodolphus says, folding the paper and setting it aside. His eyes find Regulus’s, and
he narrows them. “You’re almost of age. This is the last year to better yourself before you
enter society as an adult.”

Rabastan rolls his eyes. “Don’t listen to him,” he says, gently. “Unfortunately, being the
birthday boy doesn’t save you from training.”

“I’m afraid not. But perhaps it does make it a bit different,” Bellatrix says, as she swirls her
wand in the air. A present wrapped in silver paper comes flying into her hand. “Aunt
Walburga didn’t want me to give this to you,” she says, setting the present in front of
Regulus. “But I think she’s blinded by pain for the loss of her first-born, and she doesn’t
recognise your talents, so I didn’t listen to her. This is yours.”

Something Regulus would have never seen coming is Bellatrix outwardly going against
Walburga to defend him. The morning she came to get him, Regulus eavesdropped for twenty
minutes, right outside the library, listening to them fighting. Bellatrix accused her of being
irrational: according to her, Walburga was letting herself be guided by her emotions, and she
was grieving Sirius too much. No, if you asked Bellatrix, Sirius was never fit to be the heir,
he was always too soft, always too much of a caretaker to be a rightful heir, and not
ambitious enough.

Bellatrix thought Walburga was too hard on Regulus and said that, once he returned from the
summer, she would have been proud of him. “Not that Regulus really needs training,”
Bellatrix said, “You just want to punish him, as if he didn’t do you a favour by getting rid of
Sirius. Trust your son a little, will you? He’s the only chance you have to appear loyal to the
Dark Lord.”

It’s not a stretch, all things considered. Walburga refuses to take the mark herself, she
considers it too much of a statement, she’s worried it might compromise Orion’s position in
the ministry. Regulus taking it, instead, would be an honour for the family: so young and so
ambitious, so in tune with the family traditions and beliefs.

“Open it,” Rodolphus says, leaning forward. “Then we’ll explain a little change of plans as
we have breakfast.”

Regulus breathes in deeply, and he nods gingerly. Carefully, he takes the box and undoes the
wrapping. “A knife?” He asks, surprised, setting the paper away rapidly. He takes it in his
hand, runs his finger on the steel. “This is goblin steel.”

“A family heirloom,” Bellatrix says, with a proud smile. “Many wizards think the only
rightful weapon comes from our wands, I think it’s a misconception of what magic really is.
Goblin steel is very useful during missions, and if you get disarmed…well, you have a back
up plan. We’ll teach you how to use it, but know it is tied to you by magic. You can throw it,
but it’ll always come back to you.”

“Terrific,” Regulus comments, but what he means is terrifying. This isn’t a family heirloom,
this is a crime in his hands. This was stolen from Goblins, and now it’s tied to Regulus. He’ll
have to give it back, some day. “Thank you.”

Kreacher serves them breakfast. He only pops up during meals, gaze lingering on Regulus,
who’s the only one who greets him and thanks him.

“I’ve been summoned by the Dark Lord for an important mission,” Rodolphus says, after
taking a sip of his tea. “A friend of ours will join Bellatrix and Rabastan here. Since they
won’t always be able to be around, she will look after you, train you, educate you.”

“She…?” Regulus asks, confused.

“Polaris Celia Black,” Bellatrix says, rolling the name on her tongue. “She was born in 1915,
a brilliant witch. She was bitten by a vampire when she was seventeen. We tracked her down,
she might fight for our side. Isn’t it wonderful?” She asks, cheerfully. “We can use her
against blood traitors.”
“Oh,” Regulus says, surprised, and partially scared by Bellatrix’s plan. “Oh, okay. When will
she arrive?”

“Tonight, when the sun sets.” Rabastan says, before throwing a blueberry into his mouth.
“She’ll teach you a few magic tricks. Brilliant woman, she is. Pity that she’s a halfbreed.”

Bellatrix and Rodolphus are busy packing in the morning, so Rabastan is the one to train him.
They run, then Rabastan makes him do push ups, pull ups, and makes him lift weights. They
have a small break around ten. Regulus stays shirtless, hot and sweaty from all the physical
effort.

“Can you still tackle?” Rabastan asks, while he fixes a mannequin in the room.

“Yes,” Regulus replies, getting up.

Rabastan nods and reduces the distance between them, now only a couple of metres away.
“Show me. I’ll resist. You have to try until I fall.”

Regulus rolls his eyes: it’s not like Rabastan underestimates him, exactly, he just treats him
like he’s still a child. He clears his throat, nodding, and takes a good look at Rabastan. He’s
bigger than Regulus is, and stronger, so he has to play smart: there’s two points he could
target, the knees and his barycentre. By the way Rabastand is standing, though, targeting his
knees or even just above is a hazard.

He runs towards him with no hesitation, not scared of the impact, and makes firm contact
with his shoulder, just like he was taught. Rabastan tumbles to the ground with a surprised
huff, Regulus barely grazes the ground, pushing to his feet immediately. He knows he should
stay, technically, keep him down, but he shies away from physical contact with any of them.

“You’re stronger than you look,” Rabastan says, with a grin.

“It’s called thinking before you act,” Regulus replies, coolly. “Tackling isn't just a matter of
strength: you taught me that.”

Rabastan opens his mouth to reply, then snaps it close, narrowing his eyes as he studies
Regulus. Regulus stares back: see, with Rabastan, everything becomes a competition, has to
be such, though Regulus wouldn’t be able to explain why.

“Are you angry with me?” Rabastan asks, as he sits up and hugs his knees to his chest. He
sounds slightly amused: it makes Regulus want to punch him in the face. “You’re very cold.
We’ve known each other for years, you could be less…stuck up.”

Regulus clenches his fists, frowning. He’s not simply upset with Rabastan, he considers,
while he walks up to the table where Bellatrix set up a set of throwing knives. He’s upset
with his whole family, with fate, with himself, and he’s tired. He wants to climb back into
bed, fall asleep and dream of a better summer. He never wanted to be here.
“This isn’t how I wanted to spend my birthday,” he says, grabbing one of the practice knives
from the table. He runs his finger on the blade. “I have friends back home. I meant to be with
them.”

“Ah, the curse of being a summer child,” Rabastan says, tilting his head to the side. Rabastan
would know about that curse: he was born on the 26th of August. “You never get to spend
your birthdays with your friends. But you’ll have them all your life. You’re here now for a
greater good…opportunities like this one happen once in a lifetime, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” Regulus says, harshly, not able to bite his tongue as he usually does. Rabastan
looks at him, surprised but still a bit amused. “Sorry,” Regulus says, looking away once
more. “Just missing my friends.”

“They’ll be at Narcissa’s wedding, won’t they? That’s just a month away, it’ll fly by. It’s not
like you have time to miss them, anyway. You’re busy,” Rabastan says, springing up. Regulus
scowls: he doesn’t like the way Rabastan thinks. “Bellatrix tells me you’ll meet your
betrothed as well. An Avery?”

Yes, because if life wasn’t hard enough already, his mother decided he’ll get married to
Avery’s little sister, who goes to Beauxbatons, otherwise she’d be starting her fifth year at
Hogwarts in September. Telling James would have probably been a good idea, except
Regulus doesn’t see the point. He doesn’t plan on giving this girl any kind of attention. He
doesn’t even intend to go through with the wedding, and he barely cares to pretend like he
wants to.

“You tend to meet a whole lot of strangers at weddings, indeed,” Regulus observes. “You’re
not married. Why? I thought marrying young was part of our tradition.”

“I’m sterile,” Rabbastan says, checking his nails. Regulus wrinkles his nose: he says it like it
doesn’t matter, like he doesn’t care for it. “No pureblood woman would marry me.”

“And how did you discover it? I believe we’re meant to refrain from sexual acts before
marriage,” Regulus says, raising an eyebrow.

Rabastan stares at him like he has been caught, but that expression is erased so fast Regulus
thinks he has imagined it. “It’s not like there’s anybody physically keeping you from it. It’s
not important how I discovered it anyway. Marriages are a means to procreate and I can’t
serve that purpose, so I stay out of it.”

“Do you think of marriage only as a way to procreate?” Regulus asks, knife still in his hand,
finger pad running over the blade. “Don’t you think that’s sad? To spend your life with
someone just to have children? It sounds like torture.”

“Adding life to our community is the greatest service we can offer to the future generation. I
would never call it torture,” Rabastan says, stoically. Regulus has a feeling he’s lying, though.
“There’s no life without community and our community is threatened. Arranged weddings
are a way to protect it. ”
“So are we to kill everyone who doesn’t contribute? Should we consider them threats as
well? After all, they’re useless to the community.” Regulus provokes, leaning against the
table. Rabastan looks at him like he just suggested taking over the world. “It seems extreme,
doesn’t it? That would be because communities can’t be just about procreation.”

“Of course it’s not. But its basis is procreation.”

“There is no procreation without accords.” Regulus replies. “What comes first, and always
will, is a reason to stick together. And unfortunately, for most people, a child isn’t enough to
love each other. And neither is the intention to have one. Don’t you think love sh-”

“Love doesn’t exist,” Rabastan cuts him off, cold and hasty. “And even if it did, it doesn’t
serve anything. It’s a means of destruction- a fancy way to excuse oneself from selfishness.
Now get here. You need to be able to stick those knives before lunch. Square your
shoulders.”

Rodolphus leaves after lunch. Regulus shows Bellatrix his knife-throwing, and she corrects
his posture, his grip, and shows him how to get a better result, how to stick the knife harder.
They’ll work on the distance, but she makes a point to tell him he’s doing very good.

During the second half of the afternoon, Bellatrix explains to him non verbal spells. The
previous days, they went over the basics of duelling: stance, disarming, distracting the
opponent, hexes and jinxes, then defensive spells. Regulus learns fast, and Bellatrix is a good
teacher, though he struggles to admit it. She may not be patient, but she’s straight forward,
fast to find mistakes and correct them. She taught him how to control motion charms, how to
get optimal results in charms with narrower wand movement.

Once satisfied, she decided to teach him non-verbal spells. Those are quicker, generally more
impactful, and harder to manage. She makes him start easy: in some way, it reminds him of
his first charms lessons.

Lumos is an easy spell, with no particular requirement of talent. It becomes hard when
Regulus can’t say, mutter or even mimic the incantation. His eyes are covered by a piece of
black cloth, to help him with isolation.

“Magic is an order that doesn’t need to be spoken. Incantation is a means to help younger
witches and wizards,” Bellatrix says. She’s in front of him, he can tell by the way the sound
of her voice comes. She moves around a lot when she speaks. “Besides, once you start with
non verbal spells, you can’t quite go back, don’t you agree, Rabastan?”

Rabastan hums. “Easier, quicker. You only struggle at the start. You need to focus, Regulus. It
should be easier for you, since you’re an occlumens.” Rabastan sets two cold fingers on his
temple; shivers run down Regulus’s spine. “Your mind is protected.”

Regulus gives a small nod, and breathes in and out. He imagines the green thread slither from
the point Rabastan touched to his temple, it goes down to his shoulders and on his arm, then
finally wraps around his wand. He doesn’t focus on the incantation, rather on the intention,
and when the green thread reaches the tip of his wand, it lights up.

“You did it!” Bellatrix says, loudly, admittedly quite surprised. Regulus immediately rips the
blind fold from his face, as he stares at the lit up tip of his wand. “First try! Oh, that’s
amazing!”

“Good job!” Rabastan says, patting his back. “Now shut it off.”

“Err…yeah, sure,” Regulus says, tagging at the blind fold.

“You don’t need that,” Bellatrix encourages. “Just do it, Regulus, it’s in your blood. You have
everything you need already.”

“Right.”

Regulus clears his throat, and imagines pulling at the green thread, which is enough to make
the light dim, then disappear.

“See! Easy, right? Of course, we have to work more on this, basic spells are easier. But you
have the technique down, don’t you?” Bella asks, excited. She looks up at Rabastan. “What
do you think? What should we try?”

Rabastan gives a thoughtful look at Regulus, crossing his arms to his chest. “Do you want to
try and mix up magic with the physical training you’ve been doing?”

Regulus considers it, then nods. “I do.”

Rabastan and Bellatrix are perhaps some of the strongest people Regulus has ever met, which
is a way to say they absolutely destroyed him in duelling. They said he did good, but he’s not
satisfied: were he an enemy, he would have been dead in the first five minutes; and since he
will be an enemy, that’s a problem.

Rabastan is the one that heals him: that’s what he specialises in, healing spells, fire spells.
Regulus would have said otherwise by looking at him. Rabastan has strong arms, broad
shoulders, he’s swift and his steps have a light sound, Regulus can barely hear him at night.
He’d make a perfect spy, and maybe he does, but Bellatrix told him he barely gets out on the
battlefield. He’s a healer first and foremost; the maximum he’s willing to do is set things on
fire.

Regulus never stopped to think how Death Eaters healed each other. But it makes sense that
there’s healers in their lines, considering St. Mungo is inaccessible to them: they would be
healed, of course, but arrested the minute they’re fine.

“We meant it, you know,” Rabastan says, “you do fight well. You’re just inexperienced,
which is expected, since you’ve only been here for a week and Hogwarts is basically useless
for duelling nowadays. We plan on letting you fight in the woods once you get better at it.
You’d be surprised how many times we had to fight in open spaces. Remember all that
climbing you did as a kid? That will definitely be useful.”

He’s currently healing a bruise with fire, a method Regulus didn’t know existed. He suspects
it has nothing to do with western magic: element dominations are typical of East Asia. In
Europe, it’s considered dark magic. Regulus never thought about how racist that was until he
was forced to sit and be healed through it. Now he wonders how many spells were deemed
dark simply because they didn’t conform to what Europeans called magic.

Rabastan uses his hands, not his wand; he sweeps them over Regulus’s side, sometimes
brushing the skin, though Regulus considers it an accident. He wonders where he learnt this
technique, if he has spent time training in East-Asia and where precisely, if he speaks the
language.

“I guess,” Regulus says, eyes following his movements. “I don’t tend to be the brightest.”

“Not the best in your class?” Rabastan asks, with a slight smile. Regulus nods, watching the
bruise disappear, living no trace. “That doesn’t mean anything. Grades are barely indicators
of how bright you are. You learn fast and you have good instincts, that’s what matters. Magic
isn’t something that can be evaluated by a grade.”

“My mother thinks otherwise,” Regulus says, then grits his teeth as Rabastan makes fire
crawls over his knee.

“This one did not heal properly.” Rabastan says, with a frown. “Quidditch injury? What did
they give you?”

“I don’t remember, some potion.” Regulus says, fisting at the sofa. Rabastan frowns more.
“Broke it a few times, bloody bludgers.”

“I’ll fix it,” Rabastan says, raising his eyes to meet Regulus’s. “But it might hurt.”

“Just do it,” Regulus says, closing his eyes.

It does hurt, so much so, Regulus has to hold back from making any pained noise. There’s
clicking, Rabastan presses his palm over his knee, and that reaches the peak of pain. Then it
fades, leaving no trace. Regulus is surprised by the sudden relief he feels.

“Hogwarts healers are shit,” Rabastan says, rubbing his hands together. Flames dance around
his fingers. “Anywhere else? Oh, your face-”

“It's just a cut,” Regulus says, touching the healing wound on his jaw. He did that himself, by
mistake. “It’s fine.”

“It will scar, don’t be silly. Scars are recognizable, you don’t want to have those when you’re
considered a criminal.” And so, Rabastan heals that one too.

It’s too close for comfort, Regulus thinks. He also thinks he misses James, that he wasn’t
supposed to spend his birthday on a sofa, being healed from a fight. Were things right, he
would be with Sirius and James right now: they would have woken him at midnight to wish
him happy birthday, they would have had a party and a cake, and Regulus would have gone
to sleep thinking it was the best birthday he ever had.

Instead, here he is. He won’t even see their faces.

“Oh, you’re sulking again, bless you.” Rabastan says, only mildly annoyed. “I don’t miss
being a teenager. Dress up, Bellatrix says you don’t like pepperup and none of us is going to
take care of you when you’re sick.”

“Bunch of wankers.” Regulus mutters, and that makes Rabastan laugh and shake his head.

24/06/1977, Iceland?

I’m going to go insane here. Murderers shouldn’t be this way. They should be much worse. I
wish they weren’t kind to me- I know they’re only kind because they think I’m one of them,
that I want to be one of them. But it confuses me so much. If they can be so good, so nice, so
polite, why did they choose to kill? To murder and torture? It doesn’t make sense to me.

Honestly I feel bad too. I shouldn’t get attached but it’s so easy. They believe in me. They
praise me all the time, and I can’t stop myself from feeling drawn to them. I hate every second
of it. It feels- no, maybe it is manipulation. Or maybe this is how they treat each other. I don’t
know. I have no idea. I hate them, but I like them, then I hate them again.

I wish I was elsewhere. This place is going to make my mind hazy at some point. I can feel it
already. I’m scaring myself, they scare me, but there’s another part of me that’s just so eager
to learn. They’re powerful; they might use their power in the wrong way, but one would be
stupid to deny they have it. I want that power too, so of course I feel drawn to them, but it
feels so wrong- immoral, unethical. When I stop to think about it it crashes me down. But I
can’t cry. Tears don’t even come, I’ve tried. I spent one hour just sitting around, trying to cry,
it didn’t

There’s a knock on the door. His head snaps up, and he meets eyes with Bella. Her hair is a
mess of curls going down her shoulders, and she’s got a grin on her face. Regulus sets his pen
down, covering it with his hand.

“Oops, did I interrupt you?” She asks, while Regulus closes his diary. “Come downstairs, you
have to meet Celia.”

“Right,” Regulus says, and he runs his hands through his hair. “Is she going to be around a
lot? You know, with the sun problem…”

“She’ll train you in the basement,” Bellatrix says, as they go downstairs. “Rabastan and I will
still be your teachers most of the time, she’ll just look after you when we’re on missions.
We’re sort of watching her for the Dark Lord, you see. He’s not sure she’s actually loyal to
us.”
Regulus nods. “I see.”

Polaris “Celia” Black is smaller than Regulus pictured her when he first saw her. She’s about
the same height as Pandora, with the sharp features of a Black and the enticing beauty
typically associated with vampires. A cascade of white hair falls on her shoulders and pools
around her hips. It must be dyed, Regulus thinks, and he immediately wants to ask her a
hundred questions. She’s wearing black clothes, muggle: black jeans, a bit baggy, a jacket
that looks soft to touch and black boots with glittery, silver laces. Her hands stay in her
pockets while she speaks to Rabastan.

She looks awfully young, younger than Regulus thinks he looks, like her face was frozen into
an eternal youth. If he saw her in the corridors of Hogwarts, he’d think she’s a fifth or even a
fourth year.

“Here he comes,” Rabastan says, once he notices Bellatrix and Regulus on the jamb of the
living room’s door. “Regulus, meet Polaris.”

“Celia,” she corrects him, coolly. She then turns to look at Regulus, eyes of an unnatural light
blue. Curiosity sparks in her irises. Regulus feels drawn to her, in a way he has never
experienced before. “Oh, he’s a nice one. I didn’t know Blacks could still be nice. What is he
doing here?”

“Training,” Regulus replies, immediately. “I was told you’d help me as well.”

She cocks her head to the side, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I will. I like
you,” she says, crossing the distance between them. “Ah, the genes did change, though,” she
says, “who cheated? Lots of us do.”

Regulus turns to Bellatrix in surprise; she shrugs. “Adultery is quite normalised, actually.”

“It’s not,” Regulus says, frowning. “My mother wouldn’t say it is- besides, what’s the sense
of all this war if you’re out there cheating on your partners? You marry young for what?
Status? Image? If it’s all fake, I don’t see the point.”

“Oh, feisty one, aren’t you?” Celia says, cheerfully. “Finally one I like. This one is mine, I’m
training him.”

Rabastan rolls his eyes. “That one is ours,” he corrects her. “And we’re not leaving him with
you without supervision. We know you bloodsuckers like them young.”

Celia rolls her eyes. “That’s a false rumour, besides, I don’t drink human blood, as I’ve
already stated, so either start listening or shut your mouth,” she says, stormy eyes and
eyebrows drawn together.

“I don’t mind being alone with her.” Regulus says, tying his hands behind his back. “I’m sure
she has lots to teach me.”
Celia turns fast, hair winding around as she does. She beams at him, youthful and insanely
warm. “Of course I do!”

It’s the beginning of a friendship, Regulus thinks, as she looks at her. He can’t help the smile
that blooms on his lips.

Back in his room, he grabs the last one of James’s presents, the oldest of the letters and the
Marcus Aurelius book. Opening the latter, he finds out that James carefully annotated it, and
not just that, but he annotated it for Regulus. Underlying quotes with a black pen and writing
advice, thoughts, observation specifically for him. Even the introduction has underlined
quotes, sometimes with an exclamation point on the side, to reclaim Regulus’s attention.

It’s sweet. If James was here, sitting in front of him, he would smile at Regulus, toothy and
beautiful and more reassuring than anything else in the world. But he’s not here. He won’t
kiss Regulus and ask if he likes the present, he won’t cuddle close before falling asleep and
he won’t wake Regulus with a trail of kisses down his neck.

It’s just another day, Regulus tells himself, as he sets the book aside and takes the other
package. He unwraps it slowly, savouring the moment. The book inside is “The Little
Prince”, by Antoine De Saint-Exupery. Regulus never read it before. James left a series of
papers between the pages, and wrote a note right on the first one, under the title.

Sometimes I’m convinced this book created you. Whether you’re the little prince, the fox or
the rose, this book is about you. And I believe you’ll find many reasons to agree with me once
you read.

The rest of the paper is “just” drawings. Regulus knows James likes to draw, of course, it was
one of the first things James mentioned to him, but he never showed him many drawings. He
did, sporadically, and Regulus simply assumed he uses drawing the same way Regulus uses
writing. Maybe it’s not completely wrong.

James likes to draw people, and he draws with black pens. The first drawings portrays Mary,
smiling and leaning forward, in the Gryffindor common room, which Regulus recognises by
the sketched window. It’s not extremely detailed, but at the same time it is: it’s like James
managed to capture Mary’s energy and trapped it onto the lines. On the bottom left, he wrote:
you said I never talk about my friends; it’s because words can’t capture their beauty. So I
thought I’d let art talk for me.

The second drawing is Sirius, laying upside down on an armchair, the tips of his hair
brushing the floor. He’s laughing, eyes closed and arms holding his tum. On the top right,
James drew his constellation, and on the bottom left, he wrote: to me, fair friend, you can
never be old / for as you were when first your eye I ey’d / such beauty seems still (sonnet
104).

And many, many more: of Sirius and Marlene, of Mary and Marlene, of Remus, almost
always either smoking or reading, of Peter, to whom James gives small angel wings, of Frank
and Alice, of Elias, even, who sticks his tongue at him. Regulus didn’t expect to find himself
in those drawings, but there’s five that portray him.

In one, he smiles, wide and bright, and he almost doesn’t recognise himself. He’s sitting on
James’s bed, in his room back home, wearing a jumper that he must have gotten from James’s
wardrobe. On the side, James wrote: I never knew what “blinded by love” meant until you
gave me your brightest smile.

“Oh, James,” Regulus murmurs, covering his eyes. “God, I miss you.”

The fourth drawing in particular catches Regulus’s attention. In it, he’s not doing anything in
particular. He’s just standing by the window of their room, looking outside, bare back to
James and a book in his hand. On this one, James wrote: framed by the window, you’re an
eternal work of art, and I’m forever fated to be the one you move.

Regulus sets the drawings aside, taking a deep breath in. It’s too much, and somehow not
enough as well: he wants James to be here, right now, telling him more about the drawings,
how did he picture his muses so well, why did he never show Regulus his works. Why does
he draw in the first place?

So Regulus tears a page from his diary and starts writing.

24/6/1977

Darling James,

Do not reply to this letter.

I’ve opened your presents. I loved the books, I loved the necklaces, but I loved your drawings
more. Why did you always show me so little of it? Was it to surprise me on this day, or did it
make you shy to share your art? I don't think you should be shy about it; it’s no surprise that
you’re such a great artist. You give souls a chance to live and shine on paper, even if you
don’t use colours.

Will you ever tell me why you draw? Of course, I don’t think you should tell me why, but I’d
like to know if you were willing to share. I want to know everything about you.

I miss you a lot. I spent the day sulking because I missed you, actually. Isn’t it so silly? The
world is full of cruelties, and I’m upset because I didn’t get to kiss you on my birthday. It’s not
even warm around here. It’s dead cold; not even the summer sun is here to console me. I hope
next summer we'll be together. I hope we’ll be happy and tanned and just as hopelessly in
love as we are now.

I love you to Neptune and back,

Forever Yours,

R.A.B.
27/6/1977

Dear Pandora,

Please don’t reply to this letter, for I am not to receive any. I’m not at Grimmauld Place: I am
somewhere in Northern Europe, very cold and with short nights. I’m mostly alright, and I
hope you are too.

I’m not sure what the purpose of this letter is, considering you can’t write back, perhaps it’s a
way for me to feel you closer. I wish I hugged you tighter when we said goodbye. I miss you.
Things are weird here. Very weird. My mind gets really dark sometimes: guilt, I think it is.
Guilt and the unbearable reality of human nature.

I’m learning a lot, though, about what my body can do and what magic I can produce. They
say I learn fast, that I have talent. I’m not sure whether I believe them or not, but it’s not all
that bad. Except when I remember they’re murderers. Then I feel dirty. It’s weird. I wish I
could avoid this, I don’t know how to. The forced proximity isn’t helping me.

I hope you’re alright. I miss you a lot.

Yours,

R.A.B.

3 July, 1977

Nights are getting longer, slowly, gradually, the sun is setting earlier. It’s still cold outside,
brisk, especially once the sun sets, but there is no light pollution. When Regulus goes out,
wrapped up in a blanket, the stars blink back at him, millions of them, and take his breath
away.

“You’ve always liked to stargaze,” Bellatrix says, from behind him. He doesn’t jolt, but his
shoulders get tense. She keeps sneaking behind him, like she doesn’t know the proper way to
approach a person. “I remember you dragging Sirius outside to stargaze with you. You
dragged him everywhere.”

“I just wanted to show him the sky,” Regulus grumbles, tightening the blanket around
himself. “It was boring to do things alone.”

The Universe was theirs, when they were kids. Regulus dragged Sirius outside because Sirius
used to tell him how they were going to travel from star to star, from planets to satellites,
entire galaxies, just the two of them exploring spaces. They drew their space shuttle and
named it Space Argo, inspired by the Greek myth of the argonauts.

“Is it boring now that you’re an only child?” Bellatrix asks, with a grain of malice in her
voice. “It must be weird to be alone all of a sudden.”
“It’s not,” Regulus forces himself to say. It is hard; maybe at Hogwarts they didn’t spend
much time together, but they still saw each other around every day, and Regulus spent the last
two months visiting Sirius’s dorm. He misses those days and despises the new ones. “I sent
him away. He was a blood-traitor, didn’t want to be the heir and didn’t have the qualities of
one. He kept putting shame on the family name, going against traditions…I’m a better heir
than he ever was. At least I know where my loyalties should lie. If Mother had some sense,
she’d see that too.”

“Oh, I know.” Bellatrix says, catching up to him. They’re shoulder by shoulder now. “You
always had better qualities. Your mother just loved Sirius more. He was her first, she
probably would have stopped there if she didn’t need a-”

“Replacement,” Regulus concludes for her, because he prefers saying it than hearing it. “I
know. I know how things work.”

“She’s ungrateful,” Bellatrix says, turning to look him in the eye. Hers are black, an abyss,
darker than death; eyes of madness and misplaced power. “You’re quite brilliant, in my
opinion. Fast learner, co-ordinated, determined, ambitious. I always knew you were like this.
Such a funny kid, you were. You drove them crazy,” She giggles, twirling one of her curls
around her finger. “This one time you sneaked out while everyone else was at lunch. Sirius
and I noticed, didn’t say anything. You were always running somewhere, a busy little man,
scraped knees, bruised, somehow always dirty with soil. You were missing for a good three
hours, we looked for you everywhere, then you made your way back. Oh, aunt Walburga was
furious, you were all dirty, you had this cut under your eye and blood smeared on your arm,
but you were smiling. You had this basket full of peaches. Your mother asked you where you
stole them and you said “I didn’t, they’re on the trees”, and then you gave the basket to Sirius
and went to the bathroom to wash your hands. Only your hands. Your mother was furious,
but my father was laughing.”

Regulus remembers that, remembering the peach tree because he fell from it so many times,
one with a whole breech. It was a fragile tree, it could handle Regulus at six, it definitely
couldn’t handle him anymore at eight.

“I gave those peaches to Sirius because I read somewhere that cats get their favourite people
presents.”

“Liar,” Bellatrix says, “There’s no way he was your favourite. You pushed him into the pool
every time.”

“That’s Rabastan’s fault,” Regulus replies, stoically. “He taught me how to tackle, I just
thought it was fun. I bet he regrets it now. He can’t tackle me, did you know? I’m too fast.”

“Oh, I know. I’ve seen him running after you like a poor sod. You made him trip a couple of
times. I think he likes you,” Bella says, locking eyes onto his again. “Your mother told me
you broke your chastity.”

Regulus’s eyes go wide and for a solid second, he just gapes at her. She laughs, of course. He
allows himself to do so too.
“Did she say that exactly?” Bella nods, still laughing. “Bugger. She also called me a slag. She
won’t leave me alone about it.”

“I know. She betrothed you with that Avery’s girl, the one that goes to Beauxbatons.”
Bellatrix says, amused. “Looking forward to meeting her?”

“No,” Regulus replies, sincerely. “I’ll probably spend all the time with Barty and Evan
anyway.”

“And how did you manage to break your chastity, if you only want to spend time with your
friends?” Bella inquires, crossing her arms. “Did you just kiss her or did you have a
relationship with her?”

Regulus grimaces. He’s trying not to think about James, because missing him is unbearable.
When he lies in bed, he hugs his pillow and waits, patiently, for tears to come. They don’t.
But he misses James’s arms around him, and the stone is not enough. He wants the real thing:
to dig his fingers into James’s skin, feel intoxicated with his smell, melt into him.

“Rabastan says love doesn’t exist,” Regulus says, almost to change the subject.

“Rabastan is a delusional man,” Bellatrix says, tilting her head to the side. “Did he tell you he
was sterile, too? That’s a lie. He’s not. He doesn’t want to get married, that is. He’s probably
one of those unspeakables, the Greek type.”

Regulus frowns. “I didn’t understand a word,” he says. “Unspeakables of the Greek type?”

“A queer,” Bellatrix says, mildly amused. Regulus’s stomach drops to his heels, or maybe
splatters to the floor. “It’s not like he told me, goodness’s sake, but by the way he speaks…”
She sighs. “He told his parents he’s sterile because he wouldn’t be able to make a woman
pregnant, that is. We’re all liars.”

“We?” Regulus asks, trying to look unphased.

“Oh, yes, we. I’m sterile. Actually sterile. I told my parents that the doctors said I can’t get
pregnant because of the stress of the war, and they believed me. Fools.” She scoffs, glaring at
the stars as if they faulted her, then looks back at Regulus. “Well, at least I’m doing my part
for the wizarding kind. Now go to sleep, tomorrow will be a hard one.”

It’s hard to sleep that night. So Regulus grabs his wand and one of James’s letters. This one
dates back to January the 30th.

Dear Snitch,

Today I learnt love isn’t strong enough to create communication, and that’s not really
anyone’s fault, is it? Sometimes people just have a hard time getting words out. You’re one of
them. I’m not going to say “I think” or “I guess”, I know you are. You shy away from certain
topics, and I get it. I’m like that too. I wish I said this to you today.
I’m not sure why my mum’s letter upset you, but the more I think about it…you and Sirius
really have a weird relationship with your parents. Or maybe with just your mother. Sirius
waited for her letters too, everyday with no fail, and he wrote to her the entirety of the first
three years. You’d think he didn’t, of course, or maybe you knew he did. He couldn’t help
himself. I still don’t know what made him stop.

My point is that family is hard to deal with sometimes, even if it shouldn’t be. That’s because
human relationships are and will always be complicated, in some cases more than in others.

I know I press too hard about you coming home with me. I know you won’t, you’re stubborn
like that and you can’t ignore anything you call duty. Your family is complicated, and it gives
you thoughts I don’t like. You’re scared to be bad, unkind, evil, not thoughtful enough, and it
saddens me to see how you have no idea of how wonderful you are, how caring. I wish you
knew.

I think you were properly annoyed with me today. Maybe not all the time, but…sort of. I got
too close and you didn’t like it. It upset me a little at first, though I didn’t show it. Then the
feeling disappeared. I could see you were just hurt.

I guess the point of this letter is to make myself aware that relationships are an activity,
something people work on constantly. I guess communication for us, at least around some
topics, might take a while. That’s okay, as long as we stick together, it doesn’t scare me as
much.

Forever yours,

Prongs

Regulus breathes in and out; tears don’t come. He remembers that day, remembers how upset
he had been that someone else’s mum wrote him a letter, like he was unmothered. It’s been
six months and some days, Regulus still gets upset over it, over the fact other people have
caring mothers, mothers that remember how to love, mothers that wait for them at home and
cherished their childhood.

He folds the letter neatly and sets it between the pages of his diary, like he did with the first
one, but there he stalls. It’s almost one in the morning, he’ll have to get out of bed around
eight, because who knows what creative ways will be used to wake him up. He dwells for
another five minutes, then shakes his head and crawls inside the covers.

8/7/1977

Dear James,

Do not reply to this letter. I hope it finds you well. You must have left England at this point,
but I hope you’ll read it once you’re back.
I thought it was better for me to stay here, in the end, because at least my parents are far
away, they can’t touch me, they can’t hurt me, they can’t and won’t talk to me. I thought that
was enough. It’s not. I feel like I’m losing my mind sometimes. It’s not sadness. It’s guilt. It’s
eating me alive to share a house with these people, to eat with them. They touch me and
they’re kind to me and I swear on my life, James, they’ll kill me if they find the diary. I’m
trying to act as the person they need me to be and it’s making me feel caged in my own skin,
it’s horrible.

Training is not that bad. I get to learn new things, I’m becoming stronger! And taller. You
won’t believe it when you see me again. But even then, sometimes I just feel small,
insignificant. They beat me so easily, I can never win against them. Of course, they’re older,
they have more experience, but it’s crashing my confidence. I know that when learning comes
with mistakes and failure as its fundamental parts. But I can’t forgive myself for not being
perfect. I need to be, if I want to make a difference.

Stars are so beautiful here. Remember when you said looking at the universe puts you at
peace, because everything is so big and your problems seem small? I tried to see if that
worked for me too. But all the time, all I could think about was you. I looked up at the
universe and I felt small. I wondered how the earth would look from very far away: a rock
floating around, not impressive, as it doesn't even shine, like most of the rocks around space.
It probably looks miserable and pointless, yet it harbours life and art, love, hate, passions
and actions of various kinds in different stages.

Thinking about planet earth and calling it a floating rock didn’t just feel stupid, it felt
insulting. And I thought that perhaps my problem is that I look at myself with minimising
eyes, I try to make myself seem worse than I am, and I can’t help that. However, I hope you
always watch me the way scientists watch earth, I hope you hear me in the same way
musicians hear music. I hope my letters become poetry in your hands. And I hope you’ll
never get to see what I see when I look at myself.

Forever Yours,

R.A.B.

16/7/1977

Dear Sirius,

Do not reply to this letter.

Do you remember the summers we spent in Nice? I keep going back there. I can’t say why. Do
you remember Space Argo? Sometimes I get sad thinking those moments are never coming
back. I never realised how hard it must have been for you, being the heir and expected to
behave as such since you were a child. I thought I understood, but I didn’t. I’m glad you don’t
have that responsibility anymore.
I’m not sure why I’m writing to you specifically. I guess I just miss you. Last summer was less
hard. I could deal with it. I don’t know why I seem unable to now. Perhaps I indulged myself
too much. It’s been…a year. Different than all the ones before, sometimes harder than all the
ones before, but I could never predict how the Summer was going to be.

I hope you’re having fun. I bet James is making you help around the house. Are you excited
about his cousin coming round? I hope to meet him and his wife by Christmas! Tell Effie and
Monty I miss them very much. I miss you very much too.

Love and a hug,

R.A.B.

23/07/1977

Dear James,

Do not reply to this letter

I can now manage non-verbal spells. I think I’m starting to develop a fighting technique. It
took more than a month. It’s been hard, I’m not going to lie. It still is hard, but at least I’m
learning something. I consider this a preparation for when I will, actually, have to fight. The
positive sides stop here, though.

I love The Little Prince. I must admit I wasn’t aware that children's books could hit this hard,
carve this deep. I got through it in one sitting. But I keep reading and reading it. And thinking
about it.

At first, I thought it was a bit vain how the little prince seemed to consider love as something
"useful". But I think I get it now; love isn't something you expect or want or need to be useful;
but utility is a quality. When one loves you, they take care of you, and that's useful, but it
doesn't come from an utilitarianist place. The person that takes care of you doesn't think of
utility first: they simply think of you. Watering a flower and shielding it from the cold or the
fear is a gesture of love.

I think a lot about the fox. Maybe because I feel like the fox. Unapproachable and perhaps a
bit mean. And yet here I am, missing all the people who bothered to get past that and know
me. Missing you on top of everyone, because you had the patience to stand by each of my
moods and you never left.

I know I have a lot of problems, that I don't always react right and that I've caused you pain
more than once. It was never intentional. Once, Pandora told me that if I didn't trust you, I
was going to break your heart. And the first thing I thought is that I mean no harm to your
heart, for keeping it safe is the dearest responsibility someone ever entrusted me with. I know
I'm probably causing you pain now. I'll make it up to you. But you always remember I love
you, with every breath I take and every beat of my heart.
Hopelessly yours,

R.A.B.

P.S. I hope your cousin’s wedding went well. I know it was a sensitive thing for you. My mum
wants me to marry Elsie Avery. We’re betrothed, actually. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you as soon
as I could. But worry not: I have no plans to even pretend I like her. You’re the only one I
want, and you’re the only one I want people to see me with. I’m never going to marry her. I
hope you can forgive me.

29 July, 1977

Mother sent new dress robes for the wedding, along with a pair of cufflinks and a letter so
horrible Regulus only reads half of it before throwing it inside the fireplace and watching it
burn. He knows it’s a day to play the part of the good blood-supremacist that respects
authority and elders and isn’t there to cause any trouble. However, Regulus is very fond of
causing trouble, and he’s mad already, so he doesn’t think he’ll play his part right.

Not that it matters, anyway. It’s not like his parents can just torture him in front of everyone,
if anything because they don’t trust that they won’t be interrupted. Also, Regulus plans to
spend all of his time with Barty and Evan, perhaps recovering from the foul month he spent.

“Don’t you look like a handsome man?” Celia asks, appearing on the doorstep of the kitchen.
She’s wearing a muggle suit and her hair is tied up in two braids that start at the top of her
hair. “That girl is going to fall in love, bless her.”

“I have no plans to love her back,” Regulus says, gloomily, tucking a strand of hair behind
his ear. My heart belongs to someone else; it’s his and his only, he thinks.

“Don’t start your engagement like that,” Bellatrix says, from behind him. She must be
somewhere in the middle of the living room: he doesn’t turn to check, he’s used to her by
now. “Want it or not, you’re marrying her, you should at least try to find beauty in her. Then,
if you don’t, you can just go for adultery.”

“Lovely advice, Bella, thank you,” Regulus says, sarcastically. “Where’s Rabastan? We’re
going to be late.”

Rabastan is wearing similar robes to Regulus, only in velvet dark blue instead of black. He’s
fixing his cufflinks as he comes down. “Shall we?”

His mother is the first person to spot him, the right second they arrive. Her eyes meet his,
then she starts making her way towards him, followed by Orion. Regulus isn’t prepared for
the fear that hits him, for how his body grows tense and stiff. Celia, next to him, notices and
takes his hand, squeezing it.
“You’ll be fine,” she tells him, gently. “She’s made of flesh just like you. Also, if she touches
you wrong, I’ll tear her apart.”

“You’re terrible at comforting people. Please don’t kill anyone at Cissy’s wedding.” Regulus
states, but clings to her hand as much as he can, then lets it go when his mother is close.

Mother, of course, can’t be bothered with being nice, so she gives Celia a dirty look as soon
as she’s close; Regulus gets a bad look too, because he’s standing next to a half-breed, and
that would be enough to get him in trouble if there weren’t people around. Celia giggles at
the look Walburga gives her, sticks her tongue at her like she’s seventeen and not sixty-two,
then leaves, hands in her pockets.

“Mother,” he says, politely, forcing himself to look at her instead of following Celia’s
movements; she might be terrible at comforting people, but she feels safe.

Walburga roughly fixes the tie of his dress robes, which Regulus had previously untightened
because it made him feel like he couldn’t breathe. The unpleasant sensation is back again,
and he shouldn’t be surprised it’s his mother that bought it.

“No wandering off,” she starts saying, as Orion arrives behind her. He sets his hand on her
shoulder. “You’ll stay with your betrothed, it was already troublesome to explain why you
would bring a boy as your guest.”

Regulus clicks his tongue. “I brought Barty because he’s my friend. You don’t want me to
date, remember? It’s not like I could send back the invitation note saying I was bringing a
girl. There’s no making you satisfied.”

Anger flickers in Walburga’s eyes, and even if Regulus’s first instinct is to be afraid, the
reminder she can’t hurt him here rings in his head. First of all, because Bellatrix and Celia are
keeping a close eye on them, and since they both took Regulus under their wing, they won’t
hesitate to get in the middle of it; secondly, because Walburga always restrained from
drawing her wand at her sons in public.

“I’ll introduce Regulus and Elsie,” Orion says, placidly, before Walburga can say anything.
“Leave him to me, dear.”

Walburga looks Regulus up and down again, then shakes her head. “Behave,” she says,
before walking back to Uncle Cygnus.

Orion takes him for a stroll. Regulus’s feelings about Orion are more lowkey. His anger with
him has different reasons, it’s lesser, but steadier; with Walburga, anger is wavering, maybe
not as wavering as it was, but still. Orion Black was always a quiet man, tranquil, who liked
books and music and focused hard on his job, ignoring everything else; he was an absent
father for most of Regulus’s life, always a slave to his wife’s intentions and parenting
methods. He liked quiet, so he found ways to make Sirius and Regulus quiet: were those
bedtime tales or sleeping potions that would knock them out for hours.

“You didn’t use to be like this, Regulus. I’m very disappointed. You’ve been lots of things,
but impolite was never one of those,” Orion says, hands behind his back as he walks. “We
didn’t raise you to behave like this, not indoors and definitely not at important social events.
You need to calm down.”

“It’s her fault,” Regulus says, bitterly.

He can’t stand her. The more he tries, the more he fails, and every attempt is more
unsuccessful than the previous one. Everything she could take from him, she tried to take,
and every time Regulus shows signs of tenancy and character, she gets upset. She wanted to
raise puppets, perhaps expecting Sirius and Regulus to be as easy to manage as Orion was.
And yet, she was once kind and loving.

Gone, he repeats to himself, that woman is gone. She’ll never kiss his cheek again and mean
it, she’ll never smile at him like she used to.

“She hates me regardless of what I do. It doesn’t matter how much effort I put in what I do,
it’s never enough,” Regulus goes on, fists clenched inside his pockets. “She’s no mother of
mine. I’m unmothered. If I had a family tree, I would burn her off-”

“Regulus,” his father says, harshly, clasping at his shoulder. Regulus pulls a face at the touch,
and it takes all of his strong will to not wriggle out of it or tackle his father to the ground. He
registers, briefly, how he could do that easily. “I know you’re upset because we sent you
away, but we’re doing it for your future. Your mother is grieving-”

“Sirius isn’t bloody dead,” Regulus says, staring straight into his father’s eyes. “Do you hear
me? He’s not fucking dead, she’s grieving nothing. It’s her fault. She gave him no choice-”

“Him?” Orion asks, narrowing his eyes. “You mean she gave you no choice. I am no fool,
child, and neither is your mother. You’re the one who sent your brother away. You don’t
know how much it hurt her.”

Regulus scoffs, freeing himself from his father’s grip. “Obviously,” he grouses. “She’s the
victim now. Poor woman, she was stopped from assaulting her son. What is with the world
these days…”

“She wasn’t assaulting him,” Orion denies, eyebrows drawing together. Regulus shakes his
head. “This is how we were educated, Regulus. It happens to everybody. Don’t think your
friends have it any easier.” Regulus huffs at that. The narratives these people build to feel
better about themselves never cease to amaze him. “You betrayed our family, Regulus. It’s
only natural for her to feel angry: first, you send away your brother, then we find out you’ve
been engaging in muggle depravity-”

“Do you hear yourself speaking, father?” Regulus asks, scathing. “You’re her little servant.
What she wants, she gets, and you won’t argue about it, because you know she’d kill you if
you did. She wouldn’t think twice about it. Hurting people is second nature to her. I grew up
hearing my brother beg for her to stop torturing him,” he says, angry, dragging the words out.
They’ve been sitting there for too long. Orion stares at him like he’s watching a disgusting
creature, not his son. Regulus wonders if he ever even thought of him as his son. “I didn’t
betray my family, I didn’t ruin it, I didn’t break it. It was broken beyond repair long before I
came to life.”
The slap hits him square in the face. Regulus closes his eyes as Orion’s hand slips away. It’s
been a while since his father slapped him. It doesn’t hurt physically as much as it hurts
emotionally, but Regulus grits his teeth and sends tears away, like he has been doing ever
since he left Hogwarts.

“Now you listen carefully,” Orion says, tugging at his ear. Regulus winces. “You will go in
there, apologise to your mother for everything you’ve done and do what she tells you. I’m
going to call Rabastan. Don’t wander off.”

Rabastan doesn’t ask what he did to get slapped, he just heals the damage before it shows and
walks him to his mother, glancing at him nervously, like he expects him to have an emotional
outburst any second. It doesn’t happen; Regulus does all his father asked, pretends to be
enchanted to meet Elsie and excuses himself to the bathroom twenty minutes before the
ceremony begins.

The wall is cold against his back, his chest heavens, and Regulus counts, he counts
everything he can, even just the seconds, trying to calm down, get off his high horse. His ears
keep ringing, though; it always happens when he panics.

The door opens, and Regulus naturally startles, straightens his back and tries to look proper,
because whoever is coming in will meet the heir of the ancient and most noble house Black,
and his mother would not let him breathe if he appears improper yet again.

“Regulus!” Evan says, loudly, surprised. Regulus stares at him like he’s a miracle, a blessing
from above, an angel to rescue him. “Oh, I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Look at
you!”

Regulus doesn’t say anything, he just launches forward and pulls Evan into a tight hug that
makes him laugh. Evan’s fingers tangle in his hair and he holds back just as tight, just as
happy to see him as Regulus is.

“Oh, how I missed you,” Evan murmurs, right in Regulus’s ear. “Have you been doing
okay?”

“I’m okay now,” Regulus says, voice a bit muffled indeed, but there’s no way Evan won’t
hear the happiness in his voice. “I missed you too. Even your snores.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Evan turns to look behind him. “Barty! C’mere!”

“Barty!” Regulus exclaims, letting go of Evan to tackle Barty into a hug.

Barty wasn’t expecting it, of course, so he stumbles backwards, but still returns the hug.
Regulus is happy to nuzzle at his neck, smiling like a child.

“Oh, he’s touch starved,” Barty says, gently running his hand on Regulus’s back. “You
missed us, didn’t you?”

“You missed me too,” Regulus says, pinching Barty’s side and making him squirm. “You
missed me so much,” he continues, now tickling Barty, who keeps trying to wiggle out of
Regulus’s range.

“God, you’re annoying,” he sputters, blocking Regulus’s wrist. “When did you get so
strong?”

“Don’t call me annoying, you haven’t seen me in over a month,” Regulus says, with a deep
frown.

“I call you whatever I want, whenever I want,” Barty replies, turning up his nose.

“I don’t think so,” Regulus says, making a move to start tickling him again.

“I feel neglected,” Evan says, tugging at Regulus’s sleeve. “Annoy me too or you’re unfair.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “You’re not that ticklish, Evan, it’s less fun.”

“Ah, so you think I’m less fun, uh?” Evan crosses his arms, offended. “I see. Now Barty is
better than me.”

“I’ve always been better than you,” Barty replies, intertwining his fingers with Regulus’s to
prevent him from tickling again.

“Prick!” Evan accuses.

“Are you alright?” Barty asks Regulus, examining his hands. There’s scratches on his fingers,
Regulus didn’t want Rabastan to heal those. “What happened here?”

“Climbing,” Regulus says.

They’ve started training him in the woods, which is terrible with the cold weather, the wild
animals and the inexperience, but it’s also fun. Regulus can actually fight them now, and he
does particularly well in the woods, where he can climb and use what’s around him to protect
himself or to attack Bella and Rabastan himself.

“Climbing?” Barty and Evan say, confused.

Regulus shrugs. “It’s too long to explain, I reckon. The ceremony will begin soon.”

“Then you’ll do the explaining after,” Evan says, with a sigh.

Watching Narcissa walk down the aisle is an emotional experience, more than Regulus
expects it to be. He spots Samira Shariq, eyeing Narcissa with softness in her gaze, and he
thinks that it’s terrible to have to watch, to think of what it is and what could have been, if
only the world was a kinder place to live in. Evan cries, of course, and Leonie sighs quietly,
wrapping her arm around his waist and keeping him close. She smiles with tenderness, like
she had been anticipating this. Regulus wonders if James is the type to cry at weddings too.
Lunch is horrible. Regulus sits next to Elsie, Evan, Leonie and Barty in front of him. Elsie is
a cute girl, with brown hair and sparkly blue eyes, a round face and rosy cheeks, there’s
nothing wrong with her. Except she lives in a world of fantasy, and she can’t wait to get
married, like it is the peak of her life -someone must have convinced her it is-. So during
lunch, she keeps chatting and chatting about how their wedding is going to be like. Barty and
Evan look horrified, and it takes all the patience he has to avoid telling Elsie to cut it out,
they’re not getting married, Regulus is in love with a man and he has no intention to ever
leave him.

Thank Merlin, Barty and Evan find an excuse to drag him to the bathroom again. There, they
claim a stall and Regulus places a silencing charm on it, and finally enjoys silence.

“That girl wants to shag you so bad,” Evan says, “it’s a pity to watch. Were Potter here, she’d
be popped out of existence.”

“James wouldn’t do something like that,” Regulus says, quietly, eyes closed. “Too much of a
sweetheart. He’d complain to me about it or try to monopolise my time. Or do something
stupid to grab everyone’s attention. Merlin, I miss him.”

“Good to see you’re smitten,” Barty says. “He’s worried about you, you know? Potter. And
your brother too.”

“Oh, we’ll never hear the end of it,” Evan complains. “They bothered us for weeks, saying
‘make sure to talk to Regulus at the wedding, make sure he’s okay, ask him if he wants to
leave’. Like yeah, dude, I got it, this must be the hundredth time you ask me to do that!”

Regulus opens his eyes and frowns, loosening his tie. “I didn’t want to worry them,” he says,
though he realises the letters probably didn’t help.

“They were worried from the minute you disappeared from their sight,” Barty says, crossing
his arms. “We meet at Potter’s every two weeks. For the war thing, because James refuses to
let it die down, and to put together the information we have about you. They’re really
worried, Reg. We all are.”

“I’m alright,” Regulus lies. “You can tell them that.” He gestures at himself. “Look at me, all
in one piece. I’m alright, really.”

“Well, you didn’t sound particularly alright in your letters, nor you do now,” Evan retorts,
taking a good look at him. “You get so tense every time a family member is near, Reg. What
happened?”

Regulus shrugs. “Mother knows I sent Sirius away. And she put veritaserum in my tea, so
now she knows I’ve been with a boy, which is why I’m engaged to Elsie, it’s a punishment.
And since they think I’m weak and lacking the necessary skills to be a proper servant to
Voldemort, they sent me to some place in Northern Europe with Bellatrix and Rabastan.
They’re training me.”

“Does she want you to take the mark before school starts?” Evan asks, alarmed.
Regulus shakes his head. “She doesn’t get a say on that. Voldemort chooses his followers,
you have to prove to be worthy. Yes, I’m being trained by very skilled Death Eaters, but
that’s not enough to take the mark, I don’t think so. They’ll probably give me something to
do,” he shrugs. “I’ll just fail and call it a day, if they do. It’s just…I’m in a house with
murderers. And a vampire on an animal diet, but that’s different.”

“A vampire?” Barty asks, bewildered.

“Yes, Celia? She’s a family member too, but she’s nice. I’ll introduce you guys later, how
about it? Anyway, that’s it.” Regulus says, looking down. “Can you tell them to stop fretting?
I’ll be alright when I come back to Hogwarts, no mark, no nothing. It’s just one more month.
What have you been doing?”

Barty shrugs. “Your boyfriend’s parents and Dorcas’s father and brother are teaching us how
to duel, fixing some of our mistakes in magic…that’s why we gather in the first place”

“When you see Effie and Monty, can you greet them for me? And tell them I sent a kiss?”
Regulus asks, eyes darting between Evan and Barty.

“Aww, you’re close with your in-laws,” Evan says, pinching Regulus’s cheek. “Well, not
your legal in-laws yet, but you get the message.” He shrugs, then grows. “Leonie’s parents
hate me.”

“What?” Regulus asks, looking over at Barty, who nods. “Why? What’s their problem?”

“I have no idea. Maybe it’s because I don’t do well in school- Oh, I don’t know really, but I
think I did well in my O.W.L.s and I love their daughter more than anyone, isn’t that enough?
It should be enough. That’s what I’d want for my kids.”

“I think they don’t like that their daughter found herself a boyfriend,” Barty says. Regulus
nods. “They’re just bastards, Evan. You don’t want to be liked by bastards.”

“Yeah, bollocks to them,” Regulus says, looking at Evan. “Leonie loves you, that’s what
matters.”

Evan rolls his eyes, but he nods. “Ah, we have letters for you. From Potter and your brother,”
he says, taking two envelopes from his pocket. Regulus takes them gratefully. “Pandora
wanted to give you one too, but she had a family emergency-”

“Is she alright?” Regulus interrupts.

“She is, her letter just didn’t come in time,” Evan says, with a pout. “Sorry. But she’s there,
alright, mate? And she’s fine, I promise. Misses you, though. Dorcas too.”

“And Elias,” Barty adds. “He’s in Sardinia, but he sends all his love.”

“Have you been seeing him?” Regulus asks, watching James’s handwriting on the envelope
with fondness.
“I’m going there by Portkey for a couple of weeks, but otherwise we just talk through letters.
He’s working as a waiter, apparently. Said he wants money to go watch the Quidditch World
Cup next year.”

“Oh, I can’t wait,” Regulus groans. “Merlin, I miss Quidditch. I can’t wait to get on a broom
again.”

“We’ll tell James you miss his broom, then,” Evan says, with a grin. Barty chuckles.

“Do you want to drink toilet water?” Regulus asks, putting the envelopes in his pocket.
“Because I can make you.”

“Oh, come on, Regulus. The bloke’s hot, how do you not miss his broom?” Evan asks,
teasing. “Oh, you’d combust, we’d seen him with this tiny shorts-”

Regulus pushes Evan lightly. “Don’t look at his legs. I’ll kill you. His legs are mine to look
at,” he says, with a frown. “You can’t look at his arms either. Or his tits! Don’t look at his tits,
I’ll actually get violent.”

Evan laughs, head tipped back. “Oh, you’re so jealous, it’s so cute.”

Regulus frowns, narrowing his eyes. “If you looked at his bum-”

Barty is the one to laugh this time. “You’re worse than me,” he says, pleased.

Evan wrinkles his nose, scowling. “That’s not true, you were about to cry when you realised
Elias was flashing his nips at everyone at the beach.”

Barty blushes a deep red. “Shut up, Rosier.”

“Yeah, shut up, Rosier,” Regulus says, sticking his tongue out.

Dear Regulus,

I hope it’s okay to give this letter to Barty and Evan. I just wanted to reply to your letters and
say a few things.

About drawing: I didn’t show drawings to you because I wanted to surprise you, but I guess I
also felt a little shy about it. It’s always nerve wracking to show people your art. But I knew
you were going to be nice about it: you’re always nice, at least to me, and don’t you dare say
it’s not true, you are and that’s a fact. You’re much nicer than most people.

Drawing is really personal to me. It calms me down, it’s a way to express myself without
necessarily using words, let alone that in the drawings I gave you there was almost always a
quote or a thought to complete it. I’m not always good with words and I’m not going to
pretend I am. Drawing makes things easier, and it takes my mind off things. So that’s why I
draw. I’m glad you liked the drawings I gifted you. Do you keep them in your diary?
As for my cousin’s wedding, it went well. I got sad sometimes, I cried, but I had my whole
family with me. It was nice to see Rayaan after many years. His wife is really beautiful, I
think you’d like her: she used to be a seeker, too. I can’t wait to introduce you to them. I
haven’t come out to them, but mum and I are thinking Christmas might be a good time to do
it.

Now, your letters. I’m assuming you’re with family, or people close to your family, and I’m
assuming they’re death eaters. I know you struggle to see the good in yourself, even if I don’t
get why: you’re one of the best people I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet, and you’re good.
You’re so good, Regulus: you’re kind-hearted, you’re gentle, you’re caring, and you’re so
important. You have no idea how much meeting you made my life better. I wish my love could
be glasses through which you could see yourself how you really are, and not how people
you’re related to makes you see yourself.

You need to forgive yourself for the things you can’t help. You didn’t choose this, Regulus. You
were forced into it and of course it’s affecting you, I just don’t want you to think badly of
yourself. I’m not there to hold you through it and I hate it. What can I do, my love? I wish I
could get you out.

I don’t want you to be perfect, Regulus. I know that’s how you want to be, but you’re so hard
on yourself. This strive for perfection doesn’t allow you to see just how wonderful you are
and it doesn’t serve you anyway. Nobody is perfect, Reg, you forgive everyone for being
flawed, why won’t you forgive yourself too? You deserve it more than anybody; you haven’t
done anything wrong. You need to be easier on yourself, my love. Being ambitious is good,
but it shouldn’t be a reason to beat yourself down. You’re someone who ALWAYS puts effort
in what he does, you’ve got no reason to act like this.

Now, the marriage. I don’t know what I’d be forgiving you about. You’re not cheating, you
haven’t chosen this, I hold no rage against you. I’m just so pissed that your mother keeps
trying to get in your personal business. It’s horrible, and you don’t deserve it.

I know this letter is very long. Bear with me a little longer, will you? I just want you to know I
love you to death. There is nothing in this world that could take my love from you. You own it,
your soul owns it, nobody can take it. I never even dared to dream of having such a beautiful
person by my side. I’ve been really sad this year, sometimes, for a reason or another, and if
you hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have been able to be so comfortable expressing that. When I
was sad, you always made sure to let me know I was loved and supported, and even if that
didn’t fix the external situations, it made me feel at peace. You’re my sunny days, Reg, you’re
all the warmth I’ve ever felt. I hope you’ll see your beauty more clearly now.

All my love and a million kisses,

James

Regulus stares at the paper, speechless, with wet eyes. He swallows down tears, closes his
eyes and his fingers find the stone at his neck. Somewhere in England, despite everything,
James Potter holds back. Regulus wishes he could smell his cologne, feel his hands in his hair
or run on his back. Just one month, he tells himself, one month and I’ll be in his arms again.
When he finally lets go of the stone, he tears open Sirius’s letters.

Mon frére,

I remember Space Argo. When you move in with me, we could stargaze from the yard! I can’t
promise it’d be as fun as when we were kids, though. I’m afraid that imagination is long
gone, though I miss it. But we could, if that makes you feel better.

I have to say, Reg, as much as I hate the pressure Mother and Father put on me, I never
wished it on you. You were everything to me when we were kids, you’re the only reason why I
knew how to have fun in the first place. You and all the crazy things you did as a child. Do
you remember the pixie in the library? You wouldn’t leave the poor thing alone. It disturbed
you while you were reading and it made you mad enough that you started chasing it around. I
still laugh about that.

The point is, I never wanted you to feel what I felt. I hate the thought of that pressure being
on your shoulders. I know I haven’t always been good to you, I know I hurt you, but I never,
ever wanted you to feel like you are right now. I miss being in the same house, even if you’d
be annoying about it. I’d rather be annoyed with you than feeling like I’ve ruined your life.
Sometimes I’m still mad at you for staying. I don’t know where you are, I can only guess who
you’re with, but it still hurts me.

You’re hard on yourself. I don’t know when you started becoming like that, but you are, and
I’m scared you’re doing this to punish yourself for something. And that’s bullshit, Regulus.
There’s nothing you need to be punished for. You don’t deserve this.

Where are you? Can I come get you, please? Just come home with me.

My love and a hug,

Sirius

The house is quiet at night, so Regulus can feel how his breath comes out ragged, somehow
angered by Sirius’s words. His hands tremble, he can’t quite stay still, so he jumps off the bed
and starts pacing around the room, counting breaths for the second time today, watching his
hands shake and not knowing what to do about it. It wasn’t this bad at Hogwarts.

This house, much like Grimmauld Place, gets to his head. Perhaps there always was a part of
Regulus that was clinging to this guilt, but it was never so prevalent. He fears there’s no
coming back from it, that when he goes to Hogwarts he’ll be a much different person. Even
more laid-back, even more closed off, struggling even more to tell people how he truly feels.
He’s losing the progress he made, that’s how it feels. He worked so hard on himself: trying to
be more trusting, making new friends, offering comfort. And yet he’s here again.

When he looks in the mirror, it feels like his eleven years old self is staring back at him.
Guilty, pressured, lonely and afraid. He hates every bit of it, because he’d like to be carefree,
surrounded by the people he loves, courageous.
James says he loves him, but will he still say that when Regulus comes back at Hogwarts and
he can’t even bear to write his feelings, let alone speak them?

The thought frightens him, and it takes sleep away from him completely. He grabs his copy
of The Little Prince and flees his bedroom, in favour of the living room. The light is turned
off, of course, so he flicks his wand at it, then wraps himself in a blanket, sits down and starts
reading.

The book is comforting; simple, yet not really. It soothes him so much his eyes start to get
sleepy, and when he begins to have to reread passages, he knows he’s about to pass out. Then
he startles, when a soft wind caresses his face. Suddenly, Celia is peeking at the pages from
over his shoulders. Oh, Regulus could cry, he really wanted to just go to sleep: to rest and
forget about the day he had.

He sighs and turns to the right, meeting Celia’s bright celestine eyes. A grin spreads on her
face, youthful and slightly playful.

“Hi, Celia,” he says. He’s trying to get used to how fast she moves around. “Did I disturb
you?”

“No,” Celia says. She overtakes him, then sits down next to him, hugging her knees. “I was
just wondering about something I heard about you today. Apparently, if you ask your family,
there are two very different sides to you. And I wonder which one is true and which one is
false.”

Regulus nods, closing his book and setting it aside carefully. “Just ask, then. I guess it’s
inevitable.”

“It’s not, really. You can say you don’t want to talk about it and I won’t bother you. But I was
hoping you’d let me bother you. It gets pretty boring to be a nocturnal creature. I can never
drag you into conversations.” Celia says, looking him in the eye.

Regulus swallows, looking away. He prefers not being dragged into conversations with Celia:
she’s much older, much more experienced, and she can read him like an open book. Regulus
despises it, but how could he ever avoid it? He started off this bond by wanting to be the one
to ask questions, yet he never got to do that. Celia knows a lot more about him than Regulus
knows about her.

“I heard Bellatrix tell your uncle that you sent your brother away to be the heir, because you
thought he wasn’t as fit for it as you are. I don’t know if that’s the truth. See, Regulus, you
don’t strike me as a purist, as much as you care to appear one. You have no respect for your
parents -which I don’t think you should have, by the way: the way they talk to you is awful,
they’re just getting what they deserve. But purists tend to have respect for their elders: it’s the
culture. And this brother of yours…you never mention him, conveniently. But you do seem to
be pissed when someone says anything against him. But then you do the same: you say he’s a
blood-traitor, that he was too soft and blinded by the narrative.”

Regulus sighs, sinking into the sofa and covering his eyes with his arms. It’s not a pleasant
conversation to have with a stranger: besides, he’s been trying to avoid speaking about Sirius,
even if everyone keeps mentioning him. “So I lied. We all lie. We’re a community of liars.
You would know. I can’t imagine it to be much different when you were my age.”

“But why do you lie? Why does Regulus Black put on a facade?” Celia asks. “You don’t…”
She sighs and scrunches her nose. “You don’t seem like one who enjoys lying. Rabastan and
Bellatrix get more fun out of it. You’re not like them. You lie because of-”

“Duty,” Regulus completes for her.

Perhaps, he was selfish when he told James taking care of Sirius was not his job. Selfish,
because Regulus claims that as his duty. Yes, he does it in a different way, but still. Regulus is
ready to give up everything for Sirius: fool everybody, in Sirius’s name; fight a war, in
Sirius’s name; get back at their parents, in Sirius’s name.

Taking care of Sirius, making sure their parents can’t get a hold of him: that is Regulus’s
duty. James can offer Sirius a house and a family that loves him, he can offer fun and love,
and all the things Regulus can’t give him. Regulus will help from the shadows. He’ll be the
distraction, the Wronski feint that brings the team to the win.

But the thing about the Wronski feint is that it’s dangerous. It doesn’t always go well. One
mistake, one slip, and you might get seriously injured. But Regulus isn’t afraid of a little
wound, even less so if that wound keeps Sirius safe.

“Duty has a name,” Celia says, “your brother’s, am I right? Your mother said you turned the
family to shreds by sending him away. She insists that you’re not sincere when you say you
wanted to be the heir. She says you do it for Sirius, that he’s your weakness. Your Achilles’s
heel, though your mother didn’t use these words.”

“What’s your point, Celia?” Regulus asks, dropping his arms and folding his hands on his
lap. “So maybe I’m here for my brother. I don’t see how any of that matters.”

“It does,” Celia says, with a small frown. “Of course it matters, Regulus. If you sent him
away, I’m guessing it was because you were unsafe. The both of you, I mean. You must have
sent him somewhere safe. But why didn’t you follow him?”

“Celia…” Regulus struggles, breathing in through his nose. “You know how it works.
Families need heirs.”

“So you just placed your brother’s life before yours?” Celia asks, frowning. “Why on earth
didn’t you just-”

“Report my parents?” Regulus laughs, shaking his head. “And then what? Everyone knew
what was happening to us, Celia. If someone cared, they would have done something sooner.
The people who cared did something sooner, actually. But it wasn’t me they cared about and
that’s fine.”

“You deserve safety as much as your brother does,” Celia says, almost irritated, which is so
funny to Regulus, because she doesn’t even know him. How would she know what he
deserves? “Why would he be more deserving than you anyway?”
“He just is, point blank.” Regulus says, crossing his arms to his chest. “I don’t see why any of
this matters to you.”

“Let me tell you a story,” Celia says. Something in her tone makes Regulus want to listen to
her.

“You’re opening up with me,” Regulus whispers. He senses it must be that.

Celia ignores him. “Once upon a time, there was a family like many others. A mum, a dad
and three children. The eldest daughter was ten years older than her little sister, and fourteen
years older than her little brother. Having been an only child for many years, a lot of
expectations were placed on her: to be a model for her little cousins and her siblings, to
always appear proper, and to look after the babies when mummy and daddy were busy with
work.” She tilts her head to the side, staring at a blank space on the wall. “She was good in
school, if a little bit arrogant and with a flair for trouble. But she never truly disappointed her
parents.”

Regulus stares at her, with a small frown. Ten years is a big age difference, especially in a
family of purebloods: everyone tries to have kids fast and be done with it soon, as having
kids is a chore.

“What happened to her?”

“She was too gullible, and she thought she was invincible.” Celia says, hugging her knees.
Her chin rests on the top of her knees. “She met her betrothed when she was sixteen. And
started planning her escape. She wasn’t fond of the idea of marriage. But when she tried to
escape, her little sister told everything to their parents.” She gives a slight smile. “But her
parents didn’t know she befriended some people she shouldn’t have.”

“Vampires,” Regulus whispers.

Celia’s smile gets broader. “It was my plan B. A friend of mine and I made a blood pact. If I
didn’t manage to escape, then he would turn me.”

“You asked to be turned?”

“I did,” Celia says, with a smile that tugs at the corner of her eyes. “And it was the best
choice I’ve ever made. First of all, not only was I disowned, I was also completely deleted
from the family tree, like I never existed. Secondly, I was finally free of perfection. I had to
be perfect to please my parents, then suddenly I was free of everything, and I had more than a
lifetime to find my identity out of that space. It wasn’t easy. But I had friends: loyal, good
friends that stood by me every time I needed it. I never looked back. I never regretted it. It
took my brother getting married to make me think about him again. He was only three when I
left, suddenly getting married. They probably took the memory of me from him.” Celia turns
and looks Regulus in the eye. “Family wasn’t enough for me to give up on myself.”

“You found freedom in death,” Regulus whispers, with a frown. “In re-birth, actually. You
found yourself a new family.”
Celia nods slowly, picking at the sleeves of her jumper. “I still don’t regret it. All I have, my
identity included, I got it because I wanted it so bad. Everything I did, I did for myself and
myself only. I wanted the freedom my family and society took from me. But I think you’re
different from me.” She searches on his face, looking for clues on his story. “Now I wonder
why Regulus Black went against his parents for his brother. He must be closer to your age.”

“He’s seventeen. Eighteen in November,” Regulus says. “I don’t care much about my
parents,” he lies, “but Sirius comes first. Before anything and anyone.”

Celia shakes her head, still not understanding. “You’re in great danger, Regulus. Giving up
your life so someone else can live theirs is not as noble as you think it is. Why didn’t you
save yourself when you could?”

Regulus shakes his head and shrugs, pulling the sleeves of his jumper over his palms. He
hates this conversation, but what he hates more is how much he needs it.

“You know, Celia, I don’t believe in the afterlife. The mistakes we make have to be dealt with
during our lifetimes.” He clears his throats, licks at his lips. “Sirius was always so good. He
was always kind and welcoming and- and did everything in his power to make me feel safe at
home. And I wasn’t able to do the same. For years, I chose my parents over him. I caused
him pain and grief and I caused fights. But he still defended me and protected me when I
needed him.” He swallows, eyes on the scratches on his fingers. “When the moment came in
which I could offer him freedom and safety, I just…couldn’t stop myself from giving that to
him. I think my freedom and my safety were less worthy than his. After all I made so many
mistakes and hurt so many people, I don’t think I deserve to save myself. I think I’m paying
for my mistakes, I-”

I need pain to cleanse me, he thinks. I need pain to teach me how to be good.

“You’re sixteen years old, Regulus,” Celia says, so dismayed it hurts. “What are you even
talking about? Some might tell you what you’re doing is heroic, but honestly, Regulus, you’re
just forcing yourself into dangerous situations for no reason. I don’t think your brother would
want this. I don’t think it’s right to ask this of yourself either. You’re so young. Everyone
makes mistakes.”

“I don’t care what Sirius wants.” Regulus says, not surprised to find anger and irritation in his
voice. “I care that he’s safe and far away from our mother. I’d rather carry the pressure he felt
than watch him stand under it. I can take it. He endured worse.”

She talks about mistakes, as if Regulus’s choices could simply be summed up with that word.
She uses his age as an excuse. Everyone is always trying to justify him: he doesn’t want that.
Perhaps, deep down, he wants someone to hold him accountable.

Celia shakes her head, and Regulus only catches the movement because she’s sitting so close
their shoulders brush together. “Then let me ask you this, Regulus,” she says, “when your
plan falls down on you, which it will, who saves you? When you shove away everyone with
this way of thinking, who helps you?”
Regulus grabs his book and gets up with one swift movement, an angry frown directed at the
woman on the couch, who stares at him with concern, and determination too. Maybe he took
it from her. Maybe it’s her determination that makes him so stubborn.

“I save myself,” he says, slowly, dragging every syllable. “I don’t need people to save me, I
don’t need help, I don’t need anything from anybody. I’ll succeed and I’ll do it on my own.
I’m not weak or soft or…young.”

Celia lowers her eyes, shaking her head once more. “You’re a fool, Regulus. And fools never
fall with grace.”

3/8/1977

Dear Sirius,

Thank you for your letter, but you’re not coming anywhere close to this house. Stay where you
are, have fun, cheer up James if he’s sulking,

Sincerely,

R.A.B.

4 August, 1977

Nikolai Khelben, professor of Defence against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, found murdered in
his house (read more at page 14).

Regulus stares and stares, tries to make sense out of it and fails. His mind doesn’t seem to be
able to form a single thought, the same way his eyes can’t form a single tear. He wishes he
could cry, though, because this deserves his tears.

Regulus had grown fond of professor Khelben: his lessons were always interesting, but never
heavy, and he always found ways to give house points without fueling unhealthy competition.
Professor Khelben was the one who stopped him to give subtle advice, because he noticed the
way Regulus flinched every time Dorcas whipped her wand out when duelling. And he’s
dead; murdered in his own house.

It’s not fair, he thinks, turning the pages, while nausea properly sickens him. This is why he
doesn’t read the prophet at breakfast. Because it’s nauseating, because you might find that
one of your favourite professors of all times got killed, in his own bloody house. His hands
shake with anger as he reads, but his chest aches pain. He can’t even focus on the article: he
just stares at the picture they chose of him, and he wants to cry, he wants to scream, he wants
names, to go and punish them himself.

“Well, one more blood traitor’s gone,” Rabastan says, getting up from his chair.
Regulus lets go of the paper, raising his eyes to glare at Rabastan. “Like you’re any better,”
he says, sharp, scathing, scornful. He pushes up to his feet as well, turning to fully face
Rabastan’s stunned expression. “Do you think you’re better, Mr. I don’t get married because
I’m “sterile”? Why don’t you speak the truth, craven? It’s because you know you’re a traitor,
too.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Rabastan replies, now equally mad, exactly like Regulus
wanted him to be. “Are you hurt because your little blood-traitor professor got what he
deserved? Poor little Regulus, can’t even deal with what has to be done. Face it, kid, you’re
going to have to kill those bastards too.”

“I can’t deal with what has to be done?” Regulus says, with a sharp laugh. He takes step after
step, proudly watching as Rabastan moves backwards. This is why they shouldn’t be left
alone. “You can’t even fuck a woman. You’re so quick to accuse others of disloyalty. Do you
want to know why, Rabastan? Because you’re the most disloyal dickhead in our lot. You’re
not even sterile, are you? You just don’t want to get married. Twenty years old, lying to
mummy and daddy about-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Rabastan sneers, flinging himself at Regulus.

But Regulus knows how Rabastan moves by now. He rears back from his initial spot, rolls on
the ground and gets back on his feet, fingers grazing the floor as he stares at Rabastan, whose
blue eyes glimmer with anger.

“Are you having fun accusing me of being a blood traitor when you’re about to cry for one?”
Rabastan asks, slowly making his way towards Regulus, who straightens up a little, taking a
half a step back. “You think you’re so much better than me- you and I are the bloody same,
Regulus. Don’t even try going down that route. It’s none of your business why I don’t get
married.”

“Yes, it is,” Regulus replies, fists clenched. He doesn’t care about playing fair at the moment,
he’s not concerned for the impact that his words have on other people. All he wants is to give
back the hurt he’s feeling. “It is because it makes you a blood traitor. It’s your duty, you said
it yourself. We need to continue the line.”

Rabastan moves forward, and this time, Regulus isn’t fast enough to get out of his way. He
finds himself trapped against the wall, with Rabastan fisting at his jumper. Rabastan is lifting
him from the ground a bit, strong bastard. Regulus wants to headbutt him, but he can’t with
the way Rabastan is keeping him still.

“Why don’t you get married, uh?” Regulus whispers, snarky, as he wraps his fingers around
Rabastan’s wrist. “I saw you reading Plato. A sun child, that’s what he calls you, doesn’t he?
Too bad the wizarding community doesn’t use such nice terms. Sterile? Oh, you don’t fool
anybody. I’ll tell you what you are, you’re-”

“Shut up now, ” Rabastan says, pushing him harder against the wall.

He towers over him, Rabastan. He’s taller than Regulus will ever be, probably, and if
normally this would scare Regulus, it doesn’t scare him now. He’s done with being scared of
them. They’re weak, just like everyone else. They’re weak, and they deserve to be hurt, and
he doesn’t care to be kind now.

“I remember you,” Regulus whispers, “you dropped out of the Quidditch team, why? Who
was it that you couldn’t take your eyes off of in the showers? Was it a teammate?”

The first punch that lands is relatively delicate, at least for Rabastan’s standards. It doesn’t
hurt as much as other hits Regulus took. But it gives him a way out. He places his foot on the
wall and pushes hard forward, which Rabastan is not expecting at all, still processing what
he’s done. They stumble forward, crumble on the floor a second later. Regulus doesn’t waste
time: he straddles Rabastan’s hips, grabs his wrists and pushes against his chest with all his
weight.

“You’re crazy,” Rabastan slurs, though there’s some fear in his eyes, like he didn’t expect
Regulus to hit the jackpot, to be right. “Incest really does cause damage, doesn’t it?”

“Ah, there you go. Now he’s mean because he’s been exposed,” Regulus hisses. He’s
struggling a little, because Rabastan resists his strength, but he won’t let go. “You’re a liar
and a traitor. Do you want to know why you’re mad, Rabastan? Because you and blood-
traitors are too alike,” he says, slowly, spelling out every word.

Rabastan’s face crumples in rage, and he pushes forward with his hips, hard enough to get
Regulus off of him and take over him. “It takes one to know the other,” Rabastan whispers in
his ear. “You’re lucky Bellatrix believed your little tale about wanting to be the heir and
deserving it more than Sirius. She treats you like the son she never had, that’s what saves you
from being killed here and now. The truth is different, ain’t it? You love your blood-traitor
brother, you didn’t want mummy to kill him. You took his place to protect him. Aren’t you a
hero, Regulus? You don’t fool anyone either.”

Regulus grits his teeth and rapidly lifts his knee, hitting Rabastan’s stomach and making him
breathless. He then switches their positions again, blocking Rabastan’s wrists over his head.

“Keep my brother out of your filthy mouth,” Regulus sneers. Their faces are close now,
Regulus can feel Rabastan’s breath on his face. “Listen to you making up stories,” he laughs,
holding tighter on Rabastan’s wrists. “You’re just jealous. Your brother would exchange you
for some Shit Lord’s spit. You’ve always known he didn’t love you. That’s why you riled me
up against Sirius when we were kids.”

“Fuck off,” Rabastan says, before headbutting Regulus’s forehead. Regulus groans, but holds
tighter to his wrists, stubborn and mad. “Fucking hell, kid. Let go.”

“When I die,” Regulus replies, gritting his teeth. He’s not sure why his eyes fill with tears.
“And you take back everything you’ve said. I’m not a blood-traitor and I deserved to be the
heir more than Sirius did and professor Khelben didn’t deserve to be murdered. Take it back
now.”

“What the hell are you two doing!?” Celia’s voice comes from the door of the dining room.

“He won’t get off,” Rabastan slurs, still struggling against Regulus’s grip.
“Regulus!” Celia yells, but even her voice can’t dissuade him.

“Take it back now!” He shouts, while a couple of tears roll on his cheeks and fall on
Rabastan’s.

There’s a soft swirl of the air around him, then he’s being pulled back by Celia’s cold hands.
Rabastan, in front of him, immediately stands up and starts massaging his wrists, glaring at
Regulus, who can’t stop crying.

He kept it for himself for over a month, a horrible month, and it’s like professor Khelben’s
death opened gates he can’t close: his shoulders shake, he can’t catch his breath, he’s sobbing
and clenching jaw and fists in the attempt of stopping.

“I’m not training him in that condition,” Rabastan says, harshly, glaring at Regulus. “Make
him rest or something.”

“You’re a despicable man,” Celia says to him. She then grabs Regulus’s hand. “Come along,
Regulus.”

“I want James,” Regulus sobs, once they’re in the safety of his room, on which Celia placed a
silencing spell. “I don’t want to be here.” He sits down on his bed, taking his face in his
hands, then removes them, disgusted with the stickiness of the tears. “I hate this place. It’s
cold. I want to go home. I don’t give a single fuck about any of this.”

“Regulus,” Celia runs her hand through his hair, tucks a strand of it behind his ear. “You need
to stay strong.”

“I’m tired of staying strong!” Regulus retorts, breaking into one more sob. “It’s not fair. I
want to go home. They’re turning me into a horrible person. They’re ruining me. I’m not like
this. I wasn’t like this before them!”

He wants to crawl into James’s arms and be surrounded by his warmth, wants James to tell
him he’s not a horrible person, that he loves him regardless. The thought makes him,
somehow, cry even harder. He tries to tell himself he just has to endure it for twenty-seven
more days, but it feels like an eternity. He just wants to be back already and forget this
summer even happened in the first place.

“Stop,” Celia says, harshly. “Stop crying, Regulus.”

He does. He’s not sure why. He stares at her, dumbstruck, irritated with the tickling of the
tears that run on his cheeks.

“Good,” she says. She summons a glass and fills it with water, then hands it to him. “Drink.
And breathe, for goodness’s sake, you’re not a vampire, you need to breathe.”

He downs the water: he hadn’t realised how thirsty he was. There’s a piercing pain at his
temples, and he groans, pushing his palms against his forehead.
“Yes, that happens when you cry like that,” Celia says, slightly annoyed. “You were
desperate, Regulus, what happened?”

Regulus shakes his head. “They killed my teacher,” he says, as if that wasn’t just the straw
that broke the camel’s back.

The real problem is that he lost himself between the walls of this house. He doesn’t see how
James could ever love him when he’s so broken, so hurt, so mad about everything. He
crossed the line with Rabastan. Sure, his comment was horrible, insensitive and undeserved,
but saying those things to him was mean, it was hurtful on purpose, and that’s not the person
Regulus is. He doesn’t want to be someone who picks at someone’s most vulnerable part and
stabs it.

“They’re getting to me- I promised James I wouldn’t let them,” Regulus says, tears getting in
his eyes once more. “I promised him-”

“Regulus.” Celia reaches out and caresses his cheek, stroking it with her thumb. He melts
into it, just a little, he clings to this tiny, affectionate gesture. “You’re burnt out,” she says.
“What you need is a day of rest. I’ll tell Rabastan you’re not training at all today, and
Bellatrix can try fighting me on this. Who’s this James? A friend?”

Regulus falls silent, realising with horror how he let James’s name slip out his lips. When he
stepped foot in this place, he promised himself he would never speak his name in someone’s
presence, not even Celia’s.

“He’s no one. Just a figment of my imagination.” Regulus says, looking away. “Forget it,
would you?”

“I’m on your side, Regulus. You can tell me. I’m here to help,” she says, a small frown on her
face. “If you want to.”

“I just-” Regulus sniffles, drying his face with his sleeves. “I just really, really miss him.”

“You should’ve gone with your brother and spared yourself from this,” Celia says, shaking
her head. “What were you thinking?”

Oh, that does it. Pain leaves, once again, in favour of anger. It always does when someone
mentions this. He has a mission, and he’s a man of duty, and this isn’t the moment to let
himself go like this. Not when there’s a reason, out there, to keep being strong.

Regulus clenches his jaw and breathes in and out, recentring, remembering his purpose. “I’m
exactly where I should be,” he says, getting up. He’s happy to find out he’s stable on his legs.
“I’ll have a shower. Can you tell Rabastan I’ll be ready for training in an hour?”

“Just how stubborn are you?” Celia asks, mildly angry with him.

“It’s what it takes,” Regulus says, refusing to back down. “I’ll see you later.”
Rabastan waits for him in the basement, a pained scowl in his face while he makes a little
flower grow between two books. An odd thing to do, indeed, but Regulus isn’t going to be
mean about it.

“I’m sorry.” Regulus says, hands behind his back. “I crossed the line. I didn’t mean to.”

Rabastan turns, eyes blazing and lines between his eyebrows. Regulus looks back until his
expression softens. “It’s whatever,” he says, “just don’t mention it to anybody, please.”

“I won’t.” Regulus promises. “And I’m sorry for shouting.”

Rabastan shakes his head, lowering his wand. “It’s fine, Regulus. Let’s start training.”

9/7/1977

Dear James,

Sorry for making you worry. I know it took me time to write this, but professor Khelben’s
death knocked me out for a few days. I’m alright, or well, as alright as I can be. Rest assured,
I will be making it to Hogwarts in one piece.

I can’t believe we’ll be back in less than a month! I’ve been counting days. I miss our room,
my dorm, the library, and all my friends. Barty and Evan told me they’ve been visiting:
treasure their company on my behalf. I can’t wait to hug you again. I know it’s still a good
twenty-two days before we’re back, but it feels like it will fly by. The rest of summer didn’t,
not like it used to, but this was no typical summer.

You asked if I keep your drawings in my diary: I do. It’s almost finished, the diary. I have ten
pages left, I’ll need to buy a new one when I visit Diagon Alley, and new clothes too. I’m
taller now! And a lot stronger, you’re not the only one who’s got man tits anymore. Prepare to
drool all over me, Potter.

All my love and a lot of kisses,

R.A.B.

11/7/1977

Dear James,

I made a friend here. Perhaps one day I’ll introduce you to her. She’s…one of a kind. For
one, she looks very young, but she’s actually just three years younger than your mum.
Secondly, she dyed her hair white with magic, and guess what? Not even her roots grow
black. I’m going to ask her to teach me: imagine the pranks you could pull with such a spell.
How do you reckon Snape and Avery would look with bright orange in their hair?
But I’ve been a bit sad, too. I haven’t said that in my letter. Remember how I told you that
some queer people can’t cope, and they pick the wrong side because of that? Well, there’s one
person here that is exactly like that, and as much as I hate him and I’m mad at him, I also
feel…well, pity, there’s no kind way to say it. But also sad. Sometimes I stop and think how
that could have been me, if Elias hadn’t been there. How Barty could have been the same.
We’re not, obviously. I’m very comfortable in my queerness now, and I’m very proud to love
you. But sometimes I stop and think about how prejudice creates crime, every day without a
fault. Isn’t it sad?

I want to make it better. Do you think we’ll ever be able to implement sex education at
Hogwarts? I think it’d save lives. People tend to think this is a dramatic statement, but I don’t
think so. I think my life would have been easier if someone told me, when I was eleven, that I
could love boys and it was fine and natural and not a betrayal of the ugliest form. I remember
us talking about it at the beginning of the year.

It’s almost one year together, or well, two months and eight days to that. We could do
something special. I’d love to, but I love every moment with you, so that’s implicit. It’s a
monday, sadly, I just checked. Isn’t it so annoying? Anyway, we could spend the night
together. I’d like to.

Love you to the moon and back,

R.A.B.

13 August, 1977

The cave is less bright than he remembers. Kreacher is still there, and so is the tremor in his
hands and the horrible fear of falling into the water: it’s a suspicious grey colour. This time,
he can feel the temperature: very cold, it must be December outside, but Regulus is only
wearing a tight jumper that won’t do much against the wind.

He’s in a hurry, like he was the previous times he dreamt this,and says all the same words: he
keeps muttering words about soul-splitting spells and the slytherin locket, the damned
slytherin locket, and his redemption, and he hasn’t spoken to Sirius in two years, God does he
miss Sirius? He hopes he’s fine. He tells himself he’ll visit once he’s out of this cave. Except
he doesn’t: he gets close to the water to drink, because he’s so thirsty, but the rock is slippery
and he falls. Hands claw at his clothes, his skin-

He wakes in a cold sweat, heart racing and breath coming out funny, altered. It takes him a
minute to get out of bed, unstable on his legs and quite nauseous. He opens blinds and closes
his eyes as light fills the room. His desk is cold and he lays his fingers and palms over it,
shivering, but feeling comforted by the contact with reality.

“Regulus?”

His eyes snap open and he stares at Rabastan, messy dark hair and a confused look on his
face.
“Are you alright? You’re pale,” he says, coming close.

His hair is pulled back by a hair band. Rabastan wears long hair, has been since his last year,
and he usually wears it in a man bun. It’s funny to see him with a headband. It cheers up
Regulus, for some reason, it makes him want to call him ridiculous and flick at his arm. It
must be how he misses Sirius.

“Er- I’m fine, thanks,” Regulus says, but it doesn’t stop Rabastan from placing his hand on
his forehead.

“No fever,” Rabastan says, raising an eyebrow. “Nightmare?”

Regulus shrugs, looking away. Yes, Rabastan looks ridiculous and Regulus wants to make
fun of him, but he definitely doesn’t like him and he’s not going to spill his guts to him. “I’m
fine, I’ll be at breakfast in a minute.”

“Have a shower, it helps,” Rabastan says, neutrally, before leaving.

After the shower, he dries his hair and fixes his robes. He heard voices downstairs, and he has
to look impeccable if there’s guests, because if Mother hears that he’s looking dishevelled,
he’ll never hear the end of it. He starts breaking his curls as he makes his way downstairs.

He raises his eyes after taking the first step, and almost slips in horror when he sees a
massive snake staring at him. It’s green, with glimmering yellow eyes, thick as a man’s thigh:
a man that probably lifts heavy weights and could crush a man’s skull with his legs, mind
you. It flicks its tongue at Regulus, slithering closer. Regulus considers jumping off the
stairs.

“No, no, no, no, fuck no, absolutely not,” Regulus chants, when the snake is a metre away
from him. “Piss off,” he says, pointing his wand at it. “C’mon, piss off, I don’t like things that
slither. I like paws and legs and you don’t have any.”

The snake almost strikes him, and Regulus falls with his ass down on the stairs with a thud.
His wand, instead, rolls down. He curses every existing deity, plus the day he was born (for
good measure). The snake gets close.

“You’re quite impolite,” it says.

“Oh, I’ve gone insane,” Regulus says, pressing a hand on his chest. “I’ve gone insane, oh
my- I need a mind healer.”

“You’re quite a lunatic, yes. Even I can tell, and I don’t know you.”

“Oh and I am impolite,” Regulus retorts, staring at the snake with hatred. “Piss off now, come
on, I just want to have breakfast.”

“You could be my breakfast,” the snake proposes. “You’d make a fine meal.”
A nervous laughter escapes Regulus’s lips, and he clings to the baluster, as if that solves
anything. “I’m afraid I’m really indigestible after all the incest in my family. I hear it makes
meat too chewy. How about hunting in the woods, umh?”

A laughter comes from the end of the stairs. Regulus turns and sees Bellatrix, Regulus’s
wand in her hand, and a man with dark hair, slicked back: Voldemort. They’re both laughing,
much to Regulus’s dismay. Voldemort raises an eyebrow at him, still amused, eyeing him like
a prey. Regulus doesn’t let go of the baluster.

“Your mother didn’t mention you being a parselmouth,” Voldemort says, casually, calling the
snake to him. Nagini, he calls her. “She could have. It’s an important trait. Though, I shall
admit, I never thought it'd hear someone tell my snake to piss off.”

“Sorry about the piss off thing," he says, a bit sarcastically. "But I'm not a parselmouth, I
would know, I'm sure I'd-” Regulus laughs again, nervously, a bit desperate. “Maybe I am.
Well, at least I’m not going insane, that’s good news.”

“I’m afraid you are going insane though,” Rabastan says, from right behind him. Regulus
looks up, just to see that Rabastan is back at wearing his headband, and has shaved his beard.
“Are you hugging the baluster?”

“I’ll throw you down the stairs,” Regulus hisses, springing up and away from the baluster.
“And I wasn’t.”

“Whatever makes you sleep at night,” Rabastan says, with a giggle and his arms raised.

“You should thank that Bellatrix has my wand, I would have tripped you,” Regulus
continues, following him down. Bellatrix hands him his wand. “My Lord,” he says, bowing
his head.

“No need for such formality, Regulus. Bellatrix tells me your training is close to an end, and
you’ve been doing great.” He says, as Regulus raises his eyes. “We need hard working men
in our lines.”

“For sure,” Regulus says, straightening his bed. “Nothing is achieved through luck.”

Voldemort nods, then looks at Bellatrix. “Show me what you’ve taught him, then.”

13/7/1977,

Dear diary,

Good news, I can now beat Rabastan in a fight! Bad news, Voldemort knows too and he
seemed TOO interested in that, like fuck no, I’m not on your side, die slow. I need to tell
Sirius. Or James. Anybody, really, I just need- I don’t want to be a death eater, I don’t want
him to have any interest in me, I’m panicking so hard, but I don’t know how to write this in a
letter without being scared they’ll stop loving me. My head is a mess.
R.A.B.

16/7/1977

Dear James,

I’ll be back home on the 25th. I’ll try to get the mirror. I’d like to go out, but mother already
said I can only go out with her, and to Diagon Alley. Apparently I’m grounded for how I
behaved during the wedding. I guess there’s no way to see you sooner than the start of
School. O.W.L.s results will come in soon! I’m very excited! Also excited to know who’ll be
head boy and head girl this year: not going to lie, I quite liked Longbottom and Prewett.

I can’t wait to play Quidditch again. Barty’s going to try out for any open position this year,
and Dorcas is there too! Quidditch is going to be even more amazing. And Gryffindor isn’t
going to win next year. We are. Semper victores!

All my love,

R.A.B.

28 August, 1977

“The Dark Lord wishes to see you,” Mother says, from the jamb of the door. “Fix yourself
and come downstairs. Quick. You don’t want to leave him waiting.”

“I’ll be there soon,” Regulus says, a pile of shirts in his hands.

He had to buy new ones: old ones were tight and short on his arms. New uniforms, new
robes, three new jumpers, that’s what Bellatrix’s report about his training gave him. Mother
still looks at him with aghast, she’s still mad, but she can’t complain, and that’s enough for
Regulus to spend these last two days of his summer in peace. Soon he’ll be back at Hogwarts,
he’ll be at home.

He knew Voldemort was going to have something for him. Bellatrix hinted at it many times
during the last week he spent in Iceland. She said Regulus left a good impression on him, that
he had an important mission and Regulus suited his needs perfectly. Shivers ran on his spine
every time she said that, and every time Regulus pretended to be delighted with the
possibility of proving himself to the Dark Lord, of being the youngest among the death
eaters, a vessel of the Dark Lord himself.

He’s disgusted, Regulus is. There are no other words for it. His hatred for himself has never
reached such high levels. He’d crawl out of his skin like a worm, if given the possibility. A
whole summer with the enemy, a whole summer of getting attached, of playing around with
them, of forgetting what they are and who he is in the name of convenient kindness.
His most recent dreams don’t help. He begs for forgiveness, in most cases, without receiving
any. People walk away, people are mad at him, point out his hypocrisy. In other dreams, more
hopeful ones, he’s given a second chance: his skin falls off, like a snake’s, and his rebirth
begins.

But his hands shake at the thought of being met with anger and disappointment by the people
he loves, by the people he missed all summer long, laying awake and trying to remember
how it felt to be hugged by James or link his arm with Pandora. Parts of his daily life he
never took for granted, and yet his mind couldn’t memorise the exact feeling. Fantasy just
can’t compare to the real thing.

He shakes his head and sets down the shirts. He fixes his hair, buttons the top of his robes and
runs downstairs.

Rabastan and Bellatrix are in the living room. Rabastan sits on the armchair and raises his
eyes when he sees him coming down; Bellatrix is lounging by the fireplace, and she springs
to her feet as soon as her eyes catch him. She’s quick to snatch him into a hug. Regulus
freezes at first, surprised.

“I’m proud of you,” she says, in a whisper. You don’t know me, Regulus thinks. “Now go in
there and make me prouder, will you?”

“Of course,” Regulus says, patting his hand on Bellatrix’s shoulder before stepping back.

His mother’s icy eyes follow him as he moves towards the door.

“Regulus,” she calls. He turns, eyebrows raised. A part of him hopes she’ll say something
nice. “Be proper.”

Air is knocked out his lungs with the force of a punch that says “still not enough”.

“Of course, mother,” he says, then quickly gets into the dining room, where Voldemort awaits
while looking at an old favourite picture.

“My Lord,” Regulus says, hands behind his back. “I heard my presence was requested.”

He turns, eyes soulless, lifeless, unhuman, brown curls and the long lashes that frame the
emptiness of his gaze. His skin is so pale it’s almost translucent, but he doesn’t even look
alive: just a vessel of cruelty. He’s beautiful at first glance, like a prince. And, like a prince,
he is entitled, unaware, arrogant and evil.

“Yes, Regulus,” he says, with an easy smile. “I have a gift for you.”

“A gift, my lord?” He asks, confused, taking half a step into the room.

“Of course. You trained very hard to be able to join our cause, I thank you for that,” his eyes
glimmer, crashing onto Regulus’s. “It’s too early for you to take the mark. However, I believe
you can do me a small favour.”
 He comes out of the room half an hour later and nods at the three people in the room.
Rabastan and Bellatrix grin at him with complicity, his mother just narrows her eyes as she
gives a small nod: still not smiling.

Years later, Regulus will consider this moment the one in which the missing key was placed
into his hands. For now, however, it’s just an old-looking diary.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you so much for sticking with me through all this, for trusting me with the
storytelling and the characters. If you ever left a comment or bookmarked or left a kudo
THANK YOU, visible support was very appreciated through times of poor motivation.
But even if you didn't leave any visible support, thank you for enjoying this, it was my
pleasure to write. And honestly you guys have been very kind to me? So thank you so
much! I hope you liked this, I hope you cried and laughed and wanted to throw your
device to a wall.

You're welcome to leave comments with your overall thoughts, I really appreciate it so
don't be shy, let me know if you saw this coming, I don't know, just talk to me if you'd
like.

EDIT: the prequel and the sequel to this fic are now out. You can find them on my
profile.
End Notes

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Comments are appreciated, if you want to share headcanons,
song recs, book quotes that remind you of the characters, please do so!
Here's a playlist for the fic

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